Void trudged along the riverbank, boots dragging through damp gravel. She glanced at the water, moonlight pulling silver smiles out of the dark surface. "A month," she muttered. "Over thirty days I sweep this place, wearing her coat like it's some consolation prize for surviving." She tightened the oversized sleeves, fingers fumbling with edges that hang past her hands. "It doesn't fit. It never will. And neither do I."
The railing along the bank was chipped and cold under her fingertips. She stared down a breath, chest tight. "Aura was soft," she whispered, voice brittle. "She tucked her warmth into every corner - candles for strangers, food for stray cats, smiles for absolutely no goddamn reason." Void remembered a memory: Aura kneeling in a thrift‑shop aisle, hugging a scarred teddy bear she'd never bought. "Look at her," Void scoffed at herself. "Heart of gold. She'd patch the world together with bubble‑gum and hope." She rubbed the metal, the chill seeping in. "I was supposed to hold her together. I failed. Then I turned out to be the 'if‑she‑breaks' plan. And then she decided she doesn't fit this world anyway."
She stepped back, away from the railing, shadow merging with the city's noise. Car lights glinted off water. She murmured, "I watched her vanish - Couldn't do shit to stop her, really..." Her palm squeezed into a fist. "But I can protect what's left from ghosts now."
Void kicked a pebble into the river. It skipped twice before sinking. "Two skips. Like hope. Two moments of bounce before silence." She kicked again. "Stop punishing yourself, Void." She inhaled the night air - sharp with rain‑left humidity. "I'm not her. I'm Void - a reminder. A placeholder. But fuck if I don't bleed too."
She turned down the path, each click of her boots announcing her presence. "Neitolan," she muttered, pronouncing the name like salt on a wound. "You left her tidy exit. No fight. Just... absence. And Aura absorbed it, slid it right under her ribs, taking a chance with that knife of yours." Void shook her head. "I'd like to hate you, but I don't. A 'thank you' feels... wrong. But I feel something like gratitude, I guess." She paused mid‑step. "Because without that cut, I wouldn't exist. This body, these lungs, this voice that sounds a bit like a murmur, a sigh, a tremble. So... Yeah. Thank you. And fuck you."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, rough and soft. "I don't hate you. I just..." She shrugged to no one. "I just want you to know you're responsible for my beginning. So congrats. You at least managed not to fuck that up."
Void slowed by a lamppost that leaned like a sagging soldier. She adjusted the collar again. "New life. New game plus. It sounds cheesy. But it's not Shakespeare, so shut up, Void." She closed her eyes under the light. "I'm alive in a body that feels too big, holds too many secrets. Too many scars." She opened her eyes and stared at a puddle. "I feel guilt. I feel loneliness. I feel cheap gratitude. I feel..." She paused, voice softening. "Something else. Something... new."
She walked on, steps crooked. "There's someone." She exhaled. "The girl living across the channel. She's no Aura. She never would be. Thank fuck. I really don't think I could handle another jump." She grinned. "She's sharp, funny. She laughed at my awkward attempts at humor. That should be terrifying." She shook her head. "But it felt... nice, I suppose."
Void's boot hit a rock that chipped her shoe. She flipped the boot, snarled. "Ow. Nice metaphor, Void. My shoe blew out faster than my heart, apparently." She bent to sweep stones from the tread. "I'm not in love. Not yet. I don't even know what 'love' means." She stood, boots planted. "I have a headache and an aversion to bright skies." She smirked at herself. "But I think I'm getting better at that whole 'feelings' shtick, Aura."
The police tower's light spun overhead, slicing through trees. Void looked up, breathing slow. "Feelings are scary." She swallowed. "They're messy. They look to me like a crime." She tugged a wet strand of hair. "Emotion is uncontrolled. Emotion is vulnerability. And you knew how much I hated vulnerability." She shook her head. "But maybe I'm learning to stand in it." Another breath. "Not shielded. Not protected. Just... an open port. Waiting for someone to connect."
She drifted toward an empty bench, feet sliding through moss and wet leaves. She sat, coat dampening at the elbows. She stared at the water and said out loud, "I'm realizing that protection was easy. Defense was cozy. Walls were built‑in. But maybe walls won't bring me peace after all." She paused, digging a nail into her palm lightly. "Maybe... Peace is learning to trust the gaps between us."
Void looked at her reflection in the puddle pool. A night‑hardened figure, violet hair damp and stringy. Eyes hollow but glimmering. "That's you," she told her reflection. "Jaded cloak, half‑opened heart, scouting for signifiers of life. And... That's okay." She grinned wryly. "Better than okay. That's... Well, more than what your old self could manage."
She pulled out her phone, then exhaled, thumb hovering over the message box like it was wired to explode. Nerves coiled tight in her chest. The words didn't come easy. Nothing ever did when it came to this... this weird, soft thing growing in her ribcage. Foreign. Unwelcome. Too bright for someone like her... yet.
She typed, deleted. Rewrote. Scoffed at herself. "God, you sound like a twelve-year-old confessing to her crush with a panic attack," she muttered. But eventually, something took shape - clumsy, half-guarded, and oh so very like her:
"hey. it's me - your favorite disaster lesbian. i think i like... this. whatever this is. thought maybe you'd be up for a game or some premium-grade sarcasm. or me. i dunno. just... not silence."
She stared at it. Her heartbeat thudded like it was counting down to some internal warhead.
And then it hit - too many thoughts at once. The fear. The maybe-she's-just-being-nice spiral. The echo of rejection, even if it hadn't come yet. The feeling that she was too much and not enough in the same breath. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she ruined this, too?
"Fuck," she whispered, and with the gentlest defeat, she let her thumb brush the back arrow. Saved as draft. Locked the screen.
"Tomorrow..." she mumbled, voice tight, hollow. The weight in her stomach dragged her down like stones in a river. She let it. She always did. A breeze rattled the trees again - like the world was shivering with her. She stood slowly, brushing moss and soil from her coat, fingers cold but steady.
"Okay, Void. What now?" Her voice was small in the dark, half-snark, half-exhaustion. She let out a breath that felt older than her bones.
"Go home. Spiral. Maybe cry into your pillow like a feral Victorian widow. I don't know."
She cracked a wry grin, genuine as your dad's Windows XP installation.
"Or don't sleep. Because clearly I'm allergic to rest and emotional stability."
She stepped under a lamppost, lifting her hand into the light. Grit clung to her fingertips, like the world wanted to leave a trace on her.
"I could numb out again," she said quietly. Her fingers curled into a loose fist. "But fuck it. I won't."
She looked out toward the river, water black and glinting in pieces. The same place Aura had vanished. The same place Void had surfaced.
"I choose to feel. Not because I want to. Not because it's fun. But because... maybe I need to."
She took a slow, deliberate step back onto the gravel path. Boots crunched softly, like the world was holding its breath.
"Not protecting anymore." Her voice was steady now, stripped bare. "Not surviving. Just... Trying to live. Even if I'm shit at it."
She swallowed, looked up at the blank sky, and let the quiet stretch. Then, softer - almost sheepish:
"Thanks, Aura. I love you. Even if I'm still figuring out what the fuck that actually means."
And with that, she walked back home. One step. Then another. Coat dripping, heart still heavy, but a little lighter than before. Weary, yes. Softening, definitely. And probably a little braver than she thought.