The sound of the doors closing filled the flat space as our hands were now vacant—along with the moon's cold light bearing down at us at full force. It was around ten-thirty or so, which left a small margin of time before the cosmos' photonic chorus would receive its reply from the planet. I heard the electronic chirp of the car ring, indicating it was secured and ready to be left alone. I turned on my heel, looking at my partner, who stood with suspicion clouding her irises.
"Don't worry, we have two people on guard duty." I joked as I pointed to the plush pair that sat by the rear shelf of the car—a humble fox and an absent-minded whatchamacallit, "I'll lead the way then."
"It's nice that Alex allowed us to bring them in the company vehicles, but I doubt they'll dissuade any possible threats. That aside," She followed, but her steps sounded light and reluctant, "Where exactly are we going?"
"Just trust me. It'll be fun, okay?" And so the roles were reversed, allowing me the place of temporary captain.
We walked to the end of the lot in silence, the path I was looking for denoted by a portion of the shrubbery that was parted with concrete tiles and the darkness of the thicket. My eyes surveyed the area before I found it by a spot with no cars or lamplight, letting my pace increase as I stepped into the shadowed road. I stopped mid-way as I felt Myla's presence disappear, turning to see her halt by the entrance, bearing reservations that were evident even through the dark.
"It's just a little bit farther ahead now," I reassured her, making a few strides to close our distance.
She only nodded, followed by a step forward to join me in the last stretch of our journey through the shaded path. It was dark and murky, the fog of the cold air adding to the low visibility that felt somehow blinding even as only the outlines of our hands and the tactile replies of the stone steps allowed us any perception of our surroundings. A tiny blade of light was now just ahead, and in a few more steps, we pierced through the dense foliage and were welcomed by the familiar cold of the lunar beams and October afterglow. It was like a clearing within a forest, the surroundings entirely walled off by the dull greenery that made it feel truly secluded from the rest of the commercial district. Most notably, a narrow stream ran through it that zigged on one side more than it zagged to another, forming a swinging path made from the frozen lamina as it reflected the starlight. But we were here for what was above that glassy trail.
"A bridge?" Myla asked, looking at the stone-brick structure covered in a layer of soft snow.
"Yeah? What is it?" I asked, having been called upon.
"No, I mean the bridge."
"Yes, I've been here for a while—are you feeling okay?"
"I'm going to abandon you here." Our exchange ended as it tends to, without much semblance of sense but with humor nonetheless.
A pair of lamps were placed on either end of the bridge, dulled and with a luminance that didn't even reach the center of the crossing. We walked toward it, our feet leaving the flat ground as the incline of the arch carried us above the frosted riverbed. I made it to the center, turning to Myla, who was staring off to the side and past the trees, just before the sharp, piercing sound of rubber on ice echoed—the earlier sight of her steady silhouette becoming a blur and quickly descending.
I swiftly stepped forward, catching her fall and nearly slipping myself. She gripped my arms tight, the fabric stretched taut as her slender fingers held pressure and heat that passed through the coat and onto my skin, "You okay?" I asked through the rest of my oncoming thoughts, her misty breath that tickled my upper neck or the faint scent of winter blooms that came from her argent hair.
Her clasp gradually loosened, and her posture straightened as she patted herself down and got resettled, "Apologies, I wasn't looking clearly." She offered with a mantle of rosiness adorning her ears and cheeks, "Thanks for the save." And while I couldn't tell, a similar color probably found itself upon my face as well.
Both of our eyes seemed to pass each other, looking for anywhere else to look until they eventually found their mark. Beyond the bridge's edge stood the sky itself. The trees flanked both sides of the scene, symmetrical and yet out of sight as if to mirror the curtains of a stage opened and left to the audience's peripherals as the eventide stage presented with complete confidence and not an inch unpainted with indigo or starshine—the full moon directly overhead like the world's very own spotlight. The ambiance became empty, the rustle of leaves and shifting of ice beneath our soles the only sounds that accompanied the sight.
"Ah, I see." Myla realized, taking a step toward the canvas, "Fireworks?"
Surprise took me, placing my hands into my coat as a breeze passed through the clearing, "You knew?"
"Yeah, the seller I went to earlier asked me if we went together to see them."
Ah, so we really do attract those kinds of assumptions...
"I was actually thinking of driving us by a spot with a good view, but..." She paused, exhaling onto her hands and rubbing them together to combat the cold, "This spot works too."
I smirked, seeing our little detour was already paying off, "Well, at the very least, the surprise wasn't completely ruined."
"Huh? And why would you go and do that?" She asked, perplexed and earlier suspicion returning tenfold.
"Well..." I didn't want to outright tell her, seeing as I've been keeping my mouth shut through most of our trip not to worry her. But as she took no more than a single step and leaned in with intent deep in her eyes, I was out of options as even just her gaze froze me solid—the point of her nose no less than a single inch from mine.
Jeez, I feel like she knows doing this makes me unable to move. It's like being hard-countered in a video game. Does she focus on crowd control?
"...Okay, okay." I raised my hands to guard me, causing her to back away, "You were trying to cheer me up, right? Well, I kinda feel bad for making you have to do all of that for me since it's really unprofessional on my end." I began, looking away and at the uneven bricks of the floor—the gaps between filled with sleet and ice, "I just don't want you to deal with it anymore since I've already done a lot of stupid and selfish things that have gotten both of us into avoidable trouble." I further elaborated, the volume of my voice steadily drooping, "...And because you've already dealt with more than enough—even before being partners, all the way back when you were assigned to Amanda and me. So, of course, I'm really mindful of not putting you through that again." I left it at that, the torrent of excuses, not something I wanted to flood the dry air as an awkward white noise overtook the tranquility of the earlier ambiance.
That was until a long, drawn-out, and unmistakably disappointed sigh weaved itself into the atmosphere—the length and depth sounding like it would suffocate the one who had loosed it. I looked up at the sigher, her eyes blinking slowly and deliberately as if our throats were not equipped with the vocalizations to adequately describe her frustration, leaving her with only her brows and lids to supplement the words that could not be found but could very much be felt with each passing shutter.
Okay, okay, I get it. I haven't seen such a disappointed stare since I left my parent's house...That was a joke. They are very kind and loving people, and if they heard me say that, it'd break my heart first before theirs.
She raised her arm, a sleeve of greens ending in a slim and pale hand, "Huh?" I stuttered right before it came crashing down at a snail's pace and with the force of a snowflake onto my forehead, "Ow." I sarcastically reacted. She drew her weapon back, leaving me confused and giving me what I assumed was the closest thing to a pout she could muster, "You've been really close and physical tonight, you know that?"
"Because your nuisances have warranted it." My dear partner retorted— all kindness and thoughtfulness spared.
"That's fair-"
"Listen." She interrupted, "If this was work, I'd understand your gripes. Obviously, there's no room for that kind of thing when we're dealing with clients and putting on the airs, but as of right now..." Her paces led to the edge of the bridge, elbows atop the low-lying walls and cushioned by the snow as she rested her face atop a hand and threw her gem-like gaze to me, "I'm just your partner, so I'm allowed to do this much, right?" Her voice remained cold, but the shape it took as it entered my ears was unfamiliar—what tended to be jagged and coarse sounded melodic and soft.
She faced me with eyes that focused the moonlight, silver tresses fluttering beside gold hoops as the wintry wind meandered around us—a faint fog came to and fro every now and again as she breathed with a sweet apple-red tint that flushed her clear white skin from the tip of her nose to the curve of her delicate ears.
I felt a tightness in my chest, akin to panic but without the fear and yet all the cascading emotions. I felt my face fill with heat, and I instinctively looked away toward the end of the branching river between the twin forest walls.
Increased body temperature and heart rate, uneasy disposition, eyes averted- did Myla just activate my flight response?
I decided to accept that as an explanation, the thought doing little to calm my nerves and settle my pulse as no matter my contrivances, I knew better what it was that threw me off-kilter.
"...Uhm, right." I nervously began, my eyes slowly recentering onto her as she subtly fidgeted at my gaze, "Well, thanks. I appreciate that, but..." I placed myself beside her, leaning onto the cold, bricked wall carrying an expression that even I couldn't discern—the only thing I knew was its warmth, "Doing as you're doing now, working with me through all our clients' and my unreasonable demands, entertaining my worthless bantering and lending an ear from time to time, well," She seemed to be transfixed, or perhaps it was I, as the world slowed around her image, "It's more than enough, partner." Both of us were silent at that statement, not on account of a loss of words but out of contemplation as we returned to time's proper order.
"Oh, I see." Her eyes drifted from mine then to a vague nowhere, voice faint and soft, "That's good then."
A cat?
That was what came to mind as she responded. At first, affectionate, warm, the very next moment, cold and indifferent with an aura that felt like a storm to ward off any advances, "You know," I spoke, being spared only her peripheral, "You've been acting really cute."
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Now, before you say anything, this was for two reasons. Reason one, it was a compliment. Nothing wrong with that, right? Plus, it had been floating about in my thoughts since we left Lily, so now felt like a fitting time to eject it. Second, her reaction to the abruptness of it would be funny.
She held still for the slightest moment before a balled-up hand found itself by her lips, and she cleared her throat with a newfound politeness, "W-Well, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Eking out with sudden confidence but with the refusal to look at me remaining, "Lily helped out quite a lot after all, and I take conscious care of my appearance, especially during-" But before she could finish, I just couldn't help myself as I held my mouth shut, "...Are you laughing? What is it now?"
"I've figured it out!" I exclaimed, finally getting her to look at me—but instead of a flustered nervousness, it was that of bewilderment, "It's not that I suck at compliments. You just don't know how to take them."
"...Ha?" She gasped, breaking the dam walls and letting my chuckle erupt.
"Why you..." She glared at me with her on-brand sharpness, daggers of frost striking at the speed of sight, "Don't act so sure of yourself. Of course, I know how to take a compliment."
"Oh, really now?" I shot back, lining the taunt with so much doubt it was practically soaked in skepticism.
"Yes. Absolutely." Countering with her own conviction, the act of staring directly at me that earlier felt impossible was now accomplished effortlessly and with a heavy tinge of scorn at that.
"Right then." I stood properly, unpocketing a handkerchief, clearing the wall of piled snow, and sitting atop it, doing the same for Myla's side and inviting her to do the same, "Okay, Myla?" She placed herself beside me with my legs crossed, and I turned my body towards her.
"Yes, Bridger?" She asked, entertaining my cordial turn of voice.
"You're cute."
...
"Maybe the problem is that you're the one telling me." She didn't react, or perhaps she couldn't, neither flustered nor unhappy, simply numb.
"Just shorten it and call me the problem. Why don'tcha?" I remarked rather accusingly, but instead of shared scowls, our moonlit faces shifted into a childish amusement as a fleeting laugh befell us—drifting past the trees and across winter glass like a weightless dove.
"This better matches our style, don't you think?" My partner asked with a certain coziness in her voice.
"Without a doubt. However, I still disagree with being labeled the problematic half of this duo." I opposed, knowing full well we both shared that title spot.
"That's a shame. We can't change that without some invasive neurosurgery or intensive conditioning."
"Are you suggesting lobotomizing me?"
"Beyond suggesting, I'd pay for it." Myla confidently declared, masquerading a devil's grin with that of a sweet smile.
I sighed with exasperation, still finding no luck in cracking the icy barriers around her with neither sticks nor stones but semi-sarcastically warm words, "Okay, let's try another set." I began, lining up my next volley with a bandolier stuck to my throat, "Well, you're really hardworking...Oh! And super attentive on and off the clock."
"Uh-huh." Unfazed, she spoke with eyes steady and brows and shoulders straight without emotion.
"You're great at driving. That's another one."
"Mmhm." Her voice was low, her face paler than usual, and with a mien that felt frozen in place.
"Your fashion-consciousness makes for a fun juxtaposition with your detached attitude."
"Juxtaposition..?" Myla spoke even lower now, but not in pitch or depth, but of volume as a slight shake came over her, and her mouth flinched as if containing something that wished to leave, "Right, right. Carry on."
"Your surprise sweet tooth counts...I think?"
"Yeah, sure it does." Her words came like a ripple, uttered with a slight tremble as her lips went from straight to uneven and twitching.
Well, not the reaction I was expecting, but...
I left the air undisturbed for a moment, observing the restless composure that sat next to me with anticipation, "Your handwriting is neat and tidy-" And before even a period could weave its way into my sentence, laughter that echoed and fluttered like a humming bird's wings came forth, all at once nectar-sweet and melodic like a violin but also unrefined and as if choking on nothing.
"Now, who's the one laughing like an idiot?" I asked with emotions stirring between endearment and disappointment as my partner tried and failed to recollect herself.
"I'm sorry, honestly." She spoke through short snickers, her shoulders still dancing down and up, "I just can't seem to take you seriously when you make it sound so honest." Only from Myla would I hear a complaint arise from a genuine compliment.
Still, it did give me a rather fun idea on how to burn the lunar wax before the fire bloomed, "...You sort documents so well it's almost eerie." The respite was brief, and once again, a warm echo began to thaw and evaporate the cold air of the scenery, "There's also no way to style your hair that makes it look remotely bad."
She wrapped her slender arm around her stomach, posture curved like her mouth, "Please, stop...This is- It's getting stupid." Indeed it was, but white skin pink-flushed was doing little to deter me.
"Your words are as straight as swords, but ironically, you don't mince them, making it really easy to understand you even if it comes off as blunt." With a second irony in the mix, she laughed not into stitches but instead ribbons as crystal dew welled in her closed eyes.
She didn't even stop to reply this time—no call for a ceasefire, no pleas under the blanket of cackling, just the rush of notes like an unending music sheet of high snickers and low guffaws that bounced from my ear to the unseen end of the river below.
"You're always early at work, and I've started to think you actually sleep in the company storage room. You take care of the car better than me and like it was your firstborn overachieving one-hundred-percent-will-be-burnt-out-by-college prodigy child, and even our dullest conversations could at least pass as a B-rate comedy act that you only regret paying for after the host's voice starts to get annoying." And that was the final nail to break a camel's back, sending her giggles well past the deep blue clouds and into orbit.
Her entire body was animate as if synchronized with the wavelength of her laughter and enough to shake the bricks off and away and for the wind itself to stop at its presence. Myla leaned forward more and more as if to bottleneck the urge that came from her stomach and up and out of her mouth, shivering not from cold but elation that nearly made her fall off the edge and forced me to throw my arm out in front of her to catch the damsel in delight. Luckily, she managed to contain herself, keeping firm on the bridge's walls and allowing me to retract my arm without fear of her unwittingly flinging herself overboard.
I had a few more in the chamber with the dark still covering the sky like a fog, so I thought to fire off a few more before the floral flames scattered, "Oh, and you make it seem like there's no problem you can't solve, or at the very least, won't eventually solve." But instead of the pleasant staccato strings, a pause and then a waning chuckling that came and went.
"Uhm..? Did I say something wrong?" I asked, perplexed by her turn of face and distant disposition.
"It's nothing, don't mind me," Myla reassured, with the same inflection but without the warmth that had been drifting about it, "I told you, didn't I? It was getting stupid, and you weren't going to make me laugh forever now."
"Ah, is that so?" I tried to match her shift, but the quips that earlier came so effortlessly felt like they were dragging their feet from my mind to my mouth, "Or is it you don't want to admit you found me funny? No point trying to save face after that fit, partner."
"Well, I guess you're right." An unbefittingly quick-to-agree reply was returned, perplexing me more than if she had at least fought back, "Maybe I did find it a tad humorous—too much even."
This feels...Off? Did someone screw up the script..?
But to be fair, no matter my assorted compliments and existing understanding of Myla, was I really allowed to decide whether or not something felt off? I mean, to a certain extent, of course. We'd been working together for months now. I see her face more often than I see my own, and her voice has become as natural to me as my own footsteps. Her mannerisms were ingrained into my mind, and I even inherited a few. There was enough banter between us that you could keep a novel going for a dozen or so volumes, and the days where she was the first and last person I'd speak to became my monotony.
But at the end of it all, just how much did that grant me?
Myla was open about listening to me—about attending to my worries beyond keeping the ship steady but out of a genuine desire to aid me. But that was a one-way street for her. She was always guarded but never made it evident. Composed and stringent, capable of showing a spectrum of emotions but unwilling. Not in the way that made it seem like it ate away at her or that she repressed it, but in that she was just never interested. But could that really be the case? It couldn't be, right? Or was this another symptom of my overfamiliarity? Was I allowed to assume any of this? Did she want me to debate on this? Or could it be her usual coldness was done for the exact reason of ensuring people didn't have these kinds of questions?
I didn't know.
But I did want to know.
Of course, part of it was that I felt indebted to her, even more so after tonight as she showed me sides of her that felt refreshing yet familiar—my vulnerabilities for her charms. So, call it curiosity, conscientiousness, or flawed altruism, even if she didn't need it, I wanted to remind her I was willing to play the same role for her.
"...This'll sound random, but you still haven't told me why you joined aiAI in the first place." I pondered, catching her glance that kept as still as ice, "It bounces around in my head here and there, but I don't tend to ask you since, well, you seem happy not telling me. But then there's this thing Alex told me all the way back on my first day about you, and..." "Help her." I recalled, but still no closer to being privy to what it meant, "It'd be best if she told you." A further recollection, but still no closer to that assertion, "Ah, never mind. I'm probably just overthinking."
Myla kept silent, the contrast like burning yourself when opening the fridge as few traces of her earlier boisterousness lingered and a shadow that could not be seen but felt loomed over her expression. She was in thought. Not a deep one, but not a light one either, simply considering her answer as if having expected it at one point or another but not having it prepared for the specific context of tonight. A breath came, and with it, a look that I'd never seen before, a puzzle piece that was not part of the one I had been building all this time, "About that... I guess I have been a bit unfair, but it's just," it looked as if it was longing, "I'm not quite sure how to tell you or if I exactly want to."
I backtracked, any form of resistance being too much for me, "It's alright then. I'm sorry if I brought it up and made you uncomfortable. It's just never left my mind, you know?"
We both fell silent. The rustling leaves, the chiming breeze, and even the drum of my heart had disappeared. I awaited a reply but would have been satisfied with nothing.
And still, I waited.
"Well..." Myla spoke, each movement made by her lips deliberate as if writing the words themselves into the air, "It's because I-"
A faraway light suddenly covered every inch of white and blue that surrounded us, the sheen on her face turning a blazing red as up in the sky where our hands could not reach but our fingers could dwarf stars, petals of flame were finally abloom.
Their chorus began with a choir of gunpowder and sparks that sang for the continued onset of winter and to a crowd of weary eyes and hushed voices. Our gazes were stolen, gems reflecting flowers as we became entranced in the heaven-bound spring amidst October twilight.
Well, maybe one of ours was stolen.
I faced Myla subtly—as if even the movement of my sight was too much of a disturbance. She held still, even as patterns and streaks of light painted her face a new shade with every passing explosion. It truly felt like she was part of a canvas. But this time, I had no desire to disturb it—to intrude on the tranquility and enforce myself onto the piece. My chance, if you could call it that, was gone, painted over by a thick stroke of paint that would soon dry and coalesce with the rest of the piece as if never having existed in the first place.
But those emotions did remain.
How could they not?
But that was fine, for just as I said...
For now, all of this was fine.
And I was plenty happy with it already.