01 months, 16 days
(November)

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"I'm-"

She takes in a sharp breath.

"I'm ok," she reassures, looking at Aria who is making a call to her parent's flower shop while sitting on a nearby bench and Alice who is giving a statement to the police by the storefront.

(She's not dead. She's alive. She's right there. Breathe.)

"Are you sure?" the male at the other end of the line questions again.

"I'm not hurt," she offers, keeping the tremble out of her voice. The metal of the ambulance back is cold underneath her fingers, and she clenches her hand into a fist, nails biting into her skin.

(She's alive. She's alive. She's alive. She'salive. She'salive. She'saliveshe'saliveshe'salive-)

From her purse, large eyes look up at her with worry, and she takes a deep breath, releasing the tension in her hands.

(Breathe. Breathe.)

"Stay right there," her supervisor orders. "I'm sending someone to pick you up. He's going to walk you back and buy you dinner on the institution's pay. You're going to accept."

She bites her bottom lip, the decline at the tip of her tongue.

Finally, she sighs.

"Ok," she agrees, hanging up and missing the sharp breath from her boss because Lynne, though she'd only been an employee for a few months, never accepted help voluntarily, never forgot her thanks, and never hung up first.

She misses the entire revelation, pressing her phone between her palms and glancing again to Alice then Aria.

"I'll give my statement to the police and head straight home," Aria promises, eyes flitting nervously over Alice who answers the police's questions and Lynne who clutches her phone like a lifeline between her hands.

"Sweetie," her mother calls gently, the worry clear. She can hear someone else speaking faintly, and there is a rustle, signaling her mother had pressed the phone against her shoulder to muffle the conversation.

"What's wrong?"

(Herself.)

"Aria was in a store that was robbed. I don't-"

"Is she ok?"

(No.)

"She's fine. Physically."

"I'll go pick her up. Where is she?"

"Sweetheart," her mother calls, back on the line. "Varun offered to go pick you up. Where are you?"

She glances up at the street signs, biting her bottom lip.

"I'll get home on my own," she reassures finally, looking again to Alice and Lynne. Issy is a reassuring weight in her hoodie pocket, curling against her hand. "This might take a while."

"Aria."

"I want to be alone."

A pause.

"Straight home?"

"Straight home."

Another pause.

"Ok."

"Thank you," she whispers, breathing out carefully. She hangs up, looking to Lynne - still frozen - and Alice.

"From the security footage, it looks like our cashier recognized the robber," the officer informs, shaking Alice's hand. "We'll catch them. Don't worry."

She nods, watching him walk towards Aria to get her statement. She glances to Lynne, intent on-

A male rounds the corner - a familiar face, the boy who she'd often seen trail after Lynne with shy eyes - and runs straight up to the short girl.

Alice opens to demand he give her space but he takes two steps back on his own, taking a calming breath and lowering himself down into the girl's line of sight.

A vibration from her phone distracts her. When she looks up, he is guiding Lynne carefully, and she decides to trust him.

(Please don't be wrong. Please.)

She stares at the onslaught of messages and sticks her phone in her pocket.

(She hates how he reads her so well.)

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This is probably a bad idea. He doesn't have a clue where she lives, and it isn't like he can knock on every door until she opens up.

(Someone will call the police before he gets to her unless he is supremely lucky, which he never is.)

Fortunately, he has no sooner landed on the roof of their homebase, intent on-

Something.

-when a window opens beneath him.

Well, what are the chances that she lives in the same building and-

Is she in their homebase?

He swings in through the window lithely, surprised when he sees her rifling through the cabinets of their homebase. She turns before he can hide.

"Fu-" she cuts off, wielding a frying pan. She lets out a breath and glares at him, lowering the impromptu weapon. "What are you doing here, Mantis? The sun isn't even down. Are you trying to get caught?"

"Why are you here?" he retaliates, eyes narrowing though-

(This is not why he wanted to visit. Good job, Tom.)

"My family owns the building. I live here," she scoffs, gesturing to the room behind her. "Alpha asked me to restock."

"You were part of a robbery, and your reaction is to do a favor for a vigilante?" he questions, rolling his eyes. "Typical."

"I'm fine," she growls, narrowing her eyes at him. "How do you even know about that?"

She eyes him but before he can make an excuse, she sighs.

"Whatever. I finished anyways so-"

"Do you want a cookie?" he blurts out, resisting the urge to smack himself on the forehead because seriously.

She gives him a suspicious look.

"Whenever something bad happens to me, I always eat cookies until I feel better," he adds, lightly shaking the pastry box that is in his hands.

"Ok?" she agrees, tilting her head slightly in the way that he'd seen her do when she found a question unclear in decathalon or when something her friends did was amusing yet illogical.

He holds out the box, opening the lid for her, and he notices how something has softened in her as she reaches for a chocolate chip cookie - still warm and gooey from the bakery.

"Thanks," she relents, biting into the dessert. He nods, unable to speak for some reason.

(He swears it has nothing to do with the way she looks a little more child-like, a little more...vulnerable, as if she wishes to eat away the afternoon like she does the cookies.)

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The hand in his is surprisingly cool, and he glances down at her, worry overshadowing any bashfulness.

He had brought her back to Joe's Zoo - their mutual workplace, he'd discovered less than three hours ago - and had guided her to the break room in the very back, hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door.

Dinner - a light seafood soup from a restaurant down the street - sits on the table, untouched.

"Come on, Lynne," he urges, leaning down to catch her eye. He tries for a careful smile while his thumb her hand in what he hopes is comforting circles. "You should eat."

She slow-blinks and takes the spoon in her free hand after a moment, eating almost mechanically. He watches in between his own bites and continues to draw circles on her skin like he can magically draw her back into herself.

When their meal is half-gone, she takes in a shaky breath and releases, putting her spoon down on the table. He puts down his own utensil and turns to her carefully, sliding off of his seat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks softly, crouching down so that he is in her direct line of sight; she seems to be more responsive when she can see him.

She shakes her head after a moment, a quick jerk of her head.

"Should I go?"

She shakes her head again, hand gripping his carefully.

"Do you want to go home?"

It takes a second before she nods hesitantly, a movement less mechanical and more shy.

"Alright," he agrees, standing up. He releases her hand with a promise that he isn't leaving and cleans up, combining the two leftover halves into one container and tossing away the trash.

He fusses over her nervously, ensures he hasn't left anything of hers in the room, and takes her hand once more.

The walk is short and subdued, the bite of winter air hurrying the steps of everyone around them and causing short tempers that snap under-their-breath comments at the slower duo. He glares at anyone who meets his eyes intent on complaining, bearing his teeth with wide eyes and a growl building his in throat.

(Alarm bells go off in the back of his head at the growl, and he takes a mental note to examine it later.)

It takes him a while to realize that her fingers grip his more purposefully, and when he looks down, he almost sighs with relief when she meets his gaze with a weak smile.

"Thanks, Kekoa," she whispers at the university dorm building.

He watches while she goes in with the leftovers in hand. He watches as she spots him standing there still and as she waves swiftly before entering. He watches until he cannot see her anymore.

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He leaps into their homebase, a bitter taste still on his tongue and soaking wet.

(He should have visited Aria, checked up on her at the very least; no matter what he thought she wanted or the class he had in the afternoon. The self-excuses are getting old.)

He raises a brow, dripping on the floor.

"Am I late?" he asks, eyeing Alpha who is curled up on the lone sofa - dry - and staring at the wall while her ears and tail flick in correspondence to her thoughts and emotions.

"No," Mantis - also dry - answer, shrugging and holding out a towel, well-prepared. He balances precariously on the back of the sofa Alpha rests on, careful to not disturb the Wolf Miraculous Wielder but close enough to...

Protect.

"Everyone seems to be coming in early today," Mantis comments as Haati dries himself off as best he can. "It makes sense since, well-"

He makes a waving gesture with his hand, as if to encompass 'everything.'

Haati nods knowingly.

"Who are we waiting on?" he questions just as Hummingbird flies into the room, several large boxes of Chinese take-out balanced in her arms. He moves to help her immediately.

"Well, no one now," Mantis voices.

Haati gave the male a look.

"King and Octa are in the bedroom," Alpha provides, uncurling and holding out a dry towel to Hummingbird.

"Sleeping," she adds sharply with a reprimanding glance though she quickly shoots him an apologetic look when the usual (and expected) leer is missing from his face.

A moment.

"Octa had the same look from the media fiasco," Alpha continues as the four of them move around the kitchen and living room, setting up. In unison, the other three wince at the memory.

(Those poor reporters were eaten alive.)

"Fortunately for us and not for him, King looked exhausted when he came in early, so she went into immediate nursing mode."

"Don't worry. He's fine now," a familiar voice chimes, voice painted with her amused lilt. Four eyes turn to her in unison, and words die on their tongues.

Octa stands, clearly detransformed - dressed in a large, black shirt that read "I♥NY" and grey sweatpants, hair wet from an obvious shower, and towel acting as both a barrier between her hair and clothes and her face and them.

"Octa?" Hummingbird twitters, eyes glancing away.

"I'll eat behind the kitchen counter," Octa dismisses, King following a step behind her. "Meanwhile."

It takes a second for them to see something floating by her shoulder, and they freeze. The blob shimmers in the air and becomes visible, a navy figure with squirming limbs and exaggeratedly large eyes that crawl over them.

It takes them a second longer to recognize it is the Octopus Kwami, ten centimeters tall and waving a tentacle in their direction tentatively.

Lightning and thunder rumble outside, accented by the pouring rain.

"Noctt has some information to share with everyone."

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" 'Animalistic tendencies.' Seriously?"

"The growling didn't tip you off?"

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"There's more? What more can there be than animal traits?"

"A lot more."

"Like what? Am I going to only speak in riddles?"

"Now'd be a good time to speak with all the Kwami."

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"Blindfolds? That's your idea?"

"I don't see you with a better one."

"Sounds ."

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"Did you just say-"

"Don't you dare repeat those words."

"But-"

"I will end you."

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"At least none of us are foxes."

"Why?"

"They scream at their mates."

"What. The. F-"