The Silence Of Metawin.

This Ain't a Scene

"It's a crime scene, not a date."

He had neither the time nor the capacity to endure Rachel's complete lack of understanding, and so he simply sighed in response.

"I mean really Bright, does he even know how you feel about him? Does he know that your urge to kiss or kill him changes as often as the weather?"

Now that was just plain insensitive and borderline rude. Bright tilted his chin up defiantly.

"Not that it's any of your business," he said as she rolled her eyes, "But I'll have you know that I have not so much as daydreamed about eating my dear Metawin in quite some time."

"And how long might that be?" She challenged.

He hesitated. She gave him a knowing smirk, already aware that she had won. Oh, how he hated her. "A week."

She stared at him, eyebrow raised.

"Alright, fine." He looked away. "Five days."

One of the several puppies that were currently swarming his body, fitting him for a new suit, giggled. He couldn't tell which one it was, though.

Oh well. He'd just have to eat them all.

"Bright," she said, exasperated, "I'd give you advice if I didn't know for a fact that you would just disregard it."

He stretched one of his arms, per one of the pup's requests. "Clever woman."

"However, I will say this;" She was at one of her many sewing machines, and Bright had always hated when she was in one of those moods of actually wanting to work and not just drink white wine and leave the labor for her apprentices. In those moments she tended to get rather self righteous and preachy. "Make your decision, and make it soon. You can't have both and be able to live with yourself afterwards."

Bright's sigh was long suffering. She was right, of course, but he would never admit it aloud. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stomach a philosophical debate at his expense every time he needed a new suit though, which was often.

Maybe he needed a new tailor.

Picking up Win and seeing them kiss goodbye had been unnecessarily painful, longing shooting through him so sharp it was almost a physical ache. But seeing the expression on Third's face when he saw exactly who was picking him up had made it all worth it.

Win's back had been turned but Bright had gotten an all-access pass to the look of suspicion, disbelief, and utter betrayal all mixed into one that Third's face had revealed. There was nothing going on between him and his dear Win, not yet of course, but how interesting it was to see that he thought there was an inkling of something between them.

How interesting.

Indeed.

When they arrived at the crime scene, RTP agents were moving around everywhere, going about their business towards a common goal so efficiently they were like worker bees. Necessary, yet annoying, from Bright's standpoint. It was because of people like them that he constantly lived in fear, but he refused to put any of this blame onto Win. It was hardly his fault that he could see.

They entered the house and were met by a handsome man who walked with an air of authority, as if he owned the place and everyone in it.

"Win," he pulled him in for a hug that made Bright feel as uncomfortable as Win looked, "I'm glad you had a change of heart."

His heart hasn't changed, he thought, he's here because I agreed to come with him. His heart remains the same and it's one that I should've eaten a long time ago-