She is not easily drawn in by simple promises and warmth that's so often fleeting. She grew up in cages of ice and she won't melt at the first sign of warmth.

Winter was eternal and summer was temporary.

"'Melia," Pearl says, a near inaudible quiver to her voice. She means to continue after that, to say her request all at once and confidently, but she freezes.

(It's all she's ever done.)

The bright brunette before her is attentive and hears the call of her name in the midst of her rant about inconsistent characters and lackluster plot lines. She halts her passion to hear what her friend has to say. "Yeah?"

Her eyes are glimmering like a moonlit pond and if Pearl swung that way (she doesn't), she'd be in trouble. Big, big trouble. It was effortless to fall into those eyes, to get sucked into the riptide and not care about whether or not you drowned.

Pearl hears the sick amused laugh of her mother ringing in her ears. "Can we talk about something else?" Her heart is pounding, racing, and she's preemptively hearing taunts her mother has thrown out a thousand times before.

Amelia’s eyes flicker, a few of the stars dying in a supernova. “Oh.” Her expression’s shift is slight, but stark. “Yeah, sure.” Her lips lift after, a smile, but this one doesn’t spread any warmth, doesn’t niggle at something in the other girl’s chest, and doesn't light her eyes like usual. “I guess I was rambling, huh?”

She sighs. There’s guilt, now, grappling against her fear. She wasn’t a great listener. She wishes she was, wishes she was the ever-present shoulder and unwavering hand, but her mind has learned to tune out long rambles to avoid the barbs hidden in the words. Amelia isn’t malicious like that, of course, but habit is habit and it’s hard to change.

“I’m sorry,” she says, cradling her cup in her hand, warm like Amelia had been before she got greedy and snuffed it out. “It’s just…” she slides her other hand down her face. “I’m having trouble keeping up, everything has been so,” she waves her hand through the air, “muddled, lately.” Choking. Stifling.

Amelia digests the words, pursing her full lips. “Alright. What would you rather we talk about, then?”

Oh, the kindness. Nothing hurts quite like it. Not when she was undeserving of it -- who was she to stop her spiel? Her mind was a whirlwind, true, but that was her issue to deal with. Not Amelia’s.

“Did you see the newest episode of Project Paranormal?”

“Of course!”

Pearl bites the corner of her lip, masking her smile. “Well, I didn’t catch it. Mind giving me the rundown?”

Dramatically, the other girl gapes. “You missed it? After the cliffhanger from the last episode?”

Pearl recalls said cliffhanger. She remembers watching it in the living room on her couch. She winces. “Yeah. I was… busy.” Grounded from TV, more like. Her mother had come home early and seen what her daughter was watching. She didn’t approve.

No daughter of mine will worship the devil, she’d said, practically hissed. The cross at her neck had felt like hellfire then.

That cross is tucked into her pocket now, still burning. (Always burning.)

“Well, you see…” Amelia hops onto the new train of rambling quite quickly — she’s made to talk in that her words are bait on a hook. She draws others in, for better or worse or worst.

Maybe the Icarus comparison isn’t too far off.

Maybe she was already in too deep, over her head and drowning in honey. Sweetness all around, but too much.

What was Icarus’ mistake, anyways? When the sun calls, Apollo’s pretty words and reaching hand, was he supposed to ignore that? God’s attention, no matter how meager or plenty, is not something for a mortal to pass up. Especially a summons. Especially when the sun had been so scarce for him.

He hadn’t really had a choice, in the end, except in how he’d like to go. A mindless plummet into the freezing, or a soaring arch into the smile of a carefree god?

Pearl was quite like Icarus in a lot of ways. If she had to choose between her blood, who were far less sacrificing then Daedalus had been, or her sun, she’d burn too.

There were far more unpleasant things than dying in a fire one chooses.

“You’re kidding,” Pearl gasps, derailing her inner thoughts for the shocking tidbit she just heard (she’s good at multitasking, on some things). “That’s what happened? No shit?”

“Nope. That was how she died.”

“Never would have guessed that. Shit.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been a bit MIA lately.” This is their first time speaking in a couple of weeks -- by far the longest gap of silence they’ve ever had, though it wasn’t all silent and wasn’t preplanned.

The long list of one-sided texts, gray bubbles with read receipts on and no replies, vouches for that. Let’s have a movie night soon! Hey, wanna go to the fair while it’s here? Are you okay? Did something happen? Text me back! Coffee? I miss you <3 Tell me that you’re ok. Texts that had gone unanswered.

Texts that had sent Pearl’s parents breathing down her neck.

But she hadn’t been busy, like she’d said she had been when she finally got around to replying. Though she actually had been busy. Fielding questions, praying, going to church, fending off her mother’s paranoia about her daughter turning to the devil, ignoring her father’s disapproval. All of her parent’s overbearingness was unneeded. They were just friends, Amelia and Pearl. Nothing more. And Pearl didn’t swing that way, didn’t daydream about the softness of the other girl’s fingers wrapped in her own or of the gloss shining on her lips. No. She wasn’t gay. That was sinful.

“Hey, it’s cool.” Amelia smiles, radiant and honest. Pearl feels the guilt again.

Liars will burn in the lake of fire and sulfur.

She was lying. She actually… kind of really did like Amelia. Like Icarus did Apollo, like Juliet did Romeo.

She sips her drink again, wishes it was still hot enough to scald her tongue. “Go ahead and tell me about the other thing.”

“You sure?”

She nods. She can sit through an hour’s worth of what’s drivel to her but gold to the other. Sacrifice. Small things. She can handle listening to the other girl’s joy if she must. One day, she may even actually follow through on one of the thousand book recommendations she’s received. She’s not a reader, finds it hard to focus on something utterly silent and blocked with words, but maybe she’ll try one day. One day when she’ll be living on her own, out of her parent’s toxicity. One day when she’ll be free to watch whatever she wants. One day when she can…

Well, the future was the future. Not here. Unpredictable. Subject to whims. Bound to change drastically from tiny choices, a butterfly’s wings. But there were some certainties.

Pearl and Amelia would stay friends. Amelia will always ramble on about her books while the other listens with more amusement and fondness than any real interest in the topic. They will drink coffee and stay at each other’s side, together.

As friends, obviously. At least at first.

But until then, there was today. Coffee and friends and a rambling she doesn’t care about (same as the future, except here there are no touches that blatantly linger).

He tries again, eyes skipping over everyone’s head. Justin, one, messy brown hair. Ken, two, sides shaved blond. Lucy, three, braided black. Bailey, four, red waves. Rory, five, brown hair dyed a now-faded blue and tied high in a swinging ponytail. Him, Hunter, six, unstyled black.

Six.

Hunter’s pretty sure they started with seven. Didn’t they?

He counts again.

Lucy, one, braided black. Bailey, two, red waves. Justin, three, slicked brown. Lanny, four, buzzed brown. Rory, five, fresh dyed purple. Ken, six, blond. Him, seven, black.

Seven.

Wait. Didn’t he just count six?

He closes his eyes and blows out a breath. Focus, he tells himself. This is an easy task. Just count heads.

One, Rory, braided purple. Two, Lucy, ponytailed black. Three, Dan, shaggy blond. Four, Bailey, curled red. Five, Justin, buzzed brown. Six, Lanny, short brown. Seven, him, black.

Something didn’t add up right.

Seven. The right number. But did he add someone that wasn’t there? Is he losing his mind? He feels like he counted too many people.

There were seven of them. Him, Lanny, Rory, Lucy, Bailey, Ken, Justin. They all went here together. They were the only ones here.

Then why did he feel like he saw a stranger? Said the name of someone he didn’t know with the same ease of those he did?

He was going insane.

“Hey guys,” his voice comes out shaky. “I’m gonna dip.”

“What?” Rory stares at him with her blue eyes, her low ponytail pulled over her right shoulder. “Why are you going? We’ve barely been here.”

He gulps. His mind is running down their names. Lanny, Rory, Lucy, Bailey, Ken, Justin. Lanny, Rory, Lucy, Bailey, Ken, Justin. Lanny, Rory, Lucy, Bailey, Ken, Justin. Lanny, Rory, Lucy, Bailey, Dan, Justin.

Him and his friends. Him and his friends.

No one else.

“I know,” he half-chokes out, trying to laugh so they call him out on his pounding heart. He needs to sleep. He’s deprived, exhausted. That’s all. “But I’m exhausted, guys, and my mom is dragging me to my uncles tomorrow.” True, but not something he cared about before.

Sympathy softens the accusations that started to bloom on their faces.

“Get out of here, then,” Justin says. “It’s late anyways.”

They all wave or shout a goodbye. Some of them make his face heat up. He walks away but stops at the gate. Something cold runs down his back.