Short Stories: Afterward [Iris & Tess Version]

Author's Note: I decided to post this POV now because, as much as I'd love to include it in the main story, I'm unsure if there will be room for it there.

So, if you prefer to avoid reading potential scenes that may appear in the main story, I can't recommend reading this story.

The sound of pencil strokes against the paper blends with the stillness of the room as Iris remains fully focused on the sketchbook in her hands.

It had been a while since she last picked up a pencil, but that changed when they arrived in Fallenmor... among many other things.

Her wrist aches from the pressure she's unconsciously applying to the pencil, and she has to force herself to control her grip.

For Iris, drawing is all about control.

Every idea must be fully formed in her mind before it touches the paper.

Every stroke must be carefully considered before being placed on the surface.

Every artist must stay focused on the process, knowing when to move forward and when... to stop.

Snap. The graphite in the pencil breaks against the paper.

"…Ouch." An amused voice follows, and Iris blinks, turning her head toward its owner.

Tess meets her gaze with a smirk, standing just behind the couch where Iris is settled, her elbows propped on the backrest with her palms resting under her chin.

"How long have you been standing there?" Iris asks with a small sigh, setting the sketchbook aside.

"A while," Tess admits casually, her gaze fixed on Iris as she picks up a utility knife and begins sharpening the pencil. "I was waiting for you to notice me, but I got bored."

The prepared tools, the napkin to catch the shavings—everything has been set up by Iris in advance.

As always.

Tess watches Iris for a moment longer before her attention drifts to the sketchbook.

Without permission, she reaches for it, knowing Iris would've left it face down if she didn't want anyone to see it.

"Drawing the detective with such photorealistic precision even without a reference..." Tess comments smugly, examining the sketch with playful curiosity. "I must say, I'm not surprised, considering the way you've been ogling the detective every possible second since we met."

Iris gives her a side glance before returning her focus to the task at hand. "Are you here because you're bored, or...?"

Tess lets out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm waiting for Rebecca to start the training, and I thought I'd check on you in case things get a little... extreme."

The corner of Iris' lips twitches upward. "Morgan warned Rebecca not to overdo it, so don't worry. Still, I hope you know better than to antagonize her—especially now, when I can't afford to waste energy on that either."

Tess' expression falls, and she places the sketchbook back down. "Being near the detective... does it help? With your condition?"

Iris doesn't answer immediately, her gaze drifting to the incomplete sketch of the detective that she's been trying to finish.

This isn't the first time she's attempted to capture their features, but each time the image that forms in her mind blurs everything else.

Every contour tempts her intentions, evoking sensations triggered by nothing more than their presence—their voice, the depth of their eyes, the touch of their skin against hers—everything that the paper can never fully capture.

Everything she shouldn't be feeling.

"It's… easier for me to control it when I'm close to them than from a distance, yes," Iris says finally, her gaze returning to the pencil.

Tess hums thoughtfully. "Maybe you should ask the detective to pose for you. You know, combine the pleasant with the practical... I'm sure the detective wouldn't mind."

The suggestion sends a rush of heat through Iris, and she has to fight against the rising tide of sensations and thoughts about how it could be... and where it could lead.

But, as always, Iris forces these thoughts away, keeping her tone even as she responds, "That's something you would do, definitely not me."

"Don't give me ideas," Tess replies with a distinct intent in her tone, watching Iris freeze as she processes the meaning of those words that cause her to turn her head toward her teammate.

Tess studies her expression with barely hidden smugness, trying to find any crack in Iris' carefully guarded composure.

"I'm not Rebecca, Tess," Iris reminds her after a moment, turning away to check the sharpness of the pencil with the tip of her finger and setting the knife aside. "Don't try to provoke a reaction out of me. It doesn't work."

The lie slips from her lips effortlessly, but Tess doesn't need to know how easy it was to evoke such a strong, foolish reaction—especially if Iris doesn't want Tess to try it again, afraid of what might happen next.

"Me? Trying to get a reaction? You wound me," Tess says dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. Iris suppresses an eye roll but remains silent, and Tess' expression turns serious. "I just want you to be honest with yourself. To stop holding back."

Stop holding back… Iris' mind instantly fills with images of what happened last time when she stopped holding back.

When she lost control.

"This is the last thing we need right now," Iris replies, her voice calm as she picks up the sketchbook again.

"What about what you need?" Tess retorts, exasperated. "You could use some unwinding. You've got everything you need for that… right in front of you."

The pencil hovers just above the paper, Iris' hand refusing to move as her eyes fixate on the sketch of the detective that holds her gaze captive.

"And what will be afterward?" The question escapes Iris before she can stop it, her eyes tracing the contours of the drawing, filled with longing.

A longing for something she knows will never come to pass.

"You know what? Forget what I said," Tess says slowly, causing Iris to meet her gaze again. "If you're already thinking about what comes afterward, it's a bad idea."

Everything inside Iris stills as those words pulse through her temples, each one igniting a burn that consumes her from the inside, numbing every feeling.

The daze breaks when she feels a warm squeeze on her shoulder, grounding her to the present.

Tess pulls her hand away only when Iris' focus sharpens on her, her expression a mix of guilt, hopelessness, and something... darker.

Without offering any more words, Tess silently straightens up and turns to leave, her footsteps fading into silence.

Iris lowers her gaze to the sketchbook in her hands once more, holding it with the tenderness and care she'll never be able to offer the detective.

The words, the sensations, and the truth all merge with the suffocating silence. Time seems to slow until the sharp sound of paper tearing shatters the stillness, the energy in the air crackling as the torn pieces meet the flames.

Iris watches without a flicker of emotion as the image of the detective slowly fades into nothingness, but the ashes left behind mockingly remind her that even what she tries to erase won't disappear without leaving something afterward.

And the residue of her feelings will remain still.