Foster barely registered it, his arm slung lazily around Sofia’s shoulders, her warmth seeping into him as she pressed close, her head tucked against his chest. Her fingers laced through his.
“So… you think I’m crazy.”
“Nope.” She shook her head, dark hair brushing his arm. “Just think you should talk to my therapist. She’s good. I mean… even if you were like some other-world alien, it sounds like you’ve been through some stuff.”
“Well, I dunno, Is she another stupidly hot acquaintance of yours?”
Sofia shot him a look—half glare, half smirk.
“What? Everyone you know is gorgeous. Do you have some rule in your social circle—only hot chicks allowed?”
“I should be pissed but… the fact that you think that just goes to show you’re not trash, too many mutie haters out there these days. You don’t… you don’t secretly hate mutants right?”
“No, they’re just people.”
She shifted, her dark eyes catching the TV’s light, and glanced up at him, her lips parting then pressing shut again. Fear shadowed her face—raw, unguarded, the kind that made her look even smaller. “Foster,” she started, her voice low, hesitant, like she was testing the weight of the words before letting them drop. “I’m not a hero. I mean… I was… briefly, real briefly. That’s how I know the Justice Syndicate but...”
He tilted his head, gray eyes meeting hers, “If you’ve had to do things to survive I get it… and I’ve got enough money for us both.”
Sofia snorted, a sharp, amused sound that broke the tension for a second. “Yeah, right! I’ve seen your place and that van. Besides who hasn’t done shit to survive?” She shook her head, her wavy black hair brushing his arm, but her smile faded quick. “It’s not about the cash though. I was splitting my life into pieces … for a part of the day, I would hang out at the taco shop and I got to feel like I was a normal person… then I’d go to sleep for a few hours, which is all I usually sleep, and when I woke up and the pills had worn off, I’d be … well not evil. Just… I had to do some bad things to keep worse people out of the district. Now some people call me when things get out of hand. I’m stepping back—trying to—but there are parts of the city that still needs someone to look out for it.”
Foster shrugged, his thumb brushing idly over her knuckles, the gesture soft against the hard edge of her confession. “As long as you’re not out there killing people all the time, I really don’t give a damn what you're up to. What I care about is you’re my girlfriend. I know that sounds terrible… but… I’m really not that nice.”
Her eyes widened, a nervous laugh bubbling up as she pulled back just enough to squint at him, half-teasing, half-wary. “You are too nice. Yours huh.” She jabbed a finger into his side, playful but pointed, then sobered, chewing her lip. “Don’t kill people? Well I’ll try to be… gentler, I guess.” She quietly mumbled, “Would certainly save me on window repair bills…”
Foster leaned in, his voice dropping, firm but warm, “Don't misunderstand me. If it’s ever a choice between your safety and someone else’s survival, please pick your safety. Every time.”
Sofia wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug, her face buried against his neck. For a moment, she just held on, her grip tight like she was anchoring herself to him. Then she pulled back, exhaling hard, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I just wanna stay and hug you all day, but I’ve got some stuff I need to do,” she said, though there was a struggle on her face as she did so. She untangled herself and stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Patrols around the true E-zone. There are no real heroes out here, the Syndicate pretty much just patrols this little bubble of civilization we have around Starlight College so someone’s gotta keep things in check.”
“So… you what, turn into a bird and fly around the city, keeping an eye on things? That’s pretty stereotypical hero behavior.”
“Most of the time I actually walk or run around the city… flying in bird form leaves me without clothes when, you know, I swoop down and transform again.”
“Oh I can think of several superhero names that would work for.” He grinned. “I could join you, you’d be The Streaker and I’ll be Captain Commando.”
“You’re a dufus. Heroes don’t do what I do, when I find someone doing things they shouldn’t do.” She bit her lip.
“Stone cold vigilante then, I got it.” He nodded, watching as she grabbed a battered jacket from the armrest and slung it over her shoulders, her steps already purposeful as she headed for the door and she paused briefly gathering her things from the night stand, glancing his way.
“So, what are you gonna do with the rest of the day?”
“Get a gym membership.”
“I meant seriously!”
“I am serious, I’m all healed up and I need to get my swole on, I’m puny! Next time someone tries to kidnap me I wanna be able to throw down.”
“I like you just the way you are… and you can’t really throw down with chrome-heads. You’ll just bruise your knuckles.” She started to say more then stopped and smiled at him. “Just… stay safe.”
“You too,” he called, and she threw him a smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her.
Alone, the apartment felt too quiet, the drone of the commercial break a dull buzz in his ears, he turned the tv off and leaned forward resting his chin on his fist. The relationship was too new… too much chaos in his mind. He still couldn’t fully process the feelings he was experiencing so for a time he pushed them away - focusing on something simpler.
‘One percent,’ he thought, remembering the tiny nudge he’d coaxed out of his power. It wasn’t much of a strength boost, but it was a start. ‘You’ve been quiet Hedy, what’s on your mind?’
I’m just assessing. This is the first relationship for you in a very long time. With the loss of your memories, and your new lived experiences I’m being forced to rebalance my influence vectors for your optimal well being, so I’m exercising the virtue of silence as I work through the variables.
‘And?’
And … over-all it seems it’s a net-positive for you so far. I also approve of your plan to work out. With an enhanced constitution I’m curious to see if you will have enhanced training gains.
‘Me too.’
Even out here, in the jagged shadow of the wall, one thing still held true: you could always pump iron. Perhaps it was time to become a protein shake enthusiast and join the fraternity of gym-bros. He wasn’t actually interested in bulking up, but his strength was quite pitiful in a world where some people tossed cars.
The nearest gym he knew of wasn’t far, a grimy hole-in-the-wall a few blocks over… he could walk. Which was good because he wasn’t sure the van would still be where he’d left it. This was zone E after all… and it had been a while.
***
Foster pushed through the rusted double doors of Titan Gym. They'd once been glass but that was long since busted out and had been covered with plywood. Inside the clang of metal on metal greeting him like a junkyard symphony.
The E-zone didn’t do a lot of sleek — most things here were grit and grind, and the gym was no exception. The air stank of sweat, rust, and cheap antiseptic, the kind sprayed half-heartedly over cracked vinyl benches. Weights clattered in a chaotic rhythm, a mix of grunts and curses echoing off the cinderblock walls.
Foster ambled up to Titan Gym’s front desk—a thick plywood plank balanced on cinderblocks. Behind it loomed Gus, a human bulldozer with a shaved head polished to a shine and biceps that strained his faded Titan Gym tee. His name tag read Anatoly.
“Membership?” He growled, voice a low rumble that could’ve doubled as a jackhammer, eyes barely flicking up. He shoved the clipboard over, a chewed-up pen dangling from a chain so short it was practically a taunt. “Thirty creds a month. No refunds, no crying in the gym.”
The form was a maze of boxes—address, emergency contact, fitness goals. Foster paused, which address? He put down his apartment, he’d only half moved? He really needed to talk to Sofia about that… Emergency contact? He put down Sofia… goals… He chuckled and wrote in “Get Strong”
“Here’s your card.” Anatoly handed him a magnetic stripe card. Apparently used to meter the water used in the showers.
Foster stepped past the front desk and his eyebrows drew together as he was beholding a scene that didn’t quite make sense.
Cyborgs—cyborgs - were pumping iron like it was a religion. Chrome-plated arms curled barbells that looked like it was forged from melted-down engine blocks. What’s the point? Foster thought, brow furrowing. Their strength was baked into the circuits—why bother with weights? Then he spotted others, gaunt figures in threadbare hoodies, beelining for the showers with membership cards dangling from bony fingers. Not here to lift—just to wash. Made sense out here, where a place to stay was a luxury. Still, the weights and their lifters - dominated: stacks of mismatched plates, some pristine, others crude hunks of slag welded into shape, edges jagged from a torch’s kiss. Abundant, ugly, and heavy as hell.
He barely made it three steps in before a figure loomed into his path—she had a name tag - Rea Patel - tall Indian and a walking tower of golden muscles who looked like she’d been chiseled out of sun-kissed granite and then bronzed for good measure. Every inch of her screamed power: toned biceps, quads that could crush a skull, abs rippling under a tight tank top like a damn washboard. Her dark hair was pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, and her brown eyes sized him up with the intensity of a drill sergeant spotting fresh meat. “Newbie, huh?” she said, voice surprisingly soft. “I’m Rea. Personal trainer. You look like you could use some guidance. First session’s free!”
Then she paused and did a double take, “You look kind of familiar.” She froze, eyes narrowing, then snapped her fingers like she’d cracked it. “Wait a sec. Taco boy!”
Foster blinked, then tilted his head, gray eyes flicking over her. He snapped his fingers. “Burrito Lady. You order a friggin’ battalion of beef-n-bean burritos —extra guac, extra rice, extra everything… but you look different.”
“Yeah when I go out I cover up. Though it is a shame to cover up this divine frame, I don’t need to be a spectacle when I’m just trying to get through my day-n-night.” She flexed a bicep and grinned. “I haven’t seen you there the last few times I’ve been by, place is kindof fallin apart too.”
“Moved on. Better beginnings.” Foster shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets, gray eyes flicking over and assessing her - unless that was all juice-head chemicals doing the work her body was an impressive testament to her skill. “So… personal trainer? I’ll take you up on that offer. My name's Foster, I should warn you that I’ve never really worked out before.”
Rea didn’t waste time. She marched him to a rack of barbells—crude, heavy things that looked like they’d been salvaged from a junkyard fire—and slapped a modest forty-five pounds on each side. “You look like you’d blow over in a breeze so we’ll start light. Bench press, three sets of ten. Form first, ego later.” He nodded, lying back on the bench, the vinyl creaking under him as he gripped the bar. It went up smooth, down controlled—nothing flashy, just steady. First set done, no sweat. Second set, same deal. By the third, his arms burned, a faint tremor in his muscles, but then it faded, fast, like someone flipped a switch. He racked the bar and sat up, breathing even, ready for more.
“Hm.” Rea’s brow arched, but she didn’t comment, just jerked her chin toward a squat rack. “Legs next. Eighty pounds, four sets of twelve.” The bar dug into his shoulders as he dropped into the first squat, knees tracking, back straight. By the third set, his thighs screamed, quads quivering like they’d mutiny—but ten minutes later, the ache dissolved, his breath steadying as he powered through the fourth like he’d just woken up. Rea crossed her arms, eyes narrowing, a flicker of worry creasing her forehead.
“Deadlifts,” she barked, piling on a hundred pounds, voice clipped now, testing him. “Five sets, eight reps.” Foster gripped the bar, hinges of his spine locking into place as he hauled it up. Sweat beaded on his brow by the fourth set, his grip slick, hamstrings howling—then, gone. A brief pause, a deep breath, and he was back at it, yanking the weight off the floor like it was a warm-up. Rea stepped closer, her ripped arms tensing as she hovered, scanning him for cracks. “You good? You’re blasting through this like a machine.”
“Yeah,” he grunted, racking the bar after the fifth set, wiping his hands on his pants. “Feel fine.” His pulse barely ticked up, his body shrugging off fatigue like it was a mild inconvenience.
Rea planted her hands on her hips, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Most newbs’d be jelly by now—or puking in the corner. You’re not even winded yet.” She grabbed a towel, tossing it at him anyway, worry etching deeper into her voice. “What’s your deal? Wait… are you a Super?”
“Eh, very minor.” Foster said, holding his fingers about a half an inch apart. “Just have a real good constitution.” catching the towel with a faint smirk, mopping his face more for show than need.
“Yeah, I didn’t catch it! Supers are usually taller.” She grinned and shook her head, “Alright, lil baby Super you shoulda said so! Freaks get a different work out! Let’s see where your limits are. We’ll figure out your max and go from there. If you’re still standing after, I’m either quitting or charging you double. Let’s do some pull-ups next!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“What’s double of free?” He grinned, stepping under the bar, and started hauling himself up, one rep bleeding into the next. By the third set, his lats burned, grip faltering—but then it passed, a cool rush flooding his system, and he kept going, chin clearing the bar again and again.’
Rea watched, jaw tight, muttering under her breath about “impossible bullshit,” but every time she checked, he was fine—better than fine, like he could do this all night. He wasn’t strong but he had incredible endurance.
As the weights clanged and his muscles sang, Foster found himself grinning foolishly, ‘Crap… They’ve got me. I’m in the cult now.’ … eventually hunger started to hit like a beast, and he stopped. “Wanna get some food?” He asked Rea.
She looked down at him tensing up for a moment and snorted, “Sorry kid - gotta keep it professional - I have a girlfriend.”
“Me too!” He laughed.
Rea relaxed a bit. “The cashier right!” Rea smacked him on the shoulder, “I’ve seen how she looked at you any time your back was turned.”
Foster froze for a moment, “Seriously?” He sighed, “… you know what, I’m gonna revisit that later. What I really need now is protein and carbs. I’ve never been this hungry in my life!”
“Well since you weren’t hitting on me, come on then. I’ll show you someplace nice-”
“No tacos!”
“No tacos.” Rea laughed. “- and guess what, it’s your treat.” She clapped Foster on the shoulder again—hard enough to make him stagger—and jerked her head toward the gym’s exit. “C’mon. You’re gonna need fuel if you’re serious about training. I know a spot.” She didn’t wait for an answer, striding out with the confidence of someone who usually got her way, leaving Foster to jog after her.
A few blocks over, they hit DINO DINER, a dingy joint wedged between a pawn shop and a flickering neon-lit laundromat. The sign out front was half-busted, buzzing faintly, with “DINER” in blocky letters and “DINO” scrawled in what looked like spray paint. Someone had graffitied the side of the building with a Chicken-T-Rex. The windows were fogged with grease, and the smell hit like a wall—fried oil and sizzling meat. Inside mismatched tables groaned under trays of food. The floor was sticky, the air thick, and the clientele—a mix of sweaty gym rats and locals —shoveled food like it was a race.
Rea shoved through the crowd to a counter manned by a wiry guy with a stained apron and a tired expression. “Two Pig-Outs, and don’t skimp on the portions Paco.” The guy grunted, disappearing into the steam-choked kitchen as Rea turned to Foster, grinning. “Cheap as dirt, and they don’t mess around on the serving size. Perfect for a twig like you trying to stack some mass. Just maybe don’t ask where the meat comes from!”
“That’s the rule for every food joint this close to the wall.” Foster snorted.
Minutes later, two trays slammed down in front of them—each a heaping mountain of food that could’ve fed a small militia. A slab of something that might be grilled ribs, charred and juicy, sat atop a pile of mashed potatoes so dense it looked like small mountain, studded with clumps of butter. Beside it, a mound of sticky rice glistened with a sheen of oil, flanked by a fist-sized hunk of cornbread dripping honey. A side of pinto beans swam in a murky broth, and a shaky scoop of mac-n-cheese wobbled on the edge, threatening to slide off. It was a carb-and-protein fever dream, served on chipped plastic trays.
“The price is surprisingly cheap…” Foster stared, wide-eyed. “And this is… a lot of food.”
Rea snorted, already tearing into her chicken with her hands. “What, you think those noodle arms’ll grow on air? This is rookie fuel. Shovel it in, or you’ll be crying tomorrow.” She jabbed a fork at him. “Eat big, lift big.”
He grabbed a fork and as the food started to hit his system, Foster almost immediately felt better.
***
Foster ended up paying Rea for her time, when they went back to the gym, justifying it that the first time free had been in effect only til they left for lunch. She tried to turn him down but he insisted, explaining he was going to need a lot of supervision. His form slipped the moment his attention wavered. They drew up a workout plan tailored to his inhuman endurance, he would hit the gym every day of the week doing the 7-day split, cycling training focus until his starter gains petered out…
When he got back to Sofia’s apartment Foster took a long shower… then sat down on the couch… and anxiously OBSERVED himself once more.
STR + 1 In your attempt to achieve swoleus maximus you’ve just run a workout regimen that would kill lesser men - depending on how much lesser - maybe literally. You’re leveraging your inhuman constitution to make inhuman gains! You have now achieved a new baseline of … slightly above average!
STR (11) /DEX (9*)/INT (10)/WIS(9)/CON(20)/CHA(14)
“I raised a whole point in just one day!” Foster was ecstatic. Cheat codes were unlocked!
Which left him questioning what to use his other power on? He needed something that he could use to defend himself.
Energy weapons existed, they cost a fortune and absolutely wouldn’t work out in the E-zone, except under heavy Aether shields, like those mounted at the turrets of the Wall.
Guns were an option. The inner zones had strict restrictions on firearms, getting caught with a gun in the A or B zones did not end well for you. The C, D, and the E zones did not have those restrictions, it was the wild west out at the edges. People needed weapons they could use to defend themselves from those beasts that made it past the wall during Beast Tides but guns were still surprisingly rare past C zone. The problem was that guns didn't always work like they should. Having a gun go-off when you hadn’t pulled the trigger, or not go off when you did, either way it was a bad day, they were reliable enough in the mid-zones but by E not so much… still the PRU carried guns, so there was a way to get them to work.
Considering that the computer he'd upgraded at almost immediately melted down there was also no guarantee that a gun he used his power on wouldn't go Haywire.
‘Ideas Hedy?’
Maybe a sword?
‘Yeah, but I’d look a bit ridiculous walking around with a sword strapped to my back, broadcasting my inner chuuni for the world to see.’
A very big knife?
‘Maybe?’
Sofia burst back into the apartment hours later, her patrol circuit done, and vaulted onto the couch beside Foster with a thud. Her hair was a tangled mess, but her dark eyes burned with something urgent. She fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on her jeans, which had been in much better condition when she’d headed out. She then took a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinking…” She swallowed hard, voice dipping. “I want you to have this.” From her pocket, she fished out a sleek silver ring, its surface flickering as she thrust it toward him.
Foster went rigid, gray eyes darting from the ring to her face. “Wait—are you proposing?” His voice cracked on the last word, half panic, uncertain what to say. This was a little too fast.
“What? No!” Sofia’s ears flushed crimson, and she nearly dropped the ring. “No, no, no!” She snatched his hand, fumbling as she shoved the ring into his palm, her fingers brushing his with a jolt. “It’s not—ugh. It’s a Spire ring. You get ‘em when you join a registered super-team. Inner Spire ones supposedly do fancy awesome stuff like flying, but I was just on an outer-zone team. This one’s the most basic—it pops up a small force field for a few minutes, that’s it. It’s meant to keep you alive till backup arrives.” She met his gaze, her tone softening. “Wear it. If you get into trouble —call me. I’ll come running.”
“Shouldn’t you keep it?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t worn it in over a year, not since I quit, my skins already tougher than the force field when I get pissed… and I already had it unattuned so you can use it. I’m just hoping it can help keep you safe.”
Foster turned the ring over in his hand, its cool weight solid against his skin. He nodded, sliding it onto his finger with a mock flourish and bowing. “I accept my lady’s favor.”
She swatted his arm, a grin breaking through her nerves. “Put a drop of blood on it. I’ve got to wash off… feel grimy. Be right back!”
Foster activated OBSERVE.
Item: Spire Ring - Outer Zone Variant
Description: A standard-issue ring granted to registered members of outer-zone super-teams under the Spire Accord. Forged from a lightweight alloy infused with trace Aetheric resonance materials it will operate even at the edge of the city's Aether shields and serves as a minor Aetheric stabilizer. Serves as a limited defensive tool. Once attuned to a wearer with a genetic lock, it can activate a localized force field capable of absorbing moderate kinetic and energy impacts. Outer-zone variants lack the advanced features of Inner Spire rings (e.g., flight, comms, enhanced power reserves) but remain reliable within their scope.
Properties:
-
Force Field Activation: Generates a barrier a few millimeters outside the wearer’s bio-field. Duration: 180 seconds. Cooldown: 24 hours post-use.
-
Durability: Resistant to physical wear and minor corrosion. Vulnerable to high-intensity Aetheric disruption or anti-super tech (e.g., PRU dampeners)
-
Current Status: Unattuned. Requires the wearer's blood to bind (reversible).
-
Additional Notes: The ring’s Aetheric resonance is stable but low-grade, typical of mass-produced outer-zone gear. Residual emotional echoes suggest prior use in high-stress combat scenarios. No hidden functions detected.
‘Hedy… I’m going to enhance it!’
Maybe take it off your finger first, let's not blow it up while it’s on your hand.
‘Fine, fine! Maybe I’ll wait till tomorrow… but this thing is cool.’
Foster realized he’d been staring at the ring for too long when Sofia stepped out of the bathroom, and a plume of steam unfurled into the apartment’s dim glow. Wrapped around her petite frame was a towel—high-end, a plush expanse of midnight blue Egyptian cotton, its edges hemmed with subtle silver thread that caught the light in faint glimmers. It clung to her damp caramel skin, molding to her curves, the hem teasing just above mid-thigh, leaving her toned legs bare and shimmering with lingering beads of water.
Her wavy black hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Droplets tracing paths along her neck and soaking into the towel’s plush border where it hugged her collarbone. She shook her head—a quick, careless flick—scattering a fine mist across the floorboards as she padded barefoot toward the couch, her steps light but deliberate.
Her eyes sharp with mischief fixed on Foster, a smirk curling her full lips like she knew something he didn’t.
She vaulted onto the couch beside him, landing with a muffled thump that barely rattled the cushions. The towel shifted, a whisper of fabric revealing the taut curve of her upper thigh before she tugged it back with a lazy swipe of her hand. Tucking her legs beneath her, she curled in close, her damp skin grazing his arm with a cool jolt. The scent of high-end bergamot and sandalwood soap wafted off her small frame
“Miss me?” she teased, her voice a low, playful rasp. She pressed against him.
“I…” Foster realized he was staring, the ring forgotten, slipped into his pocket.
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and laughed, “Now I finally know for sure.” She grinned, hopping up and running into the bedroom.
“Know what?” Foster mumbled to himself blinking.
That was just embarrassing. Hedy sighed.
“What?” Foster was still a bit out of it.
A few minutes later, Sofia emerged from the bedroom, the door creaking faintly as she nudged it open with her hip. She’d swapped the plush towel for a mismatched ensemble—sweatpants slung low on her hips and a faded black tank top that hugged her small frame, the hem riding up just enough to flash a sliver of caramel skin at her midriff. Her wavy black hair, still damp, hung loose and tangled, brushing her shoulders as she moved. In her arms, she cradled a lumpy pillow and a blanket.
“The couch folds out,” she said, her voice lilting with amusement as she dumped the bedding onto the cushions beside Foster. Her dark eyes glinted and a smirk played across her lips. She crossed her arms, leaning a hip against the couch’s armrest and sizing him up with a mix of tease and mock sternness. “You’re cute, and I’m a catch. But we’ve only been on, what, two dates… and it looks like we're trying for something serious so...”
She stepped back, hands planting on her hips, her grin widening as she watched him process it. The idea of him being into her—really into her—tickled her, lighting a warm little spark she wasn’t quite ready to fan tonight. Not yet. They were still new, still jagged edges rubbing together, and even though those gray eyes of his tracked her like she was the only thing in the room, she knew she had to slow down. She liked him— she liked him a lot—but she didn’t want to rush something that might actually matter, she thought back to when she’d been drunk and grimaced. Besides, she was barely holding herself together.
“Need help unfolding it?” she added, her tone softening just a hair, though the mischief didn’t fade. She nudged the couch with her knee, daring him to fumble through it alone. “I’ve been crashing on my own couch the last couple of days— but usually, I barely need more than a few hours sleep.” She hopped down onto the cushion next to him, her bare feet brushing the floor before she tucked them under herself. With a quick, impulsive lean, she wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank you,” Foster said, his smile crooked but warm, gray eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Yeah, it’s your turn now!” she shot back, grinning wide enough to flash teeth. Her smile dimmed though, as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her expression flickering. “I do want to sleep next to you, Foster. Like, really. But I’m terrified. If I take my pills, I’m useless if something bad goes down, if you need me to keep you safe... and if I don't take my pills... you… you make me feel safe, and that’s worse. I might actually sleep deep, and if I have a nightmare—if I change right there beside you—I could hurt you.”
“I’m pretty tough since I got a super power upgrade,” Foster countered dragging out the last word playfully, then he licked his lips, a hesitant edge to his voice as he shifted closer. “I… I feel like I’ve had half a dozen chances to make a move on you already, and I keep freezing up. It’s not because of something noble like wanting to protect you or anything either—I’m just scared I’ll screw it up. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
Sofia’s laugh burst out, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the heavy air. “You said you were vampire romance novel old! What, no centuries of wooing fair maidens with your brooding charm, oh ancient one?” She arched a brow.
“Amnesia, remember?” Foster groaned, dropping his head into his hands with a theatrical thud before straightening up, his face flushed. “And this body? Pretty sure the most it’s ever managed is some sloppy objectively terrible make-out sessions. I’ve got this ego—like I should be legendary at this—but I can’t even remember anything… I doubt I could unhook a bra right now.”
Sofia froze, her jaw dropping as astonishment widened her eyes. “What… wait… you’re telling me… you’re a virgin?” Her voice climbed an octave, disbelief widening her eyes.
“Demi-virgin at most,” he muttered, wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I wasn’t a saint before, but it’s all a blank slate up here.” He tapped his temple, grimacing.
Sofia screwed her face into a mock-serious expression of profundity. “So… if you’ve slept with women in a parallel reality… and you can’t remember it, then does it count? Hm. That’s a deep philosophical question…” She dissolved into giggles, her shoulders shaking as she reached out, running her fingers through his dark hair, nails grazing his scalp with a gentle scrape. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone softening into something tender. “We’ll figure it all out together. No rush… and when the time comes, if it does, I can take my own bra off.”
Foster let out a long, slow exhale, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he mirrored her, his hand sliding into her damp, wavy locks. His fingers wove through the strands, the faint chill of water brushing his skin as he cradled the back of her head, drawing her in. Their eyes locked—hers dark and searching, his gray and unguarded—and then he kissed her.
It started tentative, a brush of lips, soft and uncertain, like he was testing the idea. Her breath hitched, warm against his mouth, and she leaned into him, her lips parting slightly as the kiss deepened. His hand tightened in her hair, fingertips pressing against her scalp, anchoring her as he tilted his head, the angle shifting to something hungrier. She pressed closer, her chest grazing his, and her hand slid to his jaw, fingers curling against his chin as she kissed him back—slow, deliberate, a quiet heat simmering beneath it. The damp strands of her hair tickled his cheek, and a faint shiver ran through her, her breath stuttering as she pulled back just enough to catch his gaze, her smile melting into something softer.
“Told you we’ll figure it out,” she whispered, her voice husky, eyes half-lidded as she lingered close, “now… I’ve really gotta go and get my few hours of rest!” She broke away reluctantly. “But we need to do that more!” She slipped into her room and gave him one last longing look before closing the door.
He blinked—slow, deliberate, like he was rebooting. His shoulders slumped, but not from exhaustion; it was more like every muscle had gone slack, melted under the weight of what just happened. “Holy… shit,” he muttered, voice rough and barely audible. “She tastes so sweet.”
Foster didn’t bother folding the couch out, he just grabbed the blankets and the pillow and laid down, thinking about the kiss until he fell asleep.
***
Sofia slipped back into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft, final thud that echoed in the quiet. She leaned against it for a moment, her breath still uneven, the heat of Foster’s kiss lingering on her lips. Her eyes darted around the space searching for something to anchor her. Her hands trembled, fingers flexing as she pressed them to her chest, feeling her heart slam against her ribs. “Get it together,” she muttered, voice shaky, but the words dissolved into the air as a ripple shuddered through her.
She stumbled toward the bed, and collapsed onto the mattress with a groan. The sweatpants sagged lower on her hips, the tank top twisting as she fell, but she didn’t care. Her control—always a fragile thread without the pills—snapped. It started small: a twitch in her fingers, a flicker of shadow at the edges of her vision. Then her skin rippled, caramel dissolving into inky black, and she lost hold of herself entirely. Her form unraveled, limbs melting into a viscous coils of darkness that wound themselves over and around herself, cocooning her body in bands of darkness that glistening under the dim glow of a bedside lamp.
Her consciousness lingered, tangled between exhaustion from the day and the raw emotions that kiss had pried open. Out there, next to him, she’d held it together — teasing, grinning. In here, alone, she felt undone, and for the moment she was too tired - exhausted from the day’s struggles - to fight it. Finally her consciousness released its grip, and she drifted away into dreams embrace.