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“My friend, are you doing alright?”
It's hard not to startle, especially considering how quiet Phainon can be when he wants to.
Stelle tries not to jump too much and looks up from her lap with what almost resonates like a glare, though the genuine concern upon his features does give her pause. Had he simply not showed up upon the Hero’s Bath like a ghost, she wouldn’t be too bothered!
…Ah, did he notice?
“Oh, hey Phainon. And, uh, yeah?” She shifts in place, movements rippling across the bath as she adjusts her chiton. She puts her phone to the side, over a dry towel nearby. “Why the question?”
He stares for a moment, as if analyzing her expression. Good luck to him of course, considering how good of a poker face she has – but even then it resonates.
Phainon doesn't hesitate as he sits beside her, plunging into the warm water with uncharacteristic gentleness. The ever careful water licks his skin, making him shiver so visibly it’s almost comical, and yet…
His gaze, his attention, does not turn away.
“Not to say something is wrong, but…” He pauses, as if considering his next words as he looks down. “You've been quieter than usual, you know? Even Castorice got a bit worried and asked me about it.”
Has she? She didn’t even notice that, with how much her mind has been drifting off lately. How embarrassing.
“...Did Dan Heng say anything?”
Phainon startles, surprised that she knows he went after the man first. It’s not particularly surprising considering the more responsible role that Dan Heng has taken of the two – Stelle may be just as much of a guest as he is, equally capable if she applies herself, but in the end he’s the one who gets called into meetings while she gets to do this.
(Sit alone in the bath while she thinks?)
But despite her thoughts, Stelle does catch a sheepish smile that soon blooms across Phainon’s face – mixed with worry and determination.
“He did tell me today was an important day for you, but he didn't say why.” The man clears his throat. “I hope it's not a sensitive topic?”
She takes a moment to answer, pondering if she should tell him anything at all. Phainon isn’t that pushy… He’d drop it if she asked, right? It’s not like she’s in the mood to talk to someone who wouldn’t get it.
…But then again, it does feel cruel to keep him out.
“Just homesick.” She says, finally. “Wish I could go back.”
It’s a simple thing to admit like this in private, when it’s just her and someone else – when there are others, her throat closes up right as she’s about to say it. Truth be told, Stelle still doesn’t believe she has a home, really, but March gets that sad look upon her eyes when she says it.
Is it really wrong to get the habit to lie, then?
She misses the Express.
Is it home? Who knows, but she does miss it a lot right now.
Phainon’s hand settles upon her shoulder, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“What good does that make?” Stelle chuckles, before the earnestness of Phainon’s expression settles in further, dawning on her like cold water to feverish skin. “Ah…”
Has he always been this intense?
“Sometimes talking about it helps, so…” The young man chuckles, his hand leaving its position to scratch at his neck. “If you don’t want to talk alone, maybe we can share some stories? I used to do it all the time back, well…”
And how is she supposed to deny something like that? A man so eager to hear what she may say, to remember what she might tell him – damn, he’s too kind even for a supposed hero.
But once the first word comes out, the rest becomes much easier.
“Well, there’s this kind woman called Himeko…”
(Freshly brewed coffee, nights at the archives, picking the lock of March’s room, hiding from Pom Pom in the parlor car.
Snow covered fields full of blooming hope. A vast sky above and the wind beneath her feet. An unkind dream and a hopeful promise.)
He laughs along as she speaks, and for a moment they seem fully in sync.
(Lessons that drone on, careful bandages over his wounds, the sound of metal meeting metal in the training yard, the quiet reading with others by his side.
Vast and open wheat fields, a wooden sword between his palms, wind upon his ears, freshly baked bread and a smile too sweet.)
As they stop, the air makes their mouths feel as bitter as bile that clings to their gums and teeth. Far away now, and it hurts – she might return, but he never will.
The pause extends, the silence unyielding.
Then, she breaks it with what might be actually bothering her: “Also, today is my birthday.”
“Oh.”
“And they promised me a party but I can't really… go now.”
“Oh.”
There's a pang of guilt in there and Stelle can't help it, letting slip a quiet giggle. Phainon hesitates in his sudden helplessness, watching her with his wide eyes that are as soft as they are confused. What, did he not expect her birthday to be right around the corner of them meeting? It must be fate, surely.
He knows their names now, at least, and he can try to memorize them later like he does with everyone else’s. The shopkeep down in the western corner of the Marmoreal Market, that one child that loves this one spot in the shallow side of the overflowing bath.
Phainon smiles softly as their names come to mind.
“Stelle...”
“It's fine, I don't really care.” She says as she stands, startling him out of his thoughts. The ripples reverberate against the walls of the bath, hitting her thighs as she walks forward, and it’s obvious that she got up too quickly, avoided him too suddenly. Idiot, why are you always so… “I can have a late party or something once I'm back.”
Phainon takes a moment as he watches her slowly walk towards the deeper end of the pool, before he hums quietly.
“...What about one here, though?” He suggests, watching for her reaction with eyes sharper than she has ever seen them. Her breath hitches, her chest seizing softly. “We could… we could throw a party for you, it's nothing new.”
“With the Black Tide knocking at the proverbial door?”
He chuckles and it sounds sweet to the ear.
“Yes! It helps raise the spirits a bit, right? Besides… I want to see you smile again.”
Stelle pauses.
It would be nice, right? To let go a bit, forget about what any of this means.
What should have been a simple fuel run has turned into a longstanding nightmare. Dan Heng loses sleep every night, the scar upon her chest aches too much sometimes, the suspicious looks from others heavy on their shoulders – why is it that they always have to help the planets they land on? Can’t they be selfish for once and just leave?
Inevitably, she chuckles at that thought.
And everything else, too.
“Sure, I… I like that.”