Glowing gold in the night and bustling with after-work merrymakers, The Tombola was livelier than ever. With all of the dining tables occupied, they were seated at the far end of the bar. This had been the seating of choice for the boardgame-loving patrons who had been gathered the last time they’d visited.

Snow frog cutlets were still unavailable.

“I knew they were out,” Rai admitted. “I just wanted to come because this place is the furthest thing from a minigolf course that I could think of.”

Stirring another spoonful of sugar into his coffee, Rai gazed wistfully at the window booths; all taken. “When I’m bent out of shape, I feel like I gotta find a place that’s deathly normal to sit in and let myself get re-molded, for a while. Into a normal person again. Something like that.”

That meditation had shapeshifter-y notions for Sao, but he still liked it. “Humans are malleable. That’s using it to your advantage, I’d say.”

Rai pushed the sugar jar away, contemplating the black depths of his coffee, then snorted. “Thanks. I was going to throw myself off the pier if that line just brought on awkward silence.”

“Hah. I really do respect when someone says all they want is to be normal.”

“Yeah, well, it only lasts until you’re there.” Rai laughed, briefly. “Being normal again makes you forget the parts about yourself that stood out. Which of course were the parts that made you a mess to begin with. Sometimes you think back and wonder, was I faking it all along? How am I gonna keep going?”

“I doubt one stint of introspection will make you incapable of doing your job.”

Rai sipped his coffee, then threw aside his qualms and gulped it all down. “Getting better is like that. Once you’re okay, you forget why you were trying to get better in the first place. What the hell.”

“The grass is always greener, isn’t it? When things take a turn for the worse again, the cycle begins anew.” Sao stirred his tea. “Doesn’t mean there can’t be progress. The more scars left by mistakes, the less likely you’ll repeat them.”

Rai set his cup down with a sharp clack that turned the bartender’s head. “Scars. Sorry. Didn’t mean to pull a Hazel on you. I did kinda wonder why you didn’t stand up for yourself in front of her when she got preachy. Saying you must have had a cushy life to be like you are.”

“I actually felt... fortunate that she assumed as much. My makeup skills must be improving. I’ll take assumptions if it means fewer prying questions. Plus, who am I to complain if I look like I’ve lived life well?”

“You’re really something.”

Sao stirred his tea and smiled. “It may simply be the case that Hazel isn’t an investigator who finds empty-headedness suspicious...”

“You know what? I’ll lay off. I owe you that much. So, what are you ordering?”

For a moment, Sao considered protesting that they were over owed silence, dodging and deferring. But it was neither time nor place. They flipped open a pair of menus. “Choices, choices - ah, I think I have to go with the steak again. How was your fish burger last time?”

They went with steak for Sao, and truffle mushroom pasta for Rai. The steak was as glorious as he remembered, but in their little corner, the smell of Rai’s truffle butter sauce was all-consuming. Sao concluded he’d have that the next time they dropped by. “If snow frog isn’t back on the menu, of course.”

Halfway through his second cup of coffee, Rai’s phone pinged. Holding it aloft and pulling one glove off to expose a few fingers, he leaned all the way to his left, against the wall at the end of the bar. At first Sao thought it was to conceal the screen, but he saw Rai fumbling only to dismiss a Neocam notice with his left hand, and their awkward positioning dawned on him. They never sat shoulder-to-shoulder when dining. The barstools in The Tombola were rather closely packed, too. Rai was keeping his bare hands a safe distance away.

So his teetering off the seat was a sign of care. For Sao's lousy little (as Sao would call it) phobia. Rai was vigilant on that count, and failing that, apologetic. And there was no resentment. Not anymore. He'd made avoidance of touch so natural Sao had barely considered it until this moment. Sao thought to say thanks, but found the whole thing unspeakably sad.

Ungrateful, he chided himself. Liar.

He replayed the stinging proclamation Hazel had made; one of the few things she’d said to him directly. I kinda trust Free more than I trust you.

Rai turned back, teeth clenched. He pulled the glove back over his hand. “I’m going to delete my damn Neocam account. Orchid mentioned me in some virtual slapfight and now all the angry kids are piling into my inbox.”

“But you’ve had that account for years, haven’t you?” Sao felt defensive. “What about your dog?”

“What about him? You mean the picture? It’s not even a good one. Besides, I only follow four people and none of them post anymore. There’s nothing I really want from Neocam.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going to leave me there all alone.”

“It’s the internet, you’re never alone. And you never uploaded anything.” Rai smiled, a loose grin somewhere between his unpleasant custom and the eerily tender expression apparently reserved for people (or saucy decapitated heads) like Orchid. “That’s probably the healthiest way to go. Just observe, don’t touch the animals; don’t make yourself a target.”

“You make it sound like a zoo.” Though that did seem an accurate representation of Sao’s approach to life.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Rai wanted an ice cream float for dessert. Sao ordered one too and it was a beauty; caramel-colored soda with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, topped with a stoplight-red cherry. It was almost too perfect to eat. Rai, having no such sentiment, started shoveling the ice cream into his mouth before it could melt into its bubbly base.

“Alright, I think I feel normal again,” Rai said, tossing down his spoon.

“Congratulations.”

“And how about you?”

Sao tapped his glass, still more than half full. “The healing process continues.”

Rai stretched - again, tilted toward the wall. Sao pretended not to see it, instead looking into the milky foam of his float, where the remains of his ice cream were flattening out. Raising his spoon, he felt as if he were submerged in sand, moving in slow motion. The world and all its people would have figured themselves all out and turned to dust - deleted, even - before he was done.

In the dewy glass of his cup, he saw his reflection several times looking out at him with unmistakable disappointment. And there was Rai - flagging down a waiter for the bill. He brought out his wallet and…

Sao smacked down his discount card. “Not so fast.”

The waiter jumped and Rai automatically tossed up his hands, wide eyed, like he was being held at knifepoint. A much-needed twinge of embarrassment tightened in Sao’s gut. Smoothing himself out and clearing his throat, Sao announced that they’d like to swipe his card before ringing up the total.

—

They stood by The Tombola’s outer wall, watching the boats on the channel bob and sway. Gentle waves tossed about filaments of cloud-filtered moonlight, lapped at a reflection of the cityscape. On the other side of the water, among bright windows and neon signage, burned the illuminated red ring that marked the Rock Pool.

“Dammit. Now that’s all I’m ever going to see when I look in that direction,” Rai said.

“Enjoy while it lasts. Businesses there always seem to burn out eventually.” If some god were so willing.

“C’mon, I’m not heartless. Who else is going to give Free-Cas a job?”

Plenty of people, Sao thought. A creature like Free doesn’t need to beg. He doesn’t need to find someone who happens to take him; he carves a space for himself. Knife to their throat, they’d have him or else. And he’d be the boss. Followers got assigned to him, not the other way around.

But enemies and subordinates weren’t the only people orbiting Free. Not anymore. Free had become the kind who would turn a knife on himself, give up parts of his person. Secrets, dignity, devotion. Even his shapeshifting ability. And with sacrificial statements, he could forge a different kind of relationship.

The kind Sao had long assumed him incapable of. The dense, fraught connections that made Sao so envious and even more fearful.

Exposing Free for what he was, or what he had become, had not given Sao any leverage. He was still a beast who could make whiskey and blow smoke rings and turn a military sniper into someone else’s charred carcass, and he’d return more beastly and bountiful every time. Brilliant deductions or no, Sao cowered below, he lagged behind, just a follower, not even an assistant anymore. Behind a monster was the safest place to be, at least.

At least, at very, very least.

He looked at the reflection of the Rock Pool’s emblem in the water, creased by waves but still so indignantly red.

What sick impulse had him feeling so competitive? Free was long gone from Central Mainline. A man able to put himself in demand — he might not come back.

Sao set his back against the damp wall and now looked at his hands, so dark they were almost invisible. His arms and legs too. He was a nonentity.

He’d always known that physical altercation was out of the question, but was he really so sluggish on the social front, too? Even if Sao wanted to try, to ‘catch up’ in a manner of speaking, he had nothing of value to offer anyone.

Squinting at the phantom hands, he felt very alone.

And realized he was being ludicrous.

It would be different if he were wallowing at home in his apartment, or on his commute as one of so many ephemeral riders, but he was standing not two meters from someone. Not a stranger, his boss. A supervisor, an everpresent watcher for whom he had to maintain a face, a smile, a duty. It had been like that. But the gulf between them wasn’t so great anymore. Some distance was closed, some of the simple civility had been dissolved in the past week over chalky tea and a perfectly lousy film.

Fabricated grandeur and regret. He’d ambled right into the trap that took Sapphire out.

At least Rai wasn’t a bad dinner companion. At least, at least, at least. What a disservice to Rai; why was Sao always comparing a fairly pleasant person to the worst monsters he’d met in his life? It was like raising ramparts only to guard against a solitary, bumbling wanderer. No, no - that was another unkind comparison.

Rai had let himself go vulnerable, the night he’d relayed the story of his college misadventures. He had cared, humiliated himself and kept going. He pulled away to give Sao space when he drew his hands out of his gloves. Even he knew the way. Even he had something to give.

Sao turned, slightly. The glow of the outdoor lamps dropped over him, and he saw his hands again.

He had to show some manners. If he couldn’t bring himself to give that much, they’d both be choking on Free's dust forever.

“Rai, a moment.”

Rai turned. Sao stood facing him, with one hand outstretched.

As he had during dessert, Rai sprang back and put his gloved hands up like he was about to be taken hostage. When Sao stuck his hand out a second time, even more resolute, Rai lowered his arms and frowned. “You mean it.”

“I suppose I do.”

Rai scrutinized the hand like he would a large insect. “What’s the occasion?”

“It just seems like a good time to shake on something. On Orchid’s recovery. On a job well done, or future success. I imagine it’s not often a case ends with fewer deaths than it started with.”

Rai thrust out his own hand, but with it, proffered one more way out. “You know, if there’s something we can safely take from Hazel and her online crew, it’s that you don’t need physical, uh, contact to make friends.”

“I know.” Sao smiled. “I’m not doing it for that.”

He clapped his hand over Rai’s and they shook. The glove that met his palm was leather, a little waxy with waterproofing, and neither warm nor cold. It didn’t feel like skin at all - so he hadn’t sacrificed much. But even so, even as he told himself it was nothing, he felt a disproportionately great pride rise and settle within his insubstantial being. He was lucky and he knew it.

“Because,” he said, “we already are friends.”