Ash stretched lazily as he dragged himself out of bed, his feet dragging on the cold floor.
The white-haired boy was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the armrest of the couch, his guitar resting in his lap like it was part of him. He strummed it gently, his voice floating like smoke in the morning air:
"And the moon whispered stories
to the stars too shy to shine,
while I sat with empty pockets
pretending the world was mine..."
Ash blinked. He didn't want to admit it. Not even to himself, but the song was oddly... nice. There was something raw in Kesher's voice.
Without saying anything, Ash wandered toward the kitchen, still humming the melody under his breath. For a moment, he forgot how tired he was. Maybe even forgot how irritated he'd been lately. But as he opened the fridge and saw... nothing, his mood crashed back down.
It was empty.
"What the hell..." he muttered.
From the other room, Kesher's voice rang out again, this time not singing but laughing. "Ah, yes. The cruel fate of an artist. I ate all of it when i arrived here. The fridge has been empty for two days now, and so is my stomach."
Ash sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You... ate everything? And you didn't think to at least leave me one thing? Not even a leftover? A half slice of bread?"
"I would have," Kesher replied dramatically, poking his head in, "but then I remembered I had no money. So I chose survival over manners."
Ash looked like he was about to scold him but gave up midway. He threw on his hoodie. "Alright. I'm going out to get something."
Kesher jumped up. "Wait for me! What better way to become friends than to break bread together beneath the city sky?"
Ash gave him a deadpan look. "We're not friends."
"Not yet," Kesher said with a wink. "But the day is young."
They walked together down the damp sidewalk, the sky still gray from last night's rain. Kesher carried his guitar in a soft cloth sling, like it was a piece of his soul he didn't dare leave behind. Ash walked with his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, his thoughts scattered.
After a while, Ash broke the silence. "Why'd you come to live here?"
Kesher tilted his head. "Why not?"
"I mean with me. You know who I am. Everyone does. I'm Richie's brother." The name tasted bitter in his mouth.
Kesher smiled. Not mockingly. Just gently. "Yes, I know. And?"
Ash narrowed his eyes. "You don't care?"
"I've lived long enough to know that blood is not always choice," Kesher said, voice soft like falling leaves. "I judge a man by the sound of his silence, not the echo of someone else's name."
Ash didn't know what to say to that. It was annoying how poetic the guy was.
They arrived at a little food stall tucked between buildings. It wasn't fancy, but it was cheap and filling.
As they sat on the plastic stools, chewing on crispy buns and sipping warm soup, Kesher leaned back and said, "One day, Ash. I'll repay this meal with a thousand songs."
Ash choked on the water he was drinking. "Wait... you really don't have any money?"
Kesher blinked innocently. "I thought that was obvious."
Ash groaned. "You said you hadn't eaten in two days! What were you even surviving on?"
"Art. Starvation. And rainwater," Kesher grinned. "Romantic, no?"
Ash rubbed his temples again. "Gods, I'm broke too. I got discharged from the hospital yesterday. My account's probably screaming."
Kesher clapped once. "Then we are kindred spirits. Two broke souls surviving on the warmth of city streetlights and borrowed tea."
Ash walked up and stared at the shopkeeper with a dead expression as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
"I'll pay, yeah—just... gimme a minute," he muttered. The words felt dry in his mouth. His bank account wasn't just empty, it was in negative territory.
The guy behind the counter didn't look too impressed. Kesher, on the other hand, stood beside Ash, licking his fingers, clearly unbothered.
Ash sighed and dialed.
Ken picked up on the third ring. "Yo?"
"Ken... I need you to pay for something. Like, now," Ash said.
A brief pause. "You serious? What is it?"
"Food. I... I'll explain later."
Ken laughed. "Man. You're hopeless." A second later, the shopkeeper's payment alert chimed. Ash gave a nod and grabbed the bag of food, barely muttering thanks before walking out into the street again.
They walked a while in silence. Ash didn't know what to think about Kesher yet. He was weird, obviously, with that dreamy way of talking and the guitar slung over his back like he lived in his own little movie. But he wasn't a bad guy. Just... odd.
Then, somewhere around the corner of their apartment block, Kesher spoke up. "Do you believe in gods, Ash?"
The question came out of nowhere. Ash blinked and looked at him, unsure if he had heard him right. "No," he said, a little too quickly. "The gods are dead."
The words fell from his mouth like a reflex, but the moment he said them, something inside him flinched. That voice from before crept back into his memory. That voice of the being from the realm of paradise.
"The gods have started clawing back to life like rats from the grave. But none dare take the throne."
He clenched his jaw. Why the hell was he thinking about that now?
Kesher was still walking beside him, hands in his jacket pockets, head tilted as if listening to something far away.
"Yeah, yeah," Kesher said in that half-sing-song way of his. "We've all heard the tale, the divine slaughter, the great purge. Lord Gabriel, sword in hand, standing against the heavens themselves when they turned on mankind."
His tone grew quieter, more curious. "But... do you really believe it?"
Ash gave him a look.
Kesher shrugged. "I mean... don't get me wrong. Stories are stories. People believe what they need to. But Gabriel, he doesn't exactly strike me as a saint wrapped in gold light. There's something in his eyes... like he's been alive too long, seen too much, and maybe... maybe even forgot why he started doing all this in the first place."
Ash stopped walking. "Look," he said, voice steady but tired, "Lord Gabriel will always be the Lord, no matter what people like us think. He's saved my life. Twice."
Kesher stayed quiet for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Then I won't question your loyalty," he said softly. "Loyalty is a rare song in this world. And maybe... that's what keeps your heart beating steady."
They reached the apartment soon after. Ash unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. He dropped the bag of food on the counter, then walked to his room to pack. He didn't say much.
Kesher watched him from the couch. "You're leaving?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just for a couple of days," Ash said, shoving a pair of gloves into the side of his bag. "I've got to attend the Assembly. Heroes from across the galaxies meet up to... talk. Decide. Pretend they know what they're doing."
Kesher leaned his head against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. "A gathering of legends. The chorus of capes," he murmured. "I wonder if they still bleed when they fall. Or if the air smells different where they stand."
Ash zipped up the bag and gave him a dry look. "You really don't know how to talk normally, do you?"
Kesher smiled lazily. "What fun is there in that?"
Ash moved to the door, hand on the handle. "Don't eat everything while I'm gone."
"I make no promises," Kesher said with a hand over his heart. "But if I do, I'll write you a poem as an apology. That's fair trade, isn't it?"
Ash rolled his eyes, but something about it made him smile as he stepped out and closed the door behind him. The hallway echoed faintly with the click of his boots. For a moment, Kesher just sat there in the quiet.
Then he whispered to himself, more to the shadows than anyone else, "I do believe in gods, Ash. Just not the ones in the stories."
He picked up his notebook from the coffee table and began scribbling, the words flowing like they always did.