I got chapter four finished. How great is that? ^_^ Anyways, getting it posted was the main goal. I'm glad you're all enjoying this story. It really means a lot. :) You don't know how hard it was to start this, I almost thought of dropping the idea. So glad I didn't.

Working on 1 and 9's relationship is still a tough subject. I guess there are some things I'm still not comfortable writing about. Don't forget to look out for chapter five. Hopefully we'll get to see more on 7 and 8. And 5 and 2. Hehehe. ^u^

Again, look out for the fifth chapter.


Morning arrived on a quiet note. The events from yesterday's fiasco were dwindling down, but that doesn't mean they were forgotten. Beast attacks were hard to shake off, but the important matter was how you handled them.

1 got out of bed, and walked over to the left side, pulling off his cape he kept hung on a nail. Clasping it on, he strode out, and made the walk down the corridors. The first place he was headed to was 2's workshop. He had spent the whole night waiting for the exact moment to see 9, and hopefully, get to spend the rest of the day with him. 2 had said that 9 needed to rest after getting his thigh stitched, and staying in the workshop seemed like something completely unnecessary. He could've gone to his own room afterward, but 1 ventured staying was to save him the trouble of getting that rest.

1 arrived at the workshop and pulled the curtain back. His smile faded when he saw the cot empty. 9 must've gotten up sometime ago. Where could he have gone? The first place he thought was his room, so he went there. 9's room was almost across the whole library, hidden away underneath a table with a curtain acting as a door, along with some book stacks acting as makeshift walls. 1 arrived at the location, parting the curtain apart. Peeking in, he saw the bed empty, obvious that 9 was not there. He then decided to check outside. Making his way toward the library entrance, 1 walked on top of the piles of books, falling down on the way but he pressed on. Once he reached the open doorway, he was about to stroll outside when a series of voices prompted him to stop.

"Oh 9, why didn't you tell me this?"

It was 5's voice, and from the tone, and the way he said it, let 1 know that the one-eyed stitchpunk was worried. The conversation rapt him that he sidled over to the side of the doorway to remain hidden but he stole a glance at 5, whose back was to the library's entrance. 9, who sat next to 5, spoke next.

"I mean," he said, "you're right. I'm...I'm not me."

1 drew his head back, blinking. He continued listening.

"9," quoth 5, "what happened wasn't your fault. We've told you that many times. Don't you think ignoring your fears is only hurting you more?"

Silence.

"I," spoke 9, "I suppose you're right. But I can't help it when it comes back to haunt me. When the nightmares started, I thought not talking about it wouldn't be a big problem until they got worse. I don't talk to anyone about it because I thought it made me look weak."

"You're anything but weak, 9," quipped 5.

This prompted 1 to peek back, pupils slightly widening. His gaze trained over to 9, his back to the entrance, unaware of the elder stitchpunk observing him and 5. The way 9 sat, slightly slouching, with his head hanging low, showed that he was exuding a sensation of restraint pain.

"I want to believe that," said 9, lifting his head to look at 5, "I do, but my paranoia keeps me from doing that. I know you all love me and care about me, but it's the guilt that keeps me from seeing that."

1 glimpsed down at the marble floor. An unexplained guilt nagged at him. He didn't know anything about 9's changing behavior, so he had no need to blame himself. It was also not his job to judge 9 for not telling him, and yet, he did it.

"Well," chimed 5, "now that you're talking about this, what are you going to do?"

1 glanced over at 9, blinking.

"Keep talking about this," answered 9, "I'm not telling you what you want to hear. I'm saying that I want to move past this."

"Do you really mean that?," asked 5, turning his head to look at the zippered stitchpunk.

"I want to move on from this, but I feel like these thoughts won't let me go." 9 hung his head. 1 wished he could see his face.

"Or is it that you can't let go of those thoughts?," suggested 5.

"Both?," quoth 9, shrugging. "I don't know." He looked away, running a hand down the back of his head. 1 watched how 5 gazed at 9 with that brotherly overprotectiveness.

"9," he spoke, patting his shoulder, "you shouldn't act like nothing bothers you. You don't have to pretend nothing's wrong when it is. You don't have to put on a brave face for us. You don't have to put the weight of the world on your shoulders. You have to let others help you when you need it."

1 watched, sharp fingers clutching the wall. His pupils slanted, daring to burn holes on the back of their heads.

"I...," uttered 9, snapping his head to looked at the one-eyed stitchpunk, "I know. I know you're right, but it's just..."

"What?," quipped 5.

A moment of silence passed between them.

"I just," began 9, "can't help but feel comforted by this fear."

"That's...strange," quoth 5. 1 didn't need to see his face to know he was widening his pupil.

"Is that what it is?," said 9.

5 paused. "Sounds more...depressing."

9 groaned, cradling his head in his hands.

"Hey," said 5, putting a hand on his shoulder, "hey, it's okay. Don't beat yourself up over this. Everything's going to be alright."

"I don't feel it happening," said 9, not turning to look at him.

"9," crooned 5, "it's okay. It's okay to feel like this, but it's not okay to bottle your feelings like this."

1 watched, waiting to see 9 do something or say something. He felt the urge to go over there and console 9, but he felt compelled to stay where he was.

"I didn't want to bother you all with this," bemoaned 9, head still hanging down. He lifted it up, letting out a long, wistful sigh.

"Don't think that," encouraged 5, rubbing the zippered stitchpunk's back, "we don't mind helping you. I don't mind listening to you."

"I know, I know."

1 pulled his head back, blinking. He tapped his sharp fingers against the marble wall. Then he looked back, stepping out a little further, listening intently.

"Are you sleeping?," asked 5.

"Well—"

"Faster! Faster!"

"Incoming!"

"Oomph!"

"Whoa!"

1 felt something shove him forward. He fell to the marble ground, landing on his hands and knees, breaking his fall. He glanced both ways, catching a glimpse of 5 and 9 turning around, optics glued on him. 1 saw them looking at something behind him, which got him to turn around as well. He saw 8 standing in front of him. He saw 6 straddling on 8's shoulders, looking equally as guilty as 8. He saw 7 emerge from behind 8, trying to fight back a snicker. Behind her, the twins appeared, optics flickering.

"S-Sorry, boss," said 8, trying to avoid looking at 1 in the optics. "We...we were playing, I didn't see you..."

"No," said 1, coming to a stand, "it's all right." He scratched at the back of his head.

"But, b-boss," repeated 8.

"It's fine," spat 1 in an almost growl. He cocked his head, and strode past him and the other three. 6's mismatched optics staring at him inquisitively.

"I said I was sorry," said 8, gazing at 7.

A laugh caught their attention.

"That was kind of funny!," said 5 with a giggle.

"Yeah," commented 7.

9 forced a crooked smile, unable to deny the amusement in seeing 1 fall down. But his conscience burrowed into him, reprimanding him for thinking it funny.

Meanwhile, 1 ambled toward the fountain, mentally kicking himself. He didn't blame 8 for knocking him over; they were only playing. He didn't see him, and it was his own fault for standing there and not being aware of his surroundings. 1 shouldn't take his anger out on others.

He stopped before the edge, gazing blankly at the crystalline blue water. The carvings on the fountain's basin were eye-catching in their own right. He briefly remembered 2's funeral held at this spot. The remorse caught up to him, and the stubbornness to justify how his own anger kept him from seeing the truth. All of that was behind him, and 1 was keen on letting it all go. He knelt down, keeping his gaze on the water.

Listening to what 9 and 5 talked about made several things unclear. There were a few things he didn't understand. 1 could understand the way 9 was: blaming himself for causing the others' deaths. Everyone told him countless times that it wasn't his fault. 1 could see that, but it was like 9 was unwilling to see that. 9 was at war with himself, punishing himself for unleashing disaster. He hated seeing him like this, and it hurt 1 more seeing 9 refusing help. He didn't say it, but he could tell.

"1?," said a voice.

1 turned around, blinking up at 2. The inventor looked at him, offering a polite smile, letting him know that he was in a safe space.

"2," uttered 1, unsure of what to say.

"May I join you?," he asked.

"Of course," retorted 1.

2 slowly got on the ground, his legs wobbling. He used his cane for aid, nearly falling backward when he sat down. His gaze turned to the clear water.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?," he said as a start.

"Yes," said 1, "I suppose."

2 shot him a quizzical look, raising a stitched brow. 1 didn't speak, only turning his head, gazing at anything but 2's face.

The inventor gaped down at the treelike patterns on the fountain. He took a pause, breathed in a stream of breath, and said something that drew 1's attention.

"So, I guess you got what you've been pining for?"

"What?" 1 snapped his head at him, blinking once. He looked supremely stupefied.

"Last night," said 2, turning his face to look at him, "I was retuning inside to check on 9. I stopped by the doorway, and I saw you inside...kissing him."

1's slanted pupils widened. He looked in both directions, trying to grasp at anything to not have to discuss the topic.

"I, well..." 1 looked over at the fountain's edge, doing his best to not feel 2's gaze. "You saw...?"

2 nodded. "I did."

"Oh, I, I see, um." 1 looked away, flustered.

"You finally told him?," queried 2, lifting a stitched eyebrow.

"More than that," replied 1, glancing at the inventor.

2 stared. His own optics widened when 1 gave him a satisfied, devilish smirk. This brought a chortle from 2, who clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh... Oh!"

1 even chuckled himself.

"So," uttered 2, changing position, reflexively grabbing his cane, "you two..."

"Yes," said 1, giving a quick nod, trying his best to not sound immodest.

"Ah, well," spoke 2, clearing his throat, "that... My, I never imagined you'd..."

1's smile faded like water on a stone. 2 raised a brow.

"I sense something's wrong," he said.

"There is," said 1.

"What is it?"

It took all of 1's might to get the words out.

"I overheard 9 talking to 5 outside," explained 1, "he mentioned something about nightmares. 5 was trying to convince him otherwise." He changed position, drawing his knees up to his chin, resting an arm on one. He sighed tiredly. His sharp fingers tapped at the side of his head.

"I know what you're referring to," spoke 2, "it's something 5's talked to me about."

"You know?" 1 looked over at him.

"Not a lot," said 2, "well, nothing really. It seems that 9's been deflecting the subject every time 5 tries to get him to open up."

1 sighed, hanging his head.

"I also believe there's something deeper going on," muttered 2.

"What do you mean?," asked 1, glancing up at him.

"Let me ask you something," said 2, "what has 9 told you? Did he get to?"

"He told me to pretend we never met," relied 1.

"He said that?," quipped 2, raising a brow.

"It surprised me," he said, looking over at the water, "I couldn't believe he'd say something like that. It confused me." He rolled a small stone beside him. "He told me some of that when we escaped the Ravager and found that building we hid in. I told him that none of it was his fault. That he couldn't hide behind his fear because it would cause more trouble."

"Anything else?," quoth 2, tilting his head.

"He told me that he wanted to leave," responded 1, picking up the pebble, glimpsing away for a second before looking back at him. "I couldn't believe he said that either. It hurt."

2 placed a hand on his back, offering a look of pity.

"I told him I didn't want him to leave," continued 1, "that I didn't want him to leave me."

"Oh 1," uttered 2.

A deep pause stretched on.

"Why would he tell me to pretend we never met?," questioned 1, shaking his head in confusion. He fiddled with the pebble, looking down at the floor.

"Perhaps," said 2 gently, "he's trying to deny something."

"Deny something?," uttered 1, looking at him. "Such as what?"

"Well, let's break it down. He's feeling guilty about our deaths even though we tell him it wasn't his fault." 2 sat a little more straighter, his fingers tapping the floor. "He feels plagued by these thoughts all the time."

1 furrowed his brow, tightening his grip on the stone.

"Unless," said 2.

1 gazed at him, appearing desperately hopeful.

"Unless, he thinks he's wrong to feel about something," concluded 2, lifting a hand as though he were about to grasp something.

"What would he have to feel wrong about..." 1's optics widened to saucers. It dawned on him.

"You must tell him how important he is to you," said 2, putting a hand on his arm, "he won't believe you unless he knows you truly love him, that he has no reason to feel ashamed."

1 looked on at the grate in the fountain, then glanced at the bluish green water.

"God, he actually thinks...?" 1 stopped himself.

"It's another factor added on to the growing fear," spoke 2, "he won't feel better until he lets go of all that tension."

1 looked at him almost pleadingly. Never in his life would he need anyone's help, but now after everything he went through, he was willing to accept any kind of help to aid 9's troubles.

"You're right," said 1, straightening, "you're right. If he feels this way because he thinks it's wrong, I should be the one to tell him there's nothing to worry about. If what he's afraid of is everyone else rejecting him, then he should hear from me that it doesn't matter what others think; that I love him, and he loves me. And that's what matters."

2 smiled, patting 1's arm. 1 returned the smile, then remembering the pebble in his hand. He glanced at it and at the fountain every second before throwing it into the fountain, ending with a clear plop.


9 shot upright in his bed, panting, pupils wider than the moon. He sat, hands gripping the blankets, hoping he was indeed awake and not still dreaming. He touched a hand to his head, the pain cutting through him like the blade of a jagged saw. He ran a hand on his right leg, brushing over the stitch work on his thigh. He lifted the blanket, tracing his fingers over the dark blue thread that stitched his wound. 9 was alive, and he was grateful.

His nightmares had been spent running through darkness, escaping the metal claws of the beast, getting tangled in red strings, then to have those strings strangely turn into blood, and 9 found himself drowning in that blood, reaching for help to no avail. It was only a relief that he woke up.

A sound grabbed his attention. Turning his head to his right, he looked over at the doorway, at the curtain, fear and fire coursing through him. He hoped with all his damnedest that he was not in another nightmare.

"9?," said a voice softly. It was 1. What was he doing here?

"Come in," answered 9 just as softly.

The curtain was parted and 1 peeked in. He stepped inside, holding the lightstaff in one hand and the penknife in the other.

"I came to return these to you," said 1, striding toward him.

"Oh, thanks," replied 9, "just...put them over there." He pointed to the spot opposite his bed. 1 went over and set the penknife and lightstaff against the book stack.

"Can't sleep?," muttered 1, looking at him.

9 held his breath. "...no," he said finally. "Not really."

1 strode up him, standing over the bed, expression soft and unexpectedly gentle. 9's confusion grew when 1 took a seat on the bed.

"You know," said 1, not looking at him, "there's nothing you need to hide from me."

"What am I hiding from you?," retorted 9.

"Several things," said 1, he glimpsed over at him, "the nightmares."

"I'm fine," said 9 defensively, arms folded under his chest.

"Are you?," insisted 1.

The tension engulfed 9 whole. He was cornered and he couldn't find a way out of this.

"I overheard you talking to 5," admitted 1, turning all the way around. "I-I...I didn't mean to, I was on my way to find you when I saw you two sitting and talking."

9's chest felt like it was tightening. It swallowed his soul and colored the world.

"How much did you hear?," queried 9 cautiously.

"I heard when you were talking about the nightmares," said 1, "how they were getting worse. I would've heard more if 8 hadn't knocked me down."

9 protruded his pupils, fingers gripping the blankets.

"9," said 1, reaching out a hand, resting it on 9's leg. The zippered stitchpunk felt a tingle run up his entire body.

"It's fine," murmured 9, looking away, shame blooming on his face.

"9," uttered 1, leaning closer.

9 let out a wrenched sob, and threw his arms around 1, burying his face in his chest. The elder stitchpunk heard muffled whimpers from him, feeling 9 tremble.

"I'm so afraid," cried 9.

"Of what?," said 1.

"Everything."

1 wrapped his arms around the younger stitchpunk. His sobs receded and they were coming out as high-pitched squeals. He stroked 9's back, then moved up to cradle his head.

"It's alright," he crooned.

"I wish I didn't feel this way," said 9, fingers gripping 1's back.

"I hate seeing you like this." 1's hold tightened.

The two sat in the dark, holding each other. Both wanted to break the silence, although that urge was more evident in 1.

"9," spoke 1, caressing the zippered stitchpunk's head, "I want you to know that I am not going to leave you." He nuzzled him in the neck. "I'm not going to let you work through this alone."

A cough escaped 9's mouth. His shoulders heaved up and down with each breath.

"..." 9 sat up straighter, looking 1 in the optics. "1," he croaked throatily, "that day—the day you followed me...I was actually leaving because I was afraid you didn't feel the same. That you'd think I was—"

1 pressed a finger on 9's lips. They both gazed at each other, both with bittersweet looks. His hand caressed the younger stitchpunk's cheek. Then their lips touched. Pulling away, 1 got settled into bed with 9, drawing him close to him in a safe hug.

"What are we?," muttered 9, optics gazing down at anything in the room.

"I don't know," said 1, stroking the top of 9's head. "Two fools in love."

9 chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Isn't that the understatement?"

This also got 1 chuckling.

The zippered stitchpunk rested his head against 1's chest. He couldn't imagine anything more warm and safe than being here.

"When you were about to sacrifice yourself," quoth 1, "it was the moment I realized how important you really were to me." He cleared his throat. "I didn't want you to die. It was only until I was brought back did I have another chance again."

"Mmm." 9 nuzzled against 1's neck. "Well, I guess I thought the same when I watched you die."

1 kissed him on the forehead.

"You're not weak, 9," he said, stroking his head.

"I feel weak," uttered 9.

"No, you're not."

9 yawned. Tiredness still had a hold on him.

"Let's get some sleep," said 1, caressing his face.

"Mhmm." The zippered stitchpunk closed his optics. "I love you, 1."

"I love you, 9," crooned 1, kissing his cheek. "My love. Mon trésor."

He soon felt his optics shut close, drifting off into a tranquil sleep.


How was that? Wasn't that romantic, or what? *giggles* I loved writing this one. ^_^ It just goes what to show you.

Well, lookout for chapter five. :3 You won't be disappointed. :D Reviews are alway appreciated.