Quaint, untouched Maplecrest.
Another earthly and sickly-sour scent - flowers blooming through the gaps in concrete sidewalks. Canopies bordered still by the midday sun, lonely and out-of-fashion. Through a haze reducing the distance into obscurity, another heatwave follows close in the wake of the recent midsummer rains. Even the airy looseness of the town's school uniforms lay out their weaknesses on a a day like this, their collars seeming to tighten uncomfortably around your neck. The sort of time when the playfulness of the season dissolves into complaints and moaning, when it's difficult to get your mind off a tall glass of water chilled with ice cubes fresh from the freezer. Light shafts filtering through the glass illuminate specks of dust that even now seem to burst off from every surface in the house, creating patches of uncomfortable warmth. Occasionally, the wind picks up and flutters through the open windows, making the day just a little more bearable.
Last month's newspaper still sits half-open on the kitchen counter. An array of indecipherable, avant-garde photographs are dotted between the lines of the feature article. Amateur shots cursed with darkness and rain, traces of an otherwordly colour splitting through the downpour's glossy veil. Running alongside the header of the next page is something less extraordinary - a regiment of Egrets and their monstrous secret weapon, Panzerfaust, arranged with hands tucked neatly behind their backs. Princess Parasoul stands out among them, centerfold. This two-page long section of the article has a short interview with the princess herself, although nothing particularly substantial is actually said about the events of that day. Rumours and baseless gossip line the print thickly, but neither the press or the people of New Meridian are entirely wrong in their suggestions. Lack of evidence or not, that light blue colour carries with it a deadly connotation, one that the Canopy Kingdom can never truly forget. So while there's very little to be said, there's a lot that can be imagined.
Things have cooled down considerably, but the days following the incident were the hardest of all. Given the time to let it simmer, the public quickly became furious towards the crown perpetuating their 'training exercise' for as long as they did. Not purely for the shadowy coverup of what was obviously something that posed a great threat to the city, but moreso for suddenly bringing the beating heart of the country to a standstill, disrupting infrastructure and bureaucracy, stopping out-of-town families from seeing their loved ones in hospitals, and so on. With the continued disappearance of King Renoir, the relationship between the crown and the people of the Canopy Kingdom is starting to show its cracks. A similar pressure is being applied to the Medici Mafia for endangering citizens by allowing their gambling establishments to remain open during the crisis. While nobody was killed, age-old questions of how the city intends to protect itself against a Skullgirl attack have begun to crop up once again.
The Egrets slowly lost interest in 'securing' Cecil when it was confirmed in the Anti-Skullgirl labs that all traces of the Heart had been purged from her body, sans some minor contaminations detected in her bloodstream, which, it was argued, could actually be beneficial to her health in the long-term. It was mutually agreed that keeping an eye on her regardless would be for the best. Corpus received possibly the biggest dressing-down of his life for impulsively deciding to destroy the Skull Heart rather than preserve it, and for doing it with his bare hands, of all things. He was lucky to have only received the burns that he did, leaving nothing to say of how badly he might have hurt himself in a less forgiving world. The rain probably had something to do with that. Thankfully, there was no mention of Cecil's motivation for doing something so reckless, at the same time relieving her of the responsibility of explaining that her family are probably turning the Dragon Empire inside-out looking for her. On a whim, Corpus later asked where where she'd been staying since she arrived, only to be told her family had a few holiday homes tucked away in the countryside, one of which happened to be in Maplecrest.
"Lucky you." He remembers saying.
His hands continue to sting, even a month later. The distancing stress of that early morning still visits him in his dreams - where, in flashes of poor remembrance, the shadow hidden in that sulfurous flame continues to stare. But even so, he can still feel the weight that's been lifted from his shoulders since then. The guilt of his previous self still smoulders within him; a feeling that, deep down, he knows won't fade. Not until that faraway day arrives, when Cecil decides to forgive him properly. Even with the time to think about it, he comes to the same conclusion - that there is no 'path' to an ending that they'd both want. No matter how much he thinks he understands the problem, to put an end to the situation with words alone requires a certain amount of articulation - something he won't have until he's well into this 'atonement', when Cecil will also be able to engage him in that way.
The doorbell rings. It's a sound he's been hearing daily lately, although he still puts everything aside to answer it.
"You're early today." He starts speaking almost as soon as the door creaks open, "I get that it's-"
The one at the door smiles cooly and folds her arms as he cuts his words short, "Were you expecting someone else?"
"...Filia." After a pause, he smiles, "What are you doing here?"
"You make it sound like I'm not welcome!" She replies quickly, "Is Cecil not here?"
"No."
"That's weird."
"It is."
Just one month ago, there would have been something deeply strange about an exchange like that. The thought of inviting Cecil into his own home would have sent shivers down his spine. Even now, he has trouble reminding himself that the time for accusations and arguments is long gone, as conflicting as their personalities have turned out to be over these past few weeks. Although their resentments for one-another are dampened by these new, unique circumstances, their philosophies - their simple, ritualistic ways of life seem to put them at odds over every little detail. Such is the roiling flame by which their daily, headstrong confrontations are tempered against that the fire smouldering between them could have only been lit by the gods themselves. Very much like the Canopy Kingdom's struggle against the Skull Heart, it seems as though they are fated to exist as enemies, no matter how sensitive they become to each other's feelings.
"That face..." Filia studies him quizzically, "You're thinking about something stupid, aren't you?"
"How often-" He suddenly begins, "-do you dust your house, Filia?"
"D-Dust?" She sounds puzzled, but closes her eyes in thought, "Well, I can't do every room. That'd take me all day. But, the living room and the kitchen and my own room... I guess, maybe once every couple of weeks?"
"You don't do it every day."
"Uh... no?" She folds her arms, "What kind of psycho does that?"
"Another question." He follows up, "How thoroughly do you organise your waste?"
"What are you trying to get at with this..." She wonders, stopping to think once more, "-About as thoroughly as most people, I guess? One trash can for recycling, one for everything else."
"Do you throw out glass bottles correctly?"
"Uh... don't those just get organised by the garbage men anyway?"
"They do, but you can also take them to recycling plants to save them the hassle - or, in a small town like this, there are usually drop-off points you can dump them into." Corpus explains, "How do you get rid of cooking oil?"
"I just let it get mixed in with the water when I'm washing the dishes."
"...Alright, never mind anything else; you're really not supposed to do that."
"I know, I know!" Hoist by her own petard, Filia lowers her head in shame, "But it's such a hassle! Why are you asking all these questions, anyway!?"
"Filia..." He finds himself looking inward, towards his very soul. Being introspective like this is something he's been finding a lot easier since that day. Identifying problems where they lie without overcomplicating things, knowing when to speak and when to keep his comments to himself. It's been helping him understand not just Cecil, but many of the people around him. Eventually, after a few heavy seconds, he meets Filia's gaze and speaks from the heart.
"...Am I a weirdo?"
"You've only noticed that now!?"
"No, it's just - whenever Cecil says something ridiculous like 'you only need to change your bedsheets once a month', I can't help but argue with her."
"How often do you change your sheets?"
"Once a week. Sometimes more often."
"Well, I do mine every two weeks, but even still..." She seems at a loss for words, "You can't really call 'being a good housekeeper' a bad thing. Your future wife's gonna be pleased."
"I won't have time for someone like that when I've got Cecil to keep an eye on."
"Sometimes the point just goes straight over your head, huh?" Filia smiles flatly.
The important thing is that the animosity between them carries a different feeling than before. Rather than arguing about their place in the world or how legitimate Corpus' guilt really is, they butt heads over common household affairs and lifestyle decisions. No genuine hatred is at play, and tensions quickly diminish when both of them realise how ridiculous they must look making a scene about the correct way to wash the dishes (Cecil's argument, by the way, is that it's perfectly normal to immerse everything in a single wash-basin, which is considered perfectly normal in the Dragon Empire, whereas Corpus believes the only true way to guarantee cleanliness is to scrub and rinse every plate, utensil and pan beneath a running faucet. Neither of them are willing to budge on the matter and refuse to acknowledge the universal solution of owning a dishwasher).
"...I wasn't expecting to see you today." He shakes his head, trying not to think about it too hard.
"Hm?" She tilts her head, "Why not?"
"Forgive me for sounding like an old man, but aren't you supposed to somewhere?"
"Ah, that." She grins cheekily, "Don't you think it's kind of totalitarian that we're forced to attend school five days a week?"
"No, don't make it sound like you're suddenly taking a stand against the system..."
"Of course I skipped!" She crosses her arms, looking somewhat offended, "Everyone else did, too! Today's the day, right!?"
"Everyone?" He exhales, "...Carol, too?"
"That's right!" She points a finger, "-So, you two better make up! I'm not letting you go without it happening!"
"You say that, but..." Corpus pauses, "It's not wrong for her to feel this way, is it?"
Naturally, Carol hadn't blown up at him that day for nothing. Whether it struck a chord with her personally, or she simply couldn't stand him after hearing the truth, there's no blame to be found in feeling betrayed. A conclusion like this is what he deserved from the very beginning, but even so, losing a friend is turning out to be what's giving him the hardest time coping with.
Maybe she'll forgive you. But I won't.
He's already spent an entire identity searching for forgiveness once, feeling content enough with discovering just an inkling of the answer he really needs. Now he finds himself staring again into that dark, fathomless space where a hundred solutions lie. Sifting through another sheaf of excuses and conveniences like that - without question, it would break him for real. With this miraculous outcome, with the city saved and his difficult future laid out plainly, how is it that he can't feel even the slightest bit happy about it? The answer is simple: because Carol has shown him how difficult it's really going to be. If his soul shows its cracks just from a single damning from a single person, how will it fare when so many more follow her example when he returns to the Dragon Empire?
"No." He tries to interrupt himself, but predictably fails, "Never mind that. I have to talk to her."
If he can't find peace with Carol, in whatever form, he won't be able to keep his promise to Cecil.
"That's the spirit!" Filia leans in to punch his shoulder, before wincing slightly, "...Ow."
"Still not feeling great, huh?"
"Well, the worst of it is over." She holds her aching knuckle, "Just a few broken bones to heal up now."
"I'm surprised you're already back on your feet." Corpus replies, "Does it have something to do with Samson?"
"Maybe. It was like this last year, too." She explains, "Or, maybe I'm just stronger than I look."
Last year.
New Meridian suffered, briefly, beneath the day-long reign of Bloody Marie, the last true Skullgirl to appear. Her defeat was a sensational event, as the repelling of a Skullgirl usually is, but not quite as sensational as the aftermath. In the days following, no amount of questioning or investigation could turn up an answer to just one simple question - who was it that saved the city on that day? The crown, as well as the Anti-Skullgirl labs, denied any involvement beyond their usual activities during a Skullgirl's insurrection, leaving the press a wheezing mess of unsatisfied reporters desperate to hear the truth. But the truth never came. Even today, over a year later, the identity of the city's saviour is still unknown. Well, unknown to most people, at least.
Filia and Squigly. He's heard it from the mouths of enough who know the full truth to catch on that he isn't the subject of some strange joke. As unbelievable as it sounds, those two were wholly responsible for repelling Bloody Marie. With the appearance of each of their parasites, he's had a simpler time imagining how it could've been done, but to accomplish something that usually requires the coordination of the entire city - it makes him wonder if either of them might have had an easier time talking down Cecil than he did. Not that it's even the most perplexing thing he's been told this past month. If the line of absurdity absolutely needs to be scribbled somewhere, then Squigly being some kind of justice-driven revenant is where Corpus chooses to draw it. No amount of skeletal hands or honest anecdotes from fifteen years ago will be enough to convince him otherwise.
"How are you holding up?" She asks, "With your hands, and all."
"The pain still comes back if I grab something too tight. But I got off lucky, all things considered."
"What did you think was going to happen? Grabbing it with your bare hands like that..."
"I just wanted it to be over." He admits, "It felt like if I didn't do it, something bad would happen. So, even if it hurt like hell, I'm glad that I did."
"You're gonna get yourself killed with that attitude."
"I'm not going to die." He replies confidently, "I can't. Not while Cecil's still alive."
Sighing, Filia flashes him a quick smile, "You're taking this seriously, huh?"
"I am."
"Good." She crosses her arms, "I wouldn't forgive you if you tried walking away."
Cecil doesn't want anything in particular. The truth that her forgiveness is something that's long passed the two of them by is difficult to accept, but neither of them have a choice. Whether it's unfair to crown him with the guilt of this long-gone villain or not isn't something that can be easily spoken about. Just being there, as adversarial as his presence is, 'creates' a segment of that lost life. It's deeply instinctual. A set of emotions which seem to only embrace torment, somehow replacing what should be a font of hatred with subtle understandings and compromises. That is, as best as he can put it, the foundation of their new relationship. If she cries, he cries alongside her - if she laughs, then he laughs with her. Friends? They can't be called that at all, and yet their cameraderie is the sort of thing you only find in novels. If things had been different all those years ago - if the two of them had met under different circumstances, beneath common skies, then surely...
Surely, they might have been...
Corpus shakes his head, "I'll go fetch her."
"Then I'll go fetch everyone else!" Filia responds in turn, "We'll all meet back here, alright?"
"Don't push yourself."
She sticks her tongue out at him, "I'm not the one who should be worried about that."
With those words, she turns and leaves him to his thoughts. He finds his gaze wandering towards the series of hilltop roads that span a few miles alongside the edge of town - streets even quieter than normal, where simple homes broken in by the world-weary stand tall. It's just about the most highbrow place in Maplecrest, if you don't count the Medici's hidden little stretch of land where Filia's house is. He'd never found a reason to wander up that way until recently, when he found out that Cecil's holiday home was up there, too. It's a full hour-or-so walk for him, and it's all uphill, too. No wonder she never seems too keen on coming down herself.
Of course, with everything on his mind, the distance melts away quickly enough. The familiarity he's built with the town's winding roads and footpaths is about to come crashing down when the samey, congested streets of the Dragon Empire slowly rearrange his idea of navigation back to what he's used to. The shock of returning even after so little time is certain to put some things into perspective. Seeing birds nest in the gapped beams of overpasses, watching a concrete jungle build itself around ancient, vermilion-stained shrines, the fins and antennae of Dagonians peeking over the tops of crowds. He doesn't find himself nostalgic for the past, but there are obvious reasons for that. Maybe one day, he'll try to experience some more of the countryside, away from the smog-covered city. Maybe Cecil could come with him.
Her home only accentuates the ridiculous wealth that her family seems to enjoy throwing around so much. The house Corpus' father had provided him with was already more than what he needed - or, it'd be more right to say that it's the biggest home he's ever found himself in. He dreads to think what kind of stunt his old man had to pull to get a place like that on their budget, but Cecil's made it look tiny in comparison. Three stories high, with enough windows to make him think it might be one of those homes with more than a single bathroom. Not to speak about how many bedrooms it must have. You could comfortably fit a family of six in it with room to spare.
Saying all that, he's never been inside - or, at least, he's never asked to see. Maybe it's because he feels a little unworthy.
Cecil's expression is complicated when she finally opens the door. It's the same look he's gotten almost every day for the past month. As if she isn't sure whether to smile or grimace at the sight of him, a range of emotions overcome her in a matter of seconds.
"Good afternoon." She settles on that neutral greeting, looking a little unsatisfied, "Corpus."
"I'm here..." He's somewhat out of breath, "How're you feeling?"
"You've been asking me that every day, you know." She points out, "I feel fine."
"Am I being annoying?"
She perks up, "Uh- no, no... actually, I-"
Fidgeting slightly, her answer comes after a moment of thought, "...I don't mind. So, don't stop asking me that, alright?"
"You're a real 'sensitive-on-the-inside' type of girl, aren't you?"
"Don't paint me like I'm normally miserable..." She sighs, "Sometimes, I like to be worried about. Isn't that natural?"
"Seeing a cute and flustered side of you every now and again is kind of refreshing."
"Quit teasing me." She lets her smile show, if only for an instant, "What's brought you all the way up here?"
"Well, today's the day, right?" He nods to himself, "I thought we'd be by ourselves, but it turns out we'll have an audience to say farewell to."
"Oh, are the others seeing us off?" Cecil pauses, "That's nice of them."
It's not a ridiculous thing in the long-term, especially not for Cerebella, but Filia, Carol and Squigly are all straight-cut students who would probably never normally do something like this, so in a way, they're putting themselves on the line just to say goodbye. Putting that into perspective made Corpus think a little about what today actually meant in the grand scheme of things.
"We're going home, huh..." Closing his eyes, he mutters that, not certain of how to feel.
Cecil smirks, "You're worried."
"I feel like I'd break down trying to pretend that isn't the truth."
"Honestly." She feigns annoyance with him, "And you're the one who's going to stick beside me?"
Maybe she'd only meant that as a joke, but being reminded of it is enough to make him hang his head. Worried he may be, but this is only the beginning of what was going to be a very long and very difficult road for the two of them. Knowing full well that the miraculous 'answer' he's now set out on a journey to find might be something completely nonexistant - the thought of never being able to truly make up for his sins will tug at him for as long as it takes to find it.
Through some miracle, his old man had found it. The long-gone 'inspiration' that had, years ago, propelled him into a humble position of fame. Whether any truth exists in that conviction is still yet to be seen, but Corpus knows better than anyone that it had been a long, long time since his father had attempted to write anything. For a few days, Corpus was looking forward to presenting this new, improved - albeit entirely imperfect version of himself to the old man. It was only when his anticipation reached its peak that he was told that, in his moment of complete creativity, his father had bundled back to the Dragon Empire in the most last-minute, overcharging taxi service in the world, and because of that, Corpus was going to have to do something similar before their landlord in Maplecrest decided to do something hasty like ask why the money hadn't come through for rent that month.
"Sorry about this, Cecil." He raises his head, "It would've been nice to stay for a while longer."
"Just be thankful that my family are willing to cover the costs." She crosses her arms, "Or else you'd be seeing a jail cell for the second time in a month."
"I promise that I'll stop causing trouble for you one day."
"You already made a promise to me, so don't go making any more for now."
She was considerate, in her own kind of way. Maybe that's why he feels a little bad whenever she loosens up her attitude like this.
"I'm going to mess up a lot." He warns, "I still, don't really know what it means to be there for someone. The way that you want me to be."
Cecil doesn't reply. For some reason, he has a hard time meeting her gaze.
"I shouldn't feel bad about having to give up anything, because I never had anything to begin with." He goes on, "My self, my ideals, my friends - all of them were just transient things that were bound to fall apart at some point. But even still, putting them all behind me feels like I'm giving them up for a destination I'm still not too sure about how to reach. I should be happy, that all of this is happening, but instead I'm actually a little afraid. And, knowing how much harder it must be for you to just sit down and listen to all of this - in a way, it almost seems like I'm the fragile one on the brink of falling apart."
"Corpus..."
"This is just an excuse, anyway." He makes an effort to stand up straight, "So, I'll try to put it all aside. For your-"
He clams up all of a sudden.
Cecil isn't a particularly short girl, but evidently she still needs to lift her heels off the ground to match his height. Maybe out of some reflex, he feels the need to bend over slightly to accomodate her arms wrapping around his neck. At first, she seems conflicted about where to put her head, but settles for hovering it over his shoulder. For a moment, he only focuses on the simple things, like the sweet scent of shampoo in the air or the sight of her short, alabaster hair in the corner of his vision. For as flawed a person as he is, he's not completely immune to the concept of sensitivity, and so for the briefest instant, he lets the moment continue in a quiet stasis, even entertaining the idea of returning the hug. But, seemingly so wary of him, Cecil manages to speak up before he has the chance to make some terrible joke about the situation.
"If..." Her voice is far too close, "If it gets too hard, then tell me."
No.
This isn't what he wants to hear.
If he could break away and run, that's exactly what he would do. He would run away from Maplecrest, away from the Dragon Empire, to a place where his responsibilites could never touch him again. His promise, or his guilt, or the future that awaited him - he could bear it all in the name of accomplishing something positive for once. But not this. It's like he can hear Cecil's next words before they come, as defeating as they were to the singular 'point' the two of them had agreed to stake this entire existence of theirs on.
"Do you remember that day?" She continues, "Whether it was out of stupidity, or fatigue, we put everything aside. All the hate we had for each other - gone, like it was never there. It didn't seem important at the time, but it ended up deciding everything, right?"
He has to swallow, or take a deep breath, or something like that. Anything that might brush off this uncomfortable stiffness working its way through his throat. Cecil could already tell. That's the kind of person she was, after all. So the silence continues for a second more. He spots it laid out plainly - an 'answer' that had been sitting so far out of reach, a revelation that could threaten to extinguish whatever remains of the fire between them. But then, it disappears. And he's left there again, with his shoulders trembling, listening to a whispered voice offering him help that he doesn't deserve.
"So, when it's all too much to handle..." Neither of them can spot the other's face, and yet the thought of Cecil smiling pops up in his head, "Tell me, and we can go back there. To a place where we can just be people living in the moment. Even if it's only for a little while."
When was the last time he cried?
It must have been a while ago. It's not something he feels too comfortable doing in front of someone else, so there's always been a degree of holding back when he's not on his lonesome. But, this was different. He wanted this strangely-cut 'path of redemption' to stay out of Cecil's way as much as possible. The life that she might have lived without Corpus - putting himself in the way of anything that could stop that was what he had intended to do from the very start, no matter how difficult it might end up being. She wouldn't need to lift a finger.
"You..." He blinks a few times. His arms aren't even free to wipe his eyes clean, "Why? I don't deserve to hear that..."
"That's not something you get to decide." Cecil replies quickly, "...I won't leave you behind, either. So don't act like your feelings don't matter."
She keeps hold of him for a while. Even long after Corpus' sobbing stops, when someone walking their dog along the street gives the two of them a strange look, she only steps back after deciding that being seeing by a second bystander would simply be too embarassing. Predictably, her bravado falls out the window when they cross eyes again, sticking her hands behind her back and tracing her foot along the ground indiscriminately.
Corpus takes a deep breath, "Well, if I don't have a choice..."
"It's kind of cathartic seeing you cry at the end of it all."
"Then I'll quit it before I end up awakening something in you."
"I just wanted to get that off my chest." She replies, "Before we leave."
"Yeah." He mutters, "Speaking of..."
Their ride out of town was going to arrive soon. He isn't looking forward to another week-long trip through No Man's Land, spending every night in some dingy husk of a building. If they had a few years more, maybe the rail lines would be repaired in time for them to take a more civilised way out of the Kingdom, but that's just wishful thinking at this point. The drivers knew what they were doing, anyway.
"Got everything packed up?"
"What is there for me to take home?" She wonders aloud, "All I had to do this morning was empty the fridge."
"Man, you didn't even bring a change of clothes with you?"
"I wasn't expecting to return!" She exclaims, "A-And, I've been washing this uniform every day!"
"I don't doubt it." He quickly moves on, "Anyway, if we don't hurry up, we won't be able to say goodbye to everyone."
"And whose fault is that, I wonder..." She crosses her arms, "But, in that case, we'd better get moving."
Neither of them have many physical ties to Maplecrest. Corpus himself only has the suitcase he'd brought with him on that day. So, beginning on the long walk back towards the town's suburbs, they were going to be leaving in much the same state they had arrived in. All the connections either of them had made to this place had ended up being entirely emotional. But they were, at least, returning as a pair, which went above and beyond the expectations that had been set during that early morning one month ago.
"Oh my... I'm not certain that I can..." Someone's haggard voice rings through the street, "This is all too much for me!"
Squigly dabs her eye with a thoroughly ruined handkerchief. In amidst a tirade of conversation, her sobs have been persistently occupying the background for the better part of nearly twenty minutes.
"Is she normally so bad at saying goodbye?" Corpus whispers.
"I guess it's hard for her." Filia replies quietly, "Just, let her have her moment."
It was a remarkably tearless set of farewells, not counting Squigly's complete breakdown. After all, what more was there to say that hadn't already been spoken about to death? Filia was upset that the two of them were leaving, certainly, and predictably more worried about how she was going to cope without seeing 'Cecil's cute face' every day, but she was understanding of the situation and hopeful that this wasn't the last she would see of them.
"She's got a vacation home right here, so I don't want to hear any excuses about not dropping by again!" He remembers her saying.
Cerebella played it off pretty well with her cool attitude. But, being a relative of that same 'understanding' Corpus and Cecil had cultivated allowed him to spot the cracks in her nonchalant grins. He wasn't expecting to receive anything other than a confident punch on the shoulder as a goodbye - and, granted, that is exactly what he got, in what was probably the closest they would ever get to being 'friendly' with one-another. Though, when it looked like they had shared their parting words, she was quick to grab his attention as soon as she turned around.
"C." She still used that nickname. Apparently it was her 'job' to preserve it, "...Come visit sometime."
Squigly...
Squigly isn't in any state to say goodbye. But it means a lot to know that she cares, at the very least.
But, that still leaves someone else.
Just like that time, it's as if they're given their own little world to exist in when they finally face each other. Carol's disappointed expression still sours his day like nothing else. The words both of them had exchanged over the past month could be counted on one hand. Like a constant reminder of his failings, Corpus hadn't taken a single step towards trying to improve their relationship, and now the two of them are in danger of separating on less than friendly terms. This is the 'proof' he needs - proof that can guarantee him even a chance of making everything right in the end. If the conclusion of his 'self', his entire revelation, couldn't match up to Carol's simple reasoning, then the forgiveness at the end of the tunnel would never be within his reach.
"Carol..." He begins, "You're not going to forgive me, are you?"
A beat passes between them.
"...No."
Stop overcomplicating things.
"I see." He closes his eyes, "I'm sorry. For everything I've done."
No 'in the future' ramblings, no 'long-awaited reunion' gnawing at the back of his mind. It all loops around to tired simplicity - the acceptance that this ideal person he aims to become simply isn't reasonable. If she decides to forgive him, it'll be on her own terms, on a 'revelation' that she herself finds, rather than some pushy excuse he manages to come up with in the moment. That's what it means to step back and watch, as hurtful as he might find it. How long ago was it that he encouraged something so similar to her? Infringing on that basic right to personage, just living, seeing someone develop without intervention? To step on that would make him a hypocrite. Maybe what he's hoping for will never arrive. Maybe, after so many evenings spent rationalising his actions, that could be one of the answers he ends up settling with.
"I hope you find it." He finishes, "Your reason."
"Hm." Carol sighs, "...I hope so, too."
Something blows them out of that world.
The shrill squak of a car horn, unsuited to the peaceful countryside roads. A cab rests impatiently with one wheel up on the curb, fading yellow paintwork reflecting the midday sun. Nothing that looks like it'd be suitable for trekking across No Man's Land, but Corpus has been surprised before. Seeing the thing pulled up hits him with a bolt of anxiety. It's his responsibility to step in, and leave all of it - this town, and these people - behind. For some reason, he imagined this moment, sharing tearful goodbyes and wishes, would somehow last forever. It's Cecil's hand around his arm that pulls him out of that stupor, being led towards the edge of the sidewalk. It almost looks like the end, before another, frigid hand places itself on his shoulder.
"I-I do apologise for that." Squigly sniffs the last of her tears away, her words aimed towards Cecil, "Would you mind giving us just a moment to speak? If it's not too much trouble, of course."
"Be my guest." She releases her grip on Corpus and steps into the cab, "Just remember to give him back, alright?"
Closing the door behind her, the fantasy of staying is preserved for just a few more minutes. Squigly turns to him with a sad smile.
"You will return, won't you? It would be a shame if this ends up being the last time we speak."
"Well, naturally. I still owe you all those favours, after all." He replies quickly, "You're not about to confess or something, are you?"
"How could I bring myself to do something so scandalous when you're already involved with another woman?"
"It's no fun now that you've gotten used to hearing jokes like that..." He complains, "And, don't go implying something scandalous yourself!"
"I've only learned from the best." She stifles a giggle, letting her smile falter slightly, "...But, are you certain about leaving things the way they are with Carol?"
"I won't say she'll come around, because she might not." He admits, "But that's okay. What matters is that she's still got all of you around."
"No doubt you're expecting us to take a much-needed break after what happened last month." She continues, "-But, I'm afraid there's still much to do."
"I don't doubt it." He replies, "You girls are pretty weird."
"Filia would throw a fit if she heard you saying something like that."
"Then I won't hang around long enough to let her know." He finishes, "Take care of yourself, Sienna."
"And you, Corpus."
They share a like-minded smile before parting ways.
The cab's interior is more luxurious that he would've imagined - it's practically a limousine compared to the scrap-heap that putted him into town. Must be some of that wealth trickling in from Cecil's family again. At least he'd be sitting on upholstery this time and not grabbing hold of the dashboard trying to balance himself on a sharpened slab of metal. It takes off almost as soon as he closes the door, almost too quickly for him to get a couple of thoughtful waves in as they begin to peel through the streets.
And that was it. Maplecrest may as well be shrinking into the distance for all he could experience of it now. Their next stop would be in some patchwork settlement in No Man's Land to turn in for the night, and then maybe, if nothing particularly bad happened on the way there, they would be home in a few day's time. All that's left for him to do now is try to remember where everything was before he got there.
"You worried about anything?" He directs that question at Cecil.
"My parents are going to disown me, excommunicate me, and kill me. Maybe not even in that order."
"Everyone needs a vacation sometimes."
"Let's make sure to drop you off first. I don't want them seeing us together." She continues, "I can already imagine the assumptions."
"What? I'm not good enough for their daughter, or something!?" He exclaims, "Let me meet them! I'll prove it myself!"
"Don't play along with it!" She shouts back, "...Well, it probably won't be that bad. I'll get off with a slap on the wrist as long as it doesn't happen again."
"They're alright with their daughter nearly turning into a- uh..." He suddenly becomes aware of the silent driver, "...You know."
"I wasn't planning on mentioning that to them, funnily enough."
"Whew~" He crosses his arms behind his head, "At least it'll be over and done with."
It doesn't take long for them to be clear of the town proper, into the low-riding straights of the countryside peppered with miles of farmland in every direction.
"...So? What about you?" She breaks the silence with a serious glance.
"Me?" He leans forward in his seat, "Nothing, really. I'll break off my ties with those delinquents I used to hang around with and tell them to leave you alone."
"Won't that be difficult?"
"Don't worry about it."
She grumbles, unsatisfied, "No."
"Huh?"
"I will worry about it." She meets his gaze, "Didn't I tell you? I'm not going to just sit back and watch you take on every problem for my sake."
"That's-" He pauses. Another excuse was about to rear up, "...Yeah. You did say that."
"So, let's find a way to handle it." Without reservations, she smiles brightly at him, "Together."
What did he do to deserve this?
The future seems bright. Too bright, for someone like him. This complicated 'battle' he's imagined in his head - all for the sake of forgiveness, seems to dissolve away at Cecil's words. Is it really alright, for hope to bloom in his heart the way it does? Forgiveness has always been his goal, but what else can possibly occupy the years it would take to finally reach? He's been blind to the life ahead of him, so focused on that singular thing that being expectant of happiness has become an aversion for him. If he's able to take solace, even for a moment, in the words of someone who used to be his enemy, wouldn't he be punished for that? Or, is that only a natural thing, and once again he's been forced to see the situation from a different angle. It all leaves him, briefly. Worry, anxiety, hatred...
So, even if it's just for a moment, he allows it to melt away, and manages a humble smile of his own.
"...Together."
-END OF STORY-