Chapter Text
The wind blew fiercely, dragging dry leaves across the sidewalks while the deafening chorus of crickets could be heard in the background of the city. In the distance, the screech of metal shutters marked the end of the day for the merchants; men and women who were closing their shops with weary bodies but peaceful minds. The streets breathed with the routine bustle of motors, intertwined with that thick, comforting smell of steaming coffee escaping from the cafes.
However, for Ash, the world had stopped. A violent cold, the kind that isn't born from the weather but from helplessness, had gotten under his skin, chilling him to the bone in a way no garment could remedy. He had been walking adrift for hours, dragging a loneliness so dense that he hadn’t even noticed he was without a coat against the dropping temperature.
Around him, life went on. He saw passersby going about their way, sharing laughs and secrets, but their faces blurred before his eyes like smudged watercolors.
He was walking toward his home on pure inertia, feeling like an empty shell, an echo of himself. He missed the music of his house: the laughter of his little girl. At twenty-five, Ash felt the entire weight on his shoulders. He might be one of the most successful men in the city, a leader in his field, but success was a shield too weak against the abyss that was growing in his chest.
The return to reality came with the vibration of his mobile phone. The sound tore him from the fog of his thoughts. With a sigh that burned his throat, he took the device out of his pocket. On the screen, a name shone: Ewron. He didn’t even have the strength to answer, but inertia made him press the accept button.
"Ash! Damn it, you scared me, I've been calling you for three hours," Ewron's voice came through, laden with genuine anxiety.
Ash looked down at the phone's clock and discovered, with a jolt of reality, that time had passed him by while he wandered aimlessly.
"What did they tell you?" his friend insisted at the silence.
The words took a while to form on his lips, heavy as lead.
"Leukemia... Ewron, my little girl has leukemia."
The line plunged into a deathly silence, an absolute void that hurt more than any scream. Ash let himself fall onto a cold wooden bench in a lonely park; the city's winter was finally starting to take its toll physically, making him shiver.
"Katie stayed with her tonight," Ash continued, his voice broken. "I... I couldn't stand the smell of disinfectant anymore. It was suffocating me."
"Ash... and what is the doctor's diagnosis?" Ewron's voice began to waver, losing its firmness.
Ever since the little girl, Ghosty, had arrived in their lives through adoption, she had become the center of their universe; a child as loved as she was fragile. In the last few months, her health had become a thin thread, leading them to the emergency room at least once a week.
"Ash, please... tell me something."
"She can be saved," he confessed, and as he spoke the words, he broke. "But I'm so scared, Ewron... I'm so afraid."
The weeping overcame him completely. Ash hunched over his knees, clutching the cell phone against his ear as if holding on to life itself. On the other end, Ewron let out a long sigh, laden with painful helplessness.
"Everything will be fine, Ash. I promise you. Everything is going to be fine." It was a beautiful promise, but it floated in the air with the fragility of a soap bubble. They both knew that promises do not cure blood.
"I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"
Without the strength to speak, Ash sent his location and hung up. With eyes of an intense violet and clouded by tears, he looked up at the night sky. It was a dark mantle, immense and hostile, but right in that instant, a lonely star tore through the gloom. Bright, sovereign, the first of the night. Fixing his eyes on it, Ash formulated the only plea that remained in his soul:
"I need clarity in my life to face this..."
Minutes later, the storm of his thoughts had been transferred to the controlled warmth of Ewron’s living room. He watched the young businessman in silence, contemplating how his trembling hands surrounded a cup of coffee from which a thin wisp of steam rose.
Ash’s tears had dried, leaving only tracks on his cheeks. Ewron, whose brown hair flashed with reddish reflections under the artificial light, sought the gaze of his partner, who had just sat down in front of them with cautious movements, as if afraid to break the silence.
"Roier mentioned something to me..." Ewron broke the silence in which they were wrapped.
Ash raised his eyes, tired and clouded, to look at both of them. Roier sought approval from Ewron with a hint of doubt on his face, but the Pole gave him a warm smile, passing him the baton.
"Ghosty mentioned to us a few days ago that she would love to learn to paint," Roier said, softening his tone.
"Ah, yes..." Ash replied, after taking a short sip of the hot liquid. "But you know how this city is. Getting a decent painting teacher is a headache, let alone one who has the patience and experience to deal with children."
Roier leaned forward and covered Ash’s hand with his own, offering him an anchor of human warmth.
"Aldo met a Colombian guy a few years ago, an incredible artist. They became very close over time. Coincidentally, he's moving to the city these days with his young son, Senpai." Ewron nodded, backing up the story. "Remember the painting I have hanging in the living room, the one Ghosty stares at for hours? Well, he painted it."
"I don't know..." Ash set the cup on the table, his fingers still retaining a slight tremor. He knew his little girl was safe at that moment with Katie, his sister, but the idea of opening up his circle provoked rejection. "I would have to meet him first. I'm not going to let just anyone into this."
"I'll let you know as soon as he settles in, if he hasn't already. But really, you're going to love him. Juan is a ray of sunshine when he puts his mind to it." Ewron let out a small laugh; he knew the story well of how Aldo had a kind of platonic crush on the painter in the past. "Vegetta adores him, and so does Foolish. And you know how selective my parents are with the people they let into their lives."
"Fine," Ash sighed, exhausted. "Now I just want to stop thinking. For a moment."
The couple nodded in unison, helped him adjust on the sofa, and gave him a small blanket so he could cover himself. Ash finished his coffee with his eyes fixed on the large window. Outside, the sky had filled with stars, but that first star was still shining with a different intensity, almost defiant. He didn't know what to expect from this Juan; throughout his career, he had dealt with too many artists: vain, egocentric men full of empty pretensions. That another one was arriving made absolutely no difference to him.
(...)
When the first rays of sun filtered through the living room blinds, Ash assumed the arrival of the new day with the premonition of a new sentence. The morning was warm on the surface, but in his chest, the ice thorns were still alive, pricking with every heartbeat. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like stone slabs due to the insomnia that had been dragging him down for weeks.
For being only twenty-five years old, he felt that life was charging him for a whole century. He rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to soothe the dryness caused by the dawn's weeping.
As his vision focused, his eyes landed on the photo frames in the living room, photographs of Ewron and Roier. He remembered how they had met upon arriving in the city: Roier, the son of one of the most influential architectural dynasties in the north, raised in luxury alongside his siblings Aldo, Molly, and Pac, had fallen in love with Ewron almost immediately. Their love had flourished quickly, building a solid home.
Ash was genuinely happy for his friend's happiness, even if his own reality was different. He, for his part, carried the weight of being the pillar of a prestigious engineering and technology firm. His siblings, Don and Katie, were his main partners, his pillars on paper; but the living gears of the company, his true right hands and the guardians of his sanity, were Haiper and Tubbo. Without them, he would likely have already fallen apart.
"Good morning, Ash."
Roier’s voice dissolved his thoughts. The young Mexican brought a tray with freshly made coffee and some golden toast, which he placed carefully on the sofa's side table.
"Ewron left very early. He had pending matters to resolve with Graf."
"That's fine, I'll be leaving in a few minutes too," Ash replied, making a motion to get up.
Roier shook his head immediately, with a gesture so energetic that it exhausted him just to watch it. He checked his wristwatch with almost military precision.
"Is something wrong?" asked Ash, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm taking you to meet Juan. I already spoke to him and he is aware of the situation."
A feeling of irritation crossed Ash's face. "I don't want intruders in my life, Roier. I already have too many things on my mind to add strangers."
"You have twenty minutes to get ready," Roier stated, ignoring the complaint with that deep and categorical look he shared with Vegetta, a silent authority that it was better not to resist.
Ash fell silent. He ate breakfast begrudgingly, feeling the bitterness of anxiety in every bite. He gulped down the food with such haste that his stomach immediately protested with burning acidity; he didn't know if it was the psychological rejection of the appointment or indigestion.
The shower was a mechanical and gloomy process. Letting the cold water hit his face reminded him of the desolation of the previous night. His mind was a perfect storm: thoughts spinning at the speed of a hurricane, sweeping away any attempt at logic or peace.
"Five minutes, Ash!" Roier shouted from the hallway.
Forced out of his thoughts, he dressed in a hurry. It was uncomfortable for him; he, who had always been characterized by obsessive neatness and millimetric control of his image, hated seeing himself even slightly disheveled. But the urgency of the boy with the blue bandana gave no respite. He left the room, giving himself the final touches of order possible.
"Good, let's go to the center," said Roier upon seeing him appear. "Juan is finishing organizing his workshop."
The trip was made aboard a vehicle characteristic of the people from the north: a piece of luxurious engineering but of sober elegance, without stridency. Roier drove skillfully through the city avenues. The silence between them was dense. Ash noticed a detail hanging from the car's mirror: a small analog photograph of Roier and Ewron laughing in what looked like a summer amusement park. A fragment of a happy world that seemed foreign to him.
When the car stopped, Ash had to admit that the place broke his negative expectations. It wasn't a pretentious gallery. It was a small shop, with a homely facade painted in subtle olive green tones and dark wood frames, adorned by pots with wildflowers and crowned by a large, handmade sign.
Roier parked right in front and signaled for him to get out. Ash walked with heavy steps, stopping at the threshold as he watched his friend enter with the familiarity of someone entering their own home.
"Juan! Hello, good morning!" Roier greeted in Spanish.
Ash's mouth went dry with surprise. It was strange to hear Roier use his native language outside the environment of his siblings.
"I'll be down in a second!" a lively voice replied from the upper floor.
And then he saw him descend the wooden stairs. Juan was a slim guy, topped off with thick-rimmed round glasses that framed large, expressive hazel eyes. His skin was extremely pale, sprinkled with a subtle constellation of freckles on the bridge of his nose. He was notably shorter than them. His brown hair, indomitable by nature, was barely held back by a red bandana that tried to keep the rebellious locks out of his forehead.
"Hi, Roier! It's been a while," said Juan, stopping when he noticed the presence of the companion. His eyes softened. "Oh, sorry... Hello, good afternoon. You must be Ash."
"Yes, he is Ash. I see little Spider isn't around here today," commented Roier, glancing around the workshop.
Juan let out a clean laugh, a sound so devoid of malice that it felt almost unreal to Ash. The place was so full of vivid colors, half-finished canvases, and paint jars that the engineer felt a slight visual nausea; however, he could not deny that the environment exuded a warmth that no other shop in the city possessed.
"Well, as I already hinted, we wanted to organize future painting lessons," Roier got straight to the point.
"Oh, of course. In fact, as soon as I finish organizing the last boxes, we could start. Senpai will attend as well, along with a couple of children from the neighborhood."
Ash nodded automatically, keeping a prudent distance. His eyes scanned the shelves until they stopped on a photo frame: a boy of about twelve years old appeared hugging Juan, next to a girl who shared the exact same features as the painter. There was something in the dynamic of that image, in the pure affection it transmitted, that touched a sensitive fiber in Ash. He saw himself reflected in that fraternal protection.
Juan seemed to notice the change in Ash’s aura and softened his tone even more: "Listen, Ash... if you don't feel comfortable with the idea of it being in a group, we can look for another alternative, maybe something more private or..."
"No, no... it's fine," Ash interrupted, surprising himself. "I think it will be good for Ghosty to be with other children. When could we start?"
The Colombian artist froze for an instant, lips parted, as if the sudden acceptance had caught him off guard. Then, an immense and transparent smile spread across his face. A smile so devoid of ulterior motives that Ash, for the first time in weeks, experienced a crack in his ice wall: a tiny gust of hope. Calm.
"Does Wednesday work for you?" proposed Juan.
Ash just nodded. He reached out to take one of the business cards resting on the wooden counter, memorizing the contact number.
"Thank you," he managed to say before turning around.
"I'll be waiting for your call!" Juan shouted to them from the door as they left.
Back in the car, Roier broke the silence gently: "Well... I think this will make her happy."
Ash contemplated the urban landscape through the window, feeling a strange truce in his mind. The return trip had the hospital as its destination. Upon getting out, Ash turned to Roier and gave him a tight hug, a gesture of silent gratitude.
He would always be indebted to the people from the North; even though their constant friction and the latent rivalry with Aldo sometimes destabilized his patience, their loyalty in bad times was unbreakable.
Upon crossing the hospital doors, the nurses greeted him with that professional and distant courtesy that defines medical centers. The environment changed immediately: immaculate clinical white hallways, fluorescent lighting so intense it hurt the retinas, and walls decorated with children's drawings in an attempt to disguise the tragedy. The air reeked of industrial disinfectant, causing a familiar itching in his throat.
Finally, he reached the room, where the walls were decorated with paper butterflies and sprigs of lavender.
"Knock, knock... Can one see my little warrior?" announced Ash, pushing the door open.
The girl sat up in bed with a spark of joy so pure that Ash’s heart contracted. Katie was sitting in a chair next to the stretcher, holding a pair of toy cars they were playing with on the sheets.
"Aunt Kat helped me beat the morning monsters!" exclaimed the little one, stretching her thin arms.
Ash let out a choked sound before leaning in to melt into a hug with her.
"Today we are getting out of this ugly place, Daddy," Ghosty announced with determination.
"Ghosty..." Ash warned in a sweet tone.
Both adults let out a laugh at the little girl's pout of protest. Her long hair, a blonde so light it bordered on white, framed an adorable face, but Ash’s eyes couldn't help but drift to the technical details of reality: the catheter fixed to the back of her hand, the hospital gown too big for her body, and the alarming paleness in her cheeks.
"Ash... if you need to go out and breathe..." offered Katie in a whisper, reading the pain in his posture.
"No, I'm fine," he lied, letting himself fall into the corner armchair.
Ghosty focused back on her toys, oblivious to the gravity of the adult world. Since they received the verdict, Ash had perfected the art of evasion, taking refuge in his own mutism for most of the day. He reminded himself mentally to send a message to Haiper to thank him for taking charge of the company's management while he tried to reorder the pieces of his life.
"What did the doctors say this morning, Katie?" he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on his daughter’s movements.
"Well... the chemotherapy sessions are scheduled to start next week. They will be on Mondays," explained his sister, weighing every word. "But we will get through this, Ash."
"I know."
Katie gave him a look full of tenderness. In moments like this, Ash blessed his luck to have his siblings nearby.
"Roier introduced me to a painter today," Ash said, breaking the tension of the room.
"A painter?" Ghosty’s toys remained suspended in the air. Her eyes opened wide, lighting up with genuine excitement. "Like Missa?"
"Much better," Ash smiled, feeling his chest lighten a little.
The girl let out a small squeal of joy and hugged her ghost-shaped stuffed animal against her chest. Katie, however, watched her brother with a raised eyebrow, balancing between doubt and curiosity.
"If everything goes well, you will start your classes this Wednesday."
"Yes, Daddy! I'm going to get super strong to go," promised the girl with a conviction that moved the room.
Katie sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Ash. She had no idea if introducing new elements in the middle of a medical treatment was the wisest decision, but to see her little star sparkle again, she was willing to move the whole world.