Switches POV at the lines, starts with Tyki (obviously :3. I would not refer to Miranda as "he"...though, if I do, please alert me because it's a spelling error)


The tap turns smoothly. He misses the catch.

The tap turns silently. She misses the squeak.

The air is so empty and empty is so cold. There are no warm bodies filling small space and no small space to be filled.

He is sure, positive, that if the room was a room it would be a lot warmer.

The hair on her neck rises and the tingle at her nape spreads like a thousand spiders with their feet on fire scampering across the sheer slope of her shoulders and falling down her arms. She tries to hold her shoulders up.

She doesn't want the spiders to drown.

There was a time when he would be annoyingly meticulous in setting the temperature just right. He just bothers with the hot water now, turning it on fully and wishing the handle wouldn't twist so easily. He has never liked seeing things that remind him of himself.

There was a time when she could only take cold showers because she did not have hot water. She had never even considered the idea. Every time she turns the tongue-tied knob she feels stupid. They say fight fire with fire though.

He turns his face up.

He lets the streams of water smack him again and again just to feel the irreplicable, pleasurable sensation of their sliding caresses down his neck. Sometimes he wonders if this is the same kind of warmth he felt in his mother's arms (because he must have, must have, had a mother even if he doesn't remember her.)

He likes to think she hummed to him like the showerhead does as it rains down on him with scorching punches. He likes to think she was beautiful.

She turns her face down.

She lets tiny winces escape her, shoulders shaking as the first lashes of water strike down on her back. It hurts but she feels it's only proper that she pay for the pains she causes for everyone else with pains of her own. And every strike makes her think about how stupid she is.









He is confused.

He runs his fingers through his hair. He has the blood of Navigators running through his veins. But he is so lost he doesn't know how to find himself.

He tries humming along with the shower to find his mother's voice. The empty eats the notes and he wishes it was a room. He wishes it was a room.

She is confused.

She scrubs at her shoulders. She has the blood of warriors and drinkers pumping from her heart. But she is so weak she cannot even hold her shoulders up against the rain of hot water.

She thinks of her friends as spiders and tries to hold her shoulders up by pressing her arms to her chest. This reminds her of her shape, her figure, and she presses harder as if she could reduce the size of her bust, which is not suited for a woman like her. She wishes she wasn't a woman like her.

He feels so cold even though the water is hot and only hot and he knows it's because he is taking a shower in empty and soon he will freeze because he doesn't remember his mother and he knows (he knows) she was there once, maybe even beautiful.

So he turns from the water, lets it rain on his back.

And he. pauses.


No. Not, yet.

He is. warm now. maybe, why though?

He thinks and. thinks and. remembers now.

Humans are warm.

And he is.


She almost screams because she is so hot and the spiders are pouring off her shoulders so her friends are trickling down the drain, and she can't do a thing to stop it because she is stupid and her breasts are too big for a woman like her and she didn't know about hot water until it burned her, she feels stupid.

But she turns to the water, lets it smack across her fce.

And she. pauses.


No. Not at all.

It trickles. down. her neck. her face. her oversized bosom and. it's okay.

Her shoulders are forced. back.

She is standing. straight.

Trickles. down. her open mouth but. it's okay.

She thinks. and thinks. and knows now.

Exorcists are strong.

And she is.


The tap turns smoothly. He misses the catch.

The tap turns silently. She misses the squeak.

He sighs as he steps out in a cloud of steam. He dabs at his skin in an attempt to dry himself but gives up and secures the towel around his waist. He sighs because, like this place, he is empty and he would rather be a room.

He hates seeing things that remind him of himself.

She shutters as she staggers out in a breath of steam. She wrings out her hair, being sure to pull it, before bringing the towel down to rest atop her rising and falling chest and cascade to her shaking knees.

She strokes her stinging scalp because she is an unlucky woman and no one loves an unlucky woman.

He is dry and his skin is dark. He is a monster.

She is dry and her skin is cold. She is a failure.

But she was an exorcist.

He was a navigator and, for a moment, he found himself in the shower in a room in a place between Edo and empty.

She was a warrior and saved the spiders from being sucked down the drain that eventually leads to a place between Edo and empty with a room with a shower where someone like her doesn't even know her name.

He loved himself, for a moment, because he remembered his mother and could pretend to be human. But he only loved.

She loves herself, for the moment, because she realized that because no one loves an unlucky woman, she can love herself and that's okay. But she only loves.

He-is a monster, was a human, had a mother- is falling apart. And pieces of him were sucked down the drain that eventually leads to a place between salvation and soil with a room with a shower where someone like him is him in reverse because her pieces are finally coming together.

She hums the song her mother sang as she tiptoes into her room, moving on towards soil while he fades into empty.

And she


doesn't even know his



But they will meet again.