hollowing souls, {dusk}

She is being shaken. Why? A word escapes her, a name, but it isn’t his. For the first time since that day, it isn’t his.

“Dusk…?” Her voice sounds cracked, white noise as the snow falls.

Nico reaches up and tangles her fingers in the stranger’s hair. It is soft and coal black. Dark as the sky at dusk. With a small noise, she presses her face into his shoulder. Her ice cream cone falls to the concrete below. She doesn’t care anymore that she’s being shaken. Some part of her deserves it, wants it. The familiar scents of leather, sweat, and musty old hotel rooms overwhelm her.

“Dead?” she says. “No, I didn’t…”

Her eyes shut tightly, her fingers cinching in Dusk’s hair. She tastes blood. She hears screams. Tears begin to fall down her cheeks, sticky and wet like half-melted ice cream. When did she start crying? When did she stop? Another small whimper breaks through her barrier, and she is sobbing. Holding on and letting go have never felt so good. This is the last, real, honest person on earth, she thinks. He is her last hope.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t know wher-where else to go. It loo-looked colorful a-and h-happy…A-a-and I…n-needed…h-h-happy…”

Don’t let go, she wants to say. Don’t let go, and I’m sorry. That was the only thing she could never say to him. I’m sorry I wanted to leave. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect myself. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I got you killed. The memories bring back new waves of pain, and Nico shudders in Dusk’s embrace.

“I…I’m sorry for disappearing,” she finally manages.

It is hard to extricate herself from him. She doesn’t want to let him go, afraid that he will disappear in a cloud of smoke and bullet casings. Half by reflex, one of her hands slips from his hair when she steps away and snares in the sleeve of his coat. Her gaze drops to the ice cream cone as he offers to buy her another, and she nods mutely. The sugar hadn’t helped before she’d dropped it, but she hadn’t taken more than a few licks.

But instead, she finds herself saying: “Maybe hot chocolate,” and rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. “I can’t feel my hands.”

“I got my ice cream that way,” Nico says, trying to be helpful as she points towards the concessions stand.

He turns violently from her. She is about to let him go when her hand falls into his. Her eyes immediately drop to their jointure, watching his fingers curl over hers even though she can’t feel it. It doesn’t seem real, but the smile on her face does, just for a second. Then he’s pulling her, and she’s following docilely.

“What have you been…doing since I…left…?” she asks quietly while they walk.

Small talk feels forced. Nico doesn’t even remember how long she’s been gone. It wasn’t snowing when she left—in fact it had been hot—so it must have been a while. Dusk’s life isn’t normal, but it’s more normal than hers, and maybe she’ll feel better listening to him. Maybe all he needs to do is talk. Maybe all she needs to do is talk. The silence is deafening.

Nico doesn’t stray far from Dusk, even when the bright colors do catch her attention. When before she would have jogged happily away at the slightest shimmer in the distance and come back squealing with balloons and overstuffed animals, now she just looks. It is more than looking sometimes. To someone who knows her, knows her work, she is scouting. She doesn’t think she ever stopped looking, and it hurts to know that even after all Niels did for her, she’s still afraid of being followed. This time, though, she won’t take any chances. Her hand clenches tighter in Dusk’s.

“You’re okay,” she says, and the way she says it is almost more for herself than it is for him.

But then he’s gone. Her hand feels painfully empty. She flexes her fingers, looks at them, folds her hand close to her chest. Once the shock subsides, the thought sets in that he’s gone for ice cream, not for hot chocolate. She should probably go find some. Probably. He won’t remember to get it if she doesn’t. He used to not remember his socks; she used to keep an extra pair when he went to fight. Standing on her toes, she shades her eyes and scans the area. Seconds later, she’s gone.

Things are different now. Very different. Nico scuffs her feet as she stands in line and tries not to fidget too much, but it isn’t because of the energy anymore. In fact, she really just wants to lay down on the ground and not get up. She feels like a raw nerve around all of these people, every inch of her skin burning just by being close too close. Her lips twitch into a wary smile as she tiptoes to the front of the line. There used to be one person she didn’t have to try smiling for, and she’d trusted him with every party of her. Now he was gone. The smile threatens to fall, trembling a little.

At the sound of someone screaming her name, she jumps and whips her head in the direction so hard her neck hurts. …Right…Niels might be gone, but Dusk is still there. She wants to smile for Dusk but it never makes it to her lips. Ice cream does instead, and a bewildered noise escapes her. She coughs and catches the cone with her hand, decadent cream smeared all around her mouth, and as she tries to lick it up, Dusk faces her again. He sounds like she feels. Hurt. Confused. Scared.

She let her impulsivity kill the one person that mattered to her. She doesn’t want to do the same, doesn’t want to lose Dusk.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I meant to be right back. The perimeter was safe, and I just…”

She trails off. Her shoulders stiffen; she is clutching the ice cream with white knuckles, and it’s a miracle her cone hasn’t broken. Pinning her gaze to the concrete, she steps numbly out of line so that she’s not in anyone’s way. Of course, five steps later she’s sitting on the ground, her hot chocolate forgotten on the counter and her fingers trembling as ice cream runs over them.

“…Sorry….,” she says again. “I’ll stay put. Promise.”

I don’t want you to go anywhere either.

By the time Nico surfaces from the mire of her memories, Dusk has already crossed half the amusement park. He is meters from the parking lot. Exchanging waffle cone for leather, her fingers knead uncertainly at his shoulders through his jacket. She is a cat searching for her place. Still, for a moment, then she leans into his chest and nestles into his embrace. There is something nice in how he carries her, like maybe he cares; his arms cradle her at shoulders and knees.

No one ever carried her like this unless she was injured, and maybe that’s the case now, too, but that doesn’t stop her from dipping her head and pressing it gently into his collarbone. Pink hair spills out across his shoulder. Her lips purse, start to part, but no noise escapes her. She shuts her mouth and then her eyes.

“I’d like that,” she finally says. “Home.”

She can’t really remember ever having one. Her home used to be a person, but Dusks’ arms feel an awful lot like home, too.