(We had a gift, the perfect present
No such a thing, I'm taught.)

Climbing the three flights of stairs after working the day away is a burden. Opening the door without digging for the keys is a blessing.

Rodi leaves the door unlocked for Olive everyday, around the hours he's off from Kelp Dome. The green inkling doesn't even step away from the entrance, he already unbuttons his uniform shirt and twists it in a roll, to use it as a makeshift towel. The air outside's nothing better than the greenhouse's. He coils the shirt loosely behind his neck. Straight after, he heads to the balcony. It's where his lover's been waiting with a wooden game board, which has been kept open since last night. It looks like a Backgammon board from a distance, and it barely fits the low table. It took over the ashtray's designated place. They decided on leaving it on the dusty tile for the time being. Rodi's legs mindlessly push it around, the ashtray's losing its original purpose and it’s becoming a glass puck.

The pomegranate inkling has heard the door earlier, so Olive found him already grinning. He exhales in relief as he sits himself down on the free stool. “Here I am.”

Rodi doesn't break the grin. “You’re looking eager to start!”

“I’ve had yesterday’s score on my mind the whole day,” he chirps. “It’s running too tight to declare myself a winner.”

“Greedy! That sort of confidence'll have no issue getting over your head. You're giving me a chance to steal the victory.”

"I'm not too worried about that," Olive boasts. "I actually have a strategy and don't throw random moves around."

"My technique is too advanced for you to understand. Obviously."

"You're a man ahead of our time," Anthos laughs as his dice roll reveals the higher numbers. He's starting.

The neighbourhood probably got very, very tired of hearing dice fall and rotund pieces clacking, because Rodi and Olive have been playing Tavli on their balcony for hours, evening after evening. It's basically Backgammon, but there's a very specific atmosphere associated with it. Both of them might have come to know it from their mothers, who coincidentally grew up in the same region. When they think of this game, in its most stereotypical sense, they also think of an undescribable background noise buzzing constantly, the smell of tobacco, coffee and strong alcohol permeating the dewy air, and dim lights trying their best to keep up with the dark after the nightfall. However, their focus is mainly on the game itself.

They play at an innate, lightning speed, like any self respecting Aegean inkling would do. They say few words, mostly taunts, while playing. It's enough to tell the rest through hand gestures and upward glances, delivered by faces with complementary emotions. Compared to yesterday, Olive's pieces blaze ahead thanks to his lucky double rolls, for which he has a special talent. He insists it's his wrist flick that does the magic. Rodi calls it bullshit, and claims that the dice are rigged. Alas, he won't check them. He's too busy getting blotted about every turn.

After a few games, the score stands largely in Olive's favour. And he keeps winning. There's sometimes occurrences of clutch victories from Rodi to break the combo. But Olive's back at it. And wins again. And again. And again.

From the other side, there's a lost game piled over other lost games. A fizzle of frustration slips through Rodi's lips.

After an embarrassingly terrible round, Rodi's also lost his humour. Not allowing anyone to linger an extra moment on the round's conclusion, he's setting up the board for the next game. He's sliding the wooden pieces, the ones already found on the board, with a single finger back to their starting points, pushing on them so hard that they give off a scratchy shrill. It's that sort of noise that gives an unpleasant sensation in your gums. Wincing from the discomfort, Olive offers his help, though it looks more like he forces his help onto Rodi.

"It's okay... let me do it."

"Don't take a loser's job away," he's not budging his hands off however.

The green inkling wasn't able to intervene or swat the hands away. At least Isandro isn't scratching their eardrums off anymore.

"Oh well," Olive sinks a little into himself, the fun has died down for him. He's got a feeling they should end it here. "You can have your comeback some other day."

However, his partner thinks otherwise, he's becoming even more competitive. "Nope, not anytime this week, I'll get busy. It's now or never."

"There's always another week."

Rodi stops mid-way. He looks at Olive straight-on. "You sure? Aren't you supposed to move out by then?"

No, he didn't forget about that, but that's nothing to deter him.

"I'd still come by for evenings like this," Olive says with soft puppy eyes, as if Rodi believes he'll vanish after the move-out date. "I like to think you'll let me in for a visit once in a while, and we could spend our evenings like we always do. I'd bring the bottles, you'd bring the game, we'd laugh, and then it'd suddenly be dawn. It's one of my favourite pastimes," his face warms up a little as he says it.

"Really..." the game made Rodi sour enough to sneer whenever he opens his maw.

Before there's a chance to say more, he takes Olive's palm in his and drops the pair of dice in it. He's done with setting up the board, and he wants the game to get going.

Changing his approach, Rodi's taking extra seconds after rolling to evaluate his moves, though Olive stays faithful to the game’s fast pace and manipulates pieces as fast as he rolls his dice. After a while, Rodi's getting even more sluggish, and his turns are influencing Olive's to become slower. The fast pace works only when both players are capable of it. The rounds aren't as wild as before.

Instead of throwing taunts and commenting on their gameplay in between the rounds, the time it takes for setting up is spent in silence. While it's quiet, Olive looks over the balcony's railing. He's grown to love the view from this modest studio. The neighbourhood has a blend of apartment blocks, that are no more than four or five floors tall, unique buildings built by immigrants, and green areas sprinkled in between them. The horizon is jagged from the further areas of Inkopolis, where skyscrapers and office buildings are the norm. In these dusky hours, Olive would expect to see the sun sink peacefully, however, a massive grey cloud has formed in the distance.

It’s time for the next game. It’s as usual, until Olive notices something odd. Rodi’s suddenly in an advantageous position, even if his previous turn was far from that. He’d left his dice down after rolling, so Olive compares them to what has happened in his turn, and indeed, it turns out Rodi made an invalid move.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he scoffs at any sort of dirty tricks.

“Notice what?” The other inkling stops scratching the underside of his neck, visibly confused.

It might’ve been an honest mistake, judging by Rodi’s puzzled expression. Olive points out the mistake, and his lover mumbles for himself: " My bad." It's out of place for the pomegranate inkling to turn sheepish. Sensing something peculiar going on, Anthos will sneak some more glances towards his direction. Rodi's looking distracted, clearly not as fired up as before. He's still brushing fingers under his neck between moves, though instead of looking at the board, he's got a vacant stare going over Olive's shoulder. And with that, it's no wonder he soon messes up another one of his moves, this time putting himself at a disadvantage.

Olive crosses his arms and sighs. "Check your move."

"Haa...?" Rodi definitely zoned out. His eyes go wide as he comes closer to the board and realises his doing. "Right... I'm stupid. You know, you could've won if you didn't say a thing."

"I should earn my victory fair and square."

"Mm, rub it in my face when we're done," he fixes the pieces' positions again.

"We don't have to keep playing for hours again, if you don't want to anymore."

"It's just the dice, man, I'm not mad about you winning. Next roll, let's go."

"At this pace, we'll finish never. Your head isn't in the game."

Upon hearing what he hoped not to, Rodi leans his back on the wall besides them and exhales somewhat defeated. "Yeah, I know. Hey, let's take a breather," his reflexes guide his arm to the ashtray and nearly empty pack of cigarettes. There's only two cigarettes left, but he hands one to Olive with the same charity as always.

One major downside is that they've been filling their idle time with too much smoking, and Olive's losing grip on the self restraint he once had. During after-hours, he puts the fuckers in his mouth with no second thoughts. It doesn't help that he's found someone to share the vice with. The cigarettes are all Rodi's, though he won't mind sharing, especially since he insists Olive shouldn't waste his savings on them.

He won't ever share one thing, however, and that is his lighter. Only Rodi is allowed to use it. He bought it, he owns it, nobody touches it. Why? You never know who's the next bastard to steal your lighter , he wistfully once said. At first, Olive had to rely on his puny lighter, which ran out of gas as quickly as you'd expect. The workaround? Rodi passes his light over to Olive through the freshly lit cigarette in his mouth, prompting him to lean over with his own. A pinch away from his sweetheart's face, Olive sucks up on the filter to get the fire going. Bad influence at its finest. It's hard to say no when it becomes routine and yet another excuse for that snazzy intimacy.

Olive is the first to talk. "Got something on your mind?"

"I don't believe there'll ever be a time when there's nothing on my mind," Isandro breathes out along with the smoke.

The answer leaves Anthos a little dumbfounded. "You... got what I'm asking."

"Sorta. There's a thing or two. Three, four... Hm. I lost count. Too bad," the pomegranate inkling gives a smug shrug and throws one arm behind his head.

Olive's amused, though he doesn't like the way he avoids the subject. "Come on," he drawls while leaning over the Tavli board. To get a reaction, he tries to reach Rodi's sides and gives him a tickle.

"Alright, fine, hands off," Rodi stops his teasing and waves the intrusive hands away. "But, I'll disappoint you, neither do I know what I'll say," he admits. Seeing how Olive's is patiently listening, more so with his head slightly tilted, he continues: “Eh, you wouldn’t care anyway, you listen to any of my godless rambles.”

Taking it as a compliment, Anthos clears his throat and replies, "Well, I don't usually say much, I like being a listener. Thankfully, you have many crazy things to say."

“Yeah... Only you could willingly listen. It’s uncanny,” Rodi chuckles. The world stops for him to let out an undetectable sigh, before looking at his lover directly. “Olive, I think a lot about you. You’re never ill intended. Like, right now, you noticed my bad move, but you didn’t take the win. You don't leave me behind, you don’t get me drunk to profit off my back..." He leaves the list of examples open-ended, as he keeps displaying his mysterious smile. "And so on. There you go, we could consider this one thing off my mind."

Driven by zeal, Olive leans a little more over the table, onto his forearm, just to have a closer look at Rodi. "Are you keeping a mental checklist here?"

"Yeah, It's a proper checklist. Convenient as hell!" His fangs gleam from behind his lips in his laugh. "It's an all-in-one. You can also find milk, bread, bills, insecurities jumbled together in there."

Insecurities , he says? Some have a dedicated mental list for that, maybe multiple. Olive wonders if keeping your inhibiting thoughts together with the mundane ones makes them less scary. Yeah, that's probably how Rodi manages to keep going through his precarious life.

"There's so much more in there," he continues, "some things are waiting to be crossed off the list for years. It doesn't help that I haven’t had something good happen without it biting my ass back yet. I can always fuck up in some way and set off the chain of reactions. Next thing you know, a chunk of my fat cheek's gone missing." Rodi's colourful descriptions are Olive's favourite part. "But, considering whatever I've been through this year, I'm in a pretty good position now. Dare to say I'm even comfortable," he delivers his last sentence while his head rolls to one of his shoulders, shifting his sight to the horizon. "Good comfort isn't something I often find. I'm a simple man and I find comfort in consumables: nicotine, caffeine, pheromones, you know, things that are widely available at your kiosk. And the state I find myself in, I'm sure this isn’t my typical comfort."

Olive's getting goosebumps. No, not from their discussion, but from the change of temperature. For how hot and unbreathable the air was before, this weather's an entirely different story. They haven't gotten such moderate temperatures since spring was around. He puts off his cigarette and runs his hands up and down his arms to warm up. A breeze has started making laps around the neighbourhood, and the sky has grown darker in a considerably shorter time frame.

There's a rustling that quickly fetches Olive's attention back. Rodi shifts his weight again and crosses his legs away from the table. His face was mischievous before, now it turns pensive. "When you start getting comfortable with something that you could've never foreseen, does it make you feel..."

The question’s been left hanging for too long. Olive's coming through with his helping hand. "How does it make me feel, you say?"

"Mm," Rodi fixes a strong side gaze on him, remaining stuck in his pose.

"Relieved, I think. It shows that all turned out well."

"Relieved..." Isandro echoes somewhat long-faced. "It only makes me more anxious. What a shitty reaction to have. But, then again, I could've broken something up there once upon a time," he taps his temples.

"That's no good... Did something happen?" Olive's uneasy from the concerning claims.

"I'm still trying to understand it myself," he laments. "But, nevermind that, I have an actual concern here."

"Go on," Anthos reassures.

"I don't know for how long we can go on like this."

"What do you mean?"

Rodi's suddenly, needlessly irritated. "What do you mean what do you mean ? Didn't you hear me?"

Just as he blurts that out, a violent gust of wind sweeps over the balcony and into the house. The intimidating gale brings the two men to duck in surprise. It blows an unexpected pressure into them. The red curtains flutter like nothing, the fabric's rapidly smacking against itself. The board pieces displace from the force, and some end up sliding off the table. All the muck from the ashtray's flown away.

The wind sharply changes direction away from them. With no hesitation, the two spring out of their bracing stances. They scramble to jam all the pieces back inside the game board. Once the tile's clear of pieces, Olive stands up shocked and watches the menacing clouds roam above them, they were miles away last time he looked up.

"Damn, summer storms are no joke," Rodi's re-tightening his hair tie.

"It's gonna be big," Anthos predicts, taking the shirt from behind his neck and putting it back on. "We should move in."

Their entertainment for the evening ends rather unceremoniously as they retreat inside. Already looking bored, Rodi sinks into the couch. Unsure of what to do next, Olive paces in anticipation. A bright flash illuminates their living room. He pauses his pacing to come closer to the window. As expected, the thunders roll. Their grumbles become less distant with every lightning. It doesn't start small, huge raindrops fall from nowhere and get smashed on the glass. The taller trees swing side to side, as if made out of rubber, and everything looks washed out. Only the shadows stay strong enough to distinguish what's outside.

Good thing they got inside in time. The view is kinda murky, so Olive pulls the curtains to hide it away. Instead of resuming his indefinite walk in circles, or rake his fangs over the dry bits of his lips, he wants to wrap up the conversation. He stops to answer Isandro's last question, before they get interrupted once more.

"I heard you right, but don't just leave me hanging like that," he pleads in a low tone.

Rodi steadily nods before revealing the second half of his forewarn. "I'll be dancing at a new club."

The news are unexpected, though they're welcome. It's better than being left in the dark. Olive's no longer pondering what keeps his flatmate preoccupied lately. "That's nice," he coos with wide open eyes.

"Yeah, well, it just makes everything complicated."

"I don't see why," he naively states, then fumbles to word it better. "Uh... but I get why you're feeling that. I'm behind you, don't worry."

"Cute. I'm not worried about there , if that's what you think. I'm worried about here ."

Anthos struggles to follow. "...Please explain."

His lover slouches over his knees and plays with one of his four black earrings while talking. "I can tell you want us to keep going. Right? Sounds like there's some dedication involved. You gotta put some time aside for that."

"Of course."

"When do you get off work?" He pauses very briefly, as if waiting for an answer he's too impatient for. "Evening. When will I get ready to leave for work?"

Without even realising it, Olive raises his hands to his chest defensively. "...That's what you worry about? It's not that bad, we still have the weekends."

"That's only if I'm free, and you know how my weekends go. Even if I can run on minimal sleep, I gotta rest in the daylight. If it won't be for your time, then it'll be my time."

Olive's ears droop slightly.

"Is this what you meant, then? We can't go on spending time together anymore because of this?"

In response, he receives a loaded gaze from under Rodi's heavy eyelids. He's done sidestepping. "I knew it. I knew I would be dancing again, and that it'd become an inconvenience for you. I knew since last month. I though you'd be out by now, so you wouldn't have needed to know this. Why do you think I gave you a month to move? This is one of the reasons."

"I-... It changes some things. I see what you mean," Olive utters unsure of himself. Though, with his hand reaching over his heart, he remains faithful. "Inconvenience or not, it shouldn’t change my mind. I'll make sure to keep seeing you. Honestly, fuck anything else, I'll work around your time and see you for as much as I can. Even one second would be enough for me."

Rodi straightens his back, his expression is hard to read. It doesn't help that the tough conversation has been backed by a roaring summer storm. Olive needs to at least turn on the light so they don't brood in the dark. After he flicks the switch, the younger inkling comes closer and sits on the other side of the couch. His lap instantly becomes a pillow for Rodi's head. Whenever they find themselves like this, Olive makes sure to pamper his lover and stroke his hair. The current topic doesn't change this ubiquitous fact.

"I'll let you know, before you get any ideas, I'm not struggling with money or any of that," Isandro clarifies from below.

"Sorry if I'm wrong, but, doesn't money tie into working at a club?"

"It's a perk. I gave every other job a go and nothing stuck on me. Also, think about it, if I keep lazing around, then I'd start doing it for the money anyway. Whichever way, this job makes me less of a useless prick."

Olive understands his point. "As long as you don't get hurt I'll be happy."

Rodi reaches one of his pockets, where he usually holds his keys. They’re danglier than before, because there’s two extra keys hanging from a new keychain. He frees the new keys from the old ones and rattles them for Olive.

“I’ve got these done today, just so you won’t have to rely on me opening the door every time, especially with my new schedule.”

Olive flips the surrogate keyring from one finger to another, letting it brush over today's set of fresh blisters. He nods in appreciation, he wouldn't want to become a nuisance in Rodi's plans. Up to today, he had been dedicating specific hours to stay at home, such that Olive would be able to come in. Upon another thought, Olive wonders if this is Rodi's way of saying he'll be welcome anytime in this house, including after he moves out. He wants to express his thanks, however, Rodi's looking more uneasy.

"I can't make such promises as you do, Olive. I have to tell you that. I won't say no if we can keep seeing each other, but nobody knows what's going to happen."

Promises don't give their bearers the true view into the future, but merely the view they wish to see.

Shoving aside the endless question marks, Olive can bet on one sure thing: "We'll find out together."

Hundreds of sea creatures scurry from left to right, criss-cross, and shift from one limb to another. Nothing stands still in this two-way corridor. The information boards update every minute, and the announcements ring through the station to follow them. The next departure is in ten minutes, from Inkopolis' central station towards the region's second largest city.

Between the crowds, two green-inked individuals walk shoulder-to-shoulder. Their power walk makes them reach the platform in time, so they catch their breath in a free spot. The inkling with the duller green hair offers his smaller, bouncier friend some shade from the sunlight, which gets amplified through the glass roof. Olive has promised to see Pepper at least once before her next important competition. Ready and eager as ever, she's packed up her favourite weapons. Olive helped her carry the largest one - a classic Splat Roller found in its sleek grey carrying case. He passes the case over once on the platform, and she hangs one of its straps on her shoulder. She has no other bags, she's using her Slosher as one, wherein you'll find a Splattershot Pro sticking out and other miscellaneous travel essentials thrown in.

"But where's your clothes?" Olive fidgets while looking around her, expecting more baggage.

Pepper's tapping her foot in impatience, though she's used to this sort of treatment from him. "In the back with the Roller. No way I'm bringin' another bag!"

"You're away for three weeks, you're sure it's enough?"

"What else will I even need? All I need is myself and my gear!"

Olive reminds himself he's the freak that carries houseplants in his luggages.

Just in time, the train makes its steady approach in the station, accompanied by an orchestra of announcements and whirrs. Pepper could board it and start getting comfortable in her seat, though she hangs around for a bit more. Her intuition tells her Olive would have to force a smile if she leaves him too early.

It's a shame these two haven't gotten more quality time this summer. Their get-togethers kept getting pushed back, Olive and Pepper were taking turns on doing that. Life has taken both of them by surprise, and begun running faster than what they were able to do. It's a steep change from the past summers, when they used to loaf together for days on end, staring at the sun, tearing grass blades and dumping them onto each other. This summer took away their teenage pastime, and the months lost their carefree element.

Pepper's not the kind to openly talk about her troubles, and god forbid Olive talk about his ongoing troubles. Sure, they briefly caught up on watered-down versions of their matters in the train station, but busy public spaces aren't meant for proper bitch and moan sessions.

Besides, Pepper's looking so excited for her next commitment, she might've already forgotten any previous problems. She's done with her high school years and stepping into her new career. She got hired by a reputable team to fill in one of their spots. It's pretty impressive and scary for Olive, he knows how disorderly she used to be when they battled together. She might've improved in her senior year, he hadn't gotten a chance to see her new strategy in action.

Olive's got a lot to owe to her, he's been kept afloat by her for these years, more so this month. Occasionally, when this fondness for her resurfaces, he still gets a light, floaty feeling in his chest. She might not even be aware of it.

Her round head turns back to the train, the station staff is signalling its soon departure. "Welp, the train's leaving in two."

"Take care on the way. And there... And back."

“Bud, you take care too, yeah?” She points her finger in the vicinity of his nose.

“I’ll be fine, don’t mind me. I’d be more worried about you!”

“Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen, trust me!”

“Tell me if you beat their asses.”

“You’re the first to update! Then mum, then Donna, then Rue...”

“Donna, was it that new girl? She’s a higher priority than your brother?” Olive snorts.

“Dude, Rue will be like, stop sending me that crap, I duuun’t cuuuurrrr ,” she mockingly deepens her voice.

A shrill, deafening whistle rings on the platform.

“Crud, I’ll miss the train like this. I’m outtie!”

Pepper jumps into a short hug. Ow, it was a strong hug nonetheless. Olive's shoulders might've been permanently brought closer. Ludmila already pranced off, so he cups his palms towards his mouth, to make sure he's heard as loud as possible.

“Good luck Pep!”

Pepper forces herself inside the compartment, barely getting the Roller through the narrow door. As her old teammate begins waving goodbye, Pepper sticks her button nose on a window, fogging it up. Once she realises it, she laughs and wipes the glass with a wave. The speed train gets whizzing past the station in no time.

Olive's arm hangs above for a short while after he loses sight of her compartment. He lets it fall down and spends a quiet nostalgic moment.

Only three years ago, on the very same platform, he would be clenching at Pepper's clothes, desperate at the thought that he'd be missing her for some weeks. He'd disturb the station’s announcements with his begging, his sneakers would squeak from the friction, and Pepper's tinier though stronger body would drag him behind like nothing, even up to the train's doors. He was way skinnier back then, though he'd grown so quickly, something like this wouldn't be possible now without Pepper breaking a sweat.

He depended so much on her, all of his high school life revolved around her, up to the point where he wouldn't do anything without her. Afterwards, she would begin her streak of victories, which would kickstart her freelance career. At that point, it wasn't a problem of choosing whether to cling on her or let her compete with the big names: Pepper Ludmila was dead set on becoming a professional from the first opportunity.

Olive was terribly attached to her, for sure, though Pepper was more wishy-washy with the finer feelings in her relationship with him. That didn't mean she didn't care about her friend, far from that. She was pretty clueless about how affected Anthos would be from any signs of abandonment, and she remained clueless in the train station. Admittedly, Olive's over-the-top reactions were hard to take seriously, and she'd giggle at the whole scene. Pepper would laugh at anything if put in front of her, and end up being read as a mean, judgemental inkling by others, though Olive knows her better. She would never be ill-intended like that, he just hoped for more than they could bargain for. In the end, their sudden, though brief separation from three years ago was for the best. It helped him get over the true forking of their roads with ease - he'd go to University, she'd become a freelancer.

Today, he lets her fly off as usual, as she does every time, and doesn't expect her to return any specific day. He won't keep his eyes peeled on the calendar and the clock to check on her, it was enough to see her cheerful and giddy about her next adventure and he knows that she's very capable of handling herself. Then again, she always was, it used to be him who wasn't capable enough.

There’s a new text message. The writing's different from what you'd often see. He immediately knows it's his mother, as she's the only one to ever talk in Hellenic with her son. It's been a while since Anthos has read anything that's not written in Inklish, he peers at the small screen.

"How are you? All going well? Don't forget about your ma. Miss you"

He's feeling guilty, to some extent, for leaving his mother in the dark ever since he'd moved out. She missed out on many significant events. Some, he'd be very eager to tell. Other? Only if necessary. He started and finished his academic project, he's been in and out of Maure's bed, he lost his first apartment, and he ended up in Isandro's bed. All of this... It's not the right time to talk about any of this yet.

He switches the keyboard's language and is presented with a different alphabet. He taps the screen without much enthusiasm. " All's well, I've been working. We'll talk sometime." Once he's done writing that up, it gets about time he should be going. He does a full turn and leaves the bustling train station behind. Lunch break's over.

With each heavy droplet that smashes against the windows, Olive's concern amplifies. It's the middle of the night, he's skipping on his sleep during a violent thunderstorm and he's alone. Phone calls, voicemails, usual mails, nothing's worked out so far. Nobody will answer his desperate calls at this hour, though he's not giving up, he's pushing on for that last drop of hope. He gave this the benefit of doubt up to the final moments, and yet he wishes he hadn't done that. For every minute that passes, a thunder rolls, reminding him how midnight's steadily creeping up his spine. The closer the clock arms come together, the more agitated he becomes.

His elbows dig into the kitchen table. Miscellaneous papers got worn up at the corners, from how much he's been rolling and flicking them between his fingers. The only thing illuminating the room is a streetlamp's yellowish light. For the past few hours, he's been hunching over the table with his phone, its speaker constantly sounding a dial tone. He's incessantly waiting for the other end to pick up.

The anxious green eyes have nowhere to look to seek guidance. His lover's gone out in this horrible weather. Of course, as he made known some evenings ago, he just started working at a new club and it will be taking up his nights. Iron nerves are mandatory if you need to perform anywhere, and no storm will ruin them for Isandro. Meanwhile, Olive's so in tune with the outside world, that the stormy view reflects in his irises, and his heart thumps as loud as the sky roars.

It's 11:59, the dial tone echoes in the empty room for another minute. Olive's rational side already knows it's for naught, he holds his phone with apathy in his palm. However, he doesn't hang, even after the time turns sharp, he lets the pre-recorded, eerily calm operator voice to inform him the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Try again later. "There's no later," he'd rasp at it if it wasn't a robot.

Some keys rustle at the front door. Before it squeaks open, Anthos rushes to gather up the papers and regain his composure. He sees Rodi step on the doormat, head turned to the floor, his coat dripping streams of rainwater. He's picked a poor outfit for the current weather, though it proves how scorching it was earlier in the day. If it weren't for the coat, he'd be only in a black tank top and some shorts. He feels for the light switch, and once it clicks, he gets startled by the sight of his lover. He squints back at Olive.

"...You're still up?"

Olive goes straight for the scold. "Have you seen how it is outside? You got an umbrella, why don’t you use it?"

And Rodi goes for the most obvious deflection. "Fuck that, why are you sitting in the dark?"

If Olive was wiser, he would've at least turned a light on. "I was waiting for you, I guess it got dark faster than I thought."

"You can go to sleep next time," he talks while wiping his face and arms with a paper towel. "I shouldn't be back at this hour. I left early."

Leaving Anthos with questions on the tip of his tongue, Isandro goes to the balcony, to let his soaked coat drip somewhere else. Afterwards, he returns and pulls a chair for himself, at the opposite side of the table. He instantly sees the papers. Olive, who keeps the bad decisions coming, left them face down in his haste, hoping the other wouldn't notice. Rodi flips them back up.

"A contract? Isn't this for your house? What the heck is this doing here?" He didn't miss one detail. "You know these papers are important, and you already managed to wrinkle 'em up. Can't you put them somewhere else," he asks, in his typical jaded manner.

"I'll need to show you something. Before that though, why did you leave early?"

"Mm, I just wasn't feeling it in there. Whatever, that doesn't matter. Show me the thing."

Instantly, Olive's brought back to cold sweat. He isn't cunning enough to hide it anymore, so he bites the bullet and comes clean.

"Can you take a look at this part?" He points to the bit of the contract where the housing agent put their information down. "I've been calling them all day and they're not answering."

"Eh. They got careless and put the wrong number in. Olive, you just had to look up their name and call any number you can find," he takes his phone out of his backpack to demonstrate. "I can't believe I'm supposed to... show..." his speech slows down, so much that he's unable to say the last word in his sentence. He's grown pale.

"...Did you find it?"

Rodi won't answer in his rapid-fire fashion, as unnerving as it sounds. He simply places the phone on the centre of the table.

Something snapped inside him, though his voice holds steady. “There's no such thing as Manta Ray Estates ."

"This isn't the time to be kidding. Are you sure?" Olive picks the phone and looks up for himself.

It turns out that Rodi wasn't lying. Nothing came up. Whatever's written down on the wrinkled contract, it's phoney. Fake name, address, phone, everything. They both refuse to believe it in the first instance. The two desperately search for any little clue, though there's no digital trace to be found at their fingertips.

The red-inked man wishes to be contradicted for once. "These people never existed. Don't tell me, you've also given them your money."

Anthos can't speak if he can't let a single breath out. Their findings, or lack thereof, go against what he was sure of before. On top of everything else, he's now doubting his recalling ability, and probably his sanity. He can't find a way to save himself from the other's hopeless stare.

“This looked legit, I swear,” he cries in disbelief. “I was able to find them before, they came up in these searches. The guy promised me the keys! How is it possible for them to-”

Rodi doesn’t need any more explanations. From the first yelp, his head started drooping low. "Olive..." he clasps his head while grimacing. "Fuck... What have you done?!"

"I- I don't know...!" Anthos muffles his sped-up breathing with both of his palms.

Tick, tock. Tick.

Tock.

Why would a clock keep ticking after its purpose renders for naught? Time's up already anyway.

But you shouldn't need deadlines to realise when something goes so jarringly wrong.

Too much confusion fell on their minds in too little time. Although it's warm inside, the two find themselves shivering. Olive gets up, though his knees grow weak and bend under his weight. He tries approaching his lover.

However, Rodi leaves his chair and takes some steps backwards, as if being preyed on.

“No... You need to leave.” Rodi spews rather scared. “I can’t deal with this. You're holding me back-- I need to go back. ...”

The true intentions are starting to bubble up to the surface. Freudian slip or not, it hurts to hear such a thing.

...What did I do?!  He's incapable of ever reaching his own conclusions. He seeks answers in Rodi.

No answers, he trembling from the inner disturbance. This sight frightens Olive even more.

Isandro continues stepping back, glowering at his partner to keep his distance. The visceral reactions he exhibits shock Anthos to the core, he can't hold his balance unless he's pressing part of his weight on the countertop.

When Isandro reaches the balcony's curtains, he looks a heartbeat away from breaking into tears. He's grinding his fangs, absolutely determined to repress whatever's gotten into him. He breaks his defensive stance as he runs his hand across his face, and disappears behind the burgundy curtains.

With his exit, the room goes dead. Though, the initial panic, the overwhelming dread that consumed Olive is beginning to dissipate. This isn't over. He's coming back to his senses, and is able to weakly step in Rodi's tracks. From what he can hear, the rain’s still pouring heavily. The green inkling whacks the curtains to the balcony in one sweep.

Isandro is leaning over the balcony railing. He's already smoking to tone down his mood, though his hand keeps on shaking whilst holding the cigarette. His soaked coat soiled one of the chairs, the one where Olive usually sits. The pomegranate inkling stares into the void and he’s not affected by the chilly air and rain hitting his skin. His legs are left bare, reddened from the cold.

He felt Olive's presence. His hand trembles even more, the tiny, dwindling fire on his cigarette's end is giving it away.

“Please, Rodi, calm down.”

The plea is acknowledged with a halfhearted nod.

“I won’t hold you back, please know that. We can figure this out,” Olive gives his best attempts at gaining his trust back.

"I gave you time, so much of my time, I thought it's more than enough. I can't give you more, it won't go well."

"I- I'll fix this, you don't have to do anything. Don’t go through such turmoil because of me."

"You don't get it. This should've never happened. ...Instead of letting it die down in peace, you fucked it up. We could've gone back to our normal lives by next week."

"But, this is it. This is still our normal life, it never stopped being that."

"No! I wasn't supposed to be here!" Rodi spat with his eyes tightly shut. He opens them wide and stares at Olive as before. "I should've been back in there...! I couldn't do it! How the fuck do you expect me to be someone's eye-candy when I’m aware that you’re here... when I’d rather fall into you than let some random fall for me, when I’m so physically and mentally tied to you! ...I can’t! I have a fucking weak mind!”

After locking Anthos up, Rodi trails back to his absentminded stare towards the city. He will take the conversation to other places.

“Tell me, please tell me, how can their looks be so shallow? While yours...” He falls back and tries to start his sentence once more. “Before you, I thought I had everyone under my finger, it took so little. Damn, it came so easy, but I hadn't felt that power tonight. Nobody has the same sort of gaze on me. I'll never be able to go back to what I felt before. Because once I saw your gaze... yours is too real. It’s pressuring me into things, it’s scary. I don't want this anymore, I’m tired of being chained and kept back by love, my own love.” Once done with pinching the bridge of his nose, he rubs his eyes with his hand. ”But what else would I have in life? Fuck all. I have nothing else.“

Anthos wishes he could say a word, anything to shed some hope into his partner. He can’t express any thoughts in these messy moments without sounding like an idiot. He already made himself the idiot with his screw-up, his words wouldn't reach his lover anymore.

He wants to say that love is freeing, limitless, that he’d give his any day, that love is enough for them to go over these hurdles. Still, he's worried he'd come across as infantile.

Infantile , but that’s how far both of their understanding can ever go.

“It would be so easy, if only I wasn't forced into looking, seeing... You made me want more, and I'm in the deep end. My desire brings only frustration. You made it yourself. Fuck, look what it's come to. You... You've messed me up, in the most painless way. Every single time, it's...” Rodi frailly says for himself, lacking any breath. He’s fighting something inside him, as the lump in his neck moves upwards and downwards in place. With fear returning in his eyes, he says: “I can't... I need time alone.”

He can't back off, he can't push on, Olive's hit a stalemate. He'd rather not say anything, but stand under the door frame and fight his own demons, whilst watching Rodi do the same. Olive's cheek and shoulder turn cold from the weather, part of him feels betrayed by his partner's sudden turn against him. Can he blame him, though? Rodi's really at a standstill with his wants and needs, his lover's descent into instability is imminent. Anthos can't look down onto him, not even after taking the blame for the night, when his love starts to curl into himself, hiding away his body language through any means.

The waters run deeper than thought.

Anthos will leave the other alone, silently retreating back inside. As he distances, the footsteps feel heavier, the floor seems to crack under his delicate steps, and his heart begins to race from the same type of fear that Rodi holds. By the time he's before the bedroom, his breath hitches uncomfortably. He grows irritated with himself, with the lack of control, with his failed attempts of garnering some faith.

He's been scowling to himself the whole time, he realises as soon as he sees his reflection in the dresser's mirror. He wants to loosen those face muscles with his hands, but when he reaches for his skin, he begins tearing up. Tears roll over with no holdback. His vision is glossy, distorted, his resurfaced headache is worse than ever. His senses, the most treasured part of his existence, are blurred out to a janky mess.

For what?

His chest sucks in air in an involuntary jolt, and the sound coming out of it is put at doubt. He didn’t do that. He hopefully didn’t. It would be disastrous if Rodi heard. However, the worst part now is that he can faintly hear sobs which don't belong to him, coming from outside through the bedroom’s window. Hearing Rodi cry feels worse than his own crying. Olive can cry for his own fuck ups, though Rodi's got no reason to cry. It's terrifying. Both flatmates are clutching at their chests, swallowing unexplainable sobs.

It hurts. One of them was right, it shouldn't have ever been like this. There's no way back, they've already started crying, and they’re desperately trying to hide it. Each to their own means, Olive has slammed his head into a pillow, to cry his heart out, while Rodi bites his hands down in frustration.

When the bite marks go deeper than they should, Rodi has his own epiphanies. He can now hear them for himself, feeble sobs coming right from the bedroom. His irises shrink to a needlepoint. He fumbles off the railing, runs and trips towards the bedroom and finds Olive suffering the same.

He never wanted to see this. Rodi tearfully, loudly beseeches.

“...No! Don’t do that!!”

And Olive sobs harder into the pillow.

The leaves seem greener after a thunderstorm. It might be the overcast lighting, or the slight sheen of the raindrops still lingering onto them. Before you know it, they’re shaken up by another storm. Storm after heatwave after storm, that’s how the capital dwellers' days will keep going.

Inkopolis seems to have hit a rainy season, atypical for late August. It doesn’t cease pouring through both night and day, locking its residents inside. The temperatures are unruly, fluctuating from chilly to scorching. Weather reporters bring the residents' morale down with their predictions, which are accurate and undesirable. The storms won't cease until the end of the week.

Fed up at the first mere thought of being trapped inside, Rodi takes his umbrella and heads outside. He vaguely claimed, before taking his leave, that he's got various unnamed errands. These better be important, since they bring him to ignoring the miserable weather.

Olive, however, goes out against his will. It’s his last week at Kelp Dome, he's exhausted, though he needs to push through it. Nevertheless, there are worse things to worry about beyond his workplace, and it’s not some rain.

The truth sat before their eyes last night. It got clearer the next morning. Errands are a convenient pretence, after all.

Rodi couldn’t bear it anymore. He couldn’t watch Olive struggle with swallowing his tears. He ran off.

Although he can understand part of his decision, Olive's trust in him cracks at the seams. Yet, what irks him the most isn't Isandro's runaway tendency. Of all the horrible things he could've done to his inner peace, he chose to leave his phone at home.

On the first day, it was enough to play devil's advocate with himself.

His flatmate might've been disoriented and mistakenly forgotten his phone, he might need to disconnect for some quiet time, he might've left the phone as a bond that assures he will be back soon, Olive's creative enough to craft these excuses in Rodi's place. Caught in a reprise, unable to think better for himself, Anthos gives him the usual benefit of doubt.

Anthos pretended to be busy at work all day, to avoid any unnecessary interactions. He certainly looked busy, from all the possibilities he'd been ruminating. The day basically went to waste. His sleep was terrible the previous night, though any attempts to rest on this one were worthless. He's been stuck in limbo for hours, in the awkward state of neither sleeping nor being awake. His mind's eye flickers greyed-out visions, he slips in and out of vague replays of his subconscious.

The domino effect that would trigger was inconspicuous. He went through the 3 concise pages of the contract. He flipped it over and marked his name in blue ink. The ballpoint pen was kinda crusty and his signature had gaps from its skipping. The green inkling looked agitated with his signature, though the manta ray's monotone, sluggish voice assured:

"Don't fret, it won't matter how it looks. We appreciate doing business with you."

That was around the first weeks of August. He had met the housing agent face-to-face, as per his wishes, to get his hands on his next apartment's contract. The final milestone would've been getting the keys. It would've been a done deal, right?

Midnight struck.

The ballpoint pen snapped in half. His clenching fist wouldn't stop pressing into it, the goopy ink stained his palms, the shards were pushing in... Distressed, he gasps to force himself awake. Utterly confused, he checks his palm. His nails have been digging ridges into them.

On the second day, he called in sick. He couldn't get up. So much for going into work everyday for his last week, he didn't even try.

No reason to try anymore. The future he envisioned so fondly has fallen apart. He takes Rodi's cold pillow to his chest, to feel the remnants of his physical presence. His fresh memories and memories not yet formed, he holds them as close as this pillow.

However, if he paid a little more attention to his old mistakes, the situation would've been different. He never truly went out of the rebound, he put it on hold with pleasurable distractions. Pepper, June, and now Rodi, there must be a common denominator for the way they've each drifted away when it all became too close for comfort.

He picked his entire ego apart.

On the third day, well...

Is he fucking crazy?

No more denying, Rodi's out of his senses. He disappears with no trace, no means of contact for three entire days. Working at night is dangerous, he probably knows it better than Olive, so he's either wicked or very scatterbrained to let something like this happen.

There's no place for useless moping anymore, Olive takes on the streets with his heart in his beak. Last time he found himself on these alleyways, he was looking for an adventure. He's seeking salvation this time, from his blooming paranoia and consuming thoughts. Any street he ever got to walk with Rodi, he's been walking in the shadow of his steps. He's been checking every pub, bar, smoking area, to see if he could catch a blur of his red ink. In the middle of the afternoon, though, everything's closed and the streets aren't as lively as he knew them before.

There's one local he hadn't checked yet. Without Isandro as his guiding light, he's doing circles around a handful of streets, but his resilience makes him find it at last. In a stroke of luck, the doors for the place are open, probably for the supplier's van. While the men at work unload crates of beverages, Olive softly steps into the nightclub. It feels wrong to enter one so early, he can actually see the colour of the walls, which he couldn't distinguish before.

His head keeps turning on the deserted dance floor, keeping his eyes peeled. A single, crystal-clear glass clink sounds out of nowhere. He hadn't looked for any eyes in the shadows yet. He's reconsidering his choice of coming in without such a cautious check. He gulps, ready to chicken out.

"Are you lost, perhaps?" A female voice is distinctly heard right behind him.

It makes Anthos yelp. "Ah!" He recognises the turquoise hair and eyes, "Uh, um, Beryl, right...?"

"Well well! You know my name! Weren't you that guy with Rodi?" She places a hand on her hip.

"Yes, oh my god," he answers in one breath, getting straight to the point, "did he come by lately?"

"Not since he brought you in," she trails off to leave the bottles she webbed between her fingers. It's incredible that she managed to do such little noise with them beforehand. "Is he up to trouble?"

"No, I hope not. He's... hard to reach."

"Hm, from how it sounds, he doesn't want to deal with people. Don't take too much offence, that also includes me. I've got loose ends with this boy as well."

"So he hasn't come around," Olive mentions in passing, already ready to leave, though Beryl felt his disappointment come through.

"I wish I could help, sweetheart, but I'm on the same page."

He will have to retreat with his tail between his legs. He can't find the answers or leads himself. He's alone, a feeble solitary being, and it's been only three days. The loneliness will only get worse if he doesn't act on it.

When you have nobody else to turn to, when the walls at home grow closer and squish your brains out, where do you turn?

Rodi's not up for resolutions, so it seems.

Pepper's still travelling and making a name for herself. Olive's been left with no social contact outside his work colleagues, which aren't the talkative type. It's pretty lonely down there, especially when solitary work takes up most of his time.

The present and future have turned their backs. The past, however, is worth a struggle shot.

He knows June Maure is still there.

His mind might be forgetful at times, but his heart isn't. He still remembers her frequented spots and her routine, since what seems so long ago. She's enamoured with the academic environment enough to continue spending her time around campus, even after finishing her degree. If there's someone he's certain to find, it would be her.

The memories have to be dug from the pile of concerns he's now buried in. In the process, he remembers how easygoing his first shy weeks with Maure were. His better grades were surely linked to how often they studied together, just to have more excuses to stay with her. She more or less claimed the nicest outdoor spot on campus. She loved a certain bench under a mighty oak, where caterpillars used to fall on her textbooks and on Olive's head. His freakout amused her every time.

As luck would have it, she is on that very same bench, writing on the notebook in her lap with no interruptions.

Compared to how concentrated she looked beforehand, she's staring upwards a tad surprised, a tad already tired of her past lover. "Oh. Olive, I did not expect you."

"Hey," he sits on the other end of the bench, leaving some space in between them.

June narrows her eyes, trying to figure out why he's here. "...Have you picked up research over the summer?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I'm just passing around."

Shortly after, he pinches the underside of his arm, he shouldn't tell white lies to appear aloof.

"Actually, not only that... I've been looking for you."

"Do you need something from me?"

"A small talk, a reflection, I guess some closure," he sort of bows his head.

She closes her notebook. "I see, however, wouldn't it have been easier over the phone?"

Their final phone call rings through his ears. He hated it. "I prefer face-to-face more, I don't know...."

After a sympathetic look, June sighs and slides her notebook in her bag. "I understand. It was rather unfair for me to not give you proper closure," she gets up. "This area is somewhat in the open. Maybe we should move somewhere else."

He follows suit. "Do you... still have the greenhouse's keys?"

"I thought the same," she lightly giggles. "Of course. It seems that nobody noticed it yet."

They head for the other side of the campus. Foliage torn apart by the storms gets blown around. Whenever there's a flurry ahead, the two politely give way to it. Anthos is peculiarly nervous, having to walk next to Maure again.

"These past days, I wasn't at peace... I kept thinking about us," he confesses to her. "I'm still on the rebound, I never got rid of it. I need to make peace, and you're the first I should have it with."

June blinks slowly, the corners of her lips turned down wistfully. His peace would be in her own interest as well, she doesn't want her conscience tainted by a poorly executed break-up.

They get to the University's greenhouse pretty quickly. Looking into the dusty glass windows for anyone inside, Maure stealthly unlocks the doors.

The advantage Olive used to have with a girlfriend in her last year is that she's basically got access everywhere. June sweet-talked enough lecturers to gain their trust and valuable access privileges. Olive used to illegitimately sneak into this greenhouse, which was reserved only for researchers and students crying over their dissertations. Compared to Kelp Dome, this one's a small glass house, administered solely by students and their supervisors, and both groups are lacking any sense of organisation. If you've got any business here, you ignore all the unkempt crap owned by anyone else and know exactly where to find your tools and subjects. Otherwise, you're not able to walk in without stepping on something, be it a hose or a pair of shears.

It's easy to see there's been many generations of studies held here, from the roots of some plants poking out of the floor, to the dozens of nursery pots placed on stacks of shelves. Back when Olive and June were still happy and did sappy things together, they claimed their own little nursery pot, and planted some seeds from the strawberries they've had that day. Naturally, the sprout's dead now, it lost its purpose and Olive wasn't able to come in without June's willingness.

The two find themselves some free space to perch from, with some difficulty. For this discussion, Olive's entire state of mind is shifted to what it was a month ago, though he references the reflections he'd had lately.

"Last time, when you made me come over, I know I said something I shouldn't have."

His inner voice repeats it: "I won't be as happy without you by my side."

June knows exactly what he's talking about. Though, she's seeing it objectively. "My reaction was wrong, you have no blame for saying it. It's true that you had stronger feelings than I did."

"Why was that the tipping point?" He asks with a defeated tone, holding his interlocked hands to his face.

“I would've explained at the time, though I believed you wouldn’t have taken it the right way. It wasn't at all appropriate for the situation. Looking back on it, my reasoning was rather misguided.”

He wants no holding back. "I'm going through something, June. I want to view myself in a different light. I sure don't see enough from my spot. Be honest, tell me whatever you felt."

Maure pauses to muster the courage to say it, as clear as day.

"There were certainties about you that didn't align with mine. You aren't someone who takes the first step, you always wait on the other, out of comfort. You are clingy, though you disguise it as being endearing. You are demanding, though you aren't asking for anything in an obvious manner. You suffocate a person, and afterwards, said person feels guilty for wanting space, for the sole reason you're never ill intended," a frown slipped on June's expression. It's something rare. She shakes back to her usual, tactful self. " ...I'm sorry. I shouldn't-"

Realising he's standing completely still, from all these successive blows, Olive snaps back. "It was me, wasn't it? If I only knew my flaws, we could've kept-"

"No. You know a relationship is not one dimensional," she imposes. His interjection struck her as immature, and she had expected a mature talk. "There were my flaws, along with yours, that brought our end."

"What I'm saying is that, if I knew about them earlier, we would've suffered less," he insists stubbornly.

"Augh, Olive. No. That's where the fault lies in. You know your flaws well enough, and yet you still want to hear them from myself. You were in some degree aware of whatever I'm saying, however, you wanted me to be your path to self improvement. I'm your ex, I shouldn't find the solutions for your what could have been s."

He's stunned. He's got the raw truth, which, in the long run, should help more than a sugarcoated version of it.

"All you said," he murmurs, "it applied to us."

"I've been honest, as you wished. Maybe too harsh in some places. I should not have–"

Olive's dejected. "I'm so sorry. I failed to learn something from our... Oh no. June,"  he begins even more upset, "I haven't changed."

"Do not change just for the sake of change. I like to think I haven't dated just anyone, and dated you for a reason. Sadly," she adjusts the strap of her purse, something she often did whenever she was ready to go, "I cannot help you more than this. It is all on you, it's about you. You choose what stays and what goes, not I. Someone might love you for some of the reasons I've enumerated. That is no reason to stay unhappy with yourself, though. You deserve good, you are a gentle soul."

His heart's maybe tenser, but he shouldn't forget that he's also doing this to be at peace, including with her. Her conclusions aren't made of hard feelings, as he always imagined.

"Thank you, June. I needed this."

At last, the legitimate resident of this house makes an appearance.

They catch each other's stares for a split second, Olive's from the couch, Rodi's from the doormat. The green inkling's got his lover's name on the tip of his tongue, though he keeps quiet to see what happens.

Afterwards, as if nothing's there, Rodi wipes his shoes, closes the door, reads the electricity meters, and goes for the table. His phone has been sitting in the middle of it untouched. He has the audacity to take his phone days after vanishing, and doing it without even acknowledging Olive's presence. The younger inkling sits and watches this entire play, with his ink progressively simmering. He doesn't squeak until Rodi turns towards the exit.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"Do I have to say anything, Olive?"

"At least a sorry. That's all I needed. I've been looking for you... I'm worried sick for you!"

"I'm alright on my own. How about you stop worrying about me, since you don't have a reason."

Olive's voice becomes low-pitched. “I should be worried alright, you’ve left your phone right after that night. If I can't be worried, then what should I even feel?”

“Easy. Nothing. I’m here, I got the phone now. You should stop worrying now.”

You would get to see Olive truly crossed only once in a blue moon, and yet the sight of his blasé partner managed to become the final straw. From his shoes, there's no chance to allow this without serious retaliation, however, he curbs his temper before he says anything hurtful. After all, he's the one receiving insidious, hurtful points of view from the opposite side of the room.

“You can’t ask that from someone who loves you,” he says it less scornful, more sorrowful than he believed he would.

A sharp inhale scratches Rodi's lungs. He takes his hand off the doorknob. A vein visibly popped off his neck.

Completely giving up on the impersonal air he fabricated, he lets a low growl. "This isn’t what you think it is, you've got it wrong. You want me for the wrong reasons."

"... Wrong ?! These are my feelings we're talking about here!" Olive gasps in his brisk speech. "My feelings aren't a wrong reason, what the hell!"

"Pipe down. You know how this whole thing started. We should've kept it like that."

His voice is taut from frustration. "We started this because we needed each other!"

"I didn't need shit from you, do you want me to remind? Only you did, and it was my house, that's the only thing I owed you! You never owed me anything in return, it was your choice to keep company for a lonely fuck like me. And? Keep it up like that, if you still want me, you masochist."

The insult cuts into Anthos, yet speaking up was worth the injury. Rodi's hesitantly hovering around the door, postponing his rush out.

The green inkling’s hands claw up from his partner's caprices. "Fuck! Fine! I'd do it for you, I'd consider staying with you just out of selfishness, if you'd explain your goddamn reasoning! You never told me anything like this before! You've left me in the haze for this entire time, I can't tell what goes in your head anymore!" What he says becomes more heartfelt: "We know why we started it, but why did you keep at it? For what?"

Anthos's no stranger to why he had kept Rodi around. It gets more and more jarring that Rodi's the one unable to agree to said reason.

"I'll admit, I don't know why I kept going," he turns to face. "I had no reason, we amount to nothing. You saw enough red flags to expect something like this. Come on, can we finish bickering, I need to-"

"Stop lying to yourself, if you can't be honest with me!" Olive's too fired up to let him leave. "Why did you even start dating me then? Where's the goal, the purpose, the finish line? You don't start a thing without a goal! You can't keep doing these things if you know where they'll be heading! You just can't fuck around like that!"

Isandro's glower is worse than before. "Why do people end up broken after years of being together, huh? Was that fucking around on their part, Olive? By your logic, I should very well be fucking around, like everybody does! Who the hell ever told me what I'd end up feeling before dipping into it? Just because I caught feelings doesn't mean it should've happened."

"Then, will you admit that your feelings are your real reason? After you just claimed I have the wrong ones...?!"

“Really? You want to know my reasons? You could start by making some fucking reasons for me first!" The words went from growled to screamed. It's unpleasant, but Olive stands his ground as Rodi storms towards him. "Do something fucked up! Come on! Do something to prove you’re as scummy, so I’ll also let myself be, so we have real reasons to end this!” Rodi’s inches away from his face. “Come on!! I’ve waited too much! Make one fucking mistake!”

Rodi's really testing the limits of Olive's nerves. The two freeze mid-flinch, anticipating the situation to turn for the worst. Though, the intention backfires and their impulsive rage dwindles in this lapse. Found only at a nose's reach, Rodi's hostile demeanour fizzles down, he then lowers himself down from the tip of his toes. Olive can see Rodi's eyes better, overwrought, glossy and fogged up. He raises his hand, not to harm, but to place it on the other's chest.

“Stop, I don't want to hurt you.”

The pacifism pulls on a heartstring, though Rodi guides the hand off him. "Remember that you're not the first one who got in my bed. Do you know what happened to everyone who did? They were nice, they kept their word and got their ass out of here. Simple, right? But, apparently, the concept's too difficult for you."

For only this time, Olive can take the blame for being too naive and hopeful. But he simply can't accept anything that Rodi's said up to that. "This doesn’t make sense. What made you start denying everything that's happened between us? You're coiling us up in this harm..."

Rodi's voice becomes loud, close to begging: "I'm doing this for both of us, you thick-headed mule! You weren't supposed to be with me! You were better off in your mother's backyard, without me as your crutch! I shouldn't have ever offered my home! You’re stressing me up, affecting my job, and I'm supposedly harming you! ...I can't call this love!"

The final sentence hauntingly rings through the room.

"Call me whatever you want," Olive speaks low, "but don't give names to our relationship, 'cause that was love, and this is the closest you've ever gotten to love. Are you forgetting what we shared? Or ignoring it...? We've got the nights, the secrets... I can't doubt it, you've still got something for me, care for me, even right now, even after hearing the sort of shit you can say," Olive's verdant eyes grow wide, the contradictions paint the bigger picture. "You could only do this out of fear. You’re so scared of showing more weaknesses in front of me, just 'cause you freaked out a bit, that you've turned delusional. This isn't you, it's not the guy I fell in love with."

Isandro sighs from exhaustion. "You know what? You're completely right. These are my true colours. You never fell in love with this," his expression is colder. "It's my fault as well, I've tried to make this easier for you. Maybe I was too easy. Maybe I didn't try my best," he turns to the door again, pulling on the doorknob with no self-restraint. He's leaving for real this time.

"...I'm not that much of an idiot, Rodi. I know your true colours, even now while you're nothing but a coward," Olive gets ready to tail him, "a coward that twists everything to fit his storyline!"

When he peeks his head through the apartment's door, he realises he underestimated Rodi's pace. He's already a flight down the stairs, and Olive’s instincts instantly drive him out, hot on his trail. “Can’t you come up with better fucking endings?! I don't want to be your stepping stone to nothing!”

Yet, he can't see his red blur. Olive’s got enough adrenaline to go for it all, he descends as fast as he can. He skips over two or three stairs at once.

He continues to shout through his panting. "At least make me useful! What the hell will you do after?! Find another idiot like me?!"

On the first floor corridor, there are some windows to the street. He takes a passing glance in his run. Isandro's swinging his leg over the fuchsia motorcycle's saddle, and rushing to stick his keys in it. This isn't good. Olive starts panicking.

He screams down the stairs. There's little air left in his lungs. "Rodi! ...Say something!”

He nearly trips over the final stairs, he catches himself before falling. Keeping his momentum from the run, he slams his entire upper body into the building's doors. They're forced open. The impact might've bruised his shoulder. The sunlight beams straight into his eyes.

And in a last attempt, he lets out a long, trembling wail. " Rodi!! "

A flock of sparrows flees from a nearby tree into the sky.

He's already gone.

The red-inked man already made off with his motorcycle. The harsh revving noises blot the echoes of the scream. The sounds dissolve between farther streets. He's left to the distinct silence of the world outside Rodi's home.

Anthos suddenly goes blank. He never burst out like this in his entire life. He never acted like this. The pent up anger and sadness he'd been bottling up made him explode.

He's overcome by a feeling of lightheadedness, he could very well faint over the entrance's staircase. He's numb, nothing can be felt anymore. He manages to be standing upright in this moment, merely because he can't feel anything else. His breath can't keep up with the rate of his wound up heart, affected both by the chase and intense emotions.

His shoulder... he discovers he can't raise it without causing a stinging pain. The numbness transforms into a throbbing ache, rippling to the rest of his body. An overpowering wave of regret washes over him.

Time's running slow again. It's wrong. The abandoned corner he struggled so much to bring to life... Gloved hands pull the defenceless roots with no mercy. Garden scissors snip every living part of it away. The soil that was giving life is thrown in wheelbarrows.

He wants to shout, but there's nothing in him to let the noise out. His legs are failing him. He needs to make one step forwards, to raise one heavy leg and...

Blackout.

A splash of ice cold water to his face and a wet slap bring his consciousness back. He'd been hit with something rather solid, it can't be a palm. A spider crab's bright yellow appendage finds itself right in front of his face.

“We’ve had peeps taken down by the greenhouse heat, but ya strait' up toppled down outta nowhere! Issit serious?"

That coworker's accent is easy to recognise, thankfully.

Olive struggles to open his eyes, the light is too harsh. It takes a minute for him to process the question and shake his head in disagreement.

"Well then! Have you been eatin’?”

“Nnnghh.”

Desi doesn't hear his puny moan. After he forces out a louder whine, she responds snappy: "Start eatin'! How ye gunna stand up otherwise?"

Where the hell is he, the tech room? The smell of motor oil is pungent. The fans constantly whirring are spinning his head. There's so many annoyances, he can't articulate a proper sentence.

At least he didn't knock himself out for good. He seems... fine. Desi's not sure on how to handle him from now on. She switches her look at Olive and outside the tech room repeatedly, ready to spring back to whatever she's been doing before the scare.

“Also... yer sector manager told me ya get a break to get back on yer feet, make sure ya do before coming back! I know ya love yer green fellas, but issa tough job!”

“Thank you Desi... I can handle it from here,” he finally mumbles.

Though, who can eat with no appetite? He feels like putting nothing through his throat, not even air.

It wouldn't be wise to go straight to work right after suddenly fainting. It'd be for the best to do as told. His break shouldn't last more than half an hour. He goes for a directionless walk.

During it, he passes a mom and pop shop, which is currently closed. By the handwritten note in the window, the owners have taken time off and are currently on a vacation, somewhere nice hopefully. Olive can choose this corner as his hideaway, as there’s a small chance someone would stumble on him. These side alleys are only for the residents. Their homes are also quiet and still, holiday season is at its peak this time of the year. He hides in the shade of a wall, sitting himself on the pavement. Using his crossed legs as his armrest, he brings his phone’s contacts up and looks for a particular one. Rodi’s got his phone on him for now at least, so Olive gives a shot in the dark and calls.

It rings, and rings, though there’s no answer. Isandro doesn’t even have his voicemail set up, and he’s surely busy or pretending he didn’t see. Olive’s disappointed, though not surprised.

However, he didn’t expect Rodi calling back right after. Feeling his ink rush in his veins, he picks up.

“Rodi? Hi..?”

“Got something?”

“There's this thing... I need your help, I’m sorry. It’s a lot to ask for.”

“Cut the sorries and say it.”

“I found another apartment, but I need to pay the rent in advance. It’s for the entire year, it’s not small. Can you...”

“What? A fucking year?”

Olive mentions the grand total of it, more than any young adult could handle, even when there’s two of them.

“You’re getting scammed again,” Rodi bluntly puts it.

The thought didn't cross his troubled mind yet, but now that he says it... “Most likely.”

“Yeah, I don’t have that coin, I just made a big shot here. I bought Beryl’s old bar off.”

“...You bought her bar?!” It comes as a bit of a shock.

“It was an old deal. I guess I'm still experimenting. I want to see how it is to have a business of my own. It’ll pay off once I set up and get myself some staff... Whatever. If there isn’t anything else, I’ll hang up.”

Olive goes into alert, he can’t hang up yet. He blurts the first thing on his mind. “A-! Are you eating well?”

“What?”

“...Are you eating well?” he enunciates.

Suddenly, there’s deafening silence on Rodi’s end. He’s unable to respond. It was very much out of the blue. Olive doesn't waste anymore time and uses his chance.

“I- I haven’t spent time with you lately... I don’t know if you’re well or not anymore. You can be a bit reckless, you see... Do you think it rubbed on me? Because... I just fainted at work, and they’ve told me it’s because I don’t eat well. Please, stay healthy, you have a demanding job. Don’t strain your body too much. Make sure you treat it well, it does a lot for you... I’m so worried, I don’t want you to also faint out there, wherever the hell you are...” Olive’s got some tears slowly rolling off, though the changes in his voice can’t be detected over the phone. “I might end up working in Kelp Dome longer than I thought. If you need sleep, but don't want to see me, I'm not around the house during working hours. You can rest then. I can stay overtime if you need more hours. Does that sound good?"

...Neither self-sacrifice will make Isandro respond.

"It’s weird huh, It’s usually you that talks a lot, and I sit there and listen, but... If you’re busy, just hang up. I said the important bits.”

...Nothing. Rodi doesn’t say or do anything. Olive freezes with his lips parted, before he continues unprompted. The words run by themselves.

“I... I saw them destroy it, that plant I brought back to life. It came with no warning, all my work went to waste. I knew I was taking a risk with it, but I hoped I could’ve gotten something nice out of it. The thing that upsets me the most is that I haven’t gotten a chance to get a trimming, to show you... Or to grow my own, like you liked to say,” he gives a sad giggle and sniffs. “I can’t... I don’t think I’ll be able to take all of my plants with me once I move out. It's stupid, but they mean a lot for me, and I can't keep all them around. I’m attached so much, way too much...” he feels his heart rip as he says it. “You can keep using them as decorations, it doesn't matter if they end up dying. Maybe... If they take up too much space, maybe put them in your new bar, if you want. Or give them away... But please, please just don't ever throw them away...!”

And that’s where his voice breaks, and the telephone lines can’t hide how often he’s sniffing.

Why is he suddenly worrying about his houseplants? It’s irrelevant in regards to anything that has been turning him sleepless. It’s his least worry, probably, and he ended up crying like a baby. Admittedly, it's his weak spot, but it wouldn't ever bring him to such an ugly cry. It's clearly not the real reason. Instead of sparking a fight again, his words bring up the simplest, most naive matters. The suffering's still there, the wounds are fresh, though he's talking about any other insignificant thing as if their personal troubles are a thing of the past. The stinging pain appears. All those stab wounds, from all the ruthless words they've said before, they're finally bleeding. They're burning holes in his chest.

His subconscious recites his never ending whys, ones he's too afraid to ask. Why do you always run? Why did you let me scream at you? Why did you bring me to saying those things?

I didn’t want to have the last word.

Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter.

Olive stops squinting the tears out of his eyes. He looks bewildered to the ground. The flowerbed he's been leaning over is glittering...? He rubs his eyes into his wrist to clear his sight. Teardrops are scattered all over the grass blades and red tulips. They slide off the taller plants, leaving them softly glistening, and drop onto the lower ones to settle.

Another drop falls on top of his head, he ducks from the unexpected sensation. There weren't only his tears, but also raindrops. Olive got distracted by the strange, sudden rainfall, which lived for so little that the heatwave wasn't interrupted at all.

In this moment of lucidity, he figures out there's no sound coming from his phone. Checking if the call's still going cleared his suspicion. Rodi's still there, though with his receiver turned off. If there is a chance to say something good, it's this one. Alas, nothing comes out of Anthos anymore. There won't be a response if he says something, there will also be none if nothing is said.

He waits a minute, two, three, while the tears stream at a steadier pace. The silent treatment is to no avail. Admitting complete defeat for his hopes, Olive finally hangs up. It feels terrible, though his legs hold his weight enough to walk again, without dragging his feet.

He returns to his workplace with swollen eyes. He does as told. No more incidents occur by the time he clocks out. Before setting off, his manager checks up on him one more time. He's fine now, he swears, there's no more palpitations and mushy knees to bring him to the ground.

However, when it comes to that accursed Blackbelly Street apartment, his health acts up in the most bizarre ways. No wonder he fainted, his worst symptoms started right from this house. Back here, he stands in the middle of the living room doing his reality check, keeping an eye out for any early signs of toppling down again.

The bedroom door’s cracked open. He probably didn’t close it properly when leaving in the morning. However, on a closer look, Olive sees something he believed he wouldn't so soon.

Rodi's collapsed on his side of the bed, with his face buried in a pillow. He's not yet changed into his comfier home clothes, he most likely threw himself on the bed as soon as he returned. Olive treads carefully, as to not wake him up. He softly comes closer, to check on the red inkling. He seems fine, there's no signs that something bad has happened.

It seems that Rodi listened to the entire call. He didn’t ignore Olive’s words. The younger inkling’s expression softens up, he kneels besides his side of the bed. His lover’s back raises and lowers in his nap, Olive trails his eyes on the hills and valleys he used to traverse. He might be pushing it too far, though there’s something in him that wants to lightly run the back of his hand over Rodi’s arm.

"Let me be," the pomegranate inkling croaks. Though he won't take his face out of the pillow.

He doesn’t pull his hand away, Olive's been basically told to buzz off, but that won't stop him from stroking his lover's back. The warmth that radiates from under his palm, he missed it, even for these few days. He presses just a little more on the spots that would make Rodi sigh in relief, which he religiously learned before. His fingers go for the shoulders, but the knots felt under the skin are disheartening Olive. He pushes the black shirt's hem and notices plum bruises spanning the entirety of his lover's shoulder.

Isandro's been pushing himself too hard. He senses that Olive's just discovered this. In case he didn't get the point the first time, Rodi repeats himself. "Let me be..." he sighs before giving in. He can't keep himself awake anymore.

The week of awkward weather changes is slowly coming to an end. This Friday morning has been blessed with gentle, warm sunlight. It shouldn’t rain anymore, the weather lady announces with glee.

While the TV talks to itself, Olive keeps his come and go around the room. He will eventually turn it off and sit himself with a mug at the kitchen table. He's still drowsy, he's taking most of his time in the mornings to shake off the symptoms of moderate lack of sleep. Recently, in order to wake himself up, he tries manning the coffee machine, which works as intended only at a flip of a coin. The chances are still 50/50, though it's as if it's resilient to any of Olive's fixes, just to spite him.

While he bangs the top of the machine with every side of his palm, he feels the air shift from where he’s at. As silent and featherweight as he always is, Rodi passes by en route to his seat at the table. Rodi has stayed incredibly silent since returning. Any encounters around the house with him were quick and tense, and they hadn't even exchanged a word. Giving up on the coffee machine and settling for warm milk, Olive sits opposite of him. Rodi doesn't acknowledge his presence, he continues fidgeting with a stack of spiral-bound card stock. The tension can be physically felt, though it could also be the higher air pressure from all the sudden weather shifts. There are moments, including this one, when there could be something said, but both seem to overthink and question themselves.

And yet, out of all such moments, Isandro picks this one to talk.

"The day I circled, remember that?" The card stock he's been roughing up turns out to be his bedside calendar, he places it on the table, "It's today."

It's too early for this, too early in the morning.

"I haven't found another apartment," Olive speaks with his nose in the mug.

"Bullshit, you didn't even go looking for another."

"Look. If it bothers you so, I can pay the rent."

"We didn't agree on rent, we agreed on one month . Stick to the deal, or it'll be as good as nothing."

"Have some patience," he groans, "you know what happened to my contract."

Rodi’s patience runs short. "You came here on a condition."

Olive gets a little nauseous, he's scared they could end up blindly fighting like before. He knew he couldn't avoid this discussion, but he also sincerely wanted for Rodi to forget about it and drop the conditions. He won't look into his direction.

"It's either your mum's house or some friend's, or you'll keep staying here against my will."

"I can't burden them."

"But you're burdening me. You're stalling me at this point." Rodi plainly states, "I can't damage control anymore. We aren't even fucking anymore, so I don't know what you still want out of me. We settled on the date before we knew it’d turn like this, so you're freeloading me at this point."

While saying all of that, he didn't observe Olive quietly tearing up at his words, holding back from sniffling.

"Why are you crying?"

Olive wipes his eyes with his thumb. "You don't want to do this."

That throws Rodi off guard. He can only watch as Olive tries to fight against his inhibiting crying.

Through the dried tears on his cheeks, Olive rasps. "I can feel it, you're struggling to say it. You would've told me to fuck off earlier if you really wished for it. I don't think this will make us happier in the long run."

"I don't do it to be happy , I do it because that's what's supposed to happen anyway."

"Don't you ever think of what happens after anything you do?"

Rodi stares back at Olive, unable to answer his snarky question. On a closer look, he can notice how darkened and bloodshot Olive's eyes got. His gut twists.

"Of course you don't. You don't even know what you'll do after this," his tears are coming back, though not as big and heavy.

"Olive, neither you know what to do next. Look at yourself," the nasal voice finally cracks, "you're at my pity ."

It's the last drop. Ultimately, pity turns to be the word that cuts the deepest wound. Olive's held-back sobs rapidly turn louder and louder. "Yeah, I am. ...Your pity." Saying it again, he gets more distressed, he’s losing grip faster than before. He spends so much effort trying to get the words out, he keeps choking over his sobs. "I... I should've... said nothing. And kept my dignity. ...But, tell me, if I leave...”

He's close to drowning into his tears, any hope of someone pulling him out of them is completely lost.

If he's got one final wish, it would be the most selfless one. Olive cries out, feeling every piece of his heart shatter. “Will you feel better...?"

And he shuts his teary eyes in defeat. He lets his whole being crash and burn onto itself, curling his spine inwards. Big teardrops and loud, scratchy cries muffled in his palm storm from his face. With gritted teeth, he falls prey to his emotions. His tears roll by the corners of his mouth, the taste of them brings the feeling of the stinging saltwater. He’s sinking, dissolving in it. The saltwater hits his chest's invisible wounds, he expects a scalding, though the water's cold, as cold as the reality they're in.

He really is at his mercy. And looking back at the beginning, Rodi thought this would be a little getaway with another stranger. But, this time, he can't dispose of him. Olive just asked the right question, the most painful one. He tried to seal in any leaking signs of distress, but it just doesn't seem fair anymore for him to be toughing it out, whilst his partner is desperate and crumbling in front of his face.

Rodi will be honest with himself. What he sees is heartwrenching. It breaks him. It makes him tear up on his part.

No, he won't feel better. He feels horrible, vile, a brute. He doesn't want to be a brute. He’s had enough brutes in his life. The state of denial he's been living in has collapsed. He reconsiders the situation, albeit too late. He's suddenly trying to fix a train wreck that's just happened because of him.

He's clueless about consoling someone mid-breakdown, especially while he's on the brink of his own. He jumps to wrap Olive's bent body with his arms, struggling to reach him entirely. He grips tight, around the shoulders and the back of his head, and Olive slides off the chair. His partner kneels and he gets pulled besides him. Anthos holds his breath while in his arms to quiet down, though that doesn’t stop Rodi from feeling him shake in his grasp. It makes his ink run cold.

He'll end up thrown to the hounds of the streets. It's the bitter end, and Olive doesn't want to drag this on hopelessly anymore. Once he can open his eyes back, he weakly whispers and pushes away from the other.

"I'll pack up...”

Suddenly, Rodi's internal voice is deafening, incomprehensible. He bites his inner lip harshly and keeps his fangs digging in, to not let any sound escape.

What a coward he truly is. He couldn't fight his own fears and brought down another person with him. It feels so wrong to bring such a stubborn being to no hope.

He regrets anything said before. He regrets being so short-sighted since the beginning. Just to prove himself right, he started lying, denying to himself. He doesn't want to say no to better things anymore. This is better, because he had let himself be vulnerable in front of the other for countless times. And it never felt wrong, only safe.

The conflicting thoughts are grinding on his mind. He bites harder.

Anthos notices some bleeding seeping out of his lip. "No...! Don't..." he raises his hands and stops them mid-way, not knowing what to do with them.

The other absorbed the overwhelming sentiment Olive had. It gets mixed with his own dread and deepest fears, and he's now unable to feel anything else, not even the damage done to his lip, and how it started dripping onto their clothes. Each pure red drop that hits his shirt and Olive's is distinctly heard.

Even when he's absolutely heartbroken, Olive still has enough compassion for Rodi to keep him from harming himself. Olive embraces him back with scared, shaky hands, and gets him closer, more sheltered.

And Rodi has never felt as shaken by physical touch as of now. After acting like the scum of the earth, he'd still get treated with Olive's gentle gestures.

On the outside, Rodi's aching deceivingly looks like it subdued. Though there's no piece of stability left inside him to hang on from. The conflict is unbearable, his heart is under pressure, he's feeling too many things at once.

So hell breaks loose, the pomegranate inkling lets his loudest wail, sharper than ever, before smashing his face into the other's chest.

It takes control of him, he pulls at Olive's shirt with fists sealed shut, pushing his head into his body at every long wail. The harsher he screams, the more he can feel his throat burning. He hammers in sobs and cries in that chest, and instead of a dismissing, he gets clutched even stronger in that unsure hold.

He tries to speak. His bawls are fuzzy in the tear and ink stained shirt.

"Stay! Stay!!"

And the word keeps echoing, until the sound merges into itself and only forms a strained whimper. Stay, stay ... By the end, nothing else will come out. No sobs, no screeches, it gets dead quiet after Rodi finishes his mantra. The clock’s ticking. The air’s heavy. Anthos doesn’t dare to open his eyes, unless he feels kept-back breaths escape from his partner.

"I'm so tired, Olive," he weakly cries to himself.

Olive nods into his shoulder, he can share the sentiment.

He lets his arms fall to Rodi’s sides. Rodi raises his head and attempts to sit upright, he looks drained and lifeless. He can barely talk, though he goes on.

"I'm so sorry. I should've trusted you. Don't leave..."

The apologies may not relieve Olive from how he felt, but there's no place for pettiness. Rodi still is and will be his glimmer of hope. A glimmer of hope and doubt. Sending off a worn out stare, Olive brushes his fingertips across his love’s cheek.

"Teach me better, because I don't know who else would." A teardrop escapes the carmine eyes, though Olive catches it before it falls. Rodi's swollen lip shakes before his final say. "You're love itself."

A sigh escapes the green inkling, and they hold onto each other once more, to get rid of the killing pressure that flooded their hearts. Rodi settles better in Olive's arms. Thus, sitting silently, focusing more on how hearts tick, instead of clocks, the waters finally calm down. No more tears, no more strained vocal cords. They started their love on touch, and touch is what grounds them.

They stare at anything but themselves during this time. It takes a lot of courage out of Rodi to look into Olive’s eyes.

And what Olive’s eyes tell are indescribable emotions, of both love and heartbreak, contempt and compassion, understanding and confusion. Anthos can see his partner’s willing vulnerability, how he’s ready for any response, painful or relieving. Forgiveness would be a lot to ask for.

Both sound more raspy than ever, but there's a bit of warmth still hanging on their words.

"Next time you pull this kind of shit I will faint again," Anthos deadpanned, looking straight into the begging eyes.

They light up. "I won't. No. ...I think I'm at your pity now."

His fingers brush against another one of his lover's tears. "Nobody's at anyone's pity, really.”