#sleepyfishfic

"You know, Shoko…" Utahime's words slurred together, the excessive beer in her gut warming her soul as she leaned on her best friend out on her balcony. Her hand rested on Shoko's pack of cigarettes, stopping her from taking one out. "I think you're a lot more kissable when you're not smoking."

Shoko wasn't terribly far behind Utahime as far as drunkenness, but she could still hold her own. Her brow raised. "You've never kissed me. How would you know?"

"Your lips." Utahime stared at them before bringing a thumb up to trace the bottom lip, smearing some gloss. "When your breath doesn't smell like cigarettes, I like to imagine tasting your lip gloss."

Shoko didn't say a thing. She just wondered if she was dreaming. Do I want to wake up?

"I wish we could be more than friends, Shoko." Utahime continued, calloused fingers trailing along her jaw and tucking her hair behind her ear. "I wish we could just… get away from curses and clans and wars, sometimes. Hell, I think I'd run away from it all if you asked."

"You know we can't." Despite her words, Shoko leaned closer to her. They were close enough to share malty breaths. "This is our lives."

"But still. If you asked, I'd go." Utahime kept her hands in Shoko's hair, running her fingers through it.

Shoko sighed deeply. Their lips grazed as she whispered, "I know."

They just stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before Shoko leaned in. Maybe just for a night, she could indulge this. So she rested her hands on Utahime's waist, and kissed her. She drank in the taste of beer in Utahime's mouth, finding it more intoxicating than anything she's drank before.

Was this what it was like? To warm yourself from the lips of someone else?

They didn't separate from one another as they stumbled onto a lounge seat. Shoko slowly led Utahime down, cradling her head until it rested. Like this, she could feel the warmth of her whole body against Utahime, begging to be even closer. She felt her pulse thrashing against every point of contact, pulling her deeper into the trouble she unleashed. Utahime's breaths pulled her in, and quenched a thirst she never thought she had.

It wasn't until Utahime went fully still and silent underneath her that she pulled away. Utahime's eyes did not open, and her breathing was deep and calm. She was asleep.

If she was drunk enough to pass out, she probably won't remember this, will she?

Like it was nothing, she pulled a passion out of Shoko that she had never entertained before, for she wasn't allowed to in the first place. How was supposed to just put it back? To lock it all away? Alone?

She noncommittally cursed Utahime as tears fell onto her sleeping face. Tears that were never supposed to be shed, from feelings that were never supposed to bloom. She got up and off of Utahime, and dried her eyes with her shirt.

If Utahime didn't remember this, then Shoko could pretend it never happened. She could move on, surely. She could close the box again because she had to. Tomorrow would be another day of work to be done, with no room for whatever had unfurled itself in her soul. The creature of Utahime's reckless making would starve, and be done with like a curse.

My fluff headcanons for Eclipse x reader:

He enjoys tracing any scars, stretch marks, freckles, and birthmarks you have, making up stories about the constellations adorning your body.

You keep all the lights in your home on during the day, and all the lights off at night, to keep Eclipse from suffering through glitchy switches too often. This also allows him to enter any room in the house with a lot more ease. You keep nightlights in every room for your own visibility.

Whenever Eclipse deals with a painful switch, he's gotten pretty used to reaching out to you for comfort. You wish and kiss the departing mode goodnight, and then greet the incoming mode with sweet words.

Sometimes his programming glitches out more than normal, and he forgets who you are. He asks you many questions that you've definitely answered many times before, but your indulgence helps calm him down. Eventually, he always gets his memories of you back, and tries a little too hard to make up for it. He takes care of you more and holds you tighter, savoring it in hopes of making memories of you stick for longer.

He LOVES cuddling. It was awkward at first, given his robotic and twitchy nature, but you both eventually found your groove. He's the big spoon, of course.

He can't kiss you due to not having lips, but that doesn't stop him from trying! It usually results in cute (and slightly disorienting) headbutts to your head. He also asks for kisses very often, and loves when you give both halves of his face equal amounts of attention.

December 24th, 1964. 11:40pm.

The Curtis residence, void of the recently departed.

Darrel Curtis Jr. sat on his bed, the tension in his body threatening to choke him. A large part of him wanted to go to bed and pretend that it wasn't Christmas Eve, and that Ponyboy hadn't baked cookies for Santa like he'd done his whole life — like him and his brothers hadn't become orphans just three days prior. Three days were not nearly enough time for Darry to feel ready to take up his father's mantle in any capacity, especially in traditions so tied to joy and wonder. How could he celebrate the Curtis family's biggest holiday of the year when he was still trying to plan their parents' funeral?

Through the thin walls of their home, Darry heard the muffled cries of his youngest brother. He couldn't find the energy to get up and comfort him. Sodapop, as endlessly loving as he was, could be heard soothing Pony instead. A vague, barely recognized sense of hopelessness added to the weight on Darry's shoulders.

Mom would know what to do. She'd have him laughing off his sorrows within a minute. But Soda will have to do, now. He may not get Pony to laugh, but maybe small comforts will be enough.

Enough for what, Darry didn't know. But if his kid brothers can come together for each other, he could do the same for them. He had to. As much of a lost boy he was himself, he was the man of the house now.

So he stood up and left his room. He could see that Pony's door was ajar. If Darry was more like his mother, maybe the three of them could share this moment together. He put that out of his mind as he made his way to their parents' bedroom instead. He gripped the doorknob, a sudden wave of nausea keeping him from twisting it.

They were in this room three days ago. There was life in this room that will never come back. As soon as I open this door, the room will be dead and I will remember it that way.

Darry rested his forehead against the door. He couldn't cry. If he cried, he'd just think about all the times his mother soothed him. She wasn't here anymore. He inhaled deeply and shakily, fighting the tightness in his throat. On an exhale, he twisted the knob and stepped forward into the dead room.

He stopped to take it all in, still clinging to the doorknob. The room was too quiet, too cold, and too vast. He felt too small for his body as he stared. He was just a giant boy. Too giant for this room and too young to see it so lifeless.

He remembered where they hid the gifts every year. They never knew that he had found it, and his brothers never bothered looking. He almost wished that the spot under the bed would be empty if he looked. Wouldn't that be easier? To have a sad, empty Christmas without any gifts from the deceased? To mourn instead of celebrate?

He lugged his heavy feet, one in front of the other, around the bed and dropped to his knees. The world slowed down as he bent forward, and eight color-coded gifts came into his view. He couldn't cry. Not without Mom.

Two green boxes for Darry, from Santa Curtis.

Two blue boxes for Sodapop, from Santa Curtis.

Two gold boxes for Ponyboy, from Santa Curtis.

One small pink box for Mom, from Dad.

One small white box for Dad, from Mom.

Darry grabbed both small boxes and stifled a sob. Tears fell, and he hugged the boxes to his chest. He managed some shaky, quiet breaths so as to not worry his brothers, and just sat on the floor.

...

December 25th, 1964. 1:15am.

Darry flushed down his vomit, rinsed his face and mouth, and walked back into the hallway. He put the gifts for his mother and father under their respective pillows before he ran to the bathroom. Out of sight, out of mind. He peeked over at the doors to his brothers' rooms, both closed, before heading into his parents' room again. This time, he made sure not to dwell, and just grabbed some boxes before speeding to the living room. He slid the first trip of boxes under the tree, trying not to think.

"Mm?" Darry looked over at Two-Bit Matthews, half asleep and mumbling to himself on the couch, still clinging to a now empty bottle of whiskey. As selfish as it was, Darry was glad that Two-Bit was refusing to leave him alone since the bad news, even if it meant drinking himself to sleep on the raggedy couch.

The least I could do is give the fool a blanket.

Darry welcomed the distraction, and stepped towards the linen closet. On the way, he spotted a plate and a glass on the dining room table. He approached, and was sorely reminded of his new role as Santa by the milk and cookies coming into view in front of him. Near the plate was a small note.

To Santa,

I know I'm too old to believe in you anymore. I know you were Dad. But please don't go away.

- Ponyboy Curtis

Darry sighed, having to lean on the table for a moment. He still remembered being much younger than Pony is now, his mother helping him with baking cookies for Santa. Now, being on the other side of it, it was bittersweet. More bitter than sweet, really. He grabbed a cookie and took a bite. It was for him now, wasn't it?

It tasted like his mother's absence, both figuratively and literally. Ponyboy was a shit baker.

Darry packed the rest of the cookies up in a paper bag and left it next to Two-Bit for the morning. He surely wouldn't mind some half-burnt cookies. He washed the atrocity down with the glass of milk before continuing his journey to the linen closet. On the top of the rest of the blankets was a Christmas themed blanket, and he grabbed it. Two-Bit muttered to himself in his sleep as Darry laid the blanket on him, finishing it off by tucking the man's hair behind his ear and leaving a peck on his temple.

Darry whispered against his head. "Thank you for being here. Couldn't have done this without you." And with a soft groan, he stood and put the rest of the gifts under the tree, the tension in his shoulders easing with every step. The Christmas spirit helped fill the hole that the loss left, at least for now.

When he was finally finished with his duties for the night, he kneeled next to his bed and did something that he abandoned years ago; he prayed.

The city of March was built in a week. The materials and labor needed to accomplish such a task was a trademark of the Earth fleet that had graced No Man's Land — with all the war and chaos that went into that — just a month ago. For that past month, and news broadcast's focus was on the planet's elusive legend, Vash the Stampede, and the reconstruction that followed his late twin brother's rampage. So naturally, Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson did not have time to get the scoop during March's construction. They were front and center on tracking and interviewing the Humanoid Typhoon, after all!

But finally (and not at all because they lost track of Vash), they were close enough to it to visit for the grand opening of a futuristic bar in the new city! The Earthlings called it a club, according to Alexandria "Lex" Merevas, the first Earthling journalist on No Man's Land and a recent acquaintance of the duo. The very same Lex who was knocking roughly on the door to their hotel room.

Her normally monotone voice was bellowing to be understood from outside the room. "Ladies! By the time you're done changing, all the fun'll be over! What's the hold up?"

Meryl meekly opened the door, only peeking her head out. "Sorry, Lex, we were just figuring out what to…" Her voice trailed off as she processed the outfit the platinum blonde in front of her was wearing. The luxurious jewelry, the deep red lipstick, and… a very short dress.

"What to wear? I can help." Lex practically shoved herself into the room, finding Meryl in only a t-shirt and Milly in her normal clothing. "Oh God, it's worse than I thought."

Milly looked down at herself, confused. "What is it?"

"Ladies," Lex sighed as she shook her head. "You're going to be dancing to high energy music, and you're going to sweat, and hopefully make out with people tonight. You've got to wear something more… fun or hot or something." She strutted over to their luggage, her stiletto heels clicking on the floor, and began to sift through their clothes. She was a madam on a mission.

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When Lex, Milly, and Meryl entered The Oasis, they were greeted with bright lights, a sweaty and passionate crowd, and up-beat music booming from the biggest speakers the native duo had ever seen. All around them, people shared skin and breaths alike, becoming one with each other and getting lost in the music. It was… surreal. Everyone had nice clothes. Everyone was happy. Everyone was at home in this realm of ecstasy and abundance, ebbing and flowing like a seductive sea beckoning for newcomers to drown. It was beautiful.

"I think… this is worth everything that we've been through, Meryl." Milly's eyes shown with a multicolor rainbow, framed by expertly applied mascara from Lex. Her pink lips caught the light as they stretched into a smile, and her untainted freckles caught Meryl's eye as they moved.

She didn't look away from her taller partner as she replied, "Yes. I think so, too."

"Now ladies," Lex clapped her hands as she waded into The Oasis. "Let's party like it was all worth fighting for!"

Meryl and Milly quickly followed, diving right into the crowd together. They held hands, squeezing harder as the implications of abundance fully dawned on them.

No more starvation. No more thirst. No more ruin.

Everything was in the palms of their hands, including each other.

"There's a stall at the other side of the market where you can get the specialty screws, I think."

Jayce Talis turned hesitantly, the metal parts in his bag tinking against each other. "Where I can get the screws?"

Viktor deadpanned and smacked Jayce in the shin with his cane. To remind him of how fucking tired Viktor was from his recent flare up. And maybe to share a little bit of the pain.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Jayce looked guilty, and Viktor knew he'd probably try to make up for that comment later. "I'll be back."

As Jayce hurried off and melded himself with the crowd, Viktor let out a deep sigh. To say that he was tired was a massive understatement. As he swiveled his head to look around this side of the street market, he really noticed how heavy his head felt on his neck. It felt like his brain was replaced with a cinderblock and his veins flowed with wet cement. Colors dulled around him.

Except for one.

Bright yellow roses caught his eye. Out of all the flowers being sold at the stall across the street, they stood out. They were in a small bottle, with a few baby's-breath in the gaps between the roses. It was an innocently bold statement of beauty that drew him closer, his cane clacking against the stone walkway as he dragged his impossibly heavy feet forward. Like second nature, he evaded the Pilties that didn't have the sense to make room for a man with a cane.

The Undercity never had many flowers outside of the few areas that got consistent sunlight, and the diverse flora — both native and imported — quickly became one of his favorite features of Piltover the more time that he spent here.

He got to the stall, and stood in front of the small arrangement for a while. He could feel the stares towards him in the air, like it was strange for a sickly man to buy flowers. Then again, it was customary for the ill to receive flowers, wasn't it? But he wasn't in the hospital. He wasn't bedbound. Yet. He didn't carry the type of sickness yet that would make receiving flowers less emotionally involved. He wasn't even sure he'd want flowers if he was that sick. The pity would eat at him.

Much like thinking about his probable future was eating at him now. Why was he in front of this stall anyway? Was he really considering buying this arrangement? Despite working under Heimerdinger himself, he was quite poor. He couldn't waste money on flowers for his dingy apartment.

But maybe for someone else? Yellow roses and baby's-breath symbolize pure joy and new beginnings (or so he's learned from the book that dear Miss Talis bought for him for some Piltie holiday. She insisted that he didn't owe her anything for it, but he still spent half of his remaining paycheck on a peach rose bouquet for her that next week. The happy tears that soaked his shirt made it all worth it.). Jayce had just gotten his mom into a newer, better apartment recently. Maybe she could use the flowers? Roses also represent admiration and love, so maybe…?

If he got Jayce the flowers, they could put them up in the lab to liven up the place and Viktor could see them for longer. But that was selfish wasn't it? Getting flowers for someone just to appreciate them yourself? Besides, he'd never seen Jayce express an interest in flowers before. What if he got offended? What if he misinterpreted it as a confession of romantic love? Would he even be wrong in that assumption?

Viktor grumbled as he ground his knuckles into his temple. The overthinking (and totally not the fact that he was physically overdoing it today) was aggravating his previously mild headache.

An older, kinder voice piped up near his shoulder. "Need help making a decision, dear?" Viktor looked over and saw an elderly woman smiling at him. She had a cane as well, but hers had fake sunflowers wrapping around it the whole way down. He swallowed down the envy creeping up his throat.

"I… want to get these yellow roses. But I don't know if it's a good idea." Her shoulder was against his now. He normally wasn't big on physical contact, but he found himself leaning towards it just as she was leaning on him. It was surprisingly nice.

"If it doesn't cost you your dinner, you should. They're pretty, and I'm sure she'll be happy with them."

Viktor kept himself from snickering at the thought of Jayce Talis being the woman in this situation. "Right… Maybe she will."

Alexandria "Lex" Merevas was the first Earthling journalist to travel to No Man's Land, for two reasons; she was the best of the best at her job, and being an Independent Plant meant she got priority for the spaceship tickets. The running assumption from the Earth Federation was that she would help bridge the gap between the Independents of Earth and those of No Man's Land… but for better and for worse, that sorted itself out and No Man's Land proved to have a very… interesting view on Independents. So as soon as the civilian immigration ships landed on the desolate planet, she made herself scarce to the government with an excuse about needing to finish her documentary on No Man's Land. Naturally, she was taking her sweet, sweet time on that. She really did NOT want to be a sorry diplomat in whatever drama was going on with Independents here.

Unfortunately for Lex, for as much as she loved the humans, she was in a constant uphill battle with the elements of this planet. So here she was now, holding her cloak to her face for dear life while the wind and sand pelted her. Thankfully, one of the two suns had already set, and the other was quickly following. She had enough of overheating on top of being beaten down by the desert. Still, she was desperate to find shelter before she ended up with sandy hair, as inevitable as that was here.

After a few more iles of walking, she spotted a lit up building. It didn't look like the city of May that she was expecting, but she had also never visited the city at night yet. As she approached, she was able to decipher the word Beerhaus from one of the neon signs.

A tavern? Of German nomenclature? Interesting. I wonder if they even know about Germany as a concept, as distant as they are from history. And the beer… how do they get a variety in this climate?

♪ So come by darlin',

Lex practically hopped out of her boots in excitement. This was intriguing to her. This was why she came to No Man's Land! She simply had to interview the owner to find out, so she swung open the doors and stepped inside. The sound of music and merrymaking embraced her in full as she entered.

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And lay on my chest. ♪

As Poppy Charlesson's voice decrescendo-ed, and her guitar rang out its last notes, the crowd of Beerhaus cheered, whistled, and clapped. The nervous energy that she had singing out to the strangers coming in from the incoming sandstorm had dissipated, and she smiled out to the room. After the lights died down, and the band tended to their instruments to prepare for the next set, Poppy stepped down from the stage. Some of the regulars came up and sang their praises, and she got back into her normal groove.

Until a cloaked woman walked in, and Poppy felt herself go back to a different time entirely. She was suddenly 17, just starting her performance career in this very tavern, clutching this same guitar, watching a similar figure walk through that same door. This time, she was a decade older, the guitar had some wear from being well-loved, the tavern had booming success, and the figure — to her knowledge — did not have the world's largest bounty on her head. But the way the woman carried herself was much the same. As her hood lowered, and her striking blue eyes met Poppy's green, she was convinced that she simply had to share something in common with Vash the Stampede. Something ethereal. Something higher than herself.

She had to know more.

So she waded through the crowd, her breaths thin as she sought out the woman. Similarly to her few interactions with Vash, she felt like a prey animal leaping into the jaws of a divine beast.

When she found herself in front of the woman, she straightened her back and presented herself with dignity. "I am Poppy Charlesson. Taking shelter from the storm?"

The woman blinked at her before smiling. "Um… yes." Despite her polite smile, her voice was awfully monotone. "I'm Lex. Do you happen to be the owner?"

Poppy's smile stiffened. Of course she was only interested in the owner. "Technically no, but my family owns it. My sis runs the place. Her name is Marigold Charlesson." Trying hard to keep Lex's attention, she took her by the wrist and gently dragged her to the bar. "But she is so terribly busy right now! Want a beer while you wait? It's our specialty!"

Lex chuckled as they both sat. "Sure. I'm not normally a big beer person, so I'll let you pick."

Poppy frantically gestured to her older sister, who was talking to one of the local drunks. "Sissy! Charlesson Brew please!"

Marigold walked over and poured a pint out for Lex, giving Poppy a knowing look. "On the house, Pop?" She was met with a nod.

Lex piped up, speaking to Marigold. "Hi, I'm Alexandria Merevas and I'm a journalist—"

"That's enough of that." Marigold roughly placed the mug on the counter in front of Lex. "Tonight's too busy for me to entertain the press. Ask my sister." And with that, she left to take more orders. Cold.

And so Lex turned to Poppy, who was beaming and gesturing for her to try the beer. As she lifted the mug to her mouth, she remembered the handful of times she'd tried beer prior. Hopefully this time she wouldn't spit it out….

"So are you related to Vash the Stampede?"

It took everything in Lex to not spit out the malty poison in her mouth. She swallowed it down hard and reached for her canteen to wash down the taste (and partially to stall a little). After a few gulps of water, she sighed.

"Distantly related, in a way." Lex normally tried to put as much distance between herself and her more combative brethren, especially those like Vash the Stampede and Millions Knives who had bounties on their heads. But this girl was sharp. Too sharp to fully lie to her.

Poppy's eyes were transfixed on her, peering into her soul like she could find something revolutionary in there. "So you're a plant?"

"Ah ah ah." Lex put a finger up to silence Poppy. "Give and take. I have some questions for your family, too." After an understanding nod from her, Lex continued. "So… how old is the Beerhaus?"

"That's a tough question… It's been passed down in my family since the Big Fall, but I've always been told that my great-great-grandma had the Beerhaus on Earth that she had to rebuild here. So maybe around 200 years old? A lot of our family history was lost in the travel from Earth to No Man's Land, so that's as far as I know." As Poppy concluded her answer she saw a spark in Lex's eyes, like someone coming across a precious treasure. It was almost predatory.

"Thank you for telling me this." Lex took her paper and pen from her pocket and quickly began to take notes. This was a cultural and historical goldmine, and a testament to how the people of No Man's Land preserved what little history they could bring!

"Um… no problem." Poppy shifted in her seat. "Now for my question. Give and take and all." With a nod from Lex, she continued. "Are you a Plant?"

Lex placed her pen back down onto her notepad. The silence between them sat for a moment, floating like oil in the stream of voices around them. Lex leaned close, her long silky hair falling from her cloak. "Can you keep a secret?"

Poppy frantically nodded. "Of course."

"I am. An Independent of course, but yes."

"Wow…" Poppy took the information in, almost not understanding that the beautiful woman sitting next to her… wasn't human.

But what makes a human? Why wouldn't she still be human?

Lex leaned away again, and busied herself by picking off some of the sand from her hair. "I understand that the people of No Man's Land… have not had the best experiences with Independents. So I keep that fact close."

Poppy tilted her head. "So why did you tell me?"

"I mean…" She shrugged. "I'm asking you about your family history. It's fair." Lex grabbed her pen again. "Speaking of, I have one more question for now; is your family German, or was the name of this business from a different influence?"

"What's German?"

Lex had to resist the urge to express her disappointment. As compelling as it was that a business named that way was a relic to a lost, unknown culture to this family, it did crush her hopes of preserved history a little. Instead, she just wrote a single sentence on her notepad before closing it. "An Earth culture. Anyways, thank you for answering my questions. Now, I should see about renting a room for the night. Do you rent out the rooms or is that up to your sister?"

"Sorry but I'm out of empty rooms tonight." Lex quickly whipped her head around to the sound of Marigold's voice next to her. "You'll either have to share a room with someone or you can sleep out here in the bar area. Given the weather, I don't mind." And just as quickly as she came, she was whisked away again by regulars.

"You can share my room!" Poppy covered her own mouth in shock.

I can't believe I said that! She's gonna think I'm a creep!

"Your room?" For the first time in their entire conversation, a light pink graced Lex's cheeks.

"You don't have to!" Poppy waved her hands around frantically. "Sorry for just saying that!"

"Got a room?" A gruff, tall man walked up to the bar, towering over Marigold as he dropped a wad of double dollars down in front of her.

"I mean…" Poppy's hands came to a stop, and Lex stared down at the wood of the bar. "That doesn't sound so bad."

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As Milly got up and walked through the house to refill her glass of water for the night, she noticed a door left ajar: Elendira's. It was no secret that Elendira had trouble sleeping ever since Livio talked her down from Millions Knives' servitude. Ever since they all began to live together, everyone watched the woman damn herself to a state of perpetual melancholy. Milly was proud of herself, though. She had managed to make some real progress with Elendira, to the point of the older woman willingly spending time with her!

She descended down the staircase with a pep in her step. Maybe soon she'd be able to find out why Elendira had trouble sleeping. When they all found out that Livio got night terrors, they found an Earth herb that he was able to smoke every night to get better rest. Maybe the solution could be that simple for Elendira!

"That you, Milly?"

The sudden voice behind her in the dark of the kitchen made her jump a yar out of her skin with a squeak. She turned around, wielding her cup in her hand as if it could do anything in a fight.

"Oh… hey Elendira." Milly let out a relieved sigh before smiling warmly at the blonde. "You startled me so bad!"

Elendira rubbed her arm shyly. "Sorry. I thought you heard me walk in."

"No, I was busy thinking about you, actually!" When she saw Elendira's cheeks flush a bright red, she realized how she'd sounded. "Like how close we've gotten!" That didn't seem to help any.

"Well… that's nice, I suppose…"

"So, what were you up to?"

Elendira looked over at the side door of the house, just past Milly. "I was just about to get some air and do some stargazing."

"Ooo, can I join you? I'll make tea!"

She stared for a moment before nodding, and Milly reached for the kettle.

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The herbal teas in their mugs emitted steam into the night air as they sat on the steps of the back porch. For a while, they both sat without a word, sipping every now and then as they watched the freckled night sky.

Milly's voice eventually disturbed the silence, calm and warm. "I used to sit with my mama at night and watch the stars, whenever I couldn't sleep. She used to say that every star is another world, with someone staring out just like us. After the Earthlings showed up, I realized just how true that is. Someone just like you, in another life, is watching the sky too."

Elendira mulled over that for a moment quietly. "In another life…"

In another life, would I have been someone better? Would I have chosen peace from the beginning? Or… would I have been worse? Would I have killed the Doublefang? Furthered Lord Knives' dream? Or would I have done what I assumed I'd do, and…

The next thought crawled up from deep in her gut and lodged itself in her throat. The stars blurred in her vision, and tears fell from her eyes for the first time in a very, very long time. Her hands shook in her lap. At least, until a warmth came over them. Elendira looked down and found Milly's hands enveloping hers, and tears falling onto more sun-kissed skin.

"I'm sorry, I…"

Milly was quiet in her interruption. "No need. Do you wanna talk about what's bothering you?" She quickly placed the mugs somewhere out of the way and scooted closer to Elendira. They were shoulder against shoulder now.

Elendira felt the warmth seep into her body, and whatever beast that had burrowed in her throat began to retreat. Her eyes burned with the nonstop flow of tears. "I…" Her voice gave out, and she tried again. "I think… in another life, I would've died the way I felt I deserved to. The way I sometimes still feel I deserve to." She expected some kind of well-intentioned argument from Milly, who unfortunately was still listening. So she continued. "I almost didn't choose to stand down when I fought Livio. I almost chose to keep going until the bitter end. But now I'm suddenly here, serving no one. Aimless. I wasn't supposed to end up comfortable and I wasn't supposed to be able to choose peace like this. I feel out of place. And… you." She turned to look at Milly, still anchoring herself on the warmth of their joined hands. "You've been so kind. Kinder than anyone else I've ever met. I think if I met you earlier in life, I'd be somewhere else entirely. I'm so grateful to you, and… and in my heart, I want…" She lost her steam and ducked her head. She had so much left to say, but… not the courage to say it.

She felt Milly lean in closer, and urge her on. "What do you want? What does your heart want?"

Elendira's face warmed once more. "I'm afraid to say."

"Never hold back in matters of the heart." To drive her point home, Milly held Elendira's hand to her own chest. Elendira honed her senses in on the pulse thumping slowly under her touch. Calmly. A sea of calm washed over Elendira's shoulders in turn. "So what does it want?"

Elendira raised her chin, and found her face iches from Milly's. The herbal scents of their tea passed between their shared breath.

"To be selfish with you. I want to take everything you'll give me, and I want this warmth you give me to last forever. That's what my heart wants, for as much as I don't deserve that kind of paradise."

Milly hummed happily, her eyes twinkling in the light. "Well, even if you think you don't deserve it, you can have it. As long as you stay here, I'll keep you warm. Promise."

Himiko Toga, a student at the Academy of Necromancy and Taboo Arts, was NOT supposed to be off of school grounds during the weekdays, and DEFINITELY wasn't supposed to be meeting with students of a rival school while she was at it… but here she was. She was sat on a rock, drawing makeshift runes around a dead moth. She really only went to school to perfect hemomancy, since that's what she wants to do for a career, but she could admit that necromancy was fun too.

Just as she was finally getting the moth to flap its wings, it was blown away by a large gust of wind that threatened to take her glasses, too. She turned, a spell on the tip of her tongue, when she saw her girlfriend. Ochako Uraraka floated just a few feet above the ground, smiling so widely it could rival Himiko's signature look. She was a bit wobbly, but still staying afloat.

Himiko stood up with a gasp. "Chako! You're floating!"

Landing somewhat on her feet with a giddy grin, Ochako wiped the sweat from her brow. "Yep! I've been practicing a lot so I could surprise you by flying here! Mage Yagi says I'm doing really good with my levitating spell, even better than most of his colleagues did at my age!" A little clumsy on her feet, Ochako walked up to Toga and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at the runes.

"Oh? What were you doing?" She looked a little uncomfortable, just like she always did around necromancy. But one thing that Himiko loved about her Ochako is her willingness to accept Himiko for all that she is.

"There was a moth. I was trying to bring it back to life, but you blew it away."

"Oh I'm sorry! Maybe if we find it—" she was interrupted with a hug.

"Don't worry about it, Chako. Your surprise for me was better." Ochako returned the hug, nuzzling into Himiko's hair.