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Lloyd is sick of green.
It's everywhere. His bed, his sneakers, his toothbrush. His own stupid green eyes, screaming GREEN NINJA every time he catches his face in a mirror, like a pair of obnoxious neon signs he can't turn off.
Short of getting beaten to a pulp and hurled straight through four of Kryptarium's finest prison walls, that is.
He's not doing that again.
The lights stay on.
When he pulls open his closet, the color sears his retinas. Green shirts. Green hoodies. Rows and rows of green, green, green gis.
Useless, they shriek, like the wind hissing through leaves. Failure.
Green bile rises in his throat.
Lloyd shuts the door.
He raids his brothers' closets instead. Just like old times.
Kai's sleeves are a bit too long, but he rolls them up. But most of his clothes are too flashy, too vibrant. The ones Kai left behind.
He's gone. Left for his parents' place. To his real family, or what's left of it.
Guess he didn't make the cut.
Lloyd doesn't touch Jay's door. He's gone, too. Left most of his clothes behind. They'd fit him better, but they're blue.
Not her blue, per se, but close enough. The only color worse than green.
Zane is always an option, but his clothes are all nice and neat and white and blue. Besides being way too long. He doesn't want to crease his sleeves, and he'd notice if some were missing.
That leaves Cole. Which is all right, he guesses. Lloyd hides himself in the baggy sleeves and hoods, swamped in dark, neutral shades of gray and black.
He haunts the monastery like a ghost in his clothes. Which is kind of funny. And by that he means really, really not.
At least when Cole turned he was still there with them. And they were there for him, too. Mostly. Sort of.
Not really.
Not enough.
You keep losing them.
Some Green Ninja you are.
Failure.
Lloyd doesn't even notice the earth ninja in front of him until he bumps right into his chest.
"Oof." He blinks. Looks down at Cole's feet. "Sorry," he mumbles.
Cole's warm, solid hands find their way to his shoulders. "Lloyd, buddy. You all right? You look like you're not here."
"Hmm." Lloyd doesn't answer.
What else is he supposed to do? Lie? Say no? Pointless.
Cole's fingers feel his bones through the fabric. "You've lost weight. And why do you keep wearing my clothes?"
There's a hint of exhaustion in his voice. Tired of lies and playing pretend. Trying to hold the team together.
I should be holding the team together.
There's no team without Nya.
Lloyd shrugs his hands off. "You can have it back."
"No, no. Keep it. It's just..." Cole trails off. He doesn't know what to say.
I'm worried about you.
Why aren't you better?
Ninja never quit.
Lloyd cuts him off before he can say anything close to that.
"’M just tired of green."
"Oh." He can practically hear Cole's eyebrows furrow. "Well... That's fine. You just... take whatever you need. Alright, bud?"
Lloyd gives a single, dull nod.
"Cool." Cole hesitates, then wraps his arms around him. Just a little squeeze, nothing bone-crushing. Lloyd stays limp as a dead fish. He feels so small.
Tiny.
Pathetic.
Useless against raging, ancient serpents and pretty much anything else.
Worthless Green Ninja.
He shuts his glowing eyes.
Gotta get out of this place.
Lloyd is sick of green.
So when his new employer hands him his uniform—
You've got to be kidding me.
He wants to throw up.
It must've shown on his face—
That's bad, a good ninja never shows.
Not a ninja.
—because his boss raises an eyebrow.
"You got a problem?" he asks gruffly.
Lloyd swallows the bile in his throat. He shakes his head.
"N-no," he croaks, voice rusted. Hasn't been using it much lately. "No, sir."
"Good." He shoves him a spray bottle and some rags. "Now get to work."
It's not too bad, really. As long as he doesn't look down at himself, or at his reflection.
He's cleaning windows.
Why'd he take this job?!
Lloyd sighs. He ticks off the reasons in his head.
He's broke.
He needs something to do.
He can't just live off the streets like when he was nine.
Nobody wants to hire a thirteen-year-old elementary school dropout who looks like he's twenty.
Not unless they want to hire the Green Ninja, anyway. But he's dead.
Lloyd squirts more bubbly cleaner on the glass to make his eyes go away.
It's weird, seeing the insides of people's homes. A lot of packing boxes, he notices. The Great Flood wasn't so great for the average citizen's housing situation.
Failure.
Should've stopped it.
Most of the rooms are empty, dark. Others are lit, with couples yelling at each other, old men reading newspapers, kids playing video games instead of doing their homework.
He tilts the brim of his hat low over his eyes. Works faster. No one notices him.
Scratch that. Suddenly, there's a huge pair of brown eyes looking up at his own, wide with recognition.
Lloyd blinks, and the kid is gone. He's not sure what to think about that.
The little boy returns with a pair of girls. They hold a paper up to the glass, smudging it from the inside with their fingertips.
We love you, Green Ninja!!! it reads in three shades of green crayon, with a wobbly, lopsided heart.
Lloyd swallows hard. He grips the railing with a small, forced smile, knuckles turning white.
It's all he can do to keep himself from hurling over the edge.
He keeps washing their window. They stare at him, awestruck, as he scrubs at the bird droppings.
It's a long day.
When Lloyd gets “home”—a tiny, crummy apartment he can barely afford that smells like mold—he’s exhausted.
So he pummels the punching bag he's hung up in the back until his knuckles split open and the neighbors have to ask him to stop.
They look almost scared of him. The wild, empty look in his eyes with bruised shadows underneath and the tangled, limp hair probably doesn't help.
Nya used to tease out the knots. Even back when he was just a little gremlin in his skeleton hoodie, just some kid off the streets she didn't particularly like.
She didn't say a word to him before she left.
Blood drips from his fingers to the floor. Lloyd blinks. Refocuses on the husband and wife in front of him. He tucks his hands behind his back.
The man is asking if he would keep it down, please. The walls are paper-thin, and their daughter is trying to sleep.
Lloyd knows from the chatty landlord that they've lost their old home to the waters. Probably somewhere better than here.
He nods. He’ll be quiet. They thank him—for some, unfathomable reason—and shut the door softly behind them.
He doesn't turn on the water to rinse off his hands. He lies on the musty bed in silence, staring at the glow of his phone in the dark.
He wants to call Kai. Even if only to hear his prerecorded voice, telling him to leave a message when it goes to voicemail.
But then he might notice the missed call. Or pick up. And then he would worry.
Or maybe not. He might not.
Lloyd's not really sure if he wants to find out.
He puts it away.
He tries to sleep. He's got another long shift tomorrow. And in that stupidly, stubbornly green uniform, so vibrant the Cloud Kingdom scribes must be laughing their hoods off? Even longer.
Lloyd fails. He's thirsty.