Phase Jumper

Second

Chrona took his steps carefully. He didn't want to alert her to his presence, but she wasn't moving from what he could tell, so he felt like he had to check on her. As he approached the shelter, signs of damage became clear; broken sticks lay about the rest of the structure and some of the skin of the vines had been stripped, showing bright green insides. There wasn't any fur or blood around, so that was comforting. He came around the fallen ceiling to the front, where what was left of the entrance stubbornly stood. He found himself fidgeting with the fleece of his blanket, and tried to stop. It only made the fidgeting worse. Peeking around the edge of a breach in the wall, Chrona caught the eye of the girl.
She had moved, holding herself up on her trembling arms, letting her legs stretch out behind her on the bench she had clearly constructed herself out of nature. Her short dark hair was plastered against her face and neck, outlining her roundish, fair-skinned face. Her lips were blue and while it was obvious that pale was her natural skin tone, her paleness looked unhealthy. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to a frame that was almost painfully skinny, especially for someone so young.
And her eyes. Deep, dark chocolate pools. Chrona could almost feel the defiance in them, the independence. But what that... loneliness?
Before he could even raise a hand in greeting, her arms gave out and she collapsed onto the bench. Almost by second nature, he rushed to her side, trying to find out what was wrong. He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to see if she'd respond. He could feel her shivering intensely, and a pit in his stomach formed. Her eyes opened up slightly, slivers of deep sweetness. Shaking the thought from his head, he focused on helping her, "Are you okay?"
Contrary to how she looked, she responded, "Yeah." Her voice was shaky even for that brief word and she promptly started coughing. Thoroughly concerned, Chrona wasted no time. While she was still coughing, he laid out his blanket on the ground. It was wet, but at least it was something. Carefully, he picked her up, lifting her into his arms. At the same time, her coughing waned and stopped. She weakly leaned into him, her eyes closed, her expression gradually becoming more peaceful. Chrona couldn't help but smile. At least he was helping in some way.
Gently, he knelt on the blanket and began to let her down, but he stopped when he heard a faint whimper accompanied by a soft tug at his shirt. Again, he tried to let her down, but she only tugged again. He had to get her warm somehow, but he couldn't wrap her up if she didn't let go. He sighed; with no other choice, he swiveled his legs around, awkwardly shifting to lay down on the blanket himself. Chrona turned her body so she was parallel to him and reached over her to grab the edge of the blanket. As he did, he felt her arms wrap under his, clinging relatively firmly around him. Something about that made him feel... warm inside.
Moving as slowly and carefully as he could so he didn't disturb her, Chrona managed to wrap the soft, damp cloth around them as tight as he could. Their bodies were pressed together and he could feel her shivers, her cold breath on his neck. He rested his chin on her damp hair, trying to shield her as best as he could from the elements. He wrapped his own arms around her, rubbing her back up and down. Her grip on him relaxed a little. He switched from rubbing her back to stroking her arms, moving them in between the both of them and trying to bring some heat into them.
Chrona's hands met with droplets of water, shedding them onto himself. Other than that, there was more texture than he expected. It wasn't hair, but a texture he recognized. It was too similar to his own skin, the crisscrosses of scars. She flinched a little when he touched them, confirming his suspicions. She was so much smaller than him and she already had those blemishes on her soft, cold skin. He found that his breath caught in his throat and his stomach churned. He barely knew this young girl, but he couldn't stand that she felt the need to do this to herself. He stopped rubbing her arms and hugged her tight. He'd given up on himself, but now that there was someone else...
"I won't let you die," he whispered.
At his words, the girl let out a sigh and she relaxed into his chest. Chrona wasn't even sure what his promise meant. At this point, it just seemed like the natural thing to say, almost like he was drawn to say it. The image of her on her bench, rising to look at him as he entered her shelter, weak from hypothermia, but still holding on. It was such a heartbreaking picture. He never wanted something like that to happen to her or anyone again, "You looked so alone. Just like me."
Even with all his efforts, even if she survived this cold, if she had those scars, it could only mean that something was killing her from the inside out. Something he didn't know about and couldn't help right now. This little girl had years ahead of her. If he had made it this far, he could at least ask her to do the same, "Please don't die."
For the longest moment, she was quiet and still. Had she passed out? Had the cold claimed her? He felt his heart start to beat faster. Chrona had just started to move to check her pulse when she took a deep breath. He settled back down with her and she sighed heavily. She enveloped him with her arms and let out a whisper of her own, "I won't die."
Chrona relaxed. He didn't expect to want to hear those words so much, but he couldn't help but smile at them. Now the girl had stopped shaking and her breathing was becoming more even. He did his best to keep her comfortable, as comfortable as they could be in a wet fleece blanket on the ground. At least the sounds of rainfall had stopped.
With a final sigh, the girl settled into what Chrona hoped was sleep. Most likely, if he moved at all, she would wake. So, since he had to, he settled with her, resting his head just above hers. Almost instinctively, he reached up to her head and began running his hand over her dark, wet hair, trying to push at least a little moisture from it. He noticed how her hair smelled; like strawberries and that dusty smell from rain. What was that scent called? Ah, petrichor. He'd heard the word on a show a while back. Strawberries and petrichor... it was a sweet and odd combination.
He lifted his head a little, stopped his hand, and held his breath. What was he doing? She was so young. Someone would come looking for her, right? He could get in serious trouble for being so close to her. What sort of explanation would he have for this? Would the truth be enough? Would she be taken care of?
The questions flooded his mind, reminding him over and over again of the mistakes he'd made before and the mistakes he could make again. He couldn't keep giving himself to people who needed him. This little girl could hurt him, too. He looked down at her, snuggled so tightly to his chest. She needed him right now, but they didn't even know each other's names and Chrona was already promising to be her guardian. She might not see it that way, but if she did, what if she got the wrong idea? Was there a way out of this without hurting her?
A brother. Yeah. That's what he could be. Nothing else.
He felt her stir, slow movements pulling away from him. Chrona relaxed, allowing her to get her space. She pushed relatively firmly on his chest and the blanket stretched from how much she was pulling back. Was she suddenly uncomfortable? "Who are you?" Her voice was still weak, but at least she was starting to sound better.
"I'm Chrona."
"Makka." She replied. "How'd you... how'd you find me?"
Chrona thought about his reply. He had to say the right things if he wanted her to trust him, "Honestly, it was by accident; I was running from something and I stumbled upon your shelter. I was safe, but you looked like you needed help and I simply had to do what I could."
"So you..." she swallowed, as if her words were heavy, "so you don't want to rape me?"
"No. No, of course not." A pit formed in his stomach, "Makka, how old are you?"
Her arms relaxed, no longer pushing against him, "I'm nine, you?"
He was left speechless. How could she, at her tender age, already know about these things? How could she already have those scars? Something terrible must've been going on at her house. Whether or not he could help her, he didn't know, "I'm fourteen."
"Chrona?"
He almost got a chill when she said his name, "Yeah?"
"What were you running from?"
"Don't worry about it. It can't hurt me right now, so let's just focus on you."
Makka shook her head, "But I don't wanna."
"Makka, listen to me, okay?" He waited for her to nod before continuing, "Look at my arms," he showed her, "I know you've been doing the same thing and I know how you must be feeling inside. I want that pain to stop. And in order for that to happen, I need you to talk to me, okay?"
"But you only just met me. You shouldn't care..." her brown eyes shied away, the light vanishing from them as she blinked rapidly.
"Makka?" She didn't respond. "Hey, Makka?" She kept blinking and Chrona began to worry. On a whim, he reached up and poked her on the forehead. She flinched and shook her head, like she was snapping out of a trance.
"Huh? What happened?"
"You started blinking a lot and you couldn't hear me." Did this happen often?
"Oh, sorry... I did it again." She looked away from him, pulling a bit of the blanket over her face.
"Did what again?"
She looked so guilty behind the fleece, like she was cowering. As if he were mad at her... "I zoned out, started ticking."
Tics. He knew them well. Hard to control, sometimes embarrassing, different for everyone. Chrona had done research on them when he had started having them. They were most commonly associated with Tourette's syndrome, but they could manifest in ADHD and anxiety, too. This girl was struggling with that, too.
He moved a hand up to pat her on the head, "Hey, it's okay, I'm not mad. You're safe right now."
Makka moved the blanket away from her face to reveal a soft smile, complemented by her shining, deep brown eyes. Chrona was taken aback; in such a long time, he hadn't had someone look at him like that. It was almost like that last girl...
He suddenly felt a much higher sensitivity to his actions. Every one of them, he started judging. He was going too far without permission. He was making her uncomfortable. He was weird, he was creepy. But he wanted to give Makka attention. Despite the voices, he asked, "It is okay to pat your head, right?"
The warm, inviting face of hers shifted to confusion, "Uhh... yeah? I don't see why not."
"Sorry," Chrona absentmindedly patted her head again, trying not to recoil at the feel of her cold, damp hair, "I guess I'm just nervous."
Makka smiled again, almost smirking with what seemed to be amusement, "Nervous? Now? You cuddled up with me in a blanket and you're nervous about patting my head?"
He couldn't look at her; he felt so much shame both from the question he asked and what he'd already done to go way too far. Even that new, entrancing scent of rain and strawberries that was stronger now that he'd started stroking her hair wasn't enough to bring him out of his misery, "I know, I'm weird..."
His hand was probably right behind her ear when he felt a cold, soft pressure on it. He looked and Makka had placed her hand on his. Not in a way to get him to stop, but it felt as if she was... pulling him out of his thoughts. How was she doing that?
"Look into my eyes."
He obeyed.
"Chrona?"
"Yes?"
"I know you did what you had to to save me. What's more is, I'm pretty sure I remember not letting you do anything other than wrapping us up, so it's okay. Yes, you may be weird, but I like it," she let go of his hand to lightly punch his shoulder, "you dweeb."
Normally, getting called that would be offensive. But both the way she said it and because it was Makka saying it, the word made a smile crack his face. "Ah, he does have emotions!"
The smile turned into a nervous laughter and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. The urge to look away or hide was really strong, but he was still enthralled by those eyes, "S-stop it, you're making me b-blush..."
She grinned, "I can do a lot more than that." Makka proceeded to poke him in several places, causing him to seize up in recoil, his body panicking, but his voice involuntarily escaping through laughter. Chrona's shoulders shook with it, and it only escalated the more she poked him. On a whim, he prodded her side. She yelped and he knew he'd found her soft spot. He continued his counterattack and, as all bouts do, it escalated into an all out war between them. A war of pokes and tickles that, and the end of it, left the blanket unwound and both of them exhausted, faces wet with jovial tears.
Makka was the first to speak, still out of breath, "You know, for such a big guy, you sure act pretty small."
"And for such a little girl," he responded, "you sure act as if you have much more experience than I do."
"Yeah..." her smile vanished and she started to pet the blanket. All the joy she had been feeling was gone.
Chrona knew that look, "Need a hug?"
She nodded, "Mhm..."
He sat up and scooted over to her. She sat up, too, and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him. He did his best to shelter her as close to himself as possible, holding her tight. She squeezed back, as if she'd never held anyone before. He hadn't noticed how dark it had gotten until now, holding her and looking out through the cracks between the branches, the color in the world fading, as if his eyes were adjusting as the light went  away. Chrona began to rock, trying to help her relax. He heard a mumble in his chest and he looked down at her, "What?"
She looked up at him, "Talk to me?"
"I am."
"Not like that, dummy," she rested against his chest again, ear to his heart, "I mean tell me about something."
"Oh, why?" He was confused and a little curious. But mostly, he was just trying to keep his heart rate steady. He'd never had someone listen to it before and Chrona was sure how to feel about it.
"I just want to hear your voice. It... it calms me down."
"Oh." Without another word, Chrona started to talk about the first—well, second—thing on his mind. Everything he knew about how a star is formed.
Makka almost immediately cut him off, "No, not something like that. We're not in school right now."
"Well, you didn't give me a specific topic, so I just picked one."
She gave him a little huff and looked back up to him, smiling, "You're really not good at this, are you?"
The smile could make anything sound like a compliment, "No, not really."
"I think it's cute." Chrona's heart skipped a beat and he could feel himself blushing. His hand instinctively left its duty as Makka's shelter and he started massaging his cheek with his knuckles. But before it could go on for too long, Makka put her own hand on it, stopping his habit in its tracks, "Uh-uh, none of that. You'll hurt yourself." She took his arm and draped it around her again, then settled back into him, ear pressed against his chest, "So you want me to pick a topic?"
"Yeah, it would help."
"All right," she sighed, "Tell me about yourself."
"If that's what'll make you happy."
"It will."
She didn't seem to notice when his heart fluttered. Regardless, he started talking about random things in his life, avoiding the heavy stuff. He told her about how he liked acting, swam for exercise, played video games, listened to all different kinds of music, and all kinds of random things. As he talked the color of the world gradually faded; it was getting late. He only stopped when Makka seemed to relax and she sighed once more.
Her words were quiet, but he could still hear them, "I wish I could take you home with me."
Chrona held her tighter, "Me, too." His heart felt warm, impossibly so. It was comforting, as if he was wrapped up in the light of the stars. The warmth spread, starting from his arms and chest and consuming his whole body. He could almost feel it extending beyond his body. It felt as if Makka was contained in—no, that she was the source of the warmth. Around him, the scene of the damaged shelter in the clearing melted away, replaced with complete darkness. Before, it was just the color that was gone, but now he couldn't see at all.
It would've been terrifying, were it not for Makka. She was the only thing he could see in the dark. She was oblivious to the blackness, either because he was the only one seeing it or because her eyes were closed. He couldn't tell which from this angle. But somehow, he had a feeling it would be okay. If she could be at peace, it would be fine.
Colors began to fade through. Faint ones, but colors nonetheless. Green walls, a dresser, a nightstand. Beneath them was a much softer surface than the earth. The damp fleece blanket was now resting on a full size bed, possibly muddying the white comforter. There was the distant sound of a controller clicking and video game sound effects. Someone yelled, the voice muffled by distance and walls until it was unintelligible. If he strained his ears, he could make out enough to know that it was an old shooter game, one he'd never played, but of which he'd seen gameplay videos. But the consoles used to play it were relics, and hadn't been manufactured for over twenty-five years. Whoever was playing it must've been a hardcore collector.
Chrona shook Makka gently and whispered into her ear, "Hey, where are we?"
There was a moment of silence as she lifted her head and turned, probably casting her eyes about the room. She seemed to realize and she jumped away from him. Makka looked at him, her eyes wide. She mouthed the words, "My room." She put a finger to her lips and Chrona nodded in response. She walked to the half open door and shouted into the hallway, presumably upstairs by the angle of her neck, "Bubba?!" She paused and listened, "Pierce?!"
Another yell answered, irritated in tone and young in sound, "What?!"
"Are Mom and Dad back yet?!" Chrona watched as her hands started to shake a little.
"No!"
Seeming satisfied, Makka backed away from the door,  hands still shaking, "Okay, we're safe,but we gotta get you out."
"How did we even get here?" Chrona asked.
She shrugged, "I don't know." Makka pulled the blanket off of her bed. Sure enough, there were streaks of mud on the comforter, but it would wash out. She handed him the soiled fleece, "Here. We can figure it out tomorrow. Meet me at the shelter?"
For some inexplicable reason, Chrona began to tear up, "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."
Her head tilted to the side, "You okay?" The way her hair fell, just brushing her shoulder and obscuring her face...
He blinked away the tears, "Yeah, I'm okay."
She pulled her hair behind her ear and something about it made him smile, "Okay, then. I lo—I mean, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, I'll, uh, see you tomorrow," there was an awkward pause, "Uh, how do you want me to leave?"
Makka blinked, as if coming out of a daydream, "Oh! The window. Just stay low and don't get caught. I can't have boys over without permission."
Instinctively, Chrona hugged the dirty blanket closer to himself, "Oh. I'll be careful, then."
She opened the window for him and he crawled through, ungracefully falling to the ground just a couple feet below. She was about to close the window before he whispered, "Wait, which way's the clearing?"
She leaned out and pointed to her left, his right, "That way. There's a bit of a path you can follow and it'll take you right there. Before you go..." she grabbed his shoulder and pulled at it. He obeyed and stepped closer so she could wrap her arms around his neck. Her voice was a fervent, entrancing breeze in his ear, "Promise me you'll be there?"
He reached up and patted her back, "I promise."
The embrace lingered for a moment before Makka pushed him away, "All right, now get out of here before you're seen!"
"Okay, okay," he chuckled.
"Dweeb." She smiled at him and waved.
He waved back as she pulled herself inside and stood up, closing the window and the blinds behind her. For some reason, even though he couldn't see her anymore, his heart was still... what, light? It hadn't been that way for a while.
He started walking in the direction she'd pointed, glancing around for anything that might expose him on his way to the forest. It was hard to be stealthy while holding the blanket, but he figured out a crouching stance where he put one arm down for stability and carried his bundle with the other. Each swish of the grass, growing taller the farther he was from Makka's house, made his heart jump. He looked back at the small neighborhood he'd just left, her house standing out among the others, just because it was the only one he really cared about.
He reached the edge of the woods and felt safer now to stand. Again, Chrona looked back, still hesitant to leave Makka alone. The anger in Pierce's voice, the fear in the way she shook, the way she seemed to be growing attached to him already. How he'd already...
Turning his gaze upwards, he tried to look for the moon. Despite it being a clear night, it was nowhere to be found. Come to think of it, other than the warm streetlights illuminating the neighborhood with their orange glow, there was no other significant source of light. Yet, looking behind him, the trees were distinct, with no shadows obscuring their bark. Just another of the many oddities that Chrona had to investigate...
He turned down the path into the woods and made his way to the clearing, head churning with thoughts of shadows, moons, and scars.
And a little girl with deep, dark brown eyes.