❝Things never fell kindly, but fate was inexplicably brutal and loving both.❞

Dahlia awoke to the sound of sizzling food. She rolled over in her bed with a soft groan, burying her face in the pillow. Now that she'd gained consciousness, she was all too aware of the daylight streaming through the window, determined to disturb her rest. Her eyes were heavy with sleep. She'd wanted to get a bit more rest, but now she was inevitably awake.

Her temples throbbed, followed by certain nausea. Dahlia turned her head to the side and breathed out. As though she could forget getting so drunk she couldn't walk the night before, as though she needed a reminder. She wished she could have forgotten.

With a sigh, Dahlia pulled herself out of her bed. Her feet went immediately into her slippers, and she drew back the curtains. Sluggishly, she padded out to the kitchen, where she leaned against the wall and stared. Everything felt like it was coming into focus slowly.

White-blonde tousled hair stood out against the black shirt. His hands moved fluidly as he stirred something around a pan, and the scent hit Dahlia belatedly. He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that reminder her of Lester, turning down the heat on the stove. Beside him, two plates held with eggs and toast. Eloise carefully used the spatula to lay some meat onto each plate.

It smelled delectable, and warm. Dahlia couldn't remember the last time someone had made her something to eat from scratch. She knew how to cook herself, but these days had no motivation to attempt to do so, having rather eaten plain bread or chips out of the pantry when necessary.

Eloise picked up both plates and turned obliviously, nearly dropping both in surprise as he caught sight of Dahlia. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his voice quiet. It was raspy.

"Not long," she said reassuringly. Dahlia led the way to the small dining table in the apartment they were temporarily sharing. After finding Leonora's Women's Shelter, they had both settled on renting something small nearby. It was a very simple place, with minimalistic decoration and clean walls. Dahlia could only think it suitable.

Eloise followed behind her and set down the plates in front of them both, going back for utensils. Once he sat down, they both began to eat. Dahlia hummed her appreciation as she tasted the first bite. It was good. She hadn't even known that he had been able to cook. He smiled back slightly in response and shoved another forkful into his mouth.

"Are you going to work today? 'Cause you look like shit."

"No, I took the today off. You?"

"Bold of you to assume that I have work instead of living my best life." It was doubtful that Eloise didn't have a job when he came home exhausted every day. Dahlia wasn't gullible enough to miss the small joke.

"There's no correlation between that and a career, but sure. Anything in mind?" Dahlia finished her plate and set down her fork, going into the kitchen to get two glasses of water.

Eloise eyed her with a certain amount of skepticism that made her skin crawl. "Want to participate in my identity crisis?"

Identity crisis. Dahlia turned the phrase over in her head curiously. It was the perfect way to encompass the feeling described. "How does one participate in such a thing?" she asked, hesitantly. Was this something she should have been advised against earlier in life? She turned the phrase over in her head hesitantly again. Identity crisis.

Eloise took his fork and pointed at the scrambled eggs on his plate. "Okay, so I have to be either eggs" — he waved his fork over to the meat— "or meat, right? But I don't want to be either, I don't feel like either, and I don't see the point in labeling each. They're both food. They have their differences, but they're both food. You following?"

"I guess?"

"Lovely. Eggs and meat go together in this kind of menu, yes? Eggs is supposed to pair well with meat, and meat is supposed to pair well with eggs, and that's just how it goes. For the sake of this argument, we're going to pretend no other types of foods exist, just eggs and meat here. But the thing is, if I'm eggs, I only like other eggs and I don't like meat." Eloise paused. "One might say I'm cleansing my palette." He smiled like it was a funny joke.

"So, you're going against how things are supposed to be because you personally don't like and don't feel like eggs or meat, but as a food you feel like you have to be something quantifiable?"

"Right, but I don't feel quantifiable, you know?" Eloise polished off the last of his meal with a healthy amount of spite. "This is so dumb."

"Would the solution then be just not to set such strict standards in the first place?"

"That's not how society works, but it's a nice thought."

Dahlia nodded slowly. "Ah. I understand now why it's a crisis. People are not so quick to change or understand things."

"I mean, seriously, how are you supposed to feel like you belong when the whole of society tells you you're out of place? How are you supposed to forget the inherent shame? How are you supposed to live when part of you can't?" Eloise's expression turned downcast along with his barrage of sad questions.

That's what they were: sad questions.

Dahlia's head throbbed sympathetically.

She propped her head up on the table with her arm and let herself process the words. He was saying a lot things without saying them, but she understood. The shame he described was something she fought to let go of. Ms. Amest had been helping her work through her guilt for a few months now. It was hard, even if a bit different than his.

"This is something my counselor told me from the women's shelter," Dahlia said thoughtfully. She turned the syllables over in her mouth as though they could break if she spoke too quickly. "If they don't love you, it doesn't matter. The only person you need to live is you. Whoever you are; whole, flawed, shattered into pieces. It doesn't matter. Trust in yourself. Trust in your nature to be kind and good, trust that it'll be alright. Build yourself to be the best you can, so that when there's no one else to fall back on you have yourself. They're all assholes if they criticize you for things you can't change about yourself, including how you feel. But you're the one that matters. How you feel will always be valid."

Eloise Raure was only younger than her by a few years but mature enough for his age to understand. If there was one thing Dahlia knew how to do, it was to rely on herself and her own resources to make it out alive.

Dahlia reached across the table to hold Eloise's hand and he closed his eyes at her touch. This would have to suffice, for she could not take his pain away, only reach out a hand and say something she wished she had been told at his age. After all, she too had lost herself along the way. 

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i decided the dedication for this story writing this chapter, finally. and i've gotten started working on the playlist, which i'm super excited for!

if anyone is interested, on patreon i'm at least five parts ahead if not more at this point + extra content, so go check it out if you can! i'd love the extra support if you are able to support my writing! i'll link it in this chapter or my patreon is in my bio for anyone who'd like to <33