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The world around her is a cacophony of noise, their voices blending together in a screaming match about a subject she cannot even remember at this point. Which would be strange if it wasn’t such a common occurrence nowadays. But it seems that no matter what she does, how well she behaves. Vace always finds a reason to raise his voice at her.
She should know better, a voice in the back of her mind tells her, as she closes in on her. Cold eyes that should be looking at her lovingly staring down at her with nothing short of fury held within. She can feel her mouth forming words, can hear her voice shouting something back at him in a display of defiance, a rarity these days, but she can’t make out the words. Vace doesn’t seem to have any such troubles, however, judging by the snarl he makes, the way his eyes narrows and the hand that suddenly has her throat in a literal iron grip.
His voice is similarly blurry, oddly muffled. But she doesn’t need to hear it to know its intent. That she’s made a mistake, and that she’s going to pay dearly for it. Her fingers grasp at the metal limb, a fruitless attempt at freeing herself even as she feels her lungs burn and the cartilage in her throat strain underneath the pressure, until finally something gives away with a sickening sound.
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Anemone wakes with a start, one of her hands flying to her throat as she pushes herself into a sitting position with the other. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps, like a drowning woman finally getting to taste air again.
It takes her a solid minute of sitting there, simply getting her breathing back under control, before it starts to settle into silent sobs instead. The feeling of metal against her skin is lingering all too clearly, even now that she starts to recognize the nightmare for what it was. For what it has been for the last three years.
There’s a wetness against her cheeks, and she grits her teeth, wiping furiously at the tears with her free arm. Hating how much power these memories still hold over her. Even now that she’s moved on and rekindled her old relationship with Sol, despite the initial difficulties of accepting that she would have to share them, and with whom.
The thought makes her turn to look down at the open space beside her on sizeable bed. Easily enough for two people, though neither is currently there to occupy it. And it makes sense, in a way, all things considered. But that doesn’t help with the hopeless ball of fear and loneliness in her chest, nor with the tears that still burn with the threat of welling back up in her eyes.
She pulls the blanket up and around her, like a child might in a feeble attempt at keeping the darkness at bay. Normally, Anemone would simply try to go back to sleep, despite knowing that more of the same would be likely to await her there, or to throw herself into doing something constructive instead. But she has slept perhaps six hours over the last seventy-two, and simply the thought of attempting either makes her feel almost nauseous.
But staying like this. Alone, with her thoughts and the ghosts of the past so close by, is hardly a better option.
It takes Anemone far more effort and willpower than she wants to admit to push herself off the bed and onto her feet. Even such a simple act bringing a wave of dizziness strong enough to make her waver for a moment, but only for a moment, before she wills herself into taking a step away from the bed, and then another, until the only sound in the house is her barely audible footsteps against the cold floor.
It is only when she passes by a window that she pauses. Partially to grimace at how much of an absolute mess the person peering back at her from the reflection in the glass is. Dark shadows beneath eyes that look like she’s just crawled out of an open grave (which kind of feels appropriate in a manner) and the less said about the state of her hair, the better.
But most of it is because of the view that greets her of the outside. Or rather, the lack thereof. The colony has grown over time. There are more houses, more windows with softly glowing lights streaming from their insides, a few lamps having been set up to illuminate the paths snaking from one place to another. And of course there’s the Vertumnan flora’s bioluminescence in the distance. None of which do very much against the oppressive darkness that feels like it’s threatening to swallow her up.
Glow season.
Granted, it had been six years now since the last attack, though that last one had hardly counted, thanks to Sol’s efforts at bridging the gap between the gardeners and humanity. And over the years, Glow season had become little more than an eerie inconvenience that nobody really seemed to know how to handle all that well. Because a period of darkness this long did, despite the colony’s best efforts at upholding a sort of day/night cycle, always eventually completely fuck up everyone’s sleep schedules. It would work fine for the first two thirds of the season or so. Before everything invariably fell apart and people would just resort to working in shifts to keep everything open and operating around the clock.
Which wouldn’t be so much of a problem in itself, except Sol had volunteered to help Rex keep the bar open tonight, and so Anemone had woken up alone. Unable to seek out her lover’s embrace for the warmth and comfort that she so desperately needed to keep the nightmares at bay.
There is a chill creeping up her spine, urging her to turn her eyes away from the window and back towards her intended destination. With the lack of sunlight from Glow, and the chill of Quiet right around the corner, standing in the hallway with bare feet, dressed in shorts and an old t-shirt isn’t a terribly pleasant experience, protective blanket cape or not. If anything, focusing on the darkness of the season only serves to make the ghosts more real, almost tangible, and she swear she can feel the whisper of metal against her skin again. Though it might just be the sleep deprivation causing it.
She tries not to think about it too much.
It doesn’t take Anemone many moments to cross the final distance to the living room, her steps more hurried than she’d like to admit, and for reasons she would never. Though now that she’s here, she finds herself somewhat at a loss on how to go about the next step.
She’s stopped in front of the couch, staring down at the figure sprawled out and sleeping on it. His purple skin an almost luminescent pastel in the weak light from outside, and from the glow of a data cube in standby mode on the nearby table. The next few moments passes agonizingly slowly, with Anemone chewing on her lip as she tries to think of how to handle this in a manner that doesn’t make her look as weak and pathetic as she feels.
If she had arrived earlier, caught Sym watching a movie or something, she could’ve just slid down on the couch next to him, feigning interest or boredom for a while, long enough to chase the nightmares away, or for Sol to come back home. But that is unfortunately not an option that is being offered tonight. And she is quite frankly too exhausted to think of any convoluted excuse that might let her save face.
So she swallows her pride, leans down to put a hand on one of his shoulders and gives it a gentle shake. “Sym? Are you awake?”
She could kick herself for that last part, because he’s obviously not. But Symbiosis is also a light sleeper and it doesn’t take much before his eyes open ever so slightly, with slivers of silver peering up at her, unfocused and confused and half hidden by a mess of dark hair.
“-nemone…?”
Warmth rises to her cheeks from embarrassment as she is suddenly painfully aware of how this is all going to sound, even as the Gardener is visibly struggling to decide on whether to stay awake or if this is just some figment of imagination that is alright to ignore in favor of catching up on much needed sleep. But as much as Anemone would like to think of a better phrasing, she needs to do this before he loses that battle.
And maybe Sym won’t think less of her for it. Because she’s pretty sure that he has never been a little piece of coding asking the Overseer to check under his bed for monsters, so maybe this won’t sound as silly to him as it does in her head.
She still averts her eyes a bit though, because she’s twenty-five and this is almost physically painful.
“I… had a nightmare. A bad one. Would you mind if I slept here tonight?”
To Sym’s credit, he does look marginally more awake now, apparently having decided that Anemone is actually real and needs some sort of addressing. Even though he still looks thoroughly confused.
“Here?”
“Yeah” Her response is a bit shorter than it should be, and it might be because he’s still half asleep, but the look that the Gardener gives her is that of someone trying to add two and two together and coming up with any number but four. It would be kind of funny, actually, if the situation were another.
“Alright…” He hides a yawn with one hand, and the reason for his confusion becomes apparent in the next moment as the gardener starts to push himself up from the couch, having thoroughly misinterpreted the intention behind her request. “-one moment.”
Sym is, however, stopped short by Anemone’s hand being back on his shoulder before he’s gotten anywhere near even sitting up, and long before she’s had a moment to think about the gesture. A motion which earns her another befuddled, if slightly more awake look, and even more embarrassed heat rising on her face.
“No, not like that, I mean-“And she fumbles with the words for a second before settling on a sigh that’s equal parts exhausted and defeated, and even then the next few words come out horribly unsteady. “I don’t want to be alone tonight…”
And that is where any traces of sleepiness dissipates from the Gardener’s eyes, as though her words had been a magic incantation. Replaced instead by concern and an underlying unease, simply because there had been a reason he’d opted for the couch instead of simply sharing the bed with her.
For three years after the peace deal, she’d cursed his name, pointedly refused to go anywhere near him, his mere presence in the colony a cause of fierce contention. Then, she’d left Vace, and the hatred had simmered down into quiet resentment, only gradually starting to abate once Anemone had started to rekindle her relationship with Sol; to end up with some semblance of acceptance roughly a year ago when she had come to terms with the fact that Sol wasn’t going to leave their weird alien boyfriend and were, in fact, a package deal of sorts.
And to his credit, Sym has been accommodating to his best ability. Giving her plenty of space when she’d needed it, always seeming to have something to do in another room when Sol wasn’t around and she wasn’t comfortable being alone around him just yet. Over time, there had been less of a need for it, as they’d grown used to one another, sharing little jokes and smiles every once in a while.
But one unspoken rule had remained. A silent agreement between them that when Sol didn’t spend the night at home, for whatever reason, and wasn’t there to be the barrier in the middle, they’d seek their rest in separate places. Sometimes this meant that Anemone would take the couch, but more often than not it was Sym who surrendered the bed with the excuse of being overdue for a backup, or intending to watch a movie until he eventually passed out, as had been the case tonight.
Except this time, Anemone had shown up to take a metaphorical sledgehammer to that one rule. Something they both know she wouldn’t do without a damn good reason.
“Did something happen?” Sym’s words are soft, tentative, as he moves himself backwards until he’s pressing against the backrest of the couch to a degree that really doesn’t look all that comfortable. “I could go and fetch Sol, if it would make you feel more at ease.”
And Anemone appreciates the offer, for a moment even considers it. Because Sym, while somewhat disheveled, doesn’t look like he has missed several days of sleep and probably wouldn’t struggle with just making it to the bar without getting dizzy. Most importantly, he’d not run the very real risk of breaking down in a panic attack if Vace turned out to be there with his following of “friends”.
But it would cause problems for Sol, and Rex, and she’s feeling terrible enough already for waking Sym up for the sake of a bad dream. (Only, it wasn’t just one bad dream, and Anemone can honestly no longer remember when she last had a good night’s rest.) So her response is an appreciative little smile as she sits down next to him on the cushions, though her eyes still refuse to meet his for longer than a moment. “I don’t want to bother Sol, they’re- They’re working so hard, and I just-“
“I just need a bit of sleep.” She finishes, blue eyes finally seeking to meet silver in a silent plea to not make this much more difficult than it already is for her. “Is that alright?”
It’s a bit of a silly question, really, because he’s already made room for her. But she still waits until he nods and responds with a soft “Of course.” Before she sinks down the rest of the way, pulling the blanket up to cover both of them and surprises him by wrapping an arm around his midsection.
She can feel him freeze for a second, as she draws in close and finds that they fit quite well against one another, against all odds. Particularly, as she rests her head against him, she can hear his heartbeat, can vaguely make out the pulse. Warm and alive, which is a nice change from the chill of the season, or the lingering sensation of metal that still haunts her skin.
Eventually, he seems to think it fair to wrap an arm around her in turn. Mostly because his options are rather limited, trapped as he is between her and the backrest.
They stay like that for a few minutes, together in silence, before he opts to voice the next, logical question. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The response she offers is a sound of displeasure, like she would much prefer to pretend that none of it matters anymore. But she’s more or less got the embodiment of curiosity lying next to her, and perhaps she owes him a little bit more of an explanation. “It’s just- It’s a lot right now. You know? Like… everything is coming back at the worst time. This stupid season and the memories and I don’t even get to sleep properly just ‘cause I ran into Vace the other day.”
“Mhm...” She can feel him tense a little at the mention of the name. And while Anemone doubts that Sym would actually pick a fight with anyone in the colony at this point, Vace would probably be the most likely candidate if it came down to it. It’s not like the former soldier hasn’t taken every opportunity to earn it over the past six years. “Would you like me to speak to him? I could request that he keep his distance and give you some space.”
She pushes away just enough so that she can look up at him, to see the genuine concern in his eyes, even as she raises an eyebrow to meet him with a doubtful look. “Sym, no offense. But he would break you like a twig.” And she wishes that wasn’t the case, but Vace is a trained soldier, and Sym is, well… Sym.
“Do you have so little faith in me?” There is a lightheartedness to his tone though, something theatrical about the way he looks at her with just a hint of a smile. “Why, I am hurt.”
And she plays along with a quirk of her lips, settling back to rest against him. “I never said that. But given that I had to help you open that jar just yesterday-“
“Just a simple case of faulty construction.”
“Mhm…” And her smile grows into a smirk because he has just handed her the perfect argument. “Speaking of, remind me why you are banned from the construction crew again?”
He tenses, huffs slightly with annoyance that isn’t entirely playful anymore. And while Anemone isn’t in a good spot to see his face any longer, she has no doubts that his features are set in what can only be described as a pout. “That.” He starts. “Was a simple mistake; All I did was underestimate the weight of a box, and then overcorrect just a little bit. Really, people are overreacti-“
“Sym, you fell down three stories of scaffolding.”
“Yes, but-“
“And landed on a tool shelf full of sharp things.”
“And I lived.” He casually interjects, as if the fact that Rex had nearly broken down their front door to get him to the healing vat in time had been little more than a bothersome detail. And against better knowing, Anemone can’t help but snicker at his chipper tone. She certainly hadn’t found it funny back then, but there is something about Sym’s view on his own mortality that has taken the edge off the memory faster than it really should have.
“Don’t actually do anything stupid though.” She mumbles against the fabric of his shirt, which is rewarded with a soft sound of agreement from the Gardener.
Somehow, it actually does make her feel a bit better about all of this though. About needing someone to lean on for a few hours. The earlier feeling of being pathetic for coming here having been dispelled by the reminder that the graceful idiot next to her isn’t exactly flawless either.
Sneaky bastard.
A few minutes passes, and Anemone is starting to feel the alluring pull of sleep calling to her again, one that she is both eager and terrified to embrace. Perhaps it is fortunate then, that that is the point where the man next to her chooses to speak up again, softly, almost as if worried that she will actually answer.
“Anemo-“
“Nem.” She corrects, and she can feel him tense for just a moment.
“Nem.” He repeats, carefully, as if she’s just handed him something frail and precious. Which makes her brow furrow in confusion until she realizes just how new the nickname sounds, coming from him. That she has broken down a second unspoken barrier between them without even realizing that it was there in the first place. “If I may be so bold, could I ask you something deeply personal?”
The question brings a sharp chill to her heart, because there’s no way that can be good. All things considered tonight, what could he ask of her that can be pleasant? Thoughts race thorough her head, guessing at what the worst case scenario might be. Would it be about Vace? About the fact that she refused to accept Sym’s mere presence for so long? Does he wonder if she blames him for all the pain and death still?
The seconds tick by, painfully long before she sighs, steels herself. ‘Cause as much as she would rather just go back to being cozy, perhaps she does owe him this much. “Y- yeah?”
“May I touch your scales?”
“What?” The word is out of her mouth before she can even think about it, and Nem pulls back to get a proper look at him once more, to meet silver eyes that are slightly widened in a look of someone thinking that they’ve just made a terrible mistake.
“I’m sorry.” He starts, his cheeks blushing with a hue that is more blue than purple. “It was not my intention to overstep.”
And Anemone is stunned, because that was certainly not the question she had expected; but, perhaps she should have, at some point at least. And yes, it is a strange request, but her surprise gives way to mirth and disbelief, drawing a soft laugh from her that only serves to paint a confused look on the gardener’s features. Which honestly makes it all the funnier. “My scales? That’s it?”
“I-“ He seems to have some trouble making sense of her reaction. Though given the lack of anger or outrage, Sym does seem to find it safe to pursue the topic. “If you don’t mind.” He muses. “I’ve been wondering what sort of texture they might have for a while now, but it seemed inappropriate to ask at the time.”
It draws another soft chuckle from her, because she’d almost forgotten who she was dealing with for a while. But looking into his eyes she sees no traces of ulterior motives. Only an earnest curiosity that is so typical of him. “Alright then.” She murmurs as she lies back down again, resting her cheek against the warmth of his neck. “I suppose that’s fine.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” He sounds so delighted that she can’t help but smile, easily picturing the way his eyes seems to light up when he’s faced with the prospect of something new and exciting.
And it doesn’t take many moments before she feels his fingers against the scales on her chin. A gentle caress that traces down the side of her neck and across the carpet of scales that makes out the back of it. The neckline of her shirt doesn’t leave all that much exposed, and Sym doesn’t press for more than what is offered. Though he does run his fingers over the patch more than once. Testing the texture against the surface of his nails, the sides. Soft and gentle touches repeating the motion to dedicate the feeling to memory.
It’s oddly relaxing. Soothing even. The eager fascination with which he treats her scars bringing back memories of the time back when she’d been excited to see every scale grow in, back before they were too plentiful and too many haunted her in a way that weren’t strictly physical.
“Wonderful.” She can hear him whisper, captivated. “Such an odd texture, almost like little gemstones-“ And his voice keeps at it, even as she finally starts to doze off. His gentle touch and words leading her down the path to dreams that starts off with a scratched knee under the warm light of Dust; before she’s off to answer one of Hal’s quizzes in school, scribbling “dragon” on the question of what she wants to be when she grows up, and then hurriedly leaping straight through the door, and running to the other end of the colony to join the others at the sportsball court.
For the first time in weeks, Anemone’s rest is peaceful, and her dreams filled with happy nonsense.
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“Nem?”
“Mrgh?”
“Are you awake?”
Some part of her brain rationalizes that she probably deserves that one. And given that she doesn’t feel a sudden and irresistible urge to smother Sym with a pillow, she’s probably been out for more than a few hours at this point anyway. Still, her answer to his question is an unmistakably grumpy “No.”
Not that he seems to pay it much heed. Because he answers in turn with a tone that’s so full of smiles and excitement that she almost reconsiders not reaching for the pillow. “Look.”
And she kind of has to open her eyes then, first to glare up at the alien who looks unfairly awake and chipper. And then to turn her head to actually see what’s caught Sym’s attention.
Which she instantly regrets, as he has to blink and squint against the bright light that greets her.
Wait, what?
It takes her a moment before she can actually take in the sight of pale sunlight streaming in through the window, and another before she can process the meaning of it.
“Happy new year.” Sym whispers, and Anemone can actually forgive him for waking her then. The first daylight of Quiet can be measured in mere minutes before the sun slips back below the horizon, and she would have slept right through it.
Though brief, the sight of the sun lifts a huge weight off her shoulders. A sign of normalcy returning to the colony for another year. And even as the sun starts to set again and the darkness creeps back in, Anemone’s heart remains so much lighter.
She’s made it through another Glow.
And, she thinks as she settles back down for another five or fifty minutes, trapping a softly protesting Sym in place again, maybe the next one won’t be as bad.