Owen Changes His Mind

7. Love Hurts 2/3

"You have a visitor," Guts announced before backing away. They glanced toward Apo. "Be careful."

Apo thanked them and turned to face the man in the cell. "Owen," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Owen," he repeated.

Apo fidgeted, waiting for Owen to do something, anything. Owen was sitting on the floor, his back to the chalkboard. The chalkboard was full. Apo tried to read what it said, but too many words had been written on top of eachother. It looked a little insane. Apo remembered his time in the cell and understood. He fidgeted with the backpack. "You don't have to say anything, Owen. I brought a backpack with a ton of food and water in it. I know it's hard to get food down here, since you have to wait for Guts to bring it to you. I thought you could use something healthy, and maybe some variety. I, um, I thought you might like some oranges, so I put some of those in there. A-and, I thought you might like some cheesecake." Apo only realized he was rambling when he stopped. Owen was unresponsive. Was he dead? "Owen?" he asked. Apo looked for signs of life. He was still breathing. Apo hesitated, then opened one of the bars to push the backpack through. "O-

"What did you want, Apo?" Owen snapped. His body was tense and he fought to relax it. Last time Apo had been here, Owen had almost died.

Apo stammered. "O-Owen, I just w-"

"O-O-Owen," Owen mocked, completely failing to keep his face relaxed. Why was he so angry? He needed to be cool. But Owen knew why he wasn't able to relax. Apo had saved his life. He was not cool. "What?" he snarled. "Come to rub it in? What do you want me to say, I lost? Well congratulations Apo, you've won." Owen turned his head abruptly, glaring holes into the bed. He didn't want to see Apo's face.

There was a moment of silence. "I care about my friends, Owen," Apo replied dryly.

"We're not friends," Owen hissed through his teeth. No, he could have used that. He could have- why did he say that? Owen chided himself. He was too emotional. He was showing too much. He was vulnerable to manipulation. Apo was manipulating him. It must be. Surely Apo couldn't actually care. The backpack landed in Owen's lap. Owen's entire body spasmed as a gasp tore out. It was heavy. Owen finally looked.

Owen saw Apo holding the bars, about to close them again. His face was tight, the corners of his mouth pinched. "Thanks for making that clear," he muttered, squinting at Owen. Owen watched Apo close the bars and shuffle away, slightly hunched. Owen noticed Apo's gait, his hunched shoulders, his twin buns like Rasbi's with ribbons. He noticed Apo's arms cross. Owen noticed Apo was hugging himself. Owen saw Apo stumble slightly, start to run, then slow to a measured walk. Owen saw everything. Either he'd hurt the demon, or Apo was a really, really good liar. Owen felt weighed down by the backpack. Which was it? And how could he use that?

First things first. Was Apo lying, or was he hurt? Or maybe he was manipulating Owen by using his real emotions. Or- Owen hated feeling uncertain. He hated not being able to trust his instincts. What was real? Had Apo actually been there? Was this backpack real? Owen shoved it off him. Of course the backpack was real.

How had Apo bested him? "I refuse to be beaten," he said aloud. And then louder, "No. Voices, you don't know what you're talking about." Owen tried to get up, but he was still weak from malnutrition. He wobbled, groaned. Determined, Owen began to pace, slowly at first. He stopped at the wall, tenting his fingers and closing his eyes. What was true?

Apo was unexpected. But this was a temporary setback. Of course Apo deserved to die. Didn't he? Didn't all demons? Whatever. It had all gone sideways. Apo attacked someone he believed to be his best friend. Or Apo knew. Owen wavered for a moment, then stumbled across to a chalkboard. He wiped it clean. He wrote, "Apo kno" and then ran out of room. He started over. "Atk bf? y/n." He stepped back and swayed, dangerously close to falling over.

Owen sat on the bed and leaned on the full backpack. It smelled... so good. It smelled like food. Owen tore the backpack open, cramming different kinds of food in his mouth all at once. He found a water skin. Only after he drank it dry did it occur to him that the food could have been poisoned. Owen shrugged and waited to die with casual acceptance. "I suppose if he's got to win, he ought to do it completely." At the bottom of the backpack was a book and quill wrapped in protective wax paper. Owen took a steadying breath looking at it.

It's a trap, his brain screamed at him. They want you to write down something, anything, that they can analyze and pick apart. He pulled the book towards him. Flipped the cover open. It was completely blank in there, brand new, except for the first page. "To my best friend," it said. Owen jerked with surprise. Then he stumbled over to the chalkboard and circled the Y.

He wasn't wrong. Apo was harbor folk. He had to be. Nothing else made as much sense. Apo wasn't physically strong. (Was he?) Apo was introverted. (Was he?) Apo was good at traversing the maze, but that was about it. Owen had wanted a fight. That's what really got him, he'd wanted a fight and Apo had tricked him into not expecting one. What had he said? "'I don't want to fight you, Owen'?" But he had. And then he'd left Owen to die here, and then he'd saved Owen's life from Rasbi, who had just- oh, he was so stupid. Owen sank to the bed and hung his head in his hands. He could have "reformed," or framed Rasbi, or used this stupid friendship to get out of jail. And he'd thrown it away. Twice. More than twice. Every time he'd insisted that Apo was dead, he'd thrown it away. Just like he'd been thrown away. He was trash, refuse from a bygone era of war. Owen burned with rage. "They'll see," he promised. "They'll all see. The demons' true colors. Their blood is as red as ours. They lie and trick and steal and burn. They'll see. And when they do," Owen's eyes rolled upwards towards the ceiling. "They'll have to beg me to come back and lead them." Owen leaned back on his bed. The demons would corner themselves eventually. He just had to be cool about it, measured.

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Authors note:

This marks a change in the structure of the fic. We will see what happens with Owen, then go back to this moment and see what happens with Apo. I might post chapters 7-13 in temporal order later, as a treat.