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You push all of those feelings away, the same way you always do whenever you’re playing, your only focus on getting down the field as fast as possible. The ball bounces evenly between your feet, jumping ahead of you every five seconds, before you move to catch up with it. Your teammates are spread around you, ready to receive the ball whenever, though they’re lagging a bit behind.

Even with how hard you’re focusing on your current task, a sliver of satisfaction manages to make it’s way through your chest. Knowing you’re still the fastest player on your team is a crown that’s still yet to slip off your ego. Most of your team’s plays revolve around you, that’s what the cheetah blood in your veins gets you. Your coach has drilled it into your heads, your teammates are allowed to do what they think is right, before they pass the ball to you and watch as you speed towards the goal with no issues. It’s worked every time, at least before now.

You’re still running through the grass, your spine bent in a position that makes it easier for you to move, your chest pumping with oxygen that rapidly spreads through your body. The faces of your teammates are still in the edges of your vision, solid reminders that there’s people you can still pass to if your legs start to give up, but there’s one face you see that keeps you moving, even faster now.

It’s the only one that can catch up to you, the person getting closer and closer until the two of you are side by side. Dark brown spotted fur, an arrogant smirk, equally dark ears sticking out of his same coloured buzz cut.

Julien Loki.

Sometimes you think his existence is the consequence of your massive ego, he was born just to make you furious. Clearly you got too comfortable being the best player you know and the universe had to remind you you were just a speck of dust floating in space, in the presence of greater stars. The first time you’d met Loki, he was alright. Not kind, you could tell he was looking down on your smaller team, only because he had the same look in his eyes that you did whenever your coach came across even smaller teams for you to play against. You’d been cordial, shook his hand when he offered it, gave him and his team half smiles you hoped didn’t look too fake, but that was only based on your still intact ego. You assumed you could decimate him on the field, that you could relax.

If you could go back to that time, you would strangle yourself in less than a heartbeat.

Your coach had spoken a little too highly of you, talking to Loki’s stern looking coach. You could tell the man wanted to brush your coach off, but Loki had taken to his words immediately, offering the chance to prove your skills in a practice match. You’d never felt slower in your life than you did that day. The only thing you could catch up to were the soles of Loki’s cleats, and even with the two goals your team had scored, your self-esteem took a nose dive.

You couldn’t shake off the looks you thought your teammates were giving you, the heavy sigh your coach had let out afterwards, even though it wasn’t directed at you. You felt like a fraud. The only thing you got out of it was that that helpless feeling had turned you towards the field even more. You practiced more than ever, spending more time in the gym than you ever had at home, sometimes you fell asleep there. Your goal of becoming the best sectioned off into a smaller one, you had to be better than Loki.

That period after you first met him was sensitive for you, people couldn’t even mention his name around you, fearing how hard you would lash out.

Your coach became more and more worried every day. He tried to reassure you, he showed you your progress reports every few weeks, making sure you knew you were still improving, just not at the higher rate you wanted. It helped a lot more back then, you recognise that now, you just hated how many people made Loki seem superhuman, like you could never bridge the gap between you no matter how hard you tried.

You’re back in the PxG training centre now, juggling the ball between your racing feet, trying to keep it away from Loki. You watch his leg shoot out several times, his shoulder slamming into yours so hard it nearly sends you sprawling into the grass, but you keep your pace, eyes on the space in front of you. The ball stutters only once, lifting into the air and landing on the tip of your shoes, before you shuffle it backwards, kicking it in a general direction behind you.

You know the play is risky, and you can’t even glance back once to see if the ball landed in the hands of your teammates. All you can do is hope as you decelerate enough to shift around Loki, savouring the genuine shock that crosses his features, before he’s gone in the blur that surrounds you. Your plan worked, somehow, you know that when you see the ball shoot ahead of you, in the perfect position that you just have to power yourself towards.

The muscles working themselves to death in your thighs are starting to fail, your energy starting to diminish with how hard you’ve been pushing yourself. Your eyes are still on the goal post, almost watering against the wind that pushes into them, the need to get this goal higher than the need to collapse into the grass. Loki catches up to you as fast as you expected, the effect of that brief distraction you’d managed to pull over him now faded away. He pushes you once more, your bodies colliding in a rapid blur.

The rest of the field has faded behind you both, time practically slowing down as your legs wade through the air. As far as you’re concerned, this match is only between you both, a test to who can make it the farthest. The goal is in sight, a distance you could’ve covered with one kick if Loki wasn’t breathing down your neck. You can expand the space between you, you just need to push yourself more.

Your thighs burn harder, the space right under the back of your shoes aching with every step you take. You’re starting to overtake him, your legs stretching out longer, getting you closer and closer to the end.. until a sensation stops you dead in your tracks.

Something in your leg just… snaps.

It starts at your knee, a small ache that seems like it’ll pass in a few seconds, but it doesn’t. The second bit of pressure you put on that leg brings everything down. Your body collapses a second later, the world tilting in your vision before it’s blocked by the patch of grass you fall into, your cheek slamming painfully into the ground. For a second, you don’t hear anything but a high pitched whine that pokes itself into your brain, your mouth going numb as it hangs open, the adrenaline in your brain solidifying into a loud buzz that takes over every inch of your form.

Then it all comes rushing back.

You didn’t even know you were screaming until you snapped back to life. It doesn’t sound human, not like it’s coming from you. The sound alone makes you want to cry, but you can’t when you’re too busy curling in agony. Your nails claw at the skin of your knee, as if trying to pry the burning pain out of it. Every shallow breath you take sends a wave of unfathomable pain through your bones, like your veins are filled with liquid fire.

Your vision blurs under the weight of your own sweat and rapidly falling tears, but you can still see the way everyone surround your crouched form, the obvious worry in their gazes as they stare down at you. You can feel your coach’s hands spread across your chest and back, looking for any other sprains or cuts.

He presses lightly on the knee you’re still clutching, flinching sharply at the scream you let out when he does. You can hear him yell for someone to call an ambulance, before his hands meet your face, trying to wipe your tears away in a gesture that only makes you cry harder. You can’t imagine how upset he is; He’s told you time and time again, not to strain yourself, to stay within the limits of what you can do. Those warnings only got more frantic after your first match with Loki. And now look at what you’ve done.

At the peak of your team’s success, you push yourself for the sake of your stupid ego, and now only god knows what you’ve done to your leg.

In the midst of gentle touches and small strokes you recognise as your teammates, there’s something else, a touch that feels foreign but more concerned than anyone else. You can finally see the face that belongs to that touch when he’s in your face, his bright yellow irises staring down at you with something you can’t place.

Loki is holding onto your hand with a force that rivals the hold you have on your knee, almost as if he’s the one in pain. You think he’s trying to calm you down but you can’t hear anything over the sound of your own agony and everyone else’s panic.

“Look… me. Breathe. Help… on…. way.”

You watch his mouth move, only able to catch on a few words as they fly out of his mouth. Your hand grips his tighter, his hold an anchor you don’t want to lean on, but also can’t let go of. Both of your breathing evens out into the same rhythm, yours a lot shakier than his, but still enough to settle the anxiety still swirling around in your chest. It gives you the space to think, firstly about why Loki is so close to you in the first place.

The pain is still making it hard to think, but you can’t help thinking about it when the source of confusion is right in front of your face. You can imagine doing this for a teammate, a friend, someone who would be worth the concern. If this had happened to Loki, and you had been in his position instead, you wouldn’t be right in his face, attempting to comfort him. You would’ve stared from a distance, and in a perfect world maybe you would’ve felt bad for him too.

It feels like it’s been hours before the on and off whine of ambulance sirens reach your ears, a welcome sound against the pain still throbbing in your mind. Your coach looks down at you with a relieved smile, his hand gently patting yours where it’s hovering over your knee. The paramedics work fast, shuffling you onto the stretcher with a speed that doesn’t affect your leg as much as you thought it would.

Your hand falls away from Loki’s as you’re carted into the ambulance, it’s solid white metal shielding you from the bursts of sunlight that suddenly decided to emerge from the clouds. For a twisted second, you almost miss the feeling. Your body jolts in its bed as the vehicle rolls away, your leg held in place by a few straps. You can only think of one thing as you slowly get closer to the hospital.

Your life is over.

There’s a firm layer of exhaustion that’s hovering over the space you’re lying in, spreading throughout the room in a motion that almost makes you sick. Everything smells like antiseptic, fresh bandages and misery. You open your bleary eyes to a stark white ceiling, taking in the bulb right above you that shines bright light directly into your irises. The memories come back to you slowly, as if trying to help you exercise patience.

You running down the field, your legs breaking under the pressure, Loki’s hand on yours before you were charted off into an ambulance. That last part is something you have to shake your head a little to force away, it shouldn’t have stuck with you the way it apparently has.

Even without having your full whits about you, you know it’s most likely been a day or two since you fell in the first place. You try to shift your body upwards, immediately stopped by the pain that shoots through your knee, then radiates down to your thigh. You can see it now, your leg, hanging in the air a few inches away from you, from a lightly coloured swing. It’s clad in a thick cast, one that makes your leg feel even heavier.

Every small movement you make sends another fresh wave of pain through your body, enough to make you nauseous all over again, but you manage to stretch sideways until you reach the button right beside your bed, hoping a nurse comes faster than you can start to get agitated.

A nurse walks in a minute later, her fur covered with light turquoise scrubs, a neat little clipboard sitting in her hands. She’s a dog hybrid, her ears lifting slightly as a genuine surprise crosses her features.

“Oh you’re awake! That’s good, I’ll let the doctor know. She’ll be with you in a moment.”

She shifts towards you, tucking the clipboard under her arm while she rearranges the pillows at your back, lifting you into a position that gives you a better view of the room. It’s as simple as you’d expect it to be, your bed takes up about half of the entire room, with two small bedside tables spread across each side. There’s a window to your left, a relatively big one that you can peer out of even from where you’re laying, the hospital’s courtyard peeking up at you.

The doctor she’s talking about is a serious looking panther beastman, her inky black hair slicked back into a neat bun that meets her equally black ears on top of her head. The coat that hangs over her shoulders is neat, pristine, the wrinkles around her eyes make her look mature, not tired. The stoic look on her face melts the second she gets close enough, into a calm smile that does everything but reassure you.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?”

You bite back the sarcastic remark you immediately wanted to respond with, she’s not the one you should be taking your anger out on

“..Fine. How long do I have to be here before I can leave?”

She looks awkward then, her smile melting into a sideways glance that deepens the worry in your gut. You watch her turn to the nurse behind her, taking a thick manilla envelope that she opens soon after. The nurse wheels in a small black box that she lights up with a small switch at the back, the doctor approaches the box with two large papers, though they look more like film.

They’re x-ray scans of your injury, your knee and the bone right under on full display. Even without the doctor pointing it out you can see it, the obvious disconnect between the ball of your knee and the bone under it.

“It’s a fracture, most likely from strenuous exercise. You’ll have to stay here for around a month, but we’ll monitor the break and let you know how things are progressing.”

The pain in your leg fades into a dull hum, overtaken by a loud whine ringing in your ears. It’s similar to the whine you’d heard when you fell, the kind that comes with a deep sense of dread swirling around in your gut. Your stomach clenches painfully, bile rising in your throat until it feels like you’re going to double over.

One month.

One month of never playing the sport you’ve dedicated your whole life to again, the only reason you walk, breathe, eat, sleep. A whole month of being stuck to your hospital bed like dead weight. What would your team do without you? How long would it take before your teammates realised it would be easier to replace you rather than wait? And would your leg even fully heal, would you ever reach the speeds you used to again?

Your chest is starting to feel tight, your breath coming in short bursts. The mattress beneath you no longer feels like a comfort, the cast your leg is wrapped in starting to feel like a trap. You can’t keep staying here, if you lay in this bed for one more second you think you’ll pass out. The nurse rushes to your side as your limbs start to flail, your hands trying to push yourself out of bed while your leg swings painfully in the sling. She’s begging you to calm down with a careful hand on your shoulder, but you’re not listening, you can barely hear her.

Your vision’s starting to fray at the edges, but you can still see the doctor duck her head out into the hallway, calling out to someone you can’t see. The nurse still has her hands over your shoulders, trying to push you back into the pillows, when your coach walks in, his eyes bleary with worry.

Seeing his face settles something in you, enough for the tears to start falling. They feel hot against your fur, leaving tracks in the sandy beige hair you can’t begin to wipe away. You curl over the bed frame, hands clutching the sheets as you gasp and sob. You’re scared to look up, to watch the concern in his eyes fade into irritation once he realises you’re useless now.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry. It’s my fault… I wasn’t- The team is going to-”

Your panicked ramblings are cut off when your face slams against something solid, a pair of arms wrapping around your trembling shoulders. The tears stain your coach’s plain shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only holding you tighter the harder you cry.

“It’s okay, I heard from your doctor. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He smooths a hand down your hair, shushing you gently, something he hasn’t done since the first match you ever lost. You’d been so upset that day, somehow maybe even more upset than you are now, and he’d just held you, let you vent your frustrations for as long as you wanted. Your shoulders start to shake less often, the tears drying up as you slowly catch your breath. He takes the seat beside you, his hand never leaving yours where it’s still clutching the covers.

“Everyone’s so worried about you, they’ll come visit when you’re feeling better.”

That brings you another sense of relief, your back falling into the pillows a bit more, your body relaxed now. Your leg still aches from where you were struggling earlier, though you force yourself to push the feeling away, still of the belief that as long as you don’t focus on the pain it doesn’t exist.

“…Am I still on the team?

Your coach’s face hardens for the first time since he walked in, but you can tell he’s not angry at you, more at the workaholic attitude that got you here in the first place. He gives your hand an affirmative squeeze, the brief anger morphing back into worry.

“I don’t want you thinking about that right now…” He cuts in when he notices the panic coming back across your features. “But I’m not kicking you off the team, I would never.”

He gives your hand one more pat before he turns back to your doctor, starting a discussion you can’t be bothered to listen to. Your attempt to soft launch coming back to the field quicker was thwarted immediately, clearly that was the end of that conversation.

“Listen to the doctor, alright? I don’t want you coming back until you’re fully cleared, no matter what.”

Your coach’s words have always been ones you tried your best to listen to, most times if you didn’t, it caused more issues for you than it did him. You fully fall back into bed, your head lolling against the back of the pillows, much to your coach’s relief. He places your phone beside the bed, practically begging you to call him if you need anything before he leaves, taking the nurse and doctor along with him. Your eyes close against the soft light of the room, a temporary reprieve from your situation.

You’ll think about it more when you’re in a better state to do so.

…

Two days passes you by in that hospital room before it feels like you’re about to lose your mind. You’ve never been so sedentary before, just watching every one pass you by, shuffle around, practically doing everything while you’re stuck in bed.

It’s hell.

There’s never been a moment you haven’t been moving since you started playing football seriously; Typically, you’d wake up in the morning for a jog, head to your team’s gym before anyone else, practically spend the whole day dribbling a ball between your feet. There’s only so much you can do chained to your bed, your phone became boring to use a long time ago.

You also can’t stand the way people look at you. It had been fine just a few seconds ago, you realised the nurses were being nice because it was their job, you can’t imagine they’d want to treat a salty patient with a shitty attitude and a leg cast with anything but disdain. Somehow someway, it became public knowledge to the nurses on your floor that you were an athlete, or at least that you used to be before your fracture.

Their smiles got tighter, the check ups more gentle. Every time a nurse managed to strike up a conversation with you, it would always end in reassurances that your leg would heal fine, as if they didn’t actually expect it to. It gets infuriating for you each time. You hated being pitied more than how useless your injury made you feel. You were still getting used to just laying around, they were making it worse if anything.

Then one day, you just snapped.

One of the nurses on rotation asked you the wrong question, something about if you wanted to speak to anyone about what you were feeling, any doubts you had, you stopped listening halfway through his speech and had flung the chair right beside your bed in his direction, watching it clatter to the floor. You started screaming just as fast as you threw the chair, the crash of several items on the floor echoing throughout the space.

In your struggle, you manage to drag your leg out of its sling, letting it fall onto the bed sheets, an action so agonising your vision nearly goes white. That doesn’t stop you though, your nails digging into the bedside table as you drag yourself halfway off the bed.

“Please calm down. You’ll worsen your injury if you keep moving!”

The nurse pleading with you realises in a quick second that if he doesn’t get you himself, then you’ll drag yourself out of this hospital with your own two hands. There are several more standing around the entrance, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind, one nurse has a set of crutches, something you assume she’s meant to take to someone else. She probably doesn’t want a chair to the face too, that’s why it’s so easy for you to snatch it out of her hands, jamming the pads under your armpits.

At least two nurses are trailing behind you, still insistent on getting you back to your hospital room without actually grabbing you, that’s what you’re still banking on.

You shut the elevator in their faces. slamming your finger into the ground floor button. Obviously you have no game plan. You recognise that what you’re doing is insane, but you can’t stop your arms from dragging the crutches along the reception floor, making this heavy clicking sound until you finally reach the solid white hole in the wall that marks the front desk.

“I want to discharge myself.”

The woman sitting at the front desk has a concerned smile on her face, her hand shifting back from where she dropped the reception phone back into it’s receiver. That must’ve been the nurses from your floor, clearly she already knows how to handle you.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that. A nurse is coming down to take you back upstairs, please wait-”

She’s cut off by the quick hand you reach into the hole above her desk, reaching around blindly until you feel something solid like a clipboard. Luckily enough for you it’s a release form, brand new too. The nurse grabs onto the other end, dragging it back and forth with you in a way that’s still meant to leave you uninjured. You can hear the click clack of several shoes behind you, the hospital security you spot in your peripheral vision getting closer every second.

The hold you have on the clipboard is loosened by another hand that lands on yours, the same coloured fur as your own, bending your hand at the wrist until it falls off the small bit of wood. The nurse looks relieved to see someone step in to help her, but the offence written across your features is a complete contrast, furrowing the space between your brows as you whip around to see who’s still touching you. Your day couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Loki doesn’t even glance down at you once, his nails digging into the skin at your shoulder while his other hand forces yours back to your side. He shines a perfect smile at the still frazzled nurse, one she reciprocates with one of her own. He’s already shuffling you away before the woman can even thank him.

“I’ll take this one away, don’t worry.”

Any attempt you make to get him away from you is brushed off, the hand you try to push against his face dodged with an ease that pisses you off more. He has both arms wrapped under your armpits, your injured leg dragging across the floor as the elevator comes into sight. One more failed swipe at his face and your journey stops right in the middle of the hospital hallway, your leg twisting slightly as Loki spins you around to face him.

“You can either walk up with me or I can carry you. I don’t care either way.”

That actually makes you pause, the optics of you being carried back to your room worse than your need to leave. You let Loki wrap your arm over his shoulder, sliding an arm around your waist while your crutches go underneath his other arm. It takes about half the time it took you to hobble downstairs to get back up, the nurses on your floor looking relieved to see you being returned.

The sheets of your bed feel like hell under you but you don’t say anything, the energy you would’ve used to act up again already gone. You watch the nurse that trails in after you tie your leg back up in it’s sling, surprised they’re not strapping you down to your bed as well. You turn to Loki before the room is even empty, hard glare still on your face.

“What do you want?”

He looks shocked you’re talking to him like that, his body falling into the chair right by your bed before he glances around the room. The small shrug he gives your question only deepens your glare.

“Wanted to check up on you, I didn’t think you’d already be trying to leave.”

Its a lame excuse, at least to you. You stopped thinking about it for a second, but seeing Loki’s face has brought back your train of thought. There’s still no reason for him to come see you in the hospital, unless he’s here to laugh at you. The thought makes you even more irritated immediately, the friction of your hair against the pillow as you turn your head towards the window echoing through the silent room.

Loki’s still trying to talk to you, but you’ve already shut yourself down, forcing your eyes closed and your breathing to even out until the sound of the chair screeching against the floor reaches your ears. Your ears strain to hear the withered sigh that comes from the man still haunting your room, the door opening and shutting a second later. That’s when you finally relax, your arms falling from their folded position back onto the bed, your eyes staring off into space until you fall asleep.

You can tell he’s going to come back again today.

There’s been a pebble of stress sitting heavy in your chest since yesterday afternoon, making it harder for you to rest. You’d spent ten minutes in the early hours of the morning trying to get your thoughts in order; Even if Loki’s coach had asked him to check up on you, in a world where he out of all people would be chosen to do so, he wouldn’t have any reason to come back after yesterday. He’d seen you, and you’d caused enough trouble for him to not want to return for the rest of your hospital stay.

But that doesn’t quell the anxiety still churning in your gut. You’ve been so jumpy so far, you nearly threw something at the nurse who’d walked in to bring your breakfast. She was none the wiser as you stuffed your pillow back behind you, pretending you weren’t just getting ready to attack her.

Just imagining Loki’s face in your mind is enough to ruin your morning, especially after yesterday, you know he’s going to bring it up. Thinking about it now, you’re not that embarrassed about your outburst, if anything, you’re the only one who suffered. It’s the fact that Loki had to be the one to witness it is what gives you nightmares.

You’re still shifting around in bed, looking for the most comfortable sitting position when the knob of your room door starts to rattle. It could be one of the nurses, you know that. But you get such a bad feeling in your stomach that the second pillow you have laying over your lap is in your hands before the door fully opens.

You were right.

The pillow in your hand goes flying towards the door, to where Loki would be standing and would’ve gotten hit if he wasn’t as quick as he is. Instead it floats right out the open door, flopping to the hallway floor with a dull thud. The man in question watches as it goes flying, turning back to you with a face that’s clearly meant to stifle laughter. It takes him a while, but he manages to push it down, softly shutting the door behind him.

“That was rude.”

You let out a loud scoff, practically rolling your eyes to the back of your head. The pillows behind you feel more empty now, you’re almost starting to regret trying to throw it in his face.

“Why are you back?”

“It’s not like you have anyone else visiting you, shouldn’t I be getting a thank you instead?”

He takes the seat still standing by your bed frame, placing down a paper bag on the cabinet a few inches away from your hands. You didn’t even notice when he brought it in, the rustle of it’s material dragging your attention towards it. It’s filled with fruit, at least that’s what you assume as you watch Loki pull out a bright orange tangerine from it’s dark brown confines. He starts peeling it immediately, focusing his full attention on the small task.

You don’t like how comfortable he seems to be in a room he’s not wanted in, and you can’t even do anything about it. It feels like speculation, but after your first, and last, escape attempt, you could’ve sworn the nurses started slinging your wrapped up leg higher. Sometimes it’s hard to even shift around, let alone drag your leg out of the strung up cloth. The only thing you can do is fall back into bed, your head nearly hitting the headboard, a loud sigh escaping your lips, an action that makes Loki glance up briefly.

“So.. how’re you feeling?”

“How do you think I feel?”

You watch him shrug, the last bits of the orange peel falling to the floor to reveal a sweet looking tangerine. Loki holds it out to you, clearly expecting you to take it from him. You don’t, you don’t know why he expected you to, the hand you reach out in his direction an attempt to swat the fruit out of his hand. He’s faster, drawing his hand back towards his chest before simply placing the the tangerine in the space between your legs, reaching over into the bag again.

You don’t push this one away, there’s no point, you know Loki will just give you the next one, and the one after that until you stop disposing of them. It’s too early in the morning to let yourself be rage baited.

“If you hadn’t pulled that stunt yesterday, you’d be in a lot less pain.”

The glare you give him is sharp enough to cut glass, but he doesn’t even see it, still focused on that stupid tangerine you still want to smack out of his hand. He has a lot of nerve lecturing you in your own hospital room, that he barged into. More than anything you think he’s lucky you’re still stuck. Another sigh falls off your lips, your fingers tangling in your hair for a second in frustration.

“Yeah, mhm go ahead and lecture me while you still can.”

“I’m not trying to, you just need to be more careful.” It’s his turn to sigh now, his shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated gesture that makes your lips curl.

“No, no. You’re so right! I’m so sorry, I should’ve watched every single step I took on that field. Next time I’ll just kill myself. Hey! Since you know everything, please, enlighten me.” Your arms are flailing in the space around you, a sarcastic smile plastered over your face, one that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Was it my shitty form that broke my leg or is this what I get for dreaming too big? Hm?”

A look of genuine confusion crosses Loki’s features as he finally stares up at you for the first time since you started rambling, his fingers pausing over where he’s stopped peeling the second orange. A lump of awkwardness clogs your throat, you wish he’d ignore that last part, you’d just blurted it out of frustration, it was not something you wanted to reach his ears.

He shifts closer to the bed in his chair, your attempt to shift backwards in your bed ruined by your still hanging leg. You can’t tear your eyes away from where his gaze meets yours, focusing on you like he has nothing else to look at.

“Your running form wasn’t bad, it never is. You just put too much pressure on your leg that day.”

The moment passes as if it never happened to begin with, with Loki going back to the tangerine still in his hands. Silence passes over you both, your body sinking into the mattress as you try to sift through the feelings rapidly switching through your mind. Most of it is disbelief. Out of all the things you thought he would respond with, that didn’t even make top 50 for you.

“..That’s it?”

If you got a good lump sum of money for every time Loki shrugged at something you said today alone, you’d probably have enough to buy yourself a better hospital room. A part of you is upset nothing you say seems to be affecting him, or maybe your words are just that unintelligible.

“Yeah, if you asked me for advice at any point in time, I would’ve told you that.”

That almost makes your face burn with a stupid sense of embarrassment you don’t want to confront. Its still infuriating, how he’s telling you this causally, like talking to him is something you would do on the daily, you just find that you have less words to respond this time. Your mouth opens and closes several times, before you push out a small quip, almost like it hurts.

“Well.. why would I want to do that?”

You pretend you can’t feel it, but the slight moment you’d just had is gone, faded into the air along with any sense of control you thought you had. Loki barely responds, not even with a sideways glance, his focus on opening the gym bag he dropped on the floor when he came in, a small textbook in his hands when he comes back up. The silence goes on for longer than you expected, almost like he’s now aware any more responses will just make you mad, but that quiet in itself makes you angry.

Now you’re just looking to irritate him, the same way his presence does to you. The acknowledgement of your childish behaviour doesn’t make you rethink it anymore, your eyes zeroing in on the orange still balancing in his left hand. You reach for it immediately, not surprised at all when Loki’s hand retracts faster than you can reach across the bed. He glances down at the untouched bundle of fruit still in your lap, giving you a barely perceptible eyebrow raise.

He only pauses for that one second, before he’s tearing the small fruit in half, handing you a piece that you snatch up immediately. His compliance takes half the fun out of your burst of mischief, demotivating you with a quickness that surprises even you.

The rest of the day passes in relative silence, the only noises you can pick up being the frequent flipping of book pages and the tearing of orange slices from their white membrane. The tangerines are sweet, a discovery you makes after finally getting over yourself and taking a slice from the half you still had. They make for a good enough snack as you stare out the window, watching the sunset peacefully under the horizon, the sky fading from a steady blue to a rusty orange.

Eventually, the sound of metal scraping against tile shakes you out of the nap you were just about to fall into, your peripheral catching the sight of Loki getting up out of his seat. You pretend you’re not watching him pick up his gym bag, placing the textbook back inside. He leaves the fruit, even though both of you know you’re most likely not going to eat it.

“You’re not missing anything on the field.” His hand is already on the door, the remark thrown over his shoulder before he leaves. “You might as well stay put and get better quicker.”

You refuse to respond, keeping your gaze trained on the sky outside your window. Loki doesn’t say anything back for a second either, long enough to realise you’re not going to answer him, pulling the door wide open from what you can hear.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It feels like all the sleep you’re getting is actually starting to affect you. Most people would see that as a good thing, but you hate how lethargic the non-stop rest is making you feel. Even as you’re talking to the nurse in your room, lazily spitting out answers to her check-up questions, you can feel your eyes begging to close, the hand with your fork nearly clattering into your plate of food. You’re answering as honestly as you can. If you’re being completely honest, Loki dragging you from your shoddy escape attempt has compelled you to be a lot less snarky. You’d imagine the nurses are celebrating in their staff rooms because of that.

The nurse in your room leaves eventually, taking your half eaten tray of food with her. Your body melts back into the sheets, your hands coming up to your chest to intertwine, your thumbs winding around each other in a repeated motion.

You shake away the thought the second it enters your head, but it still persists, you almost wish Loki would appear a little bit earlier. You don’t doubt he’ll show up again today, it would just be more convenient for you if he walked in right as you’re dying of boredom. Your thoughts start to spread out, branching off into all the things you could be doing right now.

If you had thought of it before, you could’ve asked one of the nurses for a book or anything they had in their staff rooms. It’s too late now, anything you ask for will just be considered another weapon for the next time you lash out. They might be keeping your room plain just based on self preservation. Your phone is charging peacefully on the table beside you, but you haven’t touched it since the first day you got it back. There’s nothing to do on it anyway.

You’re just about to succumb to the sleep pulling at your eyelids, your breathing becoming more shallow the longer you lie there, completely still. Your eyelids shoot back open in a split second, your shoulders practically jumping up to your ears in shock as the door slams open, nearly breaking against it’s hinges.

Loki stumbles in a lot less gracefully than he had yesterday, but you can’t even fault him this time, not when he has about five different bags hanging off his arms. The most obvious gift is the massive bouquet of bright, colourful flowers, it’s practically half his size. You watch him hobble over to your side, pushing yourself upright to meet him. Even if you wanted to help him, you can’t.

“Who’s all that from? That’s not all for me, right?”

He drops everything down on the floor, breathing out a small sigh before even beginning to answer you. It’s only after it’s been a solid minute that he finally computes your question, the incredulous look on his face enough to silence you before you can ask anymore.

“Of course these are yours. All your teammates sent you something.”

You can’t help the anticipation that shoots through your veins, a fifteen minute visit from them would’ve been enough to lift your mood for a whole week, you weren’t expecting presents.

The simplest ones are the cards, about a dozen of them, in colours like light beige and white, with drawings of bandages on the front cover wishing you a speedy recovery. Each one Loki brings out, you take immediately, running your fingers over every crevice and fold, until you decide to display them on the table to your left. The biggest one is from your coach, the folded cardboard at least as big as your head. It has a lengthy message written on the plain page right behind the cover, his usual words of encouragement, reassurance, along with a picture of him and your entire team clipped to the bottom.

This one you keep in your lap, unwilling to let go of it so soon. It warms your hands where they’re folded together, giving you this fluttering feeling in your chest you can’t shake off. Loki reaches out as if to take it from you and place it on the stand as well, but you shake your head no, pressing the card even closer to your chest. That makes him sigh but he doesn’t push it, turning away to rustle through one of the bags he’d dragged in.

“This is from Hugo.”

He turns back with a hard back cover, a massive book that nearly creases the card still in your lap as it drops in your hands. The art on the cover is familiar to you, but it still takes you a second to recognise. It’s a book series you’ve been following for a while, one of the only things that could ever distract you from your progress on the field. The one in your hands is the fifth book in the series, one you were just about to buy for yourself before your knee shattered.

You don’t remember a single second where you mentioned the series to Hugo though, the only person you ranted to about what irritated you and what didn’t, was yourself. The only instance you can think of is the one time your team had been in the PxG centre again, and during a long break you’d pulled out one of the volumes and sat beside Hugo, who had been going through a book of his own.

The gift is still appreciated, especially since you couldn’t go out and get the book yourself. You would’ve appreciated it more if you’d ever spoken a single word to the man.

“And this is from Charles. I told him to make it presentable, don’t worry.”

You’re already steeling yourself for what the young boy could’ve given you, but you find that it’s not too bad. It looks like a hand made card, literally scribbled down on lined paper in colourful pens. The message is short, a wish that you’ll come back soon because he “misses you”, and can’t wait to play with you again. You’ve spoken to Charles a lot more than his teammates, mostly because no one can really bring themselves to ignore him once he takes an interest in you.

The shitty drawings lined along the bottom of the page actually draws a laugh out of you, exactly what you’d expect from the boy. The card also wraps around a massive bar of chocolate, something you treasure way more considering how bland the hospital food is.

Your gaze trails back to the giant bouquet still sitting on your bedside table, surprised you almost forgot about it considering how vivid the petals are. Loki looks surprised too when you point at them, doing a bad job of pretending he’s just noticing it.

“Who’s that one from?”

“Someone.”

The weird, confused look you give him is completely ignored by his eyes shifting all over the room, refusing to look at you. It’s such a weird answer, you’re almost not interested in the flowers anymore. But you still pick them up, pausing for a second at how heavy they are. They smell fresh, a wave of pollen making its way up to your face, as if the flowers had just been picked five seconds ago.

Coincidentally, they’re also your favourite. You remember them growing in a small patch behind your childhood home, when your mother still had her wits about her to take care of them. The only person you’ve admitted that to is your coach, when he’d insisted on knowing what flowers you liked so he could get them for you after every match, whether you won or not.

That partially answers your question, it had to be him, but you still have a feeling it might be someone else.

“You like them?”

You let out a content hum at Loki’s question, still keeping your gaze trained on the beautiful arrangement.

“They’re nice.”

This time, you let him help, handing the flowers off to him for them to be placed in a nice, ceramic vase, right opposite your bed. It makes the room look a lot brighter, you can feel your mood lifting the longer you stare at them. Just like yesterday, Loki takes the seat still attached to your bedside, leaning into it with a heavy sigh. You glare at him where he’s sitting, sticking your hand out to push at his knee, a gesture that forces him to look back at you.

“You’ve brought all the gifts, you can leave.”

“You’re chasing me out already?” His expression is curled into a furrowed amusement, his arms folding over his chest in a motion that you mirror soon after.

“Yeah, fuck off.”

Even as you say that, Loki doesn’t make any move to leave, not that you expected him to that easily. If anything, he leans back further into the chair, giving you a smug, questioning look that’s practically begging you to try him. The call button by your bed makes a continuous chiming sound, the light ding layering over the other as you jam your finger into it five times each second. Another loud sigh comes from Loki’s direction, already anticipating the trouble you’re about to cause.

A nurse comes rushing in a second later, probably expecting you to either be screaming and throwing things again, or to be convulsing on the floor, anything that would explain the spam alert you’re unleashing on the staff room. Unfortunately for you, it’s the nurse that had suffered the most of your tantrum that day you tried to leave. It sucks for you because you could’ve sworn you saw him speaking to Loki after you’d gotten back to your room, probably to thank him.

You take the chance anyway, almost poking Loki’s eye out with how hard you shoot your hand out to point at him

“I want him out of my-”

“Oh! It’s you again, how are you doing?”

The nurse practically ignores you, turning to Loki with a smile bright enough to light up the whole room, as if he’d just seen his saviour. Loki glances at you only once, with an obvious amount of smugness, before turning to face the nurse, a pleasant smile on his face.

“I’m good thank you.” He places a hand on the edge of your bed, almost as if to remind the nurse you’re still here. “Sorry about my friend here, I’ll keep things under control.”

The nurse finally turns to you for the first time since he stepped in, his eyes immediately shifting away after just a second, like you’ll flip the chair again if he stares at you for too long. Any exclamation you try to make, any protests you have are drowned out by the nurse steadily shuffling back out the room door. He gives Loki an apologetic smile, as if he’s the one suffering in this situation, before finally leaving.

The second that nurse is gone, any sign of maturity you’d seen on Loki’s face is gone completely, replaced by this arrogant smirk that makes your blood boil. You’re beginning to regret having that breakdown a while ago, the only thing it did was cement your status as a crazy person. If you hadn’t done all that maybe the nurse would’ve listened to you.

“You’re such a bitch.”

You watch him cross one leg over the other, folding his hands together over his knees, shining an annoyingly bright smile your way.

“Thank you.”

“And we’re not friends” You take your arm off where its hanging over your eyes to point an accusing finger his way, still glaring at him. “You’re only here because you won’t leave and I can’t kick you out.”

“I know, anything else?”

He’s actually waiting patiently, staring down at you, expecting you to ask for anything that doesn’t include him leaving early. You slump back into your bed sheets, feeling the snarkiness melt off your bones the longer you sit there. Eventually, you manage to lift your hand enough to point at your new book, sitting on the table to your left.

“Pass me that.”

Both of you actually manage to sit in relatively comfortable silence, the flipping pages of each of your books lining up from time to time. You’re too invested in the novel to notice the sun setting beneath your window sill, the vivid orange light that spreads across the words on each page finally snapping you out of it. Loki gets up to leave soon after, promising to come back the same way he had before. You don’t even have the energy to tell him not to bother.

Another week passes you by in your hospital bed; A week, four days, 10 hours and 43 minutes if you wanted to be exact. You could keep track because that’s all you have left to do now. To the doctors, you’re halfway through your healing journey, on the right path to recovery. In your mind, this makes it two weeks that you’ve spent trapped in your own bed, forced to watch everyone else walk by on their perfectly normal legs.

Spending each and every one of those days in complete silence, forces you to get in your own head. You start getting antsy again, your legs twitching over the sheets like they’re begging to push you up and start running again.

You’re not saying Loki’s presence would be keeping you calm, you’d still rather die than admit that, but his absence feels like its making you crazy. It’s not his company you miss, it’s the fact that he can get up and leave whenever he likes, and you can’t. He gets to saunter into whatever gym he goes to, work on that superhuman speed you still can’t catch up to, and never will at this point, while you waste away in your sterile prison.

It’s not fair.

You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now, turn that shitty co ordination you had into something useful, given everything to the black and white ball that now runs your life. You had to be good at football because you weren’t good at anything else, you weren’t given the chance to be good at anything else.

If you hadn’t nearly killed yourself several times just to train your body right, you’d still be at home, letting your mother throw wine bottles at your head while she blamed you for the alcohol she was poisoning herself with.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve sprained joints, twisted ankles, worked your muscles to death in your continuous effort to be the best. If your coach hadn’t spotted you first, you would’ve probably just died on the street. So why did it have to end now?

One fractured knee and you’ll never be as fast as you used to again.

The tears started first, right in the middle of the afternoon when your thoughts had gotten too convoluted for you to stand, running down your cheeks in hot, furious lines, dripping softly into the pillows behind your head. They kept coming until it turned from a silent stream to loud, wailing sobs.

Then they turned angry.

You haven’t thrown as many things as you did before, you’re too busy wiping tears from your blurry vision. That, and everything around you now are the gifts you received a while ago, you’re not angry enough to throw those. Every nurse that tries to come closer, to comfort you, gets a set of choice words thrown in their face. You can’t help it, you don’t want anyone near you right now, ready to stare down at you with pitying eyes and mocking smiles.

There’s one brave nurse in your room, you can see her now, slowly approaching your bedside with a medical tray, a needle and a vial of something you can’t read. At this point, you’d almost rather someone sedate you, maybe you could get something to make you sleep until your leg heals.

That train of thought doesn’t make it through your body in time. Just because your legs haven’t moved in a while doesn’t mean your hands aren’t as fast. You grab the tray the second it gets within range, swinging it over your head, ready to slam it back down on to the floor right in front of you. It happens in slow motion, or at least slow enough for you to comprehend. A heavy grip attaches itself to your wrist, with such force that it nearly breaks the bone, forcing the tray out of your hand, the clatter of it meeting the floor echoing through the air.

You curl against the pain immediately, your spine folding until your nose almost touches the bed, your other hand coming up to try and pry your wrist away. It’s blocked by another iron grip that takes that arm as well, your body struggling against the hold it’s trapped in until both your arms are dragged away from your head, forcing you to look up into the impatience sitting in Loki’s light yellow irises.

“…Where were you?”

The words force themselves out, the only ones your mind can focus enough for you to say. You already know what you’re going to hear in response, you almost want the excuse to keep lashing out. You can’t be the only one in this much pain.

It’s not fair.

“That’s why you’re screaming like a lunatic? You were looking for me?” Something like genuine offence crosses Loki’s features, crinkling the corners of his eyes into a mixed expression that doesn’t match the slight excitement you swear you can hear at the end of his sentence.

You don’t answer him, your hands still attempting to free itself from his, to no avail. Your nails dig deep into the flesh at your palms, leaving hole shaped imprints in the skin, enough to ground you but not enough to draw blood.

“I was at practice, you couldn’t be patient for a few days?”

That’s all you needed to hear. Your shoulders are starting to ache from where they’re still hanging in the air, the limbs starting to tremble under the pressure. You ball your hands into fists, swinging around as much as Loki will let you, only aggravating the strain even more. The second you start pulling your hands towards the other side of the bed, he lets go, your whole body falling back into the sheets.

“No I couldn’t, because it’s not fair! It’s not fair you get to go train, whenever you want, while I have to sit here, and die!”

Your voice is getting louder with every word you spit out, until it’s the only thing you can hear echoing in the room. Loki takes his usual seat beside you, as if you’re not screaming your head off, his hands still lifted in your direction as if he expects you to start throwing things again. He doesn’t fidget with anything, the bag by his feet, his tracksuit, he just sits there, hunched over slightly, staring at you like he’s trying to read your mind.

“It’s not that bad.”

He quiets down when you snap your head towards him, your eyebrows creased in a furious confusion. You can tell he regrets saying anything almost immediately, you don’t even have to point out the hypocrisy.

“How would you know? It’s over for me..”

“Who told you that?”

It feels like every question that comes out of his mouth is said just to irritate you, but you don’t even have any energy left to do anything about it. You already know nothing you do will work when Loki is right there. You turn to him instead, incredulous smile already on your face.

“No one has to tell me anything. What do you call a cheetah that can’t run?”

Loki hesitates for a second, his eyes shifting off you for just long enough for you to sneer at the silence, his shoulders lifting in a light shrug. “Physically challenged.”

“Worthless.” You spit the word out painfully, letting it carve a hole into your chest. “You’d call it worthless, that’s what I am now.”

That actually makes him quiet down, a sliver of awkwardness crossing his features for a second. It gives you the perfect opportunity to turn away from him, your eyes tracking along the window as you feel the tears start to come back, burning in the back of your throat, all the way up to your eyelids.

“..Your leg isn’t going to be broken forever.”

“But I’ll never be as fast as I used to be.” You’re looking back at him now, not even caring about the tears that track down your cheeks, matting the fur it flows over. He looks surprised to see you’re crying, his eyes widening for that split second before it morphs into something softer.

“That’s not.. completely necessary.”

“It is if I want to beat you.”

That sentence seems to suck the life out of the air, leaving behind a thick tension that tries to chock you. You watch the look on Loki’s face shift from a calm pity, to shock, before it settles on a hard look. Thinking about it now, this is the first time you’ve mentioned your silent competition out loud, let alone straight to Loki’s face. But at the same time, you wonder what he thinks you’ve been doing around him since the two of you met. It feels like it’s been hours before one of you finally makes a move to speak, the air around you giving way just enough for you to breathe.

“That’s been your issue this whole time?”

A loud scoff falls off your lips, the first laugh you’ve had in a while, heavily contrasting with the tears still staining your fur. “Don’t pull that bullshit with me, of course it has.”

The silence this time is more peaceful, easier to breathe in, but it still doesn’t settle your spirit. You feel Loki shifting around in his seat, most likely looking for the next best thing to say. At this point, he can just leave. Just like the last time, the angers left your body before it even has the chance to manifest, leaving you with this hollow pit you can’t bring yourself to swallow.

“Don’t tell me I’ll learn to be faster than you if I just try.”

“I wasn’t going to, I know you won’t.” Something in Loki’s energy has changed, now it feels like he’s trying to treat you the way you treat him. He folds his arms over his chest, staring at you with this deadpan you reciprocate as well.

“Thanks. I really needed that.”

He actually barks out a laugh, smiling down at the sarcastic grin on your own face. You watch him shuffle closer in his seat, knees almost touching the frame of your bed.

“Why me though? I’m not the only cheetah on both of our teams.”

It’s your turn to shrug this time, your expression much calmer than what it had been just a few seconds ago.

“You’re the only one I know that’s faster than me, it sucks when we’re being compared.”

“By who? We’re not on the same team.” The space between your eyebrows creases immediately, your eyes narrowing into a heavy glare. You hate how he’s fighting you on this, and it’s absolutely clear on your face, but Loki doesn’t back down at all.

“We play for the same country.”

“We’re playing in different leagues.”

“That’s part of the problem.” You insist.

The two of you are getting closer the longer you go back and forth, almost getting in each other’s faces. At some point, silence takes over your conversation once more, forcing the both of you into a stare down that seemingly lasts hours. Loki shuffles backwards in his seat when it look like you won’t let up first, folding his arms back over his chest with a heavy sigh and his head lolling back. You watch him look back up a second later, his expression morphed into a reluctant acceptance.

“If you want, I can train with you. After you’ve gotten better.”

He says it so casually, again, the same way he’s been talking to you since the first day he came to visit you. The offer feels more ridiculous to you than it would’ve if it had come on any other day, mostly because you just admitted to seeing him only as a rival.

“Why?” There’s genuine confusion lacing your words, an emotion you can’t even begin to hide. “You just said you don’t believe I can be as good as you. That’s the whole point.”

In that split second, it feels like the temperature drops several degrees, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. Loki shifts back into your space, but even closer this time, his nose almost touching yours until you’re forced back into your pillows. He’s leaning over you, the creak of his body weight dipping into your bed loud enough to make you wince.

The overhead light casts a shadow over both of you, drenching the look on his face in an inky black, though you can’t even begin to decipher it. The only thing you can see is the wide eyed yellow of his irises, burrowing into your soul with how hard he’s staring. It unnerves something deep in you, the instinctual desire to run plaguing every cell in your body. You want to look away, but you can’t. The crazed excitement in his eyes feels like it’s stirring something up in you too.

“There’s no point in trying to be better than me when we’re so alike. You and I.. are the same. So I believe you’re talented. People like us don’t give up after some stupid injury. That’s the difference between us, and the idiots that are actually useless. You give up now and you become one of them. Is that what you want?”

You’re almost breathless after his monologue, like you’re the one who just finished rambling without taking a single breath. You still can’t tear your gaze away from him, your mouth opening and closing at least ten different times before your vocal cords finally remember they have to respond.

“No..”

The moment fades away with a single, invisible snap, your lungs taking in as much air as they can the second they’re able to. Loki slides off you just as easy as he’d come closer, settling back into his seat like nothing had happened at all.

“Good. Then it’s sorted. Stop freaking out every time I’m gone.”

You’re grateful for the silence that takes over right after, it’s enough to give you the time to think about what just happened. That’s the first time you’ve ever felt so uncomfortable in Loki’s presence, yet it got you so riled up, you can barely explain what you felt in that moment. The silence you’re sitting in lasts long enough for a nurse to stalk back into the room, staring at you warily before she realises you’re not angry anymore.

You watch her pick up the tray that’s now sitting in the corner, most likely kicked away by the scuffle you’d had earlier. The presence of a hard stare on the side of your face makes you turn to face Loki, studying the quick glance he gives the nurse, a signal you pick up on immediately.

“I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

She takes the apology quickly, clearly not wanting to stay in the room for a second longer. Loki takes it as well, leaning into his seat with a content hum.

There hasn’t been a day so far since about last week, that Loki hasn’t come to your hospital room. Every day, basically 24/7. You don’t know if it’s out of fear of you lashing out again, or the secret third option of just wanting to irritate you, but Loki refuses to miss a single day in your room like it’s a full time job. The next week you’d let pass by with his constant presence was more than enough for you, if you didn’t say anything you’d slide back into being irritated again.

“You know, you don’t have to be here everyday.”

Loki had glanced up at you from the pages of his book then, questioning eyebrow already raised. The look he’d given you had made you feel guilty, your gaze shifting off to the side immediately.

“I know I had that moment, but I’m good now. Go back to your training, I’ll be fine.”

He’d just leaned back in his chair, switching his small book to one hand, crossing one leg over the other.

“I’m not that bad. A few weeks without training won’t kill me.”

No matter how much you’d protested, he hadn’t moved an inch, even sinking deeper into his seat. You hated how arrogantly he had to explain, but it made sense, you wouldn’t expect Loki to stop being such a good player because he’s too busy babysitting you. It’s also hard not to notice how much more lax he’s gotten around you, his words, expressions. You’ve also gotten more comfortable having him around, a feeling you took several weeks to get over. Now you don’t even say anything when he walks in every morning.

Starting conversations with Loki still isn’t easy, you haven’t gotten that comfortable, and most of the time the two of you still spend hours just sitting in silence. If you’re unlucky enough, sometimes you’ll catch him on a talkative day, giving your own one words answers to whatever he says. He knows better than to ask anything about your leg, or how you’re feeling, and you’ve learnt to appreciate that.

It took you about halfway through the week marking your first month in the hospital, to realise you could use your condition to ask for anything you wanted, within reason of course. It started the first time you complained about the lack of sweets in your new diet, you’d finished the chocolate bar Charles gifted you the day after you’d gotten it, and was desperate for anything else that wasn’t bread and steamed vegetables. The only response you got from Loki, was an elongated stare and a small snicker, something that only made your ranting louder.

The next day, he’d shown up with a fancy looking paper bag, refusing to answer any questions you had about it. He’d just pulled out a small package, leaving it to you to discover it was an apple tart, freshly baked and wrapped beautifully.

Croissants, profiteroles, macrons, any dessert you begged hard enough for would be in your hands by the next day. And if you wanted something savoury instead, that was also sorted. You barely needed to say thank you, Loki would brush it off every time, waiting for you to mention the next thing you wanted.

The only other thing that came and went in rotation were the flowers still sitting directly opposite your bed. They’d started wilting, finally fading into a dull, dark grey around a week and a few days ago. You let the nurses dispose of them with a heavy heart, saying goodbye to the only slice of happiness in your room. Loki came back into your room two days later with a fresh bouquet, placing it in it’s vase without a single word. He’s been doing that since, the bouquets almost getting bigger every time he brings one in.

You’re not stupid.

Loki still won’t admit anything to you but you know he’s the one buying the flowers. Every time you’ve joked about him still not telling you who they’re from, he just smiles in response, choosing to keep silent. It’s obvious, you’re just doing him the favour of not pointing it out. You even know who told him those were your favourites.

The one other time your coach came to visit, he’d noticed the flowers within the first hour of him being there. According to him, he loves them, apparently they brightened the room in spite of your gloominess. When you told him Loki was the one who kept bringing them, his expression had turned to one of brief surprise, like he’d just remembered something he did, then gave you a satisfied nod, approving of something he wouldn’t say.

In the weeks you’ve been spending burrowed deep in your bed, your leg has slowly gotten better. You’ve gotten used to having the cast clamp down on your fur, and the usual pain you’d feel just trying to shift onto your side has now dulled into a muffled buzz. The sling is gone, taken off by a nurse that had just waltzed into your room with the brightest smile ever, so your leg no longer hangs in the air like a pinata. You can’t even explain how much better you like having it just lie across your bed, lying down whenever you want and just falling asleep works way better now.

The weather’s beautiful today, you can see and feel it right outside your window. You wake up to the sun risen high in the sky, shining it’s light across the tiles of your room, warming the sheets of your bed into a comfortable glow. There are barely any clouds in the sky, the sounds of birds and the hum of cars on the street mixing together in the air.

It must really be a good day because the breakfast you’re served actually isn’t that bad; Pain au chocolat, two slices of toast with a bit of jam. You even get two little things of vanilla yoghurt, an extra treat judging by the smile coming from the nurse who brings it in and takes it out. You push yourself up in bed, even shifting your leg a little as you manoeuvre into a better position. You’re just about to press the call button, ready to get over your arrogance for the first time since last month and ask for a wheelchair, just to get a better glimpse of how nice it is outside. The gentle slide of your door opening cuts you off first, someone else stepping into the room again.

You think it’s Loki, your mouth already forming the words to mock him for being so early, but it’s not. It’s a doctor, specifically the panther hybrid that broke the news of your leg in the first place, she looks happy to see you’re alright, stalking towards your bedside with a polite smile. You haven’t seen her in a while, only on days where she had to check on your injury. That meant you didn’t see her often, there were never any issues with the limb itself, your knee either hurt or it didn’t.

She spends a few minutes asking you perfunctory questions, writing on her clipboard every time you respond. You’re almost wondering why she hasn’t just laughed at your current expression, because you’re certain it’s bent into one of deep confusion. You watch her close the pen she’s using, folding it into her coat pocket while the clipboard goes to the nurse behind her, along with a few whispered instructions.

“We have good news. Your fracture should’ve healed properly by now. We’ll do an x-ray just to be sure, but you’ve definitely made good progress.”

Your face is still bent into one of surprise, it doesn’t actually feel like an entire month has passed. It’s funny too; The first time you’d been admitted, a month seemed like forever to you. You thought you’d be sitting here for what would feel like weeks on end until you slowly lost your mind. And you did, several times, but compared to how much more volatile you could’ve been, you did way better.

A nurse comes back into the room then, with what looks like a camera sitting in her hands. She doesn’t get you into a wheelchair, doesn’t try to take you somewhere else for the imaging. All she does is tell you to stay still before the now dark room fills with a sharp flash, one that makes you flinch, then it’s over. It takes the nurse a few minutes to go and come back with the same kind of scans you’d been shown, again on your first day.

Now, the obvious disjointed bone you’d seen under your own skin has snapped back, almost like it had never fractured in the first place. The doctor nods at your scan, looking satisfied with what she’s seeing. She barely needs to turn to the nurse before they run out again, another nurse trailing in with what looks like the baby version of a chainsaw. The first nurse takes a place beside you, a comforting hand on your shoulder, while the other stands over your leg cast.

“Your friend isn’t here today?”

You look up at the nurse by your shoulder, confronting the placating smile on her face. Her words make you shrug, a reaction better than the last few times one of the nurses had called Loki your friend.

“Not yet, I’m not sure when he’s coming.”

Usually, Loki would never show up in your room before ten in the morning, looking at the clock right above your door, it looks like it’s only five minutes past ten. Somehow, the nurses are looking forward to him arriving more than you would be. Your train of thought flies out into the air with the sound of the saw powering on, your ears flattening against the loud whirring that echoes throughout the room.

It feels like the saw might nick your skin, the blade cutting too deep into the plaster for your comfort. Your hand instinctively shoots towards the nurses’ on your shoulder, squeezing lightly over the fur that covers her skin. It doesn’t take long for the cast to split in half, though you spent the entire time with your eyes shut.

By the time you finally pry your eyelids open, the last bits of your cast are falling away to reveal your perfectly normal leg. You don’t know why you expected it to look much worse, but it’s fine.

The fur over that patch of skin is matted, slicked down by the month it spent in a white cast prison. The plasters quickly disposed of, by the same nurse who had taken it off in the first place, and soon brings back a basin filled with what looks like soap and water. It’s placed halfway underneath your bed, waiting for your right leg as you slowly shift over to the edge.

The water’s warm, the perfect temperature against skin that hasn’t even seen the sun in four weeks. You can practically see the dead cells falling off into the water, leaving your much cleaner, length of fur in it’s wake.

Right after, the nurses wrap your leg in another set of bandages, not nearly as thick as the cast had been. The thin layer of brown fabric wraps tight around the limb, twice around your upper thigh, down to your calves and back up again. There’s an empty space right over your knee, enough room for you to bend it, even though you can’t find the energy to.

“You’ll have to do quite a bit of physical therapy to get back to your daily life, nothing too strenuous. We can start now with a short session, if you’d like.”

You’re nodding before the doctor can even finish speaking, eager for the chance to finally get yourself moving again. A pair of crutches are already waiting by the door, in the hands of one of the nurses, the pads finding their way under your armpits in just a few seconds. These ones are actually yours, you don’t need to steal them from anyone, the memory of what you did scalding the skin of your cheeks.

You can feel the burn of your thighs as you stand up, weeks of inactivity weighing heavy on your bones. Thanks to the experience you got from your failed escape attempt, using the crutches isn’t something you struggle with, especially since there’s no longer a cinder block attached to your leg.

The nurse takes you down to what looks like a combination of a gym and a dance studio, several pieces of exercise equipment scattered around, along with a separate area with yoga mats, balance balls and a long wooden railing that runs along that area’s wall. That’s where your headed, the click clack of your crutches against the wood floor echoing through the empty room.

You don’t have to do anything too complicated, at least from the instructions you’re given; Two hands against the wall, your wrapped knee in front of you with the other pressed against the floor behind you. You’re meant to bend forwards on your sprained knee as much as you can manage, and even though the nurse says there’s no pressure to stretch all the way, you refuse to back down.

Curls, leg extensions, leg raises are all you’re doing continuously for ten minutes, your lips pressed tightly together to prevent any pained hisses that try to escape. The brief bit of exercise is taking a toll on you, embarrassingly enough, droves of sweat running down your back, melting into the fabric of your hospital gown.

But you can’t bring yourself to stop, it somehow feels depressing and invigorating to start over again, learn how to move your muscles the way you used to. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the nurse with you try to speak up a few times, most likely to stop you, worried you’ll sprain your leg all over again. The naked excitement she spots on your face with every extra movement stops her each time.

“You’re doing good.”

Your head snaps up towards the door, immediately locking on the person stalking towards you now. Loki shines a small smile at the nurse standing a bit away from you, giving you a less than polite smirk. You watch him crouch down next to where you’re stretching on the floor, poking a nail into your upper arm he’s right next to.

“Thanks.”

“Need any help?”

He stretches out a hand to you then, as if to drag you up from where you are, but you don’t take it. You can already see the grin forming on his face in contrast to the frown forming on yours, your eyes shifting once towards the nurse before they’re back on him.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to help.”

Both of you stare down the nurse still standing a while away from you at the same time, both with different intentions swirling around in your eyes. She jumps a little under your gazes, adjusting the clipboard in her hands before showing you a nervous smile.

“Therapy sessions are usually done by staff-”

“Exactly.” You don’t even wait for her to finish speaking, turning back to Loki with a victorious smirk plastered across your maw. That brief victory is stolen from right under your feet when the nurse pipes up, clearing her throat to get your attention again.

“But we encourage having friends or family around during sessions. It usually helps patients recover quicker.”

It’s Loki’s turn to rub his victory in your face now, not even needing to say anything before you’re glaring at him. His hand is still stretched out for you to take, a silent insult to the dignity you’re still trying to hold onto.

“We’ve been over this, I said I would help.”

That actually makes you stop an think, but it still doesn’t make you want to reach your hand out and take his. You don’t know how to explain taking help from anyone feels like a failure on your part, let alone from someone you were fighting with just a few weeks ago, and you still haven’t fully gotten used to sitting around like this with him.

“Well.. I still don’t trust yo-”

“I’m not looking down on you.” The sentence cuts through yours like paper, spreading a silence that nearly wraps it’s hands around your neck and chokes you. Loki seems completely undisturbed, both by the tense silence and the words you’d just tried to utter.

“And I don’t think you’re weak, I never will. That’s beneath me.”

For all the big game he’d talked just a second ago, the only thing Loki does is help you balance when you need it. If you’re against the wall then he has a hand constantly pointing out flaws in your posture, like a trainer. When you’re trying to stretch up right, his arm’s hovering over the small of your back, pushing you back into position every time you fall. You’ve been here for fifteen minutes now, five minutes more than your nurse would’ve liked you to be here judging by the look on her face. She’s just about to suggest you head back to your room, you can tell, when another nurse sticks their head into the room, calling her away before she can even get a word out.

She turns towards both of you with an apologetic smile, promising she’ll be back in five seconds. Technically, you don’t have any more stretches to do, you can wait on the floor till she comes back, but that doesn’t translate to Loki who starts shifting towards your position. You try to tell him he doesn’t have to do anything, but he refuses to listen, aligning himself behind where you’re sitting.

His right hand hovers over your knee in a silent ask for permission that you give him soon after. The warmth of his palm burns against the back of your leg as he starts to lift it, his ears leaning down towards your direction for any low grunts you let slip. He’s too close to you; But you can’t do anything about it when you’re focused on your thighs aching in their new positions.

He does it over and over again, letting your knee settle back into it’s default position before bringing it back up again. When you curl against the pain, he goes down with you, wrapping an arm tight around your waist to pull you up when you stay down for too long.

Each curl bears down harder on your bones, the sweat coating your forehead dripping down steady towards your chin, your tail is wound tight around Loki’s arm, a gesture that happens so quickly it almost feels natural.

“Agh!”

After what feels like hours, you’ve had enough, finally gaining the strength to push at Loki’s chest, shifting him far away enough for you to shuffle away on your good leg. He lets you go, you're certain with a smirk on his face but you’re too embarrassed to turn back and check. Waiting for the nurse to come back isn’t an option, your crutches back under your arms in less than a second.

…

Heading back to your room is a lot harder when Loki is behind you every step of the way, his gaze burning into the back of your head while you hobble through the hospital. He never steps a foot ahead of you, either as a way to bully you or make sure you don’t topple over in shame, you’re not sure. All you can think of is the sense of relief burning in your chest as your room comes into view, the silence of your abode never sounded so good.

Your body collapses against the sheets the second you’re close enough, your knee hitting the edge of the bed, but you're too tired to even wince in pain. You hear the door shut a few seconds after you keel over, the sound forcing you to shift your head sideways, staring up at him as he stands over your form.

“Visiting hours are over for you. Go home.”

You frown at the sharp laugh he gives you in response, a genuine one from how hard he doubles over. The annoyed blush hovering over your cheeks only makes him laugh harder, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eyes as he stands back up.

“Aww, are you shy? Did I embarrass you?”

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!”

Your shoddy defence doesn’t do anything to help your case, the sheets meeting your face and doing a great job of blocking out whatever mockery Loki throws your way. You can still hear him shuffling around the room, refusing to sit as if he’s actually planning to listen to you and leave.

“And I thought we were getting closer.” That makes you look up again, the irritation coating your features not even enough to shut him up. “I spent a whole month with you and you still can’t stand me? I think you’re the problem, my plan couldn’t have failed.”

“Plan my ass, is that why you’ve been giving me those stupid flowers?”

The amusement on Loki’s face dies almost immediately, replaced by this shifty guilt that’s about to start making you laugh. He’s trying to play it off, but the way he’s looking at you now feels like you’ve caught him in some trap. You give the look he’s showing you a lazy shrug, propping your head up with your hands so you’re looking at him properly.

“It was pretty obvious.”

The room goes silent for the first time in a while, a solid second of peace that your ears treasure dearly. Both of you end up staring at the flowers at the same time unintentionally, it should be wilting a little by now, considering you got them about a week ago, but they seem to be glowing brighter than ever.

“Do you mind?”

That gets another shrug out of you, your views of the room switching to the ceiling as you flop onto your back. “I don’t really care, I still like them.”

Another bout of silence takes over the room, so much so that for a second, you think both of you aren’t even breathing. Something in the air has changed, you can’t place it exactly, but you blame whatever’s floating around for how willing you are to speak up again.

“..I don’t hate you as much as I did a month ago. You’re not that bad.. sometimes.”

“That’s it?” It sounds sharp, but there’s a softer tone to Loki’s voice, one that you hate you managed to pick up on so quickly. The end of his question fades into a light, breathy laugh that makes your ears perk up.

“That’s all you get. Be grateful.”

Even as you say that, the only thing you’re grateful for is the silence that attaches itself to the end of your sentence, giving you the chance to flop your head back into the pillows, relishing the soft, cool material against your warm cheeks.

“Well I don’t hate you at all.”

That brings your head back up, not high enough to make your neck hurt, but a simple twist to the side, pushing your face up to meet where he stands over you.

“You’re the only one who thought we were rivals. I was nice to you from the beginning, because I wanted to be.”

Hearing it out loud does more to your psyche than you’d expected, mostly because it feels like you’ve just suffered the biggest humiliation you can think of. It’s not like this is your first time hearing it, your teammates had spent days trying to convince you your rivalry was one sided, you ignored them because you assumed it was a ploy to make you feel better about yourself. The humiliation burns hot on your face, and your default reaction is to try and embarrass him too.

“Aww, so what? Are you saying you like me?”

The mockery is obviously done in a high pitched voice that you hope does more damage to Loki than it does to your dignity, and thankfully for you, it does. His expression collapses in a second, into this offended shame that you don’t even get to wallow in, a heavy hand pushing your head back into the pillows. From the corner of your eye you watch Loki pace around the room, barely stopping to pick up his gym bag before he’s right in front of the door.

You allow yourself one last laugh before turning over in bed, eyelids already fluttering closed. The sound of footsteps advancing towards your bed waking you back up. You stare up at Loki as he stands over your bed, questioning look obvious in your eyes.

He ignores whatever you try to ask him, hand shooting out towards the hem of your hospital gown, pulling you towards him in a split second. Your lips meet in a kiss that’s somehow gentle and rough at the same time. Absolute shock keeps you stuck in that position until Loki lets go of you, his figure ducking out behind the door before you realise what just happened.

Another two weeks of being in the hospital and you would say this is the best you’ve ever felt. You refuse to sit down for longer than forty five minutes; If you’re not down in the physical therapy studio, then you’re outside taking a walk in the hospital courtyard, or you’re doing your own makeshift stretches in your room.

The constant movement initially made your doctor and nurses nervous, but now they don’t even blink twice when they see you rushing around. You’re making the perfect amount of progress, straight down the right path according to your doctor. Obviously, you’ll still need to dial it back for a bit longer before you can get back to the field, and even then you’re certain your coach will have you on a strict, easy-going schedule. Thinking about how slow you’re going to have to take things doesn’t fill you with as much dread as it used to, so you also count that as another bit of progress for yourself.

Being in your empty room for too long starts to make your mind wander, specifically to the last time you’d seen Loki. You haven’t even spotted an inch of his fur in the hospital since that day. You can’t imagine him being the type to get embarrassed easily, and it’s not like you’re going to hit him for kissing you, that moment’s already passed.

For the first few days after that one, you couldn't stop thinking about that kiss, no matter how hard you tried to pull your hair out. At first, you convinced yourself it was a joke, it had to be, an impulsive reaction to how hard you’d teased him. But once you started trying to rationalise it, your mind opened more and more.

If someone tried to insinuate you liked someone you didn’t, you would just brush it off, especially if it was someone you had a complicated relationship with. Kissing the person in retaliation isn’t an option that would even make it’s way into your mind, which only meant one thing.

Julien Loki actually liked you.

It only got worse from there; You started wondering when he started liking you, was it when you first met? Or was it something about him decimating you on the field time and time again that made you more attractive? For one stupid second, you’d even wondered why he hadn’t told you, just for a second, before that line of thought was shut down immediately. Just hearing Loki’s name a month ago would send you into a rage, you think even he knows if he’d said anything about it he would’ve gotten attacked.

…

You’re being discharged today. After what feels like an eternity of sitting in one place, then an even longer time trying to recover, and that part isn’t even over yet, you finally get to leave. A part of you wants to set aside some money to buy a few gifts for the nurses on your floor, just as a small token for dealing with your bullshit. You decide you’ll get that sorted when you finally spend a few days away from this place, you need your sanity back.

Your football tracksuit is strewn across the bed, the jacket settling on your shoulders with a comfort you didn’t even know it could possess. It’s been so long since you’ve worn athletic wear, having a hospital gown on all the time made you realise how much you missed a loose pair of sweats and a simple jacket. You remind yourself to send your coach a thank you message, he’s the only reason you have a nice change of clothes and your gym bag sitting with you now.

The zipper on your jacket gets stuck a few times, but other than that, changing barely takes you anytime at all. You’re just about to pocket your phone and start leaving, when the sharp clack of the room door opening and closing shoots past your ears. You move to start arranging the bed, convinced it’s a cleaner here to arrange your less than stellar looking room.

It’s not one of the cleaners, you realise that when you finally turn around, the apology you had waiting on the tip of your tongue gets swallowed back down.

It’s Loki, standing right behind you with his hands in his pockets. Both of you are dressed the same, aside from the colour of your tracksuits, almost as if you’re on the same team. A brief look of surprise crosses your features, but it’s gone before he can even begin to point it out.

“Oh wow, you mean you’re not dead?”

You don’t look at him long enough to see the face he gives as a response, but you can almost hear the rustle of his jacket as he shrugs his shoulders.

“No. You must be upset.”

“Not really.”

The sound of your bed sheets rustling around as you try to make your bed look presentable echoes around the room, but you can still hear the energy in the room shift, you just decide not to focus on what it shifts into.

“Did you miss me?”

You try not to let your heart race a beat faster than it should, or your mind wander somewhere you don’t want it to. Your voice comes out right without a single crack, something you had to go through an internal fight to accomplish.

“Maybe. What were you doing?”

“Stuff.”

The conversation fades into a simple silence, and you let it go on for as long as it takes for you to adjust your jacket one last time, leaving the bed to go around picking the cards and gifts you’d left lying around. You place them in your gym bag, with enough care to make sure the corners don’t even have a chance to crease. That’s when you’re satisfied enough to fully turn to Loki, coming face to face with the slight uncertainty hovering in his eyes.

“You still owe me a few more training sessions.”

“Sure, if you’re still up for it.”

For the first time today, a genuine smile crosses your face, though you’re certain it must look predatory instead. You lean in closer to him, just enough to make him want to step back before he rethinks that decision.

“You say that like I won’t. Why? Because you kissed me?”

You have to be honest with yourself, the feeling sitting heavy at the bottom of your gut isn’t something you can put a positive name on. The last two days were already wasted on you trying to do so, accepting it is way easier. The fact that Loki likes you makes you happy because it’s the only bit you feel like you have over him, someone you thought was completely unattainable, so far from you in the skill gap you almost thought he wasn’t human. Maybe that sliver of superiority you think you have will turn into something nice one day, maybe it won’t, you can’t bring yourself to think about that now.

Your question keeps him silent long enough to give you the opportunity to reach out and grab him, your nails digging deep into the fabric of his tracksuit, pulling him in before he can pull away first, if he even wants to. Your lips crash together in a kiss that seems more like a battle than affection. You can see Loki’s eyes widen just a little, before they flutter shut, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. The kiss tastes a lot sweeter than last time, maybe because you’re the one in control, but you still manage to push him away before anything else happens.

“Tell me before you do shit like that next time.”

He tries to reach an arm out to stop your journey, most likely to drag you back in but you weave around it, trailing an easy path towards the door. You turn to look at him one last time, the smug smile spread across your face a heavy contrast to the slightly dazed look on his. You take back what you thought earlier, running around freely on the field, scoring a goal against any team, none of that can compare to this. You’ve never felt more victorious than you do in this moment.

“I’ll see you on the field.”

That doesn’t mean your family isn’t doing everything in their power to gain more notoriety. It’s amazing sometimes, how fast your parents can weasel themselves into any conversation, as long as it involves a higher ranking clan. Every time they do it you wonder how they come out unscathed. It’s a shame you haven’t inherited any of their sweet talking skills, all of that usefulness was spent on your sister instead.

Your parents would never say it out loud in your presence, but you’re of little use to the clan; You possess none of the skills a good clan leader would need, from when you were younger till now, you’ve never associated yourself with any of the children of prestigious clans, at least not enough to benefit your own family. The only thing you’re good for is taking orders, and staying quiet long enough to receive your next ones.

Which is where the Itoshi clan came in.

A clan with enough history to date back to before your family’s clan was even created, enough notoriety to strike fear in the hearts of any beastman that hears of them. There isn’t a single household under the owl beastman heritage that doesn’t know that name. They’ve single handedly produced heirs with enough talent to put any bird of prey to shame. And today you’ll be joining them, the household name attached to yours in marriage alone.

You’re being sold off, that’s the long and short of it, but to your parents this is the opportunity of a lifetime, a way to finally put their worthless other child to use. Your parents must’ve been out of their mind, sending a marriage alliance off to one of the most notable clans in the area, and yet their madness had gotten them what they wanted.

You’ve seen Itoshi Sae at every clan meeting you’ve been allowed to go to, but you’ve never said anything more than a few perfunctory words to him, partly because of your inability to hold a conversation, and mostly because of his known temper. The only reason you can think of as to why he’d accept the proposal is your family’s neutral position, your trade routes and posts enough for anyone to covet. Either that, or he had a thing for avoidant types because he’d accepted your parent’s proposal two days after they sent it.

“My Liege?”

The sound of a meek chirp coming from your right snaps you back to reality, your thoughts fading before your very eyes as the wood of your vanity greets you first. You look up to see who called your name, coming face to face with one of your mother’s servants, holding a soft velvet box up to your face. It’s filled with jewellery, mostly headpieces your mother has garnered over the years, small silver trinkets that are meant to go with the snowy white of your wedding robes. She’s smiling brightly at you, the corners of her beak tilting up into a subservient grin, a lot happier than you are on your own wedding day.

“Which one would you like to wear?”

You wonder why she even asked.

The most prominent headpiece is to your right, it’s milky pearls and perfectly cut diamonds coming together in an intricate piece that you recognise; It’s a family heirloom. Your great grandmother had it made for her husband when he married into her family, the silver pendant in front with your clan’s crest engraved into it was added on by your grandfather. Your mother had practically redone the whole piece for her own wedding, but you weren’t even allowed to touch it. This was technically the first time you’d seen it up close.

The one right next to it pales in comparison, plain silver wiring that loops over each other, finishing off in a massive loop that’s meant to hang over your forehead, the gem buried in that loop the same colour as your eyes.

There’s a very obvious choice between the two, so obvious it actually takes you a while to speak up, or even point at one. The maids attending to your hair are starting to slow down, wondering what’s taking you so long, the servant still holding onto the jewellery case is clearly getting tired, her hands trembling faintly under the weight of the wooden box.

You don’t know if its the general commotion of today that’s making you less than reasonable, or if this is some shallow act of rebellion, but you find your fingers gravitating towards the simpler looking band, the metal cool underneath your feathers. The maids looks surprised, but quickly take the band off your hands, clipping it around your hairline before stepping away to admire their handy work.

From an objective point of view, you look stunning. Your lightly coloured kimono flows freely over your shoulders, bunching and twisting in the right places, floating softly until it reaches the wood beneath your feet. It’s a perfect contrast to the pallor of your feathers, making you stick out even more. The neatly tied red string bow hanging over your chest swaying with every move you make. Your hair is slicked back so tight it almost blends into the back of your head, the jewellery adorning your hands and head refracting under the sunlight streaming into your room.

As beautiful as it is, none of it was your choice. Every single thing down to the thread that holds your kimono together was chosen by your mother, even the headpiece you’d pointed at had been something she allowed to be presented to you. The thought doesn’t phase you, if your marriage had progressed under happier circumstances maybe you would’ve been allowed to create your own perfect day.

You watch the maids trail out one by one, giving you polite bows before they’re gone. Soon, you’re left with only the sound of your own thoughts, mixing with the anxiety settled in your chest. A wave of fresh air floats in from the open window in your room, lifting the sleeves of your kimono, relaxing you enough to force your spine out of its ram rod position, your lungs taking in a deep breath for the first time today. You haven’t had a moment to yourself since the second you woke up, you’re surprised you haven’t lost your mind yet.

Your moment of peace doesn’t last long enough for your liking, the slam of your room’s door against its frame jolting you back into position. There’s only one person that can storm around the house like that, especially on a day like this. Your mother’s anxious face shifts into the mirror of your vanity right after, the crease between her eyebrows easing a little as she gives you a cautious once over.

She starts fussing over you immediately, her limbs flailing into a blur as she pulls the belt around your waist tighter, muttering to herself while you just sit there, letting her adjust as much as she can until she’s satisfied. Her hands find your chin soon after, talons digging into the skin as she crouches down to your level, eyeing herself in your mirror.

“And for goodness sake, will you smile?”

Her hands fall off your chin when you give her a smile wide enough to split your face, though to you it looks more like a grimace.Your mother shifts herself to your back, giving your shoulders a small pat before her hands are back in your hair, fingers stroking the feathers at your neck in the process. Silence passes in the space around you both, almost making the moment feel tender, a mother’s last moment with her child before they’re married off. It would’ve mattered more if she was actually a good mother.

“You know how important this union is for our family.”

“Yes, Mother..”

The satisfied trill she lets out relaxes your shoulders just a bit, but they’re back up to your ears when you feel her yank at the headpiece still hanging between your eyes, gaining a pained hiss from you. She drags it off your head, throwing it into the corner of your room with an obvious disgust, reaching over to open the jewellery box still on your vanity, picking out your great grandmother’s headpiece with ease.

“Then you should know better than picking out tacky things like that. The one freedom I give you and this is what you do..”

Your mother’s hands are gentle, even with how harsh her words are. The pendant of your heirloom feels cool against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, it also feels unnatural. You know your mother wanted to give this to your sister instead, the perfect child getting an heirloom passed down between generational leaders when she finally gets married. It’s a shame she refused, or at least that must be what your mother thinks.

You’re out of your chair before the headpiece can even click around your head, your shoes slapping a rapid rhythm into the wood of your house hallways. The house is mainly empty, you imagine everyone of importance is already in the main hall while all the servants have been relegated to their quarters.

Your father’s waiting in front of the shrine doors, arm already outstretched to take you down the aisle. Your mother passes you off to him with a careful look, giving you one last fake smile before she’s off into the hall. The only recognition you get from your father is a small nod, his hands reaching up to pull the hem of your kimono once more. You weren’t expecting anything else but the minimal reaction still makes you feel like you want to cry, or maybe it was the wedding nerves.

The doors swing open with a heavy creak, signalling your arrival as a chorus of string instruments mix together in the air to make your wedding march. Everyone turns to look at you and your father as you make your way down the room, their gazes zeroing in on the cloth you’re draped in, envy coating every gaze that burrows into your face.

Your clan members line the right side of the hall, kneeling in their respective seats, unbridled greed and ecstasy creasing their beaks. The rest of the hall is filled with members of the Itoshi clan, their postures rigid, a lot of them looking like they’d rather be anywhere but here.

You can spot your sister’s sturdy back from where you are, her head barely turning to register your journey through the room. She’s dressed just as intricately, if not more than you, the neatly woven fabrics folded over her shoulders an obvious display of her rank to everyone else. In another life perhaps she would’ve been waiting for you by the altar, readily accepting the part of her role that required handing you over.

It takes you a while to actually face the man standing down the end of the aisle, but when you do, it feels like your breath leaves you for a second too long. He’s everything you’d expect a clan leader to be; Serious looking, quiet, his presence alone enough to silence a room. He’s also in traditional clothing; Dark green haori bright against his rusty brown feathers, his family’s crest pinned to the front of his light cream belt. The bottom of his pleated trousers sweep the floor, shifting just an inch as he turns in your direction.

Your husband to be.

By the time you’re being handed off, your father’s face has morphed into a placid smile, his spine bending just a little, almost subconsciously in the face of real power. You grab onto Sae’s arm like a lifeline, nearly jumping at the gentle squeeze he gives your hand. For a second, you almost think you imagined it, but the ceremony starts too quickly for you to think about it.

The ceremony passes a lot quicker than you expected it to, but at the same time, there’s not a lot for you to do either way. You stand perfectly still as the officiant purifies the altar, the feeling of salt against your carefully styled hair an uncomfortable one. The sake drinking is easy enough for you, the nectar hidden in each small, medium sized, and large cups sliding down your throat. It feels like your legs are trembling afterwards, your body unstable over the wood of the shrine floor, but the hand Sae still has over yours keeps you steady enough.

Your clan members are the only ones who readily attend the banquet afterwards, drinking glass after glass, making toasts to you and your new husband. You changed a while ago, immediately after the main ceremony, into a lighter, more colourful looking kimono, thankfully with not as much jewellery hanging over your skin. Your hand is still tightly clasped in the grip of your new husband, a helpful anchor as you sit through the never ending event, though it doesn’t distract you from hearing the sounds of your things being packed into the carriage outside.

Your family doesn’t waste time on unnecessary goodbyes, your sister and father giving you small pats on the back while your mother opts for a hug, complete with tears, though you know it’s more for appearances than it is for you. You make it into the wooden carriage first, a careful hand from Sae before he climbs in with you.

…

The ride over is mostly silent, punctuated by the creak of the carriage’s wheels as it forces itself over stones and rough paths. You only know you’re there because the Itoshi household is massive, a solid block of upright houses and spacious rooms, surrounded by a heavy looking gate. The servants of their clan, clad in dark, layered kimonos work faster than your own servants had, hustling your things to a part of the house you can’t see. You’re carded off soon after you emerge from the carriage, towards the back of the massive area.

The home you’re led into is bigger than your abode back home, not as massive as the main house but still big enough for you to stare. It’s clear this is meant to be your marital property, the room too big for just one person. You let the servants manoeuvre you around the room, bathing you in lavender scented soaps before dressing you in fabric softer than you’ve ever felt before. They don’t stay too long, filing out of the sliding doors with a quiet flourish, leaving you to your own company.

Seconds, minutes, close to three hours pass you by and you’re still sitting there, kneeling on the part of the futon you plan to sleep on, hands neatly folded into your lap. You had as much expectations for your wedding night, as you did for the wedding itself; It was just going to be something you had to get through, for the sake of your family’s reputation and yours. The least you expected Sae to do was come into the room and lay down beside you, even if you didn’t do anything, just him stepping inside after you would quell any embarrassing rumours. You can feel your legs cramping underneath you, making it even harder to shuffle out of your position when you finally decide to get up. The house is completely unfamiliar to you, and there’s no doubt you will get lost, but you’d rather get lost looking for your husband than sit still in this room.

Your witch hunt is quickly thwarted by a solid barrier right outside the door, which wouldn’t have been a problem if said wall didn’t let out a muffled grunt, a firm pair of arms wrapping themselves around your shoulders in an effort to stop you from falling. The man you're looking for is right in front of you, his previously slicked up hair now falling over his eyes, his ceremonial robes switched out for a lighter kimono, though not in colour.

“..Why are you still awake?”

Those are the first words he’s spoken to you today, and the matter of fact tone he uses almost makes you want to flinch, but the small crease of his eyebrows adds a worry you can’t seem to ignore.

“I was waiting for you..” You push yourself off his chest, now aware of how close the two of you are. He shifts backwards as well, letting his arms fall to his sides as he studies you carefully. You think you can see a bit of guilt settling over his irises, but it's gone in about a second.

“You shouldn’t do that anymore, I usually come to bed late.”

As he says this, Sae shuffles closer and closer to where you’re standing, emboldened by the fact that you haven't moved away by now. You let him get as close as possible, almost leaning into the touch he lands on your cheek. His feathers feel soft against yours, a small comfort you find yourself wanting to cherish.

“Don’t stay up because of me.”

The silence that wraps around you both is your cue to go back to bed, something deep in your mind letting out a disgruntled whine as Sae’s hand falls away from your face. You don’t hear any sounds that might indicate him leaving as you stalk towards the futon lying in the centre of the room, his presence still noticeable even with your body under the covers. The last thing your ears pick up on is the soft thud of the door hitting its own frame, layered over by a small sigh and the gentle, retreating sound of sandals against wood.

Back home, one week would’ve given you the opportunity to read through your house’s whole library, it would’ve given you the chance to work on your flower arrangements or calligraphy. You would've spent that week ambling around the house, subtly avoiding your parents enough to have a quiet moment to yourself.

In your new home, a week has shown you signs of obvious mistreatment.

A warm welcome wasn’t something you expected to receive from this marriage alliance, especially not a few days after you just arrived. But you would be blind if you didn’t see the blatant disrespect happening right in front of you. It's not coming from any of the clan members, you don’t encounter them often enough to get any backlash, but the servants that overlook your daily life.

It’s in the tiny things they do, almost unnoticeable so you can’t complain to anyone else. If you choose to eat in your room then that comes with the servants having to bring it in at least an hour late, their heads constantly bowed in apology every time it happens, but the apology never seems any more genuine; You never get more than a sideways glance as a greeting in the hallways, even as your marriage makes you the clan’s second in command by proxy, some servants even make it their mission to bump into you as they pass by, though it's gotten to the point where you can't prove it’s intentional.

This behaviour isn’t foreign to you, maybe that’s why you spotted it about three days in. The servants back in your clan home used to do the same thing, when you were too young to call them out on it.

When it was less obvious your sister would end up taking over the clan, your parents used to test the both of you. They started out as theoretical tests first, questions to test your economic knowledge, appraise how quickly either of you could come to a decision that would still positively impact the clan. You never scored perfectly enough to solidify your position, but you never explicitly failed either. The tests only ramped up in difficulty the older you two got, and at some point you stopped being able to keep up. Everything changed the day your sister pointed out a flaw in your clan’s trading routes, essentially saving half of its members from falling into another clan’s trap. You watched all the love, affection, resources you’d gotten used to having melt from underneath your feet that day, all of it directed towards your sister instead.

It had taken your parents a few days to start forgetting you existed, the servants took two seconds. Their treatment of you was far worse than what you’ve seen here, it’s the only reason you haven't been bothered enough to complain.

The only one you’ve come to tolerate is your personal maid, a small thing called Mai. She's essentially a fledgeling to you, her light sandy beige feathers always a stark contrast to your darker ones, letting you know where she is no matter what. She’s not that much younger than you, far more energetic, but possesses a worse tolerance for misbehaviour.

If the kitchen starts to slack, she’s the first one to storm out of your room, coming back minutes later with a full tray for you. Once she hears any of the other servants speak a negative word about you, it’s hard to hold her back from retaliating. You’ve told her numerous times, people like that only gain satisfaction once you give them a response. She never wants to listen.

…

The sun spreads its light nicely over the courtyard, illuminating every blade of grass that sways gently in the wind, reflecting the light of each flowers into your irises. When you have nothing to do, you’ve deemed every day as the perfect day for a walk, but this one is different. You couldn’t let this weather pass without milling about the house. You've been cooped up in your room too long, a combination of idleness and irritation at the servants still breathing down your neck had kept you within the confines of your bed.

As sad as it is to admit, every step you take through the meadows marks the highlight of your week. You’ve honestly started missing home, at least you had the luxury of roaming around the courtyard without having to watch out for anyone but your sister and her personal maids. Between hell and a hard place, you’d much rather the hell of being ignored at home.

Mai trails behind you like a curious puppy, skipping two steps for every one you take, rambling her head off about something you haven’t been paying attention to. You give her quiet hums and brief nods from time to time, enough to encourage her to keep talking. You might not be listening to what she's talking about but you like the sound of her cheery voice, it echoes nicely in the space around you.

The two of you have been walking for a while now, your leisurely pace preventing you from getting tired anytime soon. You feel the space between your eyebrows crease, as the sound of Mai’s bright laughter is cut off by a shrill cackle spreading through the morning sun. It’s a group of cleaning room maids, the heavy buckets attached to their hips and lighter colour of their kimonos signalling their rank. They’re rapidly approaching where you’re walking, their gazes trained on each other as they gossip amongst themselves. If they notice either you or Mai, they don’t make it obvious.

You find yourself shifting out of their way, already anticipating one of them bumping into you, but even that doesn’t save you from the shoulder the closest maid slams into yours. On a regular day, you would’ve stumbled against the force, only for a second before picking yourself back up.

This time, one of the ladies hits you so hard it sends you sprawling into the grass before either you or Mai can react. Your wrist twists painfully where it makes contact with the grass, drawing a pained yelp from you and a panicked cry from Mai. The limb is still giving off an agonising burn when Mai crouches down beside you, practically crying as she takes your arm into her own. The skin is inflamed underneath your feathers, turning to a dark, bruising purple the longer you sit there. Mai glares at the retreating backs of the maids, before turning back to you with a pleading frown, cradling your arm close to her chest.

“Please my liege… please you have to tell the Master about this!”

Contrary to Mai’s solemn please, you don’t rush off to meet Sae the second you’re out of her sight, even if what she said does make sense. Yesterday was deliberate, you could’ve built a house in the amount of space you created between that maid and yourself, yet she still went out of her way to push you. The pain had almost blinded you but even then you hadn’t heard a single word of apology. If you kept letting this go on, no one knows what the servants would do to you next. Even with that knowledge, the thought of running off to Sae just to cry to him less than a month after your marriage makes the feathers at your neck ruffle in embarrassment.

You don’t know exactly where you're going, but you managed to get the general idea from a maid you passed about five minutes ago, one finally kind enough to give you directions. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst in your chest, your mind coming up with different scenarios where you miss him right as you arrive at his room, though you try to push them away.

Two more turns down long winding hallways and you’re there, at least you think you are. You don’t know exactly which room it is, and you haven’t convinced yourself checking each room until you find the right one is a good idea yet. Luckily for you, you don’t have to stand there thinking for too long.

Rin shuffles out of the room closest to you a second later, shock briefly crossing his features before it settles into a calm recognition. You feel bad for a bit, judging from the small book nestled in his hands it looks like he was heading somewhere important. Regardless of that, you quirk your beak up into a sheepish smile, shifting closer to his room.

“Hey, it’s been a while.. can I come in?”

He stares at you long enough to make you regret coming here in the first place, before trudging back into the dimly lit room behind him, leaving the door open for you to stalk through. You’re lucky Rin is in a good enough mood to tolerate you this morning, that and a small part of you thinks it’s just him finally accepting you as a friend.

Compared to the total two conversations you had with Sae before your wedding, you spoke to his brother much more often. About three meetings in you found that the two of you had more in common than you thought, and once you managed to subvert his icy disposition, talking to him became much easier. Now it feels like the awkwardness has come back, you went from being an acquaintance just a week ago, to having him as your brother in law.

“I haven’t seen you since the last gathering..”

You breathe out a small laugh, folding your arms behind you as you trail around the room. “It happens, plus I’ve been too busy getting married. That and I’m trying to convince your brother to hang around his own spouse.”

Even in the darkness you see the corners of Rin’s beak rise into a knowing smirk, at least the two of you can now bond over his brother’s emotional constipation. You watch him shuffle about the room, cleaning up items on the small table a few steps away from you.

“Mhm? And how much luck are you having with that?”

“None.”

He nods like he already knew the answer to his own question, gesturing vaguely to the table he’s just arranged before skulking off to another corner. You take the seat immediately, grateful for the opportunity to sit on a pillow more comfortable than anything in your own room. The room is exactly what you’d expect from him, the floorboards barely illuminated by the tightly shut windows. Every bit of wood is the same dark branch, almost blending into the shadows of every corner.

Aside from that, the room is massive. You’d expect an heir to a clan this important to have a suitable room, but it still shocks you. It makes you wonder what Sae’s room would look like, though you don’t think for too long. The empty spaces between furniture are filled with tapestries; Mountains, landscapes, paintings inked onto cloth with an absurd amount of detail.

Rin comes back into the room before you can look around anymore, balancing a wooden board and two bowls in his hands. You recognise the craftsmanship once he sets it down, carefully placing one bowl in front of you while the other stays by his right hand. It’s a game you remember mentioning a few times, mainly because you were used to playing it back home, mostly by yourself. He hadn’t even mentioned getting the game himself.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall into a rhythm, with you thinking harder before you place your black, pebble shaped pieces on the board while Rin places his white ones wherever, somehow still counteracting your moves. Silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, relaxing your body into the pillow beneath your knees.

This was one of the things you liked about talking to Rin, you could enjoy his company in complete silence and it still wouldn’t be awkward. The silence is almost therapeutic for you. At some point, your attention snaps back to reality when you hear him call out to a passing servant, sending them off to brew tea for the two of you.

“There's something you want to say, spit it out.”

it's been an hour now since you two started playing, about a dozen of your pieces scattered across the beige wooden board. You look at him then, one of your pieces still clutched tightly in your hand where it rests under your chin. you find yourself hesitating for just a second, the thought of complaining to someone younger than you enough to make you embarrassed all over again, but at the same time, Rin is the only one with enough influence that you can talk to right now.

“It's nothing, I'm fine.”

“If you don't tell me, I won't ask again. You're better off speaking up now”

That makes you sigh. You already know he means it, and unless you’re looking to injure yourself again, this is really your best chance. The words come out slow at first, your mind still trying to censor the worst parts, you still didn’t want to get anyone in too much trouble, but the longer you speak, the easier it is to admit what’s been happening to you. By the time you’re finished rambling, the look on Rin’s face has morphed from indifference to a quiet rage. Most of it is clearly directed at the servants relegated to your quarters, but you can tell a part of it is directed at you for not mentioning it sooner.

“Does that idiot know?”

The mention of Sae makes your shoulders flinch, and the temperature in the room only drops further when you shake your head no. A heavy sigh falls off your lips, mixing in the air with the steam floating from your tea cup.

“You know the reason why this marriage happened, I don’t expect him to step in for anything that doesn’t affect the clan’s reputation..”

You don’t wait for Rin to call you an idiot before you’re rambling again, putting on a small smile you hope isn’t looking more like a grimace.

“But..if you just speak to the servants on my behalf I’m sure they’ll stop.. please?”

“No.”

He doesn’t even let you finish talking, wiping the pleading smile off your face with one single word. You watch him start packing up the pieces of your game with a tiny frown, even when he refuses to look at you the entire time. Two minutes pass like that, the silence punctuated by the small click clack of the pebbles against their container.

“You should tell him. That idiot would probably do anything you ask.”

It takes you a second to realise what Rin said, it takes you even longer to reconcile his words with the man you haven't seen in close to two weeks since your failed wedding night. Rin ignores the confusion creasing your eyebrows, placing the last of the pebbles in their respective bowls, shutting their lids with a final clack.

“…I don’t think that’s true.”

That draws a scoff from him, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his skull. Clearly he knows something you don’t.

“Well you weren’t there every time we came back from a meeting. I had to listen to him asking stupid questions about you, he wouldn’t stop bringing you up.”

You don’t get to deny it again before the sound of someone knocking on Rin’s room door cuts through your conversation. An attendant steps into the room, bowing slightly before letting Rin know he’s needed elsewhere. That's your cue to leave. In the time it takes you to get out of your kneeling position and get your bearings, Rin has already placed the game back in a cupboard, heading towards the door afterwards. He turns to you one last time, his hand on the door frame, giving you a serious stare.

“Just tell him. And if he doesn't do anything then, I’ll see what I can do.”

He acknowledges the small nod you give him with one of his own, the attendant staying behind to watch as you trudge out of the room and down the hallway you came from. You can’t deny feeling a lot better now that you’ve told someone, but you can’t stop thinking about what Rin said. It would surprise you if it turned out Sae liked you more than he let on, but that was part of the issue, he wasn’t giving you any hints you could latch onto.

The thought never leaves your mind, even as you reach your room, Mai’s worried face crossing your vision. You brush off any questions she asks, refusing to admit you hadn’t actually gone to see Sae, insisting you needed to lay down for a bit until she finally left, abandoning you with the thoughts of your possibly not that negligent husband.

The fabric of your plain white kimono caresses your feathers where they’re resting over your skin, swaying gently in the wind that’s blowing through your open window. It’s too early in the morning, the sun barely rising in the sky that’s still fading from its navy blue into a lighter one. You typically never wake up this early, but this is part of the long list of sacrifices you’ve had to make since the servants have made you their target. If they do waste time getting your bath ready, it should still be early enough to allow you go about your day.

Even as you say that, it’s been close to an hour since you sent the last servant off to get your bath ready. It's the same every time; You send someone away with your orders, receive no updates in return for about ten minutes, until you have to call for another servant all over again.

Mai is starting to get antsy, her talons weaving jagged lines through your hair, whispered assurances falling from her beak clearly meant to calm herself down more than it’s meant for you. She’s been itching for a reason to storm back into the servant’s quarters, just to yell at anyone until they do something. Just like always, you’ve managed to keep her in check so far, but even you are starting to get irritated. There’s a limit to how childish someone can be.

You were already planning to round up as many of the servants in your quarters as you could, finally putting your foot down against their antics. But from what you’ve seen this morning, this was something you should’ve done when all of this first started. The little bit of patience still settled in your chest keeps you sitting at your vanity for a few minutes longer, before you push yourself up, pointing Mai towards your wardrobe.

“Get me a jacket, I’m going outside.”

She rushes off immediately, bringing back a light blue haori that quickly settles over your shoulders. Mai has this impish smile on her face, a stark contrast to the infuriated scowl on yours. You’re just about to tell her to wait for you here when the door sliding into its frame cuts you off. An attendant strolls into the room like she's perfectly on time, barely bowing her head as she addresses you. Your bath is ready now, at least according to her, but the revelation only makes you scoff, your shoulder bumping hers while both you and Mai walk past her.

“It’ll do you some good to knock next time.”

…

With the brutal pace you’ve set it doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of the bath house doors, your hands digging into its grooves as you slam it open. The room is still as big as you remember gawking at the first time you arrived; Light wooden slabs line every surface of the room, leading up to the massive square shaped tub sitting in the middle of the room. A beam of sunlight streams in from the slightly ajar window sitting right behind the tub, a few branches and leaves swaying in from the outside.

There are about five servants standing in two neat lines leading towards the tub, their torsos bending at a steady angle, the buckets they must’ve used to fill the tub sitting in a row behind them. But there's something obviously wrong.

Unlike the last few times you’ve come in here, you aren’t hit by a wave of steam emanating from the hot bath. In fact, the whole room feels like a burial ground, cold and stagnant. You have a feeling you already know what’s going on, but you still stalk towards the wooden tub, settling yourself down on the edge. The water is icy against your feathers, eliciting a small shiver from you.

Your mood plummets again, your eyebrows creasing deep into the middle of your face. You're prepared to turn around and start yelling, you’re even willing to threaten to get Sae involved if it’ll make them stop. But then you hear it. Its a small sound, almost imperceptible. You wouldn’t have heard it had the sound not been coming from right behind your back.

The servant behind you lets out a soft snicker, staring at the look on your face with an undisguised glee.

Something in you snaps in that split second, your hand cracking against the girl’s face as you whip around. The force of the hit sends her tumbling to the bath room floor, her hand coming up to clutch the patch of skin you'd just slapped. The room falls into a shocked silence, even the birds chirping outside have quieted down.It takes the girl a while to realise you actually hit her, her shock morphing into absolute rage when she does.

“And I thought the servants of this household would have more decorum.”

You shake off the feeling in your fingers, trying to pretend the slap hadn’t hurt you too. In an act of mercy, you wait for the girl to get back up before you turn to the rest of them, anger still bleeding through your voice.

“Go back and do what I asked you to do, don’t make me get your master involved.”

The girls move quickly, most likely because of your well deserved outburst, the rapid pitter patter of their shoes against the wood echoing in your skull. The fight drains out of you the second they’re gone, your body slumping to meet the edge of the tub once more while Mai rushes to your side, a hand ghosting over your back. Your head is starting to throb from how high you had to raise your voice, a migraine added to the list of your inconveniences.

It feels like it’s been hours before the servants come back, heavy looking buckets nestled deep in their arms. You breathe out a satisfied hum, steam floating off the buckets’ rim letting you know it's actually hot this time. They file towards the tub, the girl you’d hit standing right at the front of the line. She still looks upset, but there’s a veil of restraint hanging over her features. You turn back to Mai, already opening your mouth to ask her to undress you, when a pressure on your right hand makes you pause.

It burns.

A scalding sensation like bubbling acid pours over your feathers, practically sizzling them down to the bone. Your hand comes up to meet your chest, recoiling from the pain, your eyes zeroing in on the feathers that fall from your skin. Mai lets out a scream that rivals yours, pushing the girls closest to you as she cradles your hand to her face, frantically blowing on the dark red patch that's starting to form amongst your feathers.

You tear your gaze away from the burn mark, and into the eyes of the servant standing over you, the one you’d hit, her bucket tilted over your form, steam still rising from where her water had met your body. There isn’t a speck of remorse on her face, her beak spread into a smug smile that turns the pain shooting through your veins into rage.

“You-”

“What’s going on here?”

The voice that echoes through the silent room is one you almost don’t recognise, a deep baritone hardened by a concerned anger that makes your body shiver. The servants gathered around you stiffen, their bodies quickly folding into ninety degree bows, you can see their shoulders start to shake with a fear that’s most likely reflected on their faces as well.

Your husband stands by the door in all his glory, the light directed at his back shrouding his face in dark shadows, but you can still tell he’s pissed. The fabric of his charcoal grey hakama pants swishes softly as he makes his way towards where you’re crouched against the tub. You can’t take your eyes off him, you don’t even know what to say. All you can do is watch him crouch down right next to you, taking your hand in his with a gentle reverence. His face softens when he stares at the patch of red skin, worry creasing the corners of his eyes. It’s the most, if not any amount of emotion you’ve seen on him.

“Who did this..?”

The question is a lot softer than the tone he’d used just a few seconds ago, it makes your heart thump loudly in your chest, nearly stealing your breath from your lungs. You refuse to look him in the eye, trying to muster up the words to explain what happened, but Mai cuts in first. She also looks like she’s afraid of Sae, but clearly the worry she has for your condition overrides that fear. Both of you watch her point at the still trembling servants, unshed tears shimmering in her light yellow eyes.

“It was them! They’ve been harassing my liege for weeks now!”

The look on Sae’s face darkens the longer Mai keeps rambling, his grip on your hand tightening just enough to make you hiss. He lets go immediately, shooting you an apologetic glance before his gaze is back on the five girls. The temperature in the room drops so drastically it feels like you can see your breath floating in the space in front of you.

“All of you, out. Now.”

A single word from Sae is enough to send them all scrambling, their beaks forming apologies faster than their legs can move. Judging by the look still on his face, you can tell he’s not done with them yet. An involuntary shiver runs down your spine, you almost feel bad for what’s going to happen to those girls, even after all they did.

Without waiting for you to give him permission, Sae turns back to you, ignoring your protests as his arms curl under the back of your legs, lifting you off the tub in one smooth motion. He silences anything you have to say with a small glare, turning to meet Mai’s glistening eyes one more time before both of you are out of the bath house.

“Call the court physician.”

Your trip back to your room is a lot easier when you’re not the one walking, you catch yourself leaning into Sae’s chest several times, the crisp scent coming from his kimono relaxing you even further. At one point you think you see him smirk at the way you lean into him, though it's gone before you can look up again.

He sets you down on the stool still facing your vanity table, shifting it around until you're having him. You let him look at the burn mark again, a part of your heart cutting at the frustrated look he gives it. You can actually stand to look him in the eye this time, confronting the subtle guilt sitting in the darkest parts of his irises.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You hesitate for a bit, not because you don't know the answer to that, but because you're not sure if you can say it out loud. That uncertainty withers under the pressure of Sae’s glare, though you know he’s not angry at you.

“You were busy.. I didn’t think it was important enough to disturb you.”

That draws a sigh out of him, one that forces a hand through his hair as he glances off to the side. It looks like he’s trying to find a response that won’t depress him further. Your shoulders jump a little when he reaches for your hair, but they relax soon after, your cheek leaning in to meet the bottom half of his palm.

“I’m your husband, everything that concerns you is important to me.”

He says it so matter of factly, but it's the first time you’ve heard him acknowledge your marriage in such a soft tone, your stomach practically floating into the clouds while your face starts to feel hot. Your moment is ruined by the arrival of the physician, Mai’s worried face appearing right behind him. In the rush of rubbing salve over the raw skin and bandaging your wounds, Sae shifts further and further to the entrance of your room. You make eye contact with him one last time, something in his gaze telling you he wants to stay, though that might be you making things up.

“I’ll deal with the servants who wronged you. Get some rest.”

“I think this one will look wonderful on you my liege!”

“Nonsense! Wear the blue one, it goes perfectly with your feathers!”

“Don't listen to either of them! Wear this one, the young master will love how it looks on you!”

Your room is the most energetic it’s been since you got here, a cacophony of voices shouting themselves at you all while you sit still at your vanity. Mai has her hands in your hair, twisting each lock into your usual style, clicking her tongue affectionately at the servants bustling around the two of you. There’s at least seven of them, fresh faced fledglings dressed in lightly coloured kimonos, throwing bright smiles in your direction as they try to convince you to pick amongst the varying outfits in their hands.

All of the servants that had worked in your quarters were replaced about two days after the incident in the bath house, their belongings packed and thrown out of the clan in less than a day. You don’t know where most of them ended up, no one wants to tell you anything, but judging from the nervous looks your new servants had given you the first time you asked, you’re guessing they didn’t end up in good places. After a while, you found that you stopped caring. The friendly faces surrounding you now are enough to keep you happy for a lifetime, there’s no point dwelling on the past.

You turn backwards to the cluster of owlets, pointing at the maid holding a light cream kimono with a dark blue haori folded on top, giggling at the excited hoot she lets out. The girls swarm you soon after, exchanging your plain robes for the one you picked out instead, smoothing out every spot and wrinkle, throwing compliments your way the second they’re done.

They do this every day now, the same thing all the time; The second you wake up, at least two of them are already in your room while the rest get your bath ready. They take as long as they want dressing you up for the day, going on and on about how good you look, how much Sae will love you even more once he sees you. The first time you’d made the mistake of insisting your husband didn’t like you as much as they insinuated, you almost went deaf that day because of how hard they’d screeched in your ears.

“We heard it from the master himself! When he brought us in he told us to treat you with the utmost care!”

You stopped arguing with them after that.

Waltzing out of your quarters with the seven owlets in tow, you can’t stop your mind from wandering to the man in question. It feels like you’ve been seeing Sae a lot more often, you can't tell whether that makes you happy or nervous.

Aside from your marital house, there’s no common spaces the two of you share. That was the only reason you could go days without seeing your own husband once, and you never had any reason to seek him out, which alienated the two of you further. Now, you bump into Sae at least twice every day; When you’re taking a walk through the gardens, reading in the cramped library, or just resting in your room. Each time you stop to greet him, he takes your injured hand into his, rubbing a careful thumb over the bandages for as long as he can stay by you before clan business calls him away. You never really exchange words, but you’ve found that that silent moment is enough for you. The girls freak out every time it happens, and even you are finding you like the new attention.

Rin, on the other hand, finds his brother’s behaviour repulsive.

The two of you had been sitting in the garden one morning, under the shaded pavilion near your quarters. It’s solid, dark wood beams and light ceramic flooring perfectly matched the game you and Rin were playing. It was the same one as last time, just under better circumstances.

You didn’t even need to tell him what happened, the rumour mill had done its work for you the second Sae wiped out your entire servant body. Rin had seemed relieved, though it didn’t show on his face. The only thing you heard from him about it was that he wished it happened sooner.

You’d been staring down at the board when it happened, trying to find the best place to put down your piece. By the time you looked up, satisfied with your strategy, Rin’s neutral expression had morphed into one you couldn't find the best word to describe. Irritated was an understatement, he had the kind of look you’d expect if he just watched someone piss in his cup of tea.

But it wasn’t directed at you, he was staring at something a few feet away from where you were sitting, clearly somewhere in the distance judging from how hard he was squinting. He refused to answer any of the questions you threw at him, forcing you to turn around and look for yourself.

Sae had been standing a while away, under the shaded dark wood of the main house, talking to another clan member about something you couldn’t make out from where you were. But his eyes had been trained on you. It made your heart flutter painfully. The other beastman had left a second later, giving you the opportunity to give him a small wave. It took him a while but he reciprocated, his kimono sleeves flowing in the wind while you two just stared at each other.

“Both of you are disgusting.”

When Sae had eventually walked away, you’d turned back to Rin with a sheepish smile, a stark contrast to the sneer still on his face. You tried to kick him under the table separating you both, and failed as his leg dodged yours.

“Be nice..”

“But I’m right.” You watched him place down his own pieces with ease, barely looking up except to roll his eyes at you. “I’d expect this shit from you, not him. He’s acting like a nervous school boy.”

The only thing you could do was laugh, much to Rin’s dismay. If you were being honest, you were thinking the same thing. Obviously not as mean as Rin was saying it, but you were surprised the day Sae started acting this soft with you. Maybe it was guilt. If you trusted him more as a partner, the harassment you went through wouldn’t have gotten as bad as it did. Even if this was just his way of trying to redeem himself, you couldn't find it in yourself to complain.

The sun climbs over the beam of your open window, rising to spread a warmth it doesn't possess, the morning air chill against your skin. You woke up about an hour ago, to the usual sounds of light footsteps and frantic whispers. The servants attending to you this morning had apologised for their noise making the second they saw you rise out of the futon, but you brushed them off, allowing them to guide you towards the bath house. The hot water feels like heaven against your feathers, and by the time you trudge back to your room, the vibe has changed.

Everyone seems a lot more excited today, more than the usual high amount. You catch several girls whisper shouting to each other as they get you ready for the day, giving each other long glances that they seem to think you don’t notice. Even Mai seems unusually cheery, humming a soft tune to herself while she fixes your hair.

“Is something good happening today?”

Your question cuts the atmosphere in half, shock and panic registering on the faces of the girls closest to you before it settles into something like restraint.

“No my liege, please forgive our behaviour. We’re just excited this morning..”

“And you won’t share this excitement with me?”

You're not upset in the slightest, just curious. The energy in the room is starting to rub off on you too, your beak curving into a gentle smile as you watch the owlets struggle to keep themselves from telling, all while looking like they'll faint if they don’t. A few of them shake their heads, and you take that as your answer, goading them to relax while you let them dress you. Mai trails behind you carefully when you finally leave, waving goodbye to the others before the door closes.

Even with all the layers you're covered in, you can still feel the day’s chill settling into your bones, drawing a few small sniffs from you that makes Mai panic each time. You’re in the middle of reassuring her for the fifth time that minute when something bumps into you as you turn a corner, cutting your words off immediately.

The arms that latch onto your own give you a sense of deja vu, and you’re right. Sae has you pressed against his chest, his arms snaking as round your waist to keep you from falling. The shock is obvious on your face, but he looks happy to see you, like he’s been waiting to bump into you. You quickly push yourself off him, the heat hovering over your cheeks warming your body better than your own clothes.

“Good morning.”

His voice is smooth, a melody that makes your shoulders jump unintentionally. You have to stop yourself from looking at anything that isn’t his face, if you turned to Mai you’re certain she would have on a smug smile that would only make your embarrassment worse.

“Oh yes, good morning..”

You tilt your head in a small bow, internally cringing at how awkward you’d sounded. You’re already prepared to weave around him and head back to your room, wallow your sorrows in your pillow. His hand reaches out into your path before you can shuffle away, his head subtly tilting towards yours.

“You’re taking a walk right? I’ll come with you.”

He slots himself by your side before you can even respond, holding an arm out for you to take. You stare at him, hesitating just long enough to see the hurt start forming in his irises before you finally relent. Regret comes knocking on the back of your skull the second you start walking, your face only getting hotter with every step the two of you take.

Every single person you pass by, servant or clan member, give both of you these knowing looks while you walk. The younger ones whisper amongst themselves in a childish elation, some of them looking on with playful jealousy. Unlike you, Sae seems completely unbothered by the attention. It almost seems like he’s revelling in it, at least that’s what you would say if you could decipher any of his limited expressions.

Mai had stopped walking directly behind you a long time ago, both her and the beastman you recognise as Sae’s personal servant are now several feet behind, also gossiping as they sneak glances at you both.

Your trip isn’t long, the small pagoda you usually read under coming into view a second later. Sae waits until you’ve gotten comfortable before taking the seat opposite yours, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. He tries to make small talk, asking questions about your day, your health, ones that you answer enthusiastically, trying to get the conversation going but it ultimately falls flat with every short “hm” your husband gives you in response. Eventually, you both fall into a heavy silence that thankfully doesn’t persist for long, the small cough that Sae lets out cutting through the morning air.

“There’s a clan gathering coming up.”

You know what he’s talking about almost immediately, and for a second, you’re ashamed you almost forgot.

The gathering he’s talking about isn't the kind that clan’s do amongst themselves to sort out their finances, territorial issues and anything else. It's much, much bigger than that. It happens about twice every month, usually used as a chance for all the clans in a beastman species to mingle.

You’d been to around ten of them when you were under your old clan, before your sister had been chosen as clan leader, that’s where you met both Rin and Sae. Sae stares into the recognition dawning on your features, taking that as a chance to not bother explaining.

“Do you mind accompanying me?”

The questions snaps you out of your thoughts, recognition turning to confusion at the way it’s phrased. You’re married to a clan leader now, your reputation is just as important to the clan as his is. Missing more than one of these gatherings would draw out rumours you wouldn’t be able to ignore. In the grand scheme of things, you have no choice but to go.

But that fact seems to be missing from the way Sae stares at you, he even looks like he expects you to say no, like he won’t mind if you decide to go or not. That alone makes you want to reconsider. You’re not good with events like that, you never have been, not since your sister took over. Snide remarks and mocking stares are the least of what you experienced. Even under the honour of your new clan, you’re certain there will still be people with too much to say.

“Rin is coming with us too. And I won’t leave you alone for too long.”

You appreciate him trying to make the experience sound better than you know it will be, but you know what you’re going into. It takes you a while longer to think but eventually, you nod and agree, smiling at the small nod Sae gives you in return. It should be fine, all you have to do is go there, keep your clothes and smile intact no matter what anyone says, then leave.

The two of you can only talk for a few more minutes before Sae’s called away again, his personal servant trailing up to your seat to whisper something in his ear. You rise alongside him, something in you not wanting to leave yet. Your stubbornness works in your favour as Sae walks up to you, his hand hovering over your cheek for just a second, before you lean into his touch, his thumb rubbing over your feathers.

“I’ll see you in the evening.”

…

Evening comes a lot faster than you expected it to, the heavy chill that had settled over your room in the morning now a frigid breeze that makes you sneeze every minute you sit there. The servant attending to your hair frowns at your current state, more out of concern but you still apologise for disturbing her, one she reciprocates with one of her own for making you feel like you had to.

The excited mood from earlier this morning has melted into a nervous one, with every one of your servants banding together to make sure you look good. You’re still not used to this kind of attention, back home any colour outfit was fine as long as you didn't stick out, styling your hair wasn’t even an option when every servant was dedicated to your sister. The flowy fabric bunched up around your body feels more expensive than anything you’ve ever worn. Even your wedding garments are nothing in the face of this.

This time, you had no choice in what your outfit would look like. The second your servants had finished bathing you in enough rose scented water to flood a small village, they’d thrown you right into the layers you’re shivering under. You don’t mind that much, the colours you usually pick out each day depend on your mood, you didn’t have the foggiest idea what colour you could’ve picked for this evening.

The fledging attaching silver strings of beads and pearls to your hair finally steps away, allowing you to get up and stare at their handiwork in your room’s mirror.

Green never seemed like a colour you thought you could pull off, especially with how muted your clothes had been back home. A sharp, dark green takes over the top half of your kimono, fading into a light yellow the closer it gets to the bottom, folds of green, red, and amber sweeping across the floor. Your sash is the colour of a ripe persimmon, almost metallic in texture to match with the knotted rope that runs along it. The haori hanging over your shoulders is the same colour, that green fading and appearing in different places, giving space to the other colours in a spotted dye fashion.

Looking at yourself now, you're speechless. And even if there was something you wanted to say, it would’ve been cut off by the knock that announces itself at your room door. A few of the girls run over before you can even tell them to open the door, their smiles still obvious under their bowed positions.

A genuine look of surprise crosses Sae’s face the second the door slides into its frame, most likely at how fast it opened in the first place, and your position by the mirror gives you the perfect view of that shock turning into something closer to awe. He’s wearing the same colours as you, that dark olive green with accents of a dark red that matches his feathers. The two of you actually look like a married couple now.

“..You look amazing.”

The pearls in your hair jingle lightly as your head tips forward, your body gravitating towards his automatically, the fabric of your kimono swishing across the floor.

“Thank you, so do you.”

You take his arm without having to be prompted this time, the warmth coming from him enough to dull the chill still seeping under your skin. The girls in your room wait until Sae is no longer looking, waving goodbye with such a frantic excitement you’re certain their shoulders must hurt. The walk to the carriage is nothing at all, though you have to train your focus on making sure the lighter part of your kimono doesn’t catch on any dirt. Rin is already waiting by the time you get there, looking as upset as usual. He’s wearing navy blue instead, staring at your matching green like you’re radioactive. You almost wish he’d matched with you too.

The carriage ride is as silent as the one you’d taken on your wedding day, but this is more of a comfortable silence. You find yourself sighing multiple times throughout, you’ll miss this silence by the time you’re in the midst of about a hundred other beastman.

Just like you expected, the issues start the second you meander into the meeting hall, the warm overhead lights falling over your form, illuminating the jewellery hanging off you. Everyone's eyes turn to both of you in droves, starting from the people closest to the entrance before it radiates to the middle of the crowd. Your arm is still tightly clutched in Sae’s, a gesture everyone else seems to notice as well, but you don’t pull away.

You can feel the judgement wafting off each gaze; For as big as the alliance was, your wedding was relatively small, rushed and not widespread in the slightest. Most clans probably assumed you wouldn’t show up, still struggling under the weight of your new position. And even if you did, they most likely didn’t expect for you and Sae to be so close. Either way, you’re doing a good job of keeping your head up high.

You respond to well wishes with short, polite responses, keeping any awkward fidgeting you want to do to a minimum. The clan leaders looking to speak to Sae go about their business and leave. Those looking for trouble don’t find enough fault with you to keep going.

At some point, you start to feel Sae drift away from you. More and more leaders are talking to him about serious topics, ones you can’t butt into with your own quips, let alone keep up with. Every time another beastman joins his conversations, practically pushing you out of the way, he shoots you an apologetic glance you can only reciprocate with a small smile. Eventually, you just let it happen, letting go of his hand to shift over to one of the chairs hanging by the edge of the hall. He gives you one last look before you leave, one that tells you he’ll come back the second he’s done entertaining everyone else.

“You look well.”

You've only been sitting down for five seconds before someone approaches you, your shoulders hunching as you recognise the voice floating into your ears. Your sister stands right above your seat, glaring down at you with an expression that’s meant to mimic genuine care, but falls short almost immediately. The hem of her dark red kimono swishes past your feet as she takes a seat right next to you. She looks a lot like your father when he used to be clan leader.

“I’m fine. How’s the clan doing?”

“Good.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye, her beak lifting into a wry smile before it’s gone. “Our trading routes have been a lot smoother since your wedding. So thanks for that.”

You want to dismiss her misplaced gratitude the second it flies out of her mouth, you haven't mentioned anything related to your old clan since the moment you joined Sae’s, and it’s not like you’ve been putting in a good word for them. You decide against it though, she’s already in her own head, enjoying the benefits her useless sibling has finally brought back. She won’t care no matter what you tell her. Your sister pointing off in the direction opposite yours brings you back into the moment, your eyes following hers to see your parents standing a while away, talking to another couple.

“Mother and father have been waiting for you since you came in. You should've come to greet them first.”

She must've seen the distaste sitting on your features because she quiets down a second later, still pointing in your parents direction with an expression that’s practically begging you to cause a scene here.

“I didn’t see them. Tell mother I’ll come greet her so-”

“Oh my! So this is where you’ve been.”

Your quip is swiftly cut off at the root, a high pitched whine ringing in your ears, laced with an unnatural amount of fake concern. Your sister reacts to it too, judging by how fast her face falls. A couple of beastmen make their way over to you, most of them middle aged owls with their husbands hanging off their arms. You recognise a few of them as your mother’s friends, the ones she invited over specifically to brag about how much better you and your sister were doing compared to their own children.

A weary smile makes its way onto your face as fast as it takes the small crowd to reach your seat, though you try to make it look friendly more than anything. The small talk starts immediately, a shadow of voices that engulf your ears and mind. You’re not keeping up with half of what anyone is saying, but you’ve found just nodding your head and humming from time to time works best. That hack falls flat the second the woman who called out to you first speaks up again.

“Oh right! Congratulations are in order. Sorry dear, your wedding happened so quietly I almost forgot. Is everything alright? Why didn’t your mother invite any of us?”

Her question, while simple, sets off a chain reaction of other remarks like that. The smile on your face slowly melting off.

“That’s right! With how big that clan is shouldn't they have had enough for a big event? Everyone should’ve known. Unless it just wasn't worth it..”

“Nonsense! When my son got married we celebrated for a week straight! What kind of husband doesn’t give their spouse the perfect wedding?”

“I hope they're not mistreating you dear, you’ll let us know wont you?”

“I always thought that family was dangerous. You know I warned your mother, she wouldn’t listen to me.”

The comments pile heavy over your shoulders, pushing them downwards until it feels like you're about to sink into the floor. Your smile is starting to strain at the corners, irritation bleeding into the look in your eyes. This is why you didn’t want to come, there was nothing worse than people looking for trouble under the guise of concern. The main troublemaker saunters closer to you, taking your hands in hers as she shines a malicious smile in your face.

“Alright that's enough. Either way, I'm happy for you dear. Your parents must be so glad, they raised the perfect pushover. And now look. You’ve gotten your clan to greater heights.”

“Is that so?”

You were just about to throw her hands off you, get in her face and remind her to keep her thoughts to her own family, especially her husband who’s going around hitting on every servant that looks his way, but a voice cuts you off, a voice that brings an insurmountable relief to your face. The woman quickly backs away from you, her smile starting to fray as she takes in the hand Sae places on your shoulder, how close he’s standing to you.

“We were just-”

“If you have any issues with our clan then you can take it up with me. You have no business talking to, let alone insulting my partner.”

The icy tone he uses works like an anchor against sand, crushing the oppressive atmosphere into dust. Some of the women are starting to disperse, realising their impromptu show might actually backfire against them, all shuffling away until you're left with the woman who started it all. Sae barely acknowledges her, already turning to guide you out of the hall.

“Your son was just blabbering on about your financial issues, maybe you should focus your energy on that instead. Turn that pile of garbage you call a clan into something useful.”

Sae takes you by the hand before anyone can say anything, not even stopping to mingle with anyone else until both of you are out the door. He turns to you right after, the look in his eyes alone asking you if you're alright. You don’t even have the words to answer him. The only response he gets is your head falling into his chest, his arms quickly wrapping around you as the night’s air cards through your frantically beating heart.

You’ve been tossing and turning around in bed for what feels like hours now, the thoughts swirling around in your mind too much to bear. The sounds of crickets chirping and the soft rustle of the wind through the house’s hallways float past your ears, almost taunting you into a sleep you know will never come. Its been like this since the night of the gathering. You barely remember what happened after Sae had stepped in to defend you. The only things you can visualise are the sight of you crying into his chest afterwards, the tense carriage ride back home and how fast you’d fallen asleep the second he got you into bed.

Thinking about those memories now makes your face heat up all over again. You hate how silent you’d been that night, you could’ve said anything to those women, anything to defend yourself, but no. You had to sit there and clam up until Sae finally came to save you. And then you’d cried afterwards.

But you can’t seem to shake off the butterflies that form in your stomach every time you think of how quick Sae had come to your rescue. You assumed this marriage would be a lot like your parent’s, gentle in public and closed off behind shut doors. Things were already starting to look different.

Just a week ago, you laughed at any insinuation that your husband liked you more than one would a casual acquaintance, but from what you’ve seen it has to be true. He clearly cares for you, just in his own quiet way. For some reason, the unbridled joy still floating around in your stomach refuses to settle until you hear it from him.

It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle out of bed, you were awake anyway, your hands fumbling in the dark for a jacket you can use to navigate the cold. The light grey haori you manage to put on doesn’t help much against the wave of cold air that slaps you in the face. You push against it regardless, rubbing your hands over your shoulders as you trudge down the corridors. It’s completely silent in the house, your light footsteps the only sound that echoes through the empty space. You can spot a few lanterns hanging around the perimeter, the ones that seem to move around most likely belonging to the escorts securing the estate. Your body melts deeper into the side of each hall, sticking further out of the way of anyone else.

You’re not sure exactly where you’re going, you’ve never been outside of your own quarters let alone to Sae’s office. The most you have to go off of is what you’ve heard from the servants and their gossip. Every door you pass is starting to look the same, blending together in a blur of dark wood and light beige tatami. You almost want to turn back, at least until you spot a sliver of light coming from under the door seated at the end of the hall.

The sound of ink against parchment and pages flipping back to back greets your ear where it’s pressed against the solid oak, confirming the theory that you’ve finally found Sae’s office. You whisper a silent prayer to yourself, hoping he’s the only one inside before you knock, the heavy thud echoing through the night air. The scribbling you heard cuts off abruptly, pausing for just a second, almost in confusion, before it comes back again.

“Come in.”

The office is as plain as you would expect; Rows of massive bookshelves line the walls to your sides, a soft green flat carpet right in the middle. A table and two chairs sit right over that carpet, a bit away from the wooden desk Sae is seated at. He doesn’t look up for a while, at least for as long as you don’t announce your presence. Surprise replaces the tiredness lingering in his gaze as he stares at you, the small brush in his hand dropping back onto the table. Its gone soon after, replaced once more by a layer of concern.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“No.” You shake your head resolutely, shuffling deeper into the room while the door shuts behind you. “I just missed my husband..”

You spent the entire walk here convincing yourself you could push out sweet words like that without collapsing into a pile of shame, and you did do it, barring the fact that your legs are trembling like jelly. But it works out in your favour. Sae’s expression doesn’t change, it never does, but you can see the feathers at his neck ruffle outwards, his eyes shifting away from your face every five seconds. With a small cough, he gestures to the empty chairs right in front of you, going back to his work as you sit down.

“I still have some things to do. If you wait for me, we’ll go back together.”

A comfortable silence falls over the office once more, the scritching and flipping almost lulling you back to sleep. You wished you’d come at a better time, or at least that you’d brought something with you. If anyone else was awake, you could’ve asked a nearby servant for a cup of tea. There’s a lot you want to say, even more you want to ask, and it backfires when you can only go about ten minutes before you open your mouth again.

“Our marital home is starting to feel a lot like my personal one, you’re barely ever around.” You’re aware of the soft tremble at the back of your throat, making your words a lot less powerful than you’d like them to be. But you still can’t get yourself to shut up.

“You’re cold one second, and kind the next. It’s giving me mixed signals. If you’re unsatisfied with me in any wa-”

“I’m not, you know that.”

The clatter of his brush against the heavy wooden desk makes you flinch, an action that Sae looks upset to see now that he’s finally looking at you. Your hands are clasped together tightly in your lap, the only pressure that’s keeping you calm.

“Do I? If you actually care about me then I want to hear it from you..”

You’re much closer to him now, you don’t even know when you started moving but you’re on the same level as his chair pressed flush against the ground, a bit of his body heat infiltrating where you’re kneeling right next to him. You watch him blink, hesitating for a brief second that feels like hours. Your hand finds his over the table, dragging him away from the documents still stacked in front of him. Your heart leaps at the sigh he lets out, your body shifting forwards in anticipation.

“..I don’t know how to act around you.. sometimes. I know what I should do, as a husband. I just don’t know if I can do it right.”

“I’d prefer it if you kept trying, rather than giving me nothing at all”

You shuffle closer to him, as if testing new boundaries, your head moving closer until it settles neatly on the curve of his shoulder. He lets you, almost leaning into your touch. You feel his hand lightly squeezing yours, the same way he had on your wedding day, bringing you a lot more comfort than it had the first time around.

“How long have you really liked me?”

The rumble of Sae’s chest vibrates against your body before you even hear him speak, his feathers ghosting over your head as he leans down to answer you.

“Since the first time I saw you.. that was a few months ago.”

You shift away from him then, your arm still entwined in his while you stare at him, eyebrows creased in confusion. It looks like he’s trying not to laugh at the look on your face, and you can only tell because you’ve seen enough of his expressions in the last month to know.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make me embarrass myself.”

A laugh actually escapes you this time, a light one that echoes through the silent office loud enough to make you slap a hand over your mouth, Sae’s shoulders jumping slightly in a silent amusement.

“So if my parents hadn’t sent that proposal, what would you have done?”

Your head moves along with his shoulders, bobbing upwards while he shrugs, his head leaning back onto yours.

“Died, most likely.”

“Sae!”

The smack you land on his upper arm barely does anything, at most it amuses him, a soft huff escaping his lips. You settle back into him, revelling in the warmth his body gives you in return. Time ticks by with both of you stuck in that position, your eyelids falling rapidly as you struggle against sleep. It’s late, you’re satisfied with how much you’ve let loose, and Sae isn’t even working anymore, no thanks to you.

He resists at first, glancing back and forth between your face and the pile of papers he still has to go through. Eventually, your stubbornness works, he lets you drag him out of his seat, blowing out the lanterns glowing around the room before you’re both heading towards your own room.

Your directional skills are still as bad as when you set out an hour ago, but with every wrong turn you try to take, Sae is right behind you. His hands taking hold of your waist before shifting you towards the right hallway. The room comes into sight less than five minutes later, your futon practically calling your name as the both of you step in. You drag Sae into bed as well, not giving him the time to change first, emboldened by how little he puts up a fight. His chest is a warm comfort against the side of your face, making it easier to blink against the room’s darkness. You can hear his breathing even out, fading into a steady rhythm that soon matches your own. It hitches once, enough to make your eyes snap open before it settles back down.

“..Will you show me how to love you properly?”

“Of course, for as long as you need me to”

The past few weeks feel like a dream to you, your body floating through in a blissful haze. You made good on your promise to help Sae navigate your marriage better, but you’ve hardly had to do anything so far. There’s still a bit you have to guide him through, mostly with how willing he is to open up to you, but aside from that it’s been smooth so far.

One of the first changes you noticed is that your sleep schedules align more often. After that one time you’d wandered into his office and dragged him back, a part of you wondered how many times you could do that before Sae got upset. You wanted to fall asleep right next to him each night, but not at the cost of his boundaries. Luckily for you, you didn’t need to wonder for too long. That same night, Sae had shuffled into your room close to midnight, right in the middle of you changing for bed. Any questions you tried to ask were cut off by the arm he’d wrapped around your waist, flopping you down into the futon with him.

He’s done that every day since; The times vary, usually depending on how much work he has to do. But most times, you can sit in the room knowing he’ll stroll in at some point. Often enough you find yourself waiting for him to arrive, something that makes him upset every time, but he never actually gives you more than a small glare.

You still don’t know whether or not this is a good thing, but your husband is a lot more spontaneous than you would’ve thought. Maybe you’ve finally made him more comfortable, which isn’t a bad thing, but it never fails to surprise you. It happens the same way every time; You’ll lounge around the room, either with a book or a cup of tea, watching life fly by in your room window when the slam of your door shocks both you and Mai depending on what she’s busy with.

“We’re going out. Get ready.”

You’ll relax once you realise it’s Sae, but perk up again in confusion at the vague phrase, trying to ignore the look on Mai’s face as she starts to bring out your robes and shoes.

“Where are we going? Is it something important?”

“You’ll see.”

The outings are never a bad surprise, you always have a good time whenever you step out with him. You just wished he’d give you a bit more of an explanation before you have to start rushing around getting ready with the rest of your servants. And you can never tell him not to be so mysterious, because he always looks so proud of himself afterwards, this satisfied smirk hovering over his features at how good of a surprise he’d planned.

Aside from the impromptu time you spend outside, most of your dates together are within the walls of the estate. You don’t mind either way, sitting around the house is already something you’re used to, if anything, going out is more of an inconvenience. It fully depends on Sae’ schedule, if he decides he has more time in the morning then you’re lucky enough to wake up to see his face instead of an empty mattress. In the times you’ve woken up next to him, he’s somehow never managed to wake up by himself. You’d essentially have to cajole him into getting out of bed, planting light kisses over his face until he’s satisfied.

In the afternoon, the two of you revel in each other’s company over a cup of tea, right by the wooden pagoda near your quarters. It’s usually the most peaceful part of your day, even if you don’t have much going on. You don’t even have to think of anything to talk about, his presence is enough for you to settle into your seat, letting the bright sunlight warm your face.

Evenings are nothing different; You’ve always eaten dinner in your room, a habit from your life back home, the only difference is that Sae joins you now. Once he’s done, you watch him trudge back to his office, turning to your own wardrobe to start getting ready for bed. Sometimes you try to convince yourself to just go to sleep, that you’ll probably wake up whenever Sae comes back, but it never actually works. Eventually, you end up in his office most of the time, forcing yourself not to nod off before he’s ready to leave.

…

The light coloured, plush seats of your garden’s pavilion are warm under the blinding sunlight, peeking into the open space surrounding you. It’s not too hot, a gentle breeze blows in from around the courtyard, lightly ruffling your hair in a motion that almost makes you want to take a nap. You’re fully focused on the manuscript sitting in your hands, the fifth volume of a series you’ve been following since you were a child.

Rin is sitting directly opposite you, sat perfectly upright in his chair compared to your laid back position. He’s reading through the same series, a little earlier in the volumes than you because you’d only just introduced it to him. The two of you have been meeting like this for a few days now, at least since Rin had caught you in the middle of your own reading session, and asked what you were flipping through.

Silence wraps itself around the two of you, weaving in between each page you flip. You shift around in your seat, stretching your legs over the rest of the plush pillows, a quiet yawn escaping your beak. When you drop your book away from your face for a second, you see Rin already staring at you.

“You seem happier these days.”

Your head cocks to the side, a playful questioning settled over your features. The book is on your lap now, still half open with your thumb marking the page you stopped at.

“Do I?”

You watch him nod, the fringes hanging over his eyes swaying softly. “It’s gross.”

The only thing you can do is laugh, the slight frown on Rin’s face softening a little the longer you go on. You got used to Rin’s bluntness a while ago, you wouldn’t have gotten to know him before all this if you didn’t. But interacting with him now just makes you realise how similar he is to Sae, maybe that’s why you have no issues talking to both of them. Its almost like they’re training you for the other.

“Thanks for asking anyway. I am, I spoke to your brother so we’re good now.”

“Finally.”

He flips his book back up to his face, signalling the end of your short conversation. You go back to yours as well, shuffling yourself around until you’re twisted in a more comfortable position, though it doesn’t look as refined. A brief minute of silence passes, with something pulling at the crown of your head. You look up too see Rin’s paused on a page, his eyes flicking between your face and the book.

“You’re sure you’re okay now?”

A genuine smile breaks out on your face, his shy concern enough to warm your heart. Whatever it is you wanted to say, is swallowed by the force of someone’s arms wrapping around your shoulders where they’re exposed over the pagoda walls.

You only turn your head when you feel a beak poking against the feathers at your face, almost preening them softly. Sae leans into the warmth of your body as your hands find his neck, your body turning to meet his as a light laugh echoes through the small space. You don’t even need to answer Rin’s question; You’ve never been happier than you are right now, and with the people around you, it will only get better.

The room you’re in is lined with deep red and an inky black, the couches surrounding a sturdy glass table right in the centre, which you’re currently swaying on. You know that space is meant for the dancers, but no one has stopped you yet. The dim lighting in the room makes it hard to see every little detail around you, all the shots you’d taken making it even harder to focus on anything.

The only reason you’re not panicking about being this drunk is because you’re too drunk to care, that and the brashly decorated walls of the V.I.P room you’re partying in should be enough to keep you safe until about four in the morning. That’s what about ¥300,000 gets you, money you could spend without so much as a single scratch on your bank account.

Your family’s rich, the kind of rich that’s silent but recognisable, powerful but humble, at least when it came to your parents. Designer clothes are not lost on them, but it’s never the kind with tacky symbols and names, just the thread count on your mother’s knit sweaters are enough to buy a block of apartments. Their home is nothing to scoff at, the furniture simple but unique, enough for you to know they cost a lot without it being obvious.

You on the other hand, spend money like water. It’s so obvious you’re a trust fund kid that it makes it easier for leeches like the ones sitting around you now to latch onto your debit cards. You’re certain they would call themselves your friends to anyone that would listen, but you know why they hang around you, free trips to luxury restaurants, boutiques and bars will bring you closer to anyone better than anything. It doesn’t matter to you, not when your parents constantly keep your accounts full, spending any amount of money to bail you out of any situation. You’re meant to be studying for an exam you have next week, but you haven’t studied for anything since you flunked your first year of uni. Your father’s donation to about half the university’s buildings has brought you pretty far.

The alcohol settled deep in your veins is making you laugh louder, rambling more as you twirl around in one spot, your excitement blending in with the shouts and jeers of the people around you. A small part of you knows some of them are mocking you, but the contempt rolls off your body like oil on water, the only reason they can laugh at your drunken state from their plush, leather couches is because of you.

A sudden weight takes hold of your upper arm, dragging you back with a force you can’t fight, the alcohol taking your sense of balance. You fall back into an empty space behind you, the couch practically swallowing you whole as you try to get your bearings. A chorus of “oohs” echo around the room, disorienting you further as your head swivels around the room, trying to find the person who grabbed you.

The anger that’s hovering over your brain fizzles out the second someone climbs into your lap, your vision focusing enough to recognise the woman in your lap as a dancer you’d noticed the second you stepped into the room, for obvious reasons.

She’s pretty, the unique kind of beauty you’d rarely see anywhere else. Her features are pulled into sharp angles, so sharp you think her jaw is going to cut you when she drags her lips across your neck. You can feel her shimmering gold eyeliner rubbing off on your skin, your hands grabbing the skin under her thighs the longer she drags her nails down your chest. You don’t get to look at her for too long, your gaze torn away by a hand gripping your chin, bringing you face to face with a male model currently nipping at your earlobes.

You lean into both of them, enjoying the attention they give you compared to anyone else. More than anything, you’ve found you like the things you can get people to do for you with enough money. Material things are fun; Clothes, shoes, cars, parties. But it’s the way people act when they find out they can change their lives just by obeying you once, that’s what keeps the money flowing from your account.

The dancers are still all over you, slipping their hands further under the openings in your clothes, pressing closer and closer into you, practically sandwiching you between them until the slam of the main doors against the walls forces them apart. The noise feels distant to you, your focus still on caressing the model in your lap. It’s only as the room starts to quiet down, even the music pausing for a few seconds, do you look up at the entrance.

You recognise the person standing there almost immediately, your eyes widening, then crinkling into a wide smile. The man standing right by the doors doesn’t fit in with the space around him, his plain white hoodie and, wrinkled grey sweats an insult to the luxury carpet underneath his feet. If he realises this, then it doesn’t show on his furred face, the mottled grey of his irises doing a lazy sweep along the room.

“Sei!”

The model seems surprised to see you let go of her, your arms waving through the air with a frantic energy, signalling to the man still standing by the door. Nagi makes his way over to you in less than three strides, the boredom in his gaze melting into a soft familiarity.

Your smile only gets wider when he reaches you, your still drunk mind allowing him to grab onto your arm and pull you into his chest. He completely disregards the shriek coming from the model that falls out of your lap, every curse she throws at him goes in one ear and right out the other as Nagi is fully focused on getting you to stand in one place. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the fabric softener still lingering on his hoodie.

“How did you even get here..? I missed you! I haven’t seen you in.. since yesterday!”

Each word falling off your lips comes out a drooling slur, taking almost all of your energy to say, but you never stop talking. Nagi barely responds either, letting out a low “hmm” to every question you ask. When he gets you into a reasonable position, his hands find the back of your legs, scooping you up as if you weigh nothing at all. The sudden change in height makes you shout, but it doesn’t take long for you to get comfortable.

“..Where’s your phone?”

You point towards the general direction of the couches without even looking, humming in satisfaction when it takes him less than a minute to find the small device. You’re starting to fall asleep against the comfort of Nagi’s hoodie, the soft bump of your body against his as the two of you leave the bar lulling you into a blanketing comfort. You can vaguely hear the sounds of your friends yelling, quips about the bill and more drinks, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming tiredness that’s still hovering over your mind.

By the time you open your eyes again, both of you are already at your apartment, the entire car ride over completely gone from your memory. The sheets of your bed practically swallow you whole, a lot less warm than Nagi’s embrace but you make do with the hand he keeps on your cheek. You let him shuffle you around, too tired to complain or resist, your obnoxiously tight club clothes easily switched out for some night wear.

Your eyelids do shoot open when a faint shutter sound reaches your eyes, the dying light of your phones camera flashing in your face once before Nagi starts to type on your device, nails scratching along the keyboard.

“..You’re taking pictures of me now?”

Nagi turns his head towards you slightly, slowly blinking at you before the sound of your phone’s notification drags his attention away.

“Your dad wants to know if you’re okay..”

The explanation makes you laugh, typical behaviour from your father but you don’t know how much a picture of your drunken face will ease his anxieties. From the way Nagi drops your phone on the bedside table a second later, it seems like the picture did a good enough job. Your arms find Nagi’s waist the second it looks like he’s about to leave, dragging him back into the confines of your bed. You know how late it is, you should be sending him home along with your driver, but you don’t want to go to sleep alone. As spoiled as it sounds, your apartment is too big for you to be the only one in it.

Your act of selfishness ends up working either way, with you having to roll over as quick as your sluggish body can manage before Nagi crushes you under him. He only grumbles when you smack his arm, his eyes already shut tight, arm curling around your back as you bring his head to rest on your shoulder.

The furniture in your room is fully bathed in the bright sunlight of the early morning by the time you creak your eyelids open. A gold sliver tracking its way across the tile through the gaps in your curtains. The sight would be beautiful, if it wasn’t completely out of sync with your mood. Your head is pounding, though that’s a tame way to describe it. It still feels like you’re drunk when you finally sit up in bed, your body subconsciously swaying over the sheets, the need to throw up settling heavy in the back of your throat.

It takes you about five minutes to fight it, the back of your head meeting the head board in an effort to get the bile to go back down where it came from. The motion gives you some relief, though not enough to take away the bitter taste in your mouth.

Nagi is still laying in the spot you dragged him into, body taking up about 95% of your mattress, his hand splayed over your midsection in a gesture that practically straps you to the bed. You lean down towards him, softly poking the fur covering his cheek. He starts to stir, shifting his face from side to side, but he doesn’t actually wake up, even when you tug at the small, fluffy ears pressed flat against the top of his head. His hand swipes at your fingers, trying to get them away from his face, but he’s no where near fast enough.

“Shouldn’t you be up making me breakfast? Since I pay you so much.”

Nagi lets out a grumble that sounds more like a purr, shifting his body until his face is so close to your chest you almost can’t hear what he mumbles next.

“Too much of a hassle…”

The rest of his sentence gets lost in the fabric of your night shirt, but you can swear you heard him say something about a private chef, a quip that makes you laugh. You’re certain the chef your mother sends over every morning is already on his way here, but you don’t want to let things go that easily.

“Yeah? But I don’t want it from the chef, I want it from you.”

Nagi opens his eyes then, just one, enough to stare you down with a tiredness that makes you want to laugh again. He shifts his head away from you, writhing around in bed for a few seconds before it looks like he’s actually about to get up. You drag him back down immediately, letting out a soft snort at the confused upset still lingering on his features.

“I was kidding, relax. I’ll see you when you wake up properly.”

You watch him shuffle around in the sheets until the covers are wrapped around him like a cocoon, his face turned away from you but you can still sense his irritation. The tiles of your bedroom floor feel icy against your feet, sending a shiver up your spine that’s only amplified by the general chill of your apartment. You pad down the hallway to your kitchen, your muffled footsteps echoing through the house and in your own head as your mind starts to wander.

…

Next month makes it three years since you first saw Nagi on the street right in front of your apartment.

The weather had been scorching, enough to melt the pavement into dark grey puddles. You could see everyone stumbling around from your car window, their shoes sticking to every bit of road they stepped on. You’d left school about two hours before closing, the heat making it harder to concentrate on material you didn’t even like studying. You’re on your way back home, ready to collapse into the chill of your apartment walls, eat enough ice cream to make your mother faint, but something stopped you right in your tracks.

A massive ball of white fur, crouched right next to the potted plants in front of your building.

You didn’t know his name the first time you saw him, but something had dragged your attention to him. Maybe it was the set of furry, white ears sitting over his equally pale hair. You’d only heard of beastmen serving in underground clubs and seen a few working as attendants in the restaurants your family frequented. Never on the street of one of the most expensive apartment building in the city, in a uniform you recognise as one from a reasonably prestigious high school.

“Pull over here.”

The driver had asked you almost a million questions the second you spoke, but you were already out of the car, walking towards him with a pace too fast for how sluggish the heat should’ve made you. Nagi had looked up a few seconds after you got in his space, the look on his face enough to speak for him. The curve of his eyebrows held an obvious question, “Can I help you?”, as if he wasn’t sitting in front of your home.

“You’re blocking my apartment door.”

He managed to look guilty for a second, the small emotion hidden under the layers of neutrality swirling around in his irises, but he made no move to get up. From where you were standing, you could see the app taking up his phone screen, a shooter game from what you could tell, his thumbs still moving his character around almost instinctively.

“..Your wifi’s the best on the street.”

The excuse had been a stupid one, you think back then even Nagi knew that, but if he felt any regret after saying it then you couldn’t tell from his expression. But you took it, for some reason, the confusion on your face had melted into a smile you’re certain made you look insane.

“The wifi’s better upstairs, you wanna come in?”

You don’t even know why you offered. Brief intrigue wasn’t enough of a reason to invite some unknown man into your apartment, but no one could convince you otherwise. And to anyone else, it didn’t even seem worth it. The only thing Nagi did the second you let him sit on your couch, was continue playing video games until the sun had set too low for him to stay any longer.

But you were fascinated.

The phenomenon hasn’t stopped happening, but back then more than ever, you found that the only people willing to be around you were those who liked your family name, your money, the things you could give them. You were used to treating everyone around you like that, but Nagi didn’t even seem bothered. He paid attention to you the same way someone would a casual acquaintance; He answered whatever questions you had about his name, school, hobbies, but aside from that, he never spoke first. Never tried to flatter you, bend over backwards to please you.

That’s what made you so desperate when he tried to leave.

You offered to pay him, whatever he wanted for every day he spent with you, offered to sponsor him based on the bit you’d heard about him wanting to play football professionally. Nagi had looked at you like you were insane, but still not with enough emotion to make you stop rambling.

After a while, he’d managed to peel your hands off his shirt sleeve, shuffling away from your flailing arms as much as he could. But you could see the reluctance slowly dying in his gaze, you’d gotten to him.

“I’ll come back another day.. if I feel like it.”

That last year of high school was the first and last time you and Nagi had spent apart. The second you graduated and you’d gone through the gruelling process of getting your parents to accept Nagi into your life, it was smooth sailing from there. Your parents picked the university, and Nagi’s football skills were enough to get him in as well. That, plus a glowing recommendation from both your parents and you was enough to solidify both of your uni lives.

The two of you are attached at the hip now, mostly because getting into trouble is like second nature for you, and Nagi is the only safe point of contact your parents can rely on.

…

Breakfast is already laid out when you get to the kitchen, plates and bowls stacked high with enough food for both you and Nagi. One of your father’s maids stands in the corner of the living room, mopping the marble tile beneath her. She practically jumps out of her skin when she notices you, giving the floor one final frantic wipe before she’s heading down towards the guest rooms.

For a second, you almost feel bad for scaring her. But her escape doesn’t give you much time to apologise, and even if you wanted to, you don’t remember her name. It’s hard to take note of every attendant your parents hire when they replace them every month.

You take a seat at the kitchen islands, your hand scrolling with your phone as the other fiddles with the bowl of rice right in front of you. The small device practically explodes when you power it on, notifications flying across your home screen so fast you think it’s going to start lagging. Most of them are messages from the people last night, complaints about how Nagi had apparently “ruined” the fun, invites to keep partying tonight as well. You scoff at the message that tells you to put a muzzle on him, your thumb flying across the screen to swiftly block the idiot that sent it.

Under all the texts coming in from people you’d rather not reply to, one stands out to you, the name alone drawing out a loud sigh from you, your thumb hesitating to click on the notification.

Dad Come to my office whenever you’re free. I need to talk to you. 11:09am

Your mind starts to wander immediately; Apart from going off the radar with your drunken behaviour yesterday, you hadn’t done anything that would get you in trouble, at least nothing that you haven’t done before.

It has to be a lecture, your father wouldn’t send you a message this early in the morning, with the words “I need to talk to you” if it wasn’t something serious. You really don’t want to respond. It’s barely been a week since the last one, you’d been in his office for five hours, and even without him yelling, you’ve never wanted to leave a room fast enough. Reluctantly, you find yourself typing up a response, hesitating for just a second before it sends.

You I’m not in trouble right? Ill come in tmr afternoon 11:11am

His response comes a second later, in the form of a thumbs up reaction to your last message. You let out a brief sigh, placing your phone face down on the kitchen counter. The slam of your bedroom door echoes down the hallway, signalling Nagi’s departure before you even turn around to see him. He’s changed out of the clothes he wore last night, though it still looks like he just woke up. The tracksuit he’s wearing is completely wrinkled, matching his hair in its unruly state.

“Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Nagi responds to your quips the way he always does, with a small grumble that lets you know he heard but doesn’t actually give you a response. You point at the maid now emerging from the hallway as well, calling her forward with a small gesture of your hand.

“She can iron it for you, it won’t take long.”

He shakes his head immediately, glancing at you almost offended you’d even offer, like waiting five minutes would take even more of the energy he’s using to leave the house. He trudges around your apartment like he looks completely normal, shuffling towards his shoes at the entryway.

You meet him right at the door, your hands finding the collar of his shirt before he can say anything, chuckling at the small huff he lets out. Your attempt at making him look more reasonable barely does anything, but it’ll do for now.

“Make sure you come back in time for dinner.”

“Yes boss..”

The light smack you land on his shoulder barely shifts him, but he still reaches a hand up to the part of his arm, putting on a wounded pout that you try not to laugh at. Your hands find his hair next, not even trying to smooth it down, just revelling in the way every lock glides between your fingers.

“I’m meeting my dad tomorrow, you don’t have to come with but that means we can’t eat breakfast together..”

He almost looks upset for a second, but he just nods, letting you drag him down to your level, the warmth of your cheek pressed flush against his fur. The two of you stay there for a solid minute, Nagi burying his face deeper into your neck, the tip of his nose cold against your skin, before you finally let go, pushing him towards the door with a small smile. You watch him leave through the front door, studying the car he steps into as it pulls off the sidewalk and into the street, the window against your palm sending a shiver down your spine.

You can feel the panic wafting off your father’s building before you even step in, each floor of the skyscraper radiating a different level of stress before it culminates at the very top, where your father’s office is. It’s even worse when you step into the reception. Usually, you don’t have to show your face to the receptionist before you go up.

Anyone who doesn’t know who you are by now is either blind or a new hire. This time, you find that you want to, maybe to get a grasp on why everyone looks like they’re fearing for their lives.

There’s only one person sitting by the desk, and you wouldn’t exactly call what they’re doing sitting. The man behind the shimmering reception’s bright brown desk is hovering over his chair, eyes completely glued to his screen like he’s waiting for a new task to rush off to, his hair falling all over the place, tie loosened halfway off his neck. He looks at you like a frightened deer when you walk up to him, swiftly replacing the look with a strained smile before pointing you off to the elevators.

You never get to ask him what’s going on because an email notification snatches him away, a hefty looking stack of documents in his hands as he takes the other elevator to a floor you don’t stay long enough to find out.

Still persistent on being nosey, you decide to drop off at the department two floors below your father’s, one of the executive ones if your memory serves you right. Its even worse than downstairs; At least three people almost push you out of the way as you stand by the elevators, swiftly apologising the second they notice it’s you. Papers line every inch of each desk, the meeting rooms you can see from where you are are all full, with the employees inside practically yelling loud enough for you to hear from outside.

You don’t stay for too long, even you know the limits of how much you’re allowed to mosey around the office. Everyone in here clearly needs as much space to work as they can get without you breathing down their necks looking for gossip.

Your father’s office floor is just as bad as you expected it to be, less papers being thrown around, but more yelling. There’s no way you’d miss the sound of your father’s voice, not when you’re used to hearing it scold you everyday. That, and he’s currently speaking at the loudest volume you’ve ever heard from him.

Just like you remember, his office is all the way at the end of the hall, down the plush black carpet, behind the heavy mahogany doors shining at you from across the hallway. At least four or five people rush in and out of the office every second, going in anxious and coming out looking like they’re about to cry.

The carpet swallows the sound of your steady footsteps, muffling them into dull thuds that can’t signal your arrival amongst the chaos around you. Your palm rests against the solid gold handle of the door, the weight grounding you as you take in a deep breath, before you swing it open.

The office is nothing like the neat, spacious nook you’re used to hanging out in, it looks more like a war zone. The only people you can recognise are your father, and his assistant, the rest you assume are employees from varying floors, all managers, supervisors, and executives; Hanging their heads in the face of your father’s insults. The man is practically going red in the face, veins bulging out of his forehead, but they don’t compare to the bags hanging off his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The anger melts off your father’s face the second he notices you, his expression lifting into a bright smile that immediately takes the tension away from the room.

“My baby!”

He doesn’t wait for you to come to him, his body practically jumping over the desk before he brings you into a crushing hug, so fast you don’t get enough time to react. Your father presses his lips against your forehead over and over, at least six times until you finally start complaining, pushing his tall form as far as you can without him dragging you back. He leads you towards the his desk, hand on your shoulder, shooting off questions about your life. He doesn’t ask about your classes, a smart move considering you haven’t been to any in a long while.

The employees around you slowly trail out of the room, shooting you grateful glances that you try not to smirk at. You take a seat right opposite his, waiting for him to compose himself and sit down as well before you speak.

“You said you wanted to tell me something?”

For the first time since you walked in, your father’s face falls. Not into anger or upset, but this withered exhaustion that deepens the wrinkles on his face, making him look way older than he is. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing his face through both of his hands in a motion that makes your stomach drop.

“We’re not.. doing too well right now.”

He holds a hand up before you can even open your mouth, cutting off the several questions you had sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Some departments fell through on a few deals and our stock is on the decline… but!”

It’s obvious he’s reacting to the panic evident on your face. You don’t know much about your father’s business, but you’ve seen him work, seen how he’s navigated crises over the years, if he’s telling you about this then there’s more to the issue than what he’s letting you hear.

“For now, there’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?”

You didn’t even know you were sitting on the edge of your chair until he says that, your back slumping into the leather behind it that doesn’t bring you as much comfort as it usually does. Your father’s assistant places a glass of water right in front of you, before he takes his position behind your father’s chair. You don’t take it, you can’t because the look your father is still giving you stirs something heavy in your gut.

“Does mom know about this?” That draws another sigh from him, doing nothing to help your anxiety as it spikes once more.

“Your mother is dealing with her own issues right now. A bunch of people are claiming her products are burning their skin off, filing lawsuits and what not.”

“That’s a lie!”

The outburst flows out of your mouth easier than anything, aided by the protectiveness you have over every venture your mother goes into. You know how much she puts into her skincare brand, how much she’s tested every smell, texture and ingredient. It would be nothing short of insane to say your mother would be so negligent as to let her own handiwork injure someone.

“I know darling, I know. That doesn’t mean it’s not being investigated. Your mother will be fine, she’s strong.”

A heavy silence passes over the office, enveloping all three of you in it until it feels like you’re about to choke. You wouldn’t be panicking this much if your father wasn’t looking so worried, the smile on his face crinkling downwards at the corners. He’s putting on an act for you. A small part of you is irritated at yourself, maybe if you’d actually paid attention to your business courses, joined your father’s company the first time he asked, you’d be able to do more.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Your father shakes his head immediately, the worry creasing his features replaced by a soft indulgence. You can’t tell if he’s just trying to keep you safe, or if he’s insulted you’d even ask. You don’t know which one you prefer.

“There’s nothing you need to do right now dear, your mother and I will handle it. But if you really want to help..” He waits for you to lean closer in your chair, like you’re five years old again, trying to whisper childish secrets into his ear.

“Lay low for a little while. Don’t spend too much money while we’re still trying to sort things out.”

You know what he’s going to say without him even having to open his mouth. That means no parties, no irresponsible drinking, no shopping for as long as “sorting things out” will take. The limitations don’t hit as hard as your father probably expected them to, you were growing tired of the people constantly hanging off you, dragging you all over the place. If you could wait out the time in your apartment with Nagi, then it wouldn’t be that bad. As if reading your mind, your father speaks up again, the worry solidifying into a serious frown.

“If you want my honest opinion? Start with that beast you keep carrying around.”

You have to stop yourself from barking out a sarcastic laugh. Clearly three years had done nothing for Nagi’s reputation in your parent’s eyes. They had complained the first day you brought him to them, and they were still complaining now. You keep your mouth shut because your father is already dealing with his failing accounts, if you started arguing with him now it’ll probably put him in an early grave.

“Your mother and I have always thought you gave that boy too much money.”

“Okay dad, I’m leaving.”

He looks surprised to see you’re leaving so early, like he expected you to sit in his office and stew in the stressful environment he’s created. You give him one last hug, a small side one, nothing like the bone crushing one he’d given you a minute earlier. You can tell he doesn’t want you to leave, but he doesn’t stop you as you shuffle out the door.

You can vaguely hear the driver ask if you’re going home when you get back in the car, but you don’t actually respond until he calls your name about three more times. He looks concerned, but not the kind of concern you’d seen in the office, the kind that probably had him asking himself if his employer was going insane.

“We’re not going home yet, just.. drive.”

Your car ends up at a restaurant you’d seen several friends mention to you in an effort to get you to bring them there. It was unintentional, you just thought the building looked interesting and had only snapped back to reality by the time you were sitting in a private room.

Sitting here makes you feel guilty, especially after your father’s warning just an hour ago. You can’t imagine the sigh he’ll let out when he sees the brand new charge on your card. Either way, you don’t get up, your fingers subconsciously pointing in about ten different places as the waiter starts scribbling down your order.

The time it takes for your food to get here gives you enough time to think. This isn’t the first hiccup your parents have had financially, that’s how business works. But this is the first one that has sounded serious. A lawsuit and a few failed business deals doesn’t sound like the kind of thing your parents could shake off in a day or two. And if their company stock kept dropping…

The food arrives almost at the perfect time, fast enough to cut through your wandering thoughts and redirect your attention to how much garlic the chef has put in the food. It doesn’t take you long to clear the table, your mind marking off this restaurant as one you should never come back to. Though you can’t stop thinking that this might be the last time you ever eat in fine dining again.

By the time the car pulls up in front of your street, it’s already around nine o’clock, the lights in your apartment dimmed to a dull yellow. To your surprise, Nagi is still awake, bundled up on the couch with his phone in his hand, the TV playing a show he’s not paying attention to. As your gaze tears away from him, it snaps to the dishes on the dining table, most of them half eaten and the rest you assume was meant to be your dinner.

“Sorry.. I should’ve told you I was eating out.”

Nagi, like always, doesn’t seem upset in the slightest. The only response he gives you as you settle down onto the couch is him laying his head in your lap. You run your fingers through his hair, over his fur, an action that usually calms you down but doesn’t seem to be working as well today.

“..Are you okay?”

You give him a small nod, one that he takes almost immediately, his attention going back to his phone, but he shifts his head further into your lap, giving you better access to his hair. A wave of silence passes over the two of you, rocking back and forth until it feels like you’ve been sitting here for hours. You hear the round of Nagi’s game match end, taking that as your signal to shift him off your lap, ignoring the puzzled look he gives you.

“The driver will take you home when you’re ready.”

“I’m not staying..?”

You refuse to turn around, too tired to confront the hurt silence radiating off the man behind you. As much as you want to stay with him, to stick it to your father and to avoid being left alone with your own thoughts, you think you need the time to think.

“I just want a second to myself, Sei. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door of your room slams behind you before you can even watch him leave, your mattress swallowing the sound of shuffling footsteps before the main door opens and closes, dragging your body down into its warm embrace, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

The sight you open your eyes to is nothing short of chaotic, the same amount of panic you’d seen in your father’s office. It’s the noises that wake you up first; Wardrobe doors banging, dress shoes clacking against marble tile, orders you can’t make the words out to being shouted in every direction. It’s enough to wake a corpse in the grave.

Then you feel someone’s hands on your shoulder, gripping so tight you think they’re going to rip your skin. They start shaking you every which way, most likely in an attempt to get you to wake up. That, coupled with all the noise in your room wakes you up immediately, the anger on your face obvious enough to startle the maid holding on to you. She drops your body like you’re made of hot coals, bowing repeatedly before joining whoever else is with her in the bustle around your bed.

You get a better view when you finally sit up; There’s about five people trudging about your room, three of them being maids your father has employed for you in the past, and two of them being people you recognise as part of your family’s security detail. Boxes are strewn across the marble floors, your nice grey ones that you only use for vacations.

Your clothes, shoes, devices and some textbooks are neatly arranged into them by the attendants still milling about. You’re not stupid enough to think this is your family arranging a holiday, everyone looks too panicked for that.

You don’t get the chance to speculate, or ask what’s going on before the maid who shook you awake drags you out of bed as politely as she can manage, leading you into the bathroom with an urgent quiet. She tries to avoid the questioning look you give her, uttering a few words so quiet you almost don’t hear it, before she shuts the door behind her.

“Your father asked us to get you out of the house. Please get ready..”

The mention of your father melts your stomach into an anxious, bubbling mess, churning underneath your skin until it pools onto the floor beneath you. You’d assumed your father had everything under control, at least enough for you to stay locked up in your apartment without worry. If you’re being shipped off somewhere else, that means things have gotten out of control.

Worry propels you into the shower, your hands shaking to the point of uselessness as you let the water run over your body. The warm water does nothing to soothe you, and the strongly scented soap you rub across your skin doesn’t feel right for the occasion. There’s a pile of clothes sitting on the edge of your bathtub by the time you emerge, a plain sweater, some jeans and sturdy sneakers, less than you would usually wear but you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Your room has been stripped clean when you open the door, the travel bags all packed and heading downstairs, your wardrobe hanging empty and your favourite coloured sheets replaced by drab, white new ones. Your posters, books, carpets, lights are gone from the walls, and a part of you knows they weren’t packed into your boxes. It almost looks like you’re moving in instead of packing your whole life out, the mourning you were about to do quickly cut off by the existence of your father’s assistant. He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, tablet in his hand folded over his slightly wrinkled suit. He looks as polished as he usually does, but with a slight stress you can’t help but notice.

“Please follow me. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

The car lurches forwards along the street before you can even sit down properly, running at speeds that force your back to smack into the leather seats. The security guards you’d seen in your room are sitting in the front seats of the car, focused on the long stretch of road they’re driving down. You’ve been on the road for about ten minutes before your father’s assistant finally turns to you, the light of his tablet illuminating the gloomy professionalism on his face.

“Things didn’t go as well as we wanted it to, your father had to file for bankruptcy this morning to avoid anymore loss.”

He turns back to his device for a second, holding one finger up to you as he types frantically, giving you the time to let the word “bankruptcy” sink into your ears. Your head is starting to throb painfully, your brain feels like it’s expanding, each breath you take in feels painful to do so.

“Your mother is still dealing with the lawsuits, but with the bankruptcy filing, all their assets are being seized, including your apartment.”

It makes sense why you were rushed out so early in the morning, if you had done your usual complaining and wasted time, you probably wouldn’t have had anything to pack away. According to your father’s assistant, your parents used some of the last money they had to sort out a house for you, one far away enough for you to sit tight until things evened themselves out. It’s closer to the suburbs, a home with the kind of surrounding space that’s usually filled with overgrown grass, trees and wild bushes.

“How long am I going to have to stay there?”

It’s the first thing you’ve said since you woke up, your voice rough with unuse and a deep sense of panic. There’s a million other questions running through your mind at the same time, but if you start rambling now, you’ll lose your mind faster than the car is currently running. Your father’s assistant breathes out a deep sigh, pushing his glasses up his nose before answering you in a voice much quieter than his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“I’m not sure. It could be days, weeks, months.. Your parents are very capable, but it’ll take them a while to get through this.”

You watch him shuffle around his coat pockets, fishing through the dark material until he pulls out two phones. One, you recognise as your current one, you’d wondered where that was during your shower, and the other is brand new. It has none of the charms, or stickers you flooded your old phone case with, it looks like an older model of your current one, the only reason you know that being the money you’ve put into getting the latest of everything.

He hands you your old one first, powering it on to show you the notifications splayed along the lock screen.

“It’s been ringing since this morning.”

And it’s obvious why.

Your phone is filled with messages from people you can’t be bothered to remember the names of. The short previews you can see of their texts filled with condolences, questions about your parents sudden downfall. Most of it sounds like genuine concern but you can see the mockery hiding under every word. You scroll until you find Nagi’s contact sitting at the bottom of the list, the only person you want to spill your guts to.

Your chat history with Nagi is the kind of empty most people would think meant the two of you rarely spoke, but you hadn’t sent him a message since the day you started insisting he stay in your apartment with you almost every day of the week. You had no reason to.

The thought of telling him the two of you are being forced apart makes you upset, but you can’t get your fingers to move to type out why. Money is the only reason you got Nagi to tolerate you in the first place, now that you don’t have it anymore, what reason does he have to keep seeing you?

Your thumbs unfreeze eventually, typing at a stiff rhythm that mirrors the reluctance weighing heavy in your chest. You throw the device back the second you’re done, barely even looking at what you sent.

You I’m moving away from town. Don’t come to the house anymore, you don’t need me to sponsor you. 12:34pm

The new phone feels heavy in your hand, even with how empty it is. The only numbers you have saved are your parents, listed as emergency contacts only. There’s a bank app already installed on the device, the password is your birthday and so is the PIN number of the card already set up. Your bank balance is lower than anything you’ve ever seen before, but common sense tells you this would be enough for the average person.

After what feels like hours of non-stop driving, the four of you arrive in a friendly looking neighbourhood, the car stopping right in front of a squat little home. It’s a lot more traditional looking than your apartment, the kind you’d expect your parents to live in if they were regular people.

The security guards move faster than it takes you to get out of the car, hustling your boxes into the main foyer until there’s nothing left, settling back into the car while they wait for further instructions.

Your father’s assistant follows you inside, a comforting hand ghosting over the small of your back. He waits for you to look around, your gaze swivelling over every inch of the dusty abode, your hands running along every surface within reach. You finally stand still long enough to let him speak, your shoes digging into the wood of the kitchen floor while he stands at attention by the entrance.

“You’re free to contact your parents if you need something. Money has been put aside to be sent to your account every two weeks, aside from that, you’re on your own.”

You figured you wouldn’t be getting the same allowance as before, but hearing it first hand still spreads a frown across your face. You give him a small nod, one he reciprocates immediately, the stoic neutrality on his face melting into a concerned frown once more. He gives you one last look before turning to the door, the sound of the sliding panel almost echoing over his voice.

“Your father will be in touch if anything changes, take care of yourself.”

Looking at the date reflecting back at you from your phone, you can’t believe it’s been a month since you first stepped into this house.

You’re not surprised you haven’t been on top with the time either, you’ve spent every day too busy fighting for your own sanity to keep track of how long your parents have been fighting with their finances.

The first thing you started struggling with had been obvious, you expected nothing from yourself and somehow still managed to fail. Cooking your own meals takes about three hours each day from you, and considering you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re surprised you haven’t cut your fingers off yet.

The kitchen came stocked with pots, pans, and cutlery, but not with enough knowledge to make you a reasonable cook. Your first night there you considered just getting a delivery, but you couldn’t do that without wiping out a quarter of your two week budget. Even you had the common sense to think twice.

With Lady Luck shining down on you, you managed to push yourself out of the house far enough to find a small market about fifteen minutes away from your new home, a wide circle of market stalls with fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat being cut up right as people ordered.

It had been easy enough finding one of those thirty minute recipes online, the hard part was picking the right ingredients when you’d never even touched a raw vegetable. You’d spent two minutes looking at each one, poking and prodding as if you expected the shiny produce to grow a mouth and beg you to pick the right one. Another fifteen minutes passed you by and you were still standing there, grocery basket clutched tightly in your sweaty hands, your lip starting to bleed under the weight of your teeth digging into skin.

That’s where Kotoha had come in.

You only knew her name after she’d already become a permanent fixture in your new, less than luxurious life, but she practically saved you. She’d strolled up to where you were standing, expertly picking out the produce she needed, before looking up at you with the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

She showed you the right places to touch to look for the nicest fruits, what colours to look out for. When you let your guard down enough to confess you were cooking and living by yourself for the first time, she’d taken it upon herself to follow you around the muddy stalls, pointing out the best of each ingredient you needed. You didn’t even want to speak to take her out of her element, your focus on handling the infant in her stroller while she did her thing.

You’d been so thankful, you had to stop yourself from bursting into tears while she tried to comfort you. She’d left you her number that day, refusing to leave until you saved it properly and promised to call her whenever.

“When I first moved here I was your age too. If you ever need anything just let me know, okay?”

After all that, maintaining the house became your new priority. The house really was traditional in every sense of the word, the only thing you found after almost an hour of searching around, something that shouldn’t have been hard for a one story home, was a small wooden and straw broom.

Your non-existent cleaning skills combined with the scrawny thing you’d been given meant you were coughing before you even managed to finish up the living room. It made you feel like a child, but you called Kotoha immediately, wincing at the genuine concern in her voice, not even a hint of mockery.

You’d been out of your house before she even offered to lend you her own cleaning tools, ready to take a bus or walk as long as it took to get to her house. That’s when you found out Kotoha lived in your neighbourhood, in the house right opposite yours. She’d screamed her head off at the coincidence for about ten minutes before she realised she was meant to be helping you.

Something heavy had formed in your heart when you saw her wiping around the counters, still rambling on to you. You found yourself opening your mouth before you could even place what you were feeling.

“..Can you teach me instead? I don’t want you doing it for me..”

She’d looked at you with an uncomfortable amount of shock sitting underneath her expression, before it melted into a proud acceptance.

“Of course I can..!”

It took you an absurd amount of time before you got the house into a reasonable state, with not as much dust clinging to every surface, though there were still some cobwebs hanging in a few corners. Kotoha hadn’t run out of patience a single time, even after you nearly poured a bottle’s worth of water over the floorboards because you thought it would help.

You’d gained another contact that day, mostly because Kotoha noted that a lot of your furniture needed work, completely brushing you off when you told her you didn’t have the money for repairs right now. She called the man “Hiro” like the two of them where the same age, but the man she had waltz into your house was at least seven years older than her. The first few times he came around, he only looked over your appliances, claiming they weren’t as bad as Kotoha made them seem. From then on, you called him whenever anything broke down, and he never charged you a cent.

…

Finding ways to keep yourself entertained has always been a difficult thing to do, even when you had all the money you did. It was probably because you had so much money that choosing hobbies was so unsuccessful in the first place. Your parents invested in whatever you threw yourself at; Horse-back riding, art collection, calligraphy, archery. Even if they all fell through, the only point was that you had fun throwing money at it.

Now that you’re down to budgeting every cost, forcing yourself to walk around the house to find something to busy your hands with is getting harder everyday. At first, you looked to your textbooks; The maids had packed a few of them, much to your surprise. Thick, laminated texts filled with lines on macroeconomics and business cycles, weighing down your boxes by about a tonne. It’s embarrassing to admit, but you sold all six of them about a week after you moved in, they were from a prestigious university, you got a good amount of money for them.

Unfortunately for you, that means you have nothing now. When boredom finally feels like it’s going to split your head open, it doesn’t take much to convince yourself to go outside and walk around. You don’t need Kotoha’s help for this, you know where all the public spots are by now.

The streets are as empty as you expect them to be on a weekday afternoon, the sun bearing down on your form and sneaking under your clothes as you trudge down the road. Your eyes lock on a run down looking, dark brown building, the characters on the sign board letting you know it’s a bookstore.

You find yourself wandering inside, taking in the rows and rows of books, almost as high as the ceiling. The clerk sitting behind the store’s massive desk barely looks up as you walk by, but that doesn’t deter you. Your feet take you down winding bookshelves, as far back as you can go, until you reach the finance section. Your university textbooks required a level of knowledge you would’ve had if you attended any classes at all. You had a better chance of understanding the smaller books you’re picking out now than anything.

The three books you end up picking comes to a hefty total, but that helpless feeling that had forced itself down your throat the second your father revealed his situation to you was far worse.

The first thing you wake up to is the sound of your phone’s incessant buzzing on it’s nightstand, the vibrations it sends enough to not only wake you up, but stop you from going back to sleep. You toss and turn over the fabric of your futon, dragging the cover over your head and letting out a loud groan when it doesn’t do anything to help.

By the time you finally roll out of bed, the phone now in your hand, it reflects a simple 10:35 back into your bleary eyes, a whole three hours before you had planned to wake up. You had next to nothing to do on weekends; No coursework to catch up on, no friends to hang out with, that meant you could sleep in as long as you wanted until you couldn’t anymore or your stomach started caving in.

All the notifications spanned across your screen are text messages, their frantic frequency and varying emoji’s attached to the end of each one immediately tells you it’s Kotoha, but that revelation doesn’t ease the confusion furrowing your eyebrows.

She shouldn’t be messaging you this early, or at least she usually doesn’t. You’ve found that she spends almost the whole morning waking up and taking care of her baby, then she’ll call you around early afternoon to ask how you’re doing. By now, you can tell she prioritises time with her kid above anything else.

Regardless of how unusual you think this is, you tap on the notification banner anyway, watching as the messages fly by. The texts started coming in almost an hour ago, which is surprising that you managed to sleep through the first half of them. They get more and more frantic as you scroll down, with you ending up with about four texts per ten minutes.

Kotoha (Neighbour) Hi dear! Hope I’m not waking you up, just wanted to check in! 09:20am

Kotoha (Neighbour) You didn’t tell me you were having friends over :0 That’s so nice, I was so worried. It’s good that you have friends your age! 09:34am

Kotoha (Neighbour) Dear? The poor boy’s been standing outside for a while now. You should let him in :( 09:58am

Kotoha (Neighbour) Oh! Am I embarrassing you? Is he your boyfriend? Ok I’ll stop staring, just open the door. Poor thing looks like he’s going to faint.. 10:25am

Your expression collapses further with every word you go over, your eyebrows so far into the bridge of your nose that your forehead is starting to hurt. The frequency of the messages were already freaking you out, but now you were starting to panic.

You didn’t have any friends your age, not since you moved here, and you most certainly didn’t have a boyfriend. Against your own wishes, your brain starts conjuring up theories of who it could be, or who you really wanted it to be. But it couldn’t be him, no one except your parents and your father’s assistant knew where you were.

A mix of curiosity and fear carries you out of the room, your feet softly padding down the hallway as you stop in the pantry before you get to the front door. Your old broom is tightly clutched in your hands, held halfway above your head. If the guy was taller than you, then you were already at a disadvantage, but hopefully the fact that he wasn’t trying to break in meant you could still catch him by surprise.

It takes you about three minutes to convince yourself, but it feels like hours, your fingers digging into the grooves of the door frame as you prepare to slide it open. You only have a split second, that’s what you keep telling yourself as the door slams against it’s frame, letting the morning light spill into your foyer.

The first thing you notice is the fact that the man at your doorstep is at least two heads taller than you, his shadow falling over your frozen form. The second thing you see is his snow white hair, tired eyes and fluffy face.

It’s Nagi.

He’s dressed in his usual tracksuit, gym bag clumsily strung over his shoulder. Judging by how wet his hair is, droplets steadily falling onto the wooden platform beneath his shoes, it seems like he’s just come back from practice. The two of you stand there like that for a while, your mouth hanging open in shock while he rocks back and forth on his heels, the broom clattering to the ground with how hard you drop it. Speechless isn’t even enough of a word to cover it.

“..Sei? What are you-”

You don’t get to finish your question before Nagi tries to step into your house, his attempt immediately blocked off by the hand you place on the door frame. He almost looks offended, like you’re stopping him from entering his own home. You refuse to let his tiny pout get to you, even if it does strike something deep in your heart, you need to know how he got here first.

“Who brought you here? And how did you even find out where I was?”

The only response you get is a shrug, one that immediately makes you regret asking in the first place. You don’t know why you thought you would get a straight answer from him. He tries to get past you again, bumping into your arm that’s still hanging in place, as if that wasn’t enough of an answer for him.

He gives you one last look before curling himself against you, his arm circling your waist while his head falls onto your shoulder faster than you can react. It’s difficult trying to hold up a 6’3 man, and it’s even harder getting him to let go of you, and Nagi uses that to his full advantage. His arms only cling tighter around your torso the longer you try to pry him off, your body giving up a second later.

“Seishiro Nagi, get off me right now!”

“I’m hungry..”

His stomach rumbles right on cue, a deep, loud rumble that sends vibrations to your own midsection with how close you two are pressed against each other. You give his shoulders one last shove before finally giving up, still not stepping back into the house as a form of protest.

“Then eat somewhere else. I gave you more than enough money for you to eat anywhere you like for the next year.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, only burying his head deeper into the side of your neck. It’s been so long since you dealt with his strain of lazy behaviour, you almost forgot what it felt like. But as much as you didn’t want him to see you like this, a small part of you is glad to see him.

“..I don’t want to eat anywhere else, I want you to cook for me”

You still want to push him out and slam the door in his face, but he’s still holding onto you like a lifeline, his hand now holding the door in place behind your back. You didn’t even notice when he did that. Any attempt you make to shut the door is thwarted by how hard he’s gripping the wooden frame, your strength nothing compared to a trained athlete.

With a loud sigh and half of your sanity dropping to the floor, you waddle back far enough to shut the door behind the two of you, your forms moving together in a jumbled mess towards the kitchen. Nagi says nothing about the size of your new home, and even if he’s judging the downsize, you can’t see any trace of it in his eyes. He detaches from you once you step behind the kitchen counters, slipping into the dining room chairs like he’s been here before, immediately tapping around on his phone.

You don’t want to be nice enough to ask him what he wants, he barged into your home, he’s going to eat whatever you can cook up. There’s still a few vegetables left in your pantry, and you make a mental note to yourself to go grocery shopping soon as you take out the last of your pack of curry blocks.

Thanks to the time you spent with Kotoha, it doesn’t take you long to set out two reasonable looking plates of white rice and curry. It’s not the best in the world but it’s edible, the carrots and potatoes are soft enough, and you’re pretty certain the rice is cooked all the way through. Your brief cooking session gives you a sense of deja vu, it reminds you of the times both of you would just lie around each other, completely silent, your presence enough of a conversation for the two of you.

“The wifi here is bad..”

Nagi looks up when you approach him with the food, dropping his phone just a fraction to stare at the plate you slam down in front of him. The little bit of peace you’d felt cooking a few seconds is gone now, replaced with a familiar irritation, just enough to crease your eyebrows downwards.

“If it’s so bad then you can leave.”

That shuts him up immediately, the last of his game sounds reaching your ears before his phone finally shuts off, making a small thud on the dining table. The two of you fall into a quiet rhythm, the only sound echoing through the house being the sound of your cutlery against the glass plates. You finish eating around the same time, with you cleaning the last remnants on your plate by the time he’s finishing up.

Your first instinct is to pack the plates away, give Nagi the time to rest before you got him out another way, but he’s gotten what he came for, you fed him, and it would be much easier if you just pushed him out now.

You catch him by surprise, at least judging by how easy it is to get him out of his seat, but when it comes to pushing him towards the door that’s when the problem starts. Nagi digs his feet into the wood immediately, slumping back over your arms to make it harder to push him. You make it about two steps every five minutes, practically dripping sweat all over the floor with how hard you’re shoving.

It feels like it’s been hours before the force you’re exerting suddenly eases up, your body almost falling forward from the change in reluctance. Nagi lets you move him towards the door, looking back at you from time to time with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen on his infuriatingly stoic face. It does nothing for you as you finally get him back onto the veranda, shifting the door halfway before the sound of his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Can I come back tomorrow..?”

“Don’t.”

You slam the door in his face before you can second guess yourself, your head falling against the cool wood and tatami separating you both. For the longest time, you don’t actually hear him leave, your ears straining to hear the sound of his retreating footsteps until your head starts to throb. By the time that sound echoes through your ears, you’ve slid down the door, your knees crouched up to your chin as you let your head fall into your folded arms, wondering if this was enough of an emergency to call your parents, let them charter you off somewhere else so you don’t have to wait to be disappointed.

You don’t know if it’s because you no longer have the money to pay Nagi, but he no longer listens to you, not that he really did in the first place. When you were still bankrolling his life, you had a chance of getting him to curb his laziness and do what you wanted if you begged hard enough. It had to be the money that fuelled his compliance, there was nothing else you could think of that made him bend to your whims. Now, he seems hell bent on doing whatever he likes, at the cost of your sanity.

Even with how stern you tried to make your voice that first day he showed up, it still didn’t work, and he was back on your front porch by the same time the next day. The next time, you’d been a little smarter, only opening the door a fraction of an inch to see if it was him. When you found out it was, you tried to tell him to leave through the crack, refusing to look into whatever puppy dog eyes he was trying to shine at you.

You really wanted to leave him outside, make him see that there was nothing here for him, that he was better off at home; But the weather was getting colder, you could see it in the way the wooden floorboards of your home started freezing, chilling the soles of your feet with every step you took around the house. That’s the only reason you kept letting him in, at least the only reason your heart would acknowledge. After his fifth day in your house, you managed to wrangle a few answers out of him. Mainly how he got here and who told him you were living here in the first place.

“..Your dad told me.”

That had made you laugh, a sharp, barking laughter that echoed through your living room for an uncomfortable amount of time until you realised there was no humour in the frown on Nagi’s face.

“You’re joking.. right? My dad hates you, he wouldn’t tell you anything even if you paid him..”

Any more prodding you do is unsuccessful, he just shuts off, going back to his phone while you try to drag more answers out of him. Aside from giving you perfunctory shrugs, he claims he doesn’t remember anytime it seems like you’re getting too close, an obvious lie but you decide not to say anything else.

Apart from showing up in your house in the first place, Nagi’s presence hasn’t really disrupted your life in any way. The only difference between your old life and now is the amount of money you have. Nagi always arrives early enough to join you for breakfast, before dropping himself on the couch while you either read or clean. The first time you needed to go grocery shopping, he just followed you out the door without saying anything.

You didn’t even know he was behind you until you were halfway there. The looks you got at the market that day were enough to make your face burn bright, and of course Kotoha had to be there. She invited both of you over the very next day, and managed to make an embarrassing amount of jokes about the two of you dating in the span of three hours, ones that you were too mortified to talk about and that Nagi was clearly too tired to refute.

The only thing you refuse to let Nagi do is sleep over in your house. That was something you did when you were spoilt enough to demand everything, when you knew you could pay him back for his time you wasted. It’s why you also don’t let Nagi do anything for you, even if it looks like he’s going to on instinct. You’re trying to save every penny you can. He hasn’t mentioned anything about money yet but you still don’t want to take any chances.

You can never avoid the miserable look he gives you every time six o’clock rolls around, and he does the same thing every time; Puts up a fight long enough to see if you'll change your mind and let him stay. But the second you start getting irritated, he eases up and let’s you push him outside.

Your head is pounding by the time you rise out of bed at around eleven in the morning, your bleary vision making it hard to see the time on your phone. The heavy sigh you let out echoes through the room, almost making your headache worse as you try to push yourself out of bed. Nagi should already be at the door by now; He’s been coming to your house earlier each day, taking away the time you could’ve been using to sleep in. You don’t have classes anymore but you’re still waking up early as if you did, it’s enough to make you irritated every time.

“You need to start knocking when you get here..”

This time you’re fully used to it, swinging the door wide open, barely waiting to watch him walk in before you’re trailing towards the living room. The light sound of his footsteps follow you down the hall, thudding to the rhythm of your own.

You’re trying your best to look as calm as possible but it’s hard not to panic. You already steeled yourself for this yesterday; You’re getting too used to Nagi being around again, and a voice in the back of your head keeps telling you you’re going to regret it. Something in you needs to know if he’s here for the reasons you want.

Are you important to him or are you just convenient?

“You can sit down, I’ll be back in a second.”

The small hum he gives you is all you need before you take off towards your room, shutting the door carefully behind you. You know the spot like the back of your hand, the inner right side of your wardrobe, underneath a few clothes you no longer want to wear, and in a worn down shoe box your favourite sneakers came in. You stopped caring about putting your shoes back in their container a long time ago, the box is filled with money now.

Admitting it is the first step to recovery, you started getting paranoid about a week into your stay. You were still struggling with not buying everything in your vicinity, and the fact that your parent’s financial empire had crumpled in such little time.

Saving a part of your allowance curbed some of that paranoia, about ¥20,000 every time the money came into your account, in physical cash too. In your mind, anything could happen now that you were on your own. You knew if you had an emergency your parents would do everything to help, but if it came down to money they couldn’t help that much.

Losing all of your savings like this isn’t the way you expected it to go, but you need that peace of mind. Seeing Kotoha stretch her neck out for you time and time again when you have nothing at all has changed the way you see people, someone can actually care about you even when you aren’t giving them anything in return. For some reason, you just can’t get yourself to think the same way about Nagi.

You take a deep breath right in front of the door, gripping the bills tighter in your hand before you finally open it, trudging back into the living room. Nagi is splayed across the couch, almost staring into space before he snaps to attention at the sound of your footsteps.

Without wasting anytime, you thrust the money in his face, flinching at how hard he has to jump back. A heavy silence passes over both of you, the only response Nagi gives you is a raised eyebrow, but you can see the way he shifts forward as if expecting you to speak first.

“You’ve been coming here for two weeks, I should’ve been paying you..” Your voice comes out a dry whisper, your mouth struggling to push out each word.

“This is all I have. I’ll save up and get you more later..”

The silence comes back even heavier, but it’s charged with something, an emotion that’s obvious when you finally look down at Nagi. He’s pissed. It’s more of a confused anger, offended almost, but it still makes your stomach drop straight to the ground. It’s the most amount of emotion you’ve ever seen on him. Nagi shifts even further away from your hand, as if the sight of the bills themselves disgust him.

“..I don’t want it.”

The panic wound tight in your chest snaps, your hand shooting out before you can think twice. The bills scatter in the air around you both, fluttering down to the floor as some of them fall over your slippers. Most of the bills land over Nagi where you threw it in his face, a few of them getting stuck in the collar of his gym wear. It feels like you’re going to throw up, bile rising to the back of your throat as you shuffle backwards, already regretting what you’ve done, but it’s too late now.

“We both know that’s why you’re here. Just take the damn money and leave!”

Nagi should be the one yelling at you; You’re the one who ran away from him, refused to keep in contact, tried to push him away when he came to see you, and essentially flung money in his face like some gold digger.. but you’re the one who’s crying.

The tears come hot and fast, dripping down your face with a furious burn. You try to swipe at them but it doesn’t work, you can’t wipe them away faster than they’re coming. The house becomes a vapid blur, making it hard to turn and stumble towards the kitchen for safety. Your escape is thwarted immediately by a force that latches on to your arm, dragging you backwards. You fall into Nagi’s lap instead of the couch, your arms and legs immediately flailing in an embarrassed panic.

Nagi doesn’t seem panicked or angry in the slightest, if anything he’s trying to calm you down, his arms pinning yours to your sides, his legs trapping your trembling thighs between them. Eventually the panic turns to misery, then to embarrassment as you start to calm down. Nagi’s holding onto you too tight for you to move anyway.

He rests his head in the crook of your neck the way he usually does, his hair tickling the side of your face almost in a comforting gesture. You’re still breathing hard from the outburst, but you can feel your back slowly relaxing into his chest, against your own will. Nagi’s arms loosen around your waist when it looks like you’ve properly calmed down, the warmth of his palms burning into your skin through your clothes.

“I like you..”

You snap your head around, almost breaking your neck with how fast you turn to Nagi. The force shifts his head off your shoulder, but that doesn’t mean he backs away from you, his face still as close as ever, his cold black nose almost touching yours. The sincerity in his eyes is enough to make you want to turn away, but for some reason, you can’t. You can’t tear your eyes away from something that’s causing butterflies in your stomach.

“.. Being with you is the most fun I’ve ever had, so you have to stay. I’m not letting you go..”

His arms tighten around you then, his fur tickling your skin as your bodies mesh even closer together. You feel like a complete idiot, how had you thrown money at the only person who stuck by your side no matter what? How did you even suspect him?

You can feel his heart pounding at your back, each rapid thump matching the sound of your own spiked heart rate. The fur covering his ears is burning a light pink, twitching lightly every time you get closer to him. That convinces you more than anything.

“So.. you didn’t care about the money?”

Nagi shakes his head almost immediately, that old offence crossing his features once more before it settles back into a peaceful neutrality.

“And you still like me? Even when I’m annoying, and rude.. and-”

Your rambling is quickly cut off by a weird sensation on the side of your face, dragging itself from your chin up to the top of your cheek. By the time you realise what just happened, Nagi is still licking the tears off your face, leaving small pecks along your skin with the tip of his snout.

“Sei! Don’t do that..”

Even as it sounds like you’re protesting, you don’t actually push him away, letting him burrow deeper into your neck as your fingers ruffle through his hair. Your heart is still thudding heavy in your chest, but you manage to push him away enough for your lips to meet his fur, kissing the space between his eyes, his cheeks, your heart practically swooning every time he hums in satisfaction, leaning further into your touch.

You find yourself leaning into him as well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you flop your head onto his shoulder. The fur peeking out of his tracksuit is warm, softly stroking your face, your eyelids struggling to stay open.

Your eyes do shoot open when a weightlessness takes over your body, your arms tightening around Nagi’s neck. You can hear him breathe out a small laugh at the scream you’d let out, but the slight smirk on his face is gone by the time you actually look at him.

He trudges down to your room like you’re back in your old apartment, shifting the door open with his foot before setting you down on the futon a few steps down. To his credit, Nagi actually tries to leave the moment you’re comfortable enough, still sticking to your no staying over rule. You don’t let him get too far, your fingers catching on the sleeve of his shirt. That small gesture is enough to convince Nagi, his body shuffling right up to yours under the sheets. It’s a tight fit, but you find that you can’t even bring yourself to complain, your head flopping over his as your breathing starts to even out.

Every day since you first moved apartments, you’ve been waking up slow. Taking your time, letting the covers shuffle over your skin as you acclimatise to the morning chill, taking in the silence of your room. Waking up alone had made you appreciate the day time more. This time, you panic almost immediately. Your groggy mind fails to catch up to speed in time, telling you to scream at the foreign weight spread across your mid section as your eyelids shoot open, gaze swivelling to meet every corner of the room.

Your body subconsciously relaxes when you spot the head of white hair attached to your side. Nagi is still sleeping in the position you dragged him into, his tracksuit jacket thrown somewhere in the middle of your room, the shirt he’s wearing underneath wrinkled from how deep he’s still sinking into the futon.

You don’t even get to admire how adorable he looks before a wave of embarrassment slaps you in the face, hard. Your outburst, your tears, flashes of the tantrum you had yesterday practically assault your eyes, forcing your head into your hands as you try to sit up. Elated isn’t enough of a word to describe what you’re feeling now that you know Nagi is here to stay, you just wish you didn’t have to embarrass yourself first to find that out.

A small groan and shuffle coming from your right snaps you out of your reverie, the warmth of Nagi’s body infecting yours as he tries to drag you back under the covers. You huff out a small laugh, taking his face into your hands as you press light pecks into his fur. He grumbles at the contact, but refuses to actually shift away, leaning into the affection like a lifeline.

“We should get up soon..”

You get a none committal hum in response, the arm he still has slung over your waist enough of an answer as to if he’s getting up anytime soon. Somehow, you manage to wriggle out of his iron grip, dragging Nagi along with you because apparently he’ll die if he’s not attached to you every single second of the day. He’s slumped over your shoulders, dragging his feet behind him while you’re trying your best to shuffle the two of you down to the kitchen.

Asking Nagi what he wants for breakfast won’t get you anything more than a sleepy grumble, all you can do is get comfortable with him on your back, letting the smell of soup and freshly boiled rice float in the space around you.

It hasn’t been longer than fifteen minutes before your ears pick up on something, it sounds like your phone ringing from where you left it on the floor. You shouldn’t have been able to hear it but the house is so silent, and your room is barely ten steps away from the kitchen. Nagi wakes up the second you shift your shoulder, one eye opening to stare up at you.

“Could you get my phone? I think it’s ringing.”

He resists for a second, but one kiss to the side of his face is enough to prompt him, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing through the hallway. You hear him walk back a second later, your phone clattering on the counter over the sound of your simmering breakfast. The device isn’t filled with messages like you’d expected to see, your eyes scanning the screen to see if Kotoha’s contact will pop up, but there’s nothing from her. The only thing you see is one, solitary notification hanging in the middle of your screen. The floating white bar tells you you missed a call about five minutes ago.

A call from your father.

For a second, your heart goes cold. Your mind starts coming up with theories fast enough to make your head hurt; What if something else went wrong? Would you have to move again? To an even dingier house? Would you even be able to take Nagi with you? The sound of another notification coming in snaps you out of it, turning your frantic thoughts into complete confusion.

It’s a bank transfer, the number sitting below your bank name the kind of balance you used to brush off just a month ago. You count the zeros slowly, still trying to calm yourself down and wrap your mind around what’s happening. It’s becoming a lot clearer but somehow more confusing as you swipe into your bank app, staring into the pixels of your new balance. Your father just sent you about ¥5,000,000. The next light ding that comes from your phone manages to distract you from the money you’re still staring at.

Dad We’re back. Let me know when you want to return. 11:56am

There’s no point lying to yourself, the excitement that floods your veins is too much for you to ignore. Your mind wanders immediately, back to your old life, the luxury, the bars, the clothes. But it fizzles before your eyes just as fast as it appeared. You’ve created a proper life for yourself here, one that you've learnt to manage with your own two hands. You can’t help thinking about everyone who’s helped you out, stuck around you no matter what, would you really trade that for your old life back?

The answer comes to you before you can compute it, your fingers pressing against the chill of the counter as you place your phone face down. You go back to stirring the off-white soup in your pot, something in your chest feeling a little lighter. You almost forgot Nagi was still behind you, at least until his arms tighten around your stomach. He glances down at your phone once, like he’s trying to read what’s on it through the case.

“..Was that important?”

“Nope.” You turn to face him with a smile that practically splits your face, your eyes crinkling in the corners as you reach up to scratch his hair. “Nothing’s more important than this. I know better now.”

Drool coats your lips from where they’re now open in a silent scream, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head, furious tears blurring your vision. Each crack brings a dull sense of reprieve that only lasts a second before your veins feel like they’re filled with liquid fire again.

Your muscles are starting to lock up, freezing where they’re still writhing around in the air in a motion that almost makes your vision go white.

You can feel yourself slowly inching towards the edge of the bed, the inky black darkness floating in the air around you preventing you from gathering your bearings. Your tongue presses flat against the bottom of your mouth, finally giving you enough space to suck in a sharp breath that rattles your rib cage, your body collapsing into the sheets with one final thump.

The spasms are still there, burning agony flowing freely through each limb as you try to limit your movement, but now you can hear your own thoughts clearer over the sound of your bones still cracking and snapping back into place. Your eyes swivel around the room, taking in as much as you can before the next wave of agony arrives.

The closest thing you can compare to the room you’re in is a morgue; Dark grey wallpaper lines every inch of the room, the edges closest to the floor fading into a heavy black. You can spot a faint outline of the bed you’re still splayed across, the sheets under you reminiscent of the kind you would only find in hospitals, the railing lined up across the left hand side solidifying the theory in your head.

Searching your mind for anything that could’ve left you lying in this room, writhing in pain. Your brain comes up empty, every moment you could’ve had before you opened your eyes in this room has been wiped clean from your memory. It feels like you’re trying to look for gold in a muddy river that stretches beyond the scope of what you can see.

You only get to delve into the depths of your faded memory for a few seconds longer, until another jolt rushes through your body, from the bottom of your legs to the very top of your head, locking your limbs back into their previous hold. This time, you can’t fight through the spasms, a brief moment of weightlessness taking over your form before a solid force bashes into your skull.

The fall knocks the wind out of you, temporarily quieting the the pain you’d previously been riddled with. Your lungs take in the air and dust around you, trying to compensate for the heavy ache that’s now settled in your bones. You can’t even muster the energy to lift your head up and see how far you’ve fallen, your mouth too dry to even attempt to call for help.

In addition to the numbing ache of your fall, an icy chill makes it’s way across the floorboards, reaching your already weakened body in less than a few seconds. The cold wraps it’s self around you, almost as if to comfort you, somehow spreading over your clothes and under your skin, freezing you from the inside. You can feel the barrier of ice cracking from the weight of your fall, seeping under the floorboards and into whatever room lies below.

Your journey down was loud, loud enough to most likely alert anyone within a ten mile radius of this room, but with your ear firmly pressed against the wooden flooring, you can barely hear any signs of life below. The hypothetical person you’re praying for is your only hope right now.

The seconds pass slowly over your crumpled body, minutes sneaking under your fingers to the other side of your room as they tick by, your body melting into the surface beneath you. It feels like it’s been hours since you collapsed, the lack of a clock within your line of sight making it hard to tell. You’ve been lying here for long enough, the small amount of energy you’ve managed to recuperate in that time most likely enough to flip yourself over. Your hands brace against the floor, ready to push as much as your aching body will allow, when you hear something.

It’s a muffled thud that starts from the room right below you, then doubles in frequency and volume as it travels to the hallway of your room. The hurried footsteps stop right in front of your door, as if their owner is taking a moment to breathe. You let out a sharp breath, redirecting all your energy to lifting your head up as the door swings off it’s hinges.

The figure standing in the doorway is shrouded in darkness, shadowed by the light emanating from the hallway behind them. The two of you stand at a standstill, waiting for the other to do something first. You end up winning the battle the second the person sees your trembling arms, letting out a small gasp before rushing to your side. You let out a gasp of your own, not because the man’s arms are currently digging into your torso, crushing your body tightly against his, but because of his face.

You know that face, the fog in your memory fading enough for you to recognise him. You’ve been sleeping and waking up to that face for the past two years.

Alexis buries his head in the crook of your neck, the follicles of his lightly coloured hair tickling your cheeks. It doesn’t take long before your clothes start to grow slick with tears, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but you don’t have enough energy to pull yourself away.

“It worked.. It worked..”

You’re starting to get dizzy with how much Alexis is rocking you back and forth, but that doesn’t mean your ears don’t pick up on what he’s muttering to himself. You want to ask him what he’s talking about, what you’re doing in this room, why you’re still in so much pain, but you can’t seem to open your mouth in the face of his tears.

He cries into your shoulder until the whole front of your shirt is wet, his hands never leaving where they’re digging into the fabric at your back, not until you let out a weak cough, your chest shuddering under the increasing pressure.

“Oh! I’m sorry..” Alexis pushes you away faster than lightning, his hands now furiously checking you for any new injuries, aggravating the old ones that are still sizzling under your skin, though you don’t tell him that. “I’m so so sorry, are you okay?”

You watch him breathe out a sigh of relief when you nod your head, the tremors radiating from his limbs reaching your body. He stares into your eyes for even longer than he spent crying, as if he can’t imagine you’re here. Eventually, your body falls back into his chest, your legs soon joining you in the air as he swiftly picks you off the ground, placing you back into the bed like you’re made of glass. You let him shift the covers around your body, tucking you in as gently as possible. The questions you have still swirling around in your mind threaten to spill, but the look in your boyfriend’s eyes stops you cold, as well as the burning tiredness settled behind your eyes. Alexis smooths a shaky hand over your hair, almost whispering to himself with a quiet reverence.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

The first thing you see when you open your eyes isn’t the ceiling of your new cemetery like room, or Alexis’ face bent over yours, but a massive expanse of white space surrounding every inch of your body. The pain that had riddled your body down to the bone is rapidly fading away now, leaving you refreshed enough to notice how fast your stomach is dropping, your hair flying in the space above you as your clothes flutter as well. For a second, you think it’s one of those dreams that leaves you free falling until you wake up, but the feeling of grass slamming against your backside disproves your theory immediately.

The fall doesn’t actually hurt, but it still leaves you stunned, your vision now swivelling across the landscape you’ve landed in. It looks like a park, one that you feel like you’re supposed to recognise; Several trees sway softly in the wind, the sun bearing down painfully on the asphalt below, not that you can feel it. People of varying ages roam the grassy fields, children running amongst the flowers with their friends, adults jogging on the spare paths, but your eyes are only locked on one figure.

It’s you.

Standing towards the edge of the park, right beside the furthest bright brick wall. No one else can see it, but in your eyes, you look radiant. Your skin shines under the weight of the sun, smile so bright it reflects the harsh rays directed at it. For some reason, the sight brings tears to your eyes, small pin pricks that hang on top of your lashes. The you in your dreams looks better than you feel right now, if the two of you stood side by side you would look like a corpse in comparison.

There’s someone standing a few feet away from you, a blurry face that only clears with a sharp ache at the base of your skull. The face smiling along with yours belongs to a close friend of yours, one you’d known for years, but any searching you try to do through your most recent memories for that face comes up blank.

The two of them play around in your section of the park, kicking a small football back and forth while their laughter rings clear in the air. You can’t stop watching them, especially yourself. Your chest burns with a weird sense of nostalgia, the longing swirling around with it currently forcing tears into your eyes. You force your gaze away from them for a second, looking down to flex your fingers and cringing at the shaky crack each one lets out. In that time, you look back up to see yourself shouting at your friend, smile still plastered on your face as they run off in the direction of the park entrance. With all the huffing and puffing your dream self is doing, one of them must’ve kicked the ball over the wall.

You trail behind your dream self like a curious puppy, taking a seat alongside them on a nearby bench. The wind flows freely around you two, rustling the leaves near your feet, drawing out a contented sigh that your dream self matches almost exactly.

You’ve been sitting down for less than a minute when you hear something coming from your left. The voice is muffled, like it’s coming from under water, but you can still tell who it is, though your body reacts first.

Even though it’s clear the two of them are meeting for the first time, your dream self doesn’t seem to mind letting Alexis sit right beside them, their legs almost touching from how close they are. The conversation starts easy, but you can’t hear a word they’re saying. Their mouths open in a way that should produce regular words, but all you can hear is a series of garbled noises, scratching the most sensitive parts of your ears. Your hands slam against them, doing nothing to block the noise pollution corroding your senses.

The pain recedes eventually, the light laugh your dream self lets out cutting through the headache splitting your skull. Both of them seem to be getting along, their loud gibberish lining up from time to time. To anyone else, it would look like they already knew each other.

You watch both of them get closer and closer the longer they talk, their heads finally snapping apart for the first time since Alexis sat down, your friend jogging in your direction with the football tucked under their arm.

A sudden lurch takes hold of your stomach, your limbs gravitating towards the ground as if feels like it’s opening beneath you. The landscape starts to distort into a series of jagged shapes and colours, twirling and mixing in the air until you can’t tell where you are anymore. The you in your dreams holds their phone out to Alexis, taking his number as well before the scene drops under you, plunging your form into darkness.

Creaking your eyelids open enough to analyse every dark patch on the stone ceiling takes about two minutes, getting your body to catch up with your still groggy mind takes ten. You can feel your fingers twitch over the sheets as the last remnants of your memory-like dream fade from your vision. The iota of peace that had caressed you into sleep in the first place gives way to a dull ache that radiates from the back of your neck down to your thighs. The ache turns into a sharp stab the second you try sitting upright, an almost imperceptible hiss escaping the space between your teeth.

But your new slightly angled position gives you a better view of the room. Not that much has changed, but it’s hard not to notice the new furniture compared to how empty the room was yesterday. There’s more hospital equipment surrounding your bed; Trays lined with needles, salve, and bandages, an IV drip standing at attention in the space to your left. The bag hanging from it’s metal skeleton obscures the left hand corner of the room, but it doesn’t completely cover the shadow lurking in the darkness.

Alexis’ light magenta irises shine at you from a few feet away, barely blinking as his pupils remain trained on your form. An involuntary shiver wracks through your limbs, your heart thudding louder the longer you think about how long he’s been standing there for.

“You should go back to sleep… your wounds are still healing.”

He reaches the edge of your bed in four long strides, taking his place by the IV bag like he belongs there. You let his hand press against your shoulder, guiding you back under the covers while his other hand adjusts the pillows behind your back. He only settles down when you look comfortable enough, patting the thin cotton strewn over your legs before he turns to the metal cart still standing a while away from you.

The room is a lot cleaner than the last time you’d seen it, even through the excruciating pain you’d sniffed out enough dust to force you into an asthma attack. The temperature in the room has also plummeted to a reasonable degree. Now you find that you can breathe without it feeling like frost being injected directly into your lungs.

Thinking about it now, your only issue with the space is that it doesn’t look entirely lived in. You may not remember much, but you can’t reconcile the knowledge of your own personality to the drab quarters that stand before you. The room could belong to someone else, or it could’ve been arranged by people who didn’t know you that well. You realise the answers can only come from the only other person in the room.

“How long have I been in here?”

Alexis doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s listening from the way his body shifts in your direction, just enough for you to notice.

“A little over two weeks, why?”

“And I’ve been sleeping? The whole time?”

He’s facing you now, showing you an anxious smile as his hands fiddle with the IV getting closer and closer to your bed. You watch him heave out a small sigh, placing a hand over yours when it looks like the drip is working.

“You fell down the stairs a while ago, I couldn’t get you to wake up so I just left you to rest here..”

The guilt floating around in the lighter part of his eyes is enough to squash any other questions you have, your head nodding a slow rhythm as you glance down at where your hands are intertwined. Technically, it explained the absurd amount of pain you were in when you woke up, though you wished you had woken up in an actual hospital instead. And for some reason, your mind doesn’t want to start thinking of how bad your fall could’ve been for you to sleep for two weeks straight.

He leaves them like that for a second longer, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze before he turns back to the drip, turning back to face you with the small needle between his fingers. You feel your body shrink away from his almost by instinct, your gaze fixed on the long, thin needle currently aimed at your hand. Alexis looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh that’s already shining through the curve of his lips.

“You know you’re already too weak, we can try solid foods when you’re feeling better. For now..” His right hand shoots towards your shoulder, too fast for your already sluggish body to dodge away from, fingernails digging in hard enough to keep you in place but not enough to actually hurt you.

“..You need to get the nutrients any way you can.”

The needle actually slides under your skin pretty easily, a small pin prick followed by the uncomfortable feeling of metal going in where it doesn’t belong. Compared to the nightmare you went through yesterday, this is nothing. But that logic doesn’t apply when you’re already forcing your eyes towards the floor, convinced avoiding looking at the intrusion will make it less uncomfortable for you.

Your eyes scan the wood flooring below, digging into each notch and curve, following the pattern carved into every plank until it stops at something different. It almost blends into the floor, a small rectangle aligned to match the positioning of the wood planks under it. But it’s the light beige symbols shining up at you that catch your attention. The wooden block looks like some sort of talisman, the thin material and matching symbols partially obscured by your hospital bed.

There’s something about it that you can’t tear your gaze away from, something that drags your body in until you’re halfway off the bed, your right hand inches away from the small rectangle, practically caressing the wooden engraving.

A sudden force drags you back into the dull comfort of your bedsheets, both of Alexis’ hands digging into the sides of your own arms. He’s still smiling at you, but it’s no longer the gentle one he’d given you while inserting the IV. This smile is tight, strained at the corners where it’s trying to look friendly.

“There. All done!”

You look down at your arm, watching the IV pump it’s clean fluid under the skin of your hand, the needle firmly held in place with neat, translucent square bandages. Alexis busies himself with tucking you in, folding the corners of your covers into the the bed frame so tight your arms are forced to lie by your sides. It feels more like containment than comfort.

It takes Alexis about two minutes to clear up the medical tools he’d used, the soft clatter of plastic against metal forcing your eyelids into a slow, downwards crawl. Your eyelids flutter one more time before they finally close, the warm kiss pressed against your forehead finally drawing you under.

Your legs are starting to grow numb from how long you’ve spent in bed. The ache radiates from your lower back down to the tips of your toes, creating a buzzing static the settles in the depths of your muscles. You haven’t gotten out of bed since the first time you’d woken up about a week ago, that nasty fall you’d had the last time your whole body ever touched the floor. Even with your lack of movement, you haven’t been bored.

The time you’ve spent withe Alexis has given you a better grasp on his personality. He’s been by your bed side every second of the day, from the moment you wake up till the minute your eyes start to close at night. Attentive is the best word you can use to describe him. He constantly has his hands over your bed, checking for injuries, any discomfort. You could spend a whole day telling him you were fine and he would still feel the need to check you himself.

Sometimes it feels like he knows what you want before you can even begin to ask. A small cough, a little shift under the covers, and he’s already turning the room’s temperature down, or changing the sheets before tucking you in.

Aside from tending to your every need, and the hour it takes him to make breakfast every morning, Alexis spends a lot more time trying to jog your memory. It’s astounding really, how many albums and boxes of memories he has stored in the house. Like the one you’re watching him flip through right now. He brought it in about an hour after you’d woken up, blew the dust off and settled the heavy thing into your lap in a way that wouldn’t press against your frail muscles. The album is filled with plain memories, pictures scattered across each page, paired with small lines of text detailing the date and events of each image.

You’re the only one actually reading the descriptions, Alexis seems to already know everything from front to back. You listen to him prattle on about each page, shoving the book deeper into your arms with every date he pulls up. His eyes are almost glazed over with an overwhelming adoration that only makes you shiver.

Most of them are couple photos, ones where Alexis constantly has his hands tightened around your waist or interlocked with your own fingers. Both of you look peaceful, happy, but you can’t seem to shake off a sinking feeling that’s starting to deepen in your gut.

“This used to be one of your favourite places to go..” He coos, his fingers gently hovering over a picture of you staring into the camera, throwing up to peace signs while a shimmering blue aquarium tank fills the space behind you. “We came here almost three times every week.”

The picture doesn’t spark any memories in your brain, but it elicits the same longing feeling you’d felt settled deep in your heart during that dream you had a while ago. The you in that picture looks just as radiant as in that dream, though you can’t tell that’s just Alexis’ photography skills or your own nostalgic view.

“This is one of my favourites…”

And you can see why.

It’s a beautiful picture, both you and the landscape surrounding you. You’re leaning against a thick, silver railing, hands folded neatly over the barrier in front of your chest. Your hair flows freely into the wind, falling away from your face to give the camera a perfect view of your expression. You look peaceful; Eyes crinkled at the corners to match the wide smile you show off, teeth glistening under the sunlight, cheekbones high enough to reach your ears. The sky manages to match the mood perfectly. You can see the sun just starting to set below the horizon, the sun painting strokes of vivid orange, light pink and soft blues across it’s canvas behind you. The light forms what resembles a halo behind your head, making the image look all the more ethereal.

That picture is the last one that makes you feel anything other than dread.

You let Alexis flip through the rest of the album, gaze flicking over the details in each image. There’s an obvious decline in two things; The amount of photos the two of you have together, and your expression in each one. Your mind takes notice of it immediately, counting the couple photos as they go down from about four per page to one every so often. They’re replaced by still shots of you, at different cafes, beaches, nights out.. Always staring past the camera, face pulled into a wide smile.

The smile in those images starts to fray the closer you get to the end of the book, the corners of your mouth bending downwards from time to time, the sparkle in your eyes dimming with every page that passes. You also can’t help but notice the eye bags shining against the flash of the camera lens, making you look beyond exhausted.

It feels like you’re watching the life melt off your face, and by the time you get to the last few pages of the thick binder, every single picture of you is taken in front of the same background, a cold looking kitchen, with grey walls and a dark wooden table.

Alexis doesn’t seem disturbed by your lack of joy in these images, if anything, he seems to relish them more than the others, holding in his breath as if a single snort would ruin the book, not even letting his fingers touch the sacred Polaroids.

You’ve gotten to the very last page now, one singular image placed horizontal across the left hand page. The background is the same as the last few, your smile in the photo still as bright as ever.. but now, reflecting against the cold white light of your room’s lamp, you can see two clear, tear streaks plastered on your cheeks, leading up to your eyes where they shine a soft, miserable red.

There’s another hand in the photo, it’s Alexis’, you can tell that much from here, but it’s not placed over yours in the gentle gesture you’ve seen earlier. In this one, he’s gripping your hand like he thinks you’ll run away, veins bulging on the back of his hand with how hard hes flexing. You can see the space where your skin is rubbed raw, bright purple and red hand prints where both of your hands are conjoined.

Snap!

“I think that’s enough for today.”

The album slams shut in your face, blowing a small cloud of dust in your direction. You don’t get enough time to relax your expression, the anxiety settled on your features obvious to Alexis based on the way his eyebrows draw together. He reaches a concerned hand towards your face, fingers rubbing softly against your cheek, sending a small shiver down your spine. You want to duck away from him, a voice in the back of your head screaming for you to get away, but you push down the urge, turning your gaze towards your hands where they’re folded in your lap.

He strokes the skin of your cheek for a few seconds, taking the horror on your face for sadness that the impromptu reminiscing session has ended. Alexis soon gets up, finding his way to the IV connected to your hand, replacing the empty bag in less than a few minutes before twisting the plastic knob at the bottom.

Your vision starts to swim the second it’s fluid touches your veins, the exhaustion underneath your skin letting Alexis manhandle you into a sleeping position. He stands over your still form, smoothing his hand over your hair until your eyes creak shut, the darkness of your own subconscious swallowing you whole.

A field of soft grass and energised faces isn’t the scene that greets you this time when you finally realise you’re dreaming again, your body floating in a white space for just a second before you’re dropped onto raw concrete. Again, the fall doesn’t hurt, but you still force yourself to sit there for a minute, taking in your surroundings before you finally get up.

This one is a lot more chaotic than your last dream; Where the gentle wind and light laughter had brought you a sense of peace, the heavy crowds of people that swarm your current position, loud conversations overlapping with each other is enough to give you a headache. The bodies that phase through your spirit-like form barely have any detail, their clothes, facial features and expressions are greyed out like background characters in a comic book.

They’re overwhelming to look at, but you find that after just a few seconds, they get easier to analyse. If anything, the charcoal grey bodies shrouding your vision make it easier to spot the cheery individuals coming your way. It’s you again, and of course it is. After the last one, you’d realised these scattered dreams were the only way you were going to reclaim your memories from an objective point of view. You’re walking down the road with a friend of yours, not the same one in your last dream, but still as close judging from how their hands are intertwined as they whisper jokes into each other’s ears.

It’s only when the two figures stop at the space right in front of you do you realise you’re standing next to a coffee shop. You watch your dream self pause in front of the door, smiling at their friend before swinging the door wide open, the cafe’s warm ambience leaking into the slight chill hanging in the air outside.

Your mind snaps back to attention, your legs carrying you through the entrance before the door slams shut. The shop is small, the kind of small cafe you’d find tucked into a deserted nook on the street. Dark wood and light beige runs along the walls of the building, paired with various coffee related murals scattered across the shop.

The three of you make your way to the counter, with you falling behind as you watch the two happy figures give their order to the barista. That same echo of distorted noise shoots past your ears, causing less of a headache than last time, but still enough to make you wince. Watching the barista make your order makes you think; When was the last time you’d gone outside? Taken a walk around a park? Ordered drinks with a friend? The amount of food on your tray keeps piling up, your cup of coffee now a tall drink laced with enough syrup to make your teeth hurt. Even without your previous memories, you can tell it's been a while since you’ve been able to eat what you want, even before your fall as well.

It doesn’t take long for your dream self and their friend to find a seat, a nice table for two right by the cafe’s window, your friend immediately turning outside to watch as people pass by. Just like the last dream, you and your friend get about ten minutes to themselves before a familiar figure walks up to them, light brown hair sticking out against the sea of grey.

You watch yourself jump up to meet Alexis, arms wrapping around his neck as you plant several pecks on his flushed cheeks. Looking at the two of you now, you would think you were just a regular couple; And if you hadn’t noticed what you did in that album, you probably would’ve been smiling along with yourself. From his close the two of them are, it’s clear you must’ve already been dating Alexis for a while during this, most likely a few months after your first dream took place. The you in your dream quickly let’s go of him, turning back to your friend with a sheepish smile. It looks like you’re introducing them for the first time, your friend giving Alexis a polite smile as you drag a nearby seat to your table, pushing him into it.

The dream doesn’t give you any more time to analyse anything else, the scene quickly melting around you in a quick motion that makes you dizzy. Your eyes struggle to gain purchase on any details, and all you can do is close your eyes until you physically feel the landscape change. Luckily for you, it happens in less than a minute.

And from there, it only gets faster.

You watch yourself in different places; Restaurants, outings with friends, walks in the park, visits to family, even that aquarium Alexis mentioned being your favourite, and every time Alexis manages to insert himself in a way that makes him look like the caring, concerned boyfriend. Sticking to your side as you try to keep up with friends, dropping off in front of the restaurants you enter, waiting to take you home, pretending he doesn’t see the awkward looks they give him each time. And just like with the album, you can see your own reactions decaying in real time; You go from looking ecstatic to see him, probably prattling on about the coincidence, to looking exhausted every time you hear his voice, turning to him with a withered smile.

In one scenario, before Alexis even shows up, you catch the anxious glance your dream self gives their surroundings, as if you’d already accepted the fact that he was going to show up, and was hoping spotting him first would at least give you back some control.

It’s also very hard not to notice your friend group steadily decrease. As the scenes flash rapidly before your eyes, you go from being able to spot at least ten different people or friend groups, to only recognising the friend you’d seen in your first dream. Clearly, they were the only ones that could put up with Alexis’ behaviour.

...

The flashes finally stop a second later, landing on another plain looking street, your feet dropping on the space right in front of a small library. You don’t have to stand there for long either, your gaze swiftly locking on a figure clad in black, trudging your way.

You already know it’s you, you’ve seen yourself enough times in these dreams to recognise yourself at a first glance. But you no longer look as radiant as you used to, you now look as tired as you currently feel; Your usual trendy outfits have been switched for a simple black hoodie and some sweatpants. That in itself is not revolutionary, not every outing needed a bright outfit to match, but you could tell it was obvious. The you in that time had worn the plainest clothes you owned because you wanted to hide.

It takes your dream self a while to actually enter the library, your head swivelling to scan your surroundings as if you were expecting someone to jump out of a nearby alleyway. When it looks like no one’s coming, the two of you finally step in, your dream self immediately taking a sharp left towards the back shelves. They pick out a book almost without looking, but you can tell it’s a book you were familiar with judging by how fast your dream self sits down and flips to a page closer to the middle. You take a seat beside them, shifting as close as you can, giving yourself the most amount of emotional support you can from almost a year in the future.

Surprisingly enough, the written words in this dream aren’t muddled like the spoken words you were used to not being able to decipher. You’re so focused on your ability to actually understand what you're looking at that you don’t notice the chair to your right being pulled out from the table, its legs screeching against the floor in a silent scream, catching your dream self’s attention but not yours.

You only look up when you realise that the page you’re on hasn’t flipped in two minutes, your pupils widening in tandem with your dream self as you both stare at Alexis where he’s now sitting right beside them, chair too close to theirs. He’s rambling about something you can’t hear, but you’re no longer blind enough not to see the hand he has on your dream self’s thigh, slightly gripping the fabric of their sweatpants like he’s trying to keep them in place. You can see them shrink in on themselves, their shoulders coming up to meet their ears in a motion that only seems to spur Alexis on, his expression somehow getting softer and more deranged.

You know you can’t do anything to help, your only job watching your own memories play out before your eyes, but that doesn’t stop you from jumping out of your seat, your hands phasing through Alexis’ head as you try to shoo him away. The overbearing attitude you’re watching right now hasn’t changed at all, its too close to how you feel whenever you wake up to see Alexis already standing over you in the mornings, you didn’t need old memories to know you were sure of that.

The frustrated haze hanging over your mind fades the second a loud, muffled sound reaches your ears. It came from you, the you in your dream, whatever they yelled out causing everyone within a five mile radius to turn to them. It also shuts Alexis up immediately, the reverent look on his face now melted into a small frown. You stand there, hands over the book you were reading, chest heaving as if you’d just finished hard labour, and to you, having to deal with your own boyfriend felt like the same thing. Most of the people around you stare with annoyance at the disturbance, but you can see a few that look concerned.

Your dream self turns to Alexis, the closest you’ve seen yourself get to him in a while, yelling in his face for what feels like forever, whatever gripes you had with him flowing freely from your lips. The outburst leaves your dream self quiet for a second, still heaving under the weight of your own stress, before you storm out of the library, leaving your book open on the table.

To his own credit, Alexis doesn’t look the least bit upset, the frown that had plagued his expression before now tilted into a neutral smile. At a certain angle, it almost looks like his smile has gotten wider, though that might be your own anxious bias. You watch him turn to the people that were closest to you, apologising for a disturbance he subconsciously started before heading in the direction you’d run off to. The dread that settles itself in your stomach as the scene melts away around feels even heavier this time.

The black void you drop into surrounds your body for much longer, as if to give you time to think about how you might actually be dealing with someone dangerous now, someone who’d somehow isolated you from friends and family with a small smile on his face. You float for what feels like hours, before being dropped into the frame of your own consciousness.

You can feel the bags settled under your eyes before you even wake up, your vision bleary as you struggle to keep your eyelids open. It takes you a while to focus your eyes on the grey ceiling of your room, and it takes you even longer to remember the dream you had last night. That’s when your stomach starts to turn, churning and twisting itself into knots until it feels like you’re about to throw up. You can feel your fingers trembling against the sheets, barely even able to to fold against your sides. The walls feel like they’re closing in, your room starting to feel more like a prison.

Your limbs are a lot stronger than they were a week ago, finally giving you the push to lift yourself off the bed, though you can’t tell whether it’s the rest you’ve been getting or the adrenaline that’s now furiously pumping through your veins.

Alexis is right across the room, obviously, dusting an almost empty shelf with a small, light turquoise feather duster. He ghosts over the row of massive albums and boxes with a gentle reverence, humming a soft tune to himself like some kind housewife.

“Gimme a second, I’ll come fix your IV.”

Alexis turns to you a split second after you get comfortable in your new sitting position, still predicting your needs before you could utter the words, shining an indulgent smile in your direction in a gesture that’s meant to relax you. Your body shifts back into the head board instinctively, the urge to rip that IV out of your hand rapidly spreading through your form.

Looking at him now, you can’t believe you didn’t see it before, the weight of your recovery clouding your mind from what was right in front of you. You’ve never seen Alexis panic. He’s far too calm for a man who watched his partner fall down the stairs into a coma for two weeks, he’s too prepared for an incident that he made sound like an accident. You never questioned how he got the medical equipment so fast, why you’d woken up in a hospital bed in the first place. The more you think about it, the more it seems like Alexis did something to you, something you won’t remember until you find out for yourself.

“..Did anything ever happen between us?”

You open your mouth before you can think about it, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you keep shifting backwards. Alexis doesn’t turn to answer you, but you notice the way his body tenses for a second, before he’s back to cleaning.

“What do you mean?”

“Did we ever fight?”

He lets out a soft laugh then, throwing a smile over his shoulder, but you can tell it’s starting to strain at the corners.

“Of course we did liebling, all couples fight…” You watch him hang his head for a bit, letting his body fall forward until he bumps against the shelf right in front of him. It looks like he's trying to remember something, or like he’s trying to gauge how much he can reveal. “We never fought for longer than a few hours, that just proves we’re made for each other.”

A brief silence takes over the room as you let his last sentence swirl around in your mind. It sounded like a last resort, like something he’d thrown in to make you drop whatever it is you were trying to bring up in the first place. If you had had this conversation a few days ago, you probably would’ve taken the excuse, you would’ve let Alexis cajole you back into a state he could manipulate.

“I had a dream last night…” Your eyes flick over his hunched form, watching for any twitches or reactions you can latch onto. “About that day in the library.”

It’s a vague description of what happened that day, you know that, but the involuntary clench Alexis’ fingers give the wooden pole of his feather duster gives you enough to keep going.

“I saw you follow me in, sit down beside me. It didn’t look like I wanted you there. I snapped at you that day..”

You let the words settle into the space around both of you, dropping the temperature down to a frigid low that makes you feel like you’re breathing in solid ice. Alexis is fully facing you now, the feather duster on the floor beside his feet from where he dropped it the second you’d mentioned him stalking you. You force yourself to stare directly into his eyes for the first time today, your pupils narrowing into suspicious slits that draw your eyebrows in as well.

“We didn’t break up after that? That didn’t piss you off?”

The careful smile that had plagued Alexis’ face since the second you woke up is gone, replaced by a devastated worry that forces his hands into a defensive position. He looks lost, upset that him shoving those pictures in your face hadn’t jogged your memory in a way that benefited the love story he was trying to write. Your suspicion cuts into him, unshed tears gracing the tips of his lower lashes.

“No, no! Of course not, I could never get angry with you. That was just a small argument, you were tired that day and I should’ve left you alone. Don’t worry, your mind is just feeding you the bad memories first because you’re stressed. If you just lie down for a little longer…”

With every excuse he babbles into the air, your eyes catch the way he shifts forward, quietly approaching on the tips of his feat like he’s trying to coax a wild animal. For every step he takes, you take one off the bed, your body shifting slightly until you’re almost falling off the bed. Alexis’ hand shoots out then, aiming for your shoulder to drag you into his embrace. You intercept it with a burst of energy you didn't even know you possessed, confronting the panic settled on his features with the distrust on your own.

“You did something to me, didn’t you? That fall.. was it really an accid-”

“I think you need to go back to sleep.”

You don’t get to react this time before Alexis grabs your other shoulder with his right hand, wrestling around with you for long enough to make you think you’ll come out on top before an unnatural strength forces you into bed. The room fills with the sounds of your own panicked shouts, tears of frustration gathering on your lashes as you try to wriggle away. He grabs both of your hands with one of his, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto your cheeks while his knee digs into the space between your thighs. He looks deranged, a fiery fear gripping your chest for the first time since you woke up.

“I have to do this, you’re not well. I’m doing this because I love you.”

The deranged mumble he lets out sounds like it’s meant to be comforting him instead of you, his grip on your arms only getting firmer the longer he whispers to himself. You watch his other hand reach out to your IV bag, your protests only getting louder as he quickly twists the knob, the fluid flowing towards your skin in slow motion.

You should’ve ripped it out the second you woke up, should’ve used the metal pole and swung it at Alexis until he had answered your questions. The tears rushing down your cheeks blur your vision to the point where Alexis’ features become a jumbled mess, but you can still see the moment the IV fluid reaches your skin, flowing into your veins with an unrestrained agony. It feels like liquid fire burning through your body, doing its work in less than a few seconds as your muscles start to grow limp, melting into your sluggish corpse. The screams bubbling up from your throat dissolve under your tongue, the cotton in your mouth rendering the organ useless as a drop of drool runs down your chin.

Alexis runs his hand down your hair, the way he always does with that blinding joy on his face, joy that the drug pumping through your veins was working, keeping you pliant under his thumb. You feel your nails digging into the skin of your palm, leaving crescent shaped marks in your flesh. The temporary jolt of pain doesn't do anything compared to the sedative still pumping towards your heart, your teeth grinding a frustrated rhythm as your eyes shut softly.

The air around the house buzzes with a sharp silence, culminating into one spot in your room. You don’t hear the usual sounds of Alexis shuffling around the room, cleaning or adjusting his tools, waiting for you to wake up so he can put you back to sleep again. You recognise that doesn’t mean much, he could be standing in the corner of your room with that creepy stillness of his, watching you with his eyes wide open. Your hearing kicks in a lot faster than the tiredness still settled under your eyelids, keeping you locked under a forced unconsciousness; But it doesn’t take long for you to open your eyes after.

It feels like you’re having a bout of sleep paralysis, your limbs lying dead beside your aching body, barely able to shift a finger, just like the first time you’d slept and woken up. Luckily for you, Alexis is not standing over you when you fully wake up, the ever present grey ceiling being the only thing that greets you.

You strain your ears, trying to see if you can hear Alexis from here, shifting around in the kitchen below, making a breakfast you never get to see. You can't hear anything, but that doesn’t mean the tension in your muscles immediately relaxes. It’s hard not to count down the seconds as your mobility slowly comes back to you, the sedative wearing off the longer you keep your mind active. The second you can move your right hand to your chest with no difficulty, it crosses over to your left hand, gripping the IV as hard as you physically can, before yanking it out.

It comes loose with the muffled tear of the bandages over it, and a small hiss from you. Blood beads from the puncture wound almost immediately, a small drop that pools on the back of your hand until you start shifting around in an attempt to get up.

With the needle no longer in your arm, it feels like you have a lot more energy, enough to shift yourself into an upright position, your head hanging over the bed as you look at the drop down to the floor. Its not high at all, not even close, but your legs are still weak, and if you want to make it to the door, you’re going to have to fall off the edge.

You’re a lot more prepared than you were the first time you’d toppled off this bed, your arms bracing out before you, pushing off the floor the second the bottom half of your body comes down to so you come to a hard roll instead of a heavy drop. Your elbow groans under the pressure of your fall, but you push the pain aside, your only focus being on putting one hand in front of the other, until you reach the door.

You’ve made it further than you thought you would’ve about two days ago, the door giving you an unprecedented warmth through your palm. You could turn back, pull yourself back into bed or wait for Alexis to come back so you can feed him some lame excuse. The pictures, the dream, Alexis’ behaviour flash through your mind all at the same time; You could argue Alexis was just trying to keep you safe, but you can’t pick apart your own memories, or doubt what you saw in your own expressions.

You were happy, and then you were miserable. If you stayed under Alexis’ thumb, you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life.

The door swings open easy enough, it’s lock sticking out of where it’s meant to be, stopping the door from closing fully, You don't know how Alexis missed that, but you can only count yourself lucky as you drag yourself out. The hallway is narrow, just as small as the room you just came out of, your body taking up almost ninety percent of it as you shuffle downwards. Each door you open gives you nothing; Two out of the five of them are practically empty, guest rooms that haven’t been lived in or decorated yet. The remaining two are being used as storage units, piled high to the ceiling with boxes. As much as you wanted to go through every one, you had no idea when Alexis would come back, if you started delving into all of this you wouldn’t be able to arrange everything in time to avoid suspicion.

It’s obvious why none of the doors are locked. Alexis never expected you to get far enough on your own two feet to see the rest of the house. You don’t know whether you should feel miserable, or count your blessings.

There’s one last door, standing directly opposite your own room. It’s your last and only hope, the final nail to make sure you aren’t digging up a coffin of your own delusion. As you get closer, you notice the wood square sitting perfectly in the middle, the symbols scrawled into its surface the exact same as the one you’d seen hidden under your bed. You make a silent prayer on the way down, hoping your luck will apply to this door as well. The temperature seems to drop the longer you crawl, coming to a freezing point the second you stop right in front of the door, the same cold that had hung over your room a week ago.

The door feels heavy under your palm, heavier than the last four in a way that makes you feel like you’re pushing against a metal frame instead. You can feel the vibrations travel down your arm, something deep in your bones telling you not to look at what’s in there. You almost want to listen, the dread settled in your gut now twisting into a sharp anxiety, but it’s already too late, the door letting out a shuddering creak as it slowly drags across the floor.

You see the pictures first; Hundreds of them littered across the walls, lying on the ground, spread across nearly every surface of the room. And they’re all pictures of you. If you thought the album Alexis had shown you was creepy, these send full on tremors all over your body.

Every single shot is taken from a angle the you in those pictures clearly wasn't aware of; Some are taken from behind walls, through windows, around street corners, far enough so even if you had checked your surroundings, you still wouldn’t have seen Alexis taking them. About half of them are taken over your bed, in a room that belonged to you way before this new one had become your prison, your sleeping face taking up the full length of the polaroid.

The smell hits you next. The dull, heavy scent of something old, like a decaying corpse. You try to drag yourself further into the room, your fingers almost slipping in a sticky liquid that makes your hand shoot backwards. It’s mostly faded into the darkness, the light seeping in from the hallway behind you illuminating just enough for you to see the edge of the puddle you put your hand in. It’s red, a dark red that perfectly matches the shade it left on the tips of your fingers. It seeps under your nails, dripping down your fingers and into your clothes, spreading a dark stain all over your skin.

Blood.

You’re sitting in a room full of your pictures stained with blood.

You almost want to throw up, your throat making a painful bob as you swallow the bile back down. The thick, dark liquid is doing a horrible job of concealing the floor beneath it, its stream angled towards the left corner of the room. That’s the only reason you manage to spot the illustration drawn into the wood floor, fading away from age. You can only see one quarter of a circle, its outer ring detailed with two more circles, intricate lines and shapes speckled between each one.

It looks like some demonic circle, the kind you see in dramatic horror movies and low quality video games, then be grateful that you’ve never seen one in real life. That luck no longer applies to you. The same talismans you saw outside are scattered amongst the circle, the wood of each slab dissolving into a brownish red as they absorb the liquid under them. You still can’t tell what’s written on them, even less now, their sharp angles so abstract from any lettering system you know that you can’t even begin to decipher them.

Your hand hovers over the rest of the blood, ready to swipe away as much as you can just to see the rest of the circle. It pauses right over the slick puddle, your finger twitching under the weight of the sound coming from downstairs. It’s quiet, nearly blending into the silence of the house, but you can still pick out the sound of a key turning to unlock the front door. Panic takes over immediately, your limbs flailing as you scramble out of the room, closing the door as far as you can without creating a ruckus. Your palms and knees scratch against the hallway floor, wiping away the blood that had stained your fingers, a part of your brain hoping it didn't stain your nails.

It feels like your heart is about to explode, each footstep that resonates downstairs thumping in tune with your rapidly pounding heart. You can hear him trailing up the stairs, calm, leisurely like he already knows what you’ve been up to and is waiting to catch you. The room is in sight, an arms length away from you now, your knees slamming against carpet at a speed your joints can barely keep up with, but you have to keep moving, the footsteps now close behind.

“What are you doing?”

One hand grips the sheets of your hospital bed, the skin of your knees rubbed raw from how fast you forced yourself to move. Your breath comes in short, ragged burst that you try to hide over your bed frame. Alexis stands by the door, shadows falling over his face as he stares at where you’re crouched on the floor. Even from here, you can see the way suspicion solidifies in his gaze, fighting a battle with the trust he's trying to have in you.

“I couldn’t find you..”

Your hands are shaking, enough for you to hear the rattle in your bones as you turn to Alexis. You can feel your voice going hoarse, laced with an unimaginable fear. It brings tears to your eyes, hot tears that help the lie on your lips fall off smoother.

“I woke up.. and I couldn't find you. I..I got scared, and when I tried to look for you, I just fell..”

The excuse is a stupid one, even the tears streaming down your face can’t hide that fact. But Alexis’ face softens, his lips pulling in that usual smile of his. You let him pick you off the ground, your head curling into his chest to solidify the act. A part of you still thinks he knows you're lying, knows you found that room down the corridor and is waiting to punish you for it. But if there’s any indication that he’s angry at you, then you can’t see it. He lays you back down in bed, gently shifting the covers around you like you’d never even left. You watch him side step the IV needle still lying on the floor, dangling from where you ripped it out.

He doesn’t shove it back under your skin, in fact, you notice his left leg shooting out to kick the equipment away from you, his hand coming up to rub locs of your hair between his fingers. You close your eyes soon after, not from the exhaustion of your journey, but in fear that if you don’t go to sleep fast enough, Alexis will start to suspect you all over again.

Your stomach drops at the thought of having more dreams after what you’ve seen, but your mind doesn’t seem to bend to that fear, either that or it doesn’t care. Within minutes of you letting your eyelids close, you feel that familiar feeling of your consciousness dropping out of your body, and into the cold embrace of your own hidden memories.

Alexis is dangerous, or at least his love for you is. You’ve seen enough of it in the pictures he has of you, that room down the hallway. You know any other revelations will just make you sick. Still, you pry your eyelids open when the sounds of everyday life reaches your ears, your mind immediately recognising the space around you. The wallpaper of the kitchen you're currently standing in is the exact same as the one you’d seen in the hallway upstairs, it’s such a vivid, vintage yellow that you couldn’t possibly miss it.

Your dream self is easy to spot amongst the bright yellow and dark brown furniture, especially since the house also seems relatively empty. You’re crouched over a dining table, head in your right hand while something rests in your left. It’s a phone, your phone, pressed against your ear so hard you’re certain it’s going to leave an indent, your voice floating into the receiver at a volume that would sound like whispering to anyone else, but feels like yelling to you. You know getting any closer won’t help you understand what’s being said, but at this point, like the last dream, it’s more of the support you feel like you’re giving yourself.

The two of you crouch by the kitchen table, your eyes boring into the side of your own face, watching as stress and anxiety pass over your features in droves. Your dream self looks terrible; Eye bags bigger than the fear still swirling around in your irises, sweatshirt stained with what either looks like sweat or tears, and it’s not even your size, it looks like the kind of thing Alexis would wear instead.

Like a demon hearing his name chanted for the third time in a row, Alexis appears in the archway separating the kitchen from the rest of the house, a neat little book sitting in his hands. The only reason you know he’s there is because your dream self senses him first, turning towards him with shock and horror. You hang up the call you were on quicker than you’ve ever seen before, practically tossing the phone halfway off the table. The two of them start talking about something, again in that garbled language you can't understand, but the sounds of their arguing fades into the background as you stare at your own phone.

Coincidentally, it lands right in front of your imaginary position, face up so you can see the hang up screen still illuminating from the screen. The name is jumbled up, unlike the book you’d seen in your last dream, but you don’t look away immediately, your eyes narrowing down into slits as you stare into the depths of each letter.

Something is pulling at the back of your mind, trying to drag you away from the phone, but another thing is telling you if you just concentrate, you’ll be able to decipher the details of your own mind. It feels like the seconds drag on, each minute dedicated to twisting and shifting each letter until it starts to make sense. You get the first one; M, then O, you spend longer trying to make out the T, eventually it spells out all the way to the end, until one word shines up at you from the now fading phone screen.

Mother <3

The text messages come next, notifications piling up, keeping your phone screen bright and alive, giving you the perfect view of your wallpaper. It’s a picture of you and Alexis, ironic considering both of you look nothing like the happy couple reflected on the screen. The texts are easier for you to read, whatever you unlocked in the back of your mind translating the words before you even register them.

I thought I told you to break up with him. 12:35pm

That boy is dangerous and I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen 12:37pm

Call me back soon. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming there myself, and I am bringing your father. 12:38pm

The last conversation you’d had, had been with your mother, and she’d pointed out the one thing it took you almost two years to notice, or finally get tired of. And she’d noticed it the first time she met him. The visions flash right behind your eyes, practically blinding you, but you can still see every detail of each one.

Your mother opening the door for you and Alexis, shock written across her features, the four of you sitting down, having what looks like a nice dinner, you and your mother in the kitchen, discussing a topic you can actually make out this time.

“So.. what do you think?”

“I think he really loves you..”

You take the plate she hands you, wiping it down with a cloth towel before putting it aside. Your mother turns off the faucet a second later, turning to you not with her usual calm smile, but with a motherly worry you hadn’t seen in a while.

“But sometimes it looks like he loves you a bit too much.”

You hadn’t understood it then but now the irony hits you like a freight train. Right isn’t enough of a word to describe your mother’s words. Even without your memories, you can see the way Alexis looks at you, like you’re holding the key to his life, like he’ll die without you, and a small part of you is scared he actually might. That he might take you with him if he wanted to.

The visions melt away just as quick as they came, your body falling back into your previous dream. Your dream self and Alexis are still talking, your voice starting to rise as his stays at a low volume. You can hear them now, but your ears only pick up on one thing as the scene falls from under your feet. It’s Alexis’ voice you hear last, resonating in your mind until the second before you wake up.

“You know you’re not allowed to talk to her.. Your mother doesn’t understand us, no one does.”

You have to leave this house. Today.

Staying trapped in your bedroom with a man who has dismantled your life is out of the question, if not today, then tomorrow. And if not then, the day after, until you can finally go to sleep without dreading waking up the next day. All you know is that you have to leave this house even if you have to crawl out with your own hands.

You don’t even have the luxury of waking up to a silent morning, the first thing you see when your dream has faded from your vision is Alexis, his hand flush against your face as his thumb strokes your cheek. He’s closer than he ever was before, almost like he trusts you now, the typical smile on his face spread even wider. You push down every bit of disgust that's threatening to spill from your guts and lean into his touch, your hand covering his over your face.

“You look so beautiful when you’re sleeping…”

It’s creepy, a creepy little whisper that flows out of his mouth so freely it scares you all over again. Now that you’re no longer fighting, he has no issues showing you his true face, though you’d seen underneath it a while ago. You try not to let it show on your face, exchanging the anger you want to spew at him for a light laugh, the corners of your lips curving into a subservient smile.

“So you’ll watch me sleep but you won’t actually lay down with me?”

He looks conflicted for a second, his eyes shifting off your face enough for you to let it drop before he’s looking at you again, careful smile back on his face.

“You were in a… difficult mood, if I had tried you would’ve panicked.”

Of course you would’ve panicked. You woke up confused, in pain, weak in some strange room you couldn't recognise, with almost none of your memories intact. Then here comes the only person you can point out, your own partner, scooping you up to keep you in that same unfamiliar room. If Alexis had done anything aside from keeping you sedated, you would be in jail by now for murder.

“I’m sorry… I was just so confused, I took it out on you and I shouldn't have.”

The apology makes your stomach curl, your lips trembling with frustration as each word falls off them, though you're certain it looks like genuine remorse to Alexis. Somehow, he manages to smile even wider, his hand only growing gentler across your skin.

“Don’t be. It was a difficult time for both of us.”

Your gaze flicks away from his face to the right side wall long enough to notice how late it’s getting. You weren’t sedated last time you went to sleep, but you can imagine stress gave your body enough of a reason to to sleep till almost five in the evening. Alexis is still gazing down at you with adoration by the time you fully turn to him, peeling his hand off your face just so you can nestle it in between your two hands.

“It’s getting late, have you had dinner yet?”

This time your face actually lights up with genuine joy when he shakes his head, your mind immediately grabbing onto the opportunity to bring his guard down harder than your hands are holding his.

“Why don’t you come up here and eat with me?

It’s Alexis’ turn to brighten, his eyes crinkling into excited slits while his hands fall from yours to clap together in a rapid motion. He bends down to place a small kiss on your forehead, missing the way your lips curl over your teeth. You lean against the touch he lands on your cheek one more time before he turns to the door, giving you a small wave as he opens the door.

“I’ll be back in a second, just wait for me..”

You hadn’t expected him to leave that quickly, but you’re not exactly complaining. However long it takes for him to make breakfast will give you enough time to think of a proper plan. Getting Alexis to let his guard down is a good start, but if you stick to just that, it’ll take weeks before he trusts you enough to let you downstairs, let alone outside the house. You need something better than that.

It comes to you a second later, simple enough to go over your head but it would be difficult to get done physically. If you could keep Alexis entertained while he's eating, and beg him to stay with you until he falls asleep, you might be able to sneak out then. But you would have to makes sure he doesn’t look your room door, you could handle the front door when you get that far.

Ten minutes pass with you solidifying the plan in your mind, repeating over and over what you’re going to say, how you’re going to act. This is your first and last chance to get out, if everything doesn’t go perfectly, you might not even get to leave your bed for the next year. Your legs throb just at the thought of how fast you’re going to have to move, once you’re out that door, you can’t stop until you get somewhere you finally recognise.

Your eyes flick up to the door as it opens, Alexis stepping through with a tray balanced neatly between his hands. The act starts now. The second you see his face emerge from that entryway, your body crumples in on itself, hand shooting to the place under your ribs as you let out a pained hiss loud enough to echo through the room. You make a silent wish as the sound of pounding footsteps echoes louder over your fake whines. Alexis’ hands fly over your body, panic obvious from the pitch in his voice, but all you can do is laugh, using the tremors to add to the act. You’d heard him shut the door, but you never heard it lock.

“Sorry.. it just felt like I pulled something. It hurts so much..”

You lean weakly into his waiting arms, clutching the hem of his sweater with a shaky hand as his clothes start to get wet with tears. It takes you a lot to squeeze out those drops, your eyes throbbing with a dull ache while Alexis rubs his hands across your back.

Just like your little weak act, the rest of the evening goes perfectly well. You manage to keep your words sweet and your actions tame, the smile on his face only getting wider the longer the two of you talk. He looks ecstatic to see you talking to him normally, most likely the way you used to before his madness took over your relationship. Eventually, the food clears up bit by bit, the clock ticking downwards until it sits closer to seven o’clock. It takes him less than ten seconds to clear up, his hand finding your shoulder in that familiar gesture before you’re pushed into sleep. Panic grips you immediately, but you try to push it down before it shows on your face.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You’re gripping the sleeve of his shirt, the fabric leaving grooves in your fingers from his hard you’re holding on. He looks down at you with a patience that makes you want to gag, his other hand smoothing down the back of your head.

“You’ve been looking stressed lately, you need to rest by yourself.”

Any protest you have is cut off in a matter of seconds, with gentle reassurances that you can’t seem to rebuke. You want to beg more, at least until it looks like he’s about to relent, but the fear of making him suspicious because you're pressing too hard takes over. Alexis has been shifting closer to your face with every sentence you utter. You let him because you need this to work. The placating smile on his face melts into yours as your lips meet in a chaste kiss that tastes weirdly sweet, something buried deep in you begging you to reciprocate before the kiss ends. You reach for him one more time, clenching your limbs as he leans down for another kiss.

Now.

A dull ache spreads from your forehead down to your nose as you slam your head into Alexis’ waiting face. The hit disorients you for a second, but not as bad as how far Alexis flies away from your bed. Blood spurts from his nose immediately, dropping onto the bed sheets and wooden floor as a sharp crack echoes in your ears. You can't tell if it came from your forehead or his nose. Alexis is too busy trying to push the blood back into his nose, giving you the opportunity to jump, practically fall out of bed. You don’t waste a second, adrenaline pushing your body through the door less than a second after you get up.

Unfortunately it doesn’t do much, the strength of your barely used muscles can’t compare to his, especially since your attack only puts him down for a second. He starts catching up to you in the hallway, his pounding footsteps letting you know how pissed he is without you having to turn around. The stairs are right in front of you, your mind already doing the calculation for you, it’ll take three steps at a time to get you down the quickest, at least until something shifts you.

A heavy force takes hold of your arm, nearly cutting off circulation as the force spins you around, bringing you face to face with the absolute fury on Alexis’ face, you've never seen him that angry, not even in your dreams.

You don’t get to look at him for too long, the world tilting sideways as a sudden weightlessness takes over your form. Your right ankle twists painfully, the half of your foot that was already on the first step now serving as your death sentence. Each step digs into a different part of your body, practically snapping each of your bones as you go down. You shut your eyes tight, the little bit you’d seen at the start of your tumble enough to make you throw up.

It feels like you’re falling in slow motion, counting down the seconds, minutes, hours until your body drops into the main foyer, freeing you from the barrage of pain coming from every side. Your head finally cracks against a surface, the wall right beside the front door. You can see it clear as day, dark wood burnt into your blurring vision before something jumps in front of it. The deafening whine blocking your ears starts to fade, replaced with the sound of Alexis’ panic.

“Shit.. Shit! Are you okay? I didn't mean to, I’m so sorry.. You know I would never try to hurt you..”

He keeps rambling but you can’t hear him anymore, the sound of your bones cracking as you try to stand taking over once more. Everything feels too bright, too loud, like your brain is trying to break out of your own head. Your fingers slip down the walls every five seconds, but that doesn't deter you. Alexis is still fussing over you even as you lean against the wall, his hands hovering around your shoulders until you smack them away, hands still shaking.

“Don’t… me..”

Alexis is practically kneeling on the floor, hands clasped together in a painful grip, tears and blood mixing together on his face. He reaches for you again, fingers barely brushing your trousers before you hit him again.

“Don’t touch me!”

The outburst spreads a silence that only seems to make your head pound harder, the hand you rest against it doing nothing to help. There’s something flashing underneath your eyelids, images, visions, of you in this exact same hallway. It's getting harder to tell the difference between what you're seeing and what’s actually happening, but that doesn’t mean you ignore the onslaught of memories.

…

“I should’ve never given you a chance, you ruined my life!”

The vision is in perfect shape, no distorted language, text, no abrupt endings. Everything is being laid out right before your eyes, in a way you’d have to be stupid to not understand. You and Alexis are arguing, not the way you were before you focused on this vision, it looks like you're actually standing your ground, not out of fear, but anger. Alexis is trying to reach out to you, his hands missing every time because you refuse to let him touch you, ducking out of the way too fast for him to catch.

“Schatz please, you don't mean that. Let’s go back upstairs, okay?”

“No!” Your hand is on the doorknob now, the only reason the you back then hasn’t left yet because they clearly need to get something off their chest. “I’m tired of you keeping me in here like a pet! You never let me do anything! …My mother was right, you are crazy..”

The jab does exactly what it’s meant to, hit where it hurts. Alexis stumbles back, like the insult actually reached out to hit him, a mix of pain and heartbreak written across his features. You swing the door wide open, the chilly air flowing freely into the foyer. It feels like you can actually feel it from where you are, standing a few steps away, body translucent against the warm overhead light. Suddenly, a harsh wind snaps against your side as Alexis comes back to life, grabbing your arm in a grip you’re certain probably broke something. You watch yourself struggle against him, the sudden strength throwing you off. The two of them fight like that for a solid minute, the pleads falling off Alexis’ lips so fast you think he’s possessed.

“Please I need you, you can’t leave me! We love each other! Give me another chance.. I’ll do anything!”

It looks like the fight is going in your favour, the only grip Alexis still has on you being the edge of your coat’s sleeve. Even with freedom in your grasp, you lean closer to him, whispering something into his ear. From where you are, you shouldn't be able to hear anything, but the fact that these are your memories means every whisper is amplified by a hundred.

“I would rather die.. than ever love you again.”

With that, you pull yourself free one last time, running off into the night before Alexis can even react. The next part happens in stop motion, less smooth but still as clear; Alexis reaching out to your retreating figure, your form blending into the night as you make a stop in the street, looking for your next direction.

You look back one more time, a cursory glance before headlights illuminate your figure, blinding you while your body makes its new home under tires and concrete.

…

You snap back to reality with a sharp breath, your lungs aching with how much air you take in. It clicks in your head before the vision even fully fades from your eyes; The pain you woke up in, your room, the hospital bed, that room with all the blood and the circle underneath it. You didn't want to believe it had anything to do with you but it’s so obvious now. Something in Alexis’ expression shifts, almost like he knows you’ve figured it out, the obvious shock probably resting on your features enough to tip him off. He starts trembling even more when you raise a finger to him, your legs barely able to keep you up.

“I died that day…” He’s shaking his head now, furiously trying to deny the truth with a voice you can’t hear over your own confused acceptance.

“I died.. and you! You did something to bring me back.. That circle in the room upstairs… those talismans…”

The sentence cuts off there, your voice shrivelling into a dry whisper in the face of what you're now dealing with. You don’t have the energy to stop Alexis from crawling towards you on his hands and knees, tears still dropping into the wooden flooring. He grabs the fabric of your pant legs between his hands, still crying into it like it’s his world currently falling apart, and maybe it is.

“..What did you do?”

You already know the answer, but a part of you needs to hear it from him. hear what he decided to do with your body, with his own two hands.

“I couldn’t live without you! When.. when I saw it happen, it felt like I couldn't breathe.. I wanted to kill myself for months before I found out how to bring you back. It was the only way…”

Like a coward who only regrets what he’s done after it's over, Alexis doesn’t look you in the eye longer than a few seconds, his hands doing the brave work for him as they wrap around your right leg, hugging the limb close to his still trembling body. For the first time in a while. it actually feels like you’re going to throw up, the bile sitting right in the middle of your tongue, just waiting for you to lose your mind.

You can’t believe it, or at least a part of your brain can’t believe it. The evidence is right in front of you, but it still doesn’t feel real. You saw yourself on that street, felt the pain that was meant to keep you dead. Everything about your life feels wrong now, it was an accident, a tragic one, but you should be dead, your body should’ve been relinquished to your family. You should've gotten a burial like everyone else, instead you got your life back, a life born from love so vile it tipped the scales of life and death itself.

You don’t even register your leg shooting out to kick Alexis away until he yells your name, a panicked scream that gives you a headache. You're shifting towards the door, stumbling into the solid wood as your hands start to fiddle with the handle. It’s not locked, a mercy that you don’t stop to be grateful for. The night air caresses your rapidly paling cheeks, drying the unshed tears coating your eyes. One more scream and Alexis is back on your leg, crying so hard you think he might faint at any moment.

“Please! I’ll.. I’ll give you anything! You can have the house, I’ll let you go out whenever you want.. we can break up if it makes you feel better. Just please! Don’t leave me again.”

He knows what you’re going to do, both of you do. Not even the pain in your heart is enough to stop you, Alexis’ tears do nothing. This time, you crouch down to peel his fingers off your leg, the last bit of kindness you’ll ever show him. A very small part of you believes that deep down, Alexis does love you, you wouldn’t have given him your number the first time you met if you hadn't seen that.

All you can think, is that maybe the two of you would’ve been happy if you had caught it before his love turned into obsession.

The streetlights illuminate the road beautifully, spreading their warm glow over every inch of concrete. You don’t run this time, there’s no need to, not when it takes less than a minute to reach where you need to be. The air slows down around you, wrapping you in a chilly embrace that actually comforts you. It reminds you of how cold your room used to be. Maybe your body craves that cold because it knows that’s where you're meant to be.