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Whitty woke up with a bad headache. It was a foggy, unpleasant sensation with an even worse recognition cutting its way through his mind.
It happened again.
The cold from above was enough to startle him from his daze. Cold and wet dripped down his face, unfamiliar for just a second before he realized, it’s just rain. The unfamiliar walls and rough bed, he was laying in a crater of his own making. Going ballistic was never fun, but at least he knew what to do now, a repetitive mantra in both Hex’s and his own voice repeating in the back of his mind at all times: If you feel yourself losing control, run. There’s always a short period of time before he snaps completely, where the feelings rise in his chest and his face grows hot and even simple thought is a struggle. Explosions are never good, but as long as he could remember to run while he still has the time, somewhere far and quiet where no one is around to be hurt, everything was going to be okay. He just hoped the now crumbling building was abandoned before this all happened.
Whitty got up with a groan and left the scene at a brisk pace, pulling his hood up to shield from the rain and wiping the wet from his face. His right hand ached as he moved it, and he drew his attention to the tiny shards of glass embedded in his fist, a smattering of little cuts, dried blood washing off in the rain. “A window?” He asked himself. “Jeez, someone got a bit edgy.” Without Hex around, someone has to lighten the mood after such a disorienting experience.
Whitty smiled as he walked home, even as the puddles soaked through his shoes, because he liked the rain. It always seemed to calm him, ground him when he was stressed. An incessant, rhythmless drumming filling his head, the smell of wet grass permeating the air, cold rain pressing his clothes to his skin and his feet closer to the earth. Bliss. And there was nothing better than being inside during a nasty storm, inside where the warmth was, inside where Hex was. He didn’t care how much the clouds blotted out any daylight, Hex was the only sun he’d ever need.
Finally he walks through the gates of home, a sprawling mansion. Things like food and shelter hadn’t been a concern of his for a long time; Hex had more money than they knew what to do with. Yes, it was all a bit extra, they both agreed on that, but Hex couldn’t imagine leaving the only home they’d ever known, even if it was far too much for just the two of them. Finding Hex was always the hardest part- they could be anywhere, doing anything. But they were definitely inside; they’re not waterproof. Whitty kicks off his soaked shoes and begins what he believes will be a tedious search.
Whitty spaces out after minutes of searching, absentmindedly whistling as he wanders from room to room, some earworm Hex was singing the other day. He snaps out of it upon stepping on something sharp, swearing loudly.
First he notices the shards of glass at his feet.
His eyes trail to the metal box in front of him, with a shattered screen.
Then the headless body, laying 10 feet away.
His heart stops, curses dying as a strangled cry in the back of his throat.
Hex.
The world spins around Whitty and he loses his balance, sinking to his knees. He doesn’t notice the shards of glass piercing through his pants.
Hex, dead. No, that can’t be true.
He cradles their head, fingers running through the wires where the rest of their body should be.
It’s not real. He can still feel them, laying in his lap, laughing and chattering with their hands intertwined.
The fist-sized hole in their face isn’t real. It’s all an awful dream, another awful dream where everything he cares about gets ripped away from him.
Snap out of it.
Without another second of thought, he slaps his own face with all the strength he can muster. It leaves a hot, aching spot on the side of his face, and tears in his eyes as he mumbles another curse.
He still doesn’t know his own strength, and his own sore face is plenty to cry about.
But he’s still awake, and Hex is still…
The tears only come faster as the reality weighs him down, grief’s teeth sinking into his soul.
Hex is dead.
Hex is dead, dead, dead, the word shredding his heart as he scrambles to the rest of the body, trying to fit the head back on its shoulders. No matter how hard he tries to will the two to attach again, tries to wish them back to life, there’s no response. Dead, dead, dead, and…
Hex’s cold body is dented, like bruises that could never heal, Whitty realizes. It’s another knife in the heart when he compares his fist to a mark only to find it slotting in perfectly, another knife in the heart when he realizes it’s his fault.
Whitty knew it was his fault from the moment he connected the crumbling building to the shattered glass. But it’s different to see the product of his own anger in front of him. His past doubts of being a feral, untamed monster rushing back in an instant, the very phrase your fault looming over him like the storm clouds outside. The hole in his memories from last night rushes back.
What a horrible day.
Sometimes all it takes for a day to be a bad one is a million little annoyances and not enough time to reset and reprieve. They were both feeling it, finding themselves unable to hold hands, unable to make eye contact as they trudged home.
Whitty slammed the door shut once he passed through it, and Hex jumped at the sound. He didn’t apologize, just sat down with a sigh, hands covering his face. He could hear Hex shuffling back and forth, back and forth across the room. They’d never been the type to sit when stressed, always trying to outrun their own worry.
“Are you hungry?” Hex tried their best to layer their voice with a cheer that just wasn’t there. They were looking for something to do, Whitty knew, something to take their minds off of the day, something to fix everything.
Fixing. Hex is a robot, a machine. Machines can be fixed. If Hex was human, he would’ve been far too late for medical intervention. But maybe, maybe he can fix everything. Maybe there’s still a chance. Whitty wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and runs off to grab a toolkit.
“Thirsty, maybe? Wanna put on some music? A movie?”
Whitty groaned and covered his ears. “Hex, not right n-”
“Do you need a hug? A kiss?”
Their pacing is too loud. “I just need-”
“I think we should order pizza or something!” They laughed. There was no joy in it. “Doesn’t that sound refreshing?”
They mean well, he reminded himself again. They’re stressed too and they mean well, even as they interrupt what he has to say, needs to say. This rarely happens anymore and it’ll be over before he knows it. Hex is a good person having a bad moment and if he’s allowed to explode, they’re allowed to talk over him.
Hope is a fickle thing. It had consumed Whitty when he returned to Hex, tools in hand. He’d done numerous little repairs on them before. As long as he could get them to power back on, everything would be okay. As long as he didn’t show up at a mechanic with a broken body in his arms, begging for forgiveness and a second chance, everything would be okay. The same hope dissipates as soon as he lays a hand on Hex. He’d never accomplished any repair like this before. How could he now?
He has to. If he doesn’t, what’s left?
“Stop.” The word finally escaped him.
“But really! What should I do tonight? I’m kinda at a loss here!” Hex’s incessant talking had started feeling like nails on a chalkboard, Whitty just wanted to be alone.
“Hex, stop.” It’s a warning.
Hex took a hesitant step back from Whitty, his knuckles going pale from gripping the armrest so hard. “Whitty, I- I’m just trying to lighten the mood! Can we do that?”
He rose from his seat.
“Please?”
With wide eyes and a pounding heart, something snapped within him.
Whitty didn’t realize he was chewing on his tongue. He didn’t realize how complex Hex was inside. He didn’t realize how daunting of a task it would be. He wipes the tears threatening to overwhelm his vision away once more, wipes the thick, oily liquid onto his pants. He can’t get distracted now, not by confusion, or memories, or the horrible cocktail of emotion he was feeling. It wasn’t the time to be feeling fear or grief or regret. Hex wasn’t dead. Not yet. His brow furrows as he tries to channel his frustration into focus, tries to redirect his anger towards himself to somewhere else-
“Whitty..?”
He could barely recognize the figure in front of him, the person with shaking hands and terror in their eyes, before white-hot rage blinded him. In a flash, the thing was in his hands and against the wall, squirming desperately, trying to get out of his grip.
“Whitty, please! Snap out of it, I’m sorry! I’ll- I’ll leave you alone, you can cool down, I wasn’t-” Its rambling was cut off as Whitty landed a blow to its chest. It cried out in pain and tried to pry his hand off.
Another wave of emotion, another wave of tears. He can’t choke back this sob. Keep going. This can’t be the end. Keep going, keep going, focus, even as the colors swirl together and his hands tremble and blood blossoms in his mouth, teeth finally biting through his tongue.
He landed blow after blow, the bang and creak of metal melding with its cries. Its begging for mercy fell on ears deafened by the need to make the stress stop. What was the point in mercy when the only thing remaining in you is fury?
He had done all he could. Hex was propped up against the wall, head reattached. Through the tears, they looked like they were just asleep, just resting. Whitty runs his thumb under their head until he finds the indent, the power button. He presses it once, holding his breath. No response. Presses it again. No response. He holds the power button down, praying for even a flicker of life.
No response.
He sent one final fist through its screen. Its eyes widened before its screen shattered, head flying off of body. A primal recognition in him set off, telling him to run, get far away from here. As he left, Whitty looked behind him one last time at a place he called home and the body on the floor.
No response.
“Hex..? Can you hear me?” He waits patiently for a response he knows isn’t coming. Why did he think this would work? “I can fix this,” he mumbles, over and over again, a feeble attempt to convince himself that miracles can happen. Meaningless, weightless, spoken into the void with no expectation of a response.
The problem was on the inside, surely. It can be fixed, computers can be fixed, he repeats once more as he carefully unscrews the panel on the side of Hex’s head. Surely, the problem was on the inside, somewhere in the poorly protected universe of circuitry. He takes a peek inside, shining a little flashlight and illuminating the different components.
The light illuminates their motherboard, the heart and soul of every computer.
It’s snapped into pieces.
Hex was one-of-a-kind. To Whitty’s knowledge, there wasn’t a single other robot made like them. Not their model, at least. And if even a damaged motherboard could incapacitate a computer, then…
Hex was gone. For good.
And it was his fault, his fault, his fault Whitty can’t stop reminding himself, even as the words stab his heart over and over again. He deserved it. Monsters didn’t deserve joy.
And yet, somehow, somehow, Hex would forgive him.
“So you really don’t have any control over it?”
“I wish. Once I’m gone, there’s no hope of getting me back.”
“But if you could prevent it- through what, emotional regulation? Or whatever- or if you could stop it altogether, you would do that, right?”
“No shit. I don’t want to explode anyone or… you know.” He mimed a gun against his chest.
Hex looked up at the ceiling, a second of deep contemplation, before their gaze snapped back to him. “Then I forgive you.”
It didn’t make sense at first. All Whitty could say was “Huh?”
“I’ll forgive you a million times, mark my word! Cause it’s not your fault, is it?”
“I, uh-”
“You don’t control when you lose control! And obviously you regret that it happens, you’re doing it right now! So I’d say it’s closer to being… brainwashed? Or possessed? Just, by your own emotions!”
“Hex, I could kill people.”
“So could anyone brainwashed! Remember when I got hijacked by Iris and nearly blew everyone up? I was still vaguely conscious of the whole ordeal and believe me, I did not want to be there!”
“It's just not comparable,” Whitty snapped in return. “Even if it was truly out of my control, it’s not like I… deserve forgiveness.”
“Oh you absolutely deserve at least a little forgiveness!” They nudge him playfully. “Why else would I love you so much?”
“You won’t think that anymore once I blow you up.”
“Whitty… don’t let this part of you define you. Don’t think you’re a horrible person for circumstances out of your control. I know you, and I know you deserve love and acceptance! So just, listen to me when I say it!” They squeeze his hand. “I love you with all my heart, and it hurts when you talk about how much you hate yourself.” They dropped his hand, thinking for a second, before their smile cut through the heavy atmosphere. “Have you tried having, I dunno, a Snickers whenever you’re on edge? After all, you’re not you when you’re hungry!”
Whitty couldn’t help the smile parting his lips, or the laugh escaping him. He couldn’t help it, not with Hex around.
That was always who Hex was. The words came naturally to them, striking deep before they moved on to whatever topic interested them next. Whitty doesn’t know if Hex remembers saying a word of that, it was just a moment before they jumped right back into the storm called life. But to Whitty, how could he forget it? How could he forget someone looking at him, all of him, and still telling him that he’s incredible, despite despite despite every bit of insecurity and anxiety and hatred he had? How could he forget smiling as his walls started to crumble? Even as the moment blended with any other, he could still pick out bits of it with clarity- Hex’s words, their face, the cadence of their voice- like it was only yesterday, like it wasn’t a lifetime ago.
The hope and rare jubilation of yesterday mix with the grief in his heart in bitter colors as the conversation long past rolls around his mouth like the lyrics to a good song. He recites the memory in quiet tongue, unable to tell if he was even speaking over the beating of the rain. Each line recited now nothing more than the broken promises of forever and always.
The rest of his life with Hex comes flooding back, flashing before his eyes like the sun on a late summer evening: burning bright, but fading fast. Whitty lets the memories take their course, letting each one consume him whole, as if they were still new, ongoing. He lingers on each moment, afraid to let them go. If he doesn’t, what’s to keep him from forgetting? And as if Hex was sleeping, like he wishes they were, a lullaby escapes him, wishing Hex sweet dreams like they had sung to him countless times before.
“Y-you are my… sunshine…”
The alley where he spent his days, barely getting by but happy in his solitude. He couldn’t imagine anything changing, not now or ever-
His brooding cut short by a box-headed robot appearing out of nowhere. He jumped in surprise, throwing on a scowl in an attempt to drive the bot off before things could go farther.
They’re undeterred. “Heya, friend! What’re you doing in this-” they gestured vaguely, “Grimy alleyway?”
“None of your business, bot. Why do you care?”
“It’s a health concern! And something tells me it gets a bit lonely out here!” They quickly looked away, trying to mumble out of earshot, “And… I’m lonely too…”
Whitty didn’t respond, having heard them nonetheless. He just raised an eyebrow.
When the bot looked up again, they immediately threw on a wide smile, like a little kid who doesn’t know how to smile on picture day. It’s almost pathetic. “Eh, it’s nothing, really!”
They stared at each other, neither one wanting to make the next move before the bot threw out a question, blunt and out of nowhere. “Are you homeless?”
Whitty didn’t answer. Why should he?
“Because you can stay with me for a bit! I have lots of space and I consider myself good company!”
Whatever, he was bored anyway. So Whitty decided to humor them with a smirk and a “Sure.”
Their responding smile was much more real. Like the sun, he thought. “My name’s Hex, by the way! Mind sharing yours?”
“...Whitty.”
In a moment, his life had changed. He was never a fan of change, but now that he looks back on his old annoyance and frustration, his heart sparks in anger that he ever felt that way at all. His life has changed in another moment all over again, and this time, he doesn’t know what to do.
“My only sunshine…”
He had long overstayed his welcome at Hex’s mansion (Not only are they rich, they’re not interested in keeping him captive as the freak in the basement. Who knew?) and was about to walk out the door when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He swung around with a fist flying, before he realized it’s just Hex, who managed to jump back from his fist in time.
“Sorry, no touch! My bad! Uh, I made you something!” They grinned with pride as they held out a little plate, with thick slices of… he didn’t recognize what it was, but it was the source of the incredible smell permeating the house all morning.
“Food?” Duh, what else could it be? So he quickly added, “Is it poisoned?”
“Only if you count love a poison on the soul! Uh, no. I just baked love into it! Banana bread!” They kept saying weird things like that. Whitty almost liked it, if it weren’t for the fact that they made every weird statement like it was sunshine and rainbows. “Eat it, please!”
“Why?”
“Well not only have you not eaten anything over your stay- a bit dangerous- it’s a sort of house-warming gift! Well more of friend-warming in this case but it’s a sort of, welcome to my life, enjoy your stay!”
Whitty’s grumbling stomach got the best of him and he hesitantly took a bite of the bread, still warm. It was sweet and soft and… he’d never tasted anything so good.
“Do you have more of this?” he asked with his mouth still half-full.
“It’s all yours!”
The first time he had ever trusted Hex. He let his guard down for a second and Hex had proven they were fully deserving of trust. A sort of naive, blind innocence they always seemed to have, the compliment to Whitty’s own tired eyes, the wrecking ball to his titanium walls.
“You make me happy…”
What was that idiot doing this time? Whitty had his ear pressed against the door to Hex’s room, listening to their quiet beeps. His curiosity got the best of him and he poked his head around the door, startling Hex with a “What’s that?”
They beeped again in surprise, trying and failing to cover up the paper they were bent over. “It’s a surprise! For later!”
“Music?”
They paused for a moment before saying slowly, “Friends deserve to know,” in that quiet, wistful voice they used while thinking out loud. “Yeah, it’s music,” they exclaimed. “I got invited to perform at a concert! I’m very excited!”
“I didn’t know you make music.”
“Yeah! Well, sometimes. Just a little hobby of mine! Would you like to come?”
Whitty slowly nodded. “I… make music too.”
Hex completely lit up, their smile reaching their eyes before it reached their mouth. “Can I hear!? I’ll- I’ll share what I’m working on if you share too!”
“Dude, let me warm up first.” Though he tried to make himself sound uninterested, maybe even rude, Hex knew him well enough to not believe it. Besides, he couldn’t hide the light in his own eyes. No one ever asked to listen to his gravelly, grating, off-putting voice before.
He had never worried about Hex before that concert, before they were held hostage in their own body, and the relief he got when they finally woke up again was unmatched. He had never felt such a sense of community, either, cheering and laughing and crying alongside the audience. Not to mention, the annoying kid on stage that once bullied him into exploding proved himself to be a dedicated, trustworthy, though still annoying, acquaintance too.
“When skies are gray…”
How many sleepless nights in a row had Whitty had? How many more could he handle? Sleep licked at his eyes as he laid on the blow-up mattress, but he didn’t let himself give into the temptation. Sleepless nights were bad, but the terrors haunting his dreams were worse. Soon daylight would peek through the windows once more and maybe everything would be okay. But until then…
The door cracked open, soft light from the hallway leaving a line on the wall. The blue of Hex’s eyes peeked around the door. “You’re still awake?”
“I don’t sleep.”
“You said the same thing about not eating and now you start drooling every time I turn on the stove! What’s the deal this time?”
“I… don’t have to tell you.”
“I know.” Hex entered the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “I won’t push you. But you know you can trust me, and I’m always happy to help.”
Whitty stayed silent for minutes. Hex was right, they didn’t push, just stared at the wall, tapping rhythmically on their legs.
“Do you ever see weird shit when you sleep?”
They turned to look at him. “Dreams?”
“The bad kind. I get them. Often.”
“I do too. It’s a part of life!”
Hex seemed to know everything. Surely they knew this too. They could fix it. “How do you stop it? Prevent it? Tell me.”
“I don’t know much about prevention!” They laugh. The noise softens the blow of the statement. “And I don’t get them that often! But when I was a little sadder and lonelier, I fell asleep with white noise and music. And when I woke up with a void in my heart, I liked going on long walks and just, letting my mind go some place nice!”
Whitty considered this. It would be nice to get out for a bit. The cold air, the quiet night, Hex… “Can we… go on one of those walks?”
“Only if you get some good sleep after!”
Whitty didn’t have trouble sleeping anymore. He had Hex in bed beside him to talk to and to squeeze when things got tough and the soft whirring of their fans to lull him back to sleep. Everything was so much easier with them around. But now… could he ever sleep again?
“You’ll never know, dear…”
Whitty hadn’t seen Hex for an unusually long minute. He knew they were awake, he heard their footsteps in their room. But they just… hadn’t come out. He cracked open their door, quiet as a mouse, to find Hex with their face buried in a pillow, sounds muffled in the fluff. Were they… crying?
“Hex?”
“Everything’s fine!” They shouted, face shooting up and revealing the tear tracks down their screen.
“Hex, you dumbass, I can see you crying. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing important!”
“If you make me talk to you, it’s about time to return the favor.”
“Fiiine!” They crack a smile. “But don’t call me a dumbass!”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not trying to! Anyway, wanna see a secret?”
“Is it relevant?”
“Incredibly!”
Whitty was worried when Hex led him through the house, thinking it was another one of those times where they tried to make everyone forget about the problem before it got worse. The feeling lightened as Hex brought him to the room they told him to never go in. They opened the door to reveal… It's just a bedroom, with an elaborate container on one of the nightstands.
“This is… my dad’s room.”
“What’s a dad?”
“In this context… he was my caretaker, and my best friend!”
“Where is he?”
“Depends on what afterlife you believe in!” Despite their tears and their speaking in hush like someone’s sleeping and the somberness in the air, Hex still managed to find something odd to say. “I don’t… come in here much. It hurts too much to think about.”
“That’s why you’re crying? He’s dead?”
“Yeah,” they said, almost whispering. “Sometimes I come in here just to… reminisce. I have a picture of us, see?” They grab a picture frame off the nightstand, holding it up to Whitty. Hex is in it with their signature sunshine smile, along with an aging human man. “I have his ashes here, too. I know it’s probably bad for me, but… I just don’t want to move on.”
Whitty had never comforted someone before. What was he supposed to say? So he spoke slowly and carefully, choosing each and every word he said. “That’s really nice. It’s cool that you care so much about a dead person. What would happen if you moved on?” Despite how much thought he put into it, he still cringed at his own amateur attempt. It always came naturally to Hex. Why couldn’t he have that talent?
They didn’t seem to notice. If they did, they didn’t care. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d be a little happier? But I don’t want to forget him.”
“How could you do that? You have that picture.”
Hex wiped their eyes and smiled sadly. “Yeah… hold on, can you hold this? I have an idea!” He couldn’t respond before the picture was shoved into his hands and Hex sprinted off.
When they returned, they had a golden marker in their hand. “What’s that?”
“Sparkly! Uh, a marker!”
“What’s it for?”
They took the picture from him, slipping it out of its frame. In a slow, careful movement, they drew a ring above their “dad’s” head. It sparkled in the light. “Love.”
Love. Hex loved Richard, their long-deceased father figure. They loved sunrises and sunsets and watching the rain and warm blankets and singing and dancing. They loved Whitty. They loved loving things. They had been through thick and thin together. Even when their own problems weighed them down, they always jumped back, if only to keep loving. And the world would forever be shades darker without them sowing handfuls of love wherever they stepped.
“How much I… love you…”
Whitty kept telling himself, over and over, he hated being touched. It was creepy, it was startling, it was a violation of his space and dangerous to his well-being. He didn’t know if Hex kept “forgetting” intentionally, but they kept touching him in little ways, and it was annoying, right?
They had just gotten home from a basketball match and lit up the moment they walked through the door and saw him. He saw it coming from a mile away when they skipped over and threw their arms around his waist in what they called a “hug.”
Even though he saw it coming, he still tensed up, breath catching as his heart skipped a beat. Hex immediately let go of him. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I just get so excited!”
“It’s fine. True fine, not ‘let’s stop talking about this’ fine.” If there was anything he could depend on Hex for, it was that he could always be honest and thorough with his emotions, even if he didn’t want to be. Luckily, there was much more he could count on them for, like the way they stepped back in an attempt to give him space.
“I’m like a dog, you know that? I’m pawing at your feet like, Whitty!!! I’m so happy to see you! My best friend!”
“I told you, it’s fine!” He observed the way they held their hands behind their back, the awkward smile they wore, their slumped shoulders. “You know what? Why don’t I try… hugging you? ”
“Really!?” They immediately perk up to attention. “Are you… sure? You don’t like touch.”
“It’s my choice.” Whitty lumbered towards them, bent down, and slowly wrapped his arms around their shoulders.
“Can I hug you too?”
“Sure, why not.”
Whitty knew what to expect this time. While he couldn’t control the rush of tension when they first leaned into him, he found himself slowly relaxing, leaning into Hex, too.
It was warm and soft and the wave of relief he felt nearly knocked him over, nearly brought tears to his eyes. It was nice.
He hugs Hex’s body, silently begging for them to return it the way they always had, the way they surely always would. Would he ever be happy again, without those warm arms to always welcome him home?
“Please don’t take…”
“Hex, I… I have a confession. For you.” Whitty’s hands were balled into fists. He didn’t want to shake or tremble or show a moment of fear or hesitation, not now.
“You have my attention!” He released his fists at the sight of Hex’s smile, soft as a sunrise.
“My sunshine…”
“I have feelings for you. I think it’s the one you call love.”
Their smile erupted like the sun cresting the trees, an explosion of pinks and golds and an orange ring around every cloud, and their following squeal no different from the first birdsong of the day. “Believe it or not, I feel the same way! I love you!”
“Away.” He barely breathes the last word, like a cold breeze in the dead of night.
Tears had been streaming down his face with every moment passing by him. But he lived his whole life in a minute, a flash, and what else is left? His heart opens completely and out comes a waterfall of tears, pouring as hard as the crescendoing rain. There’s nothing left for him now. He might as well stay here still as a statue, some sort of hopeless fountain, until he drowns in his own misery.
Despite the colossal weight, Whitty pulls himself to his feet and stumbles towards an old memory, until he’s standing in front of Hex and Richard, their haloed father, a gold marker in his hand. It takes every ounce of strength he has left to keep his hands from shaking as he slowly draws a halo above Hex’s head too. Two angels who would never rise to meet tomorrow, who would never be more than names and smiling pictures in a frame again. And Whitty was still here, unsure if he was trapped in this hell as a demon or a rotting soul. There is no heaven without his Hex.
As soon as the picture is safe in its frame and in its place again, as if no one had ever touched it, Whitty breaks down sobbing once more. Consumed by his own unforgiving despair, he chokes on his own tears. His life is gone. His soul is gone. His reason to live and love is gone. Hex is gone. The rain would never stop falling, and he knew the sun would never rise again.