Takes place early January 2026 after: Moment of Rest
He could have called to be picked up, but he needed a chance for fresh air. The walk home felt longer than it should have. Not because of the distance (it was barely twenty minutes) but because the time alone felt like it was daring him to think about that night and what happened.
He replayed everything anyway. The youma. The horrifying garden. The smell of that black tar, sharp and metallic. The sound of his friends trying to fight, of metal cutting through flesh. The moment the General’s blade had come down, and Reims’s parry had blocked it, but not good enough to prevent the kick to his chest that took the air from his lungs. The sight of Yvoire’s blood -- too much, too fast.
He’d healed… mostly. His ribs were still tender and could probably use another round of healing or soak in the springs. His neck ached when he turned his head too fast. His arm throbbed, wrapped and hidden under a long sleeve that clung oddly to the gauze. But he was alive.
And he’d sent Evan a message. We’re okay. Be home late.
Technically, it was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth, and the longer he let it linger, the more unhappy with himself he became.
They were okay, if you stretched the word to its limit. Alive counted as okay. Breathing counted as okay. But Amarynthos had been run through, Yvoire had stopped breathing, their friends had been thrown against walls and cut down, risking their safety for each other. Riker’s ribs still ached where the General’s boot had landed. Dering had been hurt, but Reims didn’t get a chance to really assess how injured he was before he left for his Wonder.
He thought about how Evan would look at him when he got home, and how he would look at him with worry and barely contained panic that wouldn’t fade until Riker said the right words. How his expression would only soften when he finally believed him.
Riker had promised Evan he’d try to be honest. Even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.
Oh, how easy it would have been to lie. To let Evan think it had just been a small fight that caught them off guard. But he hated the idea of Evan finding out later, hated the sound of disappointment more than any pain in his chest.
So by the time he made it to the top of the driveway, he’d already made up his mind. He was going to tell him. Maybe not everything… he didn’t need to know every little gruesome detail. But he could at least tell him enough. Enough that Evan knew he was trying.
He took his time as he walked down the driveway, although he knew not to linger long, because Evan had likely paced a hole into the floor. He knew he would probably be up all night (or what was left of it, since it was already into the early hours of the morning) worrying about what all of this meant for them.
As he approached the house, he caught his reflection in the window of the parked car. Pale, tired, bruised… He considered trying to at least fix his hair, but knew it wouldn’t do much. There was no point in hiding. Not when he knew honesty would be better for everyone involved, especially if they were going to figure out exactly what happened.
The door opened quietly, and the warmth of the house felt grounding in a way that made him forget how much his body hurt.
“Hey,” he greeted softly, his voice rough when, as expected, he found Evan pale with worry and waiting.
