Chapter 5: The Walk Home
The pizza shop's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Kyle wiped down the same counter for the third time, his eyes fixed on the clock above the soda machine. Six fifty-eight. Two minutes until his shift ended, and his brain was still half stuck in that pulsing rhythm from last night, the bass that had rattled his chest, the weirdly calm guy with the gold eyes who moved like water.
"Yo, Marcus," he called over his shoulder, tossing the rag into the sink. "I'm out. You good to close up?"
Marcus waved him off from the back, already elbow-deep in a bag of shredded cheese. Kyle didn't wait for a second confirmation. He grabbed his jacket from the hook, shoved his phone in his pocket, and hit the door at a jog.
The street was cooling off, that late evening air carrying the smell of asphalt and exhaust and somebody's barbecue from three blocks over. Kyle's legs ate up the pavement, sneakers slapping against concrete. He didn't think about why he was moving so fast. He just knew the apartment was waiting, and somehow, so was Roha.
He rounded the corner onto his block and there he was. Leaning against the brick wall outside the building, one foot propped up, head tilted down at the glowing rectangle in his hand. The streetlight caught the gold band on his wrist, and his long dark hair fell loose around his shoulders like he'd just stepped out of a music video.
Kyle grinned so hard his cheeks hurt.
"Yo!" He jogged the last stretch, skidding to a stop in front of him. "You've been here this whole time?"
Roha looked up from the phone, those grey gold-flecked eyes finding him with that same unnerving stillness. "You said seven o'clock."
"Yeah, but like, you coulda walked around or something. Grabbed a snack." Kyle laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. The muscle under his palm was solid as a rock. "You've been here, what, two hours?"
"I explored the city this afternoon." Roha held up the phone, showing a photo of a fountain, then another of a dog mid-chase, tongue out, legs blurred. "I have documentation."
Kyle wheezed. "Documentation? Bro, you're hilarious." He grabbed Roha by the arm and pulled him toward the building door. "Come on, I got a plan for tonight. Tacos, okay? This place on Fifth does these al pastor things that'll change your life. Then there's a rooftop bar Joaquin told me about, and if we're still feeling it after, maybe we hit another club. You down?"
The words spilled out of him, fast and fizzy like soda shaken up. He didn't stop to wonder why Roha's presence made him feel like this, like the evening had suddenly switched from standby to full brightness.
Roha let himself be dragged up the stoop. "I am... down."
Kyle beamed at him over his shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about."
The door swung open into the dim hallway, and Kyle led the way upstairs, already talking about the tacos. The al pastor, the pineapple, the way the salsa verde burned on the back of your tongue in that perfect, addictive way. Roha followed in silence, the phone still warm in his hand, the magic humming in his chest like a second heartbeat.
They reached the apartment door. Kyle fumbled with his keys, dropped them once, cursed cheerfully, and finally got the lock open. He shoved the door inward with his shoulder and gestured grandly.
"Welcome to Casa de Ashe. Please wipe your feet, don't judge the mess, and make yourself at home."
Roha stepped inside. The apartment was exactly as they'd left it, bowls still in the sink, cereal box abandoned on the counter. It smelled like stale seltzer and something faintly sweet. He looked around at the chaos, the scattered clothes, the stack of unopened mail, the neon cat figurine on the TV stand.
"I have seen palaces of the ancient world," he said slowly. "Emperors' thrones. Tombs filled with gold."
Kyle's eyes had gone wide, his grin split across his face like he'd just won something. "Wow, you're pretty well-traveled, huh? I hear the clubs in Europe are insane! You ready for some tacos, bro?"
Roha blinked. "I was describing tombs."
"Exactly, bro. Tombs, ancient stuff, all that. You've seen things." Kyle grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and shrugged it on, talking over his shoulder. "Come on, the place closes at ten and I'm not missing that pineapple salsa again."
The taco shop was a hole in the wall three blocks over, a place with cracked vinyl booths and a neon sign that buzzed in yellow script. Kyle ordered for both of them without asking, two rounds of al pastor, one order of carne asada, extra limes, and a side of chips that arrived still hissing with heat.
Roha stared at the plate in front of him. The meat was dark at the edges, charred, glistening with grease. Steam curled off the top. He picked up a taco with two fingers and turned it over.
"It's not poisoned," Kyle said, already three bites into his own. "Trust me, bro. This place is sacred."
Roha took a bite. The flavors hit him all at once, the tang of pineapple, the deep smoke of the pork, the sharp bite of onion and cilantro. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, like a man processing a new language.
"Okay," he said. "This is good."
"This is good?" Kyle laughed, salsa dripping down his chin. "Bro, this is the best thing on Fifth Street. You gotta commit."
"I am committing." Roha took another bite, larger this time.
They ate in comfortable rhythm. Kyle talked about his shift, the customer who'd asked for pineapple on a pepperoni pizza, the way the oven had started making a noise like a dying animal, the girl from the coffee shop next door who kept giving him free iced lattes. Roha listened, nodding at the right moments, filing away the details of a life that felt impossibly small and impossibly full at the same time.
The rooftop bar was a converted water tower deck, all string lights and mismatched furniture, with a view of the skyline that made Kyle's chest swell every single time. He ordered two gin and tonics and pushed one across the low table to Roha.
"To new friends," Kyle said, raising his glass.
Roha picked up his glass. The liquid was clear, with a curl of lime bobbing at the surface. He touched it to Kyle's and drank. The fizz hit his tongue, sharp and botanical, nothing like the wines and meads of his old days.
"Alright, bro." Kyle leaned back, kicking his feet up on an empty crate. "What's the verdict? City life treating you okay so far?"
Roha considered the question. The music drifting from a speaker someone had left on the railing. The breeze carrying the smell of the street below, fry oil and car exhaust and blooming jasmine from a planter on the next building over. The warmth in his chest that wasn't just from the drink.
"It's loud," he said. "And bright. And it doesn't stop moving."
Kyle nodded like that was the highest compliment possible. "Right? That's the whole thing. This city doesn't sleep, bro. It just keeps going, and you either keep up or you get left behind."
"I haven't decided which I'm doing yet."
Kyle laughed, the sound bright and easy against the rooftop hum. "That's fair. You'll figure it out." He swirled his drink, ice clinking, and tilted his head at Roha with that curious, open look he got when something caught his attention. "So, you live in the city or you just visiting?"
Roha went still. The glass paused halfway to his lips.
He looked at Kyle. Really looked. The guy was sprawled back in his chair like he owned the skyline, pink hair catching the string lights, completely relaxed. No tension. No weirdness. No flicker of recognition about a dark alley, a knocked-over box, a cloud of smoke curling into a man's shape.
Kyle didn't remember.
He had no idea Roha was a genie. No idea he'd spent three centuries trapped in a lamp. No idea about the wish, the binding, any of it. To Kyle, Roha was just some dude he'd met outside a club, made instant friends with, and brought along for the ride.
Roha's jaw tightened. He could say it. Right now, right here, he could explain everything. The alley, the lamp, the wish that had yanked him out of three hundred years of silence and tethered him to this pink-haired chaos magnet.
But Kyle was grinning at him, waiting for an answer, and the words felt heavy. Clunky. Wrong for this rooftop, these string lights, this warm evening breeze.
"I'm only here temporarily," Roha said.
Kyle's face scrunched up in exaggerated concern. "Temporarily? Bro, that's tragic." He sat up, jabbing his glass toward Roha. "Well in that case, I gotta show you more cool spots before you go! I love it here. So much going on all the time. You can't just dip after one night. That'd be a crime."
Roha stared at him. Kyle was already pulling out his phone, thumbs flying, muttering about rooftop cinemas and a bar that served drinks in fishbowls and this one warehouse party that only happened once a month.
Roha tilted his head back. The sky above the city was a flat, hazy black, no stars, just the faint orange glow of a million streetlights bleeding into the clouds. He searched for a familiar constellation out of habit and found nothing. Three centuries ago, the night sky had been a map, a tapestry of stories you could read like a book. Now it was just empty, smudged with light pollution.
The thought unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.
He dropped his gaze to the skyline spreading out below the rooftop. Towers of glass and steel, their windows glittering in grids, red lights blinking at their peaks like mechanical fireflies. Cars streamed along the streets in ribbons of white and red. Somewhere down there, a train rumbled past, a lit snake cutting through the dark.
"Pretty wild, right?" Kyle said, nodding at the view. "Joaquin says you can see three different bridges from here on a clear night."
Roha didn't answer. He was thinking about the afternoon, about the things he'd absorbed walking through the city. The phones that knew everything. The machines that carried people through the air. The buildings that scraped the sky with no magic at all, just steel and concrete and human stubbornness.
Magic was gone from this world. He'd felt it all afternoon, a hollow absence underneath the noise. No wards on the doorways. No blessing marks on the thresholds. No old spirits lingering in the corners of parks. Just electricity and data and the relentless hum of human invention.
He looked at his own hands. Ancient power coiled in his fingers, older than every building in this city, older than the concrete under his feet. And the world had moved on without him.
"You good, bro?" Kyle's voice cut through the quiet. He'd stopped scrolling his phone, head tilted, studying Roha with that curious open look.
"Yeah." Roha lowered his hands. "Just... adjusting."
Roha opened his mouth to answer, but Kyle was already staring at him with that look, the one he got right before he said something completely unhinged. His eyes went wide, then bright, and he rocketed up from his chair like someone had set off a firework under him.
"YO! I got an idea! I'll take you to one of my favorite spots next! C'mon, chuggalug and finish your drink and lets get outta here."
Roha looked down at his glass. Half full. He'd been nursing it while Kyle told a story about a guy who'd tried to fight him over a parking spot.
"Chuggalug," Roha repeated.
"Yeah, like this." Kyle tipped his own glass back, throat working, and slammed it down on the table with a triumphant wheeze. "See? Easy. Your turn."
Roha considered arguing. The magic hummed, warm and insistent, and somewhere in his chest he felt a strange, unfamiliar urge to see what Kyle was going to do next. He brought the glass to his lips and drank. The gin and tonic went down faster than he expected, sharp and cold, and he set it down with a small clink.
"Good man." Kyle grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. "Let's bounce."
The stairs down from the rooftop were narrow and metal, and Kyle took them two at a time, his sneakers clanging against the treads. Roha followed at a more measured pace, but not by much. The buzz from the drink was settling behind his eyes, softening the edges of the city noise.
They hit the street and Kyle turned left, walking fast, hands shoved in his pockets. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, and the air had that late-night chill that crept in after sunset.
"So where are we going?" Roha asked.
"You'll see." Kyle shot him a grin over his shoulder. "It's a surprise. A good one. Trust me."
Roha didn't trust him. But he followed anyway.