Fated (Bloodhound x Eve (OC))

Guidance

"I wish that you did not have to bear this burden. If I could take it from you, I would."

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Eve raked a hand through her bangs, leaning over her notebook as she sat at the kitchen table. She had run several variations of numbers and scores, her page full of equations and boxes, trying to calculate every possible outcome of her remaining time in the Apex Games. The odds were split — she could win the permanent spot, but Gunner was not far behind her. Truly, it could go either way at this point.

Eve frowned, thinking of Pyro. His score had been low enough that his disqualification had been officially announced today, though everyone had known it was coming for weeks. Even if he won each remaining game of the season, he wouldn't be able to earn enough points to topple Eve or Gunner for the top spot. She jotted down one more equation in the remaining blank spot on the page, then rapped the end of her pen against the notepad, chewing her lip. The tapping noise drew Arthur's attention. The curious bird glided down from his spot on top of the fridge to try to grab the pen cap with his dark beak as she jiggled it up and down. Eve set the pen down and let him take it.

Though she felt bad for Pyro, the announcement spurred on a fresh wave of her own anxiety. She brought her finger to her mouth and gnawed at her cuticle. If she lost, she'd have to return home. Back to polluted skies and bleak, long factory shifts putting the same two parts together, day in and day out. Then again, her winnings so far would allow her a comfortable life for a time. If she planned out a small, respectable budget, if she lived meagerly, she could afford an apartment and the basics for a decent chunk of years — but then what? What would she do after that?

It was selfish to use the money for herself, anyway. She owed it to those who helped her get here, everyone she left behind to try and help them. Eve chewed the small piece of skin next to her nail and grimaced when she felt the tiny sting. She began to pick at it further as she stared at the numbers in front of her. It was overwhelming. The figures began to swim and dance on the page the longer she looked until none of it was coherent anymore. Even if she did win, could she really earn enough to make a difference? What was one person against an entire corporation?

A hand slipped past her shoulders, slender fingers wrapped around hers gently.

"You have injured yourself," Bloodhound said softly behind her. They turned her hand in theirs, clicking their tongue at the sight of the cut on her cuticle.

Eve pulled her hand back and sucked on the spot of blood — she hadn't realized that she'd picked the spot so hard. The salty copper taste washed over her tongue and when she pulled her finger back out, the bleeding hadn't stopped. Bloodhound rummaged in the cabinet nearby and brought out the small first aid kit they kept and swiped a small cleansing towelette over the area, then wrapped her finger in a bandaid.

They were about to chastise her, but their eyes dropped to her notebook, the sprawling expanse of numbers across the pages. "What are you working on?"

"With Pyro getting kicked out, it just made me think about my future here a little more closely. Things are getting...real. Like, really real." She pointed to a box on the left page. "I calculated twenty-five different scenarios depending on how many kills and what place my squad took to see what my chances are of winning or losing. Like in this one, if I win two matches with at least four kills, and come in second or third in five more matches and get two kills each, I would earn enough points to come out ahead if Gunner won three but with only two kills each, and did worse on the other matches."

Bloodhound watched her eyes dart across the page, a slight twitch to her eyelid, her dry lips missing tiny patches of skin where she had chewed it off. It was obvious that she was approaching a point of overanxiety. They looked to Artur who stood across her on the table, trying to pull the cap off the end of the pen. He, too, must have sensed her unease.