Chapter Text
Papers lay scattered across the bus floor, shaky handdrawn sketches covering each. At the center sat Faust, immersed in her work, notebook open in her lap, pen flying. The margins of her notes were full of corrections, calculations, and various other necessary scribbles. Hidden among them, however, was a single phrase repeated: *Stupid Faust*. Yi Sang, feather light footsteps carrying him towards her, managed to lean behind her, reading every word over her shoulder. He frowned. He wondered, briefly, if their recent encounters had caused this. Faust had, as of late, seemed perpetually gloomier - less confident, more condescending. As if over compensating.
Faust had never been a kind woman. Yi Sang had, however, known her long enough to know she was not cruel, either. She was inconsiderate at times - blunt nature and high intelligence would always be a poor combination, he mused - but never unnecessarily, even towards those she seemed to hate. As of late, however, beginning not too long after the House of Spiders attack, she had been… not herself. She had, for the first time, raised her voice at Yi Sang for “interrupting her thought”. She sent the ever cheerful Don Quixote into a flood of tears by calling her favorite fixer… something? He had to admit he was unsure of Don's exact words, only that Rodion, Hong Lu, and Meursault had spent several hours trying to comfort her, or at least stop her wailing, until eventually she was soothed. Although he was not certainly, Yi Sang was even under the impression that she and Virgilius had engaged in a physical altercation of some kind, as Dante had been called to rewind the clock on Faust by a Guide sporting a few new bruises. At least one looked book-shaped.
All this to say that Faust was not herself, and what she had written only further confirmed his suspicion. Yi Sang was not privy to the private contents of the woman's mind, but he had come to harbor theories. There was more Faust than what he could see, of that he was sure. He had seen what she was like as only herself. Back on the WARP Train she was careful, calculating. She had to think of answers, she did not simply know. And she was, in that space, forced to rely on others, rely on him. She was, in that moment, on that train, his Faust alone. He liked that Faust. He wished to see her again. And here she was, hunched on the ground, scribbling in a notebook and muttering to herself to the extent that she didn't seem to register his head hovering over her shoulder. Her bent his neck and blew, passing from his lungs to her neck. She shot up, eyes locking with his as he narrowly dodged the fist she threw his way.
“Faust is busy.”
“Faust may be less busy with assistance.”
“Unideal. Other opinions are subject to error. Only Faust is required.”
Yi Sang rolled his eyes. “Faust smells like Don Quixote. When was the last time you took a break from work?” She turned away, annoyed. He kneeled at her side, sliding away papers and stacking them gently. “ Faust. Do you remember when we met.”
The woman's mouth quirked up into what might have been a smile. Progress.
“Faust offered you a job, as Sinner #1. You were taken into Limbus Company as an employee.”
“Yes. And?” He was pushing. They hadn't spoken of that day, at least not alone, together. Yi Sang had narrowly avoided the Manager learning of it when peering into his memories, and he had never planned to discuss it. But here, in this moment, with this genius woman in front of him, he saw a mirror image of when *she* was the one kneeling at *his* side. She had doomed him. And she had saved him. He hated what she did. He was weak, desperate. He needed someone, anyone. She had approached, illuminated from behind like an angel descending. She promised him his wings. She took him under her umbrella, then under her roof, then under the warm, soapy water of a bath. Even in that water were her hands cold. She gave him her bed. When he screamed in the night, she offered him tea. She let him talk to her. She let him drift to sleep with her hand in his.
She was grimacing at him. He pulled the notebook from her grasp. She was stronger than him by far, which meant that either he had surprised her ( unlikely) or she had let him take it (not ideal, but likely)
“Stupid Faust,” he read, distaste overtaking his tone, “is not a Faust I have ever known.”
“Faust knows all. Faust called-” she stopped herself. Her pale face flushed, as if she had said too much. “Faust has been stupid. Stupid Faust is a deserved title as punishment.”
Yi Sang sat beside her. He sat the book beside them, reaching for her with his other arm. He took her hand in his, palms touching. Hers were bigger.
“Yi Sang. Company policy does not permit discussion along these lines.” She paused, glancing at their laced fingers. “Do not make this complicated. Much work must be accomplished before we can return to Mephistopheles. Faust has much to complete. Faust has been behind for far too long.”
“I was unaware that my presence presented complications. I have never seen you regret a secret.” He saw, for a single moment, a drop of fear in her frost blue eyes. She righted it, but not quickly enough.
“Faust. Although regrettable, I won't demand you speak to me. But please, I beg of you, speak to the manager. I am aware you cannot tell them everything, but perhaps they will be more useful in providing insight than I.” He dragged her hand up, pulling her knuckles to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss into them before rising, offering her a hand.