Respectfulshipping Week 2024

   His Father’s eyes were always stone grey when Ryoken fumbled. A quiet fury behind the stern expression as Ryoken misspoke, got less than expected on a test, fumbled his bows. It could be the tiniest thing and Ryoken would feel the ramifications of such a mistake like an earthquake.

   Every violin lesson, every calligraphy lesson, it all felt like a waste on Ryoken. His Father could invest the last coin in Ryoken, to cultivate him into an adult worthy of the Kogami name, but it didn’t seem worth it. Tradition was tradition, however, so there was one last thing to impart upon Ryoken in order to at least place him in the mould of the illustrious Kogami name and the legacy that entailed.

   They were the dragon tamers, after all.

   Spoken of animatedly and with awe far and wide, in every corner of Paldea. 

   Every species of Dragon Type Pokemon, Kiyoshi had brought it under heel without issue. Ryoken wanted to do the same.

   “Here. I have chosen this one for you.” his Father told Ryoken on the morning of his tenth birthday.

   “Thank you, Father.” Ryoken smiled and he accepted the gift of a shiny, red and white PokeBall.

   This was it. The final frontier. It was here, accepting this PokeBall, that Ryoken wanted to believe that he could redeem himself from being a disappointing disgrace to his Father. He would become the strongest Dragon Type specialist in all the region. No… The world!

   His heart fluttered as Ryoken felt the weight and curiosity. What was it? What was it, he wondered. A Dratini, a wyrm whose fate to flight would be as grand and fitting as his own fate to inherit his family’s legacy? Or would it be a Gible? A tiny land shark who would grow into proper fangs and claws, dominating all in battle?

   Or maybe it would be…

   Dreepy.

   Ryoken felt his hopes dashed as he opened the PokeBall and his starter Pokemon was revealed to him a jagged flash of silver. A creepy crybaby Pokemon whose dual typing was Dragon and Ghost. Not exactly a hopeful message, Ryoken would think so once again, he felt ungrateful.

   Dreepy’s big yellow eyes confused, as though sensing Ryoken was disappointed to meet it. It's just those eyes. That Pokemon. It all carried a message to Ryoken. That his Father had adjusted expectations since he had shown no promise in any other tradition of the Kogami Family and that things weren’t going to change.

   “When the school year begins anew for the year,” his Father continued, his voice droning and emotionless, “you will join Uva Academy and study there. When the headmaster decides, you too, will become part of the cohort to find your treasure.”

   “Thank you, Father.” Ryoken mumbled.

   He returned Dreepy to its PokeBall.

   Ryoken felt quietly excited again. At least at boarding school, he would be away from his Father’s iron fist. There was that to look forward to. He hoped when he returned, despite the burden of inadequacy that he felt, Ryoken might be half the Trainer that his Father wanted from him.

   Over the course of the next few days, Ryoken did his best to bond with his Dreepy. It was a boy and had a hardy nature, Dreepy wanted Ryoken to depend on him as a partner and in due time, they began to coordinate so when they arrived at Uva Academy, they actually made quite the mark. They swept through a lot of battles, even against Trainers who have had partners for far longer than Ryoken.

   Maybe that was a sign of things to come.

   But Ryoken wasn’t the only student in his class who had a part Ghost type, he realised.

   There was another boy, too. About his age, actually, or maybe two years younger. Ryoken wasn’t actually sure since he wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity or a chatterbox for that matter, he kept to himself, his drawings, and his partner Pokemon which was a Phantump.

   When Ryoken asked about him, the obvious pariah in an otherwise tight knit cohort of mixed aged, co-ed students, Ryoken was frozen out. He didn’t really get why though. They were all Class 1-A, they should act like it. Be friends and all that jazz but it seemed that there was a pecking order everywhere and whilst Ryoken had made a favourable first day impression this boy - Spectre - had not.

   Yet Ryoken found himself trying to get closer anyways. Even though he was plenty popular, especially compared to the artsy-fartsy loner. Of which, Ryoken heard plenty of rumours about.

   “He considers that Phantump his brother.”

   “He just stares at people, it’s creepy! And rude!”

   “He gave himself his own nickname, that’s so lame.”

   And the complaints just piled up there as every now and again, he did pick fights or disobey the teachers. It seemed that there were plenty of things about him amiss. Apparently. But it just made Ryoken all the more curious about him.

   A fateful afternoon occurred maybe a month into the first term when Ryoken finally found the stones inside of him to go and say hi to this classmate.

   It was a rainy day so everyone was stuck inside. Most people were slacking off their recess in the cafeteria, eating more than they would have or doing research in the library. As a result, the patio out the back which looked out onto the quadrangle was very empty since it made a big risk of getting wet. The downpour was speeding fast down and over the gutters, hitting the grass and cement. 

   It was exactly on that edge that Spectre was absorbed in drawing the rainy garden scene. So, Ryoken slipped out and got closer. He wasn’t even noticed by Spectre until he spoke up, clearing his throat.

   “Hey, how’s it going? I, um, notice you’ve got a really steady hand for painting. My Dad makes me do calligraphy lessons and I’m rubbish at them, think you can help?” Ryoken asked. All his words and excuse for saying hi bursting out of his mouth in one go.

   Spectre was scared out of his skin by this introduction.

   He looked Ryoken up and down.

   “You want to do what with me?” he exclaimed, blue eyes wide and gosh, what big and blue eyes they were. Ryoken had never known until now…

   “I want to practise holding a brush with you. You seem really good at it so…” Ryoken shrugged.

   Spectre pouted. His brows furrowed together as he warily mulled over Ryoken’s request. He seemed - rightfully - dubious that a student as liked as Ryoken was talking to him and trying to establish good terms. After all, Ryoken was at the top of all the report cards and rankings, he was regarded well by their mutual peers and seemed to run in really different circles and yet.

   Here Ryoken was and he offered up some materials to practise calligraphy. Paper, a brush, ink. Ryoken smiled. He was willing to get his hands dirty and so, Spectre softened. He made room for Ryoken and begrudgingly, they began to get along well.

   Really well.

   So well in fact that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, actually.

   They were like chalk and cheese. Ryoken was sociable and friendly, Spectre was grumpy more often than not. Ryoken was good at battles and mathematics but Spectre was at the bottom of every tourney but did well in creative classes. It was an odd pairing and even one that Ryoken’s other friends tried to discourage but Ryoken was firm.

   Spectre was interesting and off-beat but that’s what he liked about him. He wanted to be friends. Ryoken wanted to get to know him and he did. He could confirm.

   Yes, Spectre did, in fact, consider his Phantump to be his brother. Though it was not for some quirky reason.

   It had found him alone in the forest as an abandoned baby. Maybe a couple more days, he would have become the living myth that dead children become Phantump but this Phantump rescued him from that alleged fate. It led an orphanage worker to his location and she brought Spectre into the fold of institutionalised care.

   Yes, Spectre did, in fact, stare a lot. He was creepy and he was rude. He couldn’t help himself. 

   He didn’t have that innate tact or social grace other people had, so he threw himself into studying the other in some attempt to assimilate it. It didn’t work but at least it helped with his art. He loved drawing landscapes best of all but his time spent studying others wasn’t in vain as he could do realism and caricature off the cuff ever so easily.

   And finally, yes, Spectre gave himself his own nickname. Oh boo hoo. He had a favourite Pokemon type and it was so personal to him, he wanted to honour it with a nickname. Ryoken genuinely respected that. If given the chance, he would go by Revolver because it sounded cool. So props to Spectre for not just taking that chance but forging the opportunity altogether.

   Then by the inverse, Spectre learned plenty about Ryoken, too. Though Ryoken wasn’t sure there was much about him worth learning. It's not like he had accomplished any feat so far to impress his Father… 

   His music was out of tune. With a violin, anyway. The music teacher put a guitar in Ryoken’s hands once and it just fit his hand right. His calligraphy was still bad. Spectre outclassed him in that department but he was still doing his best. And Ryoken was uncontested when it came to battles. Dreepy very well may evolve any day now.

   It had been three years since Ryoken had first come to Uva Academy and since then, had become best of friends with Spectre and was considered an elite trainer. The school had taught him well but it was Spectre’s companionship which meant the most to him. Returning home without him every six weeks was bittersweet.

   So when they got the news they would both be a part of the Treasure Hunt, it was the best news ever.

   For the ceremonies, Ryoken’s Father was invited. A lot of parents were invited, actually, but Kogami Kiyoshi’s attendance was uniquely requested due to the prestige of the legacy that he was the patriarch of. He accepted, wanting to see if his son’s learning environment had been adequate after all these years. Uva’s legacy was even more storied than his own after all.

   Ryoken was nervous to have his two worlds collide, however. The self he was at school and the self he was at home… He realised now, as a thirteen year old full of angst and self-awareness, that they were two different people. 

   At the podium, on the stage, his Father spoke coldly and from the assembly, right next to him, Spectre stared coldly. He didn’t see a resemblance between Ryoken or his Father aside from name. Ryoken twitched as he did his best to stay still and look attentive.

   “Achieve well.” his Father concluded his speech to much applause.

   The rest of his speech had not been quite so frank, nor curt. He used a lot of big words and spoke to his ideals which he saw as stone cold truths. Some students fell asleep listening to him, others were rapt. 

   Afterwards, he came and said hello to his son, and his son’s friend.

   “Father, this is Spectre.” Ryoken said. He made a sweeping motion towards his friend with his hands/

   “Actual name?” his Father prompted Spectre.

   Spectre didn’t reply.

   So Ryoken did for him. “He doesn’t have one.”

   “Family members of note?” his Father asked next.

   Spectre still didn’t reply.

   “He’s an orphan.” Ryoken interpreted the silence on behalf of Spectre.

   He could be rebellious in front of adults but this was… different somehow. It made Ryoken shiver, put a rock in the pit of his gut. He elbowed Spectre and Spectre finally bowed in some acknowledgement of common courtesy but it was the tiniest angle, the smallest shift of his head forward. Utterly blink and you miss it.

   “Occupation?” Ryoken’s Father said and.

   Ah.

   That got a response. Spectre’s eyes keened.

   “Artist.” he said.

   “Foolish.” Ryoken’s Father admonished him. He turned his attention to his son, “I don’t like this associate for you.”

   “U-Understood.” Ryoken murmured.

   Spectre’s lips pursed together. He had a feeling.

   So did Ryoken, actually. Spectre was dirt poor with no capital behind him due to his family circumstances. He was on the cusp of growing up into the perfect rendition of the starving artist stereotype, too… Eccentric and rude. Off with the fairies. Creepy. He was all those things and more.

   Ryoken licked his lips and his heart skipped a beat, “Father,” he said, “we’ll be seeing you. For the Treasure Hunt, Spectre and I have teamed up.”

   “No.” his Father replied, cutting and unamused.

   “Yes.” Spectre said. “Ryoken is my best friend. I would do anything for him.” he was fierce. He meant it.

   “I will not have my son do foolish things. I don’t even consider the Treasure Hunt of much significance, its cultural importance unfounded.” Ryoken’s Father said.

   “I, um, want to collect all eight Gym Badges,” Ryoken piped up shyly, “and become a Trainer of your calibre.”

   “And what else?” his Father asked. “You must exceed me and your son will one day have to exceed you so give him big shoes to fill, or you fail all of us.”

   Ryoken simpered. He didn’t have a reply. He was thirteen! He didn’t even know if he wanted kids and the idea of them, well, for some reason he glanced at Spectre and that confirmed some vague hunch he had. It didn’t matter.

   “Go forth. I won’t keep you any longer and you. Boy.” his Father refused to acknowledge Spectre by his chosen name, I don’t want you leading my son astray.”

   “I won’t, sir.” Spectre murmured.

   His lack of proper enunciation wasn’t like him but Ryoken’s Father didn’t know that. Instead, he found it insulting and it got under his skin.

   Ryoken bowed - deeply, hands in front of him - and excused himself. He had to tap Spectre’s shoulder to get him to do the same and together, they both skulked off. Spectre was fuming but Ryoken had his tail between his legs. It was with shoulders up and heads hunched down as they less than triumphantly took their first steps into the Treasure Hunt.

   “I don’t like your dad.” Spectre announced when they were well out of earshot.

   They were on the outside of town now, on the route to Cortonda in the second area of the Southern Province. 

   “He’s just… stuffy.” Ryoken said.

   “But he makes me want to get stronger…” Spectre miserably said. “And I think I know how I want to start. I - I think its time to evolve Phantump.”

   Ryoken was surprised to hear but it was good to know there was some throb of rivalry deep within their friendship. It was one thing to get along smoothly but they weren’t going to become cream of the crop Trainers that.

   Spectre turned to face Ryoken, the sunset behind haloed him, as he extended his hand, PokeBall in the palm of it, “Will you help me? Phantump evolves by trade after all. A-And don’t worry,” Spectre added, nervous and sweaty on his brow, “Phantump and I were talking about this yesterday, in the dorms. He thinks it's time, too.”

   “I’d love to help.” Ryoken replied.

   And so, they did a little swap. Ryoken borrowed Phantump and Spectre borrowed Drakloak. The exchange, although brief, turned Phantump into Trevenant on the side of the road and with an evolution of their main partner Pokemon each under their belts, it felt like something changed, too. It wasn’t just evolution, it was a fresh start.

   Together, over the course of the next year, Ryoken fulfilled his goals and Spectre did his best to keep pace, also, and all whilst filling up his sketchbooks. The Treasure Hunt brought them closer together than ever before. Travelling together had its ups and downs, of course. Sometimes they argued but they always made up afterwards, either duking it out with a Pokemon battle or one of them deciding it was time to call it quits so they could share food or other resources. Most of the time, it was like a never-ending sleepover by night and a never-ending field trip by day. It was great.

   And, best of all, they both have eight badges each to show for it.

   Ryoken breezed through the Gyms, collecting Dragon types in his wake to help out and Spectre did much the same, alternating between his two favourite types of Grass and Ghost but not shying away from Ground or Rock types, either. Ryoken had a couple of Psychic types and Steel types, also. It wasn’t a varied team but they were a big family in some ways.

   One Ryoken couldn’t wait to introduce to his Father. 

   He thought about all the cool and tough Pokemon that his Father had his beck and call. A mighty Dragonite, a ferocious Garchomp, and the viscous Braxcalliber. They were amazing, he recalled them all fondly and he thought the members of the species he could call his teammates could easily go toe to toe with his Father’s.

   But apparently not.

   It was… humbling, to say the least. Especially on the eve of Ryoken trying for championship. He wanted his Father’s approval first, Spectre watched from the wings, unsure of his place in the den of the Dragon Types that Ryoken had taken him “home” too. It wasn’t like any home he knew and he was ostracised his own orphanage but the forest clearing that he and Trevenant (previously Phantump) had enjoyed. It was the clear standard being warm and fun and loving.

   “The Gym Leaders are pushovers and your friend… He makes you soft.” Ryoken’s Father decided after the battle. “Keep training. Keep pushing yourself or else.”

   Ryoken felt humiliated outside in the arena of the Dragon Types, his childhood house looming behind it and a grand forest all around. He felt small in the scheme of it all. His six Pokemon all fainted. He was…

   He was never going to be good enough, Ryoken realised as he fought back tears. He had lost Pokemon battles before, half of them to Spectre, but this was way, way different. It tore him up inside and broke his heart.

   “Stop crying.” his Father scolded him and locked him out.

   The door to the mansion slammed shut.

   Spectre rushed to his side and he took Ryoken’s hand to comfort him.

   “I know i’m not an expert but… I don’t think that’s normal.” Spectre mumbled.

   “Me neither…” Ryoken replied.

   “Do you still want to challenge the Elite Four tomorrow?” Spectre asked.

   “I… I do.” Ryoken decided.

   “I’m glad.” Ryoken said.

   Spectre led him away from the Dragon Tamer’s headquarters. It wasn’t Ryoken’s house anymore and it certainly wasn’t his home, either. They camped in the outer ring of the mountains, making their way back to the Pokemon League.

   Though Ryoken didn’t spend a lot of time there either.

   He lost again but it was a cathartic loss. He’d actually made it all the way until he reached the Champion’s offer but the Champion. Wow. That was something else. He and his team were smashed but the end of it, Ryoken was smiling. He felt stronger for trying. Not weaker. Completely unlike the despair his Father induced in him upon his loss to him. 

   The Champion, afterwards, asked him something, “What did you get out of the Treasure Hunt?”

   Ryoken didn’t have a response. The treasure he had been chasing throughout the past year, it was more like trash to him now. He had wanted to be like his father, strong like him, meeting his expectations and exceeding them. Now he didn’t know what he wanted.

   He relayed the same thing to Spectre over dinner. But when he did, Ryoken had an epiphany. The starlight which shone over head of them was gentle and coaxed out secrets in the cool breeze/

   “Spectre,” Ryoken said, getting excited, “I’ve changed my mind. I think I know what my treasure is.”

   “Really? What do you think it is?” Spectre asked, matching Ryoken’s energy was warm and crackling. He looked up over the bowl of curry that he had made for himself and Ryoken.

   “My treasure is freedom and my treasure is… you.” Ryoken said. “I don’t want our adventure to ever end. I want to become a rockstar. What about you? What’s your treasure?”

   His heart skipped a beat. Spectre had always known what he wanted but he wanted to hear it again. Especially or just in case it had changed and Ryoken did have one singular tiny hope for how it might have changed.

   They both put away their meal. For now at least. Their Pokemon - Dragapualt and Trevenant - looked up curiously. They wanted to know as well, so they could best support their respective masters…

   “I want to become a successful artist.” Spectre said.

   “And I want to see you become a successful artist, too.” Ryoken said.

   “But I want to see you become a successful musician, too. I want our future to be our treasure, too.” Spectre said.

   Ryoken smiled. He was over the moon. That’s exactly what he wanted, too. The implication that their feelings were the same entwined them and thus, their hands naturally locked together with a hold. It was rock-solid and firm, fingers interlocked, palm to palm. Ryoken swallowed. He felt… bad but like good bad about turning his back on his Father and his family legacy but having seen how untethered Spectre was by how other people saw him, it inspired him. It would continue to inspire him.

   That’s why Ryoken specifically wanted Spectre, and himself, on better terms with the other five victims of the Incident. There was plenty of neutral ground for them to meet on, whether it was the Link VRAINS or the plaza by the Stardust Road where the Cafe Nagi van set up shop every weekend. Maybe even more if they actually did become proper, normal, civilian friends with each other. Like arcades or each other’s houses.

   The end result was like pulling teeth.

   But the teeth were pulled in the end.

   Spectre gleefully enjoyed being the worst person he could around the others. He would say things specifically and purposefully to upset. He would bully the others, target their weak points. He was very good at that. However, eventually, the shock and awe of what he had to say wore off. He was a weirdo underneath it all, the horrid things he said and did eventually, the others got used to him and eventually, his quirks were just quirks. His eccentricity even endearing every now and then. Amazingly.

   The whole process, in retrospect, reminded Ryoken a lot of pet advice blogs recommending that two animals sniff each other through a door first before meeting.Yusaku was still quite bristly around Spectre; Takeru had no idea what to think; Jin had no idea what was going on; so on and so forth. Word got around and Spectre’s reputation preceded him. 

   It took time. A lot of their first attempts ended with someone leaving in a huff, usually Spectre, but each attempt took longer and longer before being fine. They had a thriving social calendar built of slowly earned forgiveness.

   Forgiveness that had bite to Ryoken’s bark, even. Especially when what followed became learned outside of the inner echelon of the Knights of Hanoi.

  “Moving forward,” Ryoken said, “if we disbanded the Knights of Hanoi’s current forme.”

   Ryoken spoke warily. Spectre had spat in disgust at the idea of making friends. However, this was the prospect of breaking family ties - to Spectre, anyway - was even worse. Absolutely heinous. And this reflected in the distraught expression that crossed Spectre’s face as Ryoken’s words sunk in.

   “Hear me out.” Ryoken quickly said.

   “No, I can’t, don’t you fucking dare-” Spectre interjected, he was snarling.

   Spectre’s eyes welled up with tears. Hot, bulbous tears that helplessly streamed down his face as he contended with despair and fury and denial.

   “Spectre, I need you to listen to me, we don’t need to be the Knights of Hanoi anymore. Not to be important to each other, to the others.”

   Ryoken’s hands were a flurry in front of him, panic rose through him. This went a lot better in his head but he was certain this was the right thing.

   “Don’t you want to go back to that happy time?” Ryoken asked, his voice cracked. “Before we were Knights, when were just a family. The five of us. You, me, Kyoko-nii-san, Aso, Dr. Genome.”

   That somewhat got through Spectre’s head. If there was anything that could tug on his heartstrings, it was an appeal to better times. To nostalgia. But he was still too heartbroken to do anything off the cuff. 

   But there was merit to Ryoken’s decree to disband the Knights of Hanoi. Though Spectre was resistant, he did come around to it. It was almost like a depressing holiday for him at first. No more titles, no more early mornings, no more criminal activity.

   This was the gateway for moving on with their lives. And it turns out, there was more to life than just fulfilling the orders of a deadman. There was joy, too. 

   Ryoken had known something that Spectre had not. A common occurrence, prior to the final dissolution of the Knights of Hanoi but this was a good thing. A happy surprise. It wasn’t just the Dark Ignis - Ai - whom Playmaker had intended to bring back but all six of them.

   Without the spectre of total elimination behind him, the actual Spectre was a whole lot let intimidating. 

   Thus, the socially awkward Earth Ignis and his socially malignant Origin got along quite well. Like a house on fire would not be accurate for their attributes but it was accurate enough. Earth didn’t stay with them, instead he opted to stay with his lover but they saw each other often enough to justify the resurrection of him and the dissolution of the Knights of Hanoi.

   The reunion of his Ignis teaching Spectre - at long last - that not all changes had to be bad or feared. Which meant that something long time coming for them both could be welcomed. Their feelings for one another had long been hidden beneath their positions as leader and second-in-command, of affection made taboo by a living deadman and the haunting thought they may not live past eighteen. 

   Now, they had a big, wide world at their fingertips as they reintegrated with society. Ryoken had a normie job at SOL Tech as an online security expert for them. Spectre wasn’t sure what he wanted to do but was pursuing all his passions in university level courses - language, botany, anything he fancied. They shared a little apartment that overflowed with pot plants and computer-related trip hazards. It was a much nicer home than the Kogami Mansion they had grown up in. The Lieute- the doctors visited every so often, same for their other Vict- their friends. The Ignis even felt safe there, too, it was worth noting. All six of them.

   It was just another, average night when Spectre heard those keywords come out of Ryoken’s mouth. They had been making dinner. He had coursework on the kitchen table and they were both sharing the chore of chopping vegetables and grilling marinated meat when Ryoken paused. Spectre had asked a simple question - “Ryoken-sama, have you checked the refrigerator for more zucchini yet?” - when it turned into a whole theatric.

   Ryoken turned on his heel and came down on one knee, the scene caught in a bright orange sunset coming in from outside. Spectre froze and felt himself become breathless as he watched Ryoken propose.

   “Moving forward,” Ryoken said, a third time, “if you ceased calling me things like ‘sir’ and ‘master’.”

   But this time… Spectre did not protest. Instead, he allowed it to happen and with a racing heart, no less.

   “I want us to be equals.” Ryoken continued and Spectre nodded, getting hopeful.   

   For Ryoken took his hand gently and finally, Spectre found himself planted in a present far, far away from the past that he used to hold onto so tightly and faced a better, brighter future. One which he was sure was going to prove far better than anything he had moved on from.

   “So, Spectre, will you marry me?” Ryoken asked, he looked up at his lover as though he were gazing at the sun.

   He held his breath and paused. His hand so badly wanted to move without volition and slide that silver ring upon Spectre’s finger but first. He wanted to hear it for himself and as Ryoken gazed upon Spectre’s face, his heart swelled at least three sizes bigger.

   Excitement and adoration was written all over Spectre’s face. From one side of it to the other through the bow of his lips as they split into a wide smile. The way his cheeks blushed, it was oh so giddy until Spectre finally found his voice again through the euphoria as he processed Ryoken’s question.

   “Yes, of course.” Spectre swooned in reply.

   He lurched forward, bowing at his own knee, and wrapped Ryoken in an embrace, before he could do anything. He smothered Ryoken in kisses and Ryoken’s mind all but emptied as Spectre’s joyful answer echoed in his head. He melted into a satisfied smile as he let himself be kissed and hugged.

   “Spectre, hold still, I need to give you the ring.” Ryoken laughed. He could hardly balance even though they were both on the tiled, kitchen floor together.

   “Ah! Yes, of course.” Spectre replied.

   He receded but it was apparent he was holding back so much love to give in his excitement. Ryoken took his hand once more, now trembling with anticipation and with a steady hand, Ryoken adorned it with the engagement ring. A lab grown diamond in an upcycled silver ring engraved with twisting, leafy vines. 

   Ryoken had picked it out thinking it was very “Spectre” and his judgement was proving correct if Spectre’s expression was anything to go by as he admired it. The diamond was clear and caught beams of light through the sunroom’s window as Spectre shifted his hand from left to right ever so slightly. He was captivated by the way it refracted light off of him.

   “It looks good on you.” Ryoken complimented him.

   “Thank you,” Spectre said, and he looked up from his hand, “I love it.”

   “And I love you.” Ryoken told him as he drew up to his full height again. He offered his hand to Spectre who gave it to him excitedly.

   Ryoken pulled Spectre up… and into an embrace. It was fluid, like a movement in a romantic waltz. Ryoken leaned in and Spectre reciprocated. Their lips met and the feeling of fireworks was underneath their skin. They kissed for as long as they could without breathing, too giddy to do anything but to exchange affection. They kissed over and over again, missing more and more often as they drank each other, and this moment in.

   “Hello again.” Ai smiled, it was a sharp and pointy V-shaped smile with bright eyes.

   Spectre roused. He floated, endlessly, and looked down over his body at Ai.

   Ai snapped his fingers and thunk. Gravity existed once more. The darkness had solid form and Spectre landed on all fours: his knees and hands taking the brunt of it, jarring his joints. He spitefully looked up at Ai who bent down over him.

   “How’s it going?” Ai asked.

   Spectre glared.

   “Not a very chatty guy, are you?” Ai mused. “Better change that, I want your opinion on something. You’re going to love this.”

   The emphasis that Ai put on “love” made Spectre’s skin crawl. He started to get up. Ai side-stepped him. No offer of help, not that Spectre would have accepted it anyway but he kind of appreciated the fact that Ai wasn’t even going to pretend to have goodwill around him. After all, it was abundantly clear to Spectre that this was all to taunt him.

   Spectre stood tall, but with his hand on his other arm, shoulder away from Ai as Ai snapped his fingers and there was, at long last, a light in the darkness. A picture into a world beyond the amorphous blob of blackness that Spectre had found himself languishing within the however long he had been forced this fate.

   “Look who it is?” Ai gleefully asked. “Your favourite, your beloved, the man you claim you have dedicated your soul to.”

   Spectre looked into this portal. It was in the shape of Ai’s head as an Ignis - bulbous with a flourish at the end, because of course it was - and revealed not much. Not at first, anyway. Long grass. A scene which was cloudy and murky with rain. Then Spectre saw exactly who Ai meant.

   “Revolver-sama.” he exclaimed.

   The picture moved like it was following a documentarian’s camera. It moved through the long grass and rain and showed two other people. Playmaker. And Soulburner. Spectre glanced warily at Ai and Ai encouraged him to look again. To look closer. 

   He saw it. In front of the rim of a verdant forest was a plain and unassuming building with a chain-link, electrified fence around the perimeter. It was a cement box and one full of precious memories. For Spectre at least.

   This was the Link VRAINS - he could tell from the costumes that his master and two allies donned - and yet there it was. The building which was host and home to the Lost Incident.

   “I wonder what they’re doing…” Ai mused.

   He snapped his fingers a second time. There was audio now. 

   Not that he wanted to listen.

   No, Spectre refused to listen.

   Just a couple words from their exchanges, he understood immediately why Ai wanted to show him this. Make him experience this. It was worse than a nightmare. Spectre grit his teeth and did everything in his power to ignore the scene, he tried to drown it out with his own thoughts, own denial, own anything but with Ai by his side.

   He was smothered. Ai was rubbing him in it.

   “All these nice sentiments and wonderful exchanges, talk of the future and moving forward. I’m sure you find it nauseating, don’t you?” Ai asked. “Because, oops, where are you? No mention of you… You don’t even exist to Playmaker, to Soulburner, not even to-”

   “Shut your mouth.” Spectre snarled.

   “The man who you have dedicated your soul to.” Ai sneered.

   Spectre stood up and he stood eye to eye with Ai. Of which, they were eerie and unnatural. Gleaming in yellow and orange. He smirked.

   “You really are a ghost, aren’t you?” Ai taunted him. “You’re dead to them, even the man you love. Otherwise, surely, he would carry your spirit for you, hm?”

   Spectre’s brows twinged.

   “He’d be including you.” Ai continued.

   Spectre bit his lips. Ai didn’t know anything. That didn’t make it hurt less as his heart constricted. He was fine as is. Ryoken-sama knew he was fine as is.

   Like yes, of course, he was just like the others. He wanted to be heard, listened to, validated but he had transmuted his pain into pleasure and he didn’t want to back down from that. Spectre had steadfast belief in Ryoken because Ryoken understood him when and where no one else did or want to. Spectre held onto that as Ai bore his fangs as he watched this duel in the rain and steam.

   “He would be striving for you, as well, not just his favourite victims of the Incident.” Ai said.

   That.

   That hurt. That got under his skin and pierced the blood vessels, set his nerves alight. Spectre twitched, he quivered.

   But the fact he was such a fleck to any of them. Sure, it was understandable. He and Playmaker did not see eye to eye. He didn’t exist to Soulburner. But to Revolver? Ryoken…? That opened an old wound that had been in Spectre’s psyche for as long as he had been alive.

  He loved Ryoken and Ryoken loved him. This duel didn’t prove anything contrary. Despite how Ai would provoke him, that’s what Spectre turned into a mantra.

   “Shut up.” Spectre snapped. A tear in the corner of his eye.

   “Ooh touchy.” Ai laughed. He leaned in, too close to Spectre’s face, “I learned from the best.”

   Spectre made a strangled noise. He always knew, deep down, that the consequences of his actions would catch up to him. He just thought karma would leave him alone when he was dead. Comatose and dreaming was close enough as he tried not to budge but with Ai all but literally breathing down his neck, it was hard.

   “Go away.” Spectre hissed.

   “I will.” Ai said.

   And he wasn’t lying.

   But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a parting gift either as Spectre listened to more of this duel between Revolver and Soulburner waged on with Playmaker as an adjudicator. All three of them unaware that there was another spectator at all. Another victim yearning for catharsis regarding the Incident, too…

   He was swift to strike Spectre down. Physically. Not just emotionally. He kicked Spectre down. His breath got caught in his mouth as Ai winded him and beat down on him. Viscous kick after kick. He couldn’t help himself, a violent glee on his face as he delivered what Spectre had coming to him.

   Spectre girded his stomach, taking Ai’s boot over and over again. He curled up foetally, hands behind his head to protect his neck and clenched his eyes. Tight. He choked back sobs with every thump, thump, thump that he endured under Ai’s assault.

   At least some of them were getting catharsis. 

   “So,” Ryoken said, perhaps louder than he needed to be to get Spectre’s attention, “what do you think of the Link VRAINS?”

   “I can understand the hype.” Spectre said, deliberately in an understatement.

   After all, Ryoken had seen with his own two eyes the pure, elevated Wonder that Spectre had enjoyed mere moments ago. The vast expanse of territory and variety of domains, the way his monsters came to life as they were played, the hacked hidey-hole which would become the Knights of Hanoi's base, and yes, of course, the avatar creation menu. Speaking of…

   “I couldn't help but notice that your avatar… it is quite impractical. Wish fulfilment, yes, but aren't you worried that it lacks the ability to conceal your identity?” Ryoken said.

   “Only time will tell, I might actually look like that in several years’ time.” Spectre said.

   Ryoken laughed a barky laugh, “Several?” he echoed, sceptical.

   “Yes, several. I added five years.” Spectre defended himself with a frown.

   “Looks like at least ten to me.” Ryoken teased him.

   “Well, it gets the point across.” Spectre huffed.

   Ryoken smiled and eased up on ribbing his second-in-command. Though, it still felt weird to regard Spectre as such. It had been mere months ago when they had been just friends. But a major reshuffle of organisation and secrets had led to this. It left a bittersweet taste in Ryoken’s mouth but he hoped all would go well when he cornered the Ignis and obliterated them. Then, afterwards, everything would be normal. But for now. He worried about things like secret identities and if he could wield the power that he had inherited.

   Ryoken dislodged himself from the comfortable recline of where he had laid to enter the Link VRAINS. Spectre did the same. He set aside the pair of goggles and got up to stretch, though he had been sitting down normally on the sofa, it was a lot like sleeping upright and so, dulled his senses.

   It was here that more than an age difference of wish fulfilment became apparent between Spectre’s flesh and blood self and his digital self. He always looked so incidentally cute when he stretched, his shirt reached up and his fingers curled in and his long, rabbit ears bobbed up and down. With enough thought, Spectre could move them the same as any other appendage but not right now.

   Aside from looking like a bizarro mirror of five (or ten) years later, his Link VRAINS avatar removed Spectre’s bunny traits. It was weird to see a portrait of him as a stereotypical human, Ryoken thought but he could see why Spectre had elected to remove such highly identifiable traits from his avatar.

   Truly it was a shame. Albeit an understandable one. Rabbits were not known for their ability to intimidate, after all. But it was still a shame to Ryoken who thought Spectre’s rare genetics made him even more unique. Though they were an unwanted spectacle. 

   The Rabbit Condition was exceedingly rare: a natural wonder which was an unerring peculiarity it was bizarre to exist at all let alone. 

   It was a genetic trait found in all humans’ DNA but the chance of it occurring to affect was a less than one percent chance. Redheads and people with green eyes far outnumbered those with the Rabbit condition. They didn't have any associated health conditions and was just a benign variation of how people could look but tradition and superstition would disagree. Those with the Rabbit Condition were predisposed to bad luck and misfortune, or so stories went.

  Thus, Spectre was blisteringly certain that his cotton ball tail and grey rabbit ears were contributing factors as to why he was abandoned. He couldn’t think of any other reason as he was male and otherwise healthy. 

   They were also definitely among the reasons why he had been bullied at the orphanage, too. Kids didn't take kindly to outliers and especially ones with extra needs as Spectre’s clothes did have to be tailored special to him. He was pampered in that regard yet it was a dual punishment as it made him hyper aware that he was a tall poppy, rarely dealt hand-me-downs and taken on expeditions to have his tail accounted for in pants and underwear. Not to mention the “vet” visits as he called them.

   Even now, in the lap of luxury, Spectre was still not in a world which catered to him. Ryoken got the latest and greatest of technology and Spectre had to make do with extra tight goggles so he could sit on the lounge with a gap between the cushions and backing. It was uncomfortable to cramp his tail, after all. It was such a small yet painful thing.

   He never complained, of course. He had a chip on his shoulder about being weak. A trait exacerbated by his bunny rabbit traits but despite Spectre’s best efforts to cover his tracks, Ryoken found Spectre pitiable all the same for being so unexpectedly and excessively cute. It was a cause of ire and concern and yet…

   Ryoken couldn’t help himself.

   “What are you doing, sir?” Spectre asked through gritted teeth, annoyed but keeping himself tempered.

   “Petting you.” Ryoken replied and with a wink in his voice, he chuckled a small chuckle. “It's weird to hear you call me “sir”. No more Ryo-chan and Spe-chan, no…” His melancholy was lowkey and covered by a mask of mirth.

  “No more Ryo-chan and Spe-chan…” Spectre agreed in lamentation.

   Ryoken half-smiled as he looked up and admired Spectre’s rabbit ears. The patch of skin to the side of his head, so inconspicuous of what he lacked and the absurdity of what he did have. It was velvet soft and warm beneath Ryoken’s fingertips. 

   Spectre’s lips were a mangled smile. He didn’t want to but he enjoyed Ryoken’s touch despite being abrasive. He suppressed a chitter as Ryoken’s hand groped him so kindly.

   Meanwhile, in his mind, Ryoken couldn’t help but compare the flesh and blood to the human made of pixels. They were the same person, the same Spectre but the difference was immense.

   “Despite my previous comments,” Ryoken said, “I do like your avatar. It's handsome in its own ways…”

   Spectre laughed, insulted. “Well, I think your avatar is handsome, too, in his own, terrifying and striking way.” 

   “Good.” Ryoken said and he removed his hand.

   Spectre hated having his rabbit ears touched and fondled. By doctors and nurses especially. Anyone and everyone except Ryoken. He maintained a faux glare and Ryoken could see through the friction to realise that Spectre inhaled slightly: an unspoken wish for Ryoken not to stop.

   “It is a good idea though,” Ryoken said, “to at least conceal what is probably the most eye-catching element of your real life appearance.”

   “Yes, I think so, too.” Spectre agreed and maybe it was because he pined to be touched with love and affection just that little bit more, his eyes naturally fell to Ryoken’s hands. 

   Specifically to that odd triangle on the skin between the base of his thumb the knuckle of his index finger. It was too small to be the most eye-catching thing and yet… Spectre was reminded of a small detail.

   His avatar - Revolver - wore gloves. Spectre’s ear twitched as he made that connection which very well may not have been there at all. His face began to mire in these deep thoughts. Ryoken sighed, causing them to prick and bounce involuntarily. 

   “Let’s dismiss ourselves, yeah?” Ryoken suggested, upbeat. “It's almost dinner time.”

   Until six months ago, his Father was a normal, sane man with a normal, sane job in the world of science. Then, his wife and Ryoken’s mother, passed away in an accident and he became obsessed. He began to believe in ghosts, in life on the other side and he was going to prove it.

   So far, all he had done was tatter his reputation and his relationship with his son. They were constantly in flux, moving all over the place, a media circus typically following because they wanted to know what the crazy ex-scientist was doing next! 

   Kiyoshi claimed he’d had successful clients and helped CBT ghosts to the other side but Ryoken wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t seen anything until right now.

   “Hi, I’m Spectre, it’s good to meet you!”

   Ryoken screamed. Then fainted. Then screamed again when he came to the ghost of a child was still hovering over him. 

   The most recent client that his Father had taken on was a woman who went by the alias of Queen. She had recently inherited a mansion through some obscure relative she hadn’t even known existed until she was notified that she was in the will. The mansion was old and abandoned but she wanted it cleaned up and when conventional methods hadn’t worked because of reported poltergeist-like activity, she called in yet more guns: Dr. Kogami and his son. 

   And now, out of all the cases they had seen so far which had been more busts than not, they had finally found a house which was well and truly haunted.

  The mansion certainly looked the part. Tall and intimidating, filled with antique furniture and cobwebs, on the edge of a cliff. It looked straight out of a Stephen King novel but it wasn’t until they’d gone inside when they realised it was abandoned. It was still very much lived in. Just by no one alive.

   Ryoken encountered Spectre in his room. Well, it was Ryoken’s room now but it had been Spectre’s up until he died. Kind of, considering he was still haunting it. Then, in the foyer, Ryoken’s Father encountered Spectre’s relatives: his two uncles and an aunt.

   “It’s good to meet you.” 

   Spectre didn’t look anything like the ghosts on television. He wasn’t all that person shaped for a start, nor was he a boo ghost with a bedsheet over his head, either. He was translucent, though, and his colouration reminded Ryoken of the halo behind the moon: the silver, whites, and blues which were shifting and eerie. He had massive porcelain doll-like eyes, too, which were completely soul devouring.

   Compared to his aunt and uncles, Spectre was sweet as pie. A little kid who just wanted to make friends. 

   His aunt and uncles were raising Hell for Ryoken’s father downstairs, taunting him that they knew someone who knew his wife. He tried not to take the bait and stay on task but where was the fun in that? Not when Dr. Kogami made for such a good chew toy. So it was apparent that they weren’t going to be convinced that positive self-talk would be good for them, that they should let go of their unfinished business and cross over to the other side. Though, they did find Kiyoshi amusing for trying. Looks like he was going to be in for the long haul for these three clients.

   Ryoken didn’t know if he was terrified or thrilled. He was fully on board with ghosts now, living in a house full of them. But he could see that the actual drudgery of dealing with them was wearing his Father down, too. 

   Then there was Spectre and whatever his deal was.

   He struck Ryoken as being a little bit younger than him. Two or three years, give or take. And he was infatuated with Ryoken, too, now that he had a playmate about the same age as him - and didn’t boss him around like his aunt and uncles, either.

   They used him around the house more like a servant than a family member. Ryoken couldn’t believe that there was a personal connection between them. To him, it seemed more like a mishmash of people than not but hey. What did he know?

   The names of the aunt and uncles - Baira, Faust, and Genome - were carved into the heads of the western style beds, after all. Spectre didn’t even have that but he did seem like he had the rest of the house. He was free to float through it but he didn’t really, he preferred to keep to himself and his room.

   But he did have a special place.

   “Do you want to see it?”

   Spectre didn’t wait for an answer.

   Ryoken screamed as he was taken out through his window and up, up, and away. It was cold and windy but so beautiful, too. The ocean was a navy blue as it expanded endlessly out over the horizon and Ryoken could swear he could see over it from this turret in the corner of the mansion.

   They sat together on the edge, feet in the gutter, Ryoken’s bum on the tiling and got talking. About things, about life, and death, too.

   “Do you think she’s out there?” Ryoken asked. “My mother?”

   “Probably not… but that’s a good thing. It meant you and Dr. Kogami loved her so much, she didn’t need more time with you.”

   That was one way to look at grief. Spectre would know better than Ryoken, he was just a thirteen year old fleshie after all. Ryoken hugged his knees tighter.

   “So does that mean there was someone whom you didn’t get to love enough in life?” Ryoken asked. “Is that why you’re still here, as a ghost?”

   Spectre shrugged.

   Ryoken chewed his bottom lip. It felt gauche to ask yet appropriate at the same time. He glanced at Spectre.

   “Why are you a ghost? Like, um-”

   “How did I die?”

   Ryoken nodded.

   “I’m not sure either. I just remember that it was cold. Very cold… I don’t remember anything else aside from that. Not how old I was when I died, or if I had parents to miss me. Nothing…”

   “Oh… I’m sorry.” Ryoken replied.

   Seeing Spectre, the idea of Heaven, if that’s where his mother was at all, seemed a lot better than this post-death amnesia where he couldn’t stray too far from what tethered him materially. He couldn’t even remember why he was here. It was kind of a pity but he must have wanted to know too because the next day, Spectre invited Ryoken to explore more of the house.

  It was a big, big mansion - nigh labyrinthian - so there had to be a hint. A clue.  Somewhere he did not usually go and didn’t want to go which would elucidate more of why Spectre was a ghost at all.

   Ryoken agreed to help and it didn’t take them long to find something. They wanted to avoid Spectre’s relatives as well as Ryoken’s Father. They were all clumped together in the main rooms around the foyer for their so-called therapy sessions. So, Ryoken and Spectre went sneaking around upstairs and in the attic.

   Up there, they found a treasure trove. 

   No wonder Spectre didn’t typically hang out up there. It was full of precious memories and mementos from when she had been alive. Toys, clothes, and yes, even the newspaper article on how his untimely death drove his poor mother to madness and, allegedly, witchcraft. 

   Ryoken looked at Spectre as he absorbed what he could of the attic. The dust motes floated in the air, through musty windows with the battens hatched and boarded up. He had been dead for a long, long time and alive for just the blink of an eye really. It was a lot to take in, no wonder he had been subconsciously avoiding it.

   “I wanted to see my mother again…”

   Made sense.

   Except. She wasn’t here. Clearly, she was in that other place. Well away from the mansion and her son and their other relatives to had stayed.

   “She turned to witchcraft to… to… to find a way to bring me back to life.” 

   “But that’s impossible, right?” Ryoken asked but when Spectre turned around, he was grinning maniacally.

   Clearly, Ryoken ought to know better than to call something impossible. He changed his mind on the existence of ghosts pretty quickly upon arriving at this haunted mansion.

  “No, she found a way. I-In the basement, come with me. I remember now.”

   Just as quickly as the night before, Ryoken was taken for a ride. Spectre grabbed his hand and they raced through the house. They passed Ryoken’s Father and Spectre’s relatives on the way. Huh, weird, they were in a kind of good mood now, leaving the house, actually so they could do something together. Strange.

   Didn’t matter though. Especially since Spectre knew he was going to be up to no good, defying the conventions of life and death. With Ryoken in tow, of course. 

   Down in the basement, there were trap doors and other contraptions. It took them for a ride and then they arrived somewhere even further down than the basement.

   “Wow, what is this place?” Ryoken asked, his eyes wide as he took in the bizarre surroundings, deep in a cavern scented with salt water.

   “My mother’s laboratory.”

   Spectre raced off and Ryoken followed along. He looked over dusty tomes and cluttered desks. It was all left in such disarray, free to age over the decades, abandoned by all who had died over the years. 

   All except something at the heart of it. A set of potions embedded in wooden holders, just one and it glistened, shinier and redder than a ruby. Spectre pointed it out as though it wasn’t obvious from miles away.

   “This… This is the elixir of life my mother brewed.”

   Ryoken wolf-whistled, impressed.

   Spectre’s expression was frantic, excited, his eyes glittered then he spoke up again after hold this moment of relish which left Ryoken thunderstruck.

   “There’s enough for a one time go. One ghost to become human again. All you have to do is put it in the holder and I go into the chamber and then presto.” 

   It all sounded so simple when put like that but Ryoken glanced at the chamber that Spectre mentioned. It looked unsafe to say the least. A monstrosity of wood and metal, bolted and boarded up, like a zero gravity chamber before those were even conceived of as being a thing.

   “You can help me, right? I want to be human, again, just like you. We could go to school together and play games and-”

   Ryoken laughed. He smiled. Spectre sounded so excited, how could he possibly say no? His Mother designed it and it's not like he was going to get any deader. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t? Spectre would be heartbroken but they could still hang out and play together, just like they had been before.

   “Alright, I’ll help.” Ryoken agreed.

   Spectre grinned and he dived into the chamber.

   Ryoken turned and he unlatched the glass potion from its wooden holder. His fingers grazed the surface and then he heard something. It made him jump out of his skin, it made him look up.

   “Father?” Ryoken exclaimed.

   His heart stopped.

   He knew it had been weird to see his Father in a good mood around his clients. They were so good at dragging him down, through the mud and draining the life out of him. Not to mention, he was nothing if not professional.

   “There was a little accident, kiddo.” 

   “It wasn’t our fault.” 

   “He did it to himself.”

   One by one, they all spoke up. Genome. Then Baira. And then Faust last.

   Ryoken watched. He stared in anguish as his Father joined them. No longer alive, no longer flesh and blood like he but a ghost. Like the others. Strange, spectral figures who twisted and contorted what it meant to be human-like, in eerie shades of green, pink, and brown.

   “We were going to do it quick.”

   “Harpoon through the heart.”

   “He chose to break every bone instead.”

  Again, that same choir going down the line: Genome, Baira, and then Faust last. Then, together, in unison.

   “He fell to his death in a pit!”

   Ryoken flinched.

   He didn’t even so much as wince when Spectre had revealed the snippets of his own death but this? This felt just like when he heard his Mother had been in an accident. 

   “And I have never felt more alive!”

   Ryoken watched as his Father floated, looped and swirled through the air.

   “What are you even doing down here?”

   “I didn’t even know we had a down here!”

   “Where’s Spectre?”

   Sure enough, at Faust and company’s beck and call, Spectre was prompted. He drew himself out of the chamber and was just as slack jawed to see the new ghost in the mansion’s fold.

  “Dr. Kogami!”

   Spectre joined Ryoken at his side. Ryoken’s lower lip quivered but he was in such denial, he couldn’t shed any of the tears in the corner of his eye.

   Ryoken couldn’t bring himself to ask. Spectre didn’t want to say it. But they were both thinking it.

   “Are you sure it works?” Ryoken asked, his voice cracking.

   He knew that Spectre wanted to be his friend in life and living again but.

   He needed his Father.

   Spectre swallowed thickly. A bluish colour swished through him.

   “I’ll help. Anything for you, Ryoken.”

   Spectre jetted off and glared at his aunt and uncles. They tried to stop him but this was the first time he had ever glared daggers at them. Not so much as a word as he ripped Dr. Kogami from their sides, grabbing him and dragging him down, down, down into the chamber.

   Dr. Kogami rambled drunkenly. Ryoken put his hands over his ears. He ignored the cries and demands that he was being a partypooper from Baira, Faust, and Genome. He grit his teeth together and hoped that Spectre was right. That the magic potion his mother had made all those years ago did work.

   “Ready?”

   Ryoken wasn’t much use though. Spectre did most of the hard work as he surrendered the elixir to Dr. Kogami. Ryoken pushed aimlessly at a ship captain’s wheel and the machine came to life. It whirred and roared and when it finished, it made a ding like a laundry machine.

   Steam poured out of it and the door to it opened.

   A ghost had gone in but a ghost did not come out.

   “Huh? Where am I?” Dr. Kogami asked. “Ryoken?”

   Ryoken ran to his Father’s side and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Spectre hovered like, well, a ghost and disappeared just as quickly. His relatives booed and heckled but it had worked.

   That’s all that mattered.

   Ryoken, with his Father, staggered back up into the main part of the house. Dr. Kogami rambled about how… how… he still didn’t see his wife again. Ryoken was just glad to have his father still but poor Spectre.

   There was only enough to save one and Ryoken had seen how that cherry red elixir evaporated into the mechanism of the machine. No recipe to be seen amongst the dusty tomes.

   For the rest of the day, Spectre made himself sparse. He ignored his aunt and uncles’ demands to be “fed” so they could enjoy the farce of dinner and he ignored Ryoken’s plea to see him again.

   Ryoken felt awful but it was the right thing. For that, Spectre ought to be proud of his selflessness. His Father certainly appreciated it after his maligned fall. He didn’t say much about it. The same could not be said for either Baira, Faust, nor Genome, however.

   “Where is the brat?”

   “He’s never late.”

   “Wait, what’s that?”

   The dining room was conjoined to the main foyer which ws, typically, the dimmest part of the house as it was covered by the storeys above, surrounded by doors rather windows which was why it was mighty peculiar that any light would come through it. Especially one as bright and angelic as this one.

   Everyone ran inside, only to stop in their tracks.

   “Sorry for being late…” Spectre said. “I, um, I’m out of practise putting clothes on.” He sheepishly admitted.

   Ryoken couldn’t believe his eyes.

   He had always imagined Spectre as being a dorky little kid but he actually looked older than expected, with silver-grey hair and of course those big blue eyes which looked dollike. Especially from afar and he was all dolled up in a flowy villager shirt and neat, black trousers. 

   He descended down the stairs slowly. He wasn’t used to walking, either. Too used to zipping and floating about as a ghost.

   “How the hell-?”

   “Uh-uh, not hell. Heaven.” an Angel interjected.

   The voice came from further afar the stairwell’s main flight and Dr. Kogami couldn’t believe his ears, nor his eyes. He would know that voice and that appearance from anywhere.

   “My love.” he gasped.

   He raced up as he let Ryoken and Spectre congregate in the foyer, in the middle of the aged orange and brain tiles. Spectre made the excess fabric on his shirt’s sleeves twirl as he stopped Ryoken from following hot on his Father’s footsteps.

   “Not yet.” Spectre said. “I… I want your attention first, please, Ryoken.”

   “Oh, um, right, sorry, but - but that’s my Mother…?” Ryoken said, looking over and past Spectre’s shoulder impatiently before returning his attention to the human boy in front of him.

   Spectre nodded, “It is. She, um, helped me out. Like a fairy godmother.” Spectre said. “Turns out my aunt and uncles do know someone who knows someone who, um, knows her and she wanted to thank me for preventing your Father from well. Becoming a full-time ghost.”

   “Wow, really?” Ryoken’s eyes went wide.

   “Mmhm.” Spectre mumbled. “But only for one day.”

   “Like Cinderella.” Ryoken said. “Well, we’re going to have to make it worth it then.”

   “Yeah.” Spectre smiled.

   Ryoken quietened down and realised he had something he wanted to ask of Spectre, “So, um, what about your mother?” He asked in a tiny voice.

   Spectre laughed, “In heaven. I asked your mother that too. It, um, turns out they’re friends.”

   “No way.” Ryoken couldn’t believe the odds.

   “So, let’s enjoy our time together though? Please? I’m so… so…” Spectre’s eyes began to fill up with tears of gratitude, his whole body trembled. “I’m so excited to have any time at all with you because um… I have a crush on you!”

   His voice whisper quiet as he reached out. He touched Spectre’s shoulder and his flesh was as tight as a rabbit’s. Ryoken gripped him firmly, but so firmly it would hurt Spectre, just enough and jostled him. A small wriggle of his taut body so that Spectre would rouse from his sleep.

   His eyes battled open and was confused - abrasive - to see Ryoken but Ryoken was relieved to see Spectre’s blue eyes. As blurry as they were.

   “Are you okay?” Ryoken asked again.

  “What are you… Ugh, my head…” Spectre’s hostility petered out into a complaint.

   Ryoken gave him some room, and a sympathetic smile. Spectre hefted himself upright and looked quite bedraggled, crumpled in his pyjamas and quite miserable in the moonlight. 

   “You were having a nightmare.” Ryoken pointed out.

   “I’m aware.” Spectre mumbled.

   “Sorry, should I have left you…?” Ryoken asked.

   Spectre sighed and though it was nasally, his expression softened on that exhale, “No, I don’t mind. I would have done the same for you.”

   Ryoken felt somewhat relieved to hear that. He wanted to be a good friend. Not a smother.

   “So, um, do you want to have a breather? I can make you some tea.” Ryoken suggested, his voice soft and then with a harrumph, he added, “For once.”

   “For once.” Spectre echoed with a snicker. He took a big breath and looked through the window. “I’d like that. It looks like a nice night out, some alfresco tea drinking could be just… what the doctor ordered.”

   Spectre cringed. He immediately regretted his choice of words but Ryoken nodded quietly.

   “Sounds nice.” Ryoken agreed.

   He withdrew, slightly. Enough to let Spectre get out of bed on his own terms and own two feet. Spectre stretched and groaned, Ryoken could swear he heard his bones creak. Maybe he should have just let sleeping dogs lie but the air in their room was surprisingly lighter now. 

   Spectre slunk out, following behind Ryoken until Ryoken kept going so he could go to the kitchen and Spectre stepped out onto the deck. He headed up the three steps and sat down with his back to their room. The cabin was cool and smooth on his back. He curled up, slightly, brought his legs in and tucked his knees under his chin. He waited for Ryoken.

   Ryoken, meanwhile, hurried through the steps of making tea. Which is not something to rush and he did know that but he didn’t want to leave Spectre waiting too long. The chamomile tea steeped and Ryoken thought it smelt good - heady and floral - but he knew from a supervising sip of it, it wasn’t as good as the one Spectre would make. But it was the thought that counts.

   He was careful as he took out two mugs of it onto the deck. He couldn’t before but now Ryoken could feel every rock and bounce and jolt of the boat. He was steady as he sat down beside Spectre. The deck felt slick with dew and stray sea spray underneath him, wetting his pyjama pants but he didn’t care about it. Even though he could feel the moistness seep through to his skin.

   “Here you go.” Ryoken said as he handed a mug - the one with a yellow insignia on it - to Spectre. He kept the mug with the red, Hanoi insignia for himself.

   “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Spectre replied.

   He graciously accepted the mug and had a drink from it. It was not a tentative sip, not like the one Ryoken was taking as he watched Spectre have his. No, he savoured it. Eyes closed and the whole of his expression dripped with appreciation.

  “It's delicious.” Spectre said.

   Ryoken was sure that was a white lie. His feelings were being spared and Spectre was a notorious liar. However, in this instance, what was a little fib? 

   “Thanks.” Ryoken said. “Not as good as yours.” He added quickly, unable to resist the urge to self deprecate.

   “It's good in your way.” Spectre assured him. A truth. He moved his left hand to by his side and continued to nurse his mug with only his right hand.

   Ryoken half-smiled. He was vaguely too sleepy to fully smile.

   Spectre opened his eyes and he gazed out towards the water. Ryoken did the same, following the direction of Spectre’s eyes but it was apparent to Ryoken, they were far, far away. Likely, behind them, in the mountains, in the forest, in the foothills of them both. He, meanwhile, saw what was in front of them: the glittering ocean as it sparkled beneath the sliver of the moon, wide as a fingernail in the sky, overseeing countless stars.

   It was beautiful.

   Until Ryoken glanced back to Spectre. His expression was… grim, to say the least.

   “Do you want to talk about it?” Ryoken asked, his voice dull. He didn’t want to incite Spectre to bear his guts if he didn’t want.

   “Sure.” Spectre replied. He took a tight sip of his drink. “I dreamt I was in the orphanage again.”

   “Ah.” Ryoken murmured. Just like he thought.

   “It's the same dream every time. Or, nightmare, clearly. I always thought it was an unpleasant dream.” Spectre murmured. “But I dreamt that I had never left. That I had been abandoned and that I could never leave. That I couldn’t do so much as step foot into the backyard again. Endless kindergarten lessons, no matter how old I was. I dreamt I was an old man and still being treated like that. That my life here had never happened.” He revealed.

   It was only Spectre’s word. It could be true with some lies sprinkled in or all lies with truth sprinkled in. It could be as factual or fictitious as either way, exaggerated or inconspicuous but it still tugged on Ryoken’s heartstrings. A place of boredom, of abandonment and being stifled which made the Incident seem like a glowing paradise by comparison, it made Ryoken shudder.

   “I’m sorry.” Ryoken murmured.

   “Don’t be.” Spectre replied, smiling suddenly, with all the force of the sun, he turned to look at Ryoken, striking him down. “After all, it was just a dream. None of it was real.”

   “But this is.” Ryoken said and he reached out.

   Spectre let him.

   He covered Spectre’s hand, which was by his side, palm to the flat of the deck, and curled his fingers over the slats of Spectre’s. He gave a squeeze from his angle. He felt Spectre twitch underneath him, his pose turned tight: white knuckled.

  “Though it is a small, secretive existence… Thank you for it, Ryoken-sama.” Spectre said.