Author's Notes: another headcanon worth tossing out there (not that it's too important but I like sharing these with all you lovely readers): Cecil has the worst taste in clothes. he often matches most things rather well, but tends to gravitate towards ugly sweaters and insanely bright and clashy colors. He also has the actual worst taste in music, but that's a headcanon for another story altogether.
Also: I was reminded that canonically Cecil lives in an apartment, but I'm a rebel so he lives in a townhouse in this version. You can substitute "first floor apartment" for "townhouse" if that's your thing. okay now we're good to go - on to my favorite chapter yet!

Chapter 7 - Meteor Shower
Sanity is a luxury Night Vale seems to dangle just out of a certain scientist's reach these days. In between the half-asleep daydreams and the waking nightmares it's all he can do to hold on to that voice...

Carlos sat on the edge of the bed in his dingy, sticky bedroom staring down at the phone in his hand. He wiped absently at his brow and blinked away the yawn he was too tired to exhale. Cecil's number was all dialed in; he only had to press the call button, though the action seemed far more complicated than it should be. Tonight was the Leonids, at least in the rest of the world. Maybe not in topsy-turvy Night Vale where nothing at all made sense. He reasoned that the information could be of some use to Cecil, at least as a filler for the show in the slim chance there was no major cataclysm to announce today. The truth was, Carlos wasn't doing all that well. Between not sleeping and losing every single one of his scientists to the strange insanity of the dreadful town, it had been a long three weeks alone in the laboratory. Every trace of familiarity and every ounce of comfort had slipped through his fingers; and even with all his strangeness, Cecil seemed to be the most anchored, adjusted part of Carlos's new life in the boiling, endless desert. Carlos knew Cecil wouldn't be bothered by a call from him. Probably pleased, in fact. He'd probably even enjoy sitting quietly and listening to all the rambling thoughts Carlos couldn't connect, would maybe even try to help him piece together some semblance of reason. Convinced by his illogical streak, Carlos pressed dial. As usual, precisely two rings later Cecil's bright voice bubbled through the receiver.

"Carlos!" The scientist could tell Cecil was smiling his strange secret-keeping smile again. "I'm so glad you called me! How are you this lovely afternoon?"

"Fine," Carlos lied. "You?"

"Splendid. Quite splendid, especially now that I'm talking to you." After all his months in Night Vale and conversations with Cecil, Carlos still hadn't fully adjusted to being so persistently and openly admired. As a result, he never knew how to respond to the radio host's irrational adoration. He slipped off the wire frames of his glasses and rubbed at his eyes to ease his growing headache. If Cecil felt the awkward silence at all, he didn't mention it, just breathed quietly on the other end of the line.

"Um, so," Carlos stuttered. He'd been oddly transfixed by Cecil's steady breathing and was struggling to formulate a sentence that wouldn't come out backwards. "Tonight are the Leonids. Falling stars. Meteor shower," he clarified. The scientist wasn't sure how astronomically savvy Cecil was, but he assumed not very since the man apparently refused to believe in the basic existence of the moon.

"Oh my. Are they going to make impact here in Night Vale?" Cecil asked with a touch of wonder and curiosity. Not concern, because being afraid of a meteoric collision would make sense, and this was Night Vale and nothing here made sense.

"No. They'll just be shooting across the sky. I just thought if you wanted to inform people for…" Carlos suddenly felt stupid. There had been no actual, good reason for calling. He had just wanted the comfort of someone to talk to besides himself. Cecil must have been able to tell, because his response was pleasant and cordial.

"That sounds wonderful! Thank you for your suggestion. I will definitely inform my listeners not to miss one of nature's great light shows."

"Alright," Carlos finally mumbled, not knowing what else to say. He wanted very badly to tell Cecil about everything – the loneliness, the sleepless nights, the waking nightmares of being adrift on a dreadfully endless ocean of hot sand, and the increasingly common fantasies of cool hands caressing his temples to ease the headaches and a smooth sonorous voice to soothe his restless mind into sleep. Cecil inhaled quietly, probably to regretfully inform him that his break was nearly over, but Carlos cut him off first. "They'll peak around 11:00 if my calculations hold up. I'll probably be out at the sand wastes because that should be far enough from town to see the stars clearly." There was another brief pause; he was unsure of a smooth transition, but tried his best anyway. "Your show ends around 10:30, so if you aren't too tired after, there are a few things I've wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh, how lovely! 11:00 at the sand wastes. Yes, I'll definitely be there." Carlos could hear the excitement dancing just beneath Cecil's carefully measured voice.

"I'll…see you there then," he finished awkwardly.

"I look forward to it. Have a splendid afternoon, Carlos," Cecil said genially before ending the call. Carlos stared back down at the phone in his hands, too tired to think about the implications of the plans they had just made.

At precisely 10:56 Carlos lay flat on his back on the sand, watching the myriad of strange stars as they arranged themselves into unfamiliar constellations. If he closed his eyes he could imagine himself suspended somewhere up among them, weightless and free. After a few minutes of fabricated peace, he sighed and opened his eyes again to the darkened desert and Cecil watching him from a careful distance. He sat up with a start.

"I'm sorry I startled you," the radio host said sheepishly.

"No, you're," Carlos waved a hand. "You're fine. I was just trying to find a good position for viewing the stars."

"Ah, yes, the sand makes an accommodating mattress. I find however that I'm scrubbing it off for days," Cecil said conversationally. "That's why I prefer-" he slung a hideously pink pack from his shoulder and removed a bundle, "to use a blanket," he finished as he spread a large, cheery gingham blanket onto the sand. He crouched to his knees to smooth it out to the corners and proceeded to stretch himself into a sitting position in a fashion equal parts gangly and graceful. Cecil motioned for Carlos to sit next to him on the empty half. The scientist cautiously seated himself, careful to keep a space between them like he always did. As he sat, Cecil leaned himself back on his elbows with a contented sigh. "When I was a kid I used to sneak out here after curfew to stargaze on long summer nights," he reminisced quietly. "I think I still recall most of the constellations." He chanced a peek over at Carlos who had returned to lying down, arms crossed behind his head. "You wouldn't happen to want to see a few, would you?" Carlos glanced up at emerald eyes, semi-luminescent in the darkness, and that cheshire grin he saw so frequently in his half-awake world of hazy early morning dreams. Unable to find his voice, the scientist simply nodded. Cecil leaned carefully closer, still preserving the few inches between them that Carlos suddenly wanted very desperately to close. Cecil pointed a slender finger toward an unusually bright star. "That is Alidros, the anchor star. The cluster around her," he drew a small circle in the night sky, "is called the Flower Crown of the Goddess." To Carlos that sounded supremely fabricated, but Cecil announced it with such surety that the scientist tried to imagine the shapes into existence. "This one," Cecil continued, reaching across Carlos to a line of three smaller stars near the horizon, "is the collar of Candita, the dog who is a safe distance away from the dog park." The mixture of Cecil's silky voice, his close proximity, and the faint scent of mahogany elicited a dizzy smile from Carlos. For the first time in several long months, he felt like laughing – at the ridiculousness of Cecil and the stars and the whole sweltering desert full of ridiculous things. Taking Carlos's smile as encouragement, Cecil rolled back onto his own half of the blanket, sat up, and reached into the offensively pink pack once more to produce a thermos and two small plastic cups. "Tea?" Carlos hadn't realized how parched he was, and nodded eagerly, sitting up to balance the cup. He took a gulp and immediately began coughing as the liquid scalded the inside of his mouth. "Oh dear, Carlos, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you it was probably still pretty hot." Cecil concernedly set down his own cup and reached across the gingham blanket as if to steady Carlos, until he seemingly remembered himself and quickly dropped his hand. "Are you alright?" Carlos's cough had deteriorated into a tight, frustrated laugh. The brief moment of comfort had passed, and as he sat sipping hot tea in the middle of a scorching desert with a man who he wasn't even entirely sure was human wearing a hunter orange cardigan so bright it nearly glowed in the dark, he was overwhelmed with the same smothering exasperation that was slowly consuming the remainder of his sanity.

"No," he choked out. "No, Cecil, I'm not alright. Nothing in this whole goddamn town is ever alright." The weeks of frustration began to pour out of Carlos in a long stream of hoarse words. "The books are carnivorous, the sun rises in the wrong direction, my closet tries to bite me whenever I open it, my calculator sprouted wings last week, every logical outcome I test for comes out wrong, even basic mathematics has stopped working, and I'm the only one who finds it even slightly strange. You all-" Cecil's eyes flickered momentarily to the gingham blanket at the dissociation, "just accept it as normal, and maybe it is for you, but even my research team has one-by-one just given up or given in and now I've lost them to the insanity of this place. I'm the only one still trying, the only one who still cares about why we even came here, the only one who still asks why or how, who still believes there have to be explanations for any of this and it's lonely, Cecil." His voice cracked slightly. He looked over at Cecil whose eyes had gone a dark, shadowy indigo – calm and quiet. "It's so lonely having nobody to talk to. Some nights I feel like I'm losing my mind. And as if I couldn't sleep already, every night there's that horrible shrieking from the edge of town. So I turn on the radio and close my eyes and try to hold on to reality as best I can." He exhaled heavily with a shake of his head as the words ran out.

"Maybe you're looking too close," Cecil said so softly that it caused Carlos to meet those strangely drawing eyes. "Maybe you need to take a breath, a step back. Maybe you don't actually need the whys and the hows. Maybe," he leaned up onto his knees and reached out again, this time hesitating only briefly before resting a gentle hand on Carlos's shoulder. The scientist fought to hide the involuntary tremor Cecil's touch sent through him. "Maybe why and how are questions we were never meant to know the answers to, Carlos." Cecil's voice was quiet and laced with sincerity, that same strange contrast the scientist had noticed only a handful of times. "All we can do is experience and observe and accept that some things in life are simply unknowable." Carlos removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to slow another oncoming migraine. Sleep deprivation was taking its painful toll.

"I just don't understand, I don't know," he admitted, defeated. Cecil removed his hand and gingerly tilted Carlos's chin up to face him. Even slightly out of focus, Carlos could see the concern crossing Cecil's pale, angular face. The touch of his fingertips as they pressed against both of Carlos's temples was cool and soft - an oasis in the gritty, sultry desert night. It was even more refreshing than he had so frequently imagined it would be. His eyes involuntarily fluttered closed, and he wondered briefly if he would open them to the dingy floral wallpaper of his bedroom. Instead, he opened them to pools of softly luminescent crystalline blue. For a moment he forgot the desert and the nonsensical city whose lights loomed on the periphery of his vision and even the constant throbbing in his head. He forgot everything but those dazzling eyes so filled with worry, but still so striking in their clarity.

"How long has it been since you slept?" Cecil asked soothingly.

"Three days. Maybe four. I can't remember," Carlos admitted. "It all just blurs together."

"Why don't you come sleep at my place tonight?" His pale blue eyes widened as soon as the words left his lips. Carlos's drooping eyelids shot open, and Cecil's hands dropped instantly to his sides before he awkwardly tucked them beneath his elbows. "Of course, I'd take the sofa," he quickly stumbled as red flushed his cheeks. He took a slow breath and looked directly at Carlos as he carefully enunciated. "It's farther from the howling on the edge of town, and I just did the linens yesterday so everything smells like fabric softener."

Carlos was glad for the offer of a room that didn't have a mysterious, oozing red stain that throbbed along the wall. Even though he wasn't sure what he expected the Voice of Night Vale's home to be exactly, he was still surprised when Cecil led him up the steps to a high-end townhouse with strange patches of magenta ivy crawling up the brick exterior. Apparently community radio paid better than government-funded research.

"Now, I have to warn you," Cecil said as he inserted a key into the first of four locks on the ornate turquoise door. "It's a bit of a mess." He smiled shyly before crouching down to the bottom lock and whispering a word in a language Carlos had never heard. There was a soft click, and Cecil pushed the door inwards, motioning for Carlos to enter first. If Cecil considered this a mess, Carlos silently swore to never let the man see his lab. The living room was spotless from the intricate molding on the vaulted ceiling to the subtle pale lavender stripes on the walls, to the polished birch floors. The furniture and décor was chic, though minimal. The only evidence that anyone even lived there was an open copy of the now-blank Daily Journal on the coffee table and a small blurry photo of a dog in a frame on the wall. Cecil finished clicking all the bolts back into place again. "I'm so glad I upgraded to the expanded model when I bought this place," he beamed with a pleased little glance around the room as he removed his cardigan and hung it in a closet Carlos hadn't even noticed was there. The dimensions of the house didn't add up right to the exterior, but he was far too tired to ask or even care why. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink? I have some leftover veal cutlets, gluten-free digestion crackers, coffee, kumquat juice.." he trailed off.

"Hm?" Carlos had completely zoned out, missing the extensive menu entirely. Cecil's eyes softened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again instead. For a moment he just stood there before shaking his head quickly as if remembering his manners.

"My room is on the left. I don't know what will fit, but there are some clothes in the dresser if you want to get rid of all the sand. Just leave yours outside the door and I'll take care of them. The bathroom's the first door on the right so you can get washed up." Cecil pointed directions down the hallway in an attempt to be accommodating. Carlos found himself just staring at the radio host, his blond hair catching in the light and seeming almost as strangely iridescent as his eyes. His long-sleeved mint green button down and coordinating striped tie both still seemed pristine, Carlos noted, despite the fact it was nearly midnight and they had spent the last half hour lying on a blanket in the sand. He wondered briefly if the man could truly be cold enough to wear long sleeves and a cardigan in the middle of a desert, but quickly realized that Cecil had asked him another question that he had missed entirely.

"I'm sorry," Carlos ran a flustered hand through his messy hair. Cecil just smiled warmly and repeated the question.

"If you're not lactose-intolerant, I have just the thing for when you're finished, if you'd like?"

"No, I'm- I mean." Carlos shook his head. "Yeah, thanks." The words stumbled terribly, but Cecil's smile just flickered softly at the corners before he turned towards the archway that led to what Carlos assumed was the kitchen.

It may have been partially due to the exhaustion, but Carlos was thrilled with Cecil's shower. The water – or what seemed like water, only an electric green and slightly thicker than water – fell from the ceiling like a cool rain, cleansing and calm. Carlos eyed the rainbow of bottles before selecting a deep red that smelled faintly like raspberry. The thought flittered across his mind that he was currently completely exposed in the house of a person he hardly knew, who had eyes that changed colors and who had declared passionate love for him multiple times on public radio. But something felt safe here. Safe from the peering eyes that Carlos felt watching him every day, safe from the haunting screams that echoed through the dilapidated walls of his apartment every night, safe maybe even from the strangeness that weighed heavy like a presence around Night Vale. Beneath one of the double sinks, he found a towel and used it to dry off. A peek out into the hallway confirmed that the coast was clear, and also that his gritty clothes had already disappeared. Silently chiding himself for forgetting to keep his underclothes, he crept across the hall into Cecil's bedroom and shut the door.

The entire room glowed with a pale blueish light, and looked slightly more lived-in than the rest of Cecil's house. There were photo frames and stacks of papers on a short side table, and a cube-shaped clock that read 12:47 in numbers that spiraled in and out of focus. A tall dresser stood against the wall opposite the low bed. In the top drawer he found a row of neatly-folded boxers, a few white v-necks, and a spectrum of carefully matched socks. Carlos blushed and almost shut the drawer before remembering his own clothes were currently being laundered. After a silent argument with himself, he quickly snatched out the first pair of boxers he found – light pink and patterned with small red fish. Something about that didn't surprise him much. He wasn't sure which was the most embarrassing part of the situation – knowing exactly what Cecil's underwear looked like, knowing he had to wear them, or knowing that Cecil was also fully aware of the situation. Flustered, he slipped them on; of course they were a little too big on him. He expected as much, since even though Cecil was willowy and slender, Carlos was a good three inches shorter than the statistical average and small-built at that. He dug through the drawer of shirts with a sigh until he found the smallest one, a gray tee bearing the Night Vale Community Radio logo and multicolored splatters he hoped were paint. In one of the drawers he managed to find some workout sweatpants with a drawstring that helped with the boxer problem considerably. He yawned as he tousled his hair, willing it to dry. Now that he was inside a building that actually had air conditioning, he was slightly chilled. It was a welcome feeling, but almost as uncomfortable as the heat. He opened the tall closet door to a vast array of button-downs and vests and bowties and ponchos and fuzzy sportcoats with coordinating plaid pants that felt slippery to the touch. Somewhere behind the small collection of kilts at the very back, Carlos found a burgundy zip hoodie that bore the slogan 'My significantly older friend went to 1793 and all I got was this fabulously soft jacket.' With a shrug, he slipped it on and zipped it. The sleeves were obscenely long; he wondered if they were even long on Cecil's lanky frame. The headache that had been allayed by the shower had begun to creep its way back, and Carlos wanted nothing more than to lie down. Specifically, to lie down next to a cool body whose fingers would wind their way into his hair and who would maybe just talk quietly until he fell asleep to the sound of that voice… but he had lingered so long in the shower, reluctant to leave the calming water, that he was sure Cecil was asleep by now. Just as he was about to climb into the bed, there came a soft knock at the door. Slipping on his glasses, he opened the door to find Cecil wearing an unnervingly yellow pajama set. Cecil's lips parted as his eyes glanced down and back up, taking in the sight of Carlos wearing his old clothes. His cheeks flushed a soft pink as he stammered, "I-I um, I made you this." He offered a glass filled with what Carlos assumed was warm milk. "There's honey in it and a bit of valerian root to help you stay asleep – also a bit of foxglove to ward off possession. There's been some of that in the complex next door. Better safe than undead, I always say." Cecil chuckled nervously as he adjusted his already-level horn rim glasses and ran a hand through his already-smooth blond hair.

"Thanks," Carlos yawned.

"Oh, I almost forgot the bed. May I?" Cecil asked politely. Carlos stepped aside and allowed the man into his own room, which for some reason struck him as humorous. He took a sip of the strange drink, hoping whatever Cecil said he had put in the milk was really safe to consume. "It's a good bed," Cecil rambled on cheerily, "only you have to smooth it out carefully. Very particular. Otherwise it can get a little feisty, will kick you right out on to the floor." Carlos sipped the last of the strange milk while he watched Cecil smooth rhythmic circles onto the pinstripe bedspread, fluff the pillows, and slip something red and faintly glowing under the bed frame. "All set," he finished with a nod, turning back to Carlos to retrieve the empty glass from his hands. "If you need anything, I'll be right down the hall in the living room."

I need you, Carlos thought. He wanted to ask Cecil to stay, to make the headache go away like he had out at the sand wastes. He wanted to ask Cecil to climb in with him and wrap him close to keep what was left of his sanity intact, to hold him together. But somehow, he knew he couldn't ask or wasn't allowed to, even though he also knew Cecil would stay if he asked. Cecil would do anything he asked. But instead Carlos let the moment pass without saying a word. Instead he climbed into the bed alone, and Cecil shut out the light, transforming himself into a silhouette framed in the doorway.

"Goodnight, dear Carlos," he said as he closed the door. Carlos listened carefully, but was thankful to hear mostly silence, and only very little shrieking in the distance. Through the tall window, he watched the moon trace a lonely path through the sky until, in the strange safety of Cecil's protection, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

End Notes: I love this chapter for so many reasons. It's just sweet and I can't help but really like the idea of Carlos kind of losing his mind, and Cecil trying to help keep him sane as best he can. It's actually technically one long chapter with the next one, but it seemed too long to post altogether, and also it kinda breaks nicely here anyway.