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If there was one thing she disliked about Feliciano, it was his tendency to keep everything to himself. He was obviously trying not to make her worry, giving her weak smiles and keeping up a chipper tone, and she would take that sort of energy as an indication that he was all right, if she didn't also happen to think that he'd do the exact same thing on his deathbed. The blood she got a look at before he pulled her hands away, the pained expression on his face was confirmation enough that he wasn't okay, and she wished that he'd just say so. She wasn't some delicate creature he needed to protect from ugly realities. She knew them. She'd seen enough of them. The only reason that really held her back from insisting to see his wounds right now was that she knew he'd fight, so it was probably faster to let him do as he wished and insist later.

That didn't mean it wasn't without reluctance that she took her hands away, ending up crossing them over her chest. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as Feli tried to answer her question. Needless to say, 'most of it isn't mine' did little to soothe her nerves, but when he asked to use her shower, she took a deep breath and gave a terse nod. "Yeah…" she said, keeping her responses short for once. If she talked any more, all of her concerns and admonishments might just flood out all at once, and then Feli would probably just bleed out in the doorway before she was halfway through, so she kept her words in by chewing on her inner lip.

Feliciano must have noticed her distress, because he rushed to reassure her. “Don’t look at me like that, Luci!" he said. "I’m just a little banged up! I just need to get cleaned up and I’ll be good as new, you’ll see!” Him trying to make her feel better when he was the one obviously hurt only upset her more, but she bit back her temper. Even she knew that getting into an argument now wouldn't solve anything.

"Don't be stupid," she finally ground out. "Go take your shower, but then I'm going to take a look at your wounds. And don't—" she added, knowing he'd probably object. "I've seen worse carnage than a couple of cuts, so that's not up for discussion." She only had some bandages and some creams she'd asked Emma about the last time Feli had come here looking like this, so suffice to say that she wasn't exactly a nurse. She wasn't even sure what she'd do if he was seriously injured, but she supposed she'd call Emil if that were the case. But those were judgments she could make once she actually got a good look at Feli's wounds.

Lucille turned and made her way to the bathroom, using the short distance to try to calm herself down, scrubbing her hands over her face. At least by the time she switched on the lights and waved him inside, she no longer felt like snapping. "You know where the towels are, right? Top cabinet?" she said, gesturing again just to make sure. "And keep the door unlocked. I'll get you some clothes, and I don't want to take an axe to my own door either if you just like, pass out in there."


Feliciano Vargas

She was at a loss. Lucille Nibourette was a girl who loved to cozy up to other people's business, to comfort upset friends, but the romance department? Especially when it came to guys? She hadn't a clue what to say in return, and she was fairly certain that murder wasn't the answer that Nesia was looking for (though it had grown to be the only answer Lucille sometimes knew). Yet, now, she was incapable of providing a solution, and Lucille just stood there, a mildly shocked expression on her face, unsure how to react as Nesia's voice cracked and her tears spilled over.

If she could make it so that none of her friends ever cried again, she would, Lucille thought absently, watching in a daze as salt droplets dripped and condensed on the soda can. She wished she could take Nesia into her arms and soak up her grief, she wished that the tint of that despair could drench her instead. And it was a cruel reminder of her powerlessness that she could not. She couldn't make the memories go away, she couldn't make the bad feelings disappear. She could only watch, her heart hurting at the sight of her friend's sadness. She hated watching. She hated being helpless, and that was the entire reason she did what she did.

But what help would that be now?

At least this wound will heal, she thought to herself. Nesia was not another Donna waiting to happen. She was not fourteen, and she was not a child to be devoured by wolves. She was not a corpse. She was not in her grave. She was not Lucille's mother. She could recover, Lucille reminded herself. Breakups were commonplace, after all. But even that train of thought couldn't dispel the sudden tremble in her being, awoken by Nesia's tears, the small shake in her fingers reminding her that she couldn't protect everyone. She couldn't keep them safe. She couldn't keep them happy. But this wasn't about her, she scolded herself. This was about Nesia. Nesia and her boyfriend. Just a boyfriend. (And her father had been just a husband.) Concentrate, dammit.

Gathering herself, Lucille gave her own face a little smack, squeezing her cheeks until she could force the creeping thoughts into a corner of her mind. (There they'd stay until the next time someone was hurt, someone she could have helped, and she would hate herself for not having foreseen, for not having been one step ahead, as she had vowed to be when she watched Jeff Kramer take his own life.)

"Let's go sit down," she suggested, with an artificial certainty to her voice. Gently taking Nesia's arm, she guided her over to her own bed (spread with a blue image of dolphins), and sat her down. The food would grow cold, probably, but it wasn't like they could be in the mood for eating now. For a moment, Lucille just sat silently, still lacking the words for comfort, her eyes absently following the bright blue trail of interwoven threads that grew into waves. Finally, she gave a vigorous nod at Nesia's own suggestion.

"Yeah, yeah. You'll be just fine, Nesia, I know you'll be!" she said determinedly, hoping that she sounded confident in spite of her cluelessness. "I-I mean, you'd probably find out that he wasn't all that great anyway! Like, what if he snores really loudly when he sleeps? Or maybe he picks his nose and wipes it under the table! He could even be a mob assassin or something, and maybe you just barely escaped his devious clutches!" Her words caught and died an abrupt, awkward end, and Lucille fell silent, wondering if trying to make Nesia laugh was really the solution. After a moment, she added, a bit quieter, "I think you'll always have another chance. There are plenty of people out there, and you won't be studying forever. At that point, I guess you'll find someone again. Maybe it'll even be him, I don't know…" She took a deep breath and exhaled, thinking back to her mother. "But heartbreak happens, and then it passes… I think."

Does it really?

She didn't let herself to dwell on those doubts, and allowed her words to continue their disjointed parade, barely cognizant of what she was saying. Perhaps some of it would resonate with Nesia at least, and the more things she said, the more chance she had of getting it right. So she thought.

SPOILER: Click to show

Nesia Notonegoro: Took some liberties with taking Nesia away from her food, let me know if that wouldn't work fff

She shivered in the cold as she made her way slowly home from the museum. She hated British weather. The day which had begun sunny and warm had suddenly turned way too cold in the span of an hour or two, the wind had begun making its presence felt and grey clouds had rolled over the sky. She should have learned her lesson on the volatility of the weather by now, but even so, she'd neglected to bring a thicker coat with her when she'd left for the museum earlier that afternoon. Now, she was stuck with a sweater, which she swore the wind was blowing holes through.

Mentally, she cursed herself for that utterly stupid decision. She also cursed herself for not deciding to bike (which would take her home much quicker), the weather for being a little shit, and her professor for sending her on an assignment to the museum. She considered the possibility of taking a taxi, but quickly discarded that idea—it wasn't cold enough for her to justify spending 20 pounds just to get home.

Lucille resigned herself to her fate of walking home in the cold, thinking about school work and the most recent episode of Scandal to try to get her mind off it. It would have been a good idea if she didn't seem to have some weird physiological reaction to getting too chilled…

The first time it happened was, in fact, in London. She had been on her way to a classmate's house party in the dead of winter, and felt a certain light-headedness acting up halfway there. Thank god for the upperclassman who happened to be heading to the same place, who witnessed her mishap and quickly gathered her up and carried her there. She never got to thank him either, which she found disappointing and still dwelt on whenever the temperature lowered. The same thing had happened a couple more times since then, but she'd mostly learnt to dress warm by now and passerby tended to be kind enough to help her. Still, she disliked pretty much passing out from cold in the middle of the street, so obviously she tried to keep the incidents to a minimal. And yet, she was stuck in this situation, and she was starting to feel it acting up again.

Her teeth were chattering and she was getting a little light-headed, which she learned were the early warning signs. She looked desperately around for a place where she could hang out to warm up, maybe a café or a shop where she could drop in just for a little bit. She was already a good quarter of a ways home, and if she spent a couple minutes in between ducking into warm, public places, she might be able to make it back without passing out or calling a taxi. Sighing, she dragged herself towards the nearest café, but wasn't quite able to make it before her foot snagged on a protruding paving stone. She normally would've avoided it, but she wasn't exactly in her best mind at the moment, and so she—quite frankly—went down like a sack of potatoes. Hitting the ground on her hands and knees, she quickly rolled over to the side to sit on her butt, shaking her hands out. They felt like they had been scraped, but she couldn't see quite clearly at the moment, the world becoming an indistinct blur of colors. Instead of getting up, she just sat there, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths as she hoped the dizziness would pass.

SPOILER: Click to show

Camila Isabella Duarte: Hopefully this works! c: and sorry for the wait.