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“What did you forget this time?”
Booster smiles, easy, carefree. He’s good at it. Thank you, sponsored billboards.
“I think I left my wallet?”
Ted huffs something like a laugh. He leans against the doorway. It’s not even a little bit cool; Booster can tell he’s trying.
“Since when do you carry a wallet?” His eyes wander. “Where would you even put it?”
He lets his smile tilt into a smirk. Ted rolls his eyes on cue.
“Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.”
Booster laughs. It comes out just fine. He’s practiced. “Can I come in or not?”
“It’s not here,” he says after a cursory couch search. “Guess you’ll have to give me a new card.”
“I’m not made of money,” Ted calls out from the kitchen.
Booster lets his eyes wander through worn fabric and messy tabletops. He breathes in the smell of old wood. Here’s the most unfair, most selfish thing he’s ever done, but the house didn’t exactly get rebuilt after—
He runs his fingers through old cloth and tries to replace grief with joy, closes his eyes to find Beatriz’s downturned mouth. “I thought you were finally getting your act together after Ted.”
He has to swear up and down every time that he won’t do anything too stupid (again), but Rip isn’t heartless. Sometimes Booster thinks he cares more than anyone else. He can picture the ad: timestream guardian, no thanks ever received, must be selfless to apply.
It’s the anniversary that gets to him. He takes the beer Ted offers, leans back against the couch to show him how it’s done.
Booster looks. Ted has crow’s feet. From the stress or the laughter? Both?
“You let Sue down. You let Ted down. You call yourself a hero?” Ralph shouts.
Michael swallows.
“Want to go on a run?”
Comfortable, Ted eyes him. “At this hour?”
“It’s never too late for cardio!” Booster says, grinning. “You’re going to need it if you want to keep spry.”
Ted snorts. To his credit, he stands, stretches out his lumbar. “Yeah, I get it. You’re a superstar.”
The darkened streets of Metropolis. His own face staring back at him, the words coming easy and true, all those punches he meant to throw. How easy it was to feel disgusted. You’re a billboard! You turn my stomach!
“You got it,” he says, standing too. “Let’s go, Blue.”
They keep a brisk pace. He tries not to show off too much. Ted doesn’t know he’s got years of experience on the Booster he saw five hours ago. The wind, chill, brings Dan’s voice with it: “You learned from your mistakes.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Earth to Booster,” Ted says. He’s caught up without Michael realizing, bumps their shoulder together. “Hey. Where did you go?”
You’re the greatest hero the world will never know, he doesn’t say. Not me.
“You’re looking at me weird,” he says instead, grinning. “What? Too pretty?”
Ted laughs, full-bellied. Yes, the wrinkles come from laughter.
“I’m serious, Booster,” Ted says after a while. The streetlights cast all of him in stark, bright colors, vaguely angelic in a way he refuses to acknowledge. “What’s going on?”
Sometimes, Booster thinks of kissing him, and wouldn’t that be another unfair action to add to his list? Three days from now, the version of him that existed before all this, the one who knew pain but nothing like this, will come looking for drinks. He’d have no clue, and Ted would be… Well, not heartbroken. Something different. Angry, probably.
Behind Ted, a shadow, a nurse’s stern, regretful eyes on him. “He said to tell you that whatever happens, it’s not your fault. And…”
Don’t change anything. Don’t change anything. Don’t.
Booster breathes and the image turns: Guy, younger and staring at a phone, buying him a drink. There’s no way honesty would hurt, right?
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you know?”
Ted goes pink like he’s had two more beers. His smile goes funny. Offguard and embarrassed, he punches out, grazing Booster’s elbow, “What’s wrong with you?”
Something prickles. “I mean it!”
“I know.” Ted shakes his head. “Thanks, Michael.”
He… He says it like he knows.