Definitely not me publishing without editing or rereading at all at 2 a.m. with blurry eyes, hoping nobody yells at me for not publishing a single chapter on anything for the past six months, and definitely not at all hoping with all my heart @Griffin0123 doesn't read this until I manage to edit it, but, uh . . . here you go? It's only 7,000 words, lolz, so it's not as long as usual. Also, listening to Happiest Year by Jaymes Young, and sobbing. pAiN. On we go!
Remember to vote and comment! I love your comments :)

Keefe rattled the thick metal bars of his cell as its unwelcoming cold seeped under his skin and sent tendrils of sickening fear slinking in the pit of his stomach. It was almost funny, now, to think that, after all this time, he could still remember when that fear had been butterflies, when that beautiful girl with the gold-flecked brown eyes was all he had.

He'd been stuck in his prison for moments, days, seconds, and years spun into a web of lies. He wasn't sure what was what anymore. According to common sense — where had that gone, by the way? — it was only a few hours ago he was thrown behind those empty, dark, freezing bars. He hadn't been unconscious that long either, so he couldn't have been brought anywhere too far. The others should have found him by now. If they were still searching.

The only thing to accompany him were rocks, dirt, more rocks, and a tiny lantern squeaking softly as it swayed on its rusted hook casting a cold golden glow across his cell, but beyond the bars, shadows overtook anything he might've been able to see. On the wall of his cell opposite to the bars, a tiny barred window viewed the full moon and its legion of stars casting a silver gleam against inky black ocean waves.

Otherwise, it was bare.

How cozy.

And so many bars. What was it with the Neverseen and gloominess? When he'd been a part of it, he never had a place to call home, a place he was proud of. For the love of gremlins, they were villains who could hack into Council tech and scramble their own locations like they were buttering toast. Surely they could steal a few inexpensive penthouses along the way. Was that really so hard?

"You know, it's not very surprising this place is yours," he called out, shaking the bars of his cell again. "The jail is a bit much, you know, I'm not going to hurt you, but the lack of decoration is just like you."

"Hmm, no," came a beautiful voice, a stunning voice that he hadn't heard in ages. That voice he'd longed to hear for so long, that voice his heart yearned for until it hurt, and it wouldn't stop. Her tone was pure and sweet, kind and intelligent, funny and gorgeous, carefree in a way he'd longed to hear it . . . and laced with a darkness he'd never heard before. "No. See, darling, it was the old me. Now it's pitiful, really, looking at that idiot. Weak." She scoffed. "Pathetic. You should see my new place. Pretty nice actually."

Keefe hesitated. "I'd like to. I'd like to see everything. I'd like to see you."

"Don't lie to me, Keefe," the voice replied lazily. Finally, he caught a pair of striking eyes darkened by shadows far where the swaying lantern's light couldn't stretch it's glow. "You want to see the girl you knew." She laughed, and he hadn't heard that melodic laughter in so long, but nor had he heard the despicable cruelty in it.

This was her, but it wasn't. This was all he'd expected it to be, and yet it wasn't what he'd hoped for.

Then again, what had he been hoping for?

Could she really have ventured so far into the darkness, going down a path he couldn't follow (not me quoting Star Wars), that he couldn't bring her back the way he vowed to?

"Well. Hate to break it to you, but she's gone."

"No, she isn't."

"Dead."

"No," Keefe whispered, "you aren't."

"I guess that means this is our first meeting, then, huh?" That figure shrouded in shadow looked up, piercing through his gaze, and he couldn't stop it. As she pulled herself out of the shadows without a care in the world, it seemed, making her way slowly towards him, he couldn't focus on anything but those gold flecks, and those ravishing brown eyes. After all this time, after all these lonely moments he spent weaving his tentative love into heartbroken letters he knew he'd never send to her, the only thing between them were a few metal bars.

And she was . . . oh, she was still just as beautiful. That same determination flashed behind her gaze, that stubborn lift to her chin, that sweet, humorous sparkle twinkling in her gaze. She couldn't hide it from him, no matter how much she tried. An ember of the real Sophie was still burning weakly under that darkened heart, and he'd never lose sight of it.

Despite the distaste for fanciness she'd had before she'd left, she wore a plain black dress, simpler than most, but below the laced waistline, vertical frills fluttered just past her knees. He wasn't sure if there were sleeves, though, for she wore a black jean jacket atop her outfit, one with a fabric hood and sleeves. Fingerless leather gloves wove around her graceful hands, and oh! how he wanted to clasp them with his own. Her golden locks were wound back in an intricate french braid (it was entirely Biana's fault he knew what that was), tiny jewels woven into it in various shades of blue, green, and purple. A gold chain gleamed in the lantern light against her collarbone holding onyx black and sky blue gems in alternating order, swirling together like a vine around a flower.

No, not sky blue. Ice blue.

She remembered him.

She missed him.

A wave of longing surged through him, drowning him in heartbreak like a tsunami. And it took him a moment, but finally, he realized, that wasn't his wistfulness, at least not fully. It was hers.

Something tugged at his fingers, aching to reach out and let his fingers brush against hers, to see if those sparks still flew, to brush that lock of her hair framings away from her face and let his fingers linger against her jaw.

"Sophie —"

"Oh, it's Sophie, now? Not Foster? Not 'the Mysterious Miss F.?'" Sophie pouted, but her eyes were twinkling with wicked laughter. "Why so serious, Lord Hunkyhair?"

Keefe was silent for a moment. How had she gotten like this? What happened to the girl he once knew and loved? "Soph — Foster, please. Just let me talk to you. Just listen to me."

"Would you like to do some icebreakers?" Cold amusement spilled into her quiet, dangerous voice, and seeped into the cracks of the shattered heart he'd tried and failed to piece back together. "Well, only if you want to. But you might just melt all the ice."

Keefe stared at her, jaw agape. "Are you serious? You've got to be kidding me, Foster. The only time you can admit I'm epically hot is after you imprison me?"

Sophie smiled, but there wasn't real humor in it. It was empty, frigid. He was still as lonely as he was without her. "Well, you would've found that out sooner if you'd bothered to let yourself be caught sooner, you know. Didn't you want to meet me? The new and improved Sophie Foster." She flourished, holding her arms out to indicate herself, and he had to admit, if he wasn't struggling to grasp that last frayed string of hope with his trembling, slipping fingers, she looked hot as a villain. What, with that confidence, that bold lift to her chin, the way she wore her stone-cold heart like armor?

She smirked, drawing closer and reaching forward to stroke his jaw through the bars of his prison. "I knew you'd like it."

"What happened?" he whispered, eyebrows drawing together as he reached up and pressed his hand against hers, holding it close. Holding her close.

"What? To me?" Sophie asked. She smiled a little, something that looked too real, too charming for him to handle, too artificial for it to be true. "Well, it's nice here. We stole a few inexpensive penthouses to live in, and they've even got hot tubs —"

"Were you reading my mind?" he demanded.

She looked startled. "No. Why?"

Keefe stared at her intently. She didn't seem to be lying. "Never mind."

So she got her own penthouse, but when he'd joined them, he got a stuffy nook with a rickety bed, and an uncomfortable mattress? Fantastic. Simply outstanding. Dear old Mommy loved the girl he loved more than him. Well, that sure was shocking.

"As I was saying before I was rather rudely interrupted," she continued, "we have sweet places, epic technology, some pretty cool devices, and — get this — we actually win. We have real victories, not just half-wins, or sort-of-managed-to-fight-them-offs." Her gaze lit up as it met his, but it wasn't sincere. It wasn't the Sophie he knew, none of it was. "These guys haven't messed with my talents or given me horse DNA. They haven't turned me into a elven weapon at the age of twelve. They listen to me. They don't keep me in the dark about life-threatening situations or make me almost-die again and again for a cause I don't even know about. I'm treated like an actual elf whose life has value."

So that was what this was about.

Keefe gazed at her as he felt a right pang in his chest. "Your life did — it's always had and always will have value. To me, to your friends — your real friends, not just creepy elves who try to kill us every few weeks. Even if they have penthouses. Which is not fair, by the way, because I didn't get any."

"Funny, isn't it?" she remarked, leaning closer, and enticing him with the unknown, tempting him with temptations he wished he could give into. He wanted to take her in his arms, and whisper again and again, a thousand times, I love you. I love you, Sophie. Come back to me. Please . . .

"What?" he whispered instead, lifting his head to keep his eyes from flickering to her lips. But that only brought them closer, spinning weightless gold in the pit of his stomach, the same shade as that in her eyes.

"If only you'd listened to your mother when you had the chance. Maybe then she'd have loved you." Now her eyes were on his lips. He swallowed. She was playing with him, no doubt. She was tossing around his heart now that she had it in her grasp. Her favorite playtoy. At least until she found a new one.

"Ouch, Foster. But that's okay. What I don't have in family love, I make up for in self-love." He smirked instead, that same, simple expression that managed to hide his every thought, shroud the emotion behind his eyes in ice. "And, of course, the love you have for me. After all, why else would you have me here?"

Her hand that he'd been holding, the one he didn't quite want to let go, slipped away, and she drew back a couple steps, turning around to hide her eyes. Still close enough to remind him of what he'd lost, but not enough for him to reach out and bring her back.

"You're a valuable asset, Sencen."

"Sencen?" he repeated, feigning shock. Finally, something he could use to turn the tables. "Not Keefe? Not Lord Hunkyhair? Why so serious, Foster?"

Silence. And then . . . he should've expected the unexpected. Her voice was sly, words mischievous when she decided, "You know what? You're right."

"I-I am?" he wondered before he could stop himself as he grasped the metal bars again. "I mean, of course I am. But . . . I am?"

"Yeah." Her voice grew softer, and she turned back around, ambling forward until she was so near, he could feel the warmth of her breath mixing with his. Suddenly, his heart sparked into overdrive. And it wasn't just his. Both their hearts scrambled like they were racing a marathon in less than a second against each other. And then slowly, in an eternity and a moment in one, they fit into one another. Slowly, their hearts began to beat as one.

"Did you forget something?" he breathed. "That hurts. Empath, remember?"

"Keefe, there's . . . something I never told you. Something I should've told you before I left." Don't listen. "I wanted to, but I was too scared." She's lying. "I didn't know how you'd react. The thing is, you deserve to know." It's not real. Oh, but it was! She was nervous. She was only lying to herself. Her heart was thumping frantically, fighting against the gilded cage of emotions swirling around it, and it was ready to soar. And she was letting it go. No, she isn't.

He stopped himself from swallowing and smirked again. "Oh, I already know. You think I'm hotter than Fitz, don't you? Don't worry. I won't tell Fitzypoo."

Sophie dropped her innocently nervous expression — or maybe covered it up — to reveal a somewhat childishly disgusted expression. "Are you and Wonderboy dating?"

He nearly choked. "No?"

"Is that a question?"

"No! No, I —"

"How about you and Tam?"

"What?" Keefe squeaked, his voice disappearing into a rather embarrassing voice crack. "Bangs Boy? No! I'm not — even if I were gay, not him, never him! His hair is — it's insulting! And he's such a boring emo! Absolutely not!"

A playful grin whispered upon the edges of her sweet lips, and, even as she bit her lip to try and hide it, it grew until she couldn't pretend it wasn't real anymore. She burst out giggling, much to his chagrin, doubling over as she cracked up, and clung to the prison bars to keep herself upright.

His indignation quickly dissipated as his fingers found hers around the cell bars, running over her fingerless gloves. Her laughter was too contagious, too irresistible. A shy smile fought against his will to clamber onto his lips, and won shamefully fast as he ducked his head, tousling his hair with bashful fingers. Bashful! Imagine that. Keefe Sencen, bashful.

Sophie cleared her throat, but her laughter was still dancing in her warm brown gaze. Warm. Finally, he could see a flicker of the real her.

"Didn't I tell you not to flirt with the prisoner?" came an unrecognizable, irritated voice from the shadows after a moment of silence as they exchanged unfathomable scintillae of emotion behind their eyes.

Sophie lifted her head immediately, pushing away the trace of joy, his last glimmer of hope. "I'm not," she muttered darkly to the silhouette Keefe hadn't noticed before. "I'm getting him warmed up. He responds better to flirting than he does torture."

"And how do you know this?" the figure scoffed.

She didn't bother to turn, meeting Keefe's gaze as she said quietly, a malicious smirk tugging upon her lips, "I tortured him for years. Snapped his heart into more pieces than stars in the universe. Nearly kissed Fitz Vacker in front of him. Oh, you should've seen the look of pure agony on his face. Best expression I've ever seen."

Keefe stepped back like she'd physically smacked him spitefully. Across the face. With an axe. And it felt like she did. It felt like he could feel his own heart shattering into a million shards of piercing moonlight, scarring his every thought until he thought the furious pain would never end.

No.

No.

No, no, he'd felt her emotions. He'd felt them all! She didn't hate him! She didn't want to see him suffer! No, she cared, she — she cares. She had to. She was the only one who ever wanted him, the good and the bad, and everything in between. The only one he'd ever loved, and could ever love. No . . .

Please, no. Please . . . come back to me.

He shut his eyes to keep the tears blurring his eyesight from tumbling out. His eyebrows drew together as he drew his armor back on, built his walls back up, but not before the harrowing hail managed to draw inky black blood.

"Aw. Look at that," came Sophie's bored voice. "He's about to cry. Scratch that, I think this is the greatest expression I've ever seen on him."

But something was wrong.

There was an ache in his every bone, a throbbing pain somewhere deep inside, under all the buried secrets, the burning ice, the beautiful horrors.

Something's wrong . . . It wasn't his. It wasn't his torment, it was Sophie's. Saying those words, it was like stepping on flaming coals with bare feet. Watching him break, it tore her to paper shreds she wouldn't be able to glue back together. She was just trying to survive.

But in trying to survive, she was putting herself through torture worse than death.

He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to drift to hers, but crippling fear held him back. What if he was wrong? What if she didn't care? What if . . . what if he didn't matter to her as much as she mattered to him?

What's new? asked a sour voice in the back of his mind, a little one, but one with far too much influence. Because it was right, and it scorched everything he was, but there was nothing he could do.

Her carefully shielded gaze connected with his, and she swallowed, her eyebrows twitching together in anguish. He almost didn't see it. Almost. But he did.

I'm sorry, her heart whispered.

I don't care, her mind insisted.

There was a fierce warfare raging between her and herself, one that he understood only too well. But there was nothing she could do. Follow her emotions, and get killed. Follow her thoughts, and tie herself to a fate worse than imaginable.

"You're lying," Keefe whispered.

"No, I'm not."

"You're lying," the silhouette figure snarled darkly. Something silver gleamed gold in the faint lantern light as it cut through the bitter air faster than he could comprehend what it was. It cut through him like a hot knife through butter, and he doubled over as pure, excruciating agony shot through his veins.

A knife. Funny. There was a dagger hilt protruding from just below his chest. Where was the rest of the blade?

"No!" Sophie's scream echoed in his ears, terror tearing it apart with merciless, serrated claws.

His eyes widened as they found Sophie's, who's eyes were just as round. Fear took over her features as her fingers began to tremble vehemently.

What was that? That wet thing soaking through his tunic. He reached up to touch his flaring side, and pulled away to see . . . blood.

As his vision grew dark, then light, then dark again, gut-wrenching pain hurtled through his side. Someone cried out in blood-curdling agony, spinning a web of silky fear in the shadows of his slowing heart. Was that him? Was that his voice? He didn't know. He couldn't focus. He couldn't breathe. It was too — too hard to breathe. He was dying.

Dang it, Elwin was going to kill him if he didn't already die.

He couldn't — I can't — I can't stand. I can't stand, I don't — I don't want to die. Please, not yet. Help me, please, I can't — !

Sophie.

Was Sophie okay? She had to be. She had to be, she couldn't have gotten hurt. He had to find her.

Keefe wrenched his thoughts to focus, forcing his eyes to open. Through the blazing pain and the flashing behind his gaze, he caught a pair of warm, desperate brown eyes. There was something — something on his hand. Something warm and gentle, something he never wanted to let go. But he couldn't bring his fingers to curl around it. He couldn't — he couldn't move — I can't move. Please, I can't —

It's going to be okay, a new, elegant voice whispered gently into his mind, embracing his racing heart like a downy blanket, and soothing his dread, calming his panic.

Foster?

Yeah, her thoughts murmured. It's going to be okay, Keefe.

Okay. Okay, yeah. If Sophie said it was okay, then he'd be fine. He'd — he'd be perfectly fine.

It's like going to sleep, she told him.

Like going to sleep. And when he awoke, she'd be right beside him. All of this, the past year she was gone, the aching longing to hold her close to him would've been a dream, a nightmare, somewhere in between.

Yeah, Sophie's mental voice said. Why did she sound so dismayed? Why did she sound so —

It hurts, he thought weakly.

Don't worry. You're going to be fine, she assured again. Why did she keep saying that? I have some unfinished business to take care of, Keefe, and then I'll take you to the best doctor in the world, and you'll be fine. Just hold on. We'll rule the world together.

{~|~}

Seething fury shot through her veins, and she shot to her feet, whipping around as savage rage flashed red across her vision. "How dare you. How dare you."

"No flirting with the prisoner." There was no remorse in their voice, not an ounce of regret.

Oh, she'd make them feel. She'd make them suffer. She'd make them drop on their knees and beg for mercy, and she'd show none. She'd make them bow, and devote their life to her. She'd make them all endure the worst of the worse. They could hurt her all they wanted, push her until she broke and beyond, force her to do the things she'd never imagined she could, but not him.

Not. Him.

"Apologize, and I'll let you live," Sophie growled dangerously, her fingers curling into fists. Barely restrained fury burst at the seams, her voice trembling in anger, and she could barely hold it back.

"I'm not sorry. No flirting with the prisoner."

"You answer to me now!" she thundered, letting the rage rise in her voice and shatter their firm voice like thin glass. She'd break them. She'd ruin them. She'd set them ablaze, for hours and hours, until they were writhing on the floor, begging her to stop, and she wouldn't stop. No, not after what they'd done. "I can have you on the floor, kneeling to me before you take another breath. I can have you tortured. And I will. So sit. Down. Or burn."

She took their silence for acquiescence.

"Now give me the keys."

A slight jingle. And the keys were in her hand.

"Good." Sophie took them gently, calmly, like nothing unexpected was going to happen. And, before the Neverseen member could say another word, she shot forward, and punched them swiftly in their diaphragm with a satisfying oof. The figure crumbled to the floor. Not quite dead, but in enough pain that they wouldn't stand up again for hours.

Scrambling forward, Sophie plunged the key into the lock and rattled it violently, finally managing to throw the prison door open.

"Keefe," she whispered, her voice cracking in despair as she dropped to the lifeless figure of the handsome blond-haired boy, the lifeless figure of the one who'd always been there for her, of the one who never stopped loving her, not even when she'd left. The one she couldn't let go of, not now, not ever. No, she — she had to save him. He had to be okay. He had to.

"Oh. Oh, no," she cried breathless, her voice feeble and listless. "No, no, no, please." She gathered him into her arms, letting her braid tumble over her shoulder as she slipped her hand around his neck, and ran it through his satin-soft gold hair.

"If you die on me, Keefe, I will figure out time travel and kill you myself, you understand?" she snapped after another moment of silently weeping. Hot tears tumbled down her cheeks, but she didn't care. She had to take him to a doctor, to Elwin, to someone who'd actually be able to help him.

"I'm sorry, Keefe, I'm so sorry. Please, just — hold on." Pulling out a technically forbidden leaping crystal, she held it up to the faint rays of moonlight cascading through the prison window, and leaped away, wrapping her consciousness around Keefe and only Keefe.

He has to be okay. He has to be okay, he has to be okay, he has to —

"Sophie?" came a bewildered voice when she found herself on the floor in the Healing Center, holding Keefe's limp body in her arms as best she could.

"Elwin!" she exclaimed, finding the physician standing there, shocked at the sight of her. "Please, you — you have to —"

"Hold on, I thought you were all, you know, evil now," he said, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to comprehend the sight before his eyes.

"Save him, or I'll make you!" she stormed.

Elwin's eyebrows shot up.

"Er . . ." Manners. What were manners again? How did they work? Gone a year, and she'd already forgotten. She tilted her head apologetically. "Please?"

"Uh huh," the physician muttered, but he nodded.

Within minutes, Keefe was lying on a bed, sheets being stained bloodred from his wound.

"What happened to him?" Elwin asked, flashing several different-colored orbs around the blond-haired boy as he studied him through his funny-looking glasses.

Sickening dread rose inside her, threatening to bring up vomit alongside it, as she couldn't help but find his usual bright, devious grin absent from his perfect lips. "Are you serious?" she demanded. "You're not blind, are you? There's a dagger in his side, what do you think happened?"

Elwin paused to look up at her silently, his dark gray-blue eyes glinting unfathomably. "Wow," he remarked quietly after a moment. "You've changed."

Sophie hesitated. And cleared her throat awkwardly. "I mean . . . ahem. He's been stabbed. As you can see. Er — Sorry. Habit. That was — uncalled for. I'm just worried."

"Yeah, that part's unsurprising," he replied, barely looking at her as he began to treat Keefe's wound.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she wondered, careful to clear the defensive tone from her voice. "Am I always this worried?"

"You mean when it comes to Keefe?" Elwin countered, sounding rather amused. His voice was low, like he hadn't expected her to hear.

"Excuse me?" she demanded. Okay, so maybe she was a little clueless before she'd left. And maybe she'd been a little obvious about her crush on Fitz Vacker, and her love for Keefe Sencen, and maybe she'd been a little stupid, but that was the whole reason she'd left. She lived for herself now. Nobody else. No idiot to slow her down, no world to save, nobody to love.

Too many to miss.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," Elwin told her.

"Sure." She leaned back in her chair and scoffed a laugh before she could stop herself. It was startlingly real, albeit trembling as her eyes wouldn't move from Keefe's unmoving form. She hadn't laughed a real laugh in a whole year, until Keefe Sencen decided to come in, and offer her his flirtatious grin, that cheerful, carefree laughter she hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity.

And suddenly she'd been falling.

No, not falling. Falling meant breaking. She was soaring. Dancing amongst the stars, brighter than the moon, curling up on the clouds with Keefe at her side. She felt like she could rule the world.

And then he fell, crumpled to his knees with a dagger in his side, and he wasn't waking up.

He had to wake up.

"I'm . . ." Sophie cleared her throat. "Er . . . I mean, it's — well —"

"Yes?" Elwin said gently, tilting his head curiously.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm not sure why this is so hard. Ahem. But I . . . apologize."

Unexpectedly, Elwin laughed. And she was fairly certain he was laughing at her. "You mean for being passive-aggressive?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, yeah. But also for . . . for leaving. I shouldn't have left." She hesitated. No, that wasn't it. She was glad she left, for, despite the pain it might have caused her and her loved ones, she'd changed into someone she was almost proud of. She grew into someone she didn't want to ignore anymore. "I missed everyone. You included."

The physician was wordless for a contemplative moment as he gathered his thoughts. "Why did you?"

Why did she?

She didn't know. There'd been something, a calling her heart could hear, and her ears couldn't, no matter how she'd strained to listen. She had to. It'd felt right at the time, and for some reason, she didn't regret it. But . . . why?

"I don't know," she admitted. Something cold seeped under her skin like slippery tendrils of darkness, dodging her every attempt to push it away. Deeper and deeper, until it made itself a part of her. Fingers numb, brain frozen, heart aching . . .

Why did you, why did you, why did you . . . His words echoed in her mind, ricocheting off every other thought and turning them to ash.

"Does this mean you're coming back?" Elwin asked after another soundless moment.

"I —" She hesitated. Her gaze focused on Keefe, and everything else blurred. Everything she knew, everything she understood snatched away from her into the bleak, frosty unknown. Was she? Or was she fooling herself? Did she want to? Would they still accept her?

No. They wanted the old her. They wanted who she used to be, that sweet, innocent little girl who still had hope. That quiet, polite girl who sassed the right people, and kept her head lifted at the right times, and listened when she had to. But to gain some, she had to lose some. She sassed everyone now. There was no hope. She was smart, perceptive, and she knew her enemies inside out, picking and choosing her friends carefully, but it was different. And elves had never liked differences. They'd never liked change.

"Oh," Elwin mumbled when she didn't answer. She glanced up, but he wasn't looking at her, focusing intently upon Keefe's state. "No, I get it. It's not like you have people who care about you, or miss you here. It makes sense."

Sophie swallowed, dropping her gaze to the blond-haired boy. She'd even hurt Elwin. How cruel was she?

Too cruel. They didn't know how much, and when they found out, they wouldn't want to see her face again. They wouldn't love her. They'd shun her. And somehow, that was a monster that bit more viciously than the one snapping at her as she built up her walls.

"I'm sorry, Elwin. I just — I don't know." Don't know, don't know, don't know anything. What did she know? Could she put into words how pathetic she'd become? How awful, how evil she was? "Like you said, I've changed. You don't even know who I am anymore. And I'm not planning on changing back."

"You don't think you'll be accepted here," he clarified. He still wouldn't look at her.

. . . was that it? Or was she afraid she would be? Was she afraid they wouldn't want her any other way? Was her old self really that forgettable? Was she just as afraid of change as she insisted everyone else was? Was she no different?

She scoffed a tired laugh. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I-I just need Keefe to be okay."

He had to be okay.

"He will be," Elwin assured softly, finally glancing up to study her. "He'll be fine. Luckily, it didn't hit anything vital. Nothing will cause permanent damage, as long as he takes enough time to let it heal."

Sophie let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding as relief flooded over her senses, overwhelming her heart. He'd be okay. He'd be fine. He'd be absolutely fine.

I have to get out of here, she thought. He couldn't wake up to see her. He might manage to convince her to stay. No, he would manage to convince her to stay, and she couldn't risk that.

But . . . why not? Who cared about anyone else anymore? Keefe still loved her. He still cared. And when he woke up, he wanted her to be by his side. He wanted to hold her, and oh, how she wanted his arms around her! How she wanted to run her fingers through his soft hair, and let their hands clasp each others'. How she wanted to lean her head on his shoulder, and listen to him tell the tales of all that had happened in the last year. How she wanted to listen to his voice, and his laughter, and see the joy sparkling in his ice blue gaze. She wanted to pull him close, weave their fingers together, and brush her lips against his, and wake him up with a true love's kiss like they did in fairytales.

But she didn't move. Instead, she fingered her necklace, those diamonds a shade of ice blue she could never seem to get out of her head.

"Right," she agreed, shutting her eyes tightly. "Thank you."

"Of course."

She opened her eyes after another thoughtful silence settled over them the way it might've been like she was watching the stars and listening to a fire crackle in its fireplace, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa. With Keefe by her side, snuggled warm in his arms. "So who's giving the lecture?"

Elwin smiled a little at that, his usual humor back and sparkling no less brightly in his gaze. "I would allow you to, but I have a strange feeling I can't seem to shake off that you'd spend the entire time insulting him in various ways."

"Guilty as charged." She grinned sheepishly. "But five minutes minimum. And you have to spend at least a full minute of yelling nonstop. Deal?"

"Thirty seconds. I'm not very good at yelling," he admitted.

"Fine," she agreed reluctantly. "Thirty seconds."

"Deal."

{~|~}

As Keefe's eyes fluttered open, an overwhelming sense of fatigue nearly forced them closed. But — no, he had to make sure Sophie was okay. He didn't care about the dull, insistent throbbing in his side, or the fact there was currently a very bloody, very nauseating dagger on his bedside table. Sophie —

"Foster?"

"Keefe!" Sophie was at his side in an instant, a sweet, soft, concerned smile gracing her lips. She sat down beside him, leaning closer as her hand reached for his gently.

"Sophie," he whispered, his voice barely expelling a breath. "You're okay."

"I'm okay? You idiot, you're the one who almost died on me, again. I hate you, you know that?" she decided furiously, growing bright red from an emotion he couldn't quite place his finger on. "I loathe you."

Keefe laughed. Bad mistake. That hurt. A lot. He clutched his side, but Sophie didn't slow her roll as she stroked his hair out of his face, a tender emotion fluttering through her despite her words.

"You are absolutely awful, Keefe Sencen! If you do that again, I'll have no hesitation to —"

"I thought we agreed I'd do the lecturing," interrupted a familiar voice, chuckling when she shut up, and ducked her head.

"Sorry," she mumbled, clearly not very sorry.

"Elwin?" Keefe wondered, dazed. He pulled himself to a sitting position, barely managing to force down the rising wave of vomit as agony sunk its serrated claws in his side, and glanced around to find himself in the Healing Center. Blood had stained the sheets below him, but he ignored it, refusing to acknowledge the fact that it looked like a lot of blood, and he was pretty sure it was his blood.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sophie cried, but she didn't protest, or force him down. Instead, she slipped her arm around his shoulder, and helped him up.

"What the . . . ?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "How — why am I here?"

She smiled gently, pulling him closer, though she didn't seem to realize it. "Told you I'd take you to the best doctor in the world."

Elwin seemed rather touched by that, but neither of them bothered to glance his way.

"Didn't you imprison me?" Keefe clarified.

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, I can always take you back if you'd like."

"Definitely not. I mean, I want to see your penthouse," he informed her, "but not at the cost of my freedom."

The blonde giggled, lacing her fingers between his, and her other hand cupped his face, tilting it up so she could examine him. Her touch, every stroke, sparked a raging wildfire somewhere inside him. "I'm just glad you're alive, Hunkyhair."

He smirked. "I knew you'd come around. You love me, don't you? Ah, but who couldn't? The great Keefe Sencen, the Lord Hunkyhair? I mean, people are getting jealous, Foster, and I don't need to be an Empath to tell you that."

"Jealous of what?" she asked, though, for the first time, he was fairly certain she knew exactly what he was talking about, a teasing glint warm behind her wholesome brown gaze.

And it was real. She was real. She was right there. His fingers tightened around hers. She's real. He'd never allowed himself to even imagine . . . but she was there, and her sweet smile, her familiar warmth was, too. She'd changed, he could see. But she was still herself. She was still the essence of the girl he loved, and he wasn't letting her leave him again, no matter how different she was.

"Of The Hair, of course," he replied, puzzled. "I mean, what else? Besides, you know, the charm, the charisma, the hotness, the creativity . . . All in a day's work of being devilishly handsome."

Quite on the contrary to the furious blush he'd expected, Sophie laughed. "Still as flirtatious as ever, I see? You haven't changed one bit."

"And you've changed plenty."

Sophie's smile disappeared, her gaze dropping away from him as she avoided the hurt, the truth in his words. "Yeah. I have."

"That's alright," he decided, leaning back with his signature smirk ready to go. "Doesn't mean you can't be you. Lady Hunkyhair, if you will."

The other elf burst out laughing at that, leaning her head on his shoulder as she struggled to regain her composure. "Keefe, did you just propose to me?" she squeaked between fits of helpless laughter.

His smirk faded when he realized, yes, yes he had, and while he wasn't particularly shocked (goodness knew how many times he'd slipped like that), he couldn't help but feel dismayed. Sophie . . . noticed. She wasn't nearly as oblivious.

And that scared him. What did she know? What could she see now that her shield of not-knowing-anything had vanished?

"Um," he mumbled, racking his brain for a proper reply. "Yes? I mean — no! No! I meant no! I wasn't — that's not — I didn't . . . intend that."

Sophie was laughing so hard by then, she practically collapsed in his arms. "Oh, you have no idea how much I've missed you, Keefe."

He hesitated. "Does that mean you're staying?"

Too sudden. Silence greeted his words for a long, terrifying moment. And when she finally replied, her voice was small, quiet, too scared of being any louder.

"I don't know."

Keefe tilted his head. That wasn't a no. There was still hope, and it was growing, despite his effort to stamp it down and ignore it. There was still a strand of light. "Stay. Please. Please, Sophie."

"I can't, Keefe. There's . . . It's too complicated."

"Then we'll sort it out," he replied, clasping both her hands with his. "Together. Team Foster-Keefe for the win, remember?"

Sophie bit her lip. She was tempted, and he didn't need to be an Empath to see that. Her clear, gold-flecked brown gaze settled upon her hands in his.

"I promise you, I'll never leave your side, if you'll just . . . stay. Don't leave me again, Sophie." His voice broke over her name before he could stop it. "Please. Give me two days. Forty-eight hours to convince you to stay, and if I fail, you can go back to the Neverseen, and those penthouses I should've gotten, and those hot tubs I'm definitely annoyed about. Just give me a chance."

Sophie's gaze didn't meet his. And for a moment, he was absolutely sure she'd refuse. There's no way she'd care. No way she'd listen to him of all people. Maybe Fitz, or Dex, but Keefe? No, why would she bother?

". . . Fine," she whispered.

Fine? Fine meant yes. Fine meant hope. Fine meant maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to stay with the people who loved her. Maybe he could make her happy again. Elysian euphoria flooded his heart which began to race with exhilaration. He could do it. He would do it. He wouldn't fail. For her, he'd do whatever it took.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He wasn't sure what happened first, and what happened next, and if anyone asked for the details, he wasn't sure if he could describe it as anything but glorious. But as pure blissful delight overtook his senses, he didn't care about anything anymore.

And before he could think about what he was doing, before he could stop himself, and give an internal lecture about how stupid he was to even think of doing such a thing, he pulled her close and kissed her right on the lips. Kissed her long and fiercely, for he never wanted to let go. He never wanted to stop that feeling, whatever those were dancing in elation in his stomach. He never wanted to stop trying to bring a smile to the face of that beautiful, smart, determined girl he was madly in love with.

But maybe the craziest part was when she kissed him back, when she closed her eyes and drew closer, when her fingers ran through his hair, and shattered every trace of his trepidation until it all fell away, and the only thing that mattered was him and her, and the kiss they shared.

Keefe pulled back, and his eyes remained closed for a long moment as his lips tingled with the memory of hers against it, one he'd never forget as long as he'd lived — which, if he kept up his stupid habit of getting into dangerous situation, might not have been very long, but it was no less true.

And slowly, his eyes fluttered open to meet hers.

"Okay," she whispered softly, her fingers lingering against his jaw as she pressed her forehead against his and felt their breaths mix as they scrambled to tame their racing hearts side by side. "That's a pretty good first reason, Sencen. Let's see how the rest of them go."

He laughed breathlessly, ducking his head as he felt his skin heat up, for he was undoubtedly blushing furiously. To be fair, so was she.

An insistent smile lingered upon her lips as her sweet gaze met his. And it wasn't that deceptive smirk she'd worn before, back when those sturdy metal bars stood unyielding between them. No, this was real. This was pure and stunning, setting his heart ablaze with a single spark, a flame he'd thought was long gone.

It felt good to know he could still make her smile like that. For now, that was enough.

Right then. Thank you for reading this probably still unedited crap. Stay safe, luv y'all!

Update! It's been 8 hours and 43 minutes, aka five hours of sleep, but I have edited! A little hehe. Don't forget to vote! <3

~Aria Ashtri, 5/24/2021