Klarissa moved her spoon in wide circles, watching her grain islands flood. He picked up the newspaper, flipping through the front page article about Orochimaru, the famous black and white pop singer. He uncapped the marker, drew a speech bubble, and scribbled, “I like little boys.” in. It was calm. The clock was ticking. One of the upstairs tenants was arguing with his spouse again. Klarissa lowered her head into her arms and closed her eyes tightly. Before leaving he cleaned the counters, vacuumed and put his things in boxes. Just in case. Along the way she bought some wrapping paper and a small box that stuck out of her pocket. Hotel security let her through, which meant Jace hadn't finished his room yet, which was probably a good sign. He took the stairs, trudging morosely up the seven flights, his calves aching as he reached level four. She moved with quick, purposeful movements, like a warrior, he imagined. He hoped. Her momentum carried her along the corridor and around the bend until she found herself directly in front of her door, number 38... When all her resolve suddenly abandoned her. He stared at the golden number 38 and licked his lips twice. She'd thought about all of this, planned it down to the last word, in the three weeks she'd been gone. She knew exactly what was wrong with her… with them, and what she wanted to prove. Why, then, was she so terrified? He busied himself with wrapping the box, clumsily smoothing strips of tape over the plain red wrapping paper. he took a deep, unsteady breath and raised his hand. His blow was tentative, too soft for even her to hear. He tried again, still weak but... Jace opened the door. His eyes widened slightly when he saw it, but he… in the center of the paper… a song he had ever written, and the only one he had never sung for money. Sometimes the orange, polluted moonlight flashed on the scars of her wrists, and sometimes a tear slipped from the closed eyes of the lost girl, but there was a quiet understanding between them, and a secret fire burned in each. words, the boy put the guitar on the ground and crawled back next to the girl, not really understanding why, but he did it anyway. A cloud made the moon blind. In the sudden darkness, the girl turned until they found themselves sharing a pillow and stared confusedly at his dark form, her eyelashes brushing his neck. She touched his chest with a careful, uncertain hand and listened to his heartbeat until he fell asleep. He lay awake, memorizing the curve of her shoulder and the sound of her breathing. They both slept through the smiling dawn.