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She woke to a cry, broken and weak, so quiet that it could almost be passed for a noise of the turning bus—tyres against tarmac, a mechanical groan. But Haze smelled the bitter wave of distress that came with it, strong enough to have surely been what roused her; she was pushing herself upright before she'd fully opened her eyes, forcing herself to pause to make out where it came from.
Over the rustle of her bedding, she heard the cry again. Stronger this time, like it had new, desperate breath behind it. It spilt out into a sob, wet and full, and Haze was scrambling out of her bunk, pushing the curtains back and casting her duvet aside in one.
Though it had only been weeks since she'd been called here, she knew that cry too well.
Aurora Ghoul's bunk was across the aisle from hers. Haze didn't ask for an invitation. She tugged back the curtains of this bunk too, dim blue light spilling over the figure that cowered there. The duvet was tangled at Aurora's feet, the sheets scrunched up and pulled from their corners.
Aurora trembled where she was hunched against the wall, looking up at Haze but bent double to cover her belly. That instinctual protective stance and the stench of fear made Haze's stomach lurch. She went to all fours on the mattress, crouched down so she and Aurora were of a height. I am no threat , she made her body say. By the shake of Aurora's limbs, and the way her tail curled tight between her legs, something else had been.
Haze drew a breath, smelling for blood or sickness, but all that met her was cold terror and salt. Aurora sobbed on every breath, wide eyes streaming, her running nose making her upper lip glisten; she opened her mouth in a wail that bubbled up from somewhere deep, saliva tugging between her lips. Haze could not answer it.
She moved forward, butting her head into Aurora, who caved to the affection with a whimpering sob. She pressed into Haze, seeking contact at every possible part of her. Haze’s throat hummed with concern; all she could do was gather Aurora in her arms, pulling her into an urgent, messy hug, her own body beginning to tremble with the force of Aurora’s fear.
“I—” Aurora forced out, so breathless that it could have just been another cry. “I need—”
Haze squeezed her, whining a wordless question. Aurora did not respond. She’d cut herself off and buried her face in Haze’s chest, her body heaving, and all Haze could do was hold her there.
She could sing, but she could not speak. The two were very different things—she planned to explain this, to Papa and whoever else wanted to know, as soon as she had the means to. She’d been promised that she would; reassured that some Ghouls take more time than others to learn it, and sooner or later, most of them manage it. She communicated well enough without words, with her pack and with Papa. She never needed to encounter anybody else alone.
All the reassurances in the world could not calm her in moments like this. Haze opened her mouth, fighting for something she couldn’t reach. She could do nothing more than make those noises that came to her from some innate place of protection. She squeezed Aurora again, begging her tightening hold to say what she could not speak aloud—tell me what you need .
You’re okay, she could have said, like she’d heard the others mutter into Aurora’s ear on other nights like this. Like she’d been told herself when she’d screamed her way into this realm, blistering and bloody. You’re safe—I have you. Nothing will hurt you here.
She kissed Aurora’s head, stroked her back and rocked from side to side, drawing her closer until there was no further to go. Aurora’s cries hadn’t quieted; they grew more violent, open-mouthed and gasping, leaving the front of Haze’s shirt wet.
Aurora’s mouth moved against her with a mumbled word. Haze made a questioning noise, but couldn’t be certain that Aurora was answering it when she spoke the word again.
“Help,” she sobbed out, and her body lurched with it. “Help—please. I’m—where—”
Haze’s whines grew high but she couldn’t hear herself. She tried to purr, hoping Aurora would be calmed by it, but she couldn’t drag it out of the churning pit of her stomach. Her tail swished, frantic with worry; none of this would be helping.
“Please—’m not. I won’t …”
Aurora’s voice ran itself out. She went silent, the breath drained from her lungs—Haze pulled her back, trying to see her face, but Aurora fought to stay in her arms even whilst her chest seized. Haze tugged her back in, rocking on her knees and brushing with her cheek, doing all she could until Aurora gasped again and drew a deep, shaking breath that ended with a cry.
Breathe for me. Relax your chest. Nice, slow breaths —
Haze could not do this alone.
She moved, unwrapping her arms from Aurora, tail between her legs in an apology. Aurora made to grab hold of her, panicking when her back was left exposed. Haze pushed through, hurrying to get this over with, her own eyes burning in the knowledge that she was what caused this fresh wave of tears. That she could not do what someone else could.
She held Aurora under the arms, hauling her up as she stepped off the bunk. Aurora’s size made it easy; her struggling limbs had grown weak. She wept when Haze dragged her into the aisle, half-leading, half-lifting her a few paces up the bus. It was difficult to smell for who slept where over Aurora’s acrid panic, but Haze knew which bunk she searched for, better than she knew any other.
Two down from her own, on the same side of the aisle. Curtains always half-open, a warm invitation—
She reached them and pulled them back.
Behind them lay Cirrus Ghoul, already waking up. She was pushing herself up onto one elbow, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the other hand, kicking the covers off in the same way Haze had. Haze gave Aurora a push, guiding her until her knees hit the mattress, and limp and lost though she was, she knew what to do. She scrambled towards Cirrus, sobbing out her name.
“Hm?” Cirrus said, blinking awake. “What—oh… oh, little one—” She pushed herself upright, reaching out— “c’mere, come on, I’ve got you…”
Aurora fell into Cirrus’ arms, just the same way she’d let Haze take hold.
“Shh, darling,” Cirrus was muttering, cradling Aurora’s head to her chest. She looked at Haze, eyes wide with worry, but her demeanour was calm. “A dream, again?”
Haze nodded. Cirrus beckoned to her with just her head, keeping her hands flat on Aurora’s back.
“Come. Well done for bringing her. Oh—” she looked down when Aurora choked on a cry, coughing into Cirrus’ shirt. “You’re a state, aren’t you? Shh, shh…”
Haze crossed her legs at the end of the mattress, tugging the curtain closed behind her, hoping the makeshift walls would make Aurora feel secure, the next time she looked up from where she’d tucked herself away from the world. Cirrus shuffled her feet to make room.
“Could you pull the duvet back on us, please, lovely?” She asked. “Let’s wrap her up.”
Haze did as she was asked, reprimanding herself for not having thought of that before. She shuffled forwards on her knees to tuck the duvet in, tight around Aurora’s shoulders. She straightened a pillow so Cirrus could more comfortably lean back with Aurora on top of her. She returned to the duvet to smooth it out, and to her surprise, Aurora let go of Cirrus with one hand; still shaking, she reached out and fumbled until Haze took hold of it, fingers intertwining.
“That’s it,” Cirrus said. “She’s here too. Neither of us are going anywhere, are we?”
Haze confirmed it with a squeeze to Aurora’s hand. She got only a sob in return. Aurora clung to them both as if she’d fall if either let go.
Cirrus took a deep breath, and began what Haze had brought Aurora here for. The routine that would cut through murky terror. Haze could hold Aurora’s hand for days, but that wouldn’t hold a candle to this.
“You’re on the bus,” Cirrus said, with the calm, level cadence of a sermon. “We’re somewhere in England. You’re in my bunk, and we’re all here.”
She kissed Aurora’s head, whose breath still came fast and shallow, wet and pained.
“It’s… what’s the time, Haze?”
There was a small digital clock in the wall above Cirrus’ head, stark blue. Haze held up three fingers, followed by a wobble of her hand.
“Three in the morning.” Cirrus blinked at Haze—a thank you. “About that. It doesn’t matter, because we’ve got the day off tomorrow.”
A car passed them on the road outside. Cirrus waited until the engine dimmed, leaving only the low rumble of the bus. She kissed Aurora again, the duvet crinkling when she squeezed her underneath it.
“What time is it, Rory?”
Aurora’s breath heaved. She coughed, tears clogging her throat, and Cirrus patted her back until it cleared.
“Three,” Aurora choked out into Cirrus’ chest, muffled but audible.
“Good.” Cirrus stroked circles between her shoulders. “That’s it. Can you tell me where we are?”
The tears still came, but she answered straight away this time. “England. Somewhere”
“Mm. On the bus. We’re all here,” she repeated. “What are you wearing right now?”
Aurora turned her head a little, freeing her mouth, shuffling her legs whilst she thought about it. “Th-the shorts,” she managed, “with the watermelons. And—Papa’s shirt.”
Cirrus smiled, stroking the back of her head. “Not Papa, love. Who is he now?”
“Frater.” Her voice was thick—she swallowed around the word.
“What does his new suit look like?”
“Black. Fancy. Got the—the rubies on it, and that shiny collar.” She coughed again and took a deep breath. “Priest had a baby with a disco ball.”
“Exactly that. And how did you end up with the shirt?”
Aurora’s voice was quieter when she said, “He gave it to me. Leaving present.”
“Did he, now.”
She paused, then shook her head. “But he said —” she hiccupped, but it was just the remnants of tears, her tone indignant underneath it. “He didn’t mind. I asked. Nicely.”
“Only after you nicked it.”
“Still asked, didn’t I?”
Cirrus’ smile was fixed. Haze breathed alongside her, her chest unclenching, even whilst Aurora’s hand still shook.
Clutching Aurora tight, Cirrus started to rock, ever so gentle. “Does it smell of him?”
“Mm.” Aurora nodded. “You can smell it, too.”
“I can. Focus on that, darling.”
And Aurora did, shutting her eyes, turning her face into Cirrus’ chest again. She hiccupped through the aftermath and her breaths began to slow. Even under the covers, Haze could see the tension draining out of her and the way her shoulders slumped. She quietened, sniffing whilst Cirrus shushed her, slowing her rocking until all three lay still, sinking into welcome calm.
“That’s it,” Cirrus said, when Aurora’s breaths matched her own. “That’s my good girl. Bad one tonight, wasn’t it?”
Cirrus didn’t ask what Aurora had dreamt of. That was the advice, she’d said, that Papa—the other Papa—had helped her find when this issue first arose. Don’t ask, in the hopes she will forget.
Aurora nodded, her words muffled but controlled. “Not great.”
Cirrus tightened her hold again, bowing her head and lowering her voice. “Are the sheets dry, sweetheart?”
“Uh.”
Cirrus glanced at Haze, who nodded. She’d seen nothing tonight, on Aurora’s sheets or her shorts with the watermelons.
“Haze says yes. That’s one less thing to worry about.” She patted Aurora’s back. “Let’s get comfy—you’re staying with me. You, too, baby.”
Cirrus was gesturing at Haze, beckoning her forward whilst she shuffled to the side, making a gap between herself and the wall. Haze’s tail thumped against the mattress at the invitation. She crawled into the gap, shimmying onto her side until she was wedged into the tight space, her head resting on Cirrus’ shoulder, the arm around her squeezing a greeting.
“Thank you,” Cirrus said. She leaned down, using her hand to guide Haze’s head towards hers, and kissed her, warm and drawn-out, on the lips. “For looking after this one.”
She patted Aurora’s side, winning herself a purr. It was weak, but Haze felt it rumbling through where the three of them were pressed close.
Aurora tilted her head up—her skin was damp and blotchy, dark around wet, red-tinged eyes. Cirrus smiled down at her and reached over Haze’s head to the shelf in the wall. She pulled a tissue from a box that sat there, perhaps prepared for something like this, and dabbed at Aurora’s cheeks with it.
Her nose was dried off with gentle pats, then Cirrus gave her what the wordless look had asked for. She kissed Aurora too, first her lips, then her head.
“I’d rather not sleep,” Aurora muttered, still gazing up at Cirrus.
“I know. I’ll stay up with you.”
“You don’t—no, you don’t have to. I’m alright just being here.”
Haze got Cirrus’ attention by pointing at herself, then making a turning motion with her hand. Cirrus understood as she always did.
“We’ll swap?”
Haze nodded; Cirrus’ thumb drew patterns on her shoulder.
“One of us will be awake,” she told Aurora. “No matter what.”
She shuffled as she spoke, lifting the corner of the duvet and starting to tuck it around Haze. It was meant for one, but close as they were, the three of them just about fit under it. It didn’t matter either way; their proximity was warmth enough.