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Usually, Munroe didn’t have many opportunities to enjoy nature.
Life of a soldier was boiled down to two places: base and trenches. If he wasn’t in the base, he was in the trenches. Not in the trenches? The base.
All. The. Time.
Because of that, any moments he actually could leave these two places had to be cherished. Especially, if his destination was such scenic, peaceful forest, with rays of sun filtered through trees and birds singing above his head.
It would be a sin to not sit for a while on the grass and just enjoy the moment.
“Swan!”
“Yeah?” Munroe turned in the direction the voice came from.
Eriche kneeled on the ground next to him. He was holding something. Munroe didn’t even had to ask before he was shown, what that was.
“Daisies?” Munroe cocked his head, looking at the small, white bouquet.
“Mhm!”
“But why?”
“Why not?” Smiling, Eriche took one flower and placed it behind Munroe’s ear.
“Come on…”
“What?”
Another flower made it to Munroe’s head, this time its stem weaved between the dark locks.
“It’s silly…”
“And?” Eriche kept putting daisies in Munroe’s hair one by one. “Sometimes a little silly is needed!”
Munroe snorted.
“Can’t argue with that.” He smiled.
“Alright…” Eriche muttered once all flowers were on Munroe. “And now, close your eyes.”
Munroe listened. He expected Eriche to kiss him, like he often would.
Nothing happened.
Munroe kept waiting.
“Eriche?” he finally asked after a while of silence. “Baby?”
No answer.
Munroe opened his eyes…
…and was greeted with darkness.
It took a while, before his sight adjusted and he recognized, where he was – bunker’s living quarters. He was staring at the bottom of the top bunk, Carrie snoring above him.
Munroe sat up with a sigh.
It was only a dream.
Eriche wasn’t there.
Munroe stood up. Given how quiet it was (save for Carrie sounding like a goddamn tractor), it was probably middle of the night. He should have gone back to sleep… But he didn’t want to.
He would risk another dream.
Munroe rubbed his eyes. He could still feel the ghost of Eriche’s fingers in his hair, putting flowers with such care, like he was some artist and Munroe – his most cherished artwork.
No, he definitely couldn’t go back to sleep.
Maybe a little walk to clear his head was a better idea.
Before leaving the room, Munroe had a look at Mophead. As expected, he was asleep, curled under a blanket. His hair was tied in a long, white braid.
Kisa had taught him that.
“You’ll spend less time untangling it in the morning,” she had explained.
As usual, she was right.
The bunker was silent, everyone asleep save for the guards and night wetwork shift.
And Munroe.
Although he wasn’t feeling very awake walking through empty corridors with only his shadow to keep him company. If anything, it was akin to another layer of a dream.
Maybe he hadn’t woken up in the first place…
Somehow, Munroe made it to the canteen. He was sure, it would be empty.
He was wrong.
There was a person sitting at the table far in the back, bathed in flickering light of a candle. As Munroe walked closer, he recognized, who that was.
Nobody else had big cat-like ears, long black hair and was known to spend most of the nights awake.
Ollie Genevieve Stein. Third member of Kisa and Astra’s little friend group.
The least sociable one, she usually only talked to the other two. It was probably influenced by the fact only they could understand her fully. How were they doing that? Munroe didn’t know.
They were most likely used to Ollie’s incomprehensible way of speaking.
Munroe was about to leave – Ollie seemed to be busy reading, better to not disturb her – when the woman’s head snapped upwards and her gaze immediately landed on him.
One-eyed gaze – her left one was unusable, lid droopy and the pupil pointing outwards.
Lazy eye? That was, what the condition was called?
Whatever it was, Ollie apparently had it before joining the army. Same for her slurred speech. Only things the rezzer gave her were animal ears and no-fucks-given attitude towards dying.
Unless the latter had also already been there. Munroe wouldn’t be surprised.
“Hi.”
It took Munroe embarrassingly long to realise, that he was spoken to.
Well, that was awkward.
“Um, hi.”
Had he ever talked with her before? She had been here for weeks now, but, much to his horror, Munroe couldn’t remember even a single instance.
That was really fucking awkward.
“Ya’aligh’?”
“Uhhh…”
What the hell did she just say?!
“Ni’mahs?”
Nightmares?
“Yeah… Yeah, nightmares.”
Munroe wished, it was just some nightmares.
Nightmares were much easier to bear.
“I shee…”
“And you?”
Ollie shook her head.
“Jus’cahn’seef, layhshual.”
A beat of silence, Ollie staring at Munroe.
What was she seeing? With how little emotions she showed, guessing her thoughts was even harder, than what she was saying.
“Yawan’chajoi’me?” Ollie pointed to the seat in front of her to clarify the question.
“Sure, why not…”
From up close Munroe could see, how shadows from the candlelight made Ollie’s features appear even more feline, than they usually did.
She kept looking at him.
Examining.
“Yarsah.”
“Um, what?”
“Yah’geefin’.”
“I, I don’t understand, I’m so-”
“Geef!” Ollie put emphasis on the word. “Yar’isin’sah’one.”
You’re missing someone.
Munroe froze. How did she know?
“What makes you think so?”
Ollie wordlessly pointed at the middle of Munroe’s chest.
Only now he had realised, that he was fidgeting with the ring he was wearing on a string around his neck.
His engagement ring.
“T’was’mohtan’. Weh’in’in’?”
“Sorry, but-”
“Yaha’eh’ife? Hasan’?”
Finally, it clicked for Munroe – Ollie was asking, if he had been married.
“Um, no…” He closed his hand into a fist around the ring.
He still remembered Eriche’s touch, when he was putting it on Munroe’s finger. It was warm… Eriche always was so warm…
Unlike Munroe. His hands were cold like ice.
“Eh’ghah’?”
Engaged?
Munroe nodded.
“Eriche, he… He proposed to me only days before… Before he died…” he whispered.
Why was he even talking about it? He and Ollie barely knew each other, not to mention Munroe wasn’t the one to confide in others in the first place. However… It just felt natural. To say everything out loud.
To get it out.
Especially, with how Ollie was looking at him, flame reflected in her dark eyes.
She was listening.
So, Munroe continued, words just spilling.
“I was there, when it happened. I watched… I watched him die… And couldn’t do anything… I hoped, that he would be back, because he always was back, he was always back like me, like everyone, but… But…” Munroe’s breath hitched a little. “But he wasn’t… He’s gone. He’s gone and will never be back.” He sniffed. “It so weird… We’re so used to being rezzed, that the thought someone… Someone… Someone might be gone forever… It’s so weird!”
Tears prickled at Munroe’s eyes. He blinked them away.
“Eesh’at’whyar’oh’lothe’t’offeh?”
“Pardon?”
“Moffe’. He’eemisyavou’eiche?”
“Does Mophead remind me about Eriche?”
Ollie nodded.
Munroe bit his lip, looking away.
“He… He has parts of him…”
A tear fell down his cheek and hit the table.
More followed almost immediately.
“He has Eriche’s hair… And, and eyes, but… But he’s not him… He’s not my Eriche… My Eriche is gone!” Munroe rubbed his eyes, the tears streaming. “I would do everything to be with him one more time… Even just to say goodbye… I didn’t even had a chance to say goodbye!” He hid his face in his hands.
Munroe didn’t notice, when Ollie left her place and sat next to him – only, when she embraced him and pulled close to her chest, coaxing him into resting his head on her shoulder.
She was warm.
Just like Eriche.
Munroe clung to her, sobs shaking his body. Only then he realised, that he hadn’t been held like that in a long time.
Because the last person, who did it, was Eriche.
He broke down even harder.