Archive of Our Own

o.

In the end, he went back to Madripoor, because he had rented his apartment to the end of the month, and money was still precious to him. But he did not go back to fighting for profit, and he did not bother trying to find enlightenment again. They could tell him nothing he did not already know, and he just wanted to sleep in his own bed.

So in the end, nothing had changed, except him.

Shatterstar had made a decision. Instead of trying to learn to live like a human, he was just going to do it. If most of humanity, the majority of whom owed their existence to pure dumb luck, could manage it, then so could he, who had been created in a lab to be smarter, stronger and better than the best Mojoworld had to offer, which was pretty much perfect.

He started small. Bought prints for his bare walls and invested in a telephone, though he had no one to call because he hadn’t thought he would ever need Julio’s number, and Julio was the only one he could even imagine calling. He got a job at a bar in the gay-friendly area of Madripoor, obtained solely on his handsome looks and not on his ability to mix drinks, though he learned that pretty quickly and became quite good doing it.

It gave him a convenient excuse to look into that world, to answer the questions in his head. Because he felt different in a uniquely human way, and always had, though he’d been able to put off dealing with it by telling himself it had everything to do with Julio, and nothing to do with men. But Julio was long gone, swallowed up by months of distance, and those urges were still there, sending flickers of something through his body when a handsome man smiled at him just so or chatted with him across the bar.

So he worked late and slept late, but still exercised every day for two hours. He learned to cook, though he was pretty bad at it, and learned to flirt, though he was even worse at that. Slowly, he let it become more about men, though he compared all of them to Julio.

Maybe he loved him, but even if he did, it didn’t matter. Julio was no longer in his life by Shatterstar’s own choice. It had been too painful, too human, to live beside him but not with him. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source of his pain then, but he profoundly understood it now, when it was far too late to right his wrongs and do anything about it.

He learned how to chatter idly, and pay his bills on time, and accept compliments. He turned down countless dates, even more one-night-stands, and masturbated frequently. It had been terrifying at first, an activity he was sure he would never enjoy, but he came to relish the feeling of his own hand on his cock, thinking about men, about Julio.

But all in all, nothing was different. He still didn’t trust his neighbours, and he couldn’t afford all of the channels he wanted to watch. People still stared at him, unsure of what he was or what he was doing. The people at work taught him a lot, but he did not consider them friends. He woke, he exercised, and he went to work, day in and day out.

Until Adam showed up.

“… Star. Shatterstar?”

“Benjamin,” Shatterstar said, turning around and immediately making him a drink, trying to smile. He felt like he had been caught playing some twisted game, though Adam’s face held none of the accusation Shatterstar expected. He set the drink down. “It’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Adam repeated, smirking now, the pointed tattoos around his eyes crinkling with merriment. “Right, sorry. Old college nickname,” he explained to the man beside him, who rolled his eyes and walked away without ordering a drink. “You work here?”

“Yes.”

“What about your other job?” Adam asked, draining his drink then pushing the glass forward. Shatterstar filled it again, dropping the tip Adam placed on the counter into his jar. Another man, with deep blue eyes, leaned forward and smiled at him, and Shatterstar turned to him, taking his order and preparing his drink and ignoring his flirtations.

When he turned his attention back to Adam, Adam was smiling slightly, looking bemused. It occurred to Shatterstar, for the first time, that Adam being there was as questionable as Shatterstar working there. “It has been a long time,” he said, finally.

“No kidding.” Adam grinned, leaning forward, waving Shatterstar closer. “Hey, you up for a coffee after your shift? I’ve got the time, and I really need to hear your story.”

“There’s no story,” Shatterstar protested weakly, mopping up an imagined spill with a soggy dishcloth.

“Like hell there isn’t,” Adam said with a bright laugh.

i.

He woke up in pain, gasping a little, dizzy and weak. The ceiling above him was cracked and grey, darkened as much by night as by age. The bed was comfortable, without any lumps or human indentations, which led him to believe it was new. The covers, flannel, and the pillow, feathered. Thirst made it hard to swallow, and he could still taste blood in his mouth, bitter, metallic. His left hand, last seen mangled beyond repair, was in a cast.

And he did not know where he was.

Delayed by the ache of his exhausted body, his heart sped up and he forced himself to his feet, swaying as he crossed the room and ending up against the wall, gasping for breath. His clothes were gone, his naked body marred by scars and freshly stitched wounds. The most alarming was a deep vertical line that ran down his belly, still caked with blood.

“Whoa, hey. Star, you really shouldn’t be up. You … shit, how are you even standing?”

That voice broke through the cloud of pain, and Shatterstar looked, squinting through the shower of sweat spilling from his forehead. “Julio?”

Julio looked older than Shatterstar remembered and softer, too, but it was him. Shatterstar would know him anywhere. Mojo had tried to fool him, but Shatterstar had seen through the charade, eventually. This Julio, though different, was his Julio. He was real.

Whatever strength had kept him on his feet abandoned him.

“I got you,” Julio assured him, sliding under his before he could hit the ground and heaved him up again. “Later, you and me are going to have a nice long talk about this, but right now all I care about is getting you back into my bed.” Julio paused. “Um …”

Shatterstar ignored him, easily done considering the pain he was in. “I would like that.”

“Okay.”

They hobbled back to the bed, and Julio helped him lie down, letting him squeeze his hand when Shatterstar realised how badly it hurt just to do something so small. It was not that he could not handle pain; it was just that he had never been in pain quite like this.

“Mojo,” Shatterstar murmured, gagging on the terrible ache that clogged his throat.

“Isn’t here. You’re safe enough. We’re in a building full of mutants, you know.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” Shatterstar whispered, his eyelids suddenly heavy, sleep enveloping him like a warm, welcome blanket. He was only vaguely aware of Julio sitting on the bed next to him, pulling the covers up and placing a hand against his face.

“You and me both, amigo. Now go back to sleep, or I’m going to kick your ass later.”

ii.

When he woke again, it was still dark, and he felt much better. Still not right, but the pain had dulled into a manageable ache. He lifted his head wearily, and saw Julio on the floor, sunken into a soft air mattress, naked above the waist. His chest lacked definition. Was he not taking care of himself properly? Julio had always been naturally fit.

Shatterstar felt ill suddenly and laid his head back against the soft pillow.

“You awake there, Star?”

“Yes,” he said, staring up at the ceiling then blinking harshly when Julio turned on the light. Once his sight had cleared, he saw Julio still by the light switch, hovering, like he felt as awkward about this situation as Shatterstar did. His pants barely hung on his hips.

Julio smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, and leaned against the wall, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “This isn’t quite how I imagined we’d meet back up again.”

Shatterstar frowned at the cracked, old ceiling. He contemplated sitting up then realised he had no desire to further embarrass himself in front of Julio. “How did I get here?”

“No idea.”

Shatterstar lifted his head.

Julio shrugged. “Seriously. I went to work, leaving an empty bed behind, and came back to find a bloody lump resembling my best friend staining my sheets. You think you look bad now, Star? You should’ve seen yourself a week ago. How are you not dead, dude?”

“I’m fine now,” Shatterstar replied, realising he had very little pride left, and struggled to sit up, waving Julio away when he tried to help. “I have to go.” He stood on wobbly legs, ignoring his own ugly nakedness. “It was nice to see you,” he added as an afterthought.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Julio snapped at him, stepped forward and thrusting his hands against Shatterstar chest, shoving him back onto the bed. Shatterstar gasped at the pain, his eyesight disappearing into a swirling vortex of confusion and nausea. “Sit down.”

“I remember how I got here,” Shatterstar protested, only halfway to a lie, “or at least what led to it. Who led to it.”

“Mojo,” Julio said flatly. "Yeah, I kinda got that from your delusional mutterings."

Shatterstar nodded, bringing a hand to his forehead, digging his fingers into his hair. A jolt of surprise snaked down his body, because he kept forgetting what he looked like now. It had been a long journey to come this far, within a few desperate steps of Boston. He remembered that well enough, but his head was still a mess about everything else.

“I’m actually pretty impressed I recognised you,” Julio commented, reaching out to grab an errant curl and tugging on it. “It looks good on you, man. A little short, though.”

Shatterstar smiled weakly at that, bowing his head to accept the compliment. He was glad Julio liked it. They had not seen each for over a year, and so much had changed that Shatterstar didn’t know where to begin, or if Julio even wanted to hear about his life.

“Stay here for a while, okay?” Julio asked, though Shatterstar suspected it was not a question. Shatterstar nodded as Julio sat down on the bed beside him, causing the mattress to sink. “Madre de Dios, it is good to see you,” Julio said, squeezing his arm.

“It is good to see you, too.”

Julio smiled then leaned forward, sliding his arms around Shatterstar’s waist and hugging him. Unprepared, Shatterstar went stiff then relaxed slightly, curling one hesitant hand against Julio’s bare back, trying not to appear desperate. It took him a few seconds to realise that this was the closest they had ever touched and that he was actually still naked.

But when he squirmed, Julio did not let him go, and it took him even longer to realise that Julio was crying. Crying made him uncomfortable. It was such a frightening, ugly thing. The few times he had done it, he felt like he would die inside, forever locked in misery.

He hadn’t cried in a very long time.

“You ever do that to me again,” Julio muttered, “I will kill you myself.”

“I didn’t do it,” Shatterstar protested, mortified that despite the veil of pain that clung to him, making it hard to focus on anything beyond the amazing heat of Julio’s scar-nicked skin, his body was still reacting in entirely improper ways. “And Julio, please let me go.”

“Consider this payback for bloodying up my brand new bed, forcing me to get another one. I’m not made of money, you know.”

“Julio,” Shatterstar tried again, weakly pushing at him, “I’m naked.”

That seemed to get Julio’s attention, and he pulled back a little, though remained far too close for Shatterstar’s comfort. The expression on his face was a mix between amusement and, oddly, guilt. Julio cleared his throat. “Oh, huh. I kinda thought you were into that.”

“Into what?” Shatterstar demanded, a little more loudly than he intended.

Julio made a face, his expression a lot closer to guilt now. “I read it, dude. I’m sorry.”

“Read what?” And that came out embarrassingly high, almost squeaky, and he noticed, for the first time, that his ragged knapsack, which contained his entire life, had somehow made the mysterious journey with him. His few clothes, washed and neatly folded, and his journal, which was a secret that he had managed, until now, to hide from everyone.

“Whatever, man. I thought maybe it would contain some clues about how you ended up mostly dead in my bed. And it’s not like I didn’t suspect.” Julio shrugged, almost nonchalant, but there was something in his posture that made Shatterstar pause.

“Give it back,” Shatterstar said lowly, half angry, half something else entirely.

“What? Hey. Don’t act like that. Just because you didn’t have the balls to tell me …”

Somehow, Shatterstar always managed to forget how absolutely infuriating Julio could be, never apologising, always refusing to admit he was wrong. And since he had been so obviously beaten, Shatterstar was itching for a fight he could actually win. “I didn’t know.”

“Whatever. I guess this explains why you were so moody last time we were together.”

“I was not moody.”

“Yeah, well, after you apologise for messing up my bed, you can apologise for leaving in the middle of the night without so much as a ‘see you later’. I kind of thought you were dead months ago. Glad to see I was only half wrong.” Julio stood up, shaking with anger, and if Shatterstar could have gotten up without falling over, he would have. Like Julio had any idea about the reasons why he left. “Go back to bed, Star. You look like shit.”

“I’m leaving,” Shatterstar insisted, not standing up, not daring it, but intending to, in a bit.

“Not until I say you’re leaving.”

Between the blood racing in his ears and the fever that slicked his skin, Shatterstar thought he might pass out. Evidently, he looked like it, too, because Julio swore under his breath then rushed over to him, gently urging him back. “I really need to go,” Shatterstar protested mildly, thumping his cast-wrapped arm on the mattress, fighting against pain.

Julio pursed his lips, hollow and exhausted, a terrible sorrow in his eyes. It calmed Shatterstar to know that he could still read Julio’s face, but troubled him, too, because Julio had been happy when Shatterstar had left him. His next question startled Shatterstar badly, who could only gape as Julio quietly asked, “Do you really hate me this much?”

There was no way to tell Julio just how wrong he was, but Shatterstar knew he couldn’t stay. “It’s not safe for me here, or for you to have me here.” Shatterstar closed his eyes against the flood of exhaustion as it threatened to drown him. “I do not hate you, Julio.”

“Then let me handle this, please. You’ll die if I let you go now.”

“I’ll die anyway,” Shatterstar said. It was, in fact, the first time he had verbally acknowledged his own fate, and somehow, saying it out loud, made it that much worse.

Julio looked at him for a long time then sighed. “For fuck’s sake, don’t make me beg.”

Shatterstar closed his eyes. “Fine, but do not blame me for whatever happens next.”

If Julio replied, Shatterstar did not hear him. He was already mostly asleep.

iii.

The third time he woke, he was alone, and it was daytime, the sun cutting through a gap in the curtains, slicing him across the eyes. He had to pee, badly, and thought, if he moved slowly, he could make it to the bathroom, wherever that was. The floor creaked when he stepped onto it, the wood scratchy against his bare feet. He was still naked.

Shatterstar located the bathroom with little difficulty, and grimaced when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Deep cuts marred his face and torso, and his nose had been cruelly broken but had already healed, so the bridge sat crookedly on his face. Later, he would break it and reset it, though the temptation to keep it as it was niggled at him.

He peed, which took an agonisingly long time, then brushed his unruly hair using Julio’s brush. Limping, he made his way back to the bedroom then got dressed slowly, which was harder than it should have been. The cast made it terribly hard to grip things.

Out of breath, dressed only in an undershirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, Shatterstar sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching over for his journal. Though it wasn’t a journal so much as a record of his life, as pointless and short as it had been. He didn’t consider his time with Mojo on Mojoworld, fighting in the Arenas, as living. X-Force had been a transition from one time into the next, but it hadn’t been living either. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t really been living until Mexico and those short months with Julio.

Pictures, and mementos, and notes in the margins of the people he had met, the places he had been, the things he had seen. Thoughtfully, he thumbed through the pages, admiring how much life he had managed to cram into a year, how many human things he had done.

The best of them was Adam.

“That’s X-Treme, right?”

Shatterstar resisted the urge to slam the book shut and simply nodded, wishing it hadn’t been that picture he stopped on. Him and Adam, on a morning much like this one, in bed. Not fucking, though they did that later, but just laying together, talking, almost laughing. Even Shatterstar could see the hint of it on his own face, that threat of true happiness.

“Yes,” Shatterstar said, finally, as if there was any doubt left about it.

“You were … I mean, how long were you together?”

“Eight months,” Shatterstar said quietly, closing the journal and, hopefully, the conversation. It had not been long enough, he thought sometimes, but neither of them had meant for it to continue as long as it had. He did not, however, regret that it had.

“You look almost happy in some of those pictures, dude. You’re smiling.”

Shatterstar bristled as Julio sat down beside him, the mattress sinking under his weight. Too close, way too close, Shatterstar’s brain hummed, but short of shoving Julio off the bed, Shatterstar wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. “I’m perfectly capable of smiling.”

“I know that, but now there’s pictorial proof. Nobody ever believed me before.”

Shatterstar rolled his eyes, ignoring the warm fluttery feeling on his skin. It was almost unbearable, and if he hadn’t been in such physical agony, he might have mistaken the sensation for actual pain. But he knew what it was. It was Julio, and Shatterstar’s complicated feelings about him, and the realisation that his hopes were daydreams.

That day he left Mexico, he was convinced he never wanted to see Julio again.

He had been an idiot.

“You’ve really changed,” Julio said suddenly, looking at him like they had never met before, like strangers, and Shatterstar turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I am exactly the same,” he managed, despite finding it impossible to speak. “I thought, for a while, I could be different, but I forgot that I am owned. That I am a thing, a piece of property over which someone else presides.” He shrugged. “Nothing is different.”

“No, you definitely are,” Julio decided, ignoring him. That was so familiar that Shatterstar almost wanted to laugh, but it also pissed him off like it always had. Julio regarded him for a long time before casually adding, “So Mojo’s after you, huh?”

Shatterstar sighed. “Yes.”

“How long?”

“At least four months, but knowing the Spineless Ones, it had probably been in development for several more, perhaps even years.” Idly, Shatterstar picked at a scab on his unbroken hand, grossly fascinated by the fact he was healing so slowly. “The Spineless Ones do not waste their time on endeavours that will not produce high ratings.”

“Ratings? This is … what they’ve done to you …”

“I believe I am starring in an ongoing television show,” Shatterstar said, a bitter twist cracking his dry lips. “They have not told me, but it explains what my life has become.”

Julio made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yes,” Shatterstar agreed, moving from picking at his hand to his belly, still blood-crusted and raw. It had been stitched up, but of all his injuries, it was the least healed.

Julio carefully pulled his hand away. “You need to just let it heal, Star.”

Shatterstar did not reply, and they fell into a semi-comfortable silence. It reminded Shatterstar of those months in Mexico, just him and Julio on the road, often driving at night when it was cooler and less busy. Julio behind the wheel with Shatterstar taking it all in. Julio had shown him the world, and given him his first lessons on being human.

“I’m sorry,” Shatterstar said finally, “that I left, but I could not stay, Julio.”

Julio smiled, a little sadly, and bumped Shatterstar’s shoulder with his own. “It’s okay, Star. It was a long time ago. I’m not as angry as I sound. You’re not a guy who does things without having a pretty good reason. I know that. I’m just being an idiot here.”

“I suppose,” Shatterstar admitted reluctantly. At the time, his reasons had felt foolish, and even in retrospect, he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t just run away like a coward.

“Listen, Star, I need to tell you …”

But Julio was cut off by the sound of an explosion, loud and strong enough to shake the building. Julio jumped up, ran to the window then headed for the door, shouting behind him, “stay here, Star. You’re in no condition to fight. Let the others handle it, all right?”

Shatterstar nodded, oddly at peace with the idea of not fighting. He knew his swords were gone, shattered into pieces, though his hands still ached with a desire to hold them.

He moved to the window, slowly, dragging a chair behind him. In the street, three angry people, obviously mutants, where screaming at Multiple Man, who Shatterstar only recognised because he had annoyed Shatterstar vaguely in the past. An overly large man stood behind Multiple Man in a support role, slightly familiar in that same irritating way. They fought verbally for a minute before a nearby car flew through the air, exploding into flame as it crashed into the side of the building. Theresa flew into the melee, screaming.

“What do you bastards think you’re doing to my home?”

“Technically,” Multiple Man said, “it’s my …”

“Oh, do shut up,” Theresa replied, and Shatterstar remembered why he liked her.

And then a fight erupted, and Shatterstar’s heart rate followed. He was in no shape to join, Julio had been right about that, but the lure of a fair fight, fought when both parties were equal in number and skill, sang a seductive war song in his ears. It was far too easy to forget, when losing, how exhilarating, how utterly incredible, it felt to actually win.

He watched the fight for a while, focussed intently on the battle, pleased at how well Theresa fought and dismayed at how well the others didn’t. He almost missed Julio coming outside, though he held back, occasionally shouting out warnings. As bossy as ever, but it troubled Shatterstar that Julio would not fight. Had he been injured, too?

A fourth mutant came out of the shadows, behind Julio, who tensed immediately and whirled around. Words were exchanged, angry but not loud enough to be heard over the other fighting, but Shatterstar understood from Julio’s posture that Julio had been insulted, and then the man in the shadows struck out. Julio crumpled to the ground.

Not dead, because Julio lifted his head then struggled to his feet, but he was definitely hurt. He hit his attacker twice then took another blow to the face, which sent him reeling back. Shatterstar looked to the others, but they were caught up in their own battles, trying to protect themselves and the bystanders too stupid to run for their lives. When he turned back, Julio was on the ground again, shadows swallowing his body, inch by slow inch.

Shatterstar was at least six floors up, but there was a fire escape outside the window. He wasn’t so badly hurt that he couldn’t help, even if it was only to redirect Julio’s attacker’s anger onto himself. Shatterstar knew his body’s limitations, but he also knew how far he could push himself. If nothing else, the past few months had been good for that.

Ignoring his pain, Shatterstar hobbled to the kitchen and found two knives, dulled and nicked, the sort of shabby second-hand items Julio prided himself on, then went back to the bedroom, opened the window and raced down the fire escape, jumping from level to level, his bare feet bloodied and bruised by the time he landed heavily on the pavement.

Normally, to activate his power, he hummed, because he often felt ridiculous doing anything else, but he felt a feral roar rising in his throat, an anger that both frightened him and spurred him on. Months of abuse, of humiliation and degradation, fed his rage.

Blinding white light erupted from the tips of the knives, cutting through the air and hitting the Julio’s attacker in the chest, who tried to defend himself by calling forth the darkness, but the strength of Shatterstar’s own attack sliced it into halves as Shatterstar pushed forward, his body as light as air. His pain was gone. He felt strong again.

“I told you to fucking stay out of this!” Julio shouted, blood pouring from his nose, standing but visibly wobbly. “I don’t need your fucking help! I don’t need your pity!”

Shatterstar did not reply because it was time he could not waste. His opponent stood before him, looking like he believed he had a chance to win. He was mistaken. Before the man could react, Shatterstar hit him, shattering his nose, then hit him again, and again, and again. All those months of being slowly picked apart, body and soul, all those months of being laughed at, spit upon, they had made him so fucking angry inside.

“Whoa, hey, Star, he’s done. Madre de Dios, it’s okay, it’s fine, relax, man, let it go, I’m fine,” Julio said, pressed up behind him, his arms sliding around Shatterstar’s heaving chest then up, locking his arms behind his head. Shatterstar was taller than Julio, stronger, just as stubborn, much more violent, entirely monstrous, but it was enough to stop him.

“Shit,” Multiple Man said, running up to them, “is he dead?”

“No. He just got what was coming to him. Isn’t that right, Star?”

Shatterstar nodded, his knees suddenly weak, frightened that if Julio let him go that he would fall in front of everyone and show them what had become of him, but Julio did not loosen his hold, just kept him there, the both of them shaking, panting, like rabid animals.

Theresa set down beside them. “Shatty? Where did you come from?”

“I came to visit Julio,” Shatterstar gritted out, the world swimming in front of him, and when he coughed, his mouth tasted like blood. His body sagged again, and Julio tightened his hold, moving them slowly, wrestling him inside as if Shatterstar protested.

Faintly, Shatterstar heard Multiple Man tossing out instructions, but it was almost entirely swallowed by the roar of adrenaline through his ears. He was covered in blood, but he suspected it was mostly his opponent’s. The sweat was definitely his, and the pain that had abandoned him for a few blissful minutes was back with a homicidal vengeance.

They made into the elevator, both of them gasping, and then through the long, torturous seconds up and the impossible trek to Julio’s front door. Inside, they collapsed on the floor, heaving with breath, Julio’s face a bloodied mess, Shatterstar shaking all over. Julio dragged the back of his hand across his face, grimacing then wiping it on his shirt.

“Well,” he said, his mouth in an odd little twist, and then looked right at Shatterstar and began to laugh. The situation wasn’t particularly funny, but at the same time, it was weirdly hilarious, and Shatterstar felt his own answering laugh rise up and overtake him.

They laughed for a long time. Just when Shatterstar got a hold of himself, he would look at Julio and break into laughter again, and when Julio started to sober, the same thing would happen, but it was impossible not to look at Julio, impossible to ignore his smile.

Somehow, Julio had ended up beside him, leaning against his side, warm and relaxed with the flush of laughter. Shatterstar struggled to compose himself, wary of feeling this dangerously out of control, of letting his guard down as his world was slowly crumbling to ruins around him. He had to remember that he couldn’t stay, that he had to leave again.

And then Julio leaned up, and kissed him.

It was the worst he had ever felt, and the best, the feel of Julio’s lips against his own as agonising as the deepest slash of a sword, as perfect as anything he had ever imagined. Shatterstar wanted to push him away, to beg Julio to leave his stupid dreams intact, but Julio’s fingers were on the back of his neck, tapping hesitantly against his fevered skin.

When it ended, Shatterstar closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Julio’s face.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Julio said, finally, after long minutes of silent torture.

Shatterstar forced his eyes open. Julio was peering at him, hesitant, fearful, as Shatterstar struggled to find the words to assure him. “It’s okay,” he said, finally. “It’s fine, Julio.”

Julio nodded, still obviously troubled, but he didn’t push it, and for that Shatterstar was grateful. Shatterstar ignored the possibilities of what that kiss might have meant, closed his ears to the thunderous beat of his own ridiculous heart. They were just two unhappy boys, barely into their twenties, who had known nothing but horror and loss in their lives. That was what had drawn him to Julio initially; that was what had always connected them.

A thought occurred to him. “Julio, your powers …”

Julio smiled grimly. “Gone. I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. Story of my fucking life.”

And that was like a punch to the gut, because Julio’s powers were his life, or had been. Shatterstar understood, finally, what that sadness in Julio’s eyes meant, because it had been in his own every time he had looked in the mirror. Those dark times, when he had only lived because it was expected of him and not because he wanted to. After X-Force and Mexico, before Adam, when he had woken up every morning and wished he hadn’t.

oo.

He was nervous enough that he seriously contemplated turning around and slinking back to his apartment in defeat. It had been two weeks since that surreal night with Adam, when they had sat in a questionable diner until the sun began to rise, drinking terrible coffee and talking in a way that Shatterstar was unused to. It had felt like all those seemingly unending conversations Julio had forced upon him had led to that single night.

There had been an odd moment, just before the world woke up again, when Shatterstar had expected something to happen, but nothing had. They had simply said goodbye and walked in separate directions down the street. Something in his head had said turn around, but he hadn’t. He had kept his eyes focussed on the road ahead.

He didn’t typically get Friday nights off, but one of his co-workers had worked out a one-sided deal, which Shatterstar agreed to just to get the man off his back. His skin felt itchy, hot and flushed, and his body was restless. Television had not been able to hold his attention, and the seven drinks he had mixed for himself had made him falsely brave.

He wasn’t drunk, because his metabolism didn’t him allow him that luxury, but he was certainly not in his right mind. He hated these places, these dance clubs. Places he had, until then, only suffered when Julio insisted. But Julio wasn’t making him do it this time. This time was different, because he was out for a purpose, even if he refused to admit it.

He felt the music first, a pulse in his chest that made him vaguely nauseated, and the lights dazzled him in an entirely unpleasant way. Feeling decidedly ridiculous, he hovered in the shadows for a while, watching, learning. Appreciative glances came his way, coy and knowing smiles often following, but Shatterstar did not respond to them.

In truth, he was utterly terrified.

All he knew about sex, he had learned from TV, and Julio. Julio, who had finally had sex while they were in Mexico with his girlfriend, Silvia. A pleasant enough woman, and she had made Julio happy. Shatterstar had never really been friendly with her, but he knew more about her than he wanted to know, because Julio had decided to tell him everything.

If only he could stop thinking about Julio for one single second. Fekt.

“You look like a man facing a firing squad. It’s not exactly a turn on.”

Shatterstar opened his eyes, not having remembered even closing them, and peered at Adam, who grinned. “Are you following me?” Shatterstar demanded, looking around.

Adam snorted, shoving a drink into Shatterstar’s hand. “Here. It looks like you need it more than me.” Adam slouched against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, smiling up at him. “And this is pure luck. If I had been following you, I would have assumed you were working and gone there. No, I’m here to console my broken heart.”

“Ah, did you and your friend …”

“Fuck-buddy. Say it like it is, Star. I’m not even sure I knew his last name.”

“Ben,” Shatterstar corrected him. “Please call me Ben here. I have to get used to it.”

“If you insist.” Adam scratched a hand through his hair, which he had worn loose presumably to hide his pointed ears, then sighed. “Star, Ben, no offense, but …”

Shatterstar pursed his lips, and nodded. “I probably shouldn’t be here. I know.”

“If you were, like, twelve, maybe I’d advise against it, but you’re,” Adam cleared his throat, “a fully grown man. It’s just … these guys will eat you alive, Star. Ben.” Adam snatched the drink, which Shatterstar hadn’t touched, out his hand. “You’re too …”

“What?” Shatterstar demanded, quickly losing patience.

“Too much for them,” Adam finished, having the decency to look a little apologetic. “Trust me. I’ve been around the block a few times, and if you do this now, like this, you’re going to regret it.” Adam grinned suddenly. “Ha, listen to me. I must be drunk.”

“I just want,” Shatterstar said then stopped, because Adam was right. Of course Adam was right. Humans, human men, made Shatterstar nervous. They seemed so fragile, and strange, and he didn’t know how to be friends with them, without the common bond of bloodshed and mutant rights. Shatterstar had enough power in his body to level the bar.

He missed Julio terribly.

“I think I am just curious,” Shatterstar admitted softly, gaze glued to the men before him, the human men, dancing with each other, happy and free. Bitter envy clogged his throat.

“See, that look, that look is a turn on.”

“Adam,” Shatterstar said, a little pained, and turned to him, flinching when he realised how close Adam was, how completely in his space and how completely unapologetic he was. Julio had been like that. The more uncomfortable Shatterstar had been, the better.

“I can’t call you Ben,” Adam replied, having the grace to sound vaguely contrite, and then his lips were against Shatterstar’s mouth, firm but gentle, guiding Shatterstar’s way. It was odd, not wholly unpleasant, but nothing that made him want to take off his clothes.

And then Adam opened his mouth, and his tongue …

It had always looked so disgusting on television.

Shatterstar pressed his hands against the wall behind him, closing his eyes only as an afterthought, and tried to kiss back. Adam’s hands curled around his sides, lifting his thin t-shirt briefly before touching his skin, his thumbs rubbing at Shatterstar’s tense stomach. As a rule, he did not like to be touched, but this was … so this was what Julio had meant.

Julio.

Shatterstar pulled back, confused and turned on, and a little frightened, too. Which made him angry at himself, because he had faced down armies of villains, had been injured to the point of death, and this was what frightened him? It was so ridiculous, so laughable, and yet he could not help the uncontrollable terror that raced under his overheated skin.

“Okay, the firing squad look again. Is this a bad idea?”

“I think my entire life has been a bad idea,” Shatterstar replied with a frown.

The corner of Adam’s mouth crooked, but he did not remove his roaming hands. “I don’t usually sleep with guys who have major issues, but I would make an exception for you. I know we don’t know each that well, but there’s a connection between us, isn’t there?”

“I think … I think I’m in love with …” Shatterstar looked down at his feet.

“Hey, I know. We can do this as friends, okay?”

Shatterstar felt himself nodding, and that was the end of it. No more stalling, no more worrying. He would get this part over with, and live with himself in the morning. Adam was an attractive man, fit and powerful, and not fully human, half Shi’ar, and that was immensely comforting. Human men were baffling. Attractive, yes, but strange, unpredictable creatures, and Shatterstar would never, ever understand them.

iv.

Shatterstar quickly fell into a routine, which involved sleeping through the night, waking up at the crack of dawn, pushing cereal around in a bowl as he read the New York Times, napping, watching four hours worth of soap operas, napping, picking at a small dinner with Julio before falling asleep in front of the tv, eventually waking up to Julio’s annoying poking and stumbling off to Julio’s bed, where he slept like the dead again.

He had never slept this much in his life, and he thought, eventually, he would wake up and feel well-rested, but every morning he had to pry his eyelids open, and he could not make it through a day without curling up on Julio’s absurdly comfortable couch, lulled by the familiar hum of the television. By the beginning of the second week, he worked an hour or two of mild exercise into his day, though he slept even more because of it.

During the day, Julio worked, though he did not seem to enjoy his job. “I like it fine,” Julio insisted, when Shatterstar had asked, sounding resigned, but Shatterstar understood that sometimes you needed a reason to wake up in the morning, and a steady pay cheque was as good a motivator as any. Julio probably did like his job, and Shatterstar understood that, too, but Julio’s misery was unending, unrelenting, and unforgiving.

Why didn’t anyone else see it?

Worrying about Julio was a welcome distraction to the problem of Shatterstar’s own uncertain future. Though he was eternally exhausted, his injuries had begun to heal perceivably faster than before, and many of the cuts on his skin had faded to scars.

He still remembered very little, just the few hints his nightmares had offered and the feeling, that at that last attack, he had been ready to die. Not eager, never willing, but resigned to the fact that after months of working away at him, stealing everything that meant anything to him, torturing him to the edge of death then laughing when he refused to fall over, that his body had finally given up the fight his heart was so eager to prolong.

These few weeks were precious, then. A cherished gift he hadn’t expected.

But he still had to push on, because his time was finite in spite of a few well-timed extensions, and he still had things to do before he could pass into the next world without any more regret than he was already carrying around. Not many things, but enough.

“I have to go,” Shatterstar said, the third week into his stay. “Not now, but soon.”

Julio did not look away from the television, but his expression was pained. “Where?”

“Boston.”

Julio’s face slid into a mask of stone. “Why?”

“Because he was from there, and I have to see it,” Shatterstar explained, struggling to sound unapologetic, because he wanted to stay, wanted to pretend that kiss they refused to talk about had meant he could live here, with Julio, in the way that he wanted, but now more than ever, he could not risk it. He was dangerous, too dangerous for a human Julio.

Even a mutant Julio could not have handled what Shatterstar had become.

Julio’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Before you die, you mean.”

“Before I am killed,” Shatterstar replied sharply. “I will not die. I will be murdered. I have to see … I need to know this man inside my head, whose body I cannot save.”

“That’s it, then? You aren’t going to fight it.”

Shatterstar gaped at him. “I have been fighting it.”

“Like fuck you have! Ask us for help. I mean, ask the X-Men. Ask them …”

“Whatever the X-Men could do, it would only delay the inevitable. I’m not worth it.”

Julio made a frustrated noise, and turned away from him, punching the wall. “Fuck that, Star! That’s giving up. You’ve come so fucking far, made a life for yourself, and don’t you fucking deny it, because I’ve seen that book of yours, and I know what I see there.”

“There is nothing they can do,” Shatterstar repeated.

Julio stomped his foot and shouted, “why are you being so fucking unreasonable?”

“Realistic,” Shatterstar replied, getting angry. “The X-Men will not help me, so I must help myself. I understand that what I am telling you is hard to hear, but it is the truth.”

Julio bowed his head. “What happened to you? The Star I knew wouldn’t be saying this.”

“I’m tired,” Shatterstar snapped, weariness taking the bite of out his words.

“So what? Huh? So fucking what?” Julio twisted back to him, angry, so beautifully angry, and Shatterstar almost preferred it to that blank look he always wore. “So am I! And fuck, if these asshole friends of mine are making me live, I’m gonna fucking make sure you suffer right along with me. You think I want to be like this? To live like this?”

“Julio,” Shatterstar said, stepping back when Julio lunged at him, fisting his hands in Shatterstar’s t-shirt, forcing him up against the wall. Such violence in his grip, so much bottled up anger, it made Shatterstar furious that Julio had been left to suffer like this.

“I would try again if I wasn’t so sure they would ruin it again. So don’t fucking tell me you’re tired. Fuck tired. That’s bullshit, Star, fucking bullshit. Stay here, with me.” Julio looked like was surprised he had said it, and Shatterstar really wished he hadn’t.

“And get you killed?”

“You’d be doing me a service,” Julio snapped, then stepped back, letting go of Shatterstar’s shirt. “Fuck, I don’t mean that. I don’t. I shouldn’t mean that. I just …” Julio’s shoulders slumped, defeated, and he sighed. “There are other ways.”

“There aren’t,” Shatterstar insisted.

“You’re still a mutant. You have options. The 198 …”

“Are slaves, whether they realise it or not. I cannot live that way, Julio. I will not. I have been an animal. I have been caged, fed and bathed only when my owners deemed. I have spent nights dreaming of freedom. I have freedom now, even if it’s fleeting. I will die a free man. That’s the only thing I can fight for now,” Shatterstar said quietly.

Julio looked up at him, sullen, almost petulant. “That’s no life.”

“Maybe not now, but it was. You’re right. I look happy in those photos, because I was. I understand that now, and that’s enough for me. It has to be enough for me, Julio.”

“That’s unfair.”

“It’s really all I have,” Shatterstar admitted, his chest aching, and he pressed his open hand to it, applying pressure to the open wound that always lurked there, under the skin. “But I will not go gently, Julio. I will fight Mojo every step of the way, as I have been.”

“There isn’t … I mean, can’t you get out of … is there a way to …?”

“I can let him take me back to Mojoworld. I can let him make me into a slave again. But I cannot do either of those things, Julio. It would make me uninteresting, but I would rather be dead than go back to that. Call me a coward, but I can’t live that life again.”

“Nobody would ask you to,” Julio said, visibly startled, and Shatterstar blamed himself for that. He didn’t talk about it often, couldn’t talk about it without focussing on the one thing that had made that life tolerable: the Arenas. Within those blood-soaked walls, he had found a sort of primal peace, an escape, so it had always been easy to talk about that.

But this … this was hard.

Julio stared at him for a long time, eyes dark and thoughtful, half-hidden by the shaggy mop of his hair. That gaze undressed him, laid him bare before Julio’s intense expression. Za’s vid, but he wanted to stay. It had hurt him last time to leave, but this time it would destroy him. And even knowing that, he was determined to go to Boston, to finish this.

“I can stay for one more week,” Shatterstar said. “One week, and that’s it.”

“Okay,” Julio agreed.

v.

The next week was tense and uncomfortable. Julio was deeply angry, and Shatterstar could not blame him, but Julio still made him dinner every night, and woke him up when it was time for bed, and sometimes laid his head on Shatterstar’s thigh on those rare nights when Shatterstar had the energy to sit up and watch television. Julio didn’t seem to mind when Shatterstar combed through his hair, though neither of them spoke about it.

If one thing was different, if Shatterstar had been born Ben Russell instead of just abusing his body, he could have stayed. Perhaps he and Julio would have had nothing in common, perhaps they would have never been friends, but Shatterstar doubted that. All Ben had done was give him memories, thawed out his inhuman stiffness and taught him a little.

But they were more alike than Shatterstar could explain. It kept him up at night sometimes, wondering about him and his life, neatly filing away the Ben parts inside his own head and trying to cling to the Shatterstar parts, even if those parts were faulty.

On the last day, which Julio spent at work and Shatterstar spent staring at the wall, he decided he was tired of his cast, which had greyed with sweat and general filth, and even more tired of taking a shower with a plastic bag taped around his wrist, hanging out of the curtain. Julio had seemed a little surprised he had known what to do, but Ben had broke his wrist three times when he was seven and had suffered through his weekly baths.

By the time Julio came home with a greasy box of pizza, Shatterstar had managed to saw, with one of Julio’s stupidly dull knives, halfway through the plaster. Sweat poured down his face, and his arm felt wobbly due to a month of half-assed exercise. His stamina was gone, but his determination remained. He would get this fucking thing off his arm.

“Madre de Dios,” Julio muttered, dropping the pizza on the counter. “You’re an idiot.”

“I don’t need it,” Shatterstar grumbled, using one dusty hand to push back the mess of his sweaty hair. It hadn’t looked this hard when he started, and he refused to admit defeat to something so dumb, but he needed to get his hand out. “It’s good exercise,” he added.

“I could have gotten you a doctor to have it removed, the same doctor I got for you before,” Julio said dismissively, opening the box and taking a slice out of the box before hopping up to sit on the counter. At Shatterstar’s startled look, Julio rolled his eyes. “Yeah, me and my medical degree could have handled the mess you arrived in.”

“Was it really that bad?”

Julio shrugged, regarding his pizza thoughtfully. “I dunno. I guess.” A strange looked passed over Julio’s face. “I threw up a couple times, before I realised that moaning was actually coming from the pile of ground beef formerly known as my best friend. I mean, you had looked pretty dead to me. Fucker.” Julio smacked him on the shoulder, glaring.

“I still don’t remember it,” Shatterstar admitted.

Julio shrugged again then bit hesitantly into his pizza. “Doctor is pretty sure you never will, Star. Don’t worry about it. I remember it enough for the both of us.” Julio looked over at him, the air between them still and calm, and Shatterstar caught himself wondering, for the millionth time that week, if Julio was going to kiss him again.

He didn’t.

“Whatever,” Julio said, turning away, reaching for another slice of pizza. His t-shit lifted with the movement, and Shatterstar’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of bared skin right above the waistband of his jeans. He allowed himself a moment of painful longing.

Shatterstar could have said it then, just blurted it out, but what was the point? So he could love someone so much that it was hard to breathe. It changed nothing; it fixed nothing. And Shatterstar could tell himself that a million times, but he would still want, still yearn.

This human life baffled him sometimes. He just wasn’t very good at it.

He wasn’t very good at removing this ridiculous cast either. “Fekt. Can you help me?”

Julio raised his eyebrow, a half-eaten pizza crust hanging out of his mouth, then impishly grinned. “Jesus, Star. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words?”

“Just get me out of this,” Shatterstar replied impatiently, trying not to flinch when Julio took his hand and pulled it into his lap. There were very few people who Shatterstar would trust to hold a knife to him, but Julio was one of them. The only one, probably.

Julio worked away in silence for a while, pausing briefly to gnaw at a slice of pizza or gulp down some beer. Julio’s hair fell boyishly in front of his face, which he blew at from time to time, even after Shatterstar offered him a hair elastic. Though his own hair was barely long enough to tie back, Shatterstar still carried one around entirely out of habit.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

Shatterstar looked away. “Early. The Spineless Ones are not ones for morning. Though I’m sure they’ve lost track of me, I’m even more sure they know where I was headed.”

“And what happens after you get to Boston?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll take a look around, try to match up the images in my head with something tangible. I just need to see it,” Shatterstar explained, chewing on his lower lip, unable to meet Julio’s eyes, which he could feel on his face. “After that, I try to live.”

“You’re still pretty weak.”

“The good thing is I have very little pride left. I am not above running away,” Shatterstar replied, finally matching Julio’s gaze. He tried to smile, though he suspected it came out twisted, but Julio was kind enough to offer his own crooked one in response. “It’s not a perfect solution.”

“It’s not a solution at all, but whatever, dude.” The cast finally split into two pieces, dropping noisily onto the counter and rolling off onto the floor. Julio moved his hand, not pulling away but fitting it against Shatterstar’s palm, like a puzzle. Shatterstar looked at their joined hand, lighter skin against darker, larger against smaller. His heart stuttered.

And then Julio snatched his hand away, immediately burying it in his hair. “Hey, listen,” he said, “eat some pizza, okay. I gotta work late tonight, maybe overnight, so, you know, I’ll probably be around to see you off tomorrow. If I’m not, well, good luck, I guess.”

Shatterstar reeled back, but managed to control the expression on his face before nodding woodenly, feeling like he’d been slapped. “All right, Julio. Thank you … for everything.”

“No problem. What are friends for, huh?”

Not much, Shatterstar thought, but declined to comment. He sat there, cold and controlled, as Julio pulled on a jacket and left without saying another word. Shatterstar sat there a little while longer, forcing the ache in his chest to lessen, to release him.

He would miss Julio, so much that his stomach turned to think about leaving again.

But he knew he couldn’t stay.

Shatterstar walked through Julio’s small apartment, memorising what he could. Little things, like the paperback novels shoved under the patched-up old couch, and the collection of beer glasses that had obviously been stolen from a drinking establishment. The random socks littered around the apartment. The surplus of framed pictures.

He paused at one, taken in Mexico, of him and Julio on a beach. Shatterstar was scowling, most likely at the sun, so it also almost looked like he was smiling, albeit painfully. Carefully, he removed it from the frame, deciding Julio was better off without it.

Slowly, absorbing the last of the memories into his head, he made his way into Julio’s darkened bedroom. His knapsack sat, ignored, in the corner, and he picked it up, withdrawing his journal, thumbing to the first clean page. Borrowing a roll of packing tape he found shoved between the bed and the wall, he affixed the picture to his book.

“I love you,” Shatterstar said, just to hear it out loud.

It sounded as ridiculous as it had in his head.

With a sigh, Shatterstar grabbed the remainder of the blank pages and ripped them out. The book looked deflated, but it was a more accurate view of his life. A few scattered moments, captured in time, never forgotten, deeply cherished. Nothing much to brag about, except that he had lived in his own apartment, and had some highly enjoyable sex.

It wasn’t late enough to really sleep, but he had nothing else to do, and he was feeling maudlin, reluctant to leave Julio again, knowing he still had no choice. Dusk settled, partially shading the room, and Shatterstar lay there in Julio’s brand new bed, awake.

He let himself imagine what it would be like, if he belonged here, in this bed, this life. How Julio would smile at him, secretly, eyes warm with emotion. Not cold and empty like they were now, but a dark, inviting brown. Shatterstar had always liked Julio’s eyes.

Sleeping with Julio would be fun, Shatterstar decided, even if it meant staying in bed and missing his morning workout. He could be lazy, if it led to more time spent with Julio. How they would be able to lie in bed for hours, loving each other, holding each other.

How they might even be happy together.

Shatterstar turned his face into the pillow, angry at himself. This was the very reason he had left in the first place, because nothing hurt worse than wanting something more than anything, and knowing with a cold, bitter certainty that it would never happen. Shatterstar knew enough about pain to be able to recognise idle dreams for what they were.

Shatterstar had fallen into a restless sleep when a presence in the room woke him. Mojo! His mind screamed hysterically, and he found the presence of thought to look before he leapt, and noticed, with only the slightest modicum of relief, that it was Julio.

Shatterstar watched him through half-lidded eyes, unmoving. If Julio knew he was awake, he gave no sign. Just walked back into the hall and then the washroom, closing the door. Light spilled out from beneath it, the shadows of Julio’s feet visible, moving.

Shatterstar snapped his eyes shut when the door opened again.

He felt desperate, and sad, and human. He didn’t want to leave Julio behind again, especially not now. These people didn’t know how to take care of him, didn’t understand what he needed. Shatterstar did, though he would admit to being unsure about the particulars, but he would figure them out. He had to, because Julio needed him to.

The mattress dipped suddenly, and Shatterstar opened his eyes, startled. Julio stared at him, bare shoulders highlighted by the shine of the moon, tilted toward him. Shatterstar’s gaze swept down Julio’s body, which was naked, goose-lumps speckling his tanned skin.

Shatterstar looked at Julio’s eyes again, trying to read them, but they were shuttered, intentions impossible to discern. Julio’s stare made his skin heat, his breath come short. He was afraid to speak, to drive Julio away. Perhaps this was only a dream and not real at all.

Couldn’t be real, because Shatterstar wanted it too much, and life, Shatterstar had known for some time now, was profoundly unfair.

Julio reached for him, hesitant, and couldn’t seem to finish the movement. That last inch felt like an uphill mile, and Shatterstar understood that. This was a bad idea, as bad as Adam’s idea had been that night in the club, but Shatterstar had seen good things come of bad ideas, and he believed that somewhere this was right and destined and needed.

So very needed.

Shatterstar took Julio’s shaking hand, and brought it against his chest, above his heart, so Julio could feel the rapid beat beneath his damp palm. He thought he saw a little of the tension ease from around Julio’s tightly drawn mouth, and it was Julio who moved his hand next, up to Shatterstar’s neck then down again, past his pectorals, to his belly.

Julio’s hand stopped again, pressed there, against Shatterstar flat stomach. His fingertips brushed the waistband of Shatterstar’s sweatpants, dipping under slightly. Shatterstar was fully aroused already, the outline of his cock clearly visible. Julio had noticed.

His fingers curled away, his hand a fist on Shatterstar’s belly.

Second thoughts, perhaps. Shatterstar was not desperate enough to force Julio to go through with whatever he had planned. He suspected Julio meant to have sex with him, because a man rarely came naked to another man’s bed without intent to have relations, but Julio was the most confusing man Shatterstar had ever known, so it could mean any number of baffling things. It was worse now, because Julio was almost like a stranger.

But then Julio’s hand flattened again, and he slid it lower down, covering the cotton waistband, not touching him there, but close enough that it felt almost inevitable. Would it help, Shatterstar wondered, if Julio knew how he felt? But Julio had to know by now.

Shatterstar opened his mouth, and one look from Julio promptly shut it again.

But Julio was shaking, and even if most of him was willing, there was a part of him that wasn’t. It was a bad type of shaking. Shatterstar remembered how Julio used to feel, sitting next to him, ripples of power leaking from his pores. Never still, because his powers did not allow him that option. It had been comforting then. It was not now.

Shatterstar sat up, cautious in his movements, and wrapped one careful arm around Julio’s hunched shoulders, pulling Julio against him. Shatterstar murmured softly, gathering Julio in his arms and lying down again, grateful that Julio went easily. He shifted until Julio was tucked neatly at his side, stiff before relaxing with a small exhalation.

“Sleep,” Shatterstar mumbled. “This is enough.”

Julio pressed his face into Shatterstar’s shoulder, face hot with what Shatterstar suspected was mostly shame. It took a long time before Julio finally passed into troubled sleep.

Shatterstar did not sleep at all.

ooo.

The first time Shatterstar had sex was terrible.

“It’s not funny,” he said after, back rod-straight, a prideful square to his shoulders. Completely naked, because Adam had managed to talk him out of his clothes, and trying to ignore his bed-partner as Adam laid beside him, red-faced and shaking with laughter.

“It’s hilarious,” Adam assured him, golden hair twisting down his back, and Shatterstar rolled his eyes. Adam grinned at him, tugging Shatterstar back to the mattress. “It gets better,” Adam said, putting a hand on Shatterstar’s hip. “We’ll practice till we get it.”

And it had been better the second time, though not by much. More active participation on Shatterstar’s behalf. The first time, he had been only able to lie there, stiff with fear in all sorts of unfortunate places. At one point, he had tried to get up and leave, but Adam had wrestled him back, held him down and kissed him before touching him there.

“Sex won’t kill you, you know,” Adam had said, smiling against Shatterstar’s firmly shut mouth, his elbows pressed into Shatterstar’s shoulders. “It’s actually kind of fun.”

“I believe you,” Shatterstar had replied, secretly deciding never to do it again.

Adam had been right, though. The third time had been much better than the second, and by the time the fourth one rolled around, Shatterstar had almost enjoyed himself. It had been pleasurable enough from the beginning, his cock spilling seed easily, but it had felt like a badly made pornography film until then. The fourth time, he felt almost human.

With Adam’s help, he learned to enjoy sex. Learned that lying in bed too long could be a good thing, and that comfort could be found in the steady touch of a male hand. He explored the basics, too. He took Adam in his mouth without Adam having to ask, and didn’t decapitate Adam when he returned the favour. He learned that sometimes he didn’t even need sex, just Adam’s solid presence and the slice of his clever smile.

Inside, he found a little peace. In the aftermath of Benjamin Russell, he had gained memories that were not his own, and every memory afterward became circumspect, the lines too finely blurred. The images more easily sorted now. Only one of them had been an animal; only one of them a loved human child. But the emotions remained messy.

Ben had been a virgin when his powers manifested, though he had known he was gay.

Shatterstar had come to Earth, a sexless thing and utterly unprepared for human emotion.

In the days after his soul entered Ben’s body, Shatterstar lived with those feelings of yearning, of confusion, never quite sure who they belonged to. He felt them acutely, but couldn’t remember if they had existed before, if Julio had always set his skin ablaze. He had felt ashamed and aroused and bewildered but hadn’t truly understood the reason why.

Hadn’t until Julio broke his heart.

“The Mexican one, right,” Adam had said the ninth time they had sex, the two of them on the floor, naked in the steamy prison of Shatterstar’s tiny apartment. Adam had moved in at some point, uninvited, but Shatterstar had never asked him to leave. Though he would never admit it, he found immense comfort in communal living. It was familiar to him.

“Julio,” Shatterstar had agreed, barely breathing, too overheated to move.

“Is he straight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah,” Adam had said, combing his fingers through Shatterstar’s hair, spreading it over his chest like a blanket. “You could have tried, you know. Guys that age, guys who think they won’t live to see twenty, you’d be amazed how far they’re prepared to go.”

Somehow, Shatterstar had known that already, but it didn’t matter. He also knew that Julio would have hated him in the morning. “I want him to come to me willingly.”

“You might be waiting a long time. Straight guys are funny like that.”

“Yes,” Shatterstar had agreed, and if he had been sure about Julio’s sexuality, he would have forced his heart to let go right then, but Julio had never said anything one way or the other, and Shatterstar found he could not quite let go of his precious sliver of hope.

In his darker days, it was the only thing that had kept him going.

vi.

The morning came too fast, like it always seemed to. Shatterstar put a hand over his eyes, briefly blocking out the bright sun, but he was anxious and ready to leave, if not entirely willing. He had stayed too long already, seduced by Julio’s grim presence. It hadn’t been an entirely pleasant visit, all things considered, but he valued the memories.

Julio was long gone, Shatterstar noticed, the heat of his body erased from the bedsheets. Not overly surprising, and Shatterstar was almost grateful that Julio had spared him from the worst of everything. Walking away from Julio was easier without him watching.

Shatterstar took a quick shower then packed up the last of his belongings, took one last look around the dingy apartment and locked the door behind him. He slung his backpack over his shoulder then took the stairs two at a time until he was outside. It was very early, the streets almost empty, but he was almost overwhelmed by the vastness of it all.

He had forgotten, in these last few weeks, about the world outside Julio’s apartment.

He began to walk, head down, and had the unfortunate luck to run right into Theresa, who backed away from him immediately. She had touched him once, and he had never forgotten it, her damp hands on his chest, the pungent smell of cheap vodka on her breath.

“Leaving so soon, Shatty?”

He nodded, shifting his gaze to the other woman, who returned his look with a coldness that he envied. He turned back to Theresa. “I have things I must do,” he explained.

Theresa smiled lightly. “Well, it was nice to be seeing you.”

“You, too,” he replied, feeling increasingly awkward. How quickly he had forgotten Adam’s numerous lessons on small talk and social niceties. “I will talk to you later. When I come back,” Shatterstar added, “to visit Julio again. Very soon, Theresa.”

Theresa arched an eyebrow, scepticism clear on her face, and he was ready to just admit defeat and walk away from any more uncomfortable chitchat, but then Julio shouted, “Star!” And he turned around, because it was Julio, and Shatterstar could not deny him.

Julio had stopped at the bottom of the stone staircase leading to the sidewalk. A fury of emotion stormed over his face, fear and excitement, embarrassment, determination. Run, Shatterstar thought, because he knew what this meant, and he knew he could not say no. Julio had a threadbare duffel bag slung across his shoulder, resting on his hip.

“Take me with you,” he said, breathlessly, jogging to catch up. Theresa and the other woman exchanged worried looks, but Julio pretended not to notice them. “Star, please,” he added, wrapping cool fingers around Shatterstar’s wrist. “Please take me with you.”

“Ric,” Theresa said.

“Shut up,” Julio replied, tightening his grip on Shatterstar’s arm. “Please, Star.”

Theresa changed tactics. “Shatty, you can’t. I don’t know what’s going on, but knowing you, it’s not safe. I don’t know if Ric told you, but …”

“Please,” Julio repeated, a third time, tugging now, desperate. He had no pride left, Shatterstar realised. There was nothing remaining of that cocky man Shatterstar had known, just this angry, lost one. More alike now than they had ever been; two sides of one rusty coin.

“All right,” Shatterstar said, unable to stop himself from putting one hand on Julio’s stubbled cheek. Theresa and the other woman exchanged looks again, surprised this time, but Julio ignored them, just put his hand over Shatterstar’s and nodded as he exhaled.

“Okay, good. Thanks.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Theresa said. “You’re both …”

Julio’s face lost any semblance of peace, an ugly smirk cracking his lips. “Both what?”

Theresa paused, but the other one did not.

“Suicidal,” she said.

Julio snorted.

Theresa and the other women mirrored a disapproving frown, and Shatterstar found he almost agreed with them, but at least, this way, Julio was close. Close enough to protect, and possibly comfort, and if Shatterstar could do either of those before he died, then he could die happy. He thought about telling Theresa this, but quickly decided not to.

“Come on,” Shatterstar said, daring either of the women to challenge him, but they said nothing, and Julio followed him, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Two steps behind, messy hair tangled over his face, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, but definitely following him. Things were awkward. This new Julio was very strange.

But they were together, and perhaps that was all that mattered.