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Jason did not expect to find an angel in Coast City on a random Thursday in September. The only reason he’s out here to begin with is that Alfred caught hints of Agent Orange in the Golden State, so despite being Gotham born and raised, he’s braving the dry heat because he’s a Green Lantern, protector of the universe, and he’s goddamn good at his job.
He’s flying low over the Edwards Air Force Base, scanning for anything unusually extraterrestrial and cursing Bruce under each breath. There’s a quick flicker, and his eyes catch on an orange glow at the top of a control tower. It can’t be Larfleeze because his ring failed to pick up any signatures of another Lantern, so Jason is seconds away from writing it off as some kids trespassing and lighting up on government property, when a small voice in the back of his head gives him pause.
Even when you’re surrounded by darkness, you can be the light. Always be the light, Green Lantern Todd.
Trusting his gut, he changes course, takes a wide right bend, swoops above the tower to get a closer look. There’s…a man? There’s something shadowed under the overhang, iridescent arms shimmering by the light of a butane torch. Their chest and shoulders are decorated with armor panels the color of pearl. A head jerks upward, and despite having their lower face covered, Jason would say with utmost certainty that these eyes–mossy green, deep and troubled, kind hazel eyes–are those of an angel who’s breathing heavily against the mask. Taking stock of the situation, the green glow illuminates means and motive: there’s a long chain coiled on the walkway, ending in a curved blade, charred black and pressed to the man’s inner thigh. A butane lighter, abandoned to the side. The metal grating glistens, and something drips sluggishly to the tarmac far below.
“Shit–Hey man, let’s ease up on that yeah?”
Mystery Guy ignores him, removes the blade without a word. The torn fabric reveals a wound now cauterized; he’s field dressed it, and not messily. It looks unfortunately well-practiced, speaks to many nights alone in the dark. Hazel-Eyes hasn’t blinked, just stares Jason down as the Lantern carefully lands in a crouch a few feet away.
“Hey, can I help you with that?” After a minute with no response, Jason tries again.
“I’m Green Lantern. You’ve heard of us, yeah? We help people, that’s the whole gig. I promise, I just want to help.”
The other man is silent and unmoving, and his eyes refuse to drift from Jason, like he’s waiting for something. In the meantime, Jason uses the ring to scan for other injuries. It’s not subtle, the beam of light that passes over his body, but the man doesn’t flinch. He merely takes measured breaths, a box pattern Jason recognizes.
Male, 23 years old. The clinical, indistinguishable noise of the ring echoes in his head. Bullet wound to inner left thigh. Second-degree burn to inner left thigh. Contusions to ribs, chest, forearms, face. No signs of internal bleeding. No signs of concussion. No signs of breakage. Significant scarring to outer–
Jason cuts the scan short. The other’s injuries aren’t life-threatening and any additional information is irrelevant, so he relaxes his shoulders and fully sits down.
“Okay. I’m Green Lantern. One of ‘em, anyway. You’ve got a pretty suit, ‘s there a name I can call you?”
He doesn’t seem familiar, which, upon reflection, is probably not a good thing. It is equally likely that the man across from him is a hero or a villain, and Jason’s still sitting here, willing to take the risk. At least the other man seems calm. His eyes–Jason can’t stop looking into his eyes–don’t cower or hide. If anything, they’re unnervingly blank, like a curtain has been pulled over the swirl of emotions Jason saw before. He only has a few minutes to sit in silence before there’s another person appearing in the sky, followed momentarily by a shuddering boom, gust of wind, and–
“Aevus!”
A winged man decorated in brass slams onto the walkway, shaking its occupants. This man–the aviation helmet, the sonic entrance, massive mechanical wings–Jason recognizes: Sonar. He’s one of Coast City’s original vigilantes, targeting corruption at multiple levels, building a small team and a reputation in the process. A member of the League, he keeps to himself, neither offering help nor asking for it unless absolutely necessary. Sonar is generally considered a brick wall, standoffish and private, and he’s currently knelt in front of Jason, frantically muttering and patting down the injured man.
“-scared the hell out of me, kid. We’re scanning Sin’ software when all-of-a-sudden Auggie’s telling me you blipped. He stayed back with Sentry, they’re setting up-”
Jason tries to tune out the conversation he’s clearly not supposed to hear. The older hero is assessing this man–Aevus–checking him over much like Jason did, narrating his actions as his hands sweep over torso, arms, legs. He can hear the moment the wound on his thigh is discovered.
“Kid, what–? We’ve been over this, just come back to roost, we’ll help you.” It’s a stark difference to the Sonar he’s heard about from Bruce. This man sounds so gentle, concerned but not chiding, worried but not reprimanding, despite sounding like it’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Knowing vigilantes, Jason assumes it won’t be the last either. For the first time since the Lantern arrived tonight, Aevus speaks, and Jason has to hold in a gasp.
“I’m fine, Sonar. I just needed triage to get home.” His voice is soft, midrange and rough. Somehow both raspy and sweet, like unpolished, acoustic music, raw and unplugged. “I got sidetracked…”
Blinking, Jason starts from his trance to find two sets of eyes watching him. It’s only his years of experience bearing the green ring that allow him to keep cool under pressure. He awkwardly lifts a hand and waves.
“Hey, Green Lantern.” He points a thumb at himself.
Very cool.
“I know who you are, Junior Green Lantern.” The honorific makes Jason roll his eyes behind the mask. “You are not needed here, thank you.” It’s as clear an indicator as any, so he stands with cracking knees and lifts off the walkway.
“Heard. It was good to see you, Sonar. Take care.” He’s seconds away from flying off, when he mulls it over and decides to push his luck and take another risk. “Nice to meet you, Aevus.”
Their reactions are immediate. At the same time as Sonar bristles and rises to his feet, he catches another glint in Aevus’ eyes, only this time, they soften instead. The sweet-doe sparkling eyes almost distract him from Sonar’s cold tone.
“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning anything you saw tonight. We operate independently, and I value our privacy.”
Jason can read between the lines. Secrecy is what he means. Coast City’s heroes don’t want anyone else knowing about their latest inductee. For what reason, he doesn’t know, but he’s a man of willpower, not candor.
“Of course. I also hope you understand that, should you need anything, you can always call on me.” A promise and an olive branch, both of which he probably has no business offering. When neither of them acknowledge, he figures he’s done what he can and he takes off, returning to Gotham. The flight gives him plenty of time to dissect the last hour and a half, and once he arrives at the manor, he’s certain of only one thing: he’ll be going back to Coast City as soon as possible.
A month later and they’re updating information in the database about the Justice League. When Bruce mentions the west coast, Jason nearly tumbles ass over teakettle to volunteer. Thankfully, Wayne is preoccupied arguing with Dick over which of them is going to Star, and his bumbling eagerness almost goes unnoticed.
Almost.
“I thought you hated California.” Tim’s dry cadence startles him from daydreams of oilslick rainbows. He quickly racks his brain for an answer that will keep the young bearer off his back.
“It’s not the entire state itself, I just can’t handle the heat. It’s too dry.”
He hums, and Jason crosses his fingers and toes.
“You’re optimistic about something, but trying not to be.”
Fuck. The one person he can’t bullshit. The human hope-detector.
“Just praying for safe travels, Saint Drake.” Tim hates that nickname, so when he curls his lip Jason knows he’ll drop the subject for now, but not forever.
Tim’s words still bounce around his head as he flies to Coast. For most of his life, Jason has tried to live as realistic as possible. After Willis was killed, Jason was left to take care of Catherine. After she got sick, he did the best he possibly could to care for her, working multiple jobs to keep her rotating through rehab centers. By the time he got picked up by the Wayne Foundation, he had a middle school education, three jobs, and no parents. The scholarship gave him the chance to get his GED and attend a trade school. The ring, on the other hand–the ring gave him purpose. All he ever wanted was to do good for others, and in the face of all adversity, he never gave up. Freshly 16 with the power of a god on his finger, of course he finally gets taken down as a civilian in a senseless attack. Six years later, he’s not the same naive boy Bruce picked up outside the Martha Wayne Center, but his glittering green determination holds firm.
Jason Todd doesn’t wish for shit. He works for it.
Landing at the top of the agreed upon location–the towering Victorola Motor building–he keeps this in mind as he greets Sonar and two other men, with Aevus nowhere in sight. It’s late, the lights of the city sparkling like artificial stars.
Sonar tips his head in greeting. “Welcome to Coast, Junior Green Lantern.”
Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, Jason smiles. “Please, GL is fine.”
The vigilante nods again. “Sure thing, GL. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too. Hope all is well with your mission. You know you can contact us at any time, right? Offer’s still on the table.”
He dips his head in acknowledgement, but Jason knows it’s a lost cause. To Sonar’s left, a taller, broader figure steps forward. As a courtesy, Jason had not addressed the others until they chose to introduce themselves, which was a true test of will, because this person is a fucking tank. Decked out in all black with cobalt accents, the heavy armor does nothing to veil the true bulk underneath. Their face is concealed with a beak-like mask and acidic yellow-green eyes.
“What’s up, Junior?”
His voice–mechanical, stilted, like a child’s toy robot–startles an embarrassing laugh from Jason.
“Yeah yeah, yuck it up Jolly Green Giant. This is temporary.” Halfway through his protest, just as Jason had managed to quell his giggles, the man’s tone swung low and bassy, kicking off another round of snorting chuckles. Taking deep breaths, Jason’s eyes catch the final man as he steps around the other two. His suit is more understated, loose robes designed for stealth. The most significant thing of note is the half mask and goggles that cover his eyes. Like Sonar, his shit-eating grin is visible.
“Ignore Sentry, he’s all bark and no bite. I’m Augur. It’s great to meet someone of the League face-to-face.”
He extends a hand to shake, and Jason mulls over the name as he meets him halfway. It’s familiar, just on the tip of his tongue, but he brushes the thought away for later investigation. The meeting is brief: reestablishing allyship, confirmation of casework, updating any new developments.
What Jason knows, and Bruce doesn’t know Jason knows, is that this entire assignment is just an exercise in networking. Wayne is testing the younger Lanterns on communication and outreach before they start taking on more serious universal missions and Jason, established taker-of-risks, is never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His business here is finished, so while tensions are low and they’re all amicable, he presses for more.
“So, where’s Aevus? He not joining today?”
And listen, alright: Jason’s not stupid. He can read a room better than most, maybe even the best of the Earth Lanterns save for Grayson. In his line of work, he has to. Every alien race has their own intricacies of body language, tone, gesture, and he’s learned how to interpret these secret codes with limited available context. Even without seeing their eyes, Jason can tell he fucked up big time. Sentry is the first to let him know. Loudly.
“The fuck did you just say?” The deep pitch is no longer funny, and startles a shudder down Jason’s spine. But he’s never been one to back down before.
“I know he’s not in any of the League’s databases, or the Lanterns’. But I met him before, so I figured it would be fine for him to come out, if he wanted.”
It’s a major risk, but if Jason knows anything about overprotective guardians (and that’s what this is, as Sentry puffs his chest, Sonar straightens his stance, and the smile falls from Augur’s lips–textbook protective guardians) then he knows Aevus is itching to leave the nest. Judging by Sonar’s grimace, he’s hit the nail on the head.
The winged vigilante sighs, audibly defeated. “Look, kid, Aevie–” He winces. “We’re going to introduce him to the League. Eventually.” Sonar glances to his partners. “He’s still getting his feet under him.”
While they’ve been talking, Jason did not miss the way Augur lifted a hand to his ear, as if tuning communications.
Please please please. He’s placing all his chips on rebellion against authority, and when Sonar sighs a second time, he thinks he might’ve just won big.
“Ten minutes, kid. And I’ll be counting.” The line of his mouth is disgruntled, but Jason can imagine the excitement coming from the other side of the radio.
He’s prepared to wait for Aevus to suit up and swing all the way to their location, but barely a minute passes before a hook catches on the edge of the roof and a gloved hand pulls a body the rest of the way up. His chestnut hair is windswept, hazel eyes shining with mirth and crinkling at the outer corners. Closer than last time, Jason can see the faint dusting of freckles across his tanned cheeks.
Fucking angel. And Coast City must be heaven.
“Hi Greenie.” That same hypnotic, alluring, pillow-rusty voice.
“Uh. Hi Aevus.”
Strong of will, dumb of ass. Jason Todd, everyone. Hold your applause.
Now that he's not curled in on himself in the shadows, Jason takes a longer look at his suit. It's like no matter where he stands, the light is drawn to him, reflecting off every plate, giving him a blink-and-you-missed-it silhouette. The twin-tailed cape makes him look like an Arthurian knight, noble and proud. Sonar clears his throat, and Jason abruptly remembers he's pressed for time.
“How's your leg?”
“Better, thank you.”
Do Green Lantern rings allow for spontaneous self-immolation?
That familiar voice in his head tells him no, and judging by the tapping of Sentry's boot, his clock is ticking and he needs to make a move now.
“My name is Jason.”
The voice in his head is howling with laughter, and even through goggles and lenses, he can feel four astonished, gaping stares. Aevus, for what it's worth, doesn't seem put off, if the arch of his angular brow is anything to go by.
“Well, it's nice to meet you, Jason.”
And his name sounds so rich and sweet coming from Aevus’s lips, Jason is certain he'll be dreaming about it for months. He waits with bated breath, but Aevus offers nothing in return.
“I…I would really love to see you again. I mean, I would like to. If you're interested.” They're moving at a snail's pace, and won’t be going forward unless Jason takes the plunge. “I’d like to get to know you, both inside and outside of the suit.”
The visible slivers of the vigilante's cheeks burn scarlet, and the rigid reactions from his guardians give Jason pause.
“As civilians, I mean! Nothing more. Unless, eventually, if you ever wanted–”
“Time’s up Tomcat, you're out of here.” Sentry stalks forward, and Sonar lifts a wing behind Aevus, like shelter. Raising both hands in a placating gesture, Jason takes a step back, but keeps his eyes locked on the young vigilante’s.
“I hear you, I hear you. I’m leaving.” And he is, walking backwards off the roof and onto the open air. He doesn’t miss the brief, faint alarm on Aevus’ face, but Jason only smirks and winks in response. “Find me, Aevus. I’ll be waiting.” When Sentry’s gloves crackle with electricity, Jason takes off, heading home to Gotham with a giddy smile on his lips. If you ask him, the warmth he caught from the other’s eyes looked a lot like “see you later.”
In the months that follow, Jason learns a lot about the west coast aviary. For one, he learns that despite being a general shutout, Sonar gets along well with most of the League and its affiliates. In particular, he’s close with Flash, Supes, and Wonder Woman. Big Blue might even know his actual real identity. Between training rookie corpsmen and navigating missions from Alfred, he pays a certain Keystone redhead a quick visit.
“Uncle Bird?” Wally races only slightly faster than the normal human limit, organizing his wreck of an apartment. “Sorry, Don and Dawn were here for the weekend.” With the last toy put away, he invites Jason inside, leading them to sit on the loveseat. “What about him? Is something wrong?” The speedster holds a steaming mug, and so does Jason, though he can’t recall when it was given to him. Taking a sip, the warmth of rich chocolate blooms across his tongue and he hums an approval. “Not much of a coffee guy, because, you know–” He gestures vaguely to himself. “What happened with Sonar?”
It’s hard to find a way into a conversation with Wally West. Sensing the pause between thoughts, he inserts himself like sticking a hand in a closing elevator door. “Nothing wrong, no issue at all, really.” He likes the guy, truly, he’s a good friend to Dick and Jason, so he offers a kernel of truth along with the lie he’s feeding him. “I want to build my own connections with heroes, not just ride off of Bruce’s coattails. Anything could happen, and I don’t want to find myself alone if…” He remembers when Wally took up the mantle, when Barry was out of commission. It’s tough, trying to fill those shoes; Roy and Conner experienced much the same while Ollie was gone. There’s always a chance, especially out in space, that one day Bruce won’t make it back, and recently Jason’s been letting himself sit with the notion, giving the idea room to breathe.
Wally’s expression bleeds sympathy. “You’re not alone, Jace. You’ve got Dick and Tim, even the twerp would turn up when it counted. As much as you all treat it like a live-in apprenticeship, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re kinda brothers.” Jason rolls his eyes and swats at West, who chooses to let the playful blow land rather than dodge with ease. “You should talk to them about it, before you find yourselves locked in a face-off over Head Lantern, or whatever you guys do.”
“I know. I’m sure they’re thinking about it, too.” He maneuvers the conversation to focus on Wally, asks about Barry and Iris, the kids, how the other speedsters are doing. In turn, Jason updates him about the rest of the Earth Lanterns, about his shop and the nightclasses he’s taking a couple times a week. The air in the room is full and warm; space around Wally always felt like an umbrella: safe and cool, shielded by shade. They’re eventually interrupted by text alerts when Linda asks for a ride. Pinks and oranges bleed in from the window as the sun has dipped low over the Missouri sky. Just as they’re both heading to the door, Wally stops with his hand pressed to the manufactured wood.
“Hey, Jetplane.” His tone drops the light, carefree notes from before and adopts something more serious and thoughtful. “About Uncle Bird…”
The non sequitur unsteadies Jason for a moment. “Yeah?”
Debating with himself, Wally locks eyes with the Lantern, searching for something. “Is this about the kid? You were asking me earlier, was it because of the new guy?”
Jason is stunned into silence, tilting his head down and up in a slow, stiff nod. Wally hums.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to know, but Barry let slip that Uncle Bird was asking around, asking Superman about the adoption process, how to make a person exist on paper. He mentioned…” The redhead works his jaw for a second, then continues even softer, eyes cast to the doormat. “He mentioned something about PTSD, I think. At least, that’s what it sounded like.” He lifts his head, eyes suddenly weary. “But you didn’t hear any of that from me, got it?”
Going their separate ways, Jason is grateful for the time it takes to fly across state lines while he sorts through his thoughts.
Autumn comes to a close in Gotham, which means instead of raining, it’s raining, because they never get true snow on the coast like this. The Green Lantern suit keeps him safe from the elements as Jason scouts some old tankers in the bay that just scream ‘evil hideout.’ It’s while he’s scanning for recent activity that he gets an alert from Drake.
Incoming.
Which could mean fucking anything, thanks Tim, but it becomes clear what exactly when a familiar leather jacket floats into the space beside him. Kon-El, Superboy, smiles and runs a hand through perfectly dry curls.
Stupid supers and their supermodel powers. Not a hair out of place in the dreary Jersey weather. “Hey, Green Lantern! What’s up?”
“Staking out the docks. Better question, what’s up with you? Long way from your city.”
“Ahh, nothing! I was in the area, figured I’d fly by for a chat.” He’s all charming smiles and positive energy, and Jason is immediately suspicious. Quirking a brow, he stares at the meta without saying a word, letting the rain occupy the moment. Superboy breaks after 30 seconds.
“Okay, I know about Aevus, and I know you know about Aevus, but you don’t know that I know about Aevus. Except you do, as of right now.”
There goes Jason’s peaceful evening. The truth is, Jason hasn’t stopped thinking about those eyes since he saw them last. No matter where his mind goes, no matter what missions or tasks he’s working on, there’s a small part that’s been dedicated to Aevus, to the bridge of his nose above the mask, his brows, the rhythm of his voice when he said Jason.
He never really knew Willis, was too young to actually remember his father’s presence in his life, but Catherine always spoke about him like the fog of drugs had cleared and she could see him there, bright as day. To her, he had never really left, just hid behind the clouds until the sun hit just right. Jason never doubted that he was a good man, and that Catherine had loved him with everything she was, right up until she had nothing left to spare. Not even for her son. He never hated her for it, he couldn’t, but ever since September, he thinks he’s started to understand where she was coming from. Maybe that’s something else he inherited from her: depthless devotion. When he unleashes his thoughts, lets them explore, they always come back to hazel.
“He wants me to tell you he’s sorry.”
“What?”
Seriously, what?
“So, we’re kind of friends, penpals really, because we both–well, that’s not mine to share. Anyway–” Superboy shakes out his head and hands, as if trying to knock something loose. “He wanted to say he’s sorry, and he knew I could find you through Blue, but honestly, I could find you without Blue, anyway–” The guy needs to stop saying anyway. “I think it’s silly, but he’s kind of freaking out about it, so I offered to be the messenger.” He punctuates his sentence by floating on his back, arms crossed behind his head. “So, what do you say?”
The response comes easy. “No.”
Still horizontal, Superboy tilts his head to Jason, face impassive. “No?”
“I don’t accept his apology. I want him to say it to my face.” He’s confused, and frankly a little pissed off, being presented with some filtered second-hand sentiment. Kon’s rolled to his side, is propping his head up on a single hand, grinning with all his teeth.
“I told him he was being dumb. If you’re anything like Blue, then he’s got a big storm heading his way. And, if you really are like Blue, then…” For the first time since he dropped in on Jason, he stops talking, considers his next words. “You Lanterns are all the same. Stubborn, but loyal. Don’t get scared by all the henning, don’t let him shut you out.” He shrugs and rolls back over, gazing up into the clouds. “So. Anyway. That’s all. You’re cool, GL. Blue vouches for you, but just know, if you hurt Aevus, I’ll ruin you.”
Then Superboy smiles with his magazine-perfect teeth and is gone. Jason has half a mind to run a blood test for hallucinogens, and if he didn’t know better, the answering noise in his head sounded like it was smirking.
Kyle Rayner is still getting used to the idea of Christmas.
He’s been staying with Hal for seven years now, and despite no longer flinching, despite slowly learning what gentle touch is supposed to feel like, he’s never quite figured out the holidays. Before his Mam died, before the Sinestro Home for Lost Youth and Alex and…yeah. Before that, the winter holidays were a simple affair. They would decorate, light the candle on Christmas Eve, and she would get him a few modest gifts. It was only ever the two of them, but they kept the house cozy and loved regardless. The first year after she passed, he woke up in his shared bunk with the taste of mince pies and tears on his tongue. She always let him sneak one at breakfast to satiate his sweet tooth, and sitting in the quiet with a dozen other boys as gloomy dawn broke through the dark, Kyle was hit with the full brunt of the realization that she would never make another one, that he would never again taste any of her cooking, that she had kissed his cheek for the last time.
That was the first time he broke.
This year, he awoke to the sound of the smoke detector going off.
“Gardner, out of the kitchen!”
“Oh yeah Auggie? I’ve seen how you operate, you’re a threat to a baking sheet just as much as I am!”
“Oh can it, you morons. One of you go get Stars, will you?”
“You heard the lady, off you go.”
Guy’s distinct grumbling approaches his door, then knuckles rap twice and the door creaks open.
“Hey kiddo, we’re almost done with breakfast, so you better come out before Hal eats all the cinnamon rolls.”
A feminine voice clears her throat from down the hall. “Carol’s almost done with breakfast. But he’s right about Highball.”
Kyle eases himself out of bed, grabbing the compression gloves from his desk on the way, and joins the others in Hal’s living room. The owner of the place is in the kitchen with his wife, while John and Guy occupy the couch facing the tree. It’s a modest thing, but well decorated because Hal wouldn’t have it any other way, and his nieces and nephews insisted on supplying them with enough ornaments to adorn a forest.
(Kyle does a very good job of swallowing his emotions when they call him ‘Cousin Ky’.)
Hal separates from Carol, slinging an arm around Kyle’s shoulders and bringing him in to kiss the top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Starling. Sleep well?”
He just nods, choked up on all his feelings.
It’s a perfect day, really. Breakfast is delicious, they watch movies and listen to music, and Tora shows up towards the evening. It’s not the same–not spiced beef and Christmas Mass–but it’s still good. Their traditions all blend together, like wearing ill-fitted hand-me-downs. They’re not his own, but they’re well-worn and warm. They watch A Charlie Brown Christmas for Guy, open advent calendars for Hal, bake Pillsbury cinnamon rolls for John because he insists anything else tastes different. Per Kyle’s request, they don’t open gifts until after dinner. John gifts him some new pencils and a pocket-sized sketchbook, because they’ve all recently discovered his skill for art. Guy gets him new celestial-printed braces (he chose them himself, Sweetheart, aren’t they cute?). Hal and Carol hand him new books he’d been eyeing, as well as a card he presses close to his chest and won’t read aloud. As everyone else is passing presents around, Carol asks him to help her bring more drinks from the kitchen. Following her, he watches as she pulls something from the cabinet above the microwave. It’s a modest-sized box, well wrapped in green with clean lines.
“Konnor dropped this off this morning for you. He didn’t say much, but he was in a hurry to get back home.”
Cautiously, he takes the box from her. It’s light, makes no sound in his hands. There’s no attached tag. Taking a few glasses with her, Carol gives him space and returns to the gathering in the living room.
Kon already gave Kyle his gift, flying them both to Galway for the Christmas market last week. Gently, he pulls the tape off the paper, sets it down on the countertop. The box within is plain white cardboard. Setting the lid aside as well, Kyle removes what appears to be a scarf from inside. It’s…soft. The yarn it’s made from is a whisper against his tender fingers, flowing from dark grey, to pale white, to dark again in a gradient. Unfolding the accessory, Kyle is shocked by how long it is, easily reaching the floor from where he’s holding it. When he tries to wrap it, the scarf encircles his neck at least three times, bunching up to cover his lower face. The scent of petrichor and steel smother him, lined with the faintest traces of something mellow and sweet. Dangling by his feet, one end is embellished with a white star hand-stitched to the yarn.
Kyle stands in the kitchen for a few minutes, soaking in the smell, rubbing the soft shape between his fingertips. At last he notices the simple cardstock in the box, apparently hidden under the gift. Smooth and elegant, the writing is hurried cursive written in thin black ink.
We’ll take a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne
I hope the next year treats you well, Aevus
And I hope to see you in it
-Jason
The note leaves Kyle breathless in Hal’s kitchen, like the first time he took the leap of faith and grappled between buildings with Sentry underfoot.