The winter won't last forever

The most disastrous, if you had asked Rafferty, was two years ago, when he and his friend had been tasked to jump a motorcycle gang which resulted in three separate buildings being destroyed, second degree burns up the wazoo, and a semi-truck thrown a thousand feet when the gas station they were at had spontaneously combusted. (“Spontaneously.”)

Kinzleigh, on the other hand, would likely answer that the worst detour the two had been tasked to go on has yet to happen. Kinzleigh was optimistic like that.

They were, however, unimpressed with the table full of snacks that sat at the back of the living room. There seemed to be no chocolate cupcakes, which was unfortunate, seeing as they planned to swipe one or two at some point during the mission.

“N-nice going, gen-ius!” Raff snapped over the crying infant and the malcontented party guests. The face of his TV head had a tendency to glitch when he was in high stress situations.

Kinzleigh rolled their eyes, not that anybody could see under the Cat mask they currently sported. “Well how was I supposed to know the door would lead here?”

What lingered in the air was the unspoken question, what was going to happen now? In the split second of nonaction, Rafferty and Kinzleigh took the initiative and decided to do what they did best: Punch the problem until it goes away.

Rafferty tore through the house, grabbing victims with reckless abandon by the collar of their shirts or dresses and giving them a solid knockout punch. Kinzleigh spun through faces before settling on one that represented a demon. With a devilish grin, they sprung into action, spouting spurts of fire, nipping at fingers, and crawling on walls with their head spinning and a deep chuckle rumbling in their throat.

If this were a normal world, perhaps this affront would be ninety seconds tops. But because the two were in Universe-1124, in which roughly 60% of the population was a mercenary of some kind, the party guests had bite. 

The mother in particular brought out a hunting knife and swiped at Rafferty. He jumped back, before grabbing her wrist and twisting the knife out of her hand. Coming up behind him was a friend of hers, who landed a solid kick on his spine. For a brief moment, his screen flashed magenta as he yelped in pain.

“Raff, here!” Kinzleigh launched themself from the ceiling and landed behind the boyfriend, firmly grabbing his shoulder. They swung their fist and punched him so hard he crumpled to the ground. Raff fought his way through the party guests and fell onto the boyfriend. He gave his share of hits, before pushing himself up and linking arms with Kinzleigh.

“Didja get a marker?” he asked.

“Saving it for you,” Kinzleigh answered playfully, giving one more solid kick on the boyfriend’s ribs.

Raff bent down and delicately plucked the askew wire glasses from the boyfriend. He held them up proudly for Kinzleigh to survey.

Kinzleigh beamed, before their expression dropped dramatically. “Watch out!”

At their warning, Rafferty dropped to his knees just in time to avoid another knife throw. That was their cue. 

Rafferty made his own exit by throwing himself through the large bay windows in the living room. Kinzleigh settled for taking a couple of the less-delicious-than-chocolate flavored cupcakes, before scuttling out of the newly formed exit.

From there, they took the effective-if-not-atrocious route to the Metropolis via the sewer at the crossroads of Main St. and Cherry St. Making sure there were no cars nearby, Raff forced the manhole cover open and Kinzleigh, who had since switched back to their favorite Cat face, bounded into it. 

They dropped straight through the sticky, brown water and landed, on their feet, in a place whose coloring would give a mini-golf course a run for its money. The sun was more like a giant blacklight. The denizens varied from “decently human shaped” to “holy SHIT WHAT IS THAT!??!?”, and all around, in the middle of streets, hovering above dumpsters, poking out of trees, glowing portals swirled. 

Raff fell through the glowing red portal, just behind Kinzleigh. He was not as agile, and ended up on his knees. His friend helped him up.

“Wanna stop for udon, or do we just want to get this show on the road?” Raff asked.

Kinzleigh shook their head. “Let’s just finish this.”

They walked along the sidewalk of Main St., avoiding incoming hitmen whenever they could.

Their destination was a large cathedral, painted in blocks of pinks, oranges, and greens. Rave music bled from the inside, intermingled with hoots and hollers of party goers.

“I hate going to church,” Kinzleigh sighed.

The two shoved their way through thick hordes of individuals. Somewhere along the way, Raff had procured a cigarette for himself and held it up to Kinzleigh with a pleading expression on his screen. (Something like  ;-; ? )

Under their mask, Kinzleigh rolled their eyes and spun their head until they came to a dainty and polite dragon face. They inhaled deeply and huffed a thin line of fire over the cigarette until the end glowed warmly. Raff’s face lit up ( :D ) and they mashed the end of the cigarette against his screen and inhaled ( :o ).

They climbed the handrail-less stairs and found a booth overlooking the perpetual party below. In the middle was the man who went by The Pope, sourcing it as a title used in his old Universe that he wanted to bring to his new home. His long limbs stretched out over the back of the booth, bony legs kicked up on the table.

“Ah, my favorite kiddos, come come.” His voice shook with age, but his conviction always powered through his words.

The two figures sitting on either side of the man shifted to make room for Raff and Kinzleigh, who sat on the edge of the booth.

“Do you want drink?”

“I’ll take an abstranthe and nothing for my friend here.” Kinzleigh patted Raff’s shoulder.

The Pope snapped his fingers, and one of the figures floated off to get their drink. Then he leaned in close. “Did you do what I asked?” The two friends nodded. His face split into a grin. “Excellent.”

“Do you have what we need?” Kinzleigh asked back. “We’re kind of in a rush.”

“First…the marker. The problem with working with kiddos is that they try to pull one over on you sometimes.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with us,” Kinzleigh replied, trying to keep annoyance out of their voice. “Raff, the marker?”

As Raff dug through the pockets of his leather jacket, the figure returned with an ornate glass full of liquid that was constantly shifting hue. Kinzleigh thanked the figure and switched their face to something that could better appreciate the drink. 

Raff took out the wire glasses they had stolen and victoriously slammed them on the table space in front of The Pope. Immediately, the man’s face crinkled into one of suspicion and disgust.

“You are trying to pull one over on me,” the man said quietly.

“Hm?” Kinzleigh cleared their throat of the burning liquid. Their tongue was buzzing with numbness. “What? Dude, we went to the universe, we found the boyfriend. There’ll probably be a news report or something on it tomorrow, we’ll go back and get it if you want.”

“The man I sent you after doesn’t wear glasses,” The Pope spat.

Raff and Kinsleigh’s expressions fell. ( 0_0 ). Then Raff shook his head. “Well maybe it’s been a minute,” he argued. “Scan it. It’s from U-1124.”

“1124?” The integer came out as a choked whisper. “1124? It’s Universe 11124. Three ones!”

“Ohhhh…shit.” Raff blinked. “Okay that one’s my bad. Sorry Kinz.”

Kinzleigh had been working on the abstranthe and was honestly in no position to be upset at anyone at the moment. They giggled and gestured for the figure to refill their glass.

“Okay, concept for you–” Kinzleigh swiped the pair of glasses off the table and slammed both hands on it. “You give us the information out of pity and we go back and get the right guy–the three-one guy–on our way back from our thing.”

“The baby’s birthday will be over then so there’s really no point, seeing as you won’t be able to humiliate him in front of friends he’s been trying to win over.” The Pope made a gesture with his hands, like he was shooing them away.

“We can still orchestrate somethin’,” Kinzleigh pressed. “Truly we’re the…the best in the biz. The greatest in town. Real up-and-comers, that’s for sure.”

The Pope sighed. “No, I think I’ll have to just kill him. You,” he snapped his fingers at the figure that had been sitting next to him the whole time. “Remove them.”

“Wait.” Raff held up his fists. “What about the information?”

“You’ll just have to make do without it, I guess. Do you honestly think I’m gonna reward you for disappointing me?”

The figure getting Kinzleigh’s drink returned with a second one. They eagerly reached out for it before getting shoved out of the booth.

“Raff…Raff wait…” Kinzleigh downed this new drink in two gulps. They wiped off their mouth. “That’s stupid, why can’t we…?” They turned to The Pope. 

Raff said, “Look, you’re gonna give us what we want in one way or another. One, you can give us the job and we make a fair trade. Or two, we can just. I dunno. Make you give it to us the unpleasant way.”

The Pope scoffed. “I’d like to see what your version of ‘unpleasant’ is.”

Kinzleigh looked up at Raff. “I’m drunk enough for it.”

The first sword slices off the edge of my inferior vena cava and nestles itself through the lower walls of both ventricles.

The evening my feelings for Nathan were conceived occurred the same day I had discovered my previous partner’s deceit. I was dining with him and our friends, as we often did, but he and I were left sitting side by side as the three of them left to refill their plates.

“How was your day?” Nathan asked innocently, poking at the pile of green beans on his plate.

There was no more energy for lying. “Bad,” I said bluntly, my throat raw from the morning of crying and screaming.

“Oh.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, and I regretted my candor instantly. We sat in silence, I had figured that was the end of the conversation, until, “was it anything in particular?”

My throat closed up.

“You don’t have to say anything at all, either,” he quickly amended.

“No, it's fine.” I hated how my voice shook, how I needed to take a breath before I spit the words out. I told him of the dreadful event this morning.

He took a moment to process it, then he seemed at a loss. I kept my eyes fixed on the nearly empty plate in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” he said. It was the most genuine display of empathy I had ever heard from another person. I wish I had thanked him for this small branch of kindness.

Instead, I had bitterly said, “yeah, well, it’s not like it was going to last anyways.”

He said nothing to that, and before our conversation could continue any further, our friends returned. I plastered my smile back onto my face and launched into an inane conversation before I could do something stupid like cry in front of everyone.

After that moment, I was afraid that the friendship between Nathan and I would have transformed into something awkward and stiff, but to my delight, the opposite seemed to occur! My honesty was rewarded with a deeper glimpse into who he was. I found him to be polite and genuine, humorously dry, and grounding in a way that made his personality magnetic. It was becoming an addiction to talk to him, to see what he thought about the latest news, or the weather, or the enigmatic nature of humanity.

It didn’t hurt that I found him visually stunning as well. Lean, tall一but not intimidatingly so一eyes the exact color of the winter ocean, thick golden hair trimmed neatly except for a stubborn cowlick on the crown of his head, and tanned skin covered in sunspots and scars that promised a story behind them.

I don’t think I had ever known the meaning of that storybook phrase, “fallen in love” until I had met Nathan. Falling is an apt word一I felt just as weightless and nauseous as if I were tumbling into the vast sky.

A conversation we would often have over morning coffee was about romance, not the kind of romance that was the soul-twisting, world-shattering kind that was wrapping its tendrilous talons around me, but the silly and hopeful kind. The kind where Nathan would take someone out to a movie and accidentally spill the popcorn he was sharing with his date as he got up to use the lavatory.

I always pointed out to him that for someone who was so desperate to find love, he was really rather bad at it.

He sighed and agreed. “It’s not even that I’m not trying, but there’s nobody really out there for me.”

“Nonsense. Everybody adores you.” I winced internally, hoping I hadn’t overplayed my hand.

“Yeah, but nobody I like.”

I arched a brow. “There’s someone you like?”

“Not at the moment. I just mean that…I guess the only people who talk to me are people who know me at this school, and, well, these types of collegians don’t particularly strike my fancy.”

“What kind of collegians do strike your fancy, then?”

Someone who didn’t want children. Someone who hated jazz music. Someone who could drop everything and go on a hike or a drive. Someone who could engage in deep conversation.

With every word he said, my heart thrummed even quicker. It took everything in me not to shout, “It’s me! It’s me! I’m the one you’re looking for!”

It was a miracle that kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t yet at the point of desperation where I would clumsily shatter the friendship for the infinitesimal chance that he would recognize how perfect I am for him. I would care for him and cherish him and be anything for him. I would make him laugh, and discuss books, and cook when he was feeling low. 

I would fall into these ephemeral daydreams, of the life we would lead together. And quite frankly, I think waking from those daydreams hurt more than listening to him describe his romantic exploits with me.

The second sword is a bit more devastating, skewering through the right atrium, slicing through both the sinoatrial and atrioventricular node, the tip of it emerging from the apex.

I was dining with my friends, a quick affair due to the impending class that we all took together. My meager plate was full of roasted, over-peppered potatoes—the only thing I found appetizing in the wretched place, but Nathan had always keenly crafted a full meal for himself, and tonight he sat in front of me with a little bit of everything. Though I felt slightly self-conscious in my infantile taste, I felt more envious that he was able to exercise such care for himself and his body.

Despite the constrained time we had, I felt compelled to initiate conversation and continue my game. I had, conspicuous in my intentions or not, decided to call upon a recent book that has interested me, and asked my friends how they best enjoyed receiving love and affection. 

Aspen, as morose as she was, didn’t have an answer, claiming that nobody had shown her love before, though, if she were to hazard a guess, it’d have to be verbal praise and encouragement. When it came time for Nathan to answer, all mental distractions vanished, and I was poised to listen.

“There was a test in a magazine,” said Nathan. “When I took it, I believe my top answer was togetherness.” He bit the inside of his lip, eyes casted to the sky as if he were physically searching through the memory. “Yes, togetherness, verbal praise, and then physical intimacy.”

Togetherness. It made sense, I felt a warm sensation of pride at my familiarity with the boy, and the fact that I had been making efforts to spend more tangible moments with him. The pride quickly chilled as I continued to think about the rest of his statement. Verbal praise, a tricky form of affection for me to navigate, and his declaration caused a dark air of sadness around me as I pondered why it was kind words that could affect him so. Perhaps he was mistreated in his youth which caused him to crave the kind words of others. How I couldn’t bear the thought of Nathan’s misfortune!

“And what of you, Achilles?” Nathan asked, causing my heart to leap.

I stumbled over my clumsy words, before finally getting out, “physical intimacy. I think after that it may be–” but my train of thought truly left the station when, out of the blue, Nathan lunged over the table and rested his hand on my arm. 

“I care about you, Achilles,” he softly said. My mouth fell open in a display of stupefaction. I didn’t know what to say, how to react, until I saw the amusement dance across his face and ocean colored eyes. He retracted his hand and leaned back in his seat, awkwardly glanced at me once more, and returned to another portion of his book.

It was a joke. Of course it was. I choked out a laugh for his benefit, but inside I was reeling from the sudden contact. The spot where his hand, surprisingly warm and soft, had rested now burned.

I ached for his affection, the familiarity that only came from intimacy. Whenever an anchor of melancholia sunk low in my chest, it was his arms that I wished would wrap around me; whenever fatigue would claw its way up my stiffened muscles and aching lungs, it was his shoulder I craved to rest on; whenever I lay there in bed, mind tormented with visions of disaster and pain, it was his chest I would want to press up against my back, and it was his legs that I would want to tangle with mine.

Aspen advised me to stop loving Nathan whenever it got too much, and I was embarrassed to tell her that it had already become too much. The moment I had realized I wanted him close to my chest, I was doomed. 

I wish that I was a poet, but I fear that no amount of writing ability that I could harness would allow me to say something that has never been said before, and no amount of creativity could accurately describe the honey-sweet feeling of safety and ecstasy. I can say, instead, that you fascinate me.

That your voice is lovely.

Your eyes are beautiful.

I want to be close with you.

I love you.