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On occasion, when team Akuta returns from particularly grueling missions, Riyo will waltz into the medical ward with the scent of dirt and rust clinging to her skin, her clothes, in between the knots in her hair, just to place a single silver coin into Amo's palm. She'll nod once before turning around and disappearing down the bustling corridor, a silent wisp in a sea of noise.
Today is one such day. Riyo has already come and gone, depositing her coin as though she's paying a tax that only applies to her.
On her way out, Amo took note of the cut on her cheek, so Riyo sat patiently while she disinfected and bandaged her up. Under normal circumstances, Riyo never lets anyone touch her unless it's absolutely necessary, but ever since Amo joined the medical team, she's been making frequent trips for the smallest of ailments. It's nice, the feeling of being needed, even if it's just for something small, or something fake.
Though, underneath it all, she knows that Riyo’s letting Amo fuss over her to spare her feelings, to make her feel like she’s a real, bona fide member of the team, but everyone knows the truth: Amo can’t do much, not in the way that everyone else can. It gets frustrating sometimes, but that’s only because of her own lack of skills. She tries not to confuse her anger at her own inadequacies with the Cleaners’ genuine attempts to make her feel included, though it gets hard at times.
When she's alone once more, Amo rolls the coin around between her fingers and holds it up to the light. It's chipped around the edges and dulled with tarnish, but she's always been transfixed by the profile of a refined woman with a strong jawline and long nose etched into the metal, her head adorned with a king's crown. Rudo says they're ordinary coins from the Sphere, hardly worth a stick of gum down here, but Amo tucks them away in a locked box under her bed nonetheless.
She has around twenty or so at this point, a sum that's apparently worth a small stuffed animal, but to Amo, they're invaluable. Coins on the Ground are made of copper, their numerical value branded into the metal with a layer of practicality that can only exist in a place where opulence could never afford to thrive. It feels wrong to see something as valuable as silver attached to the worth of commonplace scraps. In all honesty, it's not unlike how she feels about the woman who gifts them to her as well.
Riyo is a rarity among the Cleaners, a precious gem that never lost its hard edges and pointy ends when it was fitted to stand alongside the others. Just like how silver doesn't belong in a box under Amo's bed, Riyo is built for greater things than what she concerns herself with. Riyo is - ah, what's that word Zanka taught her? - a prodigy. A natural born talent. Special.
“You shouldn't take anything Zanka says too seriously, you know,” Riyo says one night after crawling in through Amo's window. They're laid out on the bed, clothes discarded and legs folded around one another, the night air perfuming the room with warm gusts of fried food and liquor from the nearby bar. Amo's head fits perfectly in the crook of Riyo's head in the way a glass stand can hold up a diamond. “He's so full of self-deprecating shit more often than not.”
“He seems pretty wise to Amo.”
“HA!” The uneven rise and fall of Riyo's chest disturbs the perfect cocoon she was nestled in. “Sorry, sorry, it's just that I've never heard him called anything short of annoying before.” She kisses Amo's hairline in between fits of giggles and Amo can't help but pout.
“Is he wrong, though? You are a natural talent.”
She can feel Riyo’s jaw shift above her, though her breath is as even as her heart. “Talented in what?”
“In being a Cleaner! Killing trash beasts! Amo has a part of the Watchman series, but still can’t do any of that.” She buries herself into Riyo’s shoulder with each word, the shame of admitting her own ineptitude to the person she admires most heavier than she gave it credit for. “You’re a diamond, but Amo’s just glass. And that can never, ever change. Zanka’s not wrong, there are differences between us. Big ones.”
“Who cares if we're different?”
“I do!”
The silence between them is as tarnished as the coins tucked away under the bed, Riyo's breathing caught entirely in her lungs in the wake of Amo’s shout.
Immediately, Amo feels stupid for bringing it up and even more so for harping on it. It isn't Riyo's fault that she's special, and it's especially not her fault that Amo's not. But lying there next to her, skin on skin, it's hard not to compare herself to the one person she can never reach. How can they be so close to each other physically and yet so far apart in the ways that matter?
Amo bites down on her lip and starts to move off of Riyo, an apology readying itself on the tip of her tongue.
“I think glass is beautiful, though, don’t you?” Riyo pulls Amo back in, her arms warm and stable around her small frame. “It sparkles when the light hits it and you can stain it any color you want without it losing its value. You can’t do that to a diamond. Once you take it out of its intended context, or change it just a little, it loses everything that makes it special.”
Amo can feel Riyo's steady heart beneath her cheek, a rhythm so soothing that she almost gives into her pretty words. The noise out in the hallway picks up, groups of Cleaners either returning home or going out for the night, depending on their morning schedule. The muffled stomping of feet and booming laughter makes Amo feel claustrophobic, unused to living side-by-side with anyone, much less an entire team of people. Riyo kisses the top of her head, a reminder that this secluded corner of the world is the only place that matters.
“Besides,” she continues, running a hand through Amo's hair. “Who cares if glass is more common? It's that way because people need it more. You can't go into a single home without finding several pieces of glass that serve necessary functions a diamond could never begin to achieve. We need glass so much that we have to melt sand down under insane temperatures just to mass produce it.” Another kiss to Amo's face, another stroke through her hair. “Something that others deem as one of a kind is only so because people don't need anymore of it. You don't need anyone to use scissors with their feet, but we all need someone to tend to our wounds when we're hurt. That's what's truly special: learning how to help others even when it's hard.”
A small smile finds its way onto Amo's lips. She still feels silly, but it's impossible to be angry with anyone, much less herself, when Riyo is holding her like they're two parts of the same body, no one knowing where one ends and the other begins.
They don't speak of it again after that, an awkward weight dangling between them. But the next time Riyo returns from a mission in a polluted zone, she brings Amo treasures upon treasures made entirely of glass.