The walls of the hospital hallway stood utterly cold but the tiles were much more. Your lower back was roaring, perhaps begging you to spare it from further despair by sitting properly on the waiting bench in front of you instead. But to feel the ache of your muscles is to feel something aside from the dread of the situation at hand. With that, you persisted.

Hugging your knees and staring blankly at the shoe of some random stranger sitting in front of you, a random thought came: why does the greatest bereavement you just experienced in your life feel so familiar? Are you getting a bit too disoriented that you're starting to think the familiarity is due to seeing this stranger's feet?

"It must hurt sitting like that. There's a lot of space beside me." said the stranger who owns the limb as he remained in his position on the bench.

He actually arrived way earlier if you remember correctly and his voice somehow made you snap out of your ponders. The waiting area for patients' visitors is almost empty now—no, it really is empty. Only the two of you are left aside from the nurse overseeing the counter.

"I'm sorry. What time is it?" you observed his features and realized that he was completely out of it as well. He was looking at you but not really. He was uttering words but not in any way connected to them. His eyes were dead blank and calm.

"10 PM."

More importantly, he seems to be in a different place, just as you wish for yourself as well.

"Are you with someone?"

And perhaps I could be in a different place just as he is.

"No, not really." he pondered for a while. "Not anymore."

Or maybe not.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Just as you were about to think of another attempt to sneak your mind out of here, you saw your father's doctor walking towards you. The way his face looked almost had you stand up and run away, even get hysterical so he wouldn't say whatever he was about to say. You shoot the blonde stranger a look—perhaps one asking for help—but of course, he wouldn't be able to do anything for you.

When the old doctor finally halted and you had no choice but to look up he said, "I'm sorry. He had a do-not-resuscitate order prepared. That's all we could do. You may see your father in a bit."

"He had one?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I know this is hard for you, young lady. I'll go back to check on you in a while."

You propped your forehead on your knees and started gripping your hair hard—all without a word.

"Seems like we're both fatherless now," he spoke again after a while.

"What the hell?" you almost blurted out but you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he was still out of it.

"I'll be off now. I offer my condolences to your father." and attempted to stand up but oh, your lower back surely sought revenge.

It seems like he noticed it as well but didn't move. Instead, he asked, "Do you smoke?"

"My father was. Look where it got him."

"Sorry. I didn't mean that."

You attempted to stand again. A hiss was let out when you finally got to kneel. Realizing it was perhaps an invitation for some company, you replied, "I'd like to drink something cold, though. I could go with you as you smoke, I guess?"

There, he finally reached a hand to help you stand up. It's as if he wasn't planning to do so until you agreed, "Perhaps you could tell me more about your dad as I smoke."

"Yeah, as you smoke…" Is he really serious? Should I just go home?

"I'm quite interested to end up the same way as him."

"Your humor is a bit weird."

"A bit," he teasingly clarified. Seems like he's self-aware then, "Apologies. I'm a bit out of it."

"I see that well," and you understand; you reached for his hand to help yourself up, "I could give some tips, I guess." then grabbed your bag on the floor.

Just as you were about to walk, however, the doctor called your name from a distance again, "I suggest you see your father for one last time, young lady."

You froze, bit your lip, and it seemed like your newfound company also waited. "Do you want to see him?" but our lack of an answer—as well as your chest heaving quite heavily, wide eyes, and pursed lips—was enough for him. "I could offer a bit of help."

I could be in a different place just as he is.

You nodded flatly then. He held your hand and casually walked away.

The doctor called you again but the blonde interposed, "The help I could offer is to urge you not to turn your back. If you shoot that doctor a look then you'd definitely be forced to that room even if you don't want to."

You definitely don't do this to strangers but if they offer something they know you need, you'll have whatever that is at your disposal.

You held his hand tight; the blonde heaved a small hum without turning, "I'll take that as a yes."

Perhaps it wasn't just your father who wanted to escape; that's why you understood it so easily. Still, that doesn't mean you can't hate him for it—for not talking you out of it. Your little mind hopes your father could see and hate you as well, just so it'd be fair somehow.

"Sorry for grabbing you out there." he tossed you the cold drink he bought from the convenience store nearby. His treat for agreeing to his brief company.

"Thanks," you opened the can, "but I made you do that without even asking for your name."

"Erwin," he replies with a stick in his mouth. He lights it up and then talks again, "Yours?"

You told him your nickname instead to be safe, then shifted your attention to the surroundings—curled up beside the open parkway and the night breeze moistening up your nose. Maybe it wasn't a good choice to opt for a cold drink. However, just like earlier, Erwin seems to be a sharp one. When he saw you rub your hands together in the cold, he took the drink back to his grasp.

"Hey, you said you'd treat me."

After a huff of smoke and a bit of a curl on his lip, he gave you a spare stick, "Smoking could ease the cold. Try it."

It was your turn to smile, in a teasing way this time, "You're asking me, one who just got a parent dead presumably due to smoking, to go and try one?"

"Well," he shot the stick a short look, "if you don't want it then—"

You grabbed it with the lighter, put it in your mouth, and attempted to light it up only to fail.

"Is this broken?"

Erwin stifled a laugh and held the lighter, "You have to inhale as you light it. Go on, inhale." you did as you were told and he was right. It really did. However, a quite violent cough followed suit.

"What is this? My father died for this?"

"You'll understand soon."

"Tastes fucking crap," you didn't throw it away, though. You just tried again until it's not cough-inducing anymore.

"I haven't said it yet but I offer my sincere condolences for the death of your father," Erwin mused when both of you finally settled on the place. He was leaning on a wall while you were seated on a parking block.

For a while, only the sounds of cars honking down at the main road could be heard. He was right; the cigarette could bring warmth, so warm that your eyes started heating up. A sob followed suit. Erwin didn't speak. Somehow, his composed demeanor made you quite conscious, "Aren't you going to cry as well?"

The gentleman landed his coat on your curled-up figure. The gesture made you look up—surprised—but his face was what caught you instead. It was colder than the wind, way more dead than earlier. "I'm rather feeling angry right now. Too angry to cry,"

"I tend to break down into tears when angry, though. Still, thanks for that. I really needed to get out of there."

"Do you want to escape?" Erwin inquired and you nodded, "wanna do it with me?"

Your mourn was momentarily replaced by confusion. It was night, nearing midnight even. "Uh, no? why—" would you think I'll agree with that? "—I mean, how are we supposed to do that?"

"In any way you think of."

"I assume this is the last time we'll see each other."

"Not if we do otherwise."

"You seem to act so comfortable around me, young mister. Do you know me?"

"Do I?" he weakly asked, obviously it wasn't intended for you. He seems to be pondering about that too.

Honestly, if not for that familiarity, you would've walked away right after his inquiry.

"If this night passed, I wouldn't want to meet you again. It's not personal. It's just that I encountered you right after he died and if I would want to escape that occurrence, you're included in it."

"Right. I wouldn't want to remember this night too. Perhaps if we see each other again, we could try doing that." he fixed his composure and bid farewell, "Keep the jacket. Try not to smoke again, though. I was just kidding earlier."

That made complete sense. If he was on this very scene, it's needless to say that he needs to be forgotten too.

But that wasn't the case for you since then. You get nightmares from that night—the voice of that old doctor, the cold hospital surface, the frustration for the dead who belittled you by not talking about significant matters which left you lost on how to move on, and more.

However, the scene also shifts into a completely different event. There was this little you standing in a vast cemetery. Then a young blonde was doing the same on a tombstone beside. The sun was striking so bright. You were wearing a completely uncomfortable dress while the boy had an all-black suit covering him. The tremendous sweat formed on his body might be from shock or grief.

"Seems like we're both fatherless now," you mused at him grimly.

He didn't give you a response but you felt his glare as if asking "What's wrong with you?" When he realized you were out of it and a bit younger than him too, he just asked, "Do you have any parents left?"

"Mom. Home."

"Where do you live?"

"East border of Trost."

"You might not be that far away from my home, then. You'll end up instigating a fight if your thoughts are that lost, too." He faced you then, "I could accompany you if you want."

You shot him a look of surprise. You were sure he was the same as you are, if not more. Is this kid trying to be that flashy concerned stranger to another kid in bereavement—wait, no, that's not it.

"You could be honest and say you don't want to look at his grave anymore. I mean, I'm of the same disposition."

Somehow, you felt him sneer a bit, "Don't put it that way." yet he didn't deny it.

You thought Erwin would stay as that—a lone boy appearing in your dreams. You thought your mind might be projecting grief towards him because he was able to give you a tiny bit of solace when your father was announced dead. This assumption was enough to get over it quickly no matter its recurrence.

However, when you came back from your leave of absence, there he was—a new student in post-graduate, taking the same History degree you're in as an undergraduate.

"Mr. Smith will be one of our primary resources in the research," said Petra, one of your block mates.

"Which one?"

"The archives about political prisoners and state-sponsored killings."

You shot your eyes open while the blonde remained unperturbed.

"I'm rather feeling angry right now. Too angry to cry," or so he said during that night. With your hands turning cold and a lump forming in your throat, you looked sideways.

"Do you know each other, perhaps?"

"Yes, we met at—"

"I don't—" want to remember such a dark phase in my life again. "W-we met once but I don't remember much of it."

"I see. I hope you get along, then. You're aching to graduate already, after all."

You forced out a defeated smile at the lady then shot Erwin a look again, this time with a half-smile. You reached a hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Erwin."

"Again, indeed." He returned the gesture and somehow, you could see a glint of amusement in his features.

Much more unluckily for you, a college night out commenced a week after. You tried not to come but your friends were defiant. They thought you needed to unwind after months of isolation. You begrudgingly agreed, quite annoyed as they couldn't understand your isolation is the unwinding itself.

"Come on, drink!" Keiji, a mutual friend, urged you. Your friends were as tipsy as he was. Their noise, space, lights, and everything else started to overwhelm you.

"Stop—"

Petra shoved a fried chicken in your mouth. "Come on, don't be a party pooper! Aren't you stressed with school, too? You just came back. You must be as stressed as we are if not more!" then suddenly waved, "Oh hi, Erwin! Looking great there!"

She was indeed drunk. She's not calling him Mr. Smith anymore.

"Your crew asked for the resources the other day but nobody gave me any contact. I figured I'd have it now so you could start working on it tomorrow."

The redhead gave you a mischievous glint then; blood in your face flushed out. You quickly chew the chicken before talking but Petra swiftly grabbed your phone, unlocked it herself, and flashed it to the man standing.

"Sure! Put it here!"

It might be subtle, but there goes the hint of amusement again. Was that because of what you've said before—that you wouldn't want to see him again if you were to escape what happened? Was the circumstance amusing for him?

With your mood ruined, you decided to let this night pass defeatedly, hoping no one will bug you for the next few days. Only to have your patience tested with them getting more aggressive after a while. Erwin was at a different table, perhaps the youngest one—the only student, even—in a circle full of other faculty and researchers. He seems to have a great reputation himself despite being too young. That area seems a bit tranquil too as no one would dare dancing on top of the table in front of them.

You were on the verge of erupting.

Until a text came.

Erwin: You seem to be in a quite unfortunate situation again, aren't you?

You shot his table a look. He averted his gaze away as soon as you did.

You: Every single time we cross paths.

Erwin: Do you want to escape?

Your lip curled. Quite a smart one, doing a silly parallel to the first occurrence you turned his offer down.

You: Unfortunately.

Erwin: Wanna do it with me?

You: Can we?

Your phone rang a few seconds after that. When you shot a glare he just nodded, urging you to answer.

Even before you could ask, he spoke through the line, "Pretend as if a household member is calling you home."

You snorted.

"Who's that?" Petra inquired.

"Yes, mom?"

"Great," Erwin hummed, satisfied. "More."

"What? A burglar came into the house?"

"Wait, that's a bit—"

"Tall and blonde? Goodness gracious," you gasped, "sounds like someone I know!" Then you swiftly grabbed your stuff. "Okay okay, I'll go home now. Don't do something dangerous, okay? Bye, mom."

"Sorry, an emergency came up," you flashed Petra a smile but realized it was a bit too wide.

"Do you need help?"

"No, no. I'll just update you through the phone. Take care on your way home, guys."

"Take care! That blonde thief must go fuck himself! People these days, seriously!"

When you took a look at Erwin again, he was stifling a laugh. You smiled and mouthed a "thank you."

Afterward, a message beeped again:

Erwin: This isn't a free service this time.

One of the staff in that bar was Petra's father, and upon going to the back of the building you heard him being badly berated. The boss was even taunting him to call her daughter from upstairs so she could see what miserable of a man he actually is.

You sat on the ground hidden as you know better than to interrupt. A young fellow like you, let alone his daughter's friend, would do more harm than good if you were to make yourself seen. Punishing yourself for being a despicable bystander, you etched every syllable and reeked authority in your ears, tormenting yourself with further guilt just as you deserved.

The surprise in Erwin's face upon seeing you made you aware of your sobs. As he couldn't take his entrance back, he just offered you his handkerchief and sat quietly one meter away.

"Is this man someone you know?"

"He's my friend's father."

He watched the commotion for a while as he grabbed a stick from his pocket. "Do you need help?"

"What for?"

"I drank a bit tonight and have the ability to get your friend's father out of that." Erwin put the stick in his mouth and added, "Seems like his boss will be taking another hour, after all, now that he just started crying."

"Shut up." You choked on your tears with a chuckle, "Are you trying to volunteer in creating a scene? You want to beat him up?"

"Beating him up would only aggravate his desire for his opponent's torment. His type would be best shattered through words."

"You gonna shout at him, then?"

"I can shatter people without shouting," then he noticed your hands trying to steal a cigarette from his pack. "You're smoking now?"

"Guess when I started doing so—gum and candies? You're keeping gum and candies in a cigarette pack?"

There you realized that the thing in his mouth is a lollipop. "I've quitted for a while now." He put it out briefly to establish it, "But attempting to steal a cigarette from someone you met once but barely remembered? How blunt."

The tone was supposed to go off mockingly as he knew well you never forgot that night, but you were rather distracted with his features illuminated by the moon and old lamp—how divine he looks and how familiar the sight is, just as if you've been seeing it since forever.

"You followed me here so I thought you wanted to be friends again."

"Told you what I did isn't free service this time." Despite the shame, you still accepted when he offered a spare lollipop. "Anyway, since you don't want me to actively interfere…" then suddenly threw a medium-sized rock at the boss.

"Who the fuck was that? Do you have a death wish? Fuck, I'm bleeding!"

Both of you remained hidden nonetheless.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You owe me additional payment for that."

"Young sir, I think you're way richer than I could ever be."

"I'm a working student with dead parents," he countered, "and I won't ask you to pay in cash."

"Oh! Your jacket, then?" you gasped, "I almost forgot!"

"You have it with you now?"

"Hold on, I'll just—"

"Then wear it."

"Huh?"

"I was actually contemplating offering you my sweater right now. Your attire makes me cold on your behalf."

"Sorry," then realizing something, you forced out a giggle. "This is the same one I wore that day."

"I noticed."

"But I have other clothes in my wardrobe, to clarify."

"It's understandable, though. That one looks great on you."

That's what you thought as well; the same reason why you weren't able to burn it despite the desire to unaffiliate yourself from everything that night. You hid the slight fluster by wrapping yourself with his sweater, "Sorry for flashing you one of my crying faces again."

"You can tell me the reason why, if you can."

"I used to witness my father getting the same treatment, just before his body tied him down to the bed for good. The world isn't too kind to people when their purpose is risked, no matter how pitiful their circumstances could be. I only witnessed it two times and on the second one I almost knocked his boss out. He berated me and I realized that it's more detrimental for a geezer like him to have a kid attempting to protect."

"Are you afraid of what Petra's father would think of you if you had butted in?"

You curled your brows, "I didn't tell you he's Petra's dad."

"She was the one who recommended this place for a night out."

"Oh, did she?"

"You should hang out with them more. I can see how earnest they are in bringing you back to them."

Despite the appreciation, you realized you couldn't do that much yet. "I don't think I was concerned at what he would think of me but rather how it would make him feel. You see, my father wasn't crying while being nagged, but he did while talking to me, shouting that I didn't help him at all."

"That's how a child who loved their parents would respond. He belittled your capability to be someone he can rely on."

"Not that I don't understand him."

"I know you already empathized with why he acted like that. I'm telling you to have the same attitude for yourself."

You flashed him a genuine smile in gratitude.

In the brief moment you were with this man, you thought nothing could genuinely surprise him; but he paused, just as if he didn't expect that at all despite his flattery that cannot be paid with measly smiles.

"You should flash that more."

"What is?"

"That face."

You snorted, "Maybe smother me with more validation, just like that and the earlier one."

"A job I'm very much willing to partake in."

It'd be futile to hide your fluster if this persisted so you asked instead, "Would you mind telling me about your father next?"

"This isn't about me, though."

"It is, now."

"I'm saving that for later."

"When? Why?"

"You're the one to conduct an interview with me so we don't need to rush on that matter, don't we?"

The daunting realization came back.

"Was your father… killed that night?" His expression darkened so you added, "Sorry, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it."

"I wouldn't accept your group's offer if I'm not fine talking about it."

But still, it wouldn't be fair for him—not when he was such a decent company. You changed the topic yet again, hoping the breeze wouldn't take away the tiny solace amidst heavy dispositions. "You know, ever since that night, I've been dreaming about the tomb of my father lying in a completely different cemetery. Strangely, it was placed next to your father's and you're standing beside me. We're both kids in medieval outfits."

"Are you saying I left too much impression that my presence invaded your dreams?"

"Yeah. How charismatic of a man who offered cigarettes to a lady who had her father dead by such."

The boss and Petra's father already took their leave, scared that the rocks would persist, hence Erwin didn't hold back his genuine laugh. You realized it was the first time he did in your presence, let alone anyone you saw him with.

"It's my pleasure to endear a beautiful lady despite bastardic gestures, then."

"Why did you quit, though?"

"Well, you said it was fucking crap. Eventually I deemed cigarettes as fucking crap too."

You huffed a chortle in exchange, "How charismatic of me to rattle a fine man with my bastardic words."

"Don't be surprised. I'm sure you've done that a lot."

"You're too kind with your words."

"I was trying to ease the cold for you."

You savored the breeze by closing your eyes then.

Back then, you thought he was just a mere stranger to pull you out of some unwanted place. Now he seems to have the potential to subtly convince you otherwise too—that you don't necessarily have to get out of places you don't want to be in. If there's this grief, you could actually sit with it. You could hold its hand and wait until it's done shouting. You wait until it's willing to be picked up and talked to.

"Ah," you hummed pleasantly, "I feel much better. Tell me how I can pay for this unfree service."

"I'm new to this town and quite in need of help to get accustomed to it. You're the only one who could do so, given that you've been here since birth."

"Stop fooling me. You have a very huge circle to choose from."

"You're gonna pay me back by pretending to be fooled." Finally, he stood up and reached his hand to help you out.

You scoffed, punched his hand away, and stood up yourself, "You should've just told me you want my company more."

"I figured you might get easily bored with too awfully blunt men. Oh, and one more thing."

"What?"

"Tell me more about your dreams."

"Are you that amused that your presence stuck on me?"

"Of course," he didn't even hesitate. "I'm curious at how creative your mind could get."

"We have lots of things to talk about. Spare me the shame."

"Sucks to be you," Erwin mused as both of you finally started walking, "because that was the most pleasant thing I've heard in a long while. I don't think I'll stop bugging you with that."

This was supposedly a one-shot but i'm not quite comfortable publishing a 10k word stuff in one overwhelming chapter. Next and last chapter will follow suit.