"What if we forget each other?"
"Not going to happen."
"But what if? Or what if we convince ourselves it's a dream or something?"
"Shut up, fuckass. It's not going to happen."
"You don't know that, KK! You're just doing what you always do, shouting me down because you don't have an answer! Like you're going to fix it all on your own, but this time you can't, because there won't be any 'later' to fix it in! What if you don't remember there's anything to fix?"
"Shut up!" you scream, so scared and furious you're shaking. You have two fistfuls of the front of his shirt, and you're glaring into the empty blackness where his eyes once were as if he can see you. There are yellow tears pouring down his gray cheeks, and pink ones dripping off your chin. "This is our only chance, we don't have a choice, and are we seriously going to spend our last minute as trolls fighting?"
He cracks a watery smile. "That's what we do, isn't it?" He wraps his hands gently around yours and pries them from his shirt. "I guess all we can do is just... try really hard to keep hold of the memories. Like hold the truth in mind while it happens."
The anger drains out of you, leaving you weak. You tilt your head forward to rest your forehead against his. "You seriously think that would work, don't you? You're fucking pitiful, Captor."
"So are you." His breath puffs warm against your face as he gives a silent laugh. "I pity you so hard, KK. I figured it out too late. I'm sorry."
"Oh." Your chest constricts painfully. Now you know why he's digging in his heels, because now you want to too. You want to hang onto the moment, beause finding this feeling and then having to change everything before you even get to talk about it is the most unfair thing that ever happened.
You take his face in your hands and mash your mouths together. He's barely started responding before you pull away. The others are calling for you. It's time.
As the universe starts to rip apart, all you can hold in your mind is: so that's what a yellowblood's tears taste like.
You drift slowly awake. You feel warm and good. You feel like it's your birthday and there's a huge present waiting for you. You flop the blanket off your face and squint at the clock. 9:22. Apparently you slept through the garbage truck. There's a first time for everything.
There's a contact lens case on your bathroom counter. It means nothing to you at first. You're on autopilot until you get your shower on. Once the hot water reboots you, you remember. Space Bro is crashed out on your couch. When you brush your teeth, you set out a spare toothbrush for him.
You stop on your way past the couch to have a look at the guy. He's kinda balled up on one end, cocooned in blankets, with his face pressed to the arm cushion and his mouth open. He's drooling. It's cute.
Not in a sexy way. In a kid way. The vulnerability of his thin, loose-curled hand clutching the blanket, so pale and red-knuckled, is also not sexy. It's just pitiful. He's here because you pitied him. Platonically.
As opposed to what?
You shake your head. Coffee time. Lots of coffee time.
The view out the kitchen window suggests that you didn't sleep through the garbage truck, it just never came. The street's unplowed, the snow's halfway up your mailbox, and it's still coming down. Well, you don't have to be anywhere today. You don't have afternoon shift at the warehouse, because you got fired yesterday.
Sitting at the kitchen table, watching the snow fall, you probe at the situation like you're tonguing a loose tooth. Somehow, the anger and dismay just aren't coming. Sure, you're out a job, but you have some savings and your veteran's benefits are nothing to sneeze at. You'll be fine. As for the way it happened - that's just funny now. Thank you Space Bro.
You hear running water in the bathroom. A few minutes later he ambles into the kitchen, looking dopey and sweet. Tempered. Sweet-tempered. Like a nice guy. He's wearing glasses and his hair's standing up on one side.
"Where's the cups?" he says.
"C'mere." You beckon.
Puzzled, unsuspicious, he comes over to you. When you keep beckoning, he bends down, and it's kind of crazy how fast and dark the blush comes over his face. You study his eyes, frowning. One is hazel and one is blue. "I thought you said the odd one was red."
"I... huh?" he breathes. He looks enraptured or something. You're embarrassed for him.
You give his bedhead a hard ruffle and shove him away. "Cups are on the right side. Next to the fridge." While he gets his coffee, you explain your actions: "Your eyes, fuckass. You said the odd one was red."
"No I didn't."
"I distinctly remember. One red and one blue."
The look he gives you is even more embarrassing than the enraptured one. It's like he found El Dorado. "You remember that, huh?"
"So you admit to bullshitting me."
He slowly shakes his head, still beaming. "No, KK. I was sober enough last night that I remember deliberately not telling you what color my odd eye is. I thought I'd make you guess."
"Why would you do that, that's retarded."
"Because red and blue is what they were before. When we were trolls. Now, as a human... KK, the odd eye is the blue one. The green is the normal one."
You snort and turn back to the window. "Don't flatter yourself. That's hazel."
He laughs, and after a moment you join in, because okay, that was a pretty dumb thing to say.
"I was thinking we'd go grab some lunch or something," you say once he's joined you at the table. "Maybe see a movie. There's some new superhero shit out that's supposed to be pretty funny. Your car's snowed up in the driveway, though. Do you need to go back to your hotel at any particular time?"
"Nah, I only reserved one night, I would've had to check in again last night." He side-eyes you while pretending to watch the snow. "A movie date, huh?"
"Don't even. I've played in the gay-chicken big leagues, you have no idea how raunchy bored Marines can get, you're not gonna throw me by calling a bro-date a date-date."
He accepts that with a shrug and a smirk. "My car's not getting through that. I guess the whole plan's gotta wait until the plows come by."
"My street's always the fucking last one. For no reason I can discern. The assholes only do it to annoy me. Fuck you for laughing," you add, even while you join in.
In the end, you decide to stay home, horse around in the snow, watch videos and play console games. You don't have all that many two-players, and he beats you mercilessly at the ones you do have, but it's fun anyway. He crashes on the couch again. You don't dig out his car until Sunday morning when he has to start for home.
As soon as his taillights are out of sight, you go straight to your computer and add his messenger handle to your contact list.