Pale moonlight shines on the river, the sound of gently rushing water dances alongside the occasional hooting of owls in the night. The water feels cold, it flows in and over the furred legs, cleansing the grit and dirt that once clung to it. I run my hand through my hair, pulling it away after a few moments, the remnants of water still clinging to it. Still damp, fur's a pain to wash, evidently. At least I feel clean, somewhat anyways. I sigh and lean backwards, palms digging into the soft dirt as I look to the sky, stars twinkling and sparkling against the dark blue, almost inky black backdrop.

It's a gorgeous sight, serene and welcoming. The wind brushes over my bare chest, a shiver running up my spine, eyes still glued to the sky. Here's hoping that no one's yanked my clothes out from under my nose, it's fucking cold out here, and I don't exactly have spares laying around

'No shit, it's almost like it's night, of course it's gonna be fucking cold.'

It's not like we're not used to the cold anyways, it's not like it's that bad. Just makes whatever warmth I can scavenge ever more precious.

'You're really good at distracting yourself, you know that? I'd be impressed if I wasn't disappointed. You didn't force yourself out of a warm and welcoming bed just for shits and giggles after all, especially with the kid.'

I can feel my lips purse into a frown, the flash of the ghosts grimacing face flashing in my mind. It takes more than a little bit of effort to tear my eyes from the skies, twisting my head to look down into the dirt, just a little bit away from my side The scabbard lays in the dirt, I've dropped it a while ago before diving headfirst into the cold river, the sword inside still sheathed from the world.

I came here to try to wash it off, to hope that it'd do something for my heart, but I dropped it like a bag of shit the first chance I got. When was the last time I looked at it, anyways? It must've been just after the incident, have I really neglected it for that long?

'You've already dragged the thing here, you might as well try to finish the job. Unless you're scared of a piece of metal.'

I'm not scared, just, very very hesitant, there's a difference. I can still feel my face contorted into a grimace as I lean to reach over to the scabbard with an outstretched arm, dragging it closer, holding it up to my face. I forgot how heavy the thing felt, the dense metal of the bloodied blade shifting in the leather covering. Even through the cover, it still smells… less than great.

'Your hands are shaking.'

You don't think I know that? I furrow my brows and stare at the hilt of the thing, the heavy steel pommel rests below the cloth that covers the hilt, well worn from its use. I can feel the heart in my chest beating against my ribcage faster and faster, each moment my sight lingers on the hilt, a trembling hand raised to grasp it.

It's just a sword, it's just a sword, there's nothing wrong with it.

A cascade of red spills from th-

No, fuck off, you don't control me! A jolt of pain runs through my skull, my vision blurring as a grunt of pain pushes itself from my throat, forcing my hand around the cloth. My chest heaves for breath as I squeeze my eyes shut, wringing my hand around the hilt. It's been a while since I've felt it, least of all without my gloves on.

It feels far from comfortable, the cloth around it isn't exactly soft by any means, tough and well worn. But there's a welcoming feeling within it, somehow.

I don't know if that makes me feel better, or worse.

'I dunno if I wasn't paying attention to this last time, but is this really how you felt after that?'

I'm not sure, maybe I was still numb to it, in shock, maybe I didn't fully understand how I felt. I don't exactly have the best memory. It's sure coming at me in full force now, that's for fucking sure.

'I feel the urge to bully you for getting this worked up over a piece of fucking metal, but I feel somewhat hesitant to do that, and I loathe it. Fuck you.'

Growing a heart of your own, Adrian? Now I just feel oh so special. I feel my lips twitch upwards as his scoff echoes in my mind, a brief respite from the other feelings that squirm in my chest, if nothing else. I take in a deep breath of air to soothe the nerves that jump around in my chest, the rapid beating of my heart slowing down alongside it. Okay, okay.

Maybe you're right though, it's just a piece of metal, and I can't exactly keep running away from it, can I? I exhale a deep sigh and slowly crack my eyes, a shiver running up my spine as I look over the sheathed blade once more. I'll just, pretend it's because I'm cold, I can work through this.

You're with me during this, right Adrian? My ears twitch as his sigh fills my skull, I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose as he does so, honestly.

'Much to my displeasure. Besides, I want this shit fixed, or at least better than right now, baby steps or some shit. I don't want this biting in our ass later, better rip the bandaid than let it rot underneath and all. You've always got me though, even if you're an annoying prick.'

Always looking towards the bright side, aren't you? Despite the almost harsh sounding words, it does bring a smile to my face. I look over the scabbard once more, a disturbed feeling flicker of something appearing in my chest, just for a brief moment. I smother that feeling as best I can, though I can feel the lingering embers.

Better rip the bandaid, right? Too stubborn to get cold feet. I purse my lips together and hold my breath, tearing the blade out of its leather cage, dropping it off to my side. Disgust rears its ugly head in my gut, choking on spit as a nauseous wave passes over my senses, the disgusting coppery stench filling the air, sharp and painful, burning the insides of my nose.

Dear fucking god this smells like shit! I blanch and hold the hunk of metal away from me, squeezing my stinging eyes shut.

'Jesus fuck that's gross, did you not clean this shit?'

Clearly fucking not, ich. I turn my nose away from the offending stench, breathing in and out through my mouth, anything to at least try to avoid the smell. I hesitantly sniff, breathing a sigh of relief as the expected burning sensation doesn't barge its way into my nose. My eyelids flicker open before I turn to the blade.

Deep red blood stains the flat of the sword, the edges of the spots and streaks almost seem flaky, barely hanging onto the edges of the metal. The edge of it's littered with chipped dented metal, blunted in some places, though the sharp edges that's left still glistens in the moonlight, it's a strange mishmash to see on a sword. I purse my lips together, shuffling around as I toss it from hand to hand. Even though it looks like complete and utter shit from neglect, the blunted bits could be resharpened and the chipped bits could even be even fixed entirely by a blacksmith, or someone of a similar nature, someone that actually cares to fix their shit. At least the smell isn't nearly as repugnant, even if the metallic hint still lingers in the air.

The heft's familiar, and almost welcoming, as if returning to an old, favoured tool after a while away from it. That makes me feel both better and worse, amazingly. Was I wrong to abandon the thing?

'Maybe you were, maybe you weren't, to some anyways. I think you're a fucking idiot for it, but who am I to judge. What's done is done, might as well do some baby steps for the better.'

Pragmatic as always. I don't exactly know how I'm meant to clean this thing, but might as well try something, right? Wish I had something on hand to help with it, the fuck do people use around here to clean metal anyways? Maybe I should ask around later. I should clean this, and yet…

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, opening and closing my eyelids quickly. No, don't get distracted, just dunk this shit into the water. I shuffle close, legs sinking deeper into the chilly water, a shiver running up my spine as I dunk the hunk of metal into the river. The water reverberates as it's pierced by the metal, sinking further and further into the deep, right up until it reaches the hilt. The flat of the sword presses against my leg, pushed by the force of the rushing water, it feels like a solid piece of ice like this. If I did this sooner, then I don't think this would be an issue if I fucking did this in the first place.

Better late than never I guess.

I draw the metal from the river, water slipping and trailing down it, dripping off of it into the water below. The blood still clings to it, although the more flaky looking bits of it's gone, dragged into the river and away. I guess I shouldn't have expected it to be that easy. I hum to myself, dunking the sword back into the river, looking over my spare hand. I clench my hand, squeezing for a moment before releasing, flexing fingers and claws.

Well… it's an idea, isn't it?

'Gross, that can't be hygienic.'

Definitely not, do you have any idea of your own? The ghosts grumbling is an answer within itself, snickering to myself as I yank it out of the water. I lay the steel on my lap, the dripping water seeping into my fur as I drag the tip of my claws across the flat of the blade, picking and scratching at the now wettened stains.

'You just couldn't use some sort of cloth, could you? Couldn't just wait till later to do this shit.'

You're whinging a fair bit, you know that?

'Of fucking course I am, it's fucking cold, I'm tired and want a warm fucking bed, I can feel our balls shrivelling dammit.'

Come on, it's not that cold, and we'll be there soon enough. I'm not using my clothes to clean off my sword though, not without being stuck in the night for longer to wait for that shit to dry. It feels weird to scratch at metal like this, and the numb of the cold certainly doesn't help with that feeling either, dripping my fingers into the water every so often to clean off the dried blood and random grit before resuming.

It feels like it takes more than a little bit of time to clean one side of this thing, and even then, I can still see the remnants of it in the steel. Or maybe that's just in my mind, and I'm imagining it, who knows. I look over the mostly clean steel now, the edges of my lips curling up into a smile, the moonlight reflecting off of it with a dull sheen.

I'm only half done, and it's not the best job, but I can't help but feel… a little bit better, I suppose. Just a small bit.

'Can't imagine why, I feel so fucking uneasy knowing that there's blood and shit underneath our nails, why don't you?'

Dunno, I certainly don't feel that put off by it. It's not pleasant or anything, and I wouldn't willingly do this often. But… I feel like it's worth it, just for this. It's just a piece of metal, but seeing it less bloodied, less cruel does something to my heart.

There's some catharsis to be found in cleaning this, maybe it's not fixing the problem entirely, but it's a step in the right direction

'Tch, emotional bastard.'

You wanna shut up so I can finish this, or do you want to hang out here for longer? His grumbling and cursing inside my skull is an amusing enough response, I can feel him receding back into my mind, a niggling in the back of my skull that pokes at me every so often. Eaugh, that still feels weird, don't think I'll get used to that.

Right, all that aside, let's get back to work. I lay the cleaner side on my lap, looking down onto the coating mess of blood, my nose crinkling as the metallic stench hits my senses once more. God, this is fucking gross.

Gross, but manageable. I can't really complain, I'll fix this. Besides, the faster I do this, the faster I can get back to Mabel.

…

Warmth cocoons my body like a mothers embrace, squeezing the even warmer mound of fur close to my chest, lips curling up into a gentle smile. An earthy smell presses against my noses, similar enough to dirt. It's a nice smell, like a piece of nature, but that doesn't stop it from travelling up my nose, my breath hitching before stifling a sneeze.

My eyelids flicker open, the warmth in my chest spreading throughout my body as I look down to the kid, only the top of her head visible to me. I trail a hand through her soft hair, enjoying the warmth, and the sound of her gentle breathing, her chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

She looks so comfortable, so carefree. So safe. It's a lovely sight, one that melts my heart. I feel my eyelids droop just that little bit as I continue to caress her, to comfort her. The lure of sleep is strong, almost overwhelmingly so, I can feel it tugging at my chest and mind. It's enticing and sounds brilliant, and yet…

Something's wrong. Something's off about this.

This isn't my bed. I blink and shake my head, the sight of the girl disappearing in the blink of an eye, the warmth that emanated from her along with her. My arms curl until I cradle nothing in front of my chest, the gears in my head turning as I twist my neck, looking around the room.

Ah, right, dream room. I went to sleep, didn't I? I was with Mabel, of that I'm sure. I guess that explains a few things, and raises even more questions. How the fuck did I do that, was that just a slip of my mind or some shit?

Fucking prick of a dream. At least let me stay with the girl for a little bit longer, just for the warmth, even if it's not real, and it's just a dream. Wouldn't be the first time I've dragged something from reality into here, first time it's been a person though. Tch, what a fucking pain.

I sigh and rub a palm into my eye, shifting into a seating position, bones cracking as I twist and turn my limbs. That certainly fucking woke me up at least, tch. Soft breathing catches my attention, ears flickering as I turn my sight over to the edge of the bed. Huh, it's surprising to see Adrian sleeping on the bed, too. Hell, it's a surprise to see him sleeping at all, most of the time he's awake before I am. His spectral chest rises and falls with his breaths, face masked by dangling hair, hunched over with his back pressed against the wall. I wonder, is he always here, or does he appear whenever I come here? I think he is here, in a sense at least.

He looks relaxed at least, limp limbs sinking into the bed, his breathing uninterrupted and steady. I can't help but smile a little, seeing the ghost like this is, it's cute in a way I guess. Maybe that's a little narcissistic, but there's nothing wrong with enjoying pleasantries when you can, right? He'd probably scold me for it.

He'd also scold me for not waking him up, which is exactly what I plan to do. The parasitical bastard's important to me after all, I wouldn't want him burning himself out. I take care to silently shove myself out of the bed, freezing as the ghosts breathing hitches. I twist my neck to look over for him a moment, silence reigning the room, holding in my breath. The man shuffles around a little bit, but his gentle breathing returns. I let out a sigh of relief as I push myself off of the bed, paws pressing against the carpet.

I silently creep my way over to the bookshelf, gently humming to myself as I yank out a random book. The cover is blank, and flipping through the pages reveals nothing, empty pages as always. I wonder why the pages are blank, anyways. The only time where anything actually happens is when there's the urge.

When there's a proper drive, anyways. Has it always been like that? Were the urges and tugging in my heart just bits of me that I can't directly control trying to pull me in the right direction? If there's enough of a drive to recall specific types of memories, could I do that with enough will? Is that what it's been like from the start, and the random memories just me grasping for straws for some semblance of collecting something from inside my head?

Wait, am I fucking stupid? Well, maybe, I know I'm not the brightest person, and I got no fucking clue if that's entirely accurate. But it's an idea, right? Any idea is better than none at all. I glide a claw down a sterile page, pursing my lips together, glaring at the piece of paper with a furrowed brow. Fucking dreams.

It doesn't help that I still feel… off, I guess. Something at the back of my mind, and in my gut.

"Boo." I yelp as a chill pierces my skull, twisting around and swinging an arm to the offending noise. The bastard of a ghosts shrill laughter fills the air, my arm passing through his body harmlessly. He floats away, laughter dying down, replaced with a shit eating grin on his face instead.

"Prick." I mutter, glaring at the shithead. That only really serves to make him grin wider, much to my annoyance, closing the book in my hand shut with a thud.

"Nice to see you too, dumbass, took you long enough to get to bed."

"Hey, I got there eventually right?" He doesn't look entirely amused by that response, the ghost pouting for a moment before it falls, giving way to a gentle smile.

"You're a bit slow, but I'm used to it at this point." Despite the fact that it's meant to be an insult, he looks… rather calm, calmer than before anyways, more relaxed. Hell, he even sounds less stressed than before, it's nice to see.

"How kind of you. How was sleeping on your end, though? Are you feeling okay?" He looks almost surprised by the question, an eyebrow raising as he crosses his arms.

"It was alright, I guess. I'm feeling fine though, why do you ask?"

"Recent events just make me worry is all, you know…" I trail off with the twisting of my wrist, nudging my head towards him. He lets out an exasperated sounding groan, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You're shitting me, right? You're aware that affects both of us, why do you seem to worry about me before fixing yourself up?"

"Why not?" I ask in turn, tilting my head as I stare up to him. He blinks once, then twice, letting out a gentle sigh, fingers glued to the bridge of his nose. Is he confused or something?

"Right, you're you, I can't believe I forgot. I'm fine, a little fucking annoyed from the little 'event' of yours, but I'm fine otherwise."

"Hey, the fuck does that mean? Sure, I personally might not be entirely alright, but I can manage myself, for now at least. "

"You're an idiot, a stubborn idiot." I go to flick the mans nose in response, the finger passing through his face harmlessly, but at least I get him to shiver and shuffle away. Deserves it for making me shit myself, asshole. "So, what's the plan? You do have one, right?"

"...sure." I say with a shrug, giving the floating spectre a grin. It's not a 'plan' so much as a goal, with an idea on how to achieve it, but it's close enough right?

"That certainly fills me with confidence." He says as he rolls his eyes, waving a hand dismissively before leaning backwards, as if relaxing against a chair. "Care to share, or should I wait for it to bite us in the ass?"

I scoff and roll my eyes, leaning my back against the bookcase. I fill him in on what I was thinking about just a little bit prior, my thoughts and theories about the whole memory deal. The ghost has a rather thoughtful look on his face, translucent eyes glued to mine as he nods, humming in acknowledgement every so often. He cups his chin with a hand, humming as he drums his fingers against his cheeks, eyes flickering to the ceiling.

"Do you think that'd actually work consistently? How the fuck do you 'will' yourself to think of a memory to drag up anyways?" He scratches his chin as he looks back down to me, an eyebrow raised. Both very important questions in all honesty..

Neither of which I had an answer for.

"Fuck if I know." I finally respond with a nonchalant shrug, snickering on the inside as the ghost groans, the ghost raising a hand to his face, grinding his palm into it. "It's a theory for a reason, I'll just wing it till it works. What's the worst that could happen?"

"If you've jinxed this, I will end you. Do you even have an idea on what you want to try to remember, or are you gonna wing that too?" I roll my eyes at the bastard's snark, humming as I bring the book out in front of me, running a finger over the blank cover.

Snark aside, he does have a point to it all. What do I want to look for, anyways? Obviously it'd be related to that chick in some way or another, most memories are in some way.

...I can't help but imagine why, though. Why is it that all of my memories are after I must've met her, and not before? Why don't I feel the urge to try to dig up the memories before that? Does my head think that it's that unimportant, or do I just, not want to remember, with every fiber of my being?

Maybe I'm overthinking it, but then again, it doesnt exactly sound like i was the greatest person to be around either. Maybe that derives from something else.

Sure wish I could fucking remember why. I can't imagine that I was that important of a person if I was handed off to the Templars as a guinea pig, to just go braindead from using magic. Fucking amnesia, couldn't just boot all my memories from my head with no hope of recovering them, could you? Gotta fucking entice me with the possibility of remembering more, more about her, why not throw the random stranger on top of it too?

"Hey, you still there?" Adrians voice brings me out of my thoughts, shaking my head to clear the rest of them.

"Yeah, just thinking."

"A dangerous pastime of yours."

"Hah, you're hilarious."

"Naturally, sure as fuck don't get it from you." I can't help but feel happy with the little back and forth, the edges of the bastards lips curling upwards with a snicker. It's sure as fuck better than moody and broody. The otherwise friendly atmosphere aside, the odd feeling in my gut rears its head, catching my attention with an almost rough grip, my eyes trailing back down to the book.

It tugs and yanks, squirming and turning inside, as if desperately pleading. I don't understand it, but it definitely got my attention with an allure that's almost impossible to ignore. The book glows with a dim light, a hum of surprise coming from the spectre.

"Huh, you already thought of something?"

"Not exactly, it's like my guts telling me something." Adrians face contorts into a distasteful looking one, his nose crinkling.

"You're telling me a literal gut feeling is trying to pull you in the right direction? What a shit joke." He says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh god you're gonna listen to it too, aren't you?"

"Hey, it's better than nothing right?"

"Doesn't mean I'm not disappointed with it. Fuck it, what's the worst that could happen, right?"

"See? Now you're getting it."

"Fucks sake. If it gets results then it gets results, hurry it up you fuck." His sigh sounds so resigned, an almost far off look in his eyes. I roll my own, fingers gripping the edges of the book, flipping it open, the book seems almost all too happy to comply.

There's no thrashing and thwipping of the pages, instead, a bright light fills the room, squeezing my eyes shut to shield myself from the blinding light. An uncomfortable tingling runs itself through my body. The twisting in my gut dissipates for a moment.

Before it all fades.

…..

The candles flickering flame illuminates the journal, the sound of the quill tip scratching filling the air, pursing my lips together for a moment. The human language is odd and strange, the written parts of it specifically, though I've apparently been improving well enough. So many rules, it's almost befuddling, but I've persisted regardless.

Amateurish with plenty of potential to grow, She said. Not a start that I'm excited about, although she assured me that I've progressed well enough. Though I had offered to teach her the basitin culture in return, she seemed rather focused on assisting me first before any other option. She's a strange woman, and I won't pretend to understand her nor her kindness, I'd rather respond to it in kind with actions rather than words.

The air stiffens, my breath stopping for a moment, the creaking of the floorboards breaking the silence.

"Is there a reason you've come for me, Stranger?" I ask cooly, closing the journal shut to shield the contents from his eyes, dropping the quill into an inkpot.

"C'mon kid, can't I relax with a fellow man for a moment?" His voice sounds as carefree as always, twisting my neck to face the man as he approaches. He sits beside me, lazing into the wooden chair, hand dipping into the dark hood of his cloak, no doubt resting his face atop it.

"I believe our 'friendship' to be one based on work and work alone, Stranger. Should you've no request of me, I believe it best for you to leave." I've no want or need to deal with such a strange man, especially one such as him.

"Jeez, you're stiffer than the stiffs I've seen around, you know that?" I don't quite understand the meaning behind those words, possibly a human thing, but he does seem rather dissatisfied, groaning aloud as he rubs the back of his neck. Humans are strange things.

"Is there a point to this conversation, Stranger? I've no time for interactions with no purpose." My ears twitch, staring at the man with furrowed brow.

"Hey hey, I'm just tryin' to be polite here. I did say that I wanted to be buddy buddy with you after all, it wasn't that long ago after all. Don't you think that I've proven my worth in some way, with the assistance that I've given? It's not as if I'm shirking my duties to talk my way into good graces with the both of you, actions speak louder than words, after all." He twists his hands almost animatedly as he speaks, his voice clear and almost determined sounding. However much I distrust the man, he does speak some truth, and I can begrudgingly respect a man who understands the futility of words when there's nothing else to back it up. I'd rather silence than empty promises.

I still dislike the man, though I'm not sure if that's because I simply distrust his existence., or because I can't help but imagine his lecherous gaze whenever he works with Her.. However, She is more than capable of dealing with someone like him, should it come to it, and I've no reason to doubt her motives.

"Mn, I suppose. You've been useful, and I can accept that." I finally respond, staring at the man. The both of us are silent for a moment, the man staring at me in turn. What?

"Is there anything else to that, or…?" He trails off, twisting wrist, his head nudging ever so slightly forward.

"No, why would there be?" Is there meant to be something else to add onto that, or is it a human expectation? The stranger groans, the hand in his cloak moving around in the darkness.

"Right, she did say you weren't the best with conversation."

"Did She speak of me often?" And when around him, too? Why would she do that, would it be to gently nudge him away from his more flirty tendencies? Subtlety is the way she acts after all, even if she could remove him from the world. The man's silent for a moment, there's little emotion to be seen from the dark void that covers his face, though I can feel him staring into me.

"You're kidding me, right? I haven't exactly been here that long, but even I realised that it was pretty obvious she plays literal favourites with you." I can't help but feel somewhat embarrassed by that, pursing my lips together and squirming in my seat, a fluttering feeling igniting in my heart. Bloody demon woman, she must know that her being all flirtatious would bring unwanted attention, right? Not that my traitorous heart could complain, tch. "Clearly obvious tension aside, I do actually have a reason for wanting to talk to you."

"And that is?" I figured from the start in all honesty, I wish he could talk less though. The man lets a fist on his chest, lightly beating it before coughing

"I personally believe that it'd be far better for the both of us if we were to drop the professionalism between the both of us, just a little bit. I know you don't exactly have the best view of me." I cut him off with a snort of laughter, lips curling up into a faint smile. Definitely not wrong, there. "But! I'd hope to wipe the slate between the two of us, to start clean and to rebuild our workplace relationship."

He speaks with a soft tone, but it grabs my attention regardless, the way he speaks certainly seems earnest enough. Hm, perhaps I should humour him for a moment.

"What benefit would either of us get from this little agreement, Stranger?"

"A mutual agreement to help one another with tasks, though there's always the option to decline such favours. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, that type of deal."

"And what on Mekkan would drive you to such an offer?" I truly don't believe that he'd offer this out of the kindness of his own heart. I know better than that.

"I believe that bonds between those who strive for similar goals help assist with reaching said goals, to trust another to have your back in the chances that something goes wrong is a fantastic net to fall on. I've already spoken plenty to the lady about it, and you can always ask her yourself should you not believe me. And even if you don't trust me, you can always trust my actions rather than my words, something tells me that we'll have plenty of time together. You don't even need to worry about me flirting with the lady either, I know when someone draws a line in the sand after all. So, what do you say? Do you believe that you're capable of dropping your barely restrained animosity for me, so we can help each other reach what we want? I'm more than willing to bet that She would be glad you're reaching out, without her guidance." He drags his hand out of the dark of his hood, reaching out to me with an outstretched hand. His inky black glove stays splayed out in front of me, the tips of his fingers wriggling ever so slightly, as if beckoning. An olive branch for friendship, or at least, the potential for one.

The Stranger speaks with such determination, such conviction, does he truly believe the words he says? He speaks so much about bonds, and part of me wishes to spit on such thoughts, but She and I have a bond too, do we not? I don't believe that he would ever come remotely close to her, but that doesn't mean that we can't help one another. Words are meaningless without meaning, and actions have meaning, but he has done more than most others for Her, should she request it. Although, he could still be a snoop, with a plan of his own to undermine hers.

And yet, he's not entirely wrong, the demon woman is a strange woman indeed, and her urging me on to forge my own path with the use of others definitely sounds like her. She's practically said and showed as much, honied words accompanied with the promise of control, pushing and setting it up herself. To take such a leap of faith for someone that isn't her…

It almost sounds like something she would want, in some odd way. An odd path beside an odd woman.

"Very well, for the future, then." I finally say with a nod, clasping my hand in his. His glove feels strange, as if a mix between hot and cold, his grip firm and unyielding.

"For the future!" He cheers in turn, an almost mirthful atmosphere surrounding him as he cheers.

It mightn't be the control she urges me towards, but I can't help but feel happy about it. I pray that she'd be proud of this choice.

….

Warmth rouses me from the depths of sleep, my eyelids slowly flickering open, a gentle buzzing pressing against my chest. I look down to a mound of hair, my arms curled around the source, an almost earthy smell wafting through the air.

This, this isn't a dream, right? I blink repeatedly, taking a hand away from the sleeping girl to rub into my eyes, just to rub away the sleep. She doesn't disappear, no matter how many times I blink, much to my utter fucking glee. It soothes the beating of my heart, a soft smile taking place on my face as I bring her closer, wrapping my arms around the child.

She's real, this is real. Thank fucking god. I feel as if i should be worried about it, what's the separation between reality and dreaming if my mind doesn't separate it properly?

But that worry's swept away as Mabel nudges her way into me once more, shuffling around she leans her chin against my chest, her nose twitching ever so slightly. It's alright here, it's safe here, just for now, just for the both of us. I can't feel Adrian stirring in my mind, so maybe he's also enjoying the warmth, too.

I can worry about the past and the future later. I can worry about the uncomfortable anxious stirring in my gut, as well as why it made me remember that stranger later.

For now, I want to enjoy this. It's too precious not to.

Authors note: Another slightly late chapter, but this time it's for an actual reason lmao. I've been chatting with someone to draw something up for this story, for the anniversary for it. Hard to believe that it's almost been a year. Until next time.