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Most of the time, the night shift is actually pretty peaceful. Most of the time, Mualani gets to sit on roofs or hang around along the piers and watch the city light up from the inside as the sun rises. Most of the time, the night shift is almost relaxing.

There is, of course, the occasional day when it is not.

“FUCK!” Mualani yells to no one in particular as she slams into the glass double-doors of a designer handbag store. Why can’t they make their doors out of something more practical? If a civilian were flung through that, they’d have glass in their cuts for days. Not everyone has the privilege of nightsoul suits to protect them.

Over the comm in her ear, she hears another voice kick in. “Umoja, southwest.”

Mualani staggers to her feet, mounting her surfboard again and throwing down a phlogiston capsule to surf along the suspended liquid pathway. “Would it kill you to be a little nicer, Malipo? I just got thrown through a window. That hurts, you know.”

“You got thrown through a door, actually. Southwest.”

“Why do I even put up with you,” Mualani grumbles, but positions herself southwest of the attacking Abyss Lector anyway, preparing to dive in.

“On three,” Malipo says. “One. Two.”

Mualani attacks.

“You never fucking let me finish,” he grumbles, but follows her up flawlessly regardless.

Malipo is used to her by now, the same way that Mualani is used to him. They both know he’ll never reach three. So when she strikes, she finds Malipo right behind her, firing off his dendro missiles at the exact same moment that Mualani flips through the air to strike with her surfboard. The combination of their attacks sets off an explosion that absolutely decimates the Abyss Lector, which screeches and melts into a puddle of very unappealing mauve sludge.

Mualani doesn’t have time to throw down another phlogiston capsule, but Malipo catches her halfway through her fall and they float down to the ground together. She grins at him and loops her arms around his neck, hoping he can spiritually feel her happiness even if he isn’t bothering to look for it. “That was great!”

This time, Malipo is close enough that he doesn’t need to use the comm to talk to her. Instead, his voice comes from his suit, slightly muffled. “Not for the street sweeping crew,” he says wryly.

Mualani looks at the sludge and suppresses a snort. “Yeah. I’ll call them.”

Malipo taps his wristband and tilts his head a little, meaning, I already did.

Mualani sighs at him and shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you? You’re too competent. You don’t even need me. I should just go home.”

“Of course I need you,” Malipo says, completely neutral. “You’re my partner. We work together.”

“Malipo!!” Mualani fans herself with her hand, putting on a distressed expression that the mask may or may not pick up. The mask tracks her face movements, so it can display some facial expressions outwardly, but only the more simplistic ones, like smiles or frowns or eyebrow raises. She uses this feature a lot. Malipo does not. She thinks he might have it disabled, actually, with how little his face changes.

“What’s that for,” he asks, sounding wary. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Mualani wails dramatically. “Malipo, don’t say such things to me! Your poor wife will get so jealous.”

Malipo is quiet for a moment. Mualani imagines that under the mask, he’s rolling his eyes or something. “Work partners. We are work partners. Just like everyone else in the Night Warden Heroes.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t as close as we are,” Mualani says shamelessly. “Don’t the other teams split up? Like, Bidii takes the west side of the city, Vuka takes the east?”

Silence again. Malipo taps a couple things on his wristband, which projects a miniature map of the city. Drawn out on its surface is their patrol route, two joint lines of green and blue moving in unison. “Our method is more efficient for our respective talents.”

Mualani rolls her eyes. “I know. You’ve only told me three thousand times.” She wanders over to the broken glass doors of the handbag store, idly wondering if she could take one—you know, as her payment for saving the city—before she recalls that she doesn’t even like handbags. “I was trying to discreetly ask if you were single. You’re so bad at subtleties.”

Malipo points his right hand at the glass, palm out, and deploys a net that somehow collects all the broken pieces into a pile off to the side. “You don’t need to know that.”

Mualani pouts. While this is technically true, there’s also no rule forbidding them from telling each other about their real identities. Mualani has been matched up with Malipo for nearly three years—she thinks she deserves to know a little something about him. Sure, she knows some of the basics: he’s in his twenties, he has a bachelor’s, he’s an only child. But he never gives her information about his life updates. Mualani, on the other hand, tells him whatever the hell she wants.

“Well, I am,” Mualani says, stepping neatly around the glass. “Hard to date with the whole—” She gestures down at her suit. “Thing.”

“I know,” Malipo says. Then, with absolutely zero emotion: “You haven’t dated anyone in four years. Your last boyfriend dumped you for being too into hero training. You can’t keep secrets but you hate lying, so once you made the Night Warden Heroes you decided not to date anymore. Your roommate thinks you work at a bakery and leave the house in the dead of night to make bagels.”

Well. Mualani leans against the wall of the handbag shop, feeling faintly embarrassed. Okay, so maybe she tells Malipo a little too much.

“This is not safe,” Malipo tells her flatly. “If someone captured me, they could use any of that information to find you, which would dismantle the entire night shift team.”

There are six Night Warden Heroes, each one with an Ancient Name they use at work. Mualani used to think heroes worked around the clock, but Mavuika gave her a whole speech about labor laws and living wages and stuff and then said she would only be working for eight hours a day. So she and Malipo work the night shift together: midnight to eight. The day shift team works from eight to four, and the evening shift team from four to midnight. Mualani—or rather, Umoja—and Malipo joined at the same time, so they’ve both never had a partner besides each other. Mualani has told him a lot. It gets boring some nights.

“No one’s going to capture you,” Mualani reassures him. “And besides, even if they did, it’s not like you know my real name or my address or anything! Wouldn’t that be worse?”

Malipo doesn’t respond. He just jumps up onto the roof of the apartment complex across the street and says, over the comm, “Time to move. Umoja, north.”

Mualani sighs. But she’s on the clock for three more hours, so three more hours of patrol route it is.

Their route ends by the docks at eight a.m., and Mualani says goodbye to Malipo before hopping onto the water and surfing north. She lives on the northwest side of the city, which is easy to reach from the piers since the ocean is only ten blocks away from her apartment. She pulls into a changing room along the shore and takes off the suit, putting on her regular clothes again: a miniskirt and a sweater with some flour dusted on it, just in case her roommate gets suspicious. She picks up two bagels from Echoes Bakery and Cafe, just like she does every morning. Then she walks the rest of the way back to her apartment, enjoying the morning air and the feeling of a job well done.

She arrives back home at eight forty-five. “Hellooo,” she sings to the apartment as she unlocks the door. “I’m hoooome!”

Her roommate is sitting on the couch, reading something on his phone with his glasses on. Mualani sets down the brown paper bag. “Got you these,” she says, pushing it towards him. “Sorry I’m a little late! I dropped a tray of bagels and had to remake them. It was so chaotic in there, I swear. I even hit my back on the oven.” She rubs a hand across her upper back, where she got thrown through the glass doors, and doesn’t even have to fake her wince. “Being a baker is hard.”

“Yeah,” says Kinich, a slight smile on his face as he takes his pumpkin seed bagel out of the bag. “I bet it is.”

***

So, the thing is: Mualani actually has no idea what Kinich does. She asked, like, once, and he gave her a weird look and said, “What do you think,” and she was so intimidated by it that she hasn’t asked since. Her running theory is that he has an online job, since he goes to his room immediately once she gets home and stays in there until lunch, then goes back in until four in the afternoon. It works out pretty well, since that’s when Mualani likes to sleep anyway. Maybe he’s a programmer? He has a data science bachelor’s, so maybe something with that?

Anyway, Kinich doesn’t ask her too many questions, so she doesn’t ask him too many either. She gets home at nine in the morning, and Kinich eats a bagel with her and then goes into his room, and they live in harmony.

They’ve lived this way, in peace and casual coexistence in the same space, for two and a half years. When Mualani became Umoja, she moved into this place, ecstatic about its location and its view and everything. But then she realized it was a little pricey, and also she hates living alone, so she thought she’d look for a roommate.

She told Malipo about this, of course. ”I just want a practical roommate,” she complained on their second month on the job. “Someone who’s gonna make sure my life doesn’t fall apart.”

The very next morning Kinich saw her in line at the cafe. She ordered her jalapeno cheddar bagel, and he slammed down his credit card before she could even think of reaching for her wallet. “You need a roommate,” he said, matter-of-fact. “And I need a new place. Let me move in with you.”

Mualani was a little surprised by this, but also weirdly charmed by his directness. “Let me give it some thought,” she told him.

“Okay,” Kinich said. “I’ll meet you here in two days for your decision. Same time.” Then he sat at a cafe table while she ate her bagel and told her all the necessary background information she might need: he got his GED at age sixteen, then went to Sacred Flame University and got his bachelor’s in data science. He grew up in foster care and had no particular attachment to finding his biological family. He was lactose intolerant. He was tidy and punctual and could pay half the rent.

Two days later, Mualani handed him a key, and that was that.

So for two and a half years, they’ve lived like this. Kinich goes grocery shopping every Thursday and Mualani keeps a list on the fridge with a pen next to it. Kinich showers at night and Mualani showers in the morning. Kinich makes dinner and Mualani makes lunch. It’s simple. Formulaic. Kinich is like that—everything about their life together is optimized.

Which is why Mualani does a double take when he knocks on her door at half past noon that same day.

Mualani opens up, her eyebrows pre-raised just out of an abundance of caution. “Uh, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you going out for lunch or something?”

“No,” Kinich says, a little stiffly. He hands her a bowl. “I brought you chupe de camarones.”

Mualani gapes at him. She takes the soup in its white ceramic bowl and blinks a couple times. It smells incredible. “Did you buy this?”

Kinich nods. “I got myself something too. You don’t need to make lunch today. You should rest.”

Well, if rest means she gets shrimp chowder she is not complaining in the least. Mualani inhales three spoonfuls standing in her doorway before she remembers that this is weird. Kinich always sticks to their routines. Mualani makes lunch. “Do you want me to make dinner tonight or something?” she asks.

Kinich frowns slightly. “No. You hurt yourself today. Rest. I’ll take care of it.”

With that he walks off.

Mualani sets the bowl on her desk and watches the door for another minute, but he doesn’t come back. She smiles at the empty space he left behind, then at the bowl of soup in front of her. Takeout soup usually comes in plastic containers; he must have put it in a bowl specially for her. So sweet of him! She eats another spoonful, then another, still smiling to herself, and then—

Oh. Oh, shit.

Well, Mualani thinks as she flops on her bed, staring at the ceiling. If this is the end, at least she had a good run.

***

“I think I’m in love with my roommate,” Mualani wails, burying her face in her hands.

Malipo fumbles his jump and actually falls off the roof. He hasn’t done that since their third month on the job together. Mualani laughs as he scales the corner of the building to get himself back up and sit next to her.

“Don’t,” Malipo says slowly, “tell me these things.”

Mualani pouts at him, exaggerated enough that the mask can pick it up. “Come on! If I can’t tell you, who else can I tell? You don’t even know who I am.”

“But—” says Malipo, sounding frustrated. He takes a very obvious deep breath. “Have you told him yet? I feel like you should tell him before you tell me.”

Mualani whirls around to look at him, crossing her arms. “No way! Everyone knows you’re supposed to tell your friend about your crush before you tell them yourself.”

Malipo’s head whips toward her. “I’m your friend?” he asks, a little too fast.

She hits him on the shoulder, light enough that it won’t hurt, but hard enough that the suit doesn’t absorb all the force. “Of course you are. You’re my partner! Dude, I tell you I love you like, every day.”

Malipo fiddles with something on his wristband. Quietly, he says, “You say a lot of things.”

Mualani shrugs. “Ehh, I’m a yapper.” She swings her feet up onto his lap. “Okay, now you have to let me talk about my boy troubles. Because you’re my partner and you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world and you’re supposed to listen to this stuff.”

Malipo shoves her feet off of his lap. “Mobility hazard,” he says by way of explanation. Mualani rolls her eyes at him. “Are you having troubles with him?”

“It’s just an expression. Boy troubles. You know.”

Malipo raises an eyebrow at her, high enough that the suit picks it up.

She grins so widely that it almost hurts. “You smiled!!”

“I did not.”

“You emoted, close enough!! Whatever, same thing!! Anyway, let me tell you about this. So I already liked him a lot, right? But then he broke his own routines—he’s super into routines, kinda like you, actually—um, what was I saying? Right, he broke the routine. Because I was hurt. You know when I ate shit in that door the other day? I told him I ran into the oven or something. Anyway, he brought me soup. My favorite soup! And he didn’t even ask for anything in return. And he put it in a ceramic bowl.” She sighs dreamily. “Isn’t he the best?!”

“I wouldn’t know,” says Malipo drily. “Since I don’t know him.”

Mualani laughs. The sound is crisp in the late-night air. “You’re so funny. Have I told you that?”

She tells him this at least three times a week. “No,” says Malipo anyway. “Tell me again.”

Mualani dissolves into cackles. She punches him in the shoulder again, a little harder this time but still nowhere near painful. “You’re so much fun, Malipo,” she tells him. “I can’t believe I thought you were boring at first. You’re, like, a closet fun guy.”

His head tilts toward her. She wonders, not for the first time, what expression he’s got on under there. What would he do with his mouth when he laughs? How does his nose scrunch when he’s exasperated? Mualani feels transparent, even in Umoja’s suit, but Malipo is so unreadable sometimes.

“Come on,” he says finally. “It’s time to rotate. Let’s move.”

Mualani throws down a phlogiston capsule and surfs into the sky alongside him. They don’t talk again until the sun rises.

***

For nearly three years, Mualani has done a remarkable job of concealing her identity as Umoja. It’s way easier than she expected—the suits are thoroughly concealing, and all her interviews and news business and the like are conducted through Mavuika, the Night Warden Heroes’ manager. None of Mualani’s colleagues know her real identity. Her parents knew she was in hero training, but they passed away before she made it to the Night Warden Heroes. That leaves exactly one person who knows: Mavuika.

Well, at least that’s what Mualani thought, until this morning.

“I know you didn’t really tell me,” the cashier is whispering frantically, wringing her hands. “But I see you every morning just after the night shift ends, and I know you come out of the public changing rooms and I saw your suit in your backpack once and then I Googled a whole lot of pictures of you to make sure it was the same suit and I might be wrong maybe you’re just an impersonator but I really really hope you’re actually Umo—”

“SHHH,” Mualani hisses, slamming down a twenty dollar bill on the counter as a little extra motivation. Then, for good measure, she takes out four more and slides them to her.

“Um,” says the cashier. “That’ll be four dollars.”

“Yeah,” says Mualani. “I gave you four.”

“You gave me a hundred.”

Mualani raises one eyebrow. “Yeah, four for the bagels, ninety-six to shut up about the—” She waves her hands vaguely. “That. And I mean you really can’t tell anyone. No one knows. Literally no one. Okay?”

She withers a little under Mualani’s gaze. “You don’t need to pay me!” she says, too loudly.

“Kachina,” sighs the woman at the espresso machine. “All our customers have to pay you. You are selling a product, babe.”

Kachina flushes bright red and mumbles, “Sorry, Xilonen.” She pushes back four of the bills, then gives Mualani sixteen dollars. She clears her throat. “Your change.”

Mualani takes the bills and stares at her for a long moment. “I have to give you something,” she says slowly. “You want me to pay you after work or something? When are you off?”

Kachina looks absolutely starstruck at being asked this question. Mualani feels a little embarrassed. Really, she’s just a regular person outside of the suit. She likes soup and naps and board games and jalapeno cheddar bagels. She isn’t some mysterious entity.

“Never mind,” Mualani says quickly. “Do you want more? I have more. How much?”

“I’m off at two,” Kachina blurts, sounding supremely embarrassed about it. “Um, is that okay?”

Mualani takes her bagels from over the counter and says, “Yeah, that’s fine,” and tries to pretend she isn’t freaking out about it a little. Hey, at least she didn’t take pictures or anything? At least she doesn’t know all of Mualani’s personal information? It’s fine, she tells herself firmly. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. She’ll bring all her money in cash at two and pray that it’s enough.

***

Despite her best efforts to console herself, Mualani is sweating profusely when she approaches the cafe at one fifty-five. She stands outside the door, feeling vaguely sketchy with her tote bag full of folded bills, like she’s waiting for an illegal contact or something. Exactly at two p.m., Kachina comes out of the back door, then finds her outside the front windows.

Mualani decides to bite the bullet and says, “I brought all the money I can spare.”

“Train me,” Kachina says at the same moment.

They stare at each other blankly in silence for one long moment, then two, then three.

“Um, only if you want,” Kachina says eventually. “I kinda really want to be a hero but I don’t have the money for hero training. So I’m a volunteer vigilante right now. Mondays and Wednesdays from midnight to eight. Same times as you.” She shifts on her feet awkwardly. A few sesame seeds cling to her fingers, like she forgot to brush them off in her haste to get out of the building. “So, if you wanted to, like, pick a day? And take me with you? While you’re Umo—while you’re on duty?”

Mualani stares at her. “Like an intern,” she says slowly. “You wanna be my intern.”

Kachina flushes bright red and squeaks, “Yeah?”

This is actually so much easier than the cash thing Mualani was expecting. She laughs in relief, a little breathless.

“SORRY!!” Kachina wails, burying her face in her hands. “I WON’T TELL ANYONE AND I WON’T EVER ASK AGAIN—”

Mualani watches as she bursts into hot tears. She blinks a couple times, confused. “Wait, you thought I was—oh my god, no, Kachina, I wasn’t laughing at you! Of course you can be my intern. I’ll talk to Mavuika and sign you up officially. She’ll give you a name and everything. Do you want Mondays or Wednesdays?”

Kachina looks up at her through glassy eyes. “I think I’m going to love you forever,” she says faintly, then collapses into Mualani’s arms.

“Hey, hey, wait,” Mualani says quickly, scooping her up. “Um, I can’t really take you home with me. My roommate is working right now.” She thinks. Maybe. He’s in his room at any rate. “Mondays or Wednesdays?”

***

“So Uthabiti is going to be joining us every Monday,” Mualani says brightly, pushing Kachina to stand in front of her and face Malipo. “Say hi!”

“Hi Malipo,” says Kachina, then immediately drops into a bow. Like an actual bow, with her head almost down to her knees and her hand tucked behind her back and everything. “I’m, um, a really big fan. Sorry.”

Malipo’s mouth twitches just a little into what almost looks like a smile. “Uthabiti,” he says in greeting. Then, because tact avoids him like the plague, he says, “You know you’ll get hurt, right?”

Kachina looks a little surprised, but nods.

“You know you’ll get hurt, and you’ll lose sleep, and it’ll be dangerous, and you won’t get any thanks,” he continues ruthlessly. “You know you’ll have to adjust to my routines, and I won’t be nice about it. You know you’ll have to do whatever either of us says without question. Right?”

She nods again, more confident this time. “I know.”

“And what we say might be to run away,” Malipo says. This time his voice is gentler than Mualani has ever heard, like a teacher’s rather than a colleague’s. “You can’t always play the hero, even when you’re training to become one. Got it?”

“Yes. I got it.”

With this, Malipo actually does smile. A full, real smile that his mask even picks up on. “Yeah, you got it.” He holds out his fist, and Kachina fist-bumps him with the most adorable expression of sheer delight.

“What the hell,” Mualani complains, shaking her head. “I’ve been trying to get him to smile for years! You’re telling me all it took was adopting a cute kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Kachina says. “I’m nineteen.”

Mualani snorts. Kachina looks bashful about it.

Malipo’s face is back to being completely blank. “You don’t have to tell us that. Your personal information, I mean.” He checks something on his wristband, then stands up. “Come on, it’s time to move.” He shoots up into the sky, then says over the comm, “Umoja, Uthabiti, north.”

Kachina looks absolutely delighted to hear her hero name over the comm. Mualani grins at her; she was the same way, and although Malipo pretended to be jaded, he was excited about it too. “C’mon, Uthabiti,” she says without the comm, and throws down a phlogiston capsule to follow Malipo along the river it creates.

She catches up to Malipo easily. He’s hovering in midair, waiting to see how Kachina will catch up to them, so Mualani joins him.

Kachina leaps from the roof. Mualani watches, agonized, as she falls at increasing speed, ratcheting toward the wall of the next building. She winces as Kachina slams into the wall, then looks away, feeling terrible.

Malipo actually grabs her hand and squeezes it. It startles her so much that she opens her eyes, just in time to see—Kachina climbing the wall? No, it’s way too fast to be climbing. She’s driving up the wall on some sort of construct? Mualani thinks it’s the legs of her suit, expanded to become almost like a drill when her legs are crossed. She stands there in bewildered pride, watching Kachina scale the wall like a professional.

When she reaches the top, she waves at them. “Over here, right?” she says over the comm. “Um, why did you both stop?”

Mualani and Malipo both hesitate for that one fatal moment.

“No reason,” Malipo says eventually. “Umoja, north.” Then he flings himself onto the roof Kachina’s standing on, planting his hands on his hips like he’s been waiting there the whole time.

“I fucking hate you,” Mualani mutters, turning on the comm just to spite him, then whips out her surfboard and slides down to the roof.

“You hate each other?” Kachina asks, sounding alarmed. “Why did they make you work together if you don’t work well? And—um, I thought—” Mualani arrives on the roof at this point, so she turns off the comm and switches to regular talking. “I thought the Night Warden Heroes split up their patrols of the city? Like, one person on each side?”

“We stick together,” Malipo says easily, like it’s not weird at all to avoid the divide-and-conquer strategy. “I have a route, and we both follow it.”

“And I don’t hate him,” Mualani tells her. She thought that was kind of obvious from the interviews they’ve done together. She always makes a big deal out of how much she likes having him as a partner. “He’s actually my bestest friend in the whole wide world and I will love him until the day I die. I just say that ‘cause it’s funny.”

Kachina’s face visibly relaxes, even through the mask. “Oh! I get it. Do you know him in real life too?”

Mualani laughs and shakes her head. “I told you, you’re the only person who knows my identity. Unless my roommate has figured it out or something, but I don’t think he has. He doesn’t really ask questions.”

Malipo suddenly has a coughing fit and turns away from her.

“Don’t fake cough,” Mualani scoffs, turning him back around by his shoulders. He stops coughing immediately. She fucking knew it. “What, are you jealous that Uthabiti knows me in real life and you don’t? You know I’d tell you if you asked.”

“DON’T TELL ME,” Malipo practically yells. “Jesus fucking Christ, don’t tell me. Are you an idiot? I know too much about you already. If I get captured—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Mualani brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders and gives him a little smile. “Anyway, my roommate thinks I work at your bakery. So if he ever comes by, you’ll cover for me, right?”

“Oh! Of course,” Kachina says, beaming. “Anything you want!”

“Stop being such a pushover,” Malipo grumbles. “If her roommate comes in, you should tell him immediately. You should be like, Your roommate is Umoja and also she’s in love with you.”

Mualani chokes on nothing.

“Don’t fake cough,” Malipo drawls. Mualani bursts out laughing. Even Kachina laughs breathily through her nose. Maybe it’s her imagination, but Mualani swears she sees Malipo looking pleased with himself for that.

So on Mondays Kachina joins them, and Malipo smiles a little more than usual, and all is right in the world.

***

Over the next month or so, Mualani discovers that she actually really likes Kachina. Not just as her intern, but as a friend. They see each other on Monday, of course, but also on many other mornings, when Kachina works the register at the bakery. Mualani thought it would be a disaster to have her identity out, but Kachina is a great confidante. Mualani can tell her anything; perhaps because of her superfan tendencies, Kachina remembers almost everything she says.

This is why, when Mualani walks into the cafe on a Sunday morning having just been beaten, as Malipo said drily, “six ways to Sunday,” fighting a horde of abyssal Yumkasauri, Kachina already has the paper bag with her two bagels ready for her.

Mualani nearly cries upon seeing it. “Kachina, I love you,” she says weakly, stumbling forward into the counter. Her leg got pretty fucked up in the fight; the suit healed the worst of it, but she’s still limping quite a bit. Not the best day ever, in short. Especially since Malipo is less helpful against Yumkasauri—he says it’s something about his fighting style, that they can predict his every move. So Mualani did the brunt of the fighting. She’s exhausted, to say the least.

“Jalapeno cheddar and pumpkin seed, right?” Kachina says, pushing the bag across the counter to her. “Here.”

Mualani hands over her credit card. Kachina hands her the bag and also a to-go cup with a sleeve on it, and then steps over the counter. Mualani stares at her, baffled, as she takes off her apron and says, very firmly, “I’m going on break.”

“Um, okay,” says Mualani. “I didn’t order a coffee though?”

“It’s chrysanthemum tea. Xilonen says it’s good for healing.”

Mualani tentatively takes a sip. It burns her tongue a little. “Thanks,” she says anyway, because aside from the burning part, it does actually taste pretty good. “I’m gonna go now. Gotta get back before Kinich starts to ask questions.”

“Kinich?”

“Oh! My roommate,” Mualani says, trying to sound as bright as usual and struggling a little. Her hands are full, and usually she would just open the door with her hip, but that’s kind of a problem today, too. “I just don’t say his name in front of Ma—uh, in front of my partner, ‘cause he’d throw a hissy fit.”

Kachina opens the door for her. Mualani’s relieved smile is genuine this time. “You’re a lifesaver,” she says. “Well, have a nice break…?”

“I’m taking you back,” Kachina declares, taking the bag of bagels and then stealing Mualani’s left arm to go along with it. She loops their arms together, letting Mualani lean on her when she walks on the bad leg. It is, infuriatingly, very helpful.

“Did my partner teach you that tone?” Mualani grumbles, when Kachina won’t take no for an answer. “You sound like him. It’s no fun. I hate him, y’know.”

“You called him your bestest friend in the whole wide world,” Kachina says, her voice utterly angelic. Little bastard. Mualani kinda loves her. “Anyway, tell me about Kinich. Your partner said you’re in love with him?”

Mualani feels her face abruptly burst into flame. “Well. You see, um.” But she can’t think of what else to say there, because she’s always been a terrible liar, so she just says, “Yeah, okay, you got me.”

Kachina sighs and looks wistfully at the horizon.

“What??” Mualani asks, a little apprehensive. “What’s wrong? I’m twenty-six, you know, plenty old to be in love. My brain is fully developed. Maybe.”

“It’s just, I thought—” Kachina coughs. She pulls out her phone and types something into her browser. “Maybe you should look at this.”

Mualani takes her phone. Her Natlagram is open to the hashtag #malimoja. Mualani stares at it in disbelief for several long, agonizing seconds. There are. So many posts. So many. Some of them are, understandably, photos of her and Malipo together in interviews, or fighting, or whatnot. They are partners, after all, so of course they would have a hashtag together! Some of them are art pieces of the two of them fighting. Also understandable! There’s the odd drawing of them together on a rooftop, watching the sunrise. Also fine! That happens in real life all the time!

And then there are drawings of them kissing. Like, kissing. Without their masks on. And the worst part is that Mualani’s face is… not entirely wrong. She has no idea if Malipo’s face is right or not, but they sure draw him pretty, she’ll give the artists that.

Mualani squeaks and shoves the phone back at her. “You thought we were—”

“Only a little bit,” Kachina hastens to say, too fast to be the truth. “You act pretty flirty with each other, and you’re the only Night Warden Heroes who don’t split up, and you’ve seen the interview, of course.” She says this like an indisputable fact. Like something that should have a Wikipedia article. The Interview.

Mualani looks at her, eyes wide, and says, “The interview?”

“Never mind! I’m so sorry,” Kachina says in a rush. “Of course you wouldn’t want to think about it, if you and your roommate—Kinich, sorry—if you and Kinich are happy together. I didn’t mean to make it weird. Sorry.”

Mualani, still baffled, raises both her eyebrows at Kachina, but doesn’t push. She motions to turn left, and Kachina helps her balance as she pivots to cross the street.

“Hey, how long is your break?” Mualani asks about five minutes later, once they’ve reached her apartment building. It’s four floors, one unit per, and Mualani and Kinich live at the very top. Usually she takes the stairs but the elevator seems like the better choice today.

Kachina pushes the elevator request button and says, “An hour. I took lunch. Why?”

“Because I think you should meet Kinich.”

Kachina looks a little excited about this, but also looks like she’s trying to hide it. “Okay,” she says brightly, and steps into the elevator alongside Mualani.

So when Mualani opens the door and says, “I’m hoooome,” she also adds, “I have a guest!!”

Kinich is, as always, sitting on the couch with his glasses on. Today he’s reading an actual physical newspaper. Mualani sets down the bagels and whistles. “Hey, hot stuff,” she says, pulling down the corner of the newspaper to look at him.

Kinich rolls his eyes at her. “Hey, loser. Who’d you bring over?”

Kachina, who is still struggling to take off her Doc Martens in the doorway, looks up like a deer caught in headlights. “Hello,” she says, much higher-pitched than usual. “I’m Kachina.” Then she stands up and bows, just like she did with Malipo.

Mualani is a little charmed by this, and laughs. “You don’t have to bow to everyone you meet, Kachina. No one does that.”

“I do it when I’m scared of people,” Kachina says very earnestly. “I am a little scared of him.”

Kinich looks bewildered. Maybe it’s just his glasses, but his eyes look wider than usual. “Hello,” he says belatedly. “I’m… I’m Kinich. Mualani’s roommate. You work with her? At Echoes Bakery and Cafe?”

To her credit, Kachina doesn’t even look lost at this. She nods easily, like it’s second nature. “Yes! Mualani hurt her leg today, so I helped her walk back.”

Kinich nods. “Good,” he tells her, allotting her a small smile. “I’ll take care of her from here.” He turns to Mualani, looking more analytical than surprised. “How bad is it?”

“Not terrible,” Mualani says, which is only half a lie. “It’s not like I got stabbed in the leg or something, haha,” she adds, which is a full lie, because she totally did get stabbed in the leg. Four times, if you count each claw separately.

“Hm,” says Kinich, and then nothing else. He motions toward the couch next to him, and Mualani sits, putting her feet up on the table. The corner of Kinich’s mouth turns down, like he’s already analyzing the amount of Pine-Sol he’ll have to use to clean the table later, but he doesn’t stop her.

Feeling smug, Mualani takes another sip of her chrysanthemum tea. It’s sufficiently cooled off by now, and tastes quite pleasant. “Thanks for the tea,” she tells Kachina, giving her a bright smile. “I like it.”

“Of course!”

An odd look crosses Kinich’s face. “What do you want for lunch,” he asks, oddly intense. “I’ll get it for you. And dinner. Whatever it is, you’ll have it.”

Mualani blinks. “What? No, I can pay you back or something. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“You got stabbed in the leg,” Kinich says drily, which. Didn’t Mualani just say that isn’t what happened? How does he know? “I think I can afford whatever you want.”

“Hmm.” Mualani crosses her arms and puts on her best spitefully aloof look. “I want poke. Bluefin tuna poke. Real fancy. The best stuff you can find. And for dinner I want mahimahi tacos and refried black beans. And then for dessert I want you to make brigadeiros with rainbow sprinkles.”

“Deal,” says Kinich immediately. Then he returns to his reading.

Mualani stares at him over the edge of the newspaper. She’s never seen him act like this before, not so blatantly. Usually he at least tries to conceal the fact that he cares. “Kinich?” she asks. “Are you okay?? Did you hit your head??”

Kinich puts down his newspaper and sighs at her. “No. You’re the one who got hurt, remember? I’m allowed to feel bad about it.”

“But you’re in love with routines,” Mualani says weakly. “You don’t usually just break them. For—for anyone.” For me, she thinks but doesn’t say.

Kinich looks at her, long and hard and silent. “I’m not,” he says slowly, “in love with routines.”

Feeling out of sorts under his stare, Mualani relents. “Okay, well, anyway, I brought your pumpkin seed bagel. You want it?”

Silently, Kinich takes the bag. “There’s only two bagels.”

“Yeah?” says Mualani, because there are always just two bagels. One for each of them.

“Doesn’t Kachina want something?” he asks, motioning behind them.

“OH,” says Mualani. She totally forgot that Kachina was here. Oops. “Yeah, sorry, Kachina. Did you want something?”

No response.

“Kachina?” she asks again, turning her head back toward the doorway.

Kachina is standing there in what looks like utter shock. She’s completely still, her eyes enormous, flitting between her and Kinich at lighting speed. She still has one shoe on.

Mualani tries to stand up and winces, then sits back down. “Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

“You two,” she says weakly. Then, inexplicably, she locks eyes with Kinich. “You’re…?”

“Yes, we are,” Kinich says, his voice utterly deadpan. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Mualani frowns. “Hey, what are you talking about? What’s what it looks like?”

Kachina’s eyes widen even further. “I—I think I should go,” she says hurriedly. “My, um, my break ends pretty soon.”

“I thought you had an hour? Kachina, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine!” Kachina already has her shoes back on and one hand on the doorknob. “Okaythanksbyehopeyoufeelbetter!”

Then she disappears.

Mualani looks wearily at the closed door for a while after she’s gone. Then she turns to Kinich. “What was that about?”

Kinich sighs heavily. “Nothing,” he says, sounding exhausted. “Nothing at all.”

***

Mualani sees her the next day because of the whole internship thing. Or perhaps she should say she sees her the next night, because they meet on Monday at midnight. Is that the same day? Whatever. Anyway, she sees Kachina sixteen hours later, and immediately puts her hands on her hips and asks about it.

“What was that thing with my roommate yesterday?” she demands, giving Kachina her best intimidating stare. Which is pretty damn weak, but it’s worth a try, at least.

Kachina actually squeaks. “Nothing!! Nothing at all. Um. You like him, right? Romantically?”

Mualani frowns. She totally does, because what man is going to make her brigadeiros for no fucking reason whenever she wants? Okay, granted, she did get stabbed, so maybe that’s not no reason, but whatever. She gets stabbed kind of a lot. Occupational hazard. Kinich was so sweet to her all day, bringing her meals to her room and sitting on her bed to watch old Survivor episodes together. She slept in the suit and healed almost completely.

“That’s not relevant,” Malipo cuts in smoothly. Oh. Mualani forgot to answer her. Then, over the comm, “Let’s get to work. Umoja, Uthabiti, east.”

“We’re literally five feet away, you don't need the comm,” Mualani mutters. But, just like always, she follows him regardless. Malipo hasn’t led her wrong before—she has no reason to think that he’ll start now.

***

Often, the night shift is easy. Kachina spends two months of easy night shifts with them before she finally encounters real danger.

The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon when the rift opens over the water. The portal is right near Mualani’s home, only about five blocks away from the Echoes Bakery and Cafe. It makes Mualani feel sick to her stomach. Rifthounds pour out over the water, and Mualani and Malipo hold the shoreline with vicious efficiency.

She slams down phlogiston capsules and surfs through the air, hitting each rifthound with all her force. This is personal. This is where she lives. Her neighbors could die, if she doesn’t act first. It might be her imagination, but it feels like Malipo is hitting harder than usual too, spinning around in dizzying aerial circles to charge his attacks faster.

Kachina, who can’t fly like they can, is on the shore. It’s fine at first, but then more rifthounds emerge, and a few slip past their defenses, roaming along the beach. Mualani ignores it at first—there’s no one out there right now anyway, they can tackle those rifthounds later—and then she remembers where Kachina is.

“Uthabiti, run,” Mualani hisses over the comms, not even bothering to specify a direction. “Get out, get out, they’re closing in. It’s too much for you.”

Kachina hesitates. “I can help,” she insists. “I can break down their defenses more easily.”

Mualani yells in frustration as a rifthound teleports away from her harshest attack, leaving her reeling in midair. Trying to regain her bearings, she locks her eyes on Kachina, who’s readying herself for battle.

“NO,” she yells over the comm. “Uthabiti, remember when we said you can’t always play the hero? That’s now. Get yourself safe.”

“You’re both struggling,” Kachina says, sounding determined. A rifthound closes in on her, and she throws her spear at it.

“Umoja, west.”

Mualani ignores Malipo in her ear. “Get to safety,” she repeats to Kachina. “Get to the cafe or something, anywhere that isn’t here.”

“Umoja, west.”

Kachina finally stops fighting. She’s killed off the rifthound chasing her, but puts away her spear, looking like she’s packing up. Mualani sighs in relief and tries to wave at her, maybe wave towards the cafe, whatever she can to give Kachina some approval. “Good job,” she says over the comm. “We’ll come get you when it’s—”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, UMOJA, WEST!”

“Why do you always use directions, anyway?” Mualani asks, a little snarky, as she finally turns toward the west side of the beach. “You know which way I’m facing, you could just say ‘turn left’ and I’ll—”

And then Mualani is face to face with an enormous geo rifthound, and she slips off her phlogiston pathway, and she’s out of phlogiston capsules, and she’s falling.

“Fuck,” she whispers, as she tumbles toward the water. She’s so much higher than she thought—hitting the water from up here would be no better than jumping onto concrete. She laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

“MUALANI,” Malipo screams, not even over the comms, but loud enough that she can hear him anyway. He dives, a tiny blur of green and black against the endless blue of the early-morning sky above her. “MUALANI, YOU CAN’T FUCKING DIE HERE, I WON’T EVER FORGIVE YOU—”

Beneath her, the water is coming closer. She must be dreaming—Malipo never calls her that—he doesn’t know—he doesn’t know that she’s—

***

Mualani wakes up with sand in her mouth. She swishes it around in her mouth distastefully, then tries to turn over to find somewhere to spit it out. Pain explodes through her entire left side. Right, she remembers. The rifthounds. The abyss. The phlogiston capsules. The height. The fall.

It seems a little odd, then, that she doesn’t have any other injuries. She moves all her limbs just to check. Nothing’s broken. In fact, aside from the large scratch on her side, she doesn’t feel too bad at all. Weirdly enough, all the rifthounds are gone too. Well, she did always say that Malipo didn’t need her anyway! She grins to herself, glancing down the beach just to make sure none of the rifthounds escaped, and—

Her smile slips away instantly.

Lying in the sand, right next to the spot where she awoke, is Malipo. He isn’t moving.

Mualani kneels down next to him instantly. He’s facedown in the sand, just like she was. It can’t be comfortable, she thinks, especially with the mouthful of sand. He looks battered, but no more than usual, except that in his hand is—

Oh.

The Night Warden Heroes’ suits have a ton of technological features. Each suit is uniquely tailored to the hero who wears them. Mualani has her phlogiston capsules stored in a belt at her waist, for example. Malipo has his wristband, which helps him latch onto things and defy gravity. But each suit also has a few universal features built in. And the premier feature of any suit is the failsafe. If a hero is in real, unsalvageable danger, they can activate Mavuika’s power remotely by detaching their mask. It’s designed to be a last resort. The cost of summoning the most extreme kind of backup is the dismantling of their suit’s features. To rip the mask off their suit disables it entirely.

Malipo’s mask is in his hand.

Suddenly everything begins to make a sickening amount of sense. She couldn't have survived a fall from that height, not unless someone caught her to break her fall. Malipo had dived after her. She’d woken up to eerie silence, no monsters, and no injuries.

She survived the fall. But Malipo—she swallows thickly—Malipo might not have.

Carefully, to avoid agitating any of his wounds with sand, she turns him over. “Hey,” she says as she begins moving him by the shoulders. “Malipo? Are you…”

But she falls silent instantly when she sees his face.

Because the person lying unconscious in her arms—her partner, her ever-solid companion, the one who saved her from falling to her death—is Kinich.

***

Mualani barely even processes what she’s doing. She picks him up in her arms and looks around frantically, waiting for anything to happen. Mavuika isn’t here, of course; she spends all her time in the Speaker’s Chamber, where she conducts official business. Removing the mask summons her flame power, drawing from her reserves, but doesn’t actually summon her in person. So although the monsters are eradicated, no one else is around to help.

Mualani barely even processes what she’s doing. She drags them both to Echoes Bakery and Cafe, stumbling through the door despite the ‘closed’ sign, says, “Please help,” and then collapses onto one of the cafe’s tables.

She was hoping for Kachina. Instead, the person who comes out of the back of the bakery is her coworker, the one at the espresso machine—Xilonen, if Mualani recalls correctly. She looks at them both with slight surprise on her face, then says, “Damn. You two sure know how to make a scene, huh?”

Mualani has enough energy left to feel a little offended about that. “Not like you would have done any better,” she mutters. “Being a hero is hard.”

“I know,” says Xilonen drily. She taps meaningfully at the numerous gold rings on her right hand. “Umoja, I know you’re a newer addition, but that doesn’t mean you can just forget us old-timers.”

Mualani gapes at her. Each of the heroes have a different place they keep their tech, based on personal preferences. Mualani has her belt; Malipo has his wristband; Uwezo has her tooth necklace; Bidii has his jacket’s hood; Vuka has her earrings. The only hero who uses rings like that is—

“You have got to be kidding me,” Mualani says flatly. “You’re Baraka?”

“Uh huh,” says Xilonen. She looks between the two of them and then says, finally, “Kachina told me a few things about you guys. Seems kind of on-the-nose to live with your work partner.”

Mualani blanches. Right. She forgot about the part where Kinich is right there. “Yeah, well,” she says, which explains absolutely nothing. “I kind of didn’t know it was him but I think he knew it was me the whole time and then I told him I was in love with him but to the version of him that I didn’t know was him and then he saved me from being a stupid dumbass and falling to my death and now I really need to get him some help.”

Xilonen doesn’t hesitate. She just nods and says, “I’m calling the hospital. Take off his gear, and take off your gear too. It’ll be easier if you use his civilian identity. You’re his roommate, so it makes sense that you’re the one taking him. I have spare clothes in the lockers.”

Thank fuck for people who’ve been doing this job longer than she has, Mualani thinks to herself. She nods, and starts removing all of their hero gear. Xilonen brings her two cafe uniforms.

As Mualani changes, waiting for the medical professionals to arrive, she watches Xilonen calmly cleaning out the espresso machine. “You have a really elaborate job cover,” Mualani tells her, impressed. “With how much time you spend here, I thought you were actually a cafe employee!”

Xilonen raises one eyebrow. “I am,” she says. “I’m the cafe’s primary barista.”

“But you’re Baraka…?”

“I have the evening shift,” she says, shrugging. “I can do whatever I want in the mornings.”

“But isn’t that, like, a lot of work?”

“I like being busy,” Xilonen says, like this is a reasonable sentiment and not the craziest work ethic Mualani has ever heard of. She can barely keep up with one job. “Anyway, the doctors are here. I called in a favor with an old friend in the hospital, so they won’t ask too many questions about how anything happened. You should be able to get him care immediately and deal with the rest later.”

Mualani nods. “Thank you,” she says. “I won’t tell anyone about your identity, don’t worry.”

Xilonen tilts her head. “But it’s not a secret?” she says, sounding faintly surprised. “My name and contact information are on the Night Warden Heroes website. If you search ‘Baraka’ my name comes up.”

Mualani gapes at her.

“No one said it had to be a secret,” Xilonen points out. “It’s really only you and him who get all weird about it. I mean, I call my partner Iansan, ‘cause that’s her name. …Wait, have you been calling him Malipo this whole time?”

Actually, it never really occurred to her that she could just… tell people about being Umoja. She kind of forgot that Malipo was the one who pushed so hard for secrecy. It’s become part of her daily life now, enough that it’s hard to fathom getting rid of it entirely. She’s spent so much time trying to keep Umoja a secret that telling everyone now would just feel strange.

“Hahaha, of course not,” Mualani says, like a liar, and then she follows the paramedics outside to help oversee Kinich’s treatment.

***

Kinich is in the hospital for three full days. Mualani calls Mavuika’s personal cell and panics a little as she explains that they can’t be on shift, but Mavuika is just as understanding as usual. “I’ll assign a team of juniors to take the night shift for a week,” Mavuika tells her over the phone. “Don’t worry.”

Under ordinary circumstances Mualani would have said that they don’t need an entire week off; she and Malipo both hate being idle, even when they’re recovering. But thinking of sending an injured Kinich out to fight makes her stomach twist, so she agrees.

On the third day, Kinich wakes up.

Mualani is asleep with her head pillowed sideways on his calves when it happens. She doesn’t register that he’s awake until he kicks one of his legs out from underneath her head. “Hey!” she yelps, faintly annoyed, and then he laughs, and Mualani finally realizes what that sound means. “Oh my god,” she whispers, watching his eyes crinkle in his tiny laugh. Kinich’s tiny laugh. “Oh my god, Kinich, you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, his voice raspy and dry. Mualani is handing him a water bottle before he can even ask for it. He unscrews the cap and takes a long sip, then adds, “I mean, I’m in the hospital, right? Okay people aren’t usually there.”

“You’re alive,” Mualani says, already on the verge of tears. She’s exhausted; the doctors told her she could go home anytime she wanted, but no one else came to visit Kinich, and she realized that neither of them really have anyone else. Mualani’s family is all dead. Kinich never even knew his. She’s spent two days straight waiting for him to wake up, and now that it’s happened, the tiredness is finally catching up to her.

Kinich scoffs somewhat pathetically. “What, you thought I’d die? The whole point of saving you was that we wouldn’t die.”

Mualani laughs wetly. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

***

Kinich gets the go-ahead to leave the hospital just a few hours later. They were worried about internal bleeding from the fall, but he appears to have healed remarkably quickly while he was asleep. Mualani glances at Kinich’s wristband with a small smile whenever they bring that up. She knew it was a good decision to bring it.

Kachina comes to meet them at the hospital as they’re leaving. “Xilonen called me,” she says, a little out of breath. “Are you both okay??”

Kinich smiles as she comes to an abrupt stop in front of them. “We’re okay,” he tells her. “I still have three days off, and I need to rest, but I’ll be okay.” He holds up his wrist to show off the band. “Ajaw saved my life. Guess I’ll have to give him a reward.”

“Ajaw?” Mualani asks, bewildered. “You named your wristband??”

“Uh huh. He’s a little dragon and he wants to kill me.”

Kachina frowns. “Then why’d he save your life?”

Kinich shrugs. “Who knows,” he says, like he didn’t make the entire story up himself. “The world works in mysterious ways. Maybe he’s grown to care for me more than he realizes.”

Kachina laughs. She falls into step alongside them. They walk in peace for about thirty seconds before horror dawns on Kachina’s face, and she immediately throws herself down on the sidewalk in a real, forehead-to-the-ground bow that makes her other bows look like they were lacking effort.

“Kachina!” Mualani exclaims, bending down to her. “Are you okay?”

“I’M SO SORRY,” Kachina wails, her eyes tearing up. “I—I just wanted to help, but you’re right—I should have listened to you. If you hadn’t been looking back to help me, maybe you wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t think like that,” Mualani says quietly, wiping the tears from her face with her thumb. “It wasn’t your fault at all. Of course you’d want to help. Besides, I was out of phlogiston capsules. Nothing you did would have changed that, y’know. I would have fallen either way.”

Kachina sniffles in her grasp. Mualani sighs and pulls her gently to her feet again, then hoists her into her arms. Kachina makes a small surprised noise at the elevation change, but doesn’t protest.

“Come on,” Mualani says. “I’ll carry you home. Then I’ll order us all some food. What do you like? Kinich, you aren’t supposed to eat red meat yet, but you can still eat poultry, right? Or seafood?”

“Not seafood,” he says, sounding exasperated. “You eat too much seafood already. Get me something else, please. Anything else.”

“I… Um, I like tortilla chips?” Kachina says hesitantly. “With salsa verde? And cheese?”

Mualani walks a little closer to Kinich and holds Kachina tighter against her chest. “Alright,” she says, and grins. “Let’s go home and have some lunch.”

***

Kinich rests at home to recover, making note of his progress. The main problem is his physical fatigue, especially in his arms; he can’t carry anything heavy, and definitely can’t swing himself around in the air like usual. Mualani takes great delight in sitting around with him watching whatever shows he wants (he chooses old seasons of Survivor, even though Mualani knows she likes them more than he does) and bringing him food and making sure he actually rests. With his wristband on and his activity limited, he makes steady progress on his recovery.

On the morning of their third day back at home, Kinich grimaces at his hair and says, “Can you help me wash it?”

Mualani looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Wash your hair? You mean, like, in the shower?”

Kinich raises an eyebrow. “Yes? Where else?”

Mualani feels her face heat up and says, “Like in the shower where you get naked?”

“I didn’t think you’d have a problem with me being naked. Since you’re in love with me and all.”

Mualani gapes at him. She drops her voice to a whisper, like anyone else can even hear them, and hisses, “That is the problem!! Dude, if you were naked in the shower I would not be able to keep myself from checking you out.”

“That was supposed to be an incentive,” Kinich grumbles, sitting up to accept the cup of coffee Mualani brought him. “I get clean hair and you get to ogle my nude body.”

Mualani stares at him as he takes a calm sip of coffee. “I, uh,” she says, then changes tracks. “Wouldn’t that make you uncomfortable? Or, like, be weird?”

Kinich actually looks surprised at this. “No.”

Mualani might actually die of embarrassment. How is he so calm? “Why not?? You know, when I say I like you, I mean, I like you. It would be super weird if I did that and you weren’t into it. You know?”

Kinich coughs lightly into the coffee mug and sets it down. “What the fuck gave you the impression,” he says slowly, “that I wouldn’t be into it?”

Mualani blinks.

“You know that I’m—” He coughs delicately. “You know who I am, now. Shouldn’t that make it clear enough?”

“What, that you’re Malipo?”

Kinich nods.

“I don’t think that really clarifies anything,” she says, more than a little confused. “I mean, it clarified some things—like why you never ask about my job, and why we have the same weird sleep schedule, and why I lowkey had a crush on Malipo too. Actually, it kind of makes a lot of sense. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier, but to be fair, I never even thought about who Malipo was, ‘cause he didn’t want me to know. It felt kinda disrespectful to guess. Wait—I had a point. Right. Why would being Malipo make me think you’re into me?”

Kinich looks at her in silence for a long, long moment. “You haven’t seen it,” he says incredulously, half to himself. “You haven’t seen the interview, have you?”

“I mean, we do a lot of interviews,” Mualani points out. “I don’t watch all of them. I mean, I’m a Malipo fangirl, but not that much—”

“My first ever interview,” Kinich interrupts, uncharacteristically impatient. “When we had just become Night Warden Heroes, and they teamed us up together. Everyone saw it.”

“What’s so special about that interview, anyway?”

Kinich takes his phone from the table by his bed. He taps away at it for a moment, then pulls up a video. He hands his phone to Mualani and waits expectantly. She hits play.

On screen, Malipo’s expressionless mask stares back at her. She can tell that he’s several years younger, because he looks nervous in the suit, not quite adjusted to its fabric yet. He sits with his back too straight, his limbs too rigid. She smiles to herself, watching his nerves get the better of him. These days he lounges around in his suit like it’s part of his skin. He wears the weight of Malipo like it’s Chioriya Boutique.

Then she registers what he’s actually saying.

“—partnered with Umoja for two months. And I wish I hadn’t been.”

Mualani stiffens. She thought they made a good team, even back then. Did Kinich really not feel the same…?

“Umoja is impatient and lighthearted and overconfident,” Malipo continues ruthlessly on Kinich’s phone speakers. “She doesn’t use my communication tactics and she doesn’t wait for me. I can’t believe the number of times I’ve had to restrain myself from yelling at her.”

Mualani can’t take this anymore. “Do you really—”

“Shh,” Kinich tells her. “Listen.”

“But what I hate most about Umoja is that I don’t hate her at all. She’s—she’s incredible. Sometimes I look at her and I can’t believe she’s real, like maybe I dreamed her up after pulling one too many night shifts. She’s kind and charming and funny and—and when she compliments me, I want to tear my hair out because she sounds so sincere. Umoja isn’t the worst partner at all. She’s the best, and it infuriates me. I don’t think a single moment has gone by on the job where I’m not thinking about her. If they’d partnered me with anyone else, I wouldn’t lose sleep every night wondering if she thinks of me nearly this much.”

The clip ends there.

Mualani stares at the young Kinich on screen for several long, agonizing moments, then looks up at the Kinich in front of her. “This was only two months in?” she asks finally. “I didn’t even know you then.”

“You did,” Kinich says quietly. “You knew me more than anyone.”

Mualani looks down at the phone clip again, her mind reeling. “That could mean anything,” she says breathily. “It doesn’t mean you’re in love with me too. I mean, maybe you could be talking about my battle capabilities, or how cool it is that I can surf in the fucking sky! Isn’t that awesome? I can do flips and stuff if I—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kinich says, and leans up to kiss her, wide eyes and open mouth and stupid expression and all.

***

At eight thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, the bell above the door of the Echoes Bakery and Cafe chimes to announce the arrival of a new guest. Kachina looks up from the cash register and beams as she registers who it is. “Hi!” she calls, pulling out a paper bag with two bagels already packed up. “Jalapeno cheddar and pumpkin seed, right?”

“You know it!” Mualani says, grinning. She rummages through her pockets for her wallet.

Kinich already has his credit card between his index and middle fingers. He smiles slightly as he hands it over. “Thanks, Kachina,” he says softly. “You’re a good kid, y’know?”

Kachina flushes bright red, looking pleased. “Thank you!!”

“Hey,” Mualani grumbles as she finally finds her wallet. “You weren’t supposed to pay today. You paid yesterday.”

“Hm,” says Kinich, utterly unrepentant. “It won’t matter when we get married. We can have a combined bank account for bagels and rent and stuff like that. You can keep a separate one for yourself if you want, in case we get divorced, to give the lawyers an easier time.”

Mualani shoves lightly at his shoulder. “Are you pre-divorcing me? You’re so mean.”

“I’m just being pragmatic,” Kinich says drily. “Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Those odds aren’t too great, so we ought to prepare for every eventuality.”

“I actually hate you,” Mualani tells him as she takes the bag of bagels. “You are the worst and I’m never ever going to forgive you.”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” says Kinich, and doesn’t protest when Mualani drapes an arm around his waist.

Kachina looks between them, her eyes wide enough to fill a bagel hole, and says, “Please tell me my OTP is finally canon.”

Kinich raises a single eyebrow.

“Yes, it is,” says Mualani. “And you can post about it if you want! I know about your secret superfan account. It’s ‘Malimoja Apprentice Daughter 2: Electric Boogaloo,’ right?”

Kachina pales tellingly.

Mualani grins. “I knew it!” She leans over the counter conspiratorially. “So who’s Malimoja Apprentice Daughter number one, huh?”

“Um,” says Kachina, her eyes darting to the floor.

“I am,” calls Xilonen from the espresso machine. “Why?”

Mualani stares at her in disbelief. “You??”

“What? It’s not that weird,” she says, shrugging just one shoulder. “I mean, you guys moved in together at my cafe. I should get to be a shipper, right? It’s only fair.” She pours milk into the espresso she’s been brewing, then hands it off to a woman with bright pink hair. “Speaking of which, I should tell my followers about it. We’ve been doing a day count, you know, like, Day nine hundred seventy three of waiting for malimoja canon. I gotta update them.”

“Nine hundred seventy three,” Mualani says faintly.

“You should have waited,” Xilonen says casually. “I had money on making it to a thousand.”

Mualani feels a little lightheaded thinking about that. “Who was betting with you on this??”

“Mavuika.”

“You know what?” Mualani says faintly. “This is too surreal for me to even be embarrassed. Let’s just go home.”

Kinich smiles his tiny little half-smile. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go home.”