Leon needed to take a shit.

That's what he'd told Mrs. Patterson. Except he'd said it exactly like that—"I need to take a shit"—and the way her face went through three colors in two seconds made the detention slip worth it. Probably. Maybe.

He wasn't actually in the bathroom.

He leaned against the wall outside the seniors' corridor, backpack hanging off one shoulder, listening to the muffled drone of his own English class two hallways back. Erik was in there. Karin too, probably doing that thing where she passed notes and pretended to pay attention. Let them wonder where he was. Didn't matter.

This was about the new kid.

Leon's fingers drummed against his thigh. He'd seen it—the way Yosuke wrote his name on that first day. Not "Joskey." Not some half-assed attempt at anglicizing it. The pen moved in strokes that meant something, characters that had weight. Japanese shit. Real Japanese shit. And the name started with Y-O.

Yoyo.

Like the toy.

Leon's jaw worked. He could be wrong. Lots of kids had names that started with Yo. Probably. Maybe not at Greenwode, but somewhere. The thing was—those eyes. Ratio's eyes, every magazine and MTV special had burned them into Leon's brain without him knowing why. Same shade. Same impossible blue that didn't belong on anyone's face, least of all a kid who looked like he'd fallen from the sky.

He just needed to make sure. That was all.

The bell rang.

The seniors' corridor flooded instantly—letterman jackets, cologne, that particular brand of noise that only came from people who knew they owned the place. Leon straightened, kept his face easy.

"Yo, Big Dick Leon!" Kendrick materialized first, fade haircut gleaming under the overhead lights. The nickname had followed Leon since sophomore year and showed zero signs of dying. "Long time no see, man!"

"What's up." Leon grinned, slapping Kendrick's shoulder. The motion was automatic—muscle memory from two years on varsity.

James and Derek flanked Kendrick like bodyguards who'd eaten too much protein. Jerrell trailed behind them, thin dreads swinging, that charming grin on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

"Heard you bombed summer school," James said, not quite a question. Derek snickered.

"Wasn't worth it." Leon shrugged, keeping the smile locked in place. "Erik talked me out of retaking it. Figured I'd rather suffer through junior year with you guys watching."

"Us watching?" Jerrell threw up a quick gang sign—fingers twisted into something Leon had seen a hundred times in music videos. "Nah, man. We don't watch. We coach."

More laughter. Leon laughed too, loud and easy. He slapped James's back, clapped Derek on the arm. The choreography of it was second nature—play along, don't give them anything.

James made a limp-wristed flick of his wrist, pointed it at Derek. "Hey Martinez, you think Quaver's—"

"Alright, alright." Leon cut him off with practiced ease, palms up. "Some of us got biology next."

The group started to disperse, still talking, voices bouncing off lockers. Leon was about to peel away when—

"You're in the wrong corridor, Quaver."

The laughter died. Not all at once—more like someone had turned a dial down slowly. Kendrick glanced between them, read the room, and jerked his chin at the others. "Let's go, boys."

They went. Girls down the hall tracked them with interested eyes—the way drama unfolded in hallways was better than anything on TV.

Liam stood by the water fountain, perfectly still. Teal uniform pressed like it had been ironed that morning. Probably had been. His hair was cut the same way Leon used to wear it sophomore year—short bangs, clean fade on the sides. Itchy as hell for the first week. Liam still did it that way. Still wore the small shell bead necklace too, the surfer-style one, knotted loose around his neck. Leon was pretty sure Liam had never been on a wave in his life.

Those eyes though. Same fucking shade as the new kid's. Not blue exactly—something else. Something that caught the light wrong, like they were lit from somewhere behind.

"Wanna talk?" Leon said.

Liam's expression didn't change. He turned and walked.

Leon followed. Hesitant steps at first, then matching Liam's pace down the corridor toward the junior wing. The silence between them had weight—the kind that came from knowing someone well enough to fill it but choosing not to.

Liam stopped at his locker. Combination lock clicked open with practiced ease. Inside: textbooks, a D&D sourcebook with a dragon on the cover, and a folded map that looked handmade. Calvin's art style—Leon recognized the ink work, the careful lettering. Some new campaign, probably. Calvin, Justin, and whoever else Liam played with now. Leon used to be in that group. Lost that privilege after camp.

Liam pulled out a notebook, didn't look at him.

"New kid," Leon said.

Liam's hand stilled on the notebook.

"Baby yoyo."

The words landed. Leon watched Liam's face for a crack—anything. For a second there it was: eyebrows lifting a fraction, pupils contracting. Then nothing. Liam turned, notebook pressed against his chest, and looked at Leon with an expression that gave away exactly zero.

"Nice deduction, Quaver. Now go."

"You don't care?" Leon's voice came out rougher than he meant it to. "He's got like zero memories, man. It's fucked up. He doesn't even know—"

"Good for him." Liam's voice went flat. Cold. The way it always did when Leon pushed too far. "Now fuck off. We had an agreement."

Yeah. They did.

Leon's jaw worked. Something hot and frustrated pressed against his ribs—anger, maybe. Or something adjacent to it that he'd spent two years learning not to name. Liam was right though. They'd shaken on it. No contact about Enhanced stuff. No dragging each other back in. Clean lines.

"Yeah." Leon shrugged, keeping it casual even though nothing about this felt casual. "Now you know. See you around, Kovacs."

He turned and walked back the way he came. Didn't look back. Liam wouldn't have been watching anyway—already shutting his locker, already becoming invisible again in the way he'd perfected.

Leon's sneakers squeaked against linoleum. Right. The bell. English was over. Recess next, then biology. Sunny today—Erik and Yosuke probably outside somewhere.

He rounded the corner and almost walked straight into Karin.

Karin was waiting by the vending machines, arms crossed, chewing her gum slow. Not bored. Just… there.

“There you are,” she said, falling into step with him. “Patterson was this close to losing her mind.”

“Bathroom.”

“Uh-huh.” She eyed him. “For, like, the entire period?”

Leon didn’t answer. Karin sighed and moved closer anyway, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm like it still belonged there. Love Spell hit him—sweet, familiar.

“So,” she said, casual. Too casual. “You ditching after lunch or what?”

Leon thought about his pockets. Cigarettes. Lighter. Nothing that led anywhere good.

“I’m out.”

Karin stopped walking.

“Again?” She laughed, but it didn’t quite land. “Leon, come on. That’s not the deal.”

“I know the deal.”

“Do you?” She tilted her head. “Because last time I checked, it was friends. With benefits. Not me standing around wondering if I did something wrong every time you disappear.”

Leon shrugged. “I’ve just got stuff going on.”

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “So do I. That’s kind of the point.” She crossed her arms tighter. “You don’t want to hang out. You don’t want to hook up. But you still get weird when other guys talk to me.”

“I don’t get weird.”

Karin snorted. “You bent Marcus’s pencil in half.”

“It was already cracked.”

She stared at him for a second, jaw tight. “You don’t get to act like I’m yours if you’re not actually here, Leon.”

The words hit closer than he liked. He laughed, sharp and instinctive.

“Relax. You’ll survive. You still got fingers right?”

“Wow.” Karin’s smile flickered. “Cool. Super comforting.”

Something ugly crawled up his throat—panic, maybe. Or pride. He leaned in just enough to lower his voice.

“Admit it, you just miss my dick.”

Silence slammed down around them.

Leon looked up slowly. The sophomore by the fountain. A couple of freshmen pretending very hard not to listen.

Karin didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t cry. She just stepped back.

“You know what?” she said quietly. “That’s fine. Be like that.” She smoothed her blazer, blinking once too fast. “But don’t treat me like a backup plan just because you don’t know what you want.”

She hesitated—just a beat too long—then shook her head like she was annoyed at herself.

"I have plenty of fans. Plenty of options." She stepped back, smoothing her blazer with precise movements. “Time you figure your own shit out, Quaver."

She turned and walked. Heels clicking. Not looking back.

Leon stood there, pulse hammering in his hand—the one that wanted to slam the locker so bad his fingers were actually twitching. He made a fist. Unclenched it. Made it again.

The two freshmen by the science lab were still staring, mouths slightly open. One of them let out a nervous giggle.

Leon's head snapped toward them. He held up both hands—middle fingers, one for each of them. Slow. Deliberate. Then he dropped his chin, held their eyes with a look that said very clearly: you saw nothing, you heard nothing, and if I find out you told anyone—

The giggle died. They scattered.

The smile he put on after felt familiar. Easy. Hollow.

─────── · 𓅪 · ─────── 

October air hit his face. Fifty-three degrees and dropping. He pulled a cigarette free, cupped his hand around the lighter—

There was Yosuke.

On the bench near the maple tree. Erik's padded Levi's jacket swallowed him whole—oversized across the shoulders, sleeves rolled twice at the cuffs. A thick woolen scarf wrapped so many times around his neck that only the top half of his face poked out above it. His nose. His upper lip. That was it. He looked cozy and fragile and like something out of one of Erik's weird French comics, the ones with the big-eyed characters who wandered through impossible worlds looking slightly stunned.

He was taking his glasses off.

Leon watched him do it—one hand pulling the thick frames up slowly, folding them with care, setting them on the bench beside him like they were made of glass. And then his face was just—there. Fully visible. Unobstructed.

Not Ratio.

Leon had thought—everyone thought—but no. Up close, in actual daylight, it wasn't the same face. The eyes were Ratio's shade, yeah. That same blue that didn't belong on anything breathing. But rounder. Softer at the edges. And the brows—God, the brows. Almost knitting together, like he was concentrating on something, but not angry. Surprised. Permanently surprised, like the world kept handing him things he hadn't expected and he hadn't decided yet whether to be grateful or terrified.

The scarf had slipped down just enough to show his mouth. Full lips—the upper one especially, that pronounced curve that made his face look pouty even when he wasn't doing anything. The whole lower half of his face was soft. Rounded. His jaw sloped down to make room for it, like his skeleton had rearranged itself just to fit that mouth. Leon had never seen him smile with his teeth. Not once. He wondered what was underneath—probably strong. Probably perfect, knowing Yosuke's luck.

He looked like no one Leon had ever seen. Not in magazines. Not on MTV. Not in the halls of Greenwode or anywhere else on this fucking planet. Someone had assembled him out of completely mismatched parts—too delicate here, too sharp there—and somehow it all held together. Like prayer. Like if you looked away for one second the whole thing would fall apart.

Yosuke tilted his face up toward the weak sun. Eyes half-closed. Completely still. A bird landed two feet away and he watched it without moving, barely breathing.

Then the basketball slammed the pavement somewhere behind the gym.

Yosuke flinched—whole body jerking, shoulders pulling up toward his ears. His eyes snapped open, wide and startled, scanning the courtyard. Leon's lighter hung frozen in the air. The cigarette still cold between his lips.

Yosuke found him.

And smiled.

Not the polite one. Not the careful one he wore for teachers and strangers. This one was different—open, unguarded, like Leon was the best thing he'd seen all day and he had absolutely no idea that was a problem. Like Leon wasn't someone who'd spent last semester doing things he couldn't take back. Like Leon was just—good. Worth smiling at. Worth looking at like that, with his whole stupid face, in broad daylight, in front of anyone who wanted to see.

Leon's heart slammed against his ribs. His stomach clenched—hard, sudden, like a fist closing. Heat flooded his chest, spread outward, warmed him from the inside out in a way that had nothing to do with the cigarette he hadn't even lit.

No.

Not this. Not again. Not the same thing that had happened with Liam, the same pull, the same sick wanting that ended with showers at home and silence and everything broken.

Not baby yoyo.

Yosuke's arm shot up. The wave was—God. Completely wrong. Elbow locked at a weird angle, hand flapping, fingers doing something that was supposed to be casual but looked like he was trying to swat a fly while also flagging down a taxi. Like he'd watched other kids do it a thousand times and memorized the shape but not the feeling behind it.

Leon flipped him off. Both hands. Middle fingers, held up long enough to make sure Yosuke saw them.

Yosuke laughed—Leon could see it from here, that silent laugh where his shoulders shook—and waved again, harder this time, like the middle fingers had made the whole thing funnier.

Leon turned and walked back inside. Fast. Not running.

He was so fucked.