#twpolyamorynet

When she’d accepted the job offer that brought her to the city, she hadn’t thought twice about moving to a place where she knew absolutely no one. She figured that she’d have her coworkers, and she’d always been great at making friends when she’d moved around as a child.

But her coworkers had remained exactly that. They were all pleasant enough, but they were distant, caught up in their own lives. For the first few weeks, she’d been too busy to even think about finding friends outside of work. There was her apartment to unpack and decorate, family and friends from back home to keep updated, long days at the office to put in, landmarks and districts to explore. But once the weather turned cold and she began to properly settle in, she spent most nights sitting in front of her laptop or television, binge watching shows and movies until she fell asleep.

The feeling of isolation grew steadily in the back of her mind until one day, while she was cooking pasta for a late dinner, the sheer weight of it dropped onto her shoulders like a lead blanket.

She briefly thought about trying a dating app of some kind, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship she was looking for, and all of her previous experiences with that kind of thing were laughable at best, horrifying at worst.

So instead, she turned her pasta off, dug into her closet, and instituted her new routine.

So far, it’s proved to be useless. None of her bar conversations have gone beyond painful small talk. Instead of being a way for her to make new acquaintances, every outing has just devolved into her wasting money on drinks, going home after four hours, washing off her makeup, taking an aspirin for her headache, convincing herself she won’t do it again, and then repeating each step the next Friday.

She thinks tonight might be the last time. It’s getting too cold to be going out, and her method obviously isn’t working. Maybe her time would be better spent combing through the newspaper for events to attend, or finding somewhere to volunteer.

At the very least, that would be cheaper on her wallet.

She’s four people away from the front of the line when a high-pitched ringing starts pouring from the door of the bar, overwhelming the faint sounds of music and laughter. The bouncer disappears inside for only a moment before he comes back outside and hollers at the top of his lungs.

“There’s a fire in the kitchen! Please move to the other side of the street.”

A collective groan rises up from the rest of the line, but Allison simply sighs and steps away from the bar, crossing the road before she’s swallowed up by the departing crowd. There are lots of other bars and clubs scattered up and down the street, but she strides past all of them, heeled boots kicking through the fluffy snow that’s accumulated on the sidewalk.

If there’s a clearer sign that she should try some other method of making friends, or maybe just give up entirely, she can’t think of it.

On her way back to the subway, her stomach starts rumbling, and she sighs again, glancing around at her surroundings. There’s food back at her apartment, but she definitely not in a cooking mood. There are a few fast food joints nearby, but there’s also a small diner on the corner ahead of her, glass windows bathing the sidewalk in soft yellow light. Booths line the other side of the glass, and the place looks surprisingly empty considering the time of night and the heavy foot traffic on the street. Allison beelines towards the door; even if the menu isn’t the greatest in the world, she could really use a cup of coffee.

It’s toasty inside, and the television bolted above the service area is playing a basketball game at low volume. A number of the stools marching along the curved counter are empty, and Allison takes one far away from the door, so that a draft doesn’t wind along her legs.

She orders coffee to start and flips through the menu, which is marked by tears and discolorations. She’s just taken her first sip and decided what to order when the stool beside her rattles as someone perches on it. She automatically glances over and ends up making eye contact with a woman around her own age with vibrant strawberry blonde hair streaming down her shoulders.

“This may seem like a strange question,” she says, glossed lips curved in a smile small, “and you are more than welcome to say no. But would you like to eat with us?” She waves a hand in the direction of the booths lining the front wall, and Allison glances back over her shoulder. The booth directly behind her is occupied by a young man with dark hair who seems preoccupied by his phone, but he suddenly glances up and smiles wide, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Have we met before?” Allison asks with a slight frown, twisting back around to face the woman, who shakes her head.

“No. But you look lonely, and I know what that feels like. Both of us do. But, again, feel free to say no. If you say yes, you can leave at any time.” Allison averts her gaze into her inky cup of coffee, pondering the proposition. It’s certainly unexpected, and she’s more than a little wary about other possible motives that the woman and man could have. But she’s in a well-trafficked, public area. If anything goes wrong or if warning bells start going off in her head, she’ll retreat.

Even if it turns into nothing, good or bad, at the very least, she can tell herself that she tried something different, something totally outside of her routine.

“Sure,” she finally says, tossing her coat over one arm and gathering up her cup of coffee. “Why not?” The woman smiles wider, revealing two rows of straight white teeth, and slides off the stool.

“Perfect! I’m Lydia.”

“Allison.”

It takes four steps to cross from the counter to the booth. Allison joins Lydia on her side and once she’s rearranged her things, the young man reaches his hand across the table.

“Hey. I’m Scott.”

She gives her name again and briefly shakes his hand. Before she can say anything else, the waiter appears beside the booth, and the three of them order. Once the waiter disappears back towards the kitchen, Allison speaks up, cutting off the inevitable awkward silence before it gets a chance to sink in.

“Do you two do this often? Invite total strangers to eat with you, I mean.”

“Once in awhile,” Scott says with an easy shrug and a slightly crooked smile. “I usually let Lydia handle it. She’s better at knowing if someone wants to be left alone or if they’re looking for company. I think she might be a little psychic.”

“I’m not psychic,” Lydia says with a roll of her eyes, although the smile on her face indicates she’s not wholly bothered. “I just know how to read people.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for you to teach me.” He leans forward onto the table, clasped hands resting just to the left of an old ketchup stain, and addresses Allison again. “Are you okay with this? You can leave whenever you want.”

“I’m okay,” Allison replies. “Really. You’re basically the first people I’ve talked to in months that aren’t my co-workers.”

“I know that feeling,” Scott says. “When did you move here?”

By the time their food comes, they’ve settled into a conversation that, while not effortless, moves along fairly smoothly. Allison has found out that Scott and Lydia have been in the city for five years and living together for three. They met when Lydia had to rush her dog to the emergency veterinary clinic that Scott was working at and, apparently, there was no coming back from that. Both of them are very into volunteering; environmental groups for Lydia, animal rescue organizations for Scott, LGBTQ rights for both of them. They offer to give her the names and contact information of some of the associations that they work with, and Allison gratefully accepts.

She isn’t sure which organization she wants to contact first but, at the very least, her weekends won’t be so boring anymore.

Allison tells them a little bit about herself; where she works, the general area that she lives in, some of the bars she’s tried meeting people in. When she tells the name of the place she planned on visiting earlier, both of them burst out laughing. Although Allison immediately tenses, one glance at their faces, at the fond looks they’re giving each other, is enough to silence the thought that they’re mocking her.

“We went there on our third-”

“Our fourth,” Lydia interrupts, popping a blueberry from her pancakes into her mouth.

“Our fourth date,” Scott continues. “As soon as we stepped on the dance floor, the fire alarm went off.”

“Fire in the kitchen?” Allison grins.

“Fire in the kitchen,” Lydia and Scott say simultaneously before breaking out into more laughter.

“So you’re saying I should probably steer clear of there from now on?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Definitely,” Lydia replies. “If you really want to keep hitting up bars, we can give you a list of some that don’t get a weekly visit from the fire department.”

“Actually,” Allison says, “I think I’m going to take a break from bars for awhile.”

She’s amazed at how truly she means it.

Once they’ve all polished off the rest of their food, they split the bowl of fruit that came with Allison’s breakfast platter; Scott takes the pineapple, Lydia the orange segments, and Allison keeps the berries. It’s the largest meal she’s had in months, and she feels like she could just slump over in the booth and nod off.

That is, if it wasn’t for Lydia sitting beside her. Allison’s pretty sure falling asleep on someone is only okay after months of friendship, and it’s possible that she won’t see Lydia or Scott again after they part ways.

She hopes that isn’t the case. After finally having dinner with someone else, eating alone seems completely overrated.

After they pay, they leave together. The sidewalks are now covered in a thick layer of snow, with still more falling from the sky. By morning, it will all be a trampled mess of brown slush, but it looks lovely now, sparkling under the streetlights.

“Wow,” Scott says, tilting his head back towards the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Lydia says, tugging a woven headband down over her ears and turning to Allison with a soft smile. “Do you want us to walk you to the subway?”

“It’s okay,” Allison replies. “I think I’ll be able to make it home.” She has a butterfly knife and a can of mace tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, just in case someone decides to try and test their luck with her.

“I have an idea,” Scott says, fumbling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Do you want to add your number? I can text you so you have mine, and you can let us know when you get home safe.”

“Or if you want to go out for dinner again,” Lydia adds and, for a moment, Allison thinks that she sees an honest to goodness flush stain Lydia’s pale cheeks. Allison quickly ducks her head, warmth rushing into her own face, as she takes Scott’s phone and flips to the contacts menu.

“I’d really like that, actually,” she says quietly, and when she looks up, the crinkles around Scott’s eyes are back in full force.

“Agreed,” he says after glancing at Lydia, and his smile grows larger, bright as the moon on a clear night.

She kicks the blanket away and stumbles off the bed, feet momentarily skidding in a pile of empty clothes. The heel of her palm slams into the doorknob as she gropes for it, but thankfully, from there, it’s a straight shot across the hallway into the bathroom, where there’s a nightlight plugged in beside the sink. There’s also a soft, plush rug that covers half of the floor and Kira drops onto this just as the churning abruptly moves out of her stomach and up into her throat.

Once she’s done throwing up (for now, at least), she flushes and shuffles across the floor to the bathtub, so that she can run some water to brush against her overheated face. A drink from the tap would probably feel even better, but her whole body feels heavy, weighed down like it’s draped with shackles, and just sitting up onto her knees to reach the sink feels impossible. She’s somehow both hot and cold at the same time, sweat beading on her brow while shivers course up her back, and she plunks her head back against the tub with a groan.

It’s either food poisoning or the start of a bout with the flu. Neither option is better than the other.

She’s debating between crawling back to bed or curling up on the bathroom rug when she hears footsteps across the hall. She squints into the darkness and long, pale legs come into form, cutting off at a pair of pale pink pajama shorts.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Kira says as Erica drops to her knees beside her. Her hair is loose and messy, straggling around her face, and there’s a little bit of mascara smeared under her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Erica replies with a soft smile, voice still raspy with sleep. “I was awake anyways.” It’s the furthest thing from the truth, but Kira doesn’t bother protesting. She tries her best to return the smile, wincing at the horrible taste in her mouth.

“I think I might have eaten something bad,” she says and, just like that, her stomach lurches again and she lunges across the small room, making it just in time. Through the haze, she feels Erica’s hand fall to her back, rubbing in gentle circles as she says it’s okay over and over again. Thankfully, the second bout is shorter and she collapses back against Erica’s chest, face clammy, throat sore.

“I hate this,” she groans.

“I know,” Erica murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Kira’s head. Before Kira can respond, more footsteps come from the hallway. Allison steps into the room, eyes squinted nearly shut, the indent of a pillow still pressed into her cheek. There’s a full bottle of water in her hands and although it’s definitely room temperature, Kira doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful in her entire life.

“Here,” Allison mumbles, sliding into the space between Erica and the sink. She pops the cap off before passing it to Kira, who forces herself to drink slow, so she doesn’t go through yet another round of getting sick. She drinks half the bottle before slumping further back against Erica. She doesn’t feel like she’s burning up anymore, but the shivers are still in full force and her sweat is just beginning to dry, tacky against her skin.

“I’m sorry I woke you both up,” she murmurs, letting her eyes drop closed.

“Don’t be,” Allison replies. Water runs a few feet to Kira’s right and Allison presses a cool cloth against her forehead.

“I’m going to call Isaac and tell him I’m taking the day off,” Erica says, brushing Kira’s lank hair away from her face. “And don’t bother telling me not to. We’re here to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Kira mumbles. She’s pretty sure that she could fall asleep exactly where she is, but if she’s going to be going through a revolving cycle of cold shivers and hot flashes, she wants to be somewhere more comfortable, with a blanket and a fan. “Can you help me to the living room?”

“Of course,” Allison says, easily scooping Kira up under her shoulders and knees, fast enough to make her stomach churn for a moment. She carries Kira to the living room and gently lowers her to the couch, flicking on one of their lamps on the way. Kira immediately settles herself back against the cushions, drawing herself up into a ball. Through the gauzy curtains hanging over their balcony door, Kira can see just the barest hint of a sunrise, purple and pink leeching into the sky.

Erica comes into the room a few moments later, carrying a soft blanket, an oversized hoodie (which used to be Stiles’) and their mop bucket.

“Just in case,” she says, setting the bucket on the floor and handing Kira the rest. Kira pulls the blanket over her for the time being; it’ll be easier to shrug off when the shivering inevitably turns back into sweating. Erica settles into the couch beside her, props her feet on the coffee table and grabs the TV remote and the controller for their game console.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks, yawning loudly.

“You pick,” Kira says, resting her head on the arm of the sofa and stretching her feet out into Erica’s lap.

By the time Allison comes back into the room, Kira is nearly asleep. She manages to pull herself back from the brink and crack her eyes open in time to see Allison set another bottle of water and some light snacks on the coffee table.

“For when you wake up,” she says with a soft smile, leaning over to press her lips against Kira’s forehead. “Get some rest.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, closing her eyes again. “Love you.”

“Are you hungry?” This voice comes from behind her and Cora whips her head around. There’s a girl standing just at the edge of the firelight, a long-bladed knife glinting in her hand. She’s just as clean as the boy; her long, shiny black hair dangles down over her shoulders and there’s a strip of clean brown skin showing between the hem of her crop top and her dark jeans.

Cora nods. Her claws dig into her legs as the smell of meat grows stronger. Thankfully, before she has to wait much longer, the girl crosses the clearing and uses the knife to cut a long strip of well-done meat from the top of the carcass. It looks like it’s deer, but frankly, Cora wouldn’t care if it was porcupine or squirrel.

She’s just so hungry.

She devours the first strip of meat, and the next, and the next, not wincing when it burns her fingertips or scorches down her throat. She eats until her stomach is full and her body feels solid again, feels like something stronger than a mere wisp. Once she’s done, she backs away from the fire, until she can just barely feel the heat coming from it.

“What’s your name?”

It’s the girl that asks. She’s still holding the knife, absently twirling it between her fingers in a way that Cora is intrinsically wary of. Still, they fed her; it’s the least she can do to answer.

Besides, she feels like she could take them now, if she had to.

“Cora,” she grunts, tucking her filthy hands into her lap. “You?”

“Violet. That’s Garrett,” she says, nodding her head at the boy, who is slicing more meat off the carcass and putting it in a bag. He looks up and smiles, but after only a second, his blinding grin morphs into something more restrained, more thoughtful.

“Wait,” he says quietly. “I know you. You’re a Hale, aren’t you?”

Cora’s hackles immediately go up and her claws dig into the dirt underneath her. She nods warily, ready to spring across the clearing and rip out the boy’s throat if he had anything to do with the disaster that tore her entire family away from her.

“How’d you know that?” she asks, her voice rough and unfamiliar after so many days of silence.

“We saw the flames. Read the paper last time we were in town,” Garrett says. “They said the entire family died.”

Phantom screams fill Cora’s ears and she digs her claws into her palms until blood drips from between her fingers.

“You’re an orphan now,” Violet says, crossing the clearing and dropping down until she’s crouching just in front of Cora. Slowly, she reaches one hand out and rests it on Cora’s knee, squeezing gently.

“You’re like us,” she says quietly. Her eyes are hard as flint and her mouth is set in a firm, straight line.

“Welcome to the family,” Garrett says, eyes and mouth mirroring Violet’s.

That’s all the evidence Cora needs to know that Violet and Garrett really are like her, that they’ve seen the same kind of meaningless violence that she has.

She wonders if they hunted down the people who wronged them and tore them to pieces.