Chapter 1

Blue:

Blue was sliding a tray of pizza onto the scratched, warped table top when she heard the soft, soothing classical music under the abusive techno playing over the speaker system. Straightening with a smile more genuine than she had shown all night, she refilled her patrons' glasses before turning to Chialina standing in wait for the next group to seat.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" she asked, eyes wide with surprise as Blue moved towards her, "What happened to that storm cloud always hanging over your head?" She grinned as Blue took her hand and spun her.

"I don't know, but I just suddenly got really happy, and that classical music someone is playing sounds beautiful," Blue explained. She could see the orchestra, lit beneath the stage lights. She could feel the plush cushion of the seat, the armrest pushing coldly against her arm. She could feel the heat radiating off of the woman sitting at her side.

Chialina giggled, turning once more. "You must have super hearing because I don't hear any classical. I'm not sure I'd be able to hear anything over this crap."

Blue froze, staring at her coworker, eyebrows pulled together. "How can you not hear it? It's almost louder than the music in here now."

Pausing in her twirling, Chialina stared at her. "Blue, no, there's no classical playing." Reaching out her hand, she stroked over her forehead. "Honey, are you feeling alright? Maybe you should take the rest of the night off."

"No, I'm fine," Blue muttered, pulling away from her coworker. As the music faded, taken back over by the techno thrumming around her, so did her mood, leaving her crushed beneath the weight of her reality.

Pushing into the kitchen, she deposited her jug in one of the large sinks, stumbling into the bathroom to slam the door closed. She rubbed at her temples, pressing her shoulder blades back into the door.

Sighing heavily, Blue pushed off the door, turning the taps to cold. She splashed her face with water, flicking her hands off into the sink before meeting her tired eyes.

She squeaked, jumping back from sink and the man staring back at her. He was dressing in a suit and crimson tie, dark circles coloring the skin beneath his eyes, same as her own. They widened in surprise.

"Do I know you?" he asked tentatively in a smooth Virginian accent, "Why do you look so tired? Are you alright, miss?"

Blue simply stared back at him, mouth gaping wide. She wanted to lie, but she didn't think she could, not now, not to this man standing in front of her, looking at her through the mirror. "No, no I'm really not-" she began, her words cut short as someone began banging on the door. Her eyes were jerked toward the door, away from the mirror, the man's movements mirroring hers. "What's your-" She stopped, turning back to the mirror only to find her own haggard reflection staring back.

She wanted to cry, or maybe punch something, or maybe both. Flinging the door to the bathroom open, despair flowing from her every pore and rage building just beneath it, she opened her mouth to snarl at whoever was on the other side.

Noah:

"Are you ever going to go the fuck to bed? Have you even slept at all today?" Barrington Welch snapped in the early hours of the morning, glaring at Noah where he sat in front of the computer, staring at the newest underground fighting match in Dublin. He wasn't entirely sure how it was underground if you posted videos every fight, but he wasn't going to complain. "You do realize we have class today, correct?"

"I'm not going," Noah mumbled into his fingers, chin cupped in the palm of his hand.

"What do you mean you're not going?" Barry snarled, slamming a hand onto the desk beside his keyboard, "If we miss another day of class, they're going to expel us."

"No, they're going to expel you. I still have a few sick days I can use before I don't have excuses left."

"Sick? You're not sick."

Noah rolled his eyes, as if that really mattered. For Barry's sake though, he muttered, "Tell that to the puke in the bathroom."

"You left it there?"

"Maybe… Actually, I'm starting to feel it again." He pressed a hand over his mouth, releasing a strangled sort of gag.

Barry wheeled away from him. "I'm going back to bed before you get me sick."

Watching the underground fighter, Greywaren he called himself, slam his knee into his opponent's abdomen, he felt less of a need to be sick and more of a need to cry and pull out his hair. Breathing deeply, he smiled as the sweet scents and raucous of festival attacked his senses, quickly overriding the sadness welling within him.

Suddenly, he could smell cotton candy and warm beer and buttered popcorn. He could hear children screaming in delight and fear or laughing hysterically as the wheels of a roller coaster trundled by above him. He could taste the sticky sweetness of a funnel cake and vanilla chapstick on his tongue. Trippy carnival music crackled over the speaker system. A girl laughed high and clear, a flash of pleasure warming his body and flushing away the remnants of his despair.

He drifted off to those sounds, settling into a comfortable nap. Before his mind dropped into the darkness of dreaming, he wondered why everything was so incredibly vivid.

Adam:

Adam's cheekbone just below his left eye had been throbbing for hours, morphing into a full blown headache before his shift had finished for the night. He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning as the door to the shop slammed again.

"Adam, just go home already, you look miserable," Boyd said, crouching on the oil stained concrete to look at him beneath the truck he was currently working on.

Shaking his head, Adam rolled out from beneath the truck to riffle through his tool box. "I can't. I promised my girlfriend that I'd take her to the fair. If I can't deal with a little headache, how will I be able to keep that promise to her?" Actually, it wasn't just a little headache. His head was screaming at the top of its lungs with every pump of his heart, and his body ached as if he'd been fighting his father all day. His spine sobbed as he laid back down and slid beneath the truck once more.

His boss snorted, shaking his head. "You and that girl. When are you finally going to ask her to marry you? You would bend yourself in half if she asked you to, you know that?"

Adam grimaced from even the thought of marrying the girl he was dating now. He liked her well enough, but she was simply too moneyed, too pretentious, too vapid for him to love. "I'd have to save enough money for a ring, and with college, I just can't afford a ring, wedding and supporting another human."

"Ah, son, I'm sure she'd help if you asked."

"Boyd, you know why I can't do that, won't do that."

Rolling his eyes, his boss stood. "Just get going, Adam. Take some Advil and go have fun with your girl."

"After I finish this."

It took Adam another hour before he'd finished what he'd been working on. His headache had faded, but as he pushed into the small bathroom the shop provided, he knew that even riding the carousel would be an ordeal.

Sighing, he set to scrubbing the grime from his hands, his girlfriend hated it when he picked her up without getting most of work off of him. Glancing up into the just as grimy mirror, he wondered if he'd catch a glimpse of that girl, the girl with the close cropped black hair and razor smile and body made for fighting. The girl who always seemed to have a bruised cheek or swollen lip or blood running down her forearm.

He was only greeted with the man that had taken her place. His head was shaved, but his dark eyes still sparked with defiance as the girl's had. He was handsome the way a weapon is handsome, and he flaunted the scars that boasted as much.

This man never seemed to notice him, despite Adam's attempts to converse with him. The girl hadn't either.

They were one in the same, this man and that girl, but Adam couldn't seem to keep that fact in his mind. Still, he hoped he'd see that girl again, vain as it was. Even as he watched the man push down the waistband of his shorts to press a needle into his buttock, he could not reconcile that fact.

The man in the mirror took a deep breath, steeling himself for what? Adam didn't know. Rubbing out the injection, he turned from the mirror and disappeared.

Ronan:

Ronan's fist connected pleasingly with the nose of his opponent, the cartilage shattering beneath his knuckles. He pressed forward, throwing another punch into the man's jaw, pouring all of his ferocity and anger into each strike.

The crowd around the ring screamed their approval, cheering Ronan's name at the top of their voices, filling the warehouse to overflowing. They called to him, urging him on, telling him to beat the other man's face into the ground.

He gave them what they wanted. The match was over long before he'd hoped, his body vibrating with unspent adrenaline. His opponent lay face down in the ring, blood beginning to pool beneath him. Idly, Ronan wondered if he would drown in his own blood before the medics or officials got to him.

The crowd was chanting his name, stomping their feet on the concrete floor, shaking the building with their enthusiasm and blood lust. They only grew louder as one of the mediators took his wrist, throwing their hands into the air. "You're winner of tonight's fights! The Greywaren!" he shouted into a microphone, only serving to send the crowd into a lustful frenzy, "Watch him face more opponents next meet!"

Ronan was ushered off the stage, the crowd reaching out to touch him as he descended the stone steps. They were pushed back quickly, not soon enough to hold back the shot of claustrophobia that soured his triumphant mood. Holding tight to his sweat soaked tank top, pulling it out away from his body so none of his definition nor his scars could be seen, he stumbled towards the small back room he'd been lent. Slamming the door closed behind him, he slipped down the cool metal, burying his head between his knees.

Despair washed through his system. It was all he could do to keep the tears from rushing down his face. Really, what was the point of it all, fighting and clawing for life? It would all be useless in the end.

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone in a rush of rage.

'Hey, don't be like that,' a man urged, his meaty, sweaty hand pressing into the soft flesh of the back of his thigh, 'We just want to have a little fun.'

Jumping up, Ronan slapped the man's hand away, revulsion roiling through his system. "Don't touch me," he snarled.

'Oh, little girl's got some fire to her. Come on, when does your shift end? We can have a little fun afterwards,' the man coaxed, his hand finding its way back to his thigh, this time squeezing the warm, pliable flesh.

Without thinking, Ronan struck out, crushing the man's nose beneath his knuckles. "I said don't touch me!" Pain rocketed up his arm. He blinked, staring at the blood trickling down the concrete wall.

Gansey:

Gansey had been hearing those voices as long as he could remember. They crept into his mind in the times between sleep and consciousness, or when he wasn't paying a lick of attention to his teacher droning on and on about subjects that he already knew too much about, taking to dreaming of Welsh kings and magic. They spoke of mundane, everyday things as if they were having a conversation with another person. Sometimes, they spoke in accented English, or German, or another language. Sometimes, it was only their laughter or sobs rippling through his mind. Other times, they would go on long monologues about a topic he was clueless on. That night had been the first time he'd ever had a face to put to a voice.

So, it was no surprise when he heard the softest of the voices talking to himself as he often did. 'Looks like a thunderstorm. Hope Barry can make it back safely.'

Gansey jumped in his seat as thunder, loud and percussive, rumbled through the auditorium. Surprise and a little bit of fear trembled through him. Rain pounded down on the roof, overshadowing the quiet conversations couples and families were having during the break. He dug his fingers into the arm rests, sucking in shuddering breaths before forcing them out slowly to instill some calm into his being.

'I hope Barry gets back soon,' the voice whispered, trembling.

"Dick… Dick… Richard, are you alright?" Helen's voice broke through the rain and another clap of thunder, bringing him out of his own mind. He glanced up at her through quivering lashes, finding worry lacing her beautiful features. Her voice dropped lower as she leaned in close. "Are you… feeling alright? Do we need to go home?"

"I'm fine," Gansey told her, forcing his muscles to relax beneath her warm hand, but he could tell she didn't believe him.

"Let's go home. Mom will understand that we couldn't stay for the entire performance," she decided, pulling him to his feet and into the aisle. He didn't protest as she dragged him from the auditorium, the rain still pounding in his ears.