Work Text:
Being a hero is fun, of course.
Attention mixed with admiration finds you everywhere: kids form in lines to get your handshake, and reporters circle around you, their earnest questions muffled by the clicking of shutters. People give you the way, their hands on your shoulders – patting, stroking – while you part the crowd and swim in your own direction, smiling to every beaming face, thanking every kind stranger. You feel gratitude that radiates from them, you feel gratitude arising in your own heart, and you finally feel appreciated.
Being a hero is fun, and rewarding, too.
Yang Cheng cherishes every little thing that his fans – kids, mostly, but still! – gave him, likes every post that features him, replies, thanks, smiles and doesn’t ever turn down anyone who asks for a picture.
Being a hero is fun, rewarding, but also – serious.
Because the rising number on his wrist isn’t just a measure of his power – these are lives. Lives of all the humans who wish to be protected, safe and undisturbed by the sudden threat. These are people who willingly put their trust in you, those who hope that in the moment of need it will be you who saves them and everything they love. Yang Cheng would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little, tiny bit scared of such a huge responsibility weighing on his shoulders. But as long as he’s needed – he’s willing to pay the price.
And the price is, in fact, quite the ordinary one.
It seems that most evildoers either have nightshifts at their evil jobs, or their crimes fall to the category of “unusual hobbies”, and they can only enjoy it under the moonlight, after a whole day of studying, working, and being the exemplary citizens of society, because Yang Cheng just can’t find another good reason for them to do it at night.
And no, he’s not complaining – it’s E-Soul’s duty and responsibility to punish evil and do good. But really, let’s try to make it on weekdays, preferably from 6 to 10pm (can be discussed), because otherwise Yang Cheng might simply fall asleep in the middle of a fight. And before you say it – yes, the power of electricity helps him feel energized for much longer than ordinary humans do, but he’s not that popular, so he’s not that almighty.
Long story short, Yang Cheng hasn’t slept well since Monday, and it’s currently… well, definitely not Wednesday, because on Wednesday Xia Qing wore her hair in a ponytail – a breathtaking sight – and it was the day before yesterday, if he’s not mistaken.
So it might be Friday today - time for a weekly checkup of his costume. Gathering the remains of his energy and will to live, he inhales deeply and autopilots himself to the classroom.
Surprisingly, he's not wrong with the date – Shang Chao really is there. He lifts his gaze from the phone and greets Yang Cheng with a familiar smile, inviting and warm. Behind him, the setting sun started to paint the sky with rich golden, sweet pink and thoughtful purple, caressing classroom walls and desks with its invisible brush. It is near summer, and windows are open – so a light breeze comes into the auditorium, plays with Shang Chao’s hair and flips through pages of someone's forgotten notebook. The soft, soothing rustling of the trees in the courtyard adds to the tranquility of the moment, and Yang Cheng fights the urge to lean on the doorframe and close his eyes just for a second, just to memorise this picture. He feels safe and weightless, he feels how a smile touches his lips – lightly, gently.
– You look tired, – Shang Chao says, his tone delicate and considerate.
Yang Cheng sits in front of him and notices a hint of concern in Shang Chao’s eyes; though, maybe, it’s just light and shade here, so he simply shakes his head – dizziness sways him a little – and smiles reassuringly:
– Nothing serious, – Yang Cheng replies, but his friend’s eyes narrow in doubt, so he adds, trying to sound as cheerful as he could: – Just a bit sleepy.
That’s not a lie, that’s just a minor understatement of his condition. Yet Yang Cheng still hears a small chuckle:
– A “bit” sleepy? You look like a natural sleepwalker, Yang Cheng. No offense, – Shang Chao raises his hand in the apologising gesture, then starts to rummage in his backpack, looking for the instruments needed for the gauntlet’s “checkup”.
Yang Cheng waves his hand in the same manner and pulls up the left sleeve of his jacket, ready to take off the most vital part of his costume.
– Oh, don’t take it off, – Shang Chao stops him suddenly. When met with Yang Cheng's sleepy questioning gaze, he explains – casually yet confidently, as always: – It’s easier for me to work with the system board while you wear it.
Yang Cheng can swear that he saw a glimpse of mischief in Shang Chao’s eyes, but yet again, he blames his tiredness and all the changing colours of the sunset for seeing something that probably isn’t even there. So he doesn’t protest at all, and lays his arm on the table palm down, slightly leaning forward. His shoulders relax, his posture loses the look befitting of a hero – he becomes just a sleepy, hardworking student, ready to see all the dreams he missed in these few days. Shang Chao gives him a cheerful smile and dives into the work.
Yang Cheng’s mind starts to wonder. Does E-Soul have his own tech genius, someone like Shang Chao? No, probably not. His costume is a part of his body, and his body is a part of his costume, and no one knows you better than you know yourself, so he probably does all the upgrades himself. Or is there a whole crew that works on the improvements of his ammunition daily, hourly even? If that’s true, then they definitely get paid. And Shang Chao doesn’t. Not that he is in need of money – Yang Cheng suddenly feels ashamed for thinking that – but he, too, is working tirelessly for their shared goal, and he, too, wants to feel appreciated. But how can Yang Cheng pay him? He doesn’t really know anything about him. Yang Cheng knows that Shang Chao likes Lucky Cyan and E-Soul, prefers original boba tea at his uncle’s café over all the other tastes, enjoys group projects with other students, fancies salty food and sympathises with people with strong will and kind hearts. Yellow is his favourite colour because it reminds him of the sun, and his favourite person is Xia Qing. Xia Qing… A sudden clear thought runs through Yang Cheng’s head – where is she?
Just as he is about to ask, previously reminding himself to sound as casual as possible, he hears Shang Chao’s distant, emotionless voice, the one people use when they are engrossed with something deeply and wish to keep their minds on track:
– By the way… – a pause, accompanied by the clicking of metal. – Xia Qing won’t be able to keep us company today…
So she crossed his mind too, it seems. Is he upset about her absence? Trying to put out the flicker of a well-known feeling of jealousy, Yang Cheng asks:
– Why?
– She’s… – another short pause, the same detached tone. – She’s helping the other class representatives with organising university fair, – Shang Chao speaks in his normal pace, which signalizes that he’s done: and after a second, a loud metal click confirms it. – Can you turn your hand over?
Yang Cheng obeys silently, placing his hand palm up. An event? He didn’t even know. Before he became E-Soul he never visited it because of his performances; now he probably won’t visit it because of his real hero duties.
– I thought you enjoy organizing such events too? – words escape Yang Cheng's mouth before he could even think about it and savor them on the tongue. Now it’s going to get awkward with all of the “Yes, and?” and his silly attempts to explain himself. It seems that this belief of his, belief that no one really enjoys his company and would rather carry boxes and chairs than spend time with him is still there, buried alive deep down in his soul. Yang Cheng mentally prepares himself.
– Yes, I do, but they don’t need me here anyway. Besides, we’ve already booked the auditorium for today, right? I can’t just let you down like that.
– Right, – Yang Cheng says, his voice no louder than a whisper.
Shang Chao is all like that: reliable, easygoing, nice. Of course he keeps his word, of course if there was a need, he would plan his day in a way that would make it possible to help both of his friends. He’s just like that, he’s perfect. But – and it strikes Yang Cheng only now – Shang Chao isn’t a hero; he’s a civilian, and one of many who believes in the new E-Soul. He has his own number on his wrist, but he's also a part of Yang Cheng’s trust value. He’s perfect, yes, yet he’s still…defenseless, vulnerable. Sudden unease rises in the heart, but Yang Cheng quickly brushes it away – he will protect him, protect everyone he… yeah.
Yang Cheng feels how he is being examined, so raises his head, and, just as he thought, their eyes meet. In the golden sunlight of this May evening, Shang Chao’s brown eyes look like amber, like honey, like finely brewed black tea. He looks at Yang Cheng from under his eyebrows with a small, gentle smile and a spark of curiosity. If Yang Cheng wasn’t so sleep deprived, he'd probably try to elaborate on what he really meant by saying what he said, but he simply lets the words settle in between them, and – it’s his imagination, isn’t it? – he sees Shang Chao’s smile widen a little. The latter lowers his eyes, his attention comes back fully to the gauntlet. Shang Chao places his palm on Yang Cheng’s, his gestures graceful and effortless, and Yang Cheng feels a familiar warmth of his friend’s hand. Come to think of it, only fabric separates them from skin to skin, human to human touch. Shang Chao presses on his hand lightly, seemingly absorbed in his work, while the wind plays with the strands of his hair. “He confessed his feelings to me some time ago”, remembers Yang Cheng, and a dull ache grows in his chest. It’s not new and it doesn’t hurt, but it makes him look away and exhale tiredly. Just for a moment Shang Chao’s fingers squeeze his hand more tightly.
Colours changed, and the sun moved to the right, so now the auditorium is painted with shining golden. Specks of dust dance in the rays, and Yang Cheng finds it mesmerizing, almost magical. He hears an indistinct chatter in the corridor, it moves slowly from left to the right, young voices become louder by every step their owners take, and when students pass the class door, he still cannot make out any of the words. Then it becomes quiet again.
A sudden wave of sleepiness hits Yang Cheng, not the first one today, and again his eyelids become heavier and his body lighter. There’s nothing to worry about: he’ll just sit with his eyes closed for a while, just for five minutes; just until the clicking of metal stops and Shang Chao says proudly: “Well, try it now!”. Just until the sun sets, until they turn on the lights and the wind becomes a little cooler, carrying the scent of a starting May night.
Yang Cheng feels how his head meets something soft, warm and plushy. The scent of a familiar perfume – expensive, fougere – envelops him, and, opening his eyes for a second, he sees a well-known yellow colour and a fine machine knitting.
The lights are on, it seems, and the wind is cooler, but he notices the weight and the warmth of a hand on his own, hears a light, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping person somewhere near him, and closes his eyes again – just until someone knocks on the door, just until one of their phones rings, just until Yang Cheng remembers this feeling of easiness and comfort enough to last up to next Friday.
And Friday after that, and after that, too…