The transmogrifier pats the end of the last bandage in place, securing it to itself. "Now remember, you'll want to stay out of the shower for forty-eight hours, keep the site clean, take your painkillers, and draw the nanobots out with a magnet after a week. Oh, and don't test the wings for a couple of months, I shouldn't want to see you in here again after you've torn an implant out, ja?"

  "Y-yeah."

  Henrik discards his gloves for the last time. He wets a cloth in the sink and brings it over - using it to wipe the last of the tears from Bog's cheeks. "Such a brave little thing," he murmurs, almost too low for Bog to hear. But he does hear it, even though he doesn't quite know what to say in return.

  The transmogrifier helps him stand, helps him put his shirt back on; his hands linger. Despite their exhaustion, Bog wants them to. "You have a ride home?" Henrik asks him.

  "Yeah, my boyfriend...he's waitin' on me."

  "Good, I'm glad." The pink-haired person grabs a prepared bag of supplies from one of the cabinets before leading him to the door.

  Torvald looks up when Bog exits the implant parlor, putting down some kinda game. Maybe Henrik shows some bravery of his own because he even helps them walk to the car.

  "Ugh, feels like somebody's been drillin' my ribs," Bog half-jokes.

  "Very funny, darling," Henrik replies, though he favors the crack with a grin anyway.

  Torvald is more solicitous than usual, holding the door open for him, making sure he lies down on his front. Taking care of him. Still half-dazed from the procedure, Bog finds it to be exactly what they need.

  Huh.

  Henrik hands the supplies to the blond man. "Here, make certain he takes these painkillers twice daily, and change and redress the wounds once a day."

  "I'll do that," Torvald promises sternly.

  The transmogrifier hesitates before going back inside; looks at Bog, looks at Torvald. Clearly likes what he sees. "Let me know, won't you?"

  Bog gives him a weak thumbs up.

  "What was that all about?" Torvald asks casually, pulling the skycar up to the lanes and starting the drive back to his apartment.

  "Tell ya later hon, let's just get back to your place for now. I don't wanna still be in this car when the painkillers wear off."

  "A wise idea," the man replies.

  Still pretty groggy from everything, Bog looks up when his watch chimes. It's a message from Henrik, sent to one of his more public accounts rather than the back channels they usually communicate through.

  Take care of yourself, liebchen, it reads, you're an even greater masterpiece now than you were before.

  Bog taps out a quick response and puts their head back down. The drive, usually quick, seems to drag. Traffic isn't too bad this time of day but it's like they get stuck behind every grandpa driving his first skycar in fifty years. Finally they reach Torvald's place.

  Their boyfriend parks the car, helps them out of the backseat with a tender solicitousness that makes Bog blink away a different sort of tears this time.

  It's fortunate that his door isn't too far away, because oh boy is he really starting to feel the shit he's done to himself. Torvald helps him out of his shirt when they get inside, and about pours him out onto his sofa.

  "Fuck me I can't even lay back," they groan. Shit sucks because they usually sleep on their back but they'll just have to cope.

  When the painkillers really start to wear off, Torvald gets them some ice packs to lay over the gauze. That helps a lot. It even makes it possible for the lovers to watch a little TV - though most of what he sees is Torvald's leg, and about half of Diggy's tank from this position.

  Bog isn't sure he'll ever be able to express how much his man means to him. But he tries. "Love you," he says softly, barely able to get himself to say the words.

  But they do say them.

  Fuck you, mom, they think.

  Hell. Figures the first time he can bring himself to tell his boyfriend how he feels, they're lying on their stomach on his couch watching cheesy reruns, back one huge open wound.

  He forgets about that as they feel Torvald exhale sharply. "Did you just say you loved me?" the man asks tentatively.

  Bog nods, not looking up. He's afraid to. He's...every time he's ever said that to someone they wound up rejecting him or turning them away. It's so, so hard for them to say - that's their goddamn mother's fault.

  He knows it's true, though. And if Torvald rejects him for it he won't ever, ever recover; not even with his new wings.

  "I love you too," the blond man says finally, voice low and warm. He doesn't say it easily; he's got too much family crap in his past for that, just like Bog. But he says it all the same.

  The moment passes, but it passes like a wave over the beach; it doesn't leave either of them unchanged.

  They're staying at Torvald's place for a few days. Their man has taken some time away from work, intending to help him. And if that ain't sweet Bog don't know what is.

  They really do...

  -------------

  Torvald wakes them up after a while to give them some soup and then more painkillers. Afterwards they lie back down with the ice packs on their back, and their lover's fingers carding through their hair.

  Some time after that he wakes Bog up to take them to bed. They could've stayed on the couch - hell right now they could live on this couch, but Torvald can't sleep on the thing too. And they want him to be with them.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  So he lets his man help him up, lets him help them finish undressing, lets him help them to the bed they share from time to time. It seems like a long walk but soon enough they're lying down together. Usually they'd spoon, and he kind of resents that it's going to be a while before they can do that again. But Torvald taking care of him? Yeah, this is kind of a dream come true.

  Even if his back does hurt like hell.

  -----------

  A couple mornings later and Bog's actually able to sit at his boyfriend's table to eat breakfast. He feels like an old man; he's stiff and sore beyond belief and they'll almost certainly take up his now-customary spot on the couch when they're done. But look at them now. They're almost civilized again.

  Ow.

  "Mm, so what was with your surgeon you didn't want to tell me about when I brought you home?" The question is asked calmly; not like Torvald doesn't care about it but like he'll accept the answer no matter what it might happen to be.

  "He's...interested," Bog mumbles. "In me." And ain't that a helluva thing?

  A large calloused hand catches his own. They've both had outside flings since they've been together, though their stars continue to orbit around one another. "And are you interested back?"

  Bog can feel their cheeks darken some, more or less hidden by their skin tone. "I guess I am."

  "Did he care for you properly? He seemed attentive."

  "Y-yeah."

  "Then go see him," Torvald urges.

  "You sure?"

  By way of an answer, Torvald squeezes his hand.

  He really does l...

  ------------

  Waiting becomes infuriating towards the end of the waiting period. They've done as many tests as Henrik insists upon, and then implants seem pretty well settled now. Now, now it's time to test the fuckers out.

  Finally.

  Torvald's with him again. They've both gone to one of the taller skyscrapers on the outskirts of Novalectrum, one that overlooks a market district so all the cops have something else to focus on. They've chosen a quieter time of day, lit red by the sunset shading into evening - although there isn't any time when Novalectrum's really quiet.

  He's wearing an old shirt with two strips cut out of the back for the wings to manifest through like Henrik suggested - this whole wings thing is gonna make him have to adjust his wardrobe.

  Well it's a small enough price to pay.

  Henrik told him that his new wings would require a weird mental twist to get them to manifest and that he should try extending them multiple times on the ground before moving on to flight. Torvald agrees; and Bog agrees with him. So that's what they do.

  The first time they try nothing happens. The second...well, their back feels kinda funny and they hear a bit of a hum from the air around their head but nothing other than that. In the end it takes them five attempts but finally, finally, their wings manifest from the implants, snapping into existence at their back.

  The wings are made of glowing lines, nearly the same cyan as their eyes - although they could adjust the color. They reach out to touch one of the wings, hand shaking a little bit. It feels like ordinary hard light, like one of Torvald's weapons might be made of. But Bog finds himself suddenly tearing up.

  Finally.

  This would be embarrassing if there were anybody here but Torvald to see. But Torvald has seen them do all kinds of embarrassing things, so they're not worried about it. Especially not when their boyfriend stoops a little to kiss their forehead.

  "You look wonderful," the man breathes.

  "I. Heh. Thanks."

  Once they recover from all the feelings Bog dutifully does as the transmogrifier instructed him to, manifesting and banishing the wings until he feels like he has a handle on that process. Then he extends them and retracts them until he can control them smoothly.

  After that it's time for a test.

  They've kept the skycar up here. Sure they might get caught - it's kinda illegal to be fooling around up here, especially with the car - but Bog needs something to leap off at a height to test the wings before they really commit to jumping off a building. They wouldn't bother except that Torvald insisted.

  They don't know what they've done to deserve him, but whatever it is, he's grateful.

  Well time for the next step. Awkwardly they climb up Torvald's skycar and let him command the thing up a few feet. It looks a lot scarier than it might otherwise; he knows there's nothing between him and a hard landing but implants he hasn't tested yet. Luckily for Bog they're not really afraid of heights. So, with a deep breath they lean forward, wings spread, and let themself fall off their boyfriend's car.

  As they're falling, they make a sound they'll deny later, whether to himself or to Torvald. But their new wings catch the air and slow their fall just enough.

  Too late, they consider the landing.

  Bog tries to bring his feet forward but instead drops to the roof awkwardly, skidding a little on hands and knees. Afterwards they're a mess, a tangle of limbs on the rough concrete of the building's roof. They're also, they realize shortly after, grinning like a maniac. The only time they've been this happy is after they managed to get their top surgery.

  Torvald helps them up, brushes them off; his hands linger sweetly in a way that makes Bog want to do more than just practice with their implants up here. Heh, that can come later.

  The demiguy works at their landings for a bit - good thing they picked a mostly windless evening for this. But in the end even just gliding is so tiring that they only have enough energy left for one final flight - the one they intend to make off the side of the building.

  Their lover actually looks afraid in that semi-detached way he has in a fight - dissociated, even. Bog doesn't want to frighten their partner. But this is something they have to do.

  The blond's hand finds their own, squeezes tightly as if by the force of his grasp he can keep them safe. But he doesn't ask them if they're sure. He trusts them to know their own mind, which they didn't really realize until just this moment.

  That's a helluva a thing too.

  They step to the edge of the building, looking down uncertainly into the mess of 'scrapers and skycar traffic. The drop is...well, it sure is something. If ever they'd been afraid of heights it'd manifest here, with the ground untold stories underneath them and only their as-yet untested wings between them and the ground below. But it's now or never, they tell themself. He can't let it be never. And so they make the leap.

  Bog falls, wind rushing past his face. And then, he soars.

  They don't have a heart any longer, that was replaced by an implant years ago. But as the tether of gravity is replaced with the freedom of the skies and of their very own wings, they could swear that something in their chest leaps.