Ikaris stared at the clock with a singular concentration of regret.
He had never been forced to be more present in a moment than he currently was, especially not while sitting across from Bella's overexcitable mother.
Renée had a wide smile plastered across her face, and though she leaned back comfortably, sipping her tea every now and again, Ikaris had the distinct impression that she was exercising considerable restraint to prevent herself from vibrating out of her seat.
There was, however, a hint of wariness in her eyes.
That, at the very least, was normal.
The woman was, after all, the mother of a remarkably clumsy, painfully shy daughter who had somehow managed to reach her final years of adolescence without developing the basic survival instincts necessary to navigate a staircase.
Naturally, Renée had reasons to be concerned.
Teenage pregnancy, for example.
Or heartbreak.
Or any number of unfortunate circumstances that arose when impressionable girls developed an interest in boys who possessed considerably more confidence than they did.
And Ikaris had the vague impression that Isabella Swan was particularly susceptible to such misfortunes.
Not because she was stupid.
Far from it.
But because she possessed the unfortunate habit of allowing other people to make decisions for her, particularly when refusing them required an uncomfortable conversation.
He had seen it before.
The way certain boys watched her. The way they approached with carefully rehearsed smiles, mistaking her inability to reject them outright for an invitation to persist.
Fortunately, she had developed the peculiar habit of lingering near him.
And Ikaris, for all his shortcomings, was remarkably effective at discouraging unwanted company.
I already regret this.
It was perhaps the thousandth time he had entertained the thought.
Inviting Bella had been a whim.
A whim of a whim, really.
He wasn't entirely certain what he had been thinking when he appeared at her doorstep three days earlier, or whether he had been thinking at all.
His doctor had insisted he needed friends.
As it turned out, he already had three.
An impressive achievement for someone who had spent the better part of his life convinced he was entirely alone.
Keith.
Sarah.
And now Isabella.
Three people who had somehow established themselves within his existence without first requesting permission.
It was irritating.
It was also, he was beginning to suspect, necessary.
If he intended to separate dreams from reality, then reality needed to offer something the dreams did not.
A reason to wake up.
A reason to remain awake.
A reason to believe the world he inhabited during daylight was something more than an unfortunate interruption between moments of extraordinary happiness.
His dreams offered him entire civilizations, albeit fragmented and unreal.
The waking world offered him three friends.
It was an embarrassingly unequal competition.
But perhaps that was the point.
Perhaps reality did not need to be magnificent.
Perhaps it only needed to be worth returning to.
"So… Ikaris."
Renée lifted her cup.
He watched her take another sip.
That cup has been empty for at least five minutes.
He was certain of it.
The angle was wrong. The sound was wrong. There had been no visible movement of liquid since the conversation began.
What exactly is she sipping?
"Yes?" he responded, curtly but politely.
If he believed answering rudely would encourage Renée to ground her daughter and cancel the evening, he might have considered it.
Unfortunately, he had the distinct impression that Renée would be even more enthusiastic about sending Bella out with a bad boy.
She seemed precisely the sort of mother who would interpret questionable behavior as evidence of an interesting personality. And if there was one thing Bella's personality required, it was interest.
"So, you and Bella have been classmates for two years, I hear."
As do I. He had been just as surprised when Bella informed him. You probably know more about it than I do, he wanted to comment.
"Yes," he replied simply. "I've known her for some time, though previously we occupied different social circles."
Both of which did not exist.
Bella had spent most of her school life attempting to become invisible.
Ikaris, meanwhile, had perfected the considerably more efficient technique of making everyone else invisible to him.
Their paths had crossed through mere happenstance.
And while he had apparently occupied a considerable portion of Bella's world for nearly two years, she had only recently become a conscious participant in his.
By no small matter of obligation, either.
He needed to keep her happy.
Not necessarily because he feared disappointing her, though he was beginning to discover that her disappointment was an unpleasant thing to witness.
Rather, he preferred that any lingering thoughts concerning rooftops, ledges, and questionable psychological stability remained safely confined to her imagination.
The last thing he needed was for her to mention the incident to an unsuspecting adult.
His doctor, for all her professional shortcomings, possessed an almost supernatural ability to discover things that had absolutely nothing to do with their scheduled sessions.
"My Bella," Renée murmured, smiling into her empty cup. "Going out on her first date."
Ikaris wisely remained silent.
He was reasonably certain this wasn't a date.
It was a form of ritualistic punishment, social obligation, and psychological rehabilitation, mashed together into an evening of recreational embarrassment.
There was nothing romantic about it.
At least, he hadn't intended anything romantic.
Renée seemed unconvinced.
"She's been looking forward to this all week."
That makes one of us.
"She's not usually very interested in going out," Renée continued. "Sometimes I worry she's becoming too much like Charlie."
Ikaris considered asking who Charlie was.
Then decided the answer would probably lead to another conversation. He had already suffered enough.
"She likes to keep to herself," Renée explained, apparently interpreting his silence as encouragement. "Always reading, always worrying about something. She's such a serious girl."
Ikaris found that difficult to reconcile with the girl who had nearly fallen down three separate staircases while walking alone.
Seriousness, apparently, did not guarantee coordination.
"And she's been acting a little strange lately."
His attention sharpened.
"Strange?"
"Oh, nothing bad." Renée waved a hand. "Just distracted. Smiling to herself. Spending more time writing in that notebook of hers."
Ikaris frowned.
A notebook?
Renée's smile widened.
He immediately regretted displaying curiosity.
"But I suppose that's normal when a girl has someone on her mind."
Before he could determine whether that statement required a response, footsteps sounded overhead.
Then—
A thump.
A startled gasp.
And the unmistakable sound of someone losing an argument with gravity.
Ikaris moved.
There was no conscious decision.
One moment he was sitting across from Renée, contemplating the possibility of pretending to be ill.
The next, he had vaulted over the arm of the chair.
His hand extended.
Bella appeared around the bend of the staircase, one foot missing its intended destination, her body already committed to a trajectory that would have ended rather unpleasantly against the floor.
He caught her.
Not particularly gracefully.
His hand closed around her forearm while the other steadied her waist, stopping her momentum just before her knees struck the final step.
For a moment, they remained suspended in an arrangement that was considerably more intimate than either had intended.
Bella stared at him.
Ikaris stared back.
Her cheeks began turning pink.
"Hello," he said.
She blinked. "Hi."
A pause.
"You appear to be falling."
"I noticed."
"Perhaps you should stop."
"I was trying."
He considered that. "A commendable effort."
Bella looked away.
He helped her stand properly.
Behind them, Renée made a delighted noise.
"Oh, Bella!"
"Mom, please."
"You two are adorable."
Bella closed her eyes.
Ikaris wondered whether it was too late to return home.
Unfortunately, Renée was already moving toward the kitchen counter.
"Wait, honey. Before you go."
She retrieved her purse and removed a twenty-dollar bill.
Bella frowned.
"Mom, I have money."
"I know, sweetheart. Just take it."
"You already gave me twenty."
"Then now you have forty."
Ikaris watched the exchange with mild fascination.
Apparently, Bella's social development came with financial incentives.
Renée pressed the additional money into her daughter's hand, then adjusted a strand of Bella's hair with the affectionate enthusiasm of a mother preparing her child for some significant life event.
Is she pimping out her daughter? Ikaris thought and wisely chose not to ask the question.
"Have fun. Don't worry about coming home too early, but call me if anything happens."
"Okay."
"And be careful."
Bella glanced at Ikaris.
He raised an eyebrow.
She looked away.
"I will."
Renée turned toward him. "Take care of my girl, okay?"
Ikaris considered the request.
Given Bella's demonstrated inability to descend a staircase without external intervention, it was a considerably larger responsibility than the woman appeared to appreciate.
"I'll do my best."
Renée seemed satisfied.
Bella, however, looked faintly horrified.
"Mom."
"What?"
"Can we go?"
"Of course!"
They escaped before Renée could discover another reason to delay them.
…
Phoenix was still warm despite the approaching evening.
The sun hung low above the buildings, painting the streets in shades of orange and gold.
Ikaris walked with his hands in his pockets.
Bella followed beside him, occasionally glancing in his direction before remembering that staring was generally considered impolite.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
It was a comfortable silence.
At least for Ikaris.
Bella seemed to be conducting several internal conversations simultaneously.
"Are we walking there?" she eventually asked.
"No."
"Oh."
"We're taking the bus."
She looked surprised. "The bus?"
"Yes."
"I know what a bus is."
"I should hope so."
She gave him a look.
He ignored it.
They approached a bus stop along a larger road near her neighborhood, where a faded shelter offered questionable protection from the sun.
Ikaris checked the route information.
He had already worked out the journey, including where they needed to transfer and which stop would leave them closest to the bowling alley.
Bella watched him. "You do this a lot?"
"Travel?"
"Take the bus."
"Yes."
"Oh."
Another silence.
Then—
"I don't, usually."
"I gathered."
She frowned. "How?"
"You looked at the opposite end of the route map."
Bella almost smiled. "I was just trying to figure it out."
Ikaris sighed and spoke. "It's an intuitive system." He frowned. "At least, everyone I know would look at the red part marked 'you are here!' first."
He pointed toward the posted schedule.
Bella had the decency to look embarrassed; mostly because she was staring at the person pointing at the map, not the map itself.
"I'll teach you."
He pointed.
"First, check the route number. Then the direction. Some routes use the same stop on opposite sides of the road, depending on where they're going. The destination matters more than the number alone."
She nodded.
"When you board, pay the fare or use your pass. If you're uncertain where to get off, ask the driver. Preferably before reaching the other side of the city."
"That sounds oddly specific."
"Experience is an excellent teacher."
"You've gotten lost?"
"No."
She waited.
"I've discovered several places I had no intention of visiting." He joked.
It was deadpanned joke that any decently socialized individual would have found unfunny, but to unsocial specimens like Bella, it was peak comedy.
So, she laughed.
It was a small sound.
Almost reluctant.
Ikaris found himself glancing at her.
She immediately stopped.
He looked away, secretly proud of himself, as if passing a test where he was the monitor and entree.
The bus arrived several minutes later.
Its doors folded open with a mechanical sigh.
Ikaris stepped aside.
"After you."
Bella boarded, nearly caught her shoe against the first step, and recovered with the practiced embarrassment of someone accustomed to being betrayed by ordinary surfaces.
He followed.
There were several empty seats.
Ikaris guided her toward one near the middle.
"Sit."
Bella turned. "Are you always this bossy?"
"Only when necessary."
"I can stand."
"I have no doubt."
She narrowed her eyes.
He glanced at the overhead handrails.
Then at her.
Then back at the handrails.
Bella followed his gaze. "Oh, very funny."
"I haven't said anything."
"You didn't have to."
She sat.
Ikaris remained standing beside her, one hand wrapped around the vertical pole.
For a while, the journey was uneventful.
Bella watched the passing streets.
Ikaris watched the reflections in the window.
Occasionally, he caught glimpses of unfamiliar architecture superimposed over the buildings outside.
Golden towers. Impossible bridges. A sky filled with stars despite the lingering daylight.
He blinked.
The reflections disappeared.
Not now.
He tightened his grip on the pole.
Then the bus braked.
Abruptly.
Bella, who had apparently decided that sitting properly was an optional activity, lurched forward. Her hand shot out.
Missed the seat.
And caught his shirt.
Ikaris reacted before he understood what was happening.
He caught her around the shoulders, pulling her against him as her momentum threatened to send her into the aisle.
For one extraordinary instant, everything seemed to stop.
The bus. The passengers. The distant traffic.
Even the strange, restless movement of his thoughts.
His heart beat once.
Powerfully.
As if it was trying to pump something into existence other than blood.
A single, heavy contraction that seemed to echo through his entire chest. As if army sergeants drilling new recruits to say-it-with-your-chest. There was something inside of him, not even speaking, merely babbling for the first time.
A single moment.
Then the world resumed.
Bella was staring at him.
Her face had turned an alarming shade of red.
One hand remained clenched around his shirt.
The other had somehow found its way around his waist.
Ikaris looked down.
Then at her.
"Isabella."
She blinked. "Y-yes?"
"You can let go."
Her expression changed. "Oh!" She released him immediately. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—I mean, the bus stopped, and I wasn't—"
"I noticed."
"Right." She sat back down.
Very straight. Her knees pressed together. Her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked like a student awaiting disciplinary action.
Ikaris studied her for a moment.
Then sighed. "Stand up."
Bella stared. "What?"
"Stand."
"Why?"
"Because you're sitting as though you've been sentenced to execution, and everyone on the bus is already starting to look at me as if I kicked a kitten." Her blush deepened.
She glanced around—it was true. Weirdly enough, three guys seemed almost ready to bolt out of their seat and pre-emptively catch her should she trip again.
"I am not a kitten."
He extended his hand.
She looked at it.
Then, cautiously, took it.
He pulled her upright.
She stumbled.
Naturally.
He steadied her.
Then took her hand and placed it around his forearm. "There."
Bella looked down.
Her fingers rested against his sleeve. She seemed uncertain whether she was permitted to breathe.
"The overhead straps are too high for you to reach comfortably," he explained. "And I suspect allowing you to stand without support would constitute negligence."
She stared at his arm.
Then at him.
"You make me sound helpless."
"Not helpless."
A pause.
"Just exceptionally vulnerable to gravity."
Bella chuckled despite herself.
Ikaris looked toward the window.
He did not notice that she was smiling.
Nor did he notice the way her fingers tightened, ever so slightly, around his arm.
But he did notice something else.
The strange images in the window had stopped appearing. For the remainder of the journey, the world remained stubbornly ordinary.
And, for once, he was grateful. She had grounded him somehow.
…
The bowling alley stood at the corner of East Calloway and Recton, its illuminated sign flickering above a broad entrance.
Inside, the air smelled of polished floors, fried food, and the peculiar chemical sweetness of rented shoes.
Music played overhead. It was a soft, full song—the kind which flooded the chest with a hollowness difficult to describe.
Bowling balls thundered against pins.
Almost all the lanes were occupied: men, women, teenagers—an array of all of life's possibilities gathered on this particular night.
Ikaris was immediately smitten—he could see the possibilities branching in front of him. He almost felt as if he could feel everyone in the venue—their worries, their pains, their… contentment.
In the middle lane, someone celebrated a strike with enough enthusiasm to suggest they had defeated the foe who caused their divorce in an alternate life.
Keith and Sarah were waiting near the counter.
Keith wore black. Naturally.
Sarah wore something that probably cost more than Ikaris's entire wardrobe. Also naturally.
They both turned when he entered.
Then noticed Bella.
Sarah's expression transformed.
Keith smiled.
"Well," he said. "You actually came."
"I said I would."
"You say many things."
"Usually very few."
"Exactly."
Sarah approached Bella with considerably more enthusiasm than Bella appeared prepared to receive.
"Isabella! I'm so glad you came."
"Hi." Bella awkwardly waved, the sense of familiarity feeling absolutely absurd.
"You can call me Sarah."
"Okay."
"And that's Keith."
Keith raised two fingers in greeting.
Bella smiled shyly.
Ikaris watched the interaction with mild satisfaction. His three friends were now occupying the same physical space. It was a strange accomplishment.
He wasn't entirely certain what to do with it.
The night faded into chuckles, sparse conversations, and a mild competitive edge.
Of course, Ikaris won the competition.