Chapter Text
Twelve is alone in the bedroom. She sits on her bed, the last in the long line of ones that are identical in every way, and thinks.
The white walls seem to press in around her.
The ceiling seems to shift every time she looks up.
The room seems a lot smaller, now that it's empty.
Twelve sits among the row of beds, and she thinks. Around her, on one side the walls stretch out for ages, on the other a wall stops the endlessly repeating scene. There are no beds opposite her, only to her left. Eleven's, then Ten's, then Nine's, and so on, all the way to One's, right at the other end of the room. Despite the distance, there's no difference between them either.
In reality, the only reason they know whose is whose is from years and years of muscle memory, and the tiny number inked above the right bedpost.
The tiny number that matches the one printed on the inside of her left wrist. L
Four used to complain all the time. She'd say there was no individuality, the they couldn't express themselves. She'd throw tantrum after tantrum, and attempt to paint her bedposts bright orange, only to find the next day that it was back to being identical to how it was before.
Twelve doesn't think that particularly matters now. Four isn't here.
But then again, neither is anyone else.
She shifts, and immediately regrets it. The pristine sheets on her bed are now crumpled, and she'll never manage to get them as neat again. It only makes it stand out more, something lived in amongst what hasn't been touched for months now.
Months.
She glances to the bed next to her, and ignores the way her heart aches. It still feels like only days since she last saw Eleven, since the girl last smiled at her and made Twelve's heart skip a beat. It feels like only seconds since Twelve was told that Eleven wouldn't be returning. That it was just her, and a row of empty beds from that moment onward.
She misses Eleven.
In fact, she misses them all. The loneliness is often overwhelming, and she finds herself wishing to go back to happier times, when the room with filled with sound and laughter and happiness.
Back to a time before One disappeared, before Two left to go after her.
Before it was just Twelve and an row of beds.
That's why she has to do what she's going to do.
She glances at the door by One's bed once, even though she knows it will be shut. For such a huge risk, it wouldn't be worth making such a simple mistake. Then she looks back down at the ribbon tied around her wrist.
It's a deep silver, almost black in its darkness, and a soft silk that's never left a mark against her skin. It's tied on with a double knot- something far too important to lose- and the very corner of one side is slightly frayed.
She runs her finger over the soft fabric one last time.
Twelve has never been the most outgoing. She's never been as energetic as Two or Ten, never as loud as four, or as mesmerising as Nine or Six. Even Five was more sociable, joining in whenever she felt confident enough to speak.
No. Twelve has always been Twelve, quiet and awkward, more content with staying in the corner than play-fighting with the others.
But Eleven was always by her side. No matter what happened, Eleven was the for her, there to hold her hand and tell her to stand up for herself. Maybe that's why Twelve feels she has to do this. To do something for Eleven, to repay her kindness for once.
With that thought on her mind, the pulls the frayed edge of the ribbon, hard, and lets her surroundings melt away.
———
"Twelve!" Eleven calls, making her way so delicately across the room that Twelve almost can't believe she's a real person, and not a porcelain doll, "Have you decided yet?"
Her voice is high , full of an excitement that seems almost out of place, and she sounds so genuinely interested that Twelve has no choice but to shuffle along on the sofa, making room for the other girl to sit down. She beams as she does, smoothing out her skirts and kicking up her feet," Well? "
Twelve looks at Eleven. They way the other girl actually seems to care about her. Yes, Twelve has decided, but she still doesn't know if it fits quite right. Nothing's ever perfect and this is the kind of thing that she doesn't want to make a mistake with.
But she doesn't think Eleven would care. Eleven would never mind if she decided against it, she'd never judge Twelve or call her childish. So Twelve opens her mouth, and out comes spilling all the secrets she'd been waiting to tell.
"Hyejoo," She says, and as soon as the name leaves her mouth, she knows it right. It fits like a perfectly, and she can see in Eleven's face that she thinks so as well. "My name is Hyejoo."