This story is a one-shot, part of the recollections of Rin and Klaus' younger years, both of whom appear in the story "A Bend in Space Time" (taking place over the seasons of The Umbrella Academy - links in my profile).
Context: Rin is a 21-year-old punk girl born with a strange power that she uses for illegal work: she can teleport, make herself invisible or intangible. Over several nights in police custody, about two years ago, she met a strange cellmate named Klaus... also endowed with an extremely invasive power: that of communicating with the dead.
TW: Reference to drug and alcohol use, violence.
Soundtrack : Memento Mori - Closer to the Sun ; Jilax - Satisfaction
-
In the spring of 2011, I started to imagine I could change jobs. For most people, that might seem like no big deal, especially since I wasn't aiming for the moon. I was just tired of selling screws and bolts. What I liked most about the hardware store gig was fixing the paint-mixer machine and the cash register. I pictured myself working in electronic or mechanical maintenance.
The thing is, I had a criminal record as long as an unrolled roll of toilet paper, and a power that people more or less knew about in the neighborhoods around where I lived. I'd been sorted into the category of freaks no one wanted to deal with. And the fact that I was constantly seen with Klaus didn't help.
Everyone knew he was blasted to hell and constantly high as a skyscraper. And I think it was the day an employer told me straight-up that this was the reason they wouldn't hire me, that's when I decided to stop looking. Why? Because some people would've gotten rid of the problem by dumping Klaus. And me? I was two seconds away from dumping any job, instead.
I came to my senses. I chose to stay with Rodrigo. He understood. He helped me through it with genuine kindness. He let me handle the soldering iron more often in the backroom. And in the end, I worked for him until the end of the world. Literally. And more than once.
I went through a few rough patches around that time, though. Phases where I stayed home willingly instead of roaming through The City's colorful and eccentric fringes with Klaus. He could feel it: I'm sure of that. And he swung between two modes: either feeling like a burden and keeping his distance, or trying to come pull me out of it, when he was lucid enough to try.
It had been four days since I'd seen him, which - by our standards - was starting to feel like a long time, but I wasn't worried. Usually, it just meant he'd gotten lost in one of those endless cycles of chemical, emotional, and sexual highs and crashes, which he only ever came out of to collapse on my doormat, or, failing that, to get shipped off for thirty days at Lakeshore Hills.
When he finally knocked on my window - his curls a tangled, unwashed mess - I didn't even flinch. He looked... decent, considering what I'd imagined. Though his under-eye circles hung lower than the shoulder of his coat, and his boots didn't match.
"Rinny", he said, lifting the windowpane himself.
I just lowered my magazine and raised an eyebrow.
"I need to be myself again. Flamboyant. Closer to the sun than ever. I'm feeling chromatically diminished from hanging around all these Fendi and Burberry coats, and if I hear Adele or Gotye one more time, I'll throw myself off the tenth floor of the International Business School dorms on purpose".
I closed the magazine, set it on my nightstand, and crossed my arms. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten swept up by rich boys in overpriced private schools. Let himself slip into their dorms, only to end up tossed out headfirst onto the street once a supervisor caught on.
In the meantime, though, he made more money there than anywhere else. Room after room, and a good number of those students handed him drugs in exchange for half an hour of his night. Sometimes, he wouldn't see the outside of those corridors for days, and he'd walk out knowing the lunch lady's name. Like this time, he was both euphoric and sick. And it always ended with him crying himself to pieces, out of nerves.
Because - no - this life didn't suit Klaus either, not really.
He did what he always did. Washed himself three times. Took advantage of my grandmother being out to use her straightener, and ate chà bông straight out of the jar. When he came back to my room, he collapsed on my bed, upside down from me, trying clumsily to press his damp curls against my calf. I didn't move. If I had pushed him off, I'd have killed him.
"Are you happy to see me anyway?", he asked, and I just shrugged.
To me, the answer was obviously yes, but I know now, that kind of silence sent him spinning. So he tried, rationally but pathetically, to justify his presence.
"I brought you gifts".
He leaned over the edge of the bed, grabbed his purple coat trimmed with fur on every hem, and rummaged through the pockets.
"I brought coffee pods and a chai one, a black silk tie - you could wear it as a belt - a stress ball with a dollar sign on it... It's collectible, right? Oh, and two name-brand condoms with student health slogans. One's cherry-flavored".
"For what? Chewing gum?"
I didn't even sigh. We'd been inseparable for two years now, Klaus already knew me by heart, just as much as I knew him. He knew how far I'd go - or wouldn't - even if he still tried his luck now and then, clumsily. But this time, he really was just trying to make me smile. For real. Because he knew my mood was scraping the bottom.
"I know, I know. Our deal is still strictly one-sided and hands-only, I swear. But those things make great balloon animals: I can craft you a latex poodle. Want one?"
I ended up smiling.
"It's fine, Klaus. Don't worry. I'm okay".
He deflated like a bicycle tire, dropped his head back, and finally breathed easy for a moment. His life was chaos. He couldn't even remember the day before yesterday, and had no idea where he'd be the day after tomorrow. The worst part - something I only understand now - is that it would take him eight more years and an apocalypse just to start crawling out of that mess.
"Can I stay like this tonight?" he asked in a muffled voice, his fingers timidly playing with the fabric of my pajama pants. I shook my head. Because it was a very bad idea.
"Rent's gone up", I told him. "Granny's a bundle of needles - more than usual - and she's coming back from her bridge game in ten minutes".
Granny was far from stupid, even less naive, especially after having opened the door a few times at the worst possible moments. She always knew when Klaus was around, maybe because he never put the straightener back the exact way she would've. She still treated him like a walking, talking disturbance to every sense: sight, smell, and sound. But there was always chà bông for him in the fridge door. Still, she was having a rough time herself lately, and tonight, if she heard so much as a whisper, we'd have to run for our lives.
Klaus let out a whimper.
"Granny's glare could sterilize a man from a whole corridor away. And she pinched me. She's a treasure. My left nipple still twitches just thinking about the sound of her slippers".
I shoved him, and he landed on my rug, the one that was sort of white and kind of furry. Then I stood up, barefoot on the floorboards.
"We're getting out of here", I said, and he looked up at me like a puppy promised a walk.
I opened the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. The one where we both stuffed all our black, neon, or sheer clothes: what we wore to hit up raves in The City.
"Oh?", he said, sitting up in that ridiculous pair of briefs embroidered with the logo of some future hedge fund fraternity. No joke: apparently to conquer the luxury goods and hospitality sectors, you needed your jewels tightly secured. I looked at him while pulling out a pair of black cargo pants with way too many pockets and a torn-up violet top.
"I know where we're going", I told him.
And as I peeled off my pajamas, with absolutely no trace of modesty around him, I added:
"I feel like flipping off Adele and Gotye too".
-
We were both euphoric during the night bus ride, even though he hadn't taken anything. The City looked radiant through the window, dressed up in its own kind of drag: with glass and steel glam. The skyscrapers sliced the sky into sharp angles, their little red lights blinking against the rainy black night. Neon signs dripped across the windows, fractured and glowing, while the streetlamps cast strobe-like flashes onto the worn leather seats. Time itself flickered on nights like that.
And it came to a full stop when we climbed down into the sewers.
The entrance to The City's illicit - and literally underground - raves was beneath a graffiti-covered bridge. Known to some, spoken of by none. The gate was rusted, already humming with muffled bass from below, and a faint stench of stagnant water drifted up.
You had to walk a while to reach the vaulted main hall, where trance-drenched silhouettes swayed in ankle-deep water. Where lights splashed against the damp walls of The City's guts. Where chaos danced. Klaus was in his element down there: like a techno prince of the underworld. And he was already laughing, even though we were only brushing past the stumbling shadows of those too wasted to keep going.
He'd finally gone with an electric fuchsia fishnet top, some of its white threads glowing under the blacklights. Laced cuffs, thigh-high socks resurrecting his always-mismatched boots. He'd gone hard on the eyeliner. With the humidity in there, it wouldn't last ten minutes.
"I still feel overdressed", he said through the pounding bass, which made conversation nearly impossible. I burst out laughing, so he added more seriously:
"I dare any ghost-asshole to cut through this sound. Let's dance until we dissolve, Rinny, or until we start hallucinating".
"Don't stray from the Grill", I told him.
By this I meant the heavy wire mesh that marked the center of this space on the ground. And off he went again, laughing joyfully as he drifted away like a kid running toward a playground.
He had no idea what that same music, that same place, did to my power. To be fair: neither did I, not really. Now I can almost feel it retroactively, that incredible tide of human energy and electronic sound. That strange fusion of the organic and the electronic, where the soundwaves from massive speaker systems made your insides vibrate. Like a temporary merger of humans and machines, resonating for one night with the fabric of space-time.
I know now that, in different circumstances, another version of me would've fully surrendered to that music and those people. Taking control of them all - their nervous systems - through the pulse of electro and techno. But that night, I was one of them.
I don't know how long we danced. Or how many people I pushed away, politely or otherwise. I danced alone, like I always did, letting myself be infused by the blended energies that churned the water with every jump. I was teetering on the edge of dissociation, the kind that came with the lights and the sound.
And yet? I always knew where Klaus was, as long as he didn't stray. Even drowned in the crowd of sweat and strobe flashes. I didn't see him, visually, I mean. I felt him. That golden, vibrating signature that somehow cut through the strobes to reach me. Now I know what to call them. Marigolds, Aethers, whatever. They always let me find my way back to him, just to make sure he was okay.
He never found it strange. He always smiled, even when his eyes were already glassy. And then we'd leave, wordlessly aware of each other again. And once more, for him, the music would become silence.
In the middle of the black concrete, beneath which the city above no longer existed, nor anything we were living or had ever lived through.
And we danced, paradoxically, together without even brushing against each other.
-
I couldn't find Klaus when I went looking for him again. My first attempt ended in nothing but blindness, blacklights and smoke machines had been fired up. I moved through the crowd, shrouded in mist and deep pulses. And I probed the energy again without even realizing it.
In vain.
I spun in place, surrounded only by human shapes whose raised arms suddenly felt like towering walls. I caught sight of a guy I'd seen dancing with Klaus. And I slammed him against one of the mineral pillars holding up the sewer vault. He didn't even seem surprised.
"Where is he?", I shouted over a volume I couldn't begin to measure.
He just laughed: he had no idea who I was talking about.
"The guy you were dancing with by the Grill. Neon fuchsia fishnet. Mismatched boots".
"The one with lost little deer eyes?"
I shoved him harder against the pillar.
"That one".
He stopped laughing. He saw I wasn't joking. And looking back, I think I was holding his whole nervous system in my hands. God, he reeked of lychee liquor, it was nauseating.
"No idea", he stammered. "He left when he saw some guy in black leather. Bearded type".
"Which way?"
"Corridor to the right of the bar..."
I let him go instantly. And *Crack!* - in a blink, he was surrounded again only by the rest of the phosphorescent crowd, their teeth and fingernails flashing white in the violet-dark that had taken hold of the sewer.
All at once, the crowd thinned out and stilled, and the only people I came across, I had to literally step over them, or sidestep their sluggish, writhing limbs. No apologies given. That side tunnel led to other massive conduits, much more foul-smelling, because they were still in use.
I knew who Klaus had followed. Deep down, I had no doubt, and every part of me boiled with worry and fury. The Mothers of Agony were everywhere: especially at events like this. It was always a risk to run into The City's underworld, and we knew it. Klaus knew he wasn't supposed to wander off from the crowd, or from the Gate. But of all those bastard bikers, Quinn had always been the most persuasive.
I didn't need to see his face to recognize him. I didn't even need to make out the inverted star circling the goat's head: the MoA symbol still stamped on their gear. I just saw him handing Klaus a baggie, the usual 'this one's free, just this time'. Quinn was pure scum, maybe he'd figured out that a quick death wouldn't faze Klaus, and what he really craved was the slow one.
"Back off, Quinn", I told him, even though he objectively weighed twice as much as I did. Klaus just let himself slide down the wall and sit, because my anger scared him way more than falling back into debt with the worst dealers you could possibly owe anything to.
"No one forced him", Quinn said. "But did I hear that right, or did you just tell me to back off?"
Klaus had only managed to break free from the gang's grip about four months earlier. They'd hunted him down to every squat he thought might offer some rest—tracking him relentlessly to make him pay off debts they had carefully, methodically stacked up. Always taking advantage of those countless moments when he was lost inside his own mind, when the music and the physical release weren't enough anymore.
I didn't get involved when Klaus made deals with what he called his 'neighborhood suppliers'. But I would've done anything to keep him from falling back into the gloved hands of his worst 'pharmacistas' in organized leather-clad form. Owing the MoA anything was basically selling your soul, along with your body and your life.
"Not only did I tell you to back off, but you're taking your shit with you".
"You're really gonna stop him from turning his head off, like he says? His only relief, his only satisfaction".
Over the thunder of bass kicking back in, I took the baggie Klaus was already trying to hand me and flung it in Quinn's face. He caught it without flinching. Calm, on the outside. But inside? I know he was a heartbeat away from smashing my skull against the slimy concrete.
"You don't know shit".
It drove me mad to see this bastard posing as a good Samaritan, a savior, when all he wanted was to drag Klaus back down and keep him crawling at his feet. Honestly, the rats in these tunnels had more integrity than him. And he couldn't stand that Klaus wasn't dependent on him anymore.
"What I do know is you're messing with my business, and I hate interference with my transactions".
I helped Klaus to his feet, completely ignoring him and the brass knuckles I saw sliding onto his fingers in his pocket. And I think I told him:
"Oh no, I'm gonna cry. Poor baby goat's gotta rethink his business plan".
His fist swung out fast - straight through my intangible head - and slammed into the concrete with a crack I'd rather forget. I didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for his knuckles, just like I didn't for his knees, which smashed against a leaking pipe under his own weight. Klaus was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, completely fogged over by whatever he'd already taken.
"Poor Quinny's gonna have to sniff arnica for ten days to heal his boo-boos..."
"Move your damn neon ass".
I wasn't sticking around to see what came next, mostly because I was scared Quinn would get back up and go after him. Back then, I couldn't teleport anyone with me: otherwise, believe me, I'd already have done it. And despite all my badass vibes, I always realized what I'd done after the fact. My knees were shaking at that moment.
I grabbed Klaus and started dragging him back toward the flashing-light room, through a narrow pipeway blocked by a sheet of rancid water dripping from the ceiling. Trying to pick up the pace despite his staggering.
"That was magic. Glitter on a rainbow space-cake".
"Shut up, Klaus".
"I want to replay that moment like ASMR".
"Keep moving. We have to blend into the crowd".
"Not too fast, Rinny, I-"
*Tchk - Tschfff!*
I froze. That sound, I recognized it instantly: too well. I'd heard it far too many times at protests. Even at Pride, when the ultra-conservatives showed up swinging bats. The tear gas had popped not far from us, right as the music and strobes cut out. Instinctively, I made my olfactory field intangible. Klaus looked at me, already knowing his mascara didn't stand a chance.
"Enforcers!"
Someone shouted it, and just like that, the sewer snapped back to its grim reality: dull and dark, lit only by a few mounted spotlights. There were a few seconds of stillness, of silence. Then the screams replaced the bass, and chaos exploded in a disordered blast.
More shouting, bodies crashing into each other, lights shutting off in rapid sequence, and intermittent flashes: the kind that came from the tasers carried by The City's security forces, sent to break us up. The crowd burst apart like a bubble of sweaty silhouettes, glitter stuck to their skin, pushing and shoving, nearly trampling one another in the filthy water. Some stumbled, slipped on the slime-covered tiles, others frantically searched for the tiny exit beneath the bridge. Some were trying to find their friends. Others were only trying to save their own skin.
Hands shot up to cover faces, trembling, crying, coughing until lungs felt like they'd rip open. The tear gas kept hissing, spreading its poison in thick, choking clouds. Klaus buried his face in the crook of his arm - uselessly - and we just ran, right into the chaos.
"ILLEGAL ZONE, MOVE ALONG!"
A guy dressed as a drag mermaid collapsed screaming after taking a baton to the ribs, and all I remember are his eyelashes: wet with disgusting sewer water, catching the torchlight like dewdrops.
We tried to find our way, unable to see more than a stride ahead, nothing but disjointed shadows fleeing in every direction. Klaus was coughing so hard his knees buckled beneath him.
That's how it was. Sometimes, The City was kind, wrapping us up like a warm bath. And sometimes, like that night, it just seemed to want to kill us. Us, and everything we dreamed of, everything that kept us going.
But even in the middle of that hell, the city hadn't played its last, unexpected card.
"You", a voice said, and I knew immediately it wasn't meant for me.
I didn't see him clearly, the one in an enforcer uniform, one of those volunteer brigades tasked with keeping order in The City. I just felt the shift in the energy, a stillness in the middle of the thunderous chaos. I don't think he even saw me. He just grabbed Klaus and pushed through the crowd in the opposite direction.
*Crack !* I followed by teleporting, quickly turning intangible so I wouldn't have to worry about collisions: something I hadn't been able to do while dragging Klaus. The enforcer knew the layout of the sewer: he knew exactly where he was going.
He dragged Klaus to a tiny staircase, hidden behind a collapsed utility room. A side access point to the sewer, the same one the enforcers had likely used to get in. He took three steps back, retreating while still staring at Klaus, just as I caught up to them, but he didn't even glance at me. Then he turned and disappeared back into the chaos, right as I realized the cool air from outside was falling down the broken stairs.
"Holy fuck!", I practically shouted at Klaus as I collapsed beside him, my eyes still watering just like his, because of those moments when I hadn't managed to dematerialize fast enough. Adrenaline was still pounding through my veins, like the music hadn't stopped at all.
"What the hell was that!"
We slumped against each other in the rubble. And with our eyes still fixed on the last scattering shadows of the crowd in the distance, salvation at our backs, Klaus whispered:
"That was my brother. That was Diego".
-
Notes:
It's always been clear that Klaus and Rin's adventures were never exactly a walk in the park, even if The City gave them as much as it took. A party, a break, a high, and then the shadows of the past often crash back in, just like The City's own harshness.
With this prequel, I'm trying out a writing style that's more raw, more urgent than in the main story. Grittier, more urban, more punk, maybe because that's what their early years felt like to me. That's what shaped them into who they became. Here, they're literally dancing on the edge of the abyss. But they need it.
I love the idea that Klaus's path would cross with his siblings' again, accidentally, painfully, even in the middle of the chaos.
But I've got no sympathy for Quinn. That bastard had it coming.
Any comment will make my day!