Sol writes whump

Luke's whole face scrunched up, suspicion clear on his face, "I don't know... Sounds like you wanna get rid of me."

"Maybe I do," Bella snorted, snuggling up against his side, "we've been too attached at the hip, this will be good."

"We have not," Lucas argued, but settled back against the pillows, letting Bella press her cheek to his bicep, opening the book he had been holding shut, with his thumb serving as bookmarker.

"Don't pout," Bella teased him, "read for me."

"I will pout if I want to," Luke grumbled, flipping a page and starting to narrate the novel.

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"She should've called by now," Luke scoffed, glaring at his phone, while Vin hummed, moving around the kitchen.

"Didn't you talk to her during lunch?" Vince asked, voice muffled since he had his head in the fridge, retrieving a bunch of items. He planted a pack of beers on the table before Luke.

"Yes, and?"

"Jesus, Luke, you weren't that clingy even when you guys were dating," Vin snorted, opening a can and rubbing his hands together, looking around the room, in search of his phone, "by the way, did you pack?"

"Do I have to go?"

"Of course you have to go," Vince sounded offended, "one, you're the driver," he gestured wildly at the beer can in front of him, "because I plan on sleeping the whole way there and I don't trust the others to drive. And second, what are you gonna do here all alone the whole weekend? Bell is not in town, I won't be in town, Leo and Jon are tagging along... Do you have other friends I don't know about?"

"I have several friends you don't know about," Luke huffed, folding his arms on the counter and nesting his chin on them, "I'm a very friendly person."

"You are, yeah," Vince took a swing of his beer, "but they're more acquaintances than friends."

"Why can't Leo be the driver? Aren't we literally taking his car?" Luke sounded grumpy and Vince snorted, unable to help it. It was endlessly amusing that sometimes all it took was something going against his wishes for Luke to go back to that guy he had met seven, nearly eight, years ago.

"Fine, Leo drives," Vince rolled his eyes, "you're still tagging along. I'll throw you over my shoulder if I have to."

Vince nearly had to.

They had driven over to Jonah and Leo's — or rather, Luke drove, while Vince nursed a headache since he was hungover to hell and back after basically drinking alone while Luke bitched the night before — and gotten all the way to the garage, before Luke suddenly stopped.

"Oh, hell no."

"Uh?" Vince rubbed his eyes, looking around, confused. It took him a second to register what the issue was.

Max was leaning against Leo's white SUV, hands shoved in his acid stained jeans, wearing an oversized band t-shirt and his snake was wrapped around his arm. Vince thought he looked great, good enough to eat, an opinion that Luke obviously didn't share.

"I am not spending a whole weekend with this asshole," Luke complained, parking the car.

"Hello to you too," Max rolled his eyes, lowering his sunglasses, and Vince tuned Luke's bitching out in order to appreciate the view. He hadn't seen Max's snake yet and he looked at it curiously, the pet seemed to be absolutely content just wrapped around Max's forearm, deep red pattern almost camouflaging with his tattoos.

"Morning!" Leo's voice echoed in the garage and Vince groaned when it caused a stab of pain to go through his skull. He hadn't expected to be this hungover from a six pack, but apparently he was getting old.

Jonah seemed to share Vince's cranky mood, but that might've been just his usual resting bitch face. He was a couple steps behind Leo, fiddling with JD's carrier.

"We're gonna stop to drop JD at Chuck's first," Leo told them the itinerary, opening the trunk of his car so they could load the bags, "then I'll take first round of driving and we switch, Luke?"

"Fine," Lucas still looked terribly upset, which caused Jonah to snort.

They all got in the car, Vince got the passenger seat because they couldn't fit three men in the backseat if he was there and even then it was a tight fit. It would be better when Leo and Luke switched.

Jonah not only had been delegated to the backseat, but to the middle too, so Max and Lucas weren't sitting side by side. He planted JD's carrier on Luke's lap in an effort to keep her away from Max's snake, even though the blonde said, "Snakey isn't venomous, relax."

"You named your snake, Snakey?" Luke scoffed, while Leo let out an amused huff. Vince slid down his seat, fishing his sunglasses from the neckline of his shirt and planting it on his face with a satisfied groan. He should've taken some Advil before leaving, his head was pounding bloody murder.

Chuck was waiting outside of his building when they stopped by, exchanging a couple words with Leo and hinting not so subtly that he'd love to be invited to their next road trip. Jonah let out an amused huff as soon as they drove off.

"Looks like everyone wants a piece of you, baby," he crooned, leaning over the backseat to plant a kiss on Leo's cheek and Luke tugged at his belt loops, like a kid, saying, "stay on your seat."

There was minor bickering during the first half of the trip. Vince would know, since he was such a light sleeper, but he thankfully managed to nap at least forty minutes uninterrupted.

He woke up twice, once because he was starting to feel carsick due to the hangover, but it was nothing that rolling down his window and drinking some water didn't fix and another time because Max's snake had slithered onto Jonah's lap and Jon was talking in a way too high pitch, while Luke did his best impression of napping against the opposite window, as if Vin wasn't able to tell he was faking by just catching a glimpse of his face on the side mirror.

He was sound asleep, so much so he was dreaming, when Luke's voice cut through the haze, "wakey, wakey..." A humid finger teasing his ear-

"Cazzo!" Vince jerked awake, slapping Luke's hand away from his ear, while his best friend giggled like a kid. Jon was a couple of steps ahead, head low as he talked with Leo, who was handling the snake and Max was nowhere to be found.

"Welcome to the land of the living," Luke grinned, brightly, "c'mon let's get some food into you."

The thought of food was as far from appetizing as possible, even nauseating, and it probably showed on his face, because Luke pursed his lips and Max, coming around the vehicle holding a crate to put his pet in, scoffed, "remind me what happens when you don't eat, Monacelli?" He didn't wait for an answer, eyebrows raised in a petulant way, "that's right, you faint like a damsel in distress. No one told you to drink last night, suck it up and eat."

"Dickhead," Vin whispered, much to his chagrin, because Luke heard and beamed.

It took them a moment to get settled — Snakey safely put away in his crate, wallets retrieved — and order. Max was studying the menu as if it was a bomb and Luke rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I'm gonna have the bacon burger," he listed, "with a sunny egg and Uh- a Pepsi..."

"Get a juice, the caffeine is gonna make your ADHD worse than it already is," Jonah reprimanded him, while Vince grimaced at the mental image of Luke's lunch, forehead resting heavily on his hand.

"I think I'll just have, uhm- fries," Max mumbled, causing Leo and Vince to frown at him.

"You'll be starving by the time we get to the cabin," Vince said, while Leo pouted.

"Surely there's something else you can stomach besides just fries."

"Fries aren't even that safe," Vin pointed out, "greasy. At least, get a salad with it."

"Does the baby want mashed potatoes?" Luke teased, except no one found it funny and he deflated like a balloon, picking up his phone and staring at it.

Vince rolled his eyes, "fries and a salad? Maybe chicken?"

"I'm having the grilled chicken," Jonah vouched, attempting to reassure Max, who looked skeptical.

In the end Max, Leo and Jon had the same dish, while Luke had that greasy bomb of his and Vince glared at his simple sandwich, stomach feeling testy, even if he knew his friends were right and he had to eat if he didn't want his blood sugar to crash later.

"Can you finish for me?" Max whispered, as soon as Leo got up to use the bathroom and Vince didn't have the heart to say no, even if he felt already stuffed with just half his meal.

They finished the meal and Luke told them all to use the bathroom because he was not stopping — with a glare sent Max's way, which caused Leo to hiss at him and tell Lucas to stop being a dick — and they exchanged seats, back inside the car.

Now Luke was driving, which meant Leo was on the passenger seat in order to avoid getting carsick. Jonah moved to the seat behind the driver, so he had a clear view of Leo, and Max was relegated the middle, since Vince needed the other window to stick out his elbow otherwise they didn't all fit.

It had been such a dumb idea to take just one car, but Vince couldn't even complain because it had been his idea, in order to make the trip as affordable as possible, since both him and Max were teachers and had a teacher's salary. Not that he had said that part out loud, because then Max wouldn't have come out of sheer pride and Lucas would've smacked him for thinking numbers when he could've easily paid for the whole trip himself.

Just a bad idea all around, and it was getting worse.

About twenty minutes into the drive, Vince could feel his stomach complaining about the meal. It hadn't been heavy, but he was still hungover as hell and he wasn't sure if it would stay down.

Max squirmed next to him, pressing a burp into his fist, which was covered up by the music playing — Leo's pick and Vince wanted to strangle him. The Mean Girls musical was already annoying to begin with, made worse by a headache.

Jonah was texting someone and Vin didn't want to look his way, because he was pretty sure it was Wendy. They were all avoiding the topic of the nuclear breakup, Max caught in the destruction.

"Can you go easy on the turns?" Max's voice was dripping with annoyance, as he looked pointedly at Luke.

"I am," Luke scoffed, glaring at him in the rearview mirror, "I'm the best driver out of us."

"That would be Vince, not you," Jonah corrected, not bothering to look up from his phone.

"You're not the best anything," Max scoffed, squirming again. Vince gulped down the aftertaste flooding his mouth, sparing his ex-boyfriend a glance. He was pale.

"Really?" He asked in a low voice, just for Max, "I thought you'd be safe, it wasn't anything heavy..."

Max's cheeks turned crimson and he looked away, "I'm fine."

"Do we gotta pull over?" Vin whispered, to which Max answered loudly:

"No, we don't have to pull over."

"If we pull over we're gonna get to the cabin at night," Luke complained, causing Vince to roll his eyes and Jonah to snap at him.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Lucas!"

"I am looking!" Luke bit back, then killed the music and Vince could've moaned out of relief. His headache was getting worse and he was sweating, feeling claustrophobic and overstimulated.

Max leaned his head back against the seat, arms crossed and Vince eyed him suspiciously. A gurgle came out of his stomach, loud enough that Vin and Jonah heard, but not the men on the front.

Vince's own stomach seemed to be bloating up, it was pressing painfully against his jeans and he regretted picking those pants. He should've come in sweatpants.

He squirmed, tugging on it and causing Max to huff, "stop moving around, Vin."

"Sor-urp-sorry," his cheeks burned as a burp interrupted him mid phrase. The car did another swerve as they continued to drive uphill. Was Luke doing those sharp turns on purpose or had he just forgotten how to drive?

Max muffled another burp in his hand, paling even more and tugging on the neck of his shirt.

"Lucas," Jonah's voice was clipped, tense, "I think you should pull over."

"I can't," Luke sounded defeated, not annoyed, which was a welcome change, "there's no shoulder, we gotta get out from the mountain part..."

"I'm fine," Max scoffed, offended over Jonah advocating on his behalf. Vince swallowed another queasy burp, keeping most of his face out of the window to get some fresh air. The beers had been a mistake, the next burp came up smelling like it and he recoiled.

"Luke, really, find a place to pull over-"

"I am FINE!" Max cried out, despite the sweat matting how his hair, only for Jonah to glare at him.

"LEO is gonna throw up, it's not about you!" He said, sharply, just as Leo let out a groan and hunched forward on the passenger seat, hands frantically reaching for the glovebox.

He pulled out a plastic bag just in time, Luke's own hand trying to aid him into holding it open, as Leo retched loudly and then there was the horrible noise of liquid meeting wrinkly plastic.

Max's mouth was open in a comical O, while Vince gulped down the saliva flooding his mouth, keeping his face now firmly out of the window, no matter if he was basically acting like a dog.

"Oh, buddy," Luke cooed, the car swerving once as he steadied his grip, so one of his hands could be entirely at Leo's disposal, "I'm gonna try to pull over soon, I swear-"

"D'you'avenotherbag?" Max's words were sticking together and he hand hunched into himself, a hand firmly pressed to his mouth, "please...?"

Vince gagged, shutting his eyes in a feeble hope to avoid what he knew was gonna happen next.

"Here, here, here-" Luke, sounding frantic, chorused by Leo losing more of his lunch with a nauseating belch that turned solid-

"Take the bag!" Jonah cried out, his voice climbing to shrill levels, and then there was a guttural belch coming from Max-

Vince didn't hear the rest of it. His own stomach was messed up to begin with, and as soon as the smell hit him, he was done for.

He retched violently out of the window, but nothing came up, because of course not. He had never been lucky throwing up. His ears went deaf and his head drummed, whole body feeling like it was burning. He was sweating like a pig.

The car sped up, instead of slowing down, doing some wild turn that had Vince's head spinning and him groaning. Was Luke trying to kill him?

"Vin, get your head inside! You'll be decapitated like this!" Luke said, while Jonah tugged the back of his shirt, shoving a plastic bag on Vince's lap with rushed, clumsy movements. He had his other hand curled into a white knuckled fist, pressed to his mouth, whole face so ashen he was nearly grey.

Vince fell back down on his seat, opening the plastic bag and staring at his bottom. Blood was drumming in his ears and he could taste last night's beers, but all that kept coming up were frothy burps. He wanted the sandwich out of his stomach now.

In a desperate attempt to not feel so horribly nauseous, Vince shoved a finger down his throat. The effect was instantaneous, a rush of warm beer and clumps of bread fell inside the bag. The car swerved again, his stomach cramped, sweat causing the shirt to cling to his back... Max heaved loudly, more vomit falling inside his bag.

Someone was speaking, but Vince could barely hear over the headache and nausea. He coughed the bits stuck to his throat and gagged again, a more watery wave, then pressed his forehead to the back of the passenger's seat, panting over his open bag.

Slowly, the car came to a stop, but Vince didn't move, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

"Vin'move," Max poked his side and Vince forced himself to nod, spitting the ropey saliva out and snatching his bag closed. He opened the door and stumbled out of the vehicle, quickly followed by Max, who braced against his knees and brought an impressive wave of vomit all over the grassy side of the road.

Luke had run around the car, opening Leo's door and was now kinda crunched over, talking with their friend. Vince had the distinct feeling that Leo was crying, but he wasn't sure, the sunlight was piercing.

He tied a knot to end of his bag and circled the car, so he wasn't so close to the busy road. Luke was coaxing Leo out of car, wrapping an arm around the blonde, whom now Vince could see wasn't crying, but was definitely distraught.

"You good?"

Leo sent him a scathing look over the stupid question, sitting on the ditched driver's seat and letting his head hang. He let out a belch, unabashed, probably feeling too sick to care.

"Okay, okay, okay, I- Shit, okay," Luke mumbled, frantically, "I got this."

Vince raised a skeptical brow, but Max voiced his thoughts, "you don't got shit."

"Shut up, Daniels," Luke said, although he barely seemed to be paying attention. He rubbed a hand over his face, "Vince? Are you good now?"

He raised a hand and shook it from side to side, in a more or less gesture, "dunno, stomach's still iffy."

"Okay, take- Take your time," Lucas grimaced then, "Jon?"

Jonah was still inside the car, which couldn't be good idea, considering three grown men had just puked inside of it. Granted, Vince didn't think any of it had gotten to the upholster, by some miracle, but there was no way that car smelled alright-

"ShIT, JON-" Luke exclaimed, voice rising with urgency and he jumped forward, opening the door and trying to yank Jonah out. He was half a second too slow, hand getting caught in the crossfire as Jonah suddenly gagged and puked all over his lap, shoes and yep, the fucking mat.

"God," Max groaned, far away, turning around and folding by the middle as the sight triggered another wave from him. Vince made a face, averting his eyes from the mess.

Leo looked green as a pickle, but still there was a concerned twist to his mouth and the clear desire to step closer to help, even if he knew he'd be no help.

"Stay seated," Vin bossed stepping forward to help, causing Leo to roll his eyes.

Luke was down in a crouched down position near the backdoor, his singular clean hand holding Jonah by the shoulder, the other one held up in the air. Jon was still retching violently, a puddle forming on the grass.

"Jesus," Vince groaned, "how can I help?"

"Get Daniels," Luke gestured with his vomit covered hand, "get him to stop spewing."

"Oh look, he care-ERghk-" Max tried to mock, interrupted by another violent heave. Vin snorted, walking back to the guy.

"Hey," he spread his legs apart so they were more or less the same height, meeting Max's eyes. There were pained lines around it and he had an arm firmly wrapped around his middle, "talk to me."

"That stupid-" Max panted, a gross line of droll hanging from his bottom lip, "chicken."

"Are we talking food poisoning or just your usual fucked upness?" Vince planted a hand on Max's back, rubbing up and down and feeling a twinge of worry as he could feel the blonde trembling.

"Dunno."

"Great," Vince sighed, running over the events. It could be food poisoning. Max, Leo and Jonah were all puking and all of them had had the chicken... So had he, Vin realized, he had eaten the last of Max's meal.

His stomach immediately soured and he raised a hand to muffle a sick, nauseated burp. He wasn't even sure if he was actually sick or just queasy at the idea of food poisoning.

"M'good now," Jon panted ahead, voice hoarse enough to sound like he had chain smoked his whole life, "fuck, my- My everything."

"We can fix that, don't worry," Luke reassured him, wiggling his hand to try and get the bits of vomit off of it and rounding the car to get to the trunk, "new pants and shoes?"

"Got on my shirt too..." Jonah sounded humiliated.

Leo let out a groan, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, just as Max jerked with an empty heave and groaned loudly.

"Fuck, it's cramping," he whimpered, reaching behind him and clutching Vin's shirt. Vince moved his hand up, stroking Max's sweaty nape and then pulling back his hair with one hand, the other one holding him by the arm.

"I don't think it's food poisoning, Max," Vince said, wishing he was right. His head was still throbbing and everything was too loud, too bright. Hangover, nothing else, he told himself.

"Leo?" Jonah called, worried, "Leo, how are you?"

"Uhmm," Leo mumbled, holding on the driver's door, "dizzy..."

"Leo's carsick," Vince should not have felt as relieved about that as he was, "I think we just had really, really, shit luck..."

Eventually, Luke managed to coax Jonah and Leo both out of the car and help Jonah undress from his destroyed pants, shirt and shoes, much to the guy's mortification, putting him into a fresh new set.

"Look at you, Luke, all ready to be a dad," Vince teased him, sitting on the ground on the side of the road, watching as Luke used one of their water bottles to wash the mat that Jon had destroyed, "handling it like a champ."

"It's gonna go to his head," Max warned, head hanging between his knees and face pinched. He was the one worse off now. Jonah was just embarrassed and cranky, but otherwise he was fine, Leo felt fine now on solid ground and Vince was still nursing a killer headache, but at least the water was helping with that and the nausea had receded to just queasiness.

"Fuck off, Daniels," Luke's voice was strained as he shook the mat to get the last bits off of it, grimacing, "okay, I say- Back on the road?"

"Just leave me here to die," Leo groaned, resting his head on Jonah's shoulder, "if I get back on the road I'm gonna puke again."

"No, you won't, you took more meds," Luke argued, "you'll be asleep in no time."

"I don't feel sleepy," Leo sounded just as annoyed as Jon looked, "Max is gonna hurl again too, let's just wait."

Clearly Lucas wanted to argue, Vince could tell — and hell, he didn't even blame his best friend, he agreed with him. It was getting dark and soon the side of the road not only would be freezing, but finding the cabin would become such a fucking chore — but he just made a face and stuffed his now clean hands onto his pockets, "yeah, wait, I can wait. I'm patient."

Vince snorted, "are you?"

Max let out a groan next to him, then scooted closer and then pressed himself to Vin's side, apparently feeling sick enough he no longer wanted to keep the obligatory ex-boyfriend distance they were keeping. Vince stiffened for a second, then relaxed, putting a hand on Max's nape and rolling his thumb in an attempt to make the guy feel better.

"I am," Luke swore, staring ahead.

Vin counted twenty seconds before Luke started to thump his foot, quick, like an annoyed bunny. He snorted, cradling his head. He wasn't sure where he had put his sunglasses, but he missed them.

"Vince, can you handle meds? I have Tylenol," Luke had moved, unable to stand still, and was going through his backpack, "I have pepto too, Daniels. Would it help?"

Max's head snapped at his name and he took a second to process the question, "oh yeah, thanks."

"Catch," Luke flung the bottle at his head and Max didn't move a muscle to grab it, only scoffing.

"Do I look like an athlete to you?"

Vince caught it before the pink bottle could smack Max's head — and he pretended he didn't know Luke had a ridiculously amazing aim, star quarterback, everyone — and opened the bottle, offering it to Max.

Luke paced again. Side to side of the car, then circling it, then again-

"You think he's gonna explode if we make him wait longer?" Leo whispered, causing Jonah to chuckle and Vince to smile.

"I'd test it, but I do wanna get back in the car. At least it was comfy, these rocks are hurting my ass."

"Oh no, your best asset!" Vince clutched his chest with fake despair, causing Max to chuckle and elbow him.

"My best assets are my arms, I'll have you know," he scoffed and Vin's smile just widened.

"No, it's your ass, baby, I'd know," Vince rebuked, causing Max's cheeks to dust pink and Jonah to groan loudly.

"No one wants to know, Vince!"

"Okay, are you guys ready to get back in the car!?" Luke exclaimed, having circled it for the fifth time, hands up in the air in an exasperated manner, "c'mon people!"

"Oh," Leo grinned, standing up slowly like an old man, "just had a déjà vu."

Vince caught his drift, smiling right back at him as they said in unison, "yes, captain!"

"I'm... Okay," she lied, taking a step back in order to tilt her cart, so it wasn't putting such a big distance between them. Vince looked great. Wendy wasn't sure if it was her brain playing tricks on her, but he seemed to be glowing. It landed like a blow to her stomach, the fact he was thriving like a flower in bloom, away from her. Was she that bad? "how- How are you...?"

"Eh," Vin shrugged, "uhm, I was-" he frowned, as if debating if he should share his dinner plans with her or not. Would it break her heart to hear that Vin was heading to Bella's place, to cook her dinner? Would she choke on jealousy like one would with bile? Or, hell, was he going on a date with someone else?

The thought alone made her feel nauseous and Wendy sucked in a breath through her teeth. Vince wouldn't. They hadn't been broken up for that long. Right...?

"I was going back to Luke's," Vince said, eventually, "what about-" he gestured to her cart and Wendy followed his gaze.

It must've looked suspicious, the two bottles of wine, several charcuterie items stacked too. Wendy guessed — hoped — he was having the exact same thoughts as she had been having a second before, "Oh! These- Jon- Jonah is coming over so-"

"Ah..." He scratched his cheeks and she realized he was clean shaven, none of the scruff she used to adore. Maybe that was why he was glowing, "do you want to sit down? Outside, I mean."

She nodded and they headed to the cashier, paying their groceries separately, but Vince took the bags from her, flashing a brilliant smile her way. She was going to die.

The cashier was eyeing him up and down and gave Wendy a proud look when he took the bags, causing Wendy to recoil into herself. A couple months before and she'd have been beaming with pride at having such a handsome, well mannered boyfriend. Now there she was.

Outside of the grocery store — one that was near her place and that she used to frequent with him, which made her have some stupid spark of hope that he had gone out of his way to come here in hopes of running into her — there were a couple tables scattered near an adjacent cafe, if it could even be called that. More like a stand, facing the parking lot.

It didn't matter.

Vin planted their groceries on the ground and pulled a chair for her and Wendy felt like she was suffocating, mind flashing to three years before, to a Japanese dinner where they had been sitting on the floor and she had been drinking his attention like alcohol.

He sat down in front of her, grimacing when his knee hit the table, and frustrating pulling his chair back. Wendy couldn't tear her eyes away, she felt like some sort of predator, watching his every move.

"So..." Vin said, awkwardly, his cheeks already turning pink. He tugged on the neckline of his sweater, as if it was choking him, "you... You wanted us to talk, right...?"

"Right," Wendy stared at her hands, unable to speak if she kept looking at him, "I- I wanted to apologize," it felt weird, saying the same speech she had just said hours before, "I was terrible. I was... Manipulative and cruel," Bella's voice rang through her head, saying that exact word. Cruel.

Wendy hadn't ever thought herself cruel. Vicious, obsessive, manipulative, she had thought of before. Back in high school and now... But cruel? It left a bitter taste in her mouth how truthful it was.

"I... I ruined your birthday party, I'm sorry," the easy stuff first, she organized it in her mind, refusing to meet his eyes, "I ruined everything with Max too, and I'll apologize to him as well... I kinda ruined his life-"

"That's not true, Wen-"

"No, I- Let me say it," she balled her hands into fists, because fuck every single cell in her body wanted Vince to say no, you're none of that. Comfort and coddle her and brush it off. Take her back, "I messed things up with Max, I did. I also lashed out on you, more than once, when you pointed out how I was acting. I was vicious towards Bella, I wanted to hurt her and I did, no matter what it cost... And when you didn't agree with it, I hurt you too. And it felt fucking great at the moment, which- Fuck, it haunts me. Who does that to someone they love?"

"Wendy," Vin's voice came from underwater, a million miles away. Her head snapped up and Wendy realized she had dug her nails into her palms with so much force they had left red marks behind. She pressed them down to the cold metal of the table, met Vince's eyes.

Bella had been all careful detachment and stoicism, Vince was warmth. His dark eyes were watery and he looked like she had just sucker punched him.

"Ye-yes?" Her breath caught, Wendy hadn't realized she had started to cry and she angrily wiped away the tears. More followed, she raised a hand to keep him put and turned her face away, shaking with sobs and sucking in air, trying to get it under control. She didn't want to manipulate him with tears, that wasn't it... She just couldn't stop.

"Hey," Vince had circled the table and he tugged on her metal chair, turning it towards him, crouched down in front of her, "hey, shh-" a hand coming up to cup her face, thumbs wiping away the tears, "oh, honey."

That did it.

Wendy folded and Vince surged forward, hugging her as she melted into sobs, fingers curling into his sweater and tears rolling down her cheeks, "I'mss-I'msorry... I'm so so-"

Her chest was hurting and she was struggling to breathe, so she stopped repeating it over and over, trying to catch her breath. Vince's hand on the middle of her back seemed to be the only thing keeping her body parts together, she felt as if he pulled back, she'd fall apart like a broken lego.

Her nose was blocked, it annoyed her because she wanted to bury it in his neck and inhale him. Wendy settled for bringing a hand up to his hair, fingers curling into the dark ringlets and waves.

He pulled back first, of course he did, because she wouldn't have. She'd have stayed hugging him until night turned into day, probably. Vince's face was wrinkly from where it has pressed against her head, tear marked too. She thought of his voice breaking over the phone, clearly crying, saying "You're breaking my heart, Wendy"

The way his brows connected and disdain coated his voice the last time they had talked, how he had looked genuinely disgusted by her presence, placing himself between her and his sister. She didn't think she could ever forget him looking at her like that.

"Please," Wendy begged, although she wasn't sure what she was begging for. Forgiveness? For him to take her back?

He wiped the tears away from her face, opened a wobbly watery smile and Wendy smiled back at him, a hysterical chuckle bubbling up that brought even more tears in its wake. A telepathic conversation of we're such a mess.

"Do you forgive me?" She croaked, as Vin collected the tears once again, treating her as if she was made of porcelain.

"Of course I do," Vin let out a huff, his lips pressed to her brow, a branding kiss, "I love you."

Her heart finished breaking, a rubber band snapping, a sob bubbling up and Vin's hand cupping the back of her head, pressing her to him.

"Take me back," Wendy asked, because ego and pride were a distant thing to her at this point. She lowered her head to his shoulder as Vin pressed a kiss to the top of her head, knew the words before he even said them.

"You know I can't do that, Wen," choked out, like it pained him to say it. She was begging for him to not break up with her, down on her knees, in the living room of her apartment. Wendy had known then, what she knew now. It was over.

But, God, hadn't it been over so many times before? Hadn't she toyed this possibility a multitude of times before, when he had left to Doveport, and when she had sprung on him the fact she didn't want kids? They had been over before, they had fixed it then, they could-

"It's better this way," Vin had lowered himself back to her eyes and she missed him instantly. She shook her head vehemently and he sighed, pained, "it is, honey, it is."

Wendy hesitated, held her breath, then nodded. She hadn't expected anything different, even if she had hoped it. It wasn't like with Bella, blindsided and from the left field. She had known she had ruined it with Vince for a very long time now. Standing on ice that had already cracked, unable to move forward or back.

"Please, go."

He looked as if he had been slapped by her words, but Vince let go of her immediately. He wiped at his face, grabbed his bags, then lingered. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Then he walked away and she was left outside the grocery store, the night's chilly wind sipping through her clothes. Empty, devoid of tears by now.

She felt frozen to the spot, thoughts running a vicious circle of replaying her meeting him for the first time, that stupid jacket of his, then all the moments she had thought he was the rest of her life-

You're breaking my heart.

Good thing you're not my girlfriend.

Of course I forgive you, I love you.

She entered home and planted her bags on the table, stared around the empty apartment. It felt cavernous, far too big for her. A matchbox would've done. A bathroom.

He had taken everything already. Not a single forgotten sweater or a book she could bring to his place under the guise of returning it. Not a shirt she could put on right now, not even a fucking kitchen utensil, a ceramic pan she could throw out of her window and watch it smash on the ground six storeys down.

There wasn't a single speck of Vince in her place and she hated it. Even his aftershave, lavender, hadn't clung to her clothing as it normally would have, maybe washed away by all the crying. Wendy grit her teeth, wanting to crawl out of her own skin.

Jonah was coming over.

He'd take- He'd fix this, somehow.

I don't believe you.

You're breaking my heart.

Wendy planted her sweaty hands on the dinner table she barely used. It felt manipulative. All of it, all of her. The tears and the fact she couldn't breathe and thoughts running circles in her mind, it felt performative, fraudulent. So why couldn't it just stop?

Jonah-

Her phone buzzed.

Wendy reached for it.

Jon: Hey, can we reschedule to tomorrow? Leo's not feeling well, I don't want to leave him alone rn.

"What about?" Vin's voice was coated from amusement at the previous reaction and he put his plate back in the cabinet, starting to dry his mug.

"Aveorspoinment-" Luke mumbled, all the words sticking together, muffled as he took another gulp of coffee.

"Uh?" Vince circled him, putting away his mug in the lower cabinet, snorting at the assortment they had. Bella wasn't a collector, per se, but she hoarded them, and she had several merch ones, as well as more witchy weird mugs. Vin had been drinking out of one in the shape of a cauldron, all in black, with the sayings "witches brew" on the side.

"I have a doctor's appointment," Luke said, his voice small, despondent.

Vin was a whole more awake now. He walked right back to his friend.

"Doctor's appointment?" He parroted, surprised, "what for? You're going by yourself?"

It was not a secret that Luke despised doctor's. His hospital phobia was well known and Vince had been the one to sit through blood exams more than once with him, clutching Luke's hand and trying to avoid getting his shoes puked on.

"Fertility bullshit," Luke scoffed, cheeks turning pink.

"Oh, okay, so I know why I was not told about this, but shouldn't Bell go with you?" Vince asked, confused, "I mean, she knows you're super freaked out about doctors..."

"I asked her not to," Luke's face was even redder, embarrassed, which was a rare sight. Vince was pretty sure he could count on his fingers the amount of times he had seen Luke be this bashful, "I'm doing a- a spermogram, and I don't think-"

"Oooh okay," Vince's tone got coated with humor, he jabbed his elbow on Luke's side in a teasing manner, "jerking off appointment... Wouldn't that be more reason for Bell to tag along?"

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes, "that is not the problem," he shoved Vin's elbow away, "I just- If they give the results right away, I don't want her there."

Vince dropped his arm, since Luke wasn't cheered up in the slightest by the egging on him, "your results will be fine," he promised, which only caused Luke to wince.

"That would mean Bell's might not be and that sucks," he chugged the rest of his coffee, putting the mug down with a little more force than necessary, "she'd be devastated. And if mine aren't- That sucks too."

"What if you're both healthy?" Vin frowned at him, voice gentle, "I mean, you two seem really healthy, that's absolutely a possibility. Try not to think of the wor-"

"Then we're both healthy and there's no reason for no baby and we just have to wait, which also fucking sucks," Luke scoffed, rubbing his face, "it's just a shitty day."

"Yeah," Vince agreed, running out of reassurances. He grimaced, "when is it gonna be? I could try get one of the teachers to cover my class and-"

"No, it's fine," Luke shook his head, then finally looked at his cereal bowl and made a face, disposing it down the drain, "go to your class, I think I just have to do this alone."

"...Okay, man," Vin gave Luke's nape a quick squeeze, "but call me if you change your mind, I'll figure it out."

Luke offered him a tight lipped smile and then Vince had to run out to get ready for work.

------------------------

The first time he had heard about spermogram, Lucas had laughed. The forever teenager in him couldn't help but snicker at the fact he'd have to watch porn mandated by the doctor's, in order to jerk off in a cup.

It had been sooo funny, when he first read on the details, Bella kissing his neck and saying she could tag along and make it all easier-

It wasn't easy. At all.

He was shoved in a little room with a TV and a laptop with internet connection, a stretcher that gave him the creeps and the stupid plastic cup, a bathroom attached for easy clean up. It was horrible.

Eventually Luke had ended up down an old album of nudes from Bella, on his phone, and done the deed after thirty minutes of struggling. He felt like a failure, freaking out over something so mundane that other men in the clinic were managing easily. Like he couldn't deliver on the easiest part of the deal, how did have any hopes of being a good father, a good husband... This was all a preface to the results, Luke decided. A spoiler.

He also felt guilty, because while he desperately didn't want those results, but the idea that Bella would get them was even worse. He was guilty of the relief he'd feel, when this meant his wife would feel the opposite of it. What a shit show.

Luke felt clammy and dizzy by the time he had to take the little cup back to the lab window. It was some sort of humiliation ritual, holding a jizz cup as he walked out of the masturbation room. There must've been a less distressing way to do this exam.

It must've shown on his face when he went to the front desk, because the girl there looked incredibly sympathetic as she said, "no, the results only come in a couple of days, we'll call you... And if it's necessary to repeat the exam, you can do it at home. We'll send you all the info necessary."

Goddammit.

A couple of days was going to eat his sanity away. He really didn't want to get the results in a random day, in the middle of work. Nevertheless, there wasn't much he could do about it.

Bella: How was it??

Bella: are you still in there?

Bella: want me to call? 😏

He smiled at his phone, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel and trying to control his heart before getting back on the road. Bell wasn't home, she'd be out all day, to meet with Wendy and then with Marilyn on the evening.

Lucas: Just got out, heading home. How was it with Wendy?

There was no immediate answer, so he pocketed his phone and decided to get on the road.

He should've waited.

His heart was racing still, from mortification yes, but also just pure anxiety. When he stopped at a red light, Luke wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, breathing deeply through his nose to fight the growing nausea.

He felt ridiculous, losing it like this, but at least he was alone and Bella didn't have to deal with him having a meltdown over something so benign as waiting for fertility results, when she had to deal with a similar disappointment, if not worse, every damn month.

As soon as he pulled up inside the garage, Luke opened the car door and threw up all over the floor. Actual vomit too, weird considering all he had had to eat all day was a cup of decaf and half a bowl of soggy cereal.

He hung over the puddle, clutching the car door for his dear life and coughed, stomach squeezing once more and more chunky liquid hitting the floor. His mouth was watering like crazy and he felt awful, and so so guilty.

A burp snuck up, bringing with it the bitter taste of rotten milk and he gagged again, harshly, another mouthful of vomit rushing up and stealing his oxygen, leaving him panting, tears clumping his lashes together.

Luke sniffled, forced up another burp, trying to ease the tight knot across his middle, and then sat up straight inside the car, avoiding looking at the mess. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning his head back against the seat and breathing in and out slowly.

He planted a hand to his stomach, hoping it was empty, wincing at the churning inside. Luke blew out a breath, heart starting to slow down, just as his phone rang.

He reached for it blindly, knowing it was Bell before he picked it up.

"Hi?" His voice was hoarse and growly, he cleared his throat, and wiped at his eyes as if someone could see him, "babe?"

"Oh, hi baby," Vin's voice was humorous, "just calling in to check on you, man, are you still at the clinic?"

Luke let out a shaky huff, hoping Vince couldn't hear just how close to tears he was.

"No," he muffled a sickly burp on his fist, tilting the phone away, "just got back home. It was fine."

"Ah, okay," Vin sounded relieved, "and you're alright?"

Luke let out a huff, glancing at the kaleidoscopic mess right outside of his door, "yep."

"Alright buddy, gonna get back to lunch then," Vince was already distant, the sound of whistling behind him and kids shouting, "see you later."

"See you, thank you for checking up," he waited until the call disconnected, before lowering his head to the steering wheel and letting out a deep sigh, stomach aching and head pounding from the previous adrenaline spike.

Cleaning up was a chore, but he wasn't about to leave that huge mess in the garage, and so he got to it, even if it ended with Luke burping helplessly over the bucket of soiled water, bringing up a whole new mouthful of sick.

He stumbled inside to get rid of the mess and then wiped the garage floor once more, with disinfectant, before collapsing on the couch, far too exhausted to climb up the stairs all the way to his bedroom. He just needed to close his eyes a little.

Luke woke up with Bella pressing a kiss to his temple, fingers combing through his hair. Her face was right up to his and he frowned, looking around and noticing it was now dark outside.

"Hi..."

"Hi," Bella sat on the edge of the couch, knee slotting into his armpit, "why are you asleep in the middle of the day?"

"Uh... it's night...?"

She rolled her eyes and he noticed some of her mascara was out of place, eyeliner smeared. Had she been crying?

"How was it with Wendy and Marilyn?"

"Are you sick?" Bell ignored his question, hand coming to cup his cheek and then his forehead. Her hand was freezing, but she didn't find any fever, "good, you'd have to do the exam again if you were."

He winced at the memory, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand down, "how was it with Wen?"

Bella shrugged, lowering her eyes, "as you'd expect."

Even if he couldn't tell by her body language that she was upset, her tone would've been pretty obvious. Luke let out a sigh, opening his arms and pulling Bella to him. She went without a fight, getting on top of him and accepting the hug, snuggling up against him.

"I'm sorry, Bell."

"It's fine," she sighed, "at least it's done... Why does your breath smell like puke?"

He groaned, squirming so she wasn't so further up in his arms, "because I puked."

"Ah... Gross," Bella moved her face so her nose was to his collarbone, wrapping an arm around his middle, "was it that bad?"

"Just... I was nervous."

"Very nervous," she corrected, hand sliding to move into gentle, slow circles over his shirt, "thank you for doing it for us."

He melted against the cushions, vaguely thinking they should move up to the bed so Vin wouldn't walk on them cuddled up like that.

Wendy arrived early, too early. She sat in the coffee shop as little over eight, and worked herself into a ball of nerves, so by the time Bella came in, she was damn near a panic attack. She ordered a bagel and a caramel latte and picked at it until it was all crumbs.

She hadn't seen Bell since they had brought in Sophia for the appendectomy, which had been at least twenty days before. Despite the small window of time, Wendy expected her to have changed somehow.

She hadn't. Bella looked exactly the same, clad in ripped dark jeans, combat boots and a Rolling Stones top with holes all over it, showing the black sporty bra she had under and tattoo. Dark makeup, despite it being early in the day, waltzing in as if she always came to this place and was, in fact, the owner.

Wendy felt small in her chair. She felt childish, raising a hand so Bella could identify her.

Although Wendy had teased Bella many times about her resting bitch face, she had never had it directed at her. Now she understood perfectly why people thought her intimidating.

"Hi," Wendy said, the singular word coming out scratchy and raspy, as soon as Bella sat down in front of her. Leaning back in her chair, thumbs tucked on the pockets of her jeans, all fight.

"Hi," Bella's voice was dry and Wendy twisted her hands nervously, gesturing to the menu in front of them.

"Uhm- Do you wanna order anything? They have red velvet here, I know it's your favorite..." It hurt her, that she knew so many of Bella's favorite things and yet there was now this abyss between them. An abyss she was entirely at fault for.

"Sure," Bell's blue eyes squinted, annoyed, at the menu, before she pushed it down with a huff, getting up to order at the cashier. When she returned, holding a singular small black coffee, Wendy knew she could no longer push it off, "so?"

"I..." Wendy licked her lips, "I messed up. I should never- I was so upset at you, at first, for telling Jonah about my- And then I just got so caught up in my own drama, I didn't even register any of your apologies, I-" She looked up, meeting Bella's unimpressed glare, "I failed you as a friend. I'm sorry. I became a bully, I just went right back to my old high school days, and nothing anyone said could make me change my ways."

"Hmmm," Bella planted her coffee on the table, tearing through the sugar packets, "yeah, expand on that bully part."

"I- I isolated you, I made sure you knew you weren't invited to Vin's birthday party-"

"You nearly caused another fight between Luke and Vin, you know, the guy you claim to love, after they just got back on good terms," Bella stirred her coffee, folding a leg over her knee, unbothered.

Wendy gulped down the knot in her throat, the desire to snap back I don't claim to love him. This was not the time to bite on Bell's needling, she was entitled to being annoyed.

"And- And then after, when Vince confronted me, I just couldn't- I couldn't understand why he was siding with you... I thought it was about you, when it was about me, I-" her heart was racing and her eyes were blurry, but Wendy stubbornly wiped the tears away, hoping Bella hadn't noticed, "I was a bully. In all the occasions. Refusing your apology, during Vin's birthday party, later when I called you, then in the hospital with Sophia..."

"The hospital when I was there with Vin and Luke," Bella pointed out, counting on her fingers, "when you pretended you didn't see us all there. Couldn't come forward and be worried about the people you loved."

"No, I didn't- It wasn't that," Wendy defended weakly, "I just... I was still thinking I was justified and if I went there- If I apologized and didn't mean it, I'm sure you'd have seen through my words..."

Bella raised an eyebrow, sipping on her coffee and making a face at the taste. She set the mug down, "what do you want, Wendy?"

The question took the air out of her lungs and Wendy's chin wobbled. She bit down her lip, Bella's tired and resigned tone causing her heart to break further, "I..."

"You want Vin back? You go and apologize to him," Bella steamrolled over her, hurt sipping into her words, "I don't need this."

"No- I, no!" Wendy shook her head vehemently, "I mean- Of course I want him back, but I'm not apologizing to you because of him! Bell, c'mon, we were best friends... Right? I know I messed up, but for a moment- We were, right?"

"Right," Bella's lips turned down, eyes scrutinizing Wendy's face, none of the tears and despair that Wendy felt, "you want my forgiveness?"

"I want... To apologize. I don't know if you'll forgive me, I just wanted to let you know I understand now how I messed up... And I messed up, Bell," she choked out, "I hurt you so badly, and I knew exactly how to do it, because we were close... I shouldn't- I just wanted to say sorry."

"Okay," Bella's shoulders dropped, she leaned forward, planted her arms on the small table they shared and grabbed Wendy's hands.

Wendy froze, sight going all blurry. She lowered her head in shame, in relief too. Bella understood, Bell got it-

"Thank you," Bella said slowly, squeezing her fingers, "for apologizing. You're right, if it wasn't real, I'd see right through it... At least, I like think so," she sniffled and Wendy looked up, blinking quickly the welled tears, so she could see Bell's own eyes overtly shiny.

"Bell, I'm so sorry... I was a horrible friend and I wish- I wish I could say I didn't mean it, but-"

"I know," Bella sniffled, gulping down and steadying her voice, "I know. And... I hope you and Vin fix things up and- You'll always be welcome in the friend group, Wendy. If you get back with Vin or not, if Jon- I'm not gonna be an obstacle, I swear..."

What?

Wendy's voice disappeared, Bella kept speaking, her long fingers still clasping Wen's.

"But I think it's best if we call it quits now," she said calmly, "I'm happy you're making amends and I- I forgive you, but... But I won't pretend something I don't feel and... You broke my heart, Wendy. I don't think we should be friends again."

Wendy couldn't speak. She could barely breathe.

She had expected hostility, she had expected Bella to lash out or to fight, at least. She hadn't expected this. Wendy had no idea what to even do with this.

"...Bell, I- I can fix this, I'll be better-"

"No, you can't, Wen," Bella squeezed her hands one last time, letting go of them, "and that's fine, I don't want you to beat yourself up or anything. You owed up to your mistake and I am, so sorry that I was the cause for all this in the first place. I shouldn't ever have outed you to Jonah like that-"

"No, Bella, forget about that," Wendy dismissed it, swatting a hand as if the subject was an annoying fly, feeling panic crawl up her throat, "you no longer want us to be friends? Why? None of this will happen again, Bell-"

"I...Don't believe you..." Bella admitted, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment while Wendy stared at her, "and I'm sorry, because I can tell that you mean this and that you believe it, but I- You were really cruel, Wen, and I can't- I can't be a good friend, if I'm second guessing your every move and doubting your intentions. I don't want to punish you, but I can't just have us be friends again, it won't be the same."

Wendy wasn't above begging, she had had that notion disproven quite quickly when Vince had broken up with her. Nevertheless, all that she managed was a weak, "please..."

Bella winced as if she had been slapped, pulled back from Wendy and she could almost see the other woman's walls going up. Softness vanishing from her features, careful and guarded.

"I'm sorry, Wen..." Bella pushed her chair back and Wendy realized her time was up. Their time was up.

She felt like she was bleeding out.

"Take care, okay?" Bell squeezed her shoulder, getting up, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there, "and I really meant what I said about Vin... I'm glad you're apologizing to him as well, and I hope you two can fix this somehow."

In the way she hadn't managed to do with Bella.

Marilyn: Hi Bella, how are you? Just a heads up, Lucas was just here and he seemed really sick.

What was this, an email? She erased it with a huff and slammed her phone down on the table, screen facing away from her, only to immediately pick it up again as it vibrated.

A random Instagram notification, which she swiped at impatiently, turning back to the task at hand.

Marilyn: Hi Bella, it's Marilyn! Just wanted to let you know Lucas was just here and he looked quite sick. Let me know if you need anything, ok? Tell him I hope he feels better so-

She groaned. She sounded desperate. Bella would think she was clingy and had a loose screw.

Marilyn pressed the erase button and cut the message short.

Marilyn: Hi Bella, it's Marilyn! Just wanted to let you know Lucas was just here and he looked quite sick.

Immediately a green dot appeared next to Bella's contact and three dots across the screen as she typed.

Isabella Atwood: Lucas is sick? He was over at your place?

Isabella Atwood: Is he still there?

Isabella Atwood: Does he need me to pick him up?

Marilyn huffed out a laugh, the iron squeeze around her lungs easing. She felt silly for overthinking the text so much, when Bella was triple texting her without a concern.

Marilyn: He left here about 20 minutes ago, he threw up mid meeting. He seemed really sick, tell him I hope he feels well.

Isabella Atwood: ofc he left 🙄 Thx for the heads up, I'll let him know!

Not only Lucas had looked ill, he had looked put off. Marilyn thought he was under the assumption he was doing a good job at masking how much he disliked her, but he'd be sorely mistaken. Much like his wife, Lucas Atwood was incredibly transparent.

He disliked Marilyn, that much was plain. It didn't bother her, as much as it worried her that it would hurt her prospects of striking friendship with Bella. People disliking her was nothing new.

She moved through the halls, back to the master suite in order to change clothes. Something comfortable, but not so comfy she might be surprised by guests whilst on her jammies. Richard had a habit of inviting people inside no matter the time of the day, just a coffee!, and she had learned to be put together during all hours of the day.

Marilyn pulled her hair down from the ponytail, feeling a little ridiculous for sporting it to begin with. When she had pulled up her hair before Lucas arrived, she had thought it made her look smart, put together. The type of person who could be trusted with a meeting, even if she knew that this was all a grand waste of time, Richard having her host the meeting because he couldn't be bothered. The thing was, just because she knew that, didn't mean Atwood had to know it too.

Maybe he would believe she was her husband's confidant, right hand woman who had his ear and thus was tasked with extraofficial meetings. Make him feel special, instead of frustrated. He was young enough to fall for it, green enough in politics. Maybe he'd think it was some sort of trust gesture to be invited into the mayor's home...

As soon as Lucas had stepped through her door, she had known there was no way he'd buy it; The frown he couldn't quite mask, how his charming smile was in place but there was none of the accompanying conversation. She had watched Lucas make conversation with waiters, her own husband, Sylvie Moore, and several different press members before. He was good at remembering details and making anyone feel listened to... So when he failed at that so spectacularly, she knew he was onto the fact this was all a farse.

Downstairs there was a noise and she glanced out of the window, seeing the headlights of her husband's car. He had been to Portland since the previous Thursday for work and had been supposed to be back Sunday evening. She couldn't say she wasn't glad he had been gone, they were going through a rough patch.

Another one, her brain supplied, unhelpfully and Marilyn scoffed, tugging on her sweater as she walked out of the bedroom, anxiety stirring in her stomach as she wondered who would cross the door. Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

"Mary?" His voice travelled, the front door slamming shut. Her shoulders dropped. He didn't call for her when he was pissed off, much less by a nickname.

Richard was standing in the living room like some sort of lost dog, one hand clutching his work case, the other holding the little handbag he took when travelling. Still on his coat and tux, hair looking windswept.

"Hi?" Marilyn took a tentative step down the stairs, hand wrapped tightly around the handrail, taking him in.

Richard was a tall, slender man. Light brown hair that had gone silver at the temples a long time ago, now featuring entire strands of grey mixed in the honey color. He had bright blue eyes and a square jaw of a movie star, with a dimple on his chin that had been the first thing she had ever noticed about him. Nowadays she mostly noticed his hands.

Tonight his eyes had really deep circles around them, exhausted, which was the cause for her hesitancy in the first place. Richard could be mean when he was tired and cranky.

"Hi, doll," he answered, smiling. Dropping his bag on the couch and collapsing on it too. She walked closer, more curious than anything.

"How was work?" She asked, circling their coffee table and peering at his face. He had an elbow resting on his knee, hand supporting his head and looked pale and tired. A part of her felt rewarded by his misery, she had been under the assumption "work trip" had been just an excuse, but he looked drained enough she now believed it.

"Bill was being a dick," he flailed with his tie, trying to undo the knot and Marilyn lowered herself to the coffee table, taking over the task, "funding is- don't worry your pretty head about it, it was boring."

When she had first met him, he loved to tell her about politics. Now he thought her too stupid for it.

She managed to undo his tie and worked on the buttons of his shirt, knuckles brushing against his neck. He was far too warm for such a cold night and Marilyn sighed as she understood the reason behind his behavior. Rich always turned all mellow when he was sick.

"You've got a fever," she mused, staring at his throat, the prickles of his beard coming through. His hands closed around her wrist, pulling hers back and away as she undid his shirt.

"I do?"

"Yeah," she forced herself to meet his eyes. Feverish and dazed, loving even. It made her feel sick. It was so much harder to deal with him being sweet, than when he was an asshole, "you probably caught something during the trip."

"Hmm," he let go of her hands, nodding and leaning back on the couch, "of course. Karmic justice for not taking you with me."

Once upon a time she had begged to tag along the work trips, instead of being locked inside with nothing to do for a whole week. It wasn't the case anymore.

The idea of being in Portland tagging along to boring meetings for four days — if he had actually been working, that was — was incredibly unappealing.

Instead of answering she just cupped his cheeks, stroking them with her thumbs, "how do you feel?"

"Tired," he leaned into her touch, she flinched out of reflex.

"You had the meeting with Atwood today, no?"

How kind of him to remember.

"Yes," she moved up, grabbing his ditched suitcase to keep herself busy, "he wanted to talk about funding for the shelter, during the holidays. They have an influx of- A bigger influx of people."

"Of course they do," Rich rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch and throwing his head back, lazily watching as she buzzed around nervously, his suitcase in hand, reaching for the carry on as well, organizing the cushions, "nothing I can do about that, though. We already shilled way too much on philanthropy, the city hall is not charity work."

She wanted to point out all they had handed the shelter had been written off taxes. It was an annoying bureaucratic mess, yes, but all the money spent on non-profit institution could be written off their taxes... Besides, it wasn't like Richard was the one filling the paper work. That would be Sheila and Alvarez.

"Don't pout, Mary," he scolded her, "you're too soft, we're running a business, dear."

"I know," she nodded, squeezed the leather handle of his suitcase, "I'm gonna put these away."

"Okay," he didn't follow, stayed down in the couch as she climbed up the stairs and put his suitcase away in the office, on top of the desk, then went back to their bedroom and started to unpack his carry on. It was robotic work, throwing the clothing on a pile to be brought to their laundry room, separating his belts and sniffing the ties' collars to see if they had been worn or not before rolling them to go into the closet.

She was enthralled enough doing it, that Marilyn jerked when he entered their bedroom, a hand resting between her shoulder blades, pressing a kiss to her head, "I'm going to take a shower, I'm beat."

She fished his slippers out of the now empty case and zipped the carry on, taking it inside their closet and returning to their room. Richard had finished stripping and ditched the clothes on the ground, to her annoyance, as she got down to pick them up and put them on the glaringly obvious pile of to-be-washed sitting on their bed.

The bathroom door was open, so she knocked on it, peering inside. They had one of those fancy eight jets showers and the glass box was all foggy already, "have you had dinner yet?"

"What?"

She stepped further inside, forced her voice to be louder, "have you had dinner yet?"

"No," Richard made a face, shampoo lathering his hair, "don't bother, my stomach's not feeling great."

Even through the steam, she thought he looked pale enough to corroborate his point. She went over her options. Worried fussing, which he was clearly fishing for?

It didn't do her any good to pretend things were better than they were. He'd be gentle and curl into her and then next week he'd hate her. However, it would be easier to do just that and she was so tired already. Why put up a fight when she didn't have the will to see things through?

"Aw, poor baby," she heard herself saying, a ventriloquist doll, "I'm going to get you some meds."

"Thank you, doll," he sounded genuinely thankful and she felt a stab of guilt for thinking so ill of him, one he did not deserve, she reminded herself. Nothing to feel guilty about.

Back in the bedroom, she picked up the load of laundry and carried it downstairs, separating it into further piles of lights and darks, as well as what was too delicate to be thrown in the washing machine. She started a load and moved to go through their first aid kit, picking out tylenol and pepto, then searched for a bowl. He hadn't mentioned nausea, but she had seen him sick enough times to know.

Her own stomach growled with hunger, and Marilyn made herself a grilled cheese, leaning against the counter as she ate, staring out of their window. The trees were bending with the wind, it was howling. The temperatures would be dropping soon.

When she walked back upstairs, Richard was already in bed. Curled up under the blankets with the TV on, muted on Fox News. He wasn't a conservative, or at least, he hadn't been one when they met and he had grown consistently closer to it for the past couple of years. It was a point of contention in their relationship, a recurring fight... No, it used to be. She didn't much argue anymore. He was proud of his both-sideism and she was far too tired to fight.

"Here," she sat gingerly on his side of the bed, planting the items on the bedside table, "for the fever," she popped out a tylenol pill, "and this is for the nausea."

He opened a disarming smile, shuffling to be half sitting up against the pillows and taking the meds, "never said anything about being nauseous," Rich fell back on the pillows, grinning at her, "are you a mind reader, Mary?"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, forcing a smile, "my powers tell me this might be in need," she raised the plastic bowl she had brought upstairs.

He scrunched up his face, "I hope not."

"But feels like it?" She guessed and he sighed, nodding.

"Felt queasy the entire drive back," his eyes slipped closed as she combed through his still humid hair, "come to bed, Mary."

"Alright," she planted the bowl on the floor, next to his head, "it's right next to you, baby."

"Thank you," he curled up further on the blankets, shivering.

By the time she had changed and brushed her teeth, he seemed nearly asleep. Still, he stirred when the bed dipped, rolling closer to her and burying his face on her neck, letting out a happy sigh as he wrapped his arms around her.

Marilyn stared at their ceiling, counting the stars on the medallion that surrounded the light fixture. She had counted it many times before, there were exactly eight of them, each with six points.

"You're thinking too loudly," Rich mumbled, voice sleepy and she let out a scoff.

"Who's the mind reader now?" Marilyn turned her face, her lips brushing over his overheated forehead, "go to sleep."

"Can't," he groaned, but didn't move, so pressed to her that she could feel the unhappy gurgling of his belly against her hip bone, the steady thumping of his heart, "are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not," she answered mechanically, out of reflex even. Then after a pause, "why do you ask?"

A shrug, followed by a groan. He pulled back from her, sitting up to rest his head on the headboard and staring ahead. Although their bedroom was mostly in the dark, the TV was still on and she could see how pale his face was. Staying very still.

"Aw, Rich, c'mon," Marilyn leaned over him, to fish out the bowl from the ground and plant it on his lap, "don't make a mess."

He scoffed, a burp rolling up and causing him to shudder and press his lips into a thin, stubborn line. She rolled her eyes, staring intently, "Richard, at least go sit in the bathroom-"

"Stop caring about the fucking blankets more than me," he said courtly, and Marilyn's mouth snapped shut, spooked. Her eyes darted to his hands, one pressed to his mouth, the other on the rim of the bowl, white knuckling it.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered over the word, moving out of the bed and stumbling back enough her back hit her dresser. She winced, straightened up and walked to his side of the bed, crouching down in order to plant a hand on his back.

He had sweat through the shirt, covered in a clammy sheen as he continued to gulp down, an ominous bubbling coming from his stomach, "shhh-" Marilyn whispered, rubbing his back softly, "get it up..." she placed a hand on the edge of the bowl, holding it in place and heard one of those loose, airy belches.

Richard leaned in further, then suddenly he retched just once and a large, copious flood of vomit fell inside the bowl, causing Marilyn to turn her head and gag. She felt the plastic bowl grow heavier, him wobblier under her hold, and then another wet sounding burp, followed by more liquid.

He was a very silent puker, but also infuriatingly stubborn. It was as if he became a toddler, refusing to move at all.

She breathed slowly through her mouth, then dared to look back at him, avoiding glancing at the bowl. Richard was pale as a ghost, spitting on the bowl, grey hair falling over his forehead, deep wrinkles next to his squeezed shut eyes.

"Shhh," she pushed his hair back, wiping the sweat off his forehead, "there. How are you feeling?"

No answer. She bit down a frustrated sigh, "Rich? Can I clean the bowl or are you gonna be sick again?"

No answer.

Marilyn bit down a scoff, unhooking his fingers from the rim, and quietly starting to pull the bowl away from him. In the bathroom, she emptied its disgusting contents into the toilet bowl and rinsed it out with the bidet, then she heard a groan coming from the bedroom.

"Mary?"

His voice was feeble, it made her angry just to hear it. She was psychotic, Marilyn thought. Emotions all over the place, wishing he was the man of her dreams, hating him when he was vulnerable, scared of him all the time... None of it made any sense. She didn't make any sense, it was like she was a pendulum swinging out of rhythm.

"MAR-"

"I'm here, I'm here," she rushed back to the bedroom, then froze on her tracks. He had thrown up all over the blankets, face pinched with pain.

"Why did you take the fucking bowl!?" He asked, annoyed, arms raised to avoid the mess, it suddenly reminded her of a toddler. A helpless child. Her fingers squeezed the plastic edge of the basin, "what's wrong with you? Move, Marilyn! Help me!"

"Sorry," she mumbled, rushing closer to him, "sorry, I'm sorry-" she bit the inside of her cheek not to let her disgust show, peeling his soiled shirt, "let me help you to the bathroom-"

"If you hadn't taken the bowl, I wouldn't be covered in this mess," Richard scoffed, pushing her hands away sharply when she started carefully pulling the blankets. Instead, he used the headboard to push himself up, nearly falling on top of her and sending Marilyn staggering back. Her butt cheek met the sharp corner of their bedside table and she bit down a yelp, moved out of his way and saw he had moved with such a haste that now the sheets were dirty as well.

"Clean that up," Richard bossed, circling her, a fist pressed to his mouth as he convulsed with another gag, "the smell is making me nauseous."

He disappeared inside the bathroom and Marilyn just stood there for a second, before she mechanically started pulling on the bedding. Such a mess.

She took it all to the laundry room, got new fresh linens and remade the bed, all the while her hands shook as if she was an abstinence patient, whole body shaking.

The shower was running again, it shut down, "Marilyn?"

"Yes?" She stepped closer, didn't dare enter the room. Richard had wrapped himself up in the bathing robe, an arm around his stomach as he leaned over the sink, still sick.

"Get my pajamas."

She obeyed, fished out the loosest pair of pants and a button up that would be easier to get him out of in case he was sick again. Vaguely, she thought this should be the amount of thought a mother would put on taking care of their child, not a wife towards her husband.

He let her dress him, dropped the bathing robe in her arms and stumbled into the room, collapsing back into the bed with a groan. She felt completely disconnected from her body as she tidied up the bathroom and slipped back into bed, now making sure the bowl was well within his reach once again.

Richard was breathing deeply, but he wasn't snoring and she knew he was still awake. She curled up, wrapped her arms around her knees and stared ahead.

Her husband stirred, tugged on the blankets and wrapped it around himself. His fever was probably higher. She should've been feeding him meds and check on how high it was, but she couldn't move.

Her phone buzzed on the opposite bedside table.

Richard let out a scoff, "who the fuck is texting you so late?"

"I- I don't know," Marilyn picked it up, squinted at the bright screen. Although it wasn't even 10 PM, she felt exhausted.

Isabella Atwood: Thanks for the heads up today, all is fine. Just an upset stomach lol.

Marilyn's heart, which she hadn't realized was racing, slowed down. Nothing important, nothing Richard could be mad about, "it's Atwood's wife, she's just thanking me for asking how he was. He was sick today."

"You didn't mention it earlier," he scoffed, turning his back towards her, "what was wrong with him?"

"I don't know, stomach bug?" She tried to keep her voice lighthearted, "same as you, probably."

"Uhmm," he didn't sound like he believed her, but not enough to warrant a fit. Marilyn let out a breath.

Marilyn: No problem!

Bella's contact lit up at the answer. Three grey dots appeared.

Isabella Atwood: Wanna grab lunch tomorrow?

She stared at the message for a second too long, trying to come up with an answer that wasn't a desperate yes. Richard scoffed.

"Go to sleep, Marilyn. What the hell is so important you need to text late at night?"

"Nothing, nothing," she moved on the bed, tugged on the blankets... Turned towards his back and rubbed his arm, hoping to soothe the bad mood. It worked like a charm, the tension leaving after a second. Marilyn reduced the brightness of her phone completely.

Marilyn: That would be great. Can we meet at the mall, let's say 12h30?

Isabella Atwood: Sure, see you tomorrow!

He wondered what he liked so much about the event. The people were too intimidating for him to approach. The topics and quality of presentations varied.

Adalyn peeled his ears off comparing free talking during power points with engaging questions and reading down a prepared text. Even the way people could grab attention and invite questions was important.

Adalyn was already on the how. Lucian was still stuck on why.

Despite the different topics—from digital posters to how many times Twitter posts involved the word "we" and "they" to depressive themes in metal music and the historical development of the portrayal of orcs in rpg games—and their seeming unrelatedness to everyday world...

He struggled to name the emotion the whole 40 minutes long way with the subway up until the 17 minutes long walk to the grocery store.

Adalyn talked happily beside him, satisfied with occasional hums sent her way.

No denying it was good to have her with him. Especially at such times, when emptiness threatened to swallow him. When he felt trapped in his own inadequacy and helplessness. What was the thing that made his heart beat faster, his face burn, his skin itch restlessly?

Ah. Jealousy.

He was jealous of these people. With their weird specific obsessions and deranged passions, personal interests, they managed to study and envelop in theory enough to actually research and bring results in that institutions deemed worthy of reward.

Even Adalyn had this. Her question was about work and changing routines of work and remote work and home office, the different meanings people derived from their routines and obligations, the sense of purpose that gave your life an aim. Building identities around status and professions and skills and needs.

There was going to be a red string in it somewhere that made it make sense. Right now he wasn't always sure what she was researching, when they sat in cafes or at the riverbank to watch humans or when they conducted interviews with random people.

But her passion for it was what he believed. The sparkle in her stormy blue eyes, the will and endless energy, the way she could switch from the glaring introvert at home to a charming scientist or doctoral candidate outside.

She was magnetic. She knew where she was going and why, gathering information to answer her questions, even if those changed. Adalyn could propel them to the moon, if she wanted.

Surely, if he stuck around her, some of that willpower would stick to him too?

Lucian wasn't sure. Next to her, he felt like a child. Helpless child caught at his worst moment, entirely behind everyone else. He was supposed to be an adult; he was supposed to know, what he wanted to do and how he wanted to live, what he wanted to strive for.

They led discussions about it every evening. Adalyn did so many things with him; sometimes he suspected she was scared to leave him alone. As if the two of them wouldn't find a way to each other, if they strayed from the schedule.

Wake up. Breakfast. Stretch. Walk. Groceries. You clean the living room, and I clean the bathroom. Let's make lunch. What's your agenda for the research project today?

"It will get better," she told him, interrupting herself from a analytical monologue. "Once the administration is done, you'll get a place at the faculty in the office next to me. Office hours and deadlines, people and socializing. Purpose right there."

Sometimes she understood him, better than he understood himself. Talked to the darkest corners of his soul without him ever having to voice it out loud.

Sometimes he doubted she could understand him at all.

The afternoon after the conference ended, Adalyn didn't let them go home. As if sensing Lucian's anxiety about returning into that calm, dark emptiness, she brought him to the Danube river. Admittedly the most beautiful body of water he had ever seen. Adalyn knew he was drawn to the water, to the people he could ignore there, to the noise not directed at him, to the colours he could imagine how to paint.

Lucian was even glad when they ran into Edmond there. Edmond was an enigma. Dark short curly hair and icy-blue eyes—so different than Adalyn's almost dreamlike cornflower blue—that always seemed to throw swords at him.

Hostility rolled of Edmond in waves.

But even Edmond had that magnetism; that sense of purpose. Even if it was anger or hate, Lucian couldn't place—always looking to the side wondering who it was directing at and finding no one there—Edmond's movements were sharp, his head held high, and his eyes always on the horizon.

He ran 10 kilometers in the morning and evening and exercised on whatever outside machine or gym he found on the way. Lucian didn't yet gather the courage to ask him what he did for a living. Adalyn seemed to have known, so maybe Lucian just missed something.

Wasn't anything new, for him to miss things. To wonder off in his thoughts only to suddenly get bored of them and look for anchors in the real world.

As if there was any other world.

Yet, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling there was something missing. Something profound. Where others had feelings, he had numbness. Where others had goals and dreams, he felt only gaping emptiness. It followed him into his sleep, a paralysing feeling of dread, of being trapped somewhere foreign, where he didn't belong.

He woke up sweaty, heart trying to claw out of his chest, the room too hot for comfort.

On the simpler days, he wanted Adalyn. He cuddled closer to her. Something about her scent and warmth next to him, even if he was sweaty and overheated, filled something in him. Like a layer of snow on top of a pointy cliff. The abyss underneath was still there, but the soothing cold let him breathe through it.

On the harder days, he felt afraid of her. The fear that was close to bone-deep panic and horrification he couldn't logically reason with.

That's when he got up, not wanting to be trapped in the same room with her, all curled up on her side, impossibly light hair spread over the cushion like a snake nest.

At 6 in the morning he stood on the balcony, shivering from the cold that felt better than the one inside his chest, watching the streets slowly come to life. In noise and chaos, Lucian didn't feel so lost and stupid. He didn't feel so out of place and swallowed by darkness. It was one of his only respites.

The door crashed suddenly as Edmond came out from the main entrance of the building under him. Sharp moves, rhythmic breath. Short sleeves, because he wouldn't be cold for long.

He wondered what he liked so much about the event. The people were too intimidating for him to approach. The topics and quality of presentations varied.

Adalyn peeled his ears off comparing free talking during power points with engaging questions and reading down a prepared text. Even the way people could grab attention and invite questions was important.

Adalyn was already on the how. Lucian was still stuck on why.

Despite the different topics—from digital posters to how many times Twitter posts involved the word "we" and "they" to depressive themes in metal music and the historical development of the portrayal of orcs in rpg games—and their seeming unrelatedness to everyday world...

He struggled to name the emotion the whole 40 minutes long way with the subway up until the 17 minutes long walk to the grocery store.

Adalyn talked happily beside him, satisfied with occasional hums sent her way.

No denying it was good to have her with him. Especially at such times, when emptiness threatened to swallow him. When he felt trapped in his own inadequacy and helplessness. What was the thing that made his heart beat faster, his face burn, his skin itch restlessly?

Ah. Jealousy.

He was jealous of these people. With their weird specific obsessions and deranged passions, personal interests, they managed to study and envelop in theory enough to actually research and bring results in that institutions deemed worthy of reward.

Even Adalyn had this. Her question was about work and changing routines of work and remote work and home office, the different meanings people derived from their routines and obligations, the sense of purpose that gave your life an aim. Building identities around status and professions and skills and needs.

There was going to be a red string in it somewhere that made it make sense. Right now he wasn't always sure what she was researching, when they sat in cafes or at the riverbank to watch humans or when they conducted interviews with random people.

But her passion for it was what he believed. The sparkle in her stormy blue eyes, the will and endless energy, the way she could switch from the glaring introvert at home to a charming scientist or doctoral candidate outside.

She was magnetic. She knew where she was going and why, gathering information to answer her questions, even if those changed. Adalyn could propel them to the moon, if she wanted.

Surely, if he stuck around her, some of that willpower would stick to him too?

Lucian wasn't sure. Next to her, he felt like a child. Helpless child caught at his worst moment, entirely behind everyone else. He was supposed to be an adult; he was supposed to know, what he wanted to do and how he wanted to live, what he wanted to strive for.

They led discussions about it every evening. Adalyn did so many things with him; sometimes he suspected she was scared to leave him alone. As if the two of them wouldn't find a way to each other, if they strayed from the schedule.

Wake up. Breakfast. Stretch. Walk. Groceries. You clean the living room, and I clean the bathroom. Let's make lunch. What's your agenda for the research project today?

"It will get better," she told him, interrupting herself from a analytical monologue. "Once the administration is done, you'll get a place at the faculty in the office next to me. Office hours and deadlines, people and socializing. Purpose right there."

Sometimes she understood him, better than he understood himself. Talked to the darkest corners of his soul without him ever having to voice it out loud.

Sometimes he doubted she could understand him at all.

The afternoon after the conference ended, Adalyn didn't let them go home. As if sensing Lucian's anxiety about returning into that calm, dark emptiness, she brought him to the Danube river. Admittedly the most beautiful body of water he had ever seen. Adalyn knew he was drawn to the water, to the people he could ignore there, to the noise not directed at him, to the colours he could imagine how to paint.

Lucian was even glad when they ran into Edmond there. Edmond was an enigma. Dark short curly hair and icy-blue eyes—so different than Adalyn's almost dreamlike cornflower blue—that always seemed to throw swords at him.

Hostility rolled of Edmond in waves.

But even Edmond had that magnetism; that sense of purpose. Even if it was anger or hate, Lucian couldn't place—always looking to the side wondering who it was directing at and finding no one there—Edmond's movements were sharp, his head held high, and his eyes always on the horizon.

He ran 10 kilometers in the morning and evening and exercised on whatever outside machine or gym he found on the way. Lucian didn't yet gather the courage to ask him what he did for a living. Adalyn seemed to have known, so maybe Lucian just missed something.

Wasn't anything new, for him to miss things. To wonder off in his thoughts only to suddenly get bored of them and look for anchors in the real world.

As if there was any other world.

Yet, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling there was something missing. Something profound. Where others had feelings, he had numbness. Where others had goals and dreams, he felt only gaping emptiness. It followed him into his sleep, a paralysing feeling of dread, of being trapped somewhere foreign, where he didn't belong.

He woke up sweaty, heart trying to claw out of his chest, the room too hot for comfort.

On the simpler days, he wanted Adalyn. He cuddled closer to her. Something about her scent and warmth next to him, even if he was sweaty and overheated, filled something in him. Like a layer of snow on top of a pointy cliff. The abyss underneath was still there, but the soothing cold let him breathe through it.

On the harder days, he felt afraid of her. The fear that was close to bone-deep panic and horrification he couldn't logically reason with.

That's when he got up, not wanting to be trapped in the same room with her, all curled up on her side, impossibly light hair spread over the cushion like a snake nest.

At 6 in the morning he stood on the balcony, shivering from the cold that felt better than the one inside his chest, watching the streets slowly come to life. In noise and chaos, Lucian didn't feel so lost and stupid. He didn't feel so out of place and swallowed by darkness. It was one of his only respites.

The door crashed suddenly as Edmond came out from the main entrance of the building under him. Sharp moves, rhythmic breath. Short sleeves, because he wouldn't be cold for long.

He wondered what he liked so much about the event. The people were too intimidating for him to approach. The topics and quality of presentations varied.

Adalyn peeled his ears off comparing free talking during power points with engaging questions and reading down a prepared text. Even the way people could grab attention and invite questions was important.

Adalyn was already on the how. Lucian was still stuck on why.

Despite the different topics—from digital posters to how many times Twitter posts involved the word "we" and "they" to depressive themes in metal music and the historical development of the portrayal of orcs in rpg games—and their seeming unrelatedness to everyday world...

He struggled to name the emotion the whole 40 minutes long way with the subway up until the 17 minutes long walk to the grocery store.

Adalyn talked happily beside him, satisfied with occasional hums sent her way.

No denying it was good to have her with him. Especially at such times, when emptiness threatened to swallow him. When he felt trapped in his own inadequacy and helplessness. What was the thing that made his heart beat faster, his face burn, his skin itch restlessly?

Ah. Jealousy.

He was jealous of these people. With their weird specific obsessions and deranged passions, personal interests, they managed to study and envelop in theory enough to actually research and bring results in that institutions deemed worthy of reward.

Even Adalyn had this. Her question was about work and changing routines of work and remote work and home office, the different meanings people derived from their routines and obligations, the sense of purpose that gave your life an aim. Building identities around status and professions and skills and needs.

There was going to be a red string in it somewhere that made it make sense. Right now he wasn't always sure what she was researching, when they sat in cafes or at the riverbank to watch humans or when they conducted interviews with random people.

But her passion for it was what he believed. The sparkle in her stormy blue eyes, the will and endless energy, the way she could switch from the glaring introvert at home to a charming scientist or doctoral candidate outside.

She was magnetic. She knew where she was going and why, gathering information to answer her questions, even if those changed. Adalyn could propel them to the moon, if she wanted.

Surely, if he stuck around her, some of that willpower would stick to him too?

Lucian wasn't sure. Next to her, he felt like a child. Helpless child caught at his worst moment, entirely behind everyone else. He was supposed to be an adult; he was supposed to know, what he wanted to do and how he wanted to live, what he wanted to strive for.

They led discussions about it every evening. Adalyn did so many things with him; sometimes he suspected she was scared to leave him alone. As if the two of them wouldn't find a way to each other, if they strayed from the schedule.

Wake up. Breakfast. Stretch. Walk. Groceries. You clean the living room, and I clean the bathroom. Let's make lunch. What's your agenda for the research project today?

"It will get better," she told him, interrupting herself from a analytical monologue. "Once the administration is done, you'll get a place at the faculty in the office next to me. Office hours and deadlines, people and socializing. Purpose right there."

Sometimes she understood him, better than he understood himself. Talked to the darkest corners of his soul without him ever having to voice it out loud.

Sometimes he doubted she could understand him at all.

The afternoon after the conference ended, Adalyn didn't let them go home. As if sensing Lucian's anxiety about returning into that calm, dark emptiness, she brought him to the Danube river. Admittedly the most beautiful body of water he had ever seen. Adalyn knew he was drawn to the water, to the people he could ignore there, to the noise not directed at him, to the colours he could imagine how to paint.

Lucian was even glad when they ran into Edmond there. Edmond was an enigma. Dark short curly hair and icy-blue eyes—so different than Adalyn's almost dreamlike cornflower blue—that always seemed to throw swords at him.

Hostility rolled of Edmond in waves.

But even Edmond had that magnetism; that sense of purpose. Even if it was anger or hate, Lucian couldn't place—always looking to the side wondering who it was directing at and finding no one there—Edmond's movements were sharp, his head held high, and his eyes always on the horizon.

He ran 10 kilometers in the morning and evening and exercised on whatever outside machine or gym he found on the way. Lucian didn't yet gather the courage to ask him what he did for a living. Adalyn seemed to have known, so maybe Lucian just missed something.

Wasn't anything new, for him to miss things. To wonder off in his thoughts only to suddenly get bored of them and look for anchors in the real world.

As if there was any other world.

Yet, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling there was something missing. Something profound. Where others had feelings, he had numbness. Where others had goals and dreams, he felt only gaping emptiness. It followed him into his sleep, a paralysing feeling of dread, of being trapped somewhere foreign, where he didn't belong.

He woke up sweaty, heart trying to claw out of his chest, the room too hot for comfort.

On the simpler days, he wanted Adalyn. He cuddled closer to her. Something about her scent and warmth next to him, even if he was sweaty and overheated, filled something in him. Like a layer of snow on top of a pointy cliff. The abyss underneath was still there, but the soothing cold let him breathe through it.

On the harder days, he felt afraid of her. The fear that was close to bone-deep panic and horrification he couldn't logically reason with.

That's when he got up, not wanting to be trapped in the same room with her, all curled up on her side, impossibly light hair spread over the cushion like a snake nest.

At 6 in the morning he stood on the balcony, shivering from the cold that felt better than the one inside his chest, watching the streets slowly come to life. In noise and chaos, Lucian didn't feel so lost and stupid. He didn't feel so out of place and swallowed by darkness. It was one of his only respites.

The door crashed suddenly as Edmond came out from the main entrance of the building under him. Sharp moves, rhythmic breath. Short sleeves, because he wouldn't be cold for long.

The blow to the head might have been a concussion. Which would explain the confusion.

The place was still unfamiliar, but that was because it was new. Emond moved here just recently...for an important reason he couldn't remember.

The night was nothing new. He was out hunting demons, his favourite activity. Cleaning up the perimeter especially since it wasn't used to the presence of spirit hunters.

And because he wanted Adalyn's new place to be safe.

Ahhh. Right. Adalyn. His life has been wrapped around her since he was little.

Demons and Adalyn. What a fitting quote for his gravestone. There was not much else going on in his life.

Edmond Moonshade was the only hunter who knew about Adalyn's demon experiment. When she packed up to leave her family home and moved to the other side of town, he had not so discreetly followed after her.

Partly cause he was worried as heck and partly so her parents wouldn't have to be. Might have even earned him an appreciative nod from Adalyn's dad.

Except then he couldn't stop her from improsonig the king of demons and now he was basically cooperating in her crime by keeping it safe.

Well. Edmond would keep her safe. And when the demon king regained his senses and showed his true colours, Edmond would be the first one there; ready to kill it.

He could not by any means trust a demon without a proper binding contract. It wasn't like his own demon and the locked positions he was keeping it in.

If he wanted, he could call Noah right now and ask for his assistance. But the idea of letting the demon that close to him, when Edmond felt so weak and vulnerable was unthinkable.

He just needed to sleep and he would be fine.

Slowly, he tried to stand up again.

A nausous slime rocked up his throat. Pressure slammed into his stomach like a hit.

Edmond only had time to turn his head and retch on the floor as watery vomit sprayed all over the floor.

The smell and feeling made him heave again, the loud throaty noise echoing through the empty apartment.

Just his luck, to get injured the second month on duty, without access to help or assistance.

He breathed harshly through the nest spasms, black spots dancing in his vision. His left hand, with the invisible mark of the demon contract burned.

Noah obviously noticed something was wrong and was asking to appear...

No. No way he was going to let that snot-nose kid see him like this.

He wanted Arthur. Adalyn's younger brother with big brother attitude, efficient and strict and quiet. Always made it easier to ask for help when he didn’t make it feel like one.

His only other choise aside from the demon and Arthur was Adalyn. Adalyn and that little monster of hers, parading around her apartment, sleeping in her bed-

He vomited again, smaller and chunkier wave all over his front.

It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like he was going to die from a little headache and stomach acid.

He was fine.

...

The next time he came to, Adalyn's blue-green eyes were so close he almost stopped breathing.

"Arms up, Ed. Come on, let's get you out of this shirt."

He obeyed, clumsily lifting his hands as she maneuvered him out of the soiled fabric.

Her silver-blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun, couple strands framing her face. Even frowning, her crystalline eyes the colour of sea glass and elf life features were the most stunning things he ever saw.

"W-what...?" He tried to speak, but his throat felt swollen and dry.

"You weren't picking up. I wanted to check if you had enough food. Lucian was making pizza."

Her proud tone made him grimace. Like she taught a hamster a cool trick. "I don't want any."

"Hardly, in your state," she said back, ignoring his biting tone. Or maybe he just looked too pathethic for it to work.

"Can you stand up?"

Edmond took a deep breath, but it didn't made the world twirl any less. "Dizzy."

"We can't have you crawling to bed now, can we?" she tugged at his arm. "Man up. Or should I call Lucian for help?"

That had him shooting up on instinct, gagging with disgust. He wouldn't let that deplorable sick thing touch him.

"There you go," Adalyn said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and steering him towards the modest bedroom. His apartment was right under hers.

By the sheer power of will not to take her down to the floor with him, he powered through the last steps and collapsed onto the bed with a heavy groan.

"You should get that concussion checked out- never mind, I know you won't go."

He grunted in response, glad she spared him a fight he wouldn't budge on.

"You should get proper covers and sheets for the bed. We have been here over a month and you are still not unpacked."

Edmond didn't have that many things to unpack. He wasn't a rich Castellan. Two shirts and long and short pants to move and train in where enough.

Closing his eyes in protest was all he managed to do.

The cold wetness on his face had his eyes shooting up, but it was only Adalyn wiping the blood of his face clean. "Shhhh. Go back to sleep. I got you a trashcan if you feel sick again."

She was so close. If his nose wasn't filled with the smell of vomit and sweat he could have enjoyed her lavender perfume. Adalyn in his bed. What a dream that was.

"You don't have to stay," he said sleepily, hoping for the opposite.

She scoffed somewhere over his ear. "Silly Edmond. Someone has to see if you wake up or not. We don't want a corpse rotting under my apartment."

He grinned and wanted to talk back, but only managed a yawn. Her presence made him feel safe as a knife under the pillow.

"I want to apologize, we shouldn't have had you on the clock while so sick," Lois went on, while Claire paced nervously behind her, chewing on her lip, "please take the rest of the week off... And Dr. Banks will be properly reprimanded for his behavior... And he will be apologizing for it, he's extremely sorry."

Uh-huh.

Chris rolled his eyes, finally managing to push himself into a more or less sitting position. He wasn't in the ER like he had previously thought, they had given him a room. Fancy, but extremely unnecessary for just dehydration. He wanted to piss and to go home, maybe eat something- Nope. His stomach soured at the thought of food. He gulped down.

"Can I go?"

Chris had no plans to stick around so Jonah could come apologize for being the massive asshole that he was or so Marshall came closer with that disgusting perfume of hers. Truly, who thought bathing in vanilla before going to work at a hospital was a good idea?

"Uhm," Lois sighed, "we'll need to clear it with Dr. Chen, she'll be up in a minute to check on you... You really gave us quite a fright, Chris."

Claire scoffed, "you scared the shit out of me. Did you know you were burning up? Like teeth chattering burning up?" She squinted at him and he cringed in embarrassment. He liked Claire, she was a bit of a doormat and he had no idea about her private life at all, because she was extremely private, but she was sweet. Folded too easily whenever Banks was around, but sweet.

"Chris?"

Oh, she expected an answer?

"I didn't," he mumbled, glaring at the IV needle sticking out of his hand, "just felt like crap."

"Well, next time maybe let us-"

"Dr. Peters," Lois interrupted, probably remembering that he had in fact let them know and then she had forced him to come to work anyway, "let's let Dr. Lavin rest. You also need rest, you've been awake for too long."

"I'm fine," Claire grumbled, rubbing her exhausted face. Chris threw her an amused look and she only glared back, "okay, I'm gonna go. My ride is here. Feel better Chris."

Oh? Her ride? Was Claire dating?

Another thing that Chris was, besides a self admitted asshole, was a snoop. He loved collecting information on people, like Marshall falling apart since her breakup — he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her — and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer — third kid! In this economy?! — and whatever the reason Banks had stretched his honeymoon for two weeks longer than he should have and everyone had acted as if it was perfectly fine to cover for him as he travelled Bali, acting as if Chris was insane for pointing out that he didn't want to cover for the guy. Not knowing that had been driving him crazy.

"Thanks, Claire," he said, cringing when his voice was raspy and his throat ached. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he looked around the room, pointedly ignoring his boss. He wasn't sure why she wasn't gone too.

The door opened and closed, Lois let out a sigh, "Chris," serious voice. He forced their eyes to meet, she looked concerned, but collected, "I trust you understand it was all a big... Misunderstanding and that you aren't going to proceed with an audit or anything of the sorts?"

Of course, Jonah wasn't held liable, being a jerk wasn't a crime, but forcing a sick doctor to work to the point of collapsing might be. She was worried about the hospital, which put him at ease. Much better than her being concerned about him.

"No, I won't pursue any audit or anything of the sorts," he promised, "thanks for the PTO week, though."

She smiled, relieved and amused he had understood the reason he had been given such extensive time to recover. Business were so much easier than people, messy, complicated people.

"I'm going to let you rest," Lois squeezed his knee over the thin sheet thrown over him, "Dr. Chen will be upstairs in a moment to clear you."

June Chen was a more senior doctor and he had very little contact with her. She was extremely put together and hung out with Stewarts and Dawson, sometimes they took pity on Henderson and let him join the clique, or so it seemed for Chris. Either way, Chen had a no nonsense approach that he liked and she only scoffed at his chart, signing it with a huff.

"Don't drive home," she said, writing his release permit, "you're on Zofran right now, but the effects should fade in an hour. If you're back to being sick and can't keep down liquid, come back to the hospital. I want you to monitor that fever as well, it was scarily high. Right now it broke, but if it goes up again- You live alone, don't you?" She interrupted herself, frowning and Chris, who had already thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was removing his own IV, just nodded.

She let out a displeased noise, "get someone to stay with you at least for the morning, you're too weak to handle it if your fever climbs again."

"Okay," he nodded, not planning on obeying. Chen squinted at him, then rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she put down the pen, "any questions?"

"Nope."

"Alright," she nodded and turned around, "hope I don't see you again, feel better."

Perfectly content with being left alone, Chris finished getting dressed and hunted down his phone. His battery was running low.

He hoovered over Emerald's contact, considering letting her know, then decided against it. He felt fine, nauseous and shaky, but nothing he couldn't handle.

In an effort to not be the worst patient of all time, he did call a cab instead of driving himself.

That was how he ran into Banks, as he waited outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, fending off the vertigo.

Jonah was driving back home, Chris recognized the red sedan, scoffed quietly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of him, window rolled down, "Lavin."

"Banks," he rubbed his hands to warm them up, checked the ETA of his cab. Ten more minutes. How the hell, Welton was not that large!

"Are you waiting for your ride or did you get a cab?" Jonah asked and Chris just stared at him.

"Dawson said you wanted to apologize."

"Cab or a ride?"

"Is this the part where you say I'm sorry Chris that I was a horrible doctor and horrible human being all around, please don't go to HR, I didn't know you were sick despite the fact you repeatedly told me, I don't know how to interact-"

"I'm sorry," Banks said, not sounding like he meant it, "let me give you a ride. Least I can do."

"Least you could do is leave me alone," Chris shrugged, gulping down as his stomach complained him standing up for so long. He really, really wanted his own bed. More Zofran, probably. Ginger ale so he'd stop burping acid.

"Let me give you a ride," Banks insisted and Chris opened his mouth to tell him to go die in a ditch, but then his phone buzzed. He let out a sigh of relief that the car was close only to glance at the screen and realize the driver had cancelled his trip.

Fucking hell.

"So?" Banks asked, and Chris' shoulders dropped, defeated.

"Fine. If you shut up the whole drive."

Jonah did stay quiet for the biggest chunk of it. He kept his eyes on the street and drove carefully, which Chris was glad for, because his stomach was growing more and more uneasy.

He muffled a burp in his hand, staring at the horizon intently. The car was freezing, so he reached for the heater, taking a second to understand Jonah's dashboard. Banks didn't mention him turning it on, didn't even glance at him. Good.

His car was extremely clean, Chris noticed. Nothing like some of the mess that was in the backseat of his own vehicle, empty water bottles and papers he needed to mail his accountant. Nope, all pristine and smelling like pine.

He fidgeted on his seat, tugging on the seatbelt that was squeezing his tender middle. Opened the glovebox. Mints, a brand new roll of toilet paper, neatly folded plastic bags, six different bottles of pills??

"What the fuck," Chris whispered, shocked by the medication. It could be Jonah's but he hadn't ever seen Banks taking pills...

"They're my husband's," Jonah slammed the glovebox shut, "and you're being rude."

"Not half as much as yelling at the clearly sick guy, now am I?" Chris scoffed and Banks' eyebrows connected, lips turning down at the corners.

"You didn't look that sick, you're always pale and look like a vampire," he mumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing at the GPS, "and I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Chris pursed his lips, annoyed at the apology, "yes, you were," he said strongly, "you're not my boss, Banks. Even if you were, which you aren't, it would've been fucking detrimental to treat a person like that. I know you think you're untouchable because your dad is famous but-"

Jonah interrupted him with a genuine snort, pressing his lips not to laugh, "you think I'm arrogant because of my father? Really, coming from you, Lavin?"

Chris clenched his jaw. Most people didn't tie his surname to LVA Medical, the company that supplied their equipment in the hospital and to at least a thousand others across the country, but Banks had done his homework.

"I never once brought-"

"Oh, and I have? Projecting much?" Jonah's voice dripped with sarcasm, "hate me all you want, but don't pretend our differences is a class issue or me acting entitled because of my father whom I never even mentioned. You don't know shit about me."

"And you don't know shit about me, but that doesn't stop you from making all sorts of assumptions, does it?" His stomach flipped and the singular glass of water he had had on his way out of the hospital rocketed up his throat. Chris gulped down, fighting the clammy nausea that was spreading all over him, "fuck this, pull over."

"Don't be a fucking baby, we're five minutes away from your address," Banks rolled his eyes.

Chris swallowed the thick saliva accumulating in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste, "And I can walk those five minutes. Stop the car."

"So you can tell Dawson I abandoned you on the side of the road while sick? I already got three days of suspension, no thanks."

He had gotten three days of suspension? What a shitty punishment if Chris was not even gonna be there that week. He swallowed again, the knot in his throat increasing, making it harder to push down the liquid "Jonah, pull over."

It kept moving.

Chris shuddered, convulsing with an empty heave and bracing against the dashboard, "M'serious-"

"Don't throw up in my car," Jonah groaned, just as the vehicle stopped. Chris should have moved, but he suddenly couldn't, too weak to even undo his seatbelt. This whole drive had been a horrible idea...

He reached again, just as Banks grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him, shoving the passenger door open and Chris hanging out of it.

Bright yellow splattered on the asphalt, followed by another heave and a stream of clear liquid. He groaned, weak fingers trying to undo the seatbelt cutting him in half.

"Your fever is up again," the other doctor let him know, as if Chris couldn't have guessed from the violent shivers wrecking him. Suddenly the seatbelt was gone and he nearly fell out of the vehicle, letting out a cry when it eased some of the pain.

"Chris?"

He spat, took a deep breath through his nose... Then pushed himself up, out of the car.

Jonah was out too by the time Chris circled it, leaning on the red metal and frowning, "you shouldn't be alone, call someone to look after you. Do you have friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

"Mind your own business," Chris stumbled, bracing against the railing of the access ramp in order not to fall, "thanks for the amazing ride."

Jonah scoffed, nostrils flaring with annoyance, "go ahead. Go in."

"You're- you're gonna watch?" He slurred, gagging again and spitting a measly mouthful of water on the pavement.

"Yes," Banks shoved his hands on his pockets, seeming like he had all day to watch Chris stumble like a drunk, "gotta say I safely delivered you."

"That's a stretch," Chris mumbled, then stumbled further in, glaring over his shoulder, "if you're still out there by the time I get to my floor, I'm calling the police."

Demons didn't need to eat, but it sure as hell tasted good. Made Noah feel so much more real, to touch, smell and taste things...to eat them.

When he ate the first serving and Edmond slept the entire day and Adalyn barely made him eat crackers, Noah decided the tiramisu would go to waste without him.

So he rescued the portion left in the fridge. Entirely innocently and with good intentions.

Adalyn must have noticed, cause she gave him a satisfied smirk "that good?"...and brought him another.

With a huge bowl of fresh strawberries, cause apparently they bought too much and ran out of boxes to do them in.

Noah wasn't hungry. He was just bored and lonely and pretty sure once Edmond woke, he would make him disappear and never get access to strawberries again.

So he ate the box of tiramisu. With renewed urgency, since Edmond went to the bathroom by himself and generally showed more signs of life. Still collapsed back in bed, complaining about being dizzy, but he slept easier and gagged a lot less and his balanced was much better...

And Noah just wanted to enjoy the strawberries, was that so wrong?

He basically inhaled the huge box of tiramisu that had at least 6 servings in it...then hid himself on the balcony and snacked on the strawberries with cream and sugar.

It was delicious. An onslaught of sweetness and greatness, his fingers red from the juice.

Noah wasn't a demon of greed, but damn was this good.

For a good hour afterwards he just sat in the chair he stole from the kitchen, enjoying the breeze at the balcony and the pleasant fullness. Feeling seated had something in it, like he was complete and physical and present in the sunlight and the world in the best way possible.

Noah only noticed later, when he tried to straighten up, how huge his stomach got. It was bloated to the point it was pushing against his ribs. A weight settled on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

The sight made him self-conscious, so he got up to hide the evidence. His belly felt heavy, rolling with the movement and making him stumble.

Liquidy sugar swirl of strawberries gurgled loudly, so he hurried up inside in case someone would hear.

Getting the empty plasitc box into the trashcan was all he managed. Feeling impossibly tired, he crashed on the couch, mesmerised by the sheer size of his middle.

He had neevr experienced such bloating. His skin was tout and his stonach didn't feel like his own. Like a balloon someone filled inside him, it stretched as its own entity inside his body.

It was interesting for about 15 minutes. Then it got more gurgly and he felt so stuffed it was hard to catch his breath. The pressure built up he thought he was going to pop...and came out as a burp.

Huh. That actually helped. He massaged his tummy, first gently and then with more urgency, to get the feeling out.

A string of burps came up, relieving some of the air. For a couple of minutes, Noah felt content again. Close to sleep. This wasn't so bad.

Then the cramps started.

Pain right from the naval, coming in short waves, down below. The waves got longer the more he sat there.

He tried to burp again, but the air smelled sweet and sticky and made his throat feel all slimy.

His belly jumped up scarily, some of the slimy strawberry jam sliding up his throat.

Noah barely managed to gulp, sending the offending wave down. It tasted worse than before, all bitter and revolting and he shook with disgust.

Another burp made him jump, sweat and goosebumps covering hin head to toe.

Damn it, what did he do? Was it really so much?

His stomach didn't seem any smaller. If anything the fullness seemed to spred, his upper stonach filled with air while his lower belly filled with what felt like streams of water.

The room felt too hot and his shirt too tight. He couldn't breathe, a claustrophobic feeling overwhelming him. Like his own body was suffocating him.

And it hurt. The cramps got longer and more intense, making his whole middle spasm. A pain like being hit in the stomach, but repeatedly and from the inside.

He had seen that before, even felt it, but never from food. So Noah did the only reasonable thing — headed for the bathroom.

The small and cold space where he could safely lock himself in comforted him. His belly was making all sorts of upset, blabbering noises. His face felt hot, like he was turning to steam.

He curled up by the toilet, his belly not letting him straighten his back or sit against the wall.

Now he only dared to burp towards the toilet, afraid the slime would surge up into the world again.

But he couldn't exactly stop the air either. When he tried, his body hiccuped against his control, making the cramps worse.

It squeezed him so tight his eyes watered.

A different feeling hit him then. Everything stilled for a moment, as if it had been decided. Like something inevitable.

Then his belly spammed and cramped so hard he arched underneath it, moaning from the pain as thick, red mush shot out from his throat.

It coated the inside of the toilet, and Noah didn't even get a chance to breathe before the next wave came.

His stomach was squeezing and squeezing, death set to evaluate all its contents. Noah heaved once more, vomiting the third time, bits cream and white adding to the red mess.

He hit the flush bottom, not able to look at that disgusting sight. The cramps eased a little, but still there, pushing into the other direction now.

He belched emptily against the water, head buried so deep inside the toilet from fear of another wave. Nothing came up, just sticky red saliva.

Revulsion felt like a snake, sliding along his teeth and inside his throat. He gagged repeatedly over the toilet at the sensation, his stomach rolling and bubbling inside him.

He was exhausted and breathless and his upper stomach hurt from the strain. His throat burned. The fullness feeling felt sickly and too heavy and he just wanted it to stop.

The pressure and pain moved entirely down to his lower belly. It felt tight and painful, like he couldn't move an inch, locked in that position. Like a brick that stopped inside him, too big to move forward.

Noah groaned, bracing against the toilet for support, when he suddenly understood which was his belly wanted to push.

...

"You poisoned my demon?" Edmond said, eyes wide and way too amused.

Adalyn rolled her eyes. "I brought him a cake and strawberries. He overeate on them all on his own."

"Who knows, maybe your demon meant to poison you and ended up hurting mine-"

"Shut up." Adalyn punched Edmond on the arm. They were in his bed, where Edmond managed to sit upright without falling or feeling like he was going to hurt.

His head was still off, as if someone was holding it in vice metal grip, but he felt a bit stronger and more aware.

Adalyn sat beside him, nonchalant, as if their proximity did nothing to her insides.

Apparently, it did not.

"Did you talk to him?" she asked curiously.

"No. Didn't even know he was here." Edmond threw her a nasty look. "Stop encouraging him to appear, wohld you?"

"I'm just saying you should work on your partnership bond." Her eyes narrowed. "He could have helped you with the injury, if you let him."

"He would have. Doesn't mean I would be okay with it."

"Then start getting to it, cause this is stupid. And inefficient, in your world."

He glared at her and she giggled, not a bit terrified by his most scary, viscious expression.

If anything, she was more excited for getting to him.

He sighed tiredly. "When is the bathroom gonna be free? I need a shower."

"Not anytime soon. Noah has been in there for the last hour and from the sounds, I wouldn't say he is finished."

"Why would you listen to-"

"Just the groans and moans," Adalyn waved her hand. "I asked him if he wanted anything, but he just whined and put the faucet on. What a cutie."

Edmond shook his head at the ridiculous word. "He is a demon. More stupid than anything else."

Demons didn't need to eat, but it sure as hell tasted good. Made Noah feel so much more real, to touch, smell and taste things...to eat them.

When he ate the first serving and Edmond slept the entire day and Adalyn barely made him eat crackers, Noah decided the tiramisu would go to waste without him.

So he rescued the portion left in the fridge. Entirely innocently and with good intentions.

Adalyn must have noticed, cause she gave him a satisfied smirk "that good?"...and brought him another.

With a huge bowl of fresh strawberries, cause apparently they bought too much and ran out of boxes to do them in.

Noah wasn't hungry. He was just bored and lonely and pretty sure once Edmond woke, he would make him disappear and never get access to strawberries again.

So he ate the box of tiramisu. With renewed urgency, since Edmond went to the bathroom by himself and generally showed more signs of life. Still collapsed back in bed, complaining about being dizzy, but he slept easier and gagged a lot less and his balanced was much better...

And Noah just wanted to enjoy the strawberries, was that so wrong?

He basically inhaled the huge box of tiramisu that had at least 6 servings in it...then hid himself on the balcony and snacked on the strawberries with cream and sugar.

It was delicious. An onslaught of sweetness and greatness, his fingers red from the juice.

Noah wasn't a demon of greed, but damn was this good.

For a good hour afterwards he just sat in the chair he stole from the kitchen, enjoying the breeze at the balcony and the pleasant fullness. Feeling seated had something in it, like he was complete and physical and present in the sunlight and the world in the best way possible.

Noah only noticed later, when he tried to straighten up, how huge his stomach got. It was bloated to the point it was pushing against his ribs. A weight settled on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

The sight made him self-conscious, so he got up to hide the evidence. His belly felt heavy, rolling with the movement and making him stumble.

Liquidy sugar swirl of strawberries gurgled loudly, so he hurried up inside in case someone would hear.

Getting the empty plasitc box into the trashcan was all he managed. Feeling impossibly tired, he crashed on the couch, mesmerised by the sheer size of his middle.

He had neevr experienced such bloating. His skin was tout and his stonach didn't feel like his own. Like a balloon someone filled inside him, it stretched as its own entity inside his body.

It was interesting for about 15 minutes. Then it got more gurgly and he felt so stuffed it was hard to catch his breath. The pressure built up he thought he was going to pop...and came out as a burp.

Huh. That actually helped. He massaged his tummy, first gently and then with more urgency, to get the feeling out.

A string of burps came up, relieving some of the air. For a couple of minutes, Noah felt content again. Close to sleep. This wasn't so bad.

Then the cramps started.

Pain right from the naval, coming in short waves, down below. The waves got longer the more he sat there.

He tried to burp again, but the air smelled sweet and sticky and made his throat feel all slimy.

His belly jumped up scarily, some of the slimy strawberry jam sliding up his throat.

Noah barely managed to gulp, sending the offending wave down. It tasted worse than before, all bitter and revolting and he shook with disgust.

Another burp made him jump, sweat and goosebumps covering hin head to toe.

Damn it, what did he do? Was it really so much?

His stomach didn't seem any smaller. If anything the fullness seemed to spred, his upper stonach filled with air while his lower belly filled with what felt like streams of water.

The room felt too hot and his shirt too tight. He couldn't breathe, a claustrophobic feeling overwhelming him. Like his own body was suffocating him.

And it hurt. The cramps got longer and more intense, making his whole middle spasm. A pain like being hit in the stomach, but repeatedly and from the inside.

He had seen that before, even felt it, but never from food. So Noah did the only reasonable thing — headed for the bathroom.

The small and cold space where he could safely lock himself in comforted him. His belly was making all sorts of upset, blabbering noises. His face felt hot, like he was turning to steam.

He curled up by the toilet, his belly not letting him straighten his back or sit against the wall.

Now he only dared to burp towards the toilet, afraid the slime would surge up into the world again.

But he couldn't exactly stop the air either. When he tried, his body hiccuped against his control, making the cramps worse.

It squeezed him so tight his eyes watered.

A different feeling hit him then. Everything stilled for a moment, as if it had been decided. Like something inevitable.

Then his belly spammed and cramped so hard he arched underneath it, moaning from the pain as thick, red mush shot out from his throat.

It coated the inside of the toilet, and Noah didn't even get a chance to breathe before the next wave came.

His stomach was squeezing and squeezing, death set to evaluate all its contents. Noah heaved once more, vomiting the third time, bits cream and white adding to the red mess.

He hit the flush bottom, not able to look at that disgusting sight. The cramps eased a little, but still there, pushing into the other direction now.

He belched emptily against the water, head buried so deep inside the toilet from fear of another wave. Nothing came up, just sticky red saliva.

Revulsion felt like a snake, sliding along his teeth and inside his throat. He gagged repeatedly over the toilet at the sensation, his stomach rolling and bubbling inside him.

He was exhausted and breathless and his upper stomach hurt from the strain. His throat burned. The fullness feeling felt sickly and too heavy and he just wanted it to stop.

The pressure and pain moved entirely down to his lower belly. It felt tight and painful, like he couldn't move an inch, locked in that position. Like a brick that stopped inside him, too big to move forward.

Noah groaned, bracing against the toilet for support, when he suddenly understood which was his belly wanted to push.

...

"You poisoned my demon?" Edmond said, eyes wide and way too amused.

Adalyn rolled her eyes. "I brought him a cake and strawberries. He overeate on them all on his own."

"Who knows, maybe your demon meant to poison you and ended up hurting mine-"

"Shut up." Adalyn punched Edmond on the arm. They were in his bed, where Edmond managed to sit upright without falling or feeling like he was going to hurt.

His head was still off, as if someone was holding it in vice metal grip, but he felt a bit stronger and more aware.

Adalyn sat beside him, nonchalant, as if their proximity did nothing to her insides.

Apparently, it did not.

"Did you talk to him?" she asked curiously.

"No. Didn't even know he was here." Edmond threw her a nasty look. "Stop encouraging him to appear, wohld you?"

"I'm just saying you should work on your partnership bond." Her eyes narrowed. "He could have helped you with the injury, if you let him."

"He would have. Doesn't mean I would be okay with it."

"Then start getting to it, cause this is stupid. And inefficient, in your world."

He glared at her and she giggled, not a bit terrified by his most scary, viscious expression.

If anything, she was more excited for getting to him.

He sighed tiredly. "When is the bathroom gonna be free? I need a shower."

"Not anytime soon. Noah has been in there for the last hour and from the sounds, I wouldn't say he is finished."

"Why would you listen to-"

"Just the groans and moans," Adalyn waved her hand. "I asked him if he wanted anything, but he just whined and put the faucet on. What a cutie."

Edmond shook his head at the ridiculous word. "He is a demon. More stupid than anything else."