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The universe fell. Pavitr fell with it.
Hobie counted the days since. It had been a hundred and twenty-one days. This was the longest he’s stayed in a flat, close to a house but not at all. Not really. Yet, he was so close to leaving and he had to get ready for that.
Pavitr’s existence was gone. Just like that, slipped right through Hobie’s fingers. No gifts from Pavitr’s home dimension were present, no trace of his scent in the clothes he’d leave for Hobie to smell when he’d miss him. Those clothes disappeared too. But there were some things that Pavitr had when he was in Hobie’s dimension, and Hobie held it in his hands, kept it close to his heart.
It was a pair of glasses.
Pavitr left his in his home dimension. He was too stubborn to wear them— preferred contacts and all, but they’d been annoying to deal with especially since he never brought the capsule. They would glitch if he brought them, so Hobie stole a pair for him to wear.
Even after a hundred and twenty-one days, Hobie kept it clean.
Life moved on, so Hobie moved with it. He ate his stolen food, he drank his shoplifted alcohol. He swung building to building to fight bad people, fight authorities. He gave himself time to keep going, because he was fine. There was nothing wrong going on, nothing else that happened that he was going to talk about. Everything was the same and that’s how Hobie liked it.
But every time he came back to where he was living in, those glasses were always getting dirtier.
He put them on and the fog would get in the way. His eyes twitched at the sudden change of vision quality, and he took it off after finding the culprit to the issue. He splashed water on it, wiped it with his suit. Used toothpaste and cleared it with a raggedy old towel. Hell, he tried to wipe it with the silk bonnet and none of the smudges could get off.
Life moved on, and he was the same as always. The glasses were to be dealt with everyday by now, and Hobie didn’t welcome the new habit.
He doesn’t sleep as much. Always drinking it away. He sleeps with an empty stomach, wakes up dizzy and ready to throw up, but it’s easier to deal with than anything else. He would rather starve, he would rather drink, he would rather steal and he would rather get into fights, just to forget how many days it’s been.
But to be honest, it’s already been two hundred and forty days.
The voice echoes deep into his soul, his face a memory that he thinks of every day until he stopped.
He hasn’t played a song in his guitar that wasn’t the same notes, the same words, the same melody in so long. He started leaving it behind on his trips and it started to collect dust.
The only semblance of routine Hobie had these days were cleaning the glasses.
Miles and Gwen visited him. Hobie didn’t know how they managed to find him, but they did.
“Hobie—“ Gwen started, treading towards Hobie as he laid against the wall, smoking on an empty stomach. “Hey, have you been eating?”
“Not sure why that’s your first concern there, Gwen.” Hobie said, blowing out smoke. Gwen knelt down to his level, and Miles followed suit. “Everything’s been the same.”
“It’s been awhile, Hobie, you gotta come back out with us.” Miles insisted, and Hobie averted his eyes. Gwen reached out to touch him, tried to get to him.
“We miss P—“
Hobie slapped it away.
“You’re not fuckin’ touching me, mate.” Hobie snapped. He ignored the way his voice shook. “Don’t you lot have somewhere else to fucking be?”
“Hobie—“ Miles tried, but Hobie slammed his fist against the wall and the cigarette that was quickly dwindling down started to burn his fingers in the other hand. He didn’t care about that. He stood up, shoving them back.
“Only favor you could be doing for me right now is to get the fuck out my sight.” He hissed. His hands shook from the burn, Gwen’s eyes darting to it with concern, and Miles’s soft gasp added onto it.
“I’m sorry.” Miles whispered. Gwen pursed her lips, but she took Miles by the shoulder and then left.
Hobie looked down to his hand. The burns weren’t as bad as they looked. But he glanced on his ashy bed, and found the glasses decorated with more of it.
He didn’t know why he did that.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His chest ached. His stomach burned. He curled up in pain and could only bare it for the rest because he hadn’t eaten all day.
He gripped the sheets of his makeshift bed and held back on the pain.
Miles and Gwen came to visit again.
He felt them from a mile away, swinging until they were creeping by the window.
He ignored them as they slipped inside, because he was too focused on cleaning the glasses. What was the use of welcoming them into a house that was going to be taken away in a few days?
“It’s okay.” Gwen said, voice low. “We just wanna be with you.”
“Things have been different, huh?” Miles remarked.
Hobie swallowed the knot in his throat. “Nothin’s changed.”
He looked into the glasses. It wasn’t getting any clearer. Gwen and Miles stood in front of him, but in the middle he pictured Pavitr standing, arms open, waiting for him to come closer. He felt two pairs of arms wrap themselves around his body and the weight of two people push him, losing the balance so they’d sink and crumple to the floor.
Gwen’s fingers went and traced circles on his back. Miles buried his face in Hobie’s shoulder.
His vision was starting to dwindle. For a moment he thought he’d be going blind, but his eyes were getting wetter and wetter. He tilted his head forward and the tears splashed onto the lenses. It was stinging terribly. Hobie shut his eyes. The bodies around him held onto him tighter.
And throughout the night, he wailed.
Everything changed.
Pavitr was gone.
He was never going to see him again.
Life moved on.
So Hobie moved with it.
He ate his stolen food, he drank his shoplifted drinks. He swung building to building to fight bad people, to fight bad authorities.
He stopped cleaning the glasses, just kept it close to him.
He brushed his hair, put on his makeup. Played his guitar again, sang terribly. The shape of his ribcage on his skin were going away, the migraines fading. Gwen would stop by to get him painkillers, Miles would get him more food to eat.
They hung out for the first time in three hundred and sixty-five days.
They were hanging out the rooftop, and Hobie held the pair of glasses in his hand. There was no way of cleaning it. Gwen took him by the arm and the three of them swung around London.
“What do you think?” Pavitr asked him one night. It was four hundred and thirty one days ago. They shared space on Hobie’s bed, even though it would’ve been better for them to be in Mumbhattan, where Pavitr’s bed would be at its coziest.
“Of what?” Hobie asked.
“Having a life together.” Pavitr said, turning his head. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Got a ring or something?” Hobie asked. “We could make it a big fuckin’ deal.”
“I don’t need a ring,” Pavitr said, reaching to intertwine their fingers together, smile as sweet as honey, “I just need you.”
He lost a piece of himself when he lost Pavitr. But he was still here, and he still had Gwen, he still had Miles. He’ll be alright, even if it won’t ever heal. He’ll move on with the world, and the world will be as normal as it always was.
And one day, he’ll learn that the glass he wipes clean is never going to stay the same way he first saw through it.