Chapter 19 – A Visit That’s Way Too Generous.

Lyon was sprawled on the balcony floor, face up, breathing heavily, slowly, as if he had just survived a fight against another monster.

But no.

This time it hadn't been a monster.

It had been worse.

It had been the damn voice inside his head.

"Oh, sweetheart..."

'...'

"That was so lovely."

'...'

"Seriously. Nobody has ever shouted 'I love you' at me so many times in a row. And with so much feeling. And from so high up."

Lyon covered his face with both hands, still sprawled on the floor, feeling the cold of the balcony against his back through his t-shirt.

'Are you done now?' Lyon thought, with a tired inner voice.

Silence.

And then, the voice, in a tone that was clearly amused but also slightly satisfied.

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine. For this time... it's fine."

'What do you mean, for this time?'

"For this time, sweetheart. Just for this time."

Silence.

"But let's make it clear."

'...Make what clear?'

"That the next time it occurs to you to say, or think, or even let the idea of separating from me pass through your little head..."

Silence.

"...we're not going to fix it with five I-love-yous."

'...'

"We're going to need quite a few more."

'...'

"Quite a few, quite a few more."

And Lyon felt, with his heart still racing from the scare at the balcony, a shiver that ran down from his neck to the lower part of his back.

Lyon swallowed.

'...Understood.'

"Good human."

'Don't call me that.'

"Very good human."

'No.'

"My human."

'...'

"Sweetheart."

'...'

Lyon closed his eyes, still sprawled on the balcony floor, with the voice inside his head quietly humming a song he had already heard before.

'I hate my life.'

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

'I really hate it.'

"I love it for both of us."

'How generous.'

"Thanks, sweetheart."

'It wasn't a compliment.'

"Thanks anyway."

And right at that moment, when Lyon was already seriously considering the possibility of staying sprawled on the balcony floor until the sun came all the way up, and quitting the university, and the city, and probably the whole planet…

DING! DONG!

Lyon opened his eyes suddenly.

'...The doorbell?' he thought, without moving. 'At this hour?'

"The doorbell, sweetheart," confirmed the voice, in a tone that was clearly entertained again. "Someone rang the doorbell."

'I know someone rang the doorbell.'

"And at this hour."

'I also know the time.'

"Almost six in the morning."

'Thanks for the summary.'

DING! DONG!

Lyon sat up abruptly on the balcony floor, with his back against the railing, and looked toward the front door of the apartment as if the door could answer by itself.

'...It's the neighbor,' Lyon thought, with his stomach sinking.

"The neighbor?" asked the voice.

'The one on the thirteenth floor. The one who slammed his window shut. The one who couldn't take any more of the I-love-yous.'

"Oh."

'Yes.'

"Oh, uh-oh."

'Yes.'

"Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh."

'Yes. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.'

DING! DONG!

Lyon jumped to his feet, with his legs still a little shaky from the cold of the floor, and walked quickly from the balcony to the front door.

On the way he passed by the messy couch, the little table still crooked from the tremor of the portal, the fallen lamp from yesterday which was still exactly where he had left it, and thought, in some very tiny corner of his head:

'I just hope the neighbor doesn't hit me at least.'

"Fingers crossed."

'Shut up.'

Lyon reached the door. He put his hand on the doorknob. He breathed deeply. He lowered his eyebrows. He put on a repentant mouth. He practiced a nervous smile in case the neighbor was the kind of guy who softened up with smiles.

And he opened it.

"Neighbor, seriously, a thousand apologies, I—"

Lyon stopped abruptly.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

On the other side of the door, standing with her hands crossed in front of her, with the Hogwarts guild uniform perfectly pressed, with the black hair loose falling over her shoulders and with that flat expression that Lyon had already seen once…

…was Cya.

'...'

"Oh."

'...'

"Oh, sweetheart. Look who."

'...'

"Look who showed up early."

Cya, meanwhile, looked at him.

She looked at the wrinkled pajamas.

She looked at his still-red face.

She looked at the dark circles under his eyes.

She looked at his hair standing up.

And with the most neutral voice in the world, she said:

"Good morning."

Lyon let out a laugh, short and nervous.

"Cya! Good morning. Good, good morning. What… a surprise," he greeted her, trying to make his voice come out normal and failing a little. "What… what are you doing around here? At this hour?"

Cya slightly lowered her head, in a gesture that was almost a bow but not quite.

"I came to apologize."

Silence.

Lyon blinked.

"...Apologize?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"...To me?"

"Yes."

"...Why?"

Cya looked at him for a full second, with that flat face that told Lyon absolutely nothing about what she was thinking, and then spoke.

"In case I made you uncomfortable with my visit yesterday."

Lyon blinked twice. Then he let out another laugh, this one a bit more natural.

"Uncomfortable?" he repeated, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Not at all. A visit from a girl is never going to make me uncomfortable, Cya. Never."

Cya looked at him.

Silence.

"Yesterday you seemed a little rushed to me," Cya observed at last.

"Rushed?"

"A little."

"...Me?"

"Yes."

"...Rushed rushed?"

"Yes."

Cya tilted her head slightly to one side.

"As if my visit displeased you."

And inside Lyon's head, the voice let out a burst of laughter so big that Lyon almost closed his eyes from the sting it gave him.

"Oh, sweetheart. Tell her why you were rushed. Tell her. Tell her in detail. Tell her the part about how you were sprouting—"

'SHUT UP!'

"—white hair, tell her that part—"

'SHUT UP, PLEASE!'

"—and the part about the fangs—"

'SHUT UP!'

Lyon cleared his throat loudly. Very loudly. Pretending very earnestly that it had been a coughing fit.

"Sorry, sorry!" he apologized, shaking his hand. "Something got stuck in my throat. It's the throat. It's dry today. Very dry. But no, Cya, seriously, your visit didn't displease me at all. In fact, your visits are more than welcome. Always."

Silence.

Lyon smiled, trying to soften things.

"And even more so if you come bearing food."

Cya looked at him.

Cya kept looking at him.

Cya smiled.

Just a little. Only a little. Just a corner of her mouth. And then, without taking her eyes off Lyon, she coughed once.

"Ahem."

A tiny cough. Cordial. Almost elegant.

And behind her, coming out of the hallway of the building as if they had been waiting for exactly that signal, appeared four uniformed people, all with the same Hogwarts guild emblem on their right arm, all carrying baskets.

Big baskets.

Woven baskets.

Baskets that looked heavy.

Baskets that smelled of freshly baked bread from all the way down the hallway.

Lyon looked.

Lyon blinked.

Lyon looked again.

"...What—"

The four uniformed people, without saying a single word, entered the apartment in a line, passing next to Cya and next to Lyon as if they were part of the scenery. With a coordination that Lyon had never seen in his life, not even in the most military strategy video games he had played, each person placed two baskets in a different spot.

Two on the couch.

Two on the table.

Two on the coffee table that was still a bit crooked.

And two, the last pair, on the floor, near the kitchen, because there were no more free surfaces.

The whole process took about ten seconds.

And at no point, at none, did any of the four people say absolutely anything.

Lyon stayed standing at the door, with his hand still on the doorknob, watching his apartment slowly fill up with food baskets in the most absolute silence he had ever heard in his life.

'...'

"...Sweetheart, your house looks like a market."

'...I know.'

"A well-stocked market."

'I know, I know.'

Cya, meanwhile, looked around with her usual flat face, and then looked at Lyon.

"Do you need help arranging your place?" she asked.

Lyon blinked, coming out of the basket trance.

"Huh? No, no, don't worry. I can do that on my own. No need."

Cya nodded slowly.

"Alright."

Silence.

Cya looked at the fallen lamp.

Cya looked at the crooked little table.

Cya looked at the messy couch.

Cya looked at the magazines thrown on the floor.

Cya looked at the puddle of water that was left over from the glass Lyon had knocked over on the night of the portal.

And then she looked at Lyon again.

"...Yesterday, when I came, it wasn't very tidy either."

Silence.

"...Do you like the mess?"

And inside Lyon's head, the voice exploded with laughter. Not a little giggle. A full guffaw. A complete attack.

"OH, SWEETHEART! OH, SWEETHEART, SHE IS INCREDIBLE! SHE IS PURE GOLD!"

'Shut up.'

"TELL HER YES! TELL HER YES, SWEETHEART! TELL HER YOU LOVE THE MESS! TELL HER YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY IS THROWING THINGS ON THE FLOOR!"

'SHUT UP.'

"NEVER! I WILL NEVER SHUT UP!"

Lyon pressed his lips together, holding in his annoyance as best he could, and answered Cya in the most neutral tone he could manage.

"It's not that I like the mess."

"...No?"

"No."

"Ah."

Silence.

"What happens," Lyon continued, crossing his arms and feeling a slightly defensive tone coming out from inside him, "is that what to some people is mess, to others is their order."

Cya looked at him.

Silence.

Cya tilted her head to the other side this time.

"...That's a good point."

"Right?"

"Yes."

"It's a matter of perspective."

"That makes sense."

"Everyone organizes in their own way."

"Yes."

"And what looks messy sometimes has a system."

"Yes. It's logical."

Silence.

Cya nodded, with her flat face, as if she were genuinely accepting the argument with all the seriousness in the world.

"You're right. Sorry for the comment."

And at that moment, the four uniformed people from the guild, who up until that point had been standing next to the baskets waiting for instructions that never came, all bowed at the same time, all pivoted at the same time, and all left the apartment at the same time, closing the door behind them with a click so soft it was almost inaudible.

Lyon stayed staring at the door.

'...'

"Sweetheart, that was almost military."

'I know.'

"Almost ninja."

'I know.'

"Almost—"

'I know, I know.'

Lyon looked back at Cya, who was now standing in exactly the same spot in the entryway, with her hands crossed in front of her again, waiting.

Lyon cleared his throat.

"So... what did you bring?" he asked, gesturing at the baskets with his head.

Cya looked at him for a second, then looked at the baskets, then looked at him again.

"Sandwiches."

"...Sandwiches?"

"Yes."

"...All of that is sandwiches?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Since I don't know very well what your tastes are when it comes to eating sandwiches," Cya continued, with that flat voice but now with a complete explanation, "I had several prepared. Of different flavors. Of different brands of bread. With different fillings. So you can pick the ones you like most."

Cya paused.

"The rest you can toss or keep. Whichever you prefer."

"Toss?"

Cya looked at him.

"...Excuse me?"

"Toss, you said?"

"Yes. If there are leftovers—"

"Cya," Lyon interrupted her, and his tone came out firmer than he himself had expected, "food is never, and under no circumstances, thrown out."

Silence.

Cya looked at him.

Cya kept looking at him.

Cya blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"...Never?"

"Never."

"...Really?"

"Really."

"...Under no circumstances?"

"None."

Silence.

"...And if there are leftovers?" Cya asked.

"You keep them."

"...And if there isn't room to keep them?"

"You donate them."

"...To whom?"

"To whoever needs them. There's always somebody who needs them. But you don't throw them out. Ever."

Cya stayed quiet. She looked at Lyon with that flat expression, but for a second, a very short second, Lyon saw something different on her face.

Not a smile. Not a laugh. Something smaller. Like an internal note. Like a piece of data that she had just jotted down somewhere.

And then, with her voice a little lower than normal, Cya lowered her head.

"...Sorry for the suggestion. I didn't mean to offend you."

Lyon blinked. And suddenly he felt a little silly about how forceful he had gotten.

"No, no, no. Sorry to you. I shouldn't have scolded you like that. It's just that…" Lyon ran a hand through his standing-up hair, trying to smooth it down a bit and failing in the attempt. "It's a personal thing for me. Sorry. And seriously, Cya, I really appreciate this. Really. You're helping me a lot right now. It's just that… I've been going through certain difficulties lately."

Cya raised her head again and looked at him.

"Difficulties?"

"Yes. Nothing serious. Well, not too serious. Just… my stuff."

Silence.

Cya nodded slowly.

"If you're going through difficulties," she reminded him, with that flat voice but now with something firm inside it, "remember that the job I offered you is still on the table."

Lyon blinked.

'Oh, no. The job thing again.'

"It's just that…" he started to say, looking for an excuse that wouldn't sound too rude. "My equipment is very old, Cya. Very old. It's a computer from years ago. I don't think it would work for what you all need."

"I can get you a new one."

"...Right now?"

"Right now. No problem."

Lyon cleared his throat.

"But it's just that… it takes me a long time to adjust to a new computer. You know, the files, the settings, the shortcuts, all of that. It could take me months to get it the way I need it."

Silence.

Cya looked at him.

"I can wait."

"...You can?"

"Yes."

"...Months?"

"Yes."

"...Really, months?"

"Months. Years. Whatever you need."

Silence.

"...Sweetheart, this girl is being weirdly insistent with you."

'I know.'

"Weird, weird."

'I know, I know.'

Lyon scratched the back of his neck, honestly not knowing very well what to say.

Cya's insistence wasn't aggressive. It was more… patient. As if she had decided, from the start, that he was going to accept sooner or later, and she was willing to wait as long as it took.

And that… was strange.

Very strange.

"Well…" said Lyon slowly. "Now that I think about it more, maybe… it wouldn't be that bad. The idea of working with you. I mean, I'm not saying yes right now. But I'm thinking about it more positively."

And for the first time since she had arrived, Cya smiled.

"Then today I made another bit of progress with you," said Cya, with a voice that sounded, barely, barely, a little bit satisfied.

Lyon blinked.

"...Another?"

"Another."

"...What do you mean another?"

Cya didn't answer that part. She just looked at him.

Lyon, who up until that moment had been keeping up with the conversation more or less automatically, stopped for a second to think.

'...Wait a second.'

"What's up, my human?" asked the voice, still amused.

'This girl.'

"What about her?"

'This girl is being too attentive with me.'

"Oh."

'Too much.'

"Yes, my human. I already told you a while ago."

'And she brought me food.'

"Tons of food."

'And she offered me a job.'

"With new equipment."

'And she's willing to wait years.'

"Years."

'...Why?'

"Oh, sweetheart. Finally you're asking yourself that."

Lyon breathed and, looking at Cya directly, decided to ask.

"Cya, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Why are you showing so much interest in me?"

Cya stayed standing in exactly the same spot where she had been throughout the whole conversation, with her hands still crossed in front of her, with her face still flat.

And for a very short moment, Lyon saw in her eyes something he hadn't seen all morning.

Cya remembered, in that second, the first time she had seen him.

But saying that out loud…

Saying it like that, head on, at six in the morning, in the entryway of the apartment of the person in question…

Made her a little embarrassed.

Not a little.

Quite a bit.

Cya coughed once.

"Ahem."

And then, looking at a point just slightly to the left of Lyon, she said with that flat voice:

"That is… personal."

Lyon blinked.

"Personal?"

"Personal."

"...What do you mean personal?"

"Personal. But you can rest easy. It's nothing bad."

Silence.

Lyon looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"...Sweetheart, that answer."

'I know.'

"That answer I don't like."

'Me neither.'

"That answer smells weird."

'It smells really weird.'

Lyon, without really realizing when he had started moving, already had his hand shoved into the closest sandwich basket, opening the lid, pulling out one wrapped in wax paper, and unwrapping it while still looking at Cya with suspicion.

"...Well," said Lyon, deciding to change the subject because he clearly wasn't going to get any more information out of her at that moment. "Do you want one?"

Cya looked at him.

She looked at the sandwich.

She looked at Lyon.

"I already had breakfast."

"Ah. Okay—"

"But yes."

Silence.

Lyon blinked.

"...Yes?"

"Yes."

Lyon, without saying more, took another sandwich from the basket, unwrapped it, and handed it to Cya with both hands, as if he were giving her something important.

Cya took it with both hands too and took a tiny bite, with that flat expression but now with her cheeks a little pinker than normal.

"It's good," said Cya.

"Right?"

"Yes. It's good."

Lyon smiled, taking a bite of his own. And for the first time all morning, all early morning, in the entirety of that endless night, he felt himself relax a little.

Food helped. Food always helped.

Cya, standing there in the entryway, still holding the sandwich with both hands, taking small bites and chewing with that strange calm she put into everything, looked at him.

"And how do you feel about the new phone?"

Lyon, with the sandwich halfway to his mouth, went completely still.

Thank you for reading!

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