The waiter took our menus with a cordial nod, having listed down our orders and returning to the roaring flames and seasoned atmosphere of the kitchen to deliver the instructions and tend to another table with little pause as the service continued like a well-oiled machine.

With all the olive oil being used here, I'm surprised there's not a platoon of star-spangled soldiers outside trying to raid the place.

Having selected our meals after finding seats near the window and rigorously marveling at each square inch of the place, we were allotted some time to pass the wait with some idle chat...Well, after the three decided to take some pictures, which entailed acting all photogenic while I awkwardly held up a peace sign in nearly every photo.

Discarding those thoughts, I began the dialogue as I scanned the other tables, hefty portions atop each plate and bowl, "For a fine-dining establishment, the serving sizes are relatively large, huh?"

"Yep!" Exclaimed our energetic lass, "That's probably why the server recommended we only get one platter each and a few appetizers plus desserts." Hands together and placed near her cheek, she seemed delightedly awaiting our meals.

"As long as it tastes good, there shouldn't be a problem, right?" Taking a quick sip of the complimentary cocktails, Gale spoke with his husky voice tinged with alcohol, "No point wasting tasty food." A tiny action that almost distracted me from his hands, subtly taking another breadstick from the basket in the middle of our table.

Hey, wait a second...There were eight pieces earlier, and now there's only three- Oh, this means war.

I saw no honor in a backhanded approach, blatantly and dramatically hovering my hand over the remaining morsels before swiftly taking one—my glare not leaving my opposing belligerent's matte eyes as I accepted his challenge. To my enemy's credit, he quickly replied with equal eagerness to face me, speeding up the pace at which he ate the garlicky and moist snack with narrowed eyelids that stared straight into mine.

"It might be a little too much for me then." Despite our fiery skirmish, a glacial wind blew through our unseen theater of war with no regard for our conflict—taking the second to last piece.

Our other halves ignored us, Fable answering Myla's concern with a gentle smile, "Oh? You can split some of it with me then. I don't think my meal's too heavy-" But she was quickly cut off—not out of rudeness, but consideration.

"It's fine. I'd rather not bother you, that and..." My partner's words paused, though I had little reason to lose focus on my target as Gale did the same, "I'll just have this one help me, seeing as he seems so starved for food." But her sudden interjection lined with the not-so-hidden insult was enough to make me turn my head with a disappointment that was warranted but unsurprised.

"So it's fair game to bother me? Is that it? Also, I have a name, Miss Marika." I attempted to ask for an answer and, God forbid, an apology, but her face remained ever-so-wonderfully still as she enjoyed her piece of our earlier contested resource, "...Also and also, someone took the last breadstick- Goddammit, Gale." Any objections I had, no matter how earnest, turned null upon seeing the smug expression of my opponent as he proudly presented his winning spoils—his decorous aura an odd match with his twisted grin.

Not missing the chance to join in on the fun, Fable's face took a playfully wry turn, "Ooh, are you two gonna feed each other?" Giving both of us a grin that implied she'd be entertained no matter our response to her query.

You underestimate this duo, young lass.

"She'd choke me," I replied matter-of-factly.

"I'd choke him," Myla replied straightforwardly.

Fable flinched at our answer, not just the admittedly morbid content of the message but also our robotic timing, "Ah...Of course." Still, she was not someone to be put off so readily, clearing her throat and regaining her composure along with her earlier mischief, "There's a time and a place for that kind of play, you tw-" But instead, a quick flick on the forehead halted her from continuing her jeers, slowly turning to her better half with a mope, "...Meanie."

"You were asking for it, hun." Gale insisted, looking at his partner with endearment and exasperation in his dull lapis-lazuli orbs.

"Hey, I thought we had a rule for flirting and public displays of violent affection." I mused with a jokingly saddened look, using her own words against her.

She took keen notice of my expression, snickering with a hand to her lips, "Oh? And why are you pouting, Bridger? Could it be you're admitting you do want to flirt with M-" However, her follow-up attempt was again swiftly put to a stop by another love tap below her mahogany curls.

I held in a laugh, a little disappointed in my sense of humor, as I couldn't resist the sight of the same joke twice. That was until a sudden pressure impacted the back of my head - turning to see a pleasantly irritated Myla with her hand still outstretched, "Ow."

So far, the atmosphere of the stage was good. Despite my earlier reservations—not a hint of tension lined the air around us as it was humming with jokes, laughs, and an all-around calm that could almost make me forget we were still on the clock. If I was held at gunpoint to describe it, I'd call it a double date.

If you're wondering, it's Myla holding the gun. That or we're both being threatened, and she has to say it too - no real in-between.

However, in that same way, the reason I paid so much mind to these moments we were sharing was because I knew it was ephemeral—a moment to enjoy the outing before things got into full swing and we had to start tap dancing on thin ice.

Now that's an idea for a new Olympic sport. That or a joint event between the winners of the one-hundred-meter dash and the rifle shooting. We'll even have the runners wear little targets on their backs, and the higher their place was in the race, the more points for hitting them—it'll be a whole thing, trust me.

"Welp, while we're still waiting on grub, it'd be a good time to talk about a few more things, no?" Fable's words prematurely concluded my breakthroughs in global sports, nudging the conversation toward our goal with a simple request - but one with evident implications.

Gale's ear perked up, not reacting with suspicion but clearly attuned, "Sure, whaddya wanna chat about?" But even so, no matter his reaction, he wasn't unaware of the main reason we were here, making his nonplussed reaction a cause for concern.

The young woman shrank upon hearing the lackluster response before quickly concealing it behind another beaming veil, "Oh, c'mon, hun. You know, it's the thing- from the other week, remember?" Alex's words replayed right after hers - the reminder of our goal for the night not leaving the forefront of my mind.

Myla and I stood on standby, not apparent by our still relaxed postures and withdrawn expressions—but our eyes and ears were practically glued to each movement they made, each word they spoke along with the way they said it—hiding our at-the-ready selves behind the bittersweetness of the drinks we held.

"Ah, that?" Gale finally acknowledged, though there was no discernable change in his countenance, it took little effort to sense his mien shift a gear, "I already told Bridger, right? I'm not super psyched to talk about that topic. So let's just try to enjoy the night, okay?" He urged his significant other, eyeing her with a partial smile as faded as the shade of his irises.

Fable lowered her gaze at her spouse's defensiveness, carrying a faltering expression of joy and readiness, "R-Right...Of course, I'm sorry." She could barely mutter.

"You don't have to shut her down so quickly, Gale." Myla was the first of us to move, trying to recenter the conversation without shaking the ship, "She just wants to discuss it."

"I'm not shutting it down." A vehement retort came from beneath his gold and brown locks, his countenance under the guise of a reassuring smile, "All I want is to enjoy our time here as a little escape from all of our work and troubles. Is that too much to ask for? You guys appreciate the break, too, right?" Surprisingly, upon reciting his last statement, it was me who he decided to direct his gaze - one that almost felt like it was asking me for affirmation, for help.

Something I could never shake from Gale's features was the gentleness of his eyes, not from their hazy, cloud-like quality, but something beyond that, "Well, of course, but..." Even so, I couldn't let that observation sway my actions. We had to adhere to our role and get the ball moving towards our goal, "It's relationship one-o'-one to not avoid conversations - no matter the scale of importance, it's a key aspect." My answer garnered diverging reactions, one being uplifted and the other disheartened.

From a glance, it would seem we were playing rather passively, no? This was intentional, at least to some extent. To aiAI, counseling meant a four-person operation, but only two really mattered. We had to wait for one of the pair to speak—to give us a reason to step in and provide input, especially in a case with these conditions. If we spoke up too soon or took a side too readily, it'd feel like we were labeling someone as an enemy, something we had to avoid at all costs. We already witnessed the fallout of such an error, so this was our way of amending it. However, I'm not prideful enough to avoid admitting that part of it was a lingering unease that kept my usual gung-ho composure in low spirits. No matter my emotions on the situation, we had to wait for them to open themselves up to each other—only then would we be able to peel back the layers and properly get to work.

"...Alright. What is it you want to discuss?" Our songbird conceded, a reluctant inquiry following.

"Us." This was a quickly-seized opportunity, as one could hear newfound vigor fill the young woman's tone, "How we'll be moving forward and figuring out ways to manage all of this better, right?" She continued to elaborate, words no doubt she'd prolonged within her, finally finding themselves spoken with confidence.

"What do you mean exactly?" But such advances were not enough, as what I could only assume as a guise of self-imposed ignorance remained on the blue nightingale.

"Well, I know you're still really busy with the uni, especially now that your midterms are coming up and-" A fable would begin.

"Look, I promise I'll be fine." "I've been studying nonstop, so you don't have to concern yourself-" And then a gale would whisk away.

"But still, you're not getting enough sleep, and I can tell you've been dipping your hands too deep into our coffee tin." The two continued to exchange, not letting either gain a foothold as it seemed upon a word entering one ear, a dozen had already exited the other.

"Alright, alright. I'll dial it back on the caffeine and do the opposite for my Z's, but I really am fine." He reassured us with closed eyes and a boyish smile, an admittedly endearing sight but one we had to ignore.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Have you been staying out for longer periods?" Myla asked, pushing the exchange further as she prodded another possible issue.

And she was right in doing so, "Oh, well, yeah." Gale hesitated in confessing, giving only passing glances at us and not even sparing one for his partner, "...We really are washed with projects right now, and the library keeps me more focused when studying, so my hands are a little tied."

Myla only gave him an mhm in response before returning to her drink that bore the colors of a streaked evening sky. We both reserved ourselves, only pitching in whenever we were called or if the conversation needed a jumpstart.

But it looks like things should go from here.

Fable knew she could rely on us as a metaphorical vanguard while Gale was at the point where denying issues became more and more of a lost cause, "So, I was thinking maybe you could take a break from the band, y'know?" The young lass considered, speaking with more life this time as she presented her idea with a genuine smile, "I think the rest of the guys wouldn't mind-" But it was a fleeting sight.

"What? No." Gale spoke over her, the frustration in his demeanor far more visible now, "I told you not to worry so much. If it's just the band, it's practically part of my daily routine." As if responding to his undisguised show of emotions, Fable's brow became downcast, and an ache climbed from her chest up to her eyes, "We made a promise with them, remember? You said you wanted to participate in the Thanksgiving Music Fest after my exams, so we're going, no matter what." He stated with conviction, but it was one that felt forced from his wavering voice.

"Listen, that doesn't matter right now. Just focus on one thing and-" Their voices grew in volume, and emotions ran astir.

"I am focused." Unlike the studio, people were closer, and the humdrum lighter, making the tension more palpable to us and the unwilling audience.

"Fable, if you could lower your voice." Myla stepped in, leaning forward as she tried to ease the young woman with an uncommon uncertainty carried by her icy tone.

"Uhm...Same with you, Gale. This isn't exactly a conducive environment for this." I did the same, speaking in a whisper as I began to notice we were catching the eyes of the other patrons—their stares like knives in our backs as we handled another set of blades at our fronts.

But our words did not- or perhaps could not reach them, "Focused on what exactly?" Fable forced out, her voice straining at it took on a quality foreign to my energetic and lively image of her.

"Focused on us-" And before Gale could even testify, a gavel struck as a resonant thud sounded on top of the table - silencing the earlier ambiance of the space as not a single person's attention was spared from looking at its source.

"That's not it..! That's..." The young woman panted, now standing up as her stature became both imposing and yet so diminutive, "What do you mean you're focused on us?- Who in the world are those people you're focusing on?.. Because I don't see them anymore..." Her words felt torrential, like a storm that was surging in the recesses of her heart, and we were finally out of its eye.

"F-Fable...What are you saying..? Y-You're not making sense-" Her other half stuttered, his name unbefitting as compared to the winds that silenced his words—he was no more than a breeze.

"You're the one not making sense, Gale!" A heavy frustration gnawed away at her thundering voice, one that made each word drop like shattering glass, "You've become so stupidly absorbed in this 'us' that you stubbornly hold onto that you've completely lost sight of who we actually are - what we've actually become." She placed great emphasis when she said "we," declaring it as something that could no longer be them.

Myla attempted to interrupt, trying to diffuse the situation. But she was left with her hand raised and mouth agape as the maelstrom continued, "When will you figure it out..? When will it be enough- How many more times do I have to be hurt like this while you coddle me and tell me everything will be alright? How many more times..?" I was in a similar position, frozen as if what we were witnessing was a force of nature—something we could only prepare for.

Gale attempted to stammer another answer, but just like us, just like everyone else, nothing left his lips—only soundless pleas remained, "I don't know anymore...I don't know what to do..." It was as if all of our voices, all of our words, were stolen away so that she could be allowed to recite all of her stifled emotions, "You keep telling me things will be fine, but every single damn thing I see tells me the exact opposite." Tears began to fall along with her lament like raindrops sliding down her cheek and muddying her makeup, "I see you restlessly come into our room late at night, with a look in your eyes I can hardly even call alive! Sneaking yourself into bed without even talking to me- Without even noticing that I sleeplessly waited for you to return home because I was dying from worry..." And as her voice quivered and it lost its echo, so too followed her life as not even her anger could carry her exhausted soul, "...But nothing..." Her posture drooped, and I could barely see her eyes from the murky coating that enveloped them.

A silence overcame us before it was quickly taken away by a sniveling crying accompanied by hysterical laughter, "That determination that I used to adore...It's become this unchanging refusal of yours to even consider a compromise." She began, hands now grasping her head as drops of liquid fell from the gaps in her fingers, "Your tendency...To take everything with a giant grin and a reassuring look on your face has become nothing more than false bravado that you try to force into every situation with complete disregard..." Despite her voice being muffled and weak, her words somehow continued to echo and reverberate in our ears and even beyond, "Your dedication and bottomless effort you used to grant us a happy and fulfilling life has twisted into a narrow-minded pursuit for an impossible ideal." Each recollection, each depressing transformation, all of them ached with something that made my chest tighten, "...And that nostalgic ring your voice had whenever you'd sing to me...It's become a painful reminder of everything we used to be...Of everything we can no longer be..." She finally lost the strength in her legs, slumping onto her chair lifelessly as her mahogany locks shielded her sorrowful visage but not her voice, "...What happened, Gale..? What happened...to us..?" And with that final stanza, her Fable had concluded, leaving all of us without the power to speak as we attempted to process her cries.

I could only turn my head at her other half, his head lowered as his expression became inscrutable. Even if it was visible, I doubted I'd take much from it as my mind was busy untangling itself from Fable's outburst. We felt frozen. The restaurant's warm atmosphere was unable to thaw through the mood, leaving us helpless with no clear retort.

That was until a screeching noise cut through the silence, followed by a heavy thumping that gradually got quieter. I looked to see a glimpse of Gale sprinting away, pushing people from his path and making a dash for the stairs. He threw the door open, slamming it onto the walls as the echoes of his steps slowly turned to silence.

I stood on reflex, "I'm gonna go after him." I announced, my feet already unconsciously carrying me toward the exit.

Myla shook off her daze, quickly following my lead but instead putting herself behind Fable and placing a gentle hand onto her arched back, "Wait. Let's take a moment to compose Fable and then follow-"

"No..." I stopped her, gathering as much conviction as I could before proposing my idea, "Let me go to him...Alone." And upon receiving it, a fire lit up in my partner's eyes that melted away her cold aura.

"Huh?!" She growled at me, utterly vexed as her icy shell could not contain her anger, "Blaithe, this is no time for your reckless-"

"Myla." But I met her scorn with nothing less than an adamant assertion, "As he is now...Well...I don't think either of you could get through to him."

Myla recoiled from my statement, but what followed was a brief rumination and realization of what I meant, causing her to exhale a grave sigh.

I looked her straight in the eye, her amber orbs alight with a fiery vermillion, "Grant me this one privilege...I've seen...Felt what that's like, so..." But even I was only human, and I knew not even I could create confidence from thin air, "...Let me see him first...Please." I awaited her answer with bated breath, lowering my head only when I was done as if to offer everything I had to gain her approval.

"...Fine. Just go." I turned around once I heard her answer, leaving no time to celebrate her blessing.

Until a familiar force grabbed my arm, one that was so cold it was hot and one that was both firm and delicate, pulling me back and forcing me to face them. Myla dragged me close, mere inches separating our bodies and even less our faces as she stared through me with intensity, "Listen- And you listen damn well," Her voice carried a similar heat, each word overflowing with solemnity as her grip tightened on my arm, "Whatever you plan to do, remember that it is for their sakes - we have to save them not just because it's our job but because they are worth every ounce of effort it takes, so if anything starts to go wrong or you begin to lose yourself do not dare hesitate even for a millisecond to call me, understood?" Seeing her now, you'd pause at the thought of even describing her as cold - her word of caution burning itself straight into my brain as if she willed it.

However, before our momentary closeness could end, I took notice of something peculiar. Having her so close for the nth time today, I recognized something. No matter the subtle changes, no matter which way her hair flowed or however she'd dress, whatever highlights or powders she'd wear, be it early morning or moments away from twilight, Myla remained consistent. I could always count on her frigid voice and sensible words, the gazes, glances, and glares of her amber eyes, and the enchanting pattern of her ashen locks - all of it remained ever-present. This quality became all the more noticeable as just in the last twenty minutes, I had been bombarded with so many new things, from the luxury of the hall to the unseen grief of one of our most vibrant friends, that there was an indescribably reassuring comfort within the person who stood in front of me, holding my arm and holding me close enough to see her pupils dilate as she stared at me.

Despite believing you'd be the reason for my early demise, you've really taken a liking to inserting yourself into most of my recent memories, huh?

I smirked, keeping it tiny so as to not rouse any suspicion, "I'll come running." I could feel her fingers slowly loosen, a residual warmth left where they once were. I turned around, walking through the voiceless stares with a collected gait and a clear objective in mind.

"I'll handle Fable and apologize to the staff and other guests." I could hear my partner communicate, prompting me to raise my hand with a thumbs-up.

"Alright, good luck." I continued walking, reaching the elevator and calling for it.

"Don't do anything stupid, and..." Right as it reached the second floor and the doors opened, I entered, my back still facing the banquet hall, "Take care, Bridger." But upon hearing one last bid before farewell, I turned around to see right as the doors closed a rather cute expression from my dear partner. It was a smile that looked as exasperated as it was confident.

So she can make a few more faces I haven't seen, huh? Well, that's something to look forward to.

The doors closed, and my ride down began, leaving me in a silence unlike that within the dining area - not suffocating, but instead contemplative.

...Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh-" I don't know when my thoughts started to spill out, but I hadn't the luxury to figure it out as right after a rather loud scream began emanating from my food hole.

"That was so embarrassing- Oh my God..." Despite being one floor only, I could tell this ride was gonna be a long one, so I braced myself and allowed all of the repressed emotions I had to flood the descending metal cube with my hands clenched on the railings they could bend, "We are screwed. We are going to make the news- I can already see the goddamn headline!" I began rambling incoherently, multiple realizations striking me at once and turning my brain into mush with the occasional manic laugh for good measure, "This just in! Local Fine-Dine Sees an Explosive Public Breakdown Between Husband and Wife! Surveyors Bridger Blaithe and Myla Marika Sit with their Fingers Up their asses!" I believe that being able to keep your poker face during a stressful situation is worth praise, but even more so is being able to release the burden of those tensed nerves in a healthy and therapeutic manner, "We are so gone...Fired! Struck from the record! Lynched even!" Indeed, I was quite the expert in this, a true innovator in my field who knew how to manage their emotions with utmost care and control, "And that's not even mentioning Myla..." And what thoughts did you hold back regarding your coworker, Mister Blaithe? "It's nice that I got to get such a close look at her in good lighting, and I didn't realize her perfume was actually that strong, like violas but also a little oriental? It had some really crisp, almost woody notes, right? Even so, she seriously did that in front of so many people watching. I'm a little embarrasse- What the hell am I on about?!" Ah, yes, a proper, functioning adult sorting his emotions out, screaming at the top of his lungs, and two steps away from banging his head into the wall before a quaint ding! Appeared in the space, "Oh, time to get off." And so he did, leaving all those better-forgotten memories behind as he sprinted out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

The space was darker now, clouds overtaking the embrace of the stars as my eyes darted from every nook to every cranny. I ran to the nearby benches and the couple's car, which, while opened, still didn't house our runaway songbird. I eventually scoured the entire area, finally accepting that he had to have gone outside, making my job far more difficult if he went too far.

And there he was.

In a deep-navy suit that melted into the dark ambiance, only his silhouette and glistening hair differentiated him from the shadowy view. He sat atop one of the wide concrete bollards, an acoustic guitar in hand, quietly staring off into the river's surface. No people surrounded him, and few lamposts stood over him, leaving only the faint moonlight shining a path towards his spot. The lights, which looked so dazzling from the elevated view of Tre Venti, seemed a lot duller now, and the wind felt frigid even with my extra layers. It aroused a feeling in me, one not unfamiliar. It was like staring at a painting - one that I could walk into and interact with - one with a scene that I could still change. I took a deep breath, exhaling a mist that quickly dissipated as I began to take steady steps toward him - toward the songless nightingale.