23. Zyran #2
Esperr stands there, still fighting with everything she’s got. The man’s face doesn’t clear; it just stays the same outline of someone who acts like Esperr belongs to him.
I squint my eyes, trying to get a better look at him, feeling like I’ve seen that shape of a man before.
Then she looks at me. It’s just for a second, and suddenly across all that impossible distance she looks directly at me, her eyes?—
The shot is quiet this time.
And that’s the worst part, the fact that it’s so quiet, like the sound got lost somewhere between him and her.
All I see is her going still, and it’s that specific terrible stillness, and the man standing over her turns slowly toward me like he’s only now just noticing that I’m here.
He raises the gun towards her head, a smiling pulling at the corner of his mouth and then?—
I gasp awake, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
Her hand is on my shoulder; it’s the first thing that I register—not the apartment, not the room being basically pitch black, or the fact that I’m drenched in sweat on Esperr’s couch.
It’s her hand, the warmth, pressing firm and certain, like she’s been trying to bring me back for longer than a second.
I grab her wrist, not hard, but it’s a reflex of a man whose body makes decisions before his brain catches up. And I hate that I feel her go still under my grip, and I release her immediately, both hands going up, chest still heaving.
“Hey,” her voice is quiet, low, the kind of voice people use in the dark when they’re trying not to startle something. “You’re okay, Zyran, you’re here… you’re okay.”
I frown, gaze snapping to hers.
Esperr’s crouched next to the couch, close enough that I can see her face in the dim flicker of the lamp.
Her hair is tucked behind her ears and thrown over her shoulder, her eyes wide and awake and completely steady.
And it’s not a performance either; she’s calm, and that only comes from someone who has seen worse than a man having a nightmare.
What surprises me is when she reaches for my hand, ignoring all the red flags that I might freak out. It catches me off guard, and it’s not from the touch itself but the deliberateness of it. She doesn’t brush against me accidentally or find some practical reason for it.
Esperr just reaches across the dark and sets her hand over mine where it’s resting on my knee, her fingers curling slightly, and then she looks at the brick wall instead of me. It’s almost like she needs somewhere else to put her eyes on for what she’s about to say.
“My dad used to whistle,” she whispers. “Not songs, just… whatever was in his head. It used to drive my mom insane.”
The corner of my mouth moves before I can stop it.
“She’d tell him to stop, trying her best not to keel over laughing, and he’d get quieter for about thirty seconds.
Then he would start all over again; it was like he couldn’t help it.
” Something in her voice shifts, softening at the edges, a smile forming on her mouth.
“I used to fall asleep to it. I didn’t realize I was doing it until it was gone, and I couldn’t sleep right for—” She stops, swallowing. “It’s been a long time.”
I don’t have to ask questions to know why she’s talking like that. Used to, was, until it was gone.
And as I look at her profile in the dim light, she’s still watching the window, the faint outline of snow covering the glass. Her hand is still over mine, and I don’t think she’s noticed she’s been holding on a little tighter.
I turn my hand slowly, letting her fingers settle between mine properly. It’s like the moment her hand forms into mine, she has this calmness wash over her.
“My brother Raiden got taken,” I found myself whispering. “Little over a year ago… it was my fault. I was supposed to—” my voice cracked, and for a second I had to stop. “I made a call, and it was the wrong one. And he paid for it.”
Esperr finally turns to look at me, eyes searching mine. “Is he?—”
“He’s home.” I hold her gaze. “He’s home… but there was a stretch where I didn’t know if he would be.”
She looks at me for a long moment in the dark, the girl who speaks about her parents in the past tense and wishes she could fall asleep to whistling that no longer exists.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be.”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue but stops and gives me a sad smile. It’s just the corner of her mouth that lifts, but it's enough for me. Her gaze drops to our connected hands, and I expect her to let go, but instead she squeezes it and looks back up at me.
“So, what’s he like?” she asks, clearing her throat. “Raiden.”
I smile, loving that she’s asking about my brother. “Stubborn, thinks he’s funnier than he really is. But he would do anything for the people he loves, though he tries to pretend he wouldn’t,” I pause, and then add, “good man, better than me.”
She tilts her head slightly, “that’s a load of shit.”
I blink, surprised all of a sudden that she was quick with her comeback. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you showed up in a snowstorm with enough food to last a week at least,” she says, shifting slightly, her shoulder pressing into the couch cushion.
“I know you cooked dinner and didn’t make me feel weird about hiding in my room for an hour.
I know you just told me your brother got taken because of something you think you did wrong, but you also made sure to tell me that he was safe and at home.
” Esperr says all that without looking at me, her eyes focused on the window.
“You know that doesn’t make me a good man.”
“No,” she agrees, shrugging. “But it’s not like it wasn’t nothing either.”
I look at the particular stillness she has when she’s saying something that she means but doesn’t want to be asked questions.
So I don’t say anything; I just sit there, my thumb rubbing circles into her hand, as if it were the most natural thing.
“Tell me something else,” I finally said, wanting to hear her talk.
“About what?”
“Anything.” I could listen to her read a damn magazine and would be perfectly happy with that.
She’s quiet for a moment, looking back at the hall and then the window; this stillness surrounds her.
“My mom used to burn everything she cooked,” she whispers eventually.
“Literally everything. It didn’t matter what it was or how simple—toast or pasta.
She’d get distracted and forget, then act completely unbothered when it came out wrong.
But you know, my dad, he ate every single bite.
Every time, and he never complained once. ”
Esperr chuckles under her breath as she reminisces. I watch her the entire time, seeing the way every emotion passes through her.
“He sounds like a good man,” I tell her.
She’s quiet for a second before muttering, “Yeah, he was.”
I hate that word—‘was’. I don’t know what happened, but if I had one single wish, it would be to bring them back for her.
Esperr’s head tips back against the couch beside me, her eyes half closed now. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I; eventually her eyelids drift closed.
“I’m… I’m not going to sleep… just… resting my eyes,” she mumbles.
I smile, counting just about a minute before she’s asleep, and for a while after that I just watch her.
The way her breathing evens out completely, her face losing the last of the tension she carries when she’s awake—the guardedness, the careful management of what she lets show.
It’s all gone, and now it’s just her, quiet and unguarded in the dark, with her hand still loosely around mine like she forgot to let go.
I think about the way she spoke in past tense and how she probably thought I didn’t notice; her father, who used to whistle made-up songs until he was buried, and the woman who burned food but smiled while doing so.
I think about what it costs a person to carry so much hurt and do it all alone.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, watching her, before I untangle my hand from hers and slowly stand. She doesn’t stir as I reach down and slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Lifting her in one motion, she turns her face into my chest without waking.
I move down the hall and into her bedroom—it’s dark, and the bed is still a mess from where she had been lying on it earlier. Setting her down as carefully as I can manage, she settles into the pillow with a small exhale, her hands curling under her cheek.
I know I should go back to the couch—I need to go back.
But I’m weak, and before I know exactly what I’m doing, I pull the blanket over her instead and then lie down on top of it.
My back settles into the mattress, one arm behind my head and the other resting on my chest. It’s not two seconds later that she’s shifting towards me, placing her head on my shoulder.
I’m out in seconds.