marsroxx

—

“Shit,” Rahi laughs, and shakes his head. The pure reaction out of someone who just realized they might have turned lame. “I should probably work harder on surprising you, then.” 

Hand in hand, they make it further down, one guided step at a time. Using Mars’s few words as a guide, he tries piecing it all together — with only slim success. It’s none of his business anyway, and the more Rahi thinks on it, the more invading it sounds: Especially as he asks, “How did you bruise a rib?” Like the answer would change his goddamn life around; like he has any right to demand an answer. Once at ground-level, Rahi switches — eyeing Mars’s other hand instead. Mechanic. “Is that your doing?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I’m not big on Halloween, but it’s always people asking too much and getting too close.” Granted, “…I haven’t done anything yet that would make me bruise a rib.” 

-

It was pretty thrilling to think that Rahi would work at getting any reaction out of him, even though Mars was beginning to suspect that Rahi was well-meaning but too busy to be anything more than talk. "I grew up with high speed internet, raised in the age of information. And misinformation. Tougher to surprise."  He offered with a faint smile, trying to recall if he actually knew how old Rahi was.

“Let’s say I... fell.” He bit the inside of his cheek, not about to volunteer why he’d been climbing out of a window in the first place. Rahi’s response caught him off guard, though he then recognized that it probably shouldn’t have. He flexed his organic fingers around the broken pieces, flattered that Rahi had asked if it was his own doing. He was used to people reacting to his missing fingers or the prosthetic itself (particularly in its current condition), but rarely did anyone ask about the construction. “I destroyed so many of these things as a kid, I’m pretty sure my parents paid off the developers to give me a summer internship. They still send me prototypes to fuck with though.” Mars was more comfortable than most with the nepotism that allowed him more opportunities than most, partially due to a lack of self-awareness but also confidence that he had the ability to justify his presence in the spaces that his parents money had allowed him entry into. 

He shot Rahi a curious look as the other said that they weren’t big into Halloween, Mars’ eyes narrowing briefly as he tried to guess the reasons for it. “Nights still young, and a lot can happen on Halloween.” Largely true because everyone was blasted and running around in skimpy costumes, but Mars wanted to believe in magic more than he did. “How close is too close?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead releasing Rahi’s hand to reach for the phone in his coat pocket. “What’re you feeling?” He asked, clearing the half-written text on his screen before navigating to look at which restaurants were still open.

-

ROKSANA  IS  IN  THE  cramped little flat they have all to themself in Chinatown.   There is only one twin mattress shoved up against the studio corner of the bedroom.   There are loud neighbors, screaming city sounds bustling by in squelching tires, blaring honks and angry shouts; and the street lights pour in through their window blaring bright without a touch of softness.   There are still some unopened boxes promptly marked with various items that they barely unpacked despite moving into this apartment nearly two years back — mountains of books spread about, a litter box for their very own adopted six month old kitten, Kisara, along with a food and water bowel and a cat tree that takes up more space than they would like.  

Still, it’s their sanctuary.

They’re just getting comfortable when they hear the specific knocking pattern that already lets them know it’s Mars.   There is excitement to see the young man who has become a part of their found family — a pair of gremlins, as they properly coined themselves as a duo — since Roksana feels as if they haven’t seen him for longer than they would’ve preferred.      

Roksana has always been a runner themselves.   One who tore out, whether motivated by fear or elation or an onerous anxiety that required immediate movement to subside.   A young restless soul who was given to brash, often catastrophic decisions; there’d been jobs procured via Craigslist that yielded no returns in their attempt to become independent outside of their family’s wealth, purchases of anonymous pills that ended up being null and void, one-too-many taken at an open bar until they were swiftly ejected ( with only a boisterous laugh and a Terminator promise: I’ll be back ).   Despite their own seeming ineptitude at operating at any speed less than full blast, they were unwilling to, at the time, be chided by anyone who thought their life chaotic even if they truly knew it to be true.   And while they might’ve managed to escape such a lifestyle, they understood that as a young man, Mars needed to make his own mistakes — go through his own paces.   Life just happened, and they knew that first hand, so they didn’t push. 

As soon as they opened the door, they step aside for Mars to enter, a dimpled smile making an encore on their usual stoic features.   “When am I ever too busy for you?”   It’s true.   A beat passes as they close the door behind him, flitting over to the kitchen and leaning over their very modest island; Kisara joins, jumping on top of the counter and making sure she’s seen.   Roksana, naturally, pets their little baby tuxedo cat.   They raise a brow at his last comment.   “Well, you gonna keep me waiting or are you just gonna come out with it?   You know I’m impatient with this type of shit.”    

-

Mars mirrored their smile, kicking his shoes off at the door before following Roksana to their kitchen. “There’s a first for everything, I guess.” He leaned against the opposite side of the island, his palms pressed against the cool countertop. “Can I at least say hello to my goddaughter first?” He demanded with a grin, letting Kisara inspect the back of his hand before he tried to pet her. He glanced up at Roksana as they spoke, his energy shifting subtly as he  met their gaze. 

“My folks bailed on me for the holidays, so I’m gonna be doing my own thing this year.” He leaned away from the kitchen island, running his hand over his head to pull off his beanie. This was only big news because Mars and his parents were an incredibly close-knit family, and Mars had never not spent the holidays with his folks. "They had the audacity to ask me to housesit for my uncle while he’s out of town, so I think I’m gonna plan my own party this year.” He was trying to create a silver lining for himself, a distraction from the disappointment of the whole situation. He was hopeful that Roksana would help him plan it at least, since they were the closest he had to family outside of his own parents. “This man’s house is stupid, no one should be able to afford it in the city. Wanna help me plan a banger?” 

Maybe it was because the two had first bonded when they were both at low points in their lives, or maybe it was because Mars and Roksana had seen each other at plenty of even lower points since- either way there was something so unceremonious and comforting about being in Roksana’s presence that Mars found himself breathing a sigh of relief as he arrived at their door.

He raised his hand to knock, rapping his knuckles on the door in a secret patterned code that the two of them had developed during the lengthy hospital stay of their youths. “Hope you weren’t busy.” He smiled as they opened the door to answer. “I have moderately spicy news.” 

—

Noted, Rahi thinks, as he fishes his phone out of a pocket and makes magic work through a touchscreen. Hi, this is Rahi. We met at Shakespeare. You wanna hang out sometime? Delivered in a short second, to the cellphone just across from his. 

Whole worlds have been born out of happenstance, and it’s rare as its own concept, if through the mind of a scientist. Coincidences either aren’t all that coincidental, when put under a microscope — or they justify a series of whatevers that just happened to fall into place. He’s still figuring Mars out, before finalizing a verdict of where he stands. So far, it’s looking up. 

“Yeah, I’m in. Please.” The only correct answer, when prompted the bait of takeout. “I’m a vegetarian, by the way — who might ask for a bite of something, even if I technically can’t have it. You’ve been warned.” Rahi takes a step toward the stairs, and offers a hand in aid. “…Should I ask why it sucked?” 

-

Mars watched as Rahi typed out a text on his phone, not bothering to check his own phone to confirm that the other had actually gone through with it. Rahi didn’t strike Mars as a liar, but that didn’t mean much considering what a horrendous judge of character Mars was.

His eyebrows raised subtly as Rahi accepted the offer, having expected that the other would opt for staying at the party rather than join his random side quest. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” His lips twitched into a faint smile, genuinely unsure if he’d already known that Rahi was vegetarian from any of the online ‘research’ he’d done before. 

He reached to take Rahi’s offered hand before he could overthink it, making their way down the stairs. “I think I might’ve bruised a rib.” He admitted, his nose scrunching slightly. He lifted his other hand to reveal the mangled prosthetic fingers still attached, the assets that usually allowed his hand to pass as organic were now a Halloween accessory in their own right, the digits twisted unnaturally with the internal mechanisms tearing through a convincing imitation of flesh. “God, I miss trick or treating...” He breathed, dropping his hand again. “How’s your night been?”

—

Already forgiven and forgotten. Rahi laughs, “You’re giving way too much power, did you know that?”

“It is,” he says, taking only a passing note of the phone that switches off once the conversation starts. “Mostly because I don’t know anything about baseball, and I didn’t know anyone would actually ask.” As far as skincare goes — Rahi owns a single hand-soap which he uses for his face, and one face moisturizer which he’s twice used for his hands. There’s no purchase history for sunscreen, and if you go into his shower shelves, you’ll find a single bottle of shampoo but no conditioner. Here, the portrait of a gay man never set in the right track by the right girl. “…Space. Kind of.” He finally answers. “I’ve been working, but thinking of seeing you on my break. I guess this is it.” Beat. “It’s actually hard not to, with talks of Mars all the time.”

-

For a spoiled-rich-kid-turned-thief, Mars tragically possessed zero aptitude in deception. He was an easy read even if he tried to hide it, which he rarely bothered to. At worst he’d be known to lie by omission, but even that was usually due to being easily distracted and forgetful. It didn’t take much to grab Mars’ attention, but it could be a goddamned struggle to hold on to. 

“Oh you still owe me a text, you just got lucky this time. Doesn’t count.” He grabbed the support beam of the porch and pulled away from the railing with a brief wince, closing much of the gap between himself and Rahi. Mars didn’t know if he should be flattered that Rahi had been thinking of him or insulted that a random happenstance was the best he was ever gonna get. Normally he would have taken the compliment and forgotten everything else, but he’d already been cockblocked and yeeted out of a second story window that evening and Mars was uncharacteristically edgy as a result. He wanted to say something cool or even dignified but his mind went completely blank as he held Rahi’s gaze, too many conflicts of interest flooding his agitated lizard brain. “Tonight blew and I want takeout. You in?” He asked abruptly, nodding towards the stairs.

.@marsroxx

Bailey jumped at the crackling sound that split through the room as every muscle tensed in memory of his own experience getting tased. He relaxed when the other hit the floor like a bag of rocks, unexpectedly sent into a fit of giggles at the sight of some poor kid convulsing in his bakery. Not that it wasn’t objectively hilarious, but the levity of the situation compared to his circumstances a month ago (showering with 30 men, four of whom were trying to kill him) felt absurdly surreal and all the more Looney Tunes. 

Bailey wiped the tears from his eyes and moved to help, hampered every few seconds by the giggles that continued to bubble up. He slid right back down to the floor where the other had finally stopped twitching and lifted the hand the prongs had embedded into. “Deep breath,” he warned, still chortling as he pressed his thumb into the other’s palm and plucked out the barb without waiting for a response. He pulled out the second one in quick succession, knowing it would only feel worse if he waited. 

“Thanks, I needed that,” Bailey said, clapping the other’s shoulder a little more aggressively than he’d intended. “You should clean those out or you’ll lose your hand.”

-

Mars was unable to focus on much outside of feeling like a human lightning rod, the sound of Bailey’s amusement blunted by the attempted chattering of his locked up jaw. It wasn’t until Bailey took hold of his hand that Mars was activated, his scrawny limbs scrambling in vain to gather enough traction to pull away as Bailey picked the barbs from his skin. The resulting pain was still dampened from the overload of sensations, Mars’ gripping Bailey’s forearm in a confused effort to detach while also needing to cling to something as he tried to regain control of himself. 

“I need that.” He choked out finally, staring at his own hand with its already diminished number of remaining digits. “What’s left of it. Fuck, man.” His gaze raised to meet Bailey’s, his expression a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “Why are you even here? Who robs a bakery?” He yanked his hand away from Bailey, pulling it closer to his chest as he scooted backwards to put some distance between them again. 

—

Rahi listens with quiet, incredulous care. He sees through Mars’s eyes and right into all that could have been. There’s nothing quite as valuable as a good heart, but it can too often make a victim. Ask him how he knows. 

“What if you were the one meant to change the world?” He asks, not accusatory, but bravely inquisitive. “Jackasses are really good at making themselves look like geniuses.” Don’t ask him how he knows. 

Rahi laughs, head bowing even if he’d been the one to bring it up. It’s what happens when he drinks — the man who’s already bold becomes bolder, all the thoughts he typically withholds beginning to flow freely. “Back then, yeah. He wanted to marry me, but he didn’t want me to go away. He made sure I failed my test so I couldn’t.” Six months to a year on missions — too great a compromise, for a man in love with an astronaut. “I just feel like, there’s always something that will make us pull back from what we wanna do.” Flashforward to now, Rahi lives half of his life in zero gravity, and Arman does all of his in regret. He hopes, not all secretly, that Mars’s offender lives a reality just as incomplete.

“…And tiny bit of methane,” he smiles, “ethane, and ammonia.” The most nit-picky of add-ons from Rahi, after a beat of being too in awe of what he’s hearing. “God. I’m so used to people just asking me why Pluto isn’t a planet.” A roll of his eye, then — always impossible to tell whether it’s real, or humorous. “Were you even born then?” Rahi’s turn to joke, though God, he feels it dance too close to a harsh reality. He takes the whimsical napkin, places it between the center-pages of his notebook, and closes it again. The bartender interrupts only to liven up their space — and there they sit, with a new round of drinks and more intimacy than they’d walked in with. Not bad for a Shakespearian night.

-

Mars attempted to bite back the grin that formed in response to Rahi’s query. “I’m leading a charmed life, I’m pretty sure I’ll still be able to change the world one way or another.” Feigning humility wasn’t Mars’ strong suit, but neither was feigning any other emotion either. 

The smile faded as Rahi opened up about his past relationship, Mars’ eyes widening when Rahi mentioned failing his test. “That’s fucked up, bro.” He clicked his tongue, picking up his drink and balancing the glass in the palm of his hand. He was insanely curious to ask how the ex had managed to sabotage Rahi’s test, but he didn’t want to come across as nosey or insensitive (despite being very much both). “Sounds like you guys were just at different places. I’ve seen it happen to a bunch of my friends- timing is a true bitch.” He was trying to be as sympathetic as he could without having any experience such himself. Mars had a temperamental attention span and little relationship experience to show for it, his own interests usually dominating too much of his time and energy to leave much for anyone else.

“I was born then.” Mars laughed lightly, grateful for an easier topic. “I was like, sleeping behind bars and shitting myself but yeah, I was alive.” He watched as Rahi placed the napkin inside his notebook. “You’re not that old, though. I mean, I doubt you were exchanging numbers in bars that year, but good for you if you were.”

.@marsroxx

Bailey heaved a put-upon sigh when the kid brandished a taser, annoyed by the prospect of having to exert even more energy when he’d already had to break into his own shop. And he distinctly remembered being promised coffee. 

Reaching above his head for the dish rag hanging over the counter, Bailey wound it tightly into a rope all the while grumbling under his breath. He pulled it taut once, testing its reach before whipping it at the other’s hand. “Oof. Fuck.” He missed, sort of, almost feeling bad when he realized that, of the several blurry tasers that swam in front of him, he’d missed all four and aimed straight for the other’s forehead instead. ​

-

Mars wasn’t expecting the childlike guerilla tactics, but if he’d had time to consider it shouldn’t have been that surprising. The taser clattered to the floor as Mars slammed his head into the cabinet behind him, his face scrunching as the realization of pain hit. “Piece of shit-” He groaned bitterly, reaching to touch the back of his head and opening one eye enough to squint at Bailey. The guy looked scary, but he was also falling through windows and fighting with hand towels which was something of a relief. 

“I thought you were gonna like, kill me.” Mars laughed weakly, sitting up straighter and dropping his arm to retrieve the taser. Maybe he was still dazed, or maybe he’d just never actually bothered to read the user manual, but he picked up the taser from the wrong end, and if the two of them hadn’t managed to wake the rest of the building by now they were sure to as Mars triggered the thing directly into himself. 

—

Several others can be branded as better readers than Rahi would ever consider himself to be, but there’s something in Mars’s gaze just then, that must be held onto. So it is, brown yet bright eyes finding his companion’s and watching first-hand as they become more and more honest. 

“…Did you fight it?” He asks. “Or did you just — Take it?” There are fair reasons for each possibility: something like fight or flight or… survive. Rahi can’t begin to think which road he’d take. “I mean, I’d do anything for my friends, but—” I won’t do that. He laughs to the same beat as Mars does, almost unisound — humorous, yet empty. “…They wouldn’t be my friends if they wanted me to give up something like that. I had a boyfriend—” Rahi catches himself and pauses, laughing and swallowing. “Never mind, it’s not worth it.” His eyes spell out I’m sorry that happened to you, but his body language shows he’s paying close attention — interested to know more. “What then?” 

A slow smile, then a nod. “I like Mars.” Beat. “Second to Saturn, but still.” Rahi smiles at the offer — remembers the drink, and sips it. “Okay. Phone or napkin?” 

-

Mars hesitated when asked if he hadn’t tried to fight his expunction under the false allegations, studying Rahi’s face for a moment as he guessed at the other’s probable intention. Reaching to place his empty glass on the bar, Mars pushed it forward in the hopes that the bartender would have mercy and refill it. “He didn’t ask me to, and we weren’t friends- we barely tolerated each other.” Mars shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting with an unexpected twinge of fondness. “He was annoying as shit, and a total jackass- but he was also hella smart and driven and I knew he was probably gonna change the world. He needed the leg-up more than I did, by no fault of his own. Like seriously, my whole life has been a series of fortunate events.” The pangs of disappointment were eased by the confidence he felt in regards to the decisions that he’d made, only now realizing how good it felt to actually tell someone the truth. Rahi was a busy spaceman, and would probably never remember this interaction anyway, so Mars felt it was safe to indulge this for as long as Rahi would let him.

The bartender stepped up to collect the empty glass, looking to them for any additional requests. Mars shot them a quick smile, handing over his card for the tab and holding up two fingers with a nod. “You had a boyfriend?” He asked curiously as he turned back to Rahi, feeling blameless for pressing the topic since Rahi had been the one to bring it up. “Something must’ve made it feel worth bringing up before you second-guessed yourself, and for a guy who’s navigated actual outer space and Twitter fame, I would’ve guessed you’d know to trust your gut.” He teased gently, his approach softening as Rahi hadn’t reacted to any of his more overt challenges before.

Mars was beginning to wonder if this was all just a bizarre wet dream, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face as Rahi told him that his namesake was only second best. “Saturn is, what- seventy-something percent hydrogen and the leftover is majority helium? Can’t even power a star with that lack of mass. Embarrassing.” He grinned good-naturedly, trying to play it cool despite Rahi having said that he liked his name. “A napkin? That’s so 1995.” He shook his head, turning to thank the bartender as the second round of drinks arrived. Mars pulled the napkin from underneath one of the glasses, pulling a pen from his pocket and scratching his number on it before turning to offer it to Rahi. “Sorry, I meant it’s whimsical.” 

.@marsroxx​

Once Bailey confirmed that he wasn’t hallucinating (it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, his last and most unpleasant one triggered by withdrawal) and that the poltergeist in front of him did, in fact, have a physical form, he could address the why. Still half-propped up beneath the window he’d somersaulted through, his arm shot out like a punch, only to bury his fist in the other’s hood and yank him forward. He glared at the swimming pastel colors and wondered, not for the first time, exactly what sort of lollipop guild the teens these days had escaped from. 

“Coffee,” Bailey growled, “is in the second cabinet,” and released the other like a pigeon into the sky (i.e. shoving hard enough to send the kid sliding backwards until the kitchen island stopped him).

-

Mars’ parents had been strongly against physical violence, and they didn’t believe in any form of discipline, really. They’d been afraid of stifling their only child’s genius and curiosity, and they had succeeded in that while also raising someone who had no clue how to handle himself in a fight.

“Well, you’re beefy.” Mars wheezed, leant against the island like a discarded ragdoll. He half-heartedly dusted his hands on his thighs, attempting to appear more disoriented than he actually was. "And bossy.” He added, slipping a hand inside his hoodie to reach for the something stashed in an inner pocket (which Mars had proudly sewn into the hoodie himself). He had prepared for this day- the day that he broke into the wrong place, turned the wrong corner... This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined it, but it’d been a relatively boring summer and Mars needed this.

Lifting his head with a faint smirk, Mars raised his arm to level a taser in Bailey’s direction. He was trying to think of something cool to say in a moment like this when a nagging thought rose to the surface instead. “How do you know where the coffee is?” He asked curiously, squinting at Bailey in the dim light.

.@marsroxx

For a moment, Bailey was confronted with the possibility that he’d cracked his skull like an egg, and the resulting concussion had led to a Space Jam-esque night terror that took the form of a muppet with bubblegum-pink hair. He was skeptical that his brain would come up with such a weird hallucination, especially one that involved a teenager in Easter colors. 

Regardless of whatever the fuck was going on, coffee did sound pretty good, and he couldn’t be assed to make it himself. “Sure,” Bailey grunted in the affirmative and slapped his palms on the windowsill, ignoring the other’s outstretched hand to heave himself up onto the ledge and barrel shoulder-first into his sleep paralysis demon. The resulting collision revealed but only further confused the fact that this wasn’t wholly induced by alcohol poisoning or head injury. “Jesus, you’re bony,” Bailey garbled and slapped away an elbow. ​

-

Mars was not prepared for Bailey to recover so quickly or come barreling through the window, unable to adjust his expectations in time before they were both reduced to an undignified tangle of limbs on the floor of the bakery. “Why?” He choked incredulously, trying to scramble free against the dead weight that had landed on top of him. Bailey smelled like sweat and booze, which was hardly surprising at this point. 

“I’m revoking my offer, you’re on coffee duty.” He complained as he pulled himself free, drawing his legs up and scooting backwards. He glared at Bailey for a moment, his curiosity already overpowering the annoyance he had felt over being unnecessarily crushed. "Urgent need for bearclaws, huh?”