I sat stiffly on the couch, knees tucked close, fingers twisting in my lap. My heart still hadn’t slowed. Not since... well, not since the shower incident.
Beside me, the silence stretched.
A few minutes later, Iris came back from the washroom. She didn’t say anything. Just sat beside me, straight-backed, glasses slightly fogged, eyes locked onto the half-toppled Monopoly board like it held all the secrets of the universe.
Well. I couldn’t look at the same thing. That’d be weird.
So I stared at my hands.
Fidgeting. Picking at my thumbnail. Pretending I wasn’t still thinking about—
Then we heard footsteps.
He walked into the room.
His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead. A towel was still slung low around his waist. His chest was wrapped with fresh white bandages, cutting across muscle and bruised skin. Water still clung to his shoulders.
Why is he still in a towel?! My face flushed instantly. I looked away too late.
He raised two fingers. Mouthed, "Two minutes."
Then walked off toward his room.
"Ughhh," I whispered, sinking lower into the couch. My heart thumped faster—too loud, too obvious.
Every time he shows up—
I feel like I forget how to function.
Since that first time. The Mall. The robber.
And now... he helped Celeste’s mom, too?
We’ve only met a handful of times. Barely even spoken. But—
He’s so my type it’s stupid.
A sigh slipped past my lips as I tugged the blanket tighter around me, burying half my face.
He stepped out of his room in a clean black hoodie and joggers, toweling off the last bit of moisture from his hair. The bandages peeked slightly from his collar. He looked—decent enough, considering the 30-plus bodies he left behind earlier.
He walked into the living room with a casual, deadpan expression.
"Hello," he said. "And make yourselves at home—even though you clearly already have."
His eyes flicked to the mess. Popcorn. Soda stains. Scattered game tokens. Two girls sitting bolt upright like kids caught by a parent.
Lena and Iris looked like someone had just unplugged them from the wall.
"We’re sorry," Lena blurted.
Franz raised a hand. "Nah, I’m just messing with you."
The tension cracked a little.
"It’s late," he continued. "You should sleep here. Like your friends." He nodded toward the couch, where Zane, Emphera, Celeste, and Lena’s spot remained occupied by sleepy bodies.
Then Lena asked, voice small: "Where’s Victoria?"
Their expressions shifted—suddenly alert. Franz noticed it instantly.
He held up both hands. "Ease up, ladies. She’s fine. She’s at her place. The issue she was dealing with is handled."
He didn’t elaborate. They didn’t ask.
"Don’t worry," he added. "We’ll tell Celeste in the morning."
The two girls nodded in sync. Like kids being told everything would be okay.
Franz pointed to the hallway.
"There’s a guest room down that way. You two can crash there if you’re uncomfortable sleeping out here."
"Alright then," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I’m going to sleep. If either of you wake up before I do, just knock me awake before leaving."
He started walking off, muttering under his breath.
"I better not find more soda spilled on the rug..."
That earned a squeak from both of them.
He sank into the mattress with a quiet sigh.
The room was dim, quiet, only the faint buzz of the city humming outside.
Franz stared up at the ceiling.
"And what did you think I was? A caveman?"
[You don’t exactly radiate warmth. But tonight... handing out guest room, I thought you are gonna wake them up kick them out.]
"You can’t think that bad of me... Can you?."
[You sure? Like one hour earlier, covered in blood, dragging bodies.]
"I just figured... if I’m going to protect them, I might as well talk to them. Be a little friendly."
"They’re normal. For now."
Franz pulling a middle finger "Note this too—"
A beat passed. Then he exhaled again and muttered:
"Alright. Let’s talk business. Arcadia, Got any quests?"
A soft digital hum buzzed in the air.
Franz with a sarcastic tone " Thanks for the help. I don’t know what I will do without you."
"Okay, now we’re talking. It didn’t adjust last time, did it?"
"Which means... even if I had walked away after saving her, Victoria still would’ve died."
Franz clenched his jaw. His eyes didn’t move from the ceiling.
<...How am I supposed to know that?>
"Fuck you then, I pulled her out once. If she dies again, that’s on her."
[You’re saying that now... but you’ll save her again. You’re a softy. Deep down.]
Franz closed his eyes.
A flicker of light in the dark.
He was younger—barely seventeen. Shirtless in the dirt, wrestling with two tiny boys in a backyard that smelled of warm bread and smoke.
One clung to his leg. The other was already halfway up his back, both laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.
"Hey—! That’s cheating!"
"You’re too slow, Adrian!"
The smallest—his youngest brother—peeked up from the side of Franz’s chest, beaming through missing teeth.
"You’re such a softy, Adrian."
That sun-drenched moment, sticky with joy and sweat and the scent of childhood—
His chest clenched as if someone had just carved into it with a blunt blade.
He pressed a palm to his forehead, jaw tight.
"No," he whispered. "No. Don’t remember."
He clenched his teeth harder.
"You can’t change it."
His fingers dug into the bedsheet.
"Just stay calm. Don’t—don’t go there."
He tried to steady his breathing.
Don’t remember the way their bodies looked after.
Don’t remember how it felt, digging graves for people you loved.
Don’t remember how your heart stopped when the laughter did.
He bit his tongue until it bled.
Then—like a survival instinct—he pushed it all away.
That weight, that grief, that hole.
"He’s been using distractions to get away from everything."
Anything that can make him focus on something else