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Tonight Ren was sleeping with half of his face pressed into the pillow and his mouth curved slightly upwards in a small smile, as if he was enjoying a private joke in a dream. It was fitting that, even asleep, he looked like he was getting away with something. Something central to Ren's character was the sheer pleasure he took in getting away with things, whether he was charming a professor into granting an extension or stealing food from Goro's plate or shooting a deity in the head. It was as if he was born for the role of a trickster– or perhaps he'd simply grown into it, far better than Goro ever had.
Ren slept soundly in rooms he knew well and fitfully in those that were unfamiliar. This room was theirs, the curtains carefully chosen, the walls covered with posters of things they liked and the nightstand cluttered with pictures of people they knew– so now, as he lay with his limbs spread out on the bed, his slumber was heavy and solid, not easily ended. Not fragile, unlike the deep blue silence of the early morning, or the peace that Goro had painstakingly built in the aftermath of everything and now gathered close enough around him to wear like a protective cloak. The clock that had already fallen once from the bookshelf in the corner was fragile, as was the thread that tied Ren and everyone else who had the misfortune of being born mortal to life. Lately Goro felt as if he himself was never far away from shattering. Sometimes, when he looked at Ren like this, calm and still and effortlessly content, he felt like he was going to break.
Before Goro had become preoccupied by the injustice of the way many things were transient and some pain was lasting, he’d worried over eternity and its implications. As a child he had been disturbed by the idea of an afterlife. It seemed wrong for something to last forever, stretching doggedly onwards, unknowable and unforgiving.
Goro looked again at Ren, who was still breathing deep, even breaths and wearing his trickster’s smile. It still made him uneasy, all of it– the things that could end and the things that wouldn't. Ren: the delicate thread of his ephemeral life, his easily-offered affection. Pain and love: forces with equal power to leave an immortal imprint on the soul.
So many thoughts, pressing at him without mercy. Goro chewed at his bottom lip, soundlessly lifted himself out of bed, and went just as quietly out of the bedroom. Then, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, he called Ann on the phone.
"Goro?" She’d picked up at once, her voice wide-awake and curious. "What are you doing up?"
"I could ask you the same question."
"Well, I'm studying. Or I was trying to, I really was, but then my roommate came in crying– she had the worst argument with her boyfriend, you won't believe it–"
Ann's chatter was pleasant and subduing in the way it always had been. Goro listened to it patiently, until her story meandered to its conclusion and she finally asked, "But why'd you call?"
"I have a theory I thought you might like to hear,” he said.
"What is it?"
"I think that love doesn't leave anything unscathed. I think that even after everything that captured you about somebody is gone, you'll be marked forever in some way by what you felt for them, whether you realize it or not.”
"Hmm…" Ann sounded thoughtful. "Maybe you’re right."
"It's a frightening prospect, isn’t it?" Goro asked.
"Depends on what your taste in men is, I guess."
Goro smiled despite himself.
"How's Ren?"
"He’s all right. He told you about his trip home last week, didn't he?"
"Yeah. It seemed like it went well.”
"Yes. He's talking about working– I don't think classes are enough to keep him occupied. But he’s happy." Goro hesitated.
"Goro?” Ann said. “You there?"
"I can't stop thinking about him dying," Goro said.
There was a brief, static-filled silence. Then Ann said, soft but steely, "Yeah?"
"I'll spend whole days imagining how it could happen. I dream of it, too. It’s ironic. I’m older, now, but it seems as if I'm less able to entertain dark thoughts than I once was."
Then his throat went dry. He wanted to offer himself for her judgment, and there was as much terror in the prospect as there was relief.
"Is it the guilt?" Ann asked, after a moment.
A humorless smile took a defensive position on Goro's face. "That's part of it. But Ann, he’s–” Goro shut his eyes and took a breath. “He's just a person. It doesn't seem right that he's just a person."
"I know,” Ann said. “I know what you mean.” She sighed, a thoughtful, fuzzy noise.
Goro knew she did. At least he wasn’t alone in that sense. All the people who knew Ren and loved him must feel the same.
“You’re worrying,” Ann continued. “With all you two have been through, that’s normal. And it’s because you love him."
"Obviously. But I don't think that the kind of affection I can offer is the kind that's easily received." Goro spoke slowly, in an effort to sound offhand, to keep the emotion from his voice. "Sometimes I don't think I'm meant to be in love."
There was another short silence. Then Ann said, sounding careful, "Ren’s never really been interested in anything that he can receive easily."
Goro snorted. “I suppose that’s true.”
"I don't think you're bad at love," Ann said. "You're careful with it. You know that it's not just something you give. You have to hold it carefully, too."
"I don't know if I can hold it," Goro said, acutely aware of the strange, raw sound of his own voice. "Everything I feel for him– it's too much to–" His throat felt dry again.
"It's not something you have to hold by yourself," Ann said softly. "Goro, if you're not giving him a chance to carry it with you–"
"I–"
"No– listen, please." She was firm enough to silence him at once. "Sure, everything ends! Well, most things– and this, between you two– of course it could, but– if you're thinking that you'd rather live with the impression of it, whatever sort of stain you were talking about before, of how he feels and how you do– if you'd rather have that than just stay... " Her voice rose. "Then you're much more of an idiot than I thought!"
It sounded like a condemnation. There it was again, the double-feeling of being judged– relief and chagrin in equal measure. Goro let it wash over him before he said, "I don't want to walk away. It’s the last thing I want.”
"Well, good. Because I wouldn't forgive you." Ann paused. "Sorry. I wanted to make you feel better, not yell at you.”
Goro smiled wanly. "No. You’re right. And I'm seeking a solution that doesn't exist. It's a problem as old as people, after all. Throughout history, there have always been those who sought eternal life. I'd rather not be immortal, but I think I'd like him to be."
"You know,” Ann said, “Ren has a knack for avoiding death. And so do you. That’s pretty clear by now, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Goro admitted.
“Honestly, Goro, I think it’s time for you to go to bed."
“Right again.” Goro glanced at the clock above the stove in the kitchen. The digital numbers condemned him coolly. “I’ll let you get back to not-studying.”
“Really sleep,” Ann said. “Don’t lie awake thinking.”
With those words ringing in his ears, Goro ended the call and went back to the bedroom.
He was careful as he slipped between the sheets, but Ren stirred anyway, turning over and taking a moment to blink his eyes open. His unfocused gaze landed on Goro’s face.
“Sorry,” Goro said quietly. “I woke you up.”
“...time is it?” Ren managed, his eyes heavy-lidded, his voice rough with drowsiness.
“Late. Go back to sleep. I love you.”
That made Ren let out a sleepy chuckle as he shifted slowly towards Goro. “Feeling sappy?”
“It’s nice to hear, isn’t it?” Goro said. He reached out, and his hand found Ren’s hair. “Even though you already know it.”
“Weirdo.” Ren yawned and leaned into Goro’s touch. “You don’t make any sense. Maybe that’s why you make me so happy.”
"You're the one who's not making sense," Goro said. “Go to sleep.”
Ren laughed another quiet, sleepy laugh before he went silent. After a few minutes his breathing sounded even again. Goro sunk down in the sheets and looked at Ren's placid face for a final moment, before he closed his own eyes and put forth a silent wish for a dreamless night.