Chapter 49: Credits

Chapter 49: Chapter 49: Credits

They took seats on the couch and the TV flickered on.

Zoey pulled a blanket over her knees and balanced her plate on the armrest. She held out the remote without looking at him.

"You pick," she said.

"Me?"

"You picked the last one. It was good. Don’t ruin it."

"That’s a lot of pressure."

"I know."

Jared took the remote. He scrolled through the menu, past a row of posters, a row of ratings, A cartoon about talking turnips. A documentary on hot springs. A horror movie that looked far too serious for the hour. He stopped on a poster showing a knight in dented armor, standing before a huge, snarling dragon, a burning castle behind him.

"This one," he said.

Zoey peered at it. "A dragon movie?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I just thought you’d want a break from dragons."

He didn’t answer. He pressed play.

"Oh, here we go," Zoey muttered.

"Nobody says ’I have seen their eyes in my dreams,’" Jared said.

"The knight does."

"The knight is unrealistic."

"The knight has a lovely cloak design."

"It’s the world’s most impractical cloak."

They both fell quiet as the movie rolled on. Zoey ate her pasta in slow, careful bites. Jared worked through his plate, chewing with his eyes on the screen. Occasionally one of them let out a snort, or a groan, or a muttered comment.

"Stupid," Zoey said.

"He’s literally running toward the explosion."

"Why would he do that?"

"For drama."

"There’s a perfectly good barn he could hide behind."

"Unrealistic," Jared said. "Nobody dies with honor. People die with their face in the dirt, thinking about sad things."

Zoey choked on her juice. She clapped a hand over her mouth, coughing, laughing, her eyes watering. Jared looked at her sideways. A small, helpless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

On screen, the dragon roared. The knight raised his sword. A golden shaft of light burst through the clouds.

"Wait," Zoey said. "He loves the dragon?"

"I think the dragon is his friend."

"I thought it was the villain."

"No. It’s the villain’s dragon. But the knight is trying to free it."

"That’s so dumb."

"That’s so dumb," Jared agreed.

He looked at the screen for a long moment.

Jared’s throat tightened.

’Not now.’

He looked away.

Zoey and Jared kept up a steady stream of commentary, their voices low and easy, interrupted by the occasional laugh. By the time the credits rolled, the plates were empty, the juice was gone, and the room was dark except for the glow of the screen.

"That was awful," Zoey said.

"That was terrible."

"I loved it."

"Me too."

She stretched, arms over her head, and yawned. Then she reached for the plates, stacking them on her knees.

"I’ll take these."

"I’ve got it."

"I said I’ll take them."

They both stood up at the same moment.

It was a clumsy, unplanned thing. Jared swung his legs off the couch just as Zoey rose, plates in hand, and the couch cushion shifted under them, tilting them toward each other. She stumbled. He lunged to catch her.

Her shoulder bumped hard against his chest, the plates clattering in her grip, her face suddenly very close to his.

They froze.

For a second neither of them moved. She was looking up at him, wide eyed, lips parted, close enough that he could count the freckles across her nose. He could feel her breath, warm and quick, against his collar. A strand of her hair had come loose and tickled his chin. His hand was on her elbow, steadying her. Her fingers gripped the plates so tight her knuckles had gone white.

Then she gasped.

"Sorry!" She jerked back, nearly dropping the plates. "Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean..."

"It’s not a big deal."

"It’s fine." He waved a hand, trying to brush it off, his voice casual and a little too loud. "Honestly. It’s nothing. I was in the way."

He reached out, to help steady the plates, to be useful, to do something with his hands. But he reached for the wrong thing. His fingers closed around hers instead.

He held her hand.

It was small and warm and slightly sticky from the juice. He didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.

Zoey stared down at their joined hands.

A bright pink flush crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks. She opened her mouth. She closed it.

"I’ll just," she said. "I’ll take these."

She vanished through the doorway, the dishes rattling.

Jared stood in the dark living room, hand still half raised.

[What did you just...] the system began.

’I don’t know.’

[You grabbed her hand.]

’I know.’

[On purpose?]

’I don’t know!’

He lowered his hand and flexed his fingers. They tingled faintly. He had no idea what had just happened, or why. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t smooth. It was an accident. And yet, somehow, she had blushed. She hadn’t pulled away right away. She hadn’t scolded him.

He was, he realized slowly, making progress.

’Progress toward what?’

He didn’t know that, either.

Jared cleared his throat.

He tried to play it cool. He leaned back, spread his arm across the top of the cushion, and gave her a small, easy smile, the kind he’d seen in a hundred movies. He tried to look relaxed. He tried to look like the sort of person who held hands by accident every day.

It didn’t work.

His arm felt stiff. His smile felt wrong. He could feel the heat in his ears. Zoey glanced at him sideways, raised an eyebrow, and went back to staring at the screen.

He tried again.

Slowly, carefully, he slid his hand across the cushion, toward hers. His fingers brushed the edge of her palm.

She pulled her hand away.

It was a small movement. Quick and neat. She tucked it under the blanket and kept her eyes fixed on the TV, her jaw set. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t say a word.

The message was clear.

She was either not interested, or playing hard to get.

[Hm,]

’What?’

[I’ve been studying her.]

’And?’

[There are no smiles on her cheeks this time.]

Jared glanced at her.

She was staring ahead, expression neutral, lips pressed together. The pink had faded from her face. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t blushing. She looked, if anything, a little tired.

[That’s not coy,]

[It’s not teasing. If she were playing hard to get, she’d be smiling. She’d be sneaking glances. She’d be biting her lip. She isn’t. It can’t be hard to get.]

Jared sighed.

’So she’s just not interested.’

[It seems so.]

He begrudgingly agreed.

He took his hand back, folded his arms, and slouched deeper into the cushions.He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he didn’t care.

The next movie started.

They watched it in silence. It was a quiet one, an animated film about a fox and a lighthouse. The colors were soft. The music was gentle. Neither of them said much. Zoey drew her knees up under the blanket. Jared stared at the screen, not seeing it.

Time slid by.

At some point Jared’s eyelids grew heavy, and his head tilted back against the cushion, and the world went soft and dark.

They slept on the couch that night, the TV still on.

They had gone on their first raid, and it seemed to have severely tired them both. They’d fought golems and gas, flame and fear.The weariness had settled into their bones, dragging them down, until they both lay slumped at opposite ends of the couch, breathing slowly, while the credits scrolled across the screen.

* * *

Jared’s eyes opened.

He was lying on his side, one arm hanging off the cushion, a crick in his neck. The TV was still on, flickering through a cooking show. The blanket had slipped to the floor. The other end of the couch was empty.

A creak sounded on the stairs.

He lifted his head. Zoey was walking up the steps, hair rumpled, a towel draped over her shoulder, rubbing her eyes. She’d gone to her room to freshen up. He heard her door click shut.

He sat up and stretched.

’We have a raid today.’

The thought arrived slowly, like a ship rising from fog. Another day. Another gate.He rubbed his face, stood up, and shuffled toward the stairs.

He was dressed and ready within the hour. A clean shirt, a fitted jacket, a pair of sturdy boots. He pulled the pouch tight against his belt, checked the gems, and turned toward the clock.

It was past 6 am.

Too early. By any reasonable standard, it was far too early to leave. The raid didn’t start until 8. The guild wouldn’t open for another hour. But he was determined. He needed to go early.

’The training room.’

It was the only place in the guild where he could test his skills in peace.But it filled up fast. By 8, every rookie in the building would be clamoring for a slot. He wanted a few quiet hours before the crowd, a chance to practice without anyone peering over his shoulder.

He went upstairs.

Zoey’s door was ajar. He pushed it open a few inches. She was lying on her bed, face down, fully dressed, one arm hanging over the edge. She’d freshened up, apparently, and then collapsed again. Her hair was still damp. Her breathing was slow and deep.

Jared hesitated.

Then he crossed the room and shook her shoulder gently.

"Zoey."

She groaned.

"Zoey. Wake up."

"Mm."

"I’m heading out."

She cracked one eye open. It was bleary, unfocused, and baffled.

"What time is it?"

"Past 6."

"That’s too early."

"I know."

"You’re insane."

"I know." He straightened. "I’m going to the guild. I want to use the training room before it gets crowded. You’ve still got time. Sleep a bit more."

He turned and walked toward the door.

"I’m heading out," he said, over his shoulder, a final goodbye.

"Wait," Zoey said.