Nobody ever did what Myles wanted them to. It wasn't fair.
Myles was offering him everything he could want - people he knew, people who would trust him, even a bit of extra help in the form of Garren - and it turned out Declyn didn't want it after all. He would rather keep dragging Jonathan and Emmett around, hoping they'd somehow be worth something.
If that was all, Myles could have just been annoyed. He wasn't asking for a lot. A little bit of denial was okay if that was what kept you going. But Declyn wouldn't do that. He wouldn't believe.
Declyn was tired. Declyn didn't think he was strong enough. It was Ivy all over again, only Ivy had believed in Myles when he set her straight. What the heck was he supposed to do about it? If Declyn couldn't even fool himself for a while into thinking he could make it, Myles couldn't do the heavy lifting for him.
Or maybe-
Maybe that wasn't what Declyn was asking him to do at all.
Myles disentangled his hand from Declyn's and instead wrapped his arm around Declyn's waist, squeezing him tight. Declyn was practically dead weight on his shoulder. If they stood like this for long, his arm might fall asleep.
Drew had already been dying, he'd said, and had asked to be put out of his misery. There wasn't really any reason for Myles to disbelieve that. What was Declyn asking him to do, then?
It wasn't fair of Declyn to make him think about things.
Myles didn't want to think about things that upset him. He didn't want to feel upset at all. Life would have been so easy if he could come up with a way to never feel anything ever again. It would have made him happy to feel nothing.
What was the word for that? Paradox?
Eventually, Myles tilted his head slightly to lean it against Declyn's and closed his eyes. "You know," he said finally, voice unsteady. "You're one of the only good people I know."
That wasn't a lie. He really, really meant it.
Myles slipped his other hand from his pocket, shaking Declyn's arm off, and nestled the muzzle of the lipstick gun right up against Declyn's ribcage. The pop from the tiny gun was surprisingly quiet, muffled between their bodies.
Énouement
The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self. (Day 7, Private)
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Somewhere, things were beautiful and vivid. Somewhere else life was vivid and rich. Bright, not like the muted palette that had been spilt here. Not as dull, not as suffocating.
Not suffocating like the sudden bullet that pierced his ribcage.
Single tears had been falling much before that to his own unnotice.
Like a shockwave, quite literally, a massive adrenaline rush caused him to tremble in Myles’s arms.
“Don-’t,” he said sharply with a breathy voice. Don’t what? It was an action that couldn’t be taken back. A choice had been made. It was an answer that felt very honest and maybe for a split second, a spliiiiit second, Declyn was glad to receive so much honesty. But death was not what he had been asking for.
His chin pressed hard against Myles’s shoulder, a wheeze, whimpers, ragged breaths as he tried to look down. Black little stars hindered his view, soon his head felt like it was on fire.
Trying to touch his stomach, he was desperately digging his fingers into Myles’s arm while his remaining strength allowed him to.
“Myles, I’m so— hic— scared, I’m scared, I’m scared—!”
He couldn’t tell if he was loud enough, couldn’t even be sure if the words came out properly.
Not suffocating like the sudden bullet that pierced his ribcage.
Single tears had been falling much before that to his own unnotice.
Like a shockwave, quite literally, a massive adrenaline rush caused him to tremble in Myles’s arms.
“Don-’t,” he said sharply with a breathy voice. Don’t what? It was an action that couldn’t be taken back. A choice had been made. It was an answer that felt very honest and maybe for a split second, a spliiiiit second, Declyn was glad to receive so much honesty. But death was not what he had been asking for.
His chin pressed hard against Myles’s shoulder, a wheeze, whimpers, ragged breaths as he tried to look down. Black little stars hindered his view, soon his head felt like it was on fire.
Trying to touch his stomach, he was desperately digging his fingers into Myles’s arm while his remaining strength allowed him to.
“Myles, I’m so— hic— scared, I’m scared, I’m scared—!”
He couldn’t tell if he was loud enough, couldn’t even be sure if the words came out properly.
The jerk of Declyn's body and the slump of his weight against Myles caused Myles's grip to slip on the lipstick gun. He touched the end of it by accident, and the hot metal instantly seared his fingertips, making him drop it with a hiss.
He let it fall and instead caught Declyn in an awkward hug so that they didn't follow it to the ground.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, shh, don't-" He was whimpering too, babbling, and he had thought for a second that maybe he could do this and feel nothing, that was what he'd been working up to all this time, but he was wrong. God, he was wrong.
Myles stumbled with Declyn's dead weight in his arms, finally staggering down to the ground to lean Declyn's back against the nearest tree. "It's okay," he wheezed. "It's fine. It's going to be fine." His vision was blurring.
For the first time in a week- for the first time ever, whatever Myles had wanted to feel, it was all choked out by crushing despair. There was nothing else.
He let it fall and instead caught Declyn in an awkward hug so that they didn't follow it to the ground.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, shh, don't-" He was whimpering too, babbling, and he had thought for a second that maybe he could do this and feel nothing, that was what he'd been working up to all this time, but he was wrong. God, he was wrong.
Myles stumbled with Declyn's dead weight in his arms, finally staggering down to the ground to lean Declyn's back against the nearest tree. "It's okay," he wheezed. "It's fine. It's going to be fine." His vision was blurring.
For the first time in a week- for the first time ever, whatever Myles had wanted to feel, it was all choked out by crushing despair. There was nothing else.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Eyes glassy, he kept weeping.
The crushing, piercing inevitability was so grave there was barely room for sanity. His vision turned their surrounding into muddy blobs with the same color palette that had been used before, just add too much water and mix them all together on a black canvas. So far, there was no brighter side coming up to meet him.
The clutch on the burning wound lost its strength and when he leaned back against the tree, his body just slumped to the side. Declyn's eyes were just a slit open now. He gasped for air.
He wanted him to know he understood. He wanted Myles to keep going. He wanted to say something.
Wanted wanted wanted so much as he tried to swallow the blood and green bile coming up his lungs.
It didn't stop.
The crushing, piercing inevitability was so grave there was barely room for sanity. His vision turned their surrounding into muddy blobs with the same color palette that had been used before, just add too much water and mix them all together on a black canvas. So far, there was no brighter side coming up to meet him.
The clutch on the burning wound lost its strength and when he leaned back against the tree, his body just slumped to the side. Declyn's eyes were just a slit open now. He gasped for air.
He wanted him to know he understood. He wanted Myles to keep going. He wanted to say something.
Wanted wanted wanted so much as he tried to swallow the blood and green bile coming up his lungs.
It didn't stop.
Myles dropped back to sit, drawing his knees up and hiding his face in them. His burnt fingertips throbbed with pain, keeping time with the pounding of his heart.
It was supposed to have been someone who didn't matter.
Myles knew, of course he knew how this went. How it had gone every time. He'd waited long enough, hadn't he, and it had been a week, and nobody was coming. Even when he'd wanted to believe, he hadn't really been able to, so he'd just ignored it. He'd worked it all out, narrowed the names down to just who he could kill and get away with it. All he really had to do then was wait to find the right person.
Then Declyn had to go and mess it all up. Or maybe it was Adonis's fault for going crazy. Myles should have just pushed Adonis off the lookout platform as soon as he was sure that Tristan was dead, and then he wouldn't have had to deal with this mess. In some corner of his mind, he'd been saving that bullet for Adonis anyway, and if Adonis had just listened like he was supposed to, they wouldn't have had a problem.
It wasn't his fault. He'd done everything the way he was supposed to, and it had still all gone wrong because apparently Myles wasn't allowed to have just one good thing for more than a little while.
Declyn was still breathing, gasping, but really he was already dead. This was just... special effects. Extras. People died faster than you thought they did. It wasn't like in movies. It would all be over sooner than he realized, and Declyn wouldn't feel anything. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.
Myles squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pressed his face against his knees harder, and dug his fingers into his legs, waiting for Declyn to get quiet.
It was supposed to have been someone who didn't matter.
Myles knew, of course he knew how this went. How it had gone every time. He'd waited long enough, hadn't he, and it had been a week, and nobody was coming. Even when he'd wanted to believe, he hadn't really been able to, so he'd just ignored it. He'd worked it all out, narrowed the names down to just who he could kill and get away with it. All he really had to do then was wait to find the right person.
Then Declyn had to go and mess it all up. Or maybe it was Adonis's fault for going crazy. Myles should have just pushed Adonis off the lookout platform as soon as he was sure that Tristan was dead, and then he wouldn't have had to deal with this mess. In some corner of his mind, he'd been saving that bullet for Adonis anyway, and if Adonis had just listened like he was supposed to, they wouldn't have had a problem.
It wasn't his fault. He'd done everything the way he was supposed to, and it had still all gone wrong because apparently Myles wasn't allowed to have just one good thing for more than a little while.
Declyn was still breathing, gasping, but really he was already dead. This was just... special effects. Extras. People died faster than you thought they did. It wasn't like in movies. It would all be over sooner than he realized, and Declyn wouldn't feel anything. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.
Myles squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pressed his face against his knees harder, and dug his fingers into his legs, waiting for Declyn to get quiet.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Short twitches, visible struggle, his voice had long died. Myles was just a blob now, too.
Declyn's face lost color until all motion stopped.
Then there was silence.
Declyn's face lost color until all motion stopped.
Then there was silence.
Even though he'd been waiting for the silence, it took a while before Myles processed it. He wasn't sure how long. His vision was still blurry when he dared to lift his head, but he had managed not to cry.
Declyn wasn't moving.
It was over.
Myles sucked in a shaky breath and let it out, and at least there was nobody around to hear that it was more of a sob than a sigh. He sat there a moment more, staring at a spot on the tree trunk above Declyn's head before he lurched forward.
He patted around Declyn's waist with shaky hands, fingers clumsily closing around the grip of the gun. He almost couldn't keep a hold on it, but he managed to retrieve it without jostling Declyn too much. He was sweating; he'd already been sweating thanks to the heat, but now it was a cold sweat sticking his shirt to him and dampening his hair and his palms.
Declyn also had a knife, and Myles took that too. Then he sat back on his heels and just... stared off into space for another few seconds.
Garren had his bag, and Declyn's bag was back with Jonathan and Emmett. He couldn't just walk back out with Declyn's stuff in plain view. The missed opportunity of scavenging whatever food and water Declyn had left crossed his mind too, but he just as quickly remembered that some of it was probably drugged thanks to Lori, and Myles had no way of telling what was safe if it had been opened.
He rose slowly, legs shaking so badly that he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to stand up, but he managed. He fumbled with the gun for a moment and finally got it situated in the waistband of his pants so that he could tug the hem of his shirt down over it. It'd do for a minute. The knife could go in his pocket to be similarly covered by his shirt. He already had a knife, but he wasn't leaving this one for someone else. Ivy could have it or something. Later.
Later, when she found out. Eventually.
The sounds of nature that Myles had been deaf to for the past few minutes started to filter back into his awareness, and he also became aware of how loud and ragged his breathing was. His vision wouldn't completely clear up, no matter how determinedly he blinked back tears.
He wasn't going to cry. Not yet. They'd know something was up. He couldn't explain himself yet.
He had to get out of here.
With that one clear thought to guide him, Myles took a few deeper breaths, and then turned on his heel and began to pick his way back through the trees the way they'd come. They hadn't gone that far in, he realized, and then he stopped thinking about it. Whatever risks there had been- it didn't matter anymore.
Declyn wasn't moving.
It was over.
Myles sucked in a shaky breath and let it out, and at least there was nobody around to hear that it was more of a sob than a sigh. He sat there a moment more, staring at a spot on the tree trunk above Declyn's head before he lurched forward.
He patted around Declyn's waist with shaky hands, fingers clumsily closing around the grip of the gun. He almost couldn't keep a hold on it, but he managed to retrieve it without jostling Declyn too much. He was sweating; he'd already been sweating thanks to the heat, but now it was a cold sweat sticking his shirt to him and dampening his hair and his palms.
Declyn also had a knife, and Myles took that too. Then he sat back on his heels and just... stared off into space for another few seconds.
Garren had his bag, and Declyn's bag was back with Jonathan and Emmett. He couldn't just walk back out with Declyn's stuff in plain view. The missed opportunity of scavenging whatever food and water Declyn had left crossed his mind too, but he just as quickly remembered that some of it was probably drugged thanks to Lori, and Myles had no way of telling what was safe if it had been opened.
He rose slowly, legs shaking so badly that he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to stand up, but he managed. He fumbled with the gun for a moment and finally got it situated in the waistband of his pants so that he could tug the hem of his shirt down over it. It'd do for a minute. The knife could go in his pocket to be similarly covered by his shirt. He already had a knife, but he wasn't leaving this one for someone else. Ivy could have it or something. Later.
Later, when she found out. Eventually.
The sounds of nature that Myles had been deaf to for the past few minutes started to filter back into his awareness, and he also became aware of how loud and ragged his breathing was. His vision wouldn't completely clear up, no matter how determinedly he blinked back tears.
He wasn't going to cry. Not yet. They'd know something was up. He couldn't explain himself yet.
He had to get out of here.
With that one clear thought to guide him, Myles took a few deeper breaths, and then turned on his heel and began to pick his way back through the trees the way they'd come. They hadn't gone that far in, he realized, and then he stopped thinking about it. Whatever risks there had been- it didn't matter anymore.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
What came after silence? And why was it so painful? Why was the silence that was supposed to bring peace so, so loud?
Declyn kept losing his consciousness intermittently.
His body was fighting mad hard while there were shuffling noises around him, his nose sucking in every tiny atom of oxygen it managed to process. This must be what drowning felt like. An effort of trying to keep your head above the water, losing all of your senses one by one and one, the hopeful shimmer of blue of the ocean. Here it was the shimmer of the sun reflecting in his pool of blood.
Within the muddy blobs, one had disappeared.
“—es... yles...ghh...”
Where was he?
“... My... les...”
He didn’t want to be alone. Anything but that.
He gurgled in between vain attempts of moving, repeating, trying to repeat Myles’s name. The second wave of internal hysteria built up, light speed. He needed someone by his side. He had been there for them and now it was okay to leave him there on the ground? He wanted someone to hold his dead hand and stay until the unbearable pain would go away.
"...P...."
"l..."
It was so lonely.
"...ea"
"se.........."
Declyn kept losing his consciousness intermittently.
His body was fighting mad hard while there were shuffling noises around him, his nose sucking in every tiny atom of oxygen it managed to process. This must be what drowning felt like. An effort of trying to keep your head above the water, losing all of your senses one by one and one, the hopeful shimmer of blue of the ocean. Here it was the shimmer of the sun reflecting in his pool of blood.
Within the muddy blobs, one had disappeared.
“—es... yles...ghh...”
Where was he?
“... My... les...”
He didn’t want to be alone. Anything but that.
He gurgled in between vain attempts of moving, repeating, trying to repeat Myles’s name. The second wave of internal hysteria built up, light speed. He needed someone by his side. He had been there for them and now it was okay to leave him there on the ground? He wanted someone to hold his dead hand and stay until the unbearable pain would go away.
"...P...."
"l..."
It was so lonely.
"...ea"
"se.........."
Myles didn't hear anything.
It was over. It was done.
Declyn was dead. He'd been dead all along.
There was nothing to hear. Myles kept walking, hands awkwardly tucked against his sides to conceal the presence of the gun hidden under his shirt.
No one was calling him. There was nobody who could.
Myles would tell himself whatever he needed to. He'd make himself believe it.
Nobody did denial like him. It was his special talent.
It had been an act of kindness.
It was over. It was done.
Declyn was dead. He'd been dead all along.
There was nothing to hear. Myles kept walking, hands awkwardly tucked against his sides to conceal the presence of the gun hidden under his shirt.
No one was calling him. There was nobody who could.
Myles would tell himself whatever he needed to. He'd make himself believe it.
Nobody did denial like him. It was his special talent.
It had been an act of kindness.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Tremors went through his little finger. It wandered through his hand and his whole arm, leaving him with uncontrollable cramps and spasms. The body was positioned on its side, his face pressing into the ground in a three-quarter angle with one arm angled up on either side, his right closer to his head than the other. A mixture of blood, saliva, gall and whatever was left from the crackers and edible leaves he had had earlier was leaking from his mouth.
First, his mom had left his life by her own choice. He was three.
Strands of hair, damp and wrinkled on the tips stuck to the salty patches that had been left on his cheeks by his tears.
He hadn’t known anything back then. How could he, as a three-year-old? On sleepless nights, his father had shown him a façade of everything is going to be fine, smiling through it all. When other people that called themselves family had called her names, he didn’t understand anything at all. Until eventually, everything was fine.
Air circulation stopped.
Next, it was his grandparents, not by choice. Two people he had trusted the most when he was nine. Left without a warning. Back then it felt so unfair and he had wondered what he had done wrong. Was it his own fault? Because it felt like it was.
Little by little, he forgot.
He forgot the type of plant he had first picked up for the gardening club. Forgot the sweater Cecil wore on their date, the words that were exchanged between them, the song that played on the radio the first time he drove a car. Forgot the heartfelt message Camilla sent him, forgot the day he and Chris covered themselves with temporary tattoos for kids and Declyn wished they wouldn’t come off, the alien drawing Amelia showed him, Drew’s favorite pizza, and the color of the tips of Myles’s hair.
The pool under his head grew, blocking his mouth and nose.
He knew true loneliness now and it haunted his very last seconds.
Time stood still.
Then, his half-open eyes showed no more sign of activity.
[B023] Declyn Grayson-Anthis: Deceased
New timeline - buffering ...
Connection failed.
First, his mom had left his life by her own choice. He was three.
Strands of hair, damp and wrinkled on the tips stuck to the salty patches that had been left on his cheeks by his tears.
He hadn’t known anything back then. How could he, as a three-year-old? On sleepless nights, his father had shown him a façade of everything is going to be fine, smiling through it all. When other people that called themselves family had called her names, he didn’t understand anything at all. Until eventually, everything was fine.
Air circulation stopped.
Next, it was his grandparents, not by choice. Two people he had trusted the most when he was nine. Left without a warning. Back then it felt so unfair and he had wondered what he had done wrong. Was it his own fault? Because it felt like it was.
Little by little, he forgot.
He forgot the type of plant he had first picked up for the gardening club. Forgot the sweater Cecil wore on their date, the words that were exchanged between them, the song that played on the radio the first time he drove a car. Forgot the heartfelt message Camilla sent him, forgot the day he and Chris covered themselves with temporary tattoos for kids and Declyn wished they wouldn’t come off, the alien drawing Amelia showed him, Drew’s favorite pizza, and the color of the tips of Myles’s hair.
The pool under his head grew, blocking his mouth and nose.
He knew true loneliness now and it haunted his very last seconds.
Time stood still.
Then, his half-open eyes showed no more sign of activity.
[B023] Declyn Grayson-Anthis: Deceased
New timeline - buffering ...
Connection failed.
"—What?"
Ivy looked up at Garren distractedly, having already planted herself on a rock by the lakeshore, having conveniently forgotten for a moment that her luggage was a person with feelings and the unfortunate capacity to express them. Some particularly irascible part of her wanted to tell him no, keep standing there holding the bags, it's not like you have a choice, do you? It would be nice to spit venom at anyone other than the person who'd filled her mouth with it. But even for her it was just too petty.
"Sure, yeah. Put them down."
"You can sit if you want."
She wasn't really planning on saying that second bit, but the alternative was more than likely him standing there hovering over her awkwardly for the next however long Myles was going to spend making out with Declyn in the woods and she really didn't want to put up with that right now? She didn't know what she wanted outside of for this encounter to have gone some other way, a dangerous die to roll when at least one of the other faces had a chainsaw on it. But at least if things had gone in that direction her impotent anger could be directed at someone who properly deserved it, and that would at least feel better, and that qualified as a victory, maybe. This was the sort of shitty feeling she had to swallow back. There wasn't enough time left to be upset with Myles ever again.
She wanted a fucking drink so bad.
The lake was kind of a disappointment, after all the buildup. She had mostly been buoyed by Myles's excitement, anyway, by the vague childhood memories his smile pulled out of her head; the thought of getting clean was in retrospect more of a bonus than anything. Now that she was here, alone with Garren Mortimer of all people in the world, the thought of stripping down and wading into the water didn't hold quite the same appeal. The waterfall was nice, she supposed. She had seen better. Myles hadn't.
Garren probably hadn't either. She gave him a sidelong glance. Sitting her in silence was going to drive her mad.
"So."
She looked back at the water the moment she felt his eyes shift toward her.
"What's your story."
Ivy looked up at Garren distractedly, having already planted herself on a rock by the lakeshore, having conveniently forgotten for a moment that her luggage was a person with feelings and the unfortunate capacity to express them. Some particularly irascible part of her wanted to tell him no, keep standing there holding the bags, it's not like you have a choice, do you? It would be nice to spit venom at anyone other than the person who'd filled her mouth with it. But even for her it was just too petty.
"Sure, yeah. Put them down."
"You can sit if you want."
She wasn't really planning on saying that second bit, but the alternative was more than likely him standing there hovering over her awkwardly for the next however long Myles was going to spend making out with Declyn in the woods and she really didn't want to put up with that right now? She didn't know what she wanted outside of for this encounter to have gone some other way, a dangerous die to roll when at least one of the other faces had a chainsaw on it. But at least if things had gone in that direction her impotent anger could be directed at someone who properly deserved it, and that would at least feel better, and that qualified as a victory, maybe. This was the sort of shitty feeling she had to swallow back. There wasn't enough time left to be upset with Myles ever again.
She wanted a fucking drink so bad.
The lake was kind of a disappointment, after all the buildup. She had mostly been buoyed by Myles's excitement, anyway, by the vague childhood memories his smile pulled out of her head; the thought of getting clean was in retrospect more of a bonus than anything. Now that she was here, alone with Garren Mortimer of all people in the world, the thought of stripping down and wading into the water didn't hold quite the same appeal. The waterfall was nice, she supposed. She had seen better. Myles hadn't.
Garren probably hadn't either. She gave him a sidelong glance. Sitting her in silence was going to drive her mad.
"So."
She looked back at the water the moment she felt his eyes shift toward her.
"What's your story."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“Uh, cool, gotcha. Uh…”
Garren paused for a moment, then shrugged the bags off of his shoulders and into his arms, slowly crouching to drop them off onto the ground. He put his bag on the bottom, accompanied by the discordant jingling of rusty metal - it wasn’t as though there was anything in there that’d get damaged, after all, and, y’know, maybe he was still just carrying old personality traits with him from back at school, but he got the feeling that Ivy would appreciate it if she didn’t get dirt and shit (possibly literally) on her bag. He took a handful of deep, slow breaths, before turning to nod at Ivy.
“Thanks.”
He gave her a thumbs up - again, christ, he really needed to cut that shit out - before walking over to a rock near to Ivy, close but not too close, collapsing on it with a sigh. He stretched his arms out over his head, plapped them back down onto the rock behind him with a damp slap, and waited for Myles to come back.
He probably would have noticed the extremely awkward silence if he hadn’t been so fuckin’ exhausted. It was hard to focus on anything other than the immense feeling of relief that came with actually getting to stop for a moment, after traipsing around the island for a day across unstable ground and with bags weighing him down. He felt the tiredness in his bones, and the last vestiges of his energy, slip out of his body and sink into the ground beneath his feet. The sweat on his forehead was slowly evaporating. The fog in his mind was being washed away by the rushing waterfall behind him. It was cool out here, in the great outdoors. He shoulda spent more time outside back home, even if it was just heading down the road to pick up some chips and a Speedy Freeze.
Then Ivy willingly said something to him, and it was a question rather than a command, because why the fuck not, today had already thrown a bunch of weird surprises at him, why not keep the ball rolling. He glanced across at her, not oblivious to the fact she turned away as soon as he did.
“Me?”
No, dipshit, the way more attractive and likeable version of you that was also down here, that didn’t ask inane and obvious questions like a shitty shounen protagonist.
“Well, uh, I met up with a bunch of people in the village first thing but none of them stuck around long. Can’t imagine why, definitely can’t be due to running into a couple of winners like me and Brady first thing. Anyway, I ran into Katelynne, y’know, horse girl-”
Man. She kept on drifting in and out of his thoughts, but he really hoped that Katelynne was doing all right.
“-Quinn shot at us, the usual. She, uh, left as well, shortly after that. Me ‘n Parker and Aoi all kinda grouped up and planned to stick together, find as many other people as possible, make one big group to try and do something.”
Garren paused. He looked down at the ground, between his feet, face darkening.
“You can see how well that fuckin’ turned out. Parker grabbed all of our stuff while he was keeping watch and fucked off somewhere. And Aoi… Well. Y’know. I’m guessing you heard the announcements, ‘n shit. So I wandered around, verge of starvation, and… then I found you two.”
He spread his hands wide, an obvious ‘that’s it’ gesture.
“And now I’m here.”
He slowly lowered his hands, another uncomfortable silence descending upon them. Garren coughed, scratching underneath his chin, itchy, wispy patches of hair underneath his fingers.
“So what’s, uh..”
His hand moved to behind his neck, as he glanced back up at Ivy.
“You don’t look too, uh… I mean, you’ve, um, obviously… been through some shit…”
Another cough, as the peanut gallery that had taken up permanent residence inside his head screamed at him about how much of a fucking dumbass he was.
“You don’t need to tell me about it. If it, I mean…. If it’s hard to do.”
Garren paused for a moment, then shrugged the bags off of his shoulders and into his arms, slowly crouching to drop them off onto the ground. He put his bag on the bottom, accompanied by the discordant jingling of rusty metal - it wasn’t as though there was anything in there that’d get damaged, after all, and, y’know, maybe he was still just carrying old personality traits with him from back at school, but he got the feeling that Ivy would appreciate it if she didn’t get dirt and shit (possibly literally) on her bag. He took a handful of deep, slow breaths, before turning to nod at Ivy.
“Thanks.”
He gave her a thumbs up - again, christ, he really needed to cut that shit out - before walking over to a rock near to Ivy, close but not too close, collapsing on it with a sigh. He stretched his arms out over his head, plapped them back down onto the rock behind him with a damp slap, and waited for Myles to come back.
He probably would have noticed the extremely awkward silence if he hadn’t been so fuckin’ exhausted. It was hard to focus on anything other than the immense feeling of relief that came with actually getting to stop for a moment, after traipsing around the island for a day across unstable ground and with bags weighing him down. He felt the tiredness in his bones, and the last vestiges of his energy, slip out of his body and sink into the ground beneath his feet. The sweat on his forehead was slowly evaporating. The fog in his mind was being washed away by the rushing waterfall behind him. It was cool out here, in the great outdoors. He shoulda spent more time outside back home, even if it was just heading down the road to pick up some chips and a Speedy Freeze.
Then Ivy willingly said something to him, and it was a question rather than a command, because why the fuck not, today had already thrown a bunch of weird surprises at him, why not keep the ball rolling. He glanced across at her, not oblivious to the fact she turned away as soon as he did.
“Me?”
No, dipshit, the way more attractive and likeable version of you that was also down here, that didn’t ask inane and obvious questions like a shitty shounen protagonist.
“Well, uh, I met up with a bunch of people in the village first thing but none of them stuck around long. Can’t imagine why, definitely can’t be due to running into a couple of winners like me and Brady first thing. Anyway, I ran into Katelynne, y’know, horse girl-”
Man. She kept on drifting in and out of his thoughts, but he really hoped that Katelynne was doing all right.
“-Quinn shot at us, the usual. She, uh, left as well, shortly after that. Me ‘n Parker and Aoi all kinda grouped up and planned to stick together, find as many other people as possible, make one big group to try and do something.”
Garren paused. He looked down at the ground, between his feet, face darkening.
“You can see how well that fuckin’ turned out. Parker grabbed all of our stuff while he was keeping watch and fucked off somewhere. And Aoi… Well. Y’know. I’m guessing you heard the announcements, ‘n shit. So I wandered around, verge of starvation, and… then I found you two.”
He spread his hands wide, an obvious ‘that’s it’ gesture.
“And now I’m here.”
He slowly lowered his hands, another uncomfortable silence descending upon them. Garren coughed, scratching underneath his chin, itchy, wispy patches of hair underneath his fingers.
“So what’s, uh..”
His hand moved to behind his neck, as he glanced back up at Ivy.
“You don’t look too, uh… I mean, you’ve, um, obviously… been through some shit…”
Another cough, as the peanut gallery that had taken up permanent residence inside his head screamed at him about how much of a fucking dumbass he was.
“You don’t need to tell me about it. If it, I mean…. If it’s hard to do.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
"It's fine."
It wasn't, really, but Garren was in no position to argue with her.
Honestly all she'd expected or wanted was background noise, a droning hum to distract momentarily from her current train of thought, but Ivy had found herself actually paying attention to Garren's story. Not that she really cared, Lord knew if he dropped dead at this moment her only concern would be where the bullet had come from. But information was her second-most valued currency, and here her pockets were shockingly low. The only knowledge of events on the island she had came from personal experience, the announcements, and Myles; the vast majority of the island's living inhabitants were a blind spot to her. She figured the killers were the only thing she really needed to know about—social nuances didn't seem particularly relevant at this stage of affairs—but there were at least a few things that still mattered.
It took her a moment to pull a face to the name Parker from her memory, considering how irrelevant he was, she likely wouldn't have remembered him at all if he hadn't played a minor role in Myles's much-lamented hotel experience. The fact that he'd stolen Garren's things didn't mean much outside of explaining how desperate he'd been, it wasn't like Ivy was going to trust him otherwise, but it was more than she'd known before, at least. Other names filled into mental images; Katelynne the weird horse girl, Lucas Brady the loser, Quinn the freak, she couldn't put a face to an Aoi but she was sure she didn't care. She vaguely remembered the name from announcements but before now couldn't have told you which side he'd been on. Just kind of a parade of hopelessly pathetic people on both sides of Garren's experiences, a group in which he was placed perfectly.
Objectively he was moving up in the world. Their rapidly dwindling food supply and their lack of any really useful armament kind of made that a hard point to argue, though.
"Do you know Julien?" She glanced back at Garren, got a half-nod, half-shrug. She shrugged back. "Doesn't really matter, I suppose. He decided to wake me up by giving me this."
She lifted her shirt, which had to be a new experience for him. He reeked of virginity almost as strongly as body odor, but it was hard for her to care? If he was massively turned on by the blue and green bruising that still marred half her torso, that was honestly his problem and not hers. The look on his face in the moment had been funny enough that she almost laughed, anyway.
"This also," she said as she let her shirt roll back down, motioning to her eye. The swelling had mostly gone down and the bruising wasn't half as bad there, but it was still noticeable, particularly with Garren as close as he was. "One thing wasn't enough, I guess. He wandered off, some other people showed up—Ace, Amelia. Declyn. Lori." She wrinkled her nose. "Lori poisoned us. Like, with drugs, not, poison, otherwise I'd probably be dead. Anyway I spent like half my first day here tripping."
Sometimes when it was dark and she looked out at the trees the shadows came back. She hadn't told anyone that. She really didn't need to.
"Travelled with Ace a bit," she left out a bunch of extremely unnecessary details, "we split up, I found Myles, we," she frowned, paused, "we found Julien."
She stopped, tried not to think too hard. Need-to-know information he didn't need to know.
"He was... I thought he was going to attack us again. I stabbed him—the hand, in the hand, not anywhere fatal, I don't think. He's probably fine." Unfortunately. "I didn't kill him." Unfortunately. "I was—I panicked and I ran and then we stopped to rest and that's when you showed up."
She was playing with her hair, she realized, twirling a thick strand around her index finger. Nervous habit. The ring was still in her bag. She almost wanted to ask for it, just to have something else to fidget with. Her hair somehow felt dry and greasy at the same time.
"That's all."
There was so much more, but none of it really mattered now. The rock they sat on was far enough off the ground that she could kick her feet like an anxious child.
"Were you—hm."
Would it be rude of her to ask if he was looking for anyone? Not that it particularly mattered, not that his priorities were going to become hers, mostly in terms of what to expect if they happened to run into someone who might turn Garren's priorities from being his and Ivy's personal butler/luggage cart/meat shield, but. Garren didn't really, like, have friends, did he? He had a squad of fellow losers he hung out with so they could feel marginally better about themselves by comparison, and Ivy was fairly certain most of that group was dead anyway. She could, you know, make fun of him for that a bit, if Myles were present that might be a fun two-minute distraction, but her heart wasn't in it.
She felt a tiny bit sorry for him, honestly. Just a tiny bit.
"Were you looking for anyone?" she ended up asking anyway. She didn't think it sounded particularly judgmental when she said it, though maybe coming out of her mouth it did by default? Whatever.
It wasn't, really, but Garren was in no position to argue with her.
Honestly all she'd expected or wanted was background noise, a droning hum to distract momentarily from her current train of thought, but Ivy had found herself actually paying attention to Garren's story. Not that she really cared, Lord knew if he dropped dead at this moment her only concern would be where the bullet had come from. But information was her second-most valued currency, and here her pockets were shockingly low. The only knowledge of events on the island she had came from personal experience, the announcements, and Myles; the vast majority of the island's living inhabitants were a blind spot to her. She figured the killers were the only thing she really needed to know about—social nuances didn't seem particularly relevant at this stage of affairs—but there were at least a few things that still mattered.
It took her a moment to pull a face to the name Parker from her memory, considering how irrelevant he was, she likely wouldn't have remembered him at all if he hadn't played a minor role in Myles's much-lamented hotel experience. The fact that he'd stolen Garren's things didn't mean much outside of explaining how desperate he'd been, it wasn't like Ivy was going to trust him otherwise, but it was more than she'd known before, at least. Other names filled into mental images; Katelynne the weird horse girl, Lucas Brady the loser, Quinn the freak, she couldn't put a face to an Aoi but she was sure she didn't care. She vaguely remembered the name from announcements but before now couldn't have told you which side he'd been on. Just kind of a parade of hopelessly pathetic people on both sides of Garren's experiences, a group in which he was placed perfectly.
Objectively he was moving up in the world. Their rapidly dwindling food supply and their lack of any really useful armament kind of made that a hard point to argue, though.
"Do you know Julien?" She glanced back at Garren, got a half-nod, half-shrug. She shrugged back. "Doesn't really matter, I suppose. He decided to wake me up by giving me this."
She lifted her shirt, which had to be a new experience for him. He reeked of virginity almost as strongly as body odor, but it was hard for her to care? If he was massively turned on by the blue and green bruising that still marred half her torso, that was honestly his problem and not hers. The look on his face in the moment had been funny enough that she almost laughed, anyway.
"This also," she said as she let her shirt roll back down, motioning to her eye. The swelling had mostly gone down and the bruising wasn't half as bad there, but it was still noticeable, particularly with Garren as close as he was. "One thing wasn't enough, I guess. He wandered off, some other people showed up—Ace, Amelia. Declyn. Lori." She wrinkled her nose. "Lori poisoned us. Like, with drugs, not, poison, otherwise I'd probably be dead. Anyway I spent like half my first day here tripping."
Sometimes when it was dark and she looked out at the trees the shadows came back. She hadn't told anyone that. She really didn't need to.
"Travelled with Ace a bit," she left out a bunch of extremely unnecessary details, "we split up, I found Myles, we," she frowned, paused, "we found Julien."
She stopped, tried not to think too hard. Need-to-know information he didn't need to know.
"He was... I thought he was going to attack us again. I stabbed him—the hand, in the hand, not anywhere fatal, I don't think. He's probably fine." Unfortunately. "I didn't kill him." Unfortunately. "I was—I panicked and I ran and then we stopped to rest and that's when you showed up."
She was playing with her hair, she realized, twirling a thick strand around her index finger. Nervous habit. The ring was still in her bag. She almost wanted to ask for it, just to have something else to fidget with. Her hair somehow felt dry and greasy at the same time.
"That's all."
There was so much more, but none of it really mattered now. The rock they sat on was far enough off the ground that she could kick her feet like an anxious child.
"Were you—hm."
Would it be rude of her to ask if he was looking for anyone? Not that it particularly mattered, not that his priorities were going to become hers, mostly in terms of what to expect if they happened to run into someone who might turn Garren's priorities from being his and Ivy's personal butler/luggage cart/meat shield, but. Garren didn't really, like, have friends, did he? He had a squad of fellow losers he hung out with so they could feel marginally better about themselves by comparison, and Ivy was fairly certain most of that group was dead anyway. She could, you know, make fun of him for that a bit, if Myles were present that might be a fun two-minute distraction, but her heart wasn't in it.
She felt a tiny bit sorry for him, honestly. Just a tiny bit.
"Were you looking for anyone?" she ended up asking anyway. She didn't think it sounded particularly judgmental when she said it, though maybe coming out of her mouth it did by default? Whatever.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Well. Okay. Sure. Sure! Fucking… why not! This was all fucking happening now, he guessed! Garren’s bizarre fucking life, coming soon to a screen near you! He’d asked the universe to cut him some slack and throw him a bone, and the finger on the monkey’s paw had curled, and now here he was, with Ivy Langley pulling her top up in front of him.
And yeah, sure, her body was coated in a pattern of gross blue and purple and green bruises that made it look like she had some kinda horrible disease, and yeah, there was a really easy joke to be made here, emphasis on the ‘easy’, but come the fuck on. He didn’t need to see his own face to know it was bright red, he was pretty sure the heat from it was accelerating the fucking ice caps melting. If Ivy hadn’t thought he was a pathetic sap before this, well boy fucking howdy was there a truckload of evidence right in front of her now.
She was still talking, and Garren shifted awkwardly on the rock, running his hand through his hair. It didn’t take a genius to know that the last time a girl had lifted her shirt in front of him - sans bra, important fucking addition - she’d been drawn on an animation cell, so, yeah, he was still mighty goddamn distracted by that. But he needed to listen to her. It was the least she deserved, really. She’d, obviously, been through hell. And she’d done him the courtesy of hearing his story.
So he turned away, looking down at the ground, hoping that the blood rush he was experiencing died down real fucking quickly.
Thinking about the bruising itself, rather than… y’know, where it was… located… helped out some. Along with how, and when, she’d gotten it all. If Ivy was telling the truth - and she had no real reason to lie, she’d made it clear she saw him as little more than a hat rack - then Julien had caused it all on the very first day. Inflicted even before the announcements had dropped, pain inflicted without the intent to kill, just to harm, just because. Jesus. That was… god it was weird to say this about a beat down and not about a murder, but that was fucked up.
At least now he could, for certain, cross someone off of the list of ‘People it’s probably fine and non-fatal to approach’.
Garren was quiet, as Ivy finished her story, staring down at his shoelaces. He still didn’t think he liked Ivy, which he thought was a fair stance, honestly. He’d despised her back at school, and she’d treated him as barely a step above dirt since they’d bumped into one another. But, christ, he couldn’t feel anything but remorse for what had happened to her. Of all the people he’d run into to try and ask for help, why’d it have to be another person who’d been dragged, physically as well as emotionally, through the dirt?
At least she’d run into Myles.
Garren looked back up at Ivy, as she asked her follow-up question, staring into her eyes for a moment. His mouth was drawn into a thin, straight line. The focus of his vision was somewhere else entirely.
“I, uh…”
He sucked air in through his teeth, then sighed.
“Not… really. Not anybody in particular, anyway. I guess it’d have been cool to run into Demetri, just to find someone who was happy to see me, who might have felt something other than relief after I died but… guess it’s a little too late for that now, huh?”
He drummed his fingers on the rock, realising that, whether he liked it or not, he was gonna spill his heart out sooner or later.
“Really, I just wanted to find someone, anyone, who was willing to team up with me, work together, try and…”
He trailed off. His shoulders sagged, just a little bit.
“I dunno. I never really thought further than pipe dreams. I knew how fucking difficult it’d be to even get that far, me being, y’know…”
He raised a hand, gesturing at himself, a small wry smile on his face.
“This is more than I thought I’d get, honestly.”
And yeah, sure, her body was coated in a pattern of gross blue and purple and green bruises that made it look like she had some kinda horrible disease, and yeah, there was a really easy joke to be made here, emphasis on the ‘easy’, but come the fuck on. He didn’t need to see his own face to know it was bright red, he was pretty sure the heat from it was accelerating the fucking ice caps melting. If Ivy hadn’t thought he was a pathetic sap before this, well boy fucking howdy was there a truckload of evidence right in front of her now.
She was still talking, and Garren shifted awkwardly on the rock, running his hand through his hair. It didn’t take a genius to know that the last time a girl had lifted her shirt in front of him - sans bra, important fucking addition - she’d been drawn on an animation cell, so, yeah, he was still mighty goddamn distracted by that. But he needed to listen to her. It was the least she deserved, really. She’d, obviously, been through hell. And she’d done him the courtesy of hearing his story.
So he turned away, looking down at the ground, hoping that the blood rush he was experiencing died down real fucking quickly.
Thinking about the bruising itself, rather than… y’know, where it was… located… helped out some. Along with how, and when, she’d gotten it all. If Ivy was telling the truth - and she had no real reason to lie, she’d made it clear she saw him as little more than a hat rack - then Julien had caused it all on the very first day. Inflicted even before the announcements had dropped, pain inflicted without the intent to kill, just to harm, just because. Jesus. That was… god it was weird to say this about a beat down and not about a murder, but that was fucked up.
At least now he could, for certain, cross someone off of the list of ‘People it’s probably fine and non-fatal to approach’.
Garren was quiet, as Ivy finished her story, staring down at his shoelaces. He still didn’t think he liked Ivy, which he thought was a fair stance, honestly. He’d despised her back at school, and she’d treated him as barely a step above dirt since they’d bumped into one another. But, christ, he couldn’t feel anything but remorse for what had happened to her. Of all the people he’d run into to try and ask for help, why’d it have to be another person who’d been dragged, physically as well as emotionally, through the dirt?
At least she’d run into Myles.
Garren looked back up at Ivy, as she asked her follow-up question, staring into her eyes for a moment. His mouth was drawn into a thin, straight line. The focus of his vision was somewhere else entirely.
“I, uh…”
He sucked air in through his teeth, then sighed.
“Not… really. Not anybody in particular, anyway. I guess it’d have been cool to run into Demetri, just to find someone who was happy to see me, who might have felt something other than relief after I died but… guess it’s a little too late for that now, huh?”
He drummed his fingers on the rock, realising that, whether he liked it or not, he was gonna spill his heart out sooner or later.
“Really, I just wanted to find someone, anyone, who was willing to team up with me, work together, try and…”
He trailed off. His shoulders sagged, just a little bit.
“I dunno. I never really thought further than pipe dreams. I knew how fucking difficult it’d be to even get that far, me being, y’know…”
He raised a hand, gesturing at himself, a small wry smile on his face.
“This is more than I thought I’d get, honestly.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Demetri was another one of those names so irrelevant to Ivy's everyday train of thought that it took her a moment to remember who he was. Grade A prime scummy incel, same as Garren was, she vaguely remembered something going around about him getting kicked out of Swiftball, though she couldn't remember why. It literally couldn't matter less now, considering the one place she knew she heard his name was on the other side of Blaise's over the speakers.
So she'd been right, more or less. He'd had nothing but another gross greasy dude to look forward to spending the last few days of his life with and he hadn't gotten that much. Precious few people on this island had anyone they loved like she loved Myles, and fewer of them still were lucky enough to find them, she imagined. But to have no one at all? It just sounded so unbearably lonely.
She knew where this all led. There could only be one left, in the end, no matter how far she and Myles walked together there would be an after for one of them. She could think those words without panic because they felt meaningless. A world where she was alive and Myles wasn't was impossible and therefore registered in her mind as a logical error rather than a thing to agonize over, and she would keep it that way until the very moment she couldn't. But that wasn't a choice Garren had, wasn't a reality he had to reckon with, he was already there. If the rest of their class dropped dead at this moment he'd have no one he needed to mourn. And maybe that was lucky. Maybe that was good for him. Maybe that was better. She couldn't lie to herself for the rest of her life.
But she remembered holding Ace's hand, she remembered every means she'd had to beg him to stay, she remembered the one night she had to spend alone huddled in the woods, she remembered the guileless joy she felt crashing into Myles's arms and thirteen years spent holding onto his arm, she remembered drinking alone in her room one night when she and him and had an argument and feeling in that moment like some barrier had been crushed and now the weight of the world was bearing down on her chest.
He didn't have much to lose, maybe, but that was because he'd never found anything worth keeping.
She kind of wanted to throw a pebble at him or make him do laps carrying their bags or something. Just something to knock out of her head the notion of feeling genuine sympathy for Garren Mortimer. Wave a magic wand and turn him back into a bellhop. It would be better. For her, not for him, but his opinions carrying any weight was the problem here in the first place.
"It's something." She was tugging at her hair again. "We aren't exactly trying to do anything but not die. But I guess that's the same for most people."
She glanced at Garren, still bright red from the blood rush to both heads. He was a simple guy. Easy to manipulate. That was good for her and Myles, yes, and she knew she'd have to take advantage of it eventually, but it also made her trust him. In a weird way it reminded her of someone else. Not really a comparison either of them would appreciate.
Now that she was on the subject, though.
"This morning." She looked back out at the water. She wanted the opposite shore to be further away. It felt claustrophobic, somehow. "When me and Myles were talking. Did you hear anything?"
So she'd been right, more or less. He'd had nothing but another gross greasy dude to look forward to spending the last few days of his life with and he hadn't gotten that much. Precious few people on this island had anyone they loved like she loved Myles, and fewer of them still were lucky enough to find them, she imagined. But to have no one at all? It just sounded so unbearably lonely.
She knew where this all led. There could only be one left, in the end, no matter how far she and Myles walked together there would be an after for one of them. She could think those words without panic because they felt meaningless. A world where she was alive and Myles wasn't was impossible and therefore registered in her mind as a logical error rather than a thing to agonize over, and she would keep it that way until the very moment she couldn't. But that wasn't a choice Garren had, wasn't a reality he had to reckon with, he was already there. If the rest of their class dropped dead at this moment he'd have no one he needed to mourn. And maybe that was lucky. Maybe that was good for him. Maybe that was better. She couldn't lie to herself for the rest of her life.
But she remembered holding Ace's hand, she remembered every means she'd had to beg him to stay, she remembered the one night she had to spend alone huddled in the woods, she remembered the guileless joy she felt crashing into Myles's arms and thirteen years spent holding onto his arm, she remembered drinking alone in her room one night when she and him and had an argument and feeling in that moment like some barrier had been crushed and now the weight of the world was bearing down on her chest.
He didn't have much to lose, maybe, but that was because he'd never found anything worth keeping.
She kind of wanted to throw a pebble at him or make him do laps carrying their bags or something. Just something to knock out of her head the notion of feeling genuine sympathy for Garren Mortimer. Wave a magic wand and turn him back into a bellhop. It would be better. For her, not for him, but his opinions carrying any weight was the problem here in the first place.
"It's something." She was tugging at her hair again. "We aren't exactly trying to do anything but not die. But I guess that's the same for most people."
She glanced at Garren, still bright red from the blood rush to both heads. He was a simple guy. Easy to manipulate. That was good for her and Myles, yes, and she knew she'd have to take advantage of it eventually, but it also made her trust him. In a weird way it reminded her of someone else. Not really a comparison either of them would appreciate.
Now that she was on the subject, though.
"This morning." She looked back out at the water. She wanted the opposite shore to be further away. It felt claustrophobic, somehow. "When me and Myles were talking. Did you hear anything?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."