Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October 5, 2026.

Autumn.

Night

//Olivia//

My mind was spinning, and I felt dizzy, even though I had been vomiting for hours. My eyes could no longer shed any more tears. After so much crying, it felt like they had dried up completely. My snout, still wet and cold, was a silent witness to my grief. Every blink was a painful reminder of my sadness; I could see his face when I closed my eyelids, and my shaky breathing broke the silence of the room.

The Old Guts was standing over my face, trying to cheer me up in such a swampy moment like this, licking my tears with his warm tongue.

If only you could understand the pain I’ve caused myself.

I picked up the bottle of wine that was lying on the bed, which had stained the sheets of my old bed and also my old purple jacket.

I put the bottle to my mouth and drank what little was left, letting the glass fall onto the sheet, which slowly rolled toward the edge of the bed.

My eyes widened as I tried to grab the bottle with the little strength I had, but the next thing I heard in my room was the sound of glass shattering into thousands of pieces as it hit the floor. I scrunched up my mouth and let out a muffled cry of pain. I could barely speak or scream, my voice already hoarse from doing so, and not even water could sharpen it.

Despite my isolation, I could hear the front door open, and the excited sigh of one of the Paynes reached my ears.

"Damien! How is...?"

Silence. A silence that grew louder and louder, until it was absolute.

I could hear Aunt Sophia start to sob at Damien’s silence, a light thud on the floor, and some whispers coming from my ‘brother.’

"Damien! Inco, Inco! How is he? Clean your clothes, boy, why are you so dir—?"

Randy's cracked voice could break my heart even more, like a hammer shattering a thin layer of glass. I had never heard him like this before, and it made my heart ache.

Damien's silence became deafening, and I couldn't take it anymore. The tears I thought would never fall again poured down like a river, while Guts just looked at me with his bulging eyes, watching my tears slip from my cold, scaly skin.

"What happened to Inco? W-what's going on?"

I heard the now pre-teen Vinny speak. He had grown older over the last three years, but his words still carried the confusion of a child. His voice had slowly begun to break when he saw that all the members of his family were on the verge of tears or lost in their own thoughts, especially his mother, who was already crying. The boy’s confusion turned into sobbing as he watched his family fall apart. 

"O-Olivia."

I heard Damien's broken voice say my name as he pulled himself together and made his way to my room. His steps were both hurried and heavy. He threw open the door, his eyes scanning the room, searching for me.

There I was, in the middle of what was left of the room. The space was completely dark, except for a thin sliver of moonlight that traced across my face as I slowly turned to look at Damien. The bed was soaked with wine from the bottle that had spilled earlier, and the floor was littered with shards of glass. I could feel Damien’s gaze on me as he moved closer.

Our eyes met, and I was horrified by what I saw. My eyes, red and swollen from crying, locked onto Damien—his clothes stained with blood I knew wasn't his. His gaze was broken, consumed by the same guilt that tormented me, but deep down, he knew that his guilt could never surpass mine. That was why he had come. His eyes were bloodshot, and two blood-soaked tissues were stuffed into his nose, a result of the blow he had taken earlier.

I just stood there in silence, watching Damien approach with soft, deliberate steps, the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet.

"Olivia." 

He whispered again, his voice was barely audible, heavy with emotion.

I didn’t know what to say to him. Words felt useless. My gaze remained on his as he seemed to collapse in front of me, cutting his hands on the broken glass as he knelt, resting his head on the bed. He began to sob. I could hear Randy and Sophia’s voices coming from the door, clearer now, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. We were all devastated.

"I'm sorry for not stopping you, Olivia, I’m really sorry. I-I didn’t think that—"

"S-shut up."

I could barely force the words out, a hoarse whisper as fresh tears streamed down my face. I gripped the torn sheets with my claws—claws that had broken hours ago, blood still oozing from them. How long have I been bleeding like this? My body was trembling, not from cold, but from guilt.

Another muffled scream tore from my throat as I clenched the sheets tighter, the pain from my bleeding fingers intensifying. I closed my eyes, but every time I did, his face appeared—his stupid smile, and then his expression as he slipped from my grasp, falling into the abyss I had thrown him into.

His gestures, his compliments, his smile, his words. I relived every moment as the tears wouldn’t stop. Damien remained silent, gripping the sheets beneath me, whispering things I could barely make out. Now, I heard nothing but his words—some kind, others harsh. His final words echoed, each one hitting me like an old punching bag. And I deserved it.

"Idakan must be turning in his grave at the pathetic failure of his star pupil."

Well, you know what? You’re absolutely fucking right, Inco. I’m a pathetic failure. This is all my fault. I wonder what’s going through your head right now. Do you really hate me? It was an accident...wasn’t it? I...Was it really an accident?

As I slowly drifted into a restless sleep, sobbing, my own words played over and over in my mind like a broken record. I had to be with him, right?

"We’re there for each other, that’s what this is all for."

October 5, 2026. 

Autumn.

Early in the morning

/Inco/

Her words drilled into my head as I lay on the couch again. We hadn't spoken since the incident. I heard her cry in her room a few times—sometimes it sounded like she was crying out of anger. Our eyes hadn’t met in days. All I did was sleep until morning, then drag myself to that stupid office. Before, I used to leave early so I could support her, be with her. But since our last argument, I’ve buried myself in overtime.

I left work with my head down and wandered through the streets until it got late. I ate out, at whatever place I stumbled upon during my endless walk. I didn’t know how to feel. Was "angry" the right word? I don’t think so. I wasn’t angry. But "discouraged" didn’t fit either.

Sometimes, I’d pass by the electronics store and catch my reflection in the window—unkempt beard, deep, dark circles under my eyes from days of barely sleeping. Behind the glass was a camera, an expensive model. I longed to press the button, to take photos again. A soft smile crept onto my face as I remembered my younger days, back when I was a student with a camera in hand. I never realized how much I would come to love photography until my father gave me a toy camera to capture anything I liked. It was an old model, with a limit of 30 photos. I used them all in one day. But just remembering my mother’s smile as I showed her the pictures... and how she stroked my hair... brought back warm memories.

"I miss that time,"

I whispered to myself as I sat on the couch around 4 a.m. The rain was pounding against the window as I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, where Olivia’s abstract paintings in shades of blue and grey hung. Her sobbing had stopped, but I didn’t know when. This had become a routine—I’d come home and listen to her cry until she eventually fell asleep. I just stared at the ceiling. I didn’t feel anything. Before, I would’ve gone to her, hugged her , told her how much I loved her . I would’ve apologized for how stupid I had been. But now, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing.

I felt like a real bastard.

My vision started to blur, but it wasn’t because I was closing my eyes—it was the tears that began to fall. They streamed down my cheeks, soaking into the pillow as I thought about her.

"Is this love?" I whispered, barely above a sob, as my vision blurred completely and everything went black.

I heard Olivia’s bedroom door open—our bedroom, I mean. I couldn’t see anything. The room was pitch black, not even moonlight came through the curtains. No more rain hitting the window, just silence, darkness, and me.

Hollow footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night, though they weren’t really footsteps. I knew exactly who was walking down the hallway. I could hear her breathing, close to my ear, as she slowly climbed onto my chest. The couch wasn’t big, but it was just large enough for her to be on top of me.

Her bellowing began to vibrate against my chest as I placed my hand on her back. I still couldn’t see her through the thick darkness, a darkness so dense it felt as though my eyes were still closed.

Placing my hands on her back made her continue that deep, rhythmic bellowing, like it was a shared pulse between our hearts. It made me feel like I was in heaven. When was the last time we had been like this? I couldn’t even remember, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was there, seeking my warmth and love.

I felt her gaze locked on my closed eyes. Her hot breath brushed against my face, like she was about to kiss me...or bite me. I smiled like a fool as my hand gently stroked her back.

"I've missed this," I whispered, barely audible, pulling her closer to my chest and continuing to caress her, which only made her bellowing grow stronger. I started to laugh softly as I felt her muscular tail wrap around my arm, encouraging me to stroke it more. Her scales seemed to dance under my touch. She had always liked it when I petted her tail; it made her nervous, though she’d often threaten to bite me if I went too far. It had been a long time since we had done anything like this.

"Olivia...I...I'm sorry about the other day... I—"

I stopped mid-sentence when I felt her start to caress my chest, slowly unbuttoning my shirt and placing her snout against my neck. This sensation, this closeness, had been buried deep inside me for so long. But I needed to talk to her first.

"Olivia—Honey, I want to talk to you about what happened the other day and—"

Before I could finish, she ripped my button-down shirt open, her hands gliding over my chest again. The heat began to rise in me, and I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the words I wanted to say to my girlfriend.

I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened—just darkness. I tried to move, but still nothing. It felt like I was sinking into a deep void, into absolute nothingness. Panic set in as I began to feel breathless, trapped, like I was running out of oxygen.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed at my heart, jolting me awake.

I gasped, my eyes watery, panting hard. I had fallen off the couch in my sleep and landed awkwardly, my arm cutting off my air supply. I coughed from the suffocation, massaging my throat as I opened my eyes to the morning light. The rain continued to beat against the window.

Now that I noticed, the alarm for work was blaring in my ear, but I had ignored it completely. I wiped my face, looking down the hall toward our bedroom door, still closed.

I approached the door and pressed my ear to it, straining to hear. Her breathing was hoarse; she had cried late into the night.

I let out a sigh as I walked back into the main room, sitting at the table and staring at the vase I had given Olivia for her birthday some time ago. The flowers were still bright, but a little droopy, lacking water.

A smile formed on my lips as I picked up the vase and carried it to the sink, filling it with fresh water. I placed it near the window so that, when the sun began to shine, the flowers could soak up its rays.

My smile grew wider as I watched the beautiful bunch of flowers enjoy the water I had provided them, and even more so the cool air now blowing in through the window. It was cold, though. I gently caressed a petal of the vibrant purple flower and went to make myself something to eat for the first time in days at home. Opening the fridge, I saw that there was practically nothing inside.

My smile slowly faded as I noticed she hadn't touched the cake yet. It was stale by now. I had bought it for her days ago, before the argument, when she texted me saying she was craving cake. I bought it along with a pretty rose, which was also displayed in the vase. I had everything ready for when she got home... but she didn’t return until late that night.

I let out a huff and tossed the cake into the trash. I needed to go buy something or else she might starve at this rate. Stretching my back, I headed to the small bathroom in the hallway—my bathroom, since the one in the bedroom was more suited for Olivia’s needs. I blinked a few times when I realized I had left the faucet running, my thoughts too occupied with her. I leaned over to splash some water on my face.

"You look like shit, Inco."

I muttered to myself while touching my unkempt beard and the deep dark circles under my eyes. I struck a pose, forcing a smile—probably the fakest smile I’d ever worn—and then sighed, defeated.

After washing my face, I went to the laundry basket, grabbing a pair of pants and the jacket I was supposed to wear on our date—the night everything went downhill. It was my old blue designer jacket. $400, by the way. I washed my face once more and trimmed my beard, making it neater and smaller.

Once I was dressed, I headed straight for the door, fumbling with my pockets to make sure I had my keys. My fingers brushed against something thin in my back pocket.

After a moment of hesitation, I pulled out my old glasses and looked at them closely. It had been a long time since I wore my trademark glasses or that jacket, almost as if the old Inco had disappeared. I missed him.

The glasses I had been wearing before, thinner and darker, had broken during the argument with Olivia. She slapped me so hard that they shattered, and I nearly knocked over the vase. Thinking back on it, I realized I probably deserved that slap, though I still felt I had been right.

I could still hear the rain hitting the window, but the warmth of the sun, peeking through the clouds, touched the back of my neck. It sent a small tingle through me, bringing out a soft smile. I opened my old glasses, slid them onto my nose, and adjusted them with a familiar motion. Without further hesitation, I walked out the door, a smile on my face that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I started walking through the streets, now clearing from the rain, with a cold, soft breeze gently caressing my face.

I discovered how much I liked the smell of wet earth in the morning. Autumns had always been quite cold, so I started searching online to find out exactly what this phenomenon was called: petrichor .

The sun's rays were hitting my head, which would usually worry me if it were summer, but in a cloudy and cold autumn like this one, I didn’t need to put sunscreen on. The city was actually a beautiful place; I hadn’t gone out much in recent years to explore its hidden corners. To be fair, I hadn’t paid much attention to the streets either, since my gaze was always somewhat lowered.

People just went on with their lives, whether I was sad or happy, nothing changed. Some laughed, others stared into space, and others were immersed in the music playing through their headphones. My smile faded as I walked down the street and saw happy couples and families with their children. I felt a pang of jealousy for those couples walking hand in hand, sharing tender moments—smiles, caresses, kisses. I envied those families, strolling with their children, holding hands and laughing together. I mean, I had a childhood like that, but by the time I was 14, I had already started spending hours at home, alone, watching TV without any sense of time.

I stopped dead when I realized I had passed the market by a few meters, taking a few steps back before heading inside.

Minutes passed as I stood staring at the meat selection. There was duck, pork... but no turkey, Olivia’s favorite.

But what do I like? Turkey is good, but lately, I’ve been craving something like pork. Since Olivia didn’t care much for it, I stopped buying it. But what if, this time, I actually get something I want? It’s always been about Olivia—what Olivia likes, what Olivia wants—but I never get to eat what I enjoy.

I tossed a couple of packages of small pork tenderloins and some extra seasonings into the basket, continuing down the cold aisles of the store. I lifted my glasses slightly to get a better look at some of the fresh produce.

"Maybe I could buy something for Olivia, and we could talk things over."

I whispered to myself as I wandered through the aisles, glancing at and picking up other items, like an expensive wine and some brand-name chocolates.

"Ah, are you going on a date, kid? All that meat you’re carrying looks like it’s for a hungry female. Sorry there’s no turkey this time. You told me your female liked it quite a bit."

A hoarse voice spoke behind me, old and gravelly. When I turned around to see who it was, there was no one there. But the sound of clicking made me glance down.

He was a compsognathus with a prominent mustache, eyebrows so thick they nearly covered his eyes, and a flat beret perched on his head. His hands were full of cereal boxes. I knew him, more or less, from brief exchanges whenever he came to buy something.

"Oh, Mr. Johnson, I just came to buy provisions for my... partner. Winter’s coming, and she won’t be too happy about facing the cold on an empty stomach."

I hesitated slightly as I spoke, glancing at the old man. He didn’t seem bothered by my words. Continuing on his way, he walked past me and climbed a small ladder, starting to restock the cereal shelves.

"Ah, yes, yes, winter is coming, and it’s getting far too cold for ice skating, as you so rightly said."

This old man looks like he could drop dead at any moment. I slowed my pace, ready to move on, but the elder dino cleared his throat, signaling he wasn’t done talking.

"Is this a special occasion? You mentioned last time that you wanted to take her out on a date. I’ve got some wines for sale if you’re interested. Oh! And chocolates, too, and—"

"No, it’s not... I mean, yes, I was thinking of getting her something, just as a gesture. We had a bit of an argument."

He paused when he heard that, turning his gaze toward me.

"An argument, you say? Oh, going through a rough patch, are you? Don’t worry, things are easily fixed with a bit of talking."

The old man finished restocking the cereal and started descending the ladder, step by careful step, licking his lips and adjusting his mustache a little. If only he knew the situation...

"If you give a big female some wine, flowers, and meat, she’ll love you so much that you’ll start getting ‘affectionate hugs,’ if you know what I mean."

There’s no need for metaphors—I’m not a little kid. I was starting to feel a bit irritated. He was trying to sell me everything he could, taking advantage of my situation. But it wasn’t as simple as a few gifts and some flowers. It was much more than that. These were words—words that could make her growl at the slightest misstep.

"Sir, I’m really not interested in any of that, I—"

From his pocket, he pulled out a black cane, pressing a button that sent sparks flying from the tip. The old man began waving it around playfully, with a mischievous grin.

"This is what I use for my wife. Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s just a harmless spark. But it’ll help keep you safe from any ‘affectionate’ advances a female might want to give you."

I gritted my teeth. For his age, he seemed like a very deluded man. I could feel his eyes narrow as he caught a glimpse of my nervous expression, sensing I wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible.

"Sir, I really don't care. I just want to buy the things my partner likes. I wouldn’t dare use something like that against her—she wouldn't appreciate it. I don’t want her getting upset over it. I understand it's not meant to be harmful, more as a protection or to avoid accidents, but really, I don't need it. I just want to make her happy with some thoughtful gifts. We've been together for years, and there's never been any kind of... incident."

The small dino raised an eyebrow, shaking his head gently.

"She wouldn’t like it? Is she going to hit you for it? And what about what you like, huh? This reminds me of when I was a kid, and my mother wouldn’t buy me anything because she said I already had enough toys. All the new stuff went to my little brother. I hated it. So, are you going to let others dictate what you can or can’t do? If you really love her, you’ve got to be a man and lay your cards on the table. Don’t you have the right to want things too? Or is this just about her? You know, I—"

I stood there, speechless for a few moments, lost in my own thoughts. His words hit me like a truck, pulling me out of the peaceful morning I had been having. It was as if he had plucked the thoughts right out of my head. I hadn’t even noticed how I’d begun picking out only the things she liked, leaving my own preferences behind.

What will you do when you face her again, trying to say the same words as last time? Maybe it wasn’t just the heat of the moment, the failed interview, or my poor choice of words. Maybe it was more than that. I blinked, refocusing as the old man sighed deeply.

"Sorry, kid. I got carried away. Just thinking about my ex-wife. She was a master manipulator. Leaving her was the best decision I ever made. But I’m sure your girl isn’t like that. You just need to sit down and talk things through. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life."

He backed off, letting the topic drop.

My silence must have caught his attention because he raised an eyebrow again, walking alongside me as we headed toward the checkout counter.

"You're right, though," I muttered. "I don’t think she controls me or anything, but... things have been rough lately. Sometimes, I’m not even sure my opinion matters to her."

Why are you lying to yourself? It’s been tough for years. You’ve done everything to try and get her to move forward. But what about you ?

It felt like one of those motivational videos you see after a breakup, all about finding self-love.

The old man coughed loudly, clearing his throat as he glanced out at the rain falling harder on the streets. He fiddled with the electric baton again, flicking it on briefly, and brought the spark close to my face. I instinctively leaned back.

"In the toughest times, remember that your voice has a unique value, Your perspective could be the spark that inspires change, that makes a difference in your world."

His words didn’t stir anything new inside me. I already knew what he was saying, but I’d never had the courage to act on it. Maybe he had spent his whole life waiting to act, and that’s why he carried that cane.

I lowered the glasses sitting on my head and looked out at the rain. I started unloading the groceries onto the counter while the old man tallied everything up. He grabbed an umbrella from behind the counter and tossed it to me.

"It's going to be a storm. You’d better put on more than that ugly old jacket."

I nodded, swiped my card, and paid for the items, silently thanking him as I walked out with the umbrella in hand. Walking in the rain, I glanced over the receipt without much interest. My eyebrows knitted together when I noticed that, of course, he’d charged me for the umbrella. This wasn’t some touching scene from a romantic movie, but I wasn’t going to complain either. I needed it, the rain pelting down steadily on the umbrella above me. It reminded me of my last year of school, when the rain had been so torrential we were stuck inside for hours.

As I walked, Iadakan's face filled my mind. That fall day was still fresh in my memory, like it had happened just yesterday. I wish I had really known him as well as Olivia had. What would he say? No… what would he think about all of this? About Olivia? Had things always been like this?

I remembered how much he supported me, how he wanted all of us to grow into people he could be proud of. Had we really let him down?

My gaze, as usual, drifted to the same display window of the electronics store. I stared at the camera in front of me, the one I’d been eyeing for days. Only now, it was a new model—cheaper and simpler than my old camera. Sleek, small, and without the ability to attach filters, it was perfect for a beginner or someone just taking it easy.

Before I knew it, I walked out of the store with the camera in hand, its modest little bag slung over my shoulder next to the groceries. I pulled it out, feeling the cold, smooth surface of the black and silver camera. It was light, easy to handle. When I turned it on, it let out a couple of beeps before displaying the image on the screen.

"Decent," 

I aimed it toward the end of the street, adjusting the focus slightly to capture a couple walking hurriedly in the rain.

For a moment, it felt like the first time I had ever picked up a camera—how I’d captured everything in sight, trying not to let raindrops fall on the lens. I didn’t think I would feel that excitement again. It was a small, almost forgotten part of me that suddenly came to life.

A quiet joy stirred in my chest as I continued snapping photos, trying to preserve the world as it moved around me. Taking pictures of something as stupid as a neon sign would be, but I had to admit that the photo looked cool.

For the first time in years I felt like myself, Inco. My classic glasses and my old jacket. A younger me with whom I have some nice memories that I would like to never forget. 

"I miss those days. Everything seemed so simple. I guess that's what adult life is like. The clouds never stopped to give the streets a break, shedding their tears while leaving their characteristic Petrichor smell behind.

There were fewer and fewer dinos roaming the streets, and the atmosphere was getting colder and colder—a perfect sign to start making my way back home.

A distinctive smell of meat caught my curiosity, leading my gaze to a small food stand just a few blocks away. I could buy some turkey meat for Olivia there, so we could have a proper lunch and talk things over.

With quick steps, I approached the mobile stand, which was sheltered under a building to avoid the rain. The salesman was a raptor, half-sitting in his seat, staring blankly at his phone.

There was definitely some burnt meat already.

I glanced over the huge amount of meat sizzling on the grill, searching for a decent turkey.

“Excuse me, do you have turkey?”

The raptor grimaced without looking at me in the slightest, letting out a disinterested snort as he continued to manipulate the meat, trying to achieve the perfect golden-brown color.

“Turkey? No, there’s no turkey. Its meat is too soft to—”

When the raptor finally looked at me, his face lit up, revealing a wide, cunning smile. He rested his cheek on his fist and repositioned himself in his chair.

“Turkey? Of course! I have a whole turkey ready for you. It's freshly made.”

With impressive knife skills, he stabbed the turkey in the corner and covered it with sheets of aluminum to retain its heat. He shot me a quick glance.

“This is a good turkey. It's bigger than what—”

The raptor fell silent as he noticed the smile already forming on my face and the cash in my hand, his grin widening as he accepted the money and handed me the turkey.

“Are you going to eat this by yourself? That looks like a pretty big pile of turkey for one human to eat.”

The raptor pointed out, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow when he saw my smiling face.

“For me? No way, it's especially for my girlfriend. She loves turkey.”

“I see, I see... Well, kid, I hope your girl likes that turkey as much as she likes you. I'm sure she's lucky to have you.”

“I—I don’t know,” I stammered.

He pointed with a half-smile.

“Oh, come on! I'm sure she likes you being yourself.”

Who are you?!

Olivia's subdued words suddenly invaded my mind, like a bolt of lightning. My smile withered as I gestured to the raptor and continued on my way. Is she lucky to have me? According to her, she barely recognized me. Empty words, steeped in the hatred that had been building due to the anguish of her situation.

As I walked through the now empty streets, I realized how miserable everything had been from the beginning. But really, what was the problem? Was I not good enough for her? Was I too good to her? Or is it that... I never looked out for myself?

I just noticed that I bought things for Olivia again. I really should work on that, although it would be too selfish of me to start buying things only for myself. I should make it a little more equitable.

I continued walking at a slow pace, head down, through the rainy city streets, shuffling my feet until I finally found the hill that led to our neighborhood.

As I placed my first foot on the stairs, it slipped to the side, nearly causing me to fall face-first and picking up a few scrapes in the process.

“Fucking great.”

I looked at my hand, now raw in one of the lower areas. It didn't hurt, but it was quite sore.

I should be careful with these stairs. It's a long climb, soaked with perfectly decorated stone tiles and mosaics, with sharp corners because they were so new. In winter, it’s even worse because the snowy ground makes it impossible to walk. That's what the handrail in the middle of the stairs is for. Olivia, for obvious reasons, doesn’t go up these stairs, but takes a detour that’s a bit longer. It takes longer, but it is what it is. I told Olivia to change our place, but she liked it because of the views. I would have loved something facing the beach. From the top of the stairs, two streets over to the side, was our apartment.

The views were beautiful. The bench was a bit wet, but I didn't mind. Sitting halfway up the stairs was something I had come to enjoy over the last few days, allowing me to reflect on everything that was happening. On the sides of the stairs were decorations of trees and plants, as well as vases that added a beautiful green to the view of the climb and descent, running alongside the stone slabs. The railing to hold onto was nothing special—a shiny chrome iron that one could even dress up in, it gleamed brightly in the dim light.

On the horizon, lay the city.

It was a real beauty. I didn't regret it in the least: skyscrapers near the coast, beautiful cliffs, parks, and small forested areas. The only thing I regretted was not exploring more of what the city had to offer. But I had to do it for... Oh, of course.

With a sigh of relief, I stood up to hurry and deliver the order, leaving everything ready for Olivia. She was probably still sleeping or hungry; she was a real carnivore.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I opened the small fence that served as superficial safety for younger ones, preventing them from falling. I grumbled as I tried to open it, shaking it vigorously to get it to budge, which didn’t seem to work. This wasn’t new at all. My gaze fell on the lower part of the door, where a stone had been placed to keep it closed, left there by some neighbor tired of the noise from the door opening and closing.

I took the stone and set it aside, opening the fence and closing it behind me. After placing the stone back in its spot, I continued my way to the apartment, but not before snapping a photo with my new camera of the beautiful city shrouded in black clouds.

The street was empty of cars, and the rain continued with the same intensity, hitting my umbrella until I reached the entrance of the apartment.

“3:21 in the afternoon,”

I said to myself, glancing at the watch on my wrist. Around this time was when we usually ate, or rather, when we used to.

I opened the gate and stepped inside the building, drying my sneakers on a mat and closing the umbrella to shake it dry. I pushed up my glasses and set them on my head, letting out a deep breath as I examined my scraped hands. They were starting to sting.

Standing in front of the front door, I cleared my throat and released one last breath to calm my nerves. I cracked various parts of my body and began to relax my breathing. I could hear her on the other side of the door, moving her wheelchair in total silence; she would think I was still working.

Our gazes met after days of not doing so. Her gray eyes were dull, and her mouth was completely sealed. She didn’t expect to see me at such an early hour, knowing that I worked in the morning and usually left around 3, and much more, knowing that—

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out until tonight?”

Here we go again…

She sounded defensive, looking at me with narrowed eyes and distrust.

“There was no food and…”

Her eyes, despite being duller than usual, were still as beautiful as when I first saw them. Her gaze now held a certain annoyance; it seemed like she wasn’t quite ready to see me yet.

“…and I thought I’d go out for a walk and buy some things for the two of us.”

Her half-closed eyes watched me, glancing at the bags from a distance to gauge their contents by their weight. From one of the bags, I pulled out the large turkey I had bought earlier, wrapped in aluminum foil.

“I brought turkey.”

Her gaze lit up for no more than a few microseconds. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but she quickly closed it again, looking at me with a somewhat more distant gaze.

“Inco…that’s not turkey. It smells like duck.”

My confusion made me look back at what the vendor had sold me as turkey, unwrapping the foil and shaking it a bit to discern the differences. Though I couldn’t tell much apart, they appeared the same shape and had a similar smell to me. But there was no arguing with her; she was the predator here.

“I—I thought it was turkey… The seller told me it was.”

Bastard. I knew something in his voice had hinted at the truth, but I was too fixated on getting food for Olivia.

Olivia rolled her eyes as she moved closer to the bag containing the food.

“You at least got some turkey portions, right?”

She looked at me again with her eyes half-closed, starting to wear a face that was beginning to disgust me—a face that seemed suspicious.

“There was no turkey, so—”

“Oh great, great! For one thing you could have done right, and you just screw it up!”

“So what are you going to do, start crying like a spoiled child because you don’t have your turkey? For God’s sake, Olivia, start arguing about something more meaningful than just that! We always eat turkey!”

“Oh, sorry to argue with you, but turkey, as I’ve told you a thousand and one times, is something I like more than other meats! You know I don’t like duck at all. What would it cost you to check other stores to see if they had turkey?”

What a silly argument—arguing over a stupid turkey? Where have we come to?

I exhaled, looking at Olivia and closing my eyes as I sat on the couch, trying to relax.

“Olivia, I don’t want to argue about this bullshit, I just—”

“Ah! Now me having my preferences is bullshit? Sorry, I told you the other day, and I’ll tell you again: Who the FUCK are you?”

She half stood up, using her tail to raise her voice, her throat dry and breaking as she spoke. From her chair, she grabbed her classic canteen and drank anxiously, frowning at me.

I remained silent, trying to stay relaxed as I took my glasses off my head and placed them in my pocket.

“Look—I really don’t want to argue about this. I bought more food; we can just throw away the duck. Like I told you, I thought the guy at the store said it was turkey, and as you know, I don’t have a good enough sense of smell to guess that it was duck. That bastard took advantage of the fact that I was human.”

Olivia remained furious for a few seconds but tried to calm down anyway, which only made her frown deeper as she attempted to do so.

“And what’s your fucking excuse for being out all fucking day? I haven’t seen your face in a whole fucking week.”

Her words sounded accusatory, as if she were trying to escalate the topic into something bigger.

“W-what the fuck are you talking about? Olivia, what do you mean by that? I’ve just been working overtime and taking walks around the city. I just didn’t want to think about all the shit on my mind these days, that’s all!”

And so we went on for the next few minutes, arguing like complete idiots as our voices grew louder and louder. We quarreled over stupid things, misunderstandings, and our own arrogance. I moved around the kitchen and living room while yelling at Olivia. She bared her teeth and thrashed her tail on the floor. We hurled insults and grievances at each other, things we’d been holding in for months or even years.

“Remember that time...?” “You never did this for me!” We sounded like little kids arguing over something trivial that could have been avoided.

We shouted about the lack of attention I wasn’t giving her during her saddest moments. We yelled about how hard I fought for her, yet she continued to treat me like shit. We discussed the financial problems Olivia faced because of her salary, our future—she wanted to start a family, but I still didn’t feel ready—and possible infidelities, tossing accusations about certain names and people.

God, we even argued about each other’s sexual frustration. How could that even be a topic of discussion?

“And what about that time you went out with that ‘Samantha’? YOU NEVER TOLD ME ANYTHING AFTER THAT NIGHT!”

“You never asked because you were too busy talking to that reporter you met at the art museum!”

Her tail hit the ground with ferocity just as my fist struck one of the walls, causing the table a few inches away from us to vibrate, where the vase used to be, now shattered on the soaked floor, full of crystals and crushed flowers.

Through the window, the twilight barely illuminated the mess. The broken vase and scattered shards of glass faintly reflected the gloom that spread throughout the room. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and Olivia's labored breathing was the only sound breaking the silence.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, but no words were spoken. The oppressive quiet served as a silent witness to our emotional disconnect and the cracks that had formed between us. Time seemed to stand still as we stared at the mess that symbolized our fractured relationship.

I approached the shards of the broken vase, bending down to pick up the glass piece by piece.

Olivia remained silent for a few seconds, watching me as I collected the glass from the floor. It wasn’t long before she came closer, noticing the cut on my palm where my hands were already stained red.

“H-hey, you’re cutting yourself. Let me see.”

Olivia stepped over and grabbed my arm, bringing my palm close to her face to examine the blood trickling from it. She lingered there for a few moments that felt like hours, gently caressing the palm of my injured hand.

It felt comforting.

I pulled my hand away from hers and set the piece of glass aside, taking her by the chin to make her look into my eyes.

God, she was beautiful. Even in a situation like this, I couldn't stop thinking about how stunning those grayish eyes were. I continued to gaze at her until she tried to look away again.

“We’re not going to solve this with sex again, bastard,” 

She pointed out, frowning and turning her gaze away, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. She was still upset, though I had already begun to forget why.

I remained silent, gazing at the girl in front of me, urging her to meet my eyes again as she shook her head. My hands caressed her hair while I pushed her black headband a little further back.

I liked her hair. I admired her eyes and the soft freckles dusting her face. When she decided to grow her hair long and tint it, I supported her choice wholeheartedly; she seemed more perfect every time I looked at her. She was just—

My mental words fell silent when I felt Olivia's lips meet mine for a few fleeting seconds. We lingered in each other's embrace for a long moment.

"Lovely," I murmured.

She let out an annoyed roar at my comment, though it wasn’t as fierce as the previous ones.

"Where have we ended up?" 

She asked, panting as she pulled away, looking away while heading toward the kitchen to find a bag for the glass shards. I continued to pick them up carefully, already having more than enough wounds on my hand to deal with the sharp pieces reluctantly.

Olivia returned with a bandage soaked in disinfectant and a trash bag, approaching me in silence. She took my hand and began to clean my injured palm without saying a word.

"Look, Inco... I just want you to understand me. I don't want either of us to get hurt, and—"

My soft smile vanished instantly, reminding me of the harsh reality we faced. She just wanted to return to the subject, as if she expected me to accept her words and understand her so she could revert to the same old cycle. But I was already exhausted. She kept speaking to my silence, even though my ears had stopped listening, my mind fixated on her words.

"But do you really understand me, Olivia?"

Olivia wore a surprised expression before mirroring my frustration. She tightened the bandage on my wound and tossed the disinfectant toward the armchair as if to say, "Now do it yourself," before wheeling away to her room.

"Fuck off, Inco."

After she slammed the door shut, I sighed and finished cleaning up, glancing at the flowers now strewn across the floor. None had survived the fall; their petals lay scattered, and the water soaked the ground.

As I picked up the mess, I spotted a rose beneath the armchair—the rose I had given to Olivia. It was red as blood, though slightly drooping. I picked it up and placed it in my shirt pocket.

My appetite had completely vanished. All I could do was sit on the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling. Regret washed over me. We had just been sitting quietly, cuddling each other, and it wasn’t until I spoke up that everything went downhill again. Maybe if I had just kept quiet and not been so selfish... because that’s what she meant, right?

I wandered around the apartment for a few seconds, standing in front of the bedroom door, ready to go in and talk to her. But just hearing her cry made my heart ache.

I went into the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine I had bought to share with Olivia. I wasn't much of a drinker; in fact, neither of us were, though I had begun to develop a taste for wine. I just needed a glass, nothing more than that.

I poured the red liquid from the bottle into a glass, and in just a few gulps, I finished it.

"This is supposed to be enjoyed," I muttered into the air as I played with the bottom of the glass, putting the bottle aside. I couldn’t even taste the wine; everything felt too confusing.

I threw my jacket onto the couch and grabbed my keys. I wanted to get some fresh air and listen to the rain. It relaxed me. I didn’t care if I got sick; I just wanted to find some peace until things were clearer in my mind.

I started whistling to cheer myself up, absentmindedly looking around as the rain pattered against my umbrella, creating a soothing sound. The day had darkened considerably by the time we were together, the clouds thickening in the sky, and the city lights flickering on earlier than usual.

I sat in the same spot as I had just an hour ago, gazing at the city in the distance.

"Am I the bad guy?"

I wondered to myself as I relaxed on the damp bench, my eyes slowly closing once more. I really hadn’t slept much these past few days, weeks, or even months. I took the rose from my shirt pocket and began to delicately play with it; it was beautiful.

I remembered that night as if it had happened yesterday. My heart pounded as the winter night’s chill caressed my cheeks.

She stood in front of me, and we were arguing outside the venue where the Winter Ball was taking place. My tongue danced around the words that night.

Well, I don't give a shit because I'm going to look bad!

Had I really always been this unfair to her? Had I not given her enough support? I remembered how her face paled as if I had just uttered the worst thing possible. And that’s exactly what I had done.

FUCK…OFF!

 wanted to go after her, to scream how much I loved her, that it was all a mistake, to reason with her, but my legs refused to move.

Those feelings were the same as that night—only this time, it didn’t feel as bad, right?

I stood up unsteadily; darkness had already fallen, and the rain was much softer now.

I had either fallen unconscious or simply fallen asleep.

I was getting wet, feeling cold and damp. The umbrella was gone, probably blown away, and the drops falling from the leaves above disturbed my slumber.

With a shaky gait, I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the iron gate.

“Fucking rock!”

I muttered, grabbing it and throwing it toward the trees on the slope. I opened the door, slammed it shut, and started walking back to the apartment.

In the distance, the red taillights of a car with its warning lights on stood out against the darkness of the street, illuminated only by a few lights from the ornate streetlamps.

A voice I recognized from high school echoed nearby, near that stopped vehicle. It was unrecognizable, muffled yet familiar.

Oh yeah! Dodgeball time!

That was my friend, the one who had offered me his hand on my first day of school, the one who introduced me to her, the one who invited me to that party that summer day. Now he stood a few meters away, surrounded by boxes and objects I easily recognized as belonging to Olivia.

Our gazes met briefly before my eyes found the gray ones of the Baryonyx.

Her gaze was lost in mine, and mine in hers. It didn’t take long for me to realize what was happening: she was abandoning me.

Damien placed a box on the vehicle and looked at me while Olivia remained silent.

I gritted my teeth, anger boiling inside me. I wanted an explanation, but all I could do was clench my fists and walk toward her.

“What the FUCK does this mean, Olivia?”

I screamed as loud as I could, but the rain fell harder, muffling my voice in the tense atmosphere. Surely, she heard me anyway.

Damien growled and stepped in front of me, blocking my way with his arms and pushing me back to create some distance. It didn’t work; I moved closer again, not even glancing at the pink lizard, who said something to me that I couldn’t hear.

He grabbed my shoulder to stop me from getting closer to Olivia, who stood just a short distance behind him.

Her voice trembled, as did her eyes, but she slowly gathered the strength to speak.

“It’s over, Inco.”

It felt like that night. It was déjà vu, but this had happened years ago. My throat tightened as I wanted to ask her what she meant by "It’s over," but deep down, I knew exactly what she meant.

Olivia swallowed hard, standing strong as she looked into my eyes.

“It’s over. This just doesn’t work. We’ve tried so many times, and it just…”

I gripped Damien’s sleeves tightly, pulling down slightly and angrily pushing him to the side as he tried to hold me back again. But Olivia gestured for him to stop.

Now, I was in front of her. I didn’t know which of us was crying, but it was me; my face was soaked, and the drops of water and tears mixed together.

She continued speaking to my silence.

“It’s not working, and I’d like some time to think things over.”

My head throbbed, and my throat felt dry. Her words were laced with pain, as was her gaze, but she spoke with confidence, as if she had thought about it beforehand.

She was breaking up with me.

“How can you be so selfish?”

I said, finally looking at her with a new expression that flickered before her eyes. It shattered her composure; it was anger—not just any anger, but an anger toward her that I never thought I would feel.

I felt broken, shattered, abandoned, but even more than that, I felt...

“Is something going on, guys? Olivia?”

Betrayed.

One of Olivia’s new friends appeared: a rookie reporter, a raptor with orange markings. He arched an eyebrow and stood next to Olivia after leaving the building with a box. Oliver.

Olivia had told me about him; she thought it was funny that their names were similar. We argued about my jealousy, but she assured me a thousand times that he had a girlfriend. I accepted that, even as she threw one of my acquaintances back in my face, but that didn’t matter now.

Now I felt rage, anger, hatred—an intense mix of emotions that had stopped my tears.

Seeing my fists clench in fury, Oliver set the box aside and stood in front of Olivia, saying a few words to me that I couldn’t hear amid the rain and the spinning in my head.

He knew his words were stupid, even though I hadn’t heard them. Nonsense.

But his last words clicked in my head: “Olivia deserves someone much better than you.”

Much better than me? I had tried everything. I had supported her from the beginning to the end; it wasn’t until recently that we’d started having certain discussions and—

My body acted on its own. I realized too late that my fist had connected with the face of that bastard, who fell to the ground, trying to hide behind Olivia. Pathetic. Pitiful. Am I really the same old Inco?

She let out a cry of fright and rushed to the side of the wounded raptor. Damien grabbed my arm and punched me in the cheek.

It hurt, especially coming from someone I knew and appreciated. Our friendship had taken an inexplicable turn over the last few months; sometimes, I felt like he was judging me with his gaze.

I staggered slightly to the side, but my head snapped forward again, headbutting Damien in the snout and causing him to cry out in pain.

Before he could lunge at me and kick my face in, Olivia stepped in, screaming at me like a madwoman as we both argued at the top of our lungs in the middle of the street.

We hurled insults at each other again, but everything felt increasingly destructive, escalating beyond control.

I paced from side to side as I slowly moved backward, while Olivia slapped her tail against the ground in total euphoria.

Our words were like swords we thrust at each other, stabbing into our hearts with greater weight. We were both crying. My cheek was swollen from Damien’s blow, and my forehead was red from the headbutt. Now I felt my hand numb from the impact I had delivered to the raptor; I hadn’t even noticed the bastard was still on the ground.

Olivia fell silent at the mention of Iadakan, staring at me with wide eyes. Her broken voice muttered something I couldn’t understand as a look of disgust began to form on her face. She unsheathed her claws as she had done many times when we argued, but I knew she wouldn’t use them.

“W-what... WHAT DID YOU SAY!?”

She screamed at the top of her lungs as she approached me. I backed away, holding her gaze, standing still while watching Olivia come toward me in her wheelchair. The squeaky sounds of the chair irritated me, even though I could hear them behind me. Thump, thump, thump. Wasn't the chair new?

I was speechless for a few seconds, struggling to formulate my words, but my mind didn’t respond; my tongue just moved on its own as I opened my mouth.

"Iadakan must be turning in his grave at what a pathetic failure of a student you are."

It felt liberating to say it, though I almost immediately regretted it.

Would he really be doing that? No, he would surely want things to get better, for everything to be fixed, for us to continue on our paths as artists. Even though I had failed him, she was an artist... But really...?

Olivia let out a heart-wrenching scream of rage, using her tail to jump from her wheelchair and hit me with her open hand.

She wouldn’t use her claws.

"Olivia!"

Damien shouted.

The blood mixed with the water as I staggered back, clutching the wound and looking at my hand.

It was soaked in blood. Had she used her claws?

Blood began to blur my vision as I quickly backed away, still shocked by the impact.

I tried to wipe the blood from my eyes to see Olivia, but it wouldn’t leave my face. I couldn’t see anything out of my left eye.

My back hit the fence hard; we had reached the bottom of the stairs. What a stupid argument. I felt as if I might fall at any moment. We could talk about this later, give her some time, and laugh about the situation over a glass of wine.

What’s wrong, Olivia?

Her expression shifted from disgust, hatred, and anger to pure terror. Her hands reached out for me, but it felt like I was pulling away.

Why won’t my legs move? What’s going on?

//Olivia//

Inco staggered backward, and the fence at the top of the stairs gave way behind him. Damien screamed for him to stop, praying to Jesus the raptor that he would heed his warning, but blood obscured his vision—blood that I had caused.

I tried to grab him. I swear I did. I even crawled from my spot, reaching out in desperation, seeing his confused expression as he tried to take my hand. But it was too late.

"INCO!"

The first blow knocked the wind out of him as he began to roll down the stairs, guttural sounds escaping his throat. He hurt his arms and body, tumbling and falling with increasing speed and force, seemingly unable to comprehend what was happening.

The thud of each fall echoed in the stairwell, his body bouncing uncontrollably, limbs flailing against the unforgiving steps.

The sounds ceased abruptly when his torso hit the chrome iron railing, staining it with blood that began to trickle down its surface. With that impact came silence, shattered only by a bone-chilling scream of agony and the sickening sound of broken bones.

The silence was deafening. For a moment, time itself seemed to freeze, leaving only the sharp metallic scent of blood in the air.

I almost lost my balance, nearly tumbling down the stairs myself. Crawling down, my knees scraped against the sharp edges of the floor, blood seeping from the wounds. My clothes began to tear, caught on the unforgiving surface as I moved.

The rough texture of the stairs dug into my skin, each movement sending jolts of pain through my body, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Inco lay down the stairs, motionless. I felt like my world was sinking into the abyss as I watched him for a few brief seconds. A scream sounded down the street and a couple of passersby came over to check on him, while Damien practically jumped to help me, although he didn't hesitate for a second to go check on Inco.

Oliver was talking to me next to me. He tried to stop me, but I continued crawling towards where he was. A pool of blood began to appear down the stairs, staining myself with it red as it mixed with the rainwater. His white shirt was now practically red, and his arm...

The rain fell harder, washing away some of the blood, but the crimson stains on his clothes and the floor were too deep to erase. His arm lay at an unnatural angle, bent where it shouldn't be.

As we were about to reach him, they stopped me, just as they stopped Damien from getting any closer to him, who was totally elated, wanting to get closer to his old friend.

"Inco, wake up!"

Damien screamed desperately, while my boyfriend was face down on the floor. I crawled a little further until I cut myself on something on the floor. It was his old glasses, completely broken down to the last bit. He really liked these.

The shattered glass from his lenses reflected the dim streetlights, small shards now embedded in my hand, but I couldn't feel the pain. All I could think about was how much he had cherished those glasses, and how they were now beyond repair, like everything else.

The sounds of sirens were not long in coming, and as quickly as they came, they were gone.

Damien climbed into the ambulance with the paramedics, before giving me a desperate look and a desperate gesture to Oliver, who had a silent look on his face.

His attempts to calm me down were useless. I was just crying with his glasses in my hands, while people... Oliver was no longer here. People surrounded me murmuring things and asking me how I was, if I was okay, or if I knew him from somewhere.

Before I knew it, I was starting to feel dizzy, nauseated, and beginning to fall weakly to the ground, while people around me called for another ambulance.

Chapter Text

October 6, 2026.
11:00 AM, Autumn.
/Olivia/

I wish I was dreaming. I wish I could wake up in his lap, cry, and hug him until I squeezed him tight, apologizing for everything I had ever done wrong. But if this was a dream, then it was the longest dream I had ever endured. The last few days had been hard—truly hard—but compared to this... I was crying, but after hours of doing so, I would inevitably fall asleep, dreaming of being with him, of a world where nothing had happened, no argument had shattered our peace, and we would just go out for a walk like we used to. However, reality would cruelly jolt me awake, forcing me to confront the harsh truth. Our reality was breaking down. I found myself blaming him over and over again, convincing myself it was all his fault, but...

My hands began to feel the heat of the hot chocolate that was slowly turning unbearable, while Randy gently took it from my grasp to prevent it from burning me.

"Olivia..."

Randy said in a whisper, his voice heavy with unspoken sorrow as he looked at me, his eyes brimming with enormous sadness. He appreciated Inco, even amidst the chaos. In these last few months, life hadn’t unfolded the way we hoped, but deep down, he was still part of the family.

I feel... confused. More than anything, I just wish this was a dream. I hadn’t slept at all; my eyes were completely red, like the autumn leaves that fell aimlessly outside, and I felt utterly useless, as if I were completely empty inside. Damien hadn’t come out of his room yet; he didn’t even have the strength to help himself, so how could he possibly be there for me? It made me sad to see the once energetic and optimistic Damien now collapsed into despair. Liz had stopped by to see him once, but she had left shortly after, exchanging only a few words with the Paynes.

My idea was the same: to stay there every day of my life, doing nothing, but I guess the law knocks on the door eventually. Sophia was outside talking to two men; I wasn’t listening to the conversation, nor did I care. I was just lost in my swirling thoughts, consumed by the uncertainty. We didn’t even know how he was doing.

I heard the officers’ footsteps echo through the door, their presence commanding attention as they spoke to Randy.
"You must be Randy Payne. My name is Eric Marquez, and my partner is Brandon Scott. We are with the Volcadera Bluffs Police Department. We’re here to ask a few questions."
My gaze slowly lifted to meet the two officers, their uniforms stark against the dim light of the room. The one speaking was a human, though this one had a full head of hair, setting him apart from the rest.

The other officer remained silent, his hands resting on his belt as he surveyed the room with a keen eye, while his partner took a seat at my father's request. The other was a Dino, like us— orange and wearing a perpetually bad-tempered expression that made him seem even more intimidating.

Clearing his throat to capture my attention, the human policeman made a brief gesture towards me.

"You must be Olivia..."

The officer glanced at his notepad, seeming to search for the right words.

"Halford,"

his companion interjected, snapping his fingers as if connecting dots in his mind.

"Olivia Halford. How are you?"

His tone was neutral, yet I could sense the underlying tension. I noticed his partner roll his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh as if my existence was a burden to him.

My gaze remained indifferent; I avoided his eyes, but he pierced through my defenses with his unwavering stare.

"Like shit,"

I finally mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. His nod in response felt like an acknowledgment of my pain, a shared understanding of the weight we both carried. He turned his gaze to my fingers, which were covered in bandages that Sophia had carefully wrapped.

"Miss Halford, how are you physically? According to other witnesses, you almost fell down the stairs along with your... Ehem. Why are your fingers bandaged? Do you have any other injuries besides those?"

His tone was clinical, detached, as he gripped his pencil, poised to take notes the moment I started speaking.

What had happened? I had chased after him; I didn’t fall, but I had scraped my legs against the stairs along that slippery slope. My hands had become ensnared in the shattered lenses of Inco's broken glasses, leaving my nails in a state of complete ruin. They were, in part, responsible for my current state...

"No."

I answered simply, irritation bubbling beneath the surface as he continued to jot down notes with his eyes half-closed, as if I were just another case to resolve. He looked back at me, waiting expectantly for a more elaborate response.

"I inflicted these injuries on myself last night. I broke my nails by hitting them."

His eyebrow shot up, intrigued, as he returned to scribbling on his notepad. The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper grated on my nerves, but there was little I could do to stop it.

I snorted softly, my gaze drifting away from him, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t liking where this conversation was headed. Relief washed over me that this hadn’t unfolded last night; it would have been a deluge of drunken tears, drowning me in regret. My chest ached at the thought, yet I knew it was necessary to confront the truth.

Will I go to jail?

"Why do you say that?"

I had spoken aloud without realizing it. He understood my unspoken fear, but he didn’t write anything down; instead, he just stared at me, letting out a heavy sigh as he shook his head, removing glasses I hadn’t even noticed he wore.

"Miss Halford, I really don't want to push you too hard. We don't have any proof that this happened, but everything points to you being the cause of all this."

He paused, waiting for some reaction from me. I simply nodded silently, urging him to continue.

"Inco G. Nito. Your partner, as far as I understand. Have you ever suffered any type of domestic violence?"

"H-hell no! H-he would never hurt anyone, he's a good s-soul..."

"But you attacked him. Why did that happen?"

And it begins…

I gulped and let out a thoughtful gasp as I clenched my teeth tightly. Looking down at my already cold cup of chocolate, I took a sip to gather my thoughts.

"Yes, I attacked him. I-I... I wasn't thinking; I just wanted him to shut up. We were arguing, and I-I..."

"You attacked him with your claws."

He continued while I nodded in affirmation. This was starting to get painful. I had every scene stuck in my head, played out like a slow-motion video. I remembered every dialogue, every insult, every—

"Miss Halford."

His voice cut through my thoughts. You're giving me little time.

"And then he... fell."

"According to the report, the stairs were in a bad state. I mean, you attacked him, which caused him to fall backward down all the stairs."

"I tried to catch him. Everything happened too fast. I regretted it as soon as I threw the punch, and in a second, he was already falling down the stairs. Oh god..."

I shivered, wrapping my tail around my legs, feeling the dizziness return, the same sensation I felt when the...

"Have you ever attacked Mr. Nito?"

"I-I... no, h-he is...?"

The policeman remained silent, taking notes. After a few seconds that stretched into what felt like minutes, he opened his mouth as he turned the page and continued writing.

"Are you sure that Mr. Nito hasn't done anything to you?"

"Fucking hell! I'm sure! We've been arguing a lot lately, but nothing has ever come to blows."

The cop looked me straight in the eye, his brown irises locking onto mine as if searching for truth. I found myself staring right back at him, the intensity of his gaze sending a chill down my spine. He cleared his throat and glanced at his partner, crossing out a full line on his notepad.

Why such insistence?

The policeman fell silent, jotting down a few more notes before turning his attention back to me for a few seconds.

"We have seen your medical history. You have been taking beta blockers. What is the cause of the stress?"

Randy looked at me with a worried expression, concern etched on his features. I hadn’t told anyone. I had been taking beta blockers for a few weeks. Or months.

"Job,"

I replied flatly, the word barely escaping my lips as the policeman continued to scrutinize me, nodding as he made more notes.

I wanted to ask, but the words felt stuck in my throat; every time I tried to voice my thoughts, a lump formed. I didn’t feel I had the right to speak.

I wanted to ask if he was okay, what his condition was, if he was conscious. Damien had told me that he had woken up in the ambulance for a few seconds, but he didn’t say anything beyond that. I felt pitiful, guilty; it was I who had thrown him into the abyss. I should be the one in his situation, not him. The weight of everything he had done for me over the years gnawed at my conscience. He had been my support for too long, so long that he himself had begun to sink under the burden I had placed on him until he reached the abyss itself.

"Olivia!"

Randy waved me back to reality, handing me a tissue to wipe away the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. He gestured for me to look at the policeman, who I began to notice once again.

"There was a fight before the fall. Who was involved and what happened?"

My mind blurred for a moment, trying to recall the events, silently affirming.

"Yes... Y-yes, there was a fight. Inco hit a friend..."

"Oliver,"

the policeman finally clarified, looking at his notes and patting his partner on the shoulder.

"Y-yes, Oliver, Inco hit him, but also my brother, although he doesn't care."

The policeman raised an eyebrow again at my words, letting out a sigh and clearing his throat.

"Oliver O'Donnell has filed charges against Inco G. Nito for assault, and in his testimony he says that there were repeated blows that caused a fracture in his skull, and that it was not until you intervened that the assault stopped."

I stood paralyzed trying to remember; it was a blow that knocked him to the ground. Was it so...?

"No,"

I replied while clenching my fists in rage. Inco had only hit that little slut once.

"Sorry?"

"No. It was just a blow; then my brother hit him in the face, and then he received a headbutt in the nose. There was no such extensive assault as you claim."

We had all made mistakes that night, and he shouldn't have to pay for something so—stupid. How dare he?

I want this to end already, please. I wanted to throw up and go to sleep; my head hurt, and my vision was blurry.

The officer jotted down some notes, and before continuing, I tried to stand up.

"H-how is he?"

I managed to say, falling again after my failed attempt to stand up, looking at the officer and searching for the papers he had prepared earlier.

"Although I cannot give many details about the condition of Inco G. Nito, his condition is... stable."

He continued dictating.

"However, that doesn't mean he can leave tomorrow. He hasn't woken up yet, and things could get seriously complicated."

He finished clarifying while Randy lowered his head and looked at the floor, letting out a sigh and leaving the living room to go to the kitchen to get something to drink. Sophia had been gone for a while; she didn't want to listen any longer.

I stood paralyzed; I didn't know how to feel, tears running down my face as I gasped for air. I couldn't breathe.

I can't imagine what he must be going through right now.

"I wouldn't like to pursue this either, Miss Halford. I've never liked to break the news. But we'll have to keep visiting to ask a few more questions."

I just nodded through tears.

"Until Inco G. Nito is in a condition to give his version of the events, we will not be able to take the measures that the law requires. However, since you plead guilty to what happened, these are the charges against you."

Assault with serious injuries.

Possible attempted manslaughter.

Domestic violence.

Those were the three charges I was facing in court. I couldn't deny any of them, nor was I going to.

We stayed for a little over an hour talking about everything that had happened—past experiences, problems. He wrote it all down. His colleague just watched as, apparently, his superior interrogated me.

I thought it would all be crude, like the old Good Cop, Bad Cop movies.

"Since a judge has yet to hear his case, measures and sanctions are not entirely certain."

He dictated once more, closing the notebook and standing up.

"However, based on my experience, you will not have to go behind bars. Since you have cooperated, you are guilty, and it is your first time facing charges. Do not assume that what I am telling you is official. It will also depend on whether Mr. Nito presses charges."

The officer pointed out, nodding to his partner to get out.

"Restraining orders, community service, probation, and therapy are the most plausible."

The man pointed before gesturing and waving a goodbye to me, leaving the house after gesturing to Randy and being about to walk out the door.

"Officer Marquez!"

I exclaimed as I lay down on the couch to try to get closer to the door. The officer stopped and looked askance at me.

"Can we go see him?"

The officer immediately denied it.

"It is impossible given the seriousness of the matter. Although we will meet again soon to continue reporting, Miss Halford. Only a judge can allow that."

He gave me a smile that seemed to have been practiced to make it as real as possible and waved goodbye.

I settled into the sofa as I looked at the floor in silence, playing a little with the bandages on my fingers, slightly red from the blood.

Randy was in the kitchen, leaning on the table with a blank stare as he stared into his glass of water. Sophia had disappeared from my sight; Damien was still in his room, and as for Vinny...

Vinny was in front of me; he had come out of his room and was just peeking his face around the corner.

"Is Inco sick?"

His low voice and his hiding behind the corner showed that he knew that listening to that conversation was wrong. I frowned a little as I wiped away the tears that had been running down my face. I felt miserable. No words came out of my throat when I tried to speak; I shook my head as best I could while covering my face to prevent Vinny from seeing me crying. Randy just stared at the situation helplessly.

I felt a small hug around my shoulder; the tadpole was hugging me for comfort. He was still very young, but he was already old enough to know that something was wrong. I hugged him back, feeling him cry. Children were too oblivious, although he was no longer a child.

"I want you to be honest with me."

"Vinny."

Randy caught the boy's attention, clearing his throat to get him to come closer with a slight gesture.

"Your older sister is tired and a little grumpy; she'll appreciate your affection when she feels better. Is that okay? Hey... How about we go out for a while and talk?"

While they were talking, I stared at my phone for a while, with Inco's contact on my screen. I stared at his last message for a while; he seemed worried, in addition to the various calls and messages. That was the day we argued a little over a week ago.

"Are you OK?"

October 5, 2026.
9:00 p.m., Autumn.
/Inco/

Ah, I'm falling down.

Why is everything going so slow? It's just a fall, Olivia. Don't worry.

My eye hurts; my face, in general, hurts. I feel the blood running down my face as I fall. I thought she wouldn't use them; I really thought she wouldn't.

Ouch. I hope I don't hurt myself much more than just that. Slowly, I feel like I'm almost hitting the ground; nothing hurts yet. Her face makes me sad, but... Olivia, I know what I said was wrong, but did it have to come to this?

I ran out of oxygen when my back hit the ground. My back hurts; that will leave a good mark, but now I'm starting to fall uncontrollably; everything is going a little faster. I put my hands around my head as I continue to fall. Minutes have passed, and each step is a new scrape for my body. It stings, and my chest beats harder and harder. It hurt, and I felt like I was just starting my descent; I couldn't see anything.

Damien, did you scream my name? I didn't think you'd care about me again, brother. I know we've had our differences about how you viewed my relationship with your... “sister.” I know you weren't convinced, but you decided to continue.

I always wanted to talk about that argument at that barbecue. I understood your point, but I refused to leave Olivia. I just wish we could talk about it when this is all over, bro.

Now I felt nothing. I had hit something hard, and the pain had dissipated, my oxygen escaping from my mouth as I began to feel like I was choking on water. Although it tasted like iron. My strength was slowly escaping from my body until I simply had no energy left to even think.

I was falling now; it felt like a fall, but every so often, I felt a pain in my body. It was the steps that my body was brutally hitting. I opened my eyes, and there was only me in that deep darkness. I only heard a buzzing in my ear, which sometimes increased and became a certain annoying ringing. I couldn't move; I could only let my body continue falling into the depths that I was beginning to believe were hell.

Hell was cold and lonely, dark and threatening. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

A sharp sensation of pain ran through my entire left arm; I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords didn't want to function in that reality. My arm was throbbing, and my fingers hurt too much; I wanted to cut my hand off to relieve that sensation.

Suddenly, all pain disappeared, my body slowly becoming colder and colder. The darkness itself seemed to slowly fade away as... I wasn't breathing. I tried to take a breath but was drowning in the process in the strange, iron-tasting water; it was thick; it was blood coming out of my mouth.

Sudden calm.

...

Is this being dead? I don't want it. Death is so cold and lonely; I want to be with... Who do I want to be with? I remember her green scales, her yellow eyes, and her grey irises. Her long green and blue hair slicked back. The sounds of the sirens are bothering me; they've been getting into my head for a while like a drill. That girl, I heard her voice; she seemed to be screaming something I didn't understand.

I liked the way she looked; she was very pretty. What was her name...?

Elivia? No, it had something with an 'o' in it. Olia! Not at first... Oliva! Her name was Oliva. What a beautiful name.

What is my name?

My ears heard a long beeping sound that kept getting louder and louder and then repeated itself; every time that happened, my chest hurt.

"Inco!"

Exactly! Wait... Inco? Wasn't Eric or Jackson better? That's the name my parents gave me, I guess. I feel... weird; my chest hurts a lot, and I feel like my heart wants to come out of my chest. I feel like...

"Wake up, damn it!"

I opened my eyes as best I could and looked at what was above me. Two unfamiliar faces and the roof of a house, although it was a very busy house.

It hurts; too much, my chest, my torso, my arm, my face. My body; everything feels bruised.

"He's got his pulse back! Kid, can you hear us? Calm down, calm down!"

I couldn't speak or move. When I tried to speak, blood came out of my mouth, which made the stranger look horrified, looking away for a few seconds and then back at me immediately.

"Don't talk! Your lungs are damaged, and you're in danger. Stay calm!"

I was in an ambulance; there were... two doctors and... Damien? Are you a doctor now? Why are you in this room?

Damien held his hand over his mouth as he watched me in a state that I didn't even want to know about. I was starting to get nervous and try to move. The other doctor pointed the one who had been talking to me towards one of the submarine's containers. I mean, ambulance.

"Give him morphine right now before he loses control!"

Losing control? My gaze darted from side to side, searching for something to grab onto to try and pull myself up. I tried to reach my arm toward one of the bars above my head.

My arm.

I could see the bones in my fingers, flesh that seemed to be on fire on a hand completely soaked in my own blood.

The realization was an even more stabbing pain now that my brain had processed it. I was there after the fall down the stairs, and everything looked bad. My vision was bad; my sight was blurry from my own blood. I grabbed the doctor by the arm and let out a full-blown scream, starting to feel the blood coming out of my mouth. My lungs felt like boilers.

Before I lost consciousness again, I looked at Damien. His face said it all: panic, horror, fear, disgust. You should be happy, you bastard. If I die, Olivia can be... What am I saying? I don't want to die; I want to be with her, hold her, and tell her that everything is okay, that everything will get better.

Now everything was peaceful. The voices were gone, as were the sounds of sirens and strange medical devices that I didn't understand. There was no pain; I just felt like everything was spinning around me, like I was on a roller coaster.

Everything was colorful. Beautiful canvases that seemed to me as if I were traveling in hyperspace. The stars were eyes that looked at me with disdain as I walked in total emptiness, although in front of me there was a doorknob that stood out from that whole dark room, tempting me, calling me, seeking my touch. Every time I got closer, I felt further away from the doorknob. Was it a door? An exit for this pain that I would suffer for the rest of my life?

I began to run, and I seemed to be getting closer and closer to that golden knob that was drawing my attention as if I were a moth to a flame. Behind me, rapid footsteps began to sound closer and closer. I was sure it was death, who was hot on my heels, seeking to take my weak soul.

The ground was crumbling before my step, wanting to sink me into the depths of the abyss, but I won't die. I just have to reach the knob, and I can escape from this nightmare.

October 10, 2026.
10:00 pm, Autumn.
/Olivia/

He's awake.

Those words from Officer Eric had been haunting me all day. He hadn’t provided any more details—he was, in fact, strictly forbidden from sharing anything further with me until official notice—but now I knew he was okay, and somehow, that made the weight on my chest both heavier and lighter all at once.

The guilt hit me like a bucket of cold water, sharp and jarring, and it had been lingering for days now. Damien and I barely spoke to each other anymore. I wanted to reach out, to talk to him, but the concern on his face was impossible to ignore. There was something weighing on him, something I wasn’t a part of, but I wasn't going to ask him about it—not yet.

My heart was breaking, cracking slowly under the pressure. The Paynes had tried to cheer me up, but even they weren't ready to deal with this. Their relationship with Inco had grown strained over the last few months, though of course, they didn’t want him dead. They still accepted him as family, despite everything, but they doubted Inco would feel the same now, not after what I had done.

I could only hope he wouldn’t shut them out. It was my fault, after all.

I’ve been thinking about it—obsessing over it, really—for days now. I’m a failure.

Inco's words echoed relentlessly in my mind, the last thing he said before I threw him down the stairs:

"Idakan must be turning in his grave at the pathetic failure of his star pupil."

I’m sure Iadakan will hate me for what I’ve done, for the way I’ve been living these last few years. I used to believe he'd be proud of me as an artist, but I was too selfish, too consumed by my own condition. All my failures stemmed from it, and even my successes were tainted by it.

I treated Inco like a worthless rag, even though he stood by me through thick and thin. And when he finally exploded, all I did was lash out, saying horrible things to him. He should have left me. He deserved better, but instead, he stayed—and look how he paid for it.

I called him useless when he couldn’t find what I, in my capriciousness, wanted. Now, looking back, I realize he had always supported me in everything, and I had never done the same for him. Whenever he said something I didn’t like, I threatened him. Everything started to unravel at the Winter Formal—my speech was a total disaster that offended every single one of those pompous idiots. Well, they were right about me. I am useless.

Guts started jumping on me, trying to knock the wine bottle out of my hand. I pushed him aside, just slightly, but he kept insisting. What am I even saying? What stupid metaphors am I using? He didn’t care about metaphors; he just wanted to taste it. Even the dog was anxious.

My phone buzzed with a notification, but I ignored it, lost in my thoughts. What if it was Inco? Officer Eric had told me that morning that he’d woken up—maybe he wanted to talk...

"Olivia?"

Oliver.

I made a face of disgust, and rage began to creep over me. That idiot. Oliver wanted to sink Inco even further and get his own share of the damage he’d inflicted. A blow that hadn’t even left a visible mark, unlike Damien’s, which had hurt him far deeper—in ways I was only beginning to understand.

I tried to shove the wine bottle back to my mouth, but Guts—determined as always—climbed onto the bottle, blocking me.

I growled at him, not in the mood to deal with his little antics right now.

"Let me drink, dammit!"

I instantly regretted the slap, almost knocking Guts off the bed. He let out a squeal and scrambled out of my reach, running back to his cage. I was a monster.

Great, I'm garbage. Just like I always thought.

Tears began to fall, silently. I couldn’t even protect the people I cared about, and now, I couldn’t even control myself around my only real friend. I pressed my hands against my face, wiping away the tears, but his face was still there, watching me. It was burned into my memory, the way he looked at me as he fell. I doubted I’d ever forget it. Sometimes I dreamed—beautiful, fleeting dreams—where it never happened. In those dreams, I was calm, resting on top of him, safe. But it never lasted. The dreams always twisted into nightmares, and I watched him fall again. In truth, it was me who had fallen, into the deep abyss I’d thrown him into.

As I raised the wine bottle to my lips once more, I noticed Guts was back, sitting in his spot and staring at me with those big, expectant eyes.

"The wine can wait, little one. I’m sorry."

I set the bottle down and took Guts by the paws, stroking him gently. He made those familiar high-pitched sounds of satisfaction, almost like he was saying, "Apology accepted."

My phone vibrated again, and this time I sighed. I already knew it was Oliver.

"You’ve seen what he did to your brother. Are you going to answer me? Help me justify what he did."

I gritted my teeth, frustration bubbling up inside me. I glanced at Guts, who was still staring at me with those wide, trusting eyes.

"Okay, I’ll help you."

October 10, 2026.
Autumn.
12:00 in the morning.

/Inco/

The rain was hammering against my bedroom window, a rhythmic noise that drowned out everything else. One of the doctors was talking to me—had been for about 20 minutes now—but it felt like silence. I was in one of the intensive care rooms at Volcadera Hospital. His words blurred together, nothing but background noise, and every so often, he would glance at me, probably wondering if I was paying attention. I wasn’t. When he looked, I just nodded, hoping he'd leave me alone soon.

My body felt foreign, probably because of the endless stream of drugs coursing through my veins. All I could focus on was the rain, the steady beep of the heart monitor confirming I was still alive, and the mechanical wheeze of the ventilator keeping me breathing. I didn’t remember much—just fragments. Memories of myself breaking apart, and Damien’s horrified face.

My entire face was wrapped in bandages except for one exposed eye, my only window to the world around me. The room itself wasn’t bad, considering it was intensive care. From time to time, nurses would come in, adjusting things, checking on me, always with that quiet professionalism that made me feel like a piece of equipment.

There was a large, blurry glass wall where I could make out shadows of people passing by, but their faces were indistinct. I was sure there were chairs on the other side—maybe people waiting. Were my parents out there?

What scared me the most was the lack of pain. I should have been in agony, but I felt nothing. My ears worked, my good eye functioned, but the tube in my mouth made it impossible to speak. I hated this—being like this was disgusting, but it was the only reason I had survived.

"Mr. Inco?"

Hearing my name snapped me out of my daze. The doctor was staring at me, holding out a folder. Supposedly, it contained my full diagnosis. I tried to reach for it, but then I noticed my left arm—completely encased in a cast. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, unable to believe it was mine. With my good hand, I finally took the folder and rested it on my lap.

The doctor’s expression didn’t change as he left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I felt strange—lost in the vast emptiness of my mind—my gaze fixed on a single point in the room. A small bouquet of flowers from the Paynes. No note attached.

I wondered what they thought. Did they even care? They probably sent the flowers out of some misplaced sense of pity. Things had gone wrong the last time I saw them.

It didn’t matter.

"You must be Mr. Inco G. Nito. Am I right?"

I hadn’t even noticed someone else had entered the room.

It was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a rain jacket that was soaked through. The yellow lettering on it read "VBPD," the initials for the Volcadera Bluffs Police Department.

I nodded, my eye taking in the details of his face. He had a thick mustache and an old, scruffy beard. He wore sunglasses like the ones I used to wear, though his were resting lower on his nose. His cap was still on his head, despite being indoors.

The officer sat down and introduced himself.

"My name is Officer Eric Marquez. I’ve been put in charge of your case."

Case? What case?

I must have looked confused because Officer Marquez quickly clarified.

"Your fall, and something else that I will soon tell you about."

He gestured toward the folder on my lap.

"May I…?"

I nodded.

He took the folder and began reading it in a low voice, his eyes flicking over to me every now and then as I struggled to follow along. The words blurred in front of me—I couldn’t make sense of them. Noticing my frustration, he cleared his throat and started to read aloud.

"Minor lacerations, scratches, and cuts; mild to moderate. The patient has several cuts across his body, as well as bruises that do not present serious damage. Deep laceration on the right thigh."

He paused, glancing at me, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"Fractured left arm; critical. Wrist shattered by repeated impacts. Four fractured fingers. Possible loss of sensitivity."

I stared at my arm, trapped in its cast. Was it really that bad? I tried to move it, but there was nothing—no feeling except for the sharp stabs of cold pain that barely registered. I remembered the ambulance ride and quickly looked away. Yeah, it was as bad as I feared.

"Skull contusion; moderate. Still under evaluation."

So that’s why my face was bandaged up. What a nightmare.

Officer Marquez paused, reading ahead quietly before clearing his throat.

"I didn’t think it was this bad. Do you want me to—?"

"Read it."

My chest burned as I forced the words out. I half-expected to be mute, convinced something was wrong with my voice. The almost hoarse sound that escaped my throat, aided by the mechanical ventilator, barely sounded like me. It reminded me of ‘Darth Reaper’ from that cheesy Space Balls saga. A dry mockery of my own voice.

"Torso; four broken ribs. Positive internal damage. Punctured lung. Critical condition."

This time, he didn’t give me a moment to breathe, no pause like before.

"Eyes. Tear on the left side of the face. Possible loss of the eye."

"Ironic, coming from a photographer."

I tried to joke, more to myself than to him, attempting to lighten the oppressive weight in the air. I even tried to laugh but thought better of it at the last second. The officer smiled slightly, though his eyes couldn’t hide the unease.

Inside, I felt dead. Any trace of hope, any way to lift my spirits, was buried under the wreckage of my body. A punctured lung, and the possibility of losing my eye. The only thing I had left to hang onto was gone.

I didn’t know how to feel. In some twisted way, I was lucky. I could have never woken up. I could have been in a coma or dead. But here I was—alive. For now.

But was that really better? What if the lung got worse? What if I lost full function of my left hand forever? I wouldn’t be able to run, to jump, to do anything I once took for granted. It all felt so... crushing. A reality too heavy to hold.

But, in the end, I was still alive. Trapped in this shell of pain.

"You’re a lucky man, Mr. Nito," Officer Marquez continued. "You lost your pulse twice on the way to the hospital, and once more after you got here. You bled out. Two full bags of blood, from the bottom of the stairs to the emergency room. I’ve seen the photos from the ambulance—it looked like the hallway in The Little Shining . You have over 200 stitches covering your body."

I fell silent, and for the first time, a giggle slipped out. It was weak, shaky, and the sudden burst of laughter made me gasp in pain, but somehow, I liked his humor. Maybe he was right—I was lucky. I wasn’t dead, after all. But despite the officer’s light tone, there were darker thoughts gnawing at the edges of my mind. My head began to spin, a dizziness creeping in that I couldn’t quite place.

"You’ll be out of intensive care in less than a week. That’s the positive side," Officer Marquez continued, his voice steady. "As you can understand, I didn’t come here to tell you things your doctor should be telling you. I’m here to take notes, but given your condition, I’m not sure this is the best time to start."

I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he cut me off before I could speak.

"We’ve been trying to reach your family," he said, his tone shifting to something more careful, "but… it’s been completely impossible."

Of course. My parents. They hadn’t spoken to me since graduation. They’d moved to another city, gone on with their lives as though I never existed. They never even met Olivia, not once. Did they even bother to say goodbye when they left? Or was I just another memory they were happy to leave behind?

My gaze drifted to the vase on the table, the officer’s presence pulling me back into reality.

"Ah, the Paynes," he said, nodding toward the flowers. "They can’t come because of a court order. Two of their family members are involved in what happened, and they’re not permitted to visit. Plus, they mentioned some kind of argument from a while back, and we’re trying to avoid any further conflict."

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, keeping my silence. I wasn’t ready to see them either. Not after everything.

Olivia.

A surge of conflicting emotions ran through my battered body. I loved her— truly loved her—but... I hated her.

"I hate her."

The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them, and with them came a wave of distress. I didn’t know how to feel anymore. I wanted to love her, but what came out wasn’t what I wanted to believe. She had caused all of this—but it was an accident, wasn’t it? It had to be.

The officer tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he closed the notebook he had pulled out earlier. He seemed to be rethinking his approach.

"Sorry?"

"What have they told you about the conflict?" My voice came out harsher than I intended.

Officer Marquez gestured toward his notebook, a careful look in his eyes.

"Mr. Nito, I don’t think this is the right moment to—"

I grabbed his arm, my hand trembling, my one good eye locking onto his. The heart monitor quickened, the beeping speeding up as my pulse raced. A violent cough shook my body, cutting me off as I tried to speak. The officer’s face softened, a flicker of pity flashing across his eyes. Was this what Olivia felt? Being trapped in a body that wouldn’t listen, being judged for something out of her control? Was this how it felt to live with that weight?

My voice, weak and wounded, barely more than a rasp, escaped my lips.

"What have they told you?"

The officer settled himself beside me, opening the notebook again with deliberate slowness.

"The argument took place during the final days of summer. A few months ago. It escalated into verbal and physical hostility between Damien Payne and Inco G. Nito, allegedly... over Olivia."

He paused, his eyes meeting mine as the weight of the memory hit me. My stomach churned. That day still haunted me, more than my current injuries. The pain wasn't just physical—it was emotional, a deep, festering wound.

"Before we continue," he said carefully, "I have a question for you."

I made a subtle gesture, my body too tired to express more than a nod—but it was enough to say, I’m listening.

"Are you planning to press charges against Olivia Halford?"

"Why—" The words caught in my throat, and I broke into a harsh cough. The officer stood silently, watching me struggle for breath before continuing.

"—would I do something like that?"

"She’s the one who caused you to be in this condition, Mr. Nito. And according to reports, you attacked a certain ‘Oliver’—beat him until he was lying on the ground, unconscious, and—"

The officer fell silent, his gaze narrowing as he waited for me to respond.

"It was just one hit," I managed, bitterness seeping into my voice. "And that bastard went down like a sack of bricks."

"So you admit you struck him multiple times?"

My heart began to race, the monitor beeping faster, as frustration boiled inside me.

"No," I hissed through gritted teeth. "By the time my fist hit him, Damien was already all over me, punching me in the face."

The officer nodded, making notes in his notebook, flipping through pages with a practiced hand. The sound of pen scratching paper felt like a judgment in itself.

"And then," he said, looking up, "you hit Damien. In the face."

"Correct." I regret trying to nood.

"Seems correct to me."

I heard him barely whisper as he jotted down notes and cleared his throat, the sound resonating in the sterile atmosphere.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

I hated this device and my situation. Talking was a total hell, not only because of the pain searing through my lungs but also because of how exhaustingly difficult it was to articulate my thoughts through these plastic tubes.

"Mr. Oliver has sued you for aggravated assault."

I turned my gaze out the window, where the rain fell in relentless sheets.

"That bastard... I should have hit him harder to make him stop being so stupid."

The officer laughed, a low, almost conspiratorial chuckle.

"It would make things worse, but I think the same."

His unexpected response took me by surprise, and I raised an eyebrow as best I could, intrigued.

"Oh, excuse me for being unprofessional, but only a few testimonies have claimed that you beat him up, and it doesn't add up to me. It's as if..."

"He just wants the money," I interjected, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

The policeman nodded, his expression shifting to one of understanding, and cleared his throat. He could see my pulse increasing on the monitor, the steady beeping echoing the rising tension in my chest. He gestured to the heart monitor and flipped through his notepad to resume reading.

"The fight escalated to the point where Damien Payne gave you a black eye, and you were separated by Olivia Halford moments after it started. That's all I can say, but... what caused it?"

My stomach twisted painfully as I recalled that fight, the chaotic swirl of emotions flooding back. It was the last time I saw the Paynes. I had thought of Damien as a brother, but now I was confused, the memories muddied.

Just thinking about the words I wanted to select made me want to vomit, each recollection heavier than the last. My lungs felt like they would just collapse. Forgive me, lungs.

"Damien and I were having a beer. We were just chilling out, talking, until he started talking about brotherhood. We discussed various things, how we support each other through thick and thin. Then we turned to our partners, and he spoke about how much he loved Liz, how he wanted to propose to her. He was saying that he felt sorry for his sister because she always seemed bitter, a shadow of the vibrant Olivia he once knew and then he-"

I took the ventilator out of my mouth to continue. I was short of air, but I had to finish. My lungs felt like they were on fire, especially the left one.

"He asked me to break up with Olivia so she could 'spread her wings and be happy.' Obviously, I refused, and the argument escalated from a request to an obligation—not a suggestion, but a demand. Amidst the shouting, we lost our minds and started hitting and pushing each other. I assume you already know the rest."

The officer adjusted his sweater as he continued writing on his notepad, nodding along. I started coughing and put the ventilator back over my mouth, pushing the straps up over my neck. My neck hurt too, but not as much as other parts of my body. The thing was tight and bothersome to an inhuman level. I wanted to take it off and breathe properly on my own.

"I think this should cover a day or two of paperwork," the officer pointed out, stepping away and clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to inform your acquaintances about your condition?"

I nodded as best I could, feeling weaker than before. I had slept for days, yet my eyelids felt heavy. The dizziness made the room spin even while lying down, and my lungs felt like they were spewing molten lava.

"You need to rest, Mr. Nito. Get your thoughts in order before our next meeting."

It took me a few seconds to react as I closed my eyes. Everything was getting heavier; I felt like I was sinking. I wanted to vomit.

As the officer turned toward the exit, the same doctor entered the room, frowning and pointing toward the door.

"I told you the patient isn't accepting visitors until further notice! He needs to rest! Get out of here before I call security!"

The officer looked at me for a few seconds before gesturing and leaving the room, the doctor following him to ensure he complied.

Now I was alone again. My mouth felt dry, and I didn't sense any emotion. But then I felt my injured eye starting to itch, and cold tears began to fall from my good eye, trailing down my cheek until they soaked into the bandages. My eyelids felt heavy, and I was sleepy, but sleep eluded me. That was infuriating.

Tears began to stream faster down my cheeks. I was crying without even realizing it. I gasped for air from the pain radiating in my left eye, my toes clenching in agony. My pulse quickened as the tears continued to fall. Was I crying out of anger or sadness?

A nurse rushed through the wooden door to check on me. I let out a cry of pain as I tried to bring my hand to my left eye, but the nurse swiftly prevented me from doing so.

Panic surged through me as I began to writhe, and she immediately called for backup. Within moments, five more staff members arrived to restrain me, their hands firm yet gentle, ensuring I didn’t hurt myself further. I felt weak, like I was about to shatter, yet it took all six of them to hold me down while one of them injected something into my IV.

As the medication coursed through my veins, the beeping of the heart monitor began to slow, and my heartbeat gradually relaxed. I felt like a lifeless doll, propped up in the bed. The low-intensity lighting in the room started to brighten, reaching a blinding intensity. I murmured a few words, trying to keep my tear-soaked eye from becoming more irritated. Suddenly, everything went black again.

I woke up sweating, my chest racing as if I had just run a marathon.

I was on the couch in my house.

My breathing was rapid, and my throat was dry. I was shaking, unsure if I was still trapped in that nightmare or if I had truly escaped it. The day outside looked beautiful; sunlight streamed through the curtains, bathing my face in warmth that felt comforting.

I touched my face, my arms, my legs—every part of my body seemed to be in perfect condition, not a scratch or bruise in sight. I didn’t feel any pain, though my throat was quite parched.

Letting out a deep sigh, I hopped off the couch and made my way to the kitchen for some water. As I walked, I couldn’t shake off the vivid memory of that dream.

Olivia.

I needed to talk to her, to apologize for our argument, to try and discuss everything calmly. I wanted to reconcile and share what I had experienced in my nightmare.

Later. That could wait.

I changed course toward our bedroom, pressing my ear against the door, straining to hear any sound from inside.

Nothing.

Frowning, I opened the door, scanning the dimly lit room for my girlfriend. It was pitch black, eerily reminiscent of that day when Olivia had locked herself in her room and painted the windows black. I felt an unsettling weight in the air, making it hard to move.

Sitting on the bed was a figure. It wasn’t Olivia. A tall, dark shape loomed before me, staring without a face, without a distinct form—something I couldn’t even begin to describe. The figure stood up, towering over me, and the room seemed to warp and bend to accommodate its height, making it appear half the size of a streetlamp.

Panic flooded my senses as I backed away, heart pounding in my chest. What was this thing? Why was it here?

I ran towards the front door, but I never reached it. My legs hurt—every muscle screamed in protest—but I pushed through the pain, driven by sheer adrenaline.

In a fit of rage, I slammed into the door, which crumbled beneath my weight, revealing the hallway of the building beyond.

I barreled down the stairs, each step jarring my already aching body, and burst through the front door into the rain. It poured down in sheets, and the cold droplets felt like acid on my skin. Despite the searing pain, I kept running, driven by a primal instinct to escape. I wanted to stop, to gasp for air, but my legs refused to relent.

Ahead, I spotted a fountain, surrounded by beautiful winter trees, the stone slabs glistening in the rain. Without a second thought, I hurled myself into the fountain, seeking refuge from the burning rain. As I plunged into the icy water, I felt the ground beneath me vanish, and I sank deeper into a darkness that seemed to stretch on forever.

I was free-falling, enveloped in a void where time lost all meaning. I had no idea if I was descending for minutes, hours, or days; all I knew was that I was trapped in this bitter dream, haunted by memories I wished to forget.

I will die alone.

My blood family had abandoned me, moving on with their lives as if I had never existed. They shifted from city to city, from project to project, and those I considered family—the Paynes—seemed to want me anywhere but by Olivia’s side. I had a few acquaintances, but they were merely work friends, not the kind of people who would notice my absence.

Vague memories flickered through my mind, fragments of the past colliding with the present.

One stood out clearly, my favorite moment with Olivia. She had been upset with me after a fight we had, and even though I had conceded, her anger still lingered.

We stepped into the elevator of our building, the tension between us palpable. An impulse took over, and I turned to her, reaching out to touch her cheek gently. She recoiled, brushing my hand away with disdain.

"I'm not in the mood for this nonsense, Inco."

Unfazed, I brought my hand back to her cheek. In a flash of irritation, she bared her teeth and bit my arm. I was surprised when she pulled back, her expression shifting to one of fear as she saw that I hadn’t flinched.

“Moron! Y-you could have lost your arm if I—”

I put my hand on the side of her face and began to stroke her scales gently, her head resting on my palm.

The elevator opened as we reached our floor, but it slowly closed again and stopped in place, reminding me of that day at school.

"I knew you wouldn't do it. I trust you."

I smiled at her, leaning in closer. A blush crept onto her face as she tried to pull away but found herself drawn back to me. We shared a long kiss, one that felt like it lasted an eternity, and for those few seconds, everything felt perfect.

That day was beautiful; we were a real couple for the first time in years.

We didn’t argue once more that week, and that’s when we agreed to visit the Paynes for a nostalgic barbecue.

But then everything changed.

After that day, tension began to build between Olivia and me. We were so close, yet somehow so far apart.

...

I hated Damien for that.

Memories poured out of my head like spring flowers, some blooming with joy, others wilting with pain.

I recalled moments when Olivia and I would argue, and I would agree with her on things she didn’t want to hear. In those instances, I couldn’t express my opinion; she would say I didn’t understand her and that she was all alone in this world.

I hated when that happened. I always attributed it to my inability to comprehend her struggles, and in a way, I was right. But why was she so selfish? I understood that she wanted to achieve her dreams on her own, but it had been three years—maybe even longer.

Her achievements had blossomed, and they were completely valid, just like that year when Olivia exchanged my photos for her painting.

Her art was real, but in a world like ours, it was often dismissed as just another piece among many.

It was a true struggle for her, and I felt helpless to support her.

I couldn’t find enough words to express what I was feeling. It was a whirlwind of emotions that frustrated me. I felt like I had some kind of bipolar disorder; feelings surged and receded, only to be replaced by new ones that confused me even more.

What was I supposed to do with this turmoil?

Another memory, this one from a time much further away. His half-mocking voice echoing with that infectious cheerfulness when speaking, his iconic smile lighting up the room, along with his wings spread wide, casting their shadow across the space. I could almost feel the warmth of his presence filling every corner. I even heard him in the hallway, giving classes, as talkative and positive as always.

Iadakan, my mentor.

Thinking about how endlessly positive he was, he knew exactly how to choose his words, each one deliberate, each one carrying a weight of wisdom wrapped in humor.

I wanted to be like him.

No, more than that, I wanted to surpass him—that is what he would have wanted.

Well, maybe not really.

He would have wanted me to overcome it by being myself, to embrace the lessons he'd imparted, following in my own footsteps based on his teachings, but ultimately to forge my own path. I could only wish I had known him as deeply as Olivia did.

To think that he kept his condition hidden. Bone cancer.

The constant pain he must have endured due to his illness, and yet he always wore that smile.

He really was...

He was perfect.

My memory of him was slowly fading as I continued to drift further into that strange dream. The edges of his face blurred, but the warmth of his presence remained. I was beginning to feel truly at peace, until the pain slowly began to whip through my body.

Although it wasn’t a physical pain, but a psychological one. A pull, a heaviness in my chest that only deepened as I heard her voice. She was calling me.

Olivia.

"Do you remember?"

No, I do NOT remember.

I feel like an idiot; there are fragments in my head that I feel have never happened. Moments that seem to shift like sand in my memory, slipping away the harder I try to grasp them. And the act of thinking about it makes my head burn.

I felt strange, like I was nauseous, but had nothing in my stomach. A hollow ache that twisted in me, but left me empty.

That dialogue kept echoing in my head, as if I were trying to force a memory that never existed. It gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, like something half-remembered but just out of reach. It was a strange, nostalgic memory, familiar yet foreign, haunting in its ambiguity.

My mind insisted that I remembered it, but it hurt, a sharp pain that throbbed with every attempt to recall it clearly. It told me that I knew what it was, that I had lived it—but the memory never left that phase of recollection. It was like falling into Oblivion, constantly reaching, never grasping.

Our bodies danced to the rhythm of a slow song. We moved as one, laughing as we shared our sweat, lost in each other, our lips meeting in a romantic kiss that blended with our laughter. I held onto that fleeting joy, but there was something surreal about it, something that didn’t feel right. I didn’t know how she was standing, dancing with me. I never looked at the ground, never checked if we were even standing on anything real, but there she was.

She was wearing a pink dress. Provocative seemed too mild a word, but we were now in the middle of absolutely nowhere, surrounded by snow. The biting cold should have seeped into her skin, into mine, yet she didn’t seem to feel it. Shouldn’t she be cold?

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

I hesitated.

"Yeah," I finally replied, my voice uncertain, like I wasn’t sure if I was answering her or trying to convince myself.

She laughed, that light, carefree laugh, as she pressed her body against mine, bringing our mouths together once more. The kiss felt too real, too immediate, as if it was happening in that exact moment. This wasn’t a memory—it was too vivid. Was it true?

I put my arms around her. There was a strangeness in it, a mix of longing and discomfort. It felt surreal to have her in my arms again. My eyes betrayed me, filling with a sadness I couldn’t hide.

"Why did you do it, Olivia?" I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. A question that had been buried for so long, now painfully resurfacing.

She never pushed you. It was just an accident, Inco. Why are you saying that?

Make it stop.

Olivia laughed at my words, the sound light but somehow cruel. She put her arms around me again, her touch both comforting and suffocating.

"What, dummy? What are you saying?"

I had a headache that prevented me from thinking properly, the kind that blurred the lines between reality and illusion. It was annoying, a persistent throb, but slowly I began to feel the pulse pounding in my head, each beat amplifying the confusion.

She kissed me again, and when I opened my eyes, we were now on the landing of a staircase, still dancing.

There were people in the room, in the area below, figures moving in the periphery of my vision, but we had this private space to ourselves. The world below felt distant, irrelevant.

Were those really people?

They were watching us as we went about our business. But these weren’t casual, fleeting glances—they were fixed, unwavering stares, piercing through me as though they were looking right into my soul. They weren’t curious, they weren’t confused. They were focused, deliberate. All of them looking at the same thing: Me.

Olivia laughed again, the sound almost mocking, as she grabbed the jacket I had worn to the Ball that winter, smiling while I slowly swayed from side to side with the music. Her laughter rang hollow in my ears, a sharp contrast to the warmth of that memory.

"I'm afraid."

"From what?" she asked, raising a curious eyebrow, her smile never faltering.

"I want to wake up already." The words slipped out before I could even process them, heavy with a fear I didn’t fully understand.

Olivia’s smile dissolved in an instant. Her expression became cold, unreadable. Without warning, she pushed me down the stairs, and I began to fall once again.

This was no longer a dream—this was definitely a nightmare, a macabre nightmare that my mind was forming for... For what? What was it trying to tell me?

I felt as though time was slipping through my fingers, whirling past me in a blur, everything fading away, each moment vanishing into oblivion as time raced ahead at an impossible speed. The world seemed to unravel, memories slipping from my grasp as if they were being erased from existence.

It was terrifying.

I felt myself hit the bottom of the stairs. I screamed, but now I was falling again, spiraling endlessly until I landed on a hospital bed. The impact was jarring, but there was no relief, no comfort in the stillness. I couldn't move. Was it all over? Had I finally woken up?

Of course not.

Olivia stood before me. She was no longer the carefree girl in the pink dress. Her eyes were glazed over, her once colorful hair now tangled and unkempt. Her face was a mask of exhaustion, with dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in days. She looked hollow, broken, as if the weight of everything had finally crushed her.

She was lying on the floor, kneeling at the entrance to the room, staring at me. Her gaze was empty, but there was something desperate in it, something that begged for understanding.

"Answer me," she said, her voice soft, almost pleading.

She asked me with a weak and broken voice. The fragility in her tone hit me like a wave, pulling me back to a different time. It reminded me of that time, in the rain, while she was in my arms, utterly defeated.

She was completely soaked, her headband, which usually held her hair in place, was gone. Her hair now hung loose, sticking to her scales in messy, wet strands. Her breathing was shallow, labored from exhaustion, and just by glancing at her knees, I could see how torn her pants were, the fabric frayed and stained with mud.

In the room, it wasn’t just her. There was also the officer… Márquez. His presence was a silent weight in the room, watching, waiting.

Answer you. What was the question?

"I hate you."

Wait. What? What am I saying? I don't really mean that—

"You did this to me, Olivia. How do you have the nerve to come here?"

The words kept coming, spilling from my lips like venom, even though I didn't want to say them. Or... maybe part of me did. I wasn’t sure anymore.

She paled, her expression crumbling, trying desperately to find some kind of response through her broken voice.

"I-Inco, I-I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do it, really. It was an accident, I’m s-sorry." Her stammered apology felt so small, so fragile, but it couldn’t reach me.

"Accident!? Do you think this thing with my eye was an accident!?" My voice was a roar, filled with rage and pain I hadn’t realized I was carrying. "Do you... Do you think an 'I'm sorry' will fix my eye!? You've ruined my life!"

Olivia’s tears began to stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as she leaned against the door, the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Her mouth was trembling, trying to form words that never came.

"I tried to do everything for you!" My voice cracked, my own pain bleeding through the anger. "I really loved you. I gave up photography so I could work, so I could buy you the paints and canvases you wanted! I gave up the things I liked so I could support you, to give you my shoulder, but what did you do in return!?"

My chest tightened, the memories of our past clawing at me. "Did you think things would be fixed with a few kisses and a night of passion, like we did when we fought? You're a grown woman now, Olivia. You’re supposed to know better. We are—we were supposed to be—adults.

Faces I remembered materialized through the door, faces that just stared at me for seconds that felt like minutes. The Paynes. Their eyes were hollow, unblinking, their presence unnerving. Each glance weighed on me, like they knew something I didn’t.

Before I could continue screaming, everything became blurry and dark, the world around me fading like smoke. I was falling, sinking into the deepest abyss. I felt the emptiness pulling me down, cold and relentless. I wanted to wake up already—these dreams were driving me crazy.

Distant, disembodied voices were the only thing I could hear as I tumbled endlessly. It was as if I had been the one who pushed her. What had I done to deserve this? After what felt like an eternity, I got up from the ground where Olivia had thrown me earlier. I recognized it immediately, the Site. The place where everything began—the first steps of my fall, of our fall. The winter dance.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t think it was that bad."

Officer Marquez's voice echoed in the back of my head, his words carrying a weight of guilt. I could feel the remorse in them, deep and lingering.

"It's not his fault, his condition was really not the best."

A voice I didn’t recognize responded to him. The tone was calm, professional, but distant. I got up from the ground, my body heavy, disoriented, and started looking for where it was coming from.

"I still feel guilty, Doc. I started pushing the kid a little bit and saying things that... maybe I shouldn’t have said. He seemed to be in—well, stable."

They paused. I felt their eyes on me, like invisible hands gripping my shoulders.

"I insist that it is not your fault. You wanted to do your job, and I wanted to do mine. Luckily, nothing catastrophic happened because of it."

The apparent doctor cleared his throat before continuing to speak, his voice more serious now.

"It was just a bad moment. The effects of the medications began to wear off, and the Acute Stress Disorder began to eat away at his mind."

"Acute Stress Disorder? Isn’t that just post-traumatic stress?"

I kept running through the endless corridors of the building, my heart racing as fast as my legs. The walls, the floors—they were just as I remembered, but twisted, warped by my mind.

Their voices grew louder, closer, filling the air around me. I couldn’t escape them.

"They are like water and oil. Distinct, yet originating from the same source. Acute Stress Disorder is caused by a traumatic moment. With time, days maybe, he might handle it better, although I’m concerned about his delusions, and that he might end up with some kind of permanent problem," the doctor said. His voice was calm, but there was a tension underlying his words. I could hear his footsteps approaching, though I couldn’t see him. Still, I felt his gaze pierce through me, as if I were an open book.

"The medication is quite strong," he continued, "I’ve been hearing him say a lot of things these days. He’s been through hell, and yet, I consider him a lucky boy."

Lucky? "He doesn't know how much," the officer added. "His wrist bones were shattered into three, and his ribs... they almost pierced his back. He brushed the edge of death more than once. But the worst is over. Now it's just a matter of seeing how well he recovers. It’s going to be a tough few months."

At the end of the hallway, I saw a light. Desperation welled up in me. I jumped toward it, and as if it were some kind of illusion, I found myself plunging into it, falling endlessly.

I could see them now, but I couldn’t speak. My voice had abandoned me, and I felt weaker than the last time. We were in a different room now, one darker than before. There were no beeping machines, no clinical, sterile noises surrounding me this time.

There was a pendulum clock on the wall, out of place in the room's modern atmosphere, its ticking a steady, ominous reminder of time slipping away.

I hated that kind of clock. Each tick was like a whisper, a cruel reminder that with every second, life was running out. Perhaps it was my fault for adding something so philosophical to something as simple as a pendulum clock, but in moments like these, it was hard to think otherwise.

The doctor, a stegosaurus with comically large glasses, stood nearby, holding a massive stack of papers in his hands. His appearance was almost absurd, yet nothing about the moment felt funny.

Both of their gazes snapped toward me as they noticed I was awake.

"Inco?" Officer Márquez’s voice broke the silence, his tone serious. He stood up from his seat, approaching me with a firm, measured step. He cleared his throat, his hands going behind his back in a practiced motion, as if preparing to deliver something important.

I tried to speak, tried to force the words out, but nothing came. My mouth moved, but my voice was gone. Panic crept in. I felt weak—more than weak, helpless, as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me.

I couldn’t move my head, couldn’t even shift a finger. Had I become mute? Paralyzed? The weight of it pressed down on me, the silence heavier than the ticking of that awful clock.

“We gave him his painkillers a few hours ago. They're not as strong as what we've been giving him these past few days, but still, it's all a bit much. Give him some time," the nurse said quietly.

The officer smiled at me. "Welcome back to the land of the living, kid."

The doctor stepped forward, gesturing toward my hand. "You’ve been out for a few days again. Do you feel this?" He pinched my hand gently, and I winced—though I didn’t actually feel it.

"Don’t try to talk with the CPAP on. One tap is yes, two is no. Do you remember the last time you were awake?"

For the next few minutes, they bombarded me with questions. Math problems I could answer with taps, simple things like the year. My heart skipped a beat when they asked that—I'd seen a movie once where the guy thought it was 2010, only to find out it was 2050 and he'd been in a coma for 40 years. But thankfully, nothing so dramatic had happened. It had only been another four days. Four days of drifting in and out, delirious from the meds.

I’d been transferred to a general care unit now, and the officer had stayed by my side. 

I barely knew him, but there was this strange sense of guilt in his eyes. Since I didn’t have any regular visitors, he stayed with me, doing some paperwork his job had been nagging him about for days.

He seemed like a good guy.

My condition had improved slightly since my arrival. At least I wasn’t drowning in my own blood anymore. Still, my body was a mess of bandages—my arm, torso, even most of my head. They were particularly concerned with my head injury. The bruise was pretty nasty, and although the doctor had some ideas, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions until they could run more tests.

The initial danger had passed, but the doctor warned me that I still had a long road of surgeries and treatments ahead. It would be at least nine weeks before I could leave, assuming everything went well. And even then, I wouldn’t be running or jumping around—rehabilitation would be my new normal for a long while. Ocular rehab, physical rehab, pulmonary rehab... the list went on.

The good news? I hadn’t lost my eye.

But...

The doctor explained that I'd lost part of the vision in that eye. Exactly how much was yet to be determined. That news gave me some relief, though I was still worried. I had been getting used to keeping my eye closed—at least, that’s what I told myself.

After the doctor left, the officer stayed, filling me in on recent events. He mentioned talking to my boss at work, no updates from my parents, and some legal stuff that had come up. Nothing too surprising.

Oliver's case was going to be postponed until I could speak properly. I was still having trouble breathing, and my voice was hoarse. When I was in better shape, I’d testify via video conference. 

But... he didn’t say anything about the Paynes.

He started laughing, telling me about the wild things I’d said in my delirium. It had been hours, and I was finally starting to feel more awake, though the creeping pain was returning.

God, I wished I could just disappear without those painkillers.

I tried to focus, watching Eric as he mimicked my delirious actions, laughing. He was much older than me, maybe twice my age, but beneath that laughter, I saw something sad. Something about my dreams had echoed out into the real world, more than I realized.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to tell him about the dreams I had—specifically, about Olivia being in the hospital.

"I had this... God, it felt so real. Olivia was in the room. I didn’t understand anything, there were other people too, I think you were there.”

Eric's smile faded, his face growing serious as I struggled to continue.

"I screamed at her," I confessed, feeling my throat tighten with the memory. "I told her how much I hated her. I could barely speak, my throat was on fire. I said... how much I’d suffered these past years because of her. How hard I tried to be there for her, to support her, but I just—”

"Inco."

I froze, looking at the officer as he spoke my name.

"That wasn’t a dream."

Chapter Text

October 11, 2026. 

Autumn.

18:00 in the afternoon

6 days since the accident 

/Olivia/

My hands were sore, scraped, and dirty. I didn't know how long I had been spinning the wheels of my chair in the cold autumn rain.

I had to go with him.

I knew the officer regretted his words the instant he said them to me. Officer Eric had told me about what had happened to Inco, in his words, 'he had suffered a minor accident' and had become unconscious again.

I didn't want him to die without me being able to say sorry to him, directly, I DID NOT want him to die.

I didn't want his last memory of me to be me falling, I didn't want his last memory of me to be having his blood on my hands. It made me sick just thinking about it.

I felt pathetic and worthless.

I continued rolling down the hill towards the hospital. My hands were soaked with my own blood and water. It hurt, even more so with the self-inflicted wounds on my fingers. I didn't know how long I had been rolling in my wheelchair, maybe hours.

The red lights of the hospital sign were clearly visible in the distance, blurred by the rain and the darkness of the afternoon. It had been years since I had ridden my wheelchair as fast as I was doing now.

I cursed these stupid legs for everything bad that had happened to me, even though I knew deep down it was also my fault.

A guilt that I felt was getting worse and worse. Everything I knew as my world was Falling down. I felt like at any moment I would fall and never get up again.

Inevitably, I fell.

I scraped my body, my sweater was soaked and dirty from the wet dirt, my wheelchair seemed beyond repair, but it might still serve to push me a little further.

He would have gotten up, but my strength was gone, my body begged me to stop, but my head refused. I felt my pocket, hoping that what I had brought for him had not been torn even more. Luckily, it was still as it was.

I got back up, I had scraped my knees, it hurt, I wanted to cry, but...

He must be suffering more than me.

I climbed onto my chair awkwardly and fell face first onto the floor, but that didn't stop me, I got up from my misery and finally climbed onto that stupid chair that had me tied to it forever.

The wheel was dented, and every time I pulled the chair it would bounce a little, but I didn't care.

If I fell again, I would deserve it and get back up.

It was something I had brought upon myself through my stupidity and my selfishness.

As I was rolling down the hospital corridors, the nurses who were there tried to stop me, but they moved aside to avoid being run over by me. It was like in school.

I wondered where he was as I wheeled my wheelchair around. I looked at the names of the nearby areas until I found the one where Inco should be. There were huge glass windows on either side of me, somewhat blurred in the central area of ​​the glass for a bit more privacy. Although many were wide open.

There weren't so many people around anymore, although the nurses looked at me strangely, I shouldn't been here.

Some tried to get my attention but they didn't succeed, I kept looking for him blindly.

A voice I recognized came from nearby. It was Officer Eric's. His voice was barely audible through the glass, almost a whisper, but I managed to find him. I flung open the door and there he was.

I didn't think I would see him again after all. As if arriving at his room would wake me from my dream, or that because I was forbidden to come there were police officers who would arrest me for being with him like those scenes in the movies, but there was no one there except Officer Eric, who seemed to have no intention of going after me and stoping me.

My heart seemed to be crushed by the sight of his appearance, almost entirely bandaged, in a cast and connected to a a lot of machines that kept him alive. The officer's gaze rose. He didn't react, as if he seemed to be waiting for me. He was frowning and from what I could see he seemed to have been there all day, given that he had a good pile of personal belongings in his little corner, as well as a makeshift bed.

When I tried to enter I realized that my chair was not suitable for those doors, and after trying so hard I fell to the ground.

The officer stood up to try to help me, but when he saw my refusal to help him, he backed away.

He was there, lying down, he seemed to be talking but no coherent words came out of his mouth.

"I-I thought you weren't awake."

I said as I looked at him, it made me sad to see him like that, so helpless and weak.

"I don't know if calling him awake is the right word. He's daydreaming because of the amount of narcotics he has in his system. Delirium, basically."

He looked at me sideways.

"I knew you would come but not so soon, not now. I guess I should have told you later, but... I felt the need for you to know."

Something didn't feel right in the air.

"Why would you want me to come here? I'm not allowed to be here, but I don't care, I'm not going to do anything to him, and if they have to take me to jail, so be it."

"Don’t come close."

I could hear his voice after so many days. My eyes had not left his at any point during the conversation with Eric. His gaze, which I thought I had lost forever, was fixed on me, but it radiated something that I knew he was going to show. It radiated hatred.

"I-Inco..."

I answered him, swallowing hard to continue speaking. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the camera he had bought and held it out to him. My hands were shaking, it seemed like they would come off my body at any moment.

"I-I know what you're thinking, I know how much you hate me, but I just want to apologize, I'm sorry for all of this, I'm sorry for how I've made you feel, I'm sorry for all these past years, I-I..."

I looked at the floor at his complete silence, trying to find the words. I put the camera aside when I saw that he didn't seem to care, just staring at me.

"I-I really love you, I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night and I regret the words I said to you, I..."

Inco tried to speak, which made me open my eyes for a few seconds, I waited expectantly to see how he would interrupt me, but he remained silent again, so I continued.

"L-look, I... I'm not looking for you to forgive me, I just..."

Inco's face seemed to be changing, the pupil I could see from his good eye was dilating as he looked at me.

"Will you ever be able to look at me without remembering the pain I caused you?"

Everything fell silent for what seemed like minutes, but it was only a few brief seconds, during which I impatiently searched for an answer.

"Answer to me..."

I said in a muffled whisper, crawling a little towards where he was.

"I hate you."

My body paled at those words. I wasn't ready to hear them, I felt too weak and manageable. Tears began to threaten to spill out, but I really accepted it, I accepted that he hated me and that he said it to me. I just didn't want to hear it said in his voice.

"You did this to me, Olivia. How do you have the nerve to come here?"

His words were knives threatening to cut me into pieces. Really, how dare I show myself to him after what I did to him? His voice sounded hoarser and more tired as his breathing became slow and sick.

I shivered a little. I really didn't want to push him, or make him fall, I felt I had the right to hit him for those few seconds, and then...

"I-Inco I-I didn't-I didn't mean to do it really it was an accident I'm s-sorry."

I tried to excuse myself in vain. I didn't want to talk but my words wanted to come out on their own, they came out stuttering, desperate, without knowing what to say. Inco tried to sit up while his head shook, his eye seemed to be trying to release tears, it was quite wet and red. He took a breath as best he could, but he started to cough hard, causing more pain in my chest. He shouldn't be talking and if he was like that it was my fault. I could hear his breathing thanks to the mechanical ventilator, every time the ventilator took air my heart beat hard. I caused this to him.

"Accident!? You think this thing with my eye was an accident!? Do... Do you think an 'I'm sorry' will fix everything you did to me!? You've ruined my fucking life!"

Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes as I looked at him, he was now screaming at the top of his lungs. His heart rate increased, decorating that disaster of an encounter even more.

Inco took a breath before continuing and started to cough, it seemed that the device was bothering him.

He ripped the mask off his face and threw it aside, coughing out air from his damaged lungs.

"I tried to do everything for you! I really loved you. I gave up photography so I could work and buy you the paints and canvases you wanted, I gave up the things I liked so I could support you, to give you my shoulder, but what did you do in return? Did you think things would be fixed with a few kisses and a night of passion like we did when we fought? You're an adult woman now Olivia, you are- WE ARE adults."

Faces I remembered appeared through the door, faces that just stared at the disastrous situation with weakness. The Paynes.

They had rushed out when I was the first to hear the news, they tried to catch up with me but there is no way to catch up with a wheelchair going downhill. I'm sure they were just looking for me to take me home, but deep down they wanted to see him too.

They looked at Inco, their gazes crumbling by themselves at what they saw. Inco began to cough more regularly and tiredly, his heart wanted to jump out of his chest, only a groan of pain grabbed his chest and he looked away.

"And you! I trusted you and you started to push me aside! I fought for your adopted daughter while her father was doing the exact same thing as my useless family! I was the one who brought Olivia out of her shell! The one who was such an antisocial idiot until I came into her life! Ohh...Our adopted daughter is having problems with her boyfriend? What's the best thing we could do? Throw him away and hope everything works out! I really already had it! After years and fights I thought that..."

Inco looked at his hand as he breathed heavily, searching for air to continue speaking.

"It could all be fixed. I was reconciling with Olivia, no nonsense, no fuss. I thought we could be a normal couple, loving each other, I-I really did, until that stupid, pathetic Damien threw it all away. Not every couple is perfect like you and Liz, Damien!"

My body was shaking, my breathing was labored as my tears soaked the ground, I was crying non-stop as Inco yelled at the Paynes, they just stared at the ground in silence, ashamed of the words Inco dedicated to them.

In addition to the deathly silence that had remained in the room, Inco's heart rate and breathing were through the roof. He wasn't crying, but he seemed to be dizzy from the way his face was shaking.

"Olivia."

His tired voice referred to me, making me look into his eyes again. My vision was blurry except for him.

He was now distressed. I couldn't fully see his face due to the amount of bandages he had on his face, but I could tell how distressed he looked to be.

"To answer your question... So , if I let back in close, Will you hurt me?

Those words would be stuck in my head for the rest of my life. Would the cycle really repeat itself if that happened again? Would I hurt him again?

I didn't dare look at the Paynes' faces. Damien was about to fall, his gaze lost, while Inco began to shout at us again.

'Have you come here to finish the job?'

Before I was taken out of the room due to the intervention of the doctors and nurses, we could hear how much Inco hated us, and that we should go to hell. I didn't react to those words. The Paynes' gaze was lost and devastated. Damien's was lost. Mine, on the other hand, showed nothing, only sorrow due to my tearful eyes.

I climbed back up on the chair and just ran away from there again.

The views were beautiful from where I was. The sea, which was on the horizon not far from where I was standing.

The lights of the vehicles following their paths and their lives could be seen at the distance. It made me feel alone in this world. Although maybe I was just exaggerating. 

The beach was amazing in the moonlight and rain, it's been a while since I've been to one, Inco and I went once but the weather turned bad and we left. 

I'd like to blame adult life, it was like leaving school and starting to go downhill. How we were prepared to be adults in high school, but was adult life really to blame? Of course not.

There were people laughing happily, having a family to love, holding hands together, overcoming every challenge that life threw at them.

But there I was, alone, staring at the beauty of the abyss before me. The beauty of the other buildings in the distance, illuminated by the lights of the night and-

"Aren't you going to jump, Miss Olivia Halford?"

Officer Eric.  

I was on the edge of one of the streets of the city's ravines, next to a fence that fell into the sea and crashed into the stone wall.

"Is that a fucking bad joke?"

I asked without looking at him, I could smell the box of cigars he had just taken out, lighting the wick and illuminating my face with a rather large flame coming from a Zippo.

He showed some confusion until he realized.

"Sometimes I forget that you use a wheelchair. I notice people for who they are, not for their disadvantage in life."

I glanced at him, seeing his clothes soaked by the rain.

He had neither his caps nor his glasses on, so I could see his eyes illuminated by the cigarette.

"The Paynes are looking for you, they're quite worried."

"I can take care of myself."

Eric took a drag on his cigarette and leaned on the railing.

"Is that the thought that was running through your mind when you decided to 'let go' of Inco?"

I was enraged by such words that seemed only to seek to annoy me, I looked him in the eyes and frowned.

"W-what the fuck is wrong with you now?"

"Miss Halford, don't take Mr. Nito's things personally, and don't give him any weighty reasons. I've seen crack users with more lucidity. But one thing he say is quite true. You're all adults now to throw tantrums."

I let out a sigh and clenched my hands tightly, he continued talking.

"I know you already know that a simple apology won't fix things, but crying all day won't change anything, much less going to see him. I feel like it's my fault for telling you this at such a critical time like this."

"How is he?"

The officer grimaced.

"It's okay. He's a tough kid, but the nurses have banned us from visiting until further notice, even me."

He turned around and leaned his back against the railing, which was the only layer protecting him from falling down into the dark void, towards the sea that crashed against the rocks of the cliff.

"Aren't you a police officer? This should be your daily bread. I don't understand what all the interest is about."

The officer smiled and looked at his cigar with some nostalgia.

"I heard that you are a painter. Do you remember the first painting you made one?"

I thought for a few seconds at the sudden question, but I nodded without hesitation.

"If you knew that the next painting was going to be your last, wouldn't you want it to be special?"

I stood in silence looking at the sea, letting out a sigh as I reflected.

Of course, although it depends on why it will be my last painting.

"Without a doubt, yes."

The officer smiled at my answer and threw the still-lit cigarette butt over the cliff.

"Now let's say you're going to draw your last painting, but you just don't feel like drawing anymore. What will you do?"

I looked up at the cloudy sky as drops of water began to wet my face.

My last painting. My last great painting should be something that leaves a mark. It should have the same impact as someone's last words on their deathbed.

"I find it impossible to imagine that I don't feel like drawing my last painting. It's the act of leaving a mark that drives me to make the perfect painting."

The officer laughed and nodded happily.

"That's it! I'm glad to know you understand. But who are you trying to leave your mark on? Yourself? We'll be dust after we die, wherever we go, and no matter how our art turns out, we'll be proud of how far it's come. It may have its imperfections, but we just have to wait for that art to evolve on its own. Or for people to give it the meaning they see fit."

Weren't we talking about paintings?

"Are you saying that this is your last job? Are you going to retire?"

The officer gave a half-smile and looked out at the horizon.

"Do you see me looking old? I'm just going to retire early so I can spend the rest of my life with the people I love, but I haven't left that mark I've longed for yet. I want my son to be proud of me."

His face remained facing the horizon as he lowered his head and looked at me.

"You will regret forever if you fail to leave that mark, it doesn't necessarily have to be on your last job, the glass is huge and you can put many fingerprints on it."

He stepped away from the railing and held out his hand to me.

"I understand how recent and hard this must be, but you have to understand that the best thing you can do is accept it, live with the mistakes we once made, and that we will never make again. It is the children who fall again and again, not the adults, although to be honest…"

The officer looked at the Zippo still in his hand.

 “Adults can fall too, but that fall will be even bigger.”

I sighed as I looked away. It had been years since I had a conversation this deep with someone, at most a few short conversations with Alena, the one who ran the art museum, but they were only about paintings and their meaning. The last time was with my mentor, Iadakan.

"I'm afraid"

I replied with a sigh as I rested my arm on my cheek.

The officer raised an eyebrow, letting me continue speaking.

"He hates me, they hate me. I saw their faces, The Paynes must hate me, Inco will want me dead."

The officer let out a sigh.

"Only time heals things. We must not make the mistake of thinking that only with time everything will be fixed. Don't wait for the painting to paint itself, paint it yourself and wait for it to dry so you can admire it. Besides, you shouldn't break down over a guy who is up to his neck in narcotics."

He extended his hand to me for me to take. The confidence that man gave off was unparalleled, his gaze was calm and soft as he just waited for me to take his hand.

"Your parents must be worried, Olivia. Let time heal the wounds."

He was really trying, he wanted his supposedly last work to have a good outcome, and he wanted to be alive to see it.

It reminded me of Iadakan, in a way.

I took his hand to turn me around in the wheelchair, with which he offered me a blue handkerchief to wipe the tears from the rain and my eyes that were on my face.

We walked in the rain. He had offered me his old jacket to prevent my probable cold from getting worse, especially with these cold autumn temperatures.

I glanced at him as we walked back to the hospital entrance where the Paynes were waiting for me.

When the Officer arrived he took Damien with him to talk in a more remote place while I stayed with the Paynes. They were silent, although they were happy to see me again, they had been worried about me.

I felt like I didn't deserve his help in the slightest. Despite Officer Eric's words of some help, I still felt bad.

Eric had taken Damien to a bench sheltered from the rain so they could talk quietly, he didn't quite understand what his problem was, I mean...

He was willing to help more than I thought he would. Retire early so he could spend more time with his family? He was a relatively young man to retire, he would be in his late 40s, I'm not a professional, but I don't think there are people who retire that early.

It's none of my business.

Officer Eric walked back to Damien as he replaced his glasses. Damien walked past me silently, only giving me a small glance.

After saying goodbye, the officer went into the hospital to continue with Inco while the Paynes and I returned home.

Randy looked like he wanted to talk, but he choked on his own words every time he tried to open his mouth. The ride home continued in silence.

Randy was going to do some work on my wheelchair the next morning, which was a bit beat up from the falls I had had on the way to the hospital. Sophia tended to the scrapes on my arms and knees, while keeping her gaze somewhat lost.

This had affected the family quite a bit, as if they had just lost a member of their own blood.

Well, some considered it that way.

Damien and I talk.

Well, we exchanged a few words. More precisely, how we felt.

He seemed a little more cheerful after his talk with Officer Eric. He didn't give me any details, but I guess it was like mine.

He was getting nowhere, and that was something Officer Eric knew. He just advised to let it go, let time pass and decide.

It is we who have to work to heal the wounds, it is we who pull our own strings.

I've become too philosophical.

" So , if I let back in close, Will you hurt me? "

Those words that were still drilling into my head wanted to kill me. He was right, I had to change for the better.

I sank into the tub completely, staring at the ceiling. It was the first time in days that I felt somewhat neutral, although I still felt the weight of guilt on my shoulders.

I should find some kind of thing to distract myself. I didn't feel like drawing much.

October 25, 2026. 

Autumn.

2:00 p.m.

20 days since the accident.

These last few weeks have been packed to the rafters.

I had attended a preliminary hearing. Like a trial, but one of the first things to happen before the main event, so to speak.

I will be going to therapy for the next few months, all until I can go to the next trial, which will be my sentencing hearing.

I'm on probation, Inco didn't press any charges, but he did file a counter-suit against Oliver. I'll have to see a police officer every day, that was Eric. We agreed that he would take me to therapy sessions so he could write everything down to show the judge at the upcoming trial.

My first day of therapy was interesting, to say the least, and hard. My therapist was an allosaurus. Megan Thompson was a professional at her job, and she gave me a little paper to attend certain support programs that she also attended.

She seemed nice.

Eric didn't tell me practically anything about Inco, except that he only told me that he was improving. 

As for the outreach program, you went there and talked about your problems in a circle full of strangers, at least at first. I was the new one there, so everyone introduced themselves formally and talked about their problems. I didn't say much, I just listened to the others.

According to my therapist, it was normal, and as I got to know people, I could start to let go more and more.

The next few times I went, I realized how fucking messed up I had been.

I definitely had anger issues, along with a somewhat manipulative behavior. I remembered the times I would threaten Inco without even thinking about doing it. I would only let it out when I felt betrayed. When he didn't support me in something I would pull my teeth out of him, or when I felt more upset than I should have.

Perhaps if I had accepted some of the things he had told me none of this would have happened.

I tried not to feel ashamed as I thought about what a shitty partner I had been, how he had tried his best to support me as much as possible.

And I just treated him like a bag of trash.

I returned to work after weeks of not doing so. I agreed to more interviews with that interviewer and told her about my problems and life with the chair, my condition.

I wasn't entirely convinced either way. I didn't want to be known as Olivia the Crippled Painter, but... I had to do it. Accept what Inco had recommended to me.

We did some activities sometimes in those programs, we drew ourselves as we saw ourselves.

Our drawings were stored in folders, and some time later we would come back to do another drawing to see what had changed.

It was all some kind of psychological thing, I guess.

Because of my drawings and sketches that we had done there, some had idolized my art, which filled me with confidence.

Although deep down I felt the same way I've always felt when people thought something about my art.

Grief.

Damien was also going to therapy with Liz. She didn't want her future husband to look bad in the photos of their upcoming wedding.

I was a little envious of them, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy that they are a happy couple.

I was worried about Damien. Since what happened, he's not the guy he used to be, charismatic, goofy, smiling. None of that. Whenever he came by the house, he'd just stare at his plate in silence and try to avoid me.

When I confronted him, he kept asking me for forgiveness. He almost got down on his knees. He had a huge weight on his chest that he had not been able to get off his chest with therapy, since it was a matter between me and Inco.

He felt guilty. He felt guilty about everything that had happened. He felt guilty about having fought with Inco that summer. He felt guilty about having slowly pushed him aside. He missed their late night get-togethers for juice and pizza in the moonlight. It was like a quiet moment where they could talk about their lives.

And according to him, he screwed up.

He didn't know that things had been improving these last few days with Inco. At first I tried to support him, I tried to keep him from feeling bad, to show him that we were all partly to blame for what had happened.

But Inco planned to propose to me that same day, in front of the family, those summer days where our relationship took the next step when we were in our last year of high school.

He was really ready to take the step, a step that terrified him.

Starting a family.

That's when everything started to spill over, and at the climax Damien threw the ring away.

While Damien was crying inconsolably, I remained completely silent. I had no words to describe...

Imagine how much would have changed if Damien had just kept quiet.

There were things that needed to be improved, that was for sure, but we were really on the verge of being able to start a new stage in our relationship. After something as stupid as a kiss and a hug, our relationship was starting to improve, and when it was about to move to the next level, that bastard...

I need a break.

October 25, 2026. 

Autumn.

6:00 p.m.

20 days since the accident.

//Inco//

Our hands were intertwined in a gentle dance, she was sitting in her wheelchair wearing the most beautiful wedding dress I had ever seen. I was staring totally enthralled into her grey eyes, which pierced my gaze like a harpoon. We were exhausted, even though we were at home. Repeating once again our dance that we had at our wedding. She had such a beautiful smile. It was incomparable.

She pulled back a little and looked at me defiantly, wearing a smile as big as it was beautiful.

"Keep your eyes on me, Inco."

She was doing it, she was getting up as best she could, moving the wheelchair away from her so she could have more confidence in herself. She was helping herself thanks to her tail, but...

Slowly she was beginning to give in, she was too tired from that glorious day that had become the best day of our lives.

Before she fell I picked her up in my arms, her face looked a little sad.

"I...I thought I could..."

I immediately denied it.

"That was amazing Olivia! We are exhausted from this wonderful day, it is the best day of my life. You could have killed me with excitement! When we are more rested we can try again."

She was indifferent but seemed to accept it with a rather broad smile. We just had to get better at it.

My legs started to shake just like hers did when she tried to get up, starting to give way and finally I fell to the floor with Olivia on top of me. She after making sure I was okay started to laugh, looking at me with her cute smile, still with our wedding clothes on. 

She was beautiful.

I really loved her, that woman had won my heart just as I had won hers. I will be totally delighted to spend the rest of my life with her.

I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but the words wouldn't come out just by thinking them. It was our wedding night, we were now husband and wife...I found the words and tried to say them.

"When I tell you to sit on my face, don't put only 10% of your body weight on it."

What the fuck am I saying?

"Fucking sit down, like a chair. Don't ask if I can breathe. Just sit down."

The realization that this was all nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, woke me up.

I opened my eye and stared at the ceiling. I should stop thinking about her. I've been here for about...3 weeks almost? 

I looked down at my hand, now wrapped in a rigid brace. I had recently had surgery where the doctors had to reattach the broken bone fragments in my wrist with metal plates and screws. They explained to me that it was the only way to stabilize everything.

Frustration and hope mix every time I try to move my fingers slightly, it hurts as if I had just put them back together. Rehabilitation will be long and painful, I know. I'm not sure if I'll ever regain full functionality, but I'll do whatever it takes.

I am able to speak more often and without problems and they have been reducing the intensity of the respiratory support.

It hurt to breathe at times, but the medication kept me pain-free. When it hurt, my lungs felt like I was drowning in boiling oil. Compared to my first few hours, it was a big change. Now, my blood was running through my veins, not wanting to escape.

Officer Eric was talking to his son outside. They were arguing, as was normal from what he had been observing these past few days.

It seemed like a common thing, he would call him to ask how he was and they would argue until one of them hung up.

I just stayed in my world, I thought about everything, I thought about myself, I thought... I didn't want to think about her.

The voice of Dr. Marcus, my doctor, caught my attention, making the stegosaurus look through huge circular glasses. 

He sat down on one of the chairs that had been prepared in advance for previous visits. This time he had a clipboard, it was going to be something big.

"I have come to give you the reports on your condition, Mr. Nito."

The doctor began to flip through the pages of his clipboard before beginning to speak, seeing that I silently agreed for him to continue.

"First things first. Your lung is showing signs of improvement and shouldn't collapse any further. So we can eliminate that risk of future problems. Ribs don't seem to be bothering him much after adding the plates and screws. It will still hurt to breathe and that's probably why, but it doesn't seem like there are any aggravating problems."

The doctor paused briefly.

"Your arm surgery was a success, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to juggle with your arm after you get out of here. You'll need to go through a lot of recovery before your arm can be useful again. Next week we'll need to take the bandage off your face so we can see your eye and head. We'll need to see how much vision you've lost before we can begin your rehabilitation. Speaking of your head, we have news of a head contusion."

The doctor cleared his throat as Officer Eric appeared through the door to sit in his seat.

Dr. Marcus put down the clipboard and stared at me. He had it memorized.

"You have a trauma on the right side of his skull. This type of brain injury has caused damage that affects some of your brain functions."

I arched an eyebrow as I brought my hand to my bandaged head.

"But...I feel fine taking this off"

Pointing to my eye, the Doctor continued speaking.

"They affect your personality. You can be laughing with joy and within seconds you'll start crying without knowing why. Dreams that change lanes every second, memories that have never happened, memory loss... Luckily, and in principle, none of this is permanent. Although I must warn you that each case is unique, Mr. Inco. So I can't promise anything."

I fell silent as I stared at the ceiling.

I was fed up with this condition. Dreaming about Olivia, dreaming about things that haven't happened and forgetting about many others. I just wanted it to end.

I let out a sigh as I looked somewhere else, the window.

The day was cloudy, nothing new. Volcadera was a place that took the weather seriously. In winter? It snowed every day. In autumn? It rained. In summer it burned my skin. And spring was mild.

I like spring, I can't burn my bald head.

The dreams where I appeared falling were frequent, but Olivia was more often in them. Dreams that seem like past moments that have never happened.

I dreamed that it was the winter of my senior year and she was beautiful. Like a queen.

I dreamed that I was the one pushing Olivia down the stairs.

I dreamed that I was the one falling down those stairs.

Sometimes I would wake up in sheer panic after falling again. You know that feeling when you fall in your dreams and wake up? Your heart would pound like never before, as that feeling would stay for what seemed like hours as I fell into the abyss, unable to wake up.

Sometimes I felt no attachment to life and other times I cried inconsolably for having miraculously survived. I remembered the scene of my fall and the sheer terror on Olivia's face.

Eric's voice caught my attention as I looked at him. The doctor had left without me noticing.

"I don't know if that means the trial will be postponed again. The court is putting a little pressure on me to proceed with the trial."

I frowned as I heard about that trial again.

"I'd forgotten about that stupid thing. Shouldn't it be something relatively simple? I thought there was enough evidence to get away with it."

Officer Eric looked away and smiled a half smile.

"Oliver Hargrove. Son of Senator Jonathan Hargrove. A high-class brat who is hand-fed."

That explains how weak he was. He's not streetwise. Eric continued.

"Let it be between you and me, kid. I know how fucked up the world of politics is. Many upper classes are rotten inside and will do anything to have power. In your case... You were unlucky to meet daddy's son. Although I think he does it out of mere pride."

"But that bastard was supposed to be just some random interviewer Olivia met at work."

"And yes, he's just another interviewer who any famous person will let them interview him because of who his father is. I thought you knew that."

"Halford didn't tell me. She couldn't care less who whose father is. She spoke to me about him as if he were an interviewer who understood her."

Eric smiled and laughed.

"I don't think even whores want it."

I giggled and looked away.

"So it's a complicated situation."

Eric scratched the back of his neck as he took a swig of Bourbon.

"Well, sort of. The judges aren't going to be bought off since they have a lot to lose. They make good money just by sitting, listening, and swinging their gavel. It's all about the witnesses and their lawyers."

"Then I'm screwed."

I replied with a frown.

"Well, Damien and Olivia are going to be on the other side of you. But they're going to testify against Oliver. They're the most important witnesses in the trial. Those two are doing a good job with their stuff."

I don't really care.

I thought to myself but I had whispered it, Eric looked at me sideways and cleared his throat.

"I know what they did to you was wrong, but they can always change. Time will heal the wounds."

"Well, I still don't quite understand why you care so much about what's going on between us. You should take care of your own problems first."

He pointed his phone, realizing that I was referring to his son whom he was arguing with.

He looked away and stared out the window for a few seconds.

"I just don't want you to make the mistakes I made with my wife."

I grumbled silently as I let out a sigh, my brow furrowing.

"Did your wife throw you down the stairs?"

Eric shook his head and rested his fist against his cheek.

"No, but we argued once and that was the last time I saw her. I wanted to apologize to her even though she was at fault, but it was too late and well, the dead don't listen to apologies."

"I'm sorry."

I said lowering my head as Eric looked at me and smiled, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"It was years ago, my son blames me for it sometimes. I tried everything I could to get over it with him but he just hated me for it."

I frowned as I gathered myself together. My ribs ached but I didn't care.

"You're a shitty father, Nikolas Erickson."

He looked at me in surprise and looked away in distress.

"You did everything wrong that my parents did. Do you really think that with an apology, a little time, and presents, everything could be fixed? I haven't seen you go out with him even once in the past few weeks. Did you do that when he was younger?"

He just remained silent.

"You remind me of my parents. They worked all day while I was left alone. I kept changing schools and friends. They didn't support me in my most vulnerable times. We moved cities all the time because of their work. I can't remember the last time I talked to them! I could be dead and they wouldn't even know. You know that firsthand."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get the fuck out of here! Go be with your family, stop drinking that stupid cheap alcohol."

I grabbed the bottle of bourbon from his hands and slammed it down on the nightstand beside me.

"If you love him, don't become my parents."

Eric looked at me sideways as I practically kicked him out, waving my arm to signal the exit.

"I'll be fine, I'm an adult, put your family first dammit. You're a good man Nikolas Erickson, if you're looking for some kind of redemption by wanting to help me, help yourself and your son first."

The officer stared at his feet. He looked up and shook my hand.

"Don't be dramatic, I'm not going to move from here and you still have to help Halford, Eric. Come by when you take the first steps with your son."

The officer took the most important things and called his son to talk to him, leaving after saying a few more words to me.

"Think about what I told you, Inco."

Yes, of course I will think about it, I have enough time to do it. Just me and my evil side of my head that wanted to make me cry, hate and suffer.

I actually didn't want to do it but tears were already running down my eye. I no longer felt pain in the other eye which made me happy, more or less.

Let him think about what you told me...

Your arrogant thinking about certain things has brought you to where you are. Thinking that your son would never forgive you and you wanted to try to do him a favor by not making the same mistakes on my part.

The thing is, I've made those mistakes before, I've yelled at the Paynes how much I hated them and I guess they got the message.

Did he really hate them to such an excessive extent?

Not really, but my chest pain was still there.

In the end I did Eric a favor, although I feel that he has already done more than enough to help me. Now it is up to me to face this. To be the one to talk to and reflect on my own problems. I will not have Eric's ongoing support, but again, I don't care.

I must only look out for myself and only myself from now on.

I reached for the nightstand, where the cracked camera I had bought the day of the accident was. Olivia had brought it for me days ago, though I don't remember seeing her, it was just a dream to me.

The camera was useless.

But it was a memory.

But, a memory for what?

When I looked at the camera I felt so many feelings. Sadness, nostalgia, anger, I even felt like my lungs were burning when I looked at the camera. My head was playing tricks on me, but I really wanted to hold onto the camera until I knew what the true feeling was when I looked at it.

It reminded me of my days with the camera. It reminded me of those high school days with Olivia. It reminded me of my fall, and it reminded me of old Inco who wasn't with us.

Sometimes I felt naked even without my glasses, although Eric promised me that when they took the bandage off my head he would give me some.

That same night I dreamed about her again.

I really wanted it to stop, although nothing too strange happened in this dream. We were just cuddling on the couch, in silence while enjoying each other's company.

It was the first dream that had been relatively normal, and although I would like to feel that way someday, I know it wouldn't happen. In the last almost 4 years that we were together, we had very few moments alone. 

In the sense of us relaxing on the couch, holding hands together, giving each other affection without saying anything else.

There were no words to describe that feeling.

I would like to do it with her, holding hands while we are covered from the cold of late autumn, watching the rain hitting the window of our room.

Just thinking about the rain made me gag now.

As much as I want her away from me, I feel alone, with a great weight on my shoulders that threatens to simply sink me into misery, into the abyss from which I wanted to escape.

The pain was coming back, it seemed like the pills were starting to wear off, giving way to the excruciating pain I felt in my torso, but the worst was my arm. I felt sharp stabbing pains, as if my nerves were freezing and being pricked all at once.

I pressed the button to call a nurse to give me some IVs or medication but it seemed like no one would come after a few more presses.

The pain increased with each passing second until my gaze settled on the bottle of Bourbon.

Bingo.

I brought my hand with some pain to the bottle and dropped it into my lap, lifting it up to look at the glass.

Call this cheap alcohol? Remove the screw with difficulty and stick the mouth on the glass of the bottle.

My throat burned, of course, the taste was so strong that I barely had any flavor at all. Eric would take a sip from time to time, but he didn't do it like I was doing.

I just wanted the pain to go away.

And damn it he did.

My thoughts became blank as my body seemed to feel relaxed. There were no negative thoughts, and if there were I didn't give them any importance. Aside from the bad taste in my mouth and how much my throat hurt from how strong the drink was, the effect the drink left behind was comforting.

Like a warm hug on a freezing cold day, I hid the bottle under the covers and just decided to lie more comfortably in my hospital bed.

It was going to be a long road. But I was sure I would make it.

The tears stopped falling from my face as my vision began to blur. This was better than narcotics.

Chapter Text

November 5, 2026. 

Autumn.

7:40 p.m.

31 days since the accident.

//Inco//

It had been a few minutes since I was playing with the empty bottle of Bourbon. It no longer contained that liquid that burned so much but that soothed my physical and emotional pain. I turned the bottle from side to side while thinking. About my things. About my life. About my situation.

These autumn days had been tough, it had rained non-stop day after day. There was no respite for a measly ray of light. Usually I would be glad, since I liked to listen to the rain for hours, but this time it was different.

Since the fall, the rain has seemed to me to be something alien to what I usually thought of it. I did not enjoy it, and if I could avoid it, all the better.

It was as if I now held a certain resentment towards the rain as if it were the cause of what had happened to me, something that I had always liked and found relaxing had now been reduced to a distant look.

I placed the crutch in the corner of the room and lay down, being very careful not to hurt my torso. I was able to walk a little before I felt tired and sore. My condition was deemed optimal for me to begin walking around my room.

I had no idea how much I would enjoy going to the bathroom, although it was quite difficult because of the pain in my torso. There I looked at my face, with some light scratches on it. They had already removed the bandages from my face, and now all that remained was the one on my eye and my head.

I hadn't shaved and already had some beard, although I could now feel the sockets that were now under my eyes.

I wasn't staying up late thinking, I was just falling asleep now because of the alcohol I'd been drinking, although I think that feeling will come back at any moment.

Now with nothing to think about or put into my mouth I was bored. I had realized that a whole month had passed and I had only been lying in bed the whole time. Well, I don't remember the first few days, and when I was awake Eric was there.

Now I have no one to talk to. Eric had stopped by a couple of times and stayed to talk to me and ask for advice on how not to be like my parents. Ironic.

I usually tend to think that adults are wise and intelligent.

Some are, but we are living beings, we tend to make mistakes. 

I would like to ask for a book or something so I wouldn't get bored in this place. I was a little longing for the warmth of the outside, the rays of the sun hitting my face and the gentle breeze of the wind.

I need to improve my condition in order to walk and get some fresh air on the hospital's outdoor terraces.

I received a couple of calls from coworkers and my boss from the phone that Eric had offered me. My boss congratulated me on the quick recovery I've been having, as if it were a way of telling me that when I'm well I'm going to jump right into work.

They know how diligent I have been in their work and that I am an important figure there, not because of my position, but because of my tireless work and the extra hours I put in for Olivia.

I have called her by her last name on many occasions, but it feels more alien to her than her name.

I wish I could have seen their faces when I told them I was leaving my job.

I've had plenty of time to figure out what I should do after I get out of the hospital. Focusing on myself means doing what I like and what I do well for me. That means I want to be a professional photographer.

I actually used to see it as a hobby, but the more I look at my broken camera, the more I refuse to let my passion for photography fall to pieces.

It's something that won't happen.

Dr. Marcus's voice brought me out of my head as he gestured for me to squeeze his hand as hard as I could.

I had just remembered, I was in physical therapy and I was in my own head. I had a slight headache and I couldn't hear well, that same morning I had finished the bottle of alcohol which I had hidden so that no one could see it.

I felt strange drinking, it's something I had never imagined I would feel, although I didn't know how to feel about it. It's not that I'm going to become an alcoholic, it just eases my pain and doesn't make me have nightmares.

I clenched my hand like the doctor asked, it felt strange, I had seen pictures of my arm and it looked so bad I thought I would lose it, but to be fair, it would be hard to gain feeling back in this arm. I wouldn't be able to grip objects like I used to, but thanks to some gadgets I could make my arm more or less functional.

It hurt to make a fist, even though I couldn't close it completely. We started with some basic exercises, such as grasping large, light objects, but then something heavier, and then thinner objects like a wooden stick.

In addition to my hand exercises came exercises dealing with walking. My walking was not too affected, and what hurt the most when walking was the wound on my thigh, the deep wound that seemed to be healing. Of course, being able to walk did not mean that I could walk for very long, or that I could bend over. In fact, I could not sit down yet.

It really made me feel bad to see the state of my arm. If I was going to be completely useless I would rather have it removed and a prosthetic fitted, I could feel the pain they felt when I pushed a little. My thumb was not so badly affected as the fingers I had no feeling. I could grab things with it if I was lucky, but not as nimbly as I could before.

It was just a matter of waiting to see the results.

It was the moment.

Marcus was removing the bandages that covered my eye. I had been waiting for this moment for weeks to get that thing off my face that was bothering me so much.

The bandage was soaked with blood and it was also wet, obviously from my tears that had occasionally been running down my cheeks at random times of the day. Sometimes I felt bad about not feeling any emotion at certain periods of the day, it was terrifying to wake up and feel indifferent to the situation. I don't want this to become permanent.

After giving me a general look, the doctor cleared his throat and allowed me to go into the bathroom so I could look at my eye.

Nice scar, Inco. I'm sure the girls will like to hear your story of how you got it. Fighting a big Giganotosaurus.

To think that Olivia could bite my arm off and she was a Baryonyx, I couldn't imagine anything bigger and more terrifying.

I was trying to come up with jokes and some way to make myself feel better about seeing myself in that situation, seeing a scar that covered my entire eye almost reaching my ear.

My eye was not the same color as it had always been. It had some color but it was almost gray. It was still quite red and sore, a little blood stained even. My vision was blurry from that side of my eye. Dr. Marcus told me that I would be able to see a little better when some extra time had passed and I didn't have the newly healed wound. He gave me a quick test to see how much vision I had lost, and he roughly said it would be between 50 and 70%, but he was sticking with the 50% number.

I asked the doctor to leave me alone for a few minutes, which he agreed to do by simply re-bandaging my eye and leaving.

I let out a gasp of pain. Not physical, I really needed it.

I needed to cry, to let out what I hadn't done for weeks. To cry for the situation that had happened to me that Olivia had caused. I lay on my back on my bed, resting my hands on my chest as tears fell down my face. I felt my heart pounding.

I brought my hands to my face to feel the scar Olivia had left behind, I could feel it under the bandages. It was deep and stung when I touched it, making me feel all over that part of my face.

I let out a deep sigh, I needed to calm down, I took the laptop that Eric had left me days before that was on the nightstand and put it on my lap. I would use that laptop to be in the trial from the chamber. I began to review one by one the documents that Eric had given me on behalf of the lawyer who would help him in my case, as well as a few pieces of evidence that could contradict me in one way or another.

The trial was scheduled for November 20th, in less than a few weeks. Eric told me to calm down, and I was actually feeling calm until this morning.

Sometimes I think, What if I lose the trial? Will I go to jail? Eric has told me several times that that won't happen, but I still felt strange.

I think it was the fact of seeing her there.

I wasn't going to talk to her at all, it wasn't going to be necessary, but it still made me nervous just thinking about it.

I used the laptop to avoid getting bored, even though I didn't like what was on Snootube.

Instead I looked at photography courses, the tutorials seemed too simple to me and seemed like they were tutorials for new people even when they said they were for professionals.

There were paid courses, even a photography university outside the city of Volcadera that I could access.

Maybe I could start a new life, try to be the Inco I used to be, make new friends, and...

It would definitely be extremely expensive, but it was a sacrifice I would have to make if I wanted to become what I always wanted to be.

I had to be diligent, look out for myself and no one else. Friends? None of that, instead of going out to after-school arcades, going out for drinks, or going to someone's house, I could be working and studying even harder to be the person I've always really wanted to be.

Someone who has a good rating with the public.

Someone the public admires and likes.

I've let myself be pushed around too much these past few years, too much. These past 4 years have been a total waste of time and money, I felt like my head hurt just thinking about it, and I didn't understand the exact reason.

A movement from the doorway caught my attention. 

Those pink scales, brown hair raised on his head, emerald eyes and a worried look slowly approached me. He was wearing his Kimono.

I didn't want the boy to see me like this. Lying in bed with a cast on my arm, reddish bandages around my head and a bandage covering my eye, with claws decorating my face.

Vinny hesitated a little as he approached as if he were 4 years old. But he was an ‘adult’ and he knew that.

The boy came over to stand in front of my bed and rested his hands on the railings, looking at every wound on my face.

"Hi Inco"

Vinny pointed out in a near whisper as he looked into my undamaged eye.

He was shy despite his open personality like his brother.

Brother whom I could see outside, sitting with his hands on his face, thinking.

"Hello dwarf, I haven't seen you in a while."

"Since the barbecue in the summer when you had a fight with Damien."

I cleared my throat as I let out a soft sigh.

His gaze was somewhat glazed. He felt sorry to see me in that state, and so did I.

He was the only one I hadn't had any problems with, neither had the Paynes, but they did let themselves be influenced a little by Damien that night.

I felt strange, I had sworn so many times to hate the Paynes that I had never considered whether he was included.

Of course not.

I brought my hand to his hair and ruffled it a little as he formed a small smile, more confident to continue the small talk.

"What happened to you? It looks like a monster attacked you."

Yeah...About that...

"Well, what have they told you about what happened to me?"

His face became thoughtful.

"Nothing really... You had an accident."

I could become that kind of person who would talk shit about others, and with Vinny's age it would be even easier to influence him.

I could tell him what happened and who knows what he would start thinking about Olivia and the others from an early age.

I remained silent for a few seconds, trying to keep my mouth from failing in the slightest.

"Yeah, I just fell and...spun around like a top down the stairs."

He was young but not stupid, as he looked at me strangely, pointing at my scar.

"Can stairs scratch?" 

"Well... you'd be surprised."

I pointed at him with a wide smile as he frowned and crossed his arms.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell ya..."

Will the monster technique work? Maybe he's one of those 12-year-olds who would believe it, but he was very clever, to be Damiend’s brother…What if I told him it was a burglar? I was struggling and boom! 

"Olivia did this to me. But she didn't mean to! When I was falling she tried to catch me and she accidentally did this to my eye. But my eye is fine! it will recover."

That was the first thing that came out of my mouth. It was a white lie, and when you think about it, it wasn't really a lie either.  At all.

I remembered her trying to hold my hand before falling. She let out a scream of despair and panic as she just watched me fall into the void without being able to do anything.

Even at that moment, my last memories of the fall, I still kept thinking about how beautiful she was, her beautiful eyes, her beautiful hair, her…

Take it easy. Don’t over think.

I would never have imagined myself waiting for the same thing to happen to her as to me until I dreamed about it.

She had been the one who had fallen down the stairs in her wheelchair, she was the one who was going through my situation but...

She didn't wake up.

As much as I hated the Paynes for what they'd done to me, as much as I hated Olivia for what she'd done to me, I didn't wish upon them the same thing that had happened to me.

I had a crisis and drank the last of the alcohol to calm down after that dream.

I almost threw up after dreaming about it, even now I feel nauseous just thinking about it. Maybe they should pay for what they did, that's true. But I don't think they'll go that far.

Although I think the debt has already been settled knowing the status of all of them.

Vinny's voice brought me out of my head as I looked back at him.

"So why did Olivia hurt her nails?"

He asked while motioning to his fingers. Why would Olivia have damaged nails?

"What do you mean Vinny? She hurt her nails?"

Just thinking about it gave me an answer, which was on my face. I touched my face gently, painfully feeling the scar that her claws had left on my face.

"She did that to herself because she hurt you right?" 

Vinny asked clenching his fists, indeed she had, but she didn't want to-

"That's likely, Vinny, but she didn't mean it...SHe didn't mean it with any malice. Human skin is quite sensitive... As you know very well."

I said through clenched teeth remembering the times we had played hockey in the yard.

"I know, humans run slower, they are weaker in strength and endurance. They don't have tails or-"

"Hey hey, stop disparaging my kind, dwarf. We have our own strengths."

Vinny smirked a little and played with his hands a little on the hospital bed.

"For example?"

I had had this exact conversation with her when we first started living together. She, Olivia. She was making fun of humans and was a little racist, which I found odd since she was with me. Just jokin’ around i guess. She was making fun of scaleless people like us.

I explained to her that because we sweat we have a greater capacity for endurance and that even if we are not as fast as a Trodon, we can catch up with it because we can run longer.

I remember that Olivia was fascinated by this fact about humans, and wanted to put it to the test immediately.

Needless to say, how.

I looked away as I searched for an answer until I just shrugged and shook my head at Vinny.

"I can't think of anything, but trust me, we are an interesting race."

Vinny laughed as he followed my gesture for him to sit in the chair next to me. My gaze occasionally drifted to Damien's blurry silhouette behind the glass. I could more or less make out what he was doing, and I could more or less see that he was listening to us since the door was slightly open.

Vinny and I talked for a while as if I might talk to someone young like him until he started nodding off a little in his seat.

He was tired from the Karate or Judo session he was doing.

When he fell asleep in the chair and the room became completely silent, I turned my gaze to the door.

Vinny had been talking to me about Olivia non-stop. I guess it's good that she's feeling a little better, I don't know what she's been through either, but she seems remorseful.

That of course won't change anything, other times she has shown remorse when she almost scratched me in one of our arguments, seeing is believing.

Everyone deals with grief as they wish, but I am more or less overcoming it.

I looked away from the trash can and looked at my arm in a cast.

"Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

Normally I would assume that my fall affected my awareness of the presence of what was going on around me when I was in my head, but that has been going on for years.

It seems impossible that more than half a year has passed without us having a proper conversation. Yes, I saw him again at the accident, but it was not a conversation like the ones we used to have.

His emerald eyes were fixed on me, while he kept a certain distance from the door.

I glanced at him, holding his gaze for a few seconds before answering.

"I didn't see the need to make things worse."

I replied as I tried to stand up, grabbing the crutch that helped me walk. I wasn't going to be in bed all shit to talk to him.

He looked away slightly, his gaze still somewhere between uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"What have you come for?"

Damien clenched his fist as he pointed at Vinny sleeping.

"He wanted to see you."

There was something else.

Damien stood still as the rays of the sunset began to fade from the window, dazzling Damien a little, but he didn't seem to care.

"I've read your 500 apologies messages, Damien. I'm not the president to beat around the bush. Stop making excuses."

He let out a sigh as he reached into his pocket, walking a little until he was a few steps away from me.

"I...Inco really so-"

I interrupted him.

"Enough of the apologies. They've burned the word so much that I doubt I'll ever feel anything in it again."

Damien seemed to break down for a few moments.

"I-I don't know what to do. I want to somehow fix the mess I've made but I just don't-"

He was left with a lump in his throat as he tried to find the words.

"I'm useless"

This somehow felt like those times when we would go to the roof of the Payne house and talk for hours. Only this time there was no root beer, no rooftop to relax on and certainly no laughter to accompany the sunset. It was just heartbreak.

"Time, Damien. Time."

Damien looked away and let out a sigh, walking over to me and taking his hand out of his pocket, showing me a ring.

"Are you going to propose to me at a time like this?"

I managed to say with a certain humor, sketching a smile. It came out of me on its own, as if...

Damien gave the first rueful smile I'd seen in a long time.

"This belongs to you. I've been... these last few weeks looking for it in the garden. I found it yesterday. Hey... why didn't you tell Liv?"

“Tell Liv?”

I looked at him strangely.

"The ring."

I frowned.

“Really Damien? You and the Paynes told me not to tell her. I was going to but she and I had an argument and I just stopped caring.”

"I'm sorry…"

He handed me the ring with a sad face, it was undoubtedly the ring I had bought for Olivia.

I liked the design. It was gold with little Sapphires around it, but the tip of the cherry was the engraving of a feather It had.

I played with the ring a bit before looking at Damien and handing it back to him. He looked at me with a confused and puzzled face.

"W-what does this mean? This is yours, it's expensive and it doesn't look like you wanted to give it to Olivia."

I gritted my teeth and refused once again.

"I don't give a shit about this ring, it's expensive, give it to her, she needs it more than me. The poor girl can barely pay the rent, thanks to me she-"

I remained silent before what I was going to say, looking away.

Damien looked at the ring and hesitated a little.

"I-Inco if that's the case you should be the one to give it to her. She really needs it, she's mad at me after I told her…"

"There's no need."

Damien thought for a moment and nodded in defeat, putting the ring in his pocket with a sad face.

"It's okay I..."

He tried to speak but remained silent, he seemed to be collapsing again.

"I really-"

"Shut up"

He continued to turn a deaf ear to what I told him.

"I'm sorry. I really regret doing that that day, Inco, I really do, I-I'm such a fucking idiot."

Damien trembled a little, he tried to get closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder, but with a slap on his hand I pushed him away from me, showing with my foot the distance I wanted him to have.

He looked sad about it, but just accepted it, looking like he was getting weaker, as his head was more downcast.

"What the fuck made you change your mind Damien? Even after the fight you showed no signs of wanting to change. Of wanting to apologize to me for what you did to me by throwing the ring when I gave it to you."

Damien swallowed hard.

"I wanted you to break up with Olivia, to- to protect her. Even then, do you think marrying her could have made it work? I didn't know you two were working on your relationship, but I probably would have anyway. What changed me was her. When she almost threw herself after you as you fell, searching for you. Hearing her say how much she loved you in total shock made me know that she really did love you and... How stupid I was. Being in the ambulance and watching you suffer, watching your life slowly slip away from me without being able to do anything, it made me remember all those times together and I just..."

He knelt down and tears began to flow from his eyes.

"I didn't want to lose you. Damn... I wanted you to be the best man at my wedding, to be the one to take our photos..."

I looked away.

“Yes, it would have been an honor.”

He started to get nervous remembering those moments that I didn't remember, he raised his gaze and grabbed my shirt tightly.

His tears fell from his face more freely.

"I-Inco please! Forgive me... No, don't forgive me, forgive them, I am the cause of all this!"

"Damien, shut up! or you'll wake Vinny up!"

I yelled in a whisper as I tried to push de Dino away from me, pulling him and feeling him tug at my shirt. My chest began to ache as did my legs from his weight on my lap.

"Damien, I swear if that stupid drool of yours touches me, I'm going to...!"

Damien's face lit up for a few seconds as he looked into my eyes with a pleading expression.

“Punch me” 

He stopped to stare at me, starting to look at him strangely. I felt my fist clench and I stared at him. Was I really going to do that?

“Inco please give me back the blows I gave you, I deserve them, t-that way we can both be at peace a-and…”

His pleading look faded when he saw my face.

Disgust.

"I'm not like you, Damien."

This sank him even further, staring at the ground in defeat as his body trembled.

I watched as Vinny slowly opened his eyes, so I gently kicked Damien up.

He apologized once more before saying goodbye. Vinny looked surprised, but with a small smile on his face he waved me goodbye.

I sighed heavily, my torso aching from the grip, but I didn't care.

I watched the sunset end like I used to do with Damien sometimes, only now I was totally alone, with only the sunlight slipping away from my sight. I leaned against the window but felt something in my still closed palm.

It was the ring.

That bastard had slipped it into my hand without me noticing, I guess he didn't think they deserved that, or he wanted me to give it to Olivia myself.

I won't see her again, Damien.

I returned to my bed after making sure there would be no more unexpected visitors, closing the door and lying down on it. Did Damien really want me to punch him?

I wasn't going to do it, not with Vinny there, but if Vinny hadn't been there...

At that moment I felt a rage wanting to consume me but I didn't let it out. I wasn't going to hit my best-...Damien.

I fell asleep in my thoughts, feeling the pain in my body slowly begin to assault me ​​with the desire to make it hurt even more. It will be a long night.

November 18, 2026. 

Autumn.

18:00 in the afternoon

44 days since the accident.

It's been about 2 weeks.

 In 2 days is the Trial.

I asked Eric to give me some clothes to be more comfortable, since at night I was starting to feel a little cold due to these stupid hospital clothes. 

He bought me something, even though I didn't want him to pay for it, but he just smiled and handed me the clothes. They were warm house clothes, they looked like pajamas, but they were a fitted gray sweater that was quite padded and some rather large pants. He also bought me some gloves and a woolly hat, although I will wear the hat more than the gloves.

It's a pretty nice gesture on his part.

He came by a couple more times to check on me and was happy to finally see me walking. Although he tried to hide it, I noticed a certain strangeness in his face, he looked tired, although I didn't give it much importance, I guess he must be filling out a lot of paperwork due to his early retirement.

While it was true that I was cold, the reason was another.

It hurt to walk but I didn't care, and it was hard to breathe, but I had to get used to it if I wanted to improve my situation. I had been preparing for this moment, walking long distances. From one street to another, basically.

The pills seemed to have stopped working or were starting to come in smaller doses, which I hated every time they lowered the dose.

My body ached from the nights and the cold, and now I was looking for a way to relieve the pain and the cold that had been bothering me so much.

I was walking in the middle of the autumn night, in my warm clothes on my way to the nearby gas station. Those were 24/7, and they would have a variety of things to buy.

Without much difficulty I bought the largest bottle of whiskey I could find. It did smell a bit strong, but I didn't care.

Hiding such a large bottle would be a problem, so I just changed the packaging to make it "Juice".

Before leaving the gas station where I was, I saw a pair of glasses in the shop window. They were aviator glasses, black with silver touches on the lining. They were cheap, but I had stopped caring about wearing expensive items a while ago.

Putting on the glasses definitely lifted a weight off my shoulders, they weren't my original glasses but I felt it was time for a change. I looked at myself in the mirror in the shop window and smiled widely, it was the first time I had smiled to myself in front of a mirror in months. It was an honest smile.

I finally decided it was time to go to the hospital.

I was freezing from the cold, and my body ached, and it was already nighttime, the best time to be able to go unnoticed. I hadn't been out long, and since Dr. Marcus had told me all the important things and observations to take into account regarding my recovery today, I doubted he would see me again for the rest of the day.

My mouth watered as I passed a hot dog stand, run by a yellow-scaled Dino in a big chef's hat. The hospital food was rubbish, always cold. I longed for a good bite, but I'm afraid I'll have to stay here a little longer.

My body already wanted to stop working, the sleep, the cold, everything was simply something that wanted to bring me down.

The straw that broke the camel's back was the rain, a feeling of panic ran down my spine as I felt it begin to fall on my head. I didn't like it, it was mentally impossible for me to bear that, so I started to run, well, not run, walk quickly.

I used to be one of those people who walk in the rain without any problems, in fact I have always been meticulous and have carried an umbrella, but this is a different feeling. 

Until recently I loved the rain, I would stay under it for hours, then I stopped liking it after the accident, and now I have a kind of panic about it.

It's my head that wants to make me remember like a bad joke.

Stepping into the elevator made me have old memories with Olivia once again, listening to the elevator slowly ascend to the floor I was on. It made me remember the first time I was in one with Olivia after Mia chased us with murderous intent. And then that time. Where everything had been solved.

"Do you really think that would have worked?"

Damien's words followed me. I don't know, I was pretty convinced it would work... Could I really do it?

It's something I don't really care about anymore. The elevator arrived at its destination and I got off, starting to walk through the hospital corridors in silence.

It was dark, indeed. Almost empty hallways and the sounds of distant footsteps. People coughing in their rooms… I wanted to go home.

Arriving at my room, I opened the bottle of juice and began to taste it. It was certainly strong, the strongest I had ever tasted, but its taste warmed my body abruptly, making me feel even relieved.

"Where have you been Inco?"

To my surprise, after turning the corner of the hallway, I almost spit out all the alcohol in my mouth, but swallowing it all at once made me feel a sharp sting in my throat. Looking up, I saw her blue scales and pink hair. The future wife of the man I once called my best friend.

"Gah, fuck, Liz, you scared the shit out of me."

I coughed as I dropped the bottle of juice into the bag I had brought and leaned against the wall behind me to recover from the shock, my body hurt like hell and my lungs were like lava. Including my throat and stomach.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought I had gone into the wrong room."

I hadn't seen her for a while, she wasn't at the reunion last summer, I think the last time I saw her was at the beginning of the year. I don't remember the Whale either. Was Morris his name?

I tried to come up with an excuse until I felt my glasses on my nose.

"I...was really bored and decided to take a walk"

Liz distrusted my word when she saw how I had my arm in a splint inside my clothes, and behind the glasses was the bandage that covered my eye.

Of course adding the wool cap that covered the bandages on my head.

Now that I think about it, I look like a bum.

"Okay...Okay"

She noted with a soft smile as she took a seat in the waiting room down the hall, looking at me.

I thought about finding the words to ask her how everything was going and then lying down on the bed until I could smell my mouth stinking of Whiskey. So I kept my distance, although she was leaning her head closer to me, I could tell there was some tension in the air, so she kept her distance too.

"Anyway...Liz, what are you doing here?"

She remained thoughtful for a second, until she looked at me again and smiled.

"I just wanted to see my friend and old classmate. When I heard the news I-"

I interrupted her.

"Liz, get to the point. What have you come here for?"

She put on a more serious face.

"I know Damien has been here."

She said taking a deep breath to look at me again.

"Yeah, well, what about that?"

"What do you think is going to happen? Damien hasn't taken it very well."

I looked away as my legs began to ache, feeling the pain slowly creep up my torso.

"So? That's not my problem."

It hurt me to say that. Don't act like you don't care, Inco. You really do care about him, but you just don't want to accept it because of your stupid pride, even after what he did to you… No, calm down, it's still too soon.

She made a somewhat annoyed face but didn't seem to give it any more importance.

"Well, I do care, he is my future husband after all."

"Please Liz, my body hurts and I'm soaked. I want to get into the room as soon as possible to go to sleep. Be more direct."

She looked at the room for a few seconds, which was a couple of doors ahead.

She let out a sigh and combed her pink hair.

"I want you to fix it with Olivia and Damien."

I'd never had a real problem with Liz. I wasn't upset with her like I was with the Paynes or Olivia.

Part of it was due to the fact that my interaction with Liz had been zero and she had nothing to do with the accident, and that was why I was angry with her.

I gritted my teeth and frowned with some anger.

"Oh! And that's it, right? If I'm drowning in the sea you just tell me to breathe and that's it, right?"

Liz frowned at my sarcasm.

"I'm serious, Inco. Don't be selfish. Damien has barely spoken to me in the past month, and I wouldn't want his attitude to continue even at our wedding."

So it was for that nonsense.

She wanted me to sort it out with Damien and Olivia so that my situation wouldn't affect her relationship with Damien, let alone their wedding.

Knowing how much of a perfectionist Liz was, she wanted her 10-year plan to be perfect. Without any flaws, and she was here for that simple reason.

It irritated me in a bad way, I would yell at her but my lungs wouldn't let me.

"You should be ashamed of yourself for coming here for that. You don't really care how I am, you just want your stupid, meticulously laid out plan of yours to work perfectly."

She tried to keep her look serious but her eyes opened slightly.

"I thought you'd be a lot better than that, Liz. Can't you see what they did to me?"

I pushed up my glasses to better show him the bandage covering my eye, including most of the scar. I ripped the bandage off my face and showed her what the Baryonyx had done to me.

her composure broke for a few seconds and she stared at my wound.

"I...Damien told me it was serious but he never told me..."

"I wish I had the papers here to show you how my ribs were broken and poking through my lung. Then maybe for once you could genuinely care about me a little instead of continuing to be a puppet in your scheme! You remind me of..."

I gritted my teeth remembering what Olivia had done to me years ago, using me as a puppet in her pathetic game of 'I feel like my art isn't real because people feel pity for my condition.

I stayed silent, I could hear my own labored breathing, it still hurt quite a bit to breathe.

Liz hesitated a little as she looked away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it was this serious, I-I..."

I calmed down a bit as I watched her sink a little into her misery. I felt a little sorry for her, I have to admit. All she wanted was for her husband to be fit for her wedding.

Now I fear she will be in the same situation.

"Liz. Don't worry, I understand where you were going with perfection. But as you can see, you're not perfect. Being so meticulous about that supposed 10-year plan has definitely been eating at your head. I mean, it's not a bad idea to want to have your future figured out and have a general idea, but, you should be flexible. You can't just think you're God and make me forgive those who screwed up my life."

Liz was embarrassed, she looked at me without looking away. She was ashamed, but without a doubt she wanted to take responsibility for it.

"Look... It's been a rough month, the news about my eye and my arm, Damien, the trial... I really just want to go to bed.

When I passed by Liz she seemed to turn pale, looking at me and trying to hold my hand without much success.

I looked at her with a strange face as I opened the door to my hospital room, I didn't want to continue with this nonsense or I would get really upset.

"Good luck with the wedding Liz, I hope everything goes well-"

I froze. My body had stopped moving completely as I watched her silhouette sitting on my bed. It felt like my heart had stopped. Seeing her face made me itch for the scar on my face, which was exposed to her.

Olivia, as beautiful as ever, didn't even look at me, keeping her gaze down and her hands in her lap, in a shy way, as if I were someone intimidating that she had just met.

She was a little dressed up, she wasn't fancy or overly made up, but she had dressed up a bit, and it seemed like she was just there to see me.

I looked at Liz who was standing behind me at the door, I frowned at her and made a gesture that she seemed to understand perfectly since she lowered her gaze.

Disappointment.

I closed the door using both hands and leaving my palms on the door while I could hear the Saurian breathing. Leaning my forehead against the door.

"Hey"

I heard Olivia say in a whisper, turning around to glance at her.

"Hi."

Of all the times I had wanted to hate her, all the times I wanted to push her away from me, the times I really wanted to make her go away from my life, now I felt sorry for her situation. Our situation.

She remained sitting on my bed, her gaze downcast, on her fingers, watching them in a now new silence. Her beauty was made even more beautiful by the city lights behind her in the large window on the side of the room.

The rain kept hitting it, but now I didn't care.

I saw her a few two weeks ago, in what I thought was a dream, but that really wasn't me. Well, it was, but with a rage that hadn't been consumed in years, and drugged up to the gills.

Actually, the last time I saw her was the day of the accident, the last time I hugged her, the last time I kissed her and felt her touch, her warmth... But I knew deep down that it was not a very good feeling.

I took a few steps towards her, feeling her gasp in surprise at my action, swallowing hard. She still hadn't looked at my face.

"I guess you're here because of Liz's nonsense. Right?"

The Baryonyx looked at the ground a bit and patted her knees a bit.

"I wanted to see you, before the Trial."

I watched her action and looked back into her grey eyes.

"Does Eric know?"

She shook her head and looked at her wheelchair beside her.

It was down, but I didn't give it much thought.

We remained silent for a few seconds as she felt me ​​occasionally taking soft steps towards her.

She looked up and covered her mouth as she saw my new face. She seemed to fill the room with certain emotions, anger, rage, hate, sorrow, sadness. A rage that she seemed to throw at herself, clenching her knees in the process.

Slowly I watched as she stood up, it seemed strange to me, I even thought I was dreaming.

I looked down to see how she was using the bed to prop herself up and her tail to get up, staring at me. She was already in front of me.

She looked at me as if it were the last time I had seen her from the distance of the room, although I felt like we were far away from each other, she was already bringing her hands to my face.

For a second I tried to push her away, to stop her, I didn't want her hands to touch me, but my body didn't respond.

Her scales caressed the area around the scars on my face, looking at every detail of them. Looking at her hands, she didn't have any nails. I remember that she liked to use them to make different pieces of art with them, although it seemed that, according to what Vinny had told me, she had done that.

My hand could react to take her hand away from my face, but instead of moving it away from me, I brought it to my cloudy vision, observing how they still had small scars on the tips of their fingers.

"What did you do to yourself, Liv?"

She looked away for a few seconds and looked back at me.

"I was feeling guilty and the table in my old studio seemed like the best place. I scraped the table until I could feel my fingers touching the scratched table."

I felt a hint of guilt, but it quickly dissipated as I felt her hand move back to my scar.

We didn't say anything else to each other. Her eyes were already watering as she saw how the color of my damaged eye was a bit more grayish and still noticeably red. I pulled my glasses down from my head so she couldn't see what she had done to me, but it only caused her to look down at my arm.

With great care she caressed the casted arm, although I didn't feel anything, her tears began to fall on the cast while she listened to my tired and forced breathing.

It was a complete disaster.

She tried to say something with her broken voice but she couldn't do it.

It's time, Inco, tell her, it could be the last time you-.

...

Nothing came out of my mouth, as I could barely open it. My lips trembled slightly as I listened to her sob. I just couldn't.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ring. Usually this would be given on the finger, but I gave it to her in her palm, closing it behind her.

"I never imagined that you...would want to take the step"

She pointed out as I felt her arms carefully surround my waist and hugged me a little, resting her head against my chest.

It hurt a little but I didn't care.

"I wanted ."

Emphasize the word 'wanted'

This made Olivia gasp as she pulled the sweater slightly tighter around her back.

"Olivia"

She raised her gaze to look at me.

"Did you cheat on me with Oliver?"

She looked at me horrified and quickly shook her head, frowning to show she was angry but quickly calmed down.

"I-I would never do any of that to you for anything in the world, Inco. I-I was just... selfish. All my life I'd found no one to support me, and when I found someone who could not only support me with my wagon, but help me launch it into the air I was just happy, and I thought you would be too, until you got jealous."

"You always talked about him like I’ve never supported you. That hurt."

She looked away.

"I know...I still hate myself for it."

Olivia let out a heavy sigh and shook her head slightly.

"I-I wasn't doing it on purpose, I really didn't know I was doing it wrong, I-I..."

She got nervous and sobbed a little to look at me.

"I'm stupid."

There was silence now, I could hear his breathing as well as his heart beating. Saurians were bad at hiding their inner emotions.

We stayed silent for a while, half hugging each other for what seemed like minutes, without saying a single word.

"Will you ever be able to look at me without remembering the pain I caused you?"

That question again. She looked quite regretful, I had rarely seen her in such a disastrous situation. 

Needless to say, I didn't want to see her in that situation again. Sometimes I would think back to those scenes and I wanted to feel satisfaction from them, but I'm not crazy enough to think about it.

She was suffering, just like I was. 

  Everyone is fighting their own battles

I remember that phrase someone once said.

"Yes, of course"

She rested her head on its side now, feeling my heart beating and my lungs doing their best to continue breathing.

"But not now."

Her grip tightened a little as I felt her embrace. She tried to speak again but her voice cracked and she fell silent.

"I guess...we're falling down."

I refused, which made her look at me.

"We have already fallen down.."

She hesitated a little after my words, feeling defeated, looking away.

When my mouth was about to tell her what I wanted to tell her, I felt her lips press against mine for a brief moment. At first I refused. Bad memories invaded my head, but before I pushed her away, I kissed her back.

Our last kiss. Our last hug.

Her mouth tasted like wine, and she probably thought the same about me.

It's fair.

After the kiss we just stayed hugging each other, on the verge of letting ourselves fall to the bottom of the abyss which we will try to climb back up but on separate paths.

She had understood, there was no way we could rebuild our safe little fortress, not on our terms.

I have so many things I want to tell her, and I'm sure she wants to tell me just as much, but our time was running out.

I slid onto the bed as she just sat, her tail wobbling.

Her eyes began to tremble and tear up, she was crying.

I could only watch as she broke down, or so I thought.

Olivia's eyes turn to me and I can see the tears flowing freely down her cheeks and over a shaky smile.

"I promise I will improve, I will be someone worthwhile."

Chapter Text

November 19, 2026. 

Autumn.

9:00 in the morning

45 days since the accident.

//Inco//

The sun's rays began to touch my face as I opened my eyes. I stayed silent for the next few minutes, thinking about what had happened the night before.

I had fallen asleep while we seemed to have an informal farewell, in which our slightly alcohol-affected feelings betrayed us.

Luckily it didn't go any further, or so I like to think.

"I promise that I will improve, I will be someone worthwhile."

I Looked away, at the window. For the first time in the Fall I could enjoy the sunlight that I missed so much, not a single drop of water in sight.

I better stop talking before the sky turns black.

I tried to sit up until my chest hurt hard, remembering that it was something that was out of my reach until I was in a better state.

For a few seconds I thought it had been a dream, anyone would say it had been a beautiful dream. Where you and your ex-partner try to understand things, and give each other a kiss and a hug.

In a normal romance novel this would be a turning point for the plot in which the couple could try one more time and avoid failure, but realistically, that doesn't happen in real life.

I wanted to ask her a thousand more things, tell her a thousand more feeling tell her that I loved her.

But...

Loving her hurt me.

What happened last night seemed more like a farewell than a reconciliation, or so it seemed to me, with the kisses and hugs, which were witnesses of our fall.

I'd like to talk to Eric about it. He could advise me what I should do, to be able to organize my feelings in my head.

He didn't take the call. My impatience wanted to call him again, but I decided not to bother him, he must be quite busy.

I know it was too soon, but a little drink wouldn't hurt anyone.

I was already starting to get used to its sour and strong flavor, it burned my eyes when I put it in my mouth, but it made me forget, which was what I was looking for the most. Do I really want to forget? 

Wait...

Forget the pain.

I looked at my cast and moved my affected fingers a little. I barely felt them, what I felt was a tingling that, I felt like it hurt but I didn't feel pain. It was like I could talk to my fingers and know how they felt.

That would be cool.

Where was it? Olivia.

I took another drink before continuing to think, getting up from my seat to walk around the room.

I hate my situation, being unable to think properly because of what had happened to my head. Sometimes I loved her madly, I wanted to get out of my bed and go find her and apologize for everything that had happened.

Why would I apologize to her if she was the one who threw me into the abyss in which I find myself?

Before taking another drink I felt like I was falling. Thousands of stars surrounded me, as if they were eyes staring at me. Bright, gray eyes that danced around me.

It had been some time since I had had this dream, the fall.

Now I was there, with the rain falling on me while their faces were fixed on me, Oliver, Olivia, Damien. They looked at me with a smile on their faces as if they knew what was happening to me, mocking me.

Am I really as well as I seem to be? I forced a smile as I looked at them, but as if it were fate I fell again.

Nobody pushed me, I was the one who threw myself into the abyss alone, as if I knew it myself, as if I was the one who knew I could have prevented this. Is it my fault?

No.

¡No!

"¡No!"

"Mr. Inco!"

I opened my eyes when I heard the doctor's voice and looked around me, the doctor made a confused face when he saw me so disoriented.

I wasn't in my room, I was in a new room.

"E-excuse me? I was too deep in my head..."

Dr. Marcus looked at me indifferently as he sniffed the environment a little.

"Are you...?"

I denied it and tried to find another topic of conversation, looking at gadgets that would help me with my condition.

"Ah...Could you tell Officer Eric if he can visit today? I would like to talk to him about some things about the Trial tomorrow."

The doctor frowned and pointed to the clock.

"It's already 8 at night, Inco."

I hesitated a little. I had woken up not long ago or so I remember, my head hurt a lot and I could barely think.

"What is this?"

I looked up to see the doctor, who was holding the completely empty bottle that I had bought a few days ago. 

"How did you...?"

"Mr. Inco, please, you are not allowed to drink alcohol in the hospital. Who gave you this? One of your visitors?"

I looked away.

"I went alone to buy it at the gas station."

The doctor opened his eyes wide.

"W-what? Mr. Inco, your condition is...Deplorable to be able to go out, the gas station is 3 far away from here, it is impossible for you to have gone to the gas station alone."

Was it that much travel?

"I'm sorry...I...It really eased the pain."

The big-spectacled stegosaurus gritted its teeth and looked away.

"I knew the medication had gone too low. You're not as well as you seem. Does it hurt that much?"

I looked away and looked at my arm. I felt bad, not because of the situation, but because I had lost a large part of the day that I wanted to use to read the trial documents, to make matters worse I was sleepy.

"It's an icy, cold sensation, the alcohol helped me forget the feeling of pain I've been having, and it doesn't give me those horrible dreams like the narcotics they gave me do."

"Alcohol is a short-term measure, it is a drug, an easy route to your problems. At no time was it said that your recovery would be easy. I should have realized it before, but I thought it was the medication. How much do you drink of this a day?"

I took a rubic cube and started playing with it a little, feeling the difficulty due to my arm.

"Until I fell asleep. I must have bought it a few days ago...I don't know. It was recently."

The doctor looked at the bottle and looked at me again.

"This is strong Whiskey. I'm surprised I haven't seen you in an alcohol coma at this point or that you had left the floor full of vomit. Did you start drinking recently? What questions are those, of course you do. Are you going to stop? I don’t  want one of my patients to become an alcoholic due to medication neglect."

"Negligence?"

The doctor threw the bottle into the trash can and turned to see me, giving me a wrist exerciser for both hands, I began to do it, feeling like I couldn't even make a fist with my bad hand.

"I guess when we made the switch to different narcotics, you experienced pain and that's when you started taking it. That made us continue to lower the density of the narcotics, because it seemed like there were improvements regarding your pain, but I see that it wasn't More than a placebo for us. Alcohol sucks, kid."

I looked away and snorted, bringing my hands to my face.

I didn't think it was that serious, I wouldn't become an alcoholic. I merely did it so I could get along these first few days well.

Although it had already been 1 month and 2 weeks.

"Can I call Officer Eric? I need to ask him a few things before it's too late."

The doctor remained silent for a while and looked away.

"Doctor"

I called him again, frowning a little. What was he playing?

I was paralyzed, now I remembered.

He was bad, that's what he had told me, although he told me not to worry about it, it wasn't a big deal.

I hesitated a little, but since I didn't want to pressure him I left the topic there.

Now I feel strange, is he okay? His visits had begun to become less and less frequent, but I assumed he was with his son and offering help to Olivia.

I hope I don't think the worst and that this illness is more than I thought it would be.

"Come with me."

November 19, 2026. 

Autumn.

11:00 in the morning

//Olivia//

I spent a while thinking about the question my therapist, Megan, had asked me. Moving her tail from side to side while keeping her notebook on her lap.

I had arrived a little late for my appointment, although luckily Randy had given me a ride in his car. Eric told me he wouldn't be able to attend for the rest of the week. I asked him if he would go to the Trial tomorrow, but he didn't say anything.

I would have to go back on the subway later.

I played with the ring Inco had given me while I thought of an answer.

"How did it make you feel to see Inco again?"

It made me feel...

I don't know, a mix of emotions.

"Uncertainty, fear, sadness, guilt."

I said playing with the ring a little, staring at it as I observed its gold and blue colors.

"Only negative feelings?"

She asked as she settled back in her chair to continue looking at me.

"Hope, Nostalgia, Relief and Regret"

She made a gesture and raised an eyebrow pointing everything out.

"Regret? Do you think that's a positive thing?"

"Yes, if I didn't show regret for what I did...what would I become then?"

Megan smiled.

"I like that point of view. What made you feel that feeling?

I looked at the ring and thought about putting it on for a few seconds, the therapist watched what I did and remained silent, waiting for a response.

"His condition, seeing his scar, his difficulty breathing and moving, I could feel his pain from those eyes that looked at me. But I felt relieved, the last time I saw him I didn't..."

"I know, dear, calm down."

She said making some notes before looking at me again.

"What's the blame if you already feel regret?"

I stopped my hands from playing with the ring and put it in my pocket.

"His mouth tasted like alcohol, something strong."

Megan raised an eyebrow.

"So you kissed him?"

She asked me, smiling openly as she closed the notebook.

"I-it was only for a moment! And to be fair he probably knew that my mouth tasted like Wine. I had to have a couple of drinks before going to see him if I didn't want to cry like a dummy."

She gave a soft laugh.

"I didn't ask if it was a long kiss or not. How did it make you feel?"

"Nostalgic."

I responded to look away, seeing how the day was becoming cloudy.

I didn't bring an umbrella, damn it.

"Nostalgia for better times, where we were close to each other. Although that seems like years ago."

"I know, you've told me enough."

I heard a soft knock on the door, which ended our short date.

"I'm sorry...I didn't expect to be late today."

I told her, looking down as I placed myself in my wheelchair. Megan shook her head softly as she placed her hand on mine.

"No problem, we can continue talking later if you are coming to group therapy, at the same time as usual."

She accompanied me out, and after saying goodbye she went back into her office. I began to roll silently through the hallways towards the elevator.

Being in there as always made me remember moments with him, most of them when we were in our classes, in our last weeks there. We had a small argument, a silly one, compared to the arguments we were starting to have when we started living together.

I don't know how, when or...Well, I knee the Why..

But we were kissing like we'd never done it before, in the elevator during the time change. I remember that between kisses we tried to apologize, but there were no words that could come out of our mouths without being interrupted.

I had started it. Early March, which meant it was a bit of a ‘cloudy’ season for me. Estruss season. I had tried to avoid him as much as possible between the end of February and those days in March, until he entered the elevator angrily looking for an explanation.

His angry face and angry voice somehow shockingly put me in that mood.

He knew it the moment I behaved that way with him, and he went for the point that he knew would bother me. My tail.

A strong muscle that had helped me move the chair, with hard scales but that was too sensitive for no apparent reason.

I mean, Vinny played with my tail quite a bit, but it was Inco who made me that way.

He moved away a little when he saw my face from the corner of his eye, static from my impure thoughts. In his eyes I wanted to bite him, and it was the truth. I scratched my knees a little to contain myself and let out a snort, using my tail to bring him closer to continue the kiss

Our first really hot encounter, which we had to stop because we had skipped an entire class and Damien was calling us on our cell phones.

My last memory is seeing his smug little smile, standing against the elevator wall and giving me one last kiss.

What a lucky bastard, I would have liked to bite him, but in a loving way.

Shit...

I cleared my throat as I tried to wipe my blush from my cheeks, wagging my tail from side to side, sweeping the floor of the elevator with it.

I got out of the elevator and walked straight out onto the street, calming my tail to avoid breaking someone's leg with it.

I shouldn't think about those things again, I even felt guilty doing so.

I doubt I can have that feeling with him again, I even doubt if I will be able to see him again one day.

"Olivia."

When I looked up Damien was in front of me. I gritted my teeth as I watched his lost lamb look.

"Damien."

I responded in a dry tone, trying to get him out of my way.

"Dad told me to...Take you home."

"I can go alone, Damien."

I turned my chair around him to continue on my way, while I felt him begin to follow behind me.

"Parked the car a few streets ahead."

I let out a low growl as I began wagging my tail to try to calm myself, trying to follow the advice of Megan, my therapist.

I only let out a sigh to relax, although it was true that I was angry with him, I decided to stay silent and follow his route, I wanted to get home as soon as possible and later go to group therapy. If I went by subway I wouldn't arrive on time if I wanted to rest a little at home, to rest mentally.

The small road remained silent until we reached his car, opening the door for me and denying his help.

I stared at my cell phone, Alena was happy that I wanted to receive that extra elbow and accepted the occasional interview to talk about what my life was like with my condition.

It disgusted me that they treated me like I was a fairground monkey.

But if I had to change for the better, I had to do it, accept what Inco had once told me, including many others who had recommended me to do the same.

I guess that way I can be recognized properly, although not in the way I had been taught and I wanted.

"How was it?"

Damien's voice brought me out of my thoughts as I heard his question.

He was referring to my meeting with Inco.

How was it? Well...

"Horrible."

Damien made a sad face.

"Did he tell you something-?"

"Fuck, I mean- yeah, it was good, but it was horrible since I went there to tell him how I really feel, how much I've cried for-...You know."

Damien glanced at me just out of the corner of his eye when he could, I noticed a more guilty face.

"He and I hugged and kissed."

Damien half smiled at my words, but he knew there was a but in my words.

"But it was more like a goodbye. I-I swore that-"

I felt my voice crack a little and my eyes water.

"I w-would change, for the better. He asked me if I had been unfaithful to him."

Damien tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, and with that I could see the wounds he had gotten after searching for so long for the ring that Inco was going to give me.

"I want to explain to him everything that happened, t-that nothing happened between him and me. It's just that I found someone who didn't seem to support me out of mere pity or that-"

"But with that you are telling Inco that his support was useless to him. Did you really tell him that?"

I looked at my feet.

"I-I don't know I-I wasn't thinking."

Damien stayed silent the rest of the way until we got to the Paynes' house. I waited in silence for him to get out of his vehicle, but when he didn't do so for a while he caught my attention.

"What's wrong?"

Damien looked away and took out a small braided rope from his pocket, handing it to me.

"I would like you to keep that ring safe, Olivia. Inco told me that it was expensive, and that you could sell it and that way you could get out of a tight spot.

"Bullshit, I won’t sell it"

I took the little rope and played with it a little, taking the spirit out of my pocket.

"I would like everything to be fixed and he would be the one to put that ring on your finger, but…”

Damien half lay back in his seat, looking at the roof of the car.

"Do you think it would have worked?"

I frowned.

"What the fuck do you mean by that? You think that even if you weren't stupid enough to throw the ring, our thing wouldn't have worked? Screw you Damien!"

 I tried to leave but the door was closed.

"Olivia, please listen to me. You know very well that no one other than Inco was ready to get married, he was terrified of that, much less wanted to become his parents. But he- he told me he didn't know."

I tried to calm myself as I pressed my fingers tightly against my knees.

"He was willing to marry you, try to start a family, but he had his doubts. He even seemed forced to do it in some strange way."

"But you don't understand! Of course he had his doubts, I know that more than anyone. But those days when we genuinely enjoyed each other felt alive, like they were our first days together." 

My tail twitched unconsciously as I thought about those days. The ones I remember enjoying the most were before our fight at the Winter Formal, although there were some pretty vivid memories when we started living together.

Although, I also remember moments where I was too hard on him, moments where I thought I was right.

I only thought about myself.

"What was different in those days? Did you both hold hands while fucking?"

Damien blurted out in a way that was somewhere between angry and mocking, I frowned but stayed silent.

I didn't want to admit that there was some reality in his words.

Damien, noticing my silence, let out a sigh and turned a little to look at me.

"Look...I regret many things that happened that day. I regret the words I said, my actions and my thoughts at that moment, but I don't regret having done what I did. I wanted to protect you, avoid that there would be some kind of toxic relationship in the future or something worse."

"But you apologized to me for that yourself? How hypocritical can you be?"

Damien let out a sigh and looked away.

"Call me whatever you want, throw me at the local carteles if that's what you want! But we all have a little bit of blame in all of this."

He looked at his hands, somewhat damaged from having been looking for the ring.

"I was feeling confused after that argument, I even tried to drink something to get it out of my head but Liz threatened that she would leave me if I did."

Damien giggled nervously, smiling but his smile fading in a matter of seconds.

"I don't know how he did it but he got alcohol at the hospital. His mouth smelled like alcohol. He must be having a hard time too."

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye again.

"Me too...I Noted it"

I'm sure Damien would go hysterical if I told him that I had had some wine to try to calm that sour feeling I felt every day.

"I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I feel more confused every time I think about it, I would like- I would like to talk one more time, with him, in the moonlight while we have a drink."

I smiled a little.

"That always seemed gay to me."

Damien gave a half smile.

"They were our only moments where we could talk deeply, talk about everything in general, our problems..."

"What did he tell you about me?"

Damien rested the back of his head against his seat.

"What you should already know. He...He still loves you, I just doubt he will be able to forgive what you did until the emotional wounds have healed. I don't know if he will ever forgive me, I even doubt that you Forgive me for what I did. But, we can help you by giving him a hand in the trial, it's the least we can do."

I looked away as he stated.

I remembered the words I had said to him.

"I promise that I will improve, I will be someone worthwhile."

Damien looked at me and smiled softly, taking my hand.

He had said it out loud.

"We all have to improve and be someone worthwhile. As Eric says, leave a mark."

Damien pointed out, opening the door so we could both get out.

"Speaking of, what happened to him? I thought he would take you to therapy these days and make the notes he always makes."

I shrugged.

"He told me that he couldn't be there. He didn't give me any more details, when the guy-...Randy, realized that I was going to go to the subway, he decided to take me."

Damien got out of the vehicle and helped me into my wheelchair.

"You should talk to mom and dad. They're not to blame for this."

"I...I know, but I feel hurt because they hid Inco’s Ring from me. It could have changed everything, maybe I...-"

I frowned and looked away, beginning to roll towards home.

"I want to stop talking about this, Damien."

I felt again that bittersweet and sad feeling that I felt when Inco left my house years ago. Sometimes I liked to look back and give him a smile, but this time it was Damien. A feeling that began to sour after our fight at the winter ball.

It would be a busy day, without a doubt. I would have a telephone interview with one of the reporters who was interested in my case.

I felt like when Ben took advantage of me to boost his career, but in a way I was grateful that at least they were interested in me, even if it was for their own convenience.

"The interview was... Good. Luckily I was able to touch on a few words so as not to completely collapse with my complex- With my condition."

The room was silent listening to my words. Today was a quiet day, there weren't many people and that allowed me to open up a little more, especially with Megan in the room so she could tell me what she thought about the situation.

This place was a place of comfort, certainly. It was like talking to yourself but there were different points of view that tried to support you in one way or another. This site reminds me that I'm not the only one who has problems.

I hadn't told them my whole story, of course. I feel like they would judge me for it even if they seemed supportive. Megan is the only one who knows.

"Hi hi! Goodnight!"

A voice coming towards our circle caught my attention. Raising my gaze, a girl with white scales sat in one of the unoccupied seats, giving a smile to those who looked at her, waving her hand at me when looking at her.

She looked like another Baryonyx, white scales and short sideways hair that barely reached her neck. She had a warm smile to everyone who looked at her.

"My name is Samantha, my pleasure."

She bowed softly with her tail, which was huge compared to mine.

Megan gave her a warm smile as she gestured to him.

"I thought you wouldn't come, Samantha, although I'm glad you came, I knew you'd be someone interesting for the others to meet."

She gestured with her tail in a friendly way of saying 'Shut up, you're embarrassing me' and chuckled, covering her snout with the palm of her hand.

"I know it may be difficult to start telling your story a little, so you can listen to us if-"

The Baryonyx laughed, interrupting Megan, and shook her head a little with an open smile.

"Don't worry darling! I have no problem talking about myself, I'm quite outgoing and eccentric. I'm a Whore."

This opened the eyes of some men in the room.

"I started when I was young to make money, and it seems like it's the only thing I'm good at in life, although..."

Her smile faded a little.

"I have to admit that it causes me some problems socializing."

her smile became bigger.

"Mostly with girls, they don't like having a whore friend because they're afraid I'll sleep with their husbands."

She began to laugh openly. A job as complicated as it is for a prostitute and she seemed to take it with joy. Taking her situation with optimism.

She didn't seem afraid to talk about herself, and she also listened to other people's words. She seemed to be a bit of a Narcissist, emanating a radiant glow in her crimson eyes when she talked about herself, but it wasn't a bad narcissism, since she accepted her mistakes like someone who is a narcissist would never do.

"I tried to quit a while ago, but if I'm honest I'm a bit of a slut, but I don't stoop to that low."

Just as she said, a true nymphomaniac. She used her taste for work, although according to her she would like to leave it since she knows it will not be useful for the future.

Although I even doubted it with her, that woman will remain young until she is 60.

The moonlight was already coming through the window, indicating that it was time to leave, although some of us stayed a little longer to let off steam for the rest of the day.

As I rolled towards the exit I kept thinking about what I had talked about today. I had mentioned the fall, mentioned again how sorry I was and how fucking destroyed I felt.

"Hey, Olivia right?"

I heard a female voice next to me after leaving the Small Building. I turned my gaze to the corner so I could see Samantha with what looked like a joint between her fingers.

"Yes, Olivia, Halford"

I responded rolling towards her as she smiled a little at me.

"Ah, you see Gundam right?"

She raised an eyebrow at me with a smile on her face, taking a drag of her joint and blowing the smoke to the side so as not to blow it into my face. My eyes widened at her question. 

I affirmed.

"How did you...-? Oh..."

I took out the canteen, looking at the sticker that was the symbol of the Spacenoids.

She smiled.

"It's a niche anime, the last time I saw it was years ago!

"The last time I saw it was-"

I stayed silent.

I remember watching the anime one weekend before the winter ball with Inco, alone, at home, covered with a blanket. I had forgotten that feeling, in fact I didn't remember that it had happened, it was like a dream, but remembering my favorite anime, I was able to remember.

“I need to change for the better”

I said in a whisper as I looked at the ground, Samantha took another drag and threw the joint to the ground, crushing it.

"The path to the light begins when you decide that you deserve more than the shadows of your past. Don't be afraid to rebuild yourself, because each time you do, you get a little closer to the version of yourself you've always dreamed of being."

I smiled.

"Kagmar. Leader of the Spacenoids."

I responded while giggling as I remembered how stupid that sounded, even though he was right.

"I didn't think someone like you would like that stuff?"

I said while looking at the Baryonyx.

Looking at her she seemed really different from me, following the features of a Baryonyx. She was huge, and her tail looked like it could break the wall with one blow.

"I may be a Whore, but that doesn't mean I don't have personal tastes. There are many more things I like besides just fucking for money"

We spent a long time talking and sharing words between laughs, mainly about Animes, although she liked better the ones that were a little perverted, I still had a while before Randy went to look for me.

We stayed in silence for a few seconds, watching the cars go by until I felt like she was dangerously close to me.

"Can I ask you a personal and uncomfortable question?"

Sgee said it with an exciting tone of voice, wanting to know my answer as he moved the tip of her tail gently.

"Ah...Go for it...?"

I hope she don't ask me some weird question, like if i’m a lesbian or something like that.

"I heard you were dating a human. How...? Does doing it feel like?

She had a small smile on her face as she moved the tip of her tail quickly.

This had undoubtedly been the strangest question I had ever had, I didn't know what to answer to a question like that.

"I don't...I don't know, he has been my only boyfriend and the only person I have been intimate with, I wouldn't know how to tell you the difference and the feelings I guess...Look, I prefer not to talk about it, remembering it makes me something sad."

I stated somewhat embarrassed as she cleared her throat and stepped away slightly.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. It got too out of hand. I was just too curious, it's something I've always liked to try sometimes. There aren't many people who have dated a human, not here, at least."

She looked away while muttering a few words silently.

Before I knew it, I heard Megan's voice calling me from the building's interior. I motioned to Samantha, but she just waved her tail at me as she bit her tongue and narrowed her brow, saying what she was writing with her lips.

What a pervert to look for BHC in public.

As I entered the building I saw that everything had already been put away and only Megan was in the room.

We had a short talk about the trial before Randy came to take me home. I should rest and have a little talk with Damian before screwing up Oliver and his bastard father's plans.

That same night I thought about everything that had happened these last few weeks. What a simple action could change the lives of so many people.

I sent a few more messages to Eric without any response, I was starting to get worried so I decided to call him, although I didn't get a response.

Without further ado, I simply reviewed the papers that I had to do, observing the marks of my nails all over the desk in my room.

November 20, 2026. 

Autumn.

16:00 in the afternoon.

46 days since the accident.

I was being pushed by Damien, leaving the trial.

I had a huge mix of emotions that I couldn't describe, some were happy and sad. Bittersweet.

Inco had been sentenced, luckily to something much less severe than he would normally be. That idiot of Oliver was destroyed when he saw that his two strongest witnesses were against him. His father, who was also there, only made a serious face after his stupid smile disappeared.

Originally, they wanted to accuse Inco severely, they had bought witnesses, us, medical certificates, and an excellent lawyer. I think I remember that they wanted to put him in prison for 5 years, or something like that, I don't completely remember  and i don’t want to think about it.

Maybe things could have gone better if Eric had been here, but he is hospitalized.

The lawyer that Eric had offered to Inco was undoubtedly formidable, much better than simply an expensive one who was fully qualified thanks to his enormous studies at the high table.

Unlike Inco's informal lawyer, who had a some “street”. He knew shit.

Speaking of which, Inco, he kept a serious face throughout the trial and barely said a few words. Wearing his glasses and with his eye bandaged again. We didn't talk at all, nor do I doubt that he would have looked at me, although I couldn't tell because of his glasses.

Of course, he wasn't there. He made the call from the hospital, where he looked at the public with a certain disinterested gaze.

Throughout the process he maintained a monotonous look, without gesturing emotions. Even with the final verdict. He just formally said goodbye, and after a few seconds he left.

Oliver was discredited during the trial with Perjury, which greatly influenced all the other testimony, in addition to obtaining a confession of bribery of Oliver's father by one of the witnesses.

The rise of Oliver's father's professional career is completely ruined by the bribery he has made, and Oliver's career as well. I'm sure they will be finished. And the trial for Inco's lawsuit is still pending.

Still, with all that, Inco couldn't escape the blow to Oliver's face. That was considered assault, not even the repeated attempts of INCO's lawyer could change the Judge's mind. He also knew what he did to Damien.

Inco would be going to Therapy for Anger problems for the next few months and would have to have house arrest. It is certainly a miracle to have been able to prevent this from escalating further, I would feel happy as I already said, but Inco's face would be so serious that you would tell me something else, and I didn't know what he was feeling.

Damien was proud of his testimony and mine, but he had the same feeling as me.

Maybe it was the Officer Eric thing? Until he recovered, Officer Brandom would be coming to my house to get some notes and some questions.

I'm sorry, I hope you get better.

No, that's nonsense.

The trial seems to have gone well as far as possible, can we talk?

Too direct.

I love you.

I got frustrated and crumpled the papers on my desk as I threw them away from me. I was going to write a letter to Inco, yes, a letter. He had a new phone from what Eric had told me, although he hadn't given me his number.

A letter to his address would be what came to mind, even if it took a while to see it. I still wanted to give him time, just like he had asked me to have.

But how long?

December 5, 2026. 

Autumn.

18:00 in the afternoon

61 days since the accident. Last update.

//INCO//

"Yes, it looks good to me. How many fingers do I have?"

Eric asked me showing me 3 of his fingers.

"If what I see there, don't tell me it's a medium...It's 3 fingers."

I could see in a blurry way how he nodded and smiled.

"I thought you'd lose your eye, boy. But it seems to be better than my eyesight."

"You're not that old, Nikolas Erickson."

I told him with a playful tone as he laughed, settled on his hospital stretcher and raised his arm to squeeze the IV bag a little.

"Well, with this state of mine I even look like it."

Eric had had kidney failure for quite some time, and his "carelessness" had led him to release too much toxins into his kidneys. I remember when I ran to see him, he looked like a corpse, but he got away from it. He had been hospitalized for about 2 weeks, and the fucker had improved.

Eric glanced at me out of the corner of his eye while I was deep in thought.

"Are you going to enjoy your freedom now that you can go home? You should have been there since yesterday, plus I know how eager you are to see if you already have the acceptance letter."

I denied, although it was obvious that I was lying.

"I'm not anxious, and I don't want to leave you here alone, Niko will arrive in a few hours, and I know how boring it is to be here all day. What I liked most was enjoying the night wind from the hospital terrace, although "I don't like it when it rains."

The officer let out a sigh and lay down on his bed.

"Wow, two months have flown by. I feel like it was yesterday when I found you in shit in your bed and with your nightmares."

I still have nightmares, on most occasions.

I still see her suffering face every time I close my eyes.

I still feel a pang in my lung every time I breathe deep.

My arm still feels sore when it's cold, and sometimes I get dizzy after looking with my bad eye.

This has only just begun, and I still have months of recovery left for both my eye and mainly my arm, which now only has a splint.

"But we can say that it is a new stage."

I remained silent.

"You should look at that throat, it seems more and more that you are someone quieter."

Ah, I was just thinking.

I said, but only in my head.

"It's time to go, Eric. I want to get home for the first time in two months. I'm sure something has been stolen from me after breaking in."

Eric chuckled.

"Don't you want to stay a little longer?"

He asked looking at his cell phone to see what time it was.

Something was off by the look of his face.

"No, I need to do paperwork for Oliver's trial when I get home and rest in my bed."

I gestured to him and walked towards the exit of the room.

"Remember to pay me a visit from time to time, kid. Good luck"

I stopped and let out a sigh, turning and approaching him.

I gave him one of my best smiles and gave him a hug, which he gladly accepted.

"Are you going to kiss me too?"

I heard his mocking laugh as I left the room.

I pressed the button to go down the elevator, and as the doors closed, green scales in the distance reminded me of Olivia. Especially when we were in an elevator.

I adjusted my aviator glasses and closed my eyes, looking up.

It still gets confusing to me, sometimes I remember that certain moments have never happened, but I know this one had.

We had a severe argument, not as strong as the one we had on the day of the accident, of course, but...I wanted to apologize.

I remember bringing my hand to hers and joining our hands while the music played in my ears. Her gaze was fixed on me, as if she were an alligator about to attack. Thinking about that made me stop and leave the scene.

To think how my arm could have been bitten like a chicken by her.

I shook my head as I felt that bitter sensation and tried to think of a more beautiful occasion we had between us.

Our naked bodies danced to the music while we were in our bed. Her tongue curled with mine looking for one of us to win the battle. Her tail ran over my body, feeling our hands linked with each other.

I don't feel anything.

I remember that our first time had been special, exciting, wild and so romantic, it was at my house after watching her favorite anime.

But now I don't feel anything about that memory. I was just looking at myself, in front of the elevator mirror in front of me, being able to see my eyes thanks to the lighting that passed through my opaque glasses.

As I walked down the street the world felt alien to me, as if I were the only thing that didn't fit, I was the puppet dancing under the strings of some influence.

I resign myself to being this down. I have already fallen too deep and I have climbed the first rocks to be able to get out of this abyss in which I find myself.

I put on my best smile and took out the broken camera I had bought two months ago from my pocket.

The stairs bring back memories of tragic moments. Now there is a fairly large sign indicating its danger, although it is not closed.

Yes, I think I'm going to skip coming up here.

I'm in home~

Being away makes me remember certain memories that I didn't know if I wanted to think about and that I will never forget.

I clutched the camera in my damaged hand and walked quickly up the stairs of the building until I reached the door, sliding the key into the slot and opening it.

Her smell was still in the air, the smell of her hair. Some of his things were missing, I remember Eric telling me that he had taken what was important and left. But most of his paintings and things were in the same place. It doesn't smell rotten, so I guess Eric had the idea to throw away food that might rot.

Under my feet, a huge stack of letters, but I was only looking for one in particular.

Invoices, invoices, advertisements, advertisements... A lot of unnecessary garbage...

I threw the cards away from me while looking for a special card, one... With blue and yellowish touches, with a beautiful black border and a red print. Here it is.

I held it up before me to observe the letter. It was the step to my future, a step that I should have taken a long time ago, a step that could soon make me forget and make these months worth it.

'Faculty of Arts and Humanities.

Admission Notification Letter.'

Without much further ado I quickly opened the letter and took out the note, carefully written and signed.

Providence Bluffs College of Fine Arts.

Admissions Department

December 8, 2026

Dear Inco G. Nito:

We are writing to you regarding your application to the Photography program at Providence College of Fine Arts.

My skin was trembling from those words. I never thought someone would call me 'Dear Inco G Nito'. It's quite an honor!

We are pleased to inform you that your application to enter the Faculty of Arts and Humanities has been reviewed with great care and consideration. Your passion for photography and dedication to creativity and art have been evident throughout the entire application process.

I felt my spine tremble, a quick chill ran through my torso to my neck and went down quickly again, I sat down on the floor suddenly as I felt my knees tremble.

After careful evaluation, we have concluded that your profile presents great potential and has generated significant interest from our admissions committee. However, we must inform you that due to high competition and strict admission standards, we have had to make difficult decisions regarding the applications we receive.

My pulse was racing. This was something I already knew, their admission rules were absolutely crazy. My hands were beginning to sweat and shake, although I could hear the rain starting to fall against the window in the main area. Normally he would be scared of the rain, but now I felt a certain suppressed joy as I continued reading.

Unfortunately, after a thorough review of your history and considering current admissions policies, we have decided that we cannot offer you a place in the program for the next academic year. This decision in no way reflects his worth as an individual or as an artist, but is the result of an extremely competitive process.

What?

I crumpled the paper that was in my hands a little and continued reading, watching as drops of my tears began to fall into the ink.

Specifically, we have taken into account your recent history and the circumstances surrounding the incident that occurred. While we understand that challenges can impact anyone's life, we must adhere to our policies and procedures to ensure an academic environment that conforms to our policies and standards.

We encourage you to continue developing your career and consider-

I clenched the paper in my hands, crumpling it in the process. I didn't want to read more of this shit.

I threw the paper away from me as I brought my hands to the ground.

"Calm the fuck down, Calm the fuck down, Calm the fuck down”

I started saying to myself in a whisper as I tried to do it. My body began to shake like it had never done before, trying not to think I got up and ran to the bathroom, starting to wet my face.

My glasses fell into the sink, soaking them from the high-pressure water that wet everything around them. I reached for the glasses with my trembling hands, making it impossible to take them with my damaged hand.

What is this feeling? It's similar to that feeling I felt when I saw Olivia after the accident, but this one was different.

I just wanted to improve as a person, try to be happy, stop...making my future and...-

When I looked up I saw myself, that huge scar and a half-blind, trembling, weak, broken eye.

"I hate you!"

The bathroom was filled with the sounds of my fist hitting the mirror in front of the sink, glass flying away soaked in my blood as I only hit the defeated image of myself, now completely shattered.

The damage on my wrist only aggravated my unleashed anger, letting out a scream of anger as my eyes went to the first thing that caught my attention. 

I threw everything that was in the bathroom on the floor while my body shook, I broke the splint that I had on my arm and threw it away from me.

I let out a shaky breath, using my hands to grab the dining room chair and slam it onto the floor, causing the wood to explode into pieces. The leg of the chair fell under my feet, and bending over without bending my legs made my ribs things burn. They were not completely cured yet. I tried to take the leg of the chair with my left hand, but it was impossible, my fingers did not respond, but I felt that it hurt. I hated that feeling.

"This is your fucking fault!"

I ran into the kitchen and pulled out a butcher knife that I used to try to cut certain portions of the food, I put my pathetic arm on the table and raised the knife.

"I'm going to kill you I swear!"

I exclaimed after hitting the knife on the table. I failed.

I wanted to stop, stop before doing something crazy. I took the knife and with difficulty removed it from the table, throwing it away from me towards -

Oh no.

No no no no no.

My anger calmed in a matter of milliseconds when I saw how he had gone through one of Olivia's paintings. One that she had done in the first few days of arriving here. It was a beautiful cherry tree where we were both under it, hand in hand together.

The knife had hit the top of the cherry tree, coming down and cutting me in two.

My tears fell as if gravity had increased, I felt broken, useless, destroyed. My legs looked like Olivia's, useless, feeling like I could fall to the ground at any moment.

Now I was at that door again, that golden knob that was before me in that dream, 

My hands placed on the pantry handle and I pulled out the bottle of wine I had bought for Olivia, popping the cork from the bottle.

I started drinking red wine, I choked several times and took out the wine due to lack of air.

But that didn't stop me.

A set of feelings invaded me after falling to the ground with the barely finished bottle in my hands.

feels much better than usual! I might even feel beautiful! It's like a spell.

I brought the bottle of wine back to my mouth, continuing to drink.

Don't wake me up from the spell I'm in! It feels great...Why does the doctor...Manuel? Mason? I don't remember, why would that stupid guy say this wasn't good?

I tried to get up but I was losing the fight against the ground, falling face first into it while giggling. I didn't remember how phenomenal it felt to be like this.

I try to look at the sky but I can't see the stars.

My body sways from side to side as the minutes pass and I continue drinking that bottle of Bourbon, or was it wine? I don't even know what I have in my hands.

I'm going to hate myself tomorrow, but I'll do it again.

My vision feels blurrier than usual, but in this state nobody can hurt me.

Hick

"Hurt me, Hurt me!"

I shouted singing with laughter at what I thought was the starry sky, but it was nothing more than the ceiling of my room.

The floor was full of my own blood, but my smile wouldn't go away.

I turned to the side and my vision became more blurry.

I don't think I had ever vomited so much in my life, my body couldn't handle so much alcohol in such a short time.

My vision focused on the pile of torn cards, seeing the torn card that I had torn moments ago.

I moved as best I could towards the pile of letters hoping that maybe there would be one saying that they had made a mistake and could admit me, but...

Olivia halford.

And a little drawing of Guts on the front of the card.

"Call me when you're ready to talk"

I got up with the letter in my hands.

"Shit"

I said quietly taking the letter with my other hand, seeing how it had been stained with my blood.

I left the letter on the chicken and walked towards the bathroom, tripping and almost falling over the chair smashed to the floor. When I got to the bathroom I saw the mess I had made, I began to clean the hundreds of cuts on my hand, I also had a few pieces of glass stuck in.

My hundreds of faces reflected in the glass made me want to vomit. A face full of blood coming from my shaking and bloody hand.

"What have I become?"

Chapter Text

Last days of summer.

2:00 in the morning.

Months before the accident.

//Inco//

The last days of summer were about to get out of our hands. The cold autumn was just around the corner.

I missed the rain, how the cold drops fell on my face and head, enjoying the wet smell of the water mixing with the dirt. I should look up what that phenomenon is called.

I turned the ring several times between my fingers, a golden one with beautiful sapphires inlaid. I think it was perfect for her. Although I felt terrified at the idea.

Giving her this ring meant taking a step towards our future and leaving old habits behind.

And also, the idea of ​​getting married means that the condom should begin to stop being an option. I laughed at the idea and looked at the soft stars in the clear summer sky that I could see from our bedroom window.

I was terrified. I didn't know if I was prepared to have a burden as big as starting a family. I don't want to become like my parents, they were workaholics. In these last 3 years I barely remember a short conversation with them, so I guess all is not lost.

If one day something happens to me, I'm sure they will be there to support me, or so I hope.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I turned around, hid the ring in the same corner of the bed and let her caress my back with her arm.

"Hey, come back here."

Her voice was sleepy, she was still half asleep, but she wanted me in her arms. She uncovered a little to offer me my place, lying next to her, between her breasts.

Seeing her naked body waiting for me made my lips tremble, even more so with her bright gaze in the moonlight.

"Ah'm comin', darlin'. Lemme pick this up a bit."

"I found it difficult to get rid of her grip as always, given that I didn't want to stop feeling her touch against mine, and also that her strength prevented me from moving, although she finally gave in because of her sleep. She placed herself a little better on the bed and rubbed her eyes so she could observe my actions in silence."

I got up from our bed and began to take the 'Toys' that were still resting on the bed, wrapping some useless condoms in a napkin to throw them in a nearby trash can. I picked up the miniature tuba and smiled as I looked at it. I found out late about this 'B flat' thing but when I found out it was our first time.

I remember it vividly, and my heart races sickeningly fast when I do it.

I began to like jazz, and one of my favorite pieces had that note several times, and I also discovered that those days were the beginning of her estruss season

"It was chaos, but just thinking about how she looked..."

I still don't know what that look meant, well- I mean, I sound like an idiot...

It was a hungry look. But a hungry look full of love and desire. What I don't know is why so much subjective confidence was due. It's hard to explain.

We had let so many moments pass because we were still studying and wanted to take things easy, but simply neither of us could contain ourselves anymore.

Well, I couldn't do anything about it, she was already on top of me trying to rip the clothes off my body. My kiss was the one that calmed her down.

They were some good times, some good days that I thought would never come again. Luckily, it looks like they're coming back again, making for what seems like a calmer Olivia, although I'm still eager to see her reaction to tomorrow's proposal.

I felt her tail searching for my hand until we finally made contact. I looked into her half-closed eyes, waiting for me to sleep. She was starting to get a little annoyed by the delay.

“I want to feel your warmth; I'm cold. I swear if you don't come here, I'm going to—”

She fell silent as she sensed my approach, aware of my dangerous intentions. Her breath hitched as I carefully placed my body on top of hers. It made me smile to see her opening her legs to welcome me while looking away from her flushed gaze, which only made me chuckle.

'Olivia, we just had sex. We have to go see the Paynes tomorrow—'

Her gaze turned a deep shade of red. I couldn't see it, but I knew she had a shy, embarrassed smile."

I used her tail to pull myself closer to her, our gazes meeting, and that familiar sensation washed over me. She wanted me, and that made me want her even more.

We kissed again, and I felt her tremble slightly as she began to rub against my body, trying to soak in my scent.

“Hey, calm down, I still have to put on the—”

She interrupted me with another kiss, her large tongue curling around mine as she pressed me tightly against her body. She had always been a bit rough with her tongue; I could feel how she tried to dominate every kiss we shared. Over time, you get used to kisses as deep as this.

“I'm out of my mating season, I swear nothing should happen.”

I started to laugh at her words; I'd heard them many times throughout our relationship, but never with such seriousness.

“I know it doesn't work that way. I refuse to skip the condom, and there's no way you're convincing me otherwise.”

She just pouted, looking at me with a mix of genuine and playful disappointment. Then, she wrapped her arms around me and easily flipped me over, leaving me on my back.

“You're lucky I love you, skinny.”

She took the box of condoms from the drawer and showed it to me, opening it eagerly, with that adorable, blushing smile on her face.

She was so beautiful.

Her smile grew wider as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, watching my face, fully aware of what she was about to do.

“Relax, leave it to me this time,”

 she said with a confident smile, placing the condom between her lips.

I think I'm going to die.

…

The day was beautiful. A blue sky with just a few small clouds stretched across the vast skies of Volcadera. As with every summer, the Paynes, Olivia, and I gathered to enjoy the final days of the season with a family barbecue. The first to greet me was Vinny. After shoving Olivia aside, he launched himself at me, trying to put me in a headlock. But as usual, I was ready for him and caught him mid-air, pulling him closer so he could get a good look at my triumphant grin.

He pouted, crossing his arms. Normally, I’d let him win to keep him happy, but ever since Sophia insisted—plus that one time he kicked me in the balls—I’ve stopped going easy on him.

Vinny was getting better at catching me off guard, though. I hadn’t expected him to jump from the ceiling onto my back.

After watching Olivia laugh at the spectacle, I took her outside where everyone was already gathered. I had brought plenty of meat, which made everyone happy—especially Olivia when she saw her special chicken, reserved just for her, with a name tag and everything.

Her gaze was intense as she watched the chicken slowly cook over the fire, stalking it like an alligator from the pool.

While swimming, she’d occasionally come toward me, letting out a soft growl just beneath the water’s surface, almost directly under me. It always made me laugh, though I never quite understood why.

“Cannonball!”

Olivia watched over me before diving into the pool. Before I could even process what was happening, Damien had already leaped into the center of the pool, sending a splash of freezing water all over me, which I had been carefully avoiding.

"Ah! You bastard!"

I shouted as he burst out laughing, already climbing out of the water. Knowing exactly how I’d react, he glanced at me with a half-smile and held out his hand for a high-five.

"Brother, I needed some refreshing chaos. You warm-blooded, scaleless ones really have it good. Regulating your body temperature like that—your blood doing a little samba? Share some of that magic with me."

Damien laughed again as I gave him a puzzled look. Another nonsensical thing he said—nothing new, of course. I scanned the entire patio, but I couldn't spot the lamppost, Damien's fiancée.

"Hey, Damien, where’s Liz? I thought she was coming. I even bought her a salad."

Olivia resurfaced, glanced at Damien, then at me, and continued her leisurely swim across the pool. She really seemed to enjoy swimming, relishing her freedom in the water.

I should take her swimming more often—maybe to the beach. I remember her telling me about the good times she had there with her father and the Paynes.

Damien blinked, water dripping from his hair.

"I think she had something to do... I don’t really remember, but hey, if you want, I can give her the salad for you."

I smiled and nodded.

"So, you’re getting married? When’s the big day? I remember hearing the news not too long ago."

Damien looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I don’t remember... But I think it’s in winter!"

"Winter? Wouldn’t Liz kill you for making her wear a wedding dress in the freezing cold, with snow falling on her shoulders?"

Damien started to think again.

"Wait, are you telling me you don’t remember when your own wedding is?"

"Well, I mean, that was the original plan, but Liz wanted to do it her way... I’m a mess, so I just went with it."

"You’re a real disaster, man, but I respect that. If it were me, the same thing would probably happen."

Damien’s smile faded quickly. He glanced at the barbecue his father was tending and cleared his throat.

"I’ll go help my dad. There’s plenty of meat for everyone today."

I stayed silent for a few seconds, then nodded, turning my attention to Olivia, who had been listening carefully to our conversation. Noticing my gaze, the Baryonyx returned to her usual swimming.

"It will work"

…

The afternoon was relatively pleasant. Our plan was to stay until quite late, so we could finish the remaining meat and head home.

As the hours passed, every time I tried to kneel in front of Olivia and pull out the small, soft fabric box, a lump formed in my throat, and I would freeze.

At the barbecue... when we were all playing video games together... when we were enjoying the food.

The speech I had prepared kept changing in my mind, and I even discarded the notes I had written in advance.

The sunset was overhead as I stepped out into the now-empty garden.

I felt frustrated. It was the perfect moment; everyone was ready to hear what I had to say. Yet, all that came out of my mouth was something like "I feel at home"—or at least, that's what I think I said. Had I regretted what I wanted to say in my speech? I didn’t know, but it seemed like today wasn’t the day.

I could hear footsteps approaching, and when I heard a hammock creak nearby, I guessed who it was.

"What are you doing here alone? It's starting to get cool with fall just around the corner."

Damien tossed me a soda, which landed on my lap. I made no move to grab it.

"I was thinking. I wanted to be alone for a while."

Damien paused, setting down his soda, and looked at me.

"Oh, I can go if—"

"No, no, no. I need to talk. It’s been a tough day."

He looked at me with curiosity.

"About what?"

We talked about everything—life, our problems. It was nothing new for us to have these conversations. I missed it; it had been a few months since we had talked like this.

He was Olivia’s brother, and he deserved to know what I planned to do, even if I wanted it to be a surprise.

"Damien, how was your proposal to Liz? I mean, what did you do, and how did you feel?"

Damien’s face lit up with a smile as he recalled that special moment with his partner.

"Her smile of joy will stay with me forever. How she happily tilted her head and accepted by jumping around like crazy. It was at a dinner we had in that rotating tower."

"Oh yeah, Olivia, Liz, and I went to that tower once. You were supposed to come with us but were sick."

I added as Damien gazed at the orange sky.

"I wish I had been there. It would have made it more special. And about how I felt… I was extremely nervous. I’ve rarely felt like that in my life. I almost threw up that morning."

Damien stared at the sky while I was lost in my thoughts. I felt the same way, but it was... different.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small box with the ring, lifting the little golden circle slightly before me.

When Damien noticed the ring, he looked at it for a few seconds.

"This idea has always terrified me. The thought of taking the step to start a family, making things official for a promising future. I’ve been saving for this ring, and more importantly, for something else."

I looked away, remembering some of the letters I had sent. I wanted to enter university next year and make a radical change in my life. I was confident they’d accept me.

"But even though I don’t feel completely ready, I really want to take this step. And what better place than where it all started? At the barbecue, in the last days of summer. Where our friendship truly began. I thought it would be a fitting place to mark the start of our relationship, but—"

As I looked at Damien, my blood ran cold. He wore an expression of sadness mixed with disgust—a look I never expected to see from him.

—1 year—

"And that’s where we started arguing. That memory is blurred by the many times I’ve tried to forget it. He wanted to protect us both—especially his sister—from something tragic and toxic. The way our voices escalated as we argued. How, at first, he asked me to end my relationship with Olivia, and how that request later turned into an ultimatum. How he took the wedding ring and threw it into a huge pile of bushes. We messed it up a lot, but knowing you, you probably already know the rest."

I brought the bottle of bourbon to my lips and took a swig. That event had happened almost a year ago—almost a year since Damien and I had that argument, and nearly a year since Olivia and I had that fight the night our relationship hit rock bottom.

“I thought you should know everything, but you know? She’s probably already come by to fill you in. I just wanted to reiterate and share some details.”

I looked at the name of my late art and photography tutor, Iadakan, engraved on the beautiful tombstone.

"Those bastards from the university... They really screwed me over, but I can feel they’re regretting it now. I met a group of wealthy people who specialize in weddings, birthdays, and events like that. They pay very well, and for the first time in a long while, I’ve been getting positive feedback on my photographs. My follower count is steadily increasing. Sometimes I need to travel to get the right shots for certain clients, especially when they request photos from specific locations, but the recognition I’ve always longed for makes it all worthwhile."

I took another swig from the bottle and wiped the liquid from my mouth.

“And what better way to celebrate than with my photography tutor! You are missed a lot, you know…”

I lifted the bottle to the dark night sky and laughed to myself in the cemetery.

My smile faded as I realized how drunk I was, sitting under the moon in a cemetery. I had actually jumped the fence to get in here and find him.

“I guess things could have been better. I’m still not fully used to my arm. A few weeks ago, I stopped going to rehab. I’m getting better, or so Dr. Marcus and Eric say about my arm. I can still take photos, so it’s useful to me.”

I looked at the scar on my arm below the wrist. I had it done months ago in a moment of frustration when I couldn’t hold a camera properly. It sounds crazy, but I was so frustrated I wanted to cut off my arm. Thanks to my perseverance, I found a way to handle the camera again, although using a prosthesis is always an option if I ever tire of this almost useless arm.

"You know, I’d... I’d really like to know what you’d think about all this, how you’d... uh, act and stuff. But I didn’t, y’know, know you well enough. Maybe Olivia would, but..."

I remember looking at her throughout the trial, recalling our meeting days before.

I doubt I'll ever find someone like her again. Even if I do, it won’t be the same. The feelings and experiences we shared at school are memories I’ll never be able to recreate. I can only replay them in my mind, moments that have already passed.

Could I have done something to make everything work out?

...

Weeks after the barbecue at the Payne house. Weeks before the accident.

Early September.

"And it’s always ‘This, that, she’s supporting me, she—she’s got me fed up.’"

I brought the beer bottle to my mouth. Its taste was unpleasant, but it offered a certain calm. After a couple of sips, I found myself in the first bar I could locate after a long walk following an argument with Olivia about how exhausted I was from hearing so much about this Oliver guy. I had been coming to this bar a few times to calm my nerves after work. I leaned against the bar and looked at my listener.

"Haven't ya tried talkin' to her 'bout how much this is gettin' under your skin?"

My listener asked, swaying her long, massive tail from side to side while holding a large mug of beer in her claws.

"Well, every time we talk about it, we end up arguing, so it doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. I really love her, but I’m just not in the mood since we don’t communicate much. She’s always at work. That fight changed us a lot."

I glanced at the woman with white scales and short hair, who was attentively listening to every word I said.

"A question, Samantha, aren’t you a bit too large to be a Baryonyx? That was the first thing I thought when I saw you."

The woman looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"You ain't ever seen a Baryonyx before?"

Up close, from afar, in my arms, kissing me. Happy, sad, angry...

"I, uh..."

She laughed.

"I get mistaken for a Baryonyx all the time, but I'm actually a Deinosuchus."

I watched her laugh, narrowing my eyes and taking in her appearance, making her pose a little before my gaze.

"I don’t see the difference between a Baryonyx and a Deino...Deinosu—"

"Deinosuchus."

Samantha raised an eyebrow and gave a mocking laugh, wagging her tail from side to side again.

"That’s a pretty strange name."

"Do you call me weird when you're the only human in town? Seems like you're the strange one here, Mr. G."

"Well, it wasn’t me who tried to buy you a drink while totally drunk and offering free sex."

Samantha rolled her eyes.

"Well, I was drunk and thought you were cute. Never got around to pickin' a client just for fun."

I bit my tongue as certain thoughts ran through my head. What was I thinking?

I was starting to feel uneasy. Olivia should be in an interview with... Fuck.

"Samantha."

I saw her choke on the beer she was drinking, a shiver running from her tail to her neck as she glanced at me from the corner of her eye.

I stood there for a few seconds, words dancing on my tongue. I looked away and frowned.

Don’t even think about it, you fucking bastard.

"A toast to strangers."

She turned to me to see me better, her face burning with a blush that she managed to get rid of quickly as she raised her beer.

"A toast to the stranger."

We clinked our drinks together and began drinking what little was left of the bottle.

—2 years—

That was the last time I saw her after sharing a few more laughs. I couldn’t let those thoughts take control of me. I wasn’t going to fall as low as cheating on Olivia, much less with a woman I met in a bar.

I had seen her on a relatively frequent basis, though not in that way, of course. After rejecting her offer, I remember she slumped against the bar and fell asleep. I left shortly after. When I returned the next day, she was there and apologized for the misunderstanding, introducing herself as Samantha.

We didn’t talk much. I told her about my problems while we shared a beer, and she tried to give me advice, though it was somewhat clumsy.

It felt good to help her. She revealed a sad side of her life when she drank more than usual. A beautiful girl with a promising future thrown away because of a young partner. I don’t remember all the details, but it led her to work in that world to survive. Luckily, she is a woman with a formidable character and works on her own, not on the streets or for mere coins.

It made me feel strange that she wanted to spend time with me so freely. It even made me uncomfortable, but I chalked it up to the alcohol.

What a crappy drink I had in my early days.

I played with my bourbon glass while standing at the bar of a nightclub, one of the most luxurious in Volcadera.

"Inco, aren’t you going to celebrate with us? It’s your day! Are you okay, buddy?"

I felt an arm around me, trying to cheer me up. I didn’t take my eyes off the glass, just turning it around and playing with the liquid.

Two years had passed since the accident. I should feel happy, alive, celebrating with the fake people around me.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. The life I had always wanted, surrounded by people who sought to be like me, people who could appreciate my expensive designer clothes, who treated me like a god.

My selfish mind had wanted this for so long. They didn’t seem to see any flaws in me; they just looked at me with smiles and praised what I did.

Light things had become boring. My passion for photography had turned monotonous. But why?

I had always sought recognition and the opportunity to do something I loved, like photography. It’s not as if I were a singer, but being nicknamed ‘The Scarred Lensman’ drew a certain audience, especially when my photos appeared in newspapers and on social networks. I was able to capture unique images.

Within something that seems daily, recurring. I remember being told the same thing at that wedding I went to where Iadakan invited me to take photos.

But, I'm only able to capture those images of other people. What about me?

Having achieved what I once dreamed of hasn’t fulfilled me at all; on the contrary, it has left me feeling more empty. Empty because I know I've been searching for something I never truly wanted.

Seeking the validation of others, craving their attention for my work, but…

The attention of the public doesn’t interest me at all.

I remember taking photos and feeling proud of the result, even when professionals told me otherwise. That feeling filled me with determination and made me want to improve, to feel even prouder.

And now, with designer clothes and a reputation as a photographer. Am I proud of it? The first few days felt exhilarating, like I had finally achieved what I always wanted, but now it just feels monotonous. People's praise doesn’t evoke any real emotion in me. They make me feel as if I were a vending machine that they try to flatter to get money out of.

I recall a phrase Eric once told me:

“When you become untouchable, you are unable to touch.”

Still, when people ask me if I'm okay...

“Everything is fine, I’ll join you right away.”

I put on my best smile to show how well I’m doing. With a bit of alcohol and the right clothes, I can give the impression that everything is fine. Presenting a good façade to the pathetic masses.

Without saying anything else, I turned and left with the group that had accompanied me. I could only look at them as if I were above them all—photography colleagues who used me to claim they knew me. The kind of piranhas that try to grab your entire arm.

I turned around at the bar to look at the club. There were people dancing and enjoying their time, mostly watching the dancers on the steel poles.

I took a final sip from my glass and looked up at the ceiling of the club.

Was this how Olivia felt? No, she felt that way because she thought people pitied her due to her disability and said her art was beautiful for that reason.

Mine is different. I don’t feel that others pity me; instead, I feel they’re taking advantage of me. And beyond that, everything has become monotonous. Their gazes, the lack of appreciation for the small things in my job.

Thinking about Olivia makes me remember something.

I placed an untaxed bill on the bar and exited through the back door of the club. Surprisingly, there was no one to bother me; I expected it to be full of smokers or a couple making out like other times, but tonight was different.

The snow surrounded me—there aren’t many dinos who appreciate snow.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out some letters from Olivia.

Spring 2028.

She never gives up. This letter was from spring, and now we’re in winter.

Her initial letters were simple, asking how I was, but I never responded. I wasn’t sure if she knew I had read them or if she sent them as a way to vent. The letters were never full of detail, arriving every few months, perhaps when she thought of me, just as I did when I received one.

I’ve read them all, Olivia.

The issue is, I haven’t read any this year. It’s nearing the end of the year, and I haven’t seen anything from her at all. One day she simply stopped writing, and I stopped paying attention. When she started writing again, I was already caught up in my own life. Yet, sometimes I wondered what had happened. I figured she might have forgotten or found someone else—

I shook my head. I couldn’t understand this irrational feeling. What if she had found someone else? Good for her, right?

I opened the letter quickly, the first one she had sent this year, and was surprised by its appearance.

It wasn’t the usual elegant paper with carefully penned words and little drawings of her art. This paper was wrinkled, with barely legible words and a noticeable lack of illustrations.

“Oh no…”

Tears began to wet the paper. I hadn’t expected such bad news, and it hurt even more to realize it only now, so long after. The delay made it feel even more poignant.

That old rat had been a part of her life, and I remember how he would climb onto my lap, standing on two legs and gazing up at me with those bulging eyes. I recall our arguments, Olivia seeking comfort from Guts. I remember how she made me cover Guts’ cage whenever we became affectionate.

I’m grateful Olivia shared this with me, even though I couldn’t tell her in person. She knew that little rat had become a small emblem of our relationship, how she included Guts in each of her sketches.

It makes me feel miserable to think about how much she must have suffered when her little pet was no longer there to offer her affection and love. I wiped the tears from my eyes and cleared my throat.

I hadn’t cried in years, and luckily, no one had seen me.

I placed the letters back into my pocket and decided to leave. No one would notice my absence immediately; they’d only realize when they wanted another round and found I wasn’t there to pay for it.

After reading the last letter, which was written a couple of months ago, I breathed a sigh of relief. Olivia seemed to be doing well, especially with Damien and Liz preparing to become parents. I was happy for them. I remember Damien tried to contact me again the night before his wedding, but it was too late.

They got married, but I never learned more details. All I know comes from Eric, who was invited. I know Eric talked about me, as Olivia mentioned it in one of her letters, but I never asked him about his intentions. Maybe I’ll inquire the next time I see him.

In her letter, Olivia spoke about how bad she wanted to start a Family when we used to be together. I felt a pang of jealousy towards Liz and Damien—they had their lives planned and set, while I...I was still here, wandering aimlessly, with my head held high but feeling lost.

Sometimes I don’t even know what I want. Perhaps the best thing I can do is try to forget. One day, she will simply stop sending letters, and it will be over.

Still, I doubt I’ll ever forget how she slipped from my grasp, how she wanted to abandon me, how Damien...

I glanced at one of the paintings she had done in our old home. There were a few scattered around, authentic works of art that only I could truly appreciate. These were the paintings that stayed with me after moving to my new house on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a good house, perhaps too big for me alone. I chose it because it was near the beach.

She seemed destined for art school, but even so, she continued to feel that same persistent sense of unfulfillment, a feeling that has lingered since I first met her.

That feeling that has her so self-conscious—it's a shame. She believes that people still feel sorry for her condition, and it devastates her that she’s still stuck in this mindset, despite having promised me she’d change for the better.

I wish I could respond to every message in person, to tell her how beautiful her art is, just like when she created it long ago. But I’m simply a bastard who can’t turn back time.

I’ve often thought about calling her, using the number she provided in her letters, but I still don’t feel ready. I don’t want her to see me like this—a wreck who relies on alcohol to cope with his problems. Besides, I’m unsure how to start such a conversation. How much has she changed?

I shook my head, trying to dispel these thoughts before they dragged me down further. I’ve worked hard to achieve what I have; I can’t let my feelings sabotage everything.

"I promise that I will improve; I will become someone worthwhile."

I sighed, torn between wanting to see her succeed and not wanting to confront her in this state. I need more time to think and to pull myself out of this funk.

I need to change.

Chapter Text

June 23, 2029

8:20 PM Summer 

//Inco//

I took a deep breath and turned off my phone, which had an overwhelming number of messages. It had been vibrating all day, but honestly, I wasn’t concerned anymore; it wasn’t the first time it happened. I had worked more than enough and needed a break. I don’t plan to do any photography for the rest of the week. They definitely won’t fire me for it; they know I’m indispensable here.

So there I was, lying on the couch, surrounded by piles of photos, newspapers, and trash. Lost in my thoughts as I pulled a letter from my pocket. I had been waiting all week to read it, and maybe this was the best time to do it. It didn’t seem particularly special; I had skimmed through it superficially to avoid a disappointment at the end of a day like this; I could fall off a cliff and still smile. I had more important letters to review, but this one was special, it was a letter from her, so I had to read it.

I was alone under the dim light of the living room lamp, which I had bought for reading during my free time, although I hadn’t expected those free moments to be so frequent; the bulb was already somewhat worn out from time. It’s also true that I didn’t always bother to turn it off.

At this hour, everyone was probably asleep; the neighborhood people, rich fuckers, would be in their beds after a tiring day on the golf courses. What a pathetic life they all lead.

As always, the letter was beautifully decorated, with delicate sketches of things she used to tell me about, including several drawings of the late Guts. I can tell she still misses him. This time, Guts was sitting in a chair with a smile and his eyes open, as if he were looking at me, drawing a detailed miniature. A true artist.

I took a sip of bourbon and set it beside me, watching how the moonlight slowly infiltrated the living room through the window grilles, which had been closed for months.

She had never told me much about what was happening in her life. She only gave me small details; I remember that in the first year she mentioned that she was going to rehab and that it had helped her a lot. I guess I’m glad for her, although to me, it seems trivial. How could something like that help her?

The letter came with a photo of her latest painting. Sometimes, she would send me images of her works and ask me what meaning I thought they had.

Dear Inco,

I don’t know if you’ve ever read any of these letters, but writing to you has become a habit for me. It helps me vent, even if I have no idea if it matters to you.

She always mentions this, seeming not to know that I have read all of them. She does it as a way to convince herself to keep sending letters to someone she doesn’t know is reading them, so she can be more open. Does she want me to know that I’ve read them all? I don’t know, but I’ve read every single one, without fail. From the first to the last.

Today I feel strange, as if everything is out of place. Sometimes it seems like things get better, but then everything goes back to being the same. It’s like I’m stuck in an endless cycle.

I’m attaching a picture of my latest painting. I don’t know what you’ll think of it, or even if you’ll look at it, but I wanted to share it with you. It’s nothing special, but it’s what I’ve been working on lately.

I hope you’re well, truly.

Take care, please.

Liv-Long

A brief letter, nothing special, quite simple. Although it seemed like what she wanted to show me the most was the painting, which was likely influenced by her emotions. The image was somewhat blurry, but I could make out the painting on its beautiful canvas. I could also see part of the room she was in, a new studio; she was probably living in a new place.

I looked at the image of the painting Olivia sent me and couldn’t help but feel a knot in my stomach. It’s an hourglass, but it’s more than that. The black sand falling and turning into light... It’s as if it reflects what I feel every day.

At first, it seemed like everything was going to get better, that the light at the end of the tunnel was within reach. But then, that same light starts to fade, reverting back to what it was before: the same darkness that always chases me. Then I turn the hourglass and get that feeling again, over and over.

This painting is her way of telling me that she also feels trapped, as if we are destined to repeat the same mistakes again and again, unable to move forward. It’s a reminder that no matter how hard we try to distance ourselves from what happened, we keep falling into the same cycle, where hope and disappointment intertwine endlessly.

Maybe she feels that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be able to fully escape this sense of emptiness. Perhaps she’s showing me this because, somehow, she knows that I understand what it’s like to live in that mix of light and shadow, without finding a real way out.

Or maybe it's her way of asking me if there's still time to change course before the light disappears completely.

Everything I just said sounds very melodramatic, now that I think about it.

I cracked a smile as I read the letter from the beginning again. I had gotten used to interpreting the emotional state she was in while writing each letter. Sometimes, I could tell she was sad when the letters had few decorative sketches and contained more negative words.

Other times, it was an explosion of ideas, reflected in Guts' sketches. Compared to the ones she did in school almost six years ago, the progress she's made over time is clearly noticeable.

I got up from the couch and started to walk around the room to clear my mind and reflect. I reread the letter, paying more attention to the image and trying to find a deeper meaning.

I remember that, some time ago, I used to wander the streets, capturing moments that others wanted to remember, just like me. Now, I barely leave this damn house. My personal camera gathers dust on the shelf, just like my memories.

Looking at myself in the large mirror I bought in an act of egocentrism, I see my face marked by deep dark circles and an unkempt beard. The scar will always be there. I used to keep my beard neatly trimmed and not too long; it's not huge, but enough for someone to know I don't care much about my appearance. I used to worry that others would notice my mental state, but now I don't care. They won't do anything to change it as long as I can still take incredible photos.

I don't care much about the opinion of all those despicable people, either. They're a bunch of hypocrites who don't even bother to hide the dagger they're trying to stab me with. They're so obvious.

Sometimes, I can't even trust my own shadow.

I look at the bottle of alcohol and take one last swig before capping it and throwing it onto the couch. The bottle bounced off the couch and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor.

Well, there goes a $500 bottle of bourbon.

Not that it had the best taste or was very expensive; I've wasted more money on even bigger nonsense, though I feel too poor to buy the complete collection of Warhammer 40k figurines.

I'll clean up the mess later.

I looked at the piles of garbage bags by the door. Almost all of them were pizza boxes, soda cans, and Chinese takeout. It's been a while since I cooked anything for myself, and even though I was starting to get the hang of it, I just don't feel like doing anything.

I would like to spend the whole day locked up in my room, but if Eric finds me in such a pitiful state, he'll come back from Volcadera to hit me with that cane sword he showed me. It hurts quite a bit when he catches you off guard.

How did I end up here?

These past few years have been an emotional rollercoaster. The moment I felt most fulfilled was seeing Oliver's face as he lost his mind and watched his future crumble before him.

I wonder what happened to that kid. His life must be worse than mine, but you know what? He deserves it, and what I did to him was nothing. He's destined to die alone; maybe I will too, but I'll do it with my head held high.

I don't even know what I'm saying, or if I should feel proud about it. I feel like I should, but at the same time, I feel nothing.

I got into the bathtub and let myself sink into the icy water. Reflecting is the best thing I can do right now.

It's been a long time since I went out to spend some time. Maybe I could even take photos of something that seems moderately compelling or pleasant to look at, not just of a bunch of rich people who wanted to show off a perfectly taken photo to their wealthy friends, made by me.

"Are you up for it today?" I said, squeezing my wrist, moving my fingers one by one, and grabbing the support bar to lift myself out of the bathtub.

Halfway through, my fingers weakened, and I fell back into the tub.

I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on the bar even more. I could feel one of my fingers trembling and aching from the effort, but that was something I had gotten used to by now.

"Useless bastard."

I clenched my fist, feeling how weak it was, preparing to stupidly smash it against a tile. But I calmed down and sat on the toilet lid.

In a way, it was my fault. I hadn't done my regular wrist exercises for a couple of weeks: lifting small weights and testing its agility by moving certain small objects. A routine I was supposed to follow to the letter but had neglected in the last few days.

Every time I did it, I looked at myself in the mirror and reflected while performing the exercises automatically.
I got up early every morning and repeated the same actions, every day, at the same time. With huge dark circles from lack of sleep and a headache from whatever I didn’t remember drinking the night before. I made the same disgusting coffee and looked at my phone for no reason before doing my daily exercises. The only thing that kept me alive was Ruby.

With the plan in mind, I put on my aviator glasses, my black bomber jacket, and my white shirt with large letters that read, "I LOVE BEER." I think the shirt was the only cheap item in my outfit, if not free. I won it... Well, Olivia won it at a fair we went to together when we were in college. It was a bit tight on her, so she gave it to me.

It's comfortable; I don't keep it because it has sentimental value but simply because it's comfortable.

After days cooped up at home, stepping outside, the sea breeze hit my face immediately. It's like a refreshing embrace from the ocean. I feel the cool, salty air brushing against my skin, revitalizing every cell.

How deep.

The nighttime sea breeze is definitely something I've come to enjoy more and more over the past few years living here. I have a few photos of the sunset in a place as beautiful as this.

Olivia would like that.

Stop thinking about her.

I looked away and took a gentle stroll through the slightly overgrown, neglected grass, staring blankly at the garage door. I patted my pockets until I realized the keys were in my back left pocket. I don’t know how they got there, but this would be one of the biggest struggles of my life.

After a while of fumbling and making my back crack, I managed to get the keys out of my back pocket, despite the difficulty of doing so with the fingers of my hand on the other side.

There it was, the beauty that took my breath away every time I touched it. A moss green Harley-Davidson that I was encouraged to buy a little over a year ago. Its name has nothing to do with the color; Rubies are red. I decided to name her that because...
Honestly, I was so confused I thought the Ruby was green. Why lie to myself?

I put on my helmet and got on the bike, caressing its body and brushing off the tiny specks of dust it had.

I take better care of the bike than I do of myself. It's the only material object I have a genuine affection for.

It was difficult for me to handle this beast at first. Having three fingers with only half their functionality and a quarter of my vision lost isn’t ideal for riding a bike as big as this one, but...

Riding makes me feel free. Feeling the wind, at full speed, caressing my face. Taking the highway on nights like this gives me the sensation of escaping, even if just for a moment, from that endless cycle I can't break out of. I feel independent, detached from everything, immersed only in the asphalt stretching out before me.

Though, honestly, I don't care what happens, as long as I stop thinking about all this weight I carry on my shoulders. Maybe the easiest way out would be to let go of what torments me, but that would mean admitting that my entire life has been a lie. Acknowledging that what I always thought I wanted was never really what I wanted at all.

There's always something I feel I'm missing, something I lost in the fall, but I can never figure out exactly what it is that I need so badly. Life tries to smile at me now and then, but all I can see is how I keep falling.
I have to admit, this feeling, the adrenaline, has always attracted me. Speeding more than I should on the Volcadera cliffs... One wrong turn, and you're flying into the ocean, descending into a literal abyss.

Sometimes, I like to stop and watch the sunset from one of those cliffs near the highway, with one or two beers, observing how the darkness envelops the horizon and the cool sea breeze embraces me.
The roar of the bike fills the tunnel as I accelerate, feeling every vibration of the engine beneath me. The lights pass over my visor at a dizzying speed, fleeting flashes I can barely capture. I am completely focused on the road ahead, with the wind hitting my chest hard.

Every light I pass blends into a bright streak, while the shadows of the side walls rush by like ghosts. In the distance, a glow begins to grow. The exit. I accelerate even more, my pulse pounding in my ears. Suddenly, I leave the tunnel behind.

And there it is, the city of Volcadera.It's been a while since I've seen it.

The city welcomes me like a glowing beast. The tall buildings rise like towers of lava, bathed in red and orange lights that flicker like embers. The neon signs in the venues draw lines of color under the night sky, and the city's energy seems to vibrate in sync with my bike. The vision is hypnotic, as if the whole city is alive, calling me to dive into it.

I like the outskirts of the city, quieter, sparsely populated, but this... this is just something I remember with a bittersweet taste.

I act like the last time I saw it was years ago, but it was only months ago.

The city that never sleeps. At this hour, other cities would be deserted, but this is different.

I change course to weave between the roads of the buildings and think of a plan for tonight. I just went out without any idea of what to do.

Taking a ride is probably the best option.

I passed by a couple of street food stands, where people crowded to grab a quick bite before continuing with their lives. A few vendors moved with the agility of those who had repeated those motions thousands of times: fast hands, hoarse voices, tired faces. From the seat of the bike, everything seemed so distant, as if they lived in a world I no longer understood.

At a traffic light, I stopped and watched a group of young people laughing, probably coming out of a bar. They looked carefree, as if there was nothing else in the world but the next beer or the next joke. I felt a pang of envy. When was the last time I laughed like that?

The engine purred beneath me, vibrating like a machine eager to keep going, while I remained trapped in my thoughts.

I accelerated again, passing by bars with neon lights and clubs where lines of people waited to get in. The lights flickered and cast glimmers over the wet road, blending with the distant sounds of music and muffled conversations. To my right, a small flower stand was still open, the red roses standing out under the yellow glow of a lamp. Who buys flowers at this hour? I thought, though I wasn't really interested in the answer.

The streets began to empty the deeper I went into the quiet areas. It was as if the city, so full of life and movement, began to fade, leaving only the echoes of an activity that never truly stopped. But I felt stuck. Always on the sidelines, watching people move, live, while I simply… existed.

I sped up a little more, feeling the vibration travel up my arms. There was no destination, just the feeling of escape, although there was nothing I could really run from. Just going in circles, as if with each mile traveled, I could leave something behind.

I stopped in one of those less populated areas and let my bike purr for a while as I looked around. I recognized the area; I preferred the tranquility of these lonely streets over the crowded main avenues. Taking off my helmet, I could feel the gazes of several passersby on me. I stopped caring a long time ago if people stared because of the scar on my face, because I was human, or both.

There should be several bars and restaurants around here, although maybe going into one for a drink wouldn’t be a bad idea.

"So it was you. I knew it was."

I heard a voice coming from my blind side, where my eye wasn't in the best condition. I'd recognize those bluish scales and those big round glasses anywhere. How long had it been? Six, seven years?

When I turned around, I saw his face flush with surprise and fear, his purple eyes tracing the line of my scar.

Ben.

He hadn't changed much, maybe a little less thin, though now he seemed smaller.

He cleared his throat after noticing my silence and swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

"Inco... ah, I don't know if you remember me, I'm—"

"I know who you are."

Ben's eyes widened a bit more, still fixated on my scar, partially covered by my glasses.

"A-ah, that's great— I mean..."

It seems he wasn't prepared for such a curt response.

"I heard there was a human photographer who had gained some notoriety, something like 'the one with the scar' or something. I never saw your name mentioned anywhere, but I knew it was you."

Glad to know someone can recognize me without knowing exactly who I am. Though, thanks for reminding me that I'm known more for my scar than for being myself. I guess.

"Wow, glad the gossip reached you, although I didn't expect someone who doesn't see my name anywhere to recognize me. I guess not everyone needs to be mentioned to leave a mark."

Ben's small smile faded from his face as his gaze shifted elsewhere, looking a bit puzzled. An interaction as brief as it was sharp.

I knew he had questions that had probably already been answered by Damian at some point, so I shouldn't bother with explanations.

I lowered the helmet from my waist and hung it from my wrist, putting the motorcycle keys in one of my pockets. Ben just stood there, watching.

"Nice bike, looks like photography paid off? You must be doing quite—"

"Look, Ben, I'm in a hurry. Is that okay, champ? If we ever meet again, maybe I'll see if I'm in the mood to chat."

Ben watched me leave, making a small wave with his hand, and I returned it with a more indifferent gesture, barely glancing at him. His presence faded away as I turned onto one of the streets.

Why am I like this? Do I hold a grudge against him for something from the past that I can't remember? Or have I simply become a cantankerous recluse?

His demeanor isn't as confident as it used to be. I'm sure he'll continue with Mia in one way or another, and that must have taken a toll on him. I also don't feel there’s any particular reason for us to talk.

Damn, thinking about it like this, it's pretty sad that someone like her and him lasted so long, whereas I...

I don’t even know why I’m paranoid.

Mia, what a strange name it feels now. It seems like centuries ago when Olivia and I were fleeing down the hall from her rage. In one way or another, those were better times, when we were younger and...

I don't see the point in dwelling on this issue. I’m not going to get anywhere with this mindset.

I continued wandering the streets until I reached the first bar I found. It was crowded, with a strong smell of alcohol wafting from the entrance... There were so many people that no one stopped to look at or judge strangers’ appearances.

I quickly found a spot among the stools and patiently waited for my order.

I picked up the menu and glanced disinterestedly at what was offered. I had to admit I was hungry; my only meal had been breakfast, which consisted of some rancid cannelloni. My fault, it had been a while since I cooked anything for myself.

It feels like an eternity has passed since I really cared about anything.

I felt my legs starting to fidget from the wait. I looked around, searching for someone at the bar who could attend to me, but it was more than five minutes before I could see the bartender, who finally started taking orders along the bar.

While waiting patiently, I reviewed the menu again to make sure I was clear on what I wanted to order. It wasn't a restaurant, but a beer and a snack could improve my night.

...

Another five minutes had passed, and I still hadn’t been served. I had gotten lost in the buzz of the bar and its background music, though I wasn’t sure what it was due to the noise.

It didn’t bother me; it gave the place a certain atmosphere, though perhaps not the best moment, considering my head was aching from the wait.

I looked up again, and the only thing I saw was the bartender chatting with a couple of girls in the seats near mine.

“Hey, bartender, stop acting so important and serve me.”

I clenched my fists as the bartender glanced at me from the corner of his eye. I rested my jaw on my hand and began fiddling with my fingers on the bar.

After a brief chat with the girls, he approached me and took my order, which took him no more than ten seconds.

Useless piece of…

I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through the messages I had received, none of which I had read before.

“Are you free tonight?”

It was a message from one of my workmates.

“No.”

A few more messages asked if I was available for a photo shoot for… last week. I’m sure they won’t be happy with the result.

This was starting to feel like a joke; the bartender was still talking with the girls. This was the last straw.

I slammed my fist on the table and leaned a bit over the bar, catching the attention of the bartender and a few customers sitting at the bar.

“I didn’t know serving customers included talkin’. Or are you expecting the girls to help with orders while you have fun?”

“Oh! Sorry, they’re old acquaintances and I—”

“Damn it, I don’t care, just give me what I ordered already! You must have a special talent for ignoring the obvious.”

I raised my voice while the bartender looked away and made a subtle gesture toward the girls, starting to prepare what I assumed was my order.

Finally, the snack and the mug of beer appeared in front of me.

“You’re not so stupid after all!. How much is it?”

The bartender remained silent, looking away. Before he could respond, I took a sip of the beer and almost immediately began coughing heavily.

The taste was awful, an intensely bitter and unpleasant flavor. I didn’t realize what I was drinking until I tasted it on my tongue. I remembered that taste, the one from the first beers I tried. I don’t know how I started drinking something like this in my early days.

“What the FUCK is this?”

I slammed the mug of beer against the bar and stood up, pointing at the container. The bartender stepped back slightly while waving his hands in an attempt to calm me down.

"This isn't the drink I ordered, you piece of shit!"

"Sorry, sorry, but—"

"Are you trying to make excuses? I'm about to smash your head with the mug!"

I was completely furious. It felt like he was mocking me. The girls' giggles ceased as my voice rose, attracting the attention of a few curious glances in the bar.

"Sorry! Really, it’s just that that girl told me ypu liked that beer, so I—"

Girl?

I glanced sideways toward where the bartender was pointing and saw what appeared to be a woman with albino scales, waving her tail as she gestured at me. Her shape seemed familiar.

I looked at the bartender with disdain, leaving a couple of bills on the table.

"Do me a favor and throw away that crap and serve me the beer I ordered. Don’t change a customer's order without their consent."

“The— The money isn’t necessary, she already paid, so—”

I had already gotten up from the bar with the snack in my hands, heading towards the girl who had been chatting with the bartender.

“Samantha.”

I called out to the Deinosuchus as I sat down in a seat across from her, while she took a sip of her beer.

"Mr. N! Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen ya! When’s the last time? And what’s that on your face? Looks like ya done fought a bear, partner."

An alligator would be more accurate. But then again, it’s ironic considering she’s a huge Deinosuchus.

“Were you trying to kill me? That alcohol is trash.”

"I know, I told ya that, but you still drank it, didn’t ya?"

She chuckled with her pronounced accent as she took another sip from her mug.

“Don’t remind me…”

“You’re such a grump, mate! You nearly scared the poor kid half to death; he’s new on the job. Give him a break, man. With the way you look…” 

She laughed again.

“What brings ya here? This is the second time we’ve run into each other in a bar. When they bring your beer, we’ll have a toast.” 

I remained silent, staring at the table. After a few seconds, my drink arrived.

Samantha watched me, her eyes scanning me as I did the same with her. She was wearing a somewhat inappropriate outfit for the occasion, even with a tie, but it was a bit disheveled.

“I just felt like having a drink, that’s all.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I remember you used to go to the bar when you argued with that partner of yours…” 

“Yeah, I used to. Now I enjoy coming to some bars to have some time alone.”

“Uh~ Alone~ Have you turned into a grump or something?”

She reached out and gently stroked my chin with her hand. With her other hand, she lifted my glasses slightly to look into my eyes. She observed my somewhat grayish eye, which caused a look of sympathy on her face, though she continued to smile. She slid her free hand to my scar, gently caressing it. Her face was so close to mine that I could hear the beat of her heart and her slightly labored breathing.

“Let me fix that."

Days after the trial, 2026.
10:00 PM.
//Olivia//

Several days had passed since the trial where Oliver's lies had been exposed.

I was ecstatic, not just because he had the audacity to come here looking for an explanation, but also because his face, swollen and terrified, showed his fear. He was on the ground, rubbing his red cheek after the punch I’d given him when he tried to demand answers. He was clearly angry and had no idea what I was capable of.

Now, he lay defenseless on the ground, staring up at me with his head held high.

“You, damn bastard! Who do you think you are, coming here to my aunt and uncle’s house looking for me? I never told you I lived here, you idiot.”

I clenched my fists in anger, barely listening to what he was trying to say as he pounded on the door.

Oliver recoiled slightly, panting from the pain in his cheek. What a pathetic guy.

"I just came to make you an offer, n-nothing more."

"I have nothing to do with you after what you tried. I'd rather be in the dust than deal with you, pig."

I was angry; if I weren't sitting down, I would have jumped on him to give him a real beating, one that Inco should have given him.

He had made things worse. The blame for Inco’s problems falls entirely on me, including the fact that I called this pathetic worm to help me move things.

That gave Inco the wrong impression, especially with the words Oliver had said to him.

"Olivia deserves someone much better than you."

No, I don’t deserve someone better than him, because there is no one better.

"S-just... Listen, you’ve told me that your salary at your job is low and... I-I can help you with that if you help me with the counterclaim your boyfriend..."

I clenched my teeth tightly. How dare he?

I turned my chair towards him and moved closer to look directly into his pitiful eyes.

"I don't want your money. I’d rather be on the damn streets than help you get out of the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. I really thought you were a good guy giving me advice, but now I see you’re nothing but a daddy’s boy trying to take advantage of someone else's girlfriend. Ha, as if. I doubt women want to be near someone as stupid as you. All you’ve done is ruin my life."

Oliver swallowed hard and clenched his fists while looking at me. Go ahead.

"I wasn't the one talking all day about your problems and saying your boyfriend didn’t seem to support you fully. Call me a bitch or whatever you want, but you ruined your own life."

He closed his eyes as he saw me move my fist to hit him, but… didn’t I realize I was behaving like this towards him? I was getting aggressive because I knew he was right; I was the one who had messed things up, who had delivered the final blow.

I left him lying on the ground, while he kept his pathetic eyes closed, and went back into the Payne house.

Luckily, no one was awake or at least no one had heard our conversation.

I leaped onto my bed with a jump using my tail and sank into the pillow, feeling my tears streaming down my scaled cheeks.

I doubt Inco will want to be with me again in the future. I trust his word that one day we might see each other and talk, but what we had should be more than dead because of me.

I swore I would change, and I promise I will: I’ll be a better person, someone who doesn’t have these outbursts of anger, who isn’t so selfish, and definitely not a damned...

I’ve lost him.

My tears started to flow more intensely as I looked at Guts from his cage.

So many moments together, both good and bad, are now just memories of supposedly better times.

How we’d pass notes in history class, how we’d cuddle with each other for hours in this very room.

Yes, we had a pretty nasty argument at the winter dance, but sometimes it seemed like things were getting better, and we were together.

"Damn it..."

I covered my face as I tried to stop that defeated feeling from taking over my mind.

I had lost everything. Again. I felt that helplessness overwhelming me and making me feel miserable.

I could have changed at so many moments, listened to the person I loved in order to change, but I simply didn’t because of my selfishness.

Looking back, even at the dance, I had been completely selfish. He was trying to make me feel good that night; we even danced together for a while. I remember him spending a long time preparing me some food that looked nice, and I practically insulted him for it. I tried to convince myself that my behavior had been justified, but I simply didn’t see it that way.

I heard the door open, and Sophia's face appeared, looking sad to see me in this state.

My tears began to fall more heavily as I saw her looking at me in my most vulnerable moment, feeling how the tears had already soaked my hands.

"Shh, it’s okay, calm down."

Sophia stroked my hair as she tried to calm me, sitting beside me.

"I’ve lost him, Soph. I don’t deserve even a bit of your pity. The more I think about it, the worse the feeling becomes."

I swallowed hard and cried again, feeling Sophia’s gentle touches on my greenish scales.

"I wish I could go back in time, t-to…"

Thousands of things crossed my mind. Apologizing. Being a better girlfriend. Listening to him, hugging him, kissing him. Stopping his fall, being the one who falls instead of him, but…

“To have never spoken to him and let him go on with his life and find someone much better than me. A... A stupid, paralyzed girl who can’t even paint.”

I clenched my fists tightly, trying to avoid looking at her. It had been a long time since I felt this knot in my throat; thankfully, Sophia was already prepared.

She handed me my water bottle, and I took a sip almost immediately to soothe my throat.

“I don’t deserve you guys, a-after what I did and-I… You… You still accept me. Am I that pathetic?”

I asked Sophia while looking her in the eyes, shaking my head in denial.

“No, Olivia. We also feel responsible for what happened. We all believe we could have done something to prevent what occurred, but we need to live in the present. Looking to the past will only make us feel worse. Accept the consequences and use them to avoid future mistakes and improve as a person. Even we can make mistakes.”

She whispered softly as she gave me a tender hug.

“We love you like you’re part of the family, Olivia. In fact, to us, you already are, and nothing can change that.”

She held me close as I sobbed more intensely. I didn’t deserve this, I didn’t deserve any of this. I deserved to be on the street, rotting in the rain, but here I was: in the arms of someone I never thought would support me, Sophia.

I need to improve to show them… and show him that I can be a better person.

Then, maybe, just maybe, he and I can…

Late June, early summer. 2029.
Present Day.

The rays of the sun gently brushed my face, urging me to get out of bed.

Today would be a quiet day, with the breeze coming in through the window. I had an internal clock that never failed: I woke up promptly at 8 in the morning.

I sat in my wheelchair and began to roll out of my room.

Upon exiting, the first thing I noticed was the silence, so I decided to put on some soft music. The house is small, just right for one person, without excesses. The floor is light wood, always clean and shiny, as if it had been freshly mopped just before anyone arrived, though no one does. The furniture is simple, with minimal decoration: a gray sofa facing the TV, which I rarely turn on, more out of habit than interest. Next to it, a wooden table with rounded edges, adapted to facilitate movement around it.

The doors are wide, with no barriers that hinder wheelchair access, an obvious but discreet adaptation. Everything is in its place: books lined up on low shelves, kitchen utensils stored precisely. Nothing seems out of place. Each item has its defined space, as if order offered me the peace my mind cannot seem to reach.

In the kitchen, the appliances are at an accessible height, with no luxurious details, just the essentials. The cabinets, adapted, allow easy access, though I don’t cook as much as I used to. The walls, a serene white, are bare except for a couple of paintings I did a while ago, when I still felt the need to express myself on canvas.

The coffee maker was ready, just needed a bit of heat.

Last night I dreamt of him again. I didn’t think I would, but it inspired me to write a new letter. The last letter was about my opinion on the hourglass painting I had submitted for the upcoming competition in a few weeks. The summer competition Megan, my therapist, recommended after I told her about my last contest in high school. I had submitted the painting some time ago, and they said they would call me when they had the results.

The sound of the coffee brewing pulled me from my thoughts, as the coffee maker began to empty.

“Damn it.”

I grabbed a damp cloth to clean up the mess as I moved the coffee maker off the heat. I shook my hand a little, which had been slightly burned while removing the coffee maker, soaking it in cold water.

The small marks and scars were still present on my fingers. They showed a bit when I brought them close to my face, where there were no clear scales, just soft marks at the base of my nails and the tips of my fingers.

I sat down in front of the canvas and began to trace the soft edges of an hourglass. Gently, I let the grains of sand falling in the center crumble into uneven lines. The base is broken, with cracks spreading like roots. It’s not an ordinary hourglass; time has stopped in it.

I move the brush slowly over the broken edges, as if trying to mend the time that has already passed, but I know it’s impossible. Each line is a failed attempt to reconstruct something that has already been lost.

It was like a continuation of the previous painting, but…

I’m not convinced.

I stop painting and try to do something else.

I decide to try again. This time, I want something different. Something that is… beautiful, without shadows, without cracks. I take a new canvas and sit down in front of it, taking a deep breath.

I start painting a flower. A simple wildflower, but I imagine it perfect, almost unreal. The petals are soft and delicate, almost translucent, as if they were made of glass. The stem is thin, green, with a slight curve that gives it a touch of fragility.

I paint each petal carefully, blending soft shades of pink and white, letting the imagined light fall on them. But as I progress, I feel that something isn’t right. Despite the soft colors, the perfection of the flower feels empty, lacking life. It’s beautiful, yes, but cold. Emotionless. I drop the brush, frustrated by the growing sense of dissatisfaction.

“Today’s just not my day.”

I whisper as I head to the terrace of my building to look out at the sea in the distance. I should paint the sea sometime. I take a sip of my coffee, gazing into the distance.

“Hey there!”

I spit out the coffee I had in my mouth upon hearing a voice behind me. I turn around and see my unexpected visitor.

“Samantha.”

“What’s up? I’ve got the keys to your place, and you told me I could drop by anytime.”

She sticks her tongue out playfully.

“You could’ve given me a heads-up or maybe… knocked on the door? What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure my best friend wasn’t eating ice cream alone again.”

Samantha grins widely and holds up a huge bag.

“So, I brought a couple of giant bowls of chocolate for us.”

She heads to the kitchen to grab a couple of spoons and then jumps onto the sofa, looking around.

I walk over to where she is.

“Girl, I told you to give your place some personality, maybe put up a poster or some of those cool paintings you used to do. Everything’s too orderly and perfect…”

I look down at the floor.

“Sorry, I—”

“Oh come on, don’t apologize for everything. As far as I know, you’re not Canadian to be saying sorry all the time.”

She grabs the TV remote and starts thinking about what to watch.

“There are a few new animes I’d like to watch with you.”

I sighed and squinted, looking at the large saurian with some suspicion.

“You’re not going to put on one of those hentai with humans, are you?”

She stopped and glanced at me with clear nervousness.

“Oh come on, you’re such a killjoy. Aren’t you going to do it for me? I have to work today, and I’m stuck with the same old clients.”

“Samantha, the puppy-dog eyes routine doesn’t work anymore. Besides, if those two clients are so weird, just ghost them or something.”

She looked away while thinking.

“It’s not that easy… They’re my main source of income. They’re a pair of millionaires who get bored and want to spice things up in bed, so they ask for advice. I mean, they’re nice people and they tip well when the session is over, but… They want something more from me, I can see it in their faces.”

I burst out laughing.

“Egotistical. You think everyone wants something from you all the time. There’s a new movie I’d like to see, The Lord of the Snails . It looks good.”

“Aww, I’d like to, but I’m leaving in thirty minutes, just enough time to watch an episode of—”

“I’m not watching one of your hentai with humans banging dinosaurs.”

Samantha let out a fake huff that seemed annoyed but looked at me and smiled again.

“Alright, you watched the entire season of—”

“I told you it was Estruss season you perverted idiot! I needed it…”

“Geek.”

I stuck my tongue out with a half-smile as we started looking for something to watch before she left.

Samantha had been my best friend for the past few years. Our tastes were pretty similar, and since we went to therapy together, we ended up on the same wavelength. This year she started her job as a sexologist. She’s self-employed but managed to advance in her career. She also promotes certain companies, which means she gets free stuff and some extra money.

It goes without saying which products she keeps and which ones she doesn’t. She’s a very eccentric and perverted friend, but she knows how to take care of the people she cares about. Thanks to her, I haven’t fallen apart on many occasions.

I appreciate her a lot.

Shortly after we finished the ice cream, she left, saying we’d see each other again at the next therapy session.

And now, there I was again, alone.

Chapter Text

Everything was dark, but there was a strange sensation, something familiar that enveloped me. I felt a presence beside me, soft and warm, moving on the bed.

“Wha-what…?”

My head throbbed with pain as if it were about to explode. I felt an uncomfortable heat in my chest, and my face burned with an unusual intensity.

A low, seductive laugh resonated next to me, making my skin instantly prickle. The figure leaned closer, whispering in my ear.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you recognize me?”

I couldn't identify her voice; it was as if a million different voices were coming out of her throat, none of them familiar to me.

I felt a hand slide over my chest, each touch light but burning like fire on my skin. My senses were clouded, trapped between the real and the unreal. I tried to turn to see her face, but everything remained a blurred shadow.

“You are…”

I struggled to remember a name, but it was impossible the moment her lips brushed against mine.

I felt her hands continue exploring my chest as the kiss went on, and I began to respond almost immediately, with a desperate urgency that seemed to come from both of us.

What was this feeling? It felt as if we were both searching for each other’s warmth and upon finding it…

My hands slid down to her hips, which elicited a soft laugh from her.

“You Rascal~ Again?”

Again? What do you mean again?

I could feel her pressing her body against mine, her breasts flattening against my torso.

Our mouths met again in an even more desperate kiss as we held onto each other, clinging to that moment.

The size of the stranger was imposing, and it filled my mind with possibilities, adding and discarding names as the sensations continued.

Samantha?

She was good company, someone I could talk to easily, but not much beyond that. Still, a part of me wanted to stop; I knew I should, but my heart was betraying me. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much my heart as it was the desire growing inside me.

My hands moved up from her hips to her back, pulling her closer to me, pressing the saurian against my chest firmly as I tried to break free from the kiss she was dominating.

I liked this feeling, the contact of her skin against mine, the coldness of her scales mixed with a heat that seemed to burn with every touch. Her touch was unique, and every time I felt it, vivid memories of moments with Olivia flooded my mind. Of times past, of a passion, I thought long buried.

I wished it were her.

I brought my hands to her lower back, feeling the saurian shiver, and arched her back, reacting to my touch.

My eyes were open, but everything was still shrouded in the same darkness. However, I could feel her sitting on my pelvis, moving her tail from side to side with an almost playful energy.

My pelvis begged for mercy; I could feel it could break at any moment under her weight, but the sensation was unmatched, a pleasure that pierced through the pain.

I intertwined my hands with hers, and this provoked another reaction in the female, a low growl slipping through her smile I couldn't see.

“Well, well~ Feeling romantic today, are we? That's fine, that's fine, I have no complaints either~ Let me take the reins now.”

She released our hands and leaned in to kiss me again, this time with a more brutal kiss, using her long, agile tongue to dominate mine, leaving me unable to respond. The kisses traveled from our lips to our necks, igniting sparks across my skin.

I remembered feeling this before, years ago. Soft bites with those massive jaws that could crush bones like jelly, but in this context, they turned into gentle caresses that left small marks on my neck and shoulder.

At first, it scared me. I remembered how Olivia, in the heat of passion, had started using her whole jaw for bites, according to her, would be only with her front teeth. Like when she bit my cheek in front of the fountain.

And how she would immediately regret it when she saw the thin threads of blood trickling from my shoulder. There were tears in her eyes as she apologized, her trembling lips murmuring that she would never do it again.

She apologized a thousand and one more times before looking into my eyes and letting us continue. If that meant I could freely touch her ass, I had no reason to complain.

Thinking about this makes me feel strange, lost, nostalgic.

Now, the stranger was no longer biting or kissing my shoulder; she had moved down to my chest, leaving small kisses and licking my skin as if it were ice cream.

All of this felt wrong. I felt a burning desire inside my chest, an urge to sin that consumed me. But, what was the point if it wasn't with her?

Even after all the fights, our differences, the Fall…

I still feel that she…

…

I don’t know what to feel. I feel like I'm betraying my principles just by thinking about it, but…

I’m already betraying my principles with what I’m doing right now.

Thinking about something I may never be able to get back fills me with deep sadness, a strange mix of depression and solace.

Although imagining that she and I could be together again… it feels completely detached from reality.

I want to hold on to that feeling of hope, but it fades every time I remember what she did to me. The image of that Bastard wheeling her away made me feel betrayed...

I still have so many doubts.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

I heard the hum of her voice as she leaned in to seal my lips with a rough, desire-filled kiss. Despite my intention to pull away, I fell back into temptation, returning the kiss with an intensity that surprised me.

My hands landed on her hips without me asking them to as if they had a will of their own. I wanted to stop, I really wanted to, but it felt impossible.

"Hey, it bothers me that you keep your eyes closed the whole time, Darling~"

I couldn't see anything, even when I tried to open my eyes; everything was dark like something was covering my face.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted, and a blinding light allowed me to see what was happening around me, especially right in front of me.

I was frozen, speechless, not knowing what to say or do. Her eyes, a blend of blue and gray, locked onto mine as if I were prey caught in the middle of the night. They glowed with an almost otherworldly intensity.

It was hard to make out her features in the dim light, but there she was—the girl I had once loved—on top of me, her gaze intense and burning.

A whirlwind of emotions flooded my mind, but the only one I could hold onto was the desire blazing in my chest. I knew I would regret this later, but at that moment, it didn't matter.

I kissed her lips with a growing sense of ecstasy, my hands wandering over her body, sliding from her thighs to her lower back, where her muscular tail arched with every movement.

She stayed silent, letting out the occasional soft gasp in response to my touch.

This felt like a dream—too real to be one, yet impossible to ignore…

“Let me take over now,”

She whispered in a teasing voice, continuing her trail of kisses from my chest down to my stomach.

“I like your scent…”

Am I still wearing clothes? I think I’m only in my Spider-Man boxers.

I closed my eyes and fell back onto the bed, feeling Olivia moving downward into territories unexplored for years.

“You, damn fetishist,”

I managed to say with a gasp as her tongue slid across my abdomen. I opened my eyes to see Samantha biting at my boxers, starting to pull them down.

Wait a damn minute.

Before I could say or feel anything else, I opened my eyes abruptly and woke up from the strangest dream I had ever had in my life. My breathing was heavier than ever, and drawing air was a real struggle. I felt overheated; in fact, I was drenched in sweat. 

I looked down at my feet, around me, and there was nothing and no one. It was just me, my room, and the morning light streaming through the window, gently brushing my face.

And an unbearable headache.

It had all been a dream.

I felt relieved. It had been one of the most intense moments of my life, filled with conflicting emotions, and I never wanted to experience it again. I find it impossible to mix lust with hate, hate with happiness. But really, there’s no reason to hate—just doubt, questions, and an indefinable sense of rejection.

On the other hand, I’m not ready to change, and I doubt I ever will be. Changing would mean leaving behind the principles I set for myself years ago, the ones I believed to be unbreakable. Even now, I feel guilty, as if I’m betraying someone. I guess that’s fair.

I sit on the bed and run my hands through my hair. The bitter taste of alcohol lingers in my mouth, and my head throbs with pain. My legs feel weak, and the dryness in my mouth is almost unbearable. A good coffee should fix all this.

I get out of bed, the hangover weighing on my shoulders, taking a few unsteady steps toward the wall of my room. I lean on it and slowly drag myself toward the bedroom door. As I step out, I take a deep breath; the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills my senses, mixed with the crisp morning air. 

It smells good, and not just because of the coffee, but because of the atmosphere itself. It had been so long since I was able to enjoy the sunlight streaming through my house’s windows. I thought I would never open them again.

"Mornin’, sugar. Coffee?"

My heart jumped when I heard the voice coming from my side. Turning my head, I saw the great Saurian sitting on the kitchen stool, drinking coffee, completely naked.

Hadn't it been just a dream? Had I failed my principles? Had I messed up so badly by letting myself go with the alcohol and Samantha?

I felt everything turning blurry, dizziness overwhelming me, and I leaned my back against the wall to avoid falling. My legs trembled, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth as if I had just bitten my tongue.

"Hey."

I heard her voice calling me, but I couldn't bring myself to face her.

"Nothin' happened, darlin’."

I rested the back of my head against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. The headache pounded like a constant drum, each beat a reminder of my hangover.

"And why the hell are you naked, drinking coffee?"

Samantha glanced down at herself, covering up with her hands, frowning, but with a hint of a wry smile on her lips.

"Well now, this here’s your doin’. I’ll take one of those blankets of yours as an apology. Fetch me one, and I’ll explain it all with a cup o' coffee."

I stumbled toward the couch, where the nearest blanket was, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. As I grabbed it, I couldn't help but notice how the sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating tiny dust particles in the air. The room was surprisingly tidy; even the wine bottles I remembered leaving out were gone.

…

Samantha wrapped herself in the blanket I handed her and took a sip of her coffee. She poured a cup for me too, but I just stayed silent, watching her. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and something else—something I couldn't quite figure out at that moment.

"First of all, you owe me a dress," 

She pointed to the couch where a torn dress lay. Her tone was playful, but there was a slight edge of reproach in her voice.

"So…?" 

I began, searching for answers in her expression.

"What’s the last thing ya remember? Ya were pretty tipsy, though, to be honest, so was I."

I took a sip of the coffee, feeling the hot liquid burn my tongue, and tried to piece together the night. Fragments flickered in my mind like flashes of light in the darkness—brief and disorienting.

"I have no idea... I remember... I remember taking a taxi home, but everything after that was a blur. I don't even know what day it is today."

Samantha cleared her throat, looking at me with a mix of concern and patience, like she was waiting for me to figure something out that she already knew.

"Well, darlin’, it sure was one wild night. And no, ain't no magic cleanin' crew came through. I did a lil' tidyin' up. Figured ya might need it after all."

I stayed quiet, trying to make sense of her words. Part of me wanted to believe it had all been a bad dream, something conjured up by my alcohol-soaked mind. But Samantha being there, the strangely spotless place, and the fact that I felt utterly wrecked—physically and emotionally—told me otherwise.

"Thanks,"

I muttered, not sure what else to say.

She nodded, her eyes catching mine for a moment before she glanced away again. There was something in her gaze that felt oddly familiar like I was looking at a reflection of the same confusion and emptiness I was feeling.

Samantha cleared her throat again, swishin’ her large tail from side to side with a sly grin. The morning sunlight poured through the window, casting a warm glow that starkly contrasted with the darkness of the previous night.

"Ah… Sorry about the dress, it was pretty nice. I can buy you another one if you’d like."

"Don’t ya worry 'bout it. This coffee’s somethin’ else—it probably costs more than I make in a week, sugar."

she replied with a chuckle, takin’ another sip, her eyes glintin’ with both seriousness and playfulness. The golden light from the sun highlighted the scales on her skin, givin' her a near-ethereal shimmer as she snuggled deeper into the blanket I’d given her.

"I wasn’t near as drunk as you, so I reckon I can fill in a few of the gaps for ya, as best as I can anyhow."

A wave of gratitude mixed with embarrassment washed over me. Samantha’s offer to explain what had happened was a small beacon of clarity in the middle of all the chaos swirling in my head. But the weight of guilt and betrayal still anchored itself to my chest, like a burden I couldn’t shake off.

Hours Earlier. Night.

//Samantha//

I leaned in closer to him with a soft smile after making that suggestion. His face turned bright red, but just as our lips were about to meet, he pulled back.

“I-I don’t think the kiss is necessary.”

He looked sad and conflicted, which I understood. Maybe it was still too soon for him. I felt a knot in my stomach, a mix of compassion and disappointment, seeing his vulnerability. I wanted to make him feel better, but I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject without crossing his boundaries.

“Don’t worry, sugar, I get it. Let me ask for somethin' else.”

He smiled and nodded at my suggestion. I motioned for another round of beer, feeling the atmosphere grow a little more comfortable, though still charged with tension.

“So… What brings you here? Looking for a wealthy client?”

I shook my head, trying to keep the tone light to avoid delving into the awkwardness.

“I ain’t in that line of work no more. Now, I’m a sexologist. The thing is, today was a tough day, and… I decided to go out for a bit of fun. I even came in my uniform.”

I stood up to show him, spinning around. It wasn’t a uniform; it was just a simple gray dress with a black jacket over it, something I wore for my work. The fabric brushed against my skin, and the movement made me feel a slight breeze, but Inco’s gaze made me feel more exposed than I’d anticipated.

“What ‘bout you? Yellin’ at the poor guy at the bar.

I could see his expression harden as he looked away as if trying to hide a deep wound. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pain for him.

“He’s an idiot. Why the hell do you work if you’re just gonna spend all your time chatting?”

“Well… Anyone can make a mistake, right?”

I watched as he gulped his mug, avoiding a response, his face hardening as he searched for the right words.

“Well, well. I decided to take a walk too, so here I am. Work’s been tough lately and…”

He fell silent, and I watched as he started to fidget with his mug, his fingers nervously drumming on the glass. The distance between us filled with an uncomfortable tension.

“Let’s just say I’m trying to forget a bit, with a few mugs here and there.”

His smile entered my field of vision, a flash of something that seemed genuine amidst the confusion. I leaned in a little closer, drawn by a restless curiosity and a need for connection. As I tilted my head to get a better look at his scar, I gently removed his glasses again and continued my close inspection. His left eye appeared more grayish than the other, with a lingering sadness he couldn’t quite hide. The scar stretched across his face like an indelible mark of something that had happened.

“That’s a pretty big scar, don’t ya think? Covers half your face. What happened to ya?”

He averted his gaze and lowered his glasses to shield his eyes from my curious stare.

“Nothing special, just a work accident or something like that.”

I tried to stay calm, but a laugh escaped me.

“Pffff, ‘or somethin’ like that’?”

I laughed again and took another sip. He said something else, but I couldn’t hear it over the growing noise in the room. The sound of conversations, laughter, and music seemed to envelop us like a bubble, isolating every word. With a gesture, he repeated himself.

“Yeah, well, it was just a silly fall, that’s all.”

I doubted you could get a scar like that from just a fall. It looked like he’d been in a full-on fight. I wasn’t going to push him, not like this, though something in his tone and the way he avoided my gaze made me think there was a lot more he wasn’t telling me.

“Do ya work in somethin’ that ain’t as borin’ as ya told me last time?”

He gestured for me to repeat myself. The noise was wearing me out; I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable in there. The heat from the bodies, the flickering lights, and the noise were starting to overwhelm my senses.

“Mind if we step outside?”

He stared at me for a moment, as if weighing the idea. Finally, he agreed with a sigh, slowly rising from his chair, almost heavy, and heading toward the main door.

I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close, pressing him to my side as I gave him a smile that I tried to keep light, though my curiosity was growing by the second.

“Better head out back; it’s quieter there.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stayed silent, with that expression that was beginning to unsettle me, and followed me to the back door. Outside, the night breeze brought immediate relief. The fresh air cleared my mind, though the feeling that something was off didn’t leave me.

The outside was cold, even though it was summer. The night wind had an unexpected sharpness, and the distant city lights glowed with a warm hue, contrasting with the chill in the air. I wrapped my tail around my legs and pulled a joint from my coat pocket.

“My best friend would kill me if she saw me smoking. I love her to bits, but I can’t quit overnight like she’s askin’ me to.”

I noticed the guy with the scar stayed silent, watching my movements intently as if every small gesture was of great significance. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a relaxed posture, though his eyes followed me from the corner of his eye.

“I’ve got a friend like that, but with alcohol. Don’t know where I’d be without it. Your friend must be real special if she wants ya to quit.”

I let out a chuckle, and we both stood there in silence for a few moments, listening to the distant echoes of city noises. The night breeze made the air feel even colder.

“Shall we head inside? It’s gettin’ kinda chilly.”

I swayed my tail from side to side at his suggestion, playing with the idea of staying outside or heading home.

“Not sure what to tell ya, I was thinkin’ ’bout headin’ home. It’s gettin’ late.”

I took a drag from my joint and exhaled the smoke through my nose. The air filled with the soft scent of marijuana, and the distant lights seemed to blur in the mist of the night.

“I can give ya a ride if ya want.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya drive me in your condition. You can barely look at the moonlight without it hurtin’ your eyes. You’re a bit tipsy, not to say drunk. How ’bout we take a cab to your place and have another drink?”

I stepped closer to him, looking him in the eye, letting my smile widen just enough to show a row of teeth. I knew my proximity made him a little nervous, but I couldn’t help it—it was kinda fun.

“W-what? U-uh… I don’t know if I should…”

Mr. N stayed silent for a few seconds, watching me with a mix of doubt and nervousness. The way he wobbled slightly, being somewhat drunk, was curiously adorable like a lost little lamb strayed from its flock. He seemed so vulnerable in that moment, a stark contrast to the cold, tough attitude he had shown earlier.

"Alright… I'll call a taxi. We can have some wine at my place and…"

He paused for a few seconds before calling the taxi. Then, he settled against the brick wall, crossing his arms and turning his gaze away.

“You don’t mind, right? I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.”

He shook his head quickly, almost clumsily.

“Not at all, not at all… I could use some company after all this time.”

“Company, huh?”

I looked at him with a sly smile, fully aware that it made him nervous. I could see his shoulders tense slightly as he noticed my expression.

“Yeah, you know, just havin’ a drink in peace, without useless folks serving you.”

“You sure hold a grudge…”

I let out a little laugh as I moved closer to him, now standing right by his side. I felt the warmth of his body, a subtle but noticeable difference compared to the cold air around us.

“I don’t like people who have opportunities and don’t take ’em. Or who waste the ones they’re given.”

“Good point.”

He cleared his throat, perhaps uncomfortable with my closeness, and looked away, rubbing his eyes as if trying to hide a bit.

“Can I be honest with ya? You’re the first human I’ve ever spoken to.”

He furrowed his brow, showing a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“And what’s so special about that?”

I cleared my throat, trying to soften my response, and gave him a sideways smile.

“It’s nothin’ extraordinary… Just that I’ve got a bit of curiosity ’bout humans. That’s all. I find y’all kinda cute.”

He looked away just as the taxi he had called appeared in the distance, signaling for it to approach.

“I’ll pay, don’t worry ’bout it.”

I shook my head slightly, keeping my smile.

“No need to pay for me, sugar. We can split it. I’ve been workin’ hard and got some extra cash.”

He paused for a moment and shot me a sidelong glance, a barely perceptible smile on his lips as he shook his head.

“Well, ‘sugar,’ that doesn’t change a thing. I’ll still pay. Sometimes I don’t even know what to spend my money on.”

We got into the taxi, and from the moment the door closed, the air inside the vehicle felt denser, and charged. I settled into the seat, crossing my legs and letting my hand rest casually on my lap. I glanced at him as he gave the driver the address. His voice was calm, but there was a tension in his jaw that I couldn’t ignore.

The taxi’s engine purred as we drove through the empty streets. The city lights passed by as glowing smudges on the window, and although I wanted to say something to break the silence, there was a strange comfort in not doing so. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but it wasn’t exactly relaxing either. There was an undercurrent, a feeling that we were both thinking about what might happen, without wanting to say it out loud.

The driver was on the phone, distracted, which made it feel like we were in a bubble, separate from the outside world. A small, confined space where the distance between us felt much shorter than it was. I leaned forward a little, resting my elbow on the window as I continued to watch him.

He kept looking out the window, his jaw still tense. I couldn’t help but smile softly, seeing how he struggled with himself.

“What’re you thinkin’ ’bout?”

I finally whispered, though my voice sounded louder than I expected in the small space.

He turned his head, surprised by the question, but his eyes didn’t reveal much. Just a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Nothing important."

He responds, but I know him well enough to sense there’s more. There always is.

The taxi turns a corner, and the movement brings us a little closer, almost imperceptibly, but I feel it. With each passing second, the air grows heavier, thick with the tension that’s been building since the bar. I can’t help but think about what’s going to happen once we arrive.

My hand brushes against his on the seat between us, and for a moment, I feel his warmth. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move either. We just stay like that, in this strange equilibrium, until the taxi finally stops in front of his building.

"We're here."

The taxi stops in an upscale area, more elegant than I expected. The streets are wide and well-lit, with perfectly aligned trees along the sidewalks and buildings with meticulously maintained facades, each exuding a discreet kind of luxury. Nothing too ostentatious, but definitely a place for those with money. It’s not a mansion, but it’s clear that not just anyone lives here.

He pays the driver, and while he does, I take in the building before us. It’s modern, with large windows reflecting the street lights. We walk up the stairs to the entrance, and for a moment, I feel a strange mix of excitement and nerves. Something about this place feels so distant from what I imagined for him.

He opens the door to his apartment with a twist of his wrist, and the first thing I notice is the mess. It’s not dirty, but there are things scattered on the floor, clothes on the couch, some papers strewn across a table. It looks like the place of someone who lives alone and doesn’t expect visitors often. He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that seems to be a mix of discomfort and resignation.

"Sorry about the mess. I don’t usually have company, so… I didn’t have time to tidy up."

I give him a sympathetic smile as I look around. There are paintings on the walls, most of them half-finished or hung without much care as if he just placed them there and left it at that. I approach one of them, examining it closely.

“I like your style,”

I comment, though what I really want to say is that there’s something deeply personal in all of this, something that reflects the inner chaos he probably carries.

“Yeah, well… it is what it is.”

He mutters, picking up a few things from the floor and piling them in a corner. He moves awkwardly as if he’s not really sure what to do now that we’re here. The tension is still there, lingering in the air, and though the atmosphere isn’t entirely uncomfortable, there’s something simmering beneath the surface, something we both know is about to emerge.

We stayed silent for a moment, and I noticed how he tried not to look directly at me, as if he was thinking about how to move forward. I felt the need to say something to lighten the mood, but I couldn't help wondering what exactly we were doing here. Just having a drink?

"What… what kind of wine do you like?"

I heard his question as he scratched his neck and headed to the kitchen to get what we’d talked about drinking, in an innocent way.

"I’m not very picky with wine; anything will do hun."

I watched as he nodded and went in search of the wine. I wandered around his living room, examining the paintings closely.

In front of me, a painting depicted an old fountain covered by a thin layer of snow. The water inside seemed to have partially frozen, creating a delicate balance between the still flow and the ice that contained it. The trees around the fountain were tall and slender, with bare branches stretching toward the gray sky, laden with snow on their tips. There was something serene and yet melancholic about the scene, as if everything had been frozen in a moment suspended in time.

The floor was covered by a white rug of freshly fallen snow, soft and unmarked, which accentuated the winter tranquility. The tones of the painting, from soft grays to bluish and bright white hues, gave the impression of a remote and silent place, where only the crunch of snow underfoot could break the silence.

There was something else that unsettled me. The technique used the soft yet intentional brushstrokes, felt familiar. This delicate and evocative style reminded me of someone, Olivia, my best friend. Her brushstrokes always had a particular sensitivity, a way of capturing the essence of a scene, and although I couldn’t confirm it was hers, something about the painting resonated with the same understated beauty of her works. The curious thing was that this painting bore no signature, no visible name. But that feeling, that unmistakable touch, was almost impossible to ignore.

Just my imagination.

He returned with the wine, pouring the glasses while I continued to observe the painting of the snowy fountain on the wall. The scene was beautiful and serene, but something inside me couldn’t stop wondering what more was hidden behind all this. The atmosphere in the house was charged, and when he offered me the glass, I looked at him sideways before giving him a light smile.

“Did you really think we just came here to drink?”

I let the question slip out with a slightly mocking tone as if it were obvious that wasn't the real reason. I watched him go silent for a second, uncomfortable. He didn't seem prepared for that. I noticed how he swallowed hard, his posture stiffening, as if the atmosphere had suddenly grown even heavier.

"I guess... no, not entirely."

He tried to sound relaxed, but his forced laugh gave him away.

I took the glass he offered me, feeling his fingers brush against mine. It was a brief touch, but enough to spark something. I took a sip, keeping my eyes on him, sensing how the silence between us spoke louder than any words.

"So, what did you think was going to happen?"

I already had an idea of the answer.

He looked at me for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if trying to gauge my intentions.

"I don't know, I thought maybe... maybe we could relax a bit, forget everything for a while."

I let out a soft laugh, setting the glass down on the table in front of me. 

"Relax, sure... But tell me, is that really what you want?"

He looked away as if my question had disarmed him.

"No, honestly, it's not. But I also don't know how... to handle this."

He paused, nervously running his hand over the back of his neck.

"I don't know what you expect from me."

I leaned in a bit closer to him, the warmth of his presence almost tangible now. I placed the glass on the table, making a smooth, unhurried gesture.

"I don't like wasting time," 

I whispered, knowing the message was clear. I looked at him directly, waiting for his reaction as the air between us vibrated with that mix of desire and uncertainty.

I saw him freeze for a moment, staring at his glass in silence. His face was a mixture of thoughts as if he were struggling against something he couldn't quite say out loud. Then, without warning, he downed all the wine in one go. I could almost feel the tension in the air, the way he swallowed hard as if trying to extinguish whatever was burning inside him.

"You're pretty quiet for someone who just invited me over."

He set the empty glass on the table and began to walk toward me. His steps were slow but determined. There was something in his gaze, a mix of desire and doubt, that made him all the more intriguing. I said nothing, and just waited, letting him take the lead.

When he was close enough, I could feel the warmth of his body in front of mine. He didn’t seem sure of what to do, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop moving forward. I looked him straight in the eyes, without looking away, letting him know he didn’t have to hold back.

"And now what?"

I let out with a half-smile, challenging him a bit, and provoking him to see how far he was willing to go.

He stood there, just inches away from me, his hands trembling slightly, but there was a hidden determination behind all of it. The moment was heavy, charged with an energy that couldn’t be ignored. I noticed his breathing had become slightly irregular, but it wasn’t just nerves; there was something more, something he wasn’t yet willing to say.

"I’ve been thinking about this all night, thinking about what would happen if I got this close."

"And now that I’m here?"

I replied, leaning in even closer, not breaking eye contact.

"Now... I’m not sure what comes next,"

He confessed, his eyes searching mine as if he were waiting for me to give him some kind of answer.

"That’s up to you. You don’t always have to know everything before you act, you know?"

Just as we were moments away from kissing, he pushed me onto the sofa, which I hadn’t even noticed was there. I smiled and slipped off my coat, showing him my body as I rested on the sofa.

His face remained serious as he leaned over me, pinning me against the sofa, his mouth finding its way to my neck, where he began to leave soft kisses, gradually escalating the situation with gentle precision.

His scent made my head spin. Olivia had talked to me about this, but I never imagined it would be like this. And when he starts sweating…

Don’t be a fetishist, you could ruin it.

I let out a gasp as I felt him bite my neck, and I responded by pulling him closer to my body with my tail.

My face was as red as a tomato at what was happening; I could hardly believe it. Am I even enough for him? His movements were smooth but somewhat clumsy as if he was still trying to get used to the situation.

I can’t believe that just a few kisses on my neck have caused all this...

"Shit."

I gasped as I felt him give a firm bite on my neck, which made me slip my hands under his coat, starting to explore his skin eagerly.

"What's this?"

I noticed a prominent scar on the left side of his torso, a line that ran from his abdomen to just below his chest.

"Stop touching where you shouldn't."

He responded with a firm tone. Suddenly, he grabbed the sides of my dress and pulled with such force that the thin fabric tore easily as if it were just a piece of paper.

I didn't expect him to be so strong.

I could feel his gaze slowly traveling over me; I wasn't wearing a bra, but I did have lace panties that seemed to capture all his attention. The smell of wine on his breath was stronger than I remembered; he must have had something else along the way. It seemed like the alcohol was starting to take its toll on him—his movements were a bit more erratic as if the combination of the taxi ride and the earlier drinks had clouded his judgment.

"Do you think it's fair for you to be like that?"

I asked in a flirtatious tone as I moved closer to him, sliding his black bomber jacket off his shoulders. I laughed when I saw the shirt he had on underneath.

"You can tell you like beer..."

My hands played with the edges of his shirt, lifting it slowly to appreciate his bare torso. He wasn’t ripped, nor was he too thin. A normal build. The scar on his ribs was thin, almost imperceptible, probably from some surgery.

He didn't say a word, but his expression remained serious, almost focused. I found it amusing that he was still wearing his glasses. Somehow, he looked incredibly attractive like that.

He slowly leaned his face toward mine, his lips just a breath away.

I felt his warm breath, and the soft thump of his heartbeat against my skin. However, there was something rushed in the way his hands trembled as he tried to unbutton his shirt. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost artificial as if we were moving too fast for what we both really wanted. Maybe the alcohol was pushing him to move faster than he was truly ready to go.

As his lips were about to meet mine, I braced myself for the kiss, with a mix of anticipation and desire burning inside me.

But at the last second, his body tensed. His eyes flew open, and his expression shifted from passionate desire to visible regret.

He froze, his face so close to mine that I could see the internal conflict he was going through. His breathing became irregular, and the warmth that had once surrounded us turned into a kind of cold tension. He pulled away from me abruptly, his hands trembling slightly as he distanced himself.

"I'm sorry..."

He murmured with his voice heavy. He quickly got up from the sofa, taking a few steps to the other side of the room, as if trying to put physical space between us and the pain he was feeling.

I watched his back as he walked away, feeling a mix of confusion and disappointment. I remained there, sitting on the sofa, trying to process what had just happened, the bittersweet taste of what almost was. The atmosphere that had been so intense before was now filled with a sense of shared regret.

"I just can't... I can't do this. I wanted—I wanted to try to forget and move on, but it's something I find impossible."

I could hear his voice breaking, which worried me a little.

"I can't stop thinking about her. Those green scales, her gray eyes, the enthusiasm with which she talked to me about those cheesy animes... I feel so confused. There are days when nostalgia consumes me, missing her laugh and the way she made me feel alive. Other moments fill me with rage, wondering how we got here. And then there's the sadness, realizing all that we've lost. I don't know if I should feel guilty, frustrated, or just let it go and move on. It's a whirlwind of emotions I don't know how to handle. My anger issues don’t help... My head is spinning."

And then, the whirlwind of emotions he described, the mix of nostalgia, anger, and sadness, hit me like a wave.

It wasn’t just the description of any woman; it was Olivia. My Olivia. My best friend. My eyes scanned the room, searching for some clue that this wasn’t true, that I was mistaken, but the evidence was there, buried in the details. The painting on the wall with her subtle signature, the scar on his face that Olivia had mentioned once, a scar she had caused. His personality, his appearance, everything.

It was as if a mask had suddenly fallen, revealing a truth that had always been there, in plain sight but invisible, hidden behind a veil of coincidences. The world seemed to tilt, teetering in time with my racing heart. I couldn’t believe it. Inco, this man I had shared the night with, who had been on the verge of... He was the ex that Olivia had never gotten over, the man who had left scars on her soul, who still kept her trapped in her own maze of memories.

I backed away slightly on the sofa as if physical distance could shield me from the storm that was raging inside me. A mix of guilt, disbelief, and a flash of betrayal filled my lungs, stealing my breath. Everything Olivia had told me about him, about their love and pain, echoed in my head, now tinged with the harsh reality that he was here, with me, while his heart remained lost in the past with her.

I withdrew, searching for words that didn’t exist, as the reality settled between us like an insurmountable chasm.

His eyes trembled slightly. He was broken, shattered by a love that still consumed him, and suddenly, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of compassion. Not for Olivia, my best friend, not for myself caught in this web of secrets and feelings, but for him, for Inco. He seemed like a lost child in the dark, searching for a light that never came.

He reminded me of myself.

His voice broke again, barely a whisper laden with pain. 

“I’m sorry,”

He murmured again, with his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet my eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to drag you into this. It’s just that... I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop feeling all of this.”

I watched as his shoulders sagged as if he were carrying a burden too heavy to bear. Guilt struck me hard, reminding me that I held a part of the truth he was unaware of, that within his words was a vulnerability that begged for understanding, even though he didn’t know it.

I took a deep breath and stood up, moving closer to him. My steps were difficult to take due to the drunkenness—I felt dizzy, even more so with this revelation, I had just had—trying to control the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming me. I lifted his face with one hand and, despite the confusion churning in my chest, I tried to give him what he needed at that moment: a refuge, like the one I had lacked years ago.

“Hey,”

I said with the calmest voice I could muster, trying to keep it from trembling.

 “It’s okay to feel this way. You don’t have to apologize to me. We all have scars and memories that haunt us. What’s important is that you’re not alone, alright?”

My words were sincere, though they omitted the deeper truth in my mind. This wasn’t the time to talk about Olivia, to reveal that I knew her, that she was my closest friend, and that I had heard her side of the story with tears and frustrations. I couldn’t burden him with that revelation, not now that he seemed so vulnerable. Not now that I was trying to be his support.

I stroked his cheek with the tips of my fingers, noticing the slight tremor in his jaw. He leaned into me, as if seeking warmth, and even though my heart pounded with doubt and guilt, I pulled him closer, wrapping him in an embrace. I felt his breath on my neck, warm and uneven, as he silently sobbed. The alcohol had hit him hard, explaining his defeated demeanor.

"We all have a moment we hate to remember, N."

"You can call me Inco, Sam."

He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to take in some air to calm himself down. I could see how dizzy he was, shaking his head from side to side, struggling to focus on me.

Hearing his name reminded me of the first time I heard it, with my best friend lying on top of me, totally drunk in her sleep, begging him to come back.

It made me feel completely shattered.

"Inco,"

My voice came out quieter than I intended, almost a whisper.

"Not because I think it will change how you feel, but because I believe it’s only fair that you know, that you really know me."

He looked at me intently, his brows furrowed in a mixture of concern and curiosity.

I felt his hands, still resting on my waist, tense slightly as if he was bracing himself for what he was about to hear. I swallowed, trying to steady the trembling in my hands, and continued.

"I know what it's like to feel lost, caught in a whirlwind of emotions that seem endless. I… I've had trouble being with someone for real, opening up, trusting. I’ve always thought I’m not enough, that no one would truly want to be with me if they knew everything about me. And that… that’s because, as you already know, I was a whore. A dirty slut."

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and for a second, I wished I could take them back and swallow them down.

But it was too late. I watched him process what I had just said, his expression softened, filled with a kind of compassion. There was no judgment in his eyes, and that simple fact made the knot in my chest begin to loosen.

"I did it because I needed the money, yes, but also because it made me feel desired, in control. It was like, for a little while, I could be someone else. But every time the night ended and I was alone in my room, I couldn’t help but feel empty. Like each encounter was stealing a part of me that I’d never get back."

I felt my eyes well up with tears, but I refused to let them fall. I had to stay strong, at least for a moment longer.

"For a long time, I told myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t need anyone. That my sass and independence were enough. But the truth is, I’ve always been scared. Scared that if someone knew me, they’d see how broken I was inside and leave. And I’ve learned to live with that idea, as if it were a sentence from which I can’t escape."

I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I was opening up after so long, wanting to do so as a form of compassion, not to reveal so much and show my true colors.

I guess no one is perfect.

"That friend of yours must be incredible to help you through your worst moments."

If only you knew who my best friend is…

"You should consider therapy, like I do regularly. There’s a place that’s helped me deal with all this crap. I recommend you go."

I could see him snort a bit, which made me frown and give him a gentle tap on the head. I had always wanted to do that.

"Don’t dismiss it; it’s a good place. My friend goes there regularly, and it works well for her."

The idea burned in my mind like a wildfire; it could bring them back together, they both wanted it, they wanted to feel each other’s touch again. I gave a small, open smile, getting up from the sofa and heading for my bag.

"I’ll give you the number and address of the place. It’s open on Saturdays and Sundays, in the morning and evening. Though I recommend you go in the afternoon; there are… better people."

As I turned around, he was face down on the mattress, possibly unconscious from the alcohol. I was dizzy too, but I could think enough to move properly.

"Hic!"

I lifted Inco onto my shoulder and carried him to his bed. Olivia was very lucky to, well, ‘have him’. I finished what was left in my wine glass and let myself fall heavily onto the sofa. It had been a tough day.

…

//Inco//

“Damn, sorry for ripping your dress.”

I picked up the scraps of fabric, examining them closely. The soft, high-quality material slipped through my fingers, and for a moment, the texture reminded me of something... someone. I felt a lump in my throat but ignored it.

“It’s clear it’s good quality. I’ll buy you a new dress.”

Samantha shook her head, her tail lazily swaying from side to side as she pointed to the large blanket covering her naked body. Despite the situation, she seemed perfectly comfortable, as if nothing that had happened had disturbed her natural calm.

“Don’t worry about that, Inco. I’ll be more than happy if you just do what I told you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy spending some time with the people around.”

There was a confidence in her voice that almost made me believe her, but not quite. I looked at the fabric scraps again, feeling a pang of guilt that went beyond the torn dress. It was as if each broken thread represented a fragment of my own poor decisions, broken promises, and repressed desires. It wasn’t just about the dress. It was about everything else. About the weight I carried inside and didn’t know how to release. About the memories that haunted me with every step, every day, every night.

I nodded slowly, more to reassure her than because I truly believed that anything she had said would ease my pain. My thoughts tangled in a chaos of voices and reproaches, and for a moment, I wished I could free myself from them as easily as she had discarded the dress.

“I’ll try,”

I said finally, feeling the lie in my own voice. Even to me, it sounded hollow. Samantha watched me in silence, her eyes assessing me, searching for something in my expression. Perhaps a sign that I was present, that I wasn’t lost in my own head.

“It’s not an ‘I’ll try,’ that never works. Next Sunday is the next session; there will be new people so you can find comfort in others. Call the number I gave you and schedule an appointment for Sunday. It’s important.”

She sighed and gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes that made me feel even more guilty.

“Just... give yourself a chance. Don’t make this harder than it already is. You’ll like it.”

I was greatly skeptical of her words, not because of anything in particular, but simply because I wasn’t sure if I’d go to one of those stupid group therapies. Was it really worth sharing your problems with a bunch of losers like me? I saw it as nonsense, talking to stupid people who didn’t know you in the slightest, just to get some superficial advice.

“I’ll think about it, Samantha. You don’t need to make such a big deal out of me. Everything has been fine until now.”

One week later. Saturday night.

I’m in the bathroom, hunched over the sink. The light flickers, and the sound of running water fills the space, trying to drown out the noise of my thoughts. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My face is a mess, with a bruise from the fall I took getting here extending from my cheek to my cheekbone. I rinse my mouth and wipe my sweaty, hot forehead. The phone vibrates on the floor, but I ignore it. It’s my boss again. What the hell does he want?

Idiot... another one who just wants to make my life worse. Everyone wants something from me. First Samantha with her games, and now this jerk of a boss, thinking I can be his puppet to sell more of those crappy magazines that no one reads except photography geeks and rich people looking to show off the latest trends in the boring lives of the wealthy.

I grab the bottle of liquor next to the sink and take a long swig. The liquor burns, but not enough to silence the anger I feel. I look at my reflection again.

“Why should I answer? To go photograph a bunch of idiots pretending to have perfect lives? To capture their fake laughs and crappy poses... Not a chance. All those bastards are so desperate to hide their shit behind a smile for social media... They disgust me. Who do they think they are?”

Bile rises from my stomach, and I can’t help it. I turn to the toilet and vomit. The sound of my vomit echoed in the small room with a certain resonance in my ears, blending with the running water. I sit on the floor, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. Sweat runs down my forehead, and I feel heavy, like I’ve been beaten up. I look at the bottle again, the temptation so close to my fingers, and then my gaze meets my reflection in the mirror.

“Look at yourself…,”

I murmur, disgusted.

“You think you’re better than them, but here you are, drinking alone, avoiding calls, avoiding life. Photography was the only thing that made you feel alive, and now... Now not even that. I like to think I’m still the best, but I can’t even hold a camera without feeling like crap.”

I stumble as I stand up and see the phone on the floor. The screen is still on, showing the missed call and a bunch of messages. My boss, insisting. I kick the phone with disdain, making it slide across the bathroom floor.

…

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I looked at the chaos around me. Empty bottles on the floor, wrinkled clothes scattered everywhere, and a stale smell in the air that I barely even noticed anymore. The hangover pulsed in my head like a constant drum, and the bitter taste of an upset stomach refused to go away. Another night wasted, drowning my thoughts in alcohol and self-pity.

I picked up one of the empty bottles and stared at it, turning it over in my hands. Samantha was right; this couldn’t go on like this.

She had told me, with that look that mixed pity and concern, but that, somehow, also conveyed understanding. She had suggested the therapy group, talking about it as if it were some kind of magical solution.

It’s just a place to talk, To get what’s inside out.

Get what’s inside out? The idea seemed laughable. What could those strangers tell me that I didn’t already know? What could a therapist say to convince me that all this mess I was in had an easy solution?

And yet, Samantha’s words kept echoing in my head. It wasn’t just the tone of her voice, or the way she looked at me; it was the way she seemed to understand the darkness surrounding me, as if she had been there herself once. She spoke of regaining control, of taking a small step towards something better.

That day, I had dismissed the idea, mocking it, telling myself I didn’t need anyone to fix my life. But now, sitting here, feeling more lost than ever, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said.

“Regain control…Sounds stupid”

I murmured to myself, savoring those words as if they were a mantra.

The idea of control had always seduced me. Everything I had done, all the wrong decisions, had been attempts to maintain control, to prove to myself and others that I could handle it all, that I didn’t need anyone. But look at me now.

It was clear that I had lost control a long time ago.

I put my hands on my head, closing my eyes and squeezing my eyelids until I saw flashes of light. Samantha’s image came back to my mind, with her serious expression and gentle tone. Maybe she had just tried to help, nothing more.

Maybe, just maybe, there were no hidden agendas or traps in her advice.

I got out of bed, swaying slightly, and walked to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror stared back at me: sunken eyes, days-old beard, and a scar that seemed more prominent in the dim morning light.

Samantha had mentioned the therapy group, a place where I could talk to real people, not to idiots just looking to take advantage.

“Maybe… just maybe,”

I took out my phone and searched for the number Samantha had given me. I had saved it under ‘Last Resort,’ in an attempt to be humorous, but now, seeing the name on the screen, it didn’t seem so funny. I hesitated for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. I could turn off the phone, forget about it all, and continue as I had been. Or I could take that small step, as Samantha had said.

It wasn’t a commitment, just a chance to see if this could help.

Sunday, afternoon.

The summer sun beat down relentlessly, making the city streets feel more oppressive than usual. The heat clung to my skin like a second layer, making each step toward the therapy clinic feel heavier, more laden with intention. As I walked, my mind kept swirling. Every reason not to go, every thought that this was a waste of time, swirled in my head. But despite it all, my feet kept moving. Maybe it was Samantha’s voice still echoing in my memory, or perhaps an internal need to change, to stop being this version of myself that I barely recognized.

I arrived at the building, a clinic with a red brick facade trying to soften its severity with a few hanging plants in the windows. Attempts to soften reality, I thought. Didn’t we all do the same? I tried to ignore the irony as I climbed the wooden stairs, each step echoing down the empty hallway like a reminder that I was about to cross a line I had avoided for a long time.

At the end of the hallway, a wooden door with a discreet sign indicated the group therapy room. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pace of my heart, and knocked on the door. Just a second later, a young woman opened it. She wore a white shirt and dress pants, her brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her eyes were kind, and she smiled at me in a professional manner that was neither false nor overly warm.

“You must be Inco. I’m Megan, the therapist in charge of today’s session. Thank you for coming.”

“Uh…Yes, I’m Inco. Samantha recommended this to me a few days back and…”

Megan nodded, with an unwavering smile.

“Samantha told me about you. I’m glad you’ve decided to take the step. Here, follow me. We’re about to start the session”

I followed her through a small foyer to double doors. Each step forward heightened my anxiety. I knew this wasn’t a small step, but a giant one, like jumping into the void without knowing what lay below. Megan opened one of the doors, letting me enter first.

The room was arranged with chairs forming a circle. The afternoon sunlight streamed through a large window, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. About ten people were already seated, some with their eyes closed, others staring at the floor, lost in thought. Megan made a small gesture towards an empty chair, but I didn’t move.

My eyes went straight to a figure on the other side of the circle. I was frozen.

Her greenish scales and hair seemed to greet me, even though she was completely still, watching me as if she were just another person among those observing me in the circle. Except, unlike them, her gaze was a total wreck. Her mouth was wide open, and her gray eyes, those I had seen so many times in my mind, locked with mine. My heart, already racing, began to pound fiercely, echoing in my ears.

She didn’t look away, and I couldn’t move. Everything else disappeared. The people, the room, even Megan beside me faded away. It was just Olivia and me, trapped in a bubble of silence where everything we had tried to bury, all the pain and confusion, surfaced like an open wound. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. And she, with her so familiar eyes, seemed as stunned as I was.

This couldn’t be real; it was impossible. I must be drunk, in some kind of coma while drowning in my own vomit again.

Either I’d get up in a moment due to lack of air, or this bubble would continue, and any moment now, we’d start kissing wildly.

But nothing happened. She was still staring at me as if she were seeing a ghost, particularly fixated on my face.

“Inco?”

Megan’s voice brought me back to the present, her tone suddenly seeming cruel.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

I looked at the empty chair Megan was indicating. There was one next to Olivia, but then there was another a bit further away.

The distant chair was the better option.

With effort, I broke eye contact with Olivia and nodded, walking towards the empty seat. I sat down, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze in the room on me, but only Olivia’s mattered. I tried to appear calm, but inside I was a mess of emotions. I hadn’t planned for this, wasn’t prepared to see her again, and just thinking about it was starting to make me feel ill.

I didn’t think I’d see her again; she had become so distant through the letters that it felt like we lived in different worlds. Yet, she lived in the same city. In the vast expanses of Volcadera.

Megan began speaking, introducing the group, and explaining the session’s dynamics. Her words were soft, designed to reassure and create a safe space. I doubted she knew my situation; I had just arrived and already wanted to leave.

But all I could feel was Olivia’s gaze, growing heavier with each passing second, laden with unanswered questions.

The fall kept resurfacing in my mind every time I looked into her eyes, the situation we went through, and the last time I saw her face-to-face, in the hospital, where I could feel her touch and her lips for one last time.

I tried to look away, using my glasses to my advantage to avoid looking at her, but my gaze kept returning to her.

She knew I was watching, I was sure of it. Each time I looked back, my eyes were drawn to her. She wore a sleeveless black dress that fitted snugly at the top and fell just below the knees.

Underneath, a white short-sleeved shirt peeked out, its edges and collar visible through the dress’s neckline. The contrast between the black dress and the white shirt gave the outfit a casual yet stylish touch. I was surprised to see her like this, in a dress; it was something I hadn’t seen in all the years I knew her. Only at the Winter Dance.

Her hair, once long and dyed bright colors, had returned to its natural dark green shade, cut shorter than before, a bit tousled, as if she had let each strand do as it pleased. I liked how it fell gently over her forehead, messy but in a way that seemed intentional, with that touch of quiet rebellion that had always been so characteristic of her. Instead of a long hairstyle with a headband, she now had a ponytail and a clip on the side to keep it from falling into her face.

I shook my head when I noticed I was staring directly at her, clearing my throat and trying to listen to Megan’s words to the circle.

I didn’t know what to feel. It was a mix of emotions that overwhelmed my head, threatening to drive me mad. I wanted to look at her, observe her, but what if I wasn’t going to speak to her?

It’s a strange feeling, a part of me not wanting to even look at her, but another part wanting to stand up and ask to talk. So much time has passed with so many questions, so many moments, dreams, and memories. What if she has turned the page and continues sending me letters out of sheer guilt, trying to close that chapter of her life? This was a confusion I never thought I’d experience, and I didn’t like it.

Do I still hold some kind of grudge? Can time really heal things like Eric always says?

I don’t fully understand, and that scares me.

I feel uncomfortable, even dizzy. I’m not looking at her, but I can’t hear anything the people around me are saying; it’s like being deaf. I couldn’t even hear my heartbeat.

“Does anyone want to start today? Maybe sharing some progress or something that’s happened since our last session…”

Megan, the therapist, left the question hanging in the air, and my skin crawled as I felt her gaze pass over me, like an invisible weight settling on my shoulders. A second later, I saw movement across the circle. Olivia was raising her hand, and my stomach churned. I felt my heart lurch in my chest. Of course she has something to say. She always has something to say.

“I…I think I can start.”

Her voice was soft, with that barely perceptible tremor I knew so well. As if she were speaking from the edge of a precipice, trying not to fall. I forced myself to look at my hands, feeling every muscle in my body tense, ready for a blow I didn’t know if it would come.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about… how hard it’s been to forgive myself,”

Her tone was lower, more intimate. It felt like her voice wrapped around me, pulling me back to that damned moment. A familiar heat gathered in my chest, a mix of anger and something else, something I didn’t want to name.

Forgive yourself? And who forgives me for everything I lost because of you?

“I’ve been coming here for three years, trying to understand how I ended up at that point in my life. But the truth is…I think I’m still making mistakes, even today.”

My fingers gripped the edge of the chair. Mistakes… always mistakes. But in the end, I’m the one who paid the price.

“I couldn’t communicate with the important people in my life…”

A lump formed in my throat. I knew who she was talking about, I knew she was talking about me. And in that moment, I felt the urge to respond, to cut off her stupid narrative before it went any further. I want to play too.

“Did you feel like that person didn’t understand you, that they were constantly correcting you, that they didn’t value who you truly were?”

The words came out of my mouth with a harshness I hadn’t intended but didn’t regret either. There was a moment of silence in the room, a collective sigh, and then all eyes were on me. But I didn’t look away from her. Olivia stared at me, surprised, her gray eyes filled with confusion and something more…something deeper.

“Yes… exactly.”

Her voice nearly broke as she said it. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

“I thought that…that person wasn’t helping me, didn’t feel what I felt, that the world was against me, even that person I cared so much about. So I started seeking comfort from others. Thinking maybe they would understand me.”

Each word pierced me like a poisoned thorn. I felt heat rising up my neck, a fury mingling with pain I thought I had buried.

“And did you think that was the solution? Seeking comfort from others without being reasonable and seeing that person was trying to help you genuinely? Being so selfish as to think that? It’s like a slap in the face to the trust of that person who cared about you. Didn’t you think about how that person would feel?”

I couldn’t help but raise my voice, with that tone of disbelief I always hated in myself. Her expression changed. I saw her lips quiver, her eyes filling with tears.

“It was a mistake…I know.”

I saw her take a deep breath, as if she was holding back something much larger than her tears. I wanted to look at her and yell, to ask if she understood how much she had shattered, how much she had taken from me. But I did the same thing she did, took a deep breath to try to calm myself.

I was starting to feel like shit. I needed this.

“A mistake?”

My voice dropped, barely a whisper.

“A mistake is something you can correct…that…that can’t be corrected.”

I watched Olivia close her eyes for a moment, her lashes wet. When she opened them, she looked at me with a mixture of sadness and determination that disarmed me for a moment.

“I know…and every day, I wonder how I could have done things differently.”

Her words floated in the air between us, heavy, filled with a pain I recognized but didn’t want to accept. I felt trapped between wanting to yell at her and wanting…

“And do you really think it helps to think about that now?”

She nodded slowly.

“The only thing left for me is to try to be better, to find a way to repair the damage I’ve done.”

There was a tense, charged silence as her words sank into my skin like needles. I didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to show any weakness. Now she was looking at me in our small confrontation.

I didn’t think it would turn out this way; in fact, I never thought I’d see her again. Our last conversation had gone ‘relatively well’, with hope for a change that I never thought would come. Now I saw her change, regret, and weakness. I had the upper hand, and this should feel fabulous, but…

I felt nothing, an exact feeling I’ve experienced over the past few years. An emptiness inside me that threatened to scar my chest forever and leave me hollow.

Her words echoed in my mind as if she were repeating them to me.

“The only thing left for me is to try to be better, to find a way to repair the damage I’ve done.”

“Maybe it’s too late for that.” 

Olivia gasped at my words, and sank deeper into her misery, twisting her tail around her leg. She stopped looking at me out of the corner of her eye and just dug her nails into her dress. I could barely hear a sob from her, which stopped quickly

I didn’t know what I said, regretting it as I saw her look down at her hands, utterly defeated and silent. I hadn’t meant to say it that way. Too late for what? To change? It’s never too late to change, though that sounds hypocritical coming from me.

Too late to repair the damage she caused?

I don’t know.

That feeling is as blurry as my vision with my left eye.

The entire room was silent, watching me after my last words. Olivia was crying, but she wasn’t sobbing. She was completely silent as her tears fell down her cheeks, marked with dark freckles.

My bones felt cold, especially the ones in my ribs, with dozens of screws that had helped hold my broken ribs together years ago. When it was cold, I felt a tingling in my torso and arms, or when it was about to rain. But now, in these summer days, and especially in this situation, I felt a storm coming.

Chapter Text

After our brief exchange of words, both of us fell into silence for the rest of the session. Megan didn’t push the conversation any further, and everything quickly turned into an awkward quietness, with confused glances darting between Olivia and me. Eventually, those glances turned into whispers, and soon, more normal conversations resumed around us, as if nothing had happened, while we both remained quiet. Olivia kept her head down the entire time, and at some point, when everyone was distracted, she slipped away, presumably to the bathroom.

I stayed a little longer until the session ended. I thought Megan might say something to me, but she only shot me a quick side glance and gave me a fake smile. So that’s what I looked like when I gave those smiles? Disgusting.

As I left the building, I could feel the last warmth of the sun before it dipped behind the city’s skyline in Volcadera. I missed these sunsets now that I lived on the outskirts of the city, but I preferred the ones overlooking Volcadera’s beautiful cliffs—the edge of an abyss I had half-climbed, only to find myself at a dead end.

I shook my head to push those thoughts away and sat down on a nearby bench.

There was a feeling in my chest, a swirling conflict in my mind—like butterflies crashing into each other, all vying to be the emotion that ruled my mood. But it was a feeling I couldn’t fully understand. It was painful to feel this way, to not know exactly how to feel. It disgusted me, I hated it, I despised it.

Before I even realized it, I had lifted my vodka flask to my lips. The cold metal brushed against my skin as I tilted it back. The liquid burned its way down, slow and harsh, leaving a sharp acidic trail in my throat that I hated more with every sip. I’ve never liked vodka. It’s rough, tasteless. But I kept it around for emergencies... like this one.

I would’ve preferred a good bourbon, with its warm, smoky finish, or maybe a wine that wraps you in sweetness. But this? This was pure function. Just to dull the fire for a while, even if it tasted like poison.

I cleared my throat, which was burning from the vodka’s raw intensity, and let out a heavy cough. I wasn’t used to such a strong flavor, nearly pure alcohol, but it was my best ace up my sleeve—well, more like under my jacket.

As I lowered my gaze, still with the flask pressed against my lips, I saw her beautiful eyes meet mine from a short distance, illuminated by the sunset from the bench where I sat. Her icy blue eyes reflected a longing, a kind of unspoken sadness.

I raised the flask again to take another drink before fully realizing it. I began to cough violently as the liquid burned its way down my throat, taken by surprise. In the midst of my choking, I heard her voice again, soft, almost a whisper.

“Hey.”

I kept coughing as I turned toward her. She sat with her head lowered, her hands resting on her lap, nervously fidgeting with her perfectly manicured nails.

Hey , I could respond. We could have a calm conversation, one without strangers around us, without the judging eyes that had followed us in silence earlier. At least, strangers to me. But I just...

I fell into total silence.

It was as if she expected my silence.

“Inco.”

INCO!

The moment she said my name, my mind flashed back to that night, years ago. My last memory before everything went dark.

But now there was no fall. No rain, no broken heart, no shouting or arguing, and no people fanning the flames. It was just the two of us, under the fading light of the sunset, with the silhouette of the city of Volcadera behind us.

I noticed how she let out a small gasp when I finally reacted, turning slightly to look at her. She seemed frozen, like a statue.

She looked down slightly when she noticed my resignation, as if sensing I was trying to avoid or ignore her. I turned my eyes away, unwilling to face her.

Her focus shifted to the flask in my hands, right before I slipped it back into my jacket. Then, her eyes returned to mine, hidden behind my sunglasses, before tracing the scar that ran from my ear to my eye. She pressed her nails into her knees, observing in silence.

What do I say?

How have you been? Hey, hello Olivia, you look great. Oh? I didn’t expect to see you here.

“I-”

She widened her eyes as I struggled to form a word directed at her, watching me intently as my tongue moved on its own.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard. Without thinking, I stood up and began walking in the opposite direction.

I didn’t turn back to look at her. I kept my jaw tight, searching for any direction to go. I knew she was left frozen, probably trying to say something I couldn’t imagine forming. I had no idea what I was doing. My legs moved on their own, without purpose, without a destination. They just sought to get away from her, driven by some alarm I couldn't understand, something warning me of what I wasn’t ready to face.

Will you ever be able to look at me without remembering the pain I caused you?

Those words came back to haunt me, after years of silence.

Yes, of course you will.

I told her she would. Maybe we’d never be together again, but... I told her she could. But, simply, I...

I tried to glance back to see her, but I didn’t have the courage. I didn’t have the courage to look into her eyes, which were probably filled with tears.

I just... didn’t understand anything. Hadn’t enough time passed? Did I really never want to forgive her?

I felt dizzy.

“Inco!”

I heard her rushing toward me until she was almost right behind me, but I quickened my pace down the narrow path where we found ourselves.

Walking away from the bench, I soon found myself at the railing along the path, where the distant city stretched out before me.

“I-I’ve waited so long for this moment, and I-I don’t want to waste it like this!”

I clenched my fists and kept walking, trying to focus on anything else, to avoid her, to show her that now wasn’t the time.

But...

Why wasn’t it the time?

“I took the advice you gave me, I’m...”

Her voice faltered a little, but I could still hear her following close behind, her skates gliding right at my heels.

“I’m getting some help with my condition. I’ve... I’ve been attending a lot of interviews and features that have helped boost my career, and—”

I noticed her hesitate, biting her tongue.

“I’m really enjoying it, thanks to your advice. I-I even entered an art competition a few weeks ago, and I-I’m sure I’ll win.”

I didn’t need to see her face to know she was frowning. I already knew all of this—she’d mentioned it in her letters, sometimes even contradicting herself. I knew what was happening. She still had that complex about her art, and now it was only getting worse.

“I’ve changed, like I promised.”

I swallowed hard, slowing my pace. I was starting to feel dizzy just listening to her. Part of me wanted to stop, but deep down, something urged me to run, to flee from all of this.

“There’s no excuse for what I did to you. All I can do is regret it and live with that pain every day, knowing I hurt you in a way I can never fix.”

I clenched my fists even tighter, feeling a trembling sensation in my fingers, especially in the arm that had never fully healed. She kept closing the distance between us, slowing down as I did. I could see the end of the path now, marked by railings that separated us from Volcadera’s beautiful cliffs—and the drop beyond them.

"I-I’ve been waiting for you patiently, pulling every string in my life to get better, just like you wanted me to—"

“Did you really change just to keep us together? So I’d forgive you and you could ease your own guilt about what you’ve done?”

I cut her off, still not looking at her, resuming my steps. I could sense Olivia was stunned into silence for a few brief seconds, but she quickly started rolling again as she processed my words.

“I-I did it for... b-but...”

She gasped, her words faltering in a small stutter.

“I did it to prove to you that I can change! I did it to be better as a person—not just for myself, but to show you that even... even the biggest disappointment can try to change for—”

We finally reached the end of the path, and I found myself cornered at the end of the street. I was avoiding her, but I wasn’t running away. I wasn’t some convict. I clenched my teeth, feeling a surge of anger I couldn’t fully understand, and turned around to face her as she approached, stopping just short of me, keeping a bit of distance.

“Better? Is that what you’re trying to say? Did I have to almost die for you to finally change? Did I have to work extra hours so that, after a long, exhausting day, I could come home and see you sneaking off with—?”

I bit my tongue so hard it hurt, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“With that bastard who ‘understood’ you? Has he already gotten tired of playing with you, the way you played with me?”

She stared at me in shock, shaking her head slowly at first, then more frantically.

“N-no... That’s not what...! I-I’ve told you before, nothing ever happened, and I swear, please, I swear nothing ever happened. I-I was just stupid and pathetic, unwilling to accept my mistake. My mistakes. I sought comfort in someone who would tell me what I wanted to hear when I didn’t deserve it... but not that kind of comfort! I just couldn’t accept your suggestions because they weren’t what I wanted to hear, and... Oliver, he just agreed with me. But please, Inco, I-I never did anything, nothing ever happened between him and me."

Olivia trembled slightly and took a deep breath.

“Th-that night I was confused! I acted like an idiot, and I take full responsibility for what I did to you. I-I just wanted a shoulder to lean on, and I thought... he and... Damien... could be that for me.”

She was now almost begging me to understand her, breaking with every word, her voice cracking as she looked down at the mention of her brother.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to them... t-the Paynes...”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry. Now I get it.”

She swallowed hard, her jaw clenched, her face flushing red. It seemed like she couldn’t breathe.

“I get how you felt with some of your physical limitations. You told me I didn’t understand you, that I’d never understand your pain. But you know what? I understand it perfectly now... after you threw me.”

I slowly lift my glasses, revealing the gray, scarred eye beneath, the mark still stretching across my face. Then I point to my arm, the thick scar from surgery still there as a constant reminder.

"I’m still suffering from it."

“Th-that was an accident, and I-I”

She was at a loss for words, her hands gesturing in the air, trembling, her eyes glassy and wide with panic.

She wheeled closer, clearly unsure of what to say or how to respond, utterly defeated. She was demoralized, shaking like a newborn lamb, her eyes darting around as if searching for words that would never come.

As she drew near, I instinctively stepped back, my back hitting the railing. A chill ran through me, tightening my chest. The memory of that day resurfaced, making me feel even more dizzy, a bitter taste filling my mouth—rotten bitterness. I half-expected a punch to the face, and then, a slow fall, where I could see every emotion flash across Olivia’s face in the split second before my plunge. But nothing happened. I didn’t fall.

Yet, she kept coming closer, reminding me even more of that day.

Something inside me felt like it was about to boil over.

“Are you going to push me again?”

The question caught her completely off guard, her brow furrowing in a mix of shock and slight irritation.

“H-heck, Inco. I’ve- I’ve tried so hard, for so long, to get better for you and only for you, and you just—”

“Ohh… so now you know how it feels, huh?”

She went silent, staring at me with that stupid, downcast, worried look she always had—

What am I-

“W-what?”

“To love someone until the end, to do everything, to try everything. Working hard just to see you smile, giving you advice, trying to help you get better, and all you did was reject it—like the damn traitor you were. Or are? I still don’t know if this ‘change’ is just skin-deep or—”

I bit my tongue as I saw the tears fall from her face, watching her clutch something hanging around her neck. She bared her teeth, trying to speak, but her voice broke again, more tears streaming down her freckled cheeks.

Olivia looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

“F-fuck you, Inco! I’ve tried all this time! But it seems like you don’t care. You’re always going to hold on to the past, aren’t you? No matter how much I change!”

"You can change all you want, but that won’t give me back the years I lost. It won’t heal the damage you left behind—neither the physical nor the emotional pain. I’ll always carry the scars, both on my body and in my mind. And you, who never went through what I did, will never understand what that feels like."

She pulled a necklace from around her neck that I didn’t recognize. She sobbed, trembling, and yanked it off, scraping her scaly neck as she tore it away, throwing the pendant at the ground between my legs.

“Asshole.”

She sobbed, covering her face with her hands. Her cries were loud and raw, her voice shattered, but it seemed like she didn’t care, even if she was screaming the opposite. I just looked away, my head held high, arms crossed, with that stupid arrogance of mine that always set me apart.

Before I realized it, she was already moving away, rolling down the path, sobbing and crying loudly in a sort of broken silence. She wanted to curse me, but the words wouldn’t come from her shattered voice.

I lowered my gaze to the pendant, and my heart stopped. It wasn’t just any pendant—it was the now-broken chain that held the ring I had given her long ago, the one she was supposed to sell.

After all this time, she still kept it with her. I hadn’t expected to see her today, yet she still wore it. She never mentioned anything about it in her letters. I never thought she…

Stop it, I…

I stood there, frozen, watching as she slipped away from me, moving farther with the fading sunset beside her, the night slowly creeping into view. I watched her disappear until she was out of sight.

And I just stood there, paralyzed, regret weighing heavily from the words I had thrown at her.

It reminded me of that day. The day of the dance, watching her walk away from me. I didn’t know if she would ever speak to me again, but in the end, I reached out, and we apologized. That’s where it all began—our downfall. Nothing was ever the same after that, and it makes me feel…

Like absolute garbage. Not just for the words I said, but for the reckless, untethered emotions that spilled out, crashing down like an avalanche, wounding someone who was trying to be honest with me. Now she’ll think I’m nothing more than a lost cause, just like I once was. A drunk who drinks to feel better, a grumpy recluse who never leaves his house, bitter, with a future that never…

I sat back down on the same bench, staring out at the city in the distance, though it was becoming blurry.

Was it the alcohol, or were they my tears?

I slumped back on the bench, taking another swig from my flask. I picked up the ring Olivia had thrown at me and gave it a closer look, studying the beautiful piece I had once hoped to put on her fingers.

3 Years Earlier

//Olivia//

And I wonder...What does it mean? How is it supposed to feel?

I can’t stop watching them—the happy couple of the night, the celebration, the wedding. Watching them exchange their vows. I feel jealous, angry. I can see him smiling, Damien, but I know deep down he’s just as broken as I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him smile genuinely. Liz seems to have handled it better, but even her gaze during the wedding was too passive.

There weren’t too many guests at the wedding—family, a few friends, not much more. The Paynes were here, of course. They wouldn’t miss their son’s wedding.

I wonder if Dad would’ve been at my wedding with...

Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.

The applause and the couple’s kiss covered my quiet exit. I slipped out of the building without much trouble.

It was night, a beautiful full moon shining above, far from the city of Volcadera. The view was stunning... Liz had planned everything down to perfection. Of course.

The gentle breeze brushed against my neatly tied-up hair. I hadn’t even fully accepted that I wanted to be here. I didn’t know what I was doing. Now I just wanted to reflect, to get away from it all.

To be alone, not surrounded by...

I wonder what he's doing now. I wonder if he’s seen the letter I sent him, or if he’ll even bother to open it.

I can’t fall apart like this. I mustn’t lose hope so easily. I promised...

He didn’t promise we’d get back together. To be what we once were. Damn, I don’t even know if he wants to be my friend again. Maybe he just...

Stop. I can’t think about this now, not in a moment like this. I can’t...

"Olivia?"

A shiver ran down my spine as I heard Damien call my name. His voice was filled with concern, searching for answers. When I looked up, I saw him wearing that same worried smile, trying to find a seat next to me.

It irritated me—seeing him act like nothing was wrong, like a few months ago he hadn’t been part of that disastrous day. I hate him.

"What the hell do you want, Damien?"

Damien swallowed hard, stammering as he struggled to find words in response to my sudden aggression.

"I just wanted to see my... big sister at my wedding... You looked a bit..."

He fell silent when he saw me staring at him in total silence.

"It's hard, Liv."

"Oh, really? I want to be alone, Damien. Just tell me what you want."

Damien’s smile faded.

"I want you to come in, I want you to be at my wedding with us, and finally move on. I want my siste—"

Damien grabbed his cheek where I had slapped him, looking at me in shock and confusion. I was euphoric.

"Excuse me?! Now you act like you don't care, when you know damn well that's not true? Did he ever even matter to you? You're a hypocrite. You and Liz are going through a rough patch, and yet here you are, getting married."

"We're not fighting every single day like you two were!"

Damien tried to defend himself, drawing the attention of people inside the building.

"We—We weren't fighting! We had our differences, mostly because of my own stupid arrogance! When you and he argued, we were getting better! Maybe you were right, maybe it was too soon, but was there no other way? Of course, there was, and you threw it all away with that idea of 'protecting' me! I never asked for your help, Damien! All you've done is push me deeper into my own misery!"

Damien's face twitched a little, and he clenched his jaw, clearly hurt. As he tried to respond to defend himself, I just kept going.

"What the—what the hell are you trying with that attitude? 'Move on'? WHAT THE HELL?!"

The eyes of the guests and our families were all on us. Some had already started to approach, trying to put a stop to this argument, but the Paynes...

The eyes of the guests and our families were all on us. Some had already started to approach, trying to stop this argument, but the Paynes stayed back. Vinny was crying, confused by our fight, not understanding what was happening. Liz wasn’t in the scene.

Damien hesitated for a moment but kept his head down for a few seconds before looking back up at me.

"I-it's hard."

Before I could interrupt him by shouting again, he continued.

"The more I think about it, the more miserable I feel. The more guilt weighs on my shoulders—a guilt that makes me want to kneel before him and beg for forgiveness. When I tell you to move on, I just... I want you to forget him, but not completely. It's... hard to explain. He will never want to see us again. I can't stop imagining how awful he must be feeling because of US."

Tears began streaming down his face.

"But torturing myself every day won't get us anywhere. H-he's not coming back, Olivia. He won't accept your apologies. He doesn't want to see either of us ever again."

"Then we're on different paths."

I frowned and simply rolled myself down the small ramp toward the road.

"He's not coming back, Olivia. And if he does, do you think he'll ever be able to look at you without remembering the pain you caused him?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking of an answer. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was ambitious, maybe even stupid to think. A foolish fantasy that I wished could be real, but one I didn’t know if I could ever fulfill.

"Unlike you, I’m not giving up."

Present Day. Two days after the encounter.

//Samantha//

I cleared my throat and swished my tail nervously from side to side as I made my way to Olivia’s apartment. The day before yesterday, she had gone to therapy, and I was anxious and worried about what she had to say. I hadn’t received a call or a reply to my messages. A thousand scenarios of what could have happened were racing through my mind, but I just hoped nothing really bad had occurred.

I pulled out the key to Olivia’s apartment, one of the copies she had given me some time ago so she wouldn’t have to make too many abrupt movements when she was feeling unwell, back when I took her to the beach in winter.

It wasn’t the best idea, but… we had a lot of fun.

A chill ran down my spine as soon as I saw the state of the apartment. It wasn’t destroyed, but the spotless cleanliness that Olivia always clung to was completely gone. The air felt heavy, thick with neglect, and that subtle vanilla scent that usually filled the space was missing. Dirty dishes were piled up in the kitchen, as if they hadn’t been touched in days, and remnants of dried food lingered on the counter.

I walked slowly, careful not to trip over a couple of empty wine bottles scattered across the floor, one of them rolling slightly with the movement of my steps. The curtains were drawn, letting in a faint, muted light that cast everything in a grayish tone. The couch, usually neat and tidy, was covered with messy blankets and clothes strewn about.

I looked around, but there was no sign of Olivia. My heart raced as I continued toward her bedroom. When I opened the door, the chaos persisted. Clothes were piled on chairs, papers and books scattered across the floor, the bed unmade, and the air thick, laden with something more than just disorder. It felt as though time had stopped within those walls.

And then, I saw her. Under the blanket on her bed, in an improvised nest of her favorite things, was Olivia. Her disheveled hair peeked out from the fabric, as if she had been hiding from the world and from herself. Her body, barely visible, looked fragile.

She was in a sort of improvised fortress that had crumbled. Her eyes were empty, staring at a fixed point amidst the pile of papers.

"Olivia..."

I sat down next to her on the bed, noticing how red and dry her eyes were, probably from crying so much.

"What’s wrong…?"

I knew the answer. And I felt guilty about it. I felt pathetic and useless. Instead of helping her, I had made things worse for my best friend. She was destroyed by whatever that bastard had done to her.

She mumbled a few words in a hoarse voice that I couldn’t make out. It hurt to hear her like that, like a corpse trying to speak. I leaned in closer, trying to hear her better.

"Nothing’s wrong."

Her response brought a small smile to my face despite how obviously bad things were. I moved closer and lay down beside her.

"Olivia, I know something happened. Don’t be afraid to tell me… We’re best friends; I even know your underwear size. I just want to help you. We can watch a show and eat pizza if that makes you feel better."

She looked at me for a few seconds, then turned her gaze back to the same fixed point amidst the pile of sheets and blankets where she was buried. I moved a little closer and saw a photo from an album she once said she’d show me. It seemed like a simple picture—just a couple in a bathroom. But knowing their story, I knew it meant so much more.

In the picture, Olivia was in her ex-boyfriend Inco’s arms. They were in the bathroom of what seemed like another apartment. She was taking the photo, and Inco was holding her like a princess.

But she wasn’t just any princess; she had a radiant, confident smile, enjoying the moment of her life with her ex-boyfriend.

Our first day at home.

That was the small text at the bottom of the photo.

It seemed like a simple photo, but it was everything to Olivia. In that moment, it captured genuine happiness, the kind that showed everything could get better. A time, whether it lasted days or weeks, when she was truly happy, with no problems in her life.

I looked back at her, still waiting for a response.

"How about a family-sized pizza with anchovies?"

That got her attention a little, making her look at me. I could read her mind.

"Alright… One full pizza for you and one for me. Rest here, I’ll go clean up the living room and order everything. But first, I want you to give me a smile."

I saw a faint smile appear on her face before she retreated back into her little nest, staring at the picture again. It wasn’t much progress, just a forced smile, but at least she managed that. She wasn’t completely broken, not yet. Now, I had to focus on controlling my own feelings, although…

No. That can wait.

I got up from the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the knot tightening in my throat as I saw her in that state. I headed to the living room, carefully navigating through the chaos that had spread throughout the apartment.

While I picked up the empty bottles and stacked the scattered clothes, I dialed the pizzeria’s number, ordering two family-sized pizzas, one with extra anchovies, just the way she liked it. The sound of the phone in my ear was the only thing cutting through the oppressive silence, so after placing the order, I turned on the radio, letting a soft, random tune play in the background.

I started cleaning up as fast as I could—dishes, misplaced cushions, the bottles strewn about. Each small effort to restore some order made me feel like I was doing something, even if it was just a small gesture.

Suddenly, a soft sound made me turn my head toward the hallway. There she was, crawling out of her room on her knees, struggling to move without using her wheelchair. Her hair was disheveled, and her face looked exhausted, but there was a faint determination in her eyes.

"Olivia, wait..."

I said, walking toward her to offer help, but she raised a hand, signaling me not to. She didn’t want my help this time. There was something in her expression, as if she needed to prove—if only to herself—that she could still move forward, even like this.

Finally, she managed to pull herself up onto the couch with the help of her tail, letting out a frustrated huff as she looked away. I sat beside her, both of us in silence, listening to the faint hum of the city outside and the soft music playing in the background.

“What happened, Olivia?”

She sighed, her gaze lost somewhere on the floor.

“Inco…”

She murmured, her voice broken, trembling.

“I found him… and I told him everything. But… it all went wrong. I messed it up, like always.”

The room seemed to grow colder with her confession. It was more than clear that this was my fault, and that made me feel absolutely miserable. Like the worst piece of trash. I don’t know what I was thinking—

“I-I really tried, I-I don’t have the strength to keep going, I’m a failure, Samy. I’ve just been doing all of this, trying to get better for him, but never for myself, and I—"

“Nonsense, Olivia, nonsense. I know you’ve been doing this for yourself, to get better, to become someone stronger, even though, like I always say, I wish you were a little less…”

“Sorry…”

I smiled and wrapped her up in my tail and arms, laughing softly.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Insecure, reserved… submissive.”

I teased her a little, which made her pout and give me a light tap with her tail, making me giggle before I let out a sigh and grew serious again.

“But, what exactly happened?”

She gasped a little, trying to remember, then looked away.

“I saw him in a place I never thought I’d see him again. I had been rehearsing a dialogue in my head for that moment, something more emotional, less broken, but there he was, sitting like any other guy… I don’t even know why. He was drinking, that much was clear. I wanted to… apologize to him in a symbolic way, in front of everyone, but in a way that only he and I would understand. But he was really defensive… and still, I refused to back down. I was determined, I had to apologize properly to him. But…”

Olivia cleared her throat, her voice was rough. I reached out and gently stroked her greenish hair, watching her silently.

“Everything went to hell when I tried to talk to him.”

I noticed how she tried to clutch the necklace she usually wore with her ring on it, but now there was nothing for her to hold onto. I could see her vulnerability, and it was my fault. Things could’ve gone better, maybe they could’ve met in a more casual setting, talked things over more calmly, but I messed it up by trying to rush it. Trying to fix a broken pipe with a hammer, forcing the water to flow better. Trying to solve problems that were hers to handle.

I feel like a bad friend. A horrible friend. A piece of trash. I doubt she would forgive me if she knew this was my fault—that I was the one who caused her tears, that I was the reason her stupid ex treated her so awfully, and—

Relax, Samantha. You’re misunderstanding things. You can’t fall apart now; she needs you.

“I’ve been so selfish. I thought I could… fix everything quickly. Maybe that was my mistake.”

“No, no. It’s okay if things don’t get resolved right away. You don’t have to juggle all the problems at once. What’s important is that you took the first step. You saw him, and even though it was hard, you faced that fear. That counts. And now… now you can take your time to figure out how you want to move forward.”

I cleared my throat. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was saying, not really. If I had the chance, I’d love to have a word with Mr. Inco. What the hell was going through his mind?

“I’m not telling you to forget him, because I know you can’t. But what I am saying is that if you really want things to change, you’ve got to take it slowly. Step by step, without beating yourself up for what didn’t go right today.”

I gave her a smile just as the doorbell rang.

I stood up, tugging at her hair playfully to tease her a little. She seemed to appreciate my words, even though she stayed silent.

After grabbing the anchovy pizza, I saw her tail tip twitching as she watched the pizza arrive at her seat, now wrapped in a blanket, like she was trying to shield herself from the world.

She had already chosen the new season of Dinoverlord so we could finally have a marathon together.

After we finished the pizza, Olivia settled even deeper into the couch, wrapping herself in her blanket as she put on the next episode of Dinoverlord . She seemed a bit calmer, though that sadness in her eyes remained, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave. Still, watching her devour her pizza and then practically finish mine brought me a small sense of relief. At least she was eating something.

We continued watching the series, with me laughing at the parts we’d always laughed at together, while Olivia barely cracked a smile. It wasn’t like before, but it was a step. She was here with me, not alone, and that meant something.

I let myself drift off as the day faded. My eyes felt heavy, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the screen was black. I realized Olivia wasn’t by my side anymore. I looked around and saw her on the balcony, alone, staring off into the horizon. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink as she watched the distant ocean.

There was something about her posture—the slight hunch of her shoulders, her hands resting on the edge of the railing. It was as if she was lost in thought, in some distant memory.

I stayed silent for a few moments, watching her, not wanting to interrupt. I knew she needed this moment, this space to process everything.

It must be hard to love someone when you don’t know if they’ll ever look at you again without disgust in their eyes. What she went through… it must have been awful.

But I’m sure she’ll find her way forward again, just like she’s been doing all this time.

//Inco//

I don’t know where I am. The room feels dark, yet familiar. My breathing is fast, the air thick and hard to swallow. Everything is blurry; I can’t see clearly. I blink several times, trying to orient myself, but the surroundings remain confusing, like I’m trapped in some kind of fog. I look around, but nothing makes sense.

Suddenly, I hear a soft creak, something that cuts through the stillness of the room.

It’s her.

Olivia.

I see her emerging from the haze, slowly moving in her wheelchair, coming closer. The feeling of panic grows stronger. Something inside me twists at the sight of her. I should feel relieved to see her, but instead, an unbearable weight presses on my chest.

She keeps coming, her eyes locked on mine, unflinching. My throat tightens, as if I can’t speak, as if every attempt to say something crashes against an invisible wall. I’m trapped in my own silence.

Finally, she’s right in front of me. She reaches out, wrapping her arms around me tightly, as if nothing had ever happened, as if the time and years of pain didn’t exist. But something about her embrace feels wrong. The warmth isn’t comforting; it’s sharp, a pain spreading through my chest. It burns. The pain is unbearable, like I’m being torn apart from the inside.

“Please... stop…” I try to say, but my voice is just a whisper.

My hands, trembling moments ago, move instinctively. I try to push her away, to free myself from her hold, but I feel something cold in my hands.

A knife.

I don’t know how it got there, but before I can process it, I’ve already plunged it into her abdomen. It wasn’t intentional; it was just a desperate attempt to push her away. But the knife is there. I can feel it piercing her skin, cutting through flesh.

Olivia shudders.

She looks at the wound with surprise, her bloodstained fingers touch the blade as if trying to make sense of what has happened. Then, her eyes meet mine again. There is no hatred in her gaze, no resentment, just a kind of understanding… and something more. Then, she smiles at me. A weak, broken smile, while her hands reach for me, still seeking comfort, still wanting to hold on to me.

The blood starts to flow slowly, at first in small streams spilling over her abdomen. But soon, it’s a flood. The blood covers everything, running across the floor, staining my hands, my clothes, the air around us. I want to scream, but I can’t. I’m trapped in this red tide, drowning in her blood.

Everything goes black.

I wake up abruptly, gasping, my heart pounding in my chest. Cold sweat runs down my back, and the feeling of suffocation hasn’t left me. I’m in the bathroom, but I don’t remember coming here. I lean against the sink, swaying as I try to steady my breathing.

I look into the mirror.

My eyes stare back at me, sunken and tired, as if I haven’t slept in days. My mouth tastes bitter from the alcohol, my stomach churning. The reflection is… strange, as if I don’t recognize myself.

I blink, trying to focus, but then I see something else.

There’s a knife.

It’s lodged in the center of the mirror, the glass cracked around it. The fractures distort my reflection, breaking my image into pieces, fragmented shards that intertwine with the blade. As if I had stabbed myself, as if I were the one who shattered my own image.

I step back, trembling, unable to tear my eyes away from that damned blade.

This isn’t a dream.

I look around and confirm that I’m in the bathroom. My head throbs heavily, and as I try to take a step back, I stumble over an empty bottle of alcohol, and then another…

Opening the bathroom door was difficult, swaying from side to side, trying to process what had happened.

I had just come back from therapy after seeing Olivia, I was…

Before I could continue thinking, I dropped to my knees and started vomiting the alcohol that was destroying my kidneys onto the floor. When I finally stopped, almost automatically, I reached for another bottle of alcohol, but before I could bring it to my lips, I smashed it against the ground, shattering the glass and its contents.

"Enough! I hate this shit! I hate drinking!"

My throat burned, I was hoarse, and it hurt as if I had needles lodged in my vocal cords.

Alcohol made me feel good, helped me escape from the problems I faced, eased a pain that I knew was false—a pain I thought I still felt in my lungs. But now, alcohol had the opposite effect, and I couldn’t stop drinking, even knowing I would end up like this.

I can't remember the last time I was sober, or a single day when I hadn’t been drinking.

I had a serious problem, and I hated it. It was destroying my life.

It was a poison that was killing me mentally.

What did I do to deserve this?

Ah… Olivia.

In a way, I deserve it. I treated her badly, but… was it really that bad?

I dragged myself toward the clock in the living room and saw that it was still morning. Day…

I wasted a whole day of my life being drunk, spending my money on expensive alcohol and wrecking my apartment.

In just a few w-weeks, I’ll see the results of an art c-contest I entered. I-I’m sure I-I’m going to win.

Hmm.

I looked at her paintings, which were still in good shape, unlike the rest of the room.

F-fuck you, Inco.

I’ve changed like I promised.

It w-was an accident, and I-I—!

Cheers.

Chapter Text

July 14, 2029

8:20 AM Summer 

//Inco//

Today was a sunny day. It's one of those days that make you want to go out, grab a beer, and enjoy some good company. But I don't have anyone. And I don't feel like leaving either.

Today is my first day back at work after a few long weeks of vacation. It's nothing complicated, just the same old routine. Go there, do what I’m told, and leave. Don’t interact with anyone, stay formal as always. It’s not like I’m about to smile at a politician’s wedding.

I unlocked my phone screen and started scrolling through my feed. My account had a decent number of followers, but I couldn’t care less about that anymore. My inbox was full of notifications, other channels promoting themselves on my board like vultures circling a carcass. Still, there were a few followers who genuinely appreciated my photos, always looking for more.

My last picture had gotten a lot of attention, but I didn’t like it that much. It was just a shot of the cliffs at Volcadera. Simple, something I see every day when I'm on my bike. It took me five minutes to snap it, but… why did I take that photo? Why do people like it so much?

To me, it’s ordinary, monotonous, something I’ve seen hundreds of times. But for others, it’s probably an incredible view, like something out of a fantasy. I guess I'd feel the same way if I saw a breathtaking waterfall, a beautiful lighthouse, or some tropical beach.

Olivia and I were supposed to go to a…

There I go again, thinking about her.

I let my phone drop onto my lap, sliding off my stomach and clinking against the empty glass bottles scattered around me. I felt a surge of nausea, a wave of bile rising that I swallowed back down before it could burn my throat. Luckily, I was out of alcohol.

I got up and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, the knife still embedded in the glass, creating a jagged scar on my reflection. My dark circles looked like black holes under my bloodshot eyes. My beard, scruffy and unkempt, hadn’t been trimmed in two or three months. Without the designer clothes and glasses, I could’ve easily been mistaken for a homeless guy. I felt a wave of shame, realizing this was probably how Olivia had seen me. I’m surprised she even recognized me.

I slid down the bathroom wall until I was sitting on the floor. I could feel the cold tiles beneath me as I picked up my phone again, just as it started ringing. I knew what that meant. Not many people call me. I only have a handful of contacts.

Eric.

Boss.

Olivia.

Sam.

I don’t even know why I still have Olivia’s number. I guess I must’ve tried calling her at some point during one of my drunken stupors. The real question is, which one?

When I opened her contact on DinoZap, I saw that I’d almost sent her a message. Probably last night, maybe the night before… I don’t even know anymore. Just don’t know.

“Hey... about the other time... sorry, it was...I don’t know. Let’s talk properly next ti-”

That’s where I stopped. Probably too drunk to think straight, the alcohol clouding my judgment and leaving me looking like a complete idiot.

A second call jolted me back to reality, reminding me I’d picked up the phone in the first place. I felt drunk... well, no, not really. I couldn’t tell if I was hungover or just buzzed.

Let’s call it a hungover buzz.

“Hello?”

“W-what do you mean ‘hello?’ Nito, you’re supposed to be here by now! I told you we needed you here before 10 a.m., and it’s already 10:30!”

The fat ass of my boss.

A complete clown is obsessed with formalities and money. The guy’s a jerk. He complains every time I take a day off but knows he can’t fire me easily.

“I’m refueling.”

I lied, standing up and switching to speaker mode. I splashed some water on my face and peeled off the shirt I was wearing, which reeked of spilled alcohol.

“Refueling at the gas station? Come on, you had all morning to do that. Do you even—?”

I let him rant as I stared into the mirror. I wasn’t listening. It’s always the same pointless lectures. I suppose I can’t relate because I’m not a businessman, and I definitely don’t run a photography business for rich people.

I don’t even get breaks. I get it, when you're hired as the photographer, you’re not a guest. But working all day at a wedding surrounded by people with pockets full of cash, laughing with golden smiles and fake nails—it wears on you.

After listening to his tirade for a while, I just hung up. I grabbed my faded gray jacket (it used to be black before it got bleached), my sunglasses, and the keys to my bike.

One might say I should just quit the job. I’ve got enough money to live on for a while longer. That’s my only excuse to keep forcing myself to take photos, even when I don’t like how I do it. It feels wrong, and I hate it. My head hurts.

I lowered my gaze to the screen of my phone, sitting in its holder on my bike’s handlebars. 10:45.

I glanced one last time at the cliffs of Volcadera, where I took the last photo I posted on my feed. A photo I still didn’t quite understand. A picture so...

I got off the bike, which was growling, eager to race, burning fuel like it loved to do. I began walking toward the cliff. I took off my helmet and breathed in the crisp morning air, feeling the cool sea breeze slapping against my face.

What did that photo make me feel?

Opportunity?

Desire?

Ambition.

I don’t even know why the hell I decided to take that shot that day. Was it... months ago? I don’t remember, which makes me think I must’ve been drunk or something.

Still, each time I look at it, the more I realize the beauty of the landscape.

Here I am again, facing the same view. The same one I’ve seen hundreds of times while driving along the curve of the road, barely lifting my eyes. It’s so ingrained in my memory it’s almost invisible, like a faded old photograph. And yet today... today I stopped to reconsider what it made me feel.

The cliffs of Volcadera. Those same cliffs no longer stir excitement in me. They’re bathed in the golden morning light, a light that once made my eyes capture moments with passion, always seeking in each image a truth worth freezing in time. But now, I only see the scars of years gone by, those worn-down rocks, the rough texture of time itself, relentless, like my own lost ambition.

The sea. The vast, endless sea. Its waves crash gently against the rocks, just as they have a thousand times before. But today, its murmur whispers things I used to know, things I’ve forgotten. I used to be thrilled to capture how the light reflected on its surface, how the horizon seemed to promise something beyond, something I craved, something that drove me to be better, to take the perfect shot.

But now, I see only an endless stretch, a reminder of what I’m not, of what I no longer feel.

The sky is painted in warm hues, and it reminds me of the evenings when I used to get excited at the prospect of capturing that one, fleeting moment. Today, those colors feel distant, as if I no longer have the right to claim them. I don’t know when I stopped admiring the beauty right in front of me, but I know I did. I spent so much time chasing perfection, obsessed with crafting the perfect image, that I forgot why I started doing this in the first place.

And now, here I am, looking at this landscape that’s always been here, immortal in its beauty. And for the first time in a long time, I truly see it. Not to capture it, not to share it, but to feel it. And the nostalgia overwhelms me. I miss those days when all I wanted was to admire what surrounded me, without the pressure to be the best, without the constant need to create something extraordinary.

When everything was—

My phone’s ringing.

Damn it.

I grab the phone harshly before taking one last glance at the morning horizon and returning to my bike. I had gotten so lost in my own world that I’d forgotten to keep up with my stupid daily routine.

“I’m on my way,” I mutter the moment I answer, but all I hear are more threats of getting fired for the hundredth time.

I don’t want to lose my job.

I guess.

I hop on my bike and rev the engine, watching as the cliff waves goodbye, crashing its waves against the rocks of Volcadera.

As I walk across the red carpet towards the entrance, the roar of my bike’s engine still echoes in my ears, as if I had left it running, but it’s the crowd that’s roaring. The helmet hangs from my hand, and I can feel their gazes stabbing into me, sharp as the claws they hide beneath their dresses. Some whisper among themselves, others barely bother to hide it. I know what they see: something exotic, something whispered about in the background, someone who looks like they’ve got their life together, with money and a bit of attention from a certain crowd.

It’s nothing new. I can feel their eyes sliding over me, hungry for something they don’t even know. The fantasy of the rebellious, quiet guy with the distant gaze who appears out of nowhere and vanishes just as quickly. To them, that’s what I am, a story to tell, a fleeting moment to sigh over.

But if only they knew.

I’m not the hero of their fantasies. Nor the wild soul who can free them from their mundane lives. What they see, what they think they want, is nothing more than a façade, a thick skin I’ve worn to avoid feeling anything at all. To keep at bay the pain of who I truly am. The scar on my face is just a shadow of the real wound.

My gaze stays fixed ahead, on the entrance to the wedding. I don’t care if they stare or whisper. I don’t want to be a part of their games. I’m not the guy who can fulfill their empty desires, and I have no interest in trying. The love they seek behind those yearning eyes isn’t the kind I want or can give. If I ever knew it, she took it with her.

The sound of heels and laughter mixes with the echo of my footsteps. I ignore the whispers. After all, I’m just another photographer at this celebration.

“NITO!”

Now I can’t pretend I didn’t hear.

I fall silent as I see the gorlock of my boss—Triceratops— approaching with his little group of ‘secretaries’ circling him like tiny moons orbiting a massive planet.

I think he’s seven times the mass of Jupiter.

Before he can start giving me a lecture, I signal for him to lower his voice, which makes his face turn as red as a tomato.

“I came here to work, not to hear the seven commandments.”

The triceratops scrunched up his face a bit but seemed to let it go. He turned back to his conversations with his little satellites as they walked away.

The wedding celebration...

The wedding was a display of wealth and glamour, the kind of event where every detail seemed meticulously crafted to impress. As I adjusted the lens of my camera, I could feel the weight of my boss's expectations pressing down on me.

"Focus on the important ones."

He had told me. But deep down, I knew that what truly mattered was capturing the essence of this moment for the couple. I couldn’t help myself; love was reflected in their eyes, in the way they held each other’s hands, and that’s what I wanted to immortalize. Sure, they were just a less significant pair of politicians, but even so, I could see in their faces that beneath all the money stuffed into their pockets, they were simply a couple in love who just wanted to enjoy themselves. Not all rich people are bad.

Do I consider myself rich?

I started to move through the guests, the camera hanging from my neck like an old friend. The laughter and murmurs of the celebration filled the air, while I searched for those spontaneous moments often lost in the forced smiles of the upper class. The couple—a beautiful woman in a lace dress and a man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo—enjoyed their first dance, and I couldn’t resist capturing the way their eyes sparkled, filled with promises and dreams I once wanted to share with her.

As I took photos, I noticed some of the other photographers huddled in the corner. Instead of working, they were on break, useless. Whispers and gentle laughter floated through the air. I glanced at them from the corner of my eye; I knew what they were talking about. Comments about my success, questions about my relationship with ‘my ex-wife,’ gossip buzzing like wasps.

“Who does this guy think he is? As if he cared more about the couple than the right connections.”

I thought as I pressed the shutter, capturing another beautiful moment of the wedding.

A group of guests gathered near the buffet table, laughing heartily while someone told a ridiculous story. I focused and snapped the shot, trying not to think about their words. I didn’t want their comments to affect my work. Even so, there was something in the atmosphere of the wedding that filled me with energy. The bright lights, the soft music, and the love that infused the air. That was what really mattered.

As I approached the newlyweds again, I captured the moment when she laughed at something he whispered in her ear. It was genuine, it was real, and in that fleeting instant, I felt alive. Yet, I knew my colleagues looked at me with disdain, their faces reflecting the envy hidden behind their forced smiles. Judging me with their glances. But what did they know about my struggles?

Finally, a moment of respite. I moved away from the crowd and found a quiet corner. I pulled a bottle of water from my pocket and downed it in one go. It had been exhausting, but at least taking pictures of the couple and a few guests had some charm to it. I could feel eyes on me, probably because of my appearance: dark circles, sunglasses, and an outfit that seemed out of place for this kind of event. But I was just the photographer, and I couldn't care less. I also sensed my boss's gaze, futilely searching for a photo where he appeared majestic. Pathetic.

"Hello, handsome."

I turned my head, puzzled. At first, I didn’t see anyone. But when I glanced down, there she was: a girl shorter than me, with bluish scales, round glasses, and straight brown hair. There was nothing memorable about her appearance, but that smug smile... that stood out.

What did she just say?

"Excuse me?"

She raised an eyebrow and let out a smug giggle.

"Oh, sorry, I got carried away. You must be the star photographer of this event, right?"

"Sure... though there are other photographers too," I pointed out, gesturing towards the others in the distance, where some of my colleagues seemed to be watching us with barely contained rage.

"Meh, they don’t count. You're the only one worth anything here," she said in a tone that was becoming more unpleasant. Then, without lowering her voice, she insulted them with such coldness that it made me uncomfortable. I caught a glimpse of my colleagues clenching their jaws, seething. I let her talk; it wasn’t worth getting involved.

She started talking about her life, spewing things that neither mattered to me nor made sense in this context. Her voice became a drone in my head, filled with trivialities.

"And really, don’t you think the couple is a total mismatch?" she said suddenly, pointing shamelessly at the happy couple enjoying their moment.

The newlyweds, blissfully unaware of the venom she was spitting, laughed as they danced, clearly in love. She looked at them as if they were the joke of the day.

"They're so... mediocre. But you..." her eyes returned to me, and I could see how that unhealthy interest began to intensify. "You, you've got something special. Why don’t we get out of here? This event is a total waste of time."

The situation was beginning to overwhelm me. I felt her presence like an annoying fly, buzzing incessantly in my ears.

"Look..." I cut her off, exhausted, no longer hiding my irritation. "I'm not interested."

The air seemed to freeze. She stood there, stunned for a second, and then her expression changed drastically. From surprise, she moved to anger, as if I had shattered her little perfect world.

"What did you say?"

"Whatever it is you're telling me... I’m not interested in you."

She, visibly furious, furrowed her brow with such intensity that her blue scales seemed to bristle, almost as if they were reacting to the anger coursing through her. She took a step toward me as if her proximity could somehow make me regret my stance, but I was already done with this.

“You’re an idiot!” she exploded, her voice rising far louder than necessary. A couple of heads turned toward us, but she didn’t seem to care, continuing, her words sharp and biting. “I can’t believe you’re this arrogant! Look at you! You’re nothing more than a cheap photographer. A failure.”

Her words were meant to wound, but they slid off me like water off a duck’s back. I simply watched her, in silence, as she writhed in her fury. She kept grumbling, occasionally poking me in the chest with her finger, as though I were a flea, not worth her time.

It was starting to get to me. Her stupid, shrill voice had begun to give me a headache.

“Enough. Shut your mouth and leave.”

For a moment, her eyes widened in disbelief, as though she couldn’t fathom that I had dared to speak to her like that. Then, her fury came crashing back, more intense than before. But, just as quickly, she turned, storming off with an angry clack of her heels, back toward her table full of venomous friends, whispering and giggling.

Finally, silence.

I moved away from the area, eager to avoid the stares of her little snakes. I found a vacant table among the guests and sank into the seat, needing a moment to breathe. I was exhausted, and it was getting late. The evening would soon be upon us.

I stared at the ring I had planned to give Olivia, still with its chain broken, and ripped from her neck. I pocketed it again, the weight of it a bitter reminder of everything I had lost.

Maybe it was time to call it a day.

“Well, well, looks like it’s been quite a show seeing you in action.” Romeo’s voice slid into my back like a knife. He was approaching with that smug grin, that mocking sneer that always appeared when he thought he had something over me.

“I’m not in the mood for your games right now, Romeo.” I didn’t have time for his jokes, especially not today. My pulse was pounding in my temples, but I tried to ignore it.

“Hey, take it easy. I just thought it was a little strange seeing you so... how do I put it? Distant?” He let out a small, knowing laugh. He crossed his arms like he knew more about my life than I did.

“Stop being annoying, Romeo.”

 I muttered, trying to sound dismissive. 

“You’ve got this reputation for being intense, but today… you’re different. That girl, she was too much for you. Too good for you. And you? You were... I don’t know, just so dense. Wrapped up in your world.”

“Why the hell do you care?” I snapped back, the frustration finally boiling over.

Romeo had always had a reputation for being a troublemaker. I knew his intentions all too well. He was the type to push my buttons, waiting for me to snap so he could sit back and watch me lose control—and get reprimanded by the Boss. Always jealous, always looking for a reason to provoke me.

“No, don’t get it twisted, I don’t give a damn. I’m just telling you what I see…”

He paused, letting a sickening smile creep across his face.

“And I don’t know, man… it’s just weird , you know? Rejecting a girl like that? I mean, she practically wanted to jump your bones, and you—you just walked away.” 

He snickered, shaking his head.

“What, you dense or somethin’? Or maybe you’re just gay. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. Turning down a girl like that? A girl who was practically begging for it? Only a guy like you would screw that up.”

Romeo’s voice dipped lower, dripping with venom. 

“Or wait, I forgot. You’re one of those tortured artist types, right? Too good for someone who actually wants you. I mean, what’s a little obedience and fuckability , huh? But no, you had to let that slip, didn’t you? You’re probably waiting for something deep , some girl who gets your whole tragic vibe.” He paused for effect, then snapped his fingers. 

“Oh, right, I remember now. You let it slip once when you were plastered. Olivia, wasn’t it?”

I turned to him slowly, fists already tightening, the tension rising between us like a storm. The air felt heavy, suffocating.

“Aww Come on, don’t look at me like that,” Romeo continued, his smile widening, eyes gleaming with malice. 

“I’m sure Olivia loved whatever pathetic scraps you gave her. Hell, she probably stayed with you just long enough to feel sorry for you. And let’s be real, with how desperate she must’ve been, I doubt she cared much who you-”

In a swift movement, before Romeo could even process what was happening, my hand was already gripping the back of his head. I felt his hair between my fingers, squeezing his skull with such force that his expression immediately shifted from one of superiority to pure terror. But for me, it was already too late.

I dragged him toward the table with a violent force that blurred my vision. His face slammed against the wood with a dull thud. The sound reverberated in the air—dry and final. His body trembled beneath my grip, but I didn’t let go. My fingers dug deeper, holding on with an intensity that only increased with every passing second.

I could hear his muffled groan, and perhaps the sound of his nose breaking. That smug little face he prided himself on so much must’ve looked glorious now, covered in his blood.

The room flooded with a silence that I couldn’t care less about. I didn’t know how many people were watching, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

…

“Say it again. Go on, insult her again, say more shit, I dare you.” I lifted his head, pulling on his perfect hair, watching as his nose bled and his face looked increasingly battered.

“I-I d-don’t—”

Slam!

“Say it again! Stop being a crybaby!”

Slam! Slam! Slam!

“DID THE RAPTOR EAT YOUR TONGUE?”

Slam! Slam!

Before I could continue smashing his face into the table, I snapped back to reality. The last few moments hadn’t even happened. His hair was still in my hands, and Romeo was clutching his bleeding nose, drenched in his blood.

“Shit, my f-fucking nose...”

I watched him groan while I slowly started to calm down. I could see my boss from a distance, shouting at me, but his voice didn’t reach me. I didn’t hear anything—the crowd’s murmurs, the yelling. But I could read his lips.

“YOU’RE FIRED!”

I could see him storming toward me, his fists clenched, as if guiding me straight to the exit.

"GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!"

Ahh...

It feels... liberating. It’s strange.

I thought it would be worse. I don’t feel... anything. I’m fired. My only way of taking photos has been stripped from me, and maybe the wedding pictures were the last ones I’ll ever take in my life...

I’m exaggerating.

It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed a good shot, a perfect moment where I freeze time in a beautiful image that will stay forever on a little disk.

It’s a shame the couple will never get to see these photos.

This feeling... it’s strange. I’ve always understood that when people lose their jobs, they tend to become... enraged, and depressed. But I feel...

Free.

“Inco, are you there?”

Shit, I forgot I was on the phone.

“Eric, I’m sorry. I was... thinking about what happened today.”

There was a brief silence.

“Kid, you could’ve gotten into a lot of trouble if things had escalated. You’re lucky that I’m sure that idiot won’t want to report you, seeing as he got what he wanted, and if he can step on his pride... Still, what you did doesn’t justify it. You’re fired, Inco. What are you going to do now?”

What am I going to do now?

Uh.

“I haven’t spent any money in the past couple of months, and it’s not that I’m short on cash…”

“Inco, it’s not about money, it’s about doing something. That money you’ve been saving and earning on your merit, at some point—maybe in a few years—it’s going to run out. You’re not a millionaire, and that’s why you’re not stupid. Don’t just sit around, kid.”

I let out a sigh and looked back at the sunset, watching as the sun was almost completely hidden behind the sea.

“Alright, Eric... Thanks for caring, but I’ve had enough lectures for today.”

I could tell from here that Eric smiled, grumbling a bit as he got up from his seat.

“Hey, kid.”

I could tell he was getting a bit more serious.

“About what you told me the other day... Olivia.”

Her image flooded my mind. She was more beautiful than I remembered. Her glacial eyes stared at me intensely, her scaly skin still glowing even in the night, and she looked amazing in that cute dress she was wearing.

She looked a little thinner, though that worried me, considering it was because she wasn’t eating as much as she used to.

I remember one night she ate two or three turkeys at one of our dinners during the early days of living together in that apartment.

Good times, ones I like to remember sometimes.

I clenched my teeth and saw how the rays of the sun faded from my face. The air was slowly growing colder, and soon the darkness would surround me, leaving just me, the sound of the sea, and the cars rushing past behind me.

“Yes, Eric, I already know the answer.”

“And...?”

In just a few w-weeks, I’ll see the results of an art c-contest I entered. I-I’m sure I-I’m going to win.

July 14, 2029

11:19 AM Summer 

//Olivia//

I still feel awful. I feel physically strange like my muscles don’t want to move. Sammy has been helping me a bit with that, mainly by helping me cook so I don’t lose my appetite, though I have to admit I’ve eaten less than I thought I would. Sam has insisted more than ever, of course.

I opened the small shower door and crawled on my knees across the carpet to the pile of towels in the corner on a small table, starting to dry my hair. I was hungry, but I didn’t feel like eating. I knew I had an appetite just because my stomach was growling. Luckily, Samantha had prepared food for me this weekend so I wouldn’t end up ordering junk online or not eating anything the rest of the day. She was a real angel. She’d be busy working in her office this weekend, so I’d have to manage on my own.

She’s strong and wants to help everyone she loves, but I know she has her internal battles.

…Does he really hate me that much?

After drying myself off, I put on a simple outfit and did a minimal fix on my hair. It was time to go to work, or I wouldn’t make it to the end of the month. I also didn’t want Sammy to pay for everything—she had already done more than enough. I’d like to be the one to help her next. She mentioned some time ago that she wanted to go out for a drink. She invited me to join her, but I remember I had to take care of a few things. She never told me how it went.

Anyway.

The last time I went to the studio, I took everything with me, but I still needed a few more pieces for the next commission from one of my clients.

After putting the brushes and paints in my bag, I hung them on the handlebar of my backpack, crawled back to my couch, and lying down, taking a bit of coffee that Sammy had made before leaving in the morning.

I don’t even like it, it’s Samantha’s, but if I don’t drink coffee now, I’ll fall asleep while painting and mess up the canvas.

This isn’t the first time, and I’m afraid it won’t be the last time I’ve messed up the canvas after falling asleep.

Sometimes, I get cold while I sleep.

The sound of the door caught my attention, making me leave my coffee on the table and roll towards the front door, where I could hear uniform knocks.

There he was, leaning on the door as if he was about to tip over and fall in front of me. His eyes, what seemed like tears, were lost in an endless void. His scales were a mess, just like his brown hair.

It had been months since I last saw him.

“Olivia”

He looked gaunt, with a lost look that seemed to be telling me hundreds of things.

I missed Damien from four years ago—a stupid, dense, cheerful, and jokey guy.

That spark, the one he used to shout out that it was his, that showed that it was his personality, was a spark that had long since disappeared. Ever since things started going wrong between us, nearly four years ago.

I felt a certain repulsion towards him. I even felt envy, for my brother. Or the one I used to consider one year ago.

I’ve seen him a few times in the last three years. The last time was to go see his little daughter with Liz. We didn’t say a word to each other. I saw them, I saw her, and I left.

He wanted to say something to me, and I can see his regret in his face right now.

“What are you doing here, Damien?”

Looking at him from where I stood made me realize a few things, especially his smell. His shirt had a dry stain that seemed like alcohol, and his breath reeked of the same.

As annoyed as I still was, I felt pity. Seeing him in this pitiful, exhausted, even sad state.

"Forgive me, Olivia. I-I’m an idiot. I... You were right, you were right from the beginning."

What...

What the hell was all this about?

"What the hell are you talking about, Damien?"

"You have to go back to Inco and m-maybe everything will fix itself and be like it was before, and I-..."

Just hearing his mention made me look away. Not only did it confuse me, but...

He was drunk, completely drunk.

Damien dropped to his knees in front of me after losing his balance, trying to grab onto me.

I slapped his hand away to prevent him from touching me.

"What the hell is wrong with you now?"

Damien curled up a little against the doorframe, staring at the floor.

"Liz kicked me out. She said she won’t let me come back until I-I start caring for our daughter and... Stop drinking."

Even though I doubt my guilt for what I did to Inco will ever heal, I feel like I’ve been able to move on from it, grow as a person, and improve to avoid making the same mistakes. I’ve said out loud that I’m the one to blame, the one who hit him, the one who made him fall down the stairs.

Did you really change just to keep us together? So I’d forgive you and you could ease your own guilt about what you’ve done?

I did it for... Us. It sounds selfish, but I...

No, it’s stupid.

I’m starting to think he’ll never forgive me.

Then there’s him, Damien. The one who tries to surround himself with a shell to avoid letting the guilt’s blow resonate any louder. After all, he was the one who threw the snowball into the sky.

He tried to take a shortcut to avoid the snowball falling on his head; he tried to rid himself of guilt and justify what he had done.

And it seemed to work for him. Thinking that what he did that summer day was justified, and that he would do it again, seemed to work for him. He got married and had a daughter...

But Damien had been throwing several snowballs at his roof, and now they had all fallen at once.

"Stop making a fool of yourself, Damien."

"You were right, Olivia, I’m an idiot... You have to find Inco, fix things with him and-"

"And that's it? All your problems will be solved if I go back to him? Will he forget what you did to him? WHAT I DID TO HIM?"

I took a deep breath, calm down, Olivia. You've been working on this for years.

"I saw Inco recently, Damien."

His face lit up like a puppy seeing someone approach from a shop window.

"But..." His small smile faded dramatically. It annoyed me to admit it, to say it out loud, something I had been trying to avoid entirely, but it’s the truth after all.

"I doubt he’ll ever look at me the same way again."

His face looked like a painting, frozen, staring at me, trying to form words. His gaze moved toward my neck, which made me swallow as I reached for the ring that no longer hung there.

This sealed the tomb, leaving him standing still, where he was.

I didn’t want to start the morning like this.

"Damien, look… I-I can’t do much for you. Come inside, take a shower, and lie down, but please, I don’t want to see you here when I get back from work. Go with... Randy and Sophia if things get worse."

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside the apartment, seeing how he struggled to stay on his feet. I guided him to the couch, where he collapsed, lying down.

"Olivia... Aren’t you going to try again?"

I stood at the entrance of my apartment, thinking about a logical answer.

"No... I don't know."

“T-tell him to hate me, I was the cause of this, not you, Olivia, I-”

"We’re forgetting how I treated him, Damien."

Damien fell silent, his head lowered, before he could say another word, I slammed the door shut and rushed off to work.

I’ve been thinking about this for hours, about everything; It’s surreal how much your life can change in just a few days.

Today was supposed to be a day where I would paint freely, working on the projects I’ve been asked to do, but I feel completely defeated.

Sometimes his words pop into my head, trying to make me remember. It sounds hypocritical, certainly. But in life, we’re all hypocrites. We’ve said things we later regret and try to change.

What if I no longer mattered to him because he found someone else?

I wouldn’t… Blame him.

What are you thinking, Olivia?

Even if he didn’t have anyone else.

Even if he were looking for someone to support him.

There’s no reason why he would want to come back to you. Someone who treated him like crap for three years, who made him feel betrayed. The last time, I could barely look him in the face. His scars left a mark that will be there for life, and I’ll always know I was the one who gave them to him.

It’s not an innocent, “naughty” wound like the one on his shoulder, a mistake that became a small anecdote between us. Now, all that’s left are scars that will always remind me of painful moments from the past.

I didn’t pay much attention to his hand, but it had some scars too. I hate thinking about this, if I keep going like this, I’m going to cry.

"Olivia?"

Alena’s voice startled me after I had been so deep in my thoughts, turning to see her with a smile that faded in just a few seconds.

"Are you okay?"

What?

I felt the tears streaming down my face, my cheeks red and my eyes slightly irritated. I had been crying for a good while without realizing it.

"S-sorry... I was just thinking about my stuff."

My voice was shaky.

I used my dress to wipe away the tears and clear my throat.

Alena cleared her throat, smiling with the typical friendly grin she had perfected while dealing with buyers, guests, and visitors.

"I just came to remind you about next week’s art contest. I’m glad you decided to enter this year. It’s at 10 PM. You know how I am, I’m expecting great results from you."

I couldn’t help but smile at her, glancing at her as I took the brush and got ready to start on the canvas I needed to finish.

"I’m sure you’ll win, first place, that’s for sure."

My smile grew even more, looking at the canvas before me.

"I want to win the contest."

July 21, 2029

10:42 Pm Summer 

//Inco//

"I’m ready to move forward."

I stop in front of the mirror, observing my reflection. I’ve let my beard grow too much. It’s too thick. I don’t really care, but I’m neither a barber to maintain it perfectly nor did I care enough to keep it neat.

When did I start caring about looking good and clean again? It feels like it’s been ages since I last cared about shaving every day, taking baths, and staying clean.

I take the razor after filling my face with foam and begin tracing the areas where I’m going to cut with my finger, lowering the blade to ensure it cuts the hair perfectly.

Although they’re not that noticeable.

"Ouch."

The blood runs down the sink after I make a small cut on the side of my jaw. The blood drips down my neck as I check the wound.

"This is going to leave a mark."

I smile, noticing a much larger scar just beside it, hidden under the mess of hair. I wash the area and put on a band-aid.

Irony.

After shaving, I decide to leave a little bit of beard, enough so I don’t look like a 16-year-old, but short enough not to look like a bum.

I look good...

I give the best smile I can and point at the broken mirror with two imaginary pistols.

"Bang, bang!"

I lower my gaze and smile as I notice some small marks on my shoulder. It’s been a while since I last looked at them, and even longer since I smiled while doing so.

I feel that rush in my chest, a rush I haven’t felt in a long time.

I’m determined.

Once I’m ready, I head for the shower. The hot water pours over my body, relaxing my muscles. I take just the necessary time, no rush but not lingering longer than needed. When I’m done, I dry off quickly and stand in front of the mirror again, towel over my shoulders. My mind is quiet as I think about what to wear for the night.

I put on my dark brown pants, perfectly pressed and fitted, which go perfectly with my style today.

Then, I chose a dark gray long-sleeve shirt with a subtle polka dot pattern, made of satin fabric that slightly shines under the light.

I button the shirt up, making sure each fold is in place.

Next, I add a brown woven belt with a large silver buckle, a detail that always catches attention.

Finally, I grab my aviator sunglasses, black and sleek as usual. Crossing my arms and lowering my gaze as I turn slightly to the side.

"I’m so handsome I could kiss myself."

I let out a somewhat fake, narcissistic laugh before stretching and grabbing what I need for the night.

There she is, Ruby, always waiting for me. No matter how many times I see her, she’s still as stunning as the first time I drove her.

That shiny black finish contrasted with the military green gives her such an imposing presence.

Everything about her seems designed for perfection: the thick tires, the aggressive stance, and the deep sound of the engine promising pure power. She’s beautiful, my faithful companion. Just by looking at her, I already feel more alive.

I mount Ruby and adjust the handlebars with my hands, feeling the cold metal beneath my gloves. I lean forward, and the feeling of control takes over me. Tonight feels different, something in the air makes me want something more. Something that will make this ride a little more... fun.

I turn the dial on the small radio installed in the dashboard, and immediately a pop song from the 80s or 90s starts playing. I smile without meaning to; it’s a peculiar choice for tonight, but it works.

If there's anything you need

All you have to do is say.

I let the music take me away while the engine hums gently beneath me. I start moving, marking the rhythm with my head and shoulders, swaying to the beat of the song.

You know you satisfy everything in me

We shouldn't waste a single day.

The night is still quiet, so I don’t rush. The music envelops me, and I let myself go, enjoying every second as the streetlights reflect on Ruby's tank. As the chorus hits, I laugh softly and dance a little on the seat, savoring the moment.

So don't stop me falling

It's destiny calling!

But something in those words hits me hard. I clench my teeth involuntarily as if something is shutting inside me. Suddenly, the song doesn’t seem so fun anymore. I try to ignore it and attempt to turn off the radio, but my fingers can’t press the button. The voice keeps playing, relentless.

A power I just can't deny

It's never changing

Can't you hear me, I'm saying

I want you for the rest of my life!

I feel my hands tense on the handlebars, my knuckles turn white. I can’t take it anymore.

Together forever and never to part!

Together forever we two!

My fist clenches, and without thinking, I’m about to punch the panel to silence the song once and for all. But then, I take a deep breath.

And don't you know

I would move heaven and earth

To be together forever with you!

I stop.

If they ever get you down

There's always something I can do!

I shake my head as if trying to shake off those thoughts. It’s not worth it. Not tonight. I twist the throttle, and Ruby roars as if she understands my frustration.

There ain't no mistaking

It's true love we're making

Something to last for all time!

I don’t need more than that.

It's never changing

Can't you hear me, I'm saying

I want you for the rest of my life!

I let the engine do its work, allowing the roar to gradually drown out the song.

The road opens up in front of me, and for now, I decide that the silence of the wind will be my only music.

July 21, 2029

11:05 Pm Summer 

//Olivia//

“And you will, Olivia.”

Samantha said as she gently pushed me across the street. Ahead of us, the night art contest glows with soft lights, drawing a crowd. The cool night air brushes against my face, bringing with it the excitement of what’s to come. This is my night.

When we reach the opposite sidewalk, Samantha stops, and I notice how her hands gently release the handles of my chair. I look around. There are so many more people than I remember from the last contest, an incredible mix of styles. From elegant suits and dresses to outfits that look more suited for a fashion show than an art contest. Everything seems bigger, more important than I had imagined.

Samantha leans towards me with a calm smile, as always.

“Ready?” she asks, but before I can respond, she’s already taken a step back, completely letting go of the chair.

“Are you going to leave me here alone?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She smiles at me with understanding. Samantha isn’t an artist, and I know she has to work early in the morning. This isn’t her scene, and we’ve talked about it before, but the uncertainty in my voice gives me away.

“Liv, you know tonight is yours,” she says softly. “You’ve got this, you don’t need me with you all the time.” She points to her car, parked across the street.

“Call me if you want me to pick you up, I don’t mind waking up late at night.”

I can feel her hugging me gently.

“I trust you.”

I nod, though I can’t help but smile nervously as I watch her drive away, waving at me from a distance. Her confidence in me is comforting, but I still feel a little exposed now that I’m alone.

When I look back at the crowd, the first thing I notice is how impeccably dressed everyone is. Women in long, elegant dresses, men in perfectly tailored suits. They all look so confident as if they belong at events like this. I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing a simple black pinafore dress, made of corduroy, with a white T-shirt underneath. It’s comfortable, I like it, but suddenly I feel out of place. Too simple.

For a moment, I hesitate. Am I too casual for this? But then I take a deep breath. I didn’t come here for the clothes or to impress with my appearance. I came for my art. And my painting... I know it has something special, something others don’t have.

I push forward, heading to the entrance on my own. As I walk, the atmosphere becomes even more vibrant. The place is alive, filled with people from all walks of life, dressed in styles ranging from extravagant to minimalist. Here, it seems there are no rules. Everyone expresses themselves in some way, and that calms me a little. After all, this is art, and art is freedom.

Inside, the space is a controlled chaos. Conversations mix with the background music, and my eyes immediately go to the paintings. Canvases filled with color, passion, and history. I see quick, bold brushstrokes, deep shadows, and unexpected contrasts. It’s overwhelming, I admit, but also inspiring. I realize this isn’t St. Hammond anymore. This is something much bigger, and I’m competing among the best.

Finally, the moment arrives. The lights dim, and the crowd's murmur falls silent all at once. A large screen lights up in the center of the room, and without anyone saying a word, we all know what’s about to happen. The finalists.

I tense in my chair as the first image appears on the screen. It’s a piece I don’t recognize: an abstract painting, filled with geometric shapes that seem to float in space. My breathing quickens, and then the second image fills the screen.

It seems to be from the third finalist. Looks like they’re starting from the bottom…

Before I can analyze it further, the next image appears.

My painting.

I lose my breath for a second. There it is, larger than I ever imagined, projected in front of everyone. My heart pounds and a wave of emotions crashes over me: pride, relief, nerves.

I’m among the finalists . I’m in the top 3. No names are announced, just the images. Here, the art is what counts.

A whirlwind of thoughts hits me at once. I’m here, my work is being seen, appreciated, and recognized by so many people. And yet, I can’t help but feel a small sting knowing I’m not the first. But the growing euphoria inside me overshadows that tiny disappointment. I’ve made it this far; that’s what matters.

My painting disappears as quickly as it came, and the first-place piece is shown, drawing louder applause from the audience and fellow artists. But I don’t pay attention to that.

I glance toward the stage, where the finalists are being invited to step up. I want to move forward, I want to be there, but then I immediately notice the ramp. It’s small, poorly placed, clearly improvised, and way too steep for me to manage on my own.

I hate these ramps. Ramps made by people who think they’re being helpful when they have no clue about something so basic.

My hands grip the armrests of my wheelchair. A knot forms in my stomach. The ramp looks more like an obstacle than a help.

Not far from me, near the stairs, I see one of the finalists going up. He looks happy; I’m sure he’s the first-place winner.

And here I am, feeling like a fool. I could ask for help, but I feel frozen in place, just staring at the—

“Woah!”

I feel someone pushing my wheelchair by the back handles and start lifting me the ramp, which begins to tremble under our weight until we reach the top. The crowd is more euphoric, clapping and cheering at the kind gesture of the familiar face. I can’t help but feel warmth in my cheeks with so many people watching me being wheeled, especially since they seem so happy about it.

All I can do is give them a nervous smile as we move toward the center. I turn a bit to see my savior and thank him, lifting my head to see Inco guiding me to my spot on the stage.

“Thank you, Inco.”

I look back to the front to—

‘’INCO?’’

My eyes widen, and my heart does a flip as I turn back with my jaw dropped open, watching Inco wheel me over. I wasn’t understanding anything.

This is a Dream, a Lucid one.

He set me down in the designated spot for the second position, and he stood in the number one spot. He looked at the crowd and made small gestures to encourage them. I could feel him looking at me through his glasses every time he made a gesture beside me.

I think I’m going to vomit—

“Is something wrong, Miss Halford?”

What a nerve.

I could see him approaching to say that in a slightly raised tone so I could hear him clearly.

I paled for a moment and looked straight ahead, abruptly closing my jaw and giving the audience a broken smile.

I went pale for a few moments, my body frozen in place as the words sank into my consciousness like knives. I barely managed to keep the smile on my face, clenching my jaw shut as I forced my gaze forward. The audience kept watching me. I gave them a broken, forced smile and waved my hand in a vague gesture as the applause slowly began to fade.

The crowd quieted down, the atmosphere thickening with anticipation as the host, a tall and slender woman, stepped onto the stage with an energy that felt overly rehearsed.

She greeted the audience, but there was something in her eyes, a sharp glint that hinted she wasn’t just there to ask easy questions. I sensed it the moment she turned to Inco. His vague answers had caught her attention.

For a few brief moments, she bombarded Inco with questions, which he dodged with simple, dry responses as if he had grown used to handling situations like this in his daily life.

"Inco," she said in a tone that was soft yet incisive, "I understand you left Glamour Capture, but I’ve heard there was a small incident before your departure. Was that your way of, shall we say, anticipating your dismissal? Or were you simply feeling dissatisfied with the company?"

Inco let out a brief chuckle, almost a mere exhale, as though the question was irrelevant to him—or perhaps just too predictable. He brought his hand to his chin, his fingers grazing the scar that crossed his cheek through his trimmed beard.

He didn’t look as put together last ti— Shut up.

"I don’t think it matters much. In the end, we all know things change. I just want to make my art, you know?"

The evasion was so blatant that even the audience seemed to fall silent for a moment, waiting to see what would follow. The host, clearly surprised by Inco’s short response, pressed her lips together before continuing with a slightly more strained smile.

"Yes, of course. So, how would you define your new artistic approach? Are you searching for something different now?"

Inco glanced sideways, first at the audience, then at the host, but finally, his eyes landed on me—if only for a brief instant. There was something hidden in his expression, something I couldn’t quite decipher.

"I’m just looking for a bit of change," he finally answered.

The conversation ended there, with vague responses that left little room for more, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, the host decided to pass the word to me. Her gaze softened, but her tone still sought something deeper.

"Miss Halford, could you tell us a little about your work? That summer landscape from your window... there seems to be much more behind it."

I took a deep breath, recalling every brushstroke I had made on that painting. An urban landscape, with skyscrapers cutting across the horizon and the beach in the distance. There was something symbolic about it, something I had tried to convey, though I wasn’t sure if anyone had truly understood.

"I wanted the skyscrapers to look like bars," I said, without taking my eyes off the painting, "As if they were keeping me away from the sea... trapping me."

The host nodded with a smile. She seemed satisfied with my answer, but then she asked the question I dreaded—the one that hit me square in the chest.

"One last question, Miss Halford. What do you think of Mr. Nito’s painting? What does it make you feel?"

It was mine. The same one I had painted years ago, back when we moved in together.

A cherry blossom tree, where I had painted both of us, standing side by side under its branches. But now something was different. 

It had spent so much time at his house that I barely remembered the details. But there it was, a visible mark on the painting: a cut right where he had been as if someone had tried to repair it. 

Tiny stitches connected the tear, creating a kind of scar in the image that had separated the two of us.

"It's..."

I started to speak, but the words got caught in my throat.

The presenter, noticing my discomfort, decided not to push me further and quickly moved on to the next winner.

"Well, it seems this painting has quite a deep story," she commented with a forced smile before changing the subject.

I just kept staring at the painting behind me, lost in thought, until I felt a nudge from Inco.

"The audience is giving you weird looks."

I looked back at him and remained silent. I tried pinching my thigh to see if this wasn't just a dream, but no matter how hard I pressed, I couldn’t wake up.

I didn’t know if I should feel uncomfortable; the last time we saw each other was… pretty awkward. I started fidgeting with my fingers as I looked down at them. Why was he here? Why had he done that?

Before I could think of more questions, I felt someone start to push my wheelchair, realizing that Inco was guiding me toward the ramp.

“Fucking…Stop”

The tip of my tail was swaying from side to side. I knew who was pushing me, and I wanted to reach out to him. My breathing felt shallow; I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming wave of emotions rushing through my head.

Now, I just watched the brief conversation between the first and third-place winners. The music had calmed, and the celebration was in full swing. We’d been moved to a more private, smaller area filled with circular tables, where many of the artists were enjoying the night. Our table was set apart from the others. I hadn’t planned on staying much longer, but…

I could barely speak. I still felt…strange.

Inco stayed quieter than he should’ve, listening to the Saurian who had placed third, rambling on about things that neither of us cared about.

The Saurian finally stood up and said goodbye, leaving his plate untouched and going off to celebrate with closer friends.

Now it was just the two of us.

He stared off to the side, resting a scarred fist against his cheek—a fist that made my stomach churn just thinking about that day.

“Why?”

Inco turned to look at me when I asked the question. He stared for a few seconds before shifting his gaze back to the other tables.

“I don’t know,” he said, clearing his throat. “W-well, not entirely. I just wanted to apologize for being so…Cruel the last time. It was unexpected seeing you. But I decided to stick around a little longer and… talk things out. Properly, this time.”

"I… shouldn't we go somewhere more private to talk? It's crowded here…"

"For what reason? It's not necessary. No one’s going to care about our conversation, and we're not going to talk about anything weird." He raised an eyebrow at me while crossing his arms.

"I…"

Where should I even begin?

"I’ve been sending you letters, here and there. Every few weeks, I send one to your… our old place. I used them to vent, to tell you about my problems, how things are going, and—"

"I know, Olivia. I’ve read them all."

What.

The simple act of explaining that I had been using letters to let off steam, starting from the beginning, left me paralyzed.

Now I was too embarrassed to go on. I felt like he could read me like an open book, that he had studied every letter I’d written, thinking he wasn’t reading them at all.

"I was surprised when I first started reading them. It was one day when I went to pick up a package at the main office, and there was your letter, redirected to the station to be delivered to me. I spent a week wondering if I should open it, and by the time I did, it was already too late. I thought about calling you, and asking if… if you were still at the place you mentioned. Did you really go there?"

"Yes. I… I wasn’t thinking clearly. I remember regretting it as soon as I sent it, and I thought, ‘What if he reads it? What if he comes and I’m not there?’ Seeing that you didn’t show up made me feel both relieved and confused. ‘What if he’s ignoring me?’ A friend told me maybe you hadn’t read them because you’d moved, so a quick visit confirmed you didn’t live there anymore. So, I just…"

We stayed quiet for a few minutes, listening to the soft jazz music playing in the background, exchanging only brief glances. I wasn’t sure if I should feel awkward or perhaps… comfortable with the situation. It was just the two of us, clearing our minds before speaking again.

"I’m sorry, for the last time. I acted too impulsively, without considering how you might feel."

I immediately jumped in.

"N-No need to apologize! I was the one who… who followed you for a while, and… well. I-I’m the one who should apolo—"

"No, Olivia, no. I made a mistake. Don’t try to take the blame when it’s not yours to bear. You just wanted to talk to me, and I was the one constantly trying to avoid you. I felt like it wasn’t the right time, but looking back… I did want to talk things through, properly and once and for all.”

I didn't want to admit that he was right. The truth is that he had behaved like a complete idiot. But when I compare it to what I had done... it's not fair. He didn’t need to apologize to me for a moment of confusion, one in which we both had been immersed.

I tightened the wine glass in front of me, watching how the liquid swirled in circles, trying to hide my nervousness. I took a gentle sip, letting the sensation give me a moment of calm before speaking again.

“I’ve been trying…” I started, noticing that my words felt heavy, almost stuck in my throat. “As I mentioned before, I've been trying to improve for quite some time. I’ve been working with Aalena; I don’t know if you remember her.”

Inco nodded slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the table as if he were avoiding any eye contact.

“You didn’t seem very convinced about your current situation at work,” he commented, his tone neutral, almost analytical. The way he said it made me look away.

A knot formed in my stomach. I knew he was right. He always was.

“Well… yes and no,” I replied, shrugging. “It could be better, of course. It’s not easy, but I’m sure that after all this, more people will start to notice my work. It’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

The atmosphere felt dense, charged with a tension that neither of us seemed willing to break. Inco looked at his wine glass as if internally debating whether to drink it or not. That hesitation in his gesture left me puzzled. Why was he holding back?

“And what’s the prize, then?” he finally asked, shifting the conversation.

An involuntary smile formed on my lips. It was so typical of him not to be aware of the details.

“Do you not know?” I let out a small laugh, trying to ease the discomfort. “It’s a charity event. Everything raised goes to centers for disabled people. That was one of the reasons I decided to participate, although I feel strange about it…”

Inco raised an eyebrow, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine.

“Why do you feel that way?”

I took another sip of wine, longer this time, searching for an appropriate response.

“You know me, my... usual nonsense. I feel like I've come in second place out of pity, just because it’s a charity event for disabled people and... Oops! One of our contestants is one of them…”

He nodded slowly, his expression still difficult to read.

“Well, I came in first just by sewing the painting, which is yours.”

My eyes drifted toward him, a mix of curiosity and doubt. What had he done to the painting? I wanted to ask him, but part of me already knew the answer.

“Can donations be made anywhere?

“What?”

I glanced sideways at Inco, caught off guard by the sudden admission.

“I was working for a company, and… things were going well, for the most part. Until I… did something. Got myself fired.”

I remembered hearing something vague about that before.

“And what exactly did you do?”

I noticed Inco’s hesitation, the way he averted his gaze.

“I slammed some idiot’s face into a table.”

That made me snap my head toward him, shocked. Inco had never been the type to lash out like that. Though, given our last conversation…

“Why?”

He let out a heavy sigh.

“Because he was insulting...We’re not here to talk about what happened there.”

“Inco”

“So… what else have you been up to these years besides working and posting pictures?”

You can’t be that obvious, Olivia.

“Well… not much. I tried signing up for a gym, but it didn’t really work out.”

He let out a soft laugh, but my hands moved down to his arms resting on the table.

They looked a bit bigger.

“Uh?”

I said it aloud.

“Yeah, well, the doctor told me I should do daily exercises. I’ve let myself go a bit, but I’ve been sticking to it for quite a while now. Well, you know, for three years.”

That hit me like a bucket of cold water, and he noticed, letting out a small sigh as he saw me staring at his scarred arm. There was a prominent scar running from his thumb to his elbow, the largest area being on his wrist, with the scar extending to his elbow looking surgical from how it appeared.

There were no words, just sadness. I felt foolish, watching how he now had to manage this for the rest of his life.

I lowered my gaze and looked at my fingers, still marked with noticeable scars from having ripped my nails against the table and scraped my own flesh. My scars were nothing compared to his; I felt like I deserved something worse. Something—

I felt his warm hand take one of mine, bringing it closer to his view and lifting his glasses to examine it more closely. I felt the brush of our skin as he gently caressed my perfectly trimmed nails, making soft circles with his damaged thumb as he looked at my ring finger.

It was the perfect moment to talk.

“I… I wrongly thought that you were starting to… stop loving me. N-not exactly, but… we were fighting more and more, and then you ‘stopped supporting me,’ which is… totally understandable, knowing how I was acting. I don’t blame you.”

I swallowed hard, looking away and taking a deep breath.

“I started feeling betrayed. In my mind, you were supposed to support me, and you did, but supporting me led you to…”

I let out a sigh, feeling him squeeze my hands, still looking at me. He was starting to grip them a little tighter, actually.

“Then, at work, a guy showed up who seemed nice, well—he was an idiot, really, looked like a complete fool, but he listened to me, or at least I thought he did…”

I squeezed his hands a bit and looked into his eyes, seeing the scars that ran across his face because of my claws.

“Nothing ever happened between us, I never felt anything for him. I swear on whatever’s up there that nothing happened, if that’s what you thought when you saw us. When I mentioned him, it was only to… make you jealous. It sounds stupid, but I thought maybe that way you’d learn to… value me again.”

We both fell silent, staring at each other before letting go of our hands. His silence was overwhelming, and all I could do was stare at his now almost greyish eye, in silence.

“I believe you. But I still had doubts. You know? Sometimes I think it’s my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t thought about asking you to marry me, or telling your brother…”

He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, noticing how I looked away, so he tried to clarify.

“Don’t think like that. Damien was right, but the way he went about it was awful, and my reaction was even worse. We didn’t act like adults, like friends, like siblings. We acted like total idiots. I’ve talked it over with Eric, maybe it was too soon to ask you to marry me. We still had a lot more to work through. What if we fought again? What would happen? Were we going to go back to those stupid cold wars between us?”

“As much as he might have a point, he’s a damn hypocrite. He’s been putting on a brave face for a long time to show he’s moved on, but he hasn’t. He’s been breaking down inside, and now he’s reached his limit. He’s a fool.”

“He cared about you, but maybe he tried to overprotect you. I’d like to see him when we’ve sorted things out a little more.”

I felt a lump in my throat, clutching my knees before looking at him again.

“And after that?”

…

“We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

July 22, 2029

1:05 Am, Summer. 

//Olivia//

We’ll see.

His words echoed in my head as I rolled alongside him. We had a brief chat before deciding it was getting late; they would close in half an hour, so after saying goodbye to the others, we decided to leave. We were halfway to the subway; he offered to accompany me, although the journey had been somewhat silent.

The night was cool enough to enjoy the morning breeze without shivering from the cold. After all, it was summer.

A quick glance at Inco revealed that he was distractedly looking around; he appeared relaxed, with his hands in his pockets.

Our conversation had been calm, unlike the other day. I’m happy that we’re trying to make things better. Although...

Will we see each other again later? That thought makes me feel something strange in my chest, a sensation that doesn’t fully convince me. I would like a quick answer, but I would be making the mistake of moving too fast.

Anyway, what kind of nonsense am I thinking? Do I really believe I can go back to him after three years? Do I really think he wants to get back together with me?

No.

They are just loose ends, old friendships you wish would end well, without such a bittersweet and...

It's a strange feeling. Wanting to be with someone while knowing there’s no way they could reciprocate because of your own actions. What do you do then? Move on? Improve, better yourself, try to keep progressing, and fulfill that promise.

But I’m doing this for myself so he can see that I’ve changed. Nothing guarantees that he will want to be with me again, hugging like we used to, hand in hand, laughing at casual jokes.

I remember those school days as if they were yesterday, but it has already been six years since those moments.

Even... thinking about it now, the idea of getting back together with him makes me feel sick.

I would feel like a mechanism of golden gears, where I am just one of them, and my only function is to clean the rust that I myself have. Because of me, the other pieces move more slowly.

I should stop thinking about this... It makes me dizzy.

I directed my eyes towards Inco, who was now looking at me in the same way; he held a steady look on me as if he were also reflecting on his own world. His glasses helped conceal his face; I couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell if he was looking directly into mine or gazing elsewhere.

 My eyes drifted to his lips, which reminded me of our interaction outside the therapy building.

I recalled him taking a swig from a small flask, which had a strong smell of alcohol. I didn’t think much about it until I got home.

“Inco...”

He gestured a little upon hearing his name; he seemed lost in his thoughts, looking at me.

Sometimes he gets too lost in his mind.

He still has that habit.

“Do you drink?”

This caught him by surprise; he averted his gaze and continued walking, but he seemed compelled to talk after feeling my stare for a little longer.

“Well, only when there’s a good reason…”

“Inco... Come on, I saw you last time with that flask and it reeked of alcohol.”

Inco let out a sigh and paused for a brief moment.

“Sometimes. Just to relax…”

We both continued walking through the dark morning, barely illuminated by the streetlights lining the road.

“Well, it’s actually a bit complicated. I started drinking a little to…”

He seemed to be searching for the right words.

“To fit in with others at small parties. It’s nothing serious; I just felt like taking a bit from the flask; I was thirsty, and it was the only thing I had on hand.”

Inco had always been bad at lying. He looked away, scratched the back of his neck, and kept his gaze fixed elsewhere. But as much as I wanted to continue the conversation, I couldn’t press him more. We had to take things slowly. If he didn’t want to tell me something, there was no need to push; he would share it with me when he was ready.

I hope…

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I replied softly, trying to make him feel comfortable. “We can take things… slowly.”

He nodded.

In the distance, the subway station was clearly visible, but I wasn’t in any rush. We were moving at a leisurely pace, with no need to catch the subway at a specific time.

In fact, I’m not quite sure what time it is… The building we left must have closed by now.

“So… you went to the gym, started working at a company that disgusted you, and now you’re here. What else can I know?”

Are you sin-...?

Too forward.

Toooo forward. 

Inco let out a huff as he tried to clear his head.

“After the trial, I had no idea what to do; I felt a bit lost. I felt like a needle in a haystack. I started doing the only thing I was good at photography. I attended some basic courses; they weren’t anything special. I looked for some odd jobs, but there wasn’t anything that interested me. One day I went to a small party I was invited to and met the jerk who became my boss. This was just a few months after… our separation…”

He said this with a certain hatred when mentioning his boss, a deep-seated resentment he had never been able to let go of during his years of “imprisonment” at that job.

“I hated him, that job, I mean, but it was the only thing keeping me afloat. And of course, I didn’t expect him to be so… stupid, let’s call it that. Those months with him were very tough… Well, the thing is, at first, everything seemed to be going well. I had money, I could manage without excessive expenses, and, hey, I was starting to gain recognition.”

He stopped just at the top of the stairs leading to the subway station and leaned against the metal railing. He let out a sigh; the area we were in was somewhat dark, so he pushed his glasses up.

I like looking him in the eyes.

“Do you remember Eric?”

I nodded, feeling warmth at the thought of him.

“It would be insulting for me not to. He was the one who showed me that not all humans are bald.”

I enjoyed bringing a smile to his face.

“Why? Is he okay? I remember he got sick and soon after, we lost touch. I know he’s been fine because I spoke to him a couple of months ago.”

Inco made a strange face and then shook his head in silence.

“Well, he advised me to open a new account on TropicalGram, and I did that, taking advantage of the fact that I lost my account because… my phone broke, and I never listened to your advice to write down the password in some notebook.”

So that’s why I didn’t see my messages during the first year on TropicalGram…

“I started posting photos there, and honestly, I had quite a bit of success. I have a few followers who support me daily.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little.

“And… how many followers do you have?”

Inco pulled his phone from his pocket, and I leaned in with some curiosity, watching him enter the password.

“Did you just…?”

Inco looked confused.

“What?”

I took his phone, turned it off, then woke up the screen and entered the date and month that should be our anniversary, unlocking it.

“You… still have it?”

Inco still seemed confused.

“Wh-?”

“Never mind.”

Handing him back his phone, I felt my cheeks flush looking across the street and clenching my fists slightly.

Inco continued navigating through his phone until he entered TropicalGram, starting to show me his feed and…

“Wow.”

400,000 followers.

After showing me a few of the photos he had uploaded, I could understand the number of followers he had, although… There's something strange about the photos that seems familiar to me.

As he kept scrolling down, I stopped the screen with my finger and tapped on one of the photos.

It was a small collection of photos, one from spring, summer, autumn, and winter. But it wasn’t the seasons that caught my attention; it was the location.

“Ah… those photos took me a whole year to take. It’s my most successful shot.”

It was the fountain.

The fountain where it all began, where our story began.

They were photos taken at sunset during each season, with the beautiful orange sky of dusk.

“They're some… really beautiful photos, Inco.”

I continued scrolling through his account, looking at some of the other photos he had taken, but still, something felt off, something strange, as if I recognized some of them.

“Did you go back to the arcade?”

Inco fell silent, leaning in to look at the screen and showing me an image of the arcade. It was a simple image, quite straightforward, yet still very recognizable. It showed two anonymous people enjoying themselves at an arcade game.

“I drew some inspiration from some places we visited.”

And he was right; there were plenty of photos of places we had been to years ago: the great volcanic cliffs, the small amusement park by the beach…

Many were places we had visited together but with perfectly edited and photographed shots.

There were more types of photos.

“Where is this photo from? It looks beautiful… I’ve never seen this beach before.”

I pointed to a photo taken from a balcony, where not far from the view was the beach. Blue sky, clear blue sea, with beautiful sand.

“It’s just outside the city; those are the views from my Kelly.”

“You live outside the city?”

“Yeah, well, it’s a more urban area: ‘Oceanview Estates.’ It’s a pretty quiet place, away from the city. I liked how far it was—neither too far nor too close; after so many years living in cities, I decided to move there.”

I let out a sigh before handing him back the phone.

“And what happened to your job?”

“Well, my boss wanted me to do very specific things that I didn’t like, so sometimes I just did what I wanted. He was a jerk, and, well… one day I just decided to stop that nonsense. I exploded, got fired, and now I’m looking for work. I thought… that would stop me from taking photos for good, but honestly… maybe I’ll spend some more time taking photos.”

“So… you didn’t like working there?”

Inco nodded. He stood behind me and took my chair, helping me roll up the small incline toward the subway station. My tail twitched every time he grabbed the handles, wanting to hold his wrist again.

“Yeah, basically, that’s why I decided to spend some time doing my own thing taking photos. Maybe I can return to that feeling I used to have…”

We could go together to paint and take photos… No, that sounds too bold. In fact, everything that comes to mind feels bold, like it’s the first time we’re talking together. It feels like—

“...What about you?”

Me?

I turned at the mental question to see him as we reached the waiting area of the subway, leaving me by his side as he sat on a small bench.

“Well… there’s not much to say about me… Nothing significant has happened; it’s only been three years…”

Three long years.

“I’m still w morking with Alena, as I told you before. I’ve done interviews about my disability and received some of those aids you told me I should apply for. Thanks to them, I’ve been able to buy an apartment in the city, and well, with the help of a friend. Thanks to her, I’ve been able to move forward; I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“Sheust be someone very interesting.”

She is; she’s a great role model, except for a few things…

“Do you like your job? You don’t sound very convinced about my advice.”

“Yeah, I’m grateful for the advice and glad I took it; it’s just that I would have preferred it to be another… way… You know? No—the truth is I don’t… feel right about it. It makes me feel strange. Yes, I have buyers, but many of them buy my paintings because of my disability more than my art. They ask for simple things that they can hang in their homes and say, ‘Yeah, this painting is by Halford, the disabled artist.’”

“You told me before; that’s terrible. My boss wanted me only for how good I was at taking photos. He didn’t care in the slightest; he made me sick, and still, he wanted me on the job.”

I sighed and rested my fist against my chin.

“Hey… thanks, again. F-for the painting; I’m sure my stupid head thinks that if I had won, it would have been out of pity.”

"There's no need to thank me... and... um..."

Inco looked away and adjusted his glasses.

"I... would have preferred a different way too."

From that point on, we both fell into silence. It didn't feel uncomfortable; it was a tranquil peace that we enjoyed. We weren't looking at each other, just observing the night lights around us.

"What will happen to our paintings?"

I couldn't help but smile.

"Seriously, you didn't check anything? Did you just send in the painting and pray you'd win? They’ll be sent to the school where donations will be made... What would you have done if you hadn't won...?"

"I trusted you."

My cheeks flushed red again at the compliment, and I looked away.

"I thought about selling some of your paintings if I went bankrupt. I'd make a fortune with those paintings."

I laughed at his comment; the poor guy thought he could make a good sum of money off my artwork, which made me feel somewhat flattered.

Though, on the other hand... he still had my paintings... It feels strange.

Once again, there was complete silence.

There was something at that moment, a mix of tiredness and peace, that made time feel slower.

After several minutes of shared silence, I finally broke it.

"Are you taking the subway?" I asked, turning my gaze to him.

Inco let out a small laugh, the kind that always seemed to fill the air with warmth, and shook his head.

"No, I ride a motorcycle."

I turned to him, surprised. The image of Inco on a motorcycle didn't fit the version of him I had in mind. I wasn't expecting that.

"A motorcycle? I can't picture you riding one."

He smiled and pulled out his phone. After a few seconds of scrolling through his gallery, he showed me a photo: him posing next to an imposing motorcycle, military green, with a worn but shiny finish. Inco, in his faded jeans and a slightly dirty gray sleeveless shirt, looked so natural next to the machine.

I shook my head after staring at the photo for so long, especially at Inco looking so casual.

"Is it yours?"

"Yeah. Surprised?" Clearly, he was enjoying my reaction.

"It's just... I don't know, I didn't see you as someone who would ride a motorcycle. I pictured you more with a car, maybe a sports car."

As I looked at the photo and tried to imagine him driving, a thought crossed my mind.

Don't get any weird ideas, Olivia… He won't take you on his motorcycle.

"Next time, I could give you a ride home on the motorcycle..."

My eyes widened. "What? Really?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

He looked at me with a mix of amusement and seriousness, as if he were enjoying my reaction.

"I would have taken you today, but I don't have the modification on the bike."

"What modifi-" I started to ask, but just then, the lights at the end of the tunnel flickered. The distant sound of the subway began to resonate in the empty station.

"The subway is here,"

I was having fun…

There was something about being here after so long that made me feel good. However, once again, silence fell between us as the subway began to stop in front of the station, illuminating the floor with its interior light, and breaking the shadows of the night.

Inco stood up first, in his usual calm manner, and without saying a word, helped me roll toward the subway door that opened before us. I felt his firm hand on the back of my chair, and for a brief moment, my tail brushed against his wrist. It was a soft, involuntary touch, but he showed no reaction. I couldn't help but quickly pull away, feeling nervous, and let it rest between my hands to regain control of the chair myself.

The subway came to a complete stop in front of us, and for a moment, we stood there, both in silence, bathed in the warm light of the subway's interior. I could hear the faint hum of the subway, but in my mind, everything was calm.

I felt the urge to speak before the silence stretched on too long. 

"I... I've really enjoyed seeing you again after so long," I said, not quite looking at him, a slight tremor in my voice.

Inco remained silent for a few seconds. I could sense him thinking, and processing my words. Finally, he replied in a low, almost contemplative tone.

"Me too."

It was a strange moment, dense, filled with everything we had been and the years that had passed. But at the same time, everything felt natural, as if the weight of our history wasn't enough to crumble what still lingered between us.

Inco leaned toward me, and without saying anything, he hugged me. It was an embrace I hadn't expected, but one I accepted without hesitation. He wrapped around me gently, with the tenderness he had always shown me. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to anchor myself in that instant. When we finally separated, I rolled into the subway car and settled by the window.

Once inside, I rested my forehead against the cold glass, feeling the soft vibration of the subway as it began to move. The reflection of the lights sped past, and my mind began to wander.

I thought about the last few years. About everything that had changed and all that, despite my efforts, remained the same. Three years since the last time I saw Inco, and here he was again as if part of me had never fully moved on. He had changed... the motorcycle, the way he spoke, his career, the struggles he now shared with me as if he had evolved into a more complex version of himself. But what about me... what had I done for myself?

My thoughts kept circling back to the fact that he still had my paintings, and the password…Why was he still holding onto them? He didn't mention them much, but I had noticed that those memories still mattered. And while it stirred a strange sense of nostalgia in me, I also wondered if I had done enough to close that chapter of my life. Had I been living enough for myself, or was I still trapped in a past version of who I once was?

Snap

A slight flash interrupted my thoughts. I turned toward the subway door and saw him: Inco had taken a picture of me. He was standing outside, a small pocket camera in hand, showing me a gentle, almost playful smile. He gave me a thumbs-up, a simple gesture but laden with meaning as if he were saying, "You're okay."

I smiled despite myself and barely managed to return the gesture with my hand before the subway doors closed, and it began to pull away. As the subway glided along the tracks, Inco’s figure grew smaller and smaller until he finally vanished from my sight.

July 29, 2029

11:05 Pm, Summer. 

//Samantha//

Summer had always been my favorite season. The long days, the comforting warmth of the sun melting my scales, the beach under a clear sky. There was nothing better than lying on the sand and letting yourself drift away to the sound of the waves. However, I absolutely hated the humidity. That thick air that clings to you like a second skin, especially at night, when the heat somehow becomes even more unbearable.

Now, running through the streets, drenched in sweat, I felt like the hot air was suffocating me. My shirt was sticking to my back, sweat was dripping down my forehead, and to top it off, I was carrying a bag of water bottles that felt like lead, all just for me, usually. I felt like a soaked rag, and I couldn't stop wondering why I thought going for a run at this hour was a good idea. But it was quiet, not a soul in sight.

When I finally reached Olivia's building, I paused for a moment to catch my breath, pulling off my headphones and cap, letting the silence of the night invade my ears. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but the sticky sensation of humidity clung to me, enveloping me entirely.

I’ll take a shower at Liv's place before doing anything.

I entered the building and sighed in relief as the cool air conditioning greeted me. I was carrying a bag of gummy fish-shaped candy, sugar-free, a small gift for Olivia, and, let's be honest, for myself too.

In the elevator, I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't resist placing my hand on my stomach, touching it gently.

"A few extra pounds..."

I muttered to myself, grimacing at my reflection. I knew I shouldn't be so hard on myself, but between the exhaustion, the sweat, and the hunger, the self-critical thoughts always crept in at the worst moments.

As the elevator ascended, so did my thoughts. I tore my gaze away from the mirror, focusing on the bag of candy.

"At least they're sugar-free..."

I tried to console myself, but even that felt hollow.

Olivia always managed to make me feel better, no matter how down I was. How was it possible that she kept going after everything she'd been through, while I worried about trivial things? Last week, during our usual Sunday movie night, she mentioned Inco. I knew how important he had been to her... and how hard it was when everything ended between them.

The way she brought him up left me with a knot in my stomach. I could sense her concern, even though she tried to hide it under her usual calm demeanor. I remember staying up that night, worried about her, but when she came back, she reassured me. She said that this time things had gone well. She wasn’t broken, like the last time they talked, when everything seemed to be falling apart around her.

That gave me some peace, but I couldn't help but think about how strong Olivia had been in putting herself back together, though sometimes, even the strongest among us can break. I just wanted to help her as she had helped me, but I often wondered if I was doing enough.

The elevator chimed, pulling me out of my thoughts as I reached Olivia's floor. I straightened up, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. Sunday movie night was always our little bubble of peace, a place where we could be ourselves without judgment. And although I didn’t know what would happen now that Inco was back in her life, at least I could be there for her, as we always had been for each other.

I felt proud of Olivia. She had accomplished so much more than I had in three decades, and I should learn from her.

Or maybe I should just stop being such a nerd with such... specific tastes.

I stepped out of the elevator, bag of candy in one hand, ready to leave my worries behind for a while and focus on what mattered: spending time with my friend. However, when I opened Olivia's apartment door, I noticed something odd.

The silence. A heavy silence, unlike our usual Sunday movie nights. Olivia was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, but she wasn't moving. At first glance, she seemed calm, but something about her posture made me frown.

She was clutching a stuffed toy in her arms, the same one she had told me she won in an arcade machine with Inco years ago. She was holding it tightly as if it were an anchor, something to hold on to.

And not only that... she was wearing a blue bomber jacket.

The one that belonged to Inco, the one she used to keep tucked away in the back of her closet, hidden like a treasure from a time she had supposedly wanted to leave behind.

Seeing her in that jacket made a knot form in my stomach.

I stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching her. She hadn’t noticed I had entered. She didn’t greet me with her usual smile or make a funny comment about my sweat or the candy I brought.

Instead, she was just there, lost in another world, staring at the television. I approached slowly, almost as if I didn’t want to interrupt that space she had created around herself, that silent refuge where she seemed to have hidden.

When I finally got close enough, I saw what she was watching. They were old videos of her and Inco.

Moments captured on screen, immortal, which now seemed distant and almost unreal. They were laughing, and joking, and they looked… happy.

A part of me felt a pang of sadness watching those memories.

Has something gone wrong?

“Olivia… how are you feeling?”

A simple question, but loaded with everything I didn’t know how to express at that moment. Her response was what truly mattered.

Olivia didn’t take her eyes off the screen. She just shrugged, as if she didn’t know what to say, or as if words simply weren’t enough to explain what she felt. I noticed her hands squeezing the stuffed toy a bit tighter.

I stayed silent and watched the screen as a new video started.

...

The video began with the shaky image of a camera being held by Olivia. There was no clear sound at first, just distorted laughter in the background, too close to the microphone.

The darkness of the video slowly faded, revealing the image of a beach at sunset. The sky was painted in warm shades of orange and pink, and the light of the setting sun bathed everything in a soft, almost unreal atmosphere.

I stood there, watching without saying anything, as Olivia turned the camera towards them. There they were, her and Inco, sitting on the sand with a pizza box between them.

The image was so… simple, so ordinary, but at the same time, it was loaded with a sense of happiness that felt palpable. They were both laughing and for a moment, I could feel the energy of that day through the screen.

“Just so it’s on record that it’s not my fault…”

I heard Olivia’s playful voice as the camera shook a bit more, capturing Inco’s laughter. I couldn’t help but smile at hearing it; it was that kind of humor that always managed to lighten any situation.

Inco, holding up a soggy slice of pizza, laughed as he replied,

“I wasn’t the one who put the pizza upside down.”

Olivia wasn’t far behind.

“But you’re the one who put the ice on top!”

The camera wobbled a bit more as they both laughed, arguing over who was to blame for the ice disaster.

It was the kind of exchange that only happens between two people who know each other deeply, and at that moment, their connection was obvious. Neither of them seemed genuinely upset; instead, they were enjoying the little chaos they had created together.

As I watched them, I felt something tighten in my chest. It wasn’t my story, they weren’t my memories, but still, there was something in their connection that made me feel a kind of nostalgia for something I hadn’t even experienced.

I wondered what was going through Olivia’s mind at that moment, watching that video. Did those images bring her comfort, or did each second just remind her of what she no longer had?

I’d like to feel something like that someday. And I suppose that…

I quickly glanced at Olivia; she was still motionless, watching the screen, barely blinking.

The sound of the waves filled the background as both of them finally grew quiet in the video, their laughter fading slowly. Olivia, still holding the camera, tilted it slightly to look at Inco. On the screen, I could see their eyes meet.

And then, without warning, they kissed.

It was a slow, tender kiss, as if time had stopped for them in that moment. It was the kind of kiss that held more than just affection; it was a show of how much they meant to each other. The camera kept recording, but it no longer mattered what the lens saw—what mattered was what they were feeling in that instant.

I felt Olivia beside me tense up a little, though she didn’t make a sound. I didn’t say anything, because I knew this moment was more for her than for me. I stayed quiet, letting the video play out, while in my mind…

What does all of this mean to her now?

How long has she been like this? I haven’t had time to talk to her since Tuesday.

“Olivia, sweetie, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

For the first time, Olivia’s eyes moved when the screen went black, leaving only the light from the kitchen to illuminate us.

“No… it’s nothing.”

Oh, sure. My best friend, with that expression that looked straight out of a Ryn Gosling movie.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That’s the thing… it’s been a week, and I haven’t heard a word from him.”

Her voice trembled slightly as if saying it out loud made it all the more real.

“Olivia, you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he’s busy or… I don’t know, maybe he just needs some space.”

Sometimes I had to remind her that the world doesn’t stop for anyone.

“As if you knew what it feels like.”

Ouch.

My eyes shifted to the TV, unable to meet her gaze for a moment. The truth was, I’d never had a relationship that lasted years.

I’d always been caught up in short flings, without the weight of history that Olivia shared with Inco. I didn’t have the same feelings, and while I understood it on an intellectual level, I couldn’t fully grasp it from experience.

“I’m sorry,”

Olivia apologized, and her tone changed. The anger faded, leaving only vulnerability.

“I didn’t mean that I-I just…”

I nodded slightly, accepting her apology.

“It’s fine. I just… want you to know I’m here for you. If you need to talk about it, I’m ready to listen. You didn’t really tell me how your date went with him—you fell asleep on the couch with pizza on your face. I’d be lying if I said it’s not my new profile pic in our chat…”

Olivia’s face lit up for a few seconds as if the image of her mess made her forget her sadness, if only briefly.

Then, she started telling me everything in detail. Her eyes sparkled as she talked about the date, the nerves she felt at first, and the little things that had made her laugh. When she finished, she hugged herself, as if those memories were wrapping her in a warm blanket.

“And you? Do you think you still love him?”

Olivia’s smile disappeared immediately, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Does it matter?… I mean, even if I wanted to, I doubt something like that could happen. I just want to get better and show him I’m making an effort. I don’t want to be selfish.”

She wasn’t just struggling with her feelings for Inco, but also with the need to feel like she was enough for him.

I glanced at the turned-off TV, taking a deep breath. 

“Olivia…” 

I started but decided not to push her. She was already dealing with enough. Instead, I spotted the bag I had brought, a mix of sugar-free anchovy gummies.

“Want some of this?”

I grabbed the bag and prepared to tease her a little.

“You know, being a little selfish sometimes isn’t a bad thing. Who says you can’t be selfish and still care for others?”

Olivia laughed, though she was a bit hesitant.

“I’ll… think about it, but those gummies are mine now.”

We both laughed, and the laughter was a relief that brightened the space between us. Feeling a bit lighter, I grabbed the TV remote.

“I think there’s a new mecha anime on. I think it’s a cheap knock-off of Gurren Lagann, but it should be fun to watch.”

I turned on the TV, and just as I was about to find the right channel, a video popped up on the screen.

“Wait, I still don’t really get how this ‘mating press’ thing works, Liv… And your legs keep moving too much.”

Wait a sec—

“Inco, it’s…Easy, Look, you hold them like this and drop your hips, just like that, and then—”

Right when I was about to keep watching the screen, I started pressing the back button, trying to stop the content, but all it did was take me to the folder menu.

What I found there left me speechless.

“WHY IS THERE SO MUCH HOMEMADE PORN!?”

Olivia quickly snatched the remote from me. She switched to regular channels, her face flushed and wearing an awkward smile.

“That’s what happens when a maniac and a photographer get together.”

She gave me a nervous grin as she started flipping through the channels.

May 17, 2023

12:22 Am, spring. 

//Inco//

“Stop laughing!”

I muttered, though my tone was more resigned than angry. I could hear Olivia’s laughter echoing beside me as we walked back to St. Hammond.

We had snuck out of history class, enjoying the break together. As for me, I had fallen asleep at some point, and she, in her mischievous creativity, had entertained herself by doodling on my face.

“Give me the phone, I want to see what you did so I can delete it.”

I asked my girlfriend, trying to sound firm but failing in the face of her persistent laughter. We stopped just at the bottom of the stairs. Olivia handed me the phone, and I turned on the camera, preparing to erase whatever she had drawn.

But instead of the usual harmless doodles, what I saw froze me in place. My face was covered in blood.

The scars, grotesque and open, slashed across my face from side to side, digging deep into my skin as if carved by a knife.

The blood, thick and crimson, ran down my cheek in uneven streams, soaking my chin and neck. I could feel the weight of hot drops falling, a strange and nauseating sensation.

I blinked, confused, expecting the image to fade, but it didn’t. The blood was still there, flowing with an eerie calm.

“What…?”

The words died in my throat. I looked up at Olivia, but then everything started to twist.

The ground beneath my feet curved, the air grew heavier, and before I could react, I felt the world collapsing around me.

I was falling down.

It was as if the stairs had disappeared beneath my feet, and instead of tripping over the steps, I was swallowed by an infinite darkness. I already knew what was happening. Another one of those dreams. I recognized the feeling: the endless fall, the void engulfing me completely. But this time, something was different.

The impact didn’t come as a hard crash against the ground, waking me up in a hospital. Instead, it felt like my body was plunging into freezing water. The cold gripped me instantly, my muscles tensed, and when I tried to move, my legs didn’t respond. The burning in my left arm was unbearable, as if someone was setting me on fire from the inside.

I tried to swim, but I couldn’t. The pressure of the water crushed me, pushing me down, deeper and deeper. My mouth filled with water, but the metallic taste of iron overwhelmed my senses. It was a familiar taste, a bitter reminder of things I’d rather forget.

This is new…

The darkness swallowed me, the water suffocated me, and I knew I was going to die.

And then, everything disappeared. I woke up with a gasp, the pain in my cheek pulling me out of the dream.

July 30, 2029

2:22 Am, Summer. 

//Inco//

I blinked several times, trying to focus. My vision was blurry, and everything seemed strangely distant, as if I wasn't fully awake.

The pain in my face was the first thing I registered clearly—a burning sting on my cheek. As I moved my head, I distinguished a figure in front of me. Eric, crouched down, looked at me with a mix of concern and amusement.

He was laughing at the slap he had just given me.

“Good morning, champ. I thought you were dead.”

I tried to respond, but only a guttural sound came out, a mix of a grunt and a mumble. My head throbbed painfully, and all I could do was rub my eyes, attempting to clear my vision. Everything hurt, but the pounding in my head was the worst.

“What time is it...?”

I finally managed to say, my voice hoarse. Each word took immense effort.

Without missing a beat, Eric stood up and stretched, his eyes still fixed on me.

“I hadn’t heard from you in a week... Since you said you were going to see Olivia, man. How did it go?”

Olivia.

My mind took a second to process the name, as if I were trying to swim through thick fog.

“Fine.”

I tried to sit up, but the room spun slightly, forcing me back down to the floor where I was.

Eric turned around, raising an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“ ‘Fine’? Really?”

I forced a weak smile, as if that could disguise how awful I felt in my head.

“Yeah,” I repeated, this time a little louder, though my throat was dry and scratchy. The taste of alcohol flooded my mouth—sticky and bitter.

“It was... great.”

Eric scoffed, raising his hands as if surrendering to my stubbornness.

“No... It doesn’t smell great. The apartment just reeks of alcohol and... I don’t want to know if that’s vomit.”

I slowly turned my head, surveying the chaos around me. Empty bottles, overturned glasses, and a stench of vodka and wine.

And I’m so hot... So much that I’m sweating...

Wait, I’m cold.

Really cold.

“Uh... I threw a bucket of ice water on you to wake you up, but when I saw you weren’t budging, I slapped you in the face. If that didn’t wake you, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Damn... My balls are freezing, man.”

I tried to get up, but my head spun, and I felt strange, like I was about to vomit at any moment. I dragged myself under Eric’s gaze toward the window to check the time of day since looking at the dancing numbers on the clock was not an option.

It was as dark as death itself.

“‘Good morning?’”

I repeated what Eric had said after waking me up, realizing it was nowhere near day.

“Well, what do you want me to say? ‘Good early morning’? I just got off a plane in Volcadera, and the first thing I saw when I walked in was you sprawled on the floor with a half-finished bottle.”

Wait...

“What are you doing here? You were supposed to be in another city.”

“Well, I hadn’t gotten a call from you all week, and you weren’t answering your messages. Plus, I felt like seeing your ugly face. Come on, clean this up a bit. I remember going to stop some clowns at college parties with way less alcohol.”

Wow... I didn’t remember Eric worrying so much about me... Well, I know he does; we talk every week, and he makes sure I’m still alive.

I squeezed my head and began to move the bottles of alcohol aside. The floor was littered with them; there were more on the couch, but they were neatly arranged.

I didn’t remember buying cheap alcohol.

I bent down to grab a bottle of bourbon and put it away, but there was still some content inside. I was about to put it away, but really...

Why bother?

I might as well finish what was left; it wasn’t much, just a few fingers.

My hand was about to open it when I felt a quick, sharp hit on my wrist. The bottle rolled across the floor without breaking, stopping next to a table leg.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Eric gave me another light slap. "Inco, stop that crap already. You look like shit and smell like alcohol, and all you can think about is booze. All the money you say you have is dropping like a Pterodactyl in altitude thinking it can fly these days and diving off a building. You could use that money for rehab or other things. The road is going to be tough, but if I could do it, I trust you can too.”

“Rehabilitation? For what? It’s not like I’m that much of a drin-…”

Well, shit.

I really am a damn drunk. I don’t even remember what happened all last week… What went down? How did this all start? I had never really liked alcohol, but…

Who am I lying? I’ve always known I had a problem with it, but accepting that means I have more issues than I thought I did.

“Shit, you’re… right, I’ve got a mental mess, I need to… think.”

Eric laughed quietly and walked over to the dining area, sitting down at the kitchen island.

“First, do me a favor and take a shower, make me something to eat, and tell me how it went with Olivia.”

His mention of Olivia jolted something inside me, but I tried not to show it. I nodded slowly and got up with effort, heading toward the bathroom.

The hot water from the shower fell over me like a heavy rain, washing away the fatigue from my body, but it couldn’t cleanse the weight I carried in my soul. The alcohol. Every drop that fell seemed to echo that word in my mind.

I leaned against the tiled wall, letting the steam fill the small room. How did I get this low? Everything had started so slowly, just one drink here and there... and now it was almost all that remained in my life.

My thoughts drifted to Olivia. The last time I saw her was fun, but… what happened? What was the problem?

I put on pajamas—ones with crocodile prints that I had forgotten I owned—and walked to the kitchen, determined to at least fulfill Eric’s request.

Bottles. Just bottles. I searched the fridge, and it was no different: bottles of vodka, whiskey, some rum. I stood there, staring at them for a second too long, wondering how I had let this happen.

“Will lasagna work for you?”

“Yeah, lasagna will be fine.”

After a few minutes, I took the lasagna out of the oven and set it in front of the table where Eric was.

“About… Olivia… She was surprised, in a good way, to see me. We talked about some things, very superficial, we have a lot to discuss… I apologized for what I said the last time I saw her, and after a while, we left. We talked a bit more and…”

I couldn’t help but smile and look away.

“She’s just as beautiful, even more than before… I walked her to the subway, we talked about how things have been, and—”

I paused and looked at Eric, who was half-watching me while devouring the lasagna.

“She told me that you and she talked a couple of months ago.”

Eric stopped for a brief moment and looked at me.

“She called me to ask a few legal things, mainly about the charges against him regarding the… accident. She asked me some general questions, and I answered everything I could.”

“For what?”

“Well, why don’t you ask her yourself ?”

Ah… old sly one.

“I’m afraid.”

This caught Eric by surprise.

“Scared to ask her?”

“Scared that things won’t go as I hope… scared that everything will go back to how it was.”

“Are you planning to get back together with her?”

“No—” I fell silent, unable to continue. But the doubt was there, floating in the air.

Eric didn’t press further, but I felt him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye while he took another bite of food.

“I don't know.”

I finally said, almost in a whisper, as if I were admitting something I didn’t even want to face myself.

Eric stopped eating for a moment, resting his elbows on the table.

“Well, don’t try to tackle the bull by the horns right away. Take it slow, with good intentions. There’s no need to rush things.”

I looked at him sideways and then averted my gaze. I knew he was right, but that feeling of not knowing how to handle the situation was eating me alive.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to start over?”

Eric put down his fork and leaned forward.

“Take her out on a date to talk things over. But a real date. What happened last time wasn’t a date champ.”

I nodded with a sigh, pulling out my phone and quickly scrolling through the screen. I sent a text to Olivia, asking if she was free and if she wanted to go somewhere—she could choose where. I stared at the screen for a few seconds before letting out a sigh and placing it on the table.

“Now we just wait; it’s pretty late, the girl must be asleep.”

Eric continued eating his lasagna calmly while I sat across from him, trying to keep my mind clear. As soon as I settled into my chair, my phone vibrated with a notification. I froze for a second.

We both looked at each other, surprised

Before I could see what she had written, she deleted the message.

“Sure, I’ll be free that day.”

She started typing again for a while, close to a minute, while Eric and I watched in silence.

“Beach, around 3 PM for lunch. I’ll send you the details later.”

A pretty short message for taking a minute to write…

My gaze turned to Eric, who gestured for me to respond.

Thumbs up.

Little Bonus

//Olivia//

The light from the TV screen barely illuminated the room enough to see Samantha’s sleeping face. We were watching Gunman… well, at least I was.

She had succumbed to sleep a while ago, with gummy bears on her face that I had put there earlier, and now she was snoring beside me. I smiled, watching her serene expression as her tail curled around the couch.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated on the side table. I lifted my gaze from the screen for a moment and grabbed the device, looking at the notifications. “Unknown,” it said. I frowned, scanning the screen. Unknown number?

What nonsense…

“Hey, Liv.”

My heart skipped a beat. Inco. I immediately opened the chat, my fingers trembling as I quickly read the words, trying to process what I was seeing. I leaned forward, letting out an involuntary gasp, and without realizing it, my tail started to thump against Samantha insistently.

“SAM, SAM, WAKE UP!”

I shouted, half hysterical, as she began to blink in confusion. As soon as she opened her eyes, she saw me typing frantically.

“YESYESYESYEYEYE”

No… Too desperate…

I hurriedly deleted the message.

“Sure, I’ll be free tomorrow.”

Samantha, still half asleep, glanced at me sideways, and before I could react, she snatched the phone from my hands with a smirk.

“What are you doing? Give it back!”

I tried to reach for her hand, but she simply held it high, out of my reach. Her arm, though sluggish, was firm.

“And I’d like to go to the beach—” she read aloud, scrolling her thumb over the screen.

“No, Sam! Give me the damn phone!”

I tried to lunge toward her, but Samantha completely ignored my efforts, raising her arm higher as I stretched for the device.

Not only was Samantha ignoring my attempts, but she continued typing without any shame.

“So I can see you in the water and guess whether you’re turning all red because of my bikini or because the sun is frying you…”

“Samantha!”

I struggled to reach the phone with my tail, trying to knock it out of her hand, but it was futile. And to my horror, I heard the familiar sound of a message sent.

Samantha burst out laughing. I stared at her with wide eyes and my mouth agape, unable to believe what had just happened.

I knelt on the couch, feeling utterly defeated. What had I done? My mind was a storm of emotions, and the reality that Samantha had sent that message hit me hard.

“I was just joking; I told him 3 PM at the beach for lunch.”

Samantha, still laughing, lowered the phone with a mischievous grin. My heart raced in my chest, a mix of anxiety and excitement.

With a sigh, I reached for the phone and took it. I was about to say something else, but just then, a new notification popped up on the screen.

“👍”

“Just enjoy the date Liv”

Samantha said playfully.

“And remember to talk things through properly.”

July 30, 2029

12:45 Am, Summer. 

//Inco//

I woke up before the sun had even begun to peek through the curtains. The silence in the apartment was heavy, and a mix of nerves and anticipation pooled in my chest. Today was the day I would see her again, in a sort of “date,” even though I wasn’t sure if I should call it that. I tossed and turned in bed, trying to calm myself, but it was useless.

Finally, I got up, and the first thing I did was head to the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, I noticed my beard was a bit longer than I liked. I should shave it off to make a good impression.

This meeting… was a step for both of us. Well, more like a step for me if we’re being literal. Something like a sign that we were moving forward, although I didn’t even know where we were heading.

After so long, I felt that maybe this was the moment when everything could start to get better. For me, for her… maybe even for us, if that still made sense.

I sighed as the sharp blade scraped the thin layer of foam.

Thinking about her made my hand tremble.

“Don’t think about Olivia,”

As if it were that easy.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that night years ago. I didn’t want to screw it up; I didn’t want to feel what I used to feel. We were just friends trying to untie the knot that had been there for years. This meeting wasn’t about reliving the past; it was about moving forward, separately. Or at least, that’s what I thought…

After finishing my shave, I approached the bathroom door and peeked out to see Eric sprawled on the couch.

The bastard had booked a flight to check if I was alive. I couldn’t possibly show him my gratitude for being my friend all these years; he felt pretty thankful for the advice I gave him about stopping the nonsense and talking appropriately with his son.

I wondered how he was doing; I hadn’t talked to him in a while.

I guess he would stay a couple more days at my place; he’d be more than happy to enjoy his time in my little mansion. I was already assuming he’d order Chinese food and would spend the rest of the day watching football.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to start fresh?”

Yeah, I wanted to start fresh with Olivia. Although I didn’t quite know what it meant to start fresh with someone. Should I bash my head against a wall until I forget her name?

The hot water relaxed me, but it also forced me to think about what was to come. I had that feeling in my chest, a mix of anxiety and anticipation that wouldn’t leave me. I let the steam fill the bathroom, enveloping me as if it could wipe away, for a second, everything swirling in my mind. But I knew that, in the end, there was no escape. Today, I had to face whatever it meant to see Olivia again.

I stepped out of the shower and quickly dried myself off. I opted for my usual attire: some worn jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. There was no reason to complicate myself with clothing. This wasn’t a formal date, at least not officially… it was something more… casual, although the tension beneath it all made it feel much bigger.

As I exited the room, I passed the small shelf where I kept my things. There it was, in its usual spot: my pocket camera.

I picked it up, looking at it for a moment. It was an old friend, restored, as good as new—a compact yet powerful camera, the kind I could take everywhere without being too flashy. The matte black casing was slightly scraped from a fall, but that only added more character. It had been with me since I decided to repair it.

“Maybe I’ll take some photos today.”

I turned and saw the other motorcycle helmet I had. It was the spare one, one I had bought a while back in case I ever got tired of the one I was wearing. I held it in my hands and examined it closely. It was nice in its own way.

I left the house, closing the door behind me. Upon reaching the garage, there she was: Ruby, waiting for me.

Sometimes I think it’s not a good name.

It’s quite stupid, but it’s my motorcycle.

The metal reflected the first light of the morning, and the black seat seemed to invite me to mount it.

It made me feel somewhat free.

The beach loomed in the distance as I rode my motorcycle; the afternoon sun was starting to dip, but the heat was still present. I had left with plenty of time to spare, enough to arrive about 20 minutes early.

I wasn’t nervous, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. This meeting, this sort of “date,” was just another step for both of us, right? Improving. Moving forward. Without leaving unresolved things behind.

I didn’t know if I would be able to mask my calmness around her this time, knowing this was something more formal.

Well formal but still.

This time we both knew where we were headed; we didn’t know what we would do or how it would go. Could it be called a date? More like a meetup between friends to…

Rekindle the spark?

I parked the motorcycle in a small parking area near the restaurants and food stalls lining the promenade. The constant hum of people, the sound of waves crashing in the background, and the smell of food wafting through the air filled my senses.

I removed my helmet and secured it on the bike, taking a moment to adjust my jacket and look around.

As I lifted my gaze, I saw her.

Olivia was a short distance away, the breeze gently playing with her hair, and a smile spread across her face when she spotted me.

Her wheelchair was at the edge of the promenade, but the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable.

No matter the situation, she always had a special energy. Even now, trying to hide her excitement at seeing me.

“The bike looks even better in person... you'll show it to me up close later, right?"

She pointed as I approached, leaving the motorcycle in one of the designated parking spots.

“The bike, huh? And here I thought you came to see me...”

Too much.

“It’s a nice bonus,” she replied with a small laugh.

I smiled too, but I noticed how her eyes drifted back to Ruby, clearly intrigued by the motorcycle.

“Have you been waiting long?” I asked, leaning slightly toward her.

“Not long, I’ve been here for a little while.”

I had forgotten that I was the one who wanted to wait for her, but she ended up waiting for me.

It seemed like our… meetup had started earlier than planned.

We began walking—or rolling in her case—without a clear direction.

The beach promenade was relatively calm, with conversations and laughter from the people around us, but the slow pace made it feel like time was pausing, just a little.

It was a pretty cool day, people were playing on the beach, relaxing at small scattered tables.

We wouldn’t be swimming, of course.

At least I wasn’t planning to...

We’re not swimming. She wasn’t dressed for a swim either. Her long hair was tied up with a small ribbon, black this time, a much thinner one than the purple she usually wore.

I liked how she had her hair now. I think I was the one who once suggested she should grow it out, and it seemed she took my advice.

“What’s the plan?”

I glanced down again, noticing the dark circles under her beautiful icy blue eyes as they looked ahead at the path in front of us.

It seemed like she wore dresses now—this one was similar to the last time, but less formal, shorter, to avoid the heat.

She turned and arched a brow at me, catching me staring.

I guess I got lost in the moment.

“Ahhh…Sorry?”

“What’s the plan?”

She furrowed her brow, but with a smile, turning her gaze elsewhere.

“Ah… I don’t know, walk, enjoy the time, and—”

“Eat.”

“That’s right.”

Olivia pulled something from her chair, a small notebook.

“I was thinking of doing some sketches while we walk, if you don’t mind, of course…”

She opened the notebook and showed me some blank pages. It was new.

“That sounds good,”

I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out my small camera.

“I was thinking of getting back into photography. Maybe we can stop somewhere we both like and… you know.”

“Yeah…”

Her voice trailed off for a moment, and we both fell into a quiet, comfortable silence. There was something in the air, something that seemed to hum between us.

We looked at each other, and our smiles—though a bit nervous—met in the middle, as if we were still figuring things out in this new shared space. It felt... strange. Not bad, just different.

“Like old times.”

I said it aloud, again.

When will I learn to shut u—

“Yeah… like old times.”

Her eyes softened a little, as if that phrase had taken her back to some faraway place in her mind, a time when everything was simpler.

We continued down the promenade, walking past restaurants and food stalls. The scent of seafood and fried dishes filled the air, and the sun was still hanging on, though starting its slow descent. There were still a few hours before sunset.

How long would we be together today?

We stopped in front of one of the food stalls. Olivia pointed to a simple place selling homemade meals, one of those typical stalls, run by a yellow dino wearing a funny chef’s hat.

But my eyes drifted toward a place that seemed a bit pricier and refined, something I thought was more appropriate for the occasion. Without thinking much, I pointed to that one.

Olivia didn’t say anything about it, just nodded silently, which I took as yes. We both headed to the stall, where the menu was hung up on a slightly worn chalkboard but still had a decent presentation.

Olivia was fallen silent but seemed to accept it, glancing at the chalkboard menu. 

I sat at one of the outdoor tables when Olivia joined me, picking up the menu and giving it a quick glance.

"I think I'll order the usual." 

"The usual?" 

She looked up and shook her head with a half-smile. 

"Ah… Just turkey, nothing more. Though I think it's a bit pricey..." 

"My treat, it's no big deal." 

"Oh, n-no need, I can—" 

"I insist. I know about the difficulties you're having with selling your paintings. I have to admit, I'm glad you've improved, but I see there are still some… issues." 

Olivia looked away again and set the menu down on the table. 

"Thanks…" 

After signaling the waiter and placing our order, we stayed quiet for a while. She played softly with her fingers as we waited for our food. 

"How... how's Eric? Like I told you, I talked to him, but we didn’t say much... I remember he used to drive me every day to the therapy the judge said I had to attend. He mentioned you helped him with something." 

"Oh, yeah, I gave him some advice on how NOT to be like my parents." 

Olivia’s expression hardened a bit when I mentioned them. 

"I never liked your parents." 

I couldn’t help but laugh at her comment. 

"Ah, s-sorry, I didn’t mean it like that..." 

I knew that, anyway. 

She used to tell me almost every day. I barely talk to them now. 

They were worried when they found out I had been hospitalized and about what happened to me. They heard about it through a call from Eric about the trial. 

But in time, things went back to how they were. 

It sickens me, and I’m terrified of becoming like them. 

"Eric’s doing well. I saw him... not too long ago. He’s been a great help these last few years. Plus, it’s nice to see a human face every once in a while." 

She looked sad for a brief moment and nodded. 

"That’s great… Samantha, my best friend, has been good company for me too. I don’t know what I’d do without her; there’s nothing she hasn’t helped me with." 

Samantha... 

Thanks to her innocent suggestion to go to therapy to deal with some of my issues, I ended up reconnecting with Olivia. 

I should call her someday and tell her about this coincidence . 

Finally, our food was placed in front of us. 

I had ordered something simple—fish—while she opted for the turkey.

She always liked turkey, though when my plate arrived, she glanced at the fish I ordered with a bit of hunger in her eyes. 

She stayed staring at her food for a while. Normally, she would be devouring her meal like they were berries, even swallowing the bone and leaving the plate spotless. 

When she didn’t like something, she’d make a face of disgust or give her food a silent, resentful glare, followed by some sarcastic comment or remark. But this time, she was just quiet. 

"What’s wrong? Did you turn vegetarian or something?" 

I joked, to which she responded with a forced smile that wiped the grin from my face. 

After a quick glance at the turkey, I sighed, remembering worse moments. 

Not again…similar.

Not again…

The server noticed my expression and turned to us with a carefree look.

“Is there a problem?”

I pointed out the mistake.

"You gave her the wrong dish. She ordered turkey, but this 'turkey' looks more like duck, don't you think?" I pointed out, noticing how much smaller the duck was compared to turkey.

The server glanced at the plate and then back at us, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks the same to me,"

he said with an indifferent shrug, his tone so casual it made my stomach twist. There wasn't even a hint of concern in his voice.

Of course, you wouldn’t see a difference. You grass eater…

I glanced at Olivia, expecting some kind of reaction. But to my surprise, she just shrugged, giving a small, resigned smile.
"It's fine," she said softly.

No. It wasn't fine. I couldn't just let it go like that.

"No," I insisted, turning back to the server.

"Change her plate. She ordered turkey, not whatever this is."

The herbivore glanced between Olivia and me, letting out an impatient huff as if he was on the verge of saying something else. For a few seconds, the silence hung between us. I glanced at Olivia again. She was... different. Calmer, quieter. Normally, something like this would have prompted at least a sarcastic joke from her. But now, she simply accepted it without any protest.

A knot formed in my stomach. I wasn’t sure how to react. Had she changed that much? Or was it me, failing to navigate these small moments between us?

I let out a long sigh, feeling the tension building in my shoulders as I clenched my fists. My gaze hardened as I looked at the server, who clearly didn't want to switch the dish.

This bastard …

We ended up at a more modest food stand. Olivia seemed to enjoy her meal, devouring a small anchovy hotdog with enthusiasm. Despite what had happened earlier, watching her enjoy something so simple put me at ease. This place seemed to suit her better, with its casual vibe.

I, on the other hand, barely touched my food. I was more focused on watching her, studying her reactions. There was something about the way she ate, in her relaxed demeanor. Maybe she was more comfortable than I’d realized. I found myself thinking that I should pay more attention — not just to her words, but to the little details. Perhaps I hadn't done that enough in the past.

As I chewed a bite absentmindedly, I couldn't help but reflect on her behavior, her gaze, her attitude. She clearly hadn't wanted to go to that fancier restaurant earlier. This wasn't the Olivia I once knew, the one who’d complain and make a scene. Now, she seemed more...

I wasn’t going to say the word.

While she ate, she appeared to be sketching quickly, capturing something on the horizon. I couldn’t see much from where I was sitting, but it looked like she was tracing the landscape — the beach, maybe?

I hadn't taken many photos today. But... whatever.

I pulled out my camera, glanced at her for a moment, and after a few quick adjustments, I snapped a photo of her. No flash, of course.

She didn’t even flinch, lost in her drawing.

After several hours of wandering together, the sky began to darken, filling with deep oranges and purples. I knew it was time to head home, but if it were up to me, I would’ve spent even more time with her.

"Time flew by, didn’t it?" I remarked, glancing at her. She met my gaze, smiled faintly, and nodded in quiet agreement.

We hadn’t covered much distance from where we started, but I enjoyed watching her draw with that fire in her eyes. It was as if a new spark had ignited in her.

As we walked back toward where I'd parked my bike, an idea crossed my mind. Maybe next time, I could suggest she bring a full canvas to paint.

Was I already assuming there would be a next time?

I tried not to get ahead of myself, but the thought of seeing her again filled me with hope. I’d enjoyed her company so much, I didn’t want this to be a one-off thing.

We arrived at the metro entrance, where we had initially met, and I knew it was time to say goodbye. But then...

"Hey, hold on for a sec," I called to her, disappearing briefly out of sight.

When I returned, the sound of my motorcycle's engine roared softly as I pulled up beside her. She seemed startled at first, but then her eyes lit up, gleaming with excitement as she got a closer look at the bike.

"Can I?" she asked, her voice full of wonder, as she ran her fingers along the details of the bike, inspecting every small modification.

I hadn’t realized she liked motorcycles so much.

"Hey, Liv," I said, calling her attention back to me. She turned, meeting my gaze.

"Listen… sorry I didn’t reach out earlier this week. I’ve been... well, busy with some stuff," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck, feeling awkward.

She tilted her head and gave me a small, understanding smile.

"It’s okay. I’ve been busy too, you know, with the painting and all that..." she trailed off, turning her attention back to the bike, her eyes practically devouring every inch of it. Her fingers brushed over the leather seat, and she examined the small radio built into the side of the bike. Then, she moved to the back, toward the saddlebags.

"What's this?" she asked, pulling out the old spare modular helmet from the bag.

"It’s... uh..."

"Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to grab something without asking. I shouldn’t—"

"No, no, don’t worry about it," I cut her off, shaking my head. "It’s mine... just a spare helmet. I usually ride solo, you know?"

She held my gaze for a brief moment, her eyes searching mine in silence before she looked away.

In the distance, the faint rumble of the metro echoed, signaling that it would soon arrive at the station.

"It was nice…spending time with you today, Inco. Maybe we could..." She paused and looked down, suddenly making things feel a little awkward. "We’ll talk later... if that’s okay?"

What are you thinking, Inco?

"Olivia."

As I drove, I could feel Olivia’s slight pressure as she held onto my waist, her grip firm but comfortable. The helmet I had given her gleamed under the streetlights that blurred by, casting quick flashes of light across its surface.

I stole a glance at her in the rearview mirror and saw her face glowing with excitement, her expression lit up as the lights zoomed past, creating playful shadows and reflections across her helmet.

The roar of the engine filled the space around us as I increased speed. All within legal limits, of course.

Her tail gently coiled around my leg, and I could feel the warmth of her body against mine, her breathing steady and animated.

I’d be lying if I said I never wanted to share this experience with her.

As we neared a tunnel, the road ahead darkened for a brief moment, and an enveloping silence took over. Just before we entered, Olivia let out a small shout of joy, her excitement echoing in the air. The tunnel’s darkness swallowed us whole, but only for an instant.

Once inside, the lights on the tunnel walls began to glow around us, like shooting stars racing by at full speed. Through her visor, I could see how Olivia’s icy blue eyes lit up with each flicker, reflecting the wonder she was feeling.

"Look at that!" she exclaimed, as the lights flashed rapidly ahead of us, creating a hypnotic display that completely absorbed her. The sound of her laughter echoed in my ears, filled with the thrill of the moment.

She was fully enjoying the adrenaline of the ride, much faster than the speed she’d ever reached running through the halls of St. Hammond.

Suddenly, we burst out of the tunnel, and the city unfolded before us like a vast tapestry of shimmering lights. The buildings rose proudly, welcoming us with their glowing presence. The colors of the lights reflected on my helmet’s visor, casting a luminous halo around us.

Olivia shifted slightly, raising herself up to enjoy the breeze, throwing her head back and closing her eyes.

With the wind blowing in our faces, I continued driving toward the destination she had directed me to. As we weaved between buildings, the urban landscape became more familiar, the excitement of the moment growing with each turn.

The roar of the engine gradually softened as we slowed down. Finally, we arrived at the address Olivia had given me, a small building that stood out among the rest.

I carefully unfolded the rear seat on my bike, making sure it was ready for her to sit.
"Here, let me help you," I said, extending my hand so she could steady herself as she climbed off.

"That was amazing!" she exclaimed, grinning wide. Her excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile back as she took off the helmet.

She plopped down into the seat with a sigh, her heart still racing, her breath coming in quick bursts, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
"I thought I was gonna die!" she said between laughs, which both worried and reassured me at the same time. At least she had loved it.

"I’ve never experienced anything like that before..." She looked at me, her smile growing even wider, before briefly glancing away, brushing some of her hair back. "Here…" she handed the helmet back to me, but I gently pushed it back.

"Keep it," I said.

She looked at me, confused.
"Why?" she asked.

"So you’ll have a reason to see me next week," I replied.

She gasped softly, and I noticed the tip of her tail twitching uncontrollably. Saurians were terrible at hiding their emotions.

Her smile and excitement faded as quickly as they had come, and she looked away.
"Next week, I have a meeting with Alena…" she said, her gaze falling to her phone, already in her hand, ready to make a call. "I could tell her to reschedule, that way you and I could—"

"Wait," I interrupted. "No, don’t do that."

"Why not?" she asked, looking up, surprised and a bit saddened.

"We can try the week after, whenever you’re free. We don’t need to see each other every week... We can still talk, like we used to, remember? Back when we talked every day before… we moved in together."

Olivia looked away for a moment, as if processing my words.

She smiled, and I could see her face tremble slightly as her hands opened, almost as if she was about to hug me.

But I couldn’t let her hug me.

Not like this.

Gently, I took her hands and helped her up, catching her off guard. She instinctively used her tail to brace herself. I felt her body relax against mine, and for a moment, everything else disappeared as we stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace.

You’ve hugged the gator, once again.

"M-I'm glad that… w-we're fixing things," Olivia murmured, her voice soft and shaky, like she was about to cry.

It was a simple comment, but it meant so much. The warmth of her embrace was comforting, making me feel like, maybe, just maybe, we were on the right path again.

We stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other's arms. I remembered our last hug in the hospital… our last kiss.

"Where do you want to go next time?" Olivia asked, her mood suddenly brightening.

I couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, the way just planning something together made her smile.

"We’ve got two weeks to think about it," I replied, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "So, no rush."

With a light sigh of contentment, we began to say our goodbyes. I made sure she was comfortably settled in her wheelchair before stepping back. "Take care, Liv. We'll talk soon, okay?"

"Sure, Inco. You take care too," she responded, giving me one last smile before turning to head inside. She disappeared into the building, out of sight.

Ah… it feels…

Tears started to well up in my eyes, my chest pulsing with a strange, indescribable sensation. I wanted to push it away, to reject it. 

…

I feel I'm falling down in-

Finally home. I parked the bike in the garage and cleared my throat. It had been an eventful day, especially with Olivia. I'd been so wrapped up in everything that I hadn’t even checked my phone.

The screen lit up, and I glanced at my most recent notifications, particularly from my email.

From : Victor L. Frame
To: Inco G. Nito

Hello, Mr. Nito.

I’m Victor L. Frame, CEO of Primal Frame Studios. I hope you’re having a good day. I wanted to know if we could meet this week, specifically on Wednesday, at Restaurant Lumière. I have a few ideas I believe might interest you.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards,
Victor

...

What.

Wha the fuck?

Chapter Text

August 8, 2029

9 Am, Summer.

//Inco//

As I walked along, I couldn't keep my thoughts from returning to the email I had received from Victor L. Frame. It was a terse, almost formal email, but the very fact that I’d been contacted directly by him made the matter resonate in my mind. 

It intrigued me.

I had done what research I could. Thirty-something years old, married, and the head of Primal Frame Studios, the most prestigious photography company in the region. I'd seen Victor's name in several industry articles and the occasional interview, talking about his vision in photography and production.

And of course, I knew Primal Frame's reputation; I had worked at events where their photographers were also present, and they always stood out.

Elegant, dressed in suits, with the bearing of those who are accustomed to facing cameras and spotlights, to relay an imposing and exclusive look without saying a word. The photos produced by his company always reflected an almost unattainable perfection.

To see someone like Victor interested in me, even if it was a simple business appointment, was something that gave me a strange mixture of curiosity and caution.

My feet led me to a small coffee shop that had a perfect view of the art store. I ordered a coffee and sat at one of the outdoor tables, enjoying the coolness of the morning. The store was still closed; it opened at 8:30, as I remembered.

Time seemed to have slipped through my fingers since I graduated from St. Hammond's.

It was almost six years ago, and although life had changed me in ways I never anticipated, I still found it surreal that this was now my reality. It seemed that since then the days had passed at an unbridled speed, as if I barely had a moment to stop and think about all that had happened.

And now here I was, at a new stage, with an opportunity before me. I still didn't know what to expect.

I took advantage of the time to observe my surroundings. Across the street, some stores were beginning to raise their shutters, and people walked past obliviously, not yet fully awake.

I took a steady sip of coffee, trying to anchor myself in a sense of calmness. But every time my mind drifted back to the meeting with Victor, that calmness unraveled, giving way to a growing tension.

After a few minutes, I noticed movement in the art store. The metal shutter began to slowly lift, revealing its interior. A slight metallic sound echoed down the street, and as soon as I saw the lights come on inside, I got up from the table, leaving the coffee in its place.

Clearing my throat, I pushed open the door and entered. The doorbell jingled as it opened, and the ambiance of the place immediately enveloped me. It was a space loaded with history and small details that seemed carefully selected. The walls, lined in soft tones, housed a selection of framed pictures, landscape paintings and portraits in a varied range of styles unfolded before my eyes.

I walked to the counter and paused for a moment. On the other side was a small, light blue dilophosaurus, concentrating on stacking some materials he could barely reach. The little guy looked up and, for a few moments, our eyes met. His eyes were somehow familiar to me, with an expression of innocence and curiosity. Something about him reminded me of an old friendthe young owner I used to know in this very place.

I couldn't help but smile, letting myself get carried away with nostalgia.

“You look just like your father,” I commented softly, just enough for him to hear.

The little boy watched me, somewhat confused, but not losing his curiosity. Without a word, he reached out and rang the bell on the counter with one of his little fingers, which produced a crisp, metallic sound.

The wait was not long. Within seconds, I heard soft footsteps coming from the back of the store, and the brachiosaurus appeared in the doorway of a side door, wiping her hands on a cloth towel.

At first, her glance seemed barely a courtesy to see who she was attending to, but upon recognizing me, her face froze briefly, eyes widening in a flicker of surprise that quickly faded

Her attention was diverted almost immediately to the scars on my face, lines that marked the passage of years and lived experiences, but which now seemed to be a reminder of the distance between us.

Watching her, I noticed that, in many ways, Liz hadn't changed that much. Her pink hair was a little longer, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, but time had also left its mark.

The deep circles under her eyes were shadows of fatigue and effort, probably from hours and hours of lost sleep.

She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and something I couldn't quite decipher. Sorrow perhaps?

“Hi, Inco. Fancy seeing you around.” She gave me a forced smile as she made her way to the counter.

“Not so much of a coincidence, shall we say.” Her smile faded after my words, looking at me curiously. “I've come to talk about a few things. It's been a few years, almost three years, right?”

Liz looked away and nodded her head slightly.

“Yes, it's been quite a while; the last time was in the hospital.”

She turned her gaze to the scars on my face for a few brief seconds before fixing it on the little boy on the counter.

“I'm here to talk about Damien.”

The mere mention of him caused her to look back at me and frown.

“I don't know anything about that idiot; he's been living at his parents' house since I kicked him out of the house.”

She sat back in the chair behind the counter and let out a sigh.

“I know, Olivia told me.”

That took her a little by surprise.

“Have you talked to Olivia, are you two...?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no. We're just talking as friends so we don't leave loose ends between us. It's... nothing serious like...”

I'd better shut up.

Liz affirmed looking away again, somewhat lost.

“Well... Well... I'm glad you guys are working things out and-”

“I didn't come here to talk about my problems and Olivia, Liz. I came to talk about Damien.” She raised an eyebrow.

“And what are you supposed to do, go to him and-?”

I interrupted her again.

“Don't think I'm one of those movie protagonists who get screwed over and go along forgiving those who screwed up their lives. I'm not looking for money, let alone an apology; I'm not necessarily looking to get in touch with each other on an ongoing basis like we used to, like the little group we used to be. I just want to tie up any loose ends if I’m the reason that asshole Damien keeps pulling his stupid stunts. Moving on, let's just say it.”

Liz was silent for a while, running her eyes over the scars on my face and bringing her gaze to my arm tucked in my pocket.

“Now that you mention it, he told me that you and Olivia saw each other again, but he said it drunk... He'd like you guys to get back to, well, being friends.”

“Well, that surely won't make the problems go away, Liz. Everyone has something they need to get better about, including me, of course.”

My gaze shifted to the little boy who was watching me with a funny look on his face, a look I've gotten from many a young child who had never seen a human before.

“You must be Elliot, am I right?”

Liz looked at me with a surprised expression again.

“How do you know the boy's name?”

I stroked the young bluish dilophosaur's brown hair.

“Damien and I talked about it when we... chatted. He mentioned he’d name his son that and even said he’d do whatever it took to get you to agree. He would try everything to get you to name him that.”

At the name, Liz couldn't help but smile a little, as if she was remembering old times when everything was easier.

“Yeah, he was begging for weeks to give him that name. I wanted something simpler, but in the end that's the one that stuck: Elliot.”

Gesturing, which Liz accepted, I took the little guy in my arms for a closer look, lifting my glasses to observe him. His mother's eyes, his mother's color, his father's looks, his father's hair. This child is an exact copy of both. He has a longer tail and his neck is not as long.

Liz looked at my face, especially at my damaged eye, and then looked away, but seeing me playing with her son, she let out a sigh.

“And what did you plan to name yours?”

Mine?

To say I'd never thought about it is a lie, and thinking about this subject hurts my head.

“Well... I never talked about it at all with Damien, nor have I thought about it these past few years, but the few times we did it was with Olivia in front of us. We talked about, if I ever became a father, I want to have a daughter and name her Nicole. I... Olivia was okay with that name, but...”

I couldn't help but smile thinking about those afternoons at the Payne's house, playing console games with Damien and Olivia talking about it.

“Olivia and I disagreed on what to name a boy; she'd say Adler and I'd call him Trent. We never decided.” I let out a laugh, leaving Elliot in the little seat next to his mother.

When I looked back at Liz, she was crestfallen, fiddling with her fingers without looking at my face.

“I want Damien to be Damien again. He started to change since your fight, and it got worse after your fall. For a while, he wouldn't show his pain, until he started drinking to calm down. Sometimes he would come in late at night, drunk out of his mind, mumbling that he should call Olivia to apologize. You don't know how much it took me to explain the situation to Paynes. I don't want to be separated from him; I want him to raise our son with me, but I just can't let Elliot see his father staggering around the living room, regretting what he did. I want Damien to be the same stupid guy he was before, that stupid guy I love, but it's...hard.”

No doubt it's hard.

There comes a point when water is replaced by alcohol, days when you wake up and you don't know where you are or what day it is. You get a headache and wake up throwing up in your bathroom at home.

“I know how Damien feels, Liz, I don't blame him.”

Liz looked at me and sighed.

“Of course, you know how he feels... Shit, you don't know how much I regret what happened that day, Inco. Really, I saw everything was breaking down around me and I didn't know what to do...”

“Don't mention any of that to Olivia, Liz. I don't want her to know that I still have...some of those problems.”

She looked to the side.

“How...have you been doing these past few years?”

...

“Well, it could be better. I was working for a company, but... let's just say I quit. I created a new account and started posting pictures, and that account was a success, although it's been somewhat abandoned for a few months now. Today, I have an appointment with the owner of a company to talk about, I guess, some contracts. I have faith that it won't be as crap as the company I was working for before.”

I cleared my throat.

“And... other than that, not much else... I mean, I've been hanging out on and off with Olivia these days as friends to talk things over, not much else besides that...”

Liz stood silently stroking Elliot's hair. She looked like she wanted to say something, but kept silent, clenching her jaw.

“I'm sorry again about what happened, Inco. Sometimes I think about how selfish I acted, and I don't know if...”

My cell phone vibrated, showing on the screen that it was time for me to go. Soon I would have to go to therapy, just as I had been doing the last few days.

“I have to go, Liz. It's been nice seeing you and your son. I'll try to visit when I’m not so short of time…”

“Inco...”

...

“Talk to Damien, please. He's at his parents' house.”

There was no need to ask, I was going to do it anyway.

With a gesture I waved goodbye to Liz and the little boy, closing the door to the shop and walking towards the therapy building a few blocks away.

I honestly felt sorry for Liz. She was just another 'victim' of this strange 'conflict'. Maybe she was a little arrogant to want Olivia and me to get back together that day at the hospital, not knowing what happened, but what wife would want her husband to be listless at her wedding? Not just listless, but down in the dumps.

I still remember that day with Damien in the hospital. It's all his fault that he started it all over, and that doesn't help his current state. And I'm not denying that he was the start of what happened, but it was just one mistake after another non-stop.

I finally arrived at the therapy center a few minutes before the session. I walk through the garden surrounding the building; it's a strange building every time I see it. Brick walls older than I am, apartments on the side...

Well, it's practically free.

I like it much better than the one-to-one therapies, I was going for a few months to a specific one that the judge had told me about at the time, and the truth is that it made me feel uncomfortable.

Here I feel less observed, although it is contradictory, I think?

I have been coming to these group sessions without saying a word, just listening quietly to others venting and talking about their battles. But today I had decided to speak up, to open up at least a little. I want to face once and for all what I've been dragging around.

But when I walk into the room and see her, everything I had planned to say fades away.

Olivia is sitting in the corner, staring blankly, not even noticing my presence.

It’s an odd feeling, one I get every time I’m with her.

I occupy a chair near the door as if I need a quick exit. I don't want her to notice me, but I don't want to be far away either. It's a contradiction, and that unnerves me even more.

I had wanted to come clean about my own problems, but with her here, it's impossible.

How can I talk about my problems with her here, how can I confess my problems with alcohol and other things? I don't want her sympathy, let alone her judgment...Not now. Not so soon.

It sounds stupid the more I think about it.

It bothers me that I can't say what I feel, all because she is here. I can't even explain it all, because I don't hate her, I'm not afraid of her. She's been by my side, I've given her a ride, we've talked a little bit through messages, loose and small conversations, we've hugged and nodded to each other, as friends, of course...

But I just can't see her with different eyes as I told her. I'm not saying I won't do it or that I won't try, but it's a strange feeling that drills my head more and more. I feel like a stupid kid not knowing what to do, a teenager who is experiencing what I felt for a girl for the first time.

When she notices my presence, she looks at me and gestures after the initial surprise of seeing me here. I never mentioned to her that I was coming back.

Fuck.

The clock seems to be going slower and slower.

I wonder how much time is left before this session is over. Sometimes they last a couple of hours, well, there's no need for me to be here for all of them, but I told Eric I won't let him down.

Olivia doesn't seem very talkative either. I wondered if...did she have the same intentions as me? It was my understanding that she only went on weekends, but...

Finally, when the session is over, I hurry out of the building after a brief goodbye. I sit on the bench outside, letting the cool summer wind blow away some of this strange tension. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

This feeling sucks, I find it impossible to explain in my own words.

I still have a long way to go before my appointment with Victor, which is in a few hours.

I would have liked to talk a little about...She's by my side now.

“Hey.”

I felt my heart pounding as I turned a little and saw her rolling somewhat sheepishly over to my side on the bench, giving me a little wave of her tail, only to position herself next to me and let her tail rest in her lap.

“I've noticed you are strange today… Are you okay, is something wrong?”

Damn, I must be an idiot—turns out her gaze didn't leave me after all.

“Hey, ahh...yeah? I'm fine, I just have my mind on something else, don't worry Liv.”

I looked away and scratched the back of my neck trying to avoid answering altogether.

I feel uncomfortable. You're half the problem.

Don't look at me with that face...You know I'm lying. How do you want me to tell you? 'Oh yeah well, every time I'm with you my heart races and wants to run away but at the same time it wants to...'

I want to throw up actually, I should go, maybe a quick excuse or...

“Olivia. How have you been doing these last few days? We haven't talked much about work and stuff.”

She, despite still being doubtful of my words and my obvious way of wanting to change the subject, smiled at me and gently wagged her tail, still in her lap.

“Well...I've been. Doing pretty well since I came in second in the contest, the commission slots have never been so full, and my wrist hurts from painting so much...”

I arched an eyebrow at her.

“No, no, it doesn't hurt as much as it did at St Hammond's, you can rest easy about that.”

She let out a laugh and looked away, clutching her tail in her hands.

“The truth is, I doubt I would have had the same confidence if it wasn't for you.”

She looked back up at me and gave me a wider smile.

“Thank you, Inco.”

...

We stood in silence after that, enjoying how the softly cloudy blue sky was under the sun on that bench. It was quite a comfortable silence, despite my strange situation.

“Hey.”

That simple word reminded me of old dialogues we had had throughout our relationship. Such a simple word that carries a huge meaning.

...I love you

...You don't know how much I like you...

...Stay

...Hug me

...Kiss me.

Now all I was doing was watching her. Staring at her lips as she looked sideways at me with her beautiful glacial eyes.

I felt calmer now.

“...Do you want to go...somewhere? I have the day off and I was wondering if you...”

She fell silent and looked away again for a few more brief seconds.

“Olivia I...I have to go on an appointment later and I won't be able to go out somewhere now.”

I guess she was expecting either a yes or a no, but a no with an explanation like that. Now she was looking at her tail, with a certain dejection on her face.

“Hey no-”

“No, no, it's okay, I was just wondering if you'd like to go for a walk around here and...Well, whatever, it's okay.”

My heart raced again seeing her in that state. I felt short of breath, but I still took the courage to get up, go around the bench, and grab her by the handles of the chair.

“Now that's something I can do.”

She looked surprised at my actions but didn't complain. She simply smiled and let herself go as we took a short stroll down the sidewalk.

Her tail, as it had that night, was coyly searching for the old habit of wrapping itself around my wrist. She didn't look at me, but her tail acted as if it did, acting slowly toward my wrist.

Alert.

Alert.

You're running out of air, Inco G. Nito.

Contact in 3...2...- Contact canceled.

Well, she pulled back the tail.

The walk was a short one, she glanced occasionally to her side, to the ravine a few feet away from the railings, the skyscrapers of Volcadera in the backdrop. Pristine, untouchable, perfect. We stopped again near another bench and I sat down next to her, though she was more eager to look at me.

“Are you still a retro video game geek?”

Olivia looked at me sideways trying to process what I asked her.

“Well, I don't play as much as I used to, but I play with my best friend, Sam,from time to time when she comes over to my house. As much as I like them I enjoy them more with company.”

I had a brief conversation with the Samantha I know the other day, and she said it was quite a coincidence. I'm glad Olivia’s Samantha is helping her out—she must be a good friend.

“Any shows? Anime?”

She smiled at me about it, she seemed to like my questions.

“Well...There are a few series I haven't finished watching...But most of them I put aside. There are a few that we watched that I didn't finish watching...”

Hmmm....

“What about you?”

About me...

Well...

“Not much that's new, same old boring bald guy with sunglasses. Same old, same old.”

She let out a sigh and looked at me again, though this time she moved a little closer to me. I could feel her gaze pierce through my glasses, seeking to look me in the eye.

Not this again...

I took the sides of the golden glasses and placed them on my head, gazing at Olivia, no glasses blocking others’ view into my eyes.

Once again, she traced the scars on my face with her stare, stopping at my eye with less vision and observing it for a few moments.

“How...hard is it?”

She didn't look away from my face, in fact, I could feel her move even closer and her wrists tremble.

“Well...I've gotten used to it. With this eye, I see fewer, darker areas, and it hurts a bit when I don't wear glasses, since I don't perceive the light at all, and after a while it hurts. I've gotten used to it pretty well, it's not like I've been blind all my life either and-...”

She is touching my hand. Stroking the scars on my wrist. My heart is going to burst.

Her face is lost in staring at the scars on my arm, and the look on her face is not a happy one, to say the least. 

This must be a sensitive subject for her. I've gotten used to it to some extent, but on our little outings, I've noticed her gaze sometimes lost and thoughtful on my scars, scars that she caused.

“W-will you never be able to...?”

I couldn't help but smile a little, which confused her a bit.

I removed the arm of my jacket to show her my full arm, leaving my palm face up.

I squeezed a little and slowly made a fist.

“I'm still struggling a bit. It won't be the same but, with work, I've been able to regain feeling in this arm to the point where I can make it functional. Only the 3 fingers starting with the thumb are affected, the last two are in perfect condition.”

She still maintained a concerned look, bringing her hand to mine and gently stroking it.

“What about your torso...? I remember Eric telling me about your ribs and...I also remember how bad you looked when...”

“I'm fine about that.”

I pulled away from her a little and stood up from the bench. Pulling up my shirt and showing her my torso.

“You did a magnificent job, I thought I would lose the lung but the recovery was quick. From that, there's nothing to...”

Olivia opened her jaw for a microsecond and let her eyes glaze over, snapping shut and looking away for a few brief seconds.

Ah.

Shit.

I quickly pulled my shirt down and sat back up, swallowing hard and regretting doing that.

Now after mentioning it, my lung seems to be full of lava, in fact, both lungs.

I'm starting to get irritated from this weird feeling that I hate so much.

“S-sorry, it went a little...”

Now there was only silence between us, it was kind of awkward, to be honest.

I felt like it was becoming impossible for me to look at her again, but I could see out of the corner of my eye how her tail was wagging from side to side.

“I'm glad you were able to move on.”

She looked back at me, and for a few seconds that seemed like hours, our gazes remained locked.

Too close.

In fact...

Her scaly hands coyly caressed my left cheekbone. This was a strange sensation, to say the least, I felt her fingers caress my scars.

My heart beats at the speed of a sports car, but I'm not as nervous as I could be. She no longer has those nails she used to have before, which were slowly becoming more and more neglected. 

This is the first time we've been this close to each other for years.

It's not a hug, it's something strange that I can't explain with words.

I didn’t expect things to turn out like this today.

She just caressed the scars on my face as she kept her gaze on mine, I could feel her heart pounding, just as she could feel mine pounding, I'm sure.

“Olivia...I went this morning to talk to Liz, and...”

She stood at attention, listening intently, stopping the caressing just to look at me.

“I plan on going to see Damien and the Paynes one of these days, and I was wondering if you...”

Olivia averted her gaze a little and looked back at me after thinking of an answer.

“If that's what you want it'll be fine...”