Page 14 of Origin (Deridia #13)

They didn’t sleep like that. Of course they couldn’t. But he couldn’t actually remember who had drawn back first. Maybe he’d drifted off. Or she had.

It didn’t really matter.

It had meant something, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what.

He couldn’t say what woke him. The first sun was barely up when he found himself awake. Saw Hana curled on her side, facing him, looking so wonderfully soft as she lay there.

He’d left, comforted with the knowledge he’d be back.

Others were up. Some running the edges of the perimeter in half-formed groups. Some sparred. No blood was being exchanged, so Ellion assumed it was recreational rather than a true brawl.

Others simply sat on the ground and watched the sky as it lit up.

It was so different to see the space populated. Hana liked it when it was quiet. With few people about. Because she was afraid of them? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know how to ask without making her uncomfortable.

He tried to picture himself joining any of them. Striking up a conversation. Something simple. Like what work detail they’d been assigned. Oh him? He escorted their liaison. And they’d look at him as if he’d just spent the night in something foul, and he’d be forced to keep from smacking those expressions of their faces.

He shook his head.

Ridiculous imaginings.

He strode past them all and went back to his bunk. Tidied it, because it felt the right thing to do.

Then sat.

Waited.

Wondering what time she was usually up. If she’d wait for him at the dormitory door of if he’d find her at breakfast.

Should he have woken her before he left? There were no guards waiting to accuse him of wrongdoing. No one cared he’d slipped out and gone to her.

He should have stayed.

Let her wake slowly. Find him there.

Shared sheepish looks before he escorted her to the washroom. Ran to fetch his own clothes. They’d talk about laundry and how it was done around here. Walk to their meal while he tried not to think about how it might feel to reach out and grasp hold of her hand.

He knew now. Perhaps not her hand, but the feel of her against his palm. What it was to be connected. Tethered.

And he wanted it.

There was an itch beneath his skin, the knowledge he’d done this wrong. He delved into his trunk and fetched his hygiene kit. Maybe he could catch her before she woke. Stretch out again. Start over.

Then he’d just so happen to have his own kit with him, so obviously they’d need to go together and...

He groaned. Rubbed at his eyes. She was going to tire of his clinginess, of that he was certain. Help was one thing. Following her about, leaving her no time to herself. That would certainly bring on an argument, and one he could not possibly win. There would have to be apologies instead. Perhaps even promise to respect things like boundaries and personal space. And he wouldn’t come back until he had an express invitation to her cupboard.

Which made his ears hot just to think it.

What was wrong with him?

He took a breath. Then another for good measure. Closed his trunk. Locked it. Hid the key.

Didn’t slip back into her dorm. Waited outside, instead.

Then felt guilty even for that.

Forced himself to the lavatory.

Then to the washroom.

Hoped scrubbing at his skin would force some sense into him.

It didn’t.

But he succeeded in conjuring plenty of visions of troubles that might find her while he was washing. Which sent him back out in a panic, certain he would storm back and fetch her as he’d intended in the first place.

Took three more breaths before he did that and reminded himself she would be angry with him for the intrusion.

She was the one that finally found him.

He was standing between their dormitories, and he wasn’t in a panic. He wasn’t. It might have been close, he’d grant, but he was breathing, and it was moderately even. His heart was racing, but that’s because he had walked back and forth between their buildings three times, so that meant nothing.

He was getting too attached.

He was going to get hurt.

She was going to tire of him and his antics, and then he’d be alone again. With the nonsense in his head, and he’d be near but not close enough and...

She put her hand on his arm. And instincts were there, to shift and struggle, to throw his weight and counterbalance the attack, but it wasn’t an attack, was it?

He knew that hand.

Knew the worried expression of a girl who was his friend. That cared about him, even just a little. “Ellion,” she murmured, and it was not the first time she’d said it. “What’s going on?”

He’d put his belongings back in his trunk, hadn’t he?

His hands were empty, so he must have. Which was good. Wasn’t it?

“You tell me,” Ellion answered, throat far too tight, so it came out in a rasping sort of croak. “How mad are you?”

Her head tilted, and she came around to face him fully. Her hand was still on his arm, and he wasn’t supposed to like that so much. “Mad? Why am I mad?”

She was leaving him room to voice it all himself. To start with his apologies and she could gracefully accept them and they’d continue on with their day.

“Because I broke into your room last night,” he reminded her, keeping his head ducked, but reminding himself to stay aware of the rest of their surroundings. Vigilant. Always.

He could admit his heart was racing. Because he was worried about her, that was all. Nothing to fret over.

“You did,” she nodded. “Which was risky of you.”

He grimaced. “Because the guards would clobber me?”

Hana shook her head, not quite smiling. Too serious. Her eyes too concerned as they moved over his face, then downward, looking for ills. “Because I could have clobbered you,” she answered, almost absently. “Did you wake up in this state or did you do it to yourself afterward?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. Then over his hair, short-cropped as it was. How long would that last? They were permitted little else but spoons, so how would it be tended to?

“Ellion,” Hana repeated, this time more firmly. “You’re going to escort me to wash up. Then we are going to talk. Yes? And you’ll stand outside and wait for me. Are we agreed?”

It was almost absurd how quickly his tension eased to have her instruct him. “Course, boss.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a grimace or a smile she gave him, but he’d hope for the latter. It would give him time to pull himself together, regardless. Not that he had a problem. Because he didn’t. He just didn’t want her mad at him. Which she was. Even if he hadn’t been able to articulate yet what he’d done, she was upset about.

But he’d get there.

It was leaving, wasn’t it? He should have stayed put. Let everyone watch him coming out of her cupboard. That wouldn’t have been so bad, would it? He didn’t care what they thought.

He glanced at her. Saw the press of her lips. The way her attention darted to him every few seconds.

She did.

She cared about those things.

Which is why he’d left, wasn’t it? Mostly. There was a bit about guards, but the rest was that she’d hiss at him about staggering their exits so no one would get the wrong idea, and he’d get that hot feeling behind his ears that she was ashamed of him. Of what they’d done. Or hadn’t done, really. But no one would know that.

He slowed, just a little. Canted his head. Pressed as hard as he dared at his own mind. The thoughts that swirled and gave just enough to taunt him, but never enough that he could be certain of them.

No, not true. There was rain. And he was wet with it.

And he’d been with someone, and they’d pushed him out the door and shut it behind them, and he’d slunk off with a burn behind his ears and shame in his chest, and it had quickly turned to anger at the offence of it all.

What useless things to remember.

Of course it couldn’t be practical matters. Like how he’d come here. Who he might contact in order to plead his case that he couldn’t remember having committed any crimes, so how could he now be held responsible for them?

To his mind, there was no trial. No justice. Shouldn’t that matter?

“I’ll just be a minute. Stay put?” Her tone suggested it was a question, but her expression was another matter.

“I’ll be here,” he promised her. Had she known him to wander? Yet she looked at him with doubt before she disappeared. He knew better than to block the doorway. That would earn a tussle for sure. Which...

No. Would not feel good. Would not be the proper distraction for his mood and his thoughts.

And was certainly not preferable to the talk Hana intended to have with him after she’d washed up.

He wanted to sink down. To rub at his head until everything fell away, including what memories he’d made since coming here.

He took a full breath. Another one.

He didn’t mean that.

Thought it again, just to make sure his mind didn’t get any ideas about purging the rest of them. Not that he could control such things, but it didn’t feel safe to even suggest it. Not when it had obviously proved capable of doing it before, regardless of the circumstances.

True to her word, she wasn’t gone long. Or maybe he’d simply been so deep into his own self he’d lost track of time.

He preferred to think she’d been quick about it.

“Come on,” she urged. He followed, because of course he would. Anywhere she wanted to go. Or had to, depending on the situation. Back to the dorm to stash her pack of products. Then back out.

And this time she took his hand, which he might have thought was a good sign, except that she held it so tightly he was certain it was simply to keep hold of him. Was it time for breakfast? He glanced up at the sky and the second sun was nudging upward. So maybe?

Another far more practical skill he might have remembered. Some sort of internal regulation for how to track time.

Or was it different here? Did these suns move faster or slower than the ones at home?

She didn’t take them to the mess hall, so it must not be time yet.

Not to the office, either.

Close to it, though. Where it could act as a shield against the others, providing them some measure of privacy as she pushed him down with an insistent, “Sit!”

Like the boss she didn’t think herself to be.

“You’ve got yourself all worked up,” she began as soon as he relented. He didn’t hang his head. Didn’t close his eyes and will the morning to start over again. He wasn’t as lost as all that. But she didn’t seem to much care for his attention, drifting just beyond her, making sure no one snuck up behind them while they were preoccupied. She bent at the waist, eyes narrow as she waited for him to meet her gaze. “We’re in a loop,” she declared. “You talk. Then you panic. And you spiral. And then you don’t feel better until you talk again.”

His lips thinned because he wanted to argue she was wrong, even though she wasn’t.

“Then we start the dance again.” She stood, waving between them. And it would come now. Where she said she was done. That he could come find her when he wasn’t so wretched, and hopefully that would be soon, so she wasn’t murdered in the meantime.

He let himself close his eyes just for a few seconds. Even let himself pull up his knees.

“Excuse me,” Hana urged, and he blinked when she was nudging herself between those knees. Still standing. As awkward a position as she could have chosen, barring she plopped herself down on top of them. She had to crane her neck too far to look down at him, and that couldn’t be comfortable for long, and maybe that was her point. Or did she have a different one? Maybe she was the one that needed to talk.

“What are you doing?” he croaked out, mouth too dry, and heart racing far too quickly.

Her hands reached for him. She wiggled her fingers at him, and he could not help the look of utter consternation he gave her as he drank it all in. She was obviously waiting for something. Him not knowing in the least what he was meant to do.

She sighed, shaking her head. Exasperated, to be sure. At him. With him. Was there a difference? “Hands,” she insisted.

He gave them, because she’d asked it of him. More like commanded, but she wouldn’t like to think of it like that, so he wouldn’t either. Then she was tugging him back to standing. “You just told me to sit,” he reminded her, and she shrugged.

“Changed my mind,” she countered. Still frustrated, still annoyed, but just as watchful as she had been.

She was worried about him.

He was worrying her.

He needed to stop.

Ellion almost pulled away. Told her to give him a moment, and he’d be better, and he’d just worked himself up, like she’d said. Nothing was really wrong.

But she was still there, ordering him about. “Arms out like this,” she instructed. A little extended from the body, but outward. Which then left her to clasp their forearms together, much as they had last night. But this time was in daylight, where anyone might find them, and had they missed breakfast? He couldn’t let that happen. She needed to eat. They made her meals special. And hadn’t she said something about how no one was allowed to skip eating?

Her hands squeezed his arms. “This is a dance position,” she explained, which only crinkled his brow because...

Even if he had a vague understanding of a dance, these were not the circumstances. There were supposed to be other elements involved. He wasn’t exactly certain what they were at the moment, but it wasn’t the back of buildings in the morning after a night spent together.

Or maybe it was.

“If you want to dance, we’re going to do it like this,” Hana insisted, grim-faced and so sure of herself. “I’ll hum. Or sing, and it would be as horrid and awkward as you’re imagining. Even more so because you didn’t come from the same city as me, so all the steps will be different, so you’ll stumble around and feel as foolish as I will.”

Ellion swallowed. It wasn’t about the embarrassment. Not exactly. It was the confusion that would end him. “Is there a point to this?” Ellion asked, because if she had one, he couldn’t see it. He only knew that breakfast was soon, and she was here, grasping his arms and threatening him with a dance he didn’t know, and if she sang, that would draw a crowd, and the last thing he wanted was for them to be the centre of any attention.

She squeezed harder, and it brought his attention back to her. “The point,” Hana clarified, frustrated with him. Patient even so. “Is that you can stop either of these dances at any time. Just by opening that mouth of yours and telling me what’s troubling you. But, if you won’t...”

It was her mouth that opened, and for a brief second, he almost let her continue. To know if she was a capable singer. Or if she was the sort that was more heart than skill, but lacked the care to refrain.

Her body was poised to move, to pull him into whatever dance she knew, and he almost, almost wanted it.

To know what it was like, to dance with her for real. Would it be soft, even romantic? Or something more suitable for a night in a drinking hole, when arms linked and words were slurred, a touch of drunkenness making the whole thing rather wonderful.

She didn’t want that. Not really. She wanted him to stop frightening her.

And that was more important than his curiosity.

“I was afraid,” he blurted out. Watched her mouth close. Her muscles loosen. She didn’t release him, still ready to pull him into the steps he wouldn’t know, but she was listening. “I couldn’t remember if I’d get in trouble for being out of my own bunk. Then I was afraid if I stayed like I wanted to, you’d wake up and be angry with me for still being there. Or angry that someone would see, and they’d make assumptions, so then you’d want some distance, and then...” he shook his head, because words failed him. “So I went to my bed, and I hate it there. I really do. And then I washed up, because I wanted to do it with you, but I’m sure you’re getting ready to tell me I’m smothering you.”

Her lips thinned.

“But then I promised to keep you safe, which meant being with you, and I just... froze.” He gave her a sheepish look, hoping he hadn’t made everything worse. “I don’t know what to do with you,” Ellion admitted. “Because there’s what I want to do, and I don’t...”

He huffed out a breath and shook his head.

Which wasn’t enough for her. That much was apparent from her wide eyes and the tight breaths that weren’t nearly adequate. “What do you want?” she asked, which really was wretched of her. Because if he’d meant to finish his thought, he would have. But that had got him in this mess, hadn’t it? The not-talking. Forcing her to pry things out of him rather than share his troubles.

Her hands were on him. He wanted them back. Not to run, not that. But because he wanted to pull her closer.

Which...

He found that he could. A little halting half-step that startled her, which wasn’t quite what he wanted. But brought her nudging against him, front to front, for just a moment before she could right herself.

“You want to dance after all?” Hana asked, full of confusion and not the breathless excitement he felt coiling in his own belly.

Words. Right. Had to use those or else she really would be angry with him. “I want to be close to you,” he admitted. Thinking there was more. Something else. “All the time. And you’re going to tire of me, and I don’t...” his throat tightened, and he was left with the distinct impression speech had never been his strong suit, even when he had all his faculties. “What happens then?”

There was more. Should have been more. About how he’d started to wonder what it might be like to feel her arms about him. To be held tightly. To hold her in return. To sneak into her cupboard for reasons other than lying on her floor and holding her hand until they slept.

Like the others did.

He might not remember those experiences, but he had to have them, surely. And she was a woman grown, and was it wrong to want for more?

He frowned.

She was his friend.

Even that had been a struggle for her agreement.

“Ellion,” Hana murmured, in that breathless way of hers. So gentle. Like she had to be careful of him. Not because he’d break—she knew better than anyone he was already beyond repair. But because she didn’t want to batter him about more than he already was. “Who says I’m going to tire of you?”

He shrugged, because it wasn’t like he had anyone else to confide in. To seek advice about women and what it meant to be friends, and what it meant to be friends that visited each other in the night and forgot about privacy.

That wouldn’t be them, he promised himself. Even if... that was to say, if ever she wanted it. Wanted that. With him. Or... anyone, really.

There was a sick feeling in his gut to consider it. That he’d need to walk her to her dormitory and watch her love someone else. Because she was the boss and she was free to do as she pleased, and he had not known her long enough to be allowed an opinion.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Something in here, I guess.” He let go of her arm so he could gesture toward his head, and she clicked her tongue, shaking her head.

“Well. We’ve already established you don’t know anything. Just a bit about making paper, that is. So maybe leave it to me to tell you when I’ve had enough of your escorting, all right? So you don’t have to work yourself into a tizzy about it.”

She made to pat him. To pronounce that all was better between them, but it wasn’t. Not really. Not when she had dismissed the full meaning of what he’d said. Or was that on purpose? To spare his feelings.

“Hana,” Ellion declared, shaking his head and trying to put to words something that was far more feeling than something rational. Easily poked at. Understood by simply talking it through.