It wasn't raining that day, but it wasn't bright and sunny and there were no birds singing. Even so, with every man and woman and child that walked the field yards before the dojo, there seemed to be a looming shadow. Oddly enough, no one cried. All the tears had come and gone, made their second rounds and fallen again. The dark wooden casket that sat above a hole Master Guerra himself had dug was empty- everyone knew it. To open the box and see it lined with soft golden cloth, the color of his aura, was to be reminded all at once that there was nothing to cling to for comfort. There was no reassurance that he'd died painlessly, or even that they had something to remember him by. To look upon the beds of gladiolis and lilies that would have been at his side, it was to remember that he couldn't see them or smell them or touch them, even if a ghost they couldn't see still lingered among them. The normal comforts were valueless to them, because they knew well he wasn't still with them and he was not watching over them- they would have spoken to him and held him had that been so.

Isabel stood in line behind Zarei, who stood with glasses so foggy she couldn't see her eyes. Zarei held a bouquet of crimson roses, a single red orchid sticking out among the petals that already felt like they were wilting. Zarei exhaled and Isabel could see her shake and grind her teeth. Slowly, gently, she placed the bouquet on the casket, the tips of her fingers lingering just so as she inched away. Master Guerra was waiting on the other end, having said his goodbyes and made his amends before anyone else. Isabel had never seen the man as affectionate, not as a child older than seven, but he took Zarei in his arms and clutched her like she was his own flesh and blood.

"Isabel," Ed placed a hand at her shoulder and squeezed. She nodded. Holding up the line wasn't going to make letting go any easier.

In her hand was a small cluster of hydrangeas, three or so yellow roses scattered among the bunch. She squeezed them in the palms of her hands so harshly she felt their stems snapping. She was grateful the casket was latched shut because, had she seen his photo and not his pale peaceful face, she would have broken. Isabel knew what that would have felt like, or at least what she imagined it would have felt like. She would have felt the air leave her chest and a burning in her nose and she would have sobbed before the tears ever came. Not even Ed's embrace or Isaac's kind hands in her hair or Max's tender words would have steadied her. Even now, nothing could bring her release from the fraught strings in her chest. She felt like dying. Isabel kissed her flowers, one at a time, closing her eyes so he knew (even though he never would) that she meant every single kiss for him. She did.

She found it was less of a choice than she thought, the gentleness with which she left her flowers on his grave. Zarei had been powerless when she'd said her goodbyes, a feeling Isabel now knew well. "Thank you" it was a whisper on her lips "Thank you so much. For everything." She choked back the gulp of air she wanted to take, sniffing as she placed her forehead where she'd set her flowers.

Ed placed his white chrysanthemums on the casket, kissing two of his fingers and pressing them to the polished wood. His arm wrapped around Isabel and he pulled her into him, whispering reassurances she couldn't even hear. All she heard were the tears she hadn't let out, the body-wracking sobs she was too strong to let everyone see. He helped her away as Isaac set his white tulips on the grave and Max twirled his red and pink carnations between his weary fingers.

After the twenty or so minutes she took to compose herself in the dojo's restroom and a five-minute trek back and forth, Isabel felt a little more confident. She'd checked each of her tells thoroughly- held a cold rag to her red cheeks, washed her face, redid what little makeup she wore- and trudged out the front door, straight to her grandfather.

He was keeping his distance, like he was scrutinizing his students and fellow spectrals even at a time when it was fruitless. Then again, she might have been projecting. She'd become so used to his dissecting stare that she expected it- always. It'd been a long time since they'd been in a position he wouldn't have been eyeing everyone with some sense of smugness. She knew he was human, too, that he wasn't always Malicious Master Guerra; she just couldn't remember the man behind the dojo.

She came to a stop beside him, letting her arms fall from where they sat across her chest, hands balled in fists because it helped her stay calm.

"You're stalling."

"I'm thinking" he grumbled, stroking the length of his beard. "Neither you nor I are at our best, young lady."

"That's never been an excuse before." He hummed like she'd amused him. That hadn't been her intention. If she was expected to focus on anything other than the funeral she was currently in the middle of attending, then she had to be taken seriously. If he was pausing and stalling and taking forever to give her an answer, like he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it, then there was little to occupy her thoughts. She was done crying and mourning. There was business to attend to.

"You have become as fierce as my little Mina."

"I've always been like this!"

He reached out and grabbed her arm firmly, not enough to hurt her like he could have, but enough to silence her. She forced the instinct to startle down and met his eyes, which gazed between her and the rest of the funeral with a soreness she'd never seen in him. He was grieving, too, trying to hide it just as she was. The look she'd misconstrued as scrutinizing was one of deliberation- concentration to keep from letting his students see what laid beyond their competent master. She bit her lip and sighed, nodding before he let his grip fall. "Not to me, you haven't."

"Grandpa…"

"If you are so curious, I hesitate to find a replacement because I wish I had another choice." He crossed his arms as he watched the small crowd, just a few people Spender had come to know and love. Isabel, albeit happy to see the event was so familial (what Spender would have preferred) with only his students and closest friends attending, was unsettled to see no consortium agents. It was either a sign of disrespect or foul play, and the fact that she couldn't tell had her seething. Whatever- or whoever, she was starting to think- it was that had taken Spender from them so soon had a much bigger game in mind. Heaven knew if one of them would be next. It would be smart for what remained of the club to stick together, at least in pairs of two. Wandering alone might just become a death sentence. "I have thought on this often, and while I recognize the consequence of the sacrifice implied, it is my only option."

Isabel raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Grandpa Guerra sighed and stared down at her, nose twitching in distaste- or was that remorse? "The only spectral as capable of running my dojo as Richard is you."

"How are you doing?" Cindy asked the question innocently enough, stirring the small black straw the café provided, the cream and sugar piled atop her medium coffee melting. The dark and bitter drink turned a milky light brown. Cindy was the type of person who put so much sugar in her coffee that every sip felt like sand on a tongue, and Isabel could smell it. She took a long sip of her own Frappuccino.

"I'm fine."

She was lying, of course. While Spender's funeral had lifted some kind of burden from her shoulders, she found it'd been replaced by a completely new one. She'd never thought her grandfather a protective man, at least not over her or any other living being, but it was clear that was his intent in leaving the dojo to Spender. She was his blood, his graduate, his granddaughter, and his prodigy; of course he thought that she was the best fit for master of the dojo. It just surprised her, she guessed, that he'd had the foresight to realize she wouldn't want the job. Did she want the job? She wasn't sure. She'd always wanted to be an agent of the consortium- somebody on the battlefield who was in the thick of battle, otherwise she felt her abilities were wasted. Becoming the master of the dojo meant giving up all of that. In exchange for coworkers, she'd get students. In exchange for battle, she'd get the occasional sparring match with a promising pupil. In exchange for stories to tell, she'd hear them through the men and women she taught. She didn't want that, but at the same time she knew there was nobody else who could do it. Her grandfather would work himself to his early grave and she wasn't sure she could handle saying goodbye again so soon.

"That's good…" Cindy's gaze fell to her coffee, which she was still stirring for some odd reason. It might've been the heat of the drink, but Isabel could see her cheeks turning red. "How is Eddy?"

Something green and pointy stabbed her in the chest, but she nipped it down. She shouldn't have been surprised Cindy was asking about Ed, especially after a loss like they'd just been through. When she thought about it, Ed had been acting strangely as of recent. When she spoke to him, he rarely smiled, and she could tell it was the same for everyone else he spoke to. Most of his days were spent up in his room, messing around and playing games she knew were familiar to him. He'd bought new ones over the last six years, but she heard the distinct space-blaster effects of his older, more nostalgic, ones. It upset her, to the deepest, darkest level of her heart, that he wasn't talking to her. They were supposed to be best friends- as tightly knit as a quilt and thicker than steel- but she was starting to feel helpless. He'd been there for her when she was going through the worst of it, and he'd been there with a smile on his face even if she'd known it was forced. He'd listened to her rant for hours about how stupid it was that fate decided, probably off-handedly, to just rip someone like Spender out of their lives like a dirty welcome mat. Yet, when he needed her, truly, painfully needed her, and she knew it, he wouldn't come to her. Maybe she wasn't the best at being a jester, but she damn well knew how to cheer Ed up. It was like he was deliberately hiding it from her, like she couldn't tell when he was happy or sad or scared or lonely; she knew everything about him by heart, same as he did her!

She felt insulted and helpless and just so mad at herself for not being able to reach him, but that wasn't something anyone needed to know.

Isabel smiled, albeit weakly and dishonestly. "He's doing fine!"

"Oh, that's great!" Cindy's eyes lit up, the shy smile that'd been on her face stretching into a grin worthy of Ed's own face- a small reminder they were cousins and not love interests, but Isabel latched onto it anyway. "Would you tell him to stop by sometime? I finally have a cookie recipe down and I would love it if he tried them!"

"Yeah" Isabel trailed off, tracing the patterns on the table with her finger. "Sure thing."

Was it clingy to call somebody you were in love with two weeks after the last time you saw them? Isaac thought it might be.

He'd known Max for years. He was being ridiculous. All he had to do was pick up the phone, dial the number (not even- Max was on speed-dial), and wait for him to pick up. But no, he was a scardey cat who couldn't even text his best friend because he'd probably disappointed him and it was silly to worry about but for the love of everything good Isaac just couldn't handle the stress. He sighed and dug the back of his head further into his pillow, remembering the smell of Max's cologne when he'd been laying in the bed that didn't belong to him. He held his phone above his face, blinking and tapping the screen whenever it went dark. He'd been staring at Max's number for a solid half hour, chewing on his cheeks and fighting himself about everything. It always seemed like his head had a response to whatever his heart said, but the same was true vice versa. Being locked in a mental battle with himself over nothing but a phone call had to be bad.

To him, that moment, locked in Max's arms with their lips pressed together and their fingers intertwined, had been special. For the first time in a long time, he'd finally been true to his wants and his needs and true to himself- true to loving Max. Every touch of his arm and every embrace had meant something deeper to Isaac than spur-of-the-moment desire, and it tore him up just remembering Max's eyes baring into his when their noses touched. He wanted to feel overcome with adoration and joy and relief again. He wanted to hold Max's hand and love him with his gaze and just be there with him, but he was starting to wonder if Max wanted the same.

They still hadn't told anybody about it (okay, he might have let it slip to Doorman and the reaction was ten different shades of hilarious), and they maybe never would. Was it supposed to be a one-time thing? Was he supposed to carry on with Max like normal, like they hadn't opened up to each-other in the most intimate way possible? Like they hadn't seen and understood each-other on a completely different level? He wasn't sure. That was, perhaps, the thing that held him back more than anything else: Would Max think he was desperate if he wanted more?

His phone vibrated and he yelped, dropping the phone into his face. He winced as Max's ringtone buzzed in his ears. He pried the phone off of his nose so that it fell to his right ear, thumb only barley hitting the call button hard enough.

"Hello?"

"Hey, dude! Are you too busy weabooing all over the place to meet me at the mall? A new pizzeria opened up in the food court and ten bucks says it can't compare to our usual."

Isaac looked at the ceiling, smiled, and said "Sure. I'll meet you there."

"So, um…" Max rubbed the back of his neck, not entirely sure how to start a conversation. Pizza at the mall had probably been the worst excuse ever to ask Isaac out on a date, but it was the only thing he'd been able to think of. Teen novels had him believing 'going all the way' would make him more confident- happier, proud of himself, cooler- but, in reality, it'd made everything even worse. Before, he'd been able to take Isaac in from afar with little to no feeling (save for the painful yearning that was now gone, thank god), but now just the slightest glance had his heart racing unlike he'd ever felt. He'd tried to flirt, toss a few words around here and there- imply they do it again sometime- but it all came out like the usual backhanded compliments and teasing Isaac had already dealt with. He thought that maybe holding Isaac's hand would have worked, but he just wasn't the type to be physically affectionate in public. He could look cool while he talked, but there was no way to look like he had any control over his emotions or his body if he started whispering sweet nothings in front of large crowds of strangers. "How's your butt?" He nearly punched himself in the face.

That had to be the worst possible thing he could say, because Isaac's face went so incredibly red that Max thought he was having a heatstroke of some sort. "Uh," Isaac giggled- freaking giggled- and scratched his cheek. Adoration welled in Max's chest watching him fuss over his timidity. "It was um… sore… for a little while, but it's okay now." His gaze fell to the table and Max almost broke out into hearty laughter. That, he realized, was no way to win his boyfriend's affection. Boyfriend- that's what they were, right? Eh, maybe not. They hadn't exactly went into specifics last time they'd been alone. That was clearly the goal, but maybe the deal hadn't been sealed quite yet. "Yours?"

"Uh, yeah I'm fine."

They stared at each-other for a moment before looking back down at their meals, falling into a painful silence. Wow, that'd turned awkward really, really fast. Of course, it'd been an awkward situation to start with. Max licked his lips of last bite's sauce and bit into his pizza again. He guessed it was to be expected, considering they hadn't even kissed before that entire thing happened, but he still felt uncomfortable with all of it.

In truth, sleeping with Isaac had been a mistake, and entirely why he hadn't brought it up in conversation with the others. It was last-minute, completely unprecedented from one side (as far as he'd been able to tell), and they'd been dealing with it with wild immaturity. In fact, had Spender still been alive, he was sure he and Isaac would have gotten a lengthy, and embarrassing, scolding from him on the importance of protection and marriage. While Max wouldn't have agreed with every little word of it- clearly- waiting until they weren't as emotional would have been a good idea. Being so overwhelmed with grief was just as bad as being intoxicated. They hadn't been thinking straight, they'd been rushing things, and now their entire relationship was on the line. "Wasn't like it dealt with a lot."

Isaac choked on his soda so hard that some came out of his nose. It was the second time that month he'd done that and Max was starting to wonder if that was going to be a regular thing from then on. "I-!" Isaac wiped his nose and mouth with a flimsy white napkin he'd grabbed from the middle of the food court table. "I'm sorry? Did you just imply what I think you implied?"

"I don't know," Max gave him a devilish grin and shrugged. "Did I?" In hindsight, maybe making fun of Isaac for that sort of thing was just a little out of bounds, especially in a new relationship- or new whatever it was they had. It wasn't like he was serious- it was purely a joke, funny because it wasn't true. Of course, assuming Isaac would pick up on that was probably his first mistake.

Isaac's confused, furrowed brows turned down, his blue eyes narrowing almost dangerously. In that moment, Max felt kind of like an enraged spirit with a record, something Isaac would have loved to have mercy on. Though mercy, as he read the situation, was probably far out of his reach. "Funny, coming from the guy who has little room to complain about anything being tiny, ever- considering the size of his heart."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Isaac, I was joking!"

"Yeah, well I wasn't and you're not funny."

"Said the least amusing guy on the face of this planet!" Max felt his irritation level rising- fast, which wasn't at all what he'd been going for but whoops it was happening anyway. Isaac had absolutely no right to talk about small hearts, not when it'd taken years of pining on his end just to get Isaac to think about them being together. Isaac snorted and stood up, movement so fast he knocked his chair over.

"Oh, yeah! Good job, Max! Dig your grave a little deeper!"

"Deeper than you went!" Yikes, nice comeback, twelve-year-old me.

Isaac scoffed and rolled his eyes as Max came to stand, too. "Wow, you're so mature!"

"Wow, your sarcasm cuts deep!"

Isaac grabbed his tray and tossed it into the garbage with extreme malice, Max mirroring his movements with exaggerated vehemence intended to mock Isaac. "You know what? We're done here. I'm going home."

"Be my guest! Nobody wants to deal with your teenage angst!"

It was on the walk home, alone, that Max really felt the guilt fall over him.