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The infirmary is a good place for thinking.
It’s quiet, private, and with plenty of spaces to tuck herself in and hide if any of the instructors come searching for a certain gray-haired troublemaker. Not to mention the cozy bed and soft pillows she could sink into as the daydreams pull her back into their world— a majestic show of endless skies and dances to the tune of the pitter-patter of rain and fantastical tales of creatures with large eyes and webbed feet and indifferent croaking.
Except, Vertin isn’t daydreaming this time. When she sinks into the plush pillows and drowns in freshly cleaned sheets, it’s with the thought of school parades. A sunny day and clear blue skies. Paved roads and banners with all the colors she had only seen painted in broad messy strokes on the little canvas hidden in the dark corner of her room. It’s brick reds and splotches of greens peeking out from cracks in gray asphalt. Odd shocks of yellows and oranges on people’s clothing. Passing flashes of whites and flags of golds and pinks and checkered blacks and whites.
Then there, on a fork in the road, tucked into an unassuming corner that deviates from the banner-filled parade path, deep browns and faded blues. A bookstore and its muted colors standing in the shade— a sharp contrast to the overwhelmingly bright colors of its surroundings.
And it’s strange. Because Vertin is used to the curiosity that tugs in her chest and adds a skip in her steps. She’s used to diving straight into the unknown, to running parallel to checkered paths. She’s used to walking alone, stumbling on uneven ground and tripping and getting up again— scratched knees and muddy hands and determined eyes.
What she’s not used to is seeing it in someone else’s eyes.
And it gets stranger. Because for a pair of classmates sharing the same table, Sonetto is the furthest thing from Vertin. A one-track mind and a stickler for rules, walking steadfastly along the checkered path— the good student to the little troublemaker. And when Sonetto looks at her, it’s with sharp eyes that are somehow indifferent, somehow sad, somehow clouded and hazy and—
Nothing like it is now— clear and caught in blatant interest and curiosity at the small book with a worn cover displayed on the shop’s windows, the title of which Vertin can hardly make out except for the faded print that spells out ‘poems’. Sonetto’s steps falter, then stop, and they start lagging behind their group. On the back of Vertin’s mind, something like a warning sounds, a reminder that it’s only a matter of time before the instructors notice and they get chewed out before being pulled back on the proper path— the right path.
But then Sonetto smiles— something small but with a warmth and brightness that could rival the sun beating down on her back— and the warnings fade, replaced by the kaleidoscope of colors painted across the glass windows. There, clear greens and fiery oranges and innocent whites. The good student with her heart revealed on her sleeve.
And Vertin has never wanted so badly to pull someone into her uneven path, stumbling around and dancing to the tune of the pitter-patter of light rain that makes way for clear blue skies. She wants— no, wishes for more of it, more of the sun— brighter, warmer, smiling and laughing and—
“— keeper, Timekeeper…?”
Vertin blinks. In front of her, Sonetto and a worried frown plastered on her face that’s hard to take seriously when she’s almost drowning in her armful of fluffy white sheets and pillows. Outside, the muffled chatter of the rest of her crew as Jessica regales them with a dramatic retelling of their misadventure at Green Lake hours prior, complete with accurate monster reenactments from the mastermind herself.
“Sorry, I was… listening. Jessica’s a good storyteller.” Vertin raises her hand, remembers her hat’s back at the lounge, and lightly runs her fingers through her hair instead. “What were you saying?”
And when Sonetto’s frown deepens, a vague sense of wrongness prods at the back of her mind, along with the scent of dirt and grass and rain, then an oddly cheerful voice in the midst of it all.
“Do you have any wishes?”
“Like I said earlier, Timekeeper, I can handle this by myself. You should go ahead and join—”
“Do you want anything?”
The words come out faster than she could wrap her head around it, and Vertin tries not to wince as she watches Sonetto’s expression morph into one of surprise at getting cut off, then confusion at the poorly thought-out question.
“Want… anything?”
“Yes,” Vertin pauses. Thinks. Laments the fact that she doesn’t have her hat and there’s no coherent explanation coming to her head. “Anything. Anything you want.”
The oddly cheerful voice in her memories remarks toffee, toffee, toffee. The little troublemaker reflected on the glass windows points to the sky and the white clouds lightly blocking out the sun.
“I…” And Vertin watches. Waits. Silently notes the face Sonetto makes when she’s seriously pondering on something. Then she searches for the heart on her sleeve, a sign for something more than a book of poems and a toffee. Permission to settle for a compromise, a gloved hand in a muddied one, a delicate waltz in the middle of checkered floors and uneven ground.
But when Sonetto looks at her, it’s with green eyes that are somehow sad, somehow hesitant. Then she smiles, and it’s the polite one. The one the good student gives. The one the chief assistant gives. “I don’t think there’s anything I want.”
“She said she wanted a toffee. She wanted one so she could fully appreciate the taste this—”
Outside, the story is wrapping up and Vertin could hear footsteps passing and the muffled but enthusiastic voice of Regulus going on about suitcase tours and horror-themed movie nights. In front of her, a clear separation that extends far more than an armful of sheets and pillows. Then Sonetto averts her gaze and Vertin only has a split-second to recognize the contemplation on her features before she looks back with a smile she knows is reserved for Vertin but is not quite the right one either.
“How about you Timekeeper? Is there anything you want? May I…”
“May I realize it for you?” And it’s genuine, Vertin knows. But it doesn’t stop the small frown tugging at the corner of her lips. Because it’s not right to not want anything for yourself. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But Vertin can’t say that yet can she? She’d surely be shrugged off. But maybe… if someday…
“A toffee.”
“A… toffee?”
Vertin extends a hand, taking the pillows and sheets and pinning them under her arms as she digs around in her pockets with her free one. When she pulls her hand out, it’s with two pieces of toffee in her palm.
“I have one too many. I want to share it with someone.” She reaches out her hand, casual, natural. “Want one?”
And Vertin watches the gears turn in her head. Then the realization. Because Sonetto is still the good student. Smart and quick to realize. And Vertin is still the little troublemaker. Good at hiding things from everyone except her.
And later, when everything has settled and the sweetness lingering in her tongue is just an aftertaste, Sonetto asks her again.
“Is there anything you wish for, Timekeeper?”
And Vertin thinks. Remembers. Clear greens and fiery oranges and innocent whites. The sun underneath pale yellow lights. The way gloved hands carefully unwrap a toffee like it’s a fragile artifact and not a piece of caramel candy. Curious eyes examining each nook and cranny, no doubt to etch it in memory.
Then a smile. Small and genuine. Not as bright and warm as the one from the glass windows, but the right one nonetheless.
“It already came true. Well, half of it anyway.”
And there, the same determined eyes as the little troublemaker reflected on the glass windows. An unsaid promise. Then a silent wish.
To always be blessed with the warmth of the sun.