(Hiatus) Truce//RedCrackle

Chapter Four

Graham POV

I hummed a quiet song under my breath as I tinkered with Player's digital clock, my finger smoothing out a glob of clear glue on the dark plastic. The clock was black with white specks and a black screen, though it was blank, the red numbers that normally lit it currently unable to turn on. I had attached a small solar panel into its back, right above the battery holder and a place I'd engineered to hold a plug for the wall. "Now, this baby has three power sources."

I clicked new rechargeable batteries into the clock and closed the latch, crossing my fingers and taking a deep breath before pressing the power button. The red numbers flickered back on, glowing even brighter than before, and I let out a sigh of relief. I thumped back in my chair. My eyes were stinging with unexpected tears, and I did my best to wipe them away.

"Player!" I called, standing from my desk. "I fixed your clock."

He banged through my door in an instant, his face wet and smiling. My heart shuddered. I hadn't seen him smile in so long. His lanky arms reached out towards me, and I went to hand him the clock, but instead they wrapped around my waist in a tight hug. I struggled for breath for a moment, then leaned down to hold him to me.

"Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you." He was sobbing into my jacket again, his fingers digging into my back. I set the clock down on my desk and rubbed his shoulder as he shook.

"No problem, little man," I whispered to him, which just made him cry harder.

"Zack... are you- are you baking?"

The red head turned to me, his curls drooping as they waved about. His tired face was pale, the freckles on his cheeks stark against his skin, but his eyes were bright, showing a hint of what once had been. Zack didn't smile, but his eyebrows weren't so scrunched, and there was a swish of color on his ears and nose.

He looked almost... happy.

"Yeah," was his quiet answer. And, simple though it was, that single word held so much weight.

I swallowed my surprise, walking a bit further into the kitchen. It was slowly heating as the oven warmed, and various ingredients were scattered over the counters. Measuring cups and spoons sat dirtied by the sink, and as I watched, Zack turned back to the bowl in front of him and dumped in a small heap of a light brown seasoning.

The scent of cinnamon hit my nose, and I froze, my eyes widening.

She had smelled like cinnamon the day before... before everything had gone to hell. And I remembered it so strongly because she had said... what had she told me? What... what...?

I staggered back, my hand against my head, fingers tangled in my hair. Like hers had been. Her arm hooked around my neck, her lips against my ear, whispering sweet nothings to me, until her words had turned hurried and desperate, so very important to her, and yet...

I couldn't remember some of her last words to me.

I stared blankly at the picture frame in front of me.

I was sitting on Player's bed, his small apartment bedroom filled with nothing but the mattress, a small desk holding a simple laptop and speaker, and a set of drawers. I had grabbed one of the cardboard boxes that sat hidden in the empty closet, knowing that he had keepsakes from... before.

My eyes had immediately locked onto a photo, and without even thinking, my hands grabbed it from the box and held it to my chest as I sat down.

It was dusty.

I was afraid to clean it. I didn't know what it would reveal to me.

I wiped my sleeve across the glass.

My lungs suddenly shuddered, and I struggled to breathe as I doubled over my knees. The frame dropped softly to the carpet, staring up at me. Silent tears tracked down my face, and I felt my mouth gaping open without making sound. My mind was fuzzy. The room was spinning.

Carmen's steel gaze looked up at the ceiling.

Her name rang through my head, and I began to sob, ugly, shaking, terrible wails that tore through my chest like a burning knife. The taste of salt coated my lips and my tongue, and I gagged, reminded all too much of the sting of blood in my mouth.

She was smiling in the photo. Her lips pulled up at the corners, showcasing teeth as her brows rose. They were quirked up happily, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with laugh lines. She was wearing her favorite black t-shirt with her red coat slung over shoulder, a coat that now hung depressingly in the closet.

My shaking fingers reached down to the picture frame, and they slowly traced over her face through the glass. Hiccups built in my throat, and I began to cough, tears catching my breath away.

Just like Carmen had always done.

I didn't realize I'd started silently screaming and tugging at my hair until two pairs of hands were holding my own away from my head and another was pressing a bottle of water to my lips.

Zack and Player.

And Ivy.

My mind was flashing too fast to understand what was going on anymore.

I was so cold.

I was so tired.

And I felt so alone.