Beatrice's eyelids fluttered. Her breathing deepened for a second, and then her eyes slowly blinked open.
She stared blankly at the cracked ceiling, the dust-covered paint peeling in chunks. Her expression then shifted from grogginess to confusion.
She turned her head toward the boy seated across from her. "Richard...?" She croaked, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Where... where are we...?"
Richard closed the status window in front of him with a thought–ting!–the soft chime echoed and faded, though not that she could've seen it anyway.
He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, as he spoke in a matter-of-factly manner.
"An apartment building. Just down the street from where we fought that red-haired bastard."
Beatrice's eyes widened, and she sat up a little too quickly, wincing at the soreness I'm her body.
"That bastard...!" she said with a gasp, her posture turning defensive, her palms glowing faintly as if she was ready to cast.
Richard sighed heavily, his white hair falling slightly across his eyes.
"Relax," he said in a dry tone. "He's dead already."
"Dead?" She echoed in disbelief, blinking rapidly. "You... killed him?"
Richard stayed quiet at the question. But his silence told her.
"Huu." She released a sigh of relief. She then opened her mouth to ask more, but he cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Go take a bath first," he said flatly, pointing with his chin toward the hallway.
He then also pointed to a black bag sitting on one of the chairs. "There's food in there. Eat after you clean up, then we'll talk."
Beatrice looked at the bag, then back at him. And this time, her cheeks had puffed out slightly.
He raised an eyebrow at her expression. "What now?"
She gave a small huff, her cheeks still puffed. "You're such a jerk!" She snapped, suddenly springing up with surprising energy.
She then pounced on him, her fists flying, with light punches aimed at his shoulder and chest.
"Interrupting me like that! You always do that, you know that?! Even back then!" She exclaimed between playful smacks.
"Jerk! Grumpy jerk! Ultra jerk!"
Richard gave a low chuckle as he blocked her weak punches with ease. "You're not even hitting me as hard," he muttered, smirking.
"Still half asleep?"
"I could hit you hard, but then you'd start whining," she retorted with a cheeky grin.
"Me? Whine? Never."
"Ha! You whined for three days straight when Sister Evelyn took away your favourite candy for that cookie stunt," she shot back.
"I was detoxing," he said, raising a finger like a teacher making a point. "So that's different."
They both laughed with her on top him now, both of them rolling on the ground. The moment lingered as their laughter faded.
Beatrice's breath caught in her throat. Her body trembled ever so slightly, and her arms slowly wrapped around him, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.
"Thank the goddess..." she whispered, barely audible. "I-I really thought we were gonna die back there..."
Richard blinked, the atmosphere shifting like a sudden breeze. His expression then softened.
Gently, he returned the hug, one hand patting her head as she trembled. He could feel the subtle shudders in her shoulders, her quiet sniffles against his chest.
"I wouldn't let that happen," he said softly. "Not to you at least."
She didn't say anything. She just stayed there, holding him, as if trying to convince herself this wasn't a dream.
That she wasn't dead and was just thinking she was alive.
Then–
"Ahem."
A very deliberate cough rang out, followed by a familiar teasing voice.
"Well well... you two are having fun without me, huh?" Alice's voice rang through the room, half-playful, half-pained.
Beatrice's head snapped toward the direction of the voice.
Her eyes immediately widened. "Wait, wait, wait–!" She yelped, her face turning crimson red as she suddenly realized their very compromising position.
"I-It's not what it looks like!!"
She jumped off Richard so fast she stumbled, tripped over the blanket, and thwump!, faceplanted onto the floor beside the couch.
Richard immediately burst out laughing at the sight.
Beatrice groaned into the floor. "This is the worst..."
Alice chuckled as well, but the movement caused her to clutch her side. "Ow–okay, laughing hurts. Ugh, my ribs..."
Richard stood up, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye as he made his way to Alice.
"Alright, don't push yourself," he said as he offered her a hand. "Besides, you're not fully healed yet."
She looked up at him, her eyes soft, and accepted his help.
"Thanks," she whispered as he gently helped her up.
Richard nodded. "C'mon. Let's go Beatrice. You two can take your bath together. I'm not helping with that."
"I should hope not," Alice said, grinning despite the pain.
As they walked toward the hallway, Beatrice peeked from the corner with her face still flushed. "Don't laugh at me!" She huffed.
"I'm definitely laughing at you," Richard replied with a smug smile.
"You're the worst!"
Alice glanced between them, chuckling quietly. "You two haven't changed one bit."
"Nope," Richard replied. "Though I do feel slightly more homicidal."
Alice laughed again–and winced again. "Still hurts!"
Beatrice stuck her tongue out at Richard and vanished down the hall, leaving the faint sound of a door closing behind her.
Richard sighed and plopped back onto the couch. He then glanced at the ceiling again.
Despite everything–the bloodshed, the cathedral, the slaughter, the Demon Cult, and the system whispering in the back of his mind–right now, in this quiet, ridiculous moment... things felt a little more real. More alive than any battlefield ever made him.
And for the first time since reincarnating. Scratch that, for the first time in his whole life, he almost felt... human.