"DANTE! DANTE, PLEASE STOP."
It was hard to keep up with her bodyguard, who had been pacing in circles around the prison. Helene had spotted him through the window when she had tried to find him inside, an almost feverish anger in his steps, like he was on his way to kill someone. She could easily guess who was the recipient of his fury, his fists clenched so tightly the blood was drained out of his knuckles. Even when she shouted he didn't hear her, too far in the past to even notice the present.
Why was she even running after him? It wasn't like she could do anything for him nor was it her place, but she couldn't help but feel guilty, like it was somehow her fault he had been put in the crossfire. Besides, it had been so long since someone had defended her so sincerely, with no ulterior motive behind it. He didn't seem to want anything from her beside the wish she took care of herself more. So she couldn't just leave him alone, not when he was practically burning a path in the sand with his heavy footsteps as well.
"Dante," she repeated when she finally caught his sleeve, out of breath," please."
He looked at her in bewilderment, like he had forgotten who she was for a moment, but when he blinked his usual look was back. With the amount of stress he had it was easy to conclude he hadn't processed the event at all yet, but that didn't give her any indication about when it had happened. After all, her own attacks were triggered even now, years later after everything had happened. It was a tricky thing, PTSD, like a ghost that would never truly leave you. She wasn't sure if it had sunk it's icy fingers in Dante as well, though she supposed that with enough grief, the line between illness and emotion became very thin.
"When did you get here?" he said," I thought you were inside, dealing with that piece of shit."
"I was," she said," but I was -"
Her words hitched in her throat. What was she? Worried? Was that even an emotion she was allowed to have? They weren't friends, hell, they barely were on speaking terms. Dante saying he didn't dislike her wasn't enough for her to meddle in his affairs, wasn't it? She didn't know. To be honest, she never had had many sincere interactions before, so she didn't know what was appropriate.
Ever since they had discovered she was a prodigy she was thrust into a world filled with much older people who all either looked at her with envy or distrust. No one wanted to be outsmarted by a person way younger than them, in whichever way at all, that she had discovered early. Now all her interactions were either carefully crafted to be liked or even more thought out to be respected by her patients. Genuine concern wasn't something she had felt for a long time now nor was it something she knew how to express.
"Are you alright?" she said instead, not finishing her earlier sentence.
"You saw me attempting to beat up both a serial killer and my new boss before," he said," what do you think? I'm clearly the stupidest person in this whole prison."
"That can't be true as long as the director is here," she said.
He stared at her in shock, before laughter suddenly tumbled down his lips, so loud it surprised her. A smile tugged at her own lips as well as he doubled over, but once she heard the almost hysterical note to his voice, it immediately faded again. Where his amusement had begun sincerely, now all that was left were tears in his eyes which he was wiping away furiously.
"Fuck!" he cursed, his eyes red from how hard he was rubbing," why am I crying?"
"Because you're hurting," Helene said, refraining from the urge to step closer as to not aggravate him.
"I shouldn't be," he whispered, looking at her then. The brown in his eyes was sharper than ever now they were lined with red and glittering with unshed tears, so vulnerable that she almost was afraid to look at him. "It's been three years, shouldn't I be over it by now?"
"There's no time limit on grief," Helene said softly.
"Then why does everyone keep telling me there is?" Dante shook his head, frustration clearly visible. "Everyone says I should take my time, at first, but then when I truly allow myself to mourn they always take back their words. I'm only allowed my sorrow when it doesn't interfere with their lives, with my work. I -"
He stopped talking then, breathing in as he collected himself. "It doesn't matter. Why am I even telling you this?"
"There's no shame in speaking about your feelings," she said," if you keep everything inside all the time, you're going to explode."
"That's easy for you to say," he scoffed," when was the last time you showed any real emotion? Every time I ask for you to take better care of yourself you just brush it off. Why should I listen to someone who's so comfortable saving everyone's life except her own?"
"You're right," she murmured," you shouldn't."
She turned around, walking back to the prison. Honestly, she couldn't even argue with him. Like she had thought earlier, it wasn't her place to say something anyway, so she had no right to be angry when he was calling her a hypocrite, because she was. Honestly, she mainly felt numb, like she had for years now.
"Helene! Fuck, Helene, wait, I didn't mean it like that!"
He had grabbed her hand, pulling her to a halt, a sense of urgency in his voice which she did not understand. What did it matter to him if she left?
"It's fine, Dante," she said.
"No, it's not," he said, shaking his head almost feverishly," you were checking in on me, I shouldn't have said that." He breathed out, the tension he had been carrying in his body easing. "Thank you, for this, for earlier, when you were trying to protect me. I'm sorry I'm always so angry, it's the only thing I know."
"There's no need to ask for my forgiveness," Helene said, squeezing his hand," you already have it. I don't blame you for lashing out when in pain, it's human."
"And it's also not okay," he frowned," please, Helene, why are you not angry? You should be, you're allowed to be, when have I ever been kind to you?"
She thought of the way he had scolded the guards after they had left her, the way he defended her every time, the way he protected her so diligently still.
"You're much kinder than you think you are."
He stared at her for a moment too long, something strange in his eyes, almost like her words broke his heart.
"I don't think I am," he whispered," I think I am burning myself to ash with all this anger I carry, like I'll never be able to breathe through the smoke in my lungs. How can I be kind when I'm out of air? Why should I be, in a world this cruel?"
The words were so quiet that she barely caught them, but they echoed in her mind, sounding hauntingly lonely.
"Come," she said, pulling Dante along as she walked towards the exit," we're leaving."
"What?" he blinked," what are you doing? Where would we even go?"
"We're going to get tea," she said," or coffee, whatever you prefer. Most of all, it's cold outside and you shouldn't return until you're feeling better."
"They'll prolong my punishment," he said," I'm supposed to be guarding the prison."
"Not the prison," she reminded him," me. And it just so happens that I'm leaving early today to get tea."
His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, before he silently nodded and followed her to her car. The drive towards her favorite cafe was silent, only her favorite piano pieces quietly playing from her radio. They took a seat in the booth by the window, Dante numbly watching the people pass by them. He looked up when the server came, Helene ordering chamomile tea as he read through the menu.
"Tea?" the server said," that's the first time I haven't heard you order coffee, Helene."
Honestly, she had wanted to order coffee, but tea seemed more suited for the current situation. Besides, the taste of caffeine had become sour in her mouth ever since Zion had broken in and she had let her phone drown in it. Dante glanced over his menu at her, curious, Helene smiling at the server without paying him much mind.
"I want something more soothing today," she said.
"I'm glad to see you though," her server said," you used to come in daily, but this is the first time in weeks. You're one of my favorite regulars, you know, I'm glad nothing happened to you."
How could she have come back? There was no use to running away from Zion if she had kept her daily visits here, because she would have had to run into him sooner or later. Still, this was the only cafe she knew when she had started driving, because she really didn't go out enough to have any other comfort place. Besides, what were the chances of Zion being here now, when they had only met at night before? He spent all his days making art, only coming out when the moon showed it's radiant smile.
"I'll have the same," Dante said to the server then. He only spoke again when she had walked away, raising his eyebrows at Helene. "You have a caffeine addiction? I wouldn't have guessed."
"Really?" she chuckled, tapping on the blue shadows beneath her eyes," isn't this enough of a hint that I don't sleep?"
He chuckled, looking around the cafe. "This is a nice place. Why did you stop coming? Does Parker keep you that busy? If so, I'll talk to the director, lighten your load."
"No need," she assured him," I like working, it's the only thing that keeps me sane."
"Are you sure you're sane?" he said, voice light," I mean, what twenty-year-old plays eery piano music in the car?"
"You mean calming," she said.
"I know what I said."
She chuckled, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as well. The atmosphere between them was surprisingly good, to the point where she wasn't even doubting her impulsive decision to come here anymore. All she had thought in that moment was that if it had been her, she wouldn't have wanted to stand in the cold, lying her heart bare for anyone to see if they just looked through the windows. At least they had some privacy now.
"Helene? Who is this?"
The voice was sugary sweet, but she had paled even before she saw him, already knowing the way it clawed around her mind way too well.
"Zion."