With a Glimpse: Excerpt

A chill penetrated by fire. A needle which bends like rubber. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't real. An introduction to the four main characters of With a Glimpse.

The house was quiet, just as it was every morning. The boy lay in bed for a short while, counting the weird spikey bits of plaster on the ceiling in what little light crept through the closed curtains of his room. Then he quietly slipped out from under the covers, feeling with his toes for his mouse-shaped house shoes. At the same time, he reached with one hand to rub his eyes while extending the other towards his dresser. There he found his glasses.

Stifling a yawn, the boy took the eyewear from his dresser and unfolded the long bits; he could never remember what they were called. He gave a little smile as his feet found the house shoes, his toes becoming enveloped in their soft and warm insides. The boy donned the glasses, standing and straightening his yellow duck pajama shirt. A glance at the clock told him it was six thirty; a little early, but that just meant he had more time to enjoy the morning.

He crossed the room to his bedroom door, slowly pulling it open and stepping into the cool air of the hallway. Now shivering, his legs moving him down the carpeted stretch in a hurried shuffle, he found himself in front of his oldest brother's door.

He opened it, peering inside. The rather sizable bed looked like it hadn't been slept in; frowning, the boy directed his attention back the way he had come, towards the living room. Closing his eyes and opening his ears, he thought he could hear the faint sound of snoring. He clicked his tongue, shuffling past his younger brother's door as well as his own before stepping into the living room.

Between what he liked to call the 'barracks' and the kitchen was the hearth room, with a couch, a few chairs, a television and a fireplace. Pale morning light was coming through the window, giving the room a grayish-blue tinge, Shivering again, he decided that he should turn on the fireplace after breakfast; the house could use a bit of warming up. With this in mind, he gave the room a brief once-over, and didn't have to look again; though the black leather sofa was facing away from him, he could tell that he had found his elusive sibling. The boy circled around the couch, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. It looked like he had dragged a sheet from the linen closet into the living room and curled up on the sofa; why hadn't he just crashed in his bed?

“Apostrophe, wake up.” he said softly, gently shaking his brother's shoulder. “It's morning. Rise and shine.”

The man grumbled something in his sleep and turned over, face now pressed firmly into the back of the couch. The boy exhaled, placing his hands on his hips; the giant dork hadn't taken off his glasses to sleep. “I bet you didn't even change.” he grumbled himself, walking to the kitchen door. “I mean why would you sleep in your work clothes, that sounds so uncomfortable.”

Well, it didn't matter. He'd rouse Apostrophe with the smell of food and deny him a share until he had been dressed properly. Of course, by that he meant pajamas " it was a silly idea, starting the day without being in your pajamas. The boy pushed the door open, stepped inside and flipped on the lights, illuminating the kitchen and all of its utensils.

He took his apron from its hook by the door, turning on the stove and making his way over to the refrigerator. Eggs and sausage today, he decided with a satisfied nod. He slid the egg carton down the counter, where it stopped just short of the oven, and snatched a set of sausages from their place on a shelf in the door.

“Pan, pan, pan...” he mumbled. One opened cabinet later and he had the coveted metal cooking utensil, which he placed upon the hot spot. A few moments later, the whisked eggs had been poured onto the pan, giving off a nice sizzling sound. His siblings didn't share his and Apostrophe's love of scrambled eggs, but he always cooked for them last, since Apostrophe was up the earliest.

Well, usually. The way things were going, Voice might be up and at 'em before Apostrophe stumbled into the boy's presence.

The eggs were beginning to toughen and gain that lovely golden brown color. Smiling, the boy placed the sausages next to them, adding a few dashes of salt and pepper. The aroma filled the room and made his mouth water. Right on cue, he heard the kitchen door open.

“Good morning, Kolas.” Apostrophe said, smoothing his hair back behind his ears as he sleepily stumbled towards the kitchen table. “That smells charming. Please allow me to seat myself - “

“Nuh-uh!” Kolas answered, turning up his nose in mock indignation. He directed his eye up and down his brother's body, taking in the stained white shirt and black pants. Bartender again. “Let me tell you something Apostrophe because if you think you can sleep on the couch instead of your bed then wake up in your work clothes and try to eat my food then you've got another thing coming!”

“Breathe, brother.” his sibling yawned, raising a calming hand. Kolas put his hands on his hips.

“Breathing is for people whose brothers don't try to eat breakfast without their pajamas!” he said. “Now go, come on! Outta my kitchen, fetch an undershirt and shorts at least!”

He turned back to the stove, hearing Apostrophe's footsteps receding as he left the room. Then he smiled, placing a portion of eggs on a plate next to a pair of sausages and sliding them onto the table. Another plate followed; Kolas switched the pan to a different burner and turned the stove off.

The boy could expect Voice to be asleep for a while yet, so he helped himself to a few sausages and a mouthful of eggs " light on breakfast made you light on your feet, able to dodge life's punches like a pro! Or at least that's what he tried to impart on his siblings, who all ate like starved hounds if he let them. Though he had to blush, thinking that maybe they wolfed it down so fast because his cooking was delicious. They rarely had guests so he had a very small frame of reference to deal with; how he wished Apostrophe would bring someone home. It would be great to have some extra domestic company, and in any case, Apostrophe's departure every night left him with some pretty unsavory conversational partners.

The door creaked open again, and the apron-clad cook turned with a smile, expecting to see Apostrophe. Instead he found Voice, dressed in their overlarge black night shirt and holding their stuffed rabbit. The poor thing was raggedy from being dragged everywhere and had dark purple patches where it had been stitched due to wear and tear. Voice themselves, as usual, was wearing their lengthy brown hair down in front of their eyes, and had entered without really looking at Kolas.

“Hey sib, fancy some food?” he asked with a smile, eying the door as it closed; he had turned on the kitchen light some time ago, so he had already forgotten that it was really quite early in the morning. The hearth room was still grayish-blue in the morning's first light.

Voice answered his offer with a grunt, trudging to the table and roughly pulling the chair back. The loud noise made Kolas wince, and he glanced over at where the barracks lay. He couldn't hear any signs of disturbance, so he guessed that they were still in the clear. “Come on Voice don't I even get a good morning?”

“F**k you.” they replied.

Kolas sighed, returning to the stove and switching it back on. He had already started cooking when Apostrophe returned, yawning and scratching his scraggly beard. “How surprising, Voice.” he commented, taking a more graceful approach to the table. Kolas noted with a satisfied nod that he had done what he had been asked, and was now wearing a white undershirt and shorts. “I rarely get the pleasure of your company so soon after I myself wake up.”

As usual, he was ignored. Kolas noted how Apostrophe's jaw was set, then the oldest sibling turned to him, smiling. “Am I now appropriate, Kolas?”

“Yeah, bon appetite bro.” he answered with a smile of his own. As Apostrophe began to eat, Voice tilted their head in Kolas's direction and glared at him sulkily. “Yes, Voice, I'm making yours.”

Moments later, his little brother placated with steaming breakfast delights, Kolas stepped out of the kitchen and rubbed his face. Too much stress in the mornings; he'd perk up soon and then the day would be fabulous. He produced a bread roll which he had taken from the pantry and bit into it. A light breakfast made one light on their feet, after all. He'd probably give into temptation and have a snack later, though " Voice certainly made a habit of it.

The floor creaked a bit, and Kolas looked up to see his final sibling stepping slowly out of the barracks. The older boy, its hair sloppily cut and asymmetrical, its face gaunt and its clothes ripped along the arms and pant legs, was leaning against the hallway wall, its other hand pressed into its face and covering its left eye.

“Good morning, Passion.” Kolas said, smiling. “Apostrophe and Voice are in the kitchen are you hungry?”

The staggering figure shook its head, gingerly taking its hand away from the wall and moving slowly towards the couch.

“Apostrophe slept there because he's dumb so I wouldn't sit there if I were you at least let me tidy up!”

Kolas dashed forward, somewhat upset that he hadn't thought to clean up Apostrophe's man musk cocoon before, but he reached the couch at the same time as Passion, and their shoulders bumped together. His older brother moved like lightning, seizing hold of Kolas's shirt and thrusting him out to arm's reach. Kolas blinked, hesitantly moving his arms around Passion's and wondering if he should ease his brother out of the idea of grabbing him. Just then, the kitchen door opened.

“Passion, what a delight.” Apostrophe said, his voice carrying across the early morning air. Kolas and Passion both turned their heads, seeing him standing in the doorway with Voice close behind. “I see that the dawn does nothing to diminish your rigorous activities, but perhaps you would do well to eat before roughhousing?”

Passion was silent and unmoving. At a glance from Apostrophe, Kolas gently pried his brother's fingers off of his shirt and backed up. As if released from a spell, Passion staggered over to the couch, throwing itself onto it and staring at the ceiling through its unkempt hair.

The three stood awkwardly for a moment, then Apostrophe crossed his arms and stepped out of the doorway. Voice shuffled past them, moving back towards the bedrooms with a dull look on their face. Kolas scratched the back of his head, looking at Apostrophe, who gifted him with a shrug in return. Then the two brothers seated themselves into the chairs on either side of Passion.

“I'm pretty sure you were a bartender last night based on your dirty dress-ish clothes but since I can never be sure with you would you mind filling me in?” asked the youngest brother present.

“You are very correct.” replied Apostrophe, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “As a matter of fact, I am due to return upon the evening. I should very much enjoy a few more hours of sleep, and it would be supremely gracious of you to allow me this.”

Kolas smiled. “Well of course! I'm sure I'll manage the house while you rest up so by all means!”

Though the boy glanced towards Passion as he said this, wondering if he could indeed manage his elder brother who had woken up far earlier than normal. The male's ragged features were unmoving and he couldn't see its eyes; it was either asleep or listening to their conversation. His aside look wasn't overlooked by Apostrophe, and he stood with a sigh, walking to Kolas and placing a hand on his head.

“You do exemplary work, brother.” he said. “I have not the merest doubt in my mind that you shall do admirably today as well.”

Kolas gave another small smile as Apostrophe walked, yawning, towards his bedroom. He cast another look at Passion, who still had yet to move, and stood up. “Want to give me company for a bit?”

The second-eldest paid him no mind, as was to be expected. Nevertheless, Kolas walked to the kitchen door and disappeared behind it, reappearing a few minutes later with a tray. Upon the tray was a kettle and several teacups in matching shades of green, red and blue.. The boy laid them on the coffee table, clearing his throat. Finally, Passion tilted its head, seemingly surveying the objects.

“Tea!” Kolas beamed, sitting again. He poured himself a cup, the dark liquid steaming and giving off a pleasant aroma, then sat back in his chair and simply basked in the smell. Passion slowly rose, its eyes on Kolas. “I'm sure you'd like some so let's pour you a cup.”

He offered an empty cup to Passion, the other hand on the kettle. His older brother didn't take it, and Kolas shook the cup slightly. “It's really pretty good you know. I can't get you any if you won't take the cup, though.”

Slowly, as if testing the water at the local swimming pool, Passion reached out a hand. Kolas smiled as he saw his brother take the brightly colored cup, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Passion seemed to be pretty agreeable at the moment, and if all went well he could have a lovely tea party for once.

Though as he lifted the kettle and raised it to Passion's outstretched hand, clutching the cup, his hand slipped. The hot tea splashed over his brother's arm, and both the liquid and his brother hissed as the cup was flung to the ceiling, shattering on impact. Passion was on its feet, wet hand clenched tightly as it stared at Kolas with dark eyes. The boy was frozen, his ballooned enthusiasm cooling and deflating before Passion's fiery anger.

Kolas gingerly placed the kettle back on the tray and stood up, his heart pounding as he passed his brother; Passion didn't move a muscle as the younger boy made his way to the kitchen. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, scanning the kitchen for the broom and dust pan. There wasn't really anything to do in this situation but clean up the mess and hope Passion would go back to its room.

Though as he re-entered the living room, implements in hand, he found the older boy bent down next to the tray, retrieving pieces of the cup from the carpet and chairs before putting them on top of it. Kolas startled slightly, his feet thumping against the soft floor as he raced to his brother's side. “Passion stop, those are sharp!” he said. “Don't cut your hands just because of me please let me sweep it up or get the vacuum or something!”

Though he had planned to go on, Kolas's speech was cut short as Passion raised its eyes to him, stood, and embraced him. The boy gave a slight gasp and flinched backwards out of reflex, but as it became apparent that the goal was not to crush him, he returned the gesture with great hesitation.

Then Passion let him go, just as abruptly as it had taken him. It turned on its heel and moved away, once again gripping its head as it staggered to the barracks. Then it had entered its room, shut the door, and was gone.

Kolas stood in the living room for a few moments, feeling somewhat conflicted about what had happened, before turning his attention to the broken cup, a smile forming on his face.

Voice sat in the dark, the light from the computer monitor illuminating their body. Brown eyes fixated upon the screen and slender fingers resting upon the keyboard, they leaned forward in their swiveling chair, legs crossed and Davis in their lap. On the screen was a conversation that was being held in real time; two people from hell-knew-where were arguing a point with the young sibling.

“I've already said this a thousand times.” Voice's fingers tapped rapidly across the keys, sending the exasperated phrase to the other two. “There's nothing arrogant about misunderstanding something, that's just common sense; the arrogance comes from looking at something with an awful bias and then thinking it's s**t. Don't be retarded, unless you can't help it in which case I'm sorry.”

“Say all you want, it doesn't make this conversation any less of a joke.” came the reply. Voice rolled their eyes as the second person chimed in with, “Sheesh, this is the kind of kid who should die in a fire.”

They immediately flagged the two esteemed gentlemen and closed the browsing window, placing their hands to their eyes. They stayed like that until the monitor had gone into sleep, plunging Voice and their room into darkness. Then they casually unfurled their legs, resting them upon the small wooden platform which their chair rested upon. The smooth and cool material somewhat alleviated the teenager's frustrations, and they placed a hand under Davis's arms and lifted the rabbit into the air. Staring at the overhead hare in the dim light, blemished with purple patches and worn gray fabric, Voice reflected on themself.

It was a very ratty thing, poorly made, cheap and old. Yet Voice had never let Davis out of their sight ever since they received it six years ago. They could no longer tell if it was habit that kept their hands on the toy, or if they still maintained some hope that it could solve their problems.

They stood, clutching it to their bare chest as their feet carried them across the wood and onto the carpet. Not for a moment did Voice believe that Davis had a mind of its own. Perhaps they did a long time ago, when the despair was fresh and the desperation was unbearable. But now they recognized it for what it was; a doll. An important, yet ultimately simple, doll. Gently, Voice opened the leg pocket of their shorts and placed Davis inside. Then, they reached across the bedsheets, wrestling a shirt from the crack between the bed frame and the wall.

Dinner was soon. They slipped the article of clothing over their head, frowning; they saw little worth in strutting about the house fully clothed, but Kolas was insistent that certain 'codes of conduct' be followed. If Apostrophe was around more, he wouldn't mind Voice's more private habits.

Was it wrong for them to think like that? Apostrophe did what he could, and they supposed Kolas was also tolerable for the most part; he, at least, recognized that Voice relished solitude.

They sniffed the air. Chicken? And some sort of vegetable on the side, also cooked. They wondered if Passion would be eating with them, or if Kolas would take the food to its room.

“I'm on my way! I appreciate the portion you have singled out for my enjoyment later this evening, Kolas.” came their eldest brother's voice from the direction of the front door. Voice responded, as did Kolas, with a “See you later”, though theirs was much less enthusiastic.

Well, if Apostrophe had taken dinner to go, that must mean it was ready. Retrieving Davis from their pocket and holding it firmly, Voice squinted, opening the door into the brightly lit hall, looking forward to Kolas's chicken special.

Strong-smelling liquid splashed across the shiny countertop, leaking into the polished wooden frame of the bar's undercarriage. Apostrophe cast a glance at the offending beverage, then another at its clumsy owner, who had slumped across the bar. It wasn't immediately clear if he was out cold or having some sort of existential crisis, so the man satisfied himself momentarily with plucking the rag from his waist and wiping the spill away.

“My life is over.” he mumbled.

Ah, okay. That was one question answered. Apostrophe gingerly took hold of the glass with two fingers, reaching behind him while keeping eyes on the patron and placing it in a rack which was full of such containers. He snapped his fingers and hooked his heel on the leg of a high stool, pulling it to himself and sitting opposite the man as one of his coworkers arrived to take the rack away.

“Esteemed customer, surely what ails you mustn't be worth the wasting of your purchase.” he spoke, straightening his tie and surveying the rest of the club. Three other patrons at the bar, a few dozen on the dance floor getting their boogie on. No problems; he glanced at the stirring man. He was rather hefty, and lifted his bulky frame to a sitting posture as he gazed drunkenly at Apostrophe.

“Ah, f**k if you know.” came the inevitable, and inevitably slurred, retort. “Young guy like you, got his whole life ahead of him.”

“Such a fickle affair as life, I think, is moderately unlikely to take one's age into account when it brews its ideas.” Apostrophe responded. “Allow me to think myself well-versed on the troubles of souls who wander through these doors. Might it be a wife?”

“Wife, car, house!” wailed the man, gripping his thinning hair so tightly the bartender feared he might tear it out. “Lost it all! What a joke, HUH!”

“The purpose of a joke is to amuse, isn't it?”

“Oh, somebody somewhere's laughing at me.”

Not for a moment did Apostrophe doubt that, either, though he kept it to himself. “If it were common for a man to succumb whenever his life broke at the base, the world would be darker for it. I won't pretend I can tell you when, but most assuredly you will see improvement.”

Bloodshot eyes stared into Apostrophe's, then the man grunted and slumped again. Catching Tina's eye, Apostrophe gave a quick sign; the customer was to be given no more drink. Tina nodded, and the young man stood up, leaving the counter and approaching his coworker.

“Giving another pep talk?” she asked.

“I've yet to find a man who resents it.” Apostrophe responded. “And the day I do, I'll allow all manner of 'I told you so's from your eager mouth.”

The bartender smiled, then dropped the expression just as quickly, peering behind Apostrophe. He turned around to see a disruption on the floor; an elegantly dressed woman, flanked by three men. A fourth was standing much too close to another clubbie, grimacing and cracking his knuckles.

“Hot heads.” Tina muttered. “Looks like the beginnings of a fight. I'll go grab some of the people in back - “

“Not to fret.” Apostrophe smiled. “I will go maintain order. Please continue to serve at your utmost.”

Without waiting for a response, he strolled to the end of the bar, gently opening the door flap and walking onto the dance floor. The bartender motioned to the DJ to turn the music down as he approached the newcomers; the woman had seen him, and wore an expression as though he was something nasty she had stepped into on the street. A muttered word to her gentlemen afforded Apostrophe several more glances in his direction.

“Miss, do me the favor of remaining calm.” he said. “This fine man appears uncomfortable by your friend's advances. Might you not go about your business peacefully, or rather take it to a rowdier establishment?”

“Do you got any idea who you're talking to?” one of the men growled, stepping closer to Apostrophe. A head taller and quite a bit broader, he posed an intimidating figure. “I should break your twig spine, shrimp.”

“Charming.” the young man replied dryly. “As one not fond of repeating himself, I urge you to select an option. I have generously provided two.”

“Here's what I think of your options!”

The somewhat serene night air was broken as the brass-painted double doors of the club were thrown wide. People on the sidewalk gasped in surprise and backed away as the four beefy gentlemen, followed by their womanly overseer, tumbled out of the door and rolled down the stairs to the streetside. Apostrophe stepped out after them, brushing his hands off on his pant legs. A green shimmer lingered momentarily around him before dissipating.

“A good evening to you, if you please.” he called to the group, just beginning to pick themselves off of the ground as he firmly shut the doors.

Voice yawned, stretching their arms as they scooted back from their desk. In the darkness of their room, they contemplated whether or not Kolas was still awake. Probably not, so f**k shirts. It was time for a before-bed snack.

They stood, taking Davis from the desk and caressing it in their arms. Then they padded their way to the wooden door and stretched out a hand, only to hesitate as they heard what sounded like knives scraping together. Puzzled, Voice put an ear to the door, unable to hear anything else after several seconds of listening. The youth pulled the door open, stepping out into the barracks and glancing towards the living room, then at Kolas's doorway. The light was out, and so was their brother. Good; a quick trip and they'd be snugly in bed.

In the middle of the night, the living room was no brighter than their 'cave' as Apostrophe called it. With eyes narrowed, they stepped to the kitchen door and laid a hand on its carved frame, only to feel something thump lightly into the back of their head.

“Don't move.” came a quiet whisper from behind Voice. Their blood ran cold, and while obeying the command, they moved their eyes to the side, attempting to see the one who had given it.

“What, a little girl?” murmured a second person " both male. Voice darkly protested in their head that they were already fourteen as the pressure on the back of their head eased up. “Well hell, didn't expect anyone to be up.”

Assuming that they were free to move, the youth turned to find two men standing behind them. One, the man standing closer, held a pistol in his hand. The other was wielding a shotgun. There was a sack clipped to the shotgun man's belt. Burglars.

“You got a name, sweetie?” asked the man with the pistol.

“Bite my a*s.” Voice hissed, their heart pounding. Confidence, right? You had to be confident in a situation like this. Of course, maybe at gunpoint there was no such thing as confidence, and they were hurtling straight into suicidal territory.

The man chuckled. “Cute. Okay kid, here's how it's gonna go. You and me are gonna sit on that couch over there, my companion's gonna get all your relatives up, and we're going to take your stuff. Do you follow?”

“Are you guys idiots?” Holy f**k why couldn't Voice shut up?” “You have picked literally the worst house to rob, ever.”

The man with the shotgun grunted. “Sit her down, and if she makes another sound then it's lights out.” he growled, bending menacingly towards Voice's face. They grimaced and took a step back, but the man with the pistol seized them by the arm and pulled them to the sofa.

As the man with the shotgun moved towards the barracks, Voice swallowed. “I really think you guys should reconsider. If you get out now, you might at least keep your dignity.”

“I'm not in a good mood right now, so just keep quiet.” came the hot reply.

“Hey, open up in there.” the shotgun man spoke, rapping hard on one of the doors in the hallway. The youth tried to tell which one, and if they were right, things were going to get bad. They opened their mouth again, but received a jab with the pistol for their trouble.

A dog started barking fiercely, and the man with the shotgun jumped in surprise. He firmly gripped the weapon, pointing all around his feet. “What the f**k?”

“No, a*****e, it's over here!” the second burglar was on his feet now, Voice's arm in one hand and the pistol in the other. “Sounds like a big one!”

Confused, Voice noted that the man with the shotgun persisted in aiming around his weapon as though the dog was right next to him. What confused them even more was that they didn't own a dog.

The sharp crack of wood interrupted their bewilderment as an arm burst through the bedroom door in front of the shotgun man. The hand grabbed the burglar's collar.

“What the fu - “ he gasped. The arm pulled back rapidly into the hole in the door, slamming the man against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. In a daze, he dropped the shotgun. A boom loud enough to be mistaken for cannon fire quickly followed as the door was blown out of its frame, hurtling across the hallway with the shotgun man in tow. He was crushed in between the door and the opposite wall, clapping both hands to his face with a cry, staggering and beginning to fall.

It was as if time was passing in slow motion. Passion emerged from the dark doorway, and though Voice was unable to see them, they could tell that their brother's eyes were burning with fury. In a single stride it had crossed the hall, balling a fist and delivering a blow to the side of the burglar's face which knocked him to the ground. Voice was released and quickly ducked down as the pistol man leveled his weapon, but Passion was faster. After hitting the floor, the man's legs splayed into the air; the elder brother seized his ankle and heaved his unconscious body across the hallway and into the living room, catching the man with the pistol in the chest and causing him to fall backwards over the couch.

Voice scrambled behind one of the armchairs as Passion entered the room, blood leaking from its palms. A side glance towards its younger sibling, then it refocused upon the remaining burglar, who had shoved his comrade's body off of himself with a groan and staggered to his feet. Again he raised the gun, but again Passion crossed the distance; a whoosh, and the sibling brought the back of its hand to the burglar's gun hand, causing the pistol to fly out of reach and through the living room window, landing amongst glass shards on the front lawn. The burglar clenched his now broken wrist with a scream, cut short as Passion rammed its head into his. The man crumpled in a heap.

Then Voice's brother turned around, placing its hands under the couch. Slowly, it lifted the sofa overhead, facing the unconscious burglars with bared teeth.

“Passion, stop!”

Voice's head whipped around. Apostrophe was standing in the hall, his own shotgun in hand, while Kolas fumbled for the burglar's lost weapon. The two stepped over the broken remains of Passion's door and surveyed the scene; the house shook as the second-eldest dropped the couch back into its place. The youth bolted to Apostrophe's side, squeezing Davis tightly, the air once again quiet apart from Passion's panting.

“Kolas, go call the police.” Apostrophe said quietly. “Voice, go to bed. Passion, come here.”

Kolas dashed to his room to retrieve his phone, and Voice nodded numbly, head reeling. They cast a glance back at the scene in the living room, Passion walking unsteadily to Apostrophe, and then stepped inside their room, shutting the door behind them.

Author's Note

Looking for character and pacing criticism. Please ignore the lack of indentation, it didn't paste over correctly.