Shiver Guy—Gray, I correct myself—wasn't kidding when he said he had no good friends. I spend roughly a week avoiding his apartment, but keeping a subtle eye on his guests. There's a heavily tattooed girl with an umbrella, hair in gorgeous blue waves. Some pale guy with ghost-white hair stalks in and out of Gray's door nightly. Sometimes he brings companions: more pale teenagers with oddly-colored hair.
Gray always opens the door to their knocks, expression mild. He usually has coffee ready to hand them. If he sees me peering through my window (he always does), he'll give a half-smile and a shake of the head.
Then the door clicks shut, and I'm left drowning in questions.
My first thought is a drug operation—but no. His guests leave clean, composed and obviously sober. Plus, his apartment smells like Lysol, not meth. Maybe Gray runs a boarding house? Teaches late-night dance classes? Hosts orgies?
The truth is, I don't have a freaking clue. And it kills me.
I'm okay with having odd neighbors; in Magnolia, you have to be. But the thing is, even though we don't talk about it, at least we all know what's wrong with each other. Oh yes, we'll mention behind closed doors, remember Jellal's quick stint with demon possession? Poor Mira's still suffering through that one.
When Happy, Natsu's bluish-gray kitten, is found in locations only birds can reach, Magnolia residents calmly accept that maybe some cats can fly.
As for me…well, when I showed up wet and starving at Magnolia, with my perfectly threaded eyebrows and ruined designer clothes, it didn't take much for the residents to leap to rich runaway. Just how rich I was, and how far I'd run, took a little longer to discover.
They did, though. And after some unsubtle sniffing around, I was accepted as another friendly freak and was left in peace.
That's how I justify my spying: just the obligatory sniffing before Gray could join our cohort of benign misfits.
Admittedly, I take a little too hard to investigative work; I'm a writer, dammit, and writers are curious. I finally delve beyond monitoring Gray's front door—I go straight to his guests.
Through happenstance and luck, the pale girl forgets her umbrella in the rack outside Gray's apartment as she leaves one day, hair still perfectly coiffed. And hey, I take every opportunity I get. I quickly grab the umbrella and charge after her, stumbling into the wet street.
"Hey!" I holler, slipping through the rain in my flip-flops. "You with the hair! You left this in my hall."
The girl turns, expression mild—she perfectly mirrors Gray's neutral gaze. It's the first time I've gotten a full look at her face. She's very lovely. Or she would be if she weren't so stiff, like a blue-eyed marionette.
"Thank you," she says, taking her umbrella back.
"So…you were visiting Gray, huh? My neighbor?"
"Yes."
"Cool." I shrug in a manner that's hopefully casual. "So what's his deal anyway? What do you go see him for?"
Her eyes narrow.
Jesus, this chick is a little scary. I backpedal quickly, saying, "Obviously none of my business. Just curious. Making sure he's not a bomber or arsonist or just plain nutty." When her gaze only intensifies, I lamely add, "I'm Lucy, by the way."
The girl purses her lips, but finally relaxes her stare. (I exhale with relief.) She takes a step back, opening her umbrella—it's white, covered with pale pink hearts, and totally incongruous with her frankly terrifying vibe.
"He does not burn things," she says. "Or bomb things. But he is a bit nutty."
He's clearly not the only one, I think.
"Right. Okay. Good to know."
She considers me. "He's mentioned a Lucy, but I did not imagine her to be you."
Huh. I can't imagine Gray discusses me; he is such a recluse that I've barely talked to him since we first met. Unable to resist, I ask, "What did he say about me?"
"He said you are nosy and odd."
Though admittedly true, that one still stung.
"We have seen you watching through the window," the girl continues, still oddly formal. "But Gray says you are his friend. If this is true, then you are also my friend."
"Um…sure?" I shrug, at a loss. "We could be friends, I guess. But you might want to start a friendship by at least telling me your name."
She inclines her head, thinking. I can't get over how unsettling her prettiness is: She stands as still as a mannequin, face so blank she looks almost dead. There's something decidedly horror-filmy about her.
"You may call me Juvia," she finally decides. "It is my real name."
"Do you usually use aliases or something?"
"I usually don't introduce myself at all." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "People remember me."
That doesn't surprise me. I consider fishing for a last name, but something tells me not to push my luck with her. "Juvia. Okay. So…how do you know Gray, then? You guys dating?"
"No," Juvia says shortly. For the first time, something flickers in her eyes, but it fades before I can identify it. "He does not date. Anyone."
That does surprise me; Gray is handsome, and can't be more than nineteen or twenty. Girls flit through his house on a nightly basis—and Juvia clearly has feelings for him. Or at least, as many feelings as this odd, cold girl can muster. Although I probably wouldn't date her either. She seems like the type capable of crazy-murdering an ex.
"You're friends then."
"Yes."
"Cool," I say. "Have you known him long?"
Juvia shakes her head, seemingly amused. "You ask too many questions, Lucy Heartfilia."
Upon hearing Heartfilia, everything inside me clenches. No one, not even Natsu, has brought up my last name in months—not since my background ran the gossip mill and eventually settled as part of Magnolia's everyday weirdness. Tabloids now chase after juicier stories; PIs search for other lost daughters. By all accounts, the world has moved on.
Still, it has echoes (windows, funeral homes, figurines). And honestly, hearing it from the mouth of some stranger seriously pisses me off.
"Who told you that name?" I snap at her.
Juvia blinks innocently. "Gray did. Why?"
"He has no business knowing that."
"You have no business following his friends into the rain either, Lucy. We all want to know things." She cocks her opened umbrella jauntily over her head, smiles, gives a little wave. "But I do not mind your curiosity."
"How did he even find out that—"
But she is already walking away, splashing through puddles in her heeled boots, humming something eerie. (Dammit, how does she make her exits fabulous and scary?)
I'm left glaring at her retreating form, damp and seething. "What the hell?" I yell at her back. "You're just gonna ignore me now? This is—this is a highly disagreeable way to make friends!"
I hear a soft laugh. "We will have coffee next time!" she calls over her shoulder. "Gray will make it for us. And you may be my friend as much as you like."
Walking her stiff puppet-walk, Juvia turns a corner and disappears from view.
notes: honestly, this story is pure, unadulterated writing fun. and the world is on fire, so I really needed some of that, y'know?
