Chapter Text
to sink . the inevitability of a slow fall, body suspended in water and lungs aching to breathe. not drowning, not yet, but helplessly watching your own descent, eyes pinned on the surface. to be alone in a sea of nothingness that is too full to handle. terrified of what awaits you in the depths.
♥
He’d never seen a greyer summer. And maybe Chayanne didn’t know yet whether it was him or the sky, but even in the painstaking heat, he felt cold. Lost in the haze of sweat and an audible sun—or perhaps that was the perpetual buzz of the cicadas in the trees—he trudged home like his limbs were composed of lead.
He took the shortest route home, the one that passed by the woods. A flashlight flickered white between the trees as he passed, a sure sign of Cellbit making his usual rounds through the forest. He was the town’s resident paranormal investigator, which really meant he had a habit of frolicking through the woods with an EMF reader and a concerningly large thermos of cold coffee, convinced every breeze that touched him was really a supernatural entity.
And, further into town, he cut through a back alley and caught Foolish closing up his art gallery. Which was really to say he was putting away all his statues he hadn’t been able to sell out of his garage, because as beautiful as they were, they weren’t exactly affordable. Talent tended to go to waste around here, at least in terms of profit, but Foolish still went for it anyway.
Hey, everyone thought they were doing something. Up until about a month ago, Chayanne had been the exact same.
The man waved as Chayanne passed, and Chayanne returned it politely.
Nothing ever happened in this town, and nobody ever made it out. Hell, nobody on the entire island, with the single exception of Wilbur, ever got the chance to do something special. But then, Wilbur had always stuck out like a sore thumb in this culture of monotony. No matter how hard they tried, every single person here wore the same face, and he was sick of it.
Like every evening, he zoned out completely on his walk home, and only snapped out of it once the front door was inches from his face.
The house to which he returned was beautiful and cold and empty. Through the front window, he saw a living room lit only by the fading yellow of golden hour. Months ago, Chayanne sat at that table, back hunched over his computer and his father standing over his shoulder to read his application.
Pointless now, he supposed. A hundred dollars for an application fee down the drain and nothing to speak for it, and it was nobody’s fault but Chayanne’s.
Stop thinking about it. If he thought about it, he had to deal with it, and then it was real again. Much easier to live in a world of pretend.
And then he was unlocking the front door, throwing down his bag and kicking off his shoes, constantly aware of his usual paranoia that someone had broken into the house while he was gone and was just waiting around the corner for him.
“Hello?” He called in anticipation. No response. He was fine.
And his body ached and he blinked through a pulsing headache, but it was alright. It was fine. He was fine.
(It was always just fine, wasn’t it?)
He didn’t bother turning on the lights as he stumbled to the kitchen. The natural light was plenty enough, especially with the beginnings of a migraine pounding at his skull. Fuck. He leaned against the kitchen counter, the cold of the marble beneath his elbows soaking up the uncomfortable warmth of the summer air. Soothing.
He let his head drop, eyes squeezing shut, counting each throb in his head. Somehow, that only made it worse.
He should’ve just gone to bed early. Or taken a nap, at least. He should’ve gotten himself a glass of water, or lay down on the couch with some ice, or something , but instead he leaned against the counter and let the time tick by, wilting in the heat and his own pain.
Sometimes, when things hurt and they hurt and they hurt and the pain never eased, the best thing to do was sit in it. Or, perhaps not the best thing, but the simplest thing.
Hey, taking care of himself was hard.
He started to doze off right then and there, the space between his shoulder blades dipping as his body began to crumble against the kitchen counter, when a ping from his phone jolted him back to reality.
He grumbled and pulled the thing out of his pocket.
One unread message from Dad. One missed call from Tallulah.
Huh. That was odd. He hadn’t called Tallulah in over a year—hadn’t seen her in person in several years—and the last time they’d talked was when he sent Tallulah a DM on Discord to wish her a happy birthday.
He shrugged it off. It was probably just a pocket dial.
Still, he started typing up a message to his niece. You good?
He waited a second. Two. Up to thirty seconds, and then when she hadn’t responded yet, he flipped to the unread text from his dad.
Dad: Hey, mate. Did work go okay?
No. A lady yelled at him and then Bad yelled at her for yelling at his employees and then she promised to never come back. And usually it wouldn’t have bothered him that much, but Chayanne knew it was because he’d been chronically sleep-deprived and in pain and performing poorly lately, and the long days were taking a toll on him.
But he didn’t want to suddenly overload his dad by venting without any sort of warning—nor did he want to vent to his own father, ew—so he did the next best thing, which was sarcastically make it seem great so that Phil suspected it went poorly.
Chayanne mind games. Boom.
Chayanne: Peachy
He watched a little speech bubble in grey pop up, thinking for a moment.
Dad: Ha ha. Hope it wasn’t too bad.
Dad: Sorry I didn’t call you today. Jetlag got the best of me
And Chayanne wasn’t sure what to respond to that, so for a minute, he left the message unanswered.
Of course, he wanted to talk to his dad. Fuck, he missed Phil like hell whenever he went away, although he wasn’t quite willing to admit it. That was the only traitorous part of him that was glad that fancy school hadn’t worked out, because at least now he’d be close to home.
But he’d just gotten back from a full work day and a long walk home through the uncomfortable, sticky heat of July, so he wasn’t all too keen on talking to anyone at the moment. Part of him feared he’d explode on the first person who even mildly upset him, which wasn’t too rare of an experience, so instead, he’d ignore it and go to sleep.
Chayanne sat up and stretched, listening to a succession of popping noises up his spine as he did so. God, everything hurt. Everything always hurt.
But he was fine. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.
Really, there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he stood and downed two Advil dry as a treat, then hauled himself to the living room so he could promptly pass out on the couch.
He checked his phone one last time before drifting off to sleep, and still no response from Tallulah. Probably just a mistake, then.
He slumped forwards into the couch, burying his head in a pillow and finally allowing his body to relax.
It wasn’t ideal, but then again, nothing ever was.
♥
When he woke again, the sky through the windows was touched with the dusty blue of midnight, and he blinked blearily against the silver panes of light cast across his face.
That was a knock. Someone was pounding on the door.
Fuck, it was always when he was home alone, wasn’t it?
Chayanne stumbled to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand, only faintly aware of the headache dully and repeatedly bumping up against the edge of his skull.
Much help those Advil had been.
The knocking continued.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “I’m coming, hold on.” The floor swayed blurrily beneath his gaze, and he thought that maybe he should sleep more often.
He peered through the peephole first—as was most responsible—and, with a furrowing brow, swung the door open as fast as he possibly could. Heart racing, eyes barely believing what he was seeing.
This had to be some sort of dream induced by the heat. Because the girl on his front porch was so familiar and yet so unfamiliar that it left a sour taste in his mouth. Tall—taller than he remembered, only a few inches shorter than Chayanne himself—with a head of bushy brown hair tied hastily into a braid and tucked under a red beanie. In the past three or four years since Chayanne had seen her, she’d gotten rid of some of that stubborn baby fat that clung to her cheeks, and had grown into a tall sort of beanpole, just like her father. Frail, kind of, like a strong wind could blow her over. Her eyes were tired, riddled by purple eyebags, and her red and puffy cheeks were stained with tears. She wore mustard yellow converse and a jean jacket covered in iron-on patches, a backpack strap hung over one shoulder and a duffle bag in the other hand, her grip as cautious as she was.
“Tallulah?” He asked, unwilling to believe she was actually there.
Tallulah’s face was nearly crumbling. She moved forward—but paused, as if hesitating. Like she wanted to pull Chayanne into a hug and run away at the same exact time, and instead, she was rooted into place.
And then his niece talked in the most choked, soft voice. “Do you want to go on a trip with me?”
Now—timeout. Yes, perhaps Chayanne should have seen the obvious problems in this scenario, but the migraine turned his brain fuzzy and impaired his ability to think. Plus, he was still groggy from sleep, and God, he’d missed Tallulah. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hesitate in forming an answer.
So Chayanne, as tired and surprised as he was, replied, “Yeah, I do.”
♥
Reality had a certain way of putting itself on pause in the hours between midnight and five in the morning. Like time itself was suspended on a laundry wire, washed clean by twilight and hung up to dry in advance of morning.
Chayanne sat at the dining table, fingers pressed to his temples, staring warily at his fifteen-year-old niece across the table, who bounced her knee somewhat impatiently and stared up at the ceiling in thought. A light painted the kitchen yellow, and another several hanging light bulbs lit up the dining table, and apart from that, the house was dark.
“Run it by me again,” Chayanne repeated, squeezing his eyes shut in discontent. He felt like he was still asleep, and maybe he was.
Tallulah’s voice was quiet, but touched with its usual sweetness. Her voice was a bit too high for her age, making her sound youthful and childlike, and she’d always hated it, even if Chayanne found it endearing. “I was home alone.”
A promising start. Chayanne nodded unwillingly. “Uh huh.”
“And this reporter started camping outside my house.”
“Uh huh.” Chayanne’s voice dipped there, and he swallowed. This was the part that got him, and something twisting in his system was bitter and cold. Because he knew Wilbur’s latest tour had gained him plenty of traction with the media, but he didn’t know it would cause a mess like this. “And how did they get your address, again?”
He could practically feel Tallulah’s shrug. “They go batshit nowadays when it comes to my dad.” As if that wasn’t the craziest fucking sentence she could’ve said. “Anyway, he knocked on my front door, pretending to be a salesman. But I know a reporter when I see one, right? So I turn off all the lights and pretend I’m not home.” A classic Tallulah move. Apparently this time, her introverted fear of answering the door had kept her safe.
“And I’m guessing that didn’t work?” Chayanne grumbled.
In the low light, her face was split almost directly down the middle, half painted amber by the light of the kitchen and half drenched in a deep grey shadow. It was hard to look at. “I mean, I thought it did, so I went to sleep. But then I woke up this morning and somehow he’d gotten into my backyard, and he saw me through a window, so he knew I was home.”
What the fuck. “ Tallulah. ”
“Well—okay, so I know that sounds bad, but I called the police, and then I texted Quackity—”
“The kindergarten teacher?”
Tallulah nodded. “The kindergarten teacher. So Quackity got really mad and came over and, like, lost his mind on this reporter guy. So they argued for a while, and then when the police got there, they took the reporter away.” Her fingers absentmindedly ran over a patch in her jacket, one from a band he knew Tallulah used to like— Venus 3.0 , they were called, after they’d broken up and gotten back together several times—whose logo on the patch was an animalized venus fly trap with bright amber eyes.
Chayanne rubbed two hands over his face, and then rested his elbows on the table, leaning into his splayed fingers. “I never liked Quackity.”
His headache thumped in his head, and for a brief moment, it was all he could focus on. Thick and pulsing, draining his remaining energy piece by piece, begging for his attention. It took him several tries to replay all of Tallulah’s words in his head to be able to dissect and actually process them, and he felt as though his mind was slowly chugging along through a network of cobwebs.
Maybe now was the time to get some water, he thought.
Nah. It was fine. He was fine.
“That’s because you only met him when he was unstable. But he got promoted to principal and he has his own kid now, so he’s gotten better.” Tallulah looked at him earnestly, like she really, truly believed it. “He’s a nice guy, I promise.”
Sure. “Why were you home alone overnight?”
Even in the drowning heat, the atmosphere turned cold, and Chayanne suppressed a shiver. Carefully, Tallulah answered, “I always am. Wilbur’s away again.” She shrugged. Chayanne didn’t remember her calling him Wilbur last time they saw each other—it was always more reverent than that, more familial. Papa, Papi, Dad. Not just Wilbur. “But Quackity’s right next door, and he checks in on me at least once a day, so it’s not like I’m totally alone.”
“But he doesn’t babysit you anymore. You’re, like, fully living alone.” They weren’t questions so much as disbelieving statements.
“I’m fifteen, Chayanne. I don’t need a babysitter.” She frowned, head tilting to the side in thought. Her hands were running down her braid, fingertips dipping methodically into each groove. “In fact, I babysit his kid now.”
Chayanne couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. That Tallulah could not see how wrong that was, that she was in high school and fully parenting herself, was insane. “But you shouldn’t be alone in a big house like that, Tallulah. Who’s…wait, so who’s taking care of you, then, if Wilbur’s been away for that long?”
And—well, that brought out a note of something unfamiliarly bitter in the girl. Her gaze turned hard, and she raised her lips in a mimic of a closed-lipped smile. “Me.”
Oh. Chayanne wasn’t sure what to say to that. He let his gaze fall to the table, and then, when the air grew uncomfortable and tense, he changed the subject. “So, uh, what does Wilbur think about the whole reporter incident?”
She shook her head, eyes distant. Disappointment: it wasn’t a usual expression on Tallulah, at least not from what he remembered, and it still carried that hint of bitterness.
She took a moment to think of a proper response, and when she spoke, her words came out carefully calculated. “See, that’s the funniest bit, because when I first saw the reporter last night, Quackity was working late, so I panicked and called a whole bunch of people instead. Eventually, Abuelito got me to calm down, even though he was in the airport and couldn’t talk for long. My dad didn’t respond.” She shook her head almost in amusement, and there was something strange in her expression. “And when I saw the reporter again this morning, I called my dad again. Multiple times, actually. But he never picked up.” She tapped for a moment on her phone and squinted at the screen. “He only responded a couple hours ago, when he texted me and said—and I quote—’sorry, I was busy.’ That’s literally it.”
Chayanne felt something odd and confused, something tinged with anger, settle upon his shoulders. He didn’t remember Wilbur being so thoughtless, so devoid of care that his daughter could’ve called him multiple times and he didn’t even bother to check in. Not even to ask if she was okay or if she needed help, or why she’d been calling. It was so unlike what he remembered of his bumbling musician brother, who spent most of his life on the island scraping by gig after gig, that it stung.
At some point, he thought, Wilbur had been kind. Back when he was twenty and impulsively decided he wanted a daughter, he was reckless. But when he’d finally had Tallulah, when he realized that she was a responsibility and a person and not just a source of entertainment, he’d fallen in love with the girl. Wilbur was a man who tended to get attached fast—and the attachment always ran deeply—and Tallulah was no exception.
They were close, before. Wilbur had pulled Tallulah into his lap and run his fingers through her hair and played her all his songs on the guitar, because at the time, she was the only one who’d listen.
And now Wilbur was on a year-long tour, playing for fans all around the world, and Tallulah?
Well, it seemed as though Tallulah was left behind. Which, again, was strange, given what Chayanne knew of his older brother.
But he trusted Tallulah. If she said it was true, then it was true.
Something sunk in Chayanne’s gut. “So when you called me yesterday…”
Her eyes widened. “It was a panic call, sorry. I didn’t…sorry.” Red embarrassment blared across her cheeks, and Chayanne narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know why in the world Tallulah would apologize for something like that.
It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t spoken in a decade. It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d only spoken once before in their lives. Chayanne always made time for family. Especially family members who used to be his best friend, even if they’d drifted apart since Wilbur and Tallulah moved away from the island.
He thought about saying that to her, but didn’t want to scare her away. After all, she was still flighty, cheeks puffed up and eyes red and bloodshot from how much she had been crying, so he didn’t want to add onto that stress by potentially making her uncomfortable.
Instead, he said, “Why did you come here?”
Tallulah’s face turned pinker, tips of her ears and base of her neck tinted with that same dusty embarrassment, and Chayanne added, “It’s okay, Tallulah. You can be honest; I won’t judge you.”
She shook her head—still ashamed. As if by asking for help, she’d done something wrong. “I don’t know. I was fine for a bit, but then in the afternoon I thought about how this reporter guy could’ve shared my address with, like, anyone , and then I started freaking out again. So I took a cab to the ferry and then impulsively boated out to the island as soon as I could. I didn’t think anyone else would take me in.” She paused. “Sorry. I forgot Abuelito wasn’t going to be here, so I’m sorry if I’m causing you extra stress or bothering you or something. You can tell me if I am.”
Chayanne blew out a breath. Fuck, he’d taken that route to the city before, albeit not in a few years, and knew it was a full day trip. Not a pleasant one at that. It involved a lot of sitting and waiting, which was already bad enough on its own, but even worse for someone who was actively panicking the entire time. There would’ve been nothing to occupy her but her own tumbling thoughts.
It was no surprise she’d been commuting from early afternoon all the way to now, at fifteen past midnight.
“I’m sorry, Tallulah,” he mumbled, anger flickering hot and empty like a burning coal in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, and I’m sorry you’ve been so alone and that I didn’t know.”
She shrugged again, nonchalant despite the red tear tracks down her cheeks making a case for the opposite. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” There was an unspoken thing there— but I needed you , maybe, or but I could’ve used your help and you weren’t there .
Or maybe that was just RSD. That, combined with Chayanne’s anxiety, always made him think he wasn’t good enough.
It was fine. He was fine.
“I promise you, you are not bothering me,” Chayanne insisted, and then when Tallulah avoided eye contact, he added, “No, look at me, Tallulah, this is important. If this is the place that makes you feel safe, I’d so much rather you be here than at home. I promise you that I won’t let anything bad happen to you while you’re here, alright?”
Her eyes softened, shoulders relaxing. Looking less like she intended to jump up and run away at any given second. “Thanks, Tío.”
His face turned up in a grimace upon hearing the title. “Hey, none of that, alright? Makes me sound old. Just Chayanne.”
And it was weird that he had a niece that was only two years younger than him, and an older brother who was old enough to have a fifteen-year-old daughter. When Chayanne and Tallulah were little, the whole family had just treated them like siblings, because it was just too weird for Tallulah to go around calling her best friend Tío.
“Just Chayanne,” she echoed, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips. “Just like always.”
♥
It was two in the morning by the time they’d finally got around to setting up the couch for Tallulah. He dug through the linen closet for some spare sheets, despite the way she insisted she didn’t need them in the heat, and pulled out a couple of spare pillows while he was at it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
Still, though he’d tried to set it up for her, she insisted she could do it herself. So Chayanne stood back awkwardly and watched as Tallulah made the bed, adjusting it to her liking and tucking the sheets into the cracks of the couch so they’d be tight. Her backpack and duffle bag were propped up against the couch, the former cracked open.
“So, this trip,” Chayanne said, if only to fill the space. He wasn’t really sure what to say after so many months of not talking to each other, and it kind of hurt to notice the distance that had grown between them. So Chayanne did what Chayanne did best, and ignored it.
“Uh huh?” Tallulah asked, somewhat distracted with flattening out the sheets so they were smooth across the surface of the couch. Which was a little unnecessary, but Chayanne noticed the meticulousness of her movements, how connected they were to the little anxious expressions that flicked over her face. She was coping in any way she could.
He folded his arms over his chest. Part of him had woken up a little more now, entirely aware that he’d agreed to take his niece on a trip . Which, knowing Tallulah, could’ve been as vague as a trip to the grocery store or a trip to Paris. It was really a mystery. “You serious about that?”
Tallulah paused. Her back straightened, and she made eye contact, narrowing her eyes only slightly. As if sensing the room, sensing Chayanne’s energy. “I’m down if you are.”
Chayanne frowned. “Depends where we’re going. I am working full time.”
Because that was another thing. He couldn’t exactly tell his boss, hey, Bad, I can’t come into work for the foreseeable future because my niece is having a crisis and I’m taking her to an unknown destination. Look, Bad used to love Tallulah, but even as sweet and accommodating as the man was, he still wouldn’t take up that excuse. Especially not at the last minute.
Maybe he could get Dapper to cover for him. But then he’d have to owe Dapper a favour, and he would literally rather sleep on a bed of spikes.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Dapper had a tendency to milk the everloving fuck out of favours. Even if he was one of Chayanne’s closest friends, it was annoying.
She shrugged. “I thought we could go on a road trip around the island.”
“But there’s nothing to see on the island.” Well, there was—it was one of the most scenic and breathtaking places Chayanne had ever seen—but they’d both seen it all before. Plus, it was only pretty once you got far away enough from society, where seafoam played a teasing game against the sand and the mountains stretched blue and proud over their endless shivering forests. All the populated places—each one of them an embarrassingly small town—were ugly and boring. Definitely not worthy of sightseeing.
Really, Chayanne was lucky enough to live in the biggest town on the island. Which wasn’t saying much at all.
“C’mon, Chayanne,” Tallulah urged, giving him one of those faces where her eyes inexplicably glittered and she looked painfully excited, like turning her down would completely shatter her heart. He couldn’t explain it, but it was excruciatingly manipulative and even more effective. The Tallulah Stare. He’d forgotten about that. “I want to go on a nostalgia trip,” she continued, deceptively sweet, and he ignored the way her voice wavered.
Oh boy. A road trip would mean a long time away from work. “So…sorry, how long are we going to be out?”
She shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far through. I guess until either your dad comes home or my dad finds out. We’ll see how much of a snitch Quackity is.”
He hummed, watching as she fluffed up the pillows absentmindedly. “And I’m assuming you’re paying for this? Because I’m sorry, Lulah, but I have to save up for college.”
And then a pleased smirk touched her face, and she leaned down and pulled over her backpack to dig through the smallest pocket. After a moment, she pulled out a thin credit card, gold and glinting bronze in the low light. “Wilbur can pay for it. Not that he has to know.”
Oh, the joys of having a father who was rich and famous. Chayanne bet she could get into any school she wanted, what with her brains and talent and Wilbur’s money.
But if it would pay for their spontaneous trip, he wasn’t about to complain, so he only nodded in approval. “Nice.”
He thought about asking Phil, but Phil would be fine. He didn’t like hiding things from his father, but this was a special occasion. Phil was gone for a week for a business trip, and another week to visit Wilbur in California, so Chayanne just had to keep it a secret until then. And then, when Phil came home, Chayanne would explain very calmly to Phil three things:
- why Chayanne had probably been fired from his job by then,
- that he had reunited with Tallulah, and
- why Phil should help fund Chayanne’s flight to wherever Wilbur was touring by then to beat him up. The last one was becoming increasingly more enticing.
Yeah, there definitely weren’t any flaws in those plans. He sighed, shaking his head in mild amusement. “Tallulah, what am I going to do with you?”
She shrugged, but it was in that playful Tallulah way, the “I totally know the answer but I’m going to pretend I don’t so that I get away with it” sort of way.
Chayanne knew it well.
“Take me on a road trip,” Tallulah simply said. It wasn’t a command, more of an invitation, and Chayanne realized that he still hadn’t properly accepted it.
Hey, it wasn’t that bad of an idea, right? As long as he could get the job thing sorted out with Dapper, maybe Bad wouldn’t be too upset. He could appeal to Bad’s fatherly instincts—tell him Tallulah was in need of support, so Chayanne was giving it to her. Yeah, that would probably work on Bad. Probably.
And they could take Phil’s truck. Chayanne had his licence now, and they didn’t have to worry about gas costs with Tallulah—well, Wilbur—paying for everything.
Plus, he’d get to catch up with one of his favourite family members ever. His sister, his niece, his friend. Again, it was weird.
He’d missed Tallulah. Three years without seeing her in person was far too long, and plus, he felt bad after she’d come all this way. Thinking about her returning home to an unsafe house where she felt vulnerable and watched made a coil of anger sliver up his spine. Maybe that’s what made him finalize his decision.
He blew out a breath, and Tallulah looked hopeful.
“Fuck it,” he decided, almost laughing incredulously at the idea. “Yeah, fuck it, Tallulah, let’s go on a road trip.”
And it was the first time that night that Tallulah had looked happy. Chayanne thought that alone—the smile painting her face in warm, sunshiney light, and the way her hands began flapping excitedly—was enough to make him think he’d made the right choice.