The text had been short.
Red: need help
Then, a second, four minutes later:
Red: cut wrists
Zoey didn’t waste time asking questions. She was already pulling her jacket on before the message finished sending.
The undercity was quiet when she arrived, quiet in the way of places where no one wants to get involved. Red’s door was unlocked.
Inside, the air was dense with the smell of iron and cheap liquor. Red was on the floor beside the cot, back against the wall, knees bent. Her jacket sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. Blood had matted the fur halfway down both forearms. Her hands twitched when Zoey came in, but she didn’t look up.
Zoey closed the door with her heel. “Still breathing?”
“Unfortunately.” Red’s voice was thin, dry from dehydration.
Zoey crossed to the sink, pulled the cracked medkit from the counter, and came back without looking at her. She crouched, caught Red’s wrists gently but firmly, and rotated them to see the damage. The cuts were deep enough to bleed hard, not deep enough to sever tendons. Sloppy. Not hesitation marks...more like someone aiming for the point of no return and missing.
Zoey didn’t say that out loud. She tore open a packet of clotting gauze and wrapped the first arm. “Hold still.”
Red leaned her head back against the wall. “Didn’t think you’d come.”
“You texted me.” Zoey pulled the wrap snug, taped it down. “You knew I’d come.”
“Could’ve ignored it.”
Zoey glanced up briefly. “Not my style.” She moved to the second wrist. Blood was still beading at the edges. She pressed fresh gauze into place. Red hissed at the contact but didn’t pull away.
They didn’t talk for a while. The sound in the room was the crinkle of packaging and the slow tear of tape. Zoey finished the second bandage, checked both, then sat back on her heels.
“You eat anything today?”
Red gave a small shake of her head.
Zoey stood, stepped to the shelf, and took down an unopened ration pack. She opened it, set the food on the low table, and filled a cup at the sink. When she came back, she handed Red the cup first.
“Small sips. Don’t chug.”
Red drank, her hands shaking enough that Zoey kept one palm under the base of the cup to steady it. When the cup was empty, Zoey set it aside and put the food in her lap.
“Slow,” she said.
Red looked at the package without opening it. “Not hungry.”
“That’s not the point.” Zoey stayed kneeling in front of her, voice steady. “You lost blood. You need something in you before you pass out for real.”
Red tore the wrapper open and took a small bite. Chewed mechanically.
Zoey watched her until half the pack was gone. Then she sat back, leaning against the side of the cot. “You done?”
“For now.”
Zoey nodded once. “Good enough.”
They stayed like that for several minutes. Red’s breathing steadied, though her eyes kept drifting toward the floor.
Finally, she spoke. “I wasn’t… trying to make you fix me.”
“I know.”
“I just didn’t want to be alone for it.”
Zoey turned her head, met her eyes. “You’re not.”
Red held that gaze for a second before looking away again. Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “Don’t go yet.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” Zoey settled in, stretching one leg out, the other bent. She didn’t touch her again, just stayed where she was, close enough to hear her breathing, close enough to move if she started to fade.
Red ate one more bite, then let the ration pack fall into her lap. She leaned her head back, eyes half-closed.
The room stayed quiet except for the faint hum of the ventilation fan.
Zoey didn’t fill the silence. She just stayed.
Red’s head tilted slightly toward the wall. Her eyes were closed now, but her breathing wasn’t deep enough for sleep. She shifted her bandaged wrists in her lap like she wasn’t sure where to put them.
Zoey reached over, picked up the empty water cup, and went to refill it. The faucet sputtered twice before giving a steady trickle. She brought it back and set it within arm’s reach. “If you feel dizzy, drink.”
Red didn’t open her eyes. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when people are bleeding on their own floor.” Zoey eased herself down to sit cross-legged. She set her forearms across her knees, the metal plates of her prosthetics catching the dim light from the armor cradle across the room.
For a long minute, the only sound was Red chewing slowly through the last of the ration bar, each bite deliberate. She set the wrapper aside without looking at Zoey. “This isn’t some intervention, right?”
Zoey’s voice stayed level. “No. It’s me making sure you don’t die tonight.”
Red’s lips twitched faintly, something between a grimace and a smirk. “Guess that’s the bare minimum.”
“Sometimes the minimum’s the only realistic goal.”
That landed. Red’s eyes opened halfway, fixed on the far wall. “You talk like you’ve been here before.”
“I have.” Zoey adjusted her position, leaning back against the cot. “More than once.”
Red turned her head just enough to glance at her, searching her face for something, maybe judgment, maybe pity. She didn’t find either.
Zoey continued, matter-of-fact. “The first time, nobody was there. Second time, somebody was. That’s why there wasn’t a third.”
Red blinked slowly, her breathing uneven. “You think this is my second?”
“I think it doesn’t matter what number it is.” Zoey didn’t raise her voice, didn’t soften it either. “I’m here now. That’s what counts.”
Red sat with that for a while. She took the water, drank half, and set it down again.
“You’re not going to start telling me it gets better?”
“No.” Zoey shifted her gaze toward the floor. “It doesn’t get better. It just gets… less constant. And you get faster at spotting the drop before it happens.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. But it’s still living.”
Red gave a quiet exhale, almost a laugh, but without humor. “Living feels overrated most days.”
Zoey didn’t argue. “Yeah. It does.”
Silence settled again. Red leaned her head back against the wall, eyes half-closed, not quite resting but not watching Zoey anymore.
After a while, Zoey asked, “You need me to stay the night?”
Red’s answer came without hesitation. “Yeah.”
Zoey shifted, braced her back fully against the cot frame. “Alright.”
Neither of them said anything else. Red’s breathing slowed further, her body starting to sag under the weight of fatigue and blood loss. Zoey stayed upright, watching for the subtle signs, skin tone, the rhythm of breaths, the way her hands twitched when she was slipping toward sleep.
Hours passed like that. The hum of the ventilation and the faint drip of a leaky pipe were the only constants. Zoey didn’t move except to nudge the water closer when Red stirred.
When Red finally drifted fully under, her face had lost some of its tightness. Zoey let her own shoulders drop a fraction, still awake, still keeping watch.
She didn’t think about what tomorrow would bring. Tonight’s job was simple. Keep her alive.
Zoey had meant to stay sitting upright, but sometime after Red stopped shifting in her sleep, she’d slid onto the cot. It was barely wide enough for one, and with Zoey’s size, the right half of the mattress bowed like it had a structural failure.
Red’s weight had naturally rolled toward the low point. By the time the dim emergency lighting of the room shifted from deep red to its paler “morning” tone, she was pressed full-length against Zoey’s left side, head angled toward her collarbone.
Her first sensation on waking wasn’t the light. It was warmth, steady, heavier than any blanket. Her cheek was against the soft but dense fur of Zoey’s upper chest, the faint heat of muscle underneath. One of Zoey’s legs was bent slightly, leaving Red’s thigh resting over it.
Then she noticed the problem: her body’s involuntary response.
She didn’t need to look to know. Her anatomy was fully engorged, pushing awkwardly against the inside of her jeans. Not painful, but definitely obvious.
Her jaw tightened. She stayed still, not wanting to move abruptly and wake Zoey. The fox’s breathing was slow and even, one prosthetic arm resting loosely across her own abdomen, the other draped down toward the edge of the cot. The segmented plating of those arms caught the dim light, but everything else was relaxed, tail slack against the far side, horns tilted slightly back from the pillow.
Red closed her eyes again, more in resignation than sleep. She told herself to shift away, but the cot’s slope made that a fight she’d lose. She could feel the subtle vibration of Zoey’s slow breathing through her ribcage. Against her better judgment, she stayed still.
An hour passed. Zoey woke to the sound of someone trying very carefully to open a wrapper. Her eyes adjusted fast in the dim light; Red was sitting up on the edge of the cot, peeling the corner of a ration bar like she was afraid it would explode. Her shoulders were hunched, ears angled back, head jerking slightly toward every sound from the hallway outside.
Her eyes were brown. Dull, heavy-lidded, the shade they took when she was sad.
Zoey didn’t move for a second, just watched. Red caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and froze.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, voice low.
“You didn’t,” Zoey answered, sitting up. The cot groaned under the shift in weight, the sagging mattress trying to drag them together again. “Was just thinking we should get you something better than those.” She nodded toward the bar in Red’s hand.
Red shrugged. “It’s food.”
“It’s barely food,” Zoey said, standing and stretching her back until the vertebrae popped like bubble wrap. “We’re going shopping.”
That earned her a wary glance, her eyes flickering amber for a moment, suspicion, irritation, before settling back to brown. “Shopping where?”
“Grocery first,” Zoey said, already pulling her jacket on, “then a superstore. You need more than food.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got one working light, a fridge from before the war, and a bedframe that could double as scrap metal.”
Her eyes shifted slightly again, just a trace of green, and then she looked away. “I don’t like-”
“Crowds,” Zoey finished for her. “I know. We’ll work around it.”
After a quick rinse and refresh, They took Zoey’s truck, the cab warm from the morning sun hitting the windshield. Red sat in the passenger seat with her hood up, hands deep in her jacket pockets, tracking every vehicle in the mirrors as they drove. Zoey kept her voice even, talking about nothing important; last maintenance on the Mantis, a broken streetlight near her own place, a new vendor selling knockoff weapon parts in the market district.
By the time they pulled into the grocery lot, Red's eyes had gone hazel, quiet self-hate simmering under the surface. Her pulse had evened out enough for her to follow Zoey inside without hesitation. Still, the moment the doors slid open, her eyes darted constantly, mapping exits. Two front, one rear through the loading dock, side hall near the restrooms.
Zoey noticed. She slowed her pace, letting Red walk a half-step ahead when the aisle narrowed, so she never felt boxed in. She didn’t try to steer the cart around her, just followed her lead.
Red started grabbing items with quick, precise movements: protein-rich canned meals, packets of dried fruit, shelf-stable soups, oats. Zoey watched, then added fresh produce, bread, eggs, and a stack of bottled water.
“You know I don’t have room for half of this,” Red said.
“You will,” Zoey replied.
The superstore was harder. Bigger space, more noise, more people cutting across aisles without looking. Red’s eyes shifted amber again whenever someone moved too close, her body tense, head on a swivel. Every time, Zoey adjusted position so that anyone approaching had to go through her first.
Bed frames were first. Red went for the cheapest, steel tube frame in a flat box. Zoey shook her head and steered her toward the reinforced composite section. “You’ll thank me when it doesn’t squeak or collapse.”
Red smirked faintly at that, her eyes flashing a muted green just for a second, but let her pick the one with bolted joints.
The mattress was a similar disagreement, Red trying to settle for thin, Zoey pushing for something with actual support. “If you hate it, I’ll take it,” Zoey said, dead serious. Red let her win that one.
The fridge section was easier. Red picked one just big enough for the basics, matte black, no smart panel, no cameras. “Less to break,” she said. Zoey nodded approval.
Water filters came next. Zoey found a countertop unit with replaceable cartridges, no electric pump. Red approved that instantly.
In the lighting aisle, Zoey grabbed a box of RGB bulbs and tossed it in the cart. Red raised an eyebrow. “Fun colors?”
“Light sensitivity,” Zoey said. “You can set them to warm amber at night, kill the migraine triggers.”
For the first time that day, her eyes shifted to a softer brown. “Didn’t know you thought about that.”
“I think about a lot of things. Probably too much.” Zoey replied, moving on.
By the time they checked out, Red’s eyes were back to amber, catching on the register beeps and every door opening. Zoey handled the payment, loaded the cart, and got them back to the truck without hurry but without any wasted motion.
Back at Red’s place, they carried everything down in three trips. Red started unboxing the fridge immediately, eyes flicking green again when Zoey set up the bedframe; guilt at letting someone else do the work. Zoey ignored it, easily breaking down the old frame into parts with her cybernetic hands, and moved on to the mattress.
When everything was in place, they tested the lights. Red sat cross-legged on the bed while Zoey cycled the bulbs through their settings, stopping on a low amber glow that softened the edges of the room.
“That’s… better,” Red admitted quietly, her eyes matching the warm tone for once, an amber similar to the fire of Zoey's eyes, but calmer.
They didn’t talk about dinner. Zoey just cooked in the tiny corner that passed for a kitchen. Red leaned against the counter, watching her work without realizing she’d stopped scanning the door. Her eyes stayed hazel for a while, self-hate simmering, but it was quieter.
After they ate, they ended up on the new bed without discussing it. Zoey sat with her back against the wall, legs stretched out. Red sat beside her at first, hands folded in her lap. At some point, she shifted closer, then closer again, until she was leaning against Zoey’s side, head resting just under her shoulder, one arm wrapped around Zoey like she was a pillow.
When she realized it, her eyes flashed brown, sad at the realization of what she was doing, but she didn’t pull away. Zoey didn’t move. Didn’t even glance down. Just stayed warm and solid beside her.
Red let herself stay there. Her grip on Zoey’s arm tightened slightly, not from fear but to keep the contact real.
It hit her then, quietly, without warning: this was the first day in longer than she could remember that hadn’t sucked. No sharp drop-offs. No crawling back into a hole to wait it out. Just… a day.
Her eyes softened again, brown fading toward green, —not guilt, exactly, but something unsteady, uncertain, that she didn’t have a word for. She closed her eyes for a second, let the thought sit, and didn’t try to push it away.
Zoey’s tail moved once against the blanket, a slow, idle shift, and Red felt her breathing steady even further.
For the first time in a lifetime, she didn’t feel like she was surviving. She felt like she was living.
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