Disclaimer:Don't own Tales of Symphonia. It makes me a very sad panda to say so. The italics are lyrics from 500 Miles by the Proclaimers.

Author's Note: Replayed the second game recently and realized how much I truly miss the real drama and depth of the original, but wanted to write something for Aster and Richter because I think they deserve it.

Had a Nerf gun war tonight. We redid the scene from Pirates of the Caribbean 3 with the wet powder and accidently shot our judgmental cat. Whoops.

The language of friendship is not words but meanings.
~Henry David Thoreau

When I wake up, yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you

Aster winced slightly as he was elbowed in the cheek, not enough to hurt, but enough for that slight needle of pain. A low groan beside him let Aster know who the elbower was and the opening of his eyes confirmed it.

The person had their face half-buried in a pillow—the only pillow (Aster made a mental note to change that for this was not the first time that this had occurred) and long strands of dusky red hair hid the other half. The person was significantly taller and bonier than Aster, having to tuck his knees to fit on the small bed.

Aster sat up, pushing his blonde hair out of his face and his eyes narrowed instinctively at the sunlight streaming through the window. He groped to the left for his friend's shoulder and said quietly, "Richter…wake-up time."

A sleepy snarl was his reply.

"C'mon, Richter. The cafeteria's gonna close soon and you know that you can't make good coffee for anything and I'm far too lazy to."

At the mention of coffee, one of Richter's eyes, the color of summer leaves, cracked open. Aster repressed a sigh. He'd fallen asleep in his glasses again. Richter was lucky that this pair hadn't broken yet. It wouldn't have been the first time that they'd both woken to the sound of cracking lenses. "How much longer?"

"Cafeteria closes at eleven, Richter. And we have…" Aster glanced at the clock on the wall, having to take a moment to make sense of the hand positioning. "About fifteen minutes."

"'S all leftover coffee."

"It's leftovers or nothing."

Richter considered this and allowed Aster to tug him out of bed and they attempted to get each other's hair in some semblance of order and straightening out wrinkled clothes before sliding down the banisters because there were all too often too many loitering students on the stairs to be able to make it downstairs quickly enough. It was habit by now, for this wasn't the first time, nor did they think it would be the last, that they'd ended up staying up far too late researching and one of them wouldn't have the energy to walk to their respective room.

When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you

Aster could pick Richter out of nearly any crowd, but in Meltokio, it was even easier. He was tall and gangly and it wasn't as though there were many people with that odd shade of red hair. And he walked a certain way that Aster had unconciously begun to recognize—a kind of rolling gait that Aster was sure was Richter's way of becoming used to his longer legs.

"I hate stupid people," was Richter's greeting as he sat beside Aster on one of the low garden walls.

Aster hid a smile as he bit into his sandwich, Richter digging through the brown paper bag for his portion of lunch. "What'd they do this time?"

"Just stupid questions that any idiot could answer and whole groups of those tourists in front of the inn were blocking the walkway. I had to go around the back alleys of the shops just to get around them."

"I do hate it when that happens." Aster agreed mildly. The difference was that he had the patience to go through the crowd rather than Richter's low tolerance for walking slow. "But, if it makes you feel any better, I found something you'll like."

Richter arched a questioning eyebrow over his egg salad sandwich (Aster was never sure how he could eat things like that). Aster whipped out what the object from beside him on the ground. "Ta-da!"

Richter's eyes lit up. "You, sir, are a saint." He said, taking the Styrofoam coffee cup.

Aster grinned. "I know."

If I get drunk, yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you

"Don't you two make quite the sight."

Richter and Aster braced themselves, certain that the sound of the door slamming would kill them, wincing as Rilena entered the dorm room.

"Please don't yell," Aster whimpered.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't dream of yelling. Not when you two will be insensible after the first word." There was a chill in her calm voice that still rattled their bones. Women could be downright terrifying. "I'll save the lecture on getting drunk off your ass the night before exams until you're sober enough to listen because there will be some considerable volume involved. Now, what in the name of Martel did you two gulp down to get like this?"

They both shrugged rather miserably. "Somethin' the chem kids gave us," Richter was barely able to enunciate.

Rilena had guessed that her two fellow researchers and close friends were out of their minds for quite some time, but here was the proof. Rule one of the research institutes—never ever take anything one of the chem kids gave you.

"How many?" She sighed.

The boys looked at each other and then Richter looked back at her. "Things get a little…blurry afer the sixth one."

"The—" A long pause. "Forget it. Can you walk? Either of you?"

"'Course we can!" Richter staggered to his feet, though it took him a few tries.

Aster stood up as well, not one to be outdone, and regretted it.

Rilena stuck her head out the door. "Kate, can you grab Richter? He isn't teetering nearly as much."

The half-elf shook her head at the sight of the two drunks before tossing one of his arms over her shoulder. Richter gestured at Aster, tipping and nearly crushing Kate beneath his heavier, taller form. "Thas 'cause I never finished the drinks. Told you not to, Asher."

Aster attempted to make a rude noise at his best friend and ended up spitting all over Rilena. Rilena exchanged looks with Kate. "Sometimes, I wonder why we're friends with them."

When I'm working, yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you

The boys were a sight to see, working together like they were. It was like a dance, neither crashing into each other or trying to do the other's job and a word was hardly exchanged (about the work at least. Their conversations ranged from politics to the price of tea in Heimdall)

Many had had their doubts. A half-elf and a human working together? But those two…they'd just clicked when they'd met. Okay, nothing quite so romantic. It had taken some glaring, some staring down and some accidents that had them both sputtering into laughter before those two had become friends and partners.

It was never unusual to come in in the morning and see Aster nudging Richter awake with a mug of coffee in his hands or leaving at twilight to hear Richter urging the blonde to his feet for food.

And when the money comes in for the work I'll do
I'll pass almost every penny on to you

Aster was almost always the first one up in the mornings. He was just a generally far too bright person when the sun rose. But everyone had their bad days.

"Aster." Richter nudged his best friend's ribs with his foot, hands full with breakfast. "On your feet, blondie."

A groan and the blanket was pulled higher over Aster's head.

"There's breakfast," Richter coaxed. A single pale green eye became visible and Richter swallowed a grin. Aster was a simple man when it came to food. "I have toast."

Aster twisted so that he was on his side, looking up at his friend. "You have a very tempting proposal, sir."

"Would some coffee close the deal?"

"We have an accord." Aster sat up, crossing his legs so that there was room for Richter to sit. Not that Richter would have cared if he sat on his best friend's poor stick legs anyway. As Aster took the coffee, he noticed the logo on the side of the Styrofoam. "You got the good stuff." It was a rare occasion. Their pay wasn't particularly high, even for a human. For a half-elf, it was a pittance.

"It's your birthday, smart one. Don't expect an actual gift or anything."

Aster chuckled into his coffee. "Yessir."

And if I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you

"Aster—what—"

"Hold still, Richter. Goddess, it's not like I'm going to slit your throat." Richter stilled beneath Aster's insistent hands, but there was still a tension to him.

"What are you doing back there?"

"Almost…got it…Ha!" Richter winced instinctively at the feeling of a hair being plucked out.

"What was all this about, Aster?" Richter demanded, turning to his friend, who only held up a strand of hair. Not red hair, but gray.

Aster grinned. "You're turning old, my friend."

"No. It's because you're always stressing me out."

Aster slung an arm over Richter's shoulder with a little difficulty. Why did he have to be so tall? "You love me in spite of that, dear, remember that."

Richter glared at him sideways, but those sorts of things had long since ceased to have an effect on the blonde. Or perhaps they'd never had an effect on him and that was why they were best friends.

When I'm lonely, yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man whose lonely without you

"Something tells me you've taken a wrong turn, boyo," One of the older researchers says.

The little blonde boy blinks. "Are you half-elves?"

Immediately, every half-elf bristles. "Yes. Why? Come to poke fun at us too?"

"Of course not! Why would I? I just wanted to meet you guys."

They don't trust him at first—who would—but after several visits and the little blonde boy becomes a good conversation and a flash of sunshine in the basement, he's not just a little boy anymore. He's got a name. Aster.

"What're you eating?" Aster asks one of the younger half-elves on afternoon.

"Sandwich."

"Obviously. What's it made of?"

"Egg salad."

Aster tilts his head. "Huh. That's different. What's your name? I'm Aster."

"Richter," The half-elf mumbles around his sandwich.

Being friends back then meant occasionally awkward conversations and sandwiches with milk ("Ew, Richter. Seriously, how do you eat a sandwich made out of egg salad?" "The same way you eat tuna fish!")

Richter misses those days.

When I'm dreaming, yes I know I'm gonna dream
Dream about the time when I'm with you.

Richter dreams of a red red place that both leeches the world of color and has a dangerous beauty all its own. He dreams in a familiar form crumpled on a too-fragile feeling floor and a rage that he had never felt as he charges at a near-god.

Sometimes the dreams are more memories of a brighter past when all they had to do was worry about their research and each other. And, of course, not to piss Rilena off because she had quite the temper when sparked off.

After he meets Emil, (He's not Aster, can't be Aster because Aster's dead-dead-and-gone, but that's all he sees when he looks at the not-Aster) the dreams don't change very much except that it's harder to remember that rage and he hates it because the bastard killed Aster and revenge was something that was justified in this case because Aster was the exception to so many rules.

But not from the one that really mattered. The one rule—no, law—that stated that Death always collected. Always.

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door