A/N at the end. I do not own The Forbidden Game although sometimes I wish I did.

"Wait, the Norsemen actually believed that some giant wolf was going to eat the sun and send everything into chaos?" Comfort: the dying bundles of fire dancing atop a pile of ashes warmed her feet while a pair of hands smoothed out her hair. While sitting on the floor couldn't compare to the bed, Jenny felt content leaning back her shoulders to rest on Julian's shins. All Jenny needed was an Adele album playing in the background, quiet—she started growing attached to the British singer and her soulful belting—and the scene would feel perfect. She felt the hands divide her hair into three portions before slowly twisting them over each other. The simple motions and scene relaxed Jenny, her posture sinking into the dark oak floor.

"In defense, Fenrir is a powerful deity. Humans just interpreted him to be more bloodthirsty than he actually is."

Her lungs faltered mid-breath, causing a puff of amusement to escape through her nose. "But a wolf—"

"A wolf made sense to their culture," Julian said, cutting her off. His voice fit the audial image of shrugging, an image Jenny's learned to associate with Julian after their three years of living together. She felt one of his hands pushed her head away as the braid reached the top of her shoulder blades. Jenny did so, allowing him better access to complete it. When did we start doing this— "Do you really want to argue with an expert on North and Central European Mythology?"—being so casual?

"Mmm," Jenny hummed, not feeling the energy needed to move her mouth and speak. If she had to guess the time, it'd be sometime at night. To be fair, thought, it always felt like midnight to her. Time moved differently here, and it was hard to tell. Or, to be more accurate, the concept didn't exist outside of Earth. When she first came to live with Julian, she tried to keep track of the days with her sleep cycle, but she also took naps, stayed up "late"—again, time didn't really exist—and soon stopped trying after a few weeks or months. Now if she wanted to know the exact time, Jenny would pay her old home a visit.

In a world of infinite darkness, no one ever slept in a way. Do I even need sleep?

Remembering home cued a memory from the week before; she and her little brother Joey went cave exploring in Southern Europe for his 13th birthday. His angsty, preteen self practically melted back to a five-year-old, head full of dreams with knights in well-used armor and greedy dragons. Is Julian my "knight"? Simpler times when all that mattered was hurt feelings at the school's playground. Or am I his? Simpler times: with all her needs met, Jenny could think more, and thinking more lead to thinking critically. It's funny how simple solutions create complex riddles and games. I'm too sleepy for metaphors.

The flames in the stone fireplace died down to glowing ember gathered in clumps. Cold had yet to wander into the spacious bedroom, though she's never been so cold in this world that she shivered. Jenny wondered if her staying with Julian affected her physical body and prevented the feeling of coldness from registering with her, but the thought shooed itself out of her conscious. It would only spoil the moment. Gosh, I'm like an insomniac having two-in-the-morning epiphanies. Plus, according to a short story that used to scare her*, excessive deliberation on ideas ultimately leads to disastrous consequences; in her case, that would be headaches or meaningless arguments. "Maybe later," she murmured when Julian took out the braid and started twisting new sections of her hair into a different style. What brought rest before now brought on a new wave of sleepiness.

Julian laughed. "Later?" She should've been used to it by now; the way he acts always either conflicts her negative emotions and thoughts or teases and coaxes pleasant ones. Manipulative pig.

Jenny couldn't stop the smile creeping onto her face. "Well, unless you've got something planned…" she said, playing along, poking a fire stick at the spider.

"Jenny, I can always come up with something."

How true you are. She just smiled at that. Silence filled the air once again, not that it was a bad thing. On the contrary, sometimes she felt the most content when words weren't needed between them.

Once again, she felt his hands smooth away the braid and restart with yet another type. He just wants to play with my hair she knew—this must've been the fifth or sixth time he's restarted—but she didn't mind. Jenny felt her eyes closing, though it didn't quite disprove her idea regarding whether she needed sleep. After all, she noticed how much less food she ate nowadays when she visited Dee about a month ago to catch up over her friend's spring break.

Testing the waters, "I would've never pegged ya down for being good at braiding" she teased.

He scoffed in a light tone, "Why wouldn't I?"

Shrugging, Jenny moved her back as her arms hugged her knees, her posture leaning forward. "I don't know; it just doesn't seem like your type of thing."

She felt his hands pause before, "And just what is my type of thing?"

"Gambling—" Jenny faltered when Julian laughed again before continuing her list. "Seriously, you've got a problem." She shifted her position ever so slightly, forcing Julian to move away and more onto the bed.

"Well, now you can add 'braiding hair' to that list," he replied, shifting his arms behind him, relaxing his posture. Feeling his presence move away, Jenny leaned forward and stretched her arms towards to the fireplace. "Though, I should admit, I only like braiding if it's your hair."

Jenny let out a giggle, somewhat distorted and drawn out by the yawn that snuck in. "You sure about that?" It must've been ten o'clock back in her original home. Or maybe not. After all, it's possible to become tired for reasons other than that one's internal clock says it's time to be tired; sleep cycles should not replace clocks. I've got to stop guessing the time. "You could've lied about me being the first. For all I know, there's a girl on the side."

"Don't joke about that."

Jenny turned to look back at Julian before standing up, winching at the tingling numbness that settled in her legs because she sat for too long. Legs crossed over each other, back and shoulder slouched, head cocked to the side: Jenny never learned how anyone could possibly look as good as he did so casually. And he never gives a clear answer on that. However, that frown did not fit his face, not at all. Better fix it. "I'm sorry, babe."

The frown vanished from his face; yes, that cocky grin looked much more at home on his lips than the other expression. "'Babe'? Huh, I've been promoted."

She grabbed a conveniently placed thrown pillow—things always seemed to appear when and where she wanted them to—and chucked it at his face. He dodged with ease, as usual. "Look who's joking now." Jenny flopped onto the bed, landing right next to Julian with her arms spread out like an angel's wings. Julian glanced down at her and raised an eyebrow at her, acknowledging the satirical reference before lying down and using her arm like a pillow.

"Is something on your mind?"

He always knows. "Why was Freud so obsessed with sex?" At least he tries to act less invasive than he actually is. Who needs sleep when her new psychology book left so many unanswered questions?

*That story is "A Favor for a Favor" by Vincent V. Cava. MrCreepyPasta on Youtube reads it allowed; I highly recommend listening to it.

A/N: I'm finally writing seriously again. Golly, the last time I said that, I wrote fiolee fanfiction in middle school in the secrecy of two to four am. Dark times, man *shudder*. I do NOT regret deleting those. I'm hoping that this is not only an enjoyable experience for the audience, but also learning experience for me. Maintaining plots and believable characters has been a struggle for me, but I've been doing as the pros say and reading my heart and eyes out.

I'm also hoping that posting this here and on AO3 (under the same pen name and title) will help bring in the comments and likes. Imagine a blacksmith. I am the forger, the story the metal. Favorites act as oxygen for the flames that allow the metal to turn into a something grand, and the comments hit the blistering metal so that it can be shaped and improved upon. Without them, I'm a person with a hunk of iron, an author with a story that doesn't appear to touch its audience.

sooooo yea be nice be helpful and all that :P