This sidestory takes place after Project R | Session #004 | Out of Control

Coldrock slammed the door hard enough that the hinges were probably still complaining about it hours later. She sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor with the particular intensity of someone who was actively choosing not to think about anything.

Her shoulder ached beneath its bandaging. The meeting had gone exactly as she'd expected it to go. Which somehow made it worse.

Special privilege....

She heard him before she saw him. The knock at her door was soft. She already knew who it was.

"Go away, Wilt."

A pause. Then the door opened anyway.

"I said!—"

"Just...Checking in..." he said.

That low, lazy drawl. That insufferable shift in his attitude from his night activities.

"Checking in? Pah." She repeated it like it tasted bad.

She looked him up and down with open contempt.

"Don't need you sniffing around me, you fucking sex pest. Save it for whoever's warming your bed this tenday."

The lion man said nothing. He didn't even flinch. He just stood in the doorway, something tucked under his arm catching the light.

...

Coldrock's eyes dropped to it before she could stop herself.

A large bottle. Dark glass. The wax seal stamped with a mark she hadn't seen in years. Something in her chest did something she immediately told it not to do.

...

Fhaldhir Whiskey.

"...Where the fuck did you get that?"

"I got it for you." Wilt said simply.

She stared at it a beat too long. Then her jaw tightened.

"I am not going to fuck you for a bottle of whiskey."

Wilt stepped into the room like she hadn't said anything at all. He set the bottle down on her nightstand with a quiet thunk.

Coldrock watched him, arms crossed, her one eye narrowed.

"Last tenday..." he said, not looking at her. "Your sister..."

...

The room went very quiet.

"I ordered this a while back." He straightened the bottle slightly, as if that mattered.

"Took longer than it should've to arrive. Sorry for that."

...

The silence stretched.

"I don't need your pity," Coldrock said.

The edge in her voice had dulled... just slightly.

Just enough that Wilt noticed it.

"Well..." A slow exhale through his nose.

"Then I'll just leave the bottle here anyways."

Wilt didn't say anything after that. He settled into the small chair near the nightstand, and after a moment, he reached up and took off his sunglasses.

Coldrock looked at him.

She hadn't meant to. But she did — and she immediately wished she could un-see it.

Pale. Colorless. As if there was nothing behind them.

An emptiness. A quiet kind.

The kind of emptiness she knew.

Coldrock looked away.

Her eyes settled on the bottle instead — on the dark glass, on the Fhaldhir seal — and something in her sat down heavily and didn't get back up.

... ... ...

After a while, Wilt rose from the chair and moved toward the door without a word. But there was something in his motion — a slight tilt of his head that said enjoy it, as plainly as if he'd spoken aloud.

"Wilt..."

He stopped.

Coldrock kept her eyes on the bottle. Her jaw worked for a moment. She was someone who had opinions about everything and made absolutely certain everyone knew them.

But right now she had nothing. Just the shape of words she didn't particularly want to say.

"The sex pest thing..."

A pause.

Short. Grudging.

"That was out of line."

She looked at him.

"And..."

Her mouth thinned.

"Thanks...."

Wilt held her gaze for just a moment. Then he put his sunglasses back on, and left.

The bottle sat on the nightstand. It didn't fix anything...

But then again... Neither did being alone.