Bog Witch who makes Art

“Hey, Zeke.” She puts on a cheery tone, once she manages to get his attention. 

Eye contact, music pauses, headphones off. It’s becoming something of a routine.

“I found this button. It must’ve fallen and rolled under the desk. I don’t know if you still need it for something but … here.”

She holds the button out to him with both hands. He looks at her for a moment before reaching down and pinching it between two fingers. He inspects it for a second. 

“Thanks.” He says, setiing the button in a dish on his desk that contains many other buttons. “Anything else?” He asks her. She shifts nervously and shakes her head. 

“Okay,” he says. Then, same old story. His headphones go back on and he doesn’t spare her another glance. 

It’s like talking to a wall. What happened? 

She lets more time pass. She doesn’t want to trek all the way out to him just to get ignored again. She doesn’t have the time or the energy to spare on stuff like that. There’s always something to do around her home. She should funnel her efforts into doing something useful, rather than moping about how a human won’t talk to her. If she had another borrower to talk to, they would think she was crazy. For all intents and purposes a human ignoring you is the opposite of a problem. But the thoughts and feelings don’t go away with logic. She just wants him to look at her like how he used to. At this point, it’s a puzzle she can’t solve. It’s irritating. 

She wakes up early. Nowadays, sleep leaves her feeling more stale than rested. It's shallow, fitful, usually laced with nightmares when it does come. She scrubs her hands over her face, throwing a glance to the old wrist watch face propped against her wall. It's as good a time as any to get up. Get some stuff done. Always something to do. 

She gets up and gets herself dressed. Her conversations with Zeke, or the lack of, itch at the back of her mind. 

She’s gone in circles trying to piece it together. Things were fine. She left. She came back. Things are suddenly not fine. Marcus didn’t seem to have a problem with her, but Zeke…

If she could just get him to talk to her, maybe she could figure it out. She goes through the motions of her routines, but her mind is mainly putting together what she’ll say to Zeke, and how she’ll get him to talk to her again. 

It’s not until she’s made it into the hallway of his apartment when she realizes the time. Oh right. A regular time for her day to start is solidly when humans are sleeping.  

She lingers in front of his door for a moment. She’s never been in his room before. The thought filters through her mind before she can swat it away for the foolishness it is.

She should wait. She thinks that, as if there is another option. She absolutely should wait, she’s not going to wander into his room in the middle of the night and, what, wake him up? That’s ridiculous. 

But she’s already here... She stays in that stasis of indecision for a moment before just slipping beneath the door. Maybe he's awake. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. She’ll just check to see if he’s awake, and then she can go.

His room is immaculate, even in the darkness she can see that everything has a place. She wouldn't even think of borrowing from this room. Zeke would notice something as insignificant as a missing paperclip. 

He's in bed, she sees his form creating a landscape beneath the covers. His breathing is deep and even. He's definitely asleep. She takes a step back towards the door, before pausing.

She could try to wake him up. He might be a light sleeper. 

The thought is dangerous, and becoming even more dangerous by the second because she walks towards his bed instead of away from it. She climbs the fabric. Standing on the mattress is awkward as the plush surface shifts under her weight. The dip in the mattress from the weight of him creates a steep hill. She takes careful steps, closing the distance between them. His back is to her, forming a solid wall in front of her. 

“Zeke?” She asks into the silence.

His easy breathing doesn’t falter. 

Not a light sleeper. She should turn back now. Her feet still don’t move her away. She takes a small step closer to him, then another. 

His shirt is warm beneath her hands. She pushes against him with all her might. No reaction. She might as well be trying to push over a building.  

If I could get to his face… she rationalizes, despite all the alarm bells blaring in her mind. Yes it’s a bad idea, possibly the worst idea she’s ever had. But this is Zeke. He might be mad at her, but he’s still Zeke. 

She pulls the fabric into her fists and climbs. It's as easy as climbing anything else. Maybe easier because she's got the fabric of his shirt to use for hand holds. Finally, she reaches the crest of his shoulder. She kneels down, pressing her hands into the living ground beneath her and gives him a nudge. 

“Zeke?” she calls out, trying to rouse him. 

She swallows, unable to deny the reality of how dangerous this situation is. A series of increasingly terrible ideas culminating to this. 

“Zeke?” She tries one more time, shaking his shoulder to the best of her ability. Nothing. Alright. She tried. This was dumb anyway. Beyond dumb. She goes to climb off of him. She’ll entertain herself for a while and when it’s a regular time for humans, she’ll find a way to talk to him then. She hasn’t even really figured out exactly how to say what she wants to say to him, besides just asking him ‘what happened,’ and there’s no guarantee he’s going to want to answer that. 

She’s beginning her descent when, movement. 

His hand lifts, reaching blindly for her. No, he isn't grabbing at her, his fingers drag across his shoulder, as if scratching at an itch, brushing away an irritation. The fabric pulls beneath her and the back of his hand catches her. As easily as that, she’s shoved down the slope of him, landing clumsily against his warm skin.

He’s still asleep, she realizes as his pulse thrums through her. She uses her hands to push herself upright, quickly putting together that she's landed against his neck. She's beginning to assess how to get herself out of here when suddenly he jolts with a sharp intake of breath. Before she can blink, her world lurches. He shoots up into a sitting position, the movement sends her tumbling down his front. 

His enormous hands slap into her, and she crashes roughly against his midsection with enough force to knock the wind out of her. Her arm is pinned under her, caught at an awkward angle, a sharp sting of pain shoots from her shoulder. Her face is smashed against the unforgiving wall of his torso. For a second, she can't breathe. Panic explodes in every cell in her body. Then, just as quickly as he caught her, he rips his hands away from himself, tossing her away from him. She is sent sprawling through the air, tumbling head over heels until crashing onto the blankets. She's unable to course correct for a safe landing. Despite the plush surface, she hits hard enough to knock the wind out of her a second time. She bounces once, and rolls uncontrollably until skidding to a halt on Zeke’s lap, lost in the folds of the blankets.

All she can do is wheeze, gasping for air to fill her burning lungs. She struggles to get up from her prone position. She coughs roughly, a metallic taste lingers in the back of her mouth. Her face throbs and she can't breathe through her nose. She lifts a hand to it tenderly, her fingers come away wet with blood. Her left shoulder shoots a stiff pain down her arm every time she tries to move it. She can't assess herself more than that before the sheets around her start shifting again. Her panic spikes as a very real sense of danger falls over her. 

“H-hey!” She manages to wheeze out the word. Then with a cough she adds, “Zeke!” 

He freezes around her with a start, the blanket slowly pulls away, uncovering her. From her back she looks up at him.

"Isabell?" He stares down at her with an unfiltered look of bewildered panic. Time freezes there for a second. But only for a second, then everything happens all at once. 

Zeke’s face twists into an incredulous expression that she’s maybe only seen once before, and it was directed at Marcus, after he did something exceptionally ridiculous. 

“What were you thinking?” he asks harshly, his voice rough with sleep.

A heavy hand descends on her, snatching her between trembling fingers. She realizes that she thought that since Zeke hasn’t grabbed her that meant that he wouldn’t. She was wrong. Her heart pounds at speeds that she never conceived to be possible. 

“While I was sleeping? You-” he cuts himself off with a grunt. She’s whisked her up to his face, and he squints at her in the darkness. He mutters a curse under his breath and leans over to click a light on. She blinks against the sudden light, thoroughly disoriented after everything that’s happened.

“Zeke-”

“Stop,” he cuts her off, “don’t even talk to me right now.”  He draws her close once more, his other hand coming forward and catching her chin with the tip of his thumb. He tilts her face up to his, forcing her to look up at him. She doesn't dare move, she barely breathes, just stares at him with wide eyes. He squints one eye shut and takes in the details of her face. She can't see more than his eyes staring at her, but she can picture the wordless scowl on his lips.

“Just a bloody nose,” he says finally releasing her and pulling away but not before a relieved sigh ruffles through her hair.  “Your arm,” he notes. She had been holding it close to herself. Damn his stupid observant- “Wiggle your fingers.” 

Jaw tight, she does what he says. Then she rolls a few careful circles with her shoulder, biting back a wince as she does. 

“I just landed weird. I’m okay.” 

He lets his hand sag, apparently finished with his assessment. She’s bumped, bruised and bloodied, but it’s all minor. He sets her on the pillow opposite him, just letting her tip out of his hand and sink into the plush surface beneath her. It isn’t as graceful as they’ve managed before. She struggles to right herself amidst the sinking cushion around her.

Zeke doesn't seem to care. As soon as she’s out of his hands, he rounds on her. 

“Do you realize how dangerous that was?” he rakes a hand through his hair and leans over her, casting her in his shadow.  “I could have- I almost-”

“Well, you didn't! It’s fine-” she interjects, trying to calm him down, but he cuts her off quickly.

“That's not the point!” His hand plants into the mattress with a dull thump, the shift of his weight and the speed of his movement is enough to bounce her. 

Her words die with a small squeak and she holds her breath as he leans over her, looming even more than he was before. His hand trembles, he notices and curls it into a tight fist, dragging the sheet taut beneath his massive digits.

“In no world is this fine,” he continues, “I could have broken that arm, or worse. You could have-” he corrects himself, “I could have-” he can't bring himself to say it. But she knows what he's trying to say. She could have died. He could have killed her and not even noticed. “Do you know what that would have done to me?” 

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t think-” She swallows dryly, trying not to cringe away from the intensity of his gaze. 

“No. You didn’t think. You don’t think. You just do whatever suits you, and leave everyone else to deal with the consequences.” He works his jaw, glaring down at her. 

A defensive indignation spikes through her. 

“I’m surprised you even care,” 

“You-” his gaze sharpens and his brow furrows. “What do you mean?” He asks, no less angry, but his voice is quieter than before.

"You won’t talk to me. You won't even look at me. What happened?" 

“You left,” he says it as if he’s explaining something obvious.  

“Oh, was I not allowed to?” the words have more bite to them than she was intending. 

He stiffens suddenly, and something changes in his face. He looks away, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He breathes a humorless laugh.

“Okay,” he says quietly with the shake of his head he opens his eyes again and his expression is carefully measured. 

“Believe what you want,” he says, a painfully neutral air about him now. Whatever momentum the argument between them had been building has completely vanished. He lays back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“No. That’s not-” she begins. Zeke doesn’t look at her. “Zeke, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

 She fumbles over herself to apologize. She shouldn't have said that. She doesn’t really believe it, not exactly. It’s just a fear that bumbles in the back of her mind, she hadn’t exactly put words to it before. It sounded more cruel saying it out loud. He didn't deserve that.

She has to get back on track.

“I had to leave," she says quickly, "I wanted to stay so badly that I needed to go.” She hesitates before admitting, “I missed you every day. But I needed to leave. You- you get it, right?”   

He’s silent. 

He’s silent for so long, she's certain he isn't going to respond at all. 

“You could have said goodbye.” he says quietly, almost too low for her to hear. 

“I couldn't,” she admits. “I tried,” His eyes finally flick over to her. “Every time I went to say something I just… I couldn’t do it.”

There’s another long silence, he drags his gaze back up to the ceiling.

“I spent two months not knowing if you were alive. Then you come back and I almost kill you myself.” he shakes his head slowly, letting go of a long sigh.  “Look, it’s-” he checks his watch, “two in the morning. I don’t want to do this right now. Let's finish this later.”

“Yeah. Okay,” she agrees as if he would have accepted any other answer. “Uh, can… can you just… put me on the floor?”

“Sure,” he sighs.

He places a hand near her, letting her climb on. Then, he carefully lowers her to the ground.

Once she’s on the floor, he clicks the light off then climbs back into his bed, and suddenly he’s once more just a landscape beneath the covers. “Isabell?” He says into the darkness. 

“Yeah?” 

“Never do that again. Seriously.”