A Lullaby For Gods Chapter 125

CHAPTER THREE: IF I LAY HERE

“How would the Heir of Blood be connected to someone from a completely different universe?” Nightwalker narrowed his eyes, tone accusing as he glared at Dualscar.

“That’s what I asked,” Dualscar said, crossing his arms.

“No, how would – ” Nightwalker pinched the bridge of his nose, and then huffed, looking away. He took a deep breath a second later, and asked, “Why is that the first thing that comes into your mind?”

“Look, you’re too focused on Jaeger and the connection to this – ” He tapped the question marks Kankri had written out onto the paper. “When you should be looking at this.” He pointed to the labels Anathema Point and Heir of Doom.

Dualscar sat next to the coffee table, dragging the paper over to him. “There’s only one person we know who’s connected to the Heir of Doom and the Anathema Point, and the Anathema Point has been isolated from everyone else and doesn’t know anyone in the Heir’s team. It stands to reason that it’s their genetic brother.”

“Jaeger isn’t part of the family,” Nightwalker said.

“Exactly what I fucking asked.” Dualscar slapped the side of the Knight’s head, making the young man bare his teeth in anger. “I would fucking know.”

“You don’t actually know the Heir’s family –  they and Nereus never took a binding oath,” Damara pointed out.

Kankri slid the paper back towards himself. “And you just met them months ago.”

At the mention of the smaller timeframe, Nightwalker lifted an eyebrow, before snorting as he smirked at Dualscar. The troll’s fins flicked down.

“But you’ve known them longer.” Kankri turned to Nightwalker, flipping the pen in his hand over between his fingers. “Do you think there’s any way for Jaeger to be connected to them?”

“We weren’t exactly close to the Heir of Blood, so he could have some secret lovechild for all I care, and I wouldn’t know,” Nightwalker said, and sighed. “But truthfully, I don’t think the Heir of Doom would be so lukewarm if Jaeger were a family member. They’d do everything within their power to keep the kid alive, for one. They’re fiercely protective. That’s the only reason they haven’t decapitated the Heir of Blood yet despite what’s going on.”

“Can you see how they’re connected?” Damara turned to Kankri, who immediately frowned down at the paper. “Though, don’t force yourself if it’s too dangerous.”

Kankri pursed his lips to a thin line. He looked up towards Dualscar. “Are you sure it’s the Heir of Blood?”

“He’s the only one who makes sense if it’s someone who’s connected to the Anathema Point and the Heir. Unless it’s somehow the Mage of Space and he’s shrouded himself from your Sight,” Dualscar said. “But he already knows about you. I doubt he’d do that.”

“It’s biological.”

Dualscar’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“The connection. It’s on a biological level,” Kankri said. “It’s – it’s confusing. It’s like…” He gripped the pen tight in his hand before drawing a circle and splitting it with a line in the middle. “It’s like there’s a part of it that’s connected to this…Heir of Blood – at least if it is him – and there’s another part that’s fully independent.”

Damara tilted her head. “Isn’t that how human genetics work?”

“It’s different,” Kankri said. He put the pen down and leaned back against the bottom of the couch, running a hand through his hair. “When I look at children and ancestors, I can see full connections. It’s not like they’re just half the kid of a person. They’re wholly connected. For this, it’s like someone clobbered two parts together when they didn’t start out that way.”

“So it’s possible something happened to Jaeger?” Damara asked.

“It could be, it could not be. I’m not sure.” Kankri spread his hands, helpless. “I’m a Seer of Blood, not Time. I can know emotional beats, not accurate historical play-by-plays.”

“We have my descendant,” Damara said, sharing a look with Nightwalker. “We might be able to get answers out of her.”

“She’s not a Seer, though,” Dualscar said. “Aradia’s a Maid.”

“We can do a cross-spell,” Nightwalker said. “It won’t be as accurate as a Seer of Time’s results, but we can put together a working ritual.”

All of them looked at each other, as if waiting for someone to offer up some kind of answer – they found nothing but confusion among themselves.

“Like two parts clobbered together when it didn’t start out that way, huh,” Dualscar muttered to himself.

“It’s like when you prototype a sprite – ” Kankri began, and then stopped. “You’ve never played the game; you wouldn’t get it.”

Nightwalker snorted, earning another growl from Dualscar.

Damara opened her mouth, and then paused. She took a moment before asking, carefully, “Is it safe?”

The boys looked towards each other, understanding without the need for her to elaborate. Is it safe for them to look into something involving the Heir of Blood?

“We might have to risk it,” Dualscar said.

“We can’t act too hasty either,” Nightwalker said with a sigh. He stood. “I’ll spread word out to the dead. If we don’t get a helpful response within 24 hours, we’ll…look into this.” His jaw tightened, but only for the briefest of seconds. “In any case, the New Moon of Derse should offer us some degree of protection against him.”

“So we wait?” Damara asked. In the corner of her eye, Dualscar frowned, but didn’t say anything.

“We wait,” Nightwalker said. “Otherwise, we’ll risk unnecessary danger.”

#

JANUARY 20, 2014

NIGHT VALE

6:12 P.M.

There was music coming from the front porch.

Angeles had insisted that the front door be kept open so everyone could roam around the estate as they wished, and as such, the soft plucking of guitar drifted in through the main hall and the rest of the house clearly as whoever was on the lawn approached. Hal leaned out of the living room doorway, the two other kids (Kristina and Mai, as he’d learned), and Leon and Jeremiah following suit to look at whoever was playing guitar.

It was Ruben, a wide grin on his face as he looked up towards the second floor, guitar in hand.

“What’s he doing?” Jeremiah asked.

Kevin joined the rest of them by the doorway to watch the musician yell something at someone upstairs; Angeles and Eugene cackled and hooted down at him.

“Harana,” Kevin said, snickering. “It’s an inside joke. Or maybe it’s only half a joke, since I guess he could get away with saying it’s a mañanita.”

“Some kind of serenade?” Hal asked, running the words through a translator.

Kevin nodded. He motioned for everyone to follow him as he headed towards the stairs to the second floor. “If you’re serenading someone because you’re asking to court them, it’s a harana. If you’re singing to them for their birthday, it’s a mañanita.”

“Isn’t that usually at dawn?” Jeremiah asked.

“It is.” Kevin nodded.

They followed him upstairs, until they reached the hallway where the windows faced towards the lawn, and where Angeles, Cecil, Eugene and Terezi were currently looking out. Terezi looked fascinated by the sight of Ruben expertly picking a solo out on his guitar, while the other three kept laughing and clamoring loudly.

“You’re like a whole day late, Benzedrine!” Eugene said.

“Aha, but the wee hours of the evening are perfect for a serenade!” Ruben yelled back, followed with a laugh.

Kevin snorted, stopping right by an open window next to where Terezi was looking out of. When the others looked to him for explanation, he nodded. “He’s right. You wake someone up on their birthday with song in the early hours of the dawn, but if you’re looking to court someone you sing to them in the evening. It’s considered romantic.”

Hal leaned out one of the other open windows, watching as Ruben began fingerpicking a tune – it was lovely, in a minor key, low but sweet in the fading evening.

And then he stopped abruptly, opened his mouth and loudly sang: “SOME – body – ONCE – ”

Cecil chucked his shoe at him.

“You guys did this often as kids?” Hal asked, turning to Kevin.

“Mr. Angeles taught Ruben how to play guitar. Saph’s more of a piano and violin kid,” Kevin said. “He told us all about how he and his friends used to wake each other up on their birthdays with songs. It was a fun tradition he passed on to us.” He paused, and then smiled, mischievous as he looked out the window. “He joked about teaching Ruben how to play a traditional love song since he was a pretty hopeless teenager when it came to crushes.”

“Hey, I can sense someone’s talking shit about me up there!” Ruben yelled, shaking a fist at Kevin.

Kevin cupped a hand over his mouth as he yelled back: “Just exposing state secrets, Ben, don’t worry about it.”

“Fuck you, Palmer!”

“You guys grew up here, huh?” Hal said, crossing his arms and leaning them on the windowsill.

Kevin nodded. “Mom was a single mother, so she had to work late hours to keep up with the cost of raising twins,” he said, softly. “Mr. Mikazuki’s fiancée died when Ruben was a toddler, so he was in the same predicament. Saph’s parents were happy to look after us. It helped that the estate was so big it never really felt crowded.” He jabbed a thumb towards Eugene, who was yelling at Ruben to play What’s New Pussycat? “Eugene’s the only one who didn’t get raised in this house.”

Hal nodded. It made sense why a lot of Angeles’ affections showed through domesticity; they grew up in a household that likely fostered it among their friends. In their own words, they associated food with the holidays and the holidays with family.

“We were raised as like, one giant amalgamation of families,” Kevin said, motioning with his hand as he stared off into the night, eyes glassy. “Makes me sad to think the estate was just sitting here empty. It’s not supposed to be, you know? I always remember it as like, always bustling with life.”

“Glad to be home?” Hal asked.

Kevin smiled, nodding. “Absolutely,” he said, “You guys are welcome here, too.”

“Thanks.”

Below, Ruben was playing another tune again. This one sounded more familiar – Hal had heard it through the tinny speakers of Angeles’ phone once, a warbled recording of a guitar piece that was hauntingly beautiful.

Except, Ruben stopped again and sang, “We’re no strangers to love – ”

Hal joined everyone else in throwing his shoe at the boy.

#

The long, polished dining table of the estate looked too lonely for the house’s sole owner, but it was perfect the night’s large gathering of guests. It was likely why Angeles had insisted that everyone’s first night be spent here, Hal mused, as it was possible that no one else would have been able to effectively host more than ten people at once, along with the whole army of dogs that had come with James and the others. As it was, though it was crowded, the dining room was far from stifling, with everyone evenly spaced in large, comfortable seats, trays of food laid out on the table in front of them.

Hal sat with everyone else but made no move to participate in grabbing whatever they could as soon as dinner started. In truth, he’d only taken up Angeles’ offer to sit with everyone just to observe exactly how dinner was going to go. So far, it looked like the dogs were having the least chaotic time out of them, heads already bowed low to the ground as they busied themselves with their own food bowls, also similarly spaced out by the walls. Khoshekh had a whole corner to himself, chowing away on his cat food.

Vriska more than happily swiped trays as people passed the dishes around. Terezi, on the other hand, was slowly sniffing the air and inspecting everything she had on her plate. It must be overwhelming to have a sense of smell as good as hers and to be assaulted by the scents of new Earth food. The dishes were bursting with colors too, slices of carrots and potatoes offering their bright and cheerful hues against the brown and red of meat,  and the green of peas, lettuce and cabbages. One tray held the gold of some thin noodle dish Hal didn’t know the name of, a bowl sparkled with the red orange of tomato sauce with goat meat, and there was a tower of colorful little cupcakes decorated brightly with icing and sprinkles. Jugs of juice added to the whole ensemble, in yellow (“That’s pineapple,” Ruben pointed a fork towards the juice helpfully), orange (“Orange, of course.”), red (“Strawberry.” “Hey Kevin, can you pass it over here –” Eugene waved a hand across the table. “I think Terezi wants some – ”), blue (“Blue Lemonade.” Ruben poured Angeles a glass when they tried to stretch a hand for it.) and pink (“Pomelo.” “What the fuck’s that?” Hal asked, to which Jeremiah slid his glass of Pomelo to him with a wry smile. Hal gave him a flat look. Little shit knew he couldn’t drink it – ).

“Do you guys eat like this all the time?” Terezi said, sniffing her glass of red juice with a look of slight wonder.

“When we can,” Kevin said with a shrug.

The troll took a tentative sip of her strawberry juice, paused, and then proceeded to down the whole thing in one go.

Vriska stuck her tongue out as she sipped the blue lemonade. “Who colors lemonade blue?”

“It’s a gimmick,” Ruben said. “Blue cola exists too, I’m pretty sure.”

The girl wrinkled her nose in distaste, pushing her glass away, while Terezi stood and tried to reach across the table for the jug of strawberry juice. James, sighing, brought it within her reach; she immediately snatched it up.

“It’s so weird too,” Vriska said. “Lemonade didn’t taste this bad on Alternia.”

“You guys had your own versions of lemons too?” James asked.

“Somewhat. It might as well be a whole different fruit from how your versions taste different,” she said, moving back to the safer option of meat.

Terezi, meanwhile, had emptied half of her strawberry juice.

“How’s the strawberry taste different?” Ruben asked her. “If you had strawberries on Alternia, I mean.”

“It’s sweeter,” Terezi said, delightedly. “Or, at least this is.”

“It’s the artificial sweeteners,” Leon said without looking up from his food.

“Hm,” said Terezi, and proceeded to drink the whole thing anyway.

Hal snorted. To his right, the host of the house giggled, eyes bright with amusement as they watched Vriska grimace while Terezi grinned at her moirail. They leaned back in their seat, relaxed, observing the proceedings with an alert, mirthful gaze despite the dark circles around their eyes.

“I know you can’t eat in your chassis, but if you want to try anything later, we can save something for you,” Angeles said, turning to Hal.

“It’s not really anything I haven’t tried,” he said, looking back to the rest of the table. “It’s meat and noodles.”

“In different spices and preparation methods,” Angeles said. “You told me Dirk’s usual diet was expired canned goods, ramen and soda.”

“Yeah, the basic food groups.”

“You’re lucky you’re made of metal, otherwise, I’d make you see a doctor right now,” they said, chuckling, and then pausing. “Should we let your progenitor see a doctor…his kidneys…”

“He’s godtier.”

“Oh, right.”

“You fuss too much,” Hal said, leaning his cheek in one hand while his other poked Angeles’ forehead. They bared their teeth at him in response. “Dirk’s not the sort of guy who’d take that fussing normally, you know, so you should probably drop it.”

They paused, and then nodded. “I guess I’m trying to read him through what I know of you. That’s not entirely fair.”

“It makes sense,” he said. “I’m an accurate source of his behavior in some regards, but I think, we’ve ended up wildly different as of late.”

“Is that a good thing?’

“I think it is,” he said.

“I’m glad, then,” they said. “How are you two, by the way? At least, before we left.”

“Still civil.”

“Have you checked in with him?”

“He’s not responding,” Hal said. “Or the messages haven’t come in yet because of your weird town. It’s the same for everyone else.”

Angeles winced, picking at their empty plate. “Yeah, the town’s not really very good for long-distance communication. We might as well be in a deadzone from the rest of the world.”

“That might be a good thing,” Hal said. “The last news coverage I saw of New York was…dire, and that’s understating it.”

At that, Angeles frowned, turning to him. “How dire?” they asked softly so as to not let the conversation carry over to the rest of the table, though to their left, Ruben glanced over to them and Hal.

“Holes-in-the-sky dire,” Hal said. “Monsters-suddenly-arriving dire.”

Their eyes widened for a moment, before it softened into something else that eventually settled into sadness. They looked down at their plate, nodding slowly and silently. “I see,” they said, eventually. “And no news from anyone?”

“Unfortunately not,” Hal said. “Though I’m routinely sending in messages, just in case.”

“I hope it goes through somehow,” they said. “I hope everyone’s okay.”

“They’re tough,” Ruben finally spoke from their other side. “They’ll get through it. Plus, it’s not like it’ll be the first time New York’s defended itself from otherworldly threats.”

“That is true,” Angeles said.

“Don’t look so down. You’re already helping by securing yourself someplace safe,” the boy said. Hal watched in fascination as Angeles pouted and then lightly nudged his arm in retaliation. Their friend laughed. “You don’t have to let your martyrdom complex get to you all the time, you know.”

“I do not have a martyrdom complex.”

Ruben turned to Hal with a flat look that said Can you believe this?

Hal snorted. “He’s right, you kind of do.”

“Wow, would you look at that, I find myself with two less friends today,” Angeles said.

“When this is over,” Ruben said, unbothered. “I’m stealing your credit card and signing you up for therapy.”

“With who? Who the hell can I even talk to about being a cosmic hate sink?” Angeles said with a laugh.

“There’s gotta be someone Destler Corp money can buy,” Ruben said.

Angeles rolled their eyes, shaking their head dramatically. “Don’t worry about it, Ruby,” they said. “I’ll be fine.”

Ruben nodded, but said, “And I’m still going to sign you up for therapy.”

Angeles snorted. “Go ahead.” They waved a hand in a dismissive motion. “It’s not like it’s that important anyway.”

#

Dinner ended at around ten, while cleanup took another half an hour; even afterwards, everyone still stuck around to talk, mostly about the town and its weirdness (though Vriska very obviously fished for information on what was going on with New York, to which Hal had to explain the disturbing news of the angels to everyone else – unfortunately, with them being in a deadzone for communication, that was as far as they knew). At one in the morning, everyone finally piled out of the house, splitting up to head to their host houses – Ruben hosting Mr. G, Mrs. H, Kristina, Mai, and Leon; the Palmers hosting James, Terezi, Vriska, Eugene and Jeremiah. Angeles stood by the door to wave them all goodbye as they left, Hal waiting patiently beside them, leaning by the doorway.

With the house left only to the two of them, the silence of the estate felt tangible as Hal’s eyes roamed the vibrant main hall, almost cluttered with all of the patterned décor and the shelves and drawers bearing books, figurines, and photos; in his mind’s eye, he was thirteen again, sitting in the silence and the crowded space of his bedroom in a waterlogged world. Surrounded and cornered, but very alone.

Angeles placed a hand on his shoulder; they were closing the door. He stepped aside.

“You never told me how empty this place was,” he said. They paused as the turn of their key clicked the lock into place.

“It didn’t really come up,” they said, pocketing their keys before turning to him with a smile that was more of a grimace. “Lot of things making sense for you now, huh?”

“Somewhat.”

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.” They shrugged. “I keep a lot of things from you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I would have gotten frustrated had I been younger, but I’ve had to adjust since working with your stubborn ass,” he said, ruffling their hair. As they still had it tied up, the action made some of their locks come loose, and they swatted at him. “No use trying to pry the information out of you.”

“You’re insufferable.” They took off their hair tie to redo their hair, glaring.

“You love me.”

“And you are lucky I do, otherwise I would have bitten your head off by now,” they said, before marching off to the stairs. Hal followed after them. “You going into sleep mode?”

“No, I’m making sure you actually sleep. It’s one in the morning.”

“Dangerously overbearing, Hal,” they sing-songed, turning to him with an irritated glint in their eyes.

“Only if you push it.”

“I’m not – ” Angeles coughed. “ – pushing it.”

Hal stopped right where he was on the steps to give them a flat look. They threw their hands up.

“I’m not.”

“You should have been asleep hours ago, but you’re not.”

“I don’t even have anything to do tomorrow,” they said. “I’ve done everything already. Everyone’s settled in their host houses, you and the dogs are here. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done all of my parts.”

“Just go to bed,” he said, stomping up to grab them by their sleeve. They glared again but let him drag them up the stairs.

After a few minutes of silence and of them walking down the hall, they sighed.

“Sorry,” they said. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

He nodded, hesitating as well to say his next words. “You know, since your town operates on some weird reality, do you think it can slow the Anathema thing – ”

“Don’t count on it, Hal,” they said. “Don’t…go looking for something that’s not there.” They sighed again. “You’re just going to exhaust yourself.”

“I’m just saying. I’ve been thinking about it since we got here. Since your town doesn’t even follow time, maybe we can do something to keep you from getting worse until shit blows over,” he said, glancing back at them. “You’ve been sleeping like a cat for days and you still look bad.”

“I think it’s pretty normal if you’re the Anathema Point,” they said.

“That’s what I’m saying. If your town can bend the rules of reality, somehow, then maybe you can stop being the Anathema Point for a little while,” he said, stopping by their bedroom door as they came up to it.

Angeles made no move to open it, instead turning to stare at him.

“I don’t think you can find that here,” they said. “I mean – the Palmers know this town like the back of their hands, but I don’t think even they can find something like that for me here.”

“Are you sure?”

They nodded.

“Why?”

“I just am.”

“Have you at least tried? We just got here hours ago; we can go look for something tomorrow while you rest.”

“Hal,” they said, frustration leaking into their tone. “Drop it.”

“If you kick the bucket, we’re kind of fucked,” Hal said, switching gears. “We have to find a way to keep you alive. That’s the reason we came here in the first place, isn’t it? For your own safety. You suggested it – ”

He stopped.

Then, haltingly: “You…suggested it yourself.”

Angeles brought their frustrated gaze down to their shoes.

“…what are you doing?” he asked. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop lying to me,” Hal said, tensing. “Didn’t we make an agreement – we tell each other everything because it makes us function around this shitty cosmic bond easier. You tell me when something’s wrong and when something’s bothering you, I tell you when your stress levels alert me. And right now you reek of grief, Angeles. What the fuck are you planning?”

“Nothing, Hal,” they said, softer. “It’s fine.”

“Bullshit. Your stress levels just spiked up by five percent.”

“Because you keep pestering me!”

“Because you’re so fucking eager to die!”

His voice echoed in the silence of the hallway, in the silence of the house, the shadow of its volume thick and suffocating, looming over both of them as they stared at each other, Hal in shock, Angeles in fear.

Fear.

“I’m sorry,” Hal said, well aware of how Angeles’ anxiety continued to tick up. “You’re…a very frustrating person,” he continued. “I can’t tell you what to do because then you wouldn’t do it at all, I can’t string you along because you’d catch on and fuck with me out of pettiness. Even if it’s for your own sake, you never listen.”

He clenched his fists, quickly releasing them before they could misunderstand it for a threat of violence, instead continuing:

“I want to help you,” he said. “I can do a lot of things. I can burn through a thousand bodies, I can punch through solid metal, I can slice through anything that threatens your life, but I can’t get through to you and I hate it.”

“I never asked you to,” they said, softly, voice cracking with either strain or sorrow, he didn’t know.

“I know,” he said. “I wish you did.”

“I don’t want to burden you.”

“But I wish you did,” he said. “Because it would be a whole lot better than you asking me to watch you die.”

It was a cheap shot, he knew that. A Hail Mary pass of an attempt to guilt trip them, but hurt flashed in their eyes for a second, and Hal felt something stutter in his wiring as he realized it’d worked in getting a reaction out of them.

“That was low,” Angeles said, glare sharp.

“And it’s exactly what you’re doing,” Hal said, firmly. “You talked to your friends earlier, you know they worry about you. You know what you’re making them do.”

“And you can’t talk me out of it,” they said. “Because I would rather ask for forgiveness rather than permission – you know I would. Hell, you know I wouldn’t even ask for forgiveness at all if I can get away with it.”

They smiled, bitterness lacing their tone as they spoke.

“I would rather let you watch me die than put any of you in danger,” they said, turning away, their tired but determined gaze burning a hole into their door. “Not if I can do anything about it.”

“Why are you so eager to die?” he asked.

“I told you, didn’t I?” they said. “I have no love of life. I’m only here because I don’t want to hurt people – but right now, the choice is me or all of you, and I already said I’d choose all of you.”

“We didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” they said. “But I’m not letting you do otherwise either.”

Hal said nothing for a moment. Then, he said, “You’re awful.”

Angeles laughed. “I know,” they said. “I know I am, but you know why I’m doing this.”

“And what are you doing?”

They snorted, turning back to him. “Don’t fish for information, asshole.”

“You’re so fucking quiet, it’s the worst,” he said.

“If you go about telling people what you’re doing, you’re just setting yourself up for failure, so tough shit, Strider,” they said, chuckling – it ended harshly with a cough, and they turned away.

Hal’s shoulders dropped. He opened their door for them and nudged their shoulder. “Just get to bed.”

As he turned away, they grabbed his wrist.

“Hal?”

He turned, hoping he looked as exhausted as he felt.

“I’m sorry,” Angeles said, smiling sadly. “I know I’m asking a lot from you, but I don’t want any of you to die.”

“Have you ever thought we don’t want you to die too?”

They grimaced. “Not really,” they said. “You know how it is.”

A frown made its way onto Hal’s face again, and he took his hand out of their hold, only to bring it up to cradle their cheek. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not getting me with that, I did it first,” Angeles said, laughing dryly, though their words cracked at the end from the strain on their throat. They paused before continuing – or they looked like they would, but they stopped again.

They pulled his hand away from them.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” they said. “None of this is. This is all squarely on me.”

“I don’t recall you asking the universe to flush itself down the toilet.”

“You know what I mean,” they said, laughing softly again. They quieted too quickly.

“Hey,” Hal said. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He stepped closer to them, taking one of their hands and squeezing. “We’ll find some way out of this. It’ll be okay.”

They didn’t say anything.

“We’ll all be okay,” Hal tried.

“I’m sorry,” they said again.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I get it.”

They looked up at him, expression still tired, but grave with determination, a certainty in their eyes that told him no matter what he did, there wouldn’t be any swaying them from whatever they’d already committed to. It was far too late to talk them out of it, whatever it was they’d done, whenever and however they’d even set it into motion. They were far too quiet, and lied too much, and whatever it was they’d decided, there would be no going back now.

“It might hurt,” they said. “You might end up hating me. But – ” they smiled, a real one this time, one that reached their eyes with the mirth and adoration in it. “Just know that no matter what happens – I care about you, and I love you, okay?”

He studied their face, the genuine affection in their eyes, as if committing it all to memory. It felt wrong for him to do, like he was already damning them to the grave by even considering them not making it, but he found himself trying to memorize everything about this scene anyway – from the way his chest felt too tight, to how small their hand felt in his own.

“When you tell me that next time,” Hal said. “I don’t want it to sound like a goodbye.”

“I’ll try my best, Hal,” they lied. “But I can’t promise you anything.”

He nodded, squeezing their hand once again before letting them go.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wished he were human enough to do any of that.