Fii lay on her back, a curtain of white hair spilling like a snow-tinged waterfall over her pillow. Her piercing, sky-blue gaze was fixed on the popcorn ceiling above, each bump and texture a meditation, a distraction from her present misery. Despite Sheri's unwavering nagging to take care of herself, the alien feeling of self-restraint remained just that—alien to her.
Getting up was hard. Falling back into her comfort zone of her own stubbornness was far too easy.
To ease her restlessness, the room offered a window view, inviting her to retreat into daydreams. Her sanctuary for the next few hours. If only boredom wasn't one of her sworn enemies...
Outside, people meandered in their mundane routines, completely oblivious to her plight.
If the gangs knew she was bedridden, would they try to take advantage of the situation? Start something up in the slums while she was stuck in here? Probably not.
The scare from the revelation of her killing Prime must have been effective enough to keep them from stirring up any trouble, even without her present. Virgil was likely behind some of it, too; making sure everyone knew they'd both end them if they misbehaved. Then again, any reputation she had with the gangs, Virgil had ten times more.
But that didn't mean every new gangster, or freshly hired musclehead, knew the rules or the players. You never knew when a drifter or two from out of town would spark trouble...
The gangsters at least respected the clinic. One of the unwritten codes of the slums was that you left the clinics alone. Period. The staff were invaluable to everyone's survival. Even the gang leaders understood that a clinic's continued operation was paramount to their interests. This wasn't a law enforced by her, but rather, one born from necessity in these fractured communities. So, barring any bizarre, unprecedented emergency, she was safe here.
Her stomach rumbled ominously.
Let's think of happier things. Yes. Take my mind off everything...
With her white hair cascading over the edge of the bed, she playfully wove individual strands together, crafting a long, fine braid. This wasn't merely a distraction—it was a test of her self-control. Weaving the longest, most beautiful braid she could manage became her personal challenge, a way to beat boredom. And Sheri explicitly told her not to leave the room, or else she'd staple her to the wall and really get her stuck in here.
Despite her efforts, Fii couldn't shake the discomfort of her skin. Not only was her tummy still complaining, but her skin seemed to crawl too.
"Gotta take a shower soon," she muttered. But maybe later. After all, lying flat on her back, bored out of her mind, was preferable to anything right now.
The door to her room creaked open, catching her attention with its intrusive sound. Lifting her head to peer at the entrance, she met the dark, almond-shaped eyes of the person she least expected to see here again—'Cobra' Kasumi. As their gazes locked, a moment of quiet, awkward surprise hung in the air.
"Oh," Fii mumbled, breaking the silence. "Hey, Kasumi."
"You," Kasumi said in a tone that seemed to match her apprehension, her delicate hands still gripping the doorknob, the door half-ajar.
Dressed in her usual style, Kasumi wore a black crop top that flaunted her toned abs and a studded leather jacket that enveloped her slender form. Dark-colored jeans hugged her legs, the frayed ends teasing her ankles, while a pair of combat boots grounded her step. Her raven-dark, shoulder-length hair, meticulously straightened, framed her face in sharp contrast to Fii's own unruly white mane.
With the epitome of the perfect resting bitch face, Kasumi regarded Fii coolly, a small frown furrowing her brows.
"Sheri mentioned a patient recovering upstairs," she began, her gaze wandering around the room with an almost exasperated familiarity before settling back on Fii. "Never thought it'd be you here, though."
Her voice carried a slight undertone of judgment, which she skillfully tried to disguise by clearing her throat. "The real question is, what could possibly have taken you down?"
"It was... purple pudding," Fii admitted after a pause, her voice tinged with equal parts regret and embarrassment.
"Purple... pudding?" Kasumi's tone shifted, and her eyes widened in what looked like genuine amazement. The ridiculousness of it all brought a tentative smile to her lips, which she quickly subdued.
"It was something," Fii replied with a nod.
She continued twirling the strand of hair in her hand, curling it absent-mindedly into a swirl that vaguely resembled a question mark. It was just her natural reflex whenever her hands needed to keep busy.
"What are you doing here, anyway? Are you sick or something? Don't you have a gang to run?" Fii asked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. The words, albeit harmless, carried an unintended sting.
The moment those words left her mouth, she instantly regretted them.
An audible huff echoed in the room as Kasumi rolled her eyes, shifting her attention elsewhere. After a drawn-out silence, Kasumi's icy response was tinged with annoyance.
"What gang? What's left of the Neon Vipers have disbanded and rebranded to another group." Her gaze firmly planted on the window, deliberately avoiding Fii's direction. "I'm just a lone wolf now."
"Right, that sounds about right," Fii replied with a nervous laugh.
A lone wolf? You sure? Still got that black jacket that screams gang member...
The weight of their shared history settled between them like a lead blanket. There was an inherent tension between them; one could almost feel the spark of past encounters and unresolved conflicts hanging in the air, like the quiet before a thunderstorm.
Attempting to dispel some of the awkwardness, Fii awkwardly cleared her throat, feeling the familiar sensation of knots in her stomach.
"So, uhm..." she began, her words carefully measured, trying not to upset Kasumi. "Are you planning to, y'know, reform the gang or something?"
"No," Kasumi replied curtly.
Silence stretched for a moment before she continued, her tone softer, almost introspective. "Why would I bother rebuilding a broken system when I can carve out a better path for myself?"
Fii could hear the shift in her tone, the bitterness slowly dissipating like a retreating tide. That didn't stop her from running her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit she was still fighting to break.
Just as Fii prepared to launch another attempt at conversation, to break the stalemate of silence in the room, Sheri appeared at the doorway, casting a skeptical glance at Kasumi. "I thought you went to check on the stocks downstairs?"
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Kasumi shifted on the spot, her posture stiffening as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "And I thought you were supposed to be working, but here you are. Just casually... stopping by to check on me."
Sheri cocked an eyebrow, her amusement evident, though the usual playful spark in her eyes was strangely absent. Something was amiss.
"To be fair," she countered, a smile tugging at her lips, "I'm always checking up on you. And don't avoid my question. Your lurking in here was not part of your tasks today."
Fii sat up on her bed, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected exchange. "Wait... is Kasumi working here? At the clinic?"
Kasumi's frown deepened, her gaze darting between Sheri and Fii as if deciding which battle was worth picking. Finally, she conceded, her shoulders drooping in a blend of annoyance and defeat.
With a huff of exasperation, she pushed past Sheri and retreated back into the depths of the clinic, her parting shot delivered with a biting sarcasm. "See you later, then." To Fii, the message was crystal clear: Do not get involved.
Sheri, caught off guard by the swift departure, simply stared after the retreating figure, her usually calm and composed demeanor momentarily disrupted. Turning her attention back to Fii, she gave her a weary look, one that mirrored Fii's own emotional fatigue.
"She's helping out around here these days. After some..." Sheri's voice trailed off, leaving an unspoken story in the air. Then, with a soft exhale, she gathered herself and continued. "After some incidents, Edith's gone, and I'm alone running the place. So, she's been working as a part-time assistant here, since her gang went kaput."
Sheri closed the door and leaned against it, her hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment too long, as if considering her next words carefully. "Honestly, I don't understand why you two can't just get along. You're not so different, really."
She couldn't help but grimace. Fii knew Kasumi to be one of those stubborn mules who refused to budge even an inch. If their past encounters were any indication, her temper was notorious and always on edge, but at least she was tough as nails. Under different circumstances, they might have gotten along...
She had no interest in reigniting old hostilities, that much she could confirm. Not when Kasumi's icy exterior, hardened by their past confrontations, had cooled somewhat into indifference.
Was there a genuine reason they were rivals in the first place? They had only ever fought once after all.
To be honest, the old Kasumi and the current version felt like different people. The temper and rashness were still there, but... a spark was missing. Was it just a lack of conviction? Her eyes still had that intensity, but it was as if a vital part of her was absent.
Fii thought about this for a moment, her finger hovering at the edge of her mouth as she often did when deep in contemplation.
Kenzo's death probably had something to do with the change...
Now, it was almost like Kasumi was acting as a watered-down version of herself. She couldn't fault her, though. Fii had also been devastated at the time. These days, every song of Shunkashuto's was a bittersweet reminder of Kenzo's memory. A melancholic twinge always gripped her heart whenever she heard any of their music.
It must be worse for Kasumi though. They were lovers after all...
"Fii? Are you listening?"
At the sudden snap of Sheri's fingers, Fii's attention jolted back to her surroundings. "What?" she responded, her confusion plain on her face.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of Sheri's mouth. "You okay, Fii? Did you take a mental vacation again?"
Clearing her throat, Fii sheepishly reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. "Ah, I just have a lot on my mind right now," she said, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. "Lots of things going on and..."
And before she could delve into details, nausea struck again, pooling heavily in the pit of her stomach and sending a chill up her spine. Not the ideal time for a tactical retreat to the bathroom—but there wasn't much of a choice here, was there?
"Eep!"
Sheri quickly moved aside as Fii darted past her, all but diving into the bathroom. The sound of rushing feet and the ensuing clamor echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable heaving from beyond the bathroom door.
----------------------------------------
Once again, Fii found herself, weary and sweat-drenched, stretched out on her bed like a cloth left to dry in the sun. The artificial light in the room seemed harsher, grating on her nerves, mirroring the unsettled state of her gut. Her restless fingers unconsciously fiddled with her hair, twisting and twirling its white strands, as if it could distract from the storm brewing inside.
Sheri's presence had been replaced by the hollow silence of solitude, punctuated only by the hum of the clinic's cooling unit. It wasn't noisy; it was the persistent background hum that usually lulled her to sleep. But not today. Today, it was the irritating drone that didn't let her sleep.
A knock interrupted her misery, startling her from her reverie. Expecting Sheri to check on her once more, Fii braced for more 'constructive criticism' from the stern-faced nurse. Instead, Quinn's tousled blond head popped into view, a lopsided grin on his face as he stepped over the threshold.
"Figured it's been a while, so you might need some company to stave off complete insanity," he quipped, sauntering in, his arms laden with... something.
"Huh," was all Fii managed, her throat dry from earlier escapades.
Quinn settled on the edge of her bed, the weight of his presence slightly dipping the mattress. His dark slacks rustled softly as he readjusted himself, his toolbelt creaking lightly and hanging around his waist like a sash. There were those telltale smudges of oil and grime on his button-down, adding a touch of rough charm to his appearance.
"You look... uh..." He frowned at her sweat-soaked form, "haggard."
The remnants of her previous episode still clung to her skin, an unwelcome sheen of sweat coating her flushed face. She probably reeked too.
But honestly, she didn't particularly care about it. She had no energy to spare. Opening one eye, she peered at Quinn. Her mouth twisted into a playful sneer, teasing yet fierce. "Wow. That's how we're starting this chat? What a charmer."
Without missing a beat, Quinn chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled blond mop. He bent down and kissed her forehead, despite her state of disarray. In his eyes, there was a sparkle, an enduring affection that seemed immune to her current dishevelment.
"Gotcha this," he announced, pulling out a paper bag with a flourish. Inside, Fii knew it would be his home-cooked soup.
Her boyfriend had a penchant for showing love through the language of food. Even if it wasn't as gourmet as the street foods at her usual haunts, the fact that he took the time and effort to cook for her made her feel...
Loved.
"The soup's got real chicken broth, ginger, and green onions," he whispered, inching closer to her, "not that fake, imitation stuff you think you like." His breath, carrying the aroma of whatever creation he'd brought, wafted past her. As he reached out to dab a cloth at her sweat-slick forehead, Fii leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his presence.
The paper bag crinkled softly as Quinn retrieved a covered bowl and a spoon from it. "Soup's meant to be warm. And no, your lame excuses won't cut it this time. I didn't slave away over a stove for nothing."
The rich, savory steam from the bowl teased her nostrils, awakening a hunger that momentarily silenced the discomfort in her belly. Was he really going to make her eat now?
Quinn popped the lid off, the spicy aroma of the chicken broth filling the room, tickling her nose and summoning a bubbling sense of anticipation from deep within her. Ginger and green onions peeked through the clear, amber liquid, a visual feast in their own right. A few clumps of rice added a comforting touch to the ensemble, making the dish look, if not enticing, at least palatable.
As Quinn ladled a spoonful of the steaming broth and vegetables, bringing it gingerly towards her lips, Fii inhaled deeply before parting her mouth, accepting the offering.
Warmth filled her mouth, the taste of real, unadulterated chicken dancing on her tongue. The blend of aromas from the onions, the spice of the ginger, and the silken feel of the broth coalesced into an explosion of flavor that momentarily overwhelmed the sickness still gripping her gut.
"You're too good at this," Fii murmured, taking another tentative sip after swallowing the first.
"Flattery isn't going to fill your stomach. I expect at least half the bowl," Quinn retorted, an affectionate yet firm gaze fixing upon her. "You need the energy, babe. No skimping."
His finger ruffled the bangs hanging over her face, affectionately mussing her already disheveled hair.
"You're enjoying this too much," she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him while swallowing another morsel of broth. "Wait, wait! Too hot!" Her tongue tingled from the scalding heat of the soup. "Ow."
"Don't gobble. It's not a race. Enjoy it slowly," he cautioned.
The meal progressed with ease, peppered with shared memories, light-hearted banter, and gentle ribbing. After her second helping, Fii, despite her reservations and under Quinn's stern insistence, succumbed to the demands of sleep. Feeling full, safe, and loved, she drifted off into a restful slumber.