Archive of Our Own

Ezreal steps out of the taxi and pays the driver, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder. He looks up to the building with a bit of dread; he’s supposed to give a presentation about Hanahaki Disease, and he’s not looking forward to it. The panel he’s with isn’t interested in talking about medical advances into that specific field; they keep saying the disease just happens and people’s emotions can’t be controlled, so the only way to prevent it or cure it is to remove someone’s free will. Ezreal knows there’s more to it, but he needs a team willing to back him up on this. He has Talon, but Talon had limited medical practice once he’d been infected with the disease. They had studied the brain together while they could, but once Talon’s capabilities became limited, all rights he had to the contribution to the cure were nullified. So here Ezreal is, in Demacia, trying to give this another shot. 

He takes a few steps towards the building and then just stops, taking out his phone. He flips through the apps, until he finds the only one he still shares with his best friend; everything else Talon had deleted his account for and had only settled on keeping this one because it had been the only place where he'd kept all the pictures he had ever bothered to take. 

Ezreal swiped and thumbed through the folders, until he found his favorite album, which Talon had gracefully titled "Stupid Shit", and looked though the images. It was full of pictures of them both through their friendship; pictures taken, scanned and uploaded from when they were kids, playing with hot-wheels cars, lollipops in their mouths. There was a picture of them in elementary school, where it showed them dressed up for Halloween, Talon dressed as the white Power Ranger, and Ezreal dressed as the red one. A couple of middle school pictures, from when they had gone to the zoo, and Ezreal had tried sneaking into the monkey's enclosure. Highschool, where Talon had painted a wonderful piece depicting the feeling of love as he understood it; he had won first place in a national competition, and had refused to sell his work, opting instead to give it to Ezreal as a birthday gift. He paused here, looking at the image of them both hugging and laughing as they held the piece, the biggest grin on Talon's face, the look of utmost pride from Ezreal for his friend. 

Happier, simpler times; before they graduated and went to college and went into medicine and—before Talon had fallen in love with someone he refused to tell Ezreal about, the first secret to be kept from him. Talon had been afflicted with Hanahaki by the time he found out. 

It had been a while since he'd talked with Talon; lately all he did was travel from place to place, looking for a conference that would give him an opportunity to present his thesis. It was a yearning clearly meant to help the population, but driven specifically because of Talon; the guy had always been independent, and to see him so helpless under the spell of something that could've been avoided if he'd stuck to his guns about not falling for anyone, none of this would be happening. 

He sighs. It's not Talon's fault he fell in love with someone; despite evidence showing the contrary for so long, he was still human. He had emotions just like everyone else did, even though they were buried as deep as the Earth's core. If anything, he blamed Talon for making this more difficult than it had to be. Ezreal could talk to the person in question, and try to convince them to tell him those words of love. A love confession; such a simple, trivial thing that could end or make someone’s world. It had to be someone truly special for someone like Talon to have fallen in love; surely they loved him back but were just as shy and awkward about it as he was. 

So now here Ezreal is, stuck in a position where the only way he could help was going into the building in front of him, praying for a miracle, while his best friend died slowly and painfully several thousand miles away, alone, with only these pictures to keep him company. 

Ezreal sighs again and closes the app, opening the phone interface and calls Talon. It doesn’t even ring once when Talon picks up. 

“Scare me like that, why don’t you?” 

“Oh?” Ezreal chuckles at Talon’s greeting.

“I was just about to call.” 

“Why? Is something wrong? Are you okay?” Ezreal grips the phone tightly and glances up at the building again, wishing there was another way he could help. 

Talon scoffs. “Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I—you—well, you said you were about to call and I thought…” 

Talon lets the sentence drift away awkwardly for a few seconds before he hums. “So you think I’m some damsel in distress that will only call you when I’m in trouble?” 

There’s no bite to the remark, in fact it’s stated in a clearly joking manner, but Ezreal still can’t help but feel a little guilty, because yeah, he’d thought Talon had called because something was wrong. “Tal, I’m just worried.” 

“You worry too much. I actually called you because I was gonna save this surprise for when you came back, but since it doesn’t look like it’ll be any time soon…” He trails off and again, Ezreal feels guilty. But more than anything, he feels a rush through his body. There’s something in Talon’s voice that sounds different, happier, expectant. Ezreal glances up again at the building and then around him, wondering why everything is so loud and quiet at the same time. Had he received a love confession already? Was he saved? Was the Hanahaki going away by some miracle of a god somewhere who had heard his pleas late at night when he couldn’t sleep? 

Hope. That was hope he was feeling—“I found out that your favorite band was coming to town next week and I bought us some tickets. Maybe you can take a break and spend some time here?” 

—Hope that was crushing and collapsing and crashing and burning to a cinder because of course Talon would call for some stupid shit like this in the middle of a freakin’ crisis— 

“Tal, I–I can’t. You know I have all these meetings and…” There’s a knot in Ezreal’s throat as he says this and he wishes he would have accepted, because there is very little he wants most in the world right now, and watching his favorite band with his best friend sounded like a dream but… he couldn’t rest. Not until he found a way to convince the panel and get a team and find a cure and make Talon well again for him to actually enjoy going to a concert. 

“Ezreal, it’s your birthday,” Talon says after a pause. “I haven’t seen you in a year, and I talked to you two months ago. All I’m asking for is a day. I made this really nice piece for you and—” 

“I’m too busy,” Ezreal cuts him off and immediately feels like his gut has been kicked hard. 

Talon’s tone changes to a very quiet one as he utters a little “oh” after a long pause. Then, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bother you. Take care and good luck.” 

There’s a soft click and the line drops and Ezreal looks at his phone as the screen blinks with the timer on the call. A minute and fifty-one seconds. The app prompts to call back. Ezreal swipes it away and closes it. He reopens the app that had their pictures and finds the one with Talon and him celebrating the art competition results and focuses on that smile. He wanted to see Talon smile again. That’s why he was doing it. He tapped and held the picture until a menu popped up, and then selected the option to save the image to his phone before putting it away. 

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into the next meeting. 

The issue with meetings like this, Ezreal concludes, is that it’s mostly full of people who are afraid. He needs people who are willing to come forth and take a certain risk with him; he needs people who will push the boundaries of what’s legal and not. He grits his teeth furiously. Just because they were already old and married—if they themselves had been afflicted with the disease and dying, they’d come running and—there it was again, that desperation laced with anger. 

As he sits on the bed of his hotel room with his head on his hands, eyesight blurry with unshed tears and skin burning with frustration, he thinks back to the last time he’d seen Talon. It had been a year ago, and back then he’d been more or less healthy; there had been a couple of coughs and a couple of petals coming out of his mouth, very rarely splattered with blood. The chill he remembered feeling at the time returns now as he realizes what it means that a year has passed, and Talon is still sick; his coughing has gotten worse, the petals that he was hacking up had undoubtedly turned into flowers and his lungs had without a doubt grown roots of the plant taking over his heart. 

Ezreal had refused to take over Talon’s case, as far as being his personal health-care provider, and had also refused to look at his imaging and check-up records; in his mind as long as Talon was alive, none of this was real or happening. It had been part of the reason why he had created a distance; out of sight, out of mind… for the most part. Talon lived in his head like the painting he’d been gifted; it was the first thing he saw coming home and the last thing he saw before leaving. It had always been there, and always would, just like Talon was; it was just that unlike the painting, Talon was very much alive and moving. He couldn’t be held static, frozen in time, waiting for Ezreal to find—Wait a minute. Has that been done before? 

He takes out his laptop and fires it up, hands flying over the keyboard and mouse as he clicks search result after search result to open in a new tab. His eyes read quickly, looking for an answer. Hours pass in the blink of an eye and suddenly the phone of the room is ringing.

“Hello?”

“Doctor Lymiere?” A woman’s voice sounds on the other side of the line. “My apologies for calling you, sir.”

“How can I help you?” 

“Ah… sir, this is a courtesy call to offer an extended stay?”

Ezreal blinks and then looks at his watch. It’s nearly eight in the evening. “Uh… I—sorry, yes, please. I’d like an extra night, if you don’t mind charging it on my card?” 

“Right away, sir. Do you need room service? Perhaps housekeeping for extra towels?” 

He’s not really listening to what she’s saying, so he accepts it all. The call ends promptly and he goes back to his computer. It almost seems immediate that the door to his room receives a knock. He opens it and receives the meal and the towels then hangs the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle before closing and locking the door again. He doesn’t check what the meal is; he just places it on the bed and goes back to work. 

Several hundred links and tabs open later, he realizes he’s going to have to print a lot of stuff. He exits his room and goes to the front desk, where the girl he had spoken to earlier is busy checking in a new guest. She smiles at him when they make eye contact, and he smiles back, trying to stay in line as calm as possible. 

“I was wondering if you guys have a printer here I could use.” 

“Ah… yes, we do, but we do charge an extra fee per 10 sheets of paper.” 

“What if I bring my own paper and ink? I’m not planning on printing 10 sheets or less, ma’am; I’m talking hundreds,” he adds at the puzzled look she’s giving him. “I’m—working on something.” 

She gives him a once over, and then her expression switches from guarded to sympathetic. “How soon do you need it?” 

“Today? Now? If possible?” 

“There’s a printer by that book shelf; let me show you.” 

She guides him in that direction and tells him how it works, how to set it up and where he can sit to wait for his stuff to print out. He goes to his room and comes back with his laptop; he starts printing, re-reading as he waits to make sure that he needs the material. It’s not long before he runs out of paper, so he collects what he has, takes it to his room along with his lap top and then calls for a taxi. He comes back about an hour later with bags of printing paper and ink, pays the girl at the front for the materials he already used and brings his computer back downstairs to reconnect it. 

It takes him several more hours of hogging up the printer before he can finally disconnect from the area, and move to a different corner of the waiting room. He’s in the middle of separating articles by topic, release date and information, when a cup of coffee is placed on his table carefully. He looks up to see the girl from last night still there. 

“You weren’t lying; that’s a lot of paper.” 

“Uh… yeah,” he says, looking at the mess of paper on the table and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s just… you know, work and stuff.” 

“What are you working on? If I may,” she quickly adds. 

“Uhm… it’s…” He sighs and still rubbing his neck, he picks up a stack from under a pile and leafs through it. “Hanahaki.” 

“A cure?” She asks, and leans forward to study the stack that he’s leafing through. 

“That’s the idea.” He waits for her to tell him that he’s an idiot; that he’s wasting his time and should stop wasting all these resources on hopeless romantics. It’s a speech he’s heard day in and day out for the last year, at least, and he knows it by heart. He wishes he could just let go of that hope in his heart, and just let it be, but he can’t. 

“My brother died of Hanahaki,” she says softly and carefully picks through another stack. 

“My best friend’s dying of it,” he blurts out. He doesn’t count on the words tumbling out on their own, much less the shakiness with which they do. He doesn’t expect the knot at his throat being so painful, doesn’t foresee the tears blurring his vision. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. 

“Don’t be,” Ezreal sniffles and blinks back his tears and starts gathering his papers again. “He’s not dead, and he won’t be. I’ll find a way to make him better.” 

The smile he gives her is broken and she looks at him sadly. She knows he’s late but doesn’t say it and Ezreal is thankful enough for that.

He spends the next few days without eating or drinking anything, sleeping little, and what was a shower again? He’s focused on what he’s studying and reading, typing up his own observations, questions, recreating a new thesis based off of cryostasis. There’s a lot of information about it, but very little is known about the effects it may have on Hanahaki. There’s not much anyone really knows about the disease other than its causes and that itself has been reason enough to discard a cure for it. 

Whatever. If no one else is doing it, Ezreal isn’t resting until he did. The only perception of time he has is the daily call from the girl at the front desk asking if he’d like to extend his stay. That’s it. The food comes and goes untouched, the curtains remain closed to prevent distractions, and all the lights in the room are on to provide good lighting to all the papers that are spread all over the place. There isn’t a surface that doesn’t have paper and he resorts to even tacking articles to the wall. He only ever sleeps when his body can’t take it anymore and passes out from exhaustion, only to continue on this obsessive ride of his for another couple of days. 

He doesn’t know what day it is but he’s in need of a cheering session, as he calls it. He sits back in the chair and takes out his phone, unlocks it and then looks for the app where Talon keeps his pictures. He frowns when he doesn’t see Talon right away, and goes to his profile to check that they’re still friends. His heart is beating like crazy and his head begins to throb with his pulse as he realizes that they’re still friends but Talon has deleted all the pictures from it. 

What the—

Ezreal closes the app and pulls Talon’s number up on his phone and dials. He waits a couple of rings before it's picked up and without even waiting for a greeting, Ezreal explodes. “Why would you delete the pictures, Tal?” 

There’s a pause and then Talon’s voice reaches his ears. “Hey there, yourself.” 

“Don’t pull that on me, man, what’s going on? Are you mad because I didn’t go to a stupid concert with you—”

“This isn’t about the concert, Ez,” Talon interrupts, and Ezreal can’t help but feel the anger surging even more. 

“What timing, then; why didn’t you tell me first?” 

“Why would I need your permission to delete them? It’s my account.” 

“Because I looked at them often,” Ezreal confesses. 

Another pause. “You could’ve been here and—”

“You know exactly why I can’t be there, Talon, damn you!” Ezreal yells through the phone. “What do you think I’m doing here? Partying it up and having fun? I haven’t slept in a bed in close to a week, I can’t remember the last time I ate and my hair is so greasy it looks wet. Meanwhile, you’re home, just painting and thinking about concerts—” He needs to shut up. He needs to stop yelling and stop talking to Talon this way—

“Please, come home.” Talon is quiet, very quiet. “I just want to see you. My doctor says I—” 

“That doctor’s an idiot,” Ezreal snaps. “He doesn’t know a damn thing about anything.”

Talon begins to cough then, violently and Ezreal hears the phone scramble in Talon’s hands as he pulls it away from him to retch. Ezreal feels a chill then, a certain reality becoming clear.  How many petals and flowers was he throwing up now? As if in answer, the phone gets picked back up and a different, masculine voice says over the line, “He’s been throwing up entire flowers for the last couple of days.” It sounds familiar, and yet very strange, like a distant memory he isn’t sure happened to him or someone else. “They come in pairs and threes, all of them soaked in blood. You need to come home.”   

“He’s not dying,” Ezreal pleads. He doesn’t know when he became so shaky and jumpy but he can’t stop.  “I’m not letting him die and you better get that through your head, got it?” 

The guy on the other line starts saying something and then pulls the receiver away from his mouth and Ezreal hears a lot of background noise; Talon coughing and vomiting, a gentle shushing sound and then “that’s it, breathe… breathe deeply, sweetheart, don’t forget to breathe” and Ezreal’s vision goes red. 

Sweetheart. Who the hell was this guy, to act so familiar with Talon, to comfort him and call him cutesy names like ‘sweetheart’ when he knew for a fact Talon would glare at such a stupid name. He doesn’t wait for the call to resume; he hangs up and looks around at the mess he made. He hastily picks up his papers into a stack and stuffs them into his bag, along with his laptop until they don’t fit. He doesn’t have a second bag for the rest of the stacks, so he stuffs them into one of the doubled plastic bags and rushes out of the hotel room, phone pressed to his ear, calling for a taxi. He’s distracted; he’s trying to handle the bag at his shoulder, the bag in his hands, the phone to his other shoulder, his wallet for his credit card and cash, and he crashes against another guest, sending papers flying everywhere. 

“Oh, dear; excuse me,” Ezreal faintly hears, and he waves the apology as the taxi company picks up. 

He arranges for a cab to pick him up ASAP, and then focuses on gathering his papers. The stranger helps him at first and then pauses, looking at an article. “Hanahaki?” 

“Yeah.” Ezreal takes the article from him and stuffs it in a bag. 

“What’s your interest in the disease, Mister…?” the stranger allows the question to drift. 

“Lymiere,” Ezreal responds. He doesn’t have time for this. “Look, thank you, but I need to go. I have a flight to catch. Thanks again.” 

“Perhaps you’d like to meet for some coffee soon?” 

Ezreal hears what was said as he boards the elevator, but all he does is smile and wave as the doors close and the line on the phone rings again. It’s picked up by the airlines reservations department, and he quickly secures a flight to Ionia. He’s fumbling with his stuff when he gets to the front desk and the girl is there again, eyes wide as she stares at him. It looks like she’s seen a ghost. “Doctor Lymiere?” 

“I’m checking out; I need to catch a flight, do I need to sign anything?” 

“Oh, uh… no. Would you like a receipt?” 

“Please, and thank you,” Ezreal says as he arranges his papers to be more secure in his bags. He adds the receipt that the girl gives him to the pile and ties both bags securely, before stepping out into the cold morning. The way to the airport is probably quick, given his watch and the time it reads, but it all feels like an eternity; buying the ticket and approving his bags is a nightmare, and waiting for the flight to be ready comes close to causing him a panic attack. 

He makes do with the delay though, and steps into the bathroom to freshen up some. He brushes his teeth, washes his face and the “essentials” (as Talon had called them) with wipes and changes his clothes. He quickly washes his hair with soap since he’d neglected to buy shampoo, but figures that’s the best he can do. He finishes just in time to hear that his flight is ready as soon as he steps out of the bathroom. 

Ezreal had planned to sleep through the flight to catch up on some rest. He had also planned to take his bags and his papers out to continue working. Instead, he sat in his spot the entire 10 hour flight, eyes wide open, mind roaming and flooding with thoughts sparked with stress. He had pictured how his and Talon’s reunion would go; if Talon would be mad, or sad, or happy. He wondered what his own feelings would be. He wondered in what kind of situation he would come to see his friend. Not a single thought he had could’ve prepared him for the reality, though. 

His body was stiff since he’d unboarded the plane and only seems to get worse the closer he gets to where Talon is staying. His movements feel mechanical, unreal and unnatural, especially as he turns the knob and opens the door to Talon’s room. 

Talon is laying on the bed, fluids and medicine going in intravenously, and there’s a soft, rhythmic beeping to indicate his vitals are stable. The window has the blinds drawn but not closed. There’s a single rose on a vase on the table next to his bed, without water to keep it fresh. Ezreal steps into the room quietly and carefully closes the door again, placing his bags on the counter. He stands by the door with his arms crossed, silently looking at Talon as he rests curled on his side, pillows flanking him in every direction, chest rising and falling, uttering small gasps as he struggles to breathe. 

Gods, he looks so sick. He looks so pale and tired and maybe a little too thin and—just like death—Ezreal interrupts that train of thought with a hard shake of his head. He must stay hopeful. 

Just then, Talon opens his eyes and looks in his direction. For a moment it’s like he doesn’t recognize him, and then Ezreal remembers that Talon can’t see him. Hanahaki makes its host unable to see, somehow also affecting the cranial nerves responsible for vision. It gets worse the more the disease advances. The only thing that can clear the vision of the sick, is the same thing that will clear the disease. Ezreal grimaces and clears his throat. 

“Ez?”

“Yeah, Tal.” 

Talon looks like he’s been blessed suddenly; like the sunlight has peeked through heavy, black clouds, like his salvation had arrived. His frown relaxes, and he smiles one of those smiles of his that are unique to him; small, secretive, private. He turns half-way onto his back and extends his hand towards Ezreal, who hesitates to take it. 

“I don’t bite,” Talon says. 

Ezreal smiles. “Hanahaki made you lose your teeth, too?” Oh, for crying out loud, of all things he could’ve said—“Uh. I’m…” 

“No, which is the reason I want you to get closer, jerk,” Talon returns, smiling wider to show his teeth in genuine emotion. “A bite is the least you owe me.” 

Ezreal feels his own smile widening, and he can’t help it; he steps forward and takes Talon’s hand, careful to not disturb the IV lines taped to the back. Talon’s grip is surprisingly strong, especially as he pulls Ezreal down to sit on the chair next to bed. 

Being this close to his sick friend strikes a chord for Ezreal; Talon smells of medicine and hospital, and not the cologne that Talon would wear, the whiskey he’d sometimes drink or the food he used to eat from the pizzeria two blocks from there. He wants so desperately to cry, because these changes only mean one thing and he can’t handle it, but he must. He must. One thing he’ll be thankful for, is Hanahaki blurring out his face so Talon can’t see how painful it is for Ezreal to see his friend like this. 

Ezreal looks away from Talon, and his eye is caught by the single flower again. He reaches out towards it and grabs it by the vase, bringing it towards his lap. It’s a rose, a white one, except the petals are almost translucent and reflective, very much like crystal, and when the light of the sun hits the petals, a flare of small lights goes in all directions like a disco ball. He gently reaches out towards the petals expecting thin and hard pieces of crystal, instead surprised when they feel like a real rose, alive and soft. He’s never really seen anything like it. 

“Who’s it from?” He leans forward to smell the plant, and is greeted by a gentle aroma, sweet and tenderly sensual. 

“A friend gave it to me,” comes the response. 

“It’s pretty.” Ezreal glances up at Talon, and is surprised to find him staring at him, as if he could see him. He’s probably just remembering what he looked like, trying to make sense of the blur talking to him and putting his memories together for a face he’ll sort of recognize. “No water though? Is it real? It’ll die.” 

Talon smirks. “That one’s a special flower. It doesn’t need water to survive, but another element entirely.” 

“Another element?” 

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna indulge me?” 

“No,” Talon smiles again, a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“Jerk,” Ezreal says and smiles in return, putting the rose back in its place. “You’re probably lying to me anyway; it does need water, you’re just too lazy to get it yourself, and too proud to let anyone else do it for you.” 

Talon slaps Ezreal’s knee playfully and sighs. “Pot meets kettle; you lied to me and said your hair was so greasy it looked wet. It looks okay to me, maybe a little fluffy, like the feathers of a duckling or a kitten’s fur.”

Ezreal reaches up for his hair and starts laughing. “I had to freshen up before I came in; I couldn’t risk you looking better than me.” 

Talon rolls his eyes and wrinkles his nose. “I’ve seen you looking a little worse for the wear. Remember college? That one time you didn’t shower for a whole month because you were so stressed about your final? You smelled like hell, and looked like a homeless guy on drugs, and still managed to romance the neighbor.” 

Ezreal laughs again and shakes his head. “Yeah, well. You looked pretty bad yourself. Plus,” he adds, winking at Talon. “You know I always had you around because your ugly mug would make me look ten times more attractive to all the girls, no matter what the circumstances were. I couldn’t let today be the exception.” 

Golden eyes wrinkle at the sides as Talon laughs and Ezreal revels in the sound of it, and the way he looks, so carefree and happy. He’s always been the only one who’s ever been able to make Talon laugh like that. He’s about to say he missed him, when the monitor next to bed starts beeping in a different way, as if in alarm, and more insistent. He frowns at it then looks back at Talon, and notices that he’s stopped laughing and is now coughing. 

The sound of it is violent; it really seems like he’s about to hack up a lung, and Ezreal leans forward to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Talon, are you—” 

“Bucket,” Talon interrupts, voice raspy as he continues and Ezreal looks around for the item, turning around just in time to witness Talon splattering his bedsheets with blood. Ezreal freezes when he sees the flowers on the bed as well, coming up his friend’s throat and out his mouth, all of them soaked, just as the voice on the phone had said. He had pictured it in his head, but nothing like this; there was too much blood and too many petals and too many flowers and Talon still wasn’t done. It’s too much.  

Ezreal places the bucket in front of his friend in time to catch the next bout of blood and flowers, and he begins stepping back towards the doorway. “Nurse! Doctor!” He feels the firm grip and tug of a hand on his wrist, and he turns back towards Talon, who’s looking up at him with a pained expression, golden eyes afraid; he opens his mouth to say something and instead more blood comes out. “Talon!” 

“Don’t—” 

“Nurse! Someone!” Ezreal is trying to reach the door to let someone know, but Talon’s grip is strong, too strong, and won’t let him go. He keeps pulling him closer, and Ezreal wants to comfort him, but his health is at stake here—

“Ez, stay—” More blood. Ezreal tries to pull back and is pulled forward again, and he lands on the bed. Arms wrap around him tightly and Ezreal can’t pull away. 

“Talon, let me get help, please!” 

“You’re all I need,” Talon whispers, and hugs tighter. 

Ezreal feels a sob escape his throat as another bout of blood and flowers land on his chest and soaks through. Talon’s dying. There’s no denying it. As soon as the realization hits, he stops trying to get away from Talon and comes closer, hugs him tightly and cries into his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

Talon pulls back and looks up at him, gives him a bloodied smile. “Love you.” 

“I—” Ezreal is cut off as a nurse slams the door open and runs in along with several other people, who push their way between them. 

Ezreal is a physician, and has saved many lives, but it’s different when it’s someone you know that’s dying. His training and knowledge all go out the window the moment the staff lays Talon on his back and proceed to attempt intubation through tracheostomy, to help him breathe as the flowers are now blocking his throat and the blood filling his lungs had nowhere to go. It’s an arduous battle, but a short one, and he’s not surprised when they turn around and apologize to him as they cover the body with a blanket. Still, it hurts like hell when the staff discuss amongst themselves what’s to be done with the body, who needs to come see it, what paperwork needs to be done. 

After a while, he’s left by himself in the room with Talon’s body. He slowly walks towards the bed and carefully lowers the sheet over his body enough to expose just his eyes. Ezreal stares at the gold staring back with emptiness. He feels his lower lip tremble and his eyes filling with tears. He closes Talon’s eyes and kisses his forehead, and for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to collapse onto his knees and he cries as he holds onto his friend’s cold hand. 

Ezreal doesn’t remember ever getting up from that spot on the floor next to bed. He doesn’t remember talking to the medical staff, receiving condolences; doesn’t remember the body being rolled out for the post-mortem examination. Doesn’t remember signing off on the body release and arranging for the funeral. He was in charge of everything because Ezreal had been listed as his next of kin, even if they weren’t related. His adoptive family had been dysfunctional at best and not very supportive of Talon’s decisions, and consequently had become estranged. Ezreal really had been Talon’s only family, and it had become more apparent than ever during a moment of awareness at the funeral, when a few of the staff members had attended: the few Talon had been kind of on friendly terms with, but no one else that counted as close, aside from Ezreal himself. 

He doesn’t remember the prayer, the drive to the cemetery or the burial process. He thinks he gave a speech and hopes it was a good one to honor Talon, but wouldn’t be surprised if all he did was stand there with a blank stare. He also doesn’t remember the drive home, but remembers with clarity the feeling of sadness that overwhelmed him when he’d opened the door to his apartment and the first thing he’d seen was the painting that Talon had made. He remembers crying in front of it for hours, probably days, as he sat facing it and mentally berating himself for the time lost that he’d never get again. All in hopes of finding a team to work on the cure that he’d wasted his time researching in vain. 

Days later, the phone starts ringing. He puts his cell phone on silent and disconnects the land-line, so he can mourn in peace. It lasts for a couple of days before there’s a knock at his door that forces him to get himself together, enough to answer it the moment the guest identifies himself as the executor. Right. Someone had to receive Talon’s belongings and read his will; Ezreal figures it was about time it happened anyway. He wants to postpone it but thinks better of it and decides to get it over with. 

He blanks out through most of the formalities but tunes in to hear what the will lists as his, as well as last wishes for Ezreal to accomplish on Talon’s behalf. It isn’t much; Talon was never materialistic nor greedy with his money to keep a lot of it, although it is still a pretty hefty sum. His final wishes aren’t absurd either, but straight to the point. 

Then comes the letter. He’s given a few moments to read it on his own first. 

Ez

I don’t know at what point in time we became so distant with each other, but I want you to know that while the distance hurts, it doesn’t change my thoughts and feelings for you. You have always been special to me, and the person I trust the most with my life. I know that even if you don’t get to save me, you’ll find a cure, because you’ve worked so hard for it. 

Hanahaki is a terrible disease; I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Please don’t give up; you may have lost me, but I am now present in your work. I have documented the progress of all my symptoms for you to have, so that you may continue in this journey; there are others out there waiting and hoping, just like I did. They need your help and your stubbornness, so I beg that you continue. You’re gonna do great things and save the world; become a superhero, a historical figure. I’ll be with you every step of the way; maybe not physically, but definitely in memories and in spirit. 

I’m sorry for deleting the pictures; I know you counted on them to be there forever to cheer you on. But I want you to know that I did it because I feel that you spend too much time looking at the past. You need to move forward, and focus on a better future. If it helps, I compiled my favorite memories in a photo album that I’m gifting you along with the painting I mentioned I had worked on for your birthday. I hope both are to your liking. 

Never forget that despite our arguments, I love you with all my heart. 

Talon.

Ps: if you must know, I agree that you definitely looked the best out of both of us at all times, and our last meeting was no exception. 

Ezreal rereads the last sentence and then scoffs, throwing his head back to rest against the wall. “Jerk.”

Grieving has a funny way of slowing down time to a crawl, of melting days into each other, of messing with the concept of time in general. Ezreal finds himself doing things automatically and not realizing he’s in the middle of something, until his mind slips into his present state for a few moments of awareness, before slipping off into a world where there is no pain, no solitude and no sadness. 

He sleeps often. Wakes up every now and then to go to the kitchen and grabs something that doesn’t require a lot of effort to make, nor a lot of attention because he can’t be bothered. Goes back to sleep. The only concept he has that time is passing is the fact that he eventually runs out of instant meal options, and has to go buy more. 

It’s when he’s driving back home that he notices a man sitting on his doorstep. For a moment he thinks it’s an old man who’s lost his breath and needs to regain it for a moment, so Ezreal decides not to disturb him and keeps driving. Thirty minutes later, after driving aimlessly around the neighborhood, Ezreal comes home to find the man still there and begins to wonder if maybe it’s more than just a small rest, but an ailment issue. He’s balancing a cane on the ground like he’s trying to stand back up but is having difficulties; maybe he fell. Ezreal’s inner physician comes out and pushes him to finally pull into the driveway to see what’s going on. To his surprise, the man wasn’t old at all, and he wasn’t in distress, but it had been more a matter of him shifting to get more comfortable on the stone steps. 

The man stands when Ezreal gets off his car and Ezreal waits for an apology for invasion of space and an excuse as to why he’s there, but instead is greeted with, “Good evening, Doctor Lymiere.”

Ezreal pauses, and after giving him a look over, recognizes him as the guest he bumped into at the hotel in Demacia. “How did you find me?” 

“The internet is full of information if you know where to look.” The man smiles, then leans on his cane as he extends a hand towards Ezreal in greeting. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m here to inquire about—” 

“You’re here to ask about Hanahaki,” Ezreal interrupts. He sighs and closes the door to the vehicle, opening the trunk and pointedly ignoring the visitor’s hand. He grabs several bags of poptarts and ramen, and makes his way to the porch. “You came a long way for nothing; I’m no longer interested in it.” 

The man lowers his hand and places it on top of the other one, holding the cane. “That’s a shame; your theory on cryostasis seemed an interesting development and we have found the means to—” 

“Look,” Ezreal says, pushing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “If you want the paperwork, I can give it to you, but I’m not going to work on it anymore. I—” He doesn’t know where he was going with the sentence and just lets it drift. It doesn’t seem proper to let him know why he’s lost his way; he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for pretty much falling off the face of the Earth. 

Shaking his head, he grabs more bags from the trunk and drops them at the entrance inside the house. He’s not prepared when he turns and sees the stranger standing just outside the house, making eye contact with him. “Your friend… passed away?” 

Ezreal frowns. “How do you know about Talon?” Did this man know of him?  

“I heard the news from the front desk receptionist at the hotel; I asked her if you were coming back, and she said that you had left in a hurry, probably because your friend’s illness had gotten worse.” Ezreal blinks back the tears that make way into his eyes. He’d forgotten about the part of the stay where he’d told her about Talon briefly, and hadn't known she’d been paying that much attention. 

“I could’ve left because I found the cure.” 

“The way she saw you, it was highly unlikely. She said you seemed distressed—” 

“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that.” Ezreal had been numb for a while now but the conversation was opening up the wound all over, and he wasn’t in the mood to bleed again. “Like I said, you can have my work, just… I need you to leave.” 

The man looked at him in sorrow for a minute and then nodded, not pushing the issue anymore. Ezreal stepped away from the doorway and made a motion for the man to come in. “Make yourself comfortable while I find it.” 

The man slowly makes his way towards a sofa nearby, and once he makes the motion to start sitting, Ezreal turns around and goes to his studio. 

It's dark and dusty, and he sneezes when he opens the curtains, the light coming in blinding him momentarily. It's been a while since he'd been in this room and had forgotten about how messy it was. Last time he'd been here, he'd been hurt and angry, and had thrown a lot of his belongings to the floor. He counts himself lucky for wearing his shoes when he stepped on a piece of glass from a flower vase he doesn’t remember owning. Time would eventually come for him to clean up this place; might as well get to it now. 

He slowly made his way around and through the chaos, moving stuff out of his way and slowly started sorting through his things, looking for his work. It's a strange feeling, sorting through the chaos and trying to piece together what had happened as he went, as if unlocking clues. He doesn't remember ever buying a bottle of wine, but there it was on the floor next to his desk. It was unclear if he drank the contents or spilled them; probably both, as there was a stain near it that he'd have to call a cleaning crew to get it out. He doesn't remember throwing his own books onto the floor, or flipping the bookshelves out of place; doesn't remember taking his desk drawers out and tossing them across the room to collide with the wall, if the way they were broken was any indication. He doesn't remember coming in here and having the fireplace going; had he left it on or did he turn it on? If he'd turned it on, why? And the only reason he knew it'd been on was because there were ashes in there as well as papers whose edges had caught on fire, a trail of paper that would have contributed to a house fire if it hadn’t been put out. 

He picked up his books and put them back in a bookshelf; he'd have to see through them and arrange them properly some day, but not right now. He gathered the items that were thrown, and put them near the area where they belonged; broken glass and trash he picked up as soon as he could, and any paper he found laying around that looked important he gathered in a pile at the center to look over. This took the longest because he had to actually pay attention to what the paper said and read, but once he found the stuff he'd been working on, he placed it all in a box on a table and the rest he left on the floor. He looked through the papers again to make sure they were all related to Hanahaki, and then looked around the room for other things that may help the man downstairs with his endeavor or whatever. 

Just as he was getting ready to take off, he glanced at his desk and noticed a small stack of papers he hadn't looked at. He went over and then froze, realizing what it was; a copy of Talon's will, a receipt from the executor, a receipt from the funeral home that had been in charge of the services, a letter of condolences he hadn't opened from his co-workers, the letter Talon had written him and underneath it all, completely intact and wide open, was a book. It was blue leather, and the pages were filled with Talon's awkward handwriting. 

Ezreal blinked and then carefully touched the pages, tracing the letters gently as if afraid that they might smudge if he pressed too hard. He'd been sitting in his studio with a bottle of wine after the executor had left him, and he’d brought his papers and the book along to keep him company. He'd looked over the papers, re-read the letter, and then opened the book. He hadn't gotten far; it had been a shock to see the writing, so he'd opened it to a random page at the center, where the passage he'd been reading still waited to be finished. 

…couldn't see my patient's face clearly anymore and wasn't able

to distinguish the fact that she had been in pain the entire time

the procedure took place. I thought I needed glasses, so I went

to get checked and was told that my vision was fine; they

couldn't determine why I can see everything else except for

faces, though they have a theory that I may have an injured

nerve. Might need to get an MRI done. I wish you were here;

I need someone to help me see reason and not be afraid; it's

terrifying that I hurt a patient without knowing it. She's going

t o be pressing charges so I'll need a... 

Ah, yes. This right here had been the passage that had prompted Ezreal to get up from his desk and take the wine bottle with him. He'd sat on the couch and stared at the fire, trying to imagine how the situation had happened, and it had been the picture of Talon sitting alone and shaken at the optometrist's table, being told that he was fine when it wasn't true, that had really pushed Ezreal to throw the wine bottle across the room. The realization that he'd left his friend alone in more ways than one to deal with his ailment and the after effects on his own had made him scream, especially when he remembered telling Talon that he was just painting and thinking about concerts. In reality, he’d been struggling without someone to be there and assure him that he'd obtain the best lawyer to fight his case. He must have gotten one somewhere, he supposed, or that had been the real reason he'd lost his practicing license. He felt nothing but disappointment now, in himself for what he'd done or not done, and in general. He had blamed Talon for keeping it all a secret, for not reaching out to him and writing it in a journal instead, not wanting to admit that if he’d been home all along or bothered to call more often, he would’ve noticed that he was needed. 

He had gone to bed drunk and woke up hungover, and hadn't left the bed since.

I have documented the progress of all my symptoms for you to

have, so that you may continue in this journey; there are

others out there waiting and hoping, just like I did. They need

your help and your stubbornness, so I beg that you continue. 

Ezreal could almost hear Talon speaking to him through the letter, and of course the memory of him on that hospital bed didn't help by also invading his head; this was the journal he'd been talking about. He sighs and rests his forehead on his palms as he stares down at the pages. Talon hadn't been the only one afflicted with Hanahaki, and wouldn't be the last. There were countless people out and about with it, getting into dangerous situations because of something like this. He'd told Talon he would find the cure, promised him to make the world a better place. To help those who couldn't help themselves. Gods, he couldn't believe he was actually gonna get back on that horse and try to tame it, but he begrudgingly closed the journal and held it in his hand as he carried the box out of the studio; he knew he was a lost cause. 

He found the man standing up again, and looking closely at the painting that Talon had made. He turned around and smiled at Ezreal, bowing his head a little bit. "Apologies, it simply caught my eye. The craftsmanship is astounding; the colors are magnificent and the strong emotion of love and devotion emanates from it with certain power. May I inquire?" 

Ezreal stood next to the man and looked at the painting as well for a moment before answering. "Talon. Talon Du Couteau. That's the name of the painter." 

"Quite the name." He looks like he wants to ask something else, but Ezreal answers first. 

"My best friend, taken from me by... it." 

The man's eyes grow full of sorrow and Ezreal shakes his head. "I've changed my mind. I promised him I'd find the cure. I had forgotten about it, until now. So if you don't mind, you may take my work, but I'd like to come with it." 

The man's smile is bright and genuinely warm, welcoming. "Of course, doctor. I wouldn't leave without you, regardless. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

"Forgive my rudeness earlier; name's Ezreal." He extends his hand over to the other and even though he'd expected it, is still surprised when the other takes and shakes it. 

"Viktor. It's quite alright; grief is rather funny that way. Now, is this all you'll be taking?" 

"Taking?"

"Dearest me, I haven't even informed you. You'll be joining my team and I in Piltover."

Ezreal never imagined going back to Piltover like this, though he guessed that if there was an opportunity for this to work, this place could probably be the best equipped for it. He hadn’t spoken to his uncle in ages and didn’t really seek it now, but the idea of doing it hung in the back of his head for a good minute or two, before his thought process entered a more nostalgic mindset. 

He remembers bringing Talon here for the first time, and remembers the eyes of wonderment as he looked at everything. The city looked pristine, shiny and polished, lots of lights everywhere, a lot of colors and excessive noise, skyscrapers towering humongously over them, and technology shown off left and right. Ezreal had seen this city millions of times, had spent a few years from his childhood in it, but for the first time saw it the way Talon did as he explained what each thing was. Now he did the same, looking at the things that had stayed the same, and noticing those that had changed, and mentally spoke to his best friend about it, wondering what he’d say to the changes.

They reach a stoplight and Ezreal notices that the tea shop Talon used to frequent a lot when they were younger, was still there. 

“Viktor, do you mind if I go over and buy us a drink real quick?” Ezreal pointed at the shop and Viktor shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a hot cup of sweet milk.” 

Ezreal smiled and quickly got out of the cab, crossing the street as the driver parked the car. He looked through the menu and picked out a cinnamon tea with a touch of vanilla for himself, and a cup of sweet milk for Viktor. He also bought a coffee for the driver with sugar and milk on the side for him to prepare as he liked. He handed the drinks to their owners when he got back and then resumed the trip. 

As he drinks his tea, he tastes the spice and sweetness, the thickness of the cream they used and notes the powder of cocoa. He nods in approval and thinks, they still make it the way you liked it, Tal. A few tears and a knot at his throat appear, and he busies himself with looking out the window until the feeling goes away. 

By the time they get to the building, Ezreal had finished his cup and had pulled himself back together. He takes his own luggage down and into the building despite the driver and Viktor offering to help, and then Viktor gives him a key, a number and says, “Make yourself at home. We’ll meet with the rest of the team here in an hour for lunch to get acquainted, and then we’ll go down to the lab.” 

Ezreal takes the key and nods then heads towards the room. He puts his stuff away, takes a quick shower to freshen up and wears his best shoes. He shows up a few minutes late because the elevator had been full so he’d had to wait for another, but the group of people waiting for him look expectant and it makes him nervous. 

Viktor welcomes him with a gentle smile and introduces the other two: a short man named Heimerdinger and a younger man named Ekko. They go into the dining room, where another group is already holding the table for them; there he meets a rather quiet man named Shen, a lovely but rather bored looking girl by the name of Akali and another short individual that kind of reminded Ezreal of a rodent with the way he carried himself, who goes by the name of Kennen. 

They introduce themselves and then order a few drinks and some food, until they unwind enough to start asking questions. 

“What is your interest in the disease, Ezreal?” Akali asks, swirling her glass of wine. 

“I lost someone very dear to me. He—” 

“Brother? Father? Boyfriend?”

“I…” Ezreal laughs then and rubs his face. This isn’t necessarily new; growing up, Talon and he had been together so often and for so long, some people confused them for lovers. Sometimes he’d play the part, sometimes he’d correct them, depending on how Talon was feeling at the moment. He wondered how he’d feel right now. “We used to say that we were lovers sometimes,” Ezreal confesses. 

Remembering the countless kisses he had given Talon on the cheek and called him “lemon pie,” the way Talon had scrunched his nose in distaste but hugged him back. He’s always wanted Talon to be around, and today isn’t different, but he wishes he could see the panel of people he’ll be working with to find the cure. He’d be proud. Ezreal clears his throat, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes as he fiddles with the silverware. He blinks and puts his hands under the table. “He was like my right hand man. My best pal.” His voice breaks there at the end, and he clears his throat, grabbing the glass of water from the table and taking a drink to try and ease that knot making it difficult and painful to breathe. 

He notices that the people around him are focused everywhere except on each other, and he curses himself for making it awkward. But then Shen speaks. 

“You lost him recently, didn’t you?” 

Ezreal nods. He wishes he could say more but doesn’t know what. The words he'd said already weren't exactly wrong, but they also didn't convey everything Talon meant to Ezreal. There weren't enough words to describe it anyway. 

Shen nods. “Don’t feel awkward. This is a group of people who have gathered looking for a cure. We’ve all lost someone. Except…” 

“Except me,” Akali says. She takes a long drink from her glass and leaves only a tiny bit of liquid at the bottom. She sets the glass on the table and crosses her arms after wiping her mouth. “I haven’t lost anyone to it, but I have it. That's why I’m here.” 

“You…” Ezreal opens his eyes wide. 

She grins. “You got it. I’m both a member of this team and one of the guinea pigs.”

“So your theory is that cryostasis could help keep people from allowing Hanahaki to advance,” Viktor states. 

“Yes.” Ezreal leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. “It’s based on what I noted in botany, and a couple of research papers and articles I read, so my science on this could be wrong, but what I learned is it’s harder for plants to survive extreme weather if they’re not equipped for it.” 

Kennen is leafing through the paperwork as is everyone else. 

“How are we going to flash freeze people? And where would we keep them?” Akali takes a pen and circles something on the paper she’s holding. 

“That’s the least of our worries; Ekko and I can probably find a solution to that specific problem,” Viktor says. 

Ekko spins a wrench on his finger, grinning deviously when Ezreal makes eye contact with him. “You want frozen? I’ll give you frozen.” 

Shen chuckles. “Hold on.”

“The tricky part isn’t the freezing; it’s warming them up.” Heimerdinger writes a couple of things on his paper and then continues. “Ideally, what should be included is a system that freezes quickly, but the recovery process is slow and controlled. Warming them up too fast would mean the rate at which the cells rupture is higher, and we’d like to maintain vitals as well.” 

Ekko is writing all of this down 

“We also need to be careful,” Kennen warns. “It’s never been tried with those with Hanahaki, but we need to keep in mind that other viruses and bacteria have accelerated growth in disease during what we’d call the ‘recovery phase.’”

Shen nods. “Technically, it can work, Ezreal, but if they have dormant traces of illnesses, we could compromise the body’s health by making the immune system useless. By slowing it down, it won’t be able to fight disease, and there are certain viruses and bacteria that have what’s called the Goldilocks of temperature they grow fastest in, and some of these temperatures are much lower than that of a normal, healthy human.” 

“A normal temperature means that most diseases could only work… say, 70-80% effectiveness,” Akali adds. “A fever exists as a defense mechanism because that percentage is lowered the higher the temperature goes. We can also die if the temperature is too high, as you know.” 

“Meaning we could slow down Hanahaki, even kill the plant, but create a whole bunch of other issues,” Ezreal concludes. He sighs. “Patients infected with syphilis were given malaria in order to induce a fever high enough to eradicate it. Dangerous, and looking back, kind of stupid, but they did eventually find that penicillin was a better alternative.”   

The silence that falls in the room is rather awkward. Then, “Well, he’s got a point.” Akali stands up and stretches. “Ekko, how soon can you get that machine done?” 

“Wait—” 

“Oh, a couple of weeks, two months tops.” 

“Akali.” 

“Look, I’ll just add it to my resume once this is all over,” Akali laughs, looking at Shen who’s looking at her like she’s about to head into the slaughterhouse. There’s something there, Ezreal’s sure of it. “Flash frozen for a cause and survived, what’s the worst that can happen?” 

Ezreal is intrigued by Ekko, and his entire collaboration with the team, especially as he doesn’t typically seem keen to be with them, so he asks if he can go with him when the younger man announces he’ll go shopping for parts. They go to the auto shop downtown, and while Ezreal walks around and looks at the items on sale, he overhears Ekko arguing with the vendor. Something about the price, but the salesman isn’t budging. He stands there and watches for a moment before he intervenes, saying that he’ll buy it at full price. 

Ekko naturally attempts to refuse, but Ezreal ends up dragging him out of the shop. “Damn Pilties. Now he’ll think that overpricing something is right,” Ekko mumbles. 

Ezreal shrugs. “We need that machine for now, we can’t afford to lose time arguing about prices. We’ll settle the score after we find the cure.” 

Ekko rolls his eyes and then gets in the car. As they drive around for a few minutes, Ezreal can’t help it anymore. “How did you get involved with the team?” 

“Viktor,” he says. “He’s been going around the world looking for people ever since a close friend of his lost someone special to it. The death changed the guy, and their relationship grew distant. Viktor’s more an inventor than a physician, but I guess he’s playing a part in finding a cure; namely finding people like you guys interested in taking the case.” 

Ezreal nods and gets pensive. 

“He also told me that if I help them with this, he’d help me finish my time machine.” 

Pause. “Your what?” 

“You heard what I said,” Ekko laughs. 

“There’s no such thing as a time machine.” 

“Yet. And Piltovians think they’re the lead on progression? Just give it a couple more years and I’ll get the science of it down.” 

Another pause. “That’s not what’s stopping you from building it, though, is it?” 

Ekko shrugs. “We’re waiting for the funds to kick in after the cure is found. We’ll use those for it, Viktor said.” 

It’s a ridiculous notion; everyone has always said that it was impossible to time travel but then Ezreal remembers what his dad once said, “Never shit on anyone’s dreams. You never know when you’ll end up at their mercy.” He’d actually overheard it, his dad telling his brother, because Ezreal’s uncle had been so skeptical about Ezreal becoming a doctor. He said Ezreal was too much of a playboy to focus on school long enough to achieve what he had to. Ezreal had been thankful his parents stood by him every step of the way, and continuously got bumped back on track by Talon pursuing his own career. If Ekko wanted to believe it was possible, then Ezreal wanted to be the person that believed in him. 

“What do you want to go back in time for?” Ezreal asks. 

Ekko gets really quiet then, and Ezreal really thinks he’s not about to answer but then, “Ajuna. He was my friend. He… I don’t know.” 

Ezreal nods. They drive in silence for a while and get to the junkyard, where Ekko makes a deal with the guy at the gate and takes a trunk load of parts back to the lab. Ezreal helps Ekko with them and then sits nearby, watching Ekko work. 

“If you could go back in time, what would you do?” Ekko asks, suddenly. 

Ezreal smiles. “Save my friend. Kick his ass when he’s healthy.” Ekko laughs and Ezreal follows, and can’t help the tears that build in his eyes and then fall down his cheeks. “Tell him I love him.” 

Ekko nods and says nothing else. They sit in silence for hours, with only the metallic clicking of Ekko’s tools at work being the only sound between them.

A month later, Ekko had the first cryo chamber ready to go, with Heimerdinger’s specifications and needs. They all agree to meet the morning after so everyone can get a good night’s sleep, and Akali complains that she’ll be sleeping for a while, what does she need sleep for? 

Ezreal sees how Shen takes Akali aside and talks to her in urgent tones, his body language pleading and desperate, and Akali almost rebellious. 

“He doesn’t want her to go into cryo,” Ezreal says out loud. 

“Would you want your best friend to volunteer to go into it?” Ezreal turns around and sees Viktor studying him. It’s a tough question to answer because he knows he’d say no. “She’s his oldest friend, so to speak,” Viktor continues. “They worked well together at the hospital until they had a fall out over a patient. Shen tried to protect her and wasn’t able to; she was fired.” 

That night, Ezreal can’t sleep. He keeps thinking about what Talon wrote in his book, how he couldn’t really see his patient’s face and hurt them, and wonders if Akali did the same thing. How advanced was her disease? He had seen her cough a couple of times but never serious or long enough to see what she was hacking up. 

He tosses and turns for a few hours before giving up and grabbing Talon’s journal, opening it. He reads through the entries and then ponders on them until there’s a knock at the door. When he opens it, Viktor is standing there, looking as strung out and tired as Ezreal feels and they make their way to the lab in silence to meet with Kennen, who looks just as bad. They talk little over breakfast then turn when there’s a bit of a commotion in the other room and make their way there. 

Ezreal sees Akali and Shen talking, and for a moment wonders if they’re arguing about it again, if Shen is giving it a last try before she goes under. 

“Good morning, are you ready?” Kennen starts. 

Shen turns and a bit of a smile says, “She won’t be participating after all.” 

There’s a lot of confusion between everyone in the room; then Ekko hops down from atop the cryo chamber and announces, “She got a love confession last night and her illness is already improving. How about that?” 

Confusion turns to shock and then happiness, from everyone except Ezreal, who’s looking at her blankly. There’s nothing to be sad, or angry, or confused about, really; Shen and everyone else is happy about it. Akali herself is happy, even though she won’t show it, but Ezreal feels a bit of an uncomfortable pit in his stomach that he can’t explain. 

Akali seems to catch onto it and comes to stand right in front of him, arms crossed. “Don’t look so happy now. That’s creepy.” 

Ezreal blinks. “Sorry, it’s just…” He shakes his head and shrugs. “Congratulations.” He tries his best to smile and celebrate with everyone, but keeps getting lost in his thoughts. 

He remembers the first girl he ever brought home and introduced to his parents and Talon. By then Talon had been staying with them for a couple of years and he remembered how he hung back, hidden, while the family celebrated. Ezreal had noticed and taken him aside to tell him that things weren’t serious, she just wanted to meet his family. 

“Should’ve told me, so I could take off for a couple of hours,” Talon had said. There had been a certain detachment with the way he'd said it, as if shielding himself for the inevitable request to leave the house for a while. 

Ezreal laughed and thrown an arm over Talon's shoulders, bringing him close to kiss his temple. “Tal, you’re part of my family.” The smile on his face had been worth the words, and he’d meant them with every fiber of his being. He wanted Talon to be included in every aspect of his life; his best man at his wedding, the godfather of his children, the second son his parents never had… an extension of his very own being. Seeing him pass had been like losing an arm or a leg and now Shen wouldn’t have to feel that, or the people closest to Akali. He was both happy and bitter about it. 

He sat on the desk and took out a folder filled with applications of candidates who were interested in entering cryostasis. 

“What are you doing?” Kennen asks. 

Ezreal looks up briefly and then looks back down. “We need to find someone else who’s willing to volunteer.” 

“Right,” Heimerdinger says, also coming up to them. “Time is money, as they say.”

“Hey, I can still volunteer,” Akali says. 

Shen immediately looks like he’s about to be sick. 

“Not going into cryo, man. I mean… you guys can study my body and see how it changes as the illness and its design leave my system, right?” 

Ezreal thinks about it for a brief second. “That way we can see where it all starts and look at things from another angle.” 

Akali nods. “So, when do we start?”

Ezreal has been spending a lot of time with Ekko lately, trying to help in the best way he can with his time machine. It’s difficult at first, because Ekko very obviously doesn’t want him around. He won’t say it because he’s trying to be nice for the sake of keeping the peace, but Ezreal can tell by how quiet it is when he’s around, and gives him side glances. He gradually warms up to the idea when Ezreal automatically does what Ekko says; pass him a tool, take out a part, hold this, lift that. 

Eventually Ekko breaks the silence in a more conversational way. “Heard about what happened with the cryo chamber.” 

Ezreal takes a deep breath and nods. 

They were still studying Akali the way they had said they would; imaging, blood work, physical examinations. Additionally, they had obtained a new candidate to test the cryo chamber with, and to see the effects of cryostasis on someone with Hanahaki. Ezreal’s theory had worked. Sort of. The low temperatures had indeed killed the plant, but on recovery, the remainder of the plant had leaked toxins into the body, making the process that was supposed to take months overtake the body in a matter of seconds.

As Shen had predicted, the body’s immune system had also been slowed and hadn’t been able to fight the additional illnesses that the body had. It had been too much in so little time; the patient had gone into cardiac arrest, and ended up passing away. Worse yet, all of this had taken place way before the body had even reached a proper temperature to wake the patient. 

“My best friend said that he once hurt a patient without meaning to,” Ezreal says, out of nowhere. “My mom used to say that… accidents happen. It doesn’t take away the pain of guilt, though. That was someone’s mother, sister, friend. She gave herself for the cause and… Mom said that as long as you don’t hurt anyone on purpose, you’re going to heaven. We can’t protect people a hundred percent. We’re humans, not gods.” 

“You don’t think saving lives from a certain death is godly?” Ekko inquires. Ezreal hears the question for what it is; it’s a sarcastic comment, meant to hurt his arrogance, and it would work if Ezreal really thought he had the hands of gods at his disposal.

“No. I think… I think it’s closer to being a superhero.” 

“Are you a superhero?” This question doesn’t carry the bite the previous one did, but there is still caution and precision.

“I want to be one. I want to save as many lives as I can. I want… to stop this stupid disease from breaking hearts and withering people away to nothingness. But I don’t know if I should be one. If I’m prepared. Being a superhero means you can’t save everyone. That there will be casualties. Sacrifice one for the benefit of a hundred. And it’s always tricky, because you never know if the choice was the right one until much, much later.” 

Ekko doesn’t say anything for a long moment; Ezreal doesn’t even know if he heard his speech or just tuned it out. What did it matter? It’s out in the open now, no longer eating at Ezreal privately. Even though he isn’t getting a comment to console him, letting it out is enough. Then, “What was his job? Your friend. The one who passed away.” 

“He was a doctor as well. But he had a different specialty; he operated on brains. And he was also an artist, as a side hustle.” 

Ekko hums. “Anything I might know?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know how many works he had or what he did with them. He gave me two. This is one of them.” He pulls out his phone and looks for the picture of the contest he has saved in it, then shows it to him. Ekko gives it a sideways glance at first, then turns his attention fully onto it. He cleans his hands from the oil and grabs the phone to see the picture closer. 

“That’s gorgeous.” He taps the screen to zoom in and then moves the picture around. “Simpler times, huh? Your smile is much more genuine here. You look like you’re constipated when you smile now.” 

Ezreal can’t help it; he laughs. It’s a short thing, but it feels good, and because it feels good, it hurts. He nods. “He used to say stuff like that to me all the time.” 

“His eyes are golden.” 

He tries not to think about how Ekko used present tense instead of past tense; is grateful for it. He just nods. “Most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.” 

Ekko glances at him and then gives the phone back. They sit still in silence and then Ekko takes a deep breath. “Listen… I’ve been thinking.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself now,” Ezreal automatically says and then looks at Ekko with wide, horrified eyes. Ekko looks back equally surprised but then starts laughing and Ezreal tries to follow, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Banter, I got it. No worries. But listen… Once the time machine is ready, would you like to be the first to test it?” 

Ezreal frowns. “How come?” 

“I know you really want to go back. I know you miss your friend. He looks like a great person, and he made a cool piece for you. You want to save a life. You want to change a life. You have a very clear cut plan of what to do. I still can’t decide.” 

“You want me to give you time?” 

Ekko smiles at the phrase and then nods. “That, and I’m also afraid.” 

“Of what?” 

“What to expect.” 

Ezreal studies Ekko, and for the first time since they met, he can see how young Ekko really is, and how shaken he is about his time machine becoming a reality. There is a lot of uncertainty, a lot of what ifs, a lot of places where things could go wrong. Ezreal had lost a life in his own theory recently, inside one of the machines Ekko had designed. Of course he’d be afraid. He places a hand on Ekko’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. 

“You got it, buddy.” Ezreal doesn’t mind sacrificing his life for the cause, especially when he’s sure that the cure will be ready by then.

Ekko goes back to work. 

It was the day after, that Ezreal volunteered to support Ekko financially and signed himself up to learn as much as he could about quantum physics and mechanical engineering. The kid is smart, and so eager to share his knowledge, and Ezreal soaks it up like a sponge. Ekko doesn’t want to accept the help at first, but then warms up to the idea. 

It’s a week later, when they’re all gathered around the computer and looking at Akali’s heart through the image of an MRI, that they come to a conclusion. 

“The heart?” 

“All this time I had assumed it was branches from the lungs squeezing the heart.” Viktor mused. “I suppose this makes more sense; the heart pumps blood and pieces of tissue infected with roots towards the system and helps spread disease. Because the brain is close to the heart in comparison to the rest of the body, it also affects the eyesight of the patient.” 

“Interestingly," Heimerdinger says, "I think this means that it could also be a potentially easy solution, if the patient obtains a heart transplant. If the heart isn't infected, it's not 'shedding' infected pieces through the body.” 

“That might be worth a shot.” 

“This along with the cryo chamber—”

“But what about the disease—”

It’s chaos; people are talking and yelling over another, throwing ideas and theories.

“A heart transplant? You say it as if it's the easiest thing in the world!” Ezreal yells. 

Heimerdinger mulls it over in the sudden silence and the says, “Mortality rate and organ rejection notwithstanding—”

“There are people without this disease that die daily, waiting for organ transplants,” Ezreal interrupts. “Say you succeed and find a heart; say it takes and it isn't rejected by the recipient's body. Then what? How do we know the new one won’t try to kill the patient as well by also developing Hanahaki?” 

“Those are all valid questions, and we should keep them in mind,” Viktor chimes in. “It's not a lost cause, but a piece of the puzzle. Finding organs is hard, but there have been accounts already of using animals for organ donations.” 

“So we slaughter millions of animals for the cause?” Kennen finally chimes in.  

“Unfortunately, it seems this way.” Heimerdinger sits back in his chair and looks at everyone, gravely. “We could grow them to become harvesters—”

“Not too sure the Animal Rights Association will sit still for this one.” Shen looks at Ezreal, then continues. “After all, we're not talking about a few hundred; we're talking at least one for every member of the population.”

“At least one?” 

“Ezreal has a point; if it takes and it works, how do we know that heart won't also start growing the roots?” Shen bites his lip. “What if the disease isn’t just in the heart, but also the blood? We'd need more animals to keep people alive, not to mention the rate of growth may be incredibly altered with animal cells. This could be cryostasis all over again.” 

There’s silence in the room as they all stare either at each other or the paperwork in front of them. Ezreal knew it was like this: pitching ideas, all of them ridiculous but just crazy enough that they might work. But there has to be talks about the legal issues, as well as the moral. The first death due to cryo had been eye opening, and even though they had continued to use the chamber, trying to figure out their way around it, it had continued to end in dire consequences. It felt like a fight that had no end and no chance of victory. It was a superhero's work, he told himself. It wasn’t supposed to be easy, but it didn’t stop him from hoping. He tried not to dwell on how he’d feel if one of his parents or Talon had been signed up as a test subject. The pain of losing any of them to experimentation made him feel sick. 

He looked at the MRI scan again and scrolled through the images slowly, zooming in where he could. His parents had passed away in an accident, but Talon… Talon’s heart had looked like this, once upon a time, and he never noticed it. The roots looked like they had begun as growths around the heart, right between the muscle and the sac surrounding the organ. They had grown—it must have been painful, to have those growths penetrate the lining and then surround the organ, only to invade the other organs. But it started like this. 

“There might be an alternative.” He’s still scrolling through the images and Shen’s voice came up beside him. Ezreal hadn’t noticed him approaching and so he’d jumped a little when he’d heard that deep voice so close. Shen smiles at him apologetically, but then points at the MRI. “What if instead of removing the heart, we remove the roots? It doesn't look like the roots are starting from deep within the tissue; it only looks like they start at the outside, and eventually make their way into the chambers, invading it to keep growing. If we catch it on time, we might be able to remove it without complications.”

“But what about those whose roots run deep?” Ezreal questions. 

“The process is still very young and practice does make perfect.” Kennen says, coming in as well to lean over his other shoulder. “For now we'll have to sacrifice the advanced stages in favor of the early ones; once we understand more about this and how it works, we may be able to save everyone.” 

All three of them look to Heimerdinger and Viktor. “I can't say I like the idea,” Heimerdinger says, then shakes his head and adds, “but in light of the situation, and considering we were talking about open heart surgery anyway, it's certainly worth a try.” 

Ezreal finds himself spending more time with Akali, mainly because aside from the surgical aspect, he wants to be involved in the patient recovery aspect of the cure as well. Akali teaches him about patient care; how to properly change wound dressings, how to tell if the patient is starting to need more pain medication, how to be patient even when the person he’s attending to wakes up combative or crying, to be that pillar of fortitude they need in their times of need. He had never been this involved before; he simply spoke to them before the surgery, did the surgery, spoke to them after they woke up and left the nurses to tend to them as he went on to perform more surgeries. 

It’s eye opening and humbling to work in her area and learn from her, to actually glove up and get right down and dirty with the most basic of human needs, as well as aiding the patients in eating, drinking, even pulling their hair back so they can throw it all back up in peace due to the side effects of some medications or dialysis. Ezreal remembered the way Akali had whispered comfort to him when the first surgery had failed, and tries to mimic the action to his patient, finding approval in her eyes when it works. 

The first surgery had failed, because the roots had been longer than anticipated and they’d taken out more of the heart than strictly necessary. He hadn’t been a patient, or had his heart cut wide open, but she’d still maintained her professional friendliness, and comforted him when he’d expressed regret. She’d done it again in the second one, and by the third, he’d come to rely on her strength to keep going. By the fifth, and first successful surgery, the team came to the conclusion that they would be able to cut most of the plant out and patch the organ up enough for it to work properly again. It was a tricky operation, but the first survival granted the team high hopes and so they continued with the job. Akali had been the first to smile and congratulate him, even hug him, and the gesture had almost been enough to make him collapse on his knees and cry. 

He missed his parents and his best friend; the last hug he’d had was when—

The thing about invasive surgeries, though, is that it becomes so tedious and stressful, but Ezreal feels at ease when Akali is around. She takes her job seriously and is one hell of a nurse, taking charge over the patient’s care and being vocal when one from the team is falling behind. He catches himself staring at her as she goes head to head with Shen and Kennen, and is amazed by her strength in mind. It’s genuine care for their profession that they argue for the safety of their patients. It almost reminds him of someone else, someone he knew well. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because Heimerdinger comes in, rushing like there’s a fire somewhere in the facility. “We have a problem. While the rates of survival in people through surgery have increased, so have the rates of unrequited love. And I'm afraid we're to blame.” 

Ezreal takes the papers the other man is giving him and frowns. “Pardon? I thought the roots didn't grow again.” He and Akali had made sure of it; they had kept follow-up appointments with all their patients over the last couple of years and the roots had never shown any indication of regrowth.  

“This is right but... it seems that when we take out the roots, we also take away their ability to love again.” 

“And again I say, pardon?”

Viktor comes into the room then, followed closely by Kennen. “The follow up interviewees are expressing difficulty returning to their home-life and are expressing change in their relationships. So we decided to run a trial test on one of the candidates because she wanted to fall in love with who her family wanted. It didn’t work.” 

Ezreal shakes his head and then laughs a little bit, incredulous. “You can’t force it, though; it has to be natural, remember that’s what we—”

“You’re not listening,” Viktor says. “The same is happening to the others on follow up interviews. They want desperately to return the feelings of someone, but are unable to. Some of them don’t even remember the object of their last affection.”

“This doesn’t prove anything; love cannot be forced. One can’t decide who they fall in love with.” That was the whole reason Ezreal had been having so much trouble finding a panel of people willing to work with him for so long; every rejection he’d faced had “free will,” and the inability to mess with it, stamped all over it.  

“Statistically, that’s untrue,” Heimerdinger pipes up. “Certain questionnaires and studies have shown that improving closeness and safety can drive individuals to develop a certain kind of feeling that resembles love, eventually leading to the real thing.” 

“More experimentation,” Ezreal sighs.  

“Looks like it.” 

“Bring them in,” Ezreal says, after a long moment of silence. Screw free will; if this was another problem to their solution, they might as well know it before they proceeded with more surgeries. It was just the ethical thing to do. “We need to test this; if it’s false, there’s at least one bound to work.”

“None of them worked,” Viktor says, dropping a huge stack of papers on the desk where the entire group, including Ekko, sat.  

“What are we gonna do?” The young boy had been kept on the loop, mainly because his newest tools had been involved in the project, but he was just as concerned as everyone else for the sudden turn in circumstances they now faced. And really, isn’t that the real question.

“I mean is this really an issue?” Ezreal says, trying to look at the bright side. “Without love, there’s no unrequited love, right?”

“You’re looking at this the wrong way,” Shen says. He shakes his head and braces himself. “Love is… a beautiful thing when it happens to the right people. Plus, we’re not only talking about romantic love; we’re jeopardizing entire families and friendships because of someone’s newfound inability to love.”

“We’ve actually created a much bigger problem,” Heimerdinger adds. “Single parents may abandon their children, children may hate their parents and siblings, best friends will become estranged.”

A cold trail of fear slithered up Ezreal’s back. He must have shuddered or something because suddenly he felt a tight grip on his shoulder; firm and reassuring. When he turned to look, he found Akali smiling kindly at him, but her voice was firm. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“We cannot continue this until we find a more proper way to deal with it,” Shen says.

Kennen asks, “What if people still want to go through with it?” 

“We inform them of the consequences,” Viktor states. “There’s nothing else we can do but accept responsibility.” 

Ezreal has begun to cough. 

It had started during a test trial for Ekko’s time machine, and it had ended in a burst with smoke flying everywhere. He’d started coughing then, and hadn’t stopped since. It wasn’t a continuous thing; he just suddenly felt the need to clear his throat and it just led to a coughing fit. He asks Akali for cough drops and then cough medicine when it’s not going away. 

Then the heartburn starts. At least it felt like it; he blamed it on some spicy food that Akali had brought; ramen noodles with extra spicy broth. He’d finished it because it had been delicious, even though his stomach, esophagus, throat and mouth had been on fire the entire time. She’d laughed as he cried and turned red, and she’d offered him water to try and get him to calm down, and then laughed again when Ezreal turned the water away only to opt for eating more of the spicy meal. 

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” she’d said. “I can’t believe you actually finished it, Ez; you probably burned holes through your stomach.”

“You’re a good nurse; I trust you’ll take care of me,” he’d returned. 

She had playfully slapped his arm then, and gone back to work. 

He’s been spending more and more time with Akali and so it isn’t really that surprising when the first petal comes out of his mouth. It doesn’t stop the dread from making his body feel as if there’s battery acid running through his veins. The thing is that Akali’s funny; she has deadpan humor, can utter the funniest lines with a straight face and not mean them and she has this way of teasing him that felt familiar. She almost feels like home, in a way. Which is wrong. Way wrong. She’s to get married soon and she’s looking forward to it; she’s shown him pictures of her tuxedo, the invitations, her shoes, all of which she’d had custom made to fit her own criteria of what the perfect wedding was. It didn’t fit the criteria Ezreal had seen in magazines; everything had a special touch that just screamed her name. It’s endearing. This is what Ezreal thinks Talon would have behaved like, planning his own wedding.

Ezreal knows he has Hanahaki. It’s not the petal that gives it away. He’s known for a while, has noticed the signs but has decided to think otherwise. Akali had said that there had been pain at first, and eventually she’d gotten used to it, but the roots had never gotten to the point where they had taken over her lungs. Ezreal remembers Talon rubbing his sternum and blaming it on heartburn. Remembers Talon going up a flight of stairs and struggling to catch his breath, blaming it on a bad night’s rest and being out of shape. Remembers that Talon had begun to lose his eyesight and he’d said he’d always needed glasses, but age was making it worse. Ezreal finds that he can’t see as clearly anymore; it feels like he has a thin film of plastic over his eyes. It’s a general blurriness, but he notices it mostly on people’s faces. He also finds himself using the exact same excuses his friend had used.

He goes back to Talon’s journal when he can, looking for answers, and then choosing not to see them. It’s like reading into what’s happening to him and it’s terrifying. He’d promised Talon he would find a cure; he couldn’t die yet, not before finding it. Even if it’s exhausting, even if it feels like he’s struggling more and more with life itself, even if he can feel the plant growing within him… he has to continue. He has to keep going. He has to keep fighting the thoughts that invade his mind, pessimistic and almost suicidal.

He tries to stay away from Akali, but finds himself gravitating more towards her. He keeps his illness to himself, both because he doesn’t want to burden the others and doesn't want to be taken out of the group in favor of making him a guinea pig. He didn’t mind being a subject to be studied; it just meant he wouldn’t be able to take part in research as much anymore. Being part of experimentation was exhausting. Which in this case, is gonna be an interesting scenario because it looks like, with Shen collaborating, an alternative cure is found. 

“A poison?” 

“We’ve figured it out,” Ezreal said, trying not to sound as excited as he feels. “The only way for these plants to survive inside the body is by fueling itself with the blood of the host. Don't you see? It’s a parasite. If we poison the blood enough to kill it and dissolve the clots, but keep the patient safe—”

“You’re talking about a poison.” Viktor says, hesitant. “That’s hardly a cure if it kills the patient.” 

Ezreal nods. “The first couple of tests will no doubt need some tweaking—”

“It’s not the first time something like this has been done. How do you think anesthetics were created? Opium is toxic, but in small doses it’s like a miracle.” Shen places paperwork in front of everyone and they take a moment to read it through. He continues, “Of course… there’s a lot of chemistry involved here that I’m not exactly privy to—that was never my strong suit—however… if we get a hold of a chemist, then maybe…” 

More silence in the room and then Viktor smiles, nodding. He stands up and pulls out his phone. “Then it looks like we’re going to need a chemist.”

Singed was essentially what they called a mad scientist. He’d come in and within months had designed a concoction that he claims is exactly what they are looking for. As they all sit around the small little vial looking down at it, Akali finally speaks up. 

“Looks like grape juice.”

She isn’t wrong. But the smell emanating from it is far from grape, which doesn’t really hype up the taste. 

“Now to find someone brave enough to drink it,” Kennen said.

“It can't be that bad.” Ezreal picks up the vial and looks at it closely. 

Akali pulls his hand back. “You could die.”

“What’s worse than that?” He laughs and isn’t surprised when no one else laughs with him. It’s a somber situation. Would it work at all? 

“There may be a couple of things that need to be tweaked,” Singed said, leaning against the counter behind him and crossing his arms. “There’s a few elements in there I’m still not sure wouldn’t cause harm to the human body, but overall it should be safe for consumption.” 

“Do you drink it or is it injected? Would it be possible to make an alternative solution meant to be injected directly into the bloodstream?” 

They all talk, and Ezreal listens. Yes, it’s possible to make an IV solution out of it to make it easier for it to get to the heart, but there is still the question of how friendly the solution itself is on the human body. It makes sense for it to be drunk first as the mucus lining in the stomach would protect it enough to be able to be suctioned back out in time. The only real problem would be handling any kind of corrosion damage to be done to the throat and esophagus. 

“Now we just need to find someone with Hanahaki willing to undergo reconstructive surgery to test this on,” Heimerdinger says. There’s a bit of a discussion that Ezreal doesn’t pay attention to.

They could hype it up to being a medication, and literally any of their volunteers would drink it, but Ezreal is tired of losing and ruining other people’s lives. He’s tired of feeling like Akali owes him something when he knows she doesn’t, and that the only reason they’ve grown close is because of the work they had to do together. She’s happily married now, and hadn’t shown any indication at all in being interested in him in any other way aside from friendship. Which is fine. He doesn’t know where this attachment to her came from when he was still thinking about Talon day in and day out, and often compares her to him; he just knows that falling for her was stupid and it’s time to remedy it. “It can't be that bad.” 

He picks up the vial and drinks the fluid completely in one go, bottoms up as if it were an alcoholic shot instead of an experimental—and potentially lethal—drug. His first thought is that it certainly tastes awful. It’s like all the lemons in the world had combined to make the most sour taste ever in existence. He forces it down his throat as the rest of the room looks on in horror, and almost immediately he starts coughing. He stands up, grabbing onto his throat; it feels worse than the spiciest ramen Akali ever got him; it feels like he’s swallowed a cactus and the thorns are tearing up his throat and his esophagus. There’s an acrid smell in the air that he barely catches, and he tries to scream but he can’t; he doesn’t know if the solution is making it impossible or the shock of the experience is too much for his body to obey its natural instincts. 

He collapses and continues to cough and he feels like he’s about to faint. He feels a hand on his back, shaking him and gripping him; there’s a lot of commotion in the room that he strangely can’t hear, but he can see people running around and towards him, people turning him on his side and shoving a tube down his throat. 

“What did you do?” He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to, but for a moment thinks it belongs to Talon. Which is odd, because Talon is—

He tries to answer but he can’t. Everything goes black.  

When he opens his eyes next, he’s in a dark room somewhere he doesn’t recognize but there’s a dim lamp off in the corner. The second thing that catches his eye is the profile of the person sitting on the bed next to him. He remembers waking up when he was younger and sick to a similar shadow. Talon had always been there when he’d gotten sick, worry bleeding through his eyes even if the rest of his face had been stern. He liked to keep him company or help him eat and drink and take his medicine. For a wild moment his heart races and he freezes, contemplating the possibility that Talon either came back to life, or Ezreal is at that point in death that makes him relive his best and most tender moments.

The silhouette of the person sitting next to him looks so much like his friend, he doesn’t want to disturb the illusion, but his body reaches out to them anyway, and grips their hand. Immediately he knows something is wrong; the hand is slender and small, nothing like Talon’s had been, but he insists that it’s his best friend who’s sitting there, keeping him company. At least until they speak. 

“Welcome back,” Akali whispers. 

Ezreal opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. He frowns and reaches for his throat. Akali pulls his hand back. “You’ll be glad to know that the potion worked. We barely had enough time to suction the solution from your stomach. Singed fine tuned it so it doesn’t hit the others as hard as it hit you.” 

Ezreal opens his mouth again and tries again to reach for his throat. “The potion you drank wasn’t completely ready, if you remember. It destroyed your vocal chords. Shen and Kennen worked on reconstructing them; you’ll need speech therapy for a while. It more than likely changed your voice.” 

He nods. They were silent for a bit and he noticed that they were still holding hands. He squeezes hers and when she turns to him, he makes motions, hoping she’ll understand him. 

“Are you asking if the potion is making its way through the population?” 

He nods. She smiles. 

“The second and third person that have taken it and recovered, have done so wonderfully. They have gone back to their families and resumed their lives.” 

Ezreal knew the pain he felt at his throat wasn’t only because of his surgery; tears began to well in his eyes and his nose started to run. She took his hand in both of hers. “Talon would be angry for that stupid stunt you pulled,” she says, then tilts her head. “But I know he’d also be so proud of you, Ezreal.” 

She doesn’t leave, even when he lets go of his restraint and really begins to cry. She only holds him and offers her shoulder for him and rubs his back and never questions why he did it, but he knows she knows. After all is said and done, he can only think of one thing; while he’s happy that a cure has finally been found, he regrets it took so long and more than ever before, wishes Talon were here.

Ezreal goes to therapy. Learning to talk again, and hearing his own voice, is odd. Akali was right that the voice changed; it’s probably because he’s still getting the hang of using synthetic vocal cords, but his voice sounds somewhat electronic and deeper, at least to his own ears. It makes him uncomfortable to talk, self-conscious, and unfortunately, his therapist requires it. 

He talks about Talon the most, and of course he has to; even though years have passed since his friend died, it still feels fresh and anything that reminds Ezreal of him is potentially a ticking time bomb, he just hadn't realized it. So it’s time to face off with the problem, even though Ezreal never considered it one. 

"You need to find closure," the therapist says. "You need to come to terms with the loss. You say you don't remember the funeral; have you thought about making your own version of it? Something special, that only you and your friend"—Ezreal flinches when the doctor says that word and he doesn’t know why—“would enjoy." 

Ezreal sardonically entertains the idea. Why not? Might as well make sure it's worth his time. Maybe this is why he thought he had fallen for Akali in the first place; he had kept comparing her to Talon to the point that he couldn’t tell them apart anymore. Maybe his memory was skewed with all the weird thoughts. Maybe his body led him to believe he was in love when he really hadn’t been. Maybe they're onto something; maybe he really needs this closure. 

They make tentative plans to get together over coffee and plan this out. Ezreal doesn't want to book an entire venue just for the two of them, and even though the doctor insists they can invite more people, Ezreal shuts down the idea on principle that this is supposed to be personal. 

Ezreal goes to the store, as instructed, and buys a box to his liking. He tries his hand at painting, decorating it with his best skills and he tries not to think about how silly the drawings look. He fills it with things Talon would like; paints, brushes, a CD from his favorite musical project. He goes to several flower shops looking for his favorite flowers, and doesn't find them; he throws the suggestion for an alternative out the window. 

He knows Talon loves—loved—that tea from that shop but he can't think of a way of introducing that to the box without it getting ruined by the liquid. A receipt of purchase is too cheap, a tea box is just plain weird, an empty cup is too callous, and he ends up scrapping that idea too. Ezreal has Talon's thoughts on paper, but he'd be lying if he said he was okay with letting go of those. He has memories he wishes he could materialize, and then is thankful that he can't because he knows it would be hard for him to part with those, too. 

Eventually, after much thinking, he's sitting on his bed with an awfully decorated box, with only paints, brushes and a CD in it and comes to the conclusion that this is a stupid idea. None of these material things will ever be up to par with Talon nor replace him, and it was useless to try. This funeral thing wouldn't work and he knows it, because even though people keep speaking about Talon in past tense, Ezreal knows it wouldn't be the case for much longer. 

Ekko had made the finishing touches on his time machine, and so Ezreal cancels his next therapy appointment because very soon he'll travel back and save Talon. 

It's a bit of a crash course. 

Ekko gives Ezreal a watch as he tells him that time travel can alter a lot of things, and demonstrates with a simulation of going back and moving an item from one place to another. When Ezreal is placed in the machine and given a small and simple mission, he's vaguely under the impression that he's back to being a kid and experimenting with the chemistry sets from elementary school. He remembers the excitement of the reactions working as foretold, remembers thinking that life was grand and there were many opportunities to grasp. Ezreal does start getting a little nervous about traveling, though, especially because neither of them really know what will happen, and all they have is simulations. He tries not to feed into fear and instead feeds his excitement. He turns to the young man and asks how far back he'll go. 

"You'll get to the point right before we come into the room." Ekko gets out a screen and shows him schematics Ezreal can kind of understand but just listens to him as he gestures around the math. “You'll move an object; whatever you want, and I'll guess what it is. It should theoretically move on its own. This is going to be interesting. I'll record it, too, so we can study this together." 

Ezreal had helped Ekko set up cameras all over the room so they could see every angle. He straps in tightly to the machine, and right before Ekko throws him back, Ezreal asks how he’s supposed to come back to this point in time. 

“That watch I gave you; if you press this button”—he demonstrates—“it will automatically bring you back to the point right after you left.”

Ekko waits until Ezreal gives him the thumbs-up signal and then presses a few buttons on his keyboard panel. He flips the switch and watches as Ezreal begins to disappear. 

Ezreal, for his part, doesn’t experience that crazy vortex of images and sound he’d expected from the movies. Instead, he kind of sees images of things he knows have happened; sees a blink of Ekko and himself coming into the room, a blink of Ekko giving him the watch; a blink for the schematics, another for the camera set up; all of it being reversed. The sound isn’t loud, rather whispers, like faraway sounds. He can’t interact with them; he tries but something keeps his body immobile, as if forbidding him from messing with the timeline he’s not supposed to be in yet. It’s neat. It’s scary. It’s exciting. 

The images around him stop and he can finally move. The room is empty, there’s items and tools as he remembers seeing them when he first walked into the room this morning, and the clock on the wall tells him he’s gone back in time for 3 hours. He can’t help but gasp in shock. Had they really done it? 

He hears voices nearby and it’s unnerving that he can hear his own voice down the hall. Gods, he really did sound different. It does sound human, but there's almost a robotic quality to it if it's the first time hearing it. It sounds more human the more he speaks though, which he supposes is a good thing. He startles when he sees someone pass by the window of the room and then breathes easy when the person doesn't stop to peek in.

Right. Time to get the test done; he’s gonna have time to geek out about everything later. He looks around for something obvious he can move and decides on that vase that Ekko insists needs to stay under the table, right where Ezreal wants to put his legs. In an act of both vengeance and mission-driven motivation, he moves the vase out and then puts it on the table. He waits until he’s sure it’s not gonna topple over—he wants to be annoying, not vindictive—and then presses the button that Ekko pointed at on the watch. 

Like before, images and soft sound surround him, and he’s unable to move. He notices, though, that the images now are different; they’re going in chronological order, and there’s the added one of him fading and going back. For a moment, Ezreal from the future smiles at him even though his past self does not see him, knowing that he’ll be experiencing a grand moment in history very soon, before the image disappears and he tumbles back into his own time. 

Ekko is sitting there, stunned. 

“I’m back,” Ezreal gasps, grinning wide. Ekko starts shaking his head and grinning back, excitement notable on his face. 

“I can’t believe you went back in time to annoy me, Ez,” Ekko laughs. He grabs Ezreal’s arm and points at the vase, now sitting on top of the table. 

“I had to make it obvious and I couldn’t think of anything else,” Ezreal laughs back. “What did it look like? What happened?” 

“Dude, you have to see this.” 

Ekko drags him over to the computer screen on the other end of the room, and brings up the footage that the camera’s captured. They look through the footage of Ezreal disappearing, the vase disappearing like mist particles as well and then reappearing on top of the table the same way it disappeared. Ezreal makes his comeback less than a second later. 

When the footage stops, Ezreal turns to Ekko who’s grinning back just as wide as Ezreal feels himself smiling. “What did you see?” Ekko asks. 

Ezreal describes what he saw and heard, both leaving and then coming back. 

“Did you look at the watch? Was it just a second like it showed on the screen?” 

“Honestly, I was so shocked by what was happening that I completely forgot to look at it,” Ezreal admits, rubbing the back of his head. “But it’s interesting that I felt I was at least 5 minutes back then, and it shows only a fraction of a second here.” 

Ekko nods and then leans back, crossing his arms. “That part is still finicky and I can’t really pinpoint it,” he says. “There’s a problem with the portal on the machine where it’s not open indefinitely. But then again, it shouldn’t be. What I mean is: the portal for travel opens, and then it closes on its own.” 

“What happens if it closes?” Ezreal asks, uncertain. 

“You’re stuck in the past.” Ekko replies. “At least, in theory.” 

“I see.” Now he wished he’d paid more attention to the watch Ekko had given him. “Maybe we can do another test run.” 

“I agree, but I’d like to look at the math a little closer because something happened as you came back that alerted the machine, and I’d like to know what it was.” 

“At which point?” 

“Here,” Ekko says. He leans forward again and moves the mouse, then presses a couple of buttons here and there, zooming in and moving the images frame by frame, very slowly. He stops at a point where there’s technically two Ezreal’s in the room: one leaving and the other coming back. Ekko points at another screen, where there’s white numbers in the majority, but the red ones certainly seem to pop out. “I don’t know what happened at this point, but I know the machine tried to protect itself from something. It nearly aborted the entire operation.” 

“Maybe it’s the fact that I saw myself,” Ezreal murmurs. 

Ekko turns to him, frowning. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, think about it. People in the movies always say that your past and your future self should never interact with your present self. It’s motive enough to drive someone crazy, not to mention the implications of change.” Ezreal frowns. “If you meet yourself, you create another timeline. I think your machine was warning us about this.” 

“But you didn’t meet yourself,” Ekko says, then frowns. “Did you?” 

“No,” Ezreal says thoughtfully. “Well… at least not back then. If you see the numbers here, they turn red when it looks like I’m coming back. And something did happen at that point; there were technically two of us in the room. I may not have talked to myself, but I did see myself leaving.” 

Ekko sees the numbers and then the still image from the camera. “Did your past self see you as you came back?” 

“No,” Ezreal says, smiling. “He was too shocked looking at everything around him to notice himself looking back, I think.” 

“I see.” Ekko nods again. “Makes sense. Do you mind if I run more tests, just to be sure?” 

Ezreal nods and steps back, watching Ekko work. It takes a couple more weeks of Ekko throwing Ezreal back in time and messing with the timing of return before Ekko can draw a conclusion and finally comes up with an answer. 

“Turns out you’re right,” he says, pulling up the still image and the numbers from the first time. “The numbers turn red when you’re extremely close to meeting with yourself; the numbers stay safe the more of a gap there is between you and… your other you. So once you head back in time to meet with Talon, you’re gonna have to be mindful of where your past self is so these numbers don’t turn red.” 

“What happens if they do and they stay that way?” Ezreal asks. 

“You’re thrown back here,” Ekko says. “You also have to keep the fact that you’re from the future a secret,” he adds. “Saying something along those lines could essentially endanger the existence of the machine, so it’s a self-protective aspect.”

“So if I say it…” 

“You’ll be teleported back before your time runs out.” Ekko shrugs. “If nothing else, your timer runs out, the opportunity to come back closes, you can always say those words and be thrown back here.” 

“So I have limited time. About how much?” 

“Twenty seconds, at most. Maybe less; give or take.” 

Ezreal looks at Ekko like he’s gone insane. “Twenty seconds?! How the hell am I supposed to save Talon in under half a minute?”  

Ekko shrugs again and makes a face. “The watch shows the time as it actually is during this timeline,” he explains. “When you’re traveling back, time will slow down for you. It won’t seem that way; days back then could pass in a second here. Weeks. Months. I don’t really know. It’s just a theory. But keep an eye on it. It’s the only watch that works with the machine, so keep it safe.” At Ezreal’s grim silence, Ekko softly adds, “You could have a year and still break a heart; you could have a second and find the cure for cancer. Really, it’s not about how much time you have; it’s how you use it.” 

Ezreal looks at the clock on the wall and watches the hands moving. The second hand is completing the last minute of the hour, so all three of them are sliding forward. Twenty seconds… in the grand scale of time, it’s nothing. If what Ekko said was true, could it still be enough, though? 

“How will I know when I’m running out of time?” 

“There’s an alarm set on it, a second before the portal closes. It takes a fraction of that last second to bring you back, but at least it will warn you to hurry up and get your stuff in order to come back. By then you should more or less know how much time you have, wherever you’re at.” 

Both of them make and hold eye contact, uncertainty in their expressions. They don’t say anything for a very long time and sit still, and Ezreal can’t help but think that it was funny how perception of time was relative. Time flew when he had fun, and time seemed to stand still when he was afraid. Talon had commented on it once, and had been reminded of it as he read the journal that he’d left behind because he had written it at the very back of the book. 

People are so obsessed with what they must have, that they lose out on what they already have. What good is money and material things if you aren’t here to enjoy them? 

It had been crossed out, but Ezreal could read it still and thought of those words now. 

“Ez?” Ezreal blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek; he looked at Ekko with wide eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more time. I can work on it a little bit more—”

“No,” Ezreal says, hastily wiping his tears away and sniffling. “It’s not—I’m not—” he laughs and sighs, shaking his head. 

He’s so focused on having more time, but Ekko’s right; it isn’t about how much of it he had. He had neglected the fact that, time slowed or not, Ekko had worked on a miracle to grant Ezreal twenty more seconds to be with Talon. Twenty more seconds to make it right, and spend them right, and Ezreal wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass him by again. 

When Ezreal is sent back in time, he closes his eyes because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the pain he endured over the years. He doesn’t want to see himself and his reckless decisions. He’d requested to be placed in his bedroom at an exact time and date and was still surprised to see himself surrounded by his own stuff, the far-away familiarity of the place making way to nostalgia. It had been a long time since he’d been home; he still owned the house, but hadn’t gone to see it since he’d left with Viktor. He was sure it didn’t look like this; clean but disorganized; bed sheets drawn back, pillows soft and clothes strewn all over since he’d gotten ready for work in haste, probably. 

He tentatively sits on his bed and marvels at how it still feels the way he remembers, and wishes the house he has can still receive him as comfortably and as readily as it does now. He frowns. This isn’t the time to think about this; he was on a mission and he had limited time so he had to get a move on, quickly. 

Briefly, he wonders if his old clothes still fit him, and looks through his things for something comfortable. He decides on a plain black shirt, some jeans and keeps his own shoes. The reflection on the mirror is a bit of a surprise; he’d been younger when he’d last seen himself in it, just a few years, but now he could really see the difference. Goodness, now more than ever he really saw the resemblance to his parents; his father’s blonde hair and his height and his mother’s blue eyes. The worry lines he’d had were a little deeper, and it had been a hot minute since he’d shaved. His beard and his hair don’t look too bad, he isn’t the sharpest looking but also doesn’t look unkept. He mentally thanks Ekko for mentioning a quick shower and a trim, although he feels like he’s starting to sweat. 

Right, no time to do much about it, he needs to find Talon and quickly. 

He walks through the house carefully, making sure his past self isn’t home before leaving. The neighborhood is just as he’d remembered it and hopes no one sees him walking out of his house, lest they may ask questions. He glances at the calendar and the clock on the way out the door so he knows Talon would be on his morning run, right about now. Which way was it? They had gone on morning runs pretty much every day until Ezreal had been asked to rotate his 24-hour shifts. He’d been too exhausted then to continue and cherished his days off too much to wake up early and join him on a run, but Talon had continued on his own. 

Add that to his list of regrets, but after saving him, he’d take up the opportunity again. 

Ezreal heads in the direction he remembers Talon and himself heading and hopes with all his heart that Talon is a creature of habit and had kept the trail intact. He gets to the park and stops, looking around. This is the park that, if his memory doesn’t fail him, Talon likes to frequent because it’s mostly vacant at this time and allows him the freedom to sprint his laps without worry of a pet or a child getting in his way. Just as he remembers it; there are very few people scattered here and there; a couple sitting on a bench, a group of people doing push ups, and two people running laps. A third one comes out from behind a tree and Ezreal’s heart starts beating wildly; he would recognize that running form anywhere, even with the hood of his sweater on top of his head. 

Ezreal sits on a bench and watches as Talon sprints around the park a couple of times. He flies in front of Ezreal three times and each time he can't help but pick out certain things from his friend: the way he moves, fast and precise; the way his nostrils flare when he takes in air, the way his mouth forms an "o" when he exhales. Once he slows down, he pushes the hood off his head and then stops in front of the fountain, undoing his ponytail only to re-tie it. Ezreal stands up and slowly approaches him. 

He knows he's traveled back in time because he has done it several times already, and even though the novelty still hasn't worn off, the surreal aspect of this particular trip is in the fact that he can see Talon again. After losing him over and over again in his nightmares, daydreams and memories, he’s standing right here, in front of the fountain, stretching and catching his breath. Does he already have Hanahaki? How do his lungs look? His heart? Does it impede him from breathing properly or is this from the effort of him sprinting for longer than Ezreal had seen? 

He doesn't realize that he's moved closer, so close that Talon became aware of his presence, and is looking warily at him and—those eyes. He's seen those eyes completely void of life. He's seen those beautiful eyes stare without a single reflex, cloudy and unfocused. Talon is frowning but Ezreal can't bring himself to care; the fact that he can move and look and breathe— he's alive. Truly alive! Ezreal closes the distance between them and hugs Talon, who's so surprised by what's happening that he doesn't do anything about it, at first. Ezreal is just basking in the moment, the warmth of his friend, when he hears a throat clearing. 

"Uhm… can I… help… you?" 

It takes just those words and registering the tension in the body he’s hugging that Ezreal finally realizes what he’s done. He pulls back immediately and looks at Talon, who’s looking back with a disturbed and rather judgemental expression. His arms are up in an X in front of his chest, ready to push Ezreal back in case he comes in for another hug. 

This is certainly not the reunion he’d envisioned, but that’s okay. He would have all the time in the world to hug him after he saved him. 

“There’s a cure,” Ezreal says. “There’s a cure for Hanahaki.” 

“Who told you I have Hanahaki?” The frown Talon gives him is a bit unsettling, but Ezreal has limited time; he just needs to get it out. 

“That doesn’t matter, I just need—” 

“Who are you?” The arms are coming down and they hang tense at his sides in a clear indication that he’s uncomfortable, and willing to fight to get his space back. 

Ezreal takes a step back. “Listen to me—” 

“I don’t know you.” The eyes that had always looked at him with such kindness are looking at him with a sharpness that rivals a knife. Ezreal was aware that he looked different, but he didn’t think it had been by much. Surely the voice could be a bit of a shocker, however it still wasn’t a reason for Talon to not recognize him. Unless… 

“You’re blind.” 

Talon clicks his tongue and turns his back on Ezreal, and Ezreal can feel the situation spiraling out of control. He was supposed to come back to this date specifically because he’d thought Talon didn’t have Hanahaki so advanced yet. So he’d had it longer than he’d alluded to? 

“How far along is it? Are you coughing up blood? Where does it hurt? Can I—”

Ezreal is fussing and he doesn't realize it until Talon makes an aggressive movement meant to push him back. “What do you want?” 

"I want to help!" Ezreal had thought it was obvious. He's trying not to think how the few people around them are starting to look in their direction. 

“There’s no cure, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Yes, there is! It’s a surgery; you can—”

“A surgery?” Talon stops in his tracks and looks over, cautiously, but undoubtedly with piqued curiosity.

Ezreal feels a light of hope at the question. Curiosity and inquiries always meant he had Talon's attention; even though in the past he'd felt almost manipulative for doing this, he basks in the knowledge that it's working this time, too. “Yes.” 

“How many of them have been performed?” Talon asks, suspicious. Ezreal opens his mouth to answer and then stops. He wants to say hundreds, a thousand at least, but he realizes that doing so would open the door to the question of where. And when. And whom. Talon is no regular patient; he asks for sources and he digs until his curiosity is sated. It makes sense; he's a physician himself. He seems to sense the hesitation because his curiosity gives way to anger as he clicks his tongue again. “You’re looking for a guinea pig.” 

“Wha—No! That’s not—”

“I don’t know how you found out I have Hanahaki, but I’m not willing to be your test subject.” 

“Please, I—” 

“If you want to lie,” Talon interrupts, “go do it to someone else. There is no known cure as of yet. So please, kindly stay very far away from me.” 

Talon spins around and gives his back to Ezreal again with finality and stalks off, pulling the hood over his head tightly. He starts jogging after a few steps, and then running and then sprinting. If Ezreal didn't know any better, he'd say Talon was just continuing his exercise. But he knows better, and he knows his friend is embarrassed, bothered and ashamed. 

As he watches Talon exit the park, he allows the feeling of dread overwhelm him. He'd known it'd be hard, but never like this. He just hoped he didn't end up regretting his decision. 

The thing about being friends with anyone for over twenty years, is that with time you come to know, intimately, what makes them happy. Or at least, less angry. There’s a coffee shop that Talon frequents, and he wouldn’t ever admit it’s because he actually likes the place aside from it being close to work so he can drop in for lunch. He always asked for the same thing: a turkey sandwich with tomatoes, onions, nine pickles exactly—he claimed that less was flavorless and more was too overwhelming—with mustard and mayo on the side for him to mix and dip his sandwich in. It was grotesque watching him do it, but it was a comfort food Ezreal wasn’t going to talk bad about right now, because that is precisely why he’s able to find him again in the first place. 

Talon is sitting in a far corner, almost hidden from view, if one doesn’t know where to look. Ezreal had taken special care to dress up presentably, and even shaved for the occasion. He’s feeling rather nervous anyway, as he goes up to the counter and orders two drinks; a coffee for himself, and a mint tea with no sugar, hot, with three ice cubes  and one fourth cup of hazelnut coffee creamer. The barista must have been new because she tilted her head and said, “This is the second order in a row I get exactly like this.” Which meant Ezreal had a fifty-fifty chance of failing on his mission today, too. Great. 

He gets the orders quickly because aside from Talon, there’s no one else in the shop aside from a couple who are busy feeding each other morsels of pie. Ezreal takes the cups and makes his way over to Talon, hesitating the last couple of steps when he notices that Talon has become tense, and is looking sideways in his direction. Ezreal takes a deep breath, takes the last couple of steps and then places the tea on the table, not taking the liberty to sit down yet. Talon is done with his sandwich and his tea, given the way the plate and the cup are stacked together with napkins and the receipt of purchase; he could very well leave at this point. 

“I would like to have a word.” 

Talon looks at the second cup in front of him for a moment, before grabbing it, bringing it to his nose to smell it and then taking a tentative sip. He relaxes slightly. “I'm listening.”

“I want to apologize for my behavior last time,” Ezreal starts. He had thought about his apology and how to say it, but it seems empty. He adds, “I understand it came across as rude and invasive and it wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable and angry. I'm sorry for causing you distress.”

Talon sips at his tea again and then makes a motion with his hand, granting Ezreal permission to sit in front of him. Once Ezreal is settled, he looks at Talon, who asks, “How did you know I have it?” 

“I… had a friend. You reminded me of him.” Ezreal couldn’t ever lie about being sorry, or about anything really, to Talon, but he tries his best now because he has to. He feels awful about it; filthy and unworthy, so he also tries his best to stick to the truth as closely as possible. “I'm a doctor as well, I'm studying the disease. Once you become acquainted with it, you learn to recognize it in other people, I suppose.” 

Talon nods. A piece of hair bounces out from behind his ear and comes to rest on his cheek. “What happened to your friend?”

“He passed away.”

“I thought you said there was a cure,” Talon says, frowning. 

Ezreal swallows hard. “He passed before…” Never in his life did he ever consider the possibility of telling Talon that he had died under the guise of it being someone else. As if Talon didn’t exist, or wasn’t real. He lets the sentence hang there, allowing Talon to make his own conclusion.

“I see. And now you want to test it on me.”

Gods, Ezreal knew it was coming, but it didn’t hurt less to be accused of this again. He grits his teeth and bites out, “I know it works—”

“Do you think you're some godly entity that can just grasp people and change their destiny?” 

That question again. How odd that Talon thinks among the same lines that Ekko had. “No. I want to help.” He feels like a knot is forming on his throat; he wants to cry badly, to break down and confess, and tell Talon everything he’s been through. He wants to tell him that it was hell on earth watching him vomit blood and flowers, and holding his cold hand after a hard battle. Wants to tell him about the nights he spent alone, staring into the darkness because sleep refused to embrace him. He still yearns to wrap his arms around Talon with a desperation that's making his heart ache fiercely. His voice is raspy, whispery as he says, “I'm no God. I'm simply a man trying to save the world, a little bit at a time.”

Talon frowns slightly at that and makes eye contact with him. He studies Ezreal in silence and it’s odd, because Ezreal feels seen, even though he knows Talon can’t see him. He blinks back tears but his nose starts to run regardless and he looks around for a napkin. Finding none, he sniffles and makes a move to get up and grab some; he stops when a hand comes out and grabs his wrist tightly. 

“What did you say your name was?” 

Ezreal is about to answer when he notices the barista cleaning the counter and pushing the tip jar a little too far to the edge. He clears his throat and waves at her, then points and says in warning, “jar.” 

The grip around his wrist tightens. “Jar?”

“Oh, uh…” Ezreal’s attention is brought back to Talon and panics, then figures that he might as well go with it; he can’t say his real name anyway, can he? Talon will just think he’s lying again. “Jar…short for Jarro—” he looks up at the ceiling, adds, “—light—” he looks outside and sees a bird grooming itself, finishing with “—feather.” 

“Jarro Lightfeather.” It’s a statement that sounds judgmental and slightly questioning, given the tilt at the end and Ezreal panics again.

“My parents were very fond of Demacia.” 

Talon’s eyebrow twitches like he’s fighting to not lift it. “I see.” He lets go of his wrist and places a clean napkin on Ezreal’s hand. “Talon.” 

No last name, because Ezreal knows Talon would rather not disclose his former family name for as long as he can. “Nice to meet you.” Ezreal wipes at his nose and then stands awkwardly as Talon looks at his own hands on the table, pensive. “Uh…should I…?”

“You can stay until you finish your drink.”

“Okay.” Ezreal sits back down slowly and takes a sip from his coffee. 

Talon smells his tea again, frowning. He looks thoughtful, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle or a riddle. He finally says, “Thanks for the tea.” 

Ezreal nods. “Don’t mention it.” 

“Was this his favorite?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He had good taste.” 

Ezreal watches Talon drink from it and savor it, a small smile growing on his face. “He said it had calming properties.” 

Talon nods. “He was right.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“You’ve never had it?” When Ezreal shakes his head and shrugs, Talon grins, almost wicked. “You should. You look tense.” 

Ezreal grins back. “I don’t think leaf juice is gonna—”

“Leaf juice?”

And just like that, Ezreal sits back as Talon goes on a rant about mint tea and its properties. He remembers feeling slightly annoyed at how much knowledge Talon had about every single tea in existence, but for now he cherishes the moment. He’s listening to all the things he’s listing with a passion and Ezreal remembers feeling that same passion as he presented, looking for a panel of people to work with him to find the cure. He knows what it’s like to try and drive the point home. So he sits and he listens. 

An alarm interrupts Talon, and for a moment Ezreal thinks he’s run out of time. They both look at their watch. Talon says he needs to leave because he has to go back to work. Ezreal doesn’t say anything because he’s lost track of time, but only a second has passed in the future, according to Ekko’s watch. He’s trying to calm the beating of his heart as he tells Talon not to worry about the trash, that he’ll take care of it.  

Ezreal watches Talon leave and then sits there a little longer before he gets up and throws the drinks away, walking out of the shop slowly. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he had one less second to work with, and even though it should feel rotten, Ezreal felt thankful that it took Talon less than a second to welcome him back. 

The idea comes to him in the form of a dream: leaving breadcrumbs to his past self so he can figure out the cure faster. He leaves Viktor's name, hand written in a card that he slides into a book he knows for a fact he’s picked up before, and if memory serves him right, he’ll be picking up this same book really soon. He just hopes it sticks enough to pique his interest and keep it. This is, of course, plan B because it’s looking like plan A isn’t doing so well. 

He’s been trying to look for Talon without successfully finding him. He’d neglected to bring his phone with him because he didn’t think he’d have enough time to actually use it, so he had to go to his phone company to open up another account under the guise of a work phone. He hadn’t left his credit card behind because it’d been in his wallet, so that part was easy. The tricky part would come in trying to keep financial activity a secret as well as this extra account from his past self. He also needed to stay in a hotel until his past self left on another trip. He needed to keep a tight lookout on his past activity to make sure he never met his past self. 

There’s an entire directory of contacts that Ezreal doesn’t remember, but he doesn’t think he’ll need any of them. The one person he actually wants to add, he doesn’t, because first of all, he knew that number by heart. They had kept the number exactly the same over the years and Ezreal had drunk-dialed it a couple of times when he’d needed a ride home without his parents knowing. Talon had known Ezreal’s by heart too; he’d called it several times when his adoptive father kicked him out of the house for one reason or another, up until he’d eventually moved in with Ezreal and his parents once he’d been granted emancipation by court order at the age of 16. They had all moved to Piltover then, like one grand family and it had stayed that way until his parents passed away in a car accident. The death had hurt, but it had been made far easier having Talon at his side to keep him steady and right on track. 

He needs that steadiness again; that support and that love and that closeness in a world where he’s otherwise alone. He finds himself staring down at his phone and thinking about calling that number, just to hear his voice, but then thinks better of it. He knows he won’t stop at just listening to Talon answer the phone; he’ll want to talk and share stories, which he can’t do because Talon doesn’t recognize him. Best case scenario would be Talon ignoring his call anyway, due to not recognizing the number he’s calling from in the first place. So no, he keeps his distance and prays he runs into him again in a natural way. Until then, he keeps planting information and crumbs that will lead his past self to the cure. 

“Excuse me, can you help me find this book?” 

Ezreal turns sharply and can’t believe his eyes. “Talon?” 

Golden eyes blink. “Jarro?” 

“Huh?” Oh right. “Yeah, hey!” He smiles and waves. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Talon waves back. 

“I don’t,” Ezreal says, chuckling. 

“Ah. I’m sorry.” Talon is embarrassed and Ezreal can’t help but smile wider. 

“No worries; I don’t work here, but I know a thing or two about this place, so maybe I can help you anyway.” 

The smile Talon gives him now is relieved and he looks around him, as if hoping no one saw or heard their interaction. Ezreal looks along and confirms that they’re still ignored. Talon tells him the name of the book he’s looking for, and after some thought, Ezreal leads him to the art section, where he looks at the content before he finds it. “Here you go.” 

Talon takes the book in his hands and looks down at the cover for a moment before slowly opening it. He looks at the first page before he closes it and then gives it back to Ezreal. “Is there an audiobook version?” 

Ezreal blinks and then feels like he wants to slam his head through the wall. Gods, he was so stupid. “I’m sorry, I forgot you were—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Talon cuts him off with a tense smile. He looks around him again. Odd, he looks almost paranoid. 

“Is everything okay?” Ezreal can’t help but ask. If someone was looking to harm his best friend, he’d step in in a heartbeat, time machine be damned. “You look like you could use some mint tea,” he tries.

“I just… I just need the book,” Talon mutters. He’s grinding his teeth and Ezreal recognizes the sign for what it is. He’s stressed out, anxious, and really needs an outlet. He had gone back to the park every morning to see if he could bump into Talon again, but after their first interaction, he hadn’t seen Talon running there anymore. He hoped he hadn’t been the one to cause him to leave the activity, or the place; he’d remedy it if he had to. 

He finds the audiobook that Talon is looking for and hands it over to him. Talon takes it, utters a quick little “thank you” and rushes to the front of the library to check it out. 

Ezreal looks down at the hard-cover he’s still holding and reads the title again. “How to Find the Artists’ Way… for beginners”? Ezreal looks back up to Talon, only to see him gone. He’s confused. Why would Talon need a book like this for? He had so much talent; he didn’t need a book to guide him, much less one for beginners. Was he teaching someone else? 

He made his way over to the nearest couch and started reading. 

It took close to a week of non-stop reading until he finished it and his mind was made up: there is little to no reason for why Talon is renting out such a book. Ezreal doesn’t know much about painting, or art in general, really, but he knows Talon knows all of this already because he remembers getting a bit of a crash course on the nature of art at some point. He recognizes the terminology, the artists, the paintings, the methods, because just as Talon had been passionate about tea, he was equally passionate about art too. Come to think of it, Talon was passionate in various aspects of his life, namely those he spent so much of his life studying and learning from, like his own medical specialty. 

He knows that Talon will have to come back eventually to turn the book back in, so he shows up every day like clockwork and again, hopes that Talon isn’t avoiding all the places he’s been bumping into Jarro; he hadn’t shown up to the shop where he’d bought the mint tea since their conversation and it was incredibly suspicious that he hadn’t been to the park, either. The library was iffy; Talon could essentially go somewhere else to turn the book in, but Ezreal had researched the distance of the other ones, and had come to the conclusion that this was the nearest one to his home. He didn’t need to drive all the way across the city to turn in a simple book; that was insane. Then again, knowing Talon, he’d go through lengths in order to avoid someone he was better off not seeing. 

Ezreal really hopes that isn’t the case; he had hoped that the chat they had at the coffee shop had been genuine and comfortable; he couldn’t bear the thought of being so repulsive to his friend that he went to extremes, just to avoid him. 

And finally, when all hope seemed lost and all evidence seemed to point in the direction of avoidance, Ezreal caught sight of Talon walking into the library, turning the previous book in and then walking further into the building to look for another. Ezreal stands up and puts the book he’s been pretending to read aside and slowly makes his way over to Talon. 

Immediately, he knows something is wrong; Talon is blinking repeatedly and shaking his head in negative motions, as if he were arguing heavily with himself about something. He’s alternating between fidgeting with his hands and fidgeting with the hoodie he’s wearing, pulling the strings by the neckline to pull the hood over his head tighter. He can’t stand still to save his life; he keeps switching his weight from one foot to the other. 

He approaches Talon head on but slowly, giving him time to realize that he has company. The last thing Ezreal wants to do is startle him again, much less in a very quiet environment where any sort of confrontation will surely be noticed. Talon seems to pick up on his presence because then he grows still and stares in his direction, eyes unblinking. Ezreal waves slowly. “Hello.” 

Talon blinks and frowns, seeming confused. Then, “Hey.” 

Ezreal smiles. “You doing okay there?” Talon drops his arms to his side and flexes his feet so he’s on his toes for a few moments before dropping back down. He’s so strung out, he’s ready to run, Ezreal notes. “Which book are you looking for today?” 

“I thought you said you don’t work here,” Talon says. He’s raking up Ezreal from head to toe, as if really trying to see him, despite being unable to. 

“Turns out I’m really good at finding books, so I picked up a shift,” Ezreal says, shrugging. 

“Weren’t you a doctor?” 

Ezreal frowns. “I'm kidding, silly.”

Talon takes that as a cue to spin on his heels and stalk out of the building. Ezreal follows closely, confused. Once outside, he reaches out for Talon’s arm to stop him in his tracks. Talon turns around with a crazed look. 

“Hey man, you sure you’re okay? You seem a little tense. Was it something I said?” 

“I’m fine… I just need… to go home.” 

That breathing pattern. He’s having a panic attack. Ezreal instinctively reaches for Talon and pulls him towards the shadow casted by the library building. There’s a garden towards the back that he’s thankful is empty, and he leads Talon to a bench, where Talon sits and he pulls the hood over his head tightly. 

“I’ll stay here with you. Let me know if you need anything,” Ezreal says, then comes to stand between Talon and the library window nearby, blocking the view and acting natural so as to not draw attention to what was happening to his friend. He looks around every now and then, making sure no one is looking at them or heading in their direction, then looks down at Talon to check on his progress. 

Ezreal remembers these incidents; they happened a lot when Talon still lived with his adoptive family and had consequently led to pushing his peers away because they couldn’t handle the stress of dealing with someone in this state. The panic attacks had decreased in recurrence once Talon had moved in with Ezreal and his parents, and had practically been non-existent once they had obtained their degrees. It was safe to say that Ezreal had learned to recognize the signs and had done everything in his power to help him get through those episodes safely and in company. 

The breathing is slowing down and the tension from his body is bleeding out; he knows what happens next. He will be a little disoriented after this and will require a short, little rest before he can get back up and walk home. Automatically, Ezreal comes to sit next to Talon, and almost instantly Talon rests his head on his shoulder. Talon reaches out to him and Ezreal doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture and take his hand. They hold hands in silence, and even though Ezreal wishes this wasn’t the current circumstance they were having contact, he understands beggars can’t be choosers and lets it be. 

After the panic attack he’d had, Talon had pulled away immediately the way Ezreal knew he would, and apologized. Ezreal had shaken his head and had said it hadn’t been a problem, but Talon of course insisted on making it up to him. There was no budging the decision, and plus, he actually wanted to get closer to his friend again, so he had accepted the invitation for an outing. Talon had given him his number and Ezreal happily saved it, then texted him to let him save it back. 

It took two weeks for Talon to finally reach out. 

Tea shop. 

Ezreal smiles before he excitedly sends back, Sure. Let me know when and where.

It takes Talon another two days to respond and he does it by calling Ezreal directly. Tomorrow. Downtown. The Tea Spout. 

They agree to meet at a certain time. He’s not surprised to find that Talon is already there. Talon is incredibly partial to the place because if Ezreal remembers correctly, that was the only place that made his London Fog tea the way he loves it. Ezreal remembers Talon speaking adamantly about the shop as if it were the best thing in the world, and he could never figure out why. He remembers going there a couple of times and also remembers that the coffee was mediocre, so he’d made a point to just order a black and the rest he’d prepare himself. Since Talon is still trying to convince him that the tea is great—he would never believe that he’s still trying to convince his best friend, many years later into the future-gone-to-the-past that tea was great—Ezreal allows him to order for both of them.

He lets Talon lead the way and they pick a table on the balcony to enjoy both the shade and the nice weather as well as the view, overlooking the beach. Ezreal doesn’t say anything and doesn’t try to force conversation: Talon doesn’t latch on to small talk and he only speaks when he wants to. So he waits. 

“I’m blind,” he finally says. He clears his throat. “I know you know. It’s just…”

“Hard to admit when you’re not well,” Ezreal finishes for him. 

Talon nods. “It feels… final.” 

“It’s not. There are many ways to adapt; we can start looking into programs—”

“Jarro, why do you care?” Talon looks like wants to be angry but instead just looks tired. “I’m not your friend, I don’t even really know you; I’m nothing.”

“Can’t you be my friend? What’s stopping you?” Ezreal shoots back. He feels sad that he’s having this conversation at all. He thought Talon had improved his social skills if his interactions with the rest of the hospital staff were any indication, but that conclusion seemed to be wrong. Add that to the list of things Talon had hidden from him. “Even yet, why do I need to be your friend to want to help? The world is a pretty ugly place already; no need to face it on your own. There are some good souls out there.” 

“Not in my experience.” 

The words are soft spoken but they hit like a brick to the back of his head. “There must be someone out there that you trust.” Ezreal doesn’t know what he’ll do if Talon gives him a negative answer because… that would explain, then, why Talon never told him about something as dire as this. His heart is beating like crazy and his ears are ringing; he wants to hear it, but he’s also terrified of what he’ll say. 

“There’s someone, but… I pushed him away.” 

Ezreal frowns. “What do you mean by that?” 

“He’s… my friend since childhood. We told each other everything and I think I hurt him by keeping my disease from him. But…” Talon looks like he’s losing focus, like he’s drowning in memories, and isn’t mentally really present anymore. “I didn’t want to tell him because there is no cure for it. I knew that he would get up and leave to look for it. And he did. It’s my fault that he’s—”

“Stop it,” Ezreal says, firm and loud. Talon focuses on him, surprised. Ezreal shakes his head. “You didn’t push him away. He’s gone because the most common, deadliest disease in the world is affecting the most important person in his world and he’s taken it personally to go be a superhero and fight this beast, shield and sword at hand.”

“He left and said he won’t be back until he finds the cure.” Talon shakes his head. “That would take years, Jarro. I’m dying. And he’s over there thinking he’ll protect me. What am I to do? Hang on until he comes back?” 

“Yes!” Ezreal says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because it should be obvious, shouldn’t it? Talon brings his hands up to his face and covers his eyes as if he can’t believe how absurd this idea is. Ezreal wants so badly to shake some sense into him. “Or tell me who this person is that made you sick and I’ll help you fight it yourself,” he says instead.

Talon stands up abruptly then, and Ezreal really thinks that he’ll storm out, but Talon keeps his hands flat on the table and he lets his head hang, his hair dropping forward from his ponytail. “I wouldn’t force the person I’m in love with to love me back,'' he says softly. “If they haven’t said it already, it’s for a reason and I don’t want to meddle.”

“So you’re just going to waste away.” Talon only nods. Ezreal can’t believe his eyes or his ears. Except he understands, because he’d gone through that same feeling himself. It’s what had prompted him to take the potion in the first place. He wished he’d had a distraction to keep those thoughts away and he never had it. He wasn’t about to let Talon harm himself over something like this; not if he could help it. So he changed the subject. “That panic attack you had, do they happen often?” 

Talon seemed to be grateful for it. He stands up straight and sighs. “Lately, yes.” 

“You’re still exercising, right?” 

“I quit,” Talon confesses. “I can’t see enough to make me feel safe running at that speed anymore. I went to that park at that time specifically because there were very few people to worry about. But the danger is there. I could bump into them and hurt them. I don’t want to hurt another person because I can’t see.” 

Another person? He’d hurt someone? Ezreal thinks about the journal entry admitting that Talon had hurt a patient and considers the possibility that he’s referring to that, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him right now. “Maybe you need someone to go with you, to keep you on track and warn you about potential danger.” Talon looks off into the distance in silence, unwilling to ask. So Ezreal volunteers, “I’ll do it. If it gets too dangerous, we’ll stop, but I’ll be your eyes.” 

Talon blinks and looks in Ezrea’s direction. “How soon can you start?” 

Ezreal shrugs. “We can go right now, if you’d like.” 

The excitement that Talon is trying to hide right now is endearing. Ezreal knew he felt lonely and was both glad he’d hit the nail on the mark and sad because his past self had really left him with nothing to hold himself up. Talon says, “I have to go home and send an email, but how about tomorrow morning? Same park.” 

Ezreal nods and smiles. “Just take it easy on me; I’m a little bit out of shape.”

Ezreal had half meant it as a joke, but had been serious as well. The morning after, he wakes up early, changes into his work out clothing and makes his way to the park. Talon is arriving at that same time and he looks strung out, looking around nervously. Ezreal approaches him carefully. 

“Morning.” 

Talon’s worried expression melts into relief and he waves back. “You’re here.” 

“Of course. I said I’d come, didn’t I? So what’s your routine looking like?” 

Talon talks him through it, and Ezreal quickly realizes he’s gonna need to be dragged out of the park from passing out 10 minutes into the work out. He tries not to regret his decision to join Talon in the first place, and then kindly comes forth with the truth. “Listen, I wasn’t kidding when I said I was out of shape. But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. We need to start slow anyway, to make sure that this is even going to work. We need to get used to working out next to each other, and we need to also get into rhythm. It’s gonna take time, but we’ll get it done.” 

They start out walking and do a couple of laps. It’s easy, of course, because they’re going slow enough to avoid bumping into each other. The power walking and the light jogs are a little harder to control, but they learn to stay side by side. Ezreal keeps his promise of being Talon’s eyes and keeps his eyes out for people nearby, as well as anything in their path. They learn to start walking the laps to seek out potential dangers and get them out of the way first as well as to scope out for animals and people. After a month of steady training, Ezreal feels the difference in his body and can run farther and faster. Even though he wants to speed up and do what he’d seen Talon do, however, he needs to slow down because it seems like it’s Talon this time who needs to take it easy. 

His breathing is labored and when he stops, he places his hand against his chest for a second before leaning forward to place his hands on his knees. He starts coughing then, and Ezreal comes close to rub his back, but then is pushed away by Talon. He tries his best to stop himself from hacking up a lung, and barely succeeds, with only a couple of petals making it out his mouth and onto his hand. They both stare at the crystal looking petals, covered in blood and for a moment neither of them say anything. Maybe exercise wasn’t the ideal thing to do in this state, Ezreal concludes. Talon needs an outlet but it can’t be running anymore. 

“Do you have any other activities that you use to vent?” 

Talon breathes heavily and makes a fist, squeezing the petals with his fingers. Red beads of blood roll down his palm to his wrist. He looks annoyed and Ezreal thinks for sure he’ll lash out or simply not reply. But then, “Reading. I'm listening to audiobooks now.”

Right. “Do you have any you’re interested in right now?” 

Talon nods and stands still as Ezreal takes out his water bottle and pours water onto his bloodied hand to rinse it off then dries it with his handkerchief. “There’s one I can’t find. It’s… my…” He places his hand at his heart again and Ezreal thinks he’ll cough again, but then Talon continues. “It’s their favorite book.” 

His beloved’s favorite book? Well, that was one way to feel close to that person, Ezreal guesses. Plus, maybe finding out more about this person could solve things as well. Call it Plan C. “Okay, then. Let’s go home and find it.” 

“I don’t have it in audio. I haven’t been able to listen to it.” 

Ezreal takes his arm and starts pulling him towards the library. “Then we’ll go to the library and find it.” 

“I can’t remember the exact name, though,” Talon confesses, slowing down. 

“It can’t be that hard to find,” Ezreal says, pulling harder to get Talon moving. 

“I’ve been trying for a whole year without success. Do you know how many books there are with the word 'shadow' in the title?” 

Ezreal could guess, but he isn’t going to let that stop him. They go to the library and of course, as Talon had said, the list of titles with the word ‘shadow’ is insanely long. He’d never thought about it, truth be told, but Talon wasn’t exactly a pessimist for nothing. If he’d spent a good year trying to find said book without success, he really had meant it. 

“The library isn’t going to work,” Talon says, after about the tenth book they get their hands on. In the case of an audiobook not being available, Ezreal had taken up reading the first page out loud to see if Talon recognized it. So far, no success. 

“What do you suggest? Online reading?” 

Talon seems to consider it but then makes a face. “I was given a copy of the book at some point, I just can’t find it. You know, with…” He gestures at his eyes and looks away. 

Ezreal blinks. “You don’t remember where you put it?” 

“Call it being forgetful. Like losing keys, or a wallet.”

“Would you mind if I helped you look for it?” 

Talon thinks about it for a moment and then tells him that he’ll let Ezreal know. It takes another two weeks for Talon to crack and call him over to his house. Judging by the mess, Ezreal guesses that Talon had tried to find it himself before he’d given up. Talon tells him where he’s looked and Ezreal sorts through the books he’s found for one that has something akin to ‘shadow’ in the title. Nothing. They agree to split it up and turn the entire house upside down to look for it under the condition that Ezreal stays to help him organize again. 

Ezreal goes into a room and he moves furniture to look under it. He removes sheets and pillows from their place and moves them elsewhere, looks inside nooks and crannies. There’s a closet here that he starts to empty out and then looks inside the boxes that were kept in there. He drags out a particularly large and heavy box, expecting to see papers and files, maybe pictures. Instead he sees that Talon has put away all his painting supplies into it. All his acrylic paints, his brushes, his palettes, his water cups, his varnish, his primers, his chalks and oil paints, his rags… all are in there. There’s another box that’s filled with wood and cloth, to assemble his own canvases. The last box is bigger and surprisingly lighter, but no less surprising; it’s filled with what looks like unfinished works. Why is everything put away? He doesn’t get far in his investigation because just then he hears a throat clearing from the doorway. 

“I can guarantee that the book isn’t in there,” Talon says. 

“I was just… being thorough.” 

Talon makes a gesture with his head in the direction of the living room. “I found more books; come see.” 

Ezreal goes, making a mental note to come back and check these boxes out later. He sorts through the books and again, nothing. Talon and him sit down on the couch, defeated. 

“Maybe I remember wrong.” 

“About the book being a gift?” 

“No, about having it here. I think I let my friend borrow it. I’ll have to ask him.” 

They sit in silence for a little while longer, before Ezreal suggests take out. They begin to put everything back in its place, and if Ezreal finds it odd that Talon volunteers to put the painting stuff back in the closet instead of letting him do it, he doesn’t say anything. 

Ezreal goes to the library frequently to check out more books and brings them to Talon’s house. He only reads the first page, then Talon rejects them. It feels like a lost mission, in a way, but he won’t pass up the opportunity to visit. 

It has been a very long time since he’d been in Talon’s house, and he enjoys it as much as he can. He remembers when Ezreal and Talon had moved in together to Ionia to cover the rent once they had started working at the hospital. With time, Talon bought this place; it’s nice and homey, very comfortable and very… him. He has his own room, and he has another room for guests, which he’d labeled as Ezreal’s. Always open to you if you want to stay, he said. Ezreal hadn’t taken the invitation before, thinking that the reason Talon had moved out in the first place was because he wanted space. He’d always known that they would eventually grow up and form their own families; it still didn’t hurt less when Talon had been the first one to take that step. Ezreal thinks that it was probably because, despite being close friends, Talon always was the one who felt as if he was in the way. Obtaining this place had been his way of saying he could pull his own weight, and giving Ezreal a place to stay had been his way of saying they were still friends and he was always welcomed. 

Ezreal had done the same; gotten his own place with a guest room specifically designed and decorated just for Talon, for whenever he visited, he was welcomed to stay. It feels odd now, knowing that those rooms existed and yet neither of them had taken the liberty to stay at the other’s house. Perhaps that had been the beginning of the distance between them and he hadn’t known it. Perhaps living apart had forced them to choose their own way and grow in different directions; perhaps spending all that time together growing up had hindered their growth instead of supporting it. He’d never know. 

All he knows is that he’s looking at this room designed and decorated just for him and all he can think of is that he’s thankful Talon had been mindful to keep any mirror away from the room. In all those years, Ezreal still refused to look at his reflection, unless absolutely necessary. Even then, he was extremely selective on what he focused on; his clothes to make sure he looked good, his teeth to make sure there was nothing stuck in them. When he’d come back in time, he’d looked at his reflection for the first time in years, and that itself had been a shocker. He hadn’t done it again since, because seeing his parents reflected back in pieces had been disorienting. 

There was a time when he’d been a little on the vain side, if he was being bold. He looked often to make sure he showed the best; his best smile, his best ‘sexy look’, his best posture. Since his parents had passed away, he’d avoided mirrors like the plague. He couldn’t stand to see the face that had manipulated his parents into getting in that car and going to the store for a new video game. Talon always said that it hadn’t been his fault. Ezreal knew, logically, that his friend was right. He hadn’t manipulated anyone; his parents had done it out of love for their son. Still, Ezreal thought about how much he’d begged and used his puppy face on them. It’s odd, the lengths people go to in order to avoid being reminded of things that hurt them. 

Which, presently, he’s faced with another one. It’s not his, not really; this one belongs to Talon. And it’s hidden in the room that he’d designed specifically for Ezreal. So he’s technically not snooping, right? He looks down the hall and pays attention to what he can hear; Talon is still on the phone with whoever had called and pulled him away. It sounded urgent. Whatever it is, Ezreal hopes it turns out okay. Right now, though… 

He makes his way into the room and pulls the door closed enough to leave just a little opening then makes his way towards the closet. He finds the boxes where all the paint stuff had been hidden and takes out the one that has the canvases. He looks towards the door and listens for approaching footsteps; instead hears Talon say something, still on the phone in the kitchen.

He opens the box and then takes out the first canvas. It was a rough outline of a person; the blue eyes had been started, and then the work had been stopped. Next canvas, rough outline of a person; blonde hair was done with immaculate precision and detail, but there was no face. Next: outline of a person, features vague; colors had been splashed here and there to give indication of shapes. Next: Talon had taken up sketching on the canvas; the lines had been tentative in places and hard in others; shades and shapes, before they fell towards the bottom, where a single, lonely, little heart rested—Oh. 

Well, isn’t this something? Ezreal had seen plenty of lovesick people doodle in their journals; matching last names, hearts with names in them, raw drawings of the person they were smitten with. These paintings, started and never finished, seem to be portraits of the same person in different angles. These were Talon’s version of those lovesick doodles. He had worked on several and then given up to start a new one, with a new stroke, a new color, a new angle, a new approach. Ezreal can see where they start, so full of passion and energy and love, and he can see where the project falls off; hesitation, loss of focus, a color that didn’t make sense with the rest of the work. He had intended for these to be a gift, he realizes. There was nothing more personal than putting your entire soul, mind, heart and energy into something you’re passionate about for someone else. He didn’t know Talon to be so soft about stuff like this. 

Then again, he had never allowed courtship of any form; flowers, stuffed animals, sweets, letters, poems, cute names. Ezreal remembers when he’d teased Talon with a cute name once. 

Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’, Talon had said, grumpy. You may be joking, but it sounds too real when you say it. 

Ezreal hadn’t done it since; it was obvious Talon was uncomfortable with that kind of talk. But he had seen how both men and women had approached Talon with any variety of these with intent to court and every single one of them had been shot down. Ezreal had thought Talon incapable of loving anyone back at some point, but even though he’d been firm in his rejection, he’d also been careful to redirect them in another, "healthier" direction. None of his suitors ended up with Hanahaki, prompting Talon to point out it hadn't been true love after all. They'd had arguments for hours, sometimes even days, about love and the meaning of it; Ezreal was a romantic at heart and Talon had been a non-believer. And yet, here he was, remembering how Talon had also admitted to accepting a book as a gift at some point. Probably from the person who would eventually become his beloved. Which, now that Ezreal thought about it, could be the reason why Talon was so quick to mistrust lately. It wasn’t that he hadn’t developed his social skills. It was that he’d allowed someone into his life, ready to trust, and the result had been Hanahaki. 

Who was it? Was it someone Ezreal knew? It had to be someone who knew both of them well; Talon may have kept the disease to himself for so long, but then again it was easy to hide at the beginning. He knew that better than anyone. But social connections were different. He sat for a moment, looking at the paintings, trying to remember if he’d seen anyone that looked like this near his best friend. There were a couple of people that kind of fit the bill, like that orthopedic surgeon Riven, or that nurse Luxanna from recovery right outside the surgical rooms, or even Vi, that hard-ass security guard who could manhandle just about anyone into submission. Even though none of them looked exactly like the paintings, it could also have been interpretive art. Or maybe that’s why Talon had stopped; his work didn’t match reality. Is this why he had started reading art for beginners again, hoping to find an answer to his perceived flaws? 

“Stubborn.” 

Ezreal turns, canvas in hands, caught red handed. Talon is leaning on the doorway, looking at what Ezreal is holding. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s been caught; he might as well come out with it. “You’re reading books for beginner artists, but these don’t look like works a beginner would do.” Silence. “These are very good, but they’re not done. Are you frustrated?” More silence. He presses on, “Why would you stop doing one of the things you love most? There’s passion and love for your work here; I can see it. Do you have an art block?”

Talon shakes his head. 

“If I may—”

“You may not.” 

There is heavy silence in the room and Ezreal feels a certain kind of anger coming from Talon. He looks back down to the canvas in front of him. He wants to ask so many things but… 

“I can’t see,” Talon reminds him. “I can’t continue if I can’t… if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Right. Talon had always been a perfectionist when it came to his art. Not being able to see if he’s doing it the way he imagines must really frustrate him. Ezreal slowly and carefully puts the painting down next to the others and turns to Talon. “You can have it back.” 

“You don’t seem to understand.” 

“Then help me. You gave up your running, your books and now your art. What could possibly be that important?”  

“Vulnerability.” Ezreal frowns at Talon’s words, especially as he continues, “I’ve been guarded my whole life. It gets exhausting. But you get used to it, so you don’t realize it, until you meet that person that carries your burdens for you for a second so you can rest. And it’s just a second, but that second changes everything; you realize what it’s like to be free and truly vulnerable and you don’t care because you’re safe.” 

Talon walks into the room and takes the unfinished work Ezreal was holding a few minutes prior. He turns it towards himself and squints his eyes, as if trying to focus them so he can see his work. “My running, my books, my art… my sight and my heart… all things material, for a second of true peace and vulnerability. When placed side by side, it shouldn’t be a question of which one to go for. A lot of people struggle. I already picked. Do you know which one you'd go for?”

Ezreal wants to think he’d pick his favorite things in the world; without them, that second would be meaningless. And yet, as he helped Talon put his paintings away, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d already chosen the other option. After all, he’d grabbed onto those twenty seconds for dear life, hadn’t he?

“A what?”

“A gallery.” 

Talon’s looking at Jarro like he’s grown a second pair of eyes out of nowhere. “You know I can’t.”

“Oh, but you absolutely must.” 

Talon doesn’t know exactly what part of the conversation that came afterwards is what convinced him that this was a good idea. Nevertheless, he’d picked out his best suit, his best shoes and slicked his long hair back in a low ponytail. Here he was, in some gallery he couldn’t remember the name of, looking at stuff he couldn’t even identify. The only thing that was of comfort was the fact that Jarro had allowed him to hook arms, so he could lead him from one piece to another. 

It was after the third work that he finally stopped and rubbed his eyes. He knew that Jarro meant well, but this wasn’t working. He wanted to go home instead of walking here, pretending to enjoy what couldn’t even make heads or tails out of. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know if you’re enjoying this, but I’m not.” 

“What do you mean?” Talon glared in his direction, hoping to make it obvious without having to actually state it. “Oh.” 

It’s so like him to forget that Talon can’t see. Why did he keep forgetting? It’s not like Talon kept it a secret. 

“I thought you’d be able to see these.” 

“I don’t understand; are they magical?” 

“No,” Jarro says, and he looks like he’s taken aback by the bite in Talon’s comment. “The lights illuminating the works are very bright. You said you could see, mostly blurry, but still… I thought if you were surrounded by darkness and the lights on the work were bright, you’d be able to see it.”  

The intention behind that logic is almost endearing. It kind of reminds Talon of someone else. He shakes his head; he needs to stop comparing Jarro and Ezreal. Despite a lot of similarities, there was a certain something that didn’t quite match with Ezreal. Like the voice, for starters. It sounded odd, almost mechanical but not quite; not entirely unpleasant, just... different. Anyhow, he also needs to stop being a jerk about the situation, he concludes. Of course, the impairment was relative, depending on the day; some days shapes were clearer and more defined than other days, but everything remained blurry because of the disease. Jarro meant this to be a nice gesture and he’s right in that Talon can kind of see the shapes, but it’s mostly just a blur of color. It technically worked; it was just unfortunate that Jarro’s plan didn’t work exactly as he’d intended since today was a particularly tough day when the blindness was almost absolute, making Talon a little grumpier than usual. There was really no need to be rude, he reminds himself. 

Before he can apologize, Jarro takes his hand and turns it palm up. He stretches out his fingers and gestures for him to keep his hand open. 

“What are you doing?”

“Pretend your hand is a canvas. I have an idea.” 

Talon frowns as he looks down at it. 

“Okay now… this painting is in landscape.” He brings Talon to stand in front of it and then turns his hand sideways to mimic the crosswise painting. “You can see the colors, right?” Talon nods. Jarro comes to stand right behind him, resting his cheek on Talon’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around the brunette. It’s odd that Talon feels comfortable with the touch; it almost feels natural. Plus, he tells himself, I want to know exactly what Jarro has in mind this time. It had nothing to do with being touch-starved and thinking about the soul-warming embrace that had started their entire acquaintanceship.

“The green colors you see here, these are trees,” Jarro says, and then touches certain spots on Talon’s hand. “There’s a small bird mid-flight here, a small area where you can see the light blue of the sky here, and all this area here is water. There’s a boat, too.” Jarro taps and strokes at Talon’s palm as he speaks, hinting at the places where these figures are. He continues. “There are four people in this painting; two men and two women. The first woman is here,” he touches the area. “She’s sitting with two other men. She’s naked, but her pose is semi-censored. The men are here, and here, and they’re clothed. The second woman is over here, wearing white, she’s bent over and seemingly bathing.” Talon frowns, as suddenly the shapes and colors he’s seeing begin to slowly separate from a huge mess into something more defined. 

Jarro hasn’t even finished describing the painting when Talon has already guessed which painting it is. He’s seen it before, in books and on the internet, but never thought he’d actually get to witness it in such an odd way. “Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe,” Talon says, when Jarro is done. 

Talon tries his best to hold his excitement in; it could’ve worked this time, but who knew about next time? As if guessing what he was thinking, Jarro led him to the next work and repeated the process. He’d turn Talon’s hand lengthwise or crosswise, and sometimes even used both Talon’s hands to accommodate larger works. There were a few works that he couldn’t recognize, even after all the shapes had been identified, and even after the name had been given, but he was able to “see” them for what they were regardless. It was like the paint had come alive and settled on his hands, gentle and provocative at the same time. Where had Jarro learned this trick? Most importantly, it had nothing to do with that cure he kept bringing up every chance he got. 

For a moment, he entertains the idea of living this way forever, adapting and changing his ways to keep enjoying the things he used to find solace in. As long as he still had what he cherished most, who cared in what way it was presented, right? 

There’s a smile on Talon’s face that Ezreal hasn’t seen in quite some time; it’s happy, genuine, and excited, the result of something new he learned and experienced and that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from exploring. Which is great; Ezreal can’t imagine Talon getting stuck anywhere as he was flighty and always on the move, looking to progress and adapting to new situations all the time. He couldn’t believe his idea worked, but he sure was glad it did. 

Talon’s talking about the experience like it’s the new wonder in the world; he’s talking about methods and he’s talking about strokes and shapes and colors. Ezreal can barely follow the flurry of words coming out of Talon’s mouth, but he’s happy nonetheless. The more Talon talks, the more Ezreal feels his own excitement grow. That’s the way Talon is; very passive and due to his dislike for small talk, hard to get to talk at all. Oh, but once he got started? His passions shone through and his excitement was infectious. This is what he’d meant, when he’d asked Talon if losing this was worth it. Talon had said yes, but Ezreal begged to differ. 

His heart is beating hard and with excitement to match his friend and at first he thinks nothing of it. He had an idea and it worked in both their favor; that was it. It was natural to feel happy and exhilarated. Once they walk up Talon’s porch to drop him off, however, Ezreal realizes that this feeling is a little… familiar. 

He’d felt the same way when Akali had come into his office—energy chaotic, exactly like this—to discuss the procedure of the surgery, and how it had finally succeeded due to certain changes in cuts, patches, and recovery. She and Ezreal had spent the night talking about it. The more he thought about it, the more he started to realize why it became a habit to compare her with Talon. They were very similar in how they showed their emotions in that regard. It was safe to say it’s what he liked about people, when they were so true about their passions that way.

Ezreal is already walking home when he decides that he wants to hear that excitement again, and that laughter. He wants to see those golden eyes sparkling with shock and wonder, as if what he was experiencing was pure magic. A small little thought worms its way into his head that tells him he’d like to feel Talon in his arms again, too. Which— yeah, okay, it may be true. He’d hugged Talon plenty of times in the past, but this had been different. He had stood behind his friend in order to try and submerge Talon more into the new experience. The fact that he’d wrapped his arms around him had come out of nowhere, but he didn’t feel the need to apologize for that, especially when he’d felt like he’d been protecting him and the situation from outsiders. It had been purely instructional, protective and platonic because he’d missed him dearly.

If he’d lingered longer than was strictly necessary… Well, he wasn’t going to deny it but also had nothing else to say about that. 

“You know there’s an art medium called caulk?” 

Talon takes off his headphones and pauses his book to pay attention to what Jarro is saying. “Yeah, so?”

“I think I found a way to get you to paint again.” 

Talon would be lying if he said he wasn’t both curious and confused. He puts his book away and helps Jarro move the chairs to the side, making space for a canvas and a few bags of supplies on the dining table. “What’s in the bags?” 

Jarro seems to hesitate before answering. “I saw that your old brushes were a little worn, so I bought you new ones.” Talon blinks. “I also bought some beads and glue.” He’s taking out all of these things and presenting them. Talon grabs them carefully and touches everything, from the different sizes of the beads, to the fine hairs on the brushes. There’s a device that he can’t identify, but it feels like an odd, metallic gun. Jarro asks for permission to bring his paints, palette, rags and water cups from the guest room and Talon gives it to him. He comes back quickly with everything and then says what he has planned.

“I was able to make you ‘see’ through your hand, as if your hand is the very canvas you’re seeing. I described the colors and shapes and you were able to recognize them for what they were. I’m thinking we should use that same method, but I’ll guide you through touch. Now, there will have to be some landmarks to divide the painting into quadrants. That’s what the beads are for. We’ll use them to guide you.” 

Talon is a little surprised as Jarro keeps talking, because for once he’d actually taken his blindness into consideration, except he’d taken it farther by assuming he couldn’t see at all. He supposes it's better than the other alternative. There was a lot of touch involved in his plan but Talon can’t really find it in himself to care. This was the first time in a long time that he’d be holding his brushes and mixing paints; if this method worked… he’d not only have a sight back, but his art as well. If Hanahaki ever got to the point where it took his sight away completely, he’d still be able to work with the condition regardless of if he could see or not. 

Jarro helps him glue the beads onto the canvas and then mimics the division onto Talon’s hand. They pick the darkest colored ones so Talon can see them better against the white background and on his palm. They go for something simple; a tree. Jarro picks out a photograph he likes from the internet and then guides Talon into using caulk to make the outlines, which he guides him by drawing the line direction on his palm. He describes the lines and the texture of the lines, and Talon uses the caulk gun to follow the description as closely as possible. It’s rare when he makes a mistake; Jarro’s descriptions are very precise, but when Talon doesn’t quite get it, Jarro uses a paint spatula to scoop the mistake back up so Talon can start again. Once the outline is done, Jarro looks over at the canvas and can barely contain his excitement. Which in turn, makes Talon feel hopeful. 

They wait until the caulk dries; the bottles Jarro had picked said approximately 3-5 hours, which they spend talking about brushes and colors. Talon removes the beads from his hand so he can eat some pizza that Jarro ordered for them. They go back to the dining room where Jarro makes sure that the sealant is dry enough to touch without messing it up too much. He gives Talon the green light to touch. He’s told to feel the textures and the outline, try to see the work through the raised lines. Then comes the description of color. 

The outlines and the texture are easier to master than the mixing of color. Jarro isn’t as good at describing odd colors as he is everything else; he goes for what the base color is instead of what hints there are, and they argue about color theory frequently because Talon can’t get the color right on description alone. It’s frustrating, but it’s passionate, and by far the most fun thing he’s done in a long time with his art, so Talon takes the experience and cherishes it regardless, before coming up with a solution himself. 

“What if I just color it however I feel it should be?” 

“Aren’t you trying to go for a more accurate look?” Jarro asks. 

“At this point I’m happy I’m mixing colors at all, pal.” 

So Jarro backs off, but guides him in identifying where shadows and highlights would be, because Talon wants that part to at least be accurate as well. They work well into the night, until the sun comes back up and Jarro says he’s getting sleepy waiting for the paint to dry. Talon is happy and can’t wait for the end result, but he’s also getting sleepy, so he washes his hands thoroughly and with Jarro helping, they raid the bed and take the pillows and blankets, then head back to the living room where they set camp on the couch and pass out. 

He’s woken up hours later by the rumbling of his stomach telling him he’s hungry. As he’s sitting up, he looks over at the couch where Jarro had slept and found it empty. Talon bites his lip and gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that feels a little bit like betrayal. After everything that happened yesterday and this morning, he—“You’re awake.” 

Talon turns around, facing the entrance of the dining room. It’s odd because for a moment, the silhouette of the man leaning against the doorway is exactly how Ezreal looks when he leans against something. And the voice… he knows it’s Jarro, but Talon could’ve sworn he heard Ezreal’s voice, too. Then there’s the fact that he hadn’t heard him move at all. When had he gotten up? How long had been standing there? It was almost like he could teleport himself with how quiet he was. He only knew one other person, aside from himself, who could move around that silently. It was odd to find a third person all of a sudden, was all. “Yeah,” Talon croaks, and then clears his throat. 

“Hungry? I was about to make some breakfast.” 

Talon nods again and slowly stands up. He stretches and undoes the tie of his hair, letting it fall freely.

“Your painting…” Jarro starts. 

Talon frowns; there’s something odd about how Jarro sounds. “Did something happen to it?” 

“I think you should come and see.” 

He rushes because he needs to know what happened. Did it crack? Did something fall on it? Did it fall and break? All that hard work—Except when he gets there, the painting is exactly where they left it that morning, and Jarro doesn’t hesitate to take his hands and make them roam around the work. It doesn't seem damaged at all. If anything, the paint is completely dry now. And it's a good day so he can see it. He can see the colors in the light of the sun and feel the lines on the tips of his fingers as well as the textures he’d used, and experiences his own art in a different way. 

He wants to laugh and cry and stay silent; he’s overwhelmed with emotion and he doesn’t know which one is proper to display right now. He wishes he could see Jarro, take a cue from him, but all he gets is a squeeze of his hands. 

And it’s odd, because even though Talon knows this person’s name is Jarro, he can’t help but feel that it’s Ezreal he’s sharing this moment with, despite him being miles and miles away. 

“I have a question.” 

Talon turns to Ezreal as he’s chewing his noodles and makes a sound that Ezreal interprets as a go ahead. 

“Who keeps calling you?” When Talon stops mid-chew and blinks, looking bothered, Ezreal adds, “It’s just… I’ve noticed the frequency of the calls has increased and every time you get one you seem a little… tense.”

Talon puts his cup down on the blanket they’re sitting on and turns his head back and forth to look around them. They’re having a picnic, at the park Talon used to run around in, and they’re wearing suits. 

It had been Ezreal’s idea and he still can’t believe Talon accepted to go with him. He’d worn a suit because he’d been job hunting, and then had stopped at a restaurant to pick up some sandwiches, cups of noodles, a salad and some cupcakes with the intention of bringing them over to Talon’s house. But when he’d called Talon, he’d said he wasn’t at home, that he was just getting out of a meeting and he actually wanted to eat out. Ezreal had asked him what he’d been wearing, and when Talon answered, they had agreed to get together at the park and have a picnic. Ezreal could bet they made quite the sight: two men in fancy suits, sitting on a blanket in a shady corner, eating sandwiches and noodles. 

“You’re a doctor,” Talon starts. Ezreal nods. “Have you ever hurt one of your patient’s before?”

So that had happened already, then. Ezreal shrugs. “To my knowledge, never on purpose.” 

Talon frowns. “When does it become ‘on purpose’?” 

“When you know you’re hurting them but still continue to do it.” 

“And if the patient can’t tell you, and you still continue? If you think they’re being silent because they’re not in pain, but in reality they can’t speak… and if you can’t see them make expressions of pain, does it still count as being on purpose?” 

“Is that what happened?” 

Talon stays very quiet and very still for a long time and then he nods. “The patient’s family believes I did it on purpose. It got worse when they found out I have Hanahaki. They called it professional incompetence, gross negligence, and selfishness, to continue to practice despite my condition.” 

“Are they pressing charges?” 

“They already did.” 

“Do you need a lawyer?” Ezreal can’t remember the number to his family’s lawyer off the top of his head but he’s sure that if he looks in his contact log at home, he can find it in a heartbeat. 

“The calls I’ve been getting are from my lawyer.” 

“Who is it? Are they being nice? Where did you find them? Did you research them?” Ezreal completely forgets his persona in favor of easing Talon and is ready to do some research and replace them with his own if they’re unfit to protect his friend. 

“The Du Couteau’s sent her.” 

It couldn’t be Marcus, Ezreal concludes. That guy had been a literal weight on Talon’s shoulders to get him to comply and take over the family business despite Talon wanting none of it, and his wife hadn’t been that interested in keeping him around. That left…“Kat and Cassie?” Ezreal asks, shocked. “You kept in touch with them?” Talon had reached out to his adoptive sisters instead of reaching out to him? And they were helping? Ezreal is so surprised about the information that he misses entirely the way Talon is looking at him. 

“How did you—”

“Well,” Ezreal interrupts. “If you need any help with money or if that lawyer sucks, just shoot me a call and I’ll get her replaced real quick. When’s the next meeting?” 

“Next week.” 

“And a court date?”

“In a couple of months,” Talon replies. “I’m not allowed to practice medicine until then.” 

Ezreal is tempted to bring up the cure again, and remind Talon of what he’d said; that losing everything for his beloved was worth it. Running and art and reading he could adapt to. But medical practice? That would stay on his record. If he loses his license, he may as well never get it back. He wants to pry. He wants to remind Talon that he’d worked hard, countless days and nights on homework, on keeping sane, on fighting his adoptive father to obtain his medical license. And for what? He’s angry that Talon isn’t more upset and logical about this situation. But just when he’s about to open his mouth and say something, Talon begins to cough. 

It gets ugly from the start, and it wracks his body to the point that he needs to get on his hands and knees to breathe better. Ezreal leaves his sandwich to the side and gets closer, rubbing Talon’s back and making sure his hair didn’t get in the way. He looks around to make sure they’re not drawing attention and just as he spots a child looking over, Talon trembles violently and his attention zones back on his friend in time to see him cough up lots of petals and an entire flower, all of them stained in blood. All of the mess lands on Talon’s noodle cup, contaminating it, and Ezreal figures they may as well be done with the picnic anyway because the child he’d spotted earlier was now running towards his mother. 

As soon as Talon can take a breath without coughing, Ezreal pulls him to his feet and gives him a napkin to clean himself up with, while he busies himself with tossing everything into the basket. He doesn’t care if the blood gets on the other containers or on the blanket; it’s all going in the trash anyway.

“Sorry,” Talon says, rubbing his eyes. Ezreal looks behind him to see that the child is pointing in their direction, but thankfully, his mother was distracted talking to a food vendor anyway. Just as she turns to look in their direction, Ezreal stands back up, gets really close to Talon and then urges him to come closer into his arms. He thinks Talon will fight him on it, but is thankful when he doesn’t. He rests his forehead on Ezreal’s shoulder and allows himself to be held, if only because he’s feeling rather shaken right now. 

“Hey,” Ezreal says, quietly. “I don’t know about you, but I was done eating anyway. The food was kind of filling, don’t you think?” 

Talon nods and allows his body to relax further. Ezreal looks to the child again and is thankful that the mother is dragging him away in the opposite direction. He sighs. Belatedly, he notices that there’s a song playing nearby that Ezreal recognizes; it’s not exactly a favorite song of his, but Ezreal recognizes the artist and recognizes that Talon listens to them often when he wants to zone out of reality. He smiles; the timing couldn’t have been better. 

“Talon, do you recognize the song?” 

Talon seems to register the music and then listens to it for a bit before he nods. “It’s Bonobo.” 

“Do you know the name?” 

Talon nods again. “It’s called Recurring.” 

“Do you wanna dance?” 

Ezreal isn’t surprised when Talon pulls back to try and look at him. He also isn’t surprised when he says, “I don’t know how to dance.” 

“It’s easy,” Ezreal says, smiling. He puts his hand on Talon’s waist and holds his other hand up in the air in a waltz position. “I’ll guide you.” 

They start out slow, rocking back and forth, before Ezreal takes a step forward, making Talon take a step back. More rocking. Another step forward. Ezreal takes Talon’s hand and separates enough to spin him, before pulling him back. More rocking. A few steps this time. The swaying starts to feel more like a dance, and Ezreal smiles when Talon grabs his hand and separates so he can do the spinning this time. 

“This is a waltz,” Talon says. 

“It is,” Ezreal laughs. He comes back and holds Talon tightly, closer. “But it doesn’t matter. As long as you dance it to the beat, it goes with everything.” 

Talon hums. The song is ending, so they don’t spin or step anymore, but continue swaying until it ends. Ezreal doesn’t know why he does it, but he finds himself wrapping his arms around Talon’s waist to bring him closer. Talon doesn’t look as bothered as he did earlier; in fact he looks relaxed. This is good; it’s what Ezreal wants. He focuses on the small smile on Talon’s lips and wonders, for a brief moment, what it would be like to—

“Ah, young love,” says a voice. 

They both turn around and Ezreal sees an older gentleman passing by with an older lady, both of them holding hands as they look and smile. Talon pulls back from Ezreal’s embrace and the lady says, “Oh, you embarrassed them! What have I told you about keeping those comments to yourself, Genji!” 

The older man chuckles and says, “Too much hate in the world. The world needs more love!” 

They keep walking and talking, leaving Talon and Ezreal to stand there, a little awkwardly. Talon clears his throat and suggests they go home. They make their way in awkward silence that neither bother to break. When they each take different ways, Ezreal thinks and wonders about what the older couple saw. Love?  

Yes, there was love between Talon and himself but it was…  

It had felt nice to hug Talon that way and lead him to the beat of the music, but it was…  

He’d brought Talon closer and held him tighter, but it was… 

Had he actually wanted to kiss Talon?

Ezreal stops and looks at the night sky. Was it actual love?

“So long story short,” Ezreal says, as he watches Talon dust his hands from the flour that covered them as well as the entirety of the front of his body. “You tried to get creative.” 

“In one word: yes,” Talon sighs. He had his hair tied back in a bun, but Ezreal could see flour on it as well as stray hairs coming out of the tie. He was a mess. It was cute though, he had to admit, what he called the Talon-got-creative look. In the past, he often looked like this when he had, in fact, decided to get creative because the situation spiraled out of control. It happened when he painted, it happened when he cooked, it happened when he’d had to “get creative” to save a patient’s life. It had been a while since he’d seen it, but lately he saw it more often because Talon was definitely painting again. It was just funny to see him so shocked that the cooking part hadn’t fallen into place quite yet.

“What are you trying to cook?”

“A cake.” 

“A cake?”

“Birthday cake,” Talon amends. 

“For anyone I know?” Ezreal asks, looking at the block of bread charred from the top. He looked for a corner that wasn’t black and picked at it. Maybe he could salvage it if—nope, even the taste was bad. This one was definitely a fail. 

“Ezreal.” 

Ezreal lifts his eyes and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Talon with arms crossed, staring right at him. Every now and then he gets the feeling that Talon can see more than he alludes to, like right now. He looks like he can see right through into his very soul and Ezreal feels like he should be on his knees apologizing for not coming clean. Has he been found out? Should he say something? Or stay quiet and see? The intensity of Talon's eyes frowning gives him chills. 

"Lymiere. Do you know him?" 

Ezreal feels like he's in a conversation where this is a rhetorical question and he shouldn't answer, even though he definitely wants to. 

He goes with, "Uhm." because anything else feels like a trap. Even with the flour on his hair and across his chest and face, Talon looks scary.

Talon lets the silence hang a little longer before he eases up on the glare and uncrosses his arms, grabbing onto the counter behind him. He mutters something Ezreal doesn't catch, and then louder, he says, "Ezreal Lymiere. I'm making the cake for him. His birthday is coming up." 

"I see." Was it? Ezreal looked at his watch and his heart skipped a beat. He only had four seconds left. “When is it?”

“March 16th.”

“That’s a little over a month from now.”

"If you have something else to do, that's fine," Talon says. "You've helped me with everything else, I just thought…"

"What are you talking about?" 

"You looked at your watch. If you have somewhere else to go—"

"Oh... no. Uhm." Ezreal laughs in a short burst because he hadn't meant to give that impression at all. "I was just checking to see what time it was so I can keep track of how long it takes for you to get it right," he teases. 

Talon rolls his eyes and scoffs, shaking his head. "Have I really been that bad of a student?" 

"On the contrary. You've exceeded expectations and learned quickly." Ezreal makes a point to compliment Talon more because the shy little smile he's giving is very endearing. “But I’m also wondering why you’re making him a cake a month in advance. It’s gonna get stale.” 

“I want to be ready for when he comes home,” Talon says, shy smile changing to a wider and softer one. “I want to know if I can do it on my own.”

"Show me the recipe, let's see what we can do." 

Talon takes his phone and shows him. Ezreal's gotten used to the phone reading out what he's scrolling through, but he still makes the volume go up a little bit because the volume Talon's set it to isn't loud enough. They work together to make sure that all the ingredients are gathered correctly and then Ezreal moves onto the measurements. That's when he finds out that Talon can't really see them well enough to measure correctly. He makes a mental note to get him cooking supplies that are easier to use for him.  

“You should put some music on,” Ezreal comments. “Liven up the place a little.” 

“I think we’re about to liven it up with all the arguing we’re about to do,” Talon says, as he tries to force Ezreal to hand him the measuring cup. 

Ezreal snorts and relents. “Yeah, but it’ll be better if we do it in rhythm.” 

“What do you feel like listening to?” Talon dusts his hands a bit and connects his phone to a bluetooth speaker nearby. 

“Whatever you want to listen to,” Ezreal responds. He wants to tell him to play from a certain artist, but he knows it’ll be a dead give away of who he really is and Talon already seems suspicious. The music he ends up selecting, though, is nothing other than a Bonobo mix. He wonders if it’s on purpose, or if Talon’s feeling that kind of music today. Ezreal doesn’t mind; he enjoys listening to the project as well. 

They work together as the music plays in the background, and Ezreal revels in how often he gets to touch Talon. They’re playing with the ingredients and supplies so he’s using every possible excuse to touch and hold Talon’s hands. Talon doesn't seem to be aware nor does he mind as he doesn't pull away and instead just lets it be, sometimes even seeking his hands in return. 

The heavier duty supplies definitely need closer supervision to be used as they don't want their hard work to go to waste. This is what they say to each other to excuse the fact that Ezreal is once again wrapping his arms around Talon to keep control of both the bowl and the automatic mixer. There are splashes and there are wobbles and there are near misses and near loss of control, but Ezreal saves each and every single one and Talon, with his most sweetest, sarcastic voice, says "Thank you, my hero." 

Ezreal knows he's being teased and Talon's making that voice on purpose to give the situation that comedic element, but he also knows Talon is genuine about gratitude. He's just never been able to flat out say it like a normal person. So Ezreal teases back, whispering in his most suave voice, "Anything to save the world."

Talon scoffs but he tacks on, "Try saving it before it requires saving."

Ezreal shakes his head. "I'm at my best when the world's on the brink of annihilation." He's joking, of course. They both are. But there it is again, that testy attitude, as if Talon is talking directly to Ezreal and not Jarro. Why? "Besides, as my sidekick, you take half the credit. You're holding the world."

Talon rolls his eyes and steps away, looking for another bowl. "Looks like the world is overpopulated, and we may need to sacrifice a bit of it." 

Ezreal wants to bake the entire bowl in one mold, but the only one that fits it all is still dirty with Talon's prior attempt. He volunteers to wash it, and then gives up when a particular sticky piece of charcoal won't budge. He and Talon split the batter and then put it in the oven. Another thing Talon couldn't do: see the number pad or the numbers on the screen; that's why the cake had burned before. 

Once the right numbers are selected, they close the oven and get busy cleaning up. As they work, Ezreal brings up Talon's art. Talon is working on something special, based on what he knows and has asked about Hanahaki. He says he wants to wait until the piece is done to show him, but he also says that he's making it as a gift to his friend as well. Ezreal is taken by surprise when Talon turns to him and asks if he may paint him. 

“How are you going to do that?” Ezreal asks. 

“I’ve been relying a lot on touch to get the textures and landmarks right. Can I show you?” 

“Sure.” 

Talon rinses and dries his hands, then places them gently on Ezreal’s face. He runs them through the expanse of it and then lifts his palms so that just the finger tips are touching him. He describes what he feels, from the shape of his eyebrows, to the length of his eyelashes, the high cheekbones, perky nose. His hands slip away when Ezreal starts laughing, asking what he meant by perky nose. Talon refuses to answer, but reaches out for Ezreal again and his hands land on his neck. The tips of his index fingers land on the scar that he has there and he sees the expression on Talon change, from one of amusement, to one of curiosity. 

The touch continues, gentle and cautious, and his lips part as if wanting to ask, but he doesn’t. Ezreal swallows and indulges Talon anyway. “Remember when I said I found a cure?” 

Talon nods. 

Ezreal swallows again. “It’s not just a surgery; there was also a potion. It wasn’t ready. I drank it. It burned right through my esophagus and my vocal chords. My team had to reconstruct them.” 

Talon stays quiet for a very long time, just feeling the tissue with his finger, over and over, trying to make heads or tails of it. Then, “Would you mind if I painted your scar?” 

“You can do whatever you set your mind to, Tal.” 

The smile Talon gives Ezreal is heartwarming and excited. It’s a small comment, but Ezreal feels like he did a big thing, more self indulgent than anything else, taking him to a gallery showing and narrating what he saw so Talon could see. He expected it to work, but never on a large scale such as this. Talon was going around and relying on touch, feeling his way through what had become his new life and exploring new possibilities to retain that freedom he thought he’d lost. But here he was, trying to find a way to leap over his challenges and get through to the other side triumphant. That was a quality Ezreal admired in Talon; he never stayed stuck for long and fought to make his way through. 

In this case, the challenge would prove to be interesting, as he would attempt to decorate a cake without his fingertips to help him due to the frosting being so squishy. Ezreal helped him prepare the pipe bags with frosting of whatever colors Talon wanted and then watched as he went to work. 

“I can’t do this with you judging me,” Talon says, after a pause. 

“I’m not judging you,” Ezreal says. 

Talon waves him away. “Go do something else and let me be with this; I can’t concentrate with you watching over me.” 

Ezreal laughs and then picks his own frosting pipe bags and starts decorating the other cake. He lets the music play and overtake him; before he knows it, he’s both swaying to the music and singing along, and turns to see Talon giving him side glances. "You don't like my singing?" 

Talon makes a face and tries to hide his smile as he says, "I'm more surprised you like Bonobo." 

"Are you kidding? His stuff is so good. Doesn't it make you wanna dance?" 

Talon shrugs. 

"Aww, come on, don't you wanna dance?" 

"I don't know how to," Talon says. 

"You keep saying that but you did really well last time we did it," Ezreal grins, especially as Talon looks away, dignified. Ezreal knows that look; it's the same look he gave Ezreal when he asked him to be his friend, when he asked if he wanted to move in with him and his parents, when he asked him if he wanted the last slice of pizza. He wanted, absolutely, but didn't think he was deserving of the kindness. All these years and Talon still believes that nonsense. Ezreal gets really close to him and bumps their shoulders together. "Dance with me." 

"No." 

"You got the moves." Ezreal starts side stepping and rolling his shoulders.

"Of a person with two left feet." 

"I know you better than that." 

"I—wha—are you rolling your hips?"

"Uh-huh, and now from the back!" Ezreal says, turning around so his back was towards Talon, who was now covering his face with both hands. Ezreal turns around again and grabs Talon's wrists, gently pulling them down while still swaying to the music. "Come on, dance with me." 

"I can't dance like that and not laugh," Talon starts, trying to take his hands back. 

"Then laugh! What's the problem, sweetheart?" Ezreal means it as an innocent and teasing comment, and it also just kind of slips out so he's prepared for a stern talk. He's not prepared for Talon looking genuinely flattered, even though he's trying really hard not to show it. That dignified look again. It gives Ezreal pause, because he can swear he remembers Talon saying he didn't like that kind of stuff. 

Oh. 

Did he lie about this too? Did Talon not like it when Ezreal had said it before because it hit really close to something that crossed the line of friendship into something more involved? What was the difference now? Was it because he was Jarro now and not Ezreal? 

Talon had confessed to him that he was bisexual when they were younger; during a night out, both drunk as hell, looking to hide from their responsibilities. Talon had thought Ezreal would push him away and Ezreal couldn't have been more upset about that and he'd hugged him close and told him that no matter what, they'd always be together. He'd kept his promise and hadn't batted an eye when Talon occasionally mentioned a guy was attractive. Ezreal had agreed sometimes but usually made it a point to notice women more. There had been times when he'd caught himself staring at men, and comparing them with a certain friend of his. 

Now that he thinks about it, though, he's noticing that he'd paid attention to both men and women throughout life. He'd raked his eyes up and down strangers across the street that he'd never ever dare approach, but he told himself that he was making sure the guy in question had been up to Talon's standards. He needed the best of the best, and Ezreal would help him find his lifelong partner, someone who made him happy and soft and feel loved and safe. Perhaps the reason why he'd never approved of anyone was because he'd been in hiding all his life. No one felt adequate for the mission of making Talon happy. No one, except—

He finds his heart pumping adrenaline through his body; his past self had been such a fool for not noticing all of this before. But then… he'd been busy forcing himself to look at Talon through the lens of friendship. Ever since the old couple at the park had made that comment, Ezreal found himself questioning things; interactions, intentions, thoughts, and had started seeing Talon differently. He doesn't know what it means, exactly; he's only ever been with women because he'd been convinced that he was straight, but none of them had given him this kind of feeling, where it felt like he constantly threaded excitement and fear. He wants to hold Talon tenderly and cup his face and whisper love and—

"I made you this birthday cake," Ezreal says, clearing his throat. 

"What for?" Talon asks. "My birthday isn't any time soon."

"I've known you for almost a year and I haven't heard of you celebrating it; I figured we missed it. So, better late than never." 

"Just wait until then," Talon says. "It's in August."

I know, Ezreal thinks. It's in August, but he'd been on such rocky ground with Talon at that time the year before he hadn't known how to approach him about it without leaving a bad taste in both their mouths. He also isn't sure both of them together will get to celebrate his birthday this year. Not for lack of wanting; Ezreal wants to. But when Talon survives he'll only be around Ezreal of the past and Ezreal of the future won't be able to hide nor stay anymore. So he has to take advantage of today. 

"I want to celebrate you today, Talon." Golden eyes meet blue and Ezreal doesn't hesitate. "I still think you're an idiot for not taking the path with the cure, but I want you to know that you're the most amazing person I ever met. You're smart, stubborn, crafty, beautiful, funny and kind; you're a great friend and I feel sorry for those that don't know you, and jealous of those that have met you, but overall, I'm just happy to call you my friend and I'm glad to have you in my life. So allow me the honor of gifting you this cake to celebrate your birthday from last August in hopes that you have many, many more, with this cake that I decorated specifically for you." 

Talon is looking down at the cake as if really trying to focus his sight so he can see it. Ezreal takes his hand and opens it, and taps on his palm as he tells him what he drew and what he wrote. Talon smiles here and groans there, but he's fond of the work nonetheless. Ezreal only wishes he had done this sooner; all the cakes he had ever gotten Talon had been bought and professionally decorated, afraid his handy work wouldn't be appreciated. Suddenly Talon gets a pensive look about him. 

"What's on your mind?"

"What you said, that it's been almost a whole year and we haven't celebrated my birthday. You never talk about family or friends, until today. When is your birthday, Jarro?"

Ezreal feels a knot at his throat as he lies, "Today," because he feels that today is like being born again, and because he can't tell Talon the truth. 

Talon frowns. "So you did have something else to do." 

"No. I haven't celebrated my birthday in years." He's not lying.

Golden eyes drop down to the cake that Ezreal decorated and then turns to the one that he attempted. It looks like his gears are turning and then he sighs. “Should we make another cake?” 

“If you want,” Ezreal says, and starts turning towards the ingredients. “The one you made looks great, it’s a shame you can’t really see it. But I’m sure your friend will—”

“Not for him,” Talon interrupts. “For you.” 

“For me?” 

“I’d give you this one,” Talon says, gesturing to the one that he decorated. “But it’s been decorated with someone else in mind and I can’t just…” 

“You don’t have to give me anything, Talon,” Ezreal smiles, understanding. “Just being here, in good company is enough.” 

Talon makes a pained expression and then tenses up. Ezreal frowns, wondering if he said something inappropriate. 

“Talon, what’s wrong?”

“I used to say that,” Talon says, shaking his head. “I used to say, ‘you don’t have to give me anything. Just being in good company is enough.’ When my family…”  

When his family would forget to celebrate his birthday because they didn’t know when he was born, and Talon never mentioned it, Ezreal remembers. The first time he'd heard about it, Ezreal had scrapped up his allowance to go buy him the most expensive cake he could afford from the bakery down the street so Talon would have something every year. That’s where the habit of buying him cakes had started. Ezreal bites his lip when he remembers that every year, the same words had tumbled out of Talon’s mouth. Just being in good company is enough. He hadn’t known better, back then. 

Now Talon understood how infuriating it was to be met with those words. Ezreal knows better than anyone what it’s like to want to give the world to the person he cared about the most and not being able to because he couldn’t be given a place to start. He wasn’t lying, though; being in Talon’s company was the best gift he could ever ask for, considering—

“Let’s dance,” Talon says. 

Ezreal blinks. “Excuse me?” 

“You. Me. Now. Dance.” Talon extends his hand towards Ezreal and waits. Ezreal wants to tell him that it’s not necessary; he was just kidding, he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, didn’t want to overstep a boundary. Excuses are plenty, but before he can say any of them, Talon grabs onto his wrist and pulls him forward, into his arms and placing his hands at Ezreal’s waist. He waits to catch the beat and then starts moving Ezreal’s hips from side to side, following closely to the beat of Bonobo's Shadows. Talon steps forward, Ezreal instinctively steps back and they turn. They separate for a few turns and then come back, and Talon places his hands on Ezreal’s waist again, bringing him closer so they’re pressing tightly against the other, stepping forward, then back, then sideways before they have to separate and turn again. 

It’s a sensual dance, one that Talon has complete control over, and Ezreal becomes lost in the rhythm of the music and his partner, especially as he completely gives into the experience and allows himself to be indulged and led for once. The swaying that Talon prompts is slow and deliberate, and the turns are quick and dizzying, but he always looks forward to them because Talon brings him flush against him once he’s done and Ezreal can pretend for a moment that this isn’t weird or awkward, but fun and powerful. 

Then it happens; Talon spins Ezreal to the point that he loses footing and trips, and Talon catches him before he can really land anywhere and brings him back up. Immediately, Ezreal wraps a leg and both arms around Talon and holds him close, noting how Talon has both arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tight. As if he were afraid of losing him, or something happening to him. If only they could stay like this forever. 

“I knew you could dance.” 

“Only if I have the right partner,” Talon murmurs back. 

Ezreal chuckles. “Thank you; the gift was wonderful.”

Talon allows his arms to relax and let Ezreal go, and instantly, Ezreal misses him. He wants to wrap his arms around him again, feel his warmth and his heartbeat, and press his nose to Talon's neck and hold him safely. He wants to beg for Talon to come back, to let him protect him from the world and never leave him again. Which is ridiculous because it’s not like he left for another country; he just crossed to the other side of the kitchen. If only he could—

Talon waves him to come close and then says, “Tell me what you see; I want to make sure I can accurately use frosting.” 

It’s a simple design, but beautiful nonetheless; it has two flowers on top as well as the words Happy Birthday! written in his own handwriting. Ezreal describes what he sees and then Talon cheers, then brings out a knife and cuts out slices for both of them. Time for the taste test. 

The flavor is sweet but not too overwhelming and the bread isn’t dry or crumbling; everything about it is perfect, especially when Ezreal catches Talon’s excited grin on his face. He’s babbling, ranting, talking non-stop in an excited tone as he makes plans for what else they can make together using the stove and the oven.  

It’s like witnessing a miracle in action; like witnessing his own first surgical success and sharing it with a friend. Except… it hadn’t been just a friend, back then. Talon had been in everything Ezreal did, all his life; his failures and his successes, his losses as well as his gains and if Akali had temporarily filled in that void once Talon had died, he noticed it now more than ever, because celebrating with her hadn’t been as fulfilling as celebrating with Talon had been. He didn’t yell and hoot and hug her or squeeze her; he never felt the need to hold her, to kiss her cheek and call her a cute name. There was once upon a time when he’d been tempted to do so, but something about the whole idea had seemed wrong. He’d chalked it up to her being engaged, and then later married, but now as he gives into the urge to press his lips against Talon’s cheek, to hold him close and smell him, he realizes that he’d held back with Akali because it had felt wrong to do it to another person who wasn’t—wait. 

He freezes when the realization hits. 

Akali hadn’t given him Hananaki. It had been Talon’s memory. 

Ezreal had stayed over at Talon’s house, on the sofa as per his own request, and Talon had stayed in the living room with him. He’d had dreams that crossed the thin line between platonic and romantic and each time he kissed Talon, he’d wake up and look around the room, back at the sleeping form on the other couch. The realization that he was in love with his best friend—had been before and then… gotten rid of it, unknowingly—was still a shock to him. He never considered himself the type of person that was attracted to guys. He’d entertained Talon’s interest in other guys on principle that he just wanted to be supportive, but maybe that hadn’t actually been the case at all. Had he been in denial this whole time? He lays awake after a while, unable to go back to sleep as he wonders how far back the feeling started. 

He looks back to every single interaction between them, from the moment they met up until his death and overanalyzes everything; every word, every action, every intention. 

He’d met Talon through a penpal assignment in second grade. Ezreal’s class had been given the opportunity to communicate and exchange letters with children from the local orphanage in hopes of granting these kids a friend they could confide in. It was also a tactic to get children to give their toys to their newfound friends. 

They had started correspondence in July, and had met officially for Halloween. Ezreal had been scraping up his allowance to buy Talon a costume to match his own because Talon had never worn one and Ezreal thought it was sad. They talked about The Power Rangers for the longest time, and eventually Talon had confessed that he wished he could be like the white Power Ranger, which had prompted Ezreal to buy him that costume. He’d met Talon and had immediately felt all the love in the world overflow his tiny little young heart for this kid that had nothing, and yet granted Ezreal the brightest, most excited smile at the realization that he’d get to dress up like his hero, with Ezreal wearing the red outfit so they could go on missions together. That year, they had spent the week before Christmas playing with little cars and eating candy. 

The penpal assignment was meant to end by New Years, but they had traded addresses so they could continue writing to each other, because Ezreal wanted to see more of this kid. He can still remember running home from school and sorting through the mail to see if there was one addressed to him. He can still remember the excitement of receiving one; of running up the stairs to his room and ignoring his homework because his friend had something important to say, and he had to reply that same day; it was rude to keep him waiting. 

The day the letter had come announcing that Talon had been adopted had been both exciting and frightening. He didn’t know if they could still be friends and write to each other, but Talon’s promise that he’d do anything in his power to keep correspondence made him happy. It was a year later that Talon announced he’d be going to the same school Ezreal was going to. Ezreal had been so excited to welcome his friend, he’d ditched his first period to wait for him at the entrance. He expected Talon to show up running wild and childish; he didn’t expect him to show up in school uniform, properly dressed and groomed, escorted by a tall man with red hair and cold, green eyes. Talon had waved and smiled at him, but had been pulled away from Ezreal in favor of meeting the principal, and being escorted to his first class. 

They had met for lunch and Talon had said that the man Ezreal had seen was his adoptive father, Marcus Du Couteau, owner of some big company. He didn’t go into detail as to how some rich guy had gotten his hands on a poor, lonely kid, but Talon had a family and a home now, so Ezreal was just happy for him, even if he couldn't stand the idea of that Marcus guy acting like Talon belonged to him. As the years had passed, he became more and more aware that the happiness both young men had felt at Talon’s adoption had been short lived; expectations for Talon’s success in life were really high and demanding, so Talon had very little time to fool around with Ezreal at recess or after school; he was always studying or pulled from school during the last few minutes to go back home; he never had time to socialize and so his social skills had been rather stunted; whenever Ezreal talked to him he got the feeling that he was talking to a much older guy than someone around his age. His range of emotion was limited and his vocabulary was much more refined than it had been years prior. 

He realizes that maybe he’d already been well on the way to falling in love when he’d insisted that Talon live with him and his family. He had been 15, Talon had been 16; freshly emancipated and with nowhere to go, with an uncertain future ahead of him and no one to help support and encourage him since relations with his adoptive family had fallen through. When Talon had shown up at his window to tell him he was leaving, Ezreal had felt fear course through his body. After years of writing and interacting, the feeling that he was gonna lose one of the best things in his life had made him get on his knees and beg for Talon to stay, and then begged his parents to let him stay. 

It had been then that he’d realized he couldn’t live without Talon, but he’d still been too young to understand why; his parents, bless their souls, as open as they had been, never talked to him about other sexualities and he had never really known until Talon had come out as bisexual, many years later. He guesses he may have had a hunch, a feeling that maybe he was bisexual too, but it had been confusing growing up, because even though he’d appreciated both boys and girls, he’d thought all of it had been platonic. Maybe that’s why he had never developed Hanahaki; the body only started producing toxins for the plant’s growth once the emotional and mental aspects of love were in accordance with true love, as well as unrequited. Despite convincing himself that it had been platonic for many years, despite his promises sounding like vows, Talon developing Hanahaki had been the stepping stone he’d needed to get his own. 

How could Talon fall in love and not tell him? How could Talon throw off the delicate balance of their relationship and show Ezreal the truth of life, that even though people grew up together and loved each other through thick and thin, love could be felt in very different ways that don’t correspond? How could Talon be so dedicated to that person he loved, so much as to give his life for them, but abandon Ezreal who had dedicated so much of his to Talon? As Ezreal had thought about these questions in company of Viktor and the others, he’d become somewhat aware that the love Ezreal had for Talon had been unrequited. That’s why he’d ended up developing Hanahaki. 

He doesn’t blame Talon, though. Despite history repeating itself in a way, Ezreal believes that Talon doesn’t owe him anything; all he’s ever wanted was for Talon to be happy and free to do what he wants. If his feelings are hurt, at the end of the day it was Ezreal’s fault for falling for someone he couldn’t have. He figures the anger stems more from the fact that Talon refuses to confess to his beloved while simultaneously throwing away all he’s ever worked for when just saying a couple of words could save it all. It’s unlike him, and Ezreal would have happily withered away in the sidelines if it meant he could die knowing the kid he’d met with nothing had grown up to have it all. Now that there was a cure, he could easily take it every so often until it went away completely and he fell for someone better suited to him. He remembers what his mother had said, that love had a funny way of changing people, both for the better and for the worse and finds himself agreeing with her.

The alarm from a phone stopped his train of thought as well as pulled Talon from his sleep. He gets up instead of silencing it. “Where are you going?” Ezreal asks, yawning. 

“I have something to do today and don’t want to be late,” Talon replies. 

Ezreal sits up. “You should’ve told me; I would’ve gone back home.” 

Talon rolls his eyes and looks in his direction. “If I minded, I would’ve told you. Stay if you’d like; it’s not gonna take long. I can show you what I’ve been working on.” Ezreal nods as another alarm goes off. Talon hastily grabs his phone and all but vaults over the sofa and out the room. “I have to get moving; it’s important.” 

Ezreal takes the invitation to heart and makes some eggs with buttered toast while Talon showers and gets ready for his day. He’s out the door quickly and the house falls silent, but for the first time, Ezreal doesn’t find the silence frustrating nor scary, instead finding peace in it. He looks around the place and figures that if he’s staying, he may as well help Talon with some chores. He washes the dishes, cleans and organizes the kitchen and he was just about to start up on laundry, when Talon showed back up, hours later. 

Immediately, Ezreal knows something is wrong; Talon seems spacey and disoriented, zombie-like, in perfect contrast to how he’d been the night before. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Talon looks at Ezreal like he’s trying to figure out a very difficult problem. “I lost my license,” he mumbles and collapses onto the couch, unblinking and in a daze. 

“You had court today?” 

Talon nods but stays quiet. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you.” Silence. “This can’t be how it ends, Tal; I’m gonna call my lawyer and—” 

“It’s not the lawyer’s fault,” Talon finally says. “I agreed that dealing with human life right now isn’t the most proper thing to do. So they…” 

Gosh, he looks so sad. All that hard work and effort, years of sacrifice, gone in a couple of seconds. Ezreal doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t think anything that he can come up with will improve Talon’s mood so he comes to sit next to him. Being this close, though, with no distractions and no emotions showing, Ezreal can’t help but notice that Talon is looking a little pale. The dark circles under his eyes are very prominent and that’s worrisome for Ezreal because he hadn’t noticed it the day before. He takes Talon’s hand in both of his and nudges his friend. “Tal, when was the last time you went swimming?”

Tired eyes look at him and then frown. “I don’t know. A while, probably. Years.” 

Ezreal nods. “I think now’s a good time to get some fresh air, don’t you think?” Because being stuck at home after getting some sad news was the worst thing. It was comforting but it intoxicated the space in negative energy, making it seem like it was constricting. The last thing he wants is for Talon to wallow up in solitude; already he was pretty isolated and sick. He’s getting ready to argue, because Talon is very prone to wanting to be alone in times like this, but to his surprise, he’s nodding. 

“I think you’re right.” 

“Good,” Ezreal smiles. “Get your swimming shorts ready; we’re going to the beach.” 

Talon gives a tired smile then gets up and goes to his room. He comes back a few minutes later with swimming shorts for Ezreal and wearing a pair of black shorts himself, with some sandals and that hoodie he had a habit of wearing whenever they went out for a swim, from years back. Ezreal can’t believe he still has it. He’d given up trying to understand why Talon refused to go into the water without it, if he still removed it when he came back out to dry. It was one of those odd things that Talon did that was both odd and endearing. 

Ezreal drove both of them and then noticed that there was a fair nearby. “Do you want to go to the fair, too? Maybe show off some of those knife throwing skills of yours?” 

Talon is frowning when Ezreal turns to look at him and isn’t surprised when he shakes his head. Of course, it had been a stupid idea; being blind and throwing knives did not mix well, especially with a crowd involved. 

They make their way to the waves and Talon allows the water to touch his feet, shivering each time and then wiggling his toes. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets and the hoodie over his head as he walks around the wet sand. Ezreal watches as Talon teases the ocean, following after the waves retreat and then retreating when the waves reach out to him. The sea seems eager to touch him and pull him forward, as if urging him for a swim. He responds in kind, slowly making his way towards the water until it’s up to his knees. He turns and spots Ezreal a few steps away and stares.

“What?” Ezreal asks. 

“It was your idea to come for a swim and yet you’re standing there like an idiot.” 

Ezreal bursts in laughter and then walks over to Talon, stretching his hand out and wrapping it around the one that Talon grants him. “You sure you want to ask me to join you?” 

“Well, yeah; you said that—Hey! Put me down!” 

Ezreal had his arms wrapped around Talon’s body, picking him up and running further into the ocean. Talon is squirming and kicking, laughing as the cold water reaches up his body. When they get deep enough, Ezreal tries to pick him up further and then tries to toss him, not throwing very far but still making a splash when Talon lands. Talon comes back up and splashes Ezreal back, laughing when Ezreal protests, and then tries to run outside of the water when Ezreal charges at him. They stumble and wrestle, and don’t stop until they’re completely wet and covered in sand. Talon is laughing and Ezreal feels like he can watch him all day. 

Then Talon begins to cough. He sits up and covers his mouth just as a projectile of blood and petals makes it out and it drips down his chin, his neck and into his hoodie. Ezreal comes to kneel beside him and rubs his back, hoping like hell that his touch is at least helping a little bit. Talon keeps coughing and throwing up, until finally, what his body wanted to expel makes it out. Two large flowers, covered in blood, land on the sand and Ezreal feels a shiver run up his back. 

“Two?” Talon nods. “You don’t seem surprised, how long have you been chucking up two of them?” 

Talon shrugs and then collapses back onto the sand, breathing heavily. The ocean reaches out to him and embraces him, lifting him momentarily as it washes most of the blood and petals away. Ezreal can’t help but hold onto one of the flowers that Talon threw up before it’s washed away. Such a beautiful thing. Such a lethal thing. 

“I think we should go back home,” Ezreal says. He helps Talon stand back up and they slowly make their way back to the car. Talon sleeps the whole way, and when they get home, Ezreal attempts to carry him inside the house, but ends up waking him up. Talon goes to his room and takes a quick shower to wash away all the salt and sand properly; Ezreal showers after he does and when he comes back out into the living room, he sees Talon laying down on the couch, curled up and asleep. He looks very sick and very tired, and the fresh air nor the sunlight seem to have helped. 

He goes into the kitchen where he puts the flower on the counter and then grabs an apple from the fruit bowl near the sink. He searches for a knife and cuts the fruit, still holding it in his hand while he observes the flower. He remembers learning all he could from these plants with Shen and the others, but he never did find out how exactly these plants eventually made it out through the throat. An entire bouquet of them could suffocate a human and crush the heart until it couldn’t pump blood anymore and continue looking absolutely stunning. 

Carrying the bowl full of sliced apple, he walks into the living room and kneels in front of Talon, shaking him awake gently. 

“Brought you some apple.”

Talon makes a sleepy sound of protest and curls tighter. “Not hungry.”

“Eat something. Then you can go back to sleep.” Ezreal wants to run his hand through Talon’s loose hair and tuck it behind his ear so it’s not all over his face. He stops his impulse when Talon opens his eyes and looks at the bowl he’s holding. 

“Did you eat already?” 

“I’ll eat when I get home.” 

The hand that slowly reaches out and wraps around Ezreal’s wrist is surprisingly strong. “Stay. Please. I don’t want to be alone.” 

Ezreal would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to hear that. 

He’s running out of time. It’s almost two months later and Ezreal hasn’t made any progress. He’s overheard a conversation between Talon and his past self over the phone.

“I found out that your favorite band was coming to town next week and I bought us some tickets. Maybe you can take a break and spend some time here?” 

He regrets what he’d said to Talon, about being too busy to make time for his friend. He’d expected Talon had taken it hard, considering the sharp way he’d ended the call. He could travel to Demacia and literally beat himself up for hurting Talon that way; he’d looked absolutely crushed. He decided that it was his chance to make it right and offered to go with him instead, so the tickets wouldn’t go to waste. The smile Talon had given him had been sad but appreciative and Ezreal considered it a win, despite the situation. 

The day of the concert had come, and Talon had waited in the kitchen for a couple of hours. There was a cake nearby that he had made and decorated that morning, and a painting that he’d worked on for months to get right, depicting the Hanahaki disease overtaking the heart and lungs. 

“The concert is gonna start in a few hours, Tal.” 

“I know. I just want to wait a little longer. He sounded really stressed over the phone; maybe I just caught him at a bad time. Maybe he’ll show up.” 

Ezreal from the future knew that his past self would not show up. It was torture watching time pass, as Talon sat on his own, quietly, waiting and full of hope. For a moment, Ezreal feels jealous of his past self. He’d had this: Talon, as beautiful as only he could be, a wonderful painting and a homemade cake, waiting for him all along. 

Eventually Talon had cut the cake himself and shared it with “Jarro,” who tried his best not to cry seeing the wasted potential and berating himself for not taking into consideration all Talon had done for him. But he had made up for it in the last year, as best as he could, and especially during the concert, when they had danced and held hands and sang along to the lyrics. He hadn’t known Talon was into the band as much as he’d been; count that as another thing he hadn’t bothered to notice about Talon until now. 

There had been a song that they had danced, pressed together and in rhythm, and they spun away and came back to each other’s arms because that was all Ezreal ever wanted to do: hold him and not let go. It made Talon laugh and forget about what troubled him, at least for a few hours until he had to go back home and that was enough. 

Once the concert had ended, they had made their way to Talon’s home and Ezreal had dropped him off at the entrance. He wanted to confess his love, but found it hard to do so; he had a delicate relationship with Talon right now, based on lies and hidden information; even if Talon accepted him—unlikely—it wasn’t a healthy basis for a relationship. Instead, he had simply settled for kissing his forehead. 

Talon had given him an odd look and Ezreal had laughed. “Sorry. It came out of nowhere. I just want to let you know that I’m at peace being around you and I had a good time.” 

He’d been ready to leave when Talon stopped him. “For what it’s worth, Jarro, I feel at peace around you, too. Stay?”

They had gone inside the house and sliced more cake; Ezreal made them tea and then they moved to the living room where they began to play movies. Ezreal picked the ones that Talon loved the most, because at least he could remember the scenes based on the audio that way.

“Who did you fall in love with?” Talon asks, suddenly. 

Ezreal turns to him. “Hmm?” 

“You said you drank the potion to get rid of Hanahaki. Who did you fall in love with?”

“My best friend.” Ezreal knows it sounds pathetic, but he lets it go. He allows silence to stretch and then smiles. “His eyes were… the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. His driver’s license said ‘hazel’ but I know it's because they didn't have a color choice for them. The inner portion was so bright in sunlight, it made them seem like the sun itself was staring back. And every time I looked at them, I felt like I was burning in the most comforting of fires.”

Talon gives a small smile as he imagines what Ezreal is describing. “What happened to him?” 

Ezreal swallows thickly. “He was in love. With someone else. Hanahaki took him.”  

Talon looks pensive. “When you drank the potion, did you know it wasn’t ready?” 

“I did.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

Ezreal laughs sharply, self-loathing apparent. “I was angry. Depressed. Lonely. I missed y—my friend. I thought I had nothing else to lose.”

“Your friend would be angry to know this.” 

“I know. I needed help and I didn’t know it. I got stuck. Someone had to pull me out.” 

Talon clicks his tongue. “You didn’t learn your lesson. You’re back here, getting stuck again.”

“That’s the beauty of human nature, isn’t it?” Ezreal asks. “To be able to choose. Getting stuck could be the worst possible thing, but it depends on which side of the line you’re standing. Right now, I’m thankful I’m stuck around you. I may have failed to convince you to get either cure, but I still am happy to help you out and be your friend.” 

Talon laughs, but it’s a sad laugh. He says, “I’m glad you stuck around, too,” and it’s so quiet, Ezreal almost misses it. When he looks over, Talon is curled up on the sofa and his eyes are closed. He doesn’t bother trying for more conversation. 

Talon is in the hospital. 

He was rushed over by Ezreal, and it had been the fastest Ezreal had ever driven in his life. He had screamed for help on arrival and they had admitted Talon immediately, stabilizing him and medicating him to induce relaxation to stop the coughing and vomiting. Some of the staff recognize him but he pleads that they do not ask questions and that they do not mention his name in front of Talon. As he’s signing the papers of admission, he keeps thinking back to earlier that day. 

They had been getting ready to start a new painting, this one of Ezreal, when Talon had started a coughing fit. He’d excused himself to the bathroom and Ezreal had heard him coughing through the door without pause, before he’d heard a loud thump. 

“Talon, are you okay?” 

More coughing, more retching. No verbal affirmation that he was fine. Ezreal knocked again. “Sweetheart, please let me in,” Ezreal pleads. A splattering sound. Screw this, Ezreal thinks and he opens the door, just in time to see Talon collapsing into a puddle of his own blood. Even with his own patients, he’d never acted so impulsively and quickly. 

He goes into the room once he’s allowed to, and he gets an odd sensation, like he’s reliving this scene all over again. Except this time, Talon is wide awake and he’s staring at his phone, pensive. 

“Tal?” 

Talon sighs and puts his phone away, turning towards Ezreal. “Hey.” 

“How are you feeling?”

Talon shrugs; attempts a smile but gives up halfway. “Ezreal hasn’t called since… Sometimes I really wonder how much he really cares for me.”   

Ezreal frowns, heart beating like crazy. “Why don’t you call and ask him?” 

“I—” Talon swallows heavily and sets his jaw. “I don’t want to bother him again.” 

“You won’t bother him.”

“He’s never told me he’s too busy before,” Talon says. “He’s told me that he’s about to go into some meeting, he’s told me he’s about to operate, he’s told me he’s in the middle of something. But he’s never told me he was too busy. You know this last year has been the first year we haven’t celebrated our birthdays together?”

Ezreal is so angry at himself. He wants to go find himself and make him see reason, rush him back home to spend time with Talon in his last moments. He knows it’s a feeling he can do nothing about; he knew that he could never see himself or he’d be thrown back to the future. 

“What are you gonna do? Wait until he calls you again?” 

Talon nods. 

“You’ll die before he does; you realize that, right? He’s gone months without calling you already.”

Biting his lip, Talon looks away, pain in his eyes. Ezreal doesn’t know how to help; he’s growing desperate to find a solution, to have his past self come back and tell Talon what he’d failed to say the first time. I love you. He’d been so close to saying it; all he needed was more time. He needs to get himself back here ASAP—Suddenly it hits him. “Delete the pictures.” 

Talon looks in his direction, confused. 

Ezreal takes a deep breath. “You have that account where you uploaded all your pictures online.” At Talon’s inquiring stare and nod, he continues. “Your friend looks at them often. If you delete them, he’ll want to know why. He’ll call. You can speak to him then.”

“I don’t want those pictures gone,” Talon protests. “They’re good memories, I—” 

“You have copies of them, don’t you? They’re backed up in analog form, aren’t they? Photographic paper.”

“Yes, but—” 

“The memories won’t be gone. Don’t you see?” Ezreal smiles. “You want to know if he cares; he’ll be upset that those pictures are gone and call. Until then, you’ll just have to see them directly from your phone or on a photo album.” At Talon’s hesitation, Ezreal continues. “After he calls you, you can re-upload them. If you have a back-up, you can always put them back.” 

Talon thinks about it for a good hour, before he finally decides to heed Ezreal’s advice. He tells Ezreal to go to his house and where to look for the photo albums so he can bring them to the hospital. Together they look through the albums, both analog and digital, to make sure that the pictures are backed up properly. If they’re not, Ezreal helps Talon save them on his phone. As Ezreal looks through the pictures, though, he gets lost in the memories and sometimes pauses silently to see them and remember. Talon interprets the silence as inquiry, and asks which one he’s looking at. When Ezreal describes it, Talon smiles and tells him the story behind it. 

Ezreal knows the stories, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from enjoying Talon recounting them with so much enthusiasm. They take the chance to make a thinner photo album, full of Talon’s favorite memories. It takes days, close to a week, to get this done, and then finally, Talon gathers up his courage to delete the pictures posted online. 

It’s not even a day later, when the call comes in.  

“Why would you delete the pictures, Tal?” 

Ezreal stands silent and nearby; he can hear himself yelling through the line. Talon keeps as calm as he can, until his voice threatens to break when he pleads, “Please come home. I just want to see you.” 

He’d begun to cough then, violently, and he drops the phone. Ezreal braces himself for what will happen if he does this, but he picks it back up and puts the receiver to his ear. 

“He’s been throwing up entire flowers for the last couple of months.” There’s a slight gasp on the other line; he can feel now what he felt then; the sheer panic of the situation at this new provided information. “They come in pairs and threes, all of them soaked in blood. You need to come home.” 

“He’s not dying,” his past self pleads. Gods, he sounds broken and desperate, especially as he yells, “I’m not letting him die and you better get that through your head, got it?” 

“Look, I know you love him, Ezreal,” he says, speaking firmly. “You need to get home and tell him because he’s under the impression that you don’t care. Come back, before it’s too late.” 

Talon takes that moment to bend over and vomit some more; Ezreal gets closer and rubs his back, whispering sweet nothings and hoping it would calm Talon down. When he goes back to the call, it has ended, so he puts the phone down and presses the button to call for assistance. A nurse shows up promptly and she medicates Talon to calm him down. Once he’s asleep, the nurse and Ezreal clean the room and change the sheets. The nurse gives Ezreal a clean bucket and a sponge, so he can give him a sponge bath to wash away the sweat and blood off of Talon. 

It’s hours later, and Ezreal is settling down in a nearby chair, looking at one of the roses that Talon had vomited earlier. He’d cleaned it and placed it on a vase near the bed. He thinks back to that time he had told Talon about these flowers not needing water to survive, but blood from the human body. Thinking back now, and the conversation he and Talon had had on Talon’s deathbed, that’s what Talon had meant. It was just information Ezreal himself had provided. Which meant only one thing…

“Is it true?” Ezreal looks up to see Talon sitting up, eyes open, looking in his direction. 

“Is what true?” 

“What you said,” Talon continues. “Over the phone. To Ezreal. Is it true?” 

What had he said, again? He tries to think back to that point, and then suddenly realizes that despite Talon being busy chucking up plants and trying not to die, he’d heard it anyway. He sighs. “It is.” 

Talon moves his mouth, thoughtful. 

“He’s loved you for a very long time, but he’s so dense,” Ezreal continues. “He thinks about you every waking minute of every day; he dreams about you and more than anything, wants to hold you to his heart until the end of time.” 

“He’s never said—” 

“And he won’t, until you ask him or prompt him to tell you,” Ezreal cuts him off. “Just like you, he’s so convinced that he’s done enough to show you, sacrificing his sanity and his sleep and his time to save your life to prove to you that he loves you. He doesn’t realize that you think he’s abandoned you and won’t tell you he loves you until you say something first. Just like you don’t realize that not reaching out to him made him think you were fine being alone.” Ezreal scoffs and shakes his head. “So damned stubborn and dense, both of you.” 

“Did he tell you that?” Talon asks. 

“No.” Ezreal watches how Talon shifts on the bed, uncomfortably. He wonders if he should change the subject. 

“I’ve never been so quick to trust someone,” Talon starts, “and you found a way to just break through. As if you’ve been here by my side all your life.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

Talon scoffs then nods. “You gave me a name that my best friend made up on the spot when we were kids,” he says. “It was his D&D character. Jarro Lightfeather.” 

Ezreal looks at the flower on the vase and then back at Talon. So he hadn’t made it up on the spot? Uh-oh. “Coincidence.”

“You knew my tea of preference, to the smallest detail. No one orders my drink of choice because it’s not on the menu, and the barista was a new one that day.”

“I asked her to give me another of what you had ordered already,” Ezreal answers. 

“You knew about Kat and Cass.” 

“A quick background search will reveal a lot from someone.” 

“You knew about Bonobo.” 

“Lucky guess.” 

Talon frowns and works his mouth, as if debating on using the next tactic. Ezreal hopes he can keep lying, kind of. Until, “You knew I was good at throwing knives, but you’ve never seen me do it. No one, except one person, has ever seen me do it. And the one person that knows, wouldn’t ever let anyone else know.” 

Talon was right. Ezreal was the only person that knew about that skill because Talon had confided it to him in his basement when Talon had first moved in with him and his family. He’d requested proof because Ezreal didn’t believe for a minute that this scrawny, former-poor-then-rich-recently-emancipated kid could accurately throw a knife at anything and actually hit it. Talon had proved him wrong, multiple times, and then made him swear he’d never tell a soul. Ezreal had vowed; crossed his heart and hoped to die, all that stuff. It had been that specific skill in wielding sharp items with impossible precision, along with his deep attention to detail that had made him a prominent figure in the field of neurosurgery. More importantly, Talon was right; Ezreal would never betray his trust. 

Shit. He looks on as Talon lifts his eyes in his direction. “Who are you, really, Mr. Jarro Lightfeather?”

He’s been found out. He has no other choice but to come clean. Either that or keep lying, and tell him that Ezreal indeed broke his trust and told him. The thing is, though, he’s tired of lying. He’s exhausted from having to remember all his lies, from stepping around obvious information, from acting stupid, from keeping Talon in the dark. He’s about to die, he knows it because he can recognize this room, and the flower that he himself had put on that bed side; if he has done absolutely nothing to save the love of his life, the least he could do is come clean so he understands that Ezreal has been there for him all along, guiding him every step of the way and loving him tremendously, enough to almost die finding the cure and then travel back in time to try and save him. 

Ezreal leans forward and reaches out to Talon, holding his hand gently in both of his. He takes a deep breath. “Talon, I… The friend I lost…  it was you. 15 years ago.” 

Talon frowns and Ezreal panics when he sees that his surroundings are beginning to change, flickering and spazzing and he knows what’s happening. The time-machine knows what Ezreal is about to say and wants to prevent it, so he rushes through the confession as fast as he can. “I found the cure like I promised, because I love you so much, with my entire being and I regret never telling you.”

Talon opens his eyes wide and his hold tightens. “What?”

“I found someone who made a time machine—”

“Wait, Ezreal I lo—” 

“—and I traveled back in time to—”

The room around him is completely gone and Talon’s hand slips right out of his grasp. 

“—save you.”

He’s tossed back into his own time, and once he realizes where he’s at, he gasps and looks around him wildly. He locates his phone and makes a quick grab for it, dialing Talon’s number. The voicemail picks up; Ezreal had been paying for that service for years so he could keep hearing his voice. He hangs up and tries again and again. 

“Ezreal?” He sees Ekko rising from behind the machine’s console. 

Ezreal hangs up and searches for the number of the hospital where he and Talon both worked. “Can you connect me with Talon Du Couteau of neurosurgery, please?” He’s grasping at nothing, he knows it, but he’s hoping that maybe something changed—

“I’m sorry, sir,” the operator tells him. “Doctor Du Couteau passed away years ago. Can I patch you through to another neurosurgeon?”

Nothing. Nothing changed.  

He sees Ekko coming close. He can’t help it; he collapses onto his knees and screams, pounding onto the floor with his fist over and over. He’s still holding the phone so it breaks, but he’s unable to contain himself. Close… he had been so close…  hadn’t he?

“Ezreal!” Ekko comes up to him and grabs his shoulders, shaking him hard. It breaks Ezreal out of his lash-out, enough that Ezreal is looking at him with wide, blue eyes. “There was a second left; what happened?” 

Ezreal shakes his head and covers his face with his hands. “I confessed about the time machine.”

“What?” 

“It threw me back here.” 

Ekko nods and then starts mobilizing toward the console. “That’s okay, maybe we can—”

“No. I spent a whole year and nothing changed.” 

Ekko looks at him, shocked. “A year?” 

“I had already gone back in time.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Everything happened exactly the same. The conversations, the room, the flower; nothing changed! And Talon… he refused to—all this time, he—” 

“And the others?” Ekko asks, frowning. “Me? Did you get a hold of us?” 

Ezreal is shaking his head. “I tried. I tried to contact you guys but I couldn’t find you. I had no idea where anyone was. I didn’t know how to get a hold of anyone.” 

Ekko nods and then picks up his cellphone, dialing. “Maybe we can send you back with Shen and Akali—” 

“Please, no.” Ezreal stands up with effort and on wobbly legs. He doesn’t trust that he can stand, but he keeps talking. “I can’t go again, Ekko. I already lost him twice. I can’t lose him again.” He leans against the console as he cries, head hanging, tears flowing, voice broken. 

He’s shaking his head and Ekko has never seen a man so broken before. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. Time travel, it’s…” When Ezreal makes eye contact with Ekko, he sees the fear in the young man’s eyes. He was terrified of going back in time, of time travel not working, and here Ezreal stood, angry and crying because—“Sorry. It was a mistake for me, Ekko. Maybe it’ll be different for you, but I… I can’t go back again.”  

He makes his way out of the room and Ekko stands frozen behind him, speechless and afraid. 

Ezreal goes back home. He finds it empty, the same way he left it, save for the layer of dust on everything. The groceries he had bought had long expired, and some of the perishables had created a stench in the house that told him there were maggots and flies somewhere for sure. 

As always, the first thing Ezreal sees is the painting that Talon had made when they were in school, and he stands in front of it for a while before he runs a hand over the surface, wiping dust so he can see better what’s underneath. 

He brings a chair up and sits in front of it. Memories flood his brain, he closes his eyes and enjoys the last year he was able to spend with Talon. He begins to cough, and a petal works its way up his throat and into his mouth. As he stares at it, he considers his options. 

He could get the potion, and try to fall in love again. 

He could get the surgery, and never go through this pain again. 

Except, he finally understands what Talon meant, about being vulnerable and wanting peace for a second. Despite the pain, the loss, the chaos… this was his second. 

Talon had given it away for his beloved. Ezreal would give it away for Talon, too; he deserved that much.

“The numbers I saw in red and what you told me in your letter didn’t match,” Ekko says, taking out a binder. “You said that the time machine threw you back because you admitted to time travel, but the data shows that the machine had started tossing you back here before you confessed. So I developed some new technology that turns acquired data into actual video and sound and recorded it, so I could study it.”

“See, what we didn’t know back then was that saving a life with time travel, didn’t mean that we’d bring someone back from the dead,” Ekko says, leafing through the stack of papers he has on his lap and bringing out a USB drive with all the information. “Saving someone creates an alternative universe.” 

“So long story short,” Ekko continues, “the numbers I saw weren’t because you mentioned the time machine in the past. The machine actually threw you back because when you confessed to Talon that you loved him, you saved his life.  You were thrown back because the present you was no longer part of that time-line.”

Ekko had used his technology to see into alternative universes, and had found the one that his Ezreal had created. Talon had attempted to reach out and confess his love right back as Ezreal disappeared right in front of him. When that had failed, he had waited for the Ezreal of that timeline to show up, and had confessed his love right away, prompting Ezreal to confess the reciprocal feeling. 

With data, video and audio recordings packed up, Ekko had traveled to Ionia in search of Ezreal because it looked like he'd never bothered to replace the phone he’d crushed in his fit of anger and he couldn’t reach him. Ekko wanted to alleviate the pain, to tell him that things had indeed changed, that he’d completed his mission. He’d saved the love of his life, and Ekko had hoped that hearing the recording would save Ezreal’s life, too.

Ekko gave the news now, to a tombstone with the text “Ezreal Lymiere, Doctor, Friend, Beloved” engraved onto it. The stamp of a particular flower on the bottom gave indication that he’d died due to Hanahaki. 

Judging by the date underneath, Ekko had just missed him by a week. As tears flow down his cheeks, Ekko rises and touches the cold stone, and mentally thanks whoever decided Ezreal be buried right next to Talon.

===

“How can one love the light and live in darkness?”

― Brent Weeks, The Way of Shadows