I was taken aback, my look of conscientiousness flinching as it became one of surprise. It wasn't unheard of for some clients to omit or downright lie to us regarding specific information - heck, for some surveyors, they expect it. It's part of the reason we had to be sent out to collect data from them multiple times and also had to be so strict with monitoring their actions during the observation period. We had to cross-reference as much as possible, which meant garnering a substantial hoard of resources was required to weed out the discrepancies and create a realistic picture we could use to eventually land them on a match.

But to think of all people, she'd..?

"It's not much to write home about." Taking note of my shock and ceasing my thoughts, an unexpected shift in her tone occurred as it became almost banter-like, "Just some random jerk who led me along for a while. We never really became anything concrete, but I wanted company, and he seemed nice, so what the heck, right?" She began to detail her dilemma, one familiar to my memories from youth - and yet that feeling of nostalgia failed to shake my unease at seeing her forced smile.

Placing her arm on the sofa's armrest and leaning upon her hand, she stared off into the wintry cityscape as she spoke her mind, "I lost track of how much sleep I lost every time we fought or all the chances he took to fill my heart with warmth and hope, only to take it away from me whenever I was reminded that he left our status in limbo." Her bronzen eyes followed the movements of the passing clouds, the vast world beneath them mattering little as her words took center stage, "I spent so many days, carried so many burdens, and whispered so many sweet nothings all so I could keep him happy - all so I could validate our connection." Her expression barely held firm as it shook with each utterance and withdrew with each memory.

"...In the end, he told me he couldn't handle it...The commitment of it all, and that I shouldn't be so overbearing when we were never even anything to begin with...What kind of cruel joke was that?" The veneer began to crack, first with a faltering voice and dulling eyes, "I...I want to hate him more, to have every part of me realize and accept that it was him- him that had stolen so many memories only to give up on me when it was convenient and that- that I..." Followed by her posture slumping and her arms trembling.

I knew not to let my emotions get the better of me. I was a professional. Just as a nurse delivers the news of a deceased father to their children or an officer refuses fear to throw themselves into the line of duty, I had to reserve my feelings for when I clocked out. But even so, I could not ignore the overwhelming emotion emanating from the young woman in front of me - one that pierced through my guard and resonated within my conscience.

Sorrow.

"But I can't...Because even I knew that I enabled him, didn't I..?" Even though she had stuttered her earlier sentences, this proclamation of accountability was spoken near-perfectly, as if they had been engraved into her mind, "Just as he did...I wanted...That validation..." And though they were words of acceptance, there was no triumph to be sensed within them, only a gnawing regret.

I wanted to say something - no, I wanted to say many things. Words of reassurance, of hope and advice... And yet, as I watched her barely manage to keep herself composed, I realized that no matter how tender my words, they would shatter the fragile image before me.

"...But that's why...That's why I want to try again." She, who could easily tower over us, now carried a silhouette that barely reached past the sofa's backrest, "I want to have another chance, without my parents worrying about me, without everyone else's expectations on what I should or shouldn't be, without the heartache of false hope, without..." Her hair and eyes were a beautiful brown, but you wouldn't be remiss in thinking they were absent of color and life upon seeing her current mien.

"...With- Without having to force myself to believe that I'm enough." Regretful, lost, and with an air of melancholy, "Maybe this time, I'll- It'll...It'll work..." That was all that remained of the unassuming yet steadfast Samantha Soriano, who earlier welcomed us in with kindness and a repertoire of strength - tears of a glass-like sheen streaming down her olive cheeks and joining her singular teardrop mole.

I sat there stunned, at a loss for words as my mind barely kept up. It mattered little how much experience I had - I realized a while ago that I would never be numb to these moments of complete vulnerability. Maybe that was a good thing, as I'd prefer to share even a fraction of their aches than feel nothing at all. Something about it always struck something with me, something that ebbed and flowed in my veins, that hid in the reaches of my mind, and occasionally crawled in the back of my throat. Was it mere sympathy? Or perhaps I was projecting my own wounds upon them? If I could choose, I'd like to believe I wanted to help them for some moral cause I had decided on when I saw Amanda again. However, one thing I could come to terms with was that I really did suck at dealing with crying.

Sorry, guys. I'm the type to gently tap your back and say, "There, there, buddy," like I'm talking to a dog...

I could feel the seat beside me shift while I remained lost in thought, the air temperature dropping with each footstep that neared our lamenting client. She was careful, placing herself next to Sam without so much as disturbing a hair on her head, carrying with her an expression befitting a white knight: quiet, poised, yet delicate - Myla outstretched her hand toward the young woman with a handkerchief of snow white, same as the long coat covering the gallant's slim figure.

So that explains it, huh?

Sam was wounded. Tried as they might, all they could do was bury those scars, carving them deeper into her heart without the chance to mend the damage or the anguish. Thus, she sought ratification to prove to herself that she could overcome her past - that her strength was always enough and that if given the chance again, she could succeed.

But I could not believe that.

One of the hardest things to accept is one's own weakness. Surrounded by accolades and friends, it would be easy to lose sight of your mistakes, even if you were subconsciously aware of them. Sam was strong. However, the strength to endure and the strength to change was fundamentally different. If she wished to seek validation for her value, she could not entrust that to someone else, to some other group, or through some vague societal standard.

She alone had the right to validate her strength.

And if she wanted to move beyond her past and quell her longing for companionship, there was no other stepping stone forward.

It's a sad sight, but...

I stood up from the cushions, taking light steps toward our client as I swallowed my resolve and exchanged it for all the kindness I could muster into my throat, crouching in front of her and looking up at her glistening brown eyes tucked away behind her curled tresses.

It'd be an even sadder one if we didn't see it in time.

"You did really damn well. Never forget that, okay?" While it was no replacement for the words that she could one day tell herself without hesitation or doubt, "And you can do even better once all of this is over." It was the most genuine sweet nothing I could offer to ease her grief.

Wordlessly, with tears still streaming down her face, Myla and I stayed close, lending what we could to the young woman.

I rolled up my sleeves as I twisted the faucet open, rubbing clean the kitchenware as I took in a deep breath during the respite - the frigid water that ran through my fingers was a stark reminder of the white season. I filled a tall glass with said liquid before turning it off and putting away my handiwork to dry - doing the same with my hands before walking back into the living room with the refreshment.

The first thing to catch my eye was the outside scenery.

The sky had taken on a muted azure, the clouds darkening and the city lights beginning to burst forth from every corner of the concrete tundra. Even so, the room's warm light shone on a far different scene from the outside. Instead of the hustle and bustle of thousands, it illuminated the quiet despondence of a single individual. I took my discarded coat from the kitchen countertop, cradling it in my free arm as I walked to the pair sitting on the sofa.

My partner maintained her spot beside our client, gently holding her hand as she kneaded her digits to soothe her disquieted mood. Sam's eyes remained aglint even as the hue of her irises faded, tears having dried on her tanned face along with the occasional snivel that sounded from her.

A sleek coat of pink and white was draped over the young woman's shoulders, a gesture to spare no kindness. I set the glass of water down in front of her, offering my own overcoat to the one who sat beside her. She shook her head at me, the gentle sway of her ashen locks and ever-steady amber eyes not bothered by the wintry air. I took her answer and placed myself on the sofa opposite them, placing my outerwear together with the rest of our equipment that was now neatly organized.

"I've cleaned up a little, so you don't have to fuss over it later. How are you feeling now?" I asked with a smile, inching forward from my seat and clasping my hands together.

"Oh, thank you. But..." Sam spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked at me apologetically, "Is it really okay for you two to stay for so long? I've already been enough of a bother as is-"

"We've told you already, right?" I cut her off, having anticipated her reluctance at our extended aid, "You caught us at a lucky time since we actually had a gap in our appointments today." I answered confidently, almost teasing her with my tone as I did.

"Still, it's..." Be it stubbornness born from courtesy or the feeling of being unworthy of such considerations, her apologies refused to relent.

"Seriously, don't stress it, m'kay? Just think of it as our way of making it up to you, seeing as we made you cry." I reassured her, not one to concede to her doubts, "And besides, we're not done yet either, you know?"

She was puzzled by the words that followed my assurance, looking to Myla, who had still not let go of her hand, for answers with an intrigue in her eyes that slowly regained color, "Indeed, while we have located the issue and its cause, we've yet to provide you with solutions and a plan of action." She explained, though her monotonous voice was an odd match with her caring conduct toward our client.

"Then I'll be in your care."

"On the contrary, it's your care." I corrected her, my confusing words earning her full attention, "The root of all this is making the time to figure yourself out."

"That meaning..?" Tilting her head a bit, she seemed so attentive that she didn't notice her curls fall onto my unsuspecting partner.

Ooh! Myla with brown highlights! What a treat for the eyes.

"It's a tad cliche now that everyone says it nowadays, but you can't really love someone else if you haven't even granted that luxury to yourself." Just as tropes come to reach overuse, there was a legitimate reason it was such a widespread piece of advice, "There's little use trying to fill someone else's cup when you're not even full yourself, no?" And that was because it was a simple, effective, and comprehensive solution.

That really was the long and short of it. You can't provide something you barely have enough of - few precautions are more paramount than first learning to love yourself when engaging in relationships, as that is what qualifies you in the first place.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"It lets you tackle any issues with confidence and also ensures that your partner doesn't have to be burdened with baggage that you yourself should be responsible for." I elaborated on a few of the reasons, though realistically, a complete list could take up an entire appointment's worth of time.

"I think I understand." Though the just recently reopened wounds still twinged with pain, she kept a brazen face and concentrated on my words as best as she could.

"Focus on your studies and search for your place in this unfamiliar city and figure out each minute and glaring detail that you love about yourself but also all the ones you don't love as much. Criticize yourself as much as you can, tell yourself you'll be better, and then improve, alright?" Though it was a summarization and an oversimplified one at that, it was up to Sam to fret with the little details as this would be her path to take - we were only here to guide her to the entrance.

"You should also start setting more detailed expectations - both for yourself and your partner." Myla quickly followed up on my suggestions, bringing her own as she released our client's hand and gave them the glass of water, "As I've said earlier, there is a multitude of things to consider before you position yourself into a relationship. You shouldn't rely entirely on vague reasoning and emotions to dictate how you act and what you wish to receive in a relationship - an equal sense of practicality should also be maintained." Having worked longer than me and generally being more articulate and concise, my dear partner's advice was spoken with a gelid shrewdness.

A relationship exempted from emotions is soulless, and one without rationality is bodiless. If there's one thing that's healthy when it's imbalanced, it's an overabundance of balance.

"To tie into what Bridger said, create a plan with grounded and attainable goals but narrow it with well-established boundaries. Once done, refine it, internalize it, and finally stick with it so that when the time comes, you and your partner know what to expect." The ice to my fire, our words came together like a duet of counsel, matching each other step for step, "Ah, but don't forget to have fun." Though rather amusingly, a figurative cherry appeared atop her statement that was spoken beneath subtly curved lips.

It was probably a lot to take in as Sam sat quizzically, rumination plain on her face that had recovered much of its earlier color. Still, you would scarcely believe it was the same bawling girl from earlier - her almond-shaped eyes held firm concentration, and her hands ceased to shake.

A murmured hmm came from her full lips before her expression suddenly changed, "...Ah. Wait, before you two continue..." Suddenly springing animate, she stood up and wandered into one of the room's corners toward a drawer, holding the coat's edges with both hands to keep it from falling as she did. She pulled the drawer open, fumbling through its contents as she cutely mumbled words beyond our ear's reach, "Aha!" And just as quick as she left her spot, she returned to it, making herself comfortable as her hands were now occupied by a tiny notepad and a ballpoint pen.

She began to scribble down some notes, occasionally placing the tip of the pen to her chin in thought before quickly writing something down - her long fingers barely peeking out of her black layers as they danced across the pages. For some odd reason, the sight before me felt oddly familiar, though instead of a nostalgic charm, exasperation tinged my thoughts. This feeling was compounded as Myla leaned closer to the young woman, helping her jot down and organize our string of pointers.

...Oh, duh.

I let out a sigh, the delayed realization enough to push me over the edge, "Two of a kind, huh?" I grumbled, a hand to my forehead as I laughed wearily.

"Eh? What do you-"

"Nothing." I cut our client off, as that was an annoyance that was to live in my head rent-free.

Well, at least you don't have to spend extra work hours to proofread the handwriting, create a digital transcript for it, format it, and then actually use it...I'd complain more if Myla's notes weren't so comprehensive and well-made...

"Anyway, this probably goes without saying, but you have to reconcile and move past your past experiences," Even though I spoke my next piece quickly in the hopes of being painless, it seemed such considerations were unwarranted as Sam kept her pen drawn and her ears focused.

It really didn't need saying, huh? She's known that for a while.

I elucidated further, seeing as her heedfulness didn't wane, "You don't want that weighing you down while you look for a new partner, and you super don't want that to burden said person. That's your ordeal, so don't drag them into it by snuffing out any lingering regrets." The sound of inked metal gliding on paper resonated in the room, each word that left my lips immediately finding itself upon the pages of our client's notepad.

Click!

The click of the pen sheathing was followed by her raising her eyes towards me, a place once filled with tears now shone with a brilliant conviction, "I'll do my best." And though she had spoken those words earlier with the same mellow voice of feathers, the added hints of resolution filled me not with doubt but with hope.

We've got a fighter, folks!

"Good," Myla interjected, even her voice not enough to extinguish our client's steadily burning zeal, "Finally, don't feel overly pressured by any of this, and take your time. You should keep what we said in mind, but it's up to you how you'll interpret and enact our words, so do not feel discouraged and do well to aim for improvement." While I tended to be in charge of sugar-sweet conclusions, my partner decided to empty a bit more of her wellspring to Sam with her final guidance, "We'll wait for you when you're better."

Surprisingly enough, I didn't hear the satisfying click of the pen again or the sounds of folding sheets. Instead, looking at our client, she kept her eyes closed and took a deep breath, her posture straightening with unease flushing from her body as it seemed she wrote down those last words not on paper but into her mind.

"...Alright, I'll keep everything in mind!" Opening her eyes, she exclaimed with a confidence that nearly made her mellow voice crack. The tan skin on her face was flushed full of rosy color, and the crown of curls she carried danced as she declared her resolute promise.

Her words echoed through the space, no longer hollow nor chained by past mistakes, now being sent forward with hope for tomorrow. A grin subconsciously grew on my face, along with a joy that welled in my heart as I took in the moment. However, before I could lose myself in the job well done, my gaze met Myla's, who, while being far less blatant in her satisfaction, shared the smile of accomplishment - a wholehearted exchange of mutual delight at the endearing sight.

We found ourselves bathed in the copper lamplight of the hallway - our right and left dominated by doors of unchanging form and order as we looked at our client's humble abode from the outside in.

"Welp, we'll be taking our leave." I bid farewell, holding our articles to my side, the weight of which felt heavier than when we first arrived, "We'll stay in touch, but don't hesitate to call us if ever you need."

"You can file us for another visit when you feel more confident. For now, best of luck, and please take care." Myla added, a reverent but tiny bow accompanying her adieu - like a noble setting off on a pilgrimage.

Sam placed a few of her chocolate locks behind her ear, tilting her head with a satisfied beam and glowing skin accented by the gentle ambient glow of the space, "Same to you two. Thank you so much for today." Her voice rang wonderfully, feathery and light but resonant with confidence, "I promise to put what you said into practice as best I can. After all, it wouldn't be much use if it was all just stuck on that notepad, eh?" Ending with a slight snicker, she stood tall, looking down on us with gentle eyes of bronze.

We exchanged waves, her hands coated with heavy layers of black cotton and ours with a silken smooth white. The door slowly closed as the view of our client and her home disappeared from sight - the mechanical click of the hinges signifying the end of our labor with the one named Soriano.

In that same instant, like a starting pistol being fired, I could feel a massive weight practically leap away from my body.

Oh, thank God we're done.

My shoulders sagged as I let my perfect posture fall. My eyelids were weary, and my throat a touch coarse from all the talking - even with the relief of the warm tea. I inhaled a deep breath of the indoor air before letting two drawn-out sighs echo in the halls, washing away the remaining bits of tension that lingered within me.

...Wait, two?

I turned to my left, seeing my dear partner in the same state of exasperation as I was. She held her clipboard to her legs, her stance lowered and arched forward before she canted her gaze toward me upon noticing the peculiar synchronicity - our eyes like mirrors of each other's wearied selves.

"Copycat." Myla quipped with a wry smirk.

"Heh." And I had not the energy or desire to rebut, instead returning the playful gesture.

We turned back from whence we came, our footsteps heavy as they landed on the hardwood floor. The lighting neither dulled nor brightened, but a considerable amount of time had passed - something more apparent as the view from the transparent elevator neared the hues of the winter sky shifted.

"For a second there, things got a little hairy," I commented, trailing Myla from behind.

"Indeed," She replied, not sparing me a glance or a less succinct response.

"Still, I think we handled it fine enough." I tried again, this time walking beside her.

"It seems that way." But still, no cigar, as she remained cold and taciturn.

"Aww, did my dear partner's social battery get drained that much?" I teased, leaning toward her with a sneer.

"Yes. I'm surprised you still have it in you to make such incessant jokes." She fired back, not a fan of my banter but, as always, woefully entertaining it.

"But of course!" We reached the end of the hall with our trivial rapport still not over, prompting me to call for an elevator with the keycard we were given, "I always reserve some energy for you." My closing remark was half-sweet and half-sarcastic.

"Well then, consider me flattered and annoyed." And as if it was read from a script, she returned with a half-grateful and half-discontented retort - an apt riposte amidst our usual duel of witticisms.

We burned through the seconds with our dialogue, but still, the elevator had not arrived. The number atop the door signified it would be a minute or so more, leaving us to enjoy the silence as our respite before our next client.

Or so I thought, suddenly recalling something, "By the way," Catching Myla's attention, she turned an eye to me, "Did the mints help?"

Her expression took on a similar emotion, taking the morsels out from her pocket, "Ah, I almost forgot about them." She unwrapped one, a sugar-sweet pattern of red and white glistening, "They did, actually." Elegantly covering her mouth and eating the piece.

"That's good to know. You can keep 'em."

"Oh? I'll take you up on that offer then." Uncommon as it was, the genuine thanks that she gave back were just as sweet as any Christmas confection.

"Ever-so-welcome." And I gladly enjoyed the winter treat.

Ding!

Our lift arrived on cue, its clear doors opening as the mechanisms whirred and twisted, unfurling the entrance as we stepped onto the hanging foundation. The mechanical sounds repeated after the click-clack of button presses, the elevator closing as we began our descent. I returned to my earlier spot, leaning on the metal railings of the elevator as I watched the horizon shrink and the city lights below grow in luminance - the heavens transitioning from dull blue to deep indigo.

In all fairness, as tired as I felt, it wasn't like we were particularly disparaged when it came to exhausting labor. Obviously, from time to time, we'd get a client that would take more effort than usual, and the opposite was just as likely to happen. Even so, it was part of our job to treat each appointment as something special - something with its own set of rules and circumstances. Ironically enough, the norm was in accepting there was never a concrete standard.

Still, there's always a cause and effect, a reason and consequence. Given enough exposure and contemplation, shared processes appear, and solutions and explanations start to arise - a logic, one could call it.

However, such ideas are rendered useless if not put into practice. Our job starts and ends with sharing that knowledge and guiding them based on it - actually applying it? Now, that's the client's job. It was just as Sam said, words have no real purpose until interpreted.

Hence, as tired as I was, worry was not an emotion that hovered in my listless mind. Part of it was that if I stressed over every single client we met, I'd be dead in a week, and the other was that she gave us a reason to be optimistic. She was never going to be perfect, and she would never be perfect no matter how hard any of us tried. But what mattered was that she wanted more and chose to be better to attain it.

Relationships, love...Well, they're not exactly easy cookies to crack. Hell, even just figuring out yourself can take a lifetime and a half - it sounds ludicrous to expect someone to do the same while having a whole other person to deal with, right?

And yet, we still do it.

We crave connection. We don't just seek it - we fight for and thrive from it. Love can fuel the pettiest arguments and the harshest wars, drive the most genuine thanks and the most scornful grudges, and create the sweetest hellos and the most tragic goodbyes, be it the bloodiest murders or the most blissful unions, whether beginning at first sight or bound until death, there really is something more to those brain chemicals that make our hearts pound and flutter.

Well, everything should work out as long as they do their best. Plus, if you go in with that mindset, there's a lot less to regret if things go south.

"...You know," I began, eyes still focused on the urban expanse even as they felt heavy, "This place really does remind me of my old job, but..." I felt something pace toward me - footfalls on metal echoing in the enclosed space.

"I think my current post feels a lot more fulfilling," I stated, baring a small but genuine smile as I did.

The steps stopped by my side, another pair of arms coated in the same white armor landing atop the metal railings - the steel getting noticeably colder as they touched, "On that, we can agree." As I turned to see the speaker, the glimmer of amber orbs beneath argent strands greeted me - a face that could freeze hell over with a single glare now relaxing beside me.