Archive of Our Own ^beta

"...are you sure your mattress is going to survive this?"

His voice was perfectly calm. Or at least as calm as one can be after being stuck in an uncomfortable position for so long. Henry looked down at his friend almost opened his mouth to deliver some unprompted apology for that whole situation but felt like that would make it even more awkward. So he did the opposite and gathered his virtually non-existent confidence to come up with an appropriate response.
"It's seen stuff far worse than this, trust me"
It was a lie. There was nothing interesting about his mattress. Why would he suggest something like this?
What kind of a story would that even be, "Hey, do you want to hear about the time I accidentally poured battery acid all over my bed and it ate holes in the foam and corroded the springs? And how I had to patch it up myself using scraps of fabric from my sewing projects because I am a total failure and couldn't find the courage to tell the landlady I did something so idiotic?"
The fact that the first fake scenario he came up with was solely about him screwing up made him feel even more hopeless. He couldn't even make up a story that would depict him as less of a moron. It's the same level as losing your own imaginary debates and then feeling sad about it.

Henry was already regretting taking the mattress route, but conversations have never been his strongest suit. Especially in such weird circumstances.
"I can imagine"

William brought his knees even closer to his chest. He didn't sound amused. But to be fair, he rarely did.
Henry changed his position and almost lost his balance. He caught himself thinking about the possibility of escaping the situation of just falling off that stupid bed, probably breaking his arm or something similar. Any amount of bodily pain would be better than this. But it would also probably injure William in the process. It was a terrible idea. Like most of his ideas.

"Ok, so maybe if I just move a little, like this... still nothing?"
"I guess not"
"Oh, c'mon! How long am even I supposed to-"
"We could switch if you're getting tired"
"I'm not tired." He was tired and sore and very determined not to show it "I just need to find the right... angle"

If some words can be described as bells ringing through the air, this one sounded like a badly tuned xylophone falling from a cliff.

William snorted. This could either mean that:
a) William wasn't as above juvenile humor as he would have sworn he was, or
b) This was it, the pits of hell have opened, the end was neigh, and William finally realized what kind of an idiot Henry had been this entire time.
Henry went over the "falling from the bed and breaking an arm" plan one more time only to give up once again, this time completely.

"Actually I think my hand is cramping, so maybe let's-
"Wait!"
Henry froze in place, sweaty palm almost losing its grip, eyes laser-focused on William.
"You see anything?"
"I think I did for a second. Although, it might have been a weird shadow." Henry looked over his shoulder and saw the exact same buzzing grey static that had been taunting them for the better part of the afternoon.

"Great. Just perfect. What's the time?"
William looked at the alarm clock strategically placed on the floor right next to the TV.
"8:02"
"Crap." The newspaper had predicted that Apollo 11 would have reached the moon's orbit by 8 pm. And they had been trying to get any amount of reception for at least 40 minutes Henry felt his fingers clenching the antenna tightly, his knuckles going white. 40-goddamn-minutes of flailing this stupid thing out the window, like some drunk priest holding a sprinkler, trying to figure out which way the holy water is supposed to come out.

"You know what just take this thing away from me before I throw it out of the window."

William didn't say anything, but the way one of his eyebrows slightly crooked and the lenient smile that formed on his lips were more telling that any amount of "I told you so's" could have ever been. He slowly rose from the floor, stretching his back after being forced into an awkward squat, so he could fit between the box and the bed. Henry handed him over the antenna and stepped off the bed, almost tripping over the bottle of Orange Crush and the half-empty bowl of pretzels. William looked at the antenna, then back at Henry, his face betraying only the slightest amount of doubt. But despite possible reservations he sat on the edge of the bed and started untying his shoes, so he wouldn't get the bedsheets dirty.

"I always thought the antenna is supposed to go on top of the telly".
"Well, maybe in most cases. But Andrew said that the signal around the campus is too weak for that, so the antenna has to be mounted outside"
"If you want my opinion, he's clearly playing you for a sucker." William said as he stood firmly on the bed, sticking the antenna out the window, just like Henry did. But unlike Henry, he could reach the window frame easily without the need to balance on one leg. This gave him much better access to the window, and he happily leaned forward on the frame, taking the cold evening air with a sigh of relief. It was one of the only things he sincerely appreciated about the States. The windows in the UK, as he would complain, were usually small and narrow, and could only be opened a little bit. Henry's window wasn't the biggest but was big enough to fulfill his need to gaze wistfully into the distance.

"I mean, I still can't believe he demanded from you 10 dollars for this busted piece of junk." Henry was about to defend his engineering class friend, but before he opened his mouth he could hear the shouts of the suddenly furious Brit, whose head was now out of sight, pointed downwards at the street.

"What'ya gawkin' at, you twit? Ain't got nothin' better to do, go watch the moon landing or something for God's sake!"

Henry smiled to himself. He could only imagine the look on the poor guy's face who apparently unfortunate enough to be looking straight at William while he was holding that ridiculous antenna. William's ability to seamlessly go from a very soft, almost theatrical tone to that "London newspaper-boy shouting at some who had stolen his bike" register never ceased to amaze Henry. He would sometimes wonder whether the cockney dialect was just some form of a practical joke William liked to play on people who genuinely assumed that all people from England talk like Oliver Twist, or if he seriously didn't realize how his accent would get much stronger when he got angry. Either way, it was amusing.

Henry wasn't sure why he spent that much time analyzing vocal quirks of his friend's voice, but that is just a thing that happens with interesting people. They can make every little aspect of their life absolutely fascinating and important. They were the directors of their own destiny, while people like Henry often felt more like overworked members of the lighting crew, who are sadistically pulled from time into the limelight without a clue about what they are supposed to be doing. William knew who he was and had the audacity to communicate that to the people around him. That confidence would sometimes intimidate Henry, but somehow he couldn't help being drawn to the man.

"It wasn't that broken." Henry picked up their conversation from for where it abruptly stopped. William was still looking out at the street, but Henry knew he was listening. He always listened, at least to him. "I just had to replace all capacitors, adjust the high voltage to performing greyscale tracking, fix the problems with convergence alignment, nearly get electrocuted 2 times, only to realize that replacing the capacitors might have actually been a terrible idea since most of the tubing was severed anyway, so I had to call Andrew, but he said that he had lost the schematic diagram, but also I'm pretty sure he was high during our conversation 'cause he asked me if I knew Saint Paul's address, so I asked him whether he meant like, the pope or the actual-
"In other words, you could have just as well picked a broken TV from the junkyard.

"You're saying this as if hadn't tried that already," Henry said and tried to fiddle with the plastic dial located right next to the TV screen. It didn't accomplish anything, obviously, but it made the minimal amount of noise to make the silence a little less awkward. William turned his head to him in a questioning matter and Henry realized that he probably should have had elaborated. "Long story short, most of them have their screens shattered, and that's a lot harder to replace so you know, why bother. Also, I think I cut myself on some rusty bike chains while rummaging through the trash so there's that. So, just in case I die in the near future thanks to untreated tetanus, could you make sure they write something dumb on my tombstone, so people won't be so sad?

William turned again to the window, with a neutral expression, but just before Henry could worry whether his words could have made the other man upset, he put his free hand on heart and lowered his head with a solemn expression. With the light of the streetlamps falling through the window illuminating only half of his face and with that antenna in hand he resembled some bohemian caricature of a catholic bishop.
"...Here lies Henry Emily, aged 20." He perfectly mimicked the monotone legato used by some clergyman Henry was so used to hearing during sermons "Died as he lived, casually disregarding basic common sense in the name of being a cheap stake.

"...perfect.

Thet both smiled at each other - William knowingly, Henry apologetically, as he always did.

He turned his head back to the TV. The sound of static buzz coming from the box was strangely calming. Henry could imagine himself falling asleep right then and there. It was getting late, and the artificial lights made his eyes hurt. But he didn't want to give up. He promised William they would get to watch the moon landing on their own terms, instead of having to cram inside Mark Blanchett's dorm room with fifteen other people like they had to do during Apollo 11's launch several days prior since he was the only sophomore who could afford a TV set. But there they were, tired and hopeless, while everyone else was celebrating the landing.

What is up with you and not being able to do anything right?

Henry felt stupid and noticed how long the silence must have lasted.

"Do you think they've already landed?"
He tried to casually start a conversation, but he could already feel how awkward it must have sounded. He hoped that William wouldn't say anything. And then he did, because having hope for anything is futile, and the universe is an uncaring son of a-
"Let me see." Henry already knew where this was going but was powerless to stop it.
William ostentatiously brought one hand to his forehead, looking straight at the moon, his eyes squinting, while maintaining a completely serious expression. He silently waited for William to finish his bit.
"No, I think they haven't"
"I was just trying to start a conversation."
Jesus Christ, it was just a joke, stop trying to justify every stupid thing you say, you moron
"Sorry, I couldn't resist." William turned back at him, but he didn't really seem sorry. He loved putting on little show out of every word he would say. Most people found that unbearable, but Henry would always play along. He wanted to see William at his most unashamed. Even if it meant being sometimes the target of his little performance. William stretched his arm again and switched the hand he was holding the antenna with.

"God, I do feel like a badly paid semaphore signaller."
"And there are well-paid semaphore signallers out there?
"Maybe. If they are good at their job." William half-scoffed, half-joked, and right after that full-on backtracked "Or they unionize."

Several more minutes passed in silence. Henry thought about taking a pretzel from the bowl. And then didn't because he didn't want to make noise. He was hopeless.
"Listen, Henry, I'm not trying to undermine your technical abilities, but I don't think it's working" William finally said with a subtle air of impatience.
"Two years" Henry brought both of his hands to the sides of the gray plastic box and clutched at it "Two years at this god damn university, and I can't even fix a stupid TV-
"Kick it! Show it its place! Make it suffer'!"
William's voice was so comically aggressive Henry didn't even fully process his thoughts before his fist landed at top of the set with a quite resounding "thud". Before he started panicking, however, the gray static wiggled, and before his very eyes appeared the blurry image of a news anchor at CBS.
"Holy shit, it worked!"
"I...I was just kidding"
William sounded embarrassed but at the same time speechless.
"For the love of God, stay still, we have reception!"

William reluctantly followed the order and tried to keep the antenna in one place, close to the wall of the building. Henry quickly took the silver tape from his desk and joined him in the window, trying to fit his own arms between William's without throwing him off balance. The tape was sticky as hell and smelled terrible but it was the best available option for two broke college students. As he was taping the antenna William looked at him questioningly, eyes half-lidded and one eyebrow raised.

"No time, we'll cement it later. " Henry didn't have the time to waste any more time on trying to excuse himself at least this one time
"Only if it doesn't fall off in the meantime."
Henry made sure the antenna was stable and grabbed William by the shoulder as he faced back to the TV. It was finally working. Henry smiled like an idiot and looked at William. He wasn't smiling, or at least tried to pretend he wasn't, but he nodded reassuringly and looked at Henry.
Those eyes. Those were the only eyes who really saw him, as a complete person. Wait-
Henry realized he was still holding William's shoulder. He slowly retracted and awkwardly sat at the edge of the bed, since there wasn't enough room for both of them on the floor.
"Grainy" William mumbled as he tried to fit in the tiny space between the TV and the bed once again.
"Shh!"

They remained completely silent as they watched the live broadcast. Henry had read in the newspaper that all the "footage" of the spacecraft was nothing more than a pre-made animation, but God wasn't it easy to forget that detail. The muffled voices of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin betrayed so much tension, it was hard not to imagine the feeling of being stuck in a tiny space with a perspective of sudden death right in front of you. Then, the footage changed and they could see the blurry figures of astronauts slowly descending from the ladder. Henry looked at William only to see a completely neutral expression even though his grey eyes were glued to the screen. Henry focused once again on the screen. One of the astronauts was just about to put his foot That was it, those would be the first words spoken on the surface other than Earth. Henry clutched his glass of soda tightly almost spilling his drink and listened

"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for-"

The feed stopped, flickered, and then went back to the grey static from before.

Both men looked at each other, Henry in panic, William more so in confusion. Henry sprang from the bed and in a matter of seconds reached the window looking at the outside wall, hoping to find the antenna there. Instead, he only saw a single stripe of silver-tape hanging sadly from the parapet. His eyes followed downward until he located the characteristic silver object. The antenna was laying squarely on top of the crown of the tree planted near the center of their campus yard. Henry could do nothing but stare silently, blinking slowly and trying to come to terms with the absolute failure his life must have been so it could lead to this one glorious moment of utter shame and embarrassment.
And then he felt a comforting pat on his back and suddenly he felt lighter than a helium balloon. He started laughing earnestly at his own absurdity.

"There goes Apollo 11, I guess"
He finally said whipping away a tear of either laughter or anger, he wasn't quite sure
"If we wait until autumn it may fall with the leaves" William smiled reassuringly. They were both in this. And they really had nothing to lose. That was the basis of their relationship. But Henry didn't want to give up so easily.

"But If we hurry up NOW we could still make it to Mark's house party. Although, you would probably have to apologize to Mark for Wednesday"
William's eyes narrowed at the sound of Mark's name.
"I'm not going to crawl back there and beg for forgiveness from Mr. "I'm-going-to-steal-all-the-toilet-paper-from-the-staff-WC-and-then-brag-about-it-for-no-reason-during- the-entire-semester" For some reason every time William tried to parody a typical American accent it sounded weirdly Australian, but just as with his cockney tendencies Henry didn't want to spoil the magic. William crossed his arms and looked out of the window with a furrowed expression.
"His face is annoying and the whole flat smelled like burnt latex. The moron deserved it...."

Henry remembered that horrible launch-party. Mark Blanchett had decided to invite them, more out of pity than anything else. Almost no one beside him and William was actually interested in watching the launch. Most of the people there were smoking weed or making out, while Mark and some other guys were shouting louder than the TV, drinking whiskey from coca-cola bottles. At some point, Henry could swear he had heard something among the lines of "why the hell did you invite the British invasion and that wannabe hippie fag" " He didn't hear Mark's response, because before he could say anything William was already standing right in front of him, calling him, among other things, "a complete and utter dickhead". Suffice to say they didn't stay at that party for much longer.

William sat on the narrow parapet attached to the window. His legs were crossed, and he supported them with his hands, so he wouldn't lose balance.

"Besides, I think we've already seen the best bit anyway. Not much else to spectate upon."
He continued, stretching his arms nonchalantly.
"Of course, I mean what is it even? Just one of the most groundbreaking events in human history."
Henry knew how William loved to pretend to be above anyone else liked and appreciated, but there was a clear line between a healthy dose of pretentiousness and outright delusion. "I don't get what's so groundbreaking about all of this anyway. "
"Please tell me you're joking."
"Why would I?"
He looked at Henry with a degree of curiosity, as if he really didn't understand.
"I know, but...you can't be serious"
"I am completely serious. Can't you tell that?"
"C'mon, you have to admit it is pretty damn impressive in its own right. I mean.. .- Henry wasn't sure what point he was trying to make, but he looked around his room and gestured with his hand a little bit "We did this! Despite everything we managed to do this!
"We? I don't know any of the people working at NASA, and neither do you I believe"
"God, you know what I mean. We as in...humanity. All people, uniting to do this."
"Really? I don't remember folks throwing around phrases like "united effort" or "an achievement for all of humanity" when the Soviets sent Gagarin into space. And I also don't think they would say such things if the USSR had gone to the moon before the US."
"Yeah, I guess you're right about this, but how does it prove your point?"

William shifted his legs slightly and took his forehead in his palm, seemingly trying to come up with a way to explain his line of reasoning. He finally straightened his back and started with the basics, as any good lecturer does.

"Ok, so... the moon, right? Since the dawn of humanity, people looked to the sky and saw this weird...orb, just floating on the horizon at night, changing shape at regular intervals. Most of them came to the only logical conclusion in this situation and said "yeah, it must be magic". So then we get all those different religions trying to explain what the moon is, with their various lunar deities, special rituals, and things like that. The same can be said about the sun of course, but there is something infinitely more interesting about the moon. It doesn't give anything obvious or useful to us - neither warmth nor light. It's just..there, among the stars in the vast darkness of the night sky, like a watchful eye of an angry god. It's frightening, but at the same time alluring, almost sinister. It's a hauntingly beautiful vision if you think about it.

William looked out of the window. The moon was shining on the night sky, creating a faint aura around his shoulders. When he looked back Henry swiftly refocused his eyes, so it would seem he was staring into the distance, instead of right at the person in front of him. He wasn't sure why, but he felt he had to do it, just in case. William eyed him suspiciously and continued.

"But nothing can stay sacred forever, so we are starting to see all those little fiends, using their oh-so-clever magnifying glasses to prove that the universe is not in any way preoccupied with our prayers and sacrifices. Suddenly the Earth is nothing more than a rock, among billions of other rocks, and the moon is also just a rock that got tragically trapped in our gravitational field. No gods, no sacrum, no mystery - just a rock."

"So you are disappointed that there are no people on the moon?"
Henry knew that wasn't what he had meant, but he also wanted to participate in some way in that one-sided discussion.
"Maybe, but it is beside the point."
"I don't see where this is going"
"I am getting there." William coughed dryly and brought his legs on the parapet and embraced them tightly, barely fitting on the narrow ledge

"So, as I said, the moon turns out to be pretty much meaningless, what a bummer. Some centuries later we find ourselves in the most autodestructive period in history, where two megalomaniac nations keep their hands hovering over those giant red buttons that could hypothetically eradicate all of this rubbish we like to call our civilization. So what do those nations do to somehow save us from this terrible fate? Do they try to create peace treaties or develop an international economy to make all countries dependent on one another? "

Henry wanted to answer but- "No." He was too slow "They decide to spend those gargantuan prices to race each other to this rock. Is there anything of value on the said rock? Something to ease the pain of all those people whose lives had been destroyed by wars and thousands of political maneuvers? Anything to at least financially support this whole circus? No, we're pretty sure there isn't. So why fixate on the moon out of all the other ways to show that we inhabit "the better side of the iron curtain"? Henry didn't even bother to say anything this time, instead, he just looked around and shrugged.

"Because it's theatrical. It's flamboyant. It seems grand and important and gives them the illusion of advancing the world, without having to address the actual problems."
"But what about..."
"What about space exploration and all that "stranger in a strange land" nonsense, I know, I know. Of course one could argue that the Apollo missions are just a test run for the technology that someday will help us inhabit other planets. It sounds sensible, but people don't comprehend how close the moon is in comparison to any planet, not even accounting for the fact that most of them are uninhabitable. If we don't hit the environmental jackpot here in the Milky Way, the next star is more than a billion miles away, so no matter how fast those damn things will get, it would take hundreds upon hundreds of generations just to get there. And humans aren't even good at staying still in one place for more than 3 minutes. Not to mention their laughably low pain threshold"
"Hold on, now you're just exaggerating"

William looked at him unphased. A second later Henry could feel something blunt and rather heavy hitting his arm. He clutched it with a slight hiss of pain and saw the roll of silver-tape laying next to him on his bedsheet, which William must have taken from his desk to prove a point about the human condition, apparently. But Henry couldn't understand why it had to involve him getting hit.

"Jesus Will, what was that for?!"

William used the time it had taken Henry to realize what had happened, to jump from the parapet and lean on his hand right next to his face.

"We are fragile, Henry." His voice was somehow both soft and heavy "Like soap bubbles. We do not need fancier rocket ships and space programs. What we really need is a better arsenal against our only common enemy-entropy. Only then can we even begin to dream about the stars."

Their faces were mere inches away from each other. Henry froze in his place, as his eyes widened like in a trance. He felt as if any sudden movement would ruin this almost ethereal moment. He stopped breathing and looked straight into his friend's eyes. hey were full of some unspecified energy, but the spark that lit this whole dramatic gesture had seemed to burn out, as William slowly retracted his face, with a slight disappointment painted on his furrowed brow. But what did he expect from Henry? More understanding?
Or maybe something completely different?
No, of course not. What would that even be, anyway?

They sat in silence once again, there were so many quiet moments every time they talked about those kinds of topics. But it wasn't awkward, but rather..comforting. They trusted each other enough to not be afraid of silence. But it's also nice to open your mouth from time to time.

"So we should rather focus on ...
"Curing aging would be a good start." William said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world "Or at least extending the period when we are able to actually get any shit done."

Even his common curse words sounded like poetry. It was absurd but somehow made more sense than anything else. Even though his words would often contradict themselves, they had the power to blossom into new meanings and create the most beautiful paradoxes one can imagine. If only he managed to get over his disdain for the vast majority of the human race, he would be listened to like a prophet, he would have the ability to ignite people's hearts and minds. But he could just as well persuade them to follow him to the edge of the abyss, just to see everyone fall over. Henry wondered for a brief second about whether he would be able to recognize if he was being led to the edge. But all of this was pure nonsense, William would never actually hurt other people for no reason, and even more so he wouldn't do such things to Henry. Why was he even thinking about this?
"Have you ever considered that maybe you had chosen the wrong major? Henry shyly tried to pick up the conversation once again "Or at least one that probably won't let you... do any of those ideas you keep talking about?"
"Do you have way-too-late-into-my-god-damnit-chosen-education-path recommendations?"

Henry thought about saying "cult organization and leadership". But he didn't.

"Maybe medicine?"
"I've poked several dead things with a stick in my life, not the most illuminating experience, so pass."
"What about philosophy?"
William smirked coyly. "I thought we were talking about degrees that at the very least can give you a real job
"Well, if you put everything that way then you will surely come to the conclusion that nothing is worth your time"

Henry tried to avert his eyes from that smile and started searching his pockets for his cigarette pack and matches.
"That's exactly the problem! All of that rubbish is just a self-referential pile of empty ideas," why do you keep so many burnt matches instead of throwing them away, you lazy idiot "but there's no action, no spiritus movens behind them, just words. Every idiot can learn to dwell on those past relicts, quote famous philosophers, and use academic jargon without even fully understanding the very words they're saying" Ok, this one doesn't look burnt, but why are your hands trembling, for God's- "But what's the point of that idiotic cycle? Nothing new will be discovered as long as it has to compete with the unmerited glamour of our mythologized past and you are not even listening, are you?

"Imalwayslistenin," Henry took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Putting the past on a pedestal is stupid, we need something new. But how do we go about this?"
"Hell if I know. But we need to come up with a different frame of reference. A frame that goes beyond us. Beyond the notion of humanity as a whole."
Henry's hands struggled to light that one match he was able to find in the box. He kept frantically scratching its head against the red stripe until he saw something shining in the corner of his vision.

William was sitting right beside him, holding a lit lighter in front of his face. The contrast between the darkness of the room and the bright fire caught Henry off guard but he couldn't look away.

"If you're determined to set your insides on fire you could at least use a bigger flame."

The flame danced and twirled, as it reflected in his eyes, defrosting the ice of his grey irises back to life. One second passed, then another, Henry's eyes were completely fixed on the other man's face. He wanted to stay that way, maybe even never move again, just feel that flame warm his skin and those eyes drill right into his soul, but the last remains of his common sense finally got their act together, as he realized what William was waiting for.

Henry leaned closer to him and lit the cigarette as quickly as he could, without burning his fingers. He watched silently as William reached for the pack laying on his bed and ostentatiously took out a cigarette. Henry could protest, he could make a joke, he could react in a number of ways, but something deep inside of him wanted to accept everything, give up control over his action and just observe, so all he could do was smile and then stop smiling, afraid it would look weird with the cigarette still in his mouth.

" Hypocrite" He finally mumbled through gritted teeth.
Yes, he meant that. The worst, most conceited, wonderful hypocrite he had ever met.

"At least I'm aware of that fact"
"That's somehow even worse"
Henry laid back on his bed and watched the grey smoke as it left his mouth and nostrils and clouded over his head. The rather low ceiling of his dorm room was littered with colorful posters and half-finished embroideries he had made in his spare time. He liked the way those flowy fonts and bold hues contrasted with the bareness of the plastered walls. The artistic spirit would always conquer the pragmatism he was supposed to religiously follow according to what society had told him. It was the only matter in which he felt he had any sort of agency.
Or was it?

Well, It certainly was nothing compared to how William was able to assert his presence in every situation and spend the entire moon landing planning a monologue in his head about why the moon landing sucks, but it was something. They both wanted to manifest their freedom of thought, in different ways. Henry thought about how paradoxical their interests were when contrasted to their chosen fields of study. How could you reconcile poetry with accounting, bohemian spirit with robotics, those bleeding human thoughts with the harshness of numbers and data, dreams trapped by the laws of physics? It pained him to even think about it.
Pained...
Henry realized something.

"Honestly, all that talk about going beyond humanity and whatnot, makes me kinda glad I chose robotics. No talks about humanity there. It's always just "solve this equation, find the solution to that problem, fix the programming error. You know Professor Stewart? The one who wears plaid pants and likes to scream at the janitor? He couldn't even be bothered to learn our names, and how many of us are there in our group, 13? 14? He just doesn't care who you are or how you feel." Henry didn't turn his eyes from the ceiling. His voice became clearer than usual, the emotions finally shining through the layers of reservations "You have tasks to perform and you either do them correctly or you don't. Just like in a binary system."
"Sounds like an actual nightmare"
"Well, maybe for you. But I think there's something...reassuring about all of that. They don't give a damn about the way you look or talk, or how you behave in general. All that is important is your work, nothing else, and the only way to get better at it, is to work harder. It's entirely within your control. And every single question has an indisputable answer. It makes so much more sense than anything else, and you can just...forget all your other, ehm, "human" problems, just like a machine."

Henry stopped and listened to the silence that followed. He could feel William's eyes on him, but he was afraid to look.

"Okay, that sounded slightly unnerving," Henry chuckled awkwardly. "Maybe I shouldn't-."
"Actually you might have just found the solution.
He finally gathered the courage to look back at the shadowy figure holding a cigarette, framed by the window and moonlight. His eyes were...firm. Henry didn't understand.
"What solution?"

"That's exactly what I was talking about! The new frame of reference, it's the robots! William stepped down from the parapet and started walking around the tiny dorm room, carding his hand through his hair, his gaze wandering from object to object, looking for something. "They are distinctly non-human, so they aren't susceptible to all those idiotic emotions. Or maybe even better: we could try to create a robotic vessel and then maybe infuse it with something resembling consciousness, a replica of a human mind. This way we have a body that is basically indestructible, and we don't even need to worry about biology or reversing aging. It hasn't been done before so it might actually work. For this whole time he was smiling and talking seemingly to himself, but then he turned to Henry with an expression of pure albeit mischievous adoration. "Henry, you bloody genius!"

"Ok, hold on, since when do you believe souls exist ?" Henry almost held his hands in a faux-defensive position.
"It doesn't have to be a soul." William scoffed, not losing his energized smirk" It could be anything, really. A specific chemical reaction in our brains perhaps. Or a feeling, a sense of self that other organisms seemingly lack. Whatever makes us...

The word he wanted to say was so obvious, yet still impossible to articulate.

They both had a problem with that word.

William put down his cigarette and reached for another one. At least he was considerate to exhale the smoke out of the window...
Henry stared at him, at his crossed legs, at his messy black hair, at his hand supporting his chin.

Henry was at a complete loss. He felt like he was about to do something terrible. But he breathed in, then out, and looked back at the ceiling. He was safe. And he had a voice.

Henry tried to imagine what a soul could look like. He saw the grey smoke, leaving his nostrils. The smoke evaporated as it mixed with the air around it. Yes, that made sense. But what If souls didn't work that way?

"It's honestly scary to imagine that something like that exists if you don't also believe in an afterlife. If you could trap someones... consciousness in a container of sorts, you could basically make them suffer forever. Well, until the death of the universe I guess."
"Still better than believing in an astral megalomaniac who can condemn people to exactly what you described, while somehow still maintaining the moral high ground.
Henry could do nothing but smile. He thought about the little cross, he had wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed inside of his sock drawer. He didn't like the way it weighted around his neck, but some part of him felt.. naked without it.

"Maybe it's better there are no gods on the moon." Henry had almost forgotten the reason for their whole conversation but made sure to mention something William had said earlier. It always made him lighten up. "Because if they were you would have probably been already sentenced to the abyss for sacrilege."
"And YOU wouldn't?"
"I mean, if you went to hell then I guess I'd just have to tag along, as I always do. That's what friends are for."

Their laughter cut through the darkness of the room. They were safe. They knew each other. It really was that simple.
Henry slightly choked on the smoke and felt much better.

"Okay, so after we achieve functional immortality, conquer the universe and all that junk, maybe we'll move on to some actual challenges?
"So like..." William looked both ways like a dork and whispered theatrically "paying rent on time?"
"Or running errands in a highly bureaucratic setting where everyone looks at you as if they wanted to gauge your eyes out with their ballpoint pens!"
Henry said it all in one breath and William blinked several times before replying.

"I'm not sure if I can top that" He scratched his chin for a second, then snapped his fingers with a victorious smirk."Talking to girls"
"Cheater," Henry punched him slightly in the shoulder. "Alright, I give up. Let's stick to poorly fixing TV sets and discovering the secret to eternal life" Henry fell back on his bed. He was surprised when William did the same. Their shoulders touched each other. It was nice.
They didn't move for a while.
And then Henry decided to do something he had been thinking about doing since the beginning of their summer break but didn't have the courage to do.

"So...we still have like what, 3 weeks before the start of term? And I was actually thinking... that maybe we could get out of town for a week? Maybe go to the Lake?"
"You want to get out of Salt Lake City...by going to the Lake... after which the city is literally named."
William slowly said, as if he was trying to analyze the punchline of a very bad joke.

"Ok, that sounds a little counterintuitive. But still, it is a nice lake. Listen, we can rent a cabin by Farmington Bay, or just set a camp in the woods. We could unwind a little bit, go trekking or play cards or something..."
Henry could already feel the panic slowly slipping into his voice.

"I...I mean, I'm flattered by the proposal" He clearly wasn't "but now isn't really the best time, I'm afraid. I have several unfinished practical projects and after that, I ought to start planning my dissertation. And that's not even taking into account the amount of work I need to do to apply for that-
"You've been studying non-stop since the end of the last term. It's one thing overworking yourself and passing out in libraries after drinking nothing but Livita for 3 days during the semester...

"That was one time, and I specifically asked to you never bring that up again-

"But doing the same during the holidays seems like an overkill if you ask me. Look, all I'm saying is that you could seriously use a break. Come to think of it, I don't even remember you ever going anywhere during the summer break. Not with friends or to visit your...ehm...

"...family?" William raised his eyebrows as he spat out the word.

"I didn't mean-
"No, please, go on. I'm genuinely curious" He crossed his arms and rose from the bed. He looked down at Henry, lips twisted in a painfully annoyed, sarcastic smile, "So tell me, how do you imagine my folks to be like? Do you seriously think that I could just book a plane ticket and fly back to the UK, to spend the holidays in some fucking-countryside cottage in Yorkshire?"

"What- I'm not imagining anything! How would I even know? I mean you hardly ever talk about them-"
"And isn't it enough of a giveaway? Or do I have to spell it out?"

His breathing was labored and his fists were slightly twitching. Henry had to actively fight knee-jerk reaction to cover his face with his hands. It wasn't right. What the hell. Fortunately, William wasn't like that. He sighed deeply and slowly sat once again on the bed. Before Henry could react he was lighting yet another cigarette.

"Henry, I'm sorry" He wasn't even looking at him, almost as if he was ashamed "For acting caustic, I mean. It's not your fault. Frankly, I think I'm just jealous. It's hard to imagine how it may feel to have a loving family you can always fall back on."
"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."
"No, it's fine, I'm just... once you start thinking about this it seems completely messed up. Nobody from my father's side has tried to get in touch with me since the funeral, and as far as my mother is concerned..." His eyes lit up resentment, as he smiled "It would honestly be hilarious if she randomly decided to contact me after almost 16 years of complete radio silence. If she's even still around, that is."

His hand clutched the material of his pants on his knee. He took a deep breath and shook his head, still not looking at Henry.
"And you know what? I don't care. I don't care about them and I don't what them to care about me. I'm never going back there for a reason. The USA may be a pile of trash, but at least it's a pile of trash I can sort out on my own terms."

He finally turned his head towards Henry, almost seeming surprised, as if he had forgotten he wasn't sitting in the darkness alone.

Maybe he felt like he was.

"It's getting late." William rose from the bed and grabbed his messenger bag."I should be going."
"Right, of course. Thanks for...everything."
It didn't make sense, none of this made sense.
William didn't answer. He opened the door and the yellowish glow of the corridor light flooded the room like a narrow river. He was about to leave when he turned back one last time.

"Tomorrow I'll go to the janitor and ask if he could lend us a ladder and maybe one of those long sticks with a hook at the end they use for opening high windows. This should be enough to get the antenna off the tree."
Oh, right. It was all because of the antenna after all.
"Let's hope it stays there until morning."
Henry tried to smile. He felt the corner of his mouth twitching slightly at the effort. He gave up.
"Yeah." William didn't even turn to face him, as he closed the door. Goodnight Henry."
"See you tomorrow". The doors were already closed. Henry could hear the faint sound of footsteps until they disappeared. He was alone.

His hand traveled to his hair, tugging painfully at the roots as he had to actively fight the urge to just hit his head against his own fist. Idiot. Fucking idiot.
"Let's rent a cabin and play cards in the middle of nowhere! It'll be fun!" Jesus Christ, how desperate it must have sounded.
And then of course, OF COURSE, you just HAD to bring his DEAD FATHER into the whole thing. Brilliant just great, What were you even trying to achieve you moron?

Henry leaned forward, covered his face with his palms, and closed his eyes.
This question had been bothering him for so long.
Do people even go on those types of getaways if it's just the two of them?
How would he know that? He's never been to anything like that.
They probably go with, like, a group of friends. That would be normal. But he doesn't have those types of friends.
They also bring girls with them. That's even more normal.
This isn't. This is weird. And William doesn't even like being outdoors.
How the hell did he not think about any of this.
He always spent so much time second-guessing almost every word, every little step he took, and yet he still couldn't avoid making a complete ass of himself in front of the only person he didn't want to lose.
Idiot. Fucking moron.
Henry threw himself back onto his bed, hands still covering his face. Just as he landed dramatically he felt something small and angular poking him in the neck. He yelped in pain and reached under his head. The coldness of the textured metal box beneath his fingertips was more than enough for him to identify the mysterious object.
He's forgotten his lighter.
Henry couldn't help but smile a little, almost wholly defeated. William didn't tend to forget things. He clearly must have had wanted to leave so badly, he didn't even remember to check his pockets for anything missing. Great job...
He held the lighter in front of his eyes and turned it in his fingers aimlessly. The light coming from the window reflected softly on the edges of the box.
It really was a nice lighter.

For no reason in particular he opened the cap with his thumb. The flame hissed quietly as it formed and flickered, casting shadows over his face. He gazed at it silently, almost in a trance. There was something so beautifully childish about the way in which some distant part of his mind wanted him to touch the flame, see how it feels. He could burn his fingers so easily if his hands slipt. The bedsheets would catch on fire.
It would be so easy.

He blinked once or twice, feeling how his cheeks were now starting to sweat from the warmth. He closed the cap to not waste any more fluid, and crawled on his knees to the other side of his bed, next to which stood his desk. He neatly put the lighter next to his chipped ashtray. Funny thing. Among all the butts there was one cigarette that looked almost untouched, except for the slight smolder at the tip.
He didn't even finish his cigarette before leaving.
This thought couldn't fully reach Henry's consciousness, not really. His mind was swimming somewhere far away from his room, and he didn't even realize when exactly he had taken the barely touched cigarette in one hand while the other one had picked up the lighter. Henry struggled to open the cap for no obvious reason. His hands were shaking. Instead of asking himself why it might have been, he passively listened to the half-finished sentences floating around his mind, reassuring him like a gentle current. Something about having to save up more money, not wanting to waste the perfectly fine tobacco, being too tired to look for the rest of the cigarette pack. All sound excuses for an utterly insignificant action.
He was alone. There was nobody to stop him.

His lips touched the brown filter with some unearned confidence, as he finally managed to light the smoke. That was it. No more tripping over words. No more philosophy. Just him and that stupid silver rock in the sky, mocking him in all its godless, devoid of mystery glory. He just wanted to forget about everything and start over the next day.

He closed his eyes once again and inhaled deeply. He expected the all-too-familiar burn to go quickly around his palate and exposed throat, pick up bits and pieces of the remaining dark thoughts clouding his perception and take them away to make them one with the air surrounding him.

But it wasn't like that.

This one wanted to linger as long as it possibly could. It was lighter and more insidious than usual, confusing Henry with its almost teasing pervasiveness. But he didn't want to fight it. It remained him of the sickeningly bitter-sweet taste of almond biscuits and Earl Gray tea drunk in the middle of a cram session, of the smell of printing ink in economics textbooks at the bookshop, of the slightly rough texture of starched, button-up shirts, of the sound of a red fountain pen scratching across the surface of his rough technical sketches to correct some of his phrasing errors and of how he would feel that hand embracing his shoulders and see those steel-cold eyes light up with genuine interest and-

It was just like him.

Henry's eyes shot wide open.
The paper-thin dam of false pretenses finally gave up and all of the terrible realizations flooded his mind all at once. He couldn't breathe.
Henry started coughing dryly as he frantically tried to put out the cigarette. His movements were so erratic he knocked over the entire ashtray in the process, but he didn't dare to worry about that fact.

He felt like throwing up, he couldn't stop coughing but the feeling remained. The feeling that for so many years had been lurking somewhere deep within his soul, just waiting for a right moment to come to the surface and compromise all his senses, of his self-control, all his morals.
And he LET it happen.
Every time, every fucking time he would feel that unnatural instinct he excused it, dismissed it.
Because he was too young.
Because he was naive.
Because he couldn't comprehend the implications, yes, he couldn't understand why having those thoughts, those urges to imagine himself being close with other boys could possibly be-
He no longer had an excuse. Those weren't some innocent thoughts of a lonely boy who only wanted to be loved.
Now they were clear. Disgustingly specific. Physical.
And what had he done with them? He let them grow, become even stronger because they were only thoughts and thoughts cannot affect reality!
He let them poison his every interaction. Where was his mind when those images of being held, of being pushed against the bed, of being caressed projected themselves and started shaping the way he looked at his friend? Could he even still call him that? Or was he reduced to something less than human, a body, a way of fulfilling those sick fantasies?
He was nothing more but a disgusting queer degenerate. There was no other way to describe it.
The tears started finally flooding his cheeks, as he forcefully threw himself onto the matters, his breathing still erratic, nearing a panic attack.

He closed his eyes. There was something echoing around the back of his mind. The way he laid on his bed his hands shaking as he clutched the sheets, shivering like in a fever, not understanding his body, his mind, his own thoughts. It was familiar

"You better keep those hands on top of the sheets, boy" He could never understand why could keeping his hands underneath the warm blankets during winter have been bad. But he didn't want to argue with his father. When Henry got older he started realizing the reasons why his father made sure he had kept his hands on top of the sheets, would pester his mom about the length of his hair, and why he would sometimes get angry at her for allowing their son to behave like a "fairy", whatever that could mean. And they were very valid reasons.

But Henry somehow knew his father didn't hate him. He only had a problem whenever his hands were involved.
It was always because of his hands. Those restless, treacherous hands.
The same hands that would fumble around his sister's sewing kit, touch the soft material of his mother's winter coat, feel the tiniest crevice on a wooden desk, the same hands that bled so easily, as the paper-thin skin was being accidentally punctured by a sharp needle while trying to stitch his stuffed animals. Jen would always help him when he got hurt. She was older and stronger and she always knew what to do. She had a sharp mind and an endless supply of energy, which resulted in her preferring to play sports and search for adventures rather than learning how to behave properly. She wanted to discover, Henry wanted to create. They've both had their own ways of understanding the world, but the world could never understand them in return.

His mother used to joke about how her children must have had their spirits or souls switched before birth, but his father never found such comments funny. He only wanted his children to be respected, and that would be very hard if they didn't adhere to their societal roles. He loved them so much he was willing to work around their personalities to help them find a niche where they could use their natural tendencies in a more proper context.
Jen was prohibited from playing soccer, so she could focus on school and her dance classes.
Henry had to watch silently as his knitting needles were being gradually replaced by screwdrivers and monkey wrenches. His father taught him how to fix things around the house, but Henry was more interested in learning how to create his own mechanisms and things of that nature. So he took up engineering and later even robotics.

Metal gears, screws, and various ball bearings were always cold, just like his hands. He could get used to that. He even learned to avoid injuring himself on sharp edges, and his hands no longer bled so much. His father was happy. He managed to scrub off the dirt of effeminate degeneracy from underneath his son's fingernails and thus saved him from a miserable, lonely existence.
But Henry's hands remained dirty, delicate, and disgusting. And now he wanted to use them once again to drag his best friend into the same dirt, infect him with it, make him a partner in his perversion. Maybe even make him believe that there's nothing wrong with that kind of twisted affection, call it "love" when it had nothing to do with that feeling when it was just some primal instinct, the original sin he had failed to oppose. He could drag him down with him, destroy the good and light he adored so much in him, just so he could say "I'm not alone, I'm not queer, I'm not ill!" How could he be so selfish to even imagine, to even think about the possibility of-

His breath hitched in his chest and his ears were filled with the exact same static buzz he had been hearing for the whole day.
He couldn't tell William about any of it.
But he also couldn't push him away, since he knew that both of them had no one apart from each other.
He had to be stronger than his own thoughts, for both of them. It was necessary
And Henry knew only one fool-proof way to do it.

The scattered frantic energy in his body suddenly transformed into a focused set of actions. He looked under his bed, the tried to feel in the dark underneath his desk, but to no avail He then remembered about the one bottle he had hidden away in case of an emergency. It was buried in a box of yarn and metal parts when nobody could see it. His hand reached deep and finally pulled out the coveted orange container.
It was less than half-full, and even in the faint light coming from the window, it was easy to see that there were several different types of pills mixed together inside of it.

Those damn hands. They've been shaking since he could remember. He told his parents about his problems with stress, they went to the doctor and came back with a prescription. His mind would soon have become numb to those medications, so they would find a new one. And then repeat this process several times, and all you get are endless orange bottles scattered across his bedroom floor, as Henry's heart would slow down it's beating by a significant margin, while his thoughts remained the same, still restless but some more muddied, even less clear. He hated that feeling but he also needed to sleep from time to time.
Henry looked with some broken melancholy at the bottle, easily recognizing the mind-numbing colors - the innocent white of Xanax, the childish sky-blue of Valium, and the deep green of that one drug he could never remember the name of, but after taking it he sometimes had weird dreams and felt drowsy.
"You don't need this crap" there was a faint memory of a conversation he had with William shortly after they met during their freshman year. "It makes you dumber".

But he needed this crap because he was himself the embodiment of crap, the crappiest person on the planet, and the only thing he wanted was to lay motionless, be dumb, not act in any way, stop bothering the world with his shitty existence.

There were 3 maybe 4 pills on his palm and he didn't even take a closer look before he brought them all to his mouth and fumbled in the darkness for that bottle of Orange Crush they hadn't finished, to somehow wash the drugs down.
Mixing stress relief medication is very similar to mixing alcohol.
Idiotic.
Reckless.
Highly effective.
If they didn't want people to overdose on them then they shouldn't have made them so easy to swallow.

His head finally hit the pillow as he could feel his muscles finally relaxing. At this point, it was definitely just his exhaustion and some form of a placebo effect, but he couldn't care less. He was drifting away, apathetic, empty, and calm just like he had wanted.
He didn't change his clothes.
He didn't wash his teeth.
He was disgusting, just like he was always supposed to.
He closed his eyes and smiled.

------------------
He was falling. His hands were trying to grasp at anything but to no avail. They were bleeding, but it didn't hurt him in the slightest. The drops of blood traveled upward, to the blinding light in the sky. He looked up and couldn't tell what he was looking at until he saw other people. They were also falling. He understood.
"You idiots, why did you try to find God? There's nothing on the moon! You can see it with a naked eye!" He shouted but no sound came from his mouth.
He started laughing. He also tried to find God. And he had to fall for that.
"You're fucking pathetic! All of you! I hate you!"
He couldn't stop laughing until he stopped.
Suddenly he was drowning. The water tasted like bitter almonds and he could only try to breathe a little bit, but the was too much air around him. The water took him deeper to finally wash his hands. He could rest, he was cleansed of sin, and his heart stopped betraying him. He could drift away and rest.
There was a hand, reaching out to him from the surface. He knew that hand. But if he took it, embraced it with all his life, kissed it like the Crown of Thorns, he would only take it down with him.
So he didn't.
And he was finally at peace.