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Chamber makes sure to be early to the Protocol’s meetings. A firm believer in the importance of preparation, he’ll arrive at the meeting room half an hour early and ask Sage for a copy of the agenda before the meeting starts. The other agents have grown used to the sentinel greeting them as they file in just before the meeting starts, smiling from above a copy of the meeting agenda that’s already been thumbed through and thoroughly annotated. He knows that their time on the field is limited, and wants to ensure everything goes as planned.
As often as not, Yoru is late. No one can predict exactly when the duelist will stalk in, hair windblown and dented in the shape of a motorcyclist’s helmet. Sage typically starts the meetings before his appearance, having given up on his attendance after holding up the schedule multiple times without success. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want to be there throughout, alternating between combing his hair irreverently and dozing off, snoring loudly. On the field, he improvises, completely disregarding any strategy discussed in the meetings.
Contrary to how many agents view him, however, Yoru isn’t a disrespectful person. Chamber knows that his disinterest in teamwork and meetings stems from a deep-rooted desire to work alone, and he understands why – both of them are capable and efficient, and sometimes other people just get in the way. It doesn’t stop him from treating the other agents with respect, although he still has some trouble with the concept of teamwork and doesn’t understand the necessity of the team meetings.
All this considered, it’s pleasant but not entirely unexpected to find that Yoru’s table manners are impeccable, arguably on par with his own. Someone else might have been worried about inviting Yoru on a date to this restaurant, which requires reservations months in advance, but not Chamber. The duelist inclines his head in thanks every time a dish is brought to their table, and puts his hands together before digging in. He does hesitate a little over which fork to use when the salad arrives, but with some gentle guidance from the sentinel, he learns quickly. This, coupled with the fact that Yoru has dressed up for the occasion in a patterned grey silk shirt and flowing slacks, means that he blends in as well as any of the other patrons dining in the establishment.
Chamber does wish that he would stop stabbing his steak with so much… enthusiasm, though. He has to suppress a wince every time the duelist thrusts his fork downwards, the prongs squishing through the meat like he has a vendetta against it. It doesn’t help that he uses the knife like a saw.
“What.” The duelist says defensively, catching the expression in Chamber’s eye.
“Nothing, mon ami,” says Chamber hurriedly. Yoru goes back to mutilating his poor T-bone steak with a vengeance, and he can’t help but add, “You’ve always been one to take the straightest route to your goal. With your rifts, and elsewhere.”
“The rift takes me to places I can’t go otherwise,” says Yoru. “I do use it to catch enemies off guard –,” Yoru is grinning and Chamber smiles too, both thinking about the time a week ago when Yoru singlehandedly dismantled an Omega Earth team with only his abilities and a pistol – “but that’s just one use. It’s different from your teleport. You just connect two places.”
Chamber nods. It’s a fair assessment; the version of his teleport that he uses on missions is crafted for efficiency as an escape method, and it’s not meant to be more than a one-use tool to transport him out of Raze’s grenades.
“What kind of places has it taken you to? I’ve seen you placing portals, but you are the one with agency, no? Does it ever take you somewhere unexpected?”
Something in Yoru’s eyes shutter shut at the last question, and he curses himself for the clumsy questioning. He finds it so easy to be suave around others, perpetually talking at length but about nothing in particular. Yoru is the exception; his gaze seems to burn straight through all the lies that Chamber has wrapped himself in over the years. It makes him helplessly honest, which is a dangerous ability in the wrong hands. He has far too many secrets to ever be completely open with anyone else.
Just as he’s deciding to shelve the conversation and move on, Yoru answers. “It’s like the rift… calls to me.” The duelist grinds his teeth in frustration, unable to express his thoughts clearly. “I wake up in the middle of the night, and sometimes there’s a rift in front of me. A rift I opened in my sleep. I haven’t gone through it. I don’t know where it goes…” He breaks off, seeing Chamber’s eyes narrow. Some sixth sense makes him want to steer clear of discussing any potential locations the night-time portals might lead to, so he adds, “It’s not a sound. I feel it.”
Chamber nods, spearing a piece of perfectly seared lobster. “Perhaps Reyna is correct in her assumption that Radiants are the next step in evolution.”
Yoru grunts and shoves a piece of steak in his mouth, chewing so he doesn’t have to respond. This kind of philosophising isn’t that rare in his conversations with Chamber, and if he’s perfectly honest, he never quite knows how to respond. Thankfully, Chamber usually talks enough for both of them, and he’s noticed that the best course of action is often pretending to be uninterested while listening carefully.
“You have an extra sense,” Chamber continues, inspecting the bite of lobster on his fork with a connoisseur’s eye. “Just as snakes can taste air and bats can see sound. The effects of Radianite on the human body are quite remarkable – you are leaving behind the limits of the human body, along with the rest of mankind.”
“And you’re not afraid of getting left behind?” Yoru asks around a mouthful of steak.
Chamber looks up at him, his gaze unwavering. “I made myself into this.” He gestures with his ring finger, the candlelight glinting off the metal lines engraved on his skin. “I do not think that you will be leaving me behind anytime soon, Yoru.” He swallows the lobster, humming with appreciation at the flavour.
The sentinel’s tone is flirtatious, but his eyes signal a warning. Yoru ignores it, leaning forward to press his point. “You think I’m – less human? What the hell does that mean?” His raised voice draws a few glances, the other diners looking over at their table and quickly looking away as they see the expression on his face.
“I think you are becoming more,” answers Chamber calmly, ignoring the whispers from the other tables.
Yoru slams his fist on the table, sending cutlery clattering onto the polished floor. “What – say what you mean, dammit! What do you know about Radiants anyway!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the maître d’ walking briskly to their table, and stops them in their tracks with a gesture and an apologetic smile.
He sets his fork down on the wrinkled tablecloth and chooses his words carefully, acutely aware of Yoru’s burning gaze. “You know my life’s work,” he says, pointing to his ring finger again. Yoru glares at him, but jerks his head in a nod, and Chamber continues, “I do not wish to brag, but it is likely that I know more about teleportation than any other person – human, that is.”
“I’m human, too,” mutters Yoru, leaning back in his chair. The sentinel’s steady tone has him ashamed at his outburst, and he huffs in annoyance, breaking eye contact.
“Of course, but there is a reason that Fade labelled us as Radiant and human,” Chamber says, nodding. “We do not yet know the full extent to which Radianite affected people, but the differences between us are significant.” An image of a room, lined with cells marked with the Kingdom logo, comes to mind. He shakes his head, trying to clear the memory. He looks straight at Yoru again, staring into the duelist’s eyes as he emphasises, “You can rip through the dimensional fabric of the world, Yoru. Of both worlds. How could that possibly make you less?”
Yoru makes a noncommittal sound and goes back to his steak. Chamber knows he’s forgiven when the duelist starts chewing on another bite, hewn roughly from the rest of the steak; Yoru doesn’t eat in front of those he doesn’t feel comfortable with. He lets out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding, his heart pounding.
Chamber doesn’t trust himself to talk steadily after that, so he turns his attention back to his plate as well. Just as he’s about to lift another bite of lobster and creamy mashed potato to his mouth, Yoru speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about it too. I think First Light gave us the ability to do things we were born to do. I was born in Hokkaido, but I always knew the cold I felt… it came from somewhere else.”
Chamber can’t help but sit up a little straighter, the bite of lobster on his fork forgotten mid-air. He’s always on the lookout to learn more about Radiance. The opportunity to talk to Radiants who have grown into their powers is so rare.
“You always knew what you would be searching for, and First Light have you abilities to do it?” he asks, trying to keep his tone from being too inquisitive. It sounds plausible. A little too plausible, in fact. How come he wasn’t given abilities to work towards his goals?
“Whatever gave us these powers knew you didn’t need it,” says Yoru, waving his hand dismissively. Chamber is mesmerised by the movement of the silk sleeve, rustling softly at the motion. The fabric ripples softly at the light breeze running through the restaurant, but far from hiding the lines of the duelist’s body, it accentuates them. Chamber traces his eyes over Yoru’s frame, marvelling at his understated beauty. There’s a grace in his movements that not even his spiky demeanour can hide, and he finds himself trying to commit it to memory.
He catches himself staring and has to make a conscious effort to tear his eyes away. “They make it possible for you to interact with parts of this world that are not accessible to others, then? You can touch other dimensions from anywhere, and Fade can reach into thin air and conjure nightmares.”
Yoru chews, frowning. “I tear through dimensions. Fade can control nightmares. It’s not the same.”
The sentinel’s fingers tap out a distracted rhythm on the tablecloth as he nods, and Yoru notices that his fingers are bare, save for the line of gold that wraps around it.
“You’re not wearing it,” blurts out Yoru, and immediately regrets it. Who cares? It’s just a stupid ring. I didn’t expect him to wear it anyway.
The sentinel laughs, putting down the champagne glass in his right hand. He extends his hand to Yoru, who notices the ring on the sentinel’s middle finger. “It’s a little too large for me, I’m afraid. It doesn’t fit anywhere else.”
The ring is a keepsake from their first time working together. Soon after Chamber had joined the protocol, they’d both been assigned to help Killjoy with the creation of a portal connecting the two Earths.
Brimstone had suggested that Yoru visit Killjoy’s lab to offer some insight about portals, but they’d quickly realised that Yoru’s control over his powers was based more on instinct than anything else. Killjoy hadn’t really understood his explanations, the engineer preferring to work with more tangible things, like the blueprint Chamber had provided.
Although he felt that he hadn’t been much help, Yoru found that Killjoy was straightforward and easy to talk to, often getting lost in her thoughts and letting the duelist watch in silence. He’d occasionally visited Killjoy’s lab with a sandwich when the engineer forgot to turn up to meals, absorbed in the project. Chamber had been much more involved, holed up in Killjoy’s lab for hours as they talked animatedly about the logistics of the portal.
The first breakthrough had resulted in the creation of a small-scale portal, one that allowed a small hand to pass through. Killjoy had been all for putting her hand through it until Yoru had pointed out that since they hadn’t put any location boundaries on the prototype, there could be anything on the other side, or even that her hand could be lasered off by the high voltage powering the grid. While the two sentinels had been discussing whether they should have Sage present, Yoru had surrounded his hand with rift energy and shoved it through the portal.
When he withdrew it, he was holding two rings. Both had an emblem of a cat sitting on a moon; the larger ring had an ivory moon, the smaller one navy.
Killjoy had been ecstatic at the result, squealing something about how this proved her theory about the Omega Earth agents’ portals using porous dimensional membranes. She’d tried the smaller one on, but it had slipped off all her fingers. She’d shrugged, and with a nonchalant “They’re not really my style”, put them on her desk to dispose of later.
Chamber had been surprised when after leaving the lab, Yoru had grabbed his hand and shoved one of the rings into his palm. The duelist had watched as he put it on, already wearing the matching one, and silently extended his hand for Chamber to take. They’d walked back to Yoru’s room like that, hands intertwined.
It was a good first project together, but the memory of the two sentinels chatting together has Yoru feeling jealous all over again. The duelist harrumphs, leaning forward on his elbows. “You said you didn’t want to date,” says Yoru brusquely. “Didn’t want to hide anything.”
“Well,” replies the sentinel quietly, “you will always be the exception, non? I am trying to make this work between us, and it necessitates ignoring some of my own advice.” His tongue darts out, brushing over his lips lightly, and Yoru can’t help but wonder if he’s tasting the air.
“I’m the exception, huh? What kind of person would you make an exception for?”
“They’d have to be understanding,” says Chamber, frowning. He’s given much thought to this before, in the rare moments of calm between missions and – although Yoru doesn’t know it – his forays into Omega Earth. “But also driven and proficient in their own field, and confident in their identity.”
“You found anyone like that yet?”
The sentinel laughs at the impertinent question. “I think I have,” he says in response, smiling at the man sitting across him. His heart swells as Yoru finally gives him a grudging smile in response, stabbing another piece of steak without breaking eye contact. Yes, I think I have, mon amour.
“Good,” asserts the duelist, and they share a companiable laugh. They’re both grateful for the comfortable silence that stretches afterwards. If Chamber is perfectly honest with himself, the constant dialogue that he keeps up in his interactions with the other agents and with his business partners is exhausting. Yoru’s never been one for unnecessary chatter either; he thinks that constant talk is a sign that you can’t tolerate silence with your partner. If you know each other well enough, you shouldn’t have to feel that every silence has to be filled with whatever vapid words come to mind. And indeed, during their first few dates, Chamber had tried to keep up the conversation with small talk about the other agents. Although he learnt a surprising amount – he hadn’t known that Raze and Killjoy had been dating for a year or so, though in hindsight it explains a lot – small talk isn’t really his thing, and he’s content to let the lull in conversation continue.
They finish the rest of the dinner in silence, disturbed only by the occasional clink of forks against porcelain, and they both think that it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.