John Page, when he was six and a half, had a friend that was literally a balloon. A nice, sparkly yellow balloon that his brother gave him before leaving to join some overseas business. It was the last time he ever saw his brother- not that his brother's dead, just that they don't talk anymore.

He named the balloon Murph. Murph was, for a good three months, the only friend John had. John comes from a big family. His father is a supervisor for a big company, and his mother was actually governor of the state at this time. With such hardworking parents and an older brother seventeen years his senior, John didn't have much going for him. His father was having him homeschooled, for no bus ran close enough to their home and no school was close enough to fit into his father's busy schedule.

His mother wasn't even in town half the time, if you're asking about her. It wasn't that they didn't love him- they loved each other lots, actually.

This left a young John Page alone with Murph the balloon. And now that he looks back on it, it makes no sense that Murph lasted that long in the first place. But somehow (probably through buying replacements) Murph did, and they were friends who did everything together.

They played hide and seek and tag, they watched movies and even managed to play video games together. Murph wasn't very good at Smash Bros, or even Mario Kart, but in his defense there's no way you could expect a balloon to hold an N64 controller.

John and Murph had a barbecue once. Or, rather, John's father had one. This was on the day his mother was coming home, after her term as governor ended. His father had taken the day off (a surprising thing) and they had spent the day outside grilling all kinds of food.

There had been hot dogs sitting on a table, fully cooked and still warm from the grill. Naturally, our little John wanted one, so he reaches out to grab it.

Unfortunately, our little John used the same hand that was holding Murph tight.

Murph began to float away into the sky. John panics, as any six year old losing their balloon does. He had dropped his hot dog back onto the table with a panicked gasp, then stared up in horror as Murph went further and further away.

Something inside his tiny, panicky six year old brain clicked. He had to go get Murph back, he has to! So he goes after Murph. Up into the sky he went. He was flying! He was flying up into the sky to catch his friend and keep Murph from leaving.

(Only he wasn't actually that high up, maybe just two or three stories up. Anything is high when you're six.)

It was no use, though. Being in the air left him tired, and soon he didn't have the energy nor the strength to go any higher. John fell back to Earth, landing safely in his father's arms. His father had been worried, terrified even. John hadn't noticed. He was too heartbroken over losing his balloon friend, and cried his little heart out.

“It's okay,” John's father had desperately gasped. “You have hot dogs! Hot dogs solve everything!”

John had assumed this was true. He did like hot dogs, after all. But then a big German Shepherd ran up to the table and snatched them all.  His mother was right behind the big dog, with a smile on her face and a cry of, “Surprise! I got you a puppy, Johnny!”

Needless to say, John had a hard time accepting their new dog Barney into the family. But he did learn a lot that day. He could fly, his mother liked big dogs, his father was scared of heights, and that if you love something, never ever let it go.

--

Right now, he's sitting on a building by the docks. It's 9:15. He doesn't remember what time he told the strange businessman to meet him here, he just knows he wants to thank the guy for what he did and he asked for it to be right around now. He feels a bit silly doing this, but what else can he do?

It's not like sitting up here is gonna make it some big surprise. Sitting up here in some dumb yellow outfit, John sticks out like a sore thumb. It's surprisingly comfortable, but the fabric is relatively thin and lets him feel every bump and bit of dust or grit sitting on the rooftop with him. Not the coziest place he's ever sat, but it's surely not the worst. 

Since Mr. Important isn't here, whatever his name may be, John takes this opportunity to go change into normal clothes like normal people.

When he comes back, now in some comfortable jeans and his favorite shirt, the businessman is here and he looks lost as fuck. This makes John laugh. He jumps down smoothly, sticking the landing for once.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Uh… glad you could make it.”

The guy jumps. He whirls around to face John, a stunned look on his face, quickly moving to slap his arm. “Don't fucking do that!”

John laughs as he takes a step back (for his own sake). “Jesus, buddy. Sorry to scare you. Quite the arm you've got there,” he jokes. Seriously, though, his arm stings slightly. How did this guy end up as some important looking douchebag? “I'm John Page,” he says. “I fly around and save cities.”

This seems to have calmed him down. He stares warily at John for a couple seconds, before holding out his hand. “I… I'm Steven. Steven Royals. I'm the mayor's assistant. I do all the paperwork,” he laughs.

Wow. Way to change dispositions. Crazy guy, isn't he?

“Well… that's great,” John smiles. He gently clasps his hands together, pausing to think his next words over. “I… I'm sorry if this cuts into your schedule or whatever, Mr. Royals-"

"Call me Steven, please."

"Well, Steven, I just wanted to thank you for helping, you know? Nanners has gotten a little…. crazier since we last saw him.”

“Nanners? Is that what that…”

“Yeah,” John says softly. This is going better than he expected, though it's also insanely awkward. He looks at Steven, silently scanning over him.

For someone who hurled an icicle directly at someone's head, or grabbed a road sign and tried to beat someone up with it, he doesn't look very strong. Kinda nerdy, actually. Like he's the guy you go to at 3 in the morning to get your computer fixed because the actual computer maintenance people weren't doing shit.

But he's quite a handsome guy, if John is being honest. Nice curly brown hair, plain red glasses framing his green eyes, and a red jacket to match his glasses. Nerdy, but a cute nerdy.

A phone dings gently- clearly not John’s because he has his ringtones all set to his favorite song- and then again, and again, and again.

Steven whips out his phone, the bright light of it illuminating his face, and how quickly Steven's face changes expressions. “Shit,” he hisses. “I- fuck, fuck fuck fuck, John I gotta go-”

“Go where?” John is both confused and concerned for his new friend.

Steven quickly pushes past him, already on his way to the front of the docks. “The mayor's calling me! I gotta go!”

John rushes towards him. “Wait! Do- do you need a lift?”

“No, I have my car-”

“But air travel is faster! And less traffic!”

Steven narrows his eyes at John. “You and what airline?”

“Me. I'm the airline,” he jokes.

Steven continues to stare him down, before speaking.  “Only because I'd have to stop for gas.”

--

Flying with another man in his arms is quite the liberating experience. Normally he does this when Chilled is feeling lazy, but that's completely different because Chilled is a giant compared to this guy.

Steven is notably lighter and complains a whole lot less. He did make them stop to pet a stray dog they passed, though John is fine with that. It's better than asking to stop for McDonald's.

They land by the city hall with time to spare. Well... John has time. Steven doesn't, because he runs in yelling for people. John instinctively flies up onto the rooftop. It's less crowded and he's less likely to be seen like this.

It's not that he doesn't want to be seen, it's just that people are more of Chilled's thing. He's the charmer, John is the cute awkward one in the back. That's just how it's always been between them. Though... Chilled's been talking about bringing in other people. He can only hope this goes well.

Speaking of Chilled.... Is that him?

Sure enough, Chilled somehow sits besides him on the roof, a curious look on his face. He points down at the ground, where a news team is pulling out a camera. "Who's that?"

John looks down at them. "That's the News 39 crew. Channel 39. Why do you ask?"

"No, no, the people, dummy!" Chilled scolds him with a stern look. "I know what channel that is, they've printed it everywhere."

"The reporter? That's... Something with a B. You know, the pretty boy you see everywhere-"

Anthony looks questionably frustrated. "Not him! The camera guy!"

"Oh," John answers. "I don't know! Go talk to him! I have other stuff to do!"

John immediately makes a run for it, jumping off the rooftop. He lands on a small ice platform against the side of the building, telling him exactly how Chilled got up here. Seeing a worried Steven through a window, John does the only logical thing and jumps through to see what's going on.

"Are you okay?"

Steven is startled but doesn't say anything about it. Instead he sighs and shakes his head. "No. I... Fuck, dude, I'm not gonna lie to you. Someone broke in while we were all out playing damage control. They stole, of all fucking things, my laptop. And some other shit, including files and documents and the fucking coffee machine! They stole the coffee machine!"

"Oh god," John whispers. "Not the coffee machine."