Icarus startles into consciousness, quickly sitting up as he struggles to catch his breath. He raises his trembling hands to his face, covering his eyes and pressing against his temples. The only sound he can hear is his own shuddering breaths and the distant sound of cars on the streets outside.

God, he hates that dream. Well, it’s more of a nightmare at this point. He hates that nightmare, hates the reminder of where he came from and who he left behind. Sliding his hands down his face, Icarus drags in a heaving breath.

The worst part about waking up like that, in his opinion, is the sweat. Now that he’s starting to calm down, he can feel how his sheets are soaked with his sweat. The kind that’ll make you change your clothes to escape just how uncomfortable and upset you are. His skin starts to prickle from discomfort as the damp sheets cool.

He wastes no time before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor beneath his feet helps to wake him up a bit. Taking a moment to fully disentangle his mind from the nightmare that has been plaguing him, he stands up and makes his way to the closet. When he gets there, he peels off the large shirt that he had worn to bed. It clung to his figure and felt gross and sticky from how he woke.

He stands there for a moment, trying to think of what he should put on. God, he thinks, it’s too early for this shit. Deciding to just grab the nearest hoodie, city weather be damned, he turns around and heads towards the kitchen.

If Icarus is going to stay awake - and he is going to stay up, he isn’t going to go through that nightmare again - then he’s going to need some caffeine. He yawns as he reaches across the kitchen counter to grab an energy drink. He does not hesitate to crack it open and take a mouthful of the delicious carbonated energy in the can. It’s exactly what he needs right now.

Taking a moment to relish in the sweet taste of caffeine, he thinks over the nightmare. He hasn’t had that particular nightmare in a while, so why now? Why, after ten years, is he being haunted by that night all over again?

Fuck all of this. Icarus needs some fresh air. He pushes himself away from the counter and towards the front door, briefly stopping to consider putting on pants and shoes. He chuckles, he’s just going up to the roof. No need to get dressed to the nines for that.

He steps into the hallway and pulls his door closed before shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and heading towards the stairs. His apartment is on the top floor of the run-down building, he only has to go up a single flight to reach the door to the rooftop. He turns the handle and tries opening the door quietly, but it has a mind of its own and slams against the brick wall. One of these days Icarus is going to bring something to cushion the wall so it isn’t so loud.

It’s a beautiful night out. The stars are as visible as they can be in the city - that is, to say, not very visible - and there isn’t a cloud in sight. There’s a nice breeze keeping the hot and humid air moving. He knows shouldn’t be wearing a hoodie in this weather, especially after having to change out of one sweat-soaked clothing item, but he needs the comfort and sense of calm that the hoodie gives him.

“I will find you again,” he mocks, “my ass. It’s been ten whole years and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the bastard.” It’s not like Icarus misses him or anything, with his infectious laughter and ability to light up any room he was in… Okay, maybe he does miss the bitch just a bit.

But it’s been ten long years. Icarus is a different person now, someone he wouldn’t recognize. He has different aspirations and goals. He can’t keep waiting around.

Icarus takes another swig of the energy drink as he walks to the edge of the roof. Standing up here - alone - he feels free. He feels like he can do anything, like he can make the world bend to his will.

Who knows, maybe he can…

Icarus lets his gaze sweep out over the sleeping city beneath him before sitting down on the ledge of the roof. The best part of this particular apartment building is that it is old. Granted, the dust and decay aren’t great, but the rooftop access and lack of safety rails more than make up for it. Icarus just wants to be able to sit on the ledge, dangling his feet 20 stories over the roads below him. Is that too much to ask?

He’s happy to be back in this building, even with how decrepit it is. This place is the closest thing he has to a home. He had to leave for a couple months thanks to someone recognizing him in a local shop, but he’s finally back.

It’s perfect timing too, from what he’s heard on the streets. It seems like there is all kinds of new information for him to find. Citizens who have first-hand encounters with the Elysians, new Elysians coming out on the scene, and new gossip in his favorite tattoo parlor. He hasn’t had the chance to stop in yet, but apparently one of the clients with loose lips had a run-in with a bigwig that went south. That’s amazing news for Icarus. If random people on the streets are starting to see the Elysians for what they are, it makes it much easier for him to get the information he needs to bring them down for good.

The fresh air is much needed tonight, and with the prospect of having a way to move his plan forward Icarus is in high hopes. He doesn’t need anything dragging down his mood, much less a memory of a boy he used to know. He raises his hand, idly tracing the scar on his cheek. The one that the boy was so careful not to touch before. He knows why; even now with years of healing it looks disgusting. The skin is rough and ragged even if it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Icarus is snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the roof door banging against the brick wall. Dropping his hand, he quickly turns and looks at the stairwell. He is not prepared to see another human being at the moment, but it looks like the universe has decided he is.

The person standing in the doorway doesn’t look like they would hurt him, so at least there’s that. Well, by society’s standard they look like they might hurt him. But being as much of a social outcast as he is, Icarus can recognize when someone is mean and when they just like the edgier aesthetics. This person doesn’t look mean, they just happen to have a mohawk, tattoos, and piercings. Not too dissimilar to Icarus himself.

“Sorry,” they say, “I didn’t think anyone would be up here at this time of night. It’s usually just me and the stars up here.”

“Don’t let me stop you, then.” It won’t hurt to have some company. It’s not like Icarus has much of a social life, having to stay on the run from the government and all.

“Can’t sleep?” they ask, sitting down on the edge of the roof next to him. Their sock clad feet hang over the edge, swinging lightly in the breeze.

“Neither can you, it seems.” Who is this person? He hasn’t seen them around the building before. He’s sure he would have noticed and remembered someone like them. They seem almost ethereal, like they aren’t meant to walk amongst mere mortals like him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here sweetheart, did ya just move in?” Even their voice, light and airy, holds an air of grace to it. It’s a voice that seems to know all. As if they would know when Icarus lied or bent the truth, even though there was no way that anyone besides Icarus knew his story.

As if they can hear the thoughts going through his head, they turn to look at him. If their voice was hard to hold the truth from, it was damn near impossible with their eyes. They seem to pin Icarus in place, almost looking through him into the very depths of his soul.

Realizing he has yet to answer, Icarus looks away from the stranger and says, “I guess you could say that. I’ve had the place for a while, but I just moved back to the area.” This isn’t a lie per say, but he’s not about to tell a stranger that he was on the run and couldn’t stay in one area for too long. “Same goes for you, though. I haven’t seen you in the halls since I’ve gotten back.”

“I guess that’s fair. Trying to stay hidden from an almost omnipresent government does tend to make you a bit of a shut in,” a small laugh follows their words. The melodic sound drifts off, mixing with the sounds of the sleeping city.

For a while, the two of them just sit there enjoying each other’s company. It’s too early for the birds to start their morning calls, if there were even any in the city. Icarus has never seen one, but he remembers a time when facts about the winged creatures became a staple in his everyday conversation. His sunshine had always loved them.

Instead, the sounds of cars driving down the streets and the nightlife going about their business - both human and machine - fill the air. When Icarus looks down to the streets he can see the light trails of the cars zooming past and the ant sized people going about their mid-night business.

It doesn’t take long, though, for Icarus to become interested in what the stranger had said. They had mentioned that they were on the run from the government as well, but why did they telling him this? They don’t know each other, so why?

Icarus debates how to bring this up. If he should bring it up. It isn’t his place to needle this unknown person into telling him their life story, but they had brought it up. Deciding to do something before he chickens out, he settles on, “Hey… Can I ask you something personal?”

The question is so quiet that he thought they might not be able to hear him over the idle sounds wafting up from the streets. He supposes that was how the universe would decide whether the question should be asked: whether they heard it or not.

It seems that they did hear it, as they respond with a light, “Sure kid, what’s up?” It almost sounds like they knew what the question would be.

As if they were just waiting for Icarus to make the first move and ask, “Why are you running from the government?” The air between the two falls silent, like a bubble had formed around them and cut off the sounds of the roadways below. Even the air stops flowing, if the stranger’s hair coming to a rest loosely over their shoulder is any indication. Icarus looks up for a brief moment, meeting the gaze of their piercing eyes before looking away as they answer.

“I suppose I could ask the same of you, huh stranger.” Icarus’ breath catches in his throat at the answer. How does this person - that he had never met before - know that he is also running from the government? Is he that obvious?

He’s about to ask when the stranger says, “Relax, kid. Us outcasts have to be able to judge who we’re safe with. Your whole being screams ‘I have an issue with authority’. It’s kinda hard to think you’re anything but an outcast like me.”

Icarus lets out the breath he’s holding. He is just that obvious, but only to people who are looking for it. He can live with that.

“To answer your question: it’s because I know too much.” That hits a bit too close to home for Icarus. If you’re too smart in this world, you become a target. They don’t want you learning their secrets, they’d rather have mindlessly loyal dogs to do their work. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that his knowledge about things he shouldn’t have known about was the reason why Daedalus wants him dead. Icarus likes to learn, and that’s not what ATLAS is looking for in candidates for the Elysian Program.

“They really don’t like it when you’re privy to their secrets, huh?” Icarus adds, thinking back to the nightmare that led him to the roof in the first place. He would say that it was a coincidence that dreaming of the reason he was on the run led to him talking to a stranger about why they were on the run. But there’s one universal constant that he still believes in: There is no such thing as a coincidence.

No, the universe isn’t kind enough to allow for coincidences. If something seems too good to be true, it is. People don’t just show up, and they aren’t just kind right off the bat. No, that only happens when they were trying to get information from you.

“You know,” he starts, “I’m going to be really sad when I find out that you were sent by the government to locate me.” The corner of Icarus’ lip tugs down as he says it. He really hopes that isn’t the case, but one could never be too sure. It would be in the government’s niche to send such an ethereal being to do their dirty work. Someone who could get through years of carefully crafted and erected mental walls that stood between the outside world and his mind.

“Oh? What an honor! And here I thought I was just a stranger to you,” they respond lightly.

Icarus grins at this. They are a stranger to him. They just met, merely an hour ago on this rooftop. And yet, he feels like he could talk to them. Not necessarily trust, as trust is something that he struggles with - for obvious reasons - but he feels as though one day he would be able to trust this person. And boy, does that thought scare him.

He’s been alone for the last ten years, surviving as best as he can. It’s easier that way. Icarus has a hard time understanding people, so why should he be around them? That just leads to misunderstandings and hurt feelings.

But maybe, just maybe, it has been long enough. Maybe he has been through enough on his own. Maybe he wouldn’t mind the company this time around. He doesn’t have to trust them. At least, not yet. He can just enjoy this run-in on the roof of an old building at three in the morning. Maybe he can even make a friend if they saw each other again.

He smiles as he thinks about these possibilities. Maybe this time, he can allow someone into his life without having to punish himself for leaving them behind. “You’re right. But it’d still suck if the first real person I’ve talked to in ten years were a narc.”

Letting out a half-hearted chuckle, he looks down towards the streets below. There aren’t many people out at this time of night. Just the occasional drunk person stumbling home from the bar, really. It’s nice, being able to take in the city while it slept.

There’s no societal expectation when facing the sleeping city. No need to put on a mask to get through the day. No need to even put on pants! He is allowed to take it all in without the judgment of everyday folks.

He can just sit up here on the rooftop of an old apartment building and exist. No repercussions or needing to run, to hide. Just existing for once in his life. Maybe that is why he keeps finding himself up here when he can’t sleep.

Even now, with the addition of the stranger, he is still just existing. They don’t seem to have any expectations or standards for him to follow, hell even they showed up with no shoes on.

Icarus looks over at the stranger as they stand up, taking their time to stretch after sitting for so long. The crackles and pops that their joints make blend in with the sounds of the waking city below. Icarus can’t remember ever having a discussion as peaceful as this one had been, let alone with someone he had just met. It was a rather nice turn for the night compared to when he first woke up.

Before turning to leave the rooftop, they look over the city. To their left, the first rays of morning sunlight were beginning to creep over the city skyline. While businessmen and government officials alike were waking, they say, “My name’s Andromeda. I have a feeling we’ll be talking again soon.”

Icarus doesn’t stop watching the sunrise as he hears their footsteps receding. He doesn’t look away even as the door to the rooftop slams shut. As he is taking in the breathtaking scene, he can’t help but think about the interaction he just had with the stranger - Andromeda - again. It looks like things are about to get very interesting from here on out.

Even as the logical part of his brain is telling him that he needs to keep his distance from this new variable in his life, he can’t help but want to run into them again. If he can get a feel for them and whether he can trust them, he would be set. After all, the hardest part of his plan is doing it alone.

He is going to need someone there to be his rational thought, to stop him from doing anything too out of the box. He is going to need someone who made sure that he comes back in one piece. Even though he was trying to forget the boy in his nightmare, Icarus still made him a promise to stay alive. And he is going to need someone to keep him accountable with that.

There’s no reason to think too hard about it right now, though. Icarus still has to figure them out. How did a stranger who was also on the run from the government end up in the same building as him? There are too many coincidences that had popped up in their conversation for Icarus to just blindly leap into trusting them. He needs to figure out how they got here and how they found him before he can do that.

After taking one last look at the people starting their daily routines on the street below, Icarus stands up and turns to head back inside. Back to the grind of finding information about the Elysians. Back into the cacophony of madness that he has made his life into since leaving the academy that day.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: The Break In