After a week of rigorous routines, tiring training, and cyclical studies, your body, nearly broken from exhaustion and exertion but still pushing forwards nonetheless, had grown rather accustomed to the recently-imposed repetitive sleep schedules.  As such, you found yourself awoken with the slow rising of the sleepy sun, scarcely yet cresting the soft surface of the slim grass stalks that stippled the fields beneath it.  You slid out of bed like featherweight fog.  The hazy morning air was you and you were the hazy morning air, slipping out of your fellow female cadet's room with calculated quietness and drifting into the nearby washroom, from which you soon emerged, fully dressed fit enough to pass any unforeseen inspection that may or may not have awaited later on in the day.

Soon enough you'd reached the cafeteria and grabbed a grossly meager few morsels of grub masquerading behind the faux facade of 'breakfast.'  Yet another thing you'd needed to adjust to - although, in all honesty, you weren't quite as ready to let go of a full stomach as you were an ingrained dormancy duration.  Homemade biscuits seemed like such a silly specter as you sat down at an empty table in all your absent-mindedness. Homemade anything, for that matter.

"Homesick?"

A swift sound graced your ears, gradually shaking you from your mental memorandums.  Your curious eyes drifted upwards to find a familiar face that had fashioned itself directly across from yours, innocent interest incandescent behind freckled cheeks and deep, brown eyes.  The pure look caused you to avert your gaze back to your scanty plate.  "I suppose you could say that."  After a breath of silence, you returned your gaze, before smiling, "Good morning to you, too."

He let out a small chuckle.  "I'm surprised I woke up this early."  You nodded in agreement, remembering how, for the previous six days, he'd always been one of the last people to dash through the doors to the mess hall, wolf down a meal, and clean up in that flurried, furious order before Commander Shadis and his punishment of doom would arrive to all those who had 'slept in.' 

"I'm glad you did," you replied, beginning to eat.  Perhaps the prime reason - or only reason, for that matter, you thought to yourself with acidity burning in the back of your throat - you'd gotten used to such an odd arrangement of life was sheerly to dodge another dropkicking session with the Commander.  Ever since that incident, you'd attempted to keep your head down, behave yourself, and stay under the radar.  You were a wisp, watching and imitating the handful of well-behaved cadets.  Mamie had offered all the same advice, of course, but you felt it necessary to employ it in all possible enhancements, especially due to the exiguous chance of ever appealing to Commander Shadis. 

"He'll pick and choose his favorites," she'd told you, "and there's a high chance that you won't be one of them.  I sure wasn't.  But that doesn't mean everything will be bad.  If you keep to yourself, he'll leave you be."

So far, it was working.  By presenting yourself similarly to the girl Shadis had skipped on introduction day - Annie - you'd successfully escaped any further punishment.  You weren't perfect.  No, you still had your fair share of slip-ups or relapses, but you didn't mind if the other cadets saw you as your true self; at least, you minded far less than if your commander would've been the one seeing behind your disguise.

For whatever unpredictable reason, you'd acquainted yourself with a few various people, one of them being the boy across from you. "Now you get to eat without worrying about choking."

He laughed, swallowing a piece of bland, boiled potato.  "That's why you always get up early, then?  A thirst to take your time while eating?"

"Something like that, I suppose," you shrugged, ignorant at his attempt to lighten the mood.  Even Marco's usual sunshine routine wasn't working its typical magic charm on you.  With a brain as stormy and unpredictable as yours, the hope of sunlight poking between your thoughts was quite slim, if at all possible.  But after you'd cleared your plate and saw the reserved look on his face, a twinge of regret tugged at your side.  "Thanks for keeping me company."

The freckled boy smiled back, illuminating the walls around you with the whiteness of his teeth.  "Thanks for not ditching me on all the days I've woken up late."

"You're welcome," you giggled, rising to your feet and starting to head for the trash can before backtracking.  "Want me to take that?"  A hand extended politely out to Marco, nonverbally offering a free trip to save him a walk, figuring it was the least you could do in response to his persistent kindness.

He nodded, handing you his own emptied tray.  "I appreciate it, [y/n]."

Your only response was a whistled hum and a nonchalant nod, before you bounced off to empty the load in your hands, stacking the plastic trays next to the sink - which, you noticed, slightly irked, was filled to the brim with dirtied dishes.  No sponges lay anywhere nearby, indicating even the simplest of attempts; the soap bar was fully intact from the last time that it'd been replaced, glued to its holder without use.  Grime had accumulated in grotesque amounts.  A pile of plates was perched precariously atop one another, balanced just perfectly enough to prevent an immediate collapse, but tilting just enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

Mamie had once recounted a tale of some poor sap in her year who had neglected his dishwashing duties.  The cadet in charge of it had, apparently, not been able to get enough sleep the first three days, and had thus overslept, missing his opportunity to fulfill his assigned duty - and winding up in a series of subsequently damaging punishments which dwarfed your kicking.  At least you'd still been able to eat dinner the next three days.  And not been forced to run for three hours straight - one for each of the days they'd spurned their service. 

"Hey, Marco?" You called out, turning back to face the open area of the cafeteria.  It took you a moment to weed him out - a head of spiky two-toned blonde-brown hair in what was previously your seat had blocked that of your companion's; you recognized him as Jean.  Marco's head quickly perked up, however. 

"When did you replace the soap?"

"What - oh, I think it was four days ago?"  He paused frequently, once to gather his thoughts and twice to consider adding on to his statement.  "Do I need to get a new one?"

You sighed.  Someone had completely abandoned four days' worth of dirtied dishes, and someone was going to face the punishment.  "No, just wondering..." you replied, allowing your voice to fade to dust near the end of your re-information.  It was then that you broke your own rules.

Stick to yourself, and it'd be alright.  Deal with your own things, and you'd be fine.  But don't go meddling with others' business.  Even if it was for a good cause, chances were you'd screw it up.  Historically, at least, that was how things had gone.  And with this new life had come new promises...and, more importantly, more skills for averting attention.  But the prospect of someone having to run four hours straight?  Longer, if they didn't figure out their mistake?  And not eating for four days? 

You flicked the rusty sink on, grabbed a fresh sponge, lathered it with soap, and got to work.  If your hypothesis was correct, then there were about ten minutes left until five-thirty.  Ten minutes till Commander Shadis would enter and bark out orders, possibly beginning a surprise inspection.  Either way, there were ten minutes until someone, regardless of who, would see you.  If it was, in fact, five-twenty.  But the way the sun hung in the sky and cast its shadows, just barely above the ground...there wasn't a logical reason you could come up with a different time-frame.  No matter how fickle the weather, the sky itself seemed to stick to routine patterns. 

The opposite was true of you, as you stood, vigorously scrubbing, seating the newly-cleaned dishes atop a nearby counter.  Drying them could come later.  Chances were high that the warm air would dissolve them into vapor shortly enough.  As for whoever'd had dish duty, though...well, no amount of weather could've worn away a punishment as far-fetched and outlandishly barbaric as those imposed by Commander Shadis. 

Amidst the bubbles and rapidfire movements, you cast the occasional glance over your shoulder, checking on the status of the cafeteria.  More and more people had piled in - oh, where was the cadet responsible for this mess?  You didn't want to see them punished, not at all...but a little help in clearing their name wouldn't have hurt, in any way, shape, or -

"Ah - [y/n]?" 

You dropped the dish you were scrubbing away at.  Luckily, it'd been midway down the sink regardless, and landed safely with a soft clink against the other plates that remained dirty.  Your heart raced in your chest as you whirled around to face the sudden newcomer, hands gripping onto the extended edge of the sink out of simple humanistic reflex, nails digging deep into the granite surface.  As the fear dissipated, you found yourself staring back, wide-eyed and wild-eyed, at Bertholdt.  "Sorry," you murmured, quickly returning to your work, taking note of the guiltily shocked expression that had overlayed his features, "I couldn't tell who you were for a second.  I'd be dead if Commander Shadis saw me."

"Why are - why are you doing the dishes?"  His voice, now that you had calmed yourself, gently reminding your own brain that now that Bertholdt was there, you would have advance notice if the Commander did, indeed, arrive, sounded much softer and gentler than initially. 

As another few dishes were moved from the abandoned to saved group, you remarked, "Nobody else was doing them."

He took a few steps forward, tentatively peering over your shoulder.  The clean pile was impressive and growing by the moment, sure, but the grimy one was larger and seemingly all-consuming, and he found himself glancing at you every now and then, eyes riddled with remorse.  "Where are the sponges?"  He inquired abruptly.

"Top left cabinet."  The words managed to escape your lips before you had enough time to process what he'd said.  "Oh - wait, why?"

"Here."  With a simple reach he'd managed to nab another clean sponge, as well as a scraping of the bar soap onto it, and picked up a plate.  You almost dropped your plate again as you watched him power the dirt off of it, handing it to you once pristinely clean, before repeating the quick process with the next dish. 

A weight had suddenly been lifted off your shoulders.  Only a few minutes remained, but with Bertholdt's determined help, it was a certain possibility that the two of you could finish up before anything would've been noticed as off.  Together, double the speed and double the results quickly presented themselves as the fruits of your labors, and soon enough there wasn't a single speck of dust on any piece of dining-ware. 

You pushed off the sink, colliding gently with the wall behind you and sinking to the floor, sighing sharply with heavy relief.  "There.  We did it!"  The exclamation left your mouth a bit preemptively, for, when you opened your eyes, you found yourself staring at Bertholdt's back.  He'd shifted his position to the side a bit, towel now in hand, clearly having decided to dry them all, as well.

Immediately you were at his side, handing him the next dish and doing what you could with the only other cloth - a significantly smaller rag, if you could even call it that.  "We should stop soon," you muttered beneath your breath, "the rest won't matter if we get caught."

"Yes, but...you won't be in trouble, will you?  I don't think - [y/n], was this your task?"  An incredulous tone left the boy from beside you.

You found yourself faltering, stuttering in an attempt to explain your own decisions without appearing delusionally naive. "What?  No - I wouldn't have left it like that...but I thought that I should at least try to...help...?"  Teeth gritting, you passed the next three dishes his way.  The watery bottom of the counter was now visible - if you could manage to finish up just four more plates, then it would be as though the entire situation had never occurred. 

"Oh," he began quietly, "I see.  Well - whoever they are, I'm sure they appreciate your help."  As he nodded at you, signaling the new openings for more dishes, you slid them over to him, watching with a reserved fascination.

Tilting your head slightly to one side, you clung to the last wet dish, correcting him gently.  "Our help.  And - it's not just them.  Thank you for coming when you did," you informed, a relieved grin, tired but genuine, lacing your face as you slipped the last dish his way.

His face grew substantially pinker, and you weren't sure whether it was because of the heat of the room or the heat of the water or the heat that constantly seemed to plague him, but you noticed those characteristic little beads of sweat forming upon his softly-sloping forehead, small in size but multitudinous in number.  "Y-you're welcome."

And, as he finished the last wet piece with a single flick of his wrist, you couldn't help but nudge him in the side.  "Come on.  We should go, before someone misses us."  You began to head out, but paused quickly once you noticed the lack of following footsteps. 

Bertholdt had put a hand behind his neck, and as you turned back around to face him fully, your day brightened a bit at the sight of a smile, regardless of how small, that had formed on his face.  As he rinsed the last of the soap down the sink, he followed after you.  "I think I saw Jean in your spot," he informed observantly, a tinge of humor to his tone, "but - you can come sit with me, if you like."

As the words filled your body, you came to the realization that maybe the rainclouds in your mind had merely been an illusion; a hologram projected by your own mind to keep away any signs of happy emotions, or any emotions, for that matter, that could possibly draw attention to yourself, for those clouds were so easily blown away by the wind of Bertholdt's simple, childlike invitation. 

"I think I'll take you up on that offer."