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“Well,” you stated proficiently, “I’m dead!”
An awkward, inquisitive silence followed. You were sitting in the living room of a liminal space hell. A blocky pink house surrounded by nothingness, except for green rolling hills like the microsoft background. Everything was like the set of a children’s show, with bright colors, objects that looked like props, and a general sense of dread that hung over everything. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by your three best friends. The only relatively mentally sane people in this nightmare you found yourself in. A green duck puppet, a yellow… (child? Thing?) puppet, and… him.
Harry. Or just ‘red guy,’ as he was nicknamed.
6 foot 4 with long, red string for hair that covered his entire head and face, all the way halfway down his chest. Completely in red like a man in a costume with mitten- like hands, and frog eyes perched on the top of his head, you’ve always kept a keen fascination with him.
His hilarious sarcasm only you seemed to get, his warmth you could feel if you happened to get close enough to him or got lucky enough for him to put a hand on your shoulder every once in a while, his godly cooking skills, especially for breakfast, and the glances you caught from across the room when he thought you didn’t know he was looking at you.
“...What?” He asked, tinged with his british accent. Oh yeah. You’d almost forgotten about your obscure declaration that begged for elaboration.
“I’m dead,” you repeated simply. “Says so right here.” You held up a newspaper, opened to the obituary page. And sure enough, ‘y/n l/n, definitely dead,’ was printed in neat letters across The Right Wing,’ a newspaper you had borrowed from Robin, the older green duck and one of your friends.
“What else does it say?” Harry asked inquisitively, leaning forward.
“Uh, nothing, really. Not a lot of specifics.”
“How did you die?” Doi asked, the young yellow child from your left.
“I forgot to drink water,” you giggled, reading the subtitle. That is something you would totally do. You didn’t find yourself too concerned about being dead in this universe. You learned quickly that nothing was ever as it seemed here, for better or for worse. For all you knew, being dead would either do nothing for your situation, or you would actually die and be free of the hell you were trapped in. Either option worked for you, so you found yourself pretty nonchalant about it all.
“What is being dead?” Robin asked from his chair.
“Um, well… it’s basically like your body shuts down, and you lay in a hole forever.”
Nailed it.
“Forever and ever?” Doi asked with a tinge of childish fear.
“Yeah. But it’s okay, because you don’t remember it.” To hell with accurate responses to things. If this world wasn’t gonna give you an explanation for why it threw you into this weird world where you landed, human and all, into the void of the hills until you were found by the boys, you didn’t have to give one to Doi about death.
“Do we remember it?” He asked.
“I mean, you remember me. But you won't ever see me again.”
“We… never see you again?” Your head flicked up to meet Harry’s eyes, peering at you from his chair on your right. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, as if there was some hint of… what was that, worry? In his voice. Extremely unusual for him to show any sort of emotion.
“Well,” you started, taken off guard by this display. “I suppose so, yeah.”
“That was selfish of you!” Duck interrupted whatever look you and Harry were exchanging.
“Huh? How was it selfish, I didn’t choose to die!”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to remember you and have to miss you! We do!”
“Aww, you guys will miss me?”
“Of course!” Doi threw his arms up. “You’re our bestest friend!”
A smile passed your lips for a second. You tried to ignore Harry’s extremely loud silence, burning a hole in you with his look.
“Ah. I suppose I need a funeral.” You put your finger on your lip thoughtfully.
“What’s a funeral?” Robin asked.
“Where I get buried in the ground. I lay down in this wood thing called a coffin, and then the coffin goes 6 feet into the ground, and then you throw dirt over it and bury me.”
“How do you get out?” Doi asked innocently.
“I don’t need to, Doi.” I reminded him parentally. “I’m dead!”
“Oh…” he trailed off. “Right.”
“How about we do it this afternoon? I’ll get dressed and we can bury me outside.”
“Do we get dressed up, too?” Robin raised an eyebrow.
“Sure!” You responded. “In all black, I think.”
“Can we… Can we visit you, at least?” Harry asked, piping up for the first time in a while. It wasn’t unusual for him to be talked over; Doi often asked a lot of questions, Robin had the tendency to be sassy and shut people up, and you went along with their chaos enough that Harry was often silenced. But this silence was more on his part- when his voice did come out, it was contemplative and, dare you say it, sad.
“I… I don’t think so,” you stuttered. “I think I just, kinda… stay in the hole.”
“...oh.” It was way too quiet.
“Well, c’mon, guys!” Robin broke the silence, oblivious to Harry’s feelings. “We gotta get things ready for their big day!”
“Yeah, yeah!” Doi cheered. Harry stayed silent.
Before you knew it, Doi and Robin had each grabbed one of your arms, pulling you up and dragging you off, going on about how you needed to look your Sunday best or something.
You giggled, but looked back to see Harry watching you, unmoving. You swallowed. Robin and Doi clearly didn’t get the jist of what was happening to you, but Harry did. Well. He didn’t care about you that much, right? Not as much as you cared about him. He would get over it. Of course he would. And you would be free… and never see him again.
…
For some reason, the thought almost made you not want to die.
After being dressed up in some nice black formal clothes to be buried in, and after constructing a coffin out of nails and spare boards of wood, (literally don’t question who or what made it, just work with me here,) the boys helped dig a hole and lay it in for you. They went to get ready, telling you they’d be ‘just a minute’ (yeah right). You laid in your grave, gazing at the sky from 6 feet under- it was still unburied. Would Robin and Doi- and… Harry… really miss you that much? You almost hoped so, in a selfish way.
You played through a couple good memories with them and smiled. You hoped you would really just die as soon as- well, something. You didn’t know why you weren’t really dead, but it didn’t matter.
After just an annoying amount of time, the three showed up.
Robin was wearing basically his normal suit, but an all- black version. Doi looked a little stuffy in his suit with a bow tie. It was quite obvious Robin had forced him into it, to Doi’s resistance. But he looked cute dressed up all the same. And there Harry stood next to them, respectful looking and tall in an all black suit with the blazer popped open, looking like the profound gentleman he was. Was that… black eyeliner? Anyone who had the confidence and skill for that… Despite the lack of blood in your system, you blushed. He did all this just for your funeral?
“Wow! You uh… you look nice,” you stuttered to get the words out, sitting up in your coffin even though you were technically not supposed to move. “I mean- uh, all of you,” your attention flickered to Doi and Robin in acknowledgement, not wanting to seem obvious.
“Oh- uh-” Harry started.
“Thank you!” Doi interrupted, not sensing that the compliment was more directed to Harry. “You look nice, too, for a dead person!” You smiled. You couldn’t be upset with Doi and his enthusiasm, after all.
“Y-yeah, what he said,” Harry gave you a glance, and you smiled knowingly.
“So, how do we do a funeral?” Robin turned towards you.
“Well, we just kind of… talk about me, I guess?”
“Ooh! Ooh! I wanna go first!” Doi jumped up and down.
“Go ahead, Doi,” you smiled.
He cleared his throat as if he were a professional announcer. “Dear person that fell from the sky and into our lives, we will never forget you. I hope you have a good time being dead. Love, Doi.”
You did a polite golf clap for him.
“Me next!” Robin squawked. “You were pretty cool, flesh puppet, or whatever you are. May the hole treat you well. I will also be stealing all of your stuff. Love, Robin.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at this.
There was a silence. The three of you turned to Harry like he was an actor going off- script.
“You’re supposed to say something,” Doi reminded him.
“Oh- uh, right.” Harry snapped back into it. He cleared his throat. “Um… they were a really nice person, did a lot of… stuff. They made really good cinnamon rolls, so uh, I’ll miss having help with making breakfast,” he chuckled awkwardly. “And when we watch TV, you have the cutest laugh and… the way you smile…” you felt a blush coat you as Harry went on, unknowingly talking about you a little too much. He stopped, switching back to his nonchalant self. “Uh- yeah, I’ll- um, we’ll miss you. L-love, Harry.”
You gazed up at him, almost in a daze.
“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” Duck grabbed the shovel.
“Alright. Bye, guys…” you waved, a tinge of sorrow hitting your heart. “I’ll see you- uh, I guess I won’t… Love ya.” You started to pull the lid over yourself.
“Bye bye,” Doi waved sadly.
“So long,” Duck sang as he started scooping up the dirt.
And as the last rays of sun filtered through as your coffin shut, the last thing you saw was Harry, standing mournfully as if he were reaching down to you. “...Bye, y/n…”
…
The house was quiet.
And Harry was used to quiet. The kind that took over the night, the kind when there were no teachers around, the exhausted kind after they had had one of their ‘adventures’.
But without you, it seemed so… desolate. Was the clock always this loud? Did the TV ever have this much static? Why wasn’t Doi running around with his favorite playmate? Why wasn’t Robin discussing the daily news with someone? Why was there no one around to teach him how to do winged eyeliner, or to nag him to make waffles, or to laugh at his dry, sarcastic humor?
It was all because of you. You were that gap. Honestly, Harry didn’t know how the three of them functioned without you before. Especially him. He sat on his bed, staring at a spot on the floor. He couldn’t take sitting in the living room. Doi kept asking when you were going to get back, and Robin wouldn’t stop going off about how you were annoying anyways, pretending like he wasn’t grieving.
A thought flashed through his mind. I want them back… but he shook it off. This was your death, he shouldn’t ruin it.
…
Still, Harry hoped you liked being dead more than he liked it.
And still, he kept eyeing the shovel they had brought back in from your funeral…
…
…
…
…It sure was dark.
Did it smell or something?
You tried to move around.
Ouch.
…You just hit your head.
Not a lot of wiggle room.
You still didn’t… feel dead.
You were. The newspaper said so. The laws of this universe say so. You were buried.
But then… why were you still… here?
You guessed you had all the time in the world to think about it now.
…
…Ugh.
This was boring.
And cramped.
You already missed Doi and his laugh, and the way he would drag you off to do a coloring book or play hide and seek.
You missed Robin, his annoying sass, and watching murder mysteries with him, only to get into a bickering match about who really murdered the main couple.
…And you missed Harry. His safe aura, his spunky sarcasm, his deadpan humor. You missed braiding his hair with Doi, to his lament. You missed him telling you and Robin to shut up about murder mysteries. You missed the look in his eyes when you took your cinnamon rolls out of the oven. You missed all the little things you didn’t know you would. You… loved him, you suppose.
Whatever. It was too late for all that.
Now, it was just… this.
Your heart was supposedly not beating, but you swear it skipped a beat.
Why…?
Why did it do that?
It was really dark.
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
And shivered. Why the hell did you do that? You were dead, you weren't cold, right?
…
Damn it. You hated the laws of this universe.
Did death really not exist? This isn’t how it worked in your universe, and you didn’t like it.
You cursed under your breath.
Okay, okay, deep breaths. Nothing to be scared of. Not like you had no way out.
Not like you couldn’t move, or see, o-or even sit up…
You jolted. …What the hell was that? You felt something in your hand. It squirmed against you. A damned maggot?! You squealed, throwing your hand and letting it hit the side of the coffin. Your screams hurt your own ears, making you panic more. There was so much infinite ground. It absorbed everything you did, every noise you made. They’d never hear anything.
You felt tears stream down your face at this point. You struggled to move, pounding against the top of the coffin. No no no NO, this was not happening. You were dead, you were supposed to be dead. You yelped again as you felt another maggot bite you. You weren't supposed to feel that. You weren’t supposed to feel yourself decompose, to feel the pain.
You started screaming for help, knowing full well that it was to no avail. This world and everything in it really hated you. You screamed about how you hated it, cursed until you ran out of breath, and continued screaming as you tried killing as many larvae you couldn’t see trying to eat you alive as you could.
You weren’t worried about running out of breath anymore. You just wanted out. OUT. For the love of God, someone had to be around. Even if it was a creepy teacher or whatever lived in this universe. Just someone. Someone who would let you taste fresh air, to move, to be free.
You thought this would be freedom. That death would get you out of the puppet universe. But if this is what it was, screw being dead. You wanted to live…
The walls seemed to tighten. The darkness was overwhelming. Your screams were absorbed into the ground, and only you and the maggots could hear, you knew it.
Everything tightened. “Please…” you begged for your friends... For Harry. “...I need you.”
…
It was late.
Really late.
Harry didn’t know the time, but the sky was pitch black outside.
He turned to his right to see Robin and Doi in their beds, sleeping peacefully as if all were well.
As if they hadn’t just buried someone. Buried their friend. Buried someone… Harry really cared about. In a way he couldn’t describe in words. In a different way than he cared about Robin and Doi. They were like family or something. But y/n… what was different about them?
Harry didn’t know. But he had this feeling. And he wasn’t used to having feelings. Something was telling him to find you, to have you back.
It could’ve been grief that made him do it. It could’ve been he had this psychological connection that made him know you were screaming for help down there. Or maybe it was because…
…he loved you, in a way he didn’t understand.
And that’s why he grabbed his overcoat.
That’s why he grabbed the shovel.
And that’s why he found himself trudging back through the woods in the darkness, standing over your grave with the intention of getting his friend back.
As he dug, he started to hear noises from below. He listened closer, continuing to dig to hear better. Screaming…? His heart jumped. Why would they be screaming?
He went faster, only to hear more of the same. What in the hell is happening…?
“H-hello?” Harry called into the darkness below. The conveniently bright moon and stars were his only light.
“HARRY!” He caught his next breath in his throat at the way his name was shrilly screamed.
“Y/n? Y/n, what’s wrong?” He went on his knees to listen.
“Please, Harry, get me OUT OF HERE-!”
He didn’t need to hear more.
The coffin burst open, dirt falling into your face. Your limbs were coated with disgusting larvae you could no longer get off. You blinked the dirt out of your eyes so you could see. Through your blurred and pained vision, you could see Harry, standing with a shovel, silhouetted by the moon like an angel coming to take you away from your grave. It wasn’t all too far from reality.
“H-harry…?” You hoarsely coughed, unmoving with agony and disorientation.
“Hello, Y/n. Nice to see you again.” You could hear him smile.
“Now, come on,” he urged, holding out a hand. With any strength you had left, you lifted up an arm just to feel yourself ascend, the ground beneath your feet and not your back once more. You missed the feeling of his hand. A faint smile coated your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he instructed, pulling himself out of the grave. He grabbed your dazed and confused corpse and hoisted you up after him.
You were a mess. You couldn’t stand on your own, as Harry realized when he let you go and you almost toppled right back into your grave. You were so lightheaded that you couldn’t speak when he tried to get you to talk, snapping in your face, shaking your shoulder and everything. He noticed you trembling, previous screams reduced to nothing more than incoherent mumbles when he questioned you. He noticed your skin crawling with insects, and he quickly tried to pry off as many as he could in the darkness. Eventually, he simply scooped you up, as you were pretty light to him, and you went from being in a corpse position for hours to being carried bridal style through the woods and back the closest thing you could call home here.
Back at the house, he set you down in his chair, which he never let anyone sit in, and tried to snap you back into it. Your nice clothes were torn up from your struggle, makeup running down your face, smudged with tear lines that resembled snail tracks. His voice was more hurried than normal as he tried saying something, anything, to wake you up. He didn’t have a problem talking out loud- Doi and Robin were heavy sleepers, they wouldn’t know anything.
The familiar glow of the room was the only thing you could see, along with blurry shapes. You were still extremely distraught, but something about the aura you were around put you at mild ease.
“Mmm… Harry?” You asked, eyes focusing on the red monster in front of you. You became vaguely aware of him talking.
“...Are you better now?” Harry asked, stooping down on one knee to assess you at eye level. He brushed some straggling maggots off your sleeve and fixed your hair a little.
“Y-yeah,” you meekly whimpered. “I think so.”
A cold chill ran down your spine. You grabbed your shredded arms.
“Do you want my overcoat?” His voice was once again himself, but reasonably softer and less monotone.
You shivered. “Y-yeah… thanks.”
“Oh, right. Aren’t you still dead? You wouldn’t need it, then…” He paused. “W-well, you’re not in the ground anymore, so that doesn’t count, right?” He looked at you with a slight glimpse of hope? Dread?
You couldn't tell, but you decided to ease his worry anyway.
“Yeah, I think so… That’s how it works… totally.” Why shouldn’t it?
“Whew, alright.” He shifted, pulling the overcoat off his shoulders. Oh Jesus, he was shirtless. Wait. Isn’t he normally shirtless? Well either way, it made you blush. And the red in your (living? Dead? Who knows at this point) cheeks only deepened when he pulled it around your shoulders gently, touching your arm briefly in the process. It was heavy and warm with his body heat, and even had the faint but distinct smell of hot coffee and art supplies- his distinct, comforting scent. “I frankly didn’t like the idea of you being in a hole, anyways.”
You hope he didn’t notice you breathing into the collar of his coat, using his cozy, familiar scent to ease your mind of the previous horrors of the day. “Me neither. It was… pretty scary, actually,” you recollected, feeling safe enough in his presence to share.
“Really? I’ve always wanted to be dead, was it not that… great?”
“No… no. Boring and cramped, at first. Then it just got…” you swallowed. “...worse. Being in that coffin creeped me out. A- And I only realized when it was too late, too permanent, that it really set in that I couldn’t get back out. I was panicking, Harry. I was so, so scared. I would’ve stayed like that forever. If…” you trailed off, making eye contact with Harry. His patient eyes stared back, intently and considerately listening. Everything about him made you feel so secure, and you had to let him know you appreciated it. “...Someone… hadn’t cared about me so much.”
You swear he blushed if he could’ve.
“Thank you, Harry. … for saving me.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah, I uh, I guess I just kinda…” his attention shifted around, as he couldn’t make eye contact, hand rubbing the back of his head, “missed… looking… at you.”
You smiled genuinely, something you hadn’t done a lot of since being stuck in this miserable universe, and especially not on this particularly miserable day. Harry truly was your beacon of sanity in the absolute dark void that swallowed you. “I missed looking at you, too.”
Without thinking, you leaned forwards, sitting on the edge of the chair, head falling into his chest. His yarn hair fell in its neat curls around you like a comforting rainstorm. You failed to stop tears from trailing down your cheeks. You felt your body lurch with a sob as you couldn’t control everything from spilling out from what you had been feeling that day. Harry tensed up at the emotion, and you felt it. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t, I… I just… can’t… help it…” you trailed off, sobbing against him.
“Uhm…” he tried his best at some sort of comfort, anxiously putting his arms on your back. He was soft and warm, and his touch felt so consoling after what happened. For someone who didn’t dole out hugs very often, he had no right to be so good at them. “Don’t cry, it- it’s not- I-” he struggled for words, before you felt his chest heave with a sigh. “I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.” His words were stern, but gentle. His arms tightened around you as he said it.
Your heart fluttered at his words. Your tears fell, absorbed by his softness. Your arms grasped at his sides. “Y-you… you can’t promise nothing bad will happen to me…” your words were mellow and muffled.
“No,” he sighed regretfully, “I can’t. But, I can promise that as long as you’re with me, you’re safe. Because I can make sure of that.”
Your eyes widened a little. There was… love in his voice. Harry was talking to you with love. You suddenly felt safe, for the first time in a while in this insane world.
He left you in silence for a minute as you got your bearings.
When you did pull away, you found yourself eye- to eye with the soft puppet once again. God, he was pretty. Impulsively, you leaned forwards and placed a kiss on his forehead.
“Uh-” he squeaked, keeping eye contact with you. “What… was that?”
“A thank you.” You smiled simply.
“A thank you…?” He repeated. He looked around for a second, hesitant, as if unsure of what he should do now. So you told him.
"Now you give me a 'you're welcome.'" You winked.
You felt a soft hand on your waist as the red puppet leaned in towards you.