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Liron rolled out of bed and turned his face away from the ceiling lights. One side of the room focused faster than the other, the brightness biting harder than it should. He’d forgotten to turn them off before crashing. Another day of job hunting, which ended with yet another failure. It was courtesy of his criminal record. No other mafia would take him. His bloodline wasn’t strong enough—even with a brother holding rank in another town’s ring.
Or maybe they wouldn’t take him because he’d taken refuge at the base of the Goldwind Pirates.
It hadn’t been easy to even get to the mafia base he stayed at. It wasn’t that he couldn’t infiltrate it. He just had to beg, whine, and plead until the man guarding the entrance finally sighed in frustration. The next thing Liron knew, he’d been dragged inside, tossed into Gale’s office like prey thrown into a predator’s cage.
Still, it worked. Now Liron stayed in the dorms, allowed to roam freely through areas that didn’t require a keycard.
Liron groaned at the lights, his vision skewed. His left eye saw colour; his right was a world of grey. He sighed and pushed himself out of bed.
He moved through the room the way he always did — counting steps without thinking, brushing the doorframe with his knuckles to anchor himself. In the bathroom, he peeled the cloth off the mirror without looking too closely and reached for the box by memory alone. His fingers stalled when they hit the bottom; there was only one patch left. He covered his right eye and stood there, breathing, until the pressure behind his brow eased and the room stopped fighting itself. And, just his luck, there was only one left. He placed the patch over his right eye and waited as the strain of forcing two visions together eased, his colour vision no longer distorted by the grey now buried beneath it.
“I need to get more patches…” Liron muttered before going on with his day.
He stood at the base’s exit, rummaging through his backpack.
“Oi, where are you headed, Trouble?”
Liron turned, ever so slightly, just enough so his left side was facing where the voice came from, at the nickname, one he hadn’t heard much since before jail. A man stood there, with dark circles under his eyes, his skin marked by scars from stitches and medical staples. His eyes were mismatched, heterochromia made more evident by the way one drooped slightly. Liron’s nose wrinkled; the drooping eye was from a corneal transplant. Not the kind that would ever fix his own black-and-white-filtered vision.
“Hey, Rosco,” Liron muttered.
“Where are you heading?” Rosco asked again.
“Job hunting.”
Rosco scratched his head. “How long’ve you been here?”
“Three… or so months.”
Rosco exhaled. “Been here rent-free for three months. You don’t need a job. Hell, ask Gale. The boss could give you something.” He jerked his head toward Gale’s office, then visibly shuddered. “Though he’s got my brother with him right now. Probably not a good time to interrupt.”
“You’ve got a brother?” Liron asked, eyebrow lifting.
“Not by blood,” Rosco shrugged. “Just helped me out when my ass was in a pickle.”
Liron nodded.
“Look,” Rosco continued, “If you really want work, go to the diner out by Third. Near the exit to the mafia district, between Fifth and Seventh. Little place. Blue and orange sign—” Rosco coughed. “Bright sign. Hard to miss,” he corrected. He then hobbled away on his crutches. Liron didn’t even notice until the tech specialist had already gone.
Liron, for an odd reason, took his seniors' advice. He went to the diner Rosco pointed him to. He rewrote it into his phone, thumbs hesitating whenever the screen caught the light at the wrong angle. Navigating the city half-blind, thanks to his eye patch, made it hard. But he’d known this part of the city for years—long before he went to jail. The mafia ring was basically his home. Liron navigated the familiar back roads; he tripped a few times, his perception of depth skewed due to the patch he wore. After what seemed like a few hours, only a few minutes, Liron was outside the diner. While it was just outside the mafia area, it blended well with the other small storefronts along the street. With a shaky breath, he went inside.
Liron entered and tensed up. A police officer. The very one he locked eyes with when he was being let out.
“...Lockheart?” The officer asked, and Liron tried to avert his gaze. But the officer’s eyes burned into him.
“I’m not doing anything,” the officer said, and the pink-haired man’s gaze snapped up. “I’m off duty, I just happened to be in the area, so I came here for lunch,” he continued. Even though Liron had been released, he still walked on eggshells, even around the private police who worked for the mafia he stayed with.
“Altus, I got your sandwich,” a gruff voice spoke. Both eyes went to him, and Liron gasped.
“Ryzar…” Liron knew the man, the one behind the diner countertop; they were cellmates, convicted for similar crimes. Ryzar’s gaze locked with Liron’s. No words were exchanged. Ryzar tossed Altus his lunch before stepping out from behind the counter. Then he grabbed Liron and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Need a job?” the ginger asked as he walked back behind the counter with a Liron over his shoulders,
“Yeah,”
“Can you cook with your disability?”
“I can only promise that I won't intentionally start a fire in the kitchen.”
“You’re hired” Liron blinked and looked at the officer, who was just eating his chicken roll.
“I’m not interfering with mafia hiring practices. Having a mafia roommate—”
Boyfriend.” Ryzar interrupted, and Altus ignored the ginger.
“Having a roommate in the mafia is already enough for me at this stage, the police said, taking another bite. Liron just blinked before the environment changed to the kitchen. He has a job.
Liron worked at the diner for the rest of the day, just a three-hour shift, since Ryzar had a catering gig and had an external team to help him with it. Liron asked to come, but Ryzar wanted to let the pink-haired man settle in slowly; the two exchanged numbers. When Liron left, he stumbled out and walked his way back to the Goldwind Pirate Mafia base.
Upon entering via the back entrance, Liron was greeted by the sight of Gale and someone with turquoise hair in a lab coat. Liron had never seen him. The mafia boss noticed him quickly.
“Oh, you’re back. Rosco mentioned you were looking for a job. How did that go?” Gale asked,
“Uh, I got one,” Liron announced and shifted his weight between his feet.
“And where is it?”
“That uh…diner, the one near Fifth and Seventh exit, it's on Third,” Liron choked out, sweating under the stare of his green eyes.
“Mm, that’s fine, Ryzar is an ex-mafia person, Zanny trusts the man, so I have no arguments.” Gale shrugged off, just like that. No suspicion, no questions. Liron blinked. Weren’t mafia bosses supposed to be more paranoid than that? Liron shook his head and was about to leave, but was quickly stopped.
“Oh yeah, you should go see one of the medical team staff about your eye. I don't think that patch you wear is the best.” Gale pointedly said, pointing the pen he was holding toward the medical wing. Liron decided it was best to listen. With a nod, he made his way.
The base was massive, but he managed to navigate to the medical wing. The doors were slightly ajar, Liron knocked, and a head popped out,
“Oh, you’re…Liron Lockheart, yes?” the black-haired man asked. The other nodded,
“Okay, cool, Cassian- he’s currently out, he’s the main doctor, but i can take you, there weren’t any big injuries, im just in here with Zanny and Malim, come in,” Liron walked in and saw two people, pretty people, sitting in the medical room, one stood by a desk, while the other sat in the vacant office chair.
“Oh, who is this?” the blond one asked,
“That’s Liron,” the redhead pointed out. Liron was surprised that he was somewhat known.
“And you know him, how?” the blonde asked,
“Rosco told me he bumped into Liron, and he was job hunting, when I got here a bit ago.” Liron started to turn out the conversation as he went to the seat the black-haired doctor patted.
“So, I’m Nayuta, and what can I help you with?” Nayuta asked, bringing up a medical file,
“Something for the eye,” Liron said, pointing to the patch. Nayu scanned over the medical file that Rosco managed to obtain for Liron’s old mafia affiliation.
“Monocular achromatopsia…” he muttered and saw the patch Liron was wearing,
“Well…I am not all that experienced with this one, but let me just…” There was a mix of typing and clicking from Nayuta’s computer, keyboard and mouse.
“I have the old records of what your last doctor had prescribed, and here it says, either the patches, which I can see what you’re going with,” the doctor kept reading,
“But, it was for the short term, not the long term, for the long term, it was suggested to get you some form of custom-tinted contact lens or glasses.” Nayuta turned to face Liron, who was listening fully.
“I have resources, and I know people we could get the contacts in a week, the glasses in two weeks, which would you prefer?”
“What would work best in a cooking setting?” Liron asked, thinking back to the job he just got. Nayuta thought for a second.
“I’d say contact lens,” and Liron nodded,
“Okay..could we get both?” he asked. Nayuta smiled and typed something out,
“Indeed, I'll sort it out and message you when they get here. What’s your dorm location?” he asked.
“Room 30,” he said, “west wing.” Nayu took more notes and smiled,
“Perfect, I'll sort things out for you. You can leave, or stay, but I'll be doing some reports before clocking out,” Nayuta announced, mainly to the whole room.
Liron, not long after, went back to his room, took off the patch and flopped onto his bed. He got a jump-start when he started getting contact lenses; he met more of those in the mafia. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to this place. But he was willing to try—even if it meant staying far away from mafia work.