ALEX:

Alex stepped back from his work and took a moment to appreciate it. 

The hologram version of himself didn't have facial expressions programmed in other than smiling appreciatively at nothing, but he could swear it flickered with disappointment.

"I know," he groaned. "Listen, I'm not Tory or Marisol. I’m useless at this. Even if I come up with something nice, it's not...It's not going to be nice on me." 

The hologram was projected from a tablet attached to his closet door. It was precisely his height, weight, and proportions, and the face was kind of a cartoon version of his own, with curly black hair that had been shaved on the sides, an angular jawline, and a brilliant smile that he was pretty sure had never appeared on his face in his life. His smiles were always nervous.

The hologram was currently modeling a jean jacket that looked like it had been acid washed a century ago, black ripped skinny jeans, and black boots. It was a lot like the style of some of his favorite bands from Gray America. 

He swiped through a few more options in his closet. What little fashion sense he had was inspired by Gray America—the early 2000s, punk, scene, emo, and pop culture. He pulled some inspiration from the nineteen seventies and eighties, as well. 

Every month, the Gale City Archives would release reevaluated archived music, movies, art, and other forms of content that had been originally created about a century ago. They posted a list of recently unarchived work and allowed movie theaters to play the content and social media platforms to post and stream it. He kept up with the unarchived music releases of his favorite bands, and frankly, it drove him crazy to wait until the archives released albums that were a century old.

Tory had told him that he should dress how he really wanted to dress for the party. And this was really how he wanted to dress. He'd just never really put himself out there before. Keeping to himself and looking and acting as mild and normal as possible was his constant compass.

He switched out the white shirt under the jean jacket with a vibrant deep blue shirt with a black sketch of a rose in the center. He liked that...but man, that was blue. Very bright.

The hologram popped a hip and threw a peace sign. Alex grimaced. He was pretty sure that watching himself do that was a crime.

After visiting the guild, he had procrastinated coming up with an outfit for the party, anxiety riddling him from the inside out. Deep cleaning his room brought his insides some peace, but not enough.

It looked good on the hologram, but that didn't mean...

His bedroom door burst open, and he jumped. Tory strode in and plopped on his bed, chewing on a chocolate chip cookie—Alex’s dad had baked a batch that morning. Tory’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy and he didn't seem to notice the crumbs falling from the cookie to Alex's clean bedsheets.

"Al, your dad's cookies? Primo. Can your parents adopt me already?" His tongue worked at some chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

"You're getting crumbs all over my floor and sheets. I just vacuumed."

Tory peered down at his pink sleeveless tank and the bed he was sitting on. "Woops. I'll clean it up, I promise." He swept his shirt and the bed sheets with his hands. He had chocolate on his nose. How did it even get there?

He was wearing round, silver-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes widening as he discovered more of his mess. His pink tank top had wide arm holes that drooped to his waist, and the flashes of pale skin were currently giving Alex a heart attack. He tried very hard to focus on how messy this doofus was, sweeping crumbs into the carpet with his long, elegant fingers decorated with ten silver rings.

Alex sighed and rolled his eyes, partially at himself. "You walk in and get crumbs everywhere and ask about adoption. Whatever happened to, 'Hello, Alex, how are you? How was your day?'"

"I already know how you are and how your day went," Tory protested, his tone whiny. "You're an anxious wreck, algebra sucked, and band class was great, but overall, it made you feel inadequate. Which it shouldn't, because you are musical talent incarnate." He gestured grandly to the alphabetized library of sheet music beside a keyboard and a guitar stand. His trumpet for school sat in its case beside his backpack. 

Alex laughed. He was kind of on the money for someone who hadn't picked up his phone or answered a text in a couple of hours. 

"You could still learn to knock. What if I wasn’t decent?”

“We’ve known each other since we were six, you goof. I know all about the secret mole on your butt.”

“There are no secret moles on any butts.” Alex squinted, his face burning. “Which is a thing you haven’t seen. And if there was, how would I know about it? I can’t see back there.”

Tory’s lips drew into a crooked grin, like he could taste Alex’s exasperation and he enjoyed the flavor. 

God, he was so infuriating.

"Where have you been, anyway? I was beginning to think you bailed."

"Helping my mom with campaign stuff," Tory shrugged. He was going for nonchalance, but Alex could sense Tory’s bone-deep irritation. "Had my hands full for a couple of hours. Sorry." 

“It’s all good. You’re here now, anyway.”

His eyes brightened. "Why don’t I answer all of your texts now?” He picked up his phone and began replying with rapid thumbs. “Spam time.”

Alex snorted and wandered into his closet to change. 

When he came back out, his phone was buzzing on his desk with nine messages from one complete goober.

The Great Tory Burns:

that meme is five stars actually

hhhhhhh im fine

obviously excited for the party

you're going to be the coolest guy there alex do not even stress

im coming over now

okay im here

the cookie was good i want ten

we should get food before the party

plllls i need super shake

He chuckled at the texts and looked up at Tory, who was staring at him.

“Uh. What?” Alex straightened his shirt.

Tory donned a very stern and studious expression, scrutinizing Alex’s outfit, then twirled one finger. 

Alex turned around grumpily, his limbs dragging like a rag doll. Tory nodded, contemplating the outfit.

“Pose for me, babe.”

Alex sighed, then struck an overly dramatic pose, a hand on one hip. Tory laughed, his eyes shiny crescents and his pink cheeks dimpling, and Alex felt like somebody was blowing and popping bubbles in his chest.

“It’s not as good as the hologram. I’m changing.”

“What do you mean? You look good."

And that was it. Sometimes, it didn’t take much from Tory to kill Alex’s anxiety. What had he even been worried about before? 

Tory eyed the posters around the room—new prints of archived band posters from over a century ago.. "The jacket is very Gray America. Trendy. A hint of grunge. All you need are some colorful patches." 

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Patches of what?”

“I dunno. Retro pride flag, comic stuff…Well, I would do comic stuff. Ah, what about lyrics from your favorite bands? Or references to their album covers.”

“I like that idea,” Alex said, grinning. “And Marisol could sew it on if I asked them to.”

“Yeah. I bet you can order one on the net.” He pulled out his phone and started to browse.

Alex took the moment to stare at him. Tory was somewhere in the comfortable sphere between perfection and carelessness, and Alex could not relate to that one bit. Born to strut and party, Alex was not.

Tory, on the other hand, seemed to always know exactly how to present himself.

It made sense, he supposed. Alex was constantly told to blend in, act normal, never appear too particularly interesting. Tory had been in the public spotlight for most of his life as the son of Mayor Burns herself. Even his wins on his junior league soccer team used to headline sports magazines.

She had been mayor for two four-year terms, and this was her third. Almost ten years in office. And Alex had been Tory's friend the entire time, watching him appear on newsfeeds as the mayor's kid, smile at reporters, and answer interview questions with a stunning smile, like he wasn't the slightest bit bothered by their intrusions. Alex knew better.

His mind wandered back to the party, and Alex was anxious all over again. His stomach turned as he thought about being stuffed in an apartment he didn’t know with a lot of people he would only recognize vaguely. He rubbed his clammy hands off on his shirt and tried to fix his hair in the mirror.

“Hey.” 

Alex looked back at Tory, who smiled a little. 

“You’re going to be with me the entire time. Don’t worry.”

“And Delaney and Marisol,” Alex added, his voice breathy and tense.

“Well, yeah, but I’m the most important,” Tory said primly, and Alex snorted.

“I can’t wait to see what you’re like buzzed—” Tory started, then frowned. “Unless you’re not gonna drink. I mean, no pressure.”

The memory of Eric quoting the Justice Code at him earlier came back in full force. Heroes followed the law, mask or no. They were a constant force of lawful good, model citizens.

Alex had been adamant his whole life about rules. His sense of duty was an intense moral compass. He not only wanted to follow the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law as well. 

But what had that gotten him?

None of it mattered in the end. He never got to be a hero.

There wasn’t anything holding him back anymore. He might as well finally live.

And Tory was looking at him with very big, blue eyes.

Stomach tangled in knots, he squeaked, “…Yes? I will be. A little.”

Tory grinned, delighted and proud. “My baby Alex, all grown up.” He wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye.

“Shut up.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Just a little. You too. You don’t have enough brain cells to spare.”

Tory looked offended. “Hey.”

“Kidding.” Alex apologetically patted Tory’s hair—an electric red. The kind that blazed in the neon open signs of the older restaurants in Gale City. 

Their friend, Marisol, was interested in style and fashion, and they had approved of Tory’s dye choice, though they had asserted that there were certain darker shades of red that would have complemented his pale complexion better and would look more natural.

Tory was not interested in looking natural, though. He was interested in blazing a path wherever he went, and more importantly, pissing his mom off. 

Alex didn’t find his intentions mature or admirable, exactly, but he liked that Tory just did what he wanted, even in the spotlight of the public eye. Whatever Tory had inside that pushed him to deflect expectations brazenly—audacity, courage, spite, raw stupidity—Alex did not have.

Maybe that was what Alex had actually been missing all along. Powers were just the beginning of his deficits.

“Oh! Marisol’s here.” Tory looked up at Alex. Alex’s hand lazily slid from the crown of Tory’s soft hair to his forehead with the movement. “We should go.”

TORY:

Marisol’s hover car paused just outside of Alex’s apartment, about six stories up. It floated beside the large balcony, where Alex’s parents also kept a grill and smoker and a swinging bench. 

There was a fence around the patio with a gate that opened to the hover car. A short bridge ejected from the balcony to the car when the gate opened, a glass fence rising on either side of the bridge as a safety measure. 

His pocket buzzed, and Tory checked his phone. A notification from Nexus and nothing else. Thank god.

Nexus was Gale City’s most popular social media app—one of the first to fully utilize multiple hologram screens projected from the newest Hoverworks smartphone. It was Tory and Everlux’s connection to their rapidly growing fanbases, and Tory had a bit of an addiction to it. 

Marisol was chatting with Delaney in the front seat, Delaney's feet up on the dash and Marisol’s hand on her knee.

“No. I’m not going to watch the season one OVA. If it had Juno, I’d consider it, but it’s literally about Jacob and Delilah having a beach episode by themselves. That sucks.” Marisol threw up their hands. Tory was glad that the hovercar was almost always on autopilot, even though it was currently parked.

“Okay, finally, you’re out.” Delaney turned around in her seat to face Tory as he slid into the car. “Tell Marisol that the first OVA of Rainbow Crystal Deathsaves is actually good and they should watch it. It’s a beach episode.”

“Oh.” Tory grimaced. He hadn’t thought about that show in so long. At least a couple months. It used to be his obsession. “Did I even see it? Alex, have I watched that?”

Alex shrugged a shoulder as he slid into the backseat beside Tory, a hand fondly mussing Delaney’s pink hair tied back in a loose braid. “I don’t remember a beach episode.”

Marisol whirled around, their body twisting away from the wheel to shower Alex and Tory with the full force of their peeved expression. “That’s not even relevant—Alex doesn’t watch superhero stuff.”

“Yeah, but Tory always tells me about his current hero show or comic obsession of the week.” Alex buckled in his seatbelt. “Especially about the deathsaves. Feels like I’ve seen every episode. Although…I guess it’s been a while since he’s…done that…”

Alex’s gaze flicked to Tory’s. Tory avoided the look. He picked up his phone and turned his camera on one of the screens—he needed to check his hair. The doorway of the car had assaulted its perfection. 

“I’ve been too busy with other stuff, honestly.” Continued in next chapter.