At 8:00 someone knocked on the door. Three knocks perfectly firm as though knocking was the only thing that person did in life. The door opened without the need of a response.

"Hey", my cheek received a kiss, "guess who is in trouble because of president Gene."

"You won't lose your head because of him, will you?" I asked, and waited for him to sit on the edge of the bed so I could sit too and rest on his shoulder. Although shoulders are usually hard and not comfortable, leaning there was one of the sensations I liked the most, and which had the power of disappearing with the world around.

As soon as he saw I was about to rest on him he groaned, with the cords of his neck, and I went back my head instantly. It was the I am stressed kind of groan. It disappointed me because everything I needed was a warm hug and soft words. But now from that moment to the rest of the night touching and breathing near him was not recommendable. Only if he asks. Only if I see it is fine to try.

On nights like that, the only option was to carry on his mood and listen to what he had to say about hell, suits or rocks on shoes. Even if he said nothing - an accompanied silence is better than a lonely one.

"Things are getting worse, Angel. It is hard to believe that new people are being born and raised here, under our control, already with the ideia they might be sent to a war. Worst of all, my ideas to win without a war are insufficient..."

"What is happening out there?" I asked. Still had no idea if Peter was also training large armies to attack our people. Spending half of my life listening to Oliver's extraordinary stories about Persian conquers and the Byzantine empire, War for me was always placed in a huge desert with two enemy groups facing each other ready to cut throats and make new slaves. Swords, catapults and toothless people were secondary elements.

He spent some time thinking, maybe listening to the heater or just lost into his own thoughts. "War is all around us, including inside this building." He paused. "But essentially it is not the battles that worry me, because they still are not happening. The feeling of having a strong and rebel enemy is what we must fear... The ground is a desert, there's no way we can plant more food. I must deal with this tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to help?"

He smiled when I said yes, and finally laid back in the bed, facing the ceiling. I too lied next to him, so we both were facing the ceiling. It had no special painting on it, nor stars. In fact there was a big crack cutting from the corner where the door was to the middle of the room. It had appeared there after the 30th of July storm. Not very charming but not very deep either, the ceiling wasn't going to fall, so I was was fine with it.

"Do you remember the Cold War, Angel? After World War II, the communists and capitalists got into this big ideology fight. People were scared the world might end because of the nuclear bombs both sides were threatening to throw at each other. We are in similar nature, and instead of going face-to-face we are waiting for one side to collapse by lack of structure: no food, no clothes, no water - the winner and loser are chosen indirectly. For example, imagine if our food ended. We would be starving, not strong enough to protect each other... and boom, Oxygen falls. The world we live in would break and the rebels would elevate a new one, with different rules, different dilemas, different lines of thinking..."

"I don't know if you remember", I giggled, "but you did this yourself when Gene left Oxygen."

"Yes, butterfly, but that was a distinct situation. When something gives a turnover you need to turnover too or the system breaks even earlier. We are here now, alive and together, because of the changes we have made over the years." He kissed the top of my head. "This is evolution."

Evolution. I smiled at the sensation he provoked, and realized how deep that conversation was going and in such a small period of time. Talking about his work was something rare as Oliver would usually come to me when he wanted to run away from his life. He wouldn't mention the war even if the president was murdered, and I'd learned how to respect his limits and not mention either. But now that the subject was up, it was impossible for me to stop wanting more:

"What was Gene saying to you?"

Oliver let out a high "HA!" and turned to face me using his arm as a pillow. "Gene is working on a project to bring peace. Beautiful right? until you start hearing about it. His peace project is a 100% provocative. In general he wants to put all blame on Oxygen and receive an enormous indemnity for the damages caused by the war. By doing this he will be making Peter and the rebels come in first, gaining their sympathy. He said that the money we pay will got to bring the people back to the city, but this is not true, he just wants us to sink. Also, we don't have this money."

"Oh, fuck..."

"Tongue!" Oliver exclaimed. I said sorry, as always, and he spent some time thinking again.

"To overcome Gene I will have to use intelligence. Something he didn't use when launching this retarded project of his. Lets see who controls who in this country..."

"You are going to put him under pressure." I affirmed, hopeful.

"He is going to beg mercy and spend the rest of his life walking on eggshells." He chuckled lightly. Then turned over to pull a pillow and shove his face in it, sighing. When the air inside ended he turned to me again. His eyes wandered the curves of my brows and nose, thoughtful, and stopped right above my lips.

I was trying to control the bug-eyed expression I was surely showing but was useless. Hiding feelings from that monster was impossible.

"You look beautiful today." He said.

"Thank you."

"Let's play a game?"

"...Which game?" My heart boomed and made zum zum. He didn't look so excited, though, and dragged another pillow to cover his face. He said, from under the feathers, that I could choose. Minutes passed. And as they passed something poked my brain. It was my conscience. That was the perfect time, there could be no better time than that. It was one of the rare moments of intimacy and peace between us. I had to tell him, now or never, about my health and the puzzle that was tormenting my days since I visited mom. It was now, I realized, that I was going to decide my entire future. I was going to tell Oliver.

"Oliver?"

He didn't answer.

"Oliver?...Oliver."

The only thing moving was his chest, up and down. I slowly took the pillow from his face and watched the way his lips closed, so delicately, and his breathing followed the rhythm of deep and smooth sleep. There, on each eyelid, were being formed small crystals of frost, and I knew they would disappear and reappear as his dreams flowed.

How can someone sleep so easily and in this plenitude?

I turned the lights off at the canopy of my bed. Good night, snowman... hope you are better tomorrow morning. More importantly, hope this angelical face of yours keeps the same peacefulness when I tell what I am aiming to say since the day Lady invaded your office.

•••
🔸🔸🔸

Sebastian's

Mr Carter approached me on the way to the canteen, at 9:00 after the sun was gone. Once in a while I would leave my room looking for someone who worked in the kitchen and whose daughter was in terminal state or hadn't gone to terminal because of the staff's competence. There would always be someone owing a life to me, and that was useful considering that I was always hungry.

Tonight I didn't get my extra glass of milk. Instead, Mr Carter and I had one of the longest talks we ever had. The rumors were that we were going to give up everything we owned so the building could pay a tax to the government. A tax, they said, for reconstruction after the war. A tax to regrow crops, tax to purify water, tax to pavement streets.

Bullshit.

"Today they want our food and belongings, tomorrow they will want our lives." Mr Carter shook the head. I knew he was thinking of that word, as I was also, and the thought was inevitable. Revolution, dear Castle. Revolution! he said. Mr Carter's ideas were so ridiculous and out of this world no one would pay attention to him. He was going to be banished, for sure, if Snowfields and his clan found out - or if someone from down here decided to open the mouth. But if his notions and predictions were correct (and I think they might be because I don't trust the government at all), and we have been sleeping inside a bomb through all these years, who is Oliver Snowfields to stop a revolution?