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· 🙤 •° · ︻╦デ╤━━╾ ·°• 🙦 ·
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❝ Now it's either her, or the gun. ❞
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FLARE DRAGS HERSELF ALONG THE pavement towards the Umbrella Academy. She had been too tired to fireport after the explosion at the restaurant. Every step she takes results in a wince of pain from the movements. Her open wounds sting.
If there was light outside brighter than the dim street lamps lighting the road, then she would surely look like a zombie with the blood trickling down her arms and legs. Regardless, she tries to ignore the cuts and bruises littering her arms.
God, all of this struggle, and she didn't even get to drink her chocolate milk! What a scam. Once she reaches the academy, hopefully there will be something somewhat appetizing left in the fridge for her to eat. So much for having a nice boujee meal before the world ends.
And don't even get her started on Five. Seriously, the boy is so difficult to understand sometimes. It's not that he's hard to read — quite the contrary, actually. Most of the time Flare can see through him like glass. The same five emotions he ever shows cycle between sarcasm, anger, cockiness, annoyance, and on rare occasions, flirtatious comments aimed entirely to piss her off.
For now, all she can conclude about Five is that he definitely isn't trying to kill her at least. It's pretty obvious, and he's explained his reasons as to why he needs her alive, so Flare's concerns about him suddenly assassinating her while her back is turned probably wouldn't play out anytime soon. She can put those thoughts to rest.
Standing at the foot of the Umbrella Academy's steps, she looks up at the towering building, the smallest of shudders running through her at the sight of the dark walls. Although this place is the only safe area the girl slept in for two years of her life, it never felt like a home to her.
Whether that be her utter disdain of Reginald Hargreeves, or not living there for a majority of her life, she knew the place was far from the right place. Regardless, there's still a bed and blankets waiting for her up there, so she might as well make the most of it. Deciding that she feels alright enough, Flare fireports inside.
That wasn't the greatest idea. With a grunt, her legs give out when she lands and she drops to the floor, landing almost face-first of whatever room she just appeared in. As pathetic as she might look right now, this is definitely a relief. The cool polished floor feels incredible against her wounds. Peeling her head off the floor, she takes a quick glance around the dark room.
It's Five's old bedroom — the familiar green walls sticking out clear as day despite there barely being any light. It's ironic how her subconscious seemed to want her to teleport to this room in particular.
