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Cocolia breathes down her neck, air chilled from the air surrounding them. The cold used to terrify her when she was younger. There was never a time she hadn’t known the eternal freeze, and somehow it still managed to keep her on edge in her youth.
It’s beautiful. Crafted of the shards of the eternal winter, remaining a soft yet charming blue that is almost reminiscent of the tips of Serval’s hair. It seems so fragile, as if it’d collapse under a simple touch and break into pieces, joining the snowflakes drifting around them.
It’s a cold night, but it’s a familiar one. They’re on the front steps by the Academy. It’s the same front steps where they’d first met; they were young, foolish, and just dumb enough to sink everything in on a once in a lifetime connection. The very same ones where Serval had taken her first gamble and kissed Cocolia like it was the only thing she knew how to do, loved her like it was the only lifeline she’d ever had.
Cocolia’s beautiful. Really, she always has been. Snowflakes nestle in her soft blond hair gently as if creating a halo of her radiance. Her purple eyes glisten kindly in a way they haven’t in years, looking at Serval like she’s the only thing she’s ever dreamed of.
“May I?” Cocolia asks.
Serval has never known how to say no to Cocolia, “Be my guest.”
The rose is nestled behind her ear, perched kindly as Cocolia’s hand grazes her ear. A part of Serval wants to scream and say fuck it all, to grab her hand and pull her near so that she can never leave Serval alone.
She looks just like she once did. Lips soft and full, covered in what she’s sure is the cherry lip gloss Cocolia stole from her their second year. It’s a near thing to resist tasting it off her lips and pretending nothing has changed.
Instead, Serval takes her cheek in her palm and gently runs her thumb over her soft skin, breathes her in until she knows she’s going to choke on it, “Did you miss me, darling?”
Cocolia laughs at her as her eyes crinkle upwards, “Come on, Serval. You never called me darling.”
Serval’s mouth quirks up stubbornly, “Not… always.”
A light flush rises to Cocolia’s cheeks heating beneath her fingertips - an innuendo easily interpreted, “That is far from the point.”
“Then what is your point, Cocolia?” Serval says quietly, unable to meet her eyes.
Her face doesn’t shift an inch to her credit, “What do you mean? I merely wished to spend time with you, like I always have.”
This is always the moment that hurts the most - the seconds between the illusion and reality. She looks just like she had, looks up at her like she’s the entire world in a way that makes Serval wish she could continue pretending forever. Serval sighs deeply as she struggles not to melt into the woman before her, “I know, Cocolia. Give it up.”
The second the kindness in her eyes gives way to the cold calculation that has become all the more familiar, Serval finally feels like she can breathe, “What gave it away?”
“Cocolia’s hands were never cold, she always had that warming lotion on her,” Serval sighs, “What do you want from me? Come to haunt me even beyond the grave?”
“Does this bring you no amount of comfort?”
“It’s always so beautiful until I remember,” Serval smiles painfully, “Waking up used to be the hardest part. Now, I think seeing you is worse.”
"Then I think you and I both know how this ends. May I ask you one last favor?”
Serval laughs as Cocolia’s thumb brushes away her tears, hands far more calloused than she remembers as she breathes, “You always do, Princess.”
Cocolia takes her hand in her own as she feels Cocolia’s ice crystallize in her palm, freezing her to her core, “Kiss me?”
Serval has never known how to say no to Cocolia, so she follows in her wake. She kisses her until it feels like her chest may collapse. She fits against Cocolia like she was made for it, like they were made for each other. It’s so familiar and yet the most foreign touch she’s experienced, her mouth tasting of just a hint of the sweet cinnamon buns in the cafeteria Cocolia always used to insist on hoarding. It feels like being reborn, just as perfect as she remembers until she feels Cocolia guiding her hand further upwards until it rests against her chest.
Her hand stops moving right as Serval can feel the other woman’s heart beating ruthlessly. Typical of her to stop and leave Serval with the worst part - Cocolia has always taken the easy road and never the one worth fighting for.
Serval wants to scream, shake her and cry until she figures out just what the woman in front of her wants. But her answer never changes - no, the Cocolia whenever she closes her eyes always wipes her tears and says the same words like it’s a mantra. Words that the Cocolia she is forced - was forced - to share a reality with never would: “I want you.”
Her hands shake as she pushes her hand forward until the ice fragment is covered in a sickening red. It’s so warm, so real and all Cocolia does is shush her quietly as she sobs and watches the front of her blouse become covered in a sickly red.
There is nothing left to do but scream her name as she watches the life leave her eyes, and pray that her real end was a little more painless. She wonders if she was happy as she died, if she looked at Bronya and saw not a woman to manipulate but a daughter she loved. She wonders if in her final moments, Cocolia thought of her. If she was even worthy to deign a thought for.
Cocolia’s eyes are glassy, smile ever persistent even with her lip gloss smudged horribly as she whispers, “I’ll always love you.”
She doesn't. She can't. If Cocolia had ever truly loved her, she would not haunt her and prey on her every waking hour. She would not carve her heart out every day and force her to shed parts of herself she never knew she had.
Serval’s eyes open horrifically as she pants for breath, screaming Cocolia’s name as she grips on the arms that surround her for dear life and her vision goes blank. She doesn’t know how to do anything but fight, kicking and tearing as she yells. She needs to get to her, needs to be with her final moments, and she needs to say her goodbyes because Aeons forbid she will never get the chance again-
But the arms that surround her are too muscular, blond hair far too short as she finally manages to make eye contact and take in a painfully familiar blue, “Gepard?”
He’s short on breath, dressed in nothing but one of her gray embellished concert shirts she’s confident he stole from her a couple years ago and some purple sweatpants she had lying around. His arms pin down her own unforgivingly, pressing her to the mattress so she doesn’t move an inch. He’s the picture of control - that is, if you didn’t grow up with him.
He’s terrified, staring at her in a way he never has. He’s strong enough that he’s easily able to restrain a woman with her statue if she doesn’t have her intellect on her side to balance the scales - the way his arms tremble can only be a byproduct of fear. He addresses her as a Captain, solely because Serval doesn’t know if he knows how to be a brother around her right now, “Can I trust you to not do something irresponsible if I let go of you?”
Disoriented, she asks, “What are you doing here?”
“Can I trust you or not, Serval?”
Serval sighs, finally coming down from her high as she takes in the surroundings of her bedroom. Not much has changed since when she first moved in. A couple of books in odd places, some new records hung up around her, and most terrifyingly, Cocolia’s ghost staring her down from her mirror, “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
She inches over quietly to make room for him and he quickly acquiesces as the bed dips from his weight as he settles down, handing her a glass of water from her nightstand that she accepts gratefully, “What do you have to be sorry for?”
Serval inhales sharply, “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
Gepard stares at her blankly, almost as if he’s at a loss for words. Regardless, he persists, “Serval, I know things have been strained since…” he diverts his attention to her bedsheets, as if unable to look at her, “Since everything with Dad. But you don’t have to protect me anymore.”
And isn’t that the heart of the problem? Serval doesn’t know what to do if she isn’t trying to protect someone. Bronya isn’t the same girl she used to play songs for while Cocolia pretends not to smile over her paperwork, Gepard isn’t the same kid she spent years protecting from their father’s wrath, and Cocolia is six feet under and apparently some kind of hero which meant that in her final moments she had been in her right mind. In her last moments she would have stared at Serval with something more than the gaze she reserved for her when she threw her out.
Smiling, she tries to play it off as she ruffles his hair, “You’re always going to be my little brother, Geppie. Can’t get over that burden no matter how hard you try.”
But for once, Gepard isn’t easily flustered. He glares at her with frustration, “I remember it. Probably not as well as you do, definitely not like Dad does, but I remember it. Let me make it up to you and be there for you for once.”
Serval laughs, tired, “There’s no one to be there for. I’ll get over it, I always do.”
“I’m not asking you to force yourself. You don’t have an obligation to me, and I understand if you don’t trust me after everything with Dad,” he sighs as his voice quiets, staring at her softly and begging her to understand, “But I care about you, and I worry.”
She’s sure she looks horrid right now, eyes bloodshot and appearance haggard. She whispers painfully, reaching out for him and pulling him into an abrupt hug. His hands flutter around, unsure of where to put them until they gently settle around her waist, “It’s not about trust - Aeons, it never was. I never blamed you for staying with him. I just… I don’t know how to fix me. It’s not like I’m chasing down her memory. It’s just… everything is her.”
She scoffs a laugh, “I thought I learned how to stop loving her after she took everything from me, but I think it’s worse now that she’s six feet under and I can’t hate her anymore. I can’t even hate her anymore because she got better. She fought it and clearly some kind of attachment to this world was powerful enough for her to break through the cycle because she did it, and then it was too late. And now, I don’t have anyone left to blame.”
Gepard is unflinching, “Blame the Stellaron. Blame Cocolia, blame her dedication to her position above all else, or blame me. But never blame yourself. You couldn’t have known, Serval.”
Hysteria rises in her throat as she pulls back to take a sip of water, “But I did. I knew she wasn’t acting normally, I knew she’d never do something like this. I thought she was crazy, or that she’d finally lost her mind. I knew the Stellaron was dangerous, and I should’ve done more-”
“What happened to the Trailblazers the second they mentioned the Stellaron? Tell me, the second you get too deep with your research you were ousted. What did you think the next logical step was for you? Because the way I see it, the only reason you weren’t immediately thrown into a cell was because we Landau’s wouldn’t stand for it.”
She raises an eyebrow, “We?”
He flushes, but continues on without much pause, “I wondered why she had been so insistent on getting rid of you then. I thought your fight had been the reason why, but I think now it’s obvious.”
“What, that she detested me?”
“The Stellaron wanted to get rid of you,” Gepard amends, “You were a threat to its progress because she loved you, Serval. She wouldn’t have wanted you to isolate yourself like this.”
She whistles, “Low blow, Geppie.”
He smiles cautiously like the little shit she knows him to be. At the very least, he is no longer fearful. That alone is enough, “Mind doing me a favor?”
Pretending she does not feel her heart sink and an iced blade slide into her palm. refusing to look at her mirror where she sees the Cocolia of her youth staring straight back at her, she agrees, “Of course.”
“Stay with me,” he asks, “Just for a bit.”
“What, did you miss me?”
His answer comes out more like a question as he responds, “...Yes? I mean, I’m-”
She laughs hard, placing an arm on his shoulder as her chest heaves, still smiling wildly as she finally calms down enough to give him an answer amongst his flustered stuttering. If there was one thing Gepard had been right about, it was that the real Cocolia wouldn’t have wanted this, “I can’t promise it’ll be for long, but I’ll try.”
He smiles at her kindly, in the shitty pajamas she knows for a fact he stole from her in the worst hours of the morning, and for once she feels like maybe things will get better. So, of course, she throws a pillow straight at his face.
He dodges faster than she expects, and her pillow goes hurtling down towards the wall. Her mirror clatters to the ground, shards shattering to pieces as the illusion dissipates. Not forever, but perhaps for now is enough.