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The movement twists past her, and Melody turns, whistling.
It writhes past labyrinth that springs up before it, scrapes the side of a tree, sending unripe fruit rattling down. Running after it, Melody whistles again, mouth shaping the sounds even as her hearing does not register them, triply blocked by earplugs, headphones, and Enhancing Nen.
There’s a glint of motion to her left, something slicing through the trees, and then it’s gone. Something races to the far edges of her En, and she cannot move fast enough to pursue.
Then it is gone.
She comes to a halt, takes a deep breath, tries to calm her racing heart. Kurapika appears like a haggard nightmare from the trees, as grimy as she feels, and holds up a hand.
‘Is it safe?’ his aura says, and when she hesitates, he tenses, looks towards where the movement had fled. ‘I can go after it.’
But she has already taken off her headphones, is shaking her head, then removing her earplugs. He freezes and stares at her, horrified. Then, slowly, he removes his as well.
It wouldn’t be any use, chasing after it. The moment it could have been destroyed in this manner has come and gone. It’s smarter now, faster, and this one chance she might have had to find another moment’s peace is gone now too.
She can never have it back again.
“No,” she says, staring into the forest, not knowing if it looks back. “We should go.”
—
‘A Hunter must always be hunting something.’ Sometimes Kurapika says it snidely, then rolls his eyes, and she laughs with him.
Traveling now, he is sprawled against the seat, careless as he has rarely been before, eyes shut and mouth half-open. His mission is over, objective as close to complete as it could be. Perhaps he will move like this for the rest of his life, one small task to another, with a boneless collapse in between. The most monumental of his goals is done; there will never be another like it.
She takes a picture, captions it ‘Still in one piece ✌️’ and sends it to Leorio, who responds first with ‘That’s creepy.’ Then, much later, ‘Thanks.’
She sends another, then leans back against her own seat.
Upon their arrival at the train station, Kurapika says, “Where to now?” looking up at the departures, and she unfolds a map without really looking at it. Too many choices; there are places for her to return to, but they all seem unbearable now.
“I’m not really sure it matters,” she replies.
Something crosses his face. She hopes it isn’t sympathy. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drops it again, then says, “Stay here,” and his tone is nearly gentle. She folds the map, and shuts her eyes.
Kurapika returns and settles beside her. When she glances over, he is holding tickets. “Whale Island,” he says. “Gon’s hometown. He’s invited me back several times.”
Interesting. “Are we staying with Gon’s family?”
“No, I’ll book a hotel.”
He avoids her expression.
“All right, then,” she says, and something eases slightly in his shoulders. But not by much.
“There’s another train,” he says. “Then a ferry.”
She manages a smile, waves a hand. “Lead on, then.”
—
When they disembark, it is early afternoon, with the sun nearly blinding and the seagulls wheeling and screaming overhead, the boats creaking as they ride the waves, anchor chains rattling, and the anchors themselves grinding against the sea bed. She tunes it out, as she always does, but it is harder today.
They are walking through the main street when someone calls, “Gon. Gon! Over here!”
Kurapika stiffens, looking over sharply, En rapidly unfurling. Melody looks as well, curious, but she hadn’t heard Gon’s particular aural signature, and perhaps it’s not an uncommon name on the island.
Instead of Gon, they are met with a small elderly woman beaming genially at them. Or, at Kurapika in particular.
“I thought it might be you! Gon’s friend. I wasn’t sure but then you looked when I said ‘Gon,’ so here we are!”
“Yes,” Kurapika says, looking doleful to have been taken in so easily. “Here we are. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you have a friend with you?”
“Yes, this is my colleague, Melody. Melody, this is Abe, Gon’s great-grandmother.”
Melody pulls a smile onto her face, trying to appear unlike a bird of feather. Though, they are Hunters, so this may be in vain.
“Oh, so you know Gon, too! And do you know my Ging as well?”
“We worked together once,” she says, which is, while not strictly true, at least not too much of a stretch.
“How lovely. Always nice to know he’s out there, meeting new people. Will you be here long? Where are you staying?”
“Not very long,” Kurapika says carefully. “There’s a hotel nearby, we were just on the way—”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. Stay with us, we have the room!”
Kurapika blanches, but Melody considers.
Somewhere far from the port, away from the calls of gulls and passersby, the hum and heavy groan of machinery, the snap of canvas sails, gulls calling, the soft ceaseless murmur of the sea. The idea is suddenly very appealing.
“We would love to,” Melody says, before Kurapika can reply. He makes a tiny noise, as though he would like to disagree, then settles his shoulders and suppresses a sigh. He chances a tiny glance over at her, as though to say ‘Are you certain,’ and she glances back and very slightly inclines her head. She is.
Gon’s great-grandmother, meanwhile, only says, “Wonderful! Come along, then. I’ll tell Mito to expect you.” She turns to march slowly into the crowd, pulling out her phone, and Melody and Kurapika follow after.
—
“You could have at least called!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kurapika says, completely unrepentant.
“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me!” the woman named Mito retorts, holding the door open for them. “Gon’s been asking all his friends for any news of you, and you show up here without a word! Come in, have dinner, and then you’ll give him a call!”
Mito is refreshingly straightforward and… young. Appallingly young, hardly in her thirties, to have a child like Gon. She must have been a child herself when she had the care of him. The more Melody considers it, the less she thinks of Gon’s father.
There is some agreement between Mito and Kurapika, or at least, Kurapika offers her meaningless pleasantries and she lets him get away with it. She watches him, though, when she thinks he is not looking, and her mouth is flat and disapproving. Once, Melody is watching her at it in turn, only for Mito to turn at just the wrong moment and startle.
Melody glances aside unhurriedly, and pretends not to have seen.
Gon’s great-grandmother, Abe, has no such compunctions. “And how is my grandson?”
Kurapika frowns, then (she hears it) decides to lie. “Ging? He’s… I’m not sure, really. We didn’t get the chance to meet before he left the Association’s board.”
“Oh! On the board, was he? That’s news to me. Well, I’m sure he’s off causing trouble wherever he wants. That’s what would make him happiest.”
Melody snorts, claps both hands over her mouth. Abe pours herself some more tea, blows on it to cool it down.
“He was never going to be happy here. Runs in the family. This one never wants to admit it, though.” She nods towards Mito, who frowns back, wary. “It’s always ‘Oh Grandma, you’re so helpless and alone, I’ll take care of you until you die, then stay on this island alone forever.’”
“Grandma, please!”
“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,” Abe says, unruffled, takes a sip of her tea. “I don’t want it to be, but it is.”
“Well, there’s the house, and Gon—”
“And there you go again. Always thinking of other people first, that’s my good sweet girl,” Abe says, pursing her lips.
“Gran,” Mito says warningly.
Melody chuckles to herself, turning towards Kurapika, then stills. He is watching them with a weary, hopeless longing, hands motionless on the table. Abe and Mito notice as well, but it is Abe who says, “You’ve had a long journey, haven’t you?”
“I’m a bit tired.”
“Gon’s room is ready for you. Why don’t you go rest up?”
He nods, pushing himself back from the table and getting up. “Perhaps I will.” Then he says, hushed and uncertain, “Thank you,” before walking quickly away.
“And call Gon,” Mito says to his retreating back, but it is gentler this time. He hesitates, then proceeds hastily up the stairs.
Mito and Abe exchange glances, and Melody sips her tea, wonders if she can also be excused so easily. Then a timer dings in the kitchen, and Mito says briskly, "Well!" and rises from the table. "Who wants some dinner?"
—
That night, Kurapika taps gently at the doorway to the guest room, pushes the door open when she does not protest.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes,” Melody says, suspicious already. She is seated at a chair, looking out the window at the ocean at night.
“Is it quiet enough?”
“It was,” she says, and his mouth wrinkles until he decides to ignore it.
He considers a little longer, hesitant and unhappy. Then he says, as though hoping she will finally change her mind, “Is this truly all right?”
“Yes. Kurapika, what’s going on? Are you uncomfortable?”
“This isn’t about me,” he says, and she settles back against her chair, raises her brows. He frowns back. “No. I’m not. It’s fine. My concern is for you.”
“How solicitous of you,” she says wryly, and he has the grace to look embarrassed. “There’s noise, but it’s… it’s good noise. Regular.”
He considers, then says carefully, “Is it peaceful?”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. It is… inevitable.”
“Mm,” he says, then nothing more.
The next morning after breakfast, he quietly rises from the table and disappears out the door.
Mito scoffs, settling her chin in one hand, then mutters, “Well, he hasn’t changed,” but she is softhearted.
Melody pauses in gathering up the silverware. “Has he visited often?”
“Just the once, a few months ago.”
“And how was he then?”
Mito opens her mouth, then hesitates, and Melody likes her better for it. It is a tricky thing, holding the pieces of someone’s secret between them.
Then Mito says slowly, “He’s doing better now. As far as I can tell.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I just worry,” Mito says, then folds her hands, frowns down at them. “I don’t— This is unkind. I just don’t… I don’t want to see this happen to Gon.”
Melody feels herself go still, the same kind of stillness of waiting beside a hospital bed, or in a hallway looking in at a shroud through a window. The hiss of machines. The too-clean sterile air. The dryness. The waiting.
She starts.
“Are you all right?” Mito says, hand still in the air between them. “It’s like you suddenly went away, though you were sitting right there.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” She must not know what did happen to Gon. Melody does not lower her gaze. “I suppose I was only thinking that there are things we all have to go through, whether we want to or no.”
“I’m not sure I like that,” Mito says, folding her hands together again.
“I don’t think I do, either.”
“What happened to you?” Mito says abruptly, standing to begin gathering the rest of the plates. “You’re a Hunter. And a good one too, I would guess. Something went wrong for you.”
“Hubris,” Melody says wryly, and pushes her chair back to assist. It’s a pleasant sort of background chatter, the clink of plates and forks being gathered. “My friend and I were young and foolish, and didn’t realize what it was we had. And now I am as you see.”
“What you had?”
“Music. Written by a devil, or so it’s said.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Is it?” Melody says, tone sharp without meaning to be, discordant. “Is it truly?”
“Well, obviously,” Mito says, rolling her eyes. “Who thinks about devils as real unless you work with them every day? The Dark Continent? Magical music? Only Hunters would think that’s reasonable.”
“We do tend to self-select for each other’s company,” Melody says reluctantly.
“Birds of a feather,” Mito agrees, and carries the dishes into the kitchen, Melody following after with the serving plates. “It’s hard to think you could be talking about the same things and having entirely different conversations. You want someone to know what you’re saying, every word.”
This feels familiar, an old truth. “To know the meaning of it, and not just the phrasing.”
“Yes.”
Melody hands her the platters. “It does feel unfair to say that only Hunters can understand other Hunters. I think… to be a Hunter is to accept the consequences. Good and bad. Anyone can understand that.”
Mito snorts, turning on the sink. “Easy to say when you have a mysterious ability to flout all the laws, if you wanted. I’ve seen the news on what Hunters can get up to.”
“Can I help you?”
“No, no, don’t worry, you’ve done enough. Stay, tell me more about this wild idea you have. People understanding Hunters, indeed.”
It would be easy to be offended, but not half as interesting. Melody shrugs. “Not such a long shot. I think there are some things everyone learns to be ready for. Like— oh, like chess, I suppose. To understand the mechanics, the good and the bad, and to be five steps ahead each time. Or that’s what some of my colleagues might say.”
Mito snorts. “Sounds presumptuous. There are things that people just can’t be ready for.”
Melody takes a towel, finds a stepstool nearby, and begins to dry the dishes. “As Hunters, I believe we presume by nature."
Mito hesitates, then hands her the next dish directly. “So arrogant. No wonder so many children want to be like you."
Melody laughs. “I’m not surprised. When you’re young, I think, it’s hard to understand what is really meant by consequence. It’s either too large, or too small.”
“When you are a child,” Mito says, gaze somewhere distant, “Whatever it is, you think it will turn out fine.”
“And then it isn’t.”
Mito smiles at her, bitter and knowing. “It never is.”
There is a photograph in the living room, poorly lit, most of the figure’s face in shadow. There is a smile, the impression of stubble, and a look in one bright eye that is very much like Gon’s. It must be Ging.
She’d passed him briefly, between meetings and the ship’s hallways and once in the auditorium during the election. So far as he knew, he was never running from anything. Only running, because he could, and nevermind who or what he left behind.
She thinks of Gon in his hospital bed, and feels small, much smaller than she ever has before, and very very tired. Anger is not a young man’s game, but it is one she stopped having the heart for a long time ago. There was too much cruelty in the world already, and no need to add to it.
She stacks another dish atop the dry ones. “So Ging left home long ago.”
“Oh yes. And Gon went and followed in his footsteps.”
“He was your…?”
“Cousin,” she says, and her heart gives a strange lurch. Wistfulness, anger, a nearly dissipated grief. “We grew up together.”
“Have you stayed in touch?”
“Not at all,” Mito says loftily. “And I hope it stays that way, the deadbeat.”
“He is family, though. I’m sure you still care about him.”
Mito snaps the sink off and begins scrubbing a large platter with a vengeance. “Not one bit!”
“That’s not entirely true. Your heart speaks to me,” Melody says, then smiles. "You did care about him, that can't be denied."
Mito eyes her, hands going still. Then she sighs. “Hunter business, is this?”
Melody doesn’t correct her.
“Maybe once," she says grudgingly. "We were kids, and I was dumb. But he's the one who abandoned us. All of us, me, grandma, Gon."
Melody pauses. “Yes,” she says slowly, “I hear you now. Maybe you’re right, and you didn’t like him so much as you liked the dream of him. Of being free.”
Mito laughs, a little bitterly. “I would be happy just to have a dream.”
—
That evening at dinner, when Kurapika reappears, Mito says, “So. Have you seen Gon again since you were last here?"
"No," he admits, then appears to steel himself. Quietly, he says, "How is he doing?"
“Well enough to go on another adventure,” she says, waving one hand briskly. “What about Killua? Any word from him?”
“Traveling as well. I think they’ll meet up shortly,” he says, and he almost smiles. He does this when he talks about Gon; there is a lightheartedness to him she rarely sees anymore. “Wherever Gon goes, Killua will go as well.”
“Not for a while now. They had some fight.”
He lifts a shoulder, lowers it, apparently unconcerned. “Friends fight.”
“I’m sure they do,” Mito mutters, eyeing him. His mouth pinches, but he ignores it.
After a moment, he adds, “Killua has his sister to think about now. There’s more in his life now than there was before. I’m happy for him. I truly am.”
Melody takes another slice of bread. It is, at least, true that he is trying.
“And your tall friend?” Mito continues. “Leorio?”
A slight pause, then Kurapika says evenly, “What about him,” as though his heartbeat hadn’t started to thrum along to the same frantic chime of a ringtone, underpinned by the steady uneasy flicker of accumulated voicemail notifications.
Melody wouldn’t know it so well if it hadn’t been so regular, the instant they had set foot somewhere with reasonable reception, set their phones to receive signal again. Most recently, on the train to the ferry. When she’d looked at him, he’d refused to look back, only hunching in his seat, gaze fixed out the window.
After a while, frustrated, she’d turned to him and said, “Will you please take care of that?”
“Don’t listen,” he’d said, a little helplessly, and she’d raised her hands and walked down and down and down the train to the meal car, sat there with the counter and fixtures and the wheels on the rails and every long joining from one car to the next, and let them rattle and hum all about her. She’d ordered a ham sandwich and a seltzer, eaten slowly, sipped slower, and then walked back.
He’d been looking out the window as she returned, stayed where he was though she settled back in her seat across from him.
She hadn’t been listening for it, and it hadn’t been loud, only so heavy it was inescapable. His heart had been tired, and aching with it.
“Well?”
After a moment, he’d just propped his chin on one hand, still not looking up. “Not yet,” he’d said quietly, and so they had come here.
Mito gives him a flat level stare, then says, tone dangerously bland, “Well, how’s his schoolwork going?”
“I’m sure he’s doing well,” Kurapika says, but his expression has closed off, tone matching.
"Haven't you spoken?"
"Not in a while."
“He doesn’t deserve that,” Mito tells him sternly. Brave, reckless woman.
“He doesn’t deserve a lot of things,” Kurapika agrees, in the most disagreeable tone he has.
Melody suppresses a sigh.
“Just so we’re clear,” Mito says, then dishes out the fruit salad, shoulders stiff and disapproving.
She is still grumbling about it after dinner, dishes cleared away and this week’s worth of laundry pulled from the washing machine and carried out into the still-present sun.
“Leorio’s a nice young man with a bright future ahead of him. I really don’t know what he sees in him!”
“It’s not for anyone else to decide,” Melody says gently, settling the stepstool so it stands level on the grass. “Unfortunately.”
“It’s a waste of time!” Mito exclaims, airing out a wet sheet with a vicious snap. “Throwing yourself after someone who doesn’t care. He could do better. He should do better!”
“And of course you’ve always been so wise,” Melody says, chiding as she steps up to pin one end of the sheet to the clothesline.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Mito says stiffly, pinning the other end of the sheet in place.
“Now you sound like Kurapika.”
This earns her an indignant gasp, and then Mito, sulking, hangs the rest of the laundry in silence. Melody hides her smile.
It’s not until she is pinning the last sock to the line that Mito admits, gruffly, “At least Gon has interesting friends.”
“Better than TV,” Melody says, smiling.
“Are you sure you’re a Hunter?” Mito says, eyeing her. “You seem almost reasonable. You make jokes.”
Melody laughs, doesn’t know whether it came out of her with kindness or resignation. “I am. Inescapably so, I’m afraid.”
“Why, what’s your damage?” Mito says, off-handedly, but when Melody looks, her jaw is set, eyes steely.
“Sorry?”
“If you’re a Hunter, you have something really… not right about you. Something you need more than everyone else around you.”
Melody smiles. “I’m not sure I know that myself yet,” she lies. “But I hope I never find out. You have an awful lot of connections to Hunters, for someone who isn’t one herself.”
“Well, there’s Ging, and that’s not my fault at all. And then Gon, of course. You can’t choose family.”
“Hm,” Melody says, pins a sock on the line.
“He’s underage!” Mito says. “He still needs a legal guardian, and a home address. Laws may not matter to a Hunter, but at least a child still matters to the law!”
Wearily, she adds, “And I have the paperwork to prove it.”
“I don’t know that I could do what you have done,” Melody says, helps her straighten out a sheet.
“I did what I had to,” Mito says quietly. “He’s what I have. Whale Island is what I have. It’s where my parents lived and died, where I grew up, where Gon grew up, where my grandmother wants to be buried.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I—” She stops, then smiles. “If I can just live a good life here, with what I have, then I’ll be happy.”
Melody lets it go, but watches her.
She is staring out at the ocean, eyes hooded against the glare. Her heartbeat is wide and wandering, sounding as though from a great distance as she watches the horizon. Then, she breathes in suddenly, head lifting, feet planting. Her heart beats steady now, fierce and proud and present, unmoved by foxbears, hurricanes, and lawyers alike. Easy to think she means what she says. Easy to believe she’s convinced herself.
—
They play chess sometimes, when Kurapika is trying to be lost in the forest. For all her claims at distractibility, Mito is a cunning player, prone to unpredictable gambits and unwise risks; when they fail, it is spectacularly.
She leaves her king open, and groans as Melody takes it with a bishop. Then she sweeps the pieces off the board and says, "Cards?"
"I'm ashamed to take up so much of your time," Melody says politely, and Mito laughs.
"Not at all. Company's rare in this house. I like the novelty."
Melody smiles to herself, pleased, then reaches for the cards at the far end of the table as Mito starts putting away the pieces. Partway through, Mito pauses suddenly, then says, "You're not bored, are you?"
"Not in the least."
"I know you must have a million more exciting things—“
"Hunting is like music," Melody says firmly. "You have to know when to rest."
Then she adds, in case it was too firm, "Besides, sometimes what we are hunting is just a little peace and quiet. I like this well enough."
“Oh,” Mito says. Then falls uncharacteristically silent.
Melody busies herself shuffling the deck of cards. When it’s been arranged to her satisfaction, she holds it up. “Rummy?”
Mito laughs. “Who plays Rummy anymore?” she says, then reaches for the cards. “Let’s play Bullshit.”
“Oh, you won’t enjoy that,” Melody says, smiling. “How about Go Fish?”
“I can do Go Fish,” Mito says, shuffles the cards once more and then deals.
They play several rounds before Mito pronounces herself too restless to do any more sitting and ushers them out into the garden. This too is a small and pleasant novelty. Melody busies herself with the weeding, the dark smell of the earth and the bright green scent of the plants.
After filling a water bucket and unearthing a wicker basket, Mito claps her hands once and says, “Let’s get some vegetables for supper.”
“Fresh from the garden? What a treat,” Melody says, smiling. “Someday, you must let me repay you for your hospitality. Come visit me one day.”
“Me? Come see you?” Mito frowns, then says slowly, “I’m not sure. It’s a bit far, isn’t it?”
“Let me treat you. It’s really the least I could do.” And well worth it besides, to see Mito carry her head proud through the city streets, squinting up at skyscrapers and tsk’ing at industrial folly.
“I suppose,” Mito says slowly. Then she shakes her head suddenly. "Look at you, filling my head with ideas. What would I do in the city anyway."
"Visit a friend," Melody says placidly, picking a tomato that comes easily from the vine. "I'd be happy to show you the sights."
"Oh! Well." Mito busies herself with rustling through the cucumber leaves. "If you insist. I'll think it over."
"Please do."
—
And so two weeks pass.
“You seem satisfied with yourself,” Kurapika remarks late one night, softly closing the door behind him.
Melody looks up from where she is sliding cigarette paper beneath her keys, testing each one to be sure it stops sticking. Mito had asked to hear her play, and it had been a pleasure to oblige, but some maintenance needs had become clear. She’ll do better next time.
“Do I?”
“Not in a bad way,” he says quickly. “It just seems— I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
A little pause, and he says slowly, “You’re welcome?”
“I am in most places,” she replies, smiling. “It’s really astounding what a pleasant demeanor and non-threatening appearance can get you.”
“I—” he begins, then shuts his mouth, possibly for the first time. They have tread this measure many times before.
“That’s—” he tries again, then heaves a sigh and says, “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Not that I was referring to you,” Melody says, and tests her keys again. Nearly there.
He eyes her warily. “I’m not sure if this means you’re in a good mood or not.”
Serenely, she says, “That’s all right. I don’t mind.”
He scoffs, then says, “Now I know you’re teasing. I’m going to bed.”
The next morning, he is gone, and as they sit peeling fruit on the stoop after breakfast, Mito says, “What’s it like, to be a Hunter?”
“To never be satisfied, and to be satisfied with that.”
Mito groans. “Come on, now. Be serious.”
“I am,” Melody says, then considers. “But vague, yes, it’s true. I mean to say that it’s… the thrill of the wanting.” This is inadequate. After a moment, she adds, “And the satisfaction in all the little fiddly details, even when they’re horrible and hard.”
“Is that really what it’s like for you?” Mito says skeptically, drops a rind onto the pile of waste. “Chasing after some cursed music that killed your friend and did this to you?”
Melody stops, looks at her, but Mito only has her chin propped on one hand, mouth slanted with disbelief. After a moment, she admits to herself, “No.” Then again, louder: “No.
“It’s miserable, and lonely, and I have seen such horrible things. But I would never give it up. Who else would do it, if not me?”
Silence then, as Mito considers her. She feels pulled open, carefully turned over from every angle, but does not look away.
“Well!” Mito says finally. “I can’t say I fault that, but I don’t like it either. It doesn’t seem right.”
Melody shrugs, finishes separating the dark violet rind from tender fruit inside. “Don’t you have something you want? That you’d give your whole life for, even if it was never yours?”
“No,” she says, doesn’t know she is lying.
Melody glances up at her, then picks up another fruit, starts peeling it. “Then you’re one of the lucky few. It’s rare to find someone truly happy with what they have.”
“Happy enough,” Mito says, shrugging impatiently, as though unsettling a fly. “Besides, what would I even need?”
“I didn’t say ‘need,’” Melody reminds her gently. “What I asked is if there was anything you want.”
“What I want?” she repeats, as though mystified, drawing out the thought. Her heartbeat becomes… it does not keep tempo— or it does, but not well, straining as though it longs to escape the measure it has been assigned.
Not a harmony, but a counterpoint, as though waiting for...
“Just once, I want someone to be waiting for me!” she says, curling in as though it had burst out of her. Then she puts her face in her hands, breath stuttering and uncertain.
Slowly, Melody lifts a hand, gently settles it on her back. When it is allowed to stay, she rubs Mito’s back slowly, patting every so often. Eventually, Mito steadies herself, wipes her eyes, sits up straight again with her hands clenched and jaw set.
“You could want more, if you like,” Melody says, and Mito does not so much as catch her breath, only looks at her with her gaze shielded and considering, before slowly leaning in.
Her heart is not so reticent. Perhaps it is cheating a little, Melody thinks, then kisses her back.
There is a trill, a glissando, a little reel of joy.
Settling back, Melody says quietly, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to get involved in another Hunter’s business.” It would be crueler not to. Mito only grins at her, shoulders bunched tight.
Then she says, “I’m not waiting around for you,” and her eyes are hard and bright.
“I would never expect you to.”
“And that’s fine with you?”
“Go as far as you’ve always wanted,” Melody says. “Go farther. I’m awfully good at finding things that don’t want to be found.”