Disclaimer: Welcome to Night Vale is property of Commonplace Books. Also slight unreality warning for a conversation in this chapter.


"Harlan!" Scoutmaster Wendell barks. The scout's head shoots up immediately, blue eyes intent, entire demeanor shifting to alertness as his attention snaps from a giggled private conversation with his best friend to the orders from the scoutmaster. Not that such dedication is required or expected; Oliver Wendell barks every order with a snarl, though his personality is really that of a puppy more than a spiderwolf. Earl pays such avid attention because the scouts are the one thing in the world he's sure he loves, and he loves it with all his heart for more than one reason. "Palmer can set up his own tent," Wendell continues, intentionally not looking at the inappropriate shapes Cecil is drawing in the sand with a twig.

"Sir," Earl interjects. Cecil stops drawing at that and shoots him a surprised look. Earl is a model boy scout; Earl never talks back. "P-palmer and I have always shared a tent." Scoutmaster Wendell gives a tired sigh indicative of a lifetime spent working with mouthy teenagers.

"Harlan, you expressed an interest in Junior Leadership. Junior leaders sleep under the stars and take turns with watch during campouts." Earl doesn't need to turn to know Cecil's gesturing dramatic imitations of the scoutmaster behind his back.

"Gods, Earl, everybody knows that," Cecil whispers sarcastically. Earl elbows him playfully in the ribs as Master Wendell turns his attention towards a group of younger scouts.

"They're going to stick you with a new recruit," Earl warns over his shoulder as he rises to follow after their leader.

"I've been bunking with you for five years now," Cecil laughs, kicking the gritty canvas smooth in preparation for tent-pitching. "How much worse could it really be?"


"Cecil! Hey, Cecil!" a squeaky voice pipes from across the small tent. Cecil sighs audibly.

"What is it now, Steve?"

"What's up there? Past the sky?" His little voice is brimming with excitement and curiosity. Under other circumstances it would be an interesting question; Cecil and Earl had often discussed such things late at night in curious whispers of their own. And he knows he should be nice; after all, whether or not he particularly enjoys Steve Carlsberg's company, it's the job of the mid-level scouts to mentor and assist the new recruits. With this in mind, he affects the least sarcastic level of enthusiasm he can manage when he finally responds.

"I don't know, Steve. What do you think is out there?" There's a moment of blessed silence during which Cecil imagines his young charge has dropped into unconsciousness; then a single definitive response.

"Aliens."

"That's stupid," Cecil snaps, pushing himself up with one arm. "Why the heck would there be aliens?" The babyfaced scout just blinks up at him from his little camp bag cocoon. "You know what's out there? Nothing. Empty, lonely nothing. It's called the void. It's the sum of our existence." Steve's mouth pops open in surprise, unintentionally egging on a further response from his sleep-deprived tentmate. "If we really exist, that is." Cecil adopts his best imitation of Leonard Burton's ominous pitch. "Do I really exist, Steve? Can you prove I'm not something your subconscious has projected? Do you exist? Or is all of this-" he gestures around at the worn canvas above them, "are all of us void in the end?" Satisfied with the saucer diameter of Steve's brown eyes, Cecil nestles back into his own sleeping bag. The sound of cicadas nearly lulls him into sleep before another softly squeaked question.

"But are there aliens in the void?"

"Oh my god, go to sleep, Steve," Cecil hisses, snatching up a jacket and tripping over the bundle of Steve on his way out into the night. Seven marched steps later, he plops himself onto the sand next to Earl's huddled form.

"Can't sleep?" Earl asks, poking with a charred twig at the flickering watchfire in front of them.

"He never shuts up," Cecil sighs.

"To be fair, neither do you," Earl teases, nudging his best friend with a shoulder. Cecil's grin gradually fades as they both turn their attention to the point in the sky where tossed sparks give way to flickering stars.

"What do you think is out there? Past the stars?" Cecil asks quietly after a long time. Earl shrugs.

"More stars. More sky. More everything. I read in a book once that we're tiny. Like a speck of sand in this whole desert," he adds in a hushed whisper, careful in case anyone might overhear the confession. "What do you think is out there?"

Cecil ponders the question for several moments. Earl watches him from the corner of his eye; Cecil's beautiful, even when his mind is distant and unreachably far away like this. The firelight transforms his eyes into glimmering amber; the soft warm glow dances across his freckled skin in caramel flickers. Earl has to try very hard not to stare into those eyes or wish he could run his fingers over those freckles, find out how far they go. The trance breaks as Cecil shivers once, violently, despite the blossoming flames licking dangerously close to his arms. "Aliens," he mutters dismissively. Earl snorts, but Cecil remains still, eyes fixed on something distant and unpleasant by the way the corners of his mouth quiver slightly.

"My mom's still gone," he finally whispers to the flames.

"Still?" Earl gapes. "Ceec, you told everyone she came back almost two months ago."

"I didn't want anyone to worry about me. Only you and Josie know now, and that's just.." with a slender fingertip he lazily draws a crescent moon into the sand between them. Cecil is good at talking until it's about something important. Earl has learned over the years how to fill in the blanks.

"Because you're worried about yourself?" he finishes for him. Cecil nods, folding his knees in to his chest and resting his chin atop them.

"I don't have anyone, Earl. I mean, Josie checks on me occasionally and my sister sends carrier pigeons from college every few months, but sometimes I want someone who will take care of me."

"I'll take care of you," Earl says without hesitation. Immediately he squints his eyes shut, sure his face is crimson in the firelight. Of all the moments and methods for confession, a thoughtless offer was not what he had planned. An explanation is perched between his teeth, but Cecil laughs unexpectedly - a breathy giggling sound higher pitched than his normal voice.

"I'm older than you," he reminds his friend. Earl shrugs, slightly relieved at the turn in the conversation.

"So? I'm taller than you. That's got to count for something. Besides, I mean, you know my mom loves you. You can always crash at my place or come by for dinner anyway. And if you need stuff for school or something I'm sure she'd help out if you asked, or I could ask for you." He's rambling on, hoping the more words he strings along, the quicker Cecil will interpret the slip as something innocuous.

"Thanks," Cecil says gently. "I guess I just want to sometimes feel like a little kid still. I just want someone to make me turtle soup when I'm sick and lecture me about cleaning my room and tell me when to start liking girls."

"I don't think that last one's something someone tells you, Ceec," Earl chuckles. "It's something that just sort of..happens."

"Well, it's never happened to me," Cecil retorts skeptically. Earl shoots him a puzzled look.

"It doesn't have to be girls," he adds. "I mean, haven't you ever met someone who just..." he exhales and glances up at the canopy of stars above them. Of all people in the world to have this discussion with, of course it had to be Cecil. "They make you feel all nervous, and you feel a little sick" -he coughs around the butterflies in his stomach- "and your hands go all clammy" -he rubs his palms discreetly on the hem of his khaki shorts- "but you wouldn't want to be around anyone else? And sometimes when they look at you," he forces himself to meet Cecil's curious eyes, "it takes your breath away a little.."

For a long moment neither of the boys breathes. Cecil's the first to look away, back at the fire that's begun to crawl off towards the desert in their distraction. Earl wrangles it back with ease.

"I guess I have," Cecil admits with a shrug. "Maybe. But definitely not with Leann Hart, even though I kinda asked her to the wordless hum and tuneless chant party next weekend."

"T-that's good though, that you have someone to go with," Earl stutters, silently cursing himself for not asking Cecil weeks ago to go with him like he had originally planned.

"You'd think. But what if she wants me to kiss her or something? Earrrl, I don't know how to do any of this," Cecil mumbles, burying his face in his hands. Earl reaches for those hands, carefully prying them away from his friend's face.

"Come on, Ceec, kissing's easy." Cecil's gaze drifts briefly down to their joined hands before flicking back up again.

"Show me?" Barely a whisper, but just enough to cause the scout's heart to race wildly. He's only kissed one other person before, out of curiosity and opportunity; this time it's different because this is Cecil. This is what he's wanted more than anything ever since they were twelve. His movements are guarded, cautious as he reaches out, fingertips brushing along the other boy's cheekbone. Gently he leans in, presses his lips to Cecil's, lingers a moment, and pulls away.

Sparks - figurative, possibly literal - flicker behind his eyelids and all around them in the desert night. Electricity blossoms where his fingers still brush dark skin. For a moment the whole world feels weightless, like the anti-gravity weekends every November.

For his part, Cecil looks equally confused and intrigued. "That was strange. Kinda squishy." He scrunches his face, wrinkling his nose in thought. Earl wants to laugh, but he's spellbound and a little dizzy and -

Without any warning, Cecil pulls Earl in and kisses him again. Their teeth clatter against each other a bit, and it's a little sloppy, but Earl can feel it when Cecil smiles into his lips halfway through. "Better," Cecil breathes when he finally leans away. "Now I'll have at least had some practice if Leann expects me to kiss her." Earl feels his heart drop and his breath leave his lungs as if he'd been plunged unexpectedly into ice water.

"Palmer." Both boys jump at the scoutmaster's low warning. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see you out of your tent past curfew."

Cecil scrambles immediately to his feet. "Yes, Master Wendell." He's already a few steps away before Earl reaches for his wrist, drawing his attention back one moment longer.

"Ceec, don't-" don't go, don't kiss Leann Hart, don't tell me you didn't feel that. His still-spinning mind finally settles for the right words. "Don't do things just because people expect them of you. Do them because it's what you want."

"Palmer," Scoutmaster Wendell barks from the shadow. Cecil offers a half smile, wriggles his way out of Earl's grasp and heads back towards his own tent.