I am still alive!

I did a Thing to my computer, a Very Silly Thing, and I broke it for a good two months. It was very tragic. Especially whenever I had to explain to people why it wasn't working. Turns out trying to optimise your computer while also on strong pain medication is a recipe for disaster. Disaster only had two ingredients and I wielded both.

Anyway, past the boring stuff. I've been working on this one for a while. I wrote out the first five thousand words then immediately discarded that and started again. Progress! I've had some requests for stories, which I will also be working on. Thus far, I have this one planned for multiple chapters.

Here's to praying my writing skills have not gone to seed during The Great OS Black Out of '15.

Unbeta'd, as per usual. Please point out any grave mistakes.

"All alone, little Libra?"

Libra froze just in front of the turnstile, his card poised over the electronic reader. One more step and he would have tapped his way to salvation.

He'd managed to avoid his tormentors for the duration of the fieldtrip, which was a miracle in of itself. Two museums and a historical park didn't provide the best hiding places, but he found if he kept a close orbit around Chrom and his pack of friends the others would keep their distance.

Perhaps that was why they had managed to creep up on him now – lulled into a false sense of security, Libra had hurried on ahead of his classmates in the hope of catching an earlier train back to Central and then on to Naga's Rest. It would have simplified his travel home, but so would keeping a step behind Chrom, or even Sully.

They had invited him out after school again, off to the cafes, game stores and bookshops they were so fond of frequenting. But Libra was acutely aware of his perpetually empty pockets and always made his excuses. Despite this, he wished fervently he had taken them up on their offer this time. Better to be the tragically poor kid than the tragically pummelled kid.

Libra was shaken from his thoughts by a huge, meaty hand clamping down on his shoulder – the touch made his skin shiver and slump, his muscles turned to water by the proximity of another person. They knew he hated being touched, hated any sort of contact, which was part of the reason why they insisted on their rough shoulder pats and punches. Libra tried to be generous, tried to remind himself they truly had no idea how much the slightest brush shook him to his core and left some deep, weak part of him quivering uncontrollably.

Or maybe they did know. Libra cursed his history teacher's bright idea to come out to Crossroad Garden.

"Oi, drag queen." Libra was shaken hard enough to nearly dislodge his backpack; through his long fringe he caught a glimpse of his primary bully. Garrick was an idiot, but that was as far as he went on his own. Libra could tolerate him on even his worst day. It was the elder brother leering over his shoulder which made him break out in a cold sweat. Roddick goaded his dim-witted younger brother every chance he got, and Garrick was so keen to impress his sibling he often went overboard. Libra had to hide more than one black eye and destroyed textbook from the sisters at the church orphanage.

"Gone deaf, little lady?" Garrick crowed, earning himself an approving snigger from his brother. Garrick's fingers dug into his back, Libra's shoulder felt like an overripe plum where the bigger boy had touched him and the gate was so achingly close. It was nearly three o'clock, weren't they creating a major obstruction to the flow of foot traffic? Looking around, Libra realised most of those around him were students, and they broke and flowed around the group like water. They knew trouble when they saw it.

Libra resigned himself to tender mercies, unable to stop a sigh escaping from his lips. He had been so close…

"Libra, come join us!" Chrom, past the faregate with his friends and waving madly at him. Sully, Frederick, and Vaike beckoned him over as well, though he saw Sully's eyes subtly narrow when they flickered over to Garrick and his crew.

Garrick's hand snatched away from his shoulder as though it suddenly grew a set of teeth. Libra acted purely on instinct then, though it was the one geared solely towards short term survival – his elbow jerked back violently and nailed Garrick in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs with a surprisingly delicate 'whumf', simultaneously slamming his card down on the reader.

That ding of approval was the sweetest sound he'd heard all day. Garrick staggered backwards right into his brother, whose wild flailing brought down their two other cronies. Libra sprinted through the open barrier, his hair flying free of his habitual braid with his turn of speed. He heard Garrick bellow with rage but Libra didn't bother to even turn his head - any distraction would slow him down, and while he could outrun Garrick, his brother could easily outpace him.

Chrom began to move forward, gaze focused over Libra's head and his smile rapidly falling into a hard grimace. Libra didn't need to look to know that Garrick had cleared the turnstile.

Libra didn't stop for Chrom – he was too far gone, too lost in adrenalin to seek shelter with them. He took a hard left six feet from the group and into the mouth of a wide corridor – stairs lead alternatively up and down to their respective platforms, and the numbers whipped past in a blur.

His teachers wanted him to try out for track. Libra wanted to find his train and go home or, as a back-up plan, out of this city.

In his haste Libra almost ran past his platform; taking the stairs three at a time to platform 25 and 26, Libra was viscerally aware of the pounding footsteps behind him, and it was this sickening terror of being caught that drove him into the packed platform and the thick swarm of teenagers. Several people screamed, some playfully and others in annoyance, but Libra ignored them all. There was a train due to depart; he had burst out at the last carriage, a rickety old thing barely still qualified to carry passengers.

It was perfect, and Libra began to real struggle towards the still open doors.

"Hey – Libra, wait up!" Panicked, Libra squeezed through the press of high school students, ignoring their gasps and protests. He was still two feet from the door and boxed in by tittering, bewildered teenagers when the shrill blast of a whistle cut through the air – his salvation was seconds from being out of his grasp.

Libra felt a hand land deliberately on his shoulder, and the burst of adrenalin which followed was enough to propel him out of the crush, through the narrowing gap and onto the train's sticky floor. He heard his name called out once again, the voice surprised and resonantly deep, before the elderly doors finally shuddered shut.

Wincing, Libra rolled over, trying to ignore the way his trousers griped the unclean floor. Through scratched, spray painted glass Chrom was frantically trying to get his attention, one finger jabbing madly at a point above Libra's head. Confused, Libra followed his gaze, craning his neck until his gaze landed on the only thing Chrom could have been pointing at.

His heart turned cold, and sank into his stomach. The train jerked, squeaking along ancient tracks.

The screen above the opposite door scrolled through the scheduled stops. Threnody – Footrot - Agnetha Village – Berrymarket – Haywood - West Haywood – Hourglass – West Hourglass –

The bright orange block letters continued sliding, sealing Libra's apparent fate. He was already too far west for his comfort – this train wouldn't take him home as he so desperately hoped. Only further west, closer to the outskirts of the city and to the terrible wild places beyond.

He needed the modern trains on platform 25, and in his haste he'd boarded the first train in sight.

"Libra!" Libra jerked his head back to the door – the train had started to gather speed but Chrom was valiantly running alongside it, the sea of people in front parting obediently to clear his path. "Libra, just get a train back to Central!" Fear contorted the boy's face briefly, and Chrom was abruptly reminded of Libra's encounter with his daily tormentor's. "We'll be there to pick you up, okay? We'll meet you on the platform at Central, get off at – "

Chrom disappeared midsentence, blurred crowds and blue hair replaced by fluorescent lights and deep shadows as they passed into the tunnel.

His heart had thawed, but now it pounded sickly in his chest. Get off where? At Threnody? Haywood was the more likely spot in his mind as it was the last major hub, but it was also notorious for the influx of students from Northroad Public School – his stomach churned at the thought.

Realising he was still sprawled out on the floor – idiot – Libra shakily pulled himself up, hanging onto pole for support. He took a moment to gather himself and look around. Despite the crowd on the platform this particular carriage was sparsely populated. Libra figured it was the state of the carriage itself which drove people away – it had been tacked on like an afterthought to the back of the sleek new machine which was now making good speed down the tracks. Minimal effort had gone into repairing the gashes in the tacky, cold vinyl seats; cold overhead lights flickered whenever the train took a corner, and the only bright colours came from the graffiti liberally coating the walls. The council had been trying to phase out these old beasts from active duty but a few of them still survived.

Libra turned his attention to the few occupants. A few seats away, a young office worker had tucked herself up against the window, angled so she wouldn't accidentally catch anyone's eye. For extra measure, she had half-curled herself around her phone, fingers dancing across the screen with a look of utmost concentration on her blue-lit face.

A preschool kid with his mother sat a few more seats down, scribbling in his colouring book with the solemnity of The Exalt signing a national decree. His mother, like the office worker, was preoccupied with her phone, occasionally providing a half-distracted mumble of approval when her child prompted her to look at his drawing.

Just beyond them, a girl almost drowning in a huge black sweater held her phone up to her face. Her eyes didn't even flicker, so she clearly wasn't interested in whatever was displayed on the screen. A young boy sat slightly behind her - he was handsome, in a slightly girlish way, and Libra felt a tired old curl of jealousy when he noted that even with his slightly feminine looks there was no way this guy would be outright mistaken for a girl. The boy, oblivious to his observer, pushed an errant lock of hair from his face and kept scrolling through his phone. The girl's phone twitched in response to the movement, and Libra surmised she was a silent admirer.

The last occupant was another girl, and she had been watching him the entire time.

Libra ducked his head instinctively – it was a bad time for it. The train took a sudden turn – unused to the route and unable to adjust, Libra fell heavily against the metal edge of a seat. Pain exploded in his hip, and a gasp of pain burst forth from his lips before he could stop it. For a few agonising seconds he was unable to regain his balance, the curve of the train still throwing him off, but after a few seconds he was able to clamber up.

All eyes were now on him, apart from the sweater girl, who obviously knew an opportunity when she saw one. Libra flushed crimson and wished he could sink through the floor. Maybe the train would be kind enough to finish him off.

His eyes were drawn back to the girl, as though his brain was unsatisfied with the disruption of his study. Now it seemed determined in drink in all the details. She was pretty, in a razor sharp kind of way – like how a broken window was pretty, all jagged edges and refracting light. She was around his age and wore no school uniform, instead wearing an embroidered blouse and yellow knee-length skirt, a peach-coloured ribbon catching up her white hair. Even to Libra, who would vehemently deny behaviour remotely considered feminine, knew it was entirely inappropriate for her.

Her face was – strange. Not deformed or ugly, just perfectly poised in a way that was almost alien. Slightly foreign, and those white locks marked her as having Plegian blood, that was clear as anything. Her eyes weren't cruel, or mocking, they were just…shuttered. They gave no hint to the person inside, as surely as a stone door sealed off a tomb.

One fine white brow rose in challenge to his stare, and once again Libra felt his cheeks heat. The girl smiled ever so slightly, a mere curving of her lips – though it was neither friendly nor warm, it was genuine.

Libra couldn't help but offer his own tiny, shy flutter of a smile in return.

He settled back into his own seat, slightly more relaxed with no real cause to name. The rest of the occupants had already returned to their devices, and a smooth female voice was already announcing the next stop through crackly speakers.

Libra peeped out the window when the train pulled into Threnody. It was a surprisingly small platform for a place to close to a sought-after university, and throngs of students were already pouring into the prettier carriages. Their chatter was bright, happy, and it made Libra ache deep inside his chest. Chrom and his friends did their best, and the times he could spend with the group were cherished as the rare gems they were, but he still orbited them distantly. They couldn't protect him from the isolation of their classmates, and Libra almost didn't want them to. As much as he longed for a friend, knowing they would be just as much a pariah as he was enough to keep him wilfully alone.

The office worker disembarked the train, her nose still buried in her online life. Libra watched her go, and wondered briefly at her life – who was she talking to? What did she do, when she got off the train? Was she going home, to a club, to a class, to meet a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, Libra reminded himself a little guiltily. What drove her to get up every day? Did she have goals she still worked towards, or had they slipped away with the passing months until her life had become paying the bills and watching late night television?

Libra shuddered at the idea.

He briefly considered hopping off and trying to locate his next train, but a burst of boisterous laughter had him shrinking back. The Northroad students had been let loose by the sound of things, and Libra's imagination happily provided a scene of terror on his mental stage. He had never personally had a run in with the students, but the stories had made their rounds. Northroad kids target students from a different private school each month for their money, to keep them in rotation. Northroad kids brawled on Monday to establish the pecking order of that week. Northroad kids burned down an apartment building last summer using only a tube of papaw ointment and some copper wire.

Libra was a little doubtful about that last one, but he decided to play it safe and avoid becoming the latest in a long string of anecdotes. He shrank back into his seat.

As they pulled away from Threnody, Libra was startled by a sudden, violent vibration in his jacket pocket. Clumsily fumbling for the source, Libra pulled out his ancient phone. Well, ancient by phone standards, which meant it was approximately six years old and of the old fliptop style. Only a few people had his number, and one of them was –

Chrom's name was splashed across its cracked screen; dumbfounded, Libra opened the message.

:libra we will meet you at central. get a train at threnody or haywood and it will take you straight to platform thirteen. be careful and watch your batch.

Libra blinked – before he had time to speculate, another message popped up.

:*back. damn autocorrect.

The train departed soon enough, though no one new joined their carriage. Footrot swarmed with affluent housewives and nannies escorting their charges home. The teenage boy swaggered off, but the sweater girl made no move to follow him. Strange.

The absent mother and her son alighted at Agnetha Village – they almost missed their stop, and the mother was suddenly stuck with the frantic job of cleaning up her son's scattered crayons. Libra took pity on them after a moment and helped to collect the items, earning himself a vacant smile and a comment on 'what a kind young lady' he was. Libra wished he were the type of person who slapped other people, just so he could deal what he felt was very much deserved.

At Berrymarket the sweater girl slinked off the train, scowling darkly and occasionally glancing over her shoulder. Libra surreptitiously followed her gaze – the white haired girl gave him a cheery wave that was nonetheless predatory, and returned to the task of untangling her earphones.

Libra had a preternatural ability to detect when he was about to be in big trouble. In this case, it was the asthmatic hiss of doors opening – someone was crossing between carriages. Not unusual, but Libra doubted they were coming to a shoddy, almost empty car for hymn study.

He heard them before he saw them, and the mental picture painted was pretty accurate to what swaggered down the steps; they were lean, wearing the slightly rumpled uniform of Northroad Public School, and carried themselves with the kind of self-assured cockiness of teenagers who believed themselves to be the roughest thing on the train, if not the city.

Libra tried to slide down a little further into his seat. This just served to catch the attention of the nearest boy – Libra averted his eyes a second too late to miss the light, cold twitch of a smile. He'd done his best to stuff his red hair under a faded cap, a few stray spikes falling across his eyes.

"Hey. Miss. Why're you wearin' a boy's uniform?" He followed this with a snigger, and his friends gradually gathered around him to observe the fun.

Just once, he'd like to be called something other than a girl. He felt like a laboratory specimen under their scrutiny.

"Hey. Hey miss." Cheeks burning again, Libra ignored their prompts. The boys fidgeted and giggled again, their apparent leader taking a mincing step forward and back. He was testing the waters, seeing how much he could get away with before committing to the attack.

"Hey, miss…where you goin'?" once again, Libra didn't answer. The boy changed tack. "Miss, you got any spare change? I need to catch the bus…when I geddoff the train." Libra was disappointed the boy was not immediately struck down for the scope of that lie. The boy didn't even try to hide it. "OI!" The boy leaned down close, so close his breath puffed into Libra's ear and sent his skin crawling. "You a lesbian? Is that why you're dressed as a boy?"

"I have nothing to offer you!" Damn it! Could his voice have been any squeakier? Libra cleared his throat and mustered up a glare. "I don't have any change, and I'm – I'm not – "

"Not a dyke?" the boy interrupted, grinning like a mad moon now. "Only dykes dress like boys. It's, you know, like, the dictionary definition of a dyke."

"I am – I am a boy," Libra said hoarsely, his throat constricting with unshed tears. He hated himself when he acted like this. He could be brave for the younger orphans, be brave for the younger students and even for his classmates – but be brave for himself?

If he started that, when would it stop?

The boy laughed, high and nasty, and his friends joined in a second later. "You're joking? A boy?" He nudged one of his friends. "You sure? Got all the, y'know, bits?" It wasn't funny, or clever, or even particularly mean, but Libra reddened anyway and ducked his head.

"We should check to make sure," one of the boys suggested, and that almost drive Libra over the edge. The press of their eyes was bad enough, but the idea of them grabbing his shirt, tearing at it until the buttons burst and pinching, scratching, hitting his skin…white sparks exploded behind Libra's eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp snatches.

Libra drew his legs up to his chest, preparing to kick out at them, to run for the door. Even if the train was nowhere close to stopping, maybe he could keep working through the carriages long enough for the doors to open…

"There you are; I was looking all over for you," a silky, accented voice interrupted. As one, their heads turned to gawp at the white haired girl. Even in her saccharinely sweet clothes, the girl gave the impression of being undeniably dangerous. It was like watching a Great White Shark play fetch. Something was going to go horribly wrong for someone in the near future, and there would probably be limbs all over the place.

She idly swung her tangle-free earphones from one hand, the other resting on her hip. "I didn't even realise you'd gotten on the train," she continued on, the cord swinging faster into a whirring white blur. "How awful it would have been if I had missed you."

"What the hell are you – argh!" The boy barely avoided her first lash with her earphones, and the upswing had her playfully snapping them inches from his face.

"This could be the fourth pair of earbuds I'll waste on your lot this week," the girl said offhandedly, wrapping them deftly around her palm, the very ends dangling freely by her thumb. "If I need to break this pair…I'll be all out of earphones, so I'll have to switch to heavier stuff."

Libra had never seen such a change – all their anger and bewilderment slipped off their faces, to be replaced with a certain expectant dread.

"You're – "

"Yup. This is my carriage, go and find another." Her hard look softened. "Look, I don't actually want to fight you. Just go, the kid doesn't want you here."

Cap Boy shouldered his way forward; none of his friends seemed eager to hold him back. "You can't make us, this is our train in our goddamn city, Plegian." Though he spat the last word, the girl didn't react the way he evidently hoped, just shifted her weight and jerked her head towards the door. Only Libra saw the way her knuckles whitened around the earphones.

A muscle pulsed in her cheek but she still endeavoured to speak calmly. "There are plenty of other carriages. You know I mean business – let's settle this like reasonable people." This was clearly the very last way she wanted to settle.

Cap Boy grinned widely and slithered forward slightly. "That's weird, I 'fort you'd be up for a fight. Dregs love a bit of Ylissean blood."

The earphones clattered against the window and the girl lunged forward like a panther, so suddenly Cap Boy could only fall backwards, yelping. He stumbled clumsily into his pack of cronies, the girl's fist just missing his face – Libra realised the only reason it hadn't connected was because someone had grabbed her wrist at the last second and was hanging on for dear life.

He was dismayed when he realised that someone was him.

Libra looked up into the girl's face and tried to separate the emotions he saw there. Rage, yes, seething and white-hot; frustration; disgust…sorrow. Something even deeper lurked, wizened and coiled around her soul.

Libra blinked and pulled back, releasing her arms when his fingers began the familiar, unpleasant tingle of registering human contact. The girl met his eyes, dark brown to jade green.

It was unnerving having someone's complete attention. Libra shrank back, dropping his gaze and breaking their electric connection.

Cap Boy chose that moment to try and swing himself forward, and the girl's other arm, the one not closest to Libra, lashed out like it had a mind of its own. Libra saw the rage cloud her features again.

She caught a handful of Cap Boy's shirt, pulling him in and off balance until he was inches from her tight, furious face. He had evidently struck a chord before - though for what reason Libra couldn't fathom. He had heard women be called worse things than a 'dreg'.

"Kol khara, runt" she drawled icily, wringing out the vowels. "I hear that again from your mouth and I swear I'll see to it you go through the rest of your life screaming when you see string." She gave him a hard, brutal shake, hard enough to make his teeth audibly clack together, then shoved him back to his friends.

Cap Boy's eyes burned fiercely, but his will had evidently been broken. Libra kept his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, but he could feel the rage streaming off her. The pack reluctantly backed away, occasionally throwing a glance back at Libra and the girl as they edged towards the door.

As soon at the interconnecting door clanked shut Libra released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. Half-expecting to be the new target of the girl's apparent psychopathy, he risked a look up at her – she was watching him with mingled curiousity and suspicion.

Libra hoped she would return to her seat; she had seemed harmless before but her over-the-top reaction to such a paltry insult had him doubting she was the safer one to be with.

"Are…you okay?" she asked eventually, her anger once again evaporating in an instant. "You're kinda pale."

"I'm…always pale," Libra answered numbly. "It's…I'm pale."

She smiled; the same finely crafted smile of general goodwill and no personal interest. Libra had the strangest sense of déjà vu. "Oh, right. Sorry. I suppose that should have been obvious." There was a slight barb on the end which Libra chose to ignore.

To his mild apprehension, she settled across from him, crossing her legs daintily. "What's your stop?" she asked eventually, her fingers neatly laced and resting in her lap.

"Ummm…Haywood, I suppose," Libra answered after a moment. What was the harm in letting her know.

Her brow crinkled. "Haywood?"

"Uh, yes."

"…The Haywood we just left?"

"What?"

Libra was pressed against the window in a heartbeat; she was right. The train was just clearing the platform at that second, his view replaced with old fences and the grubby backend of restaurants. He hadn't even noticed when they pulled into the station.

"Oh gods," he whispered, feeling slightly sick. How was he to get back? Chrom had said Threnody or Haywood was just best chance at getting a train back to Central. More trains meant more chance of being cornered by another pack of money-poor, muscle-rich boys, and Chrom wouldn't wait forever…

"You needed to be off at Haywood?" the girl asked, idly tapping her foot. "I'm getting off at West Haywood. You stick with me, I'll get you where you want to go." A pause. "Where do you want to go."

"Home would be a good start." Libra returned mechanically to his seat, slouching down again. He didn't elaborate further.

"My powers are numerous, but they don't include telepathy," she quipped; Libra peeked out from behind his curtain of hair. "West Haywood's trains are rubbish but their buses will get you anywhere. Worst comes, you get a taxi."

"I couldn't afford a taxi," Libra answered tiredly, beginning to scrape his hair back from his face. "I live at the convent in Central, they don't give travel allowance."

The girl looked shocked. "But…you're a private schoolboy!"

Libra shrugged; he didn't feel like explaining it right now. He received a tiny allowance at the beginning of each week, but he was expected to donate half that amount back to the church. A tiny, unpleasant voice in the back of Libra's head suggested it was a win-win situation for the Church.

Libra began to fumble for a spare hairband – the school was quite strict when it came to the appearance of their students, and Libra was really only permitted to keep the length in his hair because of his link to the church. His quest for a hairtie ended when a slender gold tie, loop around alabaster fingers, was shoved under his nose. He hesitated to take it, reaching out with one hand while the other kept his harm firmly pulled back. The girl regarded him a little impatiently.

"Just take it, stranger," she muttered. "I've got others, you'd be doing me a favour." Libra accepted it warily, careful to avoid brushing her skin, and began the process of braiding his hair into submission. He didn't speak, keeping his eyes firmly on his lap; she didn't speak, but he could feel her eyes boring into head.

"I'm Libra," he offered reluctantly once the task was complete, tossing his finished braid over his shoulder; the girl dithered with her reply, like she was trying out different answers in her head.

"R-Robin," she finally answered. The girl – Robin – gave her polite, empty smile again and shifted against the uncomfortable seats. "You…said you live at the convent near the catherdral. Do your parent's work there or are you training to be a priest?"

Libra coloured. Her valiant efforts at making conversation were among the worst questions she could ask. "I am training to be a priest, it's part of living at the convent. And…and the orphanage is at the convent."

Robin's face lost a little bit of colour, and her mouth formed a perfect 'o'. "Ah, I'm sorry, that was…you lost your parents. I'm sorry to hear that."

Libra shrugged, swallowing hard against the bile threatening to rise in his throat. "I'm not."

The way she looked at him, Libra was certain she knew exactly how untruthful that was, but she thankfully didn't press. "I have a mother," she offered. Libra's smile was tight, a mere acknowledgement of her words - he wished he could think of a way to politely extricate himself from this conversation and carriage.

Robin appeared to mull something over, then came to a decision. Her fist smack down decisively onto her open palm.

"You should share her with me."

Libra's jaw dropped. She was absolutely sincere, as far as he could tell. And she looked rather pleased with herself, as though she found this an excellent conclusion. Part of him was insulted; did she really think her own mother could replace his parents, as raw and painful as his last memories were of them? He sometimes saw the younger children being adopted out – by the time he came to the orphanage no one would even consider taking him in. Libra always watched them go, and as much as he craved to be one of those lucky few, he desired even more for his true parents would return for him.

Another part wondered if this was another facet of her insanity. Yet another suggested it was a Plegian thing, and therefore a little immoral and potentially dangerous.

But most of him was consumed by the laughter, bubbling up like a freshwater stream from some hidden part within him. A part he'd long since secretly thought was barren rock. It swelled up from his throat, sloshed over into his mouth and finally exploded out in one great gush of laughter. He covered his eyes with one hand and laughed and laughed, tears beading at the corner of his eyes and his stomach starting to knot.

He heard Robin huff, though she didn't sound really upset or annoyed. "Ah, you may laugh at my offer now, but wait till you meet my mother," she admonished. "You won't be cackling then." He accent got a little thicker, but it made her sound warm and amused.

After a few more minutes his laughter faded into the occasional chortle, and he wiped his eyes as best he could. There were a few too many tears on his cheeks for a laughing fit.

"We'll be at West Haywood shortly," Robin said, slowly putting away her things. "I'll help you along from there."

Libra coughed slightly and pulled his backpack onto his lap. "Why are you helping me?"

Robin shrugged. "You helped me. Stopping me from beating on those boys back there. I would have regretted it later if I'd hurt them – I owe you for stopping me." If Robin saw the flash of disappointment on his face she gave no sign.

She stared at him for a moment, the train beginning its tell-tale screech into the station. "Hey, Libra…" Libra waited patiently for her to finished, but she just jumped to her feet and shouldered her bag. She walked off without another word, and he hurried to catch up with her.

She stopped at the still-closed doors, the trains still moving ever so slightly. Libra stepped in beside her, watching her curiously from the corner of his eye. What could she have wanted? Her shuttered look had returned, but her mask was not quite so complete – Robin gnawed ever so slightly on her lower lip.

It was strangely…it was weirdly – Libra felt light-headed.

The doors creaked open, and they stepped out. West Haywood was an open station, just a couple of long boarding platforms with a few seats and shelters spaced along the length. Surprisingly, the entire station was hemmed in with a single line of lush, reaching trees. They almost completely concealed the gables of houses on the other side, and the sounds of the outside world was pleasantly muffled.

Libra drank it in. It was pleasant; the inner city had manicured parks, tended estates and beautiful greenhouses, but it didn't have any wild beauty. No secret nooks, no hidden gardens, no mysterious rivers or ethereal glades. He sometimes imagined what it would be like, if it were safe for the average citizen to venture beyond the city borders.

He realised Robin was simply standing next to him, and the train was pulling away. "Libra," she said again suddenly. "Why did you stop me?"

Libra blinked rapidly, turning to look her right in the eye. He found this unnerved people most of the time, but Robin matched his gaze. "What do you mean? Those boys back there?"

"Yeah." Robin rolled a piece of gravel underfoot, back and forth. "They would have hurt you."

"They could have," Libra agreed.

"And they were rude," Robin muttered, staring hard at her feet. "So…so…" Her face creased, just for a moment, and Libra stepped forward. Stepped back. Forward again, his hands raised in front of him in a half-placating, half-defensive gesture. He wanted to offer comfort, but it would involve touching…

"I don't…" here he struggled, but she looked up at him again. "I don't…think they should have been hurt. They didn't really deserve it. Being stupid, and ignorant, and lashing out at people is something they do. I'd rather not be like them. I may be hurt, I might be humiliated but I'm not…not like them. I think it's an important decision to make."

Robin was looking at him strangely. Like he was making an awful lot of sense, which Libra wasn't really sure was so. "Yeah, I get you…" her words were soft, almost too soft.

Libra smiled awkwardly. "I don't really want to hurt people. I figure it'll all blow over eventually so there's no point."

She looked at him a little strangely then. "How are they meant to know they're doing something wrong if you don't say anything? If you don't talk about it?"

Libra gritted his teeth against a harsher response, and tried to think of a wiser comeback. "Better than punching them," Libra mumbled crossly – it was the best he could do with her staring at him the whole time.

The spell was broken; Robin gave a snort of laughter and readjusted her bag.

"Yeah, I guess you got me there," she admitted.

She smiled again. But this time, it was real. It only happened for a second, but it was there; a tiny little thing, so faint. A fluttering of moth wings against the moon. Libra wanted to step forward, cup his hands around it and watch it beat. It wasn't something he had ever wanted to do, to anyone.

His heart skipped a beat and his palms tingled. Libra wrote it off as anxiety.

"Come get some food with me," Robin said, jerking her head towards the stairs. "Come on. There's a festival going on in West Haywood – the Chon'sin locals seem to have a celebration for everything under the sun. This time it's spring, which I suppose is an acceptable reason."

Libra licked his lips worriedly. Chrom was waiting for him at Central; so was Garrick, in all likelihood. Mother Fyora would be expecting him back soon to do his chores; his homework; watch the little ones; practice his scriptures and his form; tell her about his day (all lies, of course); attend confession and assist in the evening service…

What he did every day.

And here was Robin, a girl he'd met not half an hour ago, who offered him a parent and a meal and treated him more like a person than anyone in the past year.

Though she was wary, acerbic, hot-tempered and, above all else, Plegian…He would much prefer to stay.

"Go on," she prompted him, grinning. "When will you ever come out to the West again?"

"Well…" Libra swallowed thickly. "Maybe when…I meet your mother, as you said. I need a chance to regret my mirth."

Robin laughed again – fully, rich and delighted. "Oh, you clever thing! This is true!" She held out her hand to him – at the other end, that tiny, true smile shimmered and trembled with promise. "You could learn a lot. So could I."

One day I will get over this pairing. But not today.

Love to hear thoughts and constructive criticism. Or flames, that's also interesting.