a dependent multi-muse blog for invictus, penned by π.
(under construction!)
𝒾. atlas. — ( keegan jeong. ) / ok taecyeon
THE IDEALIST.
a c-ranked steward at valerian with the permutation of pain transferal, who wants to make a softer world, one heroic duty at a time. romantic to a fault. cringe guaranteed.
intro . musings . connections . threads .
alteregos: @keyjeong . @officialatlas1
𝒾𝒾. "sonny." — ( sonu kintan naik. ) / utkarsh ambudkar
THE HEIR APPARENT?
an a-ranked billionaire civilian gifted with mitochondria manipulation who may or may not betray his own blood kin to get ahead. all the money in the world but it still can't help him buy his father's love and/or street cred.
intro . musings . connections . threads .
alterego: @sonukintannaik
𝒾𝒾𝒾. vaimiti. — ( portia dubrueil. ) / dominique jackson
THE MATRIARCH
a b-ranked steward community organizer at the liberty glens' n.e.s.t. branch, generous with her snark and salt constructs. will gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss if it means saving the n.e.s.t.!
setting: a-rank training room, 58th floor, valerian towers, manhattan, nkc.
timeframe: monday, june 6, 2022. just after lunch!
summary: atlas is just working out when... blaze... the literal man himself from the blaze fan club fame, shows up.
content warnings: none for now!
Keegan grunts as he lifts the bar over his head, holding it for a victorious beat before racking it. Ten extra pounds since last time. It isn’t super strength, but it’s honest work. He sits up and immediately feels dizzy; working out in his Atlas helmet is basically a self‑inflicted endurance trial, but he’ll be helmeted in the field, so he figures he might as well train in a pressure cooker to adapt to his base neutral.
The A‑rank’s training room is a bit of an upgrade. It’s like the C‑rank training room, except all the equipment is up‑to‑date, there’s more than three different kinds of machines, the free weights aren’t missing any barbells, the air conditioning works, the water cooler doesn’t taste funny, and it’s about quadruple the size. Normally he wouldn’t be allowed in, but after hanging around Ajay, the front desk lets Keegan slip in during slow hours. Maybe Ajay pulled strings. Or maybe they pity him. Who knows!
Keegan wipes sweat from his neck, clavicle, and the fogged‑up interior of his helmet when he hears footsteps approaching. Oh shoot?! Someone’s coming in? After lunch is usually his safe zone! He can already picture the awkward “why is a C‑rank steward in our A-rank training room” conversation, and hopefully he can get off easy with a talking-to from Scotty. Wait. What if the reception staff get in trouble because of him?!
Panic kicks in. Keegan throws a towel over his head like that’ll somehow disguise the giant helmet underneath, turns his back, and drops into push‑ups with frantic determination. Maybe if he looks busy enough, he can slip out once the newcomer starts their workout.
Date: July, post Fight Club mission
Location: SOMA Medical Center
Characters: Reverie & Atlas @retrocausalities
Notes: we feeling real bad :(
The words echoed in her head: Severe Concussion from head trauma. Broken ribs. Minor lacerations. The ER PA explained her diagnosis and left Reverie to mull over the facts and the steps forward alone. She could hear him speaking with her mother outside the private hospital room, their voices growing fainter as the two moved farther down the hall and disappeared into another corridor. Reverie sat there, alone, listening to her heart rate on the monitor and the soft beeping of the IV pump. Nothing hurt, apparently because most of her pain had been taken away by both Atlas and medications.
Her eyes landed on the phone on her lap, her screen still on the message explaining what had happened. Tyler, who she started to believe she should promote to her assistant, had got the information for her when the hospital called him as her Emergency Contact. Atlas had been brought in with her... somehow, someway, the lower ranked steward had made his way to the fight and attempted to save her. In doing so, he'd gotten hurt himself.
She pushed the phone away with a huff, her breathing shaky as she lifted her hands to her face. "Fuck," she whispered quietly into her palms. It'd been so long since she used foul language out-loud, but this situation warranted it. It was as Reverie began counting down backwards - a form of controlling her anxiety - that she heard a soft knock on the door. "... Come in," she called out, taking in a deep breath and putting her hands down on her lap. She hadn't reapplied makeup or any disguise, not while she was in her private room. Reverie had asked if she could see Atlas, but she wasn't sure if he would be well enough to come. Hopefully, he hadn't been outright injured and had only taken away her pain.
"Hey, Atlas," she breathed out, straightening up the moment he walked in. For the first time, her fellow steward would be seeing Reverie without any disguise, but that fact wasn't on her mind. "I-I wanted to go see you but they won't let me leave until they print out the discharge papers, and Tyler still needs to reapply my makeup and... Just... I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you. Are you okay?"
When Keegan collapsed, it felt as though death had swept in for the reaping. A searing coldness seemed to slip between his ribs, scrape against his bones, and pierce into his heart. The pain was vivid enough to convince him he was dying. But when he woke in a hospital bed, there were no wounds. Only soreness that clung to like a fading nightmare. Doctors leaned over him, and quickly signed a release form, declaring one Keegan Jeong ready to leave so his bed could be given to someone whose suffering wasn’t imaginary. Phantom pains didn’t have priority on limited hospital beds.
An Advil later, a palm pressed to his sternum later, fingers tracing unbroken skin as if searching for the ghost of a scar later — Keegan Jeong, Atlas, sits across from Scotty in the Valerian Towers office. The Non‑Disclosure Agreement lies open before him on the glass coffee table. He stares at the title as the letters merge into the plain white paper.
Scotty’s pen clicks open. A thin gold band circles its muzzle, an ornamental and useless luxury. A bead of blue ink gathers at the point, swelling like poison at the edge of a stinger.
“ You’d be doing everyone a favor, Atlas. Flare, Reverie… Phoenix — Ajay — they’re all going to be grateful for what you and Slapstick did. A unified front. So let’s sign here. And initial here. ”
The pages swish, the sound striking his cheek like a reprimand. His head feels stuffed with cotton. His hand moves anyway, looping signatures that betray his instincts with every stroke. When he leaves, he doesn’t go to Ajay’s apartment. He goes to his mother’s restaurant. She asks what’s wrong when he walks in, the chimes ringing. He only says he wants her ox tendon soup.
She complains about having to dig through the walk‑in freezer, but she goes. Even with spoonfuls of broth warming his throat, even with her questions drifting across the table, he feels too cold and can’t speak.
엄마한테 말 못 해?
엄마 미안해. 그냥 도가니탕 먹으면 안 돼?
June Jeong’s forehead tightens, loosens, the worry lines stretch and contract. She sighs, sits across from him, and opens the newspaper with a rustle.
엄마, 여기 근처에 꽃집 있어—
야! 엄마한테 존댓말 안 해?
아, 네, 네...
He asks again about florists. She sighs, knowing it’s late and most shops are closed. Still, she says she’ll call Mrs. Kitamura. Keegan reaches across the table in quiet gratitude. She clicks her tongue and bats his hand away while dialing.
His mother only hugs when she’s sad. Never when she’s happy. But beneath her grumbling is an unspoken love that Keegan has always known. And here he was, lying to her by omission.
Later, back at the hospital, with a bouquet arranged under Mrs. Kitamura’s exacting rules — no potted plants, no white, no red, no unlucky numbers ( 4 and 9 were death wishes! ), and absolutely no chrysanthemums — Keegan gathers his breath and walks into Reverie’s room after a soft knock. He hasn’t been briefed on her condition; to the staff, he’s practically a stranger. And he feels like one, seeing her face without the mask, while he hides behind his own half‑helmet. Guilt spirals through him, coiling, coiling at the sight of an A‑rank hero stripped of her heroic dignity.
It feels so wrong to see, this naked closeness of her civilian side. Keegan wouldn’t call them friends, and her wondering how he is only speaks to her professionalism befitting her rank. Her prestige, when measured, is miles compared to his. Despite this noticeable gap, she asked him at times to oversee her workouts or training sessions. He didn’t mind to join her, too. Reverie worked hard. She always worked hard.
So where did it go wrong, then?
“ Um, hi, Reverie. I hope you are feeling better... I brought flowers. ” His voice wavers. She starts babbling, words tumbling out in a frantic stream. He’s never seen her flustered. He catches fragments — she wanted to see him, and something about having to make up with a Tyler. His mind leaps to: the creator? Before realizing it’s an absurd place and settling on the idea that it must be a civilian name for another A‑rank hero that Reverie accidentally let slip. Maybe the medication loosened her tongue. Poor Reverie. Keegan should make this visit short and to the point.
“ You, uh, look well without makeup, don’t worry. ” Keegan winces. He shouldn’t comment on her appearance when she’s bedridden, but she brought it up first, so should he respond? His head throbs. Keegan’s breathing echoes inside the suffocating helmet. Looking at her without her still feels wrong, so he keeps his gaze fixed on his sneakers. The dark visor of his helmet hides his eyes and his shame.
“ A-anyway, Reverie, I’m fine. Just sore, but I’ll bounce back. I’m not the one who had real injuries. ”
Just my body seizing in shock. A minor cardiac arrest. The truth flickers through his mind, but he swallows it down. She already looks guilty. He won’t add more weight to her chest.
He lifts the bouquet again, offering it properly. A small handwritten card is taped to the creamy wrapping. He sets it gently on the nearest table, noticing other things — from other visitors. Maybe this Tyler?
As an ex-nurse practitioner, Keegan isn’t in the mood to hear apologies from someone attached to an IV pump. He raises his hands, palms down, trying to calm the rising panic in her voice. His eyes stay glued to the floor.
“ Really, Reverie, please don’t worry about me. I talked with Valerian too, so I got you… ” Covered feels wrong, even if it’s true. “ …gotted… ha-ha. I’ll head out now to give you time to rest. Talking like this probably isn’t great for your recovery. ”
He leans back. He believes in people. He believes in heroes. He believes in doing the right thing. But this belief feels different now, like a blade he’s gripping by the edge, cutting deeper the longer he holds on.
There is a thing that happens when Yiming is startled that he’s not proud of but has possibly saved his life from time to time. When startled, Yiming often subconsciously -- and he cannot stress enough that this is not something he does on a conscious level -- pulls the startling sound out of the air and constructs it around himself as a barrier.
And in this case, he is, maybe perhaps more in his head than he should have been, so his power reaches out on instinct, snatches the sound from the air, and pulls it tight around him in a reflexive shield.
For a split second, he is wrapped in Jaylen’s voice -- Ian?
The construct forms across his skin in a thin, shimmering lattice of gold light flickering over the delicate underside of his wrist, across the rise of his shoulders, tracing the line of his jaw, and down the sweep of his back. It feels warm, like the slow, lingering brush of fingers or a soft exhale tracing over him -- like being touched by someone who shouldn’t be close enough to touch him at all.
His breath stutters and he forces the construct to break apart, shoving the sound away until the gold fractures and dissolves into nothing. The warmth disappears. His skin is bare again. His face is hot.
He clears his throat. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Even though he absolutely didn’t startle Jaylen. He startled himself, and he’d like to press his face into Echo’s soft belly and disassociate about it.
Thankfully, Yiming has never been much of a talker. He can play it up on stage or for a camera, but he prefers to save his words for things that matter like music and his loved ones. He doesn’t enjoy small talk or filling awkward silences, so he is able to stand there, nodding at appropriate intervals and making small noises of acknowledgement.
He doesn’t so much hand Jaylen the bag as he lets it go and Jaylen’s hands happens to be there to catch it.
Jaylen doesn’t seem to notice any of that. He’s already digging through the bag right there in the doorway, half in the hall, half in the room, narrating as he goes.
Yiming tries to answer, clears his throat, trying to gently redirect: “Maybe you should, uh, sit down? You don’t have to-- you can look at it inside –”
But Jaylen is still talking, still going through the bag like it’s the best thing he’s received all week. Yiming feels acutely aware of how exposed he is -- standing in the hallway, in full view of passing nurses, visitors, and staff. He’s not even inside the room. He’s just hovering and being steamrolled by Jaylen’s enthusiasm and gratitude.
He needs to leave.
He needs to leave right now.
But Jaylen’s attention is a force. It always has been, and Yiming hasn’t been the direct focus of it in twenty years. And now it’s pointed at him again while Jaylen digs through the bag like it’s a treasure chest. He’s holding the card -- the little square of paper Yiming should have taken out and burned.
Jaylen turns away and for one moment, Yiming can see the correct timeline:
Jaylen’s back turned.
The doorway is clear.
Yiming gently closes the door.
He fades backward into the wall behind him, ceasing to exist.
But Jaylen props the card up beside his headphones and flowers -- Yiming knew there would already be flowers -- snaps a photo, and the fantasy dissolves like smoke.
His throat tightens as Jaylen asks if he can tag Yiming on AlterEgo. Like Yiming would be doing him a favor of allowing international superstar Jaylen Whittaker to tag him on AlterEgo. His brain is flatling, torn between easy agreement and --
His EP announcement is coming soon. He doesn’t know the exact day, but if Jaylen tags him now -- right before that announcement -- it'll look like he’s trying to ride Jaylen’s attention. Like he’s came here trying to build hype off of someone else’s injury.
He can already imagine the comments:
“How do they even know each other?
“Sonic is really trying to get noticed.”
“This must have been planned.”
“Is this promo?”
He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s using Jaylen. He doesn’t want Jaylen thinking he’s using Jaylen. He opens his mouth to decline:
ian’s permutation kicks in right in front of jaylen, and something in the air just… clicks. it’s like someone cracked open one of those old childhood memory boxes — what were they called? the thing where you write a letter and bury it? time capture? time capsule. yeah, that. one of those.
the breathlessness in jaylen’s chest feels like déjà vu stretching itself awake. ian was on stage back then, singing his heart out, and jaylen was tucked behind the curtain where the cameras couldn’t catch him. those colors had danced around ian’s head like he was born with a spotlight.
now, grown, the sensation’s still there, thumping a slow beat against jaylen’s ribs. it’s softer, unfamiliar, and a bit distant. like someone laid a decade of dust between then and now. still cool as hell. he thinks the same thing he thought back then: yeah, ian’s definitely getting picked.
he always figured ian was a shoo‑in for astronomical. bunmi too, with those literal beams of light shooting off him like he was made from a star. but ian’s permutation worked with his voice. that had to be bonus points from the judges. meanwhile, kid‑jaylen could only set one hand on fire and freeze the other solid, then pull them out unharmed like he was doing a party trick for bored adults.
but back then, he never got the fine details of ian’s permutation. not like this where he hears his own voice — his actual voice — echoing around ian in this flowing shape of gold light. a glittery beam curls around ian’s wrist, brushes his cheek, trails down his back like it’s painting him.
jaylen stares, entranced. “woah. is that my voice? it’s so… pretty? haha, sorry, is that weird to say to another guy?”
he laughs, easy and unbothered, gives a little shoulder shrug on the one not occupied by his crutch, and tilts his head toward his room like, yeah, dude, come in, don’t just stand out there in the hallway chill.
when ian apologizes for something jaylen didn’t even catch, jaylen scratches the back of his neck. if anything, he’s the one who startled ian. “sorry, man. i was gonna go for a walk in the gardens. you been? s’nice. quiet at this time.”
the gift basket has him grinning like an idiot, too distracted to notice how nervous ian is. he barely registers ian’s suggestion to check it out later. it lands a few seconds late, when jaylen’s fussing with his phone. he glances up with a small grin. “ah, too much, yeah? i appreciate it tho... comin’ pretty late now and all...?” was it late?
his phone lights up when jaylen checks the time and damn, there are way too many notifications, but none from the guys. or eeshi. he pouts, pockets it after confirming that it’s around 7-something.
“so, thanks for seeing me while i’m cooped up in here. doctors gotta check my leg and do tests and stuff.” he shifts his weight, casual as ever, despite it having jaylen sidelined for a good two months now, even with accelerated healing factors from the soma doctors. “do you… go out a lot? i mean, on steward missions.”
Time seemed to slow down with each passing syllable that drew from his lips. Viola found herself hanging onto every world, something in her hear longing, eager to discover more that she could of Fer..dinand.
Ferdinand.
Her was nervous too. She could hear it in the slight hesitation of his voice as he says the pretend name. Yet, somehow, that made him all that more captivating. It stripped away the polished façade people were presenting themselves with and left behind something human, something rather sincere. In a world accustomed to masks, his uncertainty felt raw and real. Viola found herself longing to know more, before she had the good sense to stop.
Seated still, but finds herself absentmindedly angling herself closer to his direction. Not a single moment does Viola allow her gaze to stray away from him. Tilting her head, as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she listens to each sentence, as each new fact shared inspired another question she longed to ask him.
Ferdinand is kind. He is giving. And something wells up inside Viola, as there is something familiar in the kindness of an outreached hand, ready and willing to help all those in need. Memories in her mind to times, were she needed someone like that. That thought of that with Ferdinand felt warm and welcoming. For someone who was familiar with falling, something up the uplift from that fall felt...nice.
She shifts back in her seat, ready to take in the impressions, that his best friend declared he does well. Her heart flutters at the faux British accent, although it would not be faired to compare to Benny's, an actual Brit, Viola can't help but find it oddly charming with the way he immerses himself into the role of Silver Meridian. Possibly a little overexaggerated in parts, but she doesn't hold back the laughter that escapes her lips.
As she is laughing with him. Bold and comfortable to just himself. And her laughter grows more as he moves on to the other hero, Knock Out, as she watches Ferdinand get lost in his own performance. Truth be told, she had not laughed like this in a long time. Viola tries her best to contain her laughter from a silent giggle but only grows a little louder to be heard. As she uses one hand to cover her mouth, in fear of being too loud.
But as he turns into his third impression, Viola sucks in a breath. Sitting a little straighter. Trying to hold the laughter. He was imitating mother. Viola, attempt so to keep a straight face, holding herself together, as she tucks her fingers under the chair pulling herself down almost as if to ground herself. Though the waves of held back laughter is present on her face. Mother....would have to understand right?
As his impressions come to an end, Viola manages to compose herself. Something in herself feeling light as if her heart had traded it's eight for sunlight. Her gaze keeps watching Ferdinand, for as long as she can. To the point she almost forgets to ask him a question.
Snapping a little pick into reality, she nervously raises a hand, waiting to be picked. Until she is. And at a moment she is lost for words. "Um..." she sounds like an idiot, hoping that she wasn't going to blurt out something simplistic or stupid, "You're pretty caring..." That wasn't a question Viola, that was compliment! "Um as someone so caring...how could someone offer you a hand, when you need it most? Like how could a partner help you out when you need it most." She purses her lips shut knowing that she is babbling and repeating herself, looking down at her hands, not wanting to see the look he was probably giving her and everyone else on that matter.
Keegan is the center of Viola’s attention, and he isn’t prepared for how disarming it feels. In the small crowd peppering him with questions, her voice cuts through everything — distinctly soft, curious. For a moment it is as if the others dissolved, leaving only the two of them standing together among the summer-scented roses.
He grows shy under her gaze, especially after hearing her introduction. There is something gentle and warm about her that feels so true. And the revelation that she’d once been a professional skater — how graceful, disciplined, dazzling it sounded! — intrigues him more than he wants to admit. But Keegan isn’t alone; one of the other contestants practically snapped upright when she mentioned it.
But when Keegan performed his impressions, it has been Viola who reacted the most. Her laughter unrestrained, inviting in the ear to listen rather than pushing away. The sound isn’t cruel, not to him. He hopes she found him genuinely funny, not funny in a way that made him the joke.
“ Thank you, ” he manages, throat suddenly dry at her unexpected compliment. He wishes he’d said something equally courteous when she’d stepped up earlier, wishes he hadn’t stumbled over his words. Wishes he could rewind the moment entirely. But all he can do now was answer her question.
“ For the question, ” he clarifies, looking straight at her. “ Um… I’d say knowing where I’m at when I need help is the biggest thing. Trusting me to ask for it when I need it, and letting me try on my own to reach my goals. I’m pretty communicative in general. You just… want someone to believe in you, you know. That is what I would do for someone else too, make sure they know I believe in them to pull through. ”
The restaurantuer offers her 청양고추, and Anna's entire soul lights up, but she knows the rules. She has been trained for this moment since childhood.
"Oh, no, ma'am, that’s too generous," Anna says, hands raised politely. Instead of what she actually wants to say, which is, yes please. "Really, you don't have to."
If Anna is reading this wrong and this woman doesn't insist on letting her have a sachet, she might weep in this restaurant. She will cry into her banchan and be the subject of another meme.
Then June mentions the chair, and Anna feels a stab of guilt. She feels like she’s committed a crime.
"Oh! No, no, the chair is perfect," she says quickly, sitting up even straighter. "Very sturdy. Very comfortable. I love this chair."
Her keeps her posture immaculate -- the kind that would make a ballet instructor proud -- because she will not let this woman fetch her a cushion for a problem she invented to hide her stomach growling. She would rather perish in this chair than inconvenience this woman. Except that would also cause an inconvenience, so she would have to find another way to pass politely and with dignity.
"Oh, that won't be necessary, I'm not waiting for anyone. I'm single, it's just me today," Anna answers, helpfully. She smiles -- warm, earnest, and happy in the knowledge that her order is already in.
She gestures at the menu photo, desperate to redirect. "Your son takes great pictures, by the way. Very professional. The lighting is really nice."
She nods too many times, folding her hands neatly as she beams up at June, and trying to radiate the exact energy of please like me. Please feed me. I will be the best customer you’ve ever had. And underneath all of that, her internal monologue is a smug, delighted refrain:
She likes me. I knew she liked me. I am so good at moms. I am unstoppable. Banchan is coming. Life is perfect.
June practically melts. “Oh, ho ho! You are too precious~” she gushes, falling head‑over‑heels for Anna’s sweet little act, fully convinced she’s hosting a literal angel child in her restaurant. “I get you two. Two packets of 씨. And a better cushion. You wait.”
She sashays off to the drawer with the spare plastic aprons for customers, fishing out a soft green 방석 — her son’s favorite color — and returns to find Anna still sitting with that posture any mother would brag about. “Here, stand up for a moment,” she says, gently coaxing the girl to rise so she can slip the cushion underneath.
Once Anna is settled, June turns toward the kitchen again until the word “single” drifts over. 싱글. Her ears perk. Her son is single too. Nearly forty, eight years from forty‑five… and that meant June herself would be...l? Maybe thirties. She won’t say~
“He would look very good in date photos,” she tosses out lightly. Then she catches Anna’s bright, eager smile — one that June reads as Please like me. Please tell me more about Keegan. I will be the best daughter-in-law you’ve ever had — and June can’t help herself. “You two should date. Ah, I talk too much. Let me get your food…”
Back in the kitchen, she’s a whirlwind: chopping, ladling sauce over meat, heating the 돌솥 until the rice crackles into perfect 누룽지. The beef patties shine under a soy glaze, ginger slices perched on top. Maria hands her 찌개, and June adds her potato salad and a trio of soy pickles —오이, 마늘, 할라피뇨 장아찌.
She returns with the tray, warning Anna about the hot bowl before setting everything down. “Enjoy~ And look there, you see? That’s my boy on TV. Very handsome, right?”
On the corner TV screen, Keegan is doing an impression of Silver Meridian. June squints proudly. “Wow, is he from London? I can’t tell!”
“One can be both a fool and a steward if they try hard enough,” she says with a snicker, even as she sends Atlas a thankful look for the lack of prying. Once things are more established, she will make sure to stop by his place to let him know what she was hiding, but for now, she wants to keep it all a secret to make sure she isn’t jinxing herself by saying too much too soon. “I am quite the perfect example to show just that.”
If only she knew how to balance both sides of the coin so that she is just enough of a fool to ensure her permutation is used to its full extent, while also making sure people can take her more seriously than they do now. It’s quite the balancing act, she knows, and the sort that will remain increasingly difficult for as long as Valerian doesn’t let her discard the image they had painted for her. But before she can do that, she has to show them that letting her go beyond her limits will be profitable.
With corporations like Valerian, money talks. And unfortunately, she does make quite the hefty buck as Slapstick.
“Damn, your trolls have never done a job that requires a lot of physical activity and it shows, huh,” she comments pointedly once the trolls begin to make themselves heard, eyes moving away from Keegan so that she can send the phone’s camera a pointed look. “I guess not everyone can be a socknnoisseur.”
Her tone is solemn, but allows for enough levity for her own fans to regain control of the chat back, working to wrap up the sentiment into a nice little bow as she focuses on helping Atlas wrap the stream with a nice tidy bow for Valerian to approve.
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” she says with a nod of mock seriousness. “My earrings are all over the top of my cabinet and I need more of those small little bags to make sure I don’t lose one of the two parts of each pair. Which honestly, is much easier said than done, considering how small they are.”
And how messy her apartment can get every once in a while, she thinks but doesn’t quite say it out loud.
“Want one of mine? I got a couple of duplicates and I think it would be cute if we match,” she offers with a grin as she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. As Atlas asks a question, she eyes the chat and nods slightly to herself once she sees how it is slowly but surely winding down. A couple minutes of more banter should be enough before they can wrap up, and maybe go get a coffee or something.
“I would look great? Dude, I have been lucky enough to get a glimpse of you shirtless, I promise you will look better than great,” she insists even as she hums thoughtfully, considering the question carefully. “I think I would like a warm yellow, it would be pretty cute.”
Keegan laughs as Sarah effortlessly brightens the space again, her energy turning the moment warm and easy. He compliments her earrings—half teasing, half genuinely curious about whether her permutation can nudge the world the way it seems to nudge the mood. It must, right?
He accepts one of her extra merch pieces with a grin, brushing off her praise about his physique. Nothing superpowered there — just him staying athletic enough to reach people who need him reliably.
Their conversation drifts into talks about colors, tiny preferences, and the soft, trivial details that somehow matter. In the end, it’s the simple exchange itself — the shared air away from the bustle of their talent agency and marketing quotas, the comfortable laughter of inside jokes and lived-in experiences of being a C-rank — that makes everything feel richer, reminding Keegan that the right company can turn even small talk into something quietly meaningful.
Now Sunny and Jaylen probably got along as well as mentos and coke in a bottle. And Sunny admittely had some unresolved issues. But in a month of love and acceptance maybe....Sunny can attempt to be at least 3% less of an asshole. Baby steps.
sunny: Hey do you want to hang out (deleted)
sunny: sorry that shit happened, we should get a coffee and talk (deleted)
sunny: we might have our differences but admire your talent in a sense. I never really said it and I hope (deleted)
After several moments to himself and a deep breath sunny finally texted
sunny: you like retro stuff right like those vinyl records
sunny: whats like one you really like
sunny: thats hot shit
sunny: not hot like you or me, like earworm hot
jaylen’s just chilling, feeding his pet tarantula, gwen, when his phone buzzes against the table. the sudden vibration sets his delicate girl off, and she pops up into a full threat pose like she’s ready to throw hands. guess the noise spooked her, so jaylen sets down the pincers holding the freeze‑dried cricket. “sorry, gwen,” he says softly, like he’s apologizing to a friend he bumped into. honestly, the jump scared him a little too.
thinking it might be bunmi hitting him up, jaylen lifts himself out of his seat and reaches for his phone hanging off the edge of the table. he flicks open the lock — his manager keep nagging him about putting on a passcode, but he ain’t gonna do all that — and pauses. huh. it’s dai. probs work-related.
JAYLEN → 🤖 : yea i do
JAYLEN → 🤖 : uh idk bru i have alot
JAYLEN → 🤖 : gotta listen first
JAYLEN → 🤖 : lol u think im hot? thanks.
JAYLEN → 🤖 : u too :~P
JAYLEN → 🤖 : what genre bcus that matters
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: no, not this time actually lol
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] shika got in some trouble
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: it wasn't one of the boys
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: something with one of the girl but we gotta look out for each other yknow?
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] don't call me captain lol dai might get mad 🥴
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] i miss you too
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: we all miss you too
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: how long until they let you out of the hospital?
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: or are me and the boys gonna have to plan a prison break?
JAYLEN → 🌞: oh a small releaf i gess
JAYLEN → 🌞: axial girl?
JAYLEN → 🌞: the socialite or it girl fiting?
JAYLEN → 🌞: its not eeshika is it
JAYLEN → 🌞: i shud be out june 1
JAYLEN → 🌞: lol its not too bad here
JAYLEN → 🌞: ian came to see me so it sok
Ajay’s heart plummeted to the pit of their stomach at the sight of Keegan's face, then sped into overtime when they saw his eyes dip down to the phone in their hand. A flush of embarrassment rose up their neck and they quickly hid the phone behind their back. They cringed as soon as they realized what they had done, feeling like a child caught by a parent looking at something they shouldn’t at the internet. Their mouth opened and closed like a fish, excuses and explanations dying in their suddenly parched throat before they could form on their lips.
Keegan was talking to them in a slow, steady voice, like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal, like he was trying to talk Ajay off of a ledge. Ajay’s mouth audibly clicked shut, their top and bottom teeth clinking together with the force of the motion. Clearing their throat they stiffly squared their shoulders.
“ It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Just some bullshit internet rumors, you know how it is. ” Keegan absolutely didn’t know how it was. Couldn’t know. He had been allotted the gift of anonymity that Ajay never had the chance to even try for. But it was a blessing, someone as sweet and kind as Keegan wouldn’t be able to handle the type of media shitstorm anyone with even the smallest semblance of fame had to handle at the height of this godforsaken hyper-connected era. And the less he knew, the better.
“ Like I said, it’s fine, Keegs. It’ll blow over once people realize there’s no truth to the gossip. ” They muttered, eyes wide, their hand gripped so hard around their phone the metal shell creaks. “ Just wish the rumors weren’t about me and fucking Flare, y’know? ” They let out a chipped forced laugh followed by a grimace. Get it together.
Clearing their throat once more, they slipped their phone into their back pocket and rolled their shoulders. Turning on their heel they stomped towards the kitchen sink, Ajay turned the handle up for cold water, cupped their hands under the stream, and splashed a handful of water on their still burning face. Sighing they grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack that sat beside the sink, filled it with water, and drank the contents in a couple of large gulps.
Placing the empty cup upside down in the sink, they placed their hands on the either side of the basin and hung their head. Why did it have to be Flare of all people?
Sure, Ajay knew there were people who “shipped” them and Flare together for years now—but those people were crazy! People “shipped” him with almost every single person he’d so much as stood next to: Adhara, Trixie, Keegan, fucking Silver Meridian, and even Hieronymus! Huge age gap be damned ( what the hell was ‘toxic age gap yaoi’ ??? ). And it had only gotten worse after Riel had—nope. That was a can of worms they were absolutely not going to open tonight.
Groaning, the threw themselves dramatically onto the kitchen island, pressing their hot cheeks on the cool granite. The scenes that were being passed around AlterEgo playing in their brain; years of ogling and smiles Ajay hadn’t even been fully aware that they were doing. Like god forbid they glanced at a beautiful woman once or twice or occasionally found her bluntness kinda funny when it wasn’t directed at them? Cringing at that last thought, they turned their head to bang it on the countertop.
But that was ultimately the problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like any of the other rumors because—though it pained them to admit it, even just internally—Zaya was kind of their type…
“ Keegan… ” They bemoaned despondently. “ What am I going to do? ”
They regretted the words as soon as they uttered them. Yeah, great thinking, genius. Ask your crush to help you disprove dating rumors about you and someone else, great idea. Keegan was so kind he’d probably agree to he; he had already agreed to help the moment he’d stepped through the door and saw what kind of state Ajay was in; switching into that hot first responder mode like he already knew exactly what had happened and how to deal with it—Ajay raised themselves off the counter in one smooth motion, summer breaks practicing The Undertaker’s technique with Ashish finally paying off.
They turned to Keegan and took in his expression. Had he seen the videos? Did he know? Ajay should just ask. Make it casual. It wasn’t a big deal.
“ It’s not a big deal, right? ” Their voice cracked on the final syllable. Cool. Cool. Cool. Totally nailed it.
Keegan saw it instantly — the crack in Ajay’s composure. Their eyes, normally a calm, earthy brown, were blown wide. Irises sinking in a swamp of whites spiderwebbed with red, like they hadn’t blinked in minutes.
Their cheeks were flushed and desaturated at once, a strange, bruised color that made Keegan’s stomach twist. And the way they hid their phone behind their back — two years beside the A-ranked steward had taught Keegan exactly what this meant. Ajay was unraveling.
Keegan’s own pulse kicked hard. But he shoved it down, along with his nerves that were threatening to boil over. Put a lid on it. Ajay needed support. Ajay needed him. Keegan could always work out the unsettling feeling through twenty sets of ten push-ups with the backdrop courtesy of The Killers later.
He listened while Ajay spilled out half-formed and jagged sentences about rumors, about Flare ( about Zaya ). Keegan kept his expression neutral, even as he noticed the tremor in Ajay’s hands when they said her name. Even though something sharp twisted in his chest.
If he were younger, he would’ve hated the fake-dating gossip for different reasons than today — Zaya had always been the unreachable senior, the one he crushed on as a freshman loser. The one who saved him from bullies and wanted nothing from him except distance. And for him to be better. ( Easier said than done. )
And Ajay… Ajay would’ve still been the kind of person he admired too much.
But now Ajay was here, scrubbing their face raw at the kitchen sink like they could wash the whole situation off.
Keegan left to the hallway bathroom and grabbed a towel without thinking, returning just as Ajay finished a glass of water and braced themselves against the counter. They turned too fast, clipped the island, and the dull crack of their skull on laminate made Keegan flinch like he’d been hit.
He stepped in immediately. His fingers found Ajay’s temple, letting his permutation cool the flare of pain. It crawled into him — warm, prickling — but he held steady, swallowing the instinct to pull away. Sometimes the pain was good, the sensation made it feel like what Keegan was doing was working. No pain, no gain, right?
“ You can brush it off, ” he said softly, forcing a small smile. “ Don’t give the mob anything real to chew on. You told me it’s fake—so let it stay fake. ”
He set down his backpack, shrugged off his jacket, washed his hands at the sink. He didn’t want to leave Ajay alone long enough to walk to the washroom. His own nerves were a tight, burning knot, but he kept them fastened behind his ribs.
He turned back to Ajay, voice smoldering to quiet ash while the oily crackle and pop of unease was eating away inside him. “What do you want for dinner. I’ll make something while we put on the TV?”
He didn’t add the part he was thinking. Just stay here with me, Ajay. Don’t disappear into your head. I’ve got you.
Keegan reached for the remote and turned on the plasma TV just as an ad for a dating show flickered on. Instinctively, Keegan wanted to shut it off but the rational part of his mind said that would be even more suspicious. As Keegan pulled out ingredients from the fridge, his mind too distracted that he didn’t recognize whatever he pulled out, he asked Ajay, “ Hey... Ajay. What would you say if I told you I finally got an appearance offer... for a show? Actually, no, forget it, man. Haha. I’m going to reject it. ”
The gentle tug‑and‑pull of their bikes’ speeds turns into a playful rhythm. When she edges ahead, he pushes forward just enough to catch up, sometimes slipping past her for a heartbeat before easing back so they ride side by side again. Winning doesn’t matter. The whole point is being here with her, sharing the moment, not racing through it.
“I think when I’m older, I’d like to live by the sea,” he says as the trail opens up beside them. “There’s something calming about watching the waves crash against the cliffs. The way the rocks stand there, proud and unmoving, and the ocean keeps coming back anyway… it’s like they’re equals, you know? Two forces meeting in the middle.” He laughs at himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. That was cheesy.” { extract from thread by @retrocausalities and @waywardlegacies }
where: SOMA Medical Center in Manhattan, NKC
when: may 29th, 2022 - 7:00PM
Yiming hasn’t told anyone where he’s going.
And why should he? It’s not a big deal.
Sure, he usually tells his sister everything, but she would just ask way too many questions and make it weird. And, yes, he could have told his coworkers since he’s visiting someone that is technically a coworker, but they would just think he was crazy for trying.
And it really isn’t a big deal at all. He isn’t going as some kind of friend (they’re definitely not that) or colleague (on two WAY different pay scales) or even a former castmate (…).
He is going because he’s an idiot who remembers the fourteen-year-old version of himself sitting alone in an empty hospital room -- voice gone, future gone, and waiting for his family to make the flight from Seattle.
He doesn’t remember all of the details from the day he formally withdrew from the competition, but he remembers feeling partly scared, partly relieved, and overwhelmingly numb. Lonely. It’s a memory that makes his chest tighten if he thinks about it too long.
And then he heard a knock.
Jaylen Whittaker poked his head around the doorframe, dragging along his grandmother in an effort to check on him.
Even before then, Yiming had known that Jaylen was going to win. Some kids have talent -- Yiming has talent, he knows he does.
At fourteen, Jaylen has presence.
He sang like he learned from a bird, moved like he’d trained in a past life, and when he smiled --
The room rearranged itself around him.
And now, that same boy was injured, but also, no, he’s a thirty-four-year-old man and surrounded by a world that adored him. Yiming feels like he’s intruding on a life that has outgrown him a thousand times over, but there’s this childish voice inside that will not rest unless he tries.
So, he tries.
He makes it easy on himself by timing his visit carefully: he arrives during the last hour of visiting hours and hopes Jaylen will be asleep at this point. If he times it right, he can leave his gift with a nurse and slip out unnoticed.
Unfortunately, he’s just… waved through?
He’s almost offended.
Jaylen is one of the biggest performers in the world. There should be layers of protection: Handlers, managers, security. Instead, the intake receptionist glances at his face, then the Kardinal logo on his work badge, and flushes bright red. They type something into their computer and say, “Room 512. Elevators are on your left.”
Just like that. No questions, no escort.
It would have been less unsettling than if he’d just been turned away. Yiming is, he isn’t going to file a complaint, but he definitely makes sure that his “thank you” is quiet enough that the receptionist might not have heard it.
The elevators are similarly uncooperative. The ride is steady, smooth, and not interrupted by even a little fire alarm necessitating an emergency exit. He practices his lines under his breath as the floors cheerfully ding away.
“I was just stopping by.”
“I hope you recover quickly.”
This would be easier without the gift bag balanced awkwardly against his thigh. Should he have just brought flowers? He should have just bought flowers. Flowers are normal.
But then he’d remembered the little plush bird -- now mixed in with years of other gifted, plush animals -- and he’d pictured Global Superstar Jaylen Whittaker and the entire rooms of flowers he’s probably received. Everything just felt wrong, somehow too formal and too casual at the same time.
So, he landed on a little gift basket: a deck of cards and a word search book. A plain, deep navy ceramic mug because the basket looked empty without it. And then a soft, warm gray blanket he’d found shoved behind a clearance endcap, half-buried under a pile of mismatched holiday leftovers. It had a raised spiderweb design that was subtle enough to pass as geometric if it wasn’t looked at too closely.
And then, because he hadn’t planned his embarrassment enough, he’d tucked in a square of paper with a childishly rendered spider in the corner. He’d written “Get Well Soon” in small, neat handwriting at the top.
And he hadn’t signed it.
If Jaylen didn’t recognize him -- or didn’t want to -- Yiming could say that the basket is from “everyone at Kardinal” or “the Studio” or “the Team” and not some random producer that only knows the version of him from twenty years ago.
He rehearses those lines too. Just in case.
Maybe he should take the blanket out.
Or the mug.
Or the card.
Or just. Leave the entire basket with a nurse.
He should’ve just come empty-handed, but who shows up to the hospital empty-handed?
Who brought a gift basket to someone they hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with in almost twenty years? Who brought a spider-themed gift basket because their fourteen-year-old competitor talked about little else? Who brought a Halloween clearance blanket to one of the most famous performers in the world?
He’s overthinking this.
He knows he’s overthinking this.
But he also knows he can’t show up with nothing. Not when Jaylen had shown up for him once -- all those years ago -- with some kind of bird plush and a shy smile.
The elevator dinged, announcing he reached his floor.
Too late to turn back.
He walks slowly, counting the room numbers. When he reaches Jaylen's slightly ajar door, he freezes.
This is so stupid.
Yiming shouldn't be here. Jaylen has people. Jaylen has the entire world.
Jaylen doesn't need a ghost from a show they'd both outgrown.
Yiming takes a step back.
Then another.
He can still leave.
He can still pretend he'd never come.
His hand tightens on the handles of the gift bag until they dig into his fingers.
He owes that fourteen-year-old boy -- the one who asked the nurses if he could come in -- more than running away.
jaylen laquan whittaker realizes, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, that this might be the longest he’s ever spent doing nothing. ever since he was a child, the world refused to stop spinning. time playing hopscotch on cracked concrete where weeds pushed through the scars, breakfasts shoveled down a thin throat so he wouldn’t miss the bus stop a whole neighborhood away, prayers whispered at a frantic hundred-twenty beats per minute that his mom would get home early and tuck him in before joseph returned from the pub.
a part of him always craved idling, watching clouds drift, headphones plugged in while ambient noise smoothed out his thoughts. but the headphones sit untouched on the table beside the bouquet of golden mixed lilies and orchids his younger sister nia brought. decentralizing himself makes him feel small. feeling small makes him feel insignificant, and insignificance has a way of digging into loneliness.
after the initial rush of get-well gifts and well wishes, everything slowed to syrup. mr. magarian kept insisting EQUINOX was waiting for him, but as march blurred into april into may, jaylen couldn’t help theorizing how true that was. his text to bunmi, another to the EQUINOX group chat — both went unanswered for awhile. the guys were busy. fine.
soon it’ll be twenty years since EQUINOX formed, two decades since astronomical boys and girls rocketed his life into stardom. guilt creeps in. so many others never had their lives changed; for them, the chance blew out like a candle. some didn’t even make it on tv, despite the film rolling, rolling, them talking about their hopes and dreams so earnestly — an editor decided these contestants weren’t compelling enough in their stories. but jaylen was. so he should feel lucky. a panel of faceless suits believed his voice was worth banking on. he shouldn’t entertain the intrusive thought of being dropped before the audition round even ended.
but twenty years is a long time. his healing leg throbs; he jolts and sighs. maybe no one would mind if he retired. the guys could go on without him or solo — they’re established enough. mr. magarian would probably consider it; he’s always been the closest thing to an uncle jaylen’s had. and jaylen has experience talking careful around moody men. he scratches at the beard he’s growing, partly to distance and disguise himself in the hospital from the clean-shaven EQUINOX image, partly to remind himself he’s grown. if mr. magarian says no, jaylen doesn’t have to sign anything. he could claim he needs more time to heal.
annoyed at himself, jaylen forces his body upright and paces the room awkwardly. he’s acting like a bitch and he knows it. sunny, bunmi, the rest — they’re juggling idol work and “hero” work. meanwhile he’s here, running away. he’s the one who can coat the elements to shield bunmi from the burns of his photokinetic constructs that heat like the sun, or stabilize sunny’s volatile pyro-electrokinesis. they need him. centralizing himself makes him think big. thinking big was something grandma had to drill into him, and thinking big about himself makes him feel important. just a little.
he’ll ask dr. riel tomorrow if they can double his pt. maybe it’s the waiting that’s eating at him. maybe he should walk the healing gardens, look for bugs. he grabs a crutch and reaches for the door — but it opens first. startled, he steps back. it takes a moment but the recognition sets in.
“ian?” he blurts, a quick, low drop of the name.
it’s ian. sonic from redshift, as mr. magarian’s voice in his head likes to brand him, but jaylen ignores that. ian has always been ian first, ever since a handler introduced the shorter boy (now a taller man) to him in the season one waiting room. jaylen barely remembers the first episode — everything blurred once filming began — but he remembers begging grandma to find a babysitter so he could visit ian, his friend, in the hospital later in the season.
that “friend” he never really spoke to again. fourteen-year-olds who drifted apart for seven thousand three hundred and five days. a friend now standing here with a care package, like the one jaylen once made so ian wouldn’t feel alone in a hospital the way jaylen once had.
feelings run the gamut of surprised, flattered, and ashamed — one, he didn’t expect ian, two, but ian thought of him anyway, and three, they haven’t truly talked since they were teenagers.
“thanks for coming by, man, and this late too...” jaylen says, stunned to be remembered. “you just dropping something off— oh, damn. that’s for me? you made that?”
he waits for ian to hand over the basket, and his delight spills out as he digs through it. “cards? perfect. i need something i can actually win at.” — jaylen could play some solitaire to relax instead of getting his ass wrecked by heroicvigil on ranked matches on chess.com. the word search book is exactly his thing, too. he always did like words with friends and even has the daily trumpet's app downloaded, mainly for the crosswords. “you’re spoiling me, man. you really thought this through.” the mug — ideal for hot apple cinnamon cider. the blanket — he lifts it, admiring the pattern that catches his eyes instantly. “okay, wait— this is nice. that’s a spiderweb, right? dude, i love this. seriously. it feels softer than soma’s, too. sorry soma.”
he means it. he’s grateful for every gift he’s gotten, but this one feels tailored to him. then he finds a small square of paper tucked inside. he pulls it out carefully, grinning. “this is cute as hell. aight, i see you. you been hiding some talents from me?”
he hobbles over to the table, his walking cast thumping with every step, and sets the basket down beside his headphones and the flowers. he props up the card, and snaps a photo.
“for real, ian, appreciate you coming out here. hope you’ve been good. you look good.” he glances back. “hey, mind if i throw this on ae and tag you? my followers are gonna be relieved i’m not terrorizing them with another closeup of gwen feeding.”
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ episode: one: the date
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ scene: the date A scenic bike ride through the Eltingville shore, and then finish at having dinner at Campania Coal-Fired Pizza
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ starring: Viola and Ferdinand @retrocausalities
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ content warning: mentions of falling, slight injury, a lot of blushing, fluff that will hurt ajay
Keegan is so nervous he can feel the heat rising beneath his collar, a slow, creeping warmth that threatens to soak straight through his clothes. He’d imagined — hoped — that after the whirlwind of introductions at mansion, there'd be a moment to breathe, to let the adrenaline ebb. But production has other plans. Before he can even exhale, he’s holding a card plucked from a stack, showing it to the camera: a Shakespeare sonnet. And then he’s swept away.
Eltingville’s shoreline greets him with a soft wind and the faint smell of salt. Tino’s Bike Shop sits like a postcard prop, quaint and expectant, as if it too is holding its breath for whatever comes next. Keegan is the first to arrive, and that leaves him alone with his thoughts, which is always dangerous for his nerves.
He folds himself into the small chair outside, hands clasped around his knees, trying to anchor himself. But his mind drifts anyway, spinning little fantasies to fill the quiet.
Who will walk toward him?
Mercedes, Rosalind, maybe—maybe this could be the moment they finally talk, really talk, and unravel this mystery that has formed between them after so long. Or Miranda, the woman who winked at him with a spark during introductions to clearly show her interest in him.
Or maybe Vesper Morwood! The Bat Person! The idea makes him huff a giddy but incredulous laugh, since he knows he would not be chill. That possibility feels less absurd than the one he won’t let himself linger on.
Viola.
Tucked somewhere behind his ribs aches at the thought of her being the date. He tries to smother it, tries to keep his expression neutral, because wanting something too openly is a surefire way to be disappointed. Still, he realizes the longing sits there, quiet and insistent.
So he waits, listening to ocean murmurs and gull cries. Keegan, perched at a tiny table on the edge of Eltingville, feels the world grow more immense to the sound of sand, salt, and the sea. To footsteps that have yet to reach his shores.
Sabryna's hands were clammy. It was absurd, really. Countless times she had stood in the spotlight of ice rinks with composure and calm that ran through her blood with every practised smile and graceful glide. Yet here she was, further into Super Hearts, past the introduction phase and back in the public eye, thinking that the worst was over. Yet her chest holds heavy, as panic burns through her mind.
Who was she to be paired with? Rosalind would be the answer to comfort and familiarity, where conversation would flow effortlessly. Benny? The two of them had hardly ever got beyond passy pleasantries, but at least N.E.S.T would have been a common ground. And then there was Lysander...which would be something to say the least. Lysander left her with more questions than answers, leaving her spiralling more so in a daze.
She exhales, only to realise that she had been holding her breath. It was only a date. A first one. It was going to be televised for everyone to see. Her nervous laughter started to creep in. Maybe this was her limit. Mother would understand if she came home. No, she wouldn't. For N.E.S.T., she reminded herself, pulling on the sleeve of her cardigan. Closing her eyes, steadying herself, one hand on her chest, to ease herself. Fussing over herself, smoothing the invisible creases in her dress, tussling he curls whilst tucking a few stays behind her ear, determined to look more put together than she was.
Shoulders back, as she allows the wind to pull her in, guiding her to whatever fate had. The salt air pressed against her lips, with the peaceful calm of the tides not far away. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she walks to a tiny table to meet the one who waits for her.
Keegan shoots to his feet the moment the camera operators shift, their high-tech lenses tilting past him toward someone approaching from behind. He turns, curiosity overtaking him like Orpheus to Eurydice, and his pulse spikes. He spots those curls first, the way the locks bounce lightly with each step of this person, as if joy itself had taken physical form.
Viola. It’s her. It’s actually her.
His heart slams so hard against his chest he wonders, absurdly, if this is what the early stages of heatstroke feel like. His face is already burning, but he moves anyway, almost stumbling in his haste, grabbing the sun parasol production left for him and hurrying off the deck chair to meet her before the sunlight burns her.
“G-good afternoon!” he manages, voice cracking just slightly as he opens the parasol above her, casting her in soft shade made of petal pink. The gesture steadies him, gives his hands something to do besides tremble.
“I heard we’re going biking today,” he says, trying for casual and landing somewhere closer to breathless. He hopes that she does not think of him as being tired out from that short sprint. “There’s a little trail that runs along the beach... I think the view is gonna be amazing. The, uh, bike shop is over there!”
He points toward the quaint shop with its red roof and the wooden cutout of a yellow bicycle perched like a cheerful guardian above the door. The whole scene is too picturesque in that unctious, vibrant, Ghibli-movie feel. Or is it how being with Viola makes Keegan see things?
“Shall we pick out something together?” he asks, offering his arm to her. It feels right—proper, even—now that he has given her shade, the two of them standing there under the parasol of their small moment shared.
Sabryna keeps a smile ever present on her face, not wanting to make a bad first impression. And then she saw him.
Ferdinand
Out of all the names she had been circling in her mind, all the possible partners deep down, she had been secretly hoping for him. The one of kindness. The one who already made her laugh. The one who seemed interested in what she had to say. Her smile softened more naturally as he came fully into view.
Up close, he was taller than she had expected, taller in a way that didn't intimate. She had to tilt her gaze upwards to meet his, for a moment, forgetting what she was meant to say.
He is already to his feet, an eagerness that she hopes to match, quickening her steps without realising. Wait, does he trip at the sight of her? Something in her flutters more.
Not needing to shield her eyes from the sun, as she looks up to him,"H-hi," she stammers back, fiddling with her fingers. "Bike riding," she repeats,"That actually sounds wonderful." Wonderful? When did Sabryna use words like that?
She looks over her shoulder for a moment, but knowing fully well that the view was really him. Okay, where did that thought come from? "Oh gosh, I'm actually excited." Looking off to the quaint little bike shop, as if it had been copied and pasted from a Ghibli movie. A wonderment of excitement and whimsy was burning up inside her.
"A gentleman," she comments the obvious as he offers his arm, which she smiles up, lacing her own arm around his...already so close to him, her cheeks fluster, as they start to walk in the direction of the bike stop. "How...how are you doing?" Starting with the small talk shly.
“I should be one to a lady,” Keegan says, nudging her lightly with a playful confidence that evaporates the instant his hand leaves her arm. Was that too forward? Too soon? The thought flickers through him like static, and suddenly he’s acutely aware of every breath he takes that pushes his pulse to speed up faster.
To ground himself, he answers her honestly. “I was feeling so nervous I thought I might actually get sick and have to return to the mansion,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “But I think the butterflies are… mostly at bay now. Sorry, that’s not very romantic, is it?” His earnest, toothy grin widens. “I’m really looking forward to seeing Arden’s coastline with you. Have you been here before?”
As they walk toward the bike shop, Keegan moves ahead just enough to pull the door open for her. He closes his parasol and props it neatly against the wall before stepping inside after her. The shop is a burst of colorful plastic and chrome— rows of bicycles lined up like puppies waiting to be chosen.
He turns to her first. “What do you think? Going for a special kind? A color that calls to you?” His eyes sweep the room, bright with anticipation. “I bike around a lot, so I’m excited for this.”
Then he spots it. “Actually, I think I’ve found mine!” He points to a sleek city bike with a thin, airy frame, painted teal with white lightning bolts streaking along the sides. It looks fast even standing still. Nearby, a few electric bikes hum quietly in their charging docks, ready for anyone who’d rather glide than pedal.
“I really hope the trail doesn’t have too many hills,” Keegan muses aloud, giving Viola an exaggerated raise of his brows. “Not that my legs can’t handle it, but I’d rather we enjoy the ride and actually talk instead of gasping for air. And hey, might as well give the audio guys a break. I don’t think our mics are ready for heavy breathing interference.”
His laugh is warm, a little shy, but directly shows her that he is where he wants to be.
Chilvery had been a fading concept in New Everwick, so to be greeted with it, Sabryna welcomes it. A little flush grows in the back of her neck as his hand leaves her arm. Part of her very much invited the touch, "Well then, I thank you, kind sir," she bows playfully, pulling up the corners of her skirt.
Looking up, as he confesses that the nerves had been there for him. "I admire the honesty over everything else," she tilts her head,"To me, honest with you? I was kinda feeling the same way." Hoping that her clammy hands would not be a giveaway. Something about talking with Ferdinand eases her anxiety. "I was kinda hoping it would be you." She allows the words to slip out easily, looking away for a brief moment, widening her eyes at how easily she was allowing things to slip, as if she were on the ice. Though she doesn't look away for too long, "Actually, I have been lucky enough to have grown up in Arden." It was nice to be back home for a little while, yet something feels different about it.
He opens the door for Sabryna, endlessly being chivalrous through and through. A silent scream in Sabryna, already charmed by him. She wanders around the shop, lost in the burst of colours that seem to be brighter. Her eyes lit up at each one, allowing her fingers to trace over the handlebars of a few, "Definitely, something light and airy, to make it feel like I'm flying," she says with childlike wonder, "I used to bike a lot too, but got a little clumsy with it." She confesses,"So I guess you will be the expert."
As he selects his bike, something about it feels reminiscent to her. "That's a good choice." She picks one beside it,"This will do," she pulls out one beside it, an airy light bink bike with white rimmed wheels. "Goodness, I hope not too." She adds, looking up at him, giggling as he is tall."Agreed!" She nods. , taking the bike, glad that she wore a sensible outfit for this outing. "Helmets?" she questions, to him and the crew. Safety matters!
Keegan can’t help smiling when Viola plays along. Something about the Shakespeare theme had nudged him into acting like a chivalrous knight, and instead of finding it cringeworthy, she meets him right there—matching his energy, making him feel lighter, more at ease in his own skin than he has in a long time.
“Same,” he says softly. “I hope we can always be honest with each other. And if you ever feel sick, tell me, okay? Health over everything. If you’re feeling good, you’ll have more fun in the end! That’s how I see it.”
Then Viola lets something slip. Keegan would’ve brushed past it—talking with her feels strangely familiar, like reconnecting with an old friend, like Antwan—but the way she reacts to her own words makes him pause. Really pause. The meaning sinks in.
“...R-really?” he murmurs, caught off guard. His sardonic voice gallops ahead—slow down, Ferdi, people always think you’re interesting at first, then they see you’re just a participation medal—but he reins it in. And lets the warmth of her words settle instead of running from it.
“Thank you for thinking that,” he says gratefully. “I’d say the same. You made an impression on me too, Lady Viola.”
Inside the bike shop, the thought lingers—what on earth in his intro could’ve caught her eye? He’d blundered through it, forgot to say his age, even sat down before anyone could ask him questions. Still, he follows a step behind her as she browses, and when she picks a bike, he flashes her a double thumbs-up.
“Cute! It suits you.” He says while he finds helmets next — matching bike colors — until an idea sparks. He swaps them, grabbing a pink one for himself and a teal one for her, holding it out with a hopeful grin. “What do you think about trading helmets, at least?”
After paying the rental fee with production’s money, Keegan studies the little map they’re given. The trail loops around the bay, ending at their dinner spot. “Ooh,” he says, excitement bubbling up again. “Let’s work up an appetite.”
Sabryna felt warmth with him, as it seemed that their playful nature were a match for one another. As they both spoke of honesty, further nodding in agreement,"I will, but then the same goes for you, okay?" Not wanting him to put on an act...or maybe it was an easy way out if she wasn't to meet his expectations. Yet the bad fades away with the brightness that radiates.
And then, she said something a little too honest. His voice mutters. Her fingers fiddle with the sleeve of her cardigan as she nods lightly, hoping her hair could hide any signs of crimson rushing on her cheeks. He thanks her for saying it. "Ju-just being honest," Sabryna stammers at her new title ."Thank you, Lord Ferdinand," her voice a breathless whisper.
In the store, he compliments her again on the bike. She tries to keep her face hidden a bit, seeming very interested in the bike at hand, not wanting the camera or him to catch her blushing facade all too soon. She beams a little at the idea he suggests, allowing them not to be matching with their bikes but with each other, a thoughtful gesture through and through." Yeah, I like that," she takes the helmet from him, their hands brush quickly.
But she quickly adjusts the helmet under her hair, hiding any further signs, at least outside, she could blame it on the wind. Following him closely with the bike at her side. Laughing at his excitement already,"Pizza one of your favourites then?" She asks, wanting to know everything she could about him. As she adjusts herself over the bike, once again grateful for the slip in the side of her dress and sensible shoes she could wear to peddle.
The slight brush of her fingertips sends a bright, startling jolt through him. Something so small, so quick, yet so strangely lasting that Keegan knows he’ll still feel it hours later, lying awake in his room at the Heart Land mansion, wondering if he could feel it again. For now, though, his heartbeat climbs all the way up his throat and into his ears, pounding like an EDM song, and he’s grateful for the distraction of buckling on the pink helmet. It gives him something solid, task-oriented to focus on.
Outside the bike shop, the sea breeze picks up, cool and welcome. Keegan smiles, easy and good-natured, teasing without a hint of sharpness. “Hey... Who doesn’t like pizza? I bet you also like it! Come on, what’s your favorite topping?” She tells him, and he launches into his own odd food preferences. He and Ajay never really had qualms or dietary restrictions with food. So things like peanut butter with duck, pineapples with olives, Greek yogurt and spiced beef mince, and more are second nature to him. Keegan even mentions his favorite spot in the Bronx, though production promptly censors the name to avoid accidental advertising when the episode airs.
Once they’re on the bike trail, all gravel and sand that crinkle under their wheels, the date officially begins. The seaside stretches out beside them, glittering sapphires. Trees arch overhead, their verdant leaves filtering the golden sunlight into shifting, dappled patterns. Every so often, a beam of light catches Viola’s face as she rides next to him, and Keegan in the shadow can still feel the sunlight settle in his chest.
He’s never been one for silence, not when there’s a chance to learn more about someone he genuinely wants to know. “Want to play This or That while we ride?” he asks, keeping his tone light. “Just to get to know each other a bit better. Nothing shocking, I promise. Something simple—like… hot drinks or cold drinks?”
The sea breeze felt like there was magic in the air, something tugging the two of them along. As well as a means to have a mask, anything flushed on Sabryna’s cheeks. This ease with him just felt natural, so familiar that she could have sworn that the two of them knew each other before. Or maybe in another lifetime. Something greater. But no, they were two strangers who were meeting for the first time.
Seated and ready, his smile is something natural, which she swears gets brighter with each time her eyes meet his. "Whoa, I said nothing of the sort about not liking pizza!" she says in mock sing-song tease,"Well, if it everyday, it has to be pineapple on pizza, but if we are talking the fancy, authentic kind, it has gotta be Pizza Fiorentina!" Plays with an Italian accent. Listening to him, as he goes on about his food choices, taking mental notes just in case she would need them for later on...if...Sabryna halts the thought, not allowing her to think too far in. The now is what matters.
Away they were on the bikes, floating with such ease, even with the sand under the wheel. Everything was picturesque, almost like a happy summer's dream postcard that she wants to stay in. Every now and then, when she is a little ahead, she looks over, catching him looking, she slows down to make sure that they are peddling side by side. "Mmhm," she hums in agreement to play. "Oh is has got to be warm drinks. Something comforting like a good hot chocolate, or tea to just give you that sense of warmth." But with him, she knew that she wouldn't need it. Not a single drop.
"Now I could say what about you, but," Sabryna wants to know more,"Summer or Winter?" she asks, keeping in theme just with a light little twist?
“Oh, what’s a Pizza Florentina?” Keegan asks, genuinely impressed by Viola’s pizza knowledge. He knows somewhere an Italian grandmother might be clutching her pearls at his ignorance, but he wants to hear it from Viola herself, in her sweet-toned way of explaining things. The way she sang back at him was simply adorable and he knows he will have to reference it and tease her back when a chance opens up.
When she mentions her preference for warm drinks, he brightens instantly, legs fanning out as he lets the bike's pedals spin on their own, carried by his prior momentum. “Warm drinks are nice. I’m a big hot chocolate guy,” he says, smiling. Something that seems to happen constantly around her. Coming naturally. Every shared preference feels like a discovery, and he can’t help wondering what other overlaps are waiting for them down the trail.
At her question, Keegan licks the top of his lips in thought. “Hm… even though I look like a summer person, I actually prefer winter. I think the charm of the holidays wins me over,” he admits. “I like staying in, cozying up with a blanket, playing board games or watching movies with friends. That’s why I go all out in summer, going to the beach, swimming in the pool, hiking, and all that—because once the cold hits, I’m wrapped up like a burrito scrolling through Netflix. My friends think my extroversion while being at home is kinda a strange mix.”
The two of them round a bend, and the view changes dramatically. Waves crash against the cliffside below, sending up bursts of white spray. The sunlight glints off the water, and for a moment Keegan forgets to pedal again, caught between the scenery and the company beside him. His bike slows for a bit before his feet return to the pedals.
He gestures toward the vista, awe softening his voice. “Look at that… spectacular.”
Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he tosses out the next question. “Alright—This or That time. Action or romance?”
"You don't know Pizza Florentina?" Sabryna gasps dramatically as Ferdinand appears to be a food aficionado doesnt' know what it is. Sabryna just laughs,"It's just a pizza with a sunny-side egg in the middle. Trust me, it sounds a lot better than it is!" She insisted upon it.
Sabryna makes sure that she is slowing down; at times, she treats it like a race. But this wasn't about speeding up to finish like she's always been accustomed to. It was about slowing down and getting to know. Her attention is fully on him, captivated with every word! "And it has to be in like a novelty mug, but like the right size, and depth for the whipped cream!" She adds with pure excitement to his response.
It was almost as if he had a cheat sheet to every secret she had adored about the winter season. Her excitement only growing even more,"Hand on heart, that is exactly what I would have said. The comfort of winter is just cosy." She says, but keeps it short, wanting to hear everything from him. The more she learned, the closer she wanted to get.
As they reached the bend, he seemed to be captivated by the view. In the distance, she could hear the waves crashing as the golden rays made the sea shimmer. Sabryna wasn't looking at that; she was captivated by the wonderment and pure joy that Ferdinand had. The shine in his eyes seemed to glow brighter, and for a moment, she could have sworn that the world had stopped. All of this so far, feeling too good to be true. "Yeah, it's breathtaking...." she whispers softly and slowly.
Sabryna might have been staring...but she could easily say she was enjoying the view. "Romance," she sighs helplessly,"There is just something about it that makes your heart swell, making anything and everything seem possible that you thought was impossible. That...you aren't so alone."
Keegan’s eyes practically pop out of his head. “That’s what Pizza Florentina is? Wow. Now I finally have proof that pizza can be a breakfast food too. Thank you, Viola!” The age‑old debate settled, at last, by the most trustworthy source he could imagine.
The gentle tug‑and‑pull of their bikes’ speeds turns into a playful rhythm. When she edges ahead, he pushes forward just enough to catch up, sometimes slipping past her for a heartbeat before easing back so they ride side by side again. Winning doesn’t matter. The whole point is being here with her, sharing the moment, not racing through it.
“I think when I’m older, I’d like to live by the sea,” he says as the trail opens up beside them. “There’s something calming about watching the waves crash against the cliffs. The way the rocks stand there, proud and unmoving, and the ocean keeps coming back anyway… it’s like they’re equals, you know? Two forces meeting in the middle.” He laughs at himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. That was cheesy.”
But Viola doesn’t seem to mind at all.
When she chooses romance over action, Keegan lights up. “Romance! Yes, I think every story’s better with a little bit of it. Just knowing love exists strongly enough that people want to write about it, share it, make sure others feel it too… that’s the purest thing in the world. It makes you feel less alone.” He glances over at her, warmth blooming in his chest. “Thank you, Viola. You couldn’t have said it better.”
She laughs at his enthusiasm for a new breakfast,” Happy that I could help!” And she generally meant it.
Sabryna listens fondly to how he wants to live by the sea. The still. The calmness. The unity. Nodding along to each word in agreement. “That’s not cheesy,” she reassures him, halting her bike next to him,”It is brave… and…real…and beautiful.” Admiring him more with each word.”That you know what you want when you’re older, something firm and moving. Couldn’t say the same for me…”
She looks out at the view. Yet somehow it was he who held her attention.
He was close. Close enough that their arms brushed, skin meeting skin in an accidental touch. The warmth lingers. Sabryna finds herself simply looking at him. Up close, every detail comes alive, which puts the view to shame. The sunlight softened the planes of his face, as a few stray hairs rested against his forehead, and his warm brown eyes seemed to hold a kindness that reached her long before that smile could. Seeing the faint creases at their corners, a quiet evidence of someone who laughed often.
She shakes her head a little as he thanks her once again,” There’s nothing to thank me for. And I think…love is more than just words, you’re right it is about the feeling that everyone should be able to share.” Her voice is softer and lower.
Sabryna becomes acutely aware of how close they both were in the impossibly small space separating them. Her eyes found his, glancing over to her. An inch closer and…heat blossoms heavy on her cheeks.
Before her thought could catch up with her, Sabryna turned her head quickly. “Race ya!” The words come out quicker than intended, as she pushes off before she could answer, her laughter carried by the wind as she peddled down, hoping to mask her racing heart. Looking back, she asks him with a smile, ”This or that: win or lose?” Not paying attention to her direction.
“That’s okay if you don’t have everything plotted out,” Keegan says sympathetically. “I took a big leap in my career when everyone told me to play it safe. We don’t have to feel fulfilled every second of our lives. Sometimes you’re just… in the middle of the race. But if you don’t keep moving forward, you never reach the finish line, or get off the track.”
He realizes he’s been rambling and lets out a sheepish laugh. Was this too serious for a dating show? Should he be tossing out flirty lines, calling her a hottie, doing that effortless, detached interest the kids call rizz?
But he won’t. Not when she’s speaking with such sincerity. It feels wrong to meet her heart with anything but honesty. And the truth is… He doesn’t want to admit he’s falling for someone this quickly, but being with Viola feels like slipping into a familiar rhythm his soul already knows. Like meeting someone he was meant to find again.
He almost leans in when she does—almost—but then remembers they’re on bikes. One wrong move and they’d both be on the ground. That hesitation slows him just enough for Viola to pull ahead.
“Hey! You had a head start!” Keegan calls out, laughing as he pushes harder on the pedals. There’s no real accusation in his voice and he catches up to her easily. They leave the bend and enter a wooded stretch of the trail. The path shifts to dirt and soil, tree branches arching overhead. The scent of vanilla perfume ties the soil and greenery into a softer, intimate moment.
“Win or lose?” he echoes her next prompt. “Obviously, we want to win in the end.”
He swallows the familiar sting of always being second-best, always almost enough. But he doesn’t want Viola to see him through that lens. Here, with her, he gets to be someone different. Someone confident, someone charming, someone who makes her feel as special as she makes him feel.
He glances at the trees around them, then back at her.
“Hm… since we’re here and almost done the route... Woods or a garden.”
Reassurance is comforting. It was sincere to have reminders like that, especially when certain voices can get louder in her head. Sabryna finds herself nodding a lot, like her head is a little bobble head each time they talk, but it was all in agreement. "I kinda learned that the hard way..." she starts, but closes up with a smile,"But that's a story for another day!" Not wanting to bring back the darker parts of her story so soon when there was so much joyous light to bathe in, drumming her fingers against the handlebars, "It is definitely about getting back after the fall.." She knew that all too well. "But I'm glad you've found your dream and are living it."
Even though she halts the conversation, there is a part of her that just wants to sit and tell him everything: the good and the bad. He brought such ease to her world, like he would take away the bad with a smile and the endless optimism he wears on his sleeve. Sabryna, just feels at peace with him.
Keeping her distance, as their little race had begun. Small flashes of their previous closeness, she could still feel the prickles of his heat fleshed against her skin. The redness creeps back into her cheeks, not disappearing anywhere soon, and she peddles a little bit forward. Partly, her competitive nature is slowly starting to take over. Turning her head as he calls out to her, she playfully sticks out her tongue, like childhood friends who would tease each other on a beautiful summer's day.
"Shame you're going to lose this one,"Sabryna looks over her shoulder, teasing him.
Beneath the wheels, the smooth path is not long forgotten as they are down a winding path shaded by the soil and roots of the trees, creating a more bumpy motion the more she peddles. "Oh gar-," as if betrayed by the choice she makes, Sabryna's balance faltered in an instant as a root caught in her front wheel, pulling her bike sideways and sending her tumbling down before she could react.
When Viola admits there’s something in her past still gripping her present, Keegan’s expression goes serious. “Whenever you’re ready to share that story,” he tells her, voice low with conviction, “I’ll be here to listen.”
The promise lingers between them as they ride deeper into the woods. Keegan keeps an eye on the trail, steering around roots jutting up from the earth. Years of biking let his body handle the terrain on autopilot, freeing his mind to drift back to Viola. He’s mid‑laugh, about to tease her challenge, “Oho! You’re gonna bring the heat to the kitchen—” when something ahead snags his attention. Viola’s bike tilts upward at an unnatural angle.
Time slows. Her body lifts off the seat — weightless for a terrifying second — before the bike bucks her forward. She hits the ground in a tangle of limbs and grass. Keegan slams his brakes, skidding to a stop. He practically throws his bike aside and drops to his knees beside her.
“Oh my gosh — Viola, are you okay?” His voice cracks with worry as he leans in, hands hovering, ready to help but careful not to touch without permission. “How’s your head? Your hands? Knees?”
He curses under his breath. He should’ve warned her about the roots earlier. He should’ve been paying more attention. And of course — of course — this is the one time he doesn’t have his fanny pack of medical supplies. Production had confiscated it for “aesthetic reasons,” and the camera crew is still far behind. Only the drones hover above them, useless and silent.
No. He refuses to panic in front of her. He checks his pockets and feels the familiar shape of a small square packet. Alcohol wipes. His mom drilled germ awareness into him early, and he’s carried these ever since. He exhales, shifting into his more professional self.
Gently, he scans for scrapes or cuts, keeping his movements slow and visible. “Is it okay if I administer first aid?” he asks, meeting her eyes. “I want to make sure you’re alright.”
She falls.
Sabryna always falls.
And this time it isn't even because of her powers. She hopes. As it all happens too quickly for her to even process it. Flashes of cold floor, ice pressed against her cheek. The coldness beneath with every scratch and graze that came along with it, aching through her body. And the darkness as the spotlight fades. Oh, the darkness. As she closes her eyes tightly, she knows what comes after. She had been here too many times before. Just a good thing slipped away far too easily, again. The panic spirals and spins in her head. Branching herself to keep it all under control.
Yet the silence is filled with a warmth, his voice. A hope? Calling her by her other name, she almost doesn't respond until she feels his shadow covering her, meeting his concerned gaze. Something eases in her as she is reminded that she isn't alone. But that isn't all, as the sunlight trickles all around him, giving him the golden glow that she swore was always there.
And maybe...maybe she's hit her head a little on the way down. But she swears that they had been like this before. The two of them. All those years ago. "Wait...no...." she whispers, blinking a few times. The way he jumps into action, the smooth tone in his voice. The confidence and care rolled into one. She...she never saw the face but the little pieces were...it couldn't be.
"I- I uhh..." her voice a little shaken from the rush and panic overtaking. Nodding at him, "Yes, you can...I'll be okay though it's just my knee and hands...." Pushing the skirt of her dress to the side, exposing a large scrape on her left leg and knee. "It looks worse than it is..." Shuffling a little to try and get herself up, like she would do on the ice, her eyes meeting his once again.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to push yourself,” Keegan says softly, keeping his gaze on hers for a moment so that he can help ground her. Sometimes patients needed tasks to help them stay in control of theas he checks her injuries. The scrapes are small abrasions from rocks and roots, but the skin is red and angry, and he knows it’ll sting. The fall itself worries him more. Thank goodness for the helmet, though he still plans to check her head and neck. He helps her sit up, one hand firm and supportive along her back. Any flutter of romantic thrill is pushed aside; right now, she’s what matters. “I’ve got an antiseptic wipe,” he explains, pulling the packet from his pocket. “First thing is cleaning the dirt so you don’t get an infection.”
He gives her a reassuring grin. “I promise it won’t sting.” Once she nods and gives him her permission, he activates his permutation at his fingertips and gently rests his hand against the side of her leg. Cool relief spreads first, easing the burn, and then the pain begins to flow into him. He takes just enough to dull the ache before wiping the wound with slow, careful strokes. Then he tells her that he will touch at her head and neck. He loosens the helmet as slowly as he can, then checks the back of her skull, her neck.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, keeping his voice steady despite the faint throb he now carries. Moments later, the production crew arrives on electric bikes, one holding a medical kit. “Over here!” Keegan calls. “Pass me the bandages. I’ve got it.”
He works quickly and confidently, cutting gauze and wrapping the wound with practiced ease, not too tight, not too loose around Viola.
“Sorry you had such a fall,” he says gently once he’s done, looking at her eye to eye again. “Do you want to head back to the mansion? We can go together.”
Sabryna is still in a daze over it all. The familiarity of this situation was too uncanny. She is trying to find the dots to connect them all finely and slowly; some of them do. Here he was proving the words that he had said in his introduction, helping people when they fall. Her heart flutters at the romantic irony of it all. I couldn't call them a more perfect fit because of that. Yet all that aside, she is watching and listening carefully, holding on to a brave space, knowing that he is worrying as he takes the lead of it all.
"I've had worse," Sabryna says with a brave little smile, sitting up with his support, a firm hand on her back. She watches as if she had seen this all before. Imagine his face covered, with nothing but that smile to guide her. And something seems to fit but that could just be wishful thinking? There were a lot of people who dealt with first aid. The pain seems to go away, cooling as the pain seems to subside, but even that sensation feels familiar.
As he takes off her helmet, she adjusts her hair a little...self-consciousness suddenly kicks in a little. "I'm okay, really, there is no need to worry." Sabryna wants to reassure him, as she is starting to get lost in his kindness. Yet that buzzing still goes off in the back of her mind.
When the crew is here, Ferdinand still takes the lead to look after her. The bandaged perfectly. As they are looking eye to eye, Sabryna bites her lip, shaking her head,"Don't be sorry...I'm kinda accident prone like that..." she tries to laugh it off...reaching out to take his hand,"No...I think I want to finish this date...only if...if you would want to, too?"
“Oh, that makes two of us, then!” Keegan reassures her as he helps her to her feet. “I’m a bit accident‑prone too. That’s why my permutation comes in handy, honestly.” He reaches for her hand without thinking. It must be instinct, care, nurse mode on. And then he consciously gives it a gentle squeeze. A quiet promise to her saying, I’ll always help you up.
“Yeah,” he adds with a soft smile, trying to make sure that she won’t be embarrassed by what happened. It’s not her fault the root was there! “I think we’re due for some rest and relaxation. Maybe some ’za.” Once he’s certain she’s steady, and the crew confirms she’s medically sound, production ushers them onto a small buggy car waiting just beyond the trees. At Campania Coal‑Fired Pizza, Keegan surprises her by ordering the Florentina right away, grinning like a kid when the server sets down a pie crowned with a perfect little egg. It feels like a victory in the end, sharing something Viola loves, learning something new because of her.
Their day winds down with a ride back to the mansion, where Keegan is guided into the confessional booth. The lights warm his face; the camera blinks expectantly.
He exhales, dreamy and dazed in the best way. “I’m glad I decided to be on this show,” he says, and the smile that follows is unmistakably real.
“Yeah, your permutations have come in hand,” Sabryna replies with a smile, her suspicions slightly more confirmed. “My hero,” she whispers, only for him to hear as he squeezes her hand, that she squeezes back too.
Knowing that wasn’t the only falling she had done today.
[5.17.2022]
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] omg i'm so sorry i just saw this ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] sorry, jay, i've been busy putting out fires ૮꒰ •̯́ ༝ •̯̀˵꒱ა
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: sorry, jay, i've been busy putting out fires 😔
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: do me a favor and stay off social media for a while, yeah?
[...]
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] david's off his rocker and it somehow just keeps getting worse 🫠
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] i wish you were here
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: but don't worry about it, okay? we've got it under control so you should just focus on getting better 💪🏿😤
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: [unsent] i'll come visit you soon 👨🏿❤️💋👨🏿
bunmi → 💜🐢💜: me and the boyz will come visit you soon 🫂
jaylen picks up his right away when he sees the name "🌞" flash on his screen. he winces, the angle and torque was not ideal, and his still-healing leg gives him ample complaint. still, he re-positions himself on his hospital bed and opens the text. it's been two days, but who's counting? bunmi ( and the rest of the guys ) probs have more to do considering jaylen's off the grid, so he tries not to psyche himself out when he texts back.
JAYLEN: oh :~( sorry to hear that mate
JAYLEN: was it our mouthpiece again?
he meant the crew's smooth talker: the one who could sweet‑talk a wall but still butcher a sentence on the regular. whatever flavor of chaos they were serving today.
JAYLEN: lol u know im not really good with ae
JAYLEN: sure thing capn :~)
JAYLEN: oh cool thx
JAYLEN: yea haha miss u
