It wasn't actually winter, yet Hiro found his mother's hand to be cold anyway no matter how tightly he held her. She was frozen in time, the prettiest bloom trapped in an unseen ice, of a barrier he couldn't cross.

The loneliness seeped in slowly, freezing him from the inside out until the realization sunk in—he was alone.

And when presented with Thian Lê, who made a mistake, and is injured, and sorry⁠—

Cassandra decides it isn’t enough. Cassandra decides she deserves a better fucking apology. And,

With all the anger of a girl stripped of humanity for the story of the boy next door, Cassandra Cassidy smacks Thian Lê right across the goddamn face.

It felt weird to be in this hallowed place, far from hallowed as he was and could be;

This time her arrival is signaled by a shower of bones from above—sharp white shards with marrow still clinging to their insides, teeth both molars and canines, finger bones and toe bones, vertebrae, and little curved ribs from small animals.

Emboldened by their masks, Tor leaned in to give his wife a brief kiss. She was stunning, an angel to his devil. "Cece ... you mean so very much to me. I was truly blessed to be drafted to you." Even though they hadn't been blessed with a child yet, Torquil was content.

Briefly, Killian searches himself for how Deoxys is feeling. Wading into the pool of emotions they shared hasn't gotten any easier. The ocean's deep and threatens to drown him if he's not careful.

There's something almost laughable about a practical eternal hosting such interest in something as mundane as stealing, but that was perhaps why the gods of old were known for making mischief among the stars. They were undeniably bored, and it was perhaps the only way they were to maintain their wits, lest they go the other route— rage and wrath.

Lex's voice brings comfort like a blanket on a cold winter's night. Yanks him to the surface of an ocean that is several leagues deep. Killian can feel the heat from her presence next to him. It's enough to steady his shallow breathes.

But that's him. Deoxys doesn't know her. The woman who knelt beside its host is a threat, even if Killian's feelings say otherwise. So when she reaches to touch him, it reacts. The creature's aggression is a bolt of lightning felt in every nerve of Killian's body. "No!" he shouted, but he was too late. His body became not his own.

Picking up the phone, Raiden called Yuki. There was a pause for explanation on Raiden’s end, but it ended with this line: “Would you please have Kyou pick up his goddamn dog?”

Raiden had placed the request, so Yuki sighed and made his way towards the cafe. It didn't really take him too long to get there, as he had luckily been in the area. A craving for takoyaki was never to be ignored.

It didn't take much for him to phase his way into the building, just munching on his street food, looking between Ranmaru and Kasai. People were panicking, and he just let his sleeve slide down. "SPEAR Elite, Murakami." He muttered before swallowing. "Can I finish this first?" Yeah right. "I've been sent to collect a rabid dog."

He might as well have said something fucked you up. And he’s aware of the fact as much as he is aware that the mark on his skin is, despite everything—despite anything—something he’d once still wanted, above all else. More than anything else in the world, enough to surpass dying. Enough to distinctly cement a place away from saints and the pearly goddamn gates.

Thian’s jaw clenches as he takes a second to consider response. He thinks he preferred it when Garnier’s dealing with his own traumas. He thinks he preferred that not talking, keep to your own devices level of routine bullshit. He thinks he prefers it when he’s not holding the metaphorical knife.

”You done?” becomes the starting point of discussion, flat and deadpan and disinterested and stewing in that quiet above all else, and he’s self-aware enough to recognize he’s not answering the goddamn question. ( Stifling the urge to throw all Valiente’s hard-earned research down the nearest bin and drop a match for a final touch. Don’t some cultures find burning the best way to host a funeral? ) ”This the part where I should thank you for checking up on me or confess some shit like ’I’m not okay, I didn’t know you’d notice that’ or ’I keep thinking about the people I’ve lost or failed or every single fuck up and find that playing king of emotional unavailability makes it easier to bear’ or the ever-pretentious ‘action makes me believe I can still be worth something’? Feel free to take your pick and we can end the counseling session there.”

He looked down, meeting his liege's face, his own lips turning into a small smile. It was the closest he tended to get to a grin. And when Ronan wrapped his arms around him again, Min-seok remembered to return the gesture, though his hold was gentle. There was something indescribably precious in his grip and he did not want to damage it, as much as he longed to lock him in tighter and not let go. That was not his place, and it never would be.

Look, Miette's bored. This makes him a hundred thousand times more hazardous to life than he is normally, because it always becomes someone else's problem.