“I do not.”
Joon peered around my room, pointing at posters of bands, art of my favorite characters. “Big guys, and blonds.”
That had made me laugh. “Yeah, gimme a big, bad blondie. I’ll take ten, please.”
“Alex, you daydreaming again?” Reed snapped his fingers in front of my face.
I blinked, reached for my cheeks out of habit, and my fingertips didn’t get wet. I wasn’t crying.
“No, just remembering,” I hummed.
It wasn’t pure joy; it was still laced with sadness, but there was fondness. Less despair, and more…salvation. I could still remember him, even if his true voice was lost in the mess. It didn’t have to hurt.
“…Okay, weirdo,” Reed grumbled, before picking up the newspaper in my hand. “You know this stuff is all online, right?”
I’d scoured the VIA headquarters for archives and information, stacking piles of articles in my arms before I’d settled myself in the empty room. Was it overkill? Probably. But could I ask Leo all my questions? Definitely not.
“I try not to look. I stopped when Joon died. It was too hard to see the articles. I could never handle reading them. I don’t think I made it through a single one.”
I was word vomiting, spilling my secrets. Reed was familiar, but talk about Joon was for Minnie only, in therapy sessions, where the emotions were contained. Well, that’s how it wasbefore, anyway. I noted it in my mind to talk about during our next session. Talking about him had been easier lately, and thathadto be progress.
Reed nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “That’s fair; there’s too much shit on there anyway, it gets bleak sometimes. Why are you snooping through this stuff now?”
I shrugged, shifting the papers splayed out in front of us. “I don’t know. Leo made a comment, and it bothered me. I guess…I don’t know who he is outside of what I saw at the academy. I want to understand.”
Reed picked up a newspaper and flipped through the pages before placing it back down in front of me. The picture was of Leo—a closeup of his face, eyes narrowed at the camera, glaring straight at me. Never open, never optimistic, always closed off. His mask was up around his nose and mouth, a silver muzzle. His eyes flared red as soot-covered blond hair fell across his forehead. Leo looked deadly.
“I’m willing to bet you didn’t really know who he was back then, either,” Reed mused. “These articles aren’t gonna tell you who he is, but they’ll tell you how everyone else sees him. He’s not a bad guy; he’s just got a lot of layers. Doesn’t mean you have to put up with it, either, when he’s an ass.”
He turned around and left after that, not waiting to hear my reply. The thing was, I had already started figuring that part out. I started to read, sifting through the articles, every headline making my gut sink further.
‘HERO OR VILLAIN? CINDER BURNS NIGHTMYRE AGAIN.’
‘HOTHEAD HERO LIVES UP TO HIS NAME.’
‘THE FACE OF THE FIRE: CINDER KEEPS FIRE DEPARTMENTS IN BUSINESS.’
‘WHEN WILL THE VIA SAY NOT OKAY?’
Every article had a description of Leo’s escapades; fires, damages, and over-kill arrests detailed out with an endless list of synonyms for destruction. I leaned back in my chair, my head pounding, trying to put myself in his shoes. If everyone watched me through a lens that cast a permanent shadow, I think I’d be angry too.
I hadn’t pulled anything on the building collapse; I thought it would be too much. A small part of myself wanted to pull out my phone, download all the apps I’d deleted three years ago, and start scrolling. What went wrong? Where was Leo? How did he react?
Why didn’t Joon make it out?
That question was the one that plagued me. I didn’t want to know the details, but it clawed at me — that nagging feeling. Joon was fast, nimble; a rabbit. He was the last person anyone would expect to be trapped. I couldn’t imagine Leo leaving him behind, either.
Did he cry, too?
“Who’s the stalker now?” his voice rumbled behind me, and I jolted.
“Damnit,Leo,” I hissed. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
He leaned a hand on the table, his body hovering over me as I went rigid. His eyes searched through the newspapers, stalling on every headline. I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Leo didn’t smell of cigarettes yet; just that musky cologne that made my muscles relax.
“Find anything interesting?” he hummed, picking up one of the newspapers.
His face was blank, focused on the text. On the surface, he could care less. But there was a slight crease in his brow, and his damp hair started to dry as heat radiated from him.
