#cryptaith

He joined his squad, not even looking at her. The voices scrambled so hard they became a ringing in her ear. The cherry on top was being matched with two randos and dying before even reaching the last ten.

If there was a God, and they were trying to teach her a lesson for…whatever reason, well, she got the point, alright?

She didn’t stay to watch the livestream, going straight to her tiny apartment and the three screaming furballs that tripped her soon as she entered. She gave them their due pets, replying to their meows with much more enthusiasm than she ever replied to her human family. She got into the shower, breathing deeply. 

You guys gonna tell me where 6th is? Has to be a street, right? The voices replied in a jumble of no’s and yes’s. When she tried to clear out what the yes’s were saying, it just came out as, finally, so slow, good, and memory. Odd. She stood in the shower so long thinking about it, she didn’t even realize the water had gone cold. After she shivered her way into a bathrobe, letting her uncombed hair airdry, she started scrolling through all the 6th streets, avenues, roads and boulevards in Solace City, but it didn’t seem right—she didn’t even know if he lived on Solace, they never really talked about their personal lives. She bit her lip, thinking. Did anyone know where he lived? Chatty, a voice whispered. Right, she should text Elliott.  

Ugh. For someone who could never shut up face to face, Elliott was one of the most succinct texters she’d ever met. She went ahead and Googled it, finding it about a half-hour from Solace if taking a mega-speed transport. Then she Googled 6th in Suotamo. One street popped up. 6th.

Not 6th Street, not 6th Avenue, just 6th.

Motherfucker.

She pulled on a large, shapeless sweater and leggings, grabbed her keys and phone, and headed to the station. She didn’t really question the fact she was going to all this effort just to apologize. Perhaps some part of her had just figured it was good to have Crypto on her side; word was he had built all sorts of connections, so maybe he could be useful later. Or she just didn’t want to have that awkward conflict when working on a team. It was hard enough watching Loba and Bangalore on the same team, and she didn’t want that kind of disruption on the field—though she didn’t think he was that petty. He was professional, like her, and quiet, unlike 2 of her top 3, which could be nice when Elliott had his chatterbox days.

The longer she spent in the rumbling transport seat, however, the more she let herself admit a creeping truth: maybe she just liked him.

**

Suotamo was all industrialism; skyscrapers and towering housing blocks with tiny balconies and smaller windows. In the twilight, electric signs were flickering to life, making a delightful buzz that dampened the voices and cast a great array of color into the street puddles. Her sneakers clattered over perforated sheet metal laid before the crosswalks as she made her way from 4th Street to 5th Avenue, and finally to 6th. The corner she landed on was directly across from a crusty dirt lot with a chain link fence that had been broken and rolled down on one side like a rug. Down one street was a mass of tall neon signs in Hangul; judging by the smell, it was mostly food. The other side was dilapidated housing and a convenience store whose name was also in hangul. She hugged a streetlight pole, looking around with wide eyes as people passed by.

Yes, she was a professional murderer for a living. But she was also a small woman in a strange city, unarmed, where everyone seemed to speak every language but English.

But her nerves were soon soothed when she saw him across the street. She cocked her head to the side when she processed what he was wearing. All of his usual hacker—y looking necklaces, but instead of that stupid vest he wore all the time it was an oversized gray shirt with a green bomber jacket, also one size too big. Slim black joggers emphasized how skinny he really was, and vans pulled together the city—boy look. It…looked really good on him. And fit in with everyone else in the area. Smart.

He cocked his head back at her, which was how she came to realize she was doing that in the first place. She glanced both ways before jogging over. “Hi.”

“Annyeonghaseyo.” He bent his head, nearly entering a bow. He was wearing a small silver stud in one ear.

“Didn’t know you were into fashion.”

“You think I’d be stupid enough to wear my gear out here?”

 “I— it’s just, the only thing I see you in.”

He gave her a once over, possibly a little slower than needed, according to a voice. She told that voice to shut up. “I can say the same for you.” He crossed his arms. “Now, what were you talking about on the dropship?”

Shit, the apology. The entire reason she was there. How had she forgotten that? She’d just sort of focused on the fact they were actually meeting outside of work. “I only laughed because I, uh, because I was picturing you as an angry owl in my head.”

Well. That certainly startled him. “What?”

“Y’know. An owl. Cacaw,” she flapped her arms slightly, realizing she’d been hanging out with Elliott too much. “Like, uh…wait, that’s not an owl noise.”

“Owls hoot.” He said.

She swallowed hard, her stomach twisting around. If it wasn’t for the city noise, she’d be screaming with all the talking going on in her head, beating in tandem with her heart. “I just— when you, you hand your hands in your pockets and kind of flapped them, and your jacket was like, wings, I guess, and I just…saw an angry owl in my head and it was funny. I’m sorry.”

He paused. “What kind of owl?”

“A snowy owl,” she said immediately. “With glasses. I dunno why glasses, you don’t wear them.”

“I do, actually.”

She blinked. “Oh.” A beat. “Can I see?”

He raised both eyebrows. She expected to be rejected—he had to be wearing contacts so why would he even have the glasses with hi—oooookay he had them on him, buried deep in a pocket. Thick black rimmed ones. He popped them on, and warmth burst in her belly as she realized, to her horror, that he was cute.

“I look like a nerd, huh?” There was light amusement in his voice, a rarity. He moved to take them off.

“No!” She said, far too quickly and far too loudly, startling her and him both. “I mean, you look cu—great, you look really good in them.”

He eyed her a moment, slowly lowering his hand. “Really?”

“Really.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted a little awkwardly, looking off. She stared at her shoes until she heard him clear his throat. He looked down on her, not quite as much as Elliott, but he probably had a good five inches on her. “Do you like noodles?”

“Yeah?”

He shifted again, stance somewhere between a soldier ready for war and an awkward teenage boy. “Do you…want to go get some? I know a good place.”

She was too stunned to really react at all. “Sounds good.”

And like that, they were walking toward the neon signs, side by side. A little further from each other than was probably normal, though when others would pass by on the narrow sidewalk, Crypto would lean in, and she’d get the slightest waft of—holy shit, was that Axe? But it smelled good? Last time she’d smelled Axe she’d gotten a headache because Octavio had used it instead of a shower before a game, but this stuff was crisp, a little lemony, she had to try her best not to inhale loudly whenever he got close. 

They came to some little hole in the wall that Crypto had to duck to walk into. Booths pressed as closely together as possible, tables crowding the floor and every seat at a bar filled, faint K—pop weaving around voices and noodle slurping. When they sat at the booth nearest the back, their shoes touched because it was so small. She expected to get a menu, but instead the server came over and said something in Korean to Crypto.

“Do you drink?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Like soju?”

“I have no idea what that is.” He shrugged and said something to the waiter. He poured them two glasses of iceless water and left. Crypto pressed himself into the corner of the wall, one leg along the length of the seat, the other on the floor. Wraith also scooched into the corner, she always liked to, and seeing someone else do it made her feel less weird. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. She fidgeted with her fingers. “Um. So. Weather.”

“I hate small talk.”

“Oh thank God, me too.” She saw it, almost a smile. “Bring up something interesting, you know?”

“Yes, like what kind of owl you are.”

She blushed, looking away. “Shut up.”

“I think you’re a spotted owl.” He sipped his water.

She would never hear the end of it if Elliott had been there, because she perked up like a puppy. “Why?”

“Feels right.”

“Fair enough.” She started sliding the soy sauce bottle between her hands, then glanced up at him and slid it his way. He raised an eyebrow and slid it back. They kept it up while talking. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Do not expect an answer.”

“Just…what to call you. Besides Crypto.”

He warmed the soy sauce bottle with his hands before passing it back. Monkey brain Wraith had the passing thought that it was almost kind of sort of not really like holding hands. “Hyeon. It’s not my…real name.”

She nodded. “I figured. You gotta be cautious, even if they know, to a point.”

He sat up a little, some part of him smoothing out; Wraith couldn’t see it, but she could sense it. The voices, so scattered, like TV static, reduced themselves to a buzz in the back of her head. “Yah. I do.”

The soju came first. A green bottle and two shot glasses, which Crypto—Hyeon? She’d keep Crypto mentally, for now—he poured while saying, “Youngest pours first, traditionally. And you pass it with two hands and take it with two hands.” He held the shot glass and passed it to Wraith, who made sure to use both hands. He seemed entertained. “You don’t have to do it that way every time, though.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said, truthfully. “Why so specific?”

“All relates to the old ways things were done, back on Earth. So many cultures got jumbled together in the Frontier, but at least in Sutoamo, Koreans have kept most of theirs.” He paused before knocking back the shot like a professional. Elliott would be eating his hat if he was there. “It’s traditional not to sip the first shot.”

She raised an eyebrow—the corner of his mouth was twitching, thinking of smiling. He was enjoying this. Well, she was too. She braced herself and knocked back the whole thing, surprised by the flavor—a bit like a sweet vodka, with a hint of strawberry. She almost didn’t cough. “Wow, that’s something.”

“You like it?”

“I think I do.”

He smirked and poured for her again, then himself, sipping this time. “You’re not supposed to leave a friend’s glass empty, either.”

She smelled it—sweet, crisp. Definitely strawberry. “So, we’re friends?”

He seemed to think a moment and downed that shot as well before speaking. “I’ll consider it. At the very least I don’t look so sad drinking with someone else for once.” From the look on his face, that was soju—fueled word vomit. “It’s just against tradition to drink alone, people think there’s something wrong with you,” he added hastily.

“Right.” She didn’t get a chance to screw that up as a bowl of steaming noodles was placed in front of her. They were dark glass noodles, and there were vegetables, and meat. That’s all she knew. The waiter also gave her a fork, but not Crypto.

“Japchae,” he said, snapping apart the wooden chopsticks. “It’s usually a side—dish, but it’s all they make here. It’s a stir fry.”

“Hell yeah.” That actually got a chuckle out of him, and she knew it wasn’t just the soju making her feel warm. Her focus was stolen by the food, however, as she was starving, and anything fried and/or noodles made for a very happy Wraith. She stirred it all up, a bed of rice hidden underneath it, and started shoving sweet and savory into her face. Crypto was no better. Between the japchae and soju they talked, Crypto’s words flowing with fewer pauses, no clipped edges, smooth and cool. Once they finished the bottle bubbles of laughter began to escape between his lips.

He was acting like…a normal dude, for the most part. Telling her about more Korean drinking traditions, all of which seemed centered on getting everyone at the table drunk as quickly as possible. Mentioning his other favorite places to eat, but all of them were Korean names she couldn’t comprehend, let alone pronounce. They ordered another bottle and he served again, hand steady, aim…slightly off, but Wraith just wiped up the spot. The warmth of company and drink was enough to rile up a little courage in her, risk trying for actual personal questions. “Do you have any pets?”

“Huh? Ah, yah. Heh. I have a cat.”

She grinned. “I have three.”

“Show me.” He leaned forward, and she pulled up pictures of her trio, a white Persian, a tortoiseshell, and a Siamese. “Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup.”

“Oh, like the show?”

“Yeah, I love it.” She bit her lip, smiling sheepishly. “I uh, love cartoons.”

He snorted, tapping the corner of his glasses. “I can still name every Pokémon. All of them.”

She laughed. “Show me your cat.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolled and then held up a picture of an orange striped behemoth. Wraith almost squealed. “He’s so cute!”

“Tofu. My trash son.”

“Why is he your trash son?”

“I found him in the trash. Little kitten,” he leaned to the side funny while showing how small with his hands. “Was eating old tofu skins out of a takeout box. So, Tofu. It’s his favorite food, too.” He looked down at the photo. “Jibang. Fatty.”

“Perfect fatty.”

“Yah.”

They got halfway through the second bottle before finishing their meals. Crypto paid with cash and swiped the bottle of soju on the way out. It was fully night now, a humid chill pressing against her skin. The street was lit by a mixture of streetlamps and neon light as the nightlife took flight. She glanced over to see Crypto swigging straight from the bottle. Soon as he caught her eye he snorted and pulled the bottle away with a half—clumsy sidestep, arm over his nose as his chest shook with restrained laughter. She stopped to stare at him, grinning stupidly, though she didn’t know it. Alcohol had a wonderful voice dampening affect. “Caught you,” she said.

A giggle escaped into his sleeve. Red splashed over his cheeks and nose, bright in the streetlights. “I think I’ve drank too much. I’m going to say something I shouldn’t.”

“Probably just do something stupid, like drink straight from the bottle. What if I want some more, huh?” She said this all teasingly. She’d never been like this with anyone but Elliott.

He grinned, the most she’d ever seen from him, and it was silly, and light, and beautiful, and he held the bottle by the lip and swung it idly. “Guess it’s too bad, huh?”

Too bad her ass. She swiped it and drank without hesitation. She relished the look on his face and did something quite unlike herself, holding out the bottle and tapping the lip to his chin. “You still want some?”

Slowly he took it, cocking his head to the side, which she copied, and sipped. Then passed it back to her, walking side by side, mirrors of themselves in the earlier evening, but closer, and warmer. She imagined the sweet strawberry to be the taste of kissing him, and the chill wet press of the night air against her skin his hand. She felt like it would be clammy. Or would it be warm and firm—the same feeling as a hand she’d held a lifetime ago, the memory of another Wraith threading it through the crinkles of her brain.

It didn’t matter, she decided, what that old hand had felt like, just like it didn’t matter what her old name had felt like on her lips or sounded coming from another’s. The now mattered, the now and the to—be. And while the to—be was still blurry and a little scary, the now was warm and hazy, it made no sense at all and she loved it. She took the last sip as they came to the convenience store she saw earlier, and both stopped, staring at the blinding white around the sign letters. They looked at each other and came to the mutual decision to get drunk snacks.

The lights were almost painful, and the shelves, while hosting the expected candy and chips, were also filled with an erroneous amount of instant ramen, teas and drinks with cubes of jelly in them, gimbap, bibimbap, banchan and a surprising variety of meat on sticks for…some reason. She recognized some things and not others, leading to the two of them standing in one of the middle isles while Crypto drunkenly talked about a sandwich, which you were supposed to bring up front to be cooked. The one he was holding was strawberry jam and cream cheese. Wraith wasn’t sure she trusted it, but they ended up getting it, along with some type of Japanese chips and a handful of other things that two drunks thought sounded good. They stepped out and Wraith looked at their bag. “Hyeon, where are we going to eat this?”

Crypto looked around, rubbing at his face. The synthetic skin crinkled like the normal skin, which she hadn’t expected. She’d always thought of it like metal plating. He nodded towards the sketchy ass dirt lot. For some reason that seemed like a good idea, and so Wraith sat on a cinderblock in the outskirts of a streetlamp with a guy who a few hours ago had been little more than someone to talk to between matches, half—drunk and rifling through a bag of food she only vaguely recognized. Some inkling of a voice seemed to suggest that this was a bad idea in one universe, but two or three threaded together to tell her they were safe, even if it didn’t seem like it.

She did feel safe with him, there was just something about him, the longer she spent in his air. She really didn’t know too much about him, just that he had a lot of open secrets with the Syndicate, and that Caustic was under a gag order regarding his real identity, since they were both from Gaea, but otherwise he thought Mirage was an idiot and didn’t talk to people outside of the ring. Except for you, a voice reminded her, a gentle nudging tone to it. It made her heart skip a beat when he passed her one of the strange jelly drinks.

“It’s called Mogu—Mogu. Means “to chew” in Japanese,” he said.

“Do you speak that too?” She sipped it and, yeah, she was definitely chewing it. She didn’t know how she felt about chewing her drink, but the flavor was good.

“No. My sister was just obsessed with these.” He stopped, a drop in the mood so sudden she could almost hear it. She’d heard rumor about his sister having passed. The voices suggested nefarious things had happened. “She got them every day before class. When we had money.”

She swallowed. “It is pretty good.”

“Yah.” He rolled his shoulders, staring off. She continued sipping, the cinderblock suddenly uncomfortable, the chill almost too much, the neon blue glow over low, old industrial buildings to their back metamorphosizing from lively to sinister. But all at once that was pulled away again when he sighed and readjusted himself, looking up at the sky. It was a big expanse of dark blue fog, not a star to be seen. Solace was the exact opposite. “Wraith?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss her.”

She adjusted herself, staring at the drink. At a loss, she offered it to him. And that’s when she saw it, breaking to the surface, cracking through layers and layers: a smile, for real. Not for fun, but something brighter, from somewhere deeper. It felt like being shown the inside of a treasure chest. He took the drink, sipped it, and breathed deeply. “I’m going to say something stupid.”

“Okay.”

He half—laughed. “You’re not even going to try and stop me?”

“Nah.”

He laughed fully, and even that felt realer than it had earlier. “Well. Well,” he swallowed, and sipped the drink, seeming to steel himself. “I…Taejoon Park.”

She understood immediately—his real name. And no wonder Caustic was on a gag order, because that name had reached Solace, Gridiron, and even Talos. The voices began to gather and flood her with information—the admission had been a catalyst. Taking a moment to collect herself, she picked the sandwich out of the bag, broke it at the seam created by the panini press, and offered him half. He furrowed his brow but took it. “I like it,” she said.

“What?”

“Your name. Taejoon. It fits you.”

He blinked, looking at the sandwich, then back at her again. His mouth was fallen in confusion, and he was squinting at her. Like a mole that had surfaced into the daylight. A very cute mole. “You, uh, you don’t recognize it?”

“I recognize it. And I know what you did,” she gestured at her head, and his eyes widened.

“I didn’t. I n—never would.”

“I know,” she said, and she hoped he could tell how much she meant it. There was still alcohol warmth in her cheeks, but her mind was clearer than it had been. “They fucked you completely.”

He swallowed. “I haven’t said my name in…I don’t remember when.”

“Can I keep calling you it? Not in front of the others.”

He seemed to think, and she hoped part of his thoughts were on what she was insinuating—that they’d meet again, outside the ring, outside the dropship. “Please,” he said finally.

She grinned, and so did he, before taking a huge bite of the sandwich, chewing a moment, and then letting out a bark of laughter and falling from his cinderblock into the dusty lot ground, sandwich resting on his chest. He started giggling and Wraith stood to look down at him, chewing, committing the way the orange edges of streetlight cast a brassy gleam on his ruddy cheeks to memory. Is this the memory the voice was mentioning? “Dude?”

Taejoon giggled again, back of his hand hiding his mouth. “I haven’t felt this light in years.”

That makes me so happy. “I’m glad.” She said.

His cheeks moved, his hidden grin wider. He pointed with his other hand. “You have jam on your face.”

“Huh?” She leaned down, because his hand had muffled his words, and suddenly his thumb was at the corner of her mouth, pressing and swiping.

“Jam,” he said, resting the tip of one long finger at the corner of her mouth. “Right there.”

“Oh.” She whispered. Neither moved for a moment, and then, guided by desire or a silent voice, she wasn’t sure, Wraith simultaneously lowered herself to her knees while Taejoon pushed himself up on his elbow. Do it, do it, do it, said a chorus of voices. “If you want to do something else stupid,” she said, “I’d do it now.”

His eyes scanned her face, the sharpness dulled by drink, but not the longing. “I don’t know if it is too risky.”

“Might be riskier not to,” she whispered.

“I don’t know…”

“Taej—!” He leant up and kissed her, quickly, almost a peck, and then again. Not like any of the nasty suck—the—air—out—of—your—lungs kisses she saw in movies, but a warm press of the lips, three seconds as most, fueled by want and wish and fuck—it—ness. Not that she’d kissed a lot of people, two to be exact, but it was still quite possibly the best kiss she’d ever had, for reasons that would crowd a page. She realized the memory the voice had mentioned wasn’t the gleaming light on his cheeks, but now, when he looked up at her, eyes huge with awe that he’d actually done it, biting his lip against a nervous little smile. Glasses crooked. “You,” she started, licking over her lower lip, tapping the glasses into place, “you taste like strawberries.”

“So do you,” he breathed. “T—This isn’t just the soju, right?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Me either.”

“So this—“

“It’s a thing.” He said.

“A good thing.”

“It is?”

“I think it is. You don’t?”

“I do,” he said, finally sitting up. She grabbed hold of his hand, and she had been completely wrong—it wasn’t clammy, but warm, dry, rougher than she guessed. “But, well, I’m kind of a disaster.”

“You’re talking to an interdimensional freakshow,” she said.

“You’re not a freakshow.”

She smiled a little. “Interdimensional gremlin disaster then.” 

He snorted, turning to face her, back to the light. He tilted half into her and then pulled himself up again, steadying with a hand to her shoulder. “You’re not a very steady drunk, are you.”

“Nope,” he said with absolutely zero hesitation. She chuckled. She felt his hand move to hover hesitantly by her cheek, and she looked at him while she leaned into it. He breathed deeply and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like in one of Elliott’s shitty romcoms she might have secretly enjoyed. The voices were a joyful thrum in the back of her head. Heh, maybe having cheerleaders is fun sometimes. Wraith held on to that moment, against the dark and the uncertainty of what she was supposed to do—there wasn’t exactly a social guideline of what to do after kissing your coworker in an empty lot following what could be a life ending confession, if she was anyone else.

Some part of her decided they at least should be standing, and, being the far steadier of the two, she reluctantly left his hand and ended up helping him to his feet, giggling a bit as he stumbled into her. He smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair while she grabbed their bag of half eaten goods.  She knew he was watching her, and when she turned back to him, he was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I…am serious, about, ah, being a disaster. I mean, I’m wanted for murder. I have prices on my head for more than that, on three planets at least. The Syndicate has let me live so far but…” He sort of shrugged. “I don’t know how long that will last.”

She paused. “What was your plan, when you joined the Games?”

“Take them down. The whole organization.”

“But you didn’t.” She felt a nudging near her temple, a sort of confirmation in her thoughts. “You got to know us.”

“I did. I thought you were all monsters, but…well, Gibraltar, he’s just trying to help people he…cares about.” His shoulders slumped and he angled his head toward the sky, breath condensing like dragon smoke. “Lifeline, too. Bangalore needs money to find her family, Pathfinder is looking for his creator, and even Witt, with his mother and, and you…” He looked back at her. “You just want to figure out who you are.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” she confirmed.

“And knowing that, I don’t know if I can just…destroy it, without leaving something for…for people who…” He held up a hand, wavering, and then dropped it. “I just don’t know.”

It looked like it pained him, physically, to admit that. She also highly doubted he’d have admitted it if he was even half an inch more sober. She thought carefully before offering her hand, which he took. She half pulled him along to the rolled fence, clambering up and out like they had earlier. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous to be around you,” she said.

“I don’t want someone else getting hurt,” he said.

“You’re trying to drive me off, aren’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have kissed me if you wanted to do that.” She smiled just slightly. In the full lamplight, he looked doubly as shy as he had earlier.

“I did do that, huh.”

“You did.”

He cursed in Korean, and she chuckled. They held hands as they walked; they moved through the nightclub and food stall crowds like blood in water, swirling and dipping, unnoticed in the menagerie of humanness. “So, you’re saying I’m stuck with you?” He asked as they bled back into the dim night.

“I’m saying I’m willing to work with the whole ‘wanted criminal’ aspect.”

“Mm.” Taejoon was quiet then, from there to the transport station. It wasn’t awkward, like how it could be with Elliott or Path, but more like with Natalie. A subject was left hanging, but that was fine. Silence fosters thought, mon ami, and with that comes some shocking revelations…get it?

God Nat, I love you, you little pun goblin.

They stopped at the transport station, and Wraith bought a ticket from the kiosk and headed to where the other three people stupid enough to be out that late were boarding. She turned to Taejoon when the doors creaked open, taking both his hands, the bag at her elbow. She felt a tingling nervousness in her toes at the words pushing her tongue to move, to speak. “So, we’re going to do this? Try this…as something?”

He squeezed her hands, biting his lip and boy howdy did that make her feel some things. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “lets make this something.”

She grinned, all a flutter as she popped up on her toes and kissed him. This must be what people mean when they say they feel like a kid, she thought, almost skipping away to the transport, calling to the mildly surprised Taejoon that she’d see him at the next game. She found a seat and for once in her memory fidgeted not in pain or discomfort or anxiety but in utter jiggly joy. She chanced a last look back as the transport lulled out of the station, pressing her face to the glass sealed in preparation for space travel in order to see him.