Chapter Text
Hetch looks down at the tall, thin figure that's been dumped on the couch, lanky limbs splayed out at odd angles. Hetch lets out a sharp blast of air from his nostrils, shaking his head, smiling wryly underneath his mask in spite of himself.
The Hero.
Some of his greatest work, if not his greatest. An idea for a character that he's had since before he met the Founder. A vague, nebulous daydream made into a concrete reality. A reality which Hetch himself has constructed. And yet, it's still a test. Still an experiment. Which has always been the point. He's proud of himself and, weirdly enough, proud of Ranboo.
It's been a long time since Hetch jumped him, dragging him into a parking lot, the struggle, making him into a blank canvas, and even longer still since he chose them to be the star of the show. How old were they, when Hetch first found out about them? Well, perhaps around anywhere from 16 to 18 in this… Audience's Generation. He's got no idea how old that version is now, he hasn't really cared to look, but in his own? They were maybe just starting Kindergarten when Hetch discovered him. Both figuratively and literally, they've grown a lot since then.
It took awhile to even convince the Founder to let him use these familiar faces in the first place, but by that point, Hetch already had his heart set on this being his protagonist. He'd seen some of the work that the version the Audience would be familiar with had done, and he just knew that they were the one. They would be perfect. And in another world, they were already beloved.
He's been preparing them for this, for all these years, and now it's finally about to happen. Hetch is full of anticipation, but he can't help the anxiety fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Hetch lifts his mask a bit and takes a drag from the already-lit cigarette that he has in his hand to calm his nerves a bit. He absentmindedly considers putting it out on one of Ranboo's arms but decides against it. No need for them to get burned on their first day, in their first show. There's continuity to think of.
Besides, they won't stay unharmed.
For some reason that Hetch can't fathom, he takes his mask off for a moment, stowing it under his arm, truly looking at the Hero with his exposed face for the first time. He bends over, gently running a hand over the Hero's cheek until it hits the cool metal of the final iteration of the mask. The skin has healed pretty nicely around it, he has to say, feeling another bubble of pride swell in his chest at his work.
He's not sure how long he's in this position, reminiscing about things that the Hero doesn't remember anymore, and likely never will again. In an uncharacteristic moment vaguely resembling tenderness, Hetch brushes a bit of the fringe out of the Hero's face with his free hand before he stands up. He begins to walk off the set to start the show, but just before he reaches the threshold of where the Hero's constructed reality will extend to, he stops and looks back again.
His expression softens a little as he considers the Hero one final time before the show starts, and takes another drag from his cigarette.
"Break a leg, kid." Hetch breathes out as he slips his mask back on.
And he actually means it in the way that it's meant to be understood.