Boris_4O4_

"Minnie!" I flinched as my head snapped up to meet the eyes of Daisy Duck. Once every couple of weeks, we meet with each other at the park to make conversations. She was one of my best friends along with Ortensia and we ranted and made conversations about different girl things.

However, ever since her passing, I felt as if there was a line between us somehow....

Yet, we still kept meeting up. She decided to call me yesterday and asked if we could meet up early this morning this time as she had something coming up later yet didn't want to miss our meet-up.

I tried to tell her that we could do a raincheck but she insisted on it so here I am.

Sitting on the park bench with Daisy who was supposedly ranting about her arguments with Donald.

"You're doing that thing again." The female duck toon remarks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"...Oh?" Was all I can mutter as I stared out at the lake.

"You have that look in your eye." Daisy sighs and seemingly gazes at me wearily. "It's been 5 years, Minnie, I'm getting worried."

"Especially, after...." She trailed off and I could see the look of fear in her eyes and I immediately knew that she was talking about.

The time where I told her I needed a break from singing. She was so scared when she found me in my dressing room....

"If you want to, you could always return you know." She says quietly. There was no hiding from her.

"...I wish I could." I murmured, my voice drifting off. Somewhere distant, I can still remember the applause, the lights, and the cheers.

Mickey.

But, now they were only memories.

"But, I can't." I finished. I wasn't someone who could sing well anymore without fear. It was easier said than done. Each time I thought about singing, my voice felt like it was going to croak from remembering a life where we all used to be happy.

A time where he and I were happy.

"...If only she was here...." Daisy murmurs, staring off into the distance, saddened.

The atmosphere turned dull as we sat together and share a similar pain.

"Here, keep the rest of the pomegranates, I still have a lot back at the house." Daisy hands out a bag of pomegranates to me when we were about to leave. She said that she needed to go see Donald about a few things. "Feel free to make these into a snack of some sort."

I blinked in confusion as I looked at the pomegranates.

"I suppose I should eat them soon." I murmured as I walk through the quiet town street. I pulled myself together, I didn't want the fruits to go to waste I thought to myself as I peered into the bag once again.

"Now, what should I....." In what felt like a second, I bumped into someone and fell, bracing myself for the ground when I felt someone grab onto me.

"Are you alright?!" I open my eyes to see an unfamiliar toon who seemed to have a knack of carrying many bags whilst holding on to me.

"... I'm alright." I slowly answered as she brought me back up on my feet, however in that moment, I realized I wasn't holding onto the bag and looked down to find the pomegranates on the ground with the plastic bag torn apart.

"Oh dear, can't say the same for the pomegranates though...."

"I'm so sorry Miss! I'm usually not this clumsy." She bowed in apology and I was about to wave it off but paused.

'Does she not recognize me....?'

"To make it up to you, I have a spare tote bag at the bakery up ahead, however that means you'll have to come with me."

'I should apologize as well....' I thought to myself, giggling, softly. 'I wasn't watching where I was going....'

"I am at fault here too you know, however I'll take your offer since I have no idea how else I'm carrying these home." I gave a practiced smile.

"Then, I'll put these in my bags for now."

"Allow me to give you a hand." I bent down to also help pick them up.

"Ah right, thank you err..."

I held my tongue for a second almost saying my previous name.

"...I go by Minnie."

When I got back home, I immediately placed the bag of pomegranates on the coffee table, and sat back on the sofa letting out an exhale as looked up at the ceiling.

"Perhaps, I would have been better off as an actress instead of a singer." I chuckled humorlessly.

"I'll be taking that as a challenge, Miss Minnie."

I pressed a hand against my lips.

'Why did that make me smile....'

"Has it been that long since I became a hermit...." I muttered.

The hot cocoa.

I remembered it being warm and comforting, so much so that I almost felt like I was about to cry. It felt like a soft shawl wrapping around my cold hands, shielding me from a chill I hadn't even realized I was carrying. A hint of cinnamon she says, was that all there was to it?

Somehow, I feel like it wasn't.

"You know, you're a strange one, dearest Baker."

"Oh, I believe some people have told me the same. Perhaps, that's part of my charm?"

"She was so bubbly," I murmured as I leaned back on the sofa. The memory lingered in my mind, the easy laughter, and the animated gestures. The quiet apartment felt empty and lacked in comparison.

Perhaps it was a persona, perhaps it was not but she reminded me of someone that I used to be.

And when we danced, it reminded me of the happy times with Mickey, how he used to pull me into the living room after he got home, wearing a tired but relieved smile after his long day and hummed together as we spun around in laughter. He would drop his jingling keys onto the counter without looking, mumbling a complaint about work, then reach for my hands while switching on the record player.

So why didn't the memory ache as it usually did?

...It was strange.

"...You have a lovely voice."

She commented as if she knew what she was talking about. Making small giggles as we swayed together with the music in the background, one hand on my waist whilst holding my own. I was reluctant having to dance with her since two of the same sex? Uncommon.

....But, I had fun.

"Oh dear, seems we have to put a pause on that, dear friend, or your meal is charcoal." You let go of her at the sound of a kitchen timer as you went back to work.

"A dear friend, hm....." I murmured under my breath as I looked at my hand, the words slipping out almost absentmindedly. At the corner of my eye, I saw her tote bag she gave to me for my spilt pomegranates.

A design that not many would touch.

Brightly covered cupcakes.

"I've always felt happy watching my customers have a better day after eating what I bake. It gives me a sense of purpose. So if I can make their day just a little better, I spend time putting together recipes to keep the smile on my customers' faces."

In a way, I was envious of her.

"....But what if those recipes end badly?"

"Then, I return to try again. I've ruined batches before, and been afraid my recipes would never work. But, I'd rather try than wait to be fearless..."

"...What a fool." I mumbled, unaware of the corners of my lips lifting against my will.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ YOUR POV. — FRIDAY MORNING, AT THE MARKETPLACE.

"What lovely weather we're having...." You murmured. You were shielding your eyes using a sunhat from the warm morning sun. You got up early in the morning, made breakfast, fed the birds, took a shower, did some chores, and placed a notice at your bakery door.

The only thing left to do in your to-do list was groceries.

'I needed to buy some veggies also for dinner anyways....' You thought.

Sunscreen? Check. Cute outfit? Check. Reusable shopping bag? Check.

The extra $25 Sonic gave you as a tip for a mentally damaging quiche that made you happy and will most likely will come by for again?

Check.

I took a deep inhale before opening my eyes to the bustling marketplace. The sharp aroma mix of fruits, fish, spices, and the sizzling sound of grilled meat just hits right on your nostrils. A few colorful canopies hang around and stretch overhead in the area with vendors calling out prices with practiced enthusiasm and people bumping shoulders in the narrow aisles as they try to bargain.

A small chirp came from your side, making your eyes glance at your shoulder with a tiny smile. Today, Lemon was your companion, sitting on your shoulder. He was eager to accompany you as he wouldn't stop squawking and flying around you as you reached for the door at your apartment.

And you wonder why they call you the crazy bird lady.

"I swear you little shits are getting too spoiled....." You murmured as you start walking around. "Unbelievable."

Lemon chirped again and it felt like he was being smug causing you to get a tiny bit irked.

'Be thankful you're not big enough to roast.' You thought but kept it to yourself. You're already known as the bird lady at the apartment complex and you don't need it spreading out more in the open if you keep one-sidedly arguing with a bird that can't even talk.

"Strawberries! Get your strawberries! 35¢ per pint! Fresh and delicious!"

You look to the source, finding a stall in one of the aisles with wooden baskets filled to the brim with strawberries as the fruit vendor names their prices.

"I recall using the last of them on Monday for strawberry shortcakes..." You murmured as you took a step towards the stall. "I should restock on some bananas, mangoes...."

You began your shopping spree, unaware that somewhere else, your customers from yesterday were reminiscing about your beloved pastries only to find out your shop is closed.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ SONIC'S POV.

"WHAT, THEY'RE CLOSED?!!"

You can practically hear the birds cawing and flapping their wings away from the trees just from Amy's shrilling shriek. Not that I didn't understand her agony. We sent Knuckles and Tails this morning over to CozyBean's bakery to grab some snacks or well, early breakfast only for them to come back empty-handed.

"That's a shame..." I scratched my head as I watched Amy crash onto the floor. I wanted to order a couple of more of her quiche for a snack but it seems that changes some things.

"Well, that's nothing out of the ordinary." Rouge the Bat, Amy's friend was at her side trying to comfort her who was murmuring something incoherently about her beloved macarons. She was here with us for a visit while sneaking in some info from their side. "During this time, the owner tends to come up with new recipes to swap in their menu every week or restock on ingredients. They're independent so they're usually open 4 days a week."

"But, how do you know so much about this.." Amy tearfully pried her face from the floor to look at her friend who seems to be sweating.

"Er, well! I overheard one of their customers while I was there." She replied and twisted the topic.

Yeah, something tells me that wasn't true.

"I wanted another order of her apple pie...." Tails muttered as his robot arm tapped on his tablet, head down low.

"Her grape sponge cake was good..." Knuckles murmured.

"You're not the only one bud." I placed a hand on Tails' head and looked at the team before grinning. "Seems there's a change in the menu for today guys. Guess I'm having a chilidog..."

"Look at him acting cool as if he doesn't crave one of our dearest Baker's creations...." I hear Amy muttering, gazing at the floor.

"Seems I know who's on today's written report duty." I casually responded with a threat.

"You, cruel dictator!" Amy cried out. "And that's supposed to be your job!"

₊˚⊹ ᰔ YOUR POV.

Achoo!

You sneezed, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe your nose. Lemon looks at you, head tilted as if wondering if you were okay. It's not as if it was cold or chilly out so you wonder if it was simply dust.

"I'm fine Lemon, perhaps it's just some dust." You waved it off, as you placed back your hanky in your bag. "Which reminds me that I should grab some birdseed for you menaces..."

Your yellow bird chirped and flapped his wings startling you as he flew, leading you to a stall filled with seeds.

'This is the greed they talk about in the Bible...' You sighed as the bird landed on the vendor's head causing the guy to look up in bewilderment.

"You must be the bird's companion!" The vendor let out a booming laugh. He was a crow toon who seems to be in his early 50s and wore a pair of glasses.

"More so the other way around." I shake my head with a smile as I watch Lemon flutter around him chirping. "Seems he likes you."

"Birds of the same feather, what can I say?" The vendor says gruffly, his laugh drowning out the marketplace chatter for a brief moment. "An energetic friend you got here, missy."

"Been on my tail about food so it's not really a surprise..." You shrugged. "He has a brother and sister as well, Guacamole and Mango."

"Is that so?" The big crow grins as he fixes his glasses. "Well, the name is Sammy Seedsworth, the best man to see about seeds! Usually, it's for plants but seeing as we have a special guest here, I would be delighted to help you little friend."

The yellow bird chirps as he then lands on the vendor's shoulder.

'Look at him, sucking up to a supplier...' You stared pointedly at him.

"His name is Lemon." You answered with a sigh before smiling. "Sorry about him landing on your head as if you're a tree branch."

"No problem over here. He's a dear customer like the rest of ya!" He then looked at the bird. "So, which would you like today, my friend?"

Lemon chirps flying around the stall before landing on a sack filled with seeds. Sammy lets out a loud caw "Some pumpkin, is it? Good choice, my fellow bird! What do you say, Missy?"

Sammy turns his head to you and you shrug, before deciding to pull out your wallet. "I'll take a small sack of those then, Sammy. However, mind adding in another but a mix of sunflower and millet? I think my other two birds are fond of those."

The vendor grins, placing a hand on his waist while Lemon finally lands on your shoulder, most likely aware that you were about to leave soon.

"Understood, missy!" Sammy threw back his head and laughed through the sounds of caws. "You're a good owner, I tell you! I just feel it in my belly!"

You grinned affected by his infectious laughter. "Well, they do make my day more exciting."

"That I hope they do!" The crow vendor brightly smiles. He then glances at Lemon.

"Keep an eye on your companion, fellow friend! Keep her on your claws." He winks. "Remember the hand who feeds you!"

Lemon flaps his wings while squawking as if he understood his words.

'What a suck up.....'

"And just for that, my little bird of the same feather, I'll give you a 10% discount!"

'Never mind. I'll let you go. Lemon, I love you so much...'

"I hope to see you and your fellow friend soon, little missy!" The seed vendor waves you off from his stall.

"You will!" You called back, waving as well as you strolled off then looked to the yellow bird on your shoulders. "You know, Lemon, what do you say to a little treat for you and your little Winglings?"

The said bird chirps in response.

You then went to another fruit stall. With stars in your eyes, you gazed in awe as you could tell that they were as fresh as they can be as you took up one apple to examine.

"Perhaps, I should make myself some apple crumble...." You murmured placing a hand under your chin. "The peaches, look at their shine! Oh and the oranges! They smell lovely, think of what I can do with those! A chiffon cake for the menu...."

"Take your pick, dear."

You flinched as you looked up to see a woman in orange pigtails staring right at you.

"Oh dear, apologies, Miss! I must be distracting your business!" You bowed in apology.

The woman giggles. "It's fine dear. In fact, I've never seen anyone get this excited for fruits. I think you're the first."

"O-Oh, is that so?" You smiled sheepishly.

"Indeed, pleasure is mine, Miss Clementine." She introduced herself with a twirl and a giggle. "Take your pick, dear, grab as many as you like."

"I would love to, Miss." You sighed as you think about your shopping bag. It was big and you have quite the strength, not to brag. But you knew you wanted to order them in bulk and you still had to take a bus back which means you don't know if you can handle the stares and glares from the other passengers with the pile of boxes.

"But, the problem is I would love a huge box to bring back and it would be quite difficult for me." You explained, shaking your head. "I'll have to come back next week for the rest."

"Oh, that's quite the conundrum you have, dear." Miss Clementine places a finger on her chin and hummed before beaming. "Hm, if that's the case, why don't we deliver it to you?"

"You can do that?" Your eyes widened as you stare at the vendor.

She nodded with a smile. "We can indeed! My brother makes delivery by truck once and a while for me and a couple of the vendors if you'd like. You just have to pay a small fee."

"I would love that!" You responded in excitement, just thinking of the many experiments you can do with those fruits.

She takes out a piece of paper and pen and hands it to you. "Just write down an address here and we'll deliver it later."

You wrote down the address to your bakery immediately before handing it back to her before pointing out the fruits, and order them in bulk before pulling out your wallet and setting down payment.

You might've gone over budget but it was all for a good cause.

"So when can I expect—"

"HEY! GET BACK HERE!"

"Ah, shit."

In what felt like a second, you felt yourself spinning around like a toy top as a blur rushed past you, when you finally stopped, your eyes were spinning in opposite directions as your head was in a dizzy.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" Miss Clementine asked you worriedly.

You shake your head to get rid of the stars. "...I'm good, what about you, Lemon?"

"Lemon?" You look to your shoulder only to see it empty before your eyes zoom into a bright yellow object sticking on a guy's coat?

"LEMON!" You ran and chased after the bird.

"GET HIM!" A bunch of thug-looking guys then rushed past the stall.

Ms. Clementine pressed fingertips onto her lips as she watches these shenanigans all go down, as if it was just a normal day in the market.

"It'll be delivered by tomorrow if you want to know!" The fruit vendor calls out after you casually while you chase after Lemon to which you barely heard.

'Oh my Celestials, this guy is fast as fuck!' You thought as youbl dodge through crowds while holding bags and your hat.

"Hey, mind slowing down?! You got something of mine!"

You saw the toon look back before he turned his back in front of him and start to run faster.

"Stop!"

The guy takes a turn, running into an alleyway to which you followed unaware that a couple of guys that were chasing after him ran past you both.

As you walked through the narrow dark alleyway looking around trying to find the toon who took Lemon, intentionally or not, you were gonna sock him in the face when you first see him for taking your bird.

You were about to come out empty when you felt a hand pressed against your mouth startling you before pressing you against the wall with their body.

"Mmph!"

"Shush, if you don't wanna get caught with me." The voice quietly said above you.

"What does that—" You felt utterly horrified.

"What does that—" You felt utterly horrified until a finger was held in front of your mouth again.

"Shh!"

"Where'd he go?!" You heard voices and footsteps coming from afar during this silence. Most definitely coming from outside this alley.

"Find him!"

"Right, boss!"

Another set of footsteps were heard for a few minutes more before the sound of them slowly disappeared.

Once they are completely gone, the guy takes their finger off your lips as you finally get a look at the guy who took away your bird and immediately lift your leg to do a hard kick.

This only resulted in a whistle as the guy caught your kick.

"That's some move you got there..."

He wore a dark turtleneck and a brown coat paired with pants as if late morning sun wasn't torturing him at the slightest. You then blinked at the sight of his face made of porcelain and shape as a cup with a bent red straw sticking out of his head.

Which reminded you of a certain someone.

'He has quite the build...' You observed for a second before internally shaking your head. You shook your foot off his grasp. 'You're missing the plot here, girlie....'

'Something tells me I made a mistake.' Since he looks like he was built like a truck that will just run you over in a second and KO you. You immediately begin to sweat. 'If these are my survival instincts, remind me to never ever delude myself that I can join the ranks in the mafia....'

"Gotta say that's some fiery reflex you got over there toots!" The toon grins as he dusted himself down before shoving his hands into his pocket.

"Now, does that mean you're part of that stall?" He took a step closer, his grin getting darker as you mentally felt yourself shaking. "Whatever your answer is will say if you can leave here alive."

"..." You took a deep breath.

"Bitch, what."

You can hear crickets for what felt like a few minutes as those words slip out. And you felt like you just messed up and wanted to grab those words and shove them back into your throat.

"Huh?" The guy blinks.

There's no going back.

"I have no idea who you're talking about." You stepped forward and pointed a finger into his chest, glaring at him. "I went through that chase to get back Lemon, my yellow pet bird who got stuck to you during whatever you were doing!"

"I have no idea who you're talking about." You stepped forward and pointed a finger into his chest, glaring at him. "I went through that chase to get back Lemon, my yellow pet bird who got stuck to you during whatever you were doing! Why would I care about some thugs hanging around you? I just want my bird back."

"Lemon!" You instantly raised your hands to grab him only for him to raise him higher out of your reach.

"Ah, ah, ah." He smirked as he firmly held the yellow bird. "How can I be sure ya won't tell anybody what happened around here?"

'What do you mean? I remember nothing. I can enact amnesia if you'd like. Saw nothing. Hear nothing, nada.'

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You put on a poker face. "It's not like anyone will ever believe me."

"Right, but as much as I am a gambler, I ain't willing to risk that. Too much of a gap in-between." He replied casually. "Someone dear to me, would punch me in the face if I leave something behind."

You felt a chill ran up your spine.

"What do you say to a little bet?" You saw that gleam in his eyes making you sweat a little. "Either way, if it helps ya feel any better, you'd still leave this alley alive."

"What's the catch?"

"If you win, you're good to go and I'll trust your words you won't tell a soul."

"And if I lose, the little birdie over gets to my little hostage." He grins, wiggling poor Lemon, who was cawing with rebellion. "Unless, you both wanna be together forever."

'No fucking way, no one is killing the bird unless it's me on a fucking island playing naked and afraid and I have to resort to a small roasted bird to munch on.'

"What's your game?" You question.

He snaps his finger. "Glad ya came to, toots. Saw you buy a buncha cherries a while ago. And, I was sent here to buy some to make our drinks you see. So, I bet I can guess where they are between those veggies and fruits in that big bag of yours."

You sweated. 'But, how much did he watch...'

"I can see those thoughts of yers just tinkering." He remarks, raising a brow. "Wanna take that chance?"

"..." You exhaled and held out your hand. "It's a deal."

Instead of shaking on it however, he took your hand and placed a kiss on it as if it were a casual greeting making your eyes widened and almost felt an eye twitch with disgust.

"You'll need all the luck you can get, toots."

As he lets go of you, you wore a straight face as you rummage through your grocery bag and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and sprayed the back of your hand.

"Really treating me like a germ huh, toots?"

"I suggest we get on with the game." You said as a response, acting calm before putting down your grocery tote. "That is if you don't want to be found."

"Hmm..." He shrugged, before examining the four large bags inside. "If ya say so."

"I'll pick that one." He pointed to one bag filled with vegetables. "If it were a normal day, those should be in between those bags of fruits of yours, except you stopped at the stall selling cherries after buying vegetables. Not ta mention..."

"Birdie of yours has been staring at that bag in particular." He finishes, he looks at the bird sitting on his palm, who seems to be sweating at the said brown package.

"Lemon, you birdbrain...." You muttered under your breath as you bent down to pull open the bag to show him.

"Well, toots, seems like ya los—"

"You're wrong." You interrupted, as your expression slowly shifted into a practiced smile.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, grin sliding off his face.

"That would have been correct..." You explained as you opened the bag to show him, which were only filled with carrots, potatoes, and cabbages.

"Except, they're in his stomach."

"...What." The porcelain toon deadpanned.

You showed the bottom of the bag where a small tear was, the size of a small ball to fit in.

"Figured he'd get to them by now, so decided to take the chance." You sighed in relief or was it frustration.

It was both.

And now you need to buy more again.

"Wait, but how..." He trails off as you put it back in the grocery bag as Lemon flies from him and lands back on your shoulder.

Cue him proudly spitting out a cherry pit.

"No clue either." You shrugged as you walked past him. "It's one of the Three Great Mysteries between my birds."

"You lose, Red." You tapped his porcelain face as a gesture of victory as he was still gobsmacked from the whole thing before leaving the alleyway.

A small gust of wind swept the alleyway as the porcelain toon stood there absolutely speechless before murmuring.

"...Vanilla and cinnamon?"

𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚞𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖. <3

𝙰/𝙽: 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘.

𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂: @anitalenia @pxrce-lain

March, 1988

The snow piled up faster than a reasonable person could work to move it. Unfortunately for her, Stanley was the least reasonable person she had ever met. But she figured he needed… space. Something neither of them could afford, the shack in all it's entirety suddenly felt too suffocating to him, rather than welcoming warmness that would fill him with her usual evening arrival after work.

It was all jumbled up, in his head now. And he always paced and shuffled when he tried to make room for himself. He stormed out the house when he realized she took up all parts of it. She was everywhere in that house, everything bright and good, and he was all hung up on the last three weeks of cold shoulders and her disappointed looks.

It brings all of him back to February.

He thinks of her shuttering breath - the desperation in her eyes and the wavering of her voice. She had been so afraid. So afraid of telling him. His mind wanders further back, to her in that door way, her soaked snow covered clothes and her damp hair. And those eyes, as she pleaded to see Ford. He didn't know her then. He wonders if he knows her now.

Why hadn't she said anything sooner?

He knows he's not entitled to her mind, although he'd swim in a sea of her ramblings any day. But he thinks she would have trusted him by now. All the tucked corners of blankets over her at night. All the movies they laughed over. All those shopping trips and all those dinners. He'd do anything with her.

It was far from a facade for him, anymore. She was the only real person he knew anymore. He lies, sure, but he never lies to her. Never has too, because she knows him. Tied together by circumstance, but knotted together by their infatuation with each-other. But he wasn't sure anymore where his doubts began and his longing stopped.

So, he began to make a means of a way out, for her. So she knew that he didn't mean to make her feel trapped in this… dance with him. Just because circumstances make if feel necessary. She didn't have to stay.

If she… didn't want to.

So he found ways to give her outs.

He begins leaving slips of windows open again, to let the cool in. He didn't want to suffocate her with the heat of him. A new lock on her door, so she could put up that wall some nights if she needed. To keep him out of her bed. He insists now, that she call him by his real name. He can just be Stan to her, if that's the kind of distance she needs. He can stop dialoguing her departure from room to room also- because he knows how it began to annoy her.

He knows that she doesn't have to tell him everything. It's only human to hide what you think is the worst parts of you.

He thinks of Ford and his silence. Thinks about how she didn't even know he existed. How his mother is the only one to call. Thinks about his fathers lingering absence at his funeral.

He thinks of her soft lips and the heat of her on top of him. Of her shattered expression in the kitchen after he unlaced her boots and slammed the kitchen door that night. He'd done the same almost every night since.

He throws the shovel, rips off his glove and examines his shaking red hands. He was so angry. He didn't think he could ever be so angry with her.

She had told him… everything that evening. Everything about the dreams and the death that followed her in almost each one. How she'd wake up shaking, breathless and suffocated. How she dreams of a future, and children that remind her of him. How they slip through her fingers almost every night, as she frantically tries to save them. How they just appeared to her in the middle of the road and disappeared a moment later in a flash.

Sure it was… a unique situation she described. Sure the thought of these children struck him sideways. But it was all really digestible to him. Not as fantastical of a thought now that they both knew what they knew about this place. The creatures Ford writes about are real, his icy trip in the lake proved as much. Dimensional travel also exists— according to whatever the hell Ford was doing in that basement. And according to her, most importantly. Her bent form flashes through his mind, a new pair of reading glasses perched on her nose as she scribbles in the margins of Ford's book.

Time travel to him wasn't that "far out" of the realm they currently resided in— fucked up as it may be to the normal persons psyche. He knew that, and he knows she knows that. Takes it in stride in an adorable fashion, usually. So why was she so frightened to tell him?

He's unreasonably angry. She was in so much pain, so much misery each time she'd go to bed, thinking a dream may just creep up into the edges of her mind that night. She'd beg with her eyes each night, beckon him in to sleep beside her. Her eyes lingering in corners, looking for something— almost every night. Too subtle for him to notice until she told him, and it makes him so angry. He couldn't tell that she was unsettled. That she was in pain.

His fist clenches. He needs to fucking hit something. He'd hit himself, if his face and arm weren't stiff. He wishes he could hurt, wishes it'd take away that look in her eyes. That fear.

His fists clench into his hat and into his hair. Pulling and dragging the offending piece over his eyes and off his head. His head rings. She shouldn't have to hide that from him. There are no bad parts of her to hide.

There's no part of her that could ever be worse than all the parts of him.

—

She is shackled by the biggest regret of her life. Of confiding in that godforsaken man.

She had been so afraid of the distance it may create. That he may be perturbed that she dreams of the future. Of their apparent future. Of those… children. That they appeared in front of her only hours prior when she rolled herself over onto him and confessed to her waking nightmares.

Now this, was her nightmare.

Sleeping was a solace in comparison to the sudden coldness of most of her encounters with Stanley now— with Stan now.

It left a bitterness curl in the back of her throat, a uselessness deep in her gut began to grow. She didn't know where this bitterness started and her aching for him ended. He was infuriating and… hurtful, as of recent.

The snippets of kindness were a blessing in the beginning. A balm to the burn of her confession. He still woke to make her coffee, still laced her snow boots to the top each morning, still laughed beside her during their Friday movie nights. But he was slightly… removed now.

First it was small. He filled the spaces between her usual ramblings less. More grunts and one word answers. A dying conversation usually fizzled out around them now. She hasn't had a constructive conversation in weeks, and it's because he does not allow it to continue. Like her voice unsettles and pinches his ears now.

Then it was the coolness of the house. The increase of lap blankets and the absence of his heat. He sits on the farther end of the couch now, instead of the dead center of it, like he used to. A cool draft in through the windows he forgets to close makes her back rigid and attitude clipped.

Then the lock on her door. It reminds her of a time when they'd sleep separate. How he ran through her doorway one night to crawl upon her bedside and wake her from some other reality she conjured up to torture herself. It was a sour taste in her mouth, and she slept alone for the first time in months the night he put it on. She woke to the sun, undisturbed, but chilly. Her eyes drug up and over to the godforsaken lock on her door. She's never once turned it, she's unsure if it even works. Unsure of the purpose of it's placement on her bedroom door. She'd eyed the hatchets at the general store just a few days ago, imagining taking one to the wood and ripping it from the hinges.

The final straw for her waning heart was his insistence on being called… Stan.

Even when it's just them.

Because it's her. He knows, right? It's just her, she's the same fucking girl. The same stupid girl that needed him still.

Because she was cold.

But she was also angry.

Angry at his silence. Angry at the distance. Angry with… herself.

She gave over everything she had to him. Not because she felt it was necessary for the arrangement. Perhaps, in the beginning, it was embedding in some of the actions she took. Some of the moves she made. It'd be easier to live with a friend then a stranger she had figured. But now she wondered if it'd be easier to live with a stranger rather than a lover.

She was afraid of what may happen between them. With the kiss and, also with the confession. She didn't want to be looked at with pity, didn't want to be tip-toed around, didn't want to feel odd or misshaped by it. But she was going crazy, thinking about it all again.

He had been warm between her legs, his chin and stubble ran over her cheeks and bridged over to her ear. The way she moved over his lap, the release of air he let out into her ear. The groan.

It's the only thing that kept her company at night anymore, the memory of him. And it made her angry how distant he was now and how much of it settled on her shoulders odd and how she was cold in her once-warm home and of how much she still wanted him.

The back door slams open and boots stomp through the mudroom hard and noisy. Wet snow piling on the entry way rug. If she turns over her right shoulder she'll see him there in the hallway. But she hasn't turned to look him in the eyes for the past five days. And it might make her explode if he even entertains breathing in the same room as her at the moment.

He does not get the memo, apparently.

"I want you." His voice breaks the air, cracking in that low way it always does when he hasn't spoken in a while.

"Excuse me?"

She regrets it instantly, when she turns to look at him. Her eyes map his figure. She thinks of his frame in that kitchen light, before she knew him. How he struck her dumb for a moment. How his expression never wavered, except for that brow and the twitch of his lips downward. He looked like he was going to cry, back then.

He wears the same expression now.

His voice doesn't falter, and he doesn't repeat his last statement. She doesn't know if he actually said it all. Couldn't connect the words back to his face. Another hallucination, a slip of the mind. He barrels on ahead, ignoring the deep creases of her brows. The shadows on her face deepening.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner."

She scoffs. Her shoulders slump, her breath held tight to her chest. She answers him with silence.

He moves closer, boot's tipping over the invisible line between the hallway and the kitchen. They squeak and sop onto the tile. Her eyes never once leaving his face.

"Why didn't you?"

Her stomach turns. "I don't owe you that. I don't owe you anything, Stan." Shut up.

And she didn't. It was a miracle it had left her mouth to begin with. She had tossed around the idea of it for months. Had thought about it longer than she ever thought about kissing him. That was just… instinct.

He knows that, knows that there was something more to it all that she wasn't telling him. That wasn't meant for him, yet. But he was so blinded by the mess of it all. A tangle of string he wanted to unwind. He needed a beginning and an end, a sense of control. Only so that he could protect her from these things, only so he could shield her from all this hurt.

But how do you protect someone from… their own mind?

It twists something in his gut, frustrates him beyond any logical words. And he has none.

His fingers dig into his chest, a warmth accumulating around his neck now as he tries to swallow angry words. Tries to meet half way.

"I'm your husband." He grind out, heat flooding his eyes. "But I'm also your friend." His voice cracks, anger still present in his voice.

He was her friend. Her only friend, now. She thinks back to high-school. Thinks of drunken nights in corn-fields and shitty girl-gossip in the bathroom. Of brushing and braiding hair and shared lipstick.

Thinks of Ford.

He was… her only real friend. May be the only person who knows her as she is now. Unrecognizable perhaps, but still the same scared little girl. Still scared, even now.

"I was a-afraid." Her voice shakes, but her conviction does not. Anger still seeped into her shoulder blades, her head ringing as Stan steps closer.

"Afraid of what?" His voice grows, his boots slip from the carpet to the kitchen floor, his height leering over her slightly now.

She doesn't cower away. Her mind flashes to her grandfather and his half-gone porch drinks. Thinks of his deteriorating mind as he calls her his daughters' name. His mind slipping from one reality to another. From one dream to another.

What if it was all in her head? What if she was… slipping?

It's what she was most afraid of. Of imagining a life that could never be real. Of not being able to wake up from it.

But it was hard to admit to a person who was meant to be her rock that she thought he may be a figment of her own imagination. That the concept of him giving a shit about her scared her so deeply it was easier to swallow thinking she was crazy, rather then ever confirming it. Because if she was crazy… was hallucinating children and adventures and kissing him in cars and dates that never happened then she'd rather it stay that way. Stay locked away deep in her mind, and they would never have to speak of it again. She'd turn that key, keep all the thoughtful looks and impending future to herself. It'd let her breath easier day to day, if he stayed this intrinsic part of her.

She'd curl up that infernal, no good, heart of hers. Hide away all the things that made her hurt. All the parts that were too grim to shine. She'd take care of him forever, even when she was full of malice. Even when it felt easier to shut the door and lock it behind him when he stormed from room to room to escape her. She'd be a shadow in every room, be smaller and take less pictures if he didn't want to hang them with her. She'd swallow it. She had before.

She's reminded of her grandmother then. Thinks of warm breakfasts and packed lunches. Of warm bedsheets. Thinks of that empty chair at her graduation. Of those scattered walls absent of her.

Taking care of her was never synonymous with… actually caring for her. It was always an undercut, an obligation. Her grandmothers' name signed on her documents but her presence faded in her memory.

She thinks of her again. Her visage bent over the kitchen sink as she sobbed into a dirty dishrag. How she begged her, begged her to never ask her again about her devotion, about her love. To never question her care again. How her guilt turned to grief turned to rage.

"Afraid of you seeing me different." Afraid of being different.

Something in Stanley's eyes crack, a slip of a tear along his waterline. His dark eyes wavering. She thinks they may be more alike then she'd care to admit, her husband and her grandmother.

That they may care in the same way. And she may be too blind to see it in her own anger. How everyone at fault was too dumb to take a step back to breath. How they spoke less when it mattered most. How it tore her up not to meet his rage with some of her own. She was tired of missing him.

His hands find purchase on his hips, his wet jeans cling to him in odd places. The snow, dirty and melted, seeps onto the floor. He sighs, bending his head so his chin meets his broad chest. Another breath and his eyes lift to hers again. They still look blurry in the yellow kitchen light.

She's rooted to the spot by the look. His bent form shakes her resolve.

"I could never see you more clearly than I do now." He nods his head. Like his sentence didn't drudge up more questions than answers for her.

Her hesitation brings him closer still. His shoes squeak along the floor as he steps forward. His hands reaching for her. Something he has not done for weeks.

He is out of practice, he realizes. His hands stutter to her arms and rush to the tops of her shoulders. They are warmer than she remembers them. Rougher too, more than likely caused by his excessive shoveling for the past few days.

His hands reach for her cheeks, tilting her head to meet his own. Her eyes pitch upwards to connect with his own shimmering dark eyes.

"I don't think I'll ever look at you any different, honey." Conviction in his voice, his lips wobbly as he relays his most honest truth.

She tries not to think of the cold in parallel to all his heat. Thinks of locks and slammed doors. About his broad shoulders and back as he races from any room that may contain any of her.

"Why then?" She drives forward. "Why pull away from me?"

He sighs, his thumb tracing the outer corner of her lips. Like a flood-gate opening his eyes finally water to the point of downpour.

"Just in-case," he admits. "Just in-case, you needed a window."

A crack, a light, and a breeze for her to drift out of. A way to leave. He gave her an out. The only way he knows how.

She shakes her head between his warm hands, her own hands run up his forearms to fold over his fingers. An almost exhausted smile flickers onto her face.

"I don't need that Stanley." She breaths. "This is my home."

"Y-you don't?"

"No."

She remembers car doors opening and buckles snapped shut. His hands in her hair as he leans over the couch to whisper into her ear, like they aren't the only two people in the room. His hunched figure over the kitchen sink, a drying towel flung over his broad shoulder as he sings along to the crackling local radio-station.

Thinks of that camera from the thrift-store. Of the picture of them folded away in the top drawer of their nightstand. She needs a frame.

"You are my home."

His shoulders drag down, his frame leaning closer to her. His dark eyes flicker to her mouth. She recognizes that look from her dreams. From the car. The heat of him makes her mind hazy and her body loose. He's too handsome to be looking at anyone but her like that, she decides.

She's not too far gone to remember the cold that left her rigid for the last few weeks, though. Her brow furrows, but she can't erase the amusement from her face. Her hand curls up his chest now, pushing his heat away.

"I'm still rather mad at you Stanley."

He smirks, like he got his way anyways.