Meliora - Extricate - 32

[lady_mab]

Lysander Stavros

It’s snowing when we get out of the theater.

Ayn makes a sound of pure excitement and tugs me along as she makes a run for the empty street.

She releases my hand once we’re free of the overhang. Several other people join her in the middle of the road, laughing and scooping up handfuls of the fresh snow and tossing it around.

With a spin, checkered coat flaring around her knees, she beckons me further from the sidewalk. Ayn’s cheeks are already flushed from the cold. “A white Christmas!” Her breath puffs in little clouds, obscuring her face from my view.

“You’ve still got an hour,” I say, picking my way across. I don’t like the snow. It’s cold and wet and makes it difficult to walk. It could have waited until we were home safe and sound to surprise us tomorrow morning. “What if it all melts away before then?” I secretly hope that it does.

Ayn’s not listening. She stoops down and cups her bare hands in a patch of snow. My brain catches up and I try to backpedal as safely as I can. “Don’t you dare--”

She dares, and half of it manages to go down the back of my shirt despite my attempt at dodging and using my height to my advantage. Her peal of laughter joins the echoes of the other late-night movie goers.

“Aargh.” I continue to squirm to dislodge as much as I can. I’m pretty sure it’s gone down my pants. I’m wearing sneakers, and already the moisture as started to soak in through my soles and up through my pant legs. “Fuck, I’m going to catch a cold over my vacation.”

“And did you have any other terribly important plans that being stuck in bed would ruin them all?” Ayn teases, twirling out of the way with the surety of a dancer.

“I’m sure I could think of several things.” I glance in her direction, and she laughs at a joke I didn’t make. “I’m serious.”

I can’t tell if her cheeks are pink because of a blush or the cold. But she stops and considers me with a bit more gravity than she had before. She remains still and lets me approach until we stand toe to toe.

Her dark eyes peer up into mine, trying to find something. I don’t know how to offer her an answer if she doesn’t give me the question, but perhaps I can help her on her way.

I reach out and grasp her waist, pulling her in closer, and one of her hands reaches out to steady herself against my forearm. My hand brushes the one she still has tucked behind her back, and I realize my mistake a second later.

Ayn uses my coat as an anchor to pull herself up on her toes, and her lips catch mine just as her free hand dumps the pile of snow into my hair.

The only thing I can do is pin her in place as her own attack rains down on her as much as it does me.

Her body twists and curls within the confines of my arms, shaking with uncontrollable laughter. I capture her mouth in a kiss and she goes still. The energy never leaves her, and soon she pushes me back enough to give me a tentative smile.

The moment passes and she takes another step back and offers me the crook of her arm. “Would you be so kind as to walk me home?”

It’s another missed opportunity as she erects the wall between us. Another chance to try and discuss our relationship gone past. I don’t push her, but I also wish that she would at least give me the chance to try and figure out where we stand.

I take her arm without question, then shift my hand to grip hers. “Your fingers are freezing.”

“Snow is cold,” she says with a giggle. “As I’m sure you are now well aware.”

"Yes," I grumble. "I am now painfully and achingly well aware how cold the fresh snow is when it is forced down my shirt."

She hums a laugh and squeezes my hand a bit tighter. "Worth it."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Terribly!" There's still bits of snow clinging to her hair, frosting her eyelashes, but it's quickly melting beneath her heat. Her smile doesn't waver as she walks on. "But I love it." Her breath fogs as she sighs.

Soon, the shouts and laughter from those still playing in the snow in front of the theater fade. The only sounds left are the crunch and squelch of white slush beneath our feet, and occasionally a sniffle from either one of us.

I watch Ayn out of the corner of my eye, unwilling to put a lot of focus on her when I could slip on this pavement at any moment. My thoughts are already getting away from me, dancing around the idea of her. It's an effort to rein them back in. It's an effort to speak.

"Ayn?"

Her eyes dart towards me, but she doesn't maintain my gaze. "Hm?"

For a moment, I think I'm going to be able to ask her about us. I have the words queued up, the determination to fuel me, but then I look at the distance between us and I stop. She's not walking flush against my side. She offered her arm instead of her hand, even though our fingers are now twined together. I'm sure she wouldn't pull away if I put my arm around her shoulders, but the rigidity of her posture indicates she would not appreciate it.

So I don't. I keep my hand in hers. "What happened the other night?"

Nothing registers on her face for a few seconds. But then a smirk makes its way across her lips and she glances at me again. "You're going to have to be more specific, Lysander."

"On the twenty-second. With Meliora."

To her credit, she doesn't falter. I half expected her to pull to a stop. "What about it?" Her voice is light, casual, but the smirk is gone.

"Did anything happen to you?"

Her eyebrows lift, and her head cants to the side. "No. It was quite boring, actually."

I don't know how to describe the sound that comes out of me, but it's somewhere between a bark of laughter and a snort of disbelief. "Boring?"

"Yes. We went where the map told us to go, found the check-in code, and that was it."

The steady beep of Jun's heart monitor as she slept in the hospital echoes beneath my footsteps. She looked so small and helpless wrapped up in those bandages. Zoné was at least two shades paler than usual. "I find that hard to believe..."

This time she does stop. She puts her hand on my forearm and moves to step in front of me. Her eyes are hard, serious. "What happened to them?"

I'm not too sure how she knew to be so direct. Automatically assuming that my words meant something happened, unless she somehow knew. I sidestep her question, focusing instead on the two loose links that I know. "Who is Fletcher?"

Ayn doesn’t physically reer back, but her spine goes rigid. Her surprise can't be disguised or hidden. It takes too long for her cover to pull back into place. "I'm sorry, what does this have to do with Fletcher?"

"Who is he?"

"He's my partner for this game. A friend of mine from before."

"How long before?"

"What do you mean--"

"Ayn, I know you. I know you better than you think I do." I push on despite the way the corners of her mouth pinch in annoyance. "I might have only known you for a year, but don't forget that I was a confidant to you."

She lifts a hand, and it hovers in the air before her. She can't decide what to do with it. Then it snaps out and I don't have a moment to prepare myself before she jabs a finger into my chest with a ferocity I haven't seen before. "I told you everything because I trusted you, Lysander. You were the only person I could rely on against the reign of my mother. And you broke that trust."

I catch her hand as she takes another stab at me with her nail. She tenses, ready to fight, but doesn't make another move. "Who is he?"

"Are you being like this because of my friendship with him--"

"Is he Zoné's brother?"

Her expression betrays nothing, but it's the silence that is answer enough for me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I? His secrets aren't mine to tell."

A fair enough response. I release her hand and she lets it drop back to her side. I don't know how to ask her the millions of questions running through my head. Clearly Zoné knows that he's here, in Eminence, participating in Meliora. They must have run into each other during an event.

Ayn pushes the fingers of her other hand back through her hair, catching in the tangles from the breeze and the snow. "And Zoné didn't tell you?"

I shake my head and sigh. My breath obscures my vision of her. "Maybe he didn't think it was important."

She snorts and looks to the side. "Why ask me now?"

"Jun--" I start, and her head whips back to me. "She was hurt."

"I know." Ayn curls her fingers around the tips of her hair to distract herself. She used to do that all the time when she was younger. Her mother hated it. "Zoné called... He..." She closes her eyes and lets her chin drop against her chest. "Is she okay?"

"She is now. Someone was able to find her."

"Yes. Fletcher used his..." She struggles for the words she wants to use. "He knows people," she finally settles on, which feels like a tremendous understatement.

I know that Zoné called him instead of staying on the line with me. I know that Zoné relied on some skill set that he had that I did not. I know that Zoné did not call him simply because he wanted to talk to his brother.

I wonder why she keeps calling him Fletcher when it is obviously a fake name. I wonder what else she's keeping from me.

But I let it go.

This isn't the time to pick an argument, and I don't have the energy for one. In fact, I don't really have the same energy I did when first stepping out of the theater to see the snow. Perhaps it’s just as well that I'm going to walk her home and that is it.

"Ayn," I start, and she looks at me. "You don't have to tell me. But I would appreciate if you stop pretending like I am not allowed to know."

Her eyebrows raise. And then, to my surprise, she laughs in disbelief. "You want to know? You want to know what happens to cheaters in this game?"

"I--"

She cuts me off with a shake of her head. "What we are doing -- what is going on between Fletcher and Zoné is better left as an unknown right now. I’ve seen what happens to those who speak or act out, alright?" There's a bite to her tone that I'm unfamiliar with.

She isn't the same starry eyed girl I had known, and this is just another reminder.

But then her expression softens and she lifts a hand to cover her face. "ALICE is... working to play us against ourselves, I think. Just waiting until we snap to gobble us up. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch." The cadence of her voice shifts, lilting and whimsical. "I don’t want to see that happen to either of us."

"What have you seen?"

Ayn doesn’t lower her hand.

"Alright, fine." I take a step back, putting more distance between us. She doesn't reach to stop me. "We can carry on like this -- this not talking about the important things or telling the truth -- but for the record, it's a shitty way to develop a relationship."

This gets her to flinch. Yet no apology is forthcoming.

I sigh and rub my hands over my face. "Let's get you home." I start walking without her.

From behind me, I hear a soft intake of breath. I don't slow, or hesitate, but I try and pick up any further sound.

There's none.

Before I can let the disappointment take over, though, her arm slips through mine and she falls into step at my side.

"I'm not good at this," she admits. "And to be honest, I don't know if it is a good idea."

I release a tired breath. The snow on the sidewalk hasn't quite started to melt, but it looks dull and dingy. "Then why do you keep accepting my invitations to go out?"

She takes a few steps in silence, contemplating. "I like being around you, Lysander. I really do. But I don't think I can participate in Meliora and be a good girlfriend at the same time."

This isn't the answer that I expected from her. Perhaps I am still thinking of someone she isn't -- the girl who was too in the middle. Who would do what others wanted because it was expected of her or would make them happy.

That was the Ayn I knew. Thirteen, quiet, eager to please.

The woman at my side isn't her. There are hints, of course. I can see her mother's influence, even though I am sure she would smack me if I told her. But six years did a number on her.

I wonder how much I've changed in her eyes. The fact that I am still here, stuck, participating in this asinine game, is testament enough.

"What does that mean?" I finally ask, because it doesn't sound like an excuse or an explanation. It is just a simple statement of how she is.

"It means I want to keep trying, but please be patient." She squeezes my arm.

I nod, once, slowly. "Alright. And if you ever decide that you want to talk about all of it, I'm not going anywhere."

She releases a huff of breath that I belatedly realize is laughter. "At least there's that. We're locked in this city -- I don't have to worry about waking up one morning only to discover that you've absconded in the night with no warning."

It's a jab I take in stride, because I don't regret it. I don’t regret anything from that year, except maybe that I made her think I would have stayed. "You can't use that as a weapon against me."

"I'm not. I'm honestly not. It's not a very effective one, anyway. I'm just stating the facts." Ayn's tone is teasing, but there's something I can't interpret behind her gaze. It's from the part of her I don't recognize.

It would take far too long to parse out the pieces of her that have changed, so I let it drop.

We continue our walk in silence.

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