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Whoever said weaving off medicine needed to be hard was an idiot. There were easier ways to get accustomed to it.
Those ways didn’t make it instantly easy, of course—he agreed with his whole heart. He’d know best.
The several bullets that pierced through his skin like paper made recovery all the more harsher. Going out on the field had its risks, but most times, his skills as a netrunner came in handy. He knew that the further the distance from the target, the better.
That gig was not the case.
In the course of a little over three months, Cassian Pearce had to readjust his life around the pain, dealing with it and taking his pain killers. It was a beautiful, fickle little thing, medicine: all of the physical fixes you could get through substances done under supervision.
And how every plus had its minus, so did medicine. The side effects? Not as beautiful.
Most medicine had two to three primary uses, and another dozen side effects that damaged the body for a lifetime. The respective pain med that Cassian was on required him to strictly null his salt intake.
Today was the final clinic visit. Cassian had been accompanied by the rocker. His stitches held up well. Synthskin in all the right places, scars that grew to embrace healing skin. Alongside him was Kerry, the fiery rocker who’d hired him as a bodyguard years ago, now freshly turned boyfriend.
The two were sat in the back part of a local Badlands fast food joint labeled ‘Crunkly Spices’. Kerry had driven miles away from the clinic for no reason. The local was recommended to Kerry by a friend. Cassian obliged—too hungry, too exhausted and high to dispute.
Into his mouth came in bits of french fries, chewing aggressively as if they owed him the world. His lips read the brightest of smiles—like nothing seen before. The salt lacked entirely from the dish, and so did all human taste with it. The netrunner remained positive nevertheless.
Kerry rested at the other end of the table, watching as the food disappeared off the plate faster than he could blink. A hyper-pop song pinged somewhere in the background—chimes and beats fading into chatter.
“I can’t possibly understand how you don’t complain munchin’ on that without … ugh.” From the other side, Eurodyne spits out, eyeing Cassian’s chosen dish with disdain. He frowns.
Pearce’s eyes shoot upward, twinkling amid those blackwork tattoos that covered a part of his face. He speaks with his mouth full. “Ker, you don’t understand, this may have been the most edible food I have ever eaten in my entire thirty years of living.”
“The most?! If that’s what’cha call edible, ‘m scared for your taste buds.” The rocker’s face drops almost suddenly, the word feeling like an insult to him indirectly.
But Cassian’s light never faded away. It remained, and shined ever further—despite the stale aroma of the fries, the sogginess of the salad that accompanied it—it all mattered little, it seemed.
The rocker had seen too little of this side. Maybe it was the fact that Cassian had been starved of proper food for almost a week. Who’s fault was that? None of them brought that up. For the sake of their peace.
“I’ve cooked better, way better,” Pearce’s fork slides in between the schnitzel, clearly impatient to finish munching. “but this is … ridiculously fine, for some reason. Even without salt.”
“That’s bullshit and we both know it, choom! How is that dish even close to bein’ good, with no salt on it?!”
“Ya gotta start accepting what you got and what you don’t,” The netrunner grins widely, another piece of meat being stabbed into the fork. His cheeks puff up with each crunch. Kerry doesn’t help it, he allows himself to crack a chortle at the sight.
Eurodyne continues his criticism. It’s mocking the other’s choice in food loud and clear. “Hey, and—besides, what kinda meds are they keepin’ you on to completely take you off salt?!”
“It, uh … apparently fucks up your—your,” He struggles through words. The doc had said something about renal function—nothing he was sure of, though. “ … something, something about retention. You think I ‘member more than ‘hey, no salt ‘less you wanna puff up, literally?’”
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen ya this excited over one dish.” Kerry’s lips wrap around a grin.
“You have no idea how hungry I was this whole morning! I had a sore throat, my coffee sucked, life seemed empty!” The fork Cassian held clattered briefly, emerald eyes glaring towards the elder. “I think I’ve reached a new plane of understanding.”
Kerry stared briefly at the diminishing amount of food with more questions than answers. Not that he would ask what the drug did. It was a fun side, however—not bothered by the other sides of life, or feeling burrowed. As burdened as he usually was.
The rocker’s own food remained untouched ever since the server brought it. His was saltened, and even looked fresher. He seemed to poke and prod at his own salad. It didn’t look bad, not at all—better than most of the meals Kerry ever had while high in his youth years.
Kerry exhaled out loudly, eyes focused onto Cassian with an intense glare. “Are you high, though?”
“... Am I?” The netrunner’s grin widens, caught mid-bite.
Kerry’s stupid smile fell apart at the edges, tilting his head to the side and allowing Cassian to catch a confused expression, concerned even. That twinkle didn’t fade away, the netrunner maintained that sheepish sneer on his lips.
The rocker’s eyebrows furrow upward, taken aback by the expression he was shot.
There’s a fragile silence. The question hangs in the air. Kerry asks again. “So, are you?”
“No.” Pearce’s eyes roll dramatically, lightly sinking into the couch—going right back to attacking his schnitzel. He’s back to chewing like a creature. “No, but d’you think it would make me actually taste something?”
“What’re you even talkin’ about right now!?” Kerry’s tone comes through confused. Congested, the elder flaps his palm. “Y’know what, focus on your … damn unsalted food.”
In a final attempt to shut down the exchange that seemed to spiral into a sheer nothing, the rocker decides to finally take a drag at the fries. He’s taking his time with them, chewing them more carefully than the other.
Pearce finishes chewing onto his fry, fidgeting with another in between. He’s sliding it in and out of his lips, no longer munching with his mouth closed, allowing the most heinous of noises to leave his mouth as he brutally murders the potato chip.
“No, but it’d be a good idea to get high later.” The moment of recollection was cut short by that sentence. Kerry shook his head once and drew a hand across his throat in a silent, unmistakable ‘hell no.’
“Yeah, fuck no,” The words latch off the rocker’s lips and onto a piece of salad they go, still evidently staring the netrunner up and down as he breaks down in a fit of laughter. Cassian doesn’t hide it, he’s evidently pleased and enticed.
The rocker decides to bite down into his meal properly, no longer drifting his sight towards the one in front of him. While his own meal had been neglected, it had gone cold, and most of its taste had only gotten more … plastic? It was the only right way to describe it.
Kerry would’ve said the chatter ended there, and the whole talk of food tastes and critiques would've been over. It was time to switch the subject, or even just enjoy a pleasant hangout.
The song from the speakers fills the space, with Cassian soon after finishing what was left of his plate. The rocker struggles clearly on his own meal.
Drastic change of pace, this. While swirling his fork around the plate, sometimes moving his steak around, occasionally attempting to dig into it, there’s this sense of tranquility that just dared to last for a moment. Something he hadn’t achieved in quite a while—not yet with the netrunner.
Kerry dares to look. It’s brief, short, and especially sweet in his mind. The silence settled through—a loud guffaw here, another yell there, and absurd noises of chewing from the guests of the joint.
Sometimes the respected space of chatter was interrupted by screams, some too loud. A gossip all too pleasingly said. The bell of the entrance chimes, another customer enters.
Throughout that moment, Kerry finally admits defeat. “This salad sucks.”
Cassian lounges into his seat, pleased at his ritualistic finish. “Hey, you picked the place, not me.”
“It—was recommended to me!”
“We have a car and free will, by the way,” Pearce picks at his inner lip now, eyes darting toward a part of the ceiling. His attempt at ridiculing the rich elder rockstar who could obviously afford better, also known as professional ragebaiting.
Kerry's fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose as he groans. “I’m not doin’ this with you again.”
“Ah, but we're back to square one! You hate and love it!” There's a flicker and a clear snap of the netrunner's fingers—before he raises up from his seat again, reaching over the table. There's a brief clink of the plates once his palm lands flat onto it.
Kerry doesn't hesitate. The grin plays around his lips, still. “I hate you, actually.”
“Beeeh! Incorrect buzzer.” An imitation of a buzzer sound emits from Cassian's lips. “So loud, it'd shake this bitch down.”
“You're just mad you can't eat ‘yer sodium, kid.”
“You're mad I fucked your mom.”
Kerry doesn't even act surprised at this point. It's not a known occurrence, but the absurdity of hearing that is beyond his belief. Retaliation follows through immediately.
Eurodyne raises an accusatory index finger at the netrunner, counting each point he wanted to reach with every word spoken. “Okay—one, uncalled for. Two, ‘s not how you do it, three—”
“‘re you actually lecturing me on ‘your mom’ jokes?!” Baffled, Cassian's head cocks sideways briefly.
“—loser.”
That was it? The netrunner stares, taken aback. His eyes widen, blinking once, twice. There's a disappointed expression that washes over him. Then, a distraction in the corner of his eye.
In Cassian's peripherals, somewhere at another table, there's a kid with his mother. Tiny little fella. For someone that tiny, he was packing some heavy aesthetic cybernetics—the first thing that jumped to his sight.
Some flashy mohawke. A glare towards Cassian that just didn't please the netrunner. The kid is clearly staring back. With that, glances are exchanged. Kerry wants to say something about the brimming silence—but decides better on it, and pulls at his stale steak haphazardly.
Cassian resumes his earlier thought, his head shooting back to Kerry. “ … You run outta insults?”
“Nah, I actually forgot my point … just ‘bout now.” The rocker mentions, his face twisting into a disgusted form. He stops chewing, pauses, resumes once again, before swallowing the bit of meat, regretting it instantly.
“I am never letting you forget this.” The netrunner chokes out, hand grasping at his nearby soda cup and loudly slurping out of it.
Not that he regretted it, but at this current time, Kerry felt like he was babysitting more than taking his boyfriend out. After a small change of heart—there's a sudden flicker in the netrunner's mind. He's gonna do something.
“Hey, kid! Y’know, it's rude to stare!” Cassian's head is now focused on the table nearby them, yelling out his thoughts.
The mother glares at him. Her eyebrows peak downward in this expression that can only be labeled as ‘staring at a freak’, while the kids' expressions often. The mom turns to her kid, mumbling something to him, incoherent and under a low tone.
Kerry's at a loss for words. He's covering his face, rubbing his palms aggressively against his face and pressing onto his eye sockets. He was clearly asking himself whether Cassian was in his right mind or not.
The two hadn’t recognized Kerry, despite his face being on every billboard in the city. And in that split second, he decides to do something he hadn’t done in a long while. Why not offer the kid some good old music knowledge?
Sure. Why the hell not?
“Ya want an autograph?” The flicker of Kerry's teeth comes in as a haughty laugh exits Cassian's mouth, clearly entertained by whatever was going on. Annoying some random, two-paired family.
Eurodyne's face was burning bright. It was the stupidest thing he’d done by far in years—being this exposed. Lucky for them, they were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, where regardless of exposure, Kerry was safe.
The mom rises from her seat, having had enough, before suddenly yanking at her son's cuff, swift to her feet and dragging the kid away from the table—his burger immediately slipping out of his hands, onto the tray—before storming off. Pearce's laughter only grew louder.
For what it was worth, Kerry felt like he had lost a few of his worries, and left them along the way. Choking on a few chuckles, the rocker buries his face into his hands as his shoulders rise up and down, following Cassian’s pattern of sickening giggles.
Once the laughter subsided, Pearce whispers tantalizingly. “C’mon. Join the insanity.”
Still holding his palms onto his face, Eurodyne confesses. “I already did. Way ahead of ya.”
Not that it would matter in the future, not that it would ever matter. The little moments spent stupidly laughing over nothing with a half-doped up (question mark) netrunner at some dingy diner in the corner of the big City would wash over. That kid and his mother would forget they’d even met the big KE.
Seeing Cassian open up again felt like a small light in his heart. And at the same time, it opened a window on its own. Made him feel younger, one way or another. Gave him strength to just exist with no limits.
With that embarrassing feeling hanging over the following days, Kerry would receive a short, light-hearted message in the afternoon of the next day. Simple and sweet:
Sorry if I embarrassed you yesterday btw. Will make it up to you (＾ω＾) <3 Thanks a lot for the lunch. Love you!