My Soft Boy

Chapter 7

The ball was approaching, and we needed to start preparing. This wouldn't be an easy fight, but I was counting on Val to make it bearable. She was fearless—fiercely independent and unshakable. She didn't follow; she led. She made the rules, and we all played by them. She was a force of nature, almost godsent.

Last night, I dreamed of her. But it wasn't dirty—it was strange, unsettlingly real. I saw a small girl running through a field of daisies, laughing as she chased a boy. They twirled in circles, lost in their world of innocent joy. Then, suddenly—darkness. The scene shifted. The girl was being dragged away. So was the boy. Two separate paths, each swallowed by shadow. They screamed for help, but no one moved. The bystanders only watched, adorned in their golden crowns—powerful, yet unloved.

Then I saw us. Valentina and I, standing at the edge of a battlefield littered with corpses, our hands drenched in blood. Guns lay at our feet. A daisy sat tangled in her hair. She turned to me, her eyes unreadable, and smiled. I reached out, fingers brushing against her cheek—only to watch them sink into her skin, dissolving into nothing. She looked down at me as if seeing through me, her feet raking over my face, pressing me into the earth.

I snapped back to reality, seated at the table, waiting for food. My mind lingered on the dream, on everything life had thrown at me. I should tell her. If I keep delaying it, things might only get worse.

The sound of footsteps pulled me out of my thoughts. Val slid into the seat across from me, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes scanning the room as if she were already calculating her next move. She was always thinking ahead. That's what made her dangerous.

"You look like hell," she said, exhaling smoke.

"Didn't sleep," I admitted.

"Me neither," she whispered. "What's on your mind?"

I hesitated. The dream still clung to me like a second skin. I wanted to tell her, But I knew her answer already. Valentina didn't dwell. She moved forward, no matter what.

Still, something inside me wouldn't let it go.

"You ever think about what comes after?" I asked finally.

She frowned.

"This." I gestured vaguely around us. The life we led. The choices we made. The blood on our hands.

Val took a slow drag of her cigarette, exhaling through her nose. "No," she said. "Because there is no after. There's just now. You survive, or you don't. Thinking about anything else is a waste of time."

I wanted to argue, but the words felt hollow before I even formed them. She was right. There was no after. Only the next fight, the next target, the next decision that would either keep us alive or bury us six feet under.

Still, as I looked at her across the table, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were already dead.

The dream was a warning. I just didn't know if it was for me... or her.

Valentina~

The ball was coming up, and we needed to start preparing. I knew Dante was worried—he always was. Thinking too much. 

I watched him from across the table, his fingers drumming against the surface, eyes clouded with something I couldn't quite place. He had that look again. The one that meant his mind was somewhere else. That wasn't good. We needed to be sharp. We needed to be ready.

"You look like hell," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"Didn't sleep," he muttered, still staring at nothing.

"Me neither." 

I frowned, flicking ash onto the table. "What's on your mind?"

He hesitated. I saw the way his jaw clenched, how his hands curled slightly like he was holding onto something too tightly.

"You ever think about what comes after?" he finally asked.

After? What the hell was he talking about?

"This," he said, gesturing vaguely.

I exhaled smoke through my nose. "No," I said simply. "Because there is no after. There's just now. You survive, or you don't. Thinking about anything else is a waste of time."

Dante didn't argue, but I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to. I knew him too well. He was slipping, doubting things he had no business doubting. We didn't have the luxury of guilt. We didn't get to ask what if.

The moment you started questioning the blood on your hands was the moment you stopped being useful.

I leaned back in my chair, watching him.

"You had a dream, didn't you?"

His eyes snapped to mine. A hit.

"hm," he admitted after a moment.

"Tell me."

He hesitated again. He did that too much.

"It was us," he said finally. "As kids. Running, laughing. But then we were being dragged apart.  He swallowed.

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken.

I twirled the cigarette between my fingers. 

He looked at me like he expected me to say something Maybe he wanted me to reassure him, tell him that what we were doing would be in our favour, but I didn't even know fully. I can't reassure him when I'm not reassured, so I kept quiet. 

Before he could press the issue, the door swung open.

"Time to move," Nico called from the doorway, his voice sharp. "We've got a problem."

Dante sighed and stood up. I crushed my cigarette against the table, letting it burn out completely before following him.

There was no after.

Only now.

And right now, we are fighting to win.