I hope that you will enjoy this much-belated update.

* * * Ch. 12 – IS THIS IT (The Strokes) * * *

I turn my back to Faye and watch the cab disappear through the streets. When I can't see it anymore, my sight drifts upwards, following the lines of the buildings and the power lines until it meets the sky. There are no stars. And it's not even black. It's an ugly, murky color like rotten water running through rusted pipes.

It's way too late…Or much too early for that matter.

I sigh and look down to the asphalt. I turn left. And I turn right. I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. Where the hell am I?

I stand in place listening to their collection of footsteps fading into the echo of the city. Just standing alone in the middle of the street, wondering why I've let myself get this far into something I don't know. Something so vague and unpredictable that it actually makes me insecure. I take a cigarette and light it up merely to feel the familiar scent of nicotine surrounding me. And I stand in place, every muscle in my body locked as these thoughts repeat themselves over and over again.

Minutes after the cab has left, the last wisps of smoke crawl up to the gloomy sky, blending into the air as they escalate. There's a second of hesitation. But then I let the cigarette fall from my lips. And I sigh. My sight to the ground, I watch the butt of the cigarette burn, the ring around its end slowly fading in intensity.

I look up and give a step forward, stepping on the cigarette as I begin to follow the path that the cab had taken earlier.

"Are you done now?" her voice somewhat breaking out of a whisper.

And if ever in my life I have been scared, it is now. My breath stops. My body freezes over. My heart beating so fast I can feel the resonance of the pulsations in my stomach. Click. Click. Click. The markings of her even steps make the muscles of my body tense up more and more with a weird mixture of indecision and anticipation.

"So I guess it's true," Faye says quietly.

I don't bother to acknowledge her.

She waits a second before speaking again, the words leaving her slowly, "…the older you get, the more you become like a kid again…"

The wind is still and I can feel her sight on me. A small pressure on my shoulders. A dull wavering in my chest. The sort of sensation that will make any man falter. I glance back quickly. And curse myself for doing so. She's staring at me, her arms crossed close to her body. I turn away, shifting my weight and looking around the street again.

"Don't you remember?" she asks, her heels now dragging as she walks. "You're supposed to stay in a group…Hurry up," and then I feel the back of my sleeve tugged, "we've already been left behind."

"…It's fine…" I say, struggling to keep my voice even.

I hear her inhale roughly, the exact same noise she used to make years ago when she tried to suppress her frustration. But she exhales quietly, and a few seconds after she asks rather seriously, "What's fine?"

I meet her gaze only to look away. And I can't respond properly. "I think…I'll head back after all."

She clutches my shirt. "Why?" She retaliates quickly, "Don't be an idiot. As tired as you claim to be—It's already this late—"

"Shouldn't you be with Jessica and Sarah?"

"What for?" Her hold on my shirt tighter still. "They even know where the spare key is," she says snidely. "It's just you who's the odd man out."

And I laugh. As honestly as I ever could. Truly laughing. At everything. At the situation. At myself.

"What's with that!" she says as she hastily releases my sleeve.

"What's with that?" I repeat to myself as I turn to face her, her expression caught between repugnance and confusion.

But I really should be the one asking that. What's with that? Why hold on to my sleeve so tightly while saying something like that?

I smirk once before forcing myself to stop, "What's with that?" I say looking down, loudly enough for Faye to hear clearly. "I guess…nothing really."

"You…" She steps forward, "Won't you just." She grips my shoulders—

And I jolt under her touch, giving a hasty half-step back. "Watch it!"

She retorts quickly, "it's because you're like this—You should've said something sooner!"

"Sooner?...Ah, right," I reply calmly but sardonic to the point of harm, "Is it because one way or another I'm supposed to figure out what you're thinking?"

Faye stands with her hands tensed at her sides, her lips pressed, her chest heaving.

And we stand there. On the edge of the sidewalk. Time quickly making me repent saying something I had full-heartedly meant.

After the pain leaves my skin, the area keeps pulsating as if Faye was still pressing the veins of my shoulder so tightly that my blood had to struggle to pass through the constricted space.—It annoys me.—I break out of our statuesque stance and pull back the collar of my shirt to look at my shoulder. "…Fuck…It's still red…"

Her sight on the ground, Faye says distantly, "…Even if it's something that heals in a week, you shouldn't just leave it like that..."

My fingers slip away from my collar.

She looks up. "You can't take care of it out here…so…just hurry up already." She reaches for me again, but with nowhere near as much certainty as before. Although I see her hands approaching me, I still flinch at her touch. This time she makes sure to pull me by my left wrist, holding me like a mother might lead her stubborn child. "It's on the fourth floor," she says, "so it already takes a while to get there as is. I don't need you to be procrastinating right now."

And it's extremely painful to realize just how consciously Faye pushes us to re-establish roles that we had been well adjusted to in the past. Whatever else doesn't matter. Right now, I've become the idiot getting injured for no valuable reason. And Faye. Even if it may not be the case, I guess Faye's trying to be the one who acts unconcerned while worrying.

I want to shake her hand off. I really do. But as aggravated as I may be, I hate that I have neither the willingness nor energy left to defy her. That in reality, I'm the one who should be ashamed for letting myself get so caught up in something that I should have let go of as soon as I realized it.

I don't put up any resistance; I slowly catch on to her pace, my eyes looking forward to the building. There is nothing particularly special about it. Only four floors tall. Grey concrete. Metal stairs. Not trashy. But not luxurious. Just normal.

"There's no elevator," Faye says. "So being on the fourth floor…it's inconvenient…" And another second of silence passes before she adds, "…don't you think?"

And as if to add insult to injury, Faye speaks to me as we had been in perfectly good terms since the moment we met again.

I force myself to speak, consciously controlling my reaction, obviously joking when I say, "I guess it'll keep you from getting fat."

She punches my uninjured shoulder, but with no real intention. She smiles and looks up at me, "Who's the one who said women's rib's shouldn't show?"

But though Faye can speak normally, after seeing her unconsciously smile—which has been a rare occurrence for me lately—I have difficulty answering her at all, "That…Wasn't that just a roundabout way of referring to Jessica?"

"Tsk," Faye clicks her tongue, but I catch a bit of a smirk on her lips.

We give a few more steps and I realize that, within that short distance, her hold on me has completely changed. With only her fingertips applying a soft pressure to my triceps. Gentle. And completely unnecessary. And we don't say another word.

Through the patio. Up the four flights of stairs. And, only after turning the doorknob to her apartment, Faye releases my arm. She opens the door unhurriedly, carefully stepping inside.

"Hey Faye!" Sarah yells from the inside, "Don't you have any beer?"

Faye lightly touches, or rather barely touches, my hand before she walks towards the kitchen saying, "Why the hell would I have beer? If you want alcohol I only have whiskey and wine. If you want something else go get it from your fridge."

And I abruptly miss the pressure of Faye's touch. Reflexively, I slide my hand over the place she had held. I indulge in the feeling for a second. But I catch myself and I hastily put my hands in my pockets while giving a step forward into the apartment.

It's a nice size. There's a small space after the entrance with some of Faye's shoes scattered around. The living room is big enough for a small television, a coffee table over a round rug, and a large grey couch filled with pillows of every shape and color. There's a picture of Ed and Ein on the shelf of a bookcase built into the corner of the room. And a picture of Ed drawing on Jet's face while he sleeps.—There is no picture of me.—The walls are mostly bare. And the dining area is more of an office space. It has a tall dining table covered in folders and papers, a laptop sitting over a small stack, and four tall chairs, one holding a printer. There's a small island separating the kitchen and dining area. The kitchen has a full size fridge, stove, microwave, and even a dishwasher, with enough cabinet space to store more than anyone could eat in a couple of weeks. There's a door to the right of the dining area, and as I walk closer to the dining table, I catch a glimpse of the corner of a bed.

It's then that Jessica steps out of, what I'm assuming to be, the bedroom door, yelling in surprise, a shrill shriek that makes my ears ring. I grimace and watch her heave and stutter, "That scared me…You shouldn't stand in doorways like that. It'll scare me."

I smirk. Wasn't she being a little too familiar with me?

"Hey, Spike," Sarah calls, "lend me your height for a sec."

Not that this other one is being any different. And with less of a reason to do so.

"What for?" Jessica says before I even bother to reply. "Don't you always brag about your height? Where is it now, huh?"

"To a shrimp like you," Sarah laughs, "I won't say I don't brag about it. But the real issue here is that I can't hold my whiskey and I'm a few inches too short to reach the wine."

"Wine!" Jessica squeals, "That's a different story altogether!" She grabs the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me towards the kitchen. Her strength is basically nothing. I stand in place and she ends up stumbling forward instead. She picks up her composure and says persuasively, "Ah, of course you're a whiskey sort of man…I'll tell you where Faye keeps it if you help us reach her wine."

"Why are you making deals so openly?" Faye asks stepping out of a hallway next to the refrigerator. She's changed her clothes, her navel exposed, and fixes her camisole over her abdomen as she says, "Isn't it obvious I can clearly hear you?"

But next to Faye, Sarah doesn't seem to be very patient. Seeing no one aid her, she climbs on to the sink, grabs the wine from the rack, and steps down again. When Faye faces her, she looks at her in disgust.

"What?" Sarah says, "Like you don't like to drink?"

"The issue is not drinking," Faye retorts.

Jessica practically skips to the kitchen and I'm left standing next to the door of the bedroom. I glance inside, but it's too dark and I can't see anything. I face the kitchen again, watching Faye for a second.

Although we're only separated by a few feet, it feels like a different world altogether. Though at some point I had picked up the habit of watching others to pass the time, right now, watching makes me uncomfortable. I can only stand it for a little while before walking away towards the living area.

I stroll to the couch, trying to catch something that I may have missed the first time I had glanced around. But there really isn't much. Except a lot of pillows. Everywhere. A pillow on each of two dining chairs. A pillow underneath the coffee table. A pillow besides the TV stand. And when I finally get to the couch, I have to move some out of the way before I can sit down.

I cross my hands and stare at my fingers while attempting to mentally suppress the itchiness that has developed over the scald. But it becomes too much to bear and I run my nails over my shoulder. It hurts. I stop and let the pain dissuade. Except, as soon as the sting begins to clear, the itchiness is right there again. I try for a second time, but I only end up confirming that the area is too tender to scratch…I exhale and my sight catches the television's remote control. I pick it up and say, "Faye, I'm turning this on."

In the kitchen, she seems to have her hands full handling the other two. "Do whatever you want," she says quickly.

I push the power button. It's the news. An overview of Damian's earlier press-release to be exact. I glance at the kitchen and change the channel before anyone notices. The next channel is a rerun of an association football match. The finals for a cup whose name would be impossible for me to pronounce on the first try. But it's entertaining enough, so I decide not to risk running into more programming with Damian as a topic.

After a few minutes, Faye walks next to the coffee table and sits down a glass of water. She extends her hand towards me. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Poison."

"…"

"Just give me your hand."

I do as she says, half struggling to do so, and she drops two mildly dark orange pills onto my palm. And whether on purpose or not, our fingertips catch as she moves her hand away.

"This is ibuprofen," she says. "You're bad with acetaminophen, right?"

Faye walks away without hearing my answer. Leaving me by myself in the unfinished conversation she had started.

But she's right; I break out in hives if I take acetaminophen.

After taking the medication, the pain on my skin begins to dissuade and the lack of sleep starts catching up to me. I watch the game mindlessly, reflexively following the movements on the screen without paying attention to anything that is happening.

Still, I'm very curious. And, whether consciously or not, I change the channel back to the news. Commercials are playing. I keep watching, unconsciously waiting for the programming to return. Yet, the instant I see Damian's face, I change the channel back to the match.

This isn't good.

I slide my palm over my face and eyes. I inhale…What am I doing? If I want to know, isn't it fine for me to just figure it out? I sigh and carefully lean back on the couch, this time determined to keep the channel on the news.

But all of my resolve amounts to nothing. As I'm about to finally change the channel, I see a scrolling banner appear at the top of the match. The headline reads: Knight Speaks About Abduction.

Even this much makes me nervous and I can't keep my sight still at all. From the television to Faye. It keeps jumping back and forth as I hastily try to make sense of things.

A midfielder is expelled from the game and the yellow team has a penalty shot. Knight was held captive by one of the top groups of drug smugglers in Mars. The opposing goalie successfully blocked the shot. Faye is looking through her nearly empty cabinets complaining that she can't ever remember where she puts things. Knight's struggle to control smuggling made him the group's target. An unexpected goal from the maroon team. Faye drops a box of cereal, the little pieces scatter all over the counter and floor. Knight was abducted following the arrest and sentence of lifetime imprisonment of the group's leader. The yellow team's goalie is hurt because the maroon team's forward kicked his hand. The group bargained to trade Knight and the other hostages for the return of their leader.—Ah, so it wasn't for money after all.—Faye is trying to convince Sarah to help her. The play is declared as an offside so there is no point for the maroon team. The trade was made successfully. It's Jessica that ends up helping Faye. Knight promises to continue enforcing his anti-drug smuggling agenda. Jessica finishes cleaning the cereal from the floor. Faye closes the cabinet. The game ends two to one in the maroon team's favor.

My mind suddenly goes blank.

I blink and look away from the television. I close my eyes and take a few breaths before carefully resting my back on the couch. I open my eyes, slowly gazing around the texture of the ceiling…What was it I just read?

I touch my right shoulder lightly with the palm of my hand.

"Is it still bothering you?" Faye asks from the kitchen. But at the moment, I'm so distracted that I don't even realize whom she is speaking to. A few seconds pass before she adds angrily, "Bastard, who do you think I'm talking to?"

I glare at her first, still running my left hand over my shoulder, "…it's just itching some."

"Do something about it," Faye says sternly. "It's annoying to see you being so fidgety."

"Should we go to the hospital…?" Jessica asks uncertainly from behind her glass of wine.

"What for?" Faye responds, "You think he'll die from something like this? It's just a waste of money."

"…It's fine," I say relaxing my back. "Besides, the medicine I took has already taken most of the pain away."

Yes, that's right. This I can stand. This is a sting I can get used to. My skin being constantly itchy and hot. It's not the fact that it hurts. It's the discomfort that's the issue. The discomfort that makes me anxious. And the anxiety that keeps mounting up on top of itself to the extent that I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore.

That's it.

I'm over thinking.

I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the couch.

I should stop. Stop thinking. Stop worrying. I just need to let it pass. Just time and it'll be okay. Just. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop. And I use it as a mantra. Repeating it over and over again until I lose consciousness.

I don't dream, but slowly, something crawls into my sleep. A ringing…a distant ringing—No. A ringing near me. A ringing with by far the most annoying tone I've ever heard.

My eyes shoot open.

It's blurry. And I blink. And the ringing is still there. And my head is heavy.

"You woke up?"

Slowly, I sit up. I hold my head, my eyes closed. The ringing stops. I sigh and look up. That's right, what did Faye say just now? I blink again and look across to the dining table.

Faye is sitting on a short chair and Sarah's standing in front of her, leaning forward so that I can't actually see Faye's face. Then, Sarah picks up something from a box full of scissors and combs and clips and other things I either don't know or can't make out. I lean forward to try and see what she's doing to Faye. Sarah finally moves a bit to the side and I realize that she's cutting Faye's hair.

"Stop staring," Faye says bluntly when she catches my sight.

I don't look away, "…Why would anyone cut their hair at this hour?" Or rather, I would like to ask why she's cutting her hair to begin with.

Sarah laughs, "No, this is totally my fault. It's easily been over a month since she's asked me to do it but I hadn't had the chance to.—Jess, hand me that." And Jessica does as instructed before stepping onto the opposite side of the table. "She's been threatening to go get it done with my rival and I can't quite let that happen. So this was just as good a chance as any."

Jessica rests her arms on the table and yawns. "But still, it's such a shame."

"It's me that should be sad," Faye says as Sarah continues to arrange her hair. "But you've seen how annoying it's to keep up with it. I don't have either the time or money to be dealing with it."

Jessica pouts, "If you put it that way…I totally understand that long hair really is a luxury…And there's also times I want to chop my it off really, really short…but—Eric doesn't like girls with short hair."

"Are you still waiting on Eric?" Sarah says incredulously, "That bastard is as slow as a baby. If you really want him to pay attention to you, you should just jump him already!"

"Stop staring," Faye tells me again. "Just go back to sleep."

"Why?" I ask, "This is entertaining."

She rolls her eyes and looks away, intermittently avoiding my sight until her haircut is finished.

In comparison to how I had seen it yesterday, it really is short. It fell midway between her shoulders and chin; her bangs smoothly angled over her face…Somehow, there was a certain edge to it.

"Okay," Sarah says, "you can go look at it now."

I watch as Faye anxiously makes her way into the bedroom. I smirk. What's the point of being so worried now that it'd been cut? It's not like she can glue her hair back on if she doesn't like it.

"Hey, Sarah," Jessica asks, "Can you trim my bangs?"

"Sure. But you have to help me carry all of this back."

That's right. How did all of that end up here?

"Fine, I'll help."

"What's with that bratty tone?" Sarah says, "It's only one flight of stairs down."

Catching this, I quickly ask, "You live here?"

Sarah motions Jessica to sit down. "Yeah, didn't I say that already?" She picks up a comb. "...No, I guess I didn't. But. Yeah, that's why I wanted to catch a ride with you guys in the first place."

At this, I sneer and decide not to mention that she didn't bother to pay for her part of the fare.

"So do you live here too?" I ask Jessica.

"No." And in between breaks of Sarah cutting her hair, she mumbles, "I live in a neighborhood…next to the ramen place…the one from earlier…I've known the lady…that owns it…ever since I was little so—"

And then there's the ringing again.

"Damn it Ryan!" Sarah yells, "I'm cutting hair right now." She looks around desperately, somehow maintaining her hands completely still, until she spots her communicator. "Spike, can you answer that?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, just tell him I'm busy. Otherwise it's going to drive me crazy and he'll keep calling."

It rings a couple of times too many for it to be a regular call.

"Tell him she's cutting my hair," Jessica adds.

I wonder if it's something important…I'm too tired still so I don't over think it. I stand from the couch and answer.

"…Yeah…" I hear a man's voice. A bit gruff and husky. "Is Sarah around?"

"She's busy cutting Jessica's hair."

"Can you tell her…Nevermind, just let her know I'll call her back in a couple of minutes." And once he finishes speaking, he promptly ends the call.

I place the phone down and when I tell Sarah the message, she laughs.

"Watch he'll call in exactly fifteen minutes."

It's then Faye steps out of the bedroom. She states with certainty, "I like it."

"Of course you do," Sarah says confidently, "I cut it didn't I?"

And then the conversation becomes a list of the many possibilities in which Faye can arrange her hair now. I take that as a cue and I turn back to the television; this time I tune in to the weather. By watching, I realize that it's nearly nine.—Did anyone other than me even sleep?—And, according to the forecast, the heat from yesterday was due to a storm front that would be hitting late tonight or tomorrow.

As they talk, Faye, Jessica, and Sarah move about carefully arranging the items back into the box, sweeping the floor, putting things back in order. Fifteen minutes pass quickly and, exactly as Sarah had predicted, her communicator rings.

She smiles while picking up the communicator. She answers and after the usual formalities, she says seriously, "Yes, of course he's still here," and she walks away into Faye's room, closing the door behind her.

I hear Jessica snicker quietly, "Oh, she's in trouble now."

I glance at Jessica—and at Faye who seems a bit confused—before turning back to the television. But Sarah is speaking loudly and we can easily hear her conversation.

"Do I like him?" She says, "He's that type that's easy for me to fall for, so of course I like him!"

"She's talking about you," Jessica says to me.

What exactly did that mean?

I face her, but it's Faye who captures my attention. She's standing crossed armed, with a vague expression on her face. She scoffs, or seems to scoff, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I state aloofly.

But Jessica clarifies, "He answered her phone."

I unconsciously click my tongue. This woman clearly has issues with remaining silent.

Faye shifts her attention to Jessica for a second before addressing me again. "What for?" Questioning me in a tone that appears to emphasize the humor she finds in my lack of tact.

I don't know why I even bother, but I respond. "Her phone was ringing and she told me to answer it." I say, "So I did."

"Since when are you so obedient?"

I smirk, "Obedient?" I don't even know why I did it. If anything, it was…empathy. Empathy for the guy on the other side of the line. For the guy who could be worried sick—and who is, as a matter of fact, even worse off now. "…I was tired of hearing that stupid ringing that woke me up." Not a lie necessarily, but simply an easy way out of the situation.

Then the door to Faye's bedroom slams open. "No! It's not like that at all." Sarah says, "He's Faye."

And without stating the obvious, it's clear that she is still referring to me. We fall silent quite abruptly and the emptiness manages to make me anxious again.

"Here," Sarah says extending the communicator towards me. "You tell him."

Nothing could have had prepared me for that.

I reflexively glance at Faye and, to my luck, she realizes it immediately. She catches my sight and there's something about the way she's staring that keeps our vision absolutely locked together. Her face is completely neutral. But her eyes. Clearly, she is enjoying this awkward situation.

She nods her head ever so slightly, but with enough intent that she's practically stating, "You said it so easily before. Go on, do it again," in the most sarcastic tone possible.

This is a direct challenge.

I don't even think about it. I make it a point to hide any single trace of doubt and clearly state, "I'm Faye's."

And I see it. With our sight connected, I catch every single shift in the emotion of her eyes…But unfortunately, if I could summarize everything, it is a general uncertainty.

No. It isn't hard to say that I'm Faye's. But hearing the statement echo in my ears as I catch Faye's reaction makes me suddenly aware of exactly what it is that I've stated. And if anything, I feel guilty for claiming so much.

But I don't think either Jessica or Sarah notice just how uncomfortable it is now. As soon as I've finished speaking, Sarah turns to Faye, "Now you say it."

"Yeah, Ryan. He's mine!" And she says it so easily it annoys me. Not at all with a pinch of honesty, but much more like a line being delivered as part of an amateur play.

"See," Sarah says into the communicator. "What? Why? Even Jess is here."

"Hi, Ryan!" Jessica screams.

"No…," Sarah says speaking into the communicator again. "Yeah, I'm done. I'm about to head out. Today? Really?...Because of the storm?" And for the first time in the conversation she sounds glad, "How long are you staying?...Yeah, definitely!...No, I'm not mad. I'll make you breakfast!...It's fine, you were just worried right?..." She smiles, "Love you too." When she hangs up. She smiles. And she sighs. "Monogamous relationships are hard!"

"I told you so," Faye says shortly.

"Ah, but it's weird that it's wrong if you like someone else. I mean, can't you flirt a little? Isn't it fine as long as you don't fuck them?"

Faye laughs. "As if that would work."

"Just be glad Ryan is so nice," Jessica murmurs. "Besides, you're the one that agreed to date him. And you knew he didn't want an open relationship like the others."

"—But," Sarah turns to me, "isn't it even harder for guys? To just think about that one person, I mean. Shouldn't he understand better?"

I frown slightly, "I don't think I'm the right person to answer that."

"Why?" It's Jessica who asks.

Because a man who foolishly clings to one woman can't be expected to defend anyone who would do otherwise.

"Aren't you going?" Faye asks Sarah. "Didn't you say you were going to cook breakfast for Ryan?"

"That's right!" Sarah says in realization. She walks towards the table to pick her things up. "I better get going. Jess, help me out."

Jessica's attention shifts and she finally looks away from me. "Fine," she answers rolling her eyes.

And a little relief weaves through my body.

But after seeing Jessica's resistance, Sarah says, "You know, since Ryan and Eric are in the same convoy, they'll both be back in today."

And immediately, Jessica's eyes light up. "…So?"

"They're good friends. So I figured I could invite him over for breakfast…and you know, maybe you'd be around by chance too."

"Yes!" Jessica squeals, "Yes, please!"

"Alright then," Sarah says, "it's settled! But first help me carry these things. And be careful with them!"

Jessica smiles sheepishly, "Yes, meam!"

After picking up all of Sarah's things, they leave unceremoniously. And Faye and I are alone again for the first time in what seems like forever.

As soon as the door closes, Faye sighs and slumps her body over the back of the couch. "They wear me out fast."

I watch her cross her arms and rest her head over them as she closes her eyes. It takes me a second, but I ask, "Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah." She says nodding towards the coffee table. "I slept over there." And I realize that the pillows next to the table are arranged in a kind of 'L' shape. "Jess and Sarah took over my bed. We probably fell asleep just a bit after you." She stands up and stretches. "Ah…I don't think it was enough…They're night people. The kind that wake up at six in the afternoon and fall asleep at ten in the morning…" She exhales as she brings her arms down again, "Obviously I'm not suited for that anymore."

And then, as if on cue, I yawn.

"And clearly neither are you."

I cover my mouth as I finish yawning, leaning forward on the couch while sitting with my elbows on my knees. "What time is it now?"

"Whatever time it is, it's too early still," she says walking around the couch. She stops when she's next to me, standing silently for a second. When I look up to face her, she says, "Let me see your back."

"It's fine," I answer quickly but calmly. I stand up, "I better get going anyway."

"Is it going to kill you to show me?"

"Is it going to kill you not to see?" I say while trying to walk around her.

But she steps in my way and says, "After claiming you're mine, shouldn't I be able to at least ask this much from you?"

"…I'm not yours…"

She looks up and meets my gaze, almost immediately looking away towards my right shoulder. "…I know…but…"

I try to step forward but Faye doesn't move. "Just show me."

"You're not responsible for it, so don't worry about it."

"I don't care if I'm responsible or not," she answers facing me. "I know you can take care of it yourself and I've tried to ignore it for the most part, but I won't feel at ease until I check."

How should I take that?

I lose control and can't do anything but wonder what to make of her words. Is it worry? Guilt? And I end up staring at her, hoping that if I can get her to look away, I'll be allowed to leave without saying anything else. And more importantly, I won't have to face her with these complicated feeling until I've figured something out for myself. But for someone who couldn't maintain eye contact with me a few seconds prior, she does incredibly well and manages to keep her sight stable even after half a minute of silence has passed.

And in the end, it's me who feels awkward. As in incredibly awkward in the sense of being overpowered.

I click my tongue, break our sight, and sit on the couch.

Faye doesn't move from where she's standing.

I exhale and begin to unbutton my shirt half-unwillingly still, feeling more insecure with every button I unfasten. And Faye must have noticed this too because she keeps her distance. Or at least until I start to slide the shirt off of my shoulders—which really doesn't make things any better. But it's then she walks behind me and pulls the shirt down so that I don't have to stretch the skin over my back.

"It's worse than I thought," she says a bit quietly.

I stare at my shoulder; the skin is visibly irritated but there aren't any blisters and it doesn't feel as tight and dry as some severe sunburns I've had before. "It's not all that bad," I say and turn away.

"But it's still a bit red," Faye says lightly placing her finger on the nape of my neck.

And with just that, she sends my skin crawling.

A moment passes and she snickers, "You've got goose bumps."

As if I needed to hear that. This bit manages to make me self-conscious and I end up muttering, "You know you have cold hands."

But this is clearly the wrong statement.

Her hands crossed tightly over my face, she says brusquely, "What's wrong with having cold hands!"

I don't answer immediately and I feel her hands jerk in place. They rest over my features momentarily, but then begin to move away uncertainly.

If she wanted to touch me. If she wanted to hit me. If she wanted to hold me. If she wanted to push me away. I wish Faye would just honestly do what she wanted. If she did that much. Maybe then I'd be free from the purgatory of her hidden intentions.

But with her is always push and pull.

And I see the light peeking in as her laced fingers move apart.

But what am I doing? Now that her relationship with Damian is over, doesn't that mean that I'm free to do what I want? But is it even over? It is, isn't it?—That's intimidating.—So…is it okay? Her fingers sliding off my jaw. Can I even do anything? It's fine, isn't it? It's fine!

And I catch her hands.

I feel her jolt.

If it's push and pull, it's because we've made it that way. Because we've never tried to act any other way. Because it's the only way we've gotten used to dealing with each other. Because we've never tried to change anything.

It's fine.

But even knowing that, it's incredibly difficult to do. I have to talk myself through it and honestly convince myself that there's nothing wrong. And so slowly, much too slowly to be considered spontaneous, I place her hands on my neck.

I look down and it takes me another good second or two after that, but I manage to say, "Nothing's wrong…they feel good…"

I really wish I could turn around and see her expression. But at the moment, I'm much too concerned with keeping myself relatively composed. And when she doesn't seem to give any response, my determination begins to falter; the pulsations of my heartbeat are heavy and end with a sharp pang that grows in intensity alongside my doubt.

"…It's because you're burnt…," Faye says quietly, her hands gently fitting between my own and my neck. "…so you probably have a bit of a fever…"

And I experience a sense of relief unlike any in years. I regain the evenness of breath and my chest fills with a relaxed air.

It's unexpectedly comfortable. To hear that much from her, to do this much, it doesn't feel like it's something completely outside of our range. It feels right, but I'm also aware that everything is still too muddled for it to last much longer than what it already has. So, I pat her hands once and slide my own away.

"That may be part of it."

Faye lifts her hands away from my neck, not at all hurriedly, but neither too slowly. "We should have breakfast so you can take more pain killers."

"It's fi—" I catch myself falling into my old habits. As expected, even if it's not something outside of our range, I'm completely unsure as to how much I should, and am allowed to, deviate from our established relationship.

"I don't feel like cooking," Faye says as if she'd never heard me. "We're just eating cereal."

And so we do.

We sit at the dining table next to each other, eating some sort of bland bran I'm sure is intended to be part of a weight loss program.

At first we don't say much, but our conversation begins to build up slowly. After we go through a minute or two of small talk, Faye asks me about how Ed and Jet are doing. I tell her as much as I know and then she asks me if I've had good luck with jobs recently. I have. And this question becomes the perfect gateway for me to ask her a little about her current situation.

She tells me that for a while she was unstable and that she wasn't having much luck with bounties. After a few weeks of struggling to get by, she decided to take up a part-time job at a bar she frequented. She tells me it's not too hard, so she hasn't left the job because the pay is much too good for the amount of work she actually does. We laugh a little at this and she continues telling me that eventually she managed to find a good combination of working at the bar and bounty hunting; so much so that she could easily afford rent and other necessities while still managing to splurge from time to time. Or at least that was in a good week. In a bad week, she says, it's just about enough without any luxuries, like taxi rides. And nowhere in her conversation does she ever mention that the possibility of returning to the Bebop ever crossed her mind.

Faye talks a lot and, although she gives me quite a detailed account, she somehow manages to avoid any mention of Damian.

I might have expected to feel relived by this, but considering the situation, the fact that he's not even a passing subject bothers me. No. It's not that I want to talk about him. But neither do I want to half-assedly pretend that he is someone that has, like it or not, nothing to do with how she and I have ended up eating some disgusting cereal in some apartment in a part of Mars I have never had a remote interest in visiting…I can't be the only one that thinks that way, right?

I glance at Faye.

But as she speaks, there really aren't any discernible expressions of her purposely trying to mask anything at all. Honestly, it doesn't even seem like she had been anxiously searching for him hours before.

And I have a horrible realization.

…It's only me…I'm the only one who's obsessing over it.

Whatever her reason had been. Whatever her intent. Those were things of last night. At some point either when she had fallen asleep or woken up, the things she had been so secretive about had become things that she couldn't be bothered with anymore.

Did that mean she didn't care all that much? But if that had been the case, why not tell me about it? Why go searching for him to begin? I feel there is something missing to make sense of it. And this makes me unsure what really is the truth of the matter.

I get so frustrated I can't keep eating. I want to ask her. Even more so than last night. I want to know.

Faye clicks her tongue. "Even if you make that face, I'm not giving you anything else to eat."

I quickly try to relax my features. I scoff a bit and ask, "What is this anyway?"

"It's supposed to help digestion, perfect for an old man like yourself."

"If it's supposed to help digestion, how come you've gained weight?"

She stares at me angrily, "How rude can you be? You're not supposed to talk about a woman's weight."

I smirk, "Ah, is that so? My bad then."

"Oh, because that sounds so honest. I'm already mad at you, getting thinner while I get fatter—no. Actually, you've gotten too thin. And even if I've gained weight, it's not like I look deformed or anything. I could easily gain more weight and still look fine. You should be the one—"

She pauses and I can make out the ringing of her communicator inside the bedroom. She gets up from the table and answers. But she doesn't come back to finish what little she has left on her bowl. Instead, I hear the sound of water in the shower.

I finish my cereal and loiter around in the living room for a few minutes. When Faye steps out of her room, she's dressed in a similar fashion as I had seen her yesterday, her hair still damp, makeup on her face. She walks to the entrance as she finishes buttoning up her shirt, flinging a light sweater over her shoulders. She seems in a rush, slipping her boots on without zipping them up as she says, "I have to go fill in for someone."

I assume this is her way of telling me to leave, so I stand up from the couch and reach for my shirt laying on its arm.

"I'll be back around two," she says quickly as she opens the door. I stop mid-motion. When she notices she has my attention, she continues, "So shower and wash your clothes before I get back. Feel free to sleep on my bed—the clean sheets are in the dryer." She nearly closes the door. "Make sure to lock this so you won't be bothered." And then she's gone.

I stand in place, stuck in between the motion of a forward step. I shift my gaze and watch her shadow walk by the closed blinds of the front window. But not a step. Not one.

I panic.

As if she would never return to her apartment. As if she'd leave there standing. Waiting forever. As if I would never catch a glimpse of her again.

It's a hollowness. A bitter air that crawls from my extremities up to my core. And it jolts me awake.

Forward. I dash reaching for the door, slamming it open and running to the stairs.

And I see Faye with her sight fixated on the ground, her half-zipped boots clattering as she stammers up clumsily.

I step down to meet her, but the cold metal of the stairs reminds me that I'm barefoot. I vocalize a weird grunt and Faye looks up, finally realizing that I'm there.

My name airily escapes her. She slows down as she continues trudging up the stairs. "Spike," she says again.

I'm caught up in the momentum and, despite the bitter metal on my feet, I meet her halfway.

We pause for a second. "Weren't you going?" It's the only thing that I can say without awkwardly reminding myself that I'm the one running after her.

"I am," she says, "but I forgot…" Faye looks down just then. "…Your shoes…" She meets my sight, "Why aren't you wearing them?...And it's cold. Aren't you cold?"

As if I wasn't self-conscious enough.

"…It skipped my mind…" I exhale, "Anyway, you forgot something too, right?"

Her sight wonders around a bit. "Food," she answers hastily. "I'll be a little late, but I'll bring lunch. So, just wait for me to get back."

I smirk, a certain tepid sensation carrying over me. "Sure, I'll wait."

"But what did you think? Running outside barefoot and shirtless when it's getting this chilly."

"It's not like I'm naked so it's fine." I pause for a second. "I was thinking the same." Or at least I'd like to think it was…I glance down. "Stay still." And I kneel to zip up her boots.

"You don't have to—"

"You'll trip down the stair otherwise," I state pulling the zippers in place. "And then who's going to bring me food?" I stand up and begin walking back. "I suck at cooking. You obviously have no interest in making anything for me. I don't know where I'm at. And I don't think I could take another meal of that disgusting cereal."

"For a guest, you're very picky."

"Pretty well suited for a host who leaves her guest so suddenly."

"Fine, fine," she says fleetingly as she descends the stairs. "I'll be back soon, so enough of that."

I wave back, "Work hard."

I hear her chuckling as she turns the corner of the third floor. "Coming from you, it feels like an insult."

* * * Ch. 12 End, Continued on Ch.13 * * *

Sorry for the long hiatus, I'll try my best to update quickly, but unfortunately I cannot make any promises other than this story will definitely not be dropped.

I hope you guys can understand. I am extremely thankful for everyone's support and patience.

NonMetallicMetal