I'm Such Trash

“You’re as perceptive as you are stubborn.” Domenico chides with a playful smile, admitting that he was the younger of the bunch. He was fated to learn from his brother’s mistakes and most times come to fix them. There was a certain irony there that their father always got a kick out of. The man surmised Calli might be able to relate to the sentiment. “I’m glad you appeciate it, your father doesn’t normally find it as entertaining when we are having a battle of sass during meetings. But that’s half of the fun isn’t it?” The man caught a small glimmer in Calli’s deep blue irises as they spoke of their families – the look of trouble. She was definitely subdued, but Nico knew that look well and was intrigued. 

As he spoke to his colleague more about the necessity of allowing oneself to experience the few good moments they encountered in the grueling world of medical science, Nico could see her breathing rate calm some as her body language relaxed as well. He was glad that he wouldn’t look stupid for making this grand gesture and getting shot down. “Excellent. Make yourself at home for the time being then. I can change the visuals or the music if there’s a certain atmosphere that works best for you.” The doctor says with his arms outstretched to gesture at the room they were in. His medical mind began to go on a tangent wondering if she’d be willing to participate in a study of anxiety and sleep deprivation in healthcare but that was something he’d have to dive into the books for later.

“Ah ah! I see what you did there but that’s not necessarily true. I was raised by a hot blooded Roman woman and if there’s anything I know is that you can be sweet as pie with a gentle smile and still put someone in a headlock when it comes to your kids.” Nico replies with a chuckle, raising his hands defensively. He didn’t mean to compliment the woman’s smile but it was to prove a point. “No worries your reputation is still solid, your father would be the first to let you know otherwise after all.”

Calliope could not conceal the amused and self-congratulatory grin that stole a place at the corners of her lips upon confirmation that she was not, in fact, mistaken after all. She liked to think she had an eye for the interpersonal in a way the rest of her family didn’t--perhaps a direct correlation with everything else about a Warner she didn’t share and the precise reason she’d always been surprised she was allowed to practice with the surname. Cousins had been stripped of it for less. 

“I’m a doctor; I can nap anywhere.” she hummed almost too quietly to hear; residual fear that David might appear to tell her off seeping in through the cracks in her demeanor. 

Calliope stretched her arms above her head before lithe fingers coiled under the elastic keeping most of her hair from her face. She closed her eyes, pulling the hairband free, bright locks joining their escaped counterparts around her shoulders. Having given the hair elastic a home on her wrist, Calliope quickly massaged her aching scalp and ran fingers through the hair at the crown of her head. Distracted by comfort, she did not have the presence of mind to temper the thoughts fluttering about her mind. Not quickly enough.

“My father also refuses to acknowledge that I’m a surgeon or physician at all, so what’s one more thing added to the list of reasons I infuriate him?” 

A moment passed before Calliope realized, eyes shooting open only to close again, accompanied by a grimace. “Sorry, that’s-” she sighed deeply. “I’m sure you already hear the worst things about me from my father and brother; the least I can do is be more courteous than them and not pass on all my family gripes to colleagues I actually like.”

She rested her forehead on her knees to hide her face as best she could for the moment, a waterfall of auburn spilling over her shoulders and acting as a makeshift curtain. “I am going to unceremoniously change the subject,” she mumbled just loud enough to hear before looking up again, defeat having weighed down her expression. 

“Did you grow up in Italy?”

“I have a brother too.” Domenico speaks into the air, almost too casually, as he settles into the rolling chair to face his associate. At this point she would have to be considered a friend because very few people got the privilege of learning about his family, it wasn’t quite something that lent itself to his neuro “nice guy” persona. Nor was it something he cared to revisit often. “And he is just as much of a sucker for the spotlight -” (and daddy’s admiration) “..as David is, so I know how to push the buttons when necessary.” 

Boasting was not on the surgeon’s agenda by any means, but of this project, this was something he’d put his heart into and he would allow himself to feel that victory, especially on a day such as this. It was a surreal feeling to see Calliope’s eyes light up as she inspected the room, that reaction never quite got old. “Well the good news is there are a few of us left who haven’t sold out souls to Big Pharma and I intend to keep it that way.” Brief images of a woman with a sunken in face and glossy eyes float to his mind, he found it hard to out the title of mother on those images. 

Like a well oiled machine, the man snapped back to his normal train of thought. He wanted to convince the woman to take a break, but he was all too aware of just how incredibly unnatural it feels to dare take a break. In this profession, those were the moments that (potentially) everything turns for the worst. Putting his hands up in a defensive gesture, Nico explains himself further. He had to contain the small smile at the sight of her protecting her pager as if he would wrestle it off of her.

“I know you can’t leave the kids, nor am I asking you too.” He states calmly with a very calming tone. “We don’t have the luxury of being able to grab a drink after a long day and leave work behind us until the next shift, we have the responsibility of slicing bodies open and fighting with one of the most complex machines known to mankind in order to give people a chance at a better life. And then what do we do? Ask ourselves what more we could’ve done. And while this is vital to being the best caregivers to our patients we all neglect ourselves to the point of complete numbness just to keep pushing on.” He stops himself, this wasn’t a TED talk. “Calli, you have something rare tonight. You have the opportunity to see your hard work come to fruition, this is the moment that pushed most of us through med school and residency. All I am asking you to do is trust me and let yourself take a brief pause to relax.” He knew how hard it was do to what he was asking, but Nico was also particularly aware of the necessity of his gesture. “You can keep your pager, I don’t want a black eye before my next consult.” He laughs quietly. “The choice is yours, but just take a look around - take in the calming environment and relax your jaw a bit.” A shrug follows. “If you still don’t want to grab a quick rest after that then you’re free to turn me down.”

A raised eyebrow accompanied the casual sharing of new information and Calliope smiled. “You must be the younger sibling, then,” she surmised. He wasn’t nearly as harsh or domineering as she’d come to expect of an older brother. “In any case, I’m glad there’s someone around to keep David’s ego in check.”

Still standing, Calliope’s hand finally fell from its protective perch atop her pager as she listened to the Doctor’s earnest plea. The furrow in her brow unknit itself until her expression softened, though only a moment passed before she shook her head and let her gaze drift somewhere to her left. 

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had addressed her as a surgeon. Not outside of her own quiet hall, at least. Her father had made it abundantly clear that this ‘newfangled specialty’ was just another way to justify calling oncologists doctors, not chemists. A ‘newfangled specialty’ she’d helped pioneer and get properly recognized. A field that meant she held multiple board certifications, but to a Warner, it was simply a way to add specialties to the ever-growing list of reasons donors should part with their millions. Calliope could not recall the last time either her father or brother referred to her a surgeon or a physician, for that matter. 

It wasn’t until the doctor across from her said her name that Calliope regained focus—vision clearing and centering on two bright brown eyes as alluring as nebulae. His continued insistence pulled an audible sigh from her chest, crystalline gaze wandering around the room. 

“I do trust you.” It was a simple statement that left her mistrust of her own judgement unsaid. An eternal fear of being incorrect. 

Nico’s prodding forced a breath like a laugh as Calliope shook her head and moved to the side of the bed to reluctantly sit. “Do I really come across as that violent?” she asked through a snicker, slipping out of her shoes so she could place her feet on the bed and pull both knees to her chest. 

Resting her head atop her folded arms, she felt her shoulders finally relax and hazarded a glance back over at Nico. “I thought I had a much better reputation than that.” She scoffed. “Pity.”

With an exaggerated gasp, Nico clutched at his chest feigning offense at the statement of the woman inviting lab techs for Easter dinner with her very prominent family. This was obviously in jest because anyone who spent long enough at the hospital knew that they were not the sort of people you wanted to spend time around too often. At least, he personally didn’t like having to perform like a surgical circus monkey for them - reciting the hospital agenda and recounting some painstaking surgeries like they were just campfire stories and not patients he personally treated. Pushing the thought back, he gives the doctor a comforting tap on the shoulder. “Maybe I should try the honey instead of vinegar method, that’s part of why I’m banned from the 2nd floor coffee cart.” An embarrassed and painful wince was made. “It was a three day stint, in my defense.”

It was admittedly a breath of relief for himself to see Calli let that burden lift, after how he was feeling when he ran into her earlier - he could most definitely relate. But it was deeper than that, they hadn’t conversed extremely often before this night but in this short time it had already begun to feel as though they were lifetime friends. And nobody wants to see their friend in that much anguish. “Your humility is definitely nice, but I will celebrate you or the both of us, It’s not every day we get wins so I think you need to let yourself have this one - terrifying as it may be.” Maybe he was projecting onto the woman, as he lost his long term patient just this very day, but the main drive of his words was rooted in actual care. It was important to hold onto the good moments - they helped give the strength to face the horrible ones. He had to believe that.

“Now, come with me.” The doctor commanded in a light hearted tone, urging her to follow. The two would navigate to another floor just below, right past his neuro wing to a hallway that looked just like the others but inside it held Nico’s private treasure trove. Two doors to the left and he stopped, making the doctor close her eyes to build the anticipation before opening to reveal one of his favorite parts of the hospital. “I’d say you’ve earned a night in paradise.” He announces as Calli is allowed to open her eyes. Before her she would see a room with two wall sized screens, depicting a calm and peaceful stream within a forest while the other walls had atmosphere lights to complete the illusion. There was only one rolling laptop station, a guest chair, and an adjustable bed within the room. “And no I didn’t mean for that statement to sound the way it did. Completely at least.” A wink. After bringing her within the room , the man is as vibrant and bright as a child on Christmas day. This was something he fought tooth and nail for, experimental post operative methods to reduce dependence on opiate based prescriptions, something vital for the patients that found themselves under his blade. “The board put me through the ringer for this, said it was a pipe dream that saw minimal return on investment and took up space that could be used for better, more profitable  additions to the hospital.” A sigh. “So I personally did the fundraising, paid for renovation, staffing, and oversaw the re-assignment of the existing areas to have this. And now my 6 month post op prescription filling rate has reduced over 15%.” He was full of pride, for seeing patients only able to measure the ability to live and enjoy the lives they fought for by the amount of pills in a bottle was a issue that hit home for him personally. “Sometimes after a blown aneurysm or a draining surgery I like to come in here and remind myself of what I’m doing this for.” 

Motioning for her to sit down, Nico clears his throat. “Now it’s your turn.” With a very serious expression, he continues. “Don’t tell anyone this but here’s what I’m offering. You give me your pager and I will personally see to it that any non-emergent needs in your wing are taken care of. In the meantime, I think you should enjoy a well-earned nap.” 

There was a first time for everything, Calliope surmised through palpable surprise. It was rare anyone did anything but gush or feign adoration at the mention of the better Warners. The Warners whom prestige and pomp and circumstance found so easily. Not Calliope. Not since she’d decided against the only other practice deemed acceptable for the Warner name. After all, father always said it wasn’t research that brought in money; it was time on the table. She’d always hated that. Especially loathed the implication with a neurosurgeon as a brother. More time on the table meant greater chance of fatal complications.

Dr. Vitale’s apparent distaste for the idea of being one of those select few invited to the coveted Easter dinner table was refreshing and she could do nothing to hide an amused scoff, followed immediately by a confused furrow of her brow. Calliope looked down the hall at each of her patients’ doors for a moment and nodded.

“Okay.”

As Calliope followed the surgeon away from the comfort of her wing of the hospital, she couldn’t hide a grimace as they neared neuro. She’d always thought of this part of the hospital as David’s and he was rather adamant about that precise fact. The hospital’s money-maker: precious, precious neurology. Evidenced by the large rooms filled with state-of-the-art technology, offices with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the reminder of her father and brother in a shouting match about bringing in another renowned surgeon: Doctor Domenico Vitale. He’d been the equivalent of a first round draft pick for the Board of Directors. David had been furious.

Closing her eyes, Calliope almost laughed at the absurdity. She shook it off and opened her eyes when instructed and her expression melted into a thousand emotions, settling somewhere around awe. So this is what could happen if only you were a charming, renowned surgeon in the field that brought in those coveted dollars? Calliope could only dream of giving her patients a fraction of the oasis. And then she remembered. And laughed.

“So, this is it, huh? This is what’s had David so pissed.” Neuro had the benefit of living in that perfect place in the hospital: bringing in money and prestige. Dr. Vitale’s project had spent money and earned prestige in her father’s eyes. David Warner hated being outclassed. Hated being shown up in front of his father. “This is incredible. Not for the pharmaceutical companies, of course, but that’s always a sign you’re doing something right,” she snickered, walking around before her attention snapped back to the doctor.

“What?” Her hand instinctively landed on her pager. “No, I-” she started, half-breathless. “I can’t leave my kids.”

Eyes focused momentarily on the white hot air that managed to slip through his fingers resting atop of the mug, fingertips feeling comfortably hot against the sides where they pressed against the ceramic surface. It was always a wait and see, to discover if it had all been entirely in his head and he wasn’t some God’s host who could withstand even the depth of any live vulcano. 

The thought alone intrigued him to try that out one day. Would sure be a sight to see. Sophia might think otherwise. 

As the air around them felt less stale, even Cael found himself able to relax, leaning against the seat of the booth, watching Sophia prop up with her notebook, daring him to be the one to conjure a pen to write down their might-be shenanigans. He offered her a grin, one that silently accepted her challenge before his eyes flashed around the diner, watching, searching to see someone using one to write across paper or fill out one of those blasted crossword puzzles. Never his thing. He would play Angry Birds anytime.

None seemed to be using one, which certainly  troubled his part of the task. The only person he figured would have one would be – 

“There you go, for you darling, and for you.” The waitress announced herself, placing the plate in front of  Sophia and then in front of Cael. 

“ Thank you.”  he uttered, sitting more up straight, rubbing fingers together that spread the damp from the coffee. “ Might I perhaps bother you for a pen too? My girl and I are going to brainstorm for road trip locations, you see, and daft me, I forgot to bring the pen.” The story flowed from his lips, hues gazing up at the waitress who turned her look to the woman opposite him in the booth and then back to him before she grabbed one of the few pens she had attached to her apron, and handed it over to him. One he gladly took. “You have fun, dearies.” She spoke with a wink before she walked away to greet the new group of people that had just entered the joint and seated themselves.

“One pen for glasses.” Cael hummed, placing it atop the open notebook.

The base of the mug came to rest on the knee she held pressed to her chest again, fingers wrapped fully around its ceramic warmth as Sophia watched Cael begin to scheme. Always so observant, assessing threats and opportunities, only now he used this for the most important task: finding a pen. The smile she wore was obscured by the cup pressed to lips, diner coffee once again washing over her.

Attention faltered momentarily with the scrape of a plate across the table, a waft of the sweet, warm aroma curling between the smell of coffee. Sophia began thanking the waitress, but was snapped from the idea as Cael’s voice lilted through the air. She watched him and failed miserably at keeping the smile from her eyes. From gently tugging at the corner of lips.

Sophia was a moment too slow in looking at the waitress, but the soft gaze she wore must have been convincing since the woman did not ask further questions. She nodded at the waitress and smiled brightly, placing the coffee down so she could rip a bit of the confection with her fingers. Sophia forgot to care about decorum as she held the torn bit of waffle up to her nose. Such a particular and familiar sweetness.

“Thanks,” she smiled, taking the pen with her free hand.

Focus diverted to the notebook and Sophia pried it open to an empty page, expression playfully serious. “Okay,” she mumbled, waffle now between teeth as she twirled the pen in her hand, thinking as she chewed. In sharp, precise script, Sophia titled the page ‘Ways to Get Banned at Diners’ and added ‘order too many waffles’ to the list first.

“What if,” she began with a grin, “we ask for a new fork every time we take a bite.”

Damon debated whether taking the garment from the woman was the right move here. He had no idea where he had ended up, and if he might be upsetting some royal family or ancient spirits wearing her robes. Time traveling was real, why not some crazy mojo? But he would rather risk wearing the robe than walking around like a man in a nudist camp. He felt like walking around while at least partially covered would be the best option. 

“Thank you kindly.” 

Taking the fabric from her, whilst leaning towards her as far as he could without exposing any more than she had most likely already seen, he slipped on the overdress, the cold, wet, fabric at the bottom clinging to his calves as he bound it around his waist. How lucky was he, to encounter someone speaking his language. However, looking at the piece of clothing he was wearing, he figured the English she would know would be the old fashioned kind. Still, it was better than nothing. 

“ I eh– Morocco, actually.” The lovely taste of freshly brewed tea was now spoilt with the taste of vomit that still clung to his mouth. “ Where is it I am now?”  He inquired, pondering whether to ask the next question since people always looked at him oddly, but she had just basically seen him appear out of thin air and she wasn’t running, so he was going to risk it. 

Slowly taking a few steps towards away from the bushes, he stepped out in the open. Eyes gazing around to study his surroundings and then back to the woman who had just stepped out of the only source of water in this place that the eye could reach. She had something peculiar about her. Or perhaps that was just his head spinning. 

“And..Tomorrow is what date again? The mind tends to get …  confused in this sun.”

The jade of her irises glistened in the overbearing sunlight as she watched him, mind working overtime to translate the words he spoke. Her focus was intense, mirroring the way rays of sun beamed down on the inhabited ruins of an old palace.

“Marrakech, Al Maghribiya.” she answered, brows knitted together in thought. “We are in Morocco.” Though she’d never called it that and had almost entirely forgotten its Anglican name.

Noting the way he peered around, Meg did the same for a moment only before drawing her attention back to the man in front of her. He was a curious creature and an anomaly. No one visited this place now after all the marble had been stripped from the floors and all valuables taken. An occasional adolescent wandered through, but the palace grounds were expansive enough for Meg to remain out of sight. She knew this place better than anyone, anyway. She’d been here long before it fell into ruin, long before it had even been built.

“We are alone,” she offered. “You need not be afraid; people, the-” she stumbled again, furrowing her brows. Meg started again. “Albadi, the palace...people do not come here.”

He’d asked for the date and Meg had to think. She assumed he likely meant the Gregorian Calendar, which had been instated less than 300 years earlier. He could also mean Hijri, however, if he was truly from Morocco. Meg settled on an attempt to translate both.

Domenico found himself pleasantly surprised by his colleague’s sudden response in a well articulated Italian. He could do nothing to hid the way his lips tugged into a small grin from the corner - he’d certainly have to get some more information on that later on. When they could both breathe without the weight of a beloved patient weighing on their shoulders.. should that day ever come. Before he knew it, the man was looking at Calli’s arms extended to present him a large manila envelope containing scans. He had to give a once over in confusion before accepting the paperwork.

“Brain stem glioma..” The doctor muttered aloud, absorbing the information as his fellow explained the importance of this case. This was every doctor’s greatest dream and worse nightmare, having to make the call that the war was won. Brown eyes studied the translucent films held up to the light, lips held tight in a pensive expression. In the neuro field, he became all too familiar with spending most of his day doing just this so it was no bother to give another eye to Calli’s patient. Especially if he was the attending on the surgery. “Who did you threaten to get scans this clear? I have to bribe the techs just to get quality half this good.”  It was a light hearted joke to buy him some time to process the information before speaking aloud upon it. It was a habit just about every doctor developed when having to brief patient families, words had to be chosen meticulously. Delivering the right news the wrong way could be just as damaging as the alternative. A deep exhale was given as Nico spent just a few more minutes comparing scans.  “Doctor Warner, it’s my honest medical opinion that you can declare Eric in remission. The margins are well within a safe range and I see no signs of regrowth. Naturally I’d reccomend post-operative follow up consultations but surgically there’s nothing in the recent scans that would give me concern” Slowly and carefully placing the documents in their folder, he handed the file back to Calli. “I remember him actually, six and a half hours in someone’s brain acquaints you pretty well with a person. He’s resilient.”  With this the man clears his throat, unable to catch the one tear that found himself in the well of his eyelid. “Well it’s not a champagne popping kind of occasion but this will be one less kid to need you hopefully. You did a hell of a job treating this.” 

It was late, so late, and Calliope often found herself alone, managing the weight of this wing in whatever limited way she could while she had a few moments of precious quiet, but tonight was different. Having vocalized thoughts meant only for the walls of her office, something released and her shoulders dropped from where they tensed by her ears. She laughed. It was quiet, but sincere in the way it shook the hair around her shoulders and sat in her smile lines.

“Maybe a tech or two have been blessed with an invite to Easter dinner once or twice,” she smiled, lashes meeting as she rested her head on the door again. “No threats, though.”

Calliope raised her forearm to the bridge of her nose, draping it so it obscured her closed eyes. She couldn’t watch him examine the scans and her eyes had long since begun their acute warning of an ocular migraine from studying them, herself. A labored breath settled in her lungs and the tension knitted into concerned brows fell away, finally. Something in the warmth of Dr. Vitale’s voice unraveled the tightly woven tapestry and Calliope could breathe.

Movement caught obscured attention and Calliope dropped her arm, wiping the rivulet that had trailed down her cheek before taking the file. She remembered that day like it happened mere hours ago. Remembered being a wreck, nerves fried and threatening to tear her asunder. Rarely did Calliope feel comfortable with more than two operations and certainly never when the complications and risks were as high as neurosurgery. It had been necessary. She had still been filled with residual fear until the calming, confident surgeon, who now stood a few feet from her, arrived.

Her laugh was quiet and filled with palpable nervous relief, cerulean gaze finding the fluorescent lights above their heads. “Thank you, Doctor, but it’s not all me. I have plenty of help as you well know.” Despite her words, Calliope remembered the sleepless nights of research and her smile took on a wistful quality as she turned her head to find Nico’s gaze. Her voice was softer now. “Thank you.”

His eyes followed the movement of nimble fingers as they removed the scarf from her neck. Part of him had wished she had kept it on, if only to keep herself from clawing at her skin the next time he would say something insensitive. His jaw tensed up the slightest at the thought but was luckily interrupted by the waitress who looked like she had been running a shift since three in the morning. He spoke a quick ‘thanks’ when the woman nodded and trodded off. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I like an old fashioned diner. I just hope they update the kitchen once every while.”

Cael teased, looking back at Sophia with the tiniest of grins adorning his lips. One he surpressed when the waitress already came back with a tray carrying mugs filled with roughly poured in coffee and the glass of water that they had requested. He doubted the waitress had overheard his jest as she asked if they wanted something to eat as well. “Belgian waffle for me as well with warm cherries.” he followed shorty after, placing the closed menu onto the table, placing his hand atop the coffee mug, feeling how the hot damp of the liquid rose against the palm of his hand. Though, of course, he wasn’t bothered by the heat in the slightest.

“Had me worried there, you big nerd.” 

A chuckle left him as he sat backwards into his seat, momentarily glancing out of the window before looking back at Sophia again, dropping his gaze to the notebook for a second and then back up. 

“Do you need me to score you a pen? Or have you got that one hidden in your ear or something like a true magician?”

The crease atop her nose deepened as Sophia attempted to stifle a laugh at the teasing comment on the condition of the kitchen, catching the inside of her lip between her teeth to keep from returning the grin. Her attention fell again to the slightest details with which no apparition would ever be adorned. The skin on his hand hovering above coffee far too hot for anyone else to treat as casually as Cael. It elicited a smile that grew at his continued jest.

The small notebook’s pages purred as her thumb pulled across them and Sophia was caught between a laugh and a petulant  scrunch of her nose. The gaze that caught in his cerulean eyes softened as his amusement disarmed all remaining uncertainty and terror clinging to her frame. Shoulders relaxed and she averted attention to the mug on the table, watching the steam curl in air as she ran her fingers over the worn leather of the notebook’s cover and sat it down. With a laugh, Sophia patted around her ears contemplatively and shook her head.

“No pens here. I think I will need your expertise in pen retrieval.”

Fingers wrapped around the wet fabric of her scrunchie to pull it and she winced slightly as it tugged before releasing a waterfall of hair still damp from her shower. The elastic found home around her wrist and she picked up the mug again, having waited as long as she could for it to cool only slightly.

“Diner coffee is bafflingly consistent no matter what diner you’re in,” she scoffed. “Do you think they have a worldwide diner meeting every morning?”

“I’m already shocked you didnt carry one with you regardless of any possible list making. Just whip it out of the air – tadahh.” Cael teased, a brush of warm air filling up a brittled rib cage that yearned for the cheeriness of the situation. You know how I love lists. That he did. Almost every day at least one list had come on by in the past, that by now he nearly did it himself. Hell, he even had a check list for whenever he had a fight scheduled. At least he never forgot a thing when showing up. 

Once the warmth of the diner clung against his skin, the chiming of a bell as the door closed behind him momentarily interrupting the murmuring of the few people who had already been seated within the compound. Cael looked around, studying the features of the men and women who were seated, eating their meals or reading the newspaper they had bought from the vendor just outside of the door they had just entered through. It was a habit, making sure to remember faces and to spot a potential threat in the crowd. None of these people seemed familiar to Cael, and thus with a nod towards the waitress who had called out at them to take a seat anywhere they’d prefer, he followed in Sophia’s footsteps. 

Slipping the coat from his shoulders, folding it twice, he dropped it onto the bench before seating himself, a little uncomfortable as he had most definitely outgrown the booth in the years he had last frequented one. The corner of his mouth tugged as he watched Sophia curl up in the corner of the booth, as she had done for as long as he could remember. Lips parted, preparing to speak but was cut short as the waitress already stood at their table, placing two menus in front of them, asking if they’d want something to drink. 

“Just a coffee for me, black.” He hummed, giving the woman a momentary look before he turned his attention to the menu in front of him, slowly flipping through the pages to see what he felt like having. Once the waitress had heard both of them out and left, did Cael look up at Sophia. 

“Got to say, it feels like this place got stuck since the 90s.”

A momentary glimmer flickered in Sophia’s eyes at the notion that she may have brought a notebook, though she nearly forgot about it entirely as they sat. Sophia looked down at the table and instinctively reached out to try and pull it slightly more toward her to give Cael more room. Fingers adjusted again to wrap around the fabric of the scarf draped around her neck as an unexpected peace washed over the oft shaking hands of a once deity. Looking up, Sophia carefully pulled the fabric from her neck and folded it several times.

“Hm,” she blinked, pulled from the half-trance she’d fallen into looking at the weave of the scarf. “Black coffee for me, as well; and a water, please. Thank you.” Sophia smiled brightly.

Knowing how Cael tended to keep careful watch over his inventory of items, she slid the folded scarf across the table, gaze softening as she made home of his features. Violet and red adorning the gentle olive lingering beneath his skin, bright blue irises stunningly brilliant in the light of day. Fissures splintered the remnants of frigid memories and a feeling Sophia couldn’t quite place dripped into the hollow of her stomach. The blood obscured the perfect shading beneath his cheekbones, purpling beneath his eye, fresh scabs nearly drawing attention away from the line that betrayed dimples. He was more real than any faulty memory of a face unobscured by bruising.

“Yeah, some things never seem to change. Diners are at the top of that list, I guess.”

Sophia had spent enough time enraptured that the reappearance of the waitress startled her and she half laughed at herself, wrapping palms around the mug as the coffee was placed in front of her. “Thank you,” she smiled, listening as they were asked what they’d like to order. “A Belgian waffle with a side of fruit for me, please.”

As she waited for Cael to order, the mug was lifted and set atop the knees still pulled to her chest before she took a cautious sip of the scalding liquid. Folding forward slightly, the dull edge of something pressed against her rib cage, her brow furrowing momentarily in response. Unfolding from her position in the corner of the booth, the mug was placed on the table and she reached into the jacket she still wore. Its inner pocket filled with something she didn’t recall. A snort followed the discovery as she looked over at Cael, holding out a small notebook.

Place: Brooklyn, New York City Mentioned: Love of Sophia’s Life: Bastien Wolfram, Asher Johnson, Mr. Billy CC: @alicemorganwrites; @sophrps

     Nearly two weeks had passed since the final touches of a several-months-long endeavor were complete and hidden away in a closet from prying eyes and wandering attention. Two weeks of remaining silent for fear of betraying the story. A conscious effort not to divulge too many secrets of the day in the quiet hours of a twilight not unlike the one from which she awoke at present. Seraphine rolled over in her bed, pushing the mostly unraveled braid from her face to check the time.

     Early enough. There was one thing left to finish. 

     Seraphine wandered half-asleep out of her room and toward the kitchen, knocking into Bastien on her way. His laugh was reserved and heavy with sleep as he ushered her toward her water bottle on the counter. The small of her back made home of the cold stone and Seraphine quietly drained the vessel as her brother looked on. 

     “Running today?” he asked, quietly. 

     Seraphine shook her head fervently, eyes still closed as she yawned. 

     “Oh, right. Tomorrow.” He noted, words becoming strained as he reached up to stretch. 

     “Don’t forget-” 

     “Presents on the table; put them in the hall at 11:30, I know.” 

     Seraphine opened her eyes and smiled, finally setting the bottle down to meander over to the dining table where she folded into a chair, picking up an incomplete envelope—the meticulously cut and folded remnant of a brown bag she had gotten from her favorite bookstore—and a needle and thread. The almost-envelope was folded together again and studiously stitched together at three edges with a neat, tiny backstitch. Muscle memory aiding her plight as her mind began to rouse fully. Half an hour had elapsed before Bastien reentered the room as Seraphine finished stitching, his voice far more awake than before. 

     “I didn’t know you could sew paper.” 

     Seraphine looked up from her near-complete task and smiled. “You can sew anything with the right needle and thread.” 

     “Surgeons,” Bastien huffed, halfway to the door. “There’s coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

     Seraphine nodded and tied off the ends of the thread as the door shut. 

     Daybreak poured through the open curtains of the living room, while her bedroom remained entirely obscured as she entered it again, the flip of a lightswitch a necessary evil as she rummaged through her closet to retrieve an innocuous gift, deceiving in its simplicity. Oh how she hoped it wasn’t as horrid as it seemed with the sobering light of day further illuminating the sleeve’s rough texture with each step toward the kitchen table. It was a small sigh that shook the dust from her lungs. The barrel of her favorite pen was quickly twirled between lithe fingers for a moment before her heartbeat slowed and she gained the courage required to address the envelope to the man across the hall. Asher Johnson, written in her unmistakably florid script, the sole adornment. Contents were carefully packaged and placed atop each other on the table before she resolved to get ready for the day. 

     The bright light of morning settled comfortably across hardwood before the surgeon locked her door to finally leave for the hospital and note was quickly slid under Asher’s door that read, simply: Check the hall at midnight. –Seraphine 

     October 30th was a day like so many others: the sun made its labored journey across the fall sky, slowly succumbing to the droning kaddish of time, and Seraphine saw only the sterile walls of an operating room. Temporality removed from space, suspended in air until she finally reentered her office, desperate to check on her plans. Seraphine recalled what it was to breathe upon being greeted by an image sent by one Bastien Wolfram showing a large hand-stitched canvas bag leaning against the corner beside their door, directly across from the apartment of import. In front of it leaned the envelope with the name of someone whose birthday it would become in less than twenty minutes. It was almost Halloween. Now she could only hope Asher would find the gifts before she would have to recall just what she’d hidden within the fabric. 

     Inside, Asher would find a record sleeve made of sturdy cardstock the front of which, should one look close enough, boasted a carefully handwritten title. 

     “Sonata No. 1 in A-Sharp Minor: Opus 1” 

While the back of the record sleeve held complementary, handwritten movements. 

     I. “Earthbound” Grave, doppio movimento (11:36)      II. “Mr. Billy’s Waltz” Andante cantable con espressione (6:42)      III. “Lysander” Andantino con moto, ma sempre espressivo (13:29)

     Within the heavy cardstock, carefully contained within a velum sleeve, sat a perfectly pressed vinyl with the piece name from the cover printed on its center with one addition. A composer’s name.

     Seraphine Elliana Wolfram 

     Sacred moments spent amidst music faculty in the free time she was given birthed a composition that played in her mind as she stepped out of the subway and into Brooklyn, focused on one last task. One last stop on a hallowed Halloween, the impossibility of attempting to ignore reminders of the letter she’d written two days earlier settling into the fabric of her sweater. The same letter resting in an envelope under the fluorescent glow of an empty hall just out of reach. 

Dearest Earthbound Rocket Scientist,

I can’t say I’m a master of words. Honestly, they tend to betray my unfinished thoughts and intentions with musings that feel contrived at best. Even now, with all the time in the world, I am overcome by the gravity of attempting to fill this white space with sentences sufficiently strung together. I am sure they will fall excruciatingly short in conveying just how much you mean to me as I sit staring at a moon not unlike the one flooding the fire escape so long ago. I was thinking about you then, as I often am. 

That’s a rather abrupt transition, isn’t it? 

Storytelling has never been my forte, but you—genius that you are (and you are, don’t scoff)—with your keen eye and boundless empathy for the dregs of the human condition, you never betray the story you’re telling. I’ve never met a person more honest and careful in the curation of life’s forgotten memories. You care so deeply for all those discarded things. Those little moments the rest of us find unimportant in their lack of grandeur. The cracks in the spine of books, forgotten gloves, misplaced pillows, meandering souls. I am in awe of you always. Your kindness and patience, wit and talent. Again, words fail me as I knew they would long before I sat down to draft this. I hope the enclosed composition will have better luck in explanation than I’ve had here, so I will close with this:  You are a marvel, Asher. 

Happy Birthday. 

Eternally Yours, Seraphine Elliana Wolfram 

“I’d hardly call it original, but it sticks.” 

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to go back into time and relive it all over again. Sneaking out his bedroom window that was never able to fully close, going down the fire escape so he could play outside with friends and making it back home either finding his father passed out stupid drunk or having to suffer through his abuse. After his father died in that fire things didn’t improve either, not with his mom derailing her own life. Strange to think those were his most innocent times. 

The weight of her eyes on his features snapped him out of his thoughts, turning blue hues to her attention and returning the wicked grin she was presenting him. He missed the bantering side of her, the one separated from the weight that was resting on her shoulders. No surprise Athena chose her out of everyone. 

“We can write up a list during our waffle contest, to make things more exciting. Most ideas to get kicked out of diners and the other has to pay?” 

Cael countered turning around to take the last steps backwards so that he could open the diner door, allowing her entrance in. 

“Ladies first.” 

A laugh like a gust of wind echoed through her chest, finding its way into the air as a quiet breath. He was right: it wasn’t original, but no one else had been paying her enough mind to offer a nickname, so she’d always thought of it fondly. Fondness almost strong enough to elicit a silly thought. The thought that maybe she just might like wearing glasses again, if only to remember this one good thing.

Sophia’s grin grew enough to part lips, the tip of her tongue resting behind her canine as she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Well, if I’d known we’d be making lists, I’d have brought a notebook.” An amused scoff fell out in time with her words. “You know how I love lists.”

Watching him walk backwards, she scrunched her nose before entering and looking around as someone behind the counted called sit anywhere. Sophia chose a booth by a window far enough away from others for proper scheming. She wasted no time getting settled, sitting near sideways on the bench with one knee pulled to her chest like always.

It started with a wave of nausea. The world started turning and his whole insides felt like they were being pulled and pushed simultaneously. Only when his heart would start throbbing like he just ran a marathon and his breathing would sound near hyperventilating, would the world blur around him. It felt like falling, descending to a destination unknown but always knowing the landing would be secure.

Safe was another word. He never knew if he ended up somewhere populated, and if he did, depending on the time… Well it would be bad. Somewhere below the 1800s would always be a run for his life, angry mobs and whatnot. 

The blurriness of the world around him disappeared, becoming more visible and it was always a sign that he needed to steady himself, ready to fight or flight if he had to. Luckily for him, he didn’t end up in a place where anyone seemed to be around. He found himself in an old place that clearly wasn’t a place of true importance anymore, decrepit and definitely having seen better days. Still it wasn’t enough of a scenery for Damon to know where he was right now. 

Steadying himself on a nearby pillar, a stomach’s content spew from his lips and onto the ground, in front of bare feet. A warm breeze warming up bare skin that still felt the Russian cold from 1915. “Ohh fuck me.” He groaned, standing up straight to look around him, seeing if there were any nearby clothes he could slip into. Instead the only fabric he saw was the kind that was currently on someone standing ankle deep in water. “Oh shit – Shi – Sorry!” Covering his crown jewels wasn’t really doing the trick, as he hopelessly looked around him until he ducked behind a bush that came up to his waist. 

Just his luck. 

The deep bronze of her cheek was illuminated by a midday sun as she canted her head to the side, quizzically appraising the apparently ill man who had appeared, it seemed, out of exactly nowhere at all. She was certain she had never seen him around—had a habit of remembering a great many faces—and the light skin that adorned his features was far more common to the north than here. Certainly not impossible, and yet-.

Jade eyes matched momentarily furrowed brows as Meg attempted to decipher what he’d said amidst his groan. She looked at the contents of his stomach now littered about old stone and stifled a confused chuckle. He spoke again and she suddenly realized he was speaking English, not Arabic, Tašlḥiyt, or Tamahaq. Watching him scramble behind a bush, she shook her head and raised her hands to her collar.

Fingers unclasped the fabric at her neck as she stepped out of the water, deliberately avoiding his welcome gift. Fabric was untied at her waist and she held out the sleeveless golden overdress, still soaked at its hem. Bare feet left wet prints along the stone that dried near instantaneously as she dared to approach, the hem of the much lighter dress she’d worn under the garment in her hand dragging along behind her.

“Here,” she attempted, voice rasping with disuse, still recalling words she’d almost forgotten. “You-” she thought, “Put it on. Ah- hm, like a robe.”

Meg emphasized the offer, raising the garment in her hand slightly and nodding to it. Her brows furrowed again, noting his blonde hair and bright eyes, how startled and confused he looked—like the Arrui when cornered by a predator.

Time.

She could remember life without it. Not as it was counted now. Time was more mutable then.

Bare feet traipsed over the once marble floor as she made her way around the decrepit palace and into the courtyard toward the central pool of water where she lifted the hem of her dress to step down the stairs, cool water rising up to her ankles. Meghighda stood with her eyes momentarily closed and smiled at the sensation before being distracted by the sound of someone near. She turned and dropped the fabric in her hands, soaking the bottom of her dress as she pushed the golden hood from her head, peering inquisitively into the distance.

Asad was admittedly taken aback by the woman’s response to his breakdown, but it was necessary. Her words provided him the opportunity to get out of his own chaotic thoughts for a moment and at least try to see things from Seraphine’s perspective. Choppy breathing now slowing as he watched the blonde speak, calloused hands wiped the tears that he hadn’t even realized were there until the tears turned cool. What a night this was playing out to be.

In this moment, he was not being a very good friend and that was something that he couldn’t accept. Seeing as he just admitted to the woman earlier that there were very few he’d call friend, he needed to swallow his pride and rectify that. It was still just baffling to him that even as the direct cause to the grief that riddled the doctor, she had so much capacity for care that she didn’t even try to question or reprimand. She didn’t deserve to have his baggage placed on her after he’d already done enough by harming those people when Apademak made his entrance. In the past he would’ve left it there so that he could walk away from the responsibility that came with being a part of the friendship. But as the lack of sleep clearly showed, he wasn’t going to be able to continue on with this life altering change in himself alone. 

“I’m sorry..” The man breathed, bringing his tired brown eyes to meet with Seraphine’s cool blue orbs. Taking slow steps toward her, he proceeds cautiously to place his hands on her shoulders gently. “Seraphine, I am sorry for all of this. The things you had to see and the people you lost that day because of..” A fiery heat rose through his skin causing a brief pause. “Because of whatever I am becoming.” A deep breath follows. “And thank you for not condemning me even when I was basically forcing your hand.” They suffered from similar afflictions, both individuals worked themselves tirelessly for others - so this while night was off-putting for the man as he didn’t know how to receive someone else looking after him. Not as though that justified his outburst. “I feel like a monster.” Asad replies clearly, moving his hands from her shoulders to cross at his chest. “I would never do anything to harm you, though.” 

Seraphine felt the air in her lungs settle, finally, and attempted to breathe a single calming breath to settle her nerves and the incessant itch in her shoulders. She was reminded of the crimson rivulet as it toppled over the curve of her lip and Seraphine wiped the blood away with her stained finger. The taste of copper was far too familiar now and she couldn’t help but think how horrid it was to be intimately acquainted with her own mortality. Pseudo-mortality? Even she couldn’t be certain.

Asad was cautious in his advance and it kept Seraphine from flinching as he placed his hands atop her shoulders. Solemnity wrapped itself in her gaze as she peered up at him, the weight of eons set in his brow. He apologized. Apologized again. She shook her head gently, cerulean briefly obscured.

“I’m not a trauma surgeon, so I don’t see those things very often, but I know for a fact you’re not the villain you’re making yourself out to be.” She paused and searched his face for nothing in particular. “I knew what I signed up for when I took the job.” Loss hurt and it hurt Seraphine more than she’d care to admit, but she wasn’t too naive to know what her job entailed.

A sigh rolled over her shoulders as he crossed his arms and Seraphine plopped back onto her bed, knees pulled up to her chest to serve as a perch for her cheek. She couldn’t fathom how he felt having been alone with the knowledge of that day for so long and resolved not to try. Not right now. “You can feel like a monster,” she stated to the air, only now directing her attention back to Asad. “But that doesn’t make you one.”

Brown eyes absentmindedly take note of the growing number of people filtering through the foyer of the Warner family estate as he finished signing in for his party. A thought quickly passed through his mind about how soon all three of the names would read Vitale and a small discomfort grew in the pit of his stomach – that thought was tucked away for now. Domenico could see that Calli was geared and ready to hit him with one of her signature replies with a venomous bite wrapped in a pristine smile before her brother seemed to appear out of thin air to tell her something in passing. David hardly had any interaction with this particular Vitale brother so it came as no surprise when his existence wasn’t even acknowledged. A quiet moment passed and the two found eye contact once more, an eye brow raised inquisitively at the way her cheek muscles tensed ever so slightly but the rest of her porcelain mask remained unscathed. 

“Aw, don’t take it personally sweetheart – I’d love to be anywhere but here too. But seeing as you’ll be tying the knot with my brother soon you might just have to get used to seeing my pretty face around more often.” A playful wink follows his statement as the man pauses to shake the hands of one of his associates passing by. Nico didn’t mind the Galas and the events as much as the fact that his presence was only found necessary as an addition to his brother’s ambitions. Since they were young, Freddy had the charisma and magnetic personality to win over the masses but somehow it always seemed Nico got involved. Much like their father, Federico talked a good game when something is new and challenging but once he got the satisfaction of accomplishing his goal he was on to the next one. As the more practical brother, he came in to smooth out the kinks and maintain the relationship. 

At Calli’s mention of a leash, Nico subconsciously begins to spin his engagement ring with his thumb. “Hey my leash is plenty tight, but it beats the chain choker you’ve got. Do those come as part of the package once you seal the deal with Federico?” His words don’t do much to hide the fact that he wasn’t as excited for either of their pending unions as he was supposed to be. Maybe it was because he didn’t find the need to fake it in front of Calli since the two were hardly friends nor was there anything they could offer one another other than a distraction from their familial and political duties for a short while. Speaking of which, he’d probably need to get inside to the festivities soon – leaving his brother and fiancé alone too long without supervision could result in a lot of bad deals being made. “I know you’re so hard at work out here, don’t let me distract you for too long.” He smirked although not quite making much of an effort to get into the main reception area. Her father’s voice would echo through the halls soon enough anyway.

Domenico’s simple statement was enough to tear the faux cordiality from her expression, leaving only an almost eerie confusion in its wake. Tying the knot, he’d said. Something she had certainly expected and discussed with the family—or, rather, been directed—but hearing it from the other half of the Vitale brothers was nearly enough to make Calliope ill. The muscles in her cheek betrayed how she fought against a grimace milliseconds before she ripped her lips apart into a smile, shaking the brightness back into her eyes.

“How unfortunate,” she mused, darkly. To which part of the statement she was referring—seeing Domenico or being Federico’s bride—would remain undetermined.

Calliope looked over her shoulder, though she could certainly not see her family or Federico and was glad for it. Her fingers laced with one another in front of her as she turned back to the rather unwanted, if amusing, guest and the reminder that David did not like him made Domenico suddenly all the more tolerable. How they were supposed to manage some semblance of cordiality as future in-laws was an absolute mystery, however.

A choker. Funny. Calliope had always felt quite like a caged animal at the zoo, hands instinctively moving to the intricate lacework covering her arms. Winter Warner. In a moment of uncharacteristic transparency, Calliope failed to filter what she’d thought into something sharp, the edges thoroughly dulled. “No; they’re standard issue in the Warner household.” Her smile refused to fade again, but her eyes dulled and found something interesting in the guestbook. Domenico spoke again and Calliope scoffed under her breath. “Certainly; you seem awfully determined to leave.” And immediately, her bite returned, facade resurrected from where it lay. “Careful. Someone might think you actually enjoy my company.”

“Really?” Cael mused, blue orbs focused on the brunette beside him. “Cool-guy types? Me?” Not only was that a pun, seeing as how Ares had gotten him in many fire filled situations but it was also a description he wouldn’t see befitting. Broody, perhaps. But not cool-guy. Then again, he was aware of his reputation in high school. Hell everyone was. He didn’t exactly win with the ‘most likely to succeed’ in high school. Doubtful he had any votes at all. 

Once they were into motion again, it also felt like they were leaving the humorous mood behind. Back at the sidewalk they just waited to cross the street. Like he was weary about what was waiting for them on the other side of the road. As the humorous words left his mouth, eyes peered and his mind was focused elsewhere, though nowhere specifically.

Thankfully he was distracted once more when Sophia spoke, challenging him. Daring him. It was enough for him to let go of tensions and negative thoughts and decide to go along with the flow. Maybe for once letting go was just what he needed to live a little again and stop holding himself back for a change. It wouldn’t be easy to break the chain, since he’d spend a long time being on his guard and expecting the next problem to drop from the sky. But maybe now he could. Maybe he could let go and breathe. Forget about the bad things in the world and focus on what was important. 

Which right now, was her. 

“Oh, you’re on, glasses.”  He snickered upon mentioning being banned for life, lifting his hand to rub his cheeks as if to wipe away the smile, without success. “We can make it a game. Get banned from as many diners as possible.” 

Sophia hadn’t meant to make a joke and was subsequently caught off guard by the realization of the pun when it was repeated. She stifled another laugh and was reminded of how kind and affable Cael had always been, even in his youth. How funny he was when not encumbered by the expectations of others or weighed down by the visage of a popular hot-head. Remembered being startled to the point of muteness upon realizing his eyes were blue as he handed her a textbook she’d dropped in the hallway. Long before they became lab partners or anything more. Long before everything.

A breeze brought his familiar scent to her attention and Sophia was thrust back into the present, his scarf still around her neck, keeping her from scratching at all the bad memories that came after. Long after. His voice tore lips ajar and she laughed with a flabbergasted amusement at his acceptance of her challenge. Sophia turned to him slightly and pushed his arm.

“You are the only person in the world who calls me glasses.” she scoffed, thrilled and shocked in equal measure.

The next block wasn’t long and Sophia saw the telltale lights and bustling of a diner only half-busy not far off. Standing at the edge of the sidewalk, Sophia turned to face Cael, arms crossed though she wore an ever-present smile as she contemplated the logistics of being banned from all the diners in the city.

“We should try to get banned for a different reason at every diner, then.”

It was an odd sensation, to feel the world pass them by as they stood, like nothing else mattered. And for a moment, Cael was at peace. The constant paranoia that roamed in his mind was gone, settled like a fever that held onto him for a long amount of time. He no longer felt weary in his bones and when his eyes closed it wasn’t out of exhaustion. In fact he felt more energetic than he had in a very long time. Like something was rushing through his core, warming limbs and breath. Almost like the old days. 

The sensation however was gone the moment Sophia loosened her grasp on him,  eyes opening to reveal blue hues, with an amber glow to them for a mere second, a glow that would be missed if one had blinked. At her words, Cael mustered a smile and a barely notable nod as his chin dipped the slightest. 

“Anytime.” 

Blue hues moved to ahead, watching the red figure stare right at them. He wondered why it was that Sophia was held by the bad memories and the glimpses of the past. All that she had done in that period had been because of Zeus, had been because of his due influence. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about just how much of an influence he had been, as well as with the personal choices she had made. But he refused to think to that point. He doubted that was as far as his plan reached, to have them make that step only to rip them apart. Why waste all that time?

A snort escaped him at her question, trying hard not to laugh out loud and succeeding, only for it to bring a huge smirk to his lips. 

“You’re weird.” 

He mused, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, lightly hovering his hand against her back once the red light had turned green, the ticking sounds indicating they could walk ahead. 

“Is that a challenge to see who can eat the most waffles? Because despite the stomach you’re hiding, it’s a losing battle.” 

Fingers finally ceased trembling, stilling at her sides as her laugh subsided and the amusement lingered in a gaze trained on the lines of a crosswalk. She hardly felt the cool air tousling loose strands of hair that had fallen from their perch atop her head until he concealed a laugh that found voice as a snort. Sophia turned her hear to look at him with a bright smile and shoulder shuddering laugh in response.

“Yeah, well,” she scrunched her nose at him playfully, cheeks graced by a pale rose. “Some things never change.” Sophia laughed again and shook her head. “We all can’t be cool-guy types like you. Some of us are dorks.”

His hand against her back directed her attention ahead again, noticing the green light finally and moving to cross the street. Sophia was still smiling and she bit the inside of her cheek and, for the first time in eons, the reflex didn’t draw blood.

Right. Waffles.

Finally across the intersection, Sophia allowed herself a moment of dramatic, transparent thought coupled with an audible hum. She remembered these silly games that they tended to take far too seriously; their competitive natures making simple challenges into Olympic sports. Olympic. Sophia shook the thought off.

A place filled with warmth and immeasurable niceness he never believed to find in a world like theirs no longer felt like something birthed by blind hope, like something pitifully impossible. A place with the glowing illumination of the moon, a place he almost thought could be like home. It felt like an eternity since the night they’d met, the night she, for the first time, had allowed him to find her beyond the veil of a blinding illusion, all this fabricated sunshine that, so he thought, had never complimented her. 

Moonlight has always suited you better. It makes you seem more like yourself. 

He could still remember writing the closing lines of a birthday letter not too long ago and how he had resisted the overwhelming urge to retrieve it before she could find it, sitting on her doorstep inside an envelope, next to an orchid. Now, he was somehow glad he had not caved, given in to the sudden rush of insecurity, even if only for her to know the extent of his appreciation for all that she was. 

And yet, Asher found himself treading the fine line of mellow uncertainty, bordering on foolish nervousness to overstep boundaries. Even her touch, gentle fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb trailing the hollow of his cheek, was barely proven to be enough to loosen the coil, that sat on the periphery of emotions. Seraphine spoke and the ghost of a smile stole its place against his lips. Trouble found him in the struggle of a definite answer, a plain Yes or an unmistakable No. The unspoken I don’t mind either way buried by the way he temporarily lowered his gaze and tilted his head slightly, as though trying to look in the door’s direction. Another beat was filled with patient contemplation before Asher spoke. “I mean … I guess Billy does miss you.” After all, it indeed had been a while. 

Lingering thoughts of an overbearing brother forced Seraphine to trace her steps, recall if it would be evident that she had come home. She thought of a purse and hospital ID by the front door, her room’s door being shut, and concluded were she to leave, she would likely not provoke the fear-induced ire of one Bastien Wolfram. A conclusion drawn just in time for Asher’s answer to find its way through the crackling quiet of pre-dawn. Her smile accompanied a breath like a laugh as she looked up at him and nodded decisively. 

“Okay, it’s settled, then. I’ll come with you.” A beat. “Let me just-”

Seraphine glanced over at the spinning record and reached out to pause its rotation, slim fingers guiding the arm away from stilling black vinyl before her gaze caught on the initials carved into the open top for a moment at best. It was a half turn that allowed Seraphine use of both her hands in pulling the sleeve from behind the open lid, carefully lifting the delicate record and sliding it into its home. She closed the turntable’s lid, stepping forward and suddenly realizing with one simple motion she was now the furthest she’d been from Asher in what felt like a small eternity. 

While replacing the record in the box from whence it came, Seraphine allowed the hum of an explanation to fall from her lips through an amused smile. “Sir Andrew throws a fit if he’s not in his spot for morning light. He’s very particular,” she laughed, standing to face Asher again as she leaned across the table to lift the cumbersome orchid and his multicolor blooms. “He also only likes distilled water ice cubes every other day.” Seraphine set the orchid down atop the closed turntable with a black drip tray under his pot. “Such a picky orchid,” she smiled, fondly. “Anyway. All done.”