She takes a month off and returns dark hair and thin arms.

Smudges cling to her eyes and Felicity is tired. Las Vegas has left her drowning in echoes of neon lights. Melt your skin pink, chemical blue, highlighter yellow; each imprinted into her eyelids. Her mother leaves her ears buzzing and throat tight closed.

John takes her out to lunch and tell her she looks pretty with brown hair. She says she'll dye it back to blonde and stuffs the rest of her food down her throat and half wishes she'll choke, tries to push that knot in her throat down to her stomach.

Roy continues to take her to the arcade, and she starts smiling more. He makes her laugh, and that chips away at the ugly thing that makes it hard to swallow. She makes him smile with a storm of hand gestures and lousy sound effects.

Oliver can see her relax, whatever she'd brought back with her from Nevada slowly weakens its grip.

...

It's Thursday and two weeks since she's seen her mother, and her hair is still brown. She is close enough for him to feel her through his clothes. She smells nice. Oliver catches a strand of her hair between his fingers and she is too busy rambling to notice. He lets go and slides an inch away. She's sporting an easy smile and relaxed air.

"You look different brunette."

Sentence pressing pause on her chatter, she laughs.

"I should think so," and returns to a quiet downpour of words.

The next day he catches sight of her blonde ponytail back in place.

...

She takes up a class on parkour. She doesn't mention it.

Flames lick her muscles, and the first few days leave her burning. A month later, she's thinner and much more solid. Her skin shines softer and her calves are harder.

It relaxes her, make her feel less behind. She's catching up.

She still doesn't mention it

...