(General warnings: depression (akin to seasonal), self-isolation; moderately graphic metaphors; mentions of suffocation; allusions to familial tension & parental neglect)
The sun is going to rise soon.
Bard watches ever-colorful trees shimmer in the pale first light: vibrant purple, gentle yellow and green… A memory of a dance lazily tugs at their nerves, but their body is far too tired, too cold and sluggish.
They've been lying on the forest floor for a while, letting the chill slowly seep into their bones. The fresh crisp air only slightly soothes the incessant nagging feeling in their chest, like their heart is being slowly sucked out of their ribcage.
Bard is lying on the ground, absently watching the dance of color, listening to the gnawing desperation and, from time to time, rubbing the rough surface of the snow cover with his exposed fingertips. He is thinking about last night, same as any other. He is used to suffocating by now, but the ultimate loneliness of it still chills him all the way through.
Kiwi brings their palm up to their chest, which is moving weakly with their shallow breaths, and clutches their shirt with frozen fingers. With a distant, detached expression, they think about how deep they would have to dig to reach the part of them that's been spreading its roots, like a venom slowly seizing muscle after muscle, leaving a numb heaviness in its wake. Would they be able to tear it out? Or is it woven into their very nature, etched into every fiber of their being?
They wonder how much of them would be left at the end, if they ever did try to sever it.
Bard thinks about the silent song. It has seeped into her life so casually, Bard never even noticed how the background rhythm of her heart slowly shifted to match the stifled melody. A cold, repulsive feeling lurches in her chest at the thought of the person on the other side of the dreamscape. All Kiwi ever wanted was to get far, far away from her. Imagining her phantom fingers grasping at their ribcage, stilling their heart with cold touch, choking them, killing any hope of a sound, makes the back of their throat taste bitter.
Go away. Go away go away go away-
The thin icy layer on top of the snowy cover cracks under someone's foot, and Bard bolts upward, caught off guard by another person's presence.
Beth freezes, looking about as startled to discover Bard half-lying on the ground as they are by the intrusion. The two stare at each other for a while with a confused and ruffled expression.
- ...You alright, kid?
Kiwi forces a smile and nods, trying to look casual. They sway their feet from side to side and look around, faking an avid interest in the surrounding firs.
Snow crunches under Beth's approaching step, and soon she is standing over them, offering them a hand.
Kiwi hesitates for a second, but takes it. The warm thick fabric of Beth's gloves cradles their cold fingers as she pulls them up.
- Came to watch the sunrise? - Beth half-assumes, watching Bard brush snow off the seat of their pants. Kiwi gives a vague shrug accompanied by a pitiful smile: they don't quite feel like explaining.
- Well, you gotta find a better spot than this.
Beth determinately heads off deeper into the forest, looking over her shoulder:
- Come on, hurry up.
They walk in silence. From time to time, Bard throws a quizzical look at his sudden companion, anticipating a start of a conversation (or, more frighteningly, an interrogation). But Beth seems perfectly content simply taking in the quiet of the morning woods, the fresh air and the first light.
Looking at her peaceful face, the now slowly fading signs of long-term exhaustion, Bard unexpectedly finds herself speaking up.
- Um… Is Katya taking over the diner today?
- Nope, - Beth replies simply, - we're closed.
Her lips curl into a self-satisfied, smug little smile.
Kiwi follows Beth down a barely visible track she seems intimately familiar with. They push the low-hanging fir branches out of the way, vaguely noting how heavy their arms feel. Beth only looks back a couple of times, but keeps a comfortable pace for them to keep up with.
When the two reach the thinning eastern edge of the woods, the sky is light and pale, the twilight dissipating. Beth leads Kiwi uphill, sweet thick anticipation emanating from her. When she reaches the top of the slope, a few steps ahead, she chuckles; a quiet, private happy sound.
Kiwi fights the gravity that seems to be weighing them down twice as hard these days, and steps into the open.
A bright red band is stretching along the horizon cradled in saturated light. Just above it, the thick curling clouds, heavy with fresh clean snow, are dyed a deep blood orange, with the bold, defiant light of the rising sun breaking through the misty cover. Its vague outline is traceable behind them, climbing further and further up the pale northern sky, spilling more and more light and color all around it.
It may be the early morning at the end of a sleepless night, or the achingly surreal experience of watching the world wake up to yet another day, but suddenly, somehow, the fabric of reality is weirdly thin. Every feeling, movement, word and sound feel unknown and tremendous. The sight of the young vital sun, shining endlessly as it spins on its orbit, burning bright and bold as if to challenge its own waning, makes Bard feel as if their chest is about to burst.
They waver slightly under the impact of it all, unsure if their tired body can withstand it. Then, they feel a steadying, familiar hand on their shoulder and turn their head. Beth is looking right ahead, towards the blooming horizon, rays of orange light illuminating her face. There is a tired look in her eyes, but deeper than that is the endlessly serene expression that smoothes out the usual stressed wrinkle between her eyebrows.
Bard turns back to the sunrise and remains still, watching it, feeling the warmth and the comforting weight of another's hand. Tears start to blur the ignited sky, and they rub their eyes quickly.
The hand resting on his left shoulder reaches over and grabs the right one, softly pulling him into a steady half-hug. Beth is silent still, but from time to time, her hand reassuringly rubs Kiwi's arm.
Once the sun is fully over the horizon, they part ways, Bard reassuring Beth that they are alright, and just need a moment alone. She leaves them to it, carefully following the curve of the hill down its side for her extended morning walk.
Kiwi turns back to the sun and stays there, silently watching it revel in its power.
Bard is safe in their room, the movement and conversation downstairs tuned out to the best of their ability, any intrusion into their space unlikely since they've openly shut down, finally running out of energy to keep up a digestible front. Both Mom and Baron have been giving them their space. That's probably commendable.
They are sitting on their bed with a warm heavy blanket wrapped around their shoulders, Miriam's new letter in their lap. Somehow, it still smells of her and Saphy's home: Kiwi swears they can sense the heavy, earthy whiff of mushrooms and the sweet scent of burning herbs. When they close their eyes, they can feel the tiniest breath of smoke warm up the air around them.
They read the words scribbled in that dearly familiar handwriting.
"Kiwi,
That Mitzi girl took over the whole telescope thing, because I was taking too long or something? So I'm, released from duty, or whatever. I can come pick you up literally whenever but I guess you do not need me to.
Saphy's been asking about you, so. Thanks for the letter, I guess. Good to hear you're "doing well".
I'm great, in case you're wondering.
There is a music festival in Delphi at the end of the month, which sounds like your thing. You know, in case you wanna come back for that.
- Miriam"
Bard traces the lines of Miriam's name with their finger as they sit with all of the implications of this moody message. A swarm of uneasy feelings plays tug-o-war with their heart. They miss Miriam terribly. They want to go to her - they are afraid to face her. They feel guilty about their absence. They wonder if she'd even want to see them - they want to grab themself by the shoulders and yell about every word that indicates that she does, and to stop coming up with excuses to further avoid her.
Kiwi sighs and gently places the letter onto the bed next to her. She pulls her legs up onto the mattress and hugs her knees, bundling herself into a little duvet cocoon. Her eyes drift across the room and land on the little splotch of color.
Floorboards creak hoarsely under their feet as Bard carefully approaches the jar left to collect dust in the corner. They squat down in front of it and pick it up. The smooth ridges feel weirdly striking against their palms, every feeling still intensified after the surreal morning sight. Bard turns the jar in their hands, watching the orange substance move with it.
He sits down, back against the wall, and fumbles with the tight lid. When it finally pops open, the clear triumphant sound feels like a little spark momentarily igniting in his chest. He breathes in the strong citrus scent, eyes closed.
Bard dips his finger into the jar, scooping the translucent spread. It is festively spruced up with strips of zest, like little bits of watch it glow in the bold thin rays of light fighting their way through the curtains.
As the drop of marmalade lands on their tongue, they taste summer. The sweetly bitter fruit ripened by generous sunshine holds every warm beam that ever grazed it. The sudden and soft golden glow clears the daze enveloping Bard's mind a little bit more. Everything around her feels fuller. She's holding a glistening gift of water and soil and sun and warm breeze, a reminder that all these things exist, somewhere. That they are ready to welcome her.
She sends another drop into her mouth and feels it dissolve into a soft colorful explosion of taste.
All of the shades of feeling roused by the sunrise are finally let loose. They come out in tears, again. But this time Bard is not in a hurry to dry them.
Sunlight glistening on the backs of rolling waves makes Kiwi squint their eyes.
The Lady Arabica, proud and stout as ever, rocks gently on them as she sails, course set, the combined confidence and determination of her trusty crew propelling her forward. Kiwi thinks of the hold chock-full of precious bean cargo - alongside some personal mail, traditional Chaandesh delicacies and a couple of crates of fruit. The Coffee Pirates' enterprise has expanded, and the addition of perishables to their goods has resulted in a tighter schedule. Gladly, Penny has been keeping a watchful eye on that.
Kiwi wrestles with the weird feeling in her chest that highlights the obvious awkward air on board. She has barely exchanged a word with anyone on the crew since the excited greetings at the very start of the voyage. Forcing herself to interact with others casually is still far too draining, and all the questions about how she's been doing only put her on edge. Kiwi would gladly stay here, letting their weight rest against the shipboard, watching the movement of the ocean below, but they are sensing more than one concerned and questioning look on their back. They stand up taller, making an effort to perk up, and spin around, taking the familiar deck in.
Francisco is trudging past them, over to the forecastle deck, arms full of paper scrolls - maps or order receipts?.. - that he is begrudgingly delivering to Captain Lucas. As he is passing the main mast, something small bonks him on the head, making him drop all the papers and clutch his crown instead, growling in pain. A single "Oops" sounds from the crow's nest, and the cap of Nina's spyglass rolls over and hits the tip of Bard's boot. Francisco looks up in frustration, rubbing his head, to where Nina is cackling quietly. One of the mermaid members of the crew joins, voice low and silky like rustling of a riptide on a quiet night.
Bard hurries over to help, picking the papers alongside the ever-tired pirate. Francisco grants them a tight-lipped smile, then continues grumbling about the thankless job, ungrateful crew and never having volunteered to be Penny's errand boy as far as he remembers.
They bring the papers over to Captain Lucas, who is conversing with Melanotaenia in thoughtful tones: she does always seem to soften his bursting vocal energy.
At the sight of the approaching crew members (both official and honorary), Captain straps up once again, stepping into the loud aplomb he seems to associate with authority.
- Hey tharrr, matey!,- he boisterously winks at Bard before turning his attention to Francisco, - Francis!
Francisco groans.
- Whatcha got there for me, boy?
- ...We are the same damn age, - Francisco mumbles, half-resigned, and hands Lucas one of the maps. - Penny wanted you to know we're off course, and that, - he fumbles with the rest of the papers, finding the correct one, - we need to revise the next route if we wanna keep up with the schedule. Don't ask me why she couldn't tell you herself, - he adds, tone too tired to be properly sarcastic.
Lucas reviews the map, scratching his beard and nodding thoughtfully. Francisco watches his unchanging facial expression with a highly specific brand of hopeless resignation.
- This means heading north-west, Captain.
- ...North-west!, - Lucas announces with his casual bravado, as if commanding an attack, and marches off towards the helm. Francisco follows, eyes rolling.
Bard and Mel watch them leave, then exchange a look. Bard smiles awkwardly and rocks back and forth on their heels, unsure what to do with themself.
Mel's eyes linger on them a while longer until finally, she breaks the silence and pats the bowsprit next to her.
- Come perch with me, birdie.
.
There is always a sense of relief to letting her legs dangle in the air. Whatever unsettling weight Kiwi carries at the core, right now, her body is flying, cutting through the salty air, carried by the vessel effortlessly gliding forward.
Kiwi takes a deep breath. With a start, she realizes she's smiling.
...Has she just needed to sail all along?
Melanotaenia takes the breeze in full, eyes closed. Her curly red hair is trailing in the air behind her. As a particularly strong gust of wind hits the sails, propelling the ship forward, she throws her arms into the air and lets out an exhilarated "WHOOOOO", both a giddy celebration and a battle cry.
Once the moment passes, she sighs sweetly, then throws a look at Bard, a cheeky glisten in her eye.
- This is the life, huh?
Bard nods - genuinely. They take in the moment: the blueish-green of the sea; the shower of tiniest drops landing on their cheeks, with one crashing wave after another; the rushing clouds up above, speeding past the ship; the tight flapping of the majestic sails, white fabric waving and bolstering like tremendous banners. The Lady Arabica is nothing short of just that - life.
- I've always loved it, - Bard speaks up, voice wavering and uncertain after weeks of practical silence. - Always wondered what it would be like!
Mel arches her brow.
- And what's the verdict?
Bard takes a moment to examine their surroundings once more, a studious look on their face - then grins at her.
- Really cool!
Mel shrugs, feigning indifference.
- It's pretty okay, - she draws out. - Sailing is far too clumsy, To Be Honest, but the wind? - She takes another deep, indulgent breath. - Yeah, I can get into that.
Kiwi looks at her, and the old, cold feeling lurches in their chest again. It exhausts them immediately. Not this again, not here...
They cast their eyes downward, at their dangling feet, at the moving, foaming water below. The rushing air around them, the sun beating down on the deck, the mighty laugh of Captain Lucas from somewhere behind them are giving them the shreds of bravery needed to raise their eyes again and confront the feeling head on.
- Are you… happier now?, - they ask, annoyed at how immediately pitiful they sound.
Mel's eyebrows shoot up at the unexpected question, and she smiles slightly, as if wordlessly teasing Bard for swerving the conversation in such a weird direction. But she does not sound ingenuine when she answers:
- Here's the thing, birdie: life's always pretty neat, as long as you know how to enjoy it. But… - she turns her face to the sky, thinking, - I might say I like it better here. Rather than now.
She shoots them a sly look, as if inviting them in on a joke.
Bard nods their head mindlessly, struggling to process the thought.
- Um… - They feel stupid asking, but they need to know. - Haven't things, changed? Since the… - they trail off, the word "End" booming in their head all doom-like.
- The song? - Mel finishes absentmindedly, watching the sunlight catch on the scales of her tail. - I guess. Less people are obsessing over whatever was missing before, for sure. And that is a load off my back. - She rolls her eyes. - But even when they were all getting on our gang's nerves, we could always just… - she gestures with her hand, picturing diving into the water, then wiggles her fingers in the air mysteriously, - disappear.
Bard tries to return the conspiratorial smile, but feels sour for some reason.
- At the end of the day, you just gotta be happy with yourself, - Mel continues with a shrug, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
Kiwi feels like they're sinking, their throat closing up. The silent suffocation is ready to claim them once again, but they will not lose, cannot afford to lose this new bittersweet relief, the comfort of the sun and the ocean and these great, loud people.
- Is it… - their breath catches in their throat, but that only makes them push further, harder in a rush of panic, - bad to…
Melanotaenia watches them, waiting. Kiwi is trying to figure out what he means. Is it bad to not be? Is it bad to still obsess over the missing pieces, when he is supposed to have been made "whole"? Is it bad to feel so caught up on the now that the where does not seem to matter?..
He clutches the wood of the bowsprit and takes a breath, going under - for just a moment. The soul-sucking feeling is there, and at the center of it, there is… shame. Shame and fear. Because he knows what brings him here, time after time. He knows why he feels as if he's doing something wrong: because at the end of the day, it's about the person he has become.
He looks at Mel, a glowing example of health and content, now that she is freed of the very thing Kiwi keeps hopelessly longing for. The shame grows too big to hold.
- Is it bad to want to be special?..
Mel blinks, taken aback. Then smirks.
- Nooo?..
- But, - Bard hurries, stumbling over words, desperate to be heard, - isn't it bad to want that still? After everything? - They think back to the song and feel tears building up. - Everyone already knows that everyone is. So shouldn't we all just, be happy? But I'm just!..
They stare at the rushing water, lost, groping for meaning in their whirlwind of thoughts.
- I knew someone… - their voice drops, every word growing heavier. - Someone who… felt the same. And… - They gulp down the clump of fear in their throat. Two visions flash in their mind, back and forth, dizzying: a striking dark silhouette in a flare of lightning, a reality-devouring vortex. - ...she was scary. And feeling like her is… scary.
They look up at Melanotaenia, pleading.
- But I can't help it.
Mel holds their gaze, shakes her head, her hair jerking in the wind.
- You've got some issues there, babe.
Bard turns away with a flinch, squirming at this seeming dismissal. But Mel continues.
- Listen, all I can say is: being proclaimed "the savior" does not really work out for anyone. Take my word for it, please. But, - she takes a second, making sure they listen, - it's not bad to like, want things?.. That just means that something is missing.
Bard looks up, hesitant. Mel is smiling, ever so slightly.
- So look for it. As long as it's not someone who needs her privacy, - she winks.
Kiwi nods, slowly. This… does not answer every question plaguing their mind. Then again, Melanotaenia never promised them that. But she is here.
The Coffee Pirates crew begins moving around the ship, ready to correct the course, and Kiwi and Mel move back onto the deck before the Lady Arabica's maneuvers make it more difficult to successfully hang onto the bowsprit.
Captain Lucas stops at the nose of the ships, hands planted firmly on his waist, and gives Bard a nervous smile in a frank effort to be reassuring.
- Wanna kick us off with a song, matey?! - he crows, winking furiously.
Bard looks away, feeling self-conscious and exposed.
- Nah, I'm stealing the spotlight this time.
Kiwi looks up just in time to meet Melanotaenia's eyes, for only a second. They are glistening with understanding, like the two of them are sharing a fun little secret. She tosses her hair over her shoulder in a diva-like gesture.
- Sorry, birdie, - she sighs, with the same unsubtle air of connivance. - Maybe next time.
Gratitude feels warm and soft in Bard's chest, like a tiny piece of the sun.
.
Mel starts singing, putting a bold trilling spin on an old, simple yet haunting melody that seems to hold the memories of countless generations of seafarers. The crew smiles, apparently up to the challenge of following their creative and ruthless leader. It seems the last few months have been an adventure of its own, the pirates having to learn to form a symphony with supernaturally gifted singers on board.
They move in rhythm with their own voices, the creaking of the wood and the thrashing of the sails weaving into the chorus. The song swells and falls, ebbs and flows with the sailors' breathing, with the waving pulse of the ocean, with the surges of the wind. The bold lively trills dance in the air, like the tiniest beads of water that explode all around them as waves crash against the trusty wood, a sparkling, dazzling shower.
Bard lets her body rest on the sun-warmed deck, back against the foremast, and lets the melody overtake and carry her, like the wind, like the tides. It is easy, to give in to it, to let it rock her with comforting confidence, as Kiwi's mind gently drifts off, carrying the salty smell of the ocean, the feel of sunlight on their skin and the rhythmic motions of the ship along with it, into the realm of dreams.
You're so, so tired.
You're so endlessly, eternally tired of the weight of the phantom cord that pulsates with your sick, weakening heartbeat.
You'd bite and tear it like a wild, frenzied animal, if you had teeth to bare. You'd have clawed it out of your chest by now, leaving a mess of skin, flesh, bone, if you had fingers to dig with.
You never wanted its promises, its offenses. You had put the world behind you. You felt it blister at the edge of your blade, and then you let it burn. You don't care about its fate. You don't care if it's survived you. You don't care, you don't care, you don't care.
You never needed to feel how it's thriving without you.
.
Now that it's finally leaving you alone, you barely have the energy to be relieved. Or terrified.
You feel the thread fading, and the suffocating darkness stepping closer and closer. You feel your jagged convulsion of a song fade, too, so you don't mind. As long as you don't know there is life and light, as long as your being does not ache with sounds you cannot sing, you do not care. If all that is left is nothing, then that is something you chose yourself, what seems like a lifetime ago. And it's been a long time coming.
You feel the weight waning, slowly, softly. Restless and aching, you wait for the last remaining link to finally fade away.
The final garland of softly glowing lanterns is draped over one of the burning-red tree crowns. The festival is about to begin.
Bard slinks through the town, as lightly as he can with his generally oafish demeanor. He stops by the Delphi Hotel, for just a second, to watch the gathering of people at the foot of the hill, where a makeshift wooden stage, four posts decorated with fairy lights, has been raised. Crowding around it are tonight's performers, some local, some visiting, professionals and casual musicians alike. The air is filled with distant familiar murmur of lively friendly conversation, low laughter, the strumming of strings, the tuning of various instruments.
Kiwi takes it all in, then continues on their way, staying close to buildings, pulling the collar of their shirt as high up as it would go. A vague sense of urgency they haven't quite made up their mind about yet is burning in their chest, low but insistent, like a handful of ambers. Right now, they only want to see one person.
They leave the glowing amity of the festival behind them just as the first resolute notes fill the warm night air.
Kiwi steps into the caves at the edge of town, letting their shoulders fall down in a relieved sigh. Just one final stretch. They're almost there.
They make their way through the mountain tunnel, rubbing their shoulders to ward of the chill of the stone walls, and keeping the nervousness creeping up their gut at bay the best they can. Every step they take towards their friend's home feels both like leaning into gravity and pushing against it: this is where they should be going, should've been going; this is what they're scared of facing. But, regardless of their anxiety, there is a strong, firm sense that the time is right. They cannot put this off any longer.
Her eyes are fixed on the bright purple house flickering in and out of view the entire time she is scaling the tree-covered hill. The closer it gets, the higher in her throat rises the strong, breath-stealing anxious feeling.
As Kiwi finally reaches it, they are met with dark windows and a note attached to the front door. In her round, bubbly friendly handwriting, Saphy is notifying that she is away foraging: the glowshrooms are only properly identifiable after dusk.
Bard connects the dots: note on the door; quiet dark house; Miriam isn't home either. All their anxiety fossilizes into awkward, redundant weight. They exhale loudly, with that weird sense of sour relief that only means that their dread is prolonged further.
They look around, lightly bouncing up and down on their toes, hoping and fearing they would spot ruffled blue hair approaching from either side of the hill. There is no one. After a moment's hesitation, Bard adds to the note in their own big clumsy letters and briskly walks off into the woods.
Miriam is not at the telescope deck when they reach it, and the only thing left is to hope their friend will want to come find them there. Bard tilts their head back, squinting at the faint glisten of the metallic casing. A weird, distant out-of-body feeling settles in as they remember their first astronomical experience. Feeling like their spirit is lagging a hair behind their movements, Kiwi climbs up the rope ladder that has grown at the side of the platform.
They shift their weight around the wooden planks, uncomfortable with the realization that they should've been there to help build this - and weren't.
Right above them, there are stars. They are no longer obscured by the leafy cover, and the height of the old twin trees feels like it should bring Kiwi right up to the sky - but facing it now, bare and open, Kiwi is only more aware of how distant and cold it feels. Unimaginable distances spread between him and the indifferent silent lights, barely aware of his existence.
Timidly, Bard holds a hand up to his chest, letting the bare fingertips rest over his heart. His own heartbeat feels faint. An uncomfortable thought of a lone distress signal springs to mind, it quietly going out, giving up, letting the silent night swallow it. In their chest, a weird, stilling feeling of resignation is pushing against the deep electrifying fear, and the deep ache. Kiwi glances over at the telescope, reluctant. They wonder whether, if they search hard enough, they might be able to find her…
The endlessly dangerous thought is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, catching Bard off guard. A shiver runs through their body. The ropes running down from the platform tense under another body's weight, creaking.
Miriam's face appears over the edge of the deck, unsure, lost, frazzled. Her eyes meet theirs in a deafening silence.
.
Miriam shoves the note she's been carefully holding in her hands into her pocket. The two of them are left to look down at their legs swaying over the edge of the platform, above the red canopy.
Bard braves a look at Miriam's face. It is focused, walled off by an expression of deep and pointed frustration, like she is trying to figure something out.
They draw some air in, discreetly, their chest aching with the words that are long overdue.
- I'm sorry.
They are both silent, taking the sentence in. They know this is only the beginning. Neither knows how to proceed.
- ...You weren't at the festival, - Miriam starts, voice wavering. - So... I guess that's not why you're here.
The last words come out in a grumble, but it's muffled, dulled, the feeling behind it too big to confidently ring with frustration.
- I'm not! - Bard responds, hurried. - I-it's not, I mean.
It takes it a few seconds for Miriam's words to fully sink in.
- ...Were you at the festival? - Kiwi asks, surprise breaking through her general exhaustion.
Miriam tenses up and gives a jerky nod.
- How was it? - Kiwi prodes, tentatively.
- Great, - her friend mumbles. - Lots of... noise.
Kiwi continues watching the girl's face as her disgruntled expression grows more and more vigorous. Miriam glances over at Bard and bristles at their concerned look, her frustration boiling over.
- It was weird, and difficult, and it's hard to enjoy these things when everyone's looking, alright?!
She clutches her arms in an exposed, self-conscious gesture.
Bard continues to take their friend in, saddened by her overwhelm. Miriam had found so much new joy in music and dancing, but of course, it would still be difficult to let herself express that with people who are just beginning to know her.
They look at their hands clutching each other helplessly.
- I'm sorry I wasn't there, Miriam.
Miriam's shoulders sag, like she is suddenly weakened.
A question remains hanging in the air between them, growing louder and louder in the tense aching silence, the "Why?" that Kiwi still does not know how to even begin to answer.
A tiny, shaky exhale from where Miriam is sitting signals that it is being asked, nonetheless. She turns to Bard, the focused look searching for something in their face.
- How were things in Chismest?..
Her voice trails off with all of the countless unspoken implications.
It is Bard's turn to hunch over, half-curled up, as if protecting all of the most vulnerable parts of her body. She searches for words, avoiding Miriam's eyes, but they're not coming. Abruptly, she turns to face her friend, meeting her gaze with silent desperation. Something cracks and shifts in Miriam in response, and she seems almost ready to reach out, to offer Kiwi comfort - but seems far too scared to do so, at the end. Instead, she hugs her arms tighter before suggesting, hesitantly:
- That bad, huh?..
Bard sighs, the whole weight of their recent stay suddenly heavy on their shoulders, and pulls their knees up to their chest, pushing themself further away from the edge. Miriam follows, seemingly mindlessly, watching Bard with quiet intensity.
Kiwi shakes their head, softly, tiredly.
- Everything... felt wrong. And it's all supposed to feel right, now, and it didn't, and that was… the wrongest thing of all. - They let their face burrow into their lap, the next words coming out muffled, as if that could soften the blow of admitting it. - I feel wrong. Something's not right about me.
Next to them, Miriam sighs, and the weight of her body shuffles over the wooden boards. Familiar arms wrap around Kiwi's curled-up form. They can smell the sharp, strong smell of Miriam's favorite soap, the warmth of her cheek on their shoulder. Bard turns their head and meets her eyes, looking at them with attention, holding space for the confusion and turmoil in their heart.
- I'm mad at you, - she warns, wisps of annoyance and hurt etching into her voice, - just so you know.
- I know, - Kiwi says, disheartened, - I-
Miriam interrupts them with a groan, eyes rolling.
- I'm saying, I'm still mad, so don't think we're not talking about that later. For now just… say what you need to.
Kiwi nods, disoriented, lost in the whirlwind of emotions they are somehow supposed to communicate. They draw a steadying breath. Miriam lightly squeezes their shoulders.
- I thought… I could be… happier. If I tried hard enough?.. Everyone's doing better now, and I thought I was just getting it wrong, so maybe if I saw how things were different, it would make it… easier. To become different, too.
Kiwi pauses, disappointment still burning like poison on a wound.
- But that just made everything worse. It just made it scarier, to not… be... okay.
They freeze at their own words, feeling like a scared, cornered animal, like they just fessed up about a horrible mistake and are waiting to see whether the hell is going to break loose.
Miriam is silent, unnervingly so, and Kiwi summons all of their bravery to manage to look at her. She is watching them with deep concern.
Bard sinks deeper into the hug, grabbing onto their friend with both hands, face buried into her shoulder. Miriam tightens her hug, accommodating them.
- You gotta' talk to me, - she whispers, her voice high and cracking, and Bard nods, their face still against her.
- I will, - as they speak, they feel tears rolling up to their throat. - I'm sorry, Miriam.
Their cheeks grow wet. They grip the fabric of Miriam's cape as tight as they can as they whisper:
- I missed you.
Miriam's face rests in the crook of their neck, and Kiwi isn't sure, but it seems that she might be crying, too.
- ...I missed you too, - she mumbles, barely audibly.
They hold each other, hearts heavy with all that is still unspoken between them. But they hold on tightly. For now, that just might be enough.
Bard clings to their best friend in the entire weird wide world, trying to comprehend that the warmth of her comfort has been here all along, waiting for them to accept it. His mind is spinning with all the ways he feels he has wrong her.
He thinks about Baron, and Miriam's parents, and chokes on the overwhelming guilt.
- I'm sorry, - Bard says, burrowing deeper into the hug. - I'm sorry I couldn't sort things out. With Baron. I know you never got the chance to.
Miriam breaks away, leaning back, and Bard looks up to see a concentrated look of befuddlement on her face.
- You're being stupid, - Miriam says, very seriously, eyebrows furrowed. Bard replies with an unsure, pathetic smile. - Your family mess. Your garbage parent. You know what to do with all that. - She looks away for a second, pensive. - Doesn't matter what I feel about mine.
Bard nods, slowly, eyes glossed over with the memory of the pained daze they'd spent their weeks in Chismest in. They sigh, tired, relieved, fragile, letting themself rest in Miriam's arms again.
The moment of weird aching serenity dissipates as something turns in their heart, the sliver of the deep, chilling dread, the imposing, draining compassion. Their body goes stiff, and Miriam notices, already looking at them questioningly as they go to break away and meet her eyes.
- Will you go to Langtree with me? - they blurt out, pleading. - Please. It's… really important, I think?
Miriam looks them in the eye, inspecting them, focused, serious, questioning. Finally, she nods, with only the slightest bit of hesitation.
- But you need to start explaining things to me. - She holds their gaze, every word heavy with emphasis. - Now.
Kiwi takes a second before nodding in agreement, and it's scary, to consider having to. Intimidating, threatening, all but impossible.
But somewhere in their body, there is still the faint afterglow, the melting warm comfort that came with getting to sob into their best friend's shoulder, her arms tight around them.
Maybe it will be okay if they do.