White as snow, slightly coarser structures that stood out, fine lines that twisted like scars across the entire length and width, merging into one another, only to branch out later in a never-ending network of roots. He had been staring at the top paper for a while, had occasionally uncapped the fountain pen and raised it above the surface, only to lower and close it again after a few moments. A painter, conscious of his duty to wield the brush and immortalise the nobleman's portrait on a canvas, but unable to find the right colour, the right tool or even the first approach, although the person posed impatiently with a fixed mine and a piercing impatience in his eyes, which dug deep into the artist's insides and silently urged him on, even reproached him for not having wasted the florins in vain. This was exactly what was reflected in him, he did not know how to begin. Everything that came to his mind seemed far too trivial, too small, too inappropriate, not correct. Over and over again, in the course of the last few days since his arrival at the Institute, he had sat down in front of this very desk, lost in thought like a poet trying to compose a poem that reflected the events and his emotions even in the slightest way, in which everyone could empathise and yet still offered room for interpretation and mystery, yet the subject stood out clearly from the rest so that it jumped out at you. No, any wording was not worthy of her, not worth the paper and ink.

Despite the wandering, twisting and tangling of his thoughts for the right words, he almost sensed the presence of another person. Not directly in his room at first, but close by. If at first it was like a slight tingling on his skin, within a few seconds it swelled to a slight straining of the hairs on the back of his neck and the inescapable feeling of being watched. Through his time under observation, constant fear of a surprise attack and the utter uselessness of his eyes in the deepest recesses of the bunker room, he had been forced to call home, he had become more alert, more suspicious and more alarmed. He had learned to rely not only on his eyesight, but also on his other senses as well as his gut feeling. A slight, barely existent scent from the sudden light breeze clearly increased his alertness and at the same time his alarm. As if by automatism, one hand had already wandered unnoticed to one of his chakrams at his side and wrapped itself around its handle. However, it remained there for a few precious seconds - which he would later scold himself for wasting - while the components of the scent triggered something strange in him. Was it almost a rigidity and at the same time a realisation that struck him like a bolt of lightning. Vanilla... Lilac...

His eyes glazed slightly, showing for a moment the innermost part of his soul, which could hardly decide between disbelief, unanswered questions, gratitude and infinite joy, a heartbeat, less, before they closed abruptly and a kind of distant coolness entered the green of his eyes as soon as he had turned to her. There she stood, older, more grown-up, also more alert, at the same time hurt and extremely angry. The one caused by time, the other ... also and the component from the mistake on his part, the Atlas task he was sitting in front of. With stoic calmness he accepted her words like gifts laced with small fine blades that sank unnoticed lightly into his skin. Slowly, he rose from his seat, while she immediately followed with the next spell, which could also be taken as a threat. "I'm glad to see you again too, Sera", the words were calm as was his posture, which however still possessed that certain streak of alertness and readiness to put his hand to his weapon again at any moment, which was now part of his character. Without further hesitation he took a step in her direction, his eyes still fixed on her, almost probing. "Then I would have looked for a better hiding place than the Institute," he admitted frankly, while his heart again played the same trick it had done when he met Lydia again, quickening and throbbing in his throat. "But to answer your question, no, I am not hiding. I never have and I never will", at this he gestured slightly with his head towards his desk, which contained the still blank papers and the locked fountain pen right next to it, as well as a cup of coffee, as if this was the answer. Next to it, on a small sideboard, stood an espresso machine that would make any frahling lover's heart swell. Other than himself, there was no touch of his personality in the room. Everything was as any shadowhunter living in New York could get it. His clothes as well as his guitar were stored in the wardrobe behind closed doors, the weapons on his person. Now he stood almost directly in front of her, a respectful arm's length away, unable to judge whether she would carry out her threat. But he could not blame her for doing so and he could not blame her at all. "Neither did I claim to be dead. And if you want to make your threat come true...", he briefly raised his arms almost in and out, "... go ahead..."

While he himself had been in captivity, the world around him had changed, had progressed. Everyone he had known had gone their own way. Different places, different institutes, everyone busy with his own education - and yet... one knew, knew that the other was probably up and that one would meet again, one day. All the more it pulled the rug out from under one's feet when one learned exactly the opposite of the assumption one had almost made relatively carefree in her metier. What it might have been like for them to learn of his disappearance, he could not imagine, he could not imagine. He had not had to experience such losses with the angels... one might think. But it meant not only pain and sorrow for them, but also for him. How often had he imagined being with them again? With his family. His friends. Back at the Institute, either in New York or even back in Rome, bella Italia. He was driven by the thought of being obsessively who he used to be, even though he knew he would never be himself again. Not after all he had experienced on a daily basis. Nevertheless, one thing had always been clear to him - he would return. To make this possible, he had taken a lot on himself, not only physically, but also psychologically, but it had been worth it, every single second, every single agony, every single terror.

Now to stand in front of her again, in front of his best childhood friend, the feeling was simply overwhelming. He had learned to suppress his emotions, but that didn't mean he didn't have any. It was just that they did not float on the surface like lily pads and open up in their radiant colorfulness to others like the sun. Would he ever be able to show them openly again? That would remain to be seen, his intentions in this regard were still a mystery even for him. He would only devote himself to such thoughts later, it was still too early for that. His priorities were set differently, as one could guess from his frequent visits to the training room. Nevertheless, he had spent the last few days thinking of his family and friends in Rome. But his eloquence in writing was not the best, so no one there had been informed about his return. He had asked Lydia to keep quiet, he wanted to do this himself. However... Somehow Serafina must have got hold of the information. Even if he had not exactly greeted her with excessive Italian cordiality, he was absolutely not averse to her presence. Nevertheless, he had not expected her to appear, which the grip on his weapons in the usual automatism for the ignorant seemed to make clear once again. A false image that would be maintained until he could bring himself to speak the unimaginable. When would he be ready? That was written in the stars.

He almost stopped, the uneasiness was literally written all over her face. Her tense posture, the slight shiver that made her skin twitch briefly, and the blue eyes that bored into him. But he decided against it, continued to bridge the distance between them as a sign, he didn't want to push her away, he wanted her to stay. Her whole manner... the snappish, stubborn stubbornness she still was, yet he could guess she had changed as much as he had. Not too obvious for him at this moment, but time changed everyone. He was almost snorting. "Or you in looking, so I always picked the obvious hiding places so you'd have any chance of finding me," he retorted unabashedly with a click of his tongue, his eyebrows rising in sync. There was a brief moment when the old Leonidas returned before it instantly disappeared again.
He studied her expression with interest as she followed his nod towards the desk. Tense jaw - not good. Her anger was more than evident, even for what could be described as an emotion-legasthenic. Not showing emotions oneself did not mean not being able to recognize and classify them at the same time. He waited tensely, allowing her time to recognize his motives, before he gave her every chance to vent her frustration on him here and now. He would probably fight back after a while out of old habit, but a few seconds of completely free action were certain for her. Disbelief and a certain disquiet flashed in his eyes as she hurled these insults in his face, which hit him like a hammer blow. Almost at the same moment, her sobs nearly broke his heart, while tears ran down her cheeks. For a moment he was completely perplexed. He had not experienced such emotional outbursts from another person lately. Not even paying attention to her clenched fists, he stared at her with a racing heart that made even the roaring engines of racing cars seem slow. Her weight against him and her hands, which sought their way like tendrils on a trunk, only allowed him to regain his composure. The trembling of her body against his was like a quake with the highest values on the Richter scale, which was in complete contrast to the soft scent of her perfume, which filled his airways as inevitably as some of her hair filled his field of vision. He paused for less than a heartbeat before his arms wrapped around her. Gently, one hand rested on the lower part of her shoulder blades, yet at a sufficient, respectful distance from her hip, the other held the back of her head, weaving lightly into her hair, two or three fingers gently tracing circles to calm her. His throat tightened, so he could say nothing in response to her sobs. Only a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth at the insult she had to explicitly include at the end.
As soon as she had dried her tears on his now partially wet shirt, she could simply pull back, he perceived her silent signal to do so and loosened his embrace. Where her gaze now wandered, he could guess. Coffee machines, especially espresso machines, had a magical attraction for Italians. He watched her calmly until she indirectly expressed her wish, sprinkled with more words. As if he was air, she strutted formally past him and settled down on the other side of the desk on the chair provided. Pressing his lips together briefly and rubbing them together as if he had to spread lip balm, he stifled a broad grin. How did she manage that? To just show up here, hurl insults at him, break down at the same time, only to resume the conversation calmly and throw him off the track like that! "I'll manage," he played the ball back, having felt her heartbeat pounding against his chest as they embraced. Almost too self-confidently, he now gave her a slightly lopsidedly raised corner of his mouth, his hands briefly sinking into his trouser pockets before he brought them out again and began to move slowly, almost provocatively. "No, I got it myself," he answered her question, pressing new coffee powder evenly into the device with practiced and purposeful movements. "I'm looking forward to that." With another metallic click of the machine, the portafilter clicked into place, while with his other hand he conjured a fresh sparkling cup from a drawer and placed it underneath. Hissing and grumbling was the response of the most important appliance in the room. "I'll give you a hint," he said before pulling out the cup of dark, steaming liquid. Over the steam, he looked her straight in the eye. "Always make nice with the one who brews the good coffee", with a slight wink he put the cup down in front of her before sinking back into his chair, pushing the leaves aside. "Since when are you here and no longer in Rome? You wanted to finish your education there." This was his state of knowledge, but he could already guess the answer. Because of him... "So what is your plan now?"

Somewhere inside him the little boy still existed. The one who had made friends with the little girl back then. Trying to remember what had happened when they were still kids, a part of his mind wandered, went through the bookshelves filled with books of memories to collect the one he aimed for, whilst the majority stayed concious in the present, alert and ready for everything. Through his training with the Mundane he got more alarmed, nearly jumpy when he got the feeling of being observed. A trait which is particularly relevant as a Shadowhunter, too. Besides that… he had learned so many different skillsets and ways of thinking, quickly evaluating and deciding when needed, adapted more adolescence manners and other qualities. Most of them, he would have gained through his training at one of the Institutes, too – in his opinion. However, in some ways he was glad he had had this expirience. Not many other Shadowhunters if any would have all of his skills. Which wasn’t that bad. On the other side, he might not have the same fighting techniques and knowledge in handling demons and other Downworlders. Not knowing the current affairs in all worlds was another big downside. Both he had on his daily agenda which seemingly contained nothing else. For him getting back on track, was his major task right now. Not accepting that he might need some time to heal – not only externally but also internally. His nightmares and flashbacks an indicator he might need someone to talk about everything that had happened, someone to help him get through this. Not needed, not even considered. Rather he lived with this terrors than to involve someone else. He didn’t need the pitty, the closer looks from others on not only his bruised body but his wounded soul. Nothing one could do, would ever reverse time and change the outcome of the mission he had been involved five years ago.

Roaming in his internal library, the librarian found those pitch black book covers which he didn’t dare to touch. The majority of them were coloured in this way. Often bad experiences were more present in ones memories than the good ones, especially when they had happened recently. The dark and forbidden section as he prefered to call it, was a part the librarian wandered along, never touching any besides when he seemed to be forced, triggered by any action, any feeling Leonidas had in a particular moment or situation. The more colourful books resided way back, some lost a bit of the brightness like they had been standing in strong sunlight for decades. Those memories weren’t as present anymore, some didn’t continue, had gaps or even lost most of their content. If he ever got them back?

Remembering he had been a joyful child, compared to him now nothing seemed left of him. His eyes more observant rested on everyone and everything in this room at once, his attention way better and more focused, he often talked less. Staying silent, he rather gathered his information by not only words of others but their body language and other traits. People like Serafina made it especially easy for him to collect their emotions as they were written all over their body. Embracing her to calm her was the only option he had as she had basically thrown her arms around his neck. Not being repelled by this, he wasn’t used to any such close contact which didn’t include pain. That’s why he might act a bit awkward in the first few seconds before he hugged her.

While he stifled a grin, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up a little more. Now she was watching him. Letting her gaze wander over his body, he didn't hold it against her. They had changed, both of them. His whole figure had changed from the somewhat skinny boy to the athletically muscular young man. It was only natural to get a better picture of each other. Peering out from underneath his side-draped mop of hair, he could clearly see her gasping for breath in a controlled manner. With it he had probably hit a nerve. "And the queen of cocky sayings lacks the backfire," he replied simply, briefly making direct eye contact before turning to the espresso machine. After all, he wanted to comply with her indirect request of his own volition. Her further comment on the offered carte blanche to vent her vendettas on him he simply left in the room. Even without further implications from her, he knew he would see her more often now. Not only because she would apparently be here in New York for a while, but also because of his private sanctuary, which would now become the first port of call for the Italian Shadowhunter. If only the Amarettini or even Cantuccini were missing, an Italian flag and appropriate music from the homeland and his rooms would mutate in an instant into the lounge of the Italians stationed in New York. No, he would have to come up with something.

One of his eyebrows rose slightly. Was she really insinuating that he was offering her bad coffee? The beans he had ground by hand were of the highest quality, as was the machine itself. He had learned to operate it from childhood, so it was second nature to him. Even a somewhat longer break could not change that. Besides, he had had enough practice the last few days to get back into the groove. Flashing her an undefinable glance, he sat back down, continuing their conversation which seemed more like a coffee gathering with a long time not seen friend. No, it actually was that. Listening he grabbed his own cup and took a few sips. So she had asked to continue her training phase in New York? Because of him? Just blinking a few times at her exaggerated long and insulting comment about himself, he stayed stoically calm as before. When she first broke eye contact while this question hung heavy in the room, he remained silent for a sip. "I was to complete my training here and I will continue to do so," he informed her. Slowly, he set the cup down and leaned forward, forearms resting loosely on the desk, direct eye contact restored. "Do not inform anyone that I have returned. I want to do this myself." If he ever found the right words for it. With that, he already leaned back again as well. "About your training status and process I will keep myself informed and observed", he let her know right away, while he prepared the machine for another cup of coffee. He sounded like a real (future) head of the institute, almost a trainer at the same time, who wanted to know exactly about each of his trainees. "What has happened in Rome in the last five years? Any big events or incidents? How is Chiara?", he now began with the questions, whereby she would have been the one who possessed at least equally burning ones. With the freshly steaming coffee in his hand, he turned his full and undivided attention back to her, seeking eye contact. "What all has been going on in your life?" Swiveling the cup slightly and lifting it, he invited her to a rambling tale.

Not only did he not want to talk about the past five years in detail, could he imagine it would be triggering and traumatizing for others. He hadn’t simply spent the time away at a grand hotel, working out in the fitness area with a personal coach to get fit, eating healthy and diverse food with the assistance of chef cooks and just chilling at a beach. Involuntarily, he had been kidnapped, had been taken hundreds of miles away from New York to be held in a dark, small room like a prisoner. Only being allowed to go outside for training times and when he had to fulfill diverse household duties like cutting wood into pieces for the fireplace which warmth he would never feel on his own skin. His tongue tied into a knot when he only thought about talking about it, he couldn’t… Another reason why he wasn’t able to be open about it. Firstly, the story itself, secondly, the ability of finding the right words for it, and thirdly, to stop the memories, the emotions or even prevent them before they could roll over him like a tsunami filled with pain and despair. Meanwhile, he couldn’t even imagine how much his family and friends had suffered his loss. There had been a hollow feeling inside him for the first few weeks when he had thought about the last glimpses of the mission he had caught sight of. At first it had been the main theme of his nightmares, being back there fighting demons which outnumbered them with ease. Later they turned back to the past couples of days and months of him being trained, sometimes even in combination with the prior ones which together created a venomous cocktail of immense torture. Often he found himself waking from his dream screaming, sweating in the cold and damp room, his scars throbbing and burning like freshly cut. Swearing he would never let anything like this happen to anybody else, he had endured it all somehow. Maybe it was a test by the nephilim? One of the instant first thoughts he had had which soon faded. Now the bitter reality had hit him like a truck. Instead of a test, he tried to assert different ways of escape - one being more suicidal than the other. Most options he outlawed simply because they could be against the opinion of the Clave. What would they think about him if they knew? If they found it? No, there had to be a better way but with bitterness he had realized there had been none. To be free, he had to kill. Now he had broken his chains and still he wasn’t free…

Their conversation almost had something of an old married couple about it. Basically they liked each other, but he had done something that went against her grain. To get back at him, they would literally argue all day long, throwing jibes at each other like a ball. But now she seemed to be the one who couldn't think of any more, although she was actually the master of this verbal sport. At least he thought so. Her rather more sober remark only earned her a slightly raised eyebrow. "Everybody is an artist in one way or another," he said with an extremely wise and almost precocious phrase.

After everyone had received their coffee, he returned to her question. Of course he would continue his training and also at the institute to which he had been assigned. What did she think? He knew he had to go back to Rome, but the circumstances were not exactly the best. Sending fire messages a few days ago had been the most obvious idea, but he had had to throw it out. Only because of lack of eloquence and linguistic skill. For him, clear, short orders and open words counted more, he was trained to react to them immediately. Nevertheless, this was exactly the wrong approach. At the same time, he did not want to give a formal report, nor did he want to have to justify himself properly, but at the same time he did not want to play everything down as terse. He didn't have to read minds to know that his counterpart was of a different opinion, which was clearly expressed by her hissed words. He really couldn't play it down. "My ability to put enough information on paper without really telling everything, and yet enough so that you don't worry any more, leaves much to be desired," he confessed to her before sighing audibly. "We both know that almost half the institute in Rome would travel to New York at once or organize a party during my visit. I don't want either of those. I don't want a big fuss made about my appearance. At the same time, I want to visit our homeland without making everyone think that my spirit has returned to haunt them." Given his family history with Filomena, this was not at all unrealistic. The discord was clear from his tone, as was the longing for his home and family. Still, he couldn't just go back, he didn't want to resume his education there only to feel everyone's eyes on him, to perceive the whispering behind his back... No, he had to find an alternative solution. Just as quickly as he had opened up to her again for a short time, he closed himself off again like a mussel. It was so... strange. How did she always manage to tickle out the boy from before?

When he asked about his family, especially his grandmother, he received no answer for a short time. He watched Serafina with interest, trying to read in her eyes what she knew, but she would not allow him to make direct contact. "She's... dealing" Even the slight hesitation triggered a new tangle of feelings inside him. Worry, fear and incredible heartbreak struggled for dominance. Furrowing his brows he looked at her. "If you want to add something, don't hold your tongue. Speak freely," that's what he expected from his people. Even if that phrase felt wrong somehow and left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Somehow he knew not to expect any further information. He should get it himself in Rome. This silent message had reached him loud and clear.

However, he couldn't make heads or tails of even his old childhood friend. Each of his questions made him meet granite and almost bite his teeth on it. But he knew better than to keep trying. She had always been stubborn and even with a battering ram nothing could be coaxed out of her if she didn't want it. The few pieces she threw at him, however graciously, took away his compulsion to reply. Imperceptibly, he swallowed hard. "Sometimes you have to grow up faster than you like," he let her know before he stuck his nose back into his cup and let the tart drops of coffee flood his taste buds.

Her sudden change of subject told him she didn't want to talk about it. He would by no means force her to, so he had no choice but to jump on her bandwagon. "There is something similar to coffee in the canteen", he explained to her, his nose already slightly wrinkled for a moment. He obviously didn't like this broth himself. Why else would he have bought such an expensive machine? Turning his gaze back to her, one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Of course, he could now play two sides: The one clearly too authoritative and self-congratulatory, by simply letting this sentence stand, or else he came towards her, but made it clear she was not to be given the whole hand straight away. "You may help yourself to coffee here under the following conditions: I don't want constant going in and out and no snooping. Everything will be treated, handled and cleaned with care and neatness. The two of us train together at least once a week and I want you to accompany me on my trips to Rome." The first were clearly normal requirements, while the last two, on the other hand, were a little more special. However, it was nothing unusual to train together, but in combination with the journeys - plural! He made it clear that he did not want to push her away, on the contrary. He wanted to re-establish contact with her. And she couldn't object to frequent trips home, could she?

Normally, he wouldn’t participate in any kind of games. They were foolish and childish, most of the time. However, this one he enjoyed somehow. Maybe he would continue this masterpiece of verbal battering with her in private. His ‘new’ mindset did not allow him to use that when other, unknown Shadowhunters were around. This wasn’t a matter of pride, it was professionalism. Moreover, he wanted to earn respect and not be seen as one who wasn’t strong enough to lead and command clearly. Her mocking assumption nearly amused him. I am neither a poet, nor a painter. Only if they are allowed to create their lines with blood. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he glanced at her. ”Anything can be art in someone’s eyes. Even the most horrible work.”

For him it would be irresponsible and incomprehensible to leave the New York Institute to continue his training elsewhere. They had done nothing wrong. Admittedly, he would not assume on good faith that they had searched for him sufficiently. Nonetheless, they hadn’t caused his kidnapping. He would advise to cross-check their information before they send out hunters or, at least, have multiple plans if plan A and maybe even B failed. Returning home to Rome for his training phase wasn’t an option then. Not telling them he had returned was another matter for which he earned a deverstating stare. Listening nearly every word turned into a imaginary slap into the face for him. Everyone had worried about him, and still was worrying besides him being declared dead. The scars from the mission started to itch and slightly burn at the thought of the heart pain of his family and friends. ”I never wanted it to come to this, to cause you any kind of pain and despair”, honesty filled his voice which still seemed more like the authority one. Pressing his lips a bit more together, he did not know what to say. ”It’s …”, one hand ran through his hair in distress, ”Everyone asks me the same questions about my whereabouts. Legit, no question. But… I don’t… I can’t…” By the angels, he grasped for words, looking away shortly to gather himself and suppress the memories before he turned his head back towards her. With Serafina he wanted to be honest, wanted to tell her but he simply couldn’t. Inhaling deeply, he added ”Give me some time… please.” He desperately needed to sort things out, without a doubt. That it might help to talk with others, he didn’t even consider right now. For him, it was his problem, his kind of failure and personal story he needed to get straight before he could tell others. The head’s grandson… the future head… Was he just that? Handed that burden by birth and wearing it ever since? Nothing more? No… He was more than that. ”Heavy is the head that wears the crown”, he muttered more to himself than her.

Now he would have to live with the consequences of not telling anyone, especially her. Knowing she could hold grudges for a while and would often rub it into his face, he accepted his fate. Ignoring the spite in her words which hit another nerve. On the one hand, he was astonished she didn’t hold back, on the other hand, he called her a fool for doing so. Her attitude wouldn’t be to the liking of everyone and she would not only make friends with that. Allowing her to not hold back with her comments and furiosity right now, did not mean, he would accept it forever.

Oh oooohhh, what was she planning? The self-indulgent smile on her face let his brow raise as a reflection. Breaking into his room? Picking the lock? Everything under the umbrella of cohesion? With every argument it rose higher, his lips twitching in hidden amusement. His heart skipping a beat as soon as she called him by his name. Why was that always happening to him? This sudden jump and the warm feeling… Was she telling him, she would start a fight over coffee? ”Apparently, you have never heard of privacy”, something he had in one way or another the last few years, too. ”Oh, I can make sure, you will never set a foot into my room again – believe me” , he almost threatened her. Would he really be that mean? Pinching his eyes slightly he looked at her. ”I did not know my room is the headquarter of the Italian Shadowhunters based in New York.”

There was something in the air. Somehow they managed to run at each other, growl their claws in warning and briefly give each other a few sets of hot ears without really hurting the other. They also managed to drive each other mad with teasing words. It was as if they were two young lions who raged together, sometimes more sometimes less seriously, even after they had not seen each other for a long time. They had a very special chemistry and dynamics that many could probably never understand. His head slightly tilted, his eyes flashed out of interest and amusement. ”Why don’t you move in with me here then, if you want to spend most of your time near the espresso machine either way?”, he added a bit cheeky and almost challenging. And want to spent most of the time with me...

How proudly she let him know she had gotten better at fighting! It warmed his heart. She hadn’t been the typical kind and had taken the training sessions seriously. Obviously, that had changed. Many things and people had. ”I will be on my watch for sudden attacks and broken doors then.” Oh, my lady had finally decided to accept his offer. ”yeah, how generous of you”, he admitted with a slight roll of his eyes.

Something had started to brew in his chest over the course of their conversation, lowered slightly over time but always kept raising. And now it had reached the point of boiling. The final blow was her pointing at him and warning him to claim her trainings lessons with him, if necessary, but needing coffee or she would otherwise turn feral. A laugh errupted from him out of nowhere and filled the room for a heartbeat. It was a short one but still you could hear he hadn’t had done that for quiet a while, filled with honest and pure relief and joy. His head thrown in his neck a bit for that, he flashed a loving smile at her for a second afterwards. ”I did not know you were so keen on training with me. Otherwise, I would have raised my demands and the number of mandatory training sessions per week.” Her smile… her damn smile… ”Pinky promise” Like the promises they had made as children. Shaking his head slightly, his faded like someone brushed it away, like it had never existed before. ”Anything else I should know?”