#flashback001

it had been about a week. a week of waking up to the soft hum of human conversation, the sound of everyday life. people living. annie wasn’t used to it and she gathered that wouldn’t change anytime soon, it felt like wandering amongst a flock of sheep and not even trying to hide her wolves pelt. shepherded by the military presence. the years of being nomadic had hardly been kind to her, yet the fence around haven felt little more than stifling. 

amxliasbxnes

There are some days where he is utterly listless, lying on the bed caught in that state between dreams and wakefulness, eyes wide open as he sleeps staring at the wall. Today is the very antithesis of those times.

Impatience is bubbling in the pit of his stomach, overflowing and roiling against his normally calm demeanour as it pushes and pulls, tries to pull at his unmoving limbs and feet to move. It is inevitable that sometimes he gets like this- perhaps it’s the endless nothingness that does it to him, pulls him between polarities like a leaf caught between two winds, but the silence is hateful, the stillness ever more so- he isn’t sure what he wants to do, nor how, but he wants so very badly.

The silence ticks on, and he keeps a mental count of the seconds in his head.

It is a knock at the door that startles him from his trance, and Regulus glances up, surprise, paranoia momentarily flickering across his features. But the person who comes through makes his heart stutter briefly in utter relief- not only in that it is someone he knows, but he already can’t remember the exact time anyone last visited- it feels like too long. No more than a week and a half at most, considering the remains of food left uneaten on the counter, but that was more than 7 cycles of sunrise and sunset, and nothing but emptiness in between.

“Amelia,” he greets, barely keeping from letting the relief, the sheer happiness to see her, show in his tone. Standing and brushing the hair back from his face, he is half grateful that he actually woke up today and managed to make himself look presentable (a habit that was incessant in its need to be completed, no matter his mood).

Leave it to Amelia Schuyler to make her life more complicated than it had to be. Granted, it was the good kind of complicated. Did the good kind of complicated ever exist in college? The answer was probably no, but there had to be some exceptions to that.

Either way, she did this to herself: signed up for that superhero themed pop culture course, thought of an extensive topic for her final project, and had it approved by her professor. Approved was too mildly of a word; her professor had loved this idea so much that he insisted she flesh it out even further. 

Ames (Amelia felt too formal for her sometimes; too fairytale, if you will) threw another comic aside. Don't get her wrong, she loved the idea she proposed for her project—she just didn't think this would take as much effort as she had theorized. She always did this to herself, without a fault.

She reached for her phone, seeing the slew of unanswered texts from her parents. Well, mainly her mother. The only visible text from her father probably said something along the lines of them having arrived to town safely and going out for dinner. At least, she hoped.