”Said goodbye, turned around And you were gone, Fading into the setting sun, You slipped away But I won’t cry ‘Cause I know I’ll never be lonely For you are the stars to me You are the light I follow.”
Clouds were painted across the sky; puffy, white bordering grey. The possibility of rain was in the forecast as was usual for this time of year. Kyrie had adjusted her beauty regimen accordingly to combat the moisture though she was used to cooler climates. Colorado had a similar weather pattern - cold and snowy in the winters, the perfect spring days which rolled into normally mild summers. It did not rain there as often as it did here but there was something unusually cleansing about the sky fall.
Standing at the window at the front of the home she had been assigned, light eyes absorbed the color of the sunlight struggling with the overcast onset of obstruction.
Behind her coffee was percolating in the kitchen.
While she never claimed to be an interior decorator, what money she had she used to try to make the place feel a bit more like her. Like them. Here and there the pristine shelves were peppered with various bits of decor, the schemes of color melted together in balance. And for once in her life she had something which she felt was solely hers. For a long time nothing was hers - her identity, her self worth, her purpose was all weighed and measured and judged. Fitz had never judged her. A day never went by where she wasn’t considerate of him, attentive to the things he needed, because he was all she had left.
Learning to do things on her own was thrilling but progress was slow. Opportunity did not come to her the way it would someone on the outside of the island; she would never learn to drive here, never own a pet, or need a steady source of income. Volunteering was what kept the majority of her day occupied, kept her mind free from distraction and when she was home Kyrie did her best to stay busy. She deep cleaned the house more often than it needed it, taught herself to make basic meals with the food rations, but it was rare that she left the house unless it was for work.
Friends weren’t something she was quite used to yet but she told herself she could have them. Biting at her bottom lip, part of her nervous habit, Kyrie scolded herself silently for being so silly. She could do whatever she wanted within reason though once in a while she still felt afraid to try a lot of things.
A soft exhale, fingers lifted to dark, wavy tresses and she took a moment to collect the long hair and bind it gently with an elastic into a low ponytail.
The back window was left open as normal. The small orange tabby hopped up to the sill and down to the floor the curtains were all drawn, preventing anyone from the outside to see in. The cat stretched out, every muscle, rear end being left behind a moment. With a shake of its head it yawned.
After a once around the house, the cat changed, it appeared to happen quick, though from his perspective it took a lot of energy as the animal was replaced by the shaggy haired human. He really needed a haircut. And his stubble was getting a bit much. Itching at his chin, Fitz walked go where Kyrie was in her room. “Hey.” He said, softly. “Busy day planned today?”
He, himself, had headed out early to do some scouting of the town. Watching the patrols change, looking for patterns.
It was routine by now. She was used to his coming and going, never asking questions. The place was not hers to run the way her mother had with her thumb pushed against everything with a pulse. As long as Fitz was safe and didn’t stay away for too long she trusted him enough to not worry too much about his safety. Perhaps she should have worried more, asked more questions, but Kyrie was afraid that once they began to fall from her lips the flow would never cease. So she went through every day the same way, leaving the window open even if it rained, making sure curtains were drawn, to buy food at the market which would allow the illusion of ownership in some semblance ring true.
She had learned to pick out the sound of his footfalls and welcomed the familiarity of it. Turning to peer over her shoulder Kyrie made herself smile at him. His hair was getting unruly and it was nearly amusing. The corners of her lips turned further upward as her expression betrayed her - the sight of him alone was warming and she was glad to have him around.
Feet would pivot and Kyrie faced him, trying her best to seem welcoming even after all of this time. “Hey,” was offered back and a bit of that inward scolding commenced. She made herself relax, approaching her friend with her lips twisted in amusement. “Not really anything special planned, but it looks as if the rain might come.”
A pause, and her lithe fingers lifted to touch in a light flutter at the ends of his hair, eyes narrowing with playfulness, “Someone is in need of a haircut.” The scolding was in the same vein as her expression, playful but also motherly in a sense. “How will you ever find true love looking like that?”
And then her hand fell to rest gently upon one of his forearms for a moment, “Would you like something to eat? I made coffee.”
He smiled softly at her comment, the only person who really saw him as a human was her. Not like he could go to the barber. And true love? He’d given up on that years ago. But he didn’t let his defeat show. “Yea, find myself some nice boy to settle down with.” Fitz said with a small laugh.
Coffee sounded good. He’d smelled it when he came in. “Please. I should have made some before I left, but it was early and I wanted to go for a run.” He didn’t have the ability to work out as a human normally, but before watching the patrols change he’d gone deep into the wooded area and done a workout before anyone woke up. Even if he rarely was seen as human, he needed to keep in shape.
Fitz places a kiss on her forehead. “Want me to make some eggs?” He asked, he learned how to make food with limited supplies while serving.
Fingers wrapped around his forearm squeezed gently, absently, as if she were anchoring herself into the moment of reality. Fitz meant so much to her, something as simple as a haircut could be lost in context but he knew what she had been through in nearly the same way she did about him. Those secrets would never leave tender lips in any capacity, she would never utter a single word to another person on his behalf because she had the wisdom to know that life was short and it was complicated. Kyrie preferred the simple things. Her smile stayed for him, a mimic of his own. “Why not? Any young man would be lucky to have you.” She knew the chances were slim for him, the same way they were for her. But here was to hoping. “I can trim your hair if you’d like.” Or if he wanted to grow it she wouldn’t protest too much.
Coffee. Kyrie nodded at him, her hand tumbled from his arm. “I cleaned out your favorite cup earlier,” she offered.
The space where his lips had lingered upon the skin of her forehead was warm and her cheeks flushed in kind though she welcomed the contact. Licking over her lips a nod would come, and her feet carried her backward. “That would be lovely, thank you.” Breakfast sounded good at any time of the day and it was an event she had come to enjoy a great deal no matter the situation.
Moving around him she headed softly into the kitchen. Mugs gathered, one for each of them, she went through the task of preparing the brew in the way she knew they took it. Hers was sweeter, filled with a bit of sugar and cream when she could get it, and upon completion of the task his cup was slid toward him carefully.
Kyrie leaned in the crook of the counter where it met the kitchen sink and then moved to slid up onto the flat surface, heels pressing gently against a cabinet door.
“I may take you up on that.” He chuckled. She was the only one who saw him, but he’d once taken pride in his looks. Now he felt much more like a bum. It needed to change.
Fitz went about gathering the tools to make them food; pan, spoon, ingredients. “I know this won’t be as good as that place you’re working at.” He said as he started. Mixing some eggs, cheese and bacon bits (since they didn’t have real bacon) in along with some green onion and just a dash of garlic powder. Just what they had on hand. “How is it going there? That guard still giving you a hard time?” Fitz had wanted to claw the hell out of him.
They weren’t blood related, but he had come to think of Kyrie as a sister and he’d do anything he could to protect her.
She was no hair stylist; her time in the pageantry circular taught her a lot about beauty and upkeep including what you could do to fix your hair in various ways. Trimming hair was easy enough, she tended to take care of her own instead of trusting a stylist with it because of that innate fear that something would go awry - and the voice of her mother would creep into her psyche and rattle her. There would be no pressing him on it, she smiled and nodded in response to the comment.
Her eyes lowered to his hands as he worked to prepare the food. He always managed to take care of her the way family would and she was grateful for that. For the odd array of skills between them somehow they managed and made it work. Gaze lifting, she looked at Fitz again from her spot on the counter. When she sat there she could see him better as they were nearly the same height on that level. Though he towered over her she never felt overburdened with his presence.
“It’s always good,” she assured him. And she wasn’t joking, either. The food where she worked may have been prepared differently to best suit tastes but that meal lacked something that Fitz’s always had - love.
Kyrie nearly knocked her mug of coffee off of the counter when he mentioned the guard; she started so badly and abruptly not expecting the question that as her hand dived to retrieve the beverage the sudden movement nearly caused it to slide forward with momentum. Her lips had taken the form of a straight line and her eyes fell to look down at the floor before she made herself look up at Fitz, nodding as she bit into her own bottom lip. “Fine…” was the word she managed to push out.
The same guard in question had been harassing her in various ways relentlessly. She was cautious and skittish by nature and his presence even in her peripheral vision caused her to be more clumsy than usual or to forget things in her flight away from him. At least he had been smart enough not to put his hands on her. Yet.
He moved the pan from the burner, turning it off and turned to face her. His hands took hers gently. Her reaction made it clear things weren’t fine. “Next time I see him. I’m gonna piss on his boots.” Fitz informed her, squeezing her hands softly. She was stronger than most of them. If she wanted, she could teach the guard a lesson and he’d think twice about even getting in her eyeline much less harassing her. But, she’d end up in holding, or worse.
His thumb moved along her fingers in a comforting motion. “You’re strong. Not just physically.” He told her. She had trouble seeing it, but he saw it. “If one of the girls in the pageant circuit gave you grief, what would you tell them?”
As he took her hands she managed to keep herself from shaking visibly, finding comfort in his touch. She felt more confident as he spoke to her, nearly smiling at the comment with amusement. There was no doubt that Fitz would hold true to his word, she figured that out about him upon first glance all of those years ago and the stories her brother would tell her with or without Fitz being there to defend his own honor also spoke to the willingness and heart of the man who was now holding her hands. More than aware that her skill could take down a building without much of a sweat being broken by her she still felt timid when facing obstacles. Holding a cup without breaking it, accidentally ripping the sink free from the wall in the bathroom, being scared of a spider.
At his question Kyrie’s eyes averted with consideration. She thought about it, trying to think beyond what her mother would have said about such a thing. Her shoulders rolled backward, her posture straightened with enlightened confidence.
When her eyes met his again it was with a renewed sense of purpose. “I think...I would tell them to back off. Or...you know, worse...maybe to piss off…” nearly giggling, Kyrie bit her lips to keep the amusement at bay but she couldn’t. Laugh after laugh tumbled from her lips and she began to feel a bit stronger.
Fitz was kind, patient. She would not have made it through these last years without his strength and wisdom. “A leaf out of your book, anyway.”
“Well, there you go!” He laughed. “Next time that asshole gives you grief, even if you don’t say it aloud, think it at him. Real hard. You’ll know you said it. I will. Andy eavesdropping telepaths will. It will all be our secret… and he’ll be the butt of the joke.”
Fitz raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. “You, Sis, are awesome. And don’t you forget it.” Sure, she wasn’t really his sister, but they’d been each other’s only family for about six years. Blood be damned, they were family. He moved back and dished up two plates. “Eggs ala me.” He said, handing her one. “Bon Appetit.”
Moving around the counter and into the dining room he took a seat. Their days were pretty mundane, a lot of repetitive actions, not a lot of variety or excitement. Unless they made it themselves. And then it had to be low key or risk getting the guards pissed off. “Maybe we can learn to bake. Just cookies all the time.” He mused, getting some egg in his fork. “Or knitting? Painting?” He offered up, trying to think of ways to fill their days. It was a futile attempt, something that happened every few months or so, but nothing ever came from it.
Another secret on top of their already large pile but Kyrie nodded. She would do it, that guard deserved it for all of the things he said when nobody else was around, each tainted word uttered deserved some penance though she hoped her thoughts would be heard and maybe he would stop. What would she do without Fitz? He was the sunshine pushing past her rain cloud. “I can do that.” She hoped the feline would still pee on the guard’s boots though, secretly.
Her arms went around his neck before he could get away to fetch their food. Kyrie held onto Fitz, clung to him. And then she let him go.
Taking the plate offered she nodded. “They’re perfect.”
She slid down carefully from the counter and padded along after him, toward the table. Her seat was taken, plate set the down and fork taken up. A soft noise escaped her when she took the first bite and then her smile was back, more genuine than before.
“Cookies? Knitting?” Kyrie nodded. “Do they have a cooking class at The Facility? I could, I could take it, and show you?”
“And if he does more than just talk-“ Fitz gave her a look. He knew he didn’t need to finish. One of those wild cats from the woods people were warned about would come out and take off the guy’s head if they hurt her.
“They have a few things from what I understand.” Fitz never got too close to the facility, he knew it’s perimeter very well, but didn’t risk getting caught by going inside. “Maybe you can cook more.” He winked. Not that she didn’t do her share. He actually enjoyed cooking. It kept him practiced.
He took a sip of his coffee and watched her. She was so strong, yet so fragile. It was a contradiction. “So, you don’t have to work. Maybe we can just stay in. You can play beauty shop on my hair. Maybe I can paint your nails, just take it easy- no stress.” He could delay his rounds for a day.
When the addendum came her eyes lowered. Kyrie nodded, prongs of her fork pushing absently against the eggs on her plate. She wouldn’t stand for that. She didn’t care if they detained her for hitting an officer, whatever he was. The way he looked at her, spoke to her as if she were nothing, she should have knocked him into next week already. Her eyes lifted slowly. “You’ll have to bail me out.”
She bit back a smile at that. But her gaze was steadfast. And then the quip about cooking more had her laughing again. Part of her knew she needed to contribute more, but the rest of her was afraid of everything. “My brother,” she began, trying to find the words, “I’m sure you remember but he showed me this recipe once, some kind of stew he used to make.”
It was doubtful they even had all of the necessary ingredients.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to take you from your work.” That was important but being in all day with Fitz sounded like a dream.
“What work?” He laughed. “I mean there’s this mouse in the theatre I’m trying to get…” Fitz smirked at her. “I’m all yours.” Yes, he had ‘work’, but it wasn’t like a normal job and he tried to keep her out of it. As of recent he was keeping his ears open for a number of missing people, those in lock up or just missing. For any word to pass to the Faction.
But Kyrie didn’t need to know about any of that.
She knew he probably did a lot she was not aware of, whatever the definition of the four letter word might have been for him, but she was glad he was here too. His laughter brought a smile that was genuine. Kyrie nodded at him, “Okay, spa day it is.” Glad that he was staying she felt more relaxed. It wasn’t as though she had any plans.
With more zeal she ate. Her coffee had cooled enough to drink and when they both were finished Kyrie collected their dishes and took them to the sink to clean them.
While Kyrie took the time to clean up- he cooked, she cleaned; she cooked, he cleaned… he rarely cleaned, Fitz went into the bathroom and got the ‘beauty’ supplies. They didn’t have much, lotions, make up, all of that got nabbed up pretty quick when it came to the island. Fitz has never confirmed nor denied stealing some of the stuff in their house.
“What color? We have red, green and purple.” Fitz said, setting the scissors down and looking at the polish. “Too bad we can’t order in massages… make it a real spa day.” He smirked. “Some big guy name Sven.”
She didn’t mind cleaning up. Contrary to her former occupation a little bit of dirt and grime didn’t bother her the way it had her mother. Water glided over the dishes, utensils, and she took the time to dry them by hand with a towel. No need to run the washer, it was just the two of them. Into the rack things went accordingly, and with dry hands she wandered back toward the area Fitz had set up for them.
Her eyes found the colors and she pretended to consider the weight of the decision as if it were more serious than it was supposed to be, “Oh, what a hard choice.” Fighting back a giggle Kyrie sat down and then reached for the red, plucking it up carefully. “How about this one?” Not that she didn’t like green or purple.
And then she smiled at her friend, “Too bad. That sounds nice.” She hoped that one day the house would be more full of life, that things might get better and they could actually live like people. She wanted Fitz to find someone to be with that wasn’t her, she wanted him to be happy.
“Haircut first or after?”
“First. Definitely. Don’t want to get any accidental polish in my hair.” He teased. Fitz took a seat and pulled off his shirt to limit hairs getting down his clothes. He’d grabbed a towel to put over his shoulders, held with a hair clip.
“Just like a real salon.” He joked. “Now, we gossip.” Fitz sat sideways in the chair to give her easy access to his head. “There’s been quite a few new people coming to the island in the last few months or so.” He tried to keep a tally, flagging those to watch out for, powers he heard/seen that could benefit the faction, or those people who seemed to be receptive to joining. “Lot of cuties. I bet you’ve seen a few of them at work- anyone in particular strike your fancy? You know… I make a great wing kitty.”
Nodding, Kyrie slipped up and out of her chair. With grace she turned the chair out for him and gathered the items brought, setting each instrument in a particular order across the edge of the table closest to her so she could reach without stretching. “So you aren’t interested in dyeing,” came the tease, her fingers lifting to run through his hair gentle in assessment.
Nodding at herself, Kyrie picked up the comb and scissors. The task ahead of her was a simple one, one she had done several times before.
She listened, beginning to comb and trim with patience. Her cheeks would flush with color, shaking her head. “Oh, no, I — I don’t really,” she stammered, biting at her lips. Thank God her hands weren’t shaking. She could hear her mother’s voice - men only want to take advantage of you - though that did not mean she hadn’t looked a bit regardless. The idea of being with someone even after all of the time spent out of the controlling environment was something she felt was still out of reach.
But then she never had given it a real chance, either.
Silently she moved through the motions of the trim, balancing each layer. When she was done he was going to look so good.
“Really?” He asked, staying still for her. “I would think there would be someone.” Fitz had found himself boy watching sometimes himself. “If you find someone I’m more than happy to set up a meet cute.” He smirked. “Go up and be a kitty cute and you running over to find me because I ‘got away’.”
Fingers would tumble to gently graze the underside of his chin, line of his jaw, the side of a cheek to turn him at an angle - all the while she listened. “Nobody wants..” a monster like me. The words were bitten back, swallowed hard. “...me.” If she was being honest with herself she had looked, once in a while she would catch herself gazing off in the distance, daydreaming about a man she saw at the market or out and about those few times she did venture from the house on a day without plans.
“Maybe if you notice anyone…” she began, a shoulder would shrug, “..but only if they’re as sweet as you.” That way he could put all of that boy watching to good use. He didn’t have to approach anyone for her, talk to them, but his opinion mattered to her.
Finally the scissors and comb were set aside and a small hand mirror was plucked up, offered. “What do you think?”
“I think you deserve a little fun.” He replied. “Oh, you mean my hair.” He chuckled, taking the mirror. He looked less shaggy, definitely better than his solution would have just been to shave it all off. Fitz reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “Nice. I’ll shave later.” He scratched at his stubble.
He tried not to make too much of an impact on her place, just in case. Sure, he’d disabled the cameras in the house and they risked a roommate being assigned to the second bedroom at any time. But he knew a surprise inspection could happen, or those moments they decided to fix the cameras. He was sure they must think that an ‘unknown’ power of herbs kept shorting them out. So, in caution if this he kept a very small footprint. He only had three shirts, two pairs of jeans, three pairs of socks and four pairs of boxer briefs. She’d slowly managed to buy them for him (or he’d stolen them). His changes of clothes were hidden on the top shelf of her closet, a story as to why she had them already created in case. And all of his other things, toiletries and everything he owned was in a backpack that he took with him in his changes. He had to be very careful not to leave anything in her home.
“There is this one cutie. Heard him speaking French. Has a pretty accent.” He recalled the jogger. “Oh, and a nice redhead who came off the boat last week, seems nice.” Fitz leaned back against her and looked up to see her face. “I’ll do some more scouting. Get some intel. Find out which ones are good, single- and into girls.”
Unable to help herself she smiled at his comment and even offered a good natured roll of her eyes for good measure. He was silly. “Good,” she nodded, removing the clip holding the towel and brushing away any stray hairs which might have fallen. Once he was clean enough, she went to get the broom and tidied up the floor. Spa part two wouldn’t be nearly as messy. As she cleaned she continued to listen, nodding at his observations.
“French?” While she wasn’t exactly surprised she found the comment endearing; French was one of the few languages she liked that had been forced into her education. Her mother was a native speaker and it came second nature though any trace of an accent had been snuffed out long ago. “I could teach you a few things.”
She wasn't sure Fitz even wanted to learn because of how sensitive his presence was on the island. They both had to be very careful with what they said, how they thought, where they were, and who they spoke to. Offering an endearing smile she pulled a chair out for herself and sat once she was satisfied with the task of cleaning. “I trust you.” Nearly laughing, the end of her nose crinkled.
Holding up her hands, Kyrie wiggled her fingers, “Alright, your turn.”
Fitz pulled his shirt back on and grabbed up the polish. He hadn’t had any sisters to learn about beauty aids or anything, but he did have a steady hand from the time he served and his time as an electrician. That made for makeup applying skills. Or nail painting in this case.
“Yes French.” He had taken Spanish in high school- practically none of it he remembered. “You can. But you’ll have to deal with my probably horrible accent.” He laughed. Twisting the polish open, he took one of her hands and carefully started to apply a coat. Sometimes it was nice to dream. Not acknowledging the truth. That if he outed himself- especially to the wrong person- they’d be in trouble. Taken away, lots of rumors spread about those who broke the rules. Fitz knew not all of them were true, but knew enough to know… in some cases the truth was much worse. And he was already putting Kyrie at risk, the Faction members who knew of him.
He couldn’t do the same to some poor guy just because he thought he was cute.
“Zees colour ez magnifique on you.” He said, playing up a bad French accent.
That accent had her nearly doubling over in laughter. Kyrie wiped at an eye with a knuckle, the crook of her finger moist from the tears. She bit at her bottom lip in effort to try to stifle the giggles but they ensued regardless. Her frame shook with the amusement and finally a sigh was emitted, a breath of delight. “Ah, Monsieur, you should work on your accent, non? How will you ever attract zee boys?” Offering her own playfully bad take on the back and forth she did her best to button up another onslaught of small giggles.
“It’s nice to know that somebody else here knows the language,” she mused to herself. What if they all developed some kind of language between the residents that the soldiers and guards didn’t understand? What a thing that would be. All of the cameras, the patrols, the rumors of bugs in the home which were used to spy on the people - all of that seemed so far fetched and yet it was real and happening. She couldn’t recall the last time she had seen a newspaper, a news story, anything with a political agenda.
Doing her best to sit still her free hand went into her lap and her light eyes turned to look at him, watching the steady pace of his word with adoration.
“Zee boyz will all fall for zee fantastique Fitz- Feetz.” He said, waving the polish brush in the air. “And is belle Keeree.” The man laughed, unable to keep it up. “And if they don’t. I’ll leave presents on their doorsteps.” He was mostly kidding. He couldn’t say that in the last six years he’d never left a present on a doorstep of some asshole who deserved it. As a larger cat too- bobcat.
As he finished the first hand he held out his for her second. “So… what’s it gonna take to get some pancakes and hashbrowns brought home this week?” He asked, occasionally desiring food he smelled but could not go buy himself was annoying. “Maybe some real bacon?”
Giggling, Kyrie put her free hand up and over her mouth to muffle the sound. The corners of her eyes creased with the emotion, the corners of her lips upturned. “Oh la la! What will zey ever do?” Her hand moved from her lips, beginning to fan herself with her palm and fingers playfully. The smile she had for him turned more genuine and her hand tumbled back into her lap. “I know you would.” He had been protecting her these last few years since her brother had died and she could never repay such a debt.
Her other hand was offered when beckoned for, the first was set aside to dry. “Just you being nice to me,” came a quip, her eyes narrowed in a playful sense. The mental note was made to hit the store and see what, if anything, was left to put together the breakfast items needed to make pancakes. Her cooking skills were nil, she was learning though.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Never.” He said in a low, ominous, serious tone. The smile cracked soon after. He liked watching her smile, laugh. It made all the shit worth while. “Always.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand as he held it, finishing the last nail. “He’d be proud of you, you know. Being your own woman. Even if it’s hard at times.”
She was giggling again. If she ever in her life found a man who was half as amazing as he was she would be set for the rest of her days. A sigh of contentment, her hand lifted and fanned to dry her nails faster.
A breath was taken. She missed her brother dearly. “I think about him a lot.” It was a soft confession but a true one. Her eyes averted, the window was beheld and she peered at the glass as if Ezra would be out there looking in at her. There was not a moment in her life that went by where she didn’t wonder what he would think.
Kyrie turned back to Fitz. “I love you, Fitz.” The way a sister would love her brother. He had been there for her when her real brother couldn’t be. Careful she leaned forward again, arms curling around his neck.
“So did I.” He said softly, to himself as she looked away. He never talked about it much, old wounds and all.
He screwed the top back onto the polish, just in time for her hug. “To the moon and back, Key. To the moon and back.” He slid his chair slightly so he could return the hug easier. A hand holding the back of her head. The hug was nice, they always were. Human contact that wasn’t pets… that was really nice. He didn’t want to let her go. “I should… Probably go take a shower.” He said, nuzzling his face in her shoulder. “Maybe we can see what movies are available to us and we can make some popcorn after and really enjoy the rest of this day.” He offered with a smile, not yet breaking the much needed hug.
She had never inquired about the depth of their friendship, Fitz and Ezra. Knowing they had been close was enough for her. Once in a while her older brother had confided in her but not often. She doubted it was for any particular reason, perhaps her lack of worldly knowledge considering he was older than she, but they’d been close regardless.
The hug was nice. It was just what she had needed. Thinking about her brother even after all of this time stirred up feelings but she held them back. Physical contact for her was nil. Kyrie could snap someone in half without batting an eyelash so she did her best not to touch anyone or anything unbidden.
It wasn’t uncommon for them, though, to hug, to snuggle up. There had been a handful of times she had fallen asleep next to him afraid of bad dreams. But then she would have done those same things with Ezra, the way a little sister would.