Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with a cheap bottle of booze.

Actually, it began before the booze, when Ryouken wished he had alcohol to drown out the ridiculousness of the day. A plenitude of details could have triggered his downwards spiral. The fact that he had woken up late with just two hours of sleep. Getting caught in morning traffic and arriving late to his meeting with President Queen and Vice-President Zaizen Akira. Perhaps not participating in said meeting due to exhaustion and tetchiness. Missing a different meeting altogether. Finding out neither Dr. Taki nor Spectre had completed their work. The minor inconveniences of the day had been piling one atop the other since that morning—and that wasn’t including the hundreds of other problems that had been piling up well before that.

In the end, he’d ended up at the edge of the beach beneath his villa with cold, wet feet, aching bones, and a sturdy bottle of cheap beer. Surely the liquor would do more than warm him up.

Ryouken took another deep sip, wincing at the burn. He lifted the bottle up to his foggy eyes. Not only could he not read the brand in the dim starlight, but he also couldn’t see how much he had drunk. How heavy had the bottle been? Sighing, he tipped his head back and downed another mouthful. He coughed when liquor slipped off his chin and onto the dark sand. 

Ahead, the stars blended together like cotton painted across the sky. He couldn’t see where the sand ended and the water began, nor could he see any ships dotting the coastline. No one wandered the shores either; it was a quiet, empty night. Above him stretched the cliff of the mountain, spiralling up to its peak where, perched on a small jut, was his mansion. Well, somewhere up there. Ryouken’s eyesight had been rather muddled.

Once more, he raised the bottle to his lips—only to frown. It was empty. Already. Had he split more alcohol than he’d thought? Surely he hadn’t finished a bottle in one sitting. Ryouken pushed himself onto his legs to examine the sand underneath him, only to groan into the movement and sink to his knees. The world spun around him. Flashes of white light caught in the corners of his eyes. Groaning again, Ryouken brought his hands to his face. How much had he drunk?

When the world stopped spinning, he pushed himself upright. His heels dug deep into the dry sand. A faint linger of alcohol wafted around him. Ryouken took a careful step forward and the world tilted on its axis. He brought a hand to his hair, only to hit himself across the jaw. Well. He dragged his fingers down to his wrist where his duel disk rested. Despite its fresh appearance, he had ripped the AI interface from it on the first day. Thus, he had to select his D-Board manually—an action that was exceedingly more difficult when his vision spun like a merry-go-round. Yet he knew he found the button when the board materialised under his feet, locking him into place. Ryouken held his arms out to stabilise himself as his body adjusted to the new sensation. Deep in his gut rocked all the liquor he’d consumed. Promptly, it came back up with a strong burning sensation.

Standing again, Ryouken guided his board towards the water. The sea was an endless, depthless pit in front of him; he only knew when he was gliding across the water from the gentle lapping of his board against the waves. Yet despite moving in near-darkness, he did know where his house was. Directly beneath his balcony was a rocky spire. If he could find that rock, he could glide up to his bedroom and sleep off both his drunkenness and soon-to-be hangover. 

A strong wave lapped over his board and doused his feet. Ryouken hissed through his teeth. He guided the board to the left, closer to his house. Yet minutes passed and he saw nothing. He hadn’t hit the mountain wall either, or bumped into any of the smaller spires that made up the teeth-like pillars beneath his balcony. There wasn’t even rock in sight. He spun left and right, but the world was painted in the same, fuzzy black and grey. The only change was within him; all that spinning was making him even more nauseous.

Ryouken drove his heel onto the accelerator. If he couldn’t find the spire through careful searching, he’d find it by accident. Crashing into the side of the mountain wouldn’t be the worst event of this awful day. Water rose over his feet. Wind whipped his cheeks; he tasted frost on his tongue, signalling the approaching winter. Through squinted eyes he could see the light rushing by him, or the snowflakes—

The next second his head was underwater. Ryouken flailed, hands searching for the first studry surface: his board. Water flew over his head and drove him deeper. Ryouken clung even more tightly. Somehow, his chattering teeth were louder than the crashing waves. Somehow, he managed to hold onto the board when he went careening not only across the water but over an even harder surface. He ended up clinging to the bottom of his board as he shot out of the sea and across the sand.

By his terrible luck, he was sure he ended up on the same patch of sand from where he had started. It would have fit the rest of the day. But his bones ached too greatly. He couldn’t lift his head. Rolling over was impossible too. At his feet, he could feel the tide rising up to drown him yet again. The rolling, screeching wind nipped at his hands and face. Any liquor still left in his body only numbed his thoughts; he could feel every prickle of pain.

“Hey.”

Ryouken blinked his eyes. There was someone in front of him. With his blurry vision, he couldn’t even see their general shape, much less discern whether or not he knew them.

“Hey, mister! Are you dead?”

“Bro, would he be able to answer if he was dead?”

“Of course he would! Maybe he’s a zombie.”

Ryouken groaned.

“Look, look, he’s waking up! He’s going to drink our blood!”

“Bro, I thought zombies ate human brains …”

Whomever had found him, Ryouken hoped they let him die in peace. Even the neighbourhood kids weren’t this noisy and obnoxious. Come to think of it, whose kids were these? At the late hour he was out drinking, he wouldn’t have expected any children to be playing down by the water too.

A flash of light jabbed him right in the eye. His stomach flipped and he coughed back the acidic feeling. Through the blinding light, he could see two blurry, colourful shapes peering over him: his endearing rescuers. They were young, a teen and a child, and both watching him with bright, glowing eyes. There were also patches on their necks that glowed too, as if they had glowstick chokers that were all the rave at nightclubs.

The older one leaned forward. “So what’s Yuusaku going to say about you?”

Yuu …

“Master will be pleased, yes he will!” the child trilled.

Ryouken tried to take a deep, steady breath. “Po … lice.”

“Police?” The older person tapped his chest. “No, my name is Ai, and there’s no police here.”

“And I’m Roboppi, mister! And there’s no hospital either.”

Great. He was hallucinating. This was an unfortunate, drunken dream that he needed to wake up from. All he needed was a pinch on the arm.

Ai pinched him on the arm. “Hey, don’t die on us. You’ll be heavier to carry.”

No sooner had Ryouken registered the words did Ai scoop him up under the arms and pull him forward. Roboppi gathered his legs and lifted them up together. The movement stirred the terrible, nauseous feeling in his gut and he heaved against the burning sensation. Fortunately, once he was moving, he felt better—or perhaps he was just slipping further and further into the dream. The blurry colours once around him had turned into distinct shapes: gears, solid yet rusted, and interlocked together around the strange jungle. Sure, there was wildlife, but the technology weaved through it as if natural and mechanical were made to co-exist. Over his head were both wires and vines; tickling his back were blades of grass and cables. Ryouken had never seen such a place in his life.

“Where …?”

“Not where,” Ai said, heaving him up. Ryouken swallowed thickly. “But who.” At this, Ai raised a single finger. “Yuusaku can take a look at you.”

“Master Yuusaku doesn’t get many guests.”

A master then. Regal, royal, noble. Ryouken felt like he’d wandered into one of his childhood dreams of princes and dragons and castles. But this couldn’t have been a pleasant dream. No, Ryouken distinctly remembered being drunk off his ass and stumbling back home. He couldn’t have made it home then, which meant he was either still lost at sea or dead. Neither option sounded promising.

“Well, here we are.”

Ryouken dazedly lifted his head. They stood before a great, metal door, taller than even the largest skyscraper in Den City. Taller than the mountain his house stood on. He couldn’t even tell where the door ended for it rose deep into the clouds. It was made of strong, clean metal—iron or bronze, or perhaps a metal he’d never even heard of. Inlaid within it were cogs spinning round and round. With each full rotation, they let out a slight click. Then the door eased open on oiled hinges, rolling forward on a track Ryouken now saw hidden in the snowy ground. 

Snow …?

Somehow in the trip through the forest they had ended up in a winter wonderland. A fierce breeze cut across his cheeks. Snow clumped over every surface including his stomach. Ai and Roboppi gave him a little shake before they stepped forward.

At once, the temperature in the room changed. Hot braziers decorated the entryway to a sizable cavern. There was no furniture, no homey accents, nothing that showed any human being had taken up residence. But it was warm. Ryouken tumbled from Ai’s and Roboppi’s grasps and drew himself closer. His fingers and toes were frostbitten; even worse, the alcohol had left his stomach and poisoned his brain. It had to be. For above his head was the inside of a clocktower: hundreds of gears and belts clickety-clacking together, spinning, attaching, connecting. There wasn’t a place like this in all of Den City.

“Come on, stand up. Master’s coming!” Roboppi hooked his arms under Ryouken’s armpits and lifted. Ryouken only had a second to prepare before he was tossed up—and with it, the rest of the liquor in his system.

“He—”

Through his spinning vision and with vomit across his face, Ryouken looked up. Standing in another doorway was a man around his age with blue hair covered by a dark hood. His face was still visible, and pinched as if he’d just stumbled upon a corpse.

Ryouken had never felt more humiliated in his life. He couldn’t stand up without making an even greater mess of himself, but he wiped at his face and mustered the expression of a confident, put-together businessman.

“Who’re you?” Hic.

“Who are … you?” the man asked. The master. He couldn’t be anyone else as both Ai and Roboppi flocked to him, calling him ‘Master Yuusaku,’ and explaining the entire situation with accompanying hand gestures and impersonations. Ryouken would have told them to knock it off were it not for the knocking sensation in his mind. Or the crushing unease that he had ended up trapped in a terrible dream. Perhaps he had drunk too much. Perhaps he was in a coma.

“We never got his name,” Ai said.

“We’re sorry, Master, but we saw him lying on the shore and thought we ought to bring him to you at once.”

“I see.” Yuusaku rubbed at his chin, still keeping his distance. He wasn’t imposing—Ryouken had stood up to far more disconcerting men—but there was an air of mystery surrounding him. 

“Where’re …” Ryouken coughed weakly. “Where’s this?”

Yuusaku ignored him. “He’s clearly inebriated. We won’t get any further information from him.”

“Listen—”

“So we’ll speak to him tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Yuusaku intended to keep him. Something fluttered deep within his belly.

“... we spending the night together?”

His voice. His voice said that. Ryouken felt himself psychologically wheel back, as there surely wasn’t that much alcohol in his system, but Yuusaku was already tripping over himself too. The great, sweeping robes he wore caught round his legs and he tumbled back, only saved by Ai and Roboppi who faithfully caught him. The red across his face was even brighter in the glow of the candlelight.

“Excuse—”

But Ryouken tipped forward before he could hear the rest. He felt the collision of forehead on metal floor, yet the rest was a blur.

When he awoke, he was in a new room. The bed beneath his back was as soft as clouds, and the ceiling above his head was painted with small, minute stars. The lighting in the room was low—a favour considering the pulsing headache he nursed. Ryouken squeezed his eyes closed and willed the feeling away. Regrettably, his head wasn’t the only part of him hurting. Every muscle in his body had been pulled through a torture device. Every bone ached, every limb creaked. Even the feather-soft bed hurt to lie upon.

He didn’t remember much from the night before, other than that he’d been inebriated beyond rationality and wound up far from home. By the appearance of the room, he had travelled far. The cogs and gears making up the walls and doors were a new sight, but oddly familiar, as if he’d seen them in another room. There was both a glass of water and a mug of tea sitting on a side table made of warped, welded metal. The tea was still warm as he brought it to his lips.

“Hello.”

Vaguely, Ryouken remembered this man. He cleared his throat to answer, but the dry, scratchy feeling only increased. His voice came as little more than a whisper.

“Where am I?”

“What’s your name?” Yuusaku—that was his name—asked. “You never said it yesterday … not that I’m sure you could have.”

Heat flickered on his cheeks. Ryouken wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that he had forgotten the entire night. 

“Revolver.”

Yuusaku pressed his lips together. He hovered at the entryway, only his toes curling over the doorway. “And why are you here, Revolver?”

No mister, no sir, no honourifics of any kind. Ryouken rubbed his eyes tiredly as he tried to recall just what had brought him here. Drunken flying? He remembered being drunk.

“I can’t recall.”

Again, Yuusaku pressed his lips together. Then he sighed, rolling his shoulders back with such a great heave it was as if he was a new adult in an ancient body. “Very well. I’ll leave you to rest. If you need anything, call on Ai or Roboppi—”

“Wait.” Ryouken pushed himself further upright, grimacing at the pain along his side; likely he’d landed roughly on that side when he crashed here. “You haven’t answered my question. Where am I?”

“I don’t know,” Yuusaku said. “This place doesn’t really have a name.” And with that he disappeared through the doorway. In the mid-morning light, he left a path of starlight behind him—a long, black cloak decorated with purple and white stars. Any other person would have looked simply like a dorky Halloween-costume magician, but Yuusaku was a mystery. 

Grumbling, Ryouken flopped onto his back. A headache of a mystery, that’s what.

For the remainder of the morning, he dozed in and out of consciousness. Yuusaku had been kind enough to leave him a bucket at the side of the bed. Ryouken had only spotted it just when he’d needed it. There were no books or computers with which to amuse himself, though he doubted tiny prints or screens would have been good for his nausea. For the remainder of the morning, he sipped at his water and tea.

Come lunchtime, however, he began to get hungry, and it was then his next visitors appeared. Two small heads peered round the corner. Ryouken saw them at once: the two loud children. Even in his haziness, he remembered them . And he dreaded what mischief they would cause in his presence.

… that is, if they moved. They stood in the doorway, stiller than statues, not even so much as blinking. Ryouken waited for them to move forward or introduce themselves, but they did no such thing. For a second, he even wondered if he was seeing a trick of light. But no, they were just … not moving.

“Hey.”

Ai and Roboppi squeaked and jumped together. “He’s alive!”

“You were the ones standing there …” Ryouken muttered, but his words were lost as both children barrelled into the room. Behind them was a large, metal trolley cart with two trays. At the bottom were the napkins and cutlery, neatly folded together as if they were presenting a meal to an esteemed guest. On the top were plates heaped with food: eggs and bacon; cooked vegetables with a gentle glazed sauce; toast and pancakes, buttered with accompanying jam, syrup, and other spreads in small glass jars. Only at Spectre’s house would he be treated to such fanciful home cooking.

Ai held up an empty plate. “So, mister, what will it be?”

“You ought to try one of everything, mister!” Roboppi added as he refilled the glass and mug.

Ryouken pressed a hand to his stomach. 

“Oh right~” Ai rubbed his chin. “You were drunk off your ass—”

“‘Ass’ is a forbidden word!”

“—so now you’re probably hungover.” Ai’s face split into a wide grin. “Am I right, Mister Revolver?”

“I didn’t ask Yuusaku for you.” Ryouken rubbed his face once more. Through his fingers, he saw the plain, buttered toast. Surely that would be the best choice. Worst come to worst, the bucket was still there. Weakly, he pointed to the toast triangles.

“Aw. We prepared all this for you and you picked the most boring item on the menu.”

“My breakfast, please.”

Dutifully, Ai passed him the plate. Ryouken bit into the toast, pleased when it didn’t immediately curdle his insides. Good. He could enjoy his breakfast in peace.

Both children were watching him from the foot of the bed with round, glowing eyes. They hardly looked human, and in better circumstances he would have dared to voice the question. But more importantly was the fact that they were standing at attention yet again.

“Yes?”

Roboppi spoke up with his chin tucked to his chest. “Well, is it nice, Mister Revolver?”

“Passable.”

Ai slapped his spatula across the bottom of the bed. Ryouken nearly dropped his square of toast. The nerve—

“A thank you never hurt anyone,” Ai said, brandishing his weapon once more. “Besides, we slaved all morning over that breakfast and you’re only going to eat the easiest part.”

“I never asked—”

“But Master Yuusaku did.” Ai crossed his arms stubbornly in front of him; at his side was the spatula, able to be retrieved at a second’s notice. “Besides, you’re a guest.”

“Where?”

Roboppi blinked. “What do you … mean?”

“Where am I?” Ryouken tried again. “If I knew where I was and who you were—”

“I’m Ai!”

“And I’m Roboppi!”

“—then I might not be so suspicious.”

“Oh.” Ai fiddled with his hands, but it was Roboppi who spoke up.

“Mister Revolver, I don’t think this place has a name.”

Headgames while hungover was a dangerous game to play, but Ryouken took the bait. “What do you mean?”

“Well this place … it’s just a place. Our home. You don’t really call your home anything else than your home.” Roboppi flapped his hands around, then settled down on the bed. Ryouken slipped further back; he hadn’t expected these two to be quite so familiar.

“Then are we in Japan? Perhaps on an island?”

“Dunno. There’s water that you can fish from.”

Ryouken curled his hands round his mug. “You don’t know if you’re in Japan?”

“Well.” Roboppi shrugged. “You’re the first stranger to come to our home in … forever, I guess.”

“Wait. You’re saying I’ve … I’ve ended up on a remote island?”

“I … guess?” Ai clapped his spatula along the bottom of the bed once more, if only to make a piercing noise. “But don’t worry, Mister Revolver. There’s no way on and off this island, so you don’t have to worry about where you are. You’re safe here with us.”

Roboppi bounced up and down on the bed, baggy sweater flippity-flopping like the skirts of a dress. “This is just like a hotel. A resort.” He jumped even higher and higher, bouncing Ryouken on the bed too.

Yet the dread in Ryouken’s gut came not from the bumps, but the fear that his single night of overdrinking had resulted in his estrangedness. Where he’d wound up … he could no longer return from. 

He was on his feet in an instant, scurrying through the door. On the other side was a hallway, dimly lit; sunlight crept through frosted panes bordered by iron bars. Ryouken ran down the hallway, ignoring the burn in his chest. There had to be a way out. Had to be. At the end of the hallway, he veered sharply to the side and through the corridor. He landed hard on marble flooring, screeching to a half just before a patterned oriental rug. 

Before him was the door. Yesterday, he had passed through it not noticing just how high it streched to the heavens. How thick it must have been to keep the winter chill outside. How tightly it was bolted to the wall and fastened to the other panel. It must have been kept closed far more than it was left open. It must have been built centuries, eons ago. Long before Ryouken was born. Long before Yuusaku …

Behind him sat Yuusaku on the bottom step of a staircase stretching high up to the second floor. The stairs extended even further—as far as the door perhaps. Yuusaku looked no bigger than a single yen coin lying on the sidewalk.

Ryouken pushed himself upright and marched forward. “Where. Am. I?”

Yuusaku didn’t budge. “This place doesn’t have a name.”

“How did I get here?”

“You wound up here all by yourself, I believe.”

“And how do I leave?”

“I don’t know.”

Ryouken balled his hands in fists. “Are you keeping me prisoner?”

“I rather wish you would leave.” Yuusaku paused, mouth still parted.

“But?” Ryouken echoed, stepping closer. Not even a hair’s breadth separated their chests. “But?”

“But there is no way to send you home. There’s no way out of here.”

Chapter Text

No … way?

Ryouken reached out, but Yuusaku pulled himself back up the stairs, drawing his arms out in front of him. Ryouken retaliated at once. A deep breath burned deep in his chest, aching to be let out. It took him a moment longer to properly breathe, in and out, but when he did, he stepped back to allow Yuusaku to crawl down from the step. The silence between them was excruciating. 

“I’d rather be alone too,” Yuusaku said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But not only do I not know how to send you back, I also don’t know where you came from.”

“Japan. Den City.”

“Those names mean nothing to me.”

“Then where are we?” Ryouken dragged his fingers through his hair. “What sea borders this island?”

“I don’t know,” Yuusaku said, and this time his green eyes flared to life. “I don’t go outside much, and where I have been isn’t far.”

Just then, Ai and Roboppi appeared round the corner. Behind them was a small, metal wagon with large cogs for wheels. It clitter-clattered on each of the marble tiles laid along the floor; but even louder were the tools inside, all shapes and sizes and none of them serving a distinct purpose. They all looked like archaic, rusted junk.

“Master Yuusaku, we’re going—oh.” Roboppi waved a hand. “So that’s where Mister Revolver ran to.”

Ai hurried forward and leaned into Yuusaku, sporting a devilish smirk. “I don’t even think ‘Revolver’ is that man’s name. He’s awfully mysterious.”

Says the man who refuses to say where we are, Ryouken thought.

“That doesn’t matter,” Yuusaku said, giving Ai a shove on the shoulder. “And leave that work to me today.”

“Huh?” Roboppi dropped the wagon handle. It clattered to the ground with an ear-ringing echo. “How come, master?”

“This man here wants to see beyond the house. I’ll take him myself.”

Ai and Roboppi paled to the colour of milk. They shook on thin legs and clung to one another as if they had seen a ghost. “B-but—”

“Go.” Yuusaku waved his hand towards them. “I’ll be back tonight.” Yuusaku watched them skitter round the corner, peek back, and then skitter away yet again. Only then did he turn to Ryouken and continue … or, well, wandered off.

“What did you mean—”

“I’ll take you outside.” Yuusaku halted and spun round on his heels. His dark cloak swished behind him, catching in the filtered, grey sunlight. “I need to get some wares anyways.”

Ryouken blinked. But no sooner could he voice a question had Yuusaku turned back around and headed up the stairs to the second floor. Similarly to the first floor, it was sparsely decorated with an empty feel: no paintings or photographs, just a series of single-pane, frosted-over windows. There were dozens of closed doors too, all made of wood-and-metal arranged in a complex design. Furthermore, there were no door handles. Ryouken pressed against one of them to see if it would open, but it remained shut.

At the end of the hallway, Yuusaku stopped at a door. He dragged his finger across one of the gears, then inserted a small key—no, not a key like he had seen before, but an Allen key he and Spectre had once used to build a ridiculously-named Kallax or Knopparp or something else nonsensical. But the Allen key worked. The door swung open on oiled hinges and a track inlaid in the floor, revealing a crowded room. 

“Storage?” Ryouken asked.

Yuusaku made a small, noncommittal hum as he began opening and closing brown boxes. There had to have been three hundred boxes, and by the way Yuusaku furrowed his eyebrows each time he opened one up, Ryouken sincerely hoped this was the only storage room in the house.

“What are you looking for?”

“This.” Yuusaku held up a white skinsuit and an accompanying cloak. Both looked like a ridiculous costume rather than proper attire, yet Yuusaku wasn’t laughing. He earnestly held them out as offerings for Ryouken.

Ryouken kept his hands in his capri pockets. “What is that?”

“You can’t go outside in attire like that.”

“Why not?”

Yuusaku frowned. “Because it’s not warm enough.”

Ryouken frowned back. “And that is?”

Rolling his eyes, Yuusaku flipped back the collar to the skinsuit. Inlaid within the fabric were small, scale-like pieces—reflective material meant to insulate him. The suit was thicker than he’d originally thought too. Matched with the cloak, he would be warm.

Ryouken’s heart flew into his throat as Yuusaku worked off his trousers. Underneath his attire was a matching skinsuit, but rather than starkly white, it was a deep green. A strong, yellow line ran up his legs and outlined his hips and arms. When Yuusaku re-affixed his cloak, the skinsuit was hidden away. Yuusaku pulled his cloak closer.

“Why are you staring like that?”

Oh. Cheeks burning, Ryouken reached for the attire. Paused.

Yuusaku coughed into a fist. “I-I’ll give you some privacy.”

The walk back from the storage room was even quieter. Ryouken itched at the skinsuit, plucking it from his skin and feeling it snap back. Back home, he wore business casual: capris, blazers, t-shirts. They were fitted, but never tight. And yet somehow, despite the cloak to cover himself with and Yuusaku walking ahead of him, he felt exposed and on display. He kept his head held high as he marched forward, so that they now walk shoulder-to-shoulder.

Yuusaku didn’t turn to face him.

“Where are we going now?”

“Outside,” Yuusaku said. As they passed through the lobby, he picked up the wagon and dragged it behind him. Ryouken chanced a glance at the contents once more: rope, shovels, more cogs … wires. 

Yuusaku explained nothing as, once more, he twisted an Allen key into a hidden lock in the door. The great, vault-like door swung towards them, revealing a crisp, chilly exterior. It was the only detail Ryouken could see. Snow swept across the land in great waves as if this were an ocean. The snow was in the air too, so that Ryouken could hardly see what was ground and what was sky. He glanced left and right. The building’s walls were there. Three feet further and they disappeared into the white expanse.

Yuusaku pulled up his hood and headed into the thicket. Ryouken yanked at his own hood and followed. The first gust of wind ripped his skin from his face; the second gust was a feather light brush. It had only taken one step but the storm had cleared. They stood in an empty clearing; Yuusaku’s home had disappeared. Ryouken whirled around, waiting for the next magical surprise to hit him. But it was just Yuusaku next to him, hood down, holding an old, glass panel lantern lit with a goopy candle.

“This way.”

The way Yuusaku led him was no way. It couldn’t be. There was no path or landmarks, but Yuusaku walked the trail as if he had walked it a hundred times before. He stepped in the snow with ease and ducked under hanging branches; weaved by gears jutting from the ground and paid them as little attention as any other piece of scenery. Ryouken had never seen a world like this before, but after the circle-chasing conversation he had had earlier, he knew better than to ask the dead-end question, “Where am I?” 

So instead, he asked, “Is it normal to seen fallen gears?”

Yuusaku shrugged. “You can harvest the ore from them if you hack at them for long enough.”

Ryouken blinked stupidly. 

“But it’s just as easy to find some loose metal on the ground.” He scooped up a chip of metal, no bigger than a memory card, and deposited it into the wagon. “If you want to help, you can start picking up pieces too.”

“Why?”

“You said you wanted to go outside.”

Ryouken shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said I wanted to leave. There must be an exit somewhere. A boat.”

Yuusaku shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you remember how you got here?”

“How did you get here?”

Yuusaku didn’t answer. He waved the lantern from side to side as they descended between two tall, toppled bronze statues. Ryouken wished he knew who they were. The more he saw of this place, the more he recalled eerie game graphics of graveyards. He and Yuusaku had been walking for well over fifteen minutes and they had yet to come across another house. His hosts hadn’t mentioned any neighbours either. 

He leapt out of his skin as his foot hit a hard, metal plate. Ryouken jumped back, but Yuusaku approached and brushed his hands against the gathered snow. There was a plate in the snow: bronze, scratched, and otherwise worthless, but to Yuusaku it looked like buried treasure. As Ryouken gazed ahead, he caught sight of twenty or so identical plates. Oh.

He sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and wandered ahead. Yuusaku’s lantern light only stretched another ten or so feet forward, but it wasn’t dark, just dim. He’d do some exploring on his own and see if he could find a plane or boat, or at least something mechanical.

No sooner had he stepped out of the light did Yuusaku shriek.

“Get back here!”

Ryouken whirled around. “Why—”

But Yuusaku was there, grabbing him, pulling him back. Ryouken fell back, hitting warm cloak and warmer flesh. He coughed as Yuusaku grabbed his cloak and dragged him even further back. This time though, Ryouken pulled away.

“Will you let go of—”

“You have to stay in the light. Have to.” Yuusaku dropped Ryouken’s cloak and folded his hands in his own. “Are you still drunk?”

“Are you delusional?” Ryouken retaliated. “What is out there?”

“Monsters.” 

Mon … sters.

Past them, the darkness swirled like a great maelstrom. It existed just at the edge of the light. Not even the snow slipped through it. 

“Preposterous.”

Yuusaku didn’t rise to the bait. 

Ryouken watched it again, rise and fall, dip and churn, as if the darkness was sentient. Was it an impossible thought among this strange, foreign land bereft of civilisation and connection? If this was a coma-induced hallucination, it surely wasn’t the strangest thought he could conjure. Besides, Yuusaku was terrified of it. He held his lantern out in front of him like it would chase away the demons lurking within the shadows; whether he intended to blind them with the light or whack them with the sturdy frame, Ryouken hoped it would save them both from the nighttime creatures. Monsters. Yuusaku had called them monsters.

“Have you ever seen one before?”

Yuusaku stared at him like he’d grown a second head, all wide eyes and pale, quivering lips. “Who would go looking for danger?”

Spectre, as an example; he frequented dark woods and foggy graveyards. But as this was a dream, Ryouken knew he was in no danger. So he asked again.

“Once.” Yuusaku drew the lantern closer to his chest. “And I know that as long as you stay in the light, you won’t get caught. You’ll do well to heed that advice too.”And with that, Yuusaku marched away, trailing his wagon behind him.

Somehow, Yuusaku’s anger bore far sharper teeth than any monster in the shadows. 

Ryouken brushed the snow from his jacket and caught up to Yuusaku once more. They walked in silence, side by side, brushing shoulders as they explored the terrain. Ryouken himself was lost; he hadn’t seen a single familiar landmark since they departed the mansion. Yuusaku wandered with ease. He had a knack for spotting the tiniest glimmer of metal in the snow, and had unearthed twenty or so treasures before Ryouken even saw his first one. He couldn’t spot anything in this snowstorm.

As he dipped down to grab another chunk of metal—not even object-shaped, just a chiseled-out piece of bronze—Ryouken asked, “So what will you do with this metal?”

“Burn it.”

There was plenty of it. “For fuel?”

“Fuel, food, furniture. It’s versatile.”

It took a second longer for the words to register in his brain. “Wait. Food?”

Yuusaku had his back to him as he brushed snow from a shovel flattened under a snowbed. “How else would I eat out here?”

“How do you eat metal?”

Sighing, Yuusaku rose to his feet. “You burn it first. Look, if it’s difficult to comprehend, I’ll show you when we get back. Ai and Roboppi should be cooking by the time we’re home.”

“They your friends?”

Somehow, this question surprised Yuusaku even more. He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “What else would you call them?”

“I dunno.” Ryouken kicked at the snow. Immediately, he ducked his head deeper in his embarrassment. Childishness was not an aspect of Kougami Ryouken, successful hacker and businessman. But he felt helpless in this strange world. The rules made no sense and the people were more confusing than the answers to the universe. Each moment he felt like he was understanding this world it threw a new algorithm into the equation and he was left fumbling around until it made sense.

Yuusaku tossed a handful of bolts and screws into the wagon. Ryouken had been digging at a large shield staked into the ground. Yuusaku crouched next to him and began to dig too, tucking his gloves under the rim and pulling up. With a crunch, the shield was unearthed—and Ryouken and Yuusaku toppled backwards. The thick snow cushioned their fall, but Ryouken still felt the breath whoosh from his lungs.

“Do you have androids where you come from?” 

Ryouken turned to Yuusaku with snow clumped in his hair. “Pardon?”

“Do you have androids? Robots. Like Ai and Roboppi.”

“Yes …” Ryouken paused as the final words registered in his mind. “Those two … they’re not human?”

“No.”

But they had been so annoyingly human, so immature and childish, so … lifelike. Ryouken shivered as he recalled his first meeting with them. It was a hazy memory of being rescued by the two loudest saviours, but he had been saved … But no.

“You’re kidding.”

Yuusaku’s cheeks turned rosy red and he turned further onto his side, huffing. “I am not. Those two, they—I built them.”

Even the SOLtiS bots designed by President Queen and Vice-President Zaizen were less functional than those two androids. And the SOLtiS were manufactured by an elite team. Ryouken hated any form of AI or android, but those two—no, he hated them because they were annoyingly, pesteringly human. And it was unbelievable that a single human could design two androids. 

But Yuusaku faced him, daring him to disagree, daring Ryouken to prove him wrong. Behind his frigid features, Ryouken could see he had touched a nerve.

“Apologies,” Ryouken said, voice tight. “I didn’t know androids could be so … juvenile.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across Yuusaku’s lips. “Makes the home lively.”

“That’s another word for it.”

In a huff of breath and a spray of snowflakes, Yuusaku flipped onto his back. His green eyes gazed up at the slowly-darkening sky. Ryouken turned onto his back too. Was this the same sky above Den City? There were no stars, no clouds; just an endless fog settled over the entire area like a thick cotton blanket. His breath puffed above him, catching in the remaining filtered light like tiny crystals.

“Do you not like androids, Revolver?”

“It’s not a matter of liking,” Ryouken said, shutting his eyes as if he were beginning a lecture. “It’s a matter of trust.”

“So.” Yuusaku smacked his lips together. “You don’t trust androids.”

“Indeed.”

“Or AIs.”

“A system that knows more than me is a dangerous system.”

“Or helpful.”

Ryouken flicked his gaze to Yuusaku. The cheeky man was smirking.

“Imagine you had been traveling with an AI when you wound up here. Would you have, or would it have steered you in the correct direction?”

“Or would it have tried to drown me because of a single faulty line of code?” Ryouken crossed his arms over his chest. He and Spectre had had the very same argument before—and just like last time, it would end with the other person admitting defeat, Ryouken claiming victory, and anti-AI knowledge prospering. Humanity could not succeed under the control of AIs and androids.

Yuusaku swirled his finger in the snow, drawing an intricate pattern. “Or maybe you just haven’t met a talented programmer yet.”

Ryouken felt himself laugh anyways. No, he hadn’t.

“Are there other androids I should know of then?”

Yuusaku’s hand stilled. He grew quieter, lying in the snow like a sleeping corpse. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment. 

“So it’s just you and two androids?” 

Somehow, the question only made Yuusaku quieter. He nibbled on his bottom lip, refusing to meet Ryouken’s eyes. In the blink of an eye, the flow of the conversation had snapped. Ryouken pushed himself upright and brushed the snow from his suit. Yuusaku followed suit, still keeping his head bowed. Neither of them spoke to continue on, but when Ryouken took a step or two forward, Yuusaku gathered his wagon and led the way back home. For the entire walk back, neither of them said a word. Ryouken kept his eyes peeled for any familiar landmarks, yet he only spotted the castle when it was directly in front of him, emerging from the snow like a knight in shining armor. How had he not seen it before, and not from a mile away? Surely the home was protected by magic. Surely there was magic in this hallucination.

Indoors, the lobby was crisply warm. There were two fireplaces, one on each side of the lobby, and despite their meagre size the toasty warmth they provided had Ryouken tugging at the collar of his thermal skinsuit. Yuusaku kept his cloak on as he marched through the halls, tugging the wagon along behind him. He never said follow, but neither was there any indication Ryouken was supposed to find his way back to his room too. So he followed.

Rather than take the hallway to the left or the stairs to the second floor, Yuusaku kept walking until he was at the end of the room. Affixed into the side of the staircase was a metal door, not made of cogs, but fastened with heavy bolts. One of the bolts had a hole in the centre, and Yuusaku used an Allen key to turn it. He pushed the door aside, revealing a passageway leading through the back of the house. This hallway was dim, lit by braziers and sconces rather than fireplaces or electric light. For a fleeting second, Ryouken felt like he was walking into the belly of the beast.

But then the passage brightened, glowed, and he stepped into a workroom. Heat hit him first, coming from the heavy machinery lined all along the wall and the giant metal vat smack in the centre of the room. A large vacuum sucked the smoke and steam and carried it away in sturdy metal pipes circling the walls of the room, leading all the way up to wherever the ceiling was. But Ryouken still felt the heat stick painfully to his skin. Fortunately, Yuusaku didn’t stand close to the vat either. He wandered around the lava pool and to the first of many archaic-looking machines. The last time Ryouken had seen non-electric-powered machinery had been in a high school textbook on the Japanese Industrial Revolution. 

Ai and Roboppi stood at the machine too with a heavy bucket of metal. One by one they dropped pieces into a funnel. They weren’t quick either. Each time they plucked a piece from the pile, they examined it with the eye of a jeweller despite staring at rusted junk that had been unearthed from snow and dirt.

Roboppi plucked several tangled pieces of copper wire and twisted them into a crown. “Bro, would I be a prince if I wore a crown?”

Ai laughed outright. “Then Yuusaku and I’d be calling you ‘Master Roboppi.’”

“Prince Roboppi.” Moments later, Roboppi threw the crown into the funnel and plucked another item from the pile.

Yuusaku’s soft cough drew them both from their game.

“M-master Yuusaku!” they stammered in unison. “We weren’t playing, we weren’t.”

“We have all day,” Yuusaku said simply. He pushed the wagon towards them. Ryouken didn’t miss the crestfallen look in their eyes. Obviously this was one of the least favoured chores around the house. But he caught Ai staring at him curiously, as if waiting for him to speak up or do something. Ryuken crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ai. Roboppi.” Yuusaku addressed them both. “Revolver would like to see our machines.”

Roboppi bounced up and down on his heels. “Oh! Oh, Mister Revolver, do you not have machines where you live?”

“Of course there are,” Ryouken replied. What kind of world did Yuusaku and the AIs take his home for? A prehistoric society? Technology and machinery in Den City was more advanced than most countries in the world.

“Well.” Ai scratched at his chin. “Can your machines do this?” And with that, he pulled the red lever at the front of the machine. A passage opened up through which hot, viscous lava travelled down. There was no cover over the tunnel to stop it from bubbling over, but Ai and Roboppi never moved away, and so Ryouken didn’t either. Instead, he watched the lava travel from one machine to the next. As the matter passed through several more tubes, it began to change shape: thicken, harden, still moving on and on. There were at least three more machines it passed through before, at the very end of the workline, it shot promptly up into the air and through the tube that circled the room. Ryouken had thought there was just one tube through which the stream passed, but there was another. The lava glowed brighter than any candle, lighting up the room. At the very top, Ryouken even saw a glimmer of the room. Then it raced back down and dropped into the vat.

Ai and Roboppi clapped their hands with barely-contained glee.

Ryouken snorted. An amicable trick, but that didn’t explain metal transforming into food.

“Now for the best part.” Ai skipped to the other side of the room, not with the machines but a dark shelf Ryouken hadn’t spotted before. A hundred different, smaller machines were stored on the many shelves. Disorderly. Crammed together. But Ai found the one he needed—an oddly-shaped toaster—and set it on a small table next to the vat.

Ryouken itched to ask what this was, yet knew he was being tested. Yuusaku expected him to ask. Yuusaku expected him to be confused. Ryouken snorted and kept his head held high. He’d lived through the emergence of VR technology. A bit of metalwork wouldn’t impress him.

Roboppi pushed down on the lever. Lava seeped into the device’s fillings; Ryouken saw that. And he saw the lava change properties. And he saw the lava transform into small, cylindrical pieces; and in the other compartment, he saw a larger, semi-cylindrical shape. 

… how?

“And there you have it, folks! A perfectly cooked hotdog!” Ai held the creation proudly in his hand. It was nothing more than a hotdog: white bun, pinkish-brown hotdog, both normal. This machine created a hotdog from metal.

Yuusaku’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. Bastard. He was enjoying this, relishing in Ryouken’s stunned silence and eagerly awaiting whatever remark he could give. Ryouken licked his lips, but his voice was trapped. There wasn’t a single device in all of Den City, in all of the world, that could do that. So how could Yuusaku, a loner living on a frozen island, make something out of nothing?

Ryouken chanced a second glance. Yuusaku was still looking at him, damn it.

He turned to the cramped, musty shelves. “Are those all devices for preparing meals?”

“Devices to create anything really,” Yuusaku said in the sort of lazy, lackadaisical voice that had Ryouken biting back retort after retort. Did he think this was simply a cool trick? Did he know that nowhere else in the world had the machinery to make anything out of melted down metal? “I haven’t used most of them in a while though …”

“Say, Mister Revolver,” Roboppi said, “what would you like for dinner?”

On cue, his stomach rumbled. The last time he had eaten was lunchtime yesterday —a date that felt a century or two ago. He hadn’t been hungry when he’d awoken, but his terrible hangover had eased throughout the day. Something light would probably help the remaining queasiness in his stomach. 

Asking for anything would be assuming that Yuusaku could make anything. He’d test that theory out another day.

“I’ll take whatever you are taking.”

Ai snorted. “Mister Revolver, Yuusaku here only eats plain hotdogs like this one. Are you sure you want that too?”

“Then soup.”

“It will be prepared. In the meantime, you can …” Yuusaku drew quiet, furrowing his eyebrows. Ryouken waited for him to pick up where he’d left off, but Yuusaku was at a loss for words. “You … you can do whatever you’d like.”

“Hm?”

“This … is your home, after all.”

Like a brick dropping on his shoulders, the realisation came back to him. Lost. Trapped. Yuusaku hadn’t been joking when he’d said he could never send him home. 

“You don’t have a machine in this room that can—”

“No,” Yuusaku said shortly, cutting him off. He turned to Ai and Roboppi and said, “Finish that work for me please. I’ll be in my room.” He turned back to Ryouken, stiff but still polite. “Revolver, all I can do is offer my home and hospitality. You are free to roam the house save for entering my room. I cannot keep you … prisoner in my house, but I can warn you that there is no way out of this place. Believe me. I hope we can become civil acquaintances.” And with that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the boiler room, cloak swishing behind him like the starry nighttime sky. Ryouken wished he could have seen the sight once more.

But even more so, he wished he could return home to Spectre, to his mountaintop villa, to Stardust Road; to normalcy, to familiarity, to home. A place so cold, so empty could never be his home.

Chapter Text

He was trapped. At the start of this mess of a day, he would have laughed it off. Any thought after a hangover was bound to be painful. Plus Yuusaku was as confused about this situation as he had been. But he’d hoped throughout the day that one of them would have figured a way out. After all, if he had landed here somehow, that alone proved there were ways in and out of this strange place. But Ryouken hadn’t been able to come to terms with anything: not this home and its strange machines; not this world and its constant, icy weather; not these people and their sheer stubbornness at remaining put. And Yuusaku? He hadn’t entertained the thought for a second. He was the most stubborn of them all.

The following day, Ryouken spent it in his room. He had neither the will nor the energy to get up and go along with whatever ‘day’ Yuusaku had planned for them. Yuusaku hadn’t bothered him either. From time to time, he’d heard his tapping footsteps along the hallway, but they never stopped at his door and they never slowed. Ai and Roboppi hadn’t bothered him either. He’d expected the two androids to barge in before noon, but they never came looking for him either. Yuusaku must have forbidden them.

By the time night drew across the sky, Ryouken felt ill—weak-willed, shaken-spirited, and down-trodden. But he also felt restless. The bedsheets itched. He was either too hot under the covers or freezing when he threw them to the ground. Though his bedroom window was cloaked in thick, musty curtains too heavy for him to lift off the ground, the moonlight still managed to creep through and disturb his sleep.

The day after, Ryouken had enough.

He marched down the stairs early in the morning, expecting to see Ai, Roboppi, and Yuusaku up and about preparing breakfast or starting on whatever chores kept them occupied in this lonely home. However, not one being, human or android, was in sight. The main hall was empty, as was the workroom or kitchen or whatever they called the back room. Ryouken climbed the stairs and explored several other hallways, but no one appeared. He wasn’t quiet in his searching; he expected Yuusaku to emerge and berate his noisiness at the crack of dawn. But still his search proved fruitless.

Grumbling, Ryouken marched back down to the boiler room. Yuusaku had called this home ‘as much yours as mine,’ as a gesture to make him feel ‘at home.’ Ryouken felt as ‘at home’ as a businessman in a farmhouse. Yet if he was going to take Yuusaku’s words seriously, he would. Make the most of the situation, as Dr. Taki would say when they had to work through the night but Spectre had baked brownies. If this were his house, he would begin his day with a vanilla soy latte and avocado on toast.

He narrowed his eyes at the shelves. Was there even an avocado-making machine? Or a regular toaster that didn’t conjure hotdogs and buns? 

His search took far longer than necessary, but while there wasn’t an avocado-making machine, or anything that looked relatively like one, there was a deluxe egg-maker with compartments for scrambled, poached, and boiled; a regular toaster like the one at their office; and a ritsy espresso and latte maker strangely reminiscent of the model he had back home. Ryouken brought both devices to the vat and hooked them up. He peered into the swirling, steamy pot: was there enough lava to prepare breakfast? The only way to find out was to cook, or burn the house down trying.

Ten seconds later and he had his breakfast: poached eggs on brown bread and a steaming cup latte. At home, he could have done better, but this would do for today. If he truly was trapped here, he’d spend tomorrow organising those shelves.

The next step to his day would be to find somewhere suitable to eat his breakfast. Only lonely college students ate their breakfasts in their bedrooms and got toast crumbs on their blankets. As far as he knew, Yuusaku and his androids hadn’t appeared either; not that he wanted to eat breakfast with them. So Ryouken wandered to the third floor, as of yet unexplored, and peered through each of the doors: empty room, empty room, bathroom, empty room, library.

He blinked. There was a stocked, albeit cramped, library in this home. It hadn’t been entered in quite some time judging by the visible, tangible layer of dust blanketing every surface. This room had clearly been neglected in the cleaning chores. But underneath the dust and disuse was a marvelous literature collection. Tall, robust bookcases in dark, ashy walnut separated the room into cosy reading sections. There was an area for fiction, and an area for cookbooks, and an area for … more cookbooks. Ryouken narrowed his watery, dust-filled eyes. Those weren’t the same titles. No, this library was stocked with recipes.

He choked on the scratchy, dust-filled air before he could explore any further, nearly dropping his breakfast. Quickly, he set the plate and cup on the table and hurried to the large, floor to ceiling windows. This room needed clean air.

A fierce gust blew through the window. Dust swept free from every surface, scattering in the air like lustreless snowflakes. Ryouken coughed and coughed and shoved his head out the window, but after a minute or two, he could breathe once again. Even better, the room sparkled. The books were in pristine quality for being so old. Every surface had once been precisely attended to, as if this were the most important room in the house.

Ryouken settled down on a comfy, red-velvet chaise and plucked the nearest cookbook from the shelf. Greek for a Week: Mediterranean Recipes for Every Time of the Day. Ryouken flipped through the pages. Spectre liked Greek cooking. Spectre liked all types of cooking. Ryouken knew how to operate his latte machine at home and how to heat up ready-meals in the microwave. He scrunched his nose at words like ‘fold’ or ‘separate’; instructions to add ingredients slowly or carefully; and ingredients he’d never even heard the names of.

He plucked another book from the shelf. Mongolian cooking. Another one: American family meals. Another one: British tea time desserts.

Could Yuusaku cook?

He perused the recipe books until his stomach rumbled from looking at food. Then he explored the next section of the library: travel books, encyclopedias, and photography albums of places all around the world—and places Ryouken knew well. 

A frown crossed his lips. Yuusaku hadn’t known where Japan was, or so he’d said. Yet there were at least twenty books on Japanese prefectures, history, and scenery. Had Yuusaku never been to this area of the house? Or had he played dumb?

To his surprise, there were maps here too. None of them noted where Ryouken was, but some of the maps detailed climate patterns and wind currents snaking along the Pacific Ocean, so he wondered if he was on one of Japan’s many islands. It would explain how Ryouken had came here if he was flying across the sea. He dragged his finger across from Den City, but there were at least ten islands around it, and that was only if he’d driven straight and not wandered out drunk and ended up thirty miles north or south.

But more importantly, what did Yuusaku know that he wasn’t sharing? Did he know anything? Was he the only one here, and how did he come to this island in the first place?

Despite the surprise at finding maps, Ryouken found nothing else that would aid his search. Maps would only tell him where he was if he could discern anything about his location, and that would mean leaving. He’d have to sneak out. Yuusaku would never answer his questions.

He paused. The androids would. They were the last two beings on Earth he would ever trust, but they were also the only two beings around him that he could talk to. 

He grabbed the book before he left the library and tucked it in a pocket on the inside of his cloak. Any clue could help him return home.

The house was still blissfully quiet in the morning hour. His footsteps were the loudest noise until he reached the lobby where, in one corner, a sofa had been dragged over. Lying on the sofa was Yuusaku, spread out in an undignified heap. Both Ai and Roboppi were sitting by his feet with steaming mugs, kicking their legs back and forth. They saw him first from the third floor balcony. Ai almost dropped his mug in his surprise.

“Revolver, you’re still here!”

Yuusaku’s head shot up.

Ryouken pursed his legs together. Had they been looking for him for long? They had said he could explore every room of the house save for the private bedrooms. Surely they hadn’t expected him to remain moping in his room.

“Revolver,” one of them whispered. It could have been any of them. But Yuusaku had a dewy-eyed look to his face as Ryouken stepped down the final step into the lobby.

“Morning.” Ryouken dipped his head.

“Did you have breakfast?” Yuusaku asked.

Ryouken mentally cursed himself; his dishes were still upstairs. But Yuusaku’s question had only been avoiding another one: that Ryouken had been somewhere else in the house. He hadn’t expected to see all three of them together. The book bounced against his leg. 

“Mister Revolver, I’ll get you a chair,” Roboppi said. He had already scooted off the chair and dashed round the side of the staircase. He returned dragging a heavy, wooden armchair, less comfortable than the chaise but still a solid piece of furniture that Ryouken sunk into. Once Roboppi settled down, Yuusaku spoke up again.

“Have you been awake long?”

He shrugged. If he had a mug in his hand, he’d have something to fiddle with … only Kougami Ryouken never ‘fiddled’ with anything. He was calm. Even. Collected.

“Where were you then?” Ai asked. “Roboppi and I searched …” Ai flicked his gaze to the staircase. “Were you in the secret room?”

Ryouken blinked. “What room?”

“The special, secret room.”

Roboppi’s eyes widened. “Bro, you don’t mean—”

“Hush,” Yuusaku said, batting gently at Ai’s head. “Revolver, did you find the library?”

So he did know of the library. Had Ai only been teasing then, or was that a room one wasn’t meant to visit?

“I did.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to be sliced, and it was Ai who next sliced it.

“But none of us have been in that room in centuries.”

“I’ve never cleaned that room, no I haven’t,” Roboppi added, tossing his head from side to side.

“It’s just a room,” Yuusaku said. “I’ll clean it this afternoon if you want to spend time there.”

“Already done.” Ryouken pulled the book from under his cloak and flipped it open. One of Yuusaku’s eyebrows rose. Ryouken lifted the book fractionally higher, just enough so that Yuusaku could see the title: Islands and Isles in Japan. Whether Yuusaku said anything or not was irrelevant; the part of his lips and the paleness of his face said it all. He was an open book. Ryouken flipped a page, careful not to let the delicate paper wrinkle. He peered over the top of the book.

Yuusaku shot his gaze deep down into his own mug. Even his reflection betrayed his surprise.

Ryouken returned to the book and read on. He’d perused it in the library already, and many of the major islands he knew from business transactions between partners with the Knights of Hanoi and SOL Technologies. 

“Mister Revolver?” Roboppi tapped the top of his book. “That’s a book with words in it.”

He didn’t need to peer over the book; Roboppi pulled it down to his own height so he could see the pages. 

“Yes.” 

Roboppi kept his finger on the pages. “Why don’t you look at a book with pictures, Mister Revolver?”

“Because I’m looking at this book.”

“But books with pictures are better.”

Ryouken suppressed a huff. He was not fond of children. In the business world, there were far and few matters that involved children. He did not design products and software for young children; he never attended meetings with young children. His only experience with kids was Aso’s niece and he only saw her in photographs. But Ryouken knew he did not like curious children. He pulled the book closer to his stomach.

Roboppi leaned closer, blue eyes sparkling. “Oh look, mister! There’s a picture on this page.” Without any warning, Roboppi flipped half the pages in the book to the gallery: images of the terrain on each of the islands. “Here, here, mister!”

Ai, who had previously been sitting on the couch drinking his hot beverage, approached too. “Hey, you said you’re from Japan. Are you from these islands?”

“No.” He pressed his lips together and lifted the book up.

Ai smacked it down. “I want to see too. You can’t just show Roboppi.”

“Oh, sorry, Bro! I’ll lift you up. Here!”

Ryouken leaned back in his seat before both children tumbled towards him. Every muscle in his body constricted. If they were kids on the street, he’d shoo them away. But their guardian, or whoever he was, Yuusaku, was …

Yuusaku. Was. Laughing. Quietly, barely contained in his fist, his head bowed towards his knees. But he was undoubtedly laughing. He found the situation funny.

“I don’t suppose you have any picture books for them?” Ryouken said, his voice just loud enough to cut above Ai and Roboppi’s prattling. Yuusaku coughed out one final laugh before he lifted his head. The remains of his smile still hung on his lips.

“Ai. Roboppi. It’s about time we started work today.”

“Aww, Master Yuusaku,” followed by a, “Fine, Master Yuusaku,” echoed from both androids as they removed themselves from Ryouken and trudged to the front door. The wagon had been left after yesterday’s adventures. The two children pulled the wagon out the door, and without a word disappeared. Like the flip of a switch, all was quiet in the house.

Yuusaku nursed his cup of tea with the elegance of a businessman told to play the ukulele.

Ryouken cleared his throat. “Did you know there were books in your library about where I come from?”

“I did.”

Ryouken snapped the book closed. “Did you know there are over 6,000 islands off the coasts of Japan?”

“Not unless I hadn’t read the page you were just staring at.”

“Would there be a chance—”

“I don’t know.” Yuusaku clenched his mug with a white-knuckled grip, then set it next to him as he was aware he could break it with his own anxious strength. A weak breath passed through his cracked lips. “Only Ai and Roboppi have been to the shore, but there’s nothing out there. No land in sight. No landmarks. This island—I’m sure no one else has found it. It’s not in that book, or any other book in the library.”

“Are we elsewhere in the world?”

“I don’t know.” This time, there was bite behind Yuusaku’s words. “There’s not much I know about this place.”

“What about how you wound up here?”

Yuusaku’s skin paled to the colour of the virgin snow outside.

Once before, Spectre had told him he was blunt. It was a trait satisfactory for a driven businessman who would need to be detail-oriented and precise. He would need to know what to say at the right time. Sure, he needed to know when to withhold information, but the best employees were those who were sure of themselves. Who spoke honestly. 

But being blunt did have its downfalls.

“E-excuse me?”

“A question, Yuusaku.”

“You—you have no right to that information!”

“A simple ‘no’ would suffice then.”

But Yuusaku was on his feet and breathing heavily, green eyes phosphorescent. 

“I’ll believe you’ve lived here all this time. It makes no difference to me. But this is not my home. It will not be. And I’ll be finding my way out.”

In the two days, Ryouken had learnt that Yuusaku was scared of straying too far. Hearing that he’d never even been to the water was further proof. So he knew, if he escaped, Yuusaku would try to bring him back. But Yuusaku also couldn’t follow where he was heading.

Ryouken marched out the door. The first gust of wind cut his cheeks like a thousand shards of glass, but the next wind was a familiar caress sweeping through his icy locks. His boots sunk into the fresh snow; further down was the packed snow that guided his path. He didn’t know where he ought to be walking; there were no guidelines and the view before him was different from what he’d seen when he and Yuusaku had trekked out two days ago, even though he’d stepped through the very same door. But none of that mattered. He was dressed warmly, he had all day to explore, and should he need to return, he would.

Yuusaku stood in the doorway, hands balled in fists.

“Why would you want me to stay?” Ryouken called back. “I’m a stranger to you.”

Without another word, he slipped between two snow-covered bushes and deeper into the forest. Metal grew from the trees; trees grew around the metal, encasing it with branches and even its thick trunk. The sight reminded him of a fantasy world, not an island off the coast of Japan. It was quiet too; the nature sucked away all chitter-chatter. Still he kept his ears pricked for Ai and Roboppi. They’d be out here too … somewhere.

Without a clock, he didn’t know how long he walked for. He didn’t even know at what time he’d left Yuusaku’s place. But the scenery changed three times—from forest to plains to forest again—without him ever seeing the sea. He couldn’t hear it either. Wind rustled between the thick coniferous trees wearing dusty-green pins and pinecones. Tracks in the snow looked to belong to animals, but he hadn’t seen or heard any creatures, not even when he and Yuusaku had gone out.

And Yuusaku—he hadn’t followed. 

Once more, the forests drifted apart to rolling plains. The sky was ever-grey and descended into a white horizon. Ryouken bit his lip. He was neither cold nor tired nor hungry, and yet he felt dissatisfaction in his blood. He wasn’t lost. There was a way off this island.

But the next time he came across forests, the path was dark. Ryouken blinked. He had left in the morning, and it he couldn’t have been out all day. The path before him said otherwise. Light stopped three feet beyond the first trees. The tangible, unnerving darkness he had seen before swirled like a ghostly presence just waiting to—to what? Gobble him up like a children’s monster? He huffed. There were no monsters, just over-imaginative minds and illogical fallacies. 

Head held high, Ryouken marched through the darkness. It was tangible. Cold slid along his arms and legs. Dew wet his hair and dripped down his face. Over and over again Ryouken told himself there was nothing to see, nothing to fear. Yet an inkling of a thought jammed in the back of his mind understood where Yuusaku’s irrational fear of the dark came from. Dark streets in Den City were just the result of a burnt-out lightbulb. Out here, the darkness was a creature of the night. Prowling. Hunting.

He counted in his head to ensure that he never walked for too long, and made it up to 6,582 before he stepped out of the darkness. Literally. His feet crunched on frozen sand. Salt clung to his lips. Ahead of him was the frozen sea, waves captured in action with deadly icicles hanging from their crests. A horrible storm must have raged before the sea had been frozen; all along the shore were entire tree trunks beached like whales and boulders pushed up to the forest. Stardust Road, the beach near his villa, was a sea with unpredictable weather too, but tree trunks did not simply wash up on the shores after a storm. 

Snow clumped atop his head from its steady fall from the sky. Ryouken brushed off his hood and shoulders and stepped onto the beach. Sand crackled beneath his boots, but the ice held firm. On the night he wound up on the island, he didn’t remember much. The nauseous, head-aching feeling was his most prominent memory, followed by Ai and Roboppi’s prattling that had his stomach churning and head aching even further. But perhaps if he walked across the sea he would end up elsewhere.

He stopped at the edge of the ice. Not even a drop of water crept out from under the thick shelf. Kneeling down, he searched for where the ice began and ended, but it must have been deep. He pressed a hand to the ice. Not even a crackle. He wasn’t stupid enough to march across the ocean when he could slip through a crack and drown, as the ice would be weakest in the middle of the sea, but it was cold enough to freeze actual waves, then surely it was strong enough to hold him.

All it would take was a step forward.

“Revolver!”

He jumped out of his skin, not at the sound of his own name, but the way it ripped from Yuusaku’s throat and barrelled across the deserted beach. It was the voice of someone beyond frightened, beyond panicked. Yuusaku stood at the edge of the forest, lantern dropped at his foot, hood pushed back. He was neither angry nor affronted. He was scared.

“Revolver!” 

“Why did you follow me?”

“The ice, it’s not stable. It’s not—” He was in front of Ryouken then, tugging at his cloak, attempting a grab at his arm too. Ryouken bristled at the contact, but Yuusaku’s words cut into him. “You’ll die if you go out there.”

“How do you know?”

“H-huh …”

“How do you know?” Ryouken hissed. “How come you’re here? How come those AIs are here? You expect me to stay? To—to comply with this reality?”

“Be-because I’m still left here too.” Yuusaku grabbed his cloak in one fist, and his eyes burned with liquid fire. “I can’t leave either.”

“Why?” Ryouken turned back from the ocean. “Will you tell me this time? No one simply winds up on an empty island and decides to stay. That just doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Because I can’t leave.” Yuusaku dropped hold of his cloak, but his hands shook at his sides. The cold couldn’t have affected him, and yet he tremored. “There’s no way. None. I’ve tried. Over and over again I’ve tried. Maps, guides, landmarks—I know them all. But I know that if I try to leave, I will die. It will happen. So wouldn’t it be better if simply stayed, remained at peace, made the most of my life here, the chance that I have to continue on—”

“Because you wound up here?”

“Because I was saved.”

“By whom?”

Yuusaku’s eyes widened. There were no tears, but the words cut through him all the same. “If there is no way out, Revolver, you make do with what you are given. I am not stuck. I am not trapped. But I cannot leave, not like you think you can simply march across the frozen sea and wind up wherever you think Japan might be. That won’t work; I can tell you that. But I can only save you once. If you walk across the sea, you’ll never come back.”

“Have you tried yourself?”

Yuusaku’s silence spoke for itself.

Grumbling, Ryouken stepped off the ice. There was no sight of land past the ice shelf. He’d be walking blind into a death trap, and Kougami Ryouken was no idiot, not even someone who took chances without surety. Somehow, Yuusaku seemed to know this too. He never reached out again, but his words pulled Ryouken further towards the forest.

“If you want me to believe there’s no way out of here, and that’s it better here than out there, you might need to start telling me how you know all this.”

Yuusaku pinched his lips together.

Ryouken settled down on a felled tree, smooth from its bashing and bruising in the now-frozen sea. “Why don’t you start with how you came here?”

“It wasn’t the same as you,” Yuusaku said at once. Ryouken almost heard Ai and Roboppi’s prattle of, ‘Master Yuusaku didn’t come to us drunk off his ass.’ But no, Yuusaku was serious as he settled down on the other side of the log, back to Ryouken. Somehow though, his next words came easier.

“I came here when I was little. Six. I had run away with a D-Board and dashed as far across the sea as I could. I didn’t know where I was going, only that wherever I ended up would certainly have been better than where I was before. I passed out on the board in the middle of the sea, and when I woke up, I was … here. On this very beach. Ai and Roboppi found me clinging to the board, on the verge of hypothermia. They took me home.”

Ryouken leaned back on the log, daring a glance out of the corner of his eye. 

Yuusaku tipped further forward, bracing his forearms on his knees.

“So you stayed.”

“I tried to escape,” Yuusaku said in a whisper of a voice. “So many times I tried to run away. I know every inch of this island; there isn’t a single tree I can’t place, which is why I can tell you we are on none of the islands around Japan. All this time, I don’t know how I—and now you—wound up here.”

“Were we the only two?”

Yuusaku sucked in a breath.

“I can read between the lines.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair.” Ryouken settled forward; if Yuusaku was going to face away from him to tell his tale then so be it. “Were there any other humans, inebriated or otherwise, found on these shores?”

“No. You’re the first new human I’ve seen.”

His surprise back then had been genuine then and not solely due to Ryouken vomiting on the floor. Ryouken tried to imagine just what it must have been like to see another human being after so long.

“Why can’t you cross the sea?” Ryouken asked instead.

This time, it was Yuusaku who was surprised. “Pardon?”

“Why did you fail the previous times?”

“Revolver, the Pacific Ocean, if that even is where we are, is far greater than Japan. We’re not even sure if we’re north or south, east or west. Simply flying in a random direction would only result in dying of hypothermia, dehydration, or starvation—and that’s without considering other dangers out there.”

“The fact that I flew across the ocean while under the influence of alcohol and managed to not hit anything says there aren’t too many dangers out there.”

Yuusaku snorted into his fist. He turned around, and so did Ryouken, making sure to remain as serious and stoic as possible.

“Did you ever think your drunken adventures would wind you up here?”

Ryouken pinched his eyebrows together. “You speak as if I get drunk on a regular occurrence.”

“Well, I don’t really know you …”

“And yet you’d rather I stay here than leave.”

He expected a retort, a blush. Yuusaku merely tilted his head to the side and asked, “Wouldn’t anyone? You’re the first person I’ve seen in so long.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. It wouldn’t have been anything profound; he knew that for certain, even before his cheeks tinged pink and his ears burned despite the chilly weather. Yuusaku had spoken earnestly, honestly when not minutes before he had been talking in circles, refusing to give up even a shred of information. Pondering on the thought for any longer only made his chest flutter.

“I don’t need to see anyone throw themselves away.” Yuusaku stood up, snowing slipping from his dark, starlit cloak. “If you’re going to escape, at least think more clearly than how you did getting out here.” And with that, Yuusaku headed back into the darkness. His shoulders shivered but he held his lantern in an iron grip.

Ryouken gazed back at the frozen sea. Not a speck of land dotted the horizon, not even a glimmer of salvation that there was someone else out there. But ahead of him was the lantern and its dim, albeit sparkling, glow, like a star in an empty sky. And only a fool would have turned back again.

Chapter Text

The afternoon began with a click, a clunk, and an “Oh shit, the power’s off.” Ryouken had been in the library perusing a cookbook on Medieval dinner party recipes when he’d heard the three noises, and they’d all been so loud he would have sworn they came from the hallway and not halfway across the house. Sighing, he set the book on a well-worn coffee table and rose to his feet. There was no need to involve himself in whatever had happened, but at the very least standing on the balcony and watching the androids bicker among themselves would bring him some joy.

Sure enough, just as Ryouken peered over the third floor balcony, Ai and Roboppi came rolling out of the furnace room, waving their hands in front of their faces. A trail of thick, plumy smoke followed after them. 

“Windows open, windows open!” the two androids cried as they pried the large front door open and let the chilly winter air sweep in. Snow flecked the obsidian entryway floor, and made it slippery enough that Ai and Roboppi struggled to move around the rest of the lobby to open the smaller windows.

“Ai! Roboppi!” Yuusaku craned his head from the second floor balcony, but all too soon he was rushing down the stairs. “What happen—”

“It’s nothing!” Ai said, spinning around.

Roboppi threw their hands up in the air. “Nothing, Master Yuusaku! Nothing at all.”

By the near-corporeal smoke billowing out of the furnace room, only an idiot would have believed them, and that wasn’t factoring in the bellowing cries even Ryouken had heard from the third floor. Surely Yuusaku would have heard them too. 

“Nothing?” Yuusaku said, casually turning his head to the side.

“Nothing, nothing!” Ai said before Yuusaku had turned his head fully. “You must have just heard when … when Roboppi dropped a hammer on his foot.”

“Yes!” Roboppi stuck out his foot dressed not in bandages or swollen in any form, but instead encased in a large, blue and pink boot. “I hurt my foot, Master Yuusaku.”

“I … see.” Yuusaku tilted his head up, catching Ryouken’s eyes. He blinked once, then gave a wry smile. “Ryouken, would you mind accompanying me to the forest? We’ll pick up some materials on the way home.”

Ryouken glanced at the two androids nervously shuffling their feet. Couldn’t they do it? he wanted to say. After all, it had been them who had caused the mess. But Yuusaku’s smile was brighter than before, and between staying home or going out, he much preferred the latter. 

“Sure.”

Ai and Roboppi spun their heads from left to right.

“But Master Yuusaku—”

“Why don’t you make sure the furnace is fixed by the time I get back,” Yuusaku said as he wound a long, midnight blue scarf around his neck. He pulled a woollen, pom pom-topped hat onto his head and added, “We’d hate to come back to a broken machine and frozen house.”

“Aye aye, Yuusaku!” Ai gave him a quick salute and marched back into the smoky furnace room, with Roboppi hot on his heels.

Something heavy and warm landed on Ryouken’s shoulders: one of Yuusaku’s many scarfs that Yuusaku himself was now winding round his neck. His jacket and hat hung on the coat hook in the entryway, and his boots were lined up by the door along with Yuusaku’s. It would have looked like he had long-since moved into the house by the way his belongings were scattered and hung.

Ryouken eased his arms into his jacket. Yuusaku stood ready with his hat; carefully he pulled it over Ryouken’s head and adjusted the flaps by his ears. Yuusaku’s fingers remained a moment longer on either side of his head, fingers resting along his jaw. Ryouken swallowed reflexively.

All too soon, he missed the heat Yuusaku’s fingers left behind. The great outdoors was as frigid as a tundra, a terrible mix of damp, cold snow and dry, icy wind. The many layers of clothing he wore protected his chest and arms, but his fingers, even with gloves, were bitten by the slightest of winds, and his entire face burned from the chill. He shivered deep into his winter clothing as he and Yuusaku wandered past the initial wind barrier protecting the house, and then down a narrow path leading …

“Whereabouts are we heading?” Ryouken asked. Over the past three weeks—exactly twenty-one days since he had washed up on the strange island—Ryouken had accompanied Yuusaku on various excursions outside of the house. He had begun to feel more familiar with his surroundings after the first week: he recognised major paths they took to find the forest or the coast even though the snow re-covered their tracks within hours. But while Ryouken had thought he knew where they were headed, he found himself gazing dumbly at tree stumps and rocks. He hadn’t been on this path before.

Yuusaku kept on walking.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to walk the few minutes to the forest and collect there? I’m certain we’ll find enough fuel to last the next day or two.”

Still Yuusaku didn’t turn around.

Ryouken huffed loudly. If he was going to be mysterious, then so be it. 

Not once did the path they took ever become familiar, but Ryouken still enjoyed the view. Tree trunks as wide as office desks grew taller than the sky, and yet the sunshine managed to peek through in places and dapple the forest floor with gold and orange hues. Ryouken hadn’t seen such colours on the monochrome island since he’d arrived, and yet here of all places the sun managed to shine. He turned back to see how far he’d come. The house was long gone.

The further they travelled, the more beautiful the sights became. Winter flowers painted with frost. A clear, blue sky over their heads. Despite the bitter, bone-chilling cold, the day likely would have been worse indoors. And still Yuusaku kept quiet as they headed deeper into the island.

Then, out of the blue, Yuusaku stopped. Paused. “Well?” he said.

Well, Ryouken began to echo, but he paused. The scenery had changed from snowy forests to a large, frozen lake that stretched far in every direction. Though snow clumped in places, the surface was still slippery as Ryouken placed a foot on the ice. He kept his other foot—and most of his weight—on solid ground should he slip through, but he found it held his weight without so much as a creak or groan.

Yuusaku sprung onto the ice without a hint of fear. He slid forward, arms held out on either side of him to balance himself, and looked like a graceful forest spirit dancing across the lake. Snow gathered around his feet as he skated to and fro, not even hesitating the further he headed across the pond. 

“Well?” Yuusaku spun around, spraying snow.

“A-aren’t we looking for metal?” Ryouken said, trying to keep his voice even. They had work to do and were on a mission.

“But of course.” A teasing smile spread across Yuusaku’s lips. “Wouldn’t it be quicker to cross the lake from the centre? It’s a long trek round it.” He turned his head to prove his words, and the last hesitations slipped from Ryouken’s mind. A long trek indeed. And the ice … well …

He leaned his weight into the ice, sliding his foot ever so slowly across the lake. Not a crack, not even a groan. 

Another step.

Then another.

His shoulder bumped into Yuusaku’s back; he’d been standing in the middle of the lake and staring out at the silent sight before him, not realising that Ryouken had followed him over. Ryouken stepped back, huffing once more—

And promptly fell back on his bottom, feet flying out from under him, arms waving. He landed with a dull, albeit painful, thud, and no amount of snow underneath him softened the fall. 

Yuusaku tipped forward, muffling his quiet laughter into his gloves. Ryouken narrowed his eyes at him, another growl building in his throat. The nerve that man had, the childishness—he was beginning to see where Yuusaku got his juvenile humour from. Or had Ai and Roboppi learnt their ways from him? Either or, Ryouken stood for none of it. He pushed himself onto his feet as quickly as he could.

For the second time, his feet slipped out from under him. Only, he didn’t hit the ground. A pair of wiry fingers wrapped round his arms and pulled him forward, and Ryouken tipped up onto his feet. His shoes struggled to hold on the slippy ice, but with Yuusaku’s steady grip, he managed. Unfortunately.

Somehow, Yuusaku managed to look even more uncomfortable with the situation than him. His fingers couldn’t decide whether to hold or let go, and in the end he held him with such an awkward grip Ryouken felt as if he should fall back down. Yuusaku’s cheeks were as pink as petals, and the colour made his green eyes pop. 

Then, with the clumsy grace of a man not even sure what he was doing, Yuusaku pulled him forward. Ryouken locked his knees before his legs split on either side of him, and he skated forward along the ice, leaving two thin trails behind him. He was skating. Clumsily, barely, and with Yuusaku doing far more work than him. Ryouken had to keep his head down to see where to place his feet, but his body maintained its balance. Fingers tightened round Yuusaku’s palms. His back straightened.

“Not so hard,” Yuusaku said, pulling him forward once more. 

Ryouken scoffed. If he had Yuusaku driving a D-Board then they’d both see who had more coordination.

They weaved through the snow, tracing crop-circle patterns wherever they went. After a few minutes, Ryouken chanced a glance upwards to see if they were making any progress travelling across the pond. They weren’t even going in the correct direction.

Yuusaku noticed this too by the raise of his eyebrow. He let out a noise between a snort, a laugh, and a cough and he held tighter to Ryouken’s hands.

Ryouken’s cheeks darkened. “Just what are we doing?” he said, forcing his tone to remain even, neutral. Anger would only feed into Yuusaku’s enjoyment.

“Skating.”

“And?”

Yuusaku hid his smile behind his long bangs. “And?”

Ryouken swung himself to the side. His balance teetered, his knees buckled, but he surprised even himself by managing to keep both him and Yuusaku upright. He locked his knees and elbows to maintain the new position. Before Yuusaku had a chance to pull away, he pushed forward, clasping their hands together, skating ahead. Skating was not so different from riding a D-Board once he caught his balance. A firm centre of gravity, gentle movements, and then he’d be floating away like a cloud guided by an afternoon breeze.

A warm chuckle emanated from Yuusaku’s chest. “One, two, three.”

And they were off again, spinning, twirling, faster than Ryouken could ever imagine two people could go. Yuusaku held tightly to him, as if he worried they might break apart and shoot to separate ends of the pond; but at the same time he also seemed determined to drive them away from each other, if only so he could on tightly and never let go. Round and round they spun, dragging and lifting their feet, righting each other the moment they began to slip. Ryouken acted on instinct. If he thought, he would slip; there was no time to consider possibilities, no time but to live in the moment.

And despite how cold it was, how quickly they spun, how chilly the air between them should have been—Ryouken had never been so warm in his life.

Beneath him, his feet were a blur. Snow sprayed from his every movement, revealing ice thick and chip-free. No signs of life swam beneath the surface.

When they broke apart, tumbling into the snowbanks along the water, Ryouken saw they had, eventually, made it across the water. Haphazardly. With no intention of even getting that far. He kicked his feet up and sighed, letting the cool air burn his lungs. Yuusaku coughed and sighed too, yet he looked more alive than he ever had. Cheerier, happier. Human.

“Metal?” Yuusaku said after a moment. He made no indication to get up.

“Metal.” Ryouken’s limbs remained firmly in the snow.

Yuusaku swatted at him and climbed to his feet. He marched over the snowbank with a few determined steps, and after a moment returned dragging several metal pipes behind him. “Remembered storing these a few months back if we ever needed some emergency materials.”

“And you never dragged it back to your house?” Ryouken raised an eyebrow. “You had to go out here to get it.”

Grumbling, Yuusaku dragged it back across the pond. The pole cut through their whimsical ice dance and screeched along the ice. “I never thought that far ahead, all right? Besides, it’s only ten minutes ba—”

The rest of his words were swallowed by a deafening crack. Ryouken leapt to his feet, ready to call out for Yuusaku to remain still, don’t panic—but it happened too fast. The ice snapped in two like a flimsy twig, folded in on itself, and Yuusaku went under. 

“Yuusaku!”

Ryouken charged forward. Yuusaku’s entire body was submerged but thrashing in the frigid water. One arm clung desperately to the metal poles he’d uncovered, yet his grip was weak. Each breath he took hissed in his throat. Panic was setting in.

“Yuusaku, hand—”

He wouldn’t be able to reach. Ryouken grabbed hold of the pole instead.

“Yuusaku, hold on! Hold tightly!”

Alarmingly slow, Yuusaku wrapped his other arm round the pole. He didn’t have the strength to hold on or kick. Bits of ice broke away around Ryouken’s feet, but he kept his distance and pulled.

“Stay—stay down, Yuusaku! Until I pull you all the way!”

Yuusaku wouldn’t have had the strength to move anyways. Despite being under the water for no more than a minute, his teeth chattered enough to chip them. Purple blistered around his fingers, lips, eyes. His skin was either ghostly white or bloody red and his teeth would not stop chattering his body would not stop convulsing chest heaving with ragged coughs—

The moment Yuusaku was free, Ryouken pulled him into his arms. Yuusaku’s tight skinsuit stuck to his skin in all the wrong ways; wetness seeped onto Ryouken’s jacket and trousers. He flinched as Yuusaku’s cold forehead landed against his jaw.

There was no time to panic. He heaved Yuusaku up into his arms, the metal long-forgotten. Other than the crack, the ice looked stable, but Ryouken took no chances. If they both fell in, no one would be able to rescue them in time. He backpedaled to the edge and ran the long way around, keeping Yuusaku close to him. Though he wasn’t lucid, panic had trapped Yuusaku’s mind too: he didn’t move other than the occasional cough or wheezy inhale, and not once did he speak up.

Ryouken would panic later too. 

Yuusaku had said before that the trip home would only take ten minutes, and yet even though he had memorised the way home it felt like centuries before he saw the wind trap around the house. Breaking through the barrier, he clenched Yuusaku to his chest and covered him as best as he could; any chillier and Yuusaku’s blood would freeze in his veins. 

His fingers fumbled on the door once. Twice. He broke open, tumbling into the entryway. The chill hit him first: the house, after being without power, was freezing. The cold stone floor nipped at his palms. Before the cold settled on Yuusaku like a blanket of death, Ryouken pulled him back into his arms. If the house temperature was sub-zero, the remaining heat would be up high—only the last time he recalled exploring the rooms, there were no bedrooms.

“Hey, Yuusa—”

“Master Yuusaku!” Roboppi wheeled forward, eyes wide with alarm. “Master, what happened?”

“There—there’s icicles in his hair!”

“Where’s the warmest room?” Ryouken cut in. 

“T-the warmest?” Roboppie echoed.

Ai’s bottom lip began to quiver. “The boiler room, but the power …”

“Where else?” Ryouken’s words clipped at the end. “Where’s the warmest room?”

“B-bathroom,” Ai said, “but without hot water—”

“Bedroom!” Roboppi shot forward down the first-floor hallway. “Master Yuusaku has blankets!”

There wouldn’t be anything warmer until they fixed the heating, so Ryouken hurried after Roboppi. Not once had he been in Yuusaku’s bedroom, but his curiosity was gone in the face of worry. He weaved round several carboard boxes balanced precariously atop one another, threatening to fall on a hard-mattressed bed made of old, chipped wood. There were several blankets pushed in a great pile, and even more pillows. 

Ryouken settled Yuusaku down on the floor. His fingers hesitated at Yuusaku’s collar, but at Yuusaku’s tired glance, Ryouken pushed the last of his worries aside. He stripped Yuusaku of every wet garment. One of the boxes at the far end of the room spilled with shirts and trousers, and Ryouken dutifully redressed Yuusaku before tucking him into bed. Even with the warm clothing, the pillows bunched around him, and four thick blankets, Yuusaku still shivered with frost-white lips.

Ai hung his chin at the side of the bed. He and Roboppi had been quiet all through Yuusaku’s return. Ryouken had expected their useless, often infuriating ‘help,’ but neither android had so much as spoke much less intervened. They’d stepped back to let him take care of their master. Somehow, he was competent in their eyes. He’d never been competent once since arriving here. Fuck, he hadn’t even competently arrived here.

“He’s going to get better, right?” Roboppi hung at his side, no taller than his hip. “Master Yuusaku will get better, won’t he, Mister Revolver?”

“He will.” Ryouken sunk his teeth into his lip. “Head out into the forest and bring back as much metal as you can. You need to keep the house warm.”

Ai pushed himself from the bed. “I-I will too.”

Ryouken held his chin up, his back straight. He was a leader to the Hanois; he could be a leader to these two too. “Come back at once with as much as you can. Heat the house, and then head out again.”

The two androids nodded in unison, paused, and then dashed out the door. The last sight Ryouken heard of them was the slam of the front door. Then it was quiet: deathly, painfully quiet. Yuusaku didn’t stir from his blanket nests, only mumbled and wheezed in his sleep. Sometime during the walk home he had fallen asleep and had yet to wake up. He was breathing, albeit weakly; he was alive, albeit barely. 

Ryouken held his head in his hands. His breaths were just as ragged.

“Hm?”

He jumped at Yuusaku’s voice, only to find Yuusaku’s eyes pinched close and his entire face twisted in unease. Ragged coughs burst from his chest. The blankets tied round him prevented him from doing more than rolling his head side to side, but he still attempted to break free.

“Yuusaku.”

Another thrash. Yuusaku arched his back up, lips pressed tightly together.

“Yuusaku.” This time, Ryouken sat closer. He adjusted the blankets round Yuusaku’s body, but did not touch him. Not until Yuusaku’s eyes were open. “Yuusaku, it’s just … just Ryouken.”

Like the key to a lock, Yuusaku’s eyes opened. “Hm?”

“We’re back home,” Ryouken said automatically, and began as if he were reciting a script. “You fell into the lake. You weren’t in the water for long, but even slight exposure would put you at risk. You’ve been wrapped up for”—a pause—”an hour now and shown no signs of extreme hypothermia. At most, you’ll be—”

“Ryou … ken.” Yuusaku mumbled the words, sleep heavy on his tongue. “Is that … your name?”

Ryouken blinked. He had heard himself say his name, chose it, but he hadn’t thought Yuusaku would hear too. “Y-yes. But as I was saying—”

“Ryouken.” Yuusaku said it again, more clearly than before. Ryouken pursed his lips together. Was Yuusaku contracting a fever already? His cheeks were flushing, though whether from the warm blankets or the start of illness Ryouken couldn’t tell. “Ryouken,” Yuusaku said again, rolling each syllable off his tongue.

At once, his throat became dry. “I’ll get you something to drink, if you’re all right by yourself for a moment.”

“Yeah, all right.”

By the time Ryouken returned with water, one glass for Yuusaku and one for him, the awkwardness had not dissipated from the room. Yuusaku lie on the bed, still swathed in blanket after blanket. He blinked blearily and tried to push himself up, but Ryouken was at his side at once, hooking his hands under Yuusaku’s arms and bringing him to a seating position. Yuusaku’s hands shook as they accepted the glass, and Ryouken held the bottom of the cup so Yuusaku could drink. With no words spoken, every breath, every clink, every miniscule noise echoed. After his drink, Yuusaku settled back against the wall.

“Where are …”

“Collecting metal for the boiler.” Feeling a chill sweep through the room, Ryouken rubbed his hands together. Come to notice it, he could see Yuusaku’s breath fogging. There was no way to rush the androids, and far and few ways to warm Yuusaku any further. 

Sniffling, Yuusaku pulled his knees to his chest. 

“Do you need another blanket?” Even Ryouken could see that there were already four blankets covering Yuusaku. Even he knew another layer wouldn’t help. But the alternative … He swallowed back the dry feeling in his mouth. “If you’d like.”

“Only if you will.” Delicately, Yuusaku peeled back the covers. He began to slide further down the bed, cheeks heating with each passing moment. Ryouken’s own face began to burn. One foot at a time he slipped underneath the covers and next to Yuusaku. His arm brushed Yuusaku’s chest. His foot brushed Yuusaku’s ankle. Each point of contact was an electric snap firing through his circuits. No doubt they wouldn’t need blankets by the way he felt heat pooling everywhere. Soon it would be as hot as a generator.

Yuusaku had turned away from him to give him the privacy to lie down. Ryouken counted it a silent blessing as he eased himself down on the mattress and tugged the first of many duvets over his shoulder. His body locked next to Yuusaku’s like two bent pieces of hardware: if they were meant to join together, it wouldn’t be comfortable. And it wasn’t for Yuusaku either—he wouldn’t lie correctly, forcing Ryouken to have his knees bent and his chest slouched forward. His nose pressed into the base of Yuusaku’s neck. How uncomfortable. How useless. 

“Do you need more space?”

Ryouken huffed out a laugh. “You’re the one afflicted by hypothermia and you’re asking me how comfortable I am?”

Yuusaku pulled himself forward nonetheless.

“You—you won’t get warm from that far away.” Ryouken pulled himself forward. Once more, he adjusted his position to best lie with Yuusaku. In high school, he had studied biology and knew the warmest areas of the human were at the chest. He’d need to have as much of his torso pressed to Yuusaku as possible. 

As soon as he made contact, Yuusaku stiffened. His shoulders rose up to his ears. Ryouken waited for Yuusaku to push him away, but they remained together. Their heartbeats were the loudest noise in the room: great, metal gongs ricocheting around the four plain bedroom walls. Ryouken couldn’t see much over Yuusaku’s shoulder, but what he could see was dismally basic. And he had thought Yuusaku spent so much time in this room.

The boxes in the far corner were of most interest to Ryouken. No doubt the boxes were filled with memorabilia and heirlooms. They were packed tightly too with several pieces of tape locking each side down. Not a speck of writing marred the sides, so he could only guess what Yuusaku may have packed away: photographs, books, clothing. He had once said he came to this island long ago, so perhaps his childhood belongings. He’d never considered Yuusaku to be the sentimental type, but then again, in an unchanging land, one would want to hold onto their past treasures. 

“Can’t you say something?”

He’d thought Yuusaku had fallen asleep by the silence surrounding them. 

“Anything,” Yuusaku continued. “If we’re going to have to be like this …”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I can’t.” Yuusaku lifted his head, only to drop it down on the pillow. 

“Can you feel your fingers and toes?”

A mirthless laugh echoed round the room. “I truly doubt I have hypothermia. I wasn’t even in the water for all that long.”

“Hypothermia sets in rather quickly.” As part of his boating license, he knew: cold water exposure was quick to nip at one’s heat reserves, and even a short dip in subzero water was dangerous to a human body. True, Yuusaku wouldn’t die from a dip, but the frigid walk back hadn’t assisted in recovery.

“I think I’d know if I had hypothermia.”

“You ever seen it before?”

Yuusaku tilted his head back towards him. His lips were still grey, his skin both ashen and rosy. Heat was returning, but patchworky, as if his body were still determining where best to focus its assets. 

“Are you a doctor?” Yuusaku asked him instead.

“Not in a medical sense. But I have my PhD in computer engineering.”

“So then you don’t have a medical degree to tell me whether or not I have hypothermia.”

“No, but I’ve seen a body shut down before. Seen the colour drain from it. Seen the system pool and panic to reserve life functions while consequently losing all other aspects: movement, cognition, speech. I know what a person looks like when they’re dying, and I’d rather not see you in the same position.”

“But I’m not dying.” Yuusaku hummed a little victory tune to himself. 

“No, just suffering from cold water exposure.”

“Recovering. And how does a computer engineer know so much about medical practices?”

“Curiosity.”

Ryouken waited for Yuusaku to bite the bait. Spectre would have. No, Spectre would have already deduced where he’d learnt so much about medical practices and inferred the reasoning for such specific knowledge. Spectre was like Sherlock Holmes, uncovering facts and solving mysteries. Yuusaku was a young man recovering from a near-fatal experience. Yuusaku’s shelves were full of recipe books and encyclopedias, not medical texts. 

Ryouken tucked himself closer to Yuusaku, feeling his staggered breathing through his back. 

“I had caregiving responsibilities for my father. I learnt how to keep a body comfortable.”

Yuusaku’s breath hitched into a weak cough. 

Ryouken bit into his lip. “You pick up a thing or two about hypothermia along the way, along with your boating license and your—”

“Your father,” Yuusaku began, sounding out each syllable like a foreign word on his tongue; Ryouken could relate. “Is he no longer …?”

“Alive? Yes. He passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s been a year anyways.” And somehow, it felt like both shorter and longer. A year ago, the Knights of Hanoi had been a much more illicit organisation. A year ago, he had felt the energy in his veins—anger, arrogance, pushing him to break servers and tear down organisation to feel power over someone. Power over your associates in a business relationship didn’t provide the same thrill. But then again, a year ago, his father had still held power over him. 

Ryouken sunk his teeth into the silence. “It was a better year after anyways.” A pause. “Then I washed up inebriated on your beach.” Another pause. “Besides, Dr Kougami is my father’s name. Dr Ryouken, that’s my own title.”

Still, Yuusaku hadn’t said a word. Ryouken bit into his lip. Talking about your deceased parent was only more uncomfortable with looming silence. Surely Yuusaku had a parent or guardian figure of his own. Surely he could relate. But while he hadn’t turned away, the stiffness in his posture reminded Ryouken of an animal debating whether to fight or flee—or in Yuusaku’s case, press forward or pull back from the conversation. 

“I … can’t think of anything thoughtful.” Yuusaku paused, smacking his lips together once. “Or, well, anything with ‘thought’ behind it.”

“Say what’s on your mind.”

“According to your diagnosis of hypothermia, I shouldn’t be thinking clearly at all.”

But you have one fire-licking tongue, Ryouken wanted to say. 

Groaning, Yuusaku flipped to the other side. His face was white save for the distinct red blush running across the bridge of his nose: a fever. His eyes were dull at the corners and fiery round the pupils. No doubt his heart was racing. Ryouken wished he could press closer just to feel that beat course through his own body. 

“You didn’t have a very good life, did you?”

No more than a weak chuckle built in his dry throat. 

“That didn’t sound like a personal, heartfelt retelling of caring for your ailing parent. You don’t call it caring duties unless you’re speaking to your lawyer about your extended responsibilities.”

“What a deduction. I wish I could introduce you to my associate.”

“Your … associate.”

“Colleague. Subordinate. You might even say ‘friend.’”

Yuusaku smiled mirthlessly. “You sound close—and you’ve avoided my question.”

“My father wasn’t a good man, Yuusaku, and for the record, I doubt I am either. An inebriated man is not the sort of person with whom one would normally associate.”

Yuusaku mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘beggers can’t be choosers,’ but even with the minimal space between them his words were hushed. Speaking of one’s deceased parent never brought out lively conversation unless one was speaking with Spectre, in which case he spoke of the dead as easily as he described what he’d made for dinner that night. Ryouken could sense Yuusaku’s uneasiness like a stench from his sweat-drenched body. But Yuusaku wasn’t veering off from the conversation. Ryouken almost wished he would.

“Typically, when a stranger lands on your doorstep in such a state, you send them back out.”

“You were already in my house,” Yuusaku pointed out. He suppressed another shiver and tucked back into Ryouken’s chest. “Besides, company is company.”

“Is it?”

“When you’re all the way out here, you don’t get to know many people …” Yuusaku’s words faded away into the sticky, muddled air. Ryouken didn’t know what to make of Yuusaku’s final words, and Yuusaku himself seemed unsure how to even continue. Thus, a pregnant silence grew between them, oozing awkwardness and uncertainty. Ryouken had been to more embarrassing conference meetings. But Yuusaku’s words hung with him as the shivers ceased and the night grew warmer. 

At some point, the heating must have returned, for the house grew as warm as a rainforest. Ryouken peeled the sticky sheets from his body and peered over the bed. Yuusaku was asleep at long last, his lashes reaching down to the apples of his red cheeks, his lips parted but no longer a pasty white-blue. No doubt he’d be recovering tomorrow too, but he no longer looked quite the spectre he once had. Ryouken breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been comparing him to his father’s corpse ever since he first fell into the water: the translucent skin, the hazy eyes, the waxy skin. 

In his sleep, Yuusaku mumbled and shifted his head from side to side. Whatever he was dreaming put a frown to his face and a twitch to his eyelids, but he did not rise.

Ryouken breathed a sigh of relief. After all that, Yuusaku would make it out unharmed.