Seth awakened to the unpleasant feeling of a full bladder. It declared that if he didn't get to a bathroom in the next three seconds, there was going to be trouble. So he rolled out of bed, fumbled to get the VR gear off his head, then stumbled to the bathroom more by feel than sight.

It wasn't until he was washing his hands afterwards that some of the grogginess began to lift. He distantly remembered hanging out with Mouna before his memory became foggy. But something felt off. Out of place.

He turned the water off and wiped his hands on his pajama pants. It was still dark, with the only source of light coming from a lit lamp by his bedside. It must have been really early in the night yet, since he didn't feel rested at all.

Seth rubbed at his eyes, feeling a dull ache behind them. There was something wrong. He had a bad feeling, like a terrible thing lurked just out of sight. A monster hidden in his shadow.

Tilting his head, he cast his thoughts back to Eliona, trying to remember what-

Muffled cries through a canvas sack.

Kamau's cold, quiet command: "Again."

He swayed unsteadily, hands grabbing onto the cold porcelain of the sink for support. It was like fireworks going off in his head: little flashes of horror burst like in a shower of sparks in his mind, each one setting off a new explosion of greater brilliance.

The sharp taste of blood on his tongue.

The numbness of his own ruined flesh rendered down to its components: burnt meat, shredded skin, melted fat.

"Again," Kamau said.

Seth leaned forward, desperately clutching the sink because it was the only thing holding him upright. It was hard to breathe, his chest tight to the point that there was no room for lungs to expand. His heart beat so quickly he thought he would pass out.

Fire, boom!, crackling electricity and the wash of bright, hot agony.

"This is Fester," Maun had said.

"Again."

"Stop it," he whispered.

She'd writhed and whimpered. And then she'd burst into a violet supernova, her passage from life to death beautiful. And final.
Bones snapping beneath his weight. A glimmer of white against raw pink.

"Stop!" He shouted, his voice snapping out through the dark, a whip crack that forced the horrors to recede. They went reluctantly, though only a small distance away. They were still there, lurking in the shadows with cruel patience.

But at least it gave him a little space to breathe. He dragged a shaking hand over his forehead, then rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion pressed down upon him, more so than ever before.

"Ha." A miserable little laugh burst free, before it dissolved into empty chuckles. "I'm going to lose my mind."

I've seen enough soldiers self-destruct, Jack had told him. I don't want to see it again. You want to keep doing this, you're going to need a shield.

Self-destruct was a pretty apt term, Seth thought grimly. So many things floated through his head now, and it was getting hard to purposefully avoid thinking about them. Because if he did, he'd probably have a meltdown. It was too bad that Jack's shield couldn't hold back the nightmares.

Talk. It will help, Mouna had urged. He could see her serious expression now. It felt out of place in such a young face, like it belonged to an old survivor who'd seen her children into the world, and then saw them right back out again. She knew loss, she knew hardship, and he got the sense that she knew enough to know what she was talking about.

She was right. He couldn't deal with this on his own.

Even now, when he looked into the mirror, he met the eyes of a stranger. In the dark, with just a faint light from the lamp in his bedroom, he caught the lavender lurking behind the blue. It was getting worse. Soon it wouldn't be a subtle, unique quirk one noticed when looking closely but a very noticeable difference that would catch anyone's attention. It was just another sign of the horrible mess he was sinking into.

Unable to bear it any longer, he dropped his gaze to the round drain set in the bottom of the sink. He stared at it, focused on it because it was simple. Ordinary. Safe. It was-

I killed people. Real people. And I don't know what to do.

Seth squeezed his eyes shut. Then he took a sharp breath. Then another. And somewhere between breaths, a decision was made.

He left the bathroom, grabbed a light sweater to pull over his pajamas, and after he snatched his phone and keys, he let himself out of his apartment.

It wasn't until he was in the hallway outside her apartment that he thought to check the time on his phone. Six-thirty in the morning? That was earlier than he thought, but she was probably up. Hopefully.

Too late to turn back now, he thought grimly. He took a moment to gather his resolve. Then he knocked.

He heard the floor creak beneath approaching footsteps almost immediately, and exhaled in relief. She was awake. That was good.

The door unlocked, opened, and Seth found himself looking at a very unexpected face.

"Hi Seth." Tripp smiled warmly, like he had been expecting an early morning visit all along.

Seth, on the other hand, just stared blankly. What was Tripp doing here this early in Mrs Beakor's apartment?!

Then he noticed that Tripp was wearing fluffy blue slippers, and a gray bathrobe that was much too long for his small frame. It was like it had been designed for someone much taller. His boss hadn't even bothered to close it properly, with his chest hair on full display.

Oh.

Oh no.

Seth blanched. "I—I can come back later."

"Nonsense," Tripp pulled the door all the way open. When Seth made to step back, a prelude to a very hasty retreat, Tripp reached out and hauled him inside.

The door was closed and locked behind him before he even processed what was happening.

Tripp and Mrs Beakor. They couldn't have. Could they?

Ew! He dug his palms into his eyes and hoped that this was somehow just a very weird dream.

"Hey kiddo!" Mrs Beakor came out of the kitchen. "What's going on?"

He hesitated, hands still over his eyes. This was the worst possible timing with Tripp here. Still, he was here now, and—no backing down–he needed to do this. He dropped his hands. Forced himself to open his mouth and say it.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Ah, you've got perfect timing. I was just making some breakfast." Her grin was lopsided, but warm and welcoming, and somehow, it made him feel a little better. "How about we eat first, and then we can chat?"

It was about then that he noticed she wore an apron, an oversized shirt that just barely covered... things, and not much else. He immediately snapped his gaze up to the ceiling, feeling his entire face combust into flames.

"I'm not hungry," he choked out. In fact, he was pretty sure he was going to be ill.

"Lies," she scoffed, and leveled a spatula at him. Batter coated it, some of which dripped onto the floor. "Young men are constantly starving."

"Same with the old ones, too." With a gentle prod, Tripp guided Seth to the kitchen table.

Mrs Beakor leered, before she went back to the stove where something sizzled in a pan. "That's certainly true."

"Oh gross," Seth groaned. He dropped into a chair and tried to look everywhere but at either of them. "Please stop."

"Stop what?" Tripp looked amused. He rested a hand on the back of Seth's chair.

There were no words to describe it. At least, not for Seth. So he just waved a hand vaguely at the kitchen. "All of that! And can't you put some clothes on at least?"

Mrs Beakor snorted. She came to the table, stood right by Seth, and put her hands on her barely-covered hips. Thank goodness for the apron. "You don't like my outfit? What's wrong with it?"

"Everything," Seth sputtered, just as Tripp said, "Nothing."

"Hm," She reached and flicked his nose. "I think you're just shy. You need to get a girlfriend, kiddo."

"That's not it," he retorted. "You just have no shame."

That made her laugh, her shoulders shaking with uncontrolled mirth. "Tripp, dear, grab the maple syrup and cream from the fridge, please."

"Sure," Tripp agreed. "Though there might not be any cream left after last-"

Seth gagged, and covered his ears. He saw both Tripp and Mrs Beakor grinning, which gave the impression they were being disgusting on purpose. Especially since Tripp pulled a thankfully unopened can of whipped cream out of the fridge.

Why? Why were they doing this to him? He just wanted to talk to someone, but somehow the situation had totally turned into something very different. It was distracting him from the real reason he came here.

The table was quickly set for three, with orange juice, coffee, fresh chopped strawberries all arranged by Tripp (who somehow made even that process grossly embarrassing), and with the pancakes, bacon, and eggs supplied by Mrs Beakor.

They settled around the small table. Tripp gave thanks over their meal, during which he and Mrs Beakor unabashedly held hands. Afterwards, they began to load their plates with food. Seth just sat in his chair, feeling a little dazed.

"Let's see your plate," Mrs Beakor said, and snatched it from in front of Seth. She returned it a minute later, but now it was piled dangerously high with enough food to feed seven men.

Seth stared. "I can't eat all that."

"Sure you can," she waved away his concern. "Dig in, kiddo."

"Your eggs are delicious, Hel," Tripp said demurely. He placed a forkful of the yellow, fluffy stuff into his mouth and smiled at her.

"Thank you, dear."

"You always knew how to feed a man right."

"Of course, dear. It's what I do."

Flushing, Seth immediately buried himself in the contents of his plate. He chewed furiously, certain that his ears were the same color as the strawberries. The coffee pot was nearby, so helped himself to that, too.

He'd need the caffeine just to survive this.