Sol writes whump

Except Isaiah was too damn polite to actually spell it out loud.

"The doctor didn't clear you yet," Isaiah said, suit somehow no wrinkles, but his hands were uncharacteristically in the pockets of his jeans.

"Three to four days of bed rest. This is a waste of time, I can sleep this off at home." He really wanted his pants, except he got stuck halfway around pulling them up his ankles, still only in the hospital gown. Not that he was shy, but around Isaiah he felt far too underdressed.

Isaiah lifted an eyebrow and then closed the door of Kieran's room. "You can't even walk straight. No way you are leaving."

"Watch me."

A twitch to Isaiah's eye. "Sit down before you collapse."

"Stop ordering me around." Kieran stood his ground. Wolves have given him enough orders. So he was a little dizzy, and the incision side was burning more each second standing up, but the argument was also giving him the right adrenaline boost. He knew his body. This kind of wave could take him behind the door, maybe even to the elevator, before he folded.

Now Isaiah sighed, shoulders sagging. "Don't make me pin you to the bed, Kieran."

Red fog clouded his eyes. "Just because you are a wolf, you think you can-"

"Not because I'm a wolf. Because you are shaking, just had an operation and acting like you have a fucking death wish."

Yeah, yeah. Useless. Weak. Vulnerable. Way too human to be around.

"Don't worry about it. I'll leave you the fuck alone just as soon as I can walk."

A minute of stunned silence followed. A minute after which, Isaiah had the nerve to act surprised.

"Leave? Where?"

Kieran gulped down. A wave of cold sweat went through him. His hands were shaking and he felt full and weak at the same time. He couldn't take deep breaths, so getting light-headed was easy, but the dull ache he could tolerate lying down was starting to drawn out everything.

He curled his hand protectively around his ribs. His side hurt, the cuts around his navel were reminding him of their existence. Nausea was climbing up his neck and back of his head.

Isaiah didn't seem to register his state, voice thoughtful and quiet, almost a whisper. "I understand if this is not the kind of pack or life you would...choose for yourself. Yes, this is entirely fair..."

Kieran wanted to say he wouldn't stay where he wasn't wanted. He wanted to tell Isaiah it was his loss, their pack's loss, they didn't want him.

Neither made it to his lips. He wanted to cry, throw up and curl up on the floor at the same time.

"I cannot fault you for wanting a better life than with me around- Kieran? Hey-! What the-"

One second he was up, watching the walls close down around him, and the next he was sideways on the bed, blinking his eyes.

Isaiah was beside him, propping him up and patting his cheek. "Hey, hey, hey, wake up. Stay with me, Kier."

Hmm. That was Alessia's and Dominick's nickname for him. Nobody else was allowed to call him that. Maybe his littlest brother.

Then the pain hit. Falling forward onto the bed with how sore his stomach was and how his muscles screamed? He whined at the shock wave that shot through him, pain as if someone kicked him into his side all over again.

Then revulsion and something milky and watery came out his mouth. He gagged on the texture, spraying liquid vomit over the sheets.

"Shhhhh. Okay, you're okay. I know it hurts. I got you."

All the distance and silence forgotten, Isaiah moved as a trained nursemaid. His touch was gentle, somehow managing to turn Kieran onto his back and prop him up against the pillows into a sitting position, the least painful one.

The Executioner took a wet towel from the bedside table and wiped vomit and bile from Kieran's face and hands. Then he threw the sheets to the side and took the spare one rolled at the end of the bed to cover him with.

Truly. The guy had the wrong kind of job for being such a softy.

Isaiah took Alessia's chair, pushing himself closer. And he kept a hand on Kieran's forearm with an exasparated look. "Stay put. Don't make me hold you down just to make you rest."

Kieran rolled his head away, trying to catch his breath and not cry at the same time. His ribs hurt and his left shoulder hurt, the weird kind of pain that lingered since the operation. "I know how pathetic I look, you don't have to remind me."

Isaiah's hand on his arm stiffened. "You are not pathetic, you are wrecked. There's a difference."

"A wolf wouldn't have been so hurt."

Isaiah hummed. "Maybe that's your problem, actually. You fight like a wolf, but wolves fight the way they do because they can heal. You can't. So why don't you just fight like a human?"

Kieran frowned, slowly looking back up at the other man.

"You are one of the strongest, bravest and most stubborn people I know," Isaiah continued, as if he didn't just defy everything Kieran knew about life. "So just use your human strength. Take silver with you. Take backup. Don't whirl yourself into trouble like your life is disposable and you got eight others to spare."

Kieran splattered for words, face heating up. "Y-you just said I should leave."

"I said it wouldn't surprise me. I don't have exactly an easy...or calm life. Anyone associated with me won't have it any different."

Ah right. This was a more familiar terrain. "You have such a nonchalant way of throwing yourself under the bus. It's fucked up."

"Well, you would throw yourself under one for sport," Isaiah snorted, "so who are you to judge?"

Kieran chuckled at that, then moaned when it pulled at his stitches. Laughing and breathing and sitting up were the most painful movements.

Isaiah was smiling though, holding onto Kieran's arm like a pathetic little schoolgirl.

But to her chagrin, Lucian seemed to thrive.

He got annoyed for being fragile and out of shape, so he started to go on runs before work and swimming after. He took courses in urban sketching to improve and carried a blank notebook everywhere, only to turn the sketches into watercolor wonders at home.

She went to the course with him to see how he would fare. The teacher claimed Lucian was a natural-born prodigy with an incredible eye for perspective and proportions. That he could imagine buildings and people from impossible angles, bird perspective...as if he floated above them.

Of course he floated above them. In his non-corporeal demon form, that was all he did for the past years of his endless existence.

Not like Adalyn could reveal that detail to take away from Lucian's pride.

And proud he was. As if the new skills and interests fattened him up more than the food. There was something so...brave and carefree about his attitude to things. He wasn't concerned with what he should have had done or known - he just did what he wanted.

He made her watch TikTok videos so they could cook together, except she didn't have his patience for measuring and details. He dragged her to swim and walk by the river, as if she wasn't the one who loved water the most. She spent years being fascinated by the river cutting through the city with all her arms like a sparkling ribbon, attracting spirits and demons everywhere.

That's how she knew all the little water fairies, the spirits of ways, the shy ones hiding in the trees looking like doves, or the playful ones under the recreational motorboats playing in the waves.

That's how she met him.

Adalyn saved him. She gave him his name. It wasn't fair for Lucian to be happier than her.

Even at work. Lucian was just an assistant to her research, yet somehow he befriended everyone in their office. Brought people coffee, made stupid conversation, smiled, and flirted as if he knew how. But always polite and gentle and smooth, as if he had done it for years and not learned to talk three months ago.

On some level she knew she should consider this a success. Maybe Lucian was even happier without his memories. He didn't have her awareness and concerns and overthinking everything. He just watched and experienced.

The emptiness turned to hunger in his eyes. To curiosity. When they came home from work, she wanted to lie down with her texts, go over the papers and make notes. He wanted to get back out there. To the river, the museums, even the coffee shops. Just so he could watch and sketch people, observe and observe.

As if he had not had enough opportunities to do so in his past life. It was ridiculous. True knowledge lay in the books written by exceptional minds, connected to what they interviewed and observed, not in the experience of the mundane and boring.

She was so annoyed she refused to go with him that day. He was actively protesting her. Didn't mind going alone. Didn't want to follow her around like a duckling anymore.

And Adalyn was left with her thoughts, the memory of her mother at the coffee shop she glimpsed at lunch, telling her friend with a huge smile that Adalyn moving out was the best thing that could have happened to her.

...

Adalyn stared at the same sentence for the fourth time.

The development of identity under conditions of uncertainty—

She had no idea what came after that.

The words blurred together on the screen. Her temples pulsed in time with the ticking clock on the wall, a dull, nauseating ache spreading behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them.

It had started during lunch. Too much heat, perhaps. Not enough water. Too little sleep.

Or maybe just another side effect of existing.

Lucian had been gone for almost two hours now. The sketchbook he'd become inseparable from was missing from the kitchen counter, along with his headphones and favorite charcoal pencils. Somewhere by the river, no doubt, happily immortalizing old men feeding pigeons or children throwing pebbles into the water.

The thought irritated her disproportionately.

She checked her kitchen drawer. No aspirin. Second drawer. No brufen, paracetamol, nothing.

Bathroom cabinet. Bandages, disinfectant, vitamins, enough stomach medicine to survive a minor apocalypse. But no painkillers. Wonderful. She should have packed more from her mother's house. It was expensive, and she had hesitated at buying it at the pharmacy, although she was stacking up everything she could think of for the new place.

Adalyn leaned against the sink and closed her eyes.

Her first instinct was immediate and humiliating.

Call Mom.

She could already imagine it.

"You have headaches because you sit behind your laptop all day. When was the last time you took a walk? Do you go to sleep before midnight? When was the last time you were exposed to the sun?"

Practical. Solvable. Familiar.

Adalyn set her phone back down. She felt like she spent her studying years fighting her mother. She was the gravity force dragging her towards the world and 'real life' as she called it.

"Spirit hunters need real professions and interests, or they will be consumed by the invisible world," her mother always said. That's why Arthur was a lawyer and Amelia a psychologist. That's why Adalyn had studied and thankfully found something she liked almost just as much as the spirit world.

She was twenty-seven years old. A researcher. Independent. Perfectly capable of surviving a headache without involving her mother.

The realization did not make her feel any less miserable.

Her gaze drifted to Lucian's contact.

She hesitated.

He was busy.

He would have to stop whatever he was doing, find a pharmacy, come all the way back—

Her head throbbed. Her thumb pressed call before she could think better of it.

He answered on the second ring. "Adalyn." His voice carried wind and distant traffic.

"Lucian," she sighed in relief.

"Yes, that is my name."

She paused in surprise. Did he just make a joke?

"...You usually only say my name when you're annoyed with me," he explained.

"I am not annoyed."

"Mm." She could hear the smile. "You missing me already?"

She huffed in annoyance. "Where are you?"

"You want to come join me?" He sounded hopeful. Almost excited.

"No,...I was just wondering if there is a pharmacy nearby."

Another long pause. She could practically hear him think.

"There is no convenient pharmacy on the Danube island. But there is one on the way home. What do you need?"

"I have a headache." She sounded whiny even to herself.

An amused huff. "That doesn't sound so dramatic."

"It is a very severe headache."

"Did you eat today?"

Adalyn scowled. "I am regretting this call already."

"So that's a no."

"I had coffee."

"Adalyn."

"Fine. A pastry."

"At what hour?"

She remained silent.

"Oh, this is grave."

"I hate you."

The headache throbbed harder. "Lucian."

"No, you don't." He sounded absurdly pleased about it.

Something in her voice must have changed, because his teasing disappeared immediately.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Adalyn."

"I just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I feel like crap."

Silence. Not awkward silence. Attentive silence. Waiting. She realized she never called him like this for help. It made something uncomfortable twist in her chest. Asking the demon for help. Asking her captive to save her. Pathetic.

"There isn't any aspirin at home," she said quietly, swallowing back her hurt pride. "Could you buy some?"

Another pause. Then, softly, "Of course." As if it was the easiest thing on Earth.

"You don't have to come back immediately," she added quickly. "I know you were out—"

"I'm already on my way."

"You don't need to—"

"I'm coming home."

The words landed strangely. Simple. Certain.

She looked down at the floor tiles. "...Okay."

"Anything else?"

"No." Just hurry up. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she also had PMS. That would explain it.

"Tea?" he suggested.

"I don't want tea, it's 35 degrees outside!"

"You always want black tea with milk when you're miserable. I will throw some ice cubes in it. Or buy you iced caramel latte, what about that?"

"I resent how much data you've collected on me."

"I know." She could hear the grin again. "Go lie down," he said. "I'll be there soon."

The call ended.

Adalyn remained standing in the kitchen for several seconds, staring at the dark screen.

Then she quietly made her way to the couch.

She must have drifted off, because the next thing she registered was cool fingers brushing her hair away from her forehead.

Her eyes opened.

Lucian was crouched beside the couch, silver-gray eyes studying her with unconcealed concern. A pharmacy bag sat on the coffee table. Beside it was a glass of water, Gatorade, protein milkshake with caramel flavor, chocolate pudding yogurt with 18 grams of protein, and—traitorously—a box of ice cream.

"You bought food." Way more than she had asked for. More than he should have known to bring. What boyfriend of hers ever brought her something she didn't specifically list in her demands?

"You become unbearable when you forget to eat." His brown hair had a honey shade to it under the light peeking from the window curtains.

"I am perfectly pleasant."

"You once cried because the grocery store was out of your favorite yogurt."

"I was under considerable stress."

"You told me your life had no meaning."

"It didn't have my favorite yogurt." She grabbed for the protein pudding he brought. It was the most chocolate thing she could eat while watching her calories.

She couldn't exactly admit to him she gained weight in the last 3 months since she had moved out. 10 kilograms. She wasn't sure if it was from stress or horrible diet without her mom watching her or just from sadness. It was just another proof of her failure to be an adult. To handle what everyone else handled and much sooner and better than her.

Lucian laughed softly. The sound made something in her chest loosen. Demons shouldn't have such melodic laughter.

He handed her the medicine and the glass of water.

She swallowed the tablets obediently. "Thank you," she muttered, looking away. He caught her unpolished and needy, failing at basic care for herself.

He blinked. Adalyn almost never thanked people. And she definitely never thanked him.

"You called me," he said eventually.

"Yes?" She gulped down the tablets and felt defensiveness returning.

"You could have called Edmond. Or your mother."

She looked away.

"Why me?"

Because Edmond would worry too much. Because her mother would ask questions she didn't want to answer. Because despite everything, despite her resentment and jealousy and confusion—she had wanted him.

Wanted him here. Wanted someone to come home.

"I don't know," she lied.

Lucian regarded her for a long moment.

Then, very gently, he sat down on the couch next to her. In a way, he shouldn't have asked why him. They were supposed to be dating. The more independent and comfortable he got though, the more it felt like they were just roommates who slept in the same bed.

Glorified roommates. Sounded better than captor and captive, but not by much.

"You can call me whenever you want, Adalyn." He said it with such severity as if it was a promise.

Adalyn stared. The panicked loneliness and shame eased, just slightly.

But to her chagrin, Lucian seemed to thrive.

He got annoyed for being fragile and out of shape, so he started to go on runs before work and swimming after. He took courses in urban sketching to improve and carried a blank notebook everywhere, only to turn the sketches into watercolor wonders at home.

She went to the course with him to see how he would fare. The teacher claimed Lucian was a natural-born prodigy with an incredible eye for perspective and proportions. That he could imagine buildings and people from impossible angles, bird perspective...as if he floated above them.

Of course he floated above them. In his non-corporeal demon form, that was all he did for the past years of his endless existence.

Not like Adalyn could reveal that detail to take away from Lucian's pride.

And proud he was. As if the new skills and interests fattened him up more than the food. There was something so...brave and carefree about his attitude to things. He wasn't concerned with what he should have had done or known - he just did what he wanted.

He made her watch TikTok videos so they could cook together, except she didn't have his patience for measuring and details. He dragged her to swim and walk by the river, as if she wasn't the one who loved water the most. She spent years being fascinated by the river cutting through the city with all her arms like a sparkling ribbon, attracting spirits and demons everywhere.

That's how she knew all the little water fairies, the spirits of ways, the shy ones hiding in the trees looking like doves, or the playful ones under the recreational motorboats playing in the waves.

That's how she met him.

Adalyn saved him. She gave him his name. It wasn't fair for Lucian to be happier than her.

Even at work. Lucian was just an assistant to her research, yet somehow he befriended everyone in their office. Brought people coffee, made stupid conversation, smiled, and flirted as if he knew how. But always polite and gentle and smooth, as if he had done it for years and not learned to talk three months ago.

On some level she knew she should consider this a success. Maybe Lucian was even happier without his memories. He didn't have her awareness and concerns and overthinking everything. He just watched and experienced.

The emptiness turned to hunger in his eyes. To curiosity. When they came home from work, she wanted to lie down with her texts, go over the papers and make notes. He wanted to get back out there. To the river, the museums, even the coffee shops. Just so he could watch and sketch people, observe and observe.

As if he had not had enough opportunities to do so in his past life. It was ridiculous. True knowledge lay in the books written by exceptional minds, connected to what they interviewed and observed, not in the experience of the mundane and boring.

She was so annoyed she refused to go with him that day. He was actively protesting her. Didn't mind going alone. Didn't want to follow her around like a duckling anymore.

And Adalyn was left with her thoughts, the memory of her mother at the coffee shop she glimpsed at lunch, telling her friend with a huge smile that Adalyn moving out was the best thing that could have happened to her.

...

Adalyn stared at the same sentence for the fourth time.

The development of identity under conditions of uncertainty—

She had no idea what came after that.

The words blurred together on the screen. Her temples pulsed in time with the ticking clock on the wall, a dull, nauseating ache spreading behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them.

It had started during lunch. Too much heat, perhaps. Not enough water. Too little sleep.

Or maybe just another side effect of existing.

Lucian had been gone for almost two hours now. The sketchbook he'd become inseparable from was missing from the kitchen counter, along with his headphones and favorite charcoal pencils. Somewhere by the river, no doubt, happily immortalizing old men feeding pigeons or children throwing pebbles into the water.

The thought irritated her disproportionately.

She checked her kitchen drawer. No aspirin. Second drawer. No brufen, paracetamol, nothing.

Bathroom cabinet. Bandages, disinfectant, vitamins, enough stomach medicine to survive a minor apocalypse. But no painkillers. Wonderful. She should have packed more from her mother's house. It was expensive, and she had hesitated at buying it at the pharmacy, although she was stacking up everything she could think of for the new place.

Adalyn leaned against the sink and closed her eyes.

Her first instinct was immediate and humiliating.

Call Mom.

She could already imagine it.

"You have headaches because you sit behind your laptop all day. When was the last time you took a walk? Do you go to sleep before midnight? When was the last time you were exposed to the sun?"

Practical. Solvable. Familiar.

Adalyn set her phone back down. She felt like she spent her studying years fighting her mother. She was the gravity force dragging her towards the world and 'real life' as she called it.

"Spirit hunters need real professions and interests, or they will be consumed by the invisible world," her mother always said. That's why Arthur was a lawyer and Amelia a psychologist. That's why Adalyn had studied and thankfully found something she liked almost just as much as the spirit world.

She was twenty-seven years old. A researcher. Independent. Perfectly capable of surviving a headache without involving her mother.

The realization did not make her feel any less miserable.

Her gaze drifted to Lucian's contact.

She hesitated.

He was busy.

He would have to stop whatever he was doing, find a pharmacy, come all the way back—

Her head throbbed. Her thumb pressed call before she could think better of it.

He answered on the second ring. "Adalyn." His voice carried wind and distant traffic.

"Lucian," she sighed in relief.

"Yes, that is my name."

She paused in surprise. Did he just make a joke?

"...You usually only say my name when you're annoyed with me," he explained.

"I am not annoyed."

"Mm." She could hear the smile. "You missing me already?"

She huffed in annoyance. "Where are you?"

"You want to come join me?" He sounded hopeful. Almost excited.

"No,...I was just wondering if there is a pharmacy nearby."

Another long pause. She could practically hear him think.

"There is no convenient pharmacy on the Danube island. But there is one on the way home. What do you need?"

"I have a headache." She sounded whiny even to herself.

An amused huff. "That doesn't sound so dramatic."

"It is a very severe headache."

"Did you eat today?"

Adalyn scowled. "I am regretting this call already."

"So that's a no."

"I had coffee."

"Adalyn."

"Fine. A pastry."

"At what hour?"

She remained silent.

"Oh, this is grave."

"I hate you."

The headache throbbed harder. "Lucian."

"No, you don't." He sounded absurdly pleased about it.

Something in her voice must have changed, because his teasing disappeared immediately.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Adalyn."

"I just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I feel like crap."

Silence. Not awkward silence. Attentive silence. Waiting. She realized she never called him like this for help. It made something uncomfortable twist in her chest. Asking the demon for help. Asking her captive to save her. Pathetic.

"There isn't any aspirin at home," she said quietly, swallowing back her hurt pride. "Could you buy some?"

Another pause. Then, softly, "Of course." As if it was the easiest thing on Earth.

"You don't have to come back immediately," she added quickly. "I know you were out—"

"I'm already on my way."

"You don't need to—"

"I'm coming home."

The words landed strangely. Simple. Certain.

She looked down at the floor tiles. "...Okay."

"Anything else?"

"No." Just hurry up. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she also had PMS. That would explain it.

"Tea?" he suggested.

"I don't want tea, it's 35 degrees outside!"

"You always want black tea with milk when you're miserable. I will throw some ice cubes in it. Or buy you iced caramel latte, what about that?"

"I resent how much data you've collected on me."

"I know." She could hear the grin again. "Go lie down," he said. "I'll be there soon."

The call ended.

Adalyn remained standing in the kitchen for several seconds, staring at the dark screen.

Then she quietly made her way to the couch.

She must have drifted off, because the next thing she registered was cool fingers brushing her hair away from her forehead.

Her eyes opened.

Lucian was crouched beside the couch, silver-gray eyes studying her with unconcealed concern. A pharmacy bag sat on the coffee table. Beside it was a glass of water, Gatorade, protein milkshake with caramel flavor, chocolate pudding yogurt with 18 grams of protein, and—traitorously—a box of ice cream.

"You bought food." Way more than she had asked for. More than he should have known to bring. What boyfriend of hers ever brought her something she didn't specifically list in her demands?

"You become unbearable when you forget to eat." His brown hair had a honey shade to it under the light peeking from the window curtains.

"I am perfectly pleasant."

"You once cried because the grocery store was out of your favorite yogurt."

"I was under considerable stress."

"You told me your life had no meaning."

"It didn't have my favorite yogurt." She grabbed for the protein pudding he brought. It was the most chocolate thing she could eat while watching her calories.

She couldn't exactly admit to him she gained weight in the last 3 months since she had moved out. 10 kilograms. She wasn't sure if it was from stress or horrible diet without her mom watching her or just from sadness. It was just another proof of her failure to be an adult. To handle what everyone else handled and much sooner and better than her.

Lucian laughed softly. The sound made something in her chest loosen. Demons shouldn't have such melodic laughter.

He handed her the medicine and the glass of water.

She swallowed the tablets obediently. "Thank you," she muttered, looking away. He caught her unpolished and needy, failing at basic care for herself.

He blinked. Adalyn almost never thanked people. And she definitely never thanked him.

"You called me," he said eventually.

"Yes?" She gulped down the tablets and felt defensiveness returning.

"You could have called Edmond. Or your mother."

She looked away.

"Why me?"

Because Edmond would worry too much. Because her mother would ask questions she didn't want to answer. Because despite everything, despite her resentment and jealousy and confusion—she had wanted him.

Wanted him here. Wanted someone to come home.

"I don't know," she lied.

Lucian regarded her for a long moment.

Then, very gently, he sat down on the couch next to her. In a way, he shouldn't have asked why him. They were supposed to be dating. The more independent and comfortable he got though, the more it felt like they were just roommates who slept in the same bed.

Glorified roommates. Sounded better than captor and captive, but not by much.

"You can call me whenever you want, Adalyn." He said it with such severity as if it was a promise.

Adalyn stared. The panicked loneliness and shame eased, just slightly.

— — —

3 days ago.

He stumbles back through his front door, dropping into a kitchen chair.

His mind reeling, his phone burning a hole in his pocket.

He's so tired. But more than that, he's sad.

Max is there in his periphery, and he can feel their concern, but the fear and overwhelming sadness means all he can do is blink down at the table, letting it all wash over him once again.

"Ro?" Max's voice shocks through his internal spiral, and he lifts his heavy head, finally looking at them properly.

He must look like a mess, if their reaction is anything to go by. He believes it too, the combination of overcaffeination, exhaustion, and crying leaving him beyond wrung-out, and it's no surprise that's reflected on his face.

Max takes his hand, pulling him up, and he goes easily, moving like a puppet with its strings cut. His mind strays back to the message, fingers itching to reach for his phone again, but he uses the last of his will-power to resist.

Max pushes him through his bedroom door, and he feels whatever remains of his energy disappear at the familiar sight. He drops, boneless, onto the bed, a renewed wash of tears leaking from his eyes. Max crouches next to him, but ultimately leaves, and he can't even be surprised.

He curls up, reaching for the comforting fabric of Colin's hoodie that he left on the bed yet again, pulling it over his body like a weak substitute of a blanket.

It could be minutes, or it could be hours, before Colin creeps into his line of sight.

Even with all the problems the two of them are having, with as much as Rowyn is doubting and questioning, it's amazing how much relief the sight of him can still bring.

It's as though, suddenly, he doesn't have to do this alone, and a sob wrenches out of his throat, his hands coming up to cover his face.

The bed dips as Colin sits down, a soft sigh betraying his worry, and then Rowyn is pulled against Colin's strong chest, a kiss dropped against his hair.

— — —

His stomach clenches, the memory still fresh.

Colin dropped everything to help him, without even knowing why. He's always done that though; the generosity and kindness is half the reason Rowyn fell in love with him.

How many times has he returned the favour though? Certainly not enough. How many times has Colin asked to spend time with him, and he's turned him down? How many extra shifts has Rowyn picked up without considering what that means for them?

Maybe it's his fault things are falling apart.

He feels sick.

His stomach churns under his crossed arms, and he shifts uneasily, ignoring the side eye from the woman next to him.

He's never had an anxious stomach before, but he wouldn't be surprised if that's what's plaguing him now. Between the emotions dregged up from his past, and the impending reunion, and the mess still brewing between him and Colin… let's just say he's beyond frazzled. The swirling in his stomach could very well be reflecting the chaos of his mind.

Just as he reaches this conclusion, the train screeches to a stop at the next station, and his stomach jumps up into his throat.

Now, he's a science-y man, and he knows how to draw connections between variables. And these variables show a correlation; he's motion sick.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he does have a memory of being sick on a train as a kid. One of their few forays into a city. He was so impressed by the speed and the size of the train, until is started wreaking havoc on his stomach.

He remembers telling his mom, and her frowning at him, offering him weak platitudes, but no real solution.

He made it until they got off the train, walking across the platform on wobbly legs before vomiting all over the pavement.

Usually memories like this fill him with resentment towards his parents, and he leaves feeling relieved that he made a better life for himself.

Now though… it's not quite so satisfying, with the reminder of what he left behind fresh in his mind.

— — —

earlier that day (still 3 days ago)

His body feels like it's moving through molasses as he stumbles out of the cafe, dropping down on the bus stop bench.

After an intense morning of classes interspersed with studying, and a grueling shift at the cafe, he's more than ready for sleep. Normally, he'd force himself to slog through another reading or something before bed, but he can already tell that's not happening.

He's been pushing himself too hard lately - he's self-aware enough to recognize that - but he can't slow down. He has to study and get good grades so he can get into vet school. He has to work so he can pay for vet school. Studying and working lets him avoid home, and put off the impending conversation with Colin.

He's dreaming of his bed, ready to collapse into a deep sleep. He pulls out his phone to check the bus schedule, hoping it's running on time tonight.

Swiping to open it, he hardly registers the notifications littering his home screen. But his name catches his eye, and he frowns, thumbing over to the messages app, the red badge declaring there's one new notification.

The number isn't in his contacts.

Rowyn, the twins have requested your presence at their graduation dinner. We expect you to present yourself in an appropriate manner, without discussion of unsavoury topics. Trattoria Russo, 7:00, Saturday the 20th. The boys are doing well, and deserve your attendence.

His breath catches.

The twins… want him… at their dinner.

They're graduating. (He missed so much.)

Finn and Liam want him there.

The rest of the message sinks in. He didn't even know his mother had his phone number, let alone would reach out to him.

They want him there, but he's only allowed to show up if he hides everything important to him. If he's not gay, and Colin's not his boyfriend. If he can pretend to be the perfect model son.

He's only allowed to be their brother if he censors himself the way he used to… before his parents found out about him.

Before he realized their love was conditional. Before he learned what it meant to have a personality and your own values. Before he worked so hard to leave them behind.

But he never meant to leave Finn and Liam; that was a product of moving away and starting his own life, but he always regretted losing touch with them.

Would he even recognize them now? Would they recognize him?

Suddenly it doesn't matter. He needs to see them.

He can be a straight, religious, obediant son for one weekend with his brothers.

They asked for him.

The tears come hard and fast. They course down his face in hot streaks, as he muffles a sob behind his hand.

The bus pulls up and he brushes his tears away, swallowing past the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath, and climbing aboard.

As he sits there, reality sinks in. Yes, his brothers want him, but the message is clear - his parents are doing this simply for Finn and Liam. They have no desire to see him again.

They don't trust his "lifestyle" not to rub off on the boys. Plus, they phrased it as an expectation (even now, they presume he'll jump through hoops to please them) and a privelege that Finn and Liam "earned". He needs to show up for them now, in whatever way he's allowed.

It's… nice to know they haven't forgotten him, even though he's been gone for the last 4 years and 5 months. He doesn't even know how Mother and Father explained his absence.

Still though, part of him is terrified. As much as he loves his brothers… it's been years. They could be carbon copies of his father by now. They could reject him the same way his parents did.

And speaking of his parents… He hates what they're capable of making him feel. He has zero desire to see them again, let alone sit with them through a dinner. He's scared of who he becomes around them.

Of course, there's also the heartbreaking truth, a reminder of the childhood he never had, and the parents who were never going to love him in his entirety. It's a harsh reality, and one he's about to relive.

— — —

The message is open on his phone, staring up at him. He doesn't remember opening it, but he can't help but run his eyes over the long-memorized words. This time though, there's a flush of anger. They fucking expect him to just drop everything, with only 3 days warning, the second they deign to message him... And he's proving them right.

It's for Finn and Liam, he reminds himself, not them.

His stomach spins under his hand, and he grimaces. He leans down towards his bag, muffling a small burp that's pushed out by the pressure.

He fishes out his water bottle, taking a delicate sip, and washing away the sticky saliva that pools in his mouth. At this point, it feels a bit like delaying the inevitable, as the train slows to the next stop and he has to fight to keep his stomach in check.

He thumbs out of the message, hovering over Colin's contact, as he contemplates calling him for a minute. It would be fine - Colin would answer, and talk his ear off to distract him.

But he would also be worried. In fact, he's already worried.

It doesn't help that the thought of Colin currently pulls up flashes of something hot and ugly. Anger, or fear, maybe.

He clicks his phone off, tucking it away, staring resolutely at the horizon.

Pieces of conversations, images of the message, emotions he can't explain all swirl through him sickeningly, and he winces, pulling his lips closed and swallowing once more, fighting to keep himself together.

— — —

yesterday

"Rowyn, I really wish you'd let me come with you. I don't feel good about this…" Colin pushes, leaning against the doorway as Rowyn tucks clothes into his overnight bag.

"It doesn't matter. It's fine. I'll go back to my hometown for two days, it'll be fine." He's not sure who he's trying to reassure exactly, "You being there will not help my case."

"Well it's not like I have to come to the dinner! I just want to be there for you… I know how hard your relationship is with them, and you shouldn't deal with that alone."

"You don't get it," he groans, frustrated, "You have a picture-perfect relationship with your parents, and I just… don't. I managed for 18 years, I will be fine for one night with my brothers."

For years, he's been living with no contact, content to forget his family ever existed. But now… he's been offered a peephole, and he can't decide whether it's good or bad.

But the risk is 100% worth it, to see Finn and Liam again.

"They're not good for you!" Colin pleads, "You've spent so much energy on working through everything you grew up with!"

"Exactly!" he explodes, "I have to believe that I've grown enough to handle it! It's not like one night with them with take everything I've become away! I JUST WANT TO SEE MY BROTHERS AGAIN!"

Colin sighs, drooping, and finally comes into the room, "Alright. But at least take the train then? I don't think it's a good idea to drive."

He nods, folding his nicest pair of pants, knowing his parents will expect him to dress smartly.

"Promise you'll call if you need me?"

— — —

He feels bad breaking that promise, but he can't bear having to justify himself to Colin right now. Colin just can't understand.

Hating on, blaming, and ignoring his family has been instinct, and he's realizing that it became so ingrained in his new identity that Colin only really knows the surface level bad stuff. What happened when they found out he was gay. How he was essentially told to leave and not come back.

His chest jolts with an airy burp as he reminisces about his childhood. His stomach churns with intention now, and he leans forward, hugging his abodomen as a cramp tears through him.

He hasn't really shared the memories that still haunt him sometimes, about growing up with his two brothers, and the friends he had at school, and the community he found at church (before it became a weapon against him, of course). There were good things. Just not enough to commit to a lifetime of hiding and masking.

His sour stomach clenches. He staggers to his feet, wobbling with the train's movement. He inches past the woman sitting next to him, scanning the walls for any hint as to where the washroom is. When he doesn't see a sign, he groans, picking a direction, climbing down the stairs.

He finds one in the next car, slipping into the cramped bathroom, locking the door. He grimaces, hand cradling his stomach. The train under his feet shifts with a turn, and his stomach jumps. He leans over the toilet with a weak heave.

It's not bad enough that he expects to puke, exactly, but he's half hoping he can get it over with, instead of having to question when he'll lose control.

Unfortunately, his body loves to drag out his misery, and his waiting is rewarded only by unsatisfying burps, and a half-aborted gag.

He spits out the sticky strings of saliva, heaving again as it triggers a weak gag reflex.

A knock on the door startles him, and he jumps, stomach finally overbalancing enough that a small mouthful of puke spills from his mouth, landing in the toilet with a plop.

Taking a careful, measured deep breath, he assesses his stability, croaking "One minute," to the person waiting their turn.

The toilet is flushed, his hands are washed, and his face is splashed with water, before he feels steady enough to leave the bathroom, murmuring an apology as he passes the man outside.

His face is pale and clammy, and he's becoming more and more convinced that he will puke properly before the train ride is up.

Resigning himself to this fate, he trudges back to his seat, vaguely dizzy. Instead of sitting down, however, he grabs his bag, ignores the sympathetic smile of the woman he was previously sitting beside, and sinks into a seat much closer to the bathroom, just in case a mad dash to the toilet is necessary.

— — —

two days ago

When Rowyn wakes up, not he's not totally sure why his entire body feels like sludge, filled with foreboding. It takes a moment for the memories to catch up again.

Glancing around, he realizes he fell asleep in his clothes last night, and his phone is plugged in on Colin's side of the bed. So Colin was obviously with him when he fell asleep, but he's not here anymore.

His face feels sticky and puffy, so he was definitely crying.

After a shower and a change of clothes, he finds Colin in the living room.

He drops into the seat next to him, not sure where they stand right now, but no longer willing to put the effort in to avoid him.

The day is a series of serious talks.

First is Colin, asking "Are you sure about going back there?" He appreciates that Colin at least respects his decision.

Then is Jamie, asking him, "Why would you go back? They were awful to you…?" and he snaps, "You don't get it; you're an only child." He leaves it at that, walking away.

Charlie wants to talk about his brothers, and what he's going home to, wanting to understand. It hurts though, to talk about the life he could've had if he was straight, and thinking about his brothers is painful in a whole other way, so he walks away from that conversation too.

Max wants to talk about how he feels, but he's barely processed it himself, so he just shrugs. They hug him, and tell him they'll be here when he comes home, and that they're there if he needs to talk.

Everyone else's reactions are exhausted, when he's already worn-down. Having to absorb everyone's sympathy, worry, and understanding was too much.

He throws himself into a few hours of hard-core school work, and goes to bed early.

— — —

The train moves under him, tugging his body with it. He didn't realize at the time, but the new seat he chose is facing backwards, so even staring at the horizon is making him queasy. From the way his stomach is spinning, it almost feels as though he's on a boat - seasick and woozy.

He thought trains were supposed to be smooth? Everyone around him looks unphased. Colin, with famously sensitive carsickness, is fine on trains. So why is it making the world spin around him, and causing his chest to jump with barely-swallowed burps?

Rowyn's thoughts are too jumbled to make sense of it, lost in a swirling of sickness and anxiety.

He manages to hold off the inevitable until the train staggers to it's next stop, the scenery outside the window merging back into an urban concrete landscape. What should be a smooth stop makes his head spin with vertigo as his mouth fills with saliva.

He stands, swaying even though the train has stopped moving, and he stumbles the few steps to the bathroom. Relieved when there's no line, he throws himself into the tiny room, fingers fumbling to latch it behind him, as he's already leaning forward with a gag.

This time it's much more productive, stomach squeezing up sludge that was formerly his breakfast in wave after wave.

The floor under his feet vibrates as the train sets in motion again. His knees feel weak under him, and his shoulder hits the wall as he sways.

He leans against the wall, breathing heavily, then throwing himself forward again with another gag, chunkier vomit forcing its way up his throat. He coughs to clear his throat, staggering halfway to the floor as his knees give out, before crumpling ungracefully when he realizes there's really not enough space.

His abdomen spasms weakly, his whole body tensing with unproductive gags. Even without actively puking, the nausea is unrelenting.

Taking a deep breath, he forces himself back to a standing position, leaning against the wall as he tries to get his bearings.

The change in position has him to closing his eyes to fight the dizziness, stomach spasming once more, and he lurches with a small burp. It turns wet at the end, and, not expecting it, he has half a second to lean forward before a wave of liquidly puke splashes over the toilet, only half of it actually landing in the bowl.

Mouth tasting of bile, and face flushed with embarassment over the mess, his eyes sting with tears. He flushes the toilet, and crouches down again, grabbing a large wad of toilet paper, and mopping up what he can.

The smell is overwhelming, and when his hand accidentally touches some of his vomit, it's still warm, and he can't help the gag that tears up his throat, revulsion fueling another round of vomiting. Weaker now, he spits out the sour spit that accumulated in his mouth, tinged with the yellow-green of stomach acid.

He finishes as quickly as possible, throwing the soiled toilet papers in the trash, and then washing his hand roughly.

Still nauseous, but not wanting to stay in the stuffy puke-smelling bathroom any longer than necessary, he grabs a few paper towels just in case, and collapses back in his seat.

He leans his head against the window, the coolness soothing, and closes his eyes, letting the scenery drift pass.

— — —

many years ago

Growing up, he was immersed in religion, steeped in the specific belief system of right and wrong, and taught that every decision should be made in faith, in search of absolution.

His father is a very opinionated man, but he cloaks it in authority and belief, so a young Rowyn hung onto his every word.

Their community tried to stamp out every morsel of individuality (he remembers the time a teenager died her hair blue - it was the talk of the town for a month, and her hair quickly returned to brown), and for the longest time, he believed their justifications.

Until it came time to find a girlfriend. Because of course, heterosexuality and allosexuality were expected. So his mother set up a meeting, and he went on a "date" with her. And she was lovely, but he felt like crying the whole time.

He found comfort in the idea of religion, and the stories he grew up hearing.

However, as a child who immersed himself in the sciences, he believed in fact, and searching for the truth. It wasn't something he ever voiced, but silently he started wondering how a God could truly exist, in a modernizing world. With an understanding of outer space, it was becoming less plausible that an all-knowing being was up there pulling the strings.

When his parents found out he was gay, they offered a dozen "solutions", none of which were "be yourself". He tried to appease them, to strike a deal, or find a balance.

But being gay wasn't something that could be forgiven, according to them. They used their religion, the God he grew up with, as justification for shaming him, and the world he'd started to question morphed into something uglier, something meant to tear at his seams.

They didn't kick him out, not yet, at least.

First, they set up other dates, trying to convince him he could be happy with a girl. They started restricting his freedom - giving him a curfew, and only allowing approved outings. They supervised him at every given moment, while simultaneously ignoring him whenever possible.

The truth is, he wasn't happy. He knew he wasn't going to be happy with a woman, and he knew his parents were never going to be okay with that.

In the middle of his identity crisis, with his parents watching every move, he retreated in on himself, reading as much as he could, researching, and trying to understand what went wrong.

Their justifications didn't even make sense, he slowly realized, because if God had created him, then he's gay as a direct result, because contrary to his parents' beliefs, it is not a choice, but rather something deeply ingrained in his existence.

When he finally brings this up and addresses the elephant in the room, his parents told him that he was no longer allowed to live in their house if this is what he insists upon. They didn't want "those ideas" around their younger children.

It wasn't dramatic - they wouldn't sacrifice their image like that. It was quiet; mumbled goodbyes to his brothers, wishing he could explain, but not sure when or if he'd see them again. He told the church and his friends that it was for university - that he'd got a can't-turn-it-down opportunity.

His entire departure was a lie, and he decided then that he was going to things differently. He didn't want to be swayed by opinions and emotions. His decisions should always be rooted in information, grounded in reality.

— — —

Rowyn's eyes snap open, the shifting of the train tugging him back to reality. He blinks sleep from his eyes, realizing with a jolt that he missed the announcement: he doesn't know where they are. He scans the station outside for a name, then quickly finds that the name alone is unhelpful.

He pulls out his phone, flicking on his data so he can open the map and find his location. He breathes a sigh of relief when he processes that there's still a few stops before his. That would be just my luck - falling asleep and missing my stop, he thinks wryly, glad that's not the case.

As the train groans into life, creeping back to full speed as it pushes onward, the relief is short-lived, when his stomach flips and he's reminded of his other problem.

His fingers clutch at the thin sheets of paper towel he brought back from his last foray to the bathroom. Goose bumps prickle his skin as his stomach tosses once more.

Being in such a public place, he feels incredibly self-conscious as his stomach whines under his palm. He brings his other, trembling, hand up to his mouth to muffle a small burp, but can't bring himself to retreat to the bathroom yet again, especially considering he's 94% sure he's empty, if the shakiness is anything to go by.

In an effort to distract himself from his body, he turns his thoughts to tonight, and what it will be like to see his brothers again. It's anxiety inducing, and he's honestly a little terrified, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit excited.

When he last saw them, they were identical, and he was able to tell them apart only by their voices and demeanor (he took great pride in being correct). Have they changed, become more individualized? Or are they still attached at the hip, dressing almost identically?

They're proper teenagers now, he thinks, imagining the shenanigans that come with that age, and wondering if they've had their growth spurt, or if their voices have dropped yet.

Underneath it all is the question of his parents' influence. He hopes they're easier on Finn and Liam than they were on him, and he's so scared of how the environment might have corrupted the sweet boys he knew.

Soon, I'll get answers soon, he tells himself, dragging his feet up onto his seat, so he can curl up. He rests his head against the window, muffling another burp in his fist, willing his stomach to settle.

— — —

many years ago

Rowyn remembers the day they were born. His parents weren't expecting or trying for a pregnancy, but Rowyn remembers the talks about how it was meant to be, and it's a miracle. They were born on a regular Tuesday, and he got home from school to find his neighbour sitting on his front porch. She drove him to the hospital, and he sat with her and a handful of other townspeople, waiting for the news.

He understood enough of the biology to know it would be painful, and that it could be dangerous, especially when his mother was a little on the older side of childbirth. But his father was there, and it was God's plan, everyone kept reminding him.

And then his father was kneeling in front of him, smiling, and leading him back to see his mother. She looked tired, but beatiful, and she was beaming down at a little bundle.

He crept to her side and found a tiny little face blinking up at him. Father pushed him into a chair that he hadn't even noticed, and placed the second little twin in his arms, nudging his hands until he was holding him properly.

Glancing back at the other twin, still nestled in Mother's arms, he snuggled the baby closer.

"They're perfect," Mother murmurs, and Father perches next to her, stroking the baby's cheek.

Mother and Father leaned into the whole twin vibe. For the longest time, they dressed similarly (never entirely identical, so you could always tell them apart if you knew what to look for), and they went all the same places, and were hardly ever seen without the other.

When they started school, things started to change. They would argue a little more, starting to have different opinions, even if they could usually agree in the end.

Liam was always talking about his friends at school, and the games they played at recess, while Finn was always sharing about the books he was reading, or the things they did in class. They balanced each other, and Rowyn always admired how clearly they care for one another.

He often wondered what the bond must be like, to be able to feel 100% comfortable with someone, and to look out for each other no matter what.

As their big brother, he was often helping them with homework (when they would let him), or listening to their rambles about friends and school, or being pulled into their make-believe games that he barely understood.

Loving them was as easy as breathing. He promised himself the day they were born that he would do everything he could to be a good older brother.

— — —

The disombodied voice floating through the train car announces that they are arriving at Millcross station.

Rowyn twitches at the name of his hometown, unable to stop the reaction. He takes a deep breath, finding the strap of his bag, and preparing to disembark. He stays seated until the train finishes its torturously slow stop, but his stomach stays relatively calm this time.

He stumbles from the train, the bustle of people around him propelling him forward until he's off the platform and has emerged into the town.

Standing outside the station, he takes in the familiar sight of red brick buildings lining the main street, the church's steeple visible down the road. He knows that three roads over is the high school, and his house was a few blocks to the right.

If he were to continue past his house, he would reach the seemingly endless patchwork of farmer's fields, livestock, and barns.

For now, he takes one more deep breath to settle himself, and walks towards a cafe he frequented in his high school years.

Before he walks in, his fingers find the rainbow pride button pinned to the front of his jacket. He has half a mind to take it off, but he realized suddenly that he doesn't want to hide or pretend to be something he's not. So he leaves it there, pulling the door open and slipping inside.

Later tonight, he will see his Mother, his Father, and his brothers again, but for right now, he's going to eat something, rehydrate, then probably get a coffee. After, he'll check into his hotel room, maybe have a nap, and finally get ready to go.

author's note

Who was we?

Only then Angie looked around and realized most of her classmates were already out of the room, animatedly chatting in the hallway outside. None of them seemed to mind having Sophia as an intruder, if anything, they seemed very eager to have her. She was a bit of a celebrity, what for Angie had no idea.

"Uhh..."

"She's coming!" Sophia decided for her, skipping outside the classroom and throwing herself on Matt's back, who let out a chuckle and fixed her arms around his neck so she didn't strangle him from behind.

Defeated, Angie grabbed all of her things and followed the group outside.

MassArt was located in a pretty green side of Boston. Angie absolutely adored the building and the neighborhood, the amount of galleries, trees and parks surrounding it was a constant stream of inspiration. It also wasn't far from Boston University, the reason why Sophia was so often hanging at their building... Or at least, the reason she claimed.

Angie wasn't so sure about that, she had seen how enraptured Soph seemed while watching a lecture or two, while Matt himself seemed to be completely observed by his girlfriend. If anyone didn't know the couple, they would say she was the arts major and he was the business one.

There were many restaurants and coffee shops surrounding the area, a lot of nice sit down places, so it was much to Angie's horror that they ended up in some hole in the wall pub, badly lit and poorly cleaned. Ew ew ew.

"Why this place?" She whispered to herself, tugging on the sides of her oversized cardigan in a comforting way, as if they were wings she could wrap around herself protectively.

Sasha, a girl in her class that sported bright blue hair and beautiful tattoos all over her arms, snorted, having overheard Angie's comment, "because they don't check IDs, silly," she whispered back.

Angie had grown up in the Banks household. Alcohol wasn't a novelty for her, not in the least. Jasper had always had a "do it at home" policy — or at least he had that policy with her, who knew how he had raised Jonah — and her mother was French, meaning the drinking age was eighteen there, but sixteen inside their home.

She thought it was gross. It burned her throat, made her feel woozy and a little panicked and she couldn't fathom the fact it was more expensive than mocktails or juice, when it tasted horrible.

Their little group of nine shuffled to the back of the bar and Angie started to look around for exits. No way she was gonna stay there until they were all drunk...

"Sit down," Sophia tugged on her arm, since Angie had just been standing like a statue or a deer in the headlights. She tried hard not to make a face when her palms immediately stuck down on the greasy table. Disgusting.

Matt was at the counter with some other two guys, getting beers for the whole lot of them, and Angie started to pick the corner of her nail anxiously.

"Oh, I'm starving," Sasha said, opening the sticky menu and leaning in with her best friend, Veronica, as they looked over the options. Angie leaned in slightly, her own stomach was rumbling with hunger — and the heavy smell of bacon in the air wasn't helping — but she was very, very hesitant to order anything in this place.

"Wanna share?" Sophia poked her arm, eyebrows raised and a sly smile on her face. Angie shrugged, unsure.

"I don't know... What- What are you thinking of having?"

Now that she thought about it, Angelina wasn't sure she had ever seen Sophia eat. She had too, she was still human, right?

The thought caused her to snort as she imagined Sophia as some sort of vampire. She certainly had the looks for it, the bad attitude too. Her hands itched, she reached in her bag for her sketchbook without thinking, but only closed her fingers around its spiral spine, too embarrassed to pull it out in the middle of their dinner.

"Don't you agree?"

What?

Angie blinked, whole face turning a shade darker as she blushed, realizing she had completely tuned out Sophia's answer. The cheerleader was staring expectantly at her and when Angie took a second too long to answer, her bright blue eyes squinted, "did you hear a word I said?"

"Well, I-... Uh, no," she admitted, sheepishly, fully expecting Sophia to glare and say something mean. Instead she received an amused snort.

"I was saying," the other girl said strongly, "that we can split a burger, what do you think? Unless you're too hungry for that, then we can get a salad too."

How in the hell was a salad meant to be more filling than the burger? It was Angie's turn to snort.

"No, that's fine by me..."

"Great!" Sophia turned on her seat, only to immediately get trapped back down, as Matt slid next to her, passing three different glasses filled with disgusting yellow beer. Angie stared at it, considering if she could sneakily get up to dump it somewhere the others wouldn't see.

They for sure would make fun of her if she said she just wanted a lemonade.

"Maaatt," Sophia stretched the word, caused the guy to perk up, leaning into her space to butt his nose with hers.

"Yeah?"

"Order for us?"

He deflated, Angie ducked her head to muffle a chuckle.

Matt and Jose, another guy from her class, got back up to do the overall order for all of them and finally, returned to the table, Matt with a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around Sophia's shoulders, squeezing her to him and causing her to thrash in his hold like a disgruntled cat.

Angie was mystified by how they seemed to all get along to easily, when she struggled with everything. Subjects covered their teachers, Ronnie and Felicity high fiving as they apparently agreed on everything, then moving on to sports — and Angielina had no idea why so many fucking Arts kids knew about Basketball. Sophia she could understand, she was a cheerleader for the University, but the rest of them? It had taken her a whole minute to realize the Celtics mentioned were a team and not a European tribe — then their dinners arrived.

A new round of beers, and an array of different foods. Six different burgers, one that was planted right in front of Angie, who poked it with her pinky, suspicious.

"It's not gonna bite you," Sophia teased her, tearing the wrapping paper around the meal and bringing it up to her face, inspecting it. She wrinkled her nose, putting it back down, "the patty is overdone as hell."

Angie shrugged, she absolutely hated rare meat. She added another tally to her "Is Sophia a Vampire?" list, "I think it's fine... Looks good."

It looked and smelled great and the small hunger she had been harboring before had morphed into ravenousness. She took a bite, let her eyes roll back as the flavor exploded in her mouth. It was great. Greasy and she didn't want to think about what the kitchen of this place looked like, but damn it was amazing.

Soph was watching her eat with an amused smile, "I thought you were a vegetarian?"

Angie frowned, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, "who'old'at?"

"Very nice," Sophia's voice was dripping with teasing and Angie gulped down the too big bite, being forced to take a sip of that horrible beer in order to speak.

"Who told you I'm a vegetarian?"

"No one," Soph shrugged, "you just seemed the type. Artsy, loves nature, tree hugger."

"Being environmentally conscious is a bad thing now?" Angie snapped, then blushed, because that was the most bitey she had ever been with anyone who wasn't Jon or Luke.

Soph's eyes sparkled, "Ooh, I knew there was a bad bitch there somewhere," she was grinning from ear to ear, "so you are not a hippie, just environment conscious... Still, shouldn't that make you a vegan?"

"No," Angie rolled her eyes, then took another bite to avoid continuing the conversation. She could go on a rant on how being vegan was a very privileged attempt at environment consciousness and that agricultural monocultures were just as harmful, if not more, as the meat industry, but every time she had tried having this conversation with her previous acquaintances — because calling them friends was a stretch — their eyes had glossed over; Sophia was for sure going to roll her eyes at her and write her off, so Angie stayed quiet.

"Okaaay..." Sophia turned away from her, fishing through her black purse, and draping herself on Matt's side, "who here knows how to play scopa?"

Angie didn't know Scopa, but she got roped into conversation as it switched to popular culture topics. She was a proud nerd and had many opinions on everything, much to her surprise finding herself giggling along with her classmates as they made fun of the old Spiderman movies and voiced how hyped they were for the new ones.

All the while, she continued to eat, poking Sophia only once to ask her if she didn't want a bite, when she reached about half of the burger. The other girl shook her head, "too greasy, all yours."

It was too greasy and Angie was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to have a beer. She wanted to get up to grab a soda, but she was the last one in the booth and it would require Sophia, Matt and Lydia all to get up so she could move. Trapped, Angie stared at her glass with disdain.

"What did it do to you?" Sophia leaned into her personal space and Angie jumped back, as much as she could. Not that she didn't appreciate touchy people, she actually loved them, but Soph was right up to her face.

"I just don't like beer..."

"Why did you order it then?" Sophia frowned, confused, "what do you want?"

"I didn't or-" It's useless, she changes directions mid phrase, "Uh...A coke?"

Sophia poked Matt's arm, "grab me a coke?"

Immediately he was on his feet, jumping over Lydia, causing Angie's mouth to drop, "is he your slave or something?"

Able to control minds, Angie added under her growing list of evidence of Soph being a vampire.

"Yes," the other girl beamed, "my lackey."

Was that a sex thing or was Sophia joking? Impossible to tell.

Unsure if she was the butt of the joke, Angie just nodded and scooted up on her seat, taking another bite.

Now the burger wasn't as good. It had grown cold with all their chatting and she felt like she was chewing out of obligation. She let it fall down back to the plate, reaching for flimsy paper napkins.

"We're thinking of going to watch the latest Obsession," Sasha said, touching Angie's arm, "you're coming, right?"

Was she already drunk? Two different hang out invitations in the same day?

"Uhm, er- When?"

"Tomorrow, after class, what do you think?" Sasha perked up, seeming relieved.

"Oh yeah, that's- Yeah!" Angie felt jittery with giddiness. A friend hang out! And all it had taken her was sitting in a greasy pub for two hours and sip horrid beer!

"What about you, Soph?" Sasha was nearly climbing over Angie in her eagerness. It was crazy how Sophia attracted people like moths to a flame, the same quality Angelina had once observed in Luke, but at least with Lucas she could understand because he was nice... Sophia was Sophia. She didn't seem to like anyone and yet they toppled over themselves for her.

"What?"

"Are you going to join us to watch Obsession?" Ronnie pulled Sasha back down on her seat, cheeks pink, noticing she was making a fool of herself. She had a bunch of glittery stars in her nails, Angie vaguely noticed, deciding to ask her later what polish it was.

"What is that?"

"Have you been living under a rock!?" Ronnie exclaimed, shushed quickly by Sasha, "the new horror movie that's breaking records all over!"

"Oh," Sophia rolled her eyes, unbothered, "I think horror movies are lame, so no, thanks."

Angie's stomach felt heavy, causing all of her already flimsy attention spam to slip as she focused on it. She was wearing a baby yellow tee paired with light washed mom jeans and right now it was squeezing her middle.

She stirred on her seat, glaring at her lap and wondering how the hell she was gonna get out of her trapped position, because she really wanted to go home now. Or well, the dorms. Her roommate, Marie, seemed to have Angelina-Banks-Blindness. For some reason she was completely deaf and blind to Angie's presence, sometimes she felt a little like Russell Crowe in a Beautiful Mind, that's how weird it was.

"Earth to Space Cadet?" Sophia snapped her fingers in front of Angie's eyes, an incredibly rude gesture that had Angie recoiling and pushing her hand away.

"What?"

"You spaced out... And went pale," Sophia was frowning at her, all the while Matt was snaking an arm around her waist, which she pushed off with an annoyed huff, "everything okay?"

Weird. Angie squinted, unsure if she should disclose the growing displeasure her body was showing with the meal or her own discomfort, she settled for saying, "I need to get some fresh air, can you move?"

"Oh, yeah," Sophia was still frowning, looking like she didn't believe a word out of Angelina's mouth. She turned around, planted her hands on Matt's shoulders, cheering in a playful tone, "move, move, you gotta M-O-V-E!" She got Matt and Lydia up, so Angie could slip out.

She all but bolted for the door, anxiety prickling her skin. Claustrophobia. It was so many people, she had never really been in the eye of the storm like this. In the classroom it was pretty easy, they were spread out, and in the dorm Marie ignored her... Even back in Welton, with Jonah and Luke, they never crowed on her like that.

Her hands were sweating and she was not sure if the nausea was due to the greasy burger or the overstimulation and God, she felt ridiculous. She had wanted friends so badly, but now she was running away from the most friendly interaction she had had in months, if not years.

Angelina moved as far away from the main entrance of the pub as she could and pressed her back to the brick wall, taking slow, shaky breaths. Her stomach gurgled, unhappy, seeming to stop digesting altogether. She really wanted to go home, and she didn't mean the stupid dorm with the roommate who hated her. Home.

Her sight went blurry, because Angie vividly remembered fighting tooth and nail against her dad to get to stay in the dorms and live the "legit" college experience and now she felt pathetic. Her heart was racing, but she did not want to cry out in the streets, so she sunk her nails on her palms, trying to recenter her body.

"Out of everyone whom I expected to run without paying, you were not on the list, baby Posh," Sophia said, appearing next to her, and Angie blinked at her, too stunned to answer the jab.

"Wha-what?"

"Nothing," Sophia pursed her lips, arms crossed to her chest, "what's your deal?"

"I don't- What are you talking about...?" Was Angie going blind or was Sophia glowing? Not in a positive way... Things were looking bright, too bright. She sucked in the air, it got stuck in her chest in a painful way and went back up, in a burp.

Oh shit.

Sophia's eyebrows jumped, "oh... You're not feeling well. Girl, why didn't you just say so?"

"I'm-" Her mouth felt cottony and slow to connect with her brain. She was gonna faint, Angie only hoped she fainted before she ended up hurling all over Sophia's shoes. Her stomach churned, unhappy and not reassuring in the least, "I think I'm gon'pass out..."

"Oh shit!" Sophia jumped forward, grabbing Angie's elbows before the other girl toppled over. She didn't quite pass out, but things went out of focus and muffled for a moment and next thing she knew, Angie was sitting on the curb and Sophia's face was right next to hers.

"Angelina," Sophia's hands were on her shoulders, nails sinking onto her, like claws, "Angelina, snap out of it!" Angie didn't think Sophia had ever called her by her name, nor used that high pitched tone of voice with her.

"Hmm," Angie's cheeks burned with embarrassment, "I'mmkay..."

"Are you?!" Sophia squealed, light eyes huge on her face. Angie nodded, then gagged and changed her head gesture to a shake, groaning.

"Queasy..."

"Are you drunk? You can't be that much of a lightweight..." Sophia pulled back, standing up, and Angie cradled her head. She did feel a little drunk, but no, it wasn't that. Just anxiety and a ridiculously oily burger swimming in her belly- She gagged again at the thought.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Matt's voice travelled, followed by an impatient huff.

"Get her up!" Sophia bossed, then suddenly someone was grabbing Angie by her armpits and bringing her up to her feet. Her stomach rolled at the movement and she groaned.

"Noo- What are you doing..."

"Okay, I got her," Sophia took one of Angie's arms, throwing it around her shoulders, "what's her dorm, do any of you know? It's in Huntington Dorms, right?"

"Yeah, uh, the beige building," Sasha's voice was frantic, "she's on the second floor I think? Room 04? Ronnie, is that right?"

"It's right," Angie leaned her head to the side, cheek resting on Sophia's head. She hadn't realized the other girl was that much shorter than her, what the hell? Angie forced her eyes open and sure enough, she was a full head taller than Soph. Weird.

"I'll go with you-"

"I got her," Sophia interrupted Matt and Angie's whole face burned as she finally got slightly more aware of what was going on, no longer feeling faint.

The whole lot of them were outside, Matt staring at Sophia with a frown and Sasha and Ronnie behind him, looking much more concerned.

"Are you sure?" Sasha stepped forward, "I can help-"

Angie's whole body burnt with humiliation. There went her chance to make friends, she had just embarrassed herself in front of them... They for sure wouldn't want to hang out again...

"I got her," Sophia repeated, sharply, and Angelina mused how she was holding her up so easily. Nausea overrode her following thoughts, making a bunch of goosebumps cover her arms. Angie felt like crying, she really didn't want to puke in front of this bunch of strangers-

Then Sophia was dragging her down the street.

"Do not," Soph told her, voice tense, as she pulled Angie around the corner, "puke on my hair."

Angie hiccupped, moved her head away from Sophia's, "not'gonna..." she spat on the curb, "I don't feel well..."

"Yeah, you're drunk," the other girl sounded amused and Angie wanted to correct her, say she wasn't drunk, but then what was she gonna say this was? A panic attack because she was having fun? One singular greasy burger? That was pathetic.

Thankfully she didn't have to say anything, because her whole body suddenly felt clammy and her stomach picked this moment to call it quits. She pushed off Sophia in order to brace against a street trashcan and the horrible smell of it was all it took.

Her stomach spasmed, again and again, struggling with the heavy meal, but eventually a wave of chunky vomit fell in the metal basket. It all smelt of beer and pickles-

Angie gagged again, harsh and loudly. Faintly she heard Sophia curse, then felt her tugging on her braids, gently pulling them back, "you're gonna get them covered in yack, babe," the other girl scoffed, holding it back as Angie burped up another wave, this one much more liquid.

She panted over the trash, arms shaking with effort, before wiping her mouth and chin, straightening up. Her sight was blurry from tears and Angie sniffled, looking around.

"Are you good?" Sophia asked, voice a little choked out and Angie nodded, trembling like a leaf. Her body temperature was all over the place, because now she was freezing.

"Good-" Soph turned around with a sharp retch, folding in the middle with a gag, then another, then a burp. Nothing came up, except for some ropey spit, and Sophia groaned, standing back up, "ugh."

"Are you sick...?" Angie was confused. Was this not her body being dumb? Were they both sick?

"Nuh-huh," Sophia wiped the corner of her eyes, where black mascara tears had rolled down, "I'm no good with vomit."

"Oh..." Angie gulped down, a new wave of embarrassment threatening to engulf her, "I'm sorry- I-"

"Shut up," Sophia waved her off, "c'mon, let's get your wasted ass to the dorms."

"M'not drunk," Angie wrapped her arms around herself, walking slowly, which forced Sophia to keep up with her pace, "tonight was just... A lot."

Sophia turned to look at her, walking backwards as she did that, eyes wide, "you're hurling because... The bar was crowded?"

"No," Angie pouted, although yeah, partially, "burger was also..." just thinking about it had her gagging again and she froze on the spot, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to keep it down.

It took a handful of seconds for her to get body in check, although she still felt queasy enough that she knew she'd be puking sooner rather than later. Sophia was openly staring at her.

"What?" Angie mumbled, self consciously.

"Nothing," Soph shook her head, "c'mon, baby Posh, bed with you."

"Why are you being," Angie gulped down the horrible taste, "so-so nice to me?"

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.

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

"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.