✧ Hal's Garden ✧

It was brought up rather nonchalantly. Never a grand ordeal like the movies or a conversation unravelled beneath a sea of trees on park benches. Back at the hideout, before the crew had to move, Heavy found himself watching television. Unlike Jakob, he couldn’t view absent-mindedly. Superpowers this, on-the-run that, we will update the good citizens of Saint Cleese and pursue this grave issue further. A loud slurp of instant ramen ceased the clacking of laptop keys beside Heavy. The plastic cup clicked to the coaster, teetering on the edge.

“Man, it feels rather cruel to call you Heavy or Seven, don’t you think?” The voice had it’s mouth full. A dull crack emitted from Jakob’s joints as he stretched upwards, fingers interlocked. Instinctively he reached for the remote to lower the volume, understanding Heavy would have a difficult time focusing on more than a singular conversation.

There was no avoiding a question aimed casually enough. As a distraction, Heavy began to rub the lace of his skirt between his thumb and forefinger, the fabric much more soothing than surgery gowns, “No. Heavy is what they call me. The seventh experiment is what I am.”

“Well you’re on a winning streak with choosing what suits you best, why stop now?” Remarked Jakob, opening tabs with his trackpad. The air hung dry other than the low muttering of the television, Heavy slowed his hand movements attempting to catch bumps where the pattern of the delicate lace opened into small purposeful holes. His nails traced the net structure as he closed his eyes, trying to figure out if the pattern formed hearts or diamonds.

“Can it go on like this? Me choosing what I want?” Guilt seised him then, as it had done previously without remorse. The first time he’d disobeyed orders, going against what others expected him to be, it led him here. Here meant being surrounded by a rag-tag bunch of humans who constantly expanded their own understanding and training, using their gifts for the greater good rather than pursuit of intimidation and ruling power, even to their own detriment. Maybe this wasn’t a trap for once. Still, the idea of wanting betterment for oneself contorted into the negative belief of being vain and egotistical. Of course that idea was concocted by the laboratory, but their conditioning caused the belief to linger like a phantom of the past.

“The past is over. We can learn from it but sometimes a new name is a symbol of renewal.” Jakob was no psychic. Despite this he managed to intercept Heavy’s thoughts.

“Re-new-al?”

“Uh, starting fresh. Clean slate. Trying again. Do-over. Giving it another go.” The man spoke with his hands enthusiastically, making the motion of brushing something aside. Heavy fluttered his eyes open to watch. By cocking his head the plastic of his earrings tapped melodically. His mouth scrunched, as if he was chewing new information, deep in thought.

After mulling over, a clear response was emitted, “Right. Understood.”

“You don’t have to wait for a special day or permission, Heav.”

“How do you name yourself?” His head whipped back to the television. The news broadcast of the groups fight became frosted glass as his eyes unfocused. Increasing the pressure, Heavy kneaded the lace harshly, his body becoming stiff. Slowly, a hand gently pressed to his shoulders, pushing them from their heightened spot by his ears to comfortably align with his collarbones. The back of the hand pressed to his cheek, refreshingly cool to the touch.

“You feeling alright? I don’t want you running a fever. I think we’ve got some painkillers but they never said if you have an allergy, big man.”

“I'm okay.” Heavy’s voice was automatic, “Tell me how I do it.”

“Why don’t you think of a couple and we can make a list. Then try saying them aloud and see how you feel.” Jakob withdrew his hand, poised at the keyboard. Adjusting his posture to straighten his back and neck resulted in another click, “oh, and buddy this can stay between us, but there’s no shame in it.”

Shame. The feeling made it’s presence known at the announcement of the word, dissipating when it’s arrival was warded off by Jakob. Perhaps something that begins with the same letter to bridge the gap, Heavy’s mind began to race. What the group were doing despite outrage was a good thing, exposing harsh truths to reveal clarity. New name, same flesh, this time adorned with soft fabrics. His lips quivered, short splutters of breath caught the air. He paid close attention to his physical form. Usually the heroes size caused him to fold in on himself, the physical pain resulting in a hunch regardless, “Hiro?"

“Oh, like superhero?”

“On my donors list there was a boy named Hiromi. They called him, Hiro. I never met him.” The man spelt out the name, hearing the keyboard click as each letter rung out. Jakob rotated his laptop. Hiromi, generous beauty.

“What a wonderful name. Let’s try it together.” Jakob’s smile reflected warmly in the laptop screen, a wide encompassing smile, “would you like that, Hiromi?”

“Hi-ro-mi.” His voice was pleasantly soft, the grip of the lace loosened. It felt different than the hard 'H' and strong 'V' of his old label. Hiromi was rounder, a sound that didn't require him to grit his teeth to finish, “say it again.”

“Hiromi. Says here anyone can use it. That name really suits you.”

“Do you think he’ll mind? I feel awful using someone else’s name.”

“Nonsense! Do you know how many people are called Jakob? Me neither, too many! When my friends call it out, I still turn my head around and acknowledge them, because that’s my name!” Demystifying the naming process with the commonality of his name, Jakob placed a hand above his friends, “now tell me, who’s hand am I holding?”

“Mine.”

“I love these bracelets, did you make these yourself?” Jakob watched the man beside him nod, sporting a weak smile. Their eyes locked in brief acknowledgement of vulnerability. Breaking his hand away, Heavy began picking at the beads, lost in shape and colour again, “What’s your name?”

A gulp cut the air, the twang of bracelet elastic hitting his wrist repeatedly. Generous beauty in a time of great uncertainty. Something that belonged to him with some semblance of control. His hair shielded a low whisper, “Hiromi.”