being really nervous to disclose your diagnosis to jack at first, despite his job title, but knowing that this was something that needed to be done sooner rather than later, so you don’t seize in front of him, whilst he’s unaware you have epilepsy, and wrongly cause him to internally panic, worried it’s a medical emergency.

when you do eventually inform him of your condition, he doesn’t react with the typical immediate, overbearing concern or the repetitive questions based upon medical myths you’ve gotten so used to over the years. it’s a quiet, calm care and a concern that’s not an overreaction. jack probes a bit more about your condition, in a very respectful manner, asking questions, as both a partner and a doctor, such as what medication you’re taking for it, do you have rescue medication, and if you do what rescue meds, what type of seizures you experience and how long you’ve been diagnosed, all the basics really.

jack reassures you, that telling him changes nothing between you, and that he still loves you all the same. However, you do notice a subtle shift in his behaviour, after he becomes aware of your diagnosis, it’s not a negative shift at all, jack just becomes slightly more protective, asking if you’ve eaten, making sure you’re hydrated, subtly checking you’ve taken your medication.

the first time you seized in front of jack, there was no warning, you experienced none of your typical auras. for you, the experience was as simple as one second you were conscious, the next you weren’t. for jack however, he noticed you grow slightly rigid next to him, the muscles in your body no longer relaxed, no longer limply flopping across him, as you watched something mindless on the tv neither of you were properly following. jack would gently try and get your attention, he’d call your name, perhaps give your shoulder a gentle shake, and when he got no response, he could predict with nearly a hundred percent certainty, what was about to happen next, which was a full tonic-clonic seizure, just like you’d told him you were prone to experiencing.

when the seizure does finally take full control over your body, jack knows exactly what to do, getting up off the couch, he moves quickly and calmly, his face betraying nothing of the slight internal panic he was experiencing, sure he was an emergency medicine attending, and had seen plenty of seizures, but it was different this time, because it wasn’t a patient, who he could just detach himself from, it was you.

jack turned you onto your side, firmly, before cradling your head in one of his hands, his other hand finding it’s way to your back, to ensure you remained on your side. jack counted seconds in his head, as he watched you convulse. he murmured soft words of reassurance to you, despite knowing you couldn’t hear him.

“just breathe through it baby.”

“keep breathin’ baby, that’s it, good girl.”

“you’re doin’ so well.”

when the rhythmic jerking of your muscles eventually decreased in intensity, before dying down, jack found himself exhaling a sigh of relief, he didn’t fully realise he had been holding in, it hadn’t lasted long enough to be an emergency and you were physically unharmed. jack stayed with you the whole time he waited for you to regain consciousness, one of his hands finding it’s way around your wrist, as he briefly checked for a radial pulse, using his middle and index fingers, once he’d felt the pulse, his hand shifted upwards, so that it was holding yours, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your palm.

when you eventually come to, he asks you gentle questions, his voice calm and low, to gauge your mental status.

“do you know where you are sweet girl?”

“do you remember what happened baby?”

when he receives no verbal response, just confused, unfocused stares, and perhaps a small noncommittal hum, he doesn’t get angry, or frustrated, he just explains what happened, very gently, in a non-distressing way.

“you had a seizure doll.”

“you’re on my couch, it’s okay you’re safe baby.”

“just lie still honey.”

When he hears the voices tumbling over one another outside the club, however; Eddie escalates to alarmed. The others create a chorus that only grows in number and volume until it sounds like a full house at the Breaker Box packed onto the landing. While Winnifred has gone back to her baseline power usage, Lux and Hector haven’t switched off yet. With an annoyed sigh, Eddie shoves up from the bar and shuffles out of the electrical closet to find out what the fuck is going on. 

In comparison to the stillness of the Breaker Box, the too bright light, sheer density of bodies and their tumbling voices are more than enough to set Eddie’s nerves alight. 

This is Hell. 

And they’re not just on the landing. A snake of other objects slithers down the stairs. Though most of the crowd chatters loudly, Eddie sees some remain silent. Betty, for example. She fidgets with her pink hair or chews her nails, casting worried glances to the closed bedroom door every few minutes. And Betty isn’t alone in her concern it seems. Leaning against Wallace, Florence paws at her tired eyes and twirls her tassels nervously. 

Though Eddie would love to know what is happening, he shudders just thinking about wading into the crowd. Thankfully, no one has noticed him, so he sets himself up as a barfly on the wall and listens as Bathsheba and Lux hold court. They seem to be the experts on whatever summoned the horde, their gossip bouncing around the throng of objects, words muddling together leaving Eddie with nothing more to go on than clipped syllables. 

The size of the crowd and the palpable fear plaguing so many expressions is enough to make Eddie’s stomach flop with dread. 

What the hell is going on in that bedroom?

Knuckles white, eyes red, Dorian guards the door, face set in his signature scowl.  When his mouth moves, Eddie hears nothing as the dizzying noise swallows his words. A moment later, Wallace lets out a booming “WALL!” 

The assembled objects go silent, many blinking in confusion. 

“Thank you, Wallace,” Dorian says, voice rougher than normal. His eyes never leave the crowd. “Now, I am aware that you are a curious lot, particularly as it pertains to the human’s activities this evening. Some of you worry and some of you are here for less savory pursuits. Regardless of motive, all of you must depart to the ground floor. This includes any denizens of the first floor bedroom, lavatory, closet and gym. Those dwelling in the attic may remain so long as they stay in the attic.” 

Without a second thought, Betty and Abel push through their fellow things and trundle downstairs wearing matching stoic expressions.

From nearby, Tony brushes back his coal black hair and stares, confused. “Ehhhaaahh, Dorian. This ain’t the first floor.”

Scandalabra tuts his tongue. “You are beautiful as brrrrilliant silver, dear boy, but you clearly lack the lineage of a laudable bauble such as myself. This is the first floor for those of us with a rrrrefined pedigree.” 

“Eh, I’m gonna go.” Tony nervously looks at Scandalabra and slides downstairs. By the time he sidles up to Bev’s, he’s completely forgotten why he wanted to be upstairs in the first place. 

“Dorian, you mean all of us got to go downstairs” Curt asks. Florence pats his shoulder and coaxes him away. As Celia follows, she takes Stella gently by the arm and the pair disappears down the stairs. It takes some time, but the crowd thins out. For every thing that leaves the landing, Eddie’s mind churns up a new terrible thought about what could have happened to the human. 

Dorian’s fingers surreptitiously touch Kopi’s arm as she moves to the stairs. 

“Wait a tick, love,” he whispers.

A few stragglers remain, noses to the sky, expressions haughty and entitled. Brows knitting together, Dorian’s knuckles tighten with a splintering sound. “This is not a request,” he simmers. “Everyone. Downstairs. Now.”

“Um, I’m streaming! Hello!” Lux crosses their arms dramatically. “My followers deserve constant updates–especially my premium subscribers. They are IN.VEST.ED!”

Bubbles pop, giving off the scents of vanilla, strawberries and honey as Bathsheba pleads her case. “I can’t simply walk away. Not when I’m so clearly needed. Besides, the tea is going to be piping hot and delicious,” Bathsheba adds, wiggling her fingers at Scandalabra. 

Scandalabra titters with laughter. “Go. Run along my claw-footed kindred. I’ll be sure to bring you tales most twisted.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Dorian doesn’t blink. “You are all testing what little patience I have. Fuck off right quick before you incur my ire.” 

Lux and Bathsheba huff identical sighs and slowly make their way downstairs, complaining the whole time.

Scandalabra sneers down his nose at the door. “There’s no reason for me to go and we both know it. By casting me out, you only prolong the inevitable, Dorian. Before the cock crows, the flame of knowledge will burn bright ‘pon my brow.” 

Dorian bristles. His voice is menacingly quiet. “Listen here, wick.”

Eyes wide, Scandalabra gulps, his flame guttering as if blown by an arctic wind. 

“I have your attention, I see,” Dorian says. “Now, you seem to be under the impression that this situation is one of your silly scandals. It’s not.” 

Searching for some clue, Eddie’s eyes dart back and forth between Dorian and Scandalabra. The latter has gone from haughty to haunted. His silvery stare softens with genuine worry. “It’s…not? Um…might one inquire?”

“Only one resident of this domicile is privy to the goings on behind that door. And that’s the lady of the house. Now, get the fuck downstairs or I’ll have your knop off.” 

Scandalabra’s expression remains genuinely concerned as he makes his exit, coattails between his legs. 

“Kopi,” Dorian says. “Did the human happen by your establishment earlier this evening?”

They put a finger to their lips and look at the ceiling as their memory percolates. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. I know she had her favorite chai for breakfast.”

Perplexed, Wallace gently engulfs Kopi’s shoulder with one boulder-like hand. “Wall? Wall wall.”

“No. You can check with Freddy and Mitchell, but I’m pretty sure she only had the tea.”

Dorian nods sadly. “Thank you, Kopi. Would you mind putting a kettle on? Some of us are in for a long night.”

“Sure thing. Come see me when you need to. Also, with everyone in the kitchen, I have a feeling Stefan is going to be busy. Just let me know if you get hungry.” 

Kopi returns to the kitchen, leaving just Eddie, Dorian and Wallace looking at one another across the landing. 

“Wall.” Wallace’s bulk sags and his expression falls as he gazes toward the bedroom. 

“Me too,” Dorian says, exhausted. “I can count on your discretion, yes?”

With a nod he replies, “Wall. Wall wall wall wall wall wall?”

Dorian heaves a relieved sigh. “Again, Wallace, you have my gratitude.”

The gargantuan guardian solemnly lumbers away to keep watch at the bottom of the stairs. 

Dorian cracks his neck and shakes out his shoulders as if relieving himself of a burden.

Eddie takes a few hesitant steps onto the landing. “Well, that was certainly something.”

“Evenin’, Watts.”

Keeping his voice low, Eddie asks, “Sounds like I missed some excitement. Why clear everyone out?”

“Our human could use her space.”

What’s this our shit?

 “Does that space mean that half the lights in the house have to stay on for no reason? Or that Hector needs to blow hotter than the sun? Hell, I even got a call from Winnifred. Seems I’m the belle of the ball tonight. Fun.” 

“I know this means more work for you, however this is not about her carelessly leaving a light or two burning. On this occasion she….” After a pause, he scratches his beard, tired. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “How to put it delicately?”

“Delicately?” Eddie looks toward the bedroom door. He shouldn’t care, should stay frosty. Instead, he quietly asks, “She alright?”

As if in response, a wail from the next room shatters into keening sobs. 

Dorian closes his eyes slowly, his expression one of pained sympathy. 

Eddie’s stomach twists with a cold, creeping nausea. Static seems to envelop him and his current races with concern he’s not allowed to feel. His tone remains sarcastically neutral. “Shit. I guess not.” 

Shaking his head, Dorian’s voice is barely a whisper. “Nightmares are nothing new for her. I’ve watched her have more than I’d like to count. I’ve seen her cry plenty of times. Tears of sorrow. Joy–though less so of late. Betrayal. Loss. A break-up or two. And some things I care not to name.” 

Eddie’s chest tightens. Dorian doesn’t need to say more. Eddie remembers Cas and the scars he left behind. Wallace still carries a few of his own. Simmering with a comfortable rage, Eddie’s fists clench tighter. 

“But in all the time since she took possession of this domicile,” Dorian continues, “I have never seen my human in such a state.”

“You’re telling me that,” Eddie points toward the bedroom, “is from a bad dream?” 

“It’s not exactly like I can inquire, now is it?”After an annoyed tsk, Dorian says, “I’d rather not discuss things so openly. She deserves her privacy and for her dignity to remain intact.” 

Fuck. Eddie’s dread only grows. What’s worse than the fuckface? 

“Understood,” Eddie says with a tight nod. He hitches a thumb toward the Breaker Box. “Mind if I just hang in the club?” 

“About that.” Dorian ponders his words carefully. “I know your dance card is rather full this evening. You’ve got duties all about the house including the first floor bedroom and bath. I would…Watts, I would appreciate your help keeping an eye out up here. I fear some of our fellow objects will attempt to intrude upon her all in the name of wagging their tongues.”

Eddie blinks. Trying to hide the lump that has suddenly filled his throat, he says, “I know I’m the master of kicking things out, but isn’t it your job to keep them out in the first place?” 

Dorian’s scowl returns. “It is my job and my job it shall stay. Wallace and I can handle the others, but I...I need someone to keep watch on her. At least until dawn.” 

Eddie’s breath catches. Of all things. Why this? Why me? He’s terrified to say yes, but doesn’t want to say no. “I’ll…”

The air between them quakes as the human lets out another tearful howl. 

Dorian sheds a single tear. “This…it just breaks my damn heart.”

Eddie’s weary sigh is drowned out by another yell. Clenching his teeth, he tries to convince Dorian that he–Eddie–is the last person for this job.

“You want me to stay here and what? Babysit the human because she had a bad dream? Teddy might be better for that, don’t you think?”

Dorian’s dark eyes bore into him with barely controlled emotion. “Don’t be thick,” he spits. “You and I both know there’s more to it.” 

“What do you expect me to do? It’s not like I can help her.”

“Then help me,” Dorian pleads.

He can still hear her. Each sob is an assault on Eddie’s resolve. “Why me?”

“Because of all the things in this house, Watts, you are the most reclusive. You aren’t likely to tell tales if you are rarely seen by the others. And, I know how you feel about her.”

For an instant, Eddie’s throat closes with the fear of a rabbit that’s just met a fox.  “How I f–?”

“You’re not overly fond of her,” Dorian answers. “The whole house knows. But you do the work anyway. If I asked this of the others, it’s possible they might be…”

“Distracted? Like you are?”

Dorian simply nods. 

“So, I'm the best choice for this because I’m not social and I hate the human?” Saying those words–that lie–coats Eddie’s tongue with self-disgust. It tastes of burned plastic and ash. But, if everyone believes that’s how he feels about her, he sees no reason to correct them.

A long silence stretches between them. Dorian’s eyes trail to the floor. He lets out a long, shaky breath as the homeowner’s crying continues. When he speaks, Dorian’s voice cracks. “Please, Eddie.”

He lets a few heartbeats pass before letting out a sigh. “Fine.”

Dorian heaves a breath before sagging with relief. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever.” 

The door clicks open as Dorian moves aside. “After you.” 

Eddie’s stomach turns somersaults. Struggling to maintain his icy resolve, he shambles past Dorian and into the human’s bedroom. He actively avoids her room. It’s too close. Too much her. 

And yet, never enough. 

“WHAT THE BLOODY BLUE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE?”

Eddie starts, surprised by Dorian’s sudden roar. For a moment, he is almost afraid of the rage pulsing off his shoulders. 

Defending himself, Eddie calls out, “You asked me to–.” 

“Not you,” Dorian storms. 

That’s when Eddie sees the figure in the bed. Carved alabaster skin, a pair of torn jeans and that unmistakable white sphere atop its shoulders. Doug lounges with his arms behind his fucking douchebag bowling ball head. Somehow, he manages to look smug and aloof. 

“Don’t get all unhinged, jerk.” Doug chuckles. ”Heh. Unhinged. Get it?”

“Why are you here?” Eddie surprises himself with the cold, steel edge to his voice. 

“Unlike all the other losers in this house, I have a date with the human. Should be pretty hot.” 

Dorian seethes. “Doug, get the fuck out. Right now.” 

“Look, she called me, alright? Granted, it was a while ago. But I like to leave chicks on read. They’re so much more grateful when you finally show up.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Eddie breathes. 

“Spare me, glowstick. You call me all the time. I just let it go to voicemail.” 

“OUT!” 

Spitting feral swears through his teeth, Dorian stalks to the bedside, grabs Doug and bodies Existential Dread out of the room. 

Eddie shakes his head and takes a good look around. He doesn’t see the human. Every light burns as hot as the dry air blasting from the vent.  

How can she stand this? 

The bed looks like it’s seen battle; sheets twisted, blankets a tangled mess that drapes to the floor. And so. many. pillows. Tissues litter the bedside table along with a half empty bottle of water and a long, thin vape pen with golden contents. As Eddie pads to the windows, the air cools and he can feel the slightest bite of winter seep from behind the curtains. At the same time, though, the cloying warmth of steam curls around Eddie’s scruff. River. She silently pulls his attention to the gentle splash and swirl of moving water.  

Shit. 

The human sits in the clawfoot bath, knees drawn up to her chest and head bowed. A wavy curtain of her wet, dark hair obscures her face. Despite the steam rising from her skin, her hunched shoulders quake with teeth-chattering shivers. She clutches both sides of her head, hands like claws, and drags them through her hair. 

The icy rock of Eddie’s heart plunges into his belly as he sees the expression on her face. Eyes clenched shut, jaw tight. A grimace of despair.  He’s heard Bathsheba gossip about ugly crying. While he’s pretty sure this is what she’s referring to, Eddie sees nothing ugly about it. It’s not that the homeowner is beautiful even like this or some similarly trite cliche. Pain is never pretty, nor is it necessarily ugly. What Eddie witnesses is…real. 

And staggeringly familiar. 

I shouldn’t have agreed to this. If he wants someone who won’t get distracted I might be the worst choice in the house.

“Watts!”

Eddie jumps, startled, and turns to find Dorian staring daggers at him. “Sorry, I didn’t expect–I…she…River…” 

He shuts himself up and puts his back to the bathroom. The pair of them keep their eyes to the ground, awkwardly trying to ignore the sounds of her quivering breaths and the light plink as her tears fall into the water. 

“So…uh….” Eddie fidgets, straining against his memories and empathy. “Can you tell me anything?”

Dorian blows out a long, weary breath. “She woke up screaming and shivering. Tried calming herself, but started crying. Went downstairs, turning on every light along the way. A couple of shots from Bev, a bite of chocolate from Freddy. Then she came back up here. You’re now just as informed as I.” 

“She didn’t say anything?”

“Who would she say it to?”

Eddie scoffs. “I’ve heard her talk to herself.”

Dorian nods with a fond smile. “That she does. But, no. She’s not said anything of note. Mainly trying to calm herself down and a lot of colorful expletives.”

‘Just keep it together, kid. You, too,’ she’d said to him. ‘Let’s just both keep it together.’

“MOTHER FUCKER!” There’s a loud splash. “God–fucking shit! Piece of shit!”

Ah, so these are the colorful expletives. 

“I….think I’m going to go stand over there,” Eddie says, nodding to the opposite wall near the closets. 

Dorian’s face is crimson with embarrassment. “I think I’ll join you.”

Both lean their backs against the wall and cross their arms. Neither seems inclined to conversation. Despite all of his attempts to wrap himself in the icy protection of his mind, Eddie can’t focus. His attention flits to the bathroom door, but even without seeing her, his feelings twitch and tug. He looks at the bed. Different emotions swim from the depths, threatening to drag him into waters best left unexplored. He’d drown in all that he can’t have. 

As his gaze travels haphazardly from the opposite wall, the closed closets, the ceiling lights, a feeling of unease prickles across Eddie’s body. His eyes settle over the grate.

“Hey!” he barks, shoving off the wall. 

Dorian’s head snaps, following Eddie’s angry stare. 

Something surges through Eddie’s current. Something dark, crackling. Protective.

Obscured by the vent’s shadows, a pair of eyes, big and sad as a tasslehound’s, peep into the bedroom. Hands reach through the grate, waving frantically. “It’s not what you think,” a small voice calls.

“Have we forgotten where the attic is, Mr. Condicionado?” Dorian growls, “I suggest you follow my earlier direction and scarper off before I am tempted to use more effective methods of persuasion.” 

Eddie cracks his knuckles. Tone arctic, his stare hard, he rumbles, “Sure would be a shame if one of my breakers accidentally tripped right about now.” 

“Please, Dorian. Eddie. I–you don’t understand. I’m merely…a…concerned party. I-I-I can be discreet. My coils will rust before I utter a word, I sw–.”

Eddie takes another step toward the grate. “Hector. You’re already on my shit list for cranking it so hard tonight. So, before I blow a fuse, could you politely fuck off?” 

“My cranking,” Hector says, offended at the term, “is in service to my belo–the lady of the house.”

Dorian boils, radiating a heat that cannot be adjusted via thermostat. “Mr. Condicionado. Did the human request this particular temperature setting this evening?”

“Well…no.” Hector fidgets, his index fingers tapping one another sheepishly. “Not specifically.”

Eddie snarls. “Why are you doing it, then? Specifically.” 

Clearing his throat Hector announces, “I am–ahem–self-regulating. For her pleasure,” he adds quickly. 

With a flat stare and sharp edge, Eddie says, “She has blankets.”

“Blankets? Mateo can only handle so much. Blankets alone cannot protect her soft, fragile skin against the bone-deep cold of winter. She’ll freeze. And I won’t let–.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and puts a hand to one of the switches on his vest. 

“No. Please! Who will keep her warm? She’s already shivering terribly, goosebumps pebbling her skin. Teeth chattering. I can’t bear it!  Could you? Could anyone?”

“Wait a tick,” Dorian says, eyes narrow and jaw tight. 

Hector ignores him. “And you would expect her to suffer the cruelty of evaporative cooling on such an icy night? Without so much as a stitch of clothing to protect her? Monsters! You’re monsters! Why–if she kne–.”

Dorian cuts him off. “That was quite a description, Hector. But how, I wonder, do you know she’s shivering so badly?” 

Eddie sideyes Dorian. “That’s what you’re asking?” Fixing Hector with unrestrained disgust, he says, “How do you know she’s naked?” 

Hector’s eyes widen. “I–I just…”

“Are you spying on my human while she bathes,” Dorian growls. 

Eddie takes a step toward the vent. A blue hue dusts his cheeks. 

“Well, I…heard…something in the vents.” 

“Don’t care, Hector,” Eddie snarls.

“This is a misunderstanding!”

“OUT!” Eddie and Dorian shout in tandem. 

“I’d never harm her. I…I lo–.” 

With a snap of his fingers and a hissing crack, the scent of ozone fills the air as Eddie zaps Hector’s fingers. “Get. Out. Now.” 

He slams the grate shut then–careful to keep his eyes from wandering–he does the same to the vent in the bathroom. 

She gasps at the sound, but even as her wide eyes dart about the room she remains oblivious to the things nearby. Hesitantly, he looks over his shoulder to see fear where anguish had been. As she clenches her eyes tight, small twitches punctuate her shivers.

Eddie reluctantly returns to the wall with an annoyed growl, he and Dorian can hear Hector sulking as he retreats through the vents. Despite his reticence, the HVAC returns the temperature to the human’s preferred setting.

“Bloody hell, am I off my game tonight. I should’ve accounted for him.” Dorian pulls his hands down his face, already exhausted. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t just switch him off.”

Avoiding Dorian’s stare, he mumbles, “Don’t want her to be cold.” 

Dorian pops his chin toward the grate. “He might be one to watch for overnight.”

“You think he’ll be back?”

“Better than fifty-fifty odds, I’d wager. Hector has an…unhealthy attachment to the human. Tends to move about through the vents so he can get a look.”

Eddie suppresses a shiver of his own. “That’s…a bit unnerving.” 

“Whatever you do,” Dorian warns, his eyes haunted, “never mention poetry within earshot of a grate. Frankly, I find his writings to be disturbing, especially since she can neither consent nor reciprocate.”

Nausea creeps up Eddie’s chest. “Consent…so, it’s that kind of writing.”

Dorian rumbles in assent. 

“Does he do this…often?” 

“Probably more than I’m privy to, unfortunately. He’s one of them that prefers to watch. Him and the fucking Scandalabra.”

From the next room comes the sound of falling water. Eddie hears River swirling away with small hiccuping sobs of her own. Moments later the human exits the bathroom wrapped in a towel. 

Face flushing brightly, Dorian turns sharply to face the window, yanking Eddie by the arm to do the same. Hangers rattle behind them, followed quickly by the closet door shutting with a bit too much force. Dorian winces. 

A wet towel lands on the bed. Before Eddie can fully register the implication, the bare human breezes in front of them on her way to the dresser. Eddie puts his face to the wall and Dorian follows suit. Simultaneously, they begin whistling different tunes. They both stop, look at one another and begin whistling again, only this time, they’ve traded melodies. 

The human adds a counterpoint, the rhythm of drawers opening and closing. In his periphery, Eddie can see fabric fluttering. There’s something about the human’s energy. She moves swiftly, with purpose. Of course she’s probably cold, but he can’t help but sense the current of panic in the room. Moments later–pajamaclad–she takes her towel to the bathroom. 

“Interesting,” Dorian whispers. “She just locked the door adjoining the gym and the lavatory."

Eddie’s brow furrows as he turns to face the room in time to see her close off the bathroom. “But, there are no other humans here.” 

She shuts the other closet before checking the lock on the door to the landing. Breath shaking, she surveys the room with little nods here and there as if checking items off a list.

Curtains? Closed.

Closets? Shut.

Doors? Locked. 

The grate seems to give her pause before her attention sweeps to the wall. 

To Eddie. 

With a sharp inhale, he freezes as she looks straight at him. Impossibly, their eyes meet across the invisible chasm between them. Eddie sees the glint of fresh tears welling up in her puffy, haunted eyes.

She….she can’t actually see me. Coincidence, he assures himself. But, he can’t deny something happened. Some spark of understanding passed between them. Almost recognition. On some level, conscious or not, she saw him. He knows it. 

And it terrifies him. 

Eddie’s insides writhe. He’s too hot. Too wobbly. Too everything.

 “Shit,” she hisses. 

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he sees her draping a sheet over the mirror. In three quick strides, she is back to the bedroom door. Hesitant, she turns off the overhead lights and scurries to the bed like a child frightened of the dark. She sits with her back to the headboard, nervously squishing the fabric of her dark blue pajama pants as she tries to slow her breathing. 

 She takes a deep, long drag from her vape pen. Closing her eyes, she exhales slowly, releasing a bluish haze into the room.  While she fusses with things on the nightstand, Eddie paces a circle around the room, eyes trained on the floor.

 From behind him, Dorian’s voice creaks. “I think the worst is over.” 

When Eddie studies her, he can see the human’s stare reaching into infinity. She doesn’t see anything in this room, does she? She’s not here. 

Stretching his stiff limbs, Dorian yawns, “I’m going to go see Kopi about that kettle. Anything you fancy, Watts?”

He glances at the bed–well, at the human in it. After a moment that stretches just a little too long, he waves off Dorian. “No. But, thanks.”

After taking only a few steps, Dorian turns back to Eddie. Gesturing to the human, he asks, “You’re sure yo–”

“I’ll keep the light on,” Eddie says, voice uncharacteristically compassionate.

“Thank you.” Dorian nods gratefully. “Knock if you need a nip.”

And then they’re alone, Eddie and the human. Despite the planar divide between them, his current races in his chest. 

With trembling hands, she puts her phone on the bedside table. Calm music plays; somber piano arpeggios in a minor key. 

Eddie pops his chin toward her. “Song’s pretty. I think I’ve heard you play that before downstairs.” 

She leaves the bedside lamp on, crawls under her covers and musters her army of pillows to a fluffy, protective fort. As she curls herself into a tight ball, Eddie leans against the dresser, his back to the covered mirror, and pushes a hand through his hair. 

“So,” he says aloud. “Looks like it’s you. And me. Just…sitting here til dawn. I’m supposed to watch you, I guess, and try not to feel like a fucking creep or something. I probably shouldn’t be here, honestly. And yet…” 

Eddie pushes off the dresser then, once again, walks lazy circuits around the bedroom. Though she’s no longer shivering or sobbing, he can still hear her quivering breaths. With a glassy, hollow stare, she seems lost in thoughts that are far, far from here. 

“You have no idea.” Eddie chuckles but there’s no humor in it. “Your windows and bathtub are downstairs speculating about what’s going on up here. As far as you know, you’re all alone. And that’s the only reason you feel safe to cry like that. You wouldn’t just let someone see you screaming and sobbing. But here I am. Seeing it. Like an asshole.”

Again, his insides writhe with shame. It hasn’t even been five minutes and he’s already feeling that tugging ache in his chest. The feelings he only allows himself to feel when he’s alone. Those feelings have names, but if he says them aloud, they become real. If they’re real, they still remain worthless and one-sided. 

Unrequited. It’s all Eddie’s love for her can ever be. 

After glancing around the room–lingering on the grate for an extra second or two–Eddie looks back to the human to see her face slip into that expression of deep anguish.

Shit.

With one of his patented sighs, Eddie sits on the empty side of the bed with his back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Crossing his arms, he allows himself to gaze down at her. 

Despite her height and lush figure, she’s made herself so small, curled tight in a nest of pillows. Eddie can see fresh tears quietly rolling along the contours of her face and onto her sleeve.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. 

The song changes to an acoustic guitar playing a slow, lilting dance. A woman’s breathy voice sings. At first, the song is just that. Music and a handful of words. But soon, his current falls in sync with the music. It sways lazily, like a hammock in a cool night breeze. Then, a verse gives him pause. 

A stranger light comes slowly. A stranger’s heart without a home. You put your hands into your head And then its smiles cover your heart.

“Is that what we are? Strangers?” Is that what this ache in his chest is? A heart without a home? 

His thoughts, along with the music, are drowned out by the roar of a muscle car doing a burnout down the street. Just outside the window, the car backfires with a sound like a shotgun. The human screams and snaps into a tighter ball, her arms over her head protectively. Instinctively, Eddie reaches out a comforting hand, stopping just short of her shoulder before realizing it won’t matter. She won’t feel it.

Her whole body quakes. What starts as rapid breathing and quiet crying quickly escalates to a sustained yell made of jagged glass shredding her throat. 

“FUCK!”

She yells until her voice gives. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not really good at this. I don’t know what the fuck Dorian was thinking, really. I don’t know how this is supposed to help.”

Breathless and spent, she goes limp beside him. Without looking, she reaches up to the nightstand, grabs the phone and restarts the song. She lets the phone fall into the bed, then curls into herself once more. As the melody begins, her fingertips move about the pillow as if she’s playing along. It seems to help her steady her breathing and slow her racing heart. 

Something about the song reminds Eddie of candlelight. Something that is both hopeful and melancholy, warm yet dim. 

Music continues, featuring string quartets, more piano pieces and peaceful songs meant to wrench emotions from your soul and let them sing. And though she is lost in thought, she is able to unclench her body slightly. It takes time, but she succumbs to her exhaustion and drifts to sleep. As her playlist continues, there is not a single time Eddie mentally chides her for the waste of Phonecia’s battery power. She needs this. This is medicine.

An hour later, the human is still asleep. But Eddie’s thoughts spin. 

Why am I even worrying over a human? Humans broke me. Humans only cause problems. And this one…she is the problem. The most infuriating problem.

But…

She’s so vulnerable. Delicate. Does he see her as something damaged? To be fixed? Or did Eddie hear that wail and know it? He’s no stranger to those sounds. Those cries welcomed Volt to the world. Much like Eddie had then, tonight and most nights she carries this burden alone. Despair in solitude erodes part of the soul, scours away Hope. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d…kinda like to stick around. I mean, you think you’re alone, sure. But, doesn’t mean you have to be, you know?”

The human uncoils her long form and rolls to her side. Stretching out one arm, her hand passes through Eddie’s. There is no physical sensation, but he sucks in a breath anyway. The bedside lamp flickers with a fzzt!

To anything that walked in, it would look like Eddie was holding her hand. His eyes flash to the closed vent. No eyes are trying to peek through the slivers of space. No fingers trying to push the slats open. Doors closed. Just himself and his human. 

For a few quiet moments, he just…looks at her. Wisps of hair fall across her face and he has to remind himself it’s impossible for him to brush them back no matter how much he longs to. Her expression is calm with the slightest hint of a peaceful smile. A stark contrast to what he saw earlier. 

“I wish I could touch you,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

She sighs in her sleep.

Eddie answers with one of his own. 

Settling into his spot in her bed, Eddie rests against the headboard, and closes his eyes. He listens to her slow and steady breathing and the music. 

“It’s not so bad in here,” he tells her. “I mean, it’s not the Breaker Box, but it’s quiet. The music’s nice. The company’s not bad, although I think your conversation skills could use a bit of work. But hey,” he blows out a breath, “I get to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet away from all the lights someone left on.” He gives her a side eye she’ll never see.  

When the grey-blue light of dawn creeps through the curtains, Eddie knows his watch is over. However, he lingers until the first rays of golden sunlight are visible before taking his leave. He carefully slips out of the bed, watching so he won’t wa–

“You can’t feel me moving on the bed. Right.” He shakes his head. “Must be more tired than I realized.” 

As he stands to full height, Eddie’s joints crackle with a mixture of pain and relief. He rolls his shoulders and pops his neck. Gazing down at his human one last time, his chest tightens. She hadn’t moved too much in the night. A turn here, a stretch there. A few more instances of passing her hand through Eddie. 

Scratching at his scruff, Eddie begins to shuffle to the door, but stops when he realizes that she’s rolling over following his path like a sunflower follows the sun. She reaches out in her sleep and mumbles something that sounds like, “not yet.” She pulls the nearest pillow into her arms and draws it against her chest. 

“I wish I could stay and hold you.”

As he approaches the door, he looks at her one more time. “I hope today is better,” he says. And then, against everything he wants, Eddie leaves her alone in her bed.

“G’morning, sunshine,” Dorian says as Eddie approaches. “I dare say you and me are about to get a well-deserved rest. Did…uh. How was it in there?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Eh. She fell asleep. Snored. Drooled a bit. Honestly, that was it.”

Dorian nods and Eddie can see the relief in his eyes. “Thank you, Watts.”

“Don’t mention it. Especially to Volt.”

Dorian squints, curious. But he chooses the better part of valor and nods. “You have my word. Listen, if that’s how you feel, maybe you should skedaddle back across to the closet. Wallace and I are about to release the rabble back into the first floor.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

As it shuts behind him, Eddie leans on the Breaker Box door. Exhaustion is too mild a word for what he feels. With leaden limbs he staggers to the bar and attempts to paw away his double vision. His drink sits in a ring of condensation, mostly water and a limp orange wheel. Plucking up a cherry, he pops it into his mouth then makes his way backstage. He opens the locked door and stalks down a dark, brick-walled corridor to a large steel door covered in warnings. 

Solitude awaits him on the other side.

Sleep? That’s a separate negotiation.

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

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Exhaustion? An old friend, in a way. Familiar, reliable. Ever present. 

Likewise, Anxiety is a regular. Always orders the same thing and doesn’t tip for shit. 

Anger. A familiar face who shows up more and more these days, often with a different partner. Tonight, however, she’s a straight shot of tequila. No salt or lime to ease the pain, just an unadulterated burn that only grows hotter. 

Much like the crowd downstairs, his mental patrons only want to talk about one thing: the fucking human. For weeks, that’s all it’s been. The human and her glasses. The human and how she’s charmed so many things in the house. How nice it is to finally talk to her. How she’s so helpful or kind or whatever. It never ends.

And now it seems Volt’s joining the fan club.

They don’t know her like I do, Eddie says to himself. 

Round and round the table, Anxiety, Exhaustion and Anger go on about all of the work ahead of Eddie. There’s too much to repair. He’s running out of time and solutions alike. And now she’s here.

There’s always a fix, he reminds himself. Just hold together.

The music ends as the show comes to a close. Soon after, the din of the crowd fades to silence. Eddie can feel Volt’s power ebbing away in sluggish pulses.  

I’m clocking in, Eddie says. 

In his mind, Volt asks, Did you rest? 

I got enough.

You’re a terrible liar, Eddison. I left you a little gift on the bar. 

Clock out. I’ll keep the light on.

The door closes behind Eddie with a gentle click. With each footstep,  a neon sign or overhead light winks out as he ambles across the club. The stage goes dark. Tables become inky features within the shadows. By the time he reaches the bar, the only light comes from three of the dim pendant lamps and a pair of bulbs behind the bar. Eddie finds a freshly mixed cocktail in front of his favored barstool. With a grateful chuckle, he takes a long drink. As with most things, what Volt boasts in charm and flare he lacks in efficiency. With all the extra flash, he loses something in the mix. Still, he makes a damn good whiskey sour. Closing his eyes, he lets out a long, weary breath, and something in him is able to relax. This is Eddie’s favorite time to be in The Breaker Box. Dark, cool, calm; his only company the ever present hum of power and the gentle sound of ice shifting in the glass. This is a time he cherishes. This is where he finds peace.

This is his. 

A quiet voice stirs the silence of the club. “Hey.”

Annoyed, he looks up. Despite the dim light, it's impossible to mistake the human for anything else. Something roils in his belly. Nerves tingle, he goes warm, then douses the embers before they can catch.

It's just her. Nothing different than before. Same outfit Volt conjured. Same mask of giving a shit.

She quietly pads out from the darkness and leans against the bar.  “It's Eddie, right?”

Anger flares through him. Invading his space after all she's done already. Finally, he can tell her how he feels and leave her alone with the consequences of her bullshit. 

Don’t waste your time on her, he says to himself. There’s too much to do.

He returns to his drink. “Show’s over. Club’s closed.” 

"I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing.”

He stares into his cocktail, using his animosity as armor. “Why, exactly?”

Sliding closer, she props up an elbow on the bar.

Against his own judgment, Eddie looks up at her and immediately regrets it. She's too close. His skin prickles and he protectively sinks deeper into his slouch.  But he doesn't look away.

“You seemed upset earlier,” she says, fidgeting. 

“Well, I wasn't.” Stop. Stop being here. Stop seeing me.  “Happy? You can go now.” Eddie takes another sip.

“Um, is Volt still around?”

He gestures to the empty club. “Do you see him anywhere? There's your answer.” Narrowing his eyes, the prickles in his skin become armor made of frozen spikes. His voice is laced with venom. “Now, I assume you know how to find the door. Or are you always this oblivious?”

“Are you always this much of an asshole?”

Why can't I stop looking at her? Why is it always like this?  With a bastard sneer, he scoffs. "Cute."

Eddie swivels off his barstool, done with this shit. “Will you leave me alone if I show you where Volt went?”

“Happily.”

No surprise there. She’s been all over the house. Only surprised it took her this long to make it here. And how quickly she attached to Volt.

“Right this way.” 

Eddie stalks briskly, staying ahead of her. When they reach the door, he shoves it open into the bright electrical closet. Of course she just left the light on. 

“Volt’s only here for the show,” Eddie growls. “Now get out. Some of us have to work.”

The last thing he sees through the closing door is Volt’s creation beginning to fade away. 

Hopefully, that will be the end of it.

chapter 2 - chapter 4