begging for a fever dream. [ally/zeke]

He sat back in his chair with a sigh. She was all light laughter, rehearsed smiles, and veiled words with meanings he wasn't really sure he'd ever be able to unpack on his own. But mostly she didn't have any new insights about Cleo's- well, about whatever happened out in the woods that night.

He tapped his notebook with the end of his pen, tapping out a beat to match the rhythm of his racing thoughts—was he worrying over nothing, listening to horror stories and tall tales and taking them as fact? He hated being wrong. He hated looking foolish. Shit. He shook his head, fixing his gaze back on Ally.

She was making something look pretty in her notebook with a steady hand and careful eye. He tried his hardest not to sound annoyed when he leaned forward again, but he was notoriously terrible at hiding it.

"Well- what do you think then?" And he wasn't asking about the cookies, he knew they were delicious.

"Murder and abduction and torture," he kept his voice hushed, but his movements were urgent and strong and sure now that he had started speaking. "And, yeah, they closed school, but what's that going to stop?" Other than stop him from bringing home a career and checks. He chuckled to himself lightly, shaking his head as he bit his lip. "And they must have imbeciles investigating seeing as it's been months since they found Scarlet." Felt good not to dance around the name.

"Look," he swiped the colorful sticky notes from her things and clicked his pen, scribbling out Scarlet's name hurriedly. "I could probably fit everything we know about the murder on this little square."

He was definitely dedicating too much thought and energy to this when there were projects to be done and cookies to be eaten, but when he looked up at Ally again he found himself waiting patiently for her to join in with her thoughts—even if those thoughts were riddled with light laughter and rehearsed smiles.

He can't find it in him to hide how amusing he finds her thoughts. Someone who cut people into tiny little pieces and scattered the bits around the district needed to find a different way to do their crying, honestly. But maybe she was right about one thing.

He breathes a chuckle through his nose, smile twisted at a funny angle and fingers snapping tight to his pen as he looks her over with a twinkle in his eye. "Fine," he spins the tiny, bright notepad with a flourish and raise of a brow before penning down her surname—SCARLET HYDE—as well, in big letters across the top. He bulleted the left side of the note before tearing it free and placing it in front of her.

He continued, writing down FRANKIE STELLIO, and with what felt like too many seconds of hesitation—CASSIUS WELLS—at the head of separate slips of paper.

He drags his knuckle across that last name, smudging ink with a sigh. His sister may not believe Cleo, but it seemed only practical, to assume that Cassius was also-

"I trust Cleo," he said, hearing a ringing in his ears that sounded a lot like Stella asking what it felt like to stab his kid sister in the back.

They can't all be bad.

"Oh-" he leaned across the table again and scribbled beneath Scarlet's name.

- lots of pieces

"There. Those are the details we have," he nodded, smiling with an uncomfortable pride as he sat back.