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10 | The End

"You done?"

"Yep."

"That's great!" Fang popped another miniature-sized red carrot donut into his mouth. He swallowed the latter after a few chews, then digging for another in the brown paper bag. He picked the bag up and examined the labels. "Damn, these are good." He turned to Boboiboy, who was piloting on the seat next to him. "Do you think we can hold off the potential war for more donuts?"

"No," Boboiboy deadpanned.

"Suit yourself."

Ali yawned and began to curl up on his seat, though Fang tossed a crumpled paper bag at his face. Ali jolted awake, surprised and fell off the seat.

"Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty!" Fang groused. "We need you awake just in case those MATA cockroaches decide to track us, and you're the only one that knows how their coding and methods work!"

Ali wiped his eyes and sunk back into his seat. "If you don't like how I work, find someone else then!" he taunted, tossing the crumpled paper back at the shadow manipulator. "You need mental help, that's what!"

"Y'ALL NEED THERAPY, AND THAT'S FINAL," Boboiboy boomed, interrupting their pointless altercation. "Ya Allah."

Both of them shut up and returned to their posts.

You know, despite the passive-aggressive argument, there wasn't much hostility, unlike MATA. Like Ali, both Boboiboy and Fang struggled with expectations that were automatically and stereotypically set over their heads even before they were born. Boboiboy's father was a famous ambassador that fought against the galaxy; while Fang's brother was a notorious rebel captain that was skilled in combat in every way.

Both their parental figures have pushed them away, neglected them and expected them to perform better than them. It was also one reason why they were able to get along, despite having centuries' worth of age differences.

One in the same, Ali thought. It was how he met Boboiboy too, to be frank. He was walking through the town park, having run away from his father because he'd ignored Ali for weeks now, surviving by his neighbor's care. He ran because he thought his dad didn't want him, that he didn't deserve to be alive.

There, in the park, Boboiboy had talked to him and comforted him, giving him his number to keep in touch. They haven't talked for years, but to Boboiboy, it was just like days. When they did talk, however, it was to complain about Ali's father and how MATA could suck a lemon and all that.

For once, Ali truly felt that he was accepted. And they knew how it felt, and they weren't going anywhere. He's accepted them and they've accepted him. And this time, it was not a lie nor a manipulation.

He was needed here, wanted.

Ali had found his home.

.

.

.

.

.

"I don't care if you're going to throw up, do it outside!"

"Bitch, you know full well that we're in space—"

"I don't care if you dropped your dry ass into a volcano or fucked someone in a night club and became a father of thirteen. Your existence to me is equivalent to you in front of anyone else with a brain. If you were on fire and I had a glass of water, I'd drink it." Boboiboy leveled Fang with a withering glare, snapping back to the controls. "Now shut up before I eject you into space."

Ali sighed. No matter how heated the insults were, it was still home.