Chapter Text
Eizen’s house looks the same as it always did, a narrow terrace in a row of others on an unremarkable street. The last few years have seen the neighbourhood become gentrified, cafes and restaurants springing up every which way, but 43 Rayfalke Avenue remains the same. Except, he supposes, for the fact that Eizen no longer lives there.
Christ, Zaveid hates this town.
He can’t run away, though; not when he’s got a job to do, especially one his feelings have never had a place in. But it’s stifling when being here makes him feel eighteen again, starry-eyed and endlessly hopeful for the future. It’s hard not to wonder what his carefree high school self would have thought of what he’s become, and that makes a deep unease rise in his gut. But he’s got a man’s promise to follow through, so he steps forward and rings the bell.
There are footsteps, and then he’s greeted by the sight of Eizen’s sister. He hasn’t seen Edna since she was ten, but there’s no way this girl can be anyone else. She has the same short blonde hair as he remembers, the same strange yet elegant fashion sense, the same ageless blue eyes. But there’s a new wariness in her, shoulders rigid and face perfectly neutral, and it sits strangely on her young frame.
“Hey, princess,” he says. “Remember me?”
“Of course,” she answers, gaze losing none of its wariness. “You’re Zaveid.”
“That’s the one,” he says breezily. “Hey, uh, I know this is sudden, but can I come in?”
“I’m not supposed to open the door for people I don’t know.”
He’s been away for a long time, but that still stings. “I’m not a stranger,” he protests. “Just because I haven’t visited in a few years–”
“Wow,” says Edna. A smile pulls at the edge of her lips, and it seems to kindle something in her. “You’re really gullible.”
“Am not.”
“Whatever.”
She turns and trots down the hallway, and Zaveid is left to follow. It’s not long before the corridor opens out into a main room, and he’s almost dizzied by the rush of nostalgia. She throws open the blinds, creaky with age, and light floods into the room all at once. It strikes the sharp edges of the kitchen counter, the sterile white of the fridge, the dining chairs that never get used.
“Sit down,” says Edna, and then, “I should offer you tea.” Despite the hospitality, her tone makes it obvious how little she wants to.
He decides to throw her a bone, and takes the closest chair. “I’ll pass.”
“Okay,” she says, and sits across from him.
The conversation stagnates, and he has no idea how to rescue it. He hasn’t seen her in six years, so how is he supposed to start being honest now? He’s left to fidget uncomfortably, while she displays no sign at all of wanting to help him. Well, meaningless small talk it is.
“So!” he begins gamely. “How’s Lakehaven High treating you?”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you, uh…” He stalls abruptly. His own school days were mostly spent wasting time with Eizen or chasing girls, and she seems far too serious to do either of those things. Leaving the topic of romance aside, then, he casts around for ideas; what else are students even supposed to do, anyway? “You in any clubs or anything?”
“No,” she says. “Although I thought about joining band for a while.”
“Oh yeah?” He leans forward a little in his chair. “What stopped you?”
“I changed my mind.”
Well, fuck. If this isn’t the definition of trying to get blood from a stone, he doesn’t know what is. Zaveid could talk the hind leg off a donkey and charm his way into anyone’s graces, but Edna’s giving him absolutely nothing. Then again, he should have been expecting it; Eizen had been the same at first.
Then the phone rings, cutting shrilly into the silence, and he’s suddenly and desperately glad for it. The girl startles, then almost dives for it. It feels uncharacteristic, to say the least, but then she straightens triumphantly and clutches the handset to her chest.
“I’ll be back,” she says, and scurries out.
Now that he’s on his own, he takes the chance to really look around the room he’s in. Anyone else would probably have let the dust pile up, but Edna’s always been meticulous about things like that. Otherwise it’s sparse, with no pictures on any of the walls, making it hard to believe that anyone actually lives here. The whole place feels like something out of an advertisement, too impossibly clean to be real. But then something on the counter catches his eye, and he leans forward to pick it up. It’s a silver frame, deliberately set face-down, and time seems to slow as he turns it over.
It’s an old photograph, and the colours have begun to fade behind the glass. A young Eizen smiles up at him, one arm thrown around Edna; she’s trying her best to pout, but it’s obvious how happy she is. It makes Zaveid’s breath catch in his throat, and he barely manages to replace the frame before the girl returns.
“Telemarketers,” she says savagely, and jams the phone back in its cradle. “And I already told them not to call back, honestly.”
“You have to deal with them a lot?”
“Well, nobody else will.”
And that’s when the penny drops: is she alone in this too-dark house? True, Eizen’s parents were absent a lot, but he’d hoped their son’s plight would have spurred them back here. The knowledge that it didn’t makes him suddenly, irrationally angry.
“Are you here by yourself?”
She toys with the sleeve of her blouse, not looking particularly concerned. “Yeah.”
“What about the bills?”
“My parents take care of them.”
“That’s unbelievable,” he seethes. “For them to just run off like that…”
“Also illegal,” she says, “but that’s not why you’re here.”
“I… yeah.” He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then charges on. “It’s about Ei– your brother.”
“I thought so,” she says. “You mean how he tried to kill himself?”
It’s disturbingly matter-of-fact, and once again Zaveid curses fate for bringing him here, talking about suicide with a sixteen-year-old. Still, there’s no point in lying to her: even as a kid, the Edna he knew was sharp as a knife and twice as unforgiving.
“Yeah,” he says again, mouth dry.
“But it didn’t work.”
He thinks about her brother in a hospital bed, hooked up to life support, and his throat feels a little tighter. He hasn’t been able to visit yet, and, if he’s being brutally honest, it’s less because of his recent arrival than the fear of what he’ll find. Then he thinks about the night he’d found Eizen digging frantically through the medicine cabinet, and the way he’d gripped his wrists with skinny fingers, and the words he’d muttered as his whole body shook: promise you’ll help when I’m no longer myself.
“It didn’t,” he says, and then, “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Edna draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them. “It was his decision.”
Does she really believe that? Truth or no, it’s an awfully harsh thing for a teenage girl to bear.
“Decisions,” he begins carefully, “don’t always come from a rational place. You know that, right?”
“Of course.”
Zaveid opens his mouth, and then falters. He hasn’t been up to date on Eizen’s condition for years, so it would feel wrong to say any more. Oh, he could make some fairly reasonable assumptions, but there’s nothing to be gained from taking shots in the dark. Luckily, she steps in to pick up the conversational slack.
“You coming back – was that a rational decision? I thought you were happy you left.”
That said, it’s kind of awful how astute she is. “Actually, there’s something important I need to do for your brother.”
“Sure,” says Edna, “but it’s almost been a year. Aren’t you a little late?”
“I’ve been busy,” he says, the lie easy on his tongue. “Couldn’t make time for it before now.”
“I see,” she answers, and they lapse back into silence.
He can’t help but find himself pondering her existence, trying to reconcile it with the girl he used to know. She’d always seemed like such a stoic kid, stubborn as a rock and constantly unimpressed, but Eizen assured him she was totally different when he wasn’t around. Crybaby, he’d called her once, and then she’d kicked him in the shin. And now she’s sixteen and alone in a house of ghosts, and he doesn’t know if she ever gets out or even if she has friends. It’s not the kind of situation he could leave alone, even if he didn’t owe Eizen a debt.
“Edna,” he says, “I’m moving in.”
He expects her to protest, to tell him he’s being a meathead or a bleeding heart or a sentimental idiot. Instead she just looks at him with wide eyes, and that’s the first sign something is really and truly off.
“Suit yourself.”