chips

You sit up in spite of your injuries, ignoring the spiking pain. Instinctively, you place your hand down to push yourself up, and immediately regret it when hot pain strikes up your arm from your wrist. You let out a loud curse, sitting up the rest of the way while clutching your wrist to your chest.

Your dream still lingers in the edges of your mind while the pain takes the forefront. It’s acute and just loud enough to remind you to take your next dose of medication. You shuffle towards the desk pushed to the wall near the bed. Grabbing the paper bag Zayne had shoved towards you before you left, you rip off the sticker, keeping it closed. Opening the pill bottle is an obstacle with only one hand, but you manage it. You spill two tablets into your open hand and pop them into your mouth. You drink from the glass of water MC must’ve brought in while you slept to ease down the medication.

It takes some convincing to get you out of bed and grab your cane. The bright morning light has turned golden; it’s been hours since you stepped out of the room. Not that it would be something you’d usually care about. But it isn’t your room, is it? Not even your apartment. And despite what you or your friends may say, you actually do have manners to meet with your temporary host. Plus, you were pretty hungry, too.

Your cane makes a tapping noise as you make your way towards the kitchen. The silence that had descended over the entire place only made you more uncomfortable with the noise your cane was making. And the lack of music to occupy your ears just amplified all the sounds you don’t want to hear.  Where was MC? Before you’d fallen asleep, she’d been making noise all over the place; now it's so quiet, it felt as if you were the only one in the apartment. Which wouldn’t make sense, considering she’s supposed to be watching over you.

You wander over to the kitchen. It’s surprising how neat it is. Everything seemed clean and organized. Growing up, you saw Caleb doing most of the cleaning, cooking…basically anything MC didn’t want to do, for her. He spoiled her like that. Perhaps she took home economics at university. A requirement for her Hunters Program or something. Or she learned on demand, as you did. Only learned how to cook when she realized no one was around to feed her. Or to do laundry because she ran out of clothes. Who knows? You’d ask if you were more curious, but you weren’t really.

You look around for anything to eat that wouldn’t be noticed when it goes missing. She had an open box of energy bars pushed to the farthest corner. It looked full still, like she tried one and hadn’t liked it. You grab one and, upon your first bite, you can see why the box was still full. It tasted like shit. But you eat it.

You walk around the kitchen, and as you get closer to one side, a voice starts to filter in. You stop chewing just to hear better and realize it’s MC talking. A little muffled and a bit far, but it’s her. You swallow silently and most quietly as you could with the cane. It still makes a tapping noise, but it’s soft with effort.

Just as you round the side, you spot her on her balcony with the glass door slid closed. Phone pressed close to her ear, she’s talking softly. Her back is turned, so you have no idea what her face looks like, but the way she spoke suggested it was a friend she was talking to. Maybe. Who knows, maybe she talks just as sweetly to her enemies. You can’t be sure.

The glass between you two muffles most of what she’s saying, and normally, you would’ve just walked away. But bits and parts of her words come through the door, and you parse out your name. Or something sounding like it. So you stay to listen in. You don’t bother to hide yourself. You stand right in front of the glass, and she could just turn and see you, but she doesn’t. Not for a few minutes. Syllables making up your name keep being spoken, and she doesn’t turn around to spot you for a good few more minutes.

When she does, though, it’s actually pretty funny. She turns and gasps, mouth open wide enough for a bird to fly through, hand pressed to her chest like the sight of you could cause a heart attack. Without taking her eyes off you, she mutters something quick and intangible to the phone before pocketing it. She’s quick to slide back inside the apartment and stops short of a few steps away from you. “You’re awake!” Her cheer is strained, and there’s this creeping flush up her cheeks like she was caught doing something embarrassing.

“I am,” you agree, nodding your head, but not moving aside. “Who were you talking to?” You ask. Who were you talking to about me? That’s what you really mean to ask, but it sounded too confrontational, and Taffy has told you repeatedly that it puts people off when you phrase yourself like that.

“It won’t hurt you to be a little nicer,” she said.

“It might, though,” you replied, laughing when she scowls at you.

MC shakes her head quickly. Side to side. Just short of a little frantic. “No one!” She says first. But she catches your look and tries again, “I was talking to Xavier, you know, my partner?”  

“And your neighbour, yeah.” You don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but it comes out like it. MC doesn’t seem to mind because she just nods.

“Yes! Jenna assigned me on a solo mission— we might have a lead on your…case, so I volunteered to go, and I was just asking Xavier to come up and keep an eye on you while I’m gone,” she explains. MC gestures while she talks, her eyes flickering across your face.

“You’re going on a mission so soon?” You were more skeptical than worried. Weren’t you her assignment? Why would her boss assign her something new so soon? Why couldn’t Xavier go instead, since it’s not him hosting you in his apartment?

She takes your question and the following frown as anxiety and not self-preservation, and reaches over to take your uninjured hand into hers. “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust anyone else to take care of this except myself. Your life’s in danger, and I don’t want your safety in anyone else’s hands but my own,” she says those words with so much conviction and authority that you have to believe her. MC’s expression is more serious than your own, and it’s the first time since you’ve been in her life again that you realize how much she’s grown. How the years have shaped her into someone you’d listen to.

Her face softens, and she squeezes your hand before you can find a way to pull it out of her grip. “You’ll be safe here. Xavier’s stronger than me, and he promised not to fall asleep on watch.”

“Is that something he does often?” You ask dryly, and she laughs. You take that as a yes.

So your new guard is a hypersomniac. What could go wrong?

After she ushers you to sit on the couch and offers to cook you something, but you just shook your head firmly, claiming the energy bar was enough, she leaves to go get Xavier from upstairs. You finish your snack while grimacing at the taste and waiting patiently.

End Note : guys how do i write LIs I'm not extremely familiar with? i need some tips on how to write Xavier without just straight dumping stuff from canon into his scenes (additionally, how do you guys feel about how he's been written so far, considering he hasn't had a big presence as of yet?)

Side note: I've stopped making any new additions to the tag list. You can still request to be added but it might not be updated for a while.

A small sob escapes your lips and you’re quick to cover your face. What the hell are you doing crying like this? You try to keep quiet while you spiral into your mind. You’re so tired. So exhausted that it makes you cry harder. There’s a sound of clothes rustling that immediately stops your tears. You wait on a bated breath, not wanting to reveal your tear-stained face to whoever’s beside you. “...you’re awake?” Taffy’s groggy voice reaches your ears and you pull your hands away to look at her. She examines you first with her half-lidded eyes. When she sees your wet cheeks, she makes a pitying noise and leans forward, carefully wrapping her arms around your shoulders to bring you into a hug. 

You do your best to reciprocate it but it’s a sad attempt. Your right arm is basically incapacitated and you can barely get your other arm around her with the way you’re lying on the bed. “How are you feeling?” Your question comes out mumbled against her shoulder. 

She answers with a wet laugh. “You’re asking me?” Taffy pulls back to gesture at you on the bed. “You almost died!” Like you weren’t aware.

“I wouldn’t say I almost died.” You try to make a joke out of it but the stern look on her face makes the playful smile die off on your lips.

“No.” Taffy shakes her head. “When I saw you being carried out like that I really thought you were dead,” she says. Her voice is fragile and you almost feel bad for making her worry so much. “I shouldn’t have left without you, I’m—” 

“Don’t say sorry, Taf,” you interrupt, squeezing her hand. “I mean it. If you say you’re sorry, I’ll pull my stitches, making you take it back.” That gets a small laugh out of her. You watch her wipe away her tears with growing worry. She’s a good person who shouldn’t be stressed like this. “You’re still in the same clothes as last night. Where are the others? They didn’t go home without you, did they?” 

Taffy nods. “They tried to stay but the receptionist said the waiting room was full already, so I told them to go back without me,” she explains. “I promised to update them as the night went.” 

“You should’ve gone with them.”

“Would you have gone with them? If it was me?” 

“...It’s not you, though. It’s me, and me says you should go home,” you say. Taffy rolls her eyes. And you try your best to sit up. “Who’s gonna take care of your hamsters, Taf? You know how your little monsters are. They’re probably trying to kill themselves without you by now.” 

“They do that with me around, anyway.” 

“Exactly! So, who’ll stop them?” 

Taffy gives you a disbelieving look before she starts to laugh and you can only smile. At least one thing is right. “Good, you’re awake.” A cool voice interrupts Taffy’s laughing and both of you turn to look at the new arrival. Zayne stands at the door, flanked by the same nurse from earlier and another doctor. 

“Unfortunately,” you reply with cheer. You’re only being half-sarcastic. At least your tears have dried enough. Hopefully, no one will notice you were crying just a couple minutes ago. Taffy gives you an admonishing look that you ignore. 

“There’s someone else who wishes to see you,” he says. The three visitors walk in with a casualness only they could have in a hospital. Anyone else would move like bumping into the wrong thing could lead to the death of someone else.

“Who?” You ask. The nurse walks to Taffy’s side and places a serving try in front of you. A cup of jelly and microwaved…something green and creamy. Your nose twitches in disdain. With all the funding this place undoubtedly gets, they still can’t seem to afford good food for their patients. 

“MC.” His tone’s clipped and you look up to meet his stare. Right, he said she was waiting earlier. There’s a silence in the room for a moment. He’s waiting for you to say yes and so is everyone else. Taffy, though, looks a little confused. You wonder if she’s seen the better version, yet.

You owe her for saving your life and you aren’t heartless. “Uh, yeah, she can come in.” Just as you say those words, she enters the room like she was waiting just outside. Taffy’s not the only one eavesdropping it seems.

She basically speed walks to your side, the one not occupied by your friend, and sits herself down. Her eyes examine yours just as Taffy’s did minutes before. “How are you feeling?” She asks the question like she knows the answer. She saw the injuries first hand last night so maybe she does know how bad they are. 

“I’m fine.” That’s all you say. And she takes that like it’s all the answer she needs. Like you gave her a cake instead of a crumb. 

MC’s lips open to ask some more questions when Zayne clears his throat. All pairs of eyes turn to him and he takes to the spotlight like a champ. “This is Dr. Niel.” He gestures to the female white coat beside him and she steps forward, offering a hand towards you. You shake it in reflex. You offer a smile and a quiet hi. “She’s a neurologist.” You pull your hand away. The suddenness of the action has everyone looking at you in concern. MC places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up further. It takes effort to not shrug it off. 

“Why do I need a neurologist?” It’s a silly question coming from you. Downright ignorant considering what you just had an hour ago. 

“We’re just trying to cover all our bases.” Dr. Neil interjects with a placation. “We want to make sure the seizure you had—” 

“Seizure?” Taffy startles beside you and your eyes snap towards her. Shit, you didn’t want her here for this. 

“Yeah, I had a seizure—Taf, can you leave?” You force the words out. Fast and quick, as if they’ll land softer that way. 

“Leave?” She sounds both offended and concerned. You’re about to apologize and insist before Zayne speaks up for you. 

“It would be best if this discussion remained private between the patient and the doctors,” he says. Cold and aloof as always. Had it come from anyone else, you were sure Taffy would have thrown a fit but she just lets out an irritated sigh. She gives you a look and stands up, letting herself be escorted by the nurse. Perhaps, this has been the only time you’ve appreciated Zayne’s annoying way of convincing people. In some places, people would call it pretty privilege. 

The door shuts behind her and a squeeze of MC’s hand on your shoulder reminds you she’s still here. You’d kick her out, too, if you didn’t think Zayne would tell her everything later, anyway. Would he really? You don’t know but you’re also not willing to risk it. Better have her stay and at least you know what she’s hearing. You meet Dr. Neil’s eyes, “Sorry about that. I didn’t want her…” Didn’t want her to what? 

The doctor just smiles. “It’s alright. You don’t need to explain yourself.” She takes the clipboard Zayne’s holding and clicks her pen. “I’m going to ask you some questions, is that alright?” You nod. “I know you have a concussion, therefore, I will try to be as clear as possible, okay?” 

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. The hand you shoulder seemingly grows warmer the longer you let it stay there. 

She asks surface-level questions at first. How are you? You were fine. Did your head still hurt? Yes but it’s dull. Are you experiencing any confusion or nausea? Not more than before. No, it’s just normal confusion. How about light sensitivity? Not really but the light is a little bright. Thanks for dimming them.

Zayne provides some input while MC sits quietly beside you. Her eyes are on your face more often than not and the hand she has on you is becoming unbearable. While Zayne and Dr. Neil are looking at their clipboard for a brief moment, you shuffle. Shifting just enough to dislodge her hold on your shoulder. You don’t look back when you hear a breath hitch. 

“Have you had any seizures before?” Dr. Neil asks. 

“No.” “Yes.” Zayne and MC answer ‘no’ the same time you say ‘yes’. The three of you look at each other in confusion. Why are they answering for you? They said ‘no’ like the idea is ridiculous.

You look back at Dr. Neil and nod your head. “Yeah, I had a few growing up.”

“What?” You spare MC at glance. She gives you a baffled look. In all fairness, you doubt Josephine was very open about your old episodes. Or about anything. 

“It doesn’t say that on your records,” Zayne says. That’s as close as he can get to asking you for a clarification. That or accusing you of lying. 

You shrug. You don’t exactly remember Josephine ever taking you to the hospital for them. 

“How young were you when you had these seizures?” Dr. Neil continues. 

“I don’t know. I had most of them really young.” MC shifts beside you and you see Zayne fix his glasses while keeping a steady eye on your frame. Checking you over as if you’d look any different now that he had this new information. Is he looking through his memories of you to see if there were signs he missed then? Maybe. Such a Zayne-thing to do.

“Were they severe?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Were they longer than two minutes? Longer than five?” 

You try to recall but it’s no use. You can barely remember what those seizures felt like, let alone guess the lengths of them accurately. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.” You wince internally. If only you were more useful.

“That’s fine,” she reassures. Everyone watches in silence as she notes your answers on the clipboard, anyway. “Did you have one recently?” 

You try not to react but you do, and Zayne pins you with his stare, while MC’s burn holes on the side of your face. You look down at your lap, recalling the last one vividly. The memory of it is so potent, you can relive it if you try hard enough. At your fingertips, you can almost feel the cool stone you’d touched right before you lost consciousness. The ground beneath your back when you had woken up from it. The smell of rain in the air that day. “The most recent one was almost a year ago.” 

“What date?” 

You rattle off the date with certainty. As if you could forget the day. Dr. Neil asks some more questions and you answer them as best you can. MC and Zayne keep quiet now that you’ve made it clear they don’t know nearly enough about you to be answering for you.

It takes more rationalising and actual begging to get Taffy to go home. After Dr. Neil was done with her questions, she scheduled you for an MRI later today. Taffy wanted to stay at least until after the test but you didn’t want her to be around if the results came out saying something’s wrong. Then, it would actually be impossible to get her to leave. 

Taffy leaves with a sad frown and promises to check in when she can. When the door shuts behind her, the silence returns with vengeance. You hate it. For most of your life, you’re indifferent to many things. But there are a handful of things you despise. Heat. Those ugly water tanks. Any kind of dry air that makes it hard to breathe. Those really bright lights that look blue sometimes. And, the one you hate most, the ear piercing silence that follows after sound. It makes your skin itch and your ears ring with how loud it is.

You avoid it like the plague. And you’d say you’ve done a pretty good job of doing so. Music is your best friend. At all hours of the day, it plays in your ears, driving away the silence like your ever loyal guard. It’s probably why the silence is so painful. And maybe why you’re so antsy now that you’re alone—is it possible to get withdrawals from the sudden absence of it? Who knows. 

The room is dark, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn to help with your concussion, and makes you feel more isolated than you are. You bear the stillness for a few more minutes before pushing the button on the side of your bed. You’re weak like that. But, also, they did tell you to call if you needed anything. And you needed something desperately. Your phone, your radio. Your two essentials. 

It takes about six minutes and you’re expecting a nurse to come through the door. Maybe Alice, again. But, the one who walks in is Zayne. He holds a metal tray with him. “Don’t you have other patients to look after?” You ask. He was just here an hour ago. He left with MC soon after Dr. Neil did. 

“None with pressing concerns at the moment,” he replies. You tilt your head up to look at him when he comes to a stop beside the bed, towering over you. He places the tray he walked in with down on the table.

“So…you’re just going around answering patient calls?” 

“I was already on my way here,” he says. A thin blade of light catches his glasses, covering his eyes. You look away from the glare and slump back on the pillow propped up behind you. 

“For?” You stare at the wall listening to him move about beside you. 

“It’s time for you to take your pain medication.” He hands you the medication and a glass of water. You take them obediently. “What did you call for?” 

“My stuff from the bar,” you say after swallowing. You lick your lips to catch the remnants of water that lingered on them. “My radio and my phone. Are they here?” 

“In inventory, most likely. I will go look for them.” Despite his words, he doesn’t actually leave. He stands there, subtly looking at everything but at you. 

“Is there anything else you need, doc?” You watch his fingers twitch at his sides, the sliver of white teeth as he nibbled slightly at his bottom lip. 

He pushes his glasses back and takes a quiet breath. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about your…” 

“My seizures?” You finish for him. “The word isn’t a trigger, sunshine, relax." He gives you a look.

“You shouldn’t speak so lightly of them. They may be a more serious issue than you initially assumed,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, not calling them what they are isn’t gonna magically stop them from happening— if they happen, again. I had a streak going, you know.” 

“Yes, a year's worth.” 

You shot him an annoyed look. “I’m suffering a head injury, that’s probably why it happened earlier.” 

“Then, what was the reason for the one before? A concussion, as well?” He shoots back just as quickly. You don’t answer. In fact, you narrow your eyes at him. Dr. Neil asked the same question and she was not nearly as pushy as he seems to want to be. Did he think you lied when you said you didn’t know?

The silence creeps back in for a moment. It empties the room when you would’ve filled it with music. It rings between the two of you like a church bell. “You haven’t eaten your food,” he notes after the pause. The change of topic is as subtle as a grenade going off. You appreciate it.

“Yeah ‘cause it looks disgusting,” you reply. “Is this what my tax dollars pay for? Jelly cups and warm snot slush?”

“Yes.”

The laugh that gets past your lips surprises you both and it cuts just as quickly as it started. But it’s too late. It’s quiet again but it’s more awkward than tense. “MC went to get you something from a nearby cafe,” he tells you. “She claimed you wouldn’t eat the food we gave you at all.” You look down at the untouched meal in front of you. “I suppose she was right.” 

“Yeah.” You nod. The food still looked unappetizing as before but perhaps you’ll eat it, anyway. “Guess so.” 

“She knows you better than you think,” he adds. Your eyes drag up to his and your fingers twitch to pick up the spoon. 

“Does she.” It’s almost a question but the flatness of your tone shows your lack of desire for his answer. 

You can feel his eyes on you, studying you with that clinical stare of his. “Your jealousy is unreasonable.” His words drop in the space between you. Heavy like an anvil. 

“Jealousy?” You repeat the word with disgust. It isn’t the first time someone said you were. Are you jealous of her? Do you envy her? Do you want what she has? Her friends? Her happiness? No. You have your own friends. Your own things that make you happy. It isn’t envy. It isn’t anything. And somehow that seems to be a worse crime than being jealous. To feel nothing. To be indifferent. And you know he, or anyone else for that matter, wouldn’t understand it. Why don’t you care? They’d probably ask. She’s your twin, and you feel nothing? They’ll ask you in a confused tone, tilting their heads like lost dogs. “I’m not jealous of her,” you say. “I’ve never envied her.” You reiterate it like it’ll get the point across better. “If I’d ever envied anyone, it would—” You stop. You finally bring your gaze up to meet his. He’s still. Waiting for the end of your sentence. As if. 

“Do I have to file a request for my things, Dr. Li?” You ask. “Do you need me to describe what they look like?” 

He doesn’t look away and neither do you. An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object. Two things that can’t exist simultaneously. 

He looks away. Picking up the tray he brought with him. His footfalls are near-soundless when he walks out. The only sound after him is the door shutting. You release a deep breath and shut your eyes. 

The MRI machine was much narrower than you expected. Before going in, they’d shown you breathing exercises to help you. It took more effort than you’d like not to panic inside the thing. Reluctantly, you can admit half the strength came from the food MC had bought you. You let her talk while you practically inhaled the food. About her life. Her job. Her friends. All the things you didn’t ask about. Topics that were safer to broach than the one topic she really wanted to talk about. You didn’t offer to speak on it. Neither did she. 

Now, you sit quietly, twiddling with your phone while missing your walkman. When Zayne had returned with only one of them in hand, you’d asked where your radio went. He said it wasn’t on you when you came in. It was already tense with you two, so you didn’t pry or complain. Just took the offering and went about your day. Well, as ‘about’ as you could get while bedridden.

You play some nonsense song but it’s a poor replacement. It’s late. The sun has dipped below the horizon and the city lights try their best to imitate starlight. MC was called away for work sometime ago and hasn’t returned. Though you originally planned to be asleep by the time she gets back, your mind doesn’t seem to be cooperating with you. It isn’t as if you’re plagued with questions or concerns. Your mind is deceptively empty of significant thoughts. Yet, sleep runs like a scared mouse. 

You’re debating on what to comment on Taffy’s Moments post—while fighting off a headache because you really should not be on your phone—when the door to your room slams open. You curse and nearly drop your phone, wide eyes staring at another pair with the same colour. “What the hell—” The air suddenly changes. Heavy like gravity had increased. The feeling of danger dawning over your heads. A mass of dark energy gathers at the corner of the room. Before you know it, a blur of a white figure dashes in front of you, taking out the IV needle out of your hand—gently but you still wince—and slipping their arms under you. 

What the fuck is happening? You’re cradled in a pair of strong arms while MC rushes you both to the door. You crane your head up and catch a semi-familiar face. Xavier. Her partner. Her neighbour. Your savior and two-time carrier. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you murmur, still staring at him. There’s a quirk of a smile. 

“I can’t help but agree,” he replies. A roar rings through the air and you lock eyes with a monster. The moment you do, it makes a run towards you. Okay, once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern. Another wanderer lunging for you in within forty-eight hours is fucking weird. 

Xavier takes you out of the room, much too reminiscent of the night before. “You guys couldn’t find me a wheelchair? Or crutches?” You really shouldn’t complain. Especially not to the man who is actively saving your life but if not now, when? 

“We came in on short notice. I’m sorry we couldn’t find you suitable support,” he says. He takes you down one hall and another. Is he looking for a safe place like last time? The hallway seemed empty which means you’re most likely the last one to get the notice that a wanderer was manifesting and planning to attack you. 

You glance back down the hall when you hear another roar. “Shouldn’t you go with her?” 

He shifts his grip on you. “I believe in my partner’s capabilities. It’s a weak manifestation and MC’s a strong hunter.” As if to prove his point, the roaring quiets down. With you so close, you can hear his quiet huff of a chuckle. “Much faster than I expected,” he muses softly. Your eyes meet when you look up just as he tilts his head down to look at you. Blue like the ocean in the day. “The threat to your life must have empowered her,” he says. 

“Well, I’m glad I helped,” you mumble, looking away. Xavier stops and waits for MC. Still carrying you bridal style while you try not to be too tense. When she arrives, she looks at you first, scanning your body even though she should know nothing happened to you in the five minutes all of that took place. Even with her proof of our safety the worried look on her face remains. “What is it?” You ask quietly. 

“I think…” She hesitates, eyes flickering up above you to meet Xavier’s. “I think they’re targeting you?” The statement comes out like a question. Like a foreign, unheard of idea. 

Things happen in quick succession after that. You’re mostly kept out of the happenings around you, some other things they just don’t bother to explain at all. They relocated you to a private room, instead of the one with curtains separating the beds, while an entire team of hunters showed up. They did scans of your body—which was weird and you said so, but they kept on doing it anyway. You didn’t understand why. Outside of your injuries there was nothing wrong with you. And the scans said similar things. You’re ordinary, as it said. When the scans turned fruitless, they turned to asking you questions you didn’t have the answer to. No, you did not have any particularly strong enemies. No, wanderers have never shown to be attracted to you. Not until recently, anyway. 

No one knows why it’s happening but Jenna, MC’s boss apparently, said it’d be best to keep you out of the general public. A safe house, she said. You didn’t think your twin’s apartment was especially safe but they didn’t listen. You tried to argue for an actual safe house and not one that would ultimately just lock you into one of your worst nightmares. But they reasoned that MC’s building occupied two capable hunters to keep you safe and that it was close to Akso Hospital, which was beneficial for your injuries and the check-ups you still needed. That last part had come from Zayne, who you thought had gone home only to appear with his own input. It had frustrated you beyond belief that everyone who wasn’t you had a leg in the conversation. Wasn’t it you whose life was on the line? Wasn’t it you who seemed to have made enemies with literal monsters? So, why were you being ignored? 

Safe to say, it left you in a piss-poor mood. A mood that gets astronomically worse when you’re handed MC’s spare clothes to wear. A skirt and sweater because your injuries needed breathing room. You’d looked at yourself in the mirror of the hospital bathroom, and a pit of dread had opened up in your chest. Swallowing you whole. Your face you could barely look at because it was hers, too. The clothes on your back felt as if they were about to set you on fire. All your life, you’ve worked to separate yourself from her. Now, here you were, wearing her clothes, about to be living in her city, in her apartment. The reflection in the mirror looked like a fraud. A liar. A poor imitation of the real deal. You hated the sight of it. 

The bed creaks when you sit down. In the kitchen, just down the hall, there’s the sound of someone moving about their own space. Touching this, dropping that, humming one tune or another. The room is bare of anything personal. White walls, an empty bookshelf, a work desk with a lamp, and the bed which you sit on. The curtains of the guest room are wide open, allowing for the bright light of early morning to occupy the entire space. Zayne had ordered you to keep away from bright lights, but you don’t feel like making the journey to close the curtains. They gave you a cane in case you needed any help walking. Now, that cane lays abandoned on the wall by the door. You’re not planning on making any unnecessary travels, anyway. 

You want to lay down but you can feel your stitches pull every time you move your leg one way. Same thing with your side where bandages still covered your cuts. You’re pretty limited on what you can do. So, you opt to just sit and listen to MC move around her apartment. It’s a nice apartment. Much better than yours. Hers is well-decorated and open, while yours is confined. Not like a prison but close to it if anyone asks your friends. That’s the price of choosing a studio apartment.

There’s a certain smell in her apartment, too. Sweet and flowery. It smells nice. Really, her life looks so put together. You wonder how yours compares.

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When the news reached the hospital that a wanderer attack was bringing injured civilians in, Zayne had been in his office, staying late to review patient files. The emergency department was already busy with one of the ambulances—the one that had brought you but he hadn’t known that then—and he’d been ready to go home. He was putting his files away when MC had burst into his office with a crazed look in her eyes. She was frantic and in tears. Through her cries, he made out that you had been at the bar. That you had been the one severely injured by the wanderer. That it was you that the first ambulance had brought in.

“You’re the only one I trust, Zayne,” she said. It was muffled by his chest, where she had hidden her face after throwing her arms around him. He cradled the back of her head with one hand and rubbed circles on her back with the other. His own heart responded to her distress. “Please, I know- I know this isn’t your job but please go help.” He couldn’t say no. 

He’d calmed her down enough to sit her on a chair in his office before shrugging his white coat back on and rushing to the emergency department. It took more strong-arming than he was proud of but he got himself into the ER where some other doctor was suturing the cuts on your thighs. Had he been a weaker man he would’ve flinched at the image of his old friend bleeding and unconscious. But, Zayne hadn’t allowed himself that privilege and took over your care. Who was going to say no to one of the chiefs? Not many people. Certainly not the doctor who’d stepped aside when Zayne stepped forward. 

He never thought he’d be doing this. Countless times he had considered caring for MC but not you. You were always fine. It wasn’t you with the heart condition. It wasn’t you he saw on the regular. But fate had a way of proving him wrong. It laid you down on the table like an offering as if to say “you’ve been mistaken, doctor”. 

After he was done, he let them transfer you over to one of the semi-private wards. He returned to his office where MC was pacing instead sitting like he’d told her to. She crowded him and asked where you were. Were you okay? Where were they keeping you? When Zayne told her, she demanded to go see you. And while Zayne has already bypassed too many rules, he wasn’t willing to break anymore. He told her she had to wait until you woke up and allowed her in. 

When she heard that her face had fallen. Like she thought you wouldn’t let her in. And if he was to be honest, he thought the same. 

It never made sense to him. Your aversion to your own sister. Towards Caleb, perhaps Zayne could excuse it. But you seemed to separate yourself from MC with a persistence unnatural for a twin. He hadn’t spared your distance much thought back when you were children. After the incident, helping MC had been his only goal. Only after certain events had he started revisiting his memories of your shared childhood. 

He’s organising your file when he suddenly hears a groan and the heart monitor rapidly starts beeping. His eyes snapped to your form on the bed. Spasming and shaking violently. His body moves before his mind can register that you’re having a seizure. He goes through the motions. Pull down the bars on the bed, put you on your side. Keep you from hurting yourself as you seize. It lasted one minute and thirty-four seconds and the staff arrived at the tail end of it. For how it’s supposed to go, it went perfectly. Nothing else went wrong. You weren’t hurt more than you were before. No stitches were ripped. And considering the concussion you got, seizures weren’t out of the question. Zayne could even argue it’s expected. 

Yet, he wasn’t expecting it. Because he hadn’t given you the right amount of attention. Had he done his job better, he would’ve noted the symptoms and acted accordingly, but he hadn’t. And that shakes him. More than he admits to MC when he goes to her after you have settled down. 

After that, he forces her to go home. Shower, eat, and change because she hasn’t done any of that since the day before. To make sure she leaves, he steps out with her and watches her motorcycle shrink as it gets further away. Zayne himself doesn’t leave. Not yet. He showers and changes into his spare scrubs in staff bathrooms. He settles himself in his office and places a call to the best neurologist in the hospital.

There’s a yell that rises above some shrieking and the wanderer’s claws barely catch at your clothes before someone— MC—shoves you to the ground. There’s a striking pain shooting up from your wrist as you land on it. The cry that would’ve escaped your lips is silenced when your head bounces off the ground. MC jumps in front of you. Drawing her weapons from their holsters. Through pain-induced tears, you watch as she fights the wanderer with skills you’ve only ever assumed she’d have but never thought to see in action. “Get back!” She yells over her shoulder. There’s a flash of concern in her eyes when they latch onto your hand clutching your wrist. The brief lapse of attention on it gives the wanderer a chance to lunge past MC towards you again. 

You try to scramble back but the pain from your wrist and the throbbing ache growing at the back of your head makes you slow and sluggish. Hands grab your shoulders, but the claws dig and drag through the flesh of your thighs before they can pull you back. A guttural scream breaks through the air and mixes with the cries from the wanderer. Belatedly, you realize it’s yours. A sword descends from behind you striking true to the wanderer’s hand clawing down your thigh, forcing it to retract. MC rushes forward, herding the wanderer farther away from you. For one reason or another it had chosen you as a target. Your twin engages it with an intensity she didn’t have before and keeps pushing it back through the wall it’d come through.

The back of your head hits something soft—maybe it’s the alcohol and it’s most definitely the blow to your head—but the impact is enough to send your world spinning. The hands move, one arm slides under your knees and the other wraps around your shoulders. The sudden movement of being lifted into the air makes you shut your eyes in pain. Your wrist throbs and your head is screaming all kinds of warnings to you. Finally, a pained groan spills from your lips that sounds almost like a sob of pain. In your confusion, you try to get away from the one carrying you. 

You didn’t like being held like this in any normal circumstances, especially now when their hand is too close to the three long gashes on your leg and you’re too hurt to be rational. They’re warm and firm. And when you try to get out of their hold, they tighten their grip on you, adjusting their grip but still staying clear of the wounds on you. A voice comes from above your head, “I’m trying to get you to safety. Please stop struggling.” You hear the words and they barely register. The voice is soft but it’s grating to your ears. Your savior moves and carries you out of the room and towards the other civilians who had been gathered for safety. They lay you down beside a waiting medic and your eyes open just wide enough to catch the shades of white before they disappear back into the room. 

There’s a lot of other talk going on. One of the medics tries to ask you questions but he seems to be as new to these attacks as you are. If not a little more panicked because he stutters through his questions and his hands shake as he takes your wrist into them. His clumsy handling jostles your injured wrist and you cry out in pain. He cringes and mumbles frantic apologies that you don’t hear above the shrieking of the wanderer on the other side of the building and the blows MC and her partner are landing. Who knew the fighting would be so loud? You certainly didn’t. 

The sound of rubble falling and bodies being thrown through walls suddenly stop as a bright light engulfs the room the wanderer is in. Amazing silence. 

Then the talk starts up again. Relieved sighs and crying emerging around you. You can’t find it in yourself to be relieved when your wrist is still throbbing and your thigh is bleeding. And, as you’re slowly realizing, your side, too. Guess it wasn’t just your clothes the wanderer’s claws caught. The medic doesn’t seem to notice and you find it hard to get your voice to work. Just as hard as it is to get your limbs and your eyes to work the way you want them to. Your eyes keep drifting shut and the lights keep turning off on you.

The call of your name takes you out of your daze and your eyes slide from the medic’s working hands to in front of you where a pair of boots stand. MC crouches and brings her face close to yours. The concern is heavy on her face. The sight of it makes you sick with discomfort. Another body crouches beside hers. The same shades of white as before and, while they were muted, they seemed blinding to you. You turn your head away from both of them and the effort it takes to move your head is enough to drain you of the rest of your consciousness. 

The next time you wake, it’s to a white ceiling and the beeping of a monitor. 

Fuck. That’s your first thought. And your second as you try (and fail) to lift your head high enough to get a look around. Your head still spins but it’s mild and resembles the familiar feeling of a hangover. It’s morning. That you can piece together. The room was filled with the penetrating brightness of the sun through the windows. You shut your eyes and sigh. There's a painful headache at the back of your head and, thankfully, you remember enough to know the reason for it. 

“Good, you’re awake!” A cheerful voice sounds from a distance. You turn your head with careful slowness to where the sound came from. By the door, stands a woman in scrubs with a clipboard clutched to her chest. You watch her get closer in silence. Her name tag tells you her name is Alice. “How are you feeling?” 

Like shit. Like my leg got shredded and my brain got stomped on.  That’s the answer your mind supplies. You plan to share the censored version but when you try to speak, it’s apparent how dry your lips and throat are. You try to swallow but there’s nothing. And licking your lips to wet them doesn’t do much, either. The nurse seems to get it and walks over to the table a few steps away from your bed. You hear the sound of water being poured and almost sigh in relief at the prospect of drinking some water. 

When Alice returns, she helps you sit up and hands you the glass of water. You finish it like a man returning from the desert. You’ve never been a die-hard fan for water but now you’re reconsidering that stance. You love water. And Alice seems to get that because she refills the cup three times without you asking. As you drink, she asks basic questions like if you knew your name, what city you were in, what day it is, and what got you here. You answer the questions correctly enough and Alice doesn’t seem overly concerned with the quality of your responses.

While downing your third refill, Alice decides to try and kill you. “You’re at Akso Hospital. In our—” She says it so smoothly, it didn’t register right away. When it did, you choked on your beloved water. Your lungs burn as you frantically cough. Can your day get any worse? Probably. 

When you finally get your choking under control and quiet your coughing, you stare at Alice who looks at you with a soft ‘sorry-about-the-murder-attempt’ smile. “Sorry?” Your voice comes out hoarse. “I’m at Akso Hospital?”

“Yes, you were brought in via ambulance after the wanderer attack at Fridli’s Karaoke Bar.” 

You nod. You already assumed that’s what happened. “My friends…did anyone come with me?” Even now, a huge part of you dreads that the answer will be no. A gentle sort of no that comes from strangers who know how pitiful you were. 

Alice nods. “Yes, your friend, Taffy, is at our waiting room at the moment. Since she isn’t listed as your next of kin or emergency contact we couldn’t allow her to be with you.” The flooding relief is almost embarrassing. You can’t help but smile at the fact that someone is here waiting for you. “But, speaking of your next of kin and contact, you don’t have one listed.” She hands you the clipboard she’d been holding and you reach for it with your right hand only to be reminded, with a wince, of your sprained wrist. You take it with your left hand instead. The words are too small and you have to re-read a few sentences to grasp that it’s an information sheet. It had your name and number but there were too many blank lines.

“You can fill that in later and I can help you with it, but first I need to do some tests if that’s alright with you?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She runs some tests, asks more questions. You answer them as best you could and watch quietly as she writes them down on the sheet.

After you’re done, she gives you a smile. “Alright! That’s about everything. Your doctor will come check in on you himself in a few minutes. If you don’t mind waiting.” 

“It’s all good— who’s my doctor?” 

“Dr. Li,” Alice says. You nod your head, not recognizing the name. “Don’t worry, he’s a great doctor. You’re in good hands.” 

You smile. You didn’t doubt that. Akso Hospital is renowned for a reason. 

Alice leaves after you ask her to let Taffy in to see you. Once you’re alone, you slump back on your bed, shutting your eyes. Your body and head ache. And tiredness coats your frame. If you’d known this was how your visit to Linkon was going to go, you wouldn’t have gone at all. Karaoke night of misery and concussions. And sprained wrists and cut thighs. Fantastic. 

You hear the door open and the quiet footfalls of someone walking in. You bring yourself to open your eyes. The white coat and the dark hair don’t register as familiar at first. And maybe it’s the mild concussion but it takes until you’re looking into his eyes that you recognize him. “Zayne?” Your voice is incredulous. “What are you doing here?” Even though you knew he worked at Akso Hospital, you’re still surprised to see him. Surprised and annoyed because you worked very hard to avoid him. 

His face is a cold mask of professionalism. Of course. He gives a soft sigh, and your eyes follow him as he walks over to a manila file on the side table. “As the nurse told you: I’m your doctor.” With a tone drier than the desert, he speaks without even sparing you a glance. Just flipping through your medical records. 

“No…she said my doctor was Dr. Li.” 

That gets him to pause his flipping. You watch in confusion as he stares at the file for a second too long before he raises his eyes to meet yours. “What do you think my last name is?” He asks. 

You glance off to the side, then back to him. “Hmm…Snow?” 

Zayne inhales sharply and his eyes shut for a second. “Because my evol is ice?” When you don’t answer in fear of ridicule, he ridicules you anyway. “What company have you come across to assume names are decided based on evol type?”

You bristle at his tone even though you know you deserve it. The topic of last names doesn't come up often, and growing up it was always just first names. Was ‘Snow’ an outlandish assumption? Yes. Do you feel ashamed? No. He should be flattered; it's a cool name. Pun intended.

 “...” You straighten your back as best as you could and stare back at him. “Aren’t you a heart doctor? Isn’t this a little below your station?” 

“Cardiac surgeon,” he corrects coolly, already back on looking into your records. You don’t miss his dodging. 

“Right.” You rest your head back on the pillow and shut your eyes. You listen to the rustling of the papers in the otherwise silent room. 

The chair is nearly soundless when Zayne sits down. When your eyes flicker open he’s at your eye level with the same flashlight Alice used. Sitting quietly, you let him do the same assessment she did, and you fail to be surprised when he officially diagnoses you with a concussion. 

Despite some grumbling from you, Zayne changes the bandages on your thigh and side. The ones on your side were fairly shallow but the gashes on your thigh had stitches. The sight of your injuries makes you a little sick; you’ve never been hurt like this before. You didn’t think you’d ever be, in all honesty. 

“How did they decide to assign you as my doctor?” Putting Zayne on your case is like bringing a gun to a knife fight. Overkill. And a weird decision on his part to agree to it. Conflicts of interest or something like that. Well, not really ‘interest’ but just knowing you. You weren’t ignorant enough to consider yourself a real conflict for him.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just as you start to think he’s ignoring you, he speaks while carefully re-dressing your wounds. “If you weren’t aware,” he says, not looking up from the bandages. “I’m your family’s primary care physician.”

You want to say there’s not much of a family anymore. And you’d assume you stopped sharing anything with everyone once you moved out. You thought Josephine removed you from the list of kids she had or something. Though, maybe un-adopting a kid is not as easy just because they no longer live with you. 

“MC arrived soon after you to ask me to take you in my care,” he adds. You nod. So, that’s the real reason. 

“You’re the only one she'd trust,” you muse out loud. You almost miss how his hands pause for half a second. “Is she here?” You ask, not because you want to see her, but to prepare yourself in case you do. 

“Yes,” he answers. “She’s waiting to see you.” Alice hadn’t mentioned another person in the waiting room with Taffy. You might have a guess why. 

Zayne finishes bandaging you up and he removes his gloves. You stare at his hands in growing confusion as a weird sense of Deja vu dawns on you. Distantly, you hear the heart monitor speed up before you lose consciousness. 

You worked very hard to get away from your sister’s blinding light. Just as hard as you pretended to appreciate MC’s efforts to make friends for you. Those friends never last long and it was humiliating for you more than anything. It was always painfully apparent to you when a person was talking to you because they were asked to. In every one of those forced conversations, your shortcomings compared to her were glaringly obvious. You never made the right jokes, the right references, or smiled the right way. You threw people off, and you were fine with that.

Just before you and her were about to start attending high school with Caleb, Josephine gave into your begging. She enrolled you in a boarding school outside of Linkon. And you left as quickly as you could and stayed far away as long as you were able. MC, and Caleb by association, fought very hard to keep you as if Josephine had forced you to go. You told them it was your choice and that had upset MC so bad that Caleb glared at you for making her cry. As you left, she was being comforted by Caleb, and you figured she’d be fine.

You avoided going home for the holidays that year. MC had begged you to come home. Caleb did, too, but with more restraint. His texts were more about how upset she'll be all winter break than actually wanting you there, but nevertheless, you got almost just as many texts from him as you did from her. The dozens of notifications didn’t convince you that much; they just annoyed you. So, when the day came, you had sent a ‘wish you well’ text to both of them before putting everything on Do Not Disturb to listen to Mariah Carey. Did you feel guilty about it? Yeah, a little. You grew up with her and maybe you felt some affection for her, but you couldn’t force yourself to go back to being a shadow again. It felt good being separate from them. 

The summer after that year was your own personal hell. First and second year students couldn’t stay during the summer break, so you were forced to go home. The moment you’d stepped foot back into the house, MC had attached herself to your side like you were conjoined twins. All day every day you’d been stuck at her side for two months. Caleb, too, but at least he was there by choice. That was one of two darkest times in your life. The second was the following summer when MC did the exact same thing. 

Third and fourth years didn’t have to go home for the summer if they were picked for experiential learning with the local businesses during the school year and had contracts through the break. You fought to get a spot into the program, and managed to stay from home for both years. When the summer before university came, she was subdued and quiet around you. Briefly, you’d considered if she’d grown more sombre in the last two years, but then you saw her with Caleb and figured she’d accepted that you two were never going to be as close as other siblings were.

MC went to the same university as Caleb, and you went to a different one. That summer was the last time the three of you were under the same roof. 

Fitting six people in a five-seater is certainly a feat. A feat that involved too many strong-smelling perfumes and colognes inside a car with no open windows, and loud noises from every side of you. It’s…an experience. You aren’t exactly a social person and everyone around here seems to be. Always nice and smiling. You chose this town after graduation because it’s reclusive. Also, small enough that it didn’t draw attention, but big enough not to know everyone. You hadn’t taken into account how small town people take to new neighbours. 

Everywhere you turn, it seems everyone wants to say hi and ask how you were doing, and at the time you minded it very much. You had enough fake niceties growing up, and now you had no patience for it as an adult. The hi’s and how are you’s got easier to tolerate when you realized these people weren’t so fake. They were just being friendly. Just trying to be nice to you. So, you returned the favour by saying those hi’s and how are you’s back. And eventually those exchanges turned into actual conversations you enjoyed having with what you would now call your friends. They were NPCs but it’s kind of part of their charm. 

So, why had you agreed to cram yourself in a small car for an entire thirty minute drive to Linkon? Karaoke night. The supposedly ‘new tradition’. The town itself didn’t have one but Linkon City did and you fought tooth and nail to avoid going. It didn’t work and they broke you down with their insistent words and pretty smiles. Linkon is a large city anyway. The chances of running into people you used to know is slim. And, if your old assessment still holds to be true, then you doubt they’d ever step foot into a karaoke bar anyway. 

The fresh air when you squeeze out of the car is the freshest air your lungs have ever taken in. Hopefully, on the drive back, you’ll be drunk enough not to choke on Taffy’s jasmine and rose scented perfume. She goes through those 50ml bottles like a child with a bag of candy on Halloween. 

The bar is loud and disorienting. But the promise of alcohol is great and persuasive enough to make you ignore that fact. You’re led with your friends to the room reserved for your lot and almost immediately Taffy takes the stage. She’s good but she’s not Beyonce, so you take one of your friends with you to order rounds for everyone. Micah orders easy shots for the group while you order your own drink. You aren’t a big fan of just vodka shots so you ask for a sweeter drink to take back. The bartender gives you a tired look when you clarify that ‘yes, I want you to mix ice, orange juice, and pineapple juice, in with it— I’m sorry’. The sigh she gives you in response is enough for you to slide her a five dollar tip after; you sympathise with the soul-crushing feeling of realizing you had three more hours to work and will most likely encounter worse customers.  

You and your friend go back to the room where Taffy is somehow riffing with the microphone. Everyone takes turns picking a song and butchering it, and throughout the night you go back and forth for a refill of the drinks. Mainly yours. The bartender sees you enough times that she makes your drink upon seeing you near the counter.

You open up your purse and pull out your walkman. Your friends affectionately call you a historian because of your fascination with practically ancient objects. What can you say? You like the old stuff better. Not that the new technology didn’t have benefits. You put your earbuds in and a song immediately starts playing. One of your favourites. You jump on the stage just as everyone starts pushing for you to go. You sing (badly) along with the song with an enthusiasm that only high levels of alcohol and the music could bring out of you. Only you can hear the background music that goes with it, but everyone is too drunk to care that there’s no sound except your slurring.

You hog the stage for a while until the world seems to have had enough of your singing, and the door slams open loud enough to startle you into stopping. Someone rushes over and pulls the cord from the port. “You need to leave now! There’s a wanderer attack near—” The words were spoken with clear urgency and command, with a voice not unlike yours. Your friends cover your view from the speaker as they crowd around the faceless person with questions and panic arising. You’re slow to pull your earbuds out but everyone else is fast to vacate the room, following the instructions of the lady who has identified herself as a wanderer hunter. You follow after Taffy who’s the last to leave because she’s too busy urging you to come with her. 

Maybe you’re moving too slow for the hunter’s liking, because suddenly a hand wraps around your bicep and drags you forward to the exit. “Hey!” Even though you’ve been said to have the urgency of a walnut and the quick response of a turtle, you still didn’t like being grabbed and led like a dog. You snatch your arm back. “I’m going! I’m going!” 

“Well, you—” The hunter turns as she talks and you both stop as you’re met with a face exactly like your own. The chances were low but not zero. Somewhere beyond this karaoke bar, there’s a god that has a vendetta against you. 

______________________________________________________________

You think it must be Fate that caused this. Or maybe it's the crueler version of it. Either way, Fate, or some other mean being, has a way for the dramatics. It’s raining because of course it must. And you stand waiting for your bus while she stands beside you. She doesn’t face the road like you do and she isn’t wearing a rain coat like you are, either. She’s facing you. With those pretty, pleading eyes that would garner all kinds of sympathy from those she directs them at. Not you. Well, maybe not you. Perhaps if you stared long enough—which you won’t—you’d find it in yourself to sympathise but not now. 

The cars blur as they drive past. The rain drops fall heavy and hit your head. You don’t know why you brought a raincoat instead of an umbrella but there’s not much to do now. “I’m sorry.” When she speaks her voice is brittle around the edges and quietly in pain. Guilty, too. But you can’t help but think this was all some sort of self-pity for her. You don’t reply because you don’t want to. The petty and quiet part of you doesn’t want to share your voice with her. She wants to hear it, to hear you say the three words that would absolve her of her guilt but you won’t give it to her. Your voice is a thing she can’t have. There are a thousand other things you have that she can’t have, but those things don’t matter when she has the one that matters the most. The one you loved the most. The one you had for years. Or did you ever actually have him? 

That’s a question that lingers in your mind every day. Have you ever had him? Truly? Completely? All his heart, his mind, and his soul? You like to think yes but you know the right answer. You’d rather be wrong. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats. It’s quieter and is nearly lost in the roar of the rain. Your hands curl in the pockets of your coat and you suppress a shiver at the chill in the air. The ends of your hair that poke out from the coat's hood are soaked but you don’t want to move. Can’t tilt your head down to shield yourself or walk back inside the cafe to wait for the bus there instead. You’re scared that if you move, that’ll invite weakness. Invite her to come closer or that you’re open for more talking. So, you stand still and keep waiting for the bus.

She speaks your name and you want to tell her not to ever say it again. It’s yours and she can’t have it. “I’m sorry,” she says again. Weaker. More defeated. That’s when you finally have enough and reply.

“I know.” You know she means it. You know she is truly sorry. But she’s not sorry enough. You doubt she was sorry when she spent more and more time with him knowing he had feelings for her because she felt the same way. And you know this because of the soft, loving look in their eyes when you first saw them together. Back when he said she was just a friend and you were desperate enough to believe it. You doubt she feels sorry when she kisses him now because they are together and nothing is stopping them. He never cheated. Not physically, at least. That’s your only tool of comfort. And it’s useless. “And your apology means nothing to me.” And that’s the truth. No matter how many times she or he apologizes to you, it means nothing. They still hurt you and you don’t owe them forgiveness. 

From the corner of your eye, you catch the familiar lights of the bus. It rolls to a stop in front of the two of you and only you step forward. The doors open with a soft gust of warm air. Because you want to see. See the girl that is worth more than you. The one deserving of his love and loyalty more than you. You turn because you don’t know what hurts more: knowing they’ll last forever or that you knew you and him never would. Her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed. It seems like she’s been crying for herself. You already regret looking at her but it’s worse when your eyes flicker up to the umbrella that shielded her from the rain. Recognition comes with dread. And anger. And that familiar sadness that has permeated every aspect of your self. It was yours. Your umbrella. The one you bought and shared with him. The one he held over both your heads when it rained just like this. On the handle you can still see the sea lion sticker you’d put on it for better recognition. How ironic. 

He was stuck like that for a whole day until his mom found him and somehow knew this mouse was her son.

He and his mother were really close.

He looked like her with long hair but not as much when his brothers cut it which made it easier for his father to abuse him without having to be reminded of his mate every time he beat his son.

He kept his hair short for all of his childhood.

His mom was the only one in his family he found comfort in.

And he kept most of the abuse from his brothers and father from her.

Until his father beat him so bad that he went to her for help. She healed him without question and she didn't look surprised.

That's when he realized she'd been knowing all along and never did anything.

After that he didn't confide in her as much and grew distant.

He learned how to heal himself on his own.

When he was sent to the war camps he was actually relieved.

He still sent letters to his mom. Updates and stuff but kept some stuff out because he thought she'd share them with his dad.

He always loved music but was only able to explore it fully in the war camps.

He wrote some military chants for the war bands he marched with.

He played for them at night sometimes.

He met Andras in the war camps.

They instantly clicked and Andras encouraged him to write the military chants and share his limericks

They were close in age and were one of the few younger boys in the camps.

Tamlin only ever shapeshifted into an actual person once and he didn't like how it felt to deceive people like that (he wanted to be someone people could trust) so he swore he'd never do it again.

His father and his brothers (to an extent but not as well as Tamlin and his father could) could also shapeshift but they didn't have the same reservations as he did.

They'd shapeshift into people (servants or friends he made) to get him to tell them things or just treat him horribly so he thinks it's his friends treating him like that.

That's how he learned to read their body language specific to them so he could spot when they were pretending.

He's actually a good liar (how else could he play double agent?? or keep secrets from his family?) but he doesn't like to lie.

He's got a great poker face (from when he had to pretend to not care abt Feyre UTM).

He's easy to rile up so he's always had a sort of temper, but he never had any magical outbursts until after all the Amarantha and UTM stuff happened.

Older/During the series

Now as a high lord he can explore his hobbies so he plays the fiddle in the manor and gardens. But it takes him a while to get to that level of comfort in the manor.

His knowledge of plants and flowers are extensive.

He knows how to make a few salves and tonics with herbs.

He had someone drastically change the interior designs of the manor because he hated it but didn't have an eye for it either.

He allowed the manor's library and other rooms to be used as a classroom for the lesser fae children that didn't have access to scholars and tutors like the high fae family do.

He doesn't like to refer to the lesser fae as that and tries to refer to everyone as just 'fae'.

He was very proactive with changing things and when everyone in his father's circle left he didn't bother to make a new council and just did it himself because he didn't trust a lot of people in the spring court political scene.

When some people tried to stay during the Hybern invasion he commanded them to leave.

He holds Thesan and Tarquin at high regards.

Specifically, he admires Tarquin a lot for what he's doing and trying to do with his own court at such a young age.

(this one is from someone else I believe but I can't remember who it was who said it but I wanted to include it) his stone heart in the first book stopped him from feeling the full extent of his emotions and when his curse was lifted he felt more than ever after 50 years which made it hard for him to regulate.

He most definitely has PTSD.

(more abt his parents but it relates back) His father had human slaves to take care of the rose garden in the manor. When the humans freed themselves, his father forced sprites to take care of the gardens.

After he took over the High Lord title he officially hired the sprites and paid them for their work. They're a big fan of him. And enjoy his company when he joins them to garden, too.

The sprites are still taking care of the garden even after he told them to leave they came back and just hang around.

He stopped playing the fiddle as much after the events of ACOTAR and stopped playing completely after the events of ACOWAR.

Playing it brings him joy so he doesn't. He probably destroyed his fiddle, so he can't even if he wanted to.

He wrote all his own songs.

His hair is overgrown and matted most definitely.

He wanted a family and often imagined having a child with Feyre before everything else happened.

(this is a popular headcanon but) Tamlin only ever wanted one kid so there wouldn't competition and fighting like he and his brothers.