I didn't get around to writing much for silverv weekend so this is all ive got, for the intoxication/regrets prompt
He never really likes to see V get plastered. It reminds him too much of himself at his worst, when drugs and booze made him act out. No, didn’t make him, not exactly, but still. Hell, even though he’s the one who took the body on a joyride what feels like an eternity ago, it's one of many regrets. He wrecked his own body ten times over, V doesn’t deserve the same shit. They deserve better than that, better than him. The more their body breaks down, though, the more they grasp at any and all coping mechanisms, and too often now they’ll down a drink or two before heading to a gig. A few pills for the pain here and there, maybe an extra. Johnny hates it, hates to see the pattern form and knowing he can’t say shit because V will just call him a hypocrite and they’ll be right. He’s a self proclaimed sommelier of illicit substances, and he has no right telling them what to do with their body, while they still have it. The first few cigarettes he was simply grateful, but seeing empty packs on the floor of the apartment, the bloodshot eyes in the mirror? This is absolutely not what he wants, not what he even expected when they first met. They didn’t seem the type to fall into the same shit as him, because they were just…better. Weren’t they?
They made it. Both of them. Fifty feet apart in two hospital beds.
Johnny can't recognize himself, but he can recognize the voice that calls for him.
[AO3] - 2.6k words
Read Below :)
They're a room apart.
It shouldn't be possible, everything said it shouldn't. Lines of code, declining health, and the goddamn relic he was packed into. They shouldn't be a room apart, let alone breathing, in separate bodies, fifty feet apart.
Is it selfish to want to go back to the way it had been….?
Cold, shaking hands hold onto the fabric of the thin, shitty blanket he had been provided in this horribly sleek hospital room. The sterile, white surroundings burn his eyes, every blink he's forcing away tears as he wakes. All he knows are the chills that wrack through him like he was nothing but a useless body on a shelf. Maybe he had been.
Out here, unprotected and painfully real, he can feel every bit of cold, every hit of pain that comes and goes. There's no IV drip by him, nothing hooked up to him for any sort of relief. No, there's nothing to soothe the ache and burn that seems to radiate throughout his entire body. Though, he guesses, he's not supposed to be comfortable here.
His head throbs as he barely barely manages to lift his head off the horrendous mattress. Splotches of red and black paint his vision the more he forces himself up. Maybe it's the haziness, but as each mark in his vision fades and is replaced elsewhere, he can just slightly see the state he's in. Rather, the body.
Cool metal leaves it's mark on his wrist. The wrist of the hand that's supposed to be metal. Through and through, it was supposed to be metal. Wiring here and there, something linking up his mind to the chrome. That's not his hand.
Over the pounding in his head, his thoughts run a mile a minute. And first conclusion he comes to, is that it didn't work. Of course that's the first thought. There's not even a monitor linked up to him to track the way his heart starts to beat out of his chest. It's wrong, everything screams that this reaction is wrong, but that doesn't stop the panic that spreads.
Where is V?
God, if this didn't work, if V was gone- Fuck, fuck, shut up.
If there was one thing his head was good at, it was screaming. Whether it be into a mic, at the people around him, or just at himself, it was always loud. Here, there were no drugs to take to shut it up, either.
When he and V got here, they both knew the chances of failure, and what would happen if they couldn't get the relic out… But, as much as he distrusted this goddamn corporation and it's rats, V trusted it, and Johnny trusted V. How fucked up is that? He followed where V went, like he was the one who wasn't shouting orders just a week ago. He trusted V more than himself, and that fucking said something, even if he'd never admit it. He doesn't succumb to weakness, nor guilt. That's not something Johnny Silverhand does—he can't.
In front of a court of law, he wouldn't let those words fall from his lips. He pleads not guilty to every charge, with a self-centered reason why something happened like that instead. The trail of bodies that followed him are just casualties, people who agreed to fight and die by his side. He can't be held accountable for it when every party signed away their right to breathe by entering Night City's grasp. The city claims souls, from men hopeful to get up the corporate ladder, to people just trying to find a dry place for the night.
He and V aren't so different from that, not when they scrounged for eddies and safety among each other. Two men who just wanted to be something, go out with a bang and never be forgotten, or live in the stars. People written into history books, feared or beloved among the masses. That's all they ever wanted. Insignificance wasn't an option.
Together, somehow, they were going to make it. Johnny thought they were going to make it. Hand in hand, minds intertwined in every way. But they're here, both further and closer than Johnny's mind can grasp.
Fear runs on loop in his mind, several trains running too close to each other and nearly missing each time one sped past on their tracks. It blurs his vision, like a mean high each time his head throbbed again. He doesn't get anxious, he swore by that for the longest time, but the more he sits here, and the colder he feels the metal digging into his wrist, the more it starts to ramp up. There's not another person to share the burden, no one to take it off his shoulders.
It's like ice against his skin, that metal he tugs over and over again. Each movement coming with a sharp ache he so desperately wants to ignore, just like the red splotches throughout his vision. It fucks up his vision beyond the tears threatening to fill his eyes. He can't make out the shining silver in the mess, but he can bend his hand just enough to feel exactly what is is. That takes but a second before he's bruising himself to get out.
Handcuffs secure one wrist to the bed, with the other cuff connected to a post on the railing of the bed. Every pull on the metal makes his skin burn, splitting the sensitive skin where his silver arm is supposed to be. Why? Why? He can pull as much as he wants, the amount of bruising doesn't matter. He's held there for a reason, whatever that may be… At the very least, that has to mean V's somewhere else. Is Johnny a danger to him? Is that why?
As his vision clears of the red and black marks, and his body struggles to do any more push and pull, Johnny lets his head fall back against the mattress. It's a painful kind of weak, restless with a screaming mind and he can do nothing but stare and hope, somewhere in his head that it's okay. He has to hope that V's okay.
It's all flushed away in an instant, however, when V's sharp voice is all that floods his ears. Loud, aggressive, scared. A jumble of words bounce off the walls, and through the wall separating the two of them. Each thing more clear than the last as V grows louder and louder. Incoherent words turn into threats, then simply yelling.
Yelling Johnny's name.
His stomach twists unbearably, bile burning at the walls of his throat the more he hears screaming. V is all he can hear. It's all his ears tune into. Not the shouting by anyone else, not the people attempting to shut V up. It's just V. It's always V.
"Johnny! You fuckin' hear me?!"
He does.
He hears him even if the sounds pelt his brain like hail, even if it hurts like hellfire. V's voice cracks on the harsh words, on Johnny's name, repeated over and over, and over again… If he lets his eyes close, he can imagine he's right there, wiping the tears from V's face—he doesn't have to think to know that his previous host is choking on his own cries. As much as V hid it before, he knows exactly the way his voice conveys everything his face doesn't. Flat and monotone to everyone else, but not to Johnny, never to Johnny. Just a few days in his head taught him every little thing V did.
Is it wrong to wish he was back in there, rather than here?
The shouts would quiet and they'd both be safe wrapped in each other's arms, not so very far. They're alive, goddammit, but Johnny would rather be anywhere else. It's cold here, everything with a terrifying sheen of unfamiliar. Had he told V no, if they turned back around, he wouldn't hearing pleading—begging—for him. It would be okay if they hadn't done all this… Johnny would be safely tucked in V's head, surrounded by warmth, not in this freezing cold, sterile room.
It's cruel. He's cuffed to the bed as if he's some kind of animal, a creature to be frightened by. Maybe he would be if his body would work, if he could just pick himself up or get out a single sound, he'd call for V's name the same way he did for Johnny. The most he can do is pull in strangled breaths that only send more pain throughout his weak frame.
Does V even know he's alive?
Does he know Johnny wants to shout for him too?
Instead, he'd stuck in this bed. Bound with chains and creeping agony. There's nowhere to go, all he can do is listen to sobs for him. Over and over… V doesn't let up, he pushes and pushes like he should. V fights because he's strong, his brain damaged beyond repair and yet he's the one fighting to get to Johnny. It should be the other way around. It should be Johnny screaming until his voice broke, like he did on stage.
If he made a sound, that meant he was alive. Every time he shouted into a microphone, it showed that he was alive. There was blood in his veins and his heart was pulsing in his ears. The crowds were always just as loud as him, filling whatever venue they managed to snag for the night with liveliness, with heat and passion. They were alive.
He doesn't feel that so much now. In the cold, with only V's voice to tell him there's someone there, waiting for him. His skin is cold to the touch, each time his fist tightens with a wave of pain, there's no warmth to the grip. Any passion he had turns into the simple need to get out. Thinking is useless when all of his thoughts revolve around the same few things they had for the last week… V, and finally being out. He has to run somewhere different now, but no amount of tugging at the cuffs release his hand and he's too weak to keep trying.
Johnny Silverhand, reduced to a weak, frail body without so much as a glass of water at his bedside. No one to accompany him when he had woken up, he wasn't there for V, either. These cuffs have to be punishment for something.
The shouting voices go from the room next to his, to the hallway by them. Never once does V falter—Johnny would applaud him for it if he could bring himself to pick up his other hand; all it does is send sharp waves of pain through his muscles—not beyond his voice cracking and the desperate gasps Johnny knows are the cause of the moments V goes silent.
The seal to the door breaks with a hiss of air and a sigh of relief sits at the back of his throat, for just a minute. He uses what of his strength that he has to push himself against the head of the bed and lift himself up, eyes scanning to see who would walk in.
It's not V. Of course not…
Though, he can see the outline of his shoulders—hands grabbing harshly onto him, pulling him back. Everything he can see of V's body says fear, while the slightest view of his face shows anger. Relief was so close, V is right there.
A man in a white medical outfit walked in instead of V, his V. His head spins the more he stays in this upright position, but he grits his teeth and stares out to the person—doctor?—coming to his bedside. Words are quietly muttered to him, but don't make it to Johnny's ears over the yelling. V yells for him. Why can't he just see him? He's ten feet away, why can't V come in?
Really, he should be tracking the man who stands painfully close to him, but all his eyes see is the way V's hands keep reaching to, and slipping from, the door frame. Barely coherent wails falling from the man's lips. What has Johnny done that's so wrong to keep V away like this? He's not dangerous. He can barely hold his head up.
"Johnny!"
God, he wishes he could make a sound. Wide eyes stare to at door, uncaring as a hand squeezes his bruising wrist. V is right there. Make a fucking sound for the love of god- He can't. At the most, his adam's apple bobs in his throat and he only whimpers loud enough for the man next to him to hear, not V.
"Your friend talks a lot…" He can barely make out the words over V's useless shouting. The doctor speaks in a low tone, one Johnny wants to shrink away from. It promises hurt. He knows that kind of gravelly voice well. "Do you know why you're here?" Is this some kind of checkup, or a threat without the gun to his head?
Johnny's eyes never leave the doorway where V keeps trying to push into the room. Adrenaline is a hell of a chemical, how's V even standing when Johnny can't do so much as lift himself up off the mattress the rest of the way. Nodding his head feels like it takes an entire weeks worth of energy.
"Then you know why you can't see him, yes?"
No.
With that, his gaze immediately comes to the man towering over his bedside. Why wouldn't he be able to? His chest tightens with every breath, staring harshly up at the doctor. What has he done this time? Existed? Survived? Their agreement was that he and V would be together when they woke up, if everything went smoothly. He can only imagine whats going through V's head.
"You're a terrorist, Silverhand… Fifty years in Mikoshi wasn't enough for you to forget, right?"
How does it boil down to that? He served his time, while getting his head fucked with and memories erased, even altered to the point of not knowing reality from what his head told him. When he was alive the first time, he had the excuse of The Hand, of cyberpsychosis, for everything he didn't remember. Now, he knows everything isn't the way he remembers at all, from Alt and Rogue. Hell, from Kerry too. Mikoshi isn't an excuse if he can't prove what he did, or didn't do.
He's too weak to fight, but a growl rumbles in his chest the closer the doctor began to lean down to him. His unbound hand pulls up closer to his chest, as if to prepare for a hit he knows could happen. It's clumsy, unsteady, but he holds onto the fabric of the shirt he's dressed in. The same white as everyone else's clothes in this god forsaken place, uncomfortable and borderline painful.
"You aren't leaving here, and you aren't seeing V again."
Johnny wants to slap the bastard's smug look off his face, but all he can do is stare with widened eyes. They can't take V away from him. They can't. After everything, they can't take them away from each other.
"Johnny, c'mon-! Johnny!!"
The sound of something hitting metal is the last thing he hears before silence falls over the room. Clothes shuffle just outside the room, and Johnny can just make out a figure grabbing V by the shirt to sling him over their shoulder. His stomach sinks, bile sits at the back of his mouth…
His fingers were harsh against her skin. Years of picking them against guitar strings without a pick had left them calloused. Even after six months of being a merc, V's hands were still soft from her corpo days. She tried not to feel embarrassed as he laughed at the difference. He was kind enough not to comment on it as their hands wound together. She buried her face into the side of his neck. His rough, unmanaged beard scratched her temple as she faintly touched her lips to the bend of his neck. "Johnny..."
She opened her eyes after her voice didn't muffle against his collar. Instead of seeing the man who had just wrapped his arm around her waist, she saw a blue ghost. Her eyes widened with an unsure mix of horror and despair. Johnny still had that crooked smirk, but it moved like a wave as her nose cut into his face. He was hollow as parts of his body jumped and fidgeted. She hesitantly turned her eyes to the side. Her hand. It was holding air as his went through her. The texture, the skin, the warmth. It was all gone, replaced by the feeling of a hand submerged in ice water. "Johnny...!"
Water hung on the lid of her eye as she moved her hand past his arm. Johnny didn't move. He didn't react. His face was stuck in that smirk, and his hand was rigid. V couldn't hold back as her fingers glided through his cheek. She could see her fingers waving inside his translucent face. Suddenly, the warmth came back. Her fingers flooded with an overwhelming heat. She wanted to scream, but it wouldn't leave her throat. Johnny's face was solid again. Her palm was stuck inside his head as her nails peeked out from his cheekbones and forehead. His previously floating hand gripped her shoulder.
"V! Save me! Save me before I become Alt! I need you!"
V shot up out of bed. Her body was sticky with panic. Her lips still murmured Johnny's name as she tried to catch her breath. V peered down at her hand, wiggling it like she did when it was inside his head. Her body eased as she let out a large sigh. The pillow puffed up as her head came down on top of it. That dream - she couldn't qualify it as a nightmare, not when Johnny held her hand - plagued her mind. She recognized the apartment they were in. It was her old one - the one Jackie helped her buy. The first place she saw Johnny. She hadn't thought of that place in a while. She and Nibbles had moved out quickly after he was gone. There were too many memories associated with him at that place. Besides, the Afterlife had brought in new income to buy something resembling a real home. V moved to her wardrobe. There wasn't time to mull over the dream. That could come later. Right now, she had to get to work.
Before long, she settled into the exact spot where Rogue used to sit, completely unaware that her posture mirrored the old fixer's. V offered Claire a smile and nod as she set down a glass alongside a whole bottle. Taking Rogue's place felt almost instinctual after Mikoshi; her past as an ex-corpo and mercenary seamlessly merged with her role as the Queen of the Afterlife. Despite that, the days unfolded in a haze, with clients arriving, offers exchanged, and bottles emptied. Staying sober for six months proved challenging after having an addict rummage around her head. Even in Johnny's absence, his influence remained palpable—she felt it frequently. Melodies still resonated in her memory, and her fingers constantly craved the feel of a cigarette. The bright light hurt her eyes without sunglasses, leading to persistent headaches.
Her lack of focus stemmed from her constant thoughts about the old brain worm, particularly after that haunting dream she had experienced. All she wanted to do was get through what she had to do at the Afterlife to leave. She could barely focus on the tasks at hand; her mind constantly drifted to the plans she had crafted. Fortunately, by the time she finished her second bottle, she had completed meeting all her chess pieces. V slammed her glass onto the table after downing it. She shoved her sunglasses on while rushing quickly to the exit. Clubgoers and workers tried to say their hellos and goodbyes, but V ignored them. No one was more important than what she was about to do.
After a short drive in her Porsche, V parked sideways on Urmland Street, barely dodging pedestrians. She kicked the car door closed, making a loud bang that somehow didn't break the window. The door to Misty's Esoterica opened automatically as V strode inside. Misty watched, her eyes wide, as V brushed past her and exited through the back. Misty quickly followed, fully aware of what was unfolding. Vik groaned as he heard Misty calling after V. He got up, rubbing his temples in increasing stress. His gaze fixed on the door, anticipating the two to burst in.
"V, we're not doing this again!"
"Yes, the fuck we are, Vik!"
V evaded Vik's attempt to seize her arm. Misty and Vik, both frustrated, exchanged knowing glances. There wasn't much use in trying to prevent her. When V put her mind to something, nothing could hold her back. They sighed in unison as V pushed past Vik's back room curtains. Inside was a barren room previously used to house extra chrome. The only thing inside was a tub full of ice and a large monitor. V was already stripping to change into the netrunner suit that was neatly folded under the monitor. Vik groaned at the sight and turned his back to her. He gestured at Misty to move in.
"V, please. You've been doing this way too often. Your energy is erratic! Can we stop and discuss this before jumping in?"
V huffed as her leg slid into the tight netrunner suit. She shook her head, "Not happening. I need to do this now," Misty looked back at Vik for advice, but he still had his back turned. His shoulders, however, were tense and rigid from V's words. Misty placed a comforting hand on V's back while she zipped the suit.
"If you keep doing this daily, you might get a virus! A really deadly one. Or Netwatch might find out. Then we'd all be in trouble."
"I already had a deadly virus. And don't worry about Netwatch. Bryce owes me big time. He'll cover our asses,"
V stood poised in front of the ice tub, her fingers gripping the cold, metal edges with fierce intensity. The steady, rapid thumping of her heart echoed in her ears, a relentless reminder of the turmoil brewing inside her. It hadn't been long since the VooDoo Boy had unceremoniously shoved her into a similar icy prison, the frigid water seeping deep into her bones. The memories replayed in her mind, causing her skin to crawl and a shiver running down her spine as the phantom chill enveloped her again. Her knuckles turned white as she tried to regain her resolve.
To make matters worse, the nervous energy radiating from Vik and Misty only amplified her anxiety; she could sense their tension, thick and palpable in the air. Their fidgeting and whispering heightened her apprehension. Despite the fear clawing at her insides, she knew she had to push through. This was important. Johnny believed in her, and that thought alone had ignited her. She took a steadying breath, steeling herself, ready to confront the icy depths again.
Vik finally turned to her. He stood on the other side of the tub, gripping it in a similar fashion. Snapping his fingers, he forced her to meet his eyes. His expression was stern, like a father with a large serving of concern. "I'm not doing this anymore, V. You're giving this old man stress when I don't need anymore. You're lucky you're not dead already. Have you talked to Judy?"
V dropped her head at the mention of Judy. She had left last week. The first week after Mikoshi, Judy stayed by her side to assist her in grieving. She was loyal and kind. Judy held her hand when she cried, ignored the times when V talked to herself, and kissed her forehead during nightmares. However, the realization slowly dawned on Judy: she could never compete with Johnny Silverhand. That's what she said when she packed up her things and left Night City.
"She's gone, but this isn't about that. This is the last time, Vik. I promise. Johnny reached out. I'll find him this time,"
Vik and Misty were surprised, and their shared look of concern was a good distraction. V stepped into the tub while they tried to communicate with their eyes. She hissed between clenched teeth. The ice moved to fill the space around her. An intense shock shot through her spine, and her breath stuttered. Bumps and hair rose on her skin. As the cold sank in, her legs felt like dozens of tiny knives were stabbing them. She had to fight her mind to suppress the memory of a firm hand pushing her under. V rolled her neck and flexed her fist. This was it—the last time.
V's determination seemed to force Vik and Misty to agree. Misty stood behind her, warm hands resting on her shoulders. She squeezed V softly, hoping to fill her with heat. Vik's fingers glided across the monitor's keyboard, setting up the network. He avoided meeting V's gaze. Vik approached solemnly and slowly, offering a small laptop connected to the primary monitor. V removed her personal link from her wrist, taking a deep breath before connecting to the computer. Vik grimaced when the personal link beeped to indicate its connection.
"This is your last chance, V. Make it count," Vik said as he averted his gaze.
V hesitated briefly before turning her head to meet Misty's eye. She gave a slight nod. Misty squeezed her eyes tightly as if she couldn't bear to witness what would happen next. Without warning, Misty pushed V down beneath the surface of the icy water. V blinked rapidly in surprise. Even though this was almost a daily occurrence, going underwater was never easy. V concentrated as red text appeared around her face. The text scrolled by quickly, and her vision began to blur. The hazy world reminded her of the times when she had experienced relic malfunctions. A piercing static engulfed her ear, burrowing into her mind. The fuzz of the world spread to her hands and fingers. V clenched her teeth until they felt like they might crack. A bright white light filled her eyes before the world turned into nothing more than a blur.
Her hands became red within a blink, and the world dissolved into blue dots against a black abyss. As V moved her hand, five gradually fading hands trailed behind. Vik and Misty had vanished completely, along with the office. Only the blue dots remained, outlining any hint of shape in this plane. V stepped forward carefully, feeling her head become light and dizzy from the transition. From her experiences with the Voodoo boys, she recalled that a strong memory could help locate AIs beyond the Blackwall. She had tried this technique each time but had never sensed Johnny's presence. Either he was truly gone, or she wasn't using the right memories. In the past, she concentrated on the friendship they had developed during their time together. But maybe friendship wasn't strong enough. Maybe it wasn't what Johnny was reaching out to feel. She had to try a different emotion—one that still felt raw in her heart.
V stepped forward more confidently through cyberspace. The blue dots multiplied as she progressed—an echo brushing against her mind. The farther she went, the stronger it grew, and more dots appeared. Gradually, the blue dots faded to colors. These colors created shadows, and the shadows shaped the world around her. It wasn't long before she was in an all too familiar scene.
"You've been bitchin' ever since my date with Rogue. What? You jealous or something?"
Johnny flitted in and out of her apartment, settling on the couch with a sly grin. A cigarette dangled from his fingers as he pointed towards her. V rolled her eyes, pacing the confined space between the bed and the couch. Usually, it was Johnny who paced, but recently, V found herself unable to stay still.
"I am not jealous! I just... I'm pissed about it. I didn't say you could make out with her in my body. And she rejected you!"
"Isn't it good she rejected me? Trust me, I wouldn't have stopped at messing around like teenagers if Rogue hadn't said something."
Johnny raised a confused eyebrow. His eyes tracked her back and forth. He couldn't understand why V was so on edge recently. Maybe seeing his grave was too much for her. With that thought lingering in his mind, he disappeared from sight, only to reappear on the wall before her, his figure materializing from the flickering shadows. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl from his lips and hang in the air like a ghost of his thoughts. V hesitated as he stood in front of her. Her feet slowed until she was right next to him. She had to look up to meet his eye with him this close. Her face visibly softened. Her eyes widened, her eyebrows relaxed, and her lips curved into a gentle smile. It was sickeningly sweet to witness. But it didn't last long. After processing his question, V quickly turned her lips down into a grimace.
"No, it's... Well, I guess from that point of view, yeah. But she was being a dick! Leading you on this whole date to kick your chair out from under you,"
V's angry gestures cut through Johnny's body. He stared down at her, his confusion only growing more. He dropped the cigarette and pushed himself off the wall. Tilting his head, he tried to catch her eye as she deliberately avoided his gaze.
"V, you know I'm good, right? Rogue kicking me in the ass? I'm used to it. Didn't have much hope for the date other than maybe some makeup sex anyway."
She averted her eyes from him, focusing instead on Nibbles trotting past. The intensity of her reaction made her feel embarrassed. Her stomach dropped, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. V wasn't prepared to reveal the real reason she felt so upset. It wasn't jealousy; it was much more than that. Johnny huffed loudly in annoyance at her lack of response. He popped a hand on his hip and glared at her.
"Fine, I'll just read your mind."
"No!"
V held her hands defensively, placing them where his shoulders would be. All that was there was cold air, a harsh reminder of her situation. V sighed, rubbing the tension in her forehead. As she rubbed gentle circles, she concentrated on loosening the tight knots that had formed during the day. The rhythmic motion offered relief, even as her thoughts swirled chaotically.
"Look, Johnny. I just... care about you. Deeply. I imagine it's the same reason you get all pissy when Judy flirts with me,"
Johnny leaned back, studying her from head to toe. He cocked his head once more, waiting for her to explain further. But all V did was rub her temple with a sigh that sounded like she had been holding her breath. Johnny made a small noise in response—a mix between a snort and a scoff.
"So you're jealous?"
"Ugh, no! It's not jealousy. I wanted this to go well for you, really. It would've been good for you. So, I can't be jealous."
"Sounds like you're just jealous but don't want to admit," Johnny chuckled.
"Okay? So what if I am? But I care about you more than I care about myself! My feelings don't matter if they could get in your way!"
Johnny could feel a surge of tension course through him as V's confession erupted in a loud, startling yell. He stood frozen in place, his heart racing, his eyes glued to her. She groaned in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson, and quickly spun around to shield herself from his gaze, bringing a hand up to rub her temple as if to soothe both the physical and emotional ache. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet space as she resumed her pacing, each stride filled with a mix of frustration and anxiety, a whirlwind of unspoken thoughts swirling around her.
Johnny stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind racing as he battled the confusion swirling around him. The air was thick with tension, and he could sense the storm brewing beneath her. He had always felt a hint of jealousy simmering beneath her surface, but now it seemed to run much deeper. It was no longer just a playful notion of wanting to sleep with him; instead, it was an aching desire that went beyond mere infatuation.
"V..."
She kept pacing back and forth.
"V!"
She stopped when Johnny clapped his hands in front of her face.
"What is it then? What is it really?"
V slowly lifted her head, finally allowing her gaze to meet his. At that moment, their eyes locked in a profound connection, each reflecting a tender, unspoken emotion that passed between them like a quiet breath. The atmosphere around them seemed to still.
"Love."
V blinked and found herself surrounded by blue dots once more. Her thoughts raced as the vivid memory began to slip away like sand through her fingers, leaving her with an unsettling sense of déjà vu. She wasn't thrilled to relive it. Johnny had quickly steered clear of any talk about love after that conversation. He hadn't outright rejected her. In fact, she sensed the conversation replaying in his mind when he thought she wasn't paying attention. But he never wanted to share his own feelings. He refused even to address it. Until Mikoshi. He finally uttered the words she had longed to hear in a moment that felt both electric and agonizing, but only just before he vanished with Alt. The bastard hadn't even afforded her the courtesy of a response time; the air hung heavy with the unsaid, and she was left in the aftermath.
But there wasn't any time to linger on the past. A tall red wall loomed in front of her—a familiar sight. This was the first time she had seen it again since the VooDoo boys. All her previous tries had failed. She was here now, at last. V slowly approached the ever-expanding wall. V cautiously moved toward the ever-growing wall. She paused before pressing her icy palms against its surface, which throbbed with warmth. The red faded into blue. The wall became a loose collection of strings that vibrated as V pressed against them. Suddenly, her arm slipped through the wall, quickly followed by the rest of her body.
On the other side, there was only a deep crimson fog. V kept her eyes on her feet as they crossed the vast black emptiness that filled the spaces the mist had left behind. Though it seemed she wasn't moving, the fog grew closer and larger. It swelled and encroached, its vibrant tendrils curling and twisting toward her. Suddenly, a shape began to materialize from the depths of the mist—a figure cloaked in unsettling scarlet haze, drawing closer and larger with every heartbeat.
