Archive of Our Own

All Ames are different. Though at least seven percent of Ames say otherwise, those aren’t empty words. With millions of timelines, it’s a guarantee. There’s an Ame that handles gluten but cowers at milk, an Ame that doesn’t cut her hair. Rumors tell of even an Ame that loathes going by “Ame” (a big square that one must be).

However, there are three constants that define what makes an Ame.

One, all Ames are blonde. Four “evil” Ames were recently seen dying their hair black to fit their alternative lifestyle, but that doesn’t negate that they were born blonde.

Two, all Ames get tummy aches. Self-explanatory.

Three, no Ame can escape trouble. It gravitates towards her, in copious amounts. All part of the protocol, down to when she first held her pocket watch.

Of course, amongst the constants in these variants, there exists almost-constants. One being that almost every Ame is connected to four creatures of myth.

Controversy surrounds this tidbit, insistence and debate growing within the Ame community. Insistence on how it should be acknowledged as the official fourth constant. It’s one thing for the group to eventually fall apart. However, there are no known reports of an Ame failing to make contact with the myths.

The argument has been rejected and most agree with the ruling. No matter how big an Ame is, no matter how articulate an Ame is, no matter how much spam mail an Ame sends to change their minds, it doesn’t change the fact that the reasoning is merely confirmation bias. Not only are timelines ceaseless, but also believing no Ame has fabricated their record is laughable at best and concerning at worst.

That doesn’t stop Ames from arguing anyway, this stubbornness prominent among the timelines labeled within the thirty-thousands. No Ame can blame them. If there’s undeniable evidence, that means a fourth rule needs to be implemented. If the fourth constant is accepted, that means what Ames fear—what all Ames secretly fear—is considered invalid. Otherwise, it’s a possibility. And possibilities only mean certainties for people like Ame.

A hum resounds within an empty office. It’s similar to crickets chirping at night, until the droning rises. The sound intensifies in volume and vibration, causing the wooden boards to shake. The desk jostles, a mug on the bookshelf drops and shatters. A rift has made itself known in the room.

Invisible to the naked eye, the rift begins as a straight line that doesn’t quite float, remaining still despite the effects on its surroundings. It isn’t until the tear splinters, branches shooting through the air, would one see the space physically breaking before them, specks of blue found through the cracks.

Pressure condenses and, for a moment, everything stills. The desk tilts upright. A book floats, forever falling spine first. The sound reaches decibels no mortal can hear.

Broken pieces of space collapse upon themselves. They fade like falling sand, giving way to reveal the vortex that acts as a gateway between timelines. Then, a scream pierces the air. A distant cry that barrels closer and closer until an Ame is shot out.

She lands on her knees, sliding until she crashes against the wall. “Shit!” she yells.

Ame blinks once as her vision struggles to right itself. She still feels like she’s spinning, like she’s intangible, merely a wave swept through time. She blinks again and the blue light illuminating the office is gone. Just as suddenly as it formed, the rift disappears.

Not the best landing in her track record, but Ame isn’t aiming for style when she’s escaping death. She rests her throbbing head against the wall, staring down at her hands above her bent legs.

Drops of red land on her wrist and she makes a face. “Great.” She pinches her bleeding nose with one hand, resting the other against the wall. One, she counted. Two…

Three!

Grunting, Ame pushes against the wall and wills herself to stand. She’s a newborn deer, her legs trembling as they relearn how to steady themselves on solid ground. They buckle and Ame topples to the floor.

Her legs didn’t learn fast enough it seems. Exhaustion clings to her, but Kiara would be upset to find her passed out on the floor. That and she doubts she can sleep with all the blood clogging her nostrils.

She cranes her head, relieved to find her desk upright and not snapped in two for once. “Okay,” she says. “Not a problem.”

With a determined yet annoyed glint in her eye, Ame drags herself towards her desk chair. Curse the inevitably of molecular rearrangement whenever she jumps timelines and the jelly legs that come with it!

Ame reaches her target and grips at the leather seat, rising to her knees. She manages to straighten her legs once more, the shaking already less extreme, before plopping on the chair. “Oof.”

The chair drifts backwards on its wheels, but Ame grabs the edge of her desk and pulls herself back into place. She opens the second drawer on the left and reaches in for a box of tissues. She pauses. Instead, she takes out her phone that she leaves behind during missions. Finding a good signal is useless when it’s not meant for phones from alternate realities.

She sets the device down and checks the cabinet below. Stamps, ammunition…

“Aha!” Beside the paperclips, she finds the tissues in its embroidered cozy of a frog dozing off. Ame immediately gets to work, taking one tissue to cover her nose and another to wipe the blood off her hand. When the bleeding subsides, Ame shoots her trash into the bin across the room and lands a perfect miss. Well, she’ll clean it when her legs work properly.

Letting out a yawn, Ame rubs the back of her neck as the tightness of her shoulders slowly dulls. She isn’t taking a distress signal for at least another year. Wormhole, evil Ame, alien war— that’s another Ame’s problem for now.

Ame swivels her chair to glance at the window behind her. The blinds have been shut for privacy, but dawn still attempts to break through the gaps. She considers opening it, looking out into the garden and admiring how the calm light makes Gura’s vegetables glisten.

Dust has started to gather on the panels. Ame notices and stares.

Her throat itches and her hand twitches, inching towards the pocket of her coat. She stops, forcing herself to lay her palm flat on the table and think.

Stress induces paranoia. Paranoia inspires hasty decisions, dumb conclusions. Sleepless nights, near death experience, vortex jumping: all components that cloud the mind.

Ame needs to get some sleep. A voice ricochets in her head insisting to “sleep in your own damn bed! This is your house!”

However, she’d need to leave the office and guide her chair past the living room and cut down the hall to get to her bedroom. Too much effort for a queen-sized mattress.

Grabbing her phone, Ame skates toward the middle of the office where two loveseats and a coffee table are located. A sticky note is plastered onto the table’s corner.

Tell them you’re home.

She sets herself down on one of the couches and lies on her side, already turning to mush. Holding the phone up to her face, the Face ID confirms her identity and unlocks the device.

Selfishness lingers in her fingertips when she hovers over the groupchat. She wants to not only tell them she’s back, but also tell them to come over immediately.

Ame wants to wake up to Kiara resting the former’s head on her legs, silently brushing blonde strands through her fingers. Ame wants to wake up to Gura humming a few doors down, banging pots a little too loudly as she cooks. Ame wants to hear the sound of scribbling from Ina’s pen, wants the sight of Calli grinning next to Kiara because Ame looks goofy with bed head and drool.

That’s what it’ll take to rid the weird feeling of something missing, what it’ll take to turn empty halls into a home.

.

Yeah, she needs to get some rest now. The stupid mission has left her feeling too sentimental.

She types that she wasn't mauled alive in the groupchat before shoving her phone away. She tips her hat over her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her. It comes faster than she anticipates.

The mission isn’t too difficult, despite being classified as a code orange. Time consuming, definitely, but nothing crazy. The report warns that the parasite will explode when defeated. If the remains touch one’s body, the skin will proceed to melt off due to its natural toxins. All Ame needs to do is jump back into a timeline before it happens. The problem is that her watch isn’t working.

Her legs burn as she continues to run out of the abandoned warehouse, the anomaly growing at a rapid pace. It approaches red hot, as if giving chase.

“What the,” Amelia pants, “FUC—” Her footing stumbles, irritation forgotten for fear. Her free hand scrapes the ground, but she forces her body to right itself and keep going.

The button isn’t jammed, the hands aren’t broken.

She winds back to several months and tries again. The button clicks, there’s no awful whirring in her head to signal the rift.

Back a month. Click!

A day.

The explosion range is expected at an average of four miles. There’s no way she can outrun it even if she takes a discarded hoverboard.

Ame holds her watch in a vice grip, pressing her thumb hard enough against the toggle that her skin turns white.

An Ame has to stay cool under pressure to survive.

Turning her head, the entity reaches for one of Ame’s arms. She yanks her hand before contact is made. “Just get me out of here!” she yells. “It doesn’t matter when!”

She trips. Ame shuts her eyes, grits her teeth, as the sound of gears grinding and a clock ticking reaches her ears.

.

.

.

“Watson!”

Ame jolts awake, alerted by a voice and incessant knocking. She rubs at her eyes, groaning as she’s greeted with a migraine.

As she lifts her head, she catches the light through the blinds, its gleam dyeing the room a vibrant orange. Checking her phone, her eyes widen seeing that it's already past five in the afternoon. And that Gura left eleven messages.

“It’s me!” Gura knocks on the door again, the force so great Ame wonders if she’s using her tail. “Open up, or I’m kicking this down.” One second passes. “OKAYHEREIGO—”

“Wait!” Ame shrieks. “Just give me a second, alright?”

“So you were there. Sheesh, don’t leave a shark hanging. It’s rude.”

Rolling her eyes, a smile tugs on Ame’s lips as she stands. Her legs are finally working, but they carry extra weight as she unlocks the door. She barely turns the handle before it’s swung open and she’s tackled to the floor.

A knee and paws dig into her stomach, but Ame recognizes hands cradling the back of her head to abate the fall. “Off,” Ame wheezes. “Now.”

She looks up at a grinning Gura, who freezes when she realizes. “Oops! Sorry about that.” She raises her leg and Ame takes a deep breath. Meanwhile, the owner of the paws doesn’t repent at all. Instead, Bubba walks on Ame’s stomach and leans down to sniff Ame’s face.

“Hey, Bubba.” He presses his wet nose on Ame’s cheek, the sound loud against her ear. He licks a long stripe up her face and over her forehead.

“You’re disgusting!” Ame sits up and carries her dog at arm’s length. His lower body hangs in the air, tail languidly wagging. Saliva drips onto her skirt. She retaliates by covering his fur in a barrage of kisses. “You’re a menace to society.”

He looks almost content with that.

Some Ames bring their Bubba through timelines, some go as far as to have him assist in missions. This Ame refuses to be one of them. When she holds him to her chest, watching him bury his head into her coat sleeve, she remembers why. It’s not until he sneezes into her elbow and two voices bless him does Ame focus back on Gura.

She’s taking Ame in, her expression unreadable. Ame thinks for a moment before she fights the embarrassment warming her cheeks. It doesn’t work. “I missed you too,” Ame tries a casual tone, as if certain of her return. “There, I said it.”

Gura blinks, scoffing when the words hit her. There’s no force when she punches Ame’s shoulder. “I didn’t miss you at all,” she drawls. “It’s not like you’ve been gone for three months.”

“…Three?”

“Seventy-one days, I wasn’t the one counting.”

Bubba nudges Ame’s hand and she scratches under his chin, the way he likes it.

Tilting her head, Gura attempts to read Ame’s silence. “Did you try to bounce back to the present—er—right before you left?”

The button clicks, there’s no awful whirring in her head.

“No,” Ame lies. “No time. I…thought I was gone for longer.” That part isn’t fabricated.

“‘No time.’”

“Well, I—” She cuts herself with a groan and Gura raises an eyebrow. “Bubba, stop smelling me! I stink, whatever.”

Gura giggles. Her joy affects Ame more than she’d like to admit. “You said it.”

“Don’t want to hear that from you.”

“Kiara’s going to freak when she learns you slept on the couch again.”

Ame points at her accusingly. “You’re changing the subject!”

“You’ve got a bed, y’know.”

She responds by leaving the office, Bubba in her arms. She knows Gura is tilting her head back as she laughs. It fills the house.

Ame lies awake past midnight. She doesn’t turn her head, instead peeking from the corner of her eye. Bubba rests on Gura’s stomach, the rise and fall a comfort. A quiet growl leaves his throat, dreaming of his toys.

Gura’s eyes are shut and her body is practically still. Ame listens to breathing, waits for a break in the pattern. She watches until her eyes begin to burn, begging to blink. In one slow movement, Ame sits up on the bed. Two breaths in sync. Ame rises and heads for the bedroom door in soft yet hurried steps.

Inch by inch, Ame closes the door. Staring through the crack, she waits for a change. When nothing comes, she shuts the door, leaving no sound.

When she enters her office, she doesn’t open the lights. She’s illuminated only by moonlight, but it’s enough for Ame to reach her target.

Her watch is settled atop the desk when Ame takes it. She winds the hands back seventy-one days and pushes the button. Click.

Silence pervades the room. The girl frowns, moves the hands, and clenches the watch as she tries again. Ame glares back at her reflection until she flinches, relinquishing the device. She bites her lip to fight off a scream, keeling over as she grips her burning hand. The watch is scalding and there’s no whirring in her head.

A creak reaches her ears and she freezes. Ame straightens her posture and turns around, hiding her quaking hand behind her back. She didn’t close the office door properly.

The gap of the door doesn’t widen and her eyes pierce through the darkness, waiting for something to make itself known in the nothing.

All light in the room is focused on the discarded watch. Ame’s face is shrouded in night and if one were to look in, they’d find only a silhouette.

“Gura?”

In a house filled with three, it feels empty.

The door is pushed open and Ame grits her teeth. The attack comes in the form of a bark and Ame pauses. Bubba waddles towards her, tail swaying fast. He peers up and barks again.

Ame shushes him, observes his body droop from being scolded. She sighs and kneels down to pick him up. “Don’t be loud.”

Bubba gazes into the shadows before him and sniffs her. He licks the hand that’s been burned.

No blisters linger on Ame’s skin. The watch’s hands tick along, the metal cool to the touch. It’s not a good idea to attempt rewinding regardless.

Ame stuffs the watch into her pocket and opens the medicine cabinet. She combs through prescription bottles and over-the-counter drugs, but comes up short. “Shit,” she mutters.

She closes the vanity too harshly, the bang leaving her frazzled. Ame is greeted with the sight of her wincing. She doesn’t look horrible, but there’s room for improvement. Maybe with ibuprofen that they currently don’t have.

“Woah, the mirror did nothing to you!” Gura calls.

“Sorry!” She should get out before Gura begins to worry.

When she arrives in the living room, Gura is holding two steaming cups of coffee. She hands Ame the duck adorned with sunglasses and a cigar. When did they purchase this?

“Don’t make that face, you love it,” Gura pokes her stomach and Ame reels back, laughing.

“You’re so dumb.” Ame takes a sip and smiles. Americano.

Gura says nothing for a moment, but her tail sways to and fro. “We ran out of ibuprofen about a week ago.”

“Too obvious?”

“What else could you be looking for?” Gura clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “It’s because you be on that phone, Watson.”

Unable to deny it, Ame purses her lips. She’s been checking the group chat ever since Kiara announced she’d arrive today. Ame feels like a child, clingy and anxious. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how her emotions ring clear like a bell.

But once Kiara walks in, removes her shoes and greets them, it’ll be better. Once she hugs them, sharing warmth that’s almost overwhelming but always, always wanted, it’ll be gone. The stupid feeling she’s had since she returned will be nothing but a bad memory.

“Ame!” The girl in question yells, raising her hands in the air.

Confusion is all over Gura’s face. “You didn’t hear her slam the door?” Before Ame could muster a quip, Kiara comes into view and reaches for an embrace. Ame and Gura let themselves be pulled into it. Kiara cut her hair; it reaches her neck, but doesn’t go past it.

When she lets them go, Kiara turns to Ame. The latter can tell she has a million questions. The question is whether she’ll prioritize the questioning or the celebrating. “I brought takeout!” Kiara wiggles a bag of Chinese food in the air. Gura sighs in awe, as if Kiara held gold. “And alcohol!”

Ame laughs, expecting Kiara’s choice. Gura runs to pick a movie off Netflix and Ame watches her. A record scratches in her head. “Alcohol?”

Kiara doesn’t drink. She’ll try, before she gives up and claims it tastes like shit.

“There’s barely any in these,” Kiara insists. “Tastes just like juice, I promise.”

The movie Gura picks apparently is a sleeper hit. They all hate it, Gura lying her head on Kiara’s thighs while Kiara lays hers on Ame’s shoulder.

Kiara’s still even after the movie ends, the credits drifting on screen. Ame would’ve thought both her girlfriends were asleep, but she spots a hand brushing the bangs off Gura’s peaceful face. With the other, Kiara runs her fingers against Ame’s knuckles. Ame shivers, her cheek pressed onto Kiara’s head.

She has half a mind to ask Kiara if her neck hurts from leaning down, but then she remembers.

(“It’s a little uncomfortable,” Kiara admits.

“Then why do it?”

“Because you won’t.” Kiara smiles and kisses Ame’s stupefied expression. “We can’t both be shy, or we’ll regret it.”)

“Gura told me something.”

Ame’s trance is broken and shock cascades her body like water. She doesn't understand why. “Yeah?”

Humming, Kiara turns Ame’s hand over and traces the lines of her palm. “She said you were shocked three months passed. You thought it’s been longer.”

“It doesn't matter when!”

Her throat is scratchy. “Uhuh.”

Kiara shifts and Ame leans back, sunset eyes stare up at the latter. “How long?”

“…Eight months.”

She knows how difficult it is for Ame to keep track of time— ironic, since they leap through timelines to accomplish their mission. What feels like a day could’ve been a month, what Ame believes is a century is only an hour. Though some Ames' internal clocks never falter, always accurately predicting how long they've been gone.

This Ame uses a pen and notepad, drawing a line for every sleep cycle. It worked more often than not. This is not one of those times.

She darts her eyes, hones in on their empty bowls. A hand cradles the side of Ame’s face and she stiffens. Ame wants to close her eyes, lean into the touch.

“Look at me?” Kiara asks.

Ame listens to her instead. She doesn't realize Kiara’s lifted her head until it’s too late, until their noses bump against each other. Rather than her breath hitching, Ame stops breathing altogether.

“Everyone planned to make up three months of you being gone.” Kiara grins. “But now we’re gonna make up eight months worth. You better be prepared.”

“You,” Ame hesitates. “You don’t have to.”

“No,” Kiara agrees. “But we will.”

She doesn't respond. Unable to meet her eyes, Ame drops her gaze.

A pause. “You’re shy.”

Ame fidgets and resists clearing her throat. She doesn’t want Gura to tease her about this or worse, call her cute. “Sorry.”

She waits for a “don’t be” to fall from Kiara’s lips. “Can I kiss you?” she asks.

Not trusting her voice, Ame nods and clenches her eyes shut. Kiara’s laughter is lower than usual, attempting to keep quiet. Or attempting to turn Ame into putty. The kiss is brief and yet it’s enough for Ame’s head to spin.

“Can we kiss again?” Ame asks too soon, too eager. The brightness in Kiara’s laugh is enough to stir Gura, but neither notice.

When their lips brush, Ame tastes the alcohol. She fights a frown.

The past visits her dreams and when Ame awakes hours later, she reflects. She’s dreamt of disappearing in pieces: her feet vanishing, her legs crumbling like sand in an hourglass. They’re worst case scenarios, futures that Ame sprints to prevent.

They’re not peaceful.

Gura sliced the strawberries and threw them in the blender, proceeding to prepare the bananas.

“That’s gonna overpower the smoothies,” Ame said.

“But, banana’s tasty,” Gura insisted. True, Ame thought.

Behind her, Ame heard Kiara and Ina singing in the living room. Bubba’s bark picks up on the mic and Ame knew one of them picked him up so he could shine too.

“Ame.” The girl turned around, finding Calli holding a carton of almond milk. Her reaper attire was replaced by sweatpants and a shirt of her favorite musician.

“Thanks!” Ame passed the milk to Gura, who eyeballed the measurements as she poured it into the mixture.

“No prob.” She didn’t leave to join the singing, watching the blender whir to life. She stayed to get the glasses for everyone, stayed to put the ingredients away. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?” Ame asked.

She hesitated. Ame didn’t want to pressure her; watched Gura hand the drinks to Ina and Kiara. She smiled as Ina kissed Gura’s forehead.

“Do your missions end quickly?”

Ame quirked an eyebrow. “Most of the time.” She shrugged. “If it’s too long, I just rewind.”

Calli placed the almond milk on the refrigerator’s top shelf, shifting the eggs aside. “All the time.”

“Essentially.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t mad or annoyed as she turned to grab the leftover fruit. And yet her mouth remained a thin line, holding her words from spilling.

It bothered Ame to the point of asking Kiara later that night, hidden in the bathroom.

“Calli won’t be too happy with me butting in,” Kiara said.

“Oh.” Ame should’ve known.

“No need for puppy eyes!” Kiara smirked, leaning against the sink counter. “It’s not going to stop me from helping.” She hummed, deep in thought as she tapped her lips. “Well, what if I experienced something stressful? And you never knew because I wouldn’t tell you and it’s like nothing happened?”

Ame’s dream omits Ame struggling to answer and the days that followed. It cuts to Ame bringing up the topic with Calli as they stood in front of Gura’s garden. The lettuce was almost ready to harvest.

“I’m not saying a time traveler shouldn’t… y’know,” she admitted. “But it’s one thing to do it and another to pretend you haven’t endured hell. We want to be there, hear what you have to say.”

And Ame didn’t know what overtook her, if it was because she wanted to be vulnerable or because everyone already knew she was. “I worry that if I’m gone for too long, you guys’ll forget about me. Time is different for you guys.”

She scratched the itch on her neck as Calli processed her words.

“You’re not someone we could forget. Even if a millenia passed, we’d wait for you. We’d stay for you.”

An Ame doesn't forget to lock the office door this time. In the leaflet many Ames receive alongside their watch, there’s a section on risks. One details time travel holding possible effects on “smooth brain tissue.”

In the dark, Ame rummages through her backpack. She takes out her notepad, flips it open and counts the tallies. There’s more than two hundred.

She walks around and does an inventory check. She can’t find her backup guns, her almond stash, her emergency concoctions.

Ame stays and asks herself what she’s lost. There is no answer.

Nobody’s home when Ame wakes up on the couch. She doesn’t want to get up, but does anyway. She finds sticky notes plastered on the refrigerator door.

Grocery shopping with Gooba! Ina’s coming, so I’ll cook. NO SNACKING — Kiara <3

Took Bubba too, dork — Gura :B

They’re almost all together again. Once Ina arrives, Ame’ll ask her what paintings she's made. She’ll promise to visit the zoo with her; Ame will coo at the monkeys, Ina will doodle the capybaras.

When the doorbell rings, Ame almost falls when she sprints to the door. Ina leans back as Ame swings the door back before laughing. “Hello to you, too.”

She can’t fight the stupid grin on her face as Ina steps inside, switches her shoes for slippers. Ame waits as Ina removes her beret and adjusts her glasses.

Ame waits while Ina speaks of what she’s missed, waits as they make plans for the zoo. She waits until she’s a child wondering what she’s done wrong, why Ina sits on the couch reading and does nothing.

She waits until she can’t take it anymore.

“I-Ina…” The girl glances up from her book, glasses slipping down to her nose. “Can I hug you?”

It’s silent and Ame wants to swallow the rock in her throat. “Okay.”

The hug is warm and full of kindness, just like an Ina. But Ame initiates the hug. But Ame is the one to squeeze her tight.

Ina is the embodiment of comfort. She’s the one that’s supposed to ask for hugs. She’s hugged Ame when she comes back from walking Bubba. She’s hugged for the sake of it. She hugs her girlfriends because she can’t hold her love in, believing it can be a bridge when words fail.

This isn’t her Ina.

Ame excuses herself to the bathroom and Ina says nothing. She spends twelve minutes inside.

This isn’t her home.

.

.

.

.

When Kiara and Gura return, Ame helps them put away groceries. In one bag is a jug of whole milk.

They’ll be suspicious as to why she’s at the office late at night. That’s not Ame’s priority.

She rummages through the desk drawers, actually humors looking under the mouse and keyboard. The monitors light the room, demanding a password.

This timeline’s Ame has an organizing system she can’t comprehend, mixing solved cases and encyclopedias with shoujo manga. It takes half an hour to find a torn piece of paper inside a bottle of fish food. Too paranoid, Ame thinks. Just like her.

One side contains the computer code, recognizing it as Calli’s birthday. Too simple. Not like her at all.

The password is accepted and she stiffens at the wallpaper. Frosting is on That Ame’s hair and cheeks. A tentacle is tipping the party hat back into place while Gura’s hand is shoving more cake into That Ame’s face. Calli is pulling one of Ame’s cheeks; Kiara is likely taking the photo.

Pure joy is on That Ame’s face.

It’s too intimate, not something she should be intruding on. Yet she is.

Ame is quick to open the database and pry her gaze away from the image. It requires a username and password too. “UGH!” she buries her head in her hands. She just went on a scavenger hunt to get on the stupid computer. Where else could That Ame have hidden her info?

Wait.

“No fucking way,” Ame whispers. She flips the piece of paper over, catching a username and another set of numbers. “That’s too easy.”

She types the info and watches the loading circle spin. It’s accepted. That Ame made an effort to make the password harder to guess: Kiara and Gura’s birthday combined. Too careless!

The page welcomes Ame #703 and broadcasts her timeline’s status. ‘No issues detected.’

“‘No issues,’” Ame scoffed. The issue’s sitting in this very room. How can her watch mess up so bad? Her and Ame #703’s timelines are separated by thousands of worlds.

She shouldn’t ignore the possibility of her watch breaking. However, she can’t fathom when the malfunctioning could’ve started. She rubs her temples and lets out a long sigh.

“Great.” If that was the case, she’d need to call the time warden for a repair. Most Ames are familiar with Kronii, some dare to call them friends. She, in particular, isn’t. Saying she’s acquainted with Kronii is pushing it. She’s lucky to have four mythical beings tolerate her—love her—she doubts a fifth time will occur. She wonders if Ame #703 is in Kronii’s good graces.

Regardless, a detective can’t focus on one theory. She enters her timeline’s number to check for any anomalies that would’ve prevented her from rewinding. It comes out as an error.

“Oh perfect.” Of course the database requires maintenance as soon as she needs information.

Rubbing the piece of paper between her fingers, Ame rests her chin on her palm. The silence sinks. It floats down from her mouth, her throat, until it’s a pit in the bottom of her stomach.

It’s nerves. She slaps the paper down, searches a random timeline to confirm that the database is broken. Her request goes through. ‘No issues—’

Ame bites her lip, enters her timeline’s ID again. ‘Error. Please try—’

That’s not right. Bile threatens to spill as Ame stands abruptly from the seat. She paces the room, thinking.

A detective can’t rush to close a case. It’ll raise desperation, fear—

She’s going to hurl. Ame rushes back to the computer, hunches forward as she logs out from That Ame’s account. It’s not a website problem, it’s a user problem, she just has to— She digs her nails into the wood, uses her account to check her timeline’s status..

Ame stares at the screen. Unread messages, some from today, some from yesterday, some from weeks from now.

‘Status: Compromised. Don’t attempt to return to your timeline at your current time.’

‘Selected Ames are working with the time warden to fix—’

‘As soon as possible, please contact an Ame to plan your next option.’

Sweat runs down her brow and stings her eyes. Ame shuts the computer off. She sits in the dark, quiet. It’s so quiet in this house.

Her steps are slow when she leaves the office. She doesn’t slam the front door when she exits the house. Night air creeps into her clothes and she shivers.

In her hands is her watch. She doesn’t think of home when she winds its hands back. She thinks of timeline #703, pressing the button.

The ground shakes, time is suspended. Ame blinks. She blinks again. The rift forms before her, its blue light shining on her like a beacon.

Her watch isn’t broken.

She clicks the button again and the space fixes itself.

Her timeline is gone. The wind is still and she doesn’t stop shaking.

The office door was open. Ame tells herself she forgot to unlock it again.

She needs to push Kiara off of her. She doesn't hold Ame like she’s made of glass, but as if Kiara is glue holding fragments together.

The phoenix’s touch is ill-placed, undeserving of an Ame that’s not her own. This isn’t her Kiara. This is Kiara #703, who loves Ame #703. Her jaw is tense, tears blind her vision.

It’s one thing to be unaware, to be stupid and careless, but now she’s lying.

The warmth isn’t from her Kiara.

And yet it’s a warmth nonetheless. A hiccup shoots out of her throat and this Kiara kisses her hair, hums a song.

Guilt gnaws at Ame’s bones.

.

.

Grief rests under her skin, letting exhaustion blanket her body. Her eyes are closed, but sleep refuses to come. She hears the door opening, feet approaching and a touch on her scalp. She knows it’s Gura.

The Ame that tells her is nice. She doesn’t sugarcoat why her world’s gone, but she knows she’s talking to a person. She wears round glasses instead of contacts, and doesn't hide her freckles with makeup. She jokes that everyone calls her Glasses, so Ame does the same.

“It’s a mix of outside forces and what’s in your timeline,” Glasses says. She’s clicking, but doesn’t show what the report exactly entails. Ame doesn’t want to see it anyway. She casts her gaze to the side monitor instead, listening. “You had a Ninomae Ina'nis, correct?”

“Yes, she was one of my girlfriends.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Glasses coughs and Ame sees her adjust her eyewear in her peripheral vision. “The invading anomalies were unusually stronger, smarter. Others assigned to your world reported one corrupting her, thus gaining control of her powers.”

“Others?” Ame rasps.

“Twenty agents, the recorded number of attempts is about ten thousand.” Glasses pauses. “They were adamant on continuing; they suggested contacting you for assistance as well.”

“Why didn’t you?” It’s harsh in Ame’s ears.

“We lost Ames and the threat wasn’t diminishing,” Ame hears Glasses clicking her mouse again. “They feared the anomaly would spread, so Kronii cut it from its source.” A loud gulp. “Of course, that came at the cost of your timeline. We’re sorry.”

“I get it.” Something boils inside Ame. She wasn’t given a chance to save them.

“…If you’re up to it, we can discuss—”

“How long has it been?” Ame turns then, watches Glasses widen her eyes.

“Since we talked?” Glasses asks.

Ame shakes her head. “My world was destroyed while I was on a mission. Is there an indicator that says how much time passed before the timeline was terminated?”

“I can check, if you’d like.”

“Please.” She wasn’t given a chance to say goodbye.

Glasses’s eyes dart around as the sound of her keyboard fills the office. “After you left, over half a year passed in their time.”

Things are finally making sense for Ame.

“We’d wait for you. We’d stay for you.”

“This is a difficult time for you.” Yeah, no shit. “Just know that you can request help for anything at all. And you can always find a new home in—”

Ame hangs up. She checks on her messages and isn’t surprised to see Ame #703 hasn’t replied.

She adds ‘hates answering back’ in her notes about Ame #703.

Gura #703 walks into the office while Ame works. She doesn’t know if Ame #703 allows non-clients inside, so the detective squints at the screen and pretends she’s too immersed to notice. She flicks a hand to lower the monitor’s brightness. There’s no need, for Gura lies on a loveseat and stays there.

Another Ame messages back and says she hasn’t made contact with Ame #703 in months.

A napping spot? The idea is plausible; if Gura can’t sleep to ocean waves, she can sleep to the ambience of a keyboard.

“Are you fighting with Kiara and Ina?”

The typing halts and Ame shifts her head. Gura isn’t looking her way, nose to the ceiling as she plays with the strings of her hoodie.

“No.”

“Are we fighting?”

Ame balls her hand into a fist, digs her nail into the palm. “No, we’re not.”

Another message pops on the screen. ‘—supposed to report back already.’

“Wanna go outside?” Gura offers.

If she doesn’t get fresh air, Ame will explode. “Yeah.”

Ina #703 is at Gura’s garden when they head behind the house. This Gura focuses on flowers instead of vegetables. White lilies and roses flow in the evening breeze. Ina’s hands are stained with ink, smudges mark the edges of her notebook.

The sunset casts shadows around Ina’s face. Grass crunches under Ame’s foot and Ina looks up, gaze softening. She smiles and Ame almost forgets where she is.

Referring to the girls with #703 feels harsh. Ame can’t help but think that she’s disregarding them completely, that she doesn’t believe they’re anything but a number.

In spite of this, Ame needs a safeguard. What if she starts connecting Ina #703’s kindness to her Ina? What if she can’t tell the difference between Gura #703’s laughter and her Gura? What if she forgets, or rather, stops wanting to remember?

What will happen to those she left behind?

She wants to run, jump into a random timeline and never come back. It shouldn’t take their Ame too long now. She bets that the moment she steps into the rift, a new one will spawn and Ame #703 will fall out. It’ll be like nobody left them.

Ame continues searching. Something beckons her to stay for one more week, one more day. She hopes it’s not greed.

Thread dangles in front of Ame’s face. It swings in front of her like a pendulum, mocking her. She runs with her hand outstretched. For every step she takes, the tick of a clock resounds in her head.

She trips and she’s slowly falling. She doesn’t stare into the abyss that swallows her feet, her ankles. The string floats farther and farther, but she sees it perfectly. A gloved hand lingers over the thread, brandishing scissors.

Ame opens her mouth, but words don’t come. The shears brush against the thread, before cutting it.

Tears burn her eyes when Ame opens them, panting. She’s greeted by the sight of another Ame looking down on her, a hand on her shoulder.

“What the hell?!” Ame swats the girl’s hand away, retreating to the other end of the couch.

The girl blinks. “You looked like you were having a nightmare. Should I not have woken you up?”

This Ame’s hair goes past her shoulders, a shark hairpin holding her bangs away.

“A-are you—”

“No, I’m not #703,” she answers. “I’m #30189.”

“Damn.” Ame knew there’s an infinite amount of timelines, but that’s too much of a mouthful.

Long-haired Ame isn’t amused; her expression probably gives her thoughts away. “Refer to me as Amelia.”

God, Ame thinks. She’s boring.

Amelia takes a seat in the other loveseat, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. “Rumors report of you asking other Ames about #703. I messaged you, but no response.”

“Sorry, I was…” She gestures to her on the couch and Amelia nods.

“It’s fine,” Amelia says. “I have your info."

Curt and to the point, Ame notes. “Um, that’s great! What do you know?”

“She’s dead.”

Amelia can’t read social cues. She’s rummaging through a rucksack she’s brought, searching. “We were assigned a mission together. A Code Purple.” She takes out documents, holding them out to Ame.

She doesn’t take them. There’s nothing graphic—her stomach is already shit as is—but Ame barely has the strength to hold them.

“What do I do?” she whispers.

Amelia places the papers on the table, gets up and slings her bag on her shoulders. “It’s best if #703’s significant others don’t read this. If you don’t want to deliver the news, I can—”

“No fucking way.”

“…Then I’ll take my leave.” She turns around, but Ame shoots out of her seat. She grips Amelia’s wrist, harsh enough for the other to flinch. “What is it?”

“‘What is it?’” Ame grits her teeth. “What took you so damn long? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”

Amelia shoots her a glare, tugging her hand away from Ame’s grip easily. Without a word, she lifts her shirt.

Bandages run from Amelia’s stomach, the wound reaching areas Ame can’t see. She glances down and realizes why the girl is wearing stockings. “Shit.”

“I wanted to come, the doctors didn’t let me,” Amelia insists. “I promised her I would.”

Ame tears her face away, so Amelia won’t see it. How is she going to tell them that their Ame is dead and that she’s been impersonating her by accident?

“How long have you been here?” Amelia asks.

“What?”

“You said you’ve waited, implying you’ve been here for a while.”

Steps approach Ame and she moves to draw out the distance. “I have.”

“How long?”

Ame should’ve let her walk away. “Longer than I should have.”

The room is silent, but Ame feels eyes on her back. “Do the mythical beings in this timeline know you’re not their Ame?”

She’s right behind Ame. For a moment, neither speak.

“Do they know you’re an imposter?” Amelia asks. There’s no accusation in her tone, merely gathering information. Gathering more evidence to reach a conclusion, like a detective, like an Ame should.

Ame snaps, turns around to grab at Amelia’s sweater. The latter tries to push away again, but Ame pulls her closer. Her grip is iron, her eyes are burning.

“I’m not replacing her!” Ame yells. She yells loud enough for Amelia to hear, for anyone outside to hear and knows she’s innocent. “If I was trying to steal her life, why the hell would I ask everyone where she was? Why contact your smartass?!”

“Calm—”

“I wasn’t trying to impersonate her, I thought this was my world!” Her face burns, she can’t breathe. “I can’t replace her. I can’t replace the ones I left either.”

Her voice cracks. “Nobody can replace them.” Out of her haze, Ame sees Amelia’s face. It’s the strongest emotion she’s displayed since she appeared. There’s no anger, no annoyance.

Amelia’s hands rest over Ame’s fists. “I believe you.” It’s fear; it’s pity. “I should’ve made my intentions clear, I apologize.”

Shaking, Ame lets go of Amelia’s clothes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You went through a lot.”

A pause. “You too.”

Ame doesn’t want to cry again. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell them,” Amelia says. “Not for their sake, for yours.”

Gulping, Ame says nothing as Amelia bids her goodbye. It can’t be for her sake, she’s been nothing but selfish. If she can’t say goodbye to her world, she’ll say it to this timeline.

Kiara’s back is turned when Ame enters the office. The sight twists her stomach. She’s reminded of a time where her Kiara would rub the wrinkles between her crumpled eyebrows. Walking to the other side of the room, Ame clears her throat and rests her hand on Kiara’s shoulder.

It’s shoved aside. The hand that grips Ame’s wrist shakes and she blinks in surprise. Tears brim Kiara’s eyelids and Ame—

“Who are you?”

Ame is unprepared, her brain stutters. Her throat is wrung out of moisture and no words escape her lips.

Anger flashes in Kiara’s eyes and she drops Ame’s hand. She holds a folder and everything clicks into place. She gives Ame a onceover and the latter doesn’t know what she sees. A light has been snuffed out, surrendering to disbelief and anguish.

How can Ame comfort her, when she’s the reason things are crumbling?

“I—”

Kiara thrusts the folder onto Ame’s chest, papers slipping out. She runs out and slams the door behind her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ame wills the tears to stop.

Kiara hasn't returned. It worries Ame, as well as Ina and Gura, though Kiara left a message claiming she’s going to see Calli.

“She’d say it in person,” Gura mopes, cooking to relieve stress. “Makes no sense.”

Ina and Gura still hang around Ame; that’s how Ame knows Kiara hasn’t pulled the veil. Ame almost wishes she did.

Ame has to say it. She doesn’t want anyone else to learn like Kiara did. Even if they’ll hate her for lying, at least she’ll go out truthfully.

And yet when’s a good time?

The answer comes in the early morning, before dawn pours through the windows. There’s a knock on the front door.

Ame questions if she’s in a horror movie—if she’s going to die — as she opens the door anyway.

Calli stares at her under the doorway. Without a word, with no light except the vividness of her red eyes, Ame knows that she knows.

Knows that she isn’t their Ame.

“Can we talk?” Calli asks.

“Yes,” Ame steps out. “Outside. Please.”

In the garden, this Calli stands over Gura’s garden too. She kneels to get a closer look at the lilies, her hand hovering but never touching.

She looks at Ame with neither malice nor frustration. This doesn’t change how Ame breathes easier when her gaze is pointed elsewhere.

“I’m sorry,” Ame finds herself saying. “When I first arrived, I genuinely didn’t know I was in the wrong timeline. Y-you probably think it’s bullshit, but it’s true.”

“I believe you.”

“And I—huh, really?”

“Yes.” Calli stands and as she corrects her posture, Ame realizes Calli #703 is taller than her own. “I knew for a while Ame was gone, I just didn’t know another was here til Kiara said something.”

Kiara did tell someone. Ame can’t force herself to be upset. She’s relieved that Kiara didn’t keep this secret like she did all this time. “She okay?”

“As best as one can in her position. Even if she didn’t tell me, I would’ve known. Each soul is unique, even between Ames.” She walks in her direction and Ame tries not to flinch.

Ame nods. “Like how?”

“Our Ame’s soul was as bright as her hair. It was wild and wouldn’t stay in one place.” She pokes Ame’s head and she gasps. “Yours is dimmer, smaller.” She pauses. “But I can feel its kindness.”

In the darkness, Ame clenches her eyes shut. “You’re being too kind."

“Who’s being nice?” Calli asks. “I’m being honest.”

“Sorry.”

“You didn’t know—”

“No, I mean,” Ame interrupts. “I’m sorry it’s me.”

And how can someone respond to that? Ame opens her eyes and finds a break in Calli’s composure. Calli’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, small and sad. She raises a hand to chop Ame’s head lightly. “Don’t tell me that. I need to be an anchor when you tell them.”

Ame needs to be strong too. Gura and Ina don’t rouse until noon. Ina walks out the bedroom first, Gura trailing after her as she yawns and rubs at her eyes. They stop when they see Ame making coffee, Calli standing nearby.

Calli takes the mugs from Ame, passes them to the two. Ina sits down on the dining table, closes her eyes as she sips. She doesn’t open them. Gura sits next to her and doesn’t drink hers. She reaches to grab Ina’s hand.

“Out with it,” Gura says.

Stomach dropping, Ame spares a glance at Calli. “Okay.” They deserve the truth, she thinks. Not you.

Ame expects anger from Gura when she admits how she arrived, how she didn’t know this wasn’t her timeline. Anger that the girl she missed didn’t come back, replaced right under her nose. Gura stares off into space instead.

Surprise isn’t found in either Gura or Ina’s face. Ame frowns, confused. “No angry mob?”

“I,” Gura starts. “I think I knew from the start, but I denied it. Then, I stayed quiet because I was trying to see what your deal was.”

“Where is she?” Ina asks, cuts the conversation. They both turn towards her. Her drink is starting to cool, her hands wrap tighter around the cup. “Do you know where she is?”

Fuck, Ame thinks. A shiver runs down her body and it lingers in her voice. “She’s dead, I’m… sorry. There’s documents—”

A weak cry leaves Ina’s lips. She covers her mouth, quivering as she leans back in the chair. She’s so small as Calli rushes to her side, rubbing Ina’s back. Gura hops off her chair to bury her head in Ina’s shoulder.

Ame is blind as she walks away from the kitchen, away from the house. This isn’t something she’s allowed to see. She wipes her tears with the end of her sleeve, frustrated. She walks away with no destination in mind.

An unread text sits inside Ame #703’s phone. “If you’re still here,” it says. “Meet me at the park near the house.”

There’s benches preceding the fountain. Gura lounges on one, the dazed expression still on her face.

“Hello,” Ame says. Gura forgoes speaking to pat the spot beside her.

In Ame’s timeline, there’s no park. She takes in the trees, the flowerbeds. If she was Ame #703, she’d visit this place daily. “Didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

Gura shrugs. “Would’ve left a bad taste in my mouth, if we left things like that.” She glances at Ame. “Surprised you stayed.”

She’s surprised too, but doesn’t mention it. She gives the phone to Gura. “Here. It’s not mine to begin with.”

Gura cradles the phone in her hand, brushes her fingers against its star keychain. “I said I had a feeling you weren’t our Ame from the start.”

“Yes you did.”

“She always wore citrus perfume,” Gura admits. “You weren’t wearing any.”

“Perfume?” Ame raises an eyebrow.

A smile cracks Gura’s stoic expression. Ame likes it. “Told her I could always tell she’s coming because I can smell her. She tried to mask it with the perfume, but it didn’t work.” She snorts. “She kept wearing it because Ina and I loved the scent.”

Humming, Ame tugs at her sleeves. “Can—” Gura glances at her and Ame falters. “Can you tell me more about her?” In a booklet about loss, it says to never shy away from talking about the loved one. Ame also feels she has an obligation to learn more about the girl she mirrored, the girl that’s become so essential in everyone’s lives.

“She painted.”

“Was she good?”

“No,” Gura laughs. “She wanted to make art like Ina because she loved her paintings, wanted to give something back.” She bumps her head against the bench. “She just followed tutorials, but Ina hung up whatever Ame finished.”

“That’s nice.”

Gura pauses, closes her eyes. “We always bought too many snacks and Kiara would scold us. She’d bring me flowers after a mission, even though I have a garden.” She laughs again and it’s wet. “She puts too much sugar in her tea, hates alcohol but has a sip and acts stupid as an excuse to dance with everyone. She’s annoying, she’s amazing—”

Gura stops altogether, lets out an exhale. “I can’t do this.” Her mouth twists as she fights a sob.

Ame rests her hand over Gura’s. “Can—”

She doesn’t finish as Gura collapses onto her, presses her face onto her coat.

.

.

.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Ame’s clothes are tear-stained.

They walk to the house in silence. Ame squeaks when she catches Ina’s silhouette, lingering around the garden.

Gura elbows Ame’s gut. “Her turn now.”

“I—” She gestures in the air, making Gura tilt her head. “Does she want that?”

“Yes.” Ame blinks. “I told her where I was going, she said she wanted to talk too.”

Rushing to the door, Gura leaves Ame behind. “Go on,” she hisses. She slams it closed, throwing subtlety out the window.

Ina perks up, turning her head. “Gura?”

Ame slumps. “It’s me.” She bites her lip, inches towards the girl. Ina’s eyes are red from crying, but her smile towards Ame is genuine. The blonde is silent as she sits on the grass with Ina. The wind is brisk against Ame’s cheeks.

“I knew you weren’t ours for a while too,” Ina admits. “I should’ve confessed.”

“When did you realize?”

Ina plucks a piece of grass, rolls it between her thumb and forefinger. “The last time she asked to hug me, I thought I was going to kill her.” She sneaks a peek at Ame’s shocked expression, offering a sheepish smile. “I’m terrible at dealing with The Ancient Ones. I lost control once, Calli and Kiara had to pry the tentacles off Ame’s neck.”

Bangs fall on Ina’s face and Ame resists moving them aside. “I said she didn’t need to pretend things were okay, but she’s stubborn. After that, she’d hug me whenever she came back from a mission. She went as far as to hug me as soon as we woke up.”

“And when I asked to hug you,” Ame realizes. “You knew.”

“That’s right.”

“Me too!” Ame blurts out. “My Ina’s the one to initiate hugs. She knows I struggle with things like this.”

Mirth is mixed with melancholy in Ina’s eyes. “This is the first time you haven’t been closed off to me.” It tilts Ame off balance. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Ame lowers her gaze. “I’m sorry for yours.”

“I know.”

“This sucks.”

Ina attempts a giggle. “Yes. But no matter how long I cry, no matter how much I don’t want to, I’ll keep going. For her.”

Ame hides her face under her cap.

Kiara walks in with Calli, the latter’s arm around her shoulder. Ame’s attention is on them, but she doesn’t dare gawk in their direction. Kiara whispers in Calli’s ear, before retreating further into the house.

Calli approaches her and Ame tries a wide smile. “You look like a murderer,” Gura mutters beside her.

“Kiara’s waiting in the office.” Nothing but shit happens in that office, but Ame doesn’t voice this aloud and nods.

The reaper grins, as awkward as Ame probably, and hurries to join Kiara.

In the office, Kiara and Calli wait on one of the loveseats. They turn to her in unison. It’s like a job interview, but thrice the stress.

“Sit.” Kiara beckons to the couch across from her and Calli.

Ame abides, the cloth around her neck stuffy. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” Kiara beats her to it.

“…Why?”

“Calli told me why you’re here instead of our Ame.” Kiara frowns. “If I stopped to ask, instead of assuming things, things would’ve been different.”

“You had every right to be upset,” Ame argues. She’s being too nice. “Someone you loved died and then you realized some stranger was in the house.”

“But I still regret how I acted,” Kiara says.

“You aren’t mad?”

“No,” Kiara sighs. “Only exhausted.”

“…Even though we kissed?”

Kiara scoffs. “That’s more a ‘I kissed you’ situation. What, did you know you were in the wrong timeline then?”

“No—”

“Then it’s fine.”

“You kissed?” Calli interrupts.

Kiara waves her off. “Irrelevant right now.”

Calli gawks at her. “Dude, kinda is.”

This isn’t right, it feels too easy and she waits for the drawback.

“Is that why you wanted me?” Ame asks.

They freeze, before Kiara faces her and shakes her head. “Your timeline is gone. What’re you going to do?”

Ame tries not to scream. No, she thinks. No way. “I’ll figure it out. The database can find me a place. I’ll hop around.”

“You could stay here,” Calli offers.

Panic bubbles in Ame’s throat. “Why?”

“You’re grieving too,” Kiara reminds her. “And you don’t have a home. We can’t turn you away. You can refuse—”

“No!”

Ame springs out of the loveseat, retreating to the other end of the office. She wraps her arms around herself. “I can’t do that your Ame… I can’t do that to my—” Her voice cracks, her fingers digging into her coat.

A hand settles on Ame’s shoulder. She swivels her head and Kiara rubs circles. “Can’t do what?”

And if this Ame was a smarter one, she’d have the perfect lie. And if this Ame was an actress, Kiara would have no tears to wipe away. “I don’t want to replace your Ame,” she weeps. “I don’t want you guys to replace them.”

“You won’t,” Kiara whispers. “Nobody can replace our Ame.” She smiles. “And nobody can replace your Kiara. Your Calli, Gura, Ina. Don’t tell me the Kiara in your world is exactly like me?”

Ame shakes her head. “Her hair’s longer,” her voice quivers. “And she hates alcohol more than me. She wanted to fill our house with cats; I was going to let her.”

“I can tell you love her. And I don’t know you like the back of my hand, but I don’t think you’ll do such a thing.” Ame hiccups and Kiara starts rubbing up and down her back. “And if you do, we’ll snap you out of it.”

“We’re not asking you to make this your new home,” Calli offers. “If anything, this can be…a place to go back to. A place where you won’t be lonely.”

Ame won’t stop crying. “If you’ll have me,” she forces out.

“Of course.”

“Is it okay if we hug?” Ame asks. She hates being this needy, this vulnerable. Yet she can’t change what she already is.

Kiara smiles, before stepping back. “I’ll get those two.” She opens the door and Gura falls over, shrieking.

Stepping around Gura, Ina walks towards Ame. There’s red on her cheeks, her hands behind her back.

Ame closes the distance and feels more people quickly huddle around them. Grief overwhelms Ame, but so does relief.

Ame used to wake up to coffee and eggs cooking on the stove, her Ina kissing her on the cheek while Gura makes breakfast.

Here, she’s an early riser, fries sausage patties and puts biscuits in the toaster oven. She hasn’t perfected this Ina’s tea, but Gura munches on the breakfast sandwich with glee.

Calli marathons noir films instead of westerns, humors being Ame’s assistant instead of a sheriff. “You should take me to a crime scene,” she says.

This Kiara likes boy groups, which frightens Ame.

Guilt doesn’t leave. There are mornings where Ame wakes up and thinks she’s home, feeling no difference. Sometimes Calli’s back is turned and Ame sees the Calli that promised to stay and wait for her. She knows Ina’s the same towards her. What matters is they remember soon after, Ame tells herself.

Kiara tells her one afternoon that their Ame would understand. This Ame doesn’t respond, but they both know she doesn’t believe it.

Memories are proof a loved one exists. Ame spends nights writing in a notebook. She’s too brief in entries and too detailed in others. Sometimes Gura knocks and tells her to go back to sleep, sometimes she reads what Ame wrote.

“Just in case,” she tells Ina. She apologizes after Ina’s face tightens.

They pitched a tombstone as proof that Ame #703 existed. This Ame buys flowers for her, thinking it’s unfair to snatch from Gura’s garden. She kneels to place them on the carved stone and closes her eyes. She’s not religious, but she’s respectful.

It’s hard to get back up. Grief’s weight pushes down her shoulder, trying to sink her below the ground. She stands on her own, she opens her eyes and sees one of them offering a helping hand. She tells herself it’ll get easier. And if it doesn’t, she’ll keep going. If not for the ones from her timeline, for the ones here.