Archive of Our Own

   “Look, I- I know how this looks — How..I look, but, please, I..” Your words crumble like sand from your chapped lips. You don’t really notice it. After all, you could barely feel them leave your lips in the first place — in fact most of your body felt unnervingly numb. Even more so with the incessant ringing in your ears.

That said, the little you could feel wasn’t at all great. Your skin feels clammy thanks to the ocean of sweat that’s secreted from you. There’s also the light stinging that comes whenever the beads slide down your skin and meet one of the many deep red lines that litter your body like lines of rubies on a costume.

The sensation reminds you of what it feels like ripping a bandage off a wound that’s still fresh and, oddly enough, that thought comforts you a little.

   “I- I- I’ve been told you were the real deal — That you can help me with…all of this,” You raise your hand to your hair. They’re stained, trembling, and are decorated in similar cuts the rest of your body has. Your nails had begun to darkened in a murky color — one which match the black of some of the older lacerations on your body so you paid it little mind.

All in all, they looked like a result of some terribly botched surgery. As if you had forgotten to wear gloves and ended up slashing, mashing, and mixing up organs instead of trying to preserve them and then let the blood on your hands dry to pose as a grotesque display of makeshift gloves.

You run your fingers through the strands of your hair and you soon find yourself wincing they catch on a particularly mean knot — you should’ve probably brushed your hair before doing this, but oh well. You’re here now, nothing you can really do about it.

You gulp, feeling as though your saliva had hardened into a big lump in your throat as it slowly traveled down your esophagus. When was the last time you were this nervous to say what’s on your mind? When you first walked through the doors of the building of your dream job? When you tried to make that stew a month ago without a recipe? When you pulled your best friend, Venti, into that classroom in highschool and confessed your love for him?

…Right. Venti. That’s why you’re here. You need to stay focused.

   “Okay, l- look, I’m.. I’m not crazy...” You begin, pausing for a moment only to then drive home your points with stern repetition, “I’m not.” 

   “I- It’s just— I...I seriously think my dead ex-husband is haunting me, okay?”

Silence was the given response. It was a type of quiet that would typically comfort the lost — especially one as astray as you are — but all it did was allow you to hear the judgemental whir of the ceiling fan, and ultimately, catch a wisp of unsaid opinions in the air. It causes your blood to boil and spike — to the point that it scorches the root of your mouth, your tongue, and jaw — and forces you to puke out the lava that had begun to pour down your tongue.

   “Don’t fucking give me that look!” You snap. Your teeth gritting and grinding as you continue, voice slightly muffled, “I know how it sounds alright — an- and don’t try and say it’s not happening because- because it is! ..I mean, it’s not like it’s the fucking wind from outside flinging a damn lamp at my chair thinking it’s me, now is it?!”

   “And don’t try to persuade me, I know it’s him. Of course it’d be him. I- I mean he hated me, why wouldn’t he try to…” You begin to lose steam and it's not long before your words cool and evaporate into thick, hot puffs of air.

You begin to heave, and the feeling of sharp pricks — like biting fire ants — that quickly coats your lungs ground you enough to force your head clear again.

It’s not right to blow up on someone that you’re also pleading with for help — especially since they’re all you have left to lean on at this point.

You take a breath, forcing your shoulder lax as you fall back on the stiff couch and look up at the stale ceiling. Tear-stricken skin and yawning eyebags are revealed under the blaring yellow of the circular light above. It burns your eyes and blinds them under the stinging pressure so, in the end, you go to bend an arm over your face and shield your eyes away for a few minutes to allow them to adjust.

   “I’ll.. I’ll just start from the very beginning.. You’ll understand me then, no doubt about it! ..You’ll have to..” You muttered, though you were unsure of whether  or not your words were meant to convince them or yourself. Nevertheless, you continued, beginning your inevitably long tale.. 

  “It all began when I transferred to Teyvat Highschool as a sophomore seven years ago..”

The corridor, lined with pale blue lockers, seemed never ending. The walls were shiny and pristine despite their age and it seemed like they stretched on for a millenia. No matter how long you walked, how many turns you took, or how many staircases you scaled, you were met by the same sight of a long hall filled with lockers, doors, and the occasional bathroom and or waterfountain. It felt as though you were in some kind of loop — no matter how far you went, it felt like you always returned to the same hall you started on. The same hall you walked through when you first stepped through the doors of this enormous school.

And, quite frankly, it was starting to get on your nerves.

To make a bad situation worse — ring! The earsplitting jingle sounded your demise as the realization sets in that you’re now officially late to your — you check your phone again, looking at your clock app and then your schedule in your camera roll — second period class. Wait, second?!

You mutter a curse. How did time fly so fast? You couldn’t have seriously been wandering this school for almost two hours, right? Sure, you spent a little time in the bathroom to quell your nerves, and sure, it did take a few minutes to talk yourself out of getting sent to the principals when you accidentally wandered into the wrong teacher’s class — that lady seriously had some stick up her ass — but those detours couldn’t have costed you so much time, surely.

You grunt out a groan. Well, it doesn't matter right now. However it happened, you're lost and have probably already made a bad impression with a teacher you haven’t even met yet. No doubt, you’ll probably get some kind of punishment for your carelessness if this school was anything like your last..

Gritting your teeth at the thought, you decide to unlock your phone and check your schedule again. ‘Theatre Arts II - Furina De Fontaine - Hall 3,’ was the name it read. You feel like you’ve heard that name before, but the fiery irritation that burns at the back of your head is fogging your brain up with too much smoke right now to pinpoint when or where you saw it.

You should just focus on finding wherever Hall 3 is…and what hall you’re even on to begin with before worrying about other things — that’s what you told yourself as you descended the same marble stairwell you ascended minutes before for what felt like the millionth time.

Focus, you repeat to yourself upon making a sharp turn at the base of the stairs. Alas, your glass of concentration shatters before it even has the proper time to be built to its fullest capacity when you suddenly lose your footing on the last few steps and go tumbling to the floor.

Your phone, books, and other belongings that you didn’t haphazardly stuff into your locker as soon as you found it came clattering to the ground like a novice orchestra booming throughout the corridor. The initial wave of embarrassment has you hesitating to sit up and reveal your face to the world again, but that soon passes as curiosity sets in and you begin to wonder what you slipped on. Eventually, you will yourself into forcing your head up and move your body just enough to peer over your shoulder.

..And to your surprise, the culprit of your slip was some horrendous, green cap.

You sit up fully, twisting your body towards the accessory and lifting it with a singular finger. Upon closer inspection, the cap was much more detailed than you initially thought. Instead of some lousy cap, it was a floppy beret of a deep, grass green shade as its base color and close-knit golden lines in the middle that trace and wrap around to meet on the other side and form a full circle. There were blue stars that sat just under the golden lines that followed a similar pattern. And, to top it all off, an unnaturally large yet gorgeous white flower seemed to sprout from the front corner. Its equally large — if not slightly larger — leaves curving almost cartoonishly at an angle.

To put it simply, the hat looked like something straight out of a fairytale. Something you’d imagine only some of the arts could pull off successfully.

   “Well, what do we have here?” Your heart drops at the sound of someone’s voice vibrating throughout the hollow, but most definitely empty hallway. Their voice was kinda deep yet very smooth in a way that reminded you of the delectable-looking velvet wine you’d always see the rich drink in those older movies you often watched in your free time. Its tune quelled the drumming fear that played alongside the fragile strings of your heart for a mere moment, and in the end, that’s all you needed to coax yourself into turning around to face the perpetrator who almost caused you to have a heart attack.

You’re initially faced with nothing and your brows dip. You definitely heard someone speak, you were sure of it… Were you? Has the stress of everything already gotten to you? Has your yearning for aid made your mind conjure up the illusion of some guy with a pretty voice? You can feel your eye beginning to twitch when you suddenly hear the voice again.

   “I’m over here,” You spin your head to the right and your dull, spasming eyes lock with drooping ones. The emerald color surprises you, and in a way, almost instantly calms you with its steady, yet quick transformation from a darkened shade of green to a much brighter hue that reminds you of the beret in your hands. The delicate twinkle along his irises make the comparison seem kind of underestimating though. What did it remind you of…a gemstone, maybe?

Yeah, that’s the word you were looking for; gem. Those eyes, though stricken with drowsiness, shone like some green diamond under the poor lighting of the hallway. They looked absolutely divine, and you found yourself dumbstruck for a moment before that equally angelic voice sung its tune once again.

   “My, it seems my project has attracted a thief,” The strings that were strung were lighter than before, plucked with an underlying note of playfulness that softened his words and made it lack any and all animosity. Furthermore, he goes on to tease, saying, “With that said, such a lovely criminal has found its way to me and already seems to have fallen for my charms so who am I to complain?”

Like his eyes, his voice dragged under the weight of drowsiness and the almost slurred way he enunciated his sentence managed to quell the fire that raged in your body, allowing cool rain to come in and further bury your anger. It reminded you of when your parents used to sing you lullabies despite barely being able to keep their eyes open and the memory was an instant soother to you.

And, for some reason, the owner of such a serene voice sat under the very stairwell that nearly broke your neck like some hobbit.

Upon gaining your silence as a response, a grin stretched across his glowing, smooth skin. It’s then he decides to continue with his jesting, “Do I have a mute on my hands? Or have I managed to render you speechless already?”

   “My bad,” The words fell from your lips the moment you were able to finally rip your eyes away from the breathtaking sight before you — which took all your willpower to do, mind you — and down at the much less appealing porcelain beneath you.

   “I didn’t know this was yours — I- I mean I didn’t even see you to begin with so it's not my fault that I…whatever. Here, just take it back,” And you tossed the boy his beret without looking, deciding to make use of your new position to pick up all your stuff from the ground.

You hear the bouncy orchestra of his chuckle and you could feel your heart doing inhumane tricks in your chest without your permission. Damnit, even his laughter was gorgeous — you found yourself thinking as you squished your books back into the crook of your elbow.

    “I was only joking around! I’m not seriously upset,” He assured with an almost child-like giggle that did not at all match his earlier wine-like serenade, “Besides, I was the one snoozing underneath the staircase — Ah, which I beg you to keep as our little secret. It’s not exactly allowed here after all, hehe..!”

    “Why are you sleeping here anyways?” You had other questions as well, like why this dude wasn’t in class like everyone else, but you found this question was much more pressed for answers. Thankfully, this beautiful stranger seems more than willing to present you with the answers you wanted to hear.

    “Why not? When the mood arises, isn’t it best to just relax and treat yourself? I was feeling particularly tired this morning and since this hallway is barely used nowadays I thought, why not? Alas, it seems I was in too good of a mood since I seemed to have almost destroyed part of my costume in my sleep,” His giddy laughter dies quickly after that, his voice dropping to a mumble as he began muttering in a way that could only have been directed to himself. Nevertheless, you still heard what he said, “In that case, it would have certainly taken more than a smooth apology to quell Lynette’s anger..”

    “So you’re a student after all,” You said, stating the obvious as a desperate attempt of preventing awkward silence to breach the hallway before you can properly collect yourself. It always drove you insane when people just watched you without saying anything. You were never the best at reading people after all and you always assumed they were judging you in some way whenever they did that.

The people at your last school did that a lot. You never understood why and it drove you up a wall. You’re thankful your stepfather got that new job halfway across town and your family moved. Any longer there and you would’ve seriously—

    “I haven’t seen a face quite like yours before. Are you perhaps new here?” That dulcet tone pulled you from your thoughts quicker than any schoolbell or yell of your name. Despite that, the sentence in it of itself made you jump. Was it that obvious that you were lost and completely clueless of where you were? Was he picking fun? And what was that comment on your face supposed to mean? Was he trying to call you ugly? He wouldn’t be the first, but it didn’t make you any less upset hearing it.

    “Maybe,” You bitterly muttered, allowing the venom that began pooling along your tongue to seep into your words freely as you asked, “Is that a problem?”

You glance up, preparing for a possible verbal assault with a glare hardened by all the malevolence you could muster in that moment. It didn’t last long, quickly replaced by chilling shock when you nearly brush noses with the guy. 

You yelp and slide back so quickly you trip again, this time on your bag, and just like that, all your hard work evaporates into dust as you drop everything again on your short descent to the floor.

    “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to jump back like that!” You hear him say, and damn it, does his voice work wonders to your nerves. Instead of that biting anger from before resurfacing like a waterfall being unclogged, it resurfaced as a small pool at the pit of your stomach. It was controlled, manageable, and in the end, it completely dissipated after only a few seconds.

Seriously, what type of magic does this guy possess? No way a mere voice can have this kind of effect on a person naturally..

By the time you looked up from your lap, half if not the majority of your things had already been collected by him. He was quite fast — on the shorter side of the scale too now that you’ve gotten a look at him standing. You decide to keep your comments to yourself as you watch him dart around to grab the remainder of your pens and mechanical pencils that escaped from your binder.

    “To answer your early question, I don’t mind that you’re new here. In fact, I’m happy to see a new face around here!” He chirped, “I doubt Principal Ningguang or any of the assistant principals had the time to give you a proper tour of the school so that means I have the perfect excuse for why I skipped — Uh, I- I mean the uhm…great opportunity to show the brilliance that is Teyvat High! ..Yeah..”

   “Here’s all your stuff you dropped — sorry again for the scare,” Like some prince from a story, the guy stood tall as he offered you your things. Despite his shorter stature, he towered over you in that moment, smiling down upon you so sweetly and with nothing but cheerfulness gleaming in those emerald jewels of his. There wasn’t a hint of pity or underlying judgement in his eyes as far as you could tell. There wasn’t even a speckle of superiority in that smile — not that you would’ve been able to pick up on it if he was looking at you that way. After all, he seems like someone with a good poker face.

But you're sure of it. That everything about his face was genuine. It was a face you’ve only seen once or twice before in your life so there was no mistaking it.

And, gods, does sincerity look good on him.

    “Thanks..” You said after realizing your prolonged staring as you slowly took the books from his grasp without breaking eye contact. It was like you were under some spell. Maybe you were. If so, you can’t find a reason to complain right now.

    “No problem. So, will you let me show you around? Think of it as an apology for scaring you twice,” He said.

    “I wasn’t scared, just caught off guard,” You corrected. You watch him nod with what you can only assume is understandment so you continue, “And I don’t exactly have time for a tour right now. I’m kinda late, so—”

    “Lemme see your schedule,” He chirped, “I know this place like the back of my hand! I’m sure I can help you find your way.”

He extends his hand out to you and you’re tempted to jump on your first instinct and take it with your own. But alas, reason clouds your judgement and the fear of embarrassment and awkwardness drives you to unlock your phone and go to your gallery instead, plopping the small device in his hand after a moment of searching.

As he brings the phone closer to read the text, that dreaded silence you were trying so hard to avoid comes creeping in to make a brief, unwanted appearance. You always despised silence as it left you with nothing but you and your own mind to fill the quiet, and even then, you never truly filled it on your own.

So, you decide to pop the first decent question your mind could conjure up, “Hey, what’s your—” “Oho~! Maybe lady luck truly is shining on me! We’re in the same class this period!”

Your mouth clamps shut upon the initial interruption, but once his words set in it falls open and your feet move to close in on him. Peering over at your phone as if you haven’t looked at that schedule at least ten or so times prior to this.

    “Really?” You ask, and he nods his head as that same gorgeous smile from before shows itself for an encore performance.

    “Yeah! ..And it’s no wonder you were having trouble finding your classes. The majority of them aren’t even in this building,” He explained. Your brows furrow.

   “There are multiple buildings?!” You questioned, which earned a bewildered glance from him.

    “Yes..?” He drawled slowly, “They should’ve at least given you a map that showed the layout of campus..” And this time, you’re the one giving him an odd look which pretty much answers the remainder of his questions and causes a sigh to slip from his lips.

    “It’s always so hectic in the main office, not that I mind a bit of chaos, but they should’ve at least made sure you were set before sending you off..” He sighs again. 

    “No matter. You have me here now so you don’t need a map anymore.” He extends his hand again, loosening his grip on your phone as his smile widens and his eyes close to grant you relief from a brief staring contest. Could he tell that it made you sweat? Was it really that obvious that you wished to tear your skin off whenever it’s under the intruding gaze of another?

    “Yeah, I guess so..” You grab your phone, releasing it from his pale grasp only for your wrist to end up caught in it mere seconds later. Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, the boy was already tugging you in the direction of an exit.

    “C’mon! If we end up any later, Ms. Furina may punish us by making us recite the 357 rules of being a successful performer while tap dancing to one of the Beethoven pieces — trust me, you never wanna experience that,” He says, and for some reason the slightly shuddering edge he says it with sends a chill down your spine.

You decide against questioning why he seemed to be so knowing and nodded your head, “Noted.”

    “Oh, and it’s Venti by the way,” He added, turning back to the front and forcing you to gaze upon the pretty blue tips of his hair. The color reminded you of the pretty shade the ocean transforms into the farther you swim from shore. It was such a calming color, one that you believed was befitting for him.

   “Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked after a few seconds, and the guy repeated himself, “My name is Venti. …Wasn’t that what you were about to ask me earlier?”

  “Oh–! Right, right! Yeah, Venti, got it,” You scrambled, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your head, “Mine’s Y/n.”

  “A charming name,” He replied smoothly. 

His comment made your skin heat up as if you were angry, but it didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable. Instead of the blazing wildfire your body had been scorched in all its life, it tingled as if a bunch of tiny firecrackers were popping along your pores. It was almost a tickling sorta feeling — one that you’ve never felt before.

It was kind of overwhelming, but…kind of nice at the same time.

   “What do you say we start that tour during lunch?” He says, “We can grab something to eat after school to make up for it — Your treat of course, hehe~!”

   “You know he seriously made me pay for lunch that day? Hmph, such a freeloader..” A laugh followed your response, but it was short-lived and lacked any real humor and you continue before the person has any time to critique your sad attempt at comedy..

   “He continued to pester me for so long after that — practically forced our friendship to prosper against my will. H- He was always a brute like that,” You explained, “Such a flirt too! I- It was like he couldn’t go one conversation without throwing some cheeky compliment in there — es- especially during the plays we had to participate in for a grade! He’d always get screamed at for going off script..”

The silence that waned said every word your little helper tried to hide. It was a pathetic attempt. You were nowhere near the mess you were in your teen years and getting into a serious relationship has made you better at picking up on the little things. The small raise of their eyebrow when you mentioned your schedule, the unbelieving glance you earned when you mentioned your plays — it was so painfully obvious what they were thinking and that, quite frankly, irked you.

   “I could act y’know,” You snapped, your gaze hardening, “I was damn good. Th- That’s probably why they didn’t like me at that other place! Those sons’ of a bitches were scared of my talent! E- Envied me because they had to practice endlessly for something that came to me just like that!” You snapped your finger, buffing your words with that brief click, “I could've been the real deal if I actually wanted to, y’know? I- I- I had schools flooding my emails and mailboxes trying to get me into their schools believe it or not!”

   “B- But acting became such a hassle after a while, you know?” Your voice raised, becoming high and pitchy as you breathed out another sandy laugh,  “Bu- Besides I was so in love and my dream school was so far from home..heh. …In the end, Venti was the one to convince me to stay. Can you believe it? I- I myself was…was surprised, I mean, he was always so lax about most things..”

   “He…he fell apart…right there. Begged and cried and pleaded for me to stay by his side.. He even said he’d better himself to make up for the loss — he- he was struggling mentally y’know and it got even worse when schools kept rejecting him. I honestly pitied him — I mean how could I not, right? He was the love of my life a- and I’d be some monster t- to just walk out like that! I had no choice but to move in with him after highschool and go to some local community college!”

   “Y’know, I.. I honestly think he was jealous of me a little,” You chuckled dryly, “Maybe that’s where his hatred started… I- I mean, the majority of the schools I applied for were the same as his… He probably felt…inferior — l- like I was trying to one up him or something! It’s as they say; you can have two stars but only one will truly shine!” As you said this, your lips stretched into a smile as you did jazz hands.

You probably looked pretty unsettling in that moment as you doubt your eyes matched the current situation. Not to mention all the tears and blood from your cuts and your hair being a total mess — …yeah, you probably looked insane right now.

..But they shouldn’t judge the person they’re helping! That’d be cruel and unfair to you and you haven’t done anything to deserve such treatment! It wouldn’t be right to scrutinize someone you know nothing about anyways no matter how they may look!

   “A- Anyways, I got sidetracked… Hmmm where to continue.. Even though it’d be better for me, telling you every little detail isn’t an option since we’re so short on time...maybe I should — ah, I know! I’ll skip ahead a while to the moment I realized I liked him! Yeah!”

Why were you even here — that was the third time you had asked yourself that. Rather pointless seeming as the answer laid plain as day in your face. 

A costume, one that came with a cap plaid in green and a corset with golden buttons — looking deceptively expensive only for the ugly truth to come to light, literally. In the light, it was clear as day that the buttons were made of cheap metal spray painted into appearing gold.

After giving your all out there on stage — bled out every emotion you could onto the wooden flooring — you weren’t given a silver crown like you had expected nor did you gain a throne or a fancy cane. You weren’t given anything, or it’s more like it was taken by someone else and it was decided that it would only be given to you when they weren’t there to wear it..

You were deemed the understudy, and despite all you did, your rights to success were stolen away…and the thief was someone you called a friend.

He didn’t even want the role! He told you himself! The part he yearned for was the carefree, humorous sidekick of the protagonist — a mere pebble in the face of the actual plot, and yet, he was given your flowers! That wench actually thought he’d be better suited to play the charismatic and calculating royal heir. It was ridiculous! 

And what was truly a punch in the gut was his lack of protest. All he did was that stupid laugh of his. As.. As if he expected it or something! Maybe he did. Maybe he was actually aiming for that part but lied to you to make you believe you didn’t have any real competition! Maybe—

   “Ah, Y/n! There you are!”

Your head snapped up and spun towards the door. Your eyes met with the familiar greenery of his hues and you could feel the familiar heat singing your bones. Of course he’d appear now of all times. It’s as if he’s going out his way to try and mock you or something.

   “I have good news—!” “Save it.”

   “What?” Venti proclaimed, bewilderment dousing his tone which only served to aggravate you more.

   “I said save it!” You snapped, “I don’t even wanna hear your stupid voice right now, traitor.”

He was probably here to mock you. I mean, why else would he seek you out like this — who went the extra lengths to hide in the room they throw all the props in after shows? It was just like your classmates from your last school who’d follow you into the bathroom just to harass you. Or when they’d look through the sea of students in the cafeteria just to find you at the farthest corner near the teachers and ‘accidentally’ knock your tray off the table.

Did he think this was funny? Did he find some sick amusement in the way your brows twitched and you chewed at your bottom lip when Lady Furina revealed everyone's roles? It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you.

After all, friends are the most fickle, cruelest things you could ever have in this world. You learned that the hard way. 

   “...Is this about the roles for the upcoming play? Is that why you’re so upset?” Wow, he really is making fun of you. You can hear it in the way his voice dipped as he talked. It was the same as when he’d do something cheeky during practice and you’d notice and give your exasperated reactions. 

He was holding back laughter. He found glee in your pain and hearing his pathetic attempt at hiding that fact made it feel as though a volcano had erupted inside you and the lava was spreading throughout your body. Like torches being set alight at the back of your throat, charring the tender flesh until it slid off like a hot slab of meat and down your throat for you to puke back up.

It was infuriating — so much so that you wished you could take a needle and sew his mouth up until it was bloody and shut.

   “Y/n, I actually—” “I don’t care! Get out!” You cut him off. If he stayed here any longer, you were sure that your body would act on the first instinct your mind conjured up, and right now, all of them would most definitely get you expelled.

You hear him sigh. The air he omits dragging in the depths of exhaustion — like he had just returned from a long night of dealing with an overactive kid. It went straight through you, hit you like a stone to the face, and had you clenching and damn near grinding your teeth into dust.

..But as you whip your head around — revealing your teary, red eyes, clenched jaw, and your lips which had been chewed bloody — ready to release every bit of the built up fire that overtook your body and burn him into a undefinable crisp, a cold feeling surrounds the skin of your forehead and you freeze.

Slowly, your hands went up and when your fingertips grazed its curves, you pause. Soon enough though, you begin caressing the object that had been plopped on your head.

Aside from its temperature, it was unbelievably smooth and hard like metal. You went up farther and the smoothness comes to an abrupt halt and is replaced by something jagged and rough. It’s what you imagine a diamond encrusted bracelet would feel like.

…Wait, is this—

   “Such a hothead I’ve managed to befriend,” Words that were likely meant to be shot out as more of a lighthearted insult was spoken with the gentleness and grace of a meaningful compliment one would only mutter to their most trusted in the dead of night. It felt like a cool balm being applied to your skin.

His next words were spoken in a similar fashion, “You really need to work on that, my dear — listening to. It would save you from a lot of unnecessary agony.”

   “Look at you..” He mumbled, and in seconds his smooth, nimble hands were on you like freshly fallen snow. His hands clashed with the flames raging along the skin of your cheeks and ultimately extinguished the inferno, allowing that unexplainable tingle from when you two first met to take over as he finally finished his sentence, mumbling, “..you’re a mess.”

He wiped at your skin with his thumbs. Tenderly catching the tears that escaped from your eyes and flicking them away with ease, “To think you may assume I would ever want this..”

And that’s when he finally confessed to you, “I talked Lady Furina into giving me another role.”

   “Why?” You whispered. You didn’t intend for it to come out that way, but you couldn’t seem to control the cracking of your voice no matter how much you attempted to change up the way you talked, much to your dismay.

   “I’m not fond of playing roles like that,” He said before a smile deserving of a thousand roses and a row of applause graced his face, “Besides, weren’t you working so hard all this time to get that role? It wouldn’t be right for me to take that from you.”

   “So it’s out of pity,” You shoot out, your words coming out more as a statement than a question because, to you, that was the truth. Venti was pitying you, no doubt, or so you thought at first. When his eyes seemed to somehow soften impossibly more, all your thoughts kinda vanished from your head.

   “I think you deserve it,” He told you, “How could I not after seeing your dedication firsthand? Seeing you skip lunch to practice lines and being on call all night with you as you further research ways to better yourself.. I’d be a fool not to give this to you.”

   “So cheer up. No need for anymore tears,” He whispered. And for a moment, as he leaned in with his smile being ever so sweet, you thought about leaning in and claiming a different prize other than this crown atop your head. 

That thought didn’t fade even after his hands moved down to grip you by the shoulders and pull you into a hug — if anything, the urges to kiss him only intensified, as if it had always been there, and stained the back of your mind.

Has it? How long has your consciousness yearned for Venti? What thoughts truly clogged the crevices of your brain tissue that you just simply blocked out? Were they ever blocked out to begin with?

…How can a person be so warm yet so cool at the same time? How is it possible for a hug to feel like an oasis in a desert? How come you feel so calm so quickly? And, why do you enjoy this so much?

   “Whether you believe it or not, you deserved this. Congratulations, my dear,” He said, and to your ears, it felt like he was playing your favorite song on a harp; soothing yet so, so addicting. 

It made your body slump and lighten up. Made you release a sigh that, for once, wasn’t burning with animosity or anger. He single handedly managed to transform the meaning of your tears into something light and cheerful. And, somehow, his arms made you feel so safe, so content — as though you always belonged there.

It felt like, for the first time in your life, your heart was truly beating a tune you actually wanted to hear and it made you wish for the moment to last an eternity.

   “He was so cruel for that! I- I- I mean doesn’t he know what that did to me?” You exclaimed, stomping your feet on the ground as your nails dragged along the skin of your reddened face.

   “Y’know he went about his day after that? Just- Just left me with this jumble of…of feelings and thoughts I couldn’t control! How could you get any more self-centered I mean c’mon—!”

Your road of words hit a dead end as a bit of your frustration managed to slip past your toothy defense in the form of a loud groan. It was a brief lapse but it earned you a response from your helper albeit in the wind.

   “What do you mean he ‘doesn’t sound that bad’?!” You shot up, sitting up straight as your eyes widened, “Ar- Are you seriously choosing his side here — look what he’s done to me! I—!” 

You pause, your venomous words dying into your throat and sting the underside of your throat. You suddenly take a breath, collapsing once again and allowing the cushions of the couch to swallow you once more. It seems to do you good as the cushion surrounds your head and blocks off your ears, deafening your suddenly chatty helper and allowing your thoughts a moment to cool you down.

  “I.. I just need to finish the story,” You say after a moment, half thinking aloud, “You’ll understand me then… You’ll.. You’ll see I’m not the bad guy here.. You’ll get it, surely..heh..”

Today was the day. You were going to do it. You were going to confess to your best friend.

After a year of talking yourself out of it a million times, using the tiniest of reasons and coincidences to deter yourself a bajilion more, and after nearly getting outed by your shared friends a trillion and one times over, you’ve had enough of it. 

You were sick of the tricks your heart would do whenever he was in your vicinity. Having to pretend like you weren’t quite literally having a heart attack by merely being in his presence. You were tired of the fantasies you’d conjure up at night that would later distract you come morning. 

You were sick of yearning for a million things from him and living vicariously through the characters you would play that had the honor of being scripted to so much as grab his chin.

You were exhausted — both mentally and physically — and yet as you stood here before the very door that held your prize on the other side, you suddenly felt energized and you wanted nothing more than to use that energy to run as far away as humanly possible.

You blame the frilly pink decorations surrounding the door. The overly large heart stickers with cheesy faces decorating the nearby walls and the banners that were strung up  You blame the sign you passed coming up the stairs that reminded everyone of the upcoming, unofficial holiday which became the sole reason you were partially coaxed into doing this in the first place. 

You blame Lady Furina, who thought it wise to make you and Venti the two main leads in the upcoming play — which was written to be a historical, romantic drama to fit the theme of the day it would fall on — that ultimately gave your friends stupid ideas to tease you two with.

You fish for your phone in your pocket and go straight to your camera app upon unlocking it. Your eyes stare back at you, stained by your poorly hidden nervousness and complemented by the deep rings that hang them down like some heavy dress. Your lips quirk up, seeing if you can manage to make them look less like they’re about to just slide right off your face…only for your smile to drop immediately. 

Yeah, no smile. Venti might just run straight out of the room if he sees that…

All is not lost to the wind — your earrings and matching attire are fairly decent and the bouquet in your hand almost morphs this look into something kind of desirable. At the very least, if he rejects you, it won’t be because you didn’t put in enough effort or something..

Somehow, despite that jumpscare of your own face you just barely managed to recover from, you found the strength to put your phone away in your pocket and reach for the door handle. You pause for the final time, the negativities in your mind going all in for one, big final attack in an attempt to discourage you enough to choose your dignity and pride over your desires. They ultimately fail, and what makes things worse, coming out victorious gives you the courage to take the sliding door handle in hand.

You open the door rather aggressively and the sound bounced off the walls like a gunshot going off. It alerts — and startles — the one in the room, making them jump and spin around to see you; the culprit of their heart attack.

You were the one who had scared him, and yet, your eyes were the ones that ended up widening when you saw each other.

Venti stood at the far end of the classroom, perched against the windows that flooded the room with light. His hair — usually braided into two messy braids and hanging at his shoulders — were replaced with a longer, thicker mane that cascaded down his back and tied up at his hip.

The drapery that hung off him was larger than his usual sweaters, much larger, to the point only the tips of his hands could be seen — and they appeared much daintier when he moved his hand to slide himself off the windowsill. Furthermore, instead of the usual cheap polyester you were familiar with, you could tell from where you stood at the door that his clothes were made of something thinner, lighter, softer — something like silk. 

Majority of his attire was dyed in his favorite color — forest green — but was complemented by golden patterns on the innermost part of his sleeves, his waist, and hem — which seemed to go on and on endlessly until it finally kissed his feet.

Your eyes trailed up his body and up to his face. Your eyes catch like a fish to a hook when his lashes flutter and something near his eyes twinkle under the sunlight’s rays. It was glitter — colored to match the accents of his clothing, pool along the upper lining of his eyelashes ,and trail off a little at the corners. That along with the extravagant chandeliers that hung on his ears made his whole look seem more refined and lavish, like some prince from an olden film.

That’s when it all came rushing back to you. Right, you had texted Venti at probably one of the most inconvenient times known to man; in the midst of dress rehearsal — somewhere you should’ve certainly been at rather than the local flower shop. Lady Furina is definitely gonna chew you a new one for skipping.

Despite the hell your abrupt text probably caused him, Venti doesn’t look the least bit annoyed. In fact, he looked much more bothered. His thin brows scrunched his smooth skin and made it protrude slightly and his lips were pursed uncomfortably. Not only that, but when you first entered the room, you caught a glimpse of him aimlessly staring out the window — as if he was mentally being sucked into the void that is the cloudless sky. 

Maybe he is upset after all.

   “Y/n! There you are! Where have you been?!” His words come out as fast as his feet move to cross the classroom. Before you could say anything, he was talking again, “You go missing for two days and don’t bother giving so much as a heads up?! I thought something happened!”

His usual jovial chatter ceased to exist at that moment. Replaced with nothing but dolorous utterings that came from the abundance of thoughts that have clearly spiraled a bit too far because when he reaches you, he immediately latches onto you as if he hasn’t seen you in years. His sleeves fall down his arms as they snake around you, revealing the puffy, yet slightly more fitted, cream-colored sleeves underneath.

Your heart was going a mile a minute. You wondered if Venti could hear its loud drumming. No doubt he can, with his head leaning against your chest like this you’d be more surprised if he couldn’t hear the cacophony of what you hoped was a heart attack about to strike your heart still. At least if that happened, you couldn’t get mad at yourself later for not going through with this.

   “Venti… I—” “Have you been getting enough sleep? I noticed before you disappeared that your eyebags have been more defined lately.. Don’t tell me you skipped school because you were exhausted. If so, you should’ve told me! I would’ve gladly joined you!” 

He cuts you off with the concern of some worried parent and silences you further by pulling away from you only to immediately reach up and cup your cheek afterwards, holding it as if it were some priceless treasure. 

Venti was always delicate with you even in his silliest moments. It’s one of the things that made those incessant fantasies plague your mind in the first place.

But you can’t let him throw you off course. You need to get this off your chest before you can think straight again.

    “Venti,” You called his name more firmly as you, against your better judgement, slid back and forced distance between the two of you. Venti’s eyes widen at your actions before dipping in a way that matches the frown overtaking his expression. The sight reminded you of a sad kitten and the way his entire demeanor flopped absolutely shattered you. 

Maybe it's not too late to back out — you said that to yourself, but as you did, your arm raised to present the bouquet to him.

White suns were practically shoved in his face, blinding the boy with its radiance and causing his eyes to blow wide once again albeit for a different reason. His eyes lit up, sparkling brighter than any star as his aqua hues reflected the delicate arrangement of flowers in his irises. 

You caught yourself staring at him in awe, marveling at the way the oceanic coloring of his eyes made your lackluster bunch of flowers seem so much more appealing the longer his gaze stayed on them.

    “I.. I- I got these for you — cecilias,” You stammered. Your words practically tripping over each other, much to your embarrassment, “Aren’t they your favorites — they are, I- I mean we’ve known each other for almost two years now why wouldn’t I know something like this—”

    “What’s the occasion?” He asked softly, and your throat dried faster than any plant in a desert. This was it. All or nothing. You had to say something now or forever hold your peace. Just rip it off like a bandaid.

    “I- I wanted to..do this for you..” You said slowly, feeling your cheek growing impossibly warmer by the second, “I thought, y’know, since Valentine’s Day is around the corner and…and…” 

You gulp, your lips twitching as the saliva runs slowly down your throat. Were you really doing this? You could feel your hesitance slowly creep up on you like some infectious disease. 

You already have one foot out the door, but are you truly willing to walk out?

You almost told yourself no. That you weren’t as fearless as you gaslight yourself into being…until you felt his touch once again, this time encasing your hand which tightly held the bouquet.

Your eyes darted over from the chalkboard you had found false interest in to lock with what truly had your attention in that moment; Venti. His expression was different from the glum one he was wearing earlier. His lips had evened out and curved at its edges and his eyes were narrowed in the same way it always did when he’d watch you fumble after he’d poke fun at you. It was akin to the face he’d make whenever he was about to do something rather mischievous and it did nothing to quell your nerves in the moment.

    “Go on..don’t hesitate now,” He said. His voice dipped to a low, but coherent murmur as he took a small step closer, “You’ve already gotten so far, it’d be wasteful to turn back, don’tcha’ think?”

But then, his voice raises slightly and he speaks in by far the most dulcet tone you’ve ever heard as he lightly puts pressure on your hand by squeezing down on it..

   “Indulge in your heart. Speak what’s on your mind. You know you can tell me anything.”

You could feel yourself melting at the way his voice tickles your ears. Suddenly, all your worries seemed miniscule in that moment as you two stared into each other’s souls. It felt as though you had finally reached land after struggling tirelessly against the heavy sea’s currents. Like you could finally breathe after being surrounded by thick air for so very long. 

And in that moment, it truly felt as though nothing could go wrong so you finally utter what you’ve wanted to say to him for months now. .

    “I.. I like you, Venti — more than a friend would.”

Your words travel along the stale air of that dank classroom and fills his ears seconds later. You expect to hear his soft rejection or to even hear his laughter before he completely changed the subject like he was oh so good at doing. Instead, you heard a sigh escape his lips. One that you imagine a soldier returning home alive after a war and seeing his family for the first time in years would breathe.

    “Is that so.. That’s such a relief..” He whispered. Finally closing the distance you had put against you two to wrap his arms around you once again. His head falls to rest against your shoulder and he quickly ends up nose-deep in the cloth of your shirt, hiding the deep shade of red that was already running wild on his face and beginning to stain his ears.

    “I don’t think I was going to be able to make it much longer,” He confessed, allowing an airy chuckle to slip from him afterwards, “I was actually planning on just dumping my heart out to you before the play, but this is so much better..”

   “Wait, you actually..liked me back?” You choke out.

   “Of course I like you back,” He corrects, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re so amazing…and being around you always feels so nice and fun… I’ve..never really been around someone who seems to enjoy me as much as you do.. Wh- Who looks at me with such a fire in their eyes..”

He trails off completely and your eyes grow wide for nth time today upon the most shocking realization coming to you; Venti…was actually as, if not more, nervous than you were right now. The same guy who has sung in front of half your school before and has said the most embarrassing lines known to mankind in plays before an even larger audience…was a flustered mess against you right now.

And that…was probably the most comforting reaction he could’ve ever given to you.

   “...Venti—”

   “—How could you say that?!” Your loud exclamation echoed throughout the room and bounced off the bland-colored walls. You could care less about the ruckus you were making, it was deserved after the insult that was just hurled at you — the one who’s getting haunted right now!

   “I’ll have you know he was a horrible boyfriend! A- And an ever worser husband!” You spat, “He would flip all his problems on me and call me all kinds of rude nicknames! N- Not to mention how he’d blow up about every little thing — like can you imagine having to walk on eggshells all the fucking time?! It– It was absolute hell!”

In the face of your distress, their words of gentle protest were like a compress that managed to somewhat ground you. Their words attempt to sink in, but all the buzzing in your head only allows it up to surface level, and ultimately, you end up snapping again.

   “I.. I need help? ..Well isn’t that why I’m here talking to you?!” You yelled, “Obviously I need help! I- I can’t fucking sleep, I’m too scared to even go into my kitchen… My damn late husband is making my life a living hell for no reason! Look—!” At your exclamation, your right hand is finally revealed and raised into the air — which you can barely pin the name to at this point.

Crimson overtakes what was previously off-white bandaging, obscuring the wrap’s beginning and ending. The sloppy hast of which was used to wrap your hand with shines through painfully so as a mere closer inspection shows peeks of blotched, bloody flesh — which stopped halfway and is replaced by so much red that even moving the little you did has made it ooze out from the seams like strawberry jam and slowly dribble down the palm, down your wrist, and all the way down to your elbow where it then dripped onto the plate of your lap.

   “He… He did this to me!” Your voice fell apart like cracked glass — which one would assume was the weapon used to sever the tendons of your hand if they saw the massacre that replaced three out of five of your fingers. 

   “L- Last week. I- It.. It happened then I.. I was trying to make breakfast and I was chopping up fruit— Th- The knife slipped and…he — it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t—!”

Thick globs of translucence glided down your face as rib-racking sobs replaced the slither of coherency you had left. You tried to save face by hiding it away, but all that managed to do was smear possibly infected blood on your wet cheek — which quickly mixed and polluted with the ongoing stream of teardrops.

   “This wasn’t— I- I didn’t ask for this!” You weeped, “Th-... Wasn’t me…. This was all because of him—!”

   “Shh, shh.. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay..”

His faint hushing was like a mouse’s squeak in the face of your body-racking hysterics, yet it seemed so much louder when his arms caged you against his chest — or at least you assume that’s what the sudden warmth surrounding you is. Your thoughts had ripped you from reality quite some time ago so everything seemed unnervingly numb.

   “It wasn’t my fault… Please… Please believe me…it- it wasn’t— I never wanted this to happen I- I swear..!” 

You practically threw up those words along with the metallic liquid that your tongue has been bathing in for far too long — the horrendous color of which also matched your mashed knuckles and stained the cashmere of your costume.

   “I- I didn’t… I— This—!” You tried to plead. Just like the peasant you portrayed mere moments ago. As if you were being trialed for the murder of your mother just like they were, you begged for the ear of the one who held you so tenderly and woefully requested they listen so that you could explain this.

Alas, they don’t seem willing to hear your explanation. Instead, they shushed you again before releasing you from your suffering of lying on the floor of… Where are you even at? You didn’t really take notice of the labeled doors you barged through as you fled from the stage. You just remember running for what felt like ages before your knees finally buckled and you collapsed..

   “No need to explain yourself. Just focus on your breathing..” The voice said calmly, but as it entered your ears, it felt as though the words were being amplified by a blow horn. It made your panic worsen and you immediately tried to break free from their temporarily soothing grasp.

You struggled and broke free, but in the end, only managed to make it a handful of steps before your feet caught on something protruding from the floor. You trip, and your descent is as quick as your landing is painful. Sharp prickles quickly shoot through your side as you smash into what your mind took ages to discern was a staircase, leaving you with no choice but to writhe and blubber.

   “Y/n, are you okay?!” That same warmth surrounded you seconds after that and the pain was so dizzying that you could do nothing but curl into that heat whilst wishing for a million things to cease from your being.

This embrace was not one of them. Not anymore.

   “Crap, you’re covered in blood.. Uh—! Dear, can you hear me? Can you please listen?” The more the voice spoke, the more your brain began to familiarize itself with it. The calming tone like a lullaby, the lightness of their words, the affection of which they carried.. Eventually, the wires finally connected and your discolored, foggy eyes widened.

   “Ven’?” You croaked, “Ven’...! Ven’, I- I didn’t—!”

   “I know, I know..” He said, “It’s okay... You can relax. I’m not going to blow up on you like the others did..” 

The frigidness you’ve long since grown fond of finds place in your hair, rooting itself in your scalp to allow you to feel the supple flesh of his fingertips before dragging it along to further mess up your hair. It sends a light shiver down your spine but you embrace it regardless, burying your face into his chest to better allow him access.

   “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” You whispered after a few seconds of relishing in the feeling and allowing it to guide you back down to earth, “It’s not my fault… I didn’t mean to..”

  “I believe you,” He hushed, “And I’ll take care of it for you, okay? It was an honest mistake so.. so I’m sure I can make everything right…but before that, I need you to calm down, alright? Breathe in and out..” 

He leans in until your foreheads kissed and your ragged breaths were warming his lips. He closes his eyes and then continues, “Don’t focus on anything else but me and the rise and fall of your chest. I’ll do it with you. Just breathe, okay?”

   “In…” He pauses, following his own instructions as his chest slowly puffs and fills with oxygen. He then holds that in for a handful of seconds before saying, “Out,” and releasing it in a slow exhale. Nothing like you, who sucks in air as if it were going out of style and pushing it out just as fast.

   “Let’s try that again. In…” He draws in a breath. You do the same yet quicker. He then pauses, you do not. 

   “Out..” He exhales in a slow breath. By the time he's done, you’ve long since started on your next breath.

   “In…and out… In….and out…”

   “In…. I- In….and..out… In….and out..” As if you were a teenager again, covered in your friend’s blood and sitting on that hard staircase whilst being strangled by your thoughts just like you had been that day, you focus all your attention on the cushy feeling of the sofa caging your thighs and the rise and fall of your chest — just like the love of your life who hated you oh so much had taught you so long ago.

   “I- In…and out… In..a- and..out… In…and out…” 

Eventually your repetitive mantra began to sink in and your chest became lighter. The boulders that sat on it were no longer there, allowing the delicious air to flood in with vigor. It tingles your skin which causes you to tremble a little, but when you’re finally able to feel the leather of the couch again, you didn’t pay much mind to it.

Minutes pass, and it's only when the room finally stops spinning that you’re able to speak again. Your voice still quakes, but now that you’ve managed to caress the ground again and actually feel it, you can formulate your thoughts a little better.

   “Th- That was about it.. Those..were some of the most notable moments of my life with my late husband…be- before he died anyways,” You said in a tone that could be mistaken for one of sadness, “Our dates in between, our wedding…and all that other stuff aren’t really important to the situation— I-I don’t wanna waste time, y’know?” You force out a chuckle. 

    “I’ll just skip right to when all this freaky stuff started and…huh?”

Your tongue stills in your mouth as the question fills your ears. It sank in slowly — like a rock floating to the bottom of a moat — before you finally managed to fix your lips to ask, “Wh- What do you mean? I have been completely honest..”

    “Do you think I’m lying?” You shoot out, “I- I haven’t even finished my story don’t you think it’s wrong to just… To just fucking interrupt me?!” 

Your voice rises faster than any slingshot ride at a fair. For as long as it took for you to finally touch the ground, it’s astounding how fast it was to get you right back in the air. Understandably so, I mean they were really trying to pin all of this on you when they don’t even know the whole story!

    “What? Are you going to say that all this isn’t happening or something? Be- Because it is! I showed you my hand as proof so—” 

    “…Did I…speak to him on the day he died?”

    “I- I don’t see how that matters when I—” You’re cut off again as their stern tone deads all coherent thoughts in your head. Once again, as they continued speaking, it felt as though the room had begun to shift and spin in a circle.

You felt…uneasy. Like you were suddenly being watched by more than just the two pairs of eyes before you — as if the paintings on the wall were staring at you a little too hard and the lights had micro cameras in them, ready to catch the moment you inevitably crack. The air suddenly felt so thick again, as if you were inhaling bricks. The room was on the warmer side, but for some reason, you’re getting the chills from simply sitting in place on the couch.

And then, it finally clicks and your heart drops, “Ha- Has he.. Is he..here?”

You shoot up from the sofa, your eyes twitching worse than a dying insect, “Wh- Wh- What is he telling you?!” You ask. Deafening silence is the response you’re given so you raise your voice again to snap, “Tell me what he’s saying to you!”

The more the silence impeded the space, the more you felt the urge to flee as fast and as far as you could. Suddenly, your little helper seemed more like a judgemental bystander and their gaze began to stab your flesh like a thousand little needles. Their eyes blown wide in your direction felt like a bullet going straight through your heart and oh, did the beedy nervousness that darkened their hues deal the final nail in the coffin.

    “Are you..scared of me?”

    “No,” His response flew out faster than the train you two took to get back home. It did little to comfort you. I mean, how could it when you were surrounded by the product of your own rage?

The lamp lays in the corner, the bulb that was previously being protected by its pretty floral shield now laid shattered along its snapped cusp. Your sofa lays flipped over on its side — the pillows that once complimented the color now ripped to shreds with its cotton guts pooling out. Your coffee table was like the rug beneath it; in ruins. Stained like a picasso painting with the deep red of the wine that you failed to finish serving as the base of the bleeding sky and the glass of the expensive champagne glasses serving as the translucent stars.

The love of your life and best friend laid against the wall mere inches away from the door. Unlike his surroundings, he was the one thing that remained perfectly intact and untouched by your tantrum — aside from the sweet smell that now clings to his pants after you had accidentally doused him in it upon knocking the bottle out of his hands.

He doesn’t seem to be able to meet your eye. Looking past you, to the side of you, down at your feet…but never directly into your eyes even when you tried to meet them. 

Those pretty skylight gems that would often end up the last thing you see before you give into slumber — those same hues that tended to stare at you with such adoration — seemed so dim right now for some reason.

…Well, the reason is obvious. In fact, a fraction of it lays in pieces at your feet.

    “You don’t have to lie,” You said, “It’s okay. I’ll understand.”

You said that, but just the thought of him nodding his head and admitting to fearing you made your eyes sting and your chest tighten. Mere minutes ago, you had just been clinking glasses and getting quick tastes of apple cider from Venti’s lips. You were just rambling about the future — with Venti already cooking up ways he’d sneak into your dorm unsuspected to get his nightly cuddles while you online shopped for items you’d possibly need in said room as you hummed the song you had performed for your entrance exam a while back.

It’s astonishing that a mere piece of paper managed to drastically change the mood and cause such a mess..

    “...I’m..not scared of you,” He admits at last, causing you to sigh out his name, “Venti—”

    “I’m not,” He repeats more firmly this time. You almost want to believe him, “I’m just…shaken and- ..and upset about all the delicious wine we wasted just now, heh..” 

He pushes out his laughter and you cringe at how dull it sounded. Even as great of an actor as he was — more amazing than you, seeming as he was the one given the chance to live your dream — his panic and distress shone through as if it was in front of a clear curtain. You could practically see his tongue twitch with hesitation, hear the light clicking of his teeth as he struggled to decide whether to open his mouth and say something or remain in silent fright. You could just about feel the tremors at the end of every word that he managed to force out and it made your heart ache.

He was terrified, and the fact that he was trying to hide it was honestly pissing you off a little.

   “Don’t look like that,” He says after sneaking a glance at your face and seeing your narrowed look. Your expression doesn’t lighten so he adds a trembling, “..Please,”

   “D- Don’t.. Don’t look so down, dear..” A rather strong crack in his sentence has him pausing. He decides to take a moment to slowly inhale and exhale, but you — ever the impatient one — decide to open your mouth once again.

   “Lying makes things worse,” You hated how threatening that sounded and despised even more that you couldn’t catch the growl in your tone before your words came out of your mouth. It makes you scramble to save yourself, and ultimately, causes you to stammer, “Ju- Just..admit it already. I.. I’m not…—”

    “You need help,” He shoots out just as strongly, but then he gulps and you hear him murmur, “..I’ll help you.”

    “What are you saying?” You ask half frustrated, half curious. After what just happened, how come he isn’t sprinting for the door that’s literally right next to him? It’d be so easy to run to the local police station or go telling everyone about this and turn what little friends you managed to keep after high school into enemies, and yet…he stays, avoiding your gaze and trying to curl impossibly more into himself.

    “I can help you with…this,” He motions quickly to various broken objects in the room. You notice then how badly his fingertips tremble.

   “Ju- Just give me some time… I’ll fix this,” He tells you, but you’re beginning to doubt that he’s talking to you still, especially when his words continue and his voice drops to a whisper, “I can fix this…”

   “You’re staying? E- Even..after all this?” You question, your brows furrowing, “Are you an idiot?”

   “Maybe.. But I- I don’t consider myself one..” He mutters, and finally, finally he meets your gaze. 

Once he locks eyes with you, his lips twitch up and he shows you the sweetest smile he could muster in that moment, which to you, looked as though it tasted sweeter than any of the drinks you had down that evening…and it absolutely broke your heart at the way your heart leapt for joy at the sight.

    “Hey..Ven’,” You whispered, fearing that talking any louder than that would shatter this illusion and reveal an ugly reality — that Venti had run off as soon as the first wine bottle hit the ground and you were actually talking to some hallucination of him or something.

     “...Do you think I’m a monster for this?”

And luckily for the both of you, his smile persisted and he replied, “No, of course not, dear. I could never see you in such a way…not even if I wanted to...”

    “I’m not a monster,” You snapped firmly only for your voice to give way to uncertainty soon afterwards, “I- I- I’m not — and I don’t know about any of the bullshit you’re spewing!”

    “I don’t know so- so…stop looking at me like that — like I’m some murderer! Do you think I’m a murderer?!” 

You can’t decide whether you wanted that to come out as a confident assertion or a genuine concern. Not that one could blame you, right? I mean, you’re seriously being accused of murdering your husband right now!

    “..I haven’t done anything to deserve these- these baseless accusations!” You said, “A- All I’ve done is seek help with my little problem that has been driving me fucking insane for the past few days and I get treated like some damn criminal! How can you be so- so heartless?!”

    “I ha- haven’t even gotten into the main issue here and you’re already labeling me! I mean, sure, ma- maybe I did speak to him that day but it was only for a few minutes and- and — stop giving me that fucking look! Pl- Please, I- I can’t handle it—! Please, please, please…!”

    “Dear, please…listen to me.”

His gentle request has your face souring and scrunching up. You’ve done nothing but listen to him. To his empty promises. To his tender lies. You’ve listened to his animated chatter whenever he’s on the phone with friends when he thinks you’re asleep. You’ve listened to all his little sighs of relief he’d let slip when he thinks you’ve walked off. You’ve listened to the huffs of disappointment he’d give whenever someone so much as mentions your name.

And oh how all of it has waned on you.

    “Is it because I was rejected from all those schools I applied for?” You questioned, “Maybe it’s due to the fact that I can’t seem to hold down a damn job because everyone’s incompetence keeps causing me to snap!” 

As if to emphasize your point further, you lift the clever — that barely passes for a knife — into the air and slam it down with a force powerful enough for the simple slicing of vegetables to sound as though a building had just collapsed on itself.

It was quick, but you caught the slight jerk his body made at the sound.

To play it off, Venti kept his tone incredibly even — an impressive feat even for someone as gifted as him, “That has nothing to do with this—!”

    “Then what is it, huh?” You asked, now fully turning to look at him, “And while you’re at it, explain to me why you’ve been hiding that from me too!” You swing the large knife haphazardly — earning a more obvious flinch from the man — as you aim it in the direction of the countertop where the main cause of your rage sat glistening like a pearl under the kitchen’s poor lighting.

There, on the faux marble countertops where you two often dined out on cheap quick meals…was a gorgeous ring.

It wasn’t the biggest in size, but the gem that sat perched atop the silver, decorated band looked like something the two of you only wished you could afford — hell, from the looks of it, half of your apartment combined couldn’t compare to the likely price of that thing.

It was odd to find such a treasure snug between some old articles of clothing at the bottom of the drawers. After all, even with Venti choosing to get a job at Xiao’s family business and studying locally, he claims to mainly spend his money on therapy, your anger management courses, necessities for the apartment, and his books for classes. 

Moreover, the topic of marriage — even in a joking sense — had quickly erased itself from the conversation around the time of his first semester of his freshmen year. 

So that begs the question; what was the reason for such expensive jewelry and who was it for? It was surely not for you — you’ve done nothing but give Venti severe headaches, bad habits to get rid of stress, and deep eyebags — and no amount of sweet nectar from his lips or honeyed words are going to make you believe otherwise.

    “I can’t believe you’re accusing me like this..” He murmurs in a way that almost seemed rehearsed — like he’s been forced to reenact this exact scene a thousand times before. 

He softly exhales, holding his hands out as he begins his slow approach towards you, “...I can understand the anger from your perspective of things,” He takes tiny steps, closing the distance at a miniscule pace, “That said, I also know how you can get when you’re upset, so first lets—”

   “You don’t know anything!” You screech, knife swinging loosely in your grasp as you shake your head wildly in disagreement. Venti halts in his tracks, eyes widening before narrowing.

   “Hey! Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” He yells. Yes, he yells at you. You ; his supposed darling. You ; the one who he has claimed to want to spend the rest of his life with. You ; who he used to speak of marrying at every waking moment he could because he was just that eager to have you all to himself.

You; who he once swore to never raise his hand or voice to you out of his love for you and understanding of how triggering such a thing is to you — who grew up surrounded by mainly that.

This time, you’re the one to freeze in place. Venti, not realizing his mistake, relaxes when he sees you’ve stopped. He goes back to inching towards you soon after that. His tone when speaking is now lighter, but in a more scolding tone.

   “You need to be more careful! Otherwise you’ll hurt someone, or worse, nick yourself!”

His words sink into you like oil, slowly leaking into your bloodstream once it's slipped into your tender flesh. Iit sets everything it comes into contact with aflame as if the crimson in your veins were some kind of match or ignitor and it rises to your head in a big surge — causing your brain to writhe from the overwhelming pain of being unable to stabilize it immediately. 

That pain pounds at your head, fueling the flames to the point that your fingertips tremble from all the heat and the kitchen seems to start shrinking and closing in on you.

In your almost dizzying haze, you hadn’t realized you had begun backing away from the counter — and ultimately Venti — until you felt the cool, smooth concrete of the wall. You jolt, as if you had been shot in the gut, and a lightning strike of pain hits you like a harsh wave as you realize how unbearably warm the air around you and how barren your chest felt.

And then, suddenly, his voice penetrated your ears, “I think I should hold onto that for now.”

Your eyes dart over to look at his face — part of you seeking comfort like you had done so many times in the past. But alas, unlike before, his expression doesn’t seem so loving.

Instead of his usual grin — softened by the calming waves of his attitude and perked up by his chipper cheeriness — it seemed flat, almost frowning. As you lock eyes with him, hoping to find the familiar glimmer of love in the aqua green ocean of hues that always seemed to be there, you’re instead met with narrow, dimmed, stale grass that was devoid of everything other than exhaustion and…annoyance? Irritation? You aren’t sure what that slight flicker was you saw before it was blinked away, but you’re sure it wasn’t anything good.

Your eyes widen, but not because of his expression itself but more so due to the fact that you weren’t surprised by it. Weren’t moved at all in particular…as if you had seen it a million times before.

Have you? 

How long has your boyfriend looked at you as if you were some annoying little pest he was obligated to take care of? When did it start and why? And…was that ring a possible byproduct of him seeking an escape from it all? From you?

As a million questions begin to swarm your brain like buzzing cicadas, you find your hands coming up to smash against your ears in a futile attempt to block it out. As the already diminishing room begins to swirl and spin like a tornado, you find your quivering eyes snapping shut in hopes that when you open them up once again, it’ll be revealed that this was all just some nightmare and that you were actually in bed curled up with your beloved.

Was he your beloved? Did he see himself as such? You remember all who heard the news of you two getting together being shocked as Venti seemed like the type to never tie down with anyone — being a free spirit of sorts in their eyes. Maybe that was true. Maybe you weren’t as important to him as he was to you. Maybe he didn’t like you at all and was just scared of how you’d react back then so he said yes. Maybe—

    “Y/n,” You gasp. He was so much closer than before. As if he were right on top of you. It made your heart still in your chest. Made you fear opening your eyes and becoming trapped under such an abhorrent stare..

…until you suddenly felt the skin of his palm surrounding your hand which still held the kitchen knife, now in a tighter grasp.

    “Let me see the knife,” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt and the hold of which he held you felt suffocating and constrictive. It was as though he was holding a stranger, or rather, a wild beast and not his sweetheart. That realization came down on you like a sack of bricks as you finally let it sink in that Venti didn’t love you in the slightest.

Everything he did — all those memories that you would often use to ground yourself. All those sweet apple cider touches that you would eagerly drink in and get dunk on. All those equally tender kisses he’d give you as he whispered professions of his love for you in your ear — were all just parts of a script he had written for his own twisted amusement. 

It was all to spite you because deep down, for whatever reason, he despised you. Just like your mother, who was rather disgusted by that title — and by extension, you — and attempted to dethrone herself of it so much so that your father was forced to flee from his sacred home. Just like your stepfather, who only rescued you from that horrible situation to force you into another one that benefited him and his pleasure. Just like those girls, who thought it a fun idea to pick on a defenseless kid who so happened to get into it with one of their friends and just barely come out on top. Just like most of the people you and Venti used to hang with in highschool — and even your theatre director Miss Furina — who viewed you as some ruthless monster after you had been so obviously provoked by Lumine onstage that day and decided to distance themselves from you two and even spread rumors about the entire ordeal.

He. was. just. like. them. all!

    “Y/n, let go of the— Hey!” As he caressed your knuckles and slid his thumb over to try and peel back two of your fingers, he was met with resistance. As if his touch was poison, you attempted to yank your hand away but failed due to him tightening his grip at the last second.

    “Get away from me! You fucking traitor!” Your shouting sounded like a blood-curdling scream of a bell as a struggle for the knife broke out.

    “What are you saying?! Just give it…here!” Venti cried out, keeping a firm grip on your hand until you suddenly jerked your hand downwards and—

    “Ah!” A sharp cry sounds throughout the kitchen, and as if it were that same bell from before signalling that the brief fight had come to an end, you came to a swift stop.

Venti fumbles back, and by the time you look up, he has already opened his hand to himself to reveal the deep color that now stains it.

It oozes out quicker than you can register the large cut it seeped from and before you knew it, his entire hand was shaking terribly and that hideous color you once saw constantly in your life was dripping down his arm and splashing unceremoniously onto the smooth, wooden flooring.

Various childish curses fell from his lips ever so gracefully along with quick, stammering cries for help. None of them reached your ears as the ever so shocking feeling of your blood rushing every which way coursed through you. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and tingled every morsel of your body.

You couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, but as you gazed down at his slight hunched over form which cradled his bleeding hand with utmost care — and with more than he’s probably ever held you with, you’re sure of it — you felt the wildfire inside you spreading into something uncontrollable.

His cries were like nails scratching along a chalkboard to you and, as if it were the final push you never needed, you felt your body — now light and floating off the ground and away from any and everything that could pull you back down — move and your hand pull the now bloodied kitchen knife back, ready to strike.

The next time you could feel the ground again, it seemed as though you were in an entirely new room — one that was unfamiliar to you at first.

The once dull colored walls of your kitchen now had splatters of red here and there that served as a backdrop to the bloodbath at the center of it. The cabinets looked a similar way, but the cabinets bore so much more of the crimson shade that you could hardly tell what the previous color was.

…And at the center of that gruesome canvas sat you — who matched the walls, cabinets, counters…and body in front of you — with silent tears streaming down your face.

    “Hey…Ven’?” You called softly. Silence. You try again, “Ven’... Venti…dear…? Are you… Are you okay?”

You wait a few seconds this time — ever so patient — but when you’re met with no response, you decide to wait some more. Those seconds quickly turn into minutes and those minutes end up stretching to who knows how many hours of you calling his name and waiting in silence for his inevitable response that, for some reason, never came. Why hasn’t it came? Why hasn’t he responded back to you yet? Is he mad at you?

    “Venti…please…” You croaked. Your voice coming out as a mere glass-thin whisper — a product of endlessly calling out to him until the orange of the sky faded into a deep navy outside the small window that sat at the end of the tacky carpet runner you two laid out to make the tiny kitchen pop. 

    “Ven’...? What happened to you…? …Venti!” 

Your eyes — reddened and fluttering from the endless stream of tears that has left your sockets without stopping even once — slowly look down at the knife splayed across your bloody, tremoring, half-open palm…

Something clicks — something you wish hadn’t — and a deep sense of consternation dawns and swallows up your being.

    “I- I didn’t…! I would.. I would never even think about it…” You said, your teeth clenching to the point they crackled and popped in a way that would make anyone who heard cringe and seek respite from the noise, “H- H- How dare you accuse me of… o- of…”

Then, out of nowhere, you let out a horrific scream — one that seemed to claw its way from your throat with its sharp nails. It went on until you physically could not and you were left sputtering and hacking on the soft fur of the cozy rug.

     “I didn’t do it!” You yelled, “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t! No way I did! Yo- You have — have to believe me!” 

You could barely get the words out. With your voice still recovering from the blood-curdling scream, your words were pitchy, broken, and sounded like an incessant ringing even a deaf person would writhe in agony hearing.

Eventually though, your words failed you and in place of those came incoherent blubbering and tears that, no matter how hard you wiped at it with your hands — which smeared freshly discolored and puffy blood along your cheek — never stopped flowing. Leaving you to do nothing but paint your face in your past mistake..

    “Why… W- Why couldn’t you just tell me?” You asked, dull thudding resonating throughout the room in a quick succession as you chopped at the veggies on the cutting board. Your voice was light and quivering just like the hand you were using to chop with.

But that’s okay! A bit of trembling is expected when news such as this arises!

    “Y- You were...— You were really tuggng me along there, heh heh heh...” You said, your lips — doused in cherry — stretched beautifully across your face, “I mean for- for a second— For a second I thought you, y’know….heh.”

Just inches away from your feet, your masterpieces lay there, unrecognizable and colored to match your attire. His aquamarine eyes dulled a monochrome green being the only thing that can distinguish who it is. Not that it matters, after all, you already know who's behind you. No need to check.

Just don’t look behind you. No matter what.

    “Were you nervous? Scaaaared?” Despite your cheery, giggly tone, the words leave a bad taste in your mouth just like the liquid that occasionally coats it when you roll your tongue and move your lips simultaneously to talk. It stings — tingles your taste buds numb — and for the briefest second, your hand tightens on the handle of the knife and you raise it only to suddenly slam it back down.

     “I- I- I wouldn’t have rejected you, y’know? I- I would never— Never!” Your voice raises and your eyes subconsciously dart over to look over at him only to immediately dart away.

Don’t look for even a second. It’s for the best.

    “You were acting so so so odd that — I- I have to confess — I went through your phone..” You pause from your ministrations on the half chopped up carrot to grab the phone nearby. It’s a bit difficult — what with your hands so slippery right now and the screen cracked beyond belief — but you manage enough to turn it on and swipe up, ready to put in the pin.

The crimson circles that you left an hour or so ago give way a clear hint to what the password is — not that you needed the clue in the first place — and you’re quick to type it in and slide open the phone, ruining the screen further.

 Without looking back, you hold up the phone, revealing chopped off green bubbles of texts. There’s no way to read the whole conversation due to the fact that half of the screen wasn’t even there, but does it really matter? He of all people should know what this was!

    “Th- This ring— You…bought it for me, ri- right? You were planning on proposing, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” Deafening silence is the response you earn from your eager question, but it tells you all you need to know and you let out a small cheer.

    “This- This! It’s so beautiful — and the color — it’s my favorite!” You hold up your left hand — which shook like a leaf and was uncomfortably slick — to show off the jewel that sits on your ring finger, “It- It- It fits perfectly too! You shouldn’t have, babe!”

After pulling your hand back for a moment of ogling, you go back to cutting the carrot, “How long have you kept this from me, hm? Months? Years? Why so long? Did you want to wait until after you graduated? Ma- Maybe after we moved out and got a biiiiig, big house like we always talked about!”

    “That was the reason, right? Nothing else?” You pause again. Waiting forever for a response that never comes. Even so, you wait — ever the patient spouse you were — but after a while, that everlasting patience seems to stretch thin.

    “I… I- I happen to see an old….acquaintance of ours in your messages,” You commented, your hand slowing as you finally part from the overly and sloppily chopped carrot to lift the board and slide the bits into a bowl of other similarly cut veggies. You then reach for a radish, your grip immediately staining it in the same grotesque liquid that’s all over your hand and even spreads up your arm. 

   “Do you know who?”

You waste no time, cutting off even the wind in your haste to answer your own question, “Of course you do! O- Of course… You just… Just couldn’t part with her even after all she’s done to us! To m- me.”

    “Your texts went back so far — al- almost like you never stopped talking to her e- even when you told me otherwise. Isn’t that strange, love?” 

The cuts made into the radish quickly turned sloppy and slanted. Alas, it was something you had no choice but to look the other way at as it was due to your left hand — which held the knife firmly in its grasp and shook intensely despite how calm you were in that moment.

You were calm. Completely. No doubt about it.

    “She seemed oddly interested in that ring…— Sh- she was always so nosy, wasn’t she?” You quipped, “I- I- I mean really she just wouldn’t. stop. talking. Li- Like it was her ring or something, hehe.. S- So silly, right?” The speed of your hand increases, “Right?”

And of course, silence is what you're met with. Such a rude response to give to the one you loved.

    “Don’t go all quiet on me now!” You finally snapped, your voice sounding like a banshee’s screeching as your right hand moved from the wooden board to ball into a fist, “I’m your fiance, spouse — whatever, right?! I- Isn’t— Isn’t it unfair that I’ve been left in the dark this entire time?! Th- That my partner may be cheating on me with…some… bitch that I beat up back in highschool that ruined everything I strived so hard to build for myself?!”

The loud clacking that boomed and bounced off the walls played like a novice drumline; bad, offbeat, and unnecessarily loud to the point it stung your ears and made them cry out for help with rings high enough to break glass. 

As if the poor vegetable had wronged you like Lumine did all those years ago — and still seems to terrorize you even now — you slam the knife down over and over and over and over. 

Loud chop after chop followed one after another like falling dominoes, and as you began to float from earth — as your anger began to blindside reason and your vision began to twist and turn colors — you were suddenly yanked back down by heavy chains and slammed back down onto the ground.

    “D- Do you really, really hate me that—!”

Your eyes went wide, bug eyed, to the point it stung and your mouth flew open to let out a scream so loud, so intense , that it made you dizzy. You choked on that scream — and as if you had been forced to swallow a metal sword set on fire — it burned your throat, strangled your vocal cords, but nothing hurt worse than the searing pain that caused such a piercing scream to rip from your throat in the first place.

Everything became blurry and a storm of noise ensued. A singular, quick clack led to an ear-splitting clatter that blended in with your gagged, breathy cry as you felt your feet teetering on flat flooring. You heard a string of similar noises follow before the drumming of your heart in your ears drowned out everything else.

The last thing you could make out was a sea of crimson that splattering everywhere and a glimpse of your hand before everything went black and you collapsed onto the floor — failing to realize the chunks of meaty flesh you had left behind on the countertop in the wake of metallic-smelling cherry jam..

In a heated frenzy, you launched yourself from the ground and towards the chair where your helper sat perched and comfortable.

You reach them in record time and your hand immediately goes to curl around their neck and grip them tightly, as if you were trying to break a bone.

You squeeze down and are met with little resistance as their flesh caves in to bend at your grasp. You pay no mind to it — not even when you lift them into the air by the throat and reveal their infant-sized and colorful body in the light — too focused on the blackened stars in your vision to realize the beady dots that supposedly perceived you with judgement had no intellect or awareness to do so in reality.

  “You don’t wanna believe me?! Wa— Wanna take his side, huh?! Just like everyone else…?!”

You dangle them in the air, crushing them even further to the point your nails dig into the skin of your knuckles. Their clown-like smile merely stretches wider at the assault as the round blush neatly sat on their cheeks began extending ovally.

   “Well I’ll show you! I- I’ll give you di– definite proof and- and shove it right down y- your fucking throat!”

Stumbling about your wobbly legs like a chicken with no head, you drag your left, then your right, then your left, then your right foot over and over as you tread the winding hall of your home. 

It seems to stretch on forever — the many framed pictures and paintings along the walls taking obvious glee in your distress as if they were all being possessed by him — but you eventually make it to the end where a door resides that blocks off your safe haven from the brutish world your forced to mingle in every day against your will.

With clumsy movements, you jiggle the handle and the door falls open to reveal your realm that has held you ever so dearly at your lowest point — unlike a certain someone who currently transcends death just to drive you mad. 

The floor was decorated in various objects, none of which were in one piece, just hoping to trip you off your feet with the rugged, sharp, arms of your destroyed desk — or possibly the snapped chair leg — and embrace you with the cotton guts that were snatched from various pillows you often curled up to at night and wet with your translucent grief. 

The walls were torn, its dress baring holes the size of your fist and thin claw marks that could’ve been made by your chipped nails — of course, it’d be a hard feat seeming as the majority of them were no longer bedded into fingers and lost who knows where. The room also had a pungent odor wafting every which way. One that smells heavily of rusted nails and pennies, but to you — who’s been a victim to this scent for far too long now — it stung softly and even began to resemble the vanilla of the candle you set out a few days ago.

    “E- Excuse the mess..” You throw out with haphazard politeness as you trudged along, just barely dodging some objects and not even trying with the rest despite the fact that whatever you don’t avoid is inevitably stabbed into the flesh of your foot. 

All that mattered right now was clearing your name and proving that you were the one truly suffering in all of this.

You finally make it up to your wardrobe where the stench seemed to linger the most, almost as if the sleek wood of the dresser doors were made out of infested, moldy flesh themselves.

The smell tinges your nostrils — practically sears your nose hair off as it travels up your gummy airflow — but it doesn’t stop you and even causes a smile to break out on your face.

    “H- H- He’s..in there,” You say as if what waited on the other side was your celebrity crush, “Riiight in there, hehe..~! Told ya’ I did nothing wrong!”

    “...Why is he in there?”

You pause, your smile dropping just to straighten out quickly after, “We- Well isn’t it obvious! I- I- I put ‘em in there! I mean, I couldn’t just have him l- laying there in the kitchen — he’s still my husband s- so when I found him like that I just…y’know, helped him out..”

You could feel a teasing quip forming on their plushified lips in the way the room’s atmosphere shifts so you quickly add, “I’m still mad at him. Won’t forgive ‘em that easily, just…

   “...H- He seemed so..cold…on- on the ground— I had no choice but to stuff him in here to warm him up! It can get kinda stuffy, but i- it’s right here by our heater so…yeah— just— …here, look!”

And with that stammering bellow, you swing the door open at last and, just like that, your indisputable evidence comes flopping right out to lay at your feet with a rough thud like a sack of bricks. 

As your eyes slowly part from your helper to gaze downwards at your inexplicable truth, your smile begins to return. Though he looked like a completely different person under the room’s warm lights — his skin dark in color and cracking all over for any insect nearby to seep into and his joints eerily stiff for someone usually so animated — there was no denying that this doll-like lump crushing your toes was the acting extraordinaire, the whimsy ‘airhead’ with the siren's voice and big heart; Venti!

He was right here, sleeping like a rock — rather ill-mannered, seeming as you two have a guest and there will soon be more to come, but oh well! What can you do about that?

You crouch down — tossing your dear helper aside as if they weighed less than a feather — and place both your hands on either side of Venti’s shoulders. Putting all your strength into your unbandaged hand, you manage to lift the surprisingly heavy body of your spouse that he could almost sit straight up on his own — almost. As soon as you let go, he slumps against your chest and his head lolls to limply rest on your shoulder. 

Nausea begins creeping up your throat, but you try your best to ignore it as you lean in and lay your own head against his shoulder. Water builds up in your eye sockets, but you force your lips to widen to the point a glimpse of your pearly whites peek out.

You push out a small giggle, but that quickly devolves into a hysteric fit of laughter — one that would only be appropriate to a group of clowns despite it being fueled by nothing but inner turmoil that has poisoned your thoughts since the day you inhaled your first breath.

…The same thoughts that led to this very situation.

    “H..a… See..?” You said to your fuzzy friend, “He’s just fine! Heh… W- We were just kidding around earlier, surely! I– I– I mean there’s no way all that stuff coulda happened for real, r- right? A- After everything we went through…after everything…w- we don’t deserve an ending like that!”

    “...I remember reading some story about a woman haunting her ex-boyfriend who wronged her a while back… Re- Real interesting story, definitely recommend! ..Th- That’s probably where all of this is coming from.. Like, I- I must be having some nightmare based on that…story.. N- No way this is all real, I- I would never—”

As the first tears finally break free from your waterline and drip off your lashes, the sharp whirring of sirens outside calls you to attention as your entire bedroom is quickly dyed in two-toned flashing, colored lights.

You let a gasp fall from your lips — weak and high, like a whimpering animal — and you’re barely able to stay coherent with your next words as you shuffle to your feet.

    “Th- Th– Look! T- They’re finally, finally… hehehehaha~!” You giggle. Your chest rising and falling quickly as some of your tears begin to seep in at the root of your mouth and splash against the back of your throat as you throw your head back, “Finally…finally…”

    “Le- Let’s go greet them together!” You exclaim, taking a step towards them only to suddenly trip. It doesn’t deter you in the slightest, and in the end, you crawl the rest of the way over to your bear-shaped helper — while promptly ignoring all the new cuts you gain in the process — as you whisper to them, “Please come with me…hehehe..”

At last, you grasp at your new friend and hold him so closely to your chest one would think you were trying to fuse with it — I mean, them.

As yells roar from outside your window, you stand to your feet with your plushie friend-slash-helper in hand.

You step once, then twice, then thrice before stopping. Hesitance clouds your judgement, but as you look behind you and finally, finally peer at reality — the corpse you’ve let fester and rot for nearly two weeks in your home — and let all those heavy truths sink in, you suck in a stuttering breath. One which held all your sorrows and self-directed anger — the same anger that single handedly ruined your life and the lives of many people you love.

You find yourself looking forward to take another step. This time you don’t stop, even when your body threatens to give out to your bone-racking sobs and your many, many regrets and silent apologies. 

You don’t stop, even when your bandaged hand that you single handedly severed falls limp atop the plushie in your hands — which Venti had taken a half an hour  trying to win for you on your first date at the fair — and throbs uncontrollably.

You don’t stop, even when your mind fights for you to just run back to that room and lay beside the one person who’s ever brought you comfort and a sense of hope in your life.

You don’t stop because, deep down, this is what he would’ve wanted to happen, surely.

    “R- Ready?” You ask upon making it to the door. You look down, waiting for their response like you’ve been doing all evening. As expected, they don’t respond. Leaving your mind to fill in the blanks and your smile to turn rather bitter as you hear their ‘answer’.

    “I know… I- I know… I’m not either..” You confessed quietly, “But we have too… T- T- Too late to back out now… We… W- We’re doing this for him..”

Without allowing another second to pass, you begin twisting the knob as the first series of knocks vibrate and shake the door. When you finally gain the courage to finally swing it open, you look up to stare at your guests in the eyes as you allowed them to lay their gazes upon you — who looked and smelled as though you had went swimming in pig’s blood and probably had the worst bedhead known to mankind — and presented the warmest smile you could. A trick taken straight from your late…boyfriend…husband?

Taken straight from your late…best friend’s book.

  “Welcome everyone, hehe…~! Wo- Would any of you like some tea?”