A thud against wood hung in the air, raucous and imposing on the slowly fading radio silence of
Peach's sleep. Time sped up as a wave of sensation crashed over her. Consciousness had hit her like a bullet.
Panic had gripped her throat and her hands clutched at the messy cotton bedsheets. The knocks continued.
Still groggy as she lifted herself out of bed, she fought against uncomfortably tangled sheets that had
managed to ensnare her, while struggling to separate her hair with the sticky, booze scented pillow. She sat
up like a zombie, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. Her vision was foggy, and she allowed it to
lazily crawl over the dim room, before she automatically began slapping her lamp, her hand looking for the
switch. A gentle click proceeded the warm glow.
The knocking continued, it got more passionate when her light turned on. Muffled words were added into
the chorus of knocks.
Peach was halfway across the room now, she'd thrown on a jacket to protect
herself from the cold air of her stuffy apartment, she'd hooked it off of the floor as she walked. The dust
that rose with it causing her to sneeze. Her body rested against the door, her head crooked a bit as she
listened to the sound of somebody who was clearly out of breath spluttering: "Peach?" on the other side.
Peach was still blinking sleep out of her eyes as her head cleared. Her silence hung long enough for the
person on the other side of the door to check if she had heard him.
"It's Wyatt. Can you come out?"
"...No?"
"I'm sorry if I woke you up, but this is an emergency."
"Define emergency," Peach mumbled, clearing her throat - her hand wandered to the bolt lock, sliding it
back, then it gripped the knob of the door, rolling it softly. A gentle tug on it left a decently sized crack to
peer out at Wyatt-Riley.
Wyatt-Riley's gaze was bright, illuminated by the fairy lights that lined the short rustic hallway. Eye contact
was something the short blonde man seemed to demand without speaking. His gaze didn't shift. Words in
that moment were lost on both of them. Time had gone back to dragging its heels ungracefully, Peach
braced her hand around the nob of the door as his eyes searched hers wordlessly. Peach didn't close the
silence, reminding Wyatt he'd been asked a question.
"...Do you know why I'm here?"
His voice was strained, hesitant. He had come to the door with words,
but he was now second-guessing them helplessly.
"Too fucking wake me up? I don't know why you're here. I just woke up to you hammering my goddamn
door...Don't do that, by the way."
"Do you remember anything?"
"-This isn't a good time, it's late. What time is it, Jesus christ. Jesus fucking christ..." Peach's words had
manifested a biting tone, she automatically veered away from his question without a moment's hesitation.
Her blood had become icy. The grip on her throat had tightened, she struggled to take in air with the weight
of reality that was crushing her chest. Did she do something? Did she have another episode? She tried to get
a read on Wyatt-Riley's face, looking for anything to confirm her fears.
Wyatt was patient, despite her sudden anger. Somehow, he was comforting her despite what he'd just said,
and what that implied. His steeled expression was unlike him, however. As calm and concerned as he
seemed, he had the look of a man who knew something she didn't. She absolutely hated it.
Wyatt-Riley took a deep breath, unable to force out what he wanted to say in its entirety.
"I don't know
what time it is." he took a step towards the door, forcing it open a little more. Peach instinctively took a
step back. "This isn't about you. You didn't do anything."
Peach had realized how ghost-quiet the Nocturne was. Aside from their breathing and the gentle hum of
the lights, the world had become a noiseless void. When the door opened, the first thing she noticed was
Wyatt's arms. They were covered in gauze, crimson spots crusted around the hands, wandering up to his
elbows. He wasn't in his work uniform. The cogs in her head continued to whirr- but they felt old with
misuse, as if she'd woken from a coma.
"What day is it." Wyatt's question had weight to it- and Peach's panic returned. She buried her hands in her
pockets, and she turned to go sit on her bed. She sat across the room from Wyatt. She stared at him,
struggling with the scowl frozen on her faze. She looked and felt like a cornered animal. She was
absolutely wired, only able to focus on him, and his worried expression.
"I thought you said it wasn't about me, what the fuck is this-" She cut herself off when her voice began to
quiver. She'd just woken up, and she'd already burnt herself out. Wyatt-Riley was the only reason the
amount of stress she felt hadn't left her at the mercy of her tears. Her face was burning with shame, and
she crooked her head back and drew in a deep breath.
In fear of looking weak to the man who obviously knew something she had established she didn't, she
distanced herself from the noise pounding at the back of her skull, going over a mental list of every single
tick she had, in hopes of controlling them so they wouldn't tarnish her facade.
Wyatt came to sit on the bed with her. He'd invited himself in, and she now understood he had come to
comfort her. The confusion left her feeling hopeless and vulnerable. Though the illusion Wyatt had come to
hurt her had dissipated, she now had to struggle with her racing thoughts.
'He's your friend,' she rationalized. 'Try to be strong for him. You don't have a lot of friends.'
Her shoulders relaxed, and a rush of air escaped her lungs in the form of a gentle sigh.
Colors flickered behind her eyes. Noises she couldn't place. Sensations. In an abstract sense, she couldn't
explain. She continued to try and relax, as the half-formed memories cascaded over her. Desperate to
ground herself as her breathing quickened, she hugged a pillow. What followed was a muffled scream,
which she let out, until she was up to breaking away from the soft mass of fabric with some semblance of
her dignity.
Wyatt uncomfortably rubbed the back of his head as Peach turned to look out the bedroom window. The
streets were dark. No stars twinkled in the sky above. No cars were racing down the sunbaked streets, and
no people were walking along the sidewalks. The city stood outside her window - casting a disquieting
umbra over the street she used to gaze at from the isolation of her room.
"How long has it been." Peach murmured, the words were automatic. She didn't know why she choose
them, in that order. She didn't know what they meant.
"I don't know. I really don't. I've lost count of the days." Wyatt-Riley trailed off, still struggling to recall what
he'd been rehearsing to himself. He swore he'd settled on what he'd say to her before she opened that
door, but they all felt cruel, and impersonal now.
"What the fuck is happening..."
Peach whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the window.
"Are you scared?" Wyatt's voice had become hushed too.
"...Maybe a little."