Guilt rippled through you as your actions converted into painful reality, horror contorted your face as you paused your swift journey, stopping halfway down one of the bustling city streets.
"Fuck," the word was the only one you deemed appropriate.
"You reacted based on emotion but that doesn't make what was said any less true," azriel said softly from behind you, an attempt to reassure you. It was in vain as you realised what interaction was lined up next.
"What on earth am I going to say to my mother?" you said, somewhat rhetorically, though he still answered,
"What needs to be said."
"And that is?" you asked, turning to face him, pedestrians still strategically weaving their way around you and Azriel, stood in the middle of the street.
"That's for you to decide, y/n," he said, earning a scoff from you,
"Oh how wise you are," you said with a slight smirk.
"It was about time you noticed," he replied, his mouth curving upward slightly. You acknowledged his remark with a playful eye roll before resuming your walk.
You blew out a deep breath as you stood before the run-down factory in which your mother worked. Although you could barely see your reflection through the unwashed windows, the contrast between you and the street behind you was clearly visible. You knew all you would earn was a disapproving look, the thought resulting in you beginning the task of removing the ties that lay in your hair and shake your hair out before letting it rest upon your shoulders. Azriel took context clues that once again it was probably best for him to wait outside, giving you a slight nod as you passed him leant upon the wall, making your way inside. Your eyes were met with many others as heads turned to face yours. There must have been 50 desks set up, with an equal amount slumped over near-breaking sewing machines, posture horrendous. Even though your mother could find many alternative jobs with much better cleanliness standards, your mother had insisted that she would not leave the minimal friends she had made here throughout the years. She sat in the corner, the only one not bothering to turn toward the door, as if she had sensed your coming and wouldn't address it with so much as a glance. You stood in front of her desk, her eyes finally lifting to meet yours, painfully slowly. She looked you over, judgement apparent on her face. The grimace permanently plastered upon her face still did not take away from her beauty, she practically glowed in comparison to the embarrassment of a factory she was so insistent on attending.
"I won't be living with you anymore," you said, still unsure of the correct way to speak to her in this horribly specific occasion.
"And where will you be staying?" she asked, unfazed.
"The night court."
"Okay." Her head traveled back to the project between her fingers as she returned to the work in front of her.
"That's it?" your expression hopeful for something more, anything.
"I have nothing else to say," she answered, not looking upward to your eyes, which were pleading for some type of love and affection.
"Right," you said before turning toward the doorway, a tired sigh escaping from your lips as your footsteps began again toward the door. Her reserved replies somehow stung more than any vicious words that could have been exchanged. You had waited for her to take off that cool mask she kept on, for her to revert to the mother you once knew. But it was no longer a mask.
"Are you-" the Illyrian started, concern lacing his words as he sat up from the wall and followed you as your feet led you both to your next destination.
"Fine, I'm fine," you shut down the conversation, leading him through narrow streets, toward the terraced house you had begun to refer to as 'home.'
You didn't wait for Azriel as you walked through the door, up the stairs and into your bedroom, though you knew he followed. You reached for an old bag that had previously been used for your school books and started mindlessly throwing all items in regular use into the brown off-the-shoulder bag. These items included your toothbrush, your favourite clothes and your favourite books. You managed to stuff one of your brother's jumpers on the unorganised mess that was the inside of the bag. The Illyrian watched from the doorway, not daring to step any closer, not daring to risk interfering with your process.
"How long have you lived here?" He asked as you attempted to fasten the bag.
"Since the war," you answered, allowing him to infer that you were one of the families who had lost their homes during the war. You found yourself unable to click the fastens on the bag to one another, with the giant jumper on top, making you take it off and throw it over your head. It still smelt of your brother, making you unable to bring yourself to throw it away, it was one of the only personal possessions left of Cyrus's. The jumper read out the school your brother had attended, Suncoast, it was one all the aspiring warriors went to. Your mother had only enough for one of you to get higher education, between you and your brother, your mother deemed the latter the obvious choice.
"You went to Suncoast?" Azriel asked, eyeing the jumper that lay disproportionately on your body.
"No, my brother did."
"And where is he now?" He asked, with genuine curiosity, it was nice to have someone take an interest in you, even if the topic was set up to fail.
"We lost him in the war," you spoke, preparing yourself for the inevitable pitying words.
"What was his name?" He asked, meeting your eyes, the hazel in them reflecting your bedroom back at you.
"Cyrus," you replied.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, still holding your gaze.
"Don't be." His words had become meaningless, with the amount of times you heard them.
"Why not?"
"It's not worth your time."
"Yes it is."
You gave him a slight nod of appreciation before slinging the bag over your shoulder and walking past where he stood in the doorway, where Azriel leant against, escaping from the emotions you felt at the conversation just had. He followed you down the stairs a few moments after. You stared at your living room, and where it led into the kitchen, saying silent goodbyes. You turned to Azriel, where he stood in the entryway and lay your hand out flat before him, which he took, shadows enveloping you once again.
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