I actually updated, woo!

She reaches out to grasp his hand in her own, but he recoils.

"What is it?" she asks, taken aback.

"...Maybe we shouldn't any more," he replies.

The girl frowns. "Why?" she asks again.

His eyes dart around the room, nervous and unsure.

"I- I dunno, it's just weird for us to."

"But we're friends," she protests.

"Right?"

Time seems to slow.

I can only gape at the scene presented before me, almost at a standstill.

Popo, my partner, my companion, my best friend, mid-leap as a result of our belay in the air. Only seconds ago, I saw his gentle grin reflecting my own as I was about to celebrate his plan's success. We escaped, I thought. We're safe, I thought. We're together again, I thought.

Now I've lost him. The aerial beast, swooping in, wings extravagantly spread out like it's some kind of show put on for an audience. A brag party, boasting its victory over us, right? Another point to the Nitpicker for cutting yet another pair of climbers' journey short up the infamous Icicle Mountain. Not just our physical journey, but the journey I've travelled with my friend.

That's about to come to an end.

I feel numb. I don't know what the look on my face is at the moment. I don't know what's happening, just like last time. I'm frozen. Rooted. Helpless.

I scream his name with the energy I might have gained from our short-lived victory before it left my body. Is it louder than that monster's screeches, I wonder? Probably not. I'm puny compared to that man-eating beast. A mouse to a wolf. But maybe I can give some hope in that scream. My voice, being the last voice Popo's to hear. It hurts, but...I want to be that person for him.

But what person, exactly?

"No one's seen him at his darkest except her. She's like a sister to him, you know."

"You can't get any closer than she is. There's his acquaintances, his friends, his family, then it's her."

Things like those I'm all too familiar with hearing, whenever Popo and I amble through the village hand in hand. Actually, minus the last part. We don't hold hands in front of anyone except each other. But even without that, people can still tell that we're pretty close for most friendship standards.

Even still, there's something I question myself about all the time that I find myself oddly too nervous to ask my partner in crime. It's always hiding in the back of my mind, prodding and poking my conscience whenever we're together.

It's confusion, ambiguity and haziness all blended together.

More than friends, that's what we are, for sure. But what does it mean? What's "more than a friend"? In what way am I more?

I couldn't ever ask Popo that, of course. It'd be super awkward. It's always awkward whenever the topic of our relationship's brought up.

"They know we're just friends, Nana. They're just teasing."

To put it simply, it's not really something he's willing to discuss most of the time. The feeling's mutual, because I know what kind of questions it'd bring up and- ugh. It'd probably end in another one of my angry rants about people's misconceptions about us. One of those filler things that I decided to slot into the programme at the end because I don't know what else I could say on the matter.

"Hey...you don't like-like me, though, right?"

Never again.

I won't get any answers after this if I let the ice shatter now.

In one leap, I take to the air again, entering the Nitpicker's domain and entering the battle, with nothing but a mallet to hand. But I'm pretty confident the mallet I've been using to stun Topis and other Nitpickers alike is more than enough for this particularly stubborn beast.

"Take this, dimwit!"

With a swift swing, the mallet's head pounds into that of the Nitpicker's (hard enough to dent its skull, bet). Its shriek and the sound of its bones shattering are almost in sync with the impact from my weapon, a deadly killing tool I feel like I've only just discovered.

I manage to pull Popo away from death's door, the edge where he could have tumbled and fallen. I pull him away from the path leading to demise. Just as I stun the Nitpicker and it plummets down the mountain, our hands barely grasp one another's, and-

-we fall, down, down, down, down…

down onto our destination, the blessed flatland we'd leapt so high for at the start. It's heaven.

Collapsing, tumbling, crashing and falling down.

"Ouch..."

My entire body feels stunned, paralysed, trapped by the force from our collision with the surface. It's as if I've been struck by lightning. I'm hurting everywhere, inside and out, endless pain on every inch of body only stabbing and crawling further up my skin. I shiver.

On top of that, there's a heavy weight set upon me, so much it feels like I actually will melt into the ground and join its flesh. I can't see because of what's on top of me, but- it's warm.

In my mind, I start reopening lovingly boxed away treasures, unforgettable memories. That's what this moment feels like, oddly enough: nostalgia. Homesickness and reminiscence, my life's flashing before my eyes, replaying everything.

But before I can engross myself in this momentary comfort, Popo comes to. Then he realises what position we're in, face bursting into fits of red blush – eyes wider than the vastness of the mountain range. Embarrassment, the one emotion his mask of composure fails to conceal.

I bite my lip, uncertain of what to say.

"...Are you hurt?" Popo asks, shattering the silence. A chilling breeze passes by, strumming his bangs in its wake. Yet he concentrates on me.

I shuffle into a slightly more bearable position, sitting up and straightening my posture.

"I'm fine." A pause. "That was pretty intense, huh?" I chuckle, stretching a grin across my face as I start to lean back into the snow. I focus on its blankness and emptiness that sparkles across its surface, looking away.

In the corners of my eyes, Popo shakes his head. His eyes squint as if they're trying to hold back a waterfall, but he doesn't cry – if anything, he seems almost frustrated, his teeth clenched as he quietly claws at the ground. I don't think he wants to cry any more than he already has to add to the abundance of tears in the last few days.

"Maybe we should hold off doing that until we've practised it a bit more," he finally replies.

"Oh, for sure." I lace my affirmation with more laughter to lighten the mood. "We've got a looooong way to go." But it's not just that.

Both of us know very well an advanced technique such as the belay is an essential asset we want – need - alongside our climbing tools to fully scale this mountain. When mastered, the belay can act as a climbing duo's lifesaver, even as a last resort. The slightest error could cost one half of that duo.

Our recent encounter isn't the last that we have upon this mountain. This isn't the last time we'll (attempt to) use the belay. And, most certainly,

this isn't the last time we'll be hanging onto the edge.