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Tides shift, crashing on the edges of the harbors; the moon has awakened in its full glory, throwing her judgmental stare on the world.
Ten year old Senku squints his eyes, turns around, looks up—she’s still there. It’s past nine already, yet no matter how many times he hides behind trees or ducks to pretend he’s tying his shoelaces, she refuses to go away. He wants to throw a rock at her, again.
“The full moon is beautiful as always.”
A boy with choppy black fringe and a slick smile is rocking back and forth on one of the swings. He is messily fiddling with a deck of cards and Senku just now hears the sound of squashing plastic slicing through the silence hugging the playground. The boy drops one. Senku catches a glimpse of it just before it falls face down on the ground—Ace of Spades.
“If anything, I think she’s terrifying.”
“How so?”
The boy slips the card in the middle of the deck then makes exactly three steps in Senku’s direction.
“She never stops watching and is always following me. Like she wants to know all my secrets or something.”
The shuffling stops and the boy is ogling at Senku now, like Senku insulted his whole family and his dog. But not a moment later a grin nearly rips his cheeks apart and the deck is shoved in Senku’s face.
“Pick a card.”
“I don’t believe in magic.”
“Just once.” He keeps shifting on his feet, twisting his wrist.
Senku sighs, draws one at random. The boy closes the deck, waits a blink and takes the card from Senku to put it under the rest. He proceeds to make a series of taps on the top card of the deck as Senku watches, then flips it while whispering sound effects like he’s casting a spell. Ace of Spades.
“Is this your card?”
“No.” Senku huffs but can’t help raising his eyebrows; his memory is so good it makes coincidences look magical.
“But you did see it fall out earlier, so it’s yours either way.”
The boy claps at his own success, Senku rubs his temples. It’s a dumb trick and he will Google it later if he doesn’t figure it out on his way home.
“Don’t you have friends to terrorize with this nonsense?” Some would say he’s insensitive but Senku disagrees—truth is truth, like it or not. He sticks a finger in his ear.
“Well I have one.” The boy hides the cards in his pocket. “His name is Senku.” He then spins on his foot, making a flashy walk towards the playground’s gate.
“Wait, how did you—” His hand drops, eyes wide at the shadow of the boy now standing under a street lamp. Senku remembers the name tag on his jacket halfway into brushing his teeth that night.
***
Ariana Grande has been playing on repeat for an hour now, bouncing off the walls of the school’s science lab. Not Senku’s fault, he stops registering the music by the third song—Gen is to blame, who always intrudes the lab on the pretext of watering the flowers, yet never fills his water bottle enough for all the pots; kind of a dumb excuse in the first place, knowing Senku killed the plants months ago.
“How did your audition go?” Senku asks, giving up on the data table planted on the desk. He’ll find a proper calculator and finish it later.
“Splen-did!” Gen sings and Senku knows the magician wants to twirl around the room in celebration, but luckily, he doesn’t dare. Not after Senku threatened to poison him with hydrochloric acid when Gen broke a beaker. “They’re having me on the talk show next weekend. Make sure to watch!”
Gen’s hair has gotten longer and even more striking after he slapped white on half of it. He grew to have a deck of cards that don’t rip apart after their third use, a Cheshire Cat type of smile that warns you’ll either get your pockets robbed or mind blown (or both, in that order), and is now Senku’s official couch hogger when his dad leaves for the week. The only thing that hasn’t changed in Gen is his atrocious fringe, still as choppy, still as uneven. And his love for performing, Senku supposes.
“I would never miss an opportunity to see your magic tricks.” Senku’s sarcastic, but only for a tenth of the statement. Ask him to tell you his darkest secret and Senku would oblige; threaten him with a gun to admit watching Gen on TV unironically and he will probably press the trigger himself.
“Stop calling them magic tricks,” Gen whines; “I am doing real mentalism now. Or are you so scared I’ll read your mind that you deny my powers?” Gen mimics a ghost’s boo, wiggling his fingers and poking Senku on the shoulder. Senku shoves him away but spits a chuckle nonetheless.
“I am afraid to my core, if you couldn’t tell.” Senku cracks his back and stares at the forgotten paper before him. “Now can you put your ‘powers’ into use and find me a calculator?”
***
Senku’s foot is hovering over the table as Gen watches with noodles dangling from his lips. Back at them frowns an army of takeout boxes, with a singular sock on the side as a backup. Senku evaluates his chances, then attacks right on, his foot slamming on the table and destroying the formation of trash; Gen slurps the noodles and whistles.
“I am so not cleaning that.”
Senku knocks the sock off the table.
“I can build a robot to clean after us.”
“You’d rather build a whole robot than take the trash out?” Gen looks almost amazed, but after having lived in the same ridiculously tiny apartment for six months, he knows better than to underestimate Senku’s leisure when it comes to anything that is not science. He’s seen Senku stay awake for days to test chemicals, then refuse to go to the convenience store for toilet paper. Or ever leave the building for that matter, save for when a conference is held that he can’t attend virtually.
But while Senku is clogging their trash can with blueprints on the daily, Gen is mostly outside, baffling kids at birthday parties, buying coffee for his manager so she’ll let him have a longer break. Yet he always comes back, never accompanied by the scent of alcohol or a woman’s perfume, and sits next to Senku on the floor of their bedroom. Sometimes bullies him into playing video games together. Once in a blue moon cooks something that is not radioactive—even if it’s just scrambled eggs. They’re Senku’s favorite food anyway.
“You know, you’re kind of like the moon.” Senku notes once, drowning his plate in the sink.
“Hm, how so?”
Black hair appears in his peripheral vision and Gen is now prepped against the counter. Senku looks at him, at his lidded eyes, at the tiny tattoo of a spaceship on his right shoulder—the same one that Senku has on his left.
“No matter where I go you’re always there. And you’re always staring at me too.”
Senku scratches his head and leaves the sink; Gen’s cackle echoes behind him, before the magician runs right back to his side to trap him in a hug.
Good thing you can’t escape the moon, huh?