102 | familiar; the colour of your gaze

The fog separated companions in the town shroud by gloom, and soon, Kaden looked to his side and Lux wasn't there. He remained calm, dully blinking into the darkness, the side of his face lit by the red hue of the swaying paper lamps.

The red haired man had said he'd purchase some food, sniffing the air like a hound and walking over to a stall that appeared at random within the thick fog that had grown denser into the night.

But when Kaden turned to follow, there was nothing beside him.

For a second, he tilted his head to the sky, to the shrouded moon and the cold air that breezed past him, silent.

The deep red and dull moonlight cascaded over his sharp, hollowed features, and he looked like a man prepared for death, a sinner basking in the revelation of his crimes.

His body was floating; it always was. He was high in the air, and low under the grounds, his mind ghosting further and further away every day. He clutched the book tucked in a leather bag slung over his shoulder, but it did little to comfort him in the vastness of his surroundings.

Noah Bellamy, he muttered the name in his head, that name that seemed to ground him to reality and ensnare his slipping mind. But a mere name could only do so much, and his eyes fluttered closed—

—a body collided into him and his eyes snapped open, an arm reaching out to catch the person that had run into him.

His dulled green gaze peered inquisitively through a simple black mask, and the woman in his arms seemed to tremble slightly from the cold as she raised her cherry eyes, intelligent and gentle where they sat behind a bone mask.

He would've let her fall; he knew, rather than have the touch of a person make his skin crawl. He didn't know why he caught her instead, why his body didn't stiffen in terror.

Long, white horns curved behind her, attached to the mask and her silky brown hair was combed over one narrow shoulder.

Her slender hand, wrapped around his arm, seemed to tighten in surprise. In seconds, the surprise smoothed into a gentle smile and she straightened herself, but her hand remained secure around his arm.

"I apologize, I wasn't looking where I was going," she said softly, a hesitant quiver in her voice. "Thank you for catching me."

"It's fine." He glanced down at the hand, wrapped around his arm as if frightened to let go. She followed his vision and smiled, reluctantly loosening her fingers.

The woman's hand opened and closed, as if to confirm the sensation, the warmth of a human and not a ghost. She swallowed. "Allow me to treat you to something, gentleman. As a thank you, and an apology."

Kaden shook his head, feeling a tightness in his chest. It was painful to breathe. "There's no need." He turned to leave, to escape as he was good at doing.

"Please!" She called out as he stopped mid-turn, and she smiled apologetically. "I—"

Her voice faltered, failing and melting into something akin to a sob. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, misery coating the beautiful pink and she lowered her head to wipe them, sighing.

"I'm sorry you must see me in such a state," she smiled through her flowing tears, unable to stop them.

He shook his head, expressionless. "Isn't crying a good thing?" Thinking, he decided to speak a little more than he usually did. There was something about the woman that coaxed him to. "The ability to express your sorrows isn't embarrassing."

He thought about it, digging into his numb mind for his deeper thoughts. Crying, he always thought, was a proud and respectable feat.

Of course, there was a point in which it became excessive, but to feel sorrow and to express it—wasn't that something that he couldn't do easily? Wasn't the ability to do so incredible? He thought there was nothing shameful about being human.

The woman smiled, and she lowered her head again to gently brush away her tears, even as they continued to drip underneath her mask.

She recalled then, a memory that she'd always been fond of.

A memory, back in those dreary streets where her stomach always ached, and pain was a constant, throbbing thing that never left. She'd been beaten, and she was failing at surviving—even with the occasional help of a young boy she'd met.

He was an inspiration, a person that could survive in these terrible streets, no matter how he was beaten, no matter how he was shunned.

She'd failed to get food, and her stomach rumbled painfully, a hollowness invading her entire body as her small body shuddered. Tears spilled from her eyes, warping into full, ugly sobs.

A body slumped beside her where she was curled, deep in the alleys by the rotten stench of garbage.

"Are you crying?"

Clearly, she was. But she had no bite in her voice as she nodded gloomily. "I can't do it. I can't. I'm so, so hungry but I can't do it."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I can't," she mumbled miserably. "I tried. I tried, like you do. And I have nothing, and I'm hungry, and now I'm crying and they would all laugh at me."

The boy regarded her coolly beside, leaning back and tilting his chin to the skies. Then, he scoffed.

"Good. Cry more, then, because crying means you know what failure feels like. Cry because this filth hasn't stripped you of your emotions. Cry because of this injustice, and because you're hungry, and because you can still feel."

Her small head raised slightly and she peered sideways, blinking slowly. The boy looked back at her calmly. "There's no shame in crying. Next time, try to make the reason you're crying different."

Next time, he implied, cry because of your success and not your failures.

Cry out of sheer, utter and overwhelming happiness and pride.

She blinked, and then blinked again, and when she blinked a third time, a hardness had settled over her cherry eyes, sharpened by determination. She nodded resolutely. "Okay."

"Good." He smiled there, and she decided she would've died without him. She owed him her life, and he didn't even know it.

Later, he walked away indifferently, but by evening, there was a small pouch of food sitting beside her when she woke up. Slightly stale bread, a few fruits and a small piece of dried meat.

She gulped, her stomach eagerly rumbling. It wasn't something she deserved, and she couldn't imagine the consequences to gain these items in such a short time.

But the boy was nowhere in sight, and she was hungry, and she lowered her head again and chewed on the bread, tears spilling down her dirt covered face again. To live was to not worry about the insignificant things, such as shameful tears and pride.

In the future, she determined as she messily gnawed on the meat, she would be the one to offer salvation to that boy.

Nicola exhaled shakily, smiling at the man standing before her.

"You're right," she agreed softly. "These are happy tears, and there is no shame in that."

Kaden felt perplexed, and unsure of what to do, he rummaged into his pockets and pulled out a gold coin. The cool metal brushed over his finger, of the coin that always remained in his pocket for reasons he didn't know.

He handed it to her, and she stared in confusion, but accepted it. The minute the coin pressed into her palm, her eyes went wide, the pink fading into stark white.

She took a sharp intake of breath, and curled his gloved fingers back around the coin. There seemed to be bewilderment and deep, impossible sorrows in her gaze. "...this coin seems to have a lot of memories with you. I don't need it, but thank you."

He took it back, slipping it into his pocket. "If that's all—"

"—please," she paused, hesitating. "I find memories to be the most precious thing. A person's past shapes them, for better or worse. I always long to know of the memories people hold. Of the past, present and future, what is the most important to you?"

It was a sudden and strange question, but Kaden considered her mental state after crying, and the flash of white that flickered oddly over her eyes, and decided to answer.

"The present," he decided. "The past has already occurred and I don't care for it, and the future is something I can't imagine."

"You can't? Or is it that when you think of the future, it is shrouded in mystery? Perhaps your ideal future, right now, feels so far away."

He stared at her dully. "There is no future. No ideal."

Nicola realized that she could understand a little more, why he left the way he did, why it was almost impossible to get closer to him even when he seemed to be slowly opening up.

The idea of a future was too surreal to Kaden. He could indulge in it, only to be wrenched back to reality in fear of losing himself to what he believed impossible.

Kaden never planned to go into the future with them.

She'd always known that his scars ran deep, and that tragedy seemed to follow his walking step. But Kaden had been getting better, more involved, more peaceful. He was different to how he was before.

But what if Kaden had never really changed—not as much as she believed? That at the core of himself, he was the same man that died alone in isolation?

Nicola felt crushing despair washing over her.

Was it impossible, ultimately? To convince Kaden Chauvet himself that he deserved to live? That he was capable of being loved?

The woman didn't know. But what she did know was that none of them would stop trying.

Because Kaden, she wanted to gently, insistently remind, everybody only wants to save you.

Instead, she smiled and said farewell, watching the broad, lonely back disappear into the fog.

Kaden continued walking, but he felt like he was floating. Like his feet were inches above the ground, melting into the fog and fading into grey mist. There was a jingle of bells in the air, a light hum of music and faded chatter deeper into the fog.

He stopped before a young woman, seated before a pale brown blanket with a spread of pressed, dried flowers. They were made into bookmarks and paper, different crafts to reveal the coloured and slightly dulled petals.

Over her face, there was a white skeleton mask with a sharp, protruding beak. A bird, this time. Kaden wondered vaguely if it was a tradition in the town.

Her golden hair was braided messily into a complicated weave, small strands poking out. Her forest green gaze seemed to tremble slightly, and she looked up at him. "Sir, come sit, come sit! Are you curious about my crafts?"

She had broader shoulders, an athletic build that seemed to tell of frequent movement. Her hands spread, gesturing to the pressed flowers.

He cocked his head, thinking, and then crouched down.

"Which one?"

"Which one should you buy? I'm pretty sure that's something for you to decide, sir with the money."

"I don't have a preference."

The woman paused, licking her lips. "Alright. Favourite colour? Design? Give me something to work with, and I'll recommend one to you."

Kaden shook his head slowly. "I don't know."

"You don't have a preference for anything?"

"I don't."

"Really? If you don't know yourself, how are others supposed to know you?"

The woman, with a loud voice, suddenly fell quiet and observed him solemnly. There seemed to be no lies in his words; this was a man without a preference for anything. She wondered if it was because he simply didn't have favourites, or he didn't know how to.

Besides her, a closed notebook waited, and her fingers twitched to scribble down her thoughts.

"Think of something you like. Or how about something that made you comfortable? How about this, I'll name some colours, tell me how they make you feel or some words that describe them. Let's start with pink, say, cherry pink?"

He squinted, clearly unwilling to speak, but her insistently large eyes left no room for argument .

The man lowered his gaze, dense eyelashes casting shadows. "Cherry pink. Elegance... perseverance, beauty. Reassuring."

The woman's voice hitched and she cleared her throat with an ugly cough. She started hacking as she choked on air, and Kaden inched back a step.

"Right! Okay, I'm not contagious, get back here. Now remember, just say whatever pops up in your head. Next, let's go with blue?" She hesitated, and then added, "Like a sea blue, a rich, cool blue?"

"Charming, silly. It makes me feel... safe."

"...okay, next. Next, how about my eyes? They're green, forest green I think. Is that weird? Whatever, I've already asked."

Kaden raised his gaze, staring directly at the woman. He tilted his head slightly. "Energetic, curious, mischief." A small smile tilted his lip unknowingly. "It's joyous."

The woman lowered her face, curling up her leg as she swallowed shakily. Kaden thought he heard a sniffle, but the woman wouldn't raise his head, and he couldn't be sure.

Then, her sniffles became full bodied sobs, and she wailed out loud.

Kaden looked in bewilderment. Was the fog lined with some sort of crying magic? He simply stared, uncertain what to do. Should he start crying too?

"When a woman is crying, you're supposed to offer a napkin, you awkward fool!" She blubbered, sobbing into her hands.

Kaden stared at the ground, and even felt in his pockets. "I don't have one."

"You're supposed to carry one! Sniff— ugh, it tastes salty." She grabbed the corner of her long skirt, spread over the ground and wiped her nose. When she looked up again, her gaze was full of grievances. "Okay! Next, do you like your own face? Your pale pink hair, your piercing gem-like green eyes?"

"What sort of question—"

"Answer!"

The man clamped his mouth shut, gazing at her coolly through sharp green eyes. The woman stared at him without blinking.

"No," he said finally. "I don't."

She clicked her tongue loudly. "Even though it's handsome? Even though you just said you liked pink and green? Even if you were voted as one of the most sought after faces in school?"

"What?"

"Never mind that. Hey, hey, is there anything? That you like about yourself?"

"There isn't." The answer came quickly, coldly.

The woman shivered, swallowing. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, curled and thinking. Then she wondered, "Say, if you had a friend who doubted you. Would you despise their betrayal?"

The questions continued getting more abnormal and Kaden frowned. However, not wanting another outburst or to be ordered to answer again, he contemplated. "I wouldn't. They would be wise to doubt me."

"Even if you were innocent?"

"I am far from innocent."

"But if you were."

"I'm not. I can't entertain that possibility."

The woman exhaled suddenly, flopping backwards onto the ground. She didn't seem to find the dirty ground, eyes fluttering closed behind the bone mask. Relief sunk into her bones making her entire body limp.

Kaden's words confirmed it—that he was indeed a murderer, that he had committed many sins, perhaps all that he was accused of.

But there was relief in that. The unfiltered, biased and self-hating way that the man spoke. He would not hide his dirty sides or lie to her; he knew what he'd done and accepted the consequences.

Then, even if Kaden had killed those people, Holly only felt relieved.

Because now, she could say with certainty that she could trust that man. She could go seeking the truth, knowing there was a truth to find.

That awkward, somewhat naive friend of hers that had stood stiffly at their first meeting, not hiding his discomfort. The friend she'd laughed and teased.

And a fool that hated himself far too much for her to dislike him; to believe that he was as irredeemable as he claimed. For she was certain that his words were biased against himself, and therefore it was better not to believe them.

Anyway, she huffed to herself even as the other man looked at her lying body with confusion, Kaden obviously had no clue of self worth if he didn't think himself handsome. Even wearing a mask, the air he exuded was undeniable. A little pathetic, but it was charming in that way.

If she had his face, she would be the most arrogant man in the world.

A laugh rippled from her chest, bright and airy, and soon it tumbled into a fit of laughter, all her anxiety escaping her lungs.

Hey Kaden, she wanted to say in between her laughter, come back so we can do this again. I'm Holly,

...and who are you really?