Section I.

Some deaths rumble the earth.

Others disrupt not even a single blade of grass.

Neo's did the latter.

When he fell to the ground with holes in his body, not one soul felt that something was off. That the world looked different somehow. Emptier somehow.

Indeed, Neo's fall swayed no one's life. But just as there is a reason for everything, there is a reason why no one cried.

A reason why no one reacted to his fall.

Perhaps that person wasn't Neo after all.

Maybe Neo in image, but not Neo inside.

~

Evaughn stood on the stage before about forty faces. Each were disguised one way or another, hidden behind solid veils, or face paint, or elegant masks— only his imagination could remove their false faces. He chose not to. What mattered most was that they were all here. For him.

No one had ever showed up for him.

From anyone's else perspective, dark smoke seeped through the cutouts of their disguises to gather in the air for a collective cloud, black and ominous. But not for Evaughn, the boy who had begged to stand before clouds.

Rosalie said something into the microphone and they clapped. Unlike its counterpart the rain, their applause wasn't just background noise. It was everything to Evaughn, whose heart lightened at its harmony.

Then spoke Juliette. "And now for the starting valuation of Evaughn Ruhl, son of the late and former CEO Damien Ruhl. I know all of you are eager for this trade. I wonder why," she added in a sing-song manner.

Those must've been cackles that erupted.

Evaughn ignored it. Rather, he thought of the irony, that his father's name was the same as the crooked moon's. To prevent a cry, he focused on his tied wrists.

"Fifty thousand. We'll start with fifty thousand dollars."

Most threw their hand in the air. The sight made him stare.

"Sixty. Seventy. Seventy-five thousand dollars!"

Back to the floor went his gaze. It would've been worse with Neo.

"One hundred thousand! One hundred ten. One twenty. One twenty-five. One thirty. One thirty-five..."

The number of hands had lessened by now, only one in the air.

"One fifty! Do I see one fifty? Ah, there you are. Sold at one fifty to the woman in the bear..."

There was another that raised, at the opposite end of the room. A man whose disguise was a fox-shaped mask.

"One... one fifty-five!"

Both hands remained. "One sixty. One seventy. One eighty." With a loud grunt, the bear snapped her head towards the fox. "One eighty-five. One eighty!" Her hand staggered. "One ninety!" His did not.

With lips slightly parted, Evaughn watched her dramatically cross her arms over her chest.

No one had ever fought for him.

They worked fast, the Leroux did. It wasn't long until a new trade item replaced him. Sandwiched between two guards, Evaughn looked at the painting on the stage—it was of a yellow flower.

He shifted his wrists around. The rope wasn't tight, but his hands were growing numb by now, especially because he'd been waiting for quite a long time. For the fox, that is.

The man was with Dimitri's mother a few meters away. He'd handed her two briefcases, and now, she was picking up each stack, and inspecting each note. Once she was satisfied, she handed him a stack of papers, which he signed in multiple places. Their conversation ended with nods of their heads.

The fox closed his gap with Evaughn whose body stiffened in turn. Then he took the rope, and they began forward.

"You're okay," said he quietly, with a voice distorted from his mask. "I'm not going to hurt you."

There was a stagger in Evaughn's walk. In anguish, he shut his eyes.

No one had ever wanted him.

"Congratulations on your purchase, Sir."

The fox halted to look at the guard who'd spoke. Without a reply, he resumed. Without a choice—and with every choice—Evaughn followed.

They reached the exit. Someone held the doors for them, and they congratulated the man the same. They, too, received no response.

Once outside, a car pulled in front of them as if on cue. The fox opened the left door for Evaughn who pushed his lips together and slid in and over, all the way to the left window.

The man sat on the opposite end, his chin shifted and he nodded. "Y-you're okay, now," he repeated, less confident this time.

His driver wasted no time in leaving the car park. He wore a face shield as well, but his resembled a cat. From the rearview mirror and through the cutouts on his mask, Evaughn saw his eyes.

They glistened, the cat's eyes did. They glistened though the fog had intensified.

No one spoke or moved as they drove. Sometime later, the car came to a stop at the side of the road.

Weirdly, the driver's hands fell from the wheel and landed with a slap on his lap. He stared ahead at nothing in particular. It was quiet. And the quiet confused Evaughn who knew not what was happening. He looked around at the forestry that surrounded them. They were in the middle of nowhere. No cars, no houses, no people.

"How much longer until they arrive," the fox asked.

"Ten minutes..." The driver's voice, too, was distorted. But there was more to it than just static and a voice filter. His shoulders were slouched and his head lowered.

"Okay." The fox then turned to Evaughn and raised his palms in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want... I'm going to untie the rope. You might need your hands."

Reflexively, Evaughn stamped his body against the door. "Wh-why?"

He halted. "To hold your head if it starts falling apart."

Evaughn let go of the breath he'd been holding. The fox leaned forward to undo the ties. He moved back and removed his false face.

"You..." Evaughn fixed his eyes on that familiar flaw on the man's face, more detailed with their proximity. And now he could make out a small bit of earlobe that must've been blown off by the same bullet that sliced his skin.

Evaughn pulled his lips thin. "I knew it... You... you're Damien... I saw your letter."

Damien had his mouth open, but he closed it again before he replied. "Yes, that... that's my name. Vaughn, I-I haven't fully explained myself. I think it's best to start with... with Luka."

He furrowed his brows as he followed Damien's eyes with his own.

The feline looked over his shoulder. His false face came off, and Evaughn's eyes widened.

Green was tearing. "I'm so sorry, Evaughn." Luka wiped his eyes. "We-we should've been earlier. We should've..."

A marathon was beginning, with his heart the sole contender.

Luka draped a hand over his eyes. When it dropped, he'd composed himself, if only slightly. "I-I'll be close by," he managed to choke out. "Right outside, I. I'm here for you."

Words were bricks now.

Luka bobbed his head before stepping outside of the car. There, he slid against its frame and sunk, all with quaking shoulders.

Fishlike, Evaughn's mouth struggled.

With a shaky exhale, Damien reached into the pocket of his blazer for something square he could not yet make out. "Vaughn, my name. It... it isn't a coincidence."

He held out a photograph. The photograph.

And the marathon began.

No arrangement of symbols could truly explain how Evaughn felt when he realized it. No author could write it, no photographer could capture it, no artist could illustrate it—they would fall short every time.

Evaughn did need his hands. They flew up on their own and clamped his head in tact. His torso fell forward in a single motion, and the tears built up on their own, sans blinks or quivers.

"N-no. You're not... There's no... He-he's dead. He's dead. He's dead." Breath after breath became irregular. Shorter. "He's..."

"Vaughn, i-it's okay, I..." His words were far from confident.

He glanced to his right. Held the gaze. Took it in, took him in. When it got too much, he returned to the carpet, now with a hand gripping the fabric over his chest.

"It's okay, I... I'm here now."

It was the last sentence that created the sobs, blubbered and pathetic and loud and—oh, he cried for he wanted that last word gone.

A hand rubbed his back. Evaughn shivered at the contact, and it left immediately.

"I-I'm sorry, I won't..."

Without any thought, Evaughn chased that touch, his face distorted as he did.

His da—Damien. Damien slid close and wrapped a hand around his shoulder. At the same time, Evaughn drowned in self hate.

"I. Y-you—" Hiccups sliced his words. Tears washed them away.

Damien massaged the length of his arm. "You don't have to say anything. Just focus on your breathing."

His heart grew sick of the marathon. It veered off the course to pay all attention the hand on his shoulder.

Soon, his breathing had slowed to a normal. And while he didn't need Damien's support anymore, he kept his head on his chest all the same.

And he hated himself for it.

Evaughn carefully took the still shot from Damien's hands. It was protected in plastic overlay, yet he held it as one would hold dried rose leaves.

"You're supposed to be dead."

Damien said nothing. To agree, perhaps.

He shut his eyes tight.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn, it... it wasn't supposed to be this way. I failed to get you away before it was too late." He held him tighter. "I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how frightening it was."

His eyes fell to the floor. "I wasn't afraid."

Had Damien been even one inch further, no one would've heard his whisper. Evaughn pushed his lips together. "I wasn't afraid..." he repeated, his face distorted for another pathetic look.

"That's okay, too. You must've been feeling lots of things."

"N-No."

Evaughn placed his hand on Damien's to push it away, but he couldn't.

"I-I don't want to be happy. I should be angry because, you... you were here, but..." He held down his lip. "...but not for me. S-so, I'm not okay, I'm..."

broken.

He wrapped a slow hand around Damien abdomen. "Because you..."

broke me.

He stopped himself from uttering the truth out loud, out of fear that it would push him away.

"I want to hate you," he said instead.

The hypocrite that Evaughn was snuggled deeper into the moon. It was warm and it was everything.

Yes, in that desperate moment, the sun found comfort in the lonely moon.

Some would call it an oxymoron.

Others saw an eclipse.

Section II.

Past

Some deaths rumbled the earth.

Others disrupted not even a single blade of grass.

Neo's did the latter.

When he fell to the ground with holes in his body, not one soul felt that something was off—

Miles away from the fall, a sudden, intense beat resounded in Luka's head, forcing a groan from his lips. Whether the reaction had anything to do with Neo, no one would ever know. But it was to be written, anyway, for the sake of contradiction.

"Are you okay," asked Damien.

"Yeah." Luka brushed away that weird sensation and adjusted his glasses. "Are we all set?"

Damien resumed placing the briefcase into the trunk. He closed the door. "Yeah."

They both hopped into Damien's SUV. As they drove, all sound was filtered by a somber aura. Luka stared at his hands that shook. He closed his eyes and found himself before a crowd. He felt the fear, and the loneliness, and the-the feeling of being seen as less than human, and treated as less than an animal, and it clung to his throat and created goosebumps that—

"Luka."

The boy noticed he was shivering, so he slapped himself in the cheek. "We'll make it in time. He... he won't have to go through any of it." He had fire in his green as he spoke. "He won't."

Damien raised a corner of his lip, but only by a little.

A buzz in Luka's pocket made him pull his phone out. He looked at the number and rejected it. Seconds later, it rang again. He sighed a heavy breath, then slapped the device face-down on his lap.

A second later, it spoke.

"Luka, are you there?" Lap-dial?! "Luka. I know you can hear me. Will you please listen to your old man?"

"Nothing you say will change my mind."

"I know."

"Then are you calling to waste your breath?"

There was a sigh over the phone. "I'm calling because there's something you should know. About yourself, it's the... the condition you have."

Luka furrowed his brows. "I don't care about that right now."

"You should." He paused for some time. "You should know about it. Especially now. Your mirror touch syndrome..."

"What?"

"Yeah." His father began. "You were young. Maybe six. We were at some store, and out of nowhere, some woman had a heart attack. You saw it and you...," he sighed. "You did the same. Mirrored her exactly."

Luka fell silent while his mind went to work. He faintly recalled spending days in a hospital. His parents were with him at every step, so much that wasn't scared at all.

"It's... rare, the level of empathy you have. Usually, it's due to sensory loss. Poor eyesight is yours. Sorry," he added.

Luka stared at the screen. "Why are you telling me this?"

"It can hurt you."

"So what," he clenched his teeth. "You think that's what'll make me turn around?"

"I think you should be aware of it. I never told you because I thought it all died down, but this is your friend, and if things go wrong then—"

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

"Luka. I won't tell you to abandon your friend." His father's voice was calm unlike his. "Honestly, I'm glad you're nothing like me. If anything, I wish I could have your heart..."

Luka waited, unsure of where the sentence was going.

"Let's save your friend together."

~

Present

Faint lines on Evaughn's cheek bore testimony of his anguish. He gripped the fabric on Damien's shirt. In return, the man had an arm draped over his shoulder.

"I can't explain how sorry I am, Vaughn."

Evaughn saw none of Damien's expressions; the latter's chin sat over his head.

"For not knowing. For not checking." He was either shaking his head, or trembling, or struggling with words, with the way his chin moved. "For everything, a-and for nothing..." He exhaled and it ruffled his hair a bit. "I failed you so many times. So I understand that you want to hate me—"

"I don't." Evaughn shifted so they could look at each other. He made a smile with his lips as best as he could, but muscle memory failed him. They quivered instead.

Damien's lips were parted a second too long.

Fearful, Evaughn hurried to redeem himself. "I don't hate you, I-I don't know why I said that."

Damien said nothing as he held him close again. The act hid his face, but Evaughn was only focused on the touch.

Outside the window, Luka was leaned against the car, his head down. Evaughn reminded himself to apologize to him.

His attention shifted. Through the cracks of the fog, lights poked out, red and blue and accompanied by wails. In a blur, the clouds on the ground dispersed as one police car bolted past them.

And another. And another. And another.

Evaughn raised a befuddled head. He lost count after a few.

Damien spoke. "They came for you."

For me?

The final car was different. Not only did it slow to a stop beside them, it wasn't a police car at all. From the far end, Iris emerged. Luka walked up to her and said something to which she nodded.

They both turned to Evaughn. Dimples formed, and green winked.

They showed up for me...

Evaughn dropped his head, a bit guilty that he once believed their kindness was fraudulent.

And the one who he sat beside...

He wanted him.