The kitchen absolutely smelled wonderful and would have calmed anyone who was having a rough time. The scent of baking dough, of slightly melting chocolate, roasting pecans, all of it just filled the kitchen with an absolutely wondrous scent, the kind which harkened back to youth and innocent, before age and adulthood pulled a black bag over your head and beat you senseless with a bag full of oranges and charged you money for the trouble.

Okay, to maybe the baking wasn’t totally working but his thoughts were still better than they were when he had first woken up.

Booker continued to mix his dough, looking at nothing and everything at the same time. His eyes were open but he wasn’t exactly seeing anything around him, rather he was just staring blindly into space, trying to find peace in just the careful turning of the bowl in one hand and the mixing with the spoon in a clockwise motion with the other. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have thought that there was anything wrong. He was just another man, mixing a bowl of cookie dough in his kitchen. Oh but there was so much more wrong with the scenario.

Aside from the lack of a song on Booker’s lips and his slightly disheveled appearance from waking up with a start, the kitchen itself was a conflict on all fronts. While, yes, the baking smelled absolutely amazing from the outskirts of the kitchen, the second one drew too close, they were caught with the conflicting aromas of baking and cleaning supplies mixing in the air. It would have been enough to distract and turn weaker stomachs. But for Booker, he hardly noticed.

He could still feel it. Somewhere in the edges of his mind he could feel his heart just waiting to start racing agin. The anxiety was still there, trying and looking for a place to weasel in the second he gave it an opening. Whenever he felt it creeping on, Booker renewed his efforts in mixing, prepping pans, cutting sheets of parchment and grabbing his tablespoons. He hated this feeling, evert little twitch it made him feel, he absolutely despised. Even though it never happened, he wouldn’t let it beat him. Not this time.

Truthfully Booker was so preoccupied with keeping himself distracted that he didn’t even notice the arrival of another person. He had actually forgotten that his sister was in this night, even though the two of them had had dinner together. He gulped, feeling a little twitch in his throat as he continued to focus on mixing, trying to not overmix but knowing that he needed to get everything incorporated/

>> ”Book?”

He didn’t hear her at first. Instead Booker was busy grabbing a pair of oven mitts which he placed over his hands and pulled down the oven door. A cloud of heat washed over him as he slipped his gloved hand into the oven and pulled out a black tray with golden brown cookies sitting in neat rows, twelve to be exact. Quietly he tapped the tops of them, checking to make sure they were done, or mostly done, and set them aside to cool. As one tray was set aside, Booker dusted off his hands and went for the second sheet he had prepared.

Grabbing for the second tray, he turned, and jumped as he realized someone else was actually with him…his sister, Nessa. He flashed her a brave (and clearly forced) smile as he turned back to his sheet.

>>”Hey Book…Rough night?”

Her words washed over him. For a second it didn’t seem like he was going to answer, instead opting to remain on task, but a second later he straightened up, glancing to her after he had put a new tray into the oven. He shrugged his shoulders. ”A little.” With no more pans to put cookies on to await their turns, he picked up the nearest broom and started to sweep. ”Bothered me. That I didn’t do the dishes after dinner…you know? He said a little distractedly. He could feel that odd vibration trying to settle in his chest again. He renewed his efforts with sweeping. ”Leave them out, we get bugs, don’t want that.”A few seconds passed before he spoke again, still not looking at her. ”What’re you doing up? Late for you, isn’t it?”

Booker was so often the cheery, positive presence to everyone in the waking day. He was a pain on occasion, but he was a good, kind person who was a joy to be around. There were sides of Booker the world at large was not aware of, but those were the sides Nessa was around for, and it was hard to realize her strong big brother had his own demons.

She was aware of what happened to Booker at that college party. It was huge news because, at the time, it made no sense to anyone else. Vanessa already knew Booker had some mutation-cancelling power, even if she was not yet aware of Adapteds as a concept. What happened to Booker’s friend was a tragedy, but Vanessa was just selfishly happy she did not lose her brother in the incident.

An event like that was not something people walked away from unscathed, but Booker’s wounds were mental rather than physical. They were thankfully not a nightly occurrence, but occasionally, she would find him shaken in the middle of the night. The disarray of the kitchen was a sign of his current mental state. He was grasping at projects, occupying his mind, unable to focus himself. The strong scents of cleaning supplies were prominent and clashing with the scents of baked goods, and Booker was oblivious to it all.

Vanessa toughed her way through the odd collection of scents, walking over to Booker. She seemed to catch him off guard, and he tried to smile, but it was clear in his eyes he was not entirely there with her. ”I understand,” she said softly. ”Being a neat freak is one of your admirable roommate traits after all.” Seeing him cleaning in the early hours of the morning was not a comforting sight, but she was trying to keep things soft and light. She wanted to ease into talking to him to make sure he did not just shut down.

He avoided eye contact, asking what she was doing up. Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. ”You know me—got sucked into a video game.”

Vanessa carefully extended her hand, hoping to rest it on Booker’s shoulder if he would allow it. ”The cookies smell delicious, Book. Why don’t you take a small break to eat with me? We can talk a little…”

He needed to keep busy. Despite the draining reserves of energy he had in his body, he needed to keep moving, keep doing something so that his mind didn’t stray for too long on any one thing or another. Truth be told, somewhere under the beehive of activity in his brain, he knew that what he was doing wasn’t going to help. The move energy he spent being distracted, the more tired he was going to get. He was going to end up completely burning himself out if he didn’t stop himself and then it would be even worse. But at the moment he didn’t care, he just knew that hands, feet, and mind needed to stay occupied.

After he had finished prepping cookies to go onto a tray, finished mixing what was left in the bowl, Booker then turned to sweeping. Some of the flour had fallen on the ground, sprinkling into abstract patterns against the tiles. A grumble on his lips, Booker started to sweep, collecting every last bit of it that he could, sweeping the lines into a standing dustpan that he had at the ready.

Nessa confronted him, asking after his night. He gave her an innocent answer, focusing on the fact that he was cleaning in order to keep bugs out of the place. It was a sentiment that he knew Nessa appreciated, especially since she didn’t always clean up after herself right away.

>> ”I understand. Being a neat freak is one of your admirable roommate traits after all.”

Her voice was soft, soothing, and with it even Booker could feel himself falter a little. However he kept his eyes down, sweeping, collecting a stubborn line of flour that wouldn’t enter the pan. But she was up. He knew that Nessa kept strange hours, often because of her job, other times just because she was her. So he asked, what was she doing up so late?

>>”You know me—got sucked into a video game.”

”Ah. I keep telling you,” he said, turning his back to her as he found another spot to sweep up. And another. And another. ”I’m going to have to mop…” he said as he set aside the broom and dustpan, without even dumping the contents into the nearby trashcan. He started to reach for a nearby mop, vaguely wondering if they even had any cleaning solution left. He needed to add that to shopping list. Oh shopping! He could probably pick up some more things. And wasn’t there a twenty-four hour liquor store just ten streets over? He could walk that…

>>”The cookies smell delicious, Book. Why don’t you take a small break to eat with me? We can talk a little…”

He jumped the second her hand was placed upon his shoulder. So startled was he that he dropped his mop, causing it to clatter against a nearby counter. The sudden noise jolted Booker, his heart pounding in his ears even more now as he took a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t turn back to face Nessa but instead gulped, closed his eyes, clenched his fists, then knelt down to pick up mop back up. Quietly he shook his head before he peeked over his shoulder, trying to force another smile on his lips but the glisten was there in his eyes.

”I…I’m good…” he whispered in a low voice. He then gestured to the tray of cookies that were already baked. ”But…t-take one…” His was still shaking. ”…only one. Don’t want to upset your stomach before bed…” He sniffled, standing still, holding onto the mop. He knew he was supposed to be moving forward, that he was supposed to go and grab a bucket to fill with water…but his feet wouldn’t respond. Huh…

In many ways, Vanessa genuinely looked up to her big brother. He was good hearted and would not hurt a fly unless it was the difference between keeping someone safe. If he had some mutation like laser eyes or waterbending, he would be an X-Man in a heartbeat. He was smart and he was strong and he was kind.

He was also human, and had his own struggles. It was never easy to see heroes in pain, lost to the world. When he spoke, it felt distant and absent-minded. Vanessa could not tell if he was speaking to her or to himself. Maybe he was even speaking to someone else. It would not be the first time, and trauma often left people with ghosts to haunt them.

When she touched Booker’s shoulder, his response was immediate and distressing. She managed to startle him into dropping his mop. The clatter against the counter was loud in the silent kitchen, and Vanessa could not help but wince. His own reaction to the sound was more telling. Booker was rattled. Part of him was still back at the house party, and it was never easy to drag him out.

Vanessa had to play the situation slowly, because pushing Booker would only force him to shut down. She leaned over the counter, watching her brother stand there like a shattered soul. She offered a half-smile, doing her best to speak softly and warmly. ”I’ll try, Book. These are your cookies, though. It’s hard to stop with one.” It would have been true even if she was not trying to find any venue to be nice.

”But maybe… you can take a small break anyway?” she hazarded to try again. If left to her own devices, Booker would be like that until morning came. ”I could use the company while I eat my cookie. And maybe we could use some one-on-one sibling time.” It was too ambitious to hope that she could get him to sit down, but maybe she could slow him down. If he could hold still long enough, perhaps she could even pull him from the crumbling house in his mind.

It was one of the few times she was glad she could not see Booker’s thoughts, because even imagining what her brother went through was hard enough.

He could feel it there. That black-faced serpent lurking in the edges of his peripheral vision. It undulated and spun, teasing him, testing him with encroaching darkness, a threat that more panic and suffering was soon to come if he allowed himself to sit still for too long. He was being hunted. That’s what this was. It was teasing him as it danced diabolically just on the outside, making his skin crawl, causing his breath to hitch whenever he concentrated on it for too long. Soon enough it would wrap itself so tightly around his body, constricting his lungs from the inside that for the briefest of seconds he would be convinced that his body had forgotten how to breathe. It was a lie, of course, but in that moment, it couldn’t feel more real.

Nessa was around. Of that much he was still aware. She was trying to talk to him, trying to speak in soothing tones. Though he may not initially realize it, he knew what she was doing, or at least what she was trying to do. She had brought him out of these moments before with persistence and calming words. Would it work this time, though? In all honesty it felt hopeless. He could still hear Jamal, still hear the screams, and the guilt bore down on him like an elephant draped across his shoulders.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t move? Who could move while holding up a giant pachyderm?

>> ”I’ll try, Book. These are your cookies, though. It’s hard to stop with one.”

The smallest upturn of one corner of his lips. She made a joke…well, kind of. He knew that she loved it when he baked. As a matter of fact, more often than not, he had to protect platters of cookies from her that he was planning to bring to work. Sometimes even a special batch had to be made just to distract her. Nessa was a known cookie fiend.

However, for as kind as her comment was, it did little to spur Booker out of his mood. His head tilted down, eyes glistening a bit as he tried to fend off another panic-induced vibration in his chest. Grip tighten more and more upon the handle, his arms quivered as he tried to fend off the sensation. He hated this. He hated feeling like this. Why did he have to feel this much sadness and regret? Was it his fault that he survived? Couldn’t he have been able to save someone? What good was being different when you couldn’t do anything right? Why even bother taking in another brea-

>>”But maybe… you can take a small break anyway? I could use the company while I eat my cookie. And maybe we could use some one-on-one sibling time.”

He stopped. Her words cut through the din of darkness that had nearly sunk far deeper into his mind than he would have liked. He breathed again, his eyes began to move, looking this way and that, and his grip loosen upon the mop handle, the redness in his palms giving away to just how hard he had been holding it. His breathing was labored but he was breathing again, only now everything hurt. Exhaustion from his activities were settling in and his arms were quivering even more at this point. Shakily he set the mop aside, leaning it against a counter as his eyes drifted finally drifted back to the woman who stood by his side, trying to get him to sop.

He held his breath, gulped down a particularly large frog in his throat. He still felt that nervous energy trying forcing his movements, making him fidget and twist a little, but meekly he nodded his head to her. A small break didn’t sound so bad, right? Besides, he doubted she would have left him alone if he persisted in saying no. Nessa was nothing if not persistent.

”O-Okay…” he whispered.

Suddenly he turned, finding a new project as he sought out a small plate and a glass. His mind pre-occupied, Booker plated three cookies, none of them uniform but still golden brown and full of chocolate and nutty goodness. Setting them in a circle, he reached into the fridge for the milk that was almost expired. He didn’t use all of it for the dough, so he poured the remains into a glass (quarter-full) and stepped to return to his sister’s side. However, just one step in, his hip caught on the counter and Booker fumbled, the victim of his misstep being the glass of milk that tumbled free from his hand.

Time slowed as the glass fell. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to reach out and stop it, instead he just watched it as it turned, spilling its contents upon the ground. A resounding shatter filled the air, the glass splintering and floor turning into a shrapnel-filled minefield of white lactose and sparkling shards of transparent teeth scattered about. Booker stared at the mess he had just made, dumbfounded, his eyes trying to survey all of it but it looked as big as an ocean to him at this point.

His gaze lifting to catch Nessa’s Booker felt that familiar tightness again in his chest as he meekly set the plate of cookies back on the counter. He made to reach for a roll of paper towels but they were just out of reach of him and, considering that he was barefoot, he didn’t want to step closer to the mess than he already was. Just out of reach. Wasn’t that the way?

Shoulders shaking and eyes no longer able to hold back the tears, he covered his face as he leaned his back against the nearest wall. Slowly slid down until he was sitting squarely on his butt, legs tucked in, head buried in his arms. ”It’s my fault. I’m sorry…” His voice was small and tired and wet as he spoke. To whom was he speaking to, Nessa, Jamal, a gathering of faceless students whom he saw caught in an explosion, it wasn’t known. But he was most assuredly sorry.

Her offer met resistance, but Booker eventually submitted to her request for company and cookies. It was a fine line—to be persistent but delicate. Vanessa’s life experiences and personality prepared her to be the former, but not quite the latter. When it was important, she could reel back her aggressive, over-bearing style and that situational ability. She needed Booker to slowly work his way out of his own head so he could interact with her and be with her in the present.

Vanessa was so sure she was getting through to her brother as he reached into the fridge to grab what was left of the milk. He poured it into a nearby glass and made a move to approach her but his hip bumped the counter and the glass came tumbling from his hands.

At the moment of impact, she could have sworn she saw her brother shatter alongside the glass that littered the tiled floor. Everything moved slowly as Booker watched the mess he accidentally made. Vanessa was only watching him. Eventually his eyes looked back to her, and he made a half-hearted move for the paper towels, but he was stuck.

Booker slid to the ground and closed in on himself. Vanessa could feel her heart aching for him as he weakly apologized. The apology was not for her; not really. Sure, part of him might be apologizing for the mess, but he was not in their kitchen. He was back at college.

Vanessa quickly, and as carefully as she could, walked around the danger zone of glass to get to her brother. She dropped down, sitting on her legs beside him. She was unsure if she could reach him in the dark place she had traveled to, but she could not walk away and leave him to his trauma.

Her nervous hand pressed against his back, wondering if he even felt her there. Slowly, she rubbed his back in a calming up-and-down motion. Her voice was quiet and repetitive. ”It’s not your fault. Booker, I promise, it’s not your fault.” She could not even blame the broken glass on him; until she helped him out of his waking nightmare, he was not really himself. ”There was nothing you could do, Booker. We’ve… we’ve talked about this. It was… tragic. But you didn’t know. It was something you couldn’t change, but that’s okay. It’s not your fault…” Booker did not know his friend was a mutant. He did not know he was an Adapted, even if Vanessa did at the time. There was no way to know Jamal would explode, or that he had the means to stop it if he kept close enough, but that did not matter. Booker knew with hindsight that things could have been different if he had known or even just been lucky, and that was going to haunt him forever.

The sound and that mess, any other day it would have been just another annoyance, another reminder that people dropped things, that they made mistakes. But for someone such as Booker, someone who was being sucked into that deep, black hole of sadness and guilt that would follow him the rest of his days, the shattered glass was just another reminder of how terrible his misdeeds were. The real and the fictional, those things that he blamed himself for that he, in no way, should. But that was the thing with guilt, whether or not you were guilty, it was a prison of your own making.

Broken, Booker pressed his back against the fridge and just slowly slid down onto his backside. The sounds of voices crying, screaming, people long since dead, survivors who shot him accusing glances, all of it rebounded in his head to near deafening levels as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper. It was the bottom of the pit and it was here where the darkest and most despicable of whispers could be heard. Normally the librarian was able to silence this part of his head, but at his lowest, weakened by lack of sleep, exhaustion, being startled, and creating a mess, the man didn’t have the will – and that was all it needed.

He felt it slither in. Even as his sister started to cross the room, dodging around the landmine-riddled field he had just created, he could feel those sickly black claws latch into part of his brain and seep in. Ugh, it was a disgusting feeling. That sensation of guilt was like ice water being poured down the back of his head, falling through his spine and spreading outward, frosting over his nerves and causing him to shiver.

There was no recognition from him as Nessa occupied the space at his side. He barely felt her hand reach his back, stroking him as if he were a scared child. Part of him wanted to be offended for being patronized like this, but that really wasn’t the real him that was upset by it. It was more the darker voices, the ones lashing at him from the shadows, trying to dissuade and disprove everything that Nessa was going to say.

>> ”It’s not your fault. Booker, I promise, it’s not your fault.”

As much as the darkness tried to hold onto him, Nessa voice was still a soothing balm. He felt himself crumbling a little more, his face buried in his arms as he tried to just shrink away from the world, away from those invisible eyes that accused him of living where so many others had perished. He ground his teeth, trying to struggle out of it, leaning a little in his sister’s direction in an attempt keep latching onto that sympathy and caring, the only warm fuzziness that would rescue him from the ever growing pit.

>>”There was nothing you could do, Booker. We’ve… we’ve talked about this. It was… tragic. But you didn’t know. It was something you couldn’t change, but that’s okay. It’s not your fault…”

He sniffled. He could still see Jamal, the faces of those people at the party, and suddenly the guilt weighed so heavily upon him that his shoulders turned rock hard with tension. His face hidden, he shook his head, grinding his teeth hard as energy bristled through him. It had to be his fault. He was an adapted. Even if he didn’t know it at the time, all he had to do was walk up to Jamal and his aura would have prevented all of it. Jamal would be alive. Those people closest to him would be alive. Because he chose to stay back, Booker was the cause. It was only logical.

Weakly a question that plagued him whenever these thoughts invaded slithered out from between his lips. ”Why me?” he asked softly. ”Why did it have to be me that walked away?”

Booker was a good man who worked at the New York Public Library. If there was a sign of the universe being unfair, it was a man like that being struck with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Survivor’s Guilt. He chose to attend a college party one night, like pretty much every person to ever attend college. It was the cruel luck of the draw that he would be the lone survivor in such an unpredictable tragedy.

It tore her heart in two to listen to Booker dealing with the knowledge that he was the one person who would survive the explosion where he lost so many friends. Booker was normally so cheerful, but to watch him question whether the universe was wrong to spare him was not easy. Sure, she was selfish, but if one person had to escape the blast, she needed it to be Booker.

And that was the answer, as far as she was concerned. ”Because if you didn’t, who else was going to look out for your hot mess of a sister?” There were tears forming in her own eyes because the thought of not having Booker around through the lowest points of her life was a reality she could not picture. Things had never been perfect for Vanessa, but the support of her brother did a lot to mitigate that.

Sitting on her knees eliminated some of the height discrepancies while they were sitting, so Nessa could press her forehead against her brother’s shoulder. ”It was unfair what happened, but you’re here because too many people need a kind-hearted, witty goofball. So please forgive yourself, Book. At least for tonight.” This would not be the last time she found him haunted, but she hoped one day the ghosts of his past would come around more and more infrequently.

Until then, she was going to be there for her brother, because he would never hesitate to be there for her.

The bottom of the barrel hurt. It wasn’t so much physical pain, but an unending pressure that just kept building and building and building atop of his shoulders. Booker could feel it, pressing down harder with every passing second, to the point that he almost feared that his bones would break. But that was the trick of it, this was the kind of discomfort and pain that was never ending. Anything physical would eventually pass, but this was not the same with the emotional. It pressed you until you felt like you were going to break – but it never did. Somehow that made the whole ordeal much, much worse.

Booker was there now, back at that party, feeling the guilt as it coursed through his body, pulling him deeper and deeper into the muck that wouldn’t set him free no matter what. It accused him, snapped, and jabbed at him for being the survivor, for being the one person who walked away from that disaster when so many others deserved to live. In that moment, Booker would have been more than happy to have swapped places with any of them, all of them. He didn’t deserve what he had, did he?

But, even as Booker was plagued with these thoughts, even as he felt the crushing weight attempt to grind him down into the dust, he felt the smallest touch of light cut through the darkness. With it, it carried a voice that was familiar and compassionate. Normally Nessa’s tone dripped with sarcasm and sass but, right now, it was sweet, tender, and a testament to the relationship that the two of them had.

>> ”Because if you didn’t, who else was going to look out for your hot mess of a sister?”

He sniffled. If there was one thing that therapy had taught him in the years that passed since the incident was that he needed to look at the things he did have. It was a tragedy to those people who passed, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t be happy. He had every right to live as anyone else. It took the soft words of his sister to remind him of that, that he was important, that he did deserve to be there because someone did actually care.

>> ”It was unfair what happened, but you’re here because too many people need a kind-hearted, witty goofball. So please forgive yourself, Book. At least for tonight.”

He felt her forehead press against his shoulder and she was clearly worn out from the ordeal, from thinking about that night too. It had been terrifying incident all around. And though she was probably tired of having to have this talk with him on and off over the years, despite that she still managed to stay by his side.

His arms slowly unfolded, one of them wrapping around his sister and pulling her in for a tight hug. He was coming out of it, slowly, but he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. The muck was loosening its grip, tendrils snapping off as he pulled her in more. Finally Booker just laid his head on his sister shoulder and allow himself to cry. Crying was both the worst and best part of this ordeal. While it was saddening, digusting, and well, wet, it was also the only way to exorcise these demons. It was in the act of crying that Booker could finally forgive himself.

Rubbing his wet cheek against his sister’s shoulder, he briefly opened his bleary eyes before closing them again and exhaling a deep, shaky breath. ”Okay…” he whispered as he nodded to her last plea for him to forgive himself. ”…okay.”

It felt like a war of attrition fighting against her brother’s past, but he was the one on the front lines. She was, at best, artillery support, but she was not going to let Booker fight the good fight alone. He had seen the worst of her dysphoric moments and she saw his post-traumatic stress episodes. They had a lot of family to make up for, but they learned to get through life together anyway.

Her soft words and tears were not for naught, as Booker’s arm wrapped around her tightly. She could feel tears seeping through her sleeve when Booker rubbed his cheek against her, but her shirt would survive. Booker was coming out of his endeavor, and that was what mattered.

Vanessa reciprocated the hug, smiling warmly. ”You don’t have to rush back to sleep if you’re not ready. We could chill for a bit. Maybe through something on Binge.” After what he saw in his dreams, Booker might be reluctant to rush back into bed. He would need sleep eventually; working at the library would be challenging if he was a sleep-deprived zombie. Vanessa did not help save her brother only to lose him to a book avalanche in the stacks. ”Whatever you need, Book.”

Eventually, Vanessa got to her feet and offered her brother a hand up from the ground. She eyed the glass on the ground, shaking her head. ”We can take care of that tomorrow. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” All the darkness of their pasts would not take away their tomorrows.

Chapter Three: Sundays are for Rest and Family

Life was going great. Vanessa was a far cry from the mopey girl who was struggling to get over her recent heartbreak. The mess with Becca was a part of her past and it grew more distant by the day. Vanessa took her time processing her pain, finding a way to move past it, and rebuilding a new, better life without the need for someone.

And as often happened in life, being happy without someone was usually the precursor to someone new finding their way into your life anyway. Gina had wriggled her way into Vanessa’s life, and after about a month of being inseparable friends, they finally reached the point of being honest-to-goodness girlfriends.

It was wonderful to have someone special in her life again, but Vanessa still wanted to take care of herself. She could be a very dependent person, and she had to learn some lesson from Rebecca beyond inherently distrusting redheads. (Gina had red undertones, but she was a brunette, so all in all, she passed that degree of scrutiny.) The girls were going to pace things out and take them slow, at least starting out.

Alone time was an important part of living happy lives separate but together. Sundays were ideal for alone time; without work or obligations, Vanessa could relax at the apartment, splayed out across a couch with a controller in hand. She would play video games, work on some sketches, and have a “family dinner” with Booker later in the evening. Even the game she was playing, Existence is Bizarre, was more of an interactive story; emotional choices, but no intensive focusing. It was hard to be concerned with anything on a Sunday like that.

Until it was time to eat, she had little reason to get up from her comfortable spot on the couch. She had no reason to think that, at some point during her lazy day, a sealed envelope was slipped under the apartment door, leaving it on the hardwood of the entryway.[/div]

It totally wasn’t a walk of shame anymore. After plans had been made for another incredible day with Juliette, and the notion that they would be spending the night together in her own apartment, Booker made sure to at least leave an extra shirt in his car. Not that he minded a walk of shame, of course. His time with Juliette Lawson was, of course, some of his favorite. The woman was, rather, amazing and Booker was enthralled by her whenever they got to share a bed. Last night (and this morning) had been no different. However, for amazing as his time was, it, of course, needed to come to an end. Juliette had a shift to work starting in the afternoon and as much as Booker wanted to pester her while she was working, doing so to a nurse was probably not the most ideal situation.

A late breakfast, a goodbye kiss, and Booker had retreated from Juliette’s apartment. He knew that she shared the place with Rebecca but he didn’t know if she were home or not and he preferred to keep it that way. So with the door closed and his retreat down the stairs, Booker found his car parked on the street. It was time to continue his day.

Sundays were always the best for getting errands done. His morning had been great, so great in fact that he didn’t mind conducting a few menial tasks before returning home. So he stopped off to dropped by the cleaners to drop off a new pair of pants that needed to be hemmed, paid a bill, picked up some groceries that he knew they were running low on in the house, and even picked up a preorder that Nessa had planned to pick up later in the week. A happy Booker was a generous Booker.

Pulling up to their building, Booker climbed out of his car, dressed carefully casually in jeans, his sneakers, and his black with the neon green design of a pixelated wagon being pulled by an ox. It was based on the classic game Oregon Path, a throwback to the old days of simpler graphics and to when games were actually educational. Leaning into his car to pick up the bag of groceries and Nessa’s latest game, he turned, kicked the car door closed, and managed to hit the lock button on the key fob.

The car chimed with a Deet-Doot!, signifying that locking had occurred. With his items in hand, Booker entered the building and made his way up to his floor.

Booker was too busy trying to fish his keys out of his pocket to notice any envelopes half-hanging from underneath the door. Once he had succeeded in unlocking the door and nudging it open with his foot, he squeaked as he almost dropped the paper bag filled with groceries. However, a quick movement and he managed to catch them before they could tumble. With success, he straightened up and moved into the apartment, nudging the door closed with his hip.

”I’m hooooome…” he sang. ”…So, you know, put on pants.”

He wished he was teasing her. Lord knows that she had walked in on him in several states of undress, but eye-for-an-eye didn’t apply in this scenario. He wouldn’t allow it.

As he rounded the corner, he leaned out to see that Nessa was in full on sloth mode. He smirked. Nessa had her ways of spending her Sundays and, normally, this was exactly what they involved. Standing there as she didn’t peel her eyes off the TV, he sighed as he watched her before speaking up.

”Jeez Nessa. You stay in that position any longer and I’m sure you’re going to meld and become one with that couch.”He made no mention of picking up her preorder and instead maneuvered his way into the kitchen to start putting groceries away. The sounds of groceries being removed from a bag and put away filled the kitchen. ”How’s your day going?”

Booker’s voice affirmed her assumption and came with a snarky warning to ensure she was clothed. She was, of course; Vanessa was not going to spend her time in the public areas of the apartment in states of undress. As averse as she was to clothes, she was conscious that she lived with her brother, who she had criticized for not being more conscious of her in the past. Of course, pants or no pants, she still called out in a lazy but defiant tone, ”You’re not the boss of me, Booker!”

Her brother laid eyes on her and made a rude comment about her idleness. ”I refuse to be judged on a Sunday. It’s the one day of the week I’m allowed to be a lump on the couch.” Then again, when she heard Booker handling groceries, a pang of guilt did hit her. It was awkward to do nothing while someone else was doing a chore. She was regretting inviting Booker to live with her, but she paused her game and got up from the couch to help regardless.

Vanessa grabbed one of the bags to survey the items within. Booker liked the kitchen organized, and she had to admit, cooking was easier when everything was in its proper place. She moved items into the veggie drawer, the dairy shelf, and the drink shelf appropriate, appreciating how the fridge looked when it was freshly stocked. ”Amazing. I’ll hit an ATM later to pay you back.” Sometimes they shopped separately for groceries, and certain items were off-limits to anyone but the buyer, but they did not have a divided fridge; as long as things were fair, the siblings could manage to share.

Moving one bag to get to the next, Vanessa noticed a bag that was different than the others. Most of the bags came from the local grocery store, but the smaller plastic bag was marked with the logo of Vidyastop. She peeked inside and, sure enough, she saw it: The Myth of Adlez: Sigh of the Untamed! Vanessa was going to pick it up on the way back from work Monday or Tuesday since it was on the way, but the receipt in the bag proved her brother had picked up her pre-ordered copy while he was out.

”Freaking awesome!” Grabbing the game, she held it close to her chest and turned excitedly to Booker. The act of kindness warranted a real, squeezy hug, and that was what he got. ”You’re the best! Or at least, like, top ten!” It was important to be realistic.

The groceries were mostly squared away anyway, so Vanessa ran back to the living room, stepping over the envelope on the floor on the way. Why should she care about a floor paper? She had a new game to enjoy!

>> ”You’re not the boss of me, Booker!”

Eye roll. An eye roll most epic was what greeted Nessa with her most adult and mature response that she had given him today. There was no need to say anything on it because while he liked to think that by being the older brother he had some authority over his sister, it would only make her all the more defiant towards him. Besides, they were just joking around and, with a glance into the living room, he could see that she had indeed put on pants.

However, what didn’t escape his attention was the fact that she had yet to move. Honestly, except for the bowl of cereal he saw sitting on her chest when he walked out last night, he recalled that she was almost in the exact same position. The only the thing that had changed was her clothes…she hadn’t moved one iota. Honestly he had figured that with Gina in her life now that his sister would be doing more things with her but it seemed that Sunday was still a coveted day dedicated to embodying her inner sloth.

>>”I refuse to be judged on a Sunday. It’s the one day of the week I’m allowed to be a lump on the couch.”

He merely shook his head as he walked through the living room, groceries in hand. He didn’t bother to look at her as he spoke. ”Yeah well you can at least not lump over the entire couch. I’m fairly certain I’ve earned some lump time too, you know.”

Slipping into the kitchen, Booker set the bags on the counter and started to pull out items. It didn’t take him long to find the bag that held Nessa’s game but, subtly, he buried it deeper in the bag. He wondered if she would actually get up to come help him. If she, then she could discover the game on her own, but if not, well, he could hide it and spring it on her upon the day of his choosing. Hell, maybe he’ll just keep it hidden and watch her get into an argument with staff at the Vidyastop for losing her precious reserve.

That was always fun to watch.

His thoughts were interrupted, though, when Nessa begrudgingly appeared at the doorway to the kitchen and started to pull out a few items in order to put them away herself. While it was sad he would not get to hear her ranting over the phone at customer service, he was happy in the fact that she was going to help him. She really was a good sister.

In silence he let her put things away, humming a happy little tune to himself about sunshine filling his pockets. As he did so, Nessa set to work putting things away exactly where they belonged. To watch her do that was a little amusing, especially considering when he first moved in. Nessa just tended to toss things into the fridge. Booker, however, since he did the majority of the cooking, preferred a tidy kitchen and that, of course, meant that things had their place. It took effort but, eventually Nessa finally realized the logic in the way the fridge, and kitchen in general, was organized.

Of course she would never let him know to his face how much more efficient the kitchen was, but Booker knew. He always knew these things.

>> ”Amazing. I’ll hit an ATM later to pay you back.”

He gave her a thumbs up as he opened the cabinet and started to put away some of the dry baking ingredients that he had been running low on. ”Sounds good.” He stopped. ”Oh! They were out of your soy bacon.” He shuddered at just saying that but pressed on. ”So you’ll have to pick some up at that Korena market down the street tomorrow.”

As he said this, Booker turned to face Nessa and smirked as he watched her standing as still as a statue. She was looking into one of the bags, some items taken out and laid on the counter. But knowing which bag she was in, immediately clued Booker into what she was looking at. He heard the crinkle of the bag, saw the excitement in her eyes, and then the plastic case held to her chest. She whipped around to face him and booker couldn’t help but smile.

>>”Freaking awesome! You’re the best! Or at least, like, top ten!”

He laughed heartily as she bounded over and gave him a big hug. He returned it, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up briefly and swung her from side to side. ”Hey, so long as I’m still above Mandy Marigold,” A woman of some reputation between the Bookman siblings, ”Then I’m good.”

Watching as his sister ran out of the kitchen, he knew prize in tow, Booker chuckled and finished putting away the last of the groceries before he stepped out and made his way across the living room. All he had planned was to plop on the couch and read a book while Nessa played her game. However, as he walked, he sighed when he noticed an envelope lying on the ground. He shook his head as he glanced at his sister uploading her new game.

”Nessa, what did I tell you about leaving mail lying about?” he grumbled. ”It goes in the mail bin I left on the desk. You shouldn’t just let it lie around like this. It could be a bill, or an important reminder, or…” he turned the envelope over in his hands and paused. There, written in handwriting that was far too familiar to him, he paused, breath escaping his body. He barely managed to finish his thought. ”…f*** me…”

Booker, for all his annoying faults and countless quirks, was an amazing brother at his core. Picking up her game was just the most recent piece of evidence in his favor, (and considering her anticipation for the game, it definitely earned him a lot of favor.) It was yet another reminder that Vanessa’s life was blessing her left and right of late. Even a lack of soy bacon was not going to break her spirits.

”You’re at least giving Mandy a run for her money,” she teased. Booker and Mandy were friends, at least in theory. In practice, they seemed more like devoted rivals, competing in anything they could think of with aggressive passion. Despite Vanessa’s suspicions, they never dated or resolved that tension with sex like normal adults. That’s what kept her from being a “Bookman Ex,” because she did take Nessa for a spin once, likely to frustrate Booker. (It worked.)

Vanessa saved her current game and quit before she switched to a new console and inserted the new disk. She watched in anticipation as the disk was slowly pulled into place, followed by the sounds of whirring from the machine. Eventually, the emblem of the Myth of Adlez series appeared on the screen. She might have squeed.

The sound of joy was quickly followed by a groan as her system advised her of the updates it needed to download before she could play her new game. It would take a few minutes, but now that a new experience was so close, it would be agonizing to wait.

She was so focused on the slow loading bar, Vanessa almost failed to hear Booker mention mail. ”Huh?” she replied absentmindedly, until she heard her brother’s sudden change in tone. Uncomfortably curious, she got up from the couch and walked over to Booker to examine the envelope.

Once she was close enough, she realized why Booker was stunned by the envelope. Vanessa had been making a point of getting to the mail before her brother because letters from a certain house would occasionally find their way into the box. She had no reason to check mail that day; as the abusive uncle of a boy-wizard once said, there was no post on Sundays.

Yet a letter found its way into the apartment. Vanessa flinched, but once she understood what was happening, she reached forward to grab the letter with their parent’s address from her brother’s hand. ”It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” she shot, her voice too hurried and defensive not to be suspicious.