TW // mention of murder & depression

( MATEO'S POV )

     "THAT SICK BASTARD."

     I wanted to scream for not putting the pieces together sooner. No wonder the blade only worked on me. I had a connection to it.

     It truly was an assassin's blade.

     "What?" Miren asked, urging an answer.

     "This is why....." I trailed off, anxiety consuming me whole. Motives run deep. He knew what he was doing. She wanted to leave him— I lived with a murderer behind my back. One slip up, and my fate would end the same as hers.

      My Mamá.

      "Why, what?" Issac pushed.

      "Nothing," I said, with teeth gritted. "My hand just hurts, Aria's probably nauseous from her injured head, and we're all tired. Let's take a break, yeah?" My accent was thick, which hadn't given Miren and Issac the best impression.

      They nodded, thankfully.

( ARIA'S POV )

      "TWO HOURS— WASTED."

      Our group collectively decided to move to a better location than our previous, puked over and muddied area.

      The search plan had failed, and for the first time since we got here, there had been a change in atmosphere. The comfort of not being alone in a foreign place instantly dissipated— as if this were the high school lunch room, except our dynamics have shifted, and I realized we would never go back to our old lives the minute this started.

      Nayari and Giovani were strangely inseparable, Mateo and Haven barely spoke— even to each other, Peter was suddenly giving all of us a suspecting look, Miren hadn't been conversing with anyone, and Issac and I were the next-door-neighbors-since-birth-but-grew-apart-then-reconciled kind of close.

     "Psst," Issac called behind me, tilting his head to gesture into the darkened woods. The light from our petite fire and flashlights wouldn't be able to reach that far, but I have a hunch that he already knew that.

     I slipped my jacket off, letting the cold air trail goosebumps on my skin. Issac didn't look too covered now— the sleeves of his once-worn hoodie wrapped around his waist, and his pants sported trouser cuffs that folded nearly to his knees.

     And there was the bruise, a pop of color on his upper back. I almost forgot about it.

      "If you ever speak about this to anyone, I'll tell the group about that one time you ate a mothball." Issac warned me.

      "Seriously, making up an embarrassing incident? You really have nothing on me, Scott."

      Issac bumped his shoulder against mine, before stopping by an area that was far from the group's earshot. His caramel eyes seemed wary, looking back and forth from the illuminated circle, then to me.

      "What are we doing?" I asked him, taking two small steps backwards.

      "Relax," he told me, patting the ground beside him. "I'm not gonna hit on you."

      My throat produced a gag as I sat beside him, nestling into the tree bark. Issac looked nervous and amused simultaneously. He gnawed on his lower lip, while his hands found themselves cracking the knuckles. My thoughts were overcome with curiosity, I could choke the words out of him.

      Oh god, that sounded wrong.

      "Remember that time in 7th grade, when I walked you home?" Issac asked.

      "Oh wow," I reminisced the memory. "That was so long ago."

      "Yeah, pretty sure your mom chased me down 3 blocks," he said, the sound of laughter filling the empty space.

      "That was the farthest she ever ran, it was incredible!" I laughed along with him.

      It came down to moments like these when I wondered, why hadn't I spent more time with Issac? Clearly, I was missing out. He was right, I should've stopped getting too high into the clouds— that led me nowhere.

      "Well, a teenage boy and a teenage girl alone together wasn't the best scenario."

      I knocked my head back onto the trunk, smiling to the flowering leaves hanging above us. "Look at us now," I commented. "And I was a lesbian back then, anyway."

      Issac laughed to himself, the way a drunken person would. The ambience of nighttime had a way of doing that to you, I suppose. "I know that now," he cackled.

      He had a contagious type of laugh, it was impossible to resist. I think it would be safe to say we've moved on from being drunk to being high.

      Figuratively, ofcourse. Wait.

      He knew that...now?

      The urge of laughter disappeared in my throat as I stared at him in awe, trying my best to conceal a smile. Issac had difficulty reading my expression, though it was merely a moment of realization. Offering to walk me home, saving a seat for me in shared classes, waiting for me by the cafeteria doors... no wonder.

      "You liked me, didn't you?" I knew I had no room for error, especially after putting the instances together, producing a hidden meaning. Or maybe, I was just oblivious.

      That might be it.

      "How come you never told me?" I asked him.

      Issac's cheeks were flushed, as much as they could for his skin color. He fumbled with his words, putting his head down as he ran fingers through his locks.

      I haven't seen him like this since his drastic personality change in the 9th grade.

      "So what if I did, you take pride in that?" He asks me, bordering between a joke and a retort. "I just moved from another school, I didn't know how to socialize back then!"

      I nodded my head in agreement. I smiled more than I hoped, almost resembling the brightness of the sun. Issac had that effect on you— even between friends.

      "Actually, do you remember Kyle Abrams?" Issac said, out of the blue.

      My eyebrows scrunched together. "Who?"

      "Exactly."

      "Huh?"

      "No one ever saw you looking at a boy. Not even a glance— unless it was a project or something."

      "Where are you going with this?" I was stumped.

      "That very much gives the impression that you didn't like men, and you expect me to make a move on you?"

      "I— good point."

      I hated to admit it, but Issac always left me at loss for words, which is quite the moment considering I'm the one obsessed with writing and speech.

     "I owe you something," Issac said, once again, out of the blue.

     My eyebrows crinkled together, as I toyed with the pressed flower pendant hanging around my neck. "What?"

     "A secret of my own."

That piqued my interest to the ultimate degree, it was difficult hiding the perked cheeks and twinkles in my eyes. A secret was a sacred thing, and sharing that to someone was the equivalent of giving them your own blood, forming a truce. In this case, a blossoming friendship.

Issac flicked my forehead, releasing me from my thoughts. "Since you let me read your journal—"

"You mean stole my journal?" I told him.

"Doesn't matter, my point is, I read one of your secrets," he started. "Which means you are legally obliged to know one of mine."

I took my hairtie that marked my wrist, entangling it onto my locks as Issac fumbled to find the right words to say. It amazed me how he was one of the most impatient people to walk this planet but somehow, he's able to actually think before jumping head first.

Issac Scott— a mystery I thought I'd already solved years ago.

"Okay. Word of warning— if you tell anyone this, excluding Peter, I'll tell everyone about the time you accidentally locked yourself in the girls' bathroom and I had to rescue you."

"Please, it was clearly those pájaros del amor who locked me in— all for mistakenly stepping on Señor Perfecto's love letter," I defended, feeling queasy as I remembered them making out beside my locker with no shame. "And you didn't rescue me, you had the janitor pick the lock."

"What matters is I finally have something on you if you decide to out me, Harlows." Issac's little smirk signalled me that he was winning our banter. It was both adorable and irritating that I wanted to rip it off, then keep it for myself.

"What's your secret, then?"

"Don't tell anyone—"

"Just say it."

"I'm probably... most likely, somewhat... kind of, maybe... a tech whiz?" Issac tells me, putting on the silliest and most awkward grin that had ever graced the earth.

But, a tech whiz? Not entirely what I expected.

The Issac everyone sees is an all around class clown, conversation starter, mischievous pranker, dialogue expert, and a friend to all. Now, picture this: the Issac we know, but in his poster-covered room, sitting on his chair, immersed in coding on his 8-gig laptop, slurping on a soda pop as he claims to have made the next breakout game that'll soon be available on the app store. Strange, isn't it?

"Oh God, say something, Aria. You're silence is making me batshit crazy." Issac tells me, biting his lower lip— which shouldn't have reminded me of Haven. Except it did.

He snapped his fingers twice, my gaze not-so-gracefully moving from my fingers to his eyes. "I— wow, that's great! Just not..."

     "What you anticipated?"

     I nodded.

     "You have unbelievably high hopes for me, stop it. Go back to being snarky, it's creeping me out." Issac says, flashing an amused smile.

     Our conversation went about like that, rattling off whatever pops into our heads.

     It was strange to think that all this time, there were chains of memories linking me and Issac, pulling us toward each other. Talking to him felt like reconciling with a long lost friend.

( MIREN'S POV )

     I PLUGGED MY earphones in, scrolling through my most recent playlist. I decided to hit shuffle, willing the quiet atmosphere to be gone.

     Quiet is the city air on a summer night after it rains.

     I hugged myself, turning to the stars above for comfort. Faster than a bolt of lightning, the speed of a Japanese bullet train. I hummed along to the melody.

     Our group was falling apart. This place felt like a hellscape— bringing our innermost trauma and turning them into puzzle pieces.

     And you know, it's always trying stay awake.

     I wish I'd listened to Giovani. I, of all people, should've understood him. He was hurting. Ofcourse, it didn't matter now. I let the fear of losing someone I cared for override my feelings, leaving no room for me to entertain the words and actions unspoken.

     Oh, but darling, running ain't enough.

     Mateo was having his moment now. Even if he preferred not to tell any of us, it was his trauma being toyed with this time. I wish I could hug the burden out of him, but I'm not the person for that.

     To escape from the monsters in my brain.

     I'm never the person for that. Why bother playing the therapist shtick further?

     People say I'm quiet most of the time.

     Would it be me next? I have a whole chunk of depression-inducing memories sitting below the surface, and I bet the devil is itching to torture me. Us.

     If only you knew what goes on in my mind.

     "Elliot— if you're up there, why is this happening?" I whispered to myself.

( GIOVANI'S POV )

"WHAT'S A BARB?" I asked, perplexed with her choice of words.

     "Forget it. You're too young to understand," she tells me, a cheeky grin wide across her lips.

     I booped her nose. "Age is just a number."

     Nayari shook her head, before thinking of a comeback. "Try telling that to Romeo and Juliet, then we'll talk."

     We both decided to take a breather after hours of talking. I let my back slide down my backpack, getting comfy on the grass. My hands found their way into my darkened locks. Nayari placed a container of berries on my chest, before popping one into her mouth.

     I appreciated the silence for a while. I was sure I was going mental as I observed Nayari talking her mouth off. It was a new side of her— one I'm sure barely anyone has seen. It was a privilege to witness her like that— it was authentic.

     My callused fingers snatched a handful of berries, stuffing them into my mouth. Nayari laughed softly.

     There's no denying what I feel for her. Almost lovesick, but with the way she kept me grounded and on my feet, I don't think it's at all bad. My mind continued to contemplate about our moment in the gazebo, when I fell on top of her.

     I decided to ask her about it.

     "Nayari?"

She looked directly into my eyes. "Hmm?"

"What was that? In the gazebo?" I asked, sitting upright. Throughout the past few hours we've been talking, I only managed to work up the nerve to ask her now. It was awfully off-brand for me. Nayari's eyes glistened, almost too much that it resembled diamonds. She knew what I was talking about.

"I'm not sure." She said, looking past my eyes and into the woods.

I tilted my head to the side, but her eyes avoided mind once again. Why? "Can we talk about it?"

     "You're awfully persistent."

     Nayari hadn't said that in her usual tone. It was rough and truthful. Her expressions were stern. Her cheeks were no longer flustered, her smile had dissipated, and I wanted to kick myself in the back. Where is she? This isn't her.

     I had to try again. "Can we?"

     "I don't really want to."

     "Please?"

     "Gio." She was serious. More than I'd ever seen her when she scowled at me. "Don't take this the wrong way— but I thought nothing of that. Nothing happened there. You just fell, and I rolled out of it. Done."

     I'm certain I've unknowingly been stabbed by a sword, and now it's twisting inside me. "So, your flushed cheeks and bright smile was nothing? Meant nothing to you, am I understanding that right?"

     "Why are you pushing this?" Nayari asked, trying to soften her tone, but I could hear burning irritation inside. Where is she? I don't think I'll get my answer anytime soon.

     "Why are you denying this?"

     She looks at me in shock, but my confusion was skyrocketing, and I wasn't sure how to stop.

     "Why, Nayari?"

     She stands up from beside me— the two of us having a life-or-death version of a staring contest— before she takes her tote bag and walks away.

     "Nayari!" I trailed behind her, not missing a beat. I saw her stumble over the rugged terrain and a few skipping stones, seeming to multitask walking with searching for something in her bag.

     My ego seemed to flourish faster than my guilt, because when I finally caught up to her, I grabbed her by her upper arms.

     I heard a rattling sound, before noticing capsules of red and beige scattered on the ground. Nayari kneeled down, slipping from my grasp, picking them up as she panted and sobbed.

     I messed up.

     My eyes shifted its gaze multiple times, before I decided to walk in front of her. Nayari's cheeks were stained with tears, putting a capsule in her mouth and flushing them down with water.

     "Holy shit. Nayari—"

     She looks up at me, shaking, with dead eyes. "Anti-depressants. No one was supposed to know." She stood up, leaving me with undeniable guilt, and retreated to our illuminated clearing.

( PETER'S POV )

     I WANT DUMPLINGS.

     I'd been staring at each person of our group longer than a normal human being should, but that's mainly to distract me from my hunger. And maybe because, everyone seems a little insane. I'm placing my bets someone's already on the verge of going down the deep end.

     For once, I wish I was at home, where the aroma of the xiao long bao, fried rice, and peking duck fills the kitchen whole. My grandmother would be standing in the kitchen, back turned to us, scolding us on how we forget to leave our footwear outside, as heard by the squeaking sounds of rubber shoes.

     She always tried to make our household as Asian as possible, lecturing us that living in a different country didn't mean we should abandon our roots. My māmas took care of us financially, working frantically everyday, so I barely saw them. Sometimes I forget they even live with us.

     Fortunately, my grandmother isn't too strict with sleeping hours— because then, Issac and I would've never been friends. We met at school, exchanged numbers, and ever since, our talking hours had mainly been between 10pm to 2am. We both could never sleep on time, so we wasted hours on each other. He was a socialite, and during the first few weeks, it astonished me how he made time for me. That's fucking dedication.

     I'm not sure if paranoia runs in the family, but it's clearly omnipresent in our household. My sister had bought me a waterproof backpack since I'd gotten my previous one wet my forgetting to bring an umbrella on a rainy day.

     I took my phone out, staring at my lockscreen for a reasonable minute. It was me, my cousin, and my siblings on Christmas Eve, 10 years ago. I was sticking my tongue out, stained purple from sucking on a grape lollipop. My cousin was forced into an panda costume with a santa hat, at the ripe age of 2. I pity him.

     Unlocking my phone, I tapped on the photos icon. The most recent photo was of my stuffed animal collection my māma took, with me nestled between a giant elephant and a fox. The sunlight beamed from the window, casting a ray of sunshine on my striped shirt.

     My parents always try to find ways to make up for the lost bonding time. I appreciate it, but it's different from actually seeing them in person.

     I closed my phone and dropped it in my backpack, my zipper unable to close because of my violin peeping out. Playing it had always been a constant in my life when the world is constantly turning. But if anyone knew that I considered it my best friend, it would be worse than calling me Peter Pan.

     Okay no— maybe that was a lie.

     Maybe I'm the one gone in the deep end.

( HAVEN'S POV )

     "WHAT'S BOTHERING YOU?"

     Between me and Mateo, I was the one with the problems. Breakdowns, breakups, you name it. When we'd call each other, we used nicknames— I was Avie, he was Teo. If I used his actual name to address him through the phone, he'd tell me to say nothing more, he'll be at my house in 10.

     "What's bothering you?" He asked me back.

     The roles reversed. Mateo hadn't been himself, and it made me slightly shiver at the thought that maybe a parasite crawled into his head. He'd always been present and grounded, but today he was floating— almost like a helium-inflated balloon— and I couldn't pull him back down.

     "What's bothering me is that something is bothering you, and you won't tell me." I say, distress written all over my features.

     "There's nothing to tell."

     Paranoia built up inside of me, because Mateo was never like this. I can't let him throw away all those years of friendship, no matter the reason. "Lying? Secret keeping? What's happening to us?"

Oh God. What was happening to us?

Mateo didn't bother answering. Biting down on my bottom lip couldn't hold in the trembling and quivering. I couldn't let him be the broken one in this friendship, that was my position. He didn't deserve it. He couldn't.

"Please say something."

I needed to breathe. The atmosphere felt suffocating. I rose up from my seating position, walking towards a dark end of the forest. I hope he was following.

He didn't.

I'm not necessarily the emotional type. Or at least, I don't openly express them. If I had a hurricane of emotions, it was mine to keep and witness. Truthfully, I don't know where these tears were coming from. Up until today, I was okay.

But he wasn't. Maybe that's it.

I untied my shoelaces, tugging at them with the right amount of force. Aria wasn't anywhere near, but I could use a poetry book or two. I was starting to doubt the luckiness brought by my blue converse. If it were truly fortunate, we wouldn't be trapped here. Mateo would be happy.

I remembered my bedroom walls. The noise they filter out when every aspect in my life was too loud and messy for me to bear. When my adoptive parents saw the handwritten quotes I stuck onto the wall, they had gotten more protective. Those words resembled sadness and anger. I took them down.

Since then, I dropped them on the side of my bed. Thoughts, sayings, anything. If my mind needed to let those stubborn feelings out, I'd write it down and crumple them up. I'm surprised no one's discovered them yet, rolling under my bed.

There was one I found while mindlessly scrolling. Do you think it's possible that some people are born to give more love than they will ever get back in return? I think I'd been broken up to that day— wrote it boldly on a drawing pad, crumpled, dropped.

The secret romantic inside of me made me weaker each day. If our hands touch, my heart flutters in an instant.

"Avie?" Mateo called. "Can you kiss the heartbreak away?"

What?

"I don't understand," I tell him. "Don't tell me you snuck liquor in your bag. You hate that shit."

"I love you." The rim of his eyes were dripping with fresh tears. Mateo's expression was solemn. "Can you kiss the heartbreak away?" He repeated.

"You're joking."

"I'm not. I wouldn't, never to you."

Mateo walked closer, before kneeling down beside me. His hand grazed my forehead to the back of my ear, tucking my bangs away. It was soft and trembling. Brown eyes as rich as chocolate fondue. Quartz pink lips pressing against mine.

I kissed him back, finally reliving a sense of comfort. This felt right.

AMELIE SPEAKS !
soooooooooo this was a wild ride.........
i have absolutely nothing to say but: 1) thank you for reading, please tell me your thoughts, 2) this group honestly just needs a moment to BREATHE (from the whole trapped situation at least...) so that is what this chapter is, 3) inde navarrette looks absolutely fucking STUNNING in the superman & lois s2 ep5 promo !!!!!! and 4) i cannot believe i accidentally have a peter and mj (miren). that was not purposeful AT ALL WTF. and NO, they are not love interests, or marvel will sue me :)

CHAPTER SUMMARY———
everyone else: *experiencing emotional trauma*
aria and issac: besties? besties!! besties? besties!!
peter: i want fucking dumplings right now. i think everyone's mental. my family is chaos reincarnate but i love and miss them. my violin is my best friend, shh don't tell anyone. stuffed animals!! <3