Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world felt too dull from the moment she opened her eyes. 

It wasn’t just the sterile hospital walls and frigid tile floors, the crinkling plastic sheets and nondescript trays of soft, beige foods, or the neutral, wrinkled too human eyes behind masks and visors, but the pale glow of sunlight that filtered through her window and bounced off empty visitor’s chairs on the days when she could stomach opening the curtains.

It was in the soft, dull, natural greens of the canopy of leaves outside her window, the concrete and asphalt seven stories down from the nicest hospital two towns over from a distant, liminal place where fields of grass stretched for miles and a single, boxy office building stood – landlord to years of dust, the oddly alluring smell of mildew, and hundreds of computer towers with long overextended lights - flickering out one by one like dying stars.

It was in the too soft blue of the sky, dotted with wispy clouds on the early autumn day she was finally released with a box of new meds, a packet of paper detailing her continued rehab schedule, and a “good luck”. 

In many ways, coming out from her coma felt like being born again. Instead of the screaming color of her youth, her world was bathed in sepia. And yet, she still had to learn everything again – eating, drinking, talking, standing, walking – just like a child.  

And eventually, just like a child, she was sent on her merry way. 

To tackle a world that had forgotten what measly presence she had in it with a name, an identity, that felt like a past life.  

Alone. 

Standing barefoot and freezing in the empty bathroom of her new apartment – a transitional housing unit a few blocks from the hospital – she roughly cut her hair with a pair of kitchen scissors that same evening. A good five dollars spent, alongside the eight for a box of rich, chocolatey brown hair dye that made it into her cart on the way out alongside a box of Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies that lay now half-eaten and half-forgotten on her kitchen counter.

He would’ve hated them. 

She watched half of the length of her hair fall clumsily to the floor and litter the otherwise pristine sink, leaving a mostly straight cut at her shoulder in its wake. Her hair used to have a nice curl, she thought, before months of the basic conditional maintenance hospital staff could provide had returned it to the frizzy fluff of her elementary school days when her mother insisted on brushing it out each morning with a traditional paddle and bristle hairbrush. 

Shed of length and dead ends, it bounced back to life just a bit, creating an awkward, dry cut silhouette. 

It felt rough in her throat, but she scoffed a breath of a laugh at herself in the mirror – meeting her own eyes then glancing away like making eye contact with a stranger. 

She recognized her eyes more than anything about the rest of her face. They were the closest thing about her to an appearance she had gotten used to – and mostly evaded her now. Sectoral heterochromia was the name she found sometime in high school during an internet search rabbit hole – and felt vindicated by. She vaguely remembered making a wordy post about finding yourself that was both too edgy and too earnest on her blog at the time – something that no one saw.

But when she’d seen her eyes in the mirror for the first time since awakening, the memory and the feeling that came with it rang true ten years later – a fraction of blue in her right eye, a stark contrast to the deep brown filling out the rest of her irises – it was dull compared to the red and blue pinwheels she – somehow – expected to see. But it made her feel real in a way none of the nurses in her room could hope to understand as she nearly suffocated herself with her own tears.

Since then, they still brought an odd comfort… but the rest of her still felt dissonant. Including the soft auburn of her hair. 

She’d never particularly hated her hair color, nor had she done anything that drastic when it came to altering its color, despite teenage Pinterest boards full of cascading locks so vibrant she wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t digitally altered. The closest she ever got was a stint around her 18th birthday, just before college, when she’d gotten creative with dip dyes. 

The rich brown sitting on her curved sink was a far cry from anything she’d jonesed after as a sparkly eyed teenager, but something told her it would feel more… familiar. 

Seconds later, she wriggled on the flimsiest set of gloves she’d ever seen, did a bit of mixing and shaking, and took to her head with a silent vengeance soon tempered by the thirty minute wait that left her scalp stinging. 

She rinsed it out kneeling in front of her tub in ice cold water and, once back in the mirror, clumsily followed a tutorial on her cracked phone screen to bring some mental-breakdown-chic bangs into the equation. 

Somehow, the dye brought back some of her curl, and she almost felt a bit of her soul realign with her body. 

But even then, it felt dull. 

The days went by and life cultivated itself into something resembling normalcy as early autumn stretched on, cueing trees to shed brown leaves, and gave way into the cold nights before Halloween. 

She hadn’t been big on the season since she was young and those late nights meant sitting on the floor with friends trading candy in half forgotten costumes. When she grew and it became more about parties and horror flicks, she opted out. 

Bulk candy, though. That she could get behind.

Working remotely had many perks, and they weren’t limited to getting to sit on her newly acquired, but humble couch in her pajamas while coming up with any old ridiculous combination of curses to herself to protest absorbing another moment of numbers and spreadsheets. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be when it came to screens, and Excel was now a recurring villain in her life for more than one reason. 

The large, circular blue-light sensitivity glasses she snagged online after about a week of squinting at her screen and ending the day with migraines that almost had her honest-to-God praying, however, were her new best friend. 

She wore them near constantly after getting used to the feeling of their weight on her nose, and as she exercised another one of her perks, now was no different. She’d found herself stricken by  Biblical-grade insomnia since her release, and since her contracts were forgiving about her schedule, that meant she could walk the few blocks through the historical-age homes still holding out on succumbing to rezoning for business to a drug store. Her new haunt. 

It was open 24 hours, and the workers all but ignored her whenever she stepped in. 

She’d watched them deal with drunk and irate customers in the wee hours of the morning with a few choice words, so she took the silence and lack of acknowledgement to her entrance and throughout her check-out experience as a sign of respect. After all, she didn’t want to talk as much as they didn’t want to maintain social niceties during a graveyard shift. 

It was a perfect place to go when the buzz of electronics in the silence of her apartment compounded her racing thoughts, but with little expectation of being any more human than decent.  

Those nights, it was safest to be seen. To soak up meager interaction. Then go home with whatever random bullshit she raked into her handcart, and pass out from emotional strain for as many hours as her body and brain would let her. 

And no one could comment on the bags under her eyes when she drug herself up for work the following morning. 

This such trip was no different, but rather than the mission being nothing in particular, as she spotted the vibrant, cartoon spider clad signs in the window, they called to her like a moth to a flame. Bulk candy would be her vice tonight. 

She meandered through the sliding doors and past a lone cashier with a vague nod, her eyes set on the oranges and greens of their seasonal section. Her eyes lingered on a flash of purple at the top of a shelf as she rounded the corner – then vanished upon entering.

The next few moments were spent out of body, slowly pacing in circles around displays of green-dyed Snickers and popcorn balls like she was lost. Eurydice without Orpheus. 

As her eyes refocused, grazing the cheap decor and costumes arranged clumsily on shelves and loose racks, she found herself settling on one in particular – a doll (*wig and shoes sold separately). Not abnormal for your generic Halloween fare, but her eyes stuck on the artificial yarn hair on the model's head – red, clumpy, stuck this way and that and topped with a shiny, flimsy bow. 

She swallowed – combating the lump in her throat by forcing her eyes down and attempting a break for la-la-land only to be met with the costume’s companion piece - the same wig ripped from its bag and tossed carelessly across a shelf of mass produced, glitter smeared haunted houses empty of their ghosts, but evidently not hers. 

With a mind of its own and a strong savior complex, one of her hands shot out in the opposite direction, bumping into a hastily set up cardboard display, then pawed around for a bit until it felt the first bag of candy in her path, and snatched it to her chest. She stiffly set her head forward and drifted to the front register – leaving her body somewhere back in the aisle, rife for possession. 

She didn’t notice the weary soul ahead of her until she nearly collided with them. 

Briefly glancing up as a soft apology slipped past her lips, she found herself staring for just a beat too long, something warm tickling at the base of her skull, creeping up in a reverse drip over her spinal cord and into her brain. 

Tall – at least, taller than her – lanky, long features and dark skin with darker locs dip dyed in a fresh, rich purple. They turned before she could find their eyes, and with missing it, her skin burned - needling and physically alive for the first time in a long time. 

She didn’t think she heard a response, but in some small, strange way, she didn’t think she needed to. 

That was the first time she saw him.

And she let him retreat out into the cold with his box of cheddar bunnies and bright red whatever-drink without another word. 

When she did sleep, the dreams that now came frequently were so vivid it took her several minutes to come back to reality.

It felt like a car crash every time.

Drawing her face up from her wet pillow, short, blunt cut nails pawed at her tired, swollen eyes like trying to snatch the images flashing against the back of her eyelids and cling to them for any sense of abnormal normalcy. Her shaking, chilly fingers soon pressed into her temples instead as she sucked in a breath and counted to six. Remember. 

Her mind rippled, swimming against the current of calm and evading her hands submerged in the cool stream of her memory – ready to catch. Remember.

Remember. 

Bright primary colors and larger than life building blocks. 

Checkered floors and flashes of bright blue sky, littered with clouds so fluffy they could be spun sugar. 

A long dinner table – a chorus of voices light with banter – a hand on her shoulder that should’ve sent a clammy chill up her spine, but felt known. And welcome.

Purple and yellow. 

A face that she could remember bits and pieces of, but couldn’t fit together. 

A laugh she could never forget. 

She felt an ugly sob leave her like a moan and soon she was tipping forward at the hips, gathering her nest of vibrant, fluffy blankets and burying her face in it – yearning to burrow deep inside and hide from the pale, bland world outside until someone came to find her and bring her home. Deep in here, she swore she could hear that laugh – echoing through the walls. 

Not here, not there, but somewhere between. 

Someone between. 

As autumn bled into winter, her late night drug store excursions became a new form of exploration. 

Familiarity with this city had finally started to creep in and an itch for adventure wrapped its cold, demanding  hands around her neck – like it always did. Mundane security was never enough for her in any life. So, she walked the downtown pockets of aging homes. As a child, when she pictured her life, these storybook homes were what she convinced herself adult life would look like. A large bay window with a window seat and a front garden full of flowers were like magic to a well-read loner. Her shell-shaped mind could even entertain the idea of fairies in the backyard or mysterious books under the floorboards. For a time. 

When the glow of youth wore off, she busied herself with rabbit holes, history, and film – a natural pipeline for someone like her into urban exploration. There were stories all around them, but especially in the forgotten, and she’d soothed herself with the thought that real magic laid in that fact and condemned buildings. 

She hadn’t planned to set foot in another since she woke up. 

They’d told her that another group of urban explorers found her unresponsive in that building – out in the middle of nowhere. An odd bunch, the nurse had told her one morning while changing out the concoction of liquid drugs and hydration that fed into her IV. Apparently, they’d described the bare minimum of the situation, and when asked to stay to provide a statement, they’d agreed – then disappeared the second eyes weren’t on them. 

The nurse figured they were nervous about catching a trespassing charge. She got the feeling it was something else. 

Her eyes drifted between illuminated windows like switching TV channels. 

An young couple drinking deep from wine glasses at a kitchen island – one of them making a face at the taste of the dark red liquid, then turning an assuring smile on their companion. 

An older man stooping to scratch the cheek of a very rotund, very happy looking orange cat sprawled on a kitty condo near the glass, then cooing as it rolled over onto his back with curled paws and a cheekily exposed fluffy white tummy – waiting for the chance to strike. 

A family around a long dinner table – children ranging from elementary school age to college ready around a feast of sweet potatoes, buttery rolls, steaming greens, and a golden-skinned turkey.

She stopped in her tracks. Was it… Thanksgiving already?

Swallowing uncomfortably on a cold-sore throat, she wormed a hand out of her pocket to check the date on her poorly-protected screen. 8:05 pm – Thursday, November 27th. Her eyes dropped to the cracked, aging sidewalk beneath her where rock salt crunched under her cheap, thrifted boots that didn’t keep out the cold. 

Her soul writhed against the boundaries of her body.

When her gaze drifted numbly back up, she watched as one of the older children laughed, a hand resting on the shoulder of what seemed to be a younger sibling, sending the former a wide, toothy smile. The taller figure smiled back – lanky, slightly too cool, hunched posture, dark skin, a hint of purple at the ends of tied back locs. The moment was broken when the younger siblings' smiles dropped quickly – attention strayed. A finger lifted, finding its way to point out the window. The taller figure turned –

She averted her eyes and hurried ahead on the path – this time leaving her ghost behind, clinging desperately to the weathered picket fence. 

She always felt nervous walking into bars. As if they’d see she didn’t belong there and cause an uproar she wouldn’t socially know how to handle – despite missing her own twenty-sixth birthday a few weeks back. 

Maybe it was the fact that drinking had never been a huge thing for her – even in her earliest twenties. She could hold her liquor just fine and a good mixed drink was nothing to sneeze at, but the party culture in college was never for her. Neither were the awkward after work happy hours at her last job. 

That said, something about the simple, monotone color scheme of this one – The Leporid and The Moon – felt oddly familiar. Non-threatening. The neon signs – a vibrant yellow and pink and blue – did something for her, too. 

Shaking the snow off of her hood at the welcome mat, she took it in. 

It was a little hole in the wall, dark and lit primarily with the neon they’d carried inside with a few sparse, low lights between bottles of dark liquor she vaguely recognized. A few half booths, half tables built into the wall to her left, with stools lining the counter unevenly to her right. It was mostly empty, sans an older man behind the counter, a woman in an ankle length, puffy jacket frantically texting over what seemed like some kind of Daiquiri, and someone with their hood up curled against the far wall, resting their head on the table. 

Sucking a breath in through her nose, she approached the counter and took a stool – folding her hands on the still slightly damp bar top – it didn’t feel sticky, so the bartender must have just wiped it down. She hoped, anyway. 

She exchanged pleasantries with the man – who seemed to be trying to get a read on her without seeming too interested in her presence in his establishment. Maybe this was the kind of place that saw a lot of regulars and few new faces, she’d mused to herself. She sure felt out of place anyway, and it probably showed. 

After the typical “hello”s, “how are you”s, and “how about the weather”s, she requested an Old Fashioned.

The barkeep nodded and turned away without ever asking for the ID she had pulled from her wallet into her front pocket before coming in – wanting to be prepared. It left her wondering just how disheveled she looked that night that all it took was a once over and a quick conversation to decide not to card her. 

She tried not to take offense, but once the drink was cold in her hands and a few sips had been taken, any lingering anxiety melted away and her mind wandered.  

Eventually, the man behind the counter asked what she did. She vaguely explained the drudgery of bookkeeping and the nuance between W2 employment versus contract. He scoffed at the idea she was still working from home, but she didn’t have the bite in her at that moment to debate further than an eyeroll once his back had turned. 

He wasn’t a steady shoulder, nor as charming as she would’ve expected someone who ran a bar to be – but this was the most verbal conversation she’d had in weeks outside of infrequent rehab appointments and quarterly audit prep meetings. 

Something about the atmosphere pulled at her heart, and while she thought she held her liquor well, by the time she reached the bottom of her glass, the wheels had greased just enough to ask a question. 

In fact, they were so well greased, it slipped out before she’d even decided if it was a good idea.

By the time she was halfway into describing him, she realized she’d committed a social blunder. 

When the barkeep turned again to give her a strange look, anxiety stirred in the pit of her stomach. Then, something like recognition held briefly in his eyes before he turned back to his idle inventory. With great consideration, he answered in the affirmative, curiosity etched into his tone  – and she went stock still. 

A voice in the back of her mind, as it grew steadily warm, urged her. 

Remember.

The people who frequented The Leporid and The Moon were more knowledgeable about each other than she anticipated. It felt like schoolyard gossip the way they delivered it, and yet, she was left once again feeling like a voyeur in a stranger's life. 

Three years her junior, he had grown up like a weed since his first appearance in town at a young, fragile age to live with his aunt, uncle, and numerous cousins. No one knew exactly why, and they didn’t pry, but they all theorized. At first a timid and gentle thing, he spent all of his recesses halfway up a tree with his nose in any number of notebooks – writing the day away. 

Slowly but surely, as he aged up with his class and spent the summer somewhere far away, the trouble started. 

The once quiet, wide eyed kid had become something wild and untameable. Who laughed too loudly, whose pranks didn’t land, and preferred the company of places he wasn’t supposed to be over that of his classmates. That, they said, at least hadn’t changed. 

Then, after his seventeenth birthday, he disappeared again. This time, for years. Well past his twenty-second birthday.

Now he was integrating back into his home, his family, his community and trying to find his way. His adoptive parents – the aunt and uncle – had enrolled him in community college to set him on the right track while he figured out his next steps, but he only went half the time – interested only in film classes. 

He came into the bar every so often, usually a late Thursday or Friday night. Twice a month. He couldn’t stomach his liquor half as well as she could, they said. He’d ramble. Nonsense, usually. 

Circus tents, chess games, and ragdolls. Toy boxes, ribbons, and grand adventures. A jester, a partner in crime, and the greatest story anyone would ever tell. 

Hearing that particular tidbit had her down so many Old Fashioneds, punctuated with one Whiskey Sour, that someone had to put her in a cab back to her apartment lest she start in on her own delusional ramblings.

She did anyway. To herself the whole way home, and then into her pillow the morning after – finally dry after that night’s restless dreaming of handdrawn stars freckling a painted, navy sky. 

For a time, she avoided The Leporid and The Moon like the plague on Thursday and Friday nights. 

She told herself it was research – using the other patrons' stories and quips to time it right, to make sure that when she did go in with high hopes, the only way they’d crash to the ground was if she had finally, truly, lost her mind and felt the rejection of an utter stranger. In reality, she wasn’t sure which of the two was a worse fate. 

It took her until New Year’s Day to work up the courage. 

When she walked in that frigid evening, a wall of uncharacteristic warmth hit her upon closing the door. It was welcome – as was the absolute, total shift in energy from any other time she’d stepped inside. It wasn’t more crowded, despite the season, in fact there couldn’t’ve been more than six total people in the building. She recognized all but one as regulars, but recognized the remaining one as something else. 

It was electric. And it felt like all of her internal organs had been filled with cement.

She tucked herself close to the wall, slid into the booth nearest to the entrance, and watched. Every patron but him noticed the new addition – for now – and the rest of them watched with poorly concealed interest. 

But their prying eyes weren’t the reason she was considering bolting. 

It was his voice. 

His laugh. 

It lit her on fire. It had her antsy. She was too real in that moment. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating. Somehow, it felt like a taste of her own medicine. 

Her eyes were trained so hard on his back she was shocked he didn’t feel it. If she focused anymore, she thought she could burn holes straight through him. When he shifted, giving a grand sweeping gesture with a long, pink sweater clad arm like he was about to turn around and address the rest of them, she felt a momentum kick start in her that could send her straight through the closed front door like Wile E. Coyote had she let it. 

Trigger happy as she was, even absorbing his presence ten feet away filled her with more courage than she’d felt since her disappearance half a year ago. Maybe long before that, too.

She felt radioactive as she stood and approached the bar - taking the seat directly to his right. 

Raising her hand to politely flag the barkeep's attention, she kept her eyes straight ahead as she ordered. Her usual Old Fashioned, and she’d cover the next drink for her new friend – but only if it was a Whiskey Sour. 

No egg white. 

She felt eyes snap to and lock on the side of her face instantly. 

As drinks were made, they sat in silence until after what felt like an eternity, his voice cut through – softer, almost… mystified. Hearing it so close felt like winter had bottomed out and sent her straight into Summer. 

“Why?”

Her own eyes found his for what she knew immediately would be the first time of many, but this one… she was determined to remember. 

Wide, emotive, and now, almost…  

They were the source of that all encompassing, not intense heat in this room – she was sure of it.  They were the kind of bottomless brown that when they caught the right light, magnetized their admirer with flecks of amber cascading all the way down. They flickered into view under the yellow neon behind them and made the rest of the world more vivid. 

Her verdict was instant. They could pull her in and burn her forever, and she wouldn’t mind. 

“What if… I told you I feel like I know you?”