Chapter Text
The world swam in shades of dull blue and green, air thick and suffocating in Atticus’ throat like water. Their body lay heavy and useless in the blankets tangled around their sweat-sticky body, aching, just like it had when they’d caught it . That unnamed sickness, lurking around every corner, like if you even said its name it would have you in its grasp, infecting and changing you. It tore you apart, the sickness—put you back together in the wrong way, sometimes never putting you together at all. All it left you with were the memories of falling apart in someone else’s arms.
Ripped fresh from another nightmare of being bedridden, Atticus shot up straight, chest heaving and heart pounding against their ribs. Their skin felt uncomfortably tight, like it would tear apart with every gasp for air. And just for a moment, they wished it would. Maybe becoming something monstrous and mindless would free them from their burdens. Maybe they would finally get to be free. Maybe.
Life would never be so kind, though. The watch resting on the table beside the bed had been beeping for a while. Atticus dug through the mess of food wrappers and empty energy drink cans, pulling the watchout of the trash pile by its cold band and answered the call.
“What?” They groaned in a much harsher tone than they’d intended. Whatever—whoever was calling them deserved to fall victim to their morning irateness.
“You’re late, you know.” Lyla’s voice crackled through the watch, her hologram illuminating the room in an orange glow. Her smile was a little smug, like she’d made a bet that Atticus wouldn’t show up on time. It was far, really—they hardly ever showed up to the Society on time, though they had their own reasons for that. “Miguel isn’t happy about it.”
“Tell him to cope and seethe, I’m busy.” Atticus tossed the watch back onto the bedside table, rolling over in their bed as they pulled the blankets back up over their head.
“He’s not gonna let this one go, Atty,” Lyla rolled her eyes, a little bit annoyed at the stubborn idiot she was having to deal with. “You might actually get kicked out this time.”
“Like how he actually kicked me out last time?” Atticus snickered, raising their hand to flip Lyla off. “Fuck off, man. Miguel doesn’t have the balls for it, not when the anomaly bullshit’s still going on.”
“I can hear you.” Miguel sounded annoyed, but not quite pissed off yet. Probably wouldn’t take him very long to get to that point, though…
“Fuck off, I’m not coming in today.” Atticus rolled over and slammed their fist into the watch, ending the call. The room fell back into a dim haze, the only sounds filling the air being that of traffic and These’s usual shouting. Everything was as it should be, or as close to how it should be as was even possible anymore. They needed to enjoy it—they had only a short period of time before another bounty would be called in, and they’d have to—
The room was illuminated once more with a harsh orange glow, a wide silhouette cast over Atticus’ bed followed by Miguel’s obnoxiously loud pissed-off huffs.
…at least they had gotten a little bit longer in bed.