Chapter Text
Sunny holds the twenty-dollar bill in his hands like it’s a foreign object.
The guy behind the counter at FIX-IT shrugs at his obvious confusion, yawning and looking at the clock.
“Take it, it’s yours. You sorted all of those tools, even without being hired, the least I can do is pay you for it.” The man leans on the wooden counter, slouching. Sunny blinks at him, deciding not to question it. The fertilizer he dragged from the back of the store to the counter is already sitting in the wheelbarrow he very wisely decided to bring. There is no way he can carry that monster of a bag, not with his stick-like arms and stamina of a three-year-old. Sunny is touchy about his physical condition, but not stupid.
Coming to FIX-IT had been a more or less spontaneous idea. Nobody was at home when he arrived after school, and he didn’t remember when Mari was supposed to come home today, so he supposed he could make himself scarce for a little while. Basil’s wheelbarrow had still been in their yard behind the house after the other boy had brought a few tools and soil to help Sunny tend to the flowers in their flowerbeds a few days ago. It had been quite a chore to move the thing itself to the store without any of the fertilizer in it, so Sunny is dreading the walk to Basil’s already, but it’s not like he has any right to complain anyway.
For the acquisition of the aforementioned currency, Sunny finds only one explanation: Him getting rid of the awful mess in this place. The shelves of the store hold a broad variety of tools in the front part, and directly after entering, Sunny had felt himself recoiling. Such a mess. Tools everywhere, but not where they belong. He has a hard time making sense of the colorful shelves under normal circumstances, but like this, it’s nearly impossible.
Fertilizer. He had been looking for fertilizer for Basil. The kind the other doesn’t usually buy because it’s kind of expensive, but the one he looks at longingly on occasion. Fertilizer it was.
But even then, even after dragging the bag of fertilizer into the wheelbarrow (and maybe nearly feeling like passing out a few minutes after that) the clearly not correctly sorted tools in the front of the shop had been calling to him. Bothering him.
Sunny hadn’t really thought anything of taking it upon himself to put the tools in their rightful places. It was strangely soothing. Another, rare place in this world where things are as they’re supposed to be. Peace and tranquility. Looking at the shelves doesn’t burn his eyes and stab his brain anymore.
The twenty dollars are not exactly an unwelcome surprise, but he hesitates to pocket them. Is it okay to take the money? The guy had been alright with it. But he probably doesn’t know about Sunny. If he did, there was no way he would hand him money for his troubles.
It would be stupid to waste this opportunity, though. There are still ways to keep the money without being selfish about it. He looks at the bill, humming quietly through his nose, in deep thought. All of the tools, except for the drills, are less than twenty dollars. The question of which one to choose still remains, however.
The tape could be useful, but not on its own. And it isn’t like Sunny can use it on his own, either. Every angle and place to use it from seems complicated if not impossible alone, and there is no way he is going to ask for help with any of this.
The wench is completely useless on its own, as well, so Sunny doesn’t even contemplate it. The same goes for the shovel, which isn’t only hard to use on your own but they also already have one in their backyard. The saw…. Has potential, but after a bit of mulling it over, he decides it’s not the best choice either. A smaller tool would probably be better for his noodle arms, easier to store, and also cheaper. They are slightly above the budget.
The hammer is shiny when he takes it in his hand. Heavy, but he can lift it. He is slightly distracted by the shine of the metal, satisfied with the way the lights reflect off of it. In the end, it doesn’t matter, but he allows himself this small pleasure. What matters is: He can lift it. It’s heavy. It definitely packs a punch, and it’s less than twenty dollars. He takes it off the shelf and places it on the counter.
The guy who just gave him the twenty-dollar bill looks at him a little strangely, his eyebrows high, but Sunny doesn’t mind. He checks it out without further questions, and Sunny decides to put the hammer into his small backpack instead of throwing it into the wheelbarrow next to the fertilizer. Better to be safe than sorry.
The walk to Basil’s house is agonizing, even with the wheelbarrow to help carry the damn sack of fertilizer. Sunny thinks he is dying halfway down the street, sweat rolling down his forehead. Curse flowers and their stupid needs. He very nearly gives up and leaves the whole wheelbarrow behind, but an image of Basil’s face springs up in his mind. Basil would be happy, maybe. He smiles, sometimes, when he waters his plants, sunlight catching in his blond hair. Sunny hasn’t seen Basil smile in a long time.
So he carries on. When he sees the yard of Basil’s house, he is so dizzy he sits down right in front of the door, trying to catch his breath. It’s a stupid idea, maybe. Probably not even worth one drop of sweat. And still, here he is as if he has any right to try and do anything. Maybe leaving the thing in front of the door would be enough…? Basil would surely pick it up later. He hadn’t been in school today, but Sunny is sure he has left the house in the morning. He always does. Maybe he isn’t even home right now. He leans his back against the door for support.
...And falls flat on his back when Basil rips the door open with unexpected force. Sunny hisses when the back of his head hits the floor of the entrance area. Basil is looking at him from above, his mouth ajar, eyes wide. Sunny can see a bandage on his cheek from where he lies, and suddenly his stomach hurts as much as his head does.
“...Sunny? You could have used the doorbell, you know?” Thank you for your snarky wisdom, Basil. He doesn’t make any attempts at getting up, lying halfway in the entrance area and halfway down the stairs in front of the door. Any energy has left him. He is done for today, the battery was depleted, and he would die right here in front of Basil’s door. Maybe he’d make good soil for some of his plants.
Basil sighs, exasperated. “Come on, you can come in if you want to,” he says, and Sunny does want to, but he also wants to lie here. His legs feel like jelly. Basil bends down to grab one of his wrists and pulls his arm up, but when he lets go, Sunny lets it drop back down to the ground like a stone.
“Oh, seriously? Sunny, you can’t be doing that forever. I’m not going to pick you up, you are sixteen, for god’s sake.” For a minute, Basil looks like his younger self, cheeks puffed slightly. Sunny remembers Basil crying over dropping his photo album a few years ago and a familiar fondness settles in his chest. Small, sensitive Basil.
These memories are disturbed by the boy in question, however, when Sunny feels a pair of arms underneath his own, suddenly pulling him up like he weighs nothing. He is on his legs faster than he thinks is legal and Sunny contemplates dropping himself right away, but Basil’s grip is strong. … Not fair. Not fair at all. Sunny swears eternal war to the god that made him at least two heads shorter than his shortest childhood friend. What’s left of his pride is wounded fatally.
“This is the last time, really. You can’t just lie around in random places, that’s dangerous. At least ring the doorbell before you do, so I don’t trip over you…!” Basil stops complaining when he takes his eyes off Sunny and looks to the wheelbarrow still parked in his front yard. “...Oh. You brought it back by yourself?”
Sunny huffs. What a question. He may be a little short and maybe a little too thin, but he can move a wheelbarrow just fine. He nearly died, but Basil doesn’t need to know that and he is slightly stung by the disbelief in his friend's question. You’re welcome, Basil. His face doesn’t betray his anger, but Sunny is starting to regret coming here.
When he is sure he won’t drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes once he lets him go, Basil removes his grip to go over and inspect the wheelbarrow, hoisting the sack of fertilizer in it onto his shoulder with relative ease. Sunny is staring blankly. It’s simply not fair.
“Is that for me? You didn’t have to, but I’m happy. Thanks, Sunny.” Basil turns to him, fertilizer still shouldered. It’s not a real smile like he had hoped, but Basil’s face isn’t scowling for a minute. He supposes that’s a small victory. There is dirt on the bandage on the other boy’s cheek and a bruise right underneath it. Any joy is suddenly gone like he knows he deserves, but never Basil. Something in the back of his mind feels like it wants to come forward, a feeling, a memory, but it’s gone as suddenly as it came.
Basil looks him over like he always does, catching Sunny’s eyes. His free hand touches the bandage on his cheek, and he looks away. “Let’s bring this inside. I have a few plants that will be happy about it,” he says, voice just the tiniest bit wobbly. He ushers Sunny into the house and up the stairs into his room, all the while carrying the fertilizer. Basil is by no means bulky, but his slender figure hides a lot of strength and Sunny is still fascinated and a little jealous at the same time.
Basil’s room is the same as always. Plants in various pots and sizes are all over the room, his bed is made, and a pair of shiny, new gardening shears lies on top of it. Sunny hears it calling faintly.
Books sit on their shelves, most of them untouched. On the small table, Basil’s photo album lies, as if it belongs there. Sunny takes a few steps into the room and simply sits down on the rug on the floor, like he always does, resting his chin on his knees.
Basil puts the fertilizer down on the floor, opening it and getting to work on his plants right away. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not really what Sunny wants right now. He stares intensely at Basil’s back. There is a grass stain on his sweater, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
After a few minutes, Basil caves, like Sunny knew he would. “Look, I know why you’re here. I’m fine, okay? I just didn’t feel so good this morning, so I stayed at home. You know me, nervous stomach and all. Don’t worry about me.” He is putting the fertilizer into one of the pots with so much force the plant loses some of its leaves. Sunny distantly feels bad for the plant.
He doesn’t get up from his place on the floor, leaning his head to the side and pressing his cheek into his knees. Sunny doesn’t know when Basil stopped being honest with him anymore. He guesses he deserves it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still see the truth behind Basil’s poorly constructed lies. He hums quietly to let him know that he is listening.
“And I’m really clumsy. Remember how I used to drop my photo album all the time and kept crying about it? Yeah, well, nothing has changed. I tripped and hit my cheek on the doorframe this morning. Silly, I know. That’s not a crime, is it?”
Sunny doesn’t know if it universally isn’t, but he is pretty sure that in this country tripping and hurting yourself is legal. Hurting others by shoving them sure isn’t, however, as he knows by experience.
High school bullies aren’t exactly put in juvie either, most of the time, as far as he knows. He supposes that’s a lucky coincidence for a few people. He plays with the hem of the shorts of his school uniform. Summer has only started, but the air is warm enough for summer attire already. It’s not like Sunny feels the sun on his skin, anyway.
He feels a hand on his head and he looks up into Basil’s face. This time, there is a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Sunny is being petted like a cat and while that is a little humiliating, he can’t help but lean into the touch a little. Not fair.
“Don’t think so much. Hey, I don’t like asking, but do you have the homework for tomorrow…?”
It’s a clever distraction, but Sunny did in fact bring it. He unfurls from his position to reach into his backpack for the worksheets, his fingers sliding over the hammer on the bottom. Not now, he thinks, but he is glad Basil didn’t just check his backpack himself.
While Basil lies down on the floor on his stomach to get his homework out of the way, Sunny takes the opportunity to go over to the other boy’s desk to look at the old photo album lying there. There is dust on and around it like it has not been moved in a long time. His fingers leave trails in the dust on the cover when he touches it gently. Sunny looks over to Basil, who doesn’t pay attention, so he opens the album quietly.
Smiling faces greet him. Aubrey and Kel fighting. Mari and Hero laughing. There is a photo of Basil with Mari, making flower crowns. Sunny doesn’t remember that day very clearly.
Some photos have strangely empty places and he touches those with cautious fingers. He jerks in surprise when Basil’s voice comes from behind him without any warning.
“Oh, that’s you on your birthday. You seemed to like the box more than the actual present inside.” Basil sounds amused, standing behind Sunny and looking over his shoulder. His stomach feels vaguely cold. He doesn’t see himself in those pictures. He doesn’t see himself, not next to his friends or alone. Basil seems to see it just fine, but Sunny’s sight is clouded.
He knows that can’t be good, but it’s not like it matters. Instead, he chooses to see the positive side of things: His friends look genuinely happy. They don’t look like anything is missing. Like everything is right in this world. There is a numb pressure somewhere in his chest and he is mad at himself for feeling that way. He’s very bold today, for somebody on borrowed time.
Basil’s house is flooded with sunlight and Polly is cooking something in the kitchen, but Sunny feels like it’s hollow. When leaves, he passes Basil’s Grandma’s room and doesn’t think to look inside. He knows she isn’t feeling very well at the moment and she doesn’t need any more misfortune.
Basil waves to him from the front door when Sunny leaves and he waves back weakly. Basil opens his mouth and closes it again, hesitating, before parting his lips again.
“Hey, Sunny? See you tomorrow, okay?” He says it with uncertainty, his eyes a little too wide, holding onto the doorframe. He looks small despite being taller than Sunny.
The thing about Basil is that his intuition is sometimes downright scary. In the last few years, it’s become a little less accurate (with him being a lot more anxious in general), so Sunny can get away with a lot more than before, but he still has his moments. Sunny blinks at Basil slowly, processing the question, before giving him a thumbs up. He turns away and leaves the yard, not looking back. The hammer is heavy in his backpack.
The way back home seems incredibly long and he wishes he had brought his bike, but he supposes lying down on the sidewalk and spending the night there would inconvenience the people passing by. Not that he had never tried before.
The sun is setting slowly and the park is painted in orange light when he passes it. He pauses a moment to look over it, watching the abandoned swings sway softly. The playground is empty except for a group of people that hang out in a corner a bit further away. They are turned away from Sunny, so he can’t see their faces and he doesn’t particularly care anyway.
An orange and brown cat catches his attention, however. It’s curled into the sand of the big sandbox, between two sandcastles. It purrs when its eyes meet Sunny’s and he can’t resist its call. He is drawn to it, hesitating to touch it. He crouches down in front of it, and it looks at him so trustingly. Like he can’t do wrong. Slowly, carefully, he pets the cat’s soft ears. The cat leans into his touch and he feels the soothing vibration of its purring. For a few minutes, everything is good. Cats are inherently forces of good, spreading joy wherever they go. Sunny wishes he was born one.
The cat doesn’t mind being touched by his hands, which only destroy. He pulls them back like he got burned when he feels cool, smooth wood, metal strings, soft fabric. There are splinters in his fingers, blood under his fingernails. There is iron on his tongue and in his nose.
He snaps out of it when two people pass him by, startling him. He looks up to see shockingly pink hair and a girl with glasses.
Sunny remembers Mari and Aubrey promising to dye each other’s hair years ago. Mari’s had been a dark purple, successfully making their mother cry for a solid two weeks whenever she saw her daughter, but she had dyed her hair back a while ago when she started to apply for college. Aubrey had dyed her hair a bright pink and maintained it to this very day. Sunny sees her at his house often enough, visiting Mari, but he’s still fascinated by the luminosity of the color.
Aubrey and Kim don’t usually pay him any mind. Or maybe they think he isn’t worth any of their time. Aubrey certainly doesn’t. Sunny only remembers angry screams and bitter silence after. He deserves it, so he doesn’t complain, but a traitorous part of himself still mourns, like it has forgotten its place in this world. He just wishes she would take out her anger on him and not on Basil.
But she doesn’t hit him, never, not using the bat she carries around on her back. Sunny has had a lot of dreams about it, waking up in the middle of the night, shivering, sweaty, touching his face to check if he was missing anything. In a very fucked up way, he wishes she would use it, but the fear alone is good enough punishment for now.
She stares at him for a few seconds, meeting his eyes, and Sunny notices the teal contacts. He honestly can’t say if they are a recent development, usually avoiding eye contact with her. Before he can get up, she uses her leg to kick up a wave of sand into his face, taking her leave. The cat disappears with a startled yowl and Sunny yelps.
Sunny is coughing and rubbing sand out of his eyes for a few minutes after that, but otherwise, he is fine. He is fine, as fine as he could be, in perfect health. Some things are just not fair.
He takes his leave as well after that. It’s getting late and Mari should be home by now. His mom would not be home until very late into the evening, so he doesn’t worry about her. His house is quiet from the outside, but he sees Hero’s bike leaning onto the front porch. It’s not unusual, but it makes his stomach churn a little.
When he opens the front door, he is hit with the smell of food. The sizzling of a pan can be heard even in the doorway and Mari is laughing. For a moment, he just stands there, taking it in. He can’t spend the night in the doorway, though, so he takes off his shoes quietly and removes his backpack from his shoulders. He holds onto it like an anchor for a bit, before stepping into the living room.
The door to the kitchen a little further to his left is open. He is wearing socks, so his steps are quiet, but even if they weren’t, he doubts Mari and Hero would have heard him. His sister sits at the kitchen table, a pen in hand, presumably studying. Hero stands in front of the kitchen counter, tending to a few different pans at once. In the back, something is boiling. It definitely smells like food, but Sunny can’t make out what Hero is cooking.
Mari is hiding a smile behind her long fingers, her hair falling into her face. Her eyes are crinkling in the corners, locked onto Hero, who is talking about something Sunny has no context to. He steps in a little further, trying to sneak by the kitchen and escaping upstairs into his room.
It just so happens that Mari lets her gaze wander a bit too far away from Hero and that’s when she sees him.
Sunny can see the way her smile dies, how she lowers her hand. Her eyes are a little too wide and dark. She pierces him with her gaze, silent for a moment before she remembers her manners.
“Hi, Sunny,” she says. Sunny can see how she grips her own trembling wrist beneath the kitchen table, in her lap. Something ugly coils itself into his chest, but she doesn’t know, rolling back her wheelchair a little before coming around the table to approach him. Sunny chances a look at Hero, who is not looking at him but Mari. He has a spatula in hand and he looks like he wants to reach for her, his hand hovering in the air, uncertain. When Hero looks at him, he has a look in his eye Sunny has trouble recognizing. It’s weird how he wants to disappear the second the people he has always looked up to are aware he exists.
Hero opts to greet him awkwardly with the spatula in his hand. “Hey, Sunny. Kel also says hi,” he says, like always. Kel always sends his words with Hero, but despite living next door, Sunny hasn’t seen him in months. Not really, that is. Through his window and in class, maybe. Kel has other friends now and has dreams he wants to pursue. Sunny doesn’t have any plans for tomorrow, or the day after, or any days after that.
Sunny turns his eyes away. Mari is in front of him, touching his upper arm. He can feel the way her fingers shake and it takes a lot of resolve to not shy away from her. She shouldn’t force herself, but she always does. Sunny doesn’t know if he is still able to be grateful or not.
“How was school? Were you out after?”, she asks, still in that unfamiliar tone of voice. Sunny shrugs and her hand slides a bit lower onto his elbow. “Ah, were you at Basil’s place? You have a flower petal on your sleeve.”
He nods, mostly to satisfy her. She has a watery smile on her face and Sunny hates it. “Hero is making food if you want some. He learned a new recipe the other day and we really want to try it,” she says, gesturing to Hero, who also smiles weakly at him.
To be honest, the mere thought of food is enough to make Sunny sick these days. Food tastes like nothing in his mouth, and the texture is unbearable no matter what he tries. If he manages to, he skips meals altogether, but that’s of course not always an option. Sitting down with Mari and Hero to eat is not really that tempting when he thinks about it. The looks, the uncomfortable air, the tastelessness of everything. It’s a good thing Hero didn’t cook for him, but for Mari.
Maybe he can try some of the leftovers later. When he is alone.
He gently shakes his head and Mari tries to grab his hand, but Sunny is faster than her. He steps away a bit, out of her reach, digging his hand into the backpack he is still holding. He shakes his head again. Mari’s face is unreadable to him, her eyes still so wide.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but it comes out all wrong. The back of his throat is burning. The word plays in his head again and again, until it doesn’t sound like a word anymore. He turns away and flees upstairs. He hears Mari calling his name, but he can’t turn around.
The door to his room is his saving grace. He stumbles inside, nearly dropping the heavy backpack onto his feet. He closes the door behind him and drags the bag with him toward his bed. Sunny falls face-first into the mattress, willing away the fear. Nothing happened. Everything is fine. Mari is…. Well, not worse than she was before. He is fine, even though he doesn’t deserve to be.
He reaches for the backpack, fishing for the hammer and laying it next to himself on the bed. It’s still shiny, still heavy. His mirror image is distorted in the smooth metal, but it’s still himself. He grabs the handle shakily.
It’s a good backup plan. If you swing it hard enough, just once. Just once.
The image he thinks of is disgusting and the crunch he imagines his skull to make makes him want to vomit. Maybe he wouldn’t get to hear it. Maybe he’d suffer for minutes and minutes and eternity. Maybe he wants to.
He sits up, looking around his room. Hiding it together with the steak knife in one of his books on the bookshelves wouldn’t be very clever, just in case somebody would find it. His mom wouldn’t notice one knife missing, he thinks. He’s still paranoid about it, somehow. He doesn’t want her to ban him from all the sharp objects of the house and he doesn’t want to burden Mari with the task of looking after him while at home. No way.
You need the knife to be there. But if it isn’t, you’ll still have the hammer. And if they find that, we’ll find something else. Your bedsheets. Your shoelaces. Mom’s sleeping pills. Mari’s painkillers.
He shakes his head a little. Taking something of Mom’s or Mari’s would only drag them down with him. He wouldn’t. That’s also why cars and trains are a definite no. He wouldn’t burden anybody else with this.
He decides to store the hammer in one of the drawers of his desk for now. Nobody would look through them anytime soon and he can still think of something else if he needs to. A hammer in a desk drawer isn’t necessarily suspicious. It’s good enough for his backup plan, anyway. As long as the knife is safe, he doesn’t need to worry.
He gets ready for bed, even though it’s barely six in the evening. Sunny yearns for the only relief he knows, for the only thing that makes him forget. His bed is soft, comfortable and oh so inviting. He knows he is developing a bad habit by spending every minute he can afford in bed, dreaming away, but it’s not like he doesn’t do that throughout the day as well. He always has his head in the clouds, they say. He prefers it that way.
Not today, he thinks, sinking into his pillow. Basil will probably come to school tomorrow and today is not the day. But maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. Or any day after that. Sunny doesn’t know what he is waiting for, exactly. It doesn’t feel like today, in any case.
When he falls asleep, he opens his eyes to a familiar sight.
Whitespace is as sterile as ever. Sunny is lying on his back for a moment, staring into the endless white. It’s soothing, safe. Nothing ever happens here, empty, impersonal. A pair of black, lifeless eyes move into his vision, along with the most painfully neutral face he has ever seen.
“You have the same face, you know,” Omori says. He is squatting behind Sunny’s head, looking down at him from above. He leans his chin onto one of his hands, his elbow on his knee. “You didn’t do it today.”
Sunny really doesn’t feel like being lectured by somebody who looks like his twelve-year-old self, but it is what it is. He didn’t do it today and he didn’t do it yesterday. It doesn’t feel right, but he knows it’s what he wants. What the others want, even if they don’t know it yet.
“You don’t look much older than me, anyway. Don’t be rude.” Omori continues staring at him. That’s kind of his thing, the staring. Like he wants to dig out Sunny’s soul.
“I mean, it’s not like you have a deadline or anything, but it’s not getting any better, is it? Earlier. With Mari. That’s just going to happen again and again. You’re selfish, Sunny.”
He knows he is. He curls up, and Mewo paws at his face. She meows impatiently and he lifts his arm a little so she can press herself to his chest. Her purring reverberates in his lungs, making him remember that there is nothing inside him after all.
He is just a black hole, taking and taking from the people he loves and never giving anything back, never satisfied. He only takes and destroys. His face feels wet and his throat is burning again. Nothing comes out of his mouth no matter how hard he tries.
He feels Omori pry a hand away from his face, still looking at him. Sunny wants to shrink into the ground, but whitespace won’t swallow him.
“Mari is scared of you. She knows what you can do and she suffers for it. Our sister has to live in the same house as the person who hurt her so badly. That’s really unfair.”
The image of Mari’s face appears in front of his inner eye. She looked so scared, so fragile in that wheelchair. She had stopped laughing the second Sunny appeared. He sucks away all of her joy just by existing, doesn’t he? He can’t blame her. He can only blame himself. She is treading on eggshells whenever he is in the same room, trying not to upset him. Like a rabbit in a corner. Sunny can’t move out, his mother would never let him, not at sixteen. Running away would only end in being caught and brought home a few days later. He doesn’t want to make Mari suffer his company any longer, but he has no way of escaping either.
Sunny wants to vomit, but not even in whitespace there is anything left in his stomach.
“Hero is just tolerating you for Mari’s sake. He’s always been a peacekeeper, but I wonder how long he’ll be able to keep that up. Do you want to make him leave as well? He’s all Mari has left.”
Sunny shakes his head. He doesn’t want Hero to leave Mari. He has taken enough from her.
“Aubrey hates you for hurting Mari as you deserve. I think she’d be a lot happier without having to see your face all the time when she visits her. You know that’s the truth.”
He does and he wants to sink into the floor even more. Mewo licks his chin, but he doesn’t feel the comfort of the gesture.
“Kel doesn’t even bother with showing up anymore. He seems dense, but he is the only clever person around in all honesty. Who wants to have a fucked up friend group when you can have new ones? Better ones? That’s just life, Sunny.”
There is a sob and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own. It sounds foreign, so far away. Omori’s voice is loud and clear even in his ringing ears.
“And Basil is the worst of all of them. He lies to you every single day. He gets bullied for sticking with you when he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t let go of the past because you’re still there. Do you want that for him?”
No, he doesn't. He wants Basil to move on. To find new friends, ones who don’t hurt him. Who don’t call him a creep for the photos he likes taking, or call him names because he likes taking care of flowers. Who don’t keep kicking him when he is already on the ground.
Omori lets go of his hand, sighing. Sunny risks looking at him through tearful eyes, but his face doesn’t reflect any of his emotions at all. “I’d do it if you gave me control, you know.”
He freezes. No, not yet. Not now. He can do this himself. This is the least he can do.
“Okay, okay. Fine. Have it your way.” Omori doesn’t sound very thrilled. Sunny can feel the bitterness behind his words. Omori wants to be trusted, he knows, but it’s hard for him sometimes.
“I’ve been thinking, though. Want to listen?” Sunny nods. Omori reaches for a napkin and wipes Sunny’s face. He wants to feel annoyed, but he doesn’t find the energy for it. He still doesn’t like that Omori knows his thoughts so well, while the other can keep all the secrets he wants to.
“Only the ones you don’t want to know. Now, as I said. I’ve been thinking.” Omori throws the tissue away, pinching Sunny’s cheek instead. “You say it doesn’t feel right and I think I know why.”
That catches Sunny’s interest. He waits for Omori to continue, after swatting his hand away from his cheek. “Leaving like this. It doesn’t feel right. What would make it feel right, though? I think you know better than me.”
What would make it feel right? Leaving like this, right now, feels wrong, because… He imagines a world without him in it. It’s good. But he is a black hole and he has left a lot of voids in other people’s lives. He has taken so much and he will take all of these things with him when he goes to hell.
“Yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking, too.” Omori pokes him again. “So, maybe it would help to… Fix some things before we go.”
Nothing is easy to fix, but the thought feels good. He thinks he would be able to leave easily if things were somewhat okay. He wants his friends to be together again. He wants Mari to smile. If he left now, he would make their lives better by being gone - but he wouldn’t be able to give them back what he took from them.
“You can’t give back everything, but maybe just enough. We can wait one more summer and you can make things right. Sound good?” Omori has the ghost of a smile on his face. Sunny finds himself agreeing. One more summer. That should be okay, even though it’s selfish.
The younger boy gets up, looking towards the door to headspace. He offers a hand to Sunny and he takes it. Omori, not unlike Basil, is surprisingly powerful when he wants to be. He is being pulled up by one arm, nearly throwing off Mewo, and he stumbles into the other boy's embrace. Omori is shorter than him, but he is sturdy all the same.
“I was telling the truth earlier. But it’s okay to take a break,” Omori mumbles, and Sunny is dangerously close to forgetting why he distrusts the other sometimes. It’s not Mari’s warmth, or Kel’s excited chatter, or being checked over for scratches by Hero. It’s not Aubrey’s simple affection or Basil’s soothing words. But it’s safe.
He can’t hurt Omori with anything he does. And Omori is fine with looking after him, even though it’s a job with a miserable payout.
One last summer, he thinks. Tomorrow, he’ll start to prepare. His friends and his sister will be happy after one more, last summer.
When Sunny lets himself be absorbed by Omori’s dreams, he doesn’t feel anything, and it's a relief.