The Guardian & The Ghost

Ken Suson, a lone urban vigilante trained in the shadows by his grandfather, known only to the public as The Guardian. For years, Ken worked alone, saving lives, dismantling crimes in silence, and slipping into the background with each mission. He never needed help… until a mysterious, talkative hacker named Josh Santos breached his comms and refused to leave.

At first, Josh was just a voice, irritatingly cheerful, overly chatty, and always one step ahead. But behind the banter hid a tragic past: a survivor of the Arguelles Syndicate massacre, who lost his family and rebuilt himself with code and quiet fury.

Work Text:

Media Headlines

"He has no badge. No name. No face. But every child rescued… every girl found… knows him. The city calls him—The Guardian."

“Mysterious vigilante rescues kidnapped boy in Quezon City.”

“Security cam footage reveals a hooded figure breaking a trafficking ring.”

“Who is The Guardian? The city is divided on his brand of justice.”

Public Reaction

“I don’t care if he breaks rules. He saved my daughter.”

“Cops hate him. But he gets things done.”

“He’s like… an angel, if angels wore black hoodies.”

A young Ken Suson, no older than seventeen, stands at the edge of a street. His hoodie is damp from rain. His fists are clenched as he watches a man grab a drunk woman by the wrist, dragging her into a parked car. People glance, hesitate, and walk away.

Ken steps forward.

No one watches. No one helps. But he does.

A minute later, the man’s car tires are slashed, the keys gone, and the woman is crying in the corner, safe. The man? Unconscious, zip-tied, and bleeding from the nose.

Ken disappears into the rain.

He never asked to be called a hero. He just couldn’t look away. A quiet savior shaped by discipline, empathy, and action, doing everything from street-level rescues to uncovering large-scale trafficking—always in the shadows, never seeking praise.

Ken Suson—a quiet storm of purpose and compassion. Every word, every silent save, every life protected without need for thanks… he’s unforgettable. Ken had worked alone for years. Trained by his grandfather in both discipline and combat, he began with small, quiet acts of heroism—pulling girls away from creeps in the dark, helping the police track kidnappers without ever being seen, stopping thieves in a way that made it look like pure coincidence. But over time, the missions grew heavier. He started dismantling trafficking rings, rescuing girls smuggled into prostitution, saving kidnapped children before they vanished for good.

He never left a name, never asked for credit. But the city noticed. The media took hold of whispers, stories, and shaky footage. Eventually, people gave him a name—an alias for a man who saved lives but refused to be known.

They called him The Guardian.

Until, one day, a voice bloomed in his ears. Watching, calculating safety clearings, while Ken didn’t need all of that.

In a dim warehouse, chaos unfolds. Shadows move fast. Screams cut through the dark. A trafficker pulls a gun—but he’s too slow. The Guardian is faster. Cleaner. Smarter.

One guard down. Another disarmed.

A girl, no older than twelve, runs out, barefoot and crying. Ken kneels. Doesn’t say a word. Just gives her his jacket and guides her toward the light.

As police arrive, they find nothing. No hero. Just a phone in a ziplock bag with the location pinned and a message on-screen:

“They’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Back in his hideout, Ken removes his hoodie. His jaw is clenched. His knuckles bruised. The city is quiet for now. A new voice crackles through a nearby comms system—unfamiliar, chipper, young.

“Nice save. The whole operation was clean. Except you forgot the camera behind the stairs. Tsk.”

Ken freezes.

“Don’t worry. I deleted it. By the way, your encryption sucks. You’re lucky I’m cute and helpful. So... need a sidekick?”

Ken turns slowly to the speaker. No reaction. Just silence.

“Okay, silent type. I can work with that.”

Ken didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. He knew the guy would be stubborn to keep pushing himself. He got a message one day after a high-profile rescue that says:

“Hi. Big fan. You're incredible. Your encryption is garbage tho. Wanna team up?”

Ken blocks the number. Change phones. Doesn’t work—Josh—who introduced himself carelessly— is always back.

“This is your new comms. You’re welcome. Press left to mute me. But you won’t.”

Slowly, Josh proves himself. Starts dropping helpful tips mid-mission.

“That door leads to a trap. Exit left. Trust me. I hacked the cams.”

“That girl’s real name is Ana. She’s allergic to almonds. Don’t let them feed her.”

Ken just started trusting the voice, because even though he’s very cheerful, flirty, and endlessly talkative, Ken felt it’s harmless to welcome someone even just a voice to fill the silence.

---

Rain pattering against glass. Low thunder rolls in the distance.

Ken Suson—The Guardian to the world, but just Ken in his apartment—stands in the small kitchen of his modest, shadowed unit. The windows fog slightly from the steam rising off the pot of instant ramen, upgraded with egg, green onions, and leftover pork belly slices.

On his couch, a blanket is half-folded, an episode of his favorite anime paused at the opening scene. The lighting is soft, warm-toned from a single lamp. It's rare, this moment of stillness.

Ken lowers himself onto the couch, bowl in hand. He exhales quietly and presses play.

Anime character (on TV): "Even the strongest sword needs a place to rest."

Ken’s lips twitch. Barely a smile. Almost. He takes a bite. And then his comms unit, buried somewhere in a drawer across the room, crackles to life.

“...Are you seriously watching Samurai Inferno again? That’s your sixth rewatch.”

Ken freezes mid-bite. Slow blink. Stares at the drawer like it betrayed him.

“Come on, Ken. Rest days are for discovering new things. Like, I don’t know—talking to your charming, extremely helpful hacker friend?”

Ken places the bowl down. “I turned that unit off.” He heard Josh gasped mockingly on the other line.

“You think that stops me? You wound me. And here I was, letting you enjoy your night off.”

“You’re not letting me do anything.” Ken said flatly.

“True. I am intruding. But don’t worry, I won’t track your location… again. Just wanted to say hi! And let you know you missed an underground drop point by the docks. Not urgent though. Go enjoy your sad, lonely noodles.”

Ken sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s used to bullets. Knives. Sobs in the dark. He is not used to this. “I’m hanging up now.”

“You’ll miss me. Deep down. Real deep down, probably buried under your mountain of emotional repression—”

Ken kills the line. Silence returns. Ken picks up his ramen again. The anime resumes. But then, a new message pings on his TV screen:

“I hacked your smart TV. You seriously gonna cry at episode 9 again?

Ken exhales slowly through his nose, eyes closed. But for some reason… he doesn’t feel alone anymore.

---

The rain hasn’t stopped. It’s quieter now, gentle, steady, like the kind that makes people stay indoors.

Inside, Ken is shirtless in sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a recent shower. A towel hangs from his shoulders. The living room floor has been cleared for his home workout session—push-ups, planks, stretches, and perfectly executed punches into the air.

On the counter nearby: his phone. Screen on. Josh’s voice coming through.

“…and then this dude, get this—he really tried to sell me a cracked graphics card for twice the price. I told him, ‘Buddy, I can see the serial number, you insult me.’ Like, can you believe that? I nearly committed cybercrime out of principle, Ken.”

Ken grunts softly as he shifts into side planks. Sweat beads at his temple. Josh continues.

“I swear, the black market has lost all class. Back in my early hacking days—uh, purely academic, of course—I could sniff out a liar in three clicks. Now? Everyone’s sloppy.”

Ken switches to crunches. Says nothing. Doesn’t hang up.

“Anyway, after that disaster, I made chicken adobo. Burned the garlic a little. Sue me. Do you cook, Ken? No, wait—lemme guess. You eat to survive, not for taste.”

Ken pauses, glances at the phone, then resumes. Still silent.

“That wasn’t a no, by the way. I saw that look. You probably season your eggs with guilt.”

Ken finishes his set and moves into stretches. The kind that forces him to breathe deeply, stay grounded. Josh’s voice is still going, filling the silence, but it’s… oddly bearable. Maybe even comforting.

“…I know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now. Or not. Maybe you’re actually listening. Or you just don’t know how to shut me up. Either way, I’ll take it.”

“I do know how. I just don’t.” Ken answered, voice low and dry.

“Did you just… talk to me?” Josh dramatically exclaimed.

Ken stands, walks to the kitchen for water. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. Already saving this moment to the archives of My Greatest Wins.” Ken drinks. His lip twitches. Barely.

—

Ken’s folding black shirts, gray towels. Phone still on. Josh is now telling him a childhood story about his older brother breaking their microwave.

“…he was eight, I was six. He shoved a fork in there because cartoons said it made things shiny. It did! Just also… explosive.”

Ken folds a towel. Presses it flat. Doesn’t interrupt.

“You ever have someone to talk to? Like, really talk to?”

Ken pauses. Looks out the window. Rain still falling. “Not like this.” He answered quietly.

“…Glad I hacked you.”

Ken exhales through his nose. Doesn’t smile. But his hands don’t clench. His breathing stays steady. Josh keeps talking. And Ken lets him.

---

Rain still falls. Softer now. The kind that seeps into the walls and stays. Ken sits cross-legged on the couch, tying his ankle weights after his workout. A cup of lukewarm coffee rests beside him. On the counter, his phone is propped up. Josh’s voice is still playing through, a familiar comfort.

“…so I took apart the whole server just to find one corrupted line of code. I know, overkill, but I was stressed and caffeinated. Bad combo. Anyway—”

A pause.

“…there used to be this dog. Stray. Lived under the bridge near my old place.”

Ken glances up, hands paused over his laces. The tone shift doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I used to bring him food. Every day. Even when I had none for myself. He always waited. Sat by the same spot. Rain or shine.”

Ken doesn’t move. Just listens.

“…then one day, he wasn’t there.”

Silence. A long one. Ken waits. Breath shallow. A strange tension hums beneath his ribs.

“Some things just stop showing up. And you never get to ask why.”

Another pause. Then, abruptly—“User has gone offline.”

Ken slowly sets the weights down. Sits still. The quiet is heavier than before. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Ken walks to the window, arms crossed, watching the street below blur beneath the rain. His fingers tap once against his bicep. Then stop. He picks up the phone. Opens the encrypted comms app. The last thing on screen: Josh’s name, disconnected. Ken doesn’t send a message. Doesn’t call. Just… waits.

—

The mission was supposed to be simple: track down a stolen weapons shipment. Neutralize. Retrieve. Exit clean. But now, Ken is crouched behind rusted steel crates, four men with pistols slowly closing in, and a fifth somewhere above on the catwalk, aiming a rifle

Rain pelts the broken roof. Footsteps echo. Guns click.

“Five targets. One sniper. Perimeter’s tighter than intel said.” Ken said into the mic, voice calm.

Silence on the comms. Then—

“Whoa! You didn’t tell me you were out doing gymnastics with bullets! You move like a panther. A very grumpy panther in wet jeans.”

Ken exhales quietly. A beat passes. He doesn't say it—but Josh is back. And it feels… normal again.

“Thought you took the night off.”

“I did. But then I realized I couldn’t let my favorite vigilante get shot in the back. Also, I missed the view.”

“What view?” Ken said dryly.

“Excuse you. I’ve got eyes on your forearms right now and honestly? Criminal. That vein on your bicep alone has me filing a case.”

Ken peeks out. Two guards are flanking. He vaults up, takes the first one down with a kick to the jaw, then uses the guy’s falling body to launch himself upward onto a rusted beam.

“Oh my god, did you just use a whole man as a springboard? That’s it! I’m proposing. Headlock first, marriage after.”

Ken lands, crouched. “You’re loud again.” He commented quietly.

“Yup. Annoyingly so. Back to factory settings.”

Ken smiles, just a flicker, barely there—as he drops behind the sniper and knocks him out cold with a single twist of his arm.

“Oof. That move? That move belongs in a museum. Of violence. Also, ten out of ten, would let you put me in a headlock—gently. Or not.”

Ken retrieves the sniper’s gear, presses on. He hears Josh tapping on keys in the background, his voice a steady hum.

“Thermal scan coming up… okay, last two are guarding a crate in the center, northwest quadrant. One’s on his phone. Probably texting his ex. You’ve got a ten-second window.”

Ken bolts forward, fluid and silent.

“There he goes. Manila’s most wanted man with a jawline sharp enough to slice bullets.”

Ken disarms one guard mid-turn and kicks the other across the chin. The whole thing takes six seconds. “Clear.”

“Glad you’re okay.”

Ken doesn’t answer right away. He opens the crate. Mission complete. Then, finally saying into the mic, “Glad you’re back.”

There’s a pause on the line. A beat of something fragile. Then Josh’s usual tone returns—bright, flirtatious, distracting as ever.

“You sure? I could disappear again. Make it dramatic. Fade into a misty void. Or… I could stay and give you directions and dumb compliments and occasional fantasies involving your triceps.”

“Stay.” Ken said, smiling faintly while walking away.

“...You got it, Guardian.”

---

For once, the rain has stopped. Light spills through Ken’s windows—golden and soft. The kind of sun that feels like a reset button.

Ken sprawled on the couch in sweatpants, scrolling through the news. He’s halfway through his coffee when his phone buzzes. A voice call.

“Hey, Guardian. Wake up. It’s not raining for once. You need to touch grass. Or at least buy a book.”

“I have books.”

“No, you have manuals. Reports. Paperwork. You don’t have fiction, and it shows.”

“I don’t need fiction.”

“You do. Your jaw is too tense and your soul is clearly underfed. I’m sending you a title. You’re going to a bookstore. Right now.”

“You’re very bossy for someone I’ve never seen.” Ken said, deadpan.

“Hot of me, right?”

A pause. Ken sighs. But he gets up.

Ken walks along the pavement, the sun on his shoulders. He wears a hoodie and a cap, as always, half anonymous, half cautious. But he moves slowly. Not tense. Not rushed. His phone is in his pocket, Josh’s voice in his ear through a wireless bud.

“Look at you, out in the world like a functioning human. The pigeons are probably confused.”

Ken steps into the small independent bookstore. It’s quiet. Dusty. Cozy.

“Head to the fiction aisle. You’re looking for ‘The Weight of Small Things.’ Pale blue spine. Broken hourglass on the cover.”

Ken finds it. Fingers brushing the worn edges of the book. “This one?”

“Yeah. That one’s… important to me.” Josh’s voice became softer.

Ken flips it open, reads the first line: “She counted the seconds between heartbeats and still hoped the world would slow down for her.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“The main character… she keeps trying to fix everything. Everyone. Like if she just tries hard enough, no one will leave again. But the story’s not really about saving people, it’s about learning when to stay, and when to let yourself be found.”

Ken closes the book. His fingers tighten on the spine. “You think I need that?”

“I think you deserve it.” There’s a pause, then, “Also, there’s a knife fight in chapter nine. Thought it’d help you cope.”

Ken lets out a short, surprised breath. Could be a chuckle. Maybe. “Fine. I’ll read it.”

“You just made my whole week. Buy it. And maybe get a cookie or something while you’re out. You’re allowed to have a good day.”

Later that day, Ken sits by the window, sunlight hitting the book in his lap.

He’s four chapters in. The apartment is quiet, except for the sound of Josh typing on the other end of the line, still connected, still there. Josh doesn’t talk this time. Ken doesn’t ask him to. But the line stays open. And for now, that’s enough.

After a few days, Ken already finished the book. It lies closed on the nightstand, its corners gently dog-eared. A sticky note marks the final page, scribbled in Ken’s handwriting: “I get it now.”

The phone buzzes. Josh’s voice comes through, relaxed, almost sleepy.

“You finished it, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well? Did it emotionally ruin you or do I need to find a sadder one?”

Ken leans back against the headboard, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. “It was good. She didn’t save everyone… but she stayed.”

“Yeah.”

Silence for a few seconds. Not heavy, just settled. Then Ken stands. Walks to the shelf in his room, fingertips brushing old spines until he pulls one free. It’s not flashy. The cover is worn, the title faded gold:

“This Too Shall Be Soft” by Mara Enrico. (A quiet collection of essays on letting go, letting in, and letting be.)

He runs a thumb over the first page. A note he’d written years ago: “For when you're not sure what to feel. Let this tell you it’s okay to feel all of it.”

He slides the note out, folds it neatly, and places it in the back.

The next day at the package station, Ken leaves the package with no name. No return address. Just a scrawled message on the envelope:

“For when you’re ready. -K”

---

The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in his apartment. Outside, the sky was dipping into a dim, cloudy orange. Ken sat on the floor, towel slung around his neck, finishing the last set of push-ups for the day. A pot of rice cooked quietly in the background.

He wasn’t expecting his phone to buzz. He debated ignoring it. But answered anyway.

“You’re early.”

“Turn on Channel 5. Now. Your glorious ass is on TV.” Josh’s voice bursting in excitement.

Ken blinked. Reached for the remote, and with a click, the screen blinked to life.

There he was, grainy footage from some back-alley camera. His hoodie up, face obscured, mid-spin as he kicked a man into the wall. The anchor’s voice overlaid it with drama he didn’t need.

“The Guardian made another appearance tonight, taking down an illegal trafficking operation before authorities arrived…”

Ken rolled his eyes. He reached for the towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Look at you. Flipping dudes like pancakes. I swear, the hoodie sway during that roundhouse? Cinematic. You’re unbelievable.”

Ken sighed and dropped onto the couch. “It was nothing. Standard takedown.”

“Nothing, he says, like I didn’t just watch you end three grown men in under twelve seconds. Heroic. Graceful. A masterpiece. I think I need to sit down.”

Ken smirked a little, barely. He didn’t even realize it until he felt it tug at his cheek.

“Seriously though… I’m proud of you.”

Ken blinked. That... wasn’t the kind of thing people said to him. Not sincerely. There was a long pause. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“…I just do what I can.”

“And you do it damn well. You saved those girls. You scared the hell out of those bastards. And you didn’t wait for applause. That’s the kind of person people should be proud of.”

Ken leaned back, letting the words settle. He wasn’t used to praise. It didn’t make him uncomfortable—it just felt... foreign. But from Josh, it didn’t sound empty.

“Also, I feel it’s my moral duty to inform you that your thighs looked obscenely good in that footage. Like, offensive.”

“…What.”

“Listen, if your enemies had any taste, they’d surrender immediately.”

Ken shook his head, amused despite himself. The corner of his mouth twitched again. “You’re insufferable.”

“You missed me.” Josh said like it was the most obvious thing in the world right now.

Ken didn’t respond. Because, maybe... he did.

The segment ended. Ken turned off the TV and leaned back into the couch, phone still pressed to his ear. He didn’t say much, and Josh didn’t need him to.

Josh kept talking, about the mission, about rerouting traffic cams, about the way Ken’s left-handed punch was getting weirdly perfect lately. All while Ken listened. Quiet. Calm. Present. And he let the line stay open. Because the voice in his ear made the world feel less heavy.

—

The apartment was silent again, save for the low hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of rain against the window—just a drizzle this time, lazy and light. Ken had finished eating. Dishes cleaned. Lights dimmed. He sat in bed, hoodie still on, phone resting against his chest while the screen lit up his face.

Josh hadn’t called back. But he'd sent something.

[NEW MESSAGE – JOSH 💬]

📎 Image attached

Ken tapped it open.

It was a photo. Not anything fancy. A narrow bookstore tucked between a pastry shop and a flower stand. The kind of place that looked like it always smelled like old pages and brewed coffee. The front window was fogged with condensation, a handwritten sign taped to the glass: “We recommend books like we recommend lovers: slowly, and with care.”

Below the photo, Josh had typed:

"This place is on my ‘someday’ list. I think you’d like the quiet. And the old man who runs it looks like he’s trained in judo."

Ken stared at the screen longer than he meant to. The warmth in his chest felt unfamiliar. He clicked into their message thread. Just above the photo, Josh had sent something else, several hours ago, unnoticed during dinner.

A meme. An image of a giant, terrifying goose with laser eyes chasing after tiny people, captioned: “Me protecting The Guardian from emotional growth.”

Ken snorted. Actually snorted. He hadn’t meant to. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing, but didn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips this time. He didn’t reply. Not right away.

But he saved the photo of the bookstore. Tucked it into a hidden folder. Maybe... maybe he’d take him there someday. Maybe he wanted to.

Later that night, Ken lay on his side now, lights off, phone screen dimmed to low. He opened the chat again. He typed.

“That place looks peaceful.” Sent. A beat passed. Then another. Just as he was about to put the phone down—

[Voice Message – JOSH 💬] 9 seconds

Ken tapped it. Josh’s voice, soft. Sleepy.

“Yeah… I think you’d like it. I’ll meet you there. Someday. Hoodie and all.”

Ken closed his eyes, letting the words linger in the quiet. No missions tonight. No danger. Just the sound of rain and a promise whispered through a phone. He didn’t dream of ten. But maybe tonight... he’d let himself.

---

Ken, so used to being strong and alone, suddenly finds himself being held together by someone he's never even met face to face. Blood dripped from his side. Hot. Sharp. Sticky against his shirt.

The alley behind the warehouse stank of rust and engine grease, the aftermath of a brutal takedown sprawled around him—bodies tied, unconscious, a shipment of trafficked girls now freed. Sirens somewhere far off.

But Ken wasn’t moving.

His legs buckled the moment the last man hit the ground. Now he was on his knees, one hand clutching his side, breath shallow, vision doubling at the edges. His comm buzzed.

“Ken? Hey—Ken? Answer me. You said check-in every five minutes, remember? You—why aren’t you talking?!”

Ken blinked slowly. Tried to lift his hand to the mic, but his arm trembled. “Still here…”

“Oh my god, you sound like you gargled asphalt. Ken—Ken, you need to get up. The police are close, but not close enough. You need to move, you hear me?”

Ken’s head dropped forward, resting against the concrete wall. Everything buzzed now. Like static under his skin. His lips barely moved. “Got the girls out…”

“I know. I saw. You did good. You did so, so good—but you have to stay with me, okay? Don’t close your eyes. Please don’t.” Josh’s voice started cracking.

He could hear typing, frantic clicking. Josh was hacking traffic lights, rerouting emergency lines. He was trying everything, but Ken knew there wasn’t enough time. Then Josh’s voice lowered. Softer. Desperate.

“I haven’t even met you yet. You can’t do this to me, you absolute idiot. You don’t get to die before I even see your face.”

Ken’s heart stuttered. He let out a low breath. A weak chuckle. “Are… are you crying?”

Silence. Then a sharp sniff on the other line. “You’re cute.” Ken commented, trying to stay conscious.

“You’re almost dead on my watch and you say I’m cute?!” His voice sounded furious and wrecked.

Ken coughed. Winced. But the sound was half a laugh. “You are.”

“Don’t flirt with me while you’re bleeding out, jerk! That’s—That’s so unfair.” Josh said, choking up.

But still here. And somewhere in that tangle of noise and pain and static, he realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

—

The ceiling was unfamiliar. White. Water-stained. Cracked like an old photograph. Ken blinked against the dim light filtering in through dusty curtains. His body ached. Not the kind of ache from a hard workout but a deep, stinging pull that told him he’d been close. Too close.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp throb bloomed in his side. Bandages. Tight. Clean. Someone had taken care of him.

“Finally,” a voice crackled through the speaker by the window, dry but unmistakable. “I was starting to think I’d have to stage a one-man funeral.”

Ken turned his head, slowly. Eyes narrowing at the tiny black comm speaker resting on a beat-up nightstand. Josh’s voice. Familiar. Still shaken around the edges.

“You passed out mid-sentence. Do you know how cinematic that was? I had to mute my mic just to scream.”

Ken cleared his throat, voice raspy. “You didn’t scream.” A beat of silence.

“…Okay, maybe I whimpered,” Josh admitted. “And panicked. And possibly cried into my hoodie.”

Ken smiled faintly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You’re dramatic.”

Josh exhaled—half-laugh, half-relief. “You’re alive.”

It wasn’t a joke. Not a tease. Just the truth, softly spoken. Ken didn’t answer right away. He looked around instead. A small safehouse. Supplies on the shelf. IV bag hooked near the bed. Disinfectants and clean towels. His weapons were in a duffel near the door. Someone had moved fast.

“You got me out,” Ken murmured.

Josh didn’t say anything at first. Then, quietly, “I wasn’t going to let you die alone in a goddamn alley.”

Ken felt that. Somewhere deeper than the wound on his side. “You’re not just a voice anymore, are you?” he asked, eyes drifting to the comm.

“I’m whatever you need me to be,” Josh said, softer now. “Right now? The guy who made sure you lived.”

Another pause. “…Also the guy who patched you up with YouTube tutorials and shaky hands, because let me tell you, you bleed a lot. That’s not even romantic, that’s just rude.”

Ken let out a low breath, something like a chuckle, something like gratitude. “I owe you,” he whispered.

“No,” Josh said firmly. “You owe me nothing. Just… don’t do that again.”

Ken opened his eyes. The speaker was silent now. But he could feel Josh on the other side. Awake. Watching the feed. Listening to his breathing. And Ken—alone for so long—let himself rest. Not because he had no choice. But because someone was there. Keeping watch.

---

One Week Later

The rain was soft outside, steady and unbothered, like it had nowhere else to be. Ken sat on the couch, hoodie half-zipped, side still bandaged beneath the cotton. The ache had dulled to a warning. He’d been healing in silence for days, training lightly, eating properly, sleeping in more than he should.

Josh hadn’t left his ear. The speaker on the shelf crackled with life as Josh rambled about the most recent thing to catch his hyperfixated attention.

“Okay but listen, hear me out—what if the ramen shop downstairs is secretly a front for a secret society of soup assassins? Like, they kill with spoons and boiling miso. I’ve been watching the delivery guy, he never blinks. That's not normal, Ken.”

Ken stirred his tea, not replying. Josh took that as encouragement.

“I swear, if I die mysteriously next week, look into the broth.”

Ken reached for the remote and turned up the news, muting Josh slightly.

“—reports say that remnants of the Arguelles Syndicate have resurfaced in Metro Manila after years of silence. The group, once dismantled by combined police and special ops, is now linked to—”

The words hit the room like a slow, thick fog. And for the first time in a while, Josh went quiet. Not a sound from the speaker. No joke. No theory. No sigh.

Ken leaned back into the couch, eyes fixed on the screen but not watching. The silence stretched. Josh didn’t even breathe into the mic. His absence was loud.

Ken didn’t ask. Didn’t push. He simply lowered the volume again and said, casually, “You were saying something about spoons?”

But Josh didn’t bite. No answer. Just a soft click as the speaker disconnected. Ken sat still. The rain picked up slightly outside.

And somewhere deep inside, he felt it—that shift in the air. Josh knew something about the Arguelles Syndicate. And whatever it was… it broke him.

—

It had been a day since Josh’s voice disappeared from the speaker. Ken hadn’t called him back. He didn’t need to. Because the silence said enough.

Now, under the soft hum of his desk lamp, Ken clicked through old news archives and sealed case files, stringing together pieces he hadn’t dared to touch before.

The Arguelles Syndicate.

A name that brought smuggling, violence, and tragedy wherever it appeared.

He sifted through public records, slowly narrowing his focus. Then he found it—an old report from 2001, hidden deep under juvenile protection protocols. Most of the content was redacted. But some details escaped the black bars.

Small house in Cavite. Midnight raid. Firefight. A family of four. Only one survivor.

Male. Age 8. Name withheld.

Ken’s throat tightened as he read the notes. The family had been targeted for whistleblowing, turning in evidence against Arguelles operatives trafficking children. But before authorities could protect them, the syndicate got there first.

All four family members were presumed dead on site. But there was a note. A single line at the bottom of the report.

“One minor was found hidden beneath floorboards. Alive, barely conscious. Uncooperative, nonverbal. Transferred to medical custody. No further public record.”

Ken didn’t need the name. Not anymore.

He could hear the silence from the night before echoing through that file. The stillness in Josh’s voice when the syndicate was named. The sound of someone freezing—not because of fear of what might happen…

…but of what already did.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Josh had survived that night. He had lived through fire, loss, and blood. And somehow, he’d grown into this loud, bright voice in Ken’s ear—filling the world with noise so he wouldn’t be swallowed by silence again.

Ken stared at the speaker on the shelf. It was off now, quiet. But he saw it differently. Not just a voice. A scar. A survivor. A story still unfolding.

And for the first time, Ken didn’t want to fight alone anymore. Not when someone like Josh had been fighting for so long.

—

The sun had barely risen when the speaker buzzed back to life. Ken was already awake, doing stretches on the floor, nursing the last edge of pain in his ribs. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hiss of rain against the window.

Then, the voice returned.

“So, listen, hypothetically, if I tried to mail you cookies, would you be suspicious or touched? Or both? Because I can be charming and poisoned, your call.”

Ken didn’t answer right away. He reached for the towel, wiping the sweat off his brow as the speaker continued.

“No? Nothing? Okay, rough crowd. Anyway, I saw your favorite takoyaki cart open again. I might have sent the guy a tip to hold some for you. I mean, not that I know where you live, ha-ha—okay, I do, but only because I care.”

Josh’s voice was fast. Breezy. Almost too breezy. Like he’d been practicing it. Ken sat down on the edge of the bed, towel in hand.

“You disappeared,” he said quietly.

Josh hesitated. “…Yeah. Sorry. Power surge.”

Ken didn’t push. Didn’t argue. He just looked at the speaker, soft and steady. “I looked up the Arguelles Syndicate.”

Silence. For a moment, Ken thought the comm line had cut off again. Then, “Oh.”

That was all. Just one syllable, small and tight. All the cheer had drained from his voice, like a balloon popped too soon. Ken leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I just wanted you to know… I know.”

Josh didn’t speak for a long time. The silence wasn’t as sharp as yesterday. It was… trembling. Like it was trying to hold itself together. Ken stared out the window, watching raindrops trace down the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Josh whispered.

Ken’s voice was calm. “Don’t be. You were a kid.”

Another beat of quiet. Then Josh asked, barely audible, “Do you think I’m still that kid?”

Ken shook his head, even though Josh couldn’t see it. “I think you became someone who kept going. Even when the world told you to stop. That’s strength, Josh.”

Silence again but not the same kind. This one felt warm. Like two people finally breathing the same air.

Finally, Josh spoke, voice thin but honest. “Thanks. For… not running.”

Ken almost smiled. “You’ve seen me run?”

Josh let out a weak chuckle. “Okay, yeah. Point.”

Ken glanced at the speaker again. The light blinked softly, still on. Still here. Just like Josh.

---

There was a small mission downtown. Ken crouched on a rooftop overlooking a dimly lit street, his earpiece tucked securely beneath the hood of his jacket. The moon was veiled behind clouds, and the usual city chaos felt quieter here—like the city was holding its breath.

Below, a warehouse stood behind locked gates. Low-profile, half-forgotten. But Josh had flagged the building earlier that day—patterned movements, disguised shipments, a possible child trafficking hub preparing to activate.

This wasn’t a strike. It was recon. But Ken was already ten steps ahead.

“Security rotation is tight,” Josh said in his ear, voice crisp now. Focused. “Two guards inside the west door. One on the north wall texting someone he probably shouldn’t be.”

Ken smiled faintly, pressing a gloved hand to the brick as he moved across the rooftop silently.

“You good?” Josh added. “Still moving smooth. Not bleeding. No gunfire yet. Very proud.”

Ken dropped to a crouch, peeking through a broken skylight. “You're clingier after being emotional.”

“Wrong,” Josh quipped. “I’ve always been clingy. You’re just finally noticing.”

Ken shook his head, but didn’t hide the smirk on his lips. “Warehouse is half-empty. Crates in the back. No obvious cargo.

“Keep eyes open for trap doors or false walls. These guys love hiding filth behind plywood and false flooring. There’s an alley exit behind the back stairwell if things go sideways.”

Ken made a soft grunt of agreement and slipped down through the broken glass, landing on silent feet. Josh kept talking him through it, pointing out blind spots, pausing between updates to toss in lines like, “That backroll was illegal, sir,” and, “If you make that jump, I’m buying you a new pair of knees.”

But underneath the banter was something else, a presence. Josh wasn’t just guiding him. He was there. Watching. Caring.

Ken swept the back hallway and located the crate stack Josh warned about. When he pried one open, the sight made his jaw clench: dolls. Hundreds of them. Packed tight. Innocent to most eyes until he spotted the small capsules tucked inside each one.

Drugs. Shipment-ready.

“This is it,” he muttered. “Intel checks out.”

Josh let out a slow exhale. “Copy that. Already flagging the location for a clean-up team. Sending encrypted tip to my contacts. Should get police eyes in twenty.”

Ken didn’t move right away. He just stared at the crates, jaw tense.

“Ken,” Josh said, softer now. “You did good.”

Ken’s hand curled into a fist. “And you didn’t freeze this time,” he murmured.

Josh’s voice dropped a little. “That’s ‘cause I knew you’d come back.”

Ken looked up, toward the broken skylight above. Toward the dark sky. “Always do.”

There was a pause. Then, “Okay but like... is this our thing now? We trade emotionally devastating truths during raids?”

Ken smirked. “You started it.”

“Fair. Now finish up. I’m hungry and you owe me takoyaki.”

---

Two nights later, it rain, again.

The speaker hummed to life just as Ken was toweling off from a late shower.

“Are you sitting down?” Josh asked dramatically. “Because I’m about to rock your world.”

Ken arched his brow. “No.”

“Okay, then lean against a wall or something. So—” Josh cleared his throat. “I, the tech genius and communication demigod you secretly adore, cooked something tonight.”

Ken paused, halfway through tying his towel around his waist. “Cooked?”

“Yes. Like, actual heat. Fire. Ingredients. I made a sinangag. From scratch.”

Ken chuckled. “That’s literally just rice and garlic.”

“AND love! Rude.”

Ken walked into the kitchen, the smell of soap still clinging to him. “You eat at all today?” There was a pause, brief, but telling.

“Not until dinner,” Josh admitted. “I kinda… forgot lunch again.”

Ken opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off slowly. “You do that often?”

“Only on days that end in Y,” Josh tried to joke. But his voice faltered at the end. “Some days are just… heavy, you know? I get stuck in my head. Doesn’t help that the apartment’s too quiet.”

Ken leaned against the counter. Water bottle untouched. “Ever thought about getting a pet?”

“I had a turtle once. He escaped.”

Ken blinked. “…Escaped?”

“Don’t ask. I think he’s in Davao now.”

That got a real laugh out of Ken, soft and warm. But it didn’t erase what Josh had said earlier. Some days are just heavy. Ken didn’t ask why. Didn’t push.

Instead, he said, “You can talk to me, when they get like that.”

Josh was quiet for a beat. Then, “Even when I’m annoying?”

“Especially then,” Ken replied. The line stayed on, no words for a while. Just the faint sound of Josh’s typing in the background. Rain against the glass.

Eventually, Josh spoke again, quieter. “I used to think I’d be alone forever,” he said. “Not in the tragic way. Just… in the ‘I’m too much trouble to be loved properly’ kind of way.”

Ken closed his eyes. “You’re not too much,” he said firmly.

Josh breathed in. And for the first time, Ken heard it—not just the sound of someone hiding pain. But someone trying to believe they don’t have to anymore.

“Thanks,” Josh whispered. “For… being there. Even when I’m not really here.”

Ken leaned his forehead against the cupboard. “You’re here, Josh. Every damn day.”

---

A week later at 10:43 PM, Ken was doing pushups in his living room, the news playing faintly in the background, when the comm crackled on again.

“…and that’s how I almost deleted the mayor’s Netflix account.”

Ken raised a brow. “That wasn’t you.”

Josh gasped. “You wound me. Why would I lie to you? I—”

Then it happened. There was a sound of clatter. Not the usual keyboard clatter. No. Metal. Wood. A chair scraping violently. Followed by a muffled curse. Ken froze mid-pushup. “Josh?”

There was no answer. Just shuffling. Then, the sound of zipping. Something thrown into a bag. Heavy breathing. Panic.

Ken was on his feet. “Josh. Talk to me.”

“I—I need to go. They found me. I don’t know how but—shit—they’re outside, Ken!” His voice cracked. “I think they were watching. I thought I was careful—”

Ken was already moving, grabbing his jacket, keys, and the burner phone that synced with Josh’s signal. “Where are you?” he demanded.

Josh didn’t answer. “Josh.”

“Back alley,” Josh panted. “Exit near 5th and Cordova. I’m—I’m heading out the fire escape now. They’re breaking in, Ken!”

Ken took the stairs two at a time, already in the street, already on the move. “Stay on the line. Don’t you dare go quiet.”

Josh was breathing fast. Running. Ken wove through the streets, heart pounding in his throat. Every second of silence felt like years. Every car engine sounded like a threat.

“They’re chasing me,” Josh gasped. “Black SUV. Two men. I—I don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” Ken growled. “Turn left. There’s a narrow alley near the old bakery. You can lose them there. I’m almost with you.”

Ken could hear the city change, sirens now, horns. Josh weaving through chaos. Then, a sharp grunt. The sound of Josh being tackled. Ken’s lungs stopped working. “Josh!”

Nothing. Then, through the speaker, Josh’s voice, strained, hoarse, but still fighting, “D-don’t touch me—!”

Ken turned the corner and sprinted. Through the dark, he saw it, two men dragging someone toward the SUV. Josh struggled wildly, hoodie torn, bag ripped from his arms.

Ken didn’t hesitate. He launched. Fist met face. Elbow met ribs. In seconds, one man was on the ground, groaning, and the other was trying to crawl back into the SUV. Ken grabbed him by the collar and slammed the door shut, with his head still inside.

Then silence. Josh was on the ground, gasping, trembling.

Ken crouched beside him, gently touching his shoulder. “Hey. Hey. Josh.”

Josh blinked up at him, shocked. Real.

Ken’s voice softened. “It’s me.”

Josh let out a broken breath. “You… You came.”

Ken didn’t answer right away. He pulled off his hoodie and draped it over Josh’s shaking shoulders. “Of course I came,” he said quietly. “You’re not just a voice anymore.”

Josh’s eyes welled. “I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know if—if I’d even make it out.”

Ken looked him in the eye. Fierce. Protective. Like nothing else mattered. “You’re with me now. And I’m not letting them touch you again.”

—

An hour later, when they settled at Ken’s apartment, Josh sat on the edge of Ken’s couch, wrapped in a towel and one of Ken’s oversized hoodies. His hair was still damp from the rain. His hands, finally steady.

Ken came out of the kitchen holding a warm cup of tea, quietly placing it in Josh’s hands.

“You should drink,” he said, voice softer than Josh had ever heard it. “You’re still shaking.”

Josh didn’t argue. He blew on the tea, watching it swirl. “Didn’t think you’d look like this.”

Ken raised a brow. “Like what?”

“…Like a literal action figure someone brought to life.”

Ken gave a tired chuckle. “You talk a lot in person too.”

“I’m nervous,” Josh admitted. “It’s different, now that I can see your face.”

“The last time I saw you, you were bleeding a lot, passed out. Don’t blame me for being weird.” Josh added.

Ken sat across from him, arms resting on his knees. “It’s different for me too.”

Josh looked up. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you,” he said, his voice trembling just a little. “I always figured we’d just stay… voices in each other’s heads.”

“You nearly died tonight,” Ken said, voice low, tight. “I couldn’t risk that again.”

Josh looked at him for a long moment. “…You were scared.”

Ken didn’t deny it. “Yeah. I was.”

That silenced them both.

Josh clutched the mug tighter, then smiled weakly. “You’re different when I’m not just in your ear. You’re warmer.”

Ken looked at him. “You’re the same.”

Josh blinked.

“Still talking too much. Still brave. Still holding yourself together even when the world’s falling apart.”

Josh’s throat worked. “You’re really not gonna let me go now, are you?”

Ken shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve heard your voice in my ear every night. You’ve guided me through dark alleys and dangerous rooftops. You’ve made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. You saved me just as much.”

Josh looked down, blinking fast. “Ken…”

“You’re safe now,” Ken said. “And I’m going to make sure you stay that way.”

Josh couldn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leaned forward, hesitated, then rested his head against Ken’s shoulder.

Ken froze for a breath. Then he tilted his head, just slightly, so it rested against Josh’s.

The city outside kept raining. But inside, everything was quiet. Safe. Real.

---

Day One at Ken’s apartment, 7:12 AM, Ken woke up to the smell of… burned rice. He blinked at the ceiling. Sat up. Listened.

Pots clattered in the kitchen. Someone cursed softly. Then louder.

“Ken?! Where do you keep the rice cooker manual?! This thing just beeped at me like I offended its ancestors!”

Ken got up, quietly padded to the doorway. Josh was barefoot, wearing his hoodie from the night before, too big on him, the sleeves falling past his hands. He looked like a boy who borrowed safety.

He also looked like he was trying very hard not to cry over breakfast.

Ken leaned against the doorframe. “You know you don’t have to cook, right?”

Josh jumped, twisting around. “Oh! I—I thought I’d make something as thanks. Or, like… start paying rent in breakfast?”

Ken crossed his arms. “You can start with not setting the rice on fire.”

Josh made a face, cheeks turning pink. “Noted.”

Day Three, it rained again.

Josh had found the window nook. He curled up there every night, laptop on his knees, blanket around his shoulders, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Soft jazz played in the background. Ken had never even owned jazz until Josh downloaded some "mood music" onto his phone.

Ken pretended to be annoyed. But he didn’t change it back.

That night, he walked into the living room to find Josh asleep, head tilted, screen still glowing. Lines of code danced quietly, tracking digital ghosts.

Ken turned the laptop off, gently. Pulled the blanket higher. Brushed a bit of hair from Josh’s eyes.

Josh stirred but didn’t wake.

“Thanks for staying,” Ken whispered.

Day Five

Josh insisted on joining on doing grocery. He pushed the cart too fast. Spun in aisles. Took forever choosing which ramen to stock up on.

“This one’s spicy,” he said, tossing it into the cart. “Like your left hook.”

Ken raised an eyebrow. “You want to compare noodles to my fists?”

Josh smiled, teasing but soft. “Everything reminds me of you now.”

Ken paused at that. Josh didn’t take it back.

They walked home under a shared umbrella, shoulders brushing.

Day Seven

It started with a movie night. Ken sat at one end. Josh, the other. By the second movie, Josh’s feet were in Ken’s lap, fidgeting.

“You okay?” Ken asked.

Josh nodded. “Sorry. I just… I don’t sleep much.”

Ken gently pressed his hand over Josh’s ankle. “You can here.”

Josh looked at him, surprised. Then smiled. “Yeah. I think I can.”

Day 9 at 10:37 PM, on the couch again.

The credits of some mindless action film rolled in the background. Ken had stopped watching twenty minutes ago. Josh was curled up next to him, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat.

His knees were drawn up to his chest. Eyes glassy. He wasn’t crying. Just quiet.

Ken glanced over, speaking low. “Nightmares again?”

Josh nodded without looking. Ken didn’t press.

Josh let out a soft sigh. “I used to talk to no one when they got bad. Just... narrate things in my head. Like I was in control of something.” He turned his head, finally meeting Ken’s gaze. “Then you came along. And now when it gets loud in here,”—he tapped his temple—“you’re the one I talk to.”

Ken’s jaw tensed. Not out of anger. But because he felt that. “You don’t have to talk to no one anymore,” he said.

Josh’s smile wavered. “I know.”

A beat passed. Josh reached over, hesitated, then gently tugged on Ken’s sleeve. Not needy. Just… grounding.

Ken didn’t move away. Instead, his fingers, rough, calloused, sure, brushed against Josh’s wrist. A simple touch. His thumb rested in the hollow of Josh’s skin like he belonged there.

Josh inhaled slowly. Didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

At night eleven, 2:14 AM, Josh stood awkwardly in the bedroom doorway, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair messy from tossing in the other room.

Ken blinked at him sleepily from his bed. “Bad dream?”

Josh nodded, silent. Ken lifted the blanket beside him.

Josh hesitated. Then padded over, quiet as a thought, and slid in beside him. He faced the wall, tense at first.

Ken didn’t ask questions. Just said, “You’re safe.”

And Josh melted into the mattress, closer than he meant to be. His voice came out soft. “This feels dangerous.”

Ken turned his head slightly, already half-asleep. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think I want to leave.”

Day Thirteen

Ken was washing dishes. Josh stood beside him, drying. Something utterly domestic. Utterly normal.

Josh bumped his shoulder gently. “You ever think we’d end up like this?”

Ken glanced at him. “Like what?”

Josh shrugged, trying to play it off. “You, letting someone in. Me, not running away.”

Ken dried his hands slowly. Then turned, standing still for a moment. He reached up quietly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Josh’s ear. His knuckles brushed Josh’s cheekbone. The touch lingered.

Josh’s lips parted, breath caught.

But Ken only said, “You make the silence easier.”

And Josh smiled like his heart didn’t know what to do.

Day fifteen, night before a mission.

The living room was dim, shadows from the blinds dancing across the floor as the news replayed in the background, talk of missing children, a lead too precise to be coincidence.

Josh stood, arms crossed, backpack slung over one shoulder. Ken stood at the door, fully geared up. All black. All ready.

“I’m coming with you,” Josh said, calm but firm.

Ken didn’t even look at him. “No, you’re not.”

“I can help.”

“You help just fine from here.”

“I’m more than a voice in your earpiece, Ken.”

Ken finally turned, jaw set. “And I’m not risking you in the middle of a war zone.”

Josh’s eyes flashed. “You risk yourself every night!”

“I’ve trained for this—”

“And I’ve survived worse!”

Ken stepped closer, voice low but sharp. “You’ll slow me down. And I’ll be too busy making sure you don’t die to focus on saving those kids.”

Josh looked like he’d been slapped. He stepped back, blinking rapidly. “You think I’m a liability.”

“I think,” Ken said, breath tight, “that if something happens to you, I’ll lose it. And I can’t afford that.”

Silence. Josh looked away, swallowing hard. “You didn’t say that because of the mission.”

Ken didn’t answer.

Josh dropped his bag slowly. “You said that because you care.”

Ken’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah. I do.”

Another pause. Then Josh stepped back further, nodding stiffly. “Fine. Go be a hero.”

Ken flinched like it hurt.

“I’ll stay here,” Josh said, voice cracking, “and be the useless sidekick you don’t have to worry about.”

Three hours later at an abandoned warehouse, on the outskirts of the city, the operation was tense. The intel was right, children locked in cages, men with guns, and barely enough time.

Ken moved like a ghost. Silent, precise, efficient.

But something felt off. He kept hearing Josh’s voice in his head but it wasn’t there. No guidance. No map. Just his own instincts.

He cleared the last room. Freed the kids. Called it in anonymously.

He should’ve felt relief. But all he felt was emptiness.

Ken came back late, it was 3:14 AM on his wristwatch. The door creaked open, slow and heavy. Rain had started again, tapping gently against the windows. The world was still asleep.

Ken stepped inside.

Clothes soaked. Blood on his shoulder. Mud on his boots. He didn’t turn on the lights. He just stood there for a second like walking in had taken everything left in him.

A click.

The floor lamp in the corner flickered on.

Josh stood a few steps away, holding the remote, wrapped in Ken’s blanket, hair messy, eyes red from exhaustion and something like worry that never left. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Ken blinked, half surprised. “You’re still up.”

Josh’s voice came out rough. “You think I was gonna sleep while you were out there?”

Ken didn’t answer. He just let out a shaky breath and closed the door behind him.

Josh took a step forward. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s not deep.” Ken brushed it off.

Josh didn’t. He walked right up to him, no hesitation now. He reached up gently, peeled Ken’s jacket off his shoulder, eyes darting to the torn fabric, the dried blood. His fingers trembled. “You idiot.”

Ken’s voice was barely audible. “I know.”

Josh swallowed hard. “You saved them?”

Ken nodded. “Every last one.”

Josh let out a breath that cracked at the edges. “I’m proud of you.”

Ken didn’t respond. His eyes were on Josh’s face, taking in the circles under his eyes, the way his lip trembled even though he was trying to hold it together.

“You waited,” Ken said softly.

Josh laughed through his nose, half scoff. “Of course I waited.”

Another beat. Then Ken whispered, “Come here.”

Josh didn’t hesitate. He stepped in. Ken wrapped his arms around him, slow and deliberate, like he’d been aching to do it for weeks. Josh buried his face into Ken’s neck, breathing him in, fists clutching the back of his shirt.

They stayed like that for a long time. No words. Just shared warmth. Quiet rain. And the steady beat of Ken’s heart against Josh’s cheek.

“You’re not useless,” Ken murmured, barely above the silence. “You’re the reason I made it back.”

Josh clung tighter. “Took you long enough to say it.”

Ken smiled against his hair. “I’m saying more now. I think I’m learning.”

Josh pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Ken’s voice dropped, low and honest. “I don’t want you to.”

And this time, neither of them looked away.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the blinds, catching on dust and the faded red of a first-aid kit laid open on the table.

Ken sat on a stool by the kitchen counter, shirtless, silent. Not brooding, just… letting Josh fuss over him.

Josh dabbed at the wound on Ken’s side, tongue peeking out between his teeth as he focused. “You know,” he muttered, “for someone who claims to work alone, you bleed an alarming amount.”

Ken smirked. “It’s just surface.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t lose it and charge into that warehouse with a frying pan.”

Ken chuckled. “That’d be a sight.”

Josh carefully placed a gauze patch, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I would’ve saved you. Then yelled at you.”

“I know.”

Josh looked up. “You do?”

Ken met his eyes. “You’re the loudest quiet in my life, Josh. I hear you even when you’re not speaking.”

Josh blinked. His hands dropped to his lap. “That’s… weirdly poetic.”

Ken shrugged. “Blame the blood loss.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Fine. But for the record? I still think I should’ve gone.”

Ken tilted his head, watching him. “I know. And next time… maybe.”

Josh lit up. “Wait, really?”

Ken took the bandage roll from him, brushing his fingers lightly. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Josh leaned in with a grin, eyes sparkling. “I’ll bring a frying pan and backup snacks.”

Ken chuckled, low and fond. “God help me.”

—

Two weeks later at a dockside warehouse, there’s a storm incoming.

Intel had been sketchy. An anonymous tip. Movement at the port. A new batch of trafficked kids. The same syndicate Josh had run from his whole life.

Ken had tried to go alone again but Josh didn’t let him. They had argued. Loud. Messy. Unresolved.

But when the mission time came, Josh was already in the passenger seat, headset on, laptop balanced on his knees.

“I’m coming,” Josh said, buckled in, hands trembling. “Yell at me later.”

Now, gunfire rattled in the distance. Smoke rolled in low and thick. Sirens far off, but not near enough.

Ken moved like a shadow across the upper walkway, one child carried in his arms, another clinging to his back.

He rounded the corner, straight into a man with a knife. Ken twisted, but he wasn’t fast enough. The blade caught his shoulder.

He grunted, swore under his breath, shoved the man off but he staggered.

And then suddenly a clang.

A fire extinguisher slammed into the man’s skull from behind. Josh stood there, panting, wide-eyed, barely balanced on his feet.

“You—” Ken started.

Josh dropped the extinguisher with a heavy clang. “You didn’t answer your comms.”

Ken blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Josh’s voice cracked. “Saving you, apparently!”

Another bang. Shouts down the corridor. Ken hissed. “We need to move—”

But Josh’s hands were already on his arm, helping him upright, pulling the kids toward the fire exit.

They burst out into the stormy night, sirens finally closing in. And for one split second, when they reached safety Ken stopped moving.

His hands were shaking. He didn’t even know why. Josh was checking the kids, patting their heads, whispering reassurances.

Ken looked at him, rain soaking his hair, blood on his hoodie, chest rising and falling too fast.

“You came back for me,” Ken said, barely a whisper.

Josh turned. “You idiot. I never left.”

And Ken stepped in. No hesitation. He grabbed the back of Josh’s neck and kissed him like the world had been waiting for it. Like the storm around them didn’t matter. Like his bruised ribs and bleeding shoulder didn’t matter.

Josh froze then melted into him. Hands on Ken’s chest. Mouth hungry, desperate, rain-slicked. A breath, a gasp, a laugh broken between lips.

When they pulled apart, Josh was blinking through tears. “You kissed me.”

Ken smiled against his forehead. “Told you I’d give you everything.”

Josh sniffed. “Then I want another one.”

Ken kissed him again, slower this time. Softer.

This one wasn’t chaos. It was a promise.

Later that night, back in Ken’s apartment, the rain hadn’t stopped. It tapped gently against the windows, steady and soft.

Josh stood in the kitchen, wearing one of Ken’s old shirts far too big, slipping down one shoulder and a pair of pajama pants he found in the laundry basket. His laptop was open on the counter, screensaver flickering. He stirred instant noodles with the focus of someone pretending their heart hadn’t been rearranged just hours ago.

Behind him, Ken leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes steady. “You’ve been quiet,” Ken said.

Josh didn’t look back. “I’m cooking. You like your noodles with egg, right?”

“I like you more.”

Josh’s hand jerked. He dropped the chopsticks into the pot. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” Josh spun around, waving a ladle dramatically. “You… you kissed me! Twice. In the rain! While bleeding!”

Ken took a step forward. “You kissed me back.”

Josh turned even redder. “Instinct! I was emotionally compromised!”

Ken stepped closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Compromised, huh?”

Josh backed up until he bumped the counter. “Look, don’t think you can just waltz in here with your—your forearms and your stoic savior energy and your stupid deep voice and—”

Ken kissed him again. Quick. Soft. Barely a brush. Josh stood frozen, blinking up at him.

“That was number three,” Ken murmured.

Josh blinked again. “That’s cheating.”

Ken grinned. “No rules were agreed upon.”

Josh tried to push at his chest, still red-faced. “You didn’t even say anything at first!”

“You ramble enough for both of us.”

“I was making a point!”

“I know. I just like how flustered you get when I shut you up.”

Josh gaped. “Ken!”

Ken tilted his head. “Too much?”

Josh’s ears were scarlet. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re terrible at pretending you didn’t want that.”

Josh looked away, muttering, “I was gonna talk about how you left your comms open for four hours again and your laundry’s still not folded.”

Ken leaned in closer, lips brushing Josh’s ear. “I’ll fold them tomorrow.”

Josh inhaled sharply. “Liar,” he whispered.

Ken smiled against his skin. “Maybe. But you’ll still kiss me again.”

Josh said nothing. He didn’t have to. He just leaned forward, slow, deliberate, and kissed Ken back.

That was number four.

And it wouldn’t be the last.

---

Josh had taken over the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, headset around his neck, laptop warm against his thighs. The TV played some anime in the background, mostly ignored. Ken was sprawled beside him on the floor, head tilted back against the couch, eyes closed but listening.

Josh glanced down at him. “You’re not even watching,” he accused.

“I am,” Ken mumbled. “The guy with white hair just kicked the monster through a truck.”

“That was fifteen minutes ago.”

Ken shrugged. “I’m replaying it in my head. It was good choreography.”

Josh smirked, leaning over slightly to nudge his shoulder. “You know, you could sit next to me like a normal person instead of acting like a stoic cat by my feet.”

Ken opened one eye. “I’m comfortable here. It’s warm.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “My presence is warming?”

“Your laptop is.”

Josh laughed, then paused. The smile lingered, but something gentler settled in his chest. After a beat, “Ken?”

“Hm?”

Josh played with the cord of his headset. “Are we… something?”

Ken didn’t open his eyes. But he did smile. “You kissed me four times.”

Josh narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

Ken tilted his head toward him now, meeting his gaze, soft, patient, real.

“You’re in my house,” he said quietly. “You steal my shirts. You yell at me about my comms. You patch me up and then complain about my laundry. You keep me awake at night with anime recaps and useless trivia.”

He reached up, curling his fingers around Josh’s wrist. “And I want you here tomorrow.”

Josh blinked. “Oh.”

Ken sat up slowly, never letting go. “Do you want a label?”

Josh opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I—maybe?”

Ken nodded once. “Okay. Then pick one.”

Josh hesitated, then muttered, “Partner?”

Ken smirked. “Sounds like we run a detective agency.”

Josh made a face. “Then… boyfriend?”

Ken leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against Josh’s. “I’d like that.”

Josh’s heart thudded. “You would?”

Ken kissed the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t.”

Josh couldn’t help the grin that split across his face. “Okay. Boyfriend it is.”

Ken stood slowly and reached down a hand. “C’mon. Let’s make it official.”

Josh raised a brow. “What, you got a form?”

“No.” Ken pulled him up and whispered, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

Josh practically melted. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you’re mine.”

They kissed again, number five.

This one lingered. This one meant something.

—

The TV cast a soft glow across the dark living room. Dinner plates sat half-finished on the coffee table, and the sound of distant thunder rolled outside the windows.

Josh was curled beside Ken on the couch, his head resting on Ken’s shoulder, a hand lazily tracing circles on his chest.

Then…

“—earlier today, authorities confirmed that remnants of the Arguelles Syndicate have resurfaced—”

Josh’s fingers froze.

The anchor’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“…witnesses report unusual activity near the old city docks, and several raids are expected to follow. While officials remain tight-lipped, speculations suggest a revival of the human trafficking operations last active five years ago…”

Ken didn’t move. But he felt it, how Josh stiffened, how his body quietly tried to shrink, as if bracing for something invisible.

Josh sat up just a bit, arms wrapped around himself now.

“…Arguelles…” he echoed under his breath. His voice cracked.

Ken muted the TV.

Josh looked away. “I’m fine.”

Ken turned to him, steady and calm. “You’re not.”

Josh’s laugh was dry. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter, right? You’re the one who goes out there. Not me.”

Silence. Then Ken spoke. Low. Certain. “You think I’d fight this war without you?”

Josh blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… you’ve always worked alone.”

“I did,” Ken nodded. “Until you.”

Josh didn’t answer. Ken reached out and gently tugged Josh’s hands away from where they’d locked tightly over his chest.

“I won’t lie to you. This will get worse. And I’ll keep going. But I won’t keep doing this while you sit on the sidelines scared.” His voice softened. “Not because I expect you to fight for me but because I believe you can fight for yourself.”

Josh’s eyes shone, wet and wide. “Ken…”

“I want you to learn,” Ken said. “To defend yourself. To stand your ground. Not because I doubt I can protect you but because you’re strong, Josh. And I don’t want you to forget that.”

Josh looked down. “You… really think I can?”

Ken cupped his face, lifting it gently. “I’ve seen what you can do behind a screen. You’re clever, quick, relentless. Now I want you to feel that same fire in your fists.”

Josh gave a breathless, almost-shaky laugh. “So what, you’re gonna train me?”

Ken smiled. “Starting tomorrow. You’ve got a right hook hiding in there somewhere.”

Josh smirked, still wiping a tear. “Bet I’ll punch like a marshmallow.”

Ken leaned in. “Then I’ll teach you how to make that marshmallow hit like a damn meteor.”

Josh kissed him before he could say anything else. It was a kiss filled with unspoken gratitude, with fear, with determination.

When they pulled apart, Josh murmured, “Okay. I’ll do it. Teach me.”

Ken nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “We fight together now.”

---

Ken’s living room has been rearranged for training. Furniture had been shoved to the walls, rug rolled up, and a few worn mats laid out. The sun filtered through the curtains, warm and golden. A water bottle stood on the coffee table, untouched.

Josh stood in the middle of the room, arms awkwardly lifted, legs bent at uneven angles, an exaggerated mix of effort and confusion.

Ken circled him like a predator appraising a target. “You call that a stance?” he said dryly.

Josh’s eye twitched. “Yes. It’s standing. With intent.”

Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. “You look like a flamingo with joint problems.”

“Oh, wow. Coming from Mr. Stoic who fights in cargo pants.”

Ken crossed his arms. “Cargo pants have pockets. Useful pockets.”

Josh scoffed. “What do you even keep in there? Spare trauma?”

Ken cracked a rare grin. “You're done flailing, or do you want to try the form again?”

Josh straightened up, exaggerated his movements as he reset into his “stance.” “I’m trying, okay? You didn’t come with a manual. And my hips don’t bend like yours.”

Ken walked up behind him and nudged his foot with his own. “Because your feet are too close. Widen your base.”

Josh adjusted.

“Lower.”

Josh lowered. “If I go any lower, I’ll split in half.”

Ken ignored him. “Now keep your guard up. Higher. No, higher, you’re not shielding your cheek.”

Josh grumbled but obeyed.

Then Ken stepped back and nodded. “Good. Now throw a jab.”

Josh punched the air.

Ken sighed. “That was a love tap.”

Josh glared. “I’m not out here trying to kill air spirits, Ken!”

Ken walked over, gently took Josh’s wrist, and reset the motion. “Turn your body with it. The power comes from your hips, not just your arm.” He let go.

Josh tried again, this time stronger, more balanced.

Ken nodded once, the approval quiet but obvious. “Better.”

Josh brightened. “Really?”

“Still pathetic,” Ken added. “But better.”

Josh lunged forward and smacked Ken with a training pad. “You’re lucky I love you, you emotionally repressed tree trunk.”

Ken caught his wrist. “You love me?”

Josh blinked. Realized. “...I tolerate you. Deeply.”

Ken raised a brow.

Josh looked away, red in the face. “Are we fighting or flirting or… what is this?!”

Ken let go with a smirk. “This is training.”

Josh groaned. “Training sucks.”

“You’ll thank me when you can land a punch.”

Josh grinned suddenly. “Maybe I’ll land it on you.”

Ken tilted his head, pleased. “Try me.”

Josh did. He missed, barely.

But Ken was already catching his hand mid-air, spinning him with practiced ease, and pinning him against the wall with one arm.

Josh was breathless. Ken leaned in close. “Lesson one: don’t let your opponent get this close unless you want them to.”

Josh stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth parted. “...Pretty sure you broke three rules just now.”

Ken smiled against his cheek. “Training’s over for today.”

Josh exhaled, shaky and flushed. “I hate you.”

Ken stepped back, smug. “No you don’t.”

Josh grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him.

He missed. Again.

—

The mats were still laid out.

Ken was supposed to be out for groceries, but he’d turned back halfway, something about forgetting his wallet or maybe he just had a hunch.

The apartment was quiet when he entered… until he heard the thud. He paused at the hallway corner, careful not to make a sound.

There, in the living room, Josh stood alone in the warm light, brows furrowed in concentration. Sweat clung to the back of his shirt, the sleeves rolled up sloppily. A YouTube tutorial blinked from his laptop nearby, but he wasn’t even looking at it anymore.

He exhaled and threw another punch. Stronger this time. More grounded.

Ken watched from the shadows, arms crossed, one corner of his mouth lifting just a little. Josh’s stance was still a bit off. But he was trying. Fiercely. Quietly.

Another jab. A cross. A frustrated grunt. Then Josh muttered to himself, “Okay… hips. Power. Imagine Ken’s dumb smirk. Punch it.”

Ken bit back a laugh.

Josh reset again, swaying slightly, jaw tight with focus.

Ken finally stepped into the room. “You practicing to punch me or kiss me?”

Josh yelped and spun around, tripping over the mat. “Ken—?! What the hell? How long were you standing there?!”

Ken shrugged. “Long enough to hear my smirk’s offensive.”

Josh flushed. “I—I was just—!”

Ken raised an eyebrow. “Trying to impress me?”

Josh looked away, tugging at his shirt. “I was trying to get better. You’re risking everything every time you step out there, and I—” He took a breath. “I don’t want to be the dead weight.”

Ken softened. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, then stood in front of him. “You’re not.”

Josh looked up. “But I—”

“You’re trying,” Ken said simply. “And I see that.”

Josh went quiet, still blushing.

Ken stepped even closer, letting his fingers brush against Josh’s temple to sweep away a damp strand of hair. “Also…”

Josh blinked. “What?”

Ken tilted his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “So. You love me.”

Josh’s eyes widened in horror. “That was days ago!! You weren’t supposed to—!”

“Forget?” Ken leaned in. “Not a chance.”

Josh scrambled for a comeback. “It slipped! In the heat of training! It wasn’t—!”

“Wasn’t what?” Ken asked, voice lower now, calmer.

Josh mumbled, cheeks burning. “It wasn’t… not true.”

Ken’s hand slid down to his jaw, thumb resting under his chin. “Good.”

Josh’s heart slammed in his chest. Ken smiled, softer now, barely a whisper of it.

“Because I love you too.”

Josh stared. The world slowed. Then, “Say it again,” he whispered.

Ken obliged, eyes steady. “I love you.”

Josh lunged forward and kissed him. Messy. Grateful. Desperate.

Ken caught him with ease, held him there, steady and safe.

And when they pulled apart, breathless and laughing, Josh muttered, “Okay… maybe you can keep your dumb smirk.”

Ken nuzzled his nose. “And maybe you’re not a marshmallow after all.”

---

It was time to put Josh’s progress to the test in a high-stakes mission. This time, Ken lets him come not because he’s ready, but because he has to. The situation is urgent, and Josh insists.

The rain pounded outside like a drumline in an abandoned warehouse. Thunder rolled low above the city, and the warehouse stank of rust and gasoline.

Ken’s voice came in through the earpiece:

“We move in fast. Three targets. They're armed. Keep low, stay behind me.”

Josh crouched behind a stack of crates, glancing at the shadows shifting inside the building. His heart beat out of rhythm, fingers trembling just slightly around the compact taser in his hand.

“Copy,” he said, voice quieter than usual. No rambling. Just focus.

It had taken weeks of convincing and a few heated arguments, but Ken had finally agreed if Josh passed his “field test,” he could tag along. Josh trained harder, studied harder. Proved himself.

Tonight, Ken hadn’t told him to come. But Josh had shown up anyway.

Because this time, the kidnapped weren’t just strangers. They were young boys, just like he was, once. Taken by the same damn syndicate.

Ken’s silhouette emerged from the darkness beside him.

“You okay?” he asked lowly, eyes scanning Josh’s face in a rare moment of pause.

Josh nodded. “I’m scared. But I’m here.”

Ken’s hand found his briefly, gave it a squeeze. “I’ll keep them off you. Just do what we planned.”

Josh’s smirk was shaky. “You mean not die?”

Ken almost smiled. “That’s a start.”

Then, there was a crash. The sound of a door being slammed open.

Ken moved. Like a storm, quiet, controlled, dangerous. He disarmed the first guard with brutal precision, flipping the man over his shoulder and knocking him out cold. A second one came at him, Ken ducked, landed a blow to his ribs, then jabbed his side until the man fell limp.

The third pulled a gun. Josh was the only one who saw it in time. “Ken!” he shouted, diving from cover.

The gun fired. Missed.

Josh tackled the shooter’s arm, jabbing the taser straight into his side. The man screamed and dropped like a sack of bricks.

Josh stood there, panting, eyes wide in shock.

Ken turned, blinking. “You… tackled him?”

Josh dropped the taser with a gasp. “I think I broke my whole body.”

Ken grabbed him, checked him quickly for wounds. “You idiot.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ken shook his head but pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. “I told you to stay behind me.”

Josh buried his face in Ken’s chest. “You’re lucky I love you or I’d sue you for emotional damage.”

Ken grunted. “You did good.”

Josh looked up. “Wait, what?”

Ken met his eyes. “You did good, Josh.”

Josh grinned through the adrenaline. “Say it louder.”

“No.”

Josh laughed, breathless.

Behind them, the sound of distant sirens approached, the authorities Ken had tipped off were closing in.

Ken tugged Josh toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s get out before they ask questions.”

Josh followed, hand in Ken’s, smiling like a fool.

—

The city was still soaked, the windows fogged up with mist from the cold rain outside that next morning.

Ken sat on the edge of the couch, shirt off, side bruised and bloodied. He winced as Josh kneeled in front of him with a first-aid kit that looked far too small for the pain in Ken’s body.

“Hold still,” Josh mumbled, gently cleaning the gash along his ribs.

Ken grunted. “You’re heavy-handed.”

“You got shot.”

“It grazed.”

“You still bled, Ken. That’s my favorite hoodie you ruined.”

Ken smirked faintly. “Buy a new one.”

Josh blew out a breath, tapping a cotton pad a little harder this time.

Ken winced again. “Hey.”

“Sorry.” But Josh didn’t look sorry. His brows were pinched, eyes glassy with emotion he refused to let fall. His voice was quieter now. “I just… I saw you go down. I thought—”

He didn’t finish it.

Ken looked down at him. “But I didn’t.”

Josh avoided his gaze. “Yeah, but you could’ve.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“That’s not a comfort.”

Ken didn’t respond at first. Then, softer, “You were there.”

Josh finally looked at him. “You didn’t let me come to fight. But I did.”

“And you saved me.” Ken’s voice dropped, sincere now. “You saved me, Josh.”

Josh’s breath caught. The silence sat heavily between them for a moment.

Then Ken added, a little amused, “You gonna kiss me, or just scold me while pressing alcohol to my organs?”

Josh blinked, the tears immediately replaced by indignation. “You want me to kiss you after all that? You bled on my sleeve!”

Ken leaned a little closer. “Still. You said you love me, remember?”

Josh’s face went pink instantly. “That’s low.”

Ken tilted his head, whispering near his ear now. “Say it again.”

Josh glared at him. “You are literally held together by tape and ego right now.”

Ken gave him a lazy smile. “And still hot.”

Josh shoved him lightly, then sighed. “…I love you, okay?”

Ken reached up and cupped Josh’s cheek gently. “I love you too.”

This time, the kiss was slow. Soft. Tasting of relief and rain and survival.

When they pulled apart, Ken rested his forehead against Josh’s.

“I trust you,” he murmured.

Josh whispered, “Then don’t scare me like that again.”

“No promises.”

Josh gave him a look. “You’re impossible.”

Ken smiled. “But you still love me.”

Josh huffed. “Tragically.”

And they stayed like that for a while, bruised, tired, held together by stitches and love.

---

The only light in the apartment came from Josh’s laptop screen. He was curled up on the couch, knees tucked under him, eyes scanning line after line of old news reports, criminal records, and grainy surveillance stills. His fingers trembled as he clicked through a folder labeled Arguelles Syndicate.

He didn’t hear Ken approach from the hallway, towel draped over his neck after a shower, until Ken’s quiet voice broke through.

“Josh.”

Josh startled, quickly minimizing the window. “I—Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Ken stepped closer, his gaze sharp but unreadable. “You were looking them up.”

Josh hesitated. Then nodded.

Ken sat beside him, the weight of his silence louder than any scolding.

Josh swallowed. “They killed my family. Twenty-four years ago. I was just a kid. We were just eating dinner at home. I don’t even remember what we were celebrating.” He laughed, but it was empty. “One second we were laughing, and the next... they were all gone.”

Ken’s expression shifted, the lines of tension tightening around his eyes.

“I survived because my dad hid me,” Josh whispered, voice shaking. “I hid under a compartment. I heard everything. Gunshots. Screams. I kept my eyes shut like that would make it stop.”

Ken reached out, gently prying Josh’s hands away from his face.

“I never looked them up again after that. Not until recently.” Josh glanced at him. “Until I met you, the guardian.”

Ken’s brows furrowed. “Why now?”

“Because I don’t want to be scared anymore,” Josh said. “And if you’re going to stop them, I want to stop them too.”

Ken didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over and slowly closed the laptop. His voice, when it came, was low and resolute.

“We do this together.”

Josh blinked. “Ken—”

“You’re not going after them alone. Not with that weight. Not again.” His hand gripped Josh’s gently, grounding. “I’ve been fighting for people I didn’t know. This time, I’m fighting for you.”

Josh’s breath hitched, shoulders shaking. “You’ll get hurt.”

“So will you. But I’d rather take that risk than live knowing they’re still out there, haunting you.”

Josh stared at him, eyes glassy. “You mean that?”

Ken gave a small nod. “With everything I’ve got.”

That night, when they finally lay in bed, the storm outside rattling the windows, Ken held Josh tightly. Not possessively but with purpose. Like anchoring him to something real.

He didn’t let go for hours.

And Josh, for the first time in years, finally let himself rest in someone else’s arms… knowing he wouldn’t have to face the ghosts alone.

—

The sun was starting to sink, casting gold across the cracked concrete rooftop. The wind whipped lightly at their shirts. Ken stood with arms crossed, a stern look on his face. In front of him, Josh adjusted his stance, already sweaty, already slightly out of breath.

“You said you wanted this,” Ken said evenly. “Then you follow my lead.”

Josh wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I am following your lead. Your lead just sucks.”

Ken raised an eyebrow. “You’re whining.”

“I’m surviving,” Josh muttered, rolling his eyes. “There’s a difference.”

Ken stepped forward, gently nudging Josh’s arms into the right position. “Elbows tighter. Don’t leave your side open.”

Josh tensed a little. Ken’s hands were rough and warm. “You know, if you wanted to touch me, you could just—”

“Josh.” Ken warned.

“Right. Focus.”

Ken circled him slowly, eyes sharp. “This isn’t about fighting perfectly. It’s about staying alive. They won’t wait for you to be ready.”

Josh nodded, serious now. “I know.”

Ken demonstrated a block, swift, precise. “Do it back.”

Josh tried. It was messy, clumsy, but the instinct was there. Ken stepped closer, adjusting his shoulder again.

“Better,” Ken muttered. “Again.”

By the tenth time, Josh was panting. “I’ve already learned this, Ken. In Marvel Rivals.”

Ken paused. “Did you just compare real-life combat training to a video game?”

Josh grinned. “I mean... the dodge timing’s almost the same.”

Ken sighed, then smirked, just a little. “You’re hopeless.”

Josh gave him a lopsided smile. “You love me anyway.”

Ken didn’t respond at first. Then, softer, “That’s why I’m doing this.”

Josh blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

Ken stepped back. “Again. From the top.”

Josh exhaled and moved into position. And this time, even through the burn in his arms and legs, he kept going.

Because this wasn’t about proving something to Ken. It was about proving to himself that he could fight back.

Josh flopped onto the couch with a groan, arms spread like a starfish. “I think my spine left my body somewhere between the third and fourth round of push-ups.”

Ken walked in from the kitchen holding a small tub of muscle balm and a towel slung around his neck. “That’s called being out of shape.”

Josh cracked one eye open. “That’s called being human. I’ve been behind computers most of my life. Not everyone was trained by a grandpa who probably killed people with spoons.”

Ken snorted and crouched beside him, setting the balm down. “Shirt off.”

Josh raised a brow. “You say that like it’s not an emotional experience.”

“Josh.”

“I’m just saying…” But he gave in, wincing slightly as he peeled off his sweat-dampened shirt. “If I die, tell my hoodie I loved it.”

Ken rolled his eyes and dipped two fingers into the balm. “Sit forward.”

Josh obeyed, and the moment Ken’s hands touched his sore shoulders, he hissed. “That stuff better be magic.”

“It is,” Ken murmured, beginning to rub firm circles into the tense muscles. “Just stop squirming.”

“Easy for you to say,” Josh muttered, but his shoulders gradually relaxed under Ken’s steady pressure. The scent of menthol filled the air, warm and sharp. His eyelids fluttered. “You know... for someone who punched me in training earlier, you have very gentle hands.”

Ken didn’t stop massaging. “Shut up.”

Josh smiled to himself. There was a pause. Then, soft, barely a whisper, “Thank you, Ken.”

Ken’s hands slowed. “For what?”

“For taking me seriously.”

Ken leaned in close, the warmth of his breath brushing against the back of Josh’s ear. “Always.”

Josh turned his head slightly and Ken was already there. Their lips met in a soft, slow kiss that hummed with everything unsaid. Josh’s breath hitched as Ken’s fingers slipped up, cradling the side of his jaw.

Then Ken pulled back with maddening calm. “Sit still.”

Josh blinked. “That’s it?”

Ken didn’t respond, just focused again on his shoulders like the kiss hadn’t happened.

Until, another kiss. This time to Josh’s neck, just below his ear.

Josh flinched. “Hey—”

“Still sore?”

“Yes!”

Ken leaned in again, lips brushing along his jaw. “That’s unfortunate.”

Josh tried not to melt. “You’re evil.”

“I’m efficient,” Ken said, stealing another kiss. “You just make it easy.”

Josh was flushed now, his grin soft and helpless. “You’re not even pretending to be sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Another kiss, this time slower and Josh, caught between laughter and flustered sighs, thought that maybe sore muscles were worth it.

---

The sky was moonless in the abandoned train that night. Shadows stretched long and crooked over the rusting remains of old train cars. Ken crouched behind one of them, eyes narrowed through his visor. In his ear, Josh’s voice whispered low, clipped with tension.

“They’re here. Five confirmed, maybe more hidden in the north end of the yard. Armed, tactical gear. Definitely Arguelles men.”

Ken replied in a near-silent breath, “Extraction or surveillance?”

Josh hesitated. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Try me.”

Josh’s voice dropped an octave, sharp, shaking with something beneath the surface. “One of them is Cortez. He was on the roster from the massacre. He was there that night, Ken.”

A beat of silence. Ken’s jaw locked.

“I’m sending you his face now.”

The file popped into his visor’s feed. Older, bearded, but the eyes matched. Cold. Unfeeling.

Ken stood slowly, fists clenched. “How sure are you?”

Josh’s voice cracked. “One hundred percent.”

Ken didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His body moved with lethal precision, years of training sharpening his limbs into blades.

In the van across the street, Josh stared at the surveillance feeds, his hands cold even as sweat slid down his spine. “Ken… don’t do something reckless.”

“I won’t,” came the calm reply. “But I’m not walking away either.”

Josh gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. “Just don’t kill him. Please. Let’s do this smart. You promised.”

Ken’s voice, low and raw, slipped into the mic. “I remember.”

He dropped two guards in silence, quick, painless takedowns. Non-lethal. Josh guided him through the maze of shipping containers with breathless urgency, pointing out heat signatures and escape routes.

Then came Cortez.

He stood smoking near a container, oblivious. Ken crept close, heart pounding, the weight of Josh’s past pressing into his chest like iron.

“I have him,” Ken whispered.

“Ken, wait—”

But Ken didn’t strike. He stepped into the light.

Cortez turned, surprised. “Who the hell—”

Ken grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the container wall, a knee at his gut, pinning him in place.

“This is for the Santos family.”

Cortez’s eyes widened in confusion before terror set in.

Josh’s voice in the comm was shaky. “You said… not alone.”

Ken didn’t answer right away. Then, through gritted teeth, “That’s right. This is just the beginning.”

He threw Cortez down, stunned, but alive.

“Tell your bosses,” Ken snarled. “The past is catching up.”

And with that, he vanished into the night.

Two hours later at the safehouse, Josh sat on the couch, still in his gear, hands trembling.

Ken knelt in front of him, removing his gloves. “You okay?”

Josh looked up, eyes glassy. “That was him. One of them.”

Ken nodded. “He’s alive. For now.”

Josh exhaled, heavy. “So what now?”

Ken reached up, brushing hair from Josh’s face. “Now we burn it all down. Together.”

---

The old storage room of an underground safehouse reeked of dust and forgotten secrets. Multiple screens flickered on a long table where wires tangled like vines. Walls were lined with corkboards, red string, and printed documents, names, dates, faces. At the center of it all stood Josh, typing with eyes like fire.

Ken leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him.

“This is it?” Ken asked quietly.

Josh nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s more than enough. Financial trails. Black site locations. Even footage from two years ago showing a known Arguelles associate smuggling minors across the coast. They’ve been sloppy. Arrogant.”

Ken stepped closer, glancing over the files. “You’ve traced it all.”

Josh nodded. “Took a while, but… yeah. The shell companies. Offshore accounts. They’ve been funding everything through a fake humanitarian org.”

Ken’s brows furrowed. “And this journalist? You trust him?”

Josh paused, then nodded. “His name’s Paulo Nase. Former crime correspondent. He’s been investigating them quietly too, but he didn’t have enough to go public. With this…” He gestured to the screen. “He’ll have more than enough to set fire to their empire.”

Ken’s eyes didn’t leave Josh. “You sure you want to go this route?”

Josh turned to face him fully. “I don’t want revenge. I want to make sure no other kid loses their family the way I did. We burn them, legally, loudly. Let the world see what they really are.”

Ken was quiet for a moment. Then, “Alright. We set the meeting.”

A week later in an empty chapel, the pews were broken. Light filtered through cracked stained glass. Dust swirled in the beams of the rising sun.

Paulo Nase, wearing a grey trench coat and dark-rimmed glasses, stood near the altar, a weathered satchel in hand. When he turned and saw Josh, he smiled, cautiously.

“Took you long enough.”

Josh approached him with Ken at his side, dressed in plain black. “Sorry. Had to wipe a few syndicate eyes off our trail.”

Ken said nothing. His eyes scanned every shadow in the chapel.

Josh handed him a drive. “It’s all there. Names. Proof. Timelines. Even a few audio files they didn’t know I had.”

Paulo’s hand trembled just slightly as he took it. “You’re sure about this? Once I publish, they’ll know someone talked.”

Josh met her gaze with a clarity he hadn’t had in years. “Let them. We’re not hiding anymore.”

Paulo gave a small nod. “I’ll leak it to international press first. They won’t be able to scrub it fast enough. You’ll want to disappear the moment it goes live.”

Ken stepped forward, his voice cold and calm. “We’ll be ready.”

Paulo tucked the drive into his coat, then looked between them. “You two… are something else. Be careful.” He left without another word.

Josh let out a shaky breath. “It’s happening.”

Ken reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “And we’re not alone this time.”

Josh looked up at him, lips curling into a small smile. “Not anymore.”

---

The world is reeling from the truth, and while chaos brews in cities and newsrooms, Ken and Josh retreat to the mountains, watching it all unfold from above.

The air was cold, sharp with pine and mist. A soft wind rustled through the trees, and the cabin creaked gently under the weight of silence. Inside, a fire crackled quietly, casting warm light on wooden walls and a modest pile of supplies.

Ken stood near the window, watching the clouds roll over the valley. He had a mug in his hand, steam curling upward, untouched. His eyes were focused not on the view but on the small radio beside the windowsill, tuned to a news station.

Josh sat on the floor near the hearth, laptop in his lap, knees tucked to his chest. He looked exhausted but alert, eyes scanning headlines.

“—several high-ranking officials now under investigation after the explosive leak—” “—connections to the Arguelles Syndicate confirmed—” “—nationwide protests demanding arrests—” “—‘The Guardian’ rumored to be behind the data drop, though still unidentified—”

Josh laughed under his breath. “They’re calling it the 'Arguelles Collapse' online. Hashtags everywhere. I think half the country’s finally realizing how deep this thing goes.”

Ken didn’t respond immediately. He took a slow sip from his cup and turned slightly toward Josh. “And you? You okay with how loud it’s gotten?”

Josh looked up, the light of the screen flickering across his tired face. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Ken raised a brow. “Like what?”

Josh shut the laptop slowly. “Bittersweet. Like… I’m glad they’re burning. But it didn’t bring them back.”

A long pause. Then Ken crossed the room and sat beside him, stretching his legs out in front of the fire. “It was never going to fix everything.”

“I know,” Josh whispered. “But part of me thought maybe—”

Ken reached out and tugged him gently against his side. “You didn’t need to fix everything. Just make sure they can’t break anyone else.”

Josh leaned into him, silent. The fire crackled.

Then, softly, Josh grinned. “You’re getting good at this emotional support thing.”

Ken rolled his eyes but smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

They sat like that for a while, silent, grounded, breathing.

Then, Josh nudged him. “When we get out of this… I want a place like this. Quiet. Far. Safe.”

Ken looked down at him. “With Wi-Fi?”

Josh snorted. “With you.”

Ken’s expression softened. “Then we’ll build it.”

Outside, the wind picked up. Inside, two men watched the world they shattered try to rebuild itself and held each other while it did.

---

Three months later, It had been a long, bitter trial.

The media was relentless. Survivors came forward. Names were named. Powerhouses crumbled. Every day brought another headline, another jaw-dropping revelation. But the final verdict was delivered with the weight of decades behind it.

“Guilty on all counts.”

Josh stood at the back of the courtroom, hood up, sunglasses on. He didn’t need to be seen. He just needed to hear it.

His fingers trembled slightly, clutching the edges of a notebook he never opened. The notebook his brother once doodled in, back when the world hadn’t gone dark.

Ken stood behind him, silent as a shadow.

When the gavel slammed down, Josh breathed in deeply, free. Not from pain, but from the ache of unfinished stories. That part was over.

Ken leaned in close. “It’s done.”

Josh didn’t answer at first. But then, with a shaky smile, “Yeah. It really is.”

Somewhere in the city, a local open-air barbeque place, night buzzing with life. Josh and Ken liked to simply celebrate.

Smoke curled into the cool night air as meat sizzled on the tabletop grill in front of them. The place was lively, neon signs flickering overhead, laughter drifting from neighboring tables, the scent of sweet soy and chili in every breath.

Ken sat back with his arms crossed, watching as Josh poked at the marinated pork belly with his chopsticks.

“You’re flipping that too early,” Ken muttered.

Josh turned to him, scandalized. “Too early? It’s sizzling beautifully!”

Ken leaned in, gaze flat. “It’s not even caramelized. You’re losing flavor.”

Josh scoffed. “I like my meat tender, not burnt like your soul.”

Ken smirked, reaching for the tongs. “My soul has texture. Unlike your undercooked meat.”

“Excuse me—” Josh started, but the table next to them burst into soft giggles.

Ken arched an eyebrow, casually turning to find two girls watching them from the next table over. One of them waved a little, whispering something to her friend before giving Josh a thumbs-up.

Josh froze. “Did—Did they just—”

Ken took the opportunity to lean in close, voice low and smooth. “Looks like we’re cute.”

Josh’s ears turned red immediately. “W-We are not! I mean, we’re not not, but I didn’t sign up for public cuteness, Ken!”

Ken chuckled under his breath, smug as ever. “Too late. Your face just sold us out.”

Josh buried his face behind the lettuce wrap he was prepping. “I should’ve stayed behind my computer forever.”

Ken gently tugged the wrap from Josh’s hand and held it up. “Wrong. You should’ve let the meat cook longer.”

“I’m never eating with you again,” Josh grumbled.

But he was smiling. And Ken knew he didn’t mean it.

They ate slower after that. Talking less about missions, more about dreams. About opening a ramen shop someday. About what city had the best sunsets. About how weird it was to just be, out in the open, without masks or code names.

Ken watched Josh argue over dipping sauce ratios with a maniacal passion, and thought, This... this is what we're fighting for.

Not revenge. Not the headlines. But this, burned meat, clashing flavors, blushing hacker, and quiet, safe nights.

Josh flopped onto the couch first, letting out the most dramatic sigh known to man. “Ugh. I smell like smoke and soy sauce.”

Ken followed at a slower pace, setting his keys down, rolling his shoulders. “It smells good.”

“You’re just saying that because you like how it clings to your shirt.”

Ken didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped over to the couch, braced a hand against the backrest, and leaned forward, close enough to catch Josh mid-whine.

Josh blinked up at him. “What?”

“You blushed hard tonight.”

Josh scoffed, turning away. “I did not.”

Ken leaned closer, lips just brushing the shell of his ear. “You did. And you looked cute.”

Josh squeaked, pushing him away with a flailing palm to the chest. “Stop saying that like it’s not a big deal!”

Ken let himself fall onto the other end of the couch, kicking his feet up beside Josh’s. “It’s not a big deal. You’re always cute.”

Josh covered his face with both hands. “You’re evil.”

Ken grinned lazily. “Only in the kitchen.”

There was a pause. Then Josh peeked between his fingers. “You overcooked the last batch.”

Ken tilted his head. “Say that again, and I’ll kiss you until you can’t talk.”

Josh flushed down to his neck. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”

Ken chuckled. “Then maybe I’ll do it because you blushed again.”

Josh groaned, face buried in a pillow now. “I hate you.”

Ken leaned over, planted a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Liar.”

Josh, muffled, “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Another long, warm silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city and Josh muttering threats he never meant.

And Ken just smiled, watching the love of his life sulk with pink ears and a pounding heart.

Peace didn’t come often. But nights like this made the fight worth every bruise.

Morning light filters through sheer curtains, the world is still, and so are they.

Josh woke first, barely.

Eyes half-closed, he blinked against the soft golden light filling the room. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds and the distant buzz of traffic far below.

Ken’s arm was heavy across his waist, warm and solid. His breath slow and even, ghosting over Josh’s neck.

Josh didn’t move. He just lay there, curled into the pillow, one of Ken’s legs tangled with his own. His phone was somewhere across the room. His laptop, closed. His mind, uncharacteristically silent.

He liked mornings like this.

No shadows. No news. Just this, a warm bed, his heartbeat calm, and Ken’s chest rising and falling behind him.

Josh whispered, “You drooled on the pillow again.”

Ken didn’t answer.

Josh turned his head slightly, glancing at him. “You’re not asleep.”

A low grunt. Then, groggily, “You’re warm.”

Josh smiled. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” Ken’s voice was thick with sleep, but his arms tightened a little. His nose nudged into Josh’s shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to bare skin.

“Stop it,” Josh muttered, cheeks heating up. “You’re gonna make me think you like me or something.”

Ken’s lips curved against his shoulder. “I love you.”

Josh froze. He heard the words but it took a second for them to settle. Then he felt Ken’s breath, soft and steady against him.

“Again?” Josh asked, voice small.

Ken lifted his head, just enough to brush their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time. “Even when you hog the blankets. Even when you talk over my fight plans. Even when you burn rice and call it 'experimental.'”

Josh smiled, eyes glassy. “That was one time.”

Ken kissed the tip of his nose. “It was last week.”

Josh wriggled in protest. “Shut up.”

Ken chuckled low in his throat. “Make me.”

Josh leaned in and kissed him, slow and sleepy and full of everything he never thought he’d have again.

They stayed there a while, wrapped in each other, far away from revenge and syndicates and missions. Just a hacker and a hero, in love, beneath a soft morning sun.

And for a few perfect hours, the world could wait.

---

A quiet weekend afternoon, sunlight through the balcony door, tools scattered on the floor

The shelf was leaning at an offensive angle.

Ken stared at it from across the room, arms crossed, jaw set like he was planning an interrogation. His hair was tied back, sleeves rolled up, and a toolbox open by his side.

Josh sat on the couch, legs folded underneath him, munching on dried mangoes.

“So,” Josh said between chews. “You’re hot when you’re frustrated.”

Ken glanced over with a sigh. “You’re distracting.”

Josh grinned, eyes sparkling. “It’s one of my many talents.”

Ken rolled his eyes and turned back to the shelf, crouching low as he aligned the leveler.

Josh watched a moment longer, then suddenly jumped to his feet. “I wanna help!”

Ken froze. “…No.”

“Yes!”

“No, Josh.”

“Ken.”

Ken slowly turned to him. “You’re clumsy.”

Josh puffed out his chest dramatically. “I am a tech genius. I’ve built devices from spare wires and coffee stirrers. I think I can handle a wall shelf.”

“Last week you tripped over a beanbag.”

Josh was already kneeling beside him, grabbing a screwdriver. “That was strategically dodging air. Big difference.”

Ken groaned. “Just don’t touch—”

Too late. Josh had unscrewed the bottom brace, thinking it was the top one.

There was a creak. A long, ominous creak.

“Josh.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t move.”

“I feel like this is one of those situations where I definitely should.”

Ken lunged just in time, yanking Josh back by the hoodie as the shelf groaned and collapsed to the side with a dramatic thunk, sending the leveler skidding under the table and a pile of screws scattering across the floor like marbles.

Josh blinked. Then looked up at Ken, still being held in his arms. “…So I loosened the wrong thing, huh.”

Ken didn’t answer right away. Just buried his face into Josh’s neck and muttered, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Josh smiled, sheepish. “That’s fair.”

“Never touching a tool again,” Ken murmured.

Josh looked up with his best puppy eyes. “What if I want to build a life with you?”

Ken stared at him for a full five seconds. Then groaned again. “You and the shelf are a threat to structural integrity.”

Josh grinned wider, wrapping his arms around Ken’s middle. “But you’ll still keep me?”

Ken sighed, lips brushing Josh’s forehead. “Tighten the wrong screw one more time and I’m bolting you to the couch.”

Josh smirked. “Kinky.”

Ken shoved a hand in his face. “We’re done here.”

They laughed, tangled on the floor between loose bolts and broken plans, but somehow, everything felt exactly where it should be.

A few hours later, sun lower now, warm golden glow across their messy living room.

The broken shelf was now neatly propped against the wall, the toolbox reopened, and the air… a little calmer.

Josh stood awkwardly beside it, holding the instruction manual upside-down.

Ken sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting the screws with a practiced hand. He hadn’t said much since the earlier shelf incident, but the quiet wasn’t cold, it was amused. Soft.

Josh cleared his throat. “I, uh… read the manual. Mostly.”

Ken glanced up. “Mostly?”

Josh turned the manual right-side up. “I got distracted by the little cartoon man in the corner. He looks like you. Grumpy. Intimidating. Hot.”

Ken huffed out a short laugh and patted the space beside him.

Josh sat down. “I want to help. Properly this time.”

Ken didn’t tease him. He just handed him a screwdriver.

“You’re holding it wrong,” he said gently.

Josh frowned, adjusting. “Okay… this?”

“Better.”

Ken reached out, his fingers brushing Josh’s as he guided his grip, their hands briefly overlapping.

Josh’s heart stuttered. He swallowed and muttered, “You’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

Josh looked up at him. “Making something feel like it’s going to stand. Like it’ll last.”

Ken paused. Then said softly, “That’s the goal.”

They worked in comfortable silence after that. Josh asked questions, earnest, if a little clumsy. Ken answered them with short, thoughtful replies. He let Josh align the metal braces, even though it took twice as long. Let him drive the last screw, even if it was a little crooked.

When the shelf finally stood straight, firm, level, surviving, Josh beamed.

Ken stepped back, arms crossed, pretending not to smile. “Still clumsy.”

“But capable,” Josh grinned.

Ken looked at him for a moment, then reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Josh’s ear. “You did good.”

Josh's grin faded into something softer. “Thanks for letting me try again.”

Ken tilted his head, his voice quieter. “You always get to try again. Just... not alone.”

Josh reached for him, fingers hooking at Ken’s waistband, pulling him closer, pressing their foreheads together.

“Next time,” Josh whispered, “we’re assembling a coffee table.”

Ken kissed him slowly. “Only if you read the manual first.”

Josh smiled against his mouth. “Deal.”

—

Sunlight poured through the window. Josh sat on the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, watching Ken tie his boots for the next mission.

“You’ll be safe?” Josh asked, voice quieter than usual.

Ken looked up. “Always. You watching me?”

Josh smiled. “Always.”

Ken stood, kissed his forehead, and headed to the door. Before he left, he glanced back with a smirk. “I love you, noisy ghost.”

Josh grinned, eyes warm. “I love you too, grumpy guardian.”

The door clicked shut. Josh turned back to his screens.

And the world kept turning. Because the world keeps needing saving.

The city buzzed below, unaware of the figure crouched above.

The Guardian moved like smoke, quiet, precise. Another human trafficking ring dismantled, another kid safe. His name was whispered again on the streets, written in graffiti, printed on protest signs.

But the world still didn’t know who he was.

He pressed the comm in his ear.

“Alright, muscleman. Exit left, crawlspace behind the pipe. You’re good.”

Ken rolled his eyes. “I can see it, Josh.”

“I know. But I like talking to you while you’re sweaty and doing cool things. Also, your left glute flexed a little extra back there, anyway, the cameras are on loop for five more minutes.”

Ken smirked as he dropped down into the alley. “You ever going to be quiet?”

“You’d miss me if I was.”

“Maybe,” Ken said, slipping into the shadows. “Maybe not.”

“Rude. So rude. I save your life with one button and this is the thanks I get—”

Ken chuckled quietly, his hand brushing the comm affectionately as Josh rambled in his ear. Same voice. Same spark. Same ghost haunting his silence.

They’re moving with the world. Josh still didn’t show his face to the world, but he was always there, in Ken’s comms, in his plans, in every careful thread of justice they wove together.

Together, but apart.

A guardian in motion. A ghost in the wires.

And somewhere in between all the chaos, they found a strange kind of peace.

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