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Time stops for nobody.
Another fact Mio has had to come to terms with over the years, another truth to pile on top of revelation after revelation, the weight of it threatening to crush her if she pauses for even a breath.
Another reminder of how much of the world she knows nothing about, how much she still wants to learn. What more could she learn with even a single month extra? What good is this information if she’s dead?
But time stops for nobody, so she continues on. With a weapon in one hand, her flute in the other. Something to kill with, something to mourn with.
(Noah’s flute, not hers, she reminds herself. Her own flute tucked away in his pocket, with gentle care put into it reminiscent of a time long gone.)
Her hair’s been getting longer. Silver strands tickle the nape of her neck and hang slightly closer to her eyes. Will it reach her shoulders by the time she’s due to go? Maybe she should cut it; she’s sure someone must have a pair of scissors lying around. Taion must have some—he always knows what to bring.
Her legs kick against the edge of the hovering reef. She’s getting antsy. Her gaze fixes on Keves Castle, closer than it had ever been, but she can’t just up and leave everyone behind. She won’t even entertain the idea.
Then, what does she do, waiting for everyone else to wake up, resting in preparation for their infiltration? She could find a pair of scissors right now, or even a knife, a knife would work. She’d cut her hair and that’d surely bring her some peace. A sense of normality, a sense of control. A sense that she’s doing something with what little—
“Morning, Mio.” She recognises that voice. Soft, sleepy at the edges. Her eyes turn up to meet bright blue as he settles down next to her, dangling his legs beside hers.
“Good morning. Did you get enough sleep?”
If Noah notices her restlessness, he doesn’t say anything, instead placing a brush and a cut of familiar red string on his lap. “Yeah, I did. We can’t storm a castle sleep-deprived, you know?” A hint of light-heartedness in his tone, an obvious attempt to lower nerves. His or Mio’s, she doesn’t know.
“…That’s good.” A pause that she can’t let shift into awkwardness. “We’ll be fine. We’ve done a lot of planning, and with the eight of us here, we can take on anything.”
“Ah, don’t let the others hear you say that.”
Mio laughs, quiet in the stillness of the island, feeling part of that weight lifting off her shoulders already. Weight for every life lost, some more for those lost because of her.
She takes stock of Noah’s figure in the early morning, namely the dark, thick hair spilling far past his shoulders and down his back, a little dishevelled and unkempt. Her hand instinctively reaches for her own, brushes past the bumps of her braid, the splash of red weaved in.
“Have you ever thought about cutting it?” Her words come before she can think of taking them back. Noah blinks, his gaze following hers until he figures out what she’s referring to, fingers coming up to twist a wave of black hair around them.
“I suppose… it never crossed my mind,” he says. “I’ve been used to it ever since the start, I guess. Cutting it now would be kind of jarring.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Mio says, but she shuffles behind him, arching over to take his brush. A simple wooden type, sturdy and easy to grip onto. She weighs it in her palm and finds it’s not too heavy, either.
Noah cranes his neck, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “That one was a gift, actually. Lanz got it for me when my old one broke. I don’t know how he did it, and he refuses to tell me.”
Mio finds her eyes widening. “He did? I never thought he’d be the type. What about Eunie, then?”
Reaching back, Noah drops something into her free hand. The red string. It seems to stretch easily, with little chance of it snapping in half.
“I see,” she replies, a smile spreading across her face. “You have really good friends.”
Noah rubs the back of his neck, face turned away from her. “I do. I feel really lucky to have them. But they’re your friends now too, right? I’d like to think we’re all friends by now.”
Mio says nothing, but hums in agreement. There simply is nothing more to add. If she’d been told a year ago she’d be happily working with soldiers from Keves, she would have simply dismissed the thought. But now—
—Now, she can’t imagine living without them. Funny, what a month travelling together does.
And she refuses to wonder whether they can imagine living without her. She hopes they’ll be fine, that they’ll be able to continue even after her death, that they may say a few words and then move on. So that she’s not a burden to them after she’s gone.
Though she knows that won’t be the case, selfish as it might seem. She doesn’t want to imagine Sena’s tears, Taion’s frustration with himself for not doing more, Noah’s loneliness without his partner. Doesn’t want to imagine how they might grieve her, carry the guilt on their backs until the end of their days.
Noah’s hair feels like silk in her hands, warm and real and soft, as though it’ll still be here in two years along with the rest of him. It’s her first time feeling it, and she can’t help but let her touch linger, a quiet desperation for the moment to continue a little longer. But Mio raises the brush, and gently pulls it down the sheet of black, marvelling in the way it catches the morning light at just the right angle.
Noah’s shoulders are tense at first, but they relax as she keeps going. Sena had told her that she was an expert at making anyone feel at ease, once, and she holds onto that, keeps those words close to her chest. She continues to make strokes on Noah’s hair, settling into a rhythm, just as she often does with the other girls in the group, though there are no wings or flames to be careful of.
“Have you ever thought of growing yours?” Noah’s voice comes quietly, as though he’s almost dozing off to sleep again.
Mio shakes her head, despite knowing he can’t see her. Her rhythm begins to slow. “No, I don’t think I would. It’s just too much to take care of, with it getting in the way of fighting and everything. It’s a wonder how Ethel managed to keep her hair so beautiful all the time.”
Her movements still, the words having slipped out without much thought. Peering over Noah’s shoulder, she sees his hands curled into fists on his lap.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I—“
“No,” Noah cuts in, taking a deep breath, “don’t worry about it. I’ve always admired that too, you know.” He falls silent, loosens his fists, raises his head. “What about if we didn’t have to fight to survive? Would you grow your hair then?”
Mio raises an eyebrow. “What, do you not like it like this?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” He backs up, raising his hands. Mio suppresses a laugh at that, but she lightly taps him over the head with the brush. “It’s just—I mean—if we weren’t stuck in this situation, we’d have more of a choice to do what we want with our appearances. For me, I’m not sure what I’d do.”
So many things to think about, wondering if she’ll live to see another day, if she’ll have enough food to get by, and yet the topic of appearances has never crossed her mind. Mio finds it going blank, her mouth opening and closing without anything being said.
She takes the red hair tie in her hands, gathering Noah’s hair and pulling it up, smoothing out the top. “Then I don’t know what I’d do, either,” is her eventual response, knuckles whitening where she’s holding the ponytail. She deftly wraps the string around it, tying it into a knot and securing it, but she doesn’t let go. “Maybe, if I were given more time, even another few years, I might feel like I have the time to wash and take care of long hair. But maybe I’d like having it as it is now. I suppose I’ll never know.”
Noah’s head turns towards her, locking his eyes with hers. He doesn’t touch his ponytail, doesn’t test it to see if it’s tight enough, but he seems to assume that it’s fine anyway. “Well, the future is uncertain,” is all he says before standing up, holding out a hand to help her up, and she almost wants to tug it back when he lets go once more.
“Thank you, by the way, for doing my hair. It’s perfect.”
The smile he gives her is bright and sincere, a smile that Mio could capture in her mind to think back to for as long as she’s still breathing. That same smile—she hopes she’ll be able to return it someday.
“It’s nothing,” she assures him. “If you want me to do it again, feel free to ask.”
“Of course.”
Noah heads away to the centre of the campsite where the others are just beginning to wake up, though Mio stays still for a moment, watching his back retreat. A strong, reliable presence, a distraction from her thoughts and from the future, but she might be able to face that future with her head held high if he’s there with her. Him, and everyone else.
After all, time stops for nobody.