𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲⠀ⁱⁿ⠀𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵

Insomnia

❝ Can’t sleep again… do you ever feel like your brain just won’t let you rest? ❞

❝ It’s 3 a.m. and I swear the walls are whispering my name. ❞

❝ Another sleepless night. I think I’m starting to forget what normal feels like. ❞

❝ I’ve counted sheep, read books, stared at the ceiling… nothing works. ❞

❝ You awake too? Maybe insomnia is contagious. ❞

Groggy Mornings

❝ Don’t talk to me before coffee. Actually… don’t talk to me at all. ❞

❝ How is it morning already? I feel like I just closed my eyes. ❞

❝ I think I slept with my eyes open again. ❞

❝ Why does the world insist on being awake while I’m still half-dead? ❞

❝ I’m running on three hours of sleep and too much caffeine. Help me. ❞

Late-night Wandering

❝ I shouldn’t be awake, but here I am… wandering the streets like a zombie. ❞

❝ Why do my thoughts sound louder at night? ❞

❝ I can’t stop pacing… maybe someone should stop me before I go insane. ❞

❝ The world is quiet at night… except in my head. ❞

❝ I don’t even remember what it’s like to just sleep. ❞

Coffee & Desperation

❝ I need caffeine… yesterday. ❞

❝ Don’t judge me for three cups before 9 a.m. I need survival tactics. ❞

❝ I may be awake, but I’m definitely not functioning. ❞

❝ You feel that? That’s me vibrating from too much energy and too little sleep. ❞

❝ Coffee is my lifeline… don’t take it away. ❞

Bed & Chaos

❝ I think I just slept in the wrong position… my body hates me. ❞

❝ Half my blankets are on the floor, but I can’t bother moving. ❞

❝ I just fell asleep sitting up… should I be proud or worried? ❞

❝ My alarm went off an hour ago. I’m still not moving. ❞

❝ I swear my pillow is judging me for failing to rest properly. ❞

Mind Racing

❝ Why am I thinking about that moment from ten years ago? At 2 a.m.? ❞

❝ I can’t sleep because my brain decided to rewatch every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. ❞

❝ Sleep would be nice… if only my thoughts would stop arguing. ❞

❝ My imagination refuses to shut off. Can someone hit “pause” for me? ❞

❝ I’m wide awake and it’s entirely the fault of my overthinking. ❞

She has not laughed in his face, has not turned and walked away. Objectively, that should be a good sign. So why does the silence stretch tight around his throat? Why does waiting for her response leave him feeling strangely unsteady?

Maybe he would have preferred outrage or anger. Some immediate flare of emotion he could respond to instead of this nauseating uncertainty. The irony is not lost on him. Atlas, of all people, craving emotional honesty from another person when he treats his own feelings like classified information.

Between the two of them, he is not the one in control here; the realization should bother him more than it does. Control has always been stitched into every part of him, woven through every decision, every calculated move, every carefully maintained distance. Power matters to him to a degree most people would find concerning. This time, he does not fight the imbalance.

The discomfort only worsens when she speaks. It lingers heavy in his chest, pressure steadily mounting with the awareness that this may be the only opportunity he gets. She is not lenient with him. If anything, she is kinder to strangers.

Still... confessions are not his style. He genuinely cannot remember the last time he admitted wanting someone in a way that extended beyond convenience or fleeting attraction.

❝ I enjoy your company. ❞ The moment the words leave his mouth, he internally recoils. His brows furrow almost immediately, forced to physically stop himself from pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Usually he is polished, composed, always several steps ahead of everyone else in the room. His words are chosen carefully, sharpened and refined until they achieve exactly what he intends. Now he just sounds like a fumbling idiot. His jaw tightens as he searches for something better to say, but every thought that comes to mind feels horribly cliché.

❝ ...You’ve become… important to me. ❞ The words leave him flatly, almost annoyed, though the irritation is directed entirely at himself. He looks visibly displeased by the vulnerability of it all. Another pause follows, long enough for him to realize he is not escaping this conversation without being direct.

𝐀  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃  𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐒  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐀  𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄,  𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄  𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘  𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓:  he  was  serious. 

The  reluctant  delivery  of  a  man  to  whom  such  words  seemed  foreign,  almost  alien,  left  little  room  for  doubt  about  the  weight  of  his  confession,  and  her  heart  fluttered  into  a  state  of  distress  for  it;  stirred  by  the  conflicting  sensations  of  unexpected  agitation  and  mounting  exasperation. 

❝   You  can’t  be  serious.   ❞   The  words,  in  essence,  were  less  an  expression  of  disbelief  than  a  condemnation  of  the  absurdity  of  it  all;  the  way  he  could  stand  there  and  admit  to  feelings  of  the  deepest,  most  passionate  sort  while  simultaneously  betraying  everything  she  stood  for.  ❝   You  cannot  possibly  think  this  is  helping  right  now.   ❞   

If  anything,  the  timing  was  absolutely  abysmal:  a  confession  uttered  in  the  middle of  doubt  and  conflict,  just  as  she  had  been  preparing  to  turn  her  back  on  him  and  every  questionable  decision  he  represented.  She  had  a  job  she  had  devoted  her  entire  life  to,  a  mission  she  pursued  earnestly  with  every  beat  of  her  heart;  some  might  even  argue  she  was  married  to  duty  by  now.  There  was  no  way  she  could  risk  TerraSave’s  fragile  reputation  further  by  becoming  entangled  with  a  man  of  dubious  alliances  and  questionable  morals. 

And  yet  he  seemed  determined,  almost  desperate,  to  keep  her  from  walking  away. 

Frustration  wove  itself  into  the  intricate  web  of  her  emotions,  spurred  on  with  every  agitated  beat  of  her  heart  as  she  closed  her  eyes  drew  a  deep  breath     —     internally  cursing  him  for  forcing  her  toward  a  crossroads  where  both  her  heart’s  desires  seemed  to  divide  into  two  parallel  lines,  formed  to  never  meet.  

❝   How  can  you  stand  there  and  tell  me  you  have  feelings  for  me,   ❞   Claire  finally  brought  out  from  a  mouth  slightly  trembling,  every  fiber  of  herself  far  from  untouched,  ❝   while  continuing  to  work  with  people  who  spit  on  everything  TerraSave  stands  for?...   ❞   

“  we,  uh,  did  try  a  play ground  -  ”  grace  mumbled,  rubbing  her  chin  with  her  hand  in  embarrassment.

it  had  gone  very   poorly  to  say  the  least.  too  many  people.  too  many  noises.  emily  had  not  been  happy  and  had  demanded  they  return  home  as  soon  as  possible  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  the  sight  had  been  so  pitiful  it  had  broken  grace's  heart  all  over  again.  she  had  thought  her  own  social  anxiety  was  bad,  but  it  was  nothing  compared  to  the  poor  kid  who  had  grown  up  in  a  glass  room,  unable  to  see,  barely  interacting  with  people  outside  of  it.

she  didn't  think  an  arcade  would  be  much  better.  it'd  probably  be  worse,  if  anything.

a  frown  marred  her  pale  features  and  she  sighed,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  trying  not  to  get  discouraged.  she  wished  she  had  more  friends  of  her  own.  she  was  at  the  age  where  people  were  actively  trying  for  kids  or  already  had  kids  from  their  younger  twenties.  if  she  had  more  friends,  maybe  those  friends  would  have  had  kids  she  could  use  to  interact  with  emily  in  a  quieter  and  safer  environment.

a  deep  breath,  and  then  another  sighed  as  she  nodded.

“  y-yeah…  she  does  like  choosing  what  she  gets  to  do…  perhaps  a  little  too  much,”she  chuckled  fondly,  shaking  her  head.

“  m-maybe  something  with  a  distraction  away  from  people  but  still  around  people?"  she  mumbled  questioningly,  wondering  what  sort  of  activity  could  captivate.

“  m-maybe  a  zoo,  or  an  aquarium?  ”  she  asked  tentatively.

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒,  𝐀𝐒  𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊  𝐓𝐎  𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄,  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐋𝐘  𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊  𝐀  𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄  𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋’𝐒  𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐅𝐀𝐑  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍  𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓  𝐀𝐓  𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.  She  could  practically  already  picture  Emily’s  widened,  fascinated  eyes  at  the  sight  of  all  the  various  creatures  she  had  likely  only  been  able  to  read  about  before,  and  thus  hummed  in  swift  agreement     —     a  nod  emphasizing  her  approval  of  the  blonde’s  desperate  musings. 

❝   You  know  what?  I  think  that’s  actually  a  really  good  idea, Grace.   ❞   The  only  question  that  remained  was  which  kind  of  animal  Emily  would  prefer  to  encounter:  marine  life  in  its  aquatic  habitat,  or  the  countless  species  that  teemed  on  the  Earth’s  surface?  

While  many  perceived  the  latter  as  generally  more  ‘appealing’,  Claire  couldn’t  help  but  wonder  whether  the  little  girl  would  take  well  to  some  of  the  zoo’s  larger  attractions.   ❝   ...Maybe  we  should  keep  her  away  from  the  scarier  stuff  at  first,  though.  Tigers  and  lions  don’t  exactly  seem  ideal  for  a  kid  who  gets  overwhelmed  easily.   ❞   And  if  a  free-roaming  monkey  ended  up  getting  too  close  for  the  little  girl’s  comfort...  Claire  didn’t  even  want  to  begin  to  imagine  the  chaos  and  tears  that  would  likely  ensue. 

❝   I  think  an  aquarium  might  actually  be  perfect.  It’s  usually  quieter,  and  there’s  plenty  to  look  at  without  people  constantly  trying  to  talk  to  her.   ❞   A  smile  began  to  tug  at  the  corners  of  the  older  woman’s  mouth,  mere  seconds  after  the  suggestion  had  escaped  it.   ❝   Besides,  fish  are  pretty  hard  to  argue  with.   ❞   

a shaky breath, his whole body spun tightly into a trembling nuclear point of rage and shame. society had failed to teach him how to handle it, the guilt, without a target to put blame on. himself? yes, but he also was a victim. narrow it down to a knife's edge and wield it without mercy, that was the coping mechanism he had developed over his life, trauma forging it to a refined process. he draws air into his lungs through flared nostrils. the scent of rich coffee and buttery dough and her perfume lifting him away from the spiraling plummet promised by losing control and catching everything up in his path.

his body trembles as he wills it to still, laying his mangled palms onto the solid surface of the table, in a wide frame around hers, eight fingers and the gnarled edge on the left, wearing a laced collar of teeth marks.

" maybe... " he relents.

he is an outsider to this world, an anomaly dragged into it by circumstances beyond his control. he never wanted to be a player in this grand stage of monsters and heroes. it was never in the plan of his life to stitch himself into the complicated fabric of politics. all he wanted was to have his wife back, he walked into hell and returned her to the world of the living. he had no idea the cost of his declaration of undying love was so high.

the light catches her hair, filtered through the curtain of red, warming her profile. fresh air tickles a few strands which have fallen loose. he admires her in the way an artist knows inspiration when they see it. a muse tickling the back of his skull, whispering for his fingers to set charcoal to paper.

her platitudes, first sang out in the flitting nature of compliments. like shameless flirting between strangers who have no plans to act on it, then suddenly, low in her chest, a harmony arrives and enriches her compassion. something in the melody tells him to believe her, she is too pretty to lie. damn his wondering eyes, maybe they should be plucked from his head as punishment... his heart already wears the signature of another. it is not a thing for him to give away anymore, it is his no longer.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄  𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐀  𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋  𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆  𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃,  𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘  𝐎𝐅  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄;  her  gaze  resting  upon  each  roughened  edge  and  imposed  stigma  in  a  way  both  unabashed  and  quietly  appreciative.  Unpolished,  raw,  and  unapologetically  real:  society’s  appreciation  was  generally  reserved  for  something  easier  to  digest     —     a  more  superficial  kind  of  attractiveness  that,  sure,  could  be  found  within  the  man  before  her  as  well...  yet  Claire  had  learned,  with  every  painstaking  step,  to  look  deeper  than  that. 

What  good  was  a  pretty  face  if  it  lacked  conviction  and  loyalty?  How  appealing  was  a  physical  body  when  it  lacked  soul?  The  years  had  made  her  grow  tired  of  people  whose  words  carried  more  weight  than  their  actions     —     of  small  men  who  hid  behind  the  shadows  of  their  own  manufactured  grandeur.  Unpolished,  raw,  and  unapologetically  real:  those  were  the  traits  she  truly  valued.  A  man  guided  by  his  heart,  steadfast  against  anything  that  tried  to  make  him  waver. 

A  man  like  Ethan  Winters,  perhaps,  whose  scarred  hands  roughly  mirrored  the  well-worn  hardwood  of  the  table  they  rested  upon.  Each  indentation  and  blemish  told  a  story  of  its  own,  and  Claire  wondered  briefly  if  someone  had  once  tried  to  carve  their  initials  into  the  wood  as  a  memento,  while  her  own  palm  moved  across  its  roughened  surface,  aimed  for  the  comparable  softness  of  his  hand. 

A  simple  manicure  adorned  the  fingers  that  moved  to  splay  over  his  mangled  skin  in  a  gesture  equal  parts  reassurance  and  comfort,  guided  by  the  familiarity  of  years  spent  doing  exactly  that:  soothing  agitated  souls  while  trying  to  make  them  believe  in  the  goodness  of  the  world  again. 

❝   What,  you’re  worried  about  me?  I  can  handle  myself,  you  know.   ❞   The  words  came  easily,  with  amusement  subtly  woven  into  their  tone;  the  corners  of  her  eyes  crinkled  as  she  spoke.   ❝   For  real,  though.  He’s  my  brother.  He’ll  get  it  eventually.   ❞   

A  moment  passed;  the  crinkles  deepened  into  fine  lines.   ❝   ...That,  and  he’s  kind  of  used  to  me  doing  my  own  thing.   ❞   

While  the  siblings  did  share  values  and  a  very  similar  moral  compass,  their  methods  to  go  about  their  desire  to  help  people  had  always  diverged.  Claire,  unlike  her  more  battle-hardened  brother,  had  always  relied  more  on  her  heart  than  the  brute  force  that  had  shaped  the  BSAA’s  foundation.  It  was  the  reason  why  she  had  never  joined her  brother’s  mission,  instead  finding  her  purpose  in  TerraSave’s  humanitarian  work.  

She  could  only  hope  Chris  would  extend  the  same  understanding  to  her  decision  now.