Chapter 19 #2
My lifestone is warm against my skin. If I were to pull it out right now, it’d be glowing. “I can try.”
The rest of the day passes in lazy stretches of Frog Smasher and naps and one single attempt to discuss the Legion’s next move on Ran Doc Min, which quickly fizzles to silence.
Breakfast is a round of PPMs, lunch is a round of PPMs, and dinner is a round of PPMs, pulled from a drawer in The Bargainer’s small kitchen (cozy but outdated, much like the rest of the ship) and served alongside a vat of Jester’s sour gummies.
He offers me the tub, and despite Lament’s warning, I’m curious.
If I was by myself, I’d probably lick the candy first to test its potency, but hell if I’m going to do something so cowardly with everyone (ahem, Lament) watching.
Anyway, licking anything right now seems like the opposite of a good idea, given Vera is back on her quest to spot even the smallest indication that Lament and I are …
you know … possibly maybe thinking about one day kissing each other.
Which we aren’t. I mean, I’m not. Even if thinking about how we’re not kissing makes me suddenly aware that I couldn’t kiss Lament even if I wanted to. (WHICH I DON’T.)
I pop the entire candy into my mouth.
At first, nothing. The gummy is lemon-flavored, chewy enough that I really have to work at it. Sour, but not melt-your-tongue-off sour.
I’m about to ask what the big deal is. Then: agony.
It’s like someone’s taken pliers to my jaw and crunched.
I spit-project the offending candy onto the floor, only to find myself down on the floor beside it, coughing and drooling in a haze of sour gummy anguish.
My saliva glands are seizing painfully, and I have the wild thought that I might actually go blind from the burn. The Sixers are rolling in laughter.
“How—?” I try to ask Jester around my swollen tongue. “How do you enjoy these?”
He just grins and pops a gummy into his mouth.
When I’m finally able to stand again, I limp over and flop onto the love seat beside Lament. “Don’t,” I say.
He’s not even trying to hide his mirth. “I did warn you.”
“Has my tongue disintegrated?”
“Let me see.” He grips my jaw lightly with the pads of his fingers, turning my head this way and that. The contact sends a shiver up my spine. I can hear the nervous sound of my swallow.
Lament releases me. “The organ in question remains intact.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly certain, yes.”
“Maybe you’d like to check again? You know, just in case?”
“Are you propositioning me?”
Lament’s delivery is so deadpan I actually have to stop myself from spluttering out a horrified noofcoursenotwhywouldyouthinkthat? I catch myself with my mouth open. And then I just blush. “I’m going to help Vera clean up,” I grumble.
Lament’s grin is roguish. “You do that.”
Cleaning up really just means tossing the cardboard PPM boxes into the incinerator, but it gives me a chance to recover from this nebulous feeling of concern-slash-confusion that’s been hanging around me ever since Lament emerged from Illiviamona’s medical room this morning.
Besides, being shoulder to shoulder with Vera reminds me that Lament isn’t the only person I owe an apology. “Vera, hey.”
She bumps the incinerator door closed with her hip. “Hey.”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know”—I rush on before I lose the nerve—“I should have told you about Venthros being my home planet. The way you found out wasn’t fair. I understand if you’re upset.”
“Upset?” She brushes her hands on her pants.
“Keller, no. I’m concerned. You just learned a poisonous gas is about to overtake your planet.
I know you said you left Venthros on bad terms, but this …
I mean, it’s still your home, right?” When I don’t immediately reply, she continues, “You don’t have to answer that.
Your past is your own, okay? You can tell us about it when you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”
“I told Lament,” I say, and then wonder why the hell I just admitted that.
Vera’s lip curls in a slow smile. “You two seem to be getting along.”
I glance through the narrow kitchen archway over to where Lament is sitting on our shared love seat. Jester won the Frog Smasher competition (to no one’s apparent surprise), so tonight we’ll be watching Camp. “Yeah. I guess we are.”
Vera beams.
“Who’s making popcorn?” Toph asks from the other room.
“You are,” Avi replies, “since you’re biggest.”
“What does being biggest have to do with anything?”
“It will cost you less energy. Like a dinosaur.”
“Avi, dear,” Youvu Hum starts gently, “I’m not really sure that’s how it works.”
“You should make the popcorn,” Toph rejoins, pointing a thick finger at Avi, “since you lost Frog Smasher.”
“I’m a child. I’m not allowed to handle sharp objects.”
“You’re a pyrotechnician. You handle explosives. And making popcorn doesn’t involve sharp objects.”
“The way I make popcorn does.”
“You know what,” Vera interjects from the kitchen, “I’ll handle the popcorn.”
I finish disposing of the PPMs while Jester pulls up the documentary, then claim my spot on the love seat beside Lament, trying to choose a position that’s neither too obviously close nor too awkwardly distant.
Which should not be a challenge, seeing as there are literally two available cushions, but I’m nothing if not an overthinker.
Lament, for his part, is already settled, his feet kicked up onto an ottoman, legs crossed at the ankle.
His pants cover his ankles, and he’s wearing socks, which makes me wonder if there are scars on his feet.
I want to tell him it doesn’t matter if there are.
I want to tell him I think he’s beautiful.
A little tired-looking, yes. A little gray from all the recent events. But hell, he still looks good. Effortless in his skin. Carelessly handsome. The bones in his wrist, his slender fingers, the shadow of his throat …
“You’re staring,” Lament mumbles.
I hastily drop my eyes. “I wasn’t.”
“Liar.” The others are engaged in conversation. No one (except probably Vera) is paying us any attention. Still, he drops his voice when he adds, “I know what you were thinking.”
My heart ratchets. “You do?”
“The bottle is in my bag.”
My mind scrambles. I have no idea what he means. Then I remember. “Your pain medicine?”
He nods.
“Want me to get it for you?”
“I … yes. If you could.”
I find the bottle in a small pack next to the couch, twist it open, and shake out one of the capsules.
Then—because I don’t quite trust Lament not to drop it, and not because I want an excuse to touch him—I take his wrist and turn his hand upward so I can set the medicine into his open palm.
“There.” I try to deftly release his wrist, but my fingers sort of slide away, brushing his skin as they go.
The room smells like butter and burnt popcorn.
I’m aware of someone flipping off the lights.
The movie starts and treats us to a rather grotesque montage of Rogue Lueman’s victims, but the images hardly register, because I’m watching Lament as he tosses the pill back and swallows it dry.
And then I just … keep watching. You know.
In case he has a reaction to the medicine.
Or needs reassurance. Or comfort. Or … yeah.
The minutes tick by, but the pill doesn’t seem to change much. Lament slips down the couch a little, letting out a sigh. As he does, we somehow end up closer. His side fits against mine. Or maybe mine fits against his.
Neither of us pulls away.