Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light flickers, and Rentaro tries not to breathe too hard in the direction of the flame. The electric’s off again, after all, and they’ve only got so many candles.

The shadow on the wall behind the candle shifts, and after a moment his eyes focus on it. His breathing slows and steadies until the flame doesn’t move at all. There is a core to the shadow, a center into which he can look, if he’s calm enough and he pays attention properly. Maybe he’ll be able to learn something. Not that he’s great at divination, but it’s worth a shot.

He looks deeply into the heart of the shadow, finding the seed of reflected light from which it radiates, and reaches for a question. Who are the other three ninjas?

The candle flame remains still. He waits, but no visions emerge in it.

He keeps his breathing steady and tries for another question. How can I best protect Iroha?

A moment of stillness, and then the candle flame grows slightly taller, and a vision appears, very briefly: Iroha posed before a crowd, a gourd in her hand and water flowing from it, at her back a vast mechanical swan. The vision lingers briefly and then dissipates.

That’s…interesting, he thinks but doesn’t say, not wanting to disturb the air with speech.

The flame lowers again. He continues to look into the shadow, trying to think of a third thing to ask. Something important, something that’ll help him in his mission–

Instead, unbidden, an entirely unnecessary question floats up out of the part of his mind he’s always trying to shut up. What’s it going to take to get Icchi to kiss me already?

The candle flame flares high, but instead of a vision, what appears are words, the characters forming in wispy smoke letters: YOU’RE BOTH IDIOTS, YOU’RE GOING TO NEED TO KISS HIM FIRST.

His held breath escapes explosively as he says, “Ok, wait, you’re spirits, you’re not supposed to make fun of me!”

More wispy smoke letters: TOUGH LUCK, KID. YOU ASKED, WE ANSWERED. And then the candle goes out. He swears quietly under his breath and then gets ready to summon a flame to relight it.

The lights come back on. From the next room, Iroha says, “Oh, wow, you did pay the electric bill, they must have just processed it!”

Rentaro blinks up at the overhead light. “No, I’m…pretty sure I forgot.”

“Well, someone must have, and it wasn’t me.”

“That’s weird.” Rentaro frowns, and then shoots a suspicious look at the candle. “You don’t know who covered it, do you?”

The last wisp of smoke curling up from the wick makes a spiral shape that almost suggests laughter, but the candle has no more answers for him.

Chapter Text

The problem with having a body again, Kiriya finds himself thinking in the first couple of weeks after he gets it back, is that it’s heavy. It’s fleshy, substantial, oppressively physical. He doesn’t know how to cope with it. He’d gotten a papercut the other night and spent a long moment staring in shock at the blood on his finger before realizing that he needed a bandage. He’ll get ready to go somewhere and then not move until he remembers that he can no longer just go, that no matter how much he expects to he won’t disintegrate in a whirl of pixels and reappear at his destination.

He finds himself wondering how astronauts feel when they return to Earth after a long time in space. Is it anything like this? The unbearable sensation of having weight and mass? Do they ever roll out of bed expecting to float and then are shocked when they crash to the ground?

He doesn’t want to go back to being a Bugster. He’s glad to be human again. But sometimes, when he’s working late at night and the sound of his heartbeat becomes overwhelming, he misses being able to dissolve.

Then again, there’s also the question of how he’s human again; the team managed it with him, but hasn’t gotten back anyone else. Of course, they don’t have access to any other Bugsters like he was, now that Kuroto’s gone; they have no extant consciousnesses to build upon. Emu’s told him about the process, watching his body spin itself together again as data flowed from the Gashat.

Perhaps something went wrong, and that’s why it’s so…oppressive.

Gradually he becomes accustomed to it, he remembers to breathe and walk and bandage cuts and stops paying so much attention to his heartbeat. He becomes human again, in spirit as well as in body. But it never quite feels right.

That is, until Parad squints at him one day and says, “Hey, Lazer. Weren’t your eyes brown when you were human the first time?”

“That’s how you can tell I’m full of shit,” he says, reflexively, and then, “Wait, why do you ask?”

“Look in a mirror or something.”

Frowning, Kiriya pulls out his phone and turns on the front-facing camera, peering at himself in it, and–

His eyes are gold, with the vivid shine of a polished 500-yen coin. He’d gotten so used to that after nearly two years of being a Bugster that it had never occurred to him that it would be strange now.

He grins. Somehow, it makes him feel better.

Chapter Text

Woz has already removed the back from the pocket watch when he hears Sougo’s quiet footsteps behind him, and it takes a considerable exercise of self-control not to leap to his feet immediately. He no longer has to do such things. More vitally, if he did them, Sougo would not understand them–still a future king, but not that future king, neither the old man upon whom Woz’s ruinous fixation had first latched nor the young one he had tried to shepherd towards that old man’s fate. So he hears Sougo’s footsteps, but he doesn’t stand, and Sougo doesn’t ask him to, just says, “What’s Uncle got you working on today?”

“A self-winding pocket watch, my…my king. Nothing very valuable.” His book is under his right elbow, and there is nothing that he needs to read from it, no vital information it can impart for this situation. “Tokiwa-shishou has instructed me to disassemble it and then reassemble it in working order, as practice.”

He still can’t quite stop speaking in honorifics. My king, my lord. At least he’s managed to mostly eliminate “demon,” as long as he thinks about it. Junichiro has thanked him, once or twice, for “humoring my nephew, he’s a little strange but he’s a good boy and it makes him smile.”

“Can I help? I mean, obviously I can’t, like, help, but if you need some water or something.”

“Could you. Ah.” Woz ducks his head and gestures shyly to the lamp at his side. “Could you hold this for me, please? I need it to be slightly more directed, so that I can see my work.”

“Sure.” Sougo pulls over a stool and perches on it, tilting the lamp so that it angles more directly onto the length of black velvet on which Woz has laid out his tools. “Let me know if you need me to move it.”

“Thank you, my king.”

Sougo has a steady grip and a patient nature, and for ten minutes or so they sit in silence as Woz removes screws and wheels and springs, laying them out on the velvet in a rough approximation of their proper placement. The slowly disassembled movement looks, at a quick glance, much like the cover of his book, although its purpose is more innocuous.

Then, though, Sougo says, “Isn’t your hair getting in the way?”

Woz blinks. “No, my king, it’s braided.”

“On the other side, though. It’s getting in your eyes.”

“I…suppose it is, a bit.” He’d been focusing, but it is becoming an issue, and will be more of them when he’s putting the watch back together. “Why do you ask?”

“Here, hang on a minute.” Sougo puts the lamp down, hops off his stool, and hurries off.

Puzzled, Woz waits. The lamp is no longer in position to provide him sufficient light anyway, not without Sougo holding it.

A moment later Sougo’s back, and he says, “Hold still.”

“Ah…of course, my king?”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know. I mean it’s kinda nice but you don’t need to.” Sougo’s fingers comb gently through the loose hair on the right side of his head, brushing it out of his face, and there’s a sensation of coolness and then gentle pressure that he realizes with surprise is a hair clip. Several, in fact, a line along the side of his head, holding it back and away from his eyes. “I got these from Tsukuyomi, she’s got tons of them, her hair’s always getting in her face when she’s studying.”

Woz blinks again, feels himself start to blush, and curses silently for the fact that his scarf is currently in a pile on his bed and thus not available to hide in. “Thank you, that’s. Very kind of you.”

“Sure! You’re doing delicate work, right? Having your hair in your face probably makes it way harder.” Sougo hops back up on the stool and grabs the lamp again. “Here, where do you need me to hold this now?”

“I…you don’t have to keep holding it. My king. If you don’t want to.”

“I do want to, though. I like watching you work.”

His blush is certainly getting worse; he reaches for his loupe to hide it. “Then please feel free to do so for as long as you like. And angle it over here, please.”

Chapter Text

The eclipse will be starting in five minutes, but Eiji has already been sitting and waiting for half an hour. He’s found a warm spot with a good view, a big glacial erratic with a flat top nearly large enough to host a picnic on, and certainly enough for him to sit cross-legged. The pouch with the broken medal sits in his lap.

This isn’t his last resort, but it may be the strangest thing he’s tried so far. He’s not sure if he even expects it to work.

Still, it’s worth trying, so as the moon begins to pass in front of the sun, he pours the pieces of broken medal out into his hand and closes his eyes. He’s meditated before. It’s a healthy practice. With the fine weather and a full stomach it’s easy to relax, too, and he slips into a trance in moments.

For a few minutes the entire world is still and small, just the darkness behind his eyelids and the shards of the medal slowly warming against his skin. Is there any sign of life in them? Are they moving, are they coming together at all?

Does he feel a hand on his shoulder?

He takes another deep breath in, one, two, three, four, and suddenly the air is full of the scent of flowers and fruit.

His eyes snap open.

There’s someone sitting on the other end of the rock–a man in a white cloak and silver armor, blonde hair falling in mismatched gold-and-red eyes. He’s glowing, very faintly.

And grinning awkwardly. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”

“No, it’s quite all right. I don’t think I was getting anywhere.” Eiji peers at the other man. “I think I know you. You’re…Gaim, right?”

“Whoa, ok, how’d you know that? Wait, are you a Rider?” The other man is peering at him in turn, and suddenly breaks into a brilliant smile. “No, wait, I know this one, this is sort of the middle of nowhere and I thought that was a flag next to you but it looks like it might be underwear, are you OOO? Haruto told me a little bit about you. So, I mean, yeah, I’m Gaim, but please call me Kouta?”

“Haruto’s a good guy.” Eiji holds out his free hand and has to suppress a shudder when Kouta shakes it, thrown for a loop by the sensation of power that surges through the touch. “I’m Eiji. What brings you here? I’d heard you were…somewhere different now.”

“Yeah, normally I’m on a different planet, but there was a noise? I heard something. Apparently everything’s kinda lined up today, usually I don’t get more than, like, impressions of what’s going on here. If I notice something really strongly it normally means something going wrong.”

Eiji blinks. “What’d you hear?”

Kouta blushes. “Love. Like, no words, just love. And loneliness. And…red? I know colors don’t make noises most of the time, but I heard red.”

The hope’s just a flicker, but it’s there, sudden and painful. Eiji’s hand has closed around the shards of the medal so tightly that they might be drawing blood, but he forces his fingers to open and his arm to extend. “This red?”

“That red? Lemme see…yeah, that’s the one. That red. That’s where the sound was coming from. What is it?”

“His name is Ankh.”

Kouta doesn’t even seem puzzled by that, just nods. “Were you trying to talk to him?”

“I was trying to make him whole again.”

“May I see?”

Hesitant for a moment, Eiji nearly closes his hand around the shards again, but then instead he leans forward a bit more and drops them carefully, one by one, into Kouta’s palm.

The glow that surrounds Kouta intensifies as he inspects the pieces, turning them this way and that, fitting them together along the fracture line. They come together cleanly, as they always do, and then apart, which they also always do. Kouta frowns at them and says, “Do you mind if I…try something? I promise I won’t hurt him.”

“I trust you.”

A slim vine emerges from Kouta’s sleeve; Eiji can see it growing out of one of his veins. The tip of it drips with sap, and Kouta gets a fingerful of the stuff and smears it carefully along the broken edges of the medal and then puts them together again. After a moment’s pressing, it holds, and Eiji’s chest aches. It looks like one piece again, and stays in one piece when Kouta hands it back to him.

They both wait, staring at the medal in Eiji’s palm, and Eiji briefly imagines that he can feel something, fingers brushing the back of his neck, a familiarly sardonic voice in his ear.

But nothing happens. Kouta says, “I’m sorry. The sap helps a lot of stuff, but I guess mostly on my planet. I was hoping it’d do the trick here, but on Earth I can mostly only affect plants.”

“It’s all right. I imagine this is pretty different from what you’re normally working with.”

“I wish I could help, though.”

“Honestly it’s just good to see the medal in one piece again, even if it’s temporary.”

“But I think…I can’t help you put him back together entirely, but. There’s one thing I can do, if you’d like. It’d be temporary, but it’s something. That planetary alignment thing won’t last for much longer, but while it’s happening I have a little more power here.”

“…what?”

“Would you…like to talk to him?”

Eiji stares at Kouta, and then at the medal fitted neatly into the palm of his hand, and says, “If that’s something you can do. I’d really appreciate it.”

“Then, uh, lie down and close your eyes.”

Eiji lies down, head pillowed on his bag, and at Kouta’s gesture puts the medal down on his chest and folds his hands over it. The sunlight is warm, and there’s a gentle breeze.

He’s asleep in seconds.

He’s walking on an all-too-familiar beach, and Kouta’s walking with him, no longer a god in white and silver but an ordinary-looking guy in a plaid shirt and jeans, bare feet silent on the sand. The weather is just as fine here as in Eiji’s eclipse-watching spot, sweet and warm, and the air smells of brine.

Kouta points. “Look over there.”

Eiji looks, and sees a familiar figure perched on a rock a short way down the beach, sunlight bright on his red hair as he looks out at the sea. He doesn’t seem to hear them as they approach.

And then he does, and he looks up and his eyes go wide, and then–

Well, Ankh’s not very heavy, but his weight is still enough to send Eiji sprawling onto his back on the surf, laughing as the water washes over his legs and Ankh says, “What the hell are you doing here?” from a new perch on top of him.

“Seeing you. Don’t ask me how it works, ask Kouta, he’s the one doing it.”

Ankh peers up at Kouta, who waves awkwardly. “Did you seriously manage to find a god, Eiji? How the hell did you even–don’t answer that, I don’t want to know, what kind of ridiculous–Kougami had better not be involved in this bullshit.”

“No Kougami, I promise.”

Kouta grins down at them. “It was nice to meet you, Eiji. The alignment thing’s ending, I think I have to go, but you two should be able to stay here for…a little while still. I’m not sure how long, but you have some time.”

Eiji nods, although he can’t hold out his hand again. “Hopefully we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

“Here’s hoping!” And Kouta fades away, waving as he disappears.

Ankh stares at the spot where Kouta was standing and then turns back to Eiji and says, “You’re goddamn ridiculous, you know that? How did you find a god?”

“Well, you know. Riders help each other out.”

“He’s a Rider? Fucking hell, and I thought nothing was going to get weirder than that space kid.” And then, “I’ve been following you for years now and this is the first fucking time I’ve actually gotten my hands on you.”

“You’ve been follow–”

Ankh pins him to the sand with a kiss. “Of course I’ve been following you, you idiot.” Another kiss. “I love you.”

Eiji blinks up at him, feeling the beginnings of a stupid grin. “You do?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I love you too.”

Ankh turns bright red, kisses him again, and says, “You think I don’t know that?”

When Eiji wakes up, the sap’s already dried out, and the medal is in pieces again, still lying in the center of his chest.

But his mouth tastes of cherry ices, and he has hope.

Chapter Text

Sometimes he sees her, when he looks at his reflection.

It isn’t often. Most of the places he frequents have no mirrors, especially now that he no longer spends much time with Dan Kuroto. He’s not interested in mingling in human society, and so he’s rarely close enough to a window to see himself in it.

Bodies of water, though. He lies down on a rock next to a small pond, luxuriating in the weight of being physical, and when he turns towards the water he looks at himself, and then through himself at her. The woman whose death gave him life, whose saved data rests within what he supposes he might call his soul. In some sense this is her body that he lives inside, palette-swapped and distorted though it is.

Saki. That’s the name on the save data. Momose Saki.

Not his name, he knows who he is, but a name that’s part of him.

He lies on his stomach gazing into the water, and looks for her face in his, for the smile that he knows people once called kind. Echoes of her are what make sweet food such a pleasure, that’s certain. Ghost data intertwined with his.

Still watching his own reflection, he thinks, Brave never deserved her. A quick rifle through the saved data makes that eminently clear. But the thought of Brave also causes that data to ripple, the ghost of the woman he was saying, He did, because I decided that he did.

“What made you decide it, though?”

I had a good feeling about him.

“Ridiculous.”

Maybe, but that’s how love is.

He trails his fingers through the water and disrupts his reflection, and the ghost of Momose Saki is banished for the moment to wherever in him it’s stored.

He rolls onto his back again, and the sunlight beats down on the face that he only has because of her. He’s not sure that he can feel love, the way she means it, but if he does feel any then some of it is for her. She’s him. The body he wears, and the voice in what for lack of a better term he calls his soul.

Perhaps he’ll go get himself some cake. There’s a shop nearby that he remembers her liking.

Chapter Text

Parad, being a Bugster, has the luxury of sleeplessness, but Emu has nightmares.

Granted, they all have nightmares. Parad’s heard them. Brave tossing and turning on the cot he collapsed onto after a long surgery. Snipe drifting off at his computer and then jerking up with a start and wild eyes and a hand reaching for his Driver. Lazer passing out with a journal in hand only to wake up choking because his body is still relearning what it means to need air. Even N, lately returned from America with tournament prize money and complaints of homesickness, has bad dreams, although she’d never admit it to him.

(She doesn’t have to–he’s fielded enough of her 2AM PvP requests to know that she has trouble sleeping. She even beats him, sometimes. He’s weirdly proud of her for that, which is a new feeling.)

He can’t help them. Most of them wouldn’t even want him to offer. Lazer might not dismiss him out of hand, but there still wouldn’t be anything he could do.

But Emu he can help.

Emu, tangled in ancient sheets on the bed that he can really afford to replace but keeps forgetting to, makes noises in his sleep. Generally they’re quiet ones, muffled by the filter of his dreams, and so Parad can’t always tell if they’re bad or not. Sometimes words, nonsensical or coherent as the dream demands. The first few times he spoke in his sleep Parad woke him up, confused; now there’s the understanding that sleep-talk is generally meaningless and not a cause for concern.

Screaming, though. Screaming is cause for concern.

Parad reaches for Emu’s hand as it spasms into a shape that says, Gashat, and dissolves into pixels as their fingers meet.

His only experience of dreaming is through Emu, and he’s done this before, so he’s not very surprised to arrive to the sight of Brave dissolving as Chronos advances. It’s frightening, of course, but he knows that this is only a dream, he can bite back the urge to start hyperventilating. He can take the indistinct Gashat out of Emu’s hand and say, “M. You’re having nightmares again.”

Emu’s head snaps around, and the scene starts to fall apart immediately as his concentration breaks. “Parad?”

Parad grins at him. “That’s me.”

“You died.”

“No I didn’t, I’m right here. That was the dream.”

“But I saw you–” A long, dazed blink. “This is a dream?”

“Yeah. Do you need me to take over?”

The dream’s almost completely gone now. Emu nods slowly. “Right. You can do that.” His voice is slurring. It almost always does, in dreams; Parad thinks it has something to do with his mind not being entirely present. “Please.”

Parad nods and reaches for his hand again, and this time Emu is the one who dissolves into him.

Their eyes open in the morning, and in the silence of their shared consciousness Emu says, Thanks, Parad.

Parad grins, with Emu’s mouth and then his own as he rematerializes in his own body, and says, “Any time, M.”

Chapter Text

Sento comes down the stairs saying, “Hey, Banjou, where are you–” and then stops, because Banjou is doing a handstand on the test scaffolding, back to him. “What are you doing?”

“Sento?” Banjou looks–up, Sento supposes, it would be looking up in this context, if he’s upside-down and tilting his head back far enough to see. “I’m working out.” And he lets go with one hand and twists, grabbing the scaffolding bar again so that now he’s facing Sento.

“On…my test scaffolding?”

“Whatever works, right?”

“How did you get up there?”

“I climbed.”

Sento’s not sure what’s more distracting, actually–that Banjou’s doing a handstand on the scaffold, or that he’s not wearing a shirt. “Why? I mean, why this, why up there, I thought you were a boxer or something.”

Banjou tips forward, and Sento almost shouts until he sees the tensed muscles, one hand letting go again to grab the lower bar of the scaffold. A slow, elegant fold and drop, and then the scaffold is unoccupied, and Banjou’s on his feet on the ground. “Shoot fighting’s only part boxing, man. Anyway, I did some gymnastics in high school. And some acrobatics, actually, I haven’t practiced in years I could still maybe do you…half of an aerial silks routine? Could you throw me that?”

There’s a towel on the stair railing next to him, Sento realizes. He throws it.

Banjou catches it one-handed and presses his face into it for a moment before toweling off his hair. “I’m not, like, great at it anymore, but it’s a decent workout.”

“What’s a decent workout? Oh.” Misora climbs through the door and stops, bubble tea in hand, peering down at the lab floor. “Sento, why is Banjou shirtless and sweaty?” She doesn’t sound upset about it.

“He was doing a handstand on the scaffold.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t have a heavy bag down here.” Banjou grabs a bottle of water off a table and drinks half of it in a single lengthy chug.

“I…see.” Sento comes down the stairs the rest of the way, Misora following closely behind him, and then stops dead at the foot of the stairs so quickly that she runs into him. “Did you say you did aerial silks?”

“Hey, I nearly spilled my–wait, he did what.”

“Aerial silks.” Banjou takes another long drink of water and then blinks, blushing faintly. “Why are you both staring at me like that?”

Chapter Text

The other one comes to Woz first in a dream, and says, “Did you miss me?”

He says, knowing that he’s dreaming, “I swallowed you. How could I miss you if you’re part of me?”

After that initial encounter, he sees his other self maybe once or twice a week–in his periphery, or in mirrors, or in the bright darkness of his closed eyes. Oddly, he welcomes it. Perhaps it’s unwise to allow the continued persistence of his other self, but Woz has never claimed wisdom, only knowledge.

Even knowledge is difficult now, honestly; in this new timeline his book is no longer an unerring almanac, but an antiquated map, scattered with dragons, nothing helpful to say. It remains at his side, as it must, but it tells him little or nothing. He is the custodian of a dead timeline, and the book is its monument.

One day, freed from work for the moment and taking the oppprtunity to sit in the sun by the window, he closes his eyes and sees his other self and says, curiously, “Did you ever love him?”

“Who?” His other self seems surprised to be addressed, and hides that surprise in the unnecessary adjustment of his hat. “The savior?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. That’s what we do.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Woz looks at his other self’s faint, visible blush and almost smiles–their mutual nature is what it is, they both know that. “I did like your book, it was beautifully designed.”

“Thank you. Yours as well.”

“It’s more of a burden than an object of art, but thank you.”

“Aren’t they always?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

The sun is still warm on Woz’s face, and he opens his eyes just in time for Sougo and Geiz to enter the room together, deep in conversation, Sougo very nearly frowning as he says, “–see why you can’t also be part of my court, I feel like ‘savior’ could be sort of like ‘king’s champion,’ you know?”

Geiz is frowning, although it’s not much different from his usual resting expression. “I mean I get what you’re saying but also I’m staunchly anti-monarchist, you know that, right?”

“How do you even know those words?”

“How do you?”

“Well, Mr. Kadoya at the library was saying–oh, hey, Woz.” Sougo beams at him. “Was someone else in here? I thought I heard talking.”

“No, my–ah, Sougo.” Woz shifts under two sets of focused eyes. “I was just talking to myself.”

Chapter Text

The first time one of their creations dies, Kouta knows it immediately.

Mai knows too. They’re sitting together, on the branch of the largest tree on the planet, and both of their heads go up as they feel it, a tiny candle going out in their hearts. Tears spring to Mai’s eyes as Kouta says, startled, “First Squirrel.”

They don’t fly to the spot, but are carried, cradled by vines that pass them from treetop to treetop with all the delicacy of people holding fine china. It’s normally fun. The first time they tried it they spent the entire time laughing, delighted, pelting each other with fruit until they were both stained purple with juice that washed away as soon as they willed it to do so. Today, though, they go in silence, until they find the spot where First Squirrel died.

Mai goes to the body immediately, cradling it in her cupped hands as Kouta blinks. He knew, of course, that this was going to happen eventually. They’re trying to make Helheim into a place with its own life, more than just Inves and plants that eat worlds. Life means, eventually, death.

“Poor guy,” Mai says, petting its still fur with a finger. “You were the first thing we made, you know?”

“Yeah.” Kouta stares down at Mai and the body of First Squirrel for another few seconds and then raises his head and says, “Sagara? You around?”

The entity he’ll probably always think of as DJ Sagara steps out from the trunk of a tree and says, jovial as ever, “Something you wanted, Man of the Beginning?”

“Don’t call me that, I’ve still got a name.”

“My apologies. Kouta. What can I assist you with?”

“Where do creatures here go when they die?”

The question is apparently a surprise to Sagara; he blinks several times before saying, “No one’s asked me that in centuries.”

Kouta frowns. “Not even Roshuo?”

“No, he was too occupied trying to bring her back to ever ask me where she’d gone.”

“So where do they go, then?”

“No idea.”

“Well, that’s…helpful.”

“It’s as helpful as I can be, the answer’s really up to you two.”

Mai looks up with a start. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sagara shrugs. “You’re the gods of Helheim, aren’t you? You made that creature, you get to decide where it goes. In general previous Overlords sort of ignored the question, but then, none of the others ever did as much creating as you two. Did you want an underworld? Somewhere dark and spooky, maybe a river? I don’t think we’ve ever had one of those.”

Kouta and Mai glance at each other and shake their heads in unison. “I don’t…think that’s what we want,” Kouta says, slowly. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly ready to think about this today, but that doesn’t sound right. Do we have to decide right now?”

“I suppose not.” Another shrug, rippling through the scarf Sagara still wears wrapped around his shoulders. “Obviously you’ve decided that it’s got a soul, and that’ll keep, souls generally do. Of course, the body won’t, so you don’t want to take too long, but you’ve got a little bit to think it over.” He turns and begins to fade back into the trees and then stops. “If you do decide you want an underworld, though, or something like it, you might want to think about having a psychopomp.”

Mai’s forehead wrinkles. “A what?”

“A psychopomp. Shows the dead where to go. Sort of like a spooky tour guide.” He fades further, and then stops once more, very faint now, just a pair of bright eyes and a Cheshire Cat smile on a tree trunk. “When you do figure it out, let me know. I’d love to hear what you decide on.”

Once he’s gone, Kouta helps Mai up, and she cradles First Squirrel close to her chest as the vines pick them up again. Silently they travel through the canopy back to the largest tree, and then pause, and Mai says, “Not here.”

Kouta nods.

The vines carry them farther, to the crumbling ruins of the Femshinmu city. In the center of it, in a clearing by itself, is another tree, the second-largest, thick-trunked and broad-crowned. They planted it when they first came to this place, from seeds that Mai had reached across space to get and patted down into the earth over the grave its roots now protect. It grew to its vast size in a week.

Given everything they’d gone through to get there, Kouta supposes, it seems appropriate that the first thing they’d done upon arrival was hold a funeral.

He breathes in the sharp scent of camphor and says, “Hey, Kaito.”

No answer, of course.

Mai finds a spot among the roots, and they bury First Squirrel, piling the soft earth gently over the little body. When it’s covered, Mai places her hand on the ground, and a small flower blooms over it. Then they find another spot, where the roots curve out from each other to make a little alcove sized perfectly for the two of them, and they sit together, and they cry.

After a little while, though, Mai sniffles and says, damply, “A psychopomp, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m going to get over him calling it a spooky tour guide.” Kouta lets out a semi-laugh, slightly choked but still tinged with smile. “What an image.”

“Yeah.”

Light flickers on the tree trunk next to them, and they both glance over to see a pale orange shadow scurrying up the bark and into the branches. Their eyesight’s gotten very good, among all the other changes they’ve gone through; they watch the little shadow disappear among the leaves and then reappear on the edge of a branch. It turns in circles for a moment, and then Mai sucks in a breath as it leaps up and into the long-fingered hand of a figure even more shadowy, but unmistakably dressed in black and red.

There’s a long moment wherein they stare at the tall shadow in the tree and it stares back at them, and then it vanishes along with the ghost of First Squirrel.

Mai sniffles again. “He’d hate it if we called him a spooky tour guide.”

“I feel like that might be a good reason to do it, then.” Kouta takes a breath himself, not quite a sniff but nearly there. “Is it weird that I kind of miss him getting mad at me?”

Chapter Text

Geiz and Tsukuyomi are halfway to the library when they hear a rustling overhead and then a cheerful voice above them says, “Hey, kids.”

Geiz looks up and blinks. “Hi, Mr. Kaitou. Why are you in a tree?”

“It’s a good vantage point.” Daiki drops out of the tree and lands neatly on his feet. “Where are you heading today? Mind if I walk with you? Also would you call me Daiki, ‘Mr. Kaitou’ makes me sound like, I don’t know. Something. Daiki is fine.”

“Sure, we’re meeting Sougo at the library. Is, uh. Is something going on? Like a monster thing?”

“No, I just wanted to check in, see how the whole savior thing’s going.” Daiki falls into step alongside them, hands in his pockets, pristine white jacket practically glowing in the sun. “No more attacks, right?”

Geiz frowns. “None so far, no. Why, did you think there would be?”

Daiki shrugs but says nothing, and for the next few minutes the three of them walk together in silence. When they reach the public library, though, he stops and blinks. “Oh, right. I brought a present for your girlfriend.”

Tsukuyomi says, semi-indignantly, “I’m not his girlfriend,” as Geiz is saying simultaneously, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Right, ok, point taken, sorry. Here.” Daiki pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to Tsukuyomi, and in her hands it shimmers and becomes a white Ride Watch gleaming with gold accents. “I remembered you only had the one still, and Femme’s a little difficult to track down, so I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Tsukuyomi gapes at the Watch in her hands for a moment. “You figured you’d–Femme? That’s actually what she’s called?”

“You have to cut her a little slack, she was the first woman to ever be a regular Rider. Anyway, like I said, she’s tough to find. She’ll match your color scheme pretty well, though, and I think her whole swan motif might suit you nicely.”

“Thank you, it’s gorgeous.” A pause, and then Tsukuyomi squints up at him. “Are you hitting on me?”

Daiki gives her a long, level look.

She blushes. “Right, no, you wouldn’t be, sorry, that was rude of me to suggest.” Another pause. “You’re not hitting on Geiz, right? You keep showing up to talk to him.”

Geiz sputters, and Daiki raises an eyebrow and glances at him. “Even if I weren’t in a relationship, he’s about ten years too young and centimeters too short to be my type, and he’s not nearly bossy enough.”

“Hey, I’m not short, I’m a normal height, Sougo’s the short one.”

“Oh, right, I kind of–I keep getting flashes of that stuff from the other time, the different, I don’t really get much of it? But there was that guy, that Decade guy–”

At which point Sougo comes out of the library, talking to a man in a black suit who looks up at them, sees Daiki, and stops dead.

“Speaking of that Decade guy.” Daiki beams. “Hey, babe. I didn’t know you were in the area.”

“Hey, guys!” Sougo waves to them, grinning. “You haven’t met Mr. Kadoya, right? I feel like we did in the other, you know, but I’m not sure. Oh, hey, it’s that guy, I remember you! You gave Geiz that big Ride Watch! Hi!”

Daiki waves to him and then meets Tsukasa’s gaze again. “I see he hasn’t changed.”

“Mm. What are you doing here?”

“I’m checking on Geiz, obviously, I thought you knew I’d been doing that. What are you doing here? Is this where you’ve been sneaking off to every few weeks?”

“I’m giving the man who would be king some guidance.” Tsukasa doesn’t quite frown; he actually looks almost embarrassed. “Wanted to keep things from recurring like–did you give Tsukuyomi a Femme Ride Watch? How many Worlds did you need to go through to find her?”

“Four or five, it took a little work. So we’ve been up to exactly the same thing.”

“Looks like, yeah.”

Next to them, Sougo and Geiz and Tsukuyomi are having a circular argument about the upcoming university entrance exam, Tsukuyomi irritably brandishing a study guide at them and saying, “Look, I’m really glad that you two are both going to try to do this but could you at least do some basic prep for it? I’ll help you, even, I don’t have that much classwork to do.”

“I do study, ask Geiz.”

“Trying to look into the future to see the answers doesn’t count as studying!”

“It does, though, I’ve successfully predicted…at least three other things so far, I’m sure I can get the hang of it in time for the exam. Oh, hey, we should get back,” and Sougo looks over at Tsukasa and Daiki, “do you want to have lunch with us? We’re heading back to my uncle’s now.”

Tsukasa glances over at Daiki and says, “Sure, why not.”

Daiki links his arm with Tsukasa’s and they walk back to Kujigoji Hall like that, keeping pace a few steps behind the younger three and listening with variable amusement as they continue to argue about nothing. They could almost be family, a group of excitable teens chaperoned by their older cousins. The day is warm, and the weather is good. It’s pleasant.

Of course, there’s another awkward moment when they get to the Hall and walk into the dining room and Woz is already there, quietly eating lunch with his book under his elbow. He looks up and goes very still. “Decade. Diend. Should I assume that the world is ending?”

“Relax, nothing’s going on, Sougo invited us for lunch.”

Daiki looks at least as startled as Woz. “You’re still hanging around?”

Tsukasa looks slightly pleased, possibly that for once Daiki’s been visibly caught off-guard. “He lives here, baby, he works for Sougo’s uncle, didn’t Geiz ever mention?”

Woz continues to eye them both warily. “If my–if Sougo invited you…good afternoon, then.”

“Yeah, this is my friend from the library, the one I told you about, he got me to register for the entrance exam?” Sougo sits down next to him, and Geiz sits down on the other side of Sougo, and Woz relaxes visibly. “And you remember the other guy, from the stuff with the thing with Geiz, apparently they know each other. Which I think I knew, but you know how weird it all is.”

“Yes, I…suppose I do.”

Tsukuyomi sits down across from Woz and pulls the white Ride Watch out of her pocket. “Also, speaking of knowing things, you know all kinds of stuff, who’s Kamen Rider Femme?”

Woz stares at the Watch in her hands. “Is that a Femme Ride Watch? I’d never expected to see one.”

Tsukasa and Daiki glance at each other, and Tsukasa actually grins, openly and with cheer. “You know, I think I feel pretty good about our kids.”

“All of them? Those two are my kids, Sougo’s all yours. And if Woz is still here then he’s his own thing, which is probably good for him after all that other stuff.” Daiki reaches over and flicks a speck of dust off of Tsukasa’s lapel. “So are we sitting down to lunch?”

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Shunpei nods, almost dizzy from breathlessness, face flushed. His teeth are digging into his lower lip, but his eyes are wide. Haruto’s arms around his waist are the only thing keeping him steady. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m definitely sure.”

Beneath him, Kosuke lets out a long breath and says, “I think maybe I need a minute.”

“Sure, of course.” A beat, and then Haruto stage-whispers into Shunpei’s ear, “We’ve been dating for almost a year now and he still gets really excited about me just taking my clothes off, apparently you have the same effect on him.”

“Look, baby, I’m a simple guy, I think it’s exciting when a hot guy gets naked in front of me.” Kosuke sounds almost exasperated, but it’s undercut by the thunderstruck look on his face. “It’s not like it’s less exciting when it’s two hot guys.”

His fingers curl against Shunpei’s thighs, which–he’s got calluses, and somehow that’s a sexy thing, especially when compared to Haruto’s hands, which are much softer and also on Shunpei’s body. And he’s looking at Shunpei like…

Shunpei’s not sure if he’s ever actually felt attractive before. It’s a good feeling, good enough to laugh about, and when Kosuke’s forehead wrinkles in distress he says, “No, no, it’s, you look really. Cute? That’s not the right word. This is a lot right now and the way you’re looking at me is. It’s.”

“It’s nice, right?” Haruto’s mouth is still right next to his ear, which is great, because it means he can feel the smile. “He gets this look on his face, it’s great.”

“Hey, you’re not allowed to just, to just talk about me when we’re all naked like this.”

“You needed a minute, though, we had to talk about something.”

“I don’t need any more minutes, I’m good, please, I’m gonna go nuts looking at you two up there.”

Shunpei holds back another laugh, and Haruto says, “Ok, then if Shunpei’s–”

“Yes. Definitely.” And Shunpei shifts his weight a little and lets himself sink down as Haruto holds him steady, and is gratified by the look of shocked ecstasy on Kosuke’s face.

Chapter Text

Micchi finds that he’s lost his taste for oranges.

He never had much fondness for grapes, really, so that one wasn’t a loss. Expected, even–his brother used to eat sliced melon at breakfast, and now he can barely look at the stuff. The only time Jounouchi’s sweets are even slightly off now is when they have nuts in them, because he can’t taste them as he works. That’s the common scar, the one none of them escaped, and the one none of them can explain to outsiders. Transformation via Lockseed leaves a lingering taste in the mouth, which becomes unbearable outside of that context.

He hadn’t expected it to happen with oranges too. He never used that one. And it’s a problem, he thinks, perhaps childishly, because he likes orange juice, or at least he did. It doesn’t make sense, it isn’t fair.

Then, though–he’s hiding in the corner at Drupers, trying not to stare at a group of Beat Riders sitting across the shop. Trying, but not succeeding. They’re talking, they’re laughing, members of several teams together, and at someone else’s insistence Zack takes a sip of some ridiculous banana-and-mango concoction and the color drains from his face.

And Micchi thinks,

Oh.

The sense of loss goes from childish petulance to an unbearable weight in seconds. He flees, only stopping long enough to tell Bandou to charge his card, and to cover whatever the Beat Riders order too. He’s not sure where he’s going, but he needs to not be here.

He ends up at one of the public stages–not the one Team Gaim’s always liked best, but the one Baron always used to colonize, with the little amphitheater. It’s quiet, as it should be. Most of the Beat Riders are at Drupers, after all. Not a lot of other people out there either. He sits on the ground against the fence, breathing hard even though he didn’t really run, and shuts his eyes.

It’s not so bad, he thinks. It could be worse. Kouta’s not dead. He’s just…

Gone.

He lifts his face to the sun and lets the light filter through his eyelids so that all he sees is pink darkness. Maybe someday it’ll wear off and he’ll be able to drink orange juice again, maybe someday he’ll come down to breakfast and Takatora will be having sliced melon and Jounouchi will finally manage that vanilla-almond cake recipe he’s always cursing at. It hasn’t been that long, after all. The aftereffects may not be permanent.

The sunlight intensifies, the pink darkness lightens, and he hears a voice that seems to be simultaneously immeasurably far away and right inside his head. “Hey, I’m not, like. Gone gone. If you need me.”

“I miss you,” Micchi says, feeling the phantom sting of citrus in his unexpectedly rough throat.

“I miss you too. Hey, there’s an eclipse coming up in a couple of weeks, maybe I could visit for a few hours.”

“That’d…that’d be really nice.” Micchi smiles despite himself, eyes still closed, sun still warm on his skin. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll check and see when it is, then. I have to go for now, but I’ll let you know.” And he’s gone again, and Micchi’s alone with his back to the fence and his face still raised to the sky.

His mouth is full of the taste of oranges, sweet and sharp and perfect.

Chapter Text

The memories come in bursts and flashes, never coherent, never consistent. Sougo passes a building he’s never visited and sees a man in a dark suit with a red feather in his pocket, holding out a hand. A cafe sign makes him think, confusingly, of physics class; one time, biking past the hospital, he’s sure he hears a train whistle, although he’s nowhere near any tracks.

One time he remembers Geiz dying. Maybe Geiz remembers that too, but Sougo doesn’t ask him. He remembers Geiz dying, and his fingers twitch, and for a brief second the Driver on top of his dresser looks like it’s turned gold. The moment passes, but the remembered sensation remains, Geiz dying and a fist of anger closing around his heart.

The memories are mostly unclear, but Sougo knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is something he did to himself.

It’s half past two in the morning. He can’t sleep. The poster of the Great Unifiers on his wall stares down at him, Oda Nobunaga’s painted mouth seeming to sneer. He’s got the university entrance exams in two weeks, thanks to Mr. Kadoya–Tsukasa, he said stop calling him Mr. Kadoya–getting him to register. He should be resting, or at least studying.

He gets up and pads downstairs to the kitchen in his pajamas. Maybe there’ll be ice cream in the refrigerator or something.

He’s sitting on the couch eating pistachio ice cream directly from the container when Woz wanders in, book under his arm as always, looking weirdly vulnerable in his pajamas with no scarf and his hair down. Woz doesn’t notice him, and then does, and jumps, and says, voice still thick with sleep, “My dem–ah. My. Sougo? What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs and holds out the pint and his spoon. “Ice cream? If I eat this whole thing myself I’m gonna be sick.”

Woz stares at him for a moment, looking confused, and then nods and sits down on the couch next to him and takes the ice cream. “Thank you.”

Sougo waits until he’s had a few spoonfuls of ice cream before saying, “I keep remembering little bits of things. Do you think I’ll ever get all of it back?”

Woz stares into the pint of ice cream. “I couldn’t say. Everything about this situation is new to me. But given that there have already been events that should have triggered your memories to come back, I suspect. No.” He eats another spoonful. “No, I don’t think you’ll get all of them back. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Anyway, I’m not sure I want to remember all of it.”

“That’s…not unreasonable, I suppose. It was a very difficult year.”

“So do you keep calling me ‘my king’ because you’re humoring me, or was I actually a king?”

Woz’s shoulders go tense. “That’s a very complicated question.”

“I mean, it’s not like either of us has to be anywhere in a hurry, it’s almost three in the morning.”

“…in the previous timeline. Or in a previous timeline, at least, perhaps not that one by the end of it. You were, or became, my king, the Great Demon King Zi-O, inheritor of the power of all Kamen Riders, master of time and ruler of the world.”

Sougo frowns. “That doesn’t sound…fantastic.”

“You were all-powerful and merciless.“

“Yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound like me.”

“It was another you, in another life.” Woz glances at him sidelong. “Perhaps not this you, in this life. This timeline is very different.”

“I mean, that’s definitely not the kind of king I want to be.” Sougo watches him takes another bite of ice cream. “But, so, in the last one. The one I keep remembering bits of.”

“Yes?”

“Did I ever get to do normal things? You know, like.” Sougo cuts off for a moment before saying, “Did the world end before I’d even kissed someone?”

There’s a very long silence, and Sougo realizes that Woz has started blushing seconds before he says, “The world didn’t end. You chose, in your wisdom, to reshape it into someplace hopefully kinder.”

“That’s kinda comforting, but also not what I asked.” Although he’s getting an idea of the answer, if the way Woz’s blush keeps getting worse is anything to judge by.

Woz sort of shrinks into his pajama shirt, which is a hand-me-down from Sougo’s uncle and hangs very loose on him, and also manages to simultaneously hide behind his hair. It’s impressive. “No, it did not.”

“So who’d I kiss? It wasn’t Tsukuyomi, was it? Because I know I changed a lot of stuff but I’m pretty sure I was still, you know, gay in the other timeline, and also I think she prefers girls. Although if I was into girls she does seem like she’d be nice to kiss.” He’s definitely figured it out by now, and maybe he’s being a little mean, teasing Woz like this when the guy’s just getting redder and redder, but he’s so cute. “And I don’t think it was Geiz, although don’t get me wrong, I totally would.”

Woz doesn’t answer, just puts aside the ice cream container and the spoon and stares straight ahead, blushing furiously.

“You know, I feel like it’s kind of unfair that you get to remember my first kiss and I don’t.”

“…it was also mine.”

Sougo feels his own face go hot. “Oh. Well, that’s different.”

Woz reaches for the ice cream container again. “I’ll go throw this–”

“No, wait.” Sougo catches his wrist. “I–look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get on your case, it’s super late at night and this is all weird for both of us.”

“That’s…one way of putting it, yes.”

“But also do you. Uh.” Sougo glances away. “Want to do it again?”

“Do…what?” Woz doesn’t look at him. His ears are bright red. It’s unspeakably cute.

“Kiss me. For the first time. Again.”

Woz sounds slightly strangled as he says, “I’d like that very much, actually.”

His lips are cold from the ice cream. Admittedly Sougo’s probably aren’t much warmer. For a moment there’s a dizzying sense of déjà vu, but no flash of memory, no clear image of doing this before. Somehow that’s a relief.

Then one of Sougo’s hands lands on the book, balanced on Woz’s knees, and that feels even more intimate than kissing, and they both pull back at one, red-faced and shy.

“We should, I should try to get some sleep, or else Uncle might wake up and walk in on us.”

Woz swallows hard. “That’s…sound. I should do the same, I have delicate work to do for Tokiwa-shishou in the morning and I’ll need to be rested.”

They both stand up and awkwardly head upstairs together, parting ways at the top of the staircase, the empty ice cream container and spoon forgotten.

Chapter Text

Really, Sora thinks, it would probably be better not to contemplate how much time he’s spent trying to figure out the ring mage.

He has a brief memory of the man, of course, from the Sabbath. Sora’s always had a vivid memory, but the ring mage stood out even during that murky and confused time–back arched in pain, mouth so wide from screaming that it looked as if he’d planned to swallow the darkened sun. It had painted a striking picture, one Sora had filed away as someone to look up later. And then he’d become something far more interesting than a Phantom, most of whom are unfortunately boring beyond belief. Misa could be fun, perhaps, if she unbent a bit, maybe wore a bit more white, but the rest are dull, dull, dull.

Souma Haruto, however, is a puzzle that it would be a pleasure to take apart and put back together.

Sora finds a place to sit, a vantage point with a clear downward view of that cute little doughnut cart, and sharpens his swords. They don’t need sharpening, but he likes to do it, the gesture is relaxing. Haruto is below, strolling up to the cart, getting his usual order, why does he never want any of those fascinating specials? Does he crave simplicity so badly?

Although an uncomplicated sweetness is appealing sometimes.

Oh, he’s getting a whole bag of doughnuts today, perhaps he’s bringing some back to Miss Puppet and his other adorable friends.

Sora puts the hilts of his swords together and closes them, slowly, enjoying the smooth nose of shears just as much now as when he was just Takigawa Sora, stylist to the middle-class and bored. That sweet shk of blades moving against each other, an uncomplicated sweetness of sound and motion as he looks down at Haruto, and Haruto’s hands with their rings. Why should he have been the one to come out of the Sabbath with such a gift?

Not that Sora minds being Gremlin, of course, but being a mage seems so much more versatile.

Perhaps once he’s dealt with Wiseman and gotten the Stone he can spend some time taking the ring mage apart and find out what makes him so special.

Chapter Text

Takatora is drinking a coffee and reading the paper when Micchi comes down to breakfast, a plate of toast and sliced fruit untouched on the table beside him. He looks up at the sound of Micchi’s footsteps and blinks before saying, “Good morning, Mitsuzane. You look…well today.”

Micchi shrugs. “I slept well, I guess.” He’s still fairly sleepy, actually; it takes most of his concentration just to put together a plate for himself, toast and a poached egg, an apple, a glass of water. “Anything interesting going on in the news?”

“Fortunately, no.”

They don’t sit near each other, but that’s fine–at least Micchi no longer flinches in his brother’s presence, waiting for a judgment that never comes. He sits and stares contemplatively into space, breaking his egg onto his toast, thinking of very little.

He slept well. He had good dreams.

(the world filled with golden light and the smell of flowers, dance, laughter)

He takes a bite of toast, savoring the delicacy of the egg on top of it. It tastes delicious. Like…sunshine, he wants to say, although he’s never exactly been a poetic person.

(”You still can’t drink orange juice, can you? You mentioned that.”

“Yeah, it’s just…but I can smell it now, without wanting to gag. It’s nice.”)

He finishes his toast far more quickly than he’d intended and goes back for another slice and another egg, eats them too fast again, and decides, maybe he should give it a rest. He’s still got an apple, and it’s got a satisfying crunch when he bites into it.

(They didn’t get much farther than kissing, really, but that’s fine, the kisses were good, being kissed was good, being held was good, arms around him and no silver breastplate or snowy robe in the way, a grin that he misses sorely when he’s awake.)

He eats his apple and stares vaguely out the window, lost in the memory of his dream. That is, until he sees something moving, and realizes that it’s a vine climbing up the side of the window frame outside and bursting into vivid purple blooms as he watches.

For a moment he stares at it, and then bursts into a fit of laughter that he has to muffle with another mouthful of apple. Still, once he’s swallowed, he does say, quietly, “That is so corny and you know it.”

Takatora looks up from his newspaper. “Hm?”

“Ah. Nothing.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve actually heard you laugh in at least a year.” Takatora puts his newspaper aside and finally picks up a slice of orange–unfair, unfair, but somehow today it doesn’t sting as badly. “You’ve got classes today, right?”

Micchi nods, taking yet another bite to stifle a giggle as the vine of purple flowers outside the window shakes as if it’s laughing too. “Yeff,” he says into the apple. “I mean, yes. I do. Have classes today, I mean.”

A slow nod, and Takatora squints at him for a moment and then says, “You might, ah. Want to pull your collar up a bit today.”

Micchi frowns. “…why?”

Takatora taps the side of his neck with a finger, down near his shoulder.

It’s confusing, and then Micchi claps a hand to his own neck, feeling his face go hot at the memory of a mouth on his skin. It was a dream, he thinks, but no, he knows perfectly well it wasn’t just a dream, and so maybe it’s had a…physical effect. All he says is, “Yes, right, uh. Thanks. I. Fell out of bed in the middle of the night when I got up for some water. I wouldn’t want people to worry.”

The vine outside the window shakes harder. He’s definitely being laughed at.

He takes another bite of apple and surreptitiously makes a rude gesture at the largest purple flower, which dips a little in a teasing bow. He can’t exactly say anything out loud with his brother right here, but he tries as hard as he can to think at it, “You could have warned me that you might leave an actual physical mark.”

“I didn’t know that was going to happen,” echoes Kouta’s voice in his head. But he still sounds like he’s laughing.

Chapter Text

Daiki looks around Schwartz’s throne room and says, cheerfully, “Right, this definitely looks like somewhere you’d hang out while trying to prevent the ascendancy of an evil king.”

Schwartz gives him a level stare. “You think I’m interested in your opinion of my design sense?”

“Just making conversation.”

“You’re flippant.”

Daiki bows mockingly. “I do my best. You said you had information about another interesting treasure.”

“Yes. There will be a battle soon, in which your…treasure…will be in play. And if you successfully steal it, I will give you another one.”

“I think I’ve gotten more detailed tips from passing squirrels. You’re on thin ice, you know, the last couple of treasures I got on your info went missing pretty quickly.” Daiki leans back against the wall, crosses his arms over his chest, and tries his best not to twitch under Schwartz’s steady, drill-like gaze. “Also, I don’t think you’re clear on how I don’t work for you.”

A raised eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Daiki finds himself wishing for company–and not for Tsukasa’s, this isn’t the low-level ache he’s used to. He wishes, desperately, for Yuusuke, and for Yuusuke’s sweet smile and warm presence and rock-solid confidence in the ability of goodness to triumph. “I’m here for treasure, and because you made a good case for how this Demon King Zi-O character needs to be stopped. I’m not your pet thief.”

The eyebrow goes higher, and now, especially in this elaborate private throne room, it’s very striking that Schwartz chooses to wear royal purple. “I don’t think you appreciate your position here, Kaitou Daiki.”

Daiki almost laughs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He keeps his arms crossed and tries to imagine Yuusuke next to him, solid and steady. “I’m just trying to follow the examples I’ve been given, you know? Sometimes you have to do terrible things to save the world.”

Chapter Text

Tsukasa and Daiki walk together, close but not quite touching, and then Daiki glances down the street and his eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

“What? What?” Tsukasa twists to look at Daiki, who’s stepped behind him, and then looks down the street himself and says, “Oh. Shit.”

“You have got to talk to that kid about distinguishing between, say, people who tried to kill him but could maybe be rehabbed and people who tried to kill everyone and who should therefore be erased from the timeline.”

“You’ve met Sougo, baby, I don’t think he could erase someone from the timeline if he wanted to. He’s so nice that it hurts.” Tsukasa rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Stop hiding behind me, it’s just going to get his attention more.”

“Geiz could,” Daiki says, irritably, and moves out from behind Tsukasa again.

Unfortunately, the target of their attention is now close enough to speak to, and he stops, peering at them curiously. He is, of course, wearing a purple shirt and tie, and he pauses on the sidewalk and says, “Pardon me, you wouldn’t be talking about Myoukouin Keito and Tokiwa Sougo, would you? Are you friends of theirs?”

Tsukasa eyes him uneasily for a moment before saying, “I’m Sougo’s…cousin. Kadoya Tsukasa. And you are?”

“Ah, I didn’t know that Sougo had other family apart from his uncle. I was their high school principal. Schwartz.” Schwartz holds out a hand, and after a bare second’s pause Tsukasa shakes hands with him. “I’ve been wondering how they’re both doing, since as I recall they had some…interesting life plans.”

Daiki shakes hands with him as well, clearly–at least to Tsukasa–suppressing the urge to flinch. “People don’t change that quickly.”

Schwartz nods thoughtfully at that and says, “That’s a good point. Good day to you both.”

He moves on down the street, and Tsukasa and Daiki start walking again, Daiki waiting until he’s out of earshot to say, “We’re going to have to keep an eye on him. I don’t trust that he hasn’t also gotten his memories back.”

“Yeah. We’ll talk to the kids about it.”

Once Tsukasa and Daiki are out of earshot, Schwartz stops, takes a moment to adjust his tie, and reaches into his jacket to touch the blank Another Watch he has tucked into its inner pocket. “They’re going to be an issue.”

Chapter Text

“Gotou-channnnn,” is the cheerful trill over the phone, “I miss you!”

Gotou stares blearily at his phone. “Date, did you drunk-dial me from Africa?”

“Nah.”

“So you’re not drunk?”

“Oh, no, I’m definitely drunk, but I’m not in Africa. Torkia Republic.”

“You’re in…” It’s a little tricky to run a search like this, still half-asleep and with the screen brightness up way too high for three-thirty in the morning. “Somewhere in eastern Europe? Why?”

“Helping out a friend–well, friend of a friend of a friend, one of Hino’s buddies asked me to keep an eye out for a guy he knows who’s traveling. And I know a guy, he’s getting a clinic set up, it’s a mess here, so I figured I’d stick around for a little bit and help him out a little.”

Finally, Gotou manages to turn the brightness down to a less eye-searing level. He’s a little angry, honestly, Date knows perfectly well about the time difference–and then he takes a closer look at some of the news items coming up on the search. “It’s that bad there?”

Date doesn’t answer for a minute, and then he says, “I treated a patient today with some kinda vines growing out of his arm. He was fifteen. Apparently Hino’s pal God fixed the worst of it, that guy’s got some stuff going on, but these kids’ve been killing each other in there for years. Whole capital city collapsed and they’ve just been living underground ever since while the creeps who run the place turn them into monsters for fun.”

Gotou’s skin crawls. “Which is why you’re drunk-dialing me even though you know perfectly well it’s three in the morning here.”

“I’ve been doing this whole doctor-without-borders thing for years, you know? And there’s still things that just. Fuck my head up.” A pause, in which Gotou can hear a gurgling sound that’s probably Date taking another swig of whatever he’s drinking. “Sometimes I miss when it was us two and Hino, there’s a monster, we fight the monster, we beat the monster, day’s saved, there you go. I think once I know my buddy’s got things set here I’m gonna come back to Japan for a little bit.”

It takes a little more fumbling to turn on the bedside light. “I’d…I’d like that. It’d be good to see you.”

“Be good to see you too, Gotou-chan.” And then Date’s tone abruptly brightens. “Hey, I got a good idea, I’m gonna fly back to Japan and pick you up and we’ll go on vacation somewhere. Somewhere romantic. Or with good street food. Maybe both. What do you think? You, me, swanky hotel room with a big bed and a nice view?“

Gotou’s face goes hot. “I, uh. I just renewed my passport.” Which wasn’t what he was planning on saying, but of course it wasn’t, Date just has that effect on people.

“Awesome! Here, lemme Google it or something…hm, lessee, ‘top ten sexy vacation spots’–hey, we could go to America, get married in a casino or something. Oh, also, I saw these real cute chickens earlier, I gotta send you a picture–”

The phone buzzes, and thankfully Gotou can say, “Date, those are mandarin ducks,” so he can avoid responding to the rest of it. He’s probably going to be blushing for the next week.

Chapter Text

Philip is nearly breathless with excitement when Parad pixelates into the front room of the agency, barely managing to get through introductions–”You’ve met Shoutaro, this is our boss Akiko, those are her children Yuji and Haruna.”– before going to, “It’s wonderful to see you again, I’m delighted that you were willing to come, thank you. Do you have bones?”

Shoutaro nearly chokes, torn between trying to get Akiko to put down her slipper and saying, “Philip, you can’t just lead with that kind of–” but Parad is entirely unfazed. “Yeah, Snipe x-rayed me once, he says I’ve got the normal number of bones. He was kind of mad about it, actually, I think he was hoping I’d be full of electricity or slime or something.”

“Philip!” Akiko gets her outraged squawk under control only halfway through his name. “Who is this?”

Philip blinks at her. “This is Parad. He works with Ex-Aid. Didn’t I mention that he was going to be visiting today?”

“I had assumed he would be coming by motorcycle, if he’s a Rider. I wasn’t expecting him to just…just…materialize!”

“I don’t know how to drive,” Parad says, helpfully.

“He doesn’t know how to drive.”

“Well, you could have warned me!”

“I thought I did. I told you he was going to be visiting so that I could ask him some questions about the specifics of Bugster physiology.”

“That doesn’t, that doesn’t tell me anything, Philip.”

Yuji, his sister hiding slightly behind him, looks up at Parad and says, solemnly, “Bugster means you’re a video game. Dad said. Do you know how to play Minecraft?”

Parad blinks. “Yes.”

“Can you go in a Minecraft game? Do you wanna go in my Minecraft game? What video game are you from? Why do your pants have Tetris on them? Are you from Tetris? Do you know Freddy Fazbear?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Dad says I do it to aggravate him.”

“Why, doesn’t your dad like to answer questions?”

Shoutaro glances at Akiko and her bubbling, vibrating offense and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, boss, come on, I’ll make you some coffee and you can yell at me about how bad it is, Philip and Parad are probably going to be talking for a couple of hours.” At Philip’s grateful look, “Please make sure to use your inhaler if you’re going to be doing any look-ups, partner? I’ll bring you guys some lunch in a bit–Parad, is there anything you’d like for lunch?”

“I don’t need to eat, you don’t need to get me anything,” Parad says cheerfully, “but if you’ve got a ribbon jelly that’d be very nice, please.”

“Ah…all right, I can grab a ribbon jelly, and some takoyaki for Philip.”

“Here, right this way.” Philip heads for the garage door. “So you don’t need to eat, but you can eat?”

Parad nods, following behind him. “Yeah, if I feel like it. Mostly I like stuff that’s bright colors. And really spicy things, it drives M nuts when we get takeout.”

The last thing the others hear as the door closes behind them is, “So where does the food you eat go, then?”

Two and a half hours and one very easy lost cat case later, Shoutaro comes down to the garage with a ribbon jelly for Parad and takoyaki and coffee for Philip and finds that Philip has covered all of his whiteboards and several sections of wall with notes. “I’m going to start buying you those scented markers for kids, partner,” he says as he comes down the steps, “the ink smell in here is awful–is that Haruna’s Rubik’s cube?”

“You never used to mind the ink smell, are you getting sensitive in your old age? But scented markers would probably be an improvement.” Philip flashes him a smile before returning his gaze to the other cube that Parad is holding. “Yes, Haruna was kind enough to lend it to me. Parad is teaching me how to make patterns on it.”

Parad’s hands move very quickly; it’s clear to Shoutaro that he’s making an effort to slow himself down for the benefit of human eyes. It’s mesmerizing, actually, watching patterns ripple across the cube’s surface as he turns the sides. “I’ve got a couple of larger ones at home,” he says, his own gaze fixed on what he’s doing. “But the regular one is easier to start with.”

Philip accepts the little tray of takoyaki from Shoutaro with a smile, and then an affectionate head-bump to his hand. “I’ve learned a number of compelling details about how Bugsters function today. Unfortunately their original creator is no longer available for questions, but Parad tells me that this is for the best. His files have been retained by the Ministry of Health, Parad’s going to see if he can get me copies for further study. I may have to sign waivers.” Then he falls silent as he pops an entire takoyaki into his mouth.

“What…kind of waivers? Here, ribbon jelly for you.”

Parad grins crookedly at him and starts to shake the bottle, his other hand continuing to turn the faces of the Rubik’s cube. “Thank you, W. He’ll probably have to sign something promising he won’t use Genm’s notes to destroy the world or start going around saying he’s God. You know. Rider stuff.”

“I’m sorry, did you say God?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t, really, but he said he was.”

Philip swallows his takoyaki. “According to my research, a Kamen Rider becomes a god or god-like being approximately once per decade. Frankly I’m pleased that it wasn’t us, I don’t think I’m suited for it.”

Shoutaro sits down heavily on the nearest chair. “That’s…ok, kind of a relief, but also I’m a little worried. It’s not just Kouta?”

“Oh, yeah, M met the last guy a while ago.” Parad takes a sip of his ribbon jelly. “Apparently he’s pretty nice.”

“If the pattern continues, we’re due for another one in approximately three and a half years.” Philip eats another takoyaki whole and then abruptly starts turning the faces of his borrowed Rubik’s cube, a pattern blooming underneath his fingers.

Parad claps delightedly. “You pick up on this stuff quickly.”

Philip nods emphatically. “I enjoy intellectual challenges with a physical component. Do you have an email address?”

“Yeah, kinda, they just sort of come to my head but I can read them.”

“Really? You’ll need to tell me more about that, do you have some way to visualize them?”

Shoutaro pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m guessing you might need me to bring you dinner, too.”

Chapter Text

Ivy pulls down walls as surely as it beautifies them, and even after Helheim’s spreading tendrils have been fully withdrawn, Zawame remains a damaged place. Streets crumble where roots plunged through them; walls are cracked and unstable. Several buildings collapse, although fortunately there are no casualties.

No more casualties. There have already been so many.

The first time Takatora sees his brother smile is nine months after the end of the world. Their relationship’s been improving, slowly. They can now make eye contact without one or both of them flinching, at least, and sometimes they can converse for more than five minutes. They don’t talk about much, but it’s a start, especially since they hadn’t been talking much even before everything started happening.

But–seven months after the end of the world, something happens that Takatora’s not entirely clear on, and after that Mitsuzane starts spending time with the Beat Riders again. Actually spending time with them, too, not just going and watching them perform from a distance as Takatora knows he’s been doing. It’s a little tentative, he’s rarely out for long, but slowly names begin to come up in conversation. This person is working on new choreography, that one is going to America for a bit, two more are looking for work.

(Takatora ends up hiring both of them. He’s needed a personal assistant for some time, and reconstruction efforts are time-consuming enough that it turns out he actually needs two, one to be nice to visitors and one to intimidate them when he really can’t be interrupted.)

Nine months after the end of the world, Mitsuzane looks up at breakfast and says, “You know the new community center? The construction’s almost finished, the Beat Riders are going to be helping to decorate it this weekend. There are going to be dance classes there, Peko talked to the new director about teaching some.”

“I remember hearing some mention of that.” From Rica, actually, as she’d been running through his upcoming meetings and appointments. “Will you be going?”

Mitsuzane stares into his glass of water. “I’m…I’m not sure. Peko invited me.”

“Well.” Takatora generally tries to refrain from giving his brother advice at this point; he bites down on the urge to say, I think you should go. “I’m very happy to see that the Beat Riders are taking such an interest in the rebuilding efforts.”

Unsurprisingly, there are appointments that have slipped Takatora’s mind. On Saturday, after a stern reminder from Mei, he finds himself on a tour of that selfsame new community center. A project director talks his ear off, and he makes an effort to pay attention while examining the reinforced walls–”plant-resistant, the contractors tell us”–and gleaming new windows. It’s an effort, but he’s smiled and nodded and taken in the basics at enough tours like this that he can at least not embarrass himself.

And then he hears the music. “Where’s that coming from?”

“Right, yes, those are the meeting spaces and classrooms. The, ah, local dance groups have volunteered to assist us, they’re doing some painting today. Here, there’s no need to go in, the interiors aren’t much different in those–”

“No, I’d like to see, actually.”

“Well. If you like, Mr. Kureshima.”

The project director leads him over to an open door, and through it the first thing Takatora sees is someone’s cell phone, hooked up to a speaker. That’s where the music’s coming from, and it’s a tune he vaguely recognizes. Past that, there’s a group of brightly-dressed people, mostly a bit older than his brother, hair up in bandanas, painting the walls and ceiling, talking and laughing. Some of them he recognizes as Mei’s teammates from their matching glasses. Others are dressed in neat black and red, their sleeves rolled up to guard against the paint that’s nevertheless getting on their shoes. Clearly this has been treated as an occasion for uniforms. There are a few young men in black and yellow, a few more in riotously colorful t-shirts and hoodies.

And in the middle of the room, there’s another of those trim black-and-red types, a grinning young man in a red hat, and there’s Mitsuzane, with a bandana for his own hair and a smudge of paint on his nose.

“See,” the one in the hat is saying, “it’s sweep, and drop, and spin, and you put your hand on your chest–”

Mitsuzane is smiling. Mitsuzane is almost laughing. Not just the smile, Takatora hasn’t seen his brother actually laugh in years. “I think that only looks good when you guys do it, your outfits make everything look dramatic, I’m wearing a hoodie.”

“No, seriously! It looks good when anyone does it, it’s not just Baron.”

“I’ll believe that when I–” Mitsuzane looks up and sees Takatora and freezes.

Takatora lifts a hand hesitantly, because everyone else has also noticed his brother’s sudden stillness and are now turning to look at him. “Good afternoon. I don’t mean to interrupt, I’m just getting a tour.”

There’s a tense pause, and then–Mitsuzane gestures to the half-painted walls and smiles again, more shyly than before but still present, nearly the smile Takatora remembers from when they were both much younger. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think you’re making a lot of progress, and I’ll be excited to see the finished product.” The project director is gesturing at time. “Unfortunately I’m on a time limit right now, but good luck with the rest of your day.”

His brother is still smiling as the project director hustles Takatora on, and the young man in the hat is waving cheerfully. The project director says, “We were a little concerned about this, I’m sure you know that the dance groups have a…dubious reputation, but it seems to be going well.”

“I have nothing but faith that they’ll do an excellent job.” Takatora suppresses the urge to smile himself. “I’d vouch for them personally any day.”

Chapter Text

[baby if i have to look at this bibliography for five more minutes i’m gonna die]

[I’m sure you won’t die. You wanted this, remember?]

[yeah i know but like that was before i remembered how many papers i was gonna have to write]

[Poor you. Anything I can do?]

[well id ask you to bring me 🍩🍩🍩 but im at the library]

No reply at first, and so Kosuke goes back to bashing his head against the footnotes for his research paper. Then, though, his phone buzzes again, and when he reads the message his eyes go wide. [Give me 10 minutes.]

[NO WAY]

[please *please* get me one of the specials ill do *anything*]

[I’m going to hold you to that.]

Kosuke stares at his phone for a moment and then scrambles to shuffle his notebooks and papers into his bag.

The next carrel belongs to one of Professor Sorrel’s grads, whose name Kosuke thinks is Tanaka or Terauchi or something, leans over the top of the divider and says, “What’s the hurry? is the world ending?”

“Big emergency. Doughnuts are happening. If the librarians catch me with food in here again they’ll kill me.”

“What’s happening?”

But Nitoh is already gone, running out of the library with his backpack jouncing against his back.

He skids to a stop in the middle of the lawn outside the library, nearly running into a group of girls that he recognizes just in time as some of the undergrads in one of his advisor’s classes. They crowd out of his way, giggling at his, “‘scuse me, girls, big hurry, real important business.” [outside the library baby please say youre coming]

[On my way, just clear a space]

“Girls, if you could please back up a little–”

The grass is suddenly bathed in red light, and one of the girls jumps back with a scream, and then says, “Ok, wait, is that a guy?”

Haruto’s head pokes through the Connect portal, shortly followed by the rest of him and, to Kosuke’s overwhelming relief, a white paper bag with the Hungry Donuts logo. He nods to the group of staring girls. “Afternoon, ladies.” Then, to Kosuke, “Owner nearly fainted when I asked her for a special, you should write her a letter.”

Kosuke already has his bottle of mayonnaise out. “Baby, I am gonna marry you.”

“Sure, after you finish your degree.” Haruto passes over a doughnut studded with candied cherries and topped with slices of almond and then pulls out a plain sugar one for himself. “Maybe you should introduce me?”

The undergrads are gaping at them. Further down across the lawn other passing students have also stopped to stare as Kosuke swallows his first mouthful of doughnut and says, “Yeah, uh, hi, girls, this is Haruto, he’s a wizard.”

One of them nods solemnly, wide-eyed. Another one says, “So does this mean you actually got cursed by an artifact you found at a dig site?”

Haruto nearly chokes on his own doughnut. “You told them about that? I thought you were joking.”

“Yeah, I mean, it seemed like it was worth bringing up, dig sites aren’t exactly real safe about the whole curse thing. Anyway,” to the girls again, who are starting to take pictures with their phones, “I’m gonna marry him.”

Chapter Text

“So what’s it like, being a god?”

“It’s, uh.” Kouta’s feet kick against the wall they’re sitting on, a slow, fidgety motion. “It’s not really much, you know? I mean, probably it’ll be more later, when we figure out people. Or at least evolution, I guess. I wasn’t ever super good with biology in school, I told Mai I’d get us, like, an anatomy book or something.”

Micchi turns to him with an incredulous look. “You’re seriously telling me that gods need textbooks?”

“Look, hey, all the fruit gave me was power! I didn’t get a manual or anything. All we’ve got is Sagara, and he’s not exactly helpful most of the time.” And then, “Hey, what’s that look supposed to be?”

“Did you…did you say Sagara? Like, DJ Sagara?”

“Wait, did I not mention? He’s like. Helheim’s brain or something. So I guess he’s probably really a tree or something, but he keeps looking like Sagara, and we’ve kept calling him that and he’s never told us not to. Actually, I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s funny.”

Micchi’s mouth works silently for a moment before he finally manages to come up with, “I knew there was something up with him when I ran into him in the forest, but I didn’t think he…”

“Was the forest? Yeah, it’s messed up. Anyway, he’s super weird about everything. And also nobody’s ever done what we’re doing, no one’s ever…tried to make Helheim not a parasite. We want it to be a place, you know? Not just a problem. So a lot of the stuff we want to know, he doesn’t know anyway.” Kouta’s eyes flash for a moment, illuminating their strange mismatched colors, and then he looks away, staring down at his feet and past his feet to the ground. “I don’t know how to be a god, you know? Neither does Mai. And it’s not like we know any other gods we can call up to ask, like, hey, how do bees work.”

He lapses into silence, and Micchi’s not sure what to say in response, so he doesn’t say anything. Since it seems like a good moment for it, he does lean against Kouta’s shoulder, and Kouta doesn’t make him move. In fact, he shifts a little bit to make things more comfortable, and wraps his arm around Micchi’s waist. He smells, as always, like fruit and flowers.

It’s quiet.

Then Micchi realizes that something’s bothering him and says, “Wait, bees?”

“Oh, yeah, Mai’s super into bees lately, and she won’t let me help because they don’t like me. We can’t figure out why. But she really wants there to be bees, because she misses honey, and it’s not like we can get any from here, it wouldn’t taste like anything.” Kouta smiles briefly. “You know what I miss? Curry. I really miss curry.” And then, smile fading, “Honestly, it’s really lonely. I wish I could visit here more often, or Mai could visit, like…at all, but it’s really difficult for her. Or that I could bring people to visit us, but even if I could it wouldn’t be safe.”

Micchi suppresses a sniff. “I–we all miss you too.” Kouta glances at him, and, “Ok, yeah, I miss you, specifically, and also everyone else misses you.”

“Yeah. It’s really unfair that–oh.”

“…Kouta?”

Kouta’s sitting up straighter, suddenly, eyes wide and suddenly vividly colored instead of dim. “I think I can show you a little of what it looks like now, even if I can’t bring you to visit. Here, hang on.”

A couple of passers-by jump back in surprise as he lifts his hand and the air starts shimmering. It’s not a big shimmer, just a round thing maybe the size of a hubcap, hanging in nothing in front of their faces. Kouta’s forehead wrinkles as he frowns, and then he twists his hand a bit and the shimmer opens, like a window, to reveal–

“Oh,” Micchi says in shock, “Helheim’s got birds now.”

“Yeah!” Kouta grins. “A few, at least. We had to make them pretty big so they can actually eat the fruit, but none of them have turned into Inves yet, so we’re pretty sure it’s working.”

“That’s. Incredibly cool.”

“Right? We did squirrels before the birds, and they’re orange, but they’re pretty cute.”

Micchi stares through the window in the air at a flying view of the great vista of Helheim, which somehow looks less eerie than it did when he walked within it. Not far away, he spots one tree that looks oddly out of place, but as the view shifts to soar over it he actually catches its scent, a sharp whiff of camphor, and decides not to ask. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Kouta’s hand is trembling, and after a moment the window vanishes. “I guess I can’t do that for too long, I’m glad I could show you a little bit of it.” His arm around Micchi’s waist tightens. “Maybe…maybe someday I’ll be able to find a way to bring you there to visit. We’re not making progress very quickly, but it’s already better than it was.”

Chapter Text

The customer arrives in the early afternoon, carrying a small box in one hand. He’s young, unfashionably dressed, his hair is pulled back in a short ponytail, and he looks tired in a way that suggests either a secret sorrow or an upcoming examination. “Is this Kujigoji Hall?”

“It is, and welcome.” Woz steps out from behind the counter. “May I assist you?”

“I–I was told that this was Tokiwa Junichiro’s establishment, I have a watch that needs to be repaired.”

“Yes, sir. I’m his apprentice.”

“Oh.” The young man blinks. “I’m sorry, it just took me by surprise.”

“Entirely understandable, sir, I haven’t been studying with him long. Very few people expect me to be here.” Woz holds out his hands. “May I see the watch, please? Once I’ve taken an initial assessment I’ll get Tokiwa-shishou.”

The watch, when Woz opens the box, is very beautiful, and of such a level of quality that he’s almost hesitant to touch it. The needed repairs are simple, but he gets Junichiro nonetheless, and Junichiro very nearly coos. “This is an extraordinary piece, young man. Although self-winding is a little unusual for someone your age, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Thank you.” The young man smiles, briefly. “It was a gift from my brother upon my acceptance to the history program at my university. He said if I was going to be studying old things I should have something old-fashioned to go with them.”

At that, Junichiro beams. “I like that. History is my nephew’s favorite subject. Well, the repairs you need shouldn’t take long, no more than forty minutes. If you have time to wait–” The young man nods. “Then I’ll take care of this right now. Woz, if you’d get our guest some tea, please?”

“Of course.” Woz tucks his book under his arm and steps away from the counter again. “Right this way, please.”

He gets their customer seated in the dining room and makes tea, conscious of the young man’s eyes following him as he moves into the kitchen and back out. His book has to stay on a side table, so that it doesn’t get splashed, but once the tea is poured he retrieves it. The customer continues to watch him.

After another minute or two of staring he says, quietly, “May I ask to what I owe the honor of your visit, Kamen Rider Ryugen?”

The young man jumps. “Where did you hear that name?”

Woz taps his book. “I know a lot of names.”

“Well…” The young man eyes the book for a moment. “I mean, I guess that’s why I’m here. This store’s a little out of the way for me, really, but I came because I heard from–um, a friend of a friend, that you might be able to answer a question I had. Well, also I heard that Mr. Tokiwa was the finest watchmaker in Japan, and I do care a lot about that watch.” A beat. “Could you sit down, please? It makes me nervous to have you hovering like that.”

“Of course.” Woz sits.

“I’m Kureshima Mitsuzane.” The young man holds out a hand across the table. “Micchi, I guess. Only my brother and my academic advisor call me Mitsuzane.”

“Woz.” His grip is surprisingly steady, for someone who looks so nervous. “As I suspect you knew. What question can I answer for you?”

Micchi doesn’t answer for a long, tense moment, and then says, “I heard that you’ve got a lot of information in your book about…the future. And alternate timelines, and things like that.”

“To an extent. Its information on the future is no longer accurate, unfortunately, but some of its other contents still stand. I hope you weren’t expecting me to predict the future for you.”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m happy with where I’m going now. But I just, I need to know…” Micchi pauses to brush a stray piece of hair out of his eyes and take a sip of tea, looking uncertain and slightly sick to his stomach. “Is. Is there a universe where. Is there a universe in which I won?”

Woz blinks, taken aback despite himself, and doesn’t open his book.

He knows its contents from cover to cover, and much more besides. After all, he is linked–not entirely of his own volition–to all the history of Kamen Riders, and can summon most of it to mind with little effort. He knows the story of Gaim, and the rare fruit that was Gaim’s prize and very nearly his current guest’s downfall.

The information that he wants is not something that Woz can find in his book.

But–he meets Kureshima Mitsuzane’s dark-eyed gaze and looks into it, and reaches into himself. This information is not in his book, but on some level it is in him. He is, perhaps unfortunately, a convergence point for the ripples of the multiverse.

He looks into Micchi’s eyes for a long, long time until he feels the knowledge click, and then he says, “No. There is no universe in which you are a ruler.” There is no universe in which you are my king.

Micchi relaxes so suddenly that he nearly spills his tea, and then looks shocked. “That’s, wow. I hadn’t realized how much I was hoping you’d say that.” A sip of tea. “Thank you. That’s…comforting to know.”

“You have no desire to rule the world?”

“I thought I did, once. But then I found out what that meant, and also I nearly killed everyone I care about, and I kind of lost my taste for it.” Micchi takes another sip of his tea and makes a face. “And I still can’t drink orange juice.”

Woz isn’t sure he understands that one, and doesn’t ask. “Then I am glad to have brought you some peace.”

“I really appreciate it.” Micchi drains the last of his cup. “This is excellent tea, by the way, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Woz stands up, feeling quietly unsettled to have been found so easily, and even more unsettled to have reached so deeply within himself. The knowledge of a multitude of alternate selves is a strange and terrible thing. “I’ll go check with Tokiwa-shishou on your watch, I imagine he’s nearly done with it. And please, have another cup of tea.”

He refills Micchi’s cup and walks back to Junichiro’s work table with his book tucked under his arm, as behind him Micchi sags with a breathless sob of, “What a relief.”

Chapter Text

Geiz returns with groceries, heads through the dining room to the kitchen, and says, “Hey, Tsukuyomi, I didn’t know you were coming over to–is Woz braiding your hair?”

Tsukuyomi doesn’t look up from her biology textbook, although it’s probably more about needing to stay still while her hair is braided than about her rapt attention to the material. “I have labs this afternoon, it keeps getting in my face during.”

“Good afternoon.” Woz also doesn’t look up; he’s focused on his work, carefully plaiting half of Tsukuyomi’s hair back into a French braid along the side of her head. “I would offer to braid yours as well, but your hair isn’t long enough.”

“I mean.” Geiz stares at them. “Thanks? I need to put these away, did Mr. Tokiwa mention he’s making karaage for dinner?”

At that Tsukuyomi actually starts to look up, although she stops moving her head when Woz taps her on the shoulder. “Oh, do you think he’d mind if I came over?”

“I think he’s expecting you to, he told me to make sure to get enough chicken for five or six people.”

Tsukuyomi makes a delighted noise, and Geiz hurries into the kitchen to put away the groceries.

When he returns, Woz has finished one braid, fastening it with a bright green elastic, and started on the other half of Tsukuyomi’s hair. It’s mesmerizing watching his fingers move, delicately picking up more and more strands from the side of Tsukuyomi’s head and weaving them together. It’s almost like meditating. Maybe now he sees what Sougo gets out of sitting next to Woz and watching him fix watches and clocks for two hours.

Finally Woz plucks the other green elastic from where it’s been sitting on top of his book on the back of the couch and fastens the end of the second braid and says, “You’re done, Tsukuyomi.”

“Thank you, Woz, I appreciate it.” She shuts her textbook, turns around to give him a considering look, and then kisses him on the cheek. “I have to get to classes, I’ll see you both later. And Geiz, you and Sougo really need to start looking at the course catalogue.” And she stands up, kisses Geiz on the cheek as well, and hurries out.

Geiz blinks, startled, and then looks over at Woz and realizes that he’s turned faintly pink. “I’m guessing that’s not something she would’ve done in the other timeline or whatever.”

“Nnno. No, very much not. That was…unexpected.” Woz reaches blindly for his book, fumbles, nearly drops it, gets a proper grip, and then stands up and almost trips over his scarf.

“Ooh, very smooth.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like the Geiz with which I’m familiar.”

Chapter Text

Being a Greeed used to mean something.

When the old king lived they were nightmares, unholy terrors, monsters of desire. They rampaged the gray world, devouring as they went. They were great. They were terrible. They were feared.

They were fucking pathetic. What did they know of desire? They were children, eating everything they touched with no appreciation of its value.

Ankh would thank Izumi Shingo, if he could bear it and Shingo could hear him. For giving him life and infusing the world with color, trading flight for the opportunity to touch and taste and–how can humans give sugared treats to children who don’t appreciate them? How do they walk past a sky filled with evening fire and not stop to stare at it? They bask in sunshine but run from a downpour, when that’s just as much a sensation to be experienced.

He used to be a terror of the skies, and his hunger was so vast that he could have consumed everything and not been satisfied. Now–he can still consume, he still wants everything, but the scope of “everything” has become so narrow as to be unrecognizable to the beast he once was. He wants everything, and everything is one human, and he is so much less than he was.

Sometimes he thinks Eiji might suspect that he’s being followed.

Being a Greeed, he thinks, combing his clawed fingers through Eiji’s hair and knowing that his touch goes unfelt, used to mean something. And now what it means is: he is the last of his kind, a ghost of want creeping in the æther, and the desires of which he is a monster today would be unrecognizable to the beast he once was.

Chapter Text

“Aren’t you a wrestler or something?”

“I do shoot fighting, that’s different.” Banjou spreads his fingers in the delicate web of knotted string, the pattern clear over his palms. “Here, now you grab–uh–” Since his hands are, of course, occupied, he points with the tip of his tongue. “’ere, ‘n ‘ere, like I showed you.”

Parad squints at the string for a moment and then reaches down and takes it from Banjou’s hands, the figure forming neatly as he slots his fingers in. “What’s the difference?”

“When I hit someone I’m always doing it on purpose, and also nobody decides who wins in advance. Or, well, nobody’s supposed to. Anyway, I used to kill time like this before matches.”

Nearby, Emu and Sento sit side by side against a column, both breathless and exhausted, leaning against each others’ shoulders with their heads tipped back. It’s getting dark, and the air is pleasantly cool, the night’s gift to tired heroes who have spent a lot of the day running around. The others are nearby, Takeru beside himself with the opportunity to talk to Kouta again and bombard him with spiritual questions that Kouta seems unprepared to answer, Gentarou with his arm around Eiji’s shoulders as Eiji takes advantage of the quiet to stare bleakly into the middle distance.

After a moment, Sento rolls his head towards Emu and says, “Your synergy with your partner is really extraordinary. How long did you say you’d known him?”

“A year and a half or so? But also sort of since I was a kid. It’s complicated.”

“He’s part of you.”

“Yeah.”

“It must have been frightening.”

“I don’t think I could tell you how much.” A solemn pause, and then suddenly Emu says, “So how long have you and Banjou been working together? Because you seem to have the whole teamwork thing down pretty well.”

Sento shrugs. “A couple of months. He gets on my nerves, honestly.”

Emu raises his eyebrows. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I–are you giving me some kind of knowing look, don’t do that.” Sento makes a face at him. “I don’t need knowing looks, it’s been a very long day.”

“He’s cute.”

Sento turns bright red and says, sounding strangled, “I…guess…?”

Emu just grins and doesn’t reply.

After a little more sputtering Sento calms down again, watching as Banjou begins to teach Parad another string figure, the Bugster’s dark head bent down low enough that it almost looks like they’re the same height. Then, slowly, with a glance toward Gentarou and Eiji, “Your world must be lucky. To have so many heroes to protect it.”

“I don’t know, it kind of feels like we’re always on the verge of some apocalypse or other.”

“I’m tempted to say that we had ours already and I’m just on the clean-up crew, but it’s looking like we might be heading towards another one.”

“I’d offer to help, but I think we’re going to have to say goodbye soon unless we want another one.”

Despite this, they spend another few minutes leaning on each other and watching Parad and Banjou trade string figures back and forth, heads together as they talk. For the moment, at least, the world isn’t ending.

Chapter Text

The worst thing about the whole situation–it doesn’t have a lot of downsides, really. He lives with one of his best friends, his other best friend is nearby, he’s got Woz, he gets to be sort of a superhero. It’s pretty good, really. Even the dreams are bearable, since mostly they’re just little bits and pieces of the other timeline.

But. The worst thing. The one bad thing, maybe.

It’s the itch in the back of Sougo’s head, the little voice that says: You already got there once. No matter how much he tries to remind himself that it was bad that time, that he doesn’t want to repeat a timeline he already changed once, the thought’s always there. You were already king once. Why did you change things?

The only response that ever silences that thought is, Geiz died. And even that doesn’t shut it up for long.

You had your chance, and then you gave it away.

It keeps him up at night.

He’d wake up Geiz, but there are things about this that he doesn’t want to explain, he doesn’t want to say that a part of him thinks maybe Geiz’s death would be a worthwhile price to pay for kingship. Woz’s unwavering belief in him is nice sometimes, but he’s just as confused by all of this as the rest of them are. Maybe he could call Tsukuyomi and she’d listen, but she’s just as likely to be annoyed with him for waking her up.

Sougo stares at his phone screen before pulling up the one contact he thinks might get it, and who he probably won’t be waking up anyway. “My sleep schedule’s always a little off anyway,” Tsukasa had said, when he typed the number into Sougo’s phone. “Call me if something’s up.”

He hits “call” and waits.

After a moment the call picks up, and a gentle voice he doesn’t recognize says, “Tsukasa’s phone.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry, I can call back later if I’m–”

Soft laughter. “It’s fine, you’re not interrupting anything. Yuzuki had a bad dream, he’s checking on her. Is everything ok? You’re Sougo, right?”

“…yeah, that’s me.” Sougo almost considers hanging up anyway, but–it’s one in the morning. He’s not going to be getting back to sleep any time soon, and maybe whoever this is who’s answering Tsukasa’s phone so late can take a message for him. Although, also, “Am I…not in his phone?”

“Not by name, all of his contacts are emojis. I had to guess. I’m Yuusuke.” A sound in the background. “Daiki says hi, by the way. What’s going on?”

Sougo feels his nose go red and is glad that no one else can see him desperately trying not to wonder what’s going on at Tsukasa’s house. “I just. Keep remembering bits of things, and–there are second chances, right? To do things the right way?”

The answer, immediately and firm, is, “Always. Why, is someone telling you there aren’t?”

“I mean, no one else. Just me.”

“There are second chances. Actually, from what Tsukasa’s told me, you’ve got a pretty good one right now. All you lost was the bad future.”

Sougo stares up at the darkness of his bedroom and his poster of the Three Unifiers. “Geiz died the first time.”

A thoughtful noise. “And part of you wonders if maybe that was required.”

“...yeah.”

“Well, I think a good rule of thumb is, if someone you care about has to die for you to get what you’re working for, that’s probably not really what you want.” More soft background noises–Daiki again, maybe. “Oh, ok, that’s–yeah, I’m pretty sure you can be king without him dying. There are better sources for power than rage, they just take some work to get to.” After a moment’s pause, “And there’s always a way to find peace.”

The rest of the house is quiet, enough that Sougo can hear himself breathing. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. Everything will be ok. No one has to die.”

“If you’re sure…thanks.” Sougo takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment. Says again, “Thanks.”

“Of course.” There’s a rustling noise. “Sounds like Tsukasa should be back in a minute, you want to wait for him?”

“Actually–actually, no. This was really helpful. Thank you, Mister–”

“Just Yuusuke. Any time. I’ll tell him you called, ok? But try to get some sleep.”

“I will. Thanks, Yuusuke. Good, uh, good night.” Sougo ends the call, puts his phone to the side, and lies back on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling. When he falls asleep, finally, he doesn’t dream of the past timeline, but he does dream of being king, in a way that he hasn’t done for months now.

And in his dream, Geiz is there with him.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Banjou says to him, both of them humming with adrenaline so powerful that Sento can nearly taste it in the air, is, “Hey, you wanna do something really stupid?”

Sento almost says, reflexively, Everything you do is stupid. He almost says, I can’t do stupid things, I’m a genius. He almost tells a hundred different pointless jokes, deflects in a thousand different directions, anything to distract himself from the aftermath of battle and the lingering ringing in his ears. There are so many things he could say.

He pops the Fullbottles out of his Driver and tucks them into pockets as his suit goes wherever it goes when he’s not wearing it, and he meets Banjou’s adrenaline-bright eyes and says, “Absolutely.”

Because they’re alive. They’re alive, and who knows how long that’ll last. They might not have a chance to do anything stupid tomorrow.

Banjou grabs his hand and tugs him down a side street that’s half-full of debris, into the doorway of an abandoned building, and drops to his knees.

“You’re right,” Sento says, breathless and fizzing as Banjou unzips his jeans, “this is a really stupid thing to do.” Not that he’s complaining, no, he’s stupidly hard even before Banjou gets his boxers open.

Banjou is looking up at him, why is he so gorgeous, is there a scientific explanation for his face? “Tell me to stop, then.”

“I am. Definitely not going to tell you that.”

“Well, but if you really think it’s so stupid–”

“Please keep going.” He reaches down and traces the line of one of Banjou’s cheekbones with his thumb, and they’re alive. They’re alive today. He’s so fucking beautiful. “Please don’t stop.”

Banjou’s mouth is so hot. There’s more temptation to make a joke, concerning dragons and fire maybe, or something about Cross-Z Magma, but honestly he’s not articulate enough right now. Not when Banjou’s on his knees like this, mouth hot and wet and the fingers of his left hand digging into Sento’s thigh, right hand between his own legs, and how’s that for something to boost Sento’s perpetually bruised but still massive ego? That he’s getting off on this?

Sento’s own hands scrabble against the concrete of the wall behind him, because he’s trying to be polite, seeing as Banjou’s doing something this stupid for him.

Footsteps out on the main street, a voice shouting for them–fuck, Kazumi’s looking for them, he’s nearby, and Sento says, out loud, “Fuck,” and then, less clearly, “Hngh. I. You’re–” Every attempt to gather his thoughts just scatters them further, like ball bearings dropped on a laboratory floor. After a moment he manages, “Banjou, you’re so fucking gorgeous that I think it should probably be illegal. It’s breaking a law of thermodynamics. I don’t know which one.”

Banjou gives him a thumbs-up, which is endearingly ridiculous when his cock is in Banjou’s mouth. It’s hard not to laugh. They’re alive, and this is a really stupid thing to be doing out here.

Kazumi’s shouting and footsteps get closer, and Sento abandons any further attempts to talk and just pants, staring down at Banjou’s bobbing head and feeling the pressure build. Although, right, it is building, it’d be polite to–”Hey, you should probably, I’m going to–”

Another thumbs-up, and a pat on the hip. He shouldn’t be allowed to do cute things in situations like this, it’s too much.

Sento comes in his mouth and for a moment the world isn’t coming to an end.

Banjou stands up, and Sento pulls him close, sticks a hand in his pants to displace his own, strokes as Banjou’s face presses against the side of his neck and Banjou says, “I don’t know what the laws of thermodynamics are.”

“Law of, law of the conservation of your face.” Sento laughs breathlessly and feels Banjou jerk against him and hears/feels the little groan he lets out, definitely feels his cock jump as he comes. “If you break it too much the world might explode.”

By the time Kazumi’s actually rounding the corner of their not-so-private side street they’re pretty much zipped up again, Sento’s kissed the white stain off of Banjou’s mouth and wiped his own hand less discreetly against the concrete. Banjou grins at him. “So how’s it feel doing something stupid once in a while, genius?”

The adrenaline’s wearing off, finally, and they’re both a little shaky; Sento has to lean on Banjou for support. That also feels good, Banjou’s arm around his waist, his arm around Banjou’s shoulders. “I’ll be honest with you, maybe you’ve got something there.”

Chapter Text

They just click.

Emu’s spent years feeling slightly…off, most of the time, in ways that he hasn’t ever been able to describe and isn’t sure he wants anyone else to know about. And then, occasionally, there have been times when he didn’t feel off, when he felt confident and brash and loud, ready to destroy any opponent in his way. Fleeting sensations, come and gone.

Now he knows where they were coming from, because he’s seen the source standing in front of him, curly hair, crooked grin, and all. Parad. His other half, in a much more literal sense than the term is normally used.

In some ways the best thing about dealing with Chronos is that, without the threat of him lurking in the background, Emu finally has a chance to properly contemplate that. He survives the battle, he survives the press conference, he survives getting mobbed by reporters after the press conference, he gets back to his apartment and falls back onto the bed and says to the presence in the back of his head, “Hey, Parad? You there?”

His hair stands on end as Parad materializes on the end of the bed, grinning. “Whenever you need me, M.” A pause, and then, in a comically deep voice, “Thou art I, and I am thou.”

Emu snorts. “You’re more like a Stand than a Persona, the way you dress.”

“I mean, I could start floating around behind you if you want, I’m pretty sure I can float if I want to, but I don’t think you’re fashionable enough to be a Jojo’s character.”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“So did you want something?”

“I just…feel like we never got a chance to actually talk, before. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I guess we do.” Parad twists and falls backward, landing next to Emu with his head resting on Emu’s upper arm. His hair brushes Emu’s cheek as he turns his head. “What do you want to know?”

Emu takes a deep breath. “Anything you want to tell me. We’ve got time.”

Parad grins at him. “Long as you tell me things too.”

“Sure, that’s fair.”

It feels correct, lying together like this, and they talk long into the night about all kinds of things, and sometimes about not much at all, which is more relaxing. When Parad finally rolls over on top of him and grabs his shirt and pulls him up into a kiss, that’s correct too, his hands in Parad’s hair are correct, Parad’s legs straddling his waist are correct. They slot into place against each other with only the barest consideration of it, because each one instinctively knows where the other one is in space. Parad’s skin constantly crackles with static electricity, but it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Emu says, or maybe thinks, and Parad thinks back at him, Couldn’t if I wanted to, M.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Evolt says, cheerfully, “what I think the strangest thing about this whole…situation…is?” The wave of his hand encompasses the white hair falling in his–in Sento’s eyes, not his, never his, Banjou’s frozen stare, the growing tower the distance, the ghostly city around them. “I’ve spent plenty of time looking at you from outside, but this is the first time I’ve been catching a ride with someone who’s actually attracted to you.”

Banjou’s face flushes hot. “Shut the fuck up, that’s none of your business.”

“Isn’t it? You’re me. And now he’s also me, which is pretty fun. Obviously I knew how you felt about him, but I’m getting the other side of things now. It’s fun! I had no idea I cut such a handsome figure! Also, wow, how did you two manage to keep from waking Misora up every time? I’ll admit, I’m not exactly a quiet guy, but you are noisy.”

The effort to keep from punching Evolt in the face is almost too exhausting to keep up, but Banjou knows he can’t–that’s Sento’s face, that’s Sento’s nose he’d be breaking, Sento’s mouth he’d bloody. He can’t. He takes a step back instead, and then another one when Evolt steps towards him again, and he keeps backing up and Evolt keeps advancing until his back hits the wall of the overpass and he says, “Would you back off for two seconds, I’m trying really hard not to break his nose.”

“Ooh. Isn’t that sort of kinky, flirting with yourself?” Evolt does not, of course, back off. In fact, he steps even closer, his hand hitting the concrete next to Banjou’s head, his breath on Banjou’s ear. “It could be fun, though. I’ve got some time.”

Banjou takes a deep breath.

And punches Evolt in the stomach. “Don’t be a freak. Especially not if you’re going to wear Sento’s face.”

Evolt stumbles back, wheezing. “Oof. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Chapter Text

Kiriya straightens up from the test tube he’s filling and says, “My brat sense is tingling, you guys oughtta back up,” moments before Parad materializes behind him.

The other two pathologists scramble backwards, the sounds of their cursing mingling entertainingly with Parad’s throaty laughter. “Hi, Lazer. I’m bored.”

“Really? I thought you were doing the Make A Wish thing today.” Kiriya tips his head back to look up at Parad. “Bringing smiles to the face of sick children or whatever.”

“I was, but there aren’t actually a lot of patients in the pediatrics wing right now, and I’m bored.”

“Well, bored or not, why the hell are you here scaring the crap out of the other path guys? By the way, Irie, Kondo, this is the brat, I’ve mentioned him. Parad, these are my coworkers, who thanks to you are probably both having heart attacks.”

The other two pathologists wave weakly. Parad grins and waves back.

“So what about Emu, why aren’t you bothering him?”

“One of his patients is in heart surgery with Brave, M’s sitting with her parents. I’m only good at being comforting when it’s kids.” Parad drapes himself over Kiriya’s shoulders. “And I’m bored now. Play with me.”

Kiriya sighs, glances at the clock–half past five–at his test tube, which is assembled, and then over at Irie and Kondo. “If I don’t do something he’ll just whine. You guys can survive without me, yeah?”

They both nod, and Kondo makes a vague gesture that definitely means, please get the grinning Bugster out of here, he makes us nervous, and Irie says, “We’ll, uh, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kiriya manages to get them out of the pathology lab and halfway down the hall before Parad‘s draped over his back again, at which point he stumbles with some difficulty into the nearest maintenance closet and says, “Ok, baby bug, what’s up with you? You haven’t hit me with a generalized ‘play with me’ in at least four months, and you scared the crap out of Kondo and Irie.”

“Bored.” Parad kisses the back of his neck. “Twitchy.” Kisses his ear. “M’s too busy to kiss me right now and you haven’t kissed me at all in at least two days.”

“Ohhh. That kind of bored.” Kiriya makes a show of pulling out his phone and checking the time, takes a look to make sure that the maintenance closet door can be opened from the inside, and then kicks it shut. “C’mere.”

Ten minutes later, Kiriya’s phone buzzes, and he disentangles himself from Parad to dig it out of his pocket. “Oh, hey, it’s Emu, hang on.”

The message reads, [hey is Parad with you, I can. feel stuff.]

Parad’s face lights up. It’s goddamn adorable. Kiriya takes a selfie with the Bugster hanging over his shoulder and sends it in his reply. [guessing your patient’s out of surgery]

[yeah, she’s doing really well]

[is that a broom closet did he actually drag you into a broom closet to make out]

[sure is, ace] and he can feel Parad laughing against him, eyes lighting up as he gets some kind of message of his own from Emu in the way that only they can do. [not real comfortable though, think I’m going to take him home, meet you there?]

[see you in 15]

“What, Lazer, you don’t want to keep making out in the broom closet?”

“Not especially, no, it’s bad for my back.” Kiriya opens the closet door with one hand, looks Parad over thoughtfully, and then picks him up over his startled objections and carries him out. “Anyway, clearly we’ve been neglecting you, I think we’ll need the space on the couch to make it up to you jointly.”

“Oh.” Parad sounds pleased with this, inasmuch as he sounds like anything when he’s addressing the back of Kiriya’s neck. “Yeah, that sounds way better.”

Chapter Text

“These are Windscale, right?”

“The depth of your brand loyalty never ceases to fascinate me, partner.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, Shoutaro. They’re Windscale. Would you like me to show you where the logo is?”

Shoutaro almost says, “Yes,” and then starts laughing. “I don’t know why I’m even worried about it, you know me better than anyone. Just, remind me why I’m doing this again?”

“So I can practice some of the essentials of fashion illustration,” Philip says, with a gleam in his eye that says he isn’t being entirely truthful. “It’s unusually specialized, and I would be interested in learning it.”

“Right, right. And you’re not asking Akiko to put this stuff on because…?”

“Because if I asked Akiko to pose for me in lingerie she would hit me with her slipper, and in any case I’d much rather look at you.”

“Good point, I think we’ve both seen enough of her slippers to last a lifetime. Give me a minute, then, and I’ll change.”

Shoutaro can feel Philip watching his silhouette through the privacy screen, which mainly exists to shield the cot in the garage that they keep for other Riders in a pinch. It’s a little weird, being watched getting dressed instead of going in the opposite direction, but it’s also nice to get the reminder that after all these years, it’s still the two of them. It’ll always be the two of them. And, at the moment, a lot of little clips, which take Shoutaro a few minutes to get straight.

“I see what you’re doing,” he says, when he finally gets the hang of them. “You just think it’s sexy when I have to figure something out by myself.”

“You’ve cracked the code, partner.” Philip’s voice is overly solemn. He’s definitely trying not to laugh. “I am sexually aroused by your confusion.”

“Are there seriously people who wear this sort of thing every day? There’s so many little bits.”

“I don’t have data on whether or not these are typically worn every day, but I have gathered that some people, primarily women, do make stockings with garters a regular part of their wardrobes.”

“And the other stuff?”

There’s a long silence.

“It’s ok, Philip, you can just admit that you wanted to look at me in a corset without making it a research thing, we’ve been together for ten years.” Shoutaro pauses to look in the little shaving mirror hung on the wall. “I mean, I gotta say, I do look pretty good.”

Another long silence, and then, quietly, “I will admit that I’m seriously considering abandoning the entire ‘fashion illustration’ research direction in favor of coming back there and keeping you differently occupied for the remainder of the afternoon.”

The hair rises on the back of Shoutaro’s neck in an entirely pleasant way. “I mean, did we have any other plans?”

There’s a pause, and then a soft sound that’s almost certainly a notebook and drawing pencil hitting the ground, and Philip says, “No, I don’t believe we did.”

Chapter Text

Sento sits bolt upright in bed and says, “I figured it out!”

“I’m really glad to hear that.” Banjou’s face is half-buried in the pillow; his voice is muffled. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, look, it’s for that little traveling spy-cam thing I’ve been working on, I’ve figured out the climbing mechanism for it, I need to go put it together now while I’m thinking of it.” He moves to get out of the bed and stops. “Banjou, your arm around my waist is making it very difficult for me to get up.”

“Sure is.”

“My project, though.”

“You’ve barely slept three hours a night for the past week, you were the one who told me to make sure you slept more tonight.”

Sento glares at him. “Don’t use my own perfectly reasonable requests against me, that’s rude.”

A sleepy grin spreads across Banjou’s face. “You’re the one who woke me up, though. Your hair’s doing that thing, I love when your hair does that thing. Anyway, you can write it down.”

“Oh! Oh. That’s a good point.” After some brief casting about, Sento finds a pen under his pillow. Further casting about and he comes up short, frowning. “I don’t have anything to write on. Why do I have a green gel pen under my pillow, by the way? You’ll have to let me up so I can get a notebook.”

“Nope. You’ll figure something out. You’re the genius.” Banjou yawns and tightens his grip around Sento’s waist.

There’s a long pause as Sento twirls the pen in his fingers, and then his eyes light up again. “I figured it out. Banjou, roll over.”

“This is a trick to get me to let go of you, isn’t it.”

“No, I promise it’s not, please roll over.”

“If you say so–whoa, what the hell, that tickles.”

Sento doesn’t answer at first. He’s busy, pen in hand, scrawling notes and equations across Banjou’s shoulders, drawing a cross-section diagram of a robotic leg between his shoulder blades. More notes beneath that, another diagram in the small of his back with labels radiating out toward his ribs. When he does answer, it’s to say, “You’ll need to hold still for a couple of minutes so that the ink can dry.”

Banjou twists his neck a bit, trying to look at his own back. “Did you seriously cover me in physics notes?”

“Well, some physics, some engineering, but yes.”

“So I’m guessing I’m going to have to stand around in your lab with my shirt off for an hour tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“The lab gets cold, you know.”

Sento leans down and kisses him on the ear before murmuring, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Beat. “Also you can roll over now if you want to, the ink’s dry.”

Banjou rolls over and flings his arm around Sento’s waist again. “Did you mean for that to sound really sexy just now?”

“…yes.” Sento wiggles down in the bed again and relaxes into Banjou’s embrace. “Yes, I definitely did.”

Chapter Text

“You should tell the savior how frequently you think about kissing him.”

“Shut up.” Woz doesn’t look up from his work–not to look out the window, not to brush his hair out of his eyes, and certainly not to pay any mind to the ghost of his other self, perched insubstantially on the table next to him. “I don’t require your input on my personal life.”

“You could be rid of me any time, you know.” The other Woz adjusts his hat, looking smug. “You’re the one who’s let me persist this long. All you’d have to do is finish absorbing this last fragment and I would no longer be a nuisance to you.”

The corners of Woz’s mouth tighten. “I’m well aware that allowing you to linger like this poses a potential threat to me.”

“Then why not swallow me, mirror of mine?”

“Now you’re being unnecessarily crude.”

White Woz doesn’t respond for a while, but he doesn’t fade away, just continues to sit on the side table while Woz works. The project of the day is a key-wound carriage clock, very beautiful in its design and a pleasure to repair.  He needs to be especially careful with it; the case is transparent, so any scratch to the visible workings will be painfully obvious.

Finally he replaces the back and sits back in his chair, satisfied, at which point White Woz leans forward again and says, “I could kiss him for you, if you like. I’d enjoy it. You could let me take over for a while.”

Woz’s back goes stiff, and his face feels very warm. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“For one, because allowing you any measure of control would be unsafe in the extreme, I’m already concerned by the extent to which your…impulses…are affecting me. For two, because I couldn’t possibly betray my king like that.”

“I don’t see why not, Zi-O wants to kiss the savior just as much as you do. Haven’t you noticed? Maybe he could watch.”

Woz considers throwing a precision screwdriver through his other self’s head, and nearly does it when Junichiro leans into the work area with a puzzled frown on his face. “Was one of the boys in here with you? I need one of them to go to the store for some groceries, I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“Ah. No, Tokiwa-shishou.” Woz straightens up in his chair, steadfastly ignoring White Woz’s self-satisfied expression. “No, I haven’t seen them in a few hours.”

“Oh, are you done on the carriage clock? Let me take a look at it.”

“Of course, Tokiwa-shishou.” Woz stands and cedes his chair to his teacher, and then, because he’s no longer alone, thinks as loudly as possible in the direction of the apparition still sitting on the side table. Would you go away, if you’re so insistent on discussing this then we can do so later.

White Woz grins at him and vanishes, with a lingering, “I look forward to talking later, then.”

Chapter Text

Tsukuyomi walks to Kujigoji Hall in a reverie, going over the details of her last biology lab, until an unexpected voice next to her says, “Afternoon.”

She looks up with a start. “Mr–Daiki! Hi! I didn’t know you were visiting today.”

He grins at her. “Neither did I, but we were in the area, Tsukasa thought maybe it’d be nice to stop in. Well, and Natsumi’s watch stopped working the other day, and he keeps telling her he’ll get it fixed and then forgetting. He’s already over there, I needed some air.” He falls into stride next to her as they continue walking towards Sougo’s home. “Here, I brought you another present.”

Blinking, Tsukuyomi takes the card he passes her and reads the name quickly before it transforms into a Ride Watch in her hand. “Larc?”

“That’s the name.” An expression flickers over Daiki’s face that she can’t quite identify. “She was a friend of mine once, a long time ago. Or at least, one version of her was a friend of my brother’s.”

Tsukuyomi tucks the Watch into her bag. “Thank you very much, that’s very kind of you.” Kujigoji Hall comes into view as they turn a corner. “If you don’t mind my asking, though…why do you keep giving me these?”

Daiki’s got a faraway look in his eyes. “There haven’t been many women who were Riders, you know? Few and far between, and a lot of them…don’t end well. Natsumi’s been lucky that way, but plenty of them weren’t. So maybe I’m trying to invest in a better future.”

She’s not entirely sure what to say to that. He doesn’t seem to expect her to respond, which helps a little, but after a moment she still reaches out and pats his arm, and he flashes her a sort of sideways smile. They walk the rest of the way in silence.

At Kujigoji Hall, Junichiro is hmm’ing and aah’ing over a tiny white enamel wristwatch with a purple ceramic band, its back open and small pieces laid on velvet on his work table. He greets Tsukuyomi when she and Daiki come in, but he’s clearly preoccupied; after the initial hello he just waves vaguely towards the dining room. “Sougo and his friend are over there, my dear, Woz is making some tea.”

Sougo and Tsukasa are, in fact, arguing. Inasmuch as he’s capable of it, Sougo actually looks annoyed. “I did take the exam, I’m waiting on results right now. Why are you so big on this?”

“Because it matters.” Tsukasa pinches the bridge of his nose, scowling. “If you just needed to know about the history of every Kamen Rider, I’d tell you to ask your boyfriend, he’d read his book at you for a couple of hours, and that’d have most of it covered. But you want to be king, and the way things look, eventually you might be. Somehow. Who fucking knows how. The multiverse makes no goddamn sense. Point is, I’d feel better about that if you read some philosophy and studied more world history. Oh, good, Daiki’s back. And Tsukuyomi, hi–baby, you gave her that thing, didn’t you?”

“Still enjoying hearing you call me that. Of course I did.” Daiki pulls out a chair for Tsukuyomi, bowing teasingly, and then sits down next to her. “So did you tell Sougo about Great Leader yet, or are we still tiptoeing around that?”

Sougo frowns. “Great Leader?”

Tsukasa buries his face in his hands. “I was working up to that, thank you, Daiki.”

Daiki grins, starts to reply, and is fortunately interrupted when Woz comes in with tea, and for a few minutes everyone is distracted as drinks are served. Woz’s own drink is served last, and only at Sougo’s insistence, despite his protestations of, “I should be minding the counter–”

“Uncle won’t mind, sit with me.”

After a moment, Woz sits down on Sougo’s other side, eyeing Tsukasa nervously as he does. “As you wish.”

“You know, I like you a lot better now that you’re not rejoicing all over the place.” Tsukasa takes a sip of his tea as everyone politely ignores Woz’s incipient blush. “Your book’s still solid on history, right? It’s just the future part that’s off now?”

“That’s, ah. That’s correct. The future-history matrix is permanently keyed to a timeline that no longer exists, but the information on previous Riders is accurate back to 1971.”

“1971? Ok, now I’m actually impressed.”

Woz turns bright red and hides in his scarf, and Sougo and Tsukuyomi both immediately reach over to pat him on the hand as Daiki visibly stifles laughter. “Don’t tease him, Tsukasa.”

Tsukasa blinks. “I wasn’t.”

There’s a clattering sound from the storefront and the sound of a muffled greeting from Junichiro before Geiz walks into the dining room, gear bag over his shoulder, and stops dead. “I feel like I missed something here. Did we have stuff planned today? Why is Woz blushing?”

Daiki raises his teacup in a toast. “Those are both good questions. No, we didn’t, and you’ll have to ask him about that. Tea?”

“Uh…ok.” Geiz sits down next to Tsukuyomi and then immediately blushes when she kisses him on the cheek. “Um.”

“Hm. I thought you said she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“I…also thought that, but lately I’m not so sure.”

Tsukuyomi says nothing, but she makes eye contact with Sougo across the table and they both look very pleased with themselves. Daiki glances at them both before saying, to Tsukasa, “I’m starting to worry that they have more in common with us than we’d realized.”

Geiz accepts a full cup of tea from Woz and mumbles, “Tsukasa, Mr. Tokiwa told me to tell you he might need to order a part for your friend’s watch,” before taking a sip.”

Tsukasa sighs. “Thank you, Geiz.” And then, to Daiki, “Fortunately, if I was ever as young as they are, I don’t remember it.”

Chapter Text

Micchi would really rather not be at this party, but Takatora begged him to come.

He didn’t look like he was begging, of course. Takatora never looks or sounds like he’s begging. What he’d said was, “I have a charity function to attend on Saturday, would you like to come with me?” When pressed for why he was asking when he knew very well that Micchi had an essay due for his least favorite professor, he’d followed with, “Several of Father’s former business associates will be there, at least two of whom will be bringing their marriageable daughters.”

So now Micchi is at a party, in a suit, with his hair in a ponytail because he’s decided to let it grow long again, and he’s running interference so that his brother doesn’t get cornered by old friends of their father’s who want to know why he’s still single. It’s sort of fun, some of the time, the look of shock he gets whenever someone he half-recognizes says, “Is that young Mitsuzane?” He’s even had a couple of interesting conversations; one of the less-pushy friends of Father’s is an amateur historian. Mostly, though, it’s an awful party.

And then–he’s talking to one of the marriageable daughters about what he’s studying at university and the light hits an elaborate display of potted plants in just the wrong way and he freezes.

The marriageable daughter, whose name he’s pretty sure is Yuriko, frowns and says, “Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.”

“I’m sorry.” He swallows hard, and the light shifts again so that the stems of the plants look less like they’re moving, and the flowers don’t seem so unnaturally bright. It doesn’t help his pulse slow down, though. “Please excuse me, I need to get some air.”

He grabs a glass of champagne from one of the waiters and escapes to the venue terrace, which is large enough that there are some quiet spots. Several minutes of drinking the champagne and panting in the cool breeze, and he can breathe again, and his heart no longer pounds. There are a few trees out here, but none of them look like…anything he remembers. And there are no vines of any kind.

“Hey, you ok?”

He looks up with a start. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone was using this spot.”

“It’s fine, you looked like you needed the air.” His unexpected companion is leaning against the terrace railing, a lit cigarette in one hand. “You need a cigarette?”

“Ah. No thank you, I…don’t smoke.” Micchi shifts awkwardly and then stands up. “I apologize for interrupting you.”

“It’s all right, I really shouldn’t be out here, I’m supposed to be inside keeping people from cornering my boss trying to get grant money.”

Micchi nearly laughs. “I mean, I’m supposed to be inside keeping people from trying to set my brother up for marriage interviews.”

“Your brother?” The other man peers at him. “Are you the younger Kureshima?”

“I’m–you know about me?”

“Um, sort of? Sorry, I’m making this weird, I should introduce myself. Kamijo Mutsuki.”

“Kureshima Mitsuzane. Which you apparently knew. How, by the way? I’m not exactly a public figure.”

“Well, no, but–you know BOARD?”

“The archaeological research organization?”

“That’s the one. That’s who I work for. My boss took an interest in some of the, the events in Zawame a few years ago.”

Micchi goes very, very still. His pulse is speeding up again. He says, “Oh?” and his voice comes out thin and high. “And what’s that got to do with me?”

“Well, we were…trying to find out if a friend of ours had been involved in some way. Someone we haven’t seen in a long time. He wasn’t, he’s probably not even in Japan anymore, but we spent a lot of time looking through the names of everyone involved.”

Micchi’s first impulse is to turn tail and run. Leave the terrace, leave the party, call a car and go home and text his brother to let him know. But then he looks at this man, Kamijo Mutsuki of BOARD, with his dying cigarette and awkward half-smile and a look in his eyes that Micchi suddenly recognizes, and what he actually says is, “When did the world end for you?”

Mutsuki shrugs. “Oh, 2004 or so. I was seventeen. You mind if we sit down? My knees are killing me.”

They sit down on the bench side by side. Mutsuki grinds out the remains of his cigarette on the ground, reaches into his jacket for another one, and then apparently thinks better of it. Micchi downs his last sip of champagne and puts the glass aside before saying, “You probably behaved better than I did. I mean, I don’t know how much you know about what actually happened.”

“Not much, really, but also no, I was fucking awful for most of it. A power-hungry little monster. I mean, some of it was the spiders,” and Mutsuki taps his temple, which is a completely baffling gesture that Micchi finds he really doesn’t want an explanation for, “but mostly I was just…you know. An awful teenager.”

Micchi nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” After a moment, “I got one of my closest friends killed by a mad scientist because I was sixteen and I wanted to be the strongest person on Earth. She got better, but…”

He trails off, but all Mutsuki does is nod and say, “Yeah.”

For a few minutes they sit in total silence, listening to night sounds and the party behind them as they stare off into space.

Then Micchi reaches for his champagne glass and remembers that it’s empty, so instead he holds it up in front of him and looks at the moon through its curved sides. It’s sort of a silly gesture, but Mutsuki smiles. “Worst thing was, I wasn’t even really the important one in the end. I was just sort of an obstacle.”

“Same for me.” Micchi looks at the curved reflection of the moon. “Your friend who left…?”

“That’s the one. What happened to yours?”

“Oh, you know. He and the woman I got killed turned into gods and had to go to another planet. You?”

“Hm.” Mutsuki nods slowly. “Weirdly enough, something similar, although it’s more that he turned into the Devil and had to leave Japan because if he gets too close to another guy we know the world will end. I just hope he’s happy, really. Wherever he is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? It’s hardly your fault.”

“No, but at least I get to see Kouta sometimes, when the planets line up correctly or there’s a huge emergency or whatever.” Micchi smiles briefly. “He looks a little weird now, but he’s still mostly the same guy.”

Unexpectedly, Mutsuki grins at him. “You know, that’s great to hear. I’m glad.”

More silence, but it’s better silence this time.

And then, “Honestly, I think the worst part about it, apart from, you know, everything, is the weird lingering side effects. You have any of those? Me, I start panicking whenever I see spiders nowadays.”

“I can’t eat grapes anymore. Or oranges. Like, I’m not allergic, they just taste awful.”

“Oh, ow. That’s rough, I’m sorry.” Mutsuki’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out with a frown. “And that’s Tachibana wanting to know where I am, which means he’s trapped again and I should probably get back inside.”

Micchi checks his own phone, and of course he’s got text messages from his brother, and he sighs. “I should too, Takatora’s apparently running out of excuses for people.” He pauses. “It was nice to meet you.”

Mutsuki grins at him again. “Nice to meet you too.”

Chapter Text

“Yes, my secretary brought my watch to be repaired a couple of days ago, he said you called to say it was ready?”

“You’re Ms. Hikari?” Junichiro nods, reaching under the counter for the watch box with her name on it, and then stops. “I’m sorry, did you say that Mr. Kadoya is your secretary?”

Natsumi grins at him. “Well, he mostly can’t cook, I have to make him do something around the house.”

Junichiro gives her a startled look and then, after a moment, starts to laugh. “That seems fair enough. It’s good to know who’s best at what in a household. Here, good as new.” He pulls out the box and passes it to her. “That’s a beautiful piece, by the way, it was a pleasure to work on.”

“Thank you, it was a gift from my grandfather. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing at all, my dear, Mr. Kadoya already paid for everything. Excuse me, sir, can I help you with something?“

“Oh, no, he’s with me, we walked here together.” Natsumi glances over her shoulder at Yuusuke, who waves cheerfully.

“Ah, I see.” Junichiro pauses. “Mr. Kadoya’s been a great friend to my nephew recently, I’m not sure how to thank him for persuading Sougo to actually take entrance exams. If you’re not in a hurry, would you like to sit down for some tea?”

Natsumi beams at him. “We’d love to, thank you.”

“Wonderful! Woz?”

Woz leans out of the workroom, sees Natsumi and Yuusuke, and blinks hard before saying, “Yes, Tokiwa-shishou?”

“Would you make some tea for our guests, please?”

Half an hour later, Sougo and Geiz return to the house with groceries and stop at the sight of Woz sitting on the kitchen floor with his book in his lap, passing tools to someone whose upper half is disappearing into the cabinets under the kitchen sink. He doesn’t look up until they’ve been staring for a moment, and then does look up, see them, and jump. “Good, good afternoon.”

Sougo nods slowly. “Hi, Woz. Uh…did Uncle finally remember to call a plumber?”

“Mr. Onodera is very kindly fixing the sink for us.”

“You can call me Yuusuke, that’s fine.” The voice from under the sink is understandably muffled, but after a moment the man in question pulls himself out and sits up, smiling cheerfully at them. “It’s all fixed. Thanks for helping!” He claps Woz on the shoulder in a friendly way, which Woz looks sort of puzzled by. “And you two must be Sougo and Geiz.”

Geiz says, “Um. Yes?”

“I’m Onodera Yuusuke, I’m a friend of Tsukasa and Daiki’s.”

“Oh. Oh, all right.” He pauses, and then shifts his bag of groceries to one arm and holds out a hand, pulling Yuusuke to his feet. “Is something going on?”

“Daiki said you’d ask that! No, we were just picking up Natsumi’s watch and Sougo’s uncle asked if we wanted to stay for tea, and then I noticed Woz was having trouble with the sink, so I offered to fix it. So I guess something was going on, but it was just that there was a leak in the pipes.”

“Are you also…?”

“A Rider? Only when there aren’t other options. Here, you want help with the groceries?”

Yuusuke takes Sougo’s bag of groceries, and they shake hands, and then Sougo wanders into the dining room, puzzled.

At the table, Tsukuyomi is deep in conversation with a small woman in a knit cap, who, as Sougo enters, reaches across the table, puts a hand over Tsukuyomi’s, and says, very firmly, “There aren’t a lot of us. We need to stick together. You can call me whenever you need to talk.”

Tsukuyomi nods. She’s got a sort of startled, delighted look on her face; it reminds Sougo of seeing her talk to her favorite science teacher when they were all in high school. “I will. Thank you so much, Ms…Natsumi. Daiki said…he said a lot of the others died.”

“Yeah. It happens too much. It sucks.” Natsumi looks up, sees Sougo, and nods. “You must be Sougo. I have some advice for you, since Tsukasa apparently keeps forgetting to tell you.”

Sougo blinks. “Yes, ma’am?”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t call me ma’am, I’m only thirty. Anyway, advice. If you ever meet a guy named Narutaki, tell him to go fuck himself.”

Tsukuyomi chokes on her tea. Sougo just nods. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.“

“Good, it’ll hopefully save you some trouble.” Natsumi peers at him for a moment, and then looks back to Tsukuyomi and says, “Before I leave I need to make sure I teach you a pressure point technique. Technically it’s a family secret, but it’ll be years before I can teach it to Yuzuki, and I feel like you might need it.”

Chapter Text

Date’s flight from Warsaw is arriving at a grossly early hour of the morning.

Gotou actually likes getting up with the dawn, so normally this wouldn’t be a problem. Normally he’d go to bed early, wake up well before he needed to leave, have a decent breakfast, and then be at the airport with time to spare. Simple and straightforward.

But of course, Date’s involved, so it can’t possibly be straightforward, because Date completely forgot to let Gotou know what flight he was on, or in fact that he’d finalized his travel plans at all. So instead of a pleasant early morning, what Gotou got was a staticky call from an airplane phone on a flight that was due to arrive in an hour and a half, and now he’s standing in an airport with a cup of extremely nasty cheap coffee and staring dully at the arrivals board. It’s a miracle that he didn’t get pulled over on the drive there.

“I’m going to kill him,” he says to nothing, taking another sip of terrible coffee and feeling obscurely disappointed when he realizes that the cup is empty. “I’m going to…going to…feed him to chickens.”

“Oh, hey, what about chickens? I saw some really cute chickens when I was heading to the airport in Warsaw, I’ll show you the pictures I took later.”

Gotou jumps. Date’s voice is coming from behind him, and slightly above, since the man does persist in being tall. After a moment of confused blinking he decides against trying to turn around and just tips his head back and looks up. “When did you get here?”

“Just now! Flight got in a little early, lucky me, that never happens.” Date grins down at him. “Heya, Gotou-chan. How long’s it been? Like six months, right?”

“Date, I haven’t seen you in almost three years.”

“Oh wow, yeah, I guess it has been ages.”

“You–you could not possibly have thought it’d only been six months.”

Date’s grin just gets wider.

Gotou’s eyes narrow. “You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you.” And then, because it seems like the thing to do, he finally turns around and hugs him and buries his face in the side of Date’s neck and breathes in the smell of his beat-up leather jacket. “So how was Torkia?”

He knows how Torkia was. He remembers the drunken phone call from two months ago, and he’s sure Date does too, or else they wouldn’t be here right now in the airport like this. Date presses his face to the top of Gotou’s head and says, “It was…really bad, Gotou-chan.” His arms wrap around Gotou’s shoulders. “I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff, but this was really bad.”

“Well. Now you’re back.” Gotou doesn’t remember his jacket smelling this good. That’s probably weird, he’s sure that’s a weird thing to think, but he doesn’t really care. “I missed you.” He pauses. “Also did. Did you grow your hair out? Do you seriously have a ponytail now?”

“Yeah! I think I look pretty good, right?” He can feel Date grinning into his hair. “I missed you too. Hey, I gotta get my luggage, you wanna get some oden after?”

Gotou doesn’t let go of him. “Date, it’s too early for oden.”

“Never too early for oden, Gotou-chan, that’s what I say.” Unperturbed, Date just picks him up and starts heading for the baggage claim unheeding of his startled noises. “Besides, I haven’t had decent oden in three years, since I’m back now I’d kinda like to have some with you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Gotou says to the small of his back, smiling despite himself. “Oden for breakfast. I guess that’s what’s happening today.”

Chapter Text

Poppy comes whirling out of her cabinet and stops. “Emu, where did you get that shirt?”

“Um, a patient’s mother sent it to me because I mentioned I liked the game.” Emu smiles shyly, scratching the back of his head. “Do you like it?”

“Where did she get it? I love it!”

Hiiro looks up from the file he’s reviewing and frowns. “That’s the same DoReMiFa Beat shirt the pediatrician’s always had.”

Emu shakes his head. “That one’s yellow.”

“The green one was pimited edition! From the release of the game! It has a better picture of me on it.” Poppy strikes a pose, mimicking the cartoon drawing of her on Emu’s chest, and then lets out a delighted squeaking noise, grabs Emu’s face in both hands, and kisses him on the cheek. “You pook po pute!”

Hiiro coughs and raises his file again, politely ignoring Emu’s radiant blush as Emu says, “I mean, I’m glad you like it? I, uh. I wore it for you, actually. DoReMiFa Beat came out nine years ago, so I figured that’s sort of like your birthday. And I brought you chocolates, Parad said you like, uh, you like the ones with the almonds?”

There’s a long pause, and then Poppy hops, with an audible boing sound effect, and squeaks again. And then she throws her arms around Emu’s neck, which predictably sends him toppling over backwards to land next to Hiiro’s feet. She seems to be trying to say something, but she keeps interrupting herself by kissing Emu over and over on both cheeks and once, very briefly, on the mouth.

Hiiro coughs, lifting his file even higher, and moves his chair slightly away from them. “Pediatrician, if you’re going to let her jump all over you then perhaps you should do it elsewhere.”

Poppy looks up, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t get me anything for my birthday.”

Emu makes a stifled choking noise and claps a hand over his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. Hiiro lowers his folder just enough that his eyes are visible again, wide and hunted. “I don’t know when video games come out, that’s what the pediatrician does.”

Chapter Text

Sougo is feeling celebratory after the glorious debut of Grand Zi-O and has gotten into his uncle’s small supply of liquor, and Woz knows he’s in trouble when he hears, “So what am I actually like in the future?”

Woz shifts uncomfortably and wishes that Tsukuyomi and Geiz were still awake. If they were here, they could easily fill Sougo’s ears with tales of Oma Zi-O’s cruelties and terribleness, and let him stay silent. As it is, though, they’ve both retired to bed and left him to stay vigilant and, ideally, keep Sougo out of trouble. Which also makes him the only target for Sougo’s questions, and exposes him to potentially having to make admissions that trouble him. “Well, you’ve met…him…yourself before.”

Sougo’s eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

He takes a deep breath–

“Don’t, don’t start heralding or whatever, I don’t want to know what he wants you to say about him, I want to know what he’s like. You know, when he’s alone. I’m pretty sure you know what he’s like when other people aren’t around.” Sougo takes a sip of his uncle’s scotch, makes a face, and puts the glass down. “I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to tell me things you’re not supposed to tell other people, since he’s me. So I’m not other people.”

Woz shrinks into his scarf slightly, tugging it up around his face, and says, softly, “He is very lonely. And not incapable of gentleness, although he does not often demonstrate it.”

“Does he…do anything for fun? Besides, like, ruling the world?”

“He likes to cook. Having met your uncle, I suspect many of the recipes my demon king uses were his, once. He…” Woz pauses. “He made me dinner. When he caught me spying.”

“Was it good?”

“It was the best meal I’d had in a long time. Months, at least, if not years. He has many books, mostly histories, although his eyesight is not what it once was. Sometimes he has me read to him.”

Sougo nods, takes another sip of scotch, makes another face. “I don’t think I actually like this stuff. I was kinda hoping it’d get better, but it really isn’t. Is he nice to you?”

“I…he is…on occasion, yes.”

“So not always?”

“He’s kind to me when he wishes to be kind.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“…no, my demon king, it isn’t.”

“You know, sometimes I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Sougo takes a sip, wrinkles his nose, and then downs the rest of the glass in one gulp and blinks dizzily. “Oh. That was…probably a bad idea, wasn’t it.”

“You should have some water, my demon king.”

“I thought I just told you not to call me that.”

“No, you expressed your occasional discomfort with it. You didn’t indicate that I should stop, or for that matter what you would prefer me to call you.”

“You’re splitting hairs. And you could just call me Sougo. I mean, if you, like, have to keep up the whole ‘demon king’ thing around other people, sure, I guess, but when it’s just us talking you can just use my. You know. Actual name.” Sougo tries to stand up, blinks again, and sits back down. “Would you, uh, would you get me some water, please?”

“Of course, my demon king.”

Woz gets up and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water, and nearly drops the glass when he comes back and Sougo looks up at him and says, “Do you love him?”

Woz swallows hard and pulls his scarf up further around his face before passing over the glass of water. “Pardon me?”

“Do you love Oma Zi-O?”

He has to sit down, on the other end of the couch, before he can say, dry-mouthed and blushing and far, far quieter than he normally ever is, “Yes.”

Sougo nods, and has some water, and doesn’t say anything. His cheeks are pink, but it’s likely the effect of the scotch more than any emotional reaction. At least, Woz tries to tell himself that, and then promptly has his illusions shattered when Sougo says, “Who do you like better? Him or me?”

At this point Woz thinks that if he pulls his scarf up any more he may disappear into it completely. “I. I should not say such things, but if you insist…”

“I insist. I really insist.”

“I…find your company preferable to his. Sougo.”

“All right!” Sougo beams at him, still pink-cheeked and suddenly cheerful, and then flops over to rest against his shoulder. “So that’s settled, then.”

Chapter Text

Parad takes losses at Pac-Man Championship Edition a little personally, which is a problem, because Emu’s really good at Pac-Man.

“I don’t remember you liking Pac-Man,” he says irritably after his fifth loss of the morning. “When did you get so good at it?”

“I, uh. Started playing it a lot during my second year of university. I had trouble sleeping and couldn’t figure out why. Playing something repetitive helped.”

“…oh.”

Not something either one of them wants to talk about. Parad’s shoulders hunch, and he pulls his knees up to his chest; Emu sort of folds over his controller.

And then brightens. “Wait, you wanna play co-op instead?”

Parad frowns. “Since when is co-op Pac-Man a thing?”

“Couple of months ago, there was a new edition of 2. We’d have to change systems, but it’s got two-player. Or we could just play Double Dragon or something.” Emu elbows him gently. “It’d be nice to play something with you, you know? Instead of against you. I feel like we always default to versus mode.”

It takes a moment for Parad’s shoulders to relax, but then he says, “Double Dragon could be fun, we wouldn’t have to change controllers. I like playing versus with you, though.”

“Yeah, it’s fun, but if we only ever do that then we might have to change our catchphrase.” Emu grins, closing down Pac-Man and hunting through his downloaded games for Double Dragon. “Can’t keep saying we’re using super co-op play if we never actually play co-op, right?”

“Oh. Well, we can’t have that, I guess.” Parad stretches his legs out again and then leans against Emu as the game starts. “Wouldn’t want to change a winning formula.”

Chapter Text

Sento can’t remember having ever been drunk. He’s not sure if this is a question of memory loss or actual abstention from liquor, not that it necessarily matters. Perhaps Katsuragi was drunk once, but he no longer has Katsuragi’s memories, and when he did have them he didn’t delve into them if he could help it, preferred to leave them in the past where they’d already been buried for so long. He’s had enough of Katsuragi’s mistakes to deal with without reaching back for his university errors, his childhood hurts, his adolescent yearning. He’s glad they’re lost to him now.

He can’t remember having ever been drunk, but–from descriptions he’s heard, he thinks it must feel something like this. A brief respite and the opportunity to zoom down unoccupied roads on the bike he so rarely gets to use for long stretches, a decent lunch, and company.

Company being Banjou Ryuuga. Who saved the world with him, who believes in him, who lives outcast with him in their warehouse home in a world that, gloriously, does not need them to be heroes. And who doesn’t have a bike of his own, they haven’t really managed a second one yet, and is thus hanging on behind him. Sento would tease him about this, but his hands on Sento’s stomach are too distracting.

He’s not sure how to tell someone he loves them except by dying for them.

It’s too loud to talk, but when a good picnic spot comes into view, Banjou taps on his stomach–distracting, it’s distracting, Sento loves his hands open and closed, loves his fingers, loves his bitten nails–and points. Sento nods, gestures with an elbow to indicate that he sees, and pulls the bike over. There’s a tree to sit under, far enough from the road that it’s not too loud, and grass to sit on, and just enough cloud cover to be perfect.

They settle down with their sandwiches and their drinks and Banjou says, “You’re really spaced out today.”

Sento shrugs. “Thinking about things.” He is delirious with Banjou’s hair and his mouth and the sound of his voice, with his own overwhelming and unearned good fortune. “You know, like I do.”

“What things? You don’t have the science-stuff look.”

“What? I don’t have a look for that.”

“You do, you have a science face, you’re not making your science face.”

Sometimes he misses the old world and the friends they had there, but having Banjou to himself, having all the time in the world with just him, is enough to make him dizzy. This must be what it’s like to be drunk. “What if I am thinking about science right now and you’re just wrong?”

In response to which, of course, Banjou has to grin at him, and he’s shaken all over again, how can he share the bed with this man every night and see him every morning and still feel like this? Banjou grins at him, and is stupidly, terribly perfect, and says, “Nah, you look way too dopey to be thinking about science.”

The word choice there is enough to cut through the delirium, at least long enough for Sento to sniff in outrage and say, “I do not look dopey.”

“No, you totally do. Seriously, what’s up?”

Sento may not know how to tell someone he loves them, but at least he can say, after a minute, “I think you’ve given me a disease, whenever I look at you I get dizzy.”

“Oh, that one.” The grin gets worse, gets more absurdly beautiful. “Yeah, maybe, but I think I got it from you first.”

Or maybe this is how to tell someone he loves them. Sento blinks, finishes half of his sandwich, and says, “That’s completely unreasonable, diseases don’t work like that.” And then, “You know, all things considered, I don’t think I would have wanted to live through the end of the world with anyone else. I’m glad it was you.”

Silence. Shuffling. Banjou stops sitting across from him and starts sitting next to him, slumped against his side, head on his shoulder. “Yeah, same.” Another silence before, “Maybe we should get married.”

“That’d be difficult, we don’t legally exist in this–wait, you’d want to?”

“I mean, that’s a pretty straightforward way of saying, yeah, I’d live through another apocalypse with you and also make you breakfast, right?”

Sento’s face feels hot. He’s not dizzy anymore. His head actually feels remarkably clear. “That’s. That’s an entirely reasonable point.” Beat. “I’m not sure how to continue this conversation from here.”

Elbow in his side. “I think this is the spot where you kiss me, genius.”

“Oh.” Sento nods dreamily and turns towards him. “Oh, right.”

Chapter Text

The first time Ryouma agrees to share a meal with Takatora, he brings a sketchbook with him. He’s drawing when Takatora approaches the table, in fact, drink in one hand and pencil in the other, intent on his work until he realizes that he’s not alone. Then the sketchbook closes, but not before Takatora can catch a glimpse of what looks like a cross-section of a plant. “What are you drawing?”

A smile like lightning–Takatora finds himself briefly wondering when the thunder will hit, and what might be burned to ashes in its wake. “Vegetation from Helheim. I’m exercising my botanical illustration muscles. I don’t imagine you’d be much interested, though.”

“No, no, I’m actually very curious. Your scientific work intrigues me as it is; I didn’t know you were also the artistic type. May I take a look?”

Ryouma gives him a look which might be considering or might just be shy; Takatora doesn’t yet know well enough to be able to tell which. “If you’re really interested…” He slides the sketchbook across the table. “Look away.”

They end up losing half of lunch to Ryouma’s drawings, Takatora turning pages in rapt fascination as he examines the fractal layout of crystalline seeds within those ever-dangerous fruits, the labeled diagrams of alien plants, the beautifully watercolored illustration of a Helheim vine overtaking a maple tree. Ryouma is delighted to explain them, his soft voice making it more an intimate conversation than a lecture. One pen sketch is so shockingly realistic that Takatora nearly reaches for it, wanting to see if he might pick a fruit directly from the page, only to pull his hand back before he can risk smudging the ink. “I think these might be almost as dangerous as the real thing, Dr. Sengoku.”

“Oh, please.” The lightning smile comes back, and this time Takatora is certain he can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. “I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have all call me Ryouma.”

Ryouma’s insouciant smile and elaborate courtesy tend to strike others as at least mildly disrespectful, if not outright rude. Takatora, of course, knows that it’s just how he is, that he doesn’t mean anything by it. The sketching during R&D meetings is a little irritating, but after the first couple of times it comes up he finds that the scratching of the pencil is oddly soothing, enough that finally he gives into the temptation to ask again, “What are you drawing?”

One of the other researchers rolls her eyes when she hears this, but Ryouma just smiles. “Lockseeds, of course.”  He holds out his sketchbook for Takatora to take. “I think I’ve designed, hm, at least fifty at this point.”

The sketchbook is open to an exploded mechanical diagram, far more complicated than Takatora is prepared to try to make sense of. He tries anyway, nodding absently as the other researchers start to trickle out of the room, squinting at Ryouma’s tiny labels. “Fifty? Do we need to many?”

“Well, Takatora–” the last researcher heading out the door huffs irritably at Ryouma’s casual tone, “I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t live on oranges alone. And they’ll do different things, of course, once I’ve perfected the driver designs. What’s your favorite fruit again?”

Takatora blinks. “Melon. I really only eat it at breakfast, but I do like it best.”

Lightning strikes. “Wonderful, I did remember correctly. Turn back a few pages–yes, there.”

“This is…a Melon Lockseed?”

“Yes, do you like it?”

The sketch is colored in with pencils, and it’s–beautiful, in the strange way that all of Ryouma’s creations are beautiful. “It’s lovely.” Takatora reads over the notes along one side. “I…’authorized by providence,’ Ryouma?” He raises his eyebrows. “What is?”

“You are.” Ryouma bows, one hand on his heart and a mocking smile on his face. “You’re the prince, aren’t you? I thought perhaps you deserved the reminder. And I am merely your humble advisor.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been anything humble about you, Ryouma.”

“Maybe not. I am very good at what I do, I don’t see any reason to lie about it.” A pause, and then Ryouma cocks his head to one side and the smile goes from mocking to teasing, sly and friendly. “I may have some melon at home, if you’d like to come over.”

“…for…breakfast?”

“Well, yes, eventually.”

Takatora feels his face go hot, and hopes he hasn’t turned too pink, and then furthermore hopes that no one else is lingering outside the conference room door as he says, “That sounds very nice.”

There are more armor designs than will probably ever get used, and Takatora says so. “Why so many?”

“I enjoy designing them. Although of course most people won’t get to see more than the very basic one.” Ryouma is settled comfortably against his shoulder, sketchbook balanced on one pulled-up knee. “I’m not going to share my best art with just anyone, you know.”

“Oh, no?” Takatora cranes his neck to see the sketchbook over the top of Ryouma’s head. “How are you going to manage that?”

“A series of if-then statements in the Sengoku Driver. They have to be able to scan the user’s body and brain, you know, to do what they do; I don’t see why I shouldn’t have them test for particularly desirable personal qualities at the same time.” Ryouma’s pencil dances over the page. “For example, if it were to detect, say…hm.” A sly glance upward at Takatora. “A noble soul, a cutting intellect, clarity of purpose, and oh, let’s say an offensively nice ass, it might produce…something like this.”

He holds up the sketchbook, so that Takatora can finally get a proper look at it–a samurai, sleek and elegant but with a science-fiction edge. “This is…armor for me?”

“Roughly, this is a preliminary.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The smugness radiates from the line of Ryouma’s back against Takatora’s arm. “Thank you, I’m very pleased with it.” The sketchbook and pencil go on the bedside table, and then Ryouma turns around looking even more sly. “Of course, I’ll need to tailor the design to suit you better. I think I’ll need to make some figure studies, you’ll have to pose for me.”

Takatora raises an eyebrow. “Naked, I’m sure.”

“Oh, naturally, I’ll want to make a detailed study of your best qualities.”

“I think you said something about an offensively nice ass?”

“I am an artist, I want to display my subject to best effect.”

“So I’m your subject now.”

Lightning-flash smile, and Ryouma runs his fingers down the side of Takatora’s face, tips his chin up as if to study his profile. “No more and no less than I am yours. I ought to draw you with a crown on your head.”

When Takatora wakes from the coma–is woken from the coma, by the grace of a power he suspects he may never entirely understand–it still takes another two weeks before he’s discharged from the hospital and declared fit to go about whatever business he may have, and one of the first tasks that confronts him is the disposition of Ryouma’s notes. He can’t possibly ask Mitsuzane to take care of it, wouldn’t even want to mention the man’s name in his brother’s presence. Ryouma was, in the end, his fault and his responsibility. This is his cleaning up to do.

Mostly it’s straightforward. The laboratory equipment has already mostly been confiscated or destroyed; researchers and technicians have already scoured his computer files. It’s just the actual papers that are left to take care of, organized by some system that only Ryouma himself and perhaps Yoko ever understood, box after box of them. Takatora embarks on the project with four helpers–two from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, one from the Ministry of Health, and a man from the Ministry of Agriculture who seems to have an unwholesome interest in the actual growth capacity of Helheim plants.

“He didn’t go into the most technical details of his work with me,” Takatora says after the third question about what a particular notation might mean. “He was an…idiosyncratic man, to say the least.”

And then, near the back of the room, one of the Internal Affairs people says, “This box seems to be full of artwork.”

Takatora only freezes for a moment before saying, “Yes, Professor Sengoku was very passionate about the design aspects of his work. I’ll come over and take a look through them, there may be sketches of interest to more than one of you.”

Unlike most of the other papers and boxes, the sketchbooks are mostly clearly marked. Lockseeds, Vol. 1, says the label on one; Sengoku Driver Preliminary Sketches, says another. A third is, Armors, and Takatora recognizes its blue cover and thinks, suddenly, I never did ask him how he intended to have the Drivers identify desirable qualities in people, or why. That should have been a warning sign by itself.

Near the bottom of the box, though, is a sketchbook marked, Personal, and Takatora picks it up as quickly as he possibly can while still looking casual. He recognizes that cover too, and would rather not have people from the government seeing some of the drawings in it. “I’d like to keep this one, actually. I assure you, there’s nothing dangerous in it.”

The man from the Ministry of Agriculture says, frowning, “You’re familiar with the contents of this one?”

“I’m familiar with most of them, actually, the professor was very proud of his design work and shared it with me frequently.”

The sketchbook goes into Takatora’s briefcase, and he waits until he’s home and in his own bedroom to open it, because, yes–there, three pages in, is the first of several drawings of him. Most of them, as he flips through, are unremarkable, but a few are of an intimate character that he’s glad he wasn’t forced to share publicly. One in particular brings a blush to Takatora’s cheeks as he remembers the night it was drawn. On the facing page of the sketchbook there are a few lines scrawled in Arabic, a language that Ryouma read excellently and spoke passably, with a translation underneath:

He is a veiled one;
but were he to pass in a darkness
black as his forelock,
his blazing face would suffice him light.

So if I stray for a night
in his black locks,
his brow’s bright morn
will give guidance to my eyes.

Which does nothing but make Takatora’s blush much worse.

Of course, there aren’t only nude drawings of him, which is something of a relief. There’s a self-portrait on one page, a few sketches of Yoko on another, drawings of the various Beat Riders in a set near the back. It almost brings a smile to Takatora’s face, seeing how Ryouma managed to capture Yoko’s solemn resting expression and the angry twist of Kumon Kaito’s mouth. Sketches of animals, of plants, a cartoon of Oren that actually makes Takatora laugh.

Near the middle of the sketchbook, not far past the most memorable “figure study” and its snatch of poetry, is a drawing of the Yggdrasil logo. Or at least, Takatora takes it for that at first, but when he reaches the end of the sketchbook he realizes that something about it bothers him and has to flip back and look more closely. It is the Yggdrasil Corporation tree, but with grasping roots growing down beneath it, crushing something that Takatora realizes after a moment is the Earth.

Beneath it, in Ryouma’s neat, precise handwriting, is a note:

Unfortunately it has become clear that Takatora’s desires and mine are no longer in alignment.

Takatora shudders and closes the sketchbook, and when he finally manages to fall asleep, much later, he dreams of being struck by lightning.

Chapter Text

Ankh is not, for the most part, familiar with the stories that humans tell each other for comfort. He couldn’t care less about human comfort, honestly. But he does know one thing: fairy tale monsters don’t get happy endings. If they’re lucky they get to eat whatever sickening ingenue is the supposed hero of the story. Some run with their tails between their legs. Mostly, though, they die, killed by knights and heroes and the stupid sons of farmers.

He doesn’t bother with the tales, but he’s seen some of the art made to go with them. He knows what he is in this story. Consigned once more to a dull and colorless world in which Hino Eiji is the one inexplicable spot of color is probably the best ending he could have hoped for.

Even so, it’s getting harder to focus.

Initially, in the first few years after his…death, his loss, his shattering, he remains aware at all times. During the day he floats behind Eiji, silent and unseen, disgusted by the grayness of the world after a year of light and color. At night, he stands a useless guard, hovering over the one and only object of his desires as if he would be able to do anything to help should danger come. He sees adventures, triumphs, failures, so much gained and so much loss, many and many another hero coming and going and none of them ever as good.

And once, a single, glorious hour of new life, and the feeling of Eiji’s hand in his again.

It’s after that, really, that he finds things becoming difficult. Being able to manifest physically once more had been a gift, but it took so much energy. He continues to follow Eiji, because what else can he do? What else is there for him? But as time stretches on, he finds himself–blacking out, he supposes he might say, the way he sometimes sees Eiji grow tired and succumb to ever-longer blinks before finally falling asleep. At first the black-outs last for minutes, then hours, then days, eventually stretching out to weeks, or maybe months, or maybe longer. He’s only vaguely aware of the passage of time as it is.

And then, after the longest one yet–he wakes up. And he’s cold.

That’s what gets his attention first, that he’s cold, that he feels cold. It’s all he can think about for a minute or two, and then he shifts slightly and realizes that he has multiple limbs, that his hair is in his eyes, that he is stark naked except for a red silk he’d almost forgotten he once had and he seems to be sitting on the floor in someone’s living room.

The first thing Ankh says, having been resurrected, is, “What the fuck just happened?”

“Ankh?”

His head whips around. “Eiji? You, I, you’d better not be dead, I swear to fucking–what’s wrong, you’re extremely pale, what’s happened.”

Eiji grins at him, looking dizzy and, yes, pale, and raises his hand despite the quiet scolding of the old man currently wrapping it in bandages. “Well, it took kind of. A lot of blood.” An unsteady shift forward. “Actually, I think I need to take a nap.”

And he passes out, leaving Ankh to turn to the next person he sees–an elderly woman who’s looking very pleased with herself–and saying, “Ok, what the fucking hell just happened here, and what did you do to Eiji?”

Eiji regains consciousness to the sound of Ankh and Dr. Zhakiyanova arguing loudly in German, and Dr. Zhakiyanova‘s husband Dr. Caspari saying, in French, “Here, young man, sit up, you fainted, you need to eat something.”

This is easier said than done, but he does manage to struggle upright after a moment. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve eaten, young man. Here, there’s tea, and you should eat at least two cookies, it’ll take a bit to get your strength back up.”

Eiji considers pointing out that he’s hardly a young man, he’s nearly fifty, but then he takes a bite of the cookie Dr. Caspari hands him and decides that it really doesn’t matter.

For a few minutes he just sits there, drinking amazingly good tea and eating what might be the best cookies he’s ever had in his life and watching in joyful disbelief as Ankh continues to yell in German. Dr. Zhakiyanova stands there patiently, waiting until there’s a gap in his tirade, and then says, very clearly even to Eiji’s mostly-incomprehending ear, “Young man, perhaps you should put some clothes on.”

Ankh sputters out something about being older than her and then sits down heavily on the couch next to Eiji with his red silk wrapped around him like a robe of state. “Where the hell am I?”

Eiji swallows his mouthful of tea and says, “Northern Kazakhstan. Cookie?”

More outraged sputtering. “You gave your blood to some witch just to bring me back?”

“Hey, Dr. Zhakiyanova’s not just a witch, she has a PhD. She’s a highly respected academic.”

“Eiji. How much blood did it take?”

“About five hundred milliliters,” Dr. Caspari says cheerfully, pouring a cup of tea for Ankh. “No more than the average blood donation. As long as you eat well and take in plenty of fluids you’ll be fine.”

“He says–”

“I know French, Eiji, I know most human languages, I understood what he said perfectly well.“ Ankh takes a sip of tea, blinks several times, shudders, and then looks up at Dr. Caspari and says, in perfect French, “I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in an extremely long time.”

Dr. Caspari just says, drily, “We had gathered that, yes.”

Dr. Zhakiyanova, meanwhile, is puttering around on the other side of the living room, checking on her instruments and cleaning up the circle she’d drawn on the floor and making notes. She looks enormously pleased with herself, and after a moment says something in Kazakh to her husband, who translates: “My wife says, thank your priest friend, his notes regarding the nature of the soul were very helpful.”

Eiji nods. “I’ll let Takeru know, he’ll be very happy.”

“Good, good. I’ll go get your friend some clothes, we have some of our grandson’s old things that might fit.”

Dr. Caspari bustles off. Ankh fumes into his teacup for a moment before saying, “Takeru? Is that the dead man?”

“Well, he’s not dead anymore, but he was dead. And yeah.” Eiji eats another cookie, probably too fast. “He gave me some helpful information, and Haruto–Wizard–got me some details about the stone that the Core Medals are made of, and Kouta let me have a bottle of sap from Helheim in exchange for some plant cuttings? It’s an amazing adhesive. And I paid Kougami about fifty thousand yen for a hundred Cell Medals, because I wasn’t about to agree to do him any favors.” More tea. “Dr. Zhakiyanova’s the one who figured out how to put it all together, though, she’s been working on it for seven years now.”

Ankh nods slowly and says, “I met Kouta too, didn’t I. He’s the…god.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Dr. Caspari comes back with an armful of clothes that he hands to Ankh. “You get dressed, young man.” A long pause to speak to his wife in Kazakh again, and then, “My wife says, your friend is very lucky, he’s like a rat.”

Ankh freezes in the middle of pulling on a t-shirt, nostrils flaring. “Excuse me.”

“No, no!” Dr. Caspari beams at him. “A rat’s a good animal. Resourceful. Rats grow to the size of their enclosures. When you were first created, you were a rat in a small cage. You were constricted. But a human body is no small cage. You should thank the human who once lent you his, it gave you room to grow. She wouldn’t have been able to do this if you hadn’t already grown from what you originally were.” Another comment from Dr. Zhakiyanova. “She also says, please excuse her for not addressing you directly, she’s had a long day and it’s easier for her to think in Kazakh right now.“

“Oh, of course, that’s completely understandable.” Eiji grins at him. “I appreciate her assistance.”

“She’s going to write a paper.” Dr. Caspari looks delighted. “I look forward to proofreading it for her.”

After Eiji’s lunatic alchemist friends give them more cookies, and dinner, and another armload of old clothes that are far too big for Ankh, they’re finally allowed to go home. Or not home, they’re still far from home, but to the hotel in which Eiji is staying because after all this time his back hurts too much to sleep rough.

As soon as the door is locked behind them, Ankh strips off the too-large clothes and stares at himself in the full-length mirror. He is whole again, and more than whole. No longer a parasite on a human body, but a creature in and of himself, and alive. He has blood, he has breath, he can taste and smell and feel and the world is full of colors.

He turns slightly, and a flash of light catches his eye. He leans in closer to inspect it, and sees–a crack, zig-zagging crazily down the center of his in a whisper-thin gleam of gold. Shattered no longer, but he will never again be the creature he was before he was broken.

He’s something new now.

He turns and stalks over to where Eiji is sitting on the bed, knocks him backwards, sits on top of him, and looks for the gleam of gold in his reflection in Eiji’s eyes. And Eiji looks up at him and is real, real, real, and he is, truly, the only object of Ankh’s desires.

Once, the world would not have been enough.

Perhaps he is no longer a fairy tale monster.

Ankh says, slowly, “Eiji, smile for me.”

Chapter Text

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you reading something besides that big book of yours.”

Woz jumps and then visibly forces himself to relax. “I do occasionally read for pleasure. My own book is more in the nature of a necessity; it’s not exactly an enjoyable read.”

Daiki nods. “Huh. Mind if I sit?”

“If you wish.” And then, once Daiki’s sitting down on the park bench next to him, “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“No, not really, I just thought it’d be nice to enjoy the sun.” Daiki’s head rolls to the side, a crooked smile on his face as he looks at Woz, the large book tucked under his leg, the novel in his hands. “Although if you feel like letting me in on what your game is, that’d be nice.”

Woz blinks. “I’m not sure that I understand.”

“Oh, come on, you spent so much time swooping around like a big origami bat before Sougo reset everything. It was sinister. I was half expecting you to turn out to be the big bad guy, except for Schwartz being–” Daiki cuts off with a shudder, the smile slightly forced when it returns to his face. “Anyway. And then you showed up to swoop around a little more when there was all that business with Geiz, and now you live with them again? You can’t blame me for being a little suspicious.”

The quiet reply is, “It seems strange you should call me suspicious. I never shot anyone in the back.”

Daiki makes a startled huffing noise that turns into laughter. “Ok, fair enough. He and I have talked about that, though. Far as I can tell, you haven’t talked to any of your people about what you’re up to.”

A pause, and then this reply is even quieter. “Would you be willing to accept that I’m lonely?”

“Actually, yes.” In response to Woz’s startled look, “You’re not the only one who can’t go back, you know. Even if I wanted to, the world I came from is gone.” The crooked smile straightens, becomes more genuine, very nearly warm. “For that matter, you’re hardly the first guy to fall in love with an evil overlord, that sort of thing happens. Oh, speaking of evil overlords, what’s your plan to get Oma Zi-O back? I assume that’s what you’re after besides company.”

Woz’s hands are white-knuckled on the novel he was reading, and his face twists in–pain, or anger, or sadness, but his voice comes out as a snarl, “I don’t want him back.”

Blinking, Daiki backs away slightly, hands held up in surrender. “You really have changed, then. I apologize.” He pauses, peering at Woz. “I feel like I should offer you a hug or something, but I’m not very good at comforting people. You want Yuusuke for that. Although I mean, at least I’m not as bad at it as Tsukasa.”

“What am I bad at?” Tsukasa strolls up and sits down on Daiki’s other side, frowning. “Ok, he looks flipped out. Baby, why are you hassling Woz?”

“You suck at comforting people. I wanted to make sure he didn’t have some kind of grand scheme that’d get the kids in trouble.”

Woz drops his novel and buries his face in his hands. “I had so much certainty, and it all crumbled under the weight of his smile.”

“Oh. Yeah, that happens when you fall in love, it sucks.” Tsukasa reaches around Daiki to pat Woz awkwardly on the shoulder. “Daiki’s right, though, I’m really bad at comforting people, you want Yuusuke for that.”

“That’s precisely what he said,” Woz says into his hands, indicating Daiki with a jerk of his head.

“I did just say that, yeah.” Daiki also offers one uncomfortable pat on the upper arm. “Anyway, apparently Sougo didn’t think to give anyone parents or anything when he reshaped the entire timeline, so as Geiz’s designated older brother figure I think I’m obligated to let you know that if you break his heart I’ll kill you.”

Woz nods. He doesn’t lift his face from his hands, but his breathing’s audibly slowed down. “I don’t intend to, but the threat is understandable.”

Tsukasa nods. “Good. Uh, same thing for Sougo.”

“I had suspected.” Woz looks over at them from between his fingers. “Does one of you intend to speak for Tsukuyomi in this too?”

“Tsukuyomi?” Tsukasa frowns. “Wait, are you and Tsukuyomi…?”

“I…don’t know. I’ve gotten the impression that she has some ideas about it, but she hasn’t deigned to tell me any of them yet.”

“Oh. Wow, she really is like Natsumi, then. Yeah, no, if you break Tsukuyomi’s heart I’m pretty sure she’ll kill you herself.”

“That seems a reasonable assumption.” Woz shudders. “Ms. Natsumi is…alarming. When she visited last she taught Tsukuyomi a, a pressure point technique–”

Tsukasa freezes. Daiki chokes back laughter. “Oh, no. Ok, now I’m sorry for you.”

Chapter Text

Despite his whole watch motif, Oma Zi-O never wore a regular watch, and rarely knew what time it was. Time reshaped itself to suit him; he saw no particular need to keep track of it otherwise. He woke when it pleased him, ate when he was hungry, and did what he liked, and it was everyone else’s responsibility to keep up.

Woz always knows what time it is, to the second.

He wakes at 6:55 in the morning, twenty minutes earlier than he’d intended. Fortunately, this time of year, he can still catch a few moments of the sun rising, and because he’s awake early, there’s no rush to make breakfast. So he makes tea and takes a few minutes to sit in the golden light of dawn, reading a novel.

It’s been so long since he was able to read for pleasure. To tell the truth, he’s not sure how long exactly. He knows the clock’s time, of course, he knows the day and date, but the actual passage of time, weeks into months into years, the matter of how much, became inexpressibly confusing for him long ago. All he knows is, relaxation has been a rare thing for much of his life, and Tsukuyomi gave him this book as a gift.

Speaking of Tsukuyomi, it’s 7:03, and her alarm for her early class should have gone off at 6:30.

He hears rustling upstairs, sets his novel down, and returns to the kitchen with his book under his arm. He makes a lunch for Tsukuyomi, who spent the night (in Geiz’s room, to Junichiro’s very quiet resignation) and who will be in lab classes for much of the day. It’s not artfully arranged, but the food is good, much better than any of them generally ate in the future now gone.

In this timeline she and Geiz have no particular reason to resent or pity him, which is surprisingly pleasant. He can’t bring himself to have regrets about his past, per se, but given that their old life now exists more in his memories than anywhere else, he would rather have their amiable company than be without it.

It’s 7:12. Tsukuyomi rushes into the kitchen stuffing things into her bag. “Shit, shit, hi, Woz, Geiz turned off my alarm in his sleep–”

“Your lunch is on the counter.” He doesn’t look up from where he’s now grilling fish and occasionally checking on the soup simmering next to his elbow. “There’s also a banana and some toast.”

“You’re wonderful.” She kisses him on the cheek, grabs her lunch from the counter, and rushes out the door with a slice of toast hanging from her mouth and her banana half-peeled in one hand.

For a moment he stares down at the grilling fish with his cheeks turning red.

Going from a soul-consuming devotion to someone who seemed at best absent-mindedly fond of him to an only slightly less soul-consuming devotion to three people with varying degrees of actual enthusiasm for his presence has been very confusing.

When Geiz shuffles into the kitchen at 7:26, half-awake and with impressive bedhead, breakfast is mostly ready. He isn’t a casual kisser, not in the way Tsukuyomi has decided to be, but he leans against Woz’s side as he’s getting his meal and mumbles, “Thank you, Woz,” which is about as affectionate as he usually gets.

Sougo, wandering in five minutes after him, is a kisser, although Woz isn’t sure that any of his kisses could ever be considered casual. Not that the proceedings aren’t highly enjoyable, but after a moment Woz does have to interrupt them with, “Tokiwa-shishou–”

“Is still in the bathroom, it’s fine. Besides, you know if he walked in on us, all he’d do is sort of cough and pretend that he didn’t see anything.”

“My king–”

Sougo grins at him. “I thought you were calling me Sougo now.”

“Sougo, I have less confidence in your uncle’s approval of our relationship than you do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he thinks you’re great. Besides, he didn’t have to cook breakfast this morning, you could pretty much do anything right now and he’d forgive you. How long have you been awake?”

“Thirty-nine minutes.”

Sougo kisses him again–still not at all casually–and says, “You probably deserve to sit down and eat something, then.”

“If you say so, my. Ah. Sougo.”

“Have I mentioned that it’s really cute when you do that?”

By the time he actually does sit down for breakfast, Geiz and Sougo are already having another circular, friendly argument what the future might hold for them. The world is not ending. There are no looming threats to any of their lives, or at least none that he knows of.

“Hey, Woz,” and Sougo turns away from his nonsense argument, “what time is it?”

“It’s 7:43.”

Some things, though, haven’t changed at all.

Chapter Text

Rentaro carefully turns the puzzle box over in his hands, scowling. “There must be something I’m missing.”

The box doesn’t answer, of course. Boxes usually don’t. There was that one time, but it was probably an anomaly.

“I wish Iroha were here, she’s good at this sort of thing.”

Still no answer.

He can hear something shifting softly inside the box. There are no clinks, no bumps, nothing to indicate that whatever’s in there might be breakable. Hopefully it won’t explode when he opens it? If he can open it. He runs his fingers down one side, feeling all of the panels that might be movable, all of the spots which could be buttons or keys that come out or maybe drawers.

There’s a loud clang from another part of the Rainbow Serpent temple, and he goes still for a moment, but nothing happens. I hope Icchi’s all right.

The memory of Master Gamano in his head says, “You need to trust in your power, Rentaro,” and as much as Rentaro doesn’t want to take any of his advice now, knowing what he knows, it seems like there might only be one option remaining.

He sits down on the floor with the puzzle box in his lap, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

It takes a moment to relax enough, but eventually he feels the calm of meditation settle over him, and after another moment his hands start to move on their own. If he opens his eyes to look, he knows he’ll lose focus, so he keeps them closed. Under his fingers, panels slide out millimeter by millimeter. Pieces are removed and rotated and replaced. Keys turn. Buttons depress, levers flick, wheels spin. It takes 64 steps before the lid finally slides out under his hand.

He opens his eyes.

Nestled in the box on a bed of velvet are four JutsuGami, but they’re unusually small, each barely longer than his pinky. The paper of the scrolls has been dyed a deep purple, and each one has a single character inscribed on it in vivid white.

風 林 火 山*

He lifts them out carefully and tucks them into his pocket. If the Rainbow Serpent Clan’s been hiding them, they must be worth trying, right?

Of course, now he has to figure out how to close the puzzle box again. He moves to slide the lid back on.

It won’t go.

He frowns and turns the lid over to scowl at the plain underside of it. “There can’t possibly be a trick to closing you, can there? That’d be–wait, what’s this?”

One edge of the lid is loose. Carefully he gets his nail into the crack, and an entire piece comes off, revealing an additional secret compartment inside the lid. The opening is too narrow, and the room too dark, to peer into it, so he just tips the whole thing and a tall envelope, also deep purple, falls out into his hand. The white characters on it read,

九字切り**

Baffled, he tucks the envelope into his pocket along with the JutsuGami, closes the secret compartment in the lid of the puzzle box, and pulls the whole mess into his lap again. He has to meditate again to get the thing closed.

When he meets back up with Icchi outside the temple, his friend has a JutsuGami of the normal size in one hand and a large red mark on his face. At Rentaro’s look he says, miserably, “I had to solve riddles. I got hit with a frying pan.***”

Rentaro blinks. “Everyone knows that one, though. Little kids know that one.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But how do you not know that one?”

Icchi makes a face. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Chapter Text

Bugsters tend to be slightly unnerving to be around. When entirely at rest they don’t breathe or fidget, so still that one might be forgiven for not realizing that they’re there until suddenly they say, “Hello.” Having a Bugster’s attention means contending with the pressure of their unblinking stare and the occasional flicker as their semi-digital bodies refresh.

Of course, this is simply how Bugsters tend to be, because there are Bugsters and then there’s Parad, first and very nearly last as well. Very few people are equipped to handle the vast weight of Parad’s full attention. And because they’re rarely separately these days, if you have Parad’s full attention then you have Emu’s as well, and his is very nearly as weighty, although not as noticeable for its gentleness.

In any case: the moments in which Kujou Kiriya thinks of himself as a lucky man are vanishingly rare.

A brilliant man, sure, it’s not like he’s humble. A happy man, occasionally. A trustworthy man–well, never out loud, but deep in his once-again-beating heart he knows that he’s reliable enough, for who he is. But lucky, no, if anything he’s been astonishingly unlucky in most parts of his life, enough that it’s almost funny.

But.

(There’s always one of those, isn’t there, he’s spent years pivoting on the staircase to tell life, “And another thing–”)

He is pinned like a bug on a card under the weight of Parad’s gaze. Not to mention the weight of his bony goddamn body, “Brat, you can weigh as much as you want, why does it feel like Emu’s parked his bike on my stomach?”

Parad grins at him. “That’s impossible, Lazer, you’re his bike.”

“Ace, your boyfriend’s bullying me.”

“You’re my boyfriend.” Emu’s also grinning, the little shit. “Parad’s my–what’d we decide on? Soulmate sounded too gooey.”

“Also we’re still not sure if I have a soul.”

“Come on, Parad, I’m not sure if I have a soul, it’s not like that’s just a you problem, spirituality is weird. Anyway, soulmate was too gooey, calling him my Player Two just got us weird looks, other half! That was it.”

“I’m pretty sure you have a soul, where else did I come from?”

Kiriya nearly chokes trying not to laugh. “Can we maybe save the theology for later?” He squeezes Parad’s hip with one hand. “Or if you two really wanna argue about the existence of the soul for the next hour I can just go to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

And they both look at him again, and he is stunned, frozen, flattened by the steamroller of their combined attention, Parad’s intent solving-a-puzzle look and the softer radiance of Emu’s laughing affection, and he thinks goddamn, I’m a lucky son of a bitch.

Fortunately Emu doesn’t also climb on top of him, he doesn’t know if he could take the weight of both of them at once, but he does get a kiss out of it, and a quiet, “Right, we were doing something, weren’t we?”

No breath left in his lungs, which is still sort of a weird thing to process after all that time spent not breathing at all. “Yeah, I was kinda hoping we could get back to it.”

A static shock of a kiss from Parad as well, leaning down to cover him completely. “I mean,” Parad says, in his laughing voice, “I’m game to get back to things if M is.”

Chapter Text

Parad’s not talking, but his sulking has such an atmosphere that the office feels loud regardless. Kuroto lets it go on for about two hours before losing his patience, at which point, finally, he looks up from the proposals he’s reviewing and says, “Is there a problem, Parad?”

It takes a moment before he gets a reply of any kind, and he can tell by the sound effects that it’s because Parad’s finishing a round. When it’s done, though, he sets his game aside and lifts his sullen gaze to meet Kuroto’s. “Why won’t you let me go see him?”

Kuroto suppresses a groan. “I don’t know where he is, Parad.”

An eye roll. “Why should that stop me? I can find him no problem. I always know where he is.”

It’s late at night, almost late enough for Emu to feel bad about completely ruling this Street Fighter lobby instead of sleeping. He’s got an exam in the morning, after all. But then, he’s pretty confident that he’s going to pass, and he is really on a hot streak right now.

He’s running out of challengers, though. Sore losers keep dropping out after a single match. He doesn’t want to play with sore losers, but is it so much to ask one person to stick around?

The lobby’s nearly empty, and he’s about to give up for the night and go to bed when someone else pops in. Their name is just “Puzzle,” and they’ve got a Yun icon.

The other two remaining players abruptly drop out.

Emu blinks, adjusts his headset, and says, “Hey, I guess it’s just the two of us.”

“I guess so,” says the cheery voice of Puzzle. “You ready, M?”

“Sure, whenever you are.”

The match starts.

Ten minutes later Emu lets out a long breath and says, “Wow. I’ve never had three consecutive draws. Actually I don’t remember the last time I had a match end in a draw at all. You’re really good.”

Puzzle lets out a surprisingly bubbly laugh. “You’re pretty good too. We should play more.”

“I’d love that, sure.” Emu holds back a yawn. “Later, though, if I don’t go to bed soon I’m going to pass out right here.”

There’s a pause, and then Puzzle says, sounding irritated, “You used to stay up all night playing games.”

“Yeah, didn’t we all? That was before I was in med school, though.” Emu frowns. “How did you know that, though?”

No answer. Puzzle’s dropped out of the lobby.

Frowning more, Emu quits the game, shuts off the console, and turns off the TV. “That was weird.”

Kuroto comes out of his bedroom at half past two in the morning to get a glass of water and finds Parad sitting in his living room, staring at the menu screen of Super Street Fighter IV with that sullen, irritable look on his face again. “What’s eating you?”

Parad scowls. “M had to go to bed. He used to stay up all night playing with me.”

“Ah.” Shaking his head, Kuroto continues on towards the kitchen. “You know you’ll get to play with him a lot more soon, right?”

“I know.” Parad’s voice is quiet over the soft noises of the console shutting down. “But I want to play more now.”

Chapter Text

Tsukasa looks back over his shoulder with a frown. “You’ve got to stop hiding behind me whenever you see that guy, Daiki, he’s going to figure out something’s up even if he doesn’t have his memories back.”

Daiki makes a face, mouth pursing like he’s eaten something unpleasant. “I don’t see why I can’t, I’d rather not be in his line of sight if at all possible.”

“Does he really freak you out that badly? I told you, I talked to Sougo, even if he’s got his memories back he hasn’t got any of his power, Sougo says he made sure Tsukuyomi got all of it.”

“Not all of it.”

A pause, and then Tsukasa says, slowly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, we can’t talk about it out here, he might be listening to us.”

“Talk about what?”

Daiki’s already tugging him through a rippling curtain, and then another, and then a third before he stops. Tsukasa looks down at his clothes, notices with some frustration that he seems to be dressed like a high school gym teacher, and then doesn’t have a chance to comment on it before Daiki says, “I still have some of it.”

“You still–what?”

“Sougo’s little reset button didn’t hit us, remember? I still have some of Schwartz’s power.” Daiki stops and looks him up and down with some appreciation. “Also wow, ok, those shorts look fantastic on you. I mean, I’m generally enthusiastic about your legs, but this is a great look.”

“Daiki, baby, I love you so goddamn much, can we please focus on how you have some of Schwartz’s power just…floating around inside you. Why didn’t you mention this before now?”

“Because, frankly, it was agonizing when he gave it to me, and I don’t really want to think about how much more painful it’d probably be to have it removed. Anyway, it’s not like I’m using it for anything.”

“I should hope not.” Tsukasa pauses, eyeing him suspiciously. “You haven’t been, right?”

Daiki gives him a pained look. “I know I’m not famously trustworthy, but please believe me when I say that I’d rather die a few times myself than watch you die again.”

Which doesn’t directly answer the question, but it tells Tsukasa enough for him to nod and reach for Daiki again. “Come on, the kids are expecting us.”

“You think you can hang onto those shorts?”

“…we can talk about the shorts later.”

Back and back and back, until they come out on the sidewalk where they’d left it, a few blocks from Kujigoji Hall, and round the corner to nearly bump into Schwartz coming back towards them. He smiles a thin smile, and Tsukasa can feel Daiki’s hand go tense in his. “Ah, it’s you two again. I was just retracing my steps, I think I might have dropped something. You don’t happen to have seen anything of mine lying around, have you?”

Tsukasa’s about to reply when Daiki beats him to it, false cheer glowing in his voice. “We hadn’t noticed anything, no, what did it look like?”

Instead of any description, Schwartz just nods and says, “If you see it, please do let me know,” and walks away past them, his shoulder brushing Daiki’s briefly.

Daiki shudders visibly and mutters, as soon as he’s far enough away, “So we’re going to talk to the kids about this, right? This time you’re not just going to say, ‘sure, I’ll talk to Sougo,’ and then not actually do anything?”

Tsukasa glances over his shoulder at Schwartz’s retreating back. “I did say I was sorry about spacing out there. And, uh. Yeah. Yeah, I think we’re going to talk to them about it now.”

“Good, because now I am sure he knows I’ve got his shit.”

Chapter Text

Sougo’s so focused on not dropping his armload of Tsukuyomi’s library returns that he nearly runs into someone leaving. “Heck, sorry, sorry–”

The guy he nearly ran into catches the two books that fall and puts them back on the top of Sougo’s stack. “I didn’t think you were an advanced biology kind of guy.”

“I’m not, my friend–” Sougo stops, frowning, and looks up. “I. Huh.” He blinks several times, dizzied by one of those occasional rushes of memory, and says, “I…I know you, don’t I?”

“In a way. That’s good, means I don’t have to start entirely from zero. Do you remember my name?”

Sougo’s forehead wrinkles as he reaches for the memories and feels them slip away. “I feel like it starts with a ‘ka,’ doesn’t it? Or…is it a ‘tsu,’ I’m not sure.”

“It’s both. Kadoya Tsukasa.” Sougo shifts the stack of books in an attempt to hold out his hand and nearly drops all of them, and Tsukasa rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, technically we’ve already met. Here, I’ll get some of–all right, wow, these are heavy, Tsukuyomi sent you here with ten of these?”

“…how’d you know it was Tsukuyomi?”

“Because I spent a fair amount of time talking to her and she seems like an advanced biology type. I’ll take five and you take five and then you can stop falling all over yourself.”

“Thanks!”

They return the books together, and Sougo waits until they’re outside the library again to say, “So I hope this isn’t rude, but what are you doing here? I kind of remember that you’re not…from here.”

Tsukasa snorts. “That’s one way of putting it, yeah. I was looking for you.”

“Oh. Is something going on?”

“Not exactly, but I worry. For a variety of reasons, don’t make me get into all of them.” Tsukasa pauses and looks around. “Sidewalk’s not the ideal place for this conversation. Anywhere near here with decent pearl tea?”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re seated in a cafe and Sougo is staring with some puzzlement at the little tapioca pearls in the bottom of his glass of tea and saying, “I thought I fixed things.”

“You did fix things. That’s the problem.” Tsukasa sucks up a tapioca pearl from his own glass and chews it meditatively for a moment. “You rewrote reality because your boyfriend died. You can understand why that might be worrying, right?”

Sougo’s immediate, reflexive response is, “He’s not my boyfriend,” and then a hot blush. “I mean–I guess? I don’t really remember how to do that, though.”

“As far as I know, you didn’t know how to do it when you did it, you just acted and it worked. Which is actually scarier. Also, is he seriously not?”

“Well, he’s–I mean–I wish he was, but also I don’t know if he’d be into it, and I’m not sure if Woz would, I, look.” Sougo takes a long slurp of tea and nearly chokes on a tapioca pearl in his haste to not be talking.

A tense pause, Tsukasa’s eyes narrowing as he eats another tapioca pearl. Finally, “Woz is still around?”

Sougo’s blush gets worse. He’s pretty sure his ears are going to burn up and fall off. “Yeah. He’s studying with my uncle.”

“To be…a watchmaker?”

“Well, yeah, his book kind of doesn’t work anymore, and I couldn’t just let him wander around by himself, he seemed so lonely. Uncle loves him, apparently he’s really good at the watch thing.”

Tsukasa squints at him for a long time before saying, “And does your uncle have any opinions about his apprentice dating his nephew?”

Sougo does his level best to sink into his chair. Somehow Tsukasa’s scrutiny is almost as difficult to handle as Tsukuyomi’s. “We haven’t told him.”

“Ah.” Slurp. Another tapioca pearl disappears from Tsukasa’s tea. “And he’s not trying to make you into an evil overlord?”

“N-no, he says he’s actually happier in this timeline. He’s been feeling a little funny since he ate White Woz.”

“He ate–no, ok, I’m not going to ask about that right now, that’s way more than I was prepared to hear.“ Tsukasa takes a long sip of his tea. “But you’re still planning on being king.”

“Well, of course.”

“So why don’t you tell me about that.”

That evening at dinner Sougo says, when there’s a lull in the conversation, “I’ve been thinking I might take entrance exams after all. I know I missed this year’s, but I can do them next year.”

Junichiro drops his fork; it lands on his plate with a loud clink. He picks it back up without missing a beat and beams across the table at his nephew as Woz and Geiz both turn to stare. “Really! What made you change your mind?”

“Well, I ran into someone at the library today when I was bringing back Tsukuyomi’s books for her, and we were chatting, and it got me thinking, maybe I should study a little more if I’m going to be king. You know, so I can be properly informed about things.”

Junichiro nods slowly. His eyebrows are doing things that suggest he’s mildly confused, but otherwise he looks delighted. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Woz says, slowly, “Who did you run into? Anyone we might know?”

“Oh yeah, probably, I’ll tell you later.”

Chapter Text

Being slightly in love with Kumon Kaito isn’t an entrance requirement for Team Baron as much as it’s an inevitability, as much standard-issue as their red-and-black jackets and gray waistcoats. Some of it’s probably purely physical–he’s handsome enough, he’s got poise and grace, there’s a sort of giddy rush that comes with the matter-of-fact movement of his hands on your arm or leg as he corrects a move or gets you back on time. But just as much of it is the sense of certainty, the clear knowledge that he knows what’s going on even if you don’t. It’s intoxicating.

He knows it happens, too, knows that everyone on the team is nursing at least half a crush. Peko’s actually gotten the impression that he’d rather they didn’t. He’s not exactly someone who welcomes affection. He barely even likes most of them.

Except Zack. He definitely likes Zack. Well, everyone likes Zack. That’s not even a team thing, that’s just a general fact of life, if you’ve met Zack there’s at least a seventy-five percent chance that you like Zack. Still, sometimes when Kaito’s talking to Zack he almost smiles, which is a big deal.

So.

Kaito likes Zack, in his particular impenetrable Kaito way which could be friendly and could be something more. Zack has a very natural and obvious crush on Kaito.

And Peko, proud owner of both the best slingshot aim and the worst luck in Zawame, is desperately in love with both of them, and has been considering eating his nicest hat for several days now in the hopes of making it stop.

At least he can talk to Zack, who nearly chokes on his smoothie when Peko says, as innocently as possible, “So what were you and Kaito talking about the other day? You were busy for a while.”

Zack coughs, swallows the rest of his mouthful of banana-and-mango smoothie, and says, “Oh, you know. Team stuff.”

At first Zack kind of hated Kaito. Who did he think he was, barging in and taking over Azami’s team like he had any right to it? Zack had briefly considered leaving for another team, but then again, that would have meant leaving Peko behind, and that was entirely unacceptable. So he’d stayed. And by the time he’d realized that he was having feelings about Peko that Azami would probably kill him for, he’d come around on Kaito, too.

Or, more accurately, he’d fallen slightly in love with Kaito, because Kaito just has that effect on people. Which seems to be more of an irritation to him than anything; it’s not as if he likes most people.

Except Peko. He definitely likes Peko. Granted, you’d be an idiot to not like Peko, everyone does. Peko is inherently likeable. He’s cheerful and good-natured. Zack’s considered petitioning the city to make it illegal for him to wear hats that make his hair flop in his eyes.

What had he been thinking about?

Right. Kaito, inasmuch as he has friendly feelings towards anyone, likes Peko. Peko has a radiantly obvious crush on Kaito, slightly more so than most of the other members of Team Baron.

Zack is left trying to figure out when the hell he fell in love with the two most wildly different people he interacts with on a daily basis and how he can make it stop. Having a crush on Peko is bad enough when he has dinner with the guy and his sister every couple of weeks and thus has to weather Azami’s knowing looks; being simultaneously continuously distracted by the set of his team leader’s mouth is just. Obnoxious.

And then, of course, everything gets very confusing, so when Peko asks him a perfectly reasonable question he nearly chokes on his smoothie in an effort to stop himself from saying, Well, Kaito and I were talking out some new choreography and then I think he nearly kissed me. “Oh, you know,” he manages after a moment. “Team stuff. New moves, new music.”

Peko nods enthusiastically. Why does he have to be so cute? “That’s pretty exciting! I mean, not that I don’t like our current choreography, but it’d be good to change things up a little, right? To keep people’s interest?”

“Yeah, definitely, I–” –can’t stop thinking about Kaito except when I’m thinking about you. “I think it’s going to be good. Here, I’ve got samples of some of the potential new music on my phone.”

Kaito doesn’t like people. They are, for the most part, useless, obnoxious, and weak. Zack, however, is neither weak, nor useless, and his obnoxiousness is variable and mainly connected to how good he looks on any particular day.

Peko’s weakness is arguable, but he’s…

Kaito doesn’t generally like to think of anything or anyone as "cute,” and is trying not to make a habit of it.

In any case, Zack and Peko are transparently interested in each other, and perhaps if they start dating then Peko will be on time to practice more often. Kaito has decided that he’s not going to examine the odd feeling he gets when he thinks of them together. He’s certainly not going to let himself have any more lapses in self-control like the other day’s. He’s sure that Zack would have allowed the kiss, but he’s not interested in being simply tolerated.

Peko is most likely better for Zack, anyway, and Zack is definitely better for Peko. Thus, Kaito resolves firmly not to pursue his own absurd infatuations any further.

After barely two days, though, he finds his resolve being thoroughly tested when Zack manages to corner him after practice and open the conversation with, “Hey, look, Kaito, about the other day.”

Kaito looks up at him, quietly resentful of the fact that looking up is even necessary, and says, “Were you interested in revisiting the new musical choices?”

Zack’s eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t see any need to discuss the other aspects of our conversation.”

“Not even the–look, you know.” Zack gestures incoherently, looking frustrated and slightly embarrassed. A momentary glance around to make sure that none of the other members of the team are lurking nearby before, “Did you actually want to kiss me or am I imagining things?”

Kaito glares at him. “Whether or not I did is immaterial, you’re interested in Peko.”

A suspended pause. “I’m–I mean, I am, yeah, but he’s got the worst crush on you, so it’s not like that’d go anywhere. Besides, his sister would kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zack, Azami thinks you’re–repeat that first part.”

“…did you not notice that Peko’s got it bad for you?”

“For how long, exactly?”

At which point, of course, Peko rounds the corner already saying, “Hey, we were looking for you guys, did you want to go to Drup–” and stops dead when they turn simultaneously to stare at him, and Kaito briefly considers leaving dance completely and going into something which causes less emotional turmoil. Politics, perhaps.

Peko is blushing. Zack is also blushing. Kaito feels somewhat warm, which means he’s likely blushing himself, which is not to be borne, so he cuts directly to the point. “Peko, I need you to settle a question.”

A slow nod. “O…k?”

“Zack is under the impression that you’re…interested in me.”

Peko jumps. His hat nearly falls off. “I mean. Uh. Yeah. But you’re sort of obviously into Zack, and he’s definitely into you, sorry, Zack, apparently we’re just talking about this now? So it’s not like I was going to bring it up or anything.”

“I had gotten the distinct idea that you and Zack were–I’m sorry, Zack is what?”

Zack stares fixedly into space for a long moment, long enough that Peko begins to look visibly worried and Kaito allows himself the beginnings of concern. When he finally speaks, it’s very quietly. “So if I’ve got this straight, I’ve been twisting myself in knots for a while now because I was interested in both of you and thought you were more into each other, and you’ve both been doing the same thing.”

Kaito scowls. “That seems to be the case, yes. I don’t believe I signed up to be the protagonist in some sort of romance comic.”

“Oh, no, if this was a romance comic one of you probably would have slapped the wall already.” Both Kaito and Zack turn to look at Peko, who grins awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. “I’m just saying. All I know is it wouldn’t be me, it’s always the tall guy and I’m kind of the opposite of that.” He adjusts his hat, avoiding both of their gazes. “So did you want to come to Drupers?”

Intensely irritated in a way that he can’t quite pinpoint, and which is only made more confusing by the overlaid sense of relief, Kaito says, “Yes,” and grabs Zack’s hand, ignoring the startled noise the gesture produces. He grabs Peko’s hand as well in passing, and Peko lets out a squawk that’s offensively charming and stumbles along after him. “I’m going to get the largest parfait Bandou will make me, and we’re going to discuss this later.”

Peko has to quicken his pace to keep up with Kaito’s quick steps, while Zack shortens his stride a bit in order to stay with them and says, “And you’re not concerned about people staring at us walking down the street holding hands like this?”

“They can stare if they want to.” Kaito is feeling distractingly pleased, and it’s taking more effort than he cares to consider to keep a smile off his face. “It’s not any of their business.”

Chapter Text

The page begins to swim in front of Emu’s eyes just a moment before he notices that the lights seem to be a bit too bright, and he puts down his journal with a groan. “Oh, good. This article’s so badly written that it’s actually given me a migraine.”

Hiiro, sitting at the other end of the couch with a book in his hands, looks up sharply. “Since when do you have migraines?”

“I get them, like, once or twice a year.” Emu pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing. “I never had them when I was little, they started sort of suddenly when I was…eighteen…Zaizen’s whole thing left me with a neurological condition, didn’t it. That had never occurred to me before.”

“There’s no reason that it would have, if it comes up so infrequently.” Hiiro pauses, frowning, and then puts down his book. “Light sensitivity?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. It’s probably going to get really bad in a few minutes, I should probably take a painkiller before it gets to be too much.”

He gets up, but Hiiro beats him to the kitchen cabinet that holds the supply of “I stayed up too late reading and now I have eye strain” painkillers, and then from there beats him to the sink to get a glass of water. Pills and glass are shoved into Emu’s hands, followed by a semi-stern, “Go lie down until they start working.”

Emu swallows the pills gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll be fine, though, I just need to sit with my eyes closed for a little bit.”

“Which you’ll get bored of in approximately two minutes, at which point you’ll start playing with your phone, which is perhaps the worst thing you could be doing when dealing with a light-sensitive migraine. Go lie down.”

His head’s already starting to hurt, which is probably why he says, petulantly, “Why should I?”

Hiiro gives him a level stare and then leans in and says, softly and with only the faintest trace of amusement, “Because I’m your doctor and I told you to.”

Emu makes a helpless, irritated noise and heads for Hiiro’s bedroom, all the while trying desperately to broadcast to Parad a sense of help, my boyfriend is bullying me. (Parad briefly sends back alarm, but then manages to pick up on the impending migraine and transitions immediately to entirely heartless amusement at the idea that someone might be forcing Emu to take care of himself.) He sits on the edge of the bed but doesn’t lie down, slightly dizzy from the visual distortion of the migraine and annoyed by the slowly encroaching pain.

As soon as his phone comes out of his pocket, though, it’s plucked out of his hand. “Looking at a backlit screen in a low-light environment is only going to make it worse.”

“When did you come in?” Emu mumbles dizzily.

“Just now, I assumed this would be about when you decided to take out your phone.”

“You’re way too good at that.” He closes his eyes for a moment, wincing, and then opens them again and promptly blows a fuse somewhere in the part of his brain that isn’t already coping with the migraine. “You’re…on the floor?”

Hiiro is on the floor. Hiiro is kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Yes. Will I need to locate some kind of scientific study proving that oral sex is particularly good at curing migraines?”

“You’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m too polite to play with my phone while you’re blowing me, aren’t you?”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, it’s gonna work, don’t get me wrong.” Emu fumbles his pants open and then winces at the light leaking in from the door to the living room and closes his eyes again, just in time for, “Ahh, oh, oh shit, Hiiro,” which does immediately distract him from the encroaching migraine.

Hiiro makes an indistinct noise which somehow perfectly conveys the sentiment of, yes, I believe that’s the point of this exercise, and runs his tongue up the underside of Emu’s cock. He’s very businesslike about it, which is upsettingly hot.

Emu wants, very badly, to open his eyes and see what’s happening, but his head hurts too much. Instead, blind, he finds himself focused entirely on the sensation of it, Hiiro’s hand and mouth moving on him, his nails digging into the bedspread in a breath-stopping attempt to remain polite.

The tip of Hiiro’s tongue does something to the head of his cock that he couldn’t properly describe, and he lets go of the edge of the bed just to cover his face with both hands and whine. “Hiiro, if you keep doing that I’m going to come in your mouth and I know you’d rather I didn’t.”

Hiiro–makes an amused noise and doesn’t stop, which is something. Emu wonders dizzily if it feels like this inside a bottle of champagne, this unbelievable building pressure, and then immediately decides that no, nothing else could feel this good.

“I’m really going to, I mean, unless you don’t mind–”

Hiiro still doesn’t stop, which at this point must mean that he doesn’t mind, and Emu bites down on the side of his hand and comes with a little choked noise.

When the haze clears, a few moments later, he opens his eyes and blinks. “Oh, hey, the halo’s gone. That did kill my migraine.”

Hiiro manages to look tremendously pleased with himself while wiping his mouth primly with a tissue. “There have been studies.”

“Thank you.” Since Hiiro’s standing up again, Emu can fling his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and grin against his shirtfront. “Normally I would’ve been out of commission for at least half an hour.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Which means I can use that half-hour for something more fun.”

“That logic doesn’t exactly–”

“Like returning the favor, maybe.”

Hiiro makes a startled noise above his head and says, sounding strained in a way that means he’s definitely blushing, “If you like.”

Chapter Text

Of all Krim Steinbelt’s cruelties, Heart thinks, perhaps the worst is what he did to Proto-Zero. He had no respect for the personhood of the Roidmudes to begin with, and after all this time Heart doesn’t expect him to, but to turn the template on which they were based against them feels like a deliberate slap in the face. Giving Proto-Zero “an infallible sense of justice”–absurd. If the man had any sense of justice at all, Heart certainly never saw it.

“Chase,” he says, when Proto-Zero wakes after his programming’s been corrected and asks what his name is. “Your name is Chase.”

Proto-Zero, now Chase, nods slowly. “Accepted. Who are you?”

“I’m Heart. And this is Brain.” Brain barely looks up from where he’s taking furious notes on his tablet in the corner of the room. “We’re your comrades.”

“Comrades. Explain.”

“We’re…” Heart pauses for a moment, searching for how best to put it, how to reverse the damage that Krim Steinbelt did to the soul of his new friend. “A company of equals. We support each other.”

Another slow nod. “Equals. Understood.”

“Brain instructed me to acquire a human disguise,” Chase says. “So I acquired one.”

Heart has his back turned, he’s staring out the window over the city, but he turns and sees Chase’s new form and smiles. “I suppose it isn’t strictly required, but it does help make things easier for us. Who did you pick?”

Chase shrugs. It makes the chains criss-crossing his new jacket jingle faintly. “A man I saw on the street. He was convenient. How did you acquire yours?”

“Mine was…” Heart shifts uncomfortably before finding a phrase that suits, “selected for me.” If he offers no further explanation, hopefully Chase will assume that Brain was the one who did the selecting. “I like yours.”

“You dislike humans.” Chase joins him at the window.

“There isn’t much to like about them, is there? They’re cruel and petty, and the few that have any strength spend so much of their time lording it over all the weak ones.”

“While the Roidmudes are equals.”

“Exactly. I’m glad that you understand.”

Several weeks later, Chase says, again, “You dislike humans,” but this time he follows it with, “but you like the human disguises we take.”

“The human form is very beautiful, and our natural bodies do have their disadvantages.” Heart takes one of Chase’s hands in both of his. “Their lack of sensation–I wouldn’t want to take this shape all the time, but it is enjoyable. See?” He kisses Chase’s palm, feels Chase’s fingers curl to brush against his cheek. “And at least we, unlike humans, have the power to choose our faces.”

“Sensation,” Chase says, in that thoughtful half-questioning way of his. He’s not expressive; sometimes Heart worries about misreading his intentions. But he is wonderfully straightforward. “Yes, I can understand the appeal of sensation.”

He reaches out, and his fingers comb through Heart’s hair, and Heart shivers. “If you’d like, I can go into more detail.”

Chase would like. Chase is always ready to learn. It’s one of his most charming qualities, one of the things that makes him Chase, Heart’s dear friend.

Further into the more detailed explanation, Heart’s legs are wrapped around Chase’s waist, his arms around Chase’s shoulders, and he can’t help but murmur, “I don’t know that I’ve ever said this to you, Chase, but I’m very glad to have you as a friend.”

Chase doesn’t quite stop moving, but he does slow, which feels unbearably good. “You are glad to have all of your friends, Heart.”

“That’s true.” Heart hasn’t tried kissing him yet, and very much wants to, but perhaps this isn’t the time. “But only one of them is you.”

Chapter Text

“It feels weird for you to have so much work when I don’t have any.” Shoutaro looks at the stacks of paper on Philip’s desk with something that’s starting to feel dangerously close to alarm. “Isn’t there someone else who can do this?”

“Possibly some of it, but I prefer to review the grant proposals myself before passing them on to anyone else.”

“Right, yeah. Making sure nobody tries to get through a research project that we’re just going to have to fight later?”

Philip flashes him a brief smile over the top of the folder he’s going through before disappearing behind it again. “That’s an important part of it, yes. But just as much of it is perfectly naturally curiosity. I enjoy learning about what other people are studying.”

Shoutaro nods. “Fair enough–I hope that package isn’t a grant proposal.”

A quiet laugh behind the folder. “No, that one is from Nitoh, it’s a copy of his thesis.”

“Oh, did Haruto drop it off? He normally stops by to say hi when he does that.”

“No, it arrived by mail. I’ve been given to understand that having successfully defended his thesis, Nitoh has taken Haruto on vacation and…I have the text message here…’doesn’t plan to let him out of bed for the next week,’ which seems less than comfortable.” There’s an indulgent tone in Philip’s voice that’s definitely funny to hear in reference to a guy the same age as him. “I’m looking forward to reading his research in full.”

Shoutaro nods, rolls his neck, and then slumps in his chair. Stretching his legs now feels way better than it did a few years ago, which doesn’t say great things about the state of his joints, but he’s trying not to think about it. “Still, I’m pretty sure the museum budget could support getting you a secretary, you’ve been working yourself pretty hard lately.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, partner, but I appreciate the suggestion.”

“You don’t, but you also love working.” Shoutaro stares absently at the ceiling. “Hell, maybe if the P.I. work ever dries up I could be your secretary, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the legs for a pencil skirt. I don’t know that I could manage high heels, but then, Akiko can’t either, so it’s not like I’m exactly behind on things. Queen and Elizabeth could probably show me how to walk in them.”

There is, in response, what Shoutaro can only think of as a loud silence.

Once it’s stretched on to nearly two minutes, Shoutaro says, “Philip…?”

Philip does not emerge from behind the folder. He sounds very slightly strained. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m trying to determine whether or not you’re deliberately trying to convince me to stop working.”

“What, by talking about my legs? I mean, I wasn’t, no.“ Shoutaro pauses. “But if it might persuade you to at least take a break then yes, I absolutely was.”

“The mental image is…disruptive, to say the least.”

Shoutaro grins at the expressionless back of the folder Philip continues to hide behind. “There’s more to life than work, partner. And you have been reading grant proposals for three straight hours.”

“You make a. You make a compelling point.”

Chapter Text

Nico wakes up to the sound of Taiga and some woman arguing in the doorway of her room.

Her first, bleary thought is, what’s Taiga doing in my room? Next, once she recognizes the woman’s voice, is, what’s Poppy doing in my room? And then, when the sleep begins to clear away from her eyes and she realizes that she’s been using one of her nursing textbooks as a pillow, am I not in my room?

She sits up, wincing at the ache in her neck, and Poppy cuts off in the middle of, “–just because you live on protein bars and energy drinks doesn’t mean she can–Nico! You’re awake!”

Nico nods with difficulty. She’s not in her room, she’s in Taiga’s little office at the clinic, and she’s face-down in a textbook because she was up until four in the morning studying for an exam. “What time is it?”

“Noon,” Taiga says shortly.

“Shit, I’m late for class–”

“On Sunday.”

“Oh.”

“You see, she doesn’t even know what day it is.” Poppy looks angry. Nico’s seen her look angry before, but it’s always sort of weird with her pink hair and cutesy outfit. “You’re her doctor, you’re supposed to notice when she’s running herself ragged.”

Taiga glances over at Nico, and she almost sticks her tongue out at him, but she doesn’t because of how visibly guilty and uncomfortable he looks. “I’m an oncologist, not a general practitioner.” He shrinks slightly under Poppy’s glare, and now Nico does giggle, it’s so rare to see him looking cowed. “But I should have noticed, yes. I’m sorry,” to Nico, “I should have made sure you were sleeping enough.”

“You don’t sleep enough either.” Nico gets up, wincing. “I’m your nurse, I should be getting on your case about that.” Poppy makes a worried noise, and Nico shrugs. “He has nightmares.”

Poppy nods, looking sad. “There’s a lot of that going around, isn’t there? I’d probably have them too if I slept.” And then she brightens. “But. For right now! You’re going to go put your books away and we’re going to have a girls day!”

Nico blinks. “We’re going to what?”

“You know, where we get our nails done and go shopping and get, um. Ice cream or something? And sometimes there’s karaoke?” Poppy frowns thoughtfully. “I’ve never actually had a girls day, but I’m pretty sure that’s how they’re supposed to work.”

Taiga puts a hand over his mouth, and Nico, at least, can tell that it’s because he’s trying very hard not to start laughing. She grins and starts gathering her books and papers. “I’ve never had one either, but I guess I can give it a shot. Can a Bugster get a manicure?”

“I don’t know, but that’s no reason not to try, right?”

As it turns out, Bugsters can’t get their nails trimmed, because their nails don’t grow, but they can get them painted. Poppy and Nico pick out a color together, an eye-searing shade of neon green that matches Nico’s shirt. While the technicians are working on Nico’s nails, Poppy says, “So how are nursing classes going?”

“They’re fine. It’s not too hard, I was a little surprised.”

“Yeah! It’s not a terribly difficult course if you’ve got a knack for it. Of course, I took an accelerated program because of my,” Poppy glances around, “special circumstances, you know, but I liked it!”

“Wait, you actually took a nursing course? I thought it was just a front.”

“Of course! I needed to at least know the basics to help out in the CR.”

“Did you study…here?”

“You mean as opposed to digitally? Oh, I did all in-person classes. You know, so it wouldn’t look funny.”

Nico frowns. “I guess that makes sense.”

Shopping turns out to be a bust, because Poppy can change her clothes whenever she feels like it and Nico’s never liked trying things on in public fitting rooms, but frozen yogurt definitely works. In fact, frozen yogurt’s incredibly fun, given how much time they spend trying to outdo each other with the extravagant toppings they pick out. Of course that means both their portions are very heavy by the time they’re done, and the bill comes out to nearly three thousand yen, but then the weather’s so they can sit down outside with their gummy bear and cereal-laden dishes. Nico takes a bite, makes a face–gummy bears don’t really make a great frozen yogurt topping–and then blinks. “Thank you for covering this, by the way.”

Poppy beams at her. “Sure! The Ministry of Health pays me pretty well, but I never know what to do with it, you know, since I don’t actually need to buy anything and I’ve got my cabinet to live in.”

“I guess that makes sense. I haven’t done a tournament in a while, so most of my money’s kinda tied up in investments. Like, I get a monthly payment from them, the guy at the bank helped me with it, but I should probably go kick some butt at Dead Or Alive or something sometime soon.” Nico takes another bite. “I kinda miss tournaments, anyway…wait, maybe this is super rude but how do you have a bank account?”

Poppy makes a delighted noise and produces her little pink wallet from…somewhere. “The Ministry of Health helped get my legal identity in order, they were really nice about it.” She opens the wallet. “I even have a driver’s license, see?”

“Wait, you can drive?”

“Yeah! Mostly I don’t, but I can.” The wallet goes away again. “Also apparently it was super super helpful that they did it for me because then they had all the procedures in place already, they had to do it again for some guy over in Tokyo a couple of years ago.”

“There’s another Bugster working for the Ministry of Health?”

“No, he was working with the police. And he wasn’t a Bugster, I think he was some kind of robot.”

“Wow, ok, that’s wild.” Nico takes a third bite. “This is actually…really bad, I’m never getting gummy bears on this again.”

Poppy frowns, takes a bite of her own–which is covered in fruit boba and coconut shreds and a different kind of cereal–and makes a face. “You’re pight. This was a perrible pidea.”

There’s a long moment, and then Nico breaks into hysterical giggles. “It’s kind of nice,” she gasps, “being worried about something normal for once, isn’t it?”

In the booth at the karaoke place, Poppy sings all the bounciest songs available, and then sits and stares in shock as Nico wails her way through the loudest metal track they’ve got. After two songs her throat is sore, and she sits down on the couch with a thump. “Ow.” Her voice comes out in a croak. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

“That was loud.”

“Yeah, if I’ve been practicing I can get even louder.” Nico grins and then drains a glass of water.

“Wanna do a song together?”

“…sure?”

They spend a few minutes flipping through the binder with the song listings, trying to find something they can agree on. Then, though, Poppy elbows Nico gently, a sly smile on her face. “So. Any boys in your life lately?”

Nico groans. “Nope. Too busy with school.”

“Not even Parad?”

Nico feels her face go hot. “I–what? Parad? No. Did he say something about me?”

“He said you’ve been playing Street Fighter with him a lot.”

“Just, just online, because I can’t sleep sometimes.” Nico curses internally as her ears warm up. “I beat him a couple of times the other night, that was pretty cool. I–what’s that look, don’t look at me like that.” She hides her face in her hands.

Poppy continues to give her the look. “You like him, don’t you.”

She sputters, scrambles for her phone, and sends a text to Taiga, [poppy is cyberbullying me], to which he responds with an entirely heartless series of emojis, and then, [good].

Poppy, looking over her shoulder, makes an indignant noise. “I’m not–I’m pight pere, pow pan I pe pyberbullying pou?”

“You’re a cyber person, all the bullying you do is cyberbullying.“

“Oh, you little–I am not–” Poppy frowns. “You know, though, that does make sense. Sort of. Ooh, I think I know this song, we could do this one.”

Nico squints at the page. “Sure, yeah, I know that one.”

They get out of the karaoke place in time to go get noodles for dinner, and near the end of the meal Nico pauses over the last of her meal and says, “This is. This has been. Really nice. Thanks, Poppy.”

Poppy beams at her. “You’re very welcome! Thank you! I don’t get to do normal things a lot, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you!”

Despite herself, Nico grins. “When do any of us ever get to do normal stuff?” She pauses. “I’m an only kid, but I think if I had a big sister it’d be nice if she was like you.”

Poppy turns bright pink and makes a delighted squealing noise. “I can be your sister if you like, I’d love to be someone’s sister.”

Nico holds out her fist across the table, and Poppy shyly bumps knuckles with her before making another delighted noise.

On their way back to the clinic, though, Nico stops on the sidewalk and says, “If we’re sisters you can’t ask me more weird stuff about Parad, though.”

Poppy giggles. “Actually I’m pretty sure sisters are supposed to do exactly that. I think maybe I have to ask you about boys you like.”

“He is not a boy I like. He’s, he’s weird, and he’s too tall, and he’s got his whole weird psychic connection with M or whatever, and–”

“And you like him.”

“I do not!”

Chapter Text

Banjou stares dubiously at the door to the garage. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“I’m not sure.” Shoutaro frowns. “But I’m definitely worried.”

In the garage, Sento and Philip have been talking at high speed for at least an hour. There’s so much to say, and what feels like very little time to say it in, although that’s illogical and likely a product of excessive mutual excitement. Sento says, flipping through one of the many notebooks that keep catching his attention, “I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you get all this stuff?”

“Various places.” Philip’s covered one of the whiteboards in notes and equations already, but fortunately there are several others, and a great deal of wall that Philip’s assured Sento is easy to clean. “Mostly from various branches of the government, although the Museum’s research I inherited and Fueki Sou’s papers were given to me personally by Wizard–have you met Haruto yet?”

“Banjou and I haven’t been in this world for very long, we haven’t met most people.” Sento frowns down at the page in his hand. “Mainly Ex-Aid and his friends, it was really busy and I didn’t have much time to talk to the other Riders there before the worlds separated again. Oh, and Zi-O.”

“Oh, you met Zi-O? Fascinating, I’m very curious about Zi-O, you’ll have to tell me about him later.“

“Although I recognize this sketch here, aren’t these the things Gaim uses? The fruit guy? Gaim was around when Banjou and I met Emu, but he had to leave pretty early.”

“Yes, that’s a Lockseed. I don’t imagine most of Professor Sengoku’s work will be of great use to us, the materials he was working with are for the most part inaccessible, but his designs are extraordinary, aren’t they? He was an artist of great talent.“

“I don’t know, his notes on energy sources seem potentially useful. I–is this about gravity manipulation?”

“Ah, good, you’ve located the Banno-Steinbelt papers, I thought I’d misplaced them and that would have been unfortunate. Gaim kindly retrieved copies of them for me, they’re not technically supposed to be available to anyone.”

“Locked in a vault?”

“Buried in the earth.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Philip’s stomach growls, and he stops, frowning. “I think perhaps we should eat.”

Sento checks the time on his phone. “Yeah, maybe, Banjou’s going to get on my case if I forget.”

The knob on the door to the garage turns, and Shoutaro and Banjou both eye it warily until the door actually opens and Sento and Philip lean out. Philip has a smudge of marker on his cheek. Sento’s hair is standing up. Both of them have a slightly feverish look in their eyes, and Philip beams at Shoutaro and says, breathlessly, “Partner, could I possibly ask you to get us some lunch? We may be some time.“

Shoutaro peers at him. “You didn’t remember your inhaler, did you.”

“I–” Philip blinks. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”

“Here.” An inhaler flies through the air, and Philip catches it easily. “And use it, please. What did you want to eat?”

“I would love some takoyaki.”

Banjou, meanwhile, pokes gently at Sento’s hair. “What are you guys up to, anyway?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Sento’s manic grin is simultaneously worrying and warming; it feels like Banjou hasn’t seen him look this…scientifically excited in a while. “We may be inventing cold fusion, I’ll have to get back to you.”

“Hm.” Banjou eyes him dubiously. “Just…don’t blow up the whole city, yeah? What do you want for lunch?”

“The largest bowl of ramen possible.”

That catches Shoutaro’s attention, and he looks up from where he’s talking to Philip and grins. “I know a place for that. Come on, Banjou, you’ll like it, we’ll walk there.”

It’s a fairly short walk all told–to one stand for takoyaki, to another stand for what Shoutaro calls “Fuumen,” and then back to the Narumi Detective Agency only takes about twenty minutes. They’re both a little too wary of what Sento and Philip might be up to in the garage to go in, but their knock is answered quickly enough, and food is accepted with a dual chorus of, “thanks, love you,” before the door shuts again.

Once the latch has clicked, Banjou looks at it sidelong. “So, uh. Did I mention it’s nice to meet you guys? We’ve kind of been…alone here since we fused the worlds.”

“It’s always good to meet other Riders.” Shoutaro holds out his hand. “Welcome to the world.”

“Thanks.” It’s a firm handshake on both sides, and Banjou gives their clasped hands a speculative look. “They’re probably going to be in there until dinner, right?”

“Probably, Philip’s kind of unstoppable when he gets interested in something.”

“Sento’s the same way. So, if you’re a Rider…you fight at all? Like, jujitsu, kickboxing, anything like that?”

Shoutaro blinks. “Kickboxing, mostly, and a little judo. And I learned some savate a while ago.”

Banjou grins. “Fantastic, I used to do professional shoot fighting before I got framed for murder and I haven’t had a decent match in ages. Wanna spar?”

Philip and Sento eventually emerge from the garage to the sight of a note on the table in the front room of the agency.

We’re downstairs in the practice room. - Shoutaro

“Practice room?”

“We have some exercise equipment on the lower floor of the building, which used to be a pool hall. Shoutaro maintains a sparring area there for his own practice and when friends are visiting.” Philip frowns at the note. “I wonder why he would have brought your friend down there–are we in a hurry?”

Sento flashes him a grin. “Banjou used to fight professionally.”

“Ah.” And Philip rushes after him. “We’re in for a show, I see.”

Banjou and Shoutaro back away from each other, panting, and then both look up in surprise at the sound of polite applause. Shoutaro flicks sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand and blinks. “When did you two get here?”

“About ten minutes ago.” Sento takes a sip of coffee and nods cheerfully to Shoutaro. “Don’t mind us, though.”

“Yes, do continue.” Philip sits next to him, coffee in hand and a look of catlike satisfaction on his face. “We’re happy to wait here and keep an eye on your shirts for you.”

Chapter Text

Ora is looking at him again.

This isn’t anything new for Geiz, Ora looks at him a lot, but it feels different this time. Normally it’s just a little weird, and she spends a lot of time staring at his mouth, but now her gaze keeps following his hands. Nervously, he reaches into his bag to touch the clunky gold watch tucked into the inner pocket, and her eyes narrow.

And it hits him: she knows. He’s not sure how, but she knows. So does Heure, he realizes after a moment, but Heure doesn’t stare at him as much as Ora does, and since he’s in a lower class they don’t see each other as frequently. Were they there? He doesn’t remember them, but then, he doesn’t remember a lot of things.

He passes Sougo a note about it during a lull in class, and gets one back almost immediately. Granted, it takes him a moment after that to figure out what it says, because Sougo’s handwriting is terrible.

Oh yeah they were working for someone but I don’t remember who.

Ora watches him as he puzzles through Sougo’s note, and when he looks up their eyes meet. True to previous form, she blushes and looks away, but this time she keeps looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Uncomfortable, he catches Sougo’s eye again and mouths, “So what do we do about that?”

“Don’t worry,” Sougo mouths back, accompanied by some emphatic gesturing that he’s definitely only getting away with because their teacher’s not looking, “I have a plan.”

Which turns out to be, when the day is over, that Sougo waves down Ora as she’s heading out with Heure tagging along behind and says, “Hey, we were gonna go get fried chicken, do you two want to come with us?”

Ora stares at him for a moment, her forehead wrinkling. “Is that a joke?”

Tsukuyomi shoots Sougo an alarmed glance and then says, “No, you’d know if he was joking because it’d be the least funny thing you’d ever heard. Come on, come eat with us.”

Heure is tucked behind Ora, as he often is–he’s not shy, but he’s quiet, and the flashes of memory Geiz keeps getting make that seem much more sinister than previously. He steps forward now, just slightly, and looks up at Ora. “I think maybe it would be nice to eat with them.” At her startled look, he continues with, “I like chicken.”

“Ok!” Sougo says brightly, as if this resolves everything. “Let’s get going, then!”

The booth at the KFC is almost too small to fit all five of them; it only works because Heure and Tsukuyomi are both so tiny. Even once they’re all crammed in, it’s tough to start a conversation, at least until Heure looks up from his food and says, quietly, “So where’s Woz?”

“I’m not sure,” Sougo says, entirely unconcerned, as Tsukuyomi snorts lychee Ramune out her nose. “I’m kind of worried about him, actually. Like, we ran into him a couple of weeks ago, but a lot of stuff was happening, and then we kind of lost track of him after that. You haven’t seen him recently, have you?”

“No, but I think Ora has.” Ora glares at him. “What? You mentioned him.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should go mentioning it to them.”

“Why not? I remember we didn’t like them in the, the other time, but do you remember why? Because I sure don’t.”

She scowls, and then goes red when everyone looks at her and drops her gaze. “Look, neither do I, ok.”

“So is there any actual reason we can’t just…be friends?”

“I’d like that,” Tsukuyomi adds, having gotten her soda-induced coughing fit under control. “You’re also planning on doing med school, right? It’d be sort of nice to have someone to study with besides these two.”

Sougo makes a mild noise of protest, but Geiz shrugs. “She is right, it’s not like we’re planning on going to university or anything.” He holds out his hand to Heure across the table, which is a little tricky with anyone’s food in the way, and is startled by how small Heure’s hand is. He can barely imagine how he was fighting back in the whatever-time that Sougo changed; how could Heure possibly have been their enemy when he’s two years younger and weighs, like, ten kilos? “Friends?”

Heure nods, and Geiz grins at him. Ora turns bright red. “I don’t remember you…smiling so much before.”

“I mean, I don’t remember smiling at all. I don’t remember you smiling either, actually.”

Tsukuyomi reaches across him to steal Sougo’s biscuit. “So we’re friends. Nice to have that worked out.”

Sougo looks delighted, despite the loss of his biscuit. “That’s kinda what I was hoping for.”

Chapter Text

“For some reason I have the urge to stretch both arms above my head and shout.”

Kouta grins at him. “Maybe you should. It’s not like anyone else is around.” He takes a long, bouncing step, and Takatora is briefly jealous of the protection his divine power offers, that he doesn’t need any sort of gear to be here. “So how’s it feel to be the first Kureshima on the Moon?”

“Ah…I’m not certain that I am, actually.” Takatora bounces experimentally. It’s strange, moving in the bulky suit, but the feeling of lightness is extraordinary. “A number of my forebears were, well…unusual people. One of them in particular, I think he was a third cousin, was fascinated by the Moon, and he had some…unusual contacts. It wouldn’t shock me to learn that he’d managed to get here.”

“Well, ok, but was he a Kureshima?”

“…now that you mention it, no, he was a Nobori.”

“Then you’re still the first Kureshima on the Moon. Here, come on, there’s a spot nearby with a really good view.” Kouta takes Takatora’s gloved hand with his bare one. The place they walk to is some distance away, but with the long low-gravity bounds they’re capable of here, it takes very little time to get there. “See? Look up.”

Takatora looks up and goes still, staring at the Earth hanging in the night sky. “Oh.”

Kouta glances over, looking like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t, just leans and gently bumps his shoulder against Takatora’s. In this oddly-lit place, he looks unearthly, glowing in silver and white, all the color leeched from his already-pale hair by the light of the Earth so that the only points of color are his mismatched eyes.

He looks inhuman, but also like he doesn’t belong here. He belongs in a place where things grow.

Takatora continues to stare up, watching the swirl of clouds over the oceans, the land vast in swathes of green and brown, and can’t stop himself from wondering, how different would it look? If Helheim had gotten what it wanted, if it had devoured us?

He shakes off the thought. It’s a moot point. If Helheim had devoured the Earth, then there would have been no one to bring him here anyway, no one to offer him this view from the outside.

Six billion people dead.

He stares until his eyes hurt, at the world that Kouta had to save because he couldn’t, and because he would have done it wrong anyway, and then his reverie is interrupted by Kouta saying, “Hey, Takatora, stay with me.”

He jolts. “I’m sorry, I was…elsewhere.”

“Must’ve been somewhere pretty far away, you’re already on the moon.” Kouta grins again, and it’s infectious enough to make Takatora smile too. “I was kinda hoping that we could also be the first people to make out on the Moon, but, uh, the little, kinda, the house-thing that Gentarou told me about, I think he forgot to tell me that it got destroyed.”

Takatora blinks. “I’m sorry, did you say a house?”

“Well, not really, it was more of a lab. A lunar base! That’s the phrase I was looking for. Yeah, he and his friends used to hang out up here all the time.” Kouta pauses, frowning. “Also I’m thinking about it now and having met some of Gentarou’s club buddies, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t actually be the first people to make out on the Moon.”

“Oh, it was that kind of club.”

“I mean–not really? But also I think any club JK’s a member of is a little bit that kind of club, yeah.”

Chapter Text

Junichiro laughs awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, Mr–Yuusuke, it feels like whenever you come here you end up repairing something.”

Yuusuke shrugs, grins. “I like having things to do with my hands, and there’s no sense in making you waste money on a plumber for something this simple to fix. And I’m going to teach Geiz how to do it too, so if it comes up again and you can’t get in touch with me he can take care of it.”

Blinking in surprise, Junichiro looks past Yuusuke’s shoulder to Geiz, who shrugs. “Woz hates being dirty and Sougo…uh…I kinda don’t think we should encourage Sougo to take apart stuff in the house. Um, no offense.”

“None taken, Geiz, I’ve known him longer than you have and I don’t know that I’d trust him to fix the toilet either, he’s, ah…”

“A little absent-minded?” is Yuusuke’s cheerfully diplomatic suggestion.

“Yes, exactly.”

A frustrated noise floats in from the dining room, and Geiz glances over nervously towards the doorway. “Maybe we should get started on that before Daiki actually manages to lose his temper.”

“I don’t think he’d really lose his temper over something like this.” Yuusuke also glances toward the dining room and frowns. “But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose at chess this many times in a row.”

There’s a notable silence, and then the sound of Tsukuyomi saying, quietly, “Checkmate,” followed by Daiki’s aggrieved, “Where did you learn to play chess like that?”

“Yeah, let’s head upstairs, either he’s going to actually get upset or he and Tsukuyomi are about to have some kind of serious conversation and he’d be embarrassed if we overheard him, he hates getting serious in public.”

In the dining room, Tsukuyomi frowns at her queen and says, “I…I don’t actually know. I know how to play chess, but I don’t remembering…learning how to play chess. Or who taught me.”

Daiki’s resetting the chessboard, so he doesn’t look up at her, but he does say, “You know, sometimes I envy Tsukasa for having been allowed to forget things.” Before Tsukuyomi can reply, though, “But then he’ll go saying something like you just said and I remember how lucky I have it.”

Tsukuyomi’s frown gets a little deeper, but now she looks more confused than frustrated. “What do you mean?”

“Has he ever mentioned that he can’t remember his parents’ faces? Or their names?”

“He…no, he hasn’t.”

“Being able to forget is a blessing, but only if it’s something you can allow yourself to do. Having it happen to you is a different thing entirely.” He finishes setting up the pieces. “Sorry, I’m being gloomy, it happens sometimes.”

Tsukuyomi peers at him for a moment before responding. “That’s why you started showing up to talk to Geiz, wasn’t it. Because of something you wish you could forget.”

Daiki still doesn’t look up at her. Now that the board’s reset he’s started fidgeting with the pieces again, picking up both kings and queens and rolling them in his hands. “You’re too sharp for your own good, you know that?” He puts the kings and queens down again in a little square in the center of the board. “I had a younger brother once. I failed him pretty badly.”

“I mean, apparently I had an older brother once, and he tried to kill me.” Tsukuyomi taps the white queen on the top of its little crown. “That’s also why you keep bringing me Watches.”

“Got it in one. You deserve a better brother. I think you four remind us all of ourselves.” Daiki looks down thoughtfully at the little square of pieces. “Hey, look, by the way, it’s you.” He taps the white queen just as Tsukuyomi did. “So I guess that’d make this one Sougo–” the black king, “and this one Geiz,” the white king.

She giggles. “And Woz is the black queen?”

“Well, it’s not a perfect one-to-one. I guess I could go with the black bishop, but guys who go by Bishop tend to be pretty ominous characters and he’s not nearly as worrying as he used to be.”

“So if we’re like you guys, then which one of these are you?”

“Oh, we’re not chess pieces, we’re cards.” Rustling, and a Tarot deck emerges from one of the interior pockets of Daiki’s jacket. He slides it lovingly out of the box and flips through the deck, drawing four cards and laying them down on the table next to the chessboard–the King of Wands, the Queen of Coins, and the Knight of Swords, and the Page of Cups. “See? There’s Tsukasa, that’s Natsumi, obviously this one is Yuusuke, and that’s me.”

“You just…had that in your pocket? And…Cups is the one that turned into Hearts, right? You’re the Page of Hearts?”

They’re interrupted by a startled noise from the kitchen, Woz saying, “How did you get that–” as Tsukasa, at the same time, says, “Princess, we don’t play with kitchen knives, give me that.”

“Ooh, sounds like things are getting exciting in there.” Daiki’s face lights up with a genuine grin. “Anyway, you have no idea how much stuff I’ve got in my pockets, that’s right, and of course I am. The Knave of Hearts, he stole some tarts. Speaking of which…” The Tarot deck goes away, and is replaced by on the table by a deck of regular playing cards. “Why don’t we switch games? You know how to play poker?”

Tsukasa carefully takes the paring knife from Yuzuki and puts it back on the counter, farther back from the edge than it was before. “I’m pretty sure you grew, I don’t think you could have reached up there last week.”

She grins up at him. “Tall!”

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re very tall.”

Woz shifts nervously as she returns to the kitchen chair she’s been occupying and clambers up onto the seat. Once she’s occupied with her stacking cups again and in no apparent danger of getting her hands on another knife, he visibly relaxes. He picks a piece of dumpling filling from the mixing bowl with his chopsticks, deposits it in the wrapper in his hand, and passes the whole thing to Tsukasa. “I appreciate your assistance with this.”

Tsukasa shrugs and starts to crimp the dumpling shut. “I figure you’re probably not usually cooking for ten people.” Closed, the dumpling goes onto a sheet pan, where there are already at least fifty completed but uncooked pieces laid out.

“You might be surprised. Sougo and Geiz both eat a great deal.”

“And you don’t?” Tsukasa accepts another filled wrapper and looks Woz up and down. “I’ve seen you eat, it’s kind of amazing that you’re so skinny.”

“That’s…not unfair.”

They make dumplings in silence, Woz filling and Tsukasa crimping as the sheet pan becomes fuller and fuller. Eventually they have to get a second pan, and when they’ve got ten dumplings down on that, Yuzuki slides down from her chair with a thump and tugs on the hem of Woz’s shirt. “Woz. Woz. Woz.”

Woz looks down at her in alarm. “Yes?”

She points imperiously to the counter. “Book.”

“Ah…yes? That’s my book.”

A firm nod. “Woz, book.”

“She wants you to read to her.” Tsukasa puts aside another completed dumpling. “Right, princess?”

Yuzuki nods again. “Ok! Read book!”

Woz only looks more alarmed. “Why me?”

“Well, she knows it’s your book.”

“Yes, but my book is…” Woz glances to the side. “My book is not suitable for children.”

Tsukasa’s eyebrows go up. “Isn’t it? If the stories in there aren’t suitable for children then I don’t know what is.” He pauses. “I mean, maybe don’t read to her about the Amazon kids, the Greek ones, but otherwise. I can keep making dumplings by myself, I’ll be fine.”

Uncertain, Woz nods, puts aside the cooking chopsticks, and washes his hands before taking his book down from its spot on the counter. Yuzuki claps delightedly as he sits down in the kitchen chair and climbs up onto his lap with only minimal wincing on his part. “Woz, book! Thank you.”

His mouth twitches slightly, as if he’s trying not to smile, and Tsukasa winks at him. Then, carefully, he opens up the book and turns to a spot about sixteen pages in. “Long, long ago, there was a man who knew how to do one thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine things–”

“Big number.”

“Yes, very big. There was a man who knew how to do one thousand nine hundred and ninety nine things, and his name was Godai Yusuke.”

“Like Daddy! Yusuke!”

“Just like your father, yes. And he loved nothing more than the blue sky and to travel and have adventures…”

“Hm. A little to the left, please.”

Sougo blinks. “Which one?”

“The Ride Booker. Your big watch is so chunky that it’s actually managed to make the Booker look small, which is pretty impressive.” Natsumi frowns, peering at the screen on her camera, and then shifts slightly as Sougo adjusts the placement of the Ride Booker. “Yeah, there we go, that looks nice.”

She takes several pictures. They’re working outside in the sun, so she doesn’t use the flash, and after ten or so shots she nods in satisfaction and Sougo says, “Do you want me to rearrange them?”

“No, that’s fine, I’ve got what I wanted. Here, toss me the Booker, you can take your watch now.“

“Ok, here. Why did you want a picture of the Grand Zi-O watch?”

She shrugs. “I don’t get to do a lot of still photography, most of the studio’s business is portraits. I thought it’d be a nice change.” The Ride Booker goes into her bag, her camera goes back into its case, and she sits down on the bench they were using as a platform for the set-up. “Besides, the weather’s good today, it’s a nice excuse to get outside and get some fresh air.”

The Grand Zi-O watch fizzes away, presumably back to the bedside table in Sougo’s room, and he sits down next to Natsumi. “It is nice out today, yeah. But I mean, like. Why Rider stuff? Why not, I don’t know, nature photography?”

“Because I don’t get out in nature as much as I’d like, but Rider stuff’s been a lot of my life. Tsukasa takes all kinds of photos of Rider stuff, of course, and they’re kinda great for what they are, but they’re not really practical records. The story of the whole thing matters, and it’s easier if you’ve got clear pictures.”

“The story? What story?”

“Whatever story’s being told. That’s what photography’s for, to tell stories about our lives. You know, like, here’s when Ritsuko got married, and this is when Miki and his sister graduated high school, and here’s when we saved the world the first time and Tsukasa got turned into a giant belt for ten minutes.” She glances over at him and grins. “Anyway, I wanted to get a picture of his transformation whatsit with yours because it’s kind of funny to see him pick up a junior, I think it makes him feel better about himself knowing that he’s not the only one doing what he does.”

Sougo nods, frowning slightly. “Tsukuyomi said you’re a Rider too, but I’ve never seen you carrying anything that looks like Rider stuff, what do you use?”

“Oh, god, she’s around here somewhere.”

“…she?”

“Hey! Kiva-la! I know you’re here!”

And a little purple-and-white bat flits into view and says, “Obviously I’m here, what do you want?”

“Sougo wanted to know what I transform with. See,” to Sougo, “Tsukasa and Daiki just get cards, Yuusuke’s got his stone, but if I need to do hero stuff I have to deal with her.”

Sougo stares at Kiva-la wide-eyed for a moment before saying, “It’s, uh, nice to meet you? Ma’am?”

Kiva-la turns a loop-de-loop in the air. “I like him! No one’s ever polite to me! Anyway,” with a pout in her tiny voice, “Tsukasa said to tell you it’s time for dinner.”

The whole building smells like frying dumplings and cooking soup and good food in general, and Yuusuke and Geiz straighten up and put the lid back onto the back of the toilet moments before Woz says, in his most carrying, I-Am-Making-An-Announcement voice, “It is time for dinner,” echoed by Yuzuki’s enthusiastic shout of, “Dinner!”

Yuusuke’s face lights up. “Oh, perfect timing. Here, wash your hands, I’ll wash mine, and we can both head down.”

“Sounds good.” Geiz turns on the water and starts scrubbing his hands vigorously. “Thanks for showing me that, by the way, everyone else here is useless at repairs.”

“I mean, I don’t know that I’d put it that way…”

“No, seriously, I live with Sougo, he’s a space case. And Woz is…he’s Woz. He’s great, but he’s also Woz.” Geiz backs away from the sink and grabs a towel to dry his hands as Yuusuke starts to wash his. “Why’d you want to, though? Like I appreciate it, but what made you want to teach me something like this?”

“I like fixing things, and you seem like someone who needs to find more ways to relax.” Yuusuke accepts another hand towel. “Rider stuff is exhausting, it’s nice knowing how to do normal things too. Wow that all smells good, I’m so excited to eat a meal that I didn’t have to cook any of myself.”

As they head for the stairs, Geiz says, “No offense, but you seem…different, somehow, from Tsukasa and Daiki and Natsumi.”

“That’s because they’re huge drama queens.” Yuusuke grins at him. “I love them so much, you have no idea, but if we were all like that then nothing would ever get done around the house.”

Geiz stifles laughter.

Yuusuke’s grin just gets wider. “See, I knew you’d get it.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Uh. Kureshima Mitsuzane.”

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot of name for a small guy.”

“Y-yeah, people say that…a lot. My friends, um, people call me Micchi.”

“See, that’s, like, a good amount of name! I’m Kouta. You wanna try dancing with us?”

“I–can I?”

“I don’t see why not, Soo twisted her ankle earlier so we’re actually down a person right now. I see you around here all the time, do you know the steps?”

“Do you still know the steps?”

Micchi jumps, and then winces. He can feel the line on his cheek where he’d slumped down onto his textbook, up too late to get anything useful out of study but stubbornly continuing anyway. His neck hurts, and his back hurts, and his mouth is dry.

It takes a moment for him to realize that his room smells like flowers and fruit, by which point Kouta’s already repeating himself. “Do you still know the steps?”

“Kouta?” Micchi twists around in his chair, bleary and startled. “Are you actually here or am I still asleep?”

“I’m actually here.” Kouta is sprawled on Micchi’s bed, looking only slightly otherworldly–he’s not in his armor, but he is golden-haired and glowing faintly. There’s a bit of vine curled around his wrist like a bracelet, and his feet, bare, are grass-stained. “I was checking in, and you were dreaming about me, and then I realized you fell asleep on a book, so I wanted to wake you up so you wouldn’t get too much of a crick in your neck.”

“Too late, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, I figured that when you woke up and kinda flinched. Sorry.”

“It’s, it’s not your fault.”

“No, but I feel like I could’ve stopped it. So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Still know how to dance.”

Micchi blinks, and then frowns. “I think…” He tries to go through Team Gaim’s dance steps in his head, gesturing vaguely as he pictures each one. Some of the routine is very clear, but other parts of it are fuzzy. One of his feet taps on the floor. Was it a jump to the side, next, or was this the part with the flip…? “I’m…I’m not sure.”

“Here.”

Kouta’s hands are warm like a sunburn is warm, a low, radiant heat. He pulls Micchi up out of the desk chair, red right eye gleaming, and his bare feet make no noise as they move through the steps together. It’s strange to do this without the entire group surrounding them, no Chucky dazzling in the back to draw eyes away from everyone else’s occasional missteps, no Rica or Rat or Soo or Gaku to get the crowd excited. No Yuuya. No Mai.

Just them, tracing through their parts on the floor of Micchi’s bedroom.

“I don’t think I actually have enough space to do a flip here.” Kouta grins at him. “But see? I knew you remembered.”

Micchi blushes. “I was never really that good at it.”

“Sure you were, you loved it. That matters.”

“I’m pretty sure people were coming to see good dancers, though.”

“Oh, come on.” Kouta’s arm loops around his waist, and what they’re doing now isn’t anything like a Team Gaim performance, more of a school dance-ish sway back and forth. “You weren’t that bad.”

There isn’t a lot of floor space to dance on. They bump into the desk, and then the bed, and then the chair, and then the desk again, but this time the corner, and Micchi winces and says, “If we keep this up much longer I’m going to be all bruises.”

“Ok,” and Kouta sits down on the bed and pulls Micchi with him, sunburn warmth permeating both of them. “We’ll dance somewhere else, then.”

Micchi yawns. “Where?”

“We’ll go see Mai. She’d love to have someone else to dance with for a bit.”

He’s already drifting off to sleep. “I thought she couldn’t…”

“She can’t. Not like I can.” Warm, warm, warm. Good smells, a sweet ache in the legs. “But if you’re dreaming I can bring you to her. And she’d never pass up a chance to dance with you.”

Chapter Text

Kouta’s drowsy and silly, in the kind of mood that always drives Kaito up a wall, and since he’s already going to be inherently annoying he figures, why not push it a little, and mumbles, “Hey, Kaito, do you believe in ghosts?” into Kaito’s bare shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kazuraba.” Which is the expected answer, but which is then startlingly followed up by, “Of course I believe in ghosts.”

Kouta blinks, which makes Kaito twitch, probably because of the sensation of eyelashes moving against his skin. “Really? I assumed you wouldn’t, it doesn’t seem…rational enough for you?”

“And what do you think is so irrational about believing in the power of a human soul with sufficient conviction? If there’s work to be done, a strong person isn’t going to let something as pitiful as death stop them. Why, do you not believe in ghosts?”

“Well, yeah, but mostly, like. Mean ones. You know, like in Ring or something? We watched that once at a Gaim party, ages ago, scared the crap out of me. I could barely sleep for a week. Akira thought I was on drugs.”

Kaito huffs, but in the way that means, You’re absurd and somehow I enjoy that, not the way that means, you’re absurd and I’m going to be mad about it, and rolls over on top of him. “That seems appropriate to your character.” And, before Kouta can ask what that’s supposed to me, his mouth is stopped with a kiss, and against his lips Kaito says, “Now stop babbling.”

The air smells sharp, here, and the midday light filters down through a thick canopy unlike anything else in Helheim. There is no rope around the trunk, no paper streamers, although Mai has said she’d like there to be–Kouta’s promised to get her rice straw and paper, the next time he can travel back to Earth. Still, the camphor tree is its own creature, among the vast breathing thing that is the forest, and that seems appropriate. The stone ruins around its base are slowly being overtaken, but the camphor tree will always be itself.

Kaito, when he’s present at all, is always slightly higher up in the branches than where Kouta is sitting. Most of him remains in the shadows no matter how he moves, but from the darkness there are a few flashes of red–his eyes, his shirtfront, the lapels of his coat–and occasionally one of orange, the translucent form of First Squirrel running over his shoulders and down to his pale hands.

Kouta makes himself comfortable on a broad branch, leans back against the trunk, and says, “So how’s the spooky tour guide business going nowadays?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call it that, Kazuraba.” Kaito’s voice is the wind in the leaves and the creaking of wood. “Somehow you make it sound frivolous. As usual.”

“I mean, if I’m not getting on your nerves, how are you supposed to remember that I’m here?”

“As if I could forget.”

Kouta squints up through the branches, trying to get a better look, but he can’t get a full picture of Kaito even with his supernaturally-sharp eyesight. Red, gray, black, an oval of face, a suggestion of coattails, a movement that must be legs, but he can’t see the feet that once moved so gracefully, or the mouth whose sneer he’s surprised that he misses. “I wish you’d come out where I could see you better.”

“No, you don’t. It would only upset you.”

“Since when do you care about upsetting me?”

“Surprisingly, Kazuraba, dying in someone’s arms can have an effect on a person.”

Kouta shifts on his branch, frowning. He wants to say, I miss you, but that seems like it’d be inappropriate given that Kaito’s right there. And he wants to say, I’m sorry, but he knows, deep in his heart, that it’s not something Kaito wants to hear. He never wanted apologies. He definitely needed a few, but he didn’t want them.

A particularly heavy gust blows through the leaves of the camphor tree, and Kaito’s voice is carried with it again. “Close your eyes.”

“Ok? If you want me to.” Kouta closes his eyes.

It’s not as much a feeling as it is the suggestion of a feeling, a hand on the back of his head gentler than it ever was in life and a mouth on his that he yearns up towards even though he can feel its lack of substance. Kaito never kissed like this when he was alive.

Maybe he wanted to.

“Hey, Kaito,” he says, eyes still closed, leaning into the fingers he can still feel combing through his hair, “do you still believe in ghosts?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kouta,” says the creaking of wood as a body settles unseen against his side. “Of course I do.”

Chapter Text

The shop is Omokagedo, the owner is Wajima, and the woman that Haruto is carrying there–girl, really, younger than him and pale as the moon–is Koyomi. He reminds himself of this as he’s hurrying onward, in between repetitions of this supposed shop’s address. Her name is Koyomi, and she’s so cold that he’s afraid she might already be dead.

She needs magic to survive. That’s what the mage in white said. She’ll need his help to survive. He repeats it in his head, over and over, the same way he once memorized the care instructions for the classroom guinea pigs in grade school. He can help her. He can keep her alive.

He can keep this one person alive.

He carries her and walks quickly to the shop that the white mage told him about, with Koyomi cradled in his arms, her cold forehead pressed against the side of his neck. He can’t run; that might jostle her, wake her from her deathlike sleep before he can do anything to help. Worse, if he jolts too much he could hurt her himself. He’s seen too many playing-field injuries to be stupid about it.

She needs him. He can help her.

Wajima is surprised by the arrival of the young mage, and alarmed by the condition of the girl he’s carrying, but it’s not as if he doesn’t have extra bedrooms, or food to spare. The girl wakes from her dead faint with an infusion of magic, and she’s a blinking, confused amnesiac with the neat clothes and cool skin of a porcelain doll, but she’s got enough of an appetite that Wajima isn’t too worried. So does the young mage, who looks haunted in a way that Wajima’s sure he’ll explain when he’s ready, but who eats like he’s still growing and brightens at the offer of one of the doughnuts Wajima had gotten for dessert.

It’s only much later that Haruto can allow himself the luxury of collapsing. Koyomi is lying down in the room Wajima gave her, Wajima himself has retired for the night, and Haruto sits down on the narrow bed in the other spare bedroom and stares at the opposite wall. It takes a moment to actually register how hard he’s shaking.

He sits, and he shakes, and he feels the pounding in his chest, his heart which apparently has a dragon living in it? Has he had a dragon in his heart for his entire life? He can feel it in there, trapped, a thing that hates him and fights and struggles to kill him and be free. It’s not going to get free, he won’t let it, but he’s not sure how he’s keeping it in, and he’s afraid that if he actually sits down and figures out how he’s managing it then it’ll all fall apart.

He’s light-headed. Probably because he’s hyperventilating.

A soft footstep, and a softer voice. “H…haruto?”

He looks up, trying not to jump. “Koyomi. I thought you were asleep.”

She shakes her head, brow wrinkled in distress. “I couldn’t sleep. You look…bad.” And then her lips purse in a moue of frustration. “That’s not how I meant that to sound.”

“It’s fine. I feel bad.” Talking is helping him stop hyperventilating, but his shoulders are still tense, and his hands might never be still again. “Did you, um, need something?”

“May I sit with you?”

Haruto shifts over on the edge of the bed, and Koyomi sits down and leans against him. His heartbeat finally slows as his breathing returns to normal; her breathing is hardly audible at all. She’s so still. Unbidden, he finds himself thinking, I always did kind of like the idea of being someone’s brother.

“I can’t remember anything,” she says, softly. “Nothing at all.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders. If he focuses on her he can stop shaking. This is something he can do. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“If you say so.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him.

“I’ll do my best.” The room is quiet, and now that he’s calming down he’s exhausted. Koyomi seems to be experiencing the same thing; she covers a yawn, curling up into herself against his side like a cat. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and yawns himself. “Whatever else happens, you’re safe with me.”

Chapter Text

The next shockingly fine watch comes to the store in the hands of, not a nervous student, but a sleek businessman who must be at least thirty-five. The watch itself is elegant in gold and steel, the face inset with sub-dials for the date and the phase of the moon, the bezel marked with astrological symbols tracked by a slim fourth hand. The businessman is wearing a suit so fine and well-fitted that it must be tailored and a gleaming lapel pin that appears to be made of tiny chips of stained glass, and a chauffeur is waiting for him in his car.

“This is extraordinary,” Junichiro says, turning the watch over in his hands. “Who made this? I don’t see a trademark anywhere.”

“There isn’t one, it’s one of a kind.” The businessman smiles, somewhat ruefully. “Unfortunately the artisan died before he could make any others, or I would have commissioned one for my little brother. Anyway, my nephew recently got his hands on it, and the calendar dials now seem to be malfunctioning; can you fix it?”

Junichiro holds the watch up to the light, eyes still wide. “I’m sure I can, but I’ll need to see the movement first. Wouldn’t want to damage a unique piece like this. Do you want to leave it here, or would you prefer to wait while I take that initial look?”

“I’ll wait, if you don’t mind. I’m not in a rush.”

“That’s quite all right, Mr…?”

“Nobori Taiga.”

“Mr. Nobori. Woz? Tea for our guest, please.”

The businessman–Taiga–very nearly jumps as Woz appears at Junichiro’s elbow and says, “Right away, Tokiwa-shishou. If you’d come this way, sir.”

In the dining room, Taiga sits, waits politely until Woz has poured him a cup of tea, and then says, “You’re younger than I expected.”

Woz eyes him sidelong. “I imagine it wouldn’t be welcomed if I responded in kind. What was so hazardous to Fangire supremacy about a watch?”

“You know, I’ve forgotten? Something to do with how the movement is put together, I think. But it’s a beautiful piece of machinery, I do regret the watchmaker’s death.”

“Why are you here?”

“To have a beautiful and unusual watch repaired by the finest watchmaker in Japan, do I need another reason?” In response to Woz’s suspicious look, “It’s a threat assessment.” A sip. “This is good tea.”

Woz stands frozen on the other side of the table, book under his arm. “Assessment of…who, precisely?”

Taiga shrugs. “Well, primarily Zi-O, but it doesn’t look like he’s around right now?” Woz shakes his head. “Thought not. Anyway, we know Decade and Diend have been keeping an eye on him and…Geiz, isn’t it? Him and Geiz and their cute girlfriend, but we wanted our own report just to be sure, and obviously we weren’t going to send standard operatives to investigate something this potentially dangerous.” Another sip of tea. “And then, of course, there’s you.”

“Ah…me?”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Slowly, Woz sits, eyes wide with alarm, and sets his book down on the table in front of him. He says nothing, just waits for Taiga to continue.

“So are Zi-O and his friends dangerous?”

There’s a pause before Woz says, softly, “Sougo and Geiz and Tsukuyomi pose no danger to either humankind or the Fangires.”

“And what about you?”

“I am theirs. Where they go, I go. I’m not interested in anything outside of that.”

Taiga’s eyebrows go up. “Well, that’s certainly an interesting way of putting it. You’re sure about that? You’ve got a lot of dangerous information in that book of yours, not to mention floating around in your head, and you haven’t exactly been close-mouthed about it. You startled Kureshima minor pretty badly, actually, going and calling him Ryugen with no warning. You’re not planning on selling to the highest bidder?”

Woz’s fingers curl on the cover of his book. “The information or the book? Because the answer is no on both counts, but it may interest you and your brother to know that the book cannot be removed from my vicinity without causing significant damage.”

“To the book or to you?”

“Yes.”

A sip of tea, a thoughtful sound, and Taiga peers searchingly at Woz’s face for a long moment before saying, “You know, I think I’m actually willing to trust you on that, and on the Zi-O situation. For the moment, at least. Decade is keeping an eye on you, and anyway, you seem like you have other things on your mind.” One more sip, and the cup is empty, and he sets it aside. “Oh, speaking of Kureshima minor, I heard through the grapevine that you offered him some peace of mind that I’m sure couldn’t have come out of your book. Care to tell me how you’ve got access to information spanning multiple universes?”

Woz glances to the side. He actually looks embarrassed now. “I have discovered, much to my dismay, that I am legion.”

“Hm. Dismay? Is it really so bad?”

“You try finding out that you’re a multiversal constant and then come back and tell me how you feel about it.”

“Fair enough, I imagine that’s an odd experience. Out of curiosity, though, is there any universe where I’m–?”

“You know very well that the power of the Fangire King does not lend itself to overwhelming temporal rule of the kind I am apparently designed by the multiverse to serve.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

Junichiro calls from the next room, and Woz gets to his feet, collects the empty teacup and brings it to the kitchen, and then hurries back to the shop. Taiga sits comfortably, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. After some thought he pulls out his phone and sends a text. [no worries here for the moment it’s all very domestic you’d love it]

He gets a message back in a few minutes. [That’s good. I’d hate to have to intervene. I hope your watch is fixable?]

“Mr. Nobori?” Junichiro is leaning into the dining room. “I’ve taken a thorough look, if you’d like to step over to the counter for a moment, please?”

“It seems like I get the most unusual customers nowadays,” Junichiro says thoughtfully as he’s paging through his supplier notes to find the contact information for the one company he’s certain makes the parts he’ll need. “I wonder how they keep finding me.”

“I couldn’t say, Tokiwa-shishou.” Woz folds Nobori Taiga’s watch carefully in velvet and tucks it into a box–it’s the only piece they have in for repairs at the moment, but that’s no reason not to treat it with delicacy. “Perhaps your sterling work is becoming better-known.”

“Young man, you’re a flatterer. No, I’m starting to suspect it’s because of you.”

Woz tenses. “How do you mean, Tokiwa-shishou?”

“Well, it’s since you came to work for me that it all started. I think you must be some sort of good-luck charm.”

“That would be a first,” Woz mutters as he’s putting the box away.

“Hm?”

“Nothing, Tokiwa-shishou.”

Chapter Text

The beeps and boops in the living room are coming from a game called Bomberman, the general atmosphere is celebratory, and Kiriya’s not sure if he’s aghast or impressed. “How are you drunk? Neither of us can get drunk, we don’t have the ability to metabolize alcohol that way. Also we’re celebrating what, exactly?”

“It’s M’s…doctor birthday.”

“I’ve had my license for a year!”

“Right, that.” Parad hiccups, looks disturbed about that for a moment, and then grins and taps his temple. “M is drunk, and I was curious, so I decided to see if I could get it from him, and I did.”

“Also I’m not drunk,” Emu says, not looking away from the screen. “I’m just a little, little tipsy. I measured my drink wrong. You should play Bomberman with us.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to mix drinks. You actually caught drunk from Emu? Through your psychic link thing?”

Parad nods slightly too enthusiastically and nearly falls over. “Anyway, you should play Bomberman with us.”

“I mean, I’ve got some work to–”

“Uh. Please play with us?”

Now Emu looks away from the screen, and it’s entirely in service to levelling a set of devastating, if slightly unfocused, puppy eyes at Kiriya. “Playyy.”

Kiriya sighs, somewhat fondly, and accepts the controller being brandished at him. “Ok, what are the buttons for this game?”

On the one hand, the game is very simple. Run around, throw bombs, don’t get blown up. Kiriya can understand that. On the other hand, though, it makes up for being easy to get the hang of by being entirely motivated by the desire to be an asshole to your friends. Which is to say that Kiriya is surprised to discover that he’s very good at it, but Emu and Parad are still much better.

After two wins and about ten losses, he sits back and says, “Teach me to try to play against you two.”

Emu grins lopsidedly at him. “Another win for Genius Gamer M.” A hiccup. “I should…have some water, maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe. Although I wouldn’t get comfortable, pretty sure you haven’t won the round yet.”

This is, in fact, a prescient take, since ten seconds after the words come out of his mouth, Emu’s last life is lost to Parad’s little green man, and Parad makes a noise uncannily like crowing. “Who’s the Genius Gamer here?”

“Me,” Emu says petulantly. “I’m the Genius Gamer.”

“But you can never consistently manage to beat me at–oh.” And Parad’s little green man promptly loses its last life to the computer.

Kiriya suppresses laughter, mainly because if he laughs he knows they’ll both turn on him, mood they’re in. “Yeah, you’re both the Genius Gamer, I thought that was a both-of-you thing. Happy doctor birthday, Emu. Drink some water.”

Chapter Text

Tsukasa catches himself sometimes staring at Sougo and thinking, shit, was I ever that young?

Objectively, he knows that the answer is yes. He remembers being that young, at least in bits and pieces. It’s just that Tsukasa at nineteen had been a sneering monster, not…whatever Sougo is. Not an innocent, that’s certain, but not Great Leader either.

Speaking of Great Leader, he’s going to have to address that with Sougo at some point, isn’t he?

“So Tsukuyomi’s got this weird theory.”

Tsukasa jerks out of his reverie and says, “Yeah?”

“Well, she’s been getting Woz to read to her in the evenings when she’s doing, like, anatomy homework, she says it helps her focus. Mostly it’s poetry, she likes poetry, and Woz gets really embarrassed about it. He blushes and everything. It’s really cute–am I getting off track?”

“Maybe a little. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right, sorry.” Sougo beams at him. “Anyway. Lately he’s been reading to her from his book, stuff about different Riders, and she noticed that a lot of people named Tachibana kept showing up, and they all kinda do the same thing. I mean, not exactly the same thing, but they’re all…back-up? I guess? So then she started looking for other stuff that’s similar in the different stories, like how there are a lot of guys who are bugs or who have to fight spiders or stuff like that, and she got Woz all excited about it, and now she thinks Rider stuff goes in cycles or something.”

“Cycles?”

“Yeah! She calls it ‘mythic recurrence’ or something like that. She says she thinks maybe we’re stories. She got really philosophical at me.”

It takes a couple of minutes for Tsukasa to process this, and then he nods slowly. “Obviously I don’t know everything about it, but inasmuch as I understand any of this shit she’s not far from the truth.” Another nod, and he smiles faintly. “Mythic recurrence.” The phrase rolls around pleasingly in his mouth. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“Sounds pretty dramatic, right?”

“You know, another Rider once told me that I didn’t have a story. That I was just here to help finish everyone else’s.”

Sougo’s mouth is already open to keep going, but he stops, and then frowns, his forehead wrinkling as he takes that in. “Well, that’s an awful thing to say to someone.”

“Is it? At the time it felt very true. And then after that for a bit I thought he’d been wrong, and then for a really long time I was sure he was right.”

Sougo nods, still frowning. “I hope something managed to change your mind again, that doesn’t sound like a happy way to live.”

“It wasn’t, I was very unhappy. But yes, something did change my mind.”

“What?”

“Meeting you, actually.”

Sougo looks startled, and then turns faintly pink. “Why me?”

Tsukasa shrugs. “Well, if I didn’t have a story, then there wouldn’t be anything to tell again, would there? Can’t retell a story that doesn’t exist. But there you were, doing a lot of the things that I did, with friends who seemed a lot like mine. Well, sort of like mine, at least.” Abruptly, he finds himself grinning. “Mythic recurrence, right in front of me. And then Daiki showed up and just started acting like he always has and reminded me that there were things I cared about once, and there wasn’t really anything stopping me from caring about them again. Except my own brain, that is, but that’s something we all struggle with, isn’t it.”

There’s a long moment where Sougo just stares into space, clearly processing this. Tsukasa can’t exactly blame him–it’s a pretty roundabout way to say, “you remind me of myself and that’s a good thing,” and a lot of information to take in otherwise. The silence goes on just long enough that it starts to get worrying, and then, suddenly, Sougo’s smiling again, still a bit pink, and saying, “I’m glad I met you too. I always sort of wanted a brother.”

Which is not what Tsukasa had expected him to say. His turn to blush. “Anyway, point is, Tsukuyomi’s on the right track, and I look forward to hearing her conclusions about it later. Are there really that many spiders?”

“Tons of them, it’s creepy. The bats I don’t mind so much, but there’s way too many spiders.”

Chapter Text

“So do we need to talk about boys?”

Tsukuyomi’s hands go still in the middle of unclipping a strip of film from the dark room clothesline. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you went to the trouble of actually figuring out how to get here by yourself, I assume you wanted to talk about something privately.” Natsumi’s also busy taking down negatives, so she doesn’t look over at Tsukuyomi at all. “And since you’re not asking Daiki about it, I thought it might be a relationship thing.”

“Do I really talk to Daiki that much?”

“Oh, yeah. Which is hardly surprising, he thinks you’re great.”

“…really?”

There’s a faint whoop from above them–Yuzuki, upstairs, playing with Yuusuke. Natsumi smiles at the negatives as she arranges them into neat stacks under the safelights and tucks each stack into a labeled box. “Yeah. He likes your attitude. Tsukasa does too, actually. Is it a relationship thing?”

Tsukuyomi’s cheeks heat up. She passes her own little stack of negatives to Natsumi, holding them delicately by the edges until Natsumi takes them and puts them away. “…kind of.”

“So which one of them are you in love with? Is it Sougo?”

“What? No, he’s super gay. Not that I couldn’t be in love with him, I guess, but…no, definitely not. I mean he’s my best friend, but. Yeah.”

“All right, then. You want coffee, by the way? This seems like it might be a coffee conversation, and Grandpa set up a whole little lounge down here, we can sit and talk without any of the guys listening or Yuzuki bursting in on us.”

“That’d be really nice, thanks.”

They leave the dark room, lock the door behind them, and cross the basement to the “lounge,” where Tsukuyomi folds herself nervously into one of the two small armchairs while Natsumi makes coffee. The coffee machine is fairly old; it takes some swearing before it starts to work, but after a few minutes there are two cups of coffee, with cream from the little fridge and a decent amount of sugar, and Natsumi sits down across from her. “Ok. Lay it out for me.”

Tsukuyomi takes a sip of her coffee. “So…Geiz is my boyfriend.”

Natsumi nods. “All right. For how long?”

“A few months now? He’s been into me for ages, but I wasn’t sure about it, and then I was, and now we’re dating.”

“I know how that goes.” Natsumi grins over the lip of her own coffee cup. “Sometimes it’s a learning process.”

“Yeah, it was actually really confusing at first. So Geiz is my boyfriend, but Sougo’s sort of his boyfriend. Like, I don’t know what’s going on with them, but they definitely sleep together a lot. Actual sleeping. Maybe other stuff, I haven’t asked, but they stay up until two in the morning arguing about things and then pass out on each other and it’s really cute.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Right? And then Woz is Sougo’s boyfriend, but he’s been really strange ever since he ate the other Woz–”

“I’m sorry, he ate–no, don’t explain that, it’s fine, it’s Rider stuff, our lives are all fucking wild. Go on.”

“So he ate the other Woz and he disappeared for a little and then he came back and he works for Sougo’s uncle and like–I kind of remember him flirting with Geiz in the, the other time, but now he doesn’t, and he just gets all quiet around Geiz instead and starts blushing, so I think he actually likes Geiz now instead of just being flirty and weird.”

Natsumi nods thoughtfully and takes another sip of coffee. “And is that a problem?”

“It’s–no. He can be into Geiz if he wants. Geiz can be into him if he wants, I don’t own them, and I’m pretty sure Sougo would be fine with it, he’s really chill about most stuff.”

“All right. But there is a problem, right?”

Tsukuyomi hides behind her coffee cup. “I don’t know how any of this stuff is supposed to work.”

“How what stuff works? Relationships where it’s you and then three really dramatic men?”

A hysterical giggle. “Um…yeah, that.”

Natsumi sighs cheerfully and takes another sip of coffee. “Well, that is somehow my area of expertise, relationship-wise. It’s gonna be a long conversation, though. You have time? You can stay for dinner if you like.”

“That’d be…really nice, thank you.”

“Sure thing. We almost never have company for dinner, it’ll be a nice change.” Natsumi pauses. “Slight change of topic, before we get into the actually messy relationship details, you’re using protection, right?”

Tsukuyomi turns bright red and nearly drops her coffee. “I mean. I. We. Yes!”

Chapter Text

“Is there something unusual about that group across the room?” Takatora says to his lunch companion, frowning. “Oren keeps peering at them, and it’s starting to worry me.”

“I mean, I didn’t, like, sense anything.” Kouta is as incognito as he’s capable of being, which is to say that he’s wearing normal clothing and his coloration is for the moment mostly human apart from his eyes. He’s got a cup of coffee in front of him–he claims to enjoy the smell, even though he can’t drink it. “Maybe he’s just being–oh shit, I know that kid.”

“You do? Was he a Beat Rider?”

“No, no, I know him from, like. Just a couple of years ago. Granted, the memory’s kinda fuzzy, which it shouldn’t be, and that’s worrying since I can’t actually forget things now, but I’m pretty sure that’s Zi-O.”

Takatora blinks. “I’m sorry, that’s Zi-O? The young man in the black jacket?”

“No, I think that guy’s a Rider too, I’m pretty sure they all are, but I mean the one next to him, in the pink shirt.“

”…the one with frosting on his nose?“ Takatora frowns. "Are you sure they’re Riders? They look like a group of college students on a double date.”

Across the restaurant, Geiz swipes frosting off of the tip of Sougo’s nose with his finger and says, “How did you even get that there? Oh, hey, this is really good, I didn’t realize it was lemon-flavored.”

Woz–not quite perks up, he’s not perky, but Geiz does immediately have his attention. “Did you say lemon?”

Geiz holds out his hand and then turns bright red when Woz eyes him for a moment and then leans forward and licks the frosting off the tip of his finger. “Mm. That is very good.”

Tsukuyomi makes an affronted noise, presumably at having been denied lemon frosting, and so Woz kisses her because there’s still a little bit of frosting stuck to his lip, and while Geiz is trying to figure out how his life got to this point Sougo says, “Hey, I think those two guys are watching us.”

“Yeah, probably a lot of people are going to be watching us if Tsukuyomi and Woz keep making out like that.”

“We weren’t making out, I just wanted lemon buttercream.” Tsukuyomi takes a delicate bite of eclair.

“I doubt it’s anything to be concerned about,” Woz says, pink-faced as he turns his attention back to his slice of pie, “it’s just Gaim and Zangetsu.” Then he goes very still. “Ah. Actually, if Gaim takes exception to our presence that may be a very bad thing, he doesn’t typically return to Earth unless there’s a major concern.”

Sougo shrugs. “It doesn’t look like a crisis, I think they’re just on a date.”

Takatora realizes with some embarrassment that he’s been staring when the boy in the pink shirt catches his eye and waves cheerfully. Hesitant, he waves back, and the boy, who he’s still having difficulty believing is the potentially-dreaded Zi-O, beams at him.

“They look so young,” he says to Kouta. “I think they may actually be younger than my brother.”

“Well, yeah, Micchi’s like…twenty-one now? Pretty sure they’re all nineteen or something. Well, that Woz guy might be older, I don’t know what’s going on with him.” Kouta takes a deep sniff of his coffee. “They’re older than Micchi was when our stuff all happened, at least.”

“I suppose you’re right. It’s strange, isn’t it, how it persists.”

“What does?”

“Whatever circumstances create a need for Riders. You’d think saving the world once would be enough.”

“Well, sure, that’d be nice, but at least we did save the world. If we hadn’t then there wouldn’t be anything left to be in danger again.”

“That’s…oddly reassuring, thank you, Kouta.”

Kouta grins at him. “Sure thing, babe. Anyway–oh, hey, are you blushing, that’s so cute, you can’t just go being cute at me, it’s not fair.”

“I am not blushing,” Takatora says, knowing full well that he is. “I hope we’re setting a good example, though.”

“For who? Zi-O and his buddies?” Kouta glances at them again, waving when the tremendously dignified young man sitting at Zi-O’s left meets his gaze for a moment and then looks away. “I kinda hope they don’t try to follow my example, this coffee smells really good and it’s killing me that I can’t drink it. You think we should go over and say hi?”

Takatora sneaks once last look across the room, where Zi-O and his friends have dissolved into a minor dispute over the last pastry on their little sampler platter. “No, you know, unless the world starts ending within the next ten minutes I think we should leave them to it.”

Chapter Text

He’s had a body for a week, a real, solid body which belongs to him in its entirety, which moves when he wants it to move, which breathes and bleeds and eats, and he’s still not used to his heartbeat. It’s like a hammer in his ears and a drum in his chest. Thump thump thump. How do humans ever get used to having a heartbeat?

He has a heartbeat. He doesn’t want Cell Medals, which is equally strange. He has some, he can feel them…somewhere, but he doesn’t want more. And he can’t tell where his Core Medal is. He can feel its presence, see the fracture line whenever he looks in a mirror, but he can’t quite locate the actual object. That frightens him, and he is breathtakingly unaccustomed to fear. It makes his accursed heartbeat speed up and get louder until its roaring is the only thing he can hear.

They’re in Kolkata, in a hotel room, in one of the nicer hotel beds they’ve slept in on their slow trek back to Japan, and he’s running his fingers down his face. He can see the fracture line, but he can’t feel it; his skin is smooth to the touch, without any raised mark to betray his brokenness.

Too smooth. Eiji has wrinkles now, and his hair is half gone to white. Ankh’s not sure how much control he has over this new body, and he doesn’t exactly relish the prospect of being old, but if he can make himself so then he will, so that they can match. Better that than to be mistaken for Eiji’s son again.

Speaking of Eiji–he’s half-asleep, his face pressed to Ankh’s shoulder, arm thrown across Ankh’s chest, but he stirs as soon as Ankh says, half-rhetorically, “Eiji, what am I?”

Eiji smiles sleepily at him. “You’re Ankh.”

Ankh rolls his eyes. “That’s not an answer.“ He holds up his right hand, inspecting it in the faint light leaking in from the crack in the curtains. “I’m not a Greeed anymore. But I’m not human either.”

“That’s true.” Eiji sounds confused, in a sweet way. Probably because he’s only barely awake. “Does that bother you?”

“I’ll tell you when I decide.”

The room isn’t bright enough to look at his hand properly. If it were daytime he hold it up in the sunlight and look at the fine tracery of veins in which his blood moves. Here, he can’t see them, it’s too dark, but he can flex and focus and watch his hand’s silhouette shift for a moment into something larger and more familiar. It takes effort, now, to look like a Greeed, and it doesn’t feel quite right. But then, neither does looking human.

“Does it bother you,” he says to the top of Eiji’s head, “that I don’t know how to be human?” And the words come out of his mouth and he feels his unfamiliar heartbeat stutter with the realization of how important the question is, that it matters to him that Eiji approve of how he is now. His heart jumps, and he feels something hard in his chest, and he realizes, ah, that’s where my Medal is, and he waits for an answer.

The answer is, less sleepy now as Eiji props himself up on one elbow, “No, of course not. I don’t want you to be human. I mean, unless you want to be human.”

“Tch. What do you want me to be?”

“Is that important? What I want?”

“Of course it’s important, idiot,” as is the agonizing knowledge that he’s going to spend the rest of his life, or at the very least the rest of Eiji’s, trying to live up to whatever answer Eiji gives him next. Ankh never asked for that kind of burden, and now that he can feel it weighing on his chest he knows that he’ll never want to give it up. “What do you want me to be?”

“Ankh.”

“What?”

“No, that’s–that’s the answer.” Eiji blinks down at him, drowsy and concerned. “Whatever you are, I’ll be happy. Because it’ll be you.”

Ankh lets out a long breath. His hand is still in the air, shadowy in the dim light; he brings it down on the back of Eiji’s neck and pulls Eiji to himself. “Sentimental idiot,” he says into Eiji’s mouth. “The things you want make no sense.”

Chapter Text

Shinnosuke frowns. “They’re doing…what, exactly?”

Takeru’s face is buried in his hands, and he sounds suspiciously like he’s suppressing laughter. “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

“…no, I think I really do.”

“Philip and Parad are…” An actual giggle escapes the mask of Takeru’s hands. “They’re playing chess.”

Shinnosuke glances around the room, looking for Philip and Parad, and his frown gets slightly deeper. “But they’re nowhere near the chess board.”

Shoutaro frowns down at the chess board, and he’s about to reach for a piece when Philip’s voice in his right ear murmurs, “You should take his knight before he notices that it’s in danger.”

That’s startling until Shoutaro realizes, seconds later, that he never took off the W Driver. He glances at Emu, who’s looking slightly distracted, and then moves one of his rooks over and takes the white knight in question. “Your turn.”

Emu hisses through his teeth. “I didn’t even realize that one was in danger–um.” He inspects the board, frowning, and then moves one of his pawns. “There we go. Your turn.”

It doesn’t look like an anything move to Shoutaro, but Philip says, “Oh, that was very clever of him. Hm. Bishop to f5.”

Shoutaro tries to look like he’s just taking stock of the board as he replies, “Philip, I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s a spot on the board, in the commonly-used algebraic notation chess board spaces are given coordinates based on–here, just let me do it,” and Shoutaro’s right hand moves the red bishop into position without Shoutaro’s input, which even after all these years is still a weird feeling.

He shrugs it off and says, out loud, “Your turn.”

Emu looks confused, and then his eyes seem to flash red and he makes a swift move and says, “Your turn.”

“…did your eyes turn red just now?”

“Did they what?” Emu looks…guilty. “No, of course not.”

There’s a tiny squeaking noise from across the room–Takeru, his hands clapped over his mouth, his eyes gleaming. What he’s laughing at, Shoutaro can’t quite figure out, and apparently neither can Shinnosuke, who’s standing next to Takeru, looking deeply confused. Philip’s over in a corner, talking to Gentarou about Ama High’s recent football wins as if nothing strange is going on at all, and Parad is nowhere to be seen. Probably vanished off to a vending machine to get a soda or something.

They get back to the game, and Shoutaro gets through a move all by himself before Philip is back to “helping.” “You should take that pawn, it’ll clear your way nicely.”

“I know how to play chess, partner.” But Shoutaro makes the recommended move anyway.

Emu stares down at the board in consternation, and then groans and turns to where Parad is back in the room with a ribbon jelly in hand and says, “Look, Parad, if you want to play chess so badly you can just come over here and take over for me.”

Shoutaro blinks. Realization dawns. “Wait, you too?”

“I–me too what?”

Shoutaro taps his temple. “You’ve also got someone giving you advice.”

Emu gets that guilty look again, and then makes a tiny choking noise. “Wait, did you say also?”

Takeru finally collapses in a howl of laughter and has to be helped to a seat by Shinnosuke.

“Philip?”

“Yes, Shoutaro?” Philip says, mild and pleasant as he looks up from his conversation with Gentarou.

“Jig’s up, you and Parad can take over the game if you want to.”

“Have I been playing with Parad?” Philip looks thrilled. “I had no idea.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Parad says cheerfully, pixelating into Emu’s chair almost before Emu’s done standing up. “I’m pretty sure I can win this one. How long have you been playing?”

“Oh, most of the game, really.” Philip sits down in Shoutaro’s chair, tips his head back, and beams up at his partner. “Although I’ll admit that I did have help.”

Chapter Text

A chair scrapes along the floor behind Daiki, and he says to his coffee, “You know, I’d ask how you tracked me down, but you always did seem like the persistent type. Do you miss your fancy coat?”

“You have something of mine.” Schwartz sits at the next table, back to him. “It’s time you gave it back.”

Daiki grins. “You say that like I stole it. I mean, I’ve stolen plenty of things, don’t get me wrong, but that you did actually give to me.”

“All gifts have conditions.”

“I bet you do miss your fancy coat, it was very dramatic.”

“I should have cut your tongue out when I had the opportunity to do so.”

“Which was when, exactly?” Daiki takes a sip of coffee. “I’m harder to pin down than you seem to think.”

There’s a long silence. Maybe Schwartz is thinking, or maybe he’s just taking a minute or two to enjoy his coffee. Either one would make sense, really; it’s good coffee.

“You know,” Daiki says, when he feels like the silence has dragged on long enough, “I feel like I should be thanking you for helping me to get my life on track. Thanks to you calling me up like, ‘hey, come treasure-hunt for me,’ I have my family back, I have a junior and he’s great, if a little intense, I have a baby sister–actually, that’s what you should be mad about, isn’t it? You gave me your power freely, but I did steal your sister.”

Schwartz makes an undignified snorting noise. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Wow, you really are a terrible older brother.” Daiki shrugs. “Well, finders keepers.”

Another undignified snort. “Finders keepers, you say. You have the morals of a stray cat.”

“Well, sure, cats don’t have morals, but you know what they do have?”

“And what’s that?”

“Standards.” Daiki tips his head back just enough that he knows Schwartz can see at least the edges of his teeth. “Anyway, too bad for you. You gave me the power, now it’s mine. And if you come near me again, or any part of my family, no one will ever find your body.”

Chapter Text

“I go to all the trouble of actually learning how to do this and he’s asleep? It’s taken years, and we don’t even know if I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Well, it’s–it’s tricky to keep track of the time, you know? Between here and home.”

“…this was home, once.”

“I know, Mai. I know.”

Micchi hears the voices and thinks he’s dreaming, but he opens his eyes and the room is golden.

That’s not entirely unusual, it happens maybe once a year, sometimes twice. Never predictably, although perhaps it’s on some rhythm that he just doesn’t know. Whether it’s somehow scheduled or not, Kouta does occasionally drop in to check on him, get updates on how things are in the world, tease him about how long his hair’s gotten. (Long enough now that he’s started wearing it pulled back, which his brother also finds amusing.)

But not Mai, though. Never Mai, not in a million years would he ever assume that she’d want to visit him, and that’s assuming that she can. Kouta’s said she doesn’t hate him, but Micchi’s not sure he really believes that.

He blinks a long, drowsy blink, opens his eyes again, and lets the golden light resolve into Kouta, perched on his desk, and also into Mai, sitting in his desk chair and wiggling her toes in the carpet and saying, “Hey, Micchi.”

His voice cracks like it hasn’t in years. “Mai?”

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to be able to visit. Your hair’s gotten really long, it’s cute.”

He scrambles out of bed, moving so quickly that he nearly knocks his head on the floor. Kouta says something above him, but he barely hears it, too busy in his frantic movement towards Mai, and when he reaches her he doesn’t stand, just presses his face to her grass-stained feet and says, voice breaking entirely, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey. Hey, Micchi, you don’t have to–it’s ok.” She reaches down and strokes his hair. “It’s ok.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, tears streaming down his nose and dripping onto her ankle. “I’m sorry.”

She lets him go for–some period of time. Who knows how long. However long it is, she keeps sort of petting his hair, and he cries on her feet, and Kouta’s probably really uncomfortable with the whole thing and Micchi feels bad about that but not enough that he can make himself stop. Eventually, though, he runs out of tears, and when she tugs he rises up on his knees in front of her, and she kisses him, because some kisses are about absolution.

And she says, “It’s ok, Micchi. I forgive you now.” Her hand is still on his head, the back of it, gentle and soft, and she smells like every flower he’s ever loved. She kisses him again, still absolution, still sweet. “I forgive you.”

“He cut out your heart,” Micchi says, faint and shaking.

“Sssh, you know that didn’t stick.” She takes one of his hands and presses it to her chest, and the first thud of her heartbeat under his fingers nearly brings him to tears again. “See? It’s right where it should be.” Her own fingers trail down the side of his face, the tip of her thumb brushing tears off his cheekbone. “You’ve grown a lot, shit. You look good. Older, in a nice way.”

He laughs wetly. “You look. You look beautiful.” What else do you say to a literal goddess? “You look perfect.”

“Thank you,” she says, and she smiles at him. And then there’s a small, not-quite-irritated noise off to the side, and she giggles, and Micchi feels like he might pass out. “I think Kouta’s feeling neglected.”

Micchi sniffles unattractively and attempts a watery smile, which improves when he actually looks at Kouta. It’s impossible to look at Kouta and not feel at least a little better. “I’m sorry, Kouta, I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Kouta grins at him. “You had stuff you needed to say, I’m patient.”

Mai swats Kouta’s arm. “You are not patient, you’re the least patient person ever, I heard you arguing with that new tree the other day.”

“I wasn’t arguing with it, I was encouraging it.”

“Pfft. He argues with the fish, too, you know, Micchi. I almost wish you could see him do it, it’s ridiculous.”

Micchi blinks. “What…what do you argue with fish about?”

“I don’t even know, he just sits there with his feet in the water talking to them for hours at a time. It sounds like arguing, at least. I don’t know, I don’t speak fish.”

“That’s…I’m a little lost.” Micchi frowns, trying to parse that, and then realizes that his hand is still on Mai’s chest and jerks it back, blushing.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just fish. Honestly I’m just feeling a little left out because I haven’t gotten any kisses yet.”

Mai swats him again. “I was doing important kissing, you’ll get yours.”

Blushing, Micchi leans up as Kouta bends down and receives, not absolution this time, but benediction in a mouth as sweet as juice. It sends a shock through his entire body, an actual shock, and he opens his eyes to the sudden reminder that neither one of these two are human anymore. Kouta’s skin hums with power, and the pedestal Micchi had once put Mai on has now grown up beneath her. If they let him, he could stay right here forever, kneeling at their feet.

The wood of his desk is putting forth flower buds where Mai’s hand rests. She glances at them; her mouth twists. “Stop that.” And, to Micchi, “I can’t stay long.”

He feels his heartbeat skip. “You only just got here.”

“I know. It’s really not fair, is it.” A pause, and she looks up at Kouta, face filling with a mischief that makes her look suddenly more human. “But if you like…”

Beat. Skip. Beat. She looks back at him and his entire body feels warm with the certainty that anything she asks for, he’s going to give her. “Yes?”

“I think I do have time to stay the night. If you feel like telling me about everything I’ve missed, that is, it’s harder for me to keep track of what’s going on here than it is for Kouta.”

The hand that touched her tingles. “I’ll tell you everything I can. Please stay.”

She kisses him again. It’s not absolution. Kouta kisses him too, lips against his hair, and murmurs in his ear, “For as long as we can.”

Chapter Text

Blood drips onto the collar of Geiz’s shirt, staining the pristine white a bright and vivid red, and Sougo is already reaching for a box of tissues as he says, “Wow, did you get in a fight or something?”

Geiz is staring at the sky with a long-suffering expression, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Akiyama-sensei hit me in the face with his elbow when we were grappling.”

“Wait, at judo? But that let out, like, an hour ago.” Sougo dabs semi-effectively at the nosebleed with a tissue.

“It started bleeding again while I was walking here.”

“The blood on your shirt kind of suits you, actually.” Gently, Sougo tugs Geiz over to the bench next to the front door and makes him sit down. “You look really dramatic.” A pause. “It’s cute.”

Geiz continues to stare fixedly at the sky and pinch his nose. “If you make me blush right now I’m going to kick your ass, I don’t need more blood rushing to my face.” A shadow falls over both of them. “Hi, Tsukuyomi.”

She’s peering down at Geiz. “You got in a fight with those guys again, didn’t you? The ones who were hassling Ora’s little brother at the noodle place last week?”

“Why do you both always assume that I got in a fight?”

“Akiyama-sensei elbowed him in the face during judo today.”

Tsukuyomi frowns. “But your judo class let out an hour ago, did it start bleeding again or something?” She takes another tissue from Sougo and starts dabbing at Geiz’s nose as well, realizes that he’s no longer actually bleeding, and then produces a small package of wet wipes from her bag and starts cleaning dried blood off of his chin instead. “The blood on your shirt kind of looks good, though, you look like a tough guy.”

Geiz sighs almost inaudibly and lets them fuss over him, and neither of them are going to comment on the fact that he’s got a faint smile on his face. “Sougo said almost the same thing.”

“He says reasonable things sometimes.” Tsukuyomi puts aside one wet wipe, pulls out another one, and then takes a moment to look at the collar of his shirt. “This stain’s going to set, you know. But anyway Sougo does say things that aren’t ridiculous sometimes.”

Sougo glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and Geiz knows he’s going to up and say something wild, which he does, because he opens his mouth and says, “You look really good in red, actually, when I’m king I’m going to issue an official decree that you have to wear red shirts all the time.”

Geiz groans. “You are so weird.”

Tsukuyomi makes a thoughtful noise. “No, actually, I think I’m on Sougo’s side this time. Maybe a whole red suit.” A pause. “I feel like…didn’t you wear a red suit, once? I feel like I remember you wearing a red suit.”

“What? Tsukuyomi, I’ve never worn a red suit in my life. I don’t think I own any red clothes.”

“No, I’m…” Sougo’s frowning. “I’m pretty sure I remember you wearing a red suit too, I just can’t figure out when.”

“You’re both out of your minds.”

Chapter Text

Parad is asleep between them, and his perfect stillness is honestly a little eerie. He’s sprawled the way a normal human might be sprawled, right arm tucked under his pillow, left leg half out from under the blanket, but he doesn’t even twitch otherwise, and of course he doesn’t breath. Like a doll dropped from a child’s hand, he is entirely unmoving.

He’s pixelating at the edges, though. Emu reaches out curiously to brush his shoulder, jerks back at the little shock that results, and says, “Do you think he’s dreaming?”

On Parad’s other side, Kiriya looks down at the still form and shrugs, and his mouth curves into a slight frown. “He shouldn’t be. Bugsters don’t, as a rule.”

“Did you?”

“No idea. I only tried sleeping once.” Kiriya shudders. “Felt too much like death. It’s voluntary anyway. Honestly, it’s not really sleep like humans know it; it’s more of a standby state.” A pause, thoughtful. “Poppy told me she’d tried dreaming once, but it just woke her up.”

“He can come into my dreams.” Emu reaches out again and braves the shock to lay a hand on Parad’s arm. “Although I don’t think other Bugsters can do that.”

“No, definitely not, you two are a special case. Honestly, ace, I doubt we’ll ever figure out everything you two have going on, you’re weird as hell.”

“I feel so loved.”

“I do love you, ace. And him.” Kiriya grins and reaches over to brush Parad’s curls out of his face. “Sometimes it’s good to be weird.”

In the depths of standby, Parad does not dream. Instead, background daemons busy themselves with the details of his physical form, making minute corrections and precise adjustments. A minor virus picked up from a public computer is flushed from his system. Junk data is deleted.

His external senses continue to function at a very low level, to warn him of any threats that might approach before the standby timer runs out, and so some sensations filter down from the outside world. A warm hand in his hair, another on his shoulder, trusted bodies on either side. Words spoken over his head.

“Love. Dreams.”

A section of his code begins to rewrite itself.

Someday, he determines, in the quiet of his own head, he will learn how to dream.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Tsukasa says, gesturing with the hand that isn’t holding his chopsticks, “I’ve seen a lot of Riders, and your whole thing is still a little weird to me.”

It takes a moment before Shoutaro’s swallowed his mouthful of noodles. “What part of it? Also, how many other Riders are there?”

“No idea. More than ten, that’s for sure. The thing where you’re two guys, though, that’s new.”

“Well, I mean.” Unexpectedly, Shoutaro blushes, which is adorable. “I’m one guy. Philip’s another guy. We’re one Kamen Rider. And, uh, detective, we’re also one detective.”

“Really. Which one of you does which part of the detecting?”

“He does all the research and I do all the stuff you need to be physically present for. Not that he’s not ever physically present, but, uh, since he passes out when we transform we try to avoid dragging him around too much.”

“That’s an interesting arrangement.”

“It works for us.” Shoutaro ducks his head, still blushing, and gets down another mouthful of noodles before continuing. “We haven’t been doing this for long.”

Not that you’d know it to look at them–Tsukasa saw them weaving around each other in their cramped office. No trips, no bumps, no “excuse me”s, just a thoughtlessly perfect dance to which they both inherently knew the steps. Even after the drivers came off and their psychic link or whatever was broken, they still moved like two halves of a greater whole. And when he transformed them in the last fight, they became nothing more than themselves, side by side, still stronger together. The thought of a power so inherently tied to companionship makes Tsukasa’s mouth water with envy. Which is strange; otherwise he’s the happiest he’s ever been. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you been working together?”

“Well…a year, actually, now that I think about it, even since Boss di–Begins Night.”

Tsukasa nods slowly. “Your boss. The skull man?”

Shoutaro looks, very briefly, far off and miserable. “Best man I’ve ever known.”

Tsukasa wants to know more about that guy, he’d seemed like a relic of another time when he’d materialized briefly, but–there’s enough misery in the lives of Riders as it is. No need to make his weird new junior talk about it. He thinks again about that unconscious dance in the office and, instead of pressing his curiosity, says, “So tell me about your partner. He seems like an…unusual man.”

Shoutaro brightens, drinks down the last of his soup, and says, “Oh, he’s really frustrating, he drives me completely crazy.”

“Really.” Tsukasa raises an eyebrow. “He’s that bad.”

“Absolutely.” Shoutaro sighs happily into his coffee. “Incredibly obnoxious.”

Tsukasa watches him for a moment before nodding again. I guess the story of Kamen Rider is going in a good direction. “You said he does all the research, but I don’t think I even saw a computer in your offices. Do you have a library, somewhere?”

“Well, funny you should mention that…”

Chapter Text

“That’s fascinating.” Sento peers at the molecular diagram displayed on the central of Kiriya’s three computer monitors, leaning in so close that his chin is nearly resting on Kiriya’s shoulder. “So it does have a physical component, but the net result is the conversion of a human body into a digital form. Do you have any idea of the mechanism behind it?”

“A pretty vague one, sure, that’s part of what we’re working on. Spinning people back together from the bullshit that thing turns them into. You’re not getting any bolts of inspiration here, are you?“

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m physics and engineering, medical science is sort of a mystery to me. And I have some programming background, but it’s all very basic, nothing that could possibly touch this kind of complexity. Is its infectious range restricted to games, or can the virus invade other kinds of computer program? Could it get into the onboard computer systems in the Build Driver?”

Kiriya blinks. “Your driver’s got a computer in it?”

“Of course, how else would it analyze the Fullbottles to put the suit together? I’m sure your Gamer Drivers have some kind of computers in them as well, if they’re running on video game data.” Sento pauses, frowning. “Don’t they?”

“No idea. That was more God’s area of expertise, and he’s not exactly around to grill anymore.”

Sento’s frown deepens. “The fruit man?”

It takes a moment for the question to process, and then Kiriya has to hold back a snort of laughter. “Different god, unfortunately. If it was Kouta I figure I wouldn’t be having nearly as many issues, he’s a sweet guy but not exactly a complex thinker. Nah, former Genm CEO. Real asshole. Dead now. Extra dead, even, he was already dead. He engineered,” a vague gesture to the diagram, “that whole mess. When he was, like, sixteen. I want to know how he got so much detail on how human viruses function, this thing is brutal. Maybe eventually we’ll be able to bring him back again and I can shake some answers out of him.”

“You take this research very seriously, don’t you.”

“Hey, pathology’s the sexiest branch of medical science, baby, and when I win a Nobel Prize for it I’ll be the hottest man on the planet.” Kiriya grins and tips his head to the side so he can look at Sento’s face. “Maybe there’s a happier strand of things where we met in a bar instead of another stupid apocalypse and I dazzled you with my knowledge of infectious diseases until you came home with me.”

Sento turns faintly pink, but he stands his ground. “You think so? I’m not that easy to dazzle.”

“I think you’re underestimating the sex appeal inherent in my really comprehensive understanding of the bubonic plague.”

“And do you ever stop talking about infectious diseases?” Sento laughs tiredly. “Not that it isn’t fascinating, but I don’t think there’s a lot I can add to the conversation.”

“Oh, sure, wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t let anyone else get going about something they enjoy. I listened to Emu talk about the Mighty games for two hours once. Didn’t follow most of it, but I listened. Speaking of which, I figure it’s your turn.” Kiriya grins. “You’ve gotta have something you wanna bend my ear about.”

“Actually…” Sento leans forward over his shoulder again, squinting at the diagram before turning to look at the notes up on one of the other monitors. “I think I might have something to add here. Given that you’re having issues with what to do with this data that people have been made into, but which you said you do have access to. Have you considered at least a temporary hardware solution?”

“Ooh, now that’s what I’m talking about.” The grin gets wider. “I’m all ears, egghead. Blind me with science.”

Chapter Text

Clink. Clink. Clink.

There is someone in Maki’s laboratory, and he has not authorized anyone to be in there. Of course, it might be Date, the man’s always making himself inconvenient, but somehow Maki suspects that it is not.

Clink, clink, clink.

He steps into the laboratory and it is, of course, not Date.

The feline Greeed is sitting on the floor at the far end of the room, in front of the small safe in which Maki keeps a supply of Cell Medals for experimental purposes. The door of the safe has been wrenched open, in a display of strength that’s mildly alarming and tremendously interesting.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Kazari picks up three Cell Medals and lets them drop through his fingers, clink, clink, clink onto the little pile he’s pulled out. “This is pathetic.” He picks up another three, not the same ones, and drops two of them, clink, clink, before lifting the third absently to his mouth and licking it. “You don’t happen to know what these taste like, do you? I’ve always been curious.”

Maki watches him for a moment before sitting down and reaching for a notepad. “I’ve never tasted one.”

“That’s a shame.” The Medal disappears between Kazari’s lips. He doesn’t swallow it visibly, but when he opens his mouth again it’s certainly gone. “What color are they? Do you know?”

“Silver.” Maki begins to make notes.

“Oh, boring.” Kazari swallows another Medal, staring dreamily at the pile on the floor as he drags his fingers through it. “I saw Ankh eat food the other day, have you noticed that he does that now? I wonder if he can taste it.” Another Medal gone, this time pressed against the inside of his wrist until it vanishes. “Is this really all the Cell Medals you have? Kougami gives you a pretty small allowance.”

He picks three Medals up and lets them drop again. Clink, clink, clink. Maki says, “What color are they to you?” and continues to make notes.

“They haven’t got one. Nothing has color for me.” Clink, clink, clink, and this time he picks the three he dropped back up immediately and swallows them all at once. “This can’t be all you’ve got. Where are the rest of them?”

Chapter Text

“All right, are we recording?”

“Camera rolling, Dr. Kujou.”

“Ok, excellent. This is a video record of Game Disease recovery experiment number one hundred and thirteen. Today we’re attempting a revival using Roidmude Core technology donated by Dr. Sawagami Rinna, she’s a fantastic lady, we’re sending her a fruit basket–I’m focusing, it’s fine. Subject is Momose Saki, we have on file a signed release from her next of kin–”

Graphite opens his eyes, meets the shocked stares of a group of humans in white coats, and says, “If Dan Masamune has something to do with this I’ll rip his throat out. I died well.”

None of them answer. They’re all too busy gaping at him.

Irritated, he rolls his shoulders and tries to move his arms. He doesn’t seem to be restrained in any way, so he stands up from the inclined board or table or whatever it is they’ve laid him on.

And he stumbles. “Why am I heavy?”

“I’m tempted to make a joke about that,” says a familiar voice, “but I really don’t think you’d appreciate it. And anyway, I’m kinda busy trying to figure how how the fuck we got you.”

Graphite takes another weighty step and grabs the edge of the nearest table for support, ignoring the human sitting on the other side of it who scrambles back. The familiar voice, when he looks around, is, “Lazer. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you, hotshot.” Lazer grins, the same lazy, smug grin that’s always gotten on Graphite’s nerves, but now plastered across a face that is otherwise signaling deep distress. “Given that you’re supposed to be Saki.”

The name sends a shock through Graphite’s too-heavy body, and he stumbles again, catches himself on a different table, and turns his gaze inwards for a moment to look at his own code, and the core of it that contains his unwilling progenitor. “You were trying to–what happened to her data? What did you do to it?”

“What’s wrong with her data?” says one of the other white-coated humans, who looks marginally less terrified than the others and is taking notes on a pad of lined paper.

“It’s been…tampered with. Damaged beyond repair. As if some, some human reached in and began rummaging around.” The heart of her feels wrong inside him, not the sleeping thing that it once was but nothing like a consciousness, a half-there mass of human thoughts and feelings. He turns once again to Lazer and stumbles forward, feeling his feet hit the floor with far too much recourse to gravity, until he can grab the man by the collar of his garish shirt. “What have you done to us?”

“Whoa, whoa, how is this my fault, hotshot? I’m not the computers guy, I didn’t touch your data or hers. Although come to think of it, hers apparently got played with a lot before we finally took out Kuroto, that’s probably got something to do with it.”

“You finally–Genm is dead?”

“Sure is, and hey, hands off the merchandise, big guy.” Lazer removes Graphite’s hands from his shirtfront, more gently than Graphite would have expected of him. “You’ve got some kind of idea of what’s going on in your stuff, yeah? Could we bring her back like this?”

“Do the words ‘beyond repair’ mean nothing to you, Lazer? Momose Saki is gone.” The soft heart of her stirs, and he relents slightly. “Or…not gone, perhaps. But what remains of her cannot be separated from me.” And a pause, as he processes how the hands on his wrists feel in the seconds before Lazer lets go. “…are you human again?”

“Sure am. Long story. Hey, folks, I think we’re calling this experiment here, semi-successful, someone turn off the camera?”

Two humans scramble to shut off pieces of equipment. A third raises a hand hesitantly to say, “Dr. Kujou, what are we doing about…him?”

“You haven’t told me why I’m heavy, Lazer.”

“Oh, yeah, right. You’re a robot now. Also a long story, details later. Got any suggestions, Chiba?” Lazer raises his eyebrows at the technician in question, who stands his ground until Graphite looks over at him as well and then takes a step back. “Because as far as I can determine, we’ve successfully revived a sapient being, albeit not the one we were aiming for, and I think he deserves some kind of explanation.”

“But…” Chiba stares at Graphite for a moment before saying, “We brought back a Bugster.”

Graphite scowls. “Is that a problem, human?”

“Trust, me, Chiba,” Lazer says patiently, “I am fully aware that he’s a Bugster. Is that his fault? I was also a Bugster for a while, and that wasn’t my fault either. We’ll figure this out.”

Chiba looks like he wants to say something else in response, but doesn’t. Graphite sneers at him, tempted to shift into his other form just to give the man a scare, and then doesn’t as something else Lazer said settles properly into his mind. “Lazer, did you tell me I’m a robot?”

“I did, it’s actually pretty cool. Also, cut it out with the ‘Lazer’ shit, you can call me Kiriya if you’re feeling chatty. You should eat something, in my experience being dead leaves you feeling kind of peckish. What do you want? My treat.”

Graphite stares at Lazer–Kiriya, if he must–for a long moment. What does he want?

The destruction of humanity.

Dan Masamune’s head on a platter.

Parad’s company.

The soft, damaged core of data in him flutters, and what he says is, “Strawberry shortcake.”

Kiriya blinks. “Ok, not what I expected. You’ve got a sweet tooth?”

“Saki’s favorite,” Graphite says shortly.

“Well, isn’t that something.” Kiriya gets a look on his face that makes Graphite suspicious, but before Graphite can ask what he means by it, he’s continuing. “All right, then, it’s a date. There’s a place we can walk to near here, let’s go get some cake and I’ll do what I can to let you know what’s up.”

Chapter Text

Parad twitches violently and nearly falls over, and Emu looks up from the patient file he’s reviewing with some alarm. “Parad, are you all right? You feel,” and a wave of nausea hits him as he’s saying, “sick.”

“I don’t get sick.” Parad sways on his feet, his body pixelating at the edges, and then drops into a chair. “Bugsters don’t get sick. I think I have a virus.”

“You just said Bugsters don’t get sick.”

“A computer virus.”

“I–Parad, you are a computer virus, how did you get one?”

“I was looking,” Parad says miserably, “for old episodes. Of television shows.”

Emu stares at him for a long moment. “Are you saying you went to a sketchy website and now you have malware?”

“I just wanted to watch Donshine.”

“Yes, and now you’re being mined for cryptocurrency or something when we could have just gotten the DVDs out from the library. No, hey, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Parad slumps over sideways in his chair, making another miserable noise, and Emu puts down his file and hurries over to catch him before he falls. It takes some wrestling to get him back upright, and he’s alarmingly warm; Emu very nearly imagines that he can hear the whirring of coolant fans. After some fumbling they’re perched on the chair together, Parad’s forehead pressed to the side of Emu’s neck. “If I’m being mined for Bitcoin,” he mumbles into Emu’s collarbone, “I’m going to melt the CPU of whoever’s responsible.”

“I think that’s fair, it’s a rude thing to do to a person.” Emu wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady. “Do you need to lie down? The nurses would probably let you use their emergency cot.”

A bleary, indistinct noise. Then, “Can I be in you? I think that’d help.”

Emu sputters. “I am at work–oh, just. You mean just in my head. Would that help? Not having to manage a separate body for a while?”

“That. Yeah. I need to run some. Some anti-malware routines. Too complicated to also have…legs.”

“Sure, of course.”

Parad sighs and dissolves into pixels in his arms, and a moment later his voice echoes in the back of Emu’s head. I always like being in here. It’s roomy.

Emu rolls his eyes, suppressing a grin. “Rude.”

What? I like that there’s always space for me. Emu can feel Parad…curling up, in a way, in the place he fits into in Emu’s mind. I’m going to get some sleep now. Get rid of this…stuff. Wake me up if anything exciting happens.

Chapter Text

“How did you find this place?” Yuichi says as they round the corner into the little alley.

“Fujisaki recommended it to me, actually.” Kiyoshi grins up at him. “Apparently she and a couple of her girlfriends like to go here sometimes. She says the coffee’s only ok really, but the pastries are really nice. Here, this is it, Cafe,” he squints at the sign, “Nas–nascita.”

The only other customers inside are a group of people who seem to be friends, clustered around a couple of tables pushed together in one corner. Not wanting to intrude, Yuichi goes to get a table in the opposite corner, and Kiyoshi heads to the counter to order.

The barista’s a middle-aged man with a pork pie hat and tinted glasses who looks like he should be playing jazz at a nightclub, not serving coffee to bored twenty-somethings. He’s cleaning a glass as Kiyoshi approaches, and he glances up, says, “Good afternoon and welcome to Nascita, I’ll be with you in just a–” and then cuts off for apparently no reason.

There’s a long, awkward silence before Kiyoshi says, “Uh, why…why are you staring at me?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, you just.” The barista shakes himself. “You look a great deal like someone I–”

“Hey, do you have a problem with me or something?”

The barista looks past Kiyoshi, frowning, and Kiyoshi himself turns around and nearly runs into…

…himself. Except…different.

The other him is scowling at Yuichi, who’s looking at him wide-eyed. “No, seriously, do I have stuff on my face or something? You’ve been staring at me since you sat down, it’s making me–” He turns towards the counter, nearly runs into Kiyoshi himself, and stops dead. “Uh. Sento?”

Someone else stands up from the cluster of people in the corner and blinks at Kiyoshi several times. “Well, this is unexpected. Banjou, is that you?”

“That’s me. I thought there was only supposed to be one other me.”

“No, uh, I’m me. I’m fairly sure.” Kiyoshi laughs nervously. “Kurosawa, help.”

At this point Kiyoshi’s getting the worrying feeling that their new friends might all be insane, which makes it very nearly a relief when Sento, who says he’s a physicist and whose hair has been standing up at the back for most of the conversation thus far, says, “You must think we’re all insane.”

Kiyoshi suppresses a hysterical giggle. “Of course I don’t think you’re. You’re.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry, it wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption. I mean, we aren’t, I promise there’s a scientific explanation for all of it, it’s just really lengthy and in some places kind of stupid.” Sento peers at him. “You look exactly like him, it’s amazing.”

“Actually pretty sure Banjou’s taller.” That’s the man at the far end of the tables, who speaks with a broad country accent and whose name Kiyoshi vaguely remembers being Kazumi. He keeps looking back and forth between Kiyoshi and his double–Banjou Ryuuga, who’s got red hair and a silk bomber jacket with a dragon on the back, Kiyoshi’s never met someone who looked so much like a comic book character–and sort of gesturing vaguely, as if he’s trying to figure out how tall they are exactly. “By, like, an inch or two.”

“No. He can’t be. Can he?” Sento frowns. “How tall are you, Adachi, if you don’t mind my asking? Strictly for science, of course.”

Next to Kiyoshi, Yuichi seems much more comfortable. In fact, he’s practically giving an impromptu sales pitch to Banjou and Sento’s friend Sawa, who’s a journalist, and who’s listening to him talk about Toyokawa’s new organizational tools with unfeigned interest. Next to her is the cafe owner’s daughter, Misora, who Kiyoshi feels like he recognizes from an idol video he saw Rokkaku watching the other day, although she’s dressed much more simply. She seems less interested in planners than her friend, and after a moment she turns to him and says, “If Sento keeps getting on your case just elbow him or something, he’s always like this.”

Kiyoshi feels his face go red. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“You know,” Banjou says around a mouthful of pastry, “under the circumstances I feel like this worked out pretty well.”

Kiyoshi blinks. “What did?”

“This whole double-whatsit thing. The Swedish word Sento used before.”

“Doppelgänger.” Sento rolls his eyes. “And it’s German.”

“Yeah, that one. I mean, it could definitely be way worse. I mean, there’s the other actual me, the one with the same name, but apart from that you seem cool? Like, I’d rather share a face with an office worker than, I don’t know, a cannibal serial killer or something.”

“Was that…likely? I don’t think another version of me would be a cannibal serial killer…”

“Me neither, but you never know, yeah?”

“I mean,” Kiyoshi says, frowning absently into space, “I wouldn’t have expected to have the same face as someone who does shoot fighting, that’s sort of a surprise. Not a bad one, though.”

“Yeah, this isn’t so bad.” Banjou pauses, blinks, and then stands up. “I’m gonna be right back. Hey, babe, if Gentoku shows up before I’m back tell him I said why the hell is he late, I thought politics guys were supposed to be on time for stuff.”

“I’m not telling him that.” Sento leans his face up for a light, brushing kiss, and then Banjou’s off in the direction of the bathroom. “Besides,” called after his retreating back, “you know Kazumi’s going to say it anyway.”

Kiyoshi stares in his direction for a moment, looks back at Sento, and, suddenly, smiles. So we’ve got that in common.

The bell at the cafe door rings, and Kazumi lurches upright in his chair with an abrupt, bright smile and waves. “Hey, Beardy, you’re late! I thought politicians were supposed to be on time for shit!”

At Kiyoshi’s elbow, Yuichi says, weakly, “I’m sorry, Ms. Takigawa, is that the prime minister’s son?”

Kiyoshi looks up in alarm at–the prime minister’s son, who’s wearing a black leather jacket which he opens to reveal a t-shirt that reads:

I HAD TO PLAY TENNIS WITH THE BRAZILIAN AMBASSADOR’S DAUGHTER

Kazumi snorts. “Oh, poor you, you had to play tennis.”

“Fuck you too, Potato, just because you can–I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize we had compa–Banjou?” The prime minister’s son blinks several times and then shakes his head. “Did Banjou dye his hair?”

“No, I’m,” Kiyoshi scratches the back of his head, “I’m Adachi, hello.”

Sento beams up at the prime minister’s son as Kiyoshi stifles a nervous giggle and Yuichi shakes himself. “They have the same face, it’s very exciting.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Sougo,” Tsukasa breathes out, “what have you done?”

Sougo actually sputters a little. “Me? How is this my fault? I just got here.”

The wall in front of them is too tall for the top to be visible, extending up into the sky far past what either one of them can see. Too wide, as well, running off into the distance on either side, a monstrosity of metal plates bisecting what’s otherwise a fairly unremarkable quarry. The metal is smooth and dark, not quite polished enough to really shine but at least enough to gleam. It looks…wrong, where it is, somehow both anachronistic and otherwordly, like a spaceship landed in the middle of an Edo period village.

“You’re seriously saying this isn’t you? Because it looks a lot like the tech from your bad future, and it’s pretty suspicious timing, running into you here.”

Sougo pouts irritably. “I couldn’t help the timing, Woz had a vision.”

This actually stops Tsukasa dead. “He had a what? Does he normally have those?”

“No, he was pretty freaked out about it. Tsukuyomi had one too, in the middle of a exam, she was really mad. She walked me here, she’s sitting down on a rock back over that way.” Sougo waves vaguely over to a spot near the quarry wall, where Tsukasa can just see Tsukuyomi, perched on a boulder with her head between her knees as if she’s trying to fend off seasickness. “Why are you here?”

Tsukasa reaches out a hand to touch the metal wall and jerks it back, startled at the half-electric, half-magical shock he gets. “Daiki tried to call up a friend of his and the line was dead.”

“…you came all the way out here because a friend of Daiki’s didn’t answer the phone?”

“That’s not what I said. The line was dead. Wouldn’t connect at all. That doesn’t happen, not with this friend. Not like he always answers his phone, but there’s always voicemail.”

“Why didn’t he come himself, then?”

“Because he was panicking.”

“What?” Sougo frowns. “Daiki doesn’t panic.”

“Often.” Tsukasa reaches for the wall again, this time forcing his way past the unpleasant shock to lay his hand flat on the metal. “He doesn’t panic often. But if he’s going to, not being able to reach the Galleon is a pretty good reason for it. What kind of vision did Woz and Tsukuyomi have?”

“Gears, mostly. Here, you can ask Tsukuyomi yourself.” Sougo beckons to Tsukasa and starts heading over to the boulder Tsukuyomi is sitting on. “Something about robots in bright colors? And also…anniversaries? I caught some stuff about anniversaries from Woz, he wasn’t super clear. I mean, you know how he is. Tsukuyomi said something about it felt really familiar, but she couldn’t really say what. Also apparently there was dancing, neither of them was really clear on what that was about.”

Tsukasa groans. “I hate Sentai stuff.”

“Sentai?”

“Oh no, have we not had that conversation yet?”

“No…?”

“Well, I guess we’re having that conversation once we get over to Tsukuyomi.” And then Tsukasa freezes mid-step and starts counting on his fingers. “What year is it?”

Sougo blinks. “2021. Are you ok?”

“Shit, it has been ten years since Marvelous did his stuff.” Abruptly Tsukasa starts grinning. “If this is what I think it is then I’m gonna laugh at him as soon as I get him on the phone.”

Chapter Text

Really, Shoutaro thinks, it shows a lot of restraint from Philip that he managed to wait a full week after discovering that Roidmudes were back in the world before he insisted on meeting one. Not that he’s unrestrained, of course. In fact, he’s gotten a lot better over the years about not overwhelming people with his academic enthusiasm. But there’s academic enthusiasm, and then there’s his increasing interest in the various unusual friends their junior Riders have picked up. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement since he first heard that Dr. Sawagami had run successful preliminary trials in her project to bring back the Roidmudes.

Of course, Philip could ask to speak with one or more Roidmudes all he liked, it had taken some time to arrange it. They’d had to talk to Terui, and he’d called Drive, and Drive had spoken to the four now-living Roidmudes, and then it had still taken two more months after that before anything could be scheduled just due to the tremendous problems Drive’s friends were having getting the Roidmudes legal status.

Now, though, the day’s come, and Philip is enthusiastically shaking the hand of a man so color-coordinated that he could put Terui to shame and saying, “It’s a absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chase, thank you for coming, I appreciate it. Would you like coffee? I don’t know if you eat.”

Chase stares at him for only a very brief moment before saying, “Thank you, I do not drink coffee.”

Next to Chase–towering over him, in fact over all of them–is a man in a red coat with a thoughtful look on his face, and Shoutaro has to think for a moment before he recalls the last few messages he’d gotten. “And you’re…Heart, right? I’m Hidari Shoutaro, and this is Philip.”

Philip blinks. “This isn’t Mach? I thought Shijima Gou would be accompanying Chase to Fuuto. Shoutaro, I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce you?”

“It’s all right, partner, you were pretty excited. No, you remember the email, Gou was tied up with something last-minute.”

“By which he means he forgot that Professor Harley was going to be in Japan and expecting to see him.” Heart smiles, although he’s watching Philip with something that might be suspicion. “So I volunteered to come along, I’m always interested in making new friends.”

Chase glances at him. “You are overprotective.”

Heart makes a hm noise that doesn’t sound entirely like disagreement.

“Heart, Heart…” Philip’s eyes light up. “Yes, you’re also a Roidmude! Terui had said you weren’t interested in being interviewed, I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart? Forgive me, that wasn’t intended to be a play on words.”

Heart wavers for a moment, and Shoutaro can’t quite figure out whether it’s due to shyness or actual discomfort, so it’s probably fortunate that Chase is the one who answers. “Heart is not comfortable with discussing the past.”

“Ah. Yes, I entirely understand. Would you like coffee?”

“Now who’s overprotective?” But Heart relaxes visibly. “Yes, coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

"Terui Ryuu said you and the other Roidmudes were having difficulties with your legal status, do you mind if I ask what they were? I know there are existing procedures for establishing the legal identities of non-humans, it’s been done for two Bugsters in Seito. Well, three. Two and a half? Dr. Kujou is a complication.”

Philip, Chase finds, is refreshingly blunt. He doesn’t talk around issues the way many humans do, he cuts directly to the point, and moreover he seems pleased when Chase does the same. “There was an attempt to declare the Roidmudes property of the Japanese government.”

“Oh.” Philip blinks several times, rapidly. “That’s offensive, I imagine you all objected strenuously.”

“Yes.” Chase takes a sip of his tea. “And then once it was conclusively determined that we were people, there was the question of criminal charges.”

“Really? Against you?”

“Against all of us. Heart, primarily. Brain and Medic were considered accomplices.”

“I imagine your being a Kamen Rider helped with your case?”

“To an extent. I am not considered a threat. As it stands, we are no longer capable of causing gravity surges or otherwise wielding serious destructive force, and are under intermittent observation. The current legal debate centers around whether a Roidmude can be considered to have experienced mental duress.”

“Hm. Really? Compelling. I wouldn’t think that was a debate at all.”

Chase considers this carefully before replying. “Why would you say that?”

“If Roidmudes are people, which they certainly are, then they can of course experience mental duress, or indeed any form of psychological distress.” Philip stares into space, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “Unfortunately I’ve found that one of the hallmarks of personhood is a capacity for acute suffering. A being self-aware enough to love must also be self-aware enough to fear losing that which they love, and that fear can naturally be leaned upon by the unethical to coerce.” More staring into space. “Or simply to terrorize. It’s even more unfortunate when one realizes that unethical people of that type will likely always exist.”

“I…had not considered this previously.” Chase frowns, slowly. He’s experiencing an unfamiliar emotion–not that there are many emotions truly familiar to him, but this one contains elements of both surprise and happiness, and he is not clear on how one might express it.

He likes Philip, he realizes. He would like to be friends with Philip. Perhaps this is how Heart feels all the time.

“If this is the case, then in your determination, do Roidmudes have souls? I am not clear on what a soul is meant to be, but it has been the subject of discussion.”

Philip actually laughs. “The nature of the soul is one of the few topics on which I’m not the man to ask, for that you might want to talk to Ghost. In fact, I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it with you. But in my limited experience with the subject–yes, I would think that Roidmudes have souls.” He takes a long drink of coffee. “Please excuse me if this is an indelicate question, I’ve been trying not to ask these things so abruptly lately, but my research indicated that Roidmudes have a more robotic base form onto which your human guises are layered, may I see it?”

They’re at the Windscale boutique getting Heart a suit.

They’d been discussing the Agency, and Heart mentioned having been a detective very briefly and seemed interested in the work, and this had led very naturally to talking about the boss, and from there to what Shoutaro had learned from him. Including, crucially, manner of dress, a topic that Heart seems fascinated by.

“I’d thought you could just sort of…shapeshift your clothing,” Shoutaro says. “At least, Bugsters do that, and Philip had mentioned that you do something similar.”

“Well, I can.” Heart plucks at the furred cuff of his coat. “But Tomari Kiriko’s suggested that I might adjust better to living among humans if I try to pick up some of their habits, little ones, and I like clothing.” A smile flashes across his face. “Mostly I’ve been borrowing things from Tomari Shinnosuke. He’s indicated that he’d like me to stop, though, because apparently he’s tired of having to come find me if he’s missing something he wants.”

“That’s Drive and his wife, right? We’ve never actually properly met, it’s sort of an oversight on Philip’s and my part.” Shoutaro frowns. “Do you live with him?”

Another flash of smile. “For the moment, yes. I was…revived…several months before the other Roidmudes, and they offered to let me stay with them. Mostly I watch Eiji for them and help Kiriko with housework. I’m learning how to cook. Brain and Medic are staying with other friends of Tomari Shinnosuke’s until the authorities can stop arguing about us and let us find a place of our own.”

“Well…” Shoutaro squints up at him for a moment, trying not to resent the man for being taller than him. “What kind of clothing do you like? I’m not exactly an expert on men’s fashion, but I like to think I know a little bit about it.”

This time it’s not a flash, the smile stays as Heart says, “Well, I have to say, the suits that Tomari Shinnosuke and his colleagues wear aren’t very interesting, but I do like your outfit quite a lot, it’s very sharp.”

So now Heart is trying on hats, and the Windscale salesgirls are losing their minds over how handsome he is. Normally Shoutaro would be a little jealous, they’re so used to him at this point that nothing about him is interesting to them, but he can’t quite bring himself to be. Not when Heart looks so pleased to be doing such an ordinary thing. Anyway, he’s letting Shoutaro pick everything out, and it’s so rare for someone else to be this trusting of Shoutaro’s fashion sense.

He also looks very good in a three-piece suit. But then, Shoutaro thinks, straightening his waistcoat, doesn’t everyone?

“What do you think of this one, my friend?”

Shoutaro looks at the latest hat Heart’s picked out and says, after a moment’s thought, “I think you look like a real man.”

Heart pauses. “Is that a good thing in this context?”

“Yes. The best thing I can think of, really. I mean, not that it’s bad to be a woman, but–listen, what I mean is, you look good, it suits you. Do you, uh, do you like to read at all?”

“Yes, sometimes, why?”

“We’re going to a bookstore after this, there are a couple of authors I think you’d enjoy.”

“Thank you for allowing me to examine you,” Philip says, when Chase shifts back into the human form that he’s finding more and more preferable to Proto-Zero’s, “it’s been a tremendous help to me. It’s–the many varieties of personhood that exist within the modern world are terribly compelling, but so few people are willing to speak about it at any length. Which I understand, but it does make study difficult.”

Chase nods. “I understand.” Beat. “You say personhood, but not humanity?”

“They’re hardly synonymous. Like circles and ovals. Every human is a person, but not every person is human. I haven’t always fit the precise definition of human myself.” Philip’s hand stills in the middle of a furious bout of note-taking, his face taking on a faraway look that Chase is learning to recognize. “What was death like for you? If you don’t mind my asking. Personally, I find the memory very difficult to grasp. Like a dream. I know that it happened, but when I reach for it, it slips out of my fingers.”

“It was…” It takes some time to find the way to phrase the answer. “Silent. And then when it ceased to be silent, it was because I was alive again.”

Philip nods, and takes more notes, and says, “Thank you for sharing that, I appreciate it. It’s…most people I know have never died. It’s difficult to explain to them.” The notebook snaps shut suddenly, Philip’s pen slides into its spiral binding right before it’s set aside. “Now. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Chase blinks, slowly, several times, before replying. “How do you mean?”

“You. And your fellow Roidmudes. This is not an easy world to live in, especially when one’s personhood is treated as a subject for debate instead of a given. I would like–I hope that you’ll consider me a friend. I would like you to be my friend. And as a friend I would like to offer you and the other Roidmudes whatever help I can in establishing yourselves as people deserving of independent lives.” Philip grins at him. “At the very least I’m wonderful at winning debates.”

When Philip and Chase emerge from the garage, the first thing they see is Heart sitting in one of the front room chairs with an elderly gray cat asleep on his legs, and a much younger marmalade cat draped around his neck like an ungainly scarf. His red coat is nowhere in sight; he is, instead, wearing a black three-piece suit, a vividly red shirt, and a burgundy necktie with a heart-shaped pin in it. He’s also engrossed in a book in English, although when they enter the room he glances up and says, cheerfully, “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Heart, I see Shoutaro’s actually succeeded in his quest to get someone else to like Windscale as much as he does, you look very good. Are you enjoying Raymond Chandler? Shoutaro, is that Mrs. Mizuishi’s kitten on our friend’s shoulders? Where was he this time? Mrs. Mizuishi is a bit absent-minded,” Philip says to Chase, “Chobi frequently wanders off when she’s looking elsewhere.”

“Yes, she called when we were on our way back from the bookstore.” Shoutaro’s sitting at the desk, in the middle of typing what looks like a list. “He’d only gotten up a tree, Heart helped me get him down. Mrs. Mizuishi’s coming to pick him up soon.”

“And I see he has Mick’s approval as well.”

The gray cat opens one eye and gives Philip an unamused look, as if to say, “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” only to begin purring when Heart absently reaches down to scratch his ears.

Chase sits down next to Heart while Philip goes over to speak to Shoutaro and is immediately investigated by the orange cat, who sniffs at his ear briefly and then gets up and hops from Heart’s shoulders to his. “What are you reading?”

“A collection of detective stories. Hidari Shoutaro gave it to me. He’s making me a list of movies that I might enjoy, I think I like detectives.” Heart leans slightly so that his arm brushes Chase’s. “It’s nice to have made a new friend. I hope the questioning wasn’t too intrusive?”

After a moment’s consideration, Chase says, “No. It was an enjoyable conversation.” He reaches up offer the orange cat his hand to smell. “I think it would be safe to say that Philip is a friend as well.”

Heart breaks into a smile. “That’s wonderful! I’m very glad to hear it.”

“However, I think we are expected to return to the city shortly.”

“Right, yes, I suppose we are.”

Over at the desk, Shoutaro pulls the paper out of his typewriter, blows on it to make sure that the ink is dry, and then folds it up and tucks it into an envelope. “Here, Heart, I’ve got that list for you. And my email address is at the bottom, please let me know which one you like best, you have no idea how long it’s taken me to find someone else who’d want to watch any of this stuff. I mean, Philip watches them with me, but other than that.”

Philip laughs quietly. “I do enjoy them, partner, I’m just not as passionate about them as you are.”

Heart carefully moves Mick onto the coffee table and stands up, reaching for a black hat with a red band that Chase hadn’t previously noticed hanging off the back of his chair. Chase, similarly, has to untangle himself from the orange cat, which objects strenuously to being moved and then promptly falls asleep in his chair as soon as he’s on his feet.

“I hope you’ll visit again,” Philip says as they’re shaking hands, “for non-research purposes, of course.”

Chase nods. “I would like that.”

Next to him, Heart tucks the envelope from Shoutaro into his suit jacket and says, “Maybe we can bring Brain along next time, I think they’d get along.”

They head out the door as a group, Shoutaro saying, “You’re going to email me, right, I need to know whether you like Spade or Marlowe better.”

“Of course, although I can tell you right now that just from the reading I’ve already done I like Marlowe quite a lot.”

One more round of handshakes as they all stand next to Chase’s motorcycle, and the last thing Philip says to Chase is, “Thank you again, so much. It was a pleasure to meet you. It’s wonderful to have new friends.”

Chase nods, says, “Likewise,” and resolves to visit again as soon as it’s feasible.

Chapter Text

Hiiro walks into the CR with the kind of tense dignity that generally means he’s had a long surgery and he’s very tired and stops when he sees that the cot is already occupied. “Pediatrician, is the Bugster actually sleeping?”

Emu glances down fondly at Parad’s motionless form. “Yeah. I mean, as much as he sleeps at all.”

“I thought he didn’t need to.”

“He likes it.”

As they watch, Parad very slowly turns over and then settles into unbreathing stillness again. One of his hands is wrapped around the edge of the cot; the other lies open, palm upward, fingers slightly curled.

An indistinct, heavily-pixelated shape forms in the air above his head and then dissipates.

Hiiro jumps, clearly despite himself. “Is he dreaming? Can he dream?”

“I–no? I mean, Bugsters don’t. Although he said he’s been working on it, don’t ask me what that means.”

Another pixelated image forms above Parad, this one clearer–a sheep, just a white cloud with a black face and stubby black legs–before it, too, falls apart.

Hiiro sits down with an unsteady thump, hand over his mouth, and Emu gapes at him. “Are you laughing?”

“No,” Hiiro says, tightly, the edges of a smile visible behind his hand. “He’s…dreaming of digital sheep.”

The covered smile disappears into a yawn. Emu frowns. “Here, I’ll wake him up, you obviously need the sleep more than he does.” He leans forward and shakes Parad’s shoulder, very gently. “Hey. Parad. Wake up.”

A long pause, and then–Parad’s eyes snap open and he sits up. “I think I managed it! Wait, M, am I still dreaming? It’s hard to differentiate.”

“That’s a hotly-debated philosophical question,” Hiiro says, still hiding his mouth behind his hand. “So what do Bugsters dream about?”

Parad gives him a sidelong look. “M, what’s Brave laughing about?”

“He just got out of surgery, he needs to sleep. That’s why I was waking you up. What did you dream about?”

“Playing Stardew Valley with N.” At Hiiro’s heavily suppressed but still visible lack of comprehension, “It’s a game about farming.” Parad stands up from the cot. “Seriously, what’s Brave laughing about?”

“I’m not laughing,“ Hiiro says, obviously lying, and lies down on the vacated cot. He’s asleep in moments.

“Here, come on.” Emu heads for the door, beckoning for Parad to follow. “I need to get something to eat, I’ll, uh…try to explain while we’re walking. Was it a good dream? I didn’t know Nico played Stardew Valley, it doesn’t seem like her thing.”

Parad frowns as he follows Emu out. “She doesn’t, that’s the strange thing. Are dreams usually nonsense?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, look, I’m sure we can take care of this later–”

“You know, M, this would be easier if you’d just take off your pants.”

“Parad, you know perfectly well I can’t just, just take off my pants at work.”

Poppy walks into the CR, looks across the room, and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, excuse me!”

Emu groans. “Poppy, it’s not what it looks like.”

“M fell and ripped his pants,” Parad says around the fan of colorful pins sticking out of his mouth. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of Emu, whose face is buried in his hands. “I was fixing it.”

“He insisted,” Emu says into his palms. “He’s been watching DIY tutorials on YouTube.”

“Oh! Well, I think that’s a great idea! I’ve always wanted to learn to sew, but I never had anything to sew, you know? It never occurred to me to work on someone else’s clothes.” Poppy taps her lower lip thoughtfully. “Maybe Hiiro has some old things that I could practice on, I should ask him later.”

“I still think we could deal with it later.” Emu’s face, or at least what’s visible of it, is bright red. “Instead of standing around like this in the middle of the CR.”

“Pediatrician,” Hiiro says, without looking up from the file he’s reading as he walks, “aren’t there better places to be doing that sort of thing?”

Emu’s back tenses, but he doesn’t jump, which is good given the placement of his left hand. “What sort of thing?”

“Being…intimate.” The corners of Hiiro’s mouth turn down, and his cheeks shade faintly pink. “I’m sure there are more comfortable locations than our shared workplace.”

“I think he thinks we’re kissing,“ Parad mumbles.

Emu frowns at him. “Don’t talk, it makes your face move too much. No, we’re, uh, that’s not what’s happening here, Parad decided to climb that tree over by oncology and he’s got something in his eye now, I’m trying to get it out. No, we wouldn’t–we wouldn’t be doing that here.”

“Good,” Hiiro says, steadfastly not looking up. “Keep it that way.”

Kiriya comes to a dead in the doorway to the supply and says, as his eyebrows rise up above his sunglasses, “Do I want to know?”

Parad blinks. “I don’t know, Lazer, do you want to know? What did you want to know? Or, uh, not want to know?”

“I don’t think I do want to know, actually. I was going to get some staples, but I think I’ll just leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Emu makes a squawking noise, somewhat muffled by the fact that he’s leaning fairly far into one of the supply closet shelves. “It’s not like that, why does everyone keep assuming that? I was getting a new notepad, I don’t know why these shelves are so deep. Parad gave me a boost.”

Kiriya nods slowly. “Which is why you’re sitting on his shoulders. You know there’s a step stool, right?”

Emu sighs. “It’s actually not tall enough.”

Another slow nod. “Right, right. Well, if you wanna pass me that stapler while you’re up there, I’ll get out of your hair.”

It’s a very faint noise, just a rustling, like people brushing past each other, but when Nico leans into the room there’s only Emu, reading a journal article already heavily covered in handwritten notes. “Hey, Emu, you seen Poppy anywhere? She said she’d help me study for this exam.”

Emu barely looks up from his reading. “She’s at a Ministry of Health meeting, she just texted me that it’s running a little long but she’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Ok, cool. Tell her I was looking for her when you see her.”

“Definitely.”

Nico leaves, and for a minute the only sound is her footsteps receding down the hall until it’s overtaken by an electric fizz as Parad flows out of Emu’s skin in a cloud of pixels and materializes sitting astride his lap. “N’s gone, right?” His arms settle on Emu’s shoulders. “Did Poppy really say she’d be back in twenty minutes?”

“She did, you saw me get that text.”

Parad grins at him. “So I guess we’ve got fifteen minutes to ourselves, then.”

Emu rests his hands on Parad’s waist and grins back. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Chapter Text

The day starts misty and cold, and Kosuke has overslept.

Overslept.

Shit.

He rolls out of Haruto’s slightly-too-small-for-both-of-them bed and nearly lands facefirst on the floor, and he’s half dressed before he realizes that he hasn’t overslept, because it’s barely seven in the morning, and also it’s Sunday. Which solves one problem, but it’s shortly replaced by another, as he finishes getting dressed and reaches for his favorite vest and finds that it isn’t there. He definitely hung it up last night, where could it have gone?

Drowsy, irritated, and slightly chilly, he wanders out to the front, only to discover Haruto sitting on the antique store couch, drinking a cup of coffee and wearing his vest. He looks up at the sound of Kosuke’s footsteps and smiles. “So you’re finally up. Wajima’s in his workshop, Shunpei went grocery shopping. Coffee?”

Kosuke blinks several times, trying to clear the sleep away. “…vest?”

Haruto looks guilty, but only slightly. “It’s cold, I wanted an extra layer.”

“I’m gonna steal your jacket.” It takes some navigating around the room’s various display tables to get to the little coat rack where Haruto’s jacket is hanging, but he manages it, although a problem presents itself when he actually puts the thing on. “On second thought, never mind.”

The bell on the door rings as Shunpei shoulders it open, three bags of groceries in his arms, and stops at the sight of Kosuke struggling to take the jacket back off. “Why are you wearing Haruto’s jacket?”

“‘m not wearing his jacket, it’s trying to wear me. Too tight in the arms.”

“Hey,” Haruto says mildly, “I’m not that skinny.”

“You are, though.” Kosuke glances at Shunpei and says, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “He only looks like he has abs because he has no body fat.”

Shunpei hides his stifled laughter behind one of the grocery bags.

“Anyway.” The jacket goes back on its hook, and Kosuke makes his way over to the couch, drapes himself over the back, and buries his face in the side of Haruto’s neck. “Give me my vest back,” he says, muffled.

Haruto twitches ticklishly. “It’s so comfortable, though.”

“Baby, come on, I feel weird without my vest, give it back.”

“Mm. Maybe I will, what’s the magic word?”

There’s a long pause, and then Kosuke says, “Give it back or I’m going to take it off you myself.”

“That’s, uh. Not the one I was talking about.”

“Oh, you got all pink, I love when you get all pink.” Kosuke thinks about it for a moment, face still hidden in between Haruto’s neck and the furry collar of the vest. “Give me my vest back and I’ll take the rest of your clothes off you myself.” Another pause, and then, in a somewhat-accurate impression of Haruto’s Driver, “Please.”

At this point Shunpei, who’s been standing there listening to them with his face hidden behind the groceries so they can’t see him laughing, turns bright red and hurries out of the room, mumbling something about putting everything away.

Haruto raises an eyebrow, turning to look at Kosuke as best as he can. “But what if I get cold without your vest?”

“I’ll keep you warm with my, my ancient magics.”

“Well, that sounds fun, which ones?”

“The…sexy ones.”

“I didn’t know you had those.”

“I gotta, I have to have sexy ancient magics, I’ll ask Khimaira. Later, I’ll ask him later, come on, please come back to bed, it’s cold and there’s nothing happening today.”

“But what if I come back to bed with you and then decide to keep your vest anyway?”

Kosuke makes an irritated grumbling noise into Haruto’s shoulder, takes his empty coffee cup and puts it aside, and then grabs Haruto by the waist and picks him up bodily from the couch.

Haruto lets out a startled yelping noise and attempts to say, “Put me down,” to the small of Kosuke’s back, although it dissolves into laughter at the end.

“Sure I will.” Kosuke pats him on the hip and turns to head back to the bedroom. “But you gotta say the magic word first.”

Chapter Text

“Eiji, are you ready yet, there can’t be that many dishes to do.”

“Definitely, I–” Eiji turns, still in the middle of drying off his hands, and blinks. “What are you. What are you wearing?”

Ankh scowls. “What does it look like, idiot?”

It looks like a sweater. A thick, cozy sweater in a cheerful color-block pattern. It’s several sizes too large for Ankh; the hem hangs down almost to his knees, and the sleeves mostly conceal his hands. Only his fingertips poke out, and then only on his right hand, which is the one he’s holding his ice pop in.

Eiji desperately tamps down the urge to giggle and only sort of manages it. “It looks, uh. Like it’s a little big on you.”

Ankh’s scowl gets darker. “Chiyoko put it on me. She insists that I’ll get ‘cold’ or some other fucking nonsense.” His attempt at air quotes is somewhat hampered by the sweater sleeves covering his hands; he glares at them in disgust. “Apparently she was planning on making it into a dress–what are you staring at?”

In fact, Eiji is staring at the neck of the sweater, which like every other part of the sweater is far too big for Ankh. Unlike the rest of the sweater, it’s more distracting for what it’s not covering, which is to say that it’s slowly falling down Ankh’s right shoulder in a way that’s unbelievably distracting. Of course, he’s wearing a t-shirt underneath, but it’s also being pulled down by the sweater, with the net result that there’s a lot of bare skin exposed.

When he doesn’t reply, Ankh follows the line of his gaze and then scoffs. “Could you control your human urges for ten minutes? We have work to do.” Despite this, he shrugs slightly, causing the sweater to slide further off his shoulder.

It takes a moment for Eiji to shake himself out of the stare. “Right, yes, let’s go.”

They meet up with Satonaka not far from where the Yummy was sighted, and she looks Ankh up and down speculatively and then says, “Well, you look cute.”

Ankh makes a little smug noise in the back of his throat and says, “I am not cute.”

Several decades later, Ankh runs his hand through his silvering hair with an irritated look and says, “Is this what getting old is, Eiji? Being cold all the time?”

Eiji shrugs. “Yeah, kind of. It’s a blood thing, your circulation slows down when you get older.”

“It’s awful. I’m going to reverse it.”

“If you want, but we’ll just go back to everyone assuming you’re my son.”

Ankh scoffs quietly and then glances around the empty restaurant until he catches Chiyoko’s eye and says, loudly, “Hey, Chiyoko, do you have a sweater or something? It’s freezing in here, I’m going to start molting from stress.”

Eiji blinks. Chiyoko claps her hands delightedly. “Oh, I’ve got just the one, I’ve had it stored away for years. I kept looking at it and thinking, you know, now I should make that dress, but I couldn’t bear to. I knew you’d need it eventually.

Chapter Text

Yuusuke heads into the living room first, while Tsukasa’s still taking his shoes off in the front hallway, but he doesn’t get far. In fact, he stops in the doorway, and he’s silent for a long moment before saying, “Tsukasa, we might have a big problem.”

“Yeah? Like a Yuzuki-did-something big problem, or a world-might-be-ending big problem?” Tsukasa hops for a moment as he gets his left shoe off, puts it on the rack, looks into the living room over Yuusuke’s shoulder, and freezes. He can feel all of the blood draining from his face. “Oh.”

Great Leader is sitting on the living room couch. But it’s not Great Leader, or at least not the one they know–he’s got his back to them, but they can tell anyway, because he hasn’t got the curls. And then he turns around and flashes them Sougo’s guileless smile and Tsukasa nearly has a heart attack.

“Sougo,” he says, grabbing Yuusuke’s shoulder for support, “what the hell are you wearing?”

Sougo blinks. He isn’t wearing eyeliner, which is a relief, because if he had been Tsukasa might have collapsed anyway in his inability to decide whether to panic or to laugh. “It’s a costume. Daiki picked it out.”

“A costume for what?”

“Halloween?”

“Yuusuke. Yuusuke, did the house move?” Tsukasa shakes himself. “I didn’t feel it move, did it move, are we in America now? Are we in a place where people care about Halloween?” His forehead thumps into Yuusuke’s shoulder. “I’m going to kill Daiki.”

Yuusuke pats his hand gently. “You’re not going to kill Daiki, it’s fine.”

“Try to stop me.”

“Of course I’ll stop you, I’m not letting you kill Daiki, we all like him too much.”

“Yuusuke, you are my fucking rock, I love you so much.”

Sougo’s frowning, clearly confused. “Is there something wrong with the outfit? He said it was from a movie. It’s way too big on me, I had to roll the sleeves and pants legs up.”

“It’s from a couple of movies,” Tsukasa says to Yuusuke’s back. “It’s a very long story. Please go change and I’ll explain when you come back.“

Chapter Text

Sawa’s phone rings unexpectedly, and she nearly fumbles it onto the floor when she tries to get it out of her pocket. Sento is staring at his current project and swearing quietly under his breath, but everyone else is looking at her, jolted from their mutual pensive silence by the noise. After a moment Kazumi says, awkwardly, “I feel like people don’t ever get phone calls anymore.”

She doesn’t respond. She’s staring at her phone screen. And then she says, “I have to take this,” and she hurries out of the room.

The others glance at each other, puzzled. After a moment, Misora gets up and pads quietly after her, coming to a stop when she hears the furious hiss of, “How did you get this number?”

“Oh, I’ve got my ways. Sort of. I’ve got access, I can find information.”

Utsumi doesn’t sound drunk, exactly, but he does sound…strange. Unsteady on his feet, Sawa might say if she could see him. It’s frightening, somehow, hearing him sound anything less than cold and even.

She takes a breath. “Ok, fine, you can get my number. What do you want?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Nariaki, you wouldn’t be calling me unless you wanted something.”

“I’m not bullshitting, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, we’re talking. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. He’s not gone, she can hear him breathing, but he doesn’t speak at all. Maybe he’s listening to her breathe too, which is a creepy thought. Finally, though, he says, “I always liked you, you know.”

Sawa rolls her eyes, knowing that he can’t see her. “If you called me to make some half-baked love confession when we’re on the edge of the apocalypse then I’m hanging up right now.”

“No, no, not like that. I just…like you. As a person. You’re smart, and energetic, and you’re an excellent writer. I always used to read your articles, anything you published. You’ve got a good interviewing style.”

“I…thanks?” The eye-rolling transitions into a confused blink. “I guess? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I like you, and I’m trying to have a moment of genuine emotional connection with someone before we all die.” The strangeness in Utsumi’s voice intensifies. “Dying’s awful, Sawa, did I ever mention? Anyway, I don’t think I’m very good at it. The emotional thing, that is. Is it working? Are we connecting?”

Sawa stares at the wall, knuckles going white on her phone. “You’re not lying.”

“No. Isn’t that funny? To be telling the truth?”

“…it’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Different. That’s a way to put it too.” Utsumi actually sighs. “Do you enjoy it? Journalism? I mean, we’ve both always had our placements, but do you actually like doing the work? The non-spy work, that is.”

“I–yeah. Yeah, I enjoy it. I’ve always liked investigative work.” Sawa inspects her own fingernails, uncertain of what to say next. “What about you? Did you, uh. Like being a scientist?”

“I did. I do! I enjoy science! It makes so much more sense than people do.”

“Well.” Sawa takes a breath. “Maybe I’ll be able to interview you someday. About your work. And then we can both be doing something we enjoy.”

“Sure. Sounds good. If we don’t all die.” There’s a hitch on the other end of the line, the edge of a hysterical giggle. “Who knows. Maybe in another world. Maybe there we can actually be friends.”

Chapter Text

Medic sits in the corner like a doll discarded by a thoughtless child, legs stretched straight out in front of her, eyes staring blankly forward. To human eyes it would be unnerving, confusing, even frightening, looking at a woman who seems so vacant, but Brain knows full well that she’s just thinking. Sometimes it’s easier to think if one doesn’t focus on maintaining a facial expression, and it’s not as if they need to blink their eyes or stretch their muscles, artificial as those eyes and muscles are. (In fact, he generally prefers not to blink himself.) She’s just thinking. But he doesn’t know what she’s thinking about.

Machine language has no adjectives, at least not in the way Brain likes. Human language has so many adjectives, infinitely varying ways with which he might describe a thing, and yet he is at a loss to find three, or even one, one solitary word, with which he might describe how he feels about Medic now.

He knows how he felt about her before. That resentment will always have a place in what, for lack of a better word, he thinks of as his soul. But he doesn’t know how he feels about her now, which is likely in part because she doesn’t know how she feels about herself. Who is she, after all, without the slivers of so many other Roidmude souls clamoring in her thoughts?

They live together now. Heart doesn’t live with them. Brain would be jealous of Tomari Shinnosuke and Tomari Kiriko and their infant son for taking up so much of Heart’s time, but he finds that he doesn’t have the energy for it. And perhaps it’s good that they can have some distance from him, perhaps that’s what they need to become…friends. Or whatever human word there might be to describe two people who are both in love with the same third party.

Medic jolts slightly and looks up, and expression returns to her face, and she says, “Were you sitting there the entire time I was thinking?”

“Ah–no. No, I was not. Only for the last half hour.” He pauses. He’s not sure how one goes about having friends. “What…were you thinking about?”

“A few things. You’ve been sitting there for half an hour just watching me think?” She does blink now that she’s emerged from her deep thoughts, eyelashes fluttering in a way that Brain supposes Heart must find charming and alluring and beautiful. “Did you want to kiss me?”

“I–” He also blinks, from surprise. “I would prefer not to.”

For a second she looks hurt, and then thoughtful, and then she nods. “Good. I don’t want to kiss you either.”

“What brought the question on?”

“Well, I was thinking about Heart, and you, and me, and what we’re supposed to be now. I’m used to hating you, you know.”

“I’m, ah, the same. That is, I’m used to hating you.”

“Exactly. But that seems boring now, if we’re going to go having a second chance at whatever this is without having to also worry about taking over the world. Should we try something else?”

“Else from what?”

“From hating each other.”

“That seems sensible, reasonable, and…and agreeable to me.” There’s some gesture associated with this sort of conversation, and Brain racks his storage unit for a moment before it strikes him and he holds out a hand to Medic, who grasps it firmly and pulls herself up from the floor even as they’re nodding to each other. “Do you have any suggestions for what we should do instead?”

She smiles at him. He doesn’t love her, and he doubts he’s ever going to, but for the first time he understands why Heart might. “Friends might be going too fast, don’t you think? I think we should try being co-conspirators.”

He nods slowly. “In which conspiracy?”

Heart hasn’t been back to this coffee shop since his original return to Japan, and he’s not sure that it’s a welcome memory. Certainly it was good to see Brain then, to join up with his closest friend again after so much time apart, but he can’t help thinking of it as the moment when everything began to go downhill. So many friends dead. So much effort wasted.

Through the window, he can see Brain, sitting at the table where they’d sat together the first time, which makes sense. Brain likes routine. There are other people moving around the shop this time, though. And, unexpectedly, someone else sitting with Brain–Medic sitting with Brain, which is even more unexpected, since they don’t exactly go out of their way to spend time together.

He pauses in front of the shop window to admire them together. He’s trying to be more conscious of the particular charms of humanity, but Roidmudes still look better to him, and these two in particular. Medic pauses in the middle of a gesture, cup of tea in the air, and for a moment she’s a statue, profoundly still but for her mouth moving, Brain focusing on her unblinking as he listens to whatever it is she’s saying.

Inside, the coffee shop isn’t precisely loud, but there’s a continuous low level of noise consistent with a popular location during the lunch hour. Medic and Brain don’t notice his approach at first, and he pauses again to listen as Brain says, “…perhaps the worst collaborator I’ve ever worked with. Stubborn, self-centered, and unfocused.”

Heart heaves an internal sigh of relief when he hears the third adjective, as he always does now, and says, “I hope you’re not talking about me.”

Medic looks up at him and beams. “No, of course not, Brain was telling me about a gentleman he worked with briefly in America. Won’t you sit?”

He does, sliding in comfortably next to Brain. “You two seem to be getting along well.”

“We’ve worked out some differences, yes.” Brain takes a sip of his coffee, his unblinking gaze transferring to Heart as he turns in his seat.

“We’ve had some good conversations.” Medic reaches across the table to pat Brain’s forearm. “We’re very nearly friends now.”

It warms Heart to even think of, and he smiles even as he says, cheerfully, “That’s wonderful. Or should I be worried?”

At which Brain and Medic glance at each other, and Brain says, “Possibly,” and Medic says, “Yes.”

Chapter Text

“I remember you,” says a quiet voice, and Banjou turns with a start. “You’re Build’s friend, the fighter. You taught Parad-DX how to play cat’s cradle.”

Banjou starts with, “I mean, I think it’s more that Sento’s my–” before his brain catches up to the fact that the stranger referred to Sento as Build, and then the slightly unkempt hair and wildly-patterned clothes resolve into, “Wait, I do know you, aren’t you…uh…Oh?”

“OOO,” with a gentle smile. “Hino Eiji.”

“Right, right, OOO. Um, Banjou Ryuuga.” They shake hands. “You do all the animal stuff, right, you were with that bird guy, the one who,” and then he remembers the stricken look and his mouth closes around the word, “dissolved,” right before it can come out.

All Hino says, though, is, “That’s me. I’m actually not familiar with this area, can you recommend somewhere good for lunch?”

Ten minutes later they’re sitting in a coffee shop together, and Banjou’s successfully insisted on paying since Hino is even broker than he is. Most of the other diners are couples on dates, which is a little awkward–they keep glancing at Hino’s disheveled hair and wildly mismatched clothes, and from the whispering Banjou’s hearing, some of them think he’s the other Banjou Ryuuga, the one from this world. The sandwiches are good, though.

Something’s bothering him. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere else before. Like, not in a fighting thing. Or someone who looks a lot like you.”

Hino swallows his mouthful. “You might’ve seen my father on TV, he’s a politician. He got elected to the Diet a couple of years ago. People always used to say that I looked like him.”

“Oh, yeah, that might be it.” And that was definitely some kind of distaste on Hino’s face, there and gone, so Banjou says, “Dads, right?”

“Don’t tell me yours is also in politics.”

Banjou stirs protein powder into his coffee and tries to sound casual. “Nah, he’s an evil space alien who tried to destroy the world.”

“So pretty similar to a politician, then.”

They share a laugh. It’s awkward, but it’s also nice being able to say something like that to someone besides Sento and not get stared at. Which, now that they’re actually having a conversation, the other diners aren’t staring, or at least are being sneakier about it. He takes a bite of his sandwich and thinks, Don’t ask about the bird guy, don’t ask about the bird guy…

“You can ask if you want to,” Hino says. He isn’t looking up from his sandwich, but he doesn’t sound upset either. “I don’t mind.”

Banjou doesn’t even have to think about it. “What happened to your friend?”

“He broke, a few years ago. I’m looking for a way to put him back together.” Hino’s hand goes to a pouch hanging around his neck, one that Banjou had missed previously against the riotous print of his shirt. “It was nice to see him again, though. Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure, go for it.”

“Aren’t you from another world? What are you doing here?”

Banjou shrugs. “It’s gone. Or we kinda. Combined it with this one? You’d have to ask Sento, I don’t super know how it worked except that it did. That’s, uh, that’s Build, I don’t think you guys ever got introduced really.” He pauses. “He’d probably take a look at your friend, if you asked him. He’s good at fixing things.”

“No, I don’t think we did.” Hino stares into his coffee. “I appreciate the suggestion, but I wouldn’t want to bother him. I’m sorry to hear about your world.”

“It’s cool, that shit happens I guess. We made people not dead again, so like. That’s good.” Beat, and then Banjou frowns. “Why not bother him, though? We’re all…colleagues or whatever, right? Shouldn’t we help each other out? Anyway, he’d definitely love to have something new to research. I mean, I’m sure you’ve asked other Riders already.”

There’s a long, awkward silence, following by a moment of blinking before Hino says, quietly, “No, I didn’t want to bother them.” He laughs again, even more awkward than the previous awkward laugh. “And I’m the one who’s always saying we should help each other.”

He looks embarrassed, and Banjou feels a little bad to have embarrassed him, so he buys them both desserts before he tries to talk more. “What’s he like?”

“You really don’t have to get me anything else, you’ve done me a big favor already just covering lun–what’s who like?”

“Your friend. The one you’re trying to help. What is he like? What, you’re staring, do I have a smudge or something?”

Hino shakes himself. “No, you’re fine, it’s just–no one ever asks like that.”

“Like what?”

“Is.”

“… huh?”

“You asked, what is he like. Most people say was.”

“Oh. Um. Do you want me to stop?”

“No, don’t. It’s…it’s nice to talk to someone else who doesn’t just act like he’s. Dead.”

“I mean, I met him, I think he asked you for money, he’s obviously not dead. What would a dead guy need money for?”

Abruptly Hino grins. “Ices. He’s obsessed with them, he’d eat nothing but ice pops if he could.“

Banjou lets out a startled laugh. “Ices? How’d that happen? I, uh, I didn’t know birds could, like. Taste stuff.”

“Well, he’s not exactly a bird, you know. I mean, he isn’t not a bird, but he’s not just a bird, and also he was stuck sort of being human for a while and he kept forgetting that he needed to eat…”

Chapter Text

This dreamscape is not a beach.

They’d started on the beach, sure, as they always do. It suits both of them–the sun, the sand, the sound of waves pounding on the rocks, the smell of salt and seaweed. The beach is a peaceful place for them.

But after the initial greetings are past, Kouta says, “Hey, can I show you a little of what Helheim looks like now? Like. I won’t take you there. I mean I can’t take you there, not physically. But I can show you? If that’s ok?”

Takatora feels bad for hesitating, but he can’t deny that he does for a moment before saying, “Sure, if you’d like to. I’d love to see what it looks like now.”

Kouta grins, and the dreamscape changes, and now they’re in a grotto covered in moss as thick and soft as a bed. Its entrance is shaded by trees blooming with flowers in the most extraordinary colors, and birds are singing in a place where birds never sang before. Helheim is no longer the eerie, empty place of Takatora’s nightmares. It’s alive.

Without hesitation this time, “It’s beautiful.”

“You really think so?”

“There weren’t birds here before.”

“You like them? We spent almost three weeks just doing bird stuff. I think they turned out really well.” Kouta turns towards him, and in this warm sunlight the red eye and the gold have become natural things, native to this place, not a marker of anything otherworldly and terrifying. “I’m glad. I worked on this spot thinking about you. I grew a lot of this rock formation myself.”

Which is, itself, an otherworldly and terrifying thing to say, and all Takatora can think of is how extraordinarily lucky he’s somehow become, that a god who molds worlds has shaped part of one solely for his benefit.

And then it hits him, and he lets out a stifled laugh. “This rock formation that looks suspiciously like the couch in my office?”

Kouta wiggles his eyebrows. “Trust me, it’s way comfier than the couch in your office.”

“Oh, it is, it is? Can you prove it?”

Even in dreams, Kouta’s kisses taste like juice. “Only if you want me to.”

Somehow, either because this is a dream or because of some incomprehensible exertion of divine power, the moss-covered rocks are much more comfortable than the couch in Takatora’s office. They’re also larger, wide enough that, some time later, Takatora is able to stretch out at Kouta’s side with his head on Kouta’s shoulder while they talk.

The conversation drifts to absent friends, and then into silence, until Kouta says, “What are you thinking about?”

The scenery has been stirring something. Takatora says, slowly, “Can you keep a secret?”

Kouta blinks. “Um. I’m not, like. Known for being especially good at it. But I also don’t have a lot of people I’d tell.”

“I don’t know if it’s how much time has passed, or something else, but sometimes I find myself missing Ryouma.”

“The professor?” An awkward pause, and then, “Right, you guys were…really close before. Stuff happened. Why, uh, why do you mention it?”

“Well, he was a great collector of art, and there was a painting he had a print of. The Grotto of Neptune in Tivoli. He was very fond of it. This, the, the space here made me think of it, suddenly.”

“Really? That guy was into collecting art?”

“He was an artist and a classicist himself, I know you know he designed most of the armors. That’s how he became so fixated on the idea of…fruit, as well. Studying world myth.” Takatora sighs. “He wasn’t a good man. But…”

Kouta nods slowly. “But sometimes you miss him anyway. I get that.”

“Oh, man, I was going to surprise you guys but it sounds like I interrupted something serious.”

Takatora freezes, looking up, and is briefly mesmerized by the grass stains on Mai’s feet where they dangle in the air before he manages to look up at the rest of her, perched on the lowest branch of one of the flowering trees. “Ah. Um. Good afternoon, um…Takatsukasa Mai.”

Mai, golden-haired and gowned in white, says, “Hi, Kureshima Takatora,” and waves. “I just wanted to figure out where Kouta had wandered off to, he kind of left his body behind on a branch of Kaito’s tree and Kaito was mad about it.”

Kouta groans. “He’s mad about everything. I’ll apologize to him when I wake up.”

“That’s not fair, he’s not mad about everything now, he’s just a grouch. You’d be grouchy too if you were dead. Kouta, why is your boyfriend staring at me like I’m going to eat him?”

“I don’t know.” Kouta looks down at the top of Takatora’s head. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Takatora feels his face go red and curses the unfairness of this over-realistic dream world for being one in which he can still blush. “I. Ah.” He gestures nervously at Mai. “She. Well.”

Mai peers at him from her seat on the tree branch. “Ohhh. Are you freaking out because I walked in on you being naked with Kouta? Or because of what you were talking about?”

After a moment, Takatora says, decisively, “Yes.”

Kouta’s forehead wrinkles in very charming confusion. “Which one?” Their clothes are also abruptly back on, which Takatora supposes is one of the advantages of a dream world. “Also, what, why?”

Takatora sits up and buries his face in his hands. “Please forgive me, Miss Takatsukasa.”

“For what?” A hand brushes feather-light over his hair. “Missing someone you loved? You’re allowed to miss people you loved, even if they also kind of sucked. You didn’t make him cut my heart out.” The ghostly hand tips his chin up so that he’s looking up again, at Mai on her tree branch, golden eyes glowing as she smiles. “And as for the other thing, do I look like Hera or something? I’m not gonna smite you or whatever. Kouta and I have forever together, I’m not gonna get jealous if you get him for a while.” Her nose wrinkles. “Anyway, you’d make a terrible Ganymede. Like, you’re cute, I guess, but you’re way too old and dignified. Also, Kouta would make a really bad Zeus, he’s not shitty enough.”

Takatora lets out a startled chuckle. “That’s what I said too.”

“I still haven’t looked up those references,” Kouta says irritably, “I have no idea what you guys are talking about.”

“I’ll explain later when you’re awake,” Mai says drily, and Takatora starts laughing for real. “Anyway, I’d wondered why you made this rock formation look like a couch, you didn’t tell me it was a sex couch.”

“It’s not a sex couch, it’s the couch in Takatora’s office.”

“Which you have sex on.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t make it a sex couch.”

The dream world is starting to dissolve at the edges, and Mai says, “I think you need to let your boyfriend wake up now, Kouta,” and blows them a kiss before vanishing. Her voice leaves after she does, with a final, “Kaito’s gonna be really annoyed if you keep leaving your body in his tree.”

Kouta groans. “She’s right, Kaito’s going to yell at me.”

Takatora coughs. “Yes, ah, I thought he was. Dead.”

“Oh, he is, he’s super dead, he’s just also on Helheim, he’s doing dead-guy things, it’s complicated. Mai’s right, though, you should wake up.” Kouta kisses him. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Love you.”

Takatora says, “I love you t–” and wakes up to a bedroom disappointingly free of moss.

Chapter Text

Tsukasa and Daiki are in the kitchen again, and Tsukuyomi treads lightly. Last time she’d…interrupted them, and she’d been a little too startled to do anything but freeze in the doorway. This time, knowing that she might be interrupting, she can move quietly, get a glimpse, and then back up and be noisy if they need a moment to pull themselves together.

They’re not, thankfully, locked in any kind of embrace when she nears the entrance to the kitchen, but they are talking. Tsukuyomi’s about to knock on the door frame, but she freezes and then steps out of sight when she hears Daiki saying, in an aggrieved tone, “–didn’t you tell me?”

Tsukasa sighs. “I didn’t think I had the time.”

“What, weeks of planning and you didn’t have five minutes to leave a note on my dresser? ‘Hey, Daiki, it’s going to look like I’m backsliding but really I’m just trying to save the world again as usual, don’t freak out.’ What you mean is, you were too busy making time with Captain Marvelous to think about how frightening it might be for people who knew the old you.”

“I was not making time with him, we were trying to save the fucking world and there was a lot of tech and planning involved.”

Daiki snorts. “You can’t possibly tell me he didn’t try to get in your vinyl pants, I know what he’s like.”

Hidden just past the door frame, Tsukuyomi tries to imagine Tsukasa wearing vinyl pants and then pushes the mental image away before it can really form. When she’d interrupted them before, Daiki had made a joke about eyeliner; the thought that Kamen Rider Decade used to be some sort of club kid is too weird for words.

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and then Tsukasa letting out a huff of breath. “I’m–look, I’m not saying that I handled it well, or that I didn’t do anything I regret. All I’m saying is that I didn’t think I had better options.”

“Well, next time it comes up, I’ve got a better option for you right here.” A rustle of cloth on cloth. “You let me help.” Another soft sound, which Tsukuyomi suspects is kissing. “You did sleep with Marvelous, didn’t you.”

Tsukasa makes a faint noise of protest. “Oh, like you didn’t get cozy with his blue guy.”

“Joe has five partners,” Daiki says airily, “which is apparently three more than he ever expected to have, and hasn’t got the energy for outside fun. And even if he did, luckily for you, I had the great misfortune of falling for a supervillain and never getting over it. So no, not that way we didn’t. But I’ll forgive you for Marvelous, just the once, because he is very handsome.”

They keep talking after that, but Tsukuyomi doesn’t hear what they’re saying, because she’s trying to process what she just heard. A supervillain? Tsukasa was a supervillain?

After a moment she takes a deep breath, steps into view of the kitchen entryway, and knocks on the door frame. There’s some scrambling as Tsukasa and Daiki steps apart, and then Daiki says, brightly, “Yes?”

“I was coming to say that Geiz and I wanted to discuss tactics with you for dealing with Schwarz.” Tsukuyomi looks steadily up at them. “Are we going to need to talk about him being a supervillain?”

The color drains from Daiki’s face. “You, ah. You heard that, did you?”

Tsukasa sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Later. We’ll talk about it later. I promise it’s not going to be an issue.”

“It had better not be,” Tsukuyomi says, as calmly as possible. “Because if it is an issue then I’m prepared to take care of it myself.”

“Trust me, I believe you can and would.”

She nods firmly. “Good. Come on, Geiz and the others are waiting.” A pause. “Also, who’s Captain Marvelous? That can’t be his actual name.”

Chapter Text

A puzzle is solvable. A game can be beaten. Parad is a walking, talking encyclopedia of cheat codes, exploits, and unbeatable strategies, and if he wants to be good at something then he will be.

The problem is, he’s finding, that you can’t really be good at a person. Like, you can get to know them, you can learn everything about what they enjoy and what they do and how they think about things, and you can still mess up. Because actually you’ll think you know everything about them, but you don’t, or maybe you did but something changed.

And you don’t even get patch notes.

It’s not fair.

He sits next to Poppy’s cabinet and buries his face in his hands, and Poppy leans out from the screen with a little frown on her face and says, “What’s wrong?”

“Emu doesn’t want to talk to me,” he mumbles into his palms. “I think he’s mad at me. I think I might be bad at being a boyfriend.”

“Why do you think he’s mad?” She fizzes out of the cabinet and sits down next to him, reaching out to pat his knee gently. “Did he say something to you? Did you two have an argument?”

“He’s shutting me out of his head. He feels upset about stuff, but he won’t tell me why. That means it’s me, right? Why else would he be keeping it secret?”

“Maybe he’s worried about something that he thinks would upset you. Have you tried talking to him? You know, with actual talking, not just your brain?”

“No. If he doesn’t want to talk to me with his brain then why would he want to talk to me another way?”

“Well, sometimes it’s easy for humans to say things one way but not another.” Poppy pauses, tapping thoughtfully on her lips. “Or if you’re really sure he’s mad at you, you could always try bringing him a present. You know, something a boyfriend would bring him.”

Parad stares up at her, forehead wrinkled in bafflement. “Like what? I don’t know what boyfriends give people, that was Lovelica’s thing.”

“Um…flowers, I think? Or chocolates or something? I’ve never had a boyfriend, I don’t really know. And, I don’t know, ask him what he’s been working on, he and the others have that conference coming up.”

Emu gets home exhausted, puts away his shoes, hangs his coat up, turns around, and stops. “Uh. Is today something? Did I forget about today being something?”

Parad stares glumly at the stack of plastic containers on the table. “I told Poppy you were mad at me, and she said maybe give you flowers or chocolates or something, but you’re allergic to flowers and I wasn’t about to ask Brave what kind of chocolates are good so I just got you one of every bento you like from the convenience store near Snipe’s clinic. Is that right? Am I doing this right? Whatever I did, I’m sorry, please talk to me again.”

“You told Poppy I was…what? I’m not mad at you. Oh wow, is that gyudon, I am starving–why do you think I’m mad at you?”

“Whenever I try to talk to you you’re all shut off.” Parad taps on his temple. “And you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

“I–” Emu sags. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d told you, I had a couple of patients who had to get big procedures lately, between that and this stupid conference I’ve been really busy. And–oh. Damn. It’s the conference, that’s why.” He thumps down on the couch next to Parad and leans on his shoulder. “I promise I’m not mad at you, but I was shutting you out, and I’m sorry for that. I can explain why if you want to talk about it.”

“…you’re sure?” Parad passes Emu the gyudon bento and utensils and then grabs three kimchi onigiri for himself. “Poppy did mention the conference, what’s so bad about it?”

There’s a long pause as Emu stuffs his face with gyudon and downs a coffee, and then he says, “So, uh. I have to give a speech.”

“I thought giving speeches at conferences was a good thing.”

“Well, yeah, kind of, but. Um. You know how I’m Patient Zero?”

“Yeah, obviously I know about that, I’m your Bugster.”

“And you know how there are only, like, five or six people who are supposed to know about that?”

“…yeah?”

“One of Kiriya’s colleagues at the path lab found out somehow, and he told another doctor, and now pretty much the entire medical community knows and I have to give a whole presentation at this conference about how it’s affected my work as a CR doctor. They want me to transform in front of everyone. And also some conspiracy theorist with a podcast is going around saying that I’ve been going around giving people Game Disease for years like I’m, I’m Typhoid Mary or something.” Emu shovels more gyudon into his mouth, chews, and swallows, scowling all the time. “I’ve gotten some really nasty emails.”

Parad gapes at him for a moment before saying, “Game Disease doesn’t even work like that, though.”

“Well, yeah, I know that, you know that, any doctor who knows anything about Game Disease knows that, but either this podcast guy doesn’t or he’s a really good liar.” A mouthful of rice, more gyudon, more coffee. “Like, it’s not really doing damage to my rep with other doctors, but it’s not exactly. Great for me.” Emu stares down into his already-greatly-diminished bento. “I was shutting you out because I’ve been worrying about it a lot and I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

“Why would I–” Parad blinks, eyes flashing briefly as he figures it out. “Oh. Because I’m your Game Disease.”

“Yeah. It…honestly it didn’t even occur to me that doing that would freak you out more, I just didn’t want you to find out and think it was your fault.” Emu groans and flops back against the back of the couch. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I should have just told you about it.”

The unexpected response is, “Can I fight the podcast guy?”

“What? No. I mean, I wish you could go fight the podcast guy, but it really wouldn’t help.”

Parad nods. “Ok, if you say so. Can I help with your conference thing?”

Emu opens his mouth to say no and then blinks and says, instead, “…actually, yeah, you wanna do Mighty Brothers in front of a big crowd?”

“Obviously I do, you know I love showing off. Do you think that’d help?”

“Yeah, I mean. If they want me to talk about how having a long-term case of Game Disease has changed my approach to the, uh, active part of the treatment, you’re sort of important to that.” Emu grins at him. “You’re my favorite symptom, you know that?”

Parad preens. “Sure I am. We’re gonna scare the crap out of a bunch of doctors, it’s gonna be awesome.”

Chapter Text

Emu wakes up, shuffles into the bathroom, and is halfway through brushing his teeth when he realizes that it feels like something’s missing. It takes the rest of tooth-brushing and half of the time needed to attack a notable snarl in his hair before he realizes that what’s missing is Parad. It’s not like he’s supposed to be anywhere specific at this time of day, but generally he’s somewhere in the apartment, and he’s not exactly a quiet guy. Today he’s not anywhere in the apartment at all–Emu can’t hear him playing games on the couch or rummaging through the fridge or anything.

In case he’s just sleepy and not picking up on things, he says, out loud, “Parad?” No answer, though, so he follows speech with a hesitant mental poke, feeling outward from his own location and trying to suppress a sick sense of worry at the thought that maybe Parad got sucked into another universe again or something.

A ping. Parad’s…already at the hospital. And not acknowledging him.

Baffled, Emu gets dressed, and is about to eat a quick breakfast when his phone buzzes. Text from Poppy.

Hi Emu! 💕🤗 Parad’s here @ 🏥🎮 and he’s a lil 😧😧😧 do you have appts or can you come now

He stares at his phone for a moment before responding.

coming now what happened

Near-immediate reply.

podcast guy

Emu stares at his phone for a moment. “Goddammit, what’d that asshole do now?”

“So pe pot pind of pour–he got wind of your presentation at the conference last month.”

Emu groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh good. Did he start talking about me again? I thought he’d moved on to some kind of thing about UFOs in America.”

“Well, he definitely started talking about Game Disease again.” Poppy shifts awkwardly, eyeing him for a moment before she says, “He didn’t exactly start talking about you, is the thing.”

It takes a moment for Emu to process that, and then he goes cold. “Who’d he start talking about, then?”

Poppy sighs. “Come on, Parad’s in my cabinet, maybe you can convince him to come out.”

It takes ten minutes of coaxing before Parad emerges from Poppy’s DoReMiFa Beat cabinet, and when he does finally materialize in front of them, he’s a mess. His clothes look fine, but his face is…wrong, somehow, individual parts of it flickering between five or ten different expressions. Emu stares at him. “Parad, what happened? Did someone hack you? Who did this?”

“I’m I’m I’m uh. I’m uh. I’m having a pro-pro-processing issue.” Parad shakes himself, and his mouth settles into one shape long enough to say, “No hacking, all internal.”

“Hey, hey.” Emu grabs his shoulders and presses their foreheads together. “Ok, then. What happened?”

Parad is buzzing faintly, and it takes him a long moment to get his mouth under control again. “That conspiracy guy thinks I’m part of a plot to control the world with bio-bio-bio-terr–with bio–with a new Game Disease pandemic. Beee-cause I’m your Bugster.”

“Ok. Ok. That sounds like his usual bullshit. I mean, it’s new, but it’s a lot like what he was saying about me before. And you panicked? That’s why you’re having the processing issue?”

“A little-ittle-ittle.”

“Poppy, do you, uh. Is there a way I can help him with this?”

Poppy shrugs helplessly. “It’s just a thing that happens, he’s having a lot of different emotions right now and it’s hard to allocate processing power. All you can really do is try to get him to focus on one thing at a time. I can just go in my cabinet when it happens and the hardware helps me work things out, but he hasn’t got one of those for himself, we don’t even know what game he’s for.”

And Parad’s face abruptly resolidifies with an electrical crack, resolving into an irritated frown. “Hey, I know what-what-what game I’m from, I’m the Mighty Brothers X Bugster.”

“But there aren’t any–”

“Just because it hasn’t got, like, physical media doesn’t make it not a real game.” Another electrical sound and he goes from irritated to distressed. “The conspiracy guy keeps talking about how you’re, like, secretly evil, and it pisses me off.” Crackle. Slightly different distress. “What if he tries to get you fired or something or someone sends some weirdo to fight you and we have to kick their ass?” Yet another crackle, and then he’s–grinning. “He said I’m a secret weapon of the Japanese government.”

Emu stares at him. “Parad, were you having that processing issue because you were…upset but also trying not to laugh?”

“Yeah, basically, because being a government secret weapon is really cool even if I’m not actually that and I don’t work for the government at all, but also I don’t I don’t I d-d-d-don–” He shakes himself. “We’re supposed to do things together and it’s not a problem. You know? I don’t like that he thinks he can just go around saying that you’re a problem, and definitely not that you’re a problem because of me. I mean I’m a problem but that doesn’t mean you’re one.”

“I–hey, you’re not a problem.”

“Oh, no, I’m a huge problem, it’s just that I’m mostly only a problem for jerks now.”

Emu stares at him. “That’s…ok. Ok. All right. Um. Are you ok now?”

Parad stares into the air for a moment, clearly thinking about it, his face crackling through several rapid changes of expression before he says, “No, I’m really mad still.”

“That’s, that’s reasonable, we should probably talk to the Director about it later, he and the Ministry might need to do some PR work if this guy gets too much attention. Do…you…want to come over to pediatrics with me? I’ve got a patient coming in later this morning who needs shots and a blood draw, I bet she’d appreciate some Rubix cube tricks.”

Crackle, and now Parad speaks in a very small voice. “I don’t want them to try to split us up.”

At this Poppy steps quietly away from them and pulls the curtain shut in front of the cabinet alcove, and Emu pulls Parad into a hug despite the fact that Parad’s stressed enough that touching him means getting a pretty rough electric shock. “Nobody splits us up. And nobody definitely includes some weird conspiracy theorist with a podcast.”

“Can I destroy his hard drive?” Parad mumbles into his hair. “And delete all his cloud stuff?”

“Um…no. No, I think that would be a bad idea right now.”

Chapter Text

A program must have a name to be saved, and your name is Parad.exe, and you grew like a seed in the heart of the best human you know. You are looking at a dandelion.

You say, “Did you know that these are an invasive species?”

The best human you know is sitting next to you, drinking his too-many'th coffee of the day and eating a convenience store bento, and he says, “What are? Dandelions?”

“European dandelions.” You turn it in your hands, looking at the seedhead and its seeds, each one complete in itself but nonetheless making up a more complex whole. The fluff of each seed reaches out gently to touch others, each individual hair a part of this soft geometry of growth. They’re like wings, you think, and wonder what it would be like to fly. “They look a lot like Japanese dandelions, but they’re not the same. Someone else brought them here.”

When humans dream, supposedly, they dream of flying. You wouldn’t know, you don’t dream, although you’re working on it.

The best human you know is named Hojo Emu, and he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “Huh. I didn’t know that. You know they’re supposed to be good for your stomach? At least, Chinese herbal medicine uses dandelion root, we talked about it in one of my medical history courses.”

You nod, and you are listening, but you’re also thinking about what you read online about the tap roots of dandelions, how they’re nearly impossible to pull up, how sometimes they can stretch two meters down into the ground. You hold your dandelion up and look at it in the sunlight, turning it this way and that. The light catches on the web of skin between your index finger and thumb, lighting the edge a pale pink.

Your hand has skin and bones and blood. It looks like a human hand. Emu would say that it’s exactly like a human hand, because his eyesight isn’t acute enough to see the pixels in a render this good. When he moves you can feel it, because you’re connected. He’s your tap root in the world, all not-quite-two meters of him.

Can Bugsters be an invasive species, if there are so few of you?

There’s a breeze. The seeds of your dandelion tremble as the air moves through them, ready to fly away but not quite strong enough to escape.

You take a deep breath, deeper than a human could take, in and in and in until your entire chest is filled with air, and then blow out and out and out and send all of the dandelion seeds scattering to the wind.

Emu sneezes. One of the dandelion seeds went up his nose. Then he laughs. “That was impressive. What did you wish for?”

You lean against him and turn your head to grin. “Was I supposed to wish for something?”

“I mean, I don’t know about supposed to, but people do sometimes.” You’re leaning on Emu, so he leans on you, and that feels right. “It can be fun to daydream.”

You shrug. “I don’t know what I’d wish for.” You’ve got a tap root already, all not-quite-two meters of him sitting here and finishing his coffee and wearing a promotional Guilty Gear shirt. “I’ve got everything I want.”

Chapter Text

Emu frowns. “Hey, uh. Drive. Is your friend all right?”

Shinnosuke is also frowning, his forehead wrinkled. “I’m…not sure. Heart’s not usually shy at all. Sort of the opposite, actually.”

Heart is staring at Parad wide-eyed, eyes going from his face to his hands to the way he’s seated comfortably on the table, as if he’s not sure what to make of what he’s seeing. He says, after a long moment, “I never knew there were others.”

Parad, for his part, is looking Heart over with open curiosity. “Other whats?”

“Sapient non-humans. You’re not human, are you? You’re not just…unusual?”

“Oh, hey, you can tell?” Parad breaks into a grin. “Nah, super not human, I’m a Bugster. What are you?”

“Roidmude. Are there…many others like you?”

The grin disappears, for a moment, just a flicker on Parad’s face. “Not really, not anymore. I mean, there weren’t ever a lot of us, and most of the others were jerks. But there’s just me and Poppy now. I mean, Lazer used to be a Bugster, he kind of gets it, but he’s back to being human. I’ve never heard of a Roidmude before.”

Heart’s expression does not flicker as much as it twists, one corner of his mouth curling down unhappily. “No. No, there used to be more than a hundred of us, but there’s just me at the moment. Although we’re hoping there will be more again soon.” He shakes himself, and abruptly he’s smiling. “But you work with the humans here? And they treat you as an equal?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t they? Is Drive mean to you? Should I kick his ass? I’ve never fought a car before, but I bet I could take him.”

“I–” Repeated blinking. “No, Tomari Shinnosuke is. Important to me. But it’s been a struggle. I, ah, if you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been–when did Bugsters. Come into existence?”

“Well, I’m like…ten years old? Twelve? The others are. Were. Younger. But I was first. And Poppy’s second-oldest, and all the others are gone.” Parad is silent for a long moment, staring out into nothing as if he’s searching for something far off or long gone. Then there’s another abrupt brightening. “Hey, do you eat? Do you like Thai food? I think I’d like something really spicy right now, let’s go get Thai food and we can talk more.”

As he heads out of the room, Heart trailing along behind him in cheerful bemusement, Emu blinks and says to Shinnosuke, “Parad says they’ll be back in a little while and to let him know if anything comes up.”

“How did you–right, you two have that…brain connection thing.” Shinnosuke nods slowly. “I’m glad to see Heart getting to make friends again. I mean, he’s a friendly person, but he’s been. He’s been lonely since we brought him back. We’re working on the others, but it’s been tougher to pull them together.” A pause. “Does your…Parad…actually have money to take Heart to a restaurant?”

“Oh yeah, he actually gets a stipend from the hospital because he’s so good with the kids, technically he’s employed by the pediatrics department. Getting him a bank account was kind of a process, though.”

At the Thai restaurant nearest to the hospital, Heart takes a long sip of iced tea and then says, “I’m sorry. That I, we, that the Roidmudes weren’t able to support you and your companions.”

Parad shrugs, mouth full of shrimp, and swallows hard before saying, “It’s cool, how would you have known? You were dead when everything was going down.”

“Well, yes, for a period, but from what you’ve told me it sounds like you, at least, were around for several years before my friends and I launched our campaign. I wish we had known about you, it would have been a great comfort to think that we had…peers.”

“Mm. Yeah, I get that, it would’ve been cool knowing that it wasn’t just Bugsters. I mean, I can’t really blame Emu and them for taking most of us out, I’m the only one who can exist without killing someone else. Killing someone’s a pretty terrible thing to do, you know?”

“That’s not your fault, though. Just because some human was cruel enough to make you like that, that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live.”

Parad shrugs. “I mean. Yeah. Humans mostly suck.” He shovels another heaping spoonful of shrimp and rice into his mouth while Heart eats a spring roll. “But hey,” he says around his mouthful, “’s pretty cool meeting someone else who isn’t human.” Swallow. “You’re kinda like family. Like, Emu calls the other Riders his seniors, so maybe that’d work, but I feel like we’re different. There’s less of us, you know?”

Heart blinks several times. “That…hadn’t occurred to me. I mean, of course we should be able to support each other, but I’ve never had family other than the Roidmudes, and perhaps Kiriko and her brother.”

“Well. None of the other Bugsters ever wanted to listen to me about us sticking together, really. Not even Graphite, he was too busy being weird about glorious battle or whatever, and Poppy likes living with humans and acting like one all the time. But we mean something. It means something that we’re us and not human.” The last of Parad’s shrimp and rice disappears into his mouth, and he chews thoughtfully for a moment, swallows, and says, “I kinda wanna get dessert too. You ever had mango rice, Heart-niisan? I’ll split some with you if you like–you’re giving me a weird look, are you ok?”

It takes Heart a long moment before he says, “What did you call me just now?”

“Heart-niisan.” Parad frowns. “Why, is that bad? Do you want me to stop? I can call you something else.”

“No, that’s.” Heart stares into his iced tea. “That’s very good, you can keep calling me that.”

The frown is immediately transformed into a broad smile. “All right, awesome, I like having something to call people. You want mango rice?”

“I’d love some, thank you.” Heart smiles back at him, abrupt and bright. “It’s a pleasure to have family once again.”

Heart gets into the passenger seat and stares out the window with an absent smile on his face for a moment before saying, “Your junior is a very pleasant person.”

“Yeah, Emu’s a good guy, you know? Kiriko loves him, she started taking Eiji to him pretty much as soon as there weren’t huge battles happening on the hospital campus every week. She likes having a pediatrician who’s a Rider.” Shinnosuke starts the car. “You seemed to hit it off with his…his friend there, that Parad guy? We haven’t spoken a ton.”

The absent smile gets wider. “It was good to share a meal with a new friend.” Silence for a moment as they pull out of the hospital parking lot and into traffic, and then, “Brain is due back within the week, yes? That hasn’t changed?”

“No changes that I’ve heard, Rinna said everything’s going pretty well.”

“Wonderful, I’ve missed him.” Heart sighs cheerfully. “I wonder what he’ll think of my acquiring a little brother. In fact I look forward to hearing all three adjectives.”

Shinnosuke blinks. “Acquiring a what?”

Chapter Text

The black eye is visible almost before the rest of Micchi is, coming up the line at Charmant. Hideyasu raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t greet him out of turn, and then doesn’t get the chance to when he gets to the counter and opens with, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hideyasu snorts. “You don’t want to order? Then why are you here?”

“No, I mean–you were looking at me.”

“Yes, I was trying to remember if your brother had any orders in that you might be picking up. He doesn’t, by the way. So what can I get you?”

“Uh…” Micchi stares at the various confections on display, looking overwhelmed. “I. Can you. Recommend something?” A beat, and then, hurriedly, “Nothing with oranges.”

Hideyasu squints at him, feeling a swell of something like pity, and then glances at the line behind him. Two other customers, no one approaching the door. “Just sit down, I’ll bring you something.”

“I–wait, what?”

“That wasn’t an invitation to argue with me, Mitsuzane. Go sit down. Corner table over there is free.”

“O…k?” Looking bewildered, Micchi goes to sit down at the corner table, and Hideyasu turns to the next customer with a stiff customer-service smile.

That customer, the next, and one last-minute arrival later, the line is finally gone and Hideyasu has a moment to grab a serving tray, a plate, and a set of utensils and say to the kitchen staff, “I’m taking fifteen. If Oren asks, tell him it’s important. Also, could you get me a pot of tea?”

Micchi looks even more bewildered when Hideyasu sits down at the table across from him. “What…I feel like I missed something here.”

“You didn’t, I’ve been on my feet all morning and felt like sitting down for three seconds. Here. Raspberry tart. Eat.”

A long, suspicious look, and then Micchi takes a forkful of his half of the raspberry tart and pops it into his mouth.

Hideyasu allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction at Micchi’s startled, mouth-full, “This is delicious,” before serving himself the other half of the tart and saying, “So. Who did this?”

Micchi jumps in the middle of swallowing and very nearly chokes. “Who did what?”

Jounouchi just sort of stares at him and then gestures. “What do you think I’m talking about?”

“…I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s nice, but if you don’t tell me then I’m going to guess. Actually, you know what, I’ve already figured it out. What’d you do to Zack to make him punch you?”

Micchi stares at him. “How. How did you know it was Zack.”

“Well, you don’t hang out with anyone but Beat Riders, and even them only barely, so it’s probably a Beat Rider. I mean, I guess it could have been someone mad at your brother, but I feel like you wouldn’t be as weird about that. The Raid Wild guys are all too stupid to punch straight, my girls would rather talk mean than fight, Gaim is all saps, and Peko’d just shoot you with that slingshot of his, so I’m guessing it was Zack. Which, he’s tough to piss off, I’m impressed.”

Glumly, Micchi takes another bite of tart and chews for a moment before saying, “He wasn’t pissed off. I asked him to.”

“Huh. Kinky. Never figured you for the type.”

This time Micchi does choke, and Jounouchi snorts and leans across the table to pound on his back a little. After a moment his airway clears and he croaks, “It’s not like that.”

“No, obviously not, you did it because you Kureshimas love to beat yourselves up about things you can’t fix and you figured it might be nice to get someone else to do it for you.” Jounouchi squints at his plate and then takes something else from the serving tray and puts it down among the crumbs of Micchi’s tart. “Lemon matcha madeline. Take a sip of tea first, clear your palate.”

“…how do you know so much about my brother?” Micchi takes a sip of tea and then bites into the madeline. It is spectacular, which he’s weirdly frustrated by.

“Because he has a standing date for tea here with Kazuraba’s sister, every two weeks and I love to eavesdrop, and he keeps ordering madelines from me to give to visiting whatevers. Also, Oren talks about him constantly.” Jounouchi takes a sip of his own tea. “Speaking of Kazuraba’s sister, are they or what?”

“What? No, uh, definitely not. They’re just friends.” A glance down at his hands, and–he’s already finished his madeline. He surreptitiously swipes some crumbs up from his plate with a fingertip, eats them when Jounouchi is looking away, and takes another sip of tea.

“So is he single, then?”

Micchi doesn’t choke this time, but only through sheer willpower. “Is he–what? Why?”

“What, you think I don’t want a backup plan in case I decide to get out of pastry?” Jounouchi flashes him a brief, unexpected smile and pulls over his empty plate. “I’m teasing you, Mitsuzane, your brother’s not my type. Here. Rose and pomegranate mille feuille.”

The plate slides back across the table, and Micchi stares at the layered pink confection on it for a long moment before saying, slowly, “Why are you doing this for me? You barely know me. I think this might be the first time we’ve ever really spoken.”

It takes a long time for Hideyasu to respond, because he’s not entirely sure of what to say. Instead he takes a bite of his own portion of mille feuille, satisfied by the buttery melt of handmade puff pastry on his tongue, the delicacy of the rose flavor coming through behind the pomegranate. Perfecting this recipe took ages; when he finally got a batch to turn out, Oren actually bought a bottle of champagne. Speaking of uncertainty, though, he’s also not especially sure of why he feels like showing off his best recipes to Kureshima Takatora’s little brother, except maybe that he likes watching people eat what he’s made.

Finally he says, “I have a weakness for lost puppies.”

Micchi snorts. He looks offended, but he also looks amused, which means Hideyasu’s won. “I look like a lost puppy to you?”

“You look like you could stand to have a few more actual friends than you’ve got. When I see you at Beat Rider events–if I see you at Beat Rider events–you’re just hiding in those massive hoodies of yours, not talking to anyone. And since my closest friend died…somehow…during all the. Stuff. I don’t exactly have a lot of people to talk to either.”

“I…guess I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, that one’s not your fault. If you have to be a Kureshima about it and apologize, do it by eating your mille feuille and telling me how brilliant I am.”

That gets an eye roll, and if Micchi’s relaxing enough to make faces at him then maybe they can have an actually conversation. Pleasingly, this is followed by a bite of mille feuille and then a startled, “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

“Yes, it is, thank you.”

“…were you always this full of yourself, or did you get it from Oren?”

“All of the great patissiers have god complexes.” Hideyasu takes a sip of tea. “That’s what makes the créme pat turn out.”

Micchi stares at him, obviously disbelieving, and then takes another bite of mille feuille. “Ok, so. Maybe you deserve that, this is really good.” A third bite. “You still haven’t really answered my question, though. Why me?”

Hideyasu scowls. “I don’t know, all right? It just bothers me to see you hanging around at the back of everything like a ghost when you used to be just as obnoxious as everyone else in Gaim.”

“I’m not sure what else you expect me to do.”

“I’m not sure either, Mitsuzane, but this can’t be all you’ve got. I thought you Kureshimas had more spine.”

“Wanna bet?” Micchi mutters, and then blinks, as if he’s surprised at himself.

And that’s bait that Hideyasu can take easily, so he grins and has another sip of tea and says, “See, I feel like that’s more of the attitude I remember you having.”

“Surprised you remember me at all, I don’t think you and your Mean Girls crew ever even spoke to me.” Micchi’s phone beeps, and he digs it out of his pocket. “Shit, I actually need to get going, I have to meet with a classmate. Uh…thank you for. Talking to me. What do I owe you for the food?”

“Nothing right now.” Hideyasu looks at him sidelong. “Let’s say you’ll buy me coffee in a month and let me know whether you’ve started finding your backbone again.”

Chapter Text

The crowd of fascinated onlookers means that Emu and Philip can’t see much of what’s going on, apart from Shoutaro’s hat and the curly top of Parad’s head. Despite that, though, and the noise level, they can still hear the clack of balls caroming off each other and the walls of the pool tables, following by the little thumps as they roll into pockets–one, two, three, four balls in, one right after the other. The people watching applaud politely, looking delighted. Some shuffling of feet, a long pause, and then, “Ok, seriously, W, you’ve gotta show me how you did that one.”

“Would you please call me Shoutaro. But ok, sure, we’ve still got a few balls out, I’ll set them back up.”

Emu takes a sip of his beer and says, “I’m glad they’re having fun.”

Philip is drinking some sort of mixed juice concoction because he’s concerned about impairing his cognitive functions, which according to Shoutaro’s convenient Philip Translation Service means that he weighs about fifty kilos soaking wet and has no tolerance for alcohol. It does have a little paper umbrella in it, though. “Shoutaro has recently devoted a great deal of energy to practicing his trick shots, it’s gratifying to see someone besides our niece and nephew getting excited about them.”

Shoutaro’s instructions aren’t quite audible, just bits and pieces, “It’s really about how you angle the cue–” getting swallowed in the crowd noise.

“Your niece and nephew?” Emu blinks. “I didn’t think you had–Shoutaro’s never mentioned having siblings.”

“Yuji and Haruna, Narumi Akiko’s children. Parad’s met them. Akiko is our technical employer, Shoutaro had a…complicated friendship with her father. They’re siblings in every useful sense of the term. And her husband is Accel, the other Rider in Fuuto.”

“Right, I do remember Parad mentioning kids at your office when he came to chat with you before. It’s nice that you guys are so close with Accel, too.” Emu pauses, takes another sip. “Was he hard to get along with at first? There was so much friction with the other CR Riders when everything was going on, I always wonder how other groups get along.”

“Oh yes, absolutely very difficult. He’s an argumentative man. But we–”

From the direction of a pool table comes a loud thump and several clacking sounds, and then a pool ball, which sails over the heads of the crowd and which Emu only barely manages to catch in time. He nearly topples off his stool to do it, too, gripping the bar with his free hand in a desperate attempt to stay off the floor. The onlookers are making worried noises, and one of them says, “Do you need a doctor? There should be a first aid kit at the bar–”

Philip’s staring wide-eyed in the direction of the pool table. Emu, regaining his balance with difficulty, freezes and nearly falls again. “Oh no, what have they done?”

Fortunately, after a moment there’s more shuffling, and then Parad saying, cheerfully, “No, I’m fine, it’s cool, that was on purpose. And awesome. M should have the eight ball.”

The crowd parts, and Parad and Shoutaro look down the opened aisle to where Emu and Parad are sitting, Emu still hanging onto the bar, Philip’s right hand white-knuckled on his drink. Parad has a red mark on his forehead, over which is floating what appears to be an emoji of a pair of crossed bandages. Shoutaro is looking a little wild-eyed as he says, “Ah…yes. Right. Emu, is that the eight ball?”

Emu looks at the pool ball in his hand in surprise. “Um. Yes.”

“Then that was. That was a very impressive shot, Parad.”

Philip squints at the eight ball, grip relaxing slightly on his drink. “Parad, did you carom this off your own head in order to pass it to Emu?”

“Yeah! Hurt a little more than I was expecting, but it worked out ok, right?”

“That’s fascinating, how did you calculate the angle for it?”

The crowd disperses once the eight ball is returned to the pool table, especially as Parad and Philip have started discussing the math of pool trick shots instead of doing any. Shoutaro shoots Parad a look that seems simultaneously fond and exhausted before turning to Emu. “He really is like that all the time, isn’t it? Do you play pool?”

“He really is. And I don’t, would you teach me?” Emu grins at him. “Or do you need a drink first?”

“I’d love to, and yes, I do.” Shoutaro sits down next to him. “Don’t, uh, don’t tell anyone this, but I think Parad might be better at that game than I am.”

Chapter Text

“You’re the Rider historian, right? You mind if I sit?”

Woz blinks in confusion. “Am I the what?”

The man in the silver jacket who arrived with the pirates holds out a hand. “The Kamen Rider historian. Decade mentioned you have a whole book of Rider history, I was hoping I could talk to you. Ikari Gai, by the way. Gokai Silver.”

Baffled, Woz shakes hands, adjusting his grip on his book as the other man sits down next to him. “Woz. I…have never thought of myself as a historian, as such, but I suppose that’s as accurate as anything else I might be called.”

“It gets complicated, doesn’t it.”

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

Ikari Gai has an easy smile and a cheery laugh. In the usual course of things Woz might bristle at being laughed at, but it doesn’t feel like mockery here, just friendship. Understanding, perhaps. “I mean, if it wasn’t complicated then we wouldn’t be superheroes, would we? Complicated things are what superheroes are for. So you’re a friend of Zi-O, right? Decade’s junior? He’s a nice kid.” A beat. “God, I sound old.”

Woz isn’t sure what to say to that, so he says nothing. He can’t stop rolling the word historian around in his mind, letting it coat his thoughts like sugar might coat the tongue.

“I’m writing a book myself, about the history of Super Sentai, I’ve been interviewing a lot of people for it. More and more, though, I’ve been thinking I might need to include a chapter or two on Kamen Rider as well. Our stories are sort of, sort of entwined, you know? It feels appropriate.”

“I…suppose that’s the case, yes. What, ah, makes you want to write a history of the Sentai?”

“Because I love it.” Gai grins at him. “What other reason could there be? I love it, and I think it’s important. What about you, why do you have a history of Riders? You said you don’t think of yourself as a historian.”

“No, I…I did not write my book. It was given to me.” Woz rubs his thumb along the book’s metal clasp, feeling it warm under his touch. “It’s a part of me. I am the history, in a sense, and my demon king was the historian who chose me as the medium by which to record it.”

“Oh.” And then, after a moment, “I’m sorry, that must have been painful.”

Woz swallows hard. “It was a gift he gave me. But…yes. It did hurt. Thank you.”

“We don’t have to talk about it more if you don’t want to, I apologize for asking.”

“No, I–I am curious about what it is you want to know.”

“Well, right now I’m mainly interested in the Rider side of the various recorded Rider and Sentai interactions. I mean, obviously I’ve spoken with Decade already, he was pretty heavily involved in a couple of them–you know he was actually the first Rider to ever encounter a Sentai team? Well, technically it was Diend, the Shinkengers were pretty–right, yeah, anyway. Other Rider and Sentai interactions.”

Woz frowns, glances down at the book in his lap and then back up at Ikari Gai, who’s positively glowing with academic enthusiasm. It’s warming. It’s charming. He wonders, briefly, what it would be like to be a curator of such knowledge by choice, instead of by chance, and then opens his mouth to say, “Can you keep a secret?”

Gai scratches the back of his head, laughing awkwardly. “I mean, classically I’m not great at it, but if you tell me something in confidence I’ll do my best.”

“And I suppose this isn’t so much a secret as it is something I’ve just realized. I think,” gesturing with his book, “that while this isn’t something I chose, if I had been given the choice, I would say yes anyway.”

“Because you do love it, even if sometimes it hurts.”

“Yes.”

“I mean, that’s why we keep doing all of this, right?” Gai leans over a bit to bump Woz’s shoulder with his own, a companionable gesture. “Because we love it, even if it hurts. Well, and because someone has to, and if not us, then who?”

Woz nods and opens his book, flipping through slowly although he already knows exactly what he’s looking for and finally letting it fall open to a bright full-page illustration. “In any case, if you’re interested in interactions between Riders and Sentai, you must be familiar with the Goriders, yes?”

“I’m sorry, that’s actually not something I’ve–is that. That looks like five of Mr. Hongo in different colors, are they a Sentai? Made of Riders?”

“Yes, it was an unusual incident even for the history of Kamen Rider. A fairly recent one, too, only,” Woz checks the date-stamp at the top of the page, “early 2017.”

“I’d ask if I could read that section, but it doesn’t look like it’s in Japanese.” Gai pauses, turning pink. “Also we just met and I get the impression that asking you to hand me your book might be a little intimate. Would you tell me about the Goriders, please?”

“I would be happy to,” Woz says, surprised as he says it to discover that it’s entirely true.

Chapter Text

Shintaro gets out of his meeting and has about thirty seconds to see that he’s got a lot of missed calls and an unexpected number of texts before his phone rings, and when he picks up Satonaka just opens with, “Date is probably asleep on your couch right now.”

He stops dead in the middle of the hall. “Wait, right now? His plane isn’t supposed to be in for another three hours.”

“Oncoming hurricane. Would have delayed the last leg by at least a day. I made him sprint across the airport to get an earlier flight.”

“So that’s why I have…”

“Ten missed calls? Yes. He was very pathetic about you not being able to come get him.”

“I’m sure he was.” Shintaro sighs, but it’s a sigh with a smile underneath it. “All right, thank you for the warning, I’ll order dinner for us on my way home.”

“Already did it, food should be arriving in an hour.” There’s an indescribably smug pause before she continues with, “Go home and pay attention to your boyfriend so he can stop texting me.”

“Thank you, Satonaka.”

“Go. Now. I just got another text.”

Shintaro reads all of the texts, listens to the two voicemails, and then drives home wondering if he is going to find Akira asleep, or if he’s awake and puttering around. Probably asleep, the jet lag’s going to be pretty rough. Also Satonaka is generally right, and he’ll continue to swear to that, because he’s never sure if she might be listening.

He parks, lets himself into the apartment, and does indeed find Akira sprawled on the couch, snoring faintly, with a paperback novel open on his chest and the lamp shining directly on his eyes. Grinning, Shintaro leans over him to turn the lamp off–there’s enough sunlight coming in through the balcony doors anyway.

Arms close around his waist before he can get to the lamp. “Heyyy, Shin-ta-ro,” Akira mumbles. “I texted you a bunch.”

“Yes, I read them. Satonaka also called me.” Shintaro tries unsuccessfully to get free, stuck at an awkward angle with Akira holding him. “What are you doing.”

What Akira’s doing is, he’s tugging Shintaro’s shirt up out of the waistband of his pants, which is followed by a series of extremely stubbly, ticklish kisses pressed to his stomach. “Wanted to kiss you. This part’s closest. Shirt was in the way.”

“Jet lag’s got you bad, doesn’t it?”

“Nah, it’s actually earlier there, mostly I’m just tired.” More ticklish kissing, and then a perceptible grin. “Waking up now, though. Hey, you’ve been at work all day, you oughtta sit down.”

Shintaro huffs, shifting back as much as he can so that he can look down at the suspiciously guileless expression on Akira’s face. “You know you’ll have to let go of me for that, right?”

Akira nods, says, “Sure I do,” and entirely fails to release him.

“And also you’re taking up the entire couch, where am I supposed to sit?”

Akira lets go of him with one arm and, with a gesture exquisite in its simple eloquence, points to his own face.

It takes an effort, but after only a moment or so of staring Shintaro says, as solemnly as he can, “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

Beat.

Akira howls with laughter, which also causes his other arm to tighten around Shintaro’s waist with such suddenness that he’s nearly knocked off his feet. “I missed you. I knew you’d learn how to make jokes.”

“I make jokes all the time, I’m just not usually that funny.” Shintaro does a little bit of ineffective flailing. “Let go of me, please? Satonaka apparently ordered dinner for us and it’s supposed to show up soon.”

“What, you don’t wanna scandalize the delivery guy? What’d she order?”

“Not especially? And I have no idea, she didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Finally Akira lets go with the other arm and struggles upright himself as Shintaro tries to make himself look at least a bit less rumpled. “You think you might take me up on it later, though?” with a hopeful look upwards.

Shintaro blinks. “Take you up on what?”

Akira points to his own face again.

“Right. Uh. Right. That.” Shintaro stares at him, feeling himself blush despite having been with the man for years now. “Yes, maybe later.”

Chapter Text

Emu arrives at the CR at ten minutes before nine in the morning with an armload of binders and accordion folders and Hiiro, not looking up from the patient file he’s reviewing, says, “Pediatrician. You’re finally back. How was California?”

“The epidemiologists gave me tequila.” Emu pinches the bridge of his nose. “I think I still have a hangover.”

“Was Hartenbaum involved? Large man, mostly mustache?”

Emu nods weakly.

“He does tend to do that.” Hiiro turns a page in the file, frowning. “I can’t even look at a bottle of whiskey without flinching.”

A long, silent stare before Emu says, “I don’t believe you’ve ever been drunk in your life.”

“Believe what you like.”

Emu shakes himself. “I’m just glad I don’t have any pediatrics appointments until tomorrow, I don’t think I can handle children right now. Fair warning, Parad’s going to be here in a moment.”

He’s barely finished his sentence before Parad fizzes into the room and opens with, “Why did you let them give you so much tequila?”

“They kept buying it for me, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Lame. You need to get better at being rude.” A one-armed hug, nevertheless, and a grin. “I’m glad you’re back, it’s weird when you’re super far away.”

The door opens as he’s speaking, and Poppy, Taiga, and Nico walk in together, Poppy and Nico talking seriously about one of Nico’s upcoming nursing exams as Taiga says, with a raised eyebrow, “We’re encouraging him to be rude now?”

Hiiro is still reading his file. “The epidemiologists gave him tequila.”

“Hartenbaum?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause, and everyone turns to see Taiga come to a stop, a thousand-yard stare fixing on some undefined point as he says, “Vodka,” in tones of quiet horror, not apparently addressing any of them. Then he shakes himself, visibly returning to the present. “In any case I see you’ve got papers to share, there’d better be something useful in them.”

Emu nods, finally finding a table on which to set down his binders and folders. “Yeah, kind of a lot, the epidemiologists were actually pretty helpful when we were anywhere besides the hotel bar.”

There’s a tell-tale crackle of static as Emu’s putting down his folders, and as soon as his hands are free Kiriya materializes cradled in his arms. As he’s staggering back in surprise, Kiriya says, cheerfully, “Baby! You’re back from California!” and then grabs his face in both hands and kisses him full on the mouth.

Emu’s ears flush bright red, and as soon as his mouth is free he stammers, “I, I missed you too, Ki…Kiriya.”

Hiiro is still looking at his patient file but doesn’t seem to be seeing it, eyes wide and staring nothing. Taiga takes a deep sniff, nostrils flaring, as if he’s smelled something offensive. Nico makes an exaggerated gagging noise. Poppy has a hand clapped over her mouth. Parad lets out an impossibly lengthy wolf whistle.

Still in Emu’s arms, Kiriya glances away, coughing politely , and says, “I really should have expected you to have company.” He doesn’t, however, make any attempt to get his feet on the ground. “So how was the conference?”

“It was. It was fine. Thanks.”

Eyes still on his papers, sounding strangled, Hiiro says, “Hartenbaum gave him tequila.”

“Oh, hey, Hartenbaum was there? I love that guy, he’s fantastic. One of the finest minds in modern virology. Never let him pick the liquor. One time he gave me something called Mallow-something…Malort, that was it. Worst stuff I’ve ever tasted.” Kiriya disappears in a cloud of staticky pixels that make Emu’s hair stand on end and reappears seated at the table in front of the stack of binders. “Looks like you brought a lot of research to share with the class, I’m excited.”

“Right! Right, uh.” Emu fans himself, the pink slowly fading from his ears. “Does everyone… want to sit down so we can go through this?”

“As long as there aren’t going to be anymore displays.” Taiga squints at Kiriya, who whistles innocently. “I have appointments starting at eleven, I don’t have time to waste.”

Chapter Text

“What were you two doing out–Geiz, your shirt.”

Geiz blinks dizzily, blood dripping from his nose. “Did I win? What about my shirt?”

Tsukuyomi gapes at him for a moment before collecting herself. “Win what?”

“We were, we were trying to figure out which one was stronger.” Sougo sounds just as dizzy, the golden armor dissolving around him as he staggers over to a bench and sits down. “You know, between Grand Zi-O and Geiz Majesty. And then there was a guy.”

“Another Kaixa.” Geiz sits down next to Sougo, apparently unbothered by the fact that his nose is continuing to bleed onto his shirt. “And he did some kind of, he did a thing, a mind thing, we started fighting each other for real. So Sougo punched me in the face.”

“Sougo.”

“To be fair, Geiz punched me in the stomach.” Sougo’s regaining himself a little more quickly than Geiz, probably because he hasn’t taken any blows to the head. “But we, we got it together, we took him out. The guy.”

“Another Kaixa.”

“Yeah, that one.”

Tsukuyomi scowls. “Well, we’ll…we’ll ask Woz about him later. Sougo, don’t just sit there, help me get Geiz’s shirt off, it’s covered in blood. How hard did you punch him?”

“Pretty hard.” Sougo grabs Geiz’s left wrist and unfolds the cuff so he can undo the button on the sleeve.

Geiz’s eyes are slowly starting to focus again, and his nose has finally stopped bleeding. His forehead wrinkles. “Why are we taking my clothes off? This doesn’t really seem like the time to–oh, shit, is that all mine?”

“Whose else would it be?” Tsukuyomi frowns down at his shirt buttons as she undoes them. “You were in your suit, full helmet and everything. Although I guess this answers a question I’ve had, I’ve always kind of wondered about what happens to our clothes when we transform.” She unrolls and unbuttons Geiz’s right sleeve and pulls it off his arm. “I guess it would be a little strange if we were just naked in there.”

Sougo tugs Geiz’s other sleeve off. “I always figured it was contextual.”

Tsukuyomi and Geiz both turn to look at him, saying in unison, “What?”

“Well, you know. Woz says our lives are ruled by narrative convenience even more than most Kamen Riders. So wouldn’t it make sense if we’re wearing our day clothes inside our suits when that would be more interesting dramatically? And then other times we’ve got, like, arming gear on underneath them? Geiz got hit in the face, so it’s more dramatic and exciting for his shirt to be all bloody when he drops his suit.” Sougo pauses, looking Geiz over. “I think you should take your undershirt off too, it’s also got blood on it.”

A little more staring from Tsukuyomi before she says, slowly, “That’s…that’s a really good point, Sougo, I hadn’t considered that. Also what do you mean, there’s no blood on the under–”

“No, I definitely see blood, Geiz should take his undershirt off.”

Geiz eyes Sougo sidelong. “You just want me to be shirtless, don’t you.”

Sougo’s expression is suspiciously guileless and innocent. “I mean, it’s not a bad side effect.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Geiz peels off his tank top and drops it on top of his bloody shirt, and then says, “Ow, ow, be careful,” as Sougo half-tackles him onto his back on the bench.

“Come on.” Sougo grins down at him. “Admit I’m the strongest Kamen Rider.”

“I thought that was a different guy.”

Tsukuyomi snorts, covering her mouth to hide laughter. “You two know we’re in public, right?”

“Come on, we’re just behind the store, nobody’s wandering around back here. We’ll be–oh, wow, did I leave that bruise?”

Geiz looks down awkwardly at his own chest and the dark bruise spreading across one of his pectorals. “No, I think that one was Another Kaixa. At least I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, on the off chance that it was me–” Sougo ducks his head and kisses the bruise, which makes Geiz both wince and laugh ticklishly. “I’m very sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, Tsukuyomi bends down and kisses the same spot, and then straightens up and says, “Both of you, get up. Geiz’s face is still covered in blood, and you shouldn’t just be making out in public like this anyway.” She gathers up Geiz’s shirt and tank top. “Anyway, I’m the strongest Kamen Rider. My hand turns into a sword, and my suit is nicer-looking than either of yours.”

Chapter Text

Someone’s at the apartment door, but Gentarou’s in the bathroom when he hears the knocking, so by the time he gets out to answer it the knocker is long gone. The only sign they were there is a package, which was balanced on his doorknob and falls to the ground as he opens the door.

It looks small-ish, and when Gentarou picks it up he realizes that it’s barely the size of his hand. It’s white and clean and labeled neatly in plain black pen, Kisaragi Gentarou with no address and a return address that just says, Utahoshi.

Utahoshi!

He not-quite-slams the door and then nearly cuts his hand slicing the package open. Inside the neat white wrapper is a gray jewelry box, also small, with a note taped to the top:

1. Stick it to a door. No, it doesn’t matter what door as long as you can fit through it.

2. Flip the switch.

3. Open the door.

No signature, but he’d recognize Kengo’s fussy handwriting anywhere.

He opens the jewelry box and there’s an Astro Switch inside. It’s not numbered; instead, where the number label would go, there’s a picture of a rabbit. He stares at it for a moment and then lets out a delighted whoop, pulls it out, and slaps it against his front door, where it promptly sticks. When he flips the switch, there’s a beat, and then a faint electronic voice says, “Door on.”

He very nearly charges through the door right away, stops himself, takes a moment to check his hair, straighten his clothes, and grab a different white box from the kitchen counter, and then pulls the door open and runs through the newly-revealed tunnel of light.

At the end of the tunnel he pauses for a second, checks his hair again, makes sure he’s got a grip on the gift in his hands, and bursts through the door with a gleeful shout of, “Hey, Kengo, I didn’t know you were re–oh wow, is that a couch?”

Kengo wheels back from one of the computer consoles with a pained sigh completely at odds with his tiny smile. “Yes, it’s a couch. I decided that if I was going to rebuild this place I might as well make it more comfortable, since obviously you’re all going to insist on hanging out here.”

“Yeah, you made a whole little lounge area, that’s awesome. Oh, did you move it a little, the view’s even better–”

“I tracked down some of my father’s notes and you have no idea how complicated it was to reconstruct this at all, let alone improve on it or design the door switches.” Another, more affectionate sigh as Gentarou immediately starts putting his hands on everything in the new Rabbit Hutch, and then Kengo unfolds his cane and stands up from his chair with a suppressed wince. “So are you going to say hello to me or what, Kisaragi?”

Gentarou comes thundering over, there’s a brief and only somewhat grudging execution of the handshake, and then he pulls Kengo into a hug and says, right into his ear, “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped.”

“It was a surprise. Something is poking me in the back.”

“Oh, that, yeah you remember what day it is tomorrow, right?”

Kengo frowns at him. “I…no, what day is it tomorrow?”

“Valentine’s!” Gentarou holds out the little wrapped box. “I was going to mail these to you today, but then I got the switch, so I figured I’d just bring them here. Happy Valentine’s Day, Kengo.”

Kengo takes the box of chocolates with a puzzled nod, says, “Thank you,” and then makes a startled noise as Gentarou leans forward and kisses him. “Kisaragi,” when his mouth is free, “Gentarou, give me some warning when you–look, here.” He digs a remote out of his pocket and presses a red button on it, and Gentarou feels everything lighten. “I turned off the artificial gravity, can you help me get over to the couch? If you’re going to insist on kissing me then I’d rather be sitting down.”

“I mean, I don’t have to kiss you if you don’t want me to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you to, I’ve just had to do a lot of standing up today and if I don’t get some rest I’m not going to be able to get in and out of the bath tonight.”

“Right, ok, here we go–man, I’ve missed being able to bounce like this. So this means I can kiss you more?”

“Yes, it means you can kiss me more, didn’t I say that?”

Ten minutes later the switch-entry door hisses open, there’s the faint slap of sneakers on the floor as someone else bounces through, and JK says, “Oh, so the party’s already gotten started.”

Gentarou pulls back and says, cheerfully, “No, if Kengo had told me he was rebuilding the Rabbit Hutch we could have had a party. I would’ve brought a cake. Maybe a really big cake and I could turn into Fourze and pop out of the top of it. You know, like,” gesturing, “it’s the new Rabbit Hutch!”

Kengo stares up at him. “I don’t think that would be very appropriate.”

“Why not? We’ve been friends for years now, don’t you want to see me jump out of a cake?”

“More to the point,” JK says, plaintively, “don’t I get a kiss?”

“I don’t feel any particular need to see you jump out of a cake, no.”

“It would be so fun, though. Plus, then there’s cake.”

“We can just have cake, Gentarou, I don’t see why anyone needs to jump out of it. Besides, it’d be a fire–”

“Who’s jumping out of a cake?” Miu says, stepping delicately through the entry door, her shoes clicking on the floor. “Everyone else is right behind me, I should–Shun, don’t step on my heels.”

“Sorry, Miu–here, Yuuki, do you need a hand?” Shun helps Yuuki over the doorstep, and then Ryuusei and Tomoko step through together behind her and the door shuts with a click. “What about cake? JK, what are they talking about?”

The others all look up at JK, now perched on the edge of the loft space, and he grins and waves at everyone. “Hey hey hey, all my girls, gays, and theys,” he says in his best I-have-a-podcast-now voice, “it’s your boy J to the K, currently languishing in the newly rebuilt Rabbit Hutch while one of the hottest guys he knows completely refuses to give him any sugar in favor of making out with this mad scientist he just found.”

Kengo, red-faced, says, “We weren’t making out, we were just, just taking a second and then JK got here early.”

“I was going to jump out of a cake,” Gentarou says, helpfully. “As Fourze. You know, to celebrate the new Rabbit Hutch, and also because it’s Valentine’s.”

Ryuusei pinches the bridge of his nose. “Gentarou, putting the Fourze suit inside a cake would be a fire hazard.”

Kengo nods vigorously. “That’s what I was trying to tell him, but he kept getting hung up on whether or not I wanted to see him jump out of a cake.”

“I’d just like to point out,” JK says, “that I still haven’t gotten any kisses, despite having asked very nicely.”

“Would someone please get up there and kiss JK so he stops asking.”

Yuuki bounces up to the loft, kisses JK on the cheek, and then bounces down again with a gleeful cry of, “Oh, the view’s even better now!”

“Oh, come on, is that all I get?”

“Maybe if you came down from there one of us could give you a better kiss,” Nozama says, and she speaks very softly, but everyone turns to listen to her anyway. “You know Yuuki isn’t interested in kissing. Also,” she holds up a white paper box, “we have cake, Ryuusei and I were about to have it when the switches arrived and we thought we’d bring it along to share with everyone.” A dreamy smile. “It’s red velvet with black frosting.”

“It looks very ominous,” Ryuusei adds, as if this is a selling point.

Gentarou whoops delightedly and bounces off Kengo’s lap. “All right, we can have a party. JK, come on down and I’ll kiss you and then we can all have cake. Here, let’s pull the table over, Kengo’s not doing standing up right now–”

“And if you get crumbs in my equipment I’ll kill you.”

“–and if we get cake in his stuff we’re all dead so we shouldn’t cut near the consoles, come on.” Gentarou bounds over to the table and grabs one end of it as Shun grabs the other. “Let’s have a Kamen Rider Club Valentine’s party! We haven’t gotten to do one of those in years!”

Chapter Text

The best thing about working together, Icchi thinks, is that when it’s just the two of them Rentaro’s stopped pretending that he sucks at being a ninja.

Right now they’re supposed to be training. Even the world’s greatest ninjas have to keep up an exercise regimen, and the weather’s good, so they’re out in the forest, and Rentaro is bouncing through the canopy like he’s flying. A lot of the time, of course, it’s really just fast leaps, but occasionally he’ll spring off a branch or rebound off the trunk of a tree and the world will stop for a moment, everything slowing as he floats down to his next target. He always grins when he does those big floating jumps, too. Icchi wants to resent him for being so good at this, but it’s impossible, because he’s…he’s too cute.

Not that Icchi’s just standing there thinking about how cute his best friend is. They’re supposed to be racing.

He’s not quite as good at leaping as Rentaro, but he’s keeping pace, bouncing from tree to tree with the wind in his hair. A good rebound and he’s ahead, a brief slip and he’s behind again, Rentaro wastes a breath on a long-slow-floaty drop and Icchi outpaces him by several meters and grabs a scrap of fabric off a twig, stuffing it into a pocket even as he tenses to jump again. Master Gamano was out early this morning in a rare foray into the physical world, hanging these scraps from branches and hiding them in knotholes, giving the two of them something to compete over.

An hour paces in delighted racing, and then Rentaro takes one last floating leap and lands on one of the thickest branches of an especially large tree, light as a petal. Icchi lands next to him a moment later and says, breathless, “I think you win.”

“What? No.” Rentaro wipes sweat out of his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “You were doing so well, I’m just fast, I’m pretty sure you got more markers than I did.” He starts digging fabric scraps out of his pockets and sleeves. “I only got, uh, one, two, three…”

Icchi starts producing and counting his own collection of scraps, which makes Rentaro lose count and have to start over, which makes him lose count, and that throws Rentaro off again, and–

They’ve very nearly got it figured out when there’s a crack of thunder and the sky splits open, the rain beginning so abruptly that Icchi almost thinks there’s a jutsu involved. High up in the trees as they are, they’re drenched almost immediately, startled and swearing as they tuck all their scraps away again, “I think you won.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was you? Race you back to the house.”

“Why race? You’ll just beat me again.”

“Come on, Icchi, it’ll be fun, even with all this rain I bet we could–”

The kiss is supposed to be, you know, it’s a tactic. A technique, even. It’s supposed to be distracting, and, well, Rentaro is definitely distracted, but it’s in this way where his hands come up to grab the front of Icchi’s shirt and Icchi’s tongue is sort of in his mouth and he makes this little noise in the back of his throat that makes Icchi kind of mad that they’re doing this outside in the rain and not somewhere indoors, private, and dry. So it’s, the distraction is working!

It’s also working on Icchi. He’s distracted. He kisses Rentaro again.

It rains harder.

Kiss number three.

Lightning hits a tree right next to them and they spring apart, fully soaked now, and Icchi manages to collect himself just quickly enough to say, “So we’re racing back, right?” and spring off the branch into the trees again.

“Hey, wait, what was–” Rentaro leaps after him. “Wait, slow down, what was that for?”

Chapter Text

They arrive together, stepping out onto the quiet lawn around Daitenku Temple, and the only one there to greet them is Javert, who bows. “Thank you for coming.”

Alain nods shortly. “Where is he?”

A gesture, to–a ladder. “On the roof, since mid-morning. He’s been up there frequently of late.”

“The roof?” Makoto frowns. “That’s…not like him.”

“No, it’s not, that’s why we’re concerned. He tells us he’s looking at the sky. And he didn’t eat breakfast.”

The ladder’s not of a size to hold both of them at once, so after some wordless conferring, Makoto is the one who climbs up, standing on the top step directly on the “don’t stand here” sticker and resting his weight on his elbows on the rooftop. Takeru is lying along the central beam, steady as anything, hands behind his head, gazing up at the sky. “I’m really fine, Javert,” he says, sounding distant, “I’ll be down soon.”

Makoto pauses, considering, and then says, “I thought he might be worrying too much, but if you think I’m Javert then he’s definitely right to be concerned.”

Takeru doesn’t quite startle, not enough to lose his balance, but there’s a little bit of undignified flailing before he manages to sit up and turn around. “Makoto! What are you doing here?”

“You’re worrying Javert, he says you’ve seemed, hell, what word did he use–” Makoto twists on the ladder. “What was the word?”

“Unmoored,” Alain says, gazing up at them in deep, fond amusement.

“That was it, he says you’ve seemed unmoored lately, and now we get here and you’re up on the roof. I remember your favorite hiding spot being under the porch.”

Takeru blinks. “I’m not hiding. I’m looking at the sky.”

“You’re looking at the sky so much that it’s got everyone worried.” Makoto holds out a hand. “Please come down.”

“Makoto–”

“Or I will come up there and get you.”

A beat, and then Takeru huffs out a laugh. “Ok, I’m coming, just give me a second.”

Twenty minutes and Takeru is off the roof, they have a plate of rice balls and some tea, and Alain is saying, “What is going on with you? If you really wanted to look at the sky so much then you could just come visit us in the Ganma World, it’s actually looking very good there lately. Igor even got a couple of plants to grow.”

Takeru shrugs. He’s holding a rice ball in one hand and not eating it, which is worrying in itself. “I’ve been feeling very solid.”

Makoto nods slowly. “And that’s…bad.”

“Well, no, I mean. I don’t want to be dead again, I don’t want to be a ghost, but the world is. It weighs a lot, there’s just a whole lot of it and it’s all heavy.” He lifts his free hand, holding it up to the light as if he’s trying to see through it. “Normally I don’t mind, but it’s been so much heavier lately that I thought maybe if I went up and looked at the sky for a while it would get lighter.”

Makoto glances at Alain, frowning. “Kanon’s actually mentioned something similar, but never this bad. Normally all she needs is a meal and a hot bath to get back to normal.”

Alain nods. “It’s a known phenomenon, it came up a lot in the early Eyecon trials. Well, the second round of them, in the first round I remember several people died. Adjustment problem from bouncing in between physical and non-physical forms. Takeru’s case is sort of unusual, though–your Eyecon couldn’t help?”

“Too small. Too claustrophobic. No wind.” Takeru’s still staring at his hand. “When I came back–”

“Which time?”

“The big time. After everything. I fell through the sky, and I could feel the wind, and it was so much. I needed there to be wind. So no Eyecon.”

“Have some of your rice ball.” There’s a beat before Alain adds, “Please.”

An absent nod, a small bite, and some kind of there-ness returns to the backs of Takeru’s eyes, just for a moment. “That’s good. I haven’t eaten in a few hours, I think.” The there-ness starts to fade again as he stares down at the rice ball in his hand. “I was on the roof for a while.”

Makoto glances uneasily at Alain. “Any ideas, then? If you’ve seen this before.”

Alain nods shortly. “There’s one that comes to mind immediately. Fortunately I can be nicer about it than Edith and the other scientists generally were.”

“That’s a worrying way of putting it.” Makoto looks–Takeru is still contemplating his rice ball. “But go ahead, if it’ll snap him out of this.”

Alain nods and says, “Takeru, could you put the rice ball down for a moment, please?”

Takeru sets the rice ball down and turns to him, blinking and distant. “I’m sorry, I’m somewhere else. Were you talking to me just now or to Makoto?”

“It’s all right, I was talking to Makoto. I never did get an actual greeting from you, though.”

Takeru leans into Alain’s kiss like a flower leaning into a shaft of sunlight, the distant look briefly shuttered by his lowered eyelids. Makoto, sitting back, takes a moment to appreciate how nice the two of them look together, but then, after a few more moments, opens his mouth to say, “Not that I want to interrupt, but this doesn’t exactly seem–”

Alain’s teeth close on Takeru’s lower lip and Takeru jerks back, startled, suddenly present in a way that’s actually tangible. “Ow!” He raises a hand to his mouth and it comes away with a smear of red. “What was that for?”

“Sudden pain is the easiest and fastest way to ground someone in their physical body.” Alain licks a trace of Takeru’s blood off of his teeth. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, but I didn’t want to wait for you to get snapped back by falling off the roof and breaking your arm.”

Makoto glances back over his shoulder as Takeru ducks behind him. “And biting him was the nice way?”

“I’m not kissing you anymore,” Takeru says next to Makoto’s ear.

“The researchers used to slap people. Once someone got sort of stuck halfway between the Eyecon and his body and they punched him in the stomach because their instruments weren’t giving any useful readings and they were afraid just a slap wouldn’t help.”

Makoto nods, then twists around to look at Takeru. “You have to admit, it did work, you’re definitely more here now than you were before.”

Pouting–but comical now, distinctly exaggerated. “I’ll admit that I definitely feel way more awake than I have in weeks, but he bit me.”

A long sigh, but the eye-rolling is at least affectionate. “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

“That depends, are you going to bite me?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Makoto leans in and presses his lips gently to the pout, right over the faint bite mark on Takeru’s lower lip. “There you go.”

Alain holds out the nibbled rice ball from Takeru’s plate. “You should eat, too, Javert told us you skipped breakfast.”

“Did I? I don’t think I–oh no, I did, I was remembering breakfast yesterday.” Takeru leans around Makoto and forward and takes a bite from the rice ball while Alain’s still holding it. “Mm. I really have been a mess, I guess.”

“He guesses.” Makoto’s eyes meet Alain’s over the rice ball still being held out between them. “You had to bite him and he guesses he’s been a mess.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I have you guys to show up and snap me out of it, right?” Takeru takes another bite of rice ball, seemingly content to let Alain hang onto it. “I’m sorry I worried you both so much, though.”

“Of course we worry.” Alain is visibly resigned to holding the rice ball, and then goes from resigned to red in the face as Takeru takes the last bite and his lips brush Alain’s fingertips. “You do tend to die whenever we let you out of our sight for too long.”

“Hey, I’m getting better about it.”

Chapter Text

It’s been raining for three days now, and Gou hasn’t slept for two, and he isn’t even awake when Chase comes back. He stayed awake for as long as he could, but Rinna makes him sit down and get out of her way around half past eleven, and by the time a body is spinning itself together on the table he’s been dead to the world for two hours.

He drifts back up towards consciousness to the sound of a low, steady voice saying, “He looks unwell.”

“He hasn’t been sleeping enough lately, he’s been helping me out here in the lab a lot.” Rinna’s voice is quiet, the softness of someone trying not to wake a sleeping child. “Even when I’m not here, he’s been sitting at the computer over there just watching the data compile.”

“My data?”

“Yes, he’s put more work into…this, this whole thing, than pretty much anyone else.”

“With what intent? He does not like Roidmudes.”

“That’s–I’ll let you ask him yourself when he wakes up.”

And finally it dawns on Gou, still half-asleep, that they’re talking about him, and moreover that he knows that steady voice, knows it like a dog knows a thorn in its paw or a murder victim knows the knife in their chest, and he jolts awake and says, “Chase.”

Chase looks down at him, impassive as always. “Shijima Gou. You require more sleep.”

Gou has had years to think of what he might say now, has come up with and discarded and reconsidered countless impassioned declarations and smart comments and simple greetings. Every single one of them flees him now. He just stares up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and says, again, “Chase. It’s you.”

“Yes. It is me. Dr. Sawagami tells me that you are in large part responsible.” There’s a hesitation in which Chase remains, as usual, expressionless, but nevertheless there’s a palpable something in his voice as he says, “Why?”

Which is too much of a question to answer in one go, too much of a question to answer now when he’s still exhausted and trying not to tremble from the shock of Chase, it’s too–“I. Uh. That’s a great question, can we talk about it…not now? Excuse me.” He gets up from the chair, ignoring the insistent agony of Bad Nap Location Choices, and heads for the door that leads outside because there isn’t really anywhere else that’s good to go around here.

it is, of course, still raining out. Harder than it was before, even, nearly torrential, and somehow that feels right. He tucks himself against the building, into the minimal protection of the overhang, and breathes. He’s not panicking. His heart is beating so hard that it could explode for entirely unrelated reasons.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and his heartbeat slows down but he’s still shaking, and the rain will not let up but going back inside isn’t an option yet. So he stays outside and lets his clothes get soaked through, and that feels almost ok.

Another five minutes past that and the door opens and he doesn’t look up from his drenched sneakers to see who it is. He just waits, listening to the rain and the little bit of passing traffic and the profound stillness of the person standing next to his elbow, and then Chase says, “I have spoken to Heart on the telephone.”

Gou takes a long, shaky breath. “Yeah? He tell you anything interesting?”

“He told me that he was babysitting.”

“…yeah. Yeah, he does that a lot lately.”

“He also told me that he has only been alive again for three months, and that his successful resurrection is due in part to your efforts. His, and Brain’s, and Medic’s.” Beat. “He says that he has grown fond of you.”

Gou lets out a coughing laugh. “He likes everyone.”

“He does not. He is generous with his affection, but not indiscriminate.”

“If you say so. I don’t really know him that well, fond of me or not.”

“You are less generous.”

“…I guess so.”

“You do not like me, but you have endangered your own health for my sake. Why?”

Gou keeps staring at his sneakers. “You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

“I like you. I like you a lot. More than pretty much anyone, actually.” He stands up, away from the wall, and finally he starts to turn towards Chase, but he’s still so tired that he loses his balance and ends up falling to his knees at Chase’s feet. Which feels fine, that feels appropriate. “I’m just really fucking dense, you know? So I didn’t actually figure it out until. Until–I killed my dad with an axe for you, did Rinna mention that?” He looks up at Chase, bleary and exhausted and dizzied by the sight of Chase backlit and glowing in a halo of pounding rain. “You don’t have to…to do anything with that. Or any of this. I just thought you should know. That he’s dead, and I like you.”

Chase nods slowly. “I see.” He’s holding out a hand, and it takes Gou a moment to realize that it’s for him, another moment to grab it and let himself be pulled up. “Thank you.”

“I, well, I, uh–I don’t really know what to. You’re. You’re welcome.”

And Chase kisses him.

The thing is, he’s put some thought into what kissing Chase might be like. A lot of thought, maybe too much thought, maybe he’s thought so much about what it might be like for Chase to be alive and there and letting Gou kiss him that it’s a little unhealthy. Maybe the concept in its infinite variations has sustained him through a dark night of the soul or five. And yet, somehow, in among all those infinite variations, he’s never managed to hit on one where Chase is the one initiating, because there’s no way in hell Chase both knows about kissing and would consider doing it with him without him suggesting it first.

Right?

So it sort of feels like he’s blown a fuse in his brain, and all he manages to say is, “Uh?”

Chase blinks slowly. “It seemed situationally appropriate.” He looks at Gou closely. “We should go inside now, you are both very wet and suffering from sleep deprivation.”

“What? What does that mean, it seemed situationally appropriate?”

“We can discuss it in greater depth when you are not in imminent danger of collapse.”

“I’m not going to collapse, what does that mean?” Despite his confusion, Gou finds that he really doesn’t have the energy to resist being walked inside, and anyway he kind of doesn’t want to move away from Chase’s arm around his shoulders. “Also how do you know about kissing?”

Chase glances at him. “You are not the first person I have ever kissed.”

“Oh.” Gou blinks, the exhaustion hitting him in a sudden wave as he tries to process this. “Oh, ok. Wait, who else did you kiss?”

“Dr. Sawagami, are there any towels available? Gou is in danger of hypothermia.”

“Who did you kiss, though?”

Chapter Text

They are not alone.

“Look, it’s gotta have that, that bite, y'know? Ramen hasn’t got enough body.”

“Enough–udon has too much body, it’s like a mouthful of worms.”

They are in the bedroom, and Sento is pinned to the wall in the corner next to the doorless entryway, and he is trying so hard to be quiet. Trying and mostly succeeding, he has a hand clapped over his mouth to keep it shut. Mostly he’s keeping his eyes shut too, except that sometimes he glances down at the top of Ryuuga’s head and then has to look away as quickly as he can so that he doesn’t start up making noises.

Ryuuga’s mouth is on Sento’s too-hollow stomach, his too-bare hipbones, Sento needs to eat more, Ryuuga’s going to have to make him dinner later. Noodles or something. After this, though.

“I–you don’t like scallions?”

“They get stuck in my teeth!”

“They’re so good, though, my mama used to grow ‘em in her garden.”

The point–the point is. Ryuuga’s being stupid, he knows he’s being stupid about things even as he’s fumbling with the fly of Sento’s belt, Sawa and Kazumi could drop their stupid noodle argument and walk in on them in here, it’s not like they really have any privacy.

The point is, it’s something about Gentoku’s hand on Sento’s shoulder.

Like, there’s that thing that Gentoku had with going on with Katsuragi–whether it was a crush or they were actually fucking or they were in love or what, Ryuuga doesn’t know. And mostly even that isn’t something he thinks about, because Katsuragi was Katsuragi and Sento is Sento.

Sento moves his hand for a second and whispers, breathless, “You’re being weird about something.”

“No, I’m not,” Ryuuga mutters against his navel.

“I’m going to figure out what it is.” Of course Sento’s hair is standing up now, and why does Ryuuga think that’s attractive? “Is it something I did, or something that someone else did?”

He’d been working on something earlier, a coding thing for Gentoku’s belt, and Ryuuga can’t quite figure out what got him, exactly, if it was the position of Gentoku’s fingers or the way he’d shifted in close to hear what Sento was saying or what. He can’t even figure out what makes this different from any other time Gentoku and Sento have talked just the two of them, except that it is.

“I’m being totally normal.” The belt buckle finally behaves itself, and then the fly of Sento’s too-baggy jeans, the button on his tattered boxers. “This is me being normal.”

“You’re definitely preoccupied with haaah,” and Sento’s hand goes back over his mouth.

“Don’t even get started with that salt broth nonsense–you hear something?”

“Yeah, I think it was just Misora up in the coffee shop. Let me guess, it’s curry udon or nothing for you.”

And, like, Ryuuga, he’s been in a weird fucking mood all day, itchy and horny and stir-crazy, all he’d really needed was an excuse. Seems like Sento’s been feeling the same way, too, if the enthusiasm with which he “let” Ryuuga haul him into the not-really-private bedroom is anything to go on.

Ryuuga flicks his eyes up, and Sento is flushed and looking down at him, hand over his mouth, and right, fuck, how could Ryuuga be jealous about Gentoku of all fucking people?

He pulls back, listening to Sento’s shuddering gasp, and whispers, voice a bit hoarse, “Honestly I was just looking for an excuse to get you somewhere private.”

Sento stifles laughter, starts to say, “This isn’t exa-a-actly priv–” and has to shut himself up again.

“I always liked cold soba with dipping sauce best, I’ve never been a fan of soups.”

“…Beardy, how can you not like soup?”

“I hate to say it, but I’m with Kazumi on this one, that’s just strange.”

For a moment a soft, incoherent, “Nnn,” slips out of Sento’s mouth, and he bites down on the side of his hand to stifle himself.

“There’s that–I swear I heard something over in the bedroom, I’m gonna go–hey, what’re you both grabbing on me for?”

“I just, ah, I really don’t think there’s anything we need to check on.”

Chapter Text

There is a texture to Ankh’s flesh, his real flesh, which Eiji finds fascinating. His hand looks like it should be rough and hard, but it’s soft. Not in the way that a human hand might be, of course, a softness born not of moisturizer or lack of hard work. It’s simply an inherent quality, skin leathery and pebbled and yet nevertheless warm and giving–living–against Eiji’s lips.

The sharp tips of Ankh’s fingers dig into the sides of Eiji’s face. Are they claws? Would it be fair to say that Ankh has claws? It hurts a little bit, this touch, but Eiji doesn’t mind. Pain is a function of living sometimes.

Living. Living.

Experimentally, he purses his lips against that pebbled skin, kissing very gently, and Ankh’s eyes flash on either side of the hair-thin golden crack running down the center of his face and he says, “Eiji, what the hell are you doing?”

“Kissing you.” Eiji is looking up at him, smiling against his hand. “To see how it feels.”

Once upon a time, Ankh would have gotten scolded for sitting on the table with his feet bracketing Eiji’s thighs on the edges of the chair. Nobody’s doing any scolding today, though. “Hmph. Ridiculous.”

Eiji looks…mostly the same. Slightly softer around the edges, more wrinkles, but the same man otherwise. His eyes are different, new, a vivid alchemical gold, but it’s better than the alternative. They’ve both made sacrifices to be here now, to see each other, to be together, sacrifices which they’ve written into each other’s skins with a permanence deeper than any tattoo.

Ankh stares down at Eiji for a moment longer and doesn’t let go, although he’s careful not to let his claws dig in too deeply, and then leans down and in. His lips press against the side of Eiji’s nearly-the-same face.

“Ankh,” Eiji says into his palm, “what are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Ankh murmurs against the line of his jaw, feeling the hard bone hidden under all that soft flesh, “to see how it feels.”