Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wind whipping around his ears, Lin Ling comes to a halt right between the skyscrapers littered throughout the first district. 

He’s not high enough for people to become a colony of busting ants, but it’s still hard to make out details beyond colours and general shapes. Gradually losing altitude, Lin Ling's eyes scan the streets below him. Between surprised faces and the first phone cameras pointing his way, Lin Ling finds his target easily enough—an older woman running into a scattering crowd, shouting and pointing her energy gun at anything that moves. 

Lin Ling quickly swoops down. He prevents a group of tourists from becoming Swiss cheese, and after making sure a swerving car wouldn't crash into the nearest building, he follows the woman into a dimly lit alley void of any people.

She seems less of an actual villain and more of a desperate person pushed into a corner. Her entire get-up screams self-made gadgets, the kind you'd sit over for hours in a painstakingly small garage with what little budget remained after living expenses, and it's clear from her frantic movements and split second hesitations that she didn't entirely think this through. It doesn’t make her any less dangerous for how she ultimately still makes use of those unstable creations of hers, and Lin Ling already spent a good amount of time just following her and making sure no one got caught in the crossfire. 

Still, he hopes her sentence won’t be too harsh. She’s not exactly hard to deal with, but very annoying for the potential collateral whenever she does pull the trigger, meaning Lin Ling had to be twice as careful while approaching her. 

Miss J would have his head for dinner if any civilian got hurt because of his carelessness. 

The only reason a top ten hero had been dispatched in the first place was because of his proximity. Lin Ling barely received his order of fries and chicken nuggets when Miss J blew up his phone, most of her messages being coordinates of a nearby location. Lin Ling had sighed, shoved his hard earned tray of snacks into the arms of a father whose child was inches away from throwing a tantrum because of a toy it didn't get, and went on his way. 

So much for having the evening to himself. 

Rounding the corner, Lin Ling spots the woman a good distance away from him. She stumbles through the abandoned alley with the grace of a newborn deer, frantically looking behind her one too many times. Lin Ling has her cornered now—as soon as she slipped into more restricted terrain, there were less targets and more opportunities for Lin Ling to simply close the gap without having to protect people. The woman must realise her mistake as she starts hazardously firing her laser gun into his direction, thick beams of red Lin Ling dodges gracefully with a few twists and turns of his body. When the woman pulls out an eerily pulsating ball of energy to load into the launcher attached to her shoulder, Lin Ling realises the alley wasn’t as empty as he thought it was. 

An office worker stands at the end of it, staring intently at a vending machine. He carries the look of someone who only allowed a few indulgences in life, thick glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose and absolutely none the wiser of the incoming peril heading directly his way as he pushes a coin into the machine. Lin Ling's heart misses a beat. The woman aims her launcher the same moment she sends Lin Ling a shaky, nasty grin over her shoulder, desperate enough to grab the opportunity presented to her on a silver platter. 

Lin Ling accelerates. 

“Watch out!”

He slams into the woman’s back, tackling her to the ground and effectively redirecting the shot’s trajectory to somewhere above them. A roof explodes. Glass, hubris and bricks rain down, and Lin Ling thinks he hears the surprised shout of a few kids before he knocks the woman out with a clean hit to her head.

Lin Ling quickly removes every single one of her weapons, making sure none of them will explode within the next five minutes. He straightens and turns around to help the civilian from earlier—only to realise the man is completely unharmed, idly standing next to a huge chunk of torn rooftop. The expression he's wearing reminds Lin Ling of someone staring at a piece of modern art they can't quite understand, but are nonetheless fascinated by. Much like himself whenever he visits a museum. 

Lin Ling quickly retracts his outstretched hand before the man notices his awkward hovering, and his eyes scan the man's body up and down for any visible injury. A crisp, albeit worn suit with a tie sitting snug on his throat, slightly loosened from a long day of work—office worker. Rather tall. Seemingly unharmed, safe from the dust and many wrinkles on his clothes, but Lin Ling’s worries persist nonetheless. 

“You alright?” He asks, keeping his voice low so as not to startle him.

The man takes in their surroundings—debris and metal parts everywhere—and dusts himself off, long, slim fingers patting his suit down in practiced movements. 

Lin Ling frowns. Perhaps the man is in a little bit of a shock, considering the delay in his reactions. 

“You’re fast,” the man says in lieu of an actual answer, and with that rather nonchalant reply, some of Lin Ling’s tension dissipates. He cracks a small smile. “Gotta be, if I wanna save people. Seriously, though, are you okay?”

The man clearly hesitates before answering. "Yes—yes, I am."

Lin Ling's eyes narrow, but he nods. He starts collecting the parts on the ground to throw onto a neat pile. Trash probably, for the most part, but maybe the lab or E-Soul can make use of it, and if they don't, the clean up crew has less work to do. He tracks the office worker's body language from the corner of his eye, just to make sure he's actually fine and not just pretending for whatever reason. 

There’s a soda can lying on the ground, not too far away from where the office worker is standing. Somewhat clean and clearly freshly bought. It's weightless in Lin Ling’s hand as he picks it up, and the colourful logo of X strikes a lost chord of familiarity in him. 

He runs a thumb across the slightly dusty surface. Dry off-set printing, a glossy finish. Lin Ling made the initial drafts for the product range of hero-themed soda cans, only for it to be given away to the biggest branding agency under TREEMAN's belt at the first signs of begrudging approval from his superiors. Packaging isn't even his field of expertise, but it's not like any of his bosses cared as long as the lowest paid employee got the work done they'd forgotten to assign in the first place.

Lin Ling huffs quietly to himself. Not like they'd have given him any money beyond what's written in his contract, even if the job did end up staying in their agency and under his supervision. 

“This is yours, right?” Lin Ling says. 

The office worker blinks and takes one, two steps closer to take the offered can from Lin Ling.

“I was already wondering where it went,” the man says. The slight furrow between his eyebrows smoothens out. “Thank you.”

Lin Ling smiles. Small as it was, he's happy he could salvage something from today’s mess. “Good choice,” he says, nudging his chin towards the can. “I tried every flavour of the roster. Ghostblade comes second—didn't think blueberry and mint could mix that well—but nothing comes close to X, does it?”

He winces at the unintended pun, but the office worker doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, the corners of his mouth even quirks a little upwards. His upper body is turned away from Lin Ling, all the telltale signs of a tired office worker wanting nothing more than to head home already, but it seems like curiosity persists and he lingers to ask another question.  

“You prefer it over your own?”

So he does know Lin Ling's a hero. Not that it's hard to put two and two together, with him literally flying into an alley—but he's not in his hero suit, dressed in oversized, comfy clothes instead, and while he did manage to breach the top ten, he's not nearly as flashy as other heroes like Queen or Nice. 

Which is kind of his whole brand. People usually had to look twice, sometimes thrice before figuring out it's Lin Ling's face that's regularly plastered on the big billboards they walk past everyday. The fact the office worker recognised him without any fanfare has Lin Ling a little flustered. He scratches the back of his neck and pushes another chunk of smaller rooftop out of the way, just to give his hands something to do.

“Nah. Peaches are good, you know, but a little basic? I just hope they’ll release more flavours in the future. Or rotate stuff around. The same thing every time does get stale, even if it’s X’s flavour.”

Static crackles in his ear. A familiar voice rings through, one of the many, stationary operators providing long-distance support at TREEMAN.

“Lin Ling? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’ll head back in a second.” After confirming some mission details for protocol, Lin Ling takes out his earpiece and slips it inside one of his pockets. That thing always hurts if he wears it for an extended amount of time. “Gotta go,” he says to the office worker, jogging over to the unconscious woman. Maybe he should have at least put her onto that nearby stack of cardboard boxes so she wasn't cruedly lying on the ground. Carefully putting her over his shoulder, Lin Ling steadily raises into the air. He gives the office worker one last, apologetic smile.

“I know you said you're fine, but if you start feeling weird or notice anything is off, just give the hospital a visit, okay? If not for your sake, then for mine. Oh, and no need to worry about the bill! Just put it under my name and they'll take care of everything. Uhm—yeah. That's all. Haha."

Too flustered to wait for the office worker's reaction, Lin Ling takes off. 

Right after passing the automatic door, Lin Ling makes a beeline for the generous dressing room tucked away to the left side of the entrance.

He pulls off his clothes and folds them as best as he can, putting them into the designated outside clothes drawer for Nice to organise later. He knows Nice will redo them about three times before he’s properly satisfied, only to throw everything into the washing machine anyway, but he's learned not to treat his clothes as carelessly as he did before. Nice nearly had a stroke the first time he saw the trail of clothes Lin Ling left behind after a particularly gruesome rescue mission, and he really doesn't want to be held accountable for his second death.

Sharing a floor with Nice did improve a lot of Lin Ling's bad habits, even if it also introduced the occasional headache to his routine.

Lin Ling hops into the shower. Less than ten minutes later he’s dressed in a clean set of clothes, toweling his hair and shuffling into the open kitchen. It smells like fried vegetables and mild spices, and he doesn’t need to look into the fridge to know Nice cooked some premade meals for them both tomorrow, neatly labelled and all. Lin Ling wiggles his toes against the plush fabric of the slippers Nice was so kind to put out for him.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“It’s fine,” Nice says. “I’m just cleaning up right now."

Nice glances over his shoulder for just a second, momentarily pinning Lin Ling in place with those bright eyes of his. "You took longer than expected.”

“Yeah, my bad. Didn’t think I’d get called on a mission last minute.”

Nice is still dressed in his hero suit—all white, sinfully tight fabric with golden accents—meaning he was too absorbed in other tasks to remember to change out of it, but he’s also got pink rubber gloves going up to his elbow which makes the entire sight of him really cute. Lin Ling sneaks a small picture to commemorate the view before he walks closer, peeking over Nice’s shoulder. 

He whistles at the small, perfectly stacked mountain of dishes Nice already went through. They practically sparkle with how clean they are, reflecting parts of Lin Ling's awed face. He's sure he could use them as a mirror. 

“Maybe you should give the dishwasher another chance,” Lin Ling says. 

“It doesn’t do an acceptable job even on the highest setting,” Nice dryly replies, scrubbing away at one particularly stubborn smudge of sauce. His blue eyes flicker between where Lin Ling is leaning against the counter and his current enemy at hand. “I have to manually clean the dishes afterwards anyway. Might as well do so from the start.”

Lin Ling nods thoughtfully. “Worth a try. Cuddles on the couch after you’re done?” 

Nice’s concentrated expression is broken by the soft, vaguely pleased upturn of his mouth at the prospect of a reward for his hard work. “Of course.”

Lin Ling hums a happy tune and makes his way over to said couch. Gracefully collapsing onto it, he reaches for the remote. He zaps through a couple of channels before he settles for the news, browsing through his phone on the side. More messages from Miss J, photos from Moon’s new vacation in Egypt. Lin Ling's a little jealous until he remembers all her complaints about the blazing sun giving her one sunburn after the other. A broadcast about his earlier mission plays by the time Nice joins him—just wearing sweatpants and a shirt this time around. Putting his phone away, Lin Ling scoots forward so Nice can take his usual place behind him; a routine they've both become familiar with over the last two months. 

He chuckles when Nice pulls him close enough to presses his nose to Lin Ling's hair. If Nice is bothered by the still damp texture, he doesn’t show it beyond a brief stiffening of his body. 

“Green apples,” Nice murmurs, "and a hint of citrus. You used my shampoo this time.”

Lin Ling tries turning to catch Nice's expression, but all he sees are tufts of white. “Does it bother you? I ran out of mine and totally forgot to buy a new one. I’ll set a reminder so I don’t forget the next time I go out.”

“It’s fine,” Nice says. Another inhale, deeper this time, before Nice slowly leans backwards. His voice isn’t muffled like before, but still just as measured when he speaks, one hand brushing along the collar of Lin Ling’s shirt to make sure nothing’s overly creased. “Feel free to use anything I own. It’d make me happy if you did.”

“Really?”

“Lin Ling,” Nice reminds him, stern but not unkind, and Lin Ling laughs bashfully. 

“Sorry. Just making sure. Feels like I'm still intruding sometimes, you know?”

"You aren't. I'll repeat it as many times as necessary."

Content with Nice’s answer for the meantime, Lin Ling fully leans into his chest and allows Nice to wrap his arms around him in turn.

Together, they watch the broadcast playing some of the recorded footage from Lin Ling’s newest chase. A tearful driver recounting in exaggerated detail as to how he was saved, a close-up of Lin Ling’s concentrated expression when he searched for his target, followed by a slow zoom-in on the clothes he was wearing. Lin Ling snickers. No doubt would the brand receive a shocking amount of orders seemingly overnight. He knows that by tomorrow, Miss J will already have drafted a contract for a potential collaboration—only if the price is right, of course.

There’s even a clip of Lin Ling where he took off into the sky with the supposed villain safely apprehended over his shoulder. In the background, Lin Ling can just barely make out what he thinks is the blurry figure of that office worker. Did he finish his soda before getting home, or did he enjoy the rest of it in the safety of his apartment?

Nice hums. “You did well.”

“Barely did anything,” Lin Ling counters, shrugging. “Poor woman didn’t seem like she knew what she was doing, but realised it was too late to back out so she kind of had to double down on everything."

Nice’s arms squeeze around him. “You put effort in everything you do, big or small things. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Lin Ling doesn't reply.

For a brief moment, he considers telling Nice about the office worker he saved today. But with the amount of weird people they meet on a daily basis, it’d be a drop of water on a hot stone. Barely worth mentioning. At most, it’d get a vague hum out of Nice, who seems far more interested in figuring out the cotton to polyester ratio of Lin Ling’s shirt with how insistently his fingers are toying with the hem of it. 

Lin Ling shudders when a thumb accidentally grazes his hipbone. Nice pauses, then pulls his hand back in favour of resting his chin on Lin Ling’s shoulder, tightly securing his arms around Lin Ling’s waist once more.

Hot breath fans against his neck. “Next time,” Nice murmurs, “let me know me when you’re late.”

Lin Ling absentmindedly rubs his knuckles against the hands comfortably resting on top his stomach. Huddled in cozy warmth and with the reporter’s deep voice droning along in the background, it’s easy to pretend Nice’s teeth aren’t gently scraping along his jugular vein like a mere afterthought to his request. 

Lin Ling swallows thickly. “Sorry, gege. I will.”  

A day passes, and then another. Lin Ling has almost forgotten about the strange office worker by the time he’s doing a live interview, right on top of a stage FOMO set up in front of their building. 

Despite it being the middle of the day and most of X City’s working force slaving away somewhere in cubicles too small to hold both their dreams and misery simultaneously, a considerable amount of people have gathered around the raised stage, intently watching Lin Ling answer scripted questions thrown his way. 

He’s become rather good at managing interviews after having brute forced his way through plenty of them while posing as Nice. Sometimes he adds his own flavour to the one-sided conversation—nothing outrageous, just an extra sentence or comment here and there. Enough to catch the interviewer off guard and undoubtedly making him responsible for another early gray hair on Miss J’s thinning head, but the crowd loves these little bits of authenticity pushing through the necessary PR nonsense, and most interviewers tend to become just a little more engaged when talking to him afterwards.

Lin Ling's never been good at dealing with people pretending to be interested in something they genuinely weren’t. 

Waiting for the interviewer to finish the brief sponsoring segment, Lin Ling’s eyes sweep across the masses gathered. The concept of fan merchandise isn’t new to him—hell, he’s the solid foundation of at least a couple of fandoms and rolled out at least three different merchandise presentations for a considerable amount of heroes—but it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that some of the merch people are wearing is his. Calm, neutral colours, more minimalistic and functional than anything overly flashy by his request. The Commoner instead of Queen or Lucky Cyan, and he hasn't even been a hero for that long. 

It’s terribly endearing. Also more than a little embarrassing, seeing a girl wave a fan shaped and illustrated like his head at him. Lin Ling smiles at her, and winces when she almost passes out in response. The part of Lin Ling that still hasn’t understood how he got to be here is convinced he hasn’t quite earned this type of unadulterated devotion just yet. Perhaps it’ll lose its novelty over the years, or never. It’s hard to predict in a world as fast changing as the hero one. Lin Ling could drop to the bottom of the rankings overnight and be none the wiser, or rise steadily to the top in the same breath. 

Not like anyone's gonna surpass the current X anytime soon.

A few office workers have started gathering along the edge of the crowd. Perhaps on a break, simply wanting to see what the fuss right outside their working space was about, or maybe even encouraged by FOMO. Publicity and all; see what you're really working for beyond the numbers and excel sheets you're staring at for eight hours a day. Among the new faces, Lin Ling’s gaze lingers on one office worker in particular, and his brain kickstarts a memory from around a week ago.

It’s the office worker he saved when he was chasing that tech-woman. Same suit, same tie, same tired but glinting eyes, like he knows one too many secrets. If it weren’t for the office worker being at least one head taller than everyone else, Lin Ling might have missed him amongst everyone. 

He spots a familiar soda can in his hand—X’s flavour, because of course it wouldn't be anything else—and Lin Ling bites his lip to suppress quiet laughter. Wouldn’t do good in a semi-serious interview. The office worker frowns, but after taking one long, generous sip from his soda, one of his eyebrows raises, like he’s daring Lin Ling to say something from afar. 

That does get a chuckle out of him. 

“—Lin Ling?"

Lin Ling immediately snaps back to the interview. He smiles sheepishly. "Ah, sorry. Got distracted there by a second—still not used to seeing so many fans after the stunt I pulled, you know."

The interviewer takes the bait easily. "But that stunt took so much courage! It’s the origin of your hero story, isn’t it? Not wanting to let the world know Nice was battling a serious illness that almost cost him his life just to keep his fans from worrying, only to take up the torch yourself when the pressure became too much! Tell us, Lin Ling! How was it like, standing there on the rooftop with not a single trust value to back you up?”

Lin Ling has told the story so many times it’s gotten kind of hard to remember what is true and what isn’t. Details tend to blur together in the long run, doubt manifesting in those tiny cracks. All Lin Ling is certain about is how he felt towards the end of it—hollowed out, more flesh and brittle bones than living being. A single breeze would have been enough to knock him out. Then; the single, blue trust value flowing into his wrist, flashing brighter than any of the stars he'd been chasing.

Lin Ling was a product of years of accumulated failures he stubbornly hadn’t wanted to admit to anyone, least of all himself, and all it took was a single person genuinely believing in him for Lin Ling to get up once more. 

He tells the interviewer as much. A shorter, more concise version at least that isn’t any less genuine. The woman breaks out in tears halfway through it. Lin Ling is quick to hand her a tissue from the box sitting on the table next to him, awkwardly trying to comfort her without touching her beyond what is appropriate for strangers. 

After the interviewer calmed down and they wrap up the rest of the broadcast, Lin Ling looks towards the crowd once more. It's bigger than ever, countless of people pushing forward with smiles on their faces, but the office worker is long gone.

Chapter Text

Sluggish warmth. A trickle of sunlight across copper lashes. Morning-drowsiness sits in Lin Ling's bones, so deeply nestled he wants to give into another hour of sleep, but there’s the familiar itch of something just beyond his reach.

Lin Ling’s eyes blearily crack open. 

Nice hovers by his side, half propped up on the edge of Lin Ling’s side of the bed. He's already fully dressed, hero-suit and snowy bangs artfully draped to mostly one side, looking down at Lin Ling like he's a particularly interesting crossword puzzle to slowly fill out. 

A neutral expression makes up the rest of Nice’s face, though his lips curve into the ghost of a smile as Lin Ling regards him sluggishly. 

Pretty, is the somewhat coherent thought that comes to Lin Ling's mind. The first rays of sunlight dip Nice into a colour palette that’s several shades warmer than his usual one. Beige; sun-kissed orange instead of clinical white and gold. It slips into the cracks otherwise invisible to the public eye, mellowing and softening Nice into something Lin Ling wants to pull under his covers and keep close. Just for a few minutes. 

Lin Ling yawns instead, blinks until Nice isn’t overlapping with the image of the rising sun anymore. It takes him several attempts to find his voice, the heartbeat beneath his ribcage just slightly uneven.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Lin Ling rasps.  

Nice's exhale is soft, barely there. “Not really.”

Insomnia has been one of the symptoms Nice has been dealing with ever since he was released, so it’s not an unusual sight, waking up to Nice watching him. It happened enough times for Lin Ling's initial unease to settle into indifference, and it helped that all Nice did was—well, watching. Which surely could be considered unsettling in its own way, but Lin Ling knows the perfect, public image he himself helped advertising was a thin veneer masking a discipline bordering on obsession with a litany of questionable vices to match. 

Lin Ling swallows the familiar bubbling of guilt, shoves it back down into the corner with all of his other regrets. When he's alone—not now. His thoughts are terribly slow and muddled right after waking up, but he wiggles just a little closer to lay his cheek on the fingers splayed across his mattress.

They’re positively freezing against Lin Ling’s cheek, always needing several hours to warm up, and Lin Ling idly wonders how Nice maintains enough dexterity to dress and style himself right after getting up. Lin Ling pulls his knees closer to his chest, loosely curling around where he's pressing his cheek into Nice’s fingers in a pitiful attempt to breathe life into them. 

“You should stay here for a while longer,” he murmurs sleepily. It's probably around 5AM, going from the wisps of lighting peaking through drawn-back curtains. “Or, mhhh. Do you have work? Was there an attack?”

“It's Friday," Nice says.

Lin Ling processes, then grimaces. Fridays means check-ups for Nice, which means needles, dark substances the colour of tar, and restraints that would always break towards the end of those sessions. 

“They’re necessary,” Shang De had said without looking up from his paperwork. Like Lin Ling quietly standing in his office, the skin underneath his hero-suit mottled with bruises from how fiercely Nice clung to him for the second half of the check-up, was little more than an inconvenience. A footnote at the bottom of a worthless document. 

“Need me to come with you?” Lin Ling asks, unable to keep the concern from bleeding into his voice. 

Lin Ling can tell Nice is seriously considering the offer with how many seconds go by in silence. He does his best to keep his eyes open, catching the shifts of micro-expressions on Nice's face even while tiredness relentlessly tugs at him. Eventually, Nice shakes his head. The fingers beneath Lin Ling’s cheek lift his head the slightest bit, enough to curl below Lin Ling's chin, caressing sensitive, warm flesh in small strokes. 

“You'd fall asleep halfway there.”

“I wouldn’t,” argues Lin Ling, but he’s already leaning into Nice’s touch, ready to drool onto his pillow with how good Nice's fingers feel. His next words come out slightly slurred. “Alright, maybe I would. But you could carry me the rest of the way.”

“A tempting offer, but I'd rather you get some actual rest.”

“Mhhh. Sure?”

“I’ll manage, Lin Ling.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to do it alone,” Lin Ling groggily reminds. 

Nice blinks, then smiles—the small, tentative one that barely qualifies as a smile, especially in comparison to all the other ones he shows in public. It’s also the one Lin Ling likes the most because it’s just slightly off-kilter. Unpracticed; one of the many, subconscious responses Nice worked a lifetime long to properly control.

If Lin Ling were still working in advertisement and his boss saw the curve of his mouth, he’d tell Lin Ling to correct it. 

“I’ve been getting better at managing them alone, haven’t I?” Nice retracts his hand, and Lin Ling’s sleepy enough to chase after it before he remembers himself.

He frowns, painfully aware of why Nice pulled back. He’s not happy with his choice—rarely is, with Nice's blaring lack of self-preservation—but Nice is stubborn, only willing to budge so much in the face of Lin Ling’s empathy. It's not just pride, Lin Ling knows, and the other reason deepens the crease between his eyebrows.

“I'll be there next week,” Lin Ling says. “No buts.”

Nice ponders his declaration a little too long before eventually giving in. “Very well.”

Fabric rustles as Nice leans down. There's the softest pressure on top of Lin Ling’s head, the blanket pulled higher—and it's enough to lull Lin Ling into another hour of dreamless sleep.

There’s virtually no person who’d pass up on the ability to fly. It certainly has an overwhelming share of perks, but if there’s a single thing Lin Ling could really go without, it’s air combat.

Lin Ling grunts as he just barely evades a blast of concentrated wind to his face. The current villain he's facing—powers similar to Vortex, albeit on a much less destructive scale—merely serves as another point of proof. 

Air combat, unlike ground combat, is directionless, aimless, and honestly hard to balance. The enemy has way more opportunities to go wherever they please; projectiles and beams and whatnot gain additional potential directions. It's all so much more volatile. Sure, Lin Ling's technically granted the same grace, but giving the villain more room means also dealing with more possibilities he has to account for when making a move, too, which results in having his brain working harder than any amount of overtime and cramming deadlines did.

While Lin Ling's rather grateful he managed to retain his ability to fly after carving his own path as a hero, it also means that when Nice isn't around, he's the one that gets dispatched to anything that flies. 

His current opponent doesn’t make it any easier from him. He’s probably manufactured with how fast he’s regenerating from Lin Ling’s hits, meaning this is just another toy released into the streets of X City to boost reputation and trust value. An endless cycle of cruel irony—harvesting the trust from the same people the big corporations deliberately put into danger for their own gain. 

Forcing the villain’s attention away from the scattering crowd of people below them by flying towards him at full-speed, Lin Ling breaks through the storm and slams his palm square into the guy's solar plexus. If it were anyone else, the sheer force behind that hit would have been enough to incapacitate him long enough for a finishing blow, but of course the villain barely reacts, able to retaliate almost immediately. 

Together, they drop a few meters before a gust of wind catches the villain and separates them. Lin Ling uses the brief respite to take a look at the street below him—and frowns when he notices that despite all the environmental damage he couldn’t prevent while dodging and avoiding anything the villain threw at him, a handful of people are still lingering, watching the spectacle with thinly veiled awe from behind empty cars or an upturned piece of the asphalt. No police in sight. Lin Ling grits his teeth, straightening from where he’s slightly hunched over. He's trying his best to protect the civilians—manufactured or not, a villain is still a villain and does not discriminate when choosing their victims—but it doesn't really amount to anything if they stay in the same area where the battle takes place.

“Please leave immediately!” Lin Ling shouts, dropping lower to project his voice better. “This area is dangerous! Another hero should be on their way, so—”

Lin Ling breaks off.

Among the scattered crowd is a vaguely familiar face. Black suit, black hair, thick, round glasses. Terribly ordinary and unremarkable, yet impossible to ignore. Lin Ling’s so caught off-guard he doesn’t notice the concentrated slices of air heading his way. They miss him by just a few centimetres, leaving deep furrows in the ground, and it’s enough to remind Lin Ling that he’s involved in an ongoing battle. 

Grim determination fueling him, Lin Ling whips around and flies back towards the villain. 

The next minute is a blur. He dodges everything cast his way, gradually closing the gap between them. In the split second the villain hesitates on his next move, Lin Ling releases the trust value gathered in his left hand with a single, definitive punch. It bypasses the regeneration threshold and finally knocks the villain out clean, sending him spiraling through the air for a few seconds. Lin Ling catches him by his collar before he can plummet into a gruesome death and possibly traumatise anyone who happened to record an unfiltered version of this battle.

High in the air with his opponent dangling from his hand, Lin Ling takes a few seconds to regulate his breathing. Nice is probably still fighting his own battle on the other end of this district. They shouldn't have split up, but it's not like the set of villains gave them much of a choice when they ran in opposite directions. With most of the adrenaline from the fight gone, Lin Ling gradually flies back down, grateful when his feet make contact with solid ground once more. 

Lin Ling does a quick scoop of the area to make sure there are no curious bystanders lingering around. Just when he thinks everyone has truly left, he catches a flutter of movement in his periphery. It’s the office worker—who’s surreptitiously trying and failing to remove himself from the scene—because of course it is. Lin Ling props the unconscious villain up against a nearby car before calling after the man, a frown on his face. 

“Hey!”

Caught, the office worker drops all pretense and starts power-walking away. He's got long legs, but Lin Ling’s only bound to the concept of gravity when he wants to be, so he blocks the man’s way within five seconds. 

They stop in front of a flower shop, broken pots and flowers scattered around them. 

“Why are you still here?” Lin Ling asks. If it comes off as harsher than he intended, that’s hardly his fault. Lin Ling simply can't believe the office worker thought it was a good idea to stay in the same area where a villain was wrecking havoc.

Like the first time, the office worker appears perfectly unharmed, safe for the slightly tousled state of his clothes from his attempted escape attempt, which only serves to tick Lin Ling off more.

He steps closer, just shy from invading the man’s personal space. It takes everything not to jab his finger into the office worker’s chest to make his point known. “There was a villain on the loose,” Lin Ling stresses. “You literally saw me fight him. Cars were turned upside down and he cut a traffic light in half. You should have run away with the others!”

The office worker tilts his head, fidgets with the worn handle of his suitcase. Lin Ling knows the look on his face too well—he saw it often enough during the time he helped out in his local kindergarten. Children being scolded by their mother, apologising without knowing what they did wrong in the first place. 

Most definitely prone to doing it again in the future. 

“I got off work three minutes ago. This is,” the office worker eyes the parts of the street carved open behind Lin Ling and corrects himself, “this was my way home,” like that explains any of his suicidal behaviour. 

Lin Ling groans. Being pulled into danger is one thing, but deliberately inviting it by sticking around? Was this guy crazy?

Sensing the incoming scolding from Lin Ling, the office worker offers a tentative smile, stiff in its execution. He shuffles in place, redistributes his weight from one leg to the other. “Guess I got a little distracted, seeing you fight and all.” 

“You could have gotten hurt,” Lin Ling stresses, exasperated, “and we’re not talking about some light injuries. Seriously. No more getting distracted when your life is on the line. Please retreat somewhere safe the next time this happens, alright? You were already cutting it close the first time. What if I arrived too late?”

Lin Ling does not want to imagine the scenario. 

The man’s eyebrows draw further together. Hands on his hips, Lin Ling keeps the intensity of his gaze until the office worker visibly shrinks underneath it. Slim fingers tug at his tie, loosening it even further.

“... Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time,” the office worker relents, slow and a little awkward. Like he’s not used to explaining himself, or the concept of someone caring for his general wellbeing. Lin Ling sighs, already familiar with this type of behaviour. The apology seems earnest enough, though, so Lin Ling decides to be merciful and drops the topic. He checks if the villain's still unconscious—yup—and when he turns back around to ask the office worker whether he needed any kind of further assistance, Lin Ling notices the man’s eyes drifting south.

Lin Ling reflexively follows his gaze. His hero suit, durable as it is, isn’t in complete tatters, but it’s definitely seen better days. There’s a rather large tear beginning just underneath his ribcage, revealing dozens of small cuts down his stomach that he knows will sting like hell in the shower later, and it would explain why he’s been feeling a little cold ever since the adrenaline wore off. 

“It’s worse than it looks,” Lin Ling says, fumbling with the remnants of his belt before the office worker can comment on it.

It usually is. Lin Ling’s body can tank as much as it can dish out, especially with how he’s been climbing the ranks lately, but it’s also thanks to the public that he never gets unscathed out of these battles. A commoner who isn’t scuffling in dirt and licking blood from his wounds after each battle isn’t much of a commoner, after all.

Lin Ling doesn’t mind. Cleaning everything and getting new clothes just tends to be a bit of a hassle due to the frequency of it happening, but he’s heard TREEMAN has been working on a solution for a while now. 

Hopefully with good results. 

Wilting slowly at the man’s lack of a reply, Lin Ling sends him a nervous smile, suddenly conscious of how much worse he looks in comparison to his hero image plastered on a nearby billboard. Their first encounter already didn’t go very well in regards to first impressions, and while Lin Ling would prefer not to add more onto that, it’s not like he has a say in when and where a villain appears and who gets sent out to deal with them.

“Sorry you have to see me like this,” Lin Ling says, sighing. “It’s a little side effect from my hero work.”

Another one of those terribly judgemental eyebrow raises. “Side effect?”

“Not important. You’re not hurt, are you?”

Focusing on other people is easier than focusing on himself. Predictably, the office worker shakes his head at his inquiry. Lin Ling squints his eyes and leans forward. Aside from his lack of injuries, the man being so nonchalant about everything really rubs Lin Ling the wrong way. He’s chalked it off to a generally weird response the first time, but it’s rather obvious now. When Lin Ling deals with people in the aftermath of a fight, there’s usually a lot more excitement involved. Or suppressed panic seconds away from unraveling; a delayed, physical response to an extreme situation the mind was involuntarily put into. 

The office worker looks like neither. A secret third thing, then, and Lin Ling is hit by a distant sense of deja vu. 

"I work here," the man says, pointing a finger behind him, and Lin Ling looks past the flower shop towards the skyscraper standing taller than most of its siblings. He recognizes the building immediately. 

“Wait. You work for FOMO?”

“I’m just doing the boring numbers and statistics part, but dealing with heroes and all of their activities is kind of my job. We have something going on in front of our office every other day.”

Lin Ling remembers the live interview, the office workers gathered among the edge of the crowd. 

The man puts his suitcase down and picks up one of the many broken pots on the ground. He inspects the flower still hanging onto it, uncaring of the soil slipping through the cracks onto his hand. The damage the plant sustained isn’t severe, but the display of what must have advertised a pretty arrangement of flowers in front of the shop is nearly unrecognisable. Lin Ling spots an empty, somewhat undamaged pot nearby. Body moving on autopilot, he picks it up and holds out his hand. After receiving the broken flower from the office worker, he carefully scoops the flower’s remains with all of its roots into the new pot, preserving as much soil as he can. 

“That would explain why you’re so nonchalant about everything,” Lin Ling muses, thumbing away a smudge of dirt clinging to the edge of the pottery work. “Not going to lie, I was kind of starting to worry.”

"I get that a lot."

If the office worker spends eight hours a day working on and possibly even with heroes, it’s no wonder his reaction is different from the average civilian Lin LIng saves. Perhaps there's a more personal history involved that no stranger has business knowing, too, least of all a random hero. His ability to stay composed in the face of danger shouldn’t lull him into a false sense of security, though, and Lin Ling can only hope the man will take his words to heart. 

Lin Ling continues to fix the arrangement of flowers as much as he’s able to, repotting what he can and plucking damaged roots and leaves away to ensure the rest of the plant’s survival. The office worker joins him at some point. Together, they work in tandem, the distant sound of a police siren mere background noise among the clinking, shuffling and scraping.   

“I wouldn’t quite call it nonchalance,” the man says while handing him a surprisingly intact flower pot, “and more so my trust in your abilities. You’re fighting rather well.”

That has Lin Ling almost dropping the flower he'd just been given. He catches it in the last second, scrambling to safely put it next to the ones that remained somewhat intact. 

He gnaws on his lower lip as he hastily thinks of a reply. “I—ah. Thank you, but there’s always a chance for things to go wrong.”

Lin Ling’s fingers are dirty from digging around in plants and soil for the past five minutes or so, and it’s the only reason why he isn’t running a hand through his hair or rubbing the back of his neck to get rid of the light flush that has already settled there. 

Lin Ling really should go and give his report—his ear piece has gone missing at some point, and he’ll probably get a heated reprimand from Miss J for it later—because there's not a single reason for him to continue sticking around. Not if he wants to make it weird. Weirder than it already is, at least. Lin Ling defeated the villain of the day five minutes ago, and by all accounts and means, he should already be on his way back to the tower after making sure the civilian is alright. Which he is.

But they’re almost done fixing what they can, and while it isn’t much, Lin Ling hopes the owner of the shop will have a little less work to do cleaning everything up when they’re back. 

The last remaining thing is the missing sign Lin Ling spotted halfway across the street earlier, and he goes to pick it up. Moon’s flower shop, Lin Ling reads in thick, bold letters. Sans-serif. So unlike all the other flower shops going for prettier, cursive fonts. His mouth curls subtly at the irony. The sign is just a little too high for him to hang up underneath the canopy, so Lin Ling gives it to the office worker. He takes a few steps back to watch him work. 

“Ever considered a career change?” Lin Ling says as the man adjust the sign a couple of more times until they're both satisfied. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” The officer worker huffs. He walks to his suitcase and picks it back up, dark fingers curling around darker, worn leather. “I’d make for a terrible florist.”

“Really? You looked rather natural doing all that,” Lin Ling says, gesturing towards all the flowers they saved and the sign dangling pretty in the air.

The office worker shakes his head. “My friend gave me a cactus once. It died because I forgot how to water it.”

“Don’t you need to water them, like, only once a month or so?”

“Precisely my point.”

Lin Ling muffles a laughter with the back of his hand. “Okay, okay. Maybe you shouldn’t become a florist. Wouldn’t want you to kill all these poor flowers by accident.”

The office worker opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, his gaze drifting to a point just over Lin Ling’s shoulder. A moment later, someone lands beside Lin Ling with a soft thud. 

Despite his fluttering cape, Nice always manages to fly and land almost soundlessly. He doesn’t acknowledge the unconscious villain, and barely spares his surroundings more than a quick glance as his eyes solely fix on Lin Ling. 

“Gege,” slips from Lin Ling. 

Unlike Lin Ling, there's not even a scratch on Nice, his hero suit still perfectly crisp and ironed, every strand of hair in place like he stepped out of one of the commercials that must be running on someone's TV nearby. If Lin Ling wasn't with him seconds before they split up, he'd be hard pressed to believe Nice was involved in a fight at all. 

Lin Ling's prepared to excuse himself and slip away, knowing how much Nice hates dealing with the physical aftermaths of a battle—a restrained twitch of his fingers, the tight line of his jaw that betrays an insurmountable discomfort—but Nice appears strangely unfazed by Lin Ling's current condition. His searching gaze lingers on open wounds instead of the torn, dirty parts of his hero-suit, and he only hesitates briefly before putting a hand on his shoulder, unknowingly pressing into a rather nasty bruise beneath. The sky blue of Nice’s eyes darken when Lin Ling fails to suppress a flinch.

“We’ll go see a doctor,” Nice murmurs, voice low and edged with something he can’t name.

Lin Ling swallows the warmth crawling up his throat. He knows better than to argue when Nice is like this, so he nods, vaguely relieved he doesn’t have to deal with the rest of the situation alone.  

A loud beep resonates through the air. 

Nice’s attention shifts from Lin Ling to the third person present, the expression on his face unreadable as all eyes fall onto the office worker's wrist. 

“My cue to go,” the office worker says, tapping onto the screen of his digital watch to reset the alarm. He raises one hand in a lazy imitation of a wave, already turning around. "Thanks for saving me again, Lin Ling."

Lin Ling is surprised for only a split second until he remembers it'd be weird for random people on the street not to know his name. 

He catches himself quickly, waving even when he knows the man can’t see him. “Of course. Be careful!”

Nice hovers close. His voice is calm and steady as per usual, but the hand on Lin Ling’s shoulder remains long after the office worker is gone. 

“Who was that?”

"A civilian I saved twice,” Lin Ling explains. “Weird coincidence, right?”

He chuckles as the absurdity of the entire situation catches up with him. A hot shower and a comfortable bed have never sounded more appealing, but he also knows Miss J has scheduled him for a late conference this evening he still needs to prepare for.

“Twice is rarely a coincidence,” Nice argues.

Lin Ling softly bumps his hip against Nice’s. He grabs the hand on his shoulder and pulls Nice with him into the air, only letting go once they’re high enough. “Does that mean you believe in fate? Was our meeting a little push from extraterrestrial forces, too?”

Lin Ling means it as a lighthearted question to ease some of the lingering tension, but Nice’s eyes on him are heavy, a physical weight that keeps Lin Ling flying in a steady line.

“Not necessarily,” Nice replies, catching up to him. “I do believe, however, that not all coincidences can be written off as happenstances.”

In between the darkening sky and the wild fluttering of his hair around his ears, Lin Ling acutely becomes aware of the soil still clinging to the inside of his hands. It feels a lot like evidence, and he suppresses the urge to wipe them on the front of his suit. 

It’ll go into the trash, anyway. 

"Let’s head back to the hero tower first,” Lin Ling says, fingers curling into a fist. “I promise to go see a doc, but I really need a shower. There’s grime everywhere and—urgh. Pretty sure I also reek.”

Nice's nod comes somewhat reluctantly, but he keeps his pace alongside Lin Ling. The police should have arrived at the scene by now, securing the parameter, and perhaps they were early enough to catch Lin Ling and Nice taking off together, too. 

It's good PR for them both nowadays. Would soothe some of Miss J's inevitable ire if some social media posts got traction, for all the damage Lin Ling couldn't prevent today. 

“Ah.”

“What's wrong?” Nice asks. 

Lin Ling sighs, coming to a halt a short distance away from the open gates of the hero tower. 

“I forgot the villain.”

It’s only when he’s in the shower that Lin Ling remembers another important thing. He can fly. It's how he physically got here in the first place, it’s what he’s been doing for most of his hero work that didn’t involve cameras. Instead of giving the flower shop’s sign to the office worker, he could have simply floated up into the air a little and done it himself. 

Warm water continues trickling down on him. The impromptu embarrassment at the realisation is enough to distract him from the stinging pain all over his body, and Lin Ling groans, long and drawn-out, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles in front of him.  

He sincerely hopes the office worker didn't notice.