(TW: Mention of abuse)

  It's the heaviest snowfall of the year. Mid-winter, late January, and earlier today it was a gentle swirl of snowflakes under a light gray blanket of clouds.

  Of course, overcast skies are always an omen of bad weather. Sometime during the mid-afternoon, snow and hail pelted down, and all the contestants fled to their team houses. Even now, near midnight, the storm is unrelenting. Snow continues to assault Trophy's frosted window as she watches the blizzard.

  Trophy still has trouble sleeping. How can she when a traitorous fiend is out to get her? When at any moment, she could be playing into the hands of the mastermind? When any member of her team could be an unwitting imposter?

  But the snow is, surprisingly, helping to soothe her thoughts. If she just focuses on the endless flurry, she doesn't have to think about anything else. Just the snow, and how beautiful it is in this moment.

  A dark figure in the distance catches Trophy's attention. She'd dismiss it as a figment of her imagination, a shadow cast by some object, but it's moving.

  And it just fell over.

  Trophy's out the door in a heartbeat, nearly tripping in the sinking snow, cold whipping at her face and stinging her arms and legs, and she bounds to the fallen object, wrapping an arm around them and helping them up.

  "Hey! Are you okay?"

  "Ngh..."

  They trudge back to the house. It's somehow farther away.

  "I'm gonna get you warm, okay? Just hang in there."

  Trophy doesn't know who she's helping until they get inside and she turns on the light. Traffic Light shivers, sending goosebumps down Trophy's body. She lets Traffic Light down on a chair.

  "Be right back. We have spare blankets!" Trophy calls out, sprinting upstairs. A moment later, she's dowstairs again, draping a thick blanket around Traffic Light's shoulders. Traffic Light pulls it tighter around herself, arms trembling.

  "...thank you," she mutters, her lips quivering as she speaks.

  "What were you doing out there? It's freezing!" Trophy jumps straight into interrogation, pacing around Traffic Light. She shrinks into the chair, pulling her legs up and wrapping the blanket even tighter. Trophy stops pacing.

  It's not an interrogation. Traffic Light's scared, and Trophy isn't making it any better. She bites her inner lip.

  "I'm sorry. You're safe here, okay? Just...why were you outside?"

  "I... I don't know. I just wanted to get out and..." she shakes her head, "I don't know. Walk, I guess?"

  Trophy tentatively nods. "Okay? Well, there's no way you're going back out there. You can stay the night, b–"

  "O-Oh! Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, it's cool. Anyways, we don't exactly have spare mattresses, so–"

  "It's alright, I can just sleep on the floor–"

  "No! You sleep on my bed, it's warmer."

  "It's your bed!"

  It's a stalemate; an argument that'll just go in circles. Trophy is silent, thinking of a solution.

  "Okay...what if we just sleep in the same bed? If you're okay with it."

  Traffic Light sputters. "I couldn't possibly...no, no I'll just sleep on the floor. It's okay, really."

  "There's enough space! We'll just sleep on opposite ends."

  Traffic Light's eyes are heavy all of a sudden. She's too tired to keep going back and forth.

  "Sure."

  Trophy sighs and smiles, turning off the light, heading upstairs and gesturing for Traffic Light to do the same. They lay on the bed and Trophy closes her eyes. It's about time she went off to sleep.

  Sometime during the night, a scream erupts.

  Trophy jerks up. Ignoring the pounding in her head, she looks towards the scream. Toward Traffic Light. She's holding her head, knees pressing against her chest. Her breath is uneven, rattling up and down in heavy gasps. In the next bed, Tulip is still asleep.

  "What happened?"

  Traffic Light shuts up, but stifled sniffles still escape through her nose. "N-Nothing. I'm okay, it was just...ah, a nightmare. Yes. I'm sorry."

  "You sure? You don't look okay."

  "I– Okay, maybe I'm...not okay." It surprises Traffic Light too. She usually just keeps it to herself, ad everyone eventually stops bothering her about it. But it just spills out without thought.

  She mentally kicks herself. Now Trophy will just worry about her.

  "It was about my parents. Adoptive. I was just...never good enough for them, I guess. My art was useless to them." She curls up even tighter. "I'm not even that good at art anyway."

  Why is she saying all of this? For pity? Attention?

  Weak. Useless. 

  "Oh..."

  Traffic Light nods. "I was miserable! I hate them! And they still control me...I'm under their control," she shivers, "no matter what I do, it's all...it's all their doing...I'm not in control of myself..."

  Trophy is speechless. She doesn't know what to do, or how to even begin. But she moves closer, and her hand automatically goes up to stroke Traffic Light's back. 

  "I'm sorry...I didn't know..."

  "It's okay," Traffic Light wipes her eyes, "You couldn't have known. Just forget about it, okay? I'm okay now."

  Trophy's gut wrenches itself. She's obviously lying. But what can she do? She's out of her depth, out of her knowledge; she doesn't know what to say or how to say it. They sit in silence, as Trophy struggles for the words. She can't just leave Traffic Light like this.

  "I can't just forget about that," Trophy shakes her head like she's confirming it with herself, "so...I'll try to help you. As best as I can. I promise."

  "You can't help me. Promises are useless."

  She almost wants to retort. She bites her tongue and swallows her pride. "Have you seen a professional? A therapist?"

  "Once. Didn't help."

  "Well...maybe you should try again."

  Traffic Light knits her eyebrows. "I said it didn't help! Nothing will help me!"

  "But it's worth trying, isn't it? You can't expect to get better if you don't do anything about it!"

  "Maybe I don't deserve to get better!"

  Trophy stares at Traffic Light, her mouth slightly open. Traffic Light squishes her mouth shut. They stand off, not knowing what to say, or how to cross the sudden chasm between them. It's too big for words to bridge.

  Traffic Light swivels away from Trophy. "I'll just go–"

  "Wait!" Trophy grabs Traffic Light's arm, "I– I really want you to get better. You don't deserve to feel this way, so...unsure of yourself all the time. But please promise me you'll try. You can't give up so easily."

  And Traffic Light wants to believe her. She wants to be told she'll be okay, and truly believe in it. But she can't. She can't bring herself to do that again. 

  Can she? With Trophy clinging onto her arm, staring at her, pleading to stay...with her? Her desperate eyes make Traffic Light weak. She wants to believe. In Trophy's words, and maybe...in herself. For the first time, Traffic Light sees the tiniest spark of hope.

  She sits back down. "...okay. I...I can try again."

  Trophy hugs her. "Thank you."

  Traffic Light doesn't say anything. 'You're welcome' sounds too...self-absorbed. Inappropriate. She just nods and hopes her feelings carry through.

  Trophy lays down beside Traffic Light. "I'll bring you to a therapist in the morning. Get some sleep for now, okay?"

  "Yeah...okay." Traffic Light pulls the blanket over her, bringing her knees to her chest.

  The snow continues to fall outside, a thick, white layer over the earth. The snowflakes fall in a hurry, but soon enough, will stop as the clouds become empty. In the morning, a path will have to be cleared to get out of the house.