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Terror preferred to bare its teeth in the late hours of the evening. Or, in the case, the early hours of the morning. You'd think something like this, pure animal fear, would have been left behind in Velum City, down below with the normal people.
But it followed.
Aurum clasped his hands together with his forearms resting on the balcony's railing. Scaena, a cul-de-sac that floated above Velum, was largely constructed of glass and hard angles, and the night sky cut through each building. Scaena harboured a deep loneliness in its very foundation. One way in and one way out - a lift that took several minutes to reach the doors.
When you looked down, through the criss-crossing vein roads of Scaena, Velum City peeked up from beneath. Eternally eclipsed.
He remembered living down there. The terror had at least had space to stretch its legs. And it felt justified, too, the constant fear. Of course Aurum was scared down there - he was a living weapon among civilians.
He thought he'd shake it off when he finally got accepted by the HQ as a villain. Finally. He'd found his place in the world, quarantined far above it all as a celebrity. An underdog, a fan favourite, forever contained in edits and fanfiction scrawl. He was safer as a concept. This pedestal was protective.
He was breathing. Like that app had been teaching him too: box breathing, lion breathing, four-four-eight breathing - he cycled through them every few minutes and hoped that one of them would stick. He'd been using a little meditation app for a few years now but he never understood the breathing techniques. He hated feeling the oxygen in his lungs. Made him feel claustrophobic. Not enough space in his ribcage.
His dressing gown fluttered in the wind. Purple silk, gold trim, gemstone embellishments. Excessively... excessive. But that was Aurum all the way down. His hair was tucked into a bonnet - again, embellished with gold trim, again bejewelled, again luxurious. His slippers had amethysts encrusted along the edges. The cold night air cracked the expensive creams and oils on his face.
In and out. Come on.
His hands tightened in each other's grip. His knuckles paled. He closed his eyes. Opened them again with much effort. Ugh. Maybe he needed a stronger dose than what the doctor was giving him. His body must have adjusted. Or something. Honestly, he just wanted to be prescribed fucking chloroform at this point.
He was exceptionally conscious of the fact that this state of mind could make him responsible for a murder. Or the destruction of property. Adrenaline, dangerous and thick in his blood, pooled through his veins and trickled down to the palms of his hands.
Whenever his fans asked him about why they couldn't get pictures or a high five or whatever, Aurum always used the same analogy: a live wire. Because that's what he was. A dangerous, sparking thing--
"...River?"
He spun around and grabbed the railing behind him. The stainless steel bar flashed gold suddenly. He glanced over his shoulder at it and frowned. His hands stayed firmly planted. He couldn't risk touching anything else. Goddamn it, everybody else in Scaena was gonna see this little splash of gold outside his house, and they were gonna know--
"River, I was just coming to tell you I finished up the budget reports for this month." Porcellana. Belle. He always got mixed up with names. Even his own. In his own head, he'd stopped being River years ago.
In Belle's head, River had always been River. He just had another name that he carried with him to interviews and panels. That's why she had an auxiliary first name; on the rare occasion she got publicity as a henchman, she liked having a part of herself that stayed private.
"...Right. Yeah. Thank you." River wasn't fooling anybody. "Jesus, you worked late today."
Belle's expression didn't change - it rarely ever did - but her tone took on an amused quality. "I like it late. It's quiet enough to focus." Her tone melted back into something more concerned. "I thought you went to bed hours ago."
No point in lying. "...You know how I get."
She moved closer. River pinned himself to the railing. "Hold on. Careful."
She stopped. Her hands folded behind her back. She carried herself with this terrifying, precise professionalism. Even now, when working overtime into the wee hours of the morning, her tie was neat, her shirt was tucked, and the large, black crack in her porcelain-esque skin had been neatened up with some sandpaper. Tremendously uncomfortable for her, but worth fixing any unsightly chips or the like. Her hair, shorn to her scalp so as to prevent hair from lashing at her face. Her shoes, polished to a mirror shine.
Neat and tidy. She would've made a fantastic serial killer.
River stumbled over his words a bit. "Please," was all he was able to settle on.
Belle said nothing. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, and then sat in front of it cross-legged.
There was some hesitation, but River copied her, sitting with his back to the railing, his hands folded in his lap. "It's so... frustrating, I guess. That this keeps happening." He ran a hand over his face and cupped his mouth. His skin trailed gold after his palms, smeared paint that disappeared within seconds. "That this keeps happening when you're around to see it."
Belle's eyes darted down. Maybe to mask the deep sadness within them. "You don't scare me, if that's what you think. You know that."
"I know." A ghost of a laugh trailed in his breath. "I think that makes it worse, though. You're too brave about it. Being around me."
The night had a turn in the conversation. It whispered coldly.
Belle's gaze met River's again. "...I know you don't want to hear this, but you're not dangerous. Not as dangerous as everybody makes you out to be, anyway."
He exhaled hard out of his nose. This was going to spiral into another arguement if he wasn't careful. "Alright," he conceded. "Maybe I'm not. But I could be. If I stopped being so careful, if I let anything slip..." He shook his head. "I dunno. It's late. My brain doesn't make sense when it's late."
"I wasn't planning on going home."
"Oh, of course not," River agreed, brightening a little. "I wouldn't make you walk home by yourself at this hour." Since she was a henchman and not technically a hero nor villain as a result, she lived down in Velum City. She just worked up in Scaena. "There's always a room for you here."
"You don't need to remind me."
"Yes I do. You never take me up on it."
It was for Aurum's sake that she didn't. Reason number one was that she couldn't stand the rumour culture that brewed up in this circle of celebrities. God forbid she share a bed with someone of the opposite gender, even entirely platonically. It wouldn't ruin either of their reputations, but it would point the tabloids in an exhausting direction. And reason number two was that the last few times they'd shared a bed, River never slept. He didn't sleep at the best of times, but these nights it would be more deliberate. Belle would wake up to him face-up, eyes closed, but visibly awake, with his breathing still carrying a conscious rhythm, and his fingers twitching, folded on his stomach.
When they shared a bed, River had to reckon with the thought that he might wake up to a golden statue at his side.
"I was just thinking we should stay up. Especially if you're feeling rough," Belle pivoted. "I could stand to get a little more work done."
"Absolute not. I'll pour water on the master computer if you try to type another word." His posture corrected out of a slump and into a more upright, cheery position. "How about a movie?"
"What movie?"
"Any movie. I'll order something."
"Nowhere delivers up here this late."
"...I have some ice cream in the freezer."
"Nice." Her voice softened. "...Do you feel any better?"
He flexed his hands and tilted his head, shrugging. "Ish. Kind of. Yeah. I feel less like a... threat, I guess."
"God, you first got your power when you were... six?"
"Seven."
"Right. How the fuck did you deal with that?"
"I didn't. Just. Kicked myself out of a lot of social things. Took a lot of days off sick. It's a miracle I even got into the villain program."
"No, I mean... like... emotionally. It must've felt impossible."
He went very quiet. A small burst of laughter, although it lacked warmth. "...Yeah."
"What I'm trying to say is I... wish things were easier for you. I guess."
"Hey. It's okay."
Belle's face scrunched up in that way it always did when she got upset. Crying, for her, came as a sort of adrenaline release. It overcome her as simply as breathing did, although her expression was stony enough to convince anyone that they must be seeing things. That she couldn't actually be upset.
River scrambled to his feet so he could get closer. He knelt by her and hugged her.
And nobody turned to gold. And nobody died.
Belle's voice betrayed no sadness. But a deep melancholy radiated off her in waves. A dam holding up against the churning of water. "God, I'm sorry."
"This isn't on you," River mumbled into her shoulder. "None of this is on you."
"I just need you to know that I'm coming with you, through thick or thin."
"I know that. You've proven that. Jesus Christ, Belle." He laughed and it shook them both, his arms around her.
"I trust you more than anyone."
"I know, I know."
"Then why do you act like you're a ticking time bomb?" She pulled herself back so she could look at him. "You're not going to hurt me. You don't need to be walking on eggshells all the time."
His hands were warm on her back, pressing her jacket. Nothing was golden. Just dull fabric.
"...If anything happened, I'd never forgive myself."
"Nothing has happened yet. So you can forgive yourself."
Silence raked through them both. They'd been locking horns on this since they were teenagers. Powers, for all their flashy charm, so often wound up being thorns in the side of any relationship. Relationships of all natures. But these thorns were instrumental to the survival of the plant, and they couldn't be stripped away.
The problems were inevitable. The complications were embedded into the very roots. The flowers of the friendship cried dewdrops, but the dew kept them watered.
The silence lost its sharpness after a few moments, and softened into calm. Terror limped into the dark. Nobody was hurting anyone. If somebody got hurt, that would be tomorrow's burden.
"...Thick or thin, yeah?" River asked.
"Yeah. Obviously."
"Even the entire Twilight saga? You'd stick with me through that?"
She jabbed an elbow at him and laughed. "You fucking idiot."
He stood first and offered her a hand to help her up. "Oh, come on. Please?"
"Fine, but only because you're feeling down."
"Less down now, actually."
The rest of the night-slash-early-morning consisted of sleep, actually. The first Twilight film rolled it's credits to an exhausted audience that simply could not commit to a five movie long marathon after a night of emotional exhaustion. On the sofa, River and Belle lay with closed eyes on opposite sides of the couch. Ice cream thawed in a tub on the coffee table, and two bowls had been emptied and idling since around the halfway mark of the film - sleep had come for them shortly afterwards. Belle has pilfered both of the throw pillows. River had used the armrest to prop his head up with.
And nothing was gold. And everything was fine.