To Perceive an Image

Forty: Images of a Planned Operation

Maryanland, September 29, 2040, 7:00 AM.

"Ready?"

"Would me saying fuck no make you lead us away from here?"

Flynn chuckles, straightening out any wrinkles in the uniform I'm wearing. I would say something about how we have cute couple's matching outfits, but when I remember the origin of our clothes, I retaliate. With our plan set in mind, we met each other at our designated location at the park wearing our humble outfits. My hand clutches the ID in my hand like a lifeline. Trying my hardest to prevent its front side from becoming visible, since I am not who the ID says I am. That won't be a problem; my hands have not stopped shaking since I woke up.

My companion's exceeding levels of anticipation make up for it. I bet he convinced himself we were going to a fashion show instead of a building that houses every meaning related to the word strange. He has not stopped fixing the little things he finds on my outfit.

Are sleeves not rolled up enough? Don't worry.

Creases in some places? It's taken care of.

Misplaced baby hair? In place.

He alternates between using his hands to fix something on me or to hold my hand. It's his relaxation mechanism, not complaining. Azail from last month would pass out hearing this. Despite his suggestion for us to roll out our plan two days after my theft fiasco, he cannot control his doubtful mind.

As dramatic as it might sound, the heavy raindrops represented our mood. Part of me wants to take advantage of the loud noise. Although the ground-shaking weather has never consoled me, it is doing just that today. I'm using its boisterous presence as a tool that will cover the silent chaos Flynn and I are walking toward. My cowardice is using it as shelter.

Can't say it's helping much. In the same way, I can't determine when my next comfortable breath will happen. Breathing has been a painful task, and I can't blame my respiratory system for it. Nervous heaves are all I can manage.

Flynn tightens his hold on my hand every once in a while, or more accurately, every minute we get closer.

The uncomfortable feeling in my chest heightens when we stop in a secluded alley off to the side. Flynn crouches to make leveled eye contact, his hands resting on my shoulders.

"We're prepared, and we know what we're doing. Our hard work will not go to waste. We'll do well, breathe for me, please?" I don't know why he's begging me to breathe when I should concern myself with that, but I appreciate the gentle instructions he's giving. Doing what he said, I saw a smile raise the corners of his mouth.

While I am a walking bundle of nerves, Flynn indulges himself in deep thought. The thoughtful look in his distant eyes says so. My heart drops at the fact that I should be the one on the helping end. This is more for him than for me.

I find the courage to ask him about it after gaining composure. "What are you thinking about?" I ask, hand landing atop his to caress it. The look full of thought deepens, and he sucks in a deep breath before shrugging. "I don't know, to be honest. If I tell you an answer, I'd be lying. My mind won't stop replaying every painful day in the Image World. It has been this way since the day we figured out there might be some important information housed in this building. I guess you could say I'm nervous." He tries to give his worry less significance, but I know better. Removing his arms from my shoulders, I take my turn to comfort him.

Without a second thought, I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest. Either my action made his pulse quicken, or his thoughts already did. I rub his back; I know I'm doing the right thing when he sighs before resting his chin atop my head.