Life at Greenwode Institution developed a strange rhythm after the awkward incident beneath the stage. Rumors spread like wildfire—suddenly everyone knew how Yosuke had freaked out and self-KO'd next to Karin's discarded panties. His face still bore a faint scar as a friendly reminder it wasn't just a bad dream.

Morning classes, afternoon practices, evening homework—the surface remained unchanged while everything beneath shifted like tectonic plates. Erik and Leon had stopped playing bodyguards between classes. Yosuke navigated hallways alone with his orange headphones firmly in place, a barrier between himself and a world that made less sense each day.

Without glasses, he finally saw the world in sharp focus. Could make out the ugly details. His too-blue eyes drew more whispers, more sidelong glances. "Just like Ratio," he heard someone say. The comparison didn't bother him as much as it should have. Ratio knew who he was, what he was and owned it.

Ms. Spade droned through roll call while Yosuke stared at the back of Leon's head. Three rows up, five seats over. The perfect distance to study without being caught. Watched him scratch his newly trimmed hair, making red marks on his neck.

"Shirai. The Civil War ended in what year?"

Blank. Numbers scattered like startled fish.

"1865," someone whispered.

"1865," he repeated.

"See me after class, Mr. Shirai. Your attention has been... elsewhere lately."

After enduring another lecture about focus and potential, Yosuke escaped down the east corridor shortcut, headphones cranked to maximum. The guitar solo screamed through tiny speakers, drowning out his thoughts as he navigated the empty hallway.

Voices ahead made him freeze. He ducked behind a row of lockers just as Leon and Captain Kovacs came into view, neither noticing his presence.

"Just tell me what's going on," Leon said, frustration evident in his voice. "I can help if you'd just explain what the money's for."

Liam stood with his back against the wall, basketball letter jacket making his shoulders seem impossibly broad despite his defensive posture. "Don't get involved, Quaver. I've got this handled."

"Clearly," Leon's sarcasm cut through the empty hallway. "That's why you're panicking about three hundred bucks."

"Look," Liam's voice dropped lower, "this was the deal, remember? I got basketball, you got the social life. Fair split."

"That was before," Leon stepped closer. "I'm not the enemy here."

"You're not my savior either." Liam's face hardened, his hand reaching to touch at something beneath his school shirt. "Just stay in your lane, you'll just mess this up, like everything you touch."

"Fine." Leon threw up his hands. "Screw yourself over. See if I care."

"That's what you're best at, right?" Liam pushed away from the wall. "Screwing?"

A muscle twitched in Leon's jaw, but he said nothing as Liam walked away. Only when the hall emptied did Yosuke dare to breathe, slipping away unseen while Leon remained, staring at nothing.

· · ─────── · 𓅪 · ─────── · ·

Sunday morning light filtered through the dorm kitchen's grimy windows, catching dust motes and faded paper skeletons. Someone had drawn a mustache on the plastic jack-o'-lantern guarding their ancient microwave.

Erik lounged against the counter—khakis pressed sharp enough to slice bread, cable-knit sweater that probably made sheep in the Swiss Alps feel inadequate. He nursed tea like it held answers.

Yosuke had chosen differently. Basketball shorts from The Mammoth's clearance rack, price tag tucked inside because he liked how the numbers lined up. One of Leon's old Nirvana shirts, soft from countless washes, still carrying traces of cigarette smoke and cherry cola. The fabric hung loose without Leon's drum-built shoulders to fill it.

He attacked sandwich-making with methodical chaos, mayo dripping onto the counter. No perfect right angles like Erik taught him. Just mess on wheat bread.

"That cut's healing well," Erik observed, aiming for casual and missing. "Barely noticeable now."

Yosuke shrugged, took a huge bite. Mayo dripped onto borrowed cotton. He didn't reach for a napkin. The sandwich tasted better than it should—maybe because he'd made it himself, maybe because Erik watched him eat it like solving a puzzle he no longer had the key to.

"So," Erik tried again, fidgeting with his cup, "I was thinking we could hit up the library later—"

"Can't." Mouth full. "Basketball tryouts in January. Gotta practice."

Erik's composure slipped. "Basketball? Since when do you—"

"Also gonna learn computers. The internet thing."

"I could help with that," Erik offered quickly, something desperate bleeding through.

"I'll figure it out." Yosuke stuffed sandwiches into a paper bag, crinkling it extra loud. The sound bounced off Erik's perfectly labeled lunch containers.

He felt Erik's eyes as he left—that careful, studying look since the festival. The jack-o'-lantern's mustache seemed to mock them both about growing up and growing apart.

· · ─────── · 𓅪 · ─────── · ·

The beige monitor stared back at Yosuke like a challenge. His own face reflected back weird and wide-eyed in the black screen. Around him, other students moved with practiced confidence—hands flying across keyboards, clicking those plastic things they called mice, making windows appear and disappear like magic.

He watched a freshman press a button marked with a circle and line. The screen flickered to life. Yosuke found the same button on his machine and pressed it.

His screen remained dark.

Harder press? Still nothing. The mouse—why was it called that?—lay untouched beside his keyboard, its cord trailing like a tail.

"You have to push the monitor button too."

Yosuke jumped. Mia Chen stood behind him, dark-painted fingernails pointing to a second power button. Her heavy eyeliner made her look like she hadn't slept in days.

"Here." She reached past him, pressed both buttons. The machine whirred to life. "First time?"

He nodded, embarrassed but grateful.

"Okay, put your hand on the mouse—no, like this." She guided his fingers into position. "Left button to click, right button for menus. Move it slow at first."

The arrow on screen jerked and wobbled as he tried to control it. Mia's patience seemed infinite as she showed him Netscape Navigator, explaining terms like "browser" and "homepage" that everyone else seemed born knowing.

"Think of it like a library," she said. "But instead of books, you're opening different rooms. Each room has its own information."

"What's 'www' mean?"

"World Wide Web. Like a spider web connecting everything." She typed something called a 'URL'. "Here, try Alta Vista instead - it's like a card catalog for the internet. Their new picture search is way better than Yahoo's."

"Better than Yahoo," Yosuke mirrored as he moved the mouse carefully, leaning in close, watching the little hand icon point to blue underlined text. One click - no, double click. The page changed, revealing a world of possibilities he'd never imagined. Somewhere behind him, a printer churned to life, making him jump again.

"Thanks," he managed, overwhelmed by this new language he needed to learn.

"No problem." Mia's black-painted lips quirked. "Just don't let anyone catch you using the mouse like that. They'll eat you alive."

She drifted away to her own terminal, leaving Yosuke to navigate this strange new territory.

The search box blinked at him, an empty promise waiting to be filled. What did he want to know? Images of Leon playing drums flashed through his mind, followed by memories of that night behind the stage—Karin and Leon together, doing... that. His fingers trembled over the keyboard.

S-E-X.

The screen filled with blue underlined text and crude thumbnails, mostly women in various states of undress. His eyes caught on a different link, something about "men's fitness," and his heart rate doubled. Before he could think, his finger slipped on the mouse.

Pink light reflected off his face as more images appeared. Men without shirts, men without pants, bodies pressed together. None of it explained why his heart raced just thinking of Leon naked, or why Erik's guiding hand on his shoulder always felt like electricity.

A sidebar of related links caught his eye—one in particular making his breath catch: "Enhanced Boys 18+ - Genetic Perfection."

His finger moved without conscious thought, clicking before he could stop himself.

The new page loaded slowly, revealing two young men with pale, unnaturally bright eyes like his own. Their features were symmetrical, almost too perfect, their short-cropped hair doing nothing to hide cheekbones that could have been carved from marble. They posed in white briefs, bodies lean and flawless, visibly aroused beneath thin fabric.

Yosuke's heart hammered against his ribs as something clicked into place. This attraction he felt, this strange pull toward Leon, toward Erik—it must be another Enhanced trait. Another genetic deviation making him different from normal teenagers. Another way he didn't fit into the world around him, where boys were supposed to want girls, not other boys.

Panic seized him. He clicked wildly, trying to make it all disappear. The windows vanished, but where had they gone?

"Mia?" His voice came out smaller than intended. "How do I get inside the Netscape room again?"

"You probably just minimized it." She was already walking over despite his protests.

She reached past him to click something at the bottom of the screen. The window reappeared, pink light washing over her face. Her dark-lined eyes caught on the search term, then flicked to the browser history. Her hand froze on the mouse. "Oh."

A silence stretched between them, heavy as lead.

"I, uh—" Mia tugged at her choker. "I mean, when I first got internet, I..." She trailed off, black-painted fingernails drumming against the desk. "Maybe we should stick to the encyclopedias. Less... surprise pictures."

But Yosuke was already shoving books into his bag, the chair screeching against linoleum. Through the lab windows, she watched him sprint across the courtyard, his hood pulled so low he nearly ran into a tree.

"Shit," she muttered, closing the browser window with practiced efficiency. She glanced around the empty lab, then cleared the history too, just in case.

· · ─────── · 𓅪 · ─────── · ·

The dorm was quiet when Yosuke returned, his legs aching from walking Greenwode's every street twice over. He assembled turkey sandwiches in the dark kitchen, muscle memory guiding his hands.

His and Erik's door creaked open like a confession. Erik sat cross-legged on his bed, filing his perfect fingernails, wearing just a faded Greenwode t-shirt and boxer shorts. He pulled off his headphones, face brightening. "Joskey!"

"Hey." Yosuke tried to sound casual, though he'd been avoiding this moment the whole day.

"Just heard the funniest thing," Erik said, sitting up straighter. "From Mia Chen, of all people."

The sandwich turned to sawdust in Yosuke's mouth. He forced himself to swallow, heart hammering.

"About how you were in the computer lab, working it like you'd been using PCs forever?" Erik grinned. "Clearly you've got it handled."

Yosuke froze. Mia had lied. She'd covered for him. But why?

"I'm proud of you, you know." Erik's voice carried an odd tremor. "Your progress, how you're learning things on your own."

"Yeah, sure." Yosuke fumbled with Erik's old cassette player, untangling the orange headphones.

"Hey," Erik added softly. "About the festival. I'm sorry. I should've warned you better when Karin showed up..."

"Please," Yosuke groaned, jamming in a random tape. "Can we not?"

He cranked the volume until Pearl Jam drowned out everything else—Erik's concerned looks, the memory of pink-lit computer screens, the question of why a girl in black lipstick would protect his secrets. Erik watched him for a moment longer before putting his own headphones back on, but his fingers had stopped their careful filing.

· · ─────── · 𓅪 · ─────── · ·