CHAPTER NINE.
recommend listening to scott street <3

FRIENDSHIP IS FICKLE. You've always known that. In the six years that you've lived in this game, you've seen your friendships with certain people fizzle out, and it's mainly due to adulting. When you reach adulthood, certain things don't become that fun anymore: sneaking into convenience stores, trying to get your hands on the latest installment of megaCHIP — or playing stupid harmful pranks on unsuspecting strangers. You get your own life to lead, and you simply don't have the time and energy to talk with people.

But Gods, Axel is sure persistent.

After that odd exchange in which you found yourself spiraling down into a whole identity crisis, you've avoided Axel. And you wouldn't call him a friend, because there's too much shitty history between you two, but he sure treats you like one.

He has feelings for the previous [Name]. And that shouldn't bother you, but it does, for the old [Name] is gone, and now you have to deal with Axel's feelings for you.

Axel is essentially a stranger. A fucking stranger.

And that very stranger likes you enough to say he loves you. Axel says you're the same as you were previously: there's still calcium in your bones, you still breathe, you still function the same. You still act the same, which fucking throws you off because you aren't the same. When you got back to the bar, you stared hard at the mirror — you traced the rose tattoo on your neck, lamenting the old [Name]'s strange, romantic choice of a tattoo: you looked at the scars adorning his skin...

You tried smiling. It looked garbled in the mirror, like it was taunting you. Your smile wasn't yours. It haunted you.

Sora said once that humans were made of stardust: that their souls were made of stars that simply had human names. Sora was whimsical in that sense, and it was oddly endearing — he attached worldly metaphors to plain, human life. He seemed omniscient, at times, and was self aware of that omniscience — he floated above the realm of humans.

He was a God, he said.

Are you made of some other matter? Was the physical experience the same, or had something in you changed? What was the experience of you transmigrating over in this world? Whatever being had orchestrated this did not give you a single hint of what purpose you had. Unless you were supposed to be another cog in the system, mindlessly turning your wheels.

Besides friendship, humanity is fickle. To live is to find a purpose to keep moving on. Sometimes you wonder if death is alot calmer, for you simply feel stuck here.

The original [Name] was meant for something bigger, obviously. Why else would he have been gifted with so many powers? But as luck would have it, his powers are wasted on a loser.

You don't know anymore. And when you spiral into these thoughts, you know Sora sees it. You know Dior sees it, and you know even Myra catches on.

Which is why they're proposing another fun day, which is really just code words for an intervention for you to relax.

"You look like shit," Dior doesn't mince words, ever. Her practical bluntness is one of her strongest traits, and yet lands her into hot waters often. "Let's get out. Have some fun. Chug some drinks down — you're a bartender, for god's sake. You should have drinking embedded in you. Relax, [Name], goddamnit."

"I am," your voice is hoarse and it's probably because you've chugged down too much burning alcohol in the past hour. "Stop bothering me. 'Kay?"

"You're all tense, you shitty liar."

"Hey!" Myra butts in, reddening, "don't call [Name] that."

"Hell, but he is one," Dior says languidly, "take a day off, [Name]."

"Yeah, Sora would definitely close the whole business down if you wanted to rest..." Myra seems conflicted. She seems happy you're getting a rest, but the other part of her seems annoyed, like Sora's power is a hindrance to her. Like Sora is in the way of something.

All you can see are the spinning words on your glaring screen. XINHUA'S TOP BAR, SELASTA. FLAGGED DRINKS ARE NOW AT A DISCOUNT. HOT BARTENDER. There's a TV above the bar — there's two, in fact, with one playing sports matches and the other displaying the orders rolling in. But the place is bare — it's an ungodly hour, actually, where the party hours are over and everyone is at home ready to go work — and yet you're still here. The bar is open 24/7, but there's no one here now.

"Maybe later," you mumble. "I don't really have everything right now."

"You can't just keep staring off into nothing like you're fucking dead, or something."

"And you can't keep smearing your lipstick on the bar's mirrors. I have to scrub them off, Dior. Maybe that's why I'm sad right now." You shoot back. Have you really been staring off into space? Granted, thoughts are plaguing your mind, but —

"Hah!" Myra jumps into the conversation, "you said it!"

"What did I say?" You ask, irritated.

"Sad. See? You're sad!"

"I'm not—"

"Today's a good day. Espresso Martinis?" Dior cuts in, and you wince at the sudden conversation turn — "Maybe that'll lift your spirits up, [Name]."

Myra gives a groan. "Oh, yes, please. That sounds godly."

"How old are you, again?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Old enough."

"So, does it sound good?" Dior asks, nudging you. "We'll get it in a different bar, so it doesn't feel like you're working. Maybe we'll even take a road trip down to like, another city."

That does sound decent. "Not bad," you admit.

Dior gives a smile. "Doesn't it? My treat."

"Actually, I got a different idea. I'm going to simulate death." You announce.

"Please just say take a nap." Dior scoffs.

"No. It's alot more poetic if I say it that way. Sora would agree —" Then you quickly realise that Sora is in fact, not here — "where is he?"

Myra deflated. "Probably working, or something. Hopefully he gets me that NMOX scholarship."

You've seen her name listed down in the waitlist. Hopefully you can bump it up so she gets in — she's the first in the wait list. Ultimately, it's Patricia's decision, but Sora's opinion plays a huge role in the deciding of who to enrol in NMOX. Technically, your opinion matters too as you're a SSS class Adventurer, but you really don't want to step foot into such risky territory. You've heard cases of parents of rejected children doing absolute hell for their kids — one famous story involved a broken arm and a metal-leg replacement.

"Probably." You humour her. Maybe just this once you'll use original [Name]'s powers to help Myra. "I wouldn't worry about it. You'll be fine —" you catch her worried glance, ruffling her hair. It isn't in pigtails today, cause there's no stupid customers. "I promise."

You don't notice Myra melting at your touch. You never do. Dior calls you a blockhead.

"Your friendship with Sora is weird, y'know," Dior tilts her head. "A friendship painted with the hues of romance."

"Don't say that," Myra says after a short pause, in which you cross your arms. "Does that make you uncomfortable, [Name]?"

"No, it doesn't —" you quickly notice that Dior has somehow sneaked a premium bottle of wine, aged, one that a bunch of people would kill for — "hey! You stupid bastard, don't steal that! You said you were treating us to drinks in another city!"

Too late. She's gulping it down like nothing. Dior starts to grow tipsy, climbing onto the counter and spinning with the bottle. "That's the shit!" She hollers, "fuck you, Thomas!"

You're assuming Thomas is another ex, and she's still salty about it. Dior's a good girl — she's powerful, independent, and nice — but you fear that her qualities makes the men around her feel inferior. Poor her, really.

"Get down." You say frostily.

"What?" Dior slurs on. "No, [Name], Come 'ere," she reaches for you.

"I want a bottle please," Myra interrupts, raising one perfectly manicured nail to you, frowning. "Ugh, get her out of here. She's completely wasted!"

"One at a time." You sigh in exasperation, "someone tell me why I'm babysitting."

You hear him before you see him. You unconsciously relax, leaning in Sora's cold palm as he presses a hand to your cheek. You close your eyes.

"You're late," you murmur.

You're relaxing.

You always do, with him.

"Stupid meetings — Patricia — I think I'll be stealing you away for a little while." Sora says, amused at the sight. Myra's cheeks colour when she sees Sora — is she nursing a little crush? You wonder.

"Can't," you frown. Somehow, Dior's words float in your head: a friendship painted by the hues of romance. "Promised the girls."

"And that plan includes me?"

"Yeah," you soften, "always does."

"Mm," Sora hums, before he frowns lightly. "Are you alright, [Name]? You seem upset."

Upset. Earlier on, Myra said you looked sad — so did Dior.

What's wrong with you?

"Don't know. Maybe nightmares," you pause. "But enough about that. It'll pass, I'm sure. But the girls wanted to get drinks. And I bet Myra wants to visit the hot springs. We could go, y'know. A rest day, if you catch my drift."

But the girls wanted to get drinks. Hot Springs. Oddly, this felt like you two were parenting Dior and Myra.

"That works," Sora nods his head. You look especially hot today — or perhaps Sora thinks that way of you constantly — and even when your eyebrows are unconsciously knitted together and your posture is tense, the light in your eyes never fade. Regrettably, it has dimmed over the years — but it's still there, flickering. It's still there. "You're telling me to close the business for today, I'm assuming?"

You laugh, easy and audible. "Yes."

"Done." Sora twirls his finger. The sign at the door flips to a CLOSED, as his powers travel all the way to the entrance. "And Dior needs help getting down from the counter, I suppose?"

You flick his forehead. "What do you think?"

"Yes, Sir." Sora pulls Dior down, and she collapses in a fit of giggles. He glances at Myra — the two aren't friends, yet, they're merely acquaintances — and gives a polite nod. Unbeknownst to you, they're fighting for the same person — you.

"Well," you say. "Now that we're all gathered here, I propose we go to the hot springs first before we do anything stupid. I don't wanna go there all drunk."

Going to the hot springs is some sort of therapy for you. With the steaming hot water—so hot it could burn—along with you being drowsy or — sad, it became easy to fall asleep.

"That's not possible for us," Myra frowns, her pretty brown eyes confused. "It doesn't open til morning. And now it is morning, but it's crazy early. The hot springs wouldn't be open now. Only the 24/7 bars would be."

"So it's like sneaking in — no biggie," you shrug. "I don't know. What do you think, Dior?"

"What my friend says," Dior says, shrugging. She's somehow sober now, and she's got her hands on an old magazine. She thumbs through it, ogling at the rows and rows of skinny thin models wearing couture. "I mean, whatever. We have Infinitum's only two SSS-Classes here. They can't touch us. And, I'm A-Class. You're a baby, Myra."

"Hey!"

"Stop fighting," you sigh. "Whoever wants to come with can come. I don't care."

Hot springs.

Hot water.

Burning.

That tickles an itch in your brain.

—

You must have been in the hot springs for quite some time.  From the tiny window at the very top of the building — you could see the dark sky of the early morning slowly giving in to pale light, the hot water vapour condensing on the surfaces of the vending machines.

Sora's next to you, and both of you have a towers on your forehead. You hear some shrieks and giggles from the other room, and you can only assume they're splashing each other. Good. Dior will babysit Myra — you're certain you aren't a good influence for Myra. She'll spiral with you, and that's not ideal.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Sora says out of the blue.

Your eyes are closed, and you're leaning back into the walls of the hot spring. "Specify."

"Why the Capitol decided to introduce the SSS-Class rank."

"I thought you liked it?" You ask him. "It boosts your ego."

Sora smiles. "[Name] — The Capitol did this before — twenty four years ago. Or twenty five. I don't know. There wasn't such thing as S-Class then."

Twenty four. Isn't that the your age now? And Sora's

"I see," you say shortly.

"And it was this whole project going on. It was pretty famous — I'm sure you know it. Had Patricia right in the centre of it..." Sora exhales. "It doesn't matter anymore. Sorry. It was just weighing on my mind."

"Maybe you're too busy. And tired. Which makes today's rest day perfect."

"You're the one who needs a rest day." Sora murmurs, "you're all worried, and...[Name], does your behavior have to do with Axel?"

You suck in a breath. "A little."

"What did he say to you?"

Sora's tone is carefully controlled, but you aren't convinced by it. He's angry at Axel, of course. He's strangely protective of you, even though you clearly don't need the protection.

"Nothing. The usual."

"So he acted like a douchebag again."

You ponder it over. "Surprisingly, no. He just..."

He just said he loved me. Previous me, at least.

"I think it's okay. Maybe it's a stressful week," you whisper. The hot springs are really godly — they're melting the knots in your bones. "Let's talk about nicer things. Funnier things."

Sora obliges.

—

"So," Dior says after the four of you have exited the hot springs. "Let's go to this bar."

"There's no reviews on it," Myra frowns.

"And that's the magic —" Dior rattles off, "it'll be a whole new experience."

You're definitely feeling fresher from the hot waters. And talking with Sora always makes you feel a little better. "Sure," you agree easily.

"Hell yeah!" Dior pumps her fist. If only, the hot spring seems to have made her more enthusiastic, which is good. Myra looks shriveled up. Two of them...almost naked...alone...she keeps muttering under her breath.

So the four of you enter the bar.

Myra becomes exceedingly drunk; dancing around with rambunctious laughter slipping from her lips. Sora never becomes drunk easily, but from Myra's account, you became drunk and started to flirt with him. Apparently, you're a flirtatious drunk.

You don't remember much about that day.

You remember skipping the martinis and heading straight for the vodka. It burned your throat, but Axel's words hurt your head, and you would have rather blacked out with a hangover than to stare at your hands blankly forgetting what it was to be yourself.

But still, the day had been unimaginably golden and bright.

Arguments had fizzled into a certain kind of lightness had hovered in the air, warmth had come and had filled you and your friends' murky souls, the sunlight melted whatever hostility or ill will that the panic fraught week had brought.

There was the pleasant, refreshing memory of the taste of the alcoholic drinks that everyone had bought at the bar — or well, pub, ("let's be adventurous," Someone — you could remember — had ventured, befores they had ordered a water)—Myra had been the opposite, she had stumbled out so tipsy she barely noticed it. Sora had been as charming and detached as he always was, he teased you with his usual darling and dear which you had engraved these fond memories in your head, they were more precious than anything you ever had.

Everyone always said there was the rise before the fall.

You knew that.

But still, you were selfish enough to soak up these  moments, mapping them all in your head.

You wanted to stay here in this space surrounded by your friends, forever, while the world tilted towards sleep.

You wanted to be here until misery missed you and called you back, until the sweetness in your teeth decayed.

A/N; rather melancholic chapter :') hope I caught their dynamics and personalities well enough with banter. not very plot driven, but still pretty fun to write. I apologise in advance if things seem to be all over the place - some parts were pre-written and it was tough connecting all the dots

hope you liked it! how was it?