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“I tasted your shampoo in the bathroom. Here, you can taste mine.”
Sound returns to them first, then the feeling of Susie’s head pressing against their face. In their abject panic, they barely even register her voice as hers, let alone the words she’s saying. They’re nothing special anyways; nothing they didn’t already know. But it is her.
It’s her, they repeat in her head, as their heart thrashes against their ribcage like it begs for escape. It’s her, and the overpowering smell of cheap shampoo with too many preservatives and a hint of manufactured floral scents. Something that’s followed her around since the day she showed up, like a chillingly terrifying, hypnotizingly comforting mark of her presence. Of her.
Their nails dig into their palms with a soft sting - only then do they realize they’ve tightened their grip on her collar. She puts a gentle hand on top of theirs - only then do they realize they’re trembling. Every movement feels like their own, disconnected from the being that seeks to punish them. And yet they feel as if their limbs, too, have taken control away from them.
“You’re so weird,” is all they can manage to mumble, with a soft chuckle several magnitudes louder than the words themselves.
“I’M weird?!” Her voice booms across the room, ringing in their ears and causing them to wince, yet it’s so painfully expected they feel like they could burst into tears right there. “How am I the weird one here?!”
She backs up, but stops the moment she meets resistance as they refuse to let go. Their eyes lock for several more moments, each one feeling like a nail through their heart as painful reality sinks in further and further. It’s her. It’s her. It’s her. But at any moment, she could be gone, and them completely helpless to keep her here.
The force that keeps them standing buckles before they can stop it. Their head roughly hits her chest as they throw their arms up for balance, finding hold around her neck as she scrambles to grab their sides. Her touch sears their skin as if to brand it, though her hands are cold and scaly, her grip is real like nothing else in their life can be. And she presses her palms into their stomach, and she hooks her claws into their cape, like they’re the only thing that matters to her in the moment, just as she is to them.
“I’m sorry,” they whisper, winded by the vision of a violent virtual history that could have repeated itself. “I was just scared. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey.” She gingerly wraps an arm around their back. “Case you forgot, we’re badass. We got nothing to be scared of.” But they are comforted only by the knowledge that this is real, and that was not, and every passing second confirms that this is true, and she’s still holding them like they’re the only thing that matters.
“I-it’s gonna come back.” Their voice breaks. “And then I… then you…”
“What’s gonna come back?” She stiffens, and they feel her lower her head on top of theirs, like a weighted blanket. “Who do we gotta fight?”
They feel it, hovering, still and silent, at a distance. They shake their head slowly, and it still doesn’t move. They test the limits of their restrained freedom, slowly sliding their arms from her neck, draping one across her torso, and clenching their other fist around loose locks of her thick hair. The smell still surrounds them, with the steady rise and fall of her chest and the rhythmic thrumming of her SOUL from within her. Even among the pounding of their heart and trembling of their muscles, they feel as if they could retreat into peaceful slumber if only they closed their eyes.
“Was it at least nice?” She asks, her rugged voice going soft. “Y’know. The shampoo.”
“I never said it wasn’t.” They huff out a laugh, and she follows. But her body relaxes, and they sink further into her chest, like their answer meant the world to her.
“Found something for you.” They reach down, their heart soaring as she follows their every movement, and picks up the reward for their escapades. It still reeks of warm glass, that which was softly illuminated by machinery. They crane their head up as they place it in her hands, until the familiar concoction of chemicals in Susie’s hair drowns it out.
“Yo, for real?” She backs up and grabs it, and they only let her because she stays just close enough for the smell to linger, and her big, toothy grin brightens the room. She drapes the mantle over her shoulders, and for a moment, the thick fabric seems to camouflage seamlessly with the rest of the room. They rush forward and grasp at whatever loose folds they can still make out, their knuckles loosening when she doesn’t even flinch, and when their eyes adjust to her silhouette reaching out and ruffling their hair.
“This looks like something Ralsei would wear,” she jokes, pulling up the hood and cupping her fingers around her eyes to mimic glasses.
“I want you to wear it,” they say almost immediately, more insistent than they meant to.
“I will, I will.” She pulls a snail-shaped magnet from her belt and places it in their open palm. “Wanna trade?”
They look down at the offering, reflecting pale tones that should have reminded them sooner of their mother’s collection of fridge magnets. Slowly, their fingers curl around the lodestone, and they move to stick it proudly to their chestplate with the wobbliest of smiles.
“Dude, YOU’RE the one who gave that to me in the first place.” Susie playfully punches their shoulder, causing them to stumble. “What’s with the stupid grin?”
But it doesn’t waver, until she can’t help but smile as well. Before they know it, the two are giggling and pushing each other like the schoolkids they are, in another time.
“That’s more like it,” she says as they begin to sober up. They can’t help but lean into her shoulder, relishing in the smell of shampoo that has begun to rub off onto the mantle.
“Keep it on,” they whisper into the velvet, “no matter what.”
“Wait, is this the thing Seam was talking to us about?” Susie stretches out an arm to admire the way the fabric dances in the dim light. “Heh, cool. Anyways, don’t be such a downer, if that’s what you’re trying to say. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
They almost find themselves collapsing again as they practically melt from the relief of even hearing those words. Please, they want to say, but they feel a familiar numbness envelope them before they can.
“Let’s get out of here.” She nudges them with her elbow and points towards the door. “Don’t wanna keep Ralsei waiting.”
They can’t respond, or ask for just a bit more time, or tell her how much it would break them to not have her beside them. They can only walk stiffly forward, with movements that are not their own. But even from within their prison, they’re able to reach a single pinkie out and jam it against the back of her hand. She looks back for a second, then intertwines her own with theirs, and once again they are close to her in a way that feels real. Perhaps, just for now, it all might be okay.