The Wheel (Is Turning Now)

Link to article: The Wheel (Is Turning Now).

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[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]
**The Wheel (Is Turning Now)**
**Author:** [[*user TealQuacks]]
//The day ended with Nathan Valis standing at the rock bottom of Sloths Pit, staring up at the forest around it. Birds sang back and forth to one another, none the wiser to the end of the world.//
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]

On the day magic died, he awoke with a **__[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5242 name]__** he lost long ago. It felt unfamiliar on his tongue. Its sound bounced around his mind in strange angles. Looking in the mirror, at his sharpened jaw and deflated curls, only confirmed the impossible.

Nathan Valis stared at the image in the glass, at the face the world had scrubbed from its memory.

He scarcely had time to look into his eyes before his phone started to light up with messages. They were turning to him for answers, like he would know how this happened, how to fix the death of magic.

There was nothing that could be done.

The day ended with Nathan Valis standing at the rock bottom of Sloths Pit, staring up at the forest around it. Birds sang back and forth to one another, none the wiser to the end of the world. Nathan stared up at the slate grey sky as if it would answer his questions, as if he’d be able to glimpse past the clouds and see the empty space where the authors used to be, before they’d up and left.

No, he reasoned, the authors hadn’t abandoned them. They’d simply wrapped their impossible hands around the beating heart of the universe, and //yanked//.

Blood warm rain struck his head, but he didn’t move from the bottom of the bottomless pit, staring up from what should’ve been an abyss.

-----

The only thing worse than the sudden death of every wonder of the world was the job market.

Nathan gnawed the filter of his cigarette as he slumped his way back home from his second job. The Foundation had crumbled like a house of cards, and while they did pay out a pension, with no anomalies to contain or pataphysics to study, he was out of a job. Most of the others at Site-87 had moved on, to different cities, to better jobs. Some went back to school, others found jobs at universities or corporations. He had found no such luck. Unfortunately, working for a shadow organization and focusing on highly anomalous sciences didn’t make for a great resume. Much of his research was rendered useless by the sudden disappearance of anomalies, and he’d been comfortably hidden behind the veil for so much of his life that he had no references or recent past experience. In the two years since magic disappeared, he had gotten nothing but rejections. He was stuck in Sloth’s Pit.

During the day he restocked shelves in Sloth Pit’s library, the only part of the town where stories still lived. It bored him to tears, so much so he picked up a job as a busboy in a restaurant thirty minutes outside of the town. Not glamorous by any means, but it kept him from feeling like a caged animal picking at its own fur. The staff were nice, at least, and didn’t mind his lack of history or his constant bumming of cigarettes. All he had to do was pick up dishes and polish silverware, over and over and over. Monotonous, menial.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, souring his mood further. Lillian had texted him that morning, asking how he was. He didn’t respond. That did nothing to stop her messages, phone buzzing every 30 minutes or so. Part of him wanted to see what she had to say, but it’d probably just be her talking about her doctorate program. Neurolinguistics. A fascinating field. His phone buzzed again. And again. He should've been happy for her, but all he felt was the suffocating crush of another day wasted putting away books and doing dishes. Dull, banal work. He swallowed down his bitterness.

He jaywalked across a pothole-studded street, then hops up onto the sidewalk. //For Sale// signs creaked softly in the breeze. Almost every other house had one in front of it, because every story in Sloths Pit had come to an abrupt end. No climax, no falling action, just the inescapable conclusion. And everyone was left with the same question: What comes next? What could they possibly do now that their lives had been altered forever, turned into something unrecognizable? It was a question Nathan had been forced to ask after his identity was abstracted, and it was now being forced upon him again.

An engine's rumble pulled him out of his reverie. Cigarette smoke clouded his vision, but through it he could see a red sports car rolling slowly down the street. Nathan froze, squinting at the vehicle while he took a long drag of his cigarette. It looked familiar, even though he //knew// he'd never seen that car in Sloths Pit before. But he'd seen it before, before he came to Site-87 and left his un-abstracted past behind. The car idled up to him, engine purring like a stalking cat. Slowly, the window rolled down. Nathan's eyes widened.

“I thought you quit smoking."

Nathan blinked, brain struggling to catch up.

“I thought you were in California,” he said, eyes fixed on the man behind the wheel.

Ryoto Hishakaku laughed. He shifted the car into park, and crossed his legs idly, seatbelt still tight over his chest. Black leather shoes gleamed with fresh polish, and he wore deep blue dress pants, a white button up, a deep blue suit jacket and vest. One hand rested on the wheel, and a shiny golden watch sparkled like frost on his wrist. Time hadn't completely spared him, though, as Nathan took in the new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. They made him look wise, even though Nathan knew very well that that was far from the case. Ryoto grinned casually.

“Am I not allowed to visit an old friend?”

Nathan’s brows furrowed. Friends? How rich. It was over a decade since they'd spoken, even longer since the two had a conversation that wasn't just professional courtesies. The last time had to be just before he was abstracted, since after he turned into Placeholder McDoctorate any fondness the other man had towards him had vanished. Ryoto turned cold, grew distant, even though he was still his assistant director. It didn't take him long to decide to leave Site-15, stepping down from his position as director. The memory of Ryoto's bared teeth and furrowed brows was as clear as day, demanding to know why Barker had been made director instead of him. All he could do was stutter helplessly, still reeling from having his identity burnt to the ground.

Now, after everything, Ryoto had the audacity to call him his //friend.//

“That was a very long time ago, Ryoto," Nathan said.

“Things have changed since then, haven't they?"

Nathan's lip twitched.

“Yeah. You’ve gotten older.”

Ryoto smirked, as smarmy as Nathan remembered him.

“It’s good to see you too.”

His smile was too calm, too sweet. It looked wrong on his face in a way that made Nathan's lip twitch. Ryoto’s smile faded. Without the lines around his eyes, he looked like he did when they first met. Young, full of unbridled ambition and potential waiting to be harnessed. Something ugly stirred in Nathan’s chest, staring at the face of the man before him.

“Why are you here?” He snapped. “Are you trying to gloat, or something?”

“I just wanted to ask if you’d like to get dinner with me,” Ryoto said.

Nathan would have been less shocked if someone had thrown a bag over his head and beaten him with a saxophone. He raised his brows incredulously.

“Dinner? With you?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

Nathan scoffed.

“I think you forget the terms we parted on.”

Nathan glared icily at Ryoto. The other man didn’t seem affected at all, just staring at him like he was trying to memorize every inch of his face. Maybe he was. Abstraction had altered him physically as well as mentally, some incomprehensible force shaping him like wet clay into a vessel for the narrative. Tabula rasa.

Ryoto stared at him in silence. He pursed his lips together.

"What?" Nathan snapped. Ryoto blinked, pulled out of his thoughts.

“I thought you died that day.”

Nathan scoffed. “That is a gross oversimplification."

“I’m sure it is.” Ryoto sighed. “I've read SCP-5242 over and over, and I still don't fully grasp what Integer did to you when you spoke that things name. It's like you died."

Nathan winced at the monochrome of his words. He stared down at the sidewalk, but even then he could see Ryoto’s car wheels edged up against the curb.

“I didn't die. I was just abstracted.”

“But you weren't you anymore, were you?" Ryoto asked, uncomfortably earnest, "you weren't Nathan."

His jaw opened, then shut. As much as he wanted to snap that he was and had always been Nathan Valis, that just wasn’t true. It hadn't been true for a long time, even as he insisted his name was nothing but an anomalous prank, a place holder for his real name.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Well. Free dinner was free dinner. It wasn't like he had anything better to do with his night.

“Are you paying, at least?”

Ryoto smirked.

“What else am I good for?”

Ryoto leaned over the center console and unlocked the passenger door. Without a second to question himself, Nathan opened the door, and slid into the plush leather passenger seat. The doors locked with a click as Nathan buckled his seatbelt. Soft purring lept into a roar as Ryoto shifted into drive, and took off down the street. Nathan grimaced at his speed. Ryoto just rolled his eyes at him.

“Don’t be like that, you won’t regret this.”

Nathan closed his eyes. The car smelled like fresh upholstery, mixed with Ryoto’s cologne. The scent brought back a memory, the two of them driving to a gas station by Site-15 when the coffee machine in the break room had broken. Then, Nathan had been a director, and Ryoto had been an overeager researcher who trailed him like a duckling. They drove while Ryoto rambled about future projects and future plans, eyes alight with an unstoppable ambition.

A month after that drive, Nathan would decide to promote Ryoto to his assistant director.

He had yet to fully decide if that had been a mistake.

-----

Leaving Sloths Pit, the sky opened up and dumped rain down onto the dried out husks of cornfields that line the highway. Ryoto drummed his fingers on the wheel as he sped down the highway. Nathan crossed his hands over his chest. The rain sapped all the heat from the air, but he didn’t dare mess with the complex controls. He used to feel compelled to press any button or switch he saw, a normal trait for any mad-scientist archetypical, but the urge never came. A small mercy, he supposed.

“Do you like it in Sloths Pit?” Ryoto asked. Nathan shifted in his seat.

“It’s fine," He said, but his voice was cold. Ryoto raised a brow at him, but quickly turned his gaze back to the endless road. Nathan tilted his head. Being director had aged Ryoto. There were faint bags under his eyes, hidden with skillfully applied makeup. His skin was smooth, but he could see faint marks on his cheek from when Ryoto was younger, when he’d get acne from stress that he’d pick at until it scarred. Ryoto glanced at him again.

“It must be peaceful now that there’s not, you know."

Nathan silently watched dark thunderheads as they crested the horizon. Boring, more like. The chaos, the stories, the endless mysteries of Sloths Pit was what made living there . Every day was a new adventure to charge headlong into, purple labcoat billowing behind him like a stormcloud.

“Everywhere’s fucking peaceful," he grumbled.

“Isn’t that nice,” Ryoto mused, “peace on earth."

He flicked the headlights on, illuminating the fall of every single drop. Nathan rubbed his own arms, suddenly chilled to the bone.

Peace on earth. Empty containment cells. Nexuses turned ghost towns, graveyards.

“Billions died, Ryoto.”

“That makes us very lucky then, doesn’t it?”

They drove on, past corn, corn, and more corn.

“I suppose it does.”

-----

Ryoto parked in front of a modern building surrounded by hydrangea bushes, glass windows smeared with rain like an impressionist painting. Just from looking at the restaurant, Nathan knew he was underdressed in his coat, ratty t-shirt, and cargo pants.

Something poked him out of nowhere. He looked over, and Ryoto was offering him a black umbrella.

“…thanks,” he murmured.

He slid the door open, and quickly put up the umbrella. His sandals splashed in parking lot puddles as he ran to the restaurant door, quickly ducking inside. Ryoto was right on his heels, the two of them stumbling into the foyer. The restaurant was warmly lit, tables covered with white table cloths and a single candle. Ryoto spoke to the host, confirmed his reservation, and soon Nathan was following him through the restaurant, trying to ignore the stares of the well dressed patrons all around him. Even Ryoto in his rain-speckled suit looked classy, the darker spots slowly fading as they dry.

Someone was at their table already. A busboy with short brown curls, cleaning silverware with a white rag. Polishing with such single-minded focus, the boy didn’t notice the three of them lingering over his shoulder. Nathan could almost see himself in that seat, polishing enough forks for a royal dinner while guests waited to sit, a dark reflection of himself. The boy even had his curls. Nathan looked away as their host coughed, getting his attention. The busboy gathered his forks and knives, scurrying away as the host gave them their menus. They sat.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” Ryoto asked. Nathan shrugged, thumbing the edge of the menu.

“I haven’t thought much about it. You?”

Ryoto squinted at the menu for a few moments, then set it down.

“The scallops, I think. The pilaf that comes with it is to die for. Normally I’d have wine, but I think I’ll stick to water tonight. And you?”

Nathan ran his finger up and down his menu. A list of steaks caught his eye, and his stomach growled. He hadn’t had steak in a long, long time. One of the steaks was a sixty seven dollar dry aged ribeye. It would take almost an entire shift at the library to afford that steak. At least he wasn’t spending his own money. Anyone would know who was paying just by looking at them. Ryoto in his smart suit, him in his unwashed t shirt. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. Someone had written him into the wrong story.

“How’s 15?” Nathan asked, tapping his foot against expensive carpet. Ryoto shrugged.

“Same old same old. Still salvaging what we can, still trying to keep it pushing. And 87?”

Nathan glanced out the window.

“Defunct. We lost all funding.”

Ryoto’s brows pinched together, sympathetic. Flickering candlelight made his expression look softer. Now that he was closer, Nathan noticed flecks of silver starting at the man’s temples.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“I bet you are. So sorry." Nathan scoffed. “Where was this version of you when I needed it?”

Ryoto’s face didn’t change. He still looked sympathetic. Pitying.

“I was terrified,” he continued, “I was so alone, so goddamn scared.”

“So was I.”

"The entire site alienated me. You did too. Even when we knew how Integer worked, you avoided me like I was contagious, like I had a disease."

Ryoto looked away, out the window at the flowers being battered by the rain. His lips pinched together in a tight line. Nathan waited for the other man to say something, to offer up an explanation or an apology, but he simply stayed silent.

The waiter approached, a metal pitcher dripping condensation in his hand.

“Do you gentlemen know what you’re ordering?”

“Yes,” Ryoto said, both hands flat on his menu, “I’ll be having the scallops, and my friend will have the New York strip, medium rare.”

With an air of finality, Ryoto passed his menu to the waiter, who skittered away after filling their cups with frigid water. Nathan stared at him, expression blank. Ice clinked around in the crystal glass.

"It's been years, Ryoto," Nathan said, "I want to know why you avoided me, why you treated me like some sort of monster. Did I do something? Because if I did, I don't remember. I was nothing but good to you, even when you really, //really// didn't deserve it."

"That's true."

"So what was your problem?"

Ryoto sighed. "I thought you were dead."

Nathan nearly laughed in disbelief.

"What?"

"I thought that you’d been murdered, and... //something// was walking around in your skin."

Nathan's lip curled in frustration and disgust. Ryoto didn't look at him, just fiddled with his cufflinks while staring at the carpet.

"That's not how abstraction works, Ryoto. I was still me."

"It didn't feel like that."

"And how did you think it felt being ignored by my assistant director during the worst time of my fucking life?"

"How did you think it felt to search everywhere I could for your name just to find it replaced with "Placeholder McDoctorate", even in my journals? How did you think it felt to go into work every day, and look at your face knowing it was wrong, but not knowing how!?"

"Probably as shitty as it felt to see that face in the mirror every day," Nathan snarled.

"It made you act different, too," Ryoto continued, "but I never could figure out how. And that terrified me. I couldn't handle it, so I stayed away. Every time I saw you it was just a horrible reminder of how I lost the one man in 15 that I respected. As far as I knew, the Nathan Valis I knew and cared about was gone for good.”

“You don't remember Nathan, nobody does."

"Yes, I do."

"//I// don’t even remember who Nathan was, and I was him, apparently! All I’ve ever been is Placeholder McDoctorate, and he’s fucking gone now.”

Nathan blinked, face red and hot and wet with tears he hated himself for shedding. If only he could crawl under the table and hide from the rest of the world.

“He’s gone,” he repeated, “he’s gone.”

The pattering of rain filled the silence between them. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the two of them were in his office, pouring over papers after a busy day, a rare California rain drenching the earth. Ryoto picked at the buttons of his suit jacket. After a few moments of quiet, he spoke.

“Do you remember when I broke the coffee machine at 15? We were so desperate we went to the nearest gas station for, even though their coffee tasted like shit and hardly woke us. We got lost on the way back. Remember?”

Nathan furrowed his brows, distracted from his feelings.

“Wait, //you// broke the coffee machine?”

Ryoto rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward grin. “Percussive maintenance gone wrong.”

“You punched the coffee machine and it broke?”

“Well when you put it //that// way…”

Nathan shook his head.

“You little shit— and you didn’t tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d get mad.”

“I could’ve fixed it!”

“While exhausted?” Ryoto scoffed, “it was a shitty machine anyway.”

“I bought that machine with my own money!”

“See? I said you’d get mad!” He crowed, face the picture of smug satisfaction, “I knew you would back then, and you did right now. So that means you haven’t changed that much. And it means that we remember."

Nathan almost laughed at Ryoto’s fervent insistence. Almost. Nathan picked up his cup and took a long sip of water, watching Ryoto’s eyes as they followed his movements. Had he spent this entire time studying every detail, comparing them against memories? Ryoto had known him as Nathan //and// as Placeholder; who did he think he was more like? Which version of him did he see?

“I never knew you cared so much."

“…I should’ve tried harder to let you know,” Ryoto whispered. He looked back up at him, and for a moment Nathan could've sworn his eyes were wet with tears.

Nathan opened his mouth to respond, only for the waiter to interrupt by setting their food in front of them. Ryoto’s plate was full of fluffy rice and scallops that looked like roasted marshmallows, and his own plate had a steak, with mashed potatoes and broccoli, piled high. Steam rose from both plates in wispy curls, filling the air with the aroma of cooked meat and well-seasoned vegtables.

“Holy shit,” Nathan said. Ryoto chuckled.

“See? I said you wouldn’t regret it.”

Nathan picked up his knife, running his thumb over the hilt. His reflection in the steak knife was smeared and warped.

“I don't think I do."

He sliced into the meat, and the two of them ate in silence. His steak was thick and rich, a little on the bloody side, but still delicious. The mashed potatoes were the real showstopper, still a bit chunky with bits of skin and lots of butter. Each scrape of his spoon against the plate made a hideous screech, but it was worth it to get every last bit.

“We should do this more often,” Ryoto mused, watching him lick the last bit of mashed potatoes on his spoon, pupils so blown his almond shaped eyes looked black instead of brown.

“That’d be a waste of jet fuel,” Nathan snorted, “flying 2,000 miles when you could just call.”

“It’d be easier if we lived closer together.”

“No offense, but you’re a city slicker through and through. You’d hate Sloths Pit.”

“That’s not what I had in mind.”

Nathan froze, looking up from his plate. Ryoto stared right back at him. He used to be able to read Ryoto like a book, but now the man’s expression was incredulous.

"I'm not going back to 15."

"That's not what I had in mind either."

The rain-smeared windows suddenly felt as claustrophobic as foot-thick concrete. Deep worry settled like a rock in his gut. If he was still Placeholder, he could’ve done something corny but narratively effective to get out of the situation, like tug at his collar with a cry of “check please?” Now that he was only Nathan Valis, he went with the only excuse he could think of.

“I need a cigarette,” Nathan declared.

Instead of protesting like he expected, Ryoto reached into his jacket and pulled out a golden lighter, offering it to him with an outstretched hand. Nathan had his own lighter, a white BIC that weighed heavily in his pocket as he stared at the golden metal glisten in the candlelight. Outside the rain still poured. All around them, busboys collected dishes into black bins, darting from table to table like flies.

“I’ll be out after I pay. Enjoy your smoke.”

The temptation to ask Ryoto what the hell he was talking about was nigh irresistible, but the thought of getting to smoke in peace before the long drive home distracted him.

Their fingers brushed as Nathan took the lighter. Ryoto’s hand was warm and soft, well-manicured. He tried not to think about the feeling of his hand, or the strange smile on his face, as he marched outside.

-----

[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]

[[span style="font-size:1.2em;"]] Lillian Lillihammer [[/span]]

[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Yeah that sounds fun.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Some memes stuck, tho, like Harry still knows polish from the time I showed him the polish meme. It’s handy since I can practice with him [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Hbu what’ve you been up to [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Anything fun?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]?[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Nathaaaaan[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Nathaaaaaaaaaaaaan[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]What’re you doing[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]C’mon don’t just ghost me[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Look idk what I said but you could at least have the decency to respond.[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Hello?[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Sorry I was getting dinner. I’m really happy for you Lilli [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I’ve not been up to much, I got a job at sloth’s pit’s library. [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Oh that’s nice, I guess you still get to be around stories. Sorta [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Anything else? [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]] No. [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Just stuck in sloths pit. [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]] You could go back to school, it’s going pretty well for me! [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]] Lol with what money? [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]] Like they wouldn’t offer you scholarships out the wazoo [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Any place would be lucky to have you [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]] Doesn’t explain all the rejections [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]] Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone’s struggling with the adjustment [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Even me hahaha [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] You literally became a whole different person [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]] Did I really change that much? [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]] I mean yeah [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Just like you were when you were abstracted [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Getting unabstracted is just that in reverse lol [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]] Sure, yeah. [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] Is it wrong that I miss it? [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]] Not wrong, just weird [[/span]]
[[span class="text"]] I mean, what is there to miss? [[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

-----

The squeal of hinges interrupted his conversation. Nathan tucked his phone back in his pocket, watching as Ryoto stepped under the restaurant’s awning with him. Cigarette pinched in his teeth, he used that as an excuse not to say anything.

“What were you looking at?” Ryoto asked.

“Texting Lillian,” Nathan muttered, voice muffled by the cigarette still pinched in his teeth. There was no reason to lie about it.

"Lillian Lillihammer?"

"Yeah."

The smile on Ryoto’s face was one he’d not seen in years. Sharp, like a hunting dog’s snarl.

"You have something to say," Nathan said.

“I want to show you something, actually," Ryoto pulled his phone from his pocket, "something really, really interesting."

Ryoto held out his phone expectantly, screen so bright it made his pupils contract.

“It better not be a photo of your d—“

Nathan cut himself off as his vision came into focus.

“A what?”

He stared silently at Ryoto’s phone.

“You thought I was gonna show you a picture of my—“

“What the fuck is this?”

Blueprints gleamed on the screen. Devices that looked familiar, sounded familiar. Scrolling down were lines of code, software, project proposals. Patents. Signed and photographed.

“I said I was salvaging, didn’t I?” Ryoto smiled smarmily. Nathan stared at him, confusion eclipsed with a dawning revulsion.

“This is all Foundation tech,” Nathan said, cigarette tumbling from his lips and onto the wet concrete.

“It //was// Foundation tech,” Ryoto preened, “but I created my own modifications so they all work without paratech. I’m even working on nonanomalous . aic programs. Like Alexandria.”

Nathan swallowed heavily, his dinner turning into a ball of lead in his guts. The other man leaned into his personal space, hand settling on his shoulder like a leaden weight.

“Why are you telling me this?” Nathan pleaded.

Ryoto squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m starting my own company, and I want you to be my CTO.”

Nathan guffawed. He silently hoped the other man would join in. When he didn’t, face completely serious, Nathan stopped laughing.

“What?”

“I said what I meant.” Ryoto blinked. “CTO means chief technology officer, by the way.”

“I knew that,” he snapped, mind reeling. The rain had let up at least, tapping slowly on the fancy cars in the parking lot.

“I’m setting up just outside San Francisco,” Ryoto continued, “I’ve already gotten everything figured out, developers, investors, patents— all I need is you.”

“Why, so you can steal my work too?”

Ryoto had the audacity to look hurt.

“That’s not what this is about at all.”

Nathan stared silently at the other man. He had that same unreadable expression from earlier. For a moment Nathan wished he'd stayed at Site-15 with him, just so that he could have the time to learn all the little tells in his expressions, to know if he was being honest or not.

“I’m not going,” he snapped.

Ryoto laughed. “What, you’d rather stay in //Wisconsin?//”

“It’s better than this.”

“Is it really, Nathan?”

The sound of his own name made him flinch like he was struck. Ryoto’s eyes were locked on him. Intense and unblinking.

“You’d rather stay in some dead-end, dying town, working two miserable jobs, instead of accepting my help?”

“I’d rather keep my dignity.”

“Your pride, more like,” he scoffed. Nathan felt himself flush, mouth twitching into a snarl.

“I have no pride!” Nathan shouted, “Everything I worked for is useless now, everyone I know has moved on to bigger and better things while I’m stuck playing the role of a man I don’t even know! I don't even want to //be// him anymore!"

His words don’t even echo in the rainy night. They felt dead from the second they left his mouth. Every breath was a heavy pant, his breath catching up with all the words that he just vomited out. Ryoto stared at him contemplatively, like he was a problem waiting to be solved.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t care if you’re not him. You were him. And we had some good times together.”

“Like you breaking my coffee machine?” Nathan said.

Ryoto chuckled.

“Not exactly what I meant.”

Nathan nodded. He turned away, fishing around in his pockets for another cigarette, finding none. He sighed heavily at the realization, fingers twitching for a hit of nicotine.

“I can’t just leave.”

“Sure you can. It wouldn’t be that hard to get you a plane ticket for my flight tomorrow. I’ll hire movers to get your things moved once you’re more settled.” Ryoto looked him up and down. “Maybe not your clothes, though.”

Nathan turned around to glare at him, but couldn’t find the anger inside of him. Instead, he felt tired. Deeply tired. It was as if he hadn’t slept in months, years, maybe, but it was only just hitting him. The cold air sapped all the energy from his bones.

“We could change the world together. With the patents I've already filed, and your skills, we would revolutionize the tech industry. You and me, CEO and CTO, would be unstoppable. Or," Ryoto paused, tilting his head, “you can stay in Sloth’s Pit, and let this opportunity pass you by. What'll it be, Nathan?"

Nathan ground his teeth together, staring down at the wet concrete. Sloth's Pit was all he'd known, where he'd found peace after abstraction, a home for strange characters like him. Yet he wasn't a character anymore, was he? No longer a mad scientist, just a man standing in the freezing rain with a man he thought despised him. His phone buzzed. Buzzed again.

"Nathan?" Ryoto spoke. His hands were tucked in his pockets. He hadn't asked for his lighter back.

“Take me home, Ryoto,” Nathan said.

He was silent for a few moments. Nathan looked to where Ryoto lingered. He was holding the umbrella he’d given to him when he got out of the car, silently offering it to him. Huh, he hadn’t even realized he’d left it at their dinner table. Nathan clenched his hands into fists, then unclenched them. He took the umbrella from Ryoto's hand.

“I’ll let you think in the car.”

Ryoto stepped into the rain, walking towards his car.

“I don’t need to think,” Nathan shouted after him, “I’ve made up my mind.”

Ryoto turned around midstep. The man had the audacity to laugh.

“You want to spend your entire life where stories go to die? You can be my guest. Or you can come with me, and we can make the future together.”

A deep sense of dread curled in Nathan’s chest as Ryoto reached his car, unlocked it, and climbed easily inside. Nathan couldn’t help but imagine himself somewhere sunnier, warmer, where rain was as common as a boring day and he and Ryoto could look ahead and see the endless stretching pacific. California.

His phone buzzed again. And again.

He silenced it as he climbed into Ryoto's car.

-----

The drive back home was uneventful and quiet. Most of the rain had turned into a faint mist that hung in the air, catching the light from Ryoto’s headlights.

When Ryoto reached his house, Nathan was out before he put the car in park. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he stormed into his house, not sparing a glance to the car or the man behind him.

Inside, he ran his hand through his curls. He passed the coat closet and walked into the bathroom, eyes glancing over his medication bottles and toiletries before flicking up, staring at himself in the mirror.

He knew his own reflection well, a face that never felt like it belonged to him.

That still was the case, but, perhaps, one day he could be alright with it.

Nathan picked up his toothbrush.

Then his toothpaste.

Then he gathered his medicine into his arms, and looked around the bathroom for a bag he could keep his toiletries in.

Packing didn’t take very long. He shoved clothes and his silk pillowcase into a bag, a few dusty Rubik’s cubes, his laptop, chargers, everything he’d need for a sudden trip. Heart thundering in his chest, he stared at his carry on bag.

//Am I really doing this?//

He looked out the window, in the direction of the no longer bottomless Sloth’s pit.

Well, there was nothing left to do.

Nathan zipped the bag shut, and walked outside. Ryoto was waiting there, idling engine making low, contented purrs.

“Are you ready?

Nathan took a long, deep breath.

“Is anyone?”

Ryoto rolled his eyes.

“Get in, you drama queen.”

“Pot, kettle,” he mumbled, climbing into the seat of the sports car. He clutched his bag to his chest, heart still pounding.

Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe years later, he’d look back on this moment like he did the day he was abstracted, or the day he chose Hishakaku as his assistant director, wondering what his life would look like if he had chosen differently. But at least he had chosen. The rest of his life wouldn’t be restocking shelves and dishes, it would be full of whatever awaited them in California. A new life. A new version of him. A place where he has no past.

He could only watch the road span on, until Sloth’s Pit was far behind them.

The Wheel (Is Turning Now)

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