Page 9 of The Souls Harvest
“For fuck’s sake, P.” I snap, snatching my phone and a hoodie, which I must have left on July’s chair days ago.
I’m out of July’s place so fast that the door slams, making more than one head turn. An entire corridor of Harvesters heading out for their day stares at me as I storm away, pretending the piece of clothing fits me perfectly.
Not my hoodie.
Chapter 4 - Changes
July
Miss Popplewish’s quarter occupies the top floor of one of the enormous buildings forming the Academy District. Sagetia—a citadel built in Libera’s northernmost side to accommodate all senior Harvesters, professors and trainees.
Non-residents have access to the district only during specific times of day. Its gates shut as soon as the sun goes down, and its tall walls offer an extra layer of protection. Besides, the stairs to the gates are so steep that nobody would dare climb them at night.
Those who decide to join the ranks of the Donatori, Reapers, Deleteri, and Writers move to Sagetia from the surrounding small villages to start their studies and training when they turn fifteen.
If they were born on the island, that is.
I was born in Horigos and didn’t have the opportunity to choose my path. When I was told I was a special kind of Reaper, I clung to that statement tooth and nail; I made it my entire new identity.
I pull Miss P.’s door shut behind me and shield my eyes from the bright light pouring in from the large windows, which overlook the orchard ten floors down; a colourful sequence of cherry, peach andorange trees that don’t seem to suffer the change of seasons.
The silence up here is pure. Not even the birds dare to chirp when flying by the windows.
My eyes are still adjusting to the light when a whistle - one I could always give a face to even in the deepest of darkness - makes its way to my ear, breaking the quiet of the corridor.
“On a scale from one to I-got-lucky-again, where do you stand?” Galen asks, jumping the last two steps at once, blowing away an unruly, curly lock from his eyes.
“You don’t get to look at me like that. If it weren’t for the million alarms I set last night, I’d still be sleeping while Popplewish picks the most painful way to strip me of my Reaper badge.” I complain from the opposite end of the corridor, crossing my arms. “You were supposed to knock the hell out of my door and wake me up.”
“Come on, Sof, I don’t see papers in your hand. That means Popplewish accepted your report. Don’t be so dramatic. I mean, I should be the one complaining after half of Sagetia saw me like this…” He looks down at the red piece of cloth that is desperately trying to stretch over his broad chest, exposing his belly button.
I press my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh at the sight of this tall, young man, feared and respected by so many younger Harvesters, tugging at the sleeves of my hoodie, hoping to make them the right size for his muscly forearms.
I try keeping a straight face while sauntering towards him. “Fine, you’re having a worse day than I am. And…yeah, yeah, she’s accepted my report.” I poke him in the chest twice.
Since I’ve known him, Galen has grown a bit taller every year. Even when it was time for him to stop, and I’d already reached my maximum extension, which was not that much of a difference from when I was fifteen, as he likes to remind me whenever he can.
When he doesn’t move from the edge of the stairs, taking up the entire space like a living wall between me and the floors below, I poke him again. Harder.
“Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” he suggests.
I tilt my head, interlacing my fingers behind my back. “Not until you change into something more respectable,” I click my tongue twice with disappointment.
“Glad to see your sarcasm doesn’t know the meaning of hangover and…I’ve already had my dose of judgemental looks, thank you very much. Please don’t push the knife deeper.” He sighs theatrically, leaning against the wall to his left.
I give him a condescending look before opening my shoulder bag.
“Here,” I mumble, diving inside my bag. “Put this on before someone else sees you…” I shove the grey jumper I was supposed to give back to him ages ago into his chest.
My jaw drops. He’s already wiggling out of my hoodie, pulling up the thin cotton shirt he wears underneath. A fluffy cloud travelling by a window suddenly becomes very interesting. I’ve seen him bare-chested before, but not in an official public place, with a high chance of being caught staring at my friend’s muscles by MissP.
“It’s not something you haven’t seen—or touched—before.” The t-shirt muffles his voice before his head pops out again, his chestnut curls even messier than before.
“Galen…”
“I know…” He folds my hoodie neatly and offers it to me with a smile. “You don’t want to talk about it.” We’ve been friends and working together for so long that it’s hard to define what we are sometimes. Every time we grow too close, in a less friendly way, something pulls me back, something I can’t control. The last time it happened, I promised myself I no longer want to be the cause of the hurtful look of longing in Galen’s eyes.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, staring at his face. It’s something that calms me down and grounds me.
