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The odd stillness of the night was not lost on Book. It never was. She took such delicate notice to the way that weather never really worked in Yoyle City.
The others brought upon its concerns later than she did. She noticed first. She was always attentive like that. Taking into accord when the slightest chill would flow through her pages.
Yoyle City didn’t do that.
It was quiet.
They barely even got sun on the streets.
The Yoyle Needy was different, though.
It stood tall, and mighty, apart from the rest of the littered and crumbling buildings beneath them. The sun would beam down during the daytime, and wind would whistle through at nights.
Book knew this.
Book felt it.
The novel’s gaze follows to two matching stars, its cool hues twinkling at her, calling to her. Being at such high vantage point makes a perfect location for stargazing, if you ignore the light pollution from the ever-glowing Yoyle Needy.
She wasn’t sure how it managed to stay the one building still with power on. After years of abandonment in the city, it continued. Never ending color-shifting, standing proud.
All that may be below it fell early, but the spire? It keeps resilience.
Maybe that’s why they were so quick to establish it as the new Freesmart Clubhouse. It was resilient. As resilient as their alliance, boasting its forever-ness to other competitors. What knots tie each member together nicely with a pink bow.
The wind blows, she notices.
It’s almost as cold as the old one.
Eyes glaze over to her fellow members.
Ice Cube in sight. Laid by her back and legs limp on soft duvets and perfect sheets, all gathered up in piles upon piles sitting at the height of the spire. Ruby just out of her peripherals.
A sleepover.
Not the first one.
Not the last.
Book knows Icy does not notice the wind. She will not notice it. She will never notice it. The frost of her objectian skin will never allow cold to puncture it.
Well of course you’re not cold, you’re used to it!
The Eiffel Tower was colder than this. Luckily.
The wind does not bother her. It reminds.
The time Freesmart let them in. Match wasn’t there.
Pencil, the nice person she is.
Book turns to her other side.
There’s the rest of them.
Pencil lies, wooden back overtaking the space that the novel can see. She makes a mental note of the edge with orange paint chipping, worn from the hours of sitting driver’s seat.
Needle is near to her, cuddled in all kinds of blankets that form a comfortable hill around the sewing tool. Bubble leans to the side of it, she blubbers a snore.
Pencil is there.
Match isn’t.
Book is here.
Ice Cube is here.
Book mutters, before she can process that she has, before she can even think of bothering anyone. She does not consider, she speaks.
“Hey, Pencil? Are you awake?” A whisper, careful enough not to disturb the leader had she actually been asleep.
The writing utensil either finds herself a light sleeper, or had no reason to let herself drift off just yet.
A grumbly, tired, “Yes, Book?” Sounds from her, shifting her position just a slight, catching shimmering stars in her eye. Book can tell she’s already part-way to fallen asleep.
She’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry.”
Pencil does not respond. She lays there, still, squinting at the sights above. It takes a moment before she turns over, properly facing the two-toned novel. Her eyes slit into a squint.
“Why are you awake?” There’s a judgemental, yet genuinely confused tone at the back of her voice. Out of the group, Pencil doesn’t expect Book to be the night owl.
“I’m a constellations guidebook. The stars were distracting me.” White lie. She’s not sure why she can’t sleep. Maybe it’s just too familiar. “I wanted to thank you.”
Pencil’s eyes squint further, to the point it just looks like she’s drifted back to sleep. “…Why?” The confused tone only heightens.
“For letting us in the clubhouse, this time… I know last time you were hesitant.” Book understands. Members only. She’s not a member. Ice Cube’s not a member. Needle isn’t, either, but she hadn’t been introduced then.
“Oh, yeah.” Pencil brushes this, as if it were only a simple recollection. Nothing enforced. Nothing hierarchical. “Well, Match isn’t here anymore.”
Book’s said that.
Pencil continues, “and, well, Needle needs somewhere to sleep, too. I need to take care of my Freesmarters.”
My Freesmarters. Hers.
The lack of mention from the other alternates flies over the journal’s head. She is grateful, as she should be. Being part of something, a whole.
Being Pencil’s.
Book seems bashful. It’s not something noticed against the dark of the night.
“You ever think of probabilities?” Book sputters out. She isn’t thinking. It’s weird. She thinks more than this.
“Probabilities? You sound like bozo-brain.” The rustling of sheets is audible as Pencil readjusts her position. One palm underneath, supporting her head, the other laid gentle on the blankets in front of her.
“Like, what-ifs. What if said ‘bozo-brain’ never made anyone promise to switch? Would Freesmart still happen?”
Philosophical questions aren’t Pencil’s forte. They trip her up in confusing ways, make her think past just the surface biases and emotions she wants to keep. “Uuhhh… I’unno… We made the alliance before Freesmart. We just would be called different, maybe… like the Girl’s Alliance or something.”
She thinks simply. Chooses names on impressions.
“Then, what if me and Ice Cube never asked to join?”
Stop. Stop that. Book, you blabbermouth. You’re alternates. She wouldn’t care. You serve a purpose, nothing else.
Pencil seems to actually think on this question. “You probably wouldn’t have won without us.”
This is true. The support from the Freesmart team and the members following were a heavy aid in challenges. She recalls when she was finally left without them, immediately turning into a mess with no guidance to follow. Trekking though stairs and stores and people with no purpose. Her losing streak apparent.
“…Yeah, I probably wouldn’t—“
“It’d feel different.”
Book freezes. Her eyes glare into shared darkened ones, reading the leader’s expression. Remorse?
Pencil continues. “I dunno. You guys might be alternates, or whatever, but you do a lot for us. Well, you do at least. Icy mostly sits around.”
Book will take personal offense to the Icy comment.
“I just can’t imagine scenes without you guys in it. I just tried and nope! Blue and green still there.” Her voice cadence heightens for just a moment, emphasizing it. The inability to forget.
“You’re part of it now, I guess. We like you.” She finishes, fingers curling in on itself, absentmindedly pulling and kneading the sheets underneath.
The wind no longer serves as a chill. It’s quiet, gentle blow is cancelled from the heat that radiates, deep in the novel’s pages, running up her spine. She thinks that's the first genuine compliment Pencil’s ever given her.
Book begins to knead at the duvet in similar fashion. “…I like you, too.”
She can almost read a smile on the wooden object. She’s not sure. Her mind runs with complete nothings but the feeling of being wanted, she doesn’t focus on the details.
Further, she doesn’t, when her hand stills, Pencil’s snaking over her own. Rough fingertips resting on frail knuckles.
Book could be their own personal heater now, if you asked her. One of the many duties of an alternate.
For now, though, it’s not a duty. Her face heats uncontrollably, whether she is instructed to or not.
Pencil’s eyes flicker with something. Book doesn’t know if it’s recognition. Book doesn’t know if it’s care. It feels like it.
Her hand is such a careful thing, a gentle rest upon her own. She doesn’t deserve it.
Pencil, bold, kind, hers, lets her eyes drift closed, a simple yawn accompanying. “It’s time for bed, Book. Stop looking at the stars and hallucinating.”
Hallucinating being her imagining the what-ifs.
Book is ordered to stop, and that she will. Her mind will focus on the leader, on her Pencil, whose fingers curl around the palm of her hand.
“G’night…” Pencil mumbles.
Book soaks in the feeling, like a sponge to collect water. The sensation tingles from her hand and travels its way to her arm and the rest of her body. She lies still as a board.
Pencil holds her hand.
She has been for the past two minutes.
But now, she is asleep.
Book sighs, letting eyes fall into the heaviness that suddenly grows with the night.
“Goodnight, Pencil.”
The leader will not remember this come sunrise.
The alternate will.