I didn’t really want to say it, but Jules looked much better before he cut his hair. And it’s not just because the idiot didn’t actually bother with a mirror, or because he wouldn’t let his mother fix the mess he’d made of it.

He looks uncomfortable when people comment on it, and yet whenever he sees his reflection he smiles.

The nightmare comes to mind sometimes — that morning when he woke me by thrashing around like one possessed. But the worst part about Jules and his strange actions these days is that he never says anything about why he acts that way.

Even when I ask.

“𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥?”

“𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺?”

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨?”

There is never an answer.

Until there is.

“They kidnapped me,” he says out of nowhere, flinging daggers around the room with what I can only assume is telekinesis. It’s ridiculous, it’s stupid, it’s an incredibly illogical thing to do, but he’s doing it.

He’s careful enough to keep them far enough from the two of us, but I can’t help being worried.

“Uh… who?”

“The Fara.” His words — two terrifying words, coming after that statement — are accompanied by a shrug. “Like, a… month? A month of torture, I suppose. I don’t really know, I was pretty out of it…”

“I’m sorry, can you… a month. Of torture. And you just didn’t tell anyone?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s a stupid idea 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰?”

Jules laughs, incredibly enough. An actual, honest-to-God laugh.

“That’s not the main thing.”

“Nightmares.”

“Yeah, nightmares… look, you… I thought you were, like, some sort of restraints… again. And I was trapped, and I thought I was back there.

The nightmare itself was pretty… eh, it could have been worse, I suppose, but when I woke up I was half-convinced that everything had really happened… like then and there. See?”

“So you cut your hair?”

“Oh, yeah, they’d use my hair as a sort of garrote. I… that was part of the dream, probably. It blurs together sometimes.”

𝘏𝘦’𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥.

I’m not sure what I can say to any of that.

Most of the weapons drop when his head does, but one changes course and flies straight at us both. I put my arm between it and Jules, since I’m the one who wouldn’t get hurt, but it stops just centimetres away.

“Jules?”

“Sorry,” he whispers, not looking up. “I shouldn’t have tried to do that.”

“Tried… what?”

He doesn’t say anything.

Or look at me.

I take the opportunity to move the dagger, and Jules doesn’t move to stop me. When it’s safely out of sight, he looks up for a moment.

His eyes are shining with tears.