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You open the door of Marina’s apartment. It creaks, slow, echoing once, twice. Before anyone else could notice, you slam the door behind you, and you start speed walking down the stairs, jumping every two steps, your puffy jacket ruffling with the movement— the hollow wind catching along the fabric.
Now, you don’t think that you’re unreasonable for leaving. Marina wasn’t exactly going to mind; she could infer that you left to go back home. It wasn’t exactly the first time you did it.
Usually, you didn’t even choose to go there. Marina dragged your limp, stupid, incapacitated body back to her brother’s flat almost on autopilot every time your brain decided to catch on a frame lag; your code swaying and glitching. Before long, Marina’s face would become marina_concern2, fading away into globs and plumes of colour until it was completely monochrome— and your body, and the world, and everything would start falling— and then she would catch you.
It was humiliating.
The snow crunches like starch underneath your shoes as you walk out of the complex. The sky is clear, a light blue #C6FCFF, dawn clouds wafting through. You hate that you can tell where the wind will take them, their angle, their fate. You look away, and start stalking towards the direction of your home.
It’s not really something you can help. You know that. You know that there isn’t really anything you can do to fix it or stop it.
The wind howls against your nose and the folds of your ears. It still drives you mad, though. It still makes you feel less than what you should be— a person.
Without noticing, your feet begin to practically stomp through the snow. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Your teeth creak, grit. You are getting closer to your home.
To be honest, you feel more like a machine by the day. You couldn’t continue taking those pills. You couldn’t stay like that; dull. Muddled, muffled. You just wanted to feel something. Even if it hurts— even if it means losing your head. Even if it meant being...
Being...
What.
...
... What is Asya Shubina doing, passed out in front of your home?
You stomp towards her, harsh and fast. You look down, examining her carefully, your careful restraint making sure you didn’t touch her. Who knows, maybe she was dead. You didn’t want that on your record.
Asya’s face wasn’t even visible. Her red hair was spread like flat petals on the white snow, the contrast clear under the light of the sun above you. Her thick cloak was soaked with cold snow, her breathing heavy and slow—Oh, so she was alive— from what you could hear, anyway.
Her legs were vaguely folded behind her, like she was sitting on her knees before she seemingly fell face first into the snow in front of your home. One of her worn, old mittens had slipped off her hand; her fingers were almost blue, her flipped palms a pinkish-red. You have the weird urge to poke it to see if it would fade into a pale yellow as the blood retreated in. You purse your lips.
The girl looked like a corpse, frankly. Though, she wasn’t dead. Good for her.
You sneer, standing above her head directly. What the hell was she doing here in front of your home? You were sure you didn’t tell her where you lived. Did she follow you here, before you went... out of commission? Is she that much of a creep? Or did Marina tell her?
You give in to the urge to touch her, digging a nail into her hand just to see it twitch and turn pale-yellow at the point of force. She doesn’t wake up. What was she even doing out here, you ask yourself, hand still hovering over hers. You’ve probably been missing for a few days now. There’s no way that she didn’t know that you weren’t home.
Was she waiting for you?
The thought stops you in your tracks. Something about it, despite it being so obvious, makes you take a small, snow-starchy step back from the unmoving Asya, your trachea tightening in the center of your chest. Your head suddenly feels lighter, and your hands, they shake, ever so slightly. The air in front of you suddenly fills with wispy, white, cold air. White, like the smoke from the cigarettes you occasionally indulge in. Your breathing ever so slightly ticks up a notch.
You feel... uncomfortable. You haven’t really focused on this before. You didn’t want to focus on this before. It’s the same feeling you got when she offered you poetry at school. You didn’t want to think about how you felt about it. It was the same feeling you felt when she stared at you, crying in the middle of the night, with no judgement in her eyes. The same feeling you’re feeling right now. It’s pooling in your chest. You want to puke it all out.
Before you can introspect any longer, you interrupt your own thoughts and kick a rather sizable wad of snow on Asya’s head.
“Hey!” You shout, just loud enough to override your thoughts, and you hear Asya yelp sharply, “Get up and get lost, you creep!”
She gasps in the snow, and then she chokes on it, which is honestly kind of funny.
“Aai-rafh?” She incomprehensibly blubbers, muffled and choking on dirty snow. You honestly can’t tell what she’s saying.
She lifts herself up and sits on her folded legs, shaky and with the strength of a girl awoken from a coma, as she turns towards you. Her whole front is soaked to the bone. Her wet scarf droops around her neck, her chin dripping with cold water and covered in ice crystals. Her eyes are so wide you momentarily have the idea to pick them out, like berries. Her lips are just as blue as berries. You have no idea why you’re even giving her this much of your brain power. “Ira?” she says, again (presumably).
“Yeah? What do you want?” You respond, snappishly. You look away quickly before she catches you staring. Don’t need to encourage her.
But despite your efforts to negate your own staring, you can still feel her eyes boring into you. “Ira?” She asks, again, like she was stupid. Which she was. Why is she here?
“Yes? How can I help you?” You ask, conceding (too easily, in your opinion) and turning to her, arms crossed. As you expected; she still looked stupid. Her eyes were still as wide as ever. Her jaw was loosely open. Her scratched cheeks were an almost-frostbitten red. Her chin was still dripping with ice; was she ever going to even attempt to clean that? Either way, she definitely looked surprised to see you.
“Asya?” you say, stepping forwards. She seems to lean towards you subconsciously. “Helllooo? Anyone there?”
She flinches back lightly at the question. A small smile breaks out on her red face; wonky and genuine. Asya hasn’t blinked since she saw you. “Haha,” she laughs, “Yes, I’m here. And you’re here!”
You frown a bit. “Yeah. I am. Why are you here?”
“Well, I— Um.” She laughs again, rather stiffly this time. Her smile grows bigger, awkward and sheepish. She stands on wobbly knees, dusted off what snow hadn’t melted into her coat. “I was... um...”
You have a hunch on what she’s getting at. It makes your stomach feel weird. It makes your hands tremble, just a bit. “Waiting for me?” You say, pointing at the Asya-shaped depression in the snow.
She looks down at it, smile trembling in shame. Her hands overlayed over each other on her chest. Water drips from her scarred cheeks as her jaw moves, hesitant.
“Yes,” she finally says, like she was holding her breath in; the word expelled in a heavy exhale.
You don’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, you were definitely slightly more than creeped out. She was practically stalking you. But on the other hand...
Perhaps you’re a bit pathetic. Maybe... maybe your brain was rewired wrong, after earlier. Maybe there’s been something wrong with you all along; Because this flusters you.
The fact that someone could care about you more than anyone else has cared about you before— it makes your heart burn in a way you’ve never been used to. No one has waited for you outside of your home for so long that they fall asleep in the snow. No one has followed you around just to see you. It’s so painfully egotistical of you to think; Because you know that Asya doesn’t really have anyone else to follow. And still, your heart still jumps in your chest. It hurts, but you cannot parse its value.
You cannot see the stakes, the probability against the prediction. Because you cannot predict a thing.
And this scares you. Your head can’t help but be wary. What could she want from you to warrant this? But at the same time, she wouldn’t get anything out of this either—there was no guarantee that you would even return here alive, even if Marina told her about your... condition. There was nothing for her to gain, if for all she knew, you’d most likely be dead by now.
Asya Shubina does not make sense to you. Your head cannot parse what she sees in you, nor what she wants. You just can’t wrap your head around it.
“Ira?” Asya says again. (Why does she love saying your name so much?) Her eyes are stuck on your boots, now. Her awkward smile has morphed into a horrible (Horrible?), shameful frown. She closes her eyes tightly as she speaks, like she’s protecting herself from the harsh words you’ll likely throw at her, or maybe she’s holding back tears. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to weird you out. I can leave if you would— if you would like that.” She says, her body shaking in place.
You purse your lips. Maybe... the logical conclusion could be to figure her out.
“No,” You mutter, looking to the side. You have no idea what expression you are making, and honestly you don’t think you care. “Just follow me.”
And then you start walking towards your house. You don’t look back, but after a moment, you hear the soft crunch of boots in the snow behind you.