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The room looks alien for a moment when Raimy wakes up, and his eyes take just a second to adjust to the light of the lamp in the middle of the table by the window. They always leave it on at night; both he and Simon despise the dark now. Even with the lamp on, there are entirely too many shadows. Raimy always watches them, just out of his peripheral vision, half-daring them to move.
They rarely do.
He hears a noise next to him, and realizes that it’s Simon, calling out in his sleep. Probably what woke him up. He puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder (gently, carefully) and says his name. Quiet at first, and then a little louder when the cries only get worse. “Simon,” and he cringes a little at how harsh his voice sounds, still rough from sleep but tinged with worry. “Simon, wake up. Wake up, you’re okay,” and he watches Simon closely as his eyes start to open, trying to make sure he’s really awake.
Sometimes, less and less as time passes, Simon doesn’t quite wake up. He’ll stay in a half-nightmare state, and panics more if Raimy tries to calm him. It’s hard to tell right away whether it’s one of those nights, but Simon’s eyes lock onto his this time, and though he’s still clearly terrified from whatever haunted him in his dreams tonight, he manages a small smile.
He’s awake, then. Good.
“Sorry I woke you up,” Simon says, quiet.
“I was already awake,” Raimy says. (It’s a lie, but Simon doesn’t need any guilt. He carries too much anyway. They both do.)
Simon sits up and leans against the headboard, and so does Raimy. Without saying anything, they both gravitate towards each other, Simon’s head on Raimy’s shoulder and their hands laced together.
After a while, Simon clears his throat, coughs slightly. “You want some water?” Raimy asks, and Simon nods.
Raimy turns the lights on as he walks through their little apartment to the kitchen. He’s getting better at being alone, even though it’s only a few seconds’ walk back to the bedroom where Simon is. When they first got back from the hospital after those days in the caves, he struggled just going out of the room. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the second he’d leave, those things would take Simon.
And he kept thinking he heard her. Eva. Kept thinking about how he wouldn’t see her again. How he’d promised her a drink she’d never get. How she’d died to save the rest of them. He’d only had a few days to get to know Eva, but he’d have liked to be her friend. Hopes they were friends, at the end.
Raimy’s hand shakes when he pulls the glass out of the cupboard, and when he fills it, water spills over the edge. He puts down the glass and goes to grab a paper towel, and that’s when he sees it. Just past the door to the balcony, standing outside next to the little plastic table covered in plants Simon’s trying to keep alive. A figure- long, skinny, tall, and dark, watching him. It’s vague, fuzzy at the edges, but he can see its long, curving claws and almost hear its rattling breaths. It speaks to him, with her voice. Telling him it’s cold. Asking him to let her in.
“Raimy?” Simon says from behind him, and Raimy jumps, spilling more water onto the floor. The figure is gone when he looks back up, and now it’s just him, standing in the empty kitchen, water soaking slowly into his sock. “Raimy? What’s wrong?” Simon asks behind him, and Raimy turns around, still holding the paper towel in one hand and the glass of water in the other. Simon’s wearing his prosthetic, and he’s wrapped a blanket around himself. He looks concerned.
“I’m fine, sorry,” Raimy says. Knows even as he says it that Simon doesn’t believe it. He sighs. “I thought I heard her for a second. It just caught me off guard.”
“Eva?” Simon asks, carefully. They haven’t talked much about what happened since they got home. Leaving it all behind them seemed like the best option. Raimy’s not so sure about that now. He nods, and Simon’s eyes go soft. “Come sit,” he says, and gathering the blanket around him, he leads Raimy to the couch.
When Raimy sits down, he hands the mostly-full glass of water to Simon, and pulls a corner of the blanket around himself. Their cat, Yasha, hops up onto his lap, and he scratches behind her ears absentmindedly.
They talk. About Eva, mostly, because she saved their lives and she died alone and she was a good friend to them both, but also about the rest of it. The talk is messy, both of them stumble over words sometimes and Simon gets choked up thinking about how gross those peanut butter protein bars were, of all things, and they both go quiet when they think about that first day in the hospital. How scared they were.
Simon’s holding on to his glass of water tight, with both hands cradling it. Raimy reaches over and gently uncurls his fingers from the cup, placing it on the end table and taking Simon’s hands in his own. Simon looks at him, and there are tears in his eyes but there’s also a fierceness, that determination that kept him alive up on that mountain. “I love you,” he says. “I’m glad we’re both here.”
“I love you too,” Raimy says. There’s a pause for a few minutes, and then he clears his throat. “Are you going to want to go back to bed tonight?”
“No,” Simon says. “I’ll read in the room if you want to sleep, though.” Raimy shakes his head, still petting Yasha.
“I don’t mind just sitting here,” he replies. “And I think Yasha won’t be happy with me if I get up now. She just fell asleep.”
Simon ends up turning on the tv, and they watch some cooking show in silence for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, Raimy keeps thinking he sees a shadow moving, tall and lithe and eerie, and he’s been watching it for a while but it always fades when he looks straight at it. It slips around the corner, fast, and he tenses. Simon looks over at him. “You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Raimy says, looking back at him. Pointedly ignoring the steadily darkening shape in his peripheral vision. “I’m fine.”