“There’s something wrong with her,” Dabble told him.

Dabble’s first semester at college was exactly as Winterwing had anticipated it would be–-pure chaos. That was not to say that she didn’t enjoy it immensely, of course she did. Whatever classes she was in or work she was supposed to be tinkering with, the sudden freedom of her own social life delighted her and made her scarce around the apartment. She had new friends, who all seemed just as ill prepared for the world as she was, but they could be trusted to keep each other out of trouble. She was happy, and regardless of what she was supposed to be doing or how well her academics would look, there was some value to that. He did not interfere. She was her own person, and would have to figure out for herself how school worked, or if it worked at all.

She kept off hours, slept most of the day and was gone all evening, but did, when asked, talk with him at length about the theory and psychology of her coursework. He had no idea when she had actually been going to class, but regardless, she seemed to be learning something from somewhere, and he chose not to nag her.

She did make time for him, at least once a week. While he had not been willing to admit as much at the time, he was becoming more lonely as reclusive. School was an easy place to make friends—most of her classmates were her age, and already shared interests. They all were discovering adulthood at the same time with the same level of energy, and seemed to try to experience every new thing as fast as possible.

Whereas Winterwing slowly watched his school friends find placements further and further away, and while there was not really such a thing as goodbye on a fully networked planet, there would never quite be that same level of camaraderie again. A few of them even left the planet entirely. He would literally never see any of them again, whether or not they returned or attempted to connect via the longband.

His coworkers tended to be older than himself, or at least those he interacted with the most. He could not find a relatable thing within them—people with eyes toward a career and one or more children to return home to at the end of the day. Their interests never aligned with his own, and while he held no ill will against them, he never would have identified any of them as anything more than someone he saw, shared space with, and only vaguely recognized if they happened by each other outside that setting.

Eventually all there was left was Teal, who was still her exuberant and shining self. He did his best, or at least he told himself he did his best, to keep up with her. Maybe she knew too, that something was wrong, through echos or half-remembered thoughts. She never said anything, or maybe it was more correct that she never directly said anything.

Maybe he knew then, too, that he was already falling too far behind her, and that she was going to grow bored and annoyed with him. He held her back, could not find the wells of energy that she had, and maybe nothing he did would ever be good enough. She never would have said such a thing, but that’s what it would come down to. He was never going to be enough.

On this day, he had sat exhausted on the patio of a restaurant to watch the people and traffic, where the sun was warm enough that it canceled out the chill. The people watching brought him a strange comfort, the same serene dance of watching a babbling stream.

Dabble had joined him ten minutes late, as he expected her to, and threw a pile of gear by her chair, still breathing hard from sprinting over from the campus. Her hair was damp with sweat, but if she were tired she showed no signs of it. She seemed in good cheer, which he found genuinely pleased him. Even if he was feeling melancholy that day, it was good that she was doing well.

“Holy shit, there is this new guy on the varsity team, he is the biggest fucking dork I have ever met,” she said, plopping down into her seat as if she, too, planned for being late, and that nothing needed to be said about it.

“Okay,” he said, cautiously.

“No like, giant nerd, really into history. Like, the sort of stuff mom does but not quite as old,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Had a big ol’ diary written by that guy that lost an arm trying to find Drake DuCaine’s mask.”

“Ah, a lunatic,” he said, flatly.

“I think you’d like him. Just your brand of nerd,” she grinned. “Freeskate is still a thing on weekends you know.”

“Please do not try to set me up on a play date with your friends,” he said, a little more forcefully than he should have. Whether or not she heard the inflection, she smiled conspiratorially and said nothing more about it.

They chatted about unimportant things. Work, school, weather, entertainment, the polite sort of conversation that people have when they want to talk but don't want to say anything important. It was better than his usual lunches sat at his own desk between tasks, and he could avoid the expectation of conversation with the coworkers he did not know.

“There’s something wrong with her,” she had said, after their food had come and he had perhaps half-finished his, listlessly looking out into the crowd and contemplating the work he would need to complete in the afternoon.

“That’s not very nice,” he said. He did not know how the conversation had, yet again, turned to Emily.

“No, I don’t, mean like that, I mean there is literally something wrong,” Dabble insisted. “Like I think she needs a doctor.”

“I took her to a doctor,” he said, looking at her more sharply now.

“Okay, yeah, I know, but I mean, I mean like, a better doctor,” Dabble said. “I walked in on her in the bathroom two days ago. She was just lying in the tub.”

“So, you still have no idea how to knock, but that’s what tubs are for.”

“No, no, there was no water in there, and she had all her clothes on except her shirt, and she was just lying there.”

“What the hell for?” his brow furrowed.

“Exactly!” she said, triumphantly taking a bite of sandwich. “She said her chest hurt.”

“Why would you lie in a tub for that?” he said, doubtfully.

“Said it was cold and it helped,” Dabble shrugged.

“How-” he paused. “How many things did she try before she settled on that as a solution, do you suppose?”

“Okay, so you agree that it was perfectly normal for me to scream because I thought she was dead.”

“Again, you need to knock,” he scolded.

“That was my bathroom, it’s not my fault she decided to be weird in it,” Dabble pouted. “I thought she was having a heart attack or something.”

“Well, I’ll agree with you, she probably needs to see a better doctor.”

“I think she’s tried and they told her it was heartburn.”

“Heartburn doesn’t make you lie in bathtub,” he said.

“I don’t know, I just, I think something is very wrong and I don’t… feel comfortable about it.” She looked at him, suddenly serious. “We agree it’s not heartburn and it’s probably not a heart attack because she was standing this morning. What do you think it is?”

Winterwing thought about this for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know Dabs. It’s not our business. We’re just roommates.”

“Excuse me, she was dying in my bathtub, that is my business.”

“So, what do you want me to do about it?” He asked.

“I don’t-I don’t know,” she said, raking hands through her hair, irritated. “She scared the shit out of me and fifteen minutes later she stood up, put her shirt on, and went back to making breakfast like it hadn’t happened. I didn’t say anything else because, whatever, apparently she was fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and though he did not fully understand why he was the one apologizing, it was genuine. Apparently, he felt at least somewhat responsible, as the person who had brought Emily into their lives.

Dabble stared at him, with a look that he couldn’t quite place. Something of a raised eyebrow and a soul search, like she could not quite decide if she was speaking to the right person.

“I think she trusts you,” she said, finally.

“Obviously not, because this is the first I’m hearing of any of it,” he waved her off dismissively.

It would be a considerable time later that he would realize that ‘trust’ was not the word Dabble meant to use, rather the one that he would least overreact to.