“....ra!”

“..rora!”

“Aurora!”

I sit up, gasping. Quinn’s eyes narrow. “You alright? You were shaking pretty hard there.”

I touch her hand where she’s kept it on my shoulder. “I’m good. Thanks for asking. It was just a nightmare.” A nightmare that felt like a premonition, but that won’t help my friend relax. I groan and my eyes flutter shut. “Watch your head.”

She ducks just in time to dodge a stray soccer ball. “Thanks. Falling asleep on the bleachers can’t have been comfortable, though. Long night?”

I shrug. I don’t really want to tell her that I’ve had nightmares every day this week. One of the fleeting images resurfaces and I sigh. “Don’t go on the field trip. It’s not safe.”

All of our classmates flinch and several drop whatever they’re holding. “Seriously? Again?” The pretty brunette three rows away groans. “Why do they keep coming after our class? I mean yeah we’re considered ‘rich and talented’ but all things considered we’re the least attractive targets in the entire school.”

I shrug again and pick up a dropped basketball, my senses flooded by images of happy basketball team practices and grumpy gym students forced to play. “Don’t know. Want to play?”

The tension in the room seems to deflate with a group sigh like a popped balloon. Quinn smiles, and I can see their personality shifting. “Sure,” he says, “it’s been a while anyway.”

That evening, he walks me home, same as any other day. I frown and catch his arm before he can head into his house next door. “Quinn…” I trail off.

His eyes narrow and his aura changes. “What’s wrong?”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

I bite my lip. “Something’s going to happen,” I whisper, keenly aware of her gaze. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad, yet, but everything is going to change.”

She watches me for a moment, then nods. “Okay,” I hear. “I understand. Anything I should watch for?”

I tear my gaze off of the ancient tree in the front yard - it’s stood for so long that it never runs out of stories to share with me - and meet her eyes. “I can’t tell, but I think it’ll be pretty obvious.”

She studies me. “You’re scared.”

I wince. I love Quinn, but they can be irritatingly blunt sometimes. When they want to be. I blink and study their aura for a moment. The outside is shimmering yellow and gray, the indicators for worry and protectiveness overlapping. The inside shows similar colors at the moment, mixed with swirling black that reminds me of oil - boredom and indifference - which would usually be signs of depression, but on Quinn they’re a constant, so I’m not too concerned. What catches my attention (and has since I met them) is that their aura has an oddity: a solid band of white separating the emotions they’re showing from the emotions they’re feeling.

Normally, regardless of outward appearance, auras only show genuine emotions. Which means that some part of Quinn is actually feeling whatever they’re showing. The confusing part is that I’ve never met anyone else like Quinn. I’ve interacted with plenty of odd people who seemed similar to Quinn in one way or another - from gender fluid people to patients with dissociative identity disorder - but not a single one had that white line. At any given moment, they felt something, and yeah, there was usually a difference between surface feelings and deep-seated emotions, but it was all shown clearly because they felt it all at the same time. Quinn is different. I haven’t figured out exactly what’s going on and I probably never will because it honestly doesn’t matter to me, but it’s like the inside colors are their core self and the outside colors are a mask they wear to fool others; a mask convincing enough to fool Quinn themself.

I shake my head suddenly, bringing myself back to the present. Quinn doesn’t even blink. She’s used to my weirdness. “Yes. But you aren’t. That’s good. Stay that way.”

Most people would’ve flinched, or been confused or at least blinked. Quinn just nods. “Should I stay with you tonight?”

I consider. “No. Go home. It might be the last time.”

She touches my hand, because she always knows when I’m struggling. “Breathe. Then go eat, and sleep. Even if it’s the last time, enjoy it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

I hug her with maybe a little too much force. “You’re right. Thank you. Good night.” I walk quickly toward my door, trying not to get distracted by the pretty colors and stories I can see around me. This house is old and has been inhabited since it was built, so every time I look at it I learn something new about the past. I try to focus. I need to pack.