Chapter Text

Observed

Friday 22^nd, October

Its frame is black and round. Black numerals decorate its white face. Its hands are black and straight. Each tick, winding it slower. Chalk lines cover the blackboard beneath- designed like military plans. Unfortunately, this is the introductory course to Digital Design. War would be preferable. At least we’d be doing something.

With a swift swipe the board is clean. The man in the front says something. But all Watson hears, is a humming. His hands slice through the air, stealing what little oxygen remains. Then he scribbles on the board. His Cs have these little devil tails.

The professor adjusts his mostly sky-blue bow tie. Mostly. The upper left corner reflects. A different fabric altogether. Maybe some silk? Iris would be the expert on that. Though… Watson observes her. …she is fully engrossed in his monologue. Not even an earthquake could knock her out of concentration. Inspiring, really.

His intonation, somniferous. His demeanour, insufferable. Perhaps, Koda should spend ten minutes with him? They would be fast asleep in no time.

The white brightness of the clock face stabs at her eyes, as if a fakir jammed a bed of nails into them, so she shuts them. Gently, she massages at the buzzing sensation. But the sound doesn’t fade—it intensifies. Wait. This acoustical. Watson blinks. It’s not my eyes. It’s from the environment.

A low humming… As if there’s a hornet nest somewhere in these walls. How strange? Watson looks to Iris. Still as mesmerised. But it doesn’t go away. It only grows in volume. A high keening whine echoes the hall. As if someone— or something— was caught between the gears of an ancient, rusted machinery. Papers rustle as students shift.

“Is someone dying?”, a student loudly asks, their voice quivering as they  interrupt Anouilh’s prolonged talk. The room stays silent, listening intently. The whining harps on. Wailing. “I think”, the professor starts, adjusting his neat bow tie, “it’s probably the wind, passing through the alcoves. That’s hardly a reason to derail the lecture, isn’t it?”

But it doesn’t sound as if the wind is passing through. The sound is closer by. Not in the next lecture hall but maybe two—three layers of brick and plaster away. Very strange. 

Truly strange . Watson tries focusing on her screen. Her hands have been typing something without her consciously thinking. The result is… What is this? The grammatical structure, like a collapsed building, isn’t sound. But not the worst.

During the first lecture- already three weeks -the grammar and orthography were so poor, it could be barely recognised as English. ‘Have you accidently reinvented French?’, was Koda’s comment. They sat by didn’t help at all. Absolutely useless.

Since then, she stopped taking notes. I can summarise the texts myself and they at least make sense. The sentences on her screen are jumbled, but so are thoughts. Something about a clock, and … and the sound. Nothing useful to include into the campaign.

The clock ticks. At least it’s Friday. We can finally continue the game. Maybe I can show them the goblins this time. This should be interesting…

“That’ll be everything for today. If there are any—”

The rest of the sentence doesn’t reach her ears as she is already out the door. A new record, last time she still heard the ‘quest’. It’d great if by the end of term, that he only has time for the ‘that’ to be muttered. Finally! That is the upside to sitting next to the exit. Mum wouldn’t be pleased. ‘It’s not polite to storm out.’, she would probably say. And normally she would be right. But there’s always an exception to a rule.

Like the lecture today. The whining. It was so bizarre. But I shouldn’t worry about that. The others are coming.  

Watson keeps to the right side, sliding her headphones on. She closes her eyes, and inhales. One, two, three… Groups storm the halls. The chattering chipping away at her head. Thousands of feet stomping in unison. Even with the headphones on, it’s unbearable. Why are humans so loud?

So as quickly as possible, she leaves the building. As she walks, a certain someone yelps. Hopefully, she doesn’t drown in the sea of humans. What would the group do without its mightiest artificer? Watson keeps on walking. She can catch up.

Vividly blue flashes coat the white building’s wall. An ambulance. Could that be connected to the whining? So, it wasn’t the wind. Hopefully, that person gets the help they need. The way they cried… The whinging keeps ringing in my head. That awful screeching before it abruptly stopped. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything dire. But it’s out of my hands anyhow.

She shudders but walks on. A tiny shadow is following her. She would be an amazing rogue, if it wasn’t for the telltale signs of rustling paper and huffing. Amused, Watson keeps straight ahead. She has certainly caught up.

The woman stretches up towards her, grinning cheek to cheek with her big, brown, doelike eyes. Watson avoids her gaze—not out of dislike. Far from it. In general eyes are… uncomfortable. Eye contact in particular. They are like needles, pricking at parts of yourself that should remain hidden.

So, Watson walks faster. It’s still more of a stroll but taking larger steps with her long legs. An advantage Iris doesn’t possess. She pants but carries on. She forgot to put her books into her backpack again. Typical. Her nose twitches, ruffling side to side, and stopping with a small huff. “You need something for the evening, huh?”, she gasps, clutching her books as closely as a goblin would its gold. She is wearing her bright yellow knitted jumper. As every Friday. But no jeans jacket. Perhaps it’s at home, waiting to be mended?

“More food, drinks?”, she asks, playing with one of the newly taped spines. We’re three weeks in and the books look like they went through multiple warzones. How long will they last? Iris notices her gaze and grins. –books out, jacket forgotten and still she grins as if she has just cracked the jackpot.

Normally, grins and smiles are quite irritable. They feel… rubbery. Though, waxy would be more precise, like the statues at Madame Tussaud’s. Those statues are… eerie. Most smiles seem to be stuck in the uncanny valley. Forced, contorted to please the observer but they are just intrinsically creepy.

But not hers. Hers are wide, lopsided, a small dimple on her right cheek. If they were any bigger, there wouldn’t be any space for her eyes left. They’re genuine, warm, comforting. Always.

They stop in front of the marmoreal fountain. A chance for Iris to pack her books. But she doesn’t. Instead, she looks at Watson with curiosity sparkling in her eyes. Her grin fades as she asks, “What’s up?”

Watson looks up to the sky. “Clouds.”

Iris snorts. “No, I meant it in a different sense. Like… what’s the matter?” Oh. Too literal.

Watson tilted her head stiffly, evading Iris’s gaze as usual. The marble looks like it has been struck by a silver lighting. Rays of light make it gleam. It is uncomfortably bright. But that’s preferable compared to being seen.

“It’s Anouilh. His lectures are so tedious that watching a documentary on paint drying would be considered exhilarating.” As she turns back, Iris is shaking her head, smiling at her. “You know, that’s because it’s the basics, right? They are not meant to be- what was the word, exhilarous—“

“Exhilarating.”

“Yea, don’t know, don’t care. You’re the one with a knack for language. Not me.” She huffs, rolling her eyes playfully, shifting her books. “They purposely make them boring to filter the uncaring from the caring.”

She stacks all her books on one arm and uses the other to whisk away some hair from her face. She does this quickly enough, so the books don’t hit the ground. Maybe that’s why the books needed to be bandaged. Because of the mismanaged balancing exercises.

“Also, his aren’t the worst. His summaries at least make sense. Kacynski on the other hand…” She groans, forcing her eyes shut for a moment then tears them wide open.
“We’re studying Digital Design. I don’t bloody care for Kant. If he calls art ‘a kind of representation that is purposive in itself’ one more time, I swear, he will only be able to slurp soup from then on.” 

Watson blinks. “Because you’re gracious enough to make him soup?”

“Something like that.” Iris smirks, heaving the books back closer to her chest. “Is there something else you want to talk about? Because those pricks—”, she gestures with her chin to the books, “sure are heavy.” 

Watson is about to shake her head but stops. A pair of paramedics are walking back to the vehicle. No stretcher, no patient. Just with an ambulance box. Odd. What about the crying sound then? Was the professor right then? Simply the wind?

“There’s no patient in that ambulance.”
Iris wrinkles her nose. “What…?” Iris tilts her head, then blinks rapidly as realisation dawns on her. “Oh.” Iris frowns. “If that’s the case, then someone wasted the ambulance’s time. Stupid fud.”

“And I thought, someone was severely hurt based on those sounds.” The screeching that made everyone’s bone marrow shudder. The sound so high like a nail gliding over a blackboard. Dreadful.

Iris squints at her in disbelieve. “What sounds?”

“During Anouilh’s lecture. You didn’t hear anything?”

“Nope”, Iris pops the p like bubble-gum, “I was focused on the lecture. Fully out. You could’ve hit me, and I wouldn’t have noticed.” Iris groans again, adjusting her books once more. “Hey, before they hit the pavement, I better go.”

Watson nods— a stiff, awkward tilt of her head as always. Iris’s smile dims for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Is your neck bothering you?” The books tip, about to slide of her arm off- “Your books.”
–Quickly, Iris grabs them, cradling them tightly like a baby. She looks at Watson, waiting. She expects a response. “You should probably go before you drop them.”

Iris knits her eyebrows together, twitching with her nose before finally shaking her head. She smirks. “See ya then.”

Watson reminds her, “Don’t forget your chart.”
Iris puts a thumb up whilst skipping away. A sweet summer child. That vibrant yellow fading into the muted grey of the city. Watson still stands still.

That whining… Watson turns back where the ambulance was. Only the old bleak building remains. The air is seemingly more frigid. No patient. No explanation. The sound- echoing in her skull. Haunting her. Just the wind. Just the wind. Even if it wasn’t, it’s out of my hands. Watson shakes her head. Out of my hands, out of my mind. She shudders. That thought isn’t comforting at all.

With one last look at the spot Watson sighs, then walks to the subway station. Five minutes as always. Below the earth numerous people gather, however she isn’t interested in counting them. They aren’t distinct enough. The majority are staring into their phones. Small lights illuminating their statuesque grimaces. Carved from flesh and bone.

What grotesque sculptures would that be? Some artist would name it ‘The modern human’ or something similar to that, write something prolific and simultaneously mundane on the plaque. Would that considered to be ‘purposive of itself’? …Probably.

‘What’s the purpose of art?’, that was his first sentence to the class. Such a boring way to educate. Ask a question and let the students themselves figure it out. Though probably it was as revolutionary as sliced bread when it was first introduced. It caught the students’ interest, hooked them to the subject. Not now though. It’s similar to a knife. If it’s used over and over, it doesn’t matter who is gripping it, it dulls and loses its edge.

Though, that time the blunt knife still cut.  

The doors shut. Her face flashes by, like the lights of an ambulance. If I was any paler, I could see my brain. Like a barreleye fish. The doors open. She leaves, walking up the stairs. 65, 66 and 67… Watson blinks, adjusting to the bright light. Left, right. She glances and swiftly crosses a zebra. Fortunately, it doesn’t produce smells like one. One summer working at the zoo, was enough. Though zebras don’t produce the worst smell. That price rightfully belongs to the lions.

One of which she is holding in her hand. Not a real one by any stretch but sketched on a key pendant. It is flat and smooth with a hard edge. Similarly sized like a 2-pound coin. The lion could have been painted by Monet. Clearly visible strokes. Without every single one, the creature would be unrecognisable. Its maroon mane majestic, its eyes so dark as midnight. It’s comforting, somehow.

‘It reminded me of you’ , Iris had said as she gifted her that one. Still quite baffling. As there’s nothing colourful about Watson. Not her expressions, her manners nor her clothes. If her voice must be described by a colour it would be grey. Furthermore, she doesn’t possess any lion qualities. Not courageous, not protective, not strong. Gifting someone something so contrasting, is a choice. Just a bizarre one.

The key chain clangs against her rings. The ringing echoing in her skull. Ringing, ringing and ending a whine. Stop it. It’s out of my hands. That was just the wind. She squeezes her eyes. Breathe. The key scrapes the metal. The sound creates a sensation, similar to that sound. It feels as  if the key was scrapping her eyelids. Fortunately, it is quickly over.
Watson breathes. The sound is gone. She blinks. Then she pushes. It doesn’t open. As usual. She takes her headphones off, bracing herself. Why do you always have to be stuck? With a deep breath she hurls herself against the jammed door.

Tumbling in, she is immediately struck down. Every single bone ringing in her body.  Sounds, Smells, Visuals. Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. A relentless swarm inside her skull. Beeping. Beeping. Beeping. Grating at her nerves. Assaulting her eardrums. Piercing through the skin. Rendering her numb.

Breathe. Smells sharp as a scalpel slam into her nose, drilling into her brain. Throbbing. Throbbing. Throbbing. 

The flashing lights corrode her eyes, overwhelming her retina. Close. Twitching. Twitching. Twitching.

Headphones. She pats around her, feeling for them. Smooth plastic. Headphones! The beating lessens, but still tapping. Tapping. Tapping. This must stop. Eyes still shut, Watson crawls over, brushing over dust and crumbs, feeling for the remote. There- hard plastic. Bingo.

With a single button push, the attack ceases. With a sigh, Watson opens her eyes. The flashing lights are gone. The sounds… Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. Watson gets up. Window. She wobbles. Her feet drag. She clutches the window and yanks it open. Air.

It’s clean now. The rancid smell replaced by the citrusy cleaning agent. It pinches, but it’s manageable. The pillows propped up in the correct order, Koda’s favourite-a yellow octopus-as usual prompt and centre in the lineup. An easy to spot criminal. The carpet vacuumed. Even the dirty clothes finally found their way off the couch and into the laundry basket. Clean, for now. 

She scrubs the counters one last time before moving to the sink. The dishes need to be done, but she can’t. Not right now at least. What if I start washing and Koda needs help? The clatter of dishes, the muffling headphones—what if I miss it? But they need be done. They—

A low groan comes from the couch. Watson blinks. For how long have I been at these plates? One last glance, then she turns in the direction of the noise.

On the couch lies the culprit of the mess, Koda. Though I would never call them as such. Never. You can’t be responsible for something if you don’t have control over it.
Their body is contorted, arms at odd angle on the backrest. Their upper body twisted and upside down.
They probably fell on the couch. Good catch.
Their breathing is slow and deep. Their eyes are wide and unblinking—conscious but trapped. Their gaze merely flickering. That’s something, at least.

Watson sits down and waits. Waiting is the only option at that stage. Poor them. Awful being conscious but not being able to control your own body. Minutes stretch on, before their jaw tightens. Their muscles tensing. Good enough. She asks, “Water?”

A small twitch in their chin. A yes. As Watson gets up, they try to turn. Lying upside mustn’t very pleasant for a human. Bats and sloths though…  But their body won’t let them. It’s immobile as a pudding. Watson rises, fills a plastic cup, and returns with a straw.

They both rest on the couch table as Watson helps  Koda up. Flipping them over like a turtle on its back. With their defined jaw and broad flat nose they even like one. Like a loggerhead sea turtle—enduring, vulnerable and adept to the sea unlike me. Those adorable specks…  A shame they are often hidden.

She holds the cup steady, watching as Koda’s lips barely manage to grasp the straw. It’s slow, laborious—an act so simple, yet enormous in that moment. It’s strenuous, but Koda does it. They are so strong.
“Better?”
Koda sips. They don’t answer yet. They physically can’t yet. But their shoulder shifts. That’s good.

They flick the straw aside.
“I’m…”, they start, forcing their jaw to cooperate, their lips twitching. This must be very exhausting.
“Don’t strain yourself”, Watson responds, placing the cup back on the table, eyeing them. Pale, chapped lips and teary-eyed. They must be exhausted.
“Are you hungry?”
They nod.
That’s good.

She heats up the pot. The green onions drift side to side. Flaky bits of yesterday’s tofu swirl. Watson opens the fridge, takes a packaged tofu out and cuts it into cubes. She throws the dice into the pot, dials back the heat, and lets it simmer for two minutes. Hopefully, by the time the soup cools down, Koda will gain control of at least one hand. 

With two bowls in hand, she returns to Koda, setting both in front of them. They clutch the spoon. Their hand is shaking. Half of the liquid ends back in the bowl. Koda groans in frustration. But with each spoon, the movement becomes smoother. Regaining control. “Have you taken your medication?”
They nod.
If they took their meds and still had this intense episode, maybe the dosage should be upped. “I will inform Doctor Ackerley on that matter.”
They spread their legs and look at her.
“I’m… sorry,” their voice cracks like an egg.

She shakes her head and asserts, “None required.”
Koda’s mouth twitches. They raise their eyebrows at her.
How interesting. I confused them for once. Normally, it’s the other way around.

“Wha—, no-none required? Meshi?!” Koda stares at her, mouth agape. Shut it quicker or a fly will enter it. “I caused it. Let me be sorry.”
Watson shakes her head. With their squished eyes, they look like a cat waiting to jump their prey. Quickly, they pick up their octopus and whack Watson with it.
…Seriously?

“I’m not a mole!”, she shouts then gets the octopus square in her face.
“Let.
Me.
Apolo-gise!”, Koda punctuates each syllable with a determined smack. Watson ducks the next attempt. “Why do you even— want to?”

“Because you cleaned something I caused.”
She scrambles.
“Hey!”, Koda yells.

She quickly flees to kitchen. Koda huffs and angrily gestures her to the couch. “Get back here! I’m not done yet!”

“Only if you stop using your octopus to hit me!”

“Hey, firstly his name is Korosensei, show him some respect.” One of their fingers snaps in the air, “Secondly, let me apologise!”

Watson sighs.
Why do we always fight over something so silly? “I can’t accept an apology if you haven’t done anything wrong. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Koda rolls their eyes. “I left a mess, and you cleaned it up.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No, but—“

“Then you don’t need to apologise.”

Koda sighs and sinks deeper into the couch. “But I caused it, didn’t I? Why does the intent matter? It was chaos either way!”

Oh dear .

“Koda…”
Watson leaves her safe haven and returns to the couch, sitting down next to them. “It just… happened. I don’t expect an apology for an accident. You can’t time your episodes, so why should I blame you?”

They shake their head, cuddling their pillow. “But you had to clean it up. Not me! Never me! I can’t even fix it myself!” They look down to their legs.

“Koda… you were not able to in that moment. You can’t control your episodes, so why blame yourself? I won’t accept any apologies of that nature.”

They hold their pillow tighter, burying their face in it. A quiet sniff can be heard. Oh, no. “I-I- hate this. Why can’t my body just work?”

Watson pauses. How do I phrase this? “I don’t know, Koda.”
Their sniffling continues. How could I help them?
“Do you need a hug?”
As Koda nods the pillow bulges slightly to the outside. Watson takes them into her arms. Their voice cracks, “I hate that you always need to help me. Take care of that mess, help me fuck-ing drink! I-I hate this!”

Watson’s hand hovers over Koda’s back, before settling there. I’ve never been good at this. She tries to caress them gently. It’s so unusual. The movements are stiff, but Koda doesn’t pull away. That’s… good?
“It’s not easy, I never said it was. I’m helping you because I want to. I care about you.”

They shake their head. “It’s not just that… I’m sick of this. I’m sick… of being sick. Why can’t I just have a break?”
Without another thought Watson holds them tighter.
I don’t know what to say.
I wish this could all just end.
They tense but relax shortly after.
I don’t want you to feel so awful about yourself.
“I wish I could take this from you. I wish that you could wake up one day without this condition. I really do.”
They shake as they sob.
Watson sighs silently.

She plants a kiss on top their head, carding through their shaggy hair. I have no idea if that helps. I hope it does. But I’m not good at this. They both stay like this for a while. It’s silent except for Koda’s crying. How could I cheer them up?
…Distract them. That usually helps.
Watson leans down to them before whispering to them,

“You’ve got such tenacity, I really don’t know where you get it from. Even if you drop a spoon seven times, you’ll try for the eighth. You’re such a smart mouth that you sometimes render me speechless. And even if you relentlessly attack me with your squid plush, I’ll still help you.”
For a second, she considers it, then adds, “Koda, Daisuki.”

They stop shuddering and look up to her. A good distraction. “Since… when do you use Japanese?”

“I thought a small distraction could aid you.”
Koda snorts. Red-rimmed and snotty. That won’t do.
Watson tilts her head. “Also loathing, that type of emotion is only reserved for two gay witches.”
Koda audibly groans, lightly shoving Watson. “Not that again. You haven’t even seen it yet!”

“No, but Iris has told me all about it.” During lunch. Three times to be precise. Also heard about how hot black hair with green make-up looks. Apparently.
Koda huffs like a bull about to strike. It’s funny how exasperated they are about this.
“Second hand account doesn’t count. Wouldn’t work in a court trial, now would it?”

“I didn’t know I was in front of a judge.”
Koda rolls their eyes but smirks. They smile again, that’s all I wanted. “Obviously... I always judge.” With their index finger they poke into Watson’s chest. “Especially you.”

“Also”, they wag with their index finger, “Korosensei is not a squid. He is an octopus. You’re so into animals and can’t tell a squid from an octopus? Get a grip.” Watson grabs them. Koda stutters, “Wha- what are you doing?”

“You told me to get a grip. I just did that.” Koda blinks, before groaning in annoyance then shuffling off the couch. They are still smiling. “Forget it.”

“I can’t instantly forget.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Zoning out in that twat’s class fried your brain, didn’t it?”

“I don’t think it works like that.” Watson pauses. How would I even fry a brain in that class? There isn’t the necessary equipment to do so. “There’s no kitchen.”
Koda lets out air sporadically like a broken bike tyre. They rub their eyes, then stretch their limbs. Watson is mid-way up, asking,
“Are you feeling better?”

Koda shrugs, a smile lingering on their lips. They stop, angling their head in thought. Then they ask, their voice steady and without any mirth, “What’s the time?”

Ten minutes to four. Koda’s smile vanishes and they take off to their room. They gently close their door. Of course they do. They still don’t want to talk to her. They don’t even want to risk being overheard.  
Watson turns to the dishes. Ten minutes is at least enough time to at least start rinsing.

She puts on her headphones and connects them to Bluetooth. With a deep breath she puts on the rubber gloves. They always stick to herself, weirdly feeling like a stolen second skin. Uncomfortably tight. Is that what snakes feel before moulting?
She blinks then she starts soaking the dishes.

Mixing the water and soap into a thick lather. Massaging it into the crusted parts of the plates.
Today has been strange so far. Especially that whining.
Watson pauses.
Why do I still go back to it? Nobody was hurt, otherwise the paramedics would’ve helped the yelper, right? So why does this bother me so much? The professor offered an explanation, and I don’t see any contradictory evidence. But it doesn’t feel quite right.
What am I miss—

A jarring ringing jolts her. Like that whining earlier—
Mind—leave it alone.
The screen shows it’s Mum, as usual on four on the dot.
Watson sighs, removes the gloves before accepting the call via her headphones.

On the other side a cracking can be heard, followed by a low creaking. Mum is walking around her house as always and as always, the floorboards are telling on her.
Right now, she is in the living room.

“Good evening?”
Watson waits. It takes Mum sometimes a bit to respond. Mentally she is remodelling her own house’s inventory yet again. Therefore, she isn’t particularly… responsive.
“Good to hear from you, dear. I wished you’d called more often,” she answers sweetly, an echoed tapping follows.
Now she’s in the kitchen.

“What’s the purpose of this call?”
Discreetness doesn’t achieve anything. If you could do it direct, why wouldn’t you? Why this time sensitive curtesy? Especially around trusted ones.
Mum huffs gently.
“I wanted to hear how you are doing,” there’s a high pitch in her tone which indicates that she’s irritated.
“Did the etiquette lessons go to waste?”

Watson blinks.
How could something like that go to waste?
You can’t throw lessons into the bin.
“I don’t understand how something inanimate could go to waste?”

Mum takes a deep breath. “Darling, it’s neither the time nor place to sass.”
But I didn’t. Why is pointing out a fallacy considered rude?
Mum continues, “Has Takeshi popped off your gifts?”

Wait.
He was here?
  Watson looks around. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Maybe Koda took them into their room?
But wouldn’t they have at least mentioned their dad stopping by? Maybe he hasn’t been here yet...
That would be logical. He must still be at work.
“I don’t think so. Maybe he’ll come by later.”

A metallic squeak can be heard on the other side.
Watson sighs.
Again?
“Mum, we talked about this. No tap-fixing while we call.”

“I know, I know but this just looks horrendous. If I could just—“
“Mum.”

“Alright then.”
Something clicks.
Probably the kettle.
Then she continues, “What did you eat for lunch?”
“I was at the library with Iris, she was rather insistent on researching some flowers for a project.”

“Oh, does she still have this little shop?”
“Yes, some customer wanted some specific embroidery? She didn’t go into any details.”
“Oh, yes. And… what about Koda?”
That pause.
She still struggles to talk about them.
“They had breakfast and lunch. We just now ate a Miso soup.”
There’s a cracking on the other side.
Watson sighs.
She readies herself for one of her rants.
As typical.

“I know that Miso soup is healthy in general but really my dear? Something healthy can quickly turn into poison if you eat it for several days consecutively. Koda… They are more… sensitive to that. Their body fights itself, we don’t need to add poison into the mix, now do we?”
Watson presses her teeth onto each other, grinding them slowly.
I take care of them.
You passed them to me because you were so overwhelmed!
Don’t tell me I’m poisoning them!

Mum continues, oblivious to Watson’s sentiment, “Just… do you plan on having something different for dinner tonight at least? If not, I could order you or Takeshi could bring you something over?”

It’s Koda’s favourite and today is their party.
Let them.
But Watson doesn’t say that. After all she’s polite.
“Thanks for the offer, however Iris is already preparing something.”

“Oh, that little friend of yours?”
“Yes, Iris and others. We’ll have a small celebration.”

“Oh. That- that’s good. Just— don’t stay up too late. You don’t want them to be off schedule now, would you?”
A loud hiss cuts through Mum’s words, sharp and grating, just like that whining.
Watson shakes her head, trying to push the sound away.
Why can’t you leave my head?
“That’ll be the kettle. I have to go. Take care.”
Should I tell her about it?
 No.
She would simply respond like the professor.
‘Just the wind, dear.’

“Good evening then.”
Mum hangs up, as she always does.
Watson takes her headphones off and sits down. With her eyes closed, she rests her head on the kitchen table.
She means well… But why is she so exhausting?

Remnants of her voice still buzzing in Watson’s head.
‘Poison.’
As if I was capable of concocting such delicacy. You would need to be an expert for that. Hissing like the kettle, the reminding— it all gives her a headache.
Great.
Another thing to consider.
A creak behind makes her almost hit the ceiling.

“I reckon you’re done?”, Koda asks.
They stand next to her, one hand on the kitchen table, the other tangled in their hair.
As if it wasn’t already a messy nest.
Maybe a bird has already found its home.
Watson nods but doesn’t have the energy to elevate her head. Keeping it firmling on the kitchen table.
“Oh, so bad? Do we need to postpone?”
Watson looks up to them. They are grinning.
Cheeky.
“That’s not necessary,” she mumbles.
None of that.
I can pull through.

Koda shrugs then turns to the couch. Lazily lying there, fiddling with their hair…
If it weren’t for their eyes and jawline, Mum would’ve probably needed a paternity test. They and Takeshi are so unlike.
Wait— Takeshi.
“Koda…”

“Sup.”
Watson massages her forehead as if that would untangle her thoughts. What’s with the language?
“Was Takeshi here?”

Koda blinks at her. Repeatedly.
Koda, I don’t understand Morse code.
“…No. Why?”

“According to Mum,” Watson starts. Koda frowns.
“He was meant to show up already to bring presents.”

“No… He wasn’t here yet…”
Good to know what I already suspected.
“But he isn’t off in like— two hours. Why the hell should he have already been here? That’s weird. So weird.”
Koda flaps back onto the couch, shaking their head. “It’s Mum, what do I expect? Obviously, everyone abides to her schedule.”

“Yes, truly peculiar.”
Watson groans. Could you stop stabbing my brain, head?
Koda eyes her. “Did you swallow a thesaurus?”

Watson blinks.
I had a soup, not a book.
“Not that I’m aware.”
Koda raises their eyebrows at her. “You talk like an old Victorian. Need an aspirin?”

Watson nods, resting her head on the table. Koda struts off. The hinges of the bathroom cabinet squeal horridly.
Watson winces. Those need to be oiled.
Koda’s voice clearly echoes off the tiles, “But really, who uses words like ‘peculiar’? You’re not from the 18^th century, are you?”

“At least then phone calls wouldn’t exist,” she mutters.
Koda gasps, way too over the top to be sincere. They shout, “You could’ve helped me with history!”

The tiles amplify their shouting, reverberating in her skull. Watson twitches, groaning. “No loud noises, please…”
Why do I must have two headaches at once? Koda is enough!

“Here.”
Watson drags her head up. Koda hands her a glass and a pill.
“Thank-s.”
The cold water cools her nerves, soothing the edges of her thoughts. The aspirin isn’t bad, either.

Even with the headache gone, there’s this persistent noise bothering, this… whining.
Like a fly somewhere close to your ear but you can’t swat it.
Why can’t you just leave me alone?
Haunt some other poor freak!
It’s out of my hands, anyhow.
Just be gone, you foul noise.
Stop irritating me.
Just stop! 

“Watson, are you alright?”
Koda leans over her, poking her in the shoulder. They hitch their eyebrows, smiling in disbelief.
Maybe… I could tell them?
Maybe… they could make sense of my… fixation?
Koda won’t simply dismiss me.
They might mock but… if this noise stops, perhaps it’s worth it?

“watson”

“watson”

“watson”

“What do you need?”

“just look at this cute puppy”

“isn’t he adorable ^-^”

“Yes, very intriguing. Why are you messaging me? Can’t you entertain someone else?”

“just look at him >-<”

“he’s perfect”

“gorgeous *-*”

“Answer my question.”

“With these big eyes”

“this itsy-bitsy snout”

“I want him”

“sooo bad (|-|)”

“And?”

“…i may have talked to the shelter already…”

“Have you talked with Morty about this?”

Koda snorts pointing at the last message. “That’s code for ‘NOPE’.”
But why has she talked to the shelter then? If Morty isn’t involved?
“Why is she messaging me?”

Koda scratches their head, their brow deep in thought. It’s seldom to see them actually think. “Just… hear me out.” They clear their throat. “She can’t message Morty, because he doesn’t know about it. She can’t text Iris because she would probably blabber it off to Morty. I annoy her too much, so that leaves you.”
That’s… a solid explanation.

“But she has other friends and what about her sisters?”
At least she would have someone to gush with.
“Well, that’s easy. They are either at work or at school, but you’re off.”
Oh lucky me… Wait—

“How are your clients?”

“. . .still as dead as ever :)”

“picked up one of Morty’s former ones”

“a real bugger”

“family wants him to look like a ‘classy gentleman’… as if the worms care”

“ ’oh could he wear a monocle’ ”

“ ‘and smoke a pipe?’ ”

“ ’he would’ve loved to be remembered like this’ ”

“i’m good but not a miracle worker >:(“

Oh, Liz. You utter ray of sunshine .
Koda shrieks, squealing with laughter. “She’s nuts!”

As they calm down, they snicker, “Sure, Liz, every classy gentleman in Downton Abbey isn’t caught dead without smoking their very own fancy exhaust pipe.”

Koda turns to Watson smirking. “Seriously, why are all of your friends so mental? At least, it won’t be boring tonight.”

“No, that’s quite unlikely,” Watson says, straightening her posture instinctively. Koda rolls their eyes.
“Really, why do you have to be so posh?”
They nudge her. “Care for an exhaust pipe?”
Koda sniggers.

“Where would you tape it to?”

“would bend it and stuff inside the top hat”

“idk, I’ve not thought it through :)”

“hey, gtg back to work”

“or I’ll be next in the box”

“Til evening then.”

Alright, he comes later. That’s no big deal. We could just start… later.
Koda’s eyes gleam like freshly polished steel, their lips curling into a self-assured grin.
“I bet a tenner that she has already bought that pup.”

Wait, what?
Watson blinks.
“Why do you think that?”
They walk over the couch, leaning back before vaguely gesturing towards Watson’s phone. “She already talked to the shelter. Consider it done.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. Shelters don’t just hand out pets like sweets on Halloween.” Watson straightens her back.
Working a summer at a rescue shelter has been enlightening. For animals that is. “You need to apply, then get matched, attend a meeting, sign the paperwork— It’s not easy. It’s a whole process.”

Koda snorts. “And you think that Busy-Lizzy really will get in line and patiently wait?”

“Liz is impulsive, not reckless,” Watson counters, “I doubt, she would bring a living creature into her life without Morty’s consent.”
Though… they have a point.
Liz has a few virtues, but patience isn’t one of them.

“If you are so sure, you could just take up the bet.” They grin at her. “A tenner is a tenner.”

Watson shakes her head.
“If you are still not convinced”, Koda jumps up, stretching, “what about the ramp incident? Morty didn’t know about it either and broke his leg.”

Watson tilts her head.
Yes, I remember.
Last May Liz had with Iris’s help, built a mini-skate park in their flat. As a recluse and safe place for Morty to practise his tricks. It wasn’t so safe after all—
as it concluded with a hospital visit.
“That’s different. The surprise was for him.”
Watson blinks.
Oh, no. What if Liz tries to surprise him again?
Koda’s smirk widens even further, shoving a finger into her face. “Exactly my point.”

Watson shakes her head.
She wouldn’t do that. Not even Liz is so audacious.
“Okay, you have yourself a deal, Koda.”
Watson sighs, “But no money. How about the loser cleans after the party?”
That at least would be productive.

They stride over, their hand out-stretched. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”
“We’ll see when the party starts.”
Watson’s eyes widen.
The party!
There is so much left to prepare!

Watson jumps up, her chair knocking to the ground. Koda looks at her with their eyebrows raised. “What’s the fuss—“

“Quick—We need to get everything ready before they are here.”
Deliberately they roll their eyes slowly. Like how a video buffers when the Wi-Fi is too poor. “Relax, nobody expects us to be prepared.”

What?!
What kind of host would we be if we weren’t prepared?
“Koda, could you please deck the table? I’ll deal with the leftover dishes.”
They need a good scrub.

Koda gets up, while muttering, “Yes, your highness.” They roll their eyes. Slowly they drag themselves over to the cupboard, however as they open the top drawer—

*Ring*
*Ring*
“I’ll get it,” they shout to Watson. It’s no use, as she’s wearing headphones again.
*Ring*
“Wait a damn minute. Who even is this?”

With a click the door swings open. A pair of legs and two woven baskets stand in front of them.
“Hi-ya.”, Iris gasps.
“Iris, lovely seeing you. We didn’t expect you…”, Koda looks at the clock above the door, “for another two hours?”
“Aye… But I’d rather be early than late.”
She trudges in, heaving both baskets onto the table. She sniffs and looks around. “And by the looks of it, you could need another pair of hands.”

Koda eyes her. They chew their bottom lip, before asking, “Did you shrink?”

“Aye, I took a spin in the washer,” she answers, smiling brightly. She holds onto the table as she breaths.
Koda frowns. “Did you carry enough bricks to build a house?”
“No, but in this,“ she points to the left one, “is all the food.”
Koda raises their eyebrows. “And in it the other one?”
Iris winks. “You’ll have to see.”

Watson turns around. “Koda, did you deck the—“
She blinks as she spots the beaming yellow jumper. “Iris, I-I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Well, your bellhop was fast to answer.” She points to Koda, who is inspecting their fingernails. They take her hand.
“Always at your service, madame,” and press a kiss on it. They wink. Immediately Iris pulls her hand back, snorting.
“You won’t get more food. No matter how sweet your words are.”
Watson blinks.
Since when is this a hotel?
Iris is flushed a beautiful red. Especially with that heavy baggage…
Watson tilts her head. “Do you plan on spending the night?”

Koda stares at Watson, mouth wide open. Iris’s expression can only be described as aghast. Pupils tiny as dots, her mouth scrawly.

Koda chuckles, inspecting the floor. “Eeesh—That’s very direct. Watson, at least buy her a drink before you ask something like that.”
Why should I buy her a drink? Iris stopped drinking two years ago.
“Why would I do that? Iris doesn’t drink.”

“You could’ve bought her a juice box for all I care. You’ve skipped so many steps, it’s a wonder you haven’t knocked all your teeth out.”
Watson touches her mouth.
Still all intact.
She blinks at Koda.
What are they on about?

Iris squints at both of them as if she had lost her keys and lost her glasses while searching for them. She squawks, “Why—Why would you even think that?!”
She shakes her head, trying to shake some sense into it.
“That’s not—No one’s spending the night!”
Wide-eyed from shock.
Iris snaps. “That’s—no!”

She freezes mid-rant, slowly turning to Watson. Iris’s eyes are small, sharp as glass, focused on her.
Staring at me.
Watson wants to move but the eyes pin her in place.
Like a butterfly to a board.
She flinches.
“Watson, what exactly did you mean?”

Watson looks between the two. The confusion is thick in the air.
What am I not seeing?
“You called Koda a bellhop, and those baskets seem heavy.” She gestures to the baskets. “So, I wondered if you want to save a trip back to your flat? In the dark, no less.”

The flat falls silent. Then Koda hisses like a rattlesnake, grasping their forehead. “Fuck, Watson. You can’t just say something like that.”

“Why not?”
What is Koda on about?
Isn’t it considerate to offer?
“It’s practical.”

“It’s blunt,” they shoot back, cackling.
“A sledgehammer to the head is more subtle.”
But why is this wrong?

Iris is oddly still, except for her shoulder trembling. Is she crying? Watson takes a step towards her. Please don’t cry.

Iris throws her head back, bursting out in laughter.
Watson just stares.
That’s… rare.
Normally Iris just chuckles warmly or smiles pleasantly.
But… this? Roaring, searing like the midday sun, blinding everyone with her joy.
This vibrancy…
Simply brilliant.
It… suits her.

“Wat-son”, she wheezes, trying to stand straight, “that’s not at all what—“ She crumples again, giggling.

Koda loops an arm under Iris, they squint at Watson as if she was the sun. “I think you broke her.” They guide her to the couch, catching her as she topples over.
“Are you a ragdoll?”
They take a look at the clock. “I wish, I had started a timer. You’re breaking some world record.”
There’s a record for this?

Still shaking with laughter, she manages to hold up a finger. “Give me— give me a minute.”

“Do you still need help?”
Iris shakes her head, waving them off before Koda lets go. Like a cartoon’s thief, they tiptoe over to the table, fingers twitching as they pluck up the cover of right basket. “—Don’t you dare!”

“What. I wanted to see what bricks you brought.”

Iris grins perfectly innocent, an utter ray of sunshine. “Me? Bringing pricks? Koda, they’re not to my gusto.”
Koda freezes, going from shock to beet-red, yanking their hand away as if they were burnt. “Wha—, I—Iris!”, they eloquently stammer. “You d—didn’t!”

“I may have.”
Iris smiles wider, winking at them. She crosses her arms, looking them up and down. Clearly enjoying Koda’s embarrassment. Watson blinks, tilting her head slightly.
What just happened?
Did I miss something?
A minute Iris was keeling over with laughter, now Koda is blushing furiously.  

What’s so embarrassing of bricks?
Is there a double-meaning that I’m not familiar with?
…He’s such a brick.
No.
He’s such a prick. And prick also means—
“Ah.”

Koda looks to her, blinking before breaking into giggles, “It took you this long? Get a grip, Watsie.”
Watson strides over to them, grabbing at them.
Seriously, why do they keep asking this?

“Not again!”, they yelp, jumping onto the couch as if the floor had just turned lava. Iris glances at them, shrugs and then heaves herself off the couch. She claps into her hands. “I’d say, we get everything done before the others get here.”

It’s actually nice to have Iris in the kitchen. She isn’t exactly tidy, but unlike Koda, she finishes what she starts… eventually.
Koda though…
Last week they started boiling milk and then just left the room, setting off the fire alarm. The fire brigade was more amused than alarmed, but Koda earned a kitchen ban— which they oddly accepted with little complaint.
They are unhinged. Iris though?
She is messy but methodical— pans everywhere, but she doesn’t lose track.
Not of one.

“Hey…”, she whispers, hiding her hands behind her back. “Close your eyes…”
Watson does.
Okay, they are closed.
Iris chuckles. “And… maybe open your mouth?”
Oh.

Oh!
This is… creamy, though the potatoes are firm. The tomatoes are sweet, the cauliflower spicey. A perfect balance between savoury and sweet. Garlic, ginger and… it that cumin? It’s… good.

Watson’s eyes flutter open. Iris tilts her head, still smiling. “So… is it too hot?”
She scratches behind her ear, “Or too sweet? Personally, I think it’s too sweet. But I can’t tell.”
This dish is certainly a people pleaser. Everyone will like this.

“No, it’s balanced.”
It’s perfect.
“Did you use cumin?”
Her eyes twinkle, her lips twitch slightly. “I may have. You’ve got a good tongue.”
What.
Her words seem to echo off the kitchen tiles. Iris freezes, flush creeping up her cheeks like the sun on the horizon. “Oh— that sounded wrong.”   

“Oi, can I have some?” Koda reaches for the spoon, but Iris hits them on their fingers.
“No.”
Like a disappointed mother who has just caught her child knee-deep into the biscuit jar, feet dangling in the air, she states, “It would be rude to start without the others.”
It beeps, Iris looks into the rice cooker.
It’s done.

Koda starts, “Flower of my eye, you’re my best mate.”, creeping closer to the pot. They smile sweetly, like a fly’s trap. After all you catch more with honey than vinegar. “It’s also my birthday. Can’t we make an exception?”
They bat their eyes repeatedly.
Have they something in there? 

But Iris doesn’t like sweet. Her expression remains stern. “No.”

Before Koda groans, rolls their eyes and struts over to the couch, Iris grins brilliantly. “How about a different exception?”
They blink, gaping like a nutcracker. “You mean…”, they point to the second basket.

“Yes.” She nods.
Slowly, Koda approaches the second basket, however before they lift the cover, Iris says conspiratorially, “I’d rather try this in your room.”

Koda’s eyes are so wide, they are about to pop out of their sockets. Iris winks at them. In a snap, they and the basket bolt to their room, slamming the door shut. Iris turns to Watson, smirking.
“I’ll be back.”
She heads to Koda’s room as well, knocking on it. “You’ll probably need my help,” she whispers.
The door opens only ajar, before closing again.
…Do those two have some weird code language?

Watson shakes her head. To the task. She opens the fridge and takes out the Yaki Onigiri. All five beautiful.
A good thing, Koda is banished from the kitchen and Iris went with them.
It would ruin the surprise otherwise.

She takes out a pan and parchment paper. Out of the top cabinet, she takes out the glaze that she prepared yesterday.
Thankfully, they were already asleep at that point.
Brushing every single rice ball, before flipping them over. They bronze, then golden. the glaze’s sweet-and-savoury aroma dances in the air, filling the room with warmth.
Kinda like when Iris smiles.
Especially that one smile.

The day when we first met, I was alone, eating. She ran inside, slamming the door behind her. She saw me.
We ate.
She wanted to try one Yaki Onigiri. But even back then, she was stubborn. She gave me a mango.
‘Too sweet for me.’
After that… we never stopped.

*Ring*
*Ring*
The door. Watson switches off the stove, taking the pan off the stove.
Safety first.
Then she walks to the door. Behind it stands up-right Takeshi, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.
“Good evening,” he says in a neutral tone.  

“Good evening.” Watson takes a step to the side, letting Takeshi comfortably pass. She shuts the door.

He stands there, glancing around, inspecting every surface. Exactly like six months ago. And still, he fits right back in. As if he had never left. Like a dusted book being returned to its rightful spot on the shelf.
It’s peculiar how easily he slips back in.

“Amélie asked me to bring this,” he says, opening the bag and producing a smaller bag. With both hands, he gives it to her. “It’s your present,” he adds.

It’s black with a long, wide strap. The frayed sides brush against her skin. On top it has two olive-green zippers with two connecting compartments. On the front is an embroidered Greek sculpture. A male athlete holding up a discus.

Watson looks up to Takeshi, but there’s no reaction. Carefully, she zips it open. Inside is an antique camera. It’s cold to the touch. The flash needs to be manually flicked up. It needs batteries. The lens is still in good condition. Watson stops.

The handle on the side reads a name. A name she hasn’t heard in years. Eyes, she never saw but who always saw her. Myron. She breaths but it doesn’t calm her heart. It makes sense why he needed to give me this in person.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Are there even any to say? Or where do I begin? Why now? What am I meant to do with this? What am I meant to do with the memories?

Watson looks to him. He still has this blank expression on his face. It’s a curtain, obscuring his feelings. Though even the best curtain can’t black out all the light. His eyes’ lids twitch. He has similar thoughts.

The camera is trickier than it looked. Options over options… Figuring out what setting to use in which lighting… I don’t need another headache.

Takeshi finishes his explanations with a nod. He looks around again, glancing at the clean windows, the decked table and the vacuumed floors. “Do you plan something for the evening?”

Watson tries to nod— still as stiff as usual. “We’ll have some friends over and play Dungeons and Dragons.” Takeshi quirks his eyebrows at that. “Dungeons and Dragons?”

“It’s a table-top roleplaying game.” He nods at that. “I’m familiar with those. Is it fantasy-based?”

“Traditionally, yes and we mostly comply with that version. However, we change some things.”

Watson blinks. Did he just admit he played RPGs? “Takeshi, you played roleplaying games?”

He nods, smiling gently. “Yes, Myron and I met through one of those. I was a knight while he was always the narrator. Ever the observer.” He chuckles. “He hated taking action, so he settled for the role of narrator. He stayed that role. It helped that he was engaging.”

That’s new information. “I thought, my uncle only took photos. Mum never mentioned him being a DM.” Like me. Saying his name, probably still hurts too much.

“He was observant in nature. I think, that was what drew him to photography.” He smiles. “If you liked, I still have a hard drive full of his former work.” Watson’s heart quickens. Wait. Maybe… maybe… I can see what he saw…

“Yes, I would like that.” Takeshi’s eyes twitch before he swallows. “Is next week okay? Before that, I have too much scheduled.”

“Ye-s, of course.”
He smiles with his eyes tightened.

With a loud thud, Koda’s door slams open. Iris marches out, mouth-trumpeting badly. She straightens her back and announces, “Hear ye, hear ye. Their majesty—“
Abruptly, her voice falters.
She comes to a halt, locking eyes with Takeshi.

“Why did you stop?”, Koda asks, stepping out behind Iris. “Did you forget your wor—“
They freeze mid-sentence, eyes widening as they spot Takeshi.
That’s…Koda?

They look… completely different. Their hair is neatly tied up in two pigtails with blue ribbons. Their spots hidden, their eyelashes full, their lips red. A short black top paired with a red chequered skirt, and thigh-high black socks.

Koda looks… marvellous. Like one of their favourite Anime characters, save for the make-up.

“Tousan…“, they splutter. Takeshi doesn’t say anything. His face remains blank, emotionless like a sheet of paper. He grabs his bag and with both of his hands gives to it Koda. “Otanjoubi omedetou Koda. Oyasumi.”
The front door closes sharply behind him.

Stiff, they are frozen in place.
Koda stares at the door. as if the sheer could dissolve it.
The bag slips out of their hands, hitting the floor in a dull clank. As if hypnotised, Koda looks down, before slowly kneeling next to it. Their fingers tremble as they pull the object out.
It’s a bottle of whisky.

Iris draws in a sharp breath, biting into one of her cheeks. Without hesitation, she settles next to them. She keeps her eyes on Koda, never once wavering to the bottle. Her lips bob as she forces them to open, “If you want to… drink that, you should eat first.”
Her voice quivers. Gently she nudges them.
“Come on then.”
She grasps their hand firmly, helping them up.

Koda … hurts.
They are hurt because of him.
I let him in.
Watson sprints to the door.
“Watson?”, someone says but she doesn’t care.

What… the fuck was that about?
Takeshi?
Why?
You can’t just walk away!
You can’t!
Maybe he’s still close by…

Practically jumping down the stairs, she reaches him just as he is about to exit—
“Takeshi!”, she roars, raw and hurt.

He stills, hand glued to the door handle. Slowly, he turns, his head tilted just enough for her to see his face. His eyes are red and puffy.
He… cried?
“What do you want?”, he asks, his voice uneven, his shoulders sagging.

Her rage beating against her ribcage. Her fingernails dig into her skin.
Claws—ready to strike.
You walked away.
You hurt Koda.
You deserve no sympathy.
None.

“You left Koda. You hurt them.”
His eyes are wide, his mouth falling open as she had slapped him.
Good.

He stammers. “It- it would’ve been worse if I—“ He gestures vaguely to his face. “—if Koda had seen that. It would’ve hurt them more.”

The fire in her chest sputters. For a second, she stares at him.
‘It would’ve hurt them more.’ Her fingers unfurl.
Cold realisation replaces the fiery anger.
He is… right.
I do that as well.
Just before they woke up, I wiped away the tears. If they saw me overwhelmed, they would blame themselves.
I can’t let that happen.
It's not their fault.
It never is.

Her breathing slows.
The question still stands…
Why?
“Why did you leave?”

Takeshi closes his eyes and exhales deeply, his shoulders sinking even lower. “It’s not their fault. It never has been.”
Soft like the wind, he whispers, “They look some much like him.”
It hits Watson like a blow, knocking all the air out of her lungs.
Myron.
Koda looks like him?
Watson struggles to find her footing, grabbing onto the staircase’s railing.
He looked like Koda and still, I don’t remember him.
His face always obscured by a camera.
Then in a flash, he is gone.

Watson nods, her voice quieter. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“I know.” Takeshi’s eyes are glassy as he smiles faintly.
He steps towards the exit, his words barely audible, “I have to go.”

Like a shadow, he slips back into the dark streets. The door gasps as it closes. The silence is piercingly loud.
He’s gone.
Gone like the ghost that he is.
Haunting us for a bit then vanishing into the night.  

A shadow dances in the door’s window.
Watson edges closer.
Did he forget something?
As she opens the door, she is met with Liz.
…Why now?
She raises her pierced eyebrow, her hand halfway to the doorbell. In her arm, she’s cradling a bottle of wine— her misguided way to keep warm—shivers slightly as she speaks. “W-W-atson!”, her voice quivers,  “S-since when do you do d-door—service?”

Watson steps aside without a word then quickly slams the door. Liz jerks in surprise.
No small talk.
Not now.  

But Liz doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care. It all boils down to the same thing:
She doesn’t shut up.
“I’ve brought my favourite Riesling. Koda will love this one. It has this sweet note but doesn’t make your teeth rot? It’s truly the best, I tell you.”

Watson walks on, unacknowledging her. But she keeps on. Like a songbird chirping on, singing her praises, her voice rising with each sentence.
How I wish I could throw a stone…
Why is she so persistent???

They enter through the open door.
“Watson, you’re back. What… happened?”, Iris asks, rubbing Koda’s back. Her face is tight with concern, her usual smile nowhere to be found. They’re grouched under a blanket. Miserating.

Liz grins. “O-kay, where’s the birthday kid? They need to get wavey—  right now!”
Iris jolts. Her pupils shrinking to the size of pinheads. With a waxy smile, she says, “Liz, you’re here. That’s… great.”
Watson blinks. Koda’s hair is already wavey.

Liz winks. “Yeah, of course. This party needs to liven up!”
Iris snorts. “You’d know, you work with the dead.”
Liz waves her off. She strides over to the kitchen, opening the top cabinet, plucking out four glasses with a flourish.
Watson takes a deep breath. Why can’t she just ask?
Liz props them on the coffee table, filling each glass to the brim.

The first goes to Watson. It smells sweetly.
Iris gets one as well. She glares at Liz but doesn’t say anything. The last one goes to Koda. “Cheer up, grumpster,” she teases.

Koda stares at the glass. A deep red sea, seducing to drown your sorrows in it. Their fingers tremble. They swallow, glancing up into Liz’s Cheshire cat-like grin.

“You don’t— have to, Koda,” Iris adds, holding them closer. Liz huffs, rolling her eyes. “Relax, Iris. It’s just a little wine. No one gets hurt over that.” Iris’s jaw tightens, her left eye twitching.
She’s pissed.

Koda still looks pensively at the glass, then takes a sip. Liz beams triumphantly, her grin stretching. She wags her eyebrows at Iris playfully. Iris bites her lower lip. Koda grimaces, setting the glass on the couch table with a quiet thud. “No one likes their first time. You’ll learn to like it,” Liz drawls, ending with a wink, before chugging her glass. Watson stares at her.
That’s fucked-up advice.

Liz wipes her mouth then she turns to Iris. “Your turn.”
Iris shakes her head. “I can’t.”
Liz waves her off. “It’s a good one.”

“Liz, I can’t.” Iris demonstratively places the glass on the couch table.
Liz rolls her eyes. “Come on.”
Watson looks between the two.
Liz won’t stop. This is going to explode. Unless someone stops her.
Watson swallows.
If it keeps spiralling. I probably need to take the hit.
Her stomach twists.
That’s an awful idea. I don’t want to, but the party shouldn’t be awful.
For Koda’s sake.
For Iris’s sake.
It needs to be done.
I’ll do it.

Watson grabs Iris’s glass and downs it in one go. The sweetness burns in her throat. Watson coughs. Liz smirks, picks up Koda’s glass raising it in a toast. “Cheers to that.”
Koda gapes, looking between Liz and Watson.
Liz shrugs. “At least this party won’t be dead.”

Iris’s expression is… uninterpretable.
This is a first.
Normally, Iris is easy to read if you know how.
But this?
No anger, no surprise, no disgust—
Nothing. Just a blank mask.
 You could project any emotions on it, and you wouldn’t be any wiser.   

“Watson…”, she whispers, skirting closer to the couch’s edge. She raises her arm, reaching out, but she stops midway.

Liz throws her dreads back, rolling her head, cracking it. “Can we eat? I feel a bit woozy already.” She picks up the bottle, whistling. “We’re almost done. Good job, gals” turning to Koda, “and nonbinary pal.” She hoists it up, waving it like a trophy.

“When will Cai show up?”, Iris asks.
Liz’s eyes glint at her. “Morty joins later. Works has him tied up.” She scowls, hastily shakes her head, smirking again. Carefully, she puts the glass down, holding out a hand to Koda. “Boo, like a dance?”  

They look from the floor up, glancing at Iris who stays still but grasps the edge of the couch tighter. Liz and she look at each other. Liz raises an eyebrow, grinning boldly. 

Iris shoved her lips together, her fingers twitching against the couch. Then, as if making a decision, she gives a curt nod.
What are they planning?

Iris snaps her fingers. Then slaps her thigh, snapping her fingers twice again. Repeat. After the fourth repetition, Liz joins in, “Buddy, you’re a boy”, at ‘boy’ she rolls her eyes earning a snort from Koda, “make some noise.”
Snap. Slap.

Snap. Snap. Slap.
Koda’s lips twitch, keeping their laughter in.

“You’ve got mud on your face, you big disgrace.” Koda jerks at the last word. Iris uses her free hand to hold theirs, giving it a soft press. “Kicking your can all over the place,”
—Snap. Slap.

Koda jumps up with loud laugh, dragging Iris with them. They swirl her around. Clumsily, Iris stumbles over her own feet, tumbling onto the carpet. She lands with a bang, rubbing her head. Koda follows her, knocking their foreheads together. Both stare at each other before bursting into laughter.

“Mates, really? I didn’t even get to the best part.”
Liz chuckles, before tugging at her coat’s collar. Koda stands up, petting down their skirt. Still giggling.

Koda is laughing. That jam session did really cheer them up. Obviously, it still affects them but… hopefully not right now.
Or later.

Liz picks at her coat. “Is it me or is the room hot?”
Koda looks up, eyeing Liz from top to bottom. They smirk.

“You are still wearing your winter coat. Do you want to repeat your question?”
Liz taps her forehead. “Oh, silly me,” she replies, mock-glaring as she unbuttons her coat. With a dramatic shrug, she tosses it onto the coat hook, flashing a grin.

No wonder, she was cold outside. She has barely anything on.
Her sleeveless black dress is cut by mid-thigh, paired with only tights. The only smidge of colour is the green ivy alongside the skulls that Iris embroidered onto her corset.

“Koda… This is cute!”
Liz gestures to their outfit. Koda’s smile flutters like a candle in the wind before regaining stability. “May I…take a closer look?”, Liz asks, moving closer to them.
Koda nods.
Iris scrambles before she’s stepped on, glancing at the two before fleeing into the kitchen. The kitchen.
The Yaki Onigiri isn’t done yet. The surprise will be ruined.
Watson follows Iris.

She is holding her knees as she pants. “I-I hate run-ning.”

“You don’t like sports in general.” Iris looks up to Watson, a small smile forming. She straightens up, leaning against the counter, looking over to Koda and Liz. Koda is spinning to show off their skirt. Watson sighs.
They are happy. That’s all I wanted.

Iris smiles then turns to Watson. “They’ll be alright.”
Watson nods— but it’s again only a weird tilt. Iris scrunches her nose.
She’s thinking. Please don’t ask me anything in depth.
Her voice is soft, cosy like an ingle on a snowed-in night, as she asks, “But… are you?”

W-what do I answer?
That I hear that whining still, how it haunts me?
How I left Koda upset to yell at Takeshi? 
Who then revealed that Koda looks like our dead uncle?
The same uncle who raised me?
Or the fact that Liz’s boisterousness grates on my nerves?
That she pressured Koda to drink?
That she pressured you?
—My stomach still hurts from the alcohol.
My headache is back.
What to say?

“I’m… fine.”
Iris squints at her, her nose scrunched.
She knows it’s not the truth.
“A wise man once said”, Iris moves closer to Watson, tapping on the counter’s edge, “Fine has variable definitions. Fine is unacceptable.” She smirks, looking up to Watson. But not into her eyes, always her nose. Still pretty uncomfortable but manageable.

They are barely two feet apart. Iris could easily touch Watson, but she doesn’t.
She knows.
Watson’s heart flutters.
She knows, so she doesn’t touch. She is waiting.
Waiting… for me?
Do I… want to?

Watson is frozen.
She can’t respond.
She can’t move.
She doesn’t touch.
Iris simply nods, understanding.
She doesn’t push, she doesn’t pull.
She is… so patient.
She’s the best.

‘Fine is unacceptable.’
 –where I have heard that before?
Maybe, Iris’s dad. He seems like the type to say that.
“Did your dad say that?”

Iris blinks, then snorts. She pops the p, “Nope, Spock.”
She tugs some of her long brown strands of hair behind her ear. “But good guess— dad does quote it a lot.” She chuckles, jumping onto the counter. She glances into the sink then stops. Sharply, she looks back to Watson. “What are these balls doing in the sink?”

Oh. There’s where I put the pan .
Watson tilts her head towards Iris and whispers lowly, “It’s a surprise for them. And… it was one for you too.” Iris’s eyes glisten like a wet rock, smirking innocently. “These balls are the only type of balls I like.”

On Morty’s birthday you ate dumplings though?
“What about dumplings? They are ball-shaped.”
Iris snickers, shaking her head. “Not the kind I meant.”
She quickly looks to Liz and Koda, then back to Watson. “Do you still want it to be a surprise?”

It would cheer Koda up more…
“Yes.”
Iris scrunches her nose, then smirks. “Leave it to me.”
There is a small skip in her step as she approaches the others. “Koda, how is that project going along?”

Koda blinks, their eyes light up. “I could show you.”
They walk ahead, opening their room’s door. Liz tilts her head at Iris, smiling. Both of them follow Koda. The door is shut.

Quick now.
Watson grabs the pan, the lingering oil crackling as it heats. The faint smell of grilled rice fills the air. One by one she flips over, perfectly golden. She picks the best of five, perfectly symmetrical with an even crust. Carefully she places it on the plastic plat.
It’s perfect.
They’ll love it.

Watson is about to knock on their door– BANG.
SLAP.
Thud.

Watson tumbles backward. Rough and sharp like a needle pierces her tongue. The taste of iron filling her mouth. Half of her face is numb. With big eyes and a small mouth, Liz stares at her. Her hand still on the door handle. The surprise and the plat lies on the floor.
The plat is intact.
The Yaki Onigiri is not.

Liz stammers, “I-I didn’t—“
Watson is dragged off to the bathroom.
The door clicks shut.
Cold hands like a cooling breeze caress her cheeks. Soothing her.
“Open your mouth,” Iris orders, forcing an even voice. Her arms are shaking, but her hands hold Watson firmly.
Watson opens her mouth.
Sharply Iris inhales, filling a glass and handing it to Watson.

She lets go and steps aside. “Rinse.”
Watson does as ordered.
“Open your mouth.”
Iris looks at it, swallowing before asking, “Stick out your tongue.”

It’s bizarre. As a child I was discouraged and now I am asked to?
Iris looks really concerned.
I don’t want that.
Hesitantly, her tongue peaks out like a careful mouse. Iris sighs, her shoulders fall. “Where do you have some gauze?”
Watson points to a drawer.

It’s a good thing to have with Koda’s condition. When they have an episode, they can’t always control where they land.

Iris takes a bit of the gauze dabbing it in alcohol. “This might… burn.”
Watson nods weirdly. Iris frowns then pets the bathtub’s edge twice.
“Sit down.”

She carefully takes Watson’s jaw into her right hand. It quivers against her hot skin. With her left hand, she cautiously applying the disinfectant.
It’s cold.
But that’s it. No pain follows.

Iris scans her face, her thumb stroking Watson’s jaw softly. She blinks quickly, before cracking a sad smile. “At least your tongue is still intact.”
Iris turns and opens the tall cabinet, taking out an aspirin. “Take one. I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now.” 

But it doesn’t hurt.
Somehow getting slapped with a door doesn’t hurt.
Why doesn’t it hurt?
It should hurt… right?
Why don’t I… What’s wrong with me?
…Have I ever felt physical pain?
Well, I fell out of that loft bed, my neck didn’t hurt.
But now I can’t properly use it.

“Watson,” Iris’s word drags her back. Her pupils big, her eyebrows shoved together. She’s concerned.
For me.
Watson puts the pill on her tongue and flushes it down.
Iris sighs, smiling brighter. At least she isn’t worried anymore.

Iris looks at her hand still resting on Watson’s face. She quickly yanks it, wiping it on her yellow sweater. Her ears are slightly red.
“I’m sorry. I-I- didn’t ask. I-“, she stutters, “was scared, and didn’t think—I shouldn’t have. I hate that I did this to you. I’m so sor-ry-”

Did this to me? That’s a bit of stretch.
“Iris, you didn’t do it on purpose. You don’t need to apologise.” Her tongue feels awkward as it drags itself across her teeth. It feels… open. That would be the best way to describe. But it doesn’t hurt. Still Watson jerks at the weird sensation.
Why I am numb to this pain?  

Iris stops, blinks. Her eyebrows are raised, her rosy lips a small line. “…What? I touched you without consent. I crossed the line. That’s not okay.”

Watson tilts her head, looking up towards her. Whenever she has this fierce expression, her eyes seem to burn. Fiery, righteous. Watson can’t look directly look at them, like the sun. What… am I missing?

“You didn’t consent to me touching you. That’s it. Hell is paved with good intentions for a reason.” She closes her eyes forcefully and breathes hard.

Yes, I didn’t ask. But it was… comforting in a way.
Being held.
…Is that what normal people feel?
Calm…?
Warm…?
…Safe?
I… liked it?

Liz cackles, pointing with her controller, “Koda, watch the pot!” The pot is already on fire. Koda groans, grinding their teeth. “Cut the onions, you berk.”

Watson watches them.
Is that where Koda got their cooking skills from?
Liz laughs, glancing at Watson mid-game, her grin fades. Her controller slips out of her hand. Before it hit the ground, Koda presses a button, pausing the game.

“Liz!”, they scowl as Liz taps their shoulder, her eyes locked on Watson. Koda follows her line of sight, stopping at their sister, their jaw dropping. “Fuck…”, they mutter, “Two-face would be jealous.”

Liz bolts up, closing the gap to Watson in two strides. She holds out her hand, her voice louder than necessary, stumbling over her words. “Watson! Look—I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t see you there. Are you… good?”

Watson glances to the floor. It’s already cleaned up. But that Yaki Onigiri…
That was for Koda.
Not the floor.
Her lips twitch. It’s hard to move them.
“It’s okay, Liz.”
Her tongue feels heavy as if attached to an anchor, dragging her words to the sea floor. “You didn’t mean to.”

Liz’s eyebrows shoot up, her hand still hovering mid-air. She chuckles awkwardly before fiddling with her dreads, shifting her weight.
“Safe?” She glances between Iris and Koda who simply shrugs but still stares at Watson. “Doesn’t that need to be cooled or something?”, they ask, eyeing her.

“That’s a good idea.” Liz brightens up. “But… where is that?”
Koda groans, rolling their eyes as they get off the couch. They slouch over to the kitchen, coming back with a cold pack. “Here,” they toss it without warning.

It lands square in Watson’s face.
She flinches at the chill biting her skin. Gnawing at her.
“Thanks… Koda,” she mutters against the ice pack. “Congrats on the shot.”
She glances at them. Since when do they have good aim?

Liz crosses her arms, smirking. “Is it just me or do you and the pack share the same bloody eye colour?”
Watson lowers the pack, eyeing it.
If it had eyes that would be intrinsically creepy.
“It doesn’t have any eyes.”

Liz snorts. “Alright, ice lolly. Point taken.” Her lower lips twitch and she holds her arms tighter. “Could we eat something? I’m starving.”

Iris tilts her head as she asks, “Is Cai turning up soon?”
Liz squints at her, smiling more sweetly. “Again, Morty is coming later.”

Koda sighs audibly, massaging their forehead. “Liz, just ask him already.” 

Dinner is… awkward. Liz is inhaling the food without a word. Which is unlike her. Watson watches silently before passing her Taki Onigiri to Koda. They dump the ball into their curry, the rice soaking up the sauce like a sponge.

Liz turns to Iris, breaking the silence, “Sooo, are you seeing anyone?”
Iris chokes on her last bite, eyes widening as she gasps for air. “Wha—”

“Because I know someone who is totally your vibe.” Liz continues, holding out her hand as if counting off, “She’s tall—“

“That’s not hard with Iris,” Koda quips, smirking.  

Liz side-eyes them but presses on, “She’s intelligent.”

Iris shifts in her seat tucking at her collar.
“And”, Liz adds, her grin widening, “she is attractive.”

“But has the charisma of a rock?”, Koda chuckles, leaning backwards in their chair. Liz glares at them, clearly unamused, turns her focus back on Iris.
“You’d make a cute couple.”

Iris repeatedly opens and closes her mouth, gaping like a fish. “I—don’t… date,” she blurts out, grabs her glass and takes a long sip.

Liz leans towards Iris. Her eyes darting away.
“Why not?” Liz snorts, blinking before throwing her dreadlocks back. “You’re attractive, charismatic and so talented. You’re a catch.”

“I don’t.” Her words are curt and sharp, her eyes on her plate.
Liz snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Is it a bad breakup thing? Because I swear, you can’t let one bad experience ruin everything. You just need to put yourself out there!”
Watson clenches her fists.
Bad experience is an understatement. There was a lot of blood.

Iris looks sickly. She hunches over, making herself smaller as if she could disappear.

Koda clears their throat, “The food is getting cold. Maybe, we should—”

“No, I’m dead serious.” Liz’s frown is quickly replaced by a smile, her voice chipper and cheerful. “You deserve someone. Everyone does. What is life without someone to share with? Nobody wants to be alone forever, now, would you?”

Iris scratches her undercut, muttering, “I am not alone.”
Liz leans in, cupping one of her hands to her ear. “Speak up, can’t hear you.”

“I am not alone,” Iris cuts back but she doesn’t meet Liz’s gaze. “I don’t need a relationship to be happy.”

The table falls silent.
Poor Iris.
Liz blinks, chuckling a pitch louder than needed. “Sure, but are you… happy?”

Koda shifts awkwardly, pinching their neck. Across from them, Watson carefully flattens her hands. She glances between the two.
There was nothing I could’ve done. I would have made it worse.
Liz coughs. She returns to her seat, taking another spoonful of curry. “Just… think about it.” Iris doesn’t look up.

The doorbell rings.
Thank you.
Watson is up in an instant, pulling the door open.

Morty stands there, completely drenched from head to toe. Rivulets run down his shoulders into his boots, filling them up like water butts. One more drop and they would overflow. His bangs cling to his forehead, and his glasses are fogged, making his eyes a blurry hazel. He raises his hand in a casual wave, flinging raindrops everywhere. 

“Hi,” he greets, shivering slightly.

Watson looks at the floor, then she squints back up at him. Stand still.

She points to the floor. “Stay here.”
He nods, releasing water trapped between his chin and throat.
Great.
Absolutely delightful.
Watson heads to the bathroom to grab him some towels.

Liz puts her spoon down with a clink, her brow furrowing as she regards him. “Darling, forgot your umbrella?” Instead of answering, Morty simply holds the rest up— a mangled frame like a lightning rod with small pieces of fabric still clinging to it.

 The others stare, their mouths agape. Koda is the first to respond, spluttering, “What did you do to that poor thing?! Did you hit a lamppost and lost?!”

Morty shivers as he answers, “A car ran it over.”

As if struck by lightning Liz bolts up, rushing to him. “Are you alright?? Were you hit??”, she touches his forehead, “Do you feel sick?? Should we call an ambu—“
Morty hushes her, catches one of her frantic hands, intertwining them and says calmly, “I’m alright. The wind knocked the umbrella out of my hand, and it landed on the street.” He shrugs, water dripping down his coat, “Shit happens.”

“Did you leave… any water outside?”, Iris asks, resting her head on her hands. She is smirking faintly, still looking rather shocked.
Morty looks down then raises his eyebrows. “I think so. I didn’t walk into the Great Flood.” Liz’s shoulders relax. She mutters, “You shook me there for a minute.”
Morty strokes her thumb.
“I didn’t mean to.”

Watson returns, with a stack of towels. She puts one right in front of him. As Morty gets out of his boots, they squelch. Water spills onto the floor.
Great.
“Go to the bathroom, there are dry clothes already waiting.”
Morty nods, shuffling to the bathroom.

“The floorboards creak as you stumble into the bustling tavern. Jugs smash against each other, ale spilling everywhere.”
Morty grimaces, his eyes narrowing as if he has just swallowed a frog. Liz raises her eyebrows at him. He holds his hands up, replying, “What? Those are probably wooden tables. You’ll never get the smell out of that.”
Koda snorts, passing their dice between each their fingers, letting it wander. “Really, ale? That’s the worst smell? You work at an old folks’ home.”

Morty chuckles. “I’m used to them. They mostly smell old. Not like bad ale.” Liz nudges Morty. “We don’t know the quality of the alcohol until we’ve tried. Don’t judge a drink by its smell.”

Liz with her idioms…
Watson blinks. “What do you want to do?”
Koda sits up. “I’d like to look around.”
Watson nods stiffly. “Roll for perception.”
They stop fidgeting with the dice. They fling it on the table. The dice tips, landing on… two. A two. Even with their perks, it’s only a four. That’s… an accomplishment.

“The tavern is bland. No pinboard, no intriguing side character, nothing. Just a barkeep behind the counter.”

Liz leans over. “Soo… you want to order?” Her grin widens. “Maybe try one of those ales?”

Iris has her head in one hand. “We have a bard on our team. Maybe they… could persuade the barkeep?”
Liz lights up. “Right. Free drinks!”

She turns to Koda, points with her head to Watson. “Let’s go.” Koda’s head moves in a triangle, Liz to Iris to Watson and back. Their lip curls slightly as they hesitate, eyes lingering on Iris for a beat longer than necessary. With a smirk, they lean forward, elbows firm on the table.

They clear their throat. “Soo… how are the prices?”, they ask, nervously tapping against their dice.

“Roll at least a ten for seduction.”

As the dice rolls, everyone holds their breath. As if a little breath could jinx the result. It’s a twelve and with their perks: a fifteen. Watson says, “Oh, normally four bronze a pint but for you it’s free, Cutie.” She then winks but closes both her eyes. I’ve never been good at this.

“Ey, what about our ale? Can we get that for free?”, Liz shouts. Oh, this should be interesting.

Watson turns to Liz. “Roll at least fifteen for seduction.”

Liz grins, glancing at Koda. “Yeah, Koda. Roll.”

“No, you. You initiated the action.” Liz’s pupils shrink. Watson adds, “You can take it back, of course.”

Liz’s eyes glint.
Perfect.
“What kind of a game would that be? I’ll do it. What again?”

“At least a fifteen.”
Her eyes shine like polished moonstones. You can always rely on Liz’s recklessness to get a story moving forward.

Liz shakes her dice like rattle before tossing it on the table. It’s an eight. She gleams. “What are my perks?”

Watson blinks. “They are on your sheet.”
Liz looks, her smile twisting then solemnly adds, “A two minus.”
Koda cackles, slapping the table. “You would’ve needed at least seventeen to win this.”

Watson blinks. “Why would I do such a thing? You all pay for the pint.” She looks towards Koda. “Except that one.” Then she winks. With both eyes. One day…

Koda’s face contorts.
Oh, they are uncomfortable. I should tone it down.
Iris glances at Koda. “I know you hate it but… could you ask the barkeep if there are any open quests?”

Liz lights up, she takes a sip of her wine glass. “That’s a great idea. Koda?”
They groan, rubbing their forehead. “Okay-- okay-- fine. I’ll… do it.” They look up, leaning over the table. They are smirking despite the tightness in their throat. “So… any quests available?”

Watson looks at them. “Roll for seduction.”
Koda nods, swinging but they stop. “How much?”

“At least ten.” They throw. It’s an elven. With perks, a fourteen. “Well, if you truly want… I’ve got this little pest problem in my cellar. I would give you 2 silvers for that.”

Liz smirks as she refills her glass. “Haggle more.”

A successful seduction later: “Two silvers and three free pints each.”

“Fucking hell! Little pests, my arse—“ They grab their head trying to rip it apart like a sheet of paper.

“…Koda”, Iris chides them, smirking. Koda ignores her. “Goblins! Fucking goblins! No wonder, the barkeep didn’t get pest control!”

Morty blinks. “Does such thing even exist in a fantasy world?”

Iris snorts. “Cai, why do you think we were given this quest?”

“Touché”, Morty replies. A moment later he chuckles. “We are pest control.”

“Can’t we just hack them to pieces and get our pints?”, Liz suggests.

Iris tips her head. “No, goblins are intelligent creatures. Maybe we could talk to their leader and negotiate—“

“Negotiate?” Liz shakes her head, chuckling. “They’ve taken over this tavern’s cellar! How could we just talk with them?”

Morty blinks. “What do goblins even speak?” The group is silent. He looks at Watson. “Could we even talk with them?”

Did anyone look at their sheet? Watson sighs silently. “You all picked a second language. It’s listed on your sheet.”

Koda groans, pinching their forehead. “Goblin, great.”
Oh, they picked it. That could be fascinating.
Liz snorts. “I picked Elvish, I’m useless.”

Liz has her arms spread across table, her head resting in between. The empty wine bottle in front of her. Next to it, half of a vodka bottle. She’s hammered. “As you descend further into the cellar, it’s not a simple chamber. A massive cavern is tearing the stony flooring apart,” Watson continues.

“Is there a bridge?”
Watson nods— again, it’s stiff.
“Alright…,” Iris sighs, scratching her nape. She has taken off her jumper, her flowery blouse’s sleeves rolled up. Liz’s arm shoots up like the foam of a coke and Mentos mixture. “I’d like to—sug-gest somethin- else…”
Okay… this should be interesting…

“You’re the mos- agile one of us, ri-ght? So, you should step on it firs-.” Iris tilts her head, scrunching her nose. “That may be… My constitution isn’t great though…”
Sluggishly, Liz drags her head up, rolling her eyes. “No risk, no fun. It’s no- like it’ll kill you.”

She glances at Morty. “Isn’t that right love?” She grins widely. She has a gap between her central incisors.
Morty hesitantly smiles back. “I think you’ve got a point.” He gestures towards Iris. “But I also understand hers. We don’t know if that’s a trap, it could quickly turn dangerous.”

Liz blows a raspberry. “Can’t you do a per-spiration check, or somethin-?”

“Perception check,” Watson corrects.
“Yeah… that one…”, Liz slurs, resting her head again on the table. Morty gently pats her head. “How sturdy is that bridge?”, he asks. Watson gestures to his dice. A seven. That’s… not great. I could give them a vague description. “It creaks and easily sways side to side.”

Liz waves slowly. “See? Totally fine. It’s not like I pushed Iris into her death.” She looks to Morty again. “You know how lovely you are? I’d be so alone without you. I’d be nothin- without you. Life’s too short to be alone. I want to have a pup-py with you.”
Morty chuckles, as plays with one of her blonde dreadlocks. Iris glances between them, her face is uninterpretable.
For the second time this evening.

“Get a room you two”, Koda groans, “Are we crossing it, or not?” They look at Iris. Morty looks at Iris.
Liz looks at the table, as she seemingly lost her neck bone. She mutters, “Iris, just do it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Iris bites her lips, ruffling her nose in thought. “I—“
Liz groans, prising herself off the table. “Watson, I push Iris.” She turns to Morty. “Love, throw for me, would you?”
That’s an interesting development.
Iris stares at Liz then at Watson.
“Wha— can she do that?”, Koda stammers, looking rather incredulous.
Is there something against in the handbook?
Anything?

“It’s… allowed. Morty, fifteen for strength please.”
He… actually succeeds.
“Liz’s character pushes Iris’s, she flails but lands up-right. She takes a step and another.” Watson turns to Iris. “Roll for luck.”

Koda murmurs, “…Wait, what?”
Iris closes her eyes, breaths deeply. Then she throws it. Watson blinks.
How is that even possible?
It’s a one.
One.
Even with her perks… She’ll die.
“You step forward, but the next board gives away. It was rotten to the core. You… fall. Seconds pass before the group hear a faint thud.”

Koda darts up, staring at Watson, their voice harsh, “How the fuck did you let that happen? Iris is dead now because you didn’t act.”
Koda is upset.
I upset them.
I didn’t want that… “Koda—“

Iris smiles faintly. “I’m still alive, Koda. Calm down.”
Koda huffs. “Right, then your character’s dead.”

They bite, “Why should someone pay for someone else’s actions? That’s not right.”

“That’s not how the game works, Koda.” Iris shrugs smiling, mumbling, “Or life for that matter.”

“That’s bullshit,” they snap, jerking their head. Clenching and unclenching their fists, shaking her head. They stare at Watson. Their voice sharp as a knife stabbing Watson in the stomach.  “That’s fucked. I’m out.”

“Koda—“
Watson’s voice is cut by the door slamming shut. The sound reverberating in her head. But the rules were clear. Should I have bent the rules, so she didn’t have to die? Did I fail as DM? Koda is upset. I wanted them to be happy. But I failed.  

Liz lifts her head, blinking blearily. She slurs, “Where did they go…?” Morty chuckles softly, caressing her cheek. “Aniołku, how much did you have?”

With a limp wrist she lightly shoves him. “Nod that much. Sorry, that I don’t have your Polish genes.” Morty sniggers, pulling Liz up. “Are you suggesting something?”

Liz beams at him, her eyes are glassy. “Yeah… I’d like a puppy.” Morty sighs, patting her shoulder. “Let’s discuss it tomorrow. It’s late.”
He waves, then they leave.

I ruined the game. If I acted maybe… No, that wouldn’t have been fair to Liz either. How should I have acted? How? How? How? I can’t break rules but if I don’t Koda is upset… What am I meant to do? What—

“—Watson? What’s on your mind?” Iris is right in front of her. Her eyes are small and droopy. She is yawning, scratching behind her ear.
Watson blinks.
Should I tell her?
It’s Iris.
“This day… didn’t go as I envisioned.”
Iris snorts and shrugs. “You tried and didn’t succeed. That happens.”

Iris sighs looking down on the table, holding onto its edge, “We all made choices during the game. Some impacted others. You just don’t know where they’ll lead.”

She shrugs, turning back to Watson. Quickly she frowns, glancing at Watson then grabs behind her to picks up a black bag off the dresser.
Myron’s bag.
Koda must have put it there.
“Is that yours?”
Technically it is.
Watson nods stiffly. Iris hands it to her. Carefully she takes out the camera. Takeshi only took some before— some of random objects. I haven’t used it yet. I don’t know what on?

“Huh, didn’t know you were into photography?” Iris tilts her head. “On second thought, it does make sense.”
…What?
Why does that make sense?
What do you mean?
Iris shrugs on her yellow sweater, tugging it into place. “Would you like to test it on me?” She smiles softly like the spring sun thawing the crispy ice.
There is that feeling again. I feel… safe?

Iris tugs some of her brown hair behind her ear as she grins brightly.
Okay… I should just press the button…
A whiteness flashes Iris, sending her tumbling backwards. She blinks quickly and repeatedly. “I… I think you could leave the flash off for next time,” she chuckles. “Could I see?”

The photo is beautiful. Iris’s eyes twinkle like starts whilst beaming with the energy of a sun. Her brown hair reaching her hip. She radiates.
She’s glowing.

Iris snorts. “I look so short.” Watson blinks. “That’s because you are.”

Iris places one hand under her chin as if she’s serving her head on a plate. “Thanks, you charmer,” she retorts while smirking. She takes a look at her watch. “I should go… Hey, could we go to the library tomorrow? I kinda still need to give you your present.”

As Watson closes the door, she forcefully shuts her eyes.
Could you shut up!
Please…!
Stop haunting me!
I hate this dreadful sound.
This whining.
She grabs her glasses, her body urging her to smash them into her nightstand, but she carefully puts them down. All the edges and sharp lines smooth, blur. No details.

She breaths.
There’s her breathing.
And this whining.
It’s drilling into her skull, revibrating inside the cranium. As if thousands of needles stabbing—
everywhere.
Her eyes.
Her teeth.
Her stomach.
It clings onto her.
Relentless.

Stop. Please … Her hands dash to her collar bone, trying their urgent to get to her lungs. To stop that wheezing. At least one sound less.

She pushes herself onto the carpet. It has fringes that mimic blades of grass. Unlike real ones, these don’t cut. Stars are plastered across the ceiling, like a navigation system.

She stabs herself with the blades. But they don’t inflict the needed pain. Instead, they stroke her palms softly.
Will you stop!
Just stop!
You were only at the university!
It’s not like I could’ve—
I could’ve—

She presses her palms against the carpet, gripping its softness, willing herself to anchor in its texture.
Breathe in.
Her heart slows down.
Breathe out.
Her breathing shallows like a ship before entering port. Slowly she opens her eyes. It’s only the stars anymore. Only them and her.

…Wait. Maybe that’s it.
Tomorrow I’m at the university anyway, we’re at the library…
If we are there anywhere, I could maybe…
What am I thinking?
The whining… it keeps on haunting…
It doesn’t leave my head.
It was nothing.
…But if it was nothing, it wouldn’t matter if I looked around… right?
Just quiet it.
I at least would have peace of mind.

Watson inhales deeply then releases a controlled breath. She’s still bathed in sweat from the nervousness. But she with calm breaths, she forces the sound into her subconscious. Beyond her awareness.
Beyond the stars.
Just the stars.

  Stars…
how great they are.
Ever-present, even if they are gone, they still help us.
Guide us.
Guide us through the tumultuous sea…
the one of reality and the one of the mind…
Stars are… marvellous.
Because they are so seemingly ever-present, generations, centuries of humankind have observed them…
We have always been… fascinated by them.
Gravitated towards them.
Observations in general…
I am not the only one who gravitates towards them…

I’m low to the ground.
Sitting.
Blades of grass between my fingers.
Not between my toes. Those are in socks, in shoes.
I hate my bare feet on grass.
The grass moves quietly. A gust of wind blowing over the fields.
Far in the distance is a big yellow flower. Its brown face is turned to the sun.
A bright flower.
A kind flower.
A warm flower.

A tall person in front of me.
Holding a black box.
Its glassy eye staring at me.
Observing me.
He leans closer.
Angling his box differently.  
He’s observing me.