Sure, Warren’s usually excited about what Ms. Grant has in store for them, but he was especially looking forward to being allotted time to work on their thesis projects. Being promised the use of their class time also meant that Warren was able to make plans with Max later that day to hit up a new coffee shop she’d been obsessing over. This repressed excitement seemed to make the minutes stretch out longer, with his attention span waning and his need to leave rising.

The shrill sound of the bell sounding all but shot Warren from his seat and sent him flying straight into the rapidly filling, narrow halls as students poured out from their classes. With hands that juggled the books he held and arms slung through his backpack straps haphazardly, he snaked his way through the mass of bodies.

Neon posters lined the walls and lockers and basically any surface, really, that displayed the next Vortex Club party happening that evening. A stark contrast to the missing person posters of that girl. Rachel Amber. Taped up by the dozen and always leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, making him look away.

Warren masterfully dodges the array of students crowding the halls but can’t help his eyes from darting to the elaborate graphic design plastered all over the place. Enter the Vortex Club: Struck by Lightning Party. It’s Going to be Electric!  

Warren scoffs, disappointed to know that somehow those parties could be more obnoxious than previously thought. A stupid party themed after the surreal historical event of the founder's statue on campus being struck by lightning thirty years ago. Right on its bald head.

He hadn’t realized just how distracting the posters are before he’s colliding into someone. Nearly barreling the poor student over in his haste to class, he immediately begins profusely apologizing before he is able to focus on who exactly fell victim to their collision.

For any other circumstance, Warren might’ve thought a quick apology and admitting his mistake was enough for him to reconcile what had been done. But he is promptly corrected when his eyes zero in on the flash of a familiar red school varsity jacket and the deepening scowl he’s met with as none other than Nathan fucking Prescott picks himself up and begins to tower over Warren–a feat Warren did not know he was capable of, seeing as the guy almost always had the posture of a shrimp. A really, really feral shrimp.

Immediately cutting off his sputtering “sorrys” and retracting the hand he held out in offer to help him off the ground, Warren instantly felt his throat tighten. Fuck.

“What the actual fuck, dipshit! I think you need to invest in some fucking glasses since–hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re going!”

With a strangled oops! Warren’s fight or flight instincts kick in and send him fleeing the scene. Lucky for him, he’s now able to use the abundance of student bodies to dart his way between and miraculously lose Nathan within. He launches himself into the safety of the lab that—to Warren’s continued luck—Nathan doesn’t pursue him inside of. He figures the likes of someone like Nathan lost interest almost as soon as Warren was out of sight.

Breathing heavily, Warren took a moment to compose himself whilst facing the door, half expecting Nathan to burst into the room anyways.

“You alright?”

“Bahh!” If his heart rate wasn’t already high enough, a voice that was way too close sounded behind him. He whips around in alarm for his vision to be filled with Brooke’s glasses-framed gaze looking over him. “Oh, hey Brooke.”

Taking a step back, he hefts a sigh of relief that turns into a breathy answer, “yeah, totally. Just eager to work on my project, can’t keep science waiting!” He internally cringes at how stupid that sounded, but instead of scrutinizing him like Warren thinks she might, Brooke’s eyes light up and her expression breaks into a smile.

“Glad to see someone else is taking this thesis project seriously. If you need any help with your contraption, don’t hesitate to ask. Mechanical science is my forte, after all.”

“Thanks for offering, I’ll definitely need to take you up on it.” Warren returns the smile, and with that, he gets to work on finding his project amidst the cluster of every other students' left on the designated table at the back of the class. No one else has arrived yet, so it takes him a solid minute to single out his own, spotting the square-shaped, silver reactor toward the back where he’d forgotten he’d put it the day prior.

Warren was working on constructing a time machine. A theoretical one, at least. He’d approached Miss Grant about the idea early on, who was enthusiastic in her approval, saying creativity has just as much impact on scientific achievement as fact. Which was a nice way of saying that there was no way he could actually build a working time machine, but Warren only wanted an excuse to make something kinda fun and totally dorky… and totally not inspired by his favourite movie.

Wasting no time, he gets to work. Setting his reactor on the lab bench while scrounging through his backpack for his notebook to help him continue where he left off. More students trickle in and Ms. Grant starts to make her rounds to the individuals that have followed suit to work on their thesis projects.

“How are things going over here, Mr. Graham?” She leans over the lab countertop, an inquisitive look on her face as she eyes his invention.

“Great! I’ve been brainstorming what to use for lining the interior walls with the proper conductive material, seeing as this bad boy is going to be holding a lot of energy.” He scribbles down a last idea while explaining, his eyes downcast to his notes.

Ms. Grant gives a tentative hmm, “theoretically, that is.”

Warren finally looks up, smiling. “Yes. Theoretically.”

Though she looks skeptical, she gives him a nod and then points to a dial beside the LED screen at the centre of his invention. “Is this here where you decide which year you’re jumping to?”

Warren nods, his smile turning into a wide grin, “exactly!”

With a pointed finger resting on her chin thoughtfully, Ms. Grant seems to be considering his work as if it were some real time machine that will shoot him whenever it is he desires. “So, what year is it you’re looking to go to?”

Warren scoffs, flipping on the battery-powered LED screen and turning the dial, “easy, 1985, of course.”

“Indeed.” Ms. Grant gives him a knowing look. She’s about to move on when a loud alarm breaks through the school speakers. It startles Warren enough to jump a little and reflexively cover a hand over his reactor.

Immediately jumping into action, Ms. Grant begins hustling students out of the door in a controlled fashion. Warren is the last to leave, too busy cramming his notebook and few tools into his bag and picking up his reactor to bring with him. No way am I letting a fire ruin all my hard work.

Passing by an unimpressed Ms. Grant, who holds the door open for him, Warren follows the rest of his classmates toward the doors leading to the main campus grounds outside. Most people congregate in front of the main school entrance and Warren gingerly places his time machine down on the patch of grass he stands on.

Turns out the whole thing was a false alarm as no fire was currently devastating Blackwell Academy. But Warren supposes he could have guessed that himself when thirty minutes pass and nothing happens. Principle Wells eventually announces that they’ve looked into things and all students are free from their classes for the remainder of the day.

He thinks to ask Max if she’s down to push up their plans when a sudden sense of unease overtakes him. Digging for his phone in his pocket, he brings it out to send her a quick text.

Warren: You okay?

Max: Yes, insane day tho. Need to tell you all about it during coffee later.

Relief washes over Warren, glad to know Max got out even if it wasn’t with the majority of people where he is.

Warren: Good. Can’t wait to get together, they better have the best beans like you’d promised! If you’re unburdened for the rest of the day, we could go now?

Warren pockets his phone, excited about their plans. He then quickly remembers he’d meant to ask Max about returning the USB drive he’d let her borrow two weeks prior, retrieving his phone once again.

Warren: Yo, mad max. Any chance you could also drop off my flash drive? I need some info. And space.

For a moment he internally berates himself for firing so many texts her way when she’d clearly had a rough day, aware of his notoriety as a double texter. Or quadruple texter. But the thought promptly vanishes when she replies a minute later.

Max: Hell yes! Where can I find you?

Warren: I’ll be in the parking lot. Looking cool. You’ll see.

Damn his poor self-preservation and fast thumbs.

Max: My camera will be ready. See you shortly.

Worth it.

Making the short walk to the parking lot, Warren hastily closes in on his car to drop his project into the back seat. He securely straps it in with the seatbelt, he planned to take it with him for the weekend to work on when he visits his parents anyways.

He pops his head out just in time to see Max descending the stairs into the lot and waves over at her. She returns her own timid wave and Warren proceeds to move around the front of his car, leaning against the hood as she walks up to him.

“Whatup, Max, how are you?”

Max holds out the flash drive for him, and Warren can’t help but notice she seems a little shaken up. Her eyes looking at him but not focusing there, as if her mind is preoccupied by something else entirely. “Sorry for not returning it earlier.”

“No problem. Hey, you sure you’re okay?” He pats the spot next to him on the hood of his old, previously owned Chevy to invite her to sit. She accepts with a sigh, slinging her shoulder bag over to sit in her lap.

“Yeah. Kinda. I don’t know, it’s been one strange fucking day… Some pretty bizarro shit happened and I think I might–”

“Max Caulfield, right?” Whatever Max was going to say gets cut off by the sneer of someone saying her name. Both their heads whip up towards the person responsible and Warren can feel the colour drain from his face when he sees it’s Nathan. Nathan Prescott. Again.

He comes straight toward where Max is sitting without slowing down in his stride. All swagger and hard determination written across his face as he stops to leer overtop of her with absolutely zero personal space. “You’re one of Jefferson’s photo groupies?”

“I could say the same about you.” Max crosses her arms and Warren wonders how she has the ability to even say something like that to someone like him before he notices Nathan’s now eyeing him, seemingly distracted enough to notice her comment.

“You again?”

Warren’s frozen to the spot, unable to respond when Max intercepts the staring contest that’s enacted between him and Nathan. “What do you want, Nathan?”

Nathan points his squinted expression back at her, “for you to stay out of my fucking business. I know you were in the bathroom. You better tell me what you saw, and if you ran to tell that bitch principal.”

Bathroom? What’s he talking about?

“Nothing but a butterfly.” Innocently said, yet somehow all the more enraging to Nathan as his scowl deepens. Warren’s all but confused at this point, looking back and forth between them as they fire off their words.

“You’re full of shit. I’d respect you more if you told me the truth.”

“I don’t need your respect–”

“You’re clueless. You have no idea who I am or what I can do.”

“Actually, I have a pretty good idea of who you are…”

“Oh yeah? You think you know who I am? You think you got me allll figured out. Maybe you should worry about yourself.”

Scared of what might transpire, Warren interrupts their dispute by raising a hand to Nathan’s shoulder, who immediately flinches away from the touch. “Hey, dude, back off. She’s no threat to you.”

“Oh? And I suppose you think you are? You little punk bitch.” Warren doesn’t have any time to react before Nathan butts his forehead into Warren’s nose. Pain immediately explodes along his bridge and he can feel the warm sensation of what he knows is blood begin to seep down over his lips.

Everything after that happens fast. Warren hits the asphalt before he’s even aware that he’d fallen. His elbows take the grunt of it, adding to the pain he’s already in. He hears Max yell something but can’t make out what she’s saying when Nathan wastes no time grabbing at her throat.

“Nobody tells me what to do! Not my parents, not the principal, not that whore in the bathroom!”

Much to his body's protest, Warren scrambles off of his back just as Max digs her nails into the side of Nathan’s face. He stumbles away from her with a grunt, hands flying up to cover where she’d scratched him. And that’s when Warren hears the piercing sound of tires against concrete ring throughout the lot, craning his neck in time to see an old beat-up pickup truck turn in their direction at full speed.

He braces his hands over his face, but the truck comes to a screeching halt right where Max had fallen when trying to get away from Nathan. She uses the truck as leverage to get back on her feet, momentarily making eye contact with the driver before completely freezing.

“Max?”

“Chloe!?”

Their exchange is brief when Nathan stands back up and reflects the shocked look they all share, “not this bitch again.” He raises his hand in disbelief to point at the blue-haired girl—definitely not who Warren was expecting to be driving—behind the wheel and starts to stride towards the truck.

Warren’s now back on his feet and launching himself like a battering ram towards Nathan, wrapping his arms around his form to take him down and, hopefully, giving Max a chance to get the hell out of there. Especially considering she apparently knows this other girl. “Go, go! I got this–”

A fist meeting his jaw instantly cuts him off and Nathan’s now over top of him and sending punch after punch to his face. He squeezes his eyes shut but hears the truck engine rev, then feels the weight of Nathan shift off of him. Warren peaks an already swelling eye open and sees Nathan flinging a frustrated kick to the truck door after Max has already climbed inside.

“Get your punk asses out of there now! Don’t even try to run! Nobody messes with me!” He decks the door for extra measure and Warren can’t help but think that no shit they’re not going to get out now, even if there was some slight chance that they might in the first place.

The truck is thrown forwards and it sends Nathan off balance, but it doesn’t deter him in trying to chase after them. But soon they’re gone, and all that's left is the dust behind them. Warren thinks maybe it’s all over. Only when Nathan turns his enraged and slightly feral expression back to Warren, does he come to terms with how very wrong he is.

He’s trudging back Warren’s way with fire in his eyes, motivating Warren to rush to his feet and use his car as a barricade between himself and Nathan. He circles the car and Nathan stomps right up to it, slamming his palms against the hood. “Can’t get away from me, bitch. Nowhere to go.” Nathan starts moving counterclockwise forcing Warren to do the same until they’re once again on opposite sides of the vehicle, but instead of trunk to hood, they are now door to door.

Warren thinks about making a run for the school, since he’s closer to the parking lot exit. Or maneuvering a speedy escape into his car and quickly locking it behind him. All internal devising goes out the window, though, when Nathan drops his gaze to something in the back of the car near the seat he’s closest to and Warren’s heart drops. He’s not fast enough to lock the car that he’d stupidly left open from earlier before Nathan’s pulling at the handle and yanking out his thesis project.

He then hauls it to the open space of the parking lot with the same determination Warren had seen when he stormed up to Max and him only minutes earlier. Warren runs to meet him there and pleads for Nathan to stop whatever he’s planning to do. “No, Nathan! Nononononono–”

The smashing sound of his reactor hitting the ground echoes in the tiny lot and makes Warren flinch. He’s on his knees next to it immediately, not caring that Nathan’s still towering above. He picks at the pieces mournfully, too busy to notice how Nathan stands completely still beside him.

When he does look up, Nathan’s staring at what’s left of Warren’s project in his hands. His face is twisted in disgust, which Warren finds a little odd, but it could have easily been twisted in hatred. Warren doesn’t get to ponder over it, nor does he feel inclined to, as Nathan proceeds to turn away sharply and walk off without another word. Shoulders hunched, fists clenched at either side, and looking as though he has a stick up his ass.

Then Warren’s alone, with nothing but his hard work and dedication left devastatingly crushed in the palms of his hands.

-

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not every day you bump into your childhood best friend who also just happened to save your life.”

There’s a delayed laugh from Max over the speaker of Warren’s phone—sticking out of his car cup holder—that almost sounds sarcastic. “Yeah, pretty much.” her voice softens slightly, “thanks for understanding, Warren. We’ll go for coffee soon, I promise. And thanks again for stepping in. Are you sure you’re not too badly hurt? You should see the school nurse–”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. My nose stopped bleeding, so that must be a good sign.” he casts a pitiful look at the pieces of his reactor that have been promoted to sit in his passenger seat for the time being. “Wish I could say the same for my thesis… Nathan really did a number on it. God, that guy sucks. I wish he would’ve just beat me up more instead.”

“Don’t say that… I feel bad about what happened back there.”

“Don’t feel bad–”

Max cuts him off before he can continue, “I feel bad for you, and for Nathan.”

“Hold up–you do?”

“There’s clearly something wrong with Nathan, and he needs help. But I wasn’t making the situation any better by egging him on like that…” For as long as Warren has known her, Max has always had the ability to speak in a manner that’s cool and collected, even in what she considers ‘egging Nathan on'. It’s a characteristic of hers Warren appreciates but doesn’t think he can ever fully comprehend. Even now her tone is reasonable and Warren can’t help but be indignant about the entire ordeal.

“Max, the dude’s crazy, I don’t think it mattered what you would have said.”

“That’s not fair, Warren. I mean it when I say he needs help. I…he’s capable of some pretty scary shit. I’m not asking you to forgive him and be his friend or anything… I don’t know, maybe just try avoiding him for a while.”

“Good, cause I am not about to become besties with Nathan Prescott.”

She doesn’t respond to that, opting to change the subject instead, “so what’re you up to now?”

Warren sighs, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while lightly pressing his fingers to his nose to check if it really had stopped bleeding. “I was thinking of hitting up Two Whales to work but… think I’ll still go to that coffee shop anyways. Take some time to try and undo some of this damage. Don’t get me wrong, Joyce knows how to make a mean cup of joe, but I could do with a change of scenery and some fancy, sugary coffee seeing as I’ll likely be staying up all night.”

An empathetic hum sounds from his phone, “Good luck, then. I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it. If it makes you feel any better, my camera got smashed in the whole process, too.”

Warren feels a tinge of guilt. That camera was Max’s most prized possession and she wasn’t bitching about it like a little…well, bitch. “Ah, Max I’m so sorry. Of course that doesn’t make me feel better.” If anything it just makes me want to punch Nathan’s teeth in even more. He doesn’t voice that thought, though.

“It’s okay. I gotta go, but keep me updated with the progress, okay?”

“Will do. Catch you later, Max.”

The low beep from his phone signals the call ending, and he breathes out another long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He flips through the car buttons to put on a CD, hoping to let off some steam before making it to the coffee shop. It’s an old one, but also a favourite tune of his. Spending the majority of the car ride listening to Wishing (If I Had a Photograph of You) by A Flock of Seagulls before he finally pulls into the small plaza of the coffee shop.

The space is small, modest, and cozy. A variety of different pieces of art line the orange brick walls with elaborate frames. Black painted, low-hanging lamps contrast the colours nicely. And somehow it’s exactly what Warren pictured Max choosing for a coffee shop. He picks out a secluded booth in the corner to settle and hopefully avoid unwarranted attention from not only the contraption in his hands but his appearance. He’d managed to clean himself up a little before leaving, at least, so he doesn't think he’ll draw too many eyes.

Warren gets to work on salvaging his reactor, after deducing just how bad the damage actually is. Turns out, it’s not as disastrous as he originally thought. The top door had broken off its hinges and the dial knob popped off, but those were easy fixes. Warren’s more concerned over the rattling he heard inside, but upon further inspection, it’s mostly some of the internal wires that managed to get loose.

Taking out the necessities to get the job done—including his notebook, a pen, some tools, and his headphones—from the backpack he plopped down next to him, Warren makes a short ‘to do’ list before leaving his table and ordering himself a drink. He asks for a cinnamon dolce latte, because hell yeah, and it arrives not long after he gets started. Thanking the barista, he takes a sip and is immediately hooked. Max wasn’t kidding, this stuff’s good. Though, he realizes a syruped-up latte probably isn’t the best deciding factor to how good their beans truly are.

So when Warren downs the latte after only getting through one thing on the list, he goes back to the counter to order a ‘Honey Almond’ flat white. He’s intrigued, to say the least. Sipping away at it while working through the remainder of the list, he orders another one in the process and before he knows it, he has a somewhat recovered version of his reactor.

On a caffeine and sugar-driven roll, he decides to take it one step further and insulate the interior wall with the material he’d managed to snag back at the school lab and theorized could work. When he's finished using his tiny screwdriver to firmly hold each panel in place, he sits back in his seat to admire his work.

The last of his coffee has gone cold, but he downs it anyway. And when the same barista that had given him his drink comes over to his table, Warren pulls out his earbuds and holds up the saucer and cup for them to take with a smile.

“Thank you.” The barista takes it from him. She returns the smile, which falters slightly as she continues to stand there. “Are you, uh, thinking of staying for much longer or…?”

Panic seizes Warren for a split second as he glances down at his watch for the time, reading 9:07. “I’m so sorry, are you guys closed!?” He swore he thought he’d read that they closed at 10, not even realizing how long it’s been since coming in the first place, either.

“No, but we were thinking of closing up early because of the storm.”

“The storm?” Even though Warren had been listening to his music while working, he doesn't know how he managed not to notice the storm that had started up just outside his window. Only now did he tune into the prominent sound of rain beating against the glass, swivelling his head to see the monstrosity that brewed there.

“They say it’s going to get worse, be careful if you have to drive far.” The barista draws her eyebrows together in worry as she follows Warren’s gaze out the window.

Crap. I could've avoided this.

“I’m so sorry for keeping you,” He’s already packing his things away, standing up to put his backpack on. “I should really get going then, thanks for the warning. And the amazing coffee,” he adds with a sheepish grin.

He carefully picks up his still delicate reactor, and thanks the barista again. She tells him to ‘stay safe’ with an expression that hadn’t changed from worried the whole exchange and in turn Warren says he will. But after stepping foot outside, he’s met with such a strong gust of wind it threatens to take the reactor straight out of his hands to be thrown to the ground once more. He grips it tightly to his chest and struggles his way to his car, not at all prepared for the rain that drenches him, having sacrificed his hoodie to cover the reactor.

So, dripping wet in only a t-shirt, Warren clambers into the safety of his car–only after securely placing his reactor inside, of course. It’s then that he gets his first proper look at the storm around him. It's dark out now, which somehow adds to the ominous characteristic the storm has taken on. The wind whips the rain in every direction, which comes down in sheets and slams irregularly against his windshield.

Warren turns his key in the ignition to start the engine, then pulls out of the parking lot to make his way back to the academy. He flips on the radio in case there’s any update on how bad the storm is getting. Though, he can see it for himself. Trees that sway in the wind turn into stop signs that wobble. Visibility grows worse, even when he’s driving a stable 25 miles per hour down the main road back towards school.

Thunder shakes his car and lightning follows soon after, some of the flashes too close for comfort. He tells himself it’s fine and knows it’s not much longer until he’s back. Then all he has to do is… book it across the parking lot and main campus, down the stairs and stretch of path that leads to the dorms… shit.

Maybe he’ll wait it out once he’s in the parking lot. Besides, it’s been said that one of the safest places to be during a thunderstorm is in your car. Unless a tree falls down on top of you. He decides to cross that bridge when he gets there, focusing on simply getting as far as the parking lot to begin with.

With the school in sight, Warren’s shoulders ease slightly from the tense, hunched state they’d contracted in for the entire ride back. The roads have become eerily quiet, making him that much happier to be back at Blackwell. At least no one else was crazy enough to be out in the storm. Warren hopes.

He doesn’t realize just how wrong he is until pulling into the dark lot. With his vision still blurred by the rain, Warren almost misses the warped figure that appears in front of his car. His headlights catch a flash of red amongst the downpour and he slams his foot on the break at the exact same time the sound of something equivalent to an explosion breaks the air.

The sky momentarily lights up so bright that Warren has to squeeze his eyes shut and he swears he can hear the thud of something heavy against his car. The rumble of thunder morphs into a mechanical whirring somewhere behind him, followed by the distant smell of burning. Overwhelmed in practically every aspect, Warren is apprehensive to open his eyes.

Alex rested against the wood slab table she was seated at, mesmerised by the rain that ricocheted into silver beads outside. The sky glowed platinum blue with white stripes of leaking sun. The wind picked up and swerved course, redirecting the rain to come clattering against the window, startling Alex from her thoughts. Sighing, she leaned her head against the glass, feeling the rain quiver the room.

She breathed in the warm, coffee scented air of the cafe. She’s probably trying to avoid the rain, Alex thought, now resting her chin on her palm, eyeing the sky placidly.

The atmosphere of the room was cozy, yet somewhat irritative. Focusing her mind on the emotions around her, she felt a contrast of relief and complaint in the warmth of the coffee bar.

‘Stupid rain, messing up my plans.’

‘I left my umbrella at home! Now I’ll have to sit this out.’

‘It’s so warm in here, I’m lucky I dodged the rain.’

‘Holy fucking shit I’m late I hope she’s not mad.’

Alex perked up at the familiar voice of Steph’s mind. Blinking her eyes a few times to focus on the beanie saint that hastily bee-lined toward her, Alex found herself grinning stupidly as Steph not-so-elegantly threw herself into the seat across from her.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Steph relaxed in her seat, scratching behind her ear. “The uh.. rain held me hostage under some shelter just down the road.” She pointed her thumb towards the door.

“It’s fine,” Alex chimed, easing with Steph’s aura, “I got in here just before the rain started, so I did expect some fashionable lateness.”

They shared a bright smile together, enjoying each other's presence.

‘She’s so pretty.’ Golden-pink hues swam around Steph, humming Steph’s admiration for Alex. Alex loved this aura, because the only person it captivated was Steph, and it was beautiful. Like the sinking sun beneath a platoon of pinks, golds, and halcyon stars. She’d never seen the aura in anybody else before, and the nova was a world of skipped heart beats that Alex would swoon over in smite for her girlfriend.

“Right back atcha,” Alex winked, her face picking up the rosy tones of the room. The sunset aura around Steph swirled and danced as her eyebrows twitched upward. She sighed a laugh, shaking her head.

“I still have to get used to that,” her eyes creased with her grin as she gave Alex’s outfit a quick glance. Steph wore a black, rainbow patterned singlet paired with black jeans and her sacred beanie, while Alex wore her classic jean jacket over an egyptian blue hoodie.

“How do you do that?” Steph’s eyes were still gliding over Alex’s attire.

“Do what?” Alex replied, giving Steph’s wear a study of her own.

“Look good in everything you wear.”

Alex tried not to sway. “Even the bard hat?” she chuckled.

“Pssht, especially the bard hat.” Steph now eyed Alex with fondness, watching the shade of her cheeks plummet into red. Alex glanced elsewhere, as if she were thinking out her next response. Which she was. Oh boy she was.

“Well, if we’re going that far,” Alex grinned teasingly, “seeing my ‘badass dj’ rocking a witch outfit? I mean I couldn’t help myself from proposing you were such a smokeshow,” Steph opened her mouth to speak, but Alex went on. “I mean, I see you with that beanie every day, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the witches hat- I mean holy shit Steph. And your voice over it all? You’re the hottest girl to have stepped foot in Haven Springs for a reason,” and to top it off, Alex finished by giving steph a once over.

Steph, for once, had no idea how to respond- seeing as all she could think of was: ‘Holy shtiy5//?<agh7g-shga#[1 what do I say hngg/!R AAAAAAAAAAAAAH’

Which she didn’t say it out loud, but Alex, to her amusement, heard it nonetheless.

As Steph struggled to keep herself from internally combusting as she floundered for something to say, a figure approached the two disasters.exe as they stop physically responding.

The waiter cleared their throat, “hey, what can I get for y-”

“CofFeE,” Steph spluttered, eyes still glued to Alex, who snickered behind a sleeved wrist as she elaborated their coffee order and the waiter took their leave.

‘What was that!? What WAS THAT!!?! I cannot form words, Alex you’ve killed me.’

“Sorry, I had to say it at some point. Too much?”

Steph blinked. “NNoO hHa yeah pssssht I just- you know. Short circuited. Wires did a funny. Yeah. You’re hot,, too.”

Alex and Steph’s temperature combined could prepare an entire barbeque and then some. In the short time they’d been dating, neither of them had directly called each other hot. It seemed to take effect.

Soon after the waiter returned with two coffees.

“Thanks,” both Alex and Steph said in union.

“So,” Steph turned her attention to the window, “looks like the rain stopped.”

And so it had. Alex was so caught up in flustering Steph that she hadn’t noticed the sudden halt of rain. The only evidence was the glossy concrete and pools of water that spilled from leaf to leaf.

“I could cool off,” Alex said, still smiling at Steph. She could get all poetic about how the way her eyes captured the window light like heavenly gateways, and the white outdoor glow framed her cheekbones perfectly- Alex couldn’t take her eyes off her. Steph met her gaze, “then how ‘bout a walk, sugar?” she stood, offering Alex a hand.

“Wooow such a gentleman,” Alex joked, taking her hand anyway. Steph winked in response, and the two made their way outside for a walk.

(Don’t worry guys they paid I promise)

Alex never let go of Steph’s hand, swinging their arms as they walked along the street.

“God, I hate when weather does this,” Alex released Steph’s hand momentarily to pull off her jean jacket.

“Does what? Rain?” Steph eyed Alex curiously as she lifted off her hoodie, freeing herself from heat.

“No,” Alex laughed, “like- you know. When it’s cold and rainy and then the rain makes the atmosphere humid and you get all sweaty.”

They stepped onto the bridge; Steph gliding her hand through the flowers that lined the margin. Birds could be spotted shaking rain from their puffy frames, while bees creeped out from their refuge and resumed their flowery endeavour.

They came to a pause at the side of the bridge, watching the stream crash against stones and rush beneath the two girls who felt as if the entirety of Haven Springs was theirs. Alex watched Steph as the cloud that had been shielding the sun finally abandoned post, freeing gilted rays of sun to coast over Steph’s face. Her eyes, like the rich green-brown of leaves, fluttered over to Alex.

“C’mon,” she half-whispered, retaking Alex’s hand and guiding her away.

“Where are we going?”

☀️🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸☀️

The creek came into view, and Steph’s pace hastened until she broke into a run, Alex on her tail. They both ran the short distance to the water, quickly picking up a sweat from the rainy atmosphere. “Too.. muggy for this,” Alex huffed, stumbling to a stop at the edge of the small wharf Steph had led her onto. Everyone else in Haven Springs was somewhere in their homes, hiding from possible future rain, leaving only Alex and Steph to roam.

“I know,” Steph slid off her beanie, setting it on Alex’s hoodie and jacket that she’d placed on the railing. Alex had to force herself to look elsewhere, but admittedly failed. Steph with her beanie? Wow. Steph without her beanie? WOW.

“Too hot for your holy headpiece?”

“Never,” Steph stepped insanely close to Alex, raising her hands to her face and brushing her fingers against her cheeks as she reached for her glasses. She carefully removed them, placing them beside their items.

“Brilliant, you’ve officially removed my eyes,” Alex squinted, adapting to her slightly blurred vision. “Ugh, you’re still pretty,” she sighed, “but what are we doing?”

Steph pulled Alex toward the very fringe of the wharf. “Cooling off.” Alex’s eyes grew large as she connected the dots, but she was too late. Together, hand in hand, Steph threw themselves into the creek.

The two crashed into the freezing waters, sending water lapping against the poles of the wharf.

“Oh my gOD STEPH,” Alex whipped her inky hair back, rubbing her eyes.

“What?” Steph laughed in return, floating Alex further from land, “isn’t it refreshing?” She drifted toward Alex, who sighed into their embrace.

“Everyday is refreshing with you.” Their clothes filled with water as they paddled their legs to keep afloat. They held each other for a while, until Steph pushed away, cupping Alex’s face in one hand. Steph and Alex had been together for a couple months now, and every moment together was pure bliss. They’d stay up late laughing at stupid sitcoms or hugging closer as a jumpscare in a cheesy horror movie took them by surprise. They planned to watch the stars, to travel the world- or grow old in Haven, to stick together for as long as the universe lets them and more. They wanted to show everyone how strong they were together, and they did.

“You mean so much to me.”

“The fucking world, right?” Alex hummed to the memory of that night- their first kiss.

“Yeah,” Steph tugged Alex closer, “the whole fucking world and then some.”

Their breaths caught as their lips pushed against each other, soft and warm. Their hands glided over their waists, through their hair and against their faces, forcing red to bubble across their skin. A golden aurora rippled through the water, sending waves of passion through Steph and Alex.

While everyone was holed up in their houses, Steph and Alex owned the world, using every moment they had together. They broke apart, smiling stupidly in a red mess.

“You’re probably gonna hear me think it, so I’ll spare you the effort: you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Alex tucked Steph’s hair behind an ear, “and you’re so..” she blinked a few times, “blurry..?”

The two laughed, releasing pent up serotonin and leaning back in the water before eventually slipping beneath the surface.

☀️🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸🌹🌸☀️

“Today was nice.”

The two came to a stop infront of The Black Lantern. The moon was now high above the town, and the streetlamps drew in moths with an amber glow.

“Yeah, it was,” Steph breathed in the cold air of the night, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Alex hesitated, glancing toward her home. “Who says you have to leave?”

Steph is…more person than I think I’ve ever felt, before.

She’s nothing like the poster that used to hang on the back of Dr. Lynn’s office. This carefully organized, clinical depiction of feelings.

I thought colors were always so simple. That what people felt was dynamic, but focused—singular. Overwhelming. I never knew how…subtle emotions could be. That colors don’t just fit into a carefully organized box, or a clinical classification or diagnosis.

No one is just happy. No one is just sad.

No one is just one anything.

Steph is all of them, sometimes, and I wonder how I never saw it, before.

I wonder…how much of that is knowing her.

“You have a superpower?” Slackened fingers hang from the edge of the scratched wood of a familiar bar chair, the way she’s dipping down showcasing a careless ease that stiffens for only a moment, shoulders curling tight like a taut bowstring. And then, a quiet laugh. A spreading smile. Almost a psh like a rattling cymbal at the end of a drum kit from her own lips, because there’s nothing else but emptiness in her lungs. “You’re both fucking with me, right?” 

Alex’s head dips only enough for hair to cascade in front of eyes and Steph’s back straightens.

“Do Ryan and I look like the fucking with you type? It’s all true.”

Fingers slacken.

Alex has superpowers and Steph immediately believes her. 

It’s the sort of thing that makes no sense. She doesn’t know why—she laughs—tries to rationalize it away—but the moment Alex says it, she believes her.

It’s stupid, right? The moment Alex says it, Steph just—

Just—

“Fine, then tell me what I’m feeling right now.”

The curve of Steph’s back slouches over the chair, the soft afternoon of the bar creating the sort of ambiance din that coffee shop youtube streamers love to take soundbites of and play for three hours straight, idle conversations lost beneath the serious weight of Alex’s nervous, steady eyes, and Ryan’s calm smile.

“You’re feeling disbelief,” Ryan twiddles fingers in the air—

But Steph barely spares him a glance, fingers flexing and curling and flexing again in the air so that they don’t stay so stiff—so that they don’t nervously bounce like a drum beat against wood—before they settle once more, watching Alex.

Just Alex. Who takes in a swell of breath through parted lips and tips barely to the side as her eyelashes flutter closed, listening like Ryan looking out for a particularly rare bird in the forest. Nails curl into biceps like she’s drawing the very energy from the ground up into flexing muscles and her lips part. Her brows knit.

The guitar trembling from the jukebox fades. Duckie’s story around the corner about the time he did a civil war reenactment on a showboat fades. The din and the gin and the world just fades away…to Steph watching Alex listen to nothing but the air.

And Steph’s stiffer than a set of sticks left out in the snow, chest tight.

“You’re…” A wistful, quiet laugh—the same noise her mom used to make when she looked around the entire house for her glasses before realizing they were on her nose the entire time. Like she’s found something that’s been there all along, just out of sight—out of mind—but always in reach. Like Steph’s is Alex’s glasses on the edge of her nose. “Actually a little annoyed.” Alex smiles, a little, like she’s got the whole world pegged in a few sentences and Steph swallows, dusty and dry— “You feel hurt that we didn’t tell you until now. Whether it’s true or not, you don’t like being left out.” 

She says it so plainly. So factually.

Steph feels like one of those kitschy tourist trap telescopes they put on the edge of the Seattle harbor, rusted but somehow still too loose, heavy edge flopping its overweighted top over every time a kid scrambles over to look across the cold, frigid waters towards the boats on the river, no spine left to keep it upright from years of voyeuristic abuse. Her bones rattle like a coin’s rolled down her very spine and her eyes flick up like a sharp snap of that cold telescope towards Ryan—towards Alex—before they finally downcast.

“Well…” Brows knit—lips part—and Steph wonders why her throat feels like sandpaper when she finally makes her way back up to Alex, again. “…okay.”

What else is there to say?

Because…really? The crazy idea that Alex has superpowers makes a lot of shit make sense. 

Steph always used to laugh anytime Ethan gave her some weekly comic about a superhero whose best friends were utterly oblivious to the people they spent all their time with being heroes but…in reality? Why the hell would anyone logically wake up one morning and think, ‘Oh, the girl who I saw spit milk out of her nose while watching cartoons when she was high obviously has the capacity to read other people’s emotions’?

It’s not a logical leap. It doesn’t even cross the mind—

“How much am I going to regret existing tomorrow?” Alex’s giggling laughter is muffled by the thin veil of a paper towel Steph has so graciously nabbed her from the kitchen, leaning over the couch to watch Alex stare up at the small little television from the floor. At least her legs are on the ground, now. Kind of progress. The milk soaks through its white scratch.

“Dude, you’re probably not even going to remember tomorrow.” It’s an honest reply and Alex just beams up at her before she snorts through her nose, again, this time milk-free. It’s probably a little telling that Steph finds it kind of cute.

Noticing Alex was freakishly observant? Okay.

“Alex, okay, seriously what are you—” Steph grunts, shifting from behind the car where she’s been dutifully propping up the torch on her phone to shine into the murky street below, sunlight above eclipsed by the rust on the car’s frame. The light hovers above the drain and the gutter (both of which are about as clean as the grease trap in the Lantern) and eyes squint at the barely-visible, totally scrambling profile of Alex’s face, concentration incarnate. Digging like a really cute Indiana Jones through the muck and something glints beneath her palm— “…are those someone’s keys? How the hell did you even—”

Sure enough, Alex pops up from behind the gutter with a dangling set of twinkling keys, an ecstatic dude immediately materializing at the noise like some Pavlovian experiment in the wild, rushing over from around the corner.

Elated. Ecstatic. Overwhelmed.

Steph hadn’t even noticed him when Alex halted mid-conversation with an apology and started digging around behind the rust bucket parked on the side of the street.

“My keys!”

Noticing Alex…also picked up on other people’s emotions? Definitely.

“You’re sure you’re okay, Steph?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, not to pry, but if you ever need to talk—”

Noticing a million other things—

The feeling of Alex’s nose brushing along her shoulder—her neck—the faintest whisper of a smile that probably wouldn’t stay particularly long in the sun hidden in the shadow of Steph’s neck.

Yeah, cuddling definitely wasn’t so bad—

A million small clues—suddenly, with knowledge and possibility of actuality to fill in the blanks—

“How about a quick match?”

Feet turn along creaking wood, hearing Alex come into focus like the twining upkick of a long note on the bass. Unexpected and perfectly inbeat. Most people don’t pick up on the bass in a song, but they’d miss it, if it was gone—

“Did Gabe tell you we played?”

“Oh, yeah. He also told me he kicked your ass.”

“Asshole.” A strangled, distracted laugh that threatens to suffocate the thin bobbing fabric of her neck, shaking her head—turning away, because the last thing Alex needs is for Steph to load this on her after that shit-show downstairs. But there’s something selfish, too. This unbearable weight. This emptying pit deep in her chest—this crawling coldness that frosts from her chest to her shoulders to her curling fingertips— “I don’t think now’s a good time.”

Alex pushes. Steph doesn’t know her well enough to know the difference, the sound of that rattling little foosball handle whirling in the afternoon sun that feels so cold outside, even when it isn’t.

A huff through nostrils. The words eat away, just a little at her. The challenge. The distraction. Just a minute. Just a minute. She can fake it, right?

And she can totally kick Alex’s ass.

It all just—

“Fine.”

Alex’s smile is soft. Steph doesn’t know her well enough to know the difference about that, either.

—makes sense.

“Oh shit.” The chair squeaks as Steph leans back into its familiar weight, laugh caught on the edge of that tight, dry throat, “The foosball game! You knew exactly what to do.” 

“You needed to focus on the positive memories, not get lost in the sadness.” A nod. A quiet, nervous laugh. An explanation: “I thought it would help.”

The feeling of fingertips sliding warmth down ears, the storm rattling outside, steady and there. Alex is always so steady and there, eyes clear in the murky haze of the night, constant and calm and caring—

Alex looks up at her through her eyelashes and Steph reminds herself it’s not the weirdest thing she’s ever heard about a person. Actually, it’s not even in the top ten for oddest claims. Living on the road in a ratty old makeshift tour bus (that was actually just a van bought off of craigslist and littered in enough stickers to make it aerodynamic) sort of amps up the median for weird behavior from the average person met in the world.

“It did.”

Steph, in this second—this actual moment—tells herself a lot of things and tries to think about none of them.

Does Alex know her well enough, now, to know the difference in the smile that softly tucks up the edges of Steph’s lips? Can Alex…feel her, even now? Or is the rest of the world still too loud—is all of what composes Steph practically a bird of a noise fluttering away in the trees to a woman who’s spent too long honing her ear to the empty sound a drummer’s chest makes? Is the tightening ache of Steph’s chest like a bird call lost beneath the wind?

Maybe she’d be more comfortable, that way, if Alex couldn’t hear her, at all. If Steph just disappeared into the background din that feels so far away, now. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe…this is a lot to wonder about this early in the day.

Steph won’t understand the full nature of what she readily accepts for months—for years—but she’ll learn loving someone is accepting every inch of them—that you never fully learn someone until you’ve loved every inch of them you thought you’d hate.

She’s not in love, today, but she’s brushing her feet along the waters of it. She’s looking down into a pond she’s absolutely aware she’s about to be pushed into.

By the time she understands anything at all, Steph will learn she’s fallen in love with Alex a thousand times over and cracked her rib cage open against reckless palms a thousand more than that.

Today she just smiles in a way she’s not certain Alex understands even when she thinks she might.

Today, she thinks it makes a lot of sense that Alex can pick up on things others can’t. That Alex is more extraordinarily different than anyone she’s ever met, before.

Today, another piece of a puzzle she’d thought she’d solved but isn’t even close just slots into place.

“Just…warn me next time, okay?”

The relief in the air is palpable from the bartender’s side of this scratched wood top but kind of…tentative—like how Alex reaches across distances towards them, sometimes--and Steph’s hand curls on the chair.

“Deal."

“Never thought I’d have a freaky empath friend. Pretty wild.”

This is the closest Steph’s pretty sure she’s gotten to making Alex actually blush, at all, and her knuckles rap against the bar, just along the edge.

Ryan changes the subject and it’s not long until Alex moves on to go finish up her shift and it’s enough of a reminder that both Ryan and Steph have bigger fish to fry, anyways.

Namely the woman who is probably responsible for their best friend’s death whose heels click through the door not even a full jukebox track later. She barely gets a chance to even start asking Ryan about Alex’s empathic mic-drop before they have to come up with a plan.

(Her plan’s killer, by the way).

Because that’s the thing about life. It just keeps moving. It doesn’t wait—it never waits. It keeps moving faster than Steph can keep up with it, sometimes—it moves so quickly that she goes with it, because she always goes with it. Moves with it because there’s no choice not to. It moves and moves—

Right onto Alex calling her a hotter distraction than Ryan.

(Fuck yes.)

So she flirts and she’s pretty close to sealing the deal (not important, but good for the ego) and it’s not until they’re both upstairs laughing that she lingers because she has to go back to work and Ryan has got to finish whittling and Alex…

Soon it’s just them in the apartment and when the sun dances over fingers that shift glasses, Steph looks up to see Alex smiling at her and Steph…smiles back.

She knows Alex’s different smiles, now—can pick them out like deep drops on an obscure EP playing on the radio—and this one…is new.

Amazingly, Steph’s smile doesn’t falter as she shifts on the touch to fully look at her. Doesn’t worry if there’s anything in her hair, this time. Doesn’t wonder why Alex is looking at her like this, at all, not today.

All Steph wonders if Alex knows the difference in Steph’s smiles, now, too, and life just moved on too quickly for her to pick up on when the change happened, at all.

I’m starting to realize that just because I know what someone’s feeling, it doesn’t mean I know them. Not really.

I always knew that what I expect to happen isn’t always what’s going to—I’ve learned that lesson the hard way more than…I really want to remember. But I’m starting to realize that there’s just…a lot more to a person than what they’re feeling.

There’s so much behind those feelings that I only get a snapshot of, like a faded polaroid hanging on someone’s fridge. They’re this small little piece out of thousands of other memories I haven’t seen and can’t reach. I do see into people—I can see their souls and their wants and their desires—but only a moment of them. Only this fraction. Only this small little piece.

I don’t think I’ve ever known people from anything more than snapshots of the things they didn’t want anyone to see. I used to think it was because it was because I didn’t have a chance. Now?

I don’t know.

I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone fully, at all.

The wind rustles through a cracked window, curtain fluttering in the soft Spring breeze, the sound of Ryan talking right outside of the door disappearing into descending footsteps and the clicking of an apartment door, tucking them away from the rest of Haven not so far away.

An apparently encrypted USB still dangles from the edge of a laptop littered with at least a dozen stickers she recognizes as having gifted Gabe. It’s like a dangling carrot at the end of a dungeon. Like someone just turned the final chest into a fucking mimic.

And now that the afternoon sun is easing away on her busy day of espionage and subterfuge (and clear sexual awakenings for Diane) all before noon, all Steph can think about is the literal thousand-bullet-point list she has in her apartment of minutia details to take care of for tomorrow.  

“You should let me help you with the LARP stuff, Steph.”

It’s a quiet offer to Steph’s right from where both of them are sprawled out on the floor, their legs tucked up on the couch cushions, laptop and desk slightly pushed to the side. Steph had claimed that this was where she did her best espionage thinking and, unsurprisingly, Alex had joined her on the floor with a look and a shrug.

She only had an hour before she had to go back to the store to do the afternoon DJ shift, and there wasn’t anywhere else she really wanted to be, before then.

Eyes flick over to take in the way Alex is…looking at her, now. Relaxed. Totally relaxed. Like a thousand burdens have gently released from Alex’s barely-healed fingertips up into the sky like a lit lantern, yellow bracing against pitch black clouds. Like even with all the shit with Typhon going on, maybe Alex feels…a little lighter, somehow.

Steph rolls over onto her side, arm tucking beneath her ear, legs curling back up on the floor. 

“No way, participants aren’t allowed into the inner sanctum. You’ll just have to leave the mystery and intrigue up to the NPCs, Alwynn. I can handle it.” Brows barely knit— “Which…is something I didn’t say anything about. Which means you did the mind-reading thing, again, didn’t you? The mind-reading thing which is…apparently more than just the textbook definition of empathy because the only emotion I’m feeling about the LARP is mild stress?” That’s not true—Steph feels a lot more about the LARP than even she knows how to decode—but it’s not exactly fiction, either, and from the way Alex winces Steph shifts up on the floor to look down at her.

(This at least cuts off Alex’s completely logically fallible argument that she has no idea what she’s doing, anyways, and isn’t going to remember any of it because that’s total bullshit and the GM in her so isn’t going to stand for any outside interference).

“Kind of?” After a long moment, Alex blinks beneath that thin layer of glass between them, teeth chewing on the edge of her lip. This sort of stillness falling over her cheeks—her chin—her lips. This tightness there that Steph wants to ease away with fingertips and—

(Holy fuck, she really hopes Alex can’t actually read minds. Not because Steph is scared of it, but because now is not the time—)

Alex’s voice is quiet and even and suddenly Steph feels every single inch of distance between them like a cavern.

“I can…hear you, sometimes. I’ve never told someone what I’ve heard them think, before, so I don’t know how accurate it is, but a lot of times I just…know things that I shouldn’t be able to know. It’s almost like I can…hear you, like for a moment you’re right—” Alex’s hand idly reaches up to rest over a yellow-plaid covered heart before she looks away and Steph swallows that sandpaper, again, eyebrows raising. But Alex seems to catch herself somewhere along the line from saying anything other than that—catch herself so swiftly, lips pressing tightly as her hand falls back down to her side, curled inwards and away from Steph. “Like I can hear what you’re thinking.”

“You…can actually hear what I’m thinking?”

“Not all the time. Just…sometimes. When you’re really feeling something, or if I listen hard enough. I used to have to really focus—to touch someone, or they had to be really worked up--but I’ve…I don’t know, I’ve gotten really good at picking up on you and Ryan, I guess. And…a few people in town I’ve been around, too. I don’t know why it’s getting easier with you guys, but it’s not all the time. I don’t even know if what I’m hearing is what you’re thinking but…I think it can be. Sometimes.” It’s a lot less elegant than Alex usually is when she speaks—like she’s never vocalized it, at all.

“Woah.” It’s a murmur, Steph wordlessly easing back down onto the floor. “That’s…a lot.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You said…” Steph’s tongue darts out over dry lips, searching the familiar dusty ceiling that houses a garden up above. “You feel it more when you touch someone.” It’s a murmur, arm draping over her stomach, idly running fingertips along the wood grain of a river between them as she thinks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that why you’re so careful about touching people?” 

Alex blinks, surprised, and Steph can feel her eyes on the high rise of her cheek, head slowly lolling on the floor to search familiar eyes, turning fully onto her side to scoot closer to her. Just a little. Just enough so that she can actually look at her. Alex doesn’t shift away. 

“I feel mildly called out.” Alex’s smile is slim, but she doesn’t deny it.

“That’s a yes.”

“I never really thought about it, but I guess it’s a yes.” Alex agrees.  

“So you can’t always hear me, but can you…feel what I’m feeling all the time?” 

Alex seems to think over the question like she’s tasting it on her tongue, eyes closing, “...kind of? It’s sort of like–this really muted sensation. Like background noise, I guess. Or like…walking into a room and there being a faint…perfume from someone that was there an hour earlier? If I focus on it–like if I really focus on you, I can always feel it, now, but…I try not to. It doesn’t—it feels like I’m violating something, if I press too much.” Alex’s eyes open, looking up towards that garden, too, but Steph watches the way she murmurs, “But if I do feel you, I always know it’s you.”

Steph doesn’t know what that even means, but it makes her stomach tighter. 

“So…it’s not intentionally.”

“Only recently. Only if I thought I could help.”

“Like…with the Foosball” 

“Right.” 

“So before then, it would just…”

“Before then, I could only feel really, really strong emotions. I mean, I could feel people’s energy—it would affect me, sometimes—but I couldn’t…it’s different. It’s stronger, when I feel someone’s emotions. And…usually I couldn’t help but feel them when they were bad. Bad emotions are always the strongest. They would take over me. Suddenly, it was all I could think–all I could feel–all I could taste–”

“Is that…what happened with Mac?” 

Alex’s eyes flick away. A long moment before she nods.

Steph shifts, hands flexing in the air by her hip as she leans over Alex, the hair that’s escaped a beanie dancing along her chin, eclipsing the sunlight from the nearby cracked window in shaded hues of blues along Alex’s eyes.

“That’s what happened that day with the fight in the street.” It’s a quiet realization, resisting the urge to lean down and run fingertips along the reddened ridges of knuckles, “…Alex. Come on, look at me. We don’t have to talk about it, I just think I…kind of get it, now.”

Alex finally looks back up at her, jaw rolling enough that Steph realizes she’s trying to keep herself composed. Trying to hold something back.  

“I was…scared I was going to hurt you. Like I did with Gabe. I hit him after that fight with Mac, you know. I’m the one that gave him the black eye.”

“I didn’t know.” Steph’s voice is so quiet, now, but so is Alex’s—so quiet that the sound of the wind might threaten to swallow it whole.

“That’s why I ran.”

“So that you wouldn’t…hurt me?” Steph tries to piece it together and just like that, it all slots, “Alex, you didn’t—”

“I could have.” Alex cuts off the sentence like she’s heard it before and for some reason, it ties Steph’s stomach into knots.

“You didn’t.” Steph sits up, voice serious as she shifts closer, reaching forward without nearly enough thought as her hands fall down to Alex’s, thumbs running along those puckered edges of skin, feeling hands stiffen but curl beneath her, clenching on. Holding tight.

Steph swallows.

“Steph—” 

“It didn’t ‘take over you’,” The recollection tastes like such a foreign concept on her tongue, “You controlled it. You helped them. You broke it up. You’re…are you learning how to control it? You’re talking about things like they’re kind of different now.”

All of Alex tightens up like a coil beneath Steph’s palms before, miraculously, fingers break free like vines and curve around the edges of the stone of knuckles that were never scarred like her own, not just holding on but holding, slotting fingers so easily into the empty spaces of Steph that it’s such a cliché that it feels so natural.

“...yeah. I think so. That’s how I helped Ethan. That’s how I’ve helped a lot of people, here. Eleanor—Riley—You—Ryan. I’m…I think I’m getting better at it, but I’m still—I’m still so scared of—"

“You know you’re not the only one who has the trademark on hurting people you care about, right?” It’s a blunt, knowing question, “My M.O. is to historically run away when people are trying to help, and lashing out to make them fall back. We all do shit that we work at being better at.” It’s not a thing she expected to tell her, today, but it’s the truth, nonetheless.  

(Then again, anything Steph’s told Alex wasn’t exactly something she planned for, it always just sort of comes out, so she’s gotten pretty good at running with the punches.)

Alex searches her eyes so thoroughly that Steph wonders what…emotion it is that Alex sees in her–what she knows of her, looking at her, like this. It’s a little unfair. 

It’s a little unsettling, being seen so thoroughly.

Steph’s not certain anyone’s ever known how to look hard enough to try.

“You haven’t pulled away from me.” 

“Yet.” It’s serious and quiet, lips pressing thin. Eyes flick down and settle on the hands she’d stolen before settling back on the eyes behind those thin frames of glass, “You…haven’t made me want to.” Teeth tuck away lips, trying to stay chill because now is totally not the time for Alex to know she–

Steph definitely—

Not the time. It’s never the time.

“I can’t promise I won’t.” Steph continues, because Alex…deserves to know, doesn’t she? After everything? “But I try not to. And you tried not to hurt me. And so far both of us? Pretty successful. And…if we’re not successful…I don’t know? We cross that bridge when we get to it.” 

“Just like that?” Alex shakes her head, smile small and hesitant. “Cross the bridge when we get to it.” A heavy, rattling breath as those stiff bones of Alex Chen sink a little into the floor, “Now who’s giving all the advice?”  

“Hey, I’m fantastic at advice. Radio show, remember?” A little more serious, “Friends should stick by through the hard stuff.” 

“Not to sound completely depressing but I’ve…never really had any that did.” But Alex, brave and quiet and sincere, doesn’t look away. “I don’t really know what it looks like.” 

“I’m not a very good example. But I’m pretty sure between Ryan and I, you’re stuck with finding out. You can’t get rid of us, now. We’re too dependent on the free drinks.” 

Alex smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“What am I feeling now?” Steph asks when she lays back down and when Alex squeezes her hand, she realizes she never let go. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. Right now? I’m kind of just enjoying it.” 

“Yeah…okay.” Steph shifts just to make her back a little more comfortable on the floor, again, and stiffens only a little when she feels Alex hesitantly shift to rest her head on her shoulder, heart beat quick before both of them settle into the spaces that used to be between them.

“Steph?” Alex breathes into the thin fabric of a baseball tee like she’s absolutely determined not to look up and Steph fights down the ridiculous twittering swallows fluttering around in her stomach and smiles down at the crown of floor-messy hair and the tip of barely-visible, askew glasses that are buried into her, right now.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Alex tips her head upwards and offers a smile so small and quiet and genuine that the world shifts beneath Steph’s steady pulse—something shifts in her lungs and her back and her smile, quietly falling into something serious—something different—something new.

There’s this puzzle of Alex, whose cardboard cut-out image of possibilities has full shades of tone behind it, now, so real that Steph can no longer see the lines of the pieces that slotted her together in her mind in the first place—those lines of knuckles of red and smile of sunlight and heart of so many shades of color Steph’s never seen, before—all Steph can see is Alex. This woman whose spine is made of impenetrable oak that shapes into a door that Steph stands on the outside of, cracked. A sliver of light shining inside to the deepest places Steph has never seen—a sliver of light showing how endlessly vast a person can be in the slimmest sights she’s seen of her.

There’s so much more.

Alex, who Steph keeps thinking is someone Steph knows, but who she finds out each and every day is more complex and different than anything that’s ever existed in her world.

Here’s Alex, who feels what others feel and holds Steph in storms because of it; whose eyes had only been hidden in the thin fabric of Steph for a moment before looking up, not truly hiding, at all—fearless and brave and independent; who makes Steph feel…nervous and unsure and fantastic all at once, without doing anything, at all.

Alex, who Steph doesn’t want to leave behind to see the world…but feels like she would never truly leave, at all, for once. Maybe she’d find a way to stay in touch. Maybe she’d find a way to—

To—

Steph wonders how loud a dice would rattle against the floor next to their settling knees.

You thought you never told her. You thought she only knew because she knew you but you didn’t know how right you were.

You wonder how many times you’ve told her you’re falling in love with her and you wonder how little it matters. You leave and you keep her close to you like your father keeps a polaroid tucked away in his beaten wallet. You leave and you wish you’d asked her to leave with you, and you’ll spend your whole life missing the future you let yourself imagine in the deepest spaces of the night before you fall asleep.

A future where you’re not so scared of her knowing you, because you know she’s the only one you want to know you, at all.

Alex’s brows knit and her fingers tighten, only a little, on Steph’s hand, and that tight feeling is back in her chest, again, eclipsing and eclipsing until she lets out a quiet huff of a breath through parted lips.

She’ll find a way to stay in touch. Life will move on. It always moves on in thin sheets of ice, so many people buried beneath its surface.

Steph’s always been better at focusing on the now than the future, even when she’s planning it.    

Alex thanks her and Steph doesn’t have to ask why.

Instead, she just shakes her head and smiles.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Chen.”

In a rare display, Alex looks almost a little…nervous for the second time today when she offers, “You…don’t have to stay, Steph, I know that you have to get back to the station.”

“Yeah, I do. But…I can hang out here for a little bit longer, my alarm’s set. So…enjoy that feeling of mine, I guess? I still don’t really know how this works, but it sounds pretty awesome.”

“Yeah.” Alex settles her head back down and closes her eyes, glasses pressing into the soft part of Steph’s neck and after a moment Steph’s hand wraps up around her shoulder to lightly hold her close, Alex shifting closer. A smile softly curves along her neck—the soft breeze dances through the curtains by the window, underlining the soft puffs of Alex’s breath—that faint scent settles into her chest like a breath of fresh air—and life moves on around them, like it always does. “It’s pretty great.

People feel so much more than I’ve ever seen.

Seriously, I feel like I traded my glasses for a set of EnChroma lenses because somehow, now, when I look at everyone…I don’t just see this one, loud, overwhelming color, anymore. I’m starting to see…all of them. I’m starting to see the blue and the red in the orange and the yellow and blue in purple. I’m starting to see violet in shades of red and blue. I’m starting to see that there’s so much more beneath those heavy emotions on the surface.

I’ve never noticed that yellow can be like sunlight in someone’s eyes, curving around the green of them like the set of an expensive ring—this quiet happiness that’s there, that doesn’t burn as brightly. I’ve never noticed that sadness and joy can cling to people like…rain after a heavy storm. That fear can do that, too.

Colors compose people and constantly shift.

I’m starting to see people for more than just those snapshots of emotions I feel. It’s…amazing. It’s amazing how everyone’s so different. How subtle the red is when Ryan stubs his toe compared to the vibrant red when Steph does. How quietly the purple dances off of the vibrating drum of Diane’s nails along the edge of a bar table when she thinks no one is looking, perfectly calm and still whenever she notices someone does. This…purple that lingers on the shine of Jed’s shoulders that I don’t think I’ll ever understand that he wears like a raincoat in the snow, so thin I can barely even see it.

And I think…I’m like that, too, deep beneath the surface. I’m more like an impressionist painting of colors, a thousand dots blurred together to make…Me.

Just like everyone else.

The thought of feeling all of it—of recognizing it—it used…to be terrifying. It still kind of is.

The thought of someone knowing me well enough to pick out the way the yellow curves down my cheek when I hear a song I really like on the radio—or the way my blues mix with reds when I look up at the picture of a plaque on a dirty bar wall—of someone seeing the passion in my hands and the energy in my steps.

I don’t know what colors I’m made of, but I know what colors light up Steph when she walks. Most of them, anyways. I wonder how much more there are to see.

When I think about what colors I see, I always think of Steph. Maybe because she’s so expressive, but maybe…there’s something else there.

No, there’s definitely something else there.

I know what Steph’s colors look like, for the most part, even as I start to see more and more of them, everyday, filling out this…picture of her that’s full of gaps that I still don’t know how to read.

But what do those colors look like on me, to her? What does she see of me, if she doesn’t see colors?

“Okay, so…that only looks mildly complicated.” Steph notes from behind Riley’s shoulder, Ryan’s head bobbing, assessing with a total nod next to her.

“Oh, yeah, and only mildly…super illegal.”

“Getting second thoughts, Ryan?” Riley calls from her hunched position, darkness outside only causing a stark contrast from the blue light from her laptop, fingers moving way faster than Steph has seen anyone type. Even Mikey, and she’s pretty sure if there was an Olympics for typing, Mikey could be in it.

She can’t wait to take a video and send it to Mikey, just to let him know someone else would totally mop the floor with him.

“Pfft, no.” Ryan side-eyes Steph who shoves his shoulder. Mumbling, “…maybe.”

“Come on, it’s fine. Riley doesn’t even want to know what it is or where we got it from, not if it’ll help Gabe, right Riley?”

“Totally.” Riley immediately offers.

“And she’s going to crack it like the awesome tech-chick she is, right, Riley?”

“Totally.” Another swift series of key strokes before Riley finishes setting up…whatever it is she’s doing with the USB before turning back towards the both of them. It’s oddly reminiscent of those fake breaking in scenes in movies like Hackers, but Steph knows way too little about any of this to even hope at making a sly comment about it. “Although you guys do know this is definitely not admissible in a court, right?” Riley’s eyebrow hikes upwards and Steph and Ryan nervously look between each other to Riley to the USB. “Seriously…am I the only person who watches CSI?”

“Probably not since it’s been on for like…four decades? People have to watch it.” Steph shakes her head.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Law and Order.” Ryan scratches his beard. “Or maybe…what was the one with the Air Force—”

“Stargate?” Steph’s brows knit. “What does Stargate have to do with this?”

“What?” Ryan shakes his head. “Stargate was about…aliens?”

“She’s right, Stargate was Air Force. And I’m pretty sure you’re talking about NCIS, Ryan. But, no, like--” Riley offers with a vague gesture over her shoulder, “We’re getting…whatever you’re getting illegally. They can’t use that.”

“Yeah, but maybe if it’s incriminating enough, it’ll make people look.” Steph presses, looking between the two of them. “Look…Alex needs a lead. Like…any kind of lead, and we need to know what we’re dealing with. She’s pretty sure about…who’s mixed up in all of this, and I believe her.”

Ryan and Riley share a look but nod anyways.

“Yeah, I do too, Steph.” Ryan stuffs hands into pockets, that smile of his softening. Easy. Certain.

“Of course, Steph.” Riley immediately piggybacks. “Especially for Gabe, I just…wanted you guys to know.” It causes both of them to smile, grateful, and Riley shakes her head and shifts on her feet beneath it, blush highlighted by the computer, “Alright, I better get back to it.”

“You sure you don’t need help setting up for the festival?” Ryan double-checks.

“I’ll tell you guys tomorrow after the LARP. If I don’t drown in flowers before then.”

“Well, if you need anything, let us know, alright?” Steph is already backpedaling out of the shop, waving, not hearing the tail end of the conversation between the two as she steps back out into the cool night air, eyes flicking down towards a lone streetlight outside of a barely-lit apartment window, its blinds drawn. It’s not because she doesn’t want to help—Riley deserves a hand—but more because she has way too much to do, before tomorrow.

She waits for a couple of seconds until the door jingles, Ryan stepping next to her.

“So…you seriously knew our best friend was an empath this whole time?” Steph shoves her hands into pockets, too, curling, voice calm and casual but she knows Ryan’s got a lock on her the moment he looks over.

“I didn’t always know but…yeah. She told me. If it helps, I…was having a really bad day.” He says it with all the levity in the world but when she looks up at the way the shadows of the night catch in his eyes, Steph knows exactly how midnight black bad days can be. And wonders how much of herself Alex would give away to help him cope with it. Wonders, knowing Ryan, how much of himself he gave to her, back. And knows that she’ll never know, because she wasn’t there. “I don’t think she’s ever told anyone else, before.”

“Seriously?” Eyes flick back over towards the bar.

“Yeah.”

A breeze rips through the air, chin tipping upwards the watch the wind rustle down the street, dancing up clattering metal signs and street corner marking, the now-closed sign safe behind glass from the wind’s careless twirl in the record store across the cobbled path of a town Steph’s learned to call home.

There’s another sign ready to be plastered over that one in the morning for a LARP Gabe will never see and when she shifts on her feet, her shoulder brushes against Ryan’s bicep.

“It…kind of makes sense?” Her chin tips backwards—away from Ryan and the shop and the bar—to look up towards the cloudy sky. The rain’s passed, but the night air is still thick with the aftermath of it and it makes her fingers curl and her tongue dart out over lips and her laugh, just a little, catch in the back of her throat.

“I’m…sorry if you were hurt that we didn’t tell you—”

“I wasn’t hurt.” Steph cuts off. Sighs, one shoulder raising up and falling like a sack of bricks, “Yeah…okay. Maybe a little. But it’s…well, it’s not yours to tell, anyways, Ry. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Secrets like that—stuff that define us, whether we want it to or not? It’s not the kind of thing only we should ever tell people. It’s Alex’s story, she has a right to tell who she wants to. I…guess I’m just glad to be on the list?”

It’s an ingrained truth. Maybe it’s the queer kid from a small town in her. Maybe it’s the punk. Or maybe it’s the girl with so many secrets Ryan’s never known hidden in the wrinkled crevices of her cold hands. It doesn’t really matter.

Either way, she gets it.

It stings, but she gets it.

“Yeah.” Ryan looks at her like he isn’t so sure. “Well, the good news is maybe we’re a step closer to figuring out what happened to Gabe.”

“Yeah.” Steph looks back down towards the record shop, nodding. Serious, “Good.” Because it is. Gabe deserves more than what he got—but justice is a good start. “Alright, well, you’ve got some whittling to do.”

“I know, I know,” Ryan’s hands raise up in submission, backing towards his own street, “Let me know if you need any help?”

(Oh, Ryan’s definitely going to help. She’s not going to take any enjoyment in telling him just how much tomorrow morning—really. Like, none.)

“You know it.” She’s already across the street, hand flattening on the record shop door when she pauses. Bites her lip.

Valkyrie meows as she curves around Steph’s ankle, a tameless creature of the night, hips bouncing as she strolls down the cool cobblestone towards the lit window across the street. Steph unlocks the door just to replace the closed sign with the Magpie Emporium instructions before locking back up and going the opposite way towards her apartment, hesitating just for a moment as she watches Valkyrie dip into the shadows behind the Black Lantern.

She’s seriously still got a lot of shit to do…but there’s this lingering thought. This lingering taste of maybe in the back of her throat. This itch in her fingers for more than just music—more than just drums—more than just similarity and the things she knows.

Maybe there’s magic in the air tonight, after all, and the Mysterious Proprietor spends the whole night writing about it—about magic and faraway lands and Emperors who fall into the trenches of demons in a time of darkness—she writes until her fingers cramp and her back aches and even rolling her neck doesn’t fight the stiffness from hunching over for so long.

The window is cracked open, the heavy moisture of long-fallen rain clinging to the night.

Maybe if Steph can imagine it hard enough, she can pretend she tastes magic in the thickness of it.

Maybe then it’s easier to imagine her familiar in her place, perched in another open window across the street, moonlight highlighting the darkest parts of her fur, tail slinking in a lazy bat from one side to the next.

The thoughts we never want to think are always the ones that find us when the air is thickest with something like magic, sleep so close to sagging shoulders and sighing lips.

So Steph will wonder, crawling into bed and staring up at the cloudy moon, eyes heavy and bones weary—she’ll wonder it, for the first time, the thought sinking into her bones like sand sliding through the thinnest tube of an hourglass—

Can a bard sense the magic in the air and pull it into her fingertips along the steel-woven tines of a guitar? Can a bard tame the music of a witch? If she could…would Steph let her pass the roll-check?

Can Alex sense her, now?

Now that there’s no bar full of people between them—no quiet youtube coffee shop din or other emotions or places or things—now that there’s nothing but an empty streetlight and rain that was so thick even the air couldn’t shake it—now that there’s an empty space where people used to be in apartments once owned by people other than them—now that there’s nothing, at all…will Alex look up towards Valkyrie perched on her window sill and feel Steph wish that she was there, instead?

Can Alex hear the small little swallow in Steph’s chest, twittering like a lost bird in the rain, aching for a reason to stay?

Does Alex know? Does Alex…know?

Steph swallows. Her fingers curl into the pillow as they tremble, just a little, before her brows knit.

And then ease.

Life moves on so quickly and it takes her with it to a dream she won’t remember, sheet half curled along her thigh and bed empty beside her.

When she wakes up, she doesn’t remember anything but the hazy thought of kissing Alex on the scratched surface of a floor that belongs to neither of them and looks towards the window where Valkyrie sits, soundly sleeping beneath the soft sunshine of morning.

I’ve never been…very good with my own emotions, I guess. The girl who’s been in therapy for the majority of my life thinks that’s because my whole life I’ve been told I’m not feeling anything enough while simultaneously being told I should only ever feeling one thing at a time. But the truth is?

Maybe I’m feeling all of those emotions. All the time.

I look at Steph and I feel what she feels and…it scares me.

In kind of a good way, I think?

I look at Steph and I’m…everything at once. I’m…angry about Gabe and angry he left, again. I’m sad for what I’ll never know and I’m scared of Steph and I’m happy to see all of the colors that compose her smile. I’m guilty that I’m feeling any of it when Gabe is feeling none of it. I’m…hopeful, I think, of things I don’t even know how to vocalize and totally, completely, utterly unprepared for all of them.  

But for the first time I think…it’s okay.

I feel…safe? I think.

I feel safe in Haven.

I feel safe with Ryan and Steph and everyone else here.

Steph is totally the opposite of what I expect, every time. Steph is a true drummer punk, I guess, because she subverts literally every single one of my deeply held, probably trauma-infused expectations of what a person should do. And yet, somehow, I feel like I know her enough to know better.

Steph’s…complicated. And kind of emotionally messy. And totally amazing.

Steph looks at me without seriously a single ounce of expectation for me to fit into any mold. I feel everything I never really thought was mine to feel, at all, with her.

And I wonder what it looks like to her.

The truth is, I think I know the answer, and that’s what really terrifies me. I think I just…look like me.

I think she looks at me and just sees me, and is totally here, anyways.

And…at least I know I’m not the only one scared of it.

“Did you go over there, Val?” Steph’s fingertips so carefully curve behind the delicate, curving arch of Valkyre’s ear—the beast that scratched people who scratched all who dared to get too close, but somehow lets Steph stay. A singular green eye cracks open beneath the sun, spine lazily stretching before she eases fully onto the sill. “Do you think all of this…do you think it’s all just wishful thinking? Am I going crazy over nothing?”

Valkyrie just closes her eyes and doesn’t answer and Steph shrugs and gathers up binders and binders of magic lore, pamphlets, and spells and a singular red cap with a feather stuck inside because time moves on.

And so does Steph.

At least I know I’m not the only one alone.

Steph’s kind of uncharacteristically scared about it, but she’s still here. I feel a little bit guilty about that, too.

But I’m also a little happy? How messed up is that.

Is it messed up? I don’t know.

I’d ask Ryan if I didn’t feel guilty about that, too.

Valkyrie came to my window, last night. She only hissed a little bit when I brought her some food Steph left. (Just in case—apparently Valkyrie used to like sitting on the window when Gabe wasn’t around, even though no one has any idea how she got up here). She didn’t let me pet her, but she let me get close enough to drop off the dish.

It felt a little bit like a sign. I don’t know why.

Thumbs hesitate along the edge of the page and a thick laugh quietly dances through the air, thick with tears.

It feels like I’m doing something right.