Archive of Our Own

noise. . . pressure. . . white. . . density. . .

All of which pressing both beyond and behind the eyes.

metal.

water.

A pulse that doesn’t belong to him, or perhaps it does and he’s forgotten the shape of it.

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Linear equation, quadratic formula, slope formula, exponent rules, compound interest, area of circle, circumference of circle, pythagorean theorem, area of triangle, volume of cylinder, volume of sphere, volume of cube, sine, cosine, tangent..

Newton’s Second Law, kinetic energy, density, velocity, universal gravitation.

gold flashes but they arent light are they intent?

teeth is something like a crown

Screams stretched into a frequency no human throat could hold.

What is heat without warmth?

What is cold without relief?

A body remembered incorrectly, with a weight — or lack thereof, misfiled gravity.

His name tried to surface and halted, Ren becomes a sound without a carrier, a label drifting loose from the thing it belongs to. Serizawa carries with it an aftertaste of salty static, there is a man standing away at the edge of that memory, turned away.

Always turned away.

A skull that was never empty. . . A voice never spoken in words yet said everything at once . . . Recoiling inside him, leaning closer, he tries to breathe and the act feels abstract.

“Alive.” The word stuttered, arriving too late like it had to swim for him. It took him a moment to realize it was spoken, and even longer to realize it was spoken about him.

Dragging himself upward through the thickness, Ren’s thoughts reluctantly began to cohere.

The first certainty: he is horizontal.

The second: he is not where he is supposed to be.

The third: the gravity is off, not absent, but it feels like the world has been tilted by a fraction too small to see and too large to ignore.

Finally, Ren’s eyes opened, greeted by a fracturing light. It took effort to hold his sight in place and convince it to stop swimming, the ceiling above him wasn’t like anything he’d seen before, certainly not any room he remembered overseeing.

Ren tried to move, the response was delayed and distant, his limbs answering like they belong to someone else who is considering his request.

..Okay, so he was on a stretcher, he slowly came to that conclusion as his peripheral vision cleared enough to register edges and restraints.

Was he being transported? Or had he already been transported?

“He’s alive.” The same voice called out, Ren picked up an off in the cadence, not quite relief. If he knew any better, he would say it sounded disappointed. That much, at least, didn’t surprise him.

“Holy shit, you’re alive!” A second voice cut through, this one reaching Ren clearly, like it forced its way past whatever was muffling everything else.

Familiarity followed a half-second later, recognition slotting into place: Nathan Lind, who was backed by quick, uneven footsteps. They closed the distance in a rush that bordered on recklessness, with Nathan’s face entering his field of vision — too close at first, but pulled back. His expression was unguarded in a way Ren always found inefficient, curiosity already pushing in at the edges. “Sorry — sorry, I didn’t mean too —” Nathan was already starting his ramblings, dragging a hand through his hair, trying and failing to organize himself. “It doesn’t matter, you’re awake.”

Without speaking, Ren watched him, the act of observation came easier than the act of participation. Well, what better time to catalog details instead?: elevated heart rate visible at the throat and micro-tremors in the hands.

Alive, then — an outcome someone clearly didn’t prefer, as over Nathan’s shoulder, another figure stood at a measured distance: Dr. Ilene Andrews, who met his gaze for exactly the length of a time it took to confirm that it is, in fact, a gaze.. That there is awareness behind his eyes, that he is not an empty shell animated by residual systems. Recognition passed between them, then she looked away, her attention shifting to the wall, rendering the wall the most important thing in the room.

Ren didn’t ask where he was, nor asked what happened.

..Nathan, on the other hand, turned over his shoulder. “Hey, he’s awake! He’s actually awake!” He exclaimed, the words traveling faster than the room could contain them. They arrived in the doorway, starting as shapes and resolving into people.

Bernie Hayes pushed in, his eyes locking onto Ren and widening with a fascinated disbelief. “Whoa — okay, okay,” Bernie breathed, hands coming up as if framing the scene for himself. “That is — man, that is not what I thought..”

Standing much smaller beside him was Jia, still in a way that made the rest of them look exaggerated.

Ren met her eyes for a fraction too long, noticing something in her eyes he couldn’t quite parse, so he looked away first.

The room filled around him, bodies arranging themselves in a loose perimeter.

To his left, Bernie shifted again, trying to get a better angle, Nathan hovered closer than the rest, Jia remained where she was, unmoving.

Ren huffed through his nose, even that felt measured, like he had to relearn the mechanics of it.

Ilene approached him without any need to be abrupt, the shift happening because she decided it does. “That’s enough, give him space.” She demanded, not loudly.

Bernie took a half-step back, hands dropping, though his eyes lingered.

Nathan glanced between Ilene and Ren, recalibrating, then eased off just enough to create a gap that resembled distance.

This gave Ilene a window to position herself where Ren could see her without obstruction. When she spoke again, her tone shifted, smoothing at the edges. “Let’s start simple,”

Ren watched the effort in the attempt of creating a more hospitable environment, it landed, not entirely, but sure — it told him enough, so he had, in some way, complicated things.

“What’s your name?” Ilene asked, directly meeting his eyes.

Ren’s throat felt unused, the first attempt at speech catching on dryness. “Ren Serizawa.” He swallowed, forcing it through, though the words came out rough, like they’d been dragged across razor blades on the way up.

No one interrupted, Ren would’ve thought the world paused if Ilene didn’t break the silence by nodding and filing away. “Do you know who’s standing in front of you?” It was a smaller question, but not by much.

Ren’s gaze didn’t waver. “Ilene Andrews.”

With another nod, Ilene raised her hand into his field of vision with extended fingers. “How many?” She asked.

Ren’s eyes automatically tracked the movement, the answer arriving before the question fully settled. “Three.” He simply put.

“Good,” Ilene muttered, followed by a faint shift in her posture. “Stay with me, where are you?”

Ren’s eyes flicked from the ceiling, to the walls, and finally the unfamiliar arrangement of equipment. “Not where I was.” He observed.

A beat.

Ilene adjusted. “Do you know what happened to you?”

There was a pause longer than the others. “..No.” Ren admitted.

“Do you remember your last location?”

Ren took a breath. “Apex.” He replied, not satisfied with the incomplete answer, but it existed.

“What year is it?” Ilene continued, unbroken.

“2024.”

“What’s your occupation?”

A fraction of a second passed, just enough to register the question as loaded.

“..Engineer, I was the CTO at Apex Cybernetics.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Ilene’s gaze lingered on Ren a moment longer, not searching now, but confirming. Whatever checklist she’d been running through settled into place behind her eyes. “He’s responsive,” she declared, more to the room than to him. “Cognitively intact, at least at a surface level. We’ll need scans to be certain, but —” she paused, “He’s coherent.” She concluded.

Nathan exhaled like he’d been holding it since the moment Ren opened his eyes, glancing at the others, then back to Ilene. “Maybe we should give him a minute, let him breathe.” He suggested.

Ilene studied him, then the room, and finally Ren, nodding once. “Alright, everyone out.” She commanded.

Bernie hesitated, visibly reluctant to disengage from what was, to him, a living anomaly. “Yeah, okay, sure, space is good,” he muttered, though his eyes stayed fixated on Ren a second too long before he turned. “We’ll — uh, be right outside.”

Predictably, Jia didn’t speak, looking at Ren one last time with that same unreadable depth in her gaze, then followed Ilene without resistance.

The room emptied in layers, footsteps receding, the door sliding shit, and with it goes the collective scrutiny that had been pressing in from all sides.

Nathan didn’t leave, hovering for a second, as if reconsidering, then moved closer and settled himself onto the armrest of the stretcher, the metal frame giving a faint protest under the added weight.

Ren watched the choice with mild irritation, finding it impractical.

Nathan shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t look as uncomfortable as it clearly was, one foot awkwardly braced against the floor. “You really scared me there.” He muttered in a simple set of words, but the delivery wasn’t so simple.

Ren let out a sound closer to a groan than anything intentional, he dragged himself upward, muscles responding in delayed fragments as he tried to sit up. The world tilted again, the subtle misalignment in gravity reasserting itself, but he forced through it, refusing to remain fully prone. “Do you mean when I sent you to the Hollow Earth to die?” He asked, it landed flat, neither an apology nor an accusation. See, he had calculated it, Nathan Lind, with his theories and his persistence, was a variable that couldn’t be controlled indefinitely, sending him down there had been efficient, if the man died, the knowledge died with him without so much of a leak or leverage.

Simmons had made the mistake of attachment to his daughter, a visible line anyone could exploit, Ren had no intention of replicating that weakness. He would cut the loose ends and remove the risk, simple.

Nathan blinked, thrown for half a second, then quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not —” he let out a short breath, adjusting his balance on the armrest as Ren shifted. “I mean, yeah, that was.. not great,” he added, with a flicker of disbelief, “but that’s not what I meant.” He moved closer, bracing his hands against the edge of the stretcher.

“I thought I lost you,” Nathan muttered. “But you’re still here.”

Ren studied him. “You shouldn’t be.”

Nathan’s expression slightly tightened. “Don’t say that.” He snapped, it wasn’t loud, but it carried a firmness that pushed back against the stoicism Ren defaulted to. “You don’t get to just — write yourself off like that, not after everything. You’re..” He lifted a hand slightly before dropping again, like he was unsure what to do with it. “You’re all I've got left, okay?” He admitted, his gaze locking onto Ren’s. “I can’t lose you, so don’t — don’t scare me like that again.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

Time didn’t pass so much as it thinned out, stretching out between intervals of wakefulness and a slumber that never fully committed.

Most of Ren’s time was spent in the bedroom.

With an insistence that bordered on authority he didn’t possess, Nathan had told him to stay put until he fully recovered.

Ren complied, not out of agreement, but because movement beyond the room remained an unknown variable, and unknown variables demanded restraint.

Trying to remain positive, Ren noted the bed was significantly more comfortable than the stretcher. It absorbed him without resistance, holding his weight in a way that felt intentional rather than incidental, the memory of the stretcher lingering in contrast. Here, there is some semblance of stability, even if it was artificial, which seemed to be a recurring theme of sorts.

The light in the room never settled into anything natural, it was too consistent, lacking the subtle inconsistencies of sunlight. It pressed against his eyes in a way that aggravated the dull, persistent ache behind them.

Nathan had noticed (of course he had), and produced a solution to borrowing his hats, a small collection Ren rotated through with casual permission. He wore them low, the brim cutting the brightness into a more manageable scene. It was an inelegant fix, but effective enough.

Nathan had offered clothes just as readily, Ren accepted the necessity of it, but not entirely. The jeans he wore at Apex were discarded, but the rest remained selective, content with wearing the black long-sleeved shirt he wore at Apex over wearing shirts that advertised tabletop campaigns or obscure references he didn’t care to understand.

The room contained an attached bathroom, with rather specific instructions attached to it: don’t flush toilet paper, dispose of it separately. The detail, while small, narrowed possibilities, Ren turned it over in his mind, fitting it into place with the others.. So, he wasn’t anywhere stationary, or at least reliably so. Perhaps a boat, or something similar? It was a structure in motion, even if that motion was subtle enough to evade immediate detection. After all, it would explain the light and the reference of all else resembling an exterior point.

Ren couldn’t verify it.

Moreover, Ren hadn’t left the room. Since he woke and was accounted for, since whatever version of him existed before was removed from the world, he had remained contained within the walls.

The door opens, closes.

People enter, leave.

As long as the boundaries held, Ren was reluctantly fine with it.. No point in testing them, yet.

Nathan didn’t knock anymore, opting to lean against the doorframe like he belonged there, like the threshold is something he’d already decided to ignore.

Ren registered him without looking up at first, aware of the shift in the room.

“You look.. better,” Nathan started, tentatively.

Ren sat propped up against the headboard, the hat pulled low enough to cut the light from his eyes. The brightness still presses in at the edges, persistently. He considered the statement, then discarded it. “Being alive is strange, it feels like continuing requires effort.” He said flatly.

Nathan didn’t answer immediately, further stepping in, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, then drifted closer, his hands halfway-raised before settling awkwardly at his sides. “I mean,” Nathan started, offering a small, uncertain smile. “you were electrocuted through a machine that shouldn't even exist. I think ‘strange’ is kind of expected.” He pointed out, shifting his weight. “Anyone would feel off after that.” He assured.

Ren tilted his head, finding the explanation logical, if not incomplete, but at least it was functional. “Anyone.” He repeated, testing the word for accuracy.

Nathan nodded. “Yeah, anyone.”

Interacting with the others was nothing short of an irritation.. Not because they were incompetent, (some of them were, read: Bernie.) but because they were persistent in ways that served no purpose, their concern was constantly structured around questions that cycled with minor variations as if volume would produce a different result.

They offered him things every few minutes, water, food, adjustments to the lightning that never actually changed the underlying problem. “Do you need some water, Ren?” “How are you feeling, Ren?” “Ren, how’s the temperature in there?” “Do you want the lights dimmed?” “Are you in any pain?” “Do you need anything at all?”

While the phrasing may have shifted here and there, the intent did not. It reminded him of the new hires at Apex orbiting too close, mistaking proximity for usefulness. They were eager to be acknowledged and seen as necessary, despite being dressed differently, they had asked similar questions and carried the same need beneath them.

Then, Ren learned that the most efficient response was to cut through it, he did the same here. “I want quiet.” He grumbled, the words landing sharper than necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to care to adjust them.

There was always a pause after, then the same answer delivered with careful neutrality. “Of course, get some rest.” Withdrawing after that, just redirecting.

Ren didn’t correct them, it wasn’t that he wanted to sleep, but he took it anyway.

Ren woke up without the usual resistance, no slow climb through static, only a clean return to awareness that felt almost artificial.

For a moment, he lied still, staring at the ceiling that never changed, and something in his mind began to organize itself.

Exhibit I: A house that never felt occupied, his father’s absence was structural, built into their lives long before Ren understood what absence meant. Ishirō Serizawa belonged elsewhere, with Gojira — always Gojira, Ren learned early that attention was something to be earned, not given. He worked for it, built for it, technology became a language he could fluently speak.

Exhibit II: Eighteen years old, a funeral arranged with hands that had never done anything like it before. Paperwork, logistics.. His father was not there, two days after the ceremony, Ishirō returned, no apology or visible fracture in composure, only a quiet insistence that Ren’s mother had understood the work. Ren had not, leaving the gap between them to stop being theoretical.

Exhibit III: Hope, persistent beyond reason. Despite everything, Ren maintained a working assumption that one day, his father would look at him and see something worth acknowledging, that the imbalance would correct itself — that reconciliation was inevitable.

Exhibit IV: 2019 held a submarine and a decision, Ishirō Serizawa chose Gojira over everything and everyone else, in a way that couldn’t be undone or rationalized.

Exhibit V: Apex Cybernectics, Walter Simmons offered a system where effort produced results: an artificial Titan, a mecha. Ren built, refined, integrated, the psionic uplink became an extension of himself.

Exhibit VI: Gojira approaching Pensacola, with Ren pausing and looking in assessment, and then finally leaving.

Exhibit VII: Nathan Lind was a necessary component, for the Hollow Earth access required expertise Ren didn’t possess firsthand. Lind provided it, willingly, under the false pretenses of stopping Gojira.. It wasn’t entirely incorrect.

Exhibit VIII: The test run in Hong Kong, reducing a Skullcrawler to nothing under the Mecha’s power. For a moment, control felt absolute, then it ended in the form of a power-depleted shutdown, identifying a limit.

Exhibit X: Here’s where things were getting fuzzy, the skull wasn’t inert — never inert, the uplink emerged, and Ren thought something else answered?

Back in the present day, Ren let out a huff, the pressure behind his eyes returning. It sat just behind his vision, like something from the inside was pressing in.

Upon hearing a sound at the door, Ren didn’t turn immediately, he already knew the pattern.

Nathan stepped in, closing the door behind him with the same quiet care as prior.

Ren looked at him with relief. “How did you find me?” He asked.

Nathan paused mid-step, like he wasn’t expecting the question to come first. “Uh,” he shifted, glancing at Ren before committing to the answer. “You were outside Apex HQ, just collapsed.”

Ren’s brow tightened, Outside, that doesn’t align. “How long was I unconscious?”

Nathan moved closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. “A while,” he replied, then amending it. “Long enough for things to change.” It wasn’t an answer, not a full one, anyway, but Ren let it pass, for now.

He shifted, the movement bringing his reflection into view in a darkened panel along the wall. It’s not a mirror, not intentionally, but it served the same purpose.

Ren studied it, at first, it’s what he expected: familiar structure, recognizable features, all was well until the light shifted and his eyes caught it differently.

For a second, they weren’t the brown shared with his father, opting for a yellow too bright to be natural. It flickered unstably, dipping into a hue closer to red before settling back into the dark, muted brown he’d known his entire life.

While Ren stilled, the weird pressure behind his eyes pulsed once.

Behind him, Nathan was still talking, something about recovery timelines, about how they weren’t sure he’d wake up at all.

Ren didn’t respond, content with watching his reflection, waiting to see if it would happen again.

Ren quickly decided nothing was wrong, not because it was true, but because it was useful. There is no advantage in being observed as compromised, pity is inefficient, for it invited interference, limited autonomy, and reduced him into someone who needed to be managed and-or babysat, he had no interest in either of those.

So, he said nothing about the pressure behind his eyes or the way his reflection occasionally refused to remain stable; those were filed away, contained problems to be solved privately.

On the other hand, investigation required access and access required tools.

Luckily, the opportunity presented itself without effort in the form of Bernie’s laptop sitting open on a small table, abandoned in the careless way of someone who assumed their environment was secure. The bathroom door was closed, the sound of running water masking movement. Ren could hear an unaware Bernie humming to himself.

Ren crossed the room in a smoother, less fragmented motion, his body still felt slightly misaligned, but it obeyed without the delay that had defined his first hours awake. He pulled the chair out with minimal noise and sat,
angling the screen just enough to cut out the worst of the overhead light’s glare.

He didn’t hesitate further, the search instantly results populating with an overwhelming flood of headlines, footage, and speculation. Ren scanned, filtering for relevance, discarding redundancy. Eventually, the narrative assembled itself piece-by-piece.

Ren clicked the first article that wasn’t immediately saturated with conjecture. The page loaded with an image of a fractured Hong Kong skyline, sections of the city were reduced to unrecognizable rubble, smoke curling upward in frozen stillness. His eyes moved past it, deciding text mattered more. He concluded Apex Cybernectics was finished, the cooperation being dismantled in real time with enough public outrage that the United States attorney general promised he would investigate.

Walter Simmons was dead, the confirmation buried halfway down the page, framed both as casualty and consequence.

The Mecha was described as an uncontrollable mechanized Titan, dubbed fucking Mechagodzilla.. Obviously the fucking part wasn’t there, but Ren was frustrated to hear his masterpiece was named after what may as well be his purest hatred personified.

Anyway, it was described as a weapon that turned without warning or allegiance, attacking indiscriminately until it was stopped by Gojira.. Oh, and Kong, he supposed.

Ren scrolled, there were vague, inconsistent mentions of a pilot, some reports claiming there was no human operator at all, that the system was entirely autonomous, whereas others suggested a neural interface. Thankfully, no name.. yet, anyway. He refined the search once again, greeted to more articles and footage, civilian recordings specifically catching his eye, watching the captured fragments of the Mecha moving with a precision that wasn’t entirely mechanical, and if Ren believed in ghosts he’d note it seemed reanimated. He watched the clip twice, then closed it.

So, the world was angry, that much was clear. Not specifically at him, but at Apex, the destruction, the implication something like this could exist at all, let alone be deployed in the middle of a populated city.

Ren leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under the shift, processing.

“Hey, if anyone’s touching my laptop, I will know!” Bernie’s voice called out in a half-joking, half-serious tone from the bathroom.

Ren didn’t look away from the screen, weighing out what could happen if he spoke up given the whole Sara Hayes mess Ren may or may not have had a hand in, but decided: What could Bernie do to him? If he was planning something, he would’ve done it while Ren was too weak to stand up. “Your systems are insufficient.” He settled on saying.

There was a pause as the water shut off abruptly. “Ooookay, first of all, rude.” Bernie grumbled, footsteps approaching. The door opened, and he stopped short at the sight of Ren seated at the table. “Second of all, that is absolutely my laptop you’re —” he cut himself off, eyes darting to the screen.

Come on, Bernie, you have to have at least some brain to qualify for Apex. Ren thought.

“Oh. Oh, you’re — yeah, no, that makes sense.” Bernie concluded, stepping closer, peering over Ren’s shoulder without hesitation. “Man,” he muttered, scanning the headlines. “They’re tearing Apex apart, like, piece-by-piece. Forums, news, conspiracy threads — everyone’s got a take.”

Ren scrolled again, unbothered by the proximity. “They should.” He muttered.

Bernie glanced at him, his expression shifting. “Yeah, I mean.. yeah, after what happened..” He trailed off, attention snapping back to the screen. “Okay, but here’s the thing,” he continued. “They don’t actually know how it happened, it’s all guesses.. Some say AI malfunction, others system override, Titan interference.. The point is, nobody’s landed on anything concrete.”

Ren’s gaze flicked briefly to him. “Of course they haven’t..” He observed.

Bernie huffed a quiet laugh. “Right, because you would know so well.”

A beat.

Bernie shifted, the humor fading just slightly at the edges. “..You do know, don’t you?” He alleged.

Ren didn’t answer, but let it be known his silence was not accidental, it never was.

Bernie straightened a little, his hands coming up in a gesture of retreat. “Okay, cool. We’re not doing that right now, that’s fine.. boundaries.” He made a vague gesture between them, then toward the laptop. “You, uh.. you done with that, or —?”

Ren closed the page. “For now.” He replied, standing up, leaving the laptop exactly where it was, the chair sliding back into place with little to no sound. He could feel Bernie’s eyes on him, his expression caught somewhere between intrigue and restraint, clearly holding back a dozen questions. Ren had no interest in talking to him, moving toward the door.

..But, of course. “Hey, just uh..” Bernie called out from behind him, unable to fully contain himself. “for what it’s worth? You’re not exactly public enemy number one right now.”

Ren paused, his hand briefly resting against the doorframe. “That can change.” He simply put, and then left.

Ren came up from sleep, like he’d been pulled and not awoken. His body snapped forward before thought could follow, the pressure behind his eyes spiking enough to blur the edges of the room, and something in his stomach turning with violent certainty.

He barely made it to the bathroom, the door hitting the wall with a dull thud as he stumbled through, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet with such a lack of thought it would’ve bothered him under any other circumstance. His hands caught the edge just in time, but besides that? He had no control, his body emptying itself in harsh, unrelenting waves, each one dragging deeper with it. The sour taste was immediate, coating the back of his throat. His vision tunneled, breath catching between spasms that refused to space themselves out.

Ren made the conscious choice not to look, the contents in the toilet could remain peripheral for all he car — hold that thought, here comes another wave hitting, harder this time, he tightened his grip against the porcelain.

The light snapped on, cutting through the dim like a blade. Ren flinched, squeezing his eyes shut against it. He instinctively turned away from the toilet, just as Nathan dropped to a crouch beside him. “Hey — hey, are you okay?” He pried, the question coming out rushed.

Ren opened his mouth to answer, but the response was cut off immediately, lifting a hand in the form of a clear signaling to: “Not right now.” As another surge folded him forward, his breath hitching as his body forced out what little was left.

Nathan didn’t move away, something Ren couldn’t say would happen if the roles were reversed. But, Nate stayed close enough to be present without interfering, one hand coming to rest against Ren’s back. “Alright, okay, just.. yeah, go ahead.” He murmured, his hand moving in slow, uneven passes, consistent enough to anchor. His fingers pressed lightly against the fabric of Ren’s shirt, occasionally slipping beneath the hem without thinking, making contact with skin.

Ren noticed, filed it away, effectively choosing to do nothing about it. The (hopefully) last wave left him shaking, the force of it fading. He stayed there for a moment longer, letting out shallow breaths and waiting for another that didn’t come.

When he finally pulled back, the world felt distant, like it’d been shifted a few degrees out of alignment. His arms trembled under his own weight, his entire body felt.. incorrect. He didn’t know how to put his fingers on it, sort of like if the structure was replaced with putty.

“That looked… bad,” Nathan observed.

No shit. Outwardly, Ren didn’t argue, knowing better than to bite the mouth that fed him.

Nathan was the first to stand up, offering a hand without making a demand. Ren stared at it for a second, then took it, more out of necessity than agreement.

Getting back to bed was a process in itself, each step felt delayed and slightly disconnected from intent. Nathan stayed close, one hand hovering near Ren’s shoulder, the other adjusting by pulling stray strands of hair back from Ren’s face when they slipped into his eyes. “Yeah, you're good, yeah, just.. sit.” He rattled off.

Ren lowered himself onto the bed with less control than he’d prefer.

Nathan moved away, then returned with a glass of water. “Here.” He offered, holding it out. “You need to drink something. You just.” He stopped, rephrasing. “You should.”

Luckily for Nate, Ren wasn’t in the mood or condition to argue, taking it. The water tasted clean, cutting through the residual bitterness in his mouth.

From the corner of his eyes, Ren could see Nathan watching him closely. “Can I?.. Just this once?” He started, too quiet for Ren to fully register.

What harm could Nathan have in mind? Ren glanced at him, nodding in the midst of lowering the glass, not thinking about it.

However, the moment his lips left the rim, Nathan closed the distance with abrupt, uncareful contact.

Ren froze, pausing, suspended in the odd space between reaction and realization. Are we really doing this? he thought, Looks like it.. He hasn’t pulled away..

If anything, Nathan leaned in further, the angle imperfect enough that their teeth knocked together with a dull, awkward click. “‘m sorry,” He muttered against Ren’s lips with uneven breaths and half-formed words. “You taste like..” He huffed out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “—vomit, wow. Okay.”

While that comment should break the mood, it didn’t, Nathan’s hand tightened in the fabric of Ren’s shirt, his grip anchoring him.

Ren’s breath caught, not from the contact itself, but the overwhelming realization that followed. The proximity, the persistence, the way Nathan occupies space around him, the way Ren actually didn't hate that and didn’t push him away.

“Hey,” Nathan muttered, searching Ren’s face. “Is this okay?”

Ren’s gaze narrowed, his focus settling in a way that felt intentional. He still felt that faint disorientation behind it, but it was anchored now. “I’ll let you know when it’s not..” He muttered.

Nathan huffed. “Okay.” He said quietly, leaning in again, giving Ren space to intercept, to stop him if he chooses, but Ren didn’t.

The second kiss landed differently, less abrupt and more aware of itself. There was still a lack of polish to it, an awareness that hadn’t been corrected, but Ren kind of liked it.

Nathan shifted closer without really thinking about it, one hand lightly bracing against Ren’s side as if testing whether he’s still steady enough to be there. The other drifts, tentative at first, then more certain, fingers teasingly brushing along the hem of Ren’s shift. He paused again, “Still okay?” He reiterated.

Ren’s breath caught in his throat, not from the question but from the contact and the way his awareness kept catching up half a step too late. “Yes.” He said finally.

That was enough, Nathan slowly lifted the fabric, watching for resistance that never came, pushing it up just enough to expose skin that still carried the faint tension of recovery. There was a brief hesitation, like he was deciding whether to follow through with a thought that hadn’t fully formed, then dragged his tongue from Ren’s heart all the way down to the start of his pelvis.

“Why did you stop?” Ren managed to get out between hitched breaths, the reaction immediate and unfiltered. His hand moved without instruction, getting lost in the fabric of Nathan’s shirt (and using it as an excuse to trace his abs) not pulling him closer but not letting him drift away either.

Nathan huffed a quiet breath against him, succeeding in making Ren tense up thanks to his already-prickling bulge being right underneath his breath. “If we..” he started, then stopped, recalibrating. Woooow, so now his mind insisted on threading logic through everything else? How convenient. “If we do this, you have to actually come out tomorrow.” The condition landed in the middle of it, out of place and entirely consistent with him. “Talk to people,” Nathan added. “Ilene, Jia, everyone. They don’t bite, you can’t just hide in here forever.” He pointed out.

Watch me. Ren wanted to bite back, but his erection didn’t show any signs of going away, and he didn’t want to be left to fruitlessly perform a hand solo. “Fine.” He relented, the word slipping out before he could fully interrogate it.

Nathan stilled for a second, like he didn’t expect that to work. In his defense, it wouldn’t have worked if Ren wasn’t hard and desperate. “Wait, really?” He asked, glancing up.

Ren’s grip tightened slightly in his shirt in the form of a subtle, impatient confirmation. “Yes.”

Nathan let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh under his breath. “Okay.” He murmured, further lowering himself, Ren let go of his shirt in favor of grabbing a fistful of Nate’s hair, feeling the chilled air hit his shaft and further sprang forward.

Ren was pretty easy to rile up when it came to these things, being something of a hilarious lightweight, but that was neither here nor there. What was here was his cock was already beads of liquids forming, not much of a surprise given what he’d previously mentioned.

After what felt like forever but was probably under a minute in all actuality, Nathan’s tongue lapped up the beads of liquid there. The motions his tongue was making suggested this wasn’t his first, second, third, or fourth time, but who was Ren to judge? He recognized talent when he saw it, and it wasn’t like he’d never been on his knees himself.

Ren shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath as Nathan swiped his tongue at the head of his dick, keeping his tongue busy as he moved the foreskin with his tongue. Ren found himself grabbing the blanket and putting one of the corners in his mouth to keep himself from moaning, taking in the sight of Nathan easing his shaft into his mouth, fixated on the way the azure of Nate’s eyes gave way to white as they rolled back.

In the midst of his pleasure, Ren continued to grab and yank on Nathan’s hair, his hips rocking with every movement — whether it was voluntary or involuntary, he couldn’t tell, but he was relieved to see Nathan take it without protest, swallowing him down and grunting at the sheer rawness of it all.

As Nathan continued to lap at Ren’s cock, his hands came free to gently play and fondle with his set. Ren felt his own eyes roll to the back of his head, recalling the last time that happened was when piloting the Mecha, but this was a far different occurrence — seeing stars while spilling into Nate’s mouth, and when Ren’s vision cleared, he might as well have climaxed again at the sight of Nathan with a mixture of his saliva and Ren’s cum running down his chin like a waterfall, but he restrained himself.

Yada-yada, time had passed as the room settled itself in increments: the water runs, stops, and fabric shifts. By the time they returned to the bed, the air felt almost neutral again, like the room had decided not to acknowledge what happened in it.

Nathan dropped onto the mattress first with one arm thrown loosely behind his head. Ren followed with more intention, lowering himself beside him. His unfocused gaze drifted, catching on a familiar white and brown box near the edge of the bedside table, marking a pack of cigarettes sitting halfway-hidden, like it wasn’t meant to be left out.

But, it was. Prompting Ren to lift a hand, opening his palm.

Nathan tracked the motion, then followed his line of sight. “..Really?” He turned his head to look at him. “That’s your next move?” He pondered, upon seeing how Ren didn’t answer, Nate let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You just, you were just in the bathroom, like, fifteen minutes ago.” He pointed out.

“I noticed.”

Nathan pushed himself up onto one elbow, eyeing him with a mix of disbelief and reluctant amusement. "You're not fully recovered, I feel like that should be the takeaway here.” He grumbled.

Ren didn’t drop his hand. “I just vomited, I'm aware of my condition.” He muttered.

“That’s exactly my point.”

Ren met Nathan’s gaze, who held his gaze for a moment longer, then groaned quietly and reached for the pack. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered in the midst of flipping the box open. “Ilene would —” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Don’t tell Ilene.” He amended, probably more to himself than Ren, pulling one free, then handing it over.

Ren took it without comment, the first drag was shallow, making it more about the motion than the effect. The smoke settled in his lungs with a familiar burn, grounding in a way that felt intentional. He let out a slow exhale, watching it dissipate into the artificial light above them, thinning into nothing.

Nathan watched him for a moment, then reached over, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. “You’re unbelievable,” He huffed, bringing it to his own lips. “You know that, right?” He alleged.

Ren shifted slightly, settling deeper into the pillow. “So I've been told.”

Nathan snickered in the midst of exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. For a while, they passed it back and forth like that, the room filling with a faint haze, thin enough to fade almost as soon as it appeared. “You were serious? About tomorrow?” He asked, not looking at Ren this time.

Ren took the cigarette back, considering the question as he exhaled. “Yes.” He confirmed.

Nathan glanced at him, presumably searching for hesitation that wasn’t there. “Okay, that’s good.” He paused, “I mean, they’re gonna have questions, a lot of them.” He added.

“They usually do.”

Nate snorted at that, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Bernie alone is like.. five people’s worth of questions.” He pointed out.

Ren allowed the faintest hint of irritation to thread through the motion. “I’m aware.” He muttered, the cigarette changing hands again.

Nathan propped himself up slightly, turning just enough to face him more directly. “For what it’s worth, they’re not trying to corner you.. They just want to understand what happened.”

How touching. Ren thought, fixating his gaze on the ceiling. “They won’t.” He simply put.

“Maybe not.” Nathan admitted, shifting closer, not quite touching, but close enough that the distance felt optional. “You’re.. doing okay?” He asked, carefully this time.

Christ, would he stop babying him? He just sucked him off and wanted to treat him like a child. “I’m functional." Ren settled on saying while passing the cigarette back.

“I guess that’s something.” Nathan muttered while taking it, giving him a sidelong glance. “Next time, maybe we go with water first.”

Ren closed his eyes. “Noted.” He replied.

To set the record straight, Ren followed through, the decision holding from the night before, intact despite the distance of sleep.

Without announcing it, Ren left the room, stepping into a space that felt larger than it should, shaped by an unfamiliar arrangement. The living room was dimmer than his room, the lighting less aggressive, filtered through panels from whatever system powered them. The air carried a low conversation, Bernie’s quick, animated voice threading through it, with Nathan’s responses occasionally cutting in. Ilene sat off to the side, and Jia, who remained close to her, her hands moving in quiet, fluid motions carrying meaning Ren didn’t fully grasp.

Nathan noticed his entry first, of course he did, his sentence cutting short mid-thought, relief flickering across his face. “Hey, you made it out.” He greeted.

Ren didn’t respond to the phrasing, opting to take a seat, slightly removed from the center, deliberately positioned where he could observe without being fully absorbed in the space.

“Okay, wow, this is good.” Bernie said, lifting his hands. “You’re upright, you’re mobile, you’re present, that’s. Yeah, that’s progress, isn’t it?” He pondered, looking toward the rest of the group.

Ilene cut him a brief look. “Bernie.” She cautioned.

“Right, right.” Bernie amended quickly, though the curiosity didn’t leave his expression. “Dialing it back.”

Jia watched Ren in silence, signing something to Ilene.

Ilene nodded once in acknowledgment, then looked back to Ren. “You don’t have to stay if this is too much, we can keep it brief.” She assured.

Ren shook his head. “I’m fine.” While not entirely true, it was sufficient enough for the conversation to resume around him, adjusting slightly to accommodate his presence. Nathan did most of the work, bridging gaps, keeping things moving.

Bernie, tried, failed, and then tried again to keep his questions from stacking too quickly. “So, okay, not a question, just a statement.” He promised, vaguely pointing at the space between them. “What happened in Hong Kong? Completely insane.”

Ilene pinched the bridge between her nose. “Bernie —” she began.

“I know, I know.” Bernie chided himself, holding up a hand. “No interrogating here, I'm just contextualizing.”

Ren listened, offering the little one-worded response when necessary, a brief conformation here or there.

Nathan picked up the slack easily, softening the edges of Bernie’s curiosity into something more manageable. Though, despite his best efforts, at some point, the topic shifted to Hollow Earth energy signatures and the way they interact with Titan physiology.

Ren knew this, the knowledge familiar in a way the rest of the world hadn’t been since he woke. “The energy isn’t only analogous," He chimed in, his voice cutting cleanly into the conversation. “It’s functionally identical in output, but the source —” he stopped in his tracks, had the thought not finished? For a second, it was there, then it wasn’t.

He tightened his brow, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached for it again. “The source is..” he repeated, slower this time, but the structure collapsed under scrutiny, the information that should follow refused to assemble, slipping just out of reach no matter how he adjusted his approach.

No matter, Ren Serizawa wasn’t a quitter, prompting him to try again. “The source is —”

..blank.

Nathan noticed the way Ren’s posture changed first. “Hey,” he started, quietly.

Ren didn’t hear him, or maybe he did, and just didn’t process it. There was pressure again, behind his eyes, building with each attempt to force the memory into place. His vision distorted slightly at the edges, the light bending in ways that didn’t align with the room. “I can’t..” He halted, the admission catching unexpectedly. “I can’t remember.” He confessed, the words landed incorrectly.

He looked up, his expression further tightening as the realization that the others around him had gone still.

Bernie, ever the chatterbox, opened his mouth, then closed it again, whatever question he had dissolving before it could fully form.

Ilene watched closely now, gaze narrowing.

Jia’s gaze sharpened.

Ren lifted his hand, fingers curling. The pressure spiked, for a moment, it looked like his body was about to reject the moment altogether.

Nathan was already on his feet. “Hey, okay, we’re done..” he quickly brushed off, crossing the space between them without hesitation. His hand landed on Ren’s shoulder, grounding him back into reality. “That’s enough.”

Ren didn’t resist when Nathan pulled him to his feet, his balance threatening to slip, but Nathan adjusted, his arm coming around him without asking. “Let’s go.” He muttered, no one argued, Ilene even stepped aside, making space without commenting.

Ren let himself be guided, not because he wanted to, but because in this moment, it was the most efficient way forward.

By the time they reach his room, the pressure dulled again, receding just enough to leave behind the echo of it. Nathan helped him back onto the bed, his movements more careful now. “Just.. sleep, we can deal with everything else later.” He promised.

Ren didn’t argue, leaning back.

They say it’s easier to quantify than to interpret.

The first constant Ren gathered was he couldn’t leave, the walls weren’t locked in any obvious way, but the boundary existed all the same.

The second was his location, he was located somewhere that moved without announcing it, or perhaps stayed still in a way that mimicked motion.

Ren didn’t dwell on that absence, for he never required constant proximity to the world to feel anchored in it. Isolation, when structured, was tolerable. He’d even go as far as to say it was even preferable, here, it is incomplete isolation — punctuated by controlled interactions, who he evaluated in the same way he evaluated everything else.

Nate was the easiest variable, predictable in his inconsistency. He filled the space without intending to, spoke when silence would suffice, and hesitated where others would commit.

Ilene’s actions were more intentional, every movement carried intent, she observed more than she spoke, and when she did speak, it was with purpose. She was like Ren in that regard.

On the other hand, Bernie was noise personified, his mouth carrying questions that multiplied faster than they could be answered.

Jia’s attention was direct, when she looked at him, it looked like she was looking at something right through him.

Holding that thought, Ren knew memory shouldn’t behave like this. He carefully isolated the gap, testing their edges the way he would test a fault in a structure. They weren't catastrophic, he knew who he was, he knew what he’d done — but there were absences, he reached for them and found nothing, such a thing was an unfamiliar failure, as Ren had always retained information with near-perfect consistency, his memory wasn’t something he ever had to question, but now he did.

..It worried him, electrical trauma provided a plausible explanation, the human brain was not designed to withstand the kind of surge he experienced. Yet, this felt.. selective.

The pressure behind his eyes intensified as the thought settled.

Time was familiar enough that Ren could move through it without constant recalculation, there were movements where the edges of his situation blurred, in those moments, he almost fit — but not entirely.

The difference was those people orbited Titans with a kind of reverence he couldn’t replicate and had no intentions of doing such, instead viewing Titans as variables to be managed or threats to be neutralized.

Apex’s methods may have failed, but the premise wasn’t incorrect.

The divide didn’t disappear, it wasn’t like disagreeing over whether or not lemonade or tea was better, so it became quieter.

Ren occupied his time in ways that required minimal interaction, the television providing a steady stream of distraction. He watched from the bed, half-reclined, the remote loosely resting in his hand.

A sound filled the room, barely noticeable unless he focused on it, Ren let out a slow exhale, his attention drifting between the screen and the vague sensation in his hand. He felt a faint prickling, like contact with a deity just outside the range of normal, he glanced down, more out of habit than concern.

Imagine his surprise when he looked down and saw a thread of electricity jump between his fingers, controlled in a way that didn’t feel accidental. It moved from one point to another, Ren stilled, watching his fingers, turning them slightly, testing the space between them and greeted to nothing.

He adjusted his grip, focusing on the sensation itself, seeing yet another spark. It was slightly stronger this time, stretching between his index and middle finger.

Ren’s expression tightened, his attention fully sharpening now. He tried to replicate it, the third attempt not behaving in the same way. The moment the current formed, it collapsed inward instead of outward.

The arc snapped back, discharging through him instead of between his fingers. The shock hit Ren fast, not enough to incapacitate, but enough to disrupt, his muscles tightening involuntarily, breath catching as the current ran its course through pathways not designed to carry it.

Ren began an inhale, body going rigid for a fraction of a second before releasing. He looked down at his hands again, for a moment, nothing appeared different, then the light shifted just enough for him to notice his veins, visible just beneath his skin, flared an unmistakable yellow. The color traced along the lines of his wrist before fading back into normalcy as if it had never been there before.

The common area was quieter than usual, Nathan was elsewhere, Bernie’s voice didn’t carry through the walls, and Ilene was occupied elsewhere.

..But Jia, Jia was alone, sitting near the far side of the room, posture relaxed but contained, resting her hands in her lap.

Ren paused at the threshold, considering leaving, but stepping forward.

Jia’s gaze lifted, gaze locking onto him.

Ren stopped a few feet away, lifting his hands. “I know some.” He signed carefully, pausing. “From college.” He ensured the shapes were correct, if slightly rigid.

Jia watched, her gaze flickering through him.

Ren held his position. “I can try.” He repeated, smaller this time.

Instead of responding, Jia took a step back.

Ren lowered his hands, the motion pausing midway as the response registered.

Jia’s expression didn’t shift into anything overt, not displaying any signs of clear fear or visible distress, but the space between them became defined in a way it hadn’t been before. Her hands moved in a brief sequence, marking a refusal and stepping back again.

Ren remained where he was, expression unchanged, but attention sharpened to a point. He’d seen fear before, this wasn’t loud enough to be that.

Ren didn’t need confirmation to know it didn’t stay contained, as information moved through this place quickly. Ilene would’ve noticed, she noticed everything.

So when Nathan showed up that night, quieter than usual, lingering just inside the doorway, Ren was already expecting him. “I’m fine.” He assured before Nathan could ask.

Nathan huffed, stepping further and closing the door behind him. “Yeah, you said that earlier too.” He drifted closer, hands slipping into his pockets. “Ilene just, she mentioned Jia got a little.. spooked.” He trailed off.

Ren’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. “I didn’t do anything.” He deadpanned.

“I know.” Nathan was quick to assure. “I mean — I figured, you’re not the type to randomly scare kids.” He paused, studying Ren a little more carefully now. “Is this about earlier? When you blanked?” He asked.

When Ren didn’t answer immediately, Nathan took that as enough. “Look, people forget stuff.” He said, pausing to sit at the edge of the bed. “It happens, especially after..” He gestured vaguely, like the specifics were too large to fit into a single motion. “Everything.” He settled on concluding.

Ren allowed his gaze to drift, unfocused for a second before settling again. “This is not the same.” He simply put.

“Okay, maybe not.” Nathan conceded. “But it doesn’t automatically mean something’s seriously wrong.”

“It already does.”

“You’re recovering, your brain took a hit — literally, it’s gonna take time to, I don't know, recaliberate.” Nathan assured.

Ren wasn’t convinced.

Nathan shifted closer, closing the remaining distance without asking, his presence settling into the space beside Ren like it belonged there. “You’re still here, that hasn’t changed.” He pointed out.

Ren’s gaze flicked toward him, measuring the statement for accuracy.

To his credit, Nathan held it, not looking away. “Yeah, still you.” He muttered, being the first out of the two to move and give Ren a gentler kiss this time, this liplock shaped by awareness rather than impulse. It lingered just long enough to ground him. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. “I’ll be right back, don’t — just, hold on.” Nathan promised, leaving the room with quick, uneven steps.

Nathan had brought him a pen and paper with the instructions of writing down everything he could recall, Ren wrote without hesitation at first: events aligned, everything that formed the framework of his life laid itself out cleanly beneath his hand. Apex, Mechagodzilla, Hong Kong, it all flowed until Ren reached for a more specific detail regarding his father, the pen slowing.

Ishirō Serizawa was not a concept or sequence of events, rather a series of moments, defined in their rarity.

Ren wrote the name, stopped, tried to follow it with anything concrete — like a memory, there should be one, hell more than one.. Something simple, like a conversation, place, but nothing came. He pressed harder against the page, as if pressure would miraculously force it through.

A lab, he could gather that much, his father standing with his back turned — no, that wasn’t right.. Or was it? but was it incomplete? There should be something else attached to it like a specific change, but it wasn’t there.

Ren’s breathing shifted, trying again.. What about the funeral? That memory existed, it had to, it defined who he was.

..Okay, getting somewhere, he remembered the logistics and the absence, but the details such as his mother’s face and the exact sound of his father’s voice when he finally returned.. slipped, not entirely gone, but out of reach.

The pressure behind Ren’s eyes surged, strong enough to force his vision to blur at the edges. His grip tightened on the pen until his knuckles paled, the paper beneath it crumpling under the force.

The door opened as Nathan stepped back in with a small bottle in one hand, his expression immediately shifting when he saw Ren sitting there, unmoving, the paper in front of him stilled. “Hey..” Nate started, his voice softening. “What happened?” He pondered.

Ren didn’t look up. “I can’t remember.” He simply put.

Nathan set the bottle down, hand hovering for a second before settling over Ren’s. “What can’t you remember?” He asked.

“My father.” Ren snapped, the admission landing heavier than anything else he’d said.

“Okay,” Nathan muttered in a quieter, steadier tone. “Okay, that’s not gone, it’s just..” he exhaled, likely searching for something that didn’t sound as empty as Ren’s mind felt. “It’s probably just buried right now, your brain’s trying to deal with everything first.” He assured.

Ren didn’t respond.

Nathan pressed the bottle into his free hand. “Take this.” He instructed. “It’ll help with the headache, at least.”

Ren looked at it for a second, then did as instructed without argument.

Nathan’s hand tightened around his, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “You’ll feel better.” He promised, it wasn’t a certainty, but he said it like it was.

At night, when Ren was alone, he started with structure.

The shower ran hotter than necessary, steam gathering against the glass, blurring the edges of the room until it felt contained in a way that made concentration easier. The water hitting his shoulders worked as something to anchor against while he sorted through what should already be organized.

The name Ishirō Serizawa was intact, but the rest refused to follow.

Ren stood there longer than he needed to, eyes half-lidded against the heat, forcing himself to reconstruct when he knew it shouldn’t require reconstruction.

Still, he found himself moving through what he knew: his father’s occupation? Director of Monarch. His father’s reputation? Not well.

While Ren was well aware this was insufficient, he still found himself trying to narrow it down to specifics and moments. There should be a voice attached to the name, but there was nothing.

He pressed his palm flat against the tile, grounding himself, moving on to the toothbrush scraping against his teeth in controlled motions, the mirror fogged over but still reflecting enough to confirm he was there. He watched himself through it, deciding to try again.

The funeral existed as a sequence, Ren could recall what he did and the logistics he handled, but the details that should give weight slipped. His mother's face refused to settle, flickering incompletely, whereas his father’s return existed as a fact, not a moment.

Ren tightened his grip on the edge of the sink, trying to hold onto what remained, but the more he isolated those fragments, the more fragile they felt, like directly handling them exposed how little there was left to hold. He shifted, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

Think. Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink. There has to be something else. Come on, he had to have a smaller memory, inconsequential as it may be, there had to be a detail that survived because it wasn’t important enough to be lost. A room? A conversation? A moment where Ishirō looked at him, not past him, but at him.

Ren squeezed his eyes shut, nothing answering besides the pressure behind them building again, pulsing in a way that felt almost reactive, like the act of searching was triggering it. He let out a huff, forcing himself to stop before it escalated further.. But stopping didn’t resolve him, it just left him with the certainty of what was missing.

He couldn’t take this anymore.

In the meantime Ren had a new favorite show, one he dubbed: Conversations Ren overheard while the others thought he was asleep.

It required very little effort, probably the least amount of effort he’d ever put in his life. People spoke with more freedom when they believed nobody was listening.

Nathan and Bernie, first.

“I’m just saying man, this whole thing is — it’s not normal, none of this is normal."

“Yeah, no argument there.”

“You saw what happened, Hong Kong, like, that wasn’t some random glitch, he was plugged into it. Directly. He’s not, i’m not saying he’s dangerous, exactly, but —”

“But you think he might be.”

“..I think we don’t know what he is right now.”

“He’s the same person, he’s just been through something.”

“Yeah, something that fried him from the inside out, you don’t just walk that off.”

“He’s not Apex anymore, he’s not Simmons, he’s not any of that.”

“Man, you’re talking like that’s a switch you can just flip.”

“I’m talking like he’s still a person.”

“…I hope you’re right.”

Nathan and Ilene, second.

“This isn’t sustainable.”

“He’s recovering.”

“That’s not the point.”

“This isn’t just about his recovery, it’s about what he’s done.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“I think you’re choosing not to prioritize it.”

“He was part of what happened in Hong Kong, people died. A lot of them.”

“He didn’t, it wasn't supposed to —”

“It happened.”

“He’s still a person.”

“This is fucked up, Nathan. We’re keeping him here, away from Monarch, away from any formal oversight, based on what? Your belief that he deserves a second chance? That’s not how this works, we don’t get to decide that unilaterally.”

“He’s not a threat.”

“We don’t know that, and until we do, this is a liability. We should hand him over to Monarch.”

“No. They’ll treat him like evidence, like a problem to be contained — what they did to that Shaw guy when he came up, not a person.”

“And what are we doing? I’m not saying this lightly, but we can’t ignore what he’s connected to, what he might still be connected to.”

“He’s not that.”

“We’ll revisit this.”

The common room emptied more often, doors closed more carefully, and overall, they met less. It wasn’t announced, but Ren tracked it in the way he tracked everything else.

Nathan, however, didn’t adjust. If he saw the change, he didn’t acknowledge it, or he refused to.

Ren watched him for a while before speaking. “Are you going with themvl

Nathan looked up from where he was half-leaning against the counter, expression briefly blank. “..Who?”

Has he been drinking again? Ren thought while studying him. “Everyone, all your friends.” He paused. “Prove you were right about the Hollow Earth.” He specified.

Nathan blinked, his shoulders lifting in a small, uncertain shrug. “I mean — yeah, that’s still..” he trailed off, then let the thought go. “I don’t know, they’ll figure it out.”

Ren’s gaze didn’t shift. “They’re still your friends.” He pointed out.

Nathan huffed a quiet breath, almost like a laugh but without the humor involved. “Yeah, I'm aware. Feels like you’re trying to get me to leave.” He muttered.

Ren didn’t deny it. “You could, if you’d like.” He deadpanned.

Nathan stared at him for a second, then shook his head. “No.” He snapped, “I’m not going to leave you here.” He vowed.

Ren’s brow tightened, irritation threading through the motion. “I’m not a child, I don’t need to be watched.” He shot back.

Nathan’s jaw shifted. “You’re sick.” He pointed out, the words hanging there.

Ren’s eyebrows lifted.

“I mean..” Nathan started, backtracking, lifting his hands. “Not like that, I just — after the electrocution, your brain’s still..”

“Don’t lie to me.” Ren cut in, “What happened while I was out?”

Nathan hesitated, it was brief, but Ren caught it. “My memory isn’t..” Nate began, searching for anything stable. “It’s fuzzy too, you’re hurt, Ren, that’s all this is..”

“I died.”

Nathan’s expression tightened. “You’re confused.”

Ren sucked in a breath through his nose. “Don’t do that.” He snapped.

Nathan stepped closer, the distance closing in before Ren could decide whether to object. “You’re not dead, you’re right here.” He pointed out.

Ren didn’t respond, but Nate’s hand found his arm, grip firm but not forceful, guiding rather than pulling. “Come on.” He urged.

Despite himself, Ren allowed it, the pair moving to the couch.

Nathan didn’t let go immediately, like the contact itself was doing its part of the work. He settled beside Ren instead of across from him, close enough that the space between them felt incidental. “I couldn’t lose you, I can’t, I wouldn’t..” He began to confess, stopping like the rest didn’t need to be said.

Ren remained still.

Nathan adjusted slightly, lying back against the couch, one arm still loosely anchored around Ren. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” He promised.

It was the same lie, delivered in the same way, but Ren found himself not correcting him.