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If you asked Two Time what they felt about Azure, they'd say they were deeply in love. But if you pressed them further, if you asked in a way that dug beneath the surface, they'd admit they often felt useless in the relationship. Despite all the time they'd spent living together, Azure was always the one who took care of everything—cleaning, cooking, even the laundry.
Azure was the one who protected them when the cult grew too violent—the one who kept Two Time sane through it all, who pulled them off the streets and gave them a new life. He was, in every way, their everything.
But no matter how often Two Time offered to help, Azure never let them. After all, there was that one time they tried to cook breakfast—just once—and the kitchen nearly burned down. They ended up without a stove for weeks, and Azure gave them a long, stern lecture afterward.
Still, this time would be different. They were determined to help—for once, to do something right. Every Friday, the two of them had a tradition: they'd curl up on the couch, watching a movie together while cuddling, with Azure always whipping up some fast food for them to eat during the film.
But today, Azure was out running a commission for the cult leader, and the house was quiet. Alone, Two Time decided this was the perfect opportunity. They would cook something—something good. Not too complicated, but warm and comforting.
Marching into the kitchen with a sense of determination, Two Time pulled open the drawers one by one, carefully collecting the utensils they thought they’d need. A spatula? Maybe. A whisk? Probably not—but they grabbed it anyway, just in case. They set everything out on the counter like a soldier laying out gear for battle.
Then came the cookbook—an old, slightly stained thing that Azure kept tucked between jars of rice and forgotten bags of tea. They flipped through the pages slowly, the corners crinkling under their fingers. Roasted lamb? Too risky. Stuffed peppers? Too complicated. Then they landed on it: pasta with cheese.
Simple. Familiar. Hard to mess up. They gave a little nod to themselves. Yeah, I can do this.
They filled a pot with water, carefully placing it on the stove like it might explode if they moved too fast. As the burner ignited with a soft click and whoosh, they felt a flicker of confidence. Maybe this time really would be different.
Two Time leaned against the counter, watching the bottom of the pot as if their focus alone would speed things up. But the minutes dragged. The sound of heating water, usually subtle, began to feel like a taunt. Nothing happened. No bubbles. Just waiting.
Their fingers started drumming on the countertop. A restless sigh escaped their lips. After another minute of pacing back and forth across the kitchen tiles, they gave up.
“I’ll just check the TV real quick” they muttered to themself, heading to the living room.
They plopped onto the sofa and grabbed the remote, flipping through channels aimlessly. Static. Cooking shows. A rerun of something they didn’t recognize. The glow of the screen lit up their face, but their attention flicked back and forth between the clock and the hallway, counting down the time.
They kept glancing toward the kitchen, reassuring themself that nothing was going wrong. But boredom pressed in on them like a heavy blanket. Their head lolled back over the armrest. The TV was just background noise now. They closed their eyes—just for a second.
They woke with a start, their body tensing as their eyes flicked around the room in confusion. The soft hum of the television still buzzed in the background, and for a moment, everything felt oddly calm.
Then their gaze landed on the clock. Their heart jumped—they were still on time. The pasta should be ready. Relief washed over them as they sat up and stretched, already imagining the satisfied look on Azure’s face when they saw a fully cooked meal waiting.
Rising to their feet, they began making their way to the kitchen—until something in the corner of their vision made them pause. Just outside the window, barely visible against the fading light, sat a small black kitten. Its eyes, round and reflective, stared back at them with unsettling intensity.
For a moment, Two Time remained frozen in place, caught in a quiet, inexplicable connection with the animal. Then, without really thinking, they turned away from the kitchen and toward the door, quietly easing it open as if afraid to scare the creature off.
“Pst pst pst, they whispered, crouching low, their hand stretched out invitingly as they clicked their tongue and smiled. The kitten didn’t move—just blinked slowly, tail flicking behind it.
Time seemed to slow. The stress of cooking, the pressure to prove themselves, even the scent of steam that had started to waft from the kitchen—all of it faded as they focused on the soft, shadowy shape in front of them. The outside air was cool, and the world felt momentarily still.
Then came the smell. Sharp. Bitter. Acrid.It hit them like a slap across the face. Their body locked up, breath catching in their throat as recognition dawned. Smoke.
Their eyes widened, and the calm shattered in an instant. Whipping around, they dashed back inside, feet pounding against the floor as panic surged through them. What greeted them wasn’t just a smoking pot or a bit of steam—it was fire. Orange flames licked at the cabinets, black smoke curling up to the ceiling. The kitchen, once clean and full of promise, was already being swallowed in chaos.
They stood frozen, eyes fixed on the flames, the heat licking at the edges of the counter, smoke curling toward the ceiling. For a moment, the world was quiet—until the front door creaked open and a familiar voice echoed through the house.
"I'm back—what's this smell?"
Two Time didn't move. They barely breathed as Azure's footsteps grew louder, quick and purposeful, until he appeared beside them. Azure stopped short, staring at the burning mess that used to be a stove, his expression unreadable for a long, tense second.
"...Did you try to cook again? Are you okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, Azure reached out, gently touching their arms, turning their hands over, checking for burns or blisters. Two Time didn’t flinch, didn’t respond. They just stood there, rigid and silent, letting Azure examine them like a broken thing.
It was too much. They had planned everything down to the minute. Just one thing—one small thing—they wanted to do right. And still, somehow, they failed.
Not only had they made more work for Azure, but now they’d worried them, too. They could feel it—the disappointment, the concern, the inevitable question of why did you even try again? —even if Azure hadn’t said a word.
Their throat tightened. Their hands curled at their sides.
“I just… wanted to help” they said finally, voice barely more than a whisper.
Azure’s hands stilled on Two Time’s arms, holding them firmly but gently. Behind them, the fire crackled and hissed, casting shifting shadows across the smoke-stained walls. For a few heartbeats, neither of them moved. Then Azure let out a quiet sigh and stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around them and pulling them into his chest.
Two Time didn’t resist. Their body folded into the embrace instinctively, their cheek resting against the soft fabric of Azure’s coat. The warmth of the fire was eclipsed by the warmth of Azure’s hold, steady and grounding. In that moment, the chaos faded into the background. The fire, the smoke, the acrid sting of failure—forgotten, if only for a moment.
“I know” Azure murmured, his voice low and calm against their ear. “I know you meant well. How about you help me put out the fire, and then… we’ll make some food together? Just the two of us.”
Two Time looked up slowly, their eyes glassy, shimmering with unshed tears. But there was a spark of something else there too—relief, maybe, or the desperate need for redemption. They nodded without hesitation, a silent promise that they would try, that they still wanted to be useful, to be enough.
They stepped back from each other, the embrace lingering in the air even after it ended. Together, they moved toward the remnants of the blaze, grabbing a nearby fire extinguisher and tossing a wet towel over what remained of the scorched stove. It took effort—more than a little struggling, coughing, and frantically swatting at flare-ups—but eventually, the fire was out. The kitchen was a mess of smoke, blackened metal, and damp towels. The countertops were singed, the air heavy with the smell of ash.
But then Two Time noticed the pots near the windowsill, or what was left of them. A cluster of ceramic containers—Azure’s plants—reduced to blackened stubs and charred soil. Once vibrant greens and gentle blossoms now lay wilted and burned, their leaves curling into ash.
Two Time walked toward them in silence, footsteps slow and heavy. They knelt down and reached for one of the ruined plants, scooping the soft, scorched petals into their palm. The heat still lingered in the debris, warm against their skin like the last remnants of a dying heartbeat.
They knew how much those plants meant to Azure—how carefully he had tended to them, how often they caught him humming softly while watering the soil or speaking gently to the stems as if the leaves could listen. Those plants were more than decoration. They were care, they were ritual, they were pieces of him.
“I’m sorry,” Two Time whispered, their voice hoarse, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. Not again.”
Azure hummed softly as he stepped closer, his movements unhurried and calm. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around Two Time from behind, pulling them gently into his chest. His chin rested lightly on their shoulder, the soft brush of his breath against their ear sending a strange shiver through them—not discomfort, not quite comfort either, but something quietly grounding.
“You know” Azure murmured, his voice low and warm, “I was thinking about changing the plants anyway. Maybe I’ll get a nightshade. Who knows.”
He let out a light laugh, and it rippled through Two Time like the first breeze after a storm. Their shoulders, tight with shame and worry just moments ago, began to relax. The sound of his laughter—unbothered, familiar—lifted something heavy from their chest.
They leaned back into him slowly, letting themselves melt into his body. The tension bled from their muscles, replaced by the quiet hum of shared presence. The ruined kitchen, the smoke, the soot—all of it faded behind the feeling of his arms around them and the rhythm of his breathing close against their ear.
“Okay, okay, let’s go to the sofa. I say we order something online,” Azure said, his voice low and steady, the rumble of it against Two Time’s ear oddly comforting. It was the kind of sound that settled in their bones and made everything feel just a little less chaotic.
They let him guide them gently out of the smoke-filled kitchen, the door clicking shut behind them with a soft thud—an attempt to keep the worst of it out of the living room. The ruined kitchen could wait. It would be tomorrow’s problem.
Their body sank into the sofa, limbs heavy with the weight of failure and fading adrenaline. Azure sat beside them with a quiet exhale, grabbing the remote and lazily flipping through the channels as muted images flickered across the screen. Without a word, Two Time leaned into him, their head resting on his chest, following the rise and fall of his breathing like it was a metronome to their own.
Then, casually, Azure handed over his phone—and his credit card tucked into the back of the case.
Two Time blinked, their fingers curling around it slowly. They glanced up, questioning for just a second, but Azure only offered a tiny smirk and a raised brow as if to say, Go ahead, pick whatever you want. Their eyes lit up, glowing with a spark of confidence. Maybe the kitchen was a mess, maybe the pasta was ruined, maybe they'd failed again—but at least now, this was something they could get right.
Two Time scrolled through the food delivery app with furrowed brows, determined to find something that would arrive quickly and still taste good—something that, for once, wouldn’t end in disappointment. They filtered the options to places that delivered to their address, scanning through pictures of greasy fries, bubbling cheese pizzas, and warm curries.
Their thumb hovered over a burger joint Azure liked, glancing up just once to check, but Azure didn’t even look down, just gave a slight nod and kept flipping through the TV channels.
With one hand on the remote, Azure used the other to idly run his fingers through Two Time’s hair, a slow, absent-minded motion that made Two Time’s shoulders loosen bit by bit. The gentle rhythm of Azure’s touch, the quiet hum of the television, and the soft glow of the screen blurred together until it felt like the world outside the room had vanished entirely.
They finally placed the order, setting the phone aside with a satisfied little huff before burying their face against Azure’s shoulder. It was easy to stay there, with the smell of smoke barely seeping through the closed kitchen door, with the ruined dinner behind them and the night stretching ahead like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Azure didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. His fingers kept moving slowly through their hair, grounding them. The fire was already fading into the background, and in its place came something gentler, quieter, and far more important.
The moment lingered in the quiet space between them, the soft static of the TV casting light over the room in flashes of color. Two Time closed their eyes for a second, not quite asleep, just suspended—held steady by the warmth of Azure’s hand still threading through their hair, by the steady rise and fall of his chest, by the simple closeness that, even after everything, still felt like home.
Then, a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.
Both of them jumped slightly, the sound so sudden it felt like it didn’t belong in their quiet little bubble. Two Time blinked, then scrambled upright, brushing imaginary wrinkles from their clothes before heading for the door. Azure stayed behind, a low chuckle escaping him as he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa and waited.
Two Time opened the door to find the delivery guy standing there with a cardboard box warm in his hands and a slightly tired look in his eyes. They mumbled something polite, handed over the card, and took the food like it was some long-lost prize. When they turned back into the room, pizza box in hand, Azure was already smirking at them like he always did when something so simple managed to feel ridiculous.
They both burst out laughing—not because it was funny, not really. It was just… everything. The fire, the kitten, the nerves, the soft hair petting, the absurd effort of trying so hard to do something right only for the universe to twist it all up and still somehow land them here, together, with food and laughter and a little peace for once.
Two Time sat back down beside him, pizza box between them, and leaned again into that familiar place beneath Azure’s arm. They said nothing as the screen flickered on, as the show started, as the room filled with the smell of cheese and toasted crust, but in that silence was something deep and whole.
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“I’m sorry”
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“Two Time?”
Eliot’s voice pulled them from their thoughts, a gentle interruption that cut through the haze. They blinked, suddenly aware of the nightshade cradled in their hands—its deep violet petals delicate, almost too beautiful for something so poisonous. Pain and beauty, interwoven. It was fitting, really.
They didn’t even realize how long they’d been staring at it until another voice, sharper and far less patient, followed close behind.
“If you don’t eat, kid, I will!” Shedletsky’s voice rang out from across the room, half-teasing, half-serious.
Two Time snapped to attention, jolting upright and nearly dropping the flower. They scrambled to their feet and hurried toward the table, knowing full well that if they didn’t move fast, the older man would devour every last bit of the meal Eliot and 07 had worked so hard to make.
It hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning—what felt like lifetimes ago—there were arguments. Tension thick in the air, clashing personalities forced together by fate and repetition. Some fought constantly, others were pushed to the edges, and a few harbored grudges so intense they could barely stand to be in the same room.
Now, after all these years of running in circles, dying and surviving, trying and failing, something had shifted. The edges had worn down, the friction dulled by familiarity. They had grown used to one another—if not in perfect harmony, then at least in acceptance.
Dinner now looked like something close to ordinary. Laughter, bickering, the clatter of forks and shared plates. A strange kind of family formed from shared suffering and stubborn resilience.
Two Time ate in silence as the others chatted, their fork idly pushing around the bits of crust on their plate. Laughter buzzed around the table like a hum they couldn’t quite tune into, distant and soft, as if the moment hadn’t caught up to them yet. They barely noticed when Chance, sitting beside them, turned his head to glance in their direction, studying them for a beat longer than casual. Without a word, he slid a slice of pizza from his own plate, holding it out before moving his seat just a little closer, the scrape of the chair low and easy.
“Ya know, your food won’t be eaten if you just look at it,” he said lightly, nudging the plate toward them again. “It’ll be eaten by Shed if you’re not fast enough.”
At the sound of the name, Two Time lifted their head, eyes drifting toward Shedletsky—who was, true to form, devouring his fourth slice with barely a pause. His appetite was legendary, and more than once, they’d all quietly wondered how he managed to eat like that without putting on a single visible pound. There was almost something supernatural about it.
Their gaze drifted back to Chance, who was watching them with that sideways grin of his, all casual charm and quiet worry hidden beneath. Two Time’s lips twitched, then curved slowly into a faint smile as they finally picked up a slice and took a bite. It tasted better than it should have—maybe because it was hot, maybe because it was easy, maybe because someone had noticed they weren’t eating and didn’t make a big deal about it.
Chance smiled too, content with the quiet win, and took a bite of his own slice before pulling out his coin from his pocket. He flipped it in the air with absent rhythm, not even looking as it spun, the faint clink of it hitting his palm somehow grounding, steady. It wasn’t the kind of gesture that begged attention, but it was there—something to do with his hands, a ritual, something old and familiar in a room that had changed so many times.
And if, in the middle of that noisy table, Two Time glanced once toward the window and caught a glimpse of Azure—or whatever he had become—lingering just beyond the glass, shrouded in darkness, watching...
Well.
That was their little secret.