Greetings and welcome to the misery machine. Today's abuse victims? Vega and Ryu. Mostly Vega.

Wanted to do a little short piece where I indulge in some short form yaoi. And I've been in a sad people mood as of late. Is life daijobou? I dunno, is it?

Kidding aside, very important; parts, references and themes of this story will not make a lick of sense if you don't read Ad Asta because there will be direct references to that as this story is pretty much a sequel but follows Vega. It will for one explain why he refers to Menat and Charlie, who were the main characters in Ad Astra.

Timeline? After SFV but before SFIII. How long after Ad Astra? Less than a year. Eight or nine months. Why? I want to mess around with the idea of Vega's most prized attribute being taken with him. But I'm also a shipper so he's gonna get some love.

The title of the story is in Latin and means "To The Earth."

Oh and Vega will be referring to himself as Vega but everyone but Ryu will call him Lyric. As you may or may not know, Vega shares his name with the brightest star in the Lyra constellation. Couldn't call him Lyra so I settled for Lyric.

Reader discretion is advised: trauma talk, self-harm and internalized kinda-sexism-but-not-really-homophobia combi complex. Kinda hard to explain because Vega is dealing with some complicated feelings where the easiest one to identity is denial because he ain't loving men except for himself, let alone fucking them.

But as always, thank you for reading. Please don't hesitate with reviewing. I live for that feedback.

Chapter title: Voice of nothing.

A phrase that denotes a useless statement.

Waking up was a haze.

It took a minute or so to pass before Vega fully resurfaced. He stared at the black and white coat of the cat resting by the edge of the bed and stroked it gently, thankful to feel some warmth under his fingertips. Once the feline rolled over a bit, he sat up and staggered out of bed.

The haze sat in again, carrying him through the rhythm of the morning, only breaking when he stepped into the bathroom and caught his own reflection. He tried not to stare at it for too long. Once upon a time, he endured a punch to the face that broke a tooth. He had gotten it fixed and tried to carry on with life. For a while he did.

Maybe.

Maybe it was just a beautiful façade for something hideous to set into motion. Could it be blamed on them then? He didn't know. It didn't matter.

His hair had grown much longer, especially now when he gave up on braiding it, reaching his thighs. He had stopped dying it blonde so now it was its natural brown color. It took some getting used to. His body had shrunken, and thinned out, lacking the prestige it used to have. And then there were the scars. They painted sporadic irregular marks on his chest, his arms, and half his face. They had destroyed the tattoo across his torso, breaking it into little segments.

Somehow, he still retained a full head of hair, although he had to sacrifice an eyebrow and an eye. It looked like him, yet it didn't. There was some comfort in that perhaps. Sometimes when he did himself the sadomasochistic favor of looking into the mirror, it took a moment for him to recognize himself. A blessing and a curse.

The befitting end of a beautiful shell cracking to reveal its ugly void. The transformation had lasted for a while but holes in Vega's memory made it impossible to fill in the gaps. After the fire, everything was a fog with bits and pieces coming to the surface. Somewhere along the line, there came a box of pills that he took every day. Helped with keeping a façade of stability. The cream to his facial scar was a faint soothe in the darkened, reddish leathery skin.

He was no better than the scum of the earth.

Vega went about his normal day. As normal as it could become, slowly dissociating along the way. The haze had become his lover at this point, guiding him through the performance of his new life. He had always adored performing; violin playing, bullfighting, and molding the role of a sophisticated socialite. It filled him with something, a sense of pride and goals. A mask to slip on for a sense of identity. The paragon of grace and beauty.

The medium girl and her band of friends had poked at something else. Something more ethereal. He never thought to explore it or uncover its identity; not that he could even if he wanted to. Now, it did not matter. Now, he was a humble gardener living as a tenant in a nice house. Lyric, the scarred gardener; a role he could easily blend into.

The haze returned, carrying him through breakfast, feeding the cat, and forcing him out the door.

Only recently had Vega begun to pay attention to the weather. He didn't remember or thought much of it, cataloging it to be a cloudy day before forgetting it tomorrow. It had been autumn when he came here two months ago. It was winter soon. Vega didn't feel much of a difference, taking the ceaselessly grey sky and the bitter cold in with him through the haze. It reminded him of snowball matches and lonely walks through wintry gardens.

I am always in my own company.

There was a manor nearby where the owners had Vega take care of their garden. It was how he supported himself now. When he arrived, his cheeks were flushed pink from the chill. The first task of the day was to inspect the walkways for leaves and debris that littered the pavement. Vega entered a nearby shed, unlocked the door for a blower, and got to work. The manor's owners had gotten the smart idea to park their cars away from their gardens as the blower otherwise stirred up a lot of dust which would taint the vehicles. On his way back to the shed for hedge clippers, Vega spotted a young woman there, looking at him like she tended to do every morning.

Much the same as the medium girl but at the same time quite different. She was dressed in an elegant gown, befitting her status. There was an air of sophistication about her that Vega recognized – remembered. He came to remember the childlike preoccupation with the peons who worked for the privileged elites, making sure that their properties looked acceptable. He had seen many flavors of it; he himself carried it with disdain. The woman had a fascination instead. Suppose he remembered that too as a child. He never got to ruminate on what it would feel like to be on the other side. On the outside looking in.

The young woman smiled once she noticed he had noticed her – only to yawn. It was still early after all. Vega nodded a greeting towards her, then headed for a nearby bed of blooming white orchids, a gesture that struck him as familiar. Plucking flowers for young women, watching the ardor in their eyes, let it fill the void thirsty for validation inside his heart, soothe his confidence.

The world does not have enough people who are worth my attention should care for me.

Vega had forgotten the feeling of confidence. He couldn't feel the void screaming for validation. He did feel a modicum of ease when he handed the flower to the young daughter of the manor's owners. Strangely such a placating gesture made him feel more at home, to be amongst the populace. Maybe because she had been the only one to look at him with fondness, to see the beauty that he once possessed. Somehow it was also a horrible thought. It wasn't it. Maybe it was her politeness despite the hideous creature he had become. Perhaps. Leaving her and the orchid, Vega made his way to the shed and the hedge clippers, carefully trimming the expensive hedges and trees.

A few days ago there had been a landscaper to mold a few bushes into various animals and it was now Vega's job to make sure they kept their shape. Trimming the mane of a lion, he thought of the day when he realized that his nails had been clipped short. He couldn't remember what had happened to his mask or his claw. He could remember sterile lights, white rooms, and shadowy faces looking down at him. Floating in and out of the haze.

Floating into the urge to harm himself.

"Mother's favorite," the young woman broached once he reached the horse-shaped hedge. "Do you like horses, good sir?"

Always sir, never Lyric.

"I do. Although I am more fond of felines," he answered, part honest, part playing a role he had created for himself. Most of the other workers around the manor were at least middle-aged. Vega was the only one not at all close to that age yet. He always felt strange in their presence, almost paranoid even. Fearing that one day, they'd be able to recognize him as a talented bullfighter who once captured the hearts of many. "I just got a cat of my own, Florinda."

"Adorable. I'd love to meet her," the woman smiled, brushing her fingers alongside the leaves of a deer bush before Vega could get to it. "I'd like a pet of my own too…"

Florinda turned out to be a tomcat so Vega often referred to him as Flo for short.

"I'm sure my cat wouldn't mind if you visited it. I apologize for your misfortune, my lady," Vega practiced a smile in return. It was straining his facial muscles. "Although I could imagine maintaining the garden would be difficult with cats and dogs about."

"Of course. Sometimes, I just wish I had people in my life. I find it so hard to connect with others so maybe pets would do the trick," the young woman mused, picking at her nails.

Vega wished he could tell her that he understood in a way that was too unbelievable from a humble, scarred gardener. Even if she knew who he was, she'd probably turn her nose in shock and horror. What had happened to the handsome nobleman that would make him renounce his heritage and identity to live as a menial peon at some corner of the universe? She'd think that he was a weak man, and she'd be right.

He had no right to call himself a nobleman.

He finished up the remaining hedges, occasionally wondering how it would feel like if he ripped himself to ribbons when not being distracted by occasional comments from the young woman. Next would be watering the trees, the flowers, and the various hedges. He heeded to clean up the clippings, however. On the way to the shed, the young woman passed him again, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ears.

"You've been working hard. Would you like me to bring you something to drink?"

So I'd rather be alone.

"Thank you, my lady. Water would be nice," Vega replied when he should probably say no.

I am destined to be alone.

He was still not used to the shift of power, the role reversal of being the peasant. Somewhere, old shards of his old person threatened to hiss and howl at the injustice. He came to realize it was some semblance of anxiety, tightening his grip around the hose just tight enough to get it under control.

Just enough to feel numb again.

Leave me alone.

Vega was done somewhere by early afternoon. He had arrived early and worked diligently as usual. Which meant that he had the rest of the day to torture himself. At home, he played a bit with Florinda before he embarked on a strange ritual of sorts. A sense of self-flagellation. This involved kneeling in front of the bed and staring at a box underneath it. Intense and painful for a few minutes while he tried to will himself into opening it. It had come with him when he settled here, he remembered what was in it. He never thought to rediscover its contents or why it triggered flashes in his memory.

Haze, white room, pills. He remembered being strapped to a bed. A mental breakdown?

He stood up before his hands were shaking too badly. Lately, it had gotten difficult for him to end this emotional torture peacefully. Lately, it brought up feelings he wished he could forget but never the memories that connected them all. At best, he'd vomit or cry in a corner somewhere. If he was lucky, he could get away with dissociation until he could no longer connect his body and mind.

At worst, he'd do what he was doing now; scurrying to the bathroom for a razor to slice across his skin; numbed by the pain, soothed by the sting. Eased into a sense of unreal calm that felt as if he was floating through life again. It was his punishment, his repentance. His fault for falling from grace. He always wore long-sleeved shirts so he could let the blade scar a trail into his flesh a little more.

Afterward, as he ran his wrists under cold water, he thought of the times his claws had broken the skin of someone. Of their warm blood staining the steel of his prized weapon. Wrapping his forearms in bandages, he thought of his enemies, of the women he adored so much that he wanted to kill them. Of his mother. He thought of her too, pulling down the sleeves.

He let his mind cut it off, mentally sinking to the bottom of a lake while his wounds began to throb. The pain, the daze, it made everything feel a lot more normal.

For what it was, he was okay. Maybe.

Staggering out of the bathroom, he walked straight into a spill of sunlight. Coming here, he wondered if he'd be living the rest of his life in the gutter, decaying like his flawed body. Instead, he had gotten what typically was a home. Two bedrooms and an ample kitchen that he rarely used because he rarely ate. The house was still bare; Florinda had more presence here.

It was afternoon when Vega ventured outside again. Whenever not inside to sulk, he kept his head down, politely but distantly greeting the townsfolk that passed him by. He just about managed to make out a few meters away before he was met with his landlady, Katarina. An elderly widower whose children had recently moved away. She owned the house but currently lived with a friend elsewhere as she didn't find joy in living alone. Recently she began renting it out and coincidentally Vega just entered the town at the right time. Katarina was extroverted and broad-minded, allowing him to move in without too many questions. She gave him a house and the manor's garden to keep him occupied.

"Lyric," she greeted with a warm smile, the false name falling from her wrinkled lips so easily. Her gait was slow on account of the walker. "How are you doing, my boy? Out for a walk?"

"Yes," Vega replied, adjusting his scarf. "It's been a quiet day, and the sun has appeared, so I thought I'd enjoy it while it lasted."

Katarina hummed with a grin. "Very nice. Very nice! Would you care to join me on my way home?"

Vega didn't object. A year ago, he couldn't imagine himself ever doing something as menial as this; accompanying elderly women on an easy stroll. Katarina was pleasant, nevertheless. She lacked beauty, grace, and youth. Normally, he'd hate people like her. But he didn't. He didn't like her either really, but he tolerated her existence and her merry attitude and her geriatric smell that reminded Vega of meeting his grandparents.

"I should say to you that you can invite people to live with you, of course. Having that old house all by yourself must be lonely," Katarina lamented once they made it to the home she shared with another elderly woman.

"It's about finding the right one, I think. I must admit that I'm lacking in that department," Vega answered and held the gate open for her. "So far, it's fine just being me and Florinda."

Maybe one day? No. Never. He had accepted that a long time ago.

"I hope so," the old woman sighed. "You deserve that at least. Goodnight, Lyric."

Vega watched her saunter to the front door of the house and enter. In the kitchen window, he spotted the two women converse over tea and fresh bread for their dinner. He turned around and walked through the town again, passing mostly empty streets. Inviting people, being deserving of others. Now, he was just like everyone else but the thought of it still made him dry-heave. He was worse than scum, another ugly peon with no worth in the world. He never bothered with people anyway in life before so why start now? What did he know about people anyway?

A disgrace. His arms began to itch under the bandages. His burns tickled. He had already cut. He shouldn't do more today. He couldn't go home yet.

In the orange afternoon, the nearby forest gained a warm hue to its otherwise cold interior. Passing the ruins of an old church, Vega experienced an urge to slam his head against the moss-covered stones. He fiddled with a lock of hair instead. The ends were splitting. There was no one in the woods at this hour; the schools liked to go here early morning, seniors at noon, and dog walkers a few hours later. Vega now.

Alone as he deserved. Forgotten as he wanted to.

He heard something unfamiliar carry through the quiet of the forest. The sound of grunting. A struggle perhaps? Because he had nothing better to do with his time, he chose to follow it to parts unknown. Parts of the forest, he never thought to aimlessly wander through.

As he came to a clearing and looked at a man in the midst of training, he came to regret that decision.

Suddenly, Ryu realized that he was missing a place to sleep tonight. Maybe he should have looked into that earlier today. It wouldn't have hurt to ask the locals; they seemed like a friendly and open bunch, probably not used to many visitors but accepting of those they'd eventually get. Maybe. For once, Ryu was not a spectacle when he was training. He stood out here alone; he had been here alone for most of the day, only passing the odd stroller or dog walker. It was relieving as it was strange. They didn't seem to mind him, greeting him briefly or staring ahead distantly.

Blurry faces walking him by. He knew it sounded a bit pessimistic, how he used the time to analyze their demeanor as some sort of travel journal when his ultimate goal always was to get stronger and nothing else – even if he could sometimes find himself reinvigorated by the odd human connection. Long lasting yet ephemeral. Hmm, when did he get so thoughtful?

Nevermind.

At the end of his training, it occurred to him that he indeed had gotten a spectator. A single presence that had been watching him in silence. He turned his head, expecting another local and maybe he got that. He wasn't sure. Not quite able to figure out what to make of a man he had met many times before. A man he had fought. One he didn't like.

In the afternoon sun, bathed in the fading orange glows of the day stood Vega. It was him – in the flesh. His hair was longer, it had stopped being blonde, it was also messier. He looked diminished and battered by some event in his life with the burn scars that covered him. But those sharp blue eyes were unmistakably his. One had gone foggy. Wide with disbelief, staring back at Ryu with an undefinable emotion.

"…Oh," Ryu said, brows pinched together. His fists floated somewhere in the air, unsure of whether he should go on the defensive or not. Normally, this would spell the beginning of a bout. Shadaloo was no more. Bison was no more. Didn't matter for the lot of them except Sagat but…

"What are you doing here?" Vega asked, his voice hoarse with caution and hostility. He looked strange without his mask or claws. "Why are you here? Who sent you? Who are you with?"

"I'm training," Ryu answered bluntly. "I ended up in this place randomly on my own accord. Alone."

He thought to ask what Vega's deal was, but something told him that it was not a conversation to be had. Not that the man looked in any state to fight; he looked more worn down and mentally wrought with some sense of paranoia, something that triggered some faint sense of empathetic concern in Ryu. He shrugged with a small smile, letting his arms drop alongside his body.

"But I don't suppose you know where I could sleep? And get some food?"

Vega's body remained tense. He was always a little uncomfortable looking when dealing with men but nothing like this. The air of overclass snobbery and nobility had vanished and in its place was quiet distress. Without a word, he turned around and looked over his shoulder as if to beckon Ryu to follow – and he did. In utter silence, they ventured through the forest until they had returned to the town. By now the afternoon sun had reached its literal twilight and a few streetlamps had flickered alight alongside light through curtains from the various homes.

It was a nice distraction from trying to discern Vega too much or wondering about the scars. Didn't people get surgery for those? Ryu had spotted the distant image of a manor when he had arrived here around noon. He was shocked when he discovered that it would not be there where they ended up. A manor seemed so much in character for Vega so why were they at some modest house close to the edge of town?

At the sight of it, Ryu was brimming with questions but one look at Vega's face made him withhold them because the man looked like he'd throw up if he heard just one. He unlocked the door and a cat stood in the foyer, meowing at him until it got a few scratches. Didn't seem interested in Ryu however.

"I don't have much that could be called gourmet," Vega announced once they were inside and settled. As far as one could settle with a (former?) enemy under the same roof. Ryu nodded and watched him saunter to the kitchen to feed the cat, then the pantry for an assortment of cans.

Well, Ryu wasn't picky. He helped himself to a modest portion of cup noodles and imitation duck while he observed Vega consuming a single slice of bread. Not enough to fill a grown man. Not enough to stop Ryu from offering him some ramen, then sitting with a heavy feeling of discomfort when he was refused. He slapped the last noodles and just threw something out there in the silence.

"It's not like you to be so friendly. It's…a change. A good one."

For some reason, people used to tell him that he was quite pithy. He wasn't sure if or when it ever applied to him. Vega ought not to agree probably. He stared at Ryu, wide-eyed with disbelief, looking absolutely mortified.

"There is no such thing as good change in me," he sniped, his voice hollow and wavering.

Ryu couldn't help but smile still. Maybe the change hadn't come from good things, but it was there, changing Vega for the better.

"You feeding me would beg the differ."

Vega's expression twisted. "…How did you find me? Truthfully. I don't believe you came here randomly. If it's money you seek, I have that for I have nothing else."

Not even beauty…anymore?

Ryu shrugged, feeling a little heavy on the inside. "I wasn't expecting you at all to be here. And I don't want money. I'm just happy for your generosity."

"…How long will you stay here?" Vega asked with a strained tone. He had the demeanor of an animal backed into a corner with his arms wrapped around himself. "In the town entirely?"

"For as long as you'll have me here," Ryu answered – for it was the honest truth. "If you kick me out before my training is done, I'll just find somewhere else to sleep."

"Why?"

"That's how it is," Ryu shrugged.

"What do you mean 'that's how it is'? What is the purpose of you?" that old snobbery of Vega seeped out through the grimace that crossed his scarred face. "Seems so pointless."

He stared down at himself as he began to tremble. It must have been strange to meet someone with a purpose in life when you yourself felt like you had none.

"There is no goal in wandering this ugly world," he added.

"Because it's a journey. That's more important than your goal. Each battle is a step to mastery. You learn and grow from it. I don't know if I ever reach my goal but I strive for self-improvement. The training of my skill is what satisfies me," it burst out of Ryu like it was beyond his control. He had moved up from his chair, closing the gap between him and Vega, passion pouring out of each word. "Its simplicity is its beauty."

Vega continued to stare at him like he had been told a falsehood that he couldn't stand to not correct it. His light sneer suggested he considered it so fundamentally untrue that it hurt a little to look at. Something in Ryu ached a bit.

"I must say your theatrics are quite vigorous," Vega spoke softly as he furled into himself. "You were never so vocal with them before."

A little sheepish, Ryu stepped back. "It's not a performance. Not even my fights. It's my way of life."

"…Not one for compliments?"

"Well, they are alright, but I prefer comradery in battle over words."

Vega considered him a bit. "You are odd. Where is the beauty in that?"

He was mocking him, but Ryu didn't care. More so he was just so floored over having this conversation with Vega of all people. A man he had only encountered when fighting against Shadaloo in some form or another. Vega was not Sagat however but there was a faint sense of déjà vu over this encounter.

"It's not in hurting others or getting hurt by others," Ryu said. "Or by life."

Vega smirked although it was hollow and barren of humor. It broke into a laugh then that rang through the kitchen as he pressed his hands to his face – then broke into uncontrollable sobbing. Ryu probably should not have reacted as he did but he stepped forward and pulled the man into a tentative hug. Sakura had once told him that hugs were good for the soul. Instead of reciprocating, Vega's arms hung limply down his body for a bit before they feebly tried to push Ryu away and succeeded with a meek shove. His eyes were red, his gaze frantic, his expression contorted with sorrow and that residue of disgust.

"Do not touch me. Your understanding of life and pain and beauty are as ugly as your face. Simplistic. Moronic. Worthless. You hide behind it because you have nothing else to live for! To hell with you!" Vega sneered in a frenzied outcry of emotions, hyperventilating through panicked, apoplectic gasps. "You! You…I…"

Ryu expected to get kicked out at that moment while he mulled over the words thrown at him. Somehow he had never been good at getting upset and people hurling insults at him. Not like Ken who could get quite furious if they aimed the strikes just right. Gouken couldn't train that out of the man. But for Ryu, all he felt was pity really. It may also be because he either hugged a man already on edge or said man actually spoke those words to himself rather.

"Sorry," Ryu uttered as the atmosphere continued to turn awkward and dour.

Vega stared at him, his expression contorting again before he burrowed his face in his hands. "I am a fool. I apologize. It has been a long day."

Vega apologizing was a wholly alien concept. Difficult to coalesce. He was or used to be the upper-class, conceited, vainglorious narcissist known to disturb women with his maltreatment of them – covert or otherwise. The man who wore a mask to protect his face and valued his beauty over his prowess as a fighter. That man now stood here in homely surroundings, a far cry from his castles and mansions. He was apologizing and softly weeping in the meantime. It…it was unreal. Like two stars colliding. Or the planets aligning? Whatever it was, everything felt reversed and morphed beyond recognition.

Ryu wondered if he had thought about this exact situation, he'd laugh at himself for how absurd it was. But standing in it, he realized it might not have been so strange after all. It all came down to the scars and why wouldn't it if Vega valued his physical appearance beyond everything else?

"Please excuse me," Vega managed in a voice that trembled harshly. "I must rest."

"Sure," Ryu stood with the weird impulse of rubbing the man's arm to get him out of whatever drought he had found himself in. "Go ahead."

Today had been a long day indeed. Tomorrow might be shorter.