Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"Looking upon thee, moon. And pass verdict."

[. . .]

Chapter 1

Saved by a Yokai

[. . .]

Rowan Tsukino is tired.

It's a profound fatigue woven into her bloodline. Her name itself is a shackle—Rowan, chosen by a father who disappeared; Tsukino, inherited from a family that never wanted her.

Raised by a single, bitter mother amid the tumultuous strain of Manhattan, New York, 16-year-old Rowan finds that life only seems to get worse as time goes on. Manhattan's noise isn't as loud as the silence between them, taught to her mother by her mother's mother, and all the mothers before that. Suppression, endurance, perfection; these were all virtues in their upbringing, passed down like rotten heirlooms made of glass.

Since she'd been able to think for herself at the fragile age of two, Rowan had been discarded as another passing womb mistake within her expansive, patriarchal family just for being born out of wedlock to a man of color. The shame of illegitimacy was like smog, unspoken, but always present. In Japan, her name was likely never spoken aloud by the older family, only referenced in tones of disgust or silence over tea.

An embarrassment.

A break in the bloodline's honor.

She doesn't live with them, as most of them are in Japan, but the dismissal is passed on through her hardworking mother, Sayo.

To this day, her mother still answers the phone with a bow in her voice, still sends formal gifts across the sea during Obon, and still writes letters in respectful keigo to the very people who spat out her child's name like it tasted wrong. To the same family that convicted her, cursed at her, claimed her dishonorable and a whore for spreading her legs to another race outside their own. A mother who had been a mere teenager at the time, told that she would spend the rest of her life atoning for the sin that is Rowan.

Her mother is a tragic person.

Rowan acknowledges this.

But it isn't fair that her mother expects so much from her.

Rowan knows it's never been about fairness. It's about gaman—enduring without complaint. That's what her mother was taught: to bear it, quietly. To cleanse the shame through her daughter's perfection.

Rowan has known for the longest time that she isn't perfect.

But to her mother, imperfection is a mirror reflecting every wound she tried to outrun in her own girlhood. Her father's judgment, her mother's bitter scorn, the harsh rebuke, and physical abuse for speaking too freely and wanting to pursue that freedom. Now, Rowan's mother passes the stick without knowing she holds it, with the sharp end jabbing into her heart.

Rowan can't change that.

Rowan can't change herself.

She will make mistakes. She will fail. That's just the way life goes, no matter how much she may try or want things to be different. She's human. There is no perfection in humanity.

But her mother thinks otherwise.

Perfect manners, perfect grades, perfect daughter.

Rowan tries. There isn't much she can do to earn her mother's love, except follow the indoctrination strictly under her guidance. She thinks that Rowan should be a certain way, be nothing other than right. She should be modest. She should be bold. She should be meek. She should be strong. She should be this, should be that, should be anything but her mistake.

Rowan has lost count of all the things her mother has put her through.

Whether it ranges from a traditional hand-to-hand combat class to a random musical instrument she'll never carry a passion for, Rowan has tried it all. Calligraphy. Piano. Kendo. Rowan can't remember which were for tradition and which were for image. Cooking. Painting. Writing. Pottery. Self-Defense. More, even, languages of all kinds, projects never made into fruition because of the cost. An upcoming actress. Studying prematurely for degrees that mean nothing to her. Beauty itself.

Each class was meant as a test of discipline. Each project is a silent offering of penance—Look, I raised her well, didn't I? Look, she's not a disgrace. Look, she's perfect, she's the best, and that's all she can be.

All of it, just for her mother to call her a failure.

Rowan isn't good at things. She's not smart, or adventurous or, or anything.

She's just herself.

And it's hopeless to think that her mother will ever see her that way.

Her mother doesn't forgive. She yells, she cries, she hits her. Anything inconvenient is Rowan's fault.

So Rowan pretends.

She attempts to be the daughter her mother wants. She studies hard, she works hard, and she makes ends meet. She labors for her, cleans the home in a daily ritual, cooks for her mother, fills in documents, and soothes her when she is tired and lost. Her mother doesn't praise her, but Rowan likes to think that, in some way, shape, or form, her mother loves her. Really. Why else would she keep working to keep a roof over their heads? Why else would she have kept Rowan, a lovesick mistake, instead of leaving her to wither in the foster system?

Rowan knows things. She knows that this love is wrong.

That Mother and Daughter should not despise each other as they do.

She can't explain it. Perhaps it's because she has read so many psychological and philosophical texts that they are influencing her judgment of what's right. From what should be, from what it can't be. Religion is a strict thing in her household, and yet nothing has happened when Rowan strayed away. She learns about things. About the world, about other theologies, about what humanity has advanced into.

She is fascinated by the complexity humanity carries and will continue to carry long after she's dead.

Which is why she isn't angry at her mother.

She isn't angry at anyone.

Not her father, for leaving them behind. Not her mother's family, for pressing the generational curse onto her mother, who could've cut it away and bloomed from it, had she not had Rowan.

She isn't angry.

She's tired.

She's so tired.

Tired like a girl made to carry the ghost of every dream her mother conjured in her softest innocence.

She wants things. She wants to learn, wants to live, wants to be. There is so much wonder to be explored.

And there is so much heartache.

Rowan doesn't expect anything anymore.

She has no friends. She busies herself with outside work at a pizza place so much that she never has time to enjoy herself. Pleasing her mother has been a priority all her life, and she's burnt out.

She's done.

She no longer wants to exist.

It is this profound, leaden grief that seeps through her burning skin and corrodes her bone through the marrow. It is this barbed, diseased hook that pulls apart the meat inside her pumping chest, mauling in the visceral poison of hopelessness. It is this culmination after years of weight she was never meant to carry. It is pain. It is pain, and it is numb.

It's why she doesn't care about the gun pointed at her right now.

Tonight, on this cold evening, Rowan Tsukino resides by the lonesome brick wall of a computer shop in an alley that smells like piss and garbage.

Held at gunpoint, the metal weapon glints briefly by an outer streetlight, leveled at her with a slight tilt that aims directly for her forehead. The person behind it is a man she'd seen skulking about outside for weeks while she worked, peering through the pizza-tinted windows or sometimes outright coming in to sit down and pretend to order, thinking she hadn't noticed him. His face is gaunt with drug use, older with stubble, carrying a smell of rancid human excrement and something clinically bitter.

And as she stares at the pervasive glint in his eyes, Rowan resigns herself to her fate.

No amount of self-defense will stop a bullet from entering her forehead.

Yes, she can try to disarm him. There is something in that.

But, strangely, she... doesn't want to.

She is terrified, of that there's no doubt. This man intends to do things to her that she's heard whispered about in her mother's off-mumbles whenever she dreams. She expects things to go very wrong. So wrong that it is grotesque in essence, repulsive, a culminating viscera of her innocence. But her heart beats so fast that her body unfolds into a calm, accepting shock.

This is how she ends.

After everything.

This is what she amounts to.

Just a corpse, defiled, and gone.

Her mother will cry and hate her forever, now, for dying. She couldn't even live. She couldn't even keep her dignity intact.

How funny is that?

She doesn't say anything. She coils in on herself as filthy words pass through the man's lips, as he roughly seizes her hip and pushes her to the wall. The cold of the gun juts under her chin, and she stares past him at the brick wall, hoping for nothing. Hoping for an end. Hoping that maybe, somehow, this life isn't real, and that she will wake up as someone other than herself.

Her wishes are granted.

But not in the way she will ever suspect.

She doesn't feel the man the second he grabs her hip because he's suddenly ripped away from her.

The force of it sends her stumbling, sliding against the graphite wall for balance as she lets out a ragged breath, left with a throbbing pain at the forming bruise on her hip and nothing else. Her head lifts, eyes centering through the curtain of bangs at what could've happened, ears picking up the sounds of leather weight against flesh, yowling with pain, and something metallic falling at her feet. She looks down past her long, wavy black locks that look like webs of misfortune in this darkened alleyway, and finds that the same gun that had been pressed to her is now lying unceremoniously on the floor.

The man is gone.

The area enters a silence.

And Rowan whips her head up in time to catch a dark figure rising from the body at its feet. Sightless eyes peer at her from the dark, belonging to an unnatural, green, muscled body that looks everything but human.

A monster.

Rowan straightens, feeling cold. Her body shakes.

No.

White slits widen a fraction, the shade seeming to blend further into the dark. Her heart clenches, unsure of how to feel, unsure of why such a senseless, fearful act reminds her of a woodland predator.

A savior.

The figure turns—

She reaches forward, because truly, truly, this isn't real. This can't be real. This can't be real because she was saved.

Her voice manages past the asphyxiating knot in her throat, "Wait!"

—and disappears.

She lets out a half-choked gasp, collapsing on her knees. Her skin chafes against the wet cement as she plants both hands on the ground for balance, wheezing for desperate lungfuls.

They're gone, she thinks, relieved and defeated.

Her body feels numb.

Her mind, foggy.

Her heart aches.

And I didn't even get to thank them.

She smashes her fist into the pavement.

[. . .]

Raphael feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

It's not the rooftop jump, or the lingering scent of fear and blood he left in the alley below. It's not even the rush of throwing a scumbag off a girl like some bad action movie. These are all (usually) common occurrences, especially in the busy city of Manhattan. Raphael can't count the many times he's had to deal with robberies, break-ins, and criminal shenanigans amidst the danger of the Kraang and the Foot.

What has him so incensed is her.

The girl.

The way she looked at him just before he'd panicked and dipped, not with terror, but with something worse. It had stunned him so badly that he'd nearly blown his cover at the shock of her pitch black eyes blown wide at the sight of him. Hopelessness. He'd seen it for a split second before vanishing, and now it's burning behind his eyes like he saw something he wasn't meant to.

Out of all his brothers, Raphael is the one who vehemently distrusts everyone. Not Leo, as much as that bossy idiot enforces rules. Not Donnie, who is logical in every situation. And definitely not Mikey.

So for this to happen...

Raphael feels like he's going to be sick.

"That's the girl, huh?"

The voice makes him flinch, causing him to stumble on a loose pipe and nearly pitch backward off the ledge. A firm hand yanks him back just in time, bracing his balance. Climbing up the roof, Raphael almost falls at the probing voice of his older brother, who should be at home, training, and not here.

He doesn't even have to look to know who it is. Leonardo is there at the edge of the rooftop, helping him up, eyeing him with a knowing, chiding look.

Of course, Leo followed him.

Again.

Raphael immediately scowls. "I don't know what you're talking about." A classic, and too obvious a deflection. Raphael keeps his expression as composed as possible, despite the cringe edging to the surface. He doesn't have a name. Just the girl. But Leo says it like he's naming something too important and too obvious, which has Raphael panicking when he shouldn't be.

Leonardo peers behind him, exaggeratively. "Oh yeah? So she's not the reason why you've been sneaking out a little earlier than the rest of us every night for the past three weeks?"

Three weeks.

Has it really been that long?

Raphael thought... Ugh. That's embarrassing. It seems time slips weirdly when he's busy watching someone from the shadows. It's creepy, he knows, but he can't help it. Literally. There's no way he's going to risk exposing his existence to a random girl he's watched walk home from Mikey's favorite Pizza place for three weeks (apparently), especially after the whole kitten and Bradford fiasco with Mikey. He learned his damn lesson through the naivety of his brother, thank you very much.

Hence why he has resorted somewhat to the 'Donnie' route.

Now. He sure as hell doesn't call it that. He's not watching her because he's some lovesick nerd. Monitoring every time she walks home from her job, when she carries too much weight in that ratty tote bag, when she fixes broken pipes outside the pizzeria with a Swiss army knife and a pissed-off expression—he hadn't meant to get caught up in it.

At first, it was out of suspicion. The way she moved, her tight stances, balanced feet, and the discipline in her shoulders all screamed at him Foot involvement. She fought like she was born in a dojo, but carried herself like she had nothing to prove. That contradiction threw him off.

What made it worse was when he caught her fighting in one of Bradley's classes, a seeming expert in the making, learning the ways of the Shredder. Of course, various other people were participating with her, but none of them held the superior skill she seemed to have, express, and be noticed for by the owner of said Bradley Dojo. Raphael had immediately alerted his brothers about it, but for some stupid reason, kept a tight lip about the girl.

He only mentioned the owner, whom Donnie had looked into and found nothing incriminating. It was just like fast food places opening up; consumers doing nothing but what they're called.

Still.

He'd found her, and she stood out to him. And that was never good news.

He had sought to investigate her further on his own, just in case she was involved in anything dangerous enough to harm his brothers. Really. Just because the strength in her kicks and punches was impressive had nothing to do with it. He was doing stakeouts, that's all. And he'd ultimately concluded that she wasn't a threat when she quit going to the Bradford Dojo, grumbling under her breath about how shitty and expensive it was.

After that, Raphael doesn't know why he kept following.

He feels his face burn up at Leo's skeptical brow. "No!" He says, indignant, "I just happened to stop a robbery. What, I can't do that anymore? Can't play hero, oh sweet and notorious lea-der?" Raphael wants to punch himself. He's rambling now, louder and more defensive than usual. Mikey and Donnie can dismiss that, but Leo's more perceptive.

He's going to get found out.

Because Raphael isn't stupid. He's not.

She saw him. She. Saw. Him.

And their secrecy could be unearthed just by that simple glance, because Raphael had come to realize the girl was just a girl, in the end, when she'd been about to lose her life.

At that, Leonardo issues him a flat stare. "You're a terrible liar."

Raphael throws his hands up and begins stalking away. He needs a game plan. He's going to have to find her and... and... what? Confront her? Threaten her not to say a damn word? Right after she'd almost been assaulted? Raphael feels sick. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," He grouches, ignoring the happy wave of Mikey and Donnie on the other roof over, enjoying a delicious pizza.

A pizza she'd made.

Raphael feels like puking.

He needs to fix this. He's going to. He has to.

Raphael feels his shoulders rise to hide his face, somehow.

Because the fact of the matter is that Leonardo's right.

He has been sneaking out earlier to see the girl.

He knows he shouldn't.

They don't get involved. That's the rule. Don't get close. Don't let them see you. But she... She doesn't act like most people. Doesn't exist like most people. She walks like her feet are chained to the sidewalk. Lives like no one told her she's alive. And Raphael had been denying it this entire time, thinking her a threat, because he'd thought—

She's way too graceful.

He kept going back. Just to make sure. Just to see her.

And today was supposed to be like any other day. Today... well. Raphael doesn't know.

She was supposed to go home. She didn't.

And he followed, because something in his gut twisted too tight to ignore. And he'd gone in and blown it all up, just because he hadn't wanted her to be hurt, because she wasn't acting, because she was about to kill—

Herself.

And Raphael couldn't sit with that on his conscience. That he'd let it get to that point, just because he'd let his suspicion cloud his righteousness, thinking she'd defend herself and reveal the adversary he thought she was. That he made it his business when he realized he'd been wrong and saved her, trying to show off for reasons he won't dare explain. He saved her, and she saw him, and he's a damn idiot just like Donnie for letting that happen.

He doesn't even know what kind of look she gave him before he vanished.

Gratitude?

Shock?

Raphael doesn't know. And right now, he's trying not to will himself to care. As curious and horrified as he is to wonder if she'd found him repulsive, none of that matters, because now he and his brothers are all at risk.

They could all be in trouble.

And Raphael is the only one who can fix it.

"Raph?"

Leonardo's call stops Raphael short.

Raphael turns around, tired and slightly panicked. "What?" He seethes, and Leonardo puts his hands up.

"Nothing, nothing," His brother says, narrowing his eyes slightly in suspicion. "We're about to wrap up for the night. Just thought to let you know that I won't tell anyone about this, but" Leonardo raises a finger that Raphael's eye twitches at, "we will have a lengthy discussion about potentially risking ourselves because of irrational crushes—"

Crushes!? "I get it!" Raphael yells and stomps away, towards his other brothers, who look at him strangely.

Raphael needs to fix this.

And once everyone has gone to sleep, he'll do it.

He will.

He knows where she lives. He'll just...

Raphael doesn't know. But he'll fix it, no matter what.

April comes to mind, and he relaxes significantly. Maybe he can ask her to investigate and confront. Yeah. That sounds good...?

Mikey looks between Leonardo and him once they approach them, and it takes everything inside Raphael not to throttle him and demand what the hell he's looking at. His little brother slows his raucous chewing and swallows before regarding Leo with an inquisitive tilt of his head. "Hey... Were you guys talking about Raphael's secret crush?"

Raphael throttles him.

"Oh, that chick?" Donnie casually steps out of the way of Raphael's scuffle with Mikey, lowering the half-eaten pizza slice. "That's Rowan."

Raphael stops trying to punch Mikey's defensive forearms to whirl on his brother. "What?" He blurts, eyes wide. His heart spikes painfully. Did he hear that right? "Who?"

"The, uh—the girl," Donnie says, watching Raph stand up like he's about to explode. "That's... April's friend. I mean—probably. From what I've pieced together from April's stories, she's kinda... prickly. But she's been giving April combat lessons, and April swears she's fine, so... yeah."

Leonardo crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Elaborate."

"Yes, Donnie." Raphael stands, stomping and looming over Donnie, who shrinks, "Elaborate."

"Ugh!" He throws his arms up, and Raphael backs off slightly before a piece of cheese hits his face from the wayward pizza slice. "Calm down, would you? I'm going to assume that the girl Leonardo not so subtly discussed with you, Raphael—" Donnie sends both of them looks. "—is Rowan. April's kind-of-not-really friend. Since April discovered us, she's gone to Rowan for some training to keep up, or something along those lines... Rowan attends the same school as April and shares one of her classes."

"And you're telling us this now?" Raphael grinds out, waving a fist at him. He could've saved all that time training!

Donnie scoffs. "You never asked!"

Raphael reaches for his neck, "You stupid—!"

"Can she be trusted?" Leonardo interrupts carefully while slapping Mikey's hand from taking away his pizza slice. Mikey yelps and cradles his hand protectively.

Raphael turns to Leo before Donnie can. "Yes."

Everyone stares at him.

Raphael feels like breaking something. "What?" He hisses.

"What do you mean, 'what,' bro?" Mikey chimes in, clutching his hand like Leo just broke it. "You never like people! You're all—" he scrunches his face and makes claw-hands, "—'grr, stay away,' like Leo with a headache."

Leonardo shoots Mikey a scathing look.

"Mikey's question is right. Why do you trust that girl, Raph?" Donnie asks, and the genuine tone abates his anger somewhat.

Because Raphael doesn't know how to answer that. He just. Does. That's just how... he feels, suddenly. After what happened.

Raphael wants the ground to swallow him whole.

"Look, from what I can tell," Donnie continues, pushing past Leo and Mikey's grumbling, "Rowan's just some acquaintance of April's. And—actually—I've gathered more data on her than you have, Raph. Yet somehow you've already decided she's trustworthy, completely out of nowhere. That doesn't exactly compute."

(Suddenly best friends again, Leonardo gives Donatello a strange look. "Compute?" Leonardo mouths at Mikey. Mikey hides a snicker. Donnie glares at them.)

"Does it matter?" Raphael remarks, snatching the last of Leo's slices for himself in revenge for putting him on the spot. Leonardo gapes at him.

"It does," Donnie and Mikey chorus.

("Haha, jinx!" "Shut up, Mikey." "You can't talk, you're jinxed—ow!" "I'm not playing—hey, stop that!" "You started it!" "Ugh.")

"Anyway," Leonardo glares as Raphael stuffs his mouth with the greasy delight. It brings some satisfaction through the unbearable anxiety corroding his insides at the moment, and the self-deprecating insults he's whirling at himself for being stupidly revealing. "Seriously, Raph. Why do you think she's trustable?"

"Trustworthy, you mean," Donnie interjects.

Leonardo ignores him. "You're the last of us that'd ever say that about someone. Let alone a human."

Raphael continues chewing, unable to answer. Unwilling to answer.

"You guys wanna know what I think?" Mikey pipes up, grinning.

"No." All three brothers shoot back in perfect unison.

Mikey pouts, clutching his pearls. "Rude. But whatever, I'm still gonna say it."

Raph groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, great. Cue the Mikey wisdom."

Mikey squints dramatically at him. "I think..." he points a finger right at Raph, "you've got a crush!"

Raph's eyes narrow. "What the shell are you talkin' about?"

Mikey leans closer, smirk widening. "Come on! You've been sneakin' out before patrol for weeks, and every time—bam! Rowan's just magically around. Coincidence? I think not."

Donnie blinks. "Did you just quote The Incredibles?”

Mikey beams. "Yup! And guess what, bro—you're totally pulling a Donnie."

Donnie nods before stiffening and bonking Mikey in the head. Mikey lets out a hiss of pain.

"I don't," Raphael hisses. He tries to calm himself as much as possible. He doesn't have a crush. And if he plays into it more, then they're for sure going to think... Raphael makes a face.

"You totally do~!" Mikey sing-songs.

"I don't!" Raph snaps, throwing up his hands. "You and Leo are seriously losin' it. I don't have a crush! I was just—y'know—checking her out 'cause I thought she might be tied to the Foot, alright?!" He jabs a finger for emphasis. "C'mon, how many normal humans do you know who fight like that?" But Mikey's smirk only gets bigger. In fact, Donnie looks at Raphael consideringly, eyeing him with something like doubt. Even Leo looks like he's starting to buy into the idea.

Raphael is so done with this.

He shoves the empty pizza box and stomps away with a grunt. "Whatever! I'm done. You clowns can think whatever you want, I don't care."

"What the—Raph!" Leonardo calls, "Where are you going!?"

Where is he going?

Raphael doesn't know.

He doesn't care. "Somewhere you three won't be pokin' at my shell!" Raphael yells back and leaps off into another building, opposite of home.

He doesn't hear them following him.

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"An olive branch is all you often need."

[. . .]

Chapter 2

Friend of Mine

[. . .]

"Hey, uh." A stumble, a breath, a flash of teeth behind a grimace. "Are you busy after?"

Rowan stops rearing for a kick mid-air, right before it lands on the outstretched arm of a wincing redhead.

April O'Neil is her name.

Rowan doesn't know much about her. April O'Neil is just a girl who sits two rows back in biology, always twirling a pencil between her fingers and wearing that yellow eye-sore of a sports shirt that doesn't fit the dull hum of the classroom. Up until three weeks ago, she'd always been a background face to Rowan, another local kid with the typical aura of a popular girl.

At least, that's what she thought.

With her slim build and fair skin dusted with freckles, ocean-blue eyes framed by long lashes, and shoulder-length ginger hair tied back in a small ponytail with curved bangs brushing her right cheek, Rowan had pegged her right away—one of those pretty-privileged girls who got away with everything just by smiling.

That's not the case.

One afternoon, April had lingered by her desk after class with a nervous smile and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Rowan had stopped stuffing her folders into her own bag and looked up at her cautiously, waiting patiently as the girl fiddled with her strap. Then, out of nowhere, she asked if Rowan could teach her a few self-defense moves.

Rowan had stared at her with a quiet suspicion. People don't talk to her. Not unless it's to mock her, or something else just as stupid. So of course, Rowan had assumed it was some kind of setup—another "popular girl" joke waiting to happen. She'd got up and left wordlessly, too uncertain to give a solid answer.

But April, surprisingly, hadn't backed off.

She'd come by again the next day. And the next. Always patient, always with that stubborn spark in her eyes that said she wasn't going to quit. It was both weird and irritating, but somehow genuine enough to make Rowan rethink everything she'd decided about her. It wasn't until the fourth day that Rowan decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and fit her into her very busy schedule—maybe because April offered to help her study for biology in return.

Rowan could call it a fair trade, not charity.

(Even though she doesn't need the help.)

Now, after three weeks, April has become just a girl Rowan happens to know. She can't say they're friends yet, considering they know nothing about each other, other than the fact that April has the need to share personal information about her family and mysterious friends. Rowan thinks she talks too much. But. She's alright, and she seems sincere enough in wanting to learn.

Sincere enough in wanting to stay around someone as prickly as Rowan, at least.

Rowan won't say it, but having someone to listen to is nice.

So she cuts the strange redhead some slack.

Rowan lowers her leg and grunts. "Why?"

April lets out a breath and plasters a warm smile, lowering her trembling arm. Rowan must've kicked it a bit too much. "Well, I was just wondering, we never hang out, right?" Her smile becomes anxious, unsure. Rowan softens her expression so that she doesn't look as tense as she feels. It must not work, because April asks, "Um. Do you want to?"

Rowan racks her brain, rehearsing her schedule.

"Can't," She eventually answers, and watches April's hopeful curve of her lips lower a fraction. Her shoulders sag, despondent. Rowan can't help but notice how expressive she is. "I've got work."

"Oh!" April brightens slightly, snapping her fingers, "You work at that Pizza Place, right? Um... what was it... Antonio's?"

Rowan regards her warily. "How do you know that."

April lets out a nervous chuckle. "I ah, saw you?"

Rowan studies her through half-lidded eyes. "...I am going to assume you stalked me, yes? When you were very adamant about learning self-defense from me." Her tone is flat, but her gaze is sharp, watching as April's stiff posture slowly uncoils into visible relief.

"Yes!" April blurts, then covers her mouth. She winces. "Sorry."

Rowan looks away, finding nothing in her posture that hints at deceit. "Don't care. I know you now, so you won't be met with my boot in your face."

"Haha... yeah..." April rubs at her jaw, where a forming bruise resides. Something in Rowan eases; she hadn't expected the girl to take her words so lightly. "Except in here, apparently."

"Yes," Rowan confirms. She stalks to her closet. "Except here."

Here, being Rowan's room.

It's small, barely big enough to stretch out without hitting something, but it's hers. Rowan keeps it as clean and controlled as she keeps the rest of the house, leaving everything exactly where her mother prefers it best. The insubstantial smell of disinfectant still lingers from earlier, when she'd hastily cleaned just before April came over. It's mixed with the soft, woody scent of incense she burned last night to clear her head after spiraling from the incident from a week ago.

She never did get her answer. Rowan often replays it, wondering if the whole thing had been a hallucination.

But it feels too vivid for it to be.

Nonetheless, Rowan hasn't dwelled on it.

She's more focused on April's suggestion, and the warm way her heart expands at the thought of her wanting to spend more time with her. She doesn't know if this is friendship, and doesn't consider April one. But if April wants to stay and gets to know Rowan for who she is, Rowan will keep her forever.

"I'll just visit, yeah?" April continues with her tender idea, and Rowan doesn't know if that's a good one or not. It's dangerous at night. And April may grow bored waiting for her shift to end.

"You sure?" Rowan asks, uncertain. "It's a four-hour shift."

April waves her off quickly, that bright, boundless energy returning. "It's fine! I can wait. But, uh—actually, I'll probably have to dip out for a bit to do something. I'll come back, though! Then we can walk home together!" She claps her hands like it's the best idea she's had.

Rowan can't deny that it has merit. They live on the same block, after all. And it'd be nice to have someone to walk with.

Rowan gives a stiff nod, unsure of how to respond. "Do what you want."

April's smile broadens. "Can't wait! When's your shift start?"

Rowan spares a glance at the clock above her dresser before answering, "In about thirty minutes."

"Perfect. We can walk right now, if you're ready?" April steps back, turning to gather her schoolbag stuffed with hand wraps, light gloves, and a coiled resistance band peeking from the zipper. She looks so comfortable now, a huge contrast to how she looked when she first came here.

Rowan can't help but categorize the differences.

April had stood near the door the first time, body pressed against wood, and with eyes darting anxiously around. Rowan had caught the way she lingered on her desk, tracing the stacks of notebooks lined up edge to edge, the pens grouped by color, the corkboard cluttered with sticky notes written in half-legible Japanese. Some of them were reminders: Work, study, call Mom. Others had been small mantras Rowan likes to keep. About enduring. About never forgetting who she is supposed to be.

It's kind of embarrassing having someone be able to read those, even though April may or may not understand them.

Rowan has long since taken them down, just in case.

Her bed had never had anyone else in it before, but today, April had briefly sat on it and rumpled the blanket Rowan keeps folded with precision lest her mother barges in unannounced and tells her how much of a mess she is. The shelf above it holds used mugs, old tea tins, and a ceramic frog Rowan made years ago that cracked in the kiln but somehow survived. She'd never thrown it out, preferring its imperfection.

It was one of the first things April pointed out, especially the crack.

Rowan had appreciated her notice and told her to mind her business.

But April's sincerity had been just as potent as her curiosity. She had respected her wish, but continued to look, quietly impressed at the cleanliness, or maybe feeling nothing at all in particular. It was just a plain old room.

Now, April doesn't care much for it. Mostly because it seems that her fear of offending Rowan has somehow vanished.

Rowan prefers it that way.

"Yeah," Rowan answers finally, rubbing her neck. "Just give me a few minutes to change into uniform before we go."

"You got it!"

[. . .]

True to April's word, mid-shift, at about 8:00 PM, she waves at Rowan with a tilt of her head at the door, gesturing her departure. With her, she takes three boxes of pizzas Rowan had prepared diligently just minutes prior, in thanks for staying around to keep her company.

Rowan waves back from behind the counter, feeling hopelessly guilty and grateful all the same.

April didn't have to stay. She could've gone home and spent her time relaxing after a stifling school day. But instead, she had insisted upon staying, patiently waiting for Rowan to be done with her shift. And all Rowan had done was pass her time working, unable to spare at least a second of chitchat thanks to her missing coworker, Ciro, out delivering pizzas.

Tonight seems like a busy night.

Rowan only hopes that April comes back soon, just so that Rowan has someone to send exasperated eye-rolls to whenever customers are rude.

[. . .]

Except April never comes back.

It's fifteen minutes past ten when Rowan closes Antonio's. She releases a slow, shaky breath, rubbing her eyes to chase off the sting of exhaustion as she wrestles the keys into the lock, ready to finally lock up and head home. It's tough closing on her own, but it's nothing out of the norm. Ciro couldn't do it today because something came up.

Rowan doesn't know what. But it has to be serious if Ciro's called her (he never calls) ten minutes before closing, stammering about a "monster" that made him crash his moped again. He's always been that way—seeing shadows where there aren't any, chasing rumors and urban legends like proof of his own worth. Rowan used to think he was just a theorist, like one of those guys who think that aliens are real. She has never judged him for it, because Rowan personally thinks anyone with a mind as creative as his deserves recognition for it.

She still hadn't believed him, though.

Now... Now, Rowan isn't so sure.

But that's not what's worrying her right now.

April had promised she'd return in half an hour. Forty minutes, tops. But the door never opened to reveal a redhead again. Rowan tries to tell herself the girl just got caught up somewhere—but a quieter part of her, the one that's harder to silence, the one her mother likes to take over, thinks maybe she saw enough and decided she'd had her fill.

Rowan can understand. It's messed up, yeah, that April didn't fulfill her promise. And the thought stings. But if Rowan were to be in April's position, she doesn't think she'd wait forever for some prickly girl who's only around for a mutual exchange.

Except she would. But April isn't her, and she can't get mad at her.

What she can be upset about, however, is the self-depricating thought that she has driven someone else away.

It happens every time.

She is too harsh. She doesn't want to be. She doesn't know why she is.

She turns around in the direction of home after finally managing to turn the key to lock, just to freeze when she hears panting coming from the same direction. Rowan tenses and looks up, and immediately relaxes when she finds that it's just April running to her.

Her heart settles instantly.

"Rowan!"

"April," Rowan returns cordially, warming again. So it seems she must have lost track of time. She'd wanted to be with her all along.

"Oh gosh—I'm so sorry," April pants, stumbling to a stop just in front of her. Her sneakers skid against the cracked pavement as she bends forward, palms braced on her knees. Her chest heaves, sweat catching the streetlight on her brow. She smells oddly of sewer. "I was just—" she gestures vaguely over her shoulder, still trying to catch her breath, "finishing up with my friends. I lost track of time! I meant to come back sooner—"

"It's fine," Rowan mutters. Her eyes quietly trace April's flushed face, the tremor in her shoulders, the dampness clinging to her hairline. She must've been running. Hard. From what, Rowan doesn't ask. She never asks. People have their reasons, and she's learned it's easier not to pry. "At least now we can walk home like we planned."

April blinks up at her, caught off guard, then breaks into a breathy, grateful smile. "Yeah. Let's." She straightens slowly, still a little winded, hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag. After a moment, her gaze flickers toward the darkened storefront behind Rowan. "You closed on your own tonight?"

"No different from any other night," Rowan drones, pocketing the keys.

"Oh. Where's your coworker?"

"He got in an accident," Rowan says flatly, keeping her tone even as she shifts her grip on her bag. It feels heavier than usual, but maybe that's just the bruise April managed to get on her shoulder earlier. Not with April's own pain that followed at such a bold move.

April's eyes widen, alarm softening her features.

"He's fine," Rowan adds before she can ask. "He's... very dramatic." Her voice carries the faintest sigh.

But April doesn't look convinced. "Do you know what caused it?"

Rowan shrugs, gaze drifting to the sidewalk ahead. "Ciro's obsessed with the supernatural. The most he told me was that he was attacked by some green monsters." She says it half to humor him, half to test how ridiculous it sounds out loud. But beside her, April goes rigid, a minuscule stiffening of her shoulders that most wouldn't notice.

Rowan does.

Her eyes slide toward the girl, studying the tension in her body, the way her hands return to the same habit of fidgeting with the strap whenever she's nervous. And perhaps now, with Rowan's deduction, hiding something. Interesting. Something in her expression doesn't match her easy demeanor.

"...What, do you believe in them too?" Rowan asks, her tone casual but probing, curiosity pricking through her usually cool detachment.

April opens her mouth, then closes it again. "What, no," she blurts out, waving her hands like the very idea is absurd. Her laugh rings too high, too forced.

Rowan narrows her eyes, unconvinced. She knows a lie when she sees one. She's lived with them her whole life. "I think I'm starting to," she murmurs instead, almost absently—more to herself than April.

April freezes, her wide eyes flicking to her face, mouth parting slightly. "Oh, uh, really?"

"Yeah, really." Rowan rounds the corner, her gaze flicking over the buzz and glow of storefronts that line the street—neon signs that hum like trapped wasps, reflecting off puddles that catch the light in broken kaleidoscopes.

She remembers that night.

The memory is quick to creep in, the blurry image of the alley stinking of rot and poverty, the pressure of the cold gun under her chin, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears, hearing nothing but the end. And then. Then movement. Something else. A blur swallowed by shadow, heavy, inhuman, that had torn the true monster away from her.

She remembers the white slit of its eyes, pale and cutting through the dark like a hunter's, its aftermath of scraping metal, of stone, before silence claimed everything again.

She still doesn't know what she saw that night. Only that it looked at her—through her—and then vanished, leaving behind the echo of its presence in her bones.

Rowan wonders. "Cilo is a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them. And I hadn't given his words a lot of thought until recently."

"Why? Did something happen?"

Rowan stares forward, feeling cold and warm and sad all at once. Does she trust April enough to tell her? Would she think her a freak for bringing up her experience that she has had no one else to tell? Somehow, Rowan doesn't think so. April is so sincere it hurts. Rowan likes to think she's a decent judge of character, and April doesn't seem cruel or mocking. April wouldn't... Rowan doesn't trust April, no, but she can give April a test. To see if she's as open-minded as Rowan.

Rowan licks her lips. "...Weeks ago, something bad happened. Or. Was supposed to."

April stays silent.

Rowan continues. "I... don't want to talk about it," because disgust coats her tongue, the back of her throat, her entire body. "But to keep it short, I... I was saved."

April still doesn't say anything.

Rowan chances a look.

And finds a soft, understanding expression.

Rowan feels barbed wire coil around her throat. "I... yeah," she croaks pathetically. "I don't know if it was real, or. Or if it was a figment of my imagination. I don't know. But. But, um," She tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, pulling at her clothes. She tries to keep her hands busy to keep the emotion from suffocating her chest and trembling her voice more than it should. "I was in one of my lowest points. I thought... well, you know." Her awkward words likely don't make sense, but Rowan doesn't care. The point is April's response, really. That's all. "But I was saved. It saved me. He, she, I don't know."

April puts a hand on her shoulder.

They both stop walking altogether.

Rowan runs a hand down her face, trying to will the burn of her eyes away. She anchors herself on the casual touch no one else has spared. "...But they saved me. They did. And it was as Ciro described: a green monster."

Rowan pauses and lets her gaze drift toward the quiet street ahead washed in the orange glow of streetlights. Cars sleep in neat lines beside shuttered buildings she's walked past a thousand times before. "My mother used to tell me stories about the Yōkai," She murmurs, voice distant. "In case you don’t know, they’re green, amphibious monsters from the water. I'm not sure if you’ve heard of them."

April opens her mouth, but Rowan pushes forward before she can speak. "But this wasn't a monster."

Her eyes lift again, finding April's face. There's something cautious in her expression that Rowan catches immediately. Her brows are drawn together and her lips part slightly, looking like she's weighing whether to ask or deny.

"No," Rowan says quietly, shaking her head. "That was no monster." The memory shoves into her chest, flooding back all at once. "I wanted to thank them, but they disappeared before I could." She feels it so viscerally then, that same ache. The same gratitude for the strange haunting of that night. It rushes out of her before she can stop it. "I am thankful. Every night since then, I think about them. I know I sound insane, I—"

She breaks off with a shaky breath, waiting for April's disgust or disbelief. But none comes. Instead, April looks... soft. Her eyes glimmer with something close to recognition that shows in her pale but open face, contorted with the edge of pain in how understanding it seems.

Rowan doesn't know what to make of it. "I sound crazy," She says again, quieter this time. "I probably am. But it's true. What I saw—it was real."

April squeezes her shoulder once before letting go, nodding slowly. "...Don't worry," she assures quietly, slightly sad. "I believe you."

Rowan stares at her. She tries to find lies or any subtle hint that she's saying this just to make her feel better.

But April is sincere. Like always.

Rowan looks down at her old Converse, cradling her bag close to herself. She doesn't think she can trust it. But she'll wait some time to see if April spreads a new rumor around. It may warrant some unnecessary attention if April exposes her, but Rowan will at least know if April is trustworthy. "I'm not sure if I'll ever experience something like that again. But I hope someway, somehow, that whoever saved me knows that I am so grateful." Rowan starts to walk, and April follows. "And I'd like to properly thank them, somehow." It's the least she can do.

"Oh, trust me," April smiles knowingly, tucking something inside her bag. Rowan doesn't notice what it is, but she doesn't care much for it.

"They definitely know."

Rowan doubts. Still. "You think so?" She asks with a voice smaller than usual. She clears her throat to save face, but she doesn't speak again, so it makes no difference.

April laughs lightly. "I know so."

(Unbeknownst to Rowan, in the shadows on top of the buildings, a pair of eyes softens ever so slightly.)