By the next morning, my mind began to fester. Every orifice I begged for Ymir to fill was now hollow, cold, and I never wanted to be touched again. I had soiled my own trust and mind. I had promised myself that I'd never pretend again after father kicked me out, but how short lived it was.

"Hey," Ymir went beside me in the kitchen, watching me cleaning the pile of dishes we neglected, "is something wrong…? You don't have to do all these chores, y'know."

She knew I was avoiding her because I wouldn't stop cleaning. Any time she suggested I should sit down I'd decline, saying I was in a good mood, and that I just felt like cleaning.

"I'm just… I just have to clean. Don't you ever get that way?" I diligently scrubbed an old sticky jar of jam.

"Never," Ymir replied, leaning against the counter as she popped her knuckles, glancing at the soapy water.

I didn't know what she wanted because she wasn't going to get any answers. I didn't want to give her any.

"Historia," her voice was heavy, unyielding as it pressed against my shaky resolve, cracking its exterior, threatening with each paused second to break. It was only a matter of time.

"You know you can tell me anything… I'm not one to judge," her elbow nudged mine, trying to jostle a smile of reassurance from me, but there was nothing ahead of us but discomfort. No more pretending—no more glossing over finer details.

"My sister is coming to get me in two days." I kept a strong front, staring up at her as her eyes widened.

There was no mistake.

It was pain that I saw as she didn't even try to school her expression.

"Quoi?" She shot, afraid she heard me.

Did she truly like me or was she hurt that she would no longer have a play thing?

"My father had kicked me out and this was temporary. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but I was afraid you'd kick me out." I curtly responded, hoping to withhold the angry waves of emotions that were churning inside of me. I didn't want her to see that part of me.

"…You were afraid of me? You know I would do no such thing…" her words were quiet as her eyes gazed into me, trying to figure me out. "Right?"

I didn't know her.

The silence could've said that as she realized that I didn't know her at all—let alone trust her thoroughly. Our bodies might've fit together like puzzle pieces, but I didn't know what picture we painted together.

"I don't know." I said to make it official. "I…we hardly know each other…"

These words were quiet but so strong. Enough to cause her to recoil as stood there, conflicted on what to say, what to do, but she opted to just cast her eyes at our feet, too wounded to see the answer repeat itself in my eyes.

"Ah, I see," she licked her lips, cracking her knuckles once more, "well, I can understand your wariness… Though, if you ever need someone to talk to…"

She didn't finish her sentence as she walked away, grabbing a whole bottle of wine despite the morning sunshine filtering through the window. She went around into the art room and sat down, immediately engrossing herself in her art.

"I suppose I should finish this before you go." Her voice wasn't flirty. It was as dull as a dusty pebble in gravel.

"Who knows if we may ever meet again." She muttered, slowly accepting the fact that I might never return—I didn't know if I ever would either.

We had done so much so fast. We were like a pyre built too hastily—the moment we caught flame, all of our kindling went up in a blaze of passion, burning with a great intensity, but out as fast as it came, unable to catch the logs for the long night ahead.

"Who knows."

The winter was settling in-between us as we rebuilt our walls, watching every brick tower until the last of Ymir was of her giving me one last, lonely glance—a stare that pleaded for me to say something.

Anything.

Anything but this silence.

Persisting.

Existing.

Choking.

Drowning.