I know, I know; this was supposed to be the last chapter of this arc and bla bla, but honestly it was getting so long I had to split it into two parts before you guys ran away and it also gave me the chance to end this part with a cliffhanger. But for one thing, this chapter is probably unlike any I've ever written and I think you can pretty much tell that by just taking a single glance at the title.
Like last time, I didn't reply to your reviews and some PMs, I am infinitely sorry and the 'I'm really busy' line is getting very cliche, even though I swear it's true. But thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and being awesome AND, this is for the one reviewer who apologised for admitting that they hated Claire—I need to tell you, your review was probably the most honest and genuine one I've received so far. Thing is, trust me I don't particularly like Claire myself but when it comes to the type of characters I create or just my writing in general, I am really attracted to flaws. I always resonate with the villain for some reason, and I might not always like the antagonist or their choices but they're real because isn't that what real people are? Imperfect? But of course to me that certainly doesn't mean they are admirable. With complete sincerity, I am confessing to you that I hate Claire, her character has no redeeming quality, none and the fact that you actually paid enough attention to her personality to be completely honest about your opinion of her is everything to me. So, thank you.
I'll try to update soon, thanks again for reading and now you can officially dig in.
Chapter: 25
"Smoke & Mirrors— Part I."
"September: it was the most beautiful of words, he'd always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret."
- Alexander Theroux, 1981
Cessation in general, was what marked the truly critical point of everything in my life. I had always found the ends to have a somewhat greater impact on me than the events themselves. The beats, the ticks— the whispers, all of it had suddenly a deeper meaning when the needles of time were close to their final halt.
Ultimately, I never had any desire to alter the chapters themselves—the lines, those were what should've been moulded differently. What I wished to do, always, was to take out a few chunks here and there and make our story into a broken, yet beautiful piece.
Similarly, I ached to change the occurences of this cold night that marked the reign of September; because by the end of it, not only would the life of the girl I loved turn upside down, but her entire world would acquire a different orbit as a whole.
"Nice job, captain obvious," Claire complimented after I randomly mentioned that the place was crowded, clutching the large figure of a laptop bag between her arms; her form leaning against the seat of my car as she sat back, almost melted against it. The hems of the black dress she wore, had folded to a side, leaving most of the part of her legs bare as she gazed out of the windshield.
I rolled my eyes and cast a short glance towards the towering edifices that dominated all the view before turning back and looking between her and Gon, who sat pensively in the backseat. "Leave that laptop here," I instructed, checking my watch. "We'll come back for it once we're out; are we all set?"
She nodded and obliged. "Of course we're all set, I checked our horoscopes and everything."
I turned towards her, meeting her eyes and realising that she wasn't joking."What did mine say?"
She held my gaze for a while before answering. "You're going to embrace a destined deviation."
I grimaced and traced my jaw with my thumb. "Sounds like a metaphorical toilet joke."
She rolled her eyes at me as she craned her neck back. "Gon, you are going to find a state of unexpected and vibrant peace within a chaotic setting."
One glimpse at him and I saw the same expression I had a few seconds ago reflected on his face.
"You're reading these off fortune cookies aren't you?" I inserted, passing a hand through my hair. "Okay, what about yours?" I questioned further on registering her sceptical stare.
"I am going to confront my past while earning my future."
I reflexively shot up an eyebrow at her. "Is that a line from Star Wars?"
She gradually shook her head at me and I could tell she ws struggling to keep her guise serious. "Just get on with it," she ordered, gesturing outside.
"It's okay, you can laugh; I won't judge you for always criticizing my humour." I shrugged.
She face-palmed and I did see the hint of a smile on her face, which automatically made a grin materialise on mine. "Just—stop."
"Okay, this shouldn't take more than a few hours," I calculated, revising all our established instructions as I took out my cell-phone.
"Great," she answered, her voice loaded with irony. "Let's go then."
I immediately pushed the lock button just as they reached for the door handles. "Are you two forgetting something?" I reminded as they both threw me irritated looks.
Gon's mouth settled into a thin line as he shot me a disbelieving glare. "Whatever you do, don't act like Gon," he recalled, speaking his own name in a sketchy manner. "Don't leave the auction hall and make sure to get all the items that Nostrade's daughter wants otherwise Kurapika is going to stick his chains in our—" he rolled his eyes and leaned back, not completing his sentence.
I nodded in agreement as he stated all of the conditions that we had previously discussed.
The aftermath of the destructive incident that took place at last year's auction was that not only was the event now settled to take place in the premises of the JCI, thus providing high security, but furthermore, it was no longer a public event and only selected groups were allowed to take part.
Since the guest list had considerably narrowed down, it had taken a lot of convincing and reasoning with Kurapika before he gave in to choosing us as his candidates. Needless to say, we were Nostrade's representatives tonight.
Next, I shifted my sight towards Claire, who addressed me with a murderous scowl that was followed by an impatient sigh. "Think like Claire, but don't act like Claire, don't let your anger get the best of you, refrain from being loud," she paused heavily before uttering the next part. "Listen to whatever Killua says and don't swear—" she broke off with a groan. "Okay, why am I not allowed to swear?"
"Because," I emphasised with a provoking smirk. "Your swearing is like a catylist; the more you let yourself lose on that, the faster your anger gets out of control."
She huffed lightly and shrugged. "Fine, no swearing."
"Now we're ready to go," I assured as I unlocked the doors.
"Ap, ap, ap," she paused, grabbing my hand. "I think you're the one who's forgetting something now."
Tentatively glancing at her, I heaved a sigh and raised one hand in defeat. "Just because you two are going to take orders from me tonight, doesn't mean I can go ahead and be a bossy asshole."
She turned her head back and she and Gon nodded in silent accord, marking at last everyone's cue to step out.
Claire let out a low whistle as she craned her neck to take in the enormous building that seemed to be merging with the sky at the top. "Fifteen floors," she assessed with a tilt of her head.
"And we're on to?" I demanded, putting my hands in my pockets.
"Floor number eleven." My gaze fell down to her and I found myself surveying her get up profoundly, not taking too long to spot the lingering gazes that her thinly strapped dress drew in from around.
I felt my jaw harden and tried to keep a clear mind as I unbuttoned the blazer of my suit and handed it to her. "Wear it."
She tossed me a look of incredulity as she looked at what I was offering her. "I'm not cold."
"I know," I mumbled, thrusting it in her hold. "I'd say quite the opposite."
Her eyes narrowed at my words. "You picked this dress out for me," she reminded, placing a hand firmly on her hip.
"Well, I didn't seem to consider that there would be people watching you beside me," I blurted out thoughtlessly. "Just wear it until we're outside."
Her eyelid twitched on registering my reply and she raised her hand, showing me a very particular gesture before pushing her arms through the sleeves of the coat. "Don't be deluded into thinking that I'm doing this because you said it," she warned as she paced forward. "Oh, and pull up your zipper along with your non-existent dignity," she advised and beside her Gon exploded with laughter.
I lightly adjusted the tie around the collar of my shirt and rolled my eyes as I offered her my hand on observing her obvious discomfort with the heels she was sporting.
After an unsure glance, she took it and let me lead her towards the enterance.
"Nervous?" I asked as we passed through the security check and received our respective badges.
"Nope," she lied, pinning it on the front and handing me back my blazer.
"Good," I stressed, shrugging on the tunic as we were guided towards the hall. The double doors were wide open as we proceeded to pause before the endless sea of majesty and filthily rich people. "Because this is only the grand opening," I whispered in her ear.
Her visage acquired a slightly intimidated look before she readjusted it. "This is going to be one hell of a night," she predicted, and the irony was, that she was nowhere even close to describing its actual outcome.
The faint clatterring of the rain was settled in the periphery of every other sound, the light crackles made by the lightening as it eventually struck made the wind flinch, clashing with the glass from time to time. The dark was completely reverted in the background—the sky was alive, but the night wasn't somehow.
And everything was sweeped aside by the startling, hollow thoughts of the silver-haired boy gazing through each shadow cast outside with nothing but vacancy in his eyes, his typical mysterious guise and his hands burried deep in his pockets—in obscure pits, not deeper than where his heart had sunk lately.
There were silent murmurs from the gale and loud words from the mist that rested on the delicate glass.
Rumorous—the quietude was saturated with rumours but shrilling with the hints of an unentered presence—and then it came.
It was after numerous collisions that the seventeen-year old finally registered the intense banging on the wooden door that he stood mere steps away from. He darted back to consciousness with a flinch, staring confused towards the source of the noise.
When the persistent racket continued with no halt, an irritated curse escaped his lips and he made his way towards the entrance.
"Gon, you seriously—" he began before actually surveying the figure in front of him—the figure of the thoroughly drenched, short-haired brunette in front of him. "Claire," he spoke breathlessly.
She shook before him, her dripping strands sticking to the sides of her face, embracing herself in a trembling hold; her jeans almost seeming black with the quantity of water they had absorbed and her shirt soaked to the point of becoming see-through.
"Please don't shut the door in my face," she pleaded, slightly dropping her eyelids.
His visage went blank, either out of incomprehension or disbelief—he wasn't quite sure which one, but he wasn't going to stand by and give thought to that petty riot now. His first reflex was to shift to a side and clear her path. "Get in," he said, gesturing with his head.
She obliged, strolling ahead and leaving a trail of water behind with her boots, her frame straight and unmoving.
His second reflext was to take off his shirt and throw it in her direction which she caught obediently.
It was a few moments later that he walked back in the lounge, his sight lingering on her just enough to see the attractive line of her bare back that she eventually covered up with his shirt and the silence got vaguer as he handed her the cup containing the steaming liquid—her eyes were so loud tonight.
And more silence followed—just his breath, just her eyes and just their wild hearts.
"Do you want sugar with that?" he questioned as they sat on the couch, pensive glances in both directions.
"W-what?" she asked, startled. "No—no."
The first smile of the evening, a badly supressed one, crept on his face and she covered her face with her hands.
"Shut your face," she mumbled in embarrassment even though her misunderstanding his words had become a routine between them now.
"I didn't say anything," he countered with a short laugh, catching the shy look she had in her eyes as she kept staring fixedly at her bare legs, crossed under her. "What?" he pressed on, his eyebrows shooting up. "No bitching?"
She passed a hand through her moist hair. "I—I'm not here to fight," she informed looking up at him. "—or any questions, or promises—I don't need any definition of what we are," she added. "I—Killua, I just want to be with you tonight, that's all I want—please."
He stared at her dumbfounded, his eyelids feeling uncontrollable as he kept his gaze fixated on her.
The next instant was unexpected—raw; her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist and a mess of brown hair pressed against his chest, almost merging with his. Everything was somehow poured into that embrace.
And there—as he sat with just his pants on, and she was on his lap, with just a shirt on—merging, was how he'd describe that night. They hadn't gone very far with each other physically, but emotionally, there wasn't any part of each other they hadn't seen.
"We have five minutes," I stated, throwing another glance at my wrist watch and turning to hand both Gon and Claire the earpieces from my pocket.
After they had safely positioned them, Claire turned to me with a suspicious guise, a question obviously lingering on her tounge. "How the hell did you get these things past that metal detector?"
"Let's just say those scanners aren't really working anymore," I suggested with a wink, pressing lightly on the device to confirm its working one last time.
"Wow," she remarked, simply staring at me for a moment, before she lightly shook her head and reverted her attention back to her cell phone. "So, once we're done with getting the access card, we have two ways: either we go from the bottom upwards," she suggested, charring up an eyebrow when I gave her a sarcastic look. "Yeah, that idea went straight out the window when I actually saw all the security; top down it is," she confirmed and spinning back to face Gon and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to the dick," she advised, indicating towards me, "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't get me arrested."
"There's a fair chance of you doing that yourself, Miss Gaspardo," Isawa's voice ringed through the ear piece and Claire's apprehensive countenance altered into a grimace, and it wasn't worth metioning that Isawa was our pesky guide for the night.
"Your opinion is so precious, Mr. Isawa," she commented, her fingers scrolling on the screen of her mobile. "You should keep it to yourself."
The plan for tonight was apparently a simple one: we had to procure ourself one of keycards from an employee, reach the eleventh floor of the edifice where all the systems were managed and let Claire do the rest. But getting these three to co-operate with me, now that was the real challenge.
"Hey," I broke off their witty exchange snapping my fingers at her. "Behave."
Her eyebrows shot up and for a moment, she appeared ready to argue but ultimately gave up on the idea and lowered her gaze to her screen once more.
"And I thought I had been very clear when I told you that I didn't want to hear your voice unless I myself addressed you," I threatened the man on the other line, yielding no response other than quietude.
I observed silently as a few more people made their way inside the guildhall and waited patiently for Claire's cue. We had mutually decided that it was better to simply remain here until the surveillance's attention was directed from the entryways to the the auction hall itself.
"Come on," she whispered, taking my hand and tugging me along as we made our way out.
I threw a brief salute to Gon as an unspoken encouragement and he nodded as he surveyed our exit.
"Six cameras in the lobby, eight right across that corridor, so we shouldn't really be in full view if stand by that wall," she pointed towards the side of the junction.
"And the plan is...?" I questioned tentatively as we paced towards the end of the hall.
"Clear me the security in front of one of the cameras all the way back there," she ordered, pointing in the exact direction of her indication, "Make sure not to get in front of one and then I'll tell you the rest."
I squinted at her, assessing her domineering way. "Say that again, with the magic word."
"Oh, sorry," she ammended, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Clear the security over that aisle, bastard."
I cast her a sceptical glance. "You know things come back around, don't you?"
And her reply came in the form of a scoff; but the most hilarious part of it was that approximately two minutes later, she was sitting on my shoulders, completely on my mercy, while picking through a security camera and karma had made its mark.
"Would you stop fidgeting?" she demanded with a groan.
"Sorry," I strectched mokingly, "I was just trying not to feel your underwear on my neck," I baited, managing to keep my tone serious. "Or your ass against my shoulders."
"Can you not be an asshole for like thirty seconds?"
I shrugged, shaking her entire figure and she pinched my shoulder with all her might. "I was just saying how it's uncanny that I'm standing between your legs, in a very literal sense," I continued.
"I will stick these heels in your eye-sockets."
"What the fuck are you doing up there anyway?" I debriefed, cocking my head to steal a peek. "Apart from disintegrating my innocence."
"I can't get into the servers of the cameras inside the building," she explained briefly. "So, I'm pretty sure those clever idiots did something sneaky—and voila," she celebrated with a series of clicks coming from the device. "They inserted a chip; put me down now, please," she swiftly appendaged.
I obliged unable to hold back a laugh at her automatic response. "Don't tell me I knocked out five security guards because of that little motherfucker," I dared, pointing to the minute, square chip in her hand.
"Apparently, you have," she confirmed, tucking it away. "And this baby is the core of what we're doing tonight; why else do you think I even came in here with you?" she questioned, walking out of the sector and into the corridor before me like we hadn't just put all the people back there to sleep.
I passed a hand through my hair and considered her explanation. "I thought it was because of my incomparable charm or your impregnable attraction towards me," I theorised, gesturing with my hand until I caught her glaring a hole in my face. "Uh—how do I get that access card?" I deflected because there was something very daunting about her look.
"That guy, brown pants," she described shortly and I spotted the suited man she was referring to as she turned away from me.
I refrained from asking her exactly how she happened to know about each and everything going on around us since she'd probably give me shit about not paying attention to the documents we had examined; the same way she had basically yelled at me when I had demanded why I couldn't just shut off all the security cameras with my nen, followed by her enraged reminder of the entire surveillance team, or 'gang of hoes' as she put it a few nights back when she was sleep-deprived and actually cried when I informed her that no ice-cream place was open after three in the morning. Yeah, that was exactly the kind of woman I had to put up with.
"Listen, whatever we do, we have to be very discreet," she instructed peeking shortly across the aisle as we registered all the sentries placed in front of the passages. "Get it?"
"What part of being discreet did you not get?" Claire piped hysterically as she barged in the restroom behind me, gaping in a sinister manner at the unconscious guy on my shoulder.
"Nobody saw us," I objected as I deposited the man on the floor and shifted to meet her gaze.
"Killua, there are cameras everywhere," she whisper-shouted, now gripping her head in frustration.
"And I was very careful not get in the range of one," I assured, passing a hand through my hair.
"I heard him scream from across the corridor," she objected through gritted teeth.
"Yeah, well he did a lot more than just scream, but gladly the guy's wearing brown pants so," I ventured.
She gave me a nasty look and bent down to grope through the various pockets of the unconscious worker.
"Hey, hey," I warned, snapping my fingers. "Let's not take those hands to inappropriate places, keep them where I can see them."
She raised an eyebrow at me before resuming her previous task. "Bingo," she mouthed, extracting a sleek-silver key card that was marked with a dominating black line.
"Are you sure the doors don't use DFRs? We should take one of his fingers as a pre-caution," I recommended.
Her eyes widened and she glared at me in the most gruesome manner one could manage.
"Actually," Isawa's voice inserted in between. "Using access cards is much more convenient since they can easily be deactivated in case of any disruption; erasing a fingerprint code from the database, now that requires a lot more radical working."
I breathed out an impatient sigh. "What could be better than your refreshing and informative bits of wisdom, except hepatitis of course," I remarked.
Claire rolled her eyes and inspected upwards as I lifted up the unconscious man and had him leaned in one of the empty stalls to remove him from immediate sight.
"Cameras?" I probed, glancing upwards as I followed her brief gazes.
"There are none here; now, how are we getting out without being noticed?" Her hand fell down to massage her ankle as she angled her leg upward, her free palm was pressed against my chest for support. "What good have heels even brought to this world," she mumbled nonchalantly.
I tried not to notice too much, the light pressure that her warmth was exerting on me. "We can't try the main way out again, the event's started and all the focus will be on the immediate surroundings," I calculated with a halt. "Wrinkles, what are our options?" I pressed my finger lightly on the device once more.
"You could try the back corridors, but then again, the entire ground floor is in the red zone," he considered astutely. "Or... there's always the vent."
"What?" we both asked in unison, our voiced saturated with disbelief.
"Yes, were there any security plan regarding these outlets, Miss Gaspardo?" he commented with a light whim.
"No," she replied with confusion, her eyes on me. "No, he's right," she considered, taking a step back and examining the square, metallic frame that took up the majority of side-wall. "That's our way out."
I walked up to the fixture and easily made contact with it. Passing my fingers through the bars, I grasped the mounting and pulled it out noiselessly from its base. "We're good to go," I informed Claire who was mutely gaping at me. "Need a boost?" I invited as she scrutinised the distance between her arms and the newly made gap.
"That'd be nice," she confessed with a wary smile. "What if somebody notices that he's missing?" she question, indicating with a head gesture towards the compartment where we had just deposited the employee.
"Some people take a really long time the toilet," I assured as I grabbed her by the waist and swiftly hoisted her upwards, making my hand linger for just a moment longer than necessary on her thigh as I drew my arms back.
Abruptly, the heel of her shoe came into full view as she aimed a backward punt at me that I dodged effortlessly. "Bastard."
I couldn't help the throaty chuckle that escaped me on registering her reaction. "I thought we had a mutual understanding of keeping our mouths clean tonight."
I heard a deep intake of breath and an intelligible mutter as she crawled forward with no further assertion.
With a rapid leap, I treaded behind her through the shaft, the hammering of our knees with the metal echoed on before and behind us.
"Normal things normal people do on a Monday night," she jested in a perky tone. "I mean who would ever pass up the opportunity to writhe through a vent over watching a movie?"
"I'm not complaining," I murmured, trying to keep the timbre of my voice serious. "The view's great."
And almost immediately, she directed another kick at me that I avoided by grabbing her ankle. "I'm imagining a lot of scenarios involving my fist and your face," she countered as her fingers loomed back and she pinched my foreleg with what appeared to be her entire force.
"Really?" I considered, making no effort to hide the smugness in my tone. "Because your hand made it, but that's not my face."
"How sly," she remarked dryly. "I'm swooning."
The emotionlessness in her voice made me explode with laughter, that reverberated like air throughout the tunnel.
"It's very artful, the way you two communicate," Isawa suddenly interjected, reminding us that our converstaion wasn't exactly confined.
"Wish I could say the same about your facial hair," Claire parried with no hesitation.
"On a serious note though, have you two considered associating romantically? You appear to be very compatible," he propounded thoughtfully.
I felt her figure freeze exactly the same instant mine did.
"So, you're the love-whisperer now?" she shot back loudly. "Isn't playing the roles of both Satan and Cupid a handful?"
"Ah," he mused pensively after a while. "By the way you dodge my question, I can't help but wonder if he's the boy you were referring to—"
In the course of a few milliseconds, Claire suddenly jerked back against me, her fingers immediately knocking off my ear-piece and thrusting it to a side.
"What the fuck—"
"I will render you ball-less," she menaced with complete solemnity at the old man and by the time I had readjusted the gadget, he was good as gone.
I cleared my throat after a few seconds, feeling her body get rigid. "The boy who...?" I interrogated.
"Will become unfuckable for the rest of his life is he says one more word," she seethed through gritted teeth and that marked a cue for silence to dominate the rest of our trek.
"Duck," I ordered as soon as I spotted the feeble rays of moonlight that made their way through the obstruction.
She obliged wordlessly and I disencumbered it from its foundation with a neat kick as I adjusted myself into a sitting position.
After one peek downward, she turned to me, indicating that there was no way she could jump from the height and her being in the lead didn't aid the process.
"Give me your hands," I instructed, extending both of my palms to intertwine our fingers.
Her arms were locked behind her as a result of our joined hands. "And off you go," I mumbled as I gave her an abrupt push with my knee, obtaining an unpleasant remark, and lowered her safely to the ground.
"There hasn't been a single rule you haven't already broken and we've been here what... twenty minutes?" I asked subtly after I jumped down as I examined the back of the building. "What about these?" I demanded pointing towards the cameras that were clearly facing our direction.
"Yeah, well there should have been a rule about these jokes that apparently you're coming up with with your package today," she stated intently. "I froze them before-hand," she guaranteed, referring to the surveillance. "I mean, honestly, what are the chances of people actually popping out of the vents?"
I pursed my lips to suppress a smile. "Come on, be honest, you loved my jokes," I tempted ignoring her last statement. "I saw that look earlier, I know you wanted to give me a high five, or a fist bump?" I considered, raising my hand in approval. "And that's completely fine, because we're going to need a special handshake when we're famous."
She stopped walking and turned to stare at me. "Did you hit your head somewhere?"
"Well, the vent was pretty small and I can swear there was barely an inch between us."
Her gaze mutated into a murderous scowl. "You have three seconds to get out of my sight before I take off these painful shoes and make you eat them."
"Okay, but out of curiosity, after the shoes, does the dress come off too?" I quipped.
"Killua," she warned, pressing a hand to her forehead.
"I'll get the laptop," I ended with a huge grin before I paced on.
Within five minutes, I sauntered back to her and handed her the large black bag containing the laptop and stared down at her impatient and bare feet. "Classy," I commented as she slug the bag across her shoulder, holding her shoes in her hand.
"What I don't get is why they have so little security outside the building," she mused, following me as I paced forward.
"They're not worried about anyone who can't pass through a locked door," I explained with a shrug. "Honestly, they're just deluding themselves into believing that they've established some sort of impenetrable fort; but they know just as well as anyone that if my family did have any intention of breaking in again, no one could do anything about it."
"I don't understand," she considered quietly. "Why did your family massacre all those innocent people last year, what use was it to them?" Her countenance was somewhat accusative.
"Innocent." I couldn't help but scoff. "Claire, they were hired by someone," I notified cautiously. "That's ultimately why the Zoldycks do what they do."
"How are you so sure?" she probed, the night passing around her like a light breeze, merging with the colour of her clothing.
"Because the Zoldycks never kill for personal reasons," I apprised, my hands feeling uncomfortable in the pockets of my pants.
"So, the entire purpose of your family's life is to kill but they never do it for themselves?" There was a barely suppressed hint of anger in her statement.
"You could say that," I tipped briefly coming to a stop at the enormous rear of the edifice.
She glanced at me for a moment before understanding that this was my indication to end the conversation there. "What do we do now?"
"Now," I emphasised taking a steady step forward and staring up, "we climb."
Claire's fingers were intertwined tightly around my neck, her legs bracing my waist with all the breath she had as I ascended the top most floors of the complex. "Why can't we just break in the eleventh floor?" I questioned making a leap near an extensive glass panel and balancing myself and her on a very narrow end.
"Because this isn't Harry Potter and barging in through a window isn't exactly going to lead up to a picnic, you idiot. We have to take the safest route possible," she elucidated breathlessly.
I rolled my eyes. "Careful where you're touching," I cracked as I stepped backwards to get a clear sight of the next aim.
I heard her heave a deep sigh. "I hate you," she muttered.
"Hold on tight," I advised with a suggestive tone and she retaliataed by clawing her elbows right below my ribs.
"Is this tight enough?" she reciprocated ferociously.
I bit back a grin. "Yeah, now do the same with your legs," I prompted, preparing to vault towards the apex.
"Motherfucker," she swore as I hurled us both upwards and made one final, smooth land on the pitch-black roof.
Claire had just let out a breath of relief and handed me the laptop carrier when my entire body went motionless on detecting company. "Someone's here," I whispered as I sensed the presence getting closer and with one rapid movement, I scooped Claire up with one hand and hustled backwards towards the way we had just arrived from.
It was a while later, as I hung on to the edge of the short enclosure with one hand, with Claire's whole body dangling against mine, her fingers clasped around my neck and the bag in my other free hand, that I realised we were very much fucked up.
I instructed her to remain silent with my gaze as we heard the deep male voice just inches above us, apparently taking a call. A barely audible whimper escaped Claire's throat as her palm slightly slipped and she reflexively bound her legs, caging my waist.
I slung my free arm around her, holding her as tightly as I could manage and focused on the grip my fingers were struggling to keep.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the voice finally faded and I exhaled a breath of short lived relief. "Claire?" I called as calmly as I could manage.
On yielding no sound as a reply, except her hysteric breathing, I dropped the hand gripping the bag sideways and sucked in a small breath.
"Claire, listen to me," I nudged lightly with my elbow, exerting all the force I could to my fingertips. "You have to try and swing to my other side and climb up."
"What?" she vociferated frantically. "Are you—"
"You have to," I broke in immediately. "There's no way I can even move with the way I'm holding on right now."
"There's no way I—"
"Listen to me," I pleaded, striving to keep my tone reassuring. "You can do it, I'll guide you step by step, there's nothing to be afraid of; let your feet down, keep them steady on mine."
Shaking uncontrollably, she gradually untangled her legs from my body and clutching my shoulders harder, she lowered them and stood lightly on my shoes.
"See? That was easy," I encouraged feebly, keeping my feet lean to support her weight. "Now you have sling over to my back, slowly."
She had just raised her foot from mine when she rapidly lost balance and one of her shoes slipped off and went down right below us. "I can't—Killua, I can't do this!" she bleated in a defeated tone and drew back instantly.
"Claire, please, please work with me here, I can't hold on forever," I finally suplicated.
A helpless sniffle escaped her and she swallowed, meeting my eyes now. "I can't—you can't catch me if I slip, you're holding on to the laptop—" she argued weakly.
"Oh, the fuck—" I cursed through gritted teeth, digging my nails into the cement. "I'll throw it down, nothing's more important than you!" I bellowed enraged. "I won't let you fall, I swear I'll catch you."
Her eyes widened at my confession and soon enough, her breathing slowed down. She loosened the grip on my neck carefully and held on to my shoulders, keeping her feet firm on mine.
"Great, that's perfect, keep going," I rooted, biting my lower lip to sustain the pressure.
In the next miraculous moment she latched onto my back and managed to keep her hold.
"Yes—now reach for my arm and hoist yourself upwards—your knees should be on my shoulders," I guided and she followed my instructions with no hesitation and eventually she had her feet reach my shoulders and with one last step upwards, she finally made it.
"Catch it," I forewarned as I swung the bag to her; she caught it in her arms and at last, I grabbed the closure with both my hands and darted up, my feet neatly stepping on the ground.
The only sound that dominated the thick darkness was her trembling exhales and as we both turned to face each other, the attraction I felt to her in that moment was something magnetic—solid and I saw the same lust reflected in her gaze.
I attempted to deviate my sight abruptly, knowing that if we just kept staring at one another like that, this moment would end up very badly because my sudden need to touch her, comfort her was becoming almost physically painful.
"Yeah." she nodded at me as she lowered her legs and knelt down for a moment. "Keep looking at me like that and we're getting somewhere."
I displayed my impatience by rolling my eyes as I stepped towards her, lightly grabbing the piece of fabric, draping by her right leg.
"What are you doing you asshole—" she bellowed, grasping my hair in retaliation.
"Where's the keycard?" I demanded, patting the sides of her dress to feel any protrusion. "Ah, so we're wearing satin today, are we?" I provoked, catching her wild hand.
At the last moment, I avoided yet another attack by her, that would've been excruciatingly painful because she almost hit my sensitive place. "It's in my bra," she whispered, ceasing her struggle and challenging me with an eyebrow raise.
"Don't mess with me, Claire, you know I can get really bad," I alerted, stepping back to study her expression.
She lightly shook her head with an evocative smile that was so familiar it nearly brought a memory clear before my eyes. "I'm not messing at all, it's an open invitation," she declared, gesturing with her hands to me.
I gritted my teeth and flicked an eyebrow, showing my frustration and attempting to mask my nervousness. "You're seriously going to waste my time here?" I diverted, noticing just how she quirked her lips at my words.
Instead of giving me a verbal reply, she unzipped the bag and extracted the mentioned access card before me. "All talk, no action," she commented, handing it to me.
My jaw clenched automatically even though I tried to refrain from reacting to her statement. "I respect you," I blurted out in response.
She shook her head immediately as if she was expecting my answer. "Yes, because I'm your sister, suddenly," she taunted, now pulling out the laptop and sitting cross-legged on the ground.
I sighed at her terminology. "I already told you why—"
"Pussy," she simply interrupted, not even bothering to look at me.
"What the hell do you want me do?" I demanded, sharpening my tone so she caught the edge in it.
Her gaze darted to me and she passed a hand through her hair. "Admit that you're a coward and admit that you only do things to prove a point."
And her words struck vague but reflective at the same time, striking from a night not so far away as her voice and her actions were all embedded in nothing but smoke.
The wind barely caused any movement in the partially soaked strands of dark hair that hung short on the shoulders of the brunette as she stood pensively, leaned against the balcony railing.
And this stationery yet loud presence was what the silver-haired boy caught the moment he stepped out behind her. "Your hair is wet, you idiot; get inside," he reprimanded, pausing to perceive her concrete stature. It made him somewhat uneasy, her loud thoughts and silent mouth.
On untimately yielding no response, he simply sighed and approached the grill, elbows touching as he leaned beside her. Breaking the pressing weight of the prolonged motionlessness, he reached in his pocket and extracted a cigarette that he fixed between his lips.
Her uninterested eyes eventually turned to him as she watched him light it up, followed by the smog that emanated from it.
He shifted his sight to her, feeling her judging gaze on his face. "Go on," he invited cordially with a hint of scepticism. "I think there are still a few lines from your 'dangers of smoking' essay that I haven't memorised yet."
Her neutral look transformed into a squint for a very brief moment before she reached for the cigarette he was sporting and pulled it out, which he let her since it had almost become a tradition for them. But to his immediate surprise, she didn't crumble it or throw it away, instead, she brough the thin stick to her lips and exhaled a deep waft of smoke that almost seemed to blur her out of the picture completely.
He didn't realise just how hard his jaw was set with disbelief. "What the fuck?" he seethed out through gritted teeth.
What distrupted him even more, was that she hadn't taken her eyes off him throughout the whole action, her gaze was hard and unflinching as if she was challenging him to say something legitimate.
He flapped the air with his hand, glaring back at her. "Do you have any idea how dangerous smoking is for you?" he questioned in a vicious manner, snatching the nuisance from between her fingers and disintegrating it in his fist.
"Probably just as much as it is for you?" she countered with absolutely no hesitation, almost as if she had been hoping he would use the exact same words he had.
His forehead creased. "I'm immune to poison, you dumbass."
She flicked her eyebrows at him. "So am I, I dated you."
His lips twitched at her statement as if he couldn't decide a proper reaction for it. "Well, ouch. That certainly didn't hurt."
There was a brief glipmse of regret that he had spotted in her irises, apt to her tendency of reacting promptly and giving little thought to how she phrased her words. "Do you know why you smoke, Killua?" she diverted, her tone slightly gentle, as if she was trying to redeem herself.
"Oh, no," he refused at once. "I don't want one of you spiritual sagacity lectures, but thank you for the offer."
"Coward."
And it clicked, because in the next moment they were both staring at each other with an electric repulsion between their eyes, as if one was daring the other to speak. For he knew how she was very well aware of the reaction that that particular word invoked in him.
"Why do you always stress so much on pretending?" he shot at her with a glare.
"About what?" she demanded with confusion.
"That you know me."
"Because I do."
"You don't, you—" he paused, his teeth clenched in frustration. Tapping his temple with two of his fingers, he managed some form of a demonstration. "It's me up here, not you. Stop trying to act like you're in my head."
"How about you stop trying to pretend that you don't have emotions, or maybe admit that the only reason you do these things is to prove a point in your stupid brain or unconsciously avoiding all the thoughts that stress you out?"
"Shut up," he answered back, shaking his head. "I don't want any part in this meaningless conversation. Stop trying to interfere with my decisions; if I want to smoke a damned cigarette I'll do it and not you or any other fucking person in the world can do anything about it."
"See?" she ventured, tilting her head with a victorious expression. "All just to prove a point."
"I told you to end this."
"When you're frustrated, you raise your voice a bit," she informed, taking his hand to force him to focus on her. "And when you're helpless, you might go ahead and even smash a car window and you don't cry for all I know," she asserted to which he replied with a grimace. "But when you're angry, Killua, and I mean like really angry, you go dead silent." She raised her fingers to brush off a few strands of hair falling near his eyes. "—where are you holding all that rage?"
He didn't respond or maybe she barely gave him time to, because her fingers were trailing down his neck now and his eyes followed her movements instinctively.
"Is it here?" she asked, pausing at his chest. "A hole? Some kind of pressure—a weight?" she finally guessed with a tilt of her head as if she was trying to hear his heatbeat. "Is that how you get rid of it? Do you see all of it disperese with the smoke?"
He hated her a little in that moment, for being as honest and perceptive as she was being. "I don't—" he began to object.
"You're so emotionally sensitive Killua," she voiced out, interrupting him. "I wish you would stop trying to hide that, because I love that about you."
His speechless eyes were stunned as he looked at her dumbfounded. In the next few instants, he dug his hand in his pocket and withdrew the entire pack of cigarettes before litfing its cover and holding it upside down until each and every single one of its contents had fallen in the dark abyss below them. "I'm not making any promises," he summarised, "but I'll try to give it up. Cut me some slack," he added, not facing her anymore.
Her mouth hung open as if she had just witnessed something unbelieveable before her eyes. It was clear by her countenance, that she had never even fathomed that he would give her words any serious thought.
She kept staring at him after composing her expression and finally said something that took him off guard: "You'd give up anything for me, wouldn't you?" Rectifying her statement by adding, "Including me."
And the impression of that thought, their voices and the night all merged with the fog and was dispersed into nothingness.
"To prove a point?" I probed, lowering my voice as I stepped out of the elevator and took a turn.
"Yes, every time, every single thing you do," she backed up, her voice ringing through the ear-piece with a slightly provisional tone.
After Claire's sudden daring spree and my actual reasoning with her, she had at last used the c-word, which in my case was very much equavalent to the worst possible insult known to man-kind; thus the entire arguing binge was still continuing with no possible hint of a termination as I had descended several floors and she guided me from the top most one.
"You don't know how I think," I answered absent-mindedly, taking a quick glimpse of the security positioned around the next corridor.
"Of course I do, I just have to consider how an idiot would take the situation; and wait don't move," she added and I heard the clear clicking of laptop keys.
"Oh, well that must be totally effortless for you," I retorted, knowing very well that I had just stinged her pretty bad.
"What is this?" she asked exasperated, now completely focusing on me as I heard no other sound whatsoever. "Some new pride contest whereby your unpredictability is some high achievement?"
"No, I simply said that you don't know me, as in... you don't know about me," I negotiated, trying to kill the subject somehow.
I registered a sharp intake of breath from the earpiace and realised quickly that I had screwed up. "I don't know you—I don't know about you?" she debriefed in an incredibly enraged tone.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Yeah, now listen—"
"Say that again," she invited venomously.
"It's not that big of a deal," I convinced, "just accept the fact that—"
"You hate the colour orange in any item of clothing," she proclaimed, her voice stern.
I paused for a moment in incomprehension."Well, wow," I murmured dully, "I'm totally impressed."
"You take two sugars in your coffee, you always tie your laces twice and always put in your right foot first," she attached easily, but as soon as I tried to comment on it, she spoke further with no intention of stopping anytime soon. "You couldn't go a day without hairspray and hair-wax; you say your favourite colour is black, to sound classy, but you're actually in love with the blue of your eyes."
My eyebrows shot up as I straightened my shoulders. "I—"
"You like your food cold, you have at least a thousand notes in your phone of things you want to find time to do, you don't like raisins and you detest whiny people, you've made this point in your head to get up early in the morning even if you want to sleep in; you hate wearing socks, but you still do. You love shirts with collars, you loathe tight pants, you spend an hour on your hair every morning and half gloating over yourself in the mirror, you get frustrated when the volume of the tv isn't a multiple of five and you hate math. Your show size is a 9 and you think rock music is lame—is that enough? Or do you want to know your favourite radio station too?" she questioned in a daring manner.
I pursed my lips, not sure how to respond to that. "You scored," I eventually declared with a short exhale.
"In your game?" she promoted curiously.
I bit my lower lip and shut my eyes for a second. "On my heart," I whispered back, experimenting with my own guts.
All I received as an answer was a completely silent minute before she forced a breathless laugh. "You're unbelieveable," she mused in a matter of factly tone.
"I can't say I'm not." I shrugged, almost feeling her smile.
"You do realise we met exactly one year ago, at about the same time, today?" she nudged, her voice holding a nostalgic timbre. "And how coincidental is it that after today, you're going to be a memory?"
I recalled today's date as I sucked in a small breath and leaned against the wall, wanting to forget everything around us for just a moment. "I bet you wish you never walked into that super-market," I guessed and obtained a silent laugh as feedback.
"Well, if I knew better, I would've delivered a very deserving kick to your package that evening—but other than that... that was the luckiest day of my life, probably," she assembled with a sigh.
"You're bluffing," I spoke in disbelief.
"I'm not," she defied with no hesitation. "I just—wish things were a bit different, now."
"Well," I considered, weighing her words. "Then I guess there's really nothing coincidental about us."
"What makes you say that?"
"You and me," I nominated, shaking my head, "we're serendipity—coincidence is lame, dull."
"Oh God," she mumbled, keeping her voice in check, "you're not doing this to me tonight—" and the actual hilarity was that not one of us knew what I would really be doing to her tonight, "—shut up and take that turn, and don't talk to me."
"I didn't know the past was a sensitive spot," I declared with incredulity.
"It's not, the way you're exaggerating is though; except that, I sincerily hope that little town left a good memory in your mind."
"Who says it's always gonna be a memory?"
There was a second of quietude in which she calculated my statement. "You're—you're going—coming back?"
"Well, this kind of brings me to the point of asking you a favour," I commenced in a chatty manner. "My friend, Gon, has become incredibly fond of your little sister."
I heard a laugh of pure disbelief from her. "You are kidding me."
"Do I sound like I'm joking? I am actually asking you to grant me visiting priviledges, it's going to be a win-win since I could bless your mom with my company when you're not there on the weekends. No one gets lonely, everyone stays happy. Hallelujah," I concluded confidently.
"Oh—no, no, no," she rejected immediately. "Not my mom. She—she's still—rooting for—Kill-Claire or whatever our names combined would be," she mumbled irritated.
I couldn't help but snort at her statement.
"See? Even our ship name sounds like a death order; don't blame the stars," she grunted further.
I had to clasp my hand over my mouth in order to stop myself to burst out laughing at her assertion, and it didn't help that there were God knows how many security guards just a corridor away.
"Alright, let's get serious," she alerted and I craned my neck to do a quick scan as I waited for her cue.
"Out of curiousity, how the hell are you jumping over the asses of a whole surveillance team?" I briefly interviewed.
"I'm practically in their ass, I've been for three months—idiots," she degraded as if she was angry at their lack of caution. "Probably stuffing doughnuts in their faces back there."
"What a joy, are you done?" I broke in.
"Wait, wait," she instructed in a whisper, "there's an asshole in that aisle who just scratched his ass."
"Is that Russian porn?" I debriefed with impatience. "Or are we adressing butt rabies?"
I heard her click her tongue. "I'm not even going to ask you what the fuck that is. Get out there right now, I'm coming over," she informed subtly, cutting the connection.
And while cracking my knuckles and stretching my neck as I activated godspeed and stepped forward, I had the slightest hunch that something would be going very wrong.
Claire's P.O.V:-
There was a very lengthy litany regarding the things that I hated about life: wet socks, colourful towels, drooling kids, cats, clingy people etc, and countless contrivances that caused me anxiety, like chopsticks, because you were never sure how to eat with them without ultimately breaking down or artificial flowers as they made you lose your faith in humanity, or butterflies with their jaundiced little heads, or gnomes since they were an indirect and ugly indication not to step into a garden; but on top of both these lists lied the impulsive actions of one maddening silver-haired boy who had propelled in my life as by a catapult and taken it over since an entire year.
It was a whirl of these nonsensical thoughts that swam in my head as I reached the peak of the staircase to the second floor and looked down at the extravagant carpets flowing everywhere like a bloody ocean.
The first stimulus that my ears registered was music, and not just any music—Killua music; and surely enough, he emerged from the cloister that dominated the view, holding his cell-phone in his hand that was doubtlessly the source of the noise, with a body thrown over his shoulder as he looked up at me in the most unpretentious demeanour I had ever witnessed in my life.
"That looks dangerous," he remarked, gesturing with his eyes at my feet, and I looked down to see the sole heel that I was sporting and the difference in height had rendered my posture uneven. Why I was still wearing half of the pair was beyond me, but now that he had pointed it out, there was no fucking way I was going to take it off and prove myself an idiot.
"How would it look if I shoved it up your ass?" I shot back silently, slinging the strap of the laptop carrier around my shoulder.
He narrowed his eyes in reflection. "It would feel excruciatingly agonizing, but I'm not very sure how it would look—not that I'd want to see it," he concluded with a confused mien.
I nodded, holding back my rage with all of my strength. "Is he dead?" I demanded referring to the man was carrying like a potato sack.
"Just unconscious," he assured, dropping him down and approaching the foot of the stairs. "You weren't supposed to be here."
"Neither were you," I acknowledged through gritted teeth. "Why the hell didn't you listen to me? You were supposed to dart past the security not—" I paused peeking around and becoming aware of the silence, I glued my gaze to him. "Where. In the name of fuck. Are all the guards?" I questioned, breaking down each phrase to display the intensity of my anger.
"Taking a toilet break," he sanctioned with a thoughtful expression, "—chain diarrhea, it's contagious," he added with spasm of laughter, induced by his own joke.
I rubbed my forehead to calm myself as I waited for him to finish. Butt rabies, chain diarrhea and all the shit he had been coming up with tonight that had gotten on each and every one of my nerves consecutively had me mentally counting all the punches I ached to deliver on his face.
He ultimately cleared his throat and leaned against the railing, with his fist under his chin and waited for me to speak.
"Kill the sound," I ordered, flicking my eyes towards his mobile and he obeyed, probably understanding I was a living time-bomb right now.
"Action music, to go with my hero hair," he explained by motioning with two of his fingers as he pocketed the device.
"You do realise you're eighteen, not eight?" I informed taking a step downwards.
"I hope you're referring to my striking youth and genes; believe me, it runs in the family," he kept taunting as he tilted his head.
"I froze all the surveillance cameras throughout ten floors for you to get past there without being seen," I listed, descending one pace at a time. "I put up with your crap all night and I've been patient with you—why the hell can't you ever put your ego behind for once and listen to me?"
His eyebrows arched at my increasing volume and his visage acquired a clear presentation of irritation and seriousness. "Crap plan," he summarised immediately."One, I woosh down with the key card, how the hell would you have accessed the elevators?" he challenged with absolute confidence.
I silently gaped back, lacking an answer.
"Two, what if instead of getting to the required floor, someone summons the lift below or above? Would you be able to do anything about that? Can you also run elevators with that thing?" He questioned, indicating the laptop I was clutching to my side. "Three, with what kind of sorcery were you planning on countering all the security guards with?"
I was in the middle of coming up with something mildly intellectual or grammatically impressive, when the next step I took screwed everything up for me. When the initial rush and my reflexes after my graceful trip were past me, I processed the very awkward and almost impossible seeming position that I was in: slanting downwards from the step I still stood on while perpendicularly reaching and holding on to Killua's shoulders. In short, I hadn't fallen but I wasn't exactly sure how I would be able to stand erect again without pushing Killua down with me and then re-emerging. I was pretty sure I was defying the laws of physics right now.
"Four," he resumed with a badly suppressed smirk,"you walk like seal, and they have no feet."
What disturbed me more than his words was the non-existent space between our faces. I could taste his sweet breath as he spoke. "I was trying to see if I could drop lower than your I.Q," I retorted, catching my breath. "Turns out that's impossible."
"Your tongue's pretty sharp for someone who is completely at my mercy," he deducted with a smug nod.
I scoffed and bit my lip at his assertion. "I don't think you realise that if I fall, you're going down with me," I enlightened, feeling slightly dizzy now.
He rolled his eyes. "Is that a Britney Spears lyric or something from the national anthem?"
"Are you done?"
"Depends," he hinted, passing his fingers through my hair and examining it. "What made you change your hair?" he debriefed casually, referring to my hair-colour, like we were a part of some tv-commercial.
"Killua?"
"Yeah?"
"Even though there's nothing that I'd love more than to discuss my style choices with you right now, I just can't seem to—find my feet here," I emphasised, while not trying to think about the way his lower lip was twitching.
One side of his mouth lifted up. "Look at that," he implicated, "I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I? Or, actually—" he began before I had had just about enough of it and pushed us both down, considering it a better fate than listening to any more of his dirty humour.
Apparently, his chest had broken my fall and my weight had probably broken his ribs but when I did lift up my head he was already staring at me with an air of incredulity as he was supporting himself with his elbows.
"You honestly need to control this insane obsession you have with touching me, Claire," he advised breathlessly as I was seated on his abdomen.
I looked down at him and wondered for a moment how I had even gone through all those months without him, and how I was going to manage to do so from now on in a more permanent and distant way. The mere thought made my eyes prick.
His teasing expression mutated into an earnest one on making contact with my irises.
I felt the tear flicker in my eyes before it escaped and landed on his cheek, trailing down in a manner that suggested that he was the one crying, not me.
I had always found it mockingly hilarious, how the emotions that burned like fire inside us came out in the in form of water through our eyes. It was a transition I couldn't seem to grasp, probably as credible as a lasting interaction between warmth and ice.
"What the hell," I cursed forcing out a scarcely believable laugh as I caressed his face to wipe off the moisture and then pressed my palm to my own eyelids.
The humour was completely gone from his face on registering my reaction; he plopped himself into a sitting position without affecting my pose and his hands went under my knees as he picked me up and rose.
I reflexively intertwined my hands behind his neck to avoid breaking my back-bone.
"Where does it hurt?" he demanded instantly, and I understood that he calculated the prior fall as being the reason for my brief emotional episode.
"My heart," I replied with utter sincerity.
His face went blank for a moment before acquiring his usual defensive mask, but he lacked words to articulate that struggling shield he put up every time.
"I'm sad and tired," I whispered with a small and mirthless smile, clearing a few stray, silver bangs roaming on his forehead, "and the more I look at you and think about you, the more tired and sad I get."
His lips quivered slightly, honesty made him so vulnerable. "Then stop doing it; if all I do is hurt you, clear me out of your mind," he directed, taking holding of my fingers between is fist. "Think of me as a— bad day, I'll be gone after midnight."
"So, you're telling me: every fingerprint, every impression you've left on me—it's going to vanish? Just like that?"
He responded with an exhausted chuckle. "Fade," he corrected, "with time—time does that. You'll forget me; it's better this way."
"I'll forget you," I assured with a nod, "when the clock strikes thirteen."
He smiled at that and shook his head, putting me down. "Then I guess I'll have to find some way to make that happen."
His voice; I wanted to remember that. It reminded me of eloquent handwriting on a piece of coarse paper.
"Take this," he instructed, handing me the key card we were discussing a few minutes ago. "Take the elevator, I'll be standing right at the door. If someone tries to access it, give me a cue and I'll block it. Take the opposite route because I can't manage taking care of your ass with the amount of security on every floor—eleven," he reminded me, gesturing with his head.
He was making everything seem so easy, like we were strolling through a playground, trying the swings and slides, instead of an intelligence agency premise around which the entire world orbited tonight in the form of an annual auction.
"You're making my heart beat with that commanding tone," I confessed, looking up at him.
He grimaced. "Is there any single thought that you decide to ever keep in your head? Or is your mouth that desperate for some work?" he questioned, not properly filtering his wording. "Consume chewing gum in the latter case," he backed up as a retort to my indicative expression.
I shrugged and he extracted a packet of Mentos from his pocket before depositing it on my hand.
"I was very serious," he pressed, arching an eyebrow. "You're making things worse for me and stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" I punched back, crossing my arms around my chest.
"Like—Claire, don't be a bitch right now."
"So, you're asking me not be myself?" I translated fluently.
"In plain English," he confirmed, taking a step back and spinning around; and just as he walked on, he cast me a silent wave—the kind he used to do back when we had just met. It was so nostalgically triggering that it made me laugh before I could help it. He picked up the motionless body that he had deposited on the ground and paced ahead like he was performing a noble deed.
After watching his figure disappear, as per prior habit, I turned around and sauntered in the opposite direction, followed his directions and came to the point of entering the required floor number in the control board of the fanciest elevator I had ever seen.
The next few seconds of my life, even when I still recall them, appear to have happened in a blur: the lift paused the journey at about three grounds above the one I had inputted and before I had the chance to even process that, the doors had split open and in front of me stood a very obscurely familiar figure,yet freshly embedded in the memory of my censored past— Ingrid Maslen.
And in that moment I realised that I had forgotten; something horrible always happened in September.
The night holds conflict between the moonlight and the dark,
could they ever merge to give birth to an art?