Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Caleb? What are you doing?” Your arms stirred slightly above your head, nipples hard in the night air.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he half-whispered, draping a soaked cloth over your airways to help the process along.
You stopped interrupting soon enough, wrists relaxing where the rope tied them together.
You were so pretty lying in bed, on your back, all alone where no one could see. 
Pajama shirt you were getting too big for bunched up above your breasts, where Caleb had pushed it aside for his own observations.
He kept a tactical notebook on his inner breast pocket, one that was small enough to fit anywhere, with paper that wouldn't ever let the writing smudge, not even in the rain.
He knew what each and every number meant. Recorded another string of measurements in it tonight, tracking your growth.
He'd put the data to good use someday. Maybe graduation, or your birthday. Whenever you looked at him with eyes that finally saw, no one else was fit to be with you. Only him. It was always him.
Caleb returned his hand to where it was before you interrupted. Rubbing little circles against your vulva, feeling it grow beneath your underwear.
He slid them carefully down your legs, folded them up next to your sleepy head.
Sighed while he pried your thighs apart, taking a good look at how you developed.
First, the urethra. He was prepared for this, took a catheter from his open backpack. He lined it up with your smallest hole and pushed the tube inside, sure to drain your bladder.
He wasn't going to let your organs burst. He wasn't a monster.
Once that was done, his fingertips felt along your outere labia. Then the inner, running along through the steep creases where they meant. He breathed hot against your genitals, watching for a reaction. If it signaled blood to flow, or lubricant to produce. He'd make  note of everything. 
His fingertips gently grazed around your clit, watched her every move, how your body opened up for him. It knew he belonged between your legs.
Caleb pinched your nipple between his fingers, lifted it up, testing that you would let him keep going this time. It was fair game.
He kept one hand on your breast, on the smaller one that hadn't quite caught up. Maybe it needed some stimulation, and he could help it along.
One finger. It was just one finger. You could take that, right?
God forbid you had an intact hymen and needed to get it surgically removed, or worse — thought he was bad at fucking you. All because your body hadn't been prepared.
He would take care of it. You didn't have to worry about a thing. 
His finger pushed its way into a warm vagina. Gradually pulling out, rubbing back in, swirling around while he got a feel for it. 
Eventually he added one more digit, two fingers pushing their way into your unpracticed pussy.
It didn't know what it was doing, still.
Caleb found all the spots that made it leak, make it spread, twitch and swell. His thumb rested on your clit, and then finally, your hole clenched around his fingers. 
You had your first orgasm and didn't even know it.
But what if the time came and he wasn't entirely prepared? Didn't know already exactly how you like his dick? 
That was unacceptable. He had to keep going. You were already stretched out, already lubed up. All he had to do was free his dick from where it strained against his boxers, and fit his key inside the lock.
It was harder than he'd expected. As soon as he speared you open, the suck was intoxicating, and ejaculation was imminent. 
But that was okay. He pressed down on the cloth over your nose and mouth, poured some more anesthetic on it. The refractionary period wouldn't last forever.
He'd pump you full of his cum and feed you birth control, hide it in a treat as he shoved it in your mouth. Nothing could keep him away from this. 
Your body would learn to crave him. Biologically wired to see him as the father of your child. No one else.
Sweat was dripping onto your abdomen, off of his hair. The sky was just beginning to grow light.
Maybe it wouldn't be tonight. But your training wouldn't end here. He wasn't giving up.
Caleb let himself ejaculate one last time, certain he'd be able to hold a plank record after hovering over you for so long.
He rolled you onto your side, and then back, with a bedpan beneath your hips. And then he unboxed the douching kit.
Inserted the plastic baster into your vagina, then squeezed the water out, and it dripped into the bedpan, less white and more clear with every rinse.
Caleb would leave no trace. He was never here.
Your clothing was back on, your wrists were untied, the medicated cloth was packed away. 
The blanket pulled up as he tucked you in, said goodnight, and carried his packed bag back to his bedroom closet. Then he'd take a shower and walk you to school. 

He'd pick up a morning after pill and a treat to hide it in. Maybe a whole batch. It's best to be prepared.

Chapter Text

Your feet dragged from the bed to your dresser, to the bathroom and the kitchen. 
It wasn't time to leave yet.
Your forehead rested on the cool wood, a pounding headache shutting down any desire to eat off the table. It was better as.a pillow.
“Here. Drink this, it should help.” 
Caleb’s voice grated, a freezing glass pushed against the table until it pressed into your arm.
You lifted your head just to glare at him, then glanced to the orange juice he'd poured.
It was going to taste awful. You'd already brushed your teeth.
“Eat breakfast first next time,” he scolded dismissively.
You forced it down only because you were dying of thirst, too tired to dump it down the sink and drink plain water instead.
The citric acid ate at your stomach, gave you heartburn while the bright world swirled.
“Can't walk? Hop on, I'll give you a ride.”
It wasn't much of a choice when you fell forward onto Caleb’s back. 
He promised to make it up to you, pointed to a bakery you liked that was visible from the route to school. It wasn't open yet, the windows dark where the riding sun wasn't casting a yellow glare.
“I'll pick you up at the end of the day. Just last until then.” 
Your feet finally touched the ground in front of your locker. It was open.
Caleb had already put in your combination.
“Is that your boyfriend?” A girl whispered, too loud. She must be new here.
“No, more like freaky obsessed brother,” you muttered, grabbing some bare necessities and shutting the rest of your belongings inside.
“So you aren't interested?” The same voice badgered, as if she couldn't believe it.
Your face scrunched involuntarily. “Be my fucking guest. He could use another hobby.” You bumped into her shoulder, still clumsy for some reason. Desperate to leave the conversation.
Your head never left your hand, notes half-taken and illegible.
You could still pass the exams. It wasn't like you were above cheating.
Even lunch was a bore. Unappetizing, like nothing tasted right. Aftermath of minty orange juice, you guessed.
Until realizing that your sense of smell was off, too. Almost missing. Not quite alcoholic, but sickly and sterile and burnt. 
Maybe you hit your hand and didn't remember it. 
Maybe Caleb had thrown your head into the floor while showing off some wrestling move last night. That's why he was acting even weirder than usual.
And true to his word, his body was your ride home. Pastries already acquired, you found out, when he shoved one into your mouth.
You couldn't enjoy it. Tried to pretend it was better than sawdust, choking the thing down and chasing it with a drink.
He watched you like a hawk, acted like a five year old and you eye his plastic hollow baby doll, complete with scuff marks and mysterious ailments.
He wore a smirk like pride at your legs not working. Desperate to show off how he'd been working out. Even if he wasn't interested in anyone he was peacocking for.
You should set him up with that annoying girl. They might really balance each other out, and stay out of your hair.

Chapter Text

He found you standing there in the hallway.
You didn't recognize the clothes you were wearing, just that they must have come from a black bag of hand-me-downs, that you must have changed into them in a sort of daze. 
You didn't know what was happening. Thought the roof was leaking, but your bedroom ceiling looked the same as ever in the ivory nightlight's glow.
So why were you wet? It didn't register that urine soaked your hair.
You didn't know what to do but change into dry clothes, and feel lost in your own home.
“Hop in the shower,” Caleb directed, “Then you can sleep in mine.”
Old people had a habit of waking up early, but not at 1am. It was enough time to do laundry. To keep you perfectly still by his side.

After school, after your bath, Caleb brought out a present.
“Here. Put these on before you go to bed.”
A pack of diapers was heavy in your palms. They were in his favorite color, the same navy blue and… 
Whatever. You didn't argue. Didn't know how to respond. Just walked past him and shut yourself in your room.
He opened you up like a present for himself, quietly peeling away the velcro over the diaper's front. 
He sighed, seeing the disposable cloth was still dry. feeling the bulge under your skin. Maybe soon.
But it was one less mess to clean up if he'd release it himself. 
Caleb spread your legs to the side and locked them in place. He pulled another catheter from his duffel bag and opened the packaging. It was muscle memory now, sliding that tube all the way up your urethra, to the bladder, watching as yellow liquid drained into the bag.
You'd never let him do that if you were awake. But you'd learn to crave him eventually.
Maybe doing this had stopped your unconscious bladder from waking to empty. Or maybe the supplements he'd given you were just working that well.
Either way, you were his to play with now. 

Other nights, Caleb would sleep. Interfere less. Maybe just change your clothes. Or coerce you into his bed, claiming that weather reports are predicting storms.


“Hey. You've never kissed anyone, have you?”
Your face wrinkled like an expensive dog's. “So?”
“So… Do you want to practice?”
“For…” you bit your lip and looked to the corner. 
“I'm just saying, wouldn't it be embarrassing to get married and not know how to kiss yet?”
He had a point. Your mind wandered to marriage even without any potential suitor, because it seemed the only way out to somewhere different. You couldn't wait until you were eighteen, until you graduated. It was too far.
So for someone to charm Grandma into signing the papers, letting you marry at sixteen, finally expanding your world from this little family? You had to be prepared.
You had to already attain the skills.
So you hesitantly agreed to Caleb's proposal. 

He needed a willing, conscious participant.
So he went on a few dates with that girl you'd set him up with. Just for practice, and to scope out some locations.
But in his mind it was always you.
Your lips on his were different. Pliant like they didn't know where to go or what to do. So he took the lead. And when that wasn't enough, he tried some other forms of encouragement.
“This isn't— what we agreed to. I thought—”
His grip was tight on your jaw. “This is only the next step. I'll show you.”
You weren't seeing all that much. You weren't sure what this even had to do with kissing. 
In the end, you couldn't see what he was doing. Behind you, pounding in. It was uncomfortable. You didn't get what he was doing.

“You're still so tight,” he'd complained, as if that meant anything.
You couldn't back out of it— Not when your back was against your chest, or when his legs were on either side of yours, or when you were sitting at the computer, at a desk, or on your bed, trying to do homework.
“Don't worry about that. You'll pass.”
He didn't care whether you understood the material. Not when he could forge the assignments in your handwriting.
“Caleb. Why—”
“You were born wrong. Remember? I'm fixing you. Stay there.”

You always knew he had the high ground. After a few attempts, your body would go rigid, given up on resisting.

In high school, it really seemed like you were running out of time. Needed to elope, and fast, when it seemed that Caleb had his sights set on you as his bride.
But who would take you? Who else would handle your broken body?
You had to wear big pads every day of your life because your pussy wouldn't stop leaking. It felt sick, like a sore runny nose between your legs. It was never going to stop. You were disgusting.
Caleb would pull you into the boys locker room, make some adjustments he swore would help, threaten you with seeing a doctor instead if you tried to get back to class.
If you rejected him, he'd get you expelled. And if you let him have it, then he'd cover your ass.
You were old enough to know now what sex was, but it didn't seem real. Not desirable. It was just… fake. Something that other people got to enjoy. 
But not you. You were ruined.
And you hadn't even gotten a period yet. So it was safe to leave his ejaculate running onto your pad as you hurried to your next class with a hall pass he'd given you. A weird privilege for only being at the school to coach sports.

You were pretty sure you were good with your hands. Mouth, too. But it wasn't like you found the liberty to explore that with anyone else.

It sounded like Caleb had plans to let others explore you, though. 
Bits and pieces of overheard conversations clicked into place like a puzzle. Your ears were filled with foam, a blindfold covered your eyes. 
You had to get out of here.
It was sweltering. You were totally soaked. The thin white nightgown might as well be see-through. But that was the least of your worries.
It was a struggle to break free. But eventually, you could see enough to break a window.
The attic in the summer needed better airflow, anyway.
You panicked at the sound of glass. Would it give you away?
At least you'd hear as his friends’ footsteps approached the house, right?
The blindfold was askew enough to see sharp shards of glass over the windowpane. Maybe it could undo the binding, cut the rope behind your back.
Caleb was weird with traditional army stuff. Zip ties would hold better, so you were grateful for his weird hangups and got to work, backing against the glass. 
You slipped hard and fast, the slice of sky spinning as you were flung back. Damn debris on the attic floor.
There was a sharp sting in your wrist, a brief hope that your plan half worked, but they were still stuck together.
The ground was going to hurt. But if you were falling head-first, maybe the world would all just disappear. Your body would lay in pieces on the pavement, or garden, whatever was below. 
But what you felt was a subtle sensation, a light pressure that kept gravity at bay and undid your restraints. A black red mist connected to someone you had never seen before.
His face glitched as you blinked, taking in too much light, thinking the dark that enveloped you were just a vision change before passing out or dying, but it led your feet gently to the grass. 
“You're hurt,” he frowned, looking at the glass that stuck out of your wrist, glinting red just like his eyes.
“Thank you.” Your throat was raw with dust and heat, eyes darting around anxiously behind him.
“You need an escape?”
You nodded, “Please.”
If this guy were somehow worse than here, then at least you had the piece of glass. All you had to do was slide it along the right vein, and having a body would no longer be your biggest problem, but his.
It was a last-ditch attempt, but you still begged, “Anywhere but here.”
“Okay.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Sit wherever you like, but I'm driving.”
You got in the backseat of a strange black car. The windows were tinted. Enough to stay hidden, you hoped. Sitting in the middle, away from the windows. 
He opened the driver's side door, but steeled in place where he stood. Steeping in the eyes of—
“Can we just go?” You whispered frantically, scrambling for the seatbelt in case he was the type that wouldn't drive until hearing that click.



Sylus tapped the steering wheel, “Anywhere in particular next?”
“To school. I need to pick up my diploma, before graduation… Before he knows I've gone.”
“Oh, Kitten,” Sylus spoke gently. It wasn't so condescending as pity, almost reverent. 
He'd graced you with a drive-through meal and a new pair of loose sweats, comfortable in the air conditioning. Supervised while you tended to your own wound, tried to keep the piece of glass hidden on you.
“Don't,” he dropped it on the street. “If it's a weapon you need, then pick something out.”
This man was suspiciously generous. But you weren't going to complain when he'd let you choose a dagger and a gun. Even showed you the idiosyncrasies of those specific pieces so your form would be good.
You pretended to be more experienced than you really were.
“What I meant was, is there a doctor you'd like to see?”
“No. No doctors.”
“Alright, I won't make you. Which way is it?”





“He's going to— Going to find me,” you choked for the third night in a row.
Insomnia should be a private thing, but you didn't have such luck when your roommates were nocturnal.
Though it always looked like night here. 
“He's not going to find you,” Sylus made a second of intense eye contact before returning to the weapon he was polishing.
“If he does, can I kill him?” One of the twins asked.
They weren't wearing their masks anymore, not around you at least. Not knowing who was under there had sent you into a panic more than once.
They were still twins, though, and you already struggled to remember faces.
“Someone should,” you muttered, though it would hurt Grandma.
“I would have liked to kill all of them, if you had let me,” Sylus confessed easily. 
“I don't know who the other ones are,” you admit.
“Good. Let's keep it that way.”
You didn't go outside. Didn't know if Caleb would venture into a No-Hunt Zone.
Explosions rattled the windows here. Rain was common, and sometimes it stained. But there was comfort in the apocalypse. Everything ending.
You searched for another blanket to wrap around yourself, curled up on the couch and kept shivering.
God, you felt awful.
“Hey,” Sylus whispered, knelt on the floor next to you. He placed a hand lightly on yours, brushed clammy hair from your forehead. “Would you see a doctor if they come here?”
You hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper while you mulled it over. That would be the safest option. 
You grabbed his hand back, “Don't fucking leave the room.”
A deal was made.
It wasn't too invasive. You weren't sure what you'd been afraid of.
Checked your wrist for infection before redressing it, the usual vitals, and samples that could be taken on your own terms.
It hit you then that time had already run out for a rape kit.
Sylus’ suspicions were confirmed. That you were suffering from drug withdrawals. Unaware of ever even taking any.
But that wasn't the only thing.
You were on birth control. Skipping the placebos every month. From before the day your first period would have been. 

Chapter Text

“I could kill myself for leaving you there… Never thought that it’d be worse than the N109 zone.”
It was clear you didn't know what he was talking about. 
“We escaped together before. From a sort of… orphanage. Back when we were kids.”
You nodded slowly. Memories that old didn't exist, and everything you did have was blurred and fragmented. It was easier to live with your head in the clouds.

Sylus had respected your request. No doctor, but he made sure to place a large first aid kit in what became your room. Along with the high school diploma you wanted so badly.
He told you to order anything you'd like, yet you still went for the cheapest bed frame. A loft bed that wouldn't hold the weight of a second person.
You made your nest on top of it, spent your days with the windows drawn and your knees against your chest, staring out at the empty room.
The key to it was around your neck like a talisman. It could only be locked from the inside. Still, you'd barricade the windows and the door. 
You didn't need to leave the room, wander the hallways. There was a bathroom, a mini fridge, even a teapot. 
He'd offer to go out, shopping or trying restaurants or visiting some other city.
All you wore was the same baggy grey sweats, though. There was comfort in clothing stripped of identity, in a room with no character. You felt relieved of the pressure to be a person.
There was too much time to spend alone with your thoughts, though. The chasm closing in your brain like a wound filling with scar tissue, piecing together the obvious things that you could never bear to see when they were still happening.
Seeing the forest from the trees was overwhelming. Your heart would burn, your palms pulsed, and you'd forge your way into the corridor, trying to catch your breath.
You'd end up catching Mephisto instead, that metal bird who liked to land on your shoulder.
He'd lead you down to the dining hall, where Sylus would say There must be something you like, and gradually the smells and textures of unfamiliar foods would ground you back into this new reality.
You'd finally made an escape. But what was ever left of you? What were you living for?

Sylus said he was glad to have you back, but his eyes were a window to sadness.
You didn't know what to feel.
Maybe it was numb. On-edge, moody. 
Maybe you were getting sick again.
Weakness and chills, shadows darting in the corners of your vision. 
Maybe it was only sleep deprivation. 
“How is your wound healing?” Sylus asked, his voice like a blanket, like you might break if not treated as fragile.
“You can touch it,” you muttered, fumbling to get the bandage off. 
It was probably the type of stab that shouldn't be removed unless by a surgeon. But he hadn't stopped you from pulling the glass out, bleeding onto the black leather inside his car.
“Don't worry, it will clean up easily,” he said back then.
Now though, he asked “Are you sure?”
You held out your wrist for him. It was the first physical contact between you.
Tension you didn't know you were holding, from your shoulders down to your legs released a little as he held it.,
You didn't know what you were like before. But had a feeling that he had always been your safe place.
Maybe you were too naive then, unaware of how evil others could be.
But even if your guard was up when you met Caleb… Would that have changed anything?
Tears stung at your eyes. Your free hand tried to wipe them away.
“I'm sorry. Does it hurt?” Sylus paused.
“You're okay,” you whispered. 
It was your heart that was twisting in your chest.
“Shit, Sylus?” You gripped it now, trying to breathe evenly through your mouth.
“What's wrong?”
“I… Do you think he's moved on to someone else?”
“That's what you're worried about?” he asked softly, applying a new dressing.
You were.
You couldn't really face him for your own sake. But if it were for someone else?
“I have eyes on him,” Sylus muttered, “and his friends. We can take them all out… When the time is right.”
He half-smiled, cluing you in that a plan had been set.
“When?”
“Would you like to watch?”
You rolled the words over, still letting your hand rest where it was.
You wouldn't be able to rest until you saw that he was really gone.
“It would mean leaving the house,” he reminded you. 
But it would be worth it, right?

Especially after hearing what the doctor had found. That you'd been drugged in more ways than one. For years and years.
You finally learned how to put a tampon in, though. Which felt… weird. But it was still a step to reclaiming your own body, right?
The motorbike looked fun. And a helmet would hide your face. But it was still scary to be exposed to the open air.
You clung to him while the bike rumbled to life, darting through unfamiliar streets and dark paths. 
It was like driving toward sunrise, though you knew that dusk was falling outside of the N109 Zone.
“Here's a good spot.” He helped you off of the bike, on top of a hill. The vantage point was good, you supposed. 
Sylus sat down in the grass and got comfortable with his eyes on the horizon after putting his phone away.
“If you need to see it up close, I'll have footage of that, too,” he promised.
Then pointed out some twinkling lights, a lit area that he called a runway. You didn't expect there to be airports all the way out here.
“The lights that lift up from there. Pay attention,” he tapped his head, and you wondered if he was nervous behind the smile.
There were lights, though. A kind of plane that you should know the name of, but utterly spaced out whenever Caleb was talking about that stuff. It was boring.
So then this was… A plane crash?
You glanced to Sylus’ face for answers, but he kept watching the sky with calm anticipation.
When you looked back, there were billows of orange. Splintered pieces glowing further apart, and…
“Fireworks?”
“Liquor and fireworks to celebrate.”
Flashes of green and white popped against the sky, dark and smoky and adorned with a few stars.
“Well, I'd say the weather is perfect.”
“It's a bit cold,” you commented, zipping the motorcycle jacket back on. 
“Hmm, you're right. Should we go home then? Or somewhere else?”
Should you even try to contact your grandmother?
Who even was she?
It was hard to trust or want to see her after all of…
It was best if they didn't know you were still alive.
Maybe you should fake your death, too.

Chapter Text

Things should have gotten easier since then. Right?
But still, there were weeks when you couldn't speak, look in a mirror, or leave your room.
It felt like his nails were still embedded in the walls of your vagina. Or maybe left behind an infection.
You had a phone now. Had access to information and the outside world. 
Things might be simpler now if you'd had the courage to follow Sylus’ suggestion on the first day.
You had a list of symptoms and questions and fear that it would be determined, that they all lived in your head, or that some awful diseases required treatment that you didn't have the strength to take.
Are you alright, kitten?
It had been five days since he saw you last. Your muscles ached, refused to stretch even when you tried to.
I think I'm infected. There's something wrong with me.
The text overflowed from your pool of racing thoughts, an endless eddie of delusion and dread.
Necrosis, maybe. You were rotting from the inside out.

Sylus didn't tease you for going nonverbal. Only established signals easy to make with your hand.
Maybe you'd used them before. If only you could choose which memories got lost to the abyss, and which ones stuck around no matter what.
Even when you were dazed and shaking from withdrawal, he guarded your autonomy. The doctor couldn't even look in your ears without permission first. 
It wasn't so bad then. So maybe now, you could…

“If that's what you need, then we'll do it,” he decided easily. 
You nodded, but your neck shook. 
“You can withdraw consent at any time. We'll leave on your signal,” he promised. 
You wouldn't have to be there alone.

“I can leave, if you want me to,” he offered while you looked at the clothing provided for the exam.
You wanted to be here. You wanted answers.
He sat next to the table, where you gripped his hand, flinched away when it began.
This was different, you realized. It was nothing like before.
Everything was explained, and you understood what was going on before it began. Were taught how to conduct your own exams at home. 
There was no coercion or mystery or threats. The touch didn't sting.
If insertion was too much, they'd even let you collect swab tests. But you didn't want to miss anything. It was better to get everything done while you could handle it, and have less to worry about later. 
You expected it to hurt a lot. But it didn't really burn. The stretch from a speculum was only a slight pressure.
It was over in a minute.
They asked if you took hot showers. Said that would dry the skin, make it itchy and red. That just water, of a gentle temperature, was best. That if you craved something extreme, cold showers were okay. Irritation would fade over time. You could all apply a topical treatment, or leave it alone and wait for the test results. 
That if they all came back negative, it could be psychosomatic. Pelvic floor tension can make things feel weird. Vulvodynia and vestibulodynia fell into the same category.
It was only to be expected. Nothing to send someone to an asylum for.

“You're not going to pass out, are you?”
You made yourself carsick trying to read the visit summary. Gave up and rested your head on the tinted glass.
His car slowed to a stop in the shoulder, windows rolled down just barely. Enough to provide the flow of fresh air.
You apologized to him, in the secret sort of sign language you shared.
“I'm not mad,” he assured, as if there were nothing better in the world to be doing. 
As if the sun weren't glaring down from the sky.
Curiosity burned at you, enough to lift your head and try to skim through the rest. But the nausea was still too thick, so you held out the papers.
“Do you want me to read it to you?” He asked before taking it.
The last several pages were resources. 
Information for places that offered rehabilitation from drug addiction, trauma-informed counseling, pelvic floor therapy, psychiatry, hypnotherapy. Groups who do mindful exercise, like Tai Chi, or talk therapy.
They all sounded like torture.
“What are you thinking? No to all of these? I'm not done yet.”
You heard the page turn, wondered how many could be left.
“There's a knitting group. A book club,” he offered.
Both sounded okay, but why drag quiet activities into a group setting?
“...Emotional support animals.”
Your head turned at that.
“It's practically on the way home. Should we go and visit them?”
You shrugged, not really sure what animal would live a fine life with you.
“Cats…” Your voice was silent. Nothing came out. 
You stole a pen from Sylus’ pocket, then scrawled on the blank back of a page: animals like sunlight. 
“I'm sure something could work out. At least, I can make you a companion like Mephisto.”
You chewed the inside of your lip, but went along with the plan he spun. To visit some animals and a restaurant that wasn't open when he was usually awake. 
Really, you just wanted Sylus to live how he wanted. To steal less of that freedom away from him. 
Though you were still wearing that identical pair of sweats. By now you also had a black set, but only wore it occasionally, when you didn't want to look so much like the mess you felt.
The shoes on your feet were practically slippers, only barely passable for public attire.
He didn't seem to care, though. Got seated in a half shaded spot in the garden, ordered several courses, let you replace the pen on your hip with a flower in his chest pocket.
“We could match. Would you like one for your hair?”
You leaned down so he could place it.
Your hair was probably a mess. Razed away with the dagger that never left your side, along with the handgun. You knew how to use it now. It helped to live with a home shooting range and three people who were willing to help you practice.
You stopped wanting to take care of your appearance back when you were in elementary school. But if you didn't, then Caleb would, so you bitterly brushed your hair and teeth every day. Though sometimes it felt like you craved the abuse. As if any attention could feel like a good thing, better than the frozen void in your hollow heart that seemed to swallow the room whole.
You could never admit that. But you were secretly so, so dirty. No therapy could fix someone so sick as you.
Finally free from him, your overgrown hair was neglected enough to knot, and too difficult to separate. 
You didn't want to be tangled up with anything. Especially not yourself. Sat in your bathroom sink with a sharp blade and let dead hair fall.
Sometimes you were stricken with a sudden panic, that it must be happening again, you just couldn't see it yet.
Suddenly coming to from spacing out, forgetting where you were, reaching for a weapon.
And then it would filter back in, the realization that things were different now, but you weren't. Even under the wing of someone who would probably let you kill him without a single thought. 
Anything you said goes, and that was also kind of scary, in a different way. Unfamiliar.
So you certainly didn't want to burden anyone with a sudden pet to live with.

“White collars are for residents, black collars are up for adoption. Grey means they're matched through application,” an employee explained. Those animals had special skills, set aside for those who needed them.
They left the two of you to look around, to meet the animals and fill out the form if you wanted to.
It helped to feel less out of place, having something to do, so you did end up completing an application and handing it in. 
It was a long shot, but somehow…
You supposed that nine more pounds on your bed would be alright. 
It was a sacred place for no one but you to ever touch, but this was different. 
What were the chances of having a cat reserved for someone homebound and sensitive to light?
Dark grey with gleaming green eyes, she would blend in well. Could be hiding anywhere to protect you.
The carrier on your lap was purring on the drive home. 
It didn't take long to install floating shelves on the wall, a kind of scratching post material that led up to your bed and around the ceiling.

Chapter Text

It gave you a reason to get up every night, to feed and clean and replace the water for another creature. 
You felt less paralyzed, and though the nightmares persisted, it was easier to sleep with an extra personal guardian. 
Sometimes the dreams felt so real. Even if you didn't remember a single detail, it was so convincing that you'd been assaulted in your sleep.
But for someone to drag you down from the loft, have their way with your unconscious body, and then throw it back up there, perfectly in place, without disturbing your locked and barricaded door or your cat? 
That was a bit much. 
Not that it was impossible, especially not from someone who could perfectly copy your handwriting.
But there were a lot of security measures to get through. Enough to talk yourself down from it and back into a dreamless sleep.


It's finished.
You didn't know what he was talking about. That Sylus still let his own ideas ferment into reality.
“What is…”
“It's your Mephisto. Or whatever you'd like to call it.”
This crow was soft, its eyes were green, and its talons retracted in to a dull default state.
“We can change the voice and color settings.”
“You're insane. You… built this?”
“I already had some spare parts to put to use. It can play with your cat, or communicate with Mephisto, if you like.”
You tentatively held out a hand, the bird easily flying to your finger. It felt like a plushie, incredibly soft, just barely weighted.
You sat down while Sylus adjusted the settings. Once it's frequencies were set, his gaze turned up to you.
“Let's go to the shooting range.”
It was a weapon. Beak and claws that extended sharp, even blades in the wings.
Targets were torn apart. Chest cavities missing, heads decapitated. When they were all knocked out, the bird flew back to perch on your finger, soft once again.
“So?”
“Thank you,” you whispered.

Without that project to keep his hands busy, Sylus seemed restless. Or maybe you were just seeing more of him now, that you confined yourself to your room less often.
“Should I leave?” you asked, half to Lilith, your crow, who might get an answer from Mephisto if Sylus didn't hear you.
“Do you want to?” he asked, with eyes of an expression you couldn't read.
Your eyes rolled, unsure how to ask why he's been acting weird.
Sylus had made certain to set up your own bank account, that only you had access to, though it was set up to look like you kept depositing paychecks every week. No one would see your purchases, or history, or texts. 
It felt kind of like divorce. But it was better than control, right?
Sometimes you wished he would attack you. It was the only form of contact that you knew. Even if it hurt and made you feel dirty, saturated in filth.
You could be used. It was better than being alone.
“There's… something I have to tell you,” Sylus exhaled.
You waited for the words to fall on you like a brick.
“Mephisto found some… things in your old house,” his breath hitched. “If you want to know what's been done to you… There was paraphernalia. Written records.”
Taking Caleb to trial wouldn't have done him justice. Not when it would force you to face all of that. 
“Oh,” you breathed. The air felt still and vacant.
“It's… hard to look at. But you deserve to know. If you want that.”
You didn't make any move to reach for it.
“I'll put the storage devices in here. Mephisto and Lilith will know the code, if you don't.”
He punched in the encryption, and left the evidence in a safe.
“What happened to it?”
“The physical evidence was disposed of shortly after. As far as I know, everyone who's seen that stuff is now dead.”
Sylus confessed that it had been gnawing at him. The fact that he'd seen it all, just to take notes and pass it on to the doctors that would see you. 
“I wish I didn't see any of it. I wish none of that had ever happened.”
He kept trying to apologize. Feeling like he'd penetrated your boundaries.
“Sylus.”
He stopped talking. Didn't try to defend himself. Almost like he wanted to be hated. 
“Why do you care?” It was confusing. He'd placed the burden of knowledge on his own shoulders, spared you from all that suffering. Even if it lived on in some forbidden part of your brain, you didn't have to see it.
“I… You bound yourself to me in our past lives. It's my job to protect you. And in this life, I've failed.”
His face was a twisted stone, uncertain how to carry heavy emotions.
You climbed onto the wooden desk, and wrapped your arms around his head. Not really sure what to do, but at least this way he wouldn't have to face you.
“You don't remember them either, do you?” he whispered. 
“No. Sorry,” you mumbled. “I might have blocked out everything, the good sacrificed to lose the worst.”
“A fine sacrifice,” he accepted. “But still. You have every right to hate me.”
A little mdrrr sound appeared, while Eclipse jumped into his lap. 
“Both kittens are here to comfort me.”
You didn't know why he called you that. If it was your name before the adoption, which might have been trafficking… Just a name that he called you, or something that related to a past life.
But you were glad to leave your legal name behind.
Threw your diploma into the fireplace one night, when no one was around. Maybe Mephisto had seen it. Maybe everyone knew.
But they didn't seem to know your “real” name — Was it even one that you were born with?
“Sylus… Do you ever want to meet your parents?”
“Not really. We don't have any,” he pulled back, held your hands against his face.
“Oh, right.” He knew you from an orphanage, after all.
“What do you want? In life,” he clarified. “Could be anything.”
You shook your head, it was impossible to rewrite fate. “I want to disappear.”
“From?”
“Everyth— Myself,” you stopped talking, a boulder in your throat and water behind your eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, a dejected frown on his face. 
You'd never blamed him. But losing a protector ten years ago might be the worst thing, the one event that devolved into a rock slide and snuffed out your life before it began. 
You wished that he'd hold you more, more than just hands. But you were never craved for pure intimacy, only…
“Could you train me to fight, without a weapon?” 
“Sure,” he breathed. “If that's what you want.”

The first thing he taught you was how to tap out.
“At any time, for any reason,” he stressed. “Two or more taps on anything. Yourself, the mats, me. Safewords work too,” he said while wrapping his hands. “Do you want to do it yourself?” he offered, holding out another roll.
“Um…” You gave it back to him, not sure how to twist it around your fingers.
“Okay, I'll show you. It's okay if you don't remember everything. It's only the first time.”
You still tried to pay attention, enough to practice on your own.


Rejection tasted bitter. What were you good for? 
Sylus had to let you win. You weren't going to put him in a position that he couldn't get out of.
But he wanted you to know what it felt like. For psychology or muscle memory. 
It only made you work harder, to try to win fairly, no matter how insane. 
You flipped his back onto the mat, straddled his hips, and leaned down to choke his neck with your forearm, arm pinned above his head. 
You'd left one arm free, though, and leverage from his legs made it easy to throw you off without lifting a finger.
But for a second you'd paused, afraid to bruise his throat, glanced up to his eyes and found a look you'd never seen from anyone. 
Sylus bit his lip and then you were laying on your side, distance further apart.
Did you do something wrong? Worry flashed before you saw it.
You reached out to drag his leg closer. “I can—”
“No,” Sylus removed the jumper to tie it around his waist, still wearing a sleeveless compression shirt.
“I'm good with my mouth,” you crossed your arms and looked away.
He sighed, “Look at me.”
You did. One of his eyes was glowing. It didn't look hurt though, irises the only part that was red.
“That's not the desire I want to see,” he sighed, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them.
You frowned. 
“So… You don't want me.”
“Not like this, no.”
“What did you see? Is your eye okay?”
Shit. Didn't you know anything?
About the aether core that you shared? 
It seemed that Evol had been entirely erased from your mind, too.
Which made sense, considering how your attacker could manipulate gravity to hold you down. Did you ever know that? Or was Caleb keeping it a mystery?
You wanted answers, though.
“I don't like to use it on you,” he muttered. “I prefer it for you to tell me directly. I understand that sometimes it's hard, just… feels invasive.”
He explained that with that eye, he could look into anyone's heart and see their desires. 
“Usually they're boring. Money, fame… Still, it's helpful to be able to vet someone before working with them.”
Pieces come together. He saw Caleb and his friends and was filled with murderous intent at their desires.
Sylus wouldn't let just anyone into his home. But…
“What did you see in me?” Your brows furrowed while you picked at a cuticle on your toenail. 
“It's… hard to explain,” he exhaled, “I can see why you go nonverbal.”
You hummed, not satisfied, not brave enough to look at him either.
“I… Don't want to be another person that uses you. Even if you want to be used, it's not… For any reason beyond thinking that's the pinnacle of your worth.”
You flinched. He was right. But it was painfully embarrassing to hear out loud.
“So…”
“So?”
“Is it choking… Or…” You weren't sure what sent his boner off, what you were now banned from doing.
He grumbled about it only being fair to exchange his own confession. That it awakened something in him, the fire in your eyes and the fit of dominance, determination, the way that you put him in his place without hesitating, and kept going… Until you were afraid of hurting him and he was afraid of having a hard-on.
“I know what sex is,” you muttered, “you don't have to hide it from me.”
“Uh-huh… No, I'm not so sure. Has it ever been good?”
“Good?” It was… a concept, you guessed. Something fractionary. Splintered mirrors reflecting something imperceivable.
You'd never even had an orgasm. Caleb was right that you were broken. 
Maybe if you were able to come at least once, he would have given up and left you alone.
“Maybe someday,” Sylus whispered. “Today is not that day.”

It was responsible, it made sense, he was caring for you, and you felt sick.
Fingertips turning to raisins in the shower, alternating between hot water and cold and thinking that maybe throwing up black bile could fix you. 
He looked into your heart and didn't like what was in it. Utter disinterest in getting his dick wet.
You felt repulsive, to yourself and others. 
Did you want to go down on him? What the hell was pure desire, anyway? 
Your stomach turned, water shutting off so you could lay down on the floor. 
It was dusty under the damp towel. You should clean better.
At least Eclipse wasn't stuck in the room with you anymore. Only for the first week when it was instructed by the adoption agency.

Chapter Text

Sylus acted like nothing happened between you.
If anything, his nervous energy had dampened. Less tapping of his forefinger against his arm, furniture, etc.
Like all the confessions had let him rest. 
No longer afraid of knowing what you didn't know. About yourself, of the unconscious torment. The way that Evol worked — And that you had it, too. You shared an aether core with him, you should be able to resonate easily. 
You didn't know what that meant. That you had the resonance Evol.
It felt weird when Sylus took your hand, directed you through the process as much as he could. 
It was unlike anything you had experienced before.
It kind of… shared his power with you. 
He'd warned you first that he suspected it might trigger some lost memories. That you might remember knowing him before.
But there was nothing.
No, it was just you who was restless now. 
Throwing knives at the shooting range, learning to aim new guns. 
In addition to playing with Eclipse, or asking Lilith to find her when you couldn't.
Sylus thought that maybe he should have made you that bird earlier. But would you have trusted it? That would have felt like surveillance. You needed a secluded space that not even Mephisto could peer into. 
You could ask Sylus to summarize the footage. But he was clearly uncomfortable with seeing it, remembering. And you knew firsthand how difficult it was to articulate that kind of thing.
So you stumbled into a bookshelf — Or, really you were led to it. Somehow Lilith could find your cat, even sleeping all the way up there. 
Without them you'd be so lost. No sense of direction in this place.
But she was still asleep, so you skimmed across the book titles. Half of which you couldn't read, or even identify the language of.
A lot of them were old. You were afraid to touch them.
But then…
The bottom shelf held some new additions. Your heart burned, squeezed in your ribcage. 
These were about healing from incest.
You pulled out the first one that caught your eye, arms shaking as you read about the author. It seemed like the safest place to start.
Someone who survived incest, escaped into foster care. Wrote about what they wished their caretakers knew. Thought they could do better, and looked after kids who'd been in a similar situation. And then wrote about the things they wished they knew, because it's such a taboo, hidden topic. That you hear one story and think you know them all, but really, each story is a unique sickening tragedy. Each one is a tar pit of sticky brambles, clawing at anyone who manages to leave it behind.
Your ears felt strange, stuffed full of cotton, flushed.
You stumbled from the squat, landing hard on the floor, every pulse aching while you gave in to lying down.
“Mephisto said you needed ice— Oh. Kitten.”
Your vision was still blurring when he pressed ice packs to your wrists. 
“Are you hurt?” he asked while you shook your head across the floor. Then placed the cold into your palms. 
You put one on your forehead, maybe for an excuse to close your eyes, which might appear visibly unfocused.
You wanted to apologize for going through his things. You didn't mean to. Maybe he could program Lilith to stay out of his private area, or at least not to lead you into it.
“I don't mind if you want to borrow my things. You're allowed to read. If this place was off-limits, then I wouldn't have left the door open. Your cat really likes the shelf.”
You pushed the book toward him, though. Hadn't even opened it. You couldn't.
“Can I move you to the couch?” he asked before lifting you onto it, feet up on the armrest, explaining that it might help you not to pass out, having more blood up by your head and heart.
“Why don't we choose a better story?” He offered, passing the time with some other book. It sounded like ancient poetry, in some kind of… Oh.
The point was to relax your thoughts, so it was like putting you to sleep with a physics lecture. Only more pleasant to listen to, a nice sort of cadence to the sounds.Almost like music in his voice.
You draped an arm down, across his shoulders. Sylus reached up to meet your hand with his free one.
It took a while to actually be able to address that.
It doesn't make sense, you complained. The book was about incest. I didn't have family. 
He looked at you incredulously.
“Those dynamics don't require a shared genetic code in your blood. Can you think of any other reason why it wasn't what happened to you?”
…Shit.
“Sylus?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I… sleep in your bed tonight?”
You didn't want to be alone. There was electricity in your hands. It hurt. You were in no state to defend yourself.
“You want me to take you there now?”
He really did spoil you. Everything you could ever ask for, and still, all you could feel was hollow or pain, some combination of both.
“If you change your mind—”
You tried to cut him off with the i know gesture, but being nonverbal, he kept going anyway.
“You're free to leave at any time,” he finished.
You hadn't seen his room before. Hadn't expected it to be so neat. Was there any corner of his stuff that was swept away, under a rug or into a closet, covered in cobwebs and not organized?
He put you down gently on the middle of the bed.
“The bathroom's through here,” he opened the door and left it ajar. “What's wrong?” 
Your brows were furrowed too much for this. It was just… You'd never felt anything like it. The mattress was weird.
“It's custom-made,” he explained, deciphering your gestures. “You wouldn't have felt another like it.”
Of course it was custom-made.
“So, where do you want me?”
You wanted him tight against your chest. Made him be the little spoon, your arms wrapped around his waist.
He placed his hands over yours again, tried to provide some more comfort.
You didn't try to make a move on him. Only tried not to leave damp spots in his back from your eyes.
But your nose still got stuffed up, made you breathe too loud.
“You are allowed to cry,” he sighed, “It's good for you, actually.”
Sylus got up, leaving you alone with a box of tissues until he returned with a tray of drinks.
You wanted to ask, Why did this happen to me? 
But he would only blame himself. And that wasn't an answer.
What was it about you that attracted someone who was supposed to be your older brother? Who acted protective, but it was just control and manipulation. Keeping you confined in his own little prison.
While the door was open, Eclipse had found you again, nestled into your lap on the bed.
It was nice to feel wanted, by some creature who wasn't programmed to like you. Or was that what the animals’ training was?
They had you meet first, to see if it was a good match. And Eclipse had instantly headbutted both of your palms, so… 
It seemed like this cat liked everyone. Luke and Kieran were around less often, but they were still excited to see each other.
“Here.” Sylus handed you a warm, wet cloth to put over your face. A drug-free way to clear your sinuses into breathing  again.
“You can be sick of me,” you muttered. “I am.”
He pulled you closer and kissed the top of your forehead. 
“I can't lose you again,” he whispered. “So please. Whatever it takes, whatever you desire. We can figure it out.”

Chapter Text

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you sniffled, “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t know what to do. There was advice online about positions, trying to relax in a squat and push it out. But you didn’t have the strength for that. 
To seek medical help because if it stayed in too long, you could die. And trying to reach in yourself with misfit tools could make things so much worse.
“It’s alright. You can tell me anything.”
You scratched your face, stared at the floor. There were no hand signals or easy way to explain. So you opened your browser history and showed him the phone screen.
“I didn’t think to check if it had a string,” you mumbled.
“It could happen to anyone,” he assured. “Now, what do you want to do about it?”
It was the middle of the night. How long would it take to be seen? Emergency rooms were open, but a tampon wasn’t exactly…
Your ears were ringing too loud, barely processing Sylus’ voice. You sat on the edge of his couch, trying to breathe, giving up to sit on the floor.
You didn’t want to talk to strangers, to have them look into you so closely. It was better to just die than be touched by another pair of hands, even if they were gloved and sterile and nothing like what you were used to. 
“…Forget I said anything,” you mumbled, crossing your arms on your knees and burying your face in them.
Your heart was pounding, every beat hurt. The shock extended down to your fingers again. Everything ached. Your head, your cramps, your back. 
If you left it in there, then eventually the blood and clots would pile up and weigh it down, right? But it was so far up. You could barely fit in a single finger trying to chase it.
“Would you look at me?”
You did, because his eye made it easy. All you had to do was meet it, and he’d know.
“I don’t like it, gambling with your own body like that,” he sighed. 
You laid your head down and stared into the floor.
“I might be able to find a doctor, but it still means they’ll have to touch you.”
It was cruel. Trying to take steps to be comfortable in your own skin, familiar with your body, to associate insertion with something besides rape.
All to end up here.
Sylus sat down next to you. “If you want me to do it… I can try using Evol first. Would that feel better?”
He didn’t place it on you often, but it was always a comfort, unlike anything else. Neutral and lukewarm, sort of floating.
“Is that okay?” you whispered, afraid to coerce him.
“Sure. Tap out if it hurts, okay? I’ve never dealt with a tampon before.”
“It’s gross,” you grumbled, getting up to lay on his desk in front of a lamp light.
“I’ve seen worse and cleaned up more blood, I promise.”
You stripped your pants off, laid down on your back to stare at the dark ceiling. Spread your legs apart, feet flat on the wood.
Sylus sat down in his office chair, and let you know he was about to start.
It didn’t feel like hands at all, just a formless gentle pressure, hardly a touch pushing your labia apart, circling around to hold your cavity open to the light.
“I’ve got it,” he said, and you felt it slowly twist and pull out. “There, it’s all done.”
You heard his Evol drop the bloody cotton into a trash can, then went to put your sweatpants back on, the new tampon crinkling in it’s pocket.
“Thanks. I’ll spare you from watching the next one go in,” you shifted on the desk, let your feet dangle off.
“Wait. Isn’t that going to hurt?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s dry. Sticks to the walls.”
“Um… Yeah, but that’s normal?”
“Why not use something else? Anything more gentle?”
A shadow fell over your face. “Pads are… I don’t need them anymore.” You couldn’t elaborate.
The way your vagina felt sore from running snot for months on end, and it had finally dried up, only letting go of the kind of discharge you could read about in books on menstruation.
You didn’t want the reminder. Didn’t need to feel the way you did back then, clinging to thick pads that showed through your clothing, telling classmates that your cycle was irregular and you didn’t want to bleed through anything, wearing them every day as if it could shield you from being penetrated again, while your pussy lubed itself up trying to make the inevitable hurt less.
You couldn’t go back to that. You’d use tampons and change them every 5 hours until there was a whole day of no blood, and everything would be clean.
“I wish you were kinder to yourself.”
You were going to make him look into your eye, to see why you were like this.
But he had a cart full of products on his phone.
“See if any of these might work for you.”
“Oh.” You scrolled through menstrual cups, discs, underwear that didn’t look like a diaper, was thin and normal and plain. “Lotion?”
“I happened to notice your skin was dry. I thought maybe you don’t like the ones here.”
“No, I… I’m just lazy,” you mumbled.
It was uncomfortable, itchy, but you didn’t have whatever it took to engage in that sort of self-care. Maybe you just didn’t have the guts to perceive yourself. To leave skin exposed for any longer than necessary.
It was cold, too. The weight and warmth of baggy clothes and blankets carried with you pretty much all the time. Sometimes your hands and feet were still so cold, they hurt. Other times they burned, or it felt like both at the same time.
Maybe you spent too much time spacing out, distancing yourself from flesh and blood, neglecting dry skin even though it would be easy to eliminate one sensory nightmare.
But even without any discernible reason, you still felt him on you at random times. Lying in your bed, or sitting at a table. Phantom hands and other things, closing in and reminding you of being inescapably defiled. 
“What about lotion that sprays on? I can’t vouch for the texture, but it’s worth a try, no?”
“I’ll have to kick Eclipse out of the bathroom first,” you murmured, but Sylus had a point.
It should dry faster, take a few seconds to put on. Right?
It was like the world kept spinning while you suffocated in a time capsule, unaware of how much easier things could be with the right tools. 

Chapter Text

“Do you get faint often?” he asked, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek.
The other one was flat against the heat of his chest. One of your arms slung tightly around him, even in your sleep.
You hummed, not providing an answer.
“I was just thinking that your bed is so high up,” he continued.
“I fall off sometimes,” you admit, but it wasn’t a high fall off the ladder. Not enough to really get injured.
There were rails all along the side, that kept you and your pillows from rolling off. Though the one you grabbed onto to pull yourself up or climb down was thin and flimsier than you’d like.
“You can always have another.” Sylus was still resting his eyes, making no move to get up.
Another bed would fit under yours, but it would feel too much like…
“I prefer the floor,” you mumbled. It was hard and unpleasant, even if service animals brought you pillows and blankets from the top.
“I don’t believe you.”
You sighed, not feeling light-hearted enough to build off of his taunt.
Everything still felt heavy. Gravity was too strong for you.
“Do you know what drugs I was on?”
“Not specifically. Not everything. I can show you the test results from… Why? What’s on your mind?”
“It’s… I read that sometimes, they come back. You feel like you’re on them out of nowhere.”
“Were you ever getting high for fun? Intentionally? Did you ever know about it?”
You shook your head each time. 
He noticed the way that you ate. Always tearing apart your food, only trying a piece once it was thoroughly shredded. Not taking a drink unless you knew exactly what was in it. If a taste or texture deemed suspicious, then you mouth would stay sealed for the duration of the meal.
“He used to force me to eat, or drink, and I didn’t get to analyze them.” If you were too slow, if you hesitated, then he would grab your face and force it in.
It was more violent at home. On walks home from school, out in public, he’d play it out like… like it was some romantic gesture. Did he think you were dating this whole time?
That the arcade trips where you won plushies as comfort items were buying your affection?
It felt tangled, like he was spending all his money on you, even though you never asked for it.
You wanted the comfort objects, but it was all tainted coming from him.
Still, it was all you had.
Now you only has a few plain pillows, too flat for anyone to hide under the case. Nothing with eyes. No stuffed animals. Only if you counted Lilith, who was nothing like a claw machine prize. The crows didn’t feel like surveillance, even if they had the ability to.
A sickness twisted in your gut. Maybe cameras were in your stuffed animals, too.
“Come back to me, kitten.”
The air was thick again, hot and heavy and you were breathing too fast. Had to tell yourself to slow down, and hold your breath a few times when it wasn’t enough.
“Your flashbacks would happen even without any drugs.  It’s to be expected.”
You rubbed your forehead, wishing there were a way out.
“Both may have impacted your physiology, though. The measurements… The earliest notes we found were from when you would have been nine years old.”
Oh. 
“He didn’t record everything. Not enough to be incriminating. Just… Numbers and some units. But it was easy to figure out by the paraphernalia.
“Why don’t we go for a walk? Leave these foul-tasting notes behind us?”
You felt at peace in the N109 zone, as much as you could. Bits of broken glass, smoke, fog, a grime that didn’t bother to be disguised or decorated.
It was nothing like the gilded family home you grew up in. Though you weren’t sure whether you had grown at all, or only been stamped down this whole time.
If you were stronger, a fuller person, one with any sense of identity when Sylus knew you before.
If he was still seeing that now, someone you wanted to know so badly. To crawl back into their skin and feel it as your own. 
You bent down on the cracked blacktop, or maybe you kind of fell there, but made it look intentional. It helped to see an insect on the ground, still and unmoving but in one piece.
“A locust?” Sylus looked at the corpse in your hands.
You hummed, trying to stand up, when he steadied you into his side. 
“It’s neat,” you breathed, looking at the glass wings, the bright green body and big alien eyes.
“Neat? How it ended up here, with no crops to pillage?”
“No… Just looks cool,” you shrugged, tossing it aside.
Why was it getting darker? The sun was never out here, anyway…
Your limbs went limper still, weight entirely held by  Sylus, who was left with no choice but to carry you inside.

You really had no idea what was normal, and what a worrying symptom was.
But lately, your vision was blurred too often, impossible to blink away. 
And you didn’t take the stairs so often.
Even lying down all day, it felt like you’d just run a mile.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you muttered. Just existing took more energy than what you had.
“I know. Do you want to find out?”
You nodded.
It had been a week of barely leaving Sylus’ bed, and never making it more than a few steps from his room.
“Do you want Luke or Kieran to wait on you?” he asked after you insisted he didn’t need to stay close. That you were fine, just felt safer in his room.
Lilith and Eclipse rarely left your side. Only to retrieve things or play with each other.
You tried to be better. Ate your full meals recommended by the chef and delivered by your crow. But they never seemed to replenish your energy.
It wasn’t a usual sickness. You weren’t coughing or sneezing or running a fever. Nauseous just as easily as ever, but really…
It was all symptoms that you’d always known. Just worse than before.  Creeping up until they swallowed you whole.

The doctor Sylus brought in said it looked like dysautonomia. That they’d recommend you to a cardiologist. But it seemed that nervous system disregulation was to blame.
The explanation sounded like a botched algebra lesson. Something about a million nervous systems being inside of a million more, but they were all nervous and what were you supposed to do with that, now your body was fucked.
“We could run some more blood tests, once it replenishes. But you’re better off in his hands, for something like this.”
Which meant you would have to travel for it.
They left you with a list of band-aid solutions, things that might help, but why bother trying if you couldn’t be certain it would?

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” Sylus translated your hand sign. “Do you know why you’re nonverbal right now?”
 “Tired,” the cardiologist interpreted on his own. Was it that obvious?
His reputation was correct so far. Soft-spoken, blunt, and good at explaining things to his patients.
You didn’t expect a renouned surgeon would travel just to see you. Set himself up in the hospital nearest to the N109 zone, because traveling could exacerbate symptoms. The visiting doctor hadn't exaggerated his kindness. Probably too young to have lost faith in trying to help people.
Your eyes were hard to keep open, vision blurring. 
“You can keep breathing normally. I just want to listen to your heart.”
You wondered what a normal breath was, or if you’d been doing that wrong, too.
Seconds passed while you gripped the edge of the exam table, your feet dangling off the edge, trying not to slump onto the floor.
“Would it be more comfortable if you lie down?”
It was better than making a scene. Sylus was quietly sitting in a chair, but his Evol could reach from there, and was that against the rules here? 
You turned to put your feet up and lay against the slightly elevated back. The lights were too bright here, so you kept your eyes squinted closed, took a deep breath before trying again, the sweater’s sleeves balled up in your hands. 
It belonged to Sylus. He wore a few V-neck sweaters, which would drape low enough on you to allow for monitoring. He’d asked ahead of time about clothing.
His stethoscope pressed gently on your chest for a minute. And then a list of big words that sounded bad came out, but you couldn’t pay attention when the doctor’s voice felt… homesick?
You tried to glance at his eyes, but yours were too bleary, only catching a glimpse of gold in the dark behind thin glasses.
“It would be easier to keep an eye on with some tests. We can start with an ultrasound, if that’s okay.”
He explained the process, the way it would feel. 
You felt stupid for believing in Caleb’s horror stories that left you avoiding the school nurse all the way through senior year. But even still, fear simmered beneath the stupid, unable to put to rest.
“Thank you. I’ll handle it,” Dr. Zayne took a rolling cart from someone in the hallway and let the door close behind him.
“The gel might feel cold.” He applied some to the end of a wand, that somehow would resonate with crystals to see past your skin, not unlike mapping the bottom of the ocean.
All you could think was how grateful you were that it wasn’t another type of ultrasound. That you were only looking at your own heart on the screen, and not some spawn of nightmares in your womb.
That would be hell. Every part of you claimed, marked and molded by…
What happened to you didn’t feel like incest when other people had suffered through that. Even if it would have felt gross for you, for all the same reasons. Your experience wasn’t so bad.
It was like an ice pack, cold gel and pressure of the wand pressing on your skin. It kept you grounded enough to the present. Even if you let your eyes unfocus, not invested in seeing what lurked in your heart. 
“Did that hurt?  No.  Are you sure?” Dr. Zayne held the wand away, like he didn’t believe you. 
You lifted the culprit of your pained flinch, exposed the scar on your wrist.
“Sometimes, old injuries have that effect. The ultrasound is almost done.”
You didn’t know what he was looking for, didn’t care to know about the strung-up convulsing gray blob on the screen.
But soon the gel was cleaned off, and the ultrasound tech traded a blanket for her equipment back.
“They say that’s the best thing about working in a hospital,” Dr. Zayne said, “The constant supply of warm blankets.”
You’d never heard of that before. It was unexpected, seemed totally random, but didn’t go unappreciated. 
You wore it like a messy cape or a scarf, something in between, let the heat soak into your hands.
It might have been a distraction, though. Because the room grew quiet, and you realized it was your turn to speak, with utterly nothing to offer but a blank stare.
“I’ll send you home with the supplies, so you have time to consider. And I’ve written all of this down, so you don’t have to worry about remembering.”
You nodded, totally missing the subject of consideration. 
“That’ll be all for today. But do you have any questions for me?”
You did have one. Though it didn’t relate to your health.
“How do I know what you’re saying? Well, that’s… Do you really want to know?”
Zayne almost grunted, looked to the side of the room.
“We made that language up when we were kids. It allowed us to communicate with each other from a distance, without being noticed.”
You squinted again, trying to place the features of his face, blinking hard, though it wasn’t something in your eyes but a blood pressure issue, allegedly.
“I moved away suddenly. Instead of saying goodbye, I was a coward and left three of these on your porch. Though I’m not sure if you ever got them.”
Zayne held out his hand, formed three snowy seals with his Evol, and dropped them into yours.
Your brows furrowed at the sight, faint memories coming back. 
“I thought… they were just snowballs. he said you were a bully, throwing them at me.”
You were afraid to ask Caleb what happened to Zayne. Found it safest to erase him from your memories. 
So the nonverbal language wasn’t recently invented. Only secretly remembered. Is that why it felt so natural?
“Keep them, if you want. They will never melt.”
“Thank you,” the words fell silent in your mouth, refusing to do more than open slightly. 
Your lips pressed in a weak frown, having to sign again.

Chapter Text

You told Lilith to unlock the door.
It wasn’t barricaded anymore. You wouldn’t have the strength to get out, trapped by paranoid hypervigilance. But you had two companions who would alert you to an intruder, and one who would attack. One who could be rebuilt if it came down to a suicide mission.
Sylus had been texting you, variations of Are you alright, kitten? while Lilith nudged your phone, or your face. 
Eclipse had curled up like you were their nest, lying on your side on a mess of bedding over the floor.
You’d reacted to his texts with emojis, that it seemed you were too illiterate to use correctly, because he still worried.
You could tell by the way Mephisto and Lilith were synced, your white crow with his black one, the subtle tells of their body language and vocalizations.
“Oh, what is that face for?” Sylus stepped inside, sat on the floor across from you, against the wall.
You don’t want to know.
“It looks like you smell something bad. But I don’t.” Thanks to the air filtration. It had been upgraded, since he thought the N109 Zone air quality was damaging your skin. But it was your own neglect. Or just the way you existed wrong.
Pangs shot through your heart at every attempt you made to articulate, no chance of actually telling him what was bothering you.
That somehow you couldn’t get menstrual cups in right. That they didn’t seem to be going in at all, and the attempts left you sore and bloody. 
That despite Caleb’s complaints in your ear about trying to shut him out, you couldn’t help but feel your body was molded to only take him. The only thing that managed to get through was tampons with the assistance of applicators, and a speculum that one time. Everything else couldn’t get through without tearing open and bleeding.
The fact that there was so much blood, you could feel it leaking out. It felt like the times you’d try not to limp back to class, already minutes late in the empty halls, leaking white and bright red blood onto a thick pad.
It felt like that again. And the way your tits swelled against the skin made it feel like they were being groped, nipples sensitive as if they’d been pinched and pulled.
You liked the period underwear, otherwise. It felt like nothing, protected, and it worked, flush against your skin.
But skipping tampons on a heavy flow day left you stuck to the floor, somehow your blood contained from spilling, wanting to get up and end the sensation but feeling like a victim of sleep paralysis.
Or so you heard. It sounded like what happened when you were awake. When fighting would do no good, when there was nowhere to run, when all you could do was protect yourself from retaliation of self-defense.
Sylus moved slowly, but your eyes glazed over, staring through space and time.
Your cheek was cold, flinched back. He’d put something on it.
Like radio static clearing in a storm, you blinked into the room. 
Eclipse noticed Zayne’s seal, and started to play with it.
This was your chance. You took Sylus’ hand to stand, then shut yourself in the bathroom for a minute. Just enough to change into clean, dry underwear, and shove a tampon in so you didn’t have to feel the drip. One with a sturdy string this time. And then wash the blood out of your fingernails.
You took two steps out before your legs bent in, deciding to sit on the floor for you.
You needed to move before the paralysis set in again. Turned to rest your head on his outstretched thigh, taking his hand to feel the rings, his knuckles, anything that moved.
“Have you decided on any of it?”
“Hmm?”
“The heart monitor, blood tests.”
Your thumb tapped against his wrist, eyes danced across the ceiling. Nothing.
“Is the brain fog really that bad, or are you playing dumb? Oh, so it’s both, huh?”
Remind me?
He got you to leave the room, trading in for a wide leather couch under a lamp’s warm glow.
“Your hands are so cold. Do they hurt?”
You had to think about it. That wasn’t something you usually noticed, shrouded among other pains or the disconnect from your own body. Not letting yourself acknowledge it.
They did hurt, though. So you held your fingers up to the lamp.
“Do you want another for your room? It’s been a  while since you’ve been exposed to sunlight, real or artificial.”
Eclipse might like it. They basked occasionally, always facing away from the light. In the moments where they got settled, you saw the mark of their namesake. A jagged copper crescent splitting down their face.
You had considered changing their name until seeing it. Eclipse was difficult to say, it got stuck in your mouth. But the cat already answered to it, and other sounds and gestures. There was no reason to fabricate another.
“Zayne went over the previous doctor’s notes and agreed with some things. We can try them and see what helps. They shouldn’t hurt. And then there’s the tests and monitor.”
Sylus brought out the bag from that hospital.
You failed to look through it. Knew better than to read in the car, and it was frustrating to on days when the words were smeared in your eyes. It slipped your mind.
You had questioned him on the drive back, though. How the hell were you having a chance encounter with Zayne?
“He was equally surprised. Didn’t you see his expression? It faltered as soon as he walked in.”
You didn’t look.
But your name was legally different now. A new identity. One that felt like no one, anyone. The most common first, middle, and last name all belonged to you now. 
No one called you that. It was just a title for your bank account and medical records. A way to feel anonymous, hard to find. A way to avoid seeing the name that associated with…
Sylus handed you a package. It held a sleek device, flat and kind of like a vape. If they wanted you to inhale something—
“This would go over your chest. Here,” Sylus held it up to his own body, “Or vertically, down the center.” 
He gave you the monitor to inspect. Yeah, that made more sense. But—
“They said the adhesive is the most unpleasant part. It can get uncomfortable, so you can alternate its positions.”
You unfolded the instructions, looking at the steps of skin preparation. Why were there so many?
“You wouldn’t be forced to keep it on. But it would show us how your heart behaves over several weeks, instead of a few minutes.”
You could handle that. It was easy. You needed your body to be less of their problem.
Sat in front of a mirror, you crossed your legs on the bench and looked at swatches of alcohol and sandpaper.
“If I had to guess, it would be more comfortable down the center.”
He was right. It would move around less that way, hurt less to lay on. Avoid the tactile flashbacks.
Eclipse climbed on your lap, interested in what was happening.
You checked with Sylus’ reflection that you were focused on the right spot, then began to scrub the skin.
He stopped you before long, afraid it was going to bleed.
You do it then.
He sighed, had you sit on the counter while he took the bench.
“You know, it’s fine that you steal my clothes. But if you need button-down shirts so badly, why not pick out your own? I mean, some style that you actually like. Not just because it’s conveniently already here.”
You liked the way that his were oversized, hung loose on your frame, obscured it. But also… when had you ever picked out your own clothes?
They were always for convenience. Always belonged to someone else first, or someone else chose them for you. Who the hell were you, anyway? You didn’t have a style to shop for. You didn’t really even exist.
“Sorry, but the next part of our plan is a shopping trip,” Sylus fitted the monitor against your sternum, “Though I suppose you can do it from your phone.”
Actually, the next thing on his itinerary was food. 
“Have you been eating processed foods all week?”
So what if you had? They had seals and labeled ingredients. They were mass produced for millions of people, not singling anyone out. Sometimes it just felt safer that way.
“We’ve been using Celtic sea salt more. It might taste a little different. Here,” he laid out a bit of each kind. Pink and black and white, why were there so many?
Something about cells absorbing water better with a balance of magnesium, sodium and potassium. One of the little changes that could help a lot, or not do much of anything at all. 
Zayne didn’t want to stress you out with too many tests at once. It was better to do harm control of your symptoms before going to extreme measures, anyway.
The other thing that came up again was compression garments.
To feel anything close in on you, suffocating, like phantom hands? 
Tight clothing was torture. Clothing that fit you was torture. You didn’t want to do it.
“What about socks, then? Could we start there?”
That.. could work. But nothing around your torso. You still panicked when your butt accidentally brushed against furniture. When bloating made your abdomen feel touched.

Chapter Text

You were supposed to be writing things down. But couldn’t bear to look at the marks your hand would leave on the page.
Caleb had acted like it was a game. That your handwriting would change from bubble letters to cursive to block letters so that he could learn those fonts, too. Absorb every part of you.
It was all an attempt to stop seeing him in your own handwriting.
It made homework impossible, if he didn’t physically get in the way. 
You didn’t deserve the diploma. It was fraud.
If you could just get better enough to actually work for Onychinus, and repay Sylus for everything...
He didn’t like the way you laid on the floor with a dead fish stare. Compromised on getting a mattress topper, too thin to hide a person, just thick enough to feel soft. 
Not as comforting as his bed, though it made a huge difference.
You wished you could live like Eclipse, laying in a catbed on the windowsill. The world at your feet.
A tremor shook the windows. No explosion this time— It was thunder.
A hall pass for Caleb to enter your bedroom, or the closet you were hiding in. You didn’t know if you still feared thunderstorms, or his sudden appearance. Had you truly ever feared the weather?Did he make that up too, for some excuse to get uncomfortably close where no one would notice, with an alibi already laid out if you screamed or cried or ran away to hide?
You lay on the mattress topper, legs up on a wall. It was supposed to help dampen your symptoms. Not enough blood, and therefore oxygen, reached your brain— It pooled where gravity dragged it, and that caused a sense of dread. Impossible to tell apart from anxiety attacks, but Zayne was pretty sure that you suffered from both. That anxiety and dysautonomia were a compounding cycle, a package deal.
The differences in your heart rate between sitting up and lying down, the way your hands burned when blood pooled in them but froze any other time.
It didn’t make sense, but it matched what you felt. 
The way that you could only get a few vials of blood taken at a time because the flow was weak. You’d almost run out.
Your feet up to your knees were covered in compression socks. It didn’t feel like hands. The pressure was evenly distributed. Even if you didn’t change clothes for three days, you’d hardly notice them. 
It seemed slightly easier to function. Your feet had stopped burning, and felt cold again. Some days you’d wear two extra socks on top of those, just to get warm.
Eating little things throughout the day made the urge to throw up smaller. But your head hurt almost constantly. The sun lamp’s glow hurt your eyes. So did the phone screen. Like looking into a flashlight. 
It felt like you were strapped to a table, spinning backwards. Too dizzy to consider sitting up. Your throat would go dry and burn.
Lilith would drop a bottled drink in your hand. Coconut water, usually. It helped the most for some reason, maybe the electrolytes it boasted. When you found the strength to sit up, your body would clamp onto it and drain the bottle in seconds. Then you’d collapse back onto the floor.
You signed to Lilith to invite Sylus in, to unlock the door when he arrived.
It felt like weeks since you’d last seen him. It couldn’t be that long, right? Your awareness of time was always astoundingly wrong.
At least he also disappeared for days sometimes. Though he was outside, actually doing things. And you kept ignoring Luke and Kieran’s game invitations.

“I don’t think the blood loss is good for you,” Sylus announced himself before entering.
You tried to focus on him, a chorus in your mind saying don’t pass out, don’t throw up.
“I got you a drink while I was out. Though I’m not sure if you like boba tea, I am certain that someone else will drink it if you don’t.”
He sat on the mattress topper, supported you to lean against his side.
You were dying of thirst still, despite empty bottles and cans that littered the floor. It was nice that this thing had a wide straw.
It was sweeter than you expected. Like dessert in a cup.
You wanted to say thank you, laced your fingers in his as an attempt at the gesture. But it felt more like, don’t leave me.
“Are you too depressed in here? We could find artwork for the walls. Or you need a change of scenery?”
 You needed a change in body. Or to dispose of the carnal curse altogether. Having one was the source of all your problems. How could a soul be molested if it didn’t have a body? If only you could have been born a ghost, a safe kind of wrong.
But since you had one, it was nice to bleed. Menstrual blood looked different. It smelled different. You were trying to wash the filth away with the blood. To feel clean again, and not infected. All the rest results swore that you weren’t infected. But you still felt wrong.
The gynecologist hadn’t put fingers in you. Hadn’t felt for cysts or organ abnormalities. Only the speculum and swabs for testing.
Not that cramps felt good or you enjoyed trying not to bleed through and not feel the flow of blood… But it also gave you a reason, for a few weeks, to be in pain and have irrational, confused emotions. Everything could be blamed on PMS and that made it less scary to be alive.
Though your body may have had enough.
You didn’t want to go back on birth control. Couldn’t bear to choke down those pills again. Even if they were consensual, even if you threw them back with water.
You just kept sipping the drink, until it sucked up a doughey ball.
That wasn’t like anything you had from the bakery. 
Oh, fuck. Had you found an unmolested comfort food?
“Do you need help bathing? Or is this just another one of your rituals?”
You grimaced. It felt abrasive, like your legs were scabbed over, pulling compression socks on. They had to be ashy. Was he really offering to see that?
“We could make it a spa day.”
You didn’t want to writhe weakly in your own dried sweat and dead skin and greasy scalp. 
“Your bath or mine?  Yes, mine does have a lot more products in it.  You can still kick me out at any time. Well, so long as you won’t drown.”

You tried to reciprocate, to wash his hair in return, but holding your arms up hurt and left you exhausted. The world spinning while you sat on the bench. 
“It’s alright. You can lie down.”
He dropped a dry towel over your face to keep water from spraying up your nose and knelt down beside the bench, your head leaning off. Sylus’ hands worked something soft into your scalp. 
“Are you falling asleep?”
You hummed in agreement. It was better than fainting, right? 
 “Is it okay if I continue?” You hummed again, nodded once. So he’d know you meant it, even if sleep took you seconds later.  
You felt him start on your ears, behind them, working down to your neck, shoulders, arms. How was it so relaxing?
You felt lazy and spoiled for this. Contributing nothing, just basking in the warm steam and the scent of his soaps and conditioners or whatever was soaking in your hair. It barely still existed, but still he treated it with reverence. Maybe out of habit from his own haircare routine.
His hair had grown out since the day you fell from the window. It was nice, the way it framed his face, looked like no one you had ever seen before. 

Chapter Text

I need to brush my teeth, you signed.
Your hands felt weak, and tickled more when the fingers curled in.
It was an awful feeling they woke with often as a child. Now, you guessed that it was lack of blood to the extremities.
You forced yourself up, afraid to open your mouth before brushing for as long as you could stand it. Sitting on the counter helped. Smudge marks on the mirrors were stamped from your forehead, from just standing long enough to wash your hands.
You hadn’t brushed them in too long. Had slipped into old habits. Shut in your room with packaged food, it was like all the times you’d binged them before.
Why did you force yourself to throw up the first time? It seemed that you had been trying throughout middle school. But it was never successful. Until you shoved something dangerously down your throat, held it there and eventually the gag reflex made it happen. After years of trying.
Maybe it was an attempt to purge the black bile from under your skin, desperate to feel clean again. Maybe it was distrust over whatever had been fed to you.
But it quickly became an addiction. It hurt to breathe, it became difficult to swallow anything without throwing up. Even a zero-calorie soda can from the school cafeteria wasn’t safe. You hoped it would burn your throat the same way.
You'd scrape together your meager allowance, pick up pennies from the parking lots and ask an older classmate to buy the cheapest pack of cigarettes. They burned your throat in a satisfying way, but also made it hard to breathe — You couldn’t choose both vices. And nicotine was supposedly an appetite suppressant, while throwing up made your stomach empty and hungry.
At some point, it became integral to your being. Even after eating (or, furiously binging) the safe, unopened packs of junk, you couldn’t keep it down. Kept binging and purging until the threat of someone arriving home shut you back in your room.
It didn’t stop there. You had empty bottles to throw up in. It didn’t require a dramatic ritual anymore. Like muscle memory, you could throw up on command at any time. It was discreet.
Other bottles were full of piss, too afraid of leaving your room. Not that it was safe in there either, but you wouldn’t face Caleb by choice.
The bulimia got so bad, though, that you were desperate for help. Did a research paper on it just to come across resources to help you fucking stop. It hurt so bad, you didn’t understand how it was possible to get up and walk to school.
Occasionally you got away with skipping. Laid in bed for three days straight once, flicking your secret lighter until it died. Unable to eat.
Leaving that place made things a lot easier. Sometimes old habits creeped up, but moving in here was like an accidental miracle cure.
The first few weeks were brutal. Felt like rocks in your stomach, with an involuntary constant stream of gas. It seemed silent and odorless, but the fear of scent blindness kept you locked away like a bad guest.
You read that was to be expected, but the feeling of rocks wasn’t a metaphor. Still caught you by surprise.
Funny how surveillance and paranoia couldn’t keep you safe at all. The fear of having a body should have been on your side, right? If you could have just found a documentary about what bulimia does to a body, then you shouldn't be able to do those things anymore.
But there was no logic, no choice. Like you left your body and became possessed by a hungry ghost, then came to and tried to eat food to keep in your stomach, just to purge it all out again.
Cigarettes might have saved you, but it was hard to keep them hidden, to find a safe opportunity to smoke. Caleb didn’t need another blackmail opportunity. 
You realized it now though, how arrhythmia and heart palpitations became the norm soon after.

 You never told anyone about your eating disorder. Except for one desperate time, being told that you were only saying that for attention. 
 It was infuriating, humiliating. Anyone who took the chance to notice the first thing about you should know that attention was your biggest goddamn fear.
Recovery felt hopeless and unattainable.
But now it was within reach, right? Or had you destroyed that too?
And why did you have to develop the gross eating disorder? The one that made your stomach muscles curl in automatically when you walked by a sink alone? Why couldn’t it be one with just binging or withholding?
It was embarrassing, it made you smell awful, it insulted anyone who made or bought your food. 
A little episode was nothing like before. Didn’t leave you so disgusting. But the compulsions still followed like ghosts. 
it wasn’t fair to Zayne, either, to go looking for explanations to your strange heart issues. Maybe the arrhythmia and palpitations preceded it, but they were occasional before the eating disorder.
But could you face anyone who knew this fact about you?
Maybe from a distance.

Dr. Zayne,
sorry for not saying so before. Arrhythmia and heart palpitations and chest pain got ten billion times worse since developing bulimia. I am recovering though don’t worry.
this should explain a lot.

You sent the email before cowarding out, wondering if you should have signed it with that generic name. Or maybe it was set to fill in automatically.
You turned the phone off and threw it out of sight.
Then crawled back under the covers where you’d woken up. Apologized for taking his personal space.
“It’s alright. I like seeing you’re still alive.”
I don’t deserve you.
It’s all you could think, rolling over to get closer, to steal the heat from his chest with your face.

Sylus seemed to think he owed an explanation of where he’s been, despite the way that you wouldn’t have been socializing if he were home.
“This is not a threat,” he explained gently. “I was learning to draw blood and place IVs.  You’ve been dehydrated, and they should help.  No drugs,  it’s only saline. You can read the label.”
You can do it.
You chose this without much thought. To have some strength and feel less like a mummy, without forcing litres of water pass through your stomach? It sounded like heaven.
“Hypothetically, I could draw blood from the same line, but we’ll wait to collect samples another time.  You might taste it. The needle can hurt, and it might feel cold—“
I don’t need an explanation.
“Well, if you’re sure. I don’t mind explaining. It gives me something to do. I’ll need to see your arm."
Right. He’d dressed you in the same clothes as ever. Though your shirt underneath was a short sleeved v-neck, an attempt to get used to the feeling. It was still loose on you.  It gave the monitor space to be seen, easily change the batteries if you needed to.

Chapter Text

Not every habit picked up from bulimia was bad, exactly.
You still rinsed your mouth with water any time a sink was running. Your teeth hadn’t rotted out of your skull. You knew better than to damage them with abrasion from a toothbrush and stomach acid after vomiting.
Hopefully your breath wasn’t so terrible anymore. But it was one more reason to keep your mouth shut, if fatigue weren’t enough.
You lazily watched as Sylus had you make a fist, drape an arm over the side. He didn’t bother to ask if you’d leave his bed. Just set everything up there. Warmed and tapped the veins with his hand, looked for a nice spot to enter it.
The tourniquets were uncomfortable. Similar to a waistband, only the grip didn’t make you feel molested. It was still violent, a precursor.
Instead of looking away, you kept your eyes on what he was doing, trying to push down the memory.
“Change your mind?” Sylus asked, waiting for the alcohol to dry.
You shook your head. Small shakes, and perhaps too many. He got the message to hurry up.
Adjusting the needle’s angle to puncture and sit nicely in your vein, pulled out and replaced with a small plastic catheter. He’d never call it that. Tell you it was a soft little tube, in case you remembered the Foley catheter.
Sylus couldn’t tell. Had no idea if you’d been awake for any of it, or if all those memories would be locked behind a wall. You weren’t ready for exposure therapy. Needed as much distance as possible. Whatever he’d seen was only a tiny fraction, the majority left unknown.
He checked for a flash of blood return, and then hooked it up to the saline drip. A sort of bandage wrapped around to keep the site clean, taped down.
“There. It’s all done.”
All that was left, waiting for the bag to empty under your skin.
You felt better once the tourniquet was off. Only asked for a banana when he left for the kitchen.
“Oh, here’s your phone.” He placed it in your hand, kissed your forehead on the way out.
You didn’t want to check the notification. But it was already there, and if Zayne’s message wasn’t read immediately, then it would be marked as read and ignored.

Thank you for letting me know. 
If you can, please write down the dates and times of these behaviors. No one expects you to heal overnight, and lapses can happen to the best of us. It will get easier.
And I am certain this only plays a small role in your condition. Remember that it’s not your fault. Changes in weather like air pressure, for example, can cause flares. 
Don’t overthink too much. Writing everything down in a log can be helpful. I  don’t see anything in it so far, so here is a link. Please try to use it while the heart monitor is on.

Shit. That gave you something to do. 
It was easier than you expected. Like a spreadsheet of multiple choice. Organized, with room for notes. And your heart data could overlay on top of it.
You turned that setting off. It was freaky, live updates of a vital organ.
“Sorry. I just couldn’t believe that’s all you wanted.”
Sylus returned with a long breakfast tray, a few bananas among the arrays.
You ate them often, first because you read that it would help your heart. And later, protect the stomach lining. How convenient that something recommended by that bulimia recovery PDF was soft and gentle, low effort, didn’t hurt to bite into. 
He reminded you that you can move that arm. That a needle was only in your vein for the first second. 
You were glad that Luke and Kieran were so talkative. His four other roommates were rather silent. It might drive someone insane.
“Do I wish you were different?”
You glanced up at Sylus’ face, waiting for an answer. But the look in his red eyes hurt. So you had to look away.
“Listen. The person who you were as a kid, you’re never going to be her again. The person who you might have grown into, if I’d been— If things had been different, we’ll never know what she’s like.
Things can still get better. For all the rest of your life. But we can’t undo the past. It’s only a tarpit for your thoughts. Try not to sink in it.”
His words stung like brush-burned skin bleeding against a summer breeze.
Tears built uncomfortably behind your face.
“I don’t mean to upset you,” he whispered. “I’ve accepted the person you are now, and whoever she’ll grow into. Life isn’t over. It’s just… beginning late.”
You bit your thumb while he squeezed an arm around your shoulders.
“If I’m mad at anyone, I promise, it isn’t you.”
No, that would be himself for separating. But the N109 Zone needed to be shaped into a livable place first. They promised to keep you out of danger.
If Josephine wasn’t encouraging or enabling the abuse, if she wasn’t even aware— Could he forgive an oblivious old woman?
Probably not. It’s well-documented that the “stranger danger” epidemic allowed real predators to flourish. Most trafficking occurred within families. No second location necessary.
Sylus felt a flash of anger well up in him at Zayne, too. Who probably had no way of knowing better. Just a child. One who wasn’t even brave enough to say goodbye.
He was like Sylus. Advanced further in his career than should be possible at such a young age. Hardly even adults, with more knowledge and practical experience than most. Two people who remembered you before you can. Haunted by glimpses of what can’t even be considered a childhood.
There was one other person who Sylus left out. Hadn’t introduced you to. He could analyze your protocore. See that it’s stable and cooperating with your heart, without leaving the N109 Zone. 
But he spoke warmly of Josephine’s kindness. Of wanting to repay it.
That left a taste on Sylus’ mouth so bitter, he couldn’t stomach to consider the introduction.
You nuzzled into his shoulder, not seeming to hold a grudge for abandonment. Your standards were in hell.
“You haven’t been sleeping well?” he asked softly. It was weird how you relaxed into a natural sleep, no signs of fainting since you laid down on the shower bench.
Like the tension in your muscles hurt when he wasn’t around.
You didn’t deny sleeping poorly. As if he needed a shred of verbal evidence.
The truth was that at times, you would lay down and think there was an earthquake. Everything was shaking. You thought it was insanity until realizing that must be your heart.
When you were going to sleep, it sounded like someone was breaking in. Phantom footsteps and door rattling.
By middle school, you were convinced that something was wrong with your brain. Spent entire math classes afraid that you would suddenly start screaming.
It wasn’t a miracle you were able to sleep in that house. It was due to substances.
Some days it felt like you craved some familiar drug, like you would take it if you could. Maybe by snorting or smoking, injecting. Maybe then you could have a decent high. But it was never about that. It was to make you unconscious, maybe to make you forget.
Would you remember if you could?
It was scary to recognize that you had no idea what was done to your body. What acts you engaged in. Who else might be involved.
But finding out would scare you more. Answers were available — Lilith could retrieve the evidence. But you were too cowardly to ask.
“Are you proving me wrong, kitten? Or do you want to keep anything?”
It had taken this long to swallow a single banana. Your jaw ached from clenching all the time, though you never noticed until then.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Sylus shook his head while gathering the tray. He suggested a smoothie instead.
It was easier to drink your food through a wide straw. Faster, less straining. Didn’t aggravate whatever was so sore and bloated in your abdomen. It hurt to press on, hurt to move, to exist. Similar to the way you heard appendicitis described from a classmate who got theirs taken out. But in that case, it would have killed you already, right?
Just one more reason why this eating disorder was so regrettable. Throwing up didn’t save you from being drugged or becoming an addict.
How could you tell Sylus that you were addicted to throwing up?
Could you hide this forever? 

Chapter Text

Caleb was always making you feel small. He got off on calling you names that felt like slurs. Humiliating, infantilizing. Squashed you down into some subhuman form, a mold you couldn’t recognize.
Sylus wanted you to be strong. A person, one who didn’t need him. Or anyone. 
Even if you had to drink your meals, stomach too weak for solid food. Even if he had to feed you water through a vein.
He wasn’t giving up on you. Seemed to be convinced it was only temporary, a project that would someday come to completion.
But you saw the words Chronic Illness on your chart. Chronic fatigue, chronic pain, disability. All words that translated to forever. Until death set you free.
You wondered if he was almost spared that day. If you were left to fall, would it have been lethal? A broken neck, a snapped spine… Or would it have left you truly paralyzed, like a helpless immortal doll for Caleb to torture? 
If you could go back in time, would you have saved Sylus the trouble, left him blissfully unaware… Or saved yourself from a lifetime of more?
Because it felt fruitless. You still acted like you were there. Still felt like it too often.
Even if you watched the footage again, it wouldn’t stop the nightmares. Caleb would be there, opening the door while you pushed with all your strength to close it, and he would enter like a zombie. Or Frankenstein’s monster. Something dead and undead and smelling worse than your bulimic breath.
You couldn’t take another nightmare waking you up, too scared to move at all, crying silently for several hours.
It helped to have Eclipse climb onto your chest and purr. You preferred when Lilith slept through it. Otherwise you felt like a corpse, which should have been comforting. It never was. The white head tilting, pecking lightly at yours. All you could do was close your eyes and pretend to sleep.
So when Sylus told you again it was fine to stay in his room, you did. 
He really wanted to surprise you. But he wasn’t sure what your triggers were, since there were still so many. Specific colors, sounds, patterns, words, vehicles, a trillion harmless things that you’d flinch away from because they had only been associated with abuse.
Plus, it was better if you’d pick out your own color. Customize it to your taste, that you didn’t even know you had. It was in there somewhere. You just weren’t aware of it yet.
Zayne’s chart was awakening awareness to your physical senses. Sensitivities  that you’d grown a blind spot to long ago, would never think to consider as symptoms. 
It didn’t help that you were caged like a tool, a weapon. That from the moment you incarnated, that was the focus of your lifestyle.
Sylus agreed to let Josephine prove that you were as gentle as any human. You deserved to live a normal life. Stay out of the crossfire while Sylus manifested as the weapon they had desired and now feared.
Your ultimate technique was extremely painful, terrifying for yourself. That explosions effect on your body was unknown. Long-lasting? Restorative? Detrimental? The answer wasn’t worth finding out.
He kept up his end of the deal. He kept you out of harm’s way. Until graduation, when he was allowed to see you again.
Sylus was never early. But he couldn’t be late for this. So there was time to kill. For taking Mephisto on a leisurely walk. To see whether his arrival was anticipated, and whether with welcome or hostility.
Then the glass shattered.
He honored that deal for ten miserable years, all for nothing.
It never should have come to this.
The first time he saw you, covered in sweat and flushed skin, set up for a heat stroke by the time those guys would have made use of the blindfold, earplugs and rope binding that his evol tore away.
How kind it was, that his evol took away the need for hands. The only kindness in that cruel fate.
If he killed your family then, you might never trust him. Needed time to come to terms with the way you felt, and how they treated you first. 
Doing so would have drawn attention. It was best to have you disappear. Let Mephisto stay behind and see what happened next.
Caleb told Josephine that you were on a trip with your friends. That someone booked the wrong dates, and you didn’t want to miss your flight. That he would pick up your diploma.
It seemed that he never let you have friends. You didn’t mention a single person, not fondly. 
That pervert was good at buying time. And his face at hearing the diploma had already been collected— It was as if you and him were playing a game of chess. A temporary betrayal of his prey.
You weren’t a brat asking for more between the lines. You were just a kid begging for escape.
And Sylus could take you out of that place, but he couldn’t take the place out from where it had seeped into you. It would take time. Like restoring a garden that had been long overtaken by invasive species. Insects and grass and birds, all sabotaging the ecosystem as it attempted restoration.
He knew it wasn’t going to be easy or fast or without sacrifice.
One thing that helped him the most was hyperindependence. Never feeling like a caged test subject anymore. Learning to predict at least ten most likely outcomes before stepping into any situation. To be prepared for anything.
He wasn’t prepared for this. But that’s why he read more books, took phlebotomy classes, practiced hundreds of times on himself and other students. And he would give you the tools to take your autonomy back. You needed that. More than anything.
“I know you’re jealous. You can buy your own, but no racing outside of the track.” Sylus eyed Luke and Kieran while he brought your car inside.
It should work. Was small enough to comfortably fit through the hallway. Speed shutoff so you couldn’t crash into anything or put Eclipse in danger.
The question was whether you’d like it.
“Have you driven before? That’s alright, I’ll show you.”
Sylus didn’t fit comfortably in your car, so he demonstrated with his own. Feet stretched out along the front, leaning forward to access the controls. Said the settings could be adjusted until it was a good fit.
You copied his movements, getting acquainted with the vehicle. 



It was scary, heavy machinery moving at the touch of your weak hands. Your grip strength was still pathetic often. Sylus offered to teach you how to draw your own IVs and blood, but it would be difficult with one hand. Though you did learn to place the tourniquet using your mouth. 
There was a sort of thrill though, something free pulsing in your veins at maneuvering around obstacles. It was faster than you’d moved in a long time. 
Walking had been like stepping on a boat, or so you imagined, rocking on the ocean’s invisible whim. Sometimes you’d drop to the floor, bruise a knee. Sometimes you caught yourself on the way down. Other times you just walked like a drunk pirate who got where they needed to be.
This was different. It was smooth. Your feet were elevated, enough to keep the blood in your head.
Sylus even got matching jumpsuits for the occasion, which reached down to your wrists and ankles. It awakened something in you.
Jumpsuits were comfortable. There was no waistband that choked you out, unwearable until it was stabbed out with a knife. Just one piece of clothing, loose and comfortable but somehow still fit to you. 
He couldn’t just take the normal path of getting a wheelchair made. It would feel too vulnerable, too much like a patient, wouldn’t it? That might be useful in public, but you were never there anyway.
The posture in them would be impractical. The chairs that allowed for horizontal positions were bulky, massive, too much resemblance to the place you grew up in. You needed something a little less conventional.
And he saw your muscles loosen up, the grimace leave your face when it became second nature. The car was an extension of your body. Free to take you anywhere you’d like.
When you could handle it and craved more, he invited you to sit behind him. On the car that didn’t have a speed restriction. Your arms were around his waist, leaning on his back, Evol holding you there as well.
It was just a small joyride. One stuck inside. But you had a taste for it. And when things were better, he’d teach you how to ride a motorbike. If you wanted one.
It was only used that one time, to witness and celebrate the death of the rapist.
But Sylus drove according to normal speed limits then. It felt like a disguise, didn’t it? A way to hide your identity, behind the mask and an outfit worn on just one occasion.
You never seemed to wear clothing meant for outside. Like a walk to clear your mind was never on the table.
It was better that way, at first. Trying to explain how the N109 Zone is a place where stranger danger does apply would have felt like trapping you in a prison. But as long as Lilith was with you… It should be fine. If you didn’t have the risk of fainting.
Sylus sighed. A human companion being necessary to just leave the building would leave him clawing out of his skin. How you were so calm about it, so full of grace…
Did you lack the energy to be upset about that? Or did you not believe that your own behalf was worth feeling anger on?

Chapter Text

It was one of those days. Your head would lift for a second, then fall back on a pillow. Too heavy for your neck.
It had been forever since you’d last seen Zayne. He decided which labs to order next. Sylus just had to draw the vials and deliver them to the people who would analyze it. The results might be in already.
At least this way, the heart monitor had been on for weeks with a symptoms log. The battery had been replaced several times. You hardly noticed the device anymore. It felt like an amulet, like a piece of armor, if anything at all.
The adhesive wasn’t so bad. Your skin felt worse when it was neglected. Though it kept getting red and bumpy, for no reason. Sylus tried different soaps and lotions, skin masks even, that were meant to heal sensitive skin.
It was softer, didn’t hurt to have. Compression socks didn’t scrape it on the way up. But still… Your skin wasn’t exactly smooth or clear.
And you felt high. Or something. It wasn’t sober. Not the same dizziness you were used to.
You didn’t understand why.
If all you could do was phone in bed, then you suffered through it amidst the apparent migraines. It turned out that your painful sensitivity to light and distant sounds were a part of that.
So your log filled up, perhaps with trivial things,  but it seemed to bother Sylus that he couldn’t figure out your skin. So you threw it up on the additional concerns section. 
Maybe part of you hoped it would make up for avoiding the next appointment, might bandage a rift forming between you and Zayne.
He emailed you, though. It was unheard of to skip blood pressure readings. And they could help to narrow down a diagnosis for dysautonomia, so it could be treated more effectively.
But cardiologists like to measure from both arms. And the cuff might have to be left on for an extended amount of time.
You hadn’t done that since the first doctor, when you were going through withdrawals. 
It was a nice surprise when the ear checking thing felt nice. It wasn’t suffocating like the plugs Caleb had put in you on that last day in the attic. 
But you nearly bit a chunk out of your tongue over the blood pressure. When it got too tight, you panicked. Unable to do anything about it, internally spiraling while Sylus held your free hand and promised it would be over in a few seconds. His other hand gently weighed your jaw down into releasing, like a feral dog. You swallowed the blood that filled your mouth.
He got you out of that sentence ever since. 
The tourniquet had a similar effect, but it was thinner. It didn’t grow tighter. You had learned to put those on yourself, using your teeth. Releasing it as soon as the first vial was filling.
You stupidly kept the conversation going.

Is there another way to measure it? Not the cuff.
I don’t mean to avoid you. It’s just that I feel like a corpse that would fall apart and rot off if I tried to get up.

Can you elaborate on that feeling? Is there another way to describe it?
We could have a virtual  appointment if you can’t make it in. I know that hospitals can be stressful, and it’s more flexible this way.
As for BP monitoring— yes, but it may sound extreme.
The most accurate way to measure is through an arterial line.  It’s more involved than an IV, but can be used for blood draws and saline drips as well.
Would you be seeing someone for digestive issues? 

Everything is swimming. something. my blood? horizontally? the air? I feel like a water bed. no it doesn’t make sense to me either. Muscles soggy, maybe in something carbonated.
The line sounds better. Virtual or not.
And no chance of that happening.

Very well, I consulted my colleagues for you. It sounds like a compromised stomach lining let its contents leak into your bloodstream. That explains the skin issues and feeling high.
I have attached a diet they recommend. It helps to heal faster, but takes months or years of commitment.
Most of all, try to avoid stress whenever you can. Staying calm is the best thing to do.

That sounded fucking terrifying.  
You asked Sylus to schedule an appointment. Even if you didn’t want to pull back the blankets, you couldn’t live with making your health worse.
Zayne emailed another symptoms questionnaire, this one focused on that issue.
It sounded so gross. And terrifying. And it was all your fault this was happening.
You checked the list of safe foods, grateful to see bananas and coconut water.
The list of foods to avoid was incredibly long and confusing. You sent them to Sylus with an apology for him and the chef.
You tried to keep your breaths long and even. Tried not to panic.
You had been doing so well with eating. Began to feel like a normal person. At least in one way.
It took courage to drink a sip of water, to roll over in bed, to go to the bathroom. Between pelvic tension and dehydration, it took longer to piss, and it burned. At least now you knew why that happened. Could convince yourself the negative test results were accurate.
You preferred to rot alone, but didn’t have the guts to leave. And there was a comfort in Sylus sleeping next to you.
Zayne said that people with the same issue still go to work and live their lives. He sent over different supplements. Some powders that mixed into water, made up of ginger and aloe and black licorice. Others were liquid form, that came in dark glass bottles or individual dose sized packets. They tasted like mint or artificial orange. Like candy. 
You weren’t explicitly told to keep a liquid diet, but you were too afraid of anything solid. When you’d try it seemed to set back the progress. Hurt to digest and tore your insides open. Which was frustrating because a healing body needs nutrition. 
So it was cups of warm bone broth, pressure cooked with vegetables that reduced to a cream, if you were hungry and reckless enough to include them. Mostly you lived off of watered down banana-centric smoothies. Most spices were banned, it seemed. Nightshades were entirely. Ginger and turmeric were still around. 
But sugar was out. Nuts, seeds, grains, beans, most animal products, the list seemed eternal. No ingredients list would pass. 
The burn of spicy food was hard to let go of. Under any other circumstances. You’d try anything if it meant no one got to observe or touch your abdomen. Abstinence was easy. You were used to denial.
It wasn’t cravings but compulsion that controlled you. The urge to stuff yourself numb and undo it just to do it again and again, only stopping when the food or time alone ran out.
You had to tell him. Right?
No. You could ask Sylus to program Lilith into attacking you for trying.
“Attacking? That’s a bit extreme. Just ask her to block anything that hasn’t been approved.”
He lay with a pillow under his chest, reading glasses on and a book in his hand. You couldn’t eavesdrop if you wanted to. It was printed in some other language.
Zayne declined to have an appointment made until weeks in advance. After things healed closer to your normal.
Sylus looked concerned— confused? That you passed time laying in silence. Wanted to know what movies or music you liked.
You didn’t know. They were glimpses you’d seen secretly, or heard in passing. Someday you hoped to come across them again.
But Caleb had made sure that every trip to the theater was with him. He’d turn the radio up loud when Grandma was awake. 
It was easy to forget that media could be enjoyable.
“How do you pass the time?”
How did you? Just by spacing out? 
You did stuff sometimes. Like recently, you ordered yourself a hat that was like a balaclava, since your face and ears kept hurting from the cold.
Some more jumpsuits that you hadn’t tried on yet. That might be the first thing you bought without being told to. Was it only tampons and junk food?
It felt wrong to consider, like vandalizing something that didn’t belong to you. Even though your account had that generic fake name, and Sylus said that he wanted you to spend money. 
There were medical bills, the supplements that never seemed to be pills. But that felt like cheating, and was hard enough to confront. It took a special kind of misery to make you desperate enough to seek help, even more to schedule anything.
You glanced at his book again, wondered if it was a translation of the one that sent you to the floor. Or something similar. Censoring reading material in his own bedroom.

Chapter Text

You decided to order your own book. Mephisto delivered it, still in the plain brown packaging.

It was one that you bought half on a whim. Searched for the main topic, chose the first one that looked promising.

He sliced the tape with his beak, and even took out the trash. It was crazy what crows could do.

You hardly glanced at the book in your hands before placing it on the bed next to you. Didn’t have the heart to stomach it.

All of your problems were your own damn fault. If you didn’t purge, if you didn’t binge, if you didn’t keep showing up to the locker room. What if you just told a teacher before it got that far? Would anyone believe you, after the way they loved a military overachiever? You didn’t even have the language to describe what was happening. By the time health class showed a tape about creepy neighbors who invited you over and took photographs together in short nightgowns, it was already too late.

And different. What happened to you wasn’t the same, wasn’t anything. It was only ever life as you knew it.

You stared through the wall, empty thoughts stirred you. Everything was dampened behind a glaze.

You didn’t notice the passing time, didn’t notice you weren’t alone until the bed dipped.

“The psychology of bulimia?”

Shit. You dropped that on his side of the bed.

“Do you want me to read this, kitten?”

Your eyes rolled, “Think they sent the wrong book.”

He scoffed, “What a shame. Would you like to borrow one of mine?”

Zayne always instructed you to relax, stay as calm as possible. To pay attention to notice what that meant for you.

A few times you picked up the book, went to turn a page, but never read the words.

What if it was wrong?

What if the book was wrong about you, or you didn’t fit into the way it works for everyone else?

The mention of organs sent you spiraling, was slowly beginning to get better, but it still freaked you out. If there were a way to transfer your consciousness into a robot, you would do it immediately. And then maybe shut yourself off for good. Be the pristine, lifeless doll that everyone wanted.

Then they could analyze or sell or molest your body and it wouldn’t matter. You wouldn’t be there.

You pulled your hat on tighter while Eclipse made a nest on your feet. Even if it hurt your back already, sitting with shrimp posture felt new and exciting. You could stay still for hours, bony cheek stabbed on your knee. The side of your neck protested.

You absentmindedly pet the cat, letting them nap.

Maybe you would too.

Sylus’ land laid lightly on top of yours, “So that’s why you wanted Lilith to attack you.”

You could pretend to sleep, or deny it. Both were stressful. Your spine was burning through the skin.

So you sat up straight, indulging in the stretch, eyes focusing on his necklaces. They were simple, elegant. A few jewels on thin silver chains.

“These look really good on you,” you leaned into his side to avoid looking at his face. Height difference could spare you that much.

“Is that what you want to tell me?”

You hummed, taking one of his hands, ignoring the book between you. “You know you’re right.”

"I know,” he exhaled. “I wish you could have told me sooner… Was I too harsh?” It was almost muttered to himself, wondering if it was his fault. Not being someone safe to tell these kinds of things. Too distant? Too quick to find resources?

“It isn’t you.” You fell silent, suppressing a sniffle.

It was never you.

Actually… Your behaviors practically stopped on their own after the move.

You thought it was over, let your guard down.

“You could have Lilith follow you in the bathroom. Stop you from putting a hand down your throat.”

You shook your head, “I’m advanced.”

“Oh, you’re advanced?” It was a small laugh, lighthearted. “Enlighten me.”

You sighed, “I don’t need that to do it. like muscle memory. I space out and it’s happened, and then it’s easy to fall back into…”

It was quiet for a minute, waiting for each other to fill the silence.

Eclipse twitched a little, stretched their arms, not quite ready to get up.

“So… Do you want me to read the book?” Sylus whispered.

“It might not be relatable… I was thinking it should be donated.”

“Okay. Do you want to bathe?”

Sylus already had. You could smell his soaps from the shower downstairs, like he didn’t want to trail a mess inside. Or he wanted time and space away from you.

Eclipse jumped off the bed, stretched up to claw a scratching post.

You stopped leaning on him, reached for a drink to finish before going to sleep.

But you couldn’t. The buildup of oil and grime had left you feeling dirty, drowned in it. You couldn’t sleep in such heavy clothes without a shower. It felt too much like being back there. It didn’t make sense. But you needed to feel clean. To space out alone.

Lilith flew in before you shut the door. Maybe Sylus had sent her. Or she was listening to your conversation.

The room darkened as hot water pelted your back. Lighting was already dim, and now hard to see anything. Even though you stayed on the bench, feet not dangling to the floor.

You scrubbed your entire body three times. Somehow stayed conscious, but didn't put lotion on. And you felt better in clean clothes, but still dirty. It was underneath your skin, or engrained in it. But skipping the sweater and socks for just baggy pants and a big t-shirt let it breathe. Anything more would be a recipe for yeast infection or athletes foot.

You crawled back into bed, noticing the sheets were different. Not wrinkled like before. Sylus was listening to Mephisto, who interrupted his reading.

There was a notification on your phone. Sylus shared a note with you.

Maybe he should have asked a long time ago. But wouldn’t it feel too exposed, vulnerable, to tell someone you didn’t remember that you knew how to send you spiraling in an instant? PTSD triggers were like a taser to your brain, jarring and disorienting and he needed to earn that trust.

But if he was going to ask for a list of triggers for ED behavior, then it couldn’t be left out.

He didn’t say anything about it. Would let you handle it on your own terms.

There was already so much weighing on your mind.

Eating disorders can look a lot like dysautonomia. If you recovered, then the symptoms should fade, if that was all. Zayne wasn’t convinced that bulimia was responsible for everything, just a compounding factor. But he couldn’t be certain at this stage, when the diagnosis was one of exclusion.

So when did it begin? If it was before the eating disorder developed, before the drugs, then you’d know. It could have been ten years ago. Could have set in just after the explosion that rocked from your core. And Sylus left you vulnerable and weak and with memory loss on that doorstep while he cleaned up their mess…

What triggered your behavior? It was a lingering habit when you walked past a sink or had opaque bottles that could hide it. Time alone… But you’d done it in public, like in the school cafeteria’s restroom. Or in your favorite restaurant’s.

You’d never be able to eat there again, even if it didn’t have bitter associations. None of the foods you loved were on the approved diet.

Something was still crawling under your skin.

Can you take my blood?

You texted him, phone already in hand and not trying to interrupt his conversation.

“You’re all caught up on tests, sweetie,” he answered easily.

How disappointing. You felt better after the blood was taken.

It was terrifying to face having a body, and it felt gross to have your veins prodded at with a finger, and the needles didn’t feel good either. If you weren’t preoccupied with the stress of a tourniquet, it would probably feel even worse.

“But it lets the bad blood out,” you whispered under your breath.

“Bloodletting? Really?”

“I feel better when you do it.”

“Fascinating. Kitten… Does this come with a sense of deja vu?” Sylus rolled over to sit up on the blanket.

“Would you be mad if I shave my head?” The words ran together in a weak voice. Like a lost spirit.

“No, I wouldn’t be mad. But can you keep your arms up for that long?”

It was, probably, unrealistic. Hairstyling was always exhausting.

“I don’t know,” with both hands over your face, “I just feel dirty.”

Sylus only had a straight razor. Your head lay on a towel in his lap, staring at the window. A green glow emitted behind the curtain. Eclipse’s tail moved as they watched whatever happened below.

Sylus must have thought you were asleep, limp and vacant.

“In our past lives, you were… a powerful sorceress. Practically immortal. You always gave me life, brought me out from the underworld. I guess… this time, it’s on me to return the favor.”

You wanted to believe in past lives. The idea of having another life, far off and different, made this one more bearable.

“The last time, on our deathbed, we determined to begin our next life together at the same time. I didn’t have to wait a thousand droning years… I never should have agreed to ten.”

His blade continued along your scalp, pausing when the second towel followed to wipe away debris and shaving cream. Bare skin felt like toothpaste, exposed and cold from the night air. You didn’t know how it looked, but it felt a lot better. Sensitive and soft, but entirely unfamiliar.

Chapter Text

It was hard to make sense of your history.
Between the drugs, the botched memories that swim in and out of time, how could you tell when the symptoms began?
The truth was that since the first time you remembered being touched like that… Or maybe even before, it was impossible to tell dreams from reality. You had recurring dreams of walking up the staircase at school, of failing to stay upright, of crawling, being weak and trying to press on and trying to scream hundreds of times but nothing ever managed to come out.
You were pretty certain that you lost the strength to stand back up a few times. That several years later those things trickled down into reality.
You had nightmares of giants picking you up and carrying you and it felt perverted and you didn’t have the words to describe or the concepts to make sense of any of it, but you were afraid and it felt gross and somehow upon waking up and reflecting it felt lonely without that. But you were terrified of giants. 
And you wanted Caleb to like you, you wanted to be accepted, you wanted to fit in and not be a problem child. You wanted to blend into the background and become invisible and never be noticed.
It crept into your core and stayed there. Zayne said that you needed to breathe differently, that he noticed you were breathing in such a way to look like you weren’t. Like you were trying to play dead.
You tuned out after hearing prolapse— was it the pelvic organs? That scared you, and it should have scared you into breathing correctly. But you couldn’t. When you tried, it felt wrong. So you tried not to focus on your breath,
Which was funny and fruatrating how that was the number one advice for being calm. Focus on your breath, but breath feels exhausting and unpleasant and scary.
You finally stopped pushing off that appointment. But cowarded out into a video call instead of going outside.
It no longer felt like hot metal was burning against your organs, or like ice was melting behind your abdomen. 
The terror of having a body came right back when Zayne criticized your breath, though.
You pretended that Eclipse was eating something they shouldn’t be. Sylus didn’t call your bluff, didn’t make you come back.
There wasn’t much that you had to say. It was already in the documents.
You curled up facedown on a leather couch, icy hands cooling your forehead.
You sucked at handling that kind of thing. Dissociated through health class and felt sick at the sight of hair follicle diagrams. Never sick enough to actually throw up, though.
“Right? And so, that’s when I…”
“Kieran?” You turned toward the voice, where he lay on the smaller sofa across the room. Eclipse was perched on his chest, eyes closed.
“Oh, um, hi. We’ve… Been playing therapist with your cat.”
“Okay,” you laughed, shrugging it off. “Sorry for interrupting.”
“It’s cool. You can stay.” Kieran continued his pretend therapy session, which was more like the most random style of storytelling you ever heard. It was a good distraction. You hadn’t really interacted with anyone for weeks, your mobility aid car still parked in Sylus’ bedroom. The closest you got to stepping out was to open the door for Eclipse to socialize or wander. 
You should be getting better, but things just kept getting worse. You didn’t want to talk about them. Couldn’t imagine anyone choosing therapy, spilling their secrets to a stranger.
Maybe air could fix you, a little. There was a rooftop exit…but just walking to the next room left you out of breath, slumping to the floor before it claimed you first.
Kieran’s voice faded through the wall. Wings fluttered.
Sylus was there.
Fuck. You were too much of a coward to face having a body enough to work on your health. Having a body was the root of all your problems, though. If you could only get rid of it…
“And where are you trying to go?” His right eye flashed. 
Probably after seeing the guilt on your face, that you had nothing good to say.
“Come a little closer, kitten. I’ll take you.” He whispered, enticed you closer.
You held out a hand, stiff and frozen when he took it. You didn’t want to hear about the blood flow, how it failed to reach your extremeties unless gravity trapped it there.
“I’m not mad,” he clarified in a gentle voice without being asked.

“You can be,” you muttered, breathing too heavily after standing up. It was too fast, wasn’t it?

You wouldn’t have gotten to the rooftop on your own.

Your feet gently touched down, swaying, but it was such a beautiful view to—
“You want to jump? Go on, I’ll catch you,” Sylus stepped to the edge.
Shit. Did some part of you want to live?
You grabbed his hand and pulled back defensively, not letting him taste a fall that he could most likely survive, although this height was nothing like the attic.

Some gold light caught your eye. A glow of cuffs, linking your wrist with his.

“Fuck. Did I…” You tried to twist free, but his arm moved with yours. The linkage looked nothing like his evol.

Sylus hummed with a smile, “You placed that on me long ago. Life and death couldn’t sever our bond.”

“I don’t know how to use it,” you leaned into him, away from the abyss calling.
“Is it hurting you?” He whispered, no longer amused. Bondage can’t be taken so lightly.
You shook your head, “I can’t feel it.” 
“When we go back inside, I’d like to play you something.”
At least Sylus could still function with his Evol, compensating for the arm you somehow stole. 
The hat pulled tougher around your head while a cold drizzle began. 

“Am I going to die?”
You lay next to him on the bed, staring at his dark ceiling, wrists still bound together. Music he put on filled the room. 
“No. But you don’t need to fear death. I’ll be going with you.”

“It sounds mournful.”
“Well, it is a requiem.”
Your head shook. It was glitching.
“Should I turn it off?” Sylus feared that even your past with him thousands of years ago had been stained with new traumas.
You hummed, “No it just seems familiar and I don’t know why.” It glitched your brain, not in a bad way, not with painful zaps. But it left you feeling confused and complicated and clueless over why.
“In our past lives…” He started, not sure if you would believe him. If it might sound like some dangerous or unfounded belief, if you’d think he was dangerous for it and fragile trust would crumble.
“We had a pipe organ?”
“…Not exactly.”
“I heard you before, when you shaved my head. Was it some kind of spell?”
“No… Not exactly. But it was a song we’d remembered, even when we forgot each other. I swore to remember you in the next life. And now I do.”
“Did you always? From when we were—”
Sylus shook his head, “I needed to build a lot of skills very quickly following our escape. One method I employed was past life integration. It helped to absorb their knowledge.”
“And you get deja vu?”
“Used to. They’re more like flashbacks now, that I’m able to place them.”

Chapter Text

Sylus breaking that fall was protecting his own life.

The same as he was doing now.

Zayne reserved a small room for you in the hospital. That way, there was time to take breaks and run tests.

You couldn’t run away completely.

Not that you wanted to, but something about the hospital had you on edge. Maybe the way someone could look into you, or even just at you through a screen and see bad things.

You tried to be good. Tried to breathe slightly less in your shoulders and wherever else the air was hiding. But abdominal sensations made you feel like a baby on the verge of a tantrum.

Maybe letting organs collapse would take you out swiftly, and maybe the handcuffs you placed on Sylus would rot away with you, and he’d finally be free to live however he really wanted. No longer preoccupied with your problems.

But you wouldn’t be so lucky here, where dead patients were shocked and crushed back to life.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Zayne searched your face as it scanned the bedside tray. It was good to see you again, not just words on an email or two dimensionally on a screen. But someplace where the lighting, temperature, were all controlled. He could observe better. And now you were more comfortable with lighter clothes, it seemed. Having exposed feet and hands would help to assess the blood pooling. He could listen to your lungs, too, without a thick sweater in the way.

Warm blankets could help. Zayne took the time to put some tapestries on the wall of far-off faces, covering the white empty wall.

He didn’t really place A lines, it was a job left for the nurses. He could run the ultrasound for it, but Sylus had never used one as a guide, didn’t need it to access the blood vessel.

“Give me your hand, then.” He set a roll of gauze under your wrist, instead of the half moon designed to keep them bent back during placement.

“Arterial blood is a lighter red. There’s more oxygen because it’s coming away from your heart, and the veins take it back.”

Your free hand brought a finger to your lips, willing Zayne to keep the horrors of the body to himself. Otherwise you didn’t move while Sylus punctured into an artery, threaded the guide wire through, and slid the catheter over it. The sight could have been numbed with local anesthetic. But you declined to use it.

Seeing the metal wire come out was pretty weird. And yeah, it hurt, there was a strange sort of pressure. But you were used to being penetrated in unnatural ways. This was a far cry from the worst of them. And you didn’t cry then.

“Okay, let me tape it down. Then you can have your hand back.”

It was hooked up to more equipment this time, as well. Sylus noticed the blank look on your face and tried to explain what it all was for. But it was beyond your mental capacity to understand.

“Sometimes the waveform is going to look weird. It had to be recalibrated with the changes in air pressure every so often. And this transducer has to be level with your heart for a good read.”

You didn’t even know what it’s supposed to look like.

“Would you like to learn?”

Not really.

You still wanted to distance yourself from having a body. Being aware of its sensations and meanings was very enlightening, but you always shied away from the light.

The fact that your heart rate, blood pressure, waveforms… were all on display felt like being confronted with a troll in a dungeon. If you didn’t understand its language, then the meaning couldn’t freak you out so much.

Maybe you were high on leaked food still. Was that possible? You felt better, enough to get in the car.

It sucked to leave Eclipse behind for an indefinite amount of time, but you swore not to subject them to travel and bright lights. Luke and Kieran would keep them company.

You couldn’t hold it against Zayne for leaving without a word. Saying bye was awkward and difficult.

The crows were left out, also. Though Sylus had mumbled something about sneaking them in through the window.

You were told not to remove the art line yourself, that it could be messy and someone else needed to do it. And while Zayne had other patients and meetings to attend to, he wanted to run some tests while it was in.

“I’m fine with leaving it,” you murmured, still looking at where the tube went into your skin.

It helped you pretend. That you were becoming an android, something mechanical that body horror couldn’t reach. The slow drip of saline it provided saved you the trouble of trying to stay hydrated without feeling nauseous or tempted to throw up just for the hell of it.

And as long as it was in, blood could be pulled out for tests without placing another tourniquet. No more cuffs to send you into a suffocation chamber of Caleb’s hands roughly pinning you down.

Maybe you were effectively tied to a pole, but it felt like a new taste of freedom.

“If that’s alright, I’ll come back in later. You don’t have to look at it if that bothers you.” The second Zayne was gone, Sylus used his evol to hit the lightswitch.

Something felt right when he was working on your wrist. Maybe because he wasn’t afraid of your blood, didn’t act like it was contaminated.

Or there was peace in being able to see and consent to weird stuff being done to…

“The sun is rising,” Sylus whispered with a squeeze of your hand. “Let’s get some sleep before it’s too troublesome.”

He opened the window just enough for a crow to fly in, to stay awake and carry the burden of hypervigilance.

You’d always been afraid of hospitals, afraid of stepping near one. Of being spotted as something not quite human, abducted for experiments.

And there was something unique about you — the aether core that Sylus had in his eye. Zayne’s only concern with it was how your heart functioned. Maybe it was already at risk, because Sylus wore glasses, but so did a lot of people.

Heart issues weren’t as common, but considering what you’d done, of course it was irregular.

Caleb had sworn to protect you from places like this. If you obeyed him. Did he want to keep you away from anyone who might have noticed what he’d done? Was there truth in anything that you grew up hearing?

“I understand you want this to be your fault. It’s less scary if you have control over the situation. However, this is not the case.”You wanted to deny him, and all his expertise.“How can I be so sure? We’ve been talking for some time. It was more than enough information.”

You thought you were better. That being able to walk here on your own two feet meant proving Zayne wrong, that you weren’t some innocent victim of chronic illness but a self-sabotaging wretch.

But his final test really kicked your ass, the one to determine after ruling everything else out. It sounded so damn easy.

Lay still on your back for twenty minutes, no talking or moving or exertion. Then get up to stand along a wall, and lean your back against that.

It took seconds for this magnetic pit of dread to sink. It was all-consuming and terrifying and not for any post-traumatic reason.

You were allowed to talk then, to inform your symptoms, but could not even imagine speaking. Every passing second felt more and more awful.

Sylus had moved the arterial line’s pole, adjusted the transducer to the height of your heart so it would read accurately. You weren’t supposed to fidget at all, or move your hands there.

But you desired to communicate, the way it felt like your heart was trying to claw out from the ribcage, how you felt sick and weak and all from leaning against a wall?

His eye picked up on it, speaking your thoughts out loud.

Zayne hummed. His arms were crossed. “The test is supposed to run for ten minutes standing. But we can end it here. Every threshold necessary has already been met.”

He watched the blood gather and swell in your bare feet and hands. The way your heart rate doubled standing was no surprise. Your blood pressure didn’t compensate for the shift.

As much as you didn’t want to believe, this was the evidence you needed. It was never all in your head. Panic set in from physical causes.

How the fuck were you supposed to tell the difference?

Zayne gave you time to recalibrate, fade the ringing in your ears and the darkness in your vision. He fetched a blanket from the warmer while you shivered, pathetically.

“Lie back. We can put your feet up,” Sylus whispered.

It really fucked you up. Walking felt weird for the rest of the day, like a newborn giraffe. And you felt sick, that teasing sort of nausea that simmered beneath the surface.

“Fuck, I’m not doing that again,” you finally whispered. The sinking feeling was terrifying, like something was horrifically wrong with your body, like you might die soon but probably wouldn’t be so lucky.

And it was just gravity stealing your blood?

Zayne let the saline drip rate increase beyond what was necessary to maintain the line. Said it would help compensate for your blood volume. That if you felt that way again, drinking water with salt should help. That maybe a glass every day before you get up could ward off symptoms.

He could also prescribe a beta blocker. Pills that would dampen your heart rate.

But medication was still a guessing game. There could be side effects that made it not worth taking.

You didn’t like the gamble. Though this one wasn’t a road to sepsis.

“What’s on your mind?” Sylus asked, opening the window to let Lilith back in. She was kicked out before the test.

“I don’t know if I can sleep it off or need a hot shower.”

“Hot showers might make you pass out. Especially now. The fluids should help, so stay in bed. Should I find another blanket? Or do you want my body heat instead?”

Chapter Text

At least you weren’t mad at him for conducting the test that felt like torture. Sylus was precise with keeping the transducer aligned with the right atrium of your heart. Things were going well.

Yet something was clawing out of his heart, gnawing it sore as Zayne accompanied other patients. The lonely and elderly clung to him like a son on the way to their scans. Despite being young for his job and having no history with them.

You were his friend. Zayne wanted you to trust him.

It might seem like you did. A lot of progress was being made. But it was easy to dissociate while answering a questionnaire on your phone screen. And as much as you spilled, he could still feel the walls. The tension. Were you like this with everyone?

He missed you. Fuck, he’d become a doctor in order to care for your heart. And you didn’t remember him.

You must not remember Sylus, either. Not from back then. But he’d known you longer, closer. You had more in common. His schedule was more flexible. He was more fit to be your caregiver.

Zayne wanted to believe that it was just white coat syndrome, not to take it personally. But he’d foregone the lab coat.

You shut down when he described bodily things. But you kept your eyes on the arterial line in a way that he couldn’t make sense of. Was it homesickness? Hope? You were difficult to read.

In between his other patients, Zayne searched for ways to help you. Most of them required opening up to another person, though, and he couldn’t imagine you doing that.

The OBGYN had recommended pelvic floor therapy, but that meant having a finger in you for the exams, for the massage to release tension. It would feel painfully aware of your own anatomy.

So he spoke with a therapist to gather some resources. They couldn’t be specifically tailored to you, but at least lists of stretches and exercises you could do, modified versions for the days when standing was difficult. Risk factors that could be avoided. If he left out the mention of organs, would it be useful?

He finished that and moved onto the next thing.

You had a service animal who could be trained. Cats can alert someone when their heart rate spikes. They can smell a migraine before it sets in. Both would help to manage your symptoms before they get worse, especially when you pushed through the warning signs yourself.

These were such surface-level ways to improve your quality of life. Severe complex post-traumatic stress disorder might last forever, but it should at least be treated. Would you ever go for that? Therapy in groups or one-on-one?

Even if you were consistent with all of these things, you could never have the life you wanted. Maybe it was only a fleeting childhood dream to be a Hunter. Maybe you moved on and wanted to be something more attainable, like a poet.

The best chance was a beta blocker. But it was still a chance. Things might not improve, and you might never see him again.

Zayne could perform complicated heart surgeries, but that was of no help here. It was embedded in your nervous system, in the core of your being.

Everything that he went to school for all led to this. A fated encounter, a coincidental reunion. But it was far too late to keep you safe.

You liked to pretend the stopcock was an off switch. All it really did was change the direction of fluids, between your artery and the bag of saline and a syringe for blood draws.

But you could imagine it. Slip back from the room, let it haze over and you’ve been transitioned to an android. You can leave at any time. Where will you go? Become a ghost in the walls, a soul on some heavenly plane between incarnations? Can you choose to possess a doll instead of a person next time, and save everyone all the trouble? Or will you simply disappear, a black mirror for the living to scry their own beliefs into?

“Kitten,” Sylus’ grip on your hand tightened for a second, stirring you back to the hospital room. “We don’t need this anymore. Should I take it out?”

You frowned. It would be nice to bathe freely, without worrying about infection. But you liked it was Sylus was digging in your wrists. And the A line made it seem like he was still there.

There were no more tests to draw arterial blood for. There was practically no saline left in the bag. You physically felt better the night after the test, just spacing out a lot. It helped you disappear.

“Okay,” you exhaled, thinking it should be nice to walk around without the pole. Unless you were still clumsy on your feet or too afraid of wandering the halls.

“It’ll be fast, alright? We’ll keep pressure on it for five minutes before dressing.”

You put your wrist out for him, feeling sad to see it leave.

Something was wrong with you for that.

He kept his word. Kept gauze pressed against the site while you looked at the thin white tube on the table.

Sylus was functionally your nurse. He managed the lines, he accompanied you to the shower, even took vitals for your virtual appointment. It was only a pulse ox on your finger and a thermometer over your forehead, but still.

He did a good job. Zayne had it admit that, he wasn’t the only one who cared for you. And what did he have but ice, frostbite?

Sylus said that he used the seals as an ice pack against panic attacks, or something like that. A grounding method. That was nice to hear.

You had signed off for him to speak with healthcare professionals in your behalf. What he had to say was alarming. Or maybe some of that was passed on from previous doctors. Either way, it sounded like he was taking on a kidnapping survivor for a patient. But to see you— He wasn’t prepared for that. And despite the years that passed, the name change, it was definitely you. No one else signed that language.

He got to hear your voice in person this time. Got to see you, not dizzy, with clear eyes, just to take that away with a stupid test to prove what he already knew.

But there were different types of postural orthostaric tachycardia syndrome. And comorbidities to be vigilant of that you definitely wouldn’t want to hear about. Your shoulders raised like a bird on edge, trying to look more threatening and protect its head.

Zayne knocked on the door, then walked in when there was no interruption. Your hat was off this time, waiting for the little hair to dry.

“I told you that the water was too hot,” Sylus pointed out while you tried to catch your breath.

“I needed it,” you muttered in complaint.

Sylus frowned, watched you moisturize your face.

It felt like interrupting a domestic scene when Zayne asked about your plans. He could build from there.

You looked to Sylus like you were sorry, confessing that you didn’t feel up to a drive in the near future.

“That’s okay,” he said gently, rubbing in a smear of lotion that you’d missed.

You nodded once, but picked at your cuticles, stared through the blanket over your lap. You looked lightheaded.

A white crow flew outside the window, swooping in an unusual pattern. Sylus dug his phone out at the same time and scowled at it.

“If you have to be somewhere…” You mumbled, swaying a little where you sat.

His arm steadied around your shoulders. “There is… Something that I should tend to. But if you need me here, then I’m sure it will all work out.”

You lifted your head and tried to glare at him. “Sylus… Don’t destroy yourself for me.” Your voice was weak, off, it sounded like a plea.

“You’ll be okay in here?” Sylus looked to you intently, nodding but keeping your head down, and then to Zayne. His eyes could speak, seemed to make demands.

Protect her.

As if Zayne could desire anything else.

Sylus took a breath, held you close, kissed your temple. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“Go,” you whispered, keeping your eyes down.

He whispered in your ear, something too quiet to hear. Apologized and left the room.

The door shut, and you were holding back tears. Fuck. It was lonely. You always had the warmth of Sylus or Eclipse or at least Lilith, who was now perched on the windowsill, building a nest. Sylus said he’d make it quick, should return within a day, but it was hard to tell. You could still contact him, you still could sign to Lilith through the glass at the very least.

You had to keep yourself distracted and busy. Zayne was still in the room. You were making things awkward.

“Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?” Zayne didn’t know what he was hoping for. Maybe it was just to distract you from his absence.

“I have to put my fucking socks on,” you muttered, pushing yourself to get out from the blanket and put them on.

“There’s an easier way to do it,” he found himself criticizing your attempt.

You looked at him like he was crazy, or like you were confused. Fell back and caught yourself on your elbows, still breathing too hard.

“Why don’t you take a break? Lie back and take a break. We can raise the bed,” he offered. Having the back lifted slightly was a compromise between hypervigilance and the ironic way that upright posture actually made you more vulnerable. It must be hell.

But once it was high enough you gave in, curled up on your side.

“Zayne…” You scratched at the knuckle of your thumb. Not like it itched, just that you overflowed with anxious energy.

“What is it? I’m here.” He spoke softly, tried to be reassuring, lowered the height of the chair he was sitting on.

You hesitated. Rolled your eyes as yourself, shook your head just slightly, hid yourself in the blankets. “I think… Having a body is, like. My biggest fear.”

Chapter Text

“Do you want to talk more about that?”

You shook your head, fell silent, but it looked like you wanted to.

“Or do you want a distraction?”

He didn’t know what to offer. Zayne kept candy in his pockets, but you weren’t allowed to have them. He should have ordered some that met your needs. But if you’d been drugged and forcefully fed or bribed with sweets, then…

He was out of his depth. Anything and everything could be a trigger of some kind.

“I want my feet to feel like they aren’t filled with blood,” you muttered, like it were out of reach.

“Would you like me to help you put them on?”

Your baggy pants scrunched up over the knees easily. He showed you how to start with with the sock inside out. You tried the second one yourself, but didn’t get it lined up just right.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, covering the compression socks with your pant legs and flipping around so your feet were up on the elevated backrest.

“I can stay, if you’re afraid to be alone. It is technically my day off, but I like to stay near in case they need me.” He hoped that could be a comfort. That you would choose him over an empty room.

You gnawed on your thumbnail, blank. No clue how to respond.

“I’m not that interesting to be with,” you said eventually.

“That’s alright. I don’t mind if you’re quiet.”

You stayed like that, with a pillow over your chest, wishing it was your cat.

Luke and Kieran sent pictures. You knew they were fine. The emptiness ate at you here. The white ceiling was fitting for it.You wanted to rest but didn’t think you could sleep. Didn’t want to if it meant having nightmares and then waking up disoriented in a hospital bed. Didn’t want to even try if or meant hearing someone break in, or seeing Caleb’s eye through the crack in the doorway.The door sealed here. He didn’t watch you sleep for a long time. Well… Eventually you slammed the bedroom door shut and realized that it hadn’t locked you in for good. That he was wrong about you getting stuck in there for days until help arrived and broke down the door.

You could let Lilith back inside, but if she made a scene it would be worse for Sylus and Zayne and you had no idea how to clean that up.

Zayne had books to read. He said you could play music on his speaker. But you still didn’t know what you liked.

“I have some playlists, you wouldn’t have heard these songs on the radio. It’s a lot of metal and electronic music. Here, why don’t you control the aux? Skip whatever you like.”

He passed you a tablet. You kept the volume low enough to hear anything over.

You were a hypocrite. A coward. Thinking that you wanted Sylus to be free of you and all your problems, to go off and do whatever he wanted.

Then you got upset the second he left the room. And you still ached for him. His subtle scent on the pillow held tight against you, his crow gift keeping watch, he was still practically there. Mephisto was probably with him. You were just pathetic and abusive, feeling like you were entitled to his company for no fucking reason. Sylus didn’t even like you. Not like that. Not in a way that you could ever repay him. Be good for keeping around for any reason.

If you could undo the linkage before dying, then he would be free. Right? You could finally fade to black and burden no one and cower from no one.

Zayne had gone for a moment, to pick up his messenger bag for reading material. But when you looked over to the armchair across the room, an open book was over his face.

He wanted you to take advantage of the resources while you were here. To attend an ugly art therapy, at least. But you didn’t want to make ugly art. You didn’t want to see the evil faces it would reveal.

You might have to bite the bullet and do that one. It scared you the least.

Or maybe you could get lucky and sleep through them all, then feel well enough to reunite with Eclipse and Sylus would be done with whatever he had to do.

Or maybe you belonged here. In a place where someone curious would loiter in and make use of your wrong existence. Run experiments on your body and you would have a use in this world, if only for collecting data.

Being tired didn’t mean you could sleep. It meant you wasted energy on a hot shower.

“Ugh, no! This isn’t art. It’s just smearing paint with your hands,” the guy next to you drawled.

You had to agree. By this stage, all the paintings were identical: ugly brown on thin, cheap paper that was taped over the tables.

“Ugly paint therapy would have been more accurate,” you added, following along with the instructions to just make it somehow uglier.

“Honestly. For this, we could have just used mud! And it would be better for our skin.”

The instructor rambled on about feeling it in one of the nervous systems that you could never tell apart.

“At least they can’t expect us to take it home,” you said under your breath.

“Yeah, I think my good paintings would get scared and run away.”

“I think my eyes need a good painting to reset them after this.”

“I actually have an exhibition nearby. I… Faked an injury to leave early,” he said quietly.

You giggled, “I can’t tell if you’re serious or just funny.”

The guy pouted, “Why not both?”

You shrugged, “Whatever. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I’m so glad that’s over.”

Being in the back corner of the room meant being last to wash your hands in the sink. Standing in line would be asking for torture, so sitting back until everyone else finished was the best option. You didn’t come here to make friends, but to appease… Were you looking for a friend in Zayne?

The guy you just met introduced himself as Rafayel.

You paused, your brows furrowed, and you recited the first name.

“Why’d you hesitate?”

“…Guess it doesn’t feel like mine.”

“Well, you can always change it. Hey don’t laugh, I’m being serious!”

You finally got to wash the paint from your hands, half-dried to a weird texture.

“Here, watch. If you scrub it like this, then it comes right off.”

You followed his example and somehow ended up in the courtyard.

Walking was better than standing, but you still sat across the first bench in sight. “So… Are you in here for a long time?” Rafayel sighed, “You don’t have to answer. I have a feeling they’ll kick me out soon. I’m not injured enough to deserve the bed.”

“…I don’t know. I think they want to monitor it from home.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Zayne called it soldier’s heart. He thought that might sound less intimidating. At least easier to sign than postural orthostaric tachycardia syndrome.

Most of all, he wanted to validate your trauma. A chronic illness that was first noticed in soldiers who witnessed and experienced horrific things, ironically preventing you from entering the battlefield… POTS sounded too trivial. Though maybe you needed that.

Are you alright? Did you get lost on your way back?

He hadn’t heard from you since the session started.

It had sounded like the perfect time for a nap, but he might have overslept. Depended on the vibration from your messages to wake him up.

“You could have told me if you were that sick,” Rafayel frowned, watching you back into a wall and then regret it. The corridors were too damn long.

“Do you tell every stranger about your crimes and weaknesses, or just me?”

“Stranger?” His frown deepened into one of betrayal. “So you really don’t remember.”

“Shit, what…” You sunk to the floor.

He tried to remind you, but your vision was dark and ears ringing.

“You’re more dramatic than me. I’ll… Go get a wheelchair.”

You grabbed his wrist, not sure if your no, don’t was audible or just in your head.

“Okay, then I won’t,” someone crossed his arms, looking down at the floor. “But you need to get up somehow. The floor is dirty! People bleed on it all the time.”

“I’ll take it from here.” Zayne put an arm under your knees and shoulders, followed by the new guy.“Wait! Who are you?”“My name is Dr. Zayne. I work here.” As if that much wasn’t obvious.

"Yeah, okay,” he scoffed. “How do I know you’re not abducting—”

"Could you get the door? Since you’re here.”

That was taken as an excuse to enter.

“I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Rafayel!” He argued, as if that meant anything. “We’re friends!”

Zayne assigned Rafayel to either sit a quietly in an armchair, hold your feet up, or leave. And of course he chose the latter.

Zayne put your fourth finger in the pulse oximeter. It was probably nothing serious. Losing track of time and not drinking enough fluids when you needed more than usual. But he needed to be sure.

“Well. This is a curious sight.”

Chapter Text

“Sylus. Would you mind setting up an IV?”

“Sure.” He went to the cabinets and promptly had everything set up on a bedside tray.

“Ugh, my arms are getting tired. How much longer?” The question seemed to be meant for you, as if nagging could induce consciousness.

“Let me take over.” Sylus abandoned the IV while Rafayel took his second option, sitting in the armchair.

He should know it would be difficult to keep anything down for a while after waking up. And placing it before then would avoid unnecessary pain.

But you liked pain, was that it? When it was controlled, when it had a clear reason. Something fleeting and sensical to blot out other worries and discomforts.

Or his decision wasn’t about that, but the horror of something being placed in your body while unconscious.

That would have been too easy for Zayne to overlook. Was he too practical? Just watching and waiting while Sylus rolled a blanket to put under your ankles, then sat at the bedside with a hand gently on yours. He didn’t even take your shoes off.

Zayne filled the silence he stewed in by quietly asking Rafayel to wait outside until you were cleared for visitors.

“Ugh, fine,” he slung an artist’s bag on his shoulder and walked out.

Zayne took his seat, noticing a folded page in the chair cushion. A phone number, followed by XOXO call me! — Rafayel it’s so boring here!

“I don’t like running IV fluids so easily. If your veins col—” Zayne paused, tried to find a gentler approach. “It’s not good to become dependent on them if you can help it.”

Did you do something wrong? This was his idea.

“You need to be drinking more water. Especially before and after blood draws, when you’re more active, or out in the sun.”

If all energy on the planet comes from the sun, then why was it so fucking tiring? That really caught you off-guard. Should have found a different bench, one that was shaded.

Rafayel had asked Why don’t you take off that sweater? But you weren’t ready to feel so exposed in the open air, in the sunlight. Heat was suffocating either way and you couldn’t let go of the weight that covered you. Besides, you weren’t wearing anything underneath it but a V-neck shirt, and everyone who didn’t wear bras got comments about it. You didn’t want anyone to look. Wanted to be invisible.

So the air conditioning sounded better. Shit, why was it summer already?

Had you really been out of there for a whole year? “Are you listening?”

You hummed, and Zayne continued about taking salt with it. He mentioned there were small packs of electrolytes that people tend to find helpful. But others don’t.

“At least you should be keeping a bottle of water on you. Like this one. Here, I’ve already washed it.” He handed you one, the kind that had a strap to fit over your shoulder or be attached to something. It even had a part that screwed off where you could keep salt or a house key or whatever it was meant for.

There was a small measuring spoon inside, for the amount of salt that Zayne recommended for the volume. You noticed measurements along the side.

“Am I supposed to track how much…”

“If you want to, but not if it keeps you from drinking just to avoid writing it down.”

You gave him a look like he understood. But he didn’t look convinced.

“Does drinking water make you feel tempted to purge?”Not really. Water wasn’t worth throwing up. But if you were teased by unrequited nausea, then it was harder.Zayne told you to drink smaller quantities more often. To try adding a slice of ginger. And to let anything hot cool before consuming it.“I’m not saying that you have to do everything right all the time. Just that there are ways to make things easier and feel better, even a little, it helps.”

“Right,” you whispered.

You would try to get better. But if it were chronic and all that could be done was managing symptoms and watching for complications and comorbidities, then you’d already wasted a year of Sylus’ time.

“If you don’t like this one, I won’t be offended. It doesn’t matter what you drink from, as long as it works.”

Zayne had found a vessel with a straw option and a flip top. He wasn’t sure what you were comfortable with.

There was a water fountain in your room, but he saw the way you drank from cups. It was easy to spill, like you didn’t know where your mouth was.

Like you weren’t even there.

How much of that was attributed to the nervous system dysfunction, and how much were you choosing to dissociate?

Earlier, he asked you to pick out a game and taught you to play kitty cards. There were no other players, but you’d often space out and not realize that it was your turn.

Brain fog and forgetfulness were common with POTS. But how much did you even want to be present?

And where did you go?

“So, you made a friend?”

You put down the torn-out sketchbook page and laughed. It was kind of hollow.

Sylus had already heard from Mephisto. But he wanted to hear about it from you.

“I met him at the stupid art therapy thing.”

“I take it that means you won’t be going back.”

“Maybe if they change the name… There was no art,” you sighed dejectedly. “It’s misleading.

If he was being serious, then Rafayel’s paintings are at an exhibition nearby… I’m not sure, though.”

“I’ll look it up. Would you like to go?”

You shrugged, “If you want to.”

Like it was still that hard to decide anything for yourself. So out of touch with your desires.

“Look, there’s a preview. We can take advantage of our interrupted sleep schedule.”

“You’re not tired?” You chewed your lip.

“Sweetie. We don’t have to go right now. But it isn’t on the way home, so a change of scenery while we’re here could be nice.”

“It wasn’t even art. Just brown paint. We complained the whole time.”

“Well, that sounds disappointing.”

He liked this side of you. The one that had nothing to prove. The one who criticized and argued about little things. When you carried yourself like the world wasn’t one breath away from shattering.

“I think we should go. You can decide when.”

“But what if I…”

“They have plenty of benches. If you don’t feel up for it, we can go another time.”

You into his side and scrolled through the photos on their website. Went to the section on accessibility. Wheelchairs were available for use.

“You… Are you comfortable with that?”

They were a generic kind, with handles to be pushed by another person. And walking was often better than sitting upright, but if there was going to be standing in line or in front of a painting, it’s best for your vision not to go dark.

You just peeled the skin off your lip, thinking it might be the safest option. And if you did pass out, then it might not cause a scene.

“Okay,” Sylus exhaled. If you kept your feet up on the seat instead of on the footrests, it might be comfortable.

You didn’t expect the paintings to be so big. And so many of the ocean. They were moody and enveloping. Nice to stare at and disappear into.

“So, do you believe me now?” He asked, looking at the print you had set up on the counter.

Your head tilted. “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe you just pretended to be some artist for the bit.”

Rafayel laughed, “I’ll prove it to you. Here, I brought some stuff.”

Despite the previous remarks, he got down on the floor with paper and paints. Explaining the process as he worked, pausing so you could try them out.

He didn’t pay attention to Sylus, lying facedown on the hospital bed, half reading or sleeping or maybe listening in. Didn’t act like it was weird you had another person in here. He was just determined to paint something worth seeing in this building.

Chapter Text

Zayne was grateful for Rafayel spending time with you. Maybe a freespirited extrovert was the kind of friend you needed. One who didn’t hold your health or well-being or housing status over your head.

It was too easy for chronically ill and disabled patients to lose all social support. To be left on the wayside and forgotten while the world keeps turning for everyone else, or to isolate themselves on accident or out of shame.

Zayne and Sylus and Rafayel were all the same age as you, progressing too far in their careers to keep up with. He hoped that didn’t impact your self image. Or that he could give you one less reason to distance from reality.

There were certain cognitive tests to run on patients. It was standard. But when he asked if you knew the date, you said I prefer not to.

When Sylus took you in, the first agreement made was that neither of you would approach the other from behind. This applied to Luke and Kieran, as well.

One of the things he asked you was if there were any dates or rituals to observe. But you wanted to miss any awareness of holidays, if you could.

He didn’t have to guess why. Any breaks given from school would have left you with no escape from him.

Maybe there were other reasons, as well. He asked when you wanted your new birth date to be, and you said Yesterday. Then I don’t have to see it…

Kitten, he breathed while you stared at the floor, knees hugged tight to your chest on the couch, his big black blanket hiding all but your face.

He didn’t know what to say. Sometimes silence was better. But what was it you needed? Sylus gave you space, avoided physical contact. Let you be alone for as long as you wanted. Was sure that someone could be found in the living room or Mephisto could lead you to company.

When he introduced Luke and Kieran, your shoulders tensed even more.

Take off the masks, he ordered. You don’t have to wear them around people who live here.

They got the message, and you seemed to let them in.

But Sylus couldn’t expect you to trust anyone. Maybe not ever. Not even himself.

And now you finally had the desire to go outside. And someone to visit recreationally.

You did exchange numbers with him, after seeing that Rafayel wasn’t just fucking with you for the bit this whole time.

You sort of kept him at a distance, but didn’t really have anything to lose. He mentioned visiting the beach a few times, but you were always wary about traveling.

Sylus mentioned night fishing. Which sounded tempting, especially if everyone else wanted to have a trip. But you couldn’t ruin something he was looking forward to.

“Take Luke and Kieran,” you feigned disinterest.

“And you’ll hold down the base, all by yourself?”

You scoffed, weighing the options.

“I want to go night fishing with you,” Sylus pressed. “But if you don’t, that’s fine. We can stay on land.”

It occurred to you that Sylus might need a vacation. That he couldn’t have that with you around. Maybe if he dropped you off with Zayne, then he wouldn’t feel responsible if anything happened. Sylus lifted your chin gently to meet his eyes. His right eye glowed for half a second, like he already suspected as much.

“Good. We’re going.”

“But—”

Sylus hummed, daring you to deny it.

“You can’t really plan ahead with me,” you whispered.

“Don’t need to.” He flipped a coin, somehow always catching it to flip again. “Your friend is impulsive, yes? We can decide in the moment. Stay inside if a flare keeps you down, but at least have the view.”

You couldn’t argue. Sylus was already prepared.

It seemed you didn’t want to take the heart monitor off. He said that you could, especially if there wasn’t going to be a change in medication to monitor. There wasn’t a pressing reason to keep it on.

But truth be told, Zayne was relieved that he could observe your heart from afar. He liked to listen to it, to see it through ultrasound or waveforms drawn from electrodes. To see and understand that despite all its anomalies, you were still doing okay. 

Having to intubate and sedate you would be a nightmare. Zayne couldn't trust anyone else with your heart, but he was afraid of breaking yours.

It wasn’t really about connecting with Zayne. Having the monitor on did help to convince you that you weren’t actually dying. Sometimes it felt that way.

You thought death would be a sweet embrace or a merciful end. But sometimes the same kind of dread you got during the NASA Lean Test would sink like a pit in your chest, in your entire being. It could hit even if you were horizontal, even without a PTSD trigger or flashback.

Fear gripped you then, texting Sylus are you dying?

To which he replied, of course not.

Maybe actually dying would be more peaceful, but it felt like something was truly terribly wrong.

It was worse in the summer, if you were someplace without excellent climate control, if you stood up from sitting for a few minutes. When there were things to blame it on, like hot and humid weather or climbing stairs, you could barely manage to talk yourself down.

When there was no clear reason, you feared for Sylus’ life. That you would steal it away by letting yourself die.

Maybe that was why something protruding on your sternum made you feel close to him. It was close to a sense of deja vu.

Maybe you were waiting until it made sense to take the device off.

You found that it was a bit easier to regulate your body temperature with less clothes on. Long sleeves, covered skin, thick fabric was more difficult, at least under the blanket, it felt suffocating and sort of numb.

Compression socks were necessary almost every day. That was annoying. But symptoms were almost always worse without them.

No one was asking you to wear anything in particular, or to get in the water.

Fishing implied being dry.

Seeing the ocean to paint or gather inspiration meant being on the shore.

There was still time. Rafayel might get bored with you and forget. Maybe he never meant you should visit at all, but just spoke to entertain himself.

You would be such a bore. Can’t be in the sun, can’t eat from restaurants, can’t be too active.

Maybe it could be during a rare good week. One of the fleeting times when your symptoms were gone and life could go on.

Zayne told you to watch out for that. Chronically ill people tend to get excited and overdo it during the days, weeks, or even hours of low symptoms. Which more often than not, induces another flare.

But either way, being healed for good is unreasonable. Maybe the illness could go into remission, maybe some years were better than others. But you always had to be careful.

It sucked. You wanted to be reckless, to be careless. You spent your life trying to be good, to be a helpful member of the household, and what did that get you?

Molested, disabled, and traumatized.

You wanted desperately to shake your past self by the shoulders and yell plead, Be the problem child. Be a problem child!

Nothing good came of being quiet. And now speaking was exhausting.

Were you ever any different?

Eclipse walked against your legs, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Today was manageable.

If she stood up to bat your legs, that indicated a heart rate spike or an oncoming migraine.

Sometimes you could tell. More often you didn’t. What your heart felt like didn’t seem to coorelate with anything. Every beat could hurt and pound out of your chest, but that didn’t mean it was fast. It could begin to race and you’d have no idea. But they did.

Migraines were easier. There was often a small dark splotch near the center of your vision, or one of those freaky jagged geometric auras.

You’d pushed both out of your mind every time, forget they ever happened. You were not ready to accept permanent vision loss. The other explanation was to be having one of those drug flashbacks. Though you couldn’t be sure whether anything had caused hallucinations before.

The training process was humbling. To collect a sample of your spit during a migraine and have her smell it. Somehow saliva could change its scent to migraine hours before you felt it.

More than enough time to gather sunglasses and something cold and retreat into dark silence.

Eclipse couldn’t come with you to the beach. You were supposed to be housebound. And for the most part, you were. Going for very short walks or sitting on the rooftop was the most you got outside.

But she had trained you to notice the warning signs. Your awareness wasn’t perfect, but fuck, it was so much better than before.

Chapter Text

Rafayel kicked whatever it was his foot landed on. The sun was streaming in too close to his eyeballs, now that the clouds parted.

Seagulls seemed to appreciate it. Lucky them.

He sighed, stretched his arm out across the studio floor to feel for his phone. It hadn’t vibrated in a while.

The only notifications were clipped under Do Not Disturb, which sounded more like he was getting work done than moping around under the painting that someone was desperate to hear about.

You said that you might visit. But refused to make any promises. And left him on read.

If Rafayel sent you a picture of something, his studio or a fish or something trivial, he could bet that you would reply faster.

Maybe if he ignored you back, then you’d have to acknowledge it further. Keep the conversation going or be the coward who changes topics.

But could he really let you ghost him again?

“Hmm… You don’t look so good, kitten.”

You argued that it was just one night, you were fine, it was just the lighting that made you look ill, but leaned further into his hand, obscuring your face. It seemed the pressure felt relieving.

You looked clammy, trembling lightly on a late summer night.

“Put your feet up. I’ll be right back,” he said softly.

You moved your feet from the sidewalk to the bench, knees bent.

Half of the bench was empty. Zayne stepped closer, waiting for you to notice him.

It was a rare opportunity to see you outside of work. Though his shift ended not long ago. This was the best place for late night snacks, one of the only places open all night.

“Hey,” Zayne said quietly, sitting at your feet. “Can I get you anything?”

Like, maybe a bag to vomit in. Spare ones seemed to follow him home from the hospital. Always useful when least expected.

You shook your head, looked away like you didn’t want him to see you like this. Like he didn’t already know you were no stranger to throwing up.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

“Dr. Zayne has a point. You are shaking,” Sylus affirmed, already back with a drink carrier.

“Hibiscus ginger tea, cup of ice, hot water, pack of honey—”

“I told you to stop for something. Not—”

“My order isn’t ready. You might have something too.”

“I know better.”

“We don’t have to keep driving. There’s a hotel nearby.”

“Okay.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. The ice rattled in its cup until you mixed a drink.

“I’ll give you some space.” Sylus acknowledged him before going back inside to eat there.

“Carsickness is common. You don’t have to worry.” Zayne tried to be reassuring.

You were hesitant to drink, like your stomach wouldn’t tolerate it.

He wanted to reach out and take your pulse, but there was no point in asking when the monitor reported that much to him already.

“How is your night?” You asked instead, hardly glancing up.

“It was fine. I just got off work.”

You hadn’t reported any recent behaviors, but that didn’t mean that lapses didn’t happen.

The last few were accidental, or so you typed. Zayne was better at picking up on lies in-person. Just that you were spacing out and alone at a bathroom sink, usually.

He expected you were telling the truth though. Because you said that you were worried it would all come crashing down again, the insatiable need to lift everything out of your stomach. But it just felt terrible and you were more afraid of feeling worse from engaging any further.

Fear could be helpful sometimes, when it encouraged good behaviors.

“Do you take any medication or precautions for nausea?”

He could guess that the answer was no.

You felt for the pressure point in your wrist that was supposed to help. But it felt too much like violence, and a precursor for more. Counterproductive at best.

Sometimes you ate raw ginger. You liked the way it burned. In the car, though, you had dried ginger which just didn’t hit the same. It was kind of gross. You tried to make it work, but it just didn’t seem to.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Zayne made it sound so easy. His voice was always in a dreamy range of calm. You wondered what it would sound like to get the news that you were, in fact, actually dying. Or if ever in his life, he raised his voice.

Part of you wanted to make up a severe lie, pretend confess to some outrageous crime just to hear his reaction.

“I have extra emesis bags. It’s not that I want you to throw up, but having one might reduce some anxiety.”

“I don’t want to,” you said quietly.

Zayne was right before. Drinking more water did help a lot. Maybe along with the stretches and light floor exercises and ways you did try to manage nervous energy.

Being dehydrated sucked, and you weren’t trying to do that. It was going to burn again if you couldn’t take anything in.

You also weren’t trying to find out what Zayne censored himself from saying. Your veins would collapse from using the IV?

“Intravenous fluids might be a good idea. Do you have any with you?”

“You said not to… Why?”

“Once a spot has been accessed for so many times, it becomes difficult or unusable. In that case, a more permanent line is installed. These have longer tubes that— Well, in your case, a port would be suggested. Easier to maintain and less risk of infection. But we don’t put those in until it’s necessary, like if your heart needs medication run to it several times a week.”

You didn’t understand. Did you want to? Or was it best for Zayne to spare the gory details?

“Don’t worry about it. Once in a while is not a big deal. In fact, before travel sounds like a good idea to me.”

You raised the tea again, but not quite to your lips.

It should have faded by now. That’s what they said.

But you still felt carsick.

Sylus frowned and slowed the last portion of the saline drip, suggested reaching out to your doctor.

Which could not be a good sign. But you refused to ruin his vacation.

Zayne?

Can’t sleep? Neither can I.

I still feel sick.

The time and amount of saline was already in your chart.

He offered to visit and then decide whether it was necessary to go to the hospital.

You didn’t want that. Didn’t want to rot away more of their time.

There were anti-nausea meds to be run through the IV, which you were starting to consider. It would be a last resort, it would mean more driving for a short trip to the hospital. Only a few hours or so in that place.

It didn’t seem to be something you ate. You were careful before getting in the car.

Zayne apologized before asking if there was a chance you could be pregnant.

“What?”

“Morning sickness doesn’t just happen in the morning.”

“No. I’m still a virgin. Well—”

You cut yourself short. How could you even say that?

“I’m sorry to bring it up. Just want to identify the cause so we can treat it.”

You huffed, still shivering.

It wasn’t caffeine. You didn’t have any.

Sylus had left the room, as if there might be something that you wouldn’t say in front of him. Or maybe he was just stretching his legs before the sun would rise.

It would help if you talked about your problems. If not, then talking might provide a distraction for you and something for Zayne to work with.

"You can keep me in the hospital if Sylus still gets to have his trip. I don’t want to hold him back.”

“Is that so? Don’t you also deserve a vacation?”

You disagreed.

Said your presence was always like you were lazy and others had to make up for it. So being in a place where that was expected made sense.

It was hard to believe you’d volunteer for hospitalization. Were you feeling so awful it was that desperate? To be at the hands and mercy of strangers?

“Don’t you want to go?”

You did. There was conflict, he could see it.

“Tell me about what you would do on this trip, or at the hospital.”

You clawed at your thumbnail. Nothing to say or sign. In that case…

“Can I listen to your heart?”

It was still erratic. But not so bad as it was the first time. He could guess as much from the monitor’s data on his phone, and from the way your health in general had improved.

Most of its failings were entirety out of your control now. Was that something you could live with?

“It sounds much better,” Zayne broke the silence. “You’ve done well.”

You kept fidgeting, now scratching your arm.

“Does it itch? That’s good. I want to hear about where you’re going.”

You sighed, “You know Rafayel?”

“Yes, I remember.”

Your insomnia was due to anxiety. Not that the past would find you— although the trivial matters could just be a mask to focus on instead of that. Similar to the pull of eating disorders, whether starving or stress eating.

Would talking you through it ease the symptoms, or dig up something worse to confront?

“If worst comes to worst, I’m sure that everyone will understand. They want you to experience lovely things amidst everything else.”

Sylus was thorough. He wouldn’t have booked a place that resembled your old home. At least, it sounded like he’d seen it.

And Rafayel hadn’t even been told that you would be nearby. If socializing was too much, then he wouldn’t exactly be rejected.

“Is it really so hard to believe that we… That your friends want to spend time with you?”

You were going to bleed soon. Zayne interrupted, and you took his hand to fidget with instead.

“What is it you’re so worried about?” He pressed.

“They’re all in denial I’m fucking worthless,” you whispered. "They're going to realize it."

You didn’t look up, but looked surprised at your own admission.

“Then how do you define worth of a person?”

“I don’t contribute anything but a puzzle to solve, but I can’t. Problems are eternal, there is no satisfying end or… I read the charts, you know. Maybe not in detail, but severe and chronic are on there a lot.”

Zayne laced his fingers in yours. “Don’t you want to enjoy things while you’re here? There is more to life than fatigue and pain. You can’t let that be your entire world, even if it is always there.”

Your grip tightened, perhaps frustrated that he’d taken away your fidget.

Substitutes had been tried, but you always came back to something that would bleed. Scratching or biting until the skin wore down. Pulling out hair, like your eyelashes. For all Zayne could tell, it was why you shaved your head, to avoid causing bald spots.

He even caught you sliding cards along your skin like it were a POS.

You shrugged and said Sometimes, I pretend to be a robot. An escape from the fear of having a flesh and blood body.

But Zayne knew what that felt like. It was a recommended harm reduction technique for patients who cut themselves.

He hadn’t seen your whole body. There could be cuts and scabs and scars all up your thighs.

Sylus had expressed concern over showering alone, and went along with you. He told you the water was too hot but didn't turn it back. If that were a common occurrence, then you might not be able to hide the evidence.

Or maybe that was one secret he agreed to keep. The scar on your wrist didn’t look intentional, but it looked deep. And despite that, healed well. Sylus could handle would care. It was the hidden internal things that he sought help with.

“Do you have any thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

Your grip faltered. “What?”

“It’s just a question.”

“People get locked up for answering that,” you accused, a slight tremble to your voice.

Zayne sighed. He should have asked it differently.

“I didn’t mean… You can tell me. I won’t report it.”

“If standing against a wall counts? The question isn’t exactly fair.”

You’re avoiding the question, Zayne wanted to accuse, but held his tongue. He merely pointed out the self-destruction of your nervous habits.

“Half the time, I don’t even notice,” you rolled your eyes. Having torn lips didn’t feel good, but you could never keep them healed.

You needed more sensory feedback than the half-numb input that toys could offer.

“Have you tried a birthing comb? No, you didn’t mishear. That’s what they’re called. It’s just a wooden comb that can be helpful to grip during labor. The teeth in the palm can dampen the pain of contractions.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll find one so you can try it. You’re so full of nervous energy,” Zayne put his other palm on your forehead. “If you can, try to let all the muscles in your face relax.”

He felt the difference in your attempt, and the struggle to ward off tension after just a few seconds.

“Maybe we can go for a walk? Sitting in a car too long—”

“Do you want to?”

“Hmm? Yes. I’m not tired.”

You agreed to it, then.

“Let’s get some air. Remember to get up slowly.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry. I can carry you if you get faint.”

Rafayel had filled you in on that. You didn’t remember much of anything after hitting the floor. Just waking up in bed and Sylus was there, like he always was when that happened. For a second you thought you were home with him, but the smell gave it away before anything else. The texture of the mattress and the white ceiling. The absence of Eclipse.

Rafayel assumed that you liked landscapes because of the tapestries. You didn’t correct him. or, he wasn’t wrong. You never really thought about it. But those posters were always the kind you stared at during class. Under the ocean, outer space, any place harsh and inhabitable.

You thought that Zayne told Sylus to disconnect and screw a cap onto the IV to prepare for transferring into a hospital. It sounded bad.

Especially when he arrived in clothes for sleep. They looked like scrubs, but way too soft, and a pale pastel sort of purple.

He was always wearing dark and earthy colors. At least whenever he intended to be seen.

You had chest pain, but were scared to admit it, knowing that was a sign of something serious. It was also a regular experience, a common soldier’s heart phenomenon. Not worth mentioning.

Zayne said that typically, information could be gathered by pressing gently on a patient’s abdomen.

You flinched away and froze up at the mention of it.

Why?

Bloating was another common symptom. And you had gone for months without exactly purging. It wasn’t as sensitive anymore.

You felt bad for dragging him out of bed. Tried to make things fast.

It was hard to speak, to make sense of what mattered.

You finally reached for the tea, though. It was still full, and the ice had melted. Your other hand held onto Zayne’s as he found an exit from the hotel hallways and a garden path to wander.

The air felt clean. It was the kind of early morning that only the nocturnal and disturbed got to breathe, when the air was clean and void of life.

“The blue hour will be approaching soon,” Zayne commented.

You apologized for keeping him up all night.

“Don’t worry. I’m not used to getting off on time.”

You stepped a little closer, more of your arm brushing against his.

You could ask him what you were like as kids. But did you really want to know? What good would it do?

You stopped to sit down while Zayne went off to speak with Sylus. His hair was reflecting the moonlight as he paused to look at flowers across the garden.

He met you a few minutes later.

“Your soul needs moonlight. Look, these flowers only bloom at night.”

“Does that mean they could live on the rooftop?”

You were careful with your words. Zayne might hear, and he didn’t know that’s where you lived. Packages were even sent to another address outside of the N109 Zone.

Sylus hummed, “Maybe. I’m not sure if they’d like it. But if you want to propogate some, it can’t hurt.”

Getting down to pick some out from where they’d fallen on the ground was was putting yourself at risk for blacking out, but it should be fine after running fluids.

Sylus hummed, “You’re reckless, kitten. Here, I’ll take them.”

You failed to process his words right, one hand carefully clutching the plant matter to your chest while the other braced to catch your fall to the ground.

He caught you, though. Carrying your disoriented self while your head lay against his chest.

“No creature can live off saline alone,” he murmured.

“I am going to sleep through the sunlight. But I don’t need all twelve hours.”

You didn’t want to interrupt his sleep. Or keep him inside all day. But you also didn’t want to bother Zayne.

“I hope you would stay up and eat something. Sleeping through the drive is not a bad idea,” Sylus continued.

Zayne said that food could actually settle your stomach. But you weren’t feeling reckless enough to try it.

“Can’t someone else decide?” Your arms were crossed, barely stopping yourself from biting a nail.

“If that’s what you want, fine.”

It was determined that you would go with Zayne, as he had no plans for the next day and was not used to sleeping for more than a few hours at a time anyway.

Sylus had paid for another room already, Zayne just had to go to the front desk for a key and decide whether or not he wanted the adjacent one.

“You can always come back in,” Sylus handed you one of the key cards along with your bag.

He’d finally get to sleep alone again. It was rare, wasn’t it?

You tried to be good on your own.

You said you were better enough to sleep in your room again.

“Okay,” Sylus breathed. “I won’t keep you here.”

You nodded slightly, something glassy in your eyes. Sadness? Fear?

“Unless that’s what you want,” he added. He’d gotten used to sleeping next to someone. His bedroom wouldn’t be the same without you.

“I don’t know what I want,” you muttered, with a sort of distant stare.

“That’s okay. You can figure it out,” Sylus replied while polishing a gun.

You were frequenting the living rooms again. Some days even without driving to them.

Luke and Kieran were glad to have you back. Target practice commenced. It was good to refine your aim while sitting or lying down.

Some days you were hardly seen. Sometimes you were asleep on the couch, hiding under the same old blanket.

Sylus asked if your room needed something, or if you’d like to try a different one.

You said it was fine.

He wondered if you were a danger to yourself alone, and running away from that.

“So why the couch, kitten?”

“I thought… Being alone was the safest. But no matter what I do, it feels like he’s watching and waiting and…” Tears almost spilled when you cut yourself off. “I know Lilith would attack him, and my head is…”

“Your head is trying to protect you,” Sylus whispered. “Though it’s not doing a very good job.”

“No, it sucks,” you sighed.

“I don’t mind sharing a bed with you. It would feel better on your back, at least.”

The one benefit was that Lilith and Eclipse and Mephisto could enter or wander freely. That common areas were less practical for attacks.

“You have everything you need?” Zayne asked, holding the door open as you walked in. The layout was nearly identical, or maybe it was mirrored.

You sat on a couch while he sorted through the food you brought and decided on what to eat.

“What do you normally do when you’re anxious?”

“Go to the shooting range or spend time with the cat.”

Zayne laughed slightly. “Is that all?”

“I dunno.” This kind of anxiety felt different.

You took the nail away from your teeth. Some habits were impossible to break. You didn’t even notice it was happening.

“Here, try this.”

You didn’t want to. Throwing up hurt more than it used to. Your insides felt out of place for days after.

“Not eating can also be addictive. Do you really want to replace one eating disorder with another?”

No.

“If it’s going to be like this, I’d like to conduct more of a physical exam.”

Zayne had a pair of latex gloves. It should feel less threatening then, right? Create a safe distance?

“I’d like to feel along the sides of your throat. It won’t take long.”

Generally, it seemed that pressure was calming. Just not in certain places, and not when it felt like bondage.

“Here. Why don’t you grab onto my wrist. That way, you can pull away at any time.” It should also bypass your fight or flight reflex.

Although in your case, it was mostly freeze and fawn.

Sylus didn’t want any of that. He hated messy boundaries, and said as much.

Your relationship with him felt almost contractual. The way that he handed over blank charts and diagrams to color in with a corresponding comfort level.

Some things you didn’t know how to answer and left blank. It would take trying them to find out.

He was always at a distance, waiting for approval before testing so much as a forehead kiss.Was your fucking disorder spreading a rift between Zayne too?

You took his wrist while gloved pads of his fingers felt along your neck. It was trivial.

“That’s good. I don’t sense any issues. If you want to lie down, I can check your abdomen as well.”

You were shaking. Your clothes were thin enough to keep on. But you felt like a prey animal, vulnerable and exposed to be eaten alive.

“It’s really not that bad. Just a few seconds, like before. I’ll be gentle.”

You had to get over it. If Sylus left you alone at some hospital, then a choice might not be given. The safest option was with Zayne.

You gripped his wrist with one hand, and signed to continue with the other.

“Okay, then I’ll start.”

You took a step back, away from the screen of reality, into the absence of your mind.

“There, it’s all done.” Zayne took his arm back and removed the gloves. “You’re crying.”

You tried to wipe away the evidence, too late. He noticed before you did. Tears barely in the corners of your eyes.

“Did something hurt? Would you like to talk about it?”

What was wrong with you? It didn’t hurt, but the touch seemed to linger. Odd and too intimate and vulnerable.

All you could do was sit up and pull your knees up to protect that area.

Zayne sighed, “Here.” He was holding out a blanket that you accepted and wrapped around yourself.

You signed an apology and resigned to stress eating. It would help you disappear.

Chapter Text

Your forehead pressed into the balcony fence’s bars, dawn’s light filtering through the trees. Lilith had an orange glow from it, feet curled around your finger through the gap.

She was the closest thing you had to a therapist. Ready to listen or correct your behavior. Unfortunately, she couldn’t fix your broken head. Only pecked at your hand, as if impatiently awaiting a command.

You assured her that you were okay, just fucking stupid, wiping the last of your tears on the blanket.

The sun rose over the treeline, casting its harsh glow directly into your eyes. You told the crow that you would see her later, and made your way back inside.

You signed that it was fine when Zayne said you could go back to the other room, if you didn’t feel safe there with him.

It left a bitter taste in your mouth somehow, and you wanted to make it up to him. You wanted everything to be fine and nothing to make a scene.

“In that case, where do you want to sleep?”

You were just planning on the couch, honestly.

“Really? There are two bedrooms. You can choose either one.”

You didn’t entertain the idea.

“Would it feel better if you knew the door had a lock on it?”

Again, that didn’t make a difference.

It didn’t make sense. Why would an exposed couch feel safer than your own room?

Did you want to feel closer to him? Was that why?

Was it a hypervigilant thing of not being in an enclosed area, or where you couldn’t see all around you? Did you need to be in clear line to an exit?

“Flashbacks… happen when I try to sleep alone. And being on the couch avoids that?”

It was so utterly convenient that Zayne could read your signs. That he’d built the damn language himself.

How much had you helped? Were you a giant fucking nerd just like him? Before your mind split and erased and mashed into unreality?

You didn’t want to lose him.

“What can I do? Just keep talking?”

You needed him to. When your eyes were blurred with tears again you couldn’t see the open sincerity of his, the depth, the difference. There was a soul in there trying to connect with you.

It was nothing like Caleb. His were piercing and dull and impossible to decipher.

And he would never fucking wear pastels, he never wore light colors, and they were nothing alike.

But sometimes it seemed like a glimpse of him in the mirror, when your heart stalled at the part of Zayne’s hair in your peripheral.

Their voices were incredibly different. And the way they spoke. The calm, real, factual tone that Zayne carried might eliminate it.

Or maybe you were totally fucked without reason, without any trigger that could be identified or sense made of—

“Do you want to sleep in the same room, then?”

You walked with him to look at the bedrooms. They seemed identical. One bed, but large enough to fit more than two people.

Is that okay? you signed.

“It’s up to you. I don’t have a problem with it. The sofa would hurt your back after a while, I wouldn’t sleep on it.”

You turned it over.

“It isn’t a contract. You can do whatever you like. But I am a light sleeper, so don’t be afraid if you come in later and I wake up.”

You weren’t exactly rushing to be alone with your thoughts. Talking with him helped to pull out the guilt that weighed in your core like toxic debris.

“Change into something more comfortable, if you have it. But let me take the IV out first if you want to shower. I don’t think I have the right covers for them to stay dry.”

You dragged a bag to the bathroom and it was weird without Lilith there to stand guard. Maybe your recovery had been cheating this entire time.

You were too tired to purge, and Zayne would smell it. Or he would notice somehow.

You took the opportunity to brush your teeth and rinse your face with water before hesitantly wandering back to the bedroom.

“Is there anything you like to put on? Certain sounds or scents?”

You said no. But the truth was that you clung to the scent of Sylus in his sheets and in his sweaters and in everything. It was an accidental attachment.

Zayne smelled different than usual. Different even than he did earlier tonight, still in his usual clothes. They smelled like the hospital. It was a different kind of clean now. Something a bit warmer.

Zayne predicted correctly that you would prefer the side closest to the door. Was that always a factor?

You sat in the back corner of the room for that painting thing. And in every class…

“Are breathing exercises still off the table?” He asked, bringing you back to the present.

The bedroom door was wide open. Neither of you went to close it. A bit of natural light filtered through there, enough to see by without turning on any lamps.

Zayne hummed, “Sometimes I like to listen to my own heartbeat. I find it relaxing.”

“Thats fucking weird,” you whispered.

“I guess it is uncommon.”

You started to shiver in the AC, and retreated under the blankets.

Zayne grumbled something about that level of cold being unnecessary, and reached for the remote to adjust it.

“What are you doing? Show me your hands.”

“Fuck,” you pulled them out from the blankets.

“Didn’t even notice it, did you?”

Your wrist was sore to the touch.

Eclipse was going to be spoiled by Luke and Kieran for your absence.

But could you fucking hold it together without them?

“I’m not mad. Just worried,” Zayne clarified, taking off his glasses and laying them on his nightstand.

It’s fine.

The words died in your throat, mouth failing to even fall open.

“You’re cold,” Zayne whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you should take it out. Sometimes it takes a hot shower.”

“Are you going to stay conscious for that shower? Then I won’t.” He pulled back the covers and lay down.

The space in between was empty, your hand reaching out until he took and you let out a breath.

Zayne’s grasp was gentle. Steady. Easy to break free from, easy to relax into.

“Are you always this cold?” His voice was even softer than usual, like he was already falling asleep.

You were tired, too. Tired from fasting and eating and crying and tired of your own nothing drama.

Instead of signing I don’t know, often, you just tightened your hold for a second, assumed his eyes were already closed.

It seemed that you were making an honest effort to go to sleep.

Maybe holding Zayne’s hand was a way to maintain control over the situation, or to restrain yourself from bad habits.

But you couldn’t get comfortable, pulling the blankets over your head until it became too suffocating and you’d come up for air, and eventually added a second hand on top of his.

Zayne reciprocated gently. You didn’t flinch away that time.

“Come closer, if it helps. Lie down on my shoulder.”

Why hotels thought luxury was going to sleep in a freezer was beyond him. But you shuffled closer until he felt your weight.

“Zayne?” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“How did we meet?”

“You want to know that now? Very well.” He put a hand on your forehead, checking for the unlikely fever to explain your cold, and trying to put you more at ease. “It was outside, during the summer, I believe. You were sitting on the curb, crying while a popsicle melted in your hand. I tried to freeze it with my evol,” he laughed just slightly. “The result was ugly, but that didn’t seem to bother you.”

You didn’t say anything back, just listened.

Though now, Zayne had to wonder whether you were really upset over a melting popsicle or something else. Maybe that was only the final straw. Maybe you weren’t grateful so much for it to be fixed, but to have a friend on the outside.

It wasn’t worth bringing up. Too late to go back and do anything about it.

He let his arms rest gently on your back, since you’d already thrown one of yours over his chest.

Zayne could feel your heart in his hands, thumping through the ribcage. Hopefully it would settle by listening to his.

Maybe it was contagious. Maybe it was your fault.

He never got emotional. Crying was a rare occasion, especially when he wasn’t alone.

But Zayne’s eyes were watering, tears sliding down his temples onto the pillow.

There was a damp patch growing on his shirt. You felt it, too, didn’t you?

The guilt, the unknown, the grief.

You were allowed to grieve. You needed that. To hold a funeral for your lost childhood, for the future that would never live up to abled standards.

You both pretended not to cry. But eventually, your breathing evened out.

Zayne could bypass calling your attention to breathing exercises, if you subconsciously matched his.

And now he had you here, in his arms, finding warmth in him, the person who got to care for your heart.

It was everything he ever wanted, wasn’t it?

It was so terribly bitter, and so devastatingly sweet.

He could only hope the anxiety would step back tomorrow, after having faced some of your fears.

Chapter Text

You said you wanted to work for Onychinus, actually. Not just receive a criminal allowance for existing.

You had to do something. It felt wrong to just have everything you could want.

When you gently took Sylus’ jewelry in your hand, watched the gems on his necklace glisten, he offered you to wear it, or something else, but you never did. What if something happened to it?

You could never replace something like that.

Maybe you could. Your bank account was fatter than you had a grasp on. But his taste was expensive, and you didn’t want to guess how much the jewelry cost, or how hard it was to find the artist who custum made them.

At least, you needed something to do when you were well enough to get out of bed. Life felt so blank and restless, not knowing what to do with your hands. You needed a chore or a project to work on or something.

Something that wasn’t some kind of game, anything that was productive for more then practice.

Sylus didn’t shoot you down, didn’t dismiss your wish with a scoff. He only asked what you had in mind.

But you didn’t know. It had to be something flexible, something trivial. No fixed schedule, no standing or walking or bending down or heavy lifting requirements.

He had an idea, though. Cleaning and maintaining weapons. It always relaxed him, and it was a good skill to practice.

You could also grow your tastes and desires, recognize what kind of weight and shape and material felt good in your hand. What decorative elements you enjoyed, what would make a custom piece feel like it belonged to just you, as an extension of yourself.

Part of the reason you’d refused to have local anesthesic for the arterial line was how awful it felt to be numb. Disjointed, wrong, off-center… Like the map of your nerves had shifted off by some degrees, and was somehow more unpleasant than pain.You would always avoid that if you could. Having to get blood drawn done in that state, anything with needles, you dreaded and feared and probably wouldn’t let Sylus give you an IV in that state.You could scratch yourself but the sensation would be skewed and out of place, never reaching any itch you might have.

All that you could do to cope was limit sensory input as much as possible, and sink into your own mind.

You never found a reason for it, besides eating nightshades in moments of weakness. All kinds of peppers were prohibited, along with potatoes and tomatoes and even eggplants, and it really pissed you off for a while. But not since finding that out.

It seemed like the ones that didn’t induce a disturbing numbness did bring on the long kind of intense nightmares.

That was too much to explain. The best you could say was I don’t like to be numb.

Maybe it was a grounding behavior. Zayne couldn’t place the motivation exactly. But without long sleeves, it was easy for your arms to become dented with crescent moons.

If your nails got too long, or if this behavior progressed, then it wouldn’t surprise him to see scars from where chunks had been dug out of the skin.

Would you believe him that he doesn’t think you’d need to be locked up if you said yes? He was dying to ask if you ever hurt yourself on purpose.

No.

That would be your answer.

Even accidental scratches had been used as an excuse for Caleb to fuss over you. And you didn’t want that. So markless pain it was. Never the slightest injury.

You might have made scratches in yourself a few times, to test the qualities of blades, but they were forced to look accidental. It was never a satisfying line.

And you stopped doing it anyway. Once or twice, Sylus had seen it and asked Did you fall again, kitten? Or do we need to dull Eclipse’s claws?

And you would feign ignorance, but your face would grow hot and your chest would burn and if this happened too many times he would see right through you.

Skin-deep scratches didn’t count as hurting yourself. It felt like a breath of fresh air in an ocean of drowning.

You got up after a few hours, just to go back to sleep on your side of the bed.

Zayne didn’t want you to feel guilty for his being awake if he invited you closer. And maybe you needed space. But he couldn’t sleep anymore, and decided to get up.

There was a note on his side, in case he wasn’t back before you noticed.

Zayne could give you tools to replace your bad habits, but if clawing at your skin or gnawing at your nails was still accessible, it would be unlikely to succeed.

“You haven’t gotten up yet?”

You were staring at nothing in particular and biting your nails when he walked in.

Zayne sighed and pulled the hand away from your mouth. “What should we do about this? Do I need to cut your nails?”

Do you want to?

“Yes, actually, I would like to.”

Zayne wondered if it was futile, if you would only be restrained to biting the skin around them instead. But it was one less thing, and doing this would protect the skin of your arms.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

The hand that Zayne hadn’t confiscated was now between your teeth.

“Oh. I think… I’m trying to dissociate from all the blood in my feet.”

They pulsed and burned and felt full of liquid. It was disgusting. You wanted to escape but your shoulders were tense and it hadn’t crossed your mind to just fucking move into a better position besides sitting up with your legs crossed.

“That can be fixed. Do you want to lie down? I’ll grab a spare pillow.”

You retreated back under the blankets, which Zayne lifted to prop your feet up. He placed another one underneath the hand closest to him, then knelt beside the bed.

“I have something for you. Here.”

“The birth comb?” You turned the wood over in your free hand.

Zayne hummed, “There was a maternity supply store nearby. You can try it.”

He lined up a row of metal tools, narrowing in on too much precision for just cutting nails.

You typically just sawed them down on a brick.

It was easy to do, bricks were everywhere. At school, outside. The worst part was how fast it worked, when you spaced out for a few seconds there would be a deep flat line.

But it was better than the alternative. You didn’t want to share nail clippers with Caleb. You’d used scissors, too, but they didn’t work as well.

When your hand tensed into a fist, ready to pick the skin off your lips, it was met with the comb instead. The teeth in your palm was weird. You’d never sought pain in that area before. But you kept trying it anyway, it kept you from being scolded.

The tools looked like they would hurt. Especially if he was cutting them down to a point where you couldn’t bite them anymore. But Zayne was careful not to pinch the skin underneath.

You let your eyes droop shut. They hurt, and the eyelids stuck. But the comb dimmed that sensation with another.

Little metallic sounds filled the room, your hand limp and pliant in his.

Zayne felt along the edge of each nail one last time.

“There, much better. Now for the other side.”

He took his spot next to you, and placed a pillow down for the other hand while you moved the comb over.

“This looks like it hurts. How long has that been there?”

Just this morning. You fucked up biting them just before he got back.

“Hangnails get worse by biting them. It’ll only get more sensitive and inflamed.”

It wasn’t the good kind of pain, either. This one always felt infected. And you were trapped in your own skin, impatiently waiting for it to grow out.

Zayne decided to start there, and you flinched away upon realizing.

“Try not to move. You’ll feel better once it’s over.”

“I can’t.” Your hand had started shaking in protest.

“Alright. I’ll go in the same as before order, then. Just try to relax.” Zayne took a moment to rest his hand on your forehead.

You took a breath and kept your eyes closed, so your body might stop being unreasonable. Pulled the blanket up to fidget with that instead.

“Is there anything you want to eat? We should have something soon so it has time to settle.”

You didn’t even notice when Zayne clipped your hangnail.

And you didn’t seem to care about what to eat in particular. So he came up with something that could be shared.

It was the closest to how things should be. In another universe where you had a livable home, one where you got to have breakfast together and live a simple life.

He wished it could last forever. But you were being a real person with him for now, at least. Letting him in a little more, getting close beyond a screen.

All Zayne had was this moment.

And after that, he wanted to be sure you were as comfortable as possible. To eliminate everything that would bother you when he had the chance.

Your eyes were sore and tired from crying. The muscles in your face were pulled tight to compensate, squinting uncomfortably.

“Would you like some eye drops? They help when I’ve had long shifts under bright lights and computer screens.”

Zayne demonstrated with one drop in his, then handed the bottle to you, recommending two or three.

You sat on the bathroom counter, trying to get them to go in, holding your eyes open uncomfortably, but the drops always landed below it or in the lashes.

“I can’t do it,” you placed the vial in his hand and sat next to him on the couch.

“That’s okay. Sometimes we need help.”

To hold you in the crook of his arm while you held your red eyes open, staring at the ceiling so he could place the drops…

“Thanks,” you blinked as some of the solution ran down your face, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He wanted to ask if you remembered him now. But it wasn’t all good.

“I’m sorry for being a scared little bitch,” you cried softly into the crook of his neck.

“It’s alright. You’re making progress.”

You apologized for making him work on his day off.

How could he articulate that there is nothing he would take over this? Would you ever believe him, or get scared away?

“…When we were kids, I accidentally hurt you once. It was with my Evol. I didn’t know how to… I ran away. We moved, and I left those seals on your porch as an apology. That’s also when I began to study medicine. Thinking that someday, I could right my wrongs. And never hurt you again, even by accident. Because I would know better.”

“Was I a nerd, too, back then? Or did you come up with everything yourself?”

“The language was a joint effort.”

You hummed, and he wasn’t sure if you believed him.

“What was your day off supposed to be like?”

“Not all that interesting. I was going to reorganize a bookshelf, maybe watch a movie or leave it in the background.”

“I guess you can still do one of those things.”

“Would you like to pick one out?” Zayne found the remote under the TV cabinet.

Most of the movies you knew were recent, from the past year (at least you hoped it hadn’t been several years already), ones that Luke and Kieran swore looked promising. That if they didn’t, you could always make fun of it instead.

It was a lot of horror and science fiction, but you weren’t sure what kind of thing Zayne would be into.

“I like horror movies,” you said quietly. “When there isn’t a lot of gore and stuff.”

You liked the vengeful ghost girls. They felt like protecting spirits, made you feel safe when you were alone.

Maybe they would kill you, but it would be swift and painless. A mercy kill, getting spirited away where no one would be cursed to stumble upon your corpse or failed attempt.

“Do you want something worth paying attention to, or something good for background noise?”

“I guess background noise,” you shrugged, wanting to see what he was into but being too intimidated about understanding it.

“This one has a nice soundtrack. You can control the volume.”

“Oh, Zayne?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t feel so bad. I… lost your seals again. My cat ate them.”

He laughed, “Is that so? I can replace them. Why don’t we try a different shape this time? Maybe something bigger.”

Zayne used his Evol to form a larger seal and a snowflake that might feel good on your face. And a snowman that fits nicely in the palm.

“What do you think?”

“The vet said it was fine, but if it happens too much—”

“It’ll be alright. Snow can be replaced. It isn’t dangerous. I suppose you could eat them, as well, if you ran out of water or needed something cold.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You’ve done that?”

“Maybe a few times.” The corners of his mouth flicked up slightly.

“While we’re here, is it okay if I look in your ears again?”

He only did that one time, when you were spending nights in the hospital.

“You like the way it feels? The otoscope?”

“Yeah… I don’t know what it’s called.”

Zayne sighed, reaching for his bag on the coffee table while you slid over next to him on the couch.

“Do you want to see it? Here’s the light switch. And these are the covers that slide on. You can look into mine if you’d like.”

“I… don’t want to see that.” You were starting to get self-conscious.

He laughed softly, “Alright,” and pulled your hat above the ear.

Zayne always took his time when observing a patient. You ever so slightly leaned into it, seeking the unique sensory input.

“Let me see the other one.”

“If we clean them out now, then it can avoid aches and pressure in the future.”

You backed away a bit, guarded yourself.

“You don’t want to?”

“It’s going to hurt. It’s going to drown me.”

“Huh? Where did you get that idea? Is it from a bad experience with Qtips? I won’t put liquid in your ears. Let me show you the tools.”

You were still like a frightened animal sometimes. Maybe most of the time. But he wanted to be another person you could feel safe with.

“Coke spoons?”

“They’re for your ears.”

“I don’t like it,” you whispered.

“No cocaine has been on them, I promise. Although if there were, it would only produce a slight numbing effect at most.”

Zayne sighed, “Here, you can watch me clean them off. But it’s going to hurt more if you let the wax build up, or if someone who wasn’t trained on proper technique tries to remove it.”

You groaned, leaned your head in your hand, starting to see his point.

“Would you give it a chance? Tap out if you need to.”

You let out a short breath, but it seemed there was a painful pressure building in your ears, that you just never noticed before. It blended in with the noise of every other constant pain.

“Lay your head on my lap. It will be fine.”

“Do you enjoy this?”

“And if I do?”

You sighed, but got down to offer up your ear.

Zayne lifted your head to place a pillow under it. “Is that too high for your neck? Okay, then I’ll start.”

Your arm gripped onto his knee, like you were scared and trying to stay still.

“You’re doing great, just like that,” he encouraged. “Remember to tap out or tell me if you experience any pain.”

He began to work, carefully inserting a small spoon and dragging out clumps of wax. It was a simple task. You should hear a little better after this, too.

“You’ve done well. It’s all cleared.”

“That’s it?”

“Not if you roll over so I can work on the other one.”

This time you were more relaxed, and just spun the snowflake around in your hand.

“Can I wear a sweater over this thing?”

“I suppose, if you’re careful… But the blanket is right here.”

He didn’t tell you to move when he was done. Just “Stop playing with it, if you’re cold,” confscating the snowflake to replace it with his hand.

You leaned on him, resting your eyes until it was over.

“What did you think of the movie?” he asked softly.

“I… wasn’t into the color grading, so I mostly just imagined it,” you confessed, rubbing your eyes.

“A fair assessment. I only chose it for the audio.”

You glanced at the window. Shadows were cast on the ground, growing longer.

A pain struck you then, so hard and so sudden.

You winced, twisted in on yourself, collapsing back onto the pillow.

“Chest guarding,” Zayne commented on where your arm was folded in tight. “Where does it hurt, exactly ?”

This was bad. It only traveled down one hand this time. That meant a heart attack, didn’t it?

Your eyes were screwed shut as he gently rolled you over, stethoscope in his ears quickly.

It was good you told him before that stethoscopes and otoscopes were always fine. because you couldn’t speak now , not with your voice or your hands.

Zayne held your arm out of the way and applied the diaphragm with his other hand.

“Just try to breathe normally.”

You were afraid of what he might be hearing. Tried to force your heart to behave with a deep breath. Then another.

The stethoscope was colder than usual, not warmed with his hand first. Zayne shifted its position, listening.

“What happened just before this hit? What were you thinking about?”

You tried to break out of it. The snowflake found your hand again.

“…the sun is going down.”

“Yes, it is afternoon.”

It didn’t mean anything.

Zayne listened for a few more seconds, then put the device around his neck.

“You’re still anxious about the trip,” he reasoned.

Maybe you were. But it was easier to maintain friendships online than in person.

Rafayel was going to find out that you didn’t know anything about the ocean. You had to look up every word he texted you about it. You couldn’t hide that so easily…

And if you just ignored him, pretended that you weren’t so close by, then the guilt of it would gnaw at you forever.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” his hand rubbed gently over your heart instead. “Things are going to work out.

You hoped he was right.

“The sun will go down. You will have a quiet drive and reach the destination. Your friends will enjoy spending time with you. They will give you space if that is what you need. They know you well enough to meet your needs. You’ll get to see the ocean, at the very least. And you wont have to drive back for some time. You can have an IV run first then.”

“I’m such a fucking coward,” you grumbled.

“You’re not. You faced a lot of fears just in the last twelve hours.”

You groaned and rolled over.

“Your chest pains are due to anxiety. As well as the nausea. It feels even worse because you already have a soldier’s heart.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Rafayel saw you pass out from the first day you met. He was acting very protective, asking who I was. Besides, you’ll have Sylus with you.”

“Sylus needs a break from me.”

“Sylus is choosing to take you along.”

“We’re fucking linked, Zayne. If I die then he dies too. I placed a curse in a past life or something. He’s responsible for me until I find a way to break it.”

“I highly doubt that is much of a factor in his behavior. And what about everyone else then? What about me?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Zayne was voluntarily seeking out the grossest parts of you and making sense of them, cleaning them up.

It felt strange and undeserving. But he enjoyed those things for some reason. Found the body interesting. And…

“You have a guilt complex for someone who doesn’t exist.”

She might as well not even be you. The only similarity you had with that memory was signing the same language and letting his Evol seals get lost or destroyed.

For all you knew, Eclipse might have a secret stash. One of them was at least missing a head, though.

“Doesn’t that mean I should make it up to you even more?”

“I don’t deserve it,” you muttered under your breath.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Zayne whispered, resorting to place his palm on your forehead. That kept you quiet.

He could even feel the tension in your body relax through the pillow.

It was better when you argued with him. He finally got to hear what was really on your mind, the buried things that you would never admit otherwise. It was more interesting than the filtered words buffered by what you thought he wanted to hear.

Zayne wanted you to be his friend, at least, as much as he wanted you to be his patient.

He didn’t want the clinical distance to put up a glass in between. And today it felt so casual, so domestic, so easy.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” you whispered eventually.

“Research shows that talking about it helps. Let’s start there.”

“Sylus?”

“Hmm?” he tapped the steering wheel gently, humming to the music. You’d gotten into foreign bands, music that wouldn’t have been on the radio and lyrics you couldn’t decipher.

“Would you still want me around if we didn’t have the linkage?”

“What,” he began quietly.

“I’m going to set you free, I’ve decided. I don’t know the first thing about sorcerery, but maybe with resonance evol… And if I could remember the past lives,”

“No.” It was practically a growl, but still soft.

You turned to Sylus, who spared you a short glance before returning to the road.

“What if i don’t want to be free?”

“Everyone wants to be free,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“What if i like being bound to you? Ever consider that?”

“Why?” you scoffed, making a face.

“Because it’s you,” he exhaled. “And when we breathe our last, we can make another vow.. In our next life, things will be better than this.”

Streetlights continued to pass over his face, making it hard to decipher.

“Unless you want to abandon me, of course. I suppose that might work.” His tone returned to a light teasing. Like the last bit might be sarcastic.

“But you—“

“I chose this. When you fell from the window, and every day since..That much hasn’t changed. I refused your offer to free me in the past, as well.”

You exhaled sharply, turning to look out your window. He was impossible to argue with.

“Please. It’s my favorite piece of jewelry. You wouldn’t want to break it, would you?”

He was practically bargaining at this point. Pleading for you not to find a way.

He believed that you could do it…?

“I’m going to ruin the trip. It’s already—”

“Sweetie. I had the hotel booked in advance. You’re the one trying to push past logic and get to the beach house in one night.”

So if you didn’t stop, the reservation would have gone to waste.

Chapter Text

“Sweetie. We’re here,” Sylus whispered.

You didn’t stir. Arms draped limply around the pillow while you dozed in his passenger seat. It was better off this way, wasn’t it? Carsickness could pass you by unconscious.

“I wonder what your sleep schedule is like now. Or if you’ll even have one.”

He quietly gathered you in his arms and the bags in his evol, through the door into a bedroom with wide windows in view of the ocean. It wasn’t going anywhere. Sylus pulled the curtains shut tight and got ready to join you.

Removing the water bottle’s strap from your shoulder, putting it on the nightstand, your shoes by the door.

Your nails were cut with uncanny surgical precision, more perfect than a mannequin’s.

Sylus laughed to himself, about that and the comb clipped onto the strap. But it wasn’t all funny.

He noticed the scrapes on your arm, that without him or one of your animal companions, your body turned against itself. Did you have something helpful with you?

Did Sylus need to visit an armory to bring you weapons to restore?

At least you had trusted Zayne enough to accept his help. That was nice to see.

Sylus couldn’t always be there, but more importantly, he shouldn’t. You needed to have your own security, in yourself, in more than just him. You deserved that much.

You were always strong before, fearsomely so. Some part of your soul must be clawing to get that back, even if you haven’t recognized it yet. Interpreting accommodation as guilt instead of opportunity…

You woke up in a strange place. The ceilings were incredibly high, and a gentle roar sounded through the covered window.

Sylus stirred in his sleep, made a low noise, nothing intelligible.

You explored the room, at least. The adjoining bathroom. Unpacked some clothes, ate something, took a shower. It was responsible this time. Short, lukewarm. The sun was orange and glowing, glaring over an endless expanse of water.

What had you expected? A shack, a hut? This was a whole fucking mansion. You needed a map or something. Where were the crows?

You hadn’t let Sylus show you pictures of the beach house in advance. Didn’t want his hope to get up too high from talking about a vacation that would inevitably disappoint him.

And now you had to leave Sylus a note that you didn’t want to get lost, so you were just crawling through the bathroom window to explore.

It couldn’t be locked from the outside, but you did your best to close it.

A big floppy hat and dark sunglasses kept your vision clear.

There was a door not far away. And several… Supine tricycles? Whatever the name, they caught your attention.

Comically large textured tires, storage racks, controls that looked familiar.

You climbed onto that one, found it very intuitive. Similar to the car you drove at home, with different foot pedals. Powered assistance that gains traction with the grip of your hands. You could go anywhere.

The beach itself looked bare, private. Some dunes or hills, patches of plants, all wildlife that you didn’t really know. Maybe you should, from Rafayel’s ramblings, but nothing stuck.

“You’re having fun.”

You slowed to a stop, turning to see him.

Sylus held his hand up like a visor. “How long have you been out here?”

“I don’t know.” You got up, feet a bit wobbly on the sand.

“Well, if you’re so full of energy, want to step into the water?”

Sylus sniffed, made a displeased hum. “Haven’t you put sunscreen on?”

“No. Did you?”

“…no,” he sighed, leading you back inside.

You sat on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of it, smoothing lotion over each other.

“There were spray-on options, but the texture always seems to make skin turn into sandpaper.”

“Then I’m glad we don’t have it,” you reached up to cover the back of his neck and shoulders.

“Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his palm on the top of your chest, “look after yourself first.”

Your breath had grown heavy, ragged. “But I want to go out…”

Wasting away all your energy by reaching up like that was an easy mistake. You should have known better. Was it too much to grasp for one normal moment?

“And I want you to stay conscious,” Sylus lifted you into his arms and headed for the door.

It was a short walk, the sun higher now. More aggressive.

You weren’t used to it, but your clothes were light and breathable now.

He sat down at the edge of the shore with you on his thigh.

“Oh, I still have socks on,” you muttered, trying not to get them covered in sand before going into your pockets.

Blood would pool in your legs more easily without them, but if you were here, then you should at least feel like it.

“I have an idea. Why don’t we lie down and watch the tide while you catch your breath?”

Your ear pressed against his chest, watching the water creep up and descend.

He reached one arm toward it, let the ocean dance between his fingers.

You watched it while his other hand held you there, began to wonder if he was falling back asleep.

“Can we step into it?”

“Sure.” He sat up slightly, but paused. “Flex your feet first.”

It was embarrassing, but you followed orders. Pointed your toes down, up, several times before he actually went to get up.

Keeping a steady hold on your hand, fingers laced as you stepped into the water.

It felt nice at first, cool water lapping up over your feet. It swirled around your ankles. And then dragged the earth from beneath your feet.

It felt disorienting, like you were a planet spinning out of place. Gripping Sylus’ hand like it would keep you from slipping into a distant plane.

“It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

You tried to walk a little. Pacing helped, even in the shower. Sand sunk beneath your feet, it squished and molded and hard things were in it, stabbing at your soles.

“How are you just standing in it?”

Sylus shrugged, “Guess I’m just familiar.”

You had considered texting Rafayel earlier. While you had energy, inviting him to hang out. But if it was going to be like this?

You would never live it down. He might explain something about the tides or the currents, but it wouldn’t make any sense and you would look even stupider.

You tried to wander further out, stepping cautiously with your anchor steady in this spinning world.

There was a whole other world in the water. And you couldn’t even steady yourself before it reached your knees.

It was getting easier, you thought, but for some reason, maybe just a flaw in the tides of your own blood, you were falling back into him.

Part of you wanted to go in fully, to surrender to the sea.

And part of you was dying from heat.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I can swim.”

“We have our linkage. Our evol. Think of it as a life jacket. You don’t need to swim.”

You hummed, crouching down and letting go of him. Letting your hands sink into the sea floor.

Your clothes weren’t meant for this, but there was no dress code on a private beach. It wasn’t like a wedding dress that would weigh you down to certain death.

It was kind of weightless. Your hands and feet pushing off the sand, shells pressing into them.

It became relaxing, the water up to your shoulders, though you were practically lying down.

The waves pushed into your neck, occasionally knocked salt onto your lips.

“Don’t drink it. That could kill you.”

“Promise?”

“You have your own salt water. It’s safe.”

“This one tastes pretty good,” you mused, not actively drinking it, only tasting your own skin.

“You’re funny.” He didn’t sound amused, though.

“Sylus?”

“Hmm?”

“You were right about the sun. I don’t like it.”

And it was harder to see with ocean spray on the lenses of your glasses.

Chapter Text

You were mad at yourself, mad at your body for feeling fine when you woke up. Abled for what? An hour? Maybe two?

You hadn’t even stood up in the shower, or run hot water.

Should have known better, really.

Maybe it was all your fault. Maybe it was the fucking sun.

Sylus didn’t seem upset, though.

He sat you down on the shower bench with a kiss on the forehead, ready to scrub off the salt and sunscreen and sweat that stuck to your skin.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“Let’s be lazy,” he exhaled, drawing you in, setting up a meal, and rolling back into bed to sleep off the sun.

He made it feel so easy. Like he wanted every part of that more than you probably, begrudgingly, needed it.

He was like a sun to you. The well that all your life force drew from. A fire that couldn’t be put out. A warmth you couldn’t help but grow toward.

The ocean was better at night. Everything was.

Moonlight illuminated the soft motion of waves. Different creatures were active.

“Do you want to see our boat?”

“What if I get seasick?”

“Then we eliminate the motion.” The mist came out, black and red, a buffer between you and the ground.

“Okay,” you breathed, not sure whether it was your first time on a boat, either. It felt kind of familiar.

The wood creaked, and lanterns offered a warm glow beneath the deck.

Above it, though, there was mostly starlight. Moonlight. Sylus wanted your eyes to adjust, to have no lights competing with bioluminescence that might be missed. Like there were galaxies in the sea.

You didn’t really know what you were doing, but it was still fun. Maybe the point of fishing wasn’t to catch fish.

It was something leisurely to do, to see what happens while you sit back in some remote place and just breathe it in.

You caught some seaweeds, few empty bottles. Something about the creak and the sway felt… Like home?

You lay on your back, watching the stars shift from the flow of water.

Claws tapped across the floor.

“Mephisto? You fuckass bird, where have you been?”

He cawed, raised his wings just slightly.

“What the fuck does that mean?” You muttered, stretching out an arm for him to climb onto.

“He’s saying that you should check your phone.”

You groaned, “I don’t even know where that thing is.”

“Sweetie.”

“What?”

“What if someone gets worried?”

“Then they should find a hobby,” you laughed, raising the hand up like maybe if you looked into Mephisto’s glowing eye just right, it could become telepathic.

If you had to guess, the crows had their location shared and when you checked it, they would return.

“It’s nice out here,” you sighed. Nothing but cozy darkness and sparkling lights, in the sky and in the water and disconnected from the world, adrift over it.

“We can stay for as long as you want.”

He meant that. There was food and water to last for weeks below deck.

During the day, sunbeams filtered through the cracks, but the wood kept it mostly dark and shaded.

There were bowl-shaped beds of various sizes hung from the ceiling, that stayed stable, canceling out the rocking of the sea.

Sylus did manage to catch fish, with an arrow on the line.

You didn’t try. If you weren’t good enough for the shot to kill them instantly, then the fish would suffer.

And release the stress chemicals that made them not taste as good, according to Sylus. Sometimes you stayed below while he gutted and cooked them. Sometimes he kept them whole, and while the taste and texture were to die for, it still freaked you out to hold the fish, to feel its fins, to see its face. To bite its flesh from the bone.

“So, where is she?” You asked again, basking in the lamplight.

Mephisto cawed again, and made the same gesture as before.

You sighed, began to worry that you should have brought your phone.

What if Zayne was worried? He should see that you’re alive, but what if your heart rate was slower than usual? Would he think you were drugged and kidnapped?

And Rafayel… Had been left on read since days before the drive.

Maybe he’d forgotten about you by now, moved onto someone else.

It was nice to be separate, to not care.

But Sylus decided that it was better to be on land before the storms hit.

And maybe he was right. The view from the gargantuan mirrors was beautiful. Dark clouds, grey sky, rushes of moaning wind and rain.

“You really like storms, don’t you?”

Your brows furrowed. “Fuck.”

Sylus chuckled and pulled you closer.

But the air changed into a stew, old and forgotten and reheated and loaded with food poisoning.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t… Didn’t know.” Your voice went numb.

You did like storms. Even back in school, you loved them.

Evacuating into the hallway with your head between your knees and utter silence besides the storm outside, the shifts in the air, the taste of apocalypse — it was the safest you’d ever felt.

Like there was a chance that maybe, it would all be over soon.

Did you love storms because of Caleb?

Or did you ever actually fear them at all?

Your brain felt tangled, cut off by its own thread.

“Hey,” Sylus whispered, readjusting the hat on your head.

“You knew me be before… Did I like storms then?”

He hummed, “You thought they were pretty. You liked the disruption they might cause. But we didn’t really get to play in it.”

You didn’t understand.

“Do you want to get dirty with me?”

He offered you a hand, said not to wear anything you didn’t want to get covered in mud. Said that it should wash out, though, and took his jewelry off.

“If my hair starts to stand up, then go inside right away.”

“Okay?”

“It means there’s lightning. We should be safe, though… And don’t worry about cleaning up first.

The ground was already soaked. Behind the house, there was a big pit of soft dirt.

“It’s bentonite clay,” Sylus explained, “I was thinking a pond could go here.”

It felt nice in your feet.

He said it was good for the skin, but it was hard to hear the details when rain sounded like traffic, when it dripped down his face from where the white hair was already plastered.

You tried to brush it back, but he grabbed your wrist before it raised high enough, and swept your leg and pinned you to the pond floor.

“What did we say about heights?”

“That you’re not short enough,” you grabbed a fistful of mud and smeared it across his face.

Wrestling, chasing, throwing mud, then tenderly piling and smoothing it onto one another, as if sculptors…

There was a point to playing in the rain, after all.

“If you were an art piece, then whoever designed you, must have loved you dearly,” he mused, the rain and wind grew quiet.

“Because artists love torturing their favorite?” You tilted your head, throwing a lump onto his sternum.

Your head glitched for a moment.

It felt like you were missing time, then the mud was on Sylus right where you’d thrown it, splattering out from the center of his chest.

“I…”

“Got deja vu?”

“Yeah, I think,” you breathed.

He just smiled, rubbed another stroke of mud into your cheek.

“Me, too,” he whispered.

The clouds broke then, and the sun burned.

You climbed onto his back so Sylus could run into the ocean, and it felt so good to actually swim in it. Wandering away just to tread water, waves pushing and pulling gently around you. It somehow felt similar to his evol.

You wanted to kiss him, or bite him, or say you loved him.

But you didn’t have the right to.

“The sun is burning my face off,” you muttered instead.

“How dare it… Hide beneath the water for a second.”

That made it easier for him to rub off the stubborn mud from your head. It was in the folds of your ears, even. Which was… His fault, really.

Sylus submerged himself for a few seconds, shook away what had stuck to his hair.

“Here. Legs around my waist.”

Closer to his height, you could clean each other off more easily. It would save time in the shower, as well.

“Doesn’t it hurt your eyes?”

“That’s why we’re facing this way.”

The sun was glaring, but not into your eyes or his.

“I think that’s good,” you breathed, arms over his shoulders, drained and content.

“Let’s go inside, then.”

He walked out like it was easy to keep balance despite the tides. Like he was the moon that commanded them. Hugging you to his chest and dripping saltwater inside.

Chapter Text

Mephisto stood by your phone on the charger, cawing. He pecked at the table it was on until you reached over to take it, still dripping seawater with your legs around Sylus’ waist. It hadn’t crossed your mind to wring out your clothes or his hair.

Chills ran down your back and arms from the change in temperature as your eyes adjusted, despite sunlight coming in through the uncovered window. Cold water was trapped in your hair too, though it might have grown less than a centimeter since the last shave.

You tried not to shiver, but it sunk down to your bones fast.

It had been some days since the last real shower. You forgot how good the water pressure felt, how the warm spray felt all-encompassing.

“You’re in a good mood,” he commented while you sat on the bench, just resting your eyes.

You were, actually…

The tension in your body had lifted, and the clay was like a spa treatment for skin. It was a weightless feeling, even on land, like even your bones had rinsed clean in the rain.

You traced away at the foam on his chest until it branched out, stirring some familiar spark that refused to drift to the surface, like ash that spilled into a drink.

“You remember,” Sylus spoke softly, tracing your face with his thumb. But you shook your head, leaning into his hand.

"I don’t.” There was apology in your whisper.

“Let me take you upstairs, then.”

Sylus had this old, abandoned building restored.

No one else wanted to invest in it. Too much work and too isolated for tourism, it would never repay the cost.

But to him, it was the closet thing… To so many memories. A little oasis he could forge into a living scrapbook, one that you could walk through and wake up in and… He didn’t have the heart to plant the rose garden.

Not after the previous one had burnt to ash, and you were hunted down like witches.

Well, maybe you were,but… Scapegoated, all the same.

If you wanted to plant roses, though…

He also didn’t have the heart to install an elevator. As long as you were her together, his evol could lift you. Or he could carry you like he did before, in the underworld, and maybe you would…

He’d get something built later. You deserved to wander and explore everything that was his to your heart’s content.

Just not yet. There wasn’t time to restore everything before the season changed too far, and he wanted to get this trip in before the predicted October Slide.

You’d even taken to wearing dresses. Only around him, never in public, but it was so damn similar to previous lifetimes.

Especially when they were nothing like the thin white thing you had on before.

It was the kind that were only worn for special events in this current era, as costumes or an homage to the past, or a part of niche subculture fashions.

Sylus remembered your tastes from before. But he was no longer a dragon nor a vampire exactly, even if those traits still followed him around, dormant in the bloodstream, informing his DNA and proclivities.

You were tired already, having too much fun with the soap and desperate to get every little hair off of your head. It was easier in the shower, not so harsh on the skin, easier to clean up the fallout.

So you just slipped on one piece of clothing, called that good enough, giving yourself the rare hours without compression socks.

Your arms were around his neck as Sylus climbed the stairs.

“Upstairs hasn’t exactly been restored yet… You’ll have to bear with me. Maybe give some ideas for what to do with the space.”

He placed you gently on the bench, began to play that familiar tune.

Your hand reached out on its own, pressing keys as if it were someone else’s.

That was weird. You looked up at Sylus, something soft and fulfilled in his eyes, a slight smile as he exhaled.

“What?” You asked quietly, confused, like you were left out of something. Even if you had somehow fucking participated in it.

“That’s the song you taught me in our first life together. We didn’t remember it the second time… Not the life. But that song, it could never be forgotten.”

“Oh.” You looked down, turned your hand over, wondering if it was even yours.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin, but didn’t force you to maintain eye contact. “Something you said to me the second time… It was a fear you had. That you wouldn’t remember me. Almost like you knew it might happen.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “But if I could… If I didn’t have amnesia—”

“I’m not mad. They’re protecting you,” he murmured, cradling your head in his palms.

“I wish I could see us from back then,” you complained.

“I like your ideas. I’ll get on that. You have my word.”

You sighed.

Sometimes your body didn’t even feel like yours, like maybe a ghost of the past had possessed it.

But often, the possessor felt soulless.

Just a black hole, like the one that shoved down food compulsively, just to spit it back up, self-imploding.

It was like one ghost binged and another purged and then someone else dropped in, thinking that you needed to eat something, and then the binger would resurface and the purge became inevitable, and all you could do was watch from behind a screen, utterly fucking helpless, at the mercy of whatever the hell…

“What was I like then?”

“You were the only one who could reach me. You didn’t think the way everyone else did. Like you knew better somehow, didn’t let their judgements cloud yours. And you liked flowers. And fighting. Especially with me.”

“Did you let me win?”

He smirked, “Maybe a few times. Or you might say that we came to a bit of a standstill.”

You hummed low, and the air shifted.

“Not all of those lives were… Pain was real back then, too. The way I left you in the first life was… I fear it left you in pain for centuries during the second.”

You weren’t sure how much he was speaking to you or to himself. Like there were regrets he was trying to make up for in the present.

“Does it hurt you?”

“You might say it haunts me. But knowing everything… Is a starting point to do better in the future.”

You nodded, looking past his shoulder to the dust and disarray that lingered meters away. A framed portrait in an ornate oval frame on the floor, probably real silver. Mirrors covered in sheets of lace, torn fabric over more... Artwork? It was hard to see.

It’s kind of creepy up here, you realized.

You reached an arm up to his shoulder, and Sylus took the cue. He lifted you easily, turned to go back downstairs.

You looked back to the pipe organ, to the bench, how no dust marked the spot where you sat or where your fingers had pressed the keys.

Like leading up to that instrument and the space around it was set apart, sacred, tended to as if an altar.

“I’m hungry. What are you in the mood for?”

“I haven’t gotten tired of fish yet.”

“Well, that’s easy. What should we pair it with?”

“Whatever you want. Don’t you have desires?” You teased, retrieving your phone from the bathroom counter, a pair of compression socks, and going to sit across some piece of furniture you probably couldn’t name. Or maybe it just was some type of old style couch.

“I tend to be very in-touch with my desires.”

You chuckled, unlocking your phone and wondering where Mephisto went. But he was always appearing and disappearing. Maybe spending time with Lilith, who seemed to be afraid of boats, or… Something.

If something were seriously wrong then Sylus would tell you, right?

Maybe he wanted that time just to himself. But mephisto was there… it was better that way. One of them could watch over the house. Lilith was made for violence, and also really soft, and her white fluffy material was probably a pain to clean if it got dirty from fish guts or if she fell into the sea.

Part of you feared that Sylus thought you had hurt her, destroyed his gift or put it in a cage.

You needed a distraction while he was away in the kitchen, finally opening the messages.

Letting Zayne know that you were having a great time and were sorry he had to deal with your fucking meltdown about it.

And Rafayel—

I think somethings wrong with this seagull

Seagulls don’t look like that… You should give her to me.

I’m good with crows.

Shit, you were panicking. Never the one to double-text.

But you didn’t stop there, taking a picture of the ocean from where you sat, zooming in through the window across the room, that Sylus hadn’t even taken the time to cover yet.

You were all too preoccupied with spending what? Maybe a week? Less? Days and nights at sea, and in the rain and in the mud and in the ocean and in the past.

By the time Rafayel asked how he would even do that if you weren’t going to see him, the picture you took was already sending.

So you’re nearby? Looks like you need a photography lesson, too. It’s so blurry.

It was. You were shaking.

But it looked like Lilith was content, somehow in the studio, watching him paint.

Chapter Text

Sylus cooked fast.

Or maybe you were slow. More time passed than you had awareness of.

“You’re shaking.” He pressed a palm to your forehead, trying to find the cause.

He wrapped his own jacket over your shoulders, and the aroma of food followed.

“What is it?”

You passed him the phone, open to your conversation with Rafayel.

He chuckled under his breath, “She’s really forcing you to be social.”

“How did— What do I do?”

“Invite him over. Or offer to meet somewhere. Get him to invite you over. Whichever you prefer.”

You groaned barely, realizing that everything was fine. Just… Your own socal anxiety taking over the mental narrative.

“Eat with me. You’ll feel better.”

Sylus held out his hand, curled thr fingers toward himself.

You knew he was right.

Your phone was kept buzzing while you were trying to clean up.

“Go ahead,” Sylus excused you, just to calm your nerves or make you stop ignoring it.

“Hello?”

“Can you come get me? I’m outside. This place has so many doors, and they’re all in weird places.”

You rubbed your face, changed into outside clothes, slipped a pair of shoes on and wandered around the perimeter. There were no unfamiliar cars parked, no bikes either. Just… a guy standing alone on the beach.

“Rafayel? How did you get here?”

“Obviously, I swam,” he scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away. “So, what are you guys doing here, anyway? You didn’t come all this way out just to visit me.”

“Sylus wanted to go night fishing…”

“Oh, so what are you hoping to catch?” His hands were on his hips then, while he named at least twelve different creatures you probably couldn’t identify if it came down to matching them with a word bank.

“Ask him,” you shrugged.

A familiar weight settled on your shoulder. You’d know those claws anywhere.

“Lilith, what the fuck,” you hissed, bringing a hand up so she’d step onto your finger, so you could make her face you.

She only tilted her head, those green eyes showing no remorse. Innocence, feigned or not.

“Hm, don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”

“Thanks,” you sighed. “You knew?” You walked back to the door and held it open, aware that your time standing in one place was limited.

“I have a sixth sense for being watched, you could say. It’s why I ditch my own events early.”

He dramatically dropped down onto the old couch, turning to Sylus asking if he wanted a guide.

“What do you think, kitten? Back to sea already?”

“Is the weather good?”

“It will be,” Rafayel insisted.

“Sure, I’m down.” Sylus answered so easily.

It was just one night, you guessed, maybe two.

“Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer. I can practically command the ocean! You’ll be safe with me.”

He seemed to know where all the fish would be, what means were most effective on each of them.

He liked telling stories of ocean legends around the fire, or in the lamplight, and falling asleep at random times.

You leaned on the rail, looking down into the water. It was almost black tonight, the starlight occasionally glimmering between the clouds.

Sylus took one of your hands, rubbed his thumb in your palm. “You’ve been up for a while. Maybe it’s time to get some sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t need it.”

“Are you sick yet?”

Sylus turned his head slightly.

“Of this, or… me.”

“You just never believe it when I say I’m in touch with my desires, do you?”

You shook your head, looking out over the vast nothing.

Sometimes there were glimmers of red or green light, the crows’ as as they perched on a mast or flew around.

“Come on. Let me tell you a story.”

The coolers were already filled with fish, you supposed. He led you down to the coziest spot, pulled you up to rest your head on him.

“In our second life, I made you a wooden crow named Mephisto. We brought him out to sea. It was almost like this.”

“Do you want to see the studio?” Rafayel’s head tilted, waiting for an answer.

Yes. But….

“You can take the rollator.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You still have that thing?”

“Yes, we still have that thing. And we can try more mobility aids if you might like them better.”

You sighed, because Sylus was right. He always was.

You chewed the inside of your lip as he pulled it out of the boat, and tied it to the back of your tricycle.

“You remember how to use it, right? Brakes here. Folding and—”

Your face burned, dying to cut him off, but Rafayel was paying attention and confirming that he understood.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. This would be great for carrying art supplies, and saving my back.”

You looked off to the ocean, imagined walking into it and disappearing.

“You have a phone. You can text if you go non-verbal,” Sylus reasoned, low in your ear.

“Come on! Let’s go already,” Rafayel motioned with his head and started toward his tricycle, leading up to his home.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath, cutting Sylus an unserious glare as you walked past him.

Zayne had pulled him aside in the garden to ask about mobility aids. He was confident that a rollator would work best, the kind that could be used as a transport chair as well.

“We have one. I can’t promise it’ll actually get used, though. That’s not up to me.”

Zayne glanced to you then, sitting on the bench and catching moths on your hand.

You belonged there.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad.

Rafayel showed you his current project first. The canvas was twice his height, a ladder in front of it.

His place was messier in person than in photos. Paintbrushes scattered along the floor, half-eaten apples in the couch.

It was funny, just looking at him had given the impression that he really cared about cleanliness and could easily be a neat freak about it.

“Hmm… No, I still feel rather dull about this one. Needs more inspiration before I can work on it.”

It was impossible to tell whether there was truth in that, or he just wanted to show off the landscape, or pile sketchbooks and paints into the rollator’s storage.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, pushing the thing up a rocky slope.

“Yeah, yeah. But you’ll be thanking me in a couple minutes.”

There was a point to it. The view from that rock that seemed to hover over the sea was immaculate. It felt like drifting on a cloud, untethered.

“Okay, the brakes… There. Let’s get started.”

It seemed like twenty minutes of just observing. Staring out to where the sky met the horizon, to all the clouds above in their cotton candy formations, and the reflections among distant waves.

“You feeling inspired yet?” he asked, finally reaching for some paints and a pallet to mix the onto.

“What kind of paint is that?” It didn’t look like anything he used before.

“Oh, these… I mixed them myself, from all kinds of things. Lots of pigments come from earth. Dirt, rocks, even mummy bandages… Could be pretty much anything.”

You looked back out to the clouds, how they moved and disappeared and gathered out of nothing.

“Here. Just try something, it’ll feel less awkward for me.” Rafayel chose the supplies for you, a tiny flat canvas and a handful of paints.

You kind of tried to draw what was in front of you. But it glazed over in a storm, with dark sky, sheets of rain, and reflections on the rock that matched a cotton candy sky. Little lights like fireflies, scattered across the air, varying shades of something like pink.

You let some light crack the sky, as well. Beneath the black, it looked red.

You put it to the side and set your gaze back on the actual sky. It was getting darker. Maybe that meant Sylus would be waking up soon.

He was somehow good at maintaining a sleep schedule, even when you destroyed it.

Rafayel sighed, “I’m tired. Let’s go back soon.”

Chapter Text

The beach was nice.

But you really, really missed Eclipse.

It seemed like every day you were almost begging Luke and Kieran to videocall with them, and it was easier to hold back when you didn’t know where your phone was.

Often, they had already sent pictures, videos, memes of your cat by the time you went to open the messages.

You didn’t want to beg to go home. This place felt like home, and Sylus was happy here, and Lilith was having fun.

It was nice to hang out with Rafayel, too.

He seemed too energetic for you to keep up with at the hospital, but you realized he was just impulsive. His desire to engage in any activity was pretty short-lived. Even if his stamina out-performed yours, his boredom easily sabotaged it.

Castles were built in the sand, big enough to lounge in. He decorated the walls with shells and sea glass. His fire evol burned the surface into something more resilient, sort of glossy.

“It’s nice here,” you murmured, laying across a bench on the back wall, watching as the tide drew nearer.

“Yeah, it is. Why do you sound sad?”

“…I miss my cat.”

“Hm, of all reasons to get homesick…”

There was a tear in your heart, between this isolated beach and the N109 Zone. It sucked that you sucked at traveling.

Sylus was keeping watch for upcoming air pressure changes, little details of the weather that could send a flare.

He also had to keep an eye on other things. Conflicts that needed to be settled, reclaiming things that had been stolen from him. Keeping the search for aether cores not worth their efforts, and rumors unfounded. Keeping Onychinus protected.

As much as the organization could function, some encounters just needed his presence personally.

Which was, kind of, on the way.

He could make it work. Give you time to recalibrate in between drives.

That is, if you wanted to.

It could allow time for a day or two more before parting.

“Sweetie,” Sylus held your hand a bit tighter.

“Hmm?” You turned to look up at him, sitting next to you in a coffee shop.

“Zayne asked you a question.”

“Oh, sorry,” you looked across the table to him.

“You seem distracted.”

“I got an aura… Sometimes they are misleading, though.”

“How much time do you have? I was asking if you’d like to go somewhere first. There are museums nearby, but we can visit them later.”

“Maybe a few hours? I don’t know.”

“Another time, then. We’ll keep things quiet until it passes.”

You rested your face in your hand, holding back from an apology because those guys would turn it into an argument or a lecture.

The smell of coffee and coffee cakes lingered all around. It was nice to take in, like a candle studio. Coffee was beans and caffeine and sugar and dairy and all forbidden.

Zayne had ordered a fruit drink for you before it could sell out. Promised that it was safe; he watched them make it. That was nice.

You were kind of savoring it. Kind of too nervous to eat in a place this crowded. Kind of didn’t want to get sick on the ride to Zayne’s place.

There was something Sylus had better attend to, in his words. Getting called into work to clean up a mess, was something Zayne seemed to relate to.

At least it was planned ahead this time. He might have taken off work for this; you couldn’t tell.

“Take care, Sweetie,” Sylus hugged you goodbye, ignoring the disgusted look you gave at the rollator when it was moved into the trunk of Zayne’s car.

The last thing you needed was a sign on your back saying I’m Vulnerable, You Can Take Advantage of Me!

Mobility aids draw attention. It isn’t safe. There is no disappearing into the background.

You sat in resentment, hugging your pillow silently until Zayne pointed out the parks and museums. They were only a few minutes away from his apartment. Maybe it would work out.

“Stop glaring at it.”

Zayne closed the trunk and took the folded rollator inside while you slung a backpack over your shoulders and carried the drink inside, through the elevator to the fourth floor.

He gave you a brief tour while putting some blankets in the dryer, refilling your water and drawing all the curtains shut.

“Your plants have some growth,” he commented as you passed by.

“Do you want to keep them?” It wasn’t fair that they were left with him, and no flowers would come out of it. You weren’t sure any of them would manage to survive with you.

“Maybe a couple. But the rest belong to you.”

He turned the lighting into a dim green. Said there was a study that it helped with migraines, reduced pain, to lay in a room with no other lights for 2 hours a day. That over time, it might be worth doing.

Your eyes lingered on something off, a mechanical piece among the wood.

“It’s a pull-up bar. Don’t try it, there’s a good chance you’ll pass out.”

You reached an arm up and looked at him, like how the hell would you ever reach that in the first place?

“I guess we don’t need to take precautions then.” He reached the bar easily, lifted his knees to his chest and hung on it for a second like he had to prove that’s all it was. That his hallway wasn’t harboring a transformer.

The frozen drink was starting to make you shiver, ever grateful for the hospital training Zayne to believe that warm blankets should always be available.

He flipped the living room couch into a sort of sofa bed and asked how you normally manage migraines.

“Guess I just hide until it’s over,” you shrugged, crawling onto his couch with the blanket around your shoulders.

It was lined with room-temperature throws and pillows. Soft.

Your eye began to droop, your head felt like lead. Too heavy to hold on your shoulders, too uncomfortable thrown back against the couch.

“It’ll get worse if you fight it.”

You exhaled sharply, throwing yourself down to hopefully curl up and find a comfortable position. But your shoulders didn’t know where to go, and your back bent wrong, and everything just felt off.

You hated that.

It was better to feel pain than overstimulated.

You tried to focus on that. But even the throb beneath the skull was a shit flavor.

“Can you lie on your back? It’s better for the spine. Here,” Zayne got you to mold into his suggestion. Your knees still bent, feet flat on the couch, the pillow you had in the car held tight against your chest.

lt was a good object to have with you. Especially when sudden, loud noises could happen at any time. Traffic was unpredictable, painfully loud vehicles passing by, your chest stabbing with every heartbeat, adrenaline coursing through your body like it was being hunted.

Holding that against it, having it ready to tighten your hold on, made the reaction weaker. Muffled.

You hadn’t thought to bring it into the hotel before. And this time you didn’t think to leave it in Sylus’ car.

Zayne didn’t say anything about it.

Part of him worried that it felt your organs might fall out of place without it. But that would be evidenced by the way you walked around. And so far, it was only held close when you were on your back or in the car.

It was more likely a comfort object. Something to induce a calming pressure, without feeling like you were being tied up.

The comb was still latched onto your bottle, too.

Several coping tools all within your reach, carried with you. He was glad to see it.

You were still in pain, though. Beginning to wince with no external stimulation.

“I have an emesis bag if you become nauseated.”

You barely shook your head, deciding that motion was not worth it. “That would make it too easy.”

Zayne rubbed patterns into your forehead with his fingertips. It seemed to help, the tension leaving your face, eyes moving behind the lids.

The back of his other hand touched the side of your face, just holding your aching head in his lap.

“That helps,” you mumbled. “ I didn’t know.”

“It might be the same principle as the birthing comb. Adding another sensation to compete with the first. Though some people find that there are points which relieve the pain, when pressure is applied.”

You hummed, like maybe you wanted to be distracted with conversation too.

You covered your mouth and turned away to yawn. Maybe it could be slept off, if you weren’t too pissed off at the tears rolling down your face, trying and failing to absorb them with the back of your hand.

Zayne smoothed out the rest, then went back to massaging across your forehead.

“Have you been to a dentist?” he asked, “It might be a good idea. Considering—”

You didn’t think so. “No one gets to see that,” you muttered, holding the pillow tighter.

“Really? Not even—”

“That doesn’t count,” you huffed, “I was going through withdrawals.”

Your list of barriers to examination were hard to get through. Unable to tolerate the blood pressure cuff, panicking when your abdomen was palpated for for approximately three seconds, and refusing to open your mouth…

Zayne worked with difficult patients every day. Some even refused pulse oximeters, because displaying their heart rate is an invasion of privacy.

It was funny, those same patients were fine with stethoscopes, which could tell that much and a lot more.

Maybe in their case, it was from having outlived pulse oximeters. They weren’t even routinely used during surgery until the 1990s, and thousands of lives had been saved because of it.

Just a gentle pressure and red light on a finger was too much for some patients.

You, at least, tried to work with him. Tried to make sense of your hesitance, or offer solutions to work around it.

It wasn’t enough. You rolled onto your side, trying to take deep breaths as the pain grew.

“Is there any chance you would try a medication for pain relief?”

“Zayne,” you breathed, “I’m an addict. I don’t know what it’s to. Sometimes I fantasize about finding out. Buying drugs and trying them all. Or just… I want to take apart the walls to find whatever the fuck I crave. But I don’t want to go back there. I don’t actually miss…”

“Okay,” he said softly, accepting your answer.

You were trying to catch your breath though, grimacing from an invisible enemy inside your head.

Zayne knew your grandmother. Their families were friends.

He could visit. Have a chance to comb through the house, look for any evidence or residue.

But was he ready for what he might find?

And couldn’t he at least suffer that much?

Or maybe you would resent it. Consider that an invasion of privacy.

If the address changed, then maybe he could ask the neighbors. See what your so-called grandmother was doing now.

Zayne didn’t want to believe it was Caleb who had done those things.

Someone that he knew. Could picture in his mind’s eye, could hear his grating voice as it belittled and groomed you.

Looking back now, it felt obvious. The blood crawled beneath his skin, threatening to simmer.

But Zayne’s hands were cool, drawing the blanket up as you began to shiver.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I know how to make it right…”

You didn’t hum, didn’t offer any response. Didn’t claw at your skin. Just had your fingers interlocked together, seeking a shred of comfort in a sea of pain.

He tried to lessen it. But your body had decided that was too much. It needed to cut off and disappear for a while, see what being unconscious had to offer.

It felt like amnesia.

Like you had no idea whether you were just awake or asleep.

It was kind of unsettling to spawn into place. maybe it should be, but you felt used to it.

Though you couldn’t name a single time it had happened before.

The glow of the ceiling was unfamiliar. Green. Something trailed just below your lip. A hand.

An instant later, and it happened again.

A second of missing time. Or really, it might have been anything. A skip in the fabric.

All you knew was that you were panting facedown, held up on your elbows, staring at Zayne’s couch while your vision pulsed black around the edges.

You looked to the side and he was there— a thick formation of ice gluing his back and side to the coffee table.

“What the fuck,” you breathed, collapsing back on your side.

It was a rush of adrenaline, or some fuckass chemicals that made the blood churn through your arms like it was sour and expired, like it fermented the muscles and bones in your legs, heart racing to nowhere.

“Is this always how you wake up from a migraine?” he asked, staying where he was.

“No? I… did I throw you there?”

“It seems you were right. For the dentists’ sake, it is best that you don’t visit them.”

“I was… I didn’t know I had a fight response,” you mumbled. It was good that no weapons were involved. Right?

“I’m glad to see that you do. How is the pain? Or do you want to talk about it?”

You shrugged, “Guess it’s better now.”

Really you didn’t know much of anything.

“Are you waiting for that to melt?”

“Not exactly.” The ice burst apart, disappeared like dust in the air as he sat down on the somehow dry coffee table. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know,” you made yourself small, like a shrimp sat in the corner of the sofa.

“I’ll… give you some space.”

Your throat was dry, but you felt sick.

The drink had mostly melted. You couldn’t tell whether Zayne had used his evol to keep it from getting warm. No idea how much time had passed.

The epi… the bag… One of the vomit bags that seemed to follow him around had fallen to the floor.

It was all too easy.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t what you wanted. Fuck.

You felt suffocated, stuck in your own skin, like a rockslide had left everything inside it disjointed, misplaced.

There was a sick thrill in indulging, though. In drinking as fast as you could, in feeling the bag grow, its wrinkles spread, the weight grow in your hand.

This was sick. You were sick.

And you weren’t going to put it on your chart.

Fuck, your head was spinning. Vision dark. And the dim green lights didn’t help. The colors of your own belongings were unrecognizable. It was nothing like the red glow you were used to.

You shoved the bag into the empty drink cup, even though it was clear. Or maybe you should have put it into your backpack, hidden that until you could throw it directly into a dumpster or a gas station trash can.

But it was sticky now, covered in juice and you were not going to touch it.

You wanted to go sit outside. But could you remember how to get there? And back again?

At least you should throw the cup away in his kitchen.

Your stomach felt raw, inside out, especially when you stood up.

“Fuck,” you whispered, falling back onto the couch.

You wanted to bleed. Wanted to feel something better than this.

But it would be too obvious, too suspicious, too much of a reason to be incarcerated for.

Facedown on the couch, you hugged the pillow to your chest, willing your life to be different, wishing away the fact that you’d just purged so damn easily.

You didn’t want to do this.

You wanted to feel clean, didn’t you?

And now fruit sugar mixed with stomach acid stuck to your teeth.

It only made you feel worse.

Chills got stuck in your skin.

You kicked a blanket over yourself, something to hide under, to wish that you could disappear or reemerge as someone else.

Your head was throbbing, vision dark with pulsing bruises.

At least a migraine could make you blackout again.

Zayne waited for you to get up. To seek socialization first.

He passed the time with a nap and a book. The apartment was quiet when he woke.

There were no texts from you on his phone. Judging from the heart monitor, you were asleep.

It was midday, but he doubted sleep schedules existed for either of you. Two people who took a moment for sleep when the chance arose, for very different reasons.

He glanced in from the kitchen. Your body was covered like a corpse, but rising and falling with each breath.

When had you last eaten?

He should make something, but the noise could be excruciating. You might have more safe foods and fears than he was aware of; it was better if you could be involved in the process.

Your body was frozen, muscles rigid. It was hot and suffocating under the blanket, but you couldn’t move.

Logically, you tried to talk yourself out of that. You could get up. It was fine.

But the fear of being observed pinned you down. You needed to be invisible, alone, at least for the first ten minutes or something. You couldn’t get up and have attention.

You wanted to sink into the floor.

Even after his quiet footsteps retreated down the hall, when you heard a door close and some distant noise of a keyboard, then…

It was still hard to get up. Like you weighed ten billion stone, had to rub your fingers and flex your hand until eventually you were free from the burial.

You felt disgusting. Managed to swallow the half of water remaining in your bottle, refill it, rinse your mouth. It had been long enough, you could brush your teeth without eroding them away. Smell less like vomit. And the trash…

Shit. Your trash was missing, but Zayne gave you the bag thinking that a migraine could make you vomit, so really, he preemptively gave you that alibi.

It was so awfully quiet in here. The buzzing of electricity, hum of appliances, a neighbor doing laundry.

Your senses were still obnoxiously heightened, but they didn’t feel so much like swords anymore.

You chewed your thumb, wondering if you should have brought Lilith inside, if you could have explained that to Zayne.

You pulled your phone out thinking of texting Sylus to ask, but realized you didn’t have the guts to face your crow. She could entertain herself with whatever the fuck was outside.

Did I hurt you?

You texted Zayne instead.

The ice was from his own evol, a defense mechanism, his own reaction to whatever the fuck yours was.

You’d never seen it used like that before. It was nothing like the snowy creatures that formed in the palm of his hand.

No. I’m fine, you don’t need to apologize.

You didn’t reply.

“I mean it. Don’t worry about it.” His voice was as warm and cool and sincere as ever.

You took the digit out of your mouth. It was so easy to bite your nails, it was so easy to purge the food that was given to you.

But it didn’t make you any cleaner, just the opposite.

“I’m not a good person to be around,” you apologized.

“That, I disagree with.” He sat down on the opposite corner of the couch.

You were facing Zayne, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“Would you like something to eat? I have the ingredients, we can make toast or pancakes, even.”

You shook your head. “Do you believe in bloodletting?”

“Don’t do that.”

“It seems to help,” you muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something infected… Dirty in me. And purging can’t get it out. But after it’s drawn…”

“I think that’s just dopamine from facing fears. Let me ask you something. Does menstruating also relieve the feeling?”

You wanted it to. Hoped that the blood could wash away the fingernails that felt lodged into the walls. But…

“Not really.”

“So that proves it isn’t about the blood loss, then.”

Not only that, but you often had a week of hardly being able to stand up afterward. And then a week of especially strong and constant migraines.

There were options to stop your period, but going on birth control would take you back physiologically. And the fallout of that on your world would be worse.

“What is this about?”

“I… Something is rotting under my skin, and I can’t dig it out.” Tears stung behind your eyes. But they were dry.

“It’s psychological,” he whispered.

“I just want to feel clean.”

“Would a shower help?”

You shrugged. It probably would, to some degree, but facing your body and all its pain after purging… It felt like slabs of flesh would fall off under the water.

“You’re weak,” he said softly. “It would be easier if you eat something light first.”

You reached for your bag, digging out the one container of powder that you would consume. You might live off of it.

“Food hurts. Don’t try to include me.”

“Sure.”

You followed Zayne to the kitchen, where he read the label for how many ounces of water should be mixed with it, then got a cup down from the shelf.

You fought yourself to keep standing, to breath normally, to not trip over gravity.

That was all you ever did. Trip over gravity. Even when the evol user was gone, his ghost lived on, as a poltergeist in your body.

“You don’t have to perform for me. Just make yourself at home, as comfortably as you can.”

Even free from the blankets, your skin was still burning. A fire you couldn’t put out.

And your hands were shaking, but at least you didn’t spill the drink.

It was kind of like tobacco. A burn of its own, some smooth spice, a gritty powder reminiscent of ash.

You had gotten to smoke on the rooftop. But before the cig was finished, you were shivering from the cold, even if it was warm outside.

And then you got stupidly sick for a week.

And if it was all coincidence, then it was weird that it happened twice.

You probably weren’t supposed to have nicotine. Alcohol was banned.

What was the point in fucking trying when you were a drain on everyone who wanted you around? Was it fun to see someone struggle with something for months that would take the average person five minutes on their bad day?

“Don’t say things like that.” Zayne put your empty cup on the table.

“You always say I should talk about…”

“You’re right. Go ahead.”

“There’s nothing to say,” you muttered.

Chapter Text

“Your face is all twisted up. It’s so tense.”

Your hand preemptively grabbed Zayne’s wrist before he could reach out, keeping it at arm’s length in front of you.

“What can I do?”

Having your own thighs pressed against your chest wasn’t enough.

Your breaths were far too shallow, practically just a pulse.

It was like you failed to even notice.

It sucked needing to communicate yourself. When all you wanted to do was cave in and disappear for a week or longer, to isolate until you felt a bit better.

Maybe you felt dirty before purging, but after, it was like twigs and rough dirt were scraping and stabbing around inside you. They did nothing to clear the bile.

“Can I go outside?” Your voice was pathetic, a sort of vibrato to it.

“Let’s go.” It was almost a whisper, but the security in his voice never wavered.

You needed the air, the vast expanse of nothing.

Zayne unfolded the rollator and stood by the door while you were still putting shoes on.

But he pushed the device himself, waited until the elevator was empty to ask if you’d learned how to use it.

You just shrugged, rolled your eyes to stare at the wall.

But your posture was curled in, trying to spare your abdomen from attacking you the way it had sometimes.

Leaning down on something might be nice.

“Does that thing even get tall enough for you?”

It looked weird. Not exactly comical, but like it would become painful quickly.

“If I said no, would you take it off my hands?”

“Idiot,” you sighed, placing your hands on the handles, testing the brakes in your fist as he stepped aside.

The doors opened, and he continued with a tour.

“The courtyard is through here.”

Zayne held the door open and you winced before light could hit you, dreading the inevitable of being perceived.

“It’s quiet around this time. Though kids might come out to play in a few hours, they usually stay off past that tree. Would you like me to stay?”

You shook your head, fumbling for words that might not reach your mouth if they formed.

“I’ll give you some space.” He didn’t seem to take it personally, just… Disappeared.

You sat across a bench under a tree. There was a book, a journal, your phone. Things to at least pretend you were busy with.

But in the end, you couldn’t even fake it. Curling in on yourself again, fidgeting with your shoe while sunlight danced through the leaves.

A familiar flutter of white landed by your feet. You stroked the back of the crow’s head absentmindedly for a while.

Your head snapped when someone walked by in your peripheral, across the courtyard.

Lilith flew off, and your body seized up, the need to disappear consuming, until it drove you to push the rollator back inside, to the elevator.

Your mind went blank after that. Texting Zayne that you didn’t remember what floor he was on was all you could do, sitting down on the mobility aid to wait for a response.

It was convenient to have a seat anywhere. To have something to keep your things on that wouldn’t dig a strap into your shoulder.

But you kept your gaze to the floor, waiting for the familiar footsteps after he replied.

The building was U-shaped, and you had ended up on the opposite side of it. The plant that Zayne had offered as a landmark was nowhere in sight. But the last thing you needed was his comment on a missing sense of direction.

It would have been faster to cut across the courtyard. But maybe you had a reason for switching sides, got scared of something. It didn’t seem like a good time for that conversation, so he just led the way through the elevator that you found, then through the curving hallways on his floor.

You coughed into your shoulder while he unlocked the door. It seemed you were holding back, still uncomfortable.

You really didn’t want him to worry or ask to look at your throat. It still itched, but you tried to swallow it. To explain with your hands that you weren’t sick, probably just burned your esophagus while purging.

Many words and phrases in that language had their own gestures. For example, vomit, throw up, puke, might all be identical, if they had one.

But anything could be conveyed through phonetic hand signs.

And you sounded out purge.

It didn’t hit you at first, too preoccupied with sitting on the floor and trying to extinguish the way it felt raw and torn up, knowing that the sip of water might only add to heartburn.

Maybe he’d known already. Screwed off the cap to that blue bag before throwing it away, seeing or smelling that the contents had only stayed in your stomach for a matter of seconds.

At least now you didn’t have to pretend.

I’m an addict, Zayne. I don’t think i can throw up unless it’s on purpose.

“I see. So, what do you want to do?”

Shower. Shave my head. I feel dirty when it grows.

“Okay,” he said softly, “but you’re shaking. Can you handle it yourself?”

It could took several attempts over the span of a week if you shaved your own head. It was easiest if it was done every day. If it grew too long then you’d have to clean the blades constantly, and replace them by the time it was finished.

So you tried to grow it out a few times, but it always felt like hell.

You just shook your head, forehead still in your palm, heart already racing from just sitting upright, even if your legs were crossed.

“You should lie down for a while, first. Put your feet up. Then, if you want help… Just ask.”

Zayne passed you your pillow, and somehow holding that gave you the courage to move into a better position.

He changed the lights to a more natural shade, the warm glow of lamplight.

It was manageable now, but it could get worse. You needed to shower while you could still bear it.

But when you tried to sit up, your arms were shaking horribly. The chance missed already. Your vision would go dark before the water even turned on.

But you refused to just lie back down, spinning until your back could rest against the couch.

“Here.”

You turned to see two drinks in his hand. A bottled smoothie, or coconut water.

You took the latter. It was always the safest option.

It was embarrassing how your hands shook to open it. How your chest felt constricted and burnt. You tried to focus, subtly invited Zayne to sit next to you.

It felt like using him just for someone to lean into. Your vision pulsed, and you managed to have a drink.

Even if what you really wanted was a week to curl up in a corner without eating anything.

You tried to breathe evenly, to push away the dread, to not believe that returning to your worst state was imminent.

It was impossible to tell whether you felt hot or cold. Just that his arm around you was steady.

I’m sorry I ruined this, you signed.

In a way, this was better.

Zayne got to see the way things were when you would typically hide away.

You leaned into his chest like it was exhausting and fragile just to breathe. Like you were afraid to.

He took a deep breath, hoping yours would subconsciously follow.

You were shivering, needed a shower to reset. But time was limited.

Zayne could heat the bathroom, could offer soapy cloths, even the kind that doesn’t need to be rinsed, only wiped dry with a towel.

You could use hotter water if it wouldn’t be constantly pelting your body.

It made up for the time spent under a warm shower, while the hair was scraped off and rinsed away.

There was hardly anything to remove. Your scalp had felt like sandpaper with how little had grown in.

“Of course,” he said softly when you signed a thank you.

He stayed in the room while you pried your knees away from your chest, doing your best to feel clean without straining too hard.

You shut the water off, clutching the back of the shower chair.

Even his towels were warm.

You were worn out, at least content that the surface of your skin felt clean, accepting any help that he offered. Drying off, getting dressed. It was less vulnerable than fainting.

Your legs were weak, arm around his shoulder while Zayne carried you to bed, arranged the pillows, set several drinks on the nightstand, along with your bag.

Maybe sleep could fix you. You could hope.

Even though you said before that it was always fine, he still asked before getting a stethoscope out.It was kind of funny, the way it felt like a black hole where your heart should be. You didn’t want to know what he was hearing.

Especially when the bell was on your back. You had to focus on the slight pressure of metal on skin, instead.

“What is it?”

Your hair looks soft. It always did.

“Would you like to touch it?”

You pulled him in to lay on your chest, run your fingers through it.

The sheets, his hair, smelled especially like him. You didn’t need him to speak to remind you this was Zayne.

After a while, his fingers traced the monitor on your chest.

“Can we give your skin a break from this?”It had been there for a long time. Zayne hadn’t complained before; he liked being able to see that your heart was still beating.

Although sometimes you seemed to be telling him everything, he could never trust that was the case. Even when you were most consistent with the chart, it was rarely filled for a week straight. Other times, entire weeks were missing.

He applied something to first loosen the adhesive. Beneath it, the skin looked red, sensitive, as if burned.

You never flinched though, not even when he smoothed something over it that was supposed to aid healing. He covered the area with a light bandage, something that could breathe without the ointment smearing onto anything else.

“Are you sure that feels okay?”

You assumed it would be more comfortable for him. Maybe that didn’t make sense, since the monitor was glued over your sternum, and might not press into his skull anyway.

“You just want me here to smell my hair.”

Whether that was a joke or a lighthearted accusation, you couldn’t tell. Only sign where he could see it,

Smelling you reminds me where I am.

The texture of his hair was nice through your fingers, too.

Another day passed like that; you slept together or Zayne would read while lying on your chest.

He worried about your intake, knowing that any kind of feeding tube would be traumatic, whether it was stabbed through your stomach wall from the outside, or threaded down the back of your throat through a nostril.

Thankfully, you were willing to drink your food, so long as it was watered down enough. Hydration wasn’t so much of a concern then, either.

You trembled less, but stayed low-energy.

Chapter Text

You were shaken from a dreamless slumber, Zayne’s hand on your shoulder. Eerie shrieks were rattling the windows.

“It’s just wind, for the time being. I was called into the hospital. You can come with, and just hang out in my office. There are no outpatients today; no one should bother you. Or if you want to stay here—”

Light flickered, then it was dark. All light coming from a twisted grey sky. His bedroom was silent but for siren-like howls, a clatter of dust and debris on the windows.

“The generator should be able to handle it… Roads might get blocked. And a freak snowstorm is possible—”

“I’ll go.”

You stretched carefully, taking stock of your body’s current condition before daring to sit up.

“It’s a lot colder than the last time… Do you have anything to wear?”

You had a long jumpsuit, one with thumbholes on the sleeves. It fit over what you were already wearing.

“It’s not bad. But the wind will cut through it… I have more than enough coats. You can pick one out.”

At least you had hats… The balaclava was wrinkled, forgotten in the bottom of your backpack.

“Ready? Let’s go.”

He didn’t make you use the rollator, but had it folded and slung on his back, kept an arm around you through the hallway, past the elevator.

His evol could save it from crashing, but not from getting stuck.

“We had better take the stairs. I’ll carry you.”

He made three flights of stairs look easy. You hid your face in his neck while Zayne kept his pace stable and never faltered, only slowing to open a door and place you on the passenger seat.

It looked like the end of the world. That should be a comfort to you.

But this time, it wasn’t.

You hugged the pillow while he drove through deserted streets, around fallen trees and the air became scribbled white.

It wasn’t your vision this time. Inside the car was clear. But through the windows, you could see the wind itself. Or maybe it was fine dust-like snow the whole time, slowly growing.

Zayne didn’t seem to react to it. Still calm as he apologized for the sudden change in plans, as if emergencies and climate change were his responsibility.

He already had a phone charger there, a tablet, speakers. Asked if there was anything he should bring in before the surgery, like watercolor paints or some type of game.

Rafayel had given you a small set, said it was better off with someone who might use it. He was too invested in making his own paints. Was it still in your backpack?

Wind cut at the sliver of your exposed skin. Being carried to the car had saved you before, being able to hide your face against Zayne’s neck.

It was disorienting, trying to cross the parking lot when gusts would push against you like a quickly-changing tide, never knowing where to over compensate your weight to balance it out. But it was manageable with your arm in his.

There was a single beep, a green dot of light, the click of an unlocking door when Zayne scanned his badge. It wasn’t far from there to his office.

He hung up the coats to dry, said it would be more comfortable to change out of since they held the cold, covered in snow that would soon melt.

Your heart raced while he left for a moment, returning with a few warm blankets.

“I don’t want to make you late,” you muttered.

“The patient has yet to arrive. You still have several minutes of my time.”

You rubbed at your eyes, trying to summon the strength to do what he said. The jumpsuit was freezing against your legs, until you managed to pry it off, finding that your clothing underneath was still dry.

Zayne hung that up as well, and you saw that a blanket was fitted over the exam table, with a few more folded on top. It was closer to the floor now. You sat on it easily, wrapping a blanket around yourself.

Your rollator was next to the door, with a printed map and a key in the storage space. Zayne moved fast.

“In case you want to go for a walk. I can’t say how many hours it will take,” he explained, while pushing the chairs together into a makeshift sort of couch. "I expect to be back in less than six."

His desk was locked, candies hidden in his pocket, everything pretty much in order.

“Hand lotion and eye drops are on the table, in case you need them. It’s easy to get dry skin in this weather, or if you wash your hands as much as I do.”

“How do you…”

“Put eye drops in? Here, I’ll show you. Just let gravity do the work. Tilt your head back far enough, keep your eye open, and it goes right in.”

You squinted suspiciously, like it couldn’t be that easy. Doesn’t Zayne have eyelashes?

“Do you want help again? Lie down.”

You did immediately, afraid of taking up too much time. Plus your eyes really hurt, it was hard to keep them open.

“Try to relax all the muscles in your face,” Zayne rested his palm on it gently, and you followed instructions. But the tension around your eyes was impossible to release completely.

“Good. Now, look up for me.”

You did, and the bottle was there, pointed and ominous and it always scared you into blinking. But the drops were already in.

“Stop blinking. Just relax,” he repeated the process, laying the weight of his hand to aid, and getting the drops in your other eye before it could close.

You breathed a sigh of relief that it was successful, that you hadn’t fucked it up this time.

“There. I knew you could handle it.”

You’re really good at that.

Zayne laughed under his breath, “Do you have any questions?” as he got the tablet and speaker out.

“Do you want anything for when you’re back?”

“I like having something to eat and being able to sit down, but considering the weather… We might have to settle for the cafeteria.”

All the world was grey, it seemed. Washed-out and white, or beige, or some other color that was too light to count for anything. You missed the black ceilings.

Zayne’s office wasn’t as bare and blank as the hallways, there was some color in it. The furniture was something between blue and green, but still… Light enough to feel sterile, faded.

It was nothing like his apartment, with warm tones and deep woods, it felt like it had a soul. Though the green lights didn’t go with it at all, and they didn’t seem like him either.

You supposed this was just the same; it was meant to be functional, not inspired design.

The most interesting thing here was the window. You pushed off the exam table, to push the blinds away and see what was making so much noise. Music wouldn’t drown this out, would it?

Green dots of light were moving on the other side, surrounded by a white haze. You couldn’t see the parking lot, couldn’t see a single car, or whether this wall was even facing it.

“Lilith? Fuck, what are you doing here?” You breathed, searching the frame for a way to open it, for any alarms you might have to disable first.

It was just a simple lock, you hoped, willing no alarm system to sound.

It was quiet. She stepped onto your hand, and you made her sit on top of your hanging jumpsuit as soon as the glass was sealed.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you muttered. “Are you hurt?”

She didn’t seem like it, but you went to call Sylus anyway, and hung up when you remembered that he was busy. The call probably didn’t go through, between the short amount of time and the storm.

Your hands were freezing, luring you back to the blankets that were losing heat. Hiding beneath them to get warm, you had no intention of getting something to do. At least you had your phone.

And missed messages from Rafayel to tell him when you were home.

“There you are! And here I thought you forgot all about me.”

“Did you have to call as soon as you saw the typing dots?”

He scoffed, “Well, I’ve been waiting. How many days does it take to travel?”

“There’s… Traffic and stuff.”

“Yeah, I bet. So, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. Finally had a moment of nothing. You have it. My nothing—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re bored. So check your messages.”

A pause.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad at me.”

“You… Took pictures?”

“It would ruin the moment if a camera were on your mind.”

Rafayel hung up on you, said you should be on the phone with Sylus instead.

If he let you finish that thought…

With the way that Lilith was linked with Mephisto, her wellbeing was not dependent on your report.

"Can't believe you're dry already," you mumbled, hands warming under her wings.

You wanted to call him anyway, to take your mind off of things.

It kept wandering back to what Zayne was doing. Cutting someone open, rearranging something inside of them, installing a foreign body or cutting something out…

It creeped you out. The image of looming over someone helpless, with a scalpel and a mask.

Could you live with that? What if it happened to you?

You needed to prevent it. To stop being such a coward and learn how to breathe properly.

So you wrote a note. Like a student passing notes in class, he could write his reply and you could read it later, when the teacher wasn’t watching, or… The shadow of fear wasn’t swallowing you whole.

“What is this about?”

You said… Your brows furrowed, confused. That time, just before I left.

“Back then? I was asking why you breathe as if you are not. If it’s to make yourself invisible, or if that feels as if it protects your organs?”

….Oh.

They aren’t going to collapse?

“That isn’t… While it may be widely believed, we don’t have studies to support those claims. It may be correlation instead of causation. People with connective tissue disorders are at risk, and they also might breathe differently, so as to prevent their ribs from slipping out of place.”

Oh.

“Were you afraid of that, all this time?”

You turned away, trying to hide from the heat of embarrassment in your face and the tears of relief stinging your skull.

Zayne made an effort to read people, to always be aware of his surroundings, of the little things that patients might not be bringing up.

He might put the most effort into reading you.

What he saw was shadows of pain and fear, lurking beneath. He couldn’t pry them out of you. Only hope to bait them out with a safe place to confide in.

“Breathing techniques are still a useful tool. We can try some together.”

You nodded once.

Chapter Text

Is this what you wanted?

He guessed not.

Due to the circumstances, Zayne was on-call at the hospital. It meant he got to rest his eyes, to sit on one of the chairs in his office, while you laid across the row he pushed together.

Your legs were across his lap this time, head on your own pillow.

"Is it wrong to assume that you're avoiding me?"

You didn't respond. But he knew you were awake.

"Is there something you'd like to change?"

"You don't smell like yourself here. I don't want to freeze you again."

"That's what you're afraid of?"

You shrugged and pulled the balaclava up to rub your eyelids, squinting at the pads of your fingers and then doing it again. Did you think there was blood?

Nothing was on your hand. But your breaths grew more harsh.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, and your eyes became glassy.

"It's fine. I am proficient in self-defense. You do not need to worry worry about hurting me. Besides, it seems like the one who is in pain, is you."

You looked at his face then, maybe searching for something.

Zayne had been told that his expressions held no secrets, and revealed nothing. It made him an outcast as a student, but was a skill he didn't need to learn for his career.

Only now, he wished he knew how to show something. To soften his features into obvious sincerity.

He tried to guess what you saw, but you covered your face with your palm, and breathed heavy. Like a heavy stone was on your chest.

"I know it prob… just migraine…"

But you didn't look convinced. Wiping the bit of tear shed from the corner of your eye, and squinting at it again.

"Would it make you feel better if I check?"

"Would you?" you whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around the pillow.

"Of course," he answered softly. "Remember not to look into the light."

The room was dark already, by normal standards. But the photons it held stung regardless.

He lifted your legs enough to slide out from under them, then kneeled down by your head.

"Look up," one of his hands rubbed an arc across your forehead in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Then he guided your focus with the tip of a finger.

You stared toward it, squinting a little as his pen light danced around your peripheral.

"It's just a migraine. Your eyes are not hurt."

You exhaled in relief and murmured a "thanks", twisting in attempt to have the pillow under your head and against your chest at the same time.

"You haven't been drinking enough… Have you?"

Not really.

It scared you still. Left to your own devices, with food blended into them, it would be so tempting and so easy to throw them up. Even if you didn't want to. Even if you weren't there when it happened. It was still your body doing the purge, and you would suffer for it. Automatic like a sneeze you'd forget to hold back, just letting it happen for letting your guard down one second.

Zayne ran his thumb down the back of your hand. "Do you think we could amend that?"

You shook your head just barely, making no move to get up. Only pulling the balaclava's drawstrings tighter over your face.

He sighed through his nose, wondering if you could handle a PICC line.

Sylus was meticulous and clean, it seemed, he could manage that. But they couldn't be kept in long-term, and you weren't exactly going through remission. Things were only getting easier as you learned to recognize and respect your own limits, to gradually lay down some of the straws that broke your nervous system's back. It would never be enough.

And if you wanted to be in the water more, if it helped you to safely be active or feel clean, then he couldn't bear to take that away. A sleeve would let you shower, but that stretch of your arm would have to stay dry.

A central line… A port would involve surgery, minor and routine and fast, but still… It would let you get back to your life, and the site only had to be covered and dry when it was accessed. It was a long-term commitment, with less maintenance.

Would you let anyone— Would you let him do it?

"Have you been dumping your drinks out in the sink? Or something of the sort?"

You groaned, they spill sometimes. Not on purpose.

"Accidentally dropping them… There's no harm in that, but it means your fluid intake is lower than I originally thought."

You signed an apology.

"It's fine. You can't help it, that's just one symptom of your condition. I won't hold it against you." He held your hand gently, he spoke softly, aware that any sensory input could be painful. But if you couldn't identify him by smell, then the sound of his voice might put you at ease. Remind you who was in the room.

At any moment, he might be called out of it, though. The best he could do was set up fluids for before that happened.

Your pain was only increasing. He could put something in it, that would dull everything. At least it would let you sleep.

But would you trust him again? Even if you didn't taste it in your lungs, even if it didn't feel familiar to whatever had been done to you before.

No, it was out of the question. Even if it drove him insane to do practically nothing.

He moved quickly, and when he entered the room again, you began to roll off the line of chairs.

Not on purpose, just unaware of your surroundings. Too much pain behind your eyes to remember what existed beyond them.

"Do you remember where you are?" Zayne asked, catching you in his arms. Really, this made moving you easier. "I made arrangements to move you to the same room as before. That way, if anyone needs to speak with me, they can do so in my office. And you get to have a quiet room to yourself while I'm filling out reports."

You didn't protest, and he set you down on an actual bed. One with a fitted sheet and guard rails to keep you from falling off. He went to raise one up, but hesitated.

"Do you have a preference for which side it's on?"

It seemed you didn't, clenching each fist and letting it hang.

"Dealer's choice, then." The pads of his fingers skimmed over each one, searching for a place that wouldn't be chosen too often, but worked just as well. "Would here be okay?"

He pulled the fresh warm blankets over the rest of your body then, sanitized his hands and put on a pair of gloves.

This was his first time placing one in you. Sylus had handled all of the needles, hadn't he? Did you ever trust anyone else?

One benefit of progressing through school and promotions as fast as he did was that it hadn't been so long since he last placed an IV. Most doctors, when begged by clueless patients, would refuse or perform worse than any of the nurses.

Zayne still took a refreshment course and practiced, though. Nurses acquired useful skills, and he'd also learned from them how to bathe a patient without getting soaked in the process. Said his friend asked for advice, or at least, that was how they interpreted the question. And he didn't correct them.

"If you decide that you do want pain relief, or something to help you sleep… It won't be difficult to set up."

I'm an addict, you reminded him. Don't entertain that.

Zayne pressed his lips together and pushed the needle through, while you scratched red marks over one of your eyes.

The comfort of forehead pressure was not enough, it seemed, you were back to the scratching. Trying to stay still except for that one hand, one expression of, one attempt to distract from the discomfort.

"You did well." He smoothed the cover over where it went into your arm and finished setting up the drip.

"Do you have to go?" you whispered when he let go, walked away to dispose of the gloves and packaging, the needle.

"Not at the moment."

You moved over, closer to the far side of the bed, where the rail was locked in place.

"You want me to stay close?"

You did.

And if he wasn't mistaken, those were tears of relief you shed on his chest.

"Why?" he asked quietly, unsure whether you heard past the massaging of your head.

Because he— you— Your brain faltered, and your hands didn't know what to sign without it.

"Because I what?" he mumbled, sounding rhetorical enough to not expect an answer.

Have the power to tell me I'm okay.

"Oh," he breathed, holding you just a little closer.

One thing Zayne had that no one else did… the medical expertise to lay your fears to rest.

It was only natural to have them, when symptoms that were always advised to immediately go to the emergency room or call an ambulance over were your everyday experience.

"I hope you are not getting your impression of these things online," Zayne had pinched the bridge of his nose, when he reunited with you after the surgery.

In his hand was a page torn from the watercolor sketchbook, pencil scribbled over one side. And your fearful question on the other.

"Everyone's physiology and comorbidities are unique. There is a lot of misinformation out there, some of it with good intentions but misimfomed or mistaken. Studies may be cited, but they are often misinterpreted. Be wary of any medical advice."

He still took the opportunity to lead you through box breathing. It seemed to have some effect.

Even if that meant a level of bodily awareness you were not used to. Being able to locate the migraine pain more precisely, to the point of fearing for your eyes.

But at least he was there to examine them and assure you that your eyes were fine. You knew that if something were wrong, then Zayne would be the first to notice. And you trusted him enough not to try to hide that.

You wanted him to stay close, even if you couldn't smell that it was him. Or maybe from here the subtle scents of his conditioner were noticeable with your heightened senses.

Either way, he was close enough to offer a bit of body heat and make up for the drip.

And you trusted him enough to take something more than just saline. Nothing inhibiting or mind-altering. It would only offer maybe a couple hundred more calories.

He wouldn't tell you about the existence of TPN. There was too much risk in that, especially on the liver. And you would only shy away from recovery, trade bulimia for medically-assisted anorexia. Zayne refused to be an enabler in that.

Recovery was never linear. But you were undeniably so, so much better than before. Maybe it was hard to see that from inside the forest, not seeing past the nearest looming trees.

But from where he rested, it was clear as a golden sunrise.

The fact that you were able to speak about these things, your mistakes and fears, to him in person was enough. An important step to overcoming the shame. Once it was out there, you had that support established. He wasn't going anywhere. He knew how to help you better.

The pager on his belt lit up, though, and Zayne had to slip away.

He would check on everyone else, everything that needed his attention before returning. To negate whatever future interruptions he could.