“Choose your friends carefully,” Jesse said as he drove the 370Z along the streets of the Phoenix metropolitan area. Icarus was uncomfortable in the car with him. The pain had flared up right before he tried to get on his motorcycle, and he had laid the Yamaha down, so, here he was. In Jesse’s car, against his will, wondering what kind of nonsense would end up in the tabloids.

“Carefully?” Icarus echoed, and Jesse glanced at him with a wicked grin.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret: when you have power like this, things like good and bad don’t matter so much,” he said, and Icarus wondered if he even realized he was counting himself in that assessment. Probably not. Or, he didn’t care. “So, you have to be very careful about the people you choose to surround yourself with.”

“I’m probably just going to keep working as a picker…” Icarus said awkwardly, and Jesse laughed out loud.

“Oh, you’re funny,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “You think the Association will let you?”

“Why… Why wouldn’t it?” Icarus asked, and Jesse grinned.

“Do you have any idea how much money the S-ranks make the Association?” he asked. “All sales have to go through them.”

Icarus… sort of knew that, but he didn’t understand why he wouldn’t be able to continue to work as a picker. He was kind of scared now. He knew it was big news when someone re-awakened, but he kind of just wanted to keep living quietly. He had never wanted to be famous. He knew what that did to someone. You forgot about all the people that loved you, left them behind to chase your glory, and he… didn’t want to be that. He did not want to be that.

He may not have a choice, he realized. The idea of everyone looking to him to see what he would do and just not doing it was… terrifying. He couldn’t stand the idea of all the eyes in the world on him, and he knew that was just bound to happen. There weren’t many S classes. He had no idea what the rates were, but there were not many of them. He was going to join their ranks, and the thought of it was terrifying. He just wanted to go home and hide under a blanket or something.

But, he couldn’t do that. He had to face this head on, didn’t he?

There was anxiety bubbling up in his gut, and he swallowed it back down and looked out the window.

“I like who I am right now,” he murmured. It had taken a long time to like himself. It had taken a very, very long time. He had been absolutely destroyed when Adrian cut contact with him two years ago, constantly asking himself what he did wrong, but eventually he realized he did nothing wrong. Well, there were a few things about himself he could fix, but he did fix those things. He fixed them, and he did a good job of it. It had taken a lot of self searching and realizations, and he was proud of himself for figuring out how to act.

He was proud of himself, and now all of that… might go away.

Was he going to look back and miss who he used to be?

Jesse said nothing, only turned up the music, and then he finally spoke.

“Most people would be jumping in joy to be a re-awakened,” he finally said, and Icarus thought of Aiden’s broad back, walking away from him. He paid for his lease for a year, handed him the keys, and left him alone, eighteen with nowhere to call home. Icarus still couldn’t understand that decision. What happened to the Aiden that dropped out of college when their parents were killed in a dungeon break to raise him? Worked late nights at a gay bar to pay for Icarus to get a motorcycle training class? What happened to that brother Icarus loved so much?

“I’ve already seen what S-rank turns people into,” he murmured. “I don’t want it.”

At least he could afford insurance and testosterone now. If… if he started working as an independent S-rank, he could afford top surgery in six months. He would have his surgery done before he turned 22. He could do that now, he realized. He could do that now.

Did he want to do that?

The call of the bright lights was loud and sweet. The call of being able to afford his transition was…

Maybe he… should? But, he clearly was a specialist. He wasn’t sure how helpful amigurumi would be. He didn’t…

“Oh, we’re here,” Jesse said as he pulled up to the quiet apartment complex, and opened the window. “What’s the gate code?”

“You can just let me out here,” Icarus said and opened the door.

“You know we’re going to have to have a press conference about this, right?” Jesse asked, and Icarus’s hand tightened on the door.

“Oh,” he said flatly, and Jesse rolled his eyes.

“Relax. We won’t name you,” he said, and Icarus nodded. “Get home. Take a shower. You stink of lizard guts.”

Icarus did smell bad, and he couldn’t believe Jesse let him in his car in this state. He thought about offering to detail clean it, but he didn’t actually want to be around Jesse, so…

“Thank you,” he said, and swung the door shut before he walked to the side gate and put in his keys. Jesse rolled down the window and leaned out.

“Hey. A lot of people are going to want to take a bite out of you,” he said, and Icarus paused. “Make sure you don’t pick anyone that will make you feel like shit in the aftermath.”

With that, he rolled up the window and backed up, and Icarus eased the gate open and walked into the parking lot. The gate swung shut behind him, and he headed up to the apartment right at the corner. Heavy steps carried him up the stairs, and he unlocked his door and let himself into his small studio apartment. There was a full size bed taking up most of the space, and he stripped off his stinking clothes and dropped them in the hamper. He would have to run laundry soon.

Slowly, he walked into the little hall that made up the bathroom, and stared at himself in the mirror. He took in his green eyes and freckles, his short, shorn hair that he dyed pink this last time, rather than live with the red and the reminder of his brother. His jaw was squaring out, and there were sparse hairs on his cheeks and chin. It was shot day, so he would have to do that after his shower. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face and turned aside.

He started up the shower and dropped his panties on the floor. He typically wore a compression sports bra for picking, so at least his sole Fytist binder wasn’t ruined. He would have to wear that to the concert.

Speaking of, he needed to get ready for that. He stepped into the shower and let the water run down around him, grime and blood circling around the drain. He stared blankly at it, and then it hit him.

If he was S-rank, he would have to run into Aiden. There was no way they weren’t going to run into each other, after two years of silence. Tears stung at his eyes, and he wiped them pitifully. He didn’t want to see Aiden. He could barely understand the betrayal, the way Aiden just left him to go be a hunter. He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand how Aiden just abandoned him.

At least he had Jacinto. He had Jacinto, and he had his friends. Moss. Fern. Ace. He had found friends in the aftermath of it, and he had done well. He had survived. Without Aiden. He had done it without his brother, and now he was definitely going to see him again.

Pain suddenly wracked him, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air as he fumbled to grab onto the bar in the shower. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, thinking about calling off the concert, but… Olivia Rodrigo.

The pain passed, and he stumbled to his feet and reached for the scrubbie, squirting out the Old Spice body wash into it, and started to scrub down his body. All of the blood and grime was washed away, and he washed his short, almost nonexistent hair in the downpour of water, lathering up the conditioner even though it was saturated in his natural oils and didn’t entirely need it, and then he sank down to sit in the tub and stare at the wall.

He was probably S-rank. Maybe if he was A-rank, he would be fine, but he highly doubted he was A-rank. He wasn’t that lucky. But… Maybe he could afford his transition now. Maybe he could afford it, and he desperately wanted to afford it.

He stared down at his breasts in the shower. They were large. Far too large. It took a 3XL for a binder to flatten them. He had hated them from the moment they grew in. He had always hated them. They had been a living nightmare, and he despised their very existence. He wanted…

He wanted them gone.

He wanted them gone, and if he had to be a sell out to do it, he had to be a sell out.

He took a deep breath in.

“Status window,” he ordered, and the status window appeared before him. It read out his stats, and he stared blankly.

Mana: 3000.

S-rank, then. Definitely S-rank.

He had one skill so far: Crocheting Souls. Reading over the flavor text, he had a good idea of what was going on here. He could imbue souls and powers into a crocheted stuffed animal. Okay. That gave him a lot of wiggle room. He had to get his backpack back to finish that stegosaurus. He assumed the system assigned the powers at random, and he had only just started crocheting amigurumi, so he had to learn the ins and out of that.

This was good. Right? Yeah, it was good. He was fine. All of this was fine.

Icarus came to his feet and rinsed out the conditioner, and then he stumbled out of the shower and grabbed his towel to dry off. He was going to an Olivia Rodrigo concert with Jacinto tonight, and he knew he should be excited about it, but he was… feeling a little out of his own skin. He was feeling a little out of his own skin. Maybe going to the concert was a bad idea. He didn’t know. He needed to go get his motorcycle.

With a sigh, he stretched out, and popped his neck. Then, he made his way into the little hallway and flicked through the options available to him, picking out a shirt and pants and pulling down the little tote drawers he kept at the top, pulling out panties and his binder. He started to get dressed, pulling on the loose white tee and red plaid stingers, clipping on the suspenders that went with the stingers and puzzling over them for a moment.

Jacinto was going to be arriving soon. He walked into the kitchen and eyed the jar of gummies on the counter, and then he opened it and cut one gummy in half, chewing down on it and swallowing it down. He wasn’t driving. It was fine. He rarely imbued alcohol, but he did occasionally eat gummies. He collapsed back on his bed, rolling over to hug a Squishable plague doctor to his chest, and stared out the window.

He was S-rank. He was S-rank, and he didn’t know what to do about it. The mushroom had escaped from the confines of the hamper and was hopping over to him, and he stared at it in silence. Right. He needed to do his shot.

He sat up and got down the needles and little vial, grabbing his container of Braverly bandages, the space themed ones, and then he started the process of injecting himself. The needle bit into his flesh, and he injected himself, smoothing down a bandaid over the well of blood. He got the needles put away in the lemonade gallon carton he had sitting off to the side, and then he collapsed back onto the bed as the mushroom crawled around on top of him.

“I can’t take you with me,” he said to the mushroom, and it perked up. “These pants are too tight.”

The mushroom continued moving around, hopping down his chest, and he blew out a sigh. Oh, shit. He completely forgot to put on lotion. Ah, it was fine. He had a long fucking day.

There was a knock on his door, and he straightened up and walked to the door, pulling it open to greet Jacinto Valdez.

Jacinto was short, around 5’2, barely an inch taller than Icarus. His curly hair was dyed purple currently, piled on top of his head, and Icarus smiled at the sight of him and his puppy dog brown eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

“You ready to go?” Jacinto asked, and Icarus grabbed his keys and wallet.

“Yeah,” he replied, and tucked them into his pockets. “Let’s go.”

Jacinto stepped back, and Icarus stepped out, locking the door and making sure it was actually shut, because this door tended to stick.

The two of them had been through hell together. Icarus came out as trans at eighteen, and so did Jacinto. His staunchly Catholic parents kicked him out as a result, and Jacinto moved in with Icarus in the tiny studio apartment. They lived like that for six months before Jacinto had enough saved up to move out, and they had remained friends through all of it. They had slept in the same bed together. They were the best of friends, and Icarus wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Jacinto had reawakened as an A-rank, rogue class, and never abandoned Icarus even once through all of it. They were dear friends, and Icarus was grateful for it. Right now, Jacinto was an independent A-rank on contract to different guilds, but he hadn’t found one he wanted to settle down at. Which was fine. He was a loner, had always been like that, and Icarus…

Didn’t want to tell him about the re-awakening. He wanted tonight to be normal.

“Took a gummy?” Jacinto asked, and Icarus nodded.

“Half,” he reported as he slipped his keys into his pocket and got his wallet situated. “You didn’t, right?”

“Nah, I’m driving. Where’s your motorcycle?” Jacinto asked, and Icarus paused.

“I left it at the guild. It’s giving me problems, so someone offered me a ride back.”

“You really gotta trade that in for something else. What about a Harley Nightster?” Jacinto asked, and Icarus smiled patiently.

“Nah. I like not having to pay it off,” he replied as he walked down the stairs. “Maybe in a few years. After top surgery.”

“Mm. Suit yourself,” Jacinto said as they headed towards his car. “I’m driving a junker, so I get it.”

“Uhuh,” Icarus replied, and they reached the parked car and got in. Jacinto grinned at him, and he smiled.

“Ready for Olivia Rodrigo?” he asked, and Icarus nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Icarus would tell him after the concert. After the concert, he would tell him the truth.