The Inkadian capital is constantly morphing. Nothing stays the same, every passing second reminds them of this. Yet, for those willing to watch a bit longer, it seems that nothing really changes.

Eelskin Street is no longer the sleepy stroll it used to be. Where only Mimosa's neon signage used to illuminate the road's corner, there are dozens of flashing and pulsing lights, inviting the crowds inside the booming clubs. A convenience store has taken up the old basement's iron door entrance, yet people loiter in front of it with drinks all the same, albeit with cans instead of cocktail glasses.

At the other end of the street, Isandro and Anthos claim a wall's ledge for themselves. They used to have shrines made out of each venue's entrance along these streets, lighting their cigarettes as their incenses and sharing bits of their souls to the night's rotation of friends. Although all those venues have changed names and faces, the life in front of them is just as exuberant.

They have always wondered why they could start speaking to some strangers as if they've known them for longer than a DJ set's length. They want to believe that the common ground is already crystallised in their inkstreams, and doesn't require any more preamble. Rodi watches a group on the other side of the street doing as they did ten years ago, sharing a common bit of this universe between them, if only for a fleeting moment.

Yet Rodi doesn't dare to join, as his younger self might've done. It's been tougher for him to find his crowds, as if those carrying his passions have been already burnt out by them. However, he's been seeing passing faces behind the bar in the thick of the night, which he swears could have been previous Alternan acquaintances. He keeps it to himself.

If he could only share this, he'd discover Olive's been having the same bizarre experience. Through plenty of solitary thought, he has learned that everyone he has loved, and everyone he's yet to, is someone he still has to make amends with. He intends to get through as many as he can in this lifetime.

Curiously, with Rodi, it was him making amends with Olive, not the other way around. It stemmed from their humble, rather stupid beginning: a mistake in the moment's heat, a Dual Squelcher to the head. Anthos still has to figure out what exactly is Isandro's allure, so strong that it's pulling him back to Inkadian shores. Unfortunately, this could be it: a concussion that never went away.

Joking aside, he's still in awe how Rodi always seems so absorbed in some different inner world, while staying sharp enough to make a mockery of the tangible one. There is some method in his madness, with how he burns for his craft, yet he keeps twisting up games to motivate himself to even do it.

Until Rodi landed onto bartending, he was chaos incarnate for Olive. The first month with him was filled with surprise and, oftentimes, embarrassment. It was both for himself, feeling so out of depth in his untranslatable world, and towards Rodi, for stirring so much trouble as he sought a sense of self. When Olive's ink turned red for Rodi, his blushes at least stopped making his skin look sickly green, but he still was left lightheaded.

Sometimes, Anthos misses feeling swept up by the waves everyday.

He stubs out the cigarette with a reined smile. "The hotel's just some streets away. Do you want to walk it?"

Rodi's nod is immediate. He offers a helping hand for Olive to get up. Instead, Olive's right hand pulls Rodi to his level, left fingers going behind his neck.

A twenty-nine year old Rodi is made to channel his nineteen year old self. He finds himself cupping Olive's jaw just like on their first night out, yet it slopes sharper, with all the hands that passed it. The streetlights turn off, in preparation for dawn. Their kiss lasts a breath.

Before they have another go, they stop at a blink's distance, heads still tilted. Olive clenches his fingers. Rodi swallows. ...Time's wrong again, and they've learned to recognise it.

They've been venturing backwards in time without realising it, from the moment they've entered the bar. Rodi is now certain tonight is a complete replay of their past, when Olive's wish gets distilled into a single word. It is the same, just as it was ten years ago.

"…Again."

The command halts all conscious thought. Rodi's eyes close, and his lips return to the endless warmth. Olive takes his head for himself, diving further for the acquired taste. The sour disenchantment, bitter wit, sweet intemperance always played well with Olive's chemistry.

Suddenly, their heads are spinning in free-fall. It's a feeling they'll keep experiencing across ages.

A strange heat climbs towards Rodi's cheeks. It's uncharacteristic of him to blush just from a smooch, which makes him falter even more. He retracts with a shortened breath, trying to understand what just occurred. Olive's still with half-shut eyes, expecting him to return. Yet, when it doesn't happen, he hums as he gets up by himself.

They begin their walk towards the hotel, as agreed. Besides the low blanket of music and surrounding bursts of chatter, they spend it in relative silence. They blend with the city, and the city welcomes them as part of some great machinery. It slows its wild whirring as the sun crawls up the sky.

Something doesn't sit right, or at least how it's supposed to. Rodi feels content with the world. Satiated. It's a strange feeling, he's always expecting his desires to keep rolling into oblivion at this hour, yet they stop in a cozy slumber. This state of being is so new it's numbing him.

Seeing how Rodi is losing his pace, Olive's ears perk. His alert eyes fixate on the lost gaze.

"Did something happen?" Olive stops in front of him.

"Oh. Nope. Tonight was great. I'm happy with how it turned out."

"...But?"

Rodi trails his gaze away, hands back to his pockets. He can't ever hide from Olive. "...I just feel bad, taking up all of your time in Inkopolis for myself."

"It's alright. Consider me yours."

"Why don't you see other people too, while you're here?"

"...I saved this trip so we could spend it together," Olive's bottom lip emerges in his usual soft pout.

"I know. I even asked you to."

But his gut tells him to just call it. The night's playing all too familiarly. He sees themselves tumbling down in circles. This cycle they're in, as inciting as it is, will forever keep them trapped in the same scripts. It's about time they write a new chapter.

"Olive. Do you remember our first promise?" He steps closer.

"Of course. I should be able to find happiness outside of you. The same goes for you."

His hearts clench, but his smile is more at ease. Rodi briefly thumbs Olive's cheek while his guts form the words. He feels Olive leaning into his hand, which just about makes him bite the old scar behind his lip.

"...I think I can finally spend the night alone in peace."

It takes a moment, but Olive's now compassionate expression tells that he understands. He puts all his trust in Rodi with a soft nod. He trusts this isn't a dismissal, but liberation. It's a new kind of love for Isandro. Olive's bittersweet sigh glides over Rodi's skin, and he lets this be where his caresses end.

Thinking better than to kiss Olive again, afraid he'll fall back into some karmic sequence, Rodi lets go. His back turns slightly, about to head for the underground station. Yet, they can't take their eyes off each other. Shoulder to shoulder, Olive keeps contact on Rodi for a last touch, in case next time never comes around.

Olive's verdant irises shimmer, his voice dances around emotion and control. "But please, don't make this our last night."

Although veiled in his typical irony, Rodi's hopes reflect back. "Honey, you know I couldn't, even if I tried. But it sure saves me face to blame it on the Liquid Crystals."

Unable to contain himself, Olive bends in his sudden puff out. He laughs at the shared heat in their cheeks, feeling courted all over again.

"I'll believe you," Olive stands tall once more.

He rearranges the heavy tentacles behind his shoulders, as Rodi twists and pecks his cheek a goodbye. He couldn't keep it to himself, after all. Rodi starts mischievously skipping away from his slip-up.

"Let's do this again, someday," Rodi shouts back before they go their opposite ways.

And so it keeps being said, for as long as there will be a waxing and a waning.