Before the story goes on, I just wanna say thank you to everyone who's faved this story, especially to ScatterSunshine56, who took time to leave a few reviews. You rock! As of this chapter, this story is completely up to date with what I had originally posted on Tumblr. Hopefully this won't be the last one. As soon as I get really inspired, I'll put out some more. Thank you all for reading and for sticking with me. I really appreciate you!
And now...
The Last Thing
His whole existence might have been one big question (or a thousand all lumped together) with not much in the way of explanations, but for the young man in gray, life was always pretty okay.
That's what it was like for those kinds of people, he guessed. The ones who would spend forever being that little whisper over the hero's shoulder, or the hands that pushed him in some not-always-right direction, or the body he indulged himself in on cold nights, or the smile that wasn't always returned. The ones who's need to be there and be needed was such a part of them that it went right back around to being selfishness again. The ones who always reached out first.
Sometimes, during a quiet moment or maybe just a soft guitar tune in the background, the young man would sit, and look up at whatever was above, and wonder if everyone got their chance to play that role. Had you even lived, if you'd never felt that raw validation only giving something (brushing away tears, hushing sobs, holding a hand) could do? And if some people actually lived for that, even though they had no idea why...
Sometimes, the Once-ler's younger self would mull over those things, and then give the ceiling or the sky a secret smile, and think himself the worst person in the world.
But there was nothing else to do but keep on going. It was his job, his purpose to be the stabilizer in the Once-ler's life, and he knew, he knew in the bottom of whatever soul he had that there was certainly a balance to what they were doing, here. It would be upsetting their relationship, no doubt, if the Once-ler were to ever come to him, be the first to to talk to, or touch, or love him instead of the other way around.
Things were fine, this way; little lies like that one kept the young man going for years.
Right up to the seventh year, to be exact.
The weather wasn't exactly nice, that morning part of his little reality burst and crumbled like glass. Nonetheless, there was a slight warmth in the air that wasn't at all responsible for the burning twist he felt in his stomach as he watched his older self stare at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, something the Once-ler had never liked to do for too long. His gloved hands gripped the sink below like a lifeline, twitching and stiff as they held up half his weight.
There, hanging loose in front of the Once-ler's face, was a long, gray hair.
"I'm going to die here, aren't I?" he said, and if his voice sounded a bit too low and too dry for someone only twenty-eight, his counterpart was too lost in you know what's going to happen now and why are you so happy about this to notice.
But before he could smile, or walk forward, or open his arms in invitation, the Once-ler whirled around to face him, backed him up against the nearest wall with a dangerously empty look in his eyes. Not rough but not gentle, either, the man in green started combing his fingers through his counterpart's hair, searching intently for that tell-tale sign of mortality that just wasn't there.
Rigid and silent with shock, the young man swallowed and took it, only to be released a moment later, and hugged in the next.
"I'm going to die here," the Once-ler hissed against his neck. "I'm going to die."
Then, even as his mind reeled and his body refused to move on its own and he struggled with how to respond, the young man understood why this was happening, why he hadn't been the one to reach out first. Death was the last thing his other self had in his future, and he'd just realized that he had plenty of time (too much time) to wait for it.
It was all he had left to be afraid of, really. Every other fear had already come true.
Still, the older man hadn't said the whole truth, which actually meant something (I will die here alone and nobody will care). It was a small blessing, at best, an allowance for at least one of them to keep living in the moment instead of a future all too bleak. Never one to give up an opportunity, the man in gray snatched it, stored it right in that space in his chest where a beating heart should have been, held onto it like the Once-ler was holding onto him.
There was a part of the young man that wanted to stay like this for a while, doing nothing, taking affection instead of giving it. But of course not; there had to be some rule somewhere that only people who existed were allowed to have issues like this, so after a while he wiped his mind clean, slowly removed his arms from the tight embrace so he could return it tenfold.
"I'm going to die here," the Once-ler muttered again, almost as if he expected the other to agree with him and tell him he deserved it. And that might have been true six years ago, or fifteen minutes ago, but sticking completely to pattern now just didn't feel right.
So instead, he shushed and stroked and picked through the Once-ler's mess of dark hair for a moment, found that one strand of gray and gently smoothed it down before laying his cheek down on top of it.
Then he looked up, and tried to give the ceiling and the gray sky beyond it that secret smile, only to find that he couldn't. And for the life of him, he could hardly remember why.
Fin