bury me alone in the light // sunfell, day three.

oh, my life seems unreal
my crime an illusion
a scene badly written in which i must play

"Owwww," you groan as your backside smacks into the ground, your hands rushing up to protect your head so that your skull isn't cracked open by a cluster of particularly sharp gemstones. When you turned your boots on and shot up into the air, you hadn't thought much about how you'd get back down. After swooping around for what must be nearly twenty minutes now — trying to land, but unable to figure out how to do so — you ran out of ways to play off your awkward loop-de-loops as being intentional and decided that powering down your boots in midair would be less embarrassing than admitting that you didn't know how to get down. Unfortunately, you failed to account for exactly how embarrassing it would be to fall on your butt in front of the two astounding girls who just fought valiantly to defeat an ambush of actual, real-life monsters while you flailed around like an incompetent loser.

This time you don't bother trying to brag about how you totally finished one of them off.

Perdita eyes you with exhaustion, sighing at your graceless, sprawled limbs before rolling her eyes and focusing her attention on tending to her own battle wounds. You wince and try to laugh the crash off, but only manage to wheeze in breathless silence as your body tries to count tomorrow's bruises and quickly loses count. Sitting up, you're face to face with Steel, who had far better reasons for collapsing on the ground. She's fixated on the corpse of the creature she just helped to kill and while you're thankful she's not staring at you with the same judgmental gaze as Perdita, you can tell it would probably be better if she were. There's panic in her eyes that hasn't settled, even though the battle is won. She tries to pull herself to her feet and falls down, her hands scrabbling feverishly against the blood-slicked stone earth.

"Do you want me to take a look?" You ask and point at her wounds, Steel's head jerking in surprise at the sudden sound of your voice. It's a stupid thing to ask. Your first aid experience is mostly limited to putting on bandaids and being proud of having figured out how to open child-proof bottles of over the counter pain pills and children's chewable multi-vitamins. That doesn't matter. You didn't ask because you saw the blood oozing from her legs and wanted to mop it up.

"I'm fi—" She gasps, unable to catch her breath well enough to finish turning you away. You don't allow concern to crease your eyebrows or pull your mouth into a frown any more than you would upon discovering your sister half-collapsed in the stairwell for the fifth time this year, unable to muster the energy to make it from the library's ground level to your family's second floor apartment on her own. It's obvious that the last thing she needs right now is for the wounds on her pride to match the ones marring her body. Breaths seizing in short bursts, you don't flinch at her gasps — you don't react in any way that might betray that you notice anything abnormal.

Instead you force yourself to look at the blood, doing your best to pretend that it really is the reason for your concern. You pretend that you don't know that sometimes it's harder for someone to accept that they're unwell than it actually is for them to be unwell. "I, um..." Unwinding some of the excess bandages from around your own injured hand, you tear off a clean-ish looking piece and use it to gently dab at a nasty looking gash on her leg. "Yup! That is blood." There's nothing like a statement of the obvious to really emphasize the way a bubble of panic rises in your own throat, now that you're this up close and personal with wounds far too large for you to stick a bandaid on. "I can confirm that. Uh-huh." Some of it is old and crusted, like blackened gravel beneath the bright, sticky red of today's fresh damage. "Definitely blood. You still have it," nodding at your incredible professional assessment, you quietly swallow down a mouthful of rising bile, "good job!"

It's worse than useless the way you lay the bandages on top of her leg stump without wrapping anything properly — it's a waste of supplies; you are just idiotically wasting supplies — but instead of telling you off for it, she laughs. It's small and feeble and she cries a little as she looks at you, but her breathing is more even and her hands aren't clawing around in search of an escape route that doesn't exist. "No you," she counters and your gut twists as you watch the tears sliding down her cheeks. You wish she wouldn't cry; it breaks your heart to see it. "You're... hurt too." She stares at you and you stare back, unable to look away from how her watery eyes glitter in the sunlight —

Like the saddest lake a star's reflection has ever known —

Where the heart doth wax even if the moon doth wane —

For stars! Are suns! You totally learned that once!

And so vast she must be,

to holdeth such distant shining beasts,

within

a single

teardrop.

Steel leans toward you, reaching out to touch a gentle fingertip to the cut across your cheek. "Hurt?" She asks and your face is wildfire, burning at the reminder. You blink, once in slow motion and then half a dozen times in rapid succession as your mind catches back up to reality and reality catches back up to your vanity.

"Am I okay?!" You respond in a sudden panic, both hands shooting up to cup your face protectively. "I'm hurt?" The question is more for you than for her, the feel of blood damp on your fingers as your heart races. Planting a hand on each of her shoulders you meet her eyes with hysterical sincerity. "Let me down easy... how bad is it? Is half my face gone? Am I permanently disfigured? Am I —" Each question comes faster and more breathless than the last, your eyes wide with terror at the way your worst fears have come for you. "— ugly now?!" The world is ending. How are you supposed to go on when the world is ending?! "You can be honest with me," you lie boldly, with enough theatrics that any normal person would surely think this was all just another one of your shticks to cheer them up.

"You're both hurt," Perdita chides. Covered in her own fair share of blood, she bandages her wounds quickly — seemingly as unafraid to be rough with herself as she is to be rough with friend or foe. "If you can't handle it, just move." It's obvious that your whining is nagging at her, but it catches you off guard when she pushes past Steel — with both her severed leg and her 'good' one bleeding heavily — to crouch down in front of you. Grabbing your chin in one hand, she moves your head from side to side with a harsh push of her fingers, leaning in to peer at your cheek. Assessing the cut with a snort, she releases your face with a tisk for your petty grievances. "It's a scratch," the judgement is heavy in her voice, but that's not why your gut twists, "that's all."

Turning her attention to the deep gash on your arm, you grit your teeth as she tears the lower portion of your shirt sleeve away and rolls the remainder up to take a better look. Each poke and prod hurts far more than her gruff handling of your face, despite the way she doesn't twist your arm around anywhere as harshly. No sane person would describe the way she bandages your arm as gentle, but the fact that she helps you at all is still shocking. "Stop doing this," she mutters, glaring at your arm as if you did that damage to yourself. There's a breath of... you don't know, because nothing follows and suddenly she's ducking her face against her shoulder and wiping her palms over the sides of her pants to clean your blood off her hands.

Perdita walks away as if she was never there to give a damn at all and you and Steel can only blink at each other for a moment before you touch a hand to your cheek and sheepishly try to laugh off your over-reaction. Throwing a look over your shoulder, as if worried about getting caught, you lean in towards Steel and can't stop yourself from whispering, "so... I still look good, right?" Holding your hands up to your chin, you strike a cheesy pose to frame your face. "Good-looking, I mean," you shamelessly fish for compliments with a bounce of your eyebrows and a jut of your lips, your expression a series of exaggerated seduction attempts. You pose. And pose. And pose until Steel cracks into a giggle at your antics. "C'mon, you can tell me I'm handsome. Us pretty people need to stick together."

The way she looks at you puts a sudden lump in your throat and you almost launch into another round of nonsense to stop her from speaking, sensing the shift in atmosphere, but you can't form the words fast enough. "I have to go find Kenji," Steel whispers like a confession and your expression falls, despite the way you tell it not to. Looking out toward the horizon, she glances awkwardly at Perdita before turning her attention back to you. "...and if you want to come with me..." Her voice is pleading and your heart is soft, weak... tempted. It's easy to trust Steel. She smiles as easily as you do, laughs as easily as you do, and it's simple for the two of you to pretend that coming from the same district is as true of a connection as the things that have bonded you to other allies. Stronger allies. "I would like that."

With Steel you're unafraid of turning around to discover a crossbow aimed between your eyes, but that doesn't mean you feel safe with her. It's hard to explain and for a long minute you can't, you just silently shake your head and let the sadness show on your face. You don't laugh it away. You can't. "That sounds like a plan," comes a voice from behind you, fierce and bitter. Part of you wishes to see a crossbow when you turn to look, but Perdita's hands are empty, her arms crossed over her chest. She's so calm it hurts, emotionless as she turns her gaze to the ground rather than look at the way you're worrying at your lip and anxiously furrowing your brows. "You should go with her. Works out for both of us." You can only sigh, as if releasing air might release some tension, as she turns away to busy herself with something worth being bothered over.

Running a hand through your hair, you try to question your instinct to stay when everyone around you keeps asking you to go. It would be so nice to be with Steel. She's effortlessly kind to you and her presence is comforting. You feel appreciated just for existing. With her you don't have to earn your keep. "I..." Your mouth does a conflicted wobble as you procrastinate. Back home she's the type of girl you might have seen browsing the fiction section on a quiet morning, both of you looking for a small escape. You'd smile at her and she'd smile back because that's how smiles are supposed to work . When you asked her to join you at the cafe next door for your lunch break, you wouldn't be nervous about getting turned down. She'd say yes, if for no other reason than that she'd feel a little bad saying no. You'd have a nice afternoon together. If she didn't come back to the library to see you the next day then she'd likely be back the next week — not clingy, just curious. "I can't..." You like nice girls. What's not to like? Nice is always nice. Nice is good. Nice is easy. "...but you could stay?"

You're so hopeful with your big puppy dog eyes. Please, please, please, you bat your lashes and everything, pretty please? She shakes her head sadly, each of you mirroring the other's disappointment. Even though you felt it coming, you visibly deflate when she turns you down. This isn't the library and you're both asking each other for so much more than an hour to share a cup of tea and a few lame jokes. Neither of you try to fake an it's-okay-that's-fine kind of smile, you just allow the silence to be serious and a little bit sad as Steel checks her pack to ensure everything is in order and... ready to go. "She doesn't mean it," you finally try to explain yourself because you know you look crazy for staying after Perdita told you to go. "She didn't leave me. So I can't leave her." You shrug, as if it's truly that simple, but your mouth still takes a downward turn of disappointment when Steel is ready to go so soon after.

You insist on taking a photo together, as if this was some kind of happenstance run-in while the two of you were on separate vacations. Her heart isn't in it, but you throw an arm around her shoulders anyhow as you hold a peace sign up over your eye and give the camera a wink and a grin. Shifting to hold up bunny ears behind her head, you stick your tongue out and hit the shutter button once again, quietly tucking the picture in her pocket as you hug goodbye.

"Niko?!" She turns back suddenly and you can't help selfishly hoping she's changed her mind. "If we see each other again..." The pause grows long as she fiddles with her sword, both of you knowing Perdita won't drop her guard for Steel a second time. There is no again. Or, at least, there isn't a good one. "Thank you," she smiles and you smile back because that's how smiles are supposed to work.

"You too," you say with a half-hearted wave. "Thanks. Really. I miss you already."

In Steel's absence, it's a long time before you or Perdita say anything. She's sitting beneath the stars, scrubbing at her arrows and organizing her supplies when you take a seat nearby and awkwardly poke at the emeralds, rubies, and sapphires littering the earth. You count them off by sparkliness. First come the ones that glow brightly in the moonlight, as if they're full of fairies and wishes. Then the cloudier colors, too muddled to shine like they should. Finally you tally up the scuffed and dirty ones, the ones scratched up and ruined by your battle and covered in your blood. There are an awful lot of stones to count here. Still, Perdita's expression doesn't flinch with shock or surprise at your presence, her gaze fixed on more worthy endeavors. You clear your throat and cough, tossing a fresh piece of firewood on the campfire. Finally she meets your eyes. "You're making a mistake." But she doesn't pick the crossbow up, doesn't aim it at you and remind you that she gave you an opportunity to get away.

"I've always been good at making mistakes," you brag senselessly.

WIP WIP WIP something something something transition to legit conversation here

"How'd you get so good at... stuff?"

Perdita is the kind of girl you would have met in the non-fiction section of the library. You would have been re-shelving books on one side of the stack and she'd have been reading through the titles on the other side. One brief glimpse of her wide brown eyes and you'd smile immediately, only to have her block your view by placing a heavy tome back on the shelf without giving you a second glance. Rushing up the aisle to meet her, you'd offer assistance and be turned down immediately. She's fine. She knows what she's looking for and how to find it and aren't librarians supposed to be quiet? Oh, that's funny, you'd say, despite both of you knowing she wasn't joking. You'd ask her to coffee and she'd counter that drinks aren't allowed in the library. If she deigned to tell you her name or agreed to go on a date with you it wouldn't be that day. Or the next time you saw her studying there. Or the time after that. It would take at least six times, wherein you would have to demonstrate your restraint from pestering her. You would have to respect the hell out of her — all while being cute and funny in a way that wasn't trying too hard, but was also clearly still trying because she's absolutely not the type of girl who would stoop to being effortless.

Nice girls like Steel are always nice, but girls like Perdita make your heart race with uncertainty and burst when they laugh and suddenly you feel more alive in a single moment than all of your lazy days put together.

WIP WIP WIP

and though it puts me up tight to leave you
i know it’s not right to leave you
when morning is just a few hours away