Reduced to Nothing: A Headcanon Short

Mathias was never one to comfort people. Whenever he would stumble across someone in tears, he’d usually awkwardly back away to give them space or stay and offer a listening ear, depending on how close he was with the person. Either way, he wasn’t the type of hug it out and gently ask them what was wrong. The tears would come anyway. Even after, he would say that he would keep the small encounter a secret, just so that they wouldn’t talk about it after. To him, that was okay.

When he found Arzen crying for the first time, he backed away in a flustered kind of panic. He wasn’t sure if she heard or noticed him there, and upon peeking back inside, it turned out that she actually didn’t. That sent conflicting feelings up his spine.

She was the kind of upset where she took fistfuls of her hair and gave an angry tug. The kind of upset where she had to muffle her sobs because someone else could hear and potentially barge in. No one ever did. Mathias took the moment to consider if she was thankful for the privacy or even more tired of the never-ending pain.

It had been roughly three years since they had come across each other, two since he first came upon her crying. He recalled seeing her with her uniform and her shoulder-length, sort of boyish hair that she sprung back in Freshman year. After that, he noticed that she was growing it out. A few commented on it, but no one ever talked about it.

He noticed and felt that same pang in his chest. Her hair, which hung straightly and nicely down her back, which she bunned or tied or balled in her fists, was one of her more striking assets. He wasn’t so sure why.

She was just laying on her bed now, eyes red and swollen from crying, lips dry and her face an odd kind of pale that never really colored her features. She was fairer than the norm, sure, but never pale. Paleness reminded him of sickness and of inching towards death, of impending cold that shot icicles up one’s veins.

He was just sitting on the tree branch that sort of inched towards her bedroom, but kept back because he didn’t know if he should even come in, knock, or whatever. Mathias came closer, stopping at the glass window and took a breath.

After seconds of insane courage, he knocked.

She didn’t jump – not at all. Arzen was used to his visits, occurring randomly from within the school to in her bedroom. It was weird. Having a male in her bedroom screamed “terror”, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought. He never lingered when she was asleep, gave her space and asked if she wanted him there.

The answer was often a ‘yes’.

So when she rolled to face him and saw him waiting for her approval, she merely gave a small nod. Mathias then opened the window and climbed inside, landing neatly without a sound. The Technikan approached the bed, only to hesitate and just grab a chair and sit by the corner, waiting for her to talk.

It was always like that. He would wait for her to initiate, because he was never sure of what to say. He hated it, mostly. The waiting part. He wished that he could talk. Open the conversation and say anything – it was just what he wanted to do.

So, he attempted.

“Who did this?”

It was a pretty weird question to most. There were no wounds or scars or bruises.

Not on the outside, at least.

She replied with a small smile. “No one.”

Somehow, he knew that she was lying. But he didn’t press on.

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

“Junior year just ended,” she defended, sitting up right after. Her hair was nearly a mess, curls around her. Arzen awkwardly tied it into a single ponytail, “But I really am tired. There’s no helping that.”

“D’you think you can…?”

She went quiet.

He took that as either a ‘no’ or a ‘not yet’.

“It’s not in the notebook, if you’re wondering.” The little red notebook came to mind. “It’s just in here. Trust me. You don’t want to hear it.”

He wanted to know.

“Let me ask again: who did this?”

She looked at him.

“There are two people to blame. One of which is myself.”

* * * * *

He stayed.

They talked more, and his presence comforted her somehow. She eased down and excused herself to get more food, and she came back with a bag of chocolates she ended up sharing with him. Mathias wasn’t a fan of sweet foods, but ate it just to make her feel better. He didn’t feel like leaving her – it just didn’t feel right.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“You want me to leave?”

“I – I never said that.”

“So why…?”

Arzen shrugged as she typed at her laptop. “Technika might need you.”

“I’m sure it can last a few more hours without me, darling.”

“Cissa is going to kill you,” she muttered.

“I’ve escaped her death threats many times. And if she kills me, she’s got my blood on her hands. And I don’t think she wants that,” he added as an afterthought.

Arzen held back a smile. “Why are you even here?”

“Aside from my duty as your ever-faithful Watcher? Just visiting.” He paused. “Do I need any more of a reason, Arzen?”

“…not at all. You have better things to do in Technika. Just. Why here?”

]

“Techika gets stuffy.” Arzen glared.

“That’s my world you’re insulting, Prat.”

“I – I was kidding…and let’s not bring up that horrid nickname.”

“The Watcher seemed to enjoy calling you Prat,” she teased, and he grimaced.

“I’ll enclose him in a block of ice if he tries again.”

* * * * *

She was asleep.

Mathias was preparing to leave. He never stayed when she slept, remaining only when he was sure that she was locked in slumber. Watching her would be creepy, climbing in was out of the question. And in a way, she was right.

Technika needed him somehow.

“Paging Gletscher.”

He glanced at the communicator on his wrist, seeing the holographic image of Amaya Himmel appear.

“Cissa needs you back ASAP. She found something sticky in the data clouds and needs you to fish it out.”

“I’ll return in a few,” he promised. She gave him a sturdy look, her orange eyes analyzing him carefully.

“You’re watching Arzen again, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He waved it off. “I’m coming back.”

“You better. Now stop stalking and come back, you love-struck fool.”

Mathias stammered out – stammered! – a hasty retort, but the call ended with the sight of the pleased smirk on Amaya’s haughty face.

“Did you call him, Amaya?”

“Just did, Cissa.” She met Cissa’s maroon eyes, “Do me a favor and tell him to stop being such an idiot when he gets back.”

“An idiot–?”

“Yeah.” She turned back to leave, “Ask him to unclog a data cloud and he can do that easily. Leave him with Arzen Venura in the mortal realm and he’s reduced to stammering and a flushed face.” A snicker rose from her throat, “He has it bad.”