Chapter 7

We brushed our teeth together in the bathroom, using a combination of mint leaves and well-worn toothbrushes that could definitely use replacing. There was a kind of intimacy in this shared routine, one that felt strangely comforting after the day's chaos.

As I picked up my clothes from the floor and bundled them under my arm, Lila did the same. We walked out of the bathroom together, and I had to pass by the bedroom to head downstairs. "Good night," I said softly, planting a quick peck on her lips before turning to descend the stairs.

"Wait, Five," she called.

I turned back to find Lila pushing open the door to her bedroom. "I'm um, inviting you in when you're ready to," she said, her voice tentative.

She'd clearly picked up on what I said earlier. I took a deep breath, reminding myself of my own words. "I said nothing else is happening today."

"I know," she replied, "but I napped on that sofa today. It's comfortable compared to the floor, but not compared to a bed. You've been on it for months. Come to bed, Five."

"Fine," I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the mix of relief and uncertainty I felt. It was almost a whisper.

I walked over to her bed and sat on the side I had taken for so long, with my towel still wrapped around me. I pulled up my boxers and began folding the rest of my clothes, the routine grounding me even in the midst of everything else.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lila drop her towel and slip into a nightie. We both climbed into bed, facing each other without touching. I bit my lip, trying to remind myself that tonight wasn't the night for anything more, despite how close we were.

Lila's expression was sad, and I had the sense that she could almost read my thoughts. But instead of addressing it, she simply moved in for a cuddle. We ended up in a position reminiscent of the countless times we'd shared on the cold subway floor, but this time, it was so much more comfortable.

As we settled in, the warmth and softness of the bed made everything feel a bit more bearable. I promised myself that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I would give her the bracelet I'd been working on. She would see that I wasn't just saying things in the heat of the moment; I meant every word.

The next morning felt different from the previous. With Lila and me in bed together, the usual morning routine was replaced by a slower, more intimate start. Instead of waking up to tea and conversation, we began with soft murmurs and gentle kisses. Her lips were warm and inviting, and I let myself savour the closeness we shared.

After we both got dressed, I suggested we go for a walk and have a picnic. The idea seemed to lift her spirits, and we prepared some food from our supplies. I slipped the bracelet I'd made into my pocket, hoping to find the right moment later.

As we ventured outside, the day started off pleasantly. The air was crisp, and the landscape was serene. We made our way through familiar paths, enjoying the rare tranquillity. However, our mood took a slight dip when we stumbled across a corpse. It wasn't the first time we'd encountered such a grim sight, but it always cast a shadow over the day. We exchanged a glance, acknowledging the grim reality of our situation, but pressed on with our picnic plans.

We checked the snares we had set a few days prior and were relieved to find a decent-sized rabbit caught. It wasn't much, but it would make a hearty meal.

Returning home, I wanted to make sure the day ended on a positive note. I decided to try again with my plans for the evening. I rummaged through the study and found some old candles, which I set up in the greenhouse. It wasn't much, but it was an attempt to create a special moment.

Lila, focused on prepping the food, didn't notice the setup until she walked into the greenhouse. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw the table set with candles flickering softly.

"What's all this?" she asked, a smile touching her lips.

"Just thought we could have a nice dinner," I said, trying to sound casual despite my nerves. I had hoped to make this evening special, and now it felt like everything was falling into place.

After dinner, I decided it was time. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bracelet. My heart raced as I held it out to her. "I have something for you."

Lila's curiosity was piqued. "Where did you find this?" she asked.

With a soft smile, I replied, "I made it for you."

Her eyes widened in surprise and something softer that I hadn't seen before. She took the bracelet and put it on immediately. As she did, she leaned in and gave me a kiss. When she pulled back, her gaze was intense, and I knew she understood that my feelings from yesterday were genuine.

"Five," she said quietly, "I didn't realize how much you meant it."

"I'm sorry for the way it came out," I said, "I didn't mean to make it awkward. It just—well, I care about you. More than I realized."

Lila's eyes softened. "You don't have to apologize. I get it now. And… I feel the same."

I smiled, a weight lifting from my shoulders. "I'm not exactly great at this sort of thing."

"I know," Lila said, "But maybe you don't have to be naturally good at everything. Somethings are worth work towards."

Holding the hand with the bracelet on, I gently pulled Lila to her feet. Our eyes locked, and I could feel the magnetic pull between us intensify. The kiss we shared was urgent, fervent—an expression of all the unspoken emotions we had been holding back. It was more than just a kiss; it was a release of the tension that had been building for so long.

We had been here before, finding ourselves in moments of intimacy only for one of us to pull back, to put the brakes on. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was a determination in her eyes, and I could feel her resolve to push the boundaries we had previously set.

With a sense of eagerness, she guided me towards the sitting room. Once we were inside, she took the initiative, pushing me gently down onto the sofa. Her movements were assertive, yet filled with a playful energy. She straddled me, and our kissing resumed with an intensity that was both exhilarating and liberating. As her hands roamed, she deftly removed my top. I responded in kind, taking off her top and working on unfastening her bra with a mixture of urgency and reverence.

As soon as her bra was off, I flipped her over, our kisses now trailing down her neck in a soft, teasing manner. The contrast between our previous heated make out sessions and this tender, exploratory touch added a layer of intimacy to the moment.

With a playful grin, I helped her up off the sofa, our hands still clasped together. I led her towards the stairs, but she, with a mix of anticipation and confidence, rushed ahead, taking the lead. It was clear she knew exactly what she wanted, and I was more than willing to follow her lead. Her assertiveness was a stark contrast to the hesitation we had both shown before.

We moved together, hand in hand, up the stairs. The excitement was palpable, and I could see her confidence growing with each step. She reached the top first, glancing back at me with a look that said she was ready to take charge. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of desire and determination.

In that moment, it was clear that the boundaries we had set were no longer barriers but invitations. We were both ready to embrace the next step, to explore the depth of our connection without holding back. And as she led the way, I followed, eager to see where this new, uncharted path would take us.

As we entered the bedroom, Lila took the lead once again. I let her, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. My own experience in this area was limited at best, and I knew I was far from skilled. She undressed us both with a confidence that was both reassuring and thrilling.

The warmth of our bodies pressed together created an intensity I hadn't anticipated. The heat between us was palpable, and it seemed to consume every inch of the bed. When we finally rolled over, both of us panting and spent, I let out a deep sigh of relief.

"You know, it was my..." I started, but trailed off, feeling awkward.

"I gathered," she replied softly, her eyes meeting mine with understanding.

"That bad?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Not at all," she said, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. Her touch was comforting, and her words eased the last of my tension.

I braced myself for the usual teasing or comments about Delores, or perhaps even a quip about my lack of experience. But instead, we settled into a comfortable silence. The absence of her usual sharp wit or playful jabs was a pleasant surprise. Instead, there was a serene quietness between us, filled with a newfound closeness and understanding. It didn't take long for us both to fall asleep.

Morning routines evolved again, not that I was complaining. Tea was now only served downstairs and much later than it used to be. We spent more time wrapped up in each other during the day, which often led to other things. For a while, it felt like we were living in some kind of blissful dream, and I was almost content to give up, to stop looking for a way back home.

But I knew, deep down, that this wouldn't last forever. Lila would likely want to get back one day, and I couldn't ignore that nagging feeling in the back of my mind that kept reminding me this wasn't where we belonged.

Every now and then, I made trips to the subway, trying to make sense of our situation. But even the subway seemed to be in on the game now—no trains arrived when I went down there anymore. Normally, just walking toward the platform would be enough to trigger the arrival of a train, but now there was nothing. It was like the universe was telling me to stop, to give up.

On a particularly curious day, I decided to see how far down the tracks I could go. There was nothing special about them—just your typical, mundane subway tracks. But then something caught my eye.

A blue journal, sitting there, hidden a small white box, as if it had been waiting for me. Picking it up I then hopped back up onto the platform, sitting down on a step to examine it.

"Holy shit" I gasped out loud, my heart skipping a beat. "This is our way home."

It was dusty, the pages worn, but it was unmistakably mine. Flipping it open, my breath caught in my throat as I saw my own handwriting detailing the exact steps needed to ensure the trains would take us home. Home, back to the chaos, back to the world we left behind.

I stood there on the platform, the journal heavy in my hands, my mind racing. This was it. A way back. But as the realization sank in, so did the weight of the decision I now faced. Tucking the journal into my bag, I felt a knot of guilt tighten in my chest.

I could tell Lila. We could leave today, right now. But then I thought about our time here, the mornings spent wrapped in each other, the rare moments of peace that had somehow managed to find their way into our lives. We were happy here, weren't we? Could I really just give that up?

There wasn't a time limit. The journal didn't specify a countdown or a deadline. Time at home wasn't moving forward—not really. It was almost as if this world, this bubble we lived in, existed outside of time itself. Maybe I could keep this from Lila. Not forever, but just for a while. We were finally finding something good together. Maybe I could stretch this peace a little longer, just until I was sure.

I convinced myself of it as I made my way back to the house, each step feeling heavier with the secret now lodged in my mind. When I arrived, I noticed Lila wasn't home. She had popped out, which wasn't unusual. She liked to explore, and check our traps daily.

I debated what to do with the journal, wondering if I should hide it somewhere she'd never think to look. But that felt too suspicious, too risky. Instead, I decided to keep it in my bag. It was a place she never really checked, and I could always take the bag with me when I left the house. It seemed like the best option, the safest way to hold on to this secret a little longer.

I tucked the journal into the bag and slid it under the bed, out of sight but never far from my mind. The guilt was still there, gnawing at me, but I pushed it down. Just a little longer, I told myself. Just until I was sure it was me she would pick.

Weeks turned into months, and with each passing day, I convinced myself more and more that keeping the journal hidden was the right decision. I told myself it was for the best, that if everything here was solid—if our lives had truly settled—then maybe I could eventually share it with Lila. But the fear of returning, of potentially ruining what we had, held me back. The seventh year of our time here arrived before I even realized it, the fastest yet of all our years spent lost.

We decided to celebrate the milestone with another candlelit dinner. It had become something of a tradition, a way to mark the passage of time in this strange, static world. But tonight, Lila had something up her sleeve.

"What's that?" I asked, noticing her hiding something behind her back.

"Now, I know we said no gifts, but tada, guess that's seven years in shitsville with you," she said, revealing a jar of instant coffee.

I stared at the jar in disbelief. "Bloody hell. You're not going to cry, are you? It's just instant coffee."

In that moment, the guilt bubbled up inside me. While she was out getting me this, I was pouring over the journal—the journal that was in my bag, which I had with me at that very moment. I could feel it burning a hole in me, the weight of my secret becoming unbearable.

"Lila, there's something I should tell you," I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

"Okay," she replied, her smile faltering slightly as she sat down opposite me. Concern crept into her eyes as I pulled the journal out of my bag and handed it to her. She took it with a hesitant smile, probably thinking it was a gift. And in a way, it was, though certainly not the kind she was expecting.

"What is this?" she asked, I keep my eyes on her making sure not to betray any emotion as she flips through the pages.

"A way home," I said calmly. "It's a cipher."

I watched as she skimmed the pages, her expression shifting from curiosity to something far more serious.

"How long have you had this?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

"I'm not exactly sure," I hedged, knowing exactly where this was going.

"How long?" she demanded, her tone turning stern.

"Five months...maybe six," I admitted, the words heavy with guilt.

"And...you didn't tell me why?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger.

I stared at her, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. "You know why."

Lila closed the book, holding it close to her chest as she stood up from the table. Without another word, she charged upstairs.

"What are you doing?" I called after her, though I knew the answer.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going home," she snapped, making a beeline for one of the backpacks we kept ready for emergencies.

"Lila, we should talk about this," I urged, following her up the stairs.

"There is nothing to talk about. We are going back," she shot back, stuffing clothes into the bag with a determination that bordered on desperation.

I had no right to be annoyed, but I could feel my temper rising, my voice becoming harsh. "To what? Another apocalypse? Another broken timeline? A broken marriage?" The last part slipped out before I could stop it, but I didn't regret it. I wasn't wrong.

"That is none of your goddamn business!" she shouted, spinning to face me with fire in her eyes.

"Actually, it is," I retorted, stepping closer. "I've been here with you for the last seven years, watching your back. Nursing you when you were sick. Holding you when you were sad. So it is my goddamn business." I followed her around the room as she slung the bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

"We're not talking about this," she said firmly, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotions.

"We both know how miserable you were," I pressed, desperate to make her see reason.

"You do not get to decide what I do with my life!" she screamed, her frustration boiling over.

"He can't give you what you need!" I shot back, the words cutting deeper than I intended.

"Oh, and you can?" she challenged, her voice laced with bitterness.

"You're happy here. I know you are. We both are," I insisted, my voice softening as I tried to reach her.

"This isn't real, Five! None of this is real!" she shouted, her voice full of anguish.

"What is it, then?" I asked, my heart sinking as I braced myself for her answer.

"Survival. Nothing more," she replied, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes.

I stared at her, the fight draining out of me as the truth of her words hit home. She finally stopped her frantic packing and walked back over to me, her rage giving way to tears that she struggled to hold back.

"I have children, Five. Children who need me, and I need them," she said, her voice trembling with raw emotion.

And just like that, it all clicked into place. It wasn't necessarily about my brother or the life she'd left behind—it was about her children, the ones she'd stopped talking about because it was too painful to even think about them.

"I know," I said softly, maintaining eye contact. "But we don't know what we're going back to. It could all be gone, and...at least here we have each other."

For a brief moment, I managed to place my hands on her hips, trying to convey everything I felt in that simple gesture. But as soon as I did, she stepped back, the distance between us growing.

"Stay if you want, but I'm going back," she said with finality, turning and walking out of the door.

I didn't immediately follow. Instead, I stood there, frozen in place, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Fuck. Fuck it!" The words slip out before I can stop them, and I don't hesitate. In an instant, I teleport, reappearing in the subway. I know I'll get there first. I can wait for her, intercept her before she does something reckless. If Lila tries to use that journal alone, there's a higher chance she'll get lost in the void of timelines than finding her way back. She doesn't fully understand how it works, how fragile everything is.

When Lila finally arrives, I notice the puffiness around her eyes. She's been crying—maybe this decision wasn't as easy for her as she made it out to be. We stare at each other for a long moment before she silently hands me the journal. I nod slowly, clenching my jaw to keep my emotions in check.

"Are you sure?" I ask, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.

"More than anything," she replies, her voice cold, detached. It hurts more than I want to admit, but I don't let it show.

"Okay." The word feels heavy as it leaves my mouth. We walk together to the platform, where we've been so many times before, waiting for a train that always seemed to appear just when we needed it. But this time, nothing happens.

"What the fuck, Five. Why isn't it here?" Her frustration is palpable, and I can feel her eyes burning into me, demanding answers.

I take a deep breath, realizing the truth that I hadn't fully confronted. - Because I don't want it to- I think to myself. My powers are more tied to this place than I realized, more influenced by my emotions than I care to admit.

Lila's impatience grows as she stares at me. "It's you, isn't it? It's your powers," she accuses, the anger seeping into her voice.

"It certainly seems linked," I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.

As the words leave my mouth, I see it—a purple glow surrounding her. She's mimicking my powers, and the intense drive she feels to go home has summoned the train. It emerges from the darkness of the tunnel, just as it always has, but this time, it's different. This time, she did it, not me.

"Guess that works," I say, trying to hide the sadness swirling inside me.

Lila shakes her head at me, a look of resignation on her face. It's clear she's made up her mind, and nothing I say will change that. She steps onto the train, and I follow, both of us aware that whatever happens next, there's no turning back.

We take our seats, the tension between us palpable. The last time we rode the train, we sat side by side, leaning into each other as if the mere proximity could shield us from the chaos of the world. But now, she actively chooses the opposite side, a physical manifestation of the distance that has grown between us. I sigh inwardly and pull out the map and the journal, comparing the two.

"Four stops," I call out, breaking the silence. "Then we swap to the other side, making sure we're in the back carriage for one stop. After that, we get out, change across again, and get in the back carriage of the next train. Two stops, then we get out, run to the front, and ride it for three more stops. That should be it," I finish, feeling the weight of the journey ahead. It's not just the physical distance, but everything we've been through that makes this feel so exhausting.

"You said back at the house, there might not be anything to go back to," Lila says, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"Yeah" I respond, not really wanting to dwell on that possibility.

"You always said days here are seconds there. Another lie?" she presses, and I can hear the accusation in her tone.

"Not a lie, just a shitty reality. Seven years Lila which is about forty-two minutes." I explain, the reality of it settling in as I say the words aloud. Time can play cruel tricks, and I don't know what we'll find.

We follow the plan precisely, jumping through stations and changing trains exactly as I laid out. My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my focus on the task at hand. When we arrive at the last station in my calculations, we find the sign—one of the few left we didn't manage to cross off before on the map.

"Ready?" Lila asks, a mix of determination and anxiety in her voice. But I don't answer, just smooth my hair back and head up the stairs.

We both nervously peek our heads out, scanning the surroundings. Relief floods through me as I see it—the Academy. It's still standing, unchanged, still in tatters, just as it did when we left. Everything appears to be as it should be.

"How do we know it's right?" Lila asks, her tone calmer, the edge from earlier softened.

I turn to her, the weight of everything pressing down on me. "You go home," I say, the words carrying more meaning than I intend. It's not just about checking if we're in the right place. It's about what home really means and whether we still have one after all this time.