Chapter Text
He was nearing the door to Noin’s office when he heard the voice of her friend, Sally Po, hissing, “…and he almost fucking killed you!”
“But he didn’t, Sal,” Noin’s voice whispered back, “And then he helped with the Mariemaia—”
“Is that all you have to say for him? That after having disappeared for nearly a year, making you of all people believe he was dead, he changed his mind? He’s changed it a million times before. The man’s a random number generator, flitting this way, or that—Noin,” her voice acquired pleading emphasis at the name, as though Noin had turned away or was otherwise displaying one of her varieties of recalcitrance. He knew how that kind of conversation went with her, and he very nearly smiled to hear someone other than himself coming up against her iron obstinacy. But Po’s assessment of him sent a chill through his heart. He was well and truly unforgivable. Of course Noin deserved better than exile with the world’s greatest apostate. His dearest, oldest, and in fact only friend, heart of his heart for most of their lives, who nearly perished at his hand, should live unburdened by the tattered remnants of his reputation and of his very presence. Her happiness was all that mattered, and her friends very much agreed.
“I’ve known him more than half my life—”
“And it clearly wasn’t enough to predict he’d become un-fucking-hinged—”
He knocked on the door, which had been left ajar, feeling suddenly that it was important he avoid any further eavesdropping. He gave them a moment after the first beat of silence to collect themselves if necessary, and then let himself in. Noin stood facing the windows, hands clasped at her low back, but she’d tilted her head towards the door at his entrance and now met his gaze evenly. Sally Po looked like she was ready to pummel someone as she leaned against the edge of Noin’s neatly arranged desk, with her arms crossed tightly. She stared him down coolly.
Bowing in each of their directions, he said, “Forgive me—”
“We were just—” Noin began at the same time, but he cut her off with a shake of his head and another bow, this time deeper, with his palm over his heart. She didn’t need to explain; he was the sour note, and he knew it. “I overheard some of that, and I only wanted to say that I do agree with Miss Po—”
“Oh shut up,” said Noin, throwing up her hands impatiently. She pivoted on her heel away from the windows and strode towards them. “We’re not doing this again. We’re leaving together and that’s that, so just stop it.”
Before he could get another word in, Noin drew Po into the tight, reassuring embrace that made you feel whatever the opposite of unraveled happened to be. A distant part of Zechs felt a pang, suddenly missing the warmth of her arms around him, but he dismissed it immediately. And it was easy enough to do so, with Po glaring at him over Noin’s shoulder like the leper he was.
Finally, Po broke the hold and placed her hands on Noin’s shoulders, then slid them down all the way to lace with Noin’s fingers in a way that seared Zechs’ heart painfully. Something unspoken passed between them that he was outside of, had no part in. Was a disruption to, in fact.
“Take care of yourself, Noin,” she said, thickly.
“Same to you, Sal.”