Yippee! The next chapter of Liminal Love is here! YIPPEE!

Like the previous chapter, this one isn't very long, but trust me; they'll keep getting longer as the story goes on. I'm very much looking forward to sharing them with you! In fact, I've been really looking forward to showing you this chapter all week! Part of me wants to post two chapters a week, but another part of me knows that patience is a virtue. Besides, if I post two chapters a week, I might run out of finished chapters to post... one chapter once a week it is!

Brief warnings for a bit of blood and drunken ramblings. Like, a LOT of drunken rambling. It might be a little difficult to understand, so I'll leave translations in the end note. Okay, enough talk; see you at the bottom of the page!

Fall - noun: to lose favor, power, or honor; e.g. a "fall from grace"

Another wrestling mat crumpled to the floor in a heap, joining the rest of the mess in the gymnasium. Rupert hardly noticed. Instead, he pounced on the next available target: a punching bag as thick as an elephant's leg. He slammed his fists directly into the solid fabric, a near constant stream of hits that pushed the punching bag further and further away, but he was relentless.

Rupert wasn't sure how many mats and punching bags he'd attacked, but it wasn't nearly enough. He was seething, vision practically tinged red with fury as he thought back to those stupid Toppats, their stupid blank expressions, their stupid impossible explanations, stupid stupid stupid-

"Heya, Rupert. You, uh, might want to go easier on that thing. I think it's been punished enough."

Rupert twitched his head in the direction of the voice. The speaker was one Charles Calvin, identifiable by the bright red headphones he always wore. Charles was always way too cheery for a veteran pilot, but he was Rupert's superior, at least by rank, so respecting him was a given. He looked cheery even now, though there was a strain to his smile as he watched Rupert continue to beat the punching bag savagely.

"I'm a little busy right now, sir," he grumbled as he delivered another sharp right hook.

"Super busy," Charles agreed, "but uh, I think a break is in order. Don't you?"

Rupert switched to a left hook. "General said not to leave the gym 'til I've cooled down. So that's what I'm doing."

"Yeah, that sounds like something he'd say. But the gym closes in like, five minutes, so…"

Rupert blinked and looked to the window, startled to find that the sky was a deep, bruise-y orange. Hadn't it just been mid afternoon a second ago? He glanced at the clock on the far wall. Sure enough, it was ticking closer and closer to seven at night.

Unfortunately, Ruper was not cooled down in the slightest. If anything, he felt more desperate and restless, jittery, like a fight was around the corner. He'd been in enough fights in his life to know the feeling.

"Hey," Charles said, waving his hand to get Rupert's attention. Once he had it, he set his hands on Rupert's upper arms, then slipped them down to his hands. "I get that you're probably not, uh, 'cooled down', but… I don't think your hands can take much more 'cooling down'.

A bit miffed by the touch, Rupert looked to where their hands met and saw… ah.

His knuckles were bruised and bloody, and it was no doubt a miracle that they hadn't broken, as far as he could tell. He glanced around at the mats on the floor, at the punching bags he'd decimated, and saw that many of them had dark red slicks smeared on them. In fact, now that he thought about it, his teeth hurt, too, and his throat and nose were dry and painful. He'd been clenching his teeth for who knew how many hours, and breathing strained, rough breaths in and out of his nose and mouth without a single drop of water for just as long.

Charles let him take in the damage he'd had caused before gently patting his arm. "Hey, I got a plan. How about I patch you up real quick, and then we'll go for a drink. Just you and me, you know? Someone's got to keep an eye on you, haha." His tone was light, though it was likely he was more serious than he was letting on.

Rupert flicked his gaze between Charles and the window. Drinking probably wasn't a good idea, but the pilot had a point; his current method wasn't helping, and he needed to do something that wouldn't have him breaking his hands into splinters. He drew out a long, painful sigh. "Right then. But just one, yeah? Don't need to slip off the handle or nothing."

Hardly half an hour later, Rupert had slipped off the handle. Very loudly, and very noticeably.

He was sure that Charles had long since been swapping out his drinks for water, but he didn't care. The bartender and the other patrons were shooting him dirty looks- one of them was even taking pictures of him with their phone- but he didn't care about that, either. All he cared about was the fact that Dave Panpa, his childhood friend, had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

"'Ow can shomeone jusht… jusht vanish?" He sobbed. "Wiped offa th' map, like uh… like one a thoshe invishible blokesh, innit? Dave ain't one a thoshe guysh, shwear on me mum! He jusht ain't!"

Charles patted him gently on the back, as he'd been doing since they sat down. "I'm really sorry, Rupert," he said tiredly. He'd been a little more specific with his attempts to cheer Rupert up earlier, but he seemed to have run out of pearls of wisdom. Not that it mattered, since Rupert could barely hear him over his own heaving wails.

"Davie'sh jusht… 'e'sh sho… Bloody 'ell, Davie! 'E'sh me besht mate, 'e ish! We wash gonna be coppersh, ya know; we'd play coppersh all the time growin' up. I wash- we wash- we found theshe hatsh thish one time, yeah? An' he wash sho- he wash adorable, he wash sho shmall growin' up. Ah'd carry 'im on me shouldersh now 'n then, like that mazshe of… corn? 'Ah think it wash corn. We wash tryin' ta find th' exit, right? But it wash huge, it wash! We wash runnin' in shircles for hoursh, n' then our parentsh called th' coppersh ta 'elp find ush, and-"

Somewhere beyond Rupert's bubble of pain and sadness, the door to the bar chimed, followed by astonished exclamations and the sudden appearance of two other soldiers.

"Wow," said Calvin Bukowski, "Price, is that you?"

"I think it is," Konrad Bukowski replied. "I thought he didn't drink?"

"I thought he didn't cry," Calvin retorted. "I don't think I've ever seen him be anything besides mad."

"Or annoyed," Konrad added.

"Yeah, that too."

"Hey, guys," Charles greeted, gently goading the twins away from Rupert's heaving shoulders. "Been a long night, huh? How're you doing?"

"Oh, we're fine," Konrad said, hanging off his brother's shoulder.

"More than fine," Calvin nodded eagerly. "We came to celebrate the airship raid."

"Because the Toppats freakin' SUUUUCK!" They cheered in unison. A few soldiers who had also been in the bar whooped quietly before returning to their business.

"So what's up with Price?"

"Is this a 'tears of joy' kind of thing?"

Rupert yanked his latest glass of water towards his mouth, spilling most of it all over the counter before sobbing again.

"Yeah, uh, not today," Charles said, lowering his voice. "He uh… he lost someone important to him. Kind of a touchy subject, you know? Probably shouldn't bring it up."

"Oh," the twins droned, before not taking his advice.

"Was it someone really special?"

"A love interest, maybe?"

"C'mon, Price, give us the scoop!"

"Cut it out, you guys," Charles said more firmly. Rupert slammed his face onto the wet counter, sniveling miserably. Charles pulled some bills out of his pocket and tossed them towards the bartender. "You uh, you can keep the change," he said as he looped an arm around Rupert and dragged him to his feet. "You two have fun. I uh, I gotta take care of him. Goodnight-"

"Ah can't believe it! Ah jusht can't believe it!" Rupert started sobbing again. "'Ow doesh that even 'appen? 'Ow do ya jusht… 'fall outta the world'? It don't make shense, it don't!"

"I know, buddy," Charles said gently, dragging him towards the door.

"Wait a second," Calvin said suddenly. "Did he say 'fall out of the world'?"

"It did sound like he said that," Konrad agreed.

Charles shrugged, which was difficult to do with a drunk man weighing him down. "I dunno, he's been saying that most of the night. It's- it's probably nothing."

"Maybe," Calvin said thoughtfully, "but it sounds familiar, somehow…"

"Kind of like the Backrooms, yeah?" Konrad offered.

Charles looked at them curiously. Rupert had also quieted down. "What are 'the Backrooms'?"

"It's this horror story on the internet," Calvin began.

"They say that some people just no-clip through the ground into a mysterious place that never ends," Konrad continued.

"Liminal horror, they call it."

"It's like falling out of existence itself. Once you're trapped, there's no getting out."

"Few escape to tell the tale." Calvin waved his fingers in a spooky gesture. "They say you're not the same if you manage to leave."

Charles gave them a confused smile. "That sounds… nifty? I guess? But we really need to go-"

Rupert lunged towards the twins, gripping them by the front of their shirts as his voice turned deadly quiet. "Izzat true?" He said. "You lot're sherious now? Thish placshe… th' 'Backroomsh…' it'sh real?"

The twins didn't reply, stunned by Rupert's complete one eighty. His grip tightened on their collars, and they noticed that his hands were wrapped in bandages, and they were starting to turn red near his knuckles…

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Charles said, pulling Rupert away and giving him a firm look. "We're not doing that, alright? I'm going to take you to your room, and you're gonna rest, okay? Okay, Rupert?"

Rupert didn't reply, eyes still deadlocked on the twins as they cautiously backed away.

"I'm so sorry about that," Charles said to them, and pulled Rupert towards the door. Rupert stared at them for as long as he could until the door shut behind them and the cold night air stung his wet cheeks.

Charles was quiet as they walked back to base, up until he fished Rupert's key out of his pocket to open his dorm room door and push him onto the bed. "That wasn't cool, Rupert," he scolded, slipping Rupert's shoes off and placing them near the door. "You can't lash out like that, okay? No matter what, you can't take your feelings out on others. Besides," he stepped out of the room, eyes heavy with pity. "They were probably just making that up. They do that, y'know? Anyway, I'm gonna close the door now, and you're gonna go to sleep for the rest of the night, alright?" Rupert was quiet, eyes glazed over and not seeing anything at all. "...Goodnight, buddy." Charles closed the door and walked away, his footsteps echoing as he went further and further down the hall.

Rupert waited until he couldn't hear them anymore, then struggled to flip onto his stomach. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and tried to turn it on. It took a few tries; his fingers felt numb and fat, and the numbers on his password screen kept blurring together, but he finally managed to open it and get onto a search engine. The next task was even more difficult, with the way the screen seemed to register certain touches but not others, and sometimes even double tapped when he didn't mean to, but he finally managed to fill the blank and press the search button.

The Backrooms. Ten million results.

…Rupert had a lot of reading to do.

Rupert's Drunken Ramblings Translations:

-"How can someone just... just vanish?"

-"Wiped off of the map, like... like one of those invisible blokes, innit? Dave isn't one of those guys, swear on me mum! He just isn't!"

-"Davie is just... he's so... bloody hell, Davie! He's my best mate, he is! We were going to be cops, you know; we'd play cops all the time growing up. I was- we were- we found these hats this one time, yeah? And he was so- he was- he was adorable, he was so small growing up. I'd carry him on my shoulders now and then, like that maze of... corn? I think it was corn. We were trying to find the exit, right? But it was huge, it was! We were running in circles for hours, and then our parents called the cops to help find us, and-"

-"Is that true? You lot are serious now? This place... the 'Backrooms'... it's real?"

Rupert is very much a stickler for rules and regulations, so even when he's off duty, he refers to Charles as "sir" and keeps him at arm's length. Charles doesn't seem to be on the same page as everyone else; even the Bukowski twins refer to Rupert by his last name. But, that's Charles for you.

Should a bunch of soldiers really be hanging out in a public bar so soon after a big mission like taking down the Toppat Airship? Eh, they worked hard; they deserve a break. The bartender's used to rambunctious customers, but they're usually happy-rambunctious and not sad-rambunctious. No one likes a party pooper, even if that party pooper is crying because his friend's probably dead. Maybe the party pooper should just get good.

The Bukowski's may come off as a little insensitive here, asking about Rupert's "special one", but they are genuinely curious. Rupert isn't exactly buddy-buddy with most people, so any bit of info they can get on his personal life is like waving a bone in front of dogs. They might have gotten themselves in a bit too deep, though; Rupert's usually a loud kind of angry, so a quiet angry Rupert is something to be afraid of.

Why did Charles leave an extremely drunk and sad Rupert in his room by himself? Uh... for the plot. Normally, Charles would probably want to keep an eye on someone who clearly wasn't okay, but he also wouldn't let Rupert stay up to look at his phone. The power of plot convenience prevails once more.

The internet! The most reliable source of information you can get, especially nowadays! There's no way this could go horribly wrong for Rupert! ...Right?

Okay, I think that's enough notes. Remember to check out my tumblr for this chapter's "cover art", and leave a review if you like what you see so far! Don't forget to also look at this week's "cover art" on my tumblr, too.

See you later, until then!