The Mammoth stood like a fever dream among Greenwode's sensible storefronts - a three-story monument to organized chaos where giant wooden tusks protruded from its letters as if the building itself was trying to escape conventional retail. The window displays told stories their newest visitor couldn't yet understand: a leather jacket that would one day teach him about rebellion, action figures from movies he hadn't watched, and a cardboard of an almost naked David Hasselhoff in red trunks whose significance would remain mercifully mysterious for at least another semester.

Inside, decades of pop culture collided in curated mayhem. Vintage band posters advertised long-finished concerts. Plastic childhood artifacts lined the walls—tiny monuments to stories Yosuke had yet to learn.

"What... is this place?" Yosuke asked, dripping onto worn floorboards.

"Only the finest establishment in all of Greenwode," Leon spread his arms theatrically. "Where fashion meets fever dream."

Three brass bells announced their arrival. The air smelled of patchouli and possibility.

"Yo Tibe!" Leon called out. "Got a fashion emergency!"

"A bit late for pre-school shopping, aren't you?" came a nasal voice from the jungle of sequined jackets. "Term started a month ago."

The owner emerged like some exotic bird—all long limbs and clashing colors. Tibe's blue-green hair cascaded past shoulders draped in pink silk and patched denim. Pink-tinted glasses perched on his nose.

"Erik's Armani pants met a watery death," Leon explained, sprawling across the counter. "Very tragic. There were tears."

"I'm not THAT emotionally instable," Erik said, leaving wet footprints as he browsed jeans. "I need something that won't bankrupt me when Yosuke decides to test more physics theories."

"Speaking of..." Tibe started, then jumped back with a yelp. Yosuke had appeared silently beside vintage band tees, studying them intensely. "Jesus Christ! Where did you come from?"

"The beach," Yosuke answered seriously.

"No, I mean— Dude, I almost thought you were a ghost!" Tibe pressed a hand to his chest. "Standing there all pale and quiet."

"He does that," Leon grinned. "Our little space cadet moves like a cat. Or a really sneaky penguin."

"I don't mean to," Yosuke said, looking distressed. "Is it not normal to stand quietly?"

"Nothing about you is normal," Erik called from behind a rack. "Tibe, please tell me you still have those black jeans in my size?"

"Hold up," Tibe's attention fixed on Yosuke, who'd moved to examining plastic aliens arranged by height. "New guy, huh? You're with these two?"

"Unfortunately," Erik emerged with pants. "He's my responsibility until further notice."

"I have a great shirt for him!" Tibe's face lit up. He disappeared behind the counter, rummaging sounds echoing. "Every new kid needs this shirt. It's destiny!"

"Oh god," Leon and Erik groaned in unison.

Tibe emerged triumphantly holding what could only be described as a crime against fabric—a yellow western shirt covered in horses, cacti, and what might have been snakes wearing cowboy hats.

"What do you think?" Tibe beamed. "It's been waiting for the right owner."

"Been waiting because it's hideous," Leon stage-whispered. But Yosuke tilted his head, studying it with intense focus.

"The little man on the horse," he said seriously, "looks just like you, Leon."

The store went quiet. Then Tibe threw back his head and laughed, the sound bouncing off walls covered in decades of collected oddities.

"Oh man, I like this one," he wiped his eyes. "Honest to a fault, huh?"

"You have no idea," Erik said, but he was smiling. "Now about those jeans..."

But Yosuke had already drifted away, drawn to something else—a brown leather jacket hanging in isolation. White fur trimmed its hood while "SKULL" curved across the back in elaborate script. His fingers reached out, tracing the skull emblem.

He pointed at it with careful precision. "I like that one. I like that there's fur on it."

Leon let out a low whistle. "Yeah, and I like eating gold-plated sushi, but some things are just dreams, man. That's designer stuff - probably costs more than my entire wardrobe."

"Which isn't saying much," Erik said, but his eyes had that worried look he got whenever Yosuke showed interest in standing out. He pressed a stack of sensible jeans and a warm blue sweater into Yosuke's arms. "Go upstairs and try these on. And please don't think about wasting your allowance on designer jackets."

"But-"

"The changing rooms are up those stairs," Erik said firmly, now bare-legged and looking increasingly desperate to find pants of his own.

"Just... try to dress normal for now, okay? We can experiment with style later."

Yosuke nodded obediently, but his eyes lingered on the jacket as he climbed the stairs. Something about it called to him—like it was waiting for him to become someone who could wear it without hesitation.

"Don't worry about Erik's fashion police act," Tibe called after him. "Being normal is overrated anyway!"

"Don't encourage him," Erik muttered, but Yosuke was already disappearing into The Mammoth's pink-tinted upper floor.

The afternoon's playful mood shifted as Erik's face hardened.

"So," Erik said quietly, fingering a rack of jeans. "Am I the only one who thinks there's something off about him?"

"Yeah, like how he stands there all creepy quiet," Tibe whispered, glancing toward the stairs. "Almost gave me a heart attack earlier."

"He's not creepy." Leon's fingers drummed the counter. "Dude just woke up in a hospital with no memories. Everything's new to him."

Tibe's eyes went wide behind pink glasses. "No way! Like amnesia? That's some serious movie plot stuff right there."

"More like he's Enhanced," Erik cut in. "And doesn't know it."

Leon's stomach dropped. "Based on what?"

"The eyes. The proportions. How his doctor was so eager to send him away." Erik pulled jeans off the rack. "Tibe, if things become difficult... you still have places?"

"The what now?" Leon asked, sudden fear making his throat tight.

Tibe straightened, all his quirky mannerisms falling away. "Yeah," he said softly. "We've got places." He grabbed bright blue Levi's. "I'll just... take these up to him."

After Tibe left, Leon turned on Erik. "What the hell, man? Ten minutes ago we were laughing about the western shirt, now you're—"

"Being careful." Erik wouldn't look at him. "That is all."

Leon's mind flashed to Liam's dorm room after D&D night. The only real talk they'd had before everything went to shit. Liam sitting cross-legged on his bed, holding that night lamp under his chin like kids do telling ghost stories.

"I got so many secrets," Liam had said, voice going soft. "But like... who am I supposed to tell?"

The light had caught his eyes wrong. Made them glow pale green—not reflected, but absorbed, like they were drinking in more light than possible. Liam had looked alien for just a second before clicking the lamp off, laughing it away. Leon could easily imagine Yosuke's eyes doing the same glowy shit.

Fuck.

"Your dad can't know," Leon said. Not a question.

Erik's jaw tightened. "My father asks questions. I do not always answer them."

Silence stretched. Erik's eyes flickered to the side, wrestling with something. Leon kept drumming the counter.

Leon had met Erik's dad twice. First time, Stellan Sjöström had helped carry that worn sofa up to his dorm—all Nordic politeness and movie-star looks. Leon's mom had fanned herself after, giggling about Dolph Lundgren.

Second time, Leon's knuckles had gone white gripping Erik's wrist in the Quaver kitchen while Stellan gripped the other, face carved from stone. The man didn't yell—that would've been easier. Just that flat Terminator voice saying "You're coming home" while Erik sobbed between them like a wishbone about to snap. "Snälla Pappa," Erik had begged, "please—" Leon had pulled harder, this terrified kid trying to win a tug-of-war against a six-foot-three G-man who could've snapped him in half. But Stellan's eyes—Leon saw it for just a second before the mask came back. Pure fear. Like he was watching his son drown and the only life raft was Sweden.

Erik's dad had won. Erik waiting in that black Crown Victoria, behind shaded windows, while Leon's parents helped pack up his things. Leon couldn't see his face through the tint. Didn't need to.

"Fuck your dad," Leon mumbled, cheeks going red. "Is he still being a controlling freak?"

Erik swallowed, didn't want to answer that. They both knew his reasons.

Outside, normal Saturday continued.

"Does Liam know about Yosuke?" Erik asked quietly.

"How would I know what Liam knows?"

"You tell me."

Leon's hands stilled. "Drop it, man."

"I am trying to help—"

"Yeah, well." Leon kicked the floorboards. "Maybe don't."

Erik gathered his stuff, disappeared into the secluded area behind the register.

Leon waited, fiddling idly with rings by the accessory display, thinking about baby yoyo and how Yosuke looked at the world like it was all new. Like everything was worth studying.

Footsteps creaked overhead. Yosuke's soft voice drifted down—something innocent about jeans being too loose. He remembered how fragile Yosuke had been in the water, how his skin had seemed to glow in the sunlight. Not dangerous, he thought fiercely. Not a threat. Just lost.

—

The upstairs of The Mammoth felt like stepping into a cotton candy dream. Pink and purple light filtered through high windows, casting shadows across stuffed unicorns and racks of fluffy dresses.

Yosuke's cold shirt clung uncomfortably as he navigated past the plush menagerie. The changing room offered sanctuary—just a mirror, a red armchair, and blessed quiet. His belt refused to cooperate as he fumbled with the buckle.

Voices drifted up from below—not words, but tones he recognized. The same careful modulation doctors used when discussing his case, like they were handling something fragile and potentially dangerous. Were Erik and Leon angry about the swimming incident?

"Stupid," he muttered, yanking at his dripping hair.

The cold shirt peeled away from his skin like a second layer. Yosuke stared at his reflection—all jutting ribs and sharp angles, skin so pale it glowed under the harsh light. Arms like brittle branches. Chest concave where Leon's filled out. He looked like something rescued from a shipwreck.

Weren't Enhanced supposed to be superior? Strong and perfect?

The 501s Erik had chosen slid down his narrow hips. He kicked them off, standing in just the oversized hospital briefs against that cotton candy backdrop. All bunched fabric where other boys had shape. Sexless.

His hand traced down his pale torso—over ribs that moved wrong when he breathed, bending loose like they weren't quite attached right. A few dark moles dotted the translucent skin. When he tried to flex, nothing happened. Just bone and skin that seemed to glow in the pink light.

Two months of watching normal boys and he still looked like a collection of parts that forgot to finish forming.

The itching on his back intensified as he turned sideways. His spine carved a ridge down to narrow hips, shoulder blades jutting like broken wings.

Then he saw them.

Tiny dark dots clustered along his shoulder blades, each one emerging from a pore like some twisted hair follicle. But they were wrong—too thick, too rigid for hair. Almost black against his milk-white skin.

He twisted awkwardly, fingers reaching behind to touch one. Sharp. Needle-sharp, like tiny thorns growing from his flesh. The rest of his body was nearly hairless, so what were these things?

Maybe they were medical residue—sutures that hadn't dissolved, fragments left from his hospital stay. He pinched one between his nails and pulled.

The pain shot through him like fire. He clenched his teeth, eyes watering, but kept pulling. It resisted, then slowly began to emerge—longer than he'd expected, slick with something that might have been blood.

"Hey new kid, got some more—"

The curtain yanked back and Yosuke spun, nearly stumbling over the armchair. Tibe recoiled, blue-green hair flying.

"Oh god, gross! Sorry, but I absolutely cannot handle people popping zits." He fake-gagged, backing away fast. "Like, doing your own is fine, but watching someone else—"

Yosuke pressed his arm against his back, heart hammering. "Sorry! I wasn't—I mean—"

"No judgment! Just save it for home?" Tibe dropped jeans on the chair and fled like something was chasing him.

Yosuke stood frozen in the pink-lit room, surrounded by stuffed unicorns. He looked at his finger—dark blood smeared across the tip. Real. He'd pulled something out.

When he checked the mirror, his back looked smooth. Nothing protruding.

He stared at the blood, then up at his own face in the mirror, then back at his finger. Whatever he'd pulled out was gone. Whatever hole it left had sealed.

He quickly wiped his finger on his arm, not wanting to stain anything.

The 26/30 Levi's Tibe had brought slid on easier, but the bunched briefs still created that childish bulk. Yosuke hooked his thumbs into both waistbands and pulled down—letting them sit well below his belly button. Pale skin showed now, a few rough dark hairs trailing up from below. Not much, but something.

Like Leon wore his school uniform.

The thick blue sweater covered what he couldn't fix, falling just right. He studied his reflection against pink walls and grinning unicorns—almost normal now, if you ignored the damp hair and too-pale skin.

He quickly put his glasses back on, hiding what Leon once called his makeup-commercial eyes. Behind him, a pink unicorn seemed to wink, as if it knew exactly what he really was.

Downstairs, conversation died as he approached. Leon suddenly found a rack of vintage sequin jackets fascinating, avoiding his gaze.

"Is it right?" Yosuke pulled at his sweater uncertainly. "Should it sit here, or higher?"

"Both is fine," Erik said, eyeing the loose underwear peeking above Yosuke's jeans. "Though we should upgrade from those grandpa briefs."

"Very retirement home chic," Leon added with a snort, finally turning but not quite meeting his eyes. He grabbed paint-splattered boxers. "These are more grunge. Trust me."

"About payment—" Tibe started.

"Put it on my credit," Erik cut in, steering Yosuke toward the door.

Tibe shook his head, "Rich kids and their credit cards."

"Thanks for the rescue, beautiful!" Leon blew an exaggerated kiss to the Hasselhoff cutout as they left, the gesture too loud, too forced—like he was trying to distract from something else.

The bells chimed their exit. Something had shifted during Yosuke's time upstairs—something that had nothing to do with clothes. But at least now he looked normal. That was the goal, wasn't it? Even if normal felt increasingly like a costume he was learning to wear.