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“Silver Wolf, if you can hear me… Come back.
…
…
…
I’m sorry.”
Kafka sets the choker down, twitching at the quiet thud of the metal. It’s heavy. She can’t believe Silver Wolf wears it everyday. She wonders if she is still wearing it.
Two months, two weeks, and four days, not a single time has she answered.
Kafka strokes the side of the choker, picturing it on Silver Wolf’s neck.
“Does it do anything?” Kafka asks, staring at the choker. Every little thing on Silver Wolf somehow manages to be a device, whether it’s her boots or belt.
Silver Wolf touches it, shrugs as she replaces her hands on the keyboard. “Voice comms.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
She doesn’t elaborate. So, Kafka rises to her feet, leans down and gently traces the choker with her fingertips. She feels along it slowly. Silver Wolf’s throat bobs with a swallow.
Kafka looks up. “Cute.”
Silver Wolf shoves her away. “I’m not some kinda petting zoo. Get out of my way.”
Kafka squeezes the choker, waits for it to do anything.
It remains still, silent.
She leaves it on the desk.
“Silver Wolf.” Kafka presses the choker to her lips, closes her eyes as the metal makes contact. “Come back.”
…
“I’m sorry.”
…
Three months, one week, and five days. Still no answer.
Kafka gently puts it down. She glances behind her and picks it back up. Carefully holds it to her chest as she lays on Silver Wolf’s bed.
“Why are you in my bed?”
“Mine was destroyed.”
Silver Wolf throws a confused glance at her. Her eyes go to the screens, but her face stays turned to her.
“How?”
Kafka smiles, attracting Silver Wolf’s eyes back to her. She uses two fingers to tip toe up Silver Wolf’s arm and boops her nose.
“Would you like to find out?”
Silver Wolf blushes, turns away. “That’s why I asked.”
A hand slides around her elbow. Kafka drops her head on her tiny shoulder. “Maybe I’m lonely.”
Silver Wolf stops typing. It’s silent. Nobody moves for what feels like minutes. As Kafka drifts off, an aggravated sigh hits her head. She looks up as the room darkens.
A screen is projected in front of the wall across them. A selection of Kafka’s favorite orchestras shuffle onto it.
“Hurry up,” Silver Wolf says, pressing her hand into Kafka’s briefly. Her hand buzzes faintly. “Like this.” Silver Wolf points at the screen, using it to toggle over the videos.
But Kafka’s eyes are on her face. Silver Wolf turns. Grey eyes quiver, but they stay strong, holding Kafka’s gaze.
Kafka breaks away first, looking down with a smile. Her heart is quicker than usual. It feels soft and secretive in this dark room by someone else.
“Come on.”
“So impatient.”
Kafka stares at the empty wall. The lights are blinding. She closes her eyes, hugs the choker gently.
“Silver Wolf, if you can hear me, come back.”
…
Four months.
…
Four weeks.
…
“I’m sorry.”
…
No answer.
…
“Pl-“ Kafka’s mouth clamps shut. She hesitates. “Please… Come back.”
…
She waits.
“Were you waiting for me?” Kafka’s lips tick up, serenely moving into some slight pleasure.
Silver Wolf scoffs as she taps away. Kafka recognizes the sound effects as perfect scores. She’s heard it enough already.
“It’s my turn to pick you up. Of course I’m waiting.”
Kafka laughs. “Silly me.”
Silver Wolf’s eyes flick over. Whatever she’s playing, she misses the next perfect. With a grunt, she flips the handheld close and slips it into the holster on her thigh.
“Let’s go.”
Kafka follows her, arching a brow when they stop at a motorcycle. “Flashy.”
“Convenient,” Silver Wolf says, throwing her a helmet. She throws a leg over and fires it up. “Get on already.”
Kafka slides in behind her, hugging her close.
Silver Wolf takes off, but they don’t return to base. She stops across a store that Kafka recognizes. It’s one she’s been eyeing up since they arrived, wanting to go on a shopping or stealing spree.
When they get off, Silver Wolf avoids her questioning gaze.
“You need something to replace that.” She motions to Kafka’s clothes, slightly stained and torn. It is a shame she wasn’t able to avoid that, but…
“Aw, didn’t know you knew what I like.”
Silver Wolf’s cheeks blaze. She stares up at her, challenging. “I don’t.”
She stalks off, leading Kafka to every potential article of clothing she might like. Silver Wolf doesn’t miss. A perfect score.
No matter how long Kafka stands there, no one picks up the call.
“Silver Wolf… I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry. Come back?”
Kafka brings the choker to her eyes, studying it again. It’s the old one. It’s the only reason she thinks Silver Wolf is listening.
“Darling, do you always ignore your texts?”
Silver Wolf refuses to look at her. Kafka pouts, slinking onto her. She brings a hand to stroke down Silver Wolf’s neck, stopping at her choker.
“I have a gift for you,” she says, the words soft on Silver Wolf’s ear. She flinches, trying to move away. “Take a break.”
Kafka strokes her neck. Silver Wolf shivers, reluctantly prying herself away from her screens. Maybe Kafka too.
“What?” she says sharply, all the snap dying at the flush of her cheeks.
Kafka smiles, lifting a little baggy. She takes Silver Wolf’s hand and sits her on the bed. The gift is plopped onto her lap.
“Open it.”
Silver Wolf stares at the silly, pink packaging. Slowly, she slips her fingers past the tissue paper and touches something hard. Brows knitting, she pulls it out.
It’s a replica of her choker. It has a strange shine to it, making it darker than hers. In the light, it turns into a color similar to Kafka.
Silver Wolf studies it, mouth tightly shut.
“I figured you would be able to modify it on your own, so I just had this piece made. Perfectly plain, to do whatever you wish.” Kafka says, tracing a finger over it. Silver Wolf’s fingers curl to avoid hers.
The choker is light. Way lighter than hers. Silver Wolf carefully removes the one she is wearing and puts on Kafka’s. It’s soft, sinking into her neck.
It’s different.
It’s Kafka.
“…Thanks.”
Kafka leans in, presses a kiss half on the choker and half on her neck. “My pleasure.”
It’s heavy. It’s quiet.
Five months, two weeks, and one day.
She doesn’t answer.
Kafka holds the choker to her lips, staring blankly past it.
“Silver Wolf.”
…
“Silver Wolf, please… If you can hear me… I’m sorry.”
…
“Come back.”
…
Six months, three weeks, and six days.
Kafka cracks. She goes to Elio.
The cat sits on an empty desk in a small room, lights dim. Like he’s waiting for her.
He is.
“Elio-“
“No.”
Kafka freezes.
Elio lifts his head, tilting it as he studies her. “Your relationship doesn’t impede the path. Silver Wolf still answers to me.”
Kafka flinches.
“As long as you both do your part, I see no point.”
Figure it out yourself.
A dismissal. She leaves, taking heavy steps back to Silver Wolf’s room. Shakily, she picks up the choker.
“…I’m sorry. Come back.
…
I miss you.”
Silver Wolf trembles, eyes going watery. A tear slips down her face. She snarls at it, furiously swiping it away.
“You… You…”
Kafka doesn’t move. Her face remains still, as if detached. It makes Silver Wolf shake.
“Was it all a game?”
Kafka doesn’t answer.
Silver Wolf turns her back. She walks away, even if every step threatens to give out. Kafka lets her go.
She shouldn’t have.
“Silver Wolf, I’m sorry.”
Seven months, three weeks, and six days.
…It’s quiet.
“Silver Wolf.”
“What is it, Kafka?” she asks, exasperated. The game is paused.
“Have you eaten?”
The reminder of food makes her stomach growl. Kafka laughs.
“…No.”
“Let’s make something.”
Silver Wolf spins around, aghast. “You want to cook?”
“We are going to cook.”
“Hell no.”
But Silver Wolf stands by Kafka’s side, apron on. She eyes the food on the counter warily. Side-eyes the way Kafka is holding the knife.
“I don’t think we need the knife yet.”
“Oh, you’re right! We don’t.”
Cooking goes disastrously. Nothing is edible, and Silver Wolf has to delete a few fires. But…
Kafka stands beside her, laughing at the mess. Silver Wolf smiles.
“Want to get takeout?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Come back.”
Eight months, two days.
“Please.”
“Silver Wolf, if you can-“
“Hear that?”
“What?”
Kafka pulls Silver Wolf closer. “She’s out of tune.”
Silver Wolf can’t hear a difference at all. It must be a slight difference only Kafka hears. “I can’t tell.”
Kafka presses close to her. “It’s supposed to be like this,” she says, humming in time to demonstrate.
Silver Wolf listens close. It does sound like something’s off, but she can’t tell if it’s Kafka or the woman. Probably the woman.
“Still can’t tell?”
“No.”
“Piano,” Kafka asks, nudging her.
Silver Wolf turns off the performance, summoning a piano as requested. Kafka sits on the bench. She looks picturesque, like she belongs to the instruments.
Silver Wolf’s heart flutters as she looks back, a little gleeful, a little pleased.
“Listen carefully.”
Silver Wolf leans forward, body tuning to Kafka. “You have my attention.”
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Nine months, one week, and four days.
…
A tear hits the desk.
“Silver Wolf…”
Kafka’s grip tightens around the choker. It feels like everyday is on repeat. She clears her throat.
“Are you taking care of yourself?”
Silver Wolf looks offended. “You think I don’t?”
Kafka taps the quick shower tech. “Without this.”
Silver Wolf pauses. Her cheeks color.
Kafka tsks, pulling her out of her seat. “Come.”
“What? Where are we going?”
“To have a proper shower.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Using that is fine, but an actual shower is how you relax,” Kafka says sternly.
Still, Silver Wolf resists because Kafka meant showering… together… Right?
Kafka softens at Silver Wolf’s expression, slackening her grip. She becomes gentle and hush, soothing her thumb over the back of her hand. Kafka holds her eyes, careful with its intentions.
Silver Wolf swallows, looking away. Slowly, she squeezes Kafka’s hand.
Kafka leads her to the bathroom. They both strip quietly. She keeps her eyes decent, but can’t help a little appreciation.
She smiles at Silver Wolf insistently looking elsewhere. “Come here.”
Hesitantly, she joins her, slightly shaking. Kafka soothes a hand on her arm.
They shower. Kafka is careful in how she touches Silver Wolf. Gentling the fatigue away.
When Silver Wolf touches her, it’s light and quick, never lingering too long. She looks at her differently.
It’s after they are clothed, warm and soft from the shower, that Kafka kisses Silver Wolf. The side of her head, brief, but lingering near.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?” she says, quiet.
Silver Wolf looks up, tangling Kafka in her eyes. “Yeah. It was.”
Ten months.
…
Kafka sets the choker down, running a hand over it.
“Silver Wolf, I…”
What else could she say? What would make Silver Wolf answer?
Kafka sits at her desk. The chair is short to accommodate Silver Wolf, but it automatically adjusts to her.
“This is uncomfortable.”
“Get out of my chair.” Silver Wolf stares, unimpressed, at the way Kafka’s knees sit higher than her waist due to the height. “I need it.”
“My lap is available,” Kafka says warmly. She gives her a smile tipped with pleasure.
“No. Off.”
Kafka stares at her. She’s calculating her next move. Silver Wolf doesn’t expect her to widen her eyes and slightly jut her bottom lip, raising her brows. The perfect puppy dog eyes.
She learned from the best, it’s to be expected, but this is a little too good…
Silver Wolf flounders, tries to look away. She still sees Kafka’s face in her mind. She groans. So, this is what it’s like to be on the other end.
Pointing at the chair, she resizes it. Summons another one by Kafka.
“Awww…”
“You want me on your lap?” Silver Wolf says, sitting on the chair, “You have to earn it.”
Kafka’s brow raises, a smile following. It’s the one that hides all her plans and secrets. Aeons, what did Silver Wolf just set upon herself?
Nervously, she pushes Kafka to the side. “I need more room. Don’t get in my way.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Kafka lays an elbow on the desk so she can rest on it. “I love watching you work.”
Silver Wolf blushes. “I’m going to blindfold you.”
…
“Shut up.”
Kafka laughs.
The desk is soft. Silver Wolf has fallen asleep on it so many times to be necessary. Kafka too.
The choker sits in front of her face. She folds her arms beneath her head, and closes her eyes.
Eleven months, one week, and five days.
Nothing interrupts her sleep.
“Silver Wolf, i-“
“-like you.”
Silver Wolf freezes. Red suffuses her cheeks, even reaches her ears. She stares blankly at the screens. Turns to Kafka, and gawks.
“Huh?”
“I like you.”
Oh.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Kafka lifts her head from the desk, hair sticking to the side of her face. She looks imperfect in a sort of perfect way. “Do you want me to list things off?”
“N-No, I just…” She stalls.
“Is it really a surprise?” Kafka looks at her knowingly, placing a hand near hers.
Silver Wolf drops her head. “No.” She puts her hand on top of Kafka’s who grasps it lightly. “No.”
Kafka kisses a knuckle. Her hand twitches. She gives each one a kiss, then uses it pull Silver Wolf closer. The armrests of the chairs clack. She rests her head on her shoulder.
From her limited view, Kafka sees a clenched jaw and the corner of a quivering mouth. Silver Wolf lets go of her hand.
“Sit back.”
Silver Wolf gets up, her chair disappearing. Kafka follows her instruction. The wolf drops onto her lap, making herself comfortable.
“I’m busy, so…” Silver Wolf exudes charm even from behind. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Kafka hugs her, rests her chin on her shoulder. She is quiet, filling with warmth, as she watches Silver Wolf continue.
“-if you can hear me…”
Twelve months, two weeks, and two days.
It’s been so long since Kafka heard her voice.
One year.
Kafka raises the choker to her lips, shaking. “Silver Wolf, if you can hear me… Come back.
…
…
…
I’m sorry.”
The metal is familiar in her hand, like a second glove. She takes it off though when she holds it. Anything to be a little closer.
“I miss you. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”
The minutes go by, the same as any other day. It feels like forever and only yesterday that Silver Wolf left.
“I messed up. I didn’t mean…
…
I’m sorry.
…
I really do… I really…”
Kafka’s clams up. She can’t say it. Especially through here, where it feels like every word is translated insincerely. Maybe it’s the repetition rearing its head.
She presses the choker to her lips.
An hour passes. Setting it down feels like giving up, but she’ll be back later.
Kafka leaves. At the door, there’s a click. She blinks, turns slowly and stares.
Static.
Her heart thuds in her ears, overtaking the sound.
…
…
…
“Kafka?”