It’s me. Olivia. You taught 8th-grade science at Grover Cleveland middle. I was one of your students. It has been around five to six years since the Hail Mary launch. And you’re still not here.
I’ve grown to become a very smart and intelligent human being, as well as the rest of our class. We’ve split off to do our own things. Rehka went off to be a political speaker. She talks about you a lot, and even brings up stories that later on goes well with her arguments.
Parker went off to go to college, studying oceanography to become a marine biologist. He’s told me before that he’s wanting to become some sort of astronomer. He was always fascinated with space. Maybe an astrophysicist.. he always talked about stars and black holes. He was very smart.
I’m becoming a research scientist. I’m studying molecular biology just like you. Two weeks ago, on may 23rd, I graduated with our class. It was actually quite cool to see everyone there. We somehow never grew a part, even if we really wanted to. Maybe it was the magic you left on all of us. It was sort of interstellar. I blame it on the petrova line.
I made a group chat with all of them and asked everyone if they still had the bean bags that we still haven’t cashed in yet for prizes, like you promised. I was honestly looking forward to those prizes. Between you and me, I was going to win the most. No doubt about it.
Lucky enough, everyone had their beanbags, and so I created a little tradition. We decorated our caps with our favorite quotes from you. My quote on it was, “The best minds in the entire world are on it.” Mine was better than the rest, just saying. One of the students, Regina, made all of us pins for our gowns to wear so we had a little piece of you with us when we walked the stage.
Each one of us would walk half way on the stage, look out to the crowd, and hold up our bean bags. And then when we walked further more to be handed our diplomas, we would give the beanbags to them. Like cashing them in for the big prize.
Obviously we got them back.. but in the moment it felt good. It felt as if you were there watching all of us, and becoming so proud.
Everyone has that one teacher in their life that changed their perspective in life for the better. The one who was always there whenever we needed something. To give an example when we didn’t know how to move forward. You are that teacher, and I could never be more thankful to have such an amazing, and a very brave one at that.
Thank you for always being there, and know we’re always looking up into the stars, and maybe thinking that one of those stars is you looking down on us.
Whomst? Hey, Tumblr! My name is Lea Lawson (@leals3), and I'm the creator of Vignettes! I Neil Breen'd this project and did all the things (save for the soundtrack I sourced from Tim Kulig, the open+close themes by Maria Damianou & myself, and the seven episode artworks are also by Maria!)
What is Vignettes?
It's a fully improvised short form audio drama! You read right, I wrote out loud and just had to trust that I'd find my way through each story
You'll get dropped into a situation (or an about-to-be-situation) and get to decide if the episode's char is a reliable narrator
You don't need to know any backstory to jump into any of these! That said, maybe read each episode's show notes before hitting play for CWs if you have certain triggers – episodes can be intense at times and I made these feeling grief so pls take care x
You're gonna fill in the blanks because I voice one character per episode and I don't give you context. Wait, was that char being literal or figurative? Wait, who are they talking to? Wait, did they survive?? Woah, is your theory about x episode different than your friend's? Maybe drawing your own conclusions is fun :)
The story part of the episodes only run sixish minutes, and with theme/credits only eight to nine mins long – bite sized audio, hooray! You have under ten minutes to spare, yeah?
I've solo'd this so it could be fun hearing what nonsense flew out of my mouth?
There are seven episodes to this show, and the total runtime is 59 mins so TBH this is very bingeable!
It's not just my voice, you'll also be treated to a full score and SFX!
Finally, it's my first time with full creative control of anything, and made this on a wing and a prayer. It's a little rough - but the point was the journey: raw and imperfect
Whenst? (I know that's not a word. Just let me do the bit). All episodes are out now! ^_^
Where to listen? Click to find your podcatcher links here
OR click an episode title below for individual links:
Episode #1: The Loop - They haven’t been here before. Or have they?
Episode #2: Hex Code - An audio log is played. Are their suspicions real?
Episode #3: Downfall - They decide their timeframes. Are they good at their job?
Episode #4: Speak When - They dared to speak up. Should they have?
Episode #5: Faces - Grief looms in any world. Does it hurt the same?
Episode #6: Glitch - They volunteer to test experimental tech. Was it worth the money?
Episode #7: Siphon - They are trapped by what they are. They are trapped by what they are?
And if you scroll down this Tumblr, or look through the hashtag #vignettes pod, you'll find posts with a little BTS of each ep & plenty of chatter in the hashtags too
Why? Why not? It kind of just happened. For real though see the website for more info :) Thanks for dropping by. Please share the show if you liked it, and I'll undoubtedly see you 'round the AD world!
In a suburb outside of Bakersfield California a phone rings. The call comes at 9 pm. Two boys fight over who will answer it. It’s easy to see they are related, twins actually. They both sport a disheveled blonde haircut and bright blue eyes. Neither of them seems to be trying very hard to look different from one another. Too busy being 9 year old boys to concern themselves with something as simplistic as looks. There were trees to climb and fall from. For Colt at least. The more timid of the two, Ryland, was more apt to be reading underneath that same tree. They didn’t need to look different. It was easy to tell which one was which just from observing the way they existed for longer than two seconds. Colt was constantly covered in scrapes and bruises - or in serious cases - sporting a cast. Ryland always had his glasses - but never on correctly, he was noticeably cleaner in every possible way. Maybe that was why their parents opted to leave two 9 year olds home alone that night. Ryland was responsible enough, how much trouble could they really get into. That was how life was. They had parents but they didn’t really get parented. Most of their upbringing had been between their own codependence and figuring it out on the fly.
But they were still kids. And they still clamored over furniture to beat each other to the wall mounted phone to see who could possibly want either of them at this hour. Colt was faster. He always was.
“Grace house, the much older twin Colton speaking”
Ryland had rolled his eyes and crossed his arms attempting to hide his own panting versus Colt’s completely unphased breathing. Colt smirked, the way he always did when he won. And then it dropped. He handed the phone out to his brother who took it with a concerned head tilt and timid “hello?”
The next hours were bathed and red and blue flashing lights. They were constant looks of pity and shared “I'm so sorry for your loss”. They were two little blonde boys sharing a shock blanket on an empty gurney waiting for the adults to decide where to send them. It was the grandparents they saw once a year taking them to Burbank to live out the rest of their lives.
The call came at 9 pm. The ringing of a phone was never the same after that.
—-
Three years ago
In a small apartment in San Francisco, California a phone rings. The call comes at 4 pm. A much older version of one of the boys looks up from a microwave dinner and answers it without hesitating. Somewhere along the way the trauma of a ring had worn thin. Or maybe it was just that the phones no longer interrupted your day to day with shrill tones, it was more of a gentle vibration on his table. “Dr. Ryland Grace,” its hardwired from teaching to answer any unknown number this way. It’s obviously not best practice, he could have just given a hacker his first and last name - along with the knowledge of him holding a PhD. Oh well.
“Hello Dr.Grace, this is Mercy General in Los Angeles. I'm calling because you are listed as next of kin for a Colton Grace - Seavers?”
Ryland freezes with a forkfull of nuked lasagna halfway to his mouth. Not only is that a name he hadn’t heard from in at least a month but it was a call he dreaded everyday since his daredevil of a brother took on the stuntman gig. They had gotten into a fight when it was first decided, right before Ryland had gone overseas for school. What would he do when he got the call Colt had killed himself on some stupid Hollywood set? He never got the answer.
“Y-yes, I'm his brother - er … twin. Actually. What happened?” Surprisingly his voice sounded a lot calmer than the shaking of his hand would have anyone believe. Teacher training in action.
“There was an accident on set. We don’t know all of the details but he has several broken vertebrae and is currently in surgery -”
Ryland was already up. Half warmed lasagna be damned. “I can be there in a few hours. I-I'm in San Fran right now just uhm … he… hes okay? Is Jody there? Sorry actually I, I have her number. Uhm. thank you.” He didn't wait for a proper answer. Honestly he forgot he even asked a question, his mind was rampant with things he needed to do next. Throw together a bag, get a rideshare to the airport, hope they had a cheap flight to avoid the 5 hour drive and attempt to smooth things over with work later. He tucked his phone under his chin as he ran around the small space in an attempt to secure some belongings for a lengthy stay. A back injury was no joke. Colt wouldn’t be able to do anything without help. And he hated help. Better him than the woman he was about to talk to next. “Jody? Hi … It's Ryland. Colts .. brother. The hospital just called me”
The woman on the other end of the phone was obviously crying. Or had been. Her words were breathless and quiet. “He’s going to be alright. I mean he was awake when they took him I just - it was … horrible. And fast and I .. “
He was totally inept at comforting people. He barely knew how to handle a crying 6th grader let alone a woman who was on and off again with his distanced twin brother. “I’ll be there in a couple hours. I just wanted to let you know” the warning sat at the back of his throat. Colt was a horrible patient. Ryland had sat through several broken limbs of his and every time was worse than the next. Pushed away, yelled at, constantly told to leave. Some things were better said in person. She thanked him tearfully and he dropped the call with a deep sigh coinciding with the sound of a zipping bag.
—
Two Years ago
In the same apartment a year later - a phone rings. The call comes at 6 am. A hesitant version of the same brother turns over in a sleep-addled bed and frowns at the ID. Not unknown. Jody. It had been a little over a year since the last time he had seen that name or face. Colt’s recovery went about as well as expected which was to say - poorly. After pushing her out his life he aimed for Ryland next. It didn’t work until Colt was able to walk again. By that point Ryland had a life to get back to. Well … a job at least. Colt had told him to leave almost everyday for months and one day he finally listened. They hadn’t spoken since. The push and pull of a difficult recovery was somehow what broke the thin line that still kept them keeping tabs on one another for all these years.
“Hello?” He really hadn’t wanted to answer. His better judgement had let him down about a week ago and he noticed a small article letting him know that Hollywood stunt man Colt Seavers had gotten back into the game to work on a movie called MetalStorm filming in Australia. Directed by Jody Moreno. Just the type of mess he did not need to get into. But Colt was still a part of him. Always would be. If either of them was in trouble ? There was no question about it. So he picked up, already planning on asking for the kids favorite sub to take his spot for whatever he would suddenly need to be across the damn world for.
“Sorry to call so late. Oh um .. early for you. I think.” She was crying.
Ryland sat ramrod straight in bed. Some part of him, call it twin intuition (despite it not being scientifically accurate), already knew the next few words.
“I don’t know if you’ve seen any news or.. Or articles. There’s been a lot. Colt was … he was uh.. Framed. For … for murder and then he … tonight …” There was a shuddering breath. If Ryland hadn’t been frozen he would have offered to finish the sentence for her. Just so it didn't have to be spoken into reality. He wasn’t fast enough. Colt was the faster twin after all. “He got into an accident with some bad people. He… he's gone Ryland.”
In hindsight it was incredibly rude to have hung up just then. In the present there really wasn't any other option for his brain to consider. His thumb had marked the red button before coherence had come into play. He wanted to believe that he would have felt something if Colt had left this world. Like those movies where twins always know what's going on with the other. It was hard to comprehend what crushed him more in that moment. The fact that he hadn’t felt anything, or that he never got to apologize. Not that he was the one who needed to say the words im sorry but he had always caved first when they were kids.
At 6:30 am he finally pulled up the article. At 6:35 am his phone flew across the room. At 6:36 am he curled in on himself and cried. How would he look at himself in the mirror again? It would always be part of Colt’s face after all. How would he get to Australia ? A teacher's meager salary didn't exactly support international travel.
—
The Same Day - two years ago
In the same bedroom later that afternoon, a phone rang from its place on the floor. It was nearly 3 pm. Ryland Grace had not found the will or way to move from his hunched posture since that morning. He knew he should be calling people, making arrangements, finding out what happened but there's a heaviness that comes from loss that his body recalled and it seemed to freeze every cell in his body over.
There had been several rings from that side of the room over the past few hours. Most likely to figure out why he had not called or shown for the first time at the school since he started. Maybe a few people who knew him reached out after seeing Colt’s name in headlines. Whatever it was, it was easier to ignore than entertain. But this time it was relentless. A call. And another. And another. By the time it had hit the 4th run through, Ryland had peeled himself out of the stupor and located its landing position on the other side of the room.
The caller ID lit up with a ridiculous picture and the name ‘Coal’. He nearly dropped the device again but let out a sniffle and pressed the answer button with a white knuckled grip. Whoever was making this joke was about to get - well he hadn’t really gotten that far yet but at least he would have something to give to the cops. His brother wasn’t a killer, he was killed. “This is pretty fucked up joke even for him”
“Holy shit, you swore!? I guess you were pretty worked up after all”
Ryland blinked, the phone faltered as he started to shake. He wasn’t all that sure what he was expecting from the other side of the line but a voice that was a little too close to his own was not it. Why would Jody have lied? She wouldn’t. Not about this. “Deep faking his voice is a little far - I mean really I - “
“I'm not dead Ry. You think I would go out like that? I do this for a living. I … I'm sorry. I mean about the news and scaring you but also like twenty other things. Probably more than that. I’m kind of in the business of making lists for shit I owe now.”
The silence uncomfortably settled for a few minutes. Ryland hadn’t remembered when he slid down the wall to sit against it with his knees to his chest but that was how he found himself now. Breathing slowly through the ache in his chest that had built up over the past few hours. It was unmistakably Colt. It really couldn’t be anyone else. Call it … twintuition. He hadn’t felt anything because he hadn’t actually left the world. Relief shattered grief came out in a heaving sob that he would have really preferred Colt not hear but it had been too much. Too much between them.
“Y-yeah you owe a lot. Jesus Coal. I … I can be there? I mean do you need .. are you…”
“No, no. I mean we’ll be back in LA soon and I’ll come up. It’s over. Whatever all of this was. It’s over.”
The inflection there made him nod despite Colt unable to see the agreement. Whatever the plot he had just undergone was over but he knew that tone. Whatever that block was between them was over. Because it was his turn to move it for Ryland, not the other way around.
“Okay..” Ryland answered quietly, near whispering. So many years it had been his responsibility keeping them up - but right now it just felt like he was back in middle school. And he needed his older brother (by a few minutes. technically) to shove off the bullies and keep him safe. It was stupid really. They were both in their 30’s and he was sitting here in the dark of his bedroom curled up in a corner.
“Give me 48 hours. And .. ry? Please have coffee”
He laughed. They both did. Despite the empty space in need of apology they had this. “Yeah, I will. Nothing fancy though, Hollywood.” There was no need for a longer conversation there. The call ended and Ryland picked himself up. The first thing he did was write coffee on a shopping list with a smile.
—
One Year Ago
In a modest house just outside of LA a phone rang. It was 2 pm. No one picked up.
So the world was ending or something. Colt tried not to pay too much attention to the news reports of doomsday and fearmongering. If the world was going to do its thing then it would - there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. Actually it sounded like there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. It sucked of course. He had just gotten his life back. Starting his own stunt company, being serious with Jody, talking to his brother - hell it was as perfect as a life could be. Life had a way of dealing him bad hands when things were going well though and apparently to shut down perfection there had to be an apocalypse. Cool.
Somehow though, life moved forwards at a normal pace. If he had to guess, everyone was so desensitized that really what more could they do then carry on with work and groceries and school like nothing was wrong. So here he was. On set for Metalstorm 2. Next weekend they had plans to head up to San Francisco to see Ryland and no one was supposed to talk about the sun dying. He had little hope of that last part. Ryland had always been a massive space nerd. This was right up his alley.
“One more car roll and we’re home free forrrrr spicy margaritas?” Colt drawled coming up behind the directors chair and pressing a quick kiss to the cheek of its occupant.
“Maybe slightly less spicy this time, bad decisions omitted. I have a script to write” She was in work mode. If it wasn’t incredibly attractive he might have sighed. Then again everything she did was anyway.
“Ay ay captain - director” a mock salute and wink followed as he backed his way onto set. Dan greeted him with a shoulder slap and a helmet that had seen better days.
“Up for 9 rolls? New record?”
Colt snorted and shook his head but secretly knew he was about to try anyway. There was very little to persuade him out, always doing the most. He took a final glance at Jody before lifting his arm for the signature thumbs up but froze at her posture. She was on the phone. Staring at him like she had just found out she would see him for the last time. Then she was running. Pressing the phone into his hand before he had the chance to ask. He cautiously put it to his ear with an eyebrow raised and let out a confused and concerned “hello?”
The voice on the other side was slightly breathless, in a rush, and a mimic of his own. “I tried to call you but Jody said your phone was at the house .. listen. Uh .. I think next weekend is off. I … got pulled into something for work”
A little cancellation for something teacher related wasn’t worth the look on Jody's face, nor her nail biting. He was bullshitting his way around this. “Cut the shit Ry, Jod looks like she's about to throw up. What's going on?”
A sigh, a pause - “Someone came to see me today. They want me to join the Petrova taskforce. You know the .. end of the world stuff on the news? They got samples in and want me to find out what's up so yeah I … You know it's a big deal so I won't be like .. in town.”
Ryland had been a hot shot scientist at one point. They hadn’t really been talking then and he was living overseas but he knew that his brother was out there being important and doing what he always wanted so Colt was happy. When he came back to the states, disgraced and embarrassed Colt had been there. At least until he found his teaching job and seemed to move on. Not up. Just on. So hearing this? Some government lackeys taking his brother back into the frays of professional level research? He was a little shocked, and (not that he would admit it) a little scared.
“Then why does it sound like you’re being held at gunpoint?”
Ryland laughed. The sound eased the tension in Colts posture slightly. “I mean I didn’t really have a choice no but apparently I come highly recommended which is weird considering I figured no one had nice things to say after - everything”
“Dont .. blow anything up. I'm not there to take the hit. Keep me updated? I mean like … if you .. if you go somewhere across the world or something. I should know.” The flinch was internal. After ghosting on him suddenly he deserved to know every detail of Rylands life? Of course he didn't but the government sucked at the best of times so he really couldn’t pretend to know what it was like during the worst of times. Like the end of the world.
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe actually answer your phone once in a while and I'll think about it -” A pause, some muffled voices and then a sudden “I gotta run.” before the click of the line went off. Safe to say they did not partake in any sort of merriment of a margarita that night.
—
Six months ago
There were no more calls. Suddenly they were constantly playing the news or NASA’s live feed in the back of their everyday lives. They kept their phones on them at all times. Sporadic calls and texts from Ryland were becoming few and far between but Jody would squeeze his hand and talk him off the ledge with a simple ‘im sure its very busy and tense there’.
Metalstorm 2 was currently in post production and Colt had a lot of time to himself. Usually he didn't mind the break but all of his free time resulted in the googling of his brother's name. A month or so prior Ryland had informed Colt to keep his stage name public and try his best to keep the grace part under the radar. If things were getting desperate for the world he didn't want his brother pulled in simply for having the same name. Colt understood. When he had been framed and then fake dead he had never been happier than to see Seavers on the screen and not Grace. Ryland didn’t need that heat and now he was paying the favor back.
It was a tense agreement at best. One Jody had mediated and let Ryland win. First time for everything he guessed. That afternoon breaking news came flashing across the muted TV screen in their living room and Colt nearly somersaulted for the remote to turn on the volume.
“We just got word that the breeding technique of what we are now calling ‘Astrophage’ has been discovered by none other than one of America's own. Dr. Ryland Grace, previously of the oxford college of biology, is now a teacher here in the state of California and seemingly was the one who not only named the organism but has broken ground on its lifecycle”
The woman continued on in the droll voice every anchor seemed to adopt but Colt had stopped listening. He should call right? Congratulate him. This was big news, hell it was THE news. He was happy for his flesh and blood but there was also that nagging fear that loomed since that first call. Becoming important in something like this usually leads to something more right? Dangerous games of power and information. Maybe he was being pessimistic but neither of them had necessarily had the easiest of lives recently. It was easy to see the bad.
Suddenly the footage cut to an aircraft carrier, in the middle of who knew what ocean - the rolling script read ‘research moved to a secure location for public safety’. His heart dropped. There was no way that thing was off the coast of California. Where Ryland was still reachable. Of course it wasn't. His phone buzzed. Not a call but a frantic half spelled out text.
RY: major break, they put me on jet. On boat now. Not sure where. Calls monitored. I'm sorry.
He responded with a thumbs up. Unsure what else to say or do. When this was all over - he would come home. Maybe they didn’t need him that much longer. Maybe - maybe ….
He looked up at the tv again. A woman named Eva Stratt was speaking curtly, seemingly trying her best to get away from the camera. She was listed as the chair of the Petrova task force. Aka the one responsible for his only family’s relocation. He saved the name to memory. Like his brain had already decided he would need it later.
—
Present day
In a suburb outside of LA, a phone rang. The text came at 3 am. By the time anyone would see it - it would be too late.
There were very short texts and a single call from Ryland over the past six months. Colt pretended to focus on other things like his business or the ring burning a hole in his pocket. But it was near impossible. He should be happy. The stunt guys he had under him were great, things with Jody were great. He was planning on proposing for Christ sakes. Ryland would have been happy for him. If he got to tell him. But given the state of everything it just felt like a non issue. Oh how’s saving the world going I’m sure you’re under a lot of pressure and stress by the way I’m getting married. It was tone deaf. Even for Colt.
So they held short conversations. Making sure both were equally as alive and healthy until this was over. The countdown was on NASA. 3 days until the launch of the Hail Mary. Supposedly that secret that Ry had been working on. There wasn’t much else about the mission out there. It was the furthest anything had ever been sent away from earth. It would only have a small team of 3 and the likelihood of the return was little to none. A suicide mission pretty much. But with flowery words to help the public feel better about sending three people to die. He guessed against the backdrop of half the population it wasn’t a huge feat but it was still humans. People's sons, daughters - brothers. Thankfully his was not trained to be in that position. Stuck in a lab. A relief.
He and Jody had been watching the countdown the night before it all. The night before he woke up to a message, delivered at 3 am. He hadn’t put his phone on do not disturb for the past year but for some reason that night - he hadn’t plugged it in either. By the time he was charged it was mid morning. That’s when he saw it.
RY: There was an accident. The science team was in it. They asked me to go. I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think it’s a choice. I’m scared.
Jody asked what was wrong. More than once. She had to take the phone from his hands for an answer. Colt hadn’t felt paralyzed when he had his accident - it was a small mercy but if he had … he imagined it would have felt like this moment.
“Oh my god” Jody covered her mouth, tears instant as she glanced back at the ticking time bomb that was the NASA countdown to the world saving mission. AKA - the ticking time bomb on his brother's life. As much as he wanted to mobilize, the location was secret. Hidden. There was no way to track it. There was no number to call. No emails to send. Colton Grace was in the dark and helpless to stop the clock.
He called Rylands phone over 20 times each time, greeted with the cheery voice of his brother stating he was away from the phone right now. Like hell he was. Texts were left unread. Every google search for Eva Stratt or Project Hail Mary was blocked by government credentials.
It was a few hours before Jody made him face the music. She knew better than to let the spiral continue. She was convinced they had talked him into volunteering. After all, he loved astronomy. He was the leading figure in the field for astrophage and had the best chance at making a difference out there. He was going to save the world and somehow they would find peace in that.
Colt was more apt to say to hell with peace and raise any sort of hell to find out where the hell this launch was but it was quite literally him against the world.
On the day of the launch they finally released the article. A face identical to his own covering the front page of every news outlet worth a damn.
‘Tragic accident leads to replacement science officer on the Hail Mary. Dr. Ryland Grace, leading scientist in astrophage, to join mission last minute. Today we wish Earth’s saviors good luck as they embark on uncharted territory.’
On the day of the launch Colt was pretty sure every ounce of water in his body was released in grief. There were no other calls. No other messages. Whatever had happened, Colt was damn sure his brother was no volunteer. And if he couldn’t say goodbye then he was going to find who was responsible and make them feel even a single ounce of the fear he knew Ryland had suffered. He would never get a call again. After all these years …. Ryland had always been the one receiving those late night rings. Colts lifestyle warranted things happening. Ryland Grace was a middle school teacher. He was polite and reserved. There was never any reason for Colt to expect a call in return. And now he would never get the chance.
The snow crunched gently as the boy curled his hand inwards.
The man with the flaming-red hair who had created this illusion would oftentimes describe it as ‘cold’, as did his Ward.
Cold…the sensation was at once familiar and unknown, like a lingering memory where once beloved faces had now become a nothing but a blur.
Memories themselves were a strange prospect. How many had he made since he came to be? According to the Ward, they had known one another for five years now, though how they were able to keep track of that sort of thing, he had no clue. Images, once clear and vivid, had begun to melt and merge with other impressions in his mind. Only one still appeared clear and untouched: the day he met the Ward.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he felt their presence brush against his consciousness somewhere nearby.
With an agile movement that likened a bird taking flight, he jumped down from the snowbank and landed on the ground below. The fur he had been gifted rested on his shoulders, draping his form in a cloud of white. You’re supposed to show your appreciation for gifts, he occasionally had to remind himself, and so he wore it despite his lack of need.
Barefoot, he made his way through the bleak landscape with a spring in his step. The wind carried him forward, and rare laughter – that dear friend which had grown ever-distant with his maturing years – bubbled out, light and unbridled. It was a free but short-lived sound, as he got the sudden urge to sing, instead. His voice cracked in places it had not done years ago, as though struggling to remember how to fit comfortably inside his body.
It was an old melody that had found him long ago when he had abandoned this vessel and soared amongst ever-shifting skies and shining stars. “A lullaby?” The Ward had asked when he was humming it the next morning. Muir had looked them in confusion, inquiring as to what a ‘lullaby’ was.
This was no tune meant to bring anyone to sleep. It was a song orchestrated by the essence of existence itself.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
The weary voice brought him down in an instant, anchoring him to what he had learned to call 'the present' – the flicker of a moment that transpired before his earthly eyes, when the world shackled itself and turned into a shell of what it truly was.
Cirern stood with his arms wrapped around himself, wearing a thicker robe than the ones he usually donned indoors. It took Muir a few, tense seconds to realize that the sorcerer had not meant to pull him into conversation; neither one took the initiative to break the silence that was growing between them.
Cirern eventually turned his gaze towards the third figure in the distance, who he had made certain remained occupied with yet another practical lesson.
“Yes,” Muir muttered, eyes flitting between him and the Ward. He tried not to let his tone sour, but it was easier said than done. Cirern Avari unnerved him, yet he could not simply remove himself from his presence. They shared this space, whether he liked it or not.
“In moments like these,” the sorcerer went on, “one could almost mistake you for a normal child.”
Muir promptly turned his eyes away. He wanted to summon more snow and bury the man in it. Or perhaps bury himself. Whatever would get him out of this conversation.
That was usually the job of the Ward; they seemed to have a knack for distracting Cirern in a way that few other things managed to.
He tried, through thought alone, to force them back here and deal with this situation.
“You seem unsettled. There is no reason to be.” He saw Cirern’s robes shift in the snow as he turned away, his eyes moving to a point in the distance. “You are needed here. Without you, I cannot be certain that my apprentice will maintain their ability to weave the spells I have taught them, curious though that is.”
Now that he was no longer looking his way, Muir finally gathered the courage to speak. “…Even though you don’t know what I am?”
Cirern nodded, just once. Muir was about to turn away, thinking his lack of a verbal response a sign that the man wished for the conversation to come to and end.
He had only taken a few steps before he heard him speak again:
“There are no truths that cannot be uncovered. Not even those hiding inside an oblivious mind.”
---
Once again, I'm so sorry that it took me so long to finish this! I hope it's enjoyable even though it's quite short.
To clarify, 'the Ward' here is the MC. I settled on they/them pronouns and had Muir refer to them that way because I obviously can't use a customizable name/pronouns when writing like this. 'Ward' is capitalized to show the importance Muir places on them/his relationship with the MC.
Summary: From Arthurs POV. It's just another night on the subway. A typical ride on the Gotham train on his way home from a long day of running errands and away from his tedious depressive thoughts. Perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman he could only seem to catch in passing, the woman he’d been secretly watching, following, fantasizing about nightly. Perhaps the unending misery that is the city above had him thinking of change, of something new to obsess about. Something to draw his mind away from the blistering and the mundane. Would he finally get the courage to talk to her?
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, swearing, stalking, obsession, mentions of violence, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff
A/N: Beginning to a series? Who knows. May add things later. First fic, btw! I'm hyper fixated now, so expect more. This is something I've been mulling around with for a while. I've done this story from both the readers' POV and from Arthur's because I can't get enough!! So, make sure to read both! I loved writing from this perspective so much, btw! Literally! Send ideas, edits, etc. my way!! And be nice please. The first chapter is mostly fluff/ descriptive plot/character building. Cheers! Enjoyyy!
Word Count: 3.9k
SERIES: Subway Obsessions
CHAPTER 1: Chance Meeting
Today was another mundane day. Arthur had been out earlier in the evening running errands for his mother. Picking up T.V. dinners at the grocer and medications for him and her at the local pharmacy. Still, getting around the city was a chore in of itself. He figured the subway would be the easiest and quickest way home. It was nearing 10 o'clock pm. His mother would be worried, and it was getting late. He knew the dangers of roaming Gotham city at these hours. His mother used to say, "That's when the colorful people come out." A way to make something serious, completely unserious. Still, he knew the dangers and tried as hard as he might to keep his wits about him. Easier said than done when you're a man with a neurological disorder, apparently so many people hate you for. He wished they’d understood or tried at least.
He always pondered why the people of Gotham were so... well so mean! Everyone he encountered save for the very, very few were just assholes to him. Perhaps it was the political climate? With Thomas Wayne running for government placement, it probably didn't help. Make the rich richer and the poor poorer he thought. Perhaps it was the state of the city itself, the infrastructure, the lack of resources. He sure has been on the wrong end of that stick one too many times. "Good people suffer Happy," his mother would say. But he never understood why it had to be that way. Life was circumstantial. He didn't ask to have what little he did. He didn't even ask to be born and thought life was the real joke.
It doesn't have to make sense to be funny! He jested internally. Because its fucked! And there lies the comedy for those broken enough to see, yet perhaps healed enough to laugh at the pain. Because, what else can you do?
His mind wandered through these endless fields of thought when a train car stopped in front of him. He had been standing on the platform disassociating for some time. Perhaps he even forgot where he was for a moment, ruminating over the wrongs of life and playing them out differently in his head. The things he didn't say or do, what he could have done differently...
The brisk hiss and click of the air brakes as they screeched to a halt brought him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the doors to open. As he did, a disheveled looking figure pushed past him while exiting. He burst out in a cry of compulsory laughter and stepped on the train. He was in the last car and immediately noticed it was bearable, as bearable as riding the subway can be he postulated.
In his search for a seat towards the end of the train car, he noticed a large putrid looking spill in the back. It melted off the seats and slid across the aisle. It looked sticky. Best to avoid that then, he thought. He opted for a bench seat away from the offending area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, arm outstretched on the head of the seat next to him. No one was in this car except for him. He found a moment of solace and drank it in, filling himself with the noiseless satisfaction of silence and peace when a warbled voice broke over the loud speaker. He couldn't really understand it, but the semblance of words spoke what sounded like “platform 19”. It was all he could understand through the robot whine. He felt anticipation rising within him.
At approximately 10:15 p.m., the doors of the subway train broke open with a gush of cold night air. At the other end of the subway, he watched as a woman stepped onto the train like a fawn. Scared and unsure of where to go or sit. She was bright and colorful; she immediately caught his eye. Was this what his mother meant by colorful people? He thought to himself. He quickly realized it was her! The girl he had fantasized about daily and nightly, hoping to catch her on the train but only seeming to in his thoughts and dreams, remembering her face, her scent that penetrated her surroundings. He had tirelessly followed her the first time he saw her. She was the only person to smile at him that day. He had to know more and had to know why. But she wasn't always on the same train. He always hoped to run into her and had almost given up, thinking she must have been some sort of hallucination he created for himself to lessen his own pain. But there she was.
She looked different tonight. She looked like a predator, displaying colors brightly in the face of possible danger. She was a force; he felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped in through the steel doors, a thickness lifted in the air and he could feel himself tense in his seat. His clothes were suddenly uncomfortable, his collar too tight, his hands, sweaty. She always looked beautiful when he saw her, she always looked content and comfortable. Hair in a messy bun with strands falling about her face swayed by the wind that surged through the train car. Sweats he could still make out her figure through, leaving him wanting more every time, it drove him crazy! But today she looked like she was straight out of the films on the TV! He thought to himself. She made him think of glamour, it's the only word that truly fit, like the old films he would watch with his mom. Wow! Was she a sight to see, a cool pristine liquid flowing over his burning eyes. A soothing image of pure proclivity. An unknown sense of calm swept over him.
He watched, frozen, as she cautiously observed the train car searching for a seat. He looked at her from top to bottom. She was significantly smaller than him, petite, probably around five feet three he gauged. Fuzzy black boots, blue jeans tightly hugging her figure, full thick thighs, his mouth began to water - he thirsted for her, wanted to drink in her every essence. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke it down. A tight black shirt under a small cropped pink sweater with red hearts all over. It perfectly displayed her large soft breasts. Brown curls bounced about her shoulders as she walked, strands of them fell daintily on her face and cheeks. As she walked, she would flick it away with a quick movement of her head. The way she did that, moving her hair out of her face without using her hands. It made him tingle in all the right places. His mind raced. What else can she do without using her hands? he thought.
There was something pink in her hair too, he saw as she walked past. She didn't notice him at first. Most people don't he thought to himself. Although this thought disappointed him, he didn't fault her for it. He had the urge to make her notice him. To be a presence and to be objectified by her, he only wished he could hold that kind of power.
As she passed, the scent he had come to know as her- wafted past him, he sucked in through his teeth sharply. It was heaven on earth. Stimulating. He would follow that scent hoping to find her, mercilessly searching. It was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock spasm. She was eyeing the seats towards the back where that odd spill was. A butterfly he thought. It's a pink butterfly in her hair. He immediately felt like a school boy again, fawning over and wanting to get the attention of the pretty girl and for her to return it.
"This one's fine!" He blurted out, not really knowing what he was saying. She turned around, her beauty, dark, striking, and he found it hard to speak again. He stammered and was able to get the lump out of his throat to follow up with; "I don't know what that is back there but these are not so bad" his voice felt cracked but he tried to contain his composure, he didn't want to scare her off. He was the only other person on the train, and it must have jolted her since she didn't see him at first. Plus, she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep or weirdo, he thought to himself. There was some truth behind those thoughts, but that didn't make him a bad person, he thought. All day, he spends trying to have a nice day to make himself and others happy, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let the bad influence the good he can salvage.
"Oh, thank you!" A sweet voice broke the monotony of thought, and immediately he was flung back into the present. She made her way to the seats laid out in front of him. A row of sideways seating. He watched her sit gracefully, slowly, like a calculated ballet dancer, he thought. Every move fluid, every move perfect. When she sat, she arranged her things on the seat next to her and settled in. He wondered to himself where she was going. Why she had so many bags, why she was riding the subway so late, as a woman, she should be terrified. This city is not safe, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her. She was like a beacon of light, too bright to stare at, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and simply couldn't resist the allure.
She actually sat next to me! He thought. Only one seat away, actually next to me. But that wasn't all. She saw him, noticed him, heard him, and listened to him. The weight of these simple gestures made his hands sweaty, and he tried his best to remain aloof. The doors of the train opened on the other side of her, and a breeze blew her hair behind her and over her face. He couldn't help but see her, every aspect of her. He studied her every move, every inch of her body. He wanted this to last, for this image to never leave his mind.
The wind that blew past her carried on it her scent. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet alluring scent of peach? No. Some kind of berry? No. When the doors shut and the pressure created another breeze, the scent wafted to him again. Taking it all in, he identified the smell as watermelon. Some kind of fruity smell filled his senses with the feeling of euphoria. It was intoxicating. He wondered what it would be like to be pressed up against her, inhaling her deeply. He looked down with a deep sigh when he looked back over. She was moving a strand of hair out of her face and caught a glimpse of her looking at him as well. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke her gaze. She was fire, burning too hot near him, and he wanted so badly to play, to burn himself, engulf himself in her flames breathlessly.
He tried to come up with something to say, anything. How do I talk to her? What would I even say without sounding stupid? He thought. He watched on as the florescent lights above her flickered. It lit up parts of her he hadn't seen upon first observation. Glitter decorated her collar bones and cheeks. Her sweater was slightly unzipped. He could see the peeking out of her cleavage. Sparkling with glitter, so pretty, she reminded him of the stars of the night sky. Unmistakably beautiful, yet so. Far. Away. He had been working up the courage to say something to her, to hear her voice again, he didn't want to forget it. A symphony replayed in his mind. He needed more.
He stumbled over his words, "Sorry, I-it's hard for me to talk, I meant to introduce myself. I'm Arthur, " he said in the kindest, most unassuming voice he could muster. She looked up and locked eyes. They burned his insides like hot coals. He anticipated her reply, not knowing if she would even engage in conversation with him. "No worries!" She spoke in a reassuring way that made his heart flutter. "I know how it can be, trust me!" She sounded genuine. Kind. There was something underneath her voice, though he couldn't quite conceptualize. Fear? Doubt, maybe? He wanted to take it away.
"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur!" Again, her voice beaming so light and so lifting. She reached out to shake his hand that he had offered. Her hand was small and was practically swallowed by his. Her fingers were warm, sweeping softly over his palm as she grasped his hand in hers. It's a simple thing, he thought. It was a small touch, but it was enough to make him crumble inside. She felt so nice! "Y/N," he said. "I like that." He lamented. Such a beautiful name. But everything about her was beautiful. Her presence was wholesome and welcoming. Is this real? he pondered. Thoughts took over again, and not knowing how to continue the conversation, they sat in silence for a moment as he worked up the courage to speak again.
Moments passed that felt like a lifetime, but he was content in her presence, soaking up her aura. As he went to ask her a question, she moved to speak as well. Catching each other off guard, Arthur profusely apologized "No it's okay, go ahead," he said, not wanting to interrupt her. "No, no, that's okay, what were you going to say?" She insisted back. Her voice was small and mousey, she seemed so shy. Why would she be? She screams confidence and power. Even in her apprehensive movements, she seems calculated, he thought to himself. He stole another glance at her. Her eyes sparkled reminiscent of a smokey quartz gem in a bracelet he once saw in a shop window. A thought of her adorned in nothing but gems crossed his mind. He tried to hold onto the image before it left his mind's eye. He felt a flush in his cheeks again, and his eyes darted. He couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. It made him nervous. He was working up the urge to speak again, to say something, anything.
He broke the silence and asked, "So what brings you to ride the subway so late at night? Aren't you scared?" He uttered jokingly. After saying it, he felt immediate stupidity. Why would I say that? He thought and started an inner spiral. As if seeing his reaction to his own question and wanting to ease the tension building within him, Y/N said, " Well, I work at the Gotham shelter overnight. So, having to ride the train every night, I guess, I've gotten used to it for the most part. But, yeah, I do get scared sometimes. The city can be super sketchy, and I've been attacked twice already, so I had to buy mace and stuff to try and protect myself."
The words spilled out of her mouth like a wave of glass, he couldn't fathom her ever saying this of all things, it was jolting for him and triggered something within him he had tried so long to hide. His mind raced. He felt anger and rage well up inside of him it hardened his sternum and burned in his throat. He became stiff but was unaware. The spiraling began to start again. This city was ruining people, hurting people, good people! He thought. She helps people, and then people hurt her?! Pieces of shit! He screamed internally. The emotions he felt were at war within himself. He felt rage for her pain and suffering at the hands of this city's denizens, he felt fear for her life knowing she rides the train every night, he felt regret, why couldn't he have been there to help, to do something? He all but took the pain on as his own, it soaked through to his core. He too had been at the mercy of some of the worst people he has ever had the displeasure of encountering in this god forsaken city, he too had been attacked, hurt, mercilessly tortured by these fucking terrible people.
Lost in his train of thought and looking straight ahead he couldn't help but sternly say in sympathy "These people are just fucking terrible!" She must have noticed his change in demeanor at this declaration. He suddenly felt a warmth cross his leg, and lightly squeeze. It was smooth and comforting. His concentration broke completely. Pulled out of a trance by her as if the thoughts were just zapped out of his brain. His eyes quickly darted back to her where they followed the length of her shoulder, to her arm, and from her arm to her hand that rested upon his thigh. He felt the muscles in his face relax, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched. The sheer power she had over him he thought. The warmth emanating off of her palm was like security, a blanket of nostalgia. He couldn't remember the last time he felt what felt like love, like connection, or attachment. He couldn't help but see flashes of images in his mind, her moving her hand closer to his cock which had began to throb. He tried to brush away those thoughts but they plagued him. She was touching him. Something that never happens to him. He immediately craved her touch, he wanted more, he wondered how that would be possible. He thought this couldn't be real. Not this time.
Once again, breaking his thought pattern she spoke, and he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, but I'm ok now!" She said in a reassuring tone. Her voice, like petals on velvet. Soft, gentle. "You're here now! And so, I feel safe." Safe? He thought, with me? Like she trusts me? He could feel the negative thoughts start to brim to the surface of his mind but quelled them by responding instead. He needed clarification. The words she spoke just didn't make sense to him. He couldn't see why she would or should trust him, although he so badly wanted her to, for this to be true, he needed it to be. He suddenly felt the urge to never leave her, to always be by her side. He would watch, he would follow, and he would do anything for her.
He only imagined what it would be like to know her both romantically and intimately. "You feel safe? W-with me?" He spoke haphazardly, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear, hoped to hear. "I do." She looked into his eyes sincerely. His heart leapt into his throat; he couldn't breathe. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to grab her, to feel her against him. He shifted his legs at the thought. Looking up at him like that weakened him in so many ways. Most noticeably, in his pants, where he tried to conceal the results of his dirty thoughts. "Then I will protect you Y/N" he proclaimed proudly. A shy smile touched her lips and she continued to gaze into his eyes. He smiled back. I make her feel safe, he thought. She is comfortable in my presence. No one even bothers talking to me, no one ever wants to talk to me. He had the urge to speak once more but couldn't find the words.
Before either of them could speak, the subway speaker rang out once again in that barely audible robotic toned voice announcing the next stop as the harsh brakes squeaked heavily to a stop. As if anticipating her to leave, he just as quickly stood up and offered out his hand. "Thank you," her voice sang. She turned to face him, her small stature looking up at him once more. He held his composure but felt the heat well up inside him. "It was so nice having someone to ride the train with tonight for a change!" She cheerfully exclaimed with a smile.
She had grabbed her things and had let go of his hand. What sweet bliss it was for the few seconds he had held it. Her fingers, so dainty and soft. The train screeched to a halt, and he instinctively grabbed her hand again and put his other hand at the small of her back to steady her. He could feel the soft curve of her spine. He slowly moved a pinky closer, hoping she wouldn't notice, tracing the line of her jeans as he did, feeling the line of her panty through the fabric. He quickly pulled away as she exited the train. He had held back. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to turn her around, grab her face and kiss her, shove her onto the subway seats, and have his way with her, make her cry out. He wanted her to miss work. He wanted her to quit! He wanted her all to himself.
This moment was too perfect. It felt like a dream. As she stepped off the platform and began to walk away, he stood as the doors shut, helplessly watching her as she slowly walked. Unable to stop time. As the train brakes hissed and cranked, he saw her stop and turn around. She had stepped to the doors, but it was too late. He watched on as her figure shrunk into the distance as the train traveled once again into the dark tunnel. He waved. He would see her again. He would make sure of that. Platform 19. He thought, I'll remember this time.
"Do you actually believe in all this?" Even lower: "Soulmates?"
"By all this, you mean our job?"
|| LINK to the POV || [3k]
Remember update number two? The scene of Wyatt dragging MC to treat them to a wrap? Now, here is their side of things, interactive, with a downsized character creator. Hope you will enjoy this while I'm working on the next update.
Belatedly, I have realized that I haven't released anything the entire summer, but today this came to me as an a-ha moment while doing chores. Earlier, I said I'd write POVs for when I have something to say in them? Well, this is one of such scenes. Shedding a bit more (but not a lot) light on the mystery of Wyatt's demotion and finally committing to writing the line (thought) that was living in my head rent-free. I wrote this in a span of one day, so apologies for typos and errors, just send them my way and I will tidy up!
Note: this takes place in the path where Rezanii is shot
It happened between one breath and the next. One moment, Rezanii was standing on the platform, voice projecting over the crowd, and the next—
A crack splitting the air—
And blood, so much blood, spreading across their chest.
Faustino grabbed Rezanii, clutching them against his chest as if that could do anything to fix what had already happened. He screamed their name, once, twice, again—
He had failed Rezanii once before. During the war, when Rezanii had been taken prisoner. Faustino had searched for Rezanii for months, but so many people had said Rezanii was dead, and eventually Faustino gave up. And then, of course, Rezanii had been alive. It had been beautiful and wonderful, but it was all tinged with the sharp, acrid taste of guilt. Of knowing that while Faustino was free, Rezanii had been held captive.
Faustino had failed.
And here, again, in this humid little town where the palm trees swayed and the sun beat down on a panicking crowd, Faustino had failed.
The security forces had already closed around them.
He yelled again.
And again.
It changed nothing.
“Enyi Vice President, are you okay?”
“We’ll have him examined at the hospital.”
“He’s bleeding—”
“That’s not my blood,” Faustino managed to say. He clung to Rezanii’s limp form as the piercing wail of sirens filled the air.
“We need to put pressure on it,” Nura said. Faustino nodded, setting Rezanii down and pressing on the wound.
They couldn’t die. Not here. Not anywhere, not now.
“We’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Just—don’t worry,” Faustino said. “Please.”
“Enyi Vice President—“
“Acting President Marellii—“
“Enyi Marellii—“
Faustino pushed past the people surrounding him, muttering apologies as he forced his way down the hallway before ducking into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him and he locked it with shaking hands before stumbling over to the sink.
They’re going to die.
Faustino kept the thought buried beneath a layer of panic. He didn’t need anyone overhearing his fear. Not when he was sure there was enough fear throughout the country.
If only that caused the thoughts themselves to vanish.
He looked down. Blood stained his shirt, his skin.
Faustino’s hands shook as he turned on the tap and pulled the shirt off. He scrubbed, the warm water turning hot and burning his skin as he worked. The blood flowed from the shirt but more remained, no matter how hard he fought it.
He called to his magic, forcing more water out of the faucet. But it wasn’t enough.
The door to the bathroom creaked open and Faustino looked up as Michi stepped in.
“Any update? How are they?” Faustino asked.
“They’ve been taken into surgery,” Michi said.
“I see,” Faustino rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying his best to suppress the nausea he felt. “I see, and–”
“We’ll know more soon,” Michi said. “It’s not as bad as it could have been. Security services have apprehended the shooter, and they’re investigating why this happened.”
“What if Rezanii dies?” Faustino said.
“There’s a succession plan—“
“Not that!”
He gripped the edges of the sink, struggling to keep from panicking. It was possible to feel the rush of the water in the pipes. His magic called to it as if it could offer protection. But there was nothing his magic could do for this.
“I don’t know what to do if I lose them,” he said.
Michi took a step closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not something you need to think about yet.”
“Don’t I?” Faustino said.
“Not yet. Not until the doctors say so. And if they say so, we’ll fly Rezanii somewhere else,” Michi said. They glanced to the side occasionally, responding to messages and checking calls. “We have allies with better medical systems. It’s not unheard of for a leader to go elsewhere for care.”
“How are you so calm?” Faustino asked. He looked at Michi, eyes wide, hopeful for some answer that would help him find composure.
“Because right now, we have no choice,” Michi said. “The people need to hear from you. You’re the acting president.”
Faustino shook his head, turning back to staring at the sink. “All they need is an update. Can you not do it?”
“People need to hear from you,” they said. “Not an unelected advisor.”
“What do I say?” Faustino asked. It had been a day since the inauguration. What could he say that would comfort anyone?
“Be honest,” Michi replied. They wrinkled their nose. “Not too honest. But tell them you understand. They’re scared. They’re terrified about what this means. Tell them you understand, but that you can lead until Rezanii can take back the presidency. Not if. When.”
“Alright. Alright,” Faustino said.
“You should wear a shirt.” Michi handed him a tunic and Faustino dried his hands and took it. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Faustino said.
“I understand. But it’s time anyway,” they said.
Faustino nodded, pulled on the new tunic, and with his stomach still churning, left the bathroom.
“Enyi Vice President. Rezanii is out of surgery.”
Faustino stood up, abandoning the video call he’d been on and slamming the laptop shut despite Arellii's irritated yell.
“How are they? Can I see them?” he asked. The doctor nodded, stepping to the side to allow him to exit.
“They did well,” she said. “They’re still unconscious, but they should make a full recovery.”
“Yes. Yes. Thank you,” Faustino said.
They stopped outside of the hospital room door, and Faustino paused.
“You can go in,” the doctor said.
Faustino swallowed. He had more meetings, more work to do, but—
Just a moment. He’d just take a moment at their side and then go. That would be fine.
Hospitals were familiar. Faustino had spent half his childhood in one. It only took a moment for him to conjure a dozen memories of Rezanii sitting at his bedside. Sometimes they’d joke together, sometimes they’d trade gossip from school for gossip from the hospital ward, and sometimes they’d just sit by him when he was too weak to chat.
The weeks after Rezanii had been freed from Kortapolis had been the first time the roles had been reversed. Now it was happening again.
“I’m sorry,” Faustino whispered. He reached for Rezanii, hesitating a millimeter away from their hand. “I’m so sorry. I should have—“
Should have made them take Nura on stage. Should have told them to wear a bulletproof vest. Should have saved them.
“Feeling guilty isn’t going to help you, is it?” Faustino muttered. They laid silently on the bed, the heart monitor beeping. “Well, things are stable. That’s good. You won’t wake up to an extra crisis, at least.”
He closed the last bit of distance and took their hand. It was cold in his grasp but he could feel Rezanii’s soft heartbeat.
“I love you,” Faustino said. “In so many ways. I just… I hope you know. I should tell you more. But I love you.”
A soft knock came at the door and an aide peeked in.
“Enyi Vice President. You’re needed,” he said.
“Of course,” Faustino said.
He forced himself to let go of their hand and left the room with one last look back.
