Overwhelmed and confused by his irritating dead-ends, Lu sketched Adon swinging Mess’ bag instead. Not scared or angry like Mess had been, but confident… defiant. Adon’s cold eyes promised revenge from the page, and Lu smiled down at him, certain that he deserved it. He sat back, staring at five versions of Adon on his tablet, refusing to cry for any of them. This was his life. He’d escaped. He’d tried to save Adon in every way, and he’d sacrificed himself to Gideon first…. 

Lu sighed heavily.  If he lingered any closer to his fears, he might let the shame fill him, might not be able to keep his promise of letting Adon haunt him till death—and he didn’t want to break any more promises. Not to Adon. 

Lu slept away his district day, rehydrating and reporting to his ceramics workshop with a new plan. Whether Adon was above or below, Lu had left him cold, so he would build a warm home for Adon, in case he ever wanted to return. Lu put on the warmest music he could find, a pop boy-band Aphy used to play so loud at the desk in the corner that they all heard it from her comms, and he still knew the choruses of at least three songs by proximity. Adon had paid the fees for her obsessions. Wherever he was, Adon was probably still paying the fees. Adon had traded tutoring hours for Aphy’s art supplies because he’d wanted so badly to be warm enough, and all his sister had done was hand him over to his mom. 

Lu gripped his carving tools tight, fully submerged in his work, remembering that night in the ramen car, Adon’s mother passing on her debts, Adon's hatred cementing on his face, and Lu helplessly trying to promise that it would be okay. Recalling Adon’s mom made his recent reunion with his own more bearable. She'd abandoned him, but she's never pretended she didn't or that he’d deserved it. She'd simply never existed to him, not in a way that mattered, and maybe that was a kindness he could never understand.

Lu sat in the humid workshop and sculpted Adon, each contrasting expression angled one atop another, every curl and eyelash carefully molded then smoothed away, every movement an apology, until there were years of Adons, a thousand expressions mismatched between carved features in a surreal Clearwater styled angel. The clay absorbed his tears and when he sat his aching back away from his work table with no more tears left in him, Lu discovered an empty studio and a moody professor manning the kiln. 

“You can’t work like that in public, kiddo,” she grunted with an understanding smile, “your classmates almost called the asylum. 

Lu winced, still stiff, “I’m sorry,” his gaze remained on the final bust of the adult version of Adon set in front of him. 

“Don’t be, love is hard for everyone.”

Lu frowned. Love, that’s what it meant to give away a heart. But the word seemed too simple, compressed too flat. 

“Though I do agree,” she nodded at his work before ducking back into the kiln to check a piece, “grief is worse.”

Grief? The words were swallowed by the round kiln as she pulled one piece out and set another in, and something clicked into place in Lu’s chest—he’d been able to convince himself that Adon was safe before he’d seen Mess, but now there were only questions. Questions, love, and yes, grief. 

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” The Professor tutted, observing his work over his shoulder curiously. 

Lu shrugged numbly, “I betrayed him.” He liked the shock in her eyes, the judgment between her brows, the same face Phaios gave to Benny, the same face the jury casted at Pa—a distaste. 

It faded as she rounded the table, “and what would you say if you saw him right now?”

“Probably sorry,” Lu shrugged, then added the truth, “or nothing.”

She liked that answer. 

He’d meant nothing because sometimes he only thought of catching sight of Adon in a crowd, running after him, and kissing him right there in a busy hall, or of turning a corner just in time to endure a well-deserved suckerpunch, Adon standing angrily over him while he wheezed. But The Professor thought he meant he would endure his shame in gallant silence, and in admiration, she began to write an email. 

“I’m recommending you for a position. I think you’ll like it. And your internship is almost up anyway, right?”

“Yes Jan—ma’am.” He’d almost called her Jane.

She hit send with a flourish and handed him a card, “they’re a design studio, an imprint of AI Entertainment now. They do a lot of good projects, but—” she pulled the contact card back before he could take it. “But I could recommend you laterally from here. If you’re interested.”

Lu inhaled, then wilted with a sad smile, shuffling his feet, still sitting on the short stool, “sorry ma’am,” he shook his head helplessly at the sculpture, impressed by his own work before the wave of dread and fear of all the unknowns that would leave Mess swinging a heavy bag of cans alone on the Ground. There were only a few possibilities, but Lu refused to think of them. Adon had promised till death, and Adon had never broken promises. Adon would find a way to tell him he’d died from the grave if he gave up first. Adon would definitely haunt him, spitefully and loud. 

Lu chewed his lip, huffing half a snort at the thought of a ghostly Adon pacing beside him, the image solidifying into a world without Adon that he refused to face. He shivered, sighing at his work, “I can only create one thing.”

The Professor nodded understandably, tucking the contact card in his shirt pocket, “if you ever want to do more,” she smiled mournfully, “contact me. I’ll remember you.” She started to leave, but paused, “you know I can’t legally show that anywhere… too much raw emotion, I’d get flagged.”

Lu nodded slowly, suddenly aware of all the flaws of his work that didn’t match the real Adon, that could never match the real Adon until he met him again. “You can dump it. Or take it to the Arcade.” He knew at least a dozen illegal galleries just off the top of his head. 

She smiled, “I like you.” She waved, continuing toward the double doors, the kiln humming behind him, “the doors will lock when you leave.” She paused halfway through the doorway and doubled back. She didn’t like how he looked at the bust, like he might swipe it off the pedestal just to hear the sound of his own heartbreak. She’d already thought of a buyer, so she rushed him to get his bag and pushed him out ahead of her until the workshop doors clicked shut behind them both.

“Good luck kiddo,” she trotted to the shuttle back to the university and Lu waved with a serene finality. His phone chimed and he unlocked it to find his completion certificate and his degree already linked to his ID. If their CAPT ceremonies and graduations were elaborate, their university ones were at least efficient. He stomped home, turning the card over in his hand. He didn’t deserve art. He didn’t deserve peace or pride. He had an obsession and a hobby and a reason to stay alive and keep the house warm and that was enough. That had to be enough. 

☆