.
21. have i lost myself?
or have i gained you?
.
So this shitty year was coming to an end. So was this boring chapter of her life. Or not so boring depending on who asked (especially not needing a certain blue boy's opinion), however, her life wasn't anything like she managed it to be. Not that she had a total, clear-blue-skies picture of what she should be doing in the first place. But it shouldn't be anything like this.
At the moment, she stood as menacingly as she could (which was as per usual) in the middle of a busy intersection. Onlookers shied away behind raised hands without the use of yellow cautionary tape because how could they near Dana's problem at hand? In the heat of a standstill, her fellow heroes scratched their heads as she continued to glare, sharpening upon the case. Apparently, he was annoyingly gifted with the power of creating barriers; therefore neither she nor her fellow heroes could lay a single finger upon him.
From her left, Dune griped from behind his clipboard, "When you asked me to join you on a mission, did it have to be this one?"
She rolled her eyes. "So I didn't press this case for details. Sue me," she retorted. Dune hadn't exactly relaxed from hearing that and he was tempted to rub his entire face with his clipboard.
Before he could, one of their heroic colleagues wailed, "Not that, please!"
He and Dana unwillingly faced their current case—a rather tall, stocky man who was blockaded by his own barriers and therefore a force to be un-reckoned with. Physically at least, to the heroes' disappointment. Somehow, he was dressed down to a trench coat, a wife beater, pansy-patterned briefs, and one holey sock. The rest of his apparel was strewn around him, and from the position of his hands, his undergarments were his next clothes-off by choice.
"Have we successfully blocked off this area?" Very Chief-like, Dana stood with her hands tucked upon her hips, the ends of her suit jacket flaring around her wrists. "There's a primary school a few blocks off," she grumbled to Dune.
He mumbled into his walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder. "Yes, and all civilians in the surrounding buildings have agreed to stay inside for the moment." Dune scribbled something onto his clipboard while the two heroes were either begging or yelling at the case to not scar any more innocent eyes before he added on, "Have you any idea what to do next?"
As though hit with a random bout of reflection, the case threw down his coat instead, smacking it onto an invisible wall. To Dana's irritation, the case had yet to realize not even sound surpassed his barriers—or at least ones that cover all around him like an annoying human-sized box—so whatever he was yelling at them, Dana's team couldn't understand in the slightest, and it didn't help that he refused to take down his barriers. Dana would've liked to break them into barrier dust, but apparently barriers couldn't be beaten down to any kind of matter.
"Oh, here we are," said Dune as a fiery red-headed hero rolled in a whiteboard. He popped off the cap and tapped the board to see if there was any ink. "It works. Obviously since he doesn't know we can't hear him and vice versa, we're reduced to this." Onto the board, he scrawled First Interaction. "What should we say?" he questioned Dana and her group of either baffled or apathetic heroes.
"Surrender or die."
Dune pointed his marker in the others' directions. "Anyone else?"
A winged hero raised a timid hand and he said, "He must be doing this for a reason? Why don't we ask him what's his motive? But not as like 'What's your motive?'"
The redhead shook his red head. "He's a pervert, Arty," he said with his palms out in an aggravated gesture. "They do this because they're sick in the head and they need to satisfy their sick gratification by annoying the public and wasting our time—"
Dana jabbed her thumb. "Sam gets it."
The third hero simply jabbed a finger to Arty.
A hand rubbing his face, Dune wrote onto the whiteboard; Ask about his cause. "It's three to two. Do you want to take care of it, Arty?" The winged hero froze before nodding shyly and took the marker from Dune to write a simple question. After Dune looked it over, he guided Arty over to the barrier wall the case was facing.
It was a silent exchange since neither party could hear. Dana didn't care much to see what the hell they were saying or writing to each other (turned out the case was typing on his phone in response to their whiteboard communication), not until Dune and Arty returned just as the case smacked his sock at where they used to be.
The scribbled whiteboard before them, Dune immediately briefed them, "He's a radical nudist."
Arty shrugged with a guilty downward look. "He has a point."
"What point would that be?"
Like Dana would hear it out. She sliced her hand down the middle, focusing her colleagues' eyes on her. "There is no viable point," she declared and Sam nodded fervently in her favor. "You already said it, Dune. A radical nudist?" Murmurs floated around them, mostly from the redhead hero grumbling about a waste of time. "I say we search for a way to break down the barrier, beat the shit out of him, and then we all go home."
"Amen."
"It's not that easy."
"He said that most clothes are manufactured from forced or child—"
"Doesn't he have a weakness?" They turned to the third hero who'd been mostly quiet all this time and just noticed he was licking sugar off his fingertips. In his other hand was a sugar-coated corn dog. "Want some?" The half-eaten corn dog was offered to them.
Holding his hand to his chin, Dune began to mumble, loudly for their convenience, "Erecting barriers this strong should exert a good amount of effort. Focus, especially with barriers this size as well, therefore…" Dana didn't how to end that, so she waited for someone else to volunteer for teacher's best.
Sam actually answered, "We gotta distract that focus. Even for a second would be good since there's four of us, and he can't keep track on all of us."
"Three should go for the detainment while one should serve as the distraction," Arty suggested.
With puffed cheeks, the snacking hero disposed of his corn dog stick, licked ketchup off his fingers, and then said with a full mouth, "The distraction. Mmm. He's a radical nudist." He paused, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed with a satisfied smile. "What do radical nudists want?" he asked aloud. A pensive silence ensued, so he sighed and added on, "Or I should be asking what does a demonstrating radical nudist want at the end of today?" Nothing still, he added on for the final time, "Acceptance. Acceptance through understanding."
Aside from Dana, a ketchup-red blush colored onto the four heroes' cheeks. It was a horribly mortifying answer; however, Dana waited several seconds before she all but clenched her frustration between her teeth. She'd like to brush this so-called solution aside but her own problem-solving through violence wasn't much of a problem solver in this case.
"No-a offense," the snacker started before running his sleeve across his sugar-granulated lips. Dana glared. "But wouldn't it be much more of a distraction if a hero of the opposite gender was to play this part?"
Something set deep like disappointment slithered down Dana's throat and she used that as a reason not to speak up. There was nothing to say. She would've let this drawn on even without Dune stepping forward and letting them know, "I strongly disagree."
"Oh, but of course, Dune-ssi," he said, nodding understandably. "Though wouldn't you agree for an effective distraction, Chief is our best bet?"
He didn't agree. If anything, Dune was more steamed about this than Dana was. And then Arty raised a tentative hand and said, "There is the fact Chief isn't any woman, but… Chief." Everyone averted to meet Dana's eye but everyone else in the near vicinity would draw their eyes toward her. There was a point to be made. "This is stupid," Arty groaned and smacked his face with his hands.
"This is stupid." Glaring at the case, Sam voted in, "So I hate to say that we should just get it over with, Chief."
It was all Chief, Chief, Chief yet Dana didn't feel like their superior right before them. A shuffle beside her distracted her. His coat off one shoulder, Dune was immediate to say, "I'll do it so—"
"No," Dana cut in calmly and before anyone—anyone as in Dune—could argue onward for a losing battle, she headed toward the barriers. Of course, Dune grabbed her arm. The others did not stop her. "It's fine, it's fuckin' fine. I have my boundaries!" she yelled for that last part and whirled around, deliberately fixing her glare onto Dune. "Save the ass-kicking for me," she growled to him.
Shoving along the whiteboard, Dana strode over to the barrier and faced the case. Maybe it was her stubborn streak that forced her to not meet his eyes, but she simply wrote I get it. If he believed she really did or didn't, it didn't matter to Dana because she blocked out all external senses just as she shed her suit jacket. That wasn't enough, of course. Of course, of course, she had to do this during the heart of wintertime too. The cold was already nibbling but now it broke skin through her dress shirt. No way. Or at least not yet. She opted to unbuckle her belt instead, sliding it from the belt loops in slow motion, and threw that to the asphalt.
The buildings over the intersection loomed over her. Hundreds of eyes at the windows. Watching, wandering, waiting. Still underneath layers, her skin crawled terribly like sight had suddenly joined with touch. She knew how it was as the center of unwanted attention, but for the first time, Dana wanted to erase the existence of everyone around her.
And she was supposed to be a hero?
One of the heroes yelled, "We're in position, Chief!"
The case couldn't hear that, but in a moment's glance, she could see he was still dubious. Godt, she couldn't wait to pulverize that challenging but dubious shitface. Bloodlust always motivating her, Dana hooked her finger into her necktie and unraveled the whole thing onto the asphalt between them. Still, she was sensing vibes that the case was dubious. Twenty percent dubious, her senses informed her. Although it was almost impossible to ignore the mass of onlookers peering from the buildings surrounding them, Dana ripped the buttons of her plain shirt halfway before looking back.
Like an omen, he glowered back at her.
Was there a question in her eyes? Was it, 'Was this bullshit over yet?' Well, if Dune couldn't give her the answer she wanted, her answer should be fuck it all.
A wintry breeze winded through and picked up Dana's shirt with it. Gasps and hollers encircled the intersection which spurred Dana to reach for the hem of her tank top, if her team hadn't tackled the case onto the ground.
The police forwarded in a wave of snowflakes, overcoming in blue and white. Dune came for Dana just as she fixed her jacket over her tank and he dropped his puffy coat over her shoulders as well. She didn't say a word to him and didn't know what expression she was making. Guessed Dune didn't know how to make of her as well, and as he guided her away from the intersection, he spoke to her lowly, "I'm sorry, Dana."
Wrong. A sincere apology from her friend who did no wrong. The case was caught and cuffed therefore there was no apologies in place. It worked, she thought, there was no wrong. As much as Dana could come to believe that, there was still a stupid sensation souring in her stomach as though she was the one that got it all wrong.
.
Osu had texted her an address to stay up for New Years for no reason at all. After overclocking with overtime, she and Guineung walked outside SPOON's double doors, only to be escorted into a familiar, slim vehicle. Normally, she'd have two million questions sent in her stead, however, trust and all that bullshit. Plus, with today's case, Dana wasn't in the mood to be as annoyed as she'd usually be.
The address was at a higher-than-high-class hotel, which would unnerve Dana a good bit, but Guineung was here. He, for one, was ecstatic to meet up with his big brother. Little kid eyes marveled at the opulent hotel room before marveling even more so at the roomy patio arrangement.
A contained bonfire roared in the center, surrounded by cushy, blanketed benches. Osu sat on the center and slightly turned plates at the food placement upon a glass table. Upon seeing them, he perked up, beamed up, and rushed over to them. "You made it! Hi, come over this way. Guineung, would you like to sit down and have something to eat?" he offered and swept a long sleeve toward a cozy seat before the bonfire and the food. Guineung plopped down and piled pastel rice cakes into his cheeks while Dana simply took a seat at the end. The bonfire crackled in this close vicinity, just as warm as a personal sun.
"Dana-ssi," Osu chirped. "How was your day?"
She reached for a tall glass of bubbly champagne (which wasn't really her adult beverage of choice) and sipped slowly. "How was yours?" she said, eyes on the fire.
Avoiding the question was obvious but Osu let it go. "A lot of preparation but nothing I cannot handle." He sent her a signature, sunny smile. She glanced up, met his eyes for a moment, and turned to Guineung just as he shoved a lavender cake past her tight lips.
The conversation was usually dominated by Osu, but tonight was not the usual. Dana spoke up when she was supposed to, she rolled her eyes when prompted to, and tested her threats once or twice. But tonight—Dana was off. She couldn't shake off that annoying sticky sense of discomfiture as though she wasn't on the twentieth-floor patio and there were still eyes on her. Following down as she was bared by the minute—and yes, she still SFW by the time the barriers fell—but, but—
"Dana-ssi."
Her fingers stopped twirling with the stem of her champagne glass. "Hmm?"
"Guineung fell asleep."
Soft snoring rose from Osu's lap. After gorging himself on a hearty meal and desserts, the panda child snoozed upon Osu, covered with a super soft blanket with a thread count Dana hadn't known to exist, and crossed his legs over her lap. It would've been a comfortably soft evening but there appeared to be a huge New Years event lighting up the streets below.
Dana wasn't interested, much less in anything else. "Hmm," she replied and set her champagne down.
Gently, as to not disturb Guineung, Osu turned just enough for him to face her in her entirety. Before them, the fire continued to burn and crackle ominously. "Something's wrong," Osu said, and Dana reached for an entire champagne bottle. Just as she popped the cap off, Osu also said, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Yeah, no shit, Dana was much too accustomed to keeping all her shitty feelings to herself (because who had the time to share feelings and all that bullshit) and would've liked to keep it that way. "But, for what it's worth, I want to know so I can help you."
Again, she glanced over to him. He wasn't smiling now. His expression was weird, his eyebrows furrowed with concern, his lips pressed straight with serious consideration, and then… Osu was looking at her, alright, though Dana wondered when exactly her uneasiness was replaced with a sort of ease.
"Just…" she started, looking down into her hands. The bonfire's reflection swayed with warm colors upon the green glass of her champagne. "Work. You know how it is."
Villains had it better, apparently. Osu laughed, "Yes, but you know it's more than simply work." Way too odd that Dana didn't like her job. She did, for obvious reasons, and so it didn't click that she'd suddenly tire of it. "Something happened today. Are you alright? You must look much better than your enemy—"
"I didn't beat anyone up." Frustration clenched her teeth together. She reached for her glass again and the bubbles of champagne did nothing for her. "Maybe that's just it," she mumbled. Her hand lifted wearily, holding up the side of her downturned head. "Maybe it was all wrong 'cause I just needed to beat the shit outta him."
He copied her with his fist supporting his head, though he was still staring straight at her. "Somehow, I don't think that's it," said Osu.
Below, the commotion was escalating, and it sounded like live music had begun to play. A convenient grandfather clock chimed that it was an hour due till midnight. Soon, this shitty day would be dead and gone so why waste time telling Osu about it?
"Dana-ssi," he murmured. "It's okay."
If only there was a way to say this perfectly but without the implications that she—Section Chief Dana of SPOON—had bad, bad feelings about this. But then again, she was going to tell Osu, who was the right person in the completely wrong circumstance. "I had a mission earlier and. Nobody got hurt or anything but. Still," she groaned and switched to rubbing her neck. "Our decision involved me going out there and I just—I agreed to be a distraction. It was nothing. It might sound shitty but I only took off my clothes—"
As though the fireworks already went off, Dana's eardrums rang when she heard him exclaim, "You took off your clothes!"
"Shhhhhh, relax," she whisper-yelled and waved to Guineung. Somehow, he only turned over in his sleep. A contorted state of silent, steaming anger-worry-frustration colored Osu's face. "It was a shitty mission, alright, and it wasn't like that. I only took off like. A few things. Count them on one hand, practically," she reasoned in a tone that wasn't meant to be persuasive at all.
Out of all emotions, it was worry that dimmed his closer countenance. In a low voice, Osu asked, "But didn't that make you uncomfortable?"
Uncomfortable?
Was that just it?
Was she—Section Chief Dana—even allowed to be uncomfortable?
For a moment, she fidgeted in her seat before crossing her other leg. Turned toward the other way, Dana raised her palm to her mouth, her fingers clamped white across her cheek. It was a vulnerable position if Osu had ever one from Dana.
A muffled mumble escaped from her iron hand. "Maybe it did."
Osu listened and understood. "There's no harm telling yourself that it did."
"It kinda feels like there is," she replied in a near mumble. Her hand was down however, clenched upon her knee.
"You're only human."
"An overpowered human."
"Who can still feel discomfort like anyone else," he finished for her.
Dana blew a hard scoff even though she was humored. "Like the common man."
Maybe joking it off wasn't the right reply when Osu puffed up a bit, like a blue adorable blowfish. Wait, adorable? "I know emotions, or a certain emotion is an exploitable weakness for you," he started off, gently, and when he lay a gentle hand upon hers, Dana didn't know where she disposed her guard. "But that's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't have to be this overpowered, stoic figure of justice, Dana-ssi. At least, that's not how I see you." A tender rise of his voice invited her to close in, inhale a breath of the floral herbs that lined his threads, perhaps was pressed to his skin.
"You've seen too much," said Dana. Almost menacingly if she was speaking to anyone but Osu. "Of course you see me differently."
"Quite right."
"Do you know too much?"
"Perhaps. I believe I've seen a side to you no one else can see. You do feel compassion more than you let on," Osu let out a warm laugh. "I suppose. I do have in mind that you're terrifying as can be, but I want you to know that what you're feeling matters, no what how unusual it may be for you." Well. Be that as it may, feelings were a hindrance and though Dana considered the reactions of friends and family, she wasn't sure what to make of her mottled, hot-iron so-called feelings. On the other side, Osu said, "If I may add on?" She nodded and rubbed her upper arm. "If it made you uncomfortable, did you let someone else know? I'm assuming you weren't alone."
"I wasn't. It was a team consensus. I agreed to it."
When Osu breathed out, his exhale came out heavier than usual. Tired, Dana noticed that much. "Did you tell them?"
"No," she yawned. "There's no point. The mission worked out."
"Yes, but at your expense. I'm certain there was another solution. One that didn't involve you having to take your clothes off because the others decided it." Almost angrily, but definitely pressed, Osu went on to say, "I know you speak up for others, Dana-ssi, and you have done so especially for yourself. You should have done so for today. Your bold valiance is what makes you so very powerful."
All of this and more, Dana knew from the start. It didn't hurt to hear the truth aloud, however. "Yeah, I know. Still, I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. Some overpowered chief am I," she grumbled and tapped an irritable beat against Guineung's shoulder.
There was a pause when the crowd raucously cheered for the half hour mark. But within this cozy, flame-blanketed space, Osu could quietly say, "You're the strongest person I know, Dana-ssi. I admire that about you."
What the hell. Dana was glad she was occupying his shoulder so she didn't have to look at him when she said, "You're too nice, Osu, probably for your own good. I forget you're actually part of KNIFE, sometimes."
They both smile over that, which was rare enough as it was. Neither of one wanted to further venture onto territory about hero vs. villain. Instead, they fell into a kinship's quiet as time passed slower than per usual in their world. Simply, it consisted of a table of half-eaten picturesque dishes and a half-drunken champagne bottle, a cashmere blanket strewn over the three of them, a towering fire that reached for the far forever of the New Year Eve's sky.
Soon enough, fireworks transformed the sky of New Year Day.
Dana missed that moment, apparently, when Guineung had woken up in time with Osu. She didn't care. At the end of that night, she started the new year with Guineung and Osu, and Dana was perfectly content with that.
.
The next day, Dana was phoned down to a hero's lounge room. She met with Sam, Arty, and the snacker hero. All three of them, in their own way, had apologized to Dana whether they cried for forgiveness, bowed down quickly but respectfully, or gave a small shrug with their 'Error on consideration.' Even though Dana would've been fine without it, she released a small, strange feeling like discomfort was a balloon she sliced the string off with her wrist. Like she could forget about it. The only thing she couldn't shake off was how the three concurrently eyed around the hero's lounge as though someone she couldn't see was watching them.
.
Whistling, a man in all white waited for the elevator doors to signal his floor. Two other riders spoke to themselves, so he kept himself busy, scrolling through his phone, and stopped at a message embedded with an article link. There was a cover photo of that tacky police tape, but behind it were several officials, one of them a worse-for-wear winged hero with his face in his hands.
"Good riddance," he snickered and tossed his fellow riders a sociable smile. "A few too many screws loose for my tastes."
The others paid him no attention and exited a moment later. He continued to flick through his phone and paused at another message, a photo of a short-haired woman in the middle of a vacant intersection. There was no one left to spill his most important, innermost thoughts so he scrolled onward in silence. When the elevator finally chimed for its single rider, he walked down the velvet-red carpet like he owned the place. Certainly, maybe he did, as he reached the end of the hall, opened the double doors with no key of his own, and strolled right inside.
First, he noticed a rather sleek briefcase lying on the lobby's doormat. His white shoe nudged the case around before he toed the handle onto the tip and flipped the case into the air. Because it was far too heavy, it missed his open arms and smacked him on the back of his neck.
"Ouchie!"
Wincing, he picked up the briefcase with his hand, the other rubbing his sore nape. Pain continued to pulse under his dingers as he made way to the expansive balcony, where a single blue boy was perched upon the stone balustrade. A chrysanthemum-painted tea set also settled upon the wide railings, one cup stemming steam from the boy's rosy-tipped fingers. At the sight of him, the newcomer whistled with the wind and plopped himself next to the blue boy.
"I was thinking!" he started to say, dropping the briefcase onto his lap, and swiped a teacup for himself. "We should start having code names, ya know?" A sip of herbal tea scalded his tongue buds, and he hacked nastily before dumping the rest onto the streets way, way below. "Medusa can be Boa, not the singer, but 'cause of the snake, and then Orca can be Whale, Whale, Whale, but if that's too much, it can be condensed to WWW, and then No.1 can be #1 Dad, making No.2 #2 Dad!" he rambled and looked to him for much-needed feedback.
There was none, not even a polite acknowledgement of his presence.
Lower lip out, he said, "Of course, I'm Boss. Lame, but it sticks. The one I'm stuck on is your name 'cause—well, you know why." He paused as though the conversation shifting to him would warrant his two cents. Piss-poor, he appeared to be. "I was thinking, just between you and me, I can code you as Bro. Bro!" he cackled before leaning into him. "Because Dad #1 and #2 makes us brothers, am I right, Osu?"
Osu set aside his cup of tea and reached both arms out. "The briefcase, please," he addressed quietly.
He handed it to him, eying him as eagerly as ever, before Osu undid the combination and stared down at stacks of bound, golden paper. While he ooh-and-aahed, Osus's blank expression remained the same.
"Look at that! Did ya get pricey-dicey or what?"
There had to be a couple thousands in there if his depth perception was right. Osu's hand lowered the case's lid an inch. "From my father," he said in that indecipherable lowness as though he did not want to be heard. The kaleidoscope of metropolis lights stole his attention, but Osu asked, "Will you be needing it?"
"I don't even want it," he snickered in his sleeve, his eyes glittering as brightly as fool's gold.
"I should've known." The tea set rattled between them as the wind passed through again, ruffling the attire of the two men. "There's a strong breeze tonight," he noted.
Osu dipped his hand into the opened case, his gaze not even for a moment straying from the city's skyline. He fisted a good handful of gilded cash and, watching him readily, his guest did the same. The white strips binding the stacks were torn neatly as the cash fluttered precariously within his fist. His guest followed, ripping off the strips and fanning out within his fingers, before he and Osu released every golden paper onto the miles of stretching streets below.
At this distance, it appeared money was mere confetti, serving as a moment's distraction before fading away to frivolous waste. "It would fit you better to be a philanthropist," he told Osu.
Legs crossed, Osu retrieved his tea and stirred the amber liquid offhandedly. Teeth clenched, he swallowed his medicine and poured himself another cup. Below, the public began to notice what exactly was thrown carelessly toward them in ten-hundred-thousand-folds.
Chaos exploded in the form of fluttering sheets and one of the two sported a crazed, but amused, grin. "You look way better than before. Less ghost-sheet pale. Less like me, let's be real," he joked. "Might I even say happy?"
Osu said nothing but gave up a small smile.
"Dare I say, is it love?"
Nothing still. That seemed to be the finale of a one-sided, once-in-a-lifetime conversation until Osu suddenly spoke up, "Love might be your greatest cause." His profile tipped toward the night sky where several lucky papers glittered into the distance like superficial shooting stars, still blinking as Osu's smile shifted into sadness. "But it was never one of mine."
—
a/n: okay! im pretty sure Guest is cuttoncandyhair SO what u said was all the fun christmas ideas like osudana + guineung, then dana + mom + hyena, and then dana + judas +dune... the last two were foreshortened but i tried to fit everyone hanging out sorta. that was all you hahaha & THANK!
like always, EternalNocturne edited like the MVE :')