LOOKOUT KID!

Sleep had been a fleeting concept to her the past few days. Laying in the darkness of her apartment with nothing but the illumination coming from a mix between her phone and laptop screen. Eeshika thought that this feeling would pass, that it could be easily something that she could just pop and the burst of overwhelm would just float away. Sadly, it had not. So much for the photo that would blow over. She couldn't even walk the streets without someone tipping off where she would be.

And god the other day being hounded by the press about her "mystery man". He was even a mystery to her as she left not even knowing his name. How rude of her. Or maybe....maybe it was better that way. The less she actually knew about him, the more honesty her answers would be to the press. Because it was true. It was one encounter. One that she just kept playing, over and over in her head, until it had been stolen away by some terrible pixelated photo. She wants to say sorry. That is all and there was two ways for her to contact him. One going back to his address which would be an utterly terrible idea or two...send something to his address, since that much she knew, apartment 12B. Yet still, it even seemed like the cyber world wouldn't keep quiet about it either. No matter what she posted the comments came circling back to that one photo. Her one stupid mistake. Meeting him was not the stupid mistake, far...far from it, but it was her stupid mistake thinking that she could she could go back to a place that was her escape to be home. Now she was stuck in her apartment unless she was escorted to Kardinal Records Studios or id she was needed for RealHero TV. Was she allowed to have a sick day or even a personal day? Unlikely, as that would only arise suspension or speculation that she didn't want to attract anymore.

Her gaze remained on her phone scrolling through her AlterEgo, reading through some of the recent dm requests, sometimes those cheered her up. Confessions of undying love. Rage baiters. OOOOH fanfiction rec, she'd save that for a better mood. Tags in random story posts. Opening a few that seem mild. It was never possible to get through them all. But she does it as a distraction. How is the world seeing her right now...she needed to know, that it is something good...otherwise she'd loose them. She'd loose her audience. Oh god. Just read through the DMs Eeshika. She reads through some of the messages, replying with her signature 🫧🫧 sign off. Just a little sign that she knows her fans are loved...or validation to herself. Heart or delete. She repeated that motion for a little while. Until she comes across one DM Requests, that makes her shoot up from the bed. Chewing on the inside of her cheek as she reads through the messages from @h!karu. It can't be....can it? Catfishing...catfishing was easy, right. Trolling was easy. Part of her wants to swipe away and delete the message. Yet there was apart of her staring at the screen intently.

@Siren (✓) accepts @h!karu DM REQUEST. Her eyes scanning over the messages. It had to be real. Of course. Only he knew about the groceries falling. Obviously....he would want the images taken down. Still she chews on her cheek, knowing she has to be careful because of leeks and whatnot. As she keeps on typing and then deleting.

@Siren Hi. @Siren Of course, I remember you. I haven't stopped thinking about you. [deleted]. @Siren This is all my fault. [delete]. @Siren You were right to worry, I'm so sorry that I underplayed it. I should have told you who I was. [deleted]. @Siren Hope you are okay... [deleted]. @Siren Well I guess this one way to have us talking again ... [deleted]. @Siren Apologies. But before we continue this chat, I just want to double check you are who you say you are.I hope you understand. Especially with the nature of social medias and rumors spreading. If you are him then would you be okay answering some simple questions? @Siren What floor was your apartment on and what was the door number? @Siren What keychain was hanging at the end of your keys?

Hikaru blinks at his screen. The Red Ranger figurine? She—paid attention to that tiny thing? 

Despite the shadow of worry with which he sent the messages, a small smile tugs at the edge of his lips. He looks up, carelessly knocking a few textbooks out of his way as he looks for the key. He finds it lying in a pile of whiteboard markers and takes it, carefully placing it in front of him with a quiet clatter as the figurine falls flat on its face. It’s chipped and missing a foot. Where or how he lost it, he has no clue. Hikaru has a dozen of these guys sitting among his belongings. All of them are cheap, small models—won in arcades, bought for with pocket change at secondhand stores, picked out of cereal boxes when they still ran those promotions, like, twenty years ago. 

He got this one in a set. It was a gift from his grandmother. He wants to say he must’ve been twelve, perhaps thirteen... But he might’ve been seventeen, for all that he remembers. Hikaru takes his phone and snaps a quick picture of it, lying there in all of its missing-foot-glory. With a swipe of his thumb, he opens AlterEgo again.

[DM] @h1karu > @Siren (✓)

@h1karu: no worries! @h1karu: 12b @h1karu: third floor  @h1karu: [IMAGE ATTACHED: photo of a well-loved Mighty Morphin’ Red Ranger keychain attached to a singular key, the sun is shining on it.]

Maybe it was more for herself than for him, a quiet reassurance pressed to actions instead of words. A little touch like she needed to anchor the moment somewhere physical. Eeshika felt him freeze from her touch. She catches the smile finding herself letting go of the hold. Not pressing anymore of if she was okay or the worry that had been lingering, she gave a small silent nod. As they climb the stays she does keep her distance, a respectful distance...for the bubbles floating between them. She didn't want to burst them and the food come toppling down even further. Filling in the silence with the ramblings about her powers and some of the technical things on how it works. Maybe leaving out a few finer details and not trying to bore him as they were making their way to his apartment. She didn't clock on to how her steps slowed a little as she spoke. Or how her focus drifted inwards, almost too excited by her own powers, she allows herself to come back down.

She catches him glancing back at her, as she makes the slightly dejected comment, waving off her powers. The noise of parents past ringing in her ear. Some of their words she held to be true, even after years of pushing those parts away. Yet he doesn't seem to agree with that statement at all.

Something about the ways his eye seemed to light up when he complimented her powers. A small honest spark in them. It wasn’t performative or being impressed in a shallow way people sometimes pretended to be when trying to sound interested. This was different. He meant it. He actually meant it.  Her mouth parted slightly only to shut again as if any words she tried to say would fall short of what she meant to give back. Gratitude didn’t feel big enough. Surprise doesn’t feel accurate enough either. It was something gentler that just didn’t need to be put into words. It was just a nice little moment where she wasn’t so alone with the enchantment she felt with her powers. It was a quiet understanding, the childlike wonder she usually kept tucked away where no one else could see it. He just…he just got it. And for a moment, she forgot how to respond to that entirely.

Though she doesn't want to seem rude and allow the silence to linger. She knows her cheeks are heating up a little bit but this time she doesn't shy away from it. Her doe eyes lighting up, her smile beaming. "Thank you. Really thank you. Not many people see it that way and just...thank you."

The two of them halted in front of his door. Flat number 12A. Staying a little distance away as he opens the door with a cute little keychain hanging off his keys. It was only a moment of pure curiosity, she swears, as she peers past him through his open door. Times like these, seeing a person’s living room alone could offer a little more of a glimpse into who they were. She wasn’t expecting to cross the threshold. After all, this was his space, a place that he could exist without interruption. Even so, if there were to be an invite, Eeshika still felt as though she might be imposing more than she should. Yet some quieter part of her wouldn’t have minded a few moments longer with him. Something about him just drew her in, and she couldn’t quite put a name to it.  

Just having a look had bought her back to her old apartment. The place where she had started it all. The place that she was barely holding on to. Something about his layout felt bigger than she remembered. Her place had a tiny oak desk tucked against the wall that doubled as both a dressing table and her study space, cluttered with music sheets, musical theory books, uncapped highlights and her makeup bag scattered on the desk alongside half-empty skincare bottles that she clung to for every last drop of product.  She never bothered with a TV as she streamed everything on her laptop as she sat on the one beanbag that she qualified as a sofa. Though most of her time was spent hunched over her keyboard, permanently plugged into headphones because she practised daily and nightly without wanting the reputation of being a terrible neighbour. But that was then…things had changed a lot now. 

She snaps out of her wondering thoughts when he gives her a smile and a thank you, which she returns in kind to him. “Oh, right! Sorry, sorry!” she apologies not even thinking about giving his groceries back.  Eeshika clasped her hands together and with the soft pop of her palms, her bubble burst with the slightly brighter pinkish glow shimmer on dispersion as the few items fall into the back he held beneath. Her hands at the side, ready just in case anything that might slip past, but everything landed neatly in the bag.  

As the last item fell into the bag, something in her chest sunk along with it just like the last of her bubbles that popped. Eeshika laced her fingers behind her back rocking lightly on her heels as she tilts her head a little to the side as a soft smile pulls on her lips. "I guess..I'll see you around soon?" The word soon had just slipped out a little softer, a little gentler than the others without her really meaning too. It was desperate. It wasn't her pushing. Just a quiet little hope that maybe this wouldn't be the last time they would find themselves talking. She allowed the words to hang between them for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh "Hopefully next time we talk, it's not because of one of us causing a hallway disaster." Her gaze lifted back to his, "Or just because I'd really like to talk to you again."

He’s thankful, really, really thankful, but he’s also incredibly awkward. Any bold, sweet display of thoughtfulness makes him recoil just a bit, for the sole reason that he’s not used to it. If he hadn’t forsaken friendships for solitude years ago, all for the sake of keeping his permutation a secret, then perhaps he’d more readily accept it. As it stands, Hikaru can only fumble his way around the interaction.

“Yeah!” Another nod. “See—see you!” 

He returns her salute with a stiff hand, laughing a little. 

“Thanks again,” and because his head is totally blank, he lamely adds: “Have a great day!” 

Hikaru closes the door. Like a madman, he immediately goes over the interaction from the moment it started, thinking of all the ways he messed up. He stands there for a good while, simply staring at the chipped, white paint. He could’ve said this, and maybe that, and maybe closed the door more gently. Also, "have a great day"? What is he, a customer service rep?

And yet, despite all of the ways he could’ve made a better first impression, there’s a faint ba-dum, ba-dum in his chest. Hikaru takes a deep breath. He finally turns and walks into the kitchen, unable to stop smiling as he puts his groceries away. 

Sami takes the note from Fuli163 and reads it once, twice, and then three times just to be sure.

Intercepted him. Intercepted- something could be done. And, apparently, he was one of the last to know, if others were planning to stop him already. For a moment, his thoughts rush with possibility, ideas of a stand off and a defeat and a city safe-

And then the note nearly slips out of his hand, with just a small movement of a few fingers allowing the piece of paper to escape his grip. He recaptures it with a quick motion, but he'd felt it- the instantaneous release of electricity in his hand where there shouldn't have been, and he takes a small step back.

"I shouldn't." Is the first response, automatic, with a small shake of the head- it's safer if he doesn't, a bunch of more experienced freelancers, younger with more reliable powers would be better off without him, he's sure of it.

But he also knows things. Saw the thief with his own two eyes, knows things that no one other than him could know, and... what if that would be of use?

And, more importantly, what if that saved someone from harm?

After a moment's hesitation, Sami looks back up, meeting his gaze. "But... yes. Yes, I'd like to join and help."

And still…

Buzzkill’s permutation is strong, right? The ability to bend an element to one's will typically ranks high in the F.B.A.I. assessment, at least from the statistics Hikaru’s scrolled through. He has no idea if Buzzkill’s ranked, though… for all he knows, he could be flying under the radar, too. 

          The piece of paper nearly slips out of the older man’s hand before he hands it back to him, flipped, just like his decision. Hikaru smiles. It wouldn’t be in his place to convince the other—he’s glad he's coming on board by his own terms.

Awesome! :) Sort of. There’s Anna and Outis, and maybe others? Anna goes by ‘brooklyn cryptid’ on AlterEgo, are you familiar? So, she made this post—

The note continues on describing how Hikaru got DM’d the details of the upcoming meeting, how a handful of them are going to exchange information and hopefully come up with a plan to take down the Cleaner. They stand on the sidewalk, barely out of the way, for a while longer as pedestrians move to and fro, passing the note back and forth while Hikaru fills Buzzkill in on all of the details of the upcoming meeting. Finally, the two bid each other goodbye, promising to keep an eye out on any more suspicious activity while they go about their individual freelance work.

Something about watching her bubbles embraced both of them in a moment of stillness. Almost like everything had been soften, as if the world blurred itself out of focus just to give them a small suspended pause. Time didn’t stop so much but it was just a moment that allowed them to be, as the bubbles floated around them. 

The fewer words spoken, the more it felt right. Compared to everything that had been rushed and pulled at them beyond this moment, this little slice of stillness felt needed. It wasn’t something loud enough to be named, nor as fleeting to be ignored, but this gentle pause that took them out of the slight panic and awkwardness that they ran through. Upon his agreement, Eeshika’s smile brightens, honestly, this time without hesitation. “Sure!” she echoes, softer and a warm thread through her tone. She allows him to lead without question, falling naturally into step just behind him. Making sure, this time around, that the distance was not too close for another accident as the bubbles trailed between them. Before heading too far up, her gaze is on him as he seems to glance at the food again. Normally, when she is Siren, these were the moments when she’d offer a reassuring touch or squeeze to the arm. Instinctively she reaches out, “Hey,” she wants to reassure him again,”Don’t worry, it will be okay.” But really, she didn’t know what all meant. Not yet, at least…but for the moment, she could reassure. Maybe she was saying it more for herself than him. Still, she let go of him, not thinking much at all about the touch, but continued to walk up the stairs to his place Each step creaked under her feet at they climbed, the sound as familiar as it was unwelcome. Paint peeled in tired curls from the discoloured walls only exposing the yellowing ones beneath. The beannister felt smooth and frayed in the exact same places as her hand occasionally brushed against it years ago. Seemed not much had changed. Actually, Eeshika could have sworn nothing had really changed. It didn’t feel as if she was walking into the past, more like the building had refused to move on without her.

The butterflies in her stomach settle a little between comfort and anxiety as the two climb higher. Each and every step of her carrying the weight of someone, revisiting a version of herself she had long since left behind. Yet it did feel like she was haunted, more like a gracious growth she could embrace and ground herself with.

When he speaks, Eeshika blinks briefly, hoping that she hasn’t zoned out for too long.That would have been just rude. She looks to him and the bubbles. Not many people actually had asked her that. It has always been about how pretty her bubbles looked or asking for certain bubble shapes. “Kinda?” she replies thinking of the best wording, “So they’re kinda connected to me a bit. Most of the times, they kinda free float just like they are now.” Eeshika gives a faint yet sweet smile as she said, totally negating the fact that she used her own body’s moisture to create them. Not the most appealing to confess. “Other times, I can have a better hold on some,” she takes some of the free-floating bubbles and flutters them around him until they pop leaving behind a pinky-peach sparkle as they do, just being a little playfurl with it. 

Also, not adding the fact that the colours of the bubbles were tied to her moods. That was a little private thing she had spent a while working out. Sometimes new combos reveal themselves….like the ones they were now.  

          They get to the second landing while she gives him the overview. Hikaru watches as a handful of bubbles circle him before dissolving into a flutter of pink sparkles, warm and peach-like. As they cascade, the refracting light reminds him of fairy dust from early Disney animations, just like Tinkerbell, bright and enchanting. He's not sure whether the trail end of her explanation is meant to be a humble statement to offset her showcase or if it comes from a place of insecurity, but he disagrees wholeheartedly. He glances at her, just a brief check-in, before he eyes the larger bubble and doesn’t stop to think for even a moment. 

          “Nothing special?” Hikaru’s eyes twinkle. “My groceries are being carried inside a huge bubble, this is the coolest thing I’ve seen in years.” 

The sentiment is spoken like a child, and perhaps that’s what makes it true; it’s unburdened by analysis, burst forth from feelings. He’s been to dozens of different timelines, to the past, the future, and back, but everything he witnesses leaves him just a bit more paralyzed with the grandeur of the universe—the grandeur of everything, the thought that everything exists—that a hint of fear always blooms alongside every breathtaking sight he’s ever witnessed during his erratic voyages through time. 

He can’t quite communicate that there’s beauty in simplicity and comfort in familiarity in one go without sounding like a guy who’s read too many surface-level self-help quotes on AlterEgo; can’t describe it in a way that soundly articulates the scope of the experiences that led him to a ridiculously simple truth everyone already accepts as a given if only because it sounds right, it sounds comforting. 

But he’s not really trying to give her confidence, doesn't feel like it's his place. He’s just talking before his mind catches up.

          “Um—” And now that it’s caught up, Hikaru quickly diverts his gaze and continues up the staircase, rushing up the last handful. He leads them to his door, 12B on the rusty, fake gold-plated plaque, and pulls out a singular key from his jacket. It dangles alongside a mighty morphin’ red ranger figurine as he sticks it into the doorknob, unlocks it, and pushes the door open. 

          The living room is rather tiny beyond the threshold. A brown two-seater is propped against the wall opposite of the door, and an old coffee table sits in the center with a handful of text books and markers scattered on it. The only significant thing about the space is the large whiteboard stationed next to the couch. Its entire surface is filled with half-erased math formulas and a section devoted entirely to question marks. Connected to the living room is the kitchen, then further beyond is the bathroom and his bedroom along a short hallway that ends with a small window looking out to the parking lot behind the building. Hikaru supposes she’s familiar with the layout, though he hesitates to invite her in. 

Shouldn’t he just take the groceries? He turns to her with an uncertain look, pausing before the threshold. 

          “Thank you!” His lips press into a smile. “I should—” his hands hover tentatively below the bubble. “—take these? How—sorry—will they just drop? Oh, right, I should—” As if coming up with an answer on his own, Hikaru takes the surviving plastic bag from around his wrist and holds it open below the bubble, waiting for the groceries to drop.

The times Keegan has heard the question ( twenty-three exact instances ever since he started counting ), its phrasing has carried tones as accusatory, like an inquisition, to beleaguered, like a Sisyphian task. Yet none have scratched the gentle surface of Hikaru Tokimoto’s iteration. A whisper of lint, found in warm pockets fresh out of the dryer. Still, how heavily the stomach lurches, recognizing the sensation of being discovered in a place you shouldn’t belong.

“ Hikaru…? ” Keegan tenses in between syllables, the ka escaping as a breath of astonishment when distinguishable splotches of red come into focus on pale, drained skin. The whos and hows start to assemble as steward training snaps into place, but before any of Keegan's questions can land, Hikaru pitches forward before managing to catch himself in a hunched half-sit. Keegan moves in a snap, jogging closer with a hand outstretched. “ W-wait, don’t push yourself! ”

Through the wear and tear, Hikaru smiles. And Keegan hovers, doing what comes naturally: fretting. One hand slips around Hikaru to brace him upright while the other digs into his bag for medical supplies. “ I’m going to check for injuries. For now, I’ll need you to tell me where it hurts, and don’t hide it, okay? ”

A short, breathy laugh leaves him as he leans some of his weight against his rescuer, self-deprecating in its tone. It’s like he’s afraid of bursting into tears. He wants so badly to mask the amount of exhaustion he’s in for Keegan’s sake more than his own; he hates being the cause for the worry lines that appear between his eyebrows when they’re furrowed in concern more than concentration; hates becoming the weight upon Atlas’ shoulders. It’s catastrophic, somehow—not to be injured—to impose upon him so heavily with his carelessness, to see the shadow of worry and anxiety cross his face. 

          There is still a mark of Keegan’s previous life in his heart, though Hikaru isn’t sure whether to call it his previous, or just his other life. He still remembers the pain in his chest when he received the first of the meal packages; remembers crying within the first few bites and mourning in the lonely silence of his apartment. Up until then, he hadn’t known where to put his grief or how to handle it. He still isn’t sure. He can't even go back to that timeline, even if he wills it... He couldn't attend his funeral. How do you mourn someone who’s still here, but isn’t? Who died so far away, that only you feel the ripple of their death? 

How do you lament losing someone who’s right in front of you? 

“Waiting to go to a job then,” she clarifies with a brief nod, understanding what he means. Truly, the most irritating part of it all, the waiting. There are only so many hours in the day, and their hope is always to ensure that they are able to do as many jobs needed to make rent or to be able to afford groceries. It can be hard, since requests tend to be seasonal and monthly, so the lulls in activity come as unexpectedly as the times when there are far too many requests for the number of stewards available. Yet, for all that such times are an annoyance like no other, it is still far better than anything Valerian is able to offer. After all, unlike the megalodon of a company, there is a certain level of freedom and certain freedom of movement that is afforded to the BYOH stewards. Even if it comes from the side effect of being overworked and underpaid. “I am doing the same, to be honest. I finished a couple of jobs in Brooklyn but now  I am trying to get a couple more done in the area before I head out for the day.”

She had started early, that day, her mind overfocused on how both BYOH and N.E.S.T. had gotten offers to appear on different reality TV shows during the same frame of time. It is an odd coincidence, and one that sort of bothers her, even if she knows it is likely just that: a coincidence. 

“Honestly, the Levy twins should be focused on finding a way to ensure there is always a steady supply of jobs, rather than trying to sign us up for TV shows,” she grumbles with a sigh, raising a hand to rub the bridge of her nose, but stopping halfway through for a moment as she remembers that she is wearing goggles, moving it then to rest at the back of her neck, pulling at her braid absentmindedly. “We could all afford to take more jobs instead of just being on air.”

Not that she has too much room to talk, she can admit. At the end of the day, she does sell some of her footage to RealHero TV every once in a while, but that seems rather different than participating on Dancing with the Superstars or something like that.

Her train of thought is sidetracked when she notices Fuli163 raising his finger, and she closes her mouth behind her mask to wait and see what he has to say. Eyes trailing down to the paper, she hums with interest. 

On hearing the Levy twin’s names and mention of their deal with NBC, Hikaru grimaces and objects with a firm shake of his head. He didn’t attend this month’s luncheon (he often shows up for the free food; as complicated as it is to squeeze bites of finger foods through his bandages, he manages to hide in a corner and stuff his face like a small gremlin), though Hikaru heard the news when he got back from a very strange time in 2049. 

The business decision is... absurd, to say the least, and he can’t tell in which direction they’re hoping to steer the mothership, but even more absurd is the flippant disregard the Levy twins have shown towards the Cleaner; they’ve proven to care more about the service’s marketing than the welfare of its freelancers. He supposes, rather cynically, that it’s how the pendulum swings in this industry—he was just hoping BYOH would remain as the last bastion of freelance employment for unranked and anonymous permuted individuals, and for much longer than this. He’s scared that this deal marks the eve of a slippery slope, and soon the terms of employment will demand that freelancers reveal their ranks, just to tell how marketable they are. 

Hikaru sighs. There’s no point in the doom and gloom when it’s too early to tell. He’s just always expecting the worst, because that’s about as well as his luck goes. 

He scribbles down another note, handing it to Outis.

That’s a good idea. I responded to a post on AlterEgo…

          The two anonymous freelancers stand in the alley for a while longer as they exchange ideas on how to take down the Cleaner. They agree to meet up with everyone else who responded to Brooklyn Cryptid’s post and bid each other be safe as they go their separate ways once Fuli163 finally gets a notification to assist with a family-owned mini-mart robbery. Just then, Outis gets a ping as well, and they awkwardly realize they’re going the same way. After some shared amusement, they head off together to stop the evening’s valiant larceny attempt. 

˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — status: public open starter for @invictushq ft. byoh muses for the cleaner event ˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — setting: 4pm ; april 28, 2022 ; a street corner in brooklyn, nkc // set directly after sami witnesses a cleaner attack ˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — cws: mentions/very gen. description of a cleaner attack, otherwise :>

Sami's head is still buzzing. Well, all of him is.

Most people can feel their heart thudding in their chest when the pace jumps too quick. Sami, however, can feel the sharp, quick way the current transmitted by his heart flows faster than it should. He's just glad that the unsteadiness in his hands is anxiety, and not the firing of nerves that he never intended to activate.

Tilting his head back against the brick building behind him, he lets out a long, tired sigh and closes his eyes. As much as he's happy to be safe- he wishes safety wasn't something to be relieved about.

A current- familiar, if only vaguely- pulses at his fingertips without him having to reach for it. Maybe someone from the crowd? His senses are still on edge, the already loud and rushing crowd filling with panic- every heartbeat jumping up in tempo as some figure caused a b.y.o.h. freelancer to topple to the ground, every current speeding up as the crowd pushed and shoved, sparking until his fingers twitched and he could feel it thudding in his ears- had overwhelmed him. Even minutes later, the feeling hasn't quite subsided.

He opens his eyes.

The light returns first, then-

Sami schools his expression from some sort of strained exhaustion into something closer to a weary smile. "You saw that, yes? Not just me?"

He gestures back out to the street- the few stragglers of the crowd that remained, the freelancer reorienting themselves as they got to their feet- before pushing himself off of the wall.

"Because if you didn't, well... You are either very quick or very blind." After tapping a hand against the pocket of his jeans, just to check that everything was still there, he glances back up.

He realizes how it looks all at once- cap still down, mask still up as a precaution from the initial panic, speaking as if he was Samir and not this. Buzzkill.

His hands raise in a placating gesture as he further away from the street corner. "No bother. Still, ah-" He glances back down the street. "I suppose I was hoping the rumors would stay as rumors, no?"

He reaches a verdict from this viewpoint when he spots a B.Y.O.H freelancer peeling themselves off the sidewalk and groaning about missing keys and a wallet as they look around in dismay. 

The Cleaner. 

Hikaru's lips twist into a tight, resentful frown. 

How did he miss it?

     Beside him, a man in a familiar disguise speaks up. Buzzkill had been the only person he recognized among the crowd. Hikaru takes a hint from him and feels around to make sure his possessions weren’t 'cleaned out'. His shoulders rise and fall as a heavy, relieved sigh leaves his lips—his journal wasn’t taken. Thank goodness. His phone is still on him, and so is his wallet, though if the Cleaner had gone after that, he would've been a total loser. Or rather, he would've mugged a born loser, because Hikaru only has enough loose change to cover his bus fare. 

     He stares at Buzzkill for a few seconds while he gathers his bearings. The bandages wrapped around his head have become so familiar that he forgets what he looks like, so for an extended, silent pause, the other man is stared at in utter stillness by a blank and impersonal face. 

Hikaru puts a finger up. One moment!

He pulls out his pocket journal and flips to a blank page near the end. He spends a minute scribbling on it before he tears off the page and hands it over. On the missive, it reads: 

Feeling him pull away, makes Eeshika mirror the motion twice as quick. Look at what she had done! All in the attempt to come in so hastily, now not only had he bumped his head but now his groceries were all over the floor. She would have to make it up to him one way or another. And being flustered and bashful was not the way to help. After all, she was Siren of Kardinal Supers: a steward by daylight and singer by starlight. Siren knew how to present herself. How to be confident with everyone she greeted. Maybe that was the undoing of coming to her old home, falling back into the old self that still haunted these very halls. Guess old habits do die hard.  Watching as he steps close, holding out a make-shift pouch for his groceries. Eeshika, still on the floor, shakes her head as she sets all that she picked up back on the floor. His make-shift pouch only left her to imagine the fatal end of any cylinder-shaped object rolling down the stairs as wasted food scattered on the floor. That just wouldn’t do! Touching her palms together, as they were a little sweaty…okay, definitely sweaty..from just…no real reason whatsoever. But that only meant that she would have some mousitre to work with…right? Without thinking twice, she clasped her hands together, lacing her fingers tight before slowly pulling them apart, stretching out slowly as if something was forming in between. A slight little glimmer of light and a tiny pop as the bubble bloomed before her. Stretching her hands out a little to expand the size until it was big enough to swallow the items completely in it. Floating up and carrying the weight like it was nothing at all.  Behind it a small trail of peachy-pink bubbles floated around the two, catching the light in a soft little glow.

Eeshika watches the bubbles with a childlike wonder like she hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. Looking up to catch his reaction with a soft smile. "There we go!" Eeshika cheers, jumping to her feet,"That should be of a little bit of help!"  Dusting her hands off a little, trying to gauge his reaction. Though it was silly really, even if she saw the wonder in it, it was just another little parlour trick when in reality, she could have just used her own two hands to help out. Averting her gaze from him for a moment, as if something else had caught his attention. “Um yeah…it’s okay.” she says meekly. 

Her eyes followed the tiny trail of bubbles that she had made, distracting herself for the moment. Eeshika didn’t want to make this even more awkward than she already had. Though when he starts to speak, her gaze falls back to him. His tone full of concern. Someone is following you. Oh no. As the panic began to seep through her head. Okay, it was kind of not all that knew her was being followed, people taking pictures and all that jazz. But she thought, maybe, just maybe, she had been careful enough not to be caught. No one would think twice about a big name like her in these parts. That’s what bought her comfort for the longest time. It was only a matter of time before she would be spotted.

However, she doesn’t let it show. She forces her smile to press a little deeper into her cheeks, the one that she had practised to show warmth even in the deep sets of panic. It was the very one she wore when nervous on stage or reassuring people during her patrols, when it was all she had to offer. And right now, this was all that Eeshika could offer.

The bubble gets larger until it swallows the items in his makeshift pouch and he braces himself for a pop. Hikaru squints and turns his face away, expecting to hear a clatter when his groceries meet the ceramic-tiled floor again, but it turns out the bubble is not so ethereal as he thought. It floats effortlessly in place, hovering between them while countless smaller bubbles trail buoyantly around it like newborn fish at their mother’s fins. He catches sight of his neighbor on the other side, mesmerized as he is by the display as if she had not summoned it by her own magic. 

What a beautiful permutation!, Hikaru thinks tenderly. The quirk at the corner of his lips is still faint and embarrassed of itself, but he allows himself to have it as his gaze parts from her and returns to the glassy reflections of the smaller spheroids when they sail back into view. He hasn’t seen anything like it. Does it fall under constructs, in a technicality? In any case, he could not have guessed that this could be one of its use cases.

     Her voice finally captures his attention enough to snap him from his admiration. She brushes away his concern rather effortlessly, dismissing it with a few words and a swift change of topic. Hikaru is suddenly unsure of himself once more, blinking at her with some unease. Is it really okay to disregard a warning that could—in the worst case—risk her safety? Or perhaps the reason for her disinterest is that she’s uncomfortable showing fear, even if his warning did reach her? 

Perhaps Hikaru should not interfere directly. Instead, he can bring it up again and offer to report the sighting to the building manager only until they part ways, that way he won’t inconvenience her more than he needs to. He nods a little. Alright. Hikaru thinks that the circumstances govern him to accept her offer, so he nods a second time, this time with gratitude.

     “Sure!” His excitement slips out through his tone when he speaks; a pitch slightly too high for simply being polite. Hikaru takes a step back towards the staircase and, before turning around, glances once more beyond the lobby entrance. The sidewalk is empty. The blue Sedan parked out front is also empty. His gaze lingers for a moment before he gives up and turns around in earnest, walking toward the stairs where he begins to lead them up to his apartment on the fourth floor. 

     “So—” He eyes the bubble and at his groceries peacefully inside it while they ascend the stairs. “Are you… controlling it?” Is that a dumb question? “I mean, how does it… work?”

setting:        the  terrace  roasting  company,       afternoon.

as  of  late,       every  moment  daphne  gets  to  spend  outside  the  costume  feels  borrowed.       outside  of  trespass,       outside  of  the  city's  scrutiny  and  the  violence  stitched  into  it—those  moments  are  rare  enough  to  taste  precious.       (not  that  she  can  ever  fully  stop  being  herself.)

Hikaru feels odd inside coffee shops, though, like an imposter pretending to belong among folks who routinely pay a little extra to fulfill their cravings, even though they’re slightly overpriced for what they are. His sad excuse for income hasn’t allowed him to indulge in drinks he doesn’t concoct with tap water and tea bags he buys two dozen a box during his entire adult life, so he has only a vague clue about the order of things. Hikaru is off to the side as he always is, keeping perfectly out of the way. 

He can’t even be certain that his order just got called. The barista behind the counter utters a name too quietly before leaving what is definitely a matcha latte behind, and Hikaru reluctantly takes it as his cue to go retrieve it. Just as he does, another hand comes into view. Hikaru looks over and makes eye-contact with a young woman who gives him a confused look before it turns apologetic. 

Oh. It wasn’t his order. 

He notes with some curiosity the length of her hair, and how some locks seem to hover differently than others. Hikaru blinks. He didn’t sleep too well last night. He chuckles inelegantly, quickly embracing the mistake as his. Disappointment marks his eyes as he instead urges her to take it with awkward and excessive politeness. He moves with such tension and sheepishness that instead of swiftly resolving the misunderstanding, he ends up making it worse when his hand knocks the cup over as he motions to it. 

Why was he born? 

It's like a new person takes over; his eyes glaze over far beyond disappointment or embarrassment. He looks all of the sudden calm, but calm like a sentinel—just utterly still. The impassivity of the universe flows into him, and he realizes, not for the first time, that life sucks, perpetually, and that he's okay with it. It's just what it is. He reacts in accordance to laws he has no control over over; all he can do is embrace fate with acceptance in his heart. He's also scared that if he makes another sudden motion, she might decide to take revenge over the wet, green stain on her shirt.

     "Please take my order when it's ready." He speaks like a robot, though there's the unmistakable air of barely restrained fright in his tone, a peculiar twitchiness in his facial muscles. "I'll—pay for it. I'll—apologize on my knees. Should I? Please don't hit me, but I'll understand if you have to."

In all earnestness, all of this could have been easily been avoided if Eeshika had decided to slow down. Even if it was just a little bit. All she had to do was pause. Take a breath. Look beyond her own panic of being noticed. Yet she had not. Instead, she had decided to rush in the hope of avoiding. But she should know better, that haste ever offered graceful entrances… or exits in this case. Part of her held on to the idea that it might. She would slip by unnoticed, allowing him to carry on with his day without giving her a whole second thought. But no, the world had a thing about not making moments as uncomplicated as possible.    Yet even with her intent on slipping by and keeping her head down low, the results of her haste could not be ignored. All of it happened in a sudden blur. Him holding the door for her at the last moment, as the door collided with his head. This as her fault. That feeling sank in her chest. She was not simply going to pass on by as if nothing was to happen! That was just utterly rude!  

She leans in closely. Maybe a little closer than she should. But it was just to make sure he hadn’t actually been hit. Her sunglasses slide on her head, and her hood falls back as her natural dark hair spills out. Now being able to see him a little more clearly. Eeshika had seen him around every now and then. Certainly not one of the neighbours who were about when she lived here. She would have noticed. Though she had seen him on the odd occasions that she had made a guest appearance at her old humble abode. It had only been in passing. Maybe the respectful turn at the stairs or holding doors open. Just apparently this time, Eeshika was the one who was making a scene with the chances of others getting her. That guilt still ticking away at her.    “Oh no, please don’t be sorry! It is me who should be sorry! I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry!” Eeshika shakes her head as she insists, her cheeks slightly flush, clasping her hands to her chest and bowing her head down a little bit. “This is all on me. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Taking a little step closer, concern growing in her eyes, scanning the young man's face for any signs of hurt, "Are you sure that you are not hurt?"

Yet he seems to step away, creating a little distance between them. Eeshika kept her eyes on him as his speech did seem a little uncertain. And there was a slight redness in his cheeks. Oh goodness, that must have been where his face may have been hit. "No need to be sorry, okay?" her tone it honest and warm. Not taking her eyes off him, just in case. He moves swift...as swift as she wishes she had been through the door to avoid something like this...as if to make his exit.

There, ten feet from the glass door, a person with their hood up pockets their phone. Hikaru can’t tell if they’re making eye-contact, but a second after he notices them, they turn abruptly and continue down the sidewalk. 

Had they been standing there the whole time? 

Something feels off. Hikaru frowns as he gets on his feet, lifting the end of his hoodie to make a makeshift pouch at his stomach where he dumps the torn plastic bag along with the contents it held. He takes a small step toward his neighbor, prompting her to deposit the groceries there.

He remains quiet for a moment, memorizing the details he picked up on: the black, logo-free hoodie, the white sneakers, the red phone case. Should he tell her it looked like someone was recording her? 

          “Thank you,” he mumbles, unsure if his assumption is enough to give her a warning. If he’s wrong, he’ll cause unnecessary paranoia and anxiety based on, what, a weird gut feeling? But if there’s a chance he was being followed and photographed, maybe even recorded, he’d want to know. He chews on his bottom lip. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

          “I think someone was following you.” There’s no good way to put it, he decides. When even B.Y.O.H freelancers are getting targeted and mugged on the streets, it doesn’t hurt to be wary. “They rushed off when I noticed them just now. I—” 

Maybe he’s wrong. He hopes he’s wrong.

          “It might’ve been nothing, though. Maybe it’s just a random person. I just—you know—thought you’d want a heads up… Just in case.”

closed starter ft. @fuli163

setting: downtown liberty glens, nkc, nk.

timeframe: april 28, 2022. early afternoon.

summary: on his way transferring to a different line, keegan spots an unfamiliar face in familiar garb.

content warnings: none.

“ Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… ”

The subway door for the 2 practically bursts open with passengers rushing to catch an alternate line, the regulars no longer fazed by alarms ringing overhead, pushing past gape‑mouthed tourists clutching their phones in fear. By the busy stairs, Keegan calms a mother and her child new to the area, soothing them that the “emergency” in question is most likely some permuted conflict, and to be rest assured — “ Heroes, ” he says, curling his fingers to form the quotes, “ are on the way. ”

Yes, any minute now, they’d come. Capes fluttering behind them, sunlight at their backs. Brave in the face of peril. “Heroes” will be here.

But not him.

He expects the announcement when it comes through the station intercoms as they arrive at his stop—Liberty Glens—where he usually gets off to catch a bus that leaves him three streets from his apartment. Hikaru takes a small breath before he lets go of the handle, blinking tiredly at the shuffle of feet in front of him that he follows onto the station platform like an overworked ant. Nearby whispers of distress reach his ears from folks who aren’t from the city. A few heads whip around in panic.

“Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station…”

He feels a hand on his shoulder. Hikaru drags his head up and meets a pair of worried, wrinkly eyes. An old woman is staring at him with her mouth hanging slightly agape as she walks beside him. She asks if he’s alright with the fierce love and concern of a mother, summoning a pitiful feeling of abashment from his stomach. Hikaru gives a nod. He’s too sick to mind his manners. He ducks down and peels away faster than she can follow, plunging his head even lower to avoid any more sideway looks. 

public open starter for @invictushq ft. valerian muses

setting: valerian tower lobby floor waiting room, manhattan, nkc

timeframe: april 28, 2022.

capped at 5!

content warnings: reference to sexual humor.

A phone outstretched and held high overhead, Keegan Jeong poses with the nylon drawstring bag from Under Armour, doing his due diligence to get the branding on point by taking multiple shots. One is too fuzzy, another the logo gets blurred, and the third one has awful lighting on him but at least the bag looks somewhat enticing. Although sponsorships aren’t his expertise, Keegan, as a Marvel VS. Capcom Stan through and through, understands the necessity of advertising a featured Collab. (Also justice for Cloak & Dagger, that gameplay would’ve been amazing had the dev team pulled through.)

Thumbs rapidly pressing, keys reacting underneath with flashes of color and a feedback of haptic vibration, Keegan types out the following alt to send on his official AlterEgo account, @officialatlas1 (yes, someone has his handle before he could have it, and no, it is not a pressing matter for Valerian to pursue this matter for someone who gets relegated to RealHero TV B-roll.)

@officialatlas1 going live now to check out the sweet loot from the new Valerian x Under Armour drop!! I wonder what Durapeak®️ is gonna feel lik|

Keegan shakes his head and pauses mid-text. “ Feel like? When am I a fabric connoisseur? ” He mutters to himself and tries again.

               THE NOTIFICATION POPS UP ON THE TOP OF HIS SCREEN, PARTIALLY COVERING AN UNSKIPPABLE YOUTUBE AD THAT’S PROMOTING UNDER ARMOUR’S NEW CLOTHING LINE. 

‘The next era of durable wear is here. Valerian stewards aren’t just saving lives, they’re setting the standard and paving the way for the next gen—’

Hikaru clicks out. The screen buffers for a moment until Keegan’s live broadcast overtakes it. With mild surprise, Hikaru realizes that he’s… promoting Under Armour.

He stares at his phone for a moment. Keegan’s cheerful voice comes through the tiny, low-quality speakers. 

Oh, well. 

Hikaru shrugs. He doesn’t really know if views support him, but he’s had notifications on for Keegan’s live broadcasts for a while now. Ever since… 

He sighs into the empty room.

Well, it’s comforting to see him. 

       He’s sitting on his living room floor in front of an old, peeling coffee table that he found next to the dumpster when someone upstairs moved out ten months ago. His phone is propped against a stack of textbooks near the edge. He’d been watching an episode of MythBusters and eating lunch—funny, the last of what Keegan sent him—when the notification came. As he’s watching him read off comments, he pauses and thinks for a moment. Eventually, he reaches for the device and sends a short, simple message:

@h1karu 🙂👍

It’s buried immediately. He’s a little surprised at the sudden influx of messages that flood the live chat as he sets his phone back and eats another mouthful of reheated lasagna. Keegan looks back, and Hikaru notes that the person behind him is probably a famous Velerian steward. At least, that's what the viewers are eagerly pointing out.

Hikaru assumes that this is probably… Good for his viewership? It seems that the view count is steadily going up, and comments are coming in much faster than just a minute ago. Hikaru doesn’t really care about what’s in the goodie bag—god knows he can’t afford brand new Under Armour—but he’s compelled to keep watching, even if his support is invisible. 

As Atlas’ polite voice fills his tiny living room and another joins it, Hikaru looks away and stares at his door. He can almost hear it, that gentle, familiar knocking.