[hider=Honesty: First Fragment]
[center][h3][color=cyan]『𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣』[/color] [color=8493ca]『ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤』[/color] [color=a2d9ce]『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][img]http://i63.tinypic.com/2h84geb.jpg[/img][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/2qb8wgw.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕤   / /   [@RedDusk][@January][@Baklava][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℂ𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤   / /  ~𝟚𝟙𝟚𝟘[/color][/center][hr]
[hider=Hope]
The three teenagers had fallen into a simple, unspoken accord of temporary silence during their walk, each of them mulling over their own thoughts in their own different ways. There would be time enough to discuss things later, but for every heated fight, even the strongest combatants needed time to cool down, to decompress and collect themselves into more civilized conduct--rebuild the boundaries of their calm. The short, blond healer, for one, was grateful for the moments of quiet peace after the screams and the insidious words.

Christmas had held on to Sander's hand the entire walk to the hospital, barely aware that he could be making Sander uncomfortable because he was trying so hard to hold on to every last vestige of calm. Bits and pieces of it had dropped into the fear like tiny spots of clarity, but he couldn't find enough of the rest. Now the shuddering adrenaline was wearing off and everything that had happened, from the slam on the door to the argument where cruel words had been fired back and forth, was rushing back in [i]clear as day[/i]. And there had been claws poised to strike.

The doctors and nurses had taken one look at them and had ushered them quickly into a large room with five empty beds spaced far from each other, but when one of them confirmed Christmas was a healer and Sander was now physically fine despite the blood, it was a simple matter of checking with a higher authority on their phones for confirmation before allowing Callan her request to keep the light singe on her ankle. 

Still, a nurse had come in later with several large ice packs for Callan and a quiet reminder before leaving that the superhuman girl could ask for help if there were any injuries she hadn't yet noticed.

During the entire session--it had to have been at least 20 minutes--Christmas still hadn't let go of Sander's hand, staring quietly at the floor and trying hard to keep himself together as all the emotions that sheer panic had kept at bay earlier pummeled his weakened mental endurance. He would never have claimed that endurance to be strong in the first place.

When the door closed behind the nurse and another five or so minutes passed without any further staff coming in and checking on them, Christmas stumbled over to the nearest bed, body shaking violently now as he fell into a seat on the thin, white sheets. His hand still clutched Sander's, and the taller boy simply obliged the movement, sitting down beside the trembling healer without protest.

The cool ice pack against her skin brought as much nostalgia as it did relief. A sprained ankle and a high school trainer's room. Some thin boy with thick curly brown hair wrapped it carefully while she leaned back on her hands and listened while her teammates chatted and laughed about whatever. It felt so long ago, but she knew it wasn't. Either way, she was dead to them now. And the occupants of this room she found herself in tonight were so very different. Herself included.

Her burned leg was folded in front of her on the hospital bed while the other dangled off the side. The idea of laying down was dubbed a bad one. She knew she'd fall asleep if she did. She needed to speak to Sander, but once the room had cleared, she allowed silence to fully encase it. Last thing she needed was some nurse or doctor barging in and interrupting.

Her train of thought momentarily derailed as she observed Christmas collapse onto the mattress two beds away-- with Sander in tow. The lanky, blood-soaked vampire took a seat beside him. The lingering traces of uncertainty finally bled out of her supposition. [color=a2d9ce][i]Ohhh... okay.[/i][/color] Callan concluded, [color=a2d9ce]I suppose that... makes sense.[/color]" Hand holding and body language aside, Christmas was shaking like a leaf. Was that because of Kusari? 

Good questions, wrong time. Sander seemed to be very close with Christmas and he wasn't freaking out, so she had to assume he was okay. There would be time to ask about Kusari later, but for now... the single question she'd been holding in was like a boulder-- unbearably heavy and exhausting to ignore. She braced herself with a breath and looked at Sander. 

"[color=a2d9ce]Why'd you do it?[/color]" she asked, foolishly non-specific. If he and Christmas were something like an item, it was likely he already knew about the fight they'd scheduled. But even if he didn't, Callan decided she didn't care. The question was out and needed answering-- and so she clarified. "[color=a2d9ce]Why'd you let me win?[/color]"

[hr]

For what seemed like hours, Sander watched the fire. He riled it to deal with Kusari, but with her gone, he was left to deal with the aftermath. It was far harder to calm the flame than to rouse it. Harder still to keep it at an acceptable level, because as much as he would like to snuff it completely, he needed its heat to keep going. Christmas’ blood would fix his wounds, but the blond boy could do nothing to help with the withdrawal. And he had kept going for so long…

He was afraid of the fall. 

The heat in his ribcage felt like ember now. Occasional flame. It was easier to think, but the craving was miserable. At least he was sober enough to keep it rein in. But for how long? The crumbled confidence tasted like ashes in his mouth. He was so sure of himself then, so certain that he had [i]got better[/i]. Looking back now, it seemed more like a dog raising its hackles to hide leaking wounds and bony ribs. Doubts crept back into his mind now that the fire and the rage had abated. But without the strength of the Stigma behind them, he could still keep them at bay. He just shoved all those unpleasant thoughts in the back of his mind. Some day, they might just come crashing down on him like an avalanche. But he chose not to think about that, too. 

He decided to think about other things instead. Like the cold, slender hand clutching his bloody one. Like the whispered trust and cornflower blue eyes. Christmas said he trusted him. Trusted Sander Lorraine. The violent X. The monster. And the blond boy had showed him that trust, time and time again. [i]She[/i] trusted him, too. But [i]she[/i] knew, even better than he knew himself. Always had. [i]She[/i] had no uncertainties, and [i]she[/i] took no risk. All Christmas had was faith. Pure and unwavering. It reminded him of a simpler time, when everything was untainted, and he didn’t dream of dark waves and darker desires. It allowed him to entertain the silly notion that maybe, just maybe, there was still bits and pieces of him that was undeniably [i]human[/i].

Because he was. And Christmas let him believe that.

He settled down next to the shivering boy, his gaze careful but laced with concern. Christmas didn’t look fine, and Sander was once again trying to fix that. Was it because of what happened with Kusari? The white-haired girl had almost struck the boy with her clawed hand, and he figured that would be rather traumatizing. But he had no solution for that. His rage-addled mind couldn’t comprehend fear [i]right[/i]. He knew split second panics. The primal instincts to lunge and to leap out of the way. The sudden tension when black claws flicked and red ones raised. But those went away. The fear that plagued the shaking boy next to him did not. He didn't know what to do about that. There was no Kusari here for him to snap at. No claws for him to break. 

So he looked for other things to do. 

Maybe it was cold. Fear often was, at least when he was sober. So he did the only logical thing at the moment. He scooted closer to the shaking boy, pressing his shoulder and thigh into Christmas' smaller form and sharing what body heat he could. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he should ask first. But doing things had always been easier than thinking about them, so he decided not to think about that, too. 

Callan’s questions called his attention to her, so he turned to her. He watched the girl first, considering his answer. She looked fine. She was fine. He knew her scent, and it indicated no abnormal bleeding. And that was a good thing. Wasn’t that a good thing? She won, and she was unharmed. So why did she make it sound like a bad thing? He narrowed his eyes, puzzled. 

“[color=cyan]I didn’t.[/color]” -He answered truthfully –“[color=cyan]You’re just…stronger.[/color]”   

Vague voices, but Christmas didn't process the words, straining to sift through the aftermath of emotions as painlessly as possible.

The warmth that pressed against the side of his body was just a bit hotter than a person should be. Like a mild fever. The thin, red wisps of smoke were still curling off Sander's upper body, fainter now and less vivid, spilling across Christmas's right shoulder and leg where Sander's arm and thigh pressed against his. He had stiffened initially at the movement, afraid for a split second Sander would leave and take his hand away, but now there was steady heat against the right side of his body.

So warm. His shivering remained the same, but he leaned into that small comfort instinctively like he was looking for a twilight sun in that field again, pressing against Sander and turning his face towards the safety of that presence, remembering a similar person beside him over a month ago. Intermittent and colder, but at least present enough to be something like trustworthy. It was different though. He recognized that immediately in the iron tang of bloodstains and the chalky scent of that grayish dust. But that didn't matter so much when it was so warm. Some of the blood smeared on his hair and face where he grasped weakly at strength that wasn't his, but it felt safe enough here that he could stop clutching that cornflower blue lifeline in his mind. His left hand found a spot on Sander's arm to hold onto and he braced himself against his roommate for seconds he didn't keep track of.

The ribbon was still on his right wrist, where Sander had tied it, and he didn't feel like he was solid enough to think about that when he could barely hold his emotions in order.

He didn't know--and god, he wished he had more instances of knowing something--when the shaking breaths turned into quiet sobs, but the tears running down his face diluted a thin path through the red smears. Christmas remained like that, crying onto Sander's arm and vaguely remembering he wasn't supposed to. Automatic words, instead. He couldn't find that calm haven right now. 

He was just scared.

[color 8493ca]"S-s--"[/color] He waited for a short break in the shuddering gasps. [color 8493ca]"--'m sorry."[/color]

Callan's anger flared at Sander's response, but was just as quickly extinguished when Christmas burst into tears. Concern and a tinge of vicarious embarrassment etched itself on her face as she watched. She balled up the front of her shirt in her free hand and turned her attention to the ice pack on her ankle. She'd never been the sort who was good with tears. Briefly, she was reminded of Lawrence catching her at the tail end of her ghastly blubbering and her embarrassment turned inward.

She didn't say anything as Sander proceeded to try and comfort him. It wasn't her business, but once again she found herself unable to keep from listening. Out of the corner of her eye, she remained aware of the pair's movements. The short boy with a holiday for a name and blonde hair. Sad eyes. Sander's long, gangly form, still coated in blood she'd caused him to spill. Had she inadvertently caused this whole mess?

The sudden movements caught Sander’s eyes, and he diverted his attention to the blond boy next to him. Christmas was crying now, quiet sobs wracking the blond boy’s shoulders. Sander raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised at this recent turn of events. Almost without thinking, he lifted his free hand toward his roommate, fingers brushing a lock of golden hair right above the curve of his ear. But the flecks of dried blood clung to the strand, and [i]red was so prominent on gold[/i] so his hand froze, before he let it fall onto his lap.

The light touch on his hair reminded him again--much more vividly this time--that he needed to stop sniveling on someone else's arm and Christmas fumbled for the sleeve of his T-shirt with his left hand, wiping his face with the bloody shirt and sitting up a bit straighter. The sobs still ran their course, though, and he finally worked through enough of the storm to release Sander's hand, gripping the hem of his shorts instead and waiting for the aftermath of too many fears to finally pass.

[color 8493ca]"S-sorry,"[/color] he mumbled again, syllables sticking in his throat and coming out crooked.

Red eyes blinked again, the words repeated to Sander so often it might have lost its meaning. Just another quirk his roommate had. But it was not like other times. Even he knew as much. This was the security outpost all over again. 

“[color=cyan]What’s wrong?[/color]” -He craned his head, leaning down to the blond boy.

Christmas didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to tell Sander he was okay again, but now that he had cried on his roommate he wasn't sure if that was even on the table as an option. But he had decided--without telling Sander because he didn't know how to articulate it but he [i]would[/i] when he could figure it out--that he was splitting things into two. Half and half, right? For now he didn't have the words he truly wanted, so he settled for the meager flotsam on the surface.

[color 8493ca]"C-can I?"[/color]

Another blink, and Sander titled his head slightly, but pressed on –“[color=cyan]Yes.[/color]” 

He trusted Sander, even if the facets that made up his mind shouted so loudly he couldn't hear what he wanted sometimes, but he said it. He had. He trusted Sander.

[color 8493ca]"I--"[/color] Christmas swallowed, trying not to say he was okay. But he didn't know if it was all right to say he wasn't okay. Wasn't sure if it was all right to burden Sander with his fears and he held on to the fabric of his shorts tighter, not looking up. [color 8493ca]"--s-scared. I'm sorry."[/color]

“[color=cyan]Can you tell me how to fix it?[/color]” -Sander lowered his voice then, still had enough sense left to keep this moment private –“[color=cyan]I can…do something.[/color]” -His tone was firm, but hollow at best. All liquid courage and drunken bravado. But he meant every word. 

Christmas turned to find Sander's face a bit closer to his, and muted blue eyes met burning red. He stared, caught in the startling gaze where looking away felt like it would be wrong until he had answered the question. Fix? How would Sander fix it? What was he fixing? Or offering to?

What did he [i]want[/i] Sander to fix?

He didn't want the world set right--not on any personal level. He didn't care about the oft-mentioned "state of the war." He wasn't a nice person because at the end of the day he didn't honestly [i]want[/i] to help everyone--even if that was the "good" thing. So what was it that he wanted here in this dark place where a setting sun offered its tiny comfort?

No, not the right question. What [i]didn't[/i] he want?

Screaming hands and threatening claws. Words like strikes against the hornet's nest and terrible accusations dragging hardness into Sander's voice, dredging up ugly things in response. He didn't want that. It was another kind of monster, and it called out to something pitch-black in him.

[color 8493ca]"I'm scared of Kusari,"[/color] he said to that fire in Sander's eyes, surprised the words had come out at all. They had been pushed, he realized as the feeling settled, by something in him he didn't want to see. Christmas blinked rapidly at Sander before turning to his hands, uncertain if saying that answered Sander's question. The words had felt off, like something else was supposed to have substituted for "scared of." He just couldn't identify what, because it was true. He was scared of her. And...?

The name reminded him of restrained anger and seething words and false confidence. Sander slightly stiffened at the memories, remnants of rage like sparks from a dying fire. He waited for them to fade away before he opened his mouth. 

“[color=cyan]…What do you want me to do?[/color]” -He asked, waiting on the clarification before he dared to interpret a course of action for himself. The fire whispered still, and it only knew violence. He wasn't sure Christmas wanted that. 

Christmas waited for that murky feeling to settle back down into the depths, afraid to open his mouth when the words came out that easily. A flurry of emotions had disturbed the silt, but he wasn't sure that was the right thing to look for.

It wasn't warm like Sander's hand, and he felt like it might cut him if he tried to hold it.

Instead he breathed quietly and looked at the ribbon on his wrist. He remembered what he had thought that night. Insurance against himself. But it only worked if someone else could bear [i]trust[/i].

[color 8493ca]"If...if you want..."[/color] he held out the ribboned wrist instead, [color 8493ca]"um...it'll be okay if..."[/color] Christmas lowered his hand back down, remembering Sander beckoning him forward at the suite. [color 8493ca]"...if you just hold...hold onto the--it."[/color]

Sander reached out for the blue strip of fabric, because it was a promise and even though he didn’t remember whose or what, he would keep it anyway. Because Christmas trusted him with it and he would try to do at least [i]this[/i]. But he stopped once he noticed the red smears that stained his hands. He wiped them against his tattered shirt first, then again on the faded blue of his jeans. That helped, somewhat, though flakes of dull red and concrete dust remained.

But it would do.

With a firm tug, the ribbon came loose and Sander took it into his hand. He held it aloft, but gaze still turned to Christmas expectantly. The weight of a promise was heavier than it looked. But borrowed strength and liquid courage was a blessing in these moments. A small mercy.

“[color=cyan]I-I still don’t know what to do.[/color]” -He began, racking his mind for something of substance. Something that was not [i]red[/i]. The words stacked upon themselves as he forcefully cut off thoughts before they could bloom into action –“[color=cyan]I can--No--That’s not right--But she can’t run--No--Not right.[/color]” -The words did come out anyway, but they were harsher than he intended. Or not. He wasn’t quite sure himself –“[color=cyan]…Do you want me to make her…go away?[/color]”

Christmas paled at the words, shaking his head. Two beds away, Callan quickly lifted her head to look, eyes wide with surprise. 

Sander's mind flickered to that cold night after the arboretum then. Back when he looked for answers next to a loaded stag gun.

“[color=cyan]Or do you want to go away?[/color]” 

Christmas caught the bloody hand, the one holding the ribbon limply between its fingers, bringing it down to rest on Sander's lap, hoping it would bring other things to rest as well and mumbled out a soft apology again, Sander's question still lingering in the air.

[color 8493ca]"I can...I can tie it, i-if you want,"[/color] he said instead, still running through what Sander was implying. He saw the nod, and turned back to the ribbon, tying it swiftly around Sander's wrist, the new bloodstains brighter against the old ones. Trying not to think about things like "running away" which inevitably led to bad ends.

Christmas tugged the knot into place and let go of the ribbon, something in him suddenly quite...happy about it there. But he hid those thoughts somewhere safe and pulled out the scary words again.

[color 8493ca]"...Go away?"[/color] he repeated quietly, afraid they'd all be in trouble for that kind of suggestion.

“[color=cyan]You don’t have to be…with her. With Kusari[/color]” -Sander said, his gaze still lingered on the blue knot, eyes tracing every twist and loops. His thoughts flickered to the choices he didn't make, and it didn't seem so bad this time. Not bad at all –“[color=cyan]They have...the forms. You can ask to leave.[/color]”

Christmas was thrown for another loop that day, between Sander healing without hurting him and the news that he could actually ask for something like that. He stared, wide-eyed, at his roommate.

[color 8493ca]"W-what about you?"[/color]

[i]What about him?[/i]

That gave Sander a pause. Because it conflicted. It's not necessary to care about him. He could take it. Fear and pain couldn’t hurt him the same way they hurt [i]people[/i]. Couldn’t hurt him the way they hurt Christmas. 

“[color=cyan]Can’t hurt me.[/color]” -So he voiced that broken off bit of his thoughts. The rest was quiet admittance of something [i]inhuman[/i]. But he was trying. He had to remind himself that.

Christmas didn't agree, and roughly half an hour ago he would [i]definitely[/i] not have agreed. But he didn't protest [i]that[/i].

Sander had asked what Christmas had wanted him to do, and it was that strange dynamic again where he wasn't offering and nothing was evenly split, and he could take both halves if he wanted to. But that wasn't what he wanted. It was easiest, and maybe several days ago he would have chosen to hold both halves, but a small, almost imperceptible part of him had rearranged itself in that buzzing fog and he wanted to try. Not nice, but wanting to be.

So he tapped Sander's hand. That shadow of a tap again. Bold, for him, in this situation where he could simply give in and take the easiest path openly offered. But he wanted to be [i]here[/i]. Wanted the better part of himself to be [i]here[/i].

[color 8493ca]"...Do [i]you[/i] want to go away?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Where?[/color]” -Sander asked, because he couldn’t think of the answer right away. It was in there somewhere; he had an inkling. But he had to ask.

Christmas looked down at the ribbon, wondering if he had the nerve. A part of him might, but he didn't know where it was right now.

[color 8493ca]"What if...what if I said something 'not nice'?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]I’ll be here.[/color]” -Sander moved his wrist, just a slight flick, as if to remind him of the ribbon. Of the [i]here[/i]. Theirs –“[color=cyan]…Promise.[/color]”

[quote][color cyan][i]"H-he's...with me."[/i][/color][/quote]

And a cornflower blue lifeline threaded with hope.

[color 8493ca]"Is it okay to...if I said I was with you?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Yeah.[/color]” -Sander nodded, simple and easy. He took the words as they were, and that was good enough –“[color=cyan]You’re with me.[/color]”

The easy admittance like there was no doubt about the question gave Christmas that last, gentle nudge, even if he was starkly aware that Sander was answering only the surface. Even that was so much more than he had dared to want.

[color 8493ca]"...Can I...ask you to--"[/color] Unbearably human and unbearably selfish. Not nice. But Sander said he would be there, so the words found their way out in the wake of something like wanting more than he should be asking for. Christmas swallowed again, suddenly hyper-aware of the ribbon and what it [i]could[/i] be if he messed up. What it [i]could[/i] be if he didn't. Too thin a difference to balance out alone. Had to be half him and half Sander. 

[color 8493ca]"Do you want to come with me?"[/color]

Sander looked up into blue eyes then, mulling over the words; his and Christmas’. A moment of clarity then. His thoughts were scattered still, but he found what he was looking for: blue eyes. His and Christmas. This was what he wanted. Not the fire. Not [i]them[/i]. It was all him. Because he was more than [i]this[/i]. More than the [i]nothing[/i] that waited to die. More than what [i]she[/i] drew and shaped in the fire.

It might be just another instance of false courage, bound to crumble first thing in the morning. But it was enough, in that moment alone. 

“[color=cyan]Okay. I’m with you.[/color]” -He nodded again.

Christmas couldn't hide the grateful smile in time, but he ducked his head down anyway. Better late than never. He just nodded to Sander's words, hiding the lower half of his face behind a bandaged hand and pretending like he was wiping his nose. For an extended period of time.

Eventually, a tiny [color 8493ca]"Thank you"[/color] petered out from behind the hand, a smile on the voice even if the hand was obscuring it from sight.

The conversation had taken a turn Callan wasn't expecting. Her gaze quickly fell back down to the ice pack, face burning. She couldn't [i]stop listening[/i]. For a moment she wanted to melt away into the hospital bed, but it was over soon enough. She supposed it was nice. Seeing two people being happy together despite the bleakness of her day. With a hesitant glance to make sure she wasn't interrupting anything, she decided it was safe to speak up again.

Callan cleared her throat. "[color=a2d9ce]Is Kusari really that bad?[/color]" she asked, looking between both of them. 

“[color=cyan]She’s dangerous.[/color]” -Sander glanced up at Callan then, the irony of the statement lost on him –“[color=cyan]You were there.[/color]”

Christmas looked up and forward at the girl whose name he still didn't know, though his hand still covered his mouth. She was sitting two beds away and a good four or five meters from them, and he had vaguely registered someone there but hadn't deemed it important enough to look--just trying to sort his words and his thoughts all at once while Sander was [i]there[/i] and she had been so quiet for almost the entire time. He thought she had said something earlier, too, but he had been...panicking and crying...then.

[color 8493ca][i]Uh.[/i][/color]

It finally dawned on him, completely and without question, that she had just watched [i]everything[/i] from there. If it was possible for a person to collapse in on themselves without magic, Christmas would have been the prime example, because he practically shrank where he sat and would have stopped breathing if he had that option.

Callan was quiet for a moment, trying to arrange the memory of what she'd heard into a question. "[color=a2d9ce]Why do you think that?[/color]" she asked, already thinking of more than a few reasons herself. Kusari breaking Marcus's arm. Ripping her limbs off. And Sander had said she would "hurt" Christmas... and that she'd said she would hurt him....

“[color=cyan]I know…monsters.[/color]” -Sander lifted the corner of his lips into a bitter smile –“[color=cyan]Kusari doesn’t even try.[/color]” 

Callan flinched at the word.

"[color=a2d9ce]Did she... really say she'd hurt you?[/color]" she asked, remembering how Kusari had owned up to that accusation so easily. "[color=a2d9ce]When did that happen?[/color]" She felt bad asking Sander. Normally she'd prefer to ask Kusari herself, but after the conversation they'd had in the cafeteria....

Christmas snuck glances at both Sander and the girl with aquamarine hair when she brought up that topic, embarrassment briefly submerged at the memory of half-heard words in the storm of that panic. His gaze settled on Sander's bloody shoes, waiting for the answer as well.

Sander stared off into a patch of wall behind Callan, finding the right word. Promise wasn’t it, the memory wasn’t tinged with warmth and wrapped around his wrist in a cornflower blue. And he knew threats, or at least, he thought he did. Threats were red circles on plain calendars. Threats were his name spoken backward in robotic voices. And at the end, they always came through. While these were false words that served no purpose. Hollow, because she didn’t go through with them.

“[color=cyan]If she ends up seriously hurt, I am going to return every injury on her body tenfold to you.[/color]” -Sander settled for a simple repetition then. Kusari didn’t earn any of his words –“[color=cyan]That was what she said.[/color]”

"[color=cyan]It was...before the fight.[/color]"

The explanation made Christmas tremble again and he wasn't sure if he was glad to know his fears were justified or only more worried now that they were. So that was why Sander had suggested something like making her "go away." He had thought it extreme, but wasn't sure if the sentiment was completely correct anymore. Still an outrageous solution, and one he would never have agreed to in this situation, but he at least understood why it had come about. He glanced up at Sander quickly, but looked back down, a tense frown on his face now as his hand fell away and returned to his lap.

Her face blanked as Sander spoke, processing what he'd said... or what [i]she'd[/i] said, rather.

[i][color=662d91]"Just... Just what am I even becoming?"[/color][/i]

Sander didn't have any reason to lie, did he? No... with what Callan had seen on those monitors, it wasn't a stretch to believe she was capable of this. Sympathy and gratitude were nowhere to be seen. The hand that held the cold compress to her ankle tightened and she had to stop herself from bursting the bag.

She exhaled a long, shaky breath. "[color=a2d9ce]Is [i]that[/i] why you let me win?[/color]" she asked, managing to keep her voice even in spite of the anger that deluged her mind.

“[color=cyan]No.[/color]” -Again, another simple answer with a simple truth. Or at least, half of it. Callan didn't ask for the other half –“[color=cyan]I didn’t let you win.[/color]”

Callan exhaled sharply through her nose. "[color=a2d9ce]You weren't fighting like you did yesterday,[/color]" she protested.

Sander paused a bit at that statement, but he pressed on, eventually. It was not a lie, but not the full truth either –“[color=cyan]I did the best I could.[/color]” 

Feet kicked out from under her fervor, Callan opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Clamping her mouth shut she dropped her gaze and stared at the corner of the room while the remnants of her anger leaked out, replaced by chilling dejection. He'd tried his best? That couldn't have been true... could it?

She tugged at the collar of her shirt, bringing it up over her chin. She almost put the fabric to her lips before remembering how much of Sander's blood was on it. "[color=a2d9ce]I'm sorry[/color]" she muttered, a bit harshly, "[color=a2d9ce]I thought we were more evenly matched....[/color]"

“[color=cyan]You wanted a fight. You got it.[/color]” -Sander creased his brows, confused –“[color=cyan]Isn’t that…enough?[/color]”

“[color=cyan]You didn’t ask me…match you.[/color]”

Callan stared at the ice pack again. She tilted it just enough to see the burn mark underneath. She still didn't fully believe him. She'd never expected them to be perfectly matched, but... she also hadn't expected to be the one who would lose control.

"[color=a2d9ce]Sorry,[/color]" she repeated, with less bite and more sincerity this time.

The phone call with Dom had started replaying in her head as regret set in. She looked up then, glancing from Sander to Christmas. Sander would probably tell Christmas all about her shadow and what had happened. She looked back to the taller boy. She should've canceled the fight. She should've known she wasn't in the right state of mind to control Misery.

"[color=a2d9ce]It was a stupid idea,[/color]" she said finally. A small, defeated smile passed over her lips.

Christmas processed the conversation slowly, remembering at last that there [i]had[/i] been a duel mentioned at some point. Sander had brought it up earlier in the day, but the recent frenzy of events had shoved it from his mind until now. So that meant this girl was...he couldn't really recall the name. Kelly? It sounded off in his head. But she had asked for a match and from the sounds of it, wasn't satisfied with whatever had happened.

A quick grimace passed over his features as he recalled--not fully because he blinked the thought away before the fine details came back to mind--the moment when the door had opened to reveal all that blood. Dueling with magic was as deadly as he had thought. 

But that was what [i]he[/i] was for, wasn't it? So things like that could happen without any real consequences. Christmas looked away, towards the far end of the bed. He was too weak to shoulder that responsibility, but he didn't know any way of becoming stronger (something felt like disagreement for a second). Other than borrowing someone else's strength.

“[color=cyan]It was.[/color]” -Sander shrugged, tone suddenly stiff. But his expression softened as he continued, something like relief laced his features –“[color=cyan]But you are okay. So that’s good.[/color]” -His eyes shifted to the burn marks around her ankle, but only for a moment.

She nodded once, feeling even worse than before. Of course he agreed. Right. Good thing she wasn't hurt-- or the chick who had a crush on her might've [i]just about killed him[/i]. Callan remembered his warnings the night before. Kusari had said it was a bad idea, too. Perhaps she should've listened....

Callan felt undeserving of Sander's concern. Or maybe she simply didn't [i]want[/i] it. She could handle herself. She didn't need other people looking after her... fighting her battles. Kusari had said it might scar, too. So stupid... nothing was turning out the way she'd wanted. She'd almost killed him. While [i]he[/i]....

She was so caught up in self-loathing, she almost didn't catch it.

That glimmer of hope.

"[color=a2d9ce]I... I [i]am[/i] okay,[/color]" Callan said slowly, new thoughts seeping into her brain. Something in her expression changed. She was okay. He hadn't hurt her.

"[color=a2d9ce]You--[/color]" she tripped over the word in her eagerness to get the sentence out. She moved the ice pack away and slid her burned leg off the bed, bracing her hands against he mattress as she leaned forward, "[color=a2d9ce]You were able to control yourself this time![/color]"

Her eyes lit up and she smiled, excited but somewhat hesitant. She half expected him to tell her he could always do that. To assure her that no progress had been made-- that her 'hope' was a sham. [i]But she had to try.[/i] Not because she wanted to prove Sander and Kusari wrong to protect her own veneer, but because she just wanted to believe.

Christmas looked back at the sudden shift in the girl's tone, surprise and recognition on his face as she mentioned that recurring topic of "control" again. Sander's words from the early morning of the flag football game came to mind, questions about oceans and control floating back to him in half-formed shapes. Kusari's barbs in the camera room about control. Sander's determination to be [i]here[/i]. The accusations in the air less than an hour ago.

He had only been vaguely aware of it, because his mind ran away with his thoughts into furtive corners that projected and hoped and dreamed and trusted, but it [i]was[/i] an issue, wasn't it? For all he believed, it was a problem that everyone but him had fully recognized.

But there was nothing he could do, weak as he was, so the realization of the obvious gave him nothing more than he already had.

Sander looked mildly surprised when Callan mentioned ‘control’. But it wasn’t to mock him with matters that were beyond him. Wasn’t to point out things he had been aware of his entire life. And he honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. He had scarcely believed it when the flame gave before him; he might think it a dream first thing tomorrow. But hearing Callan said that, it felt almost real.

Because it was. Real as the wisps of smoke rising from his arms. Intangible, but undeniably there.

“[color=cyan]I—um…[/color]” -He averted his gaze, stumbling just to find the simple words –“[color=cyan]…Thank you.[/color]”

It was never a topic he would bring up with [i]people[/i]. Only faceless voices behind glass before. But that shimmering hope in his chest bloomed into something bright and foolish and enhanced by a touch of lingering madness from the blood high that cause him to almost smiled as he talked.

“[color=cyan]I got…better. This time.[/color]”

The look on Sander's face had her smiling full force. With a sigh heavy with exhilaration, Callan tried, with some effort to force a more serious expression onto her mouth. She seemed to be the only one grinning and she didn't want what she said next to be misconstrued as a joke.

"[color=a2d9ce]Maybe we should... do it again sometime?[/color]" she queried. She spared a glance at Christmas, realizing how that sounded. She chuckled nervously, but a good deal of her relief and excitement leaked into the sound. "[color=a2d9ce]Sparring matches, I mean. If... if you don't think it's too much of a bad idea?[/color]"

The question was directed at both of them. She didn't want to make Christmas uncomfortable, asking to spend more time with his brand new boyfriend like she was. Not to mention it was more than likely they'd be in need of his healing ability again-- though hopefully not to such an extent as today.

Then, of course, there was Sander, who hopefully was now well aware of exactly how dangerous SHE was. She wouldn't blame him for saying no, but... she hoped he wouldn't. She was confident she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Christmas caught the glance his way and looked back down at his feet, because he had been staring and the girl might not have liked that.

She didn't comment on it, though, and he didn't have the nerve to talk on matters that involved people who could actually do something. He remembered now the splash of aquamarine hair on the monitors and her strength. Both were strong. Both had an endless expanse of sky and ground to traverse, nearly limitless. He, on the other hand, didn't even know if the ground was there.

Would be easier to ignore it. Hide away, let them handle it and...come back bloody again and near death. He had a role. The ribbon on Sander's wrist wound its way through his mind and told him to [i]try[/i], because it would be damned if it became an excuse instead of a promise.

The murky depths stirred, promising to tear him apart, but he did his best to pat down the silt, picking out just one small grain of that dirt and even that was scary. [i]Try.[/i]. Out of place. Like a speck of dust talking to titans. But he decided if they didn't hear this time it would be [i]okay[/i].

[color 8493ca]"If...if you want..."[/color] the words were already out, and he gripped his own weak hand to look for strength he didn't have, [color 8493ca]"...can...I can come next--next time. S-sorry. T-to heal."[/color] He appended the last two words of explanation so the titans would know he wasn't trying to overstep his place. Half of him hoped they'd just laugh and ignore it, because that half already expected a gentle laugh that mocked with every intonation, that always let him fall back on easier options when it was done.

The other half wanted to be a part of something more. Even the coattails of strength was more than enough.

The answer was on Sander’s lips like a bad habit, even in these instances when he was braver than he could ever be and the Stigma quieted enough for him to hear reasons. But he caught himself just in time and he swallowed the [i]no[/i]. Because he got better. Because he was trying. He stepped out the confinement chambers, and it worked. It really did.

The thought of another fight scared him a bit. The claws had hurt, and he didn’t like pain. But it was alright. He could take it.

“[color=cyan]Okay.[/color]” -He nodded, answering both of them –“[color=cyan]If that’s what you want.[/color]”

Half disappointment and half anticipation--with a dash of fear. Christmas stared at his hands. One had let him in. And he had no idea where to be now that he was [i]here[/i]. The girl could still refuse. And now he wasn't sure if he wanted her to or not.

She stood up, excitement about ready to bubble over capacity. She was blowing Sander's success a little out of proportion in her mind and wasn't entirely sure why given her typical temperament. Perhaps to combat the low that had manifested itself into the biggest mental pit she'd ever clawed her way out of... was still trying to claw her way out of. With hope so clearly in view, however, she wanted to feel like she was almost out. It was better than focusing on the sudden darkness she felt around her. Darkness in the space that family and friends had once occupied....

Warning bells brought her enthusiasm screeching to a halt as she folded herself over the bed in front of her, crossing her arms and propping herself up on her elbows. She'd hoped he wouldn't say no, but... he'd almost said yes a little too quickly.

Her amethyst eyes flickered to the bloody gash in his shirt.

"[color=a2d9ce]Are you sure?[/color]" she asked, her voice level. Careful not to pressure him.

Sander saw the shift in her gaze, and he knew. The hand in his lap reached up to touch the corner of the ragged tear on his sweater gingerly, before he let it drop again. The memory burned star-bright and white hot in the back of his mind again, but he didn't want to think about it. So he didn't –“[color=cyan]It’s okay. I can take it.[/color]” -He kept his gaze steady, just like how [i]she[/i] told him to. It always made them move onto the next question.

That's what Sander had partially mumbled in the bloody doorway, too. Christmas peeked at the hand touching the bloody tatters of the sweater, watching it drop down again. He wondered if it was just his presumptions and projections desperately grasping for another connection, but it sounded like his "okay"s. He didn't know how to help with that. He barely knew how to help himself.

So he just tapped the ribbon on Sander's wrist--that touch weaker than a sigh--and held on to words that weren't his in a voice he could hardly make out. Just for now.

[color 8493ca]" 'I'll be here.' "[/color]

He glanced at the girl again and pulled his hand back, worried she would say something about it.

[color 8493ca]"S-sorry."[/color]

The overconfidence Callan sensed in Sander's response was an element she herself felt well-versed in. Unfortunately-- or, perhaps, fortunately!-- it was that very same element that allowed her to so easily accept it. She'd be able to control herself. If Sander could do it, why couldn't she? Of course, she still felt awful about Misery hurting him as badly as it did, but she wouldn't let that diminish the brightness of the future she was envisioning. The look from Christmas pulled her from her thoughts, unintentionally nudging her with that "third wheel" feeling. They probably wanted to be alone. She should bow out soon.

She smiled apologetically at the small blonde boy and averted her eyes. The tallest ones always got with the shortest ones, didn't they? She inwardly chuckled, remembering how her old team's center had always said that. She'd been about as tall as Sander. Remembering that Jocelyn now knew her to be dead, she snapped back to the matter at hand. No time to linger on the past now.

"[color=a2d9ce]Alright, then. It's decided.[/color]" Her eyes rose to meet Sander's.

Sander offered Christmas a small smile, before turning back to Callan. He nodded then, making the decision before fear and paranoia could undo all of his efforts.

A quick knock on the door preceded a middle-aged doctor coming in several seconds later, with a nametag displaying "Dr. Patel" on his white coat. The man's dark hair was neatly parted in the center and his large, brown eyes and bronze skin suggested someone of Middle Eastern descent. Several guards followed him in. Callan quickly stood up from her casual position draped over the bed.

[color f7976a]"Need anything else here, folks?"[/color] he eyed the ice pack on Callan's ankle.  [color f7976a]"I know you said you wanted to keep the injury, and it's been--strangely enough--cleared by the administrative office, but I really do recommend having the healer take care of it. That's what he's there for, after all."[/color]

The doctor reached into the coat's inner pocket and pulled out a single-use scalpel in an individually wrapped plastic package, the blade retracted in the handle. He left it on the nearby table and nodded encouragingly at Callan.

[color f7976a]"Here if you need it."[/color]

With that, he looked to the two boys sitting beside each other on the bed, pursing his lips at the sight of Sander's bloodied clothes.

[color f7976a]"Let's see,"[/color] he pulled out his phone from the pocket of his pants, checking something before looking back up, [color f7976a]"Sander Lorraine. Doesn't look like you've got any injuries despite all that blood, but that's not surprising if we're considering your power. If you're well enough to leave, you're cleared to go."[/color]

Sander directed his gaze at his ruined sneakers now, jaws twitching ever so slightly. Another one of [i]them[/i]. But the anger had cooled and tempered into hatred, and it was colder thing now. Easier to not think about. So he thought Kusari instead, and he decided that he really didn’t want to return to the suite right now –“[color=cyan]Can I stay here?[/color]” -He asked the man in white coat –“[color=cyan]I don’t want to go.[/color]”

The doctor raised both eyebrows before he narrowed his eyes.

[color f7976a]"If they wanted you to stay in the hospital, they would have given you a room here. Just because we allow the injured to stay as long as they [i]need[/i] to doesn't mean [i]anyone[/i] gets to stay as long as they [i]want[/i] to. You're clearly not injured enough to--"[/color]

He stopped, looking at something right next to Sander and slightly lower. At first, it seemed he was looking at Christmas, but his gaze was fixed on a black card in the boy's hand, tentatively pulled from a pocket while he had been lecturing the vampire. It was held weakly towards the man, but his glare made the hand retract.

[color f7976a]"...Why did you pull that out?"[/color] he directed the question at the healer, who almost flinched at the cutting tone.

[color 8493ca]"U-um..."[/color] Christmas held the card in his lap, reading the name "Fredric Francisco" on it several times while he tried to figure out a way to answer the man's question. He had remembered the nurse's reaction to the card when he had asked to stay before, and was hoping something similar would occur here. The doctor actually questioning it wasn't something he had seen coming. [color 8493ca]"H-he said to call,"[/color] he tried explaining, looking at the card and swallowing.

The doctor paused for a long moment, but eventually flicked and tapped on his phone, starting a call with the subnatural terror to the normal staff known as Fredric Francisco. The staff had the man's number, so the card was unnecessary as anything other than the signal that Fredric had someone under his watch. He would have preferred talking to the bumbling Rosa Schur instead, but he had heard some incident had occurred earlier and the woman was indisposed for a while.

The phone rang just once before Fredric picked up.

[color f7976a]"Evening, Dr. Patel! What's the occasion!"[/color]

The other prominent subnatural staff member was clearly not as outwardly affected by whatever had transpired.

[color f7976a]"You tell me, Mr. Francisco. A vampire asks to stay in the hospital and the healer pulls out [i]your[/i] card to defend him. We're here to treat the injured, not offer students a damn bed-and-breakfast."[/color]

Sander coughed into a closed fist at the doctor’s mention of his [i]nickname[/i], but he didn’t say anything, simply focused back on his dirty shoes.

[color f7976a]"Hmmmmm,"[/color] some clicking and tapping on the other end and a period of silence followed before Fredric responded. [color f7976a]"This is Mr. Lorraine and Mr. Halvost, I see. And Ms. Webb, too. Put me on speaker, my good man."[/color]

[color f7976a]"What? I thought you knew what was going on."[/color]

[color f7976a]"Of course I know--the gist of it--but what did I just tell you to do?"[/color]

Reluctantly, the doctor changed the setting and held the phone out.

[color f7976a]"So! You three! I was just checking that little fight from the hallway cameras there and wow! Talk about verbal warfare! The surveillance team did ping me a notice about it, but that is some venom there. Now tell good ol' Freddy here what's up with this hospital request."[/color]

Sander looked up at the phone, his gaze going back and forth between the phone and the one holding it before he finally answered, tone stiff and curt –“[color=cyan]I don’t want to go back to my suite. I want to stay here instead.[/color]”

[color f7976a]"I see. And why?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Kusari is not safe.[/color]” -Sander glanced back at Christmas –“[color=cyan]For both of us.[/color]”

[color f7976a]"Well, if that's true, you two certainly can't hide in the hospital forever. You wouldn't want to anyway. Smells terrible in there. And I don't think you'd like to request guards standing inside your suite at all times of the day--though I can certainly make that happen."[/color] The tone was teasing, like the man already knew what they wanted, but was intentionally playing coy.

“[color=cyan]The Director told me I can request another suite.[/color]” 

[color f7976a]"And did you?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]I will.[/color]”

[color f7976a]"Just for you?"[/color] That humorous tone of voice was back, and it was easy to picture the person on the other end grinning ear-to-ear.

Again with the slow blink as Sander processed the information. He turned back to Christmas then –“[color=cyan]You want to come too, right?[/color]”

Christmas nodded quickly, then remembered he needed to let Fredric know about it. He hadn't yet caught on that the man was probably already watching them from a screen.

[color 8493ca]"I want to go...um...with Sander."[/color]

[color f7976a]"Then you'll each need to turn in a request form to me. And it needs to say so. Usually, I'd tell you guys to turn all this in to the registrar's office, but I'm already in charge of this little group so why not. I'll take 'em. Have the forms in my hands early enough tomorrow and I'll see if I can't pester the Director to get it approved in the same day. I'm betting she'll make some concessions for her special team.

But I do have to ask the two of you, since this isn't something frivolous and changing your minds won't be so easy if you decide the new accommodations aren't to your liking: you're sure about this?"[/color]

Christmas looked to Sander, like he was asking the taller boy the same question, but for different reasons.

The words ‘special team’ raised a red flag for Sander, and he paused, the question on his lips. But it was not something he wanted to think about right now, so he bit it down and moved on –“[color=cyan]Yes, I’m sure.[/color]”

[color f7976a]"Then I expect to see Mr. Halvost with those forms sometime tomorrow. Let's see here... who is wandering near the office and the dorms..."[/color] rapid clicking and typing emanated from the phone for several seconds. [color f7976a]"Looks like Wesley and Lyndon. I'll have guards over with those forms and your stuff within the next...let's say within 15 to 20 minutes. You're both cleared to stay in the hospital until the room transfer goes through. Dr. Patel, set them up with a room--"[/color] a snort of laughter followed and something sounded like a hand had been placed on the receiver of Fredric's phone. Several seconds later, the voice returned, brimming with laughter still. [color f7976a]"Do you want two rooms or one?"[/color] He chuckled again.

“[color=cyan]Just a room would be fine.[/color]” -Sander said, didn’t quite understand the point of the question. They had shared room before, hadn’t they? –“[color=cyan]If that’s no trouble.[/color]” -He glanced back at Christmas.

Christmas's eyes had gone wide at the question, but Sander hadn't seemed at all fazed so he simply nodded again and looked back down.

[color f7976a]"No--haha--no trouble at all. You heard him, Dr. Patel. Go get [i]one[/i] single room cleaned out for them, sometime now would be great. Ah, I needed that laugh after today."[/color]

The phone clicked into silence and the doctor looked ready to murder someone. Without another word, the man turned on his heels and left.

Callan folded her arms across her chest and stared at the door as it closed. A single room... she didn't know much hospitals, but that sounded like a room with only one bed. She waved the idea away as best she could. Maybe they'd stick two beds in there or maybe there was a couch or, more likely, [i]it just wasn't any of her business and she should really stop thinking about it like now.[/i] She glanced at the scalpel. She really shouldn't be keeping injuries for valiant symbolism. Marcus crossed her mind then. He probably would've been upset if he'd heard what she said about keeping it....

Not that that mattered.

"[color=a2d9ce]Uhm,[/color]" she glanced down at her ankle before looking at Christmas. She felt a bit foolish for backpedaling on her decision. Not to mention she still couldn't get that image out of her head-- Christmas, blood dripping down his arm, in the room with all those monitors.. And that image of him from that first night. She nearly shuddered at the thought. What a fate-- to have a power so indispensable with such a steep price. Not all that different from Sander's, really. It was a strange comfort-- knowing she wasn't the only one with problems. Made her feel a little less alone.

"[color=a2d9ce]How does your healing work, Christmas? It... does it hurt quite a bit?[/color]" she winced at her second question, knowing the intent behind her asking it was clear. 

The question surprised him in the aftermath of the doctor and the phone call. But Christmas chalked it up to the doctor's comment finally convincing the girl otherwise. A moment of surprise when she called him by name, but he remembered his name had come up in the argument, so of course she knew. He felt worse when he realized he couldn't remember if [i]her[/i] name had come up.

He mulled it over, eyes flicking to the scalpel on the desk anxiously before he finally looked back at her shoes.

[color 8493ca]"Um...I just...have to--"[/color] he remembered the doctors injecting his blood into several injured, unconscious patients and revised his explanation. [color 8493ca]"My, uh, blood needs to...g-get into your body...sor-sorry."[/color] The second part of her question he knew on that same instinct that taught him every change like he had always been privy to the information. Frightening, in a way. [color 8493ca]"It probably--f-for that, it won't really, um, hurt much."[/color]

Callan chewed the inside of her cheek. 'Get into' her body... right. She'd expected his answer to be different-- for him to pull that red mist trick again. That method was probably the more painful one, though. And she already felt bad enough for asking. Gross. She remembered the crystal cup and the back of Shane's arm as it moved to keep refilling it. Gross. Gross. Gross. It wasn't his fault or anything, but... [i]Gross[/i].

"[color=a2d9ce]Okay,[/color]" she said quickly-- before she could change her mind a third time. Something she was slowly wishing she'd done as the thought of what she was asking, and therefore agreeing to, became more and more clear. "[color=a2d9ce]I'd appreciate it. If that's cool with you?[/color]" Her subsequent smile was a touch dour as she squeezed herself tighter, rocking back on her heels. Maybe he'd say no. That would give her the perfect excuse to back out, wouldn't it? She recalled Sander downing canister after canister of blood before the match. Perhaps, in a way, it was only fair. She'd have to get used to Christmas's form of healing sometime anyway, wouldn't she? "[color=a2d9ce]What should I...?[/color] she asked him, unsure of how to go about it. 

Christmas stared at the wrapped scalpel, nodding shakily to her request before walking over and picking it up. The thin, clear plastic crinkled quietly as he unwrapped the medical tool, and it wasn't long before slow clicking heralded the retractable blade being pushed up from the sheath.

He remembered Sander's advice to cut on the outside and knew from that strange instinct that a tiny amount would do. His right hand peeled off a few wraps of the bandage around his left, just near the base of his palm, exposing the skin on the back of his hand, above the wrist.

He didn't make the mistake of thinking about it too long in this moment where the pressure of authority wasn't present to force his hand. If he quailed now, he'd never get it done.

The scalpel was mercifully sharp and slit a thin, shallow line barely longer than a few centimeters on the back of his wrist, the blood dotting out slowly in the aftermath as he winced from the small pain.

Red liquid unfurled into vapor again, and that dissipated into the white mist, though the cut was tiny and he knew it would be incredibly slow to reach the girl from where he stood, so Christmas walked back, standing beside her tentatively as the mist spread from the light wound. After stabbing himself the day before, he wondered if he was getting used to hurting himself, as much as he disliked pain. The thought scared him, but even so he retracted the blade and slid the scalpel into his pocket.

Shimmering white glass with no physicality eventually enveloped both of them, and her injuries faded away within a few minutes. But Christmas maintained the effect for a bit longer than he thought he needed, thinking it would clear up any wounds he might not be able to see. When the white glow finally vanished, he noted the faint touch of lightheadedness and mumbled another [color 8493ca]"Sorry"[/color] before sitting back down beside Sander, clumsily taping the bit of gauze back into place on his hand.

Callan winced and she gripped her arms tighter as Christmas pressed the blade to the back of his wrist. Her posture immediately relaxed when she saw the red mist turn to white, however. She watched the wound curiously, already noticing as the pain in her ankle began to subside, as well as the dull throbbing of her tongue.

"[color=a2d9ce]Oh--[/color]" she smiled and sighed out a nervous laugh, bringing the palm of her hand up to her temple, where beads of sweat had started to form. "[color=a2d9ce]I thought-- I thought I'd have to drink it,[/color]" she chuckled again nervously, utterly relieved.

"[color=a2d9ce]Thanks,[/color]" she nodded, looking down at her ankle and turning it so she could see all sides. "[color=a2d9ce]That feels much better.[/color]"  She looked back up at him. "[color=a2d9ce]Oh geez-- I haven't even introduced myself, have I?[/color]"

"[color=a2d9ce]I'm Callan,[/color]" she smiled, "[color=a2d9ce]I meant to thank you for the other times, too, but you were... busy. So..."[/color] Another nervous sigh of laughter. "[color=a2d9ce]Thanks.[/color]"

[color 8493ca]"O-oh, um. I--um, I'm Christmas--"[/color] he stopped at the memory that she had already called him by name. [color 8493ca]"Uh...I...I don't remember the, um, other times...sorry."[/color] Probably just the camera room, but he hadn't meant to heal everyone so much as avoid failure. It wasn't something he thought she should be grateful for, all the same.

Paying no mind to his unnecessary introduction, Callan shrugged. If Christmas didn't already know about exactly how he'd helped heal everyone with Lily that night, she sure as hell wasn't about to be the one to tell him. She would leave those blanks for Sander to fill out later, if he really wanted to know. Just then she remembered Sander's crazed run towards Shane. Had he really been gunning for Christmas?

Thoughts for later. Willing or not, Christmas had saved her life. "[color=a2d9ce]Well, more than a few of us would've been in pretty bad shape if you hadn't been there that first night. Me included. But anyway--[/color]" Grateful though she was, it wasn't a topic she wanted to linger on.

Christmas was fairly certain he'd heard something about Benediction being at the hospital a few days ago, and certainly [i]someone[/i] had healed him as he veered his thoughts away--hard--from the memory of wires slicing into his leg. He wasn't sure if he had done much notably other than the brief healing for Sander on the battlefield, in the camera room, and Lily, if Callan was counting that particular encounter. 

All he really remembered from that horrible night was screaming and crying and pain. He was both afraid and ashamed, but he didn't know how to explain it all in the right way, so he remained quiet in the face of someone he wasn't sure he could speak openly with.

Sander sat silently through the entire procedure. He hated to see his roommate hurt himself like that, but…it wasn’t his place. He said it himself: it was Christmas’ choice. So he looked at his feet, and tried not to breathe too much. Even when the coffee scent exploded in the air, and the red on his shoes looked almost desirable.

[color 8493ca]"Oh--um--"[/color] a knock on the door interrupted Christmas's response.

A nurse came in to let them know room 302 of the hospital building was cleared for the two boys' use and that the guards had deposited some items for them there.

[color f7976a]"Um, to a Mr. Lorraine,"[/color] she recited from memory, [color f7976a]"they said your refrigerator and its contents won't be moved until a new suite's been set up."[/color]

[/hider]

[hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ: ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟚   / /  𝟚𝟙𝟝𝟘[/color][/center][hr]
[hider=Heal]
Just as the nurse left, Sander saw the wisps of smoke flickered and paled, the frost slowly found purchase in his flesh. Before the questions could come from either Callan or Christmas, he rose from his seat and began walking toward the door, a mumbled ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder aimed at Callan. He waited for Christmas at the doorway, who followed with a quick glance at Callan and a small wave, then began to walk briskly toward their destination.

Halfway there, the flame fizzled, then died. His breath hitched, and he stopped in his track, bracing one hand against the wall for support as everything slowed and went out of focus around him. [i]Not yet,[/i] he reminded himself with a sharp inhale, chasing the fog out of his mind. The number on the nearby doors was close to what the nurse told them, so it shouldn’t be far. He would manage. Eventually, he did. Number 302 was shiny against the wooden surface, and he squinted as he looked at it, hand fumbling with the knob. It opened inward after a few moments, but Sander remained standing by the doorway, eyes glazing over the room’s interior.

[color 8493ca]"A-are you...um..."[/color] Christmas stepped closer, having maintained a small, steady distance between them the entire walk, fumbling with that heat rising to his shoulders and the back of his neck. It had been there since the walk started.

“[color=cyan]I’m fine.[/color]” -Sander seemingly broke out of his daze, moving inside and out of the way so the blond boy could enter. He waited until his roommate did, before closing the door behind them. Or at least he hoped he did. He stood there for a few more minutes, looking back and forth between his hand and the door knob. Thoughts moved sluggishly through his mind. He needed a shower. But he needed to get rid of the ruined shirts first. The crumbled thoughts clicked, and Sander grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head in a swift motion. He discarded the torn sweater in a pile at his feet, leaving his sneakers there as well.

Christmas looked down at the ground as Sander undressed, focusing on the well-lit, vinyl wood flooring instead.

With that done, he turned and ambled over to a duffle bag, kneeling down while digging through its content –“[color=cyan]Just gonna…[/color]” -He trailed off, piling clothes and a towel into his arm –“[color=cyan]…shower first. That’s okay?[/color]”

[color 8493ca]"Okay,"[/color] he answered softly, noting the presence of only one bed. Luckily, a sofa stretched against two curtained windows nearby. He decided to wait for Sander to finish entering the bathroom, its door open down a short hallway inside the room.

[hr]

Sander fumbled through his routine until he finally decided to give up after spilling copious amount of shampoo down the drain. The scorching water did nothing to help with the temperature, or at least, that what it felt. So he finished up quickly and got dressed, slipping on shorts and a simple T-shirt before exiting the bathroom, towel draped around his shoulders. The feeling of clean skin was exhilarating, but he couldn’t really enjoy it properly when everything in his head felt mushed. He still had things to do though. After sitting down first, of course.

“[color=cyan]We should…uh…fill the forms.[/color]” -He half-mumbled from the spot on the bed. However, he didn’t move, glassy eyes staring at his hands instead.

Christmas had relocated his bag and stuffed manatee to the sofa while Sander showered, and just when the water had been running for too long and he was worried about how unsteady Sander had seemed on the way there, his roommate emerged from the bathroom, smelling of crisp green apples, tart and fresh. He still looked just as bad even with his skin red-hued from the long shower. The fiery glow was now gone from his eyes and that only heightened the fatigue lining his face, when the magic was no longer there to add the menacing touch.

[color 8493ca]"Um...is it...uh..."[/color] he recalled the same unsteady Sander from the forest and the request for blood. [color 8493ca]"Is it...the blood, again?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]It happens.[/color]” -Sander shrugged, the movements of his shoulders barely there. His gaze was still glued to his hands though, and he made no move to back his words up –“[color=cyan]I’ll be fine.[/color]”

[color 8493ca]" 'I'll be here,' "[/color] Christmas repeated, though the words were so faint from where he sat on the sofa that he wasn't sure Sander would hear it. He meant it, though. If Sander needed blood again, he had already decided he would, though hopefully he'd still remember Sander's advice from the observation room. Cut on the outside, and definitely not his right palm anymore. A brief flash of memory concerning Lily and things he wouldn't let go of ran through his mind, just following the sequence of events his thoughts naturally tried to remember. He swallowed and kept his mind on the room change instead.

The forms in question had been left on the table against the opposite wall and Christmas made his way over, picking them up and sighing in relief to find two pens had come with them. He brought them to where Sander sat, but didn't move further, standing nearby with the sheets of paper and the pens in his hands as Sander continued looking down.

The scent of coffee stirred his senses, so Sander shrugged off the incessant craving before turning his head to look at the pair of hands holding sheets of paper. He held out a hand for them, mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ under his breath. The blond boy quickly gave him a form and a pen, which he took, but didn’t work with them right away. Instead, he scooted over, leaving space for Christmas on the bed.

Christmas sat down beside him, tentatively, but with a bit more ease now that he had grown more accustomed to Sander's presence, a bit more comfortable now that his roommate had decided to stay with him--had clearly said so. Christmas believed him. He also recognized the motion as an invitation, even if a tiny part still wondered if he was misinterpreting that. When Sander didn't shoo him away after several seconds, he reached for the attached food tray of the hospital bed, swiveling the long surface towards them and adjusting it so it hovered at the height of their elbows.

Glancing at Sander, he set to writing on the form, his minute penmanship barely legible from afar, with words scratched out as he thought it over.

[i][s]A[/s] [s]r[/s]Room change [s]request.[/s] I'd like to stay with Sander[/i]

He looked up then, wondering if he needed to include last names. But they had recognized the other request with just Lawrence's first name, so he added the last period to the sentence and put his pen down, unsure what to do next other than take care of hygiene and sleep. His hand combed through his hair again on habit, ready to pull the ribbon out before a shower, but stopped as he remembered its new location.

A surface swerved into his field of vision, and Sander placed the sheet on top, body already on semi auto-pilot. He fiddled with the pen for a few seconds, before settling it down the sheet. His eyes glazed over every so often, so he just picked the biggest blank spot on the paper and began writing. The exhaustion did quite a number on his handwriting though, which wasn’t really that comprehensible to begin with. But he had passed the point of caring, merely scratched keywords like [i]change room[/i] and [i]Christmas[/i] on the sheet. Afterward, he leaned back into headboard, letting the pen clatter onto the vinyl floor. 

Christmas peeked at the page, then peered at it because he really couldn't make out the words. But he didn't know if he was allowed to write on Sander's form so he didn't say anything further as the other boy let the pen drop and settled into the sheets.

He slid off the bed, collecting the papers and Sander's pen from where it had rolled a short distance away and put them back on the far table before turning back around. The pile of clothes on the floor looked like it would be trouble if someone tripped on them (namely someone who seemed unsteady and tired), so he turned to Sander, checking if the taller boy was still awake, stretched out as he was now on the bed like a convalescent. In all honesty, he probably was.

[color 8493ca]"D-do you, um...I, uh, I can put your clothes away if--if you want?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]Huh?[/color]” -Sander blinked out of his daze, tired eyes focused on Christmas as the boy spoke –“[color=cyan]Why? They are not—I can’t wear those anymore.[/color]”

[color 8493ca]"O-oh. Um...I, uh, I can move them away if...?"[/color]

“[color=cyan]…Okay.[/color]” -Came the simple response before Sander looked back down at his hands, seemingly lost in some corner of his mind again. But he suddenly looked back up, eyes narrowed -"[color=cyan]But why?[/color]"

Christmas stopped, already reaching down for the ruined sweater and shoes. [color 8493ca]"Um...y-you might trip."[/color]

“[color=cyan]Okay.[/color]” -Sander bobbed his head once –“[color=cyan]You can do…uh…do whatever.[/color]”

[color 8493ca]"Sander?"[/color] the voice was quiet, followed by the rustling of clothes as Christmas piled the large sweater into his arms and hooked his fingers into the backs of the shoes to pick them up.

“[color=cyan]Huh?[/color]”

[color 8493ca]"Thank you."[/color] He smiled as he watched Sander's barely coherent response, his roommate's eyes hardly open at this point, so he was in no danger of being seen. [color 8493ca]"Good night."[/color]

Sander let his head drop slightly, whatever response he managed wasn’t intelligible. 

Christmas turned off the lights after locating the panel of switches, leaving one glowing, but significantly dimmed above the bathroom door. He cleared the clothes away to a corner of the table, pulling the papers closer to the edge of the desk. Another stolen look at the ribbon on Sander's wrist and he headed into the bathroom, finding an absolute mess of shampoo streaks decorating the shower's non-slip floor and water puddling across the tiles. To his right, a pair of pants had been thrown onto the counter beside the sink, topped with a pair of boxers.

The clothes first, but the lower body garments still looked salvageable so he gave them a quick wash in the shower, using some of the spilled shampoo to get the worst of the stains out. The blood wasn't going anywhere, unfortunately, so he did what he could and wrung the clothes from sopping to damp and hung them from the towel rack nearby. He couldn't recall what Sander had done to the bloodstained shirt from the night in the woods, but he left the pants and boxers there anyway in case Sander needed them.

The shampoo on the floor was a bit tougher to deal with, since he had to wipe a few rounds to get rid of all the slippery suds, but with that done he retrieved a change of clothes from the duffel bag outside and a bottle of shampoo, then finally pulled off his clothes and the bandages around his hand and stepped into the shower, keeping it quick in case Sander needed the bathroom again.

It was a good fifteen minutes or so before all that was done and Christmas sighed in relief as he finally exited the hospital's bathroom with a badly wrapped left hand, walking quietly on bare feet over to the sofa to avoid waking Sander. He wasn't sure if his roommate had actually fallen asleep, but it was better to be safe anyway.

“[color=cyan]It’s cold.[/color]” -Sander said suddenly, blue eyes at Christmas from his spot on the bed.

[color 8493ca]"H-huh?"[/color] Christmas stopped, already seated on the sofa and ready to turn in for the night, the day's excitement finally catching up to him completely, from the blood to the argument to the storm of emotions afterwards. He didn't quite understand the comment. [color 8493ca]"I, um, I think there are--there are sheets on the bed? I--sorry if I, um, woke you."[/color]

“[color=cyan]You are…cold.[/color]” -The statement was flat, but it was supposed to be a question. At least in Sander’s mind –“[color=cyan]I don’t mind if you…come.[/color]”

Christmas blinked at him, still not fully--oh.

OH.

He looked down at the ground, unsure how to respond, because that kind of offer was a lot more intimate than he was used to from...anyone, really. It was different from Sander falling asleep on him the night before, different from temporary warmth on Alvin's bed, where he wasn't allowed to spend the night afterwards because Alvin didn't like to share his sleeping space.

[color 8493ca]"...Really?"[/color] he looked at Sander warily, like the offer might be a joke that he was the punch line for.

“[color=cyan]Yeah.[/color]” -Sander nodded sheepishly, once again scooting over and shifting slightly to move the sheet out from under him –“[color=cyan]It’s warmer…with you…’m cold[/color].”

The heat tickled his shoulders and the back of his neck again, and Christmas didn't respond for several seconds as he breathed in and out carefully, convincing his heartbeat to stay steady.

He approached the side of the bed, one hand on the mattress and eyes running over the small space Sander had made for him there.

[color 8493ca]"Really?"[/color] he asked again, looking at Sander's half-lidded eyes and tired face. He wanted it, too, the heat of a person beside him, the comfort of their presence, but of all people to ask, Sander was insisting on him. It was strange to him, something like this coming without strings. Or were there strings? And what about the ones he was trying so hard to avoid pulling? Thoughts clawed at each other in his mind, but his hand on the mattress clutched it a bit harder to drive them away.

“[color=cyan]Cold…[/color]” -Sander only mumbled, reaching out with his left hand to grab Christmas’ wrist and gave it a slight tug, before letting the arm falling back into his side of the bed. The blond boy was warmer than him now. 

[color 8493ca]"San--"[/color] he looked at the ribbon wrapped around Sander's wrist again, on the clammy hand that had reached out to his. [i]Try.[/i] So he breathed in deep of the green apple scent and crawled onto the bed and under the covers, reaching out for Sander's hand in return. It had been so warm the entire time he had needed it, and now it was like he had used up all that strength and Sander was paying the price. It wasn't a sensible thought, but he felt responsible all the same. Or maybe that was too vain, to think he mattered to that degree. But he still wanted to be [i]here[/i]. So much all of a sudden, but so aware it wasn't what some selfish part of him was hoping for.

Sander was simply [i]so nice[/i] to him it hurt. A similar feeling to a person he didn't want to think about. Whatever the reason he was afraid to acknowledge, he wrapped both hands around Sander's cold one, bringing it up to his chest and holding it there, hoping his paltry body's heat would help.

The heat drew Sander in as his limbs grew heavy. He thought of something to say and his mind helpfully supplied the words, but he was walking on quicksand, the darkness swallowed him up faster than he thought. So he just gave the blond boy’s hand a quick squeeze instead, before drifting off into a deep sleep.

Christmas watched his resting roommate for a moment longer before closing his eyes, holding on to the hand that was warming up slowly between his.
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[center][h3][color=a2d9ce]『ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕟』[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/2qb8wgw.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=silver]𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥   / /   ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℂ: ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝟛𝟘𝟚   / /  𝟚𝟚𝟛𝟝[/color][/center][hr]
Ahh, solitude at last. Left alone in the room, Callan was finally able to focus on [i]the crippling exhaustion that had been nagging at the back of her head ever since she woke up in Christmas's boyfriend's arms with an irate Kusari just a few feet away.[/i] Boy, now that she thought it all through like that, her night [i]really[/i] hadn't ended at all like she thought it would. She glanced around at all the beds. The doctor's words from earlier were a distant echo as she pulled back the sheets and allowed herself to collapse onto the nearest one. Bloodstains and rules be damned, she couldn't honestly foresee herself making the walk back to her suite in this condition. 

Besides, if she waited long enough, maybe she could avoid a repeat of that day she ran into Siena after gutting Kusari. Once again, she was covered in [i]someone else's[/i] blood. Joy. The thoughts she'd been trying to keep at bay since her run in with Lawrence threatening to creep back into the forefront of her mind. Fortunately, fatigue won that race. Curled up under the sheets, her eyes shut and sleep claimed her. 

Not long after, she was awoken by a rough shove. A spindly tall nurse with a dirty blonde bun jumped back in alarm as Callan's eyes snapped open, crashing into two other nurses behind her with a loud [color=f7976a]"Eep!"[/color]

[color=f7976a]"We--we need to clean the sheets and prep the bed."[/color]

Callan narrowed her eyes and frowned, eliciting another frightened look from the nurse. As Callan slowly sat up, the woman seemed to regain some composure. [color=f7976a]"You aren't injured--the doctor said the healer took care of you. So you have to leave. Now,"[/color] she said needlessly, though with more conviction.

[color a2d9ce]"Yeah, yeah. I'm moving,"[/color] Callan muttered irritably. Glancing around the room, she noted that all the beds were still empty. It didn't seem like they were going to be filled anytime soon, but whatever. She'd didn't fancy getting shocked again because some doctor was in a bad mood. [color a2d9ce]"What time is it?"[/color]

[color=f7976a]"2235,"[/color] the nurse said curtly.

[color a2d9ca]"Oh man,"[/color] she sighed, [color a2d9ca]"Alright. Thanks."[/color] Everyone back at her dorm might be asleep by now. Hopefully someone fixed their door. The nurses followed her out of the room and partway down the hall. Just before nearing the front doors, she stopped. Room 302. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the nurses weren't looking, she quickly changed directions, heading for the elevator.

She should run and grab Sander's phone number real quick. Christmas's, too. If they were still awake, that is. No harm in checking. 

The elevator door slid open to a high pitched chime and she stepped out. The door to their room was cracked open just barely. Surely they would've shut it if they wanted privacy. But, of course, that didn't mean she was about to barge right in. Better knock first, just to be safe.

Her knuckles hit the door once and she blinked in horror as it creaked wide open. Too hard. As soon as she overcame the initial shock, her hand quickly moved down to the doorknob, ready to swing the door back to its original position. Maybe they wouldn't no--

--tice.

Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' and she froze just long enough to take in the scene. How cute. How nice. How-- the door swung shut-- none of her business. Face burning at the thought of how embarrassing that would've been if either of them had woken up and seen her, she speed walked back over to the elevator, punching the button so quickly she heard an unpleasant crunch. She winced as the lighted button went dim. Thankfully, the doors still slid open, allowing her to rush inside. With a relieved sigh, she slumped against the wall of the elevator.

What a day this was turning out to be....
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