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When Hal woke up, the first thing he’d done was shiver.
David had been insistent on moving out to Alaska with Hal and Sunny, now that all was said and done. So be it. He had no issues getting used to some semblance of a normal life, getting used to living in some simple house, getting used to the lack of something looming over his head. But he could never get used to the cold that pricked at his skin each morning.
Or perhaps it was just him and his small sliver of stubbornness. He refused to wear the thick thermal clothes that David did in his sleep—always old t-shirts, old shorts. He realized the white wool blanket up to his neck last night had fallen to his knees. He was ready to open his mouth, to murmur grumbled complaints to himself.
But Hal paused as he looked to his side, and smiled when he saw David cocooned in their blanket. Draped over his shoulders, the man was curled up and fast asleep, exuding a rare serenity amidst their barren bedroom (nightstands, a closet, a bed) and its deep blue walls. He couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t often that David would sleep in. He was always up and early, doing his morning runs and the like; he’d kept himself healthy, probably in better condition than Hal had ever been.
For a moment, Hal reached over, ruffled David’s greyed hair. Aging be damned, this was still the same David he’d met all those years ago. Kind. Tough. A little annoying. At least he stopped smoking, though that had been taken up by a new fixation on candy that Sunny wanted in on. Hal chuckled before he flopped back onto his side of the bed. He didn’t feel like getting up yet, though he knew he should’ve soon.
Besides, best not to disturb David for a while.
Sighing, Hal couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he never met David on Shadow Moses Island. He could still recall when he exited the closet he’d used as some makeshift shelter, trapped in the dark as he heard the ruckus outside. There was something in Snake's husky tone that brought an odd calm to his mind. Or perhaps it had just been the fact that the fighting had stopped, and the soft whirs of machinery soothed him. He recalled meeting Snake’s gaze. He saw this man in his sneaking suit standing tall, each word slipped past his mouth with ease. He looked a tad too worn down for his age.
And there Hal was, this trembling thing that took a while to compose himself. He may have braved that facility to aid Snake, and he may have spoken to Snake with some vague semblance of confidence. But it hadn’t helped that he swore he’d have a heart attack the longer they stayed on that damn island. To say he’s changed so much since then was an understatement; in some ways, he may as well be a whole other person.
There were times where David would remind Hal of his past self—this apprehensive thing who had to force himself to push through what came. Reminders that had begun during their time together with Philanthropy, all the way up to the current day. Sunny always thought the stories were funny. Hal, at one point, would respond with mild embarrassment, trying to shift the topic towards the other instead. In stammered out statements, his cheeks a bright red, Hal would sputter out: I’m not like that anymore! Not since I met you, anyway!
Perhaps this more assured version of himself was an inevitability, some unavoidable pitstop in the odd journey of his life. He was meant to—at some point—not feel utter contempt running through his veins for what he is, or what he was. Though he liked to think that David was at the very least a catalyst in the shift—some unexpected intrusion that made his life trajectory take a sharp turn. And that was enough to make Hal’s heart swell at the mere thought of him. He often thought of that too: how he sometimes swore he didn’t deserve a man like David in his life…
But that was enough reminiscing. He needed to start the day at some point.
As Hal sat up, the blanket fell to his calves. He stretched his hands high over his head, yawning. And amidst the yawning, as his arms came down, his hand held onto what he assumed was David’s thigh underneath the blanket.
“David,” Hal said, his grogginess still evident in his tone as he gave the man a small shake. “Come on, it’s late.” He checked the clock on the wall: 7:32 AM. Not too late for Hal, but he was sure David would lose his mind upon finding out the time. He chuckled and shook the man again.
No response.
A small smile spread across Hal’s lips. As much of a chore as it was to wake David up, those days where he slept in were always a treat. He slid the blanket lower down David’s legs, hand back on his thigh, shaking him a little harder this time.
“David,” he repeated. “Gotta get up and do some work.”
Another shake. No response.
Hal paused. A sinking feeling in his stomach.
As he sat there, a realization shot into his mind: something was wrong.
Something was missing.
His gaze rose to look over David for a sign of movement: a twitch of an eyelid, the slow rise and fall of his body, anything at all.
Nothing.
That couldn’t be right, could it?
Hal’s world became a blur as he moved closer, slowly rolling David onto his back, pulling the blanket back as he looked over the man. He couldn’t help how his heart beat so hard that it rang in his ears, like it was loud enough to wake up the man who lay still before him. He leaned in closer to David’s face. He tried to feel even a faint whimper of an exhale on his cheek, or just the pure heat of flesh. His one hand resting on a pillow suddenly gripped it with full force.
No, this couldn’t be happening now.
But Hal couldn’t be rash. He knew not to let his emotions overwhelm him despite how his heart was held in a vice grip as his breath caught in his throat, or how this sinking feeling in his stomach had become much less a pit and more so a void.
“David,” Hal choked out. “Wake up.”
Desperation dripped from every syllable.
He gave David one last shake—gentler, with a now quivering hand. He didn’t say a word, save for the helpless whimper that came from his throat. He didn’t break his eyes away from the man, except to blink away the tears that pricked at his eyes.
Hal knew what was happening in David's body. He knew any sense of normalcy in their newly built routines would have to break sooner than later. He promised David that he’d bear witness to his final days, and he did with all the will his heart could muster. Witnessing David be able to enjoy the mundanities, to live, to rest—it was all Hal could have ever wanted. But this mission wasn’t supposed to come to an end just yet.
“David,” Hal whispered under his breath just once. Yet he repeated the name over and over again in his mind, like a prayer that could bring a miracle. David, David, David…
His blood ran cold. His throat was a desert. He let his tears slip, and they stung his cheeks. He slowly let himself lay atop the other, head resting on his chest.
“Please, not yet,” Hal sobbed out as he was on the verge of falling apart. His voice strained, cracked: “Please.”
He clung tighter onto David, soon burying his face in his chest, wetting his clothing with tears. He wished to feel his arms wrap around him, wished for murmured reassurances, wished for warmth. He wished for anything.
Hal could not resign himself to the vicious truth that David wasn’t breathing.