Hello! This was originally supposed to be a short DualSummFang fic for 2016's 413, but it got (very far) away from me. I actually posted it last 413 on AO3, but I forgot to post it here. There's three chapters total, and I'll upload them all within the week.
The fic is significantly more elaborate than my other fics, but nowhere near as elaborate as it could've been. A comfortable middle ground, if you will.
Content warnings: semi-graphic depictions of violence and excessive swearing.
Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck and no copyright infringement was intended.
Noble
They first met at one of those fancy parties where everybody wore clothes with lace and silk and lots of make up and gold, where everybody smiled politely and exchanged meaningless conversation full of frivolities like oh what a wonderful necklace, Lady Lerant, are those real diamonds?
She was wearing a lovely blue dress with a frilly skirt and jewels in her hair. He was wearing a custom suit with a violet tie and a matching rose pinned to his pocket, his hair slicked back and away from his face.
Their parents sat them down across from each other, his father saying idly, "Why don't you two do whatever it is kids your age do," before leaning across the table to say to her mother, "You look absolutely ravishing today, Arachne."
The two of them exchanged looks that were significantly more bored than their parents, as they were both still young and hadn't quite learned how to school their expressions yet. She smoothed her skirts and daintily lifted a bite of coffee cake to her lips.
Her mother — Arachne, what a name! — turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were cruel and cold, filled with an insatiable hunger. He shivered. "What a delightful young man you're becoming!" she exclaimed, and even her voice sounded menacing. "I remember when you were just a little baby!" Both her s's and her b's seemed bigger than her other letters, emerging with more enthusiasm.
He smiled obligingly at her, because that was what his father would've wanted. But he didn't speak, because there really wasn't anything to say to that.
She continued, "How have you been? I'm sure you're very smart, just like your father!"
He giggled a little bit at that, because that felt appropriate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father offering to pour tea for her (would you like sugar with that? Just a pinch. Too much ruins your skin, you know. Your dress matches your eyes wonderfully). "I am good, thank you. And you?" He knew the proper word was well but it was better to use the wrong word and be thought of as cute than to reveal his stammer.
She smiled (oh what a polite little boy) and asked, "Have you met my darling Mariette? Mariette, say hi to him."
The girl across from him smiled, revealing startlingly sharp canines. "Nice to meet you." Her voice was nothing like the rest of her. While her appearance was soft and delicate, her voice was brash and fiercely confident.
"It's nice to meet you too," he said, "I'm Orpheus."
He briefly wondered if it was appropriate to kiss her hand when they were sitting on opposite sides of a table, but then her mother laid her hand across her shoulders and said delightedly, "Mariette is very good at math, aren't you, darling?"
Mariette merely giggled a little bit, the same way that he had.
Orpheus' father said firmly, "I'm sure she's very bright, Arachne. Have you heard about the elections in Beforus?"
"Oh, those murder cases are simply dreadful," she declared in the sort of tone one used to describe particularly expensive dolls.
That was how conversations at this level went. You exchanged pleasantries until you had what you wanted and then you were gone.
Both Mariette and Orpheus kept completely silent throughout their parents' exchange, eating and drinking and smiling whenever it was indicated that they should. It was only when the band started playing that something finally shifted. Orpheus' father took Arachne's hand and led her to the dance floor, looking back only to shoot a glance at his son that said remember your manners.
Orpheus shifted in his seat and looked mournfully at the rest of the party. He detested these, because he knew he was only ever brought as a conversation starter. One day, when he was old enough, he'd be the one hosting these. He'd be the one with the power and he'd never be simply a decoration. In front of him, Mariette immediately slumped over in her seat, propping her elbows on the table and sighing loudly.
"Lady Light, I thought they'd never leave," she huffed.
Orpheus blinked at her, startled. Suddenly it was easy to pair her voice with her appearance. Now she looked like an Amazon princess, untamable and mischievous despite her petticoats. She noticed him staring and smirked. "Come on." She hopped to her feet and grabbed his elbow, dragging him from his chair. To his dismay, she was taller than him by at least four inches. She misinterpreted his look and laughed. It was nothing like her light giggle from before; this was a full cackle, delighted and completely at the expense of another person. "I'm boooooooored! Let's go have fun." And then they were off, her dragging him through the party, twisting around other partygoers, sprinting beneath tables and hopping over chairs.
"W-wait!" he called, "W-where are w-we going?"
She hissed, "Shut up!" They were running along the wall now, her dashing behind curtains and him tripping on her skirts. They turned a corner and she shrieked, "Oh no!" and dragged him into a side door.
They burst into the kitchen. Heat and smoke filled the air, and Orpheus coughed. She was cackling again, a delightful, mad cackle echoing with the clash of pans and the shouts of the chefs. He ripped his hand from hers. She spun to a stop and whirled around, arched brows settling into a glare.
"Come on, Orpheus. Let's have fun."
He crossed his arms and exclaimed, "You're insane!"
She huffed. Her dress was all askew now, and her curls were starting to fall out. "Jeez! I didn't think you'd be afraid."
Orpheus didn't know what came over him, because suddenly he'd stepped forwards to glare into the taller girl's eyes. "I'm not afraid."
She leaned down to smirk at him. "Prove it."
He opened his mouth to reply, but then one of the chefs grabbed both of their arms and promptly threw them out of the kitchen. They landed in a tangled heap in the hallway they'd just come from, her hissing angrily about servants who didn't respect their superiors. Though he felt the same way, Orpheus also knew that he'd one day be powerful enough to have all the servants. All of them. Complaining now just felt childish. He pushed himself to his feet and extended his hand to her. "Get up, moron."
She raised her eyebrows and knocked his hand aside, springing up herself. "Oh, really?" She propped a childish hand on her hip and grinned. "Now are you ready to have fun?"
"Of course," he said firmly, his own smirk settling over his lips, "But your w-way is too obv-vious. I'v-ve got something special in mind."
She raised her eyebrows, intrigued, and he grabbed her hand and sprinted down the hallway. In the end, they managed to steal a wide collection of jewelry (8 of each kind, because she'd insisted), spit into fourteen different plates without being noticed, and swap the alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. She taught him how to pick pockets, and he taught her how to charm her way into strangers' good graces. Miraculously, they didn't get caught, although they did manage to topple a whole shelf at one point. They still got a rather lengthy scolding from their parents under nothing more than suspicion regardless. But both found in the other a partner-in-crime, a rival, and a comrade. As their respective parents dragged them away from the party, Orpheus waved at her.
She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. He flipped her off and she kindly returned the favor.
They'd see each other again and again, sometimes at social events, sometimes when their parents happened to be visiting each other. Each time, they ended up walking away with scrapes, bruises, and more prizes.
And then she and her mother vanished, and Orpheus didn't see her for a very long time.
Thief
She first met him in one of those hovels in the part of town that had cracked streets and people armed to the teeth. She sat in the corner, hands cupped around a metal tankard to try and absorb its warmth. He plopped down in the seat across from her and grinned, either ignoring or unnoticing of the poisonous glare she sent his way. "So I heard that if I need something stolen, you're the one to go to."
She put down her tankard and scowled at him. "I heard that if I'm annoyed with somebody, I should slit their throats."
To her surprise, he actually laughed at that. To her dismay, she found that endearing instead of annoying. "You're funny!" he declared, "Would you be interested in hearing my proposition?"
"Depends," she said, lips curling into a smirk. "Buy me a drink."
He grinned and threw a hand in the air, carelessly grabbing a serving girl's wrist. "That'll be two White Monsoons, and put one of those little umbrellas in the lady's."
"Make it blue," she added, appraising him with new eyes. Either he had been lucky enough to guess her favorite drink, or he'd done some research before barging in here and asking her things. Either way, it was further than most idiots got. She linked her fingers and then rested her chin on them, smirking at him through her lashes. It was a look she'd perfected after hours of staring into a mirror (not that she'd ever admit that). To her pleasure, he didn't even blush, merely leveling just as powerful a smirk back at her. To her horror, her heart was doing flips.
Damn it. Don't fall in love, you know it's bad for your indigestion.
"So, are you going to introduce yourself?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. She saw the flash of confusion — quickly stifled — in his eyes, the ever present question: did she wink or was she just blinking? Wearing an eyepatch was absolutely wonderful. It was significantly easier to pull off the sexy pirate look when she wasn't drowning in skirts and jewelry. She'd found that a splash of gold at her neck and lace in all the right places was infinitely more effective than a fluffy dress.
He grinned back and she had to fight to keep the smirk on her face. Sweet Prince and Heart! He had a rogue's smile, and it was so unbelievably attractive.
Damn it, Serket, keep it in your fucking pants.
"I'm Summer," he said, with that smile still on his lips, "I'm actually a part of an organization called the Bronzelings."
Delighted to have something to focus on other than that smile, — it really should be illegal for anybody to be that hot — she grinned. It was a savage grin, one she used to make people shift uncomfortably and beg for mercy. He merely settled further into his chair. "Ah! You're the one they call the Summoner, aren't you?"
He blinked, surprise flashing across his eyes. Oh. Oh. His eyes were bronze. That was so ridiculously adorable; he'd named his little rebels after his eye color. He leaned closer, eyes roving up and down her body. It wasn't the normal way men looked at her. There was definitely some lust in his eyes (it was impossible to look at her without any lust), but he was also looking past her appearance. That in itself was impressive; so many people looked at her and saw nothing more than a whore with a bag of gold. He saw a person, and searched for her motives, her secrets, her intentions.
A smile broke over his face, and his eyes warmed. "Well. I'm impressed." He laughed a little bit, and her cheeks turned a light pink. "Yeah, I'm the leader of the Bronzelings."
The serving girl dropped their drinks on the table, muttered something about specials, and then vanished to go help the rest of the drunk idiots who happened to be there. Summer handed her her drink, and she swirled it with the umbrella (blue, as she'd requested).
They toasted, and they both took long sips. His eyes loitered on the faint imprint of her blue lipstick upon the glass. Smacking her lips, she asked, "So, Nitram, what do you need stolen?"
He met her eyes and asked mildly, "Don't you think it's fair I ask your name?"
"Absolutely not," she said firmly, and she saw his eyebrows twitch as he noticed the emphasis on her b's — the only thing her mother had ever given her (well, that, a love of spiders and a tendency to apply poison as lipstick).
She downed the rest of her glass and ordered, "Buy me another drink." He did, and so she said, "I'm Mariette, although they call me—"
"Mindfang," he said, and he was grinning again. It wasn't the roguish I dare you to fuck me smirk. It was a genuine smile, one that made him look more like an innocent puppy than the leader of a rebellion. "I will be delighted to hear the story behind that." He popped the b in behind, and a genuine grin flashed across her lips.
Not badly played, Mr. Nitram!
"Maybe one day, Summ," she said, trying to sound aloof and mysterious. Light, she needed to stop staring at his lips.
He shrugged. "Alright then." The serving maid dropped the new glass in front of Mariette (she tutted; he'd forgotten the umbrella) and he said, "I want you to steal a weapon."
She nodded, unimpressed. He noticed her look and transferred the umbrella from her old cup to her new one, and she smirked at him and took a sip. "A weapon," she prompted.
He nodded, and she felt a little pleased that he couldn't stop staring at her lips either. "Oh. Yeah. A weapon. You know Her Imperiousness?"
Mariette snorted and said loudly, "No, I don't know the Empress of Alternia because I've been living under a goddamn rock my whole life!"
Summer jumped and, looking rapidly at the other patrons, hissed, "Shh!"
She sighed dramatically and gulped down a large sip. She wasn't yet feeling the buzz of the alcohol and knew from experience that it would take at least one and a half more for it to even begin to effect her. "Summer, everybody here is too drunk or stoned to bother reporting us to the Imperial Guards if we talk treason."
A strange look crossed his face, one that she wasn't able to place. Annoyed, she downed a drink and sighed.
"Summer. Focus. What do you want me to steal?"
He hesitated. "I won't insult your intelligent by asking if you know Ψdon's Entente."
She feigned a clueless look and he, seeing through it immediately, rolled his eyes.
"Well, Her Imperiousness uses a different trident because the Entente is too expensive to use for anything other than ceremonial events." Mariette nodded once, and he added casually, "Mind stealing it for us?" He flashed that smirk at her again.
Oh, to hell with it! I'm gonna fuck him if I feel like it!
She didn't ask why he needed it or risk ruining her reputation by implying it wasn't impossible. On the contrary, she smirked and leaned closer to him. "Buy me another drink and we can talk prices."
In the end, she charged him an outrageous amount, thinking wryly that he was buying both her skills and her heart. It ended up taking her just over a month to steal it, and when she gave it to him, he kissed her. It wasn't her first kiss by far, but it was certainly the first that electrocuted her so completely.
Light, Serket, you just love to fall for the absolute worst people you can possibly fall for, don't you?
Ex-soldier
He met him when he was tied to a chair and gagged, his limbs aching from the ambush that he had recently succumbed to (hence why he was bound and gagged).
The door banged open and he came in, decked out in a fabulous piece of armor that was more stylish than practical, twin lines zigzagging across his chest in the vague pattern of a wave. He scowled and asked, voice deep yet unbelievably smooth, "Are you ready to talk yet, Bronzeling?"
Summer raised his head and fixed the most sarcastic stare he could manage on the other man. Slowly, dramatically, he made several incomprehensible noises.
The other man's face settled familiarly into a scowl, the twin scars across his face twisting as his brow furrowed. He strode forwards with confident, powerful steps and ripped the gag off. "Talk," he ordered.
Summer took a deep breath and smelled ocean. Well. But the ground wasn't moving, so they weren't on the water. "I must say, Lord Dualscar, you look absolutely fantastic today! You must take absolutely forever getting ready in the morning. I envy that do; it looks good on you! With your hair all brushed back like that— oh wait, you missed a strand! It's hanging right by your—"
The nobleman promptly smacked Summer across the cheek. Having expected that, Summer was able to prevent himself from biting through his tongue. Still, the blow stung, and he found no humiliation in falling silent.
Mariette would probably keep talking, but she was arrogant and vain like that. Summer wasn't.
Lord Dualscar snarled, "Don't test me, fucker. Her Imperiousness may w-want you aliv-ve, but I hav-ve absolutely no qualms ev-viscerating you and framing the pieces."
Summer scowled but managed to hold his tongue. He knew perfectly well that he was very good at pissing off the royals, and pissed off royals with blades plus a tied up Summer made for a very bad conversation. He also didn't trust himself to keep important information in; he knew that, deep down, he was a coward. And cowards told the enemy about the valley that housed the Bronzelings headquarters. Cowards got people killed. Cowards led the royals straight to Mariette.
Lord Dualscar slipped a bejeweled dagger from his belt and Summer felt the smirk that was his false confidence fall over his lips. Dualscar was terrifying, his expression utterly serious. He had the upper hand, and he knew it. He took his sweet time, too, inspecting the dagger and shining it with a purple handkerchief. He seemed to exude the same quiet power that Mariette had, the type that said I am a person to be feared. Summer's heart began beating faster than a mouse's, and he had to physically remind himself to breathe. The words oh knight and blood I'm going to die ran through his head in a blur, and he felt faint.
When Dualscar turned to him, dagger held loosely in his palm, his lips twisted into a cold smile. "I'm not going to bother insulting your intelligence if you don't insult mine." He laid the dagger down on a table and Summer was ashamed that he sagged in relief. Still, Dualscar's glare was sharp as glass and dangerous as lightning. "I know-w who you are, Summer Nitram. I know-w w-what you do. Tell me. If you w-were me, w-what w-would you do to topple the whole rebellion?"
Summer stared at him, bewildered. It didn't show on the outside, of course, but he was stunned. Lord Dualscar, her Imperiousness' right hand man, knew his face? More importantly, he knew his face as Summer Nitram, ex-soldier of Her Imperiousness' army. Not as the Summoner, leader of the rebellion. He looked at him with new eyes and saw, to his shock, traces of Mariette in him. They both stood with the same way, feet planted firmly in the ground and arms crossed. On her, it was a dare, a taunt, a bait. On him, it was a warning, a shield, a suit of armor. They both fidgeted with their swords, nimble fingers dancing across the pommel and tapping a pattern into the hilt.
And yet . . . they were still distinctly different. Where she had a sarcastic smile, he had a dark glare. Where she was sharp, he was tough. Where she was lithe, he was strong.
Still, it gave Summer an idea for how to deal with him. Dealing with Mariette was his specialty; it shouldn't be too hard to figure Dualscar out, should it? But then he opened his mouth and all memories of how exactly he dealt with Mariette conveniently flew out the window. "Um. What."
Dualscar scowled. "Who should I kill, Nitram. Who should I kill."
Summer shut his mouth because the real answer to that was me and that sounded like a stupid thing to say. "Oh. Why the fuck do you think I'll tell you?"
The royal pulled up a chair and sat down. To Summer's disappointment, the other man was taller. "Listen to me, Summer. There are so many things I could do to you right now-w. I could peel the skin from your face. I could cut off your fingers. I could depriv-ve you of food or w-water. I could do so v-very many things."
For some reason, his strange stutter didn't make him any less threatening. He didn't even seem to notice his stutter, as if it was beneath him to care about such a thing. It just made the entire situation five times more terrifying and Summer hastily tried to recall the breathing exercises Mariette had taught him. Breathe in for five seconds, out for seven. Or was it vice versa? Was it eight seconds? Was he supposed to hold his breath somewhere in there? He decided that the best way to go about this was to tell the truth. "There's not one person you can kill who will just stop the rebellion. I mean, sure, you can kill the guy in charge," me, "but somebody else will step up to take hi-their place," Mariette, "and there's nobody who really keeps everything going," Mariette, "and this is really complicated so wait what."
Mariette? How did Mariette keep everything going? All she did was complain and fight and act cocky. With a sinking feeling, Summer realized what exactly Mariette did. She was the brains of the rebellion. She was the one who helped him. She was the one who he depended on.
Oh Sylph. He could just kill Mariette.
Dualscar raised his eyebrows elegantly. "W-what w-what?"
Summer swallowed hard and looked away from his piercing gaze. "Nothing. There's nobody you can kill." He heard movement but he still didn't look up, and so he didn't see what was happening before it happened. Pain, sharp and white hot, exploded in his hand, and he let out a raw scream.
Once his vision cleared, Dualscar was sitting comfortably in his chair and his dagger was sticking straight through Summer's palm.
Gasping for breath, Summer blinked tears from his eyes. "What the hell?!" he demanded, more out of shock and pain than any real indignation.
Dualscar calmly inspected his fingernails. "I said not to insult my intelligence, fucker. There is somebody I can kill. There alw-ways is." A cold sneer spread across his lips, something that was infinitely more terrifying than the expressionless mask before it. "Do you not w-want to tell me?" He listened to Summer's ragged breathing for several seconds, watching as the other man struggled to escape from his bonds, muscles taut and face twisted with pain and anger. "Of course you don't. You don't w-want me to destroy your precious rebellion." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "No, it's more personal than that. You're familiar with the person I should kill, aren't you?"
"Go to hell," Summer snarled, which was the same thing as saying yes. He didn't care, though. His brain was spinning and his heart was pounding faster than it ever had before. He couldn't even think about trying to escape. He was tied to a chair and the only weapon he had was currently embedded in his flesh and Dualscar was sitting in front of the door.
Dualscar's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You w-wouldn't be so fucking transparent if it w-was you. A friend? A lov-ver?" His grin widened and Summer wondered desperately if he'd physically flinched at that. Oh God he hoped not. "It is a lov-ver."
"Oh my God," Summer gasped, which was the same thing as saying yes. Why was he so bad at this?!
Dualscar opened his mouth and began, "Is it—"
At that exact moment, the door burst open. It didn't just swing open; it flew open, tearing right off the hinges and slamming right into the back of Dualscar's chair. Summer fell completely still, eyes wide with shock, as Dualscar leaped to his feet and drew his sword. There was a flash of blue and black and suddenly Dualscar was leaning against the hallway on the other side of the door, bleeding from a gash on his arm. He was swearing violently, and his assailant crouched by Summer. Bright cerulean eyes gleamed from beneath a bronze mask.
It was Mariette.
Summer had never been so torn in his life. On one hand, he was so relieved to see her, to know that she was safe. On the other hand, Dualscar was going to figure out that she was the one he needed to kill.
"Man, you've got yourself into a real bind this time!" she exclaimed, going to work at the knots tying his wrists to the chair. He didn't need to see through the mask to know she scowled when she saw the dagger in his hand.
Dualscar rose to his feet and snarled, "You're trapped, you know-w!"
Mariette froze, eyes going wide beneath her mask. Not wanting her to be distracted, Summer urged, "Mare, my legs."
She shook herself and hastily chopped away the ropes binding his legs to the chair. She paused, hand hovering over the dagger. Summer placed his other hand over hers and directed it to the hilt. Her eyes crinkled a little bit in a sympathetic smile, and then she ripped it out. Summer was barely able to bite back a scream, but his vision swam and suddenly the air filled with the clash of metal.
Instinctively, Summer threw himself away from the sound. He and the chair landed with a crash against the wall, and his hand screamed in protest. His palm and fingers were slick with blood and he felt faint from pain but he still surged to his feet and tried to figure out what was going on.
Mariette and Dualscar were fighting, his long silver blade crashing against her hooked blue one. Summer snatched the bloody dagger with his good hand and raced in to help. Mariette fell back to his side seamlessly, the two of them instinctively falling back into the familiar pattern of slashing and hacking. Summer couldn't help grinning through his pain; he could never forget how good it felt to fight alongside Mariette, how good it felt to be reminded of just how well they knew each other. Dualscar was very obviously outmatched, but he also had an advantage; the room they were in was a rather small room at the end of a long hallway with just one door leading to the outside. The hallway wasn't large enough for either of them to slip past him, and he didn't need to fight them both. He just had to step back and see if they would take the bait.
They didn't, falling back further into the small room. Summer didn't need to read her mind to know that she knew that they would be at a disadvantage in the hallway, where they wouldn't be able to fight side by side.
Mariette took a deep breath and stepped forwards. Summer couldn't grab her shoulder, with one hand holding a dagger and the other dripping blood, but he could knock his elbow against her. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.
"Don't," he hissed.
Her eyes merely narrowed and he knew she was smirking. "You know it's logical."
He scowled at her, but he was also losing blood fast. She knew that. He knew that. And so she hefted her sword and darted into the hallway, blade rising up to meet Dualscar's.
The two fought back and forth, Dualscar refusing to give up ground and Mariette doing her best to beat him back towards the door. To Summer's horror, they were well matched. He couldn't see who would win. Even though Dualscar was injured, Mariette was still tired from the ambush earlier. Summer could tell from the way her feet moved; she normally liked to use lots of fancy footwork because she was a show off that way. But now she was simply sticking to the basics, trying to conserve her energy. Summer lingered behind her, feeling useless and exhausted.
Mariette's free hand tossed something at him; Summer couldn't catch it, and so he simply watched it fall to the floor. It was a die, glittering blue and with eight dots facing up. He knew immediately that she was about to make a break for it and steeled himself to go.
Mariette's voice broke through the hallway, harsh yet clear, "Orpheus Ampora!"
Dualscar's blade faltered. "How-w—" he began, but then Mariette pressed harder, her blade nothing more than a cerulean blur.
She kept talking, her words flowing from beneath her mask. "You courted a girl when you were thirteen, only you were a selfish prick and she even more so but then she was gone because her mother had been killed and you were left alone with your father and it was horrible because he was horrible but he was even worse after her mother was killed but you still loved her because she was the only light in your fucking miserable childhood and you know what I'm talking about, Orpheus, you know."
Her words didn't make much sense to Summer, but Orpheus was staring at her as if he'd seen a ghost. His attacks were growing sluggish and sloppy.
Mariette drew back and threw her mask off, revealing those vividly bright cerulean eyes. Her voice was terribly emotionless as she said, "So don't you fucking dare kill her now."
Dualscar took a physical step backwards, his sword clattering to the ground. "Oh my G-God," he gasped, eyes wide and face pale, "Mariette. Oh my God. W-what are y-you d-doing?"
As a response, Mariette grabbed Summer's uninjured hand and promptly raced past him, throwing open the door at the end of the hallway and racing into the night.
.
Summer didn't remember much from that night. Mariette ended up bandaging his hand for him in the middle of a forest because she hadn't planned far enough in advance to get somebody who could take them to headquarters. He was nearly delirious from pain and blood loss at that point, and so he couldn't be quite sure what was true and what wasn't. He knew for a fact that she started a fire and cooked something that tasted awful. The memories after that got significantly more foggy. He vaguely remembered her tearing both of their clothes off at some point so that she could wash them. This left them both completely naked, although neither really cared for sex at the moment. Summer just remembered lots of cuddling and holding each other. He was certain that he was hallucinating at that point, however, because he remembered Mariette crying.
Mariette never cried.