Work Text:
Alone in the Astral Express’ parlor car, you wait silently for the train to warp jump. Joy, sorrow, frustration, anger… All those emotions you felt on the Land of Dreams surge back to you in an instant, as you sit on the couch. March, Dan Heng, Himeko… They’re nowhere to be found; they’re probably unpacking in their rooms. You should be unpacking too. But before that, you just feel like there’s one more emotion to unpack in that dream… That bittersweet dream. You can’t forget that Family Bloodhound – or should you say, Memetic Entity – from the very first time you encountered him, when he helped Firefly clear up things with the Bloodhound members, you were absolutely entranced… Or, you would say, intoxicated, if you were in the mood for a niche joke or two. Bartender… More like one of the beverages themselves.
…Drink too much, and you’d just die of alcohol poisoning.
…You’ve spent so much time with him, well, actually, not a lot of time, but enough for you to at least do something? Flashes, clips, memories flow back to you like the tides; every single meeting, you found yourself staring at his vermillion eyes like a moth to a flame. Those eyes were ablaze alright. The drink he mixed specially for you… What was it again? You can’t seem to recall the name of that concoction, but every flavour still lingers on your lips like an afterimage.
Ugh, stop thinking about him. It’s all over. The train won’t be warping back to Penacony within a short period of time.
…You remember, when everyone went to pay respects to the Watchmaker… there you were, spilling that golden-brown drink in front of the statue in silence. Sure, you prepared another drink for the rest of the Astral Express Crew just in case… But it’s just not the same as when you were hoping, wishing desperately for this to be just a bad dream… That the eyes of the Bloodhound Statue would light up when you poured that drink for him.
It didn’t.
Eventually, you had to join the rest of the Astral Express Crew. As if it was erected there in the Watchmaker’s resting place to remind you of Gallagher’s disappearance/departion/death, the Bloodhound statue overlooked the slumbering figure of the Watchmaker, bathed in gentle moonlight shining from the forever-indigo veil lingering in the sky. It would have probably stayed that way till the end of time, until you and your sentimental brain decided to gently stroke its forehead… Which ended up making it disintegrating into memoria, leaving absolutely no trace but a Dreamscape Pass sticker. You tried so, so hard not to break down in front of them.
Now… If you had any remaining willpower to move yourself at all, you would have rammed your head against a wall in hopes that you might hallucinate a last goodbye where you actually said something about your feelings.
You’re angry. You’re angry at him and at yourself.
…You have no right to be angry at him. He was just serving his purpose as a Memetic Entity created by some History Fictionologist trying to save Penacony.
…You have no right to be this obsessed with him.
At this point, you’re just thinking of shit to occupy yourself with, just to clear out the shitty negative thoughts that are screaming and scraping on the door of your brain basement. Maybe a cup of Himeko’s coffee can cleanse your thoughts and wake you up from this nightmare…
…It didn’t. By the Aeons, that was horrible.
You slump on the couch again, head pounding, a weird aftertaste latching onto your tastebuds and strangling your tongue.
The conductor’s voice rings on the broadcaster. The train is about to make the warp jump.
With your head in your hands, you wait, very, very impatiently for this shit to be over with.
3…
2…
1.
…
If only you could just–
“...”
“Suppose if all the clocks are displaying the wrong time…”
“If those bound to promises fulfilled their vows through betrayal…”
“If those who sink into the realm of dreams never truly fell asleep…”
“If the dead return to life, only to discover their names have been stripped…”
“If…”
“...”
“Suppose the hands of a clock started turning in the wrong direction…”
You open your eyes. Has the train warped?
Taking in the light, which is blinding as hell, you rub your own eyes to find yourself in… Penacony? Aren’t you supposed to be on the train?
You slap yourself. You are in Penacony, in the Golden Hour, to be exact. Seated on a random bench, you immediately jolt up, narrowly avoiding some random guy puking a myriad of vibrant rainbow hues on you.
What is this shit?
You slap yourself again. No, you’re not hallucinating. Are you hallucinating? You’re definitely dreaming, since you’re in Penacony of all places, but is this just something that your brain conjured up to soothe your mourning soul?
Whatever. You surmise that the warp away from Penacony caused some fluctuations in the memoria, and you’re essentially dreaming/hallucinating shit up.
You notice some weird numbers in the corner of your eye, which are counting down from 3:00, and slap yourself again. Your cheeks are literally burning red by this point. This is a hallucination. You’re certain of it. But perhaps, when the numbers count down to zero, you’ll wake up?
Okay, damn.
You ponder about the possibilities of this dream/hallucination. Maybe your assumptions were wrong, and this wasn’t caused by memoria disturbance. An Aeon screwed with your mind for shits and giggles, maybe?
…Eh, screw it. You have approximately 3 (hallucinated/dreamt up) full hours to yourself.
What do you do? You’ve got plenty of time to kill. In hindsight… probably not that much, but you’re not gonna waste it roaming around aimlessly in the Dreamscape and traumatising innocent guests.
…Dreamjolt Hostelry? You could go for a drink to clean that horrible aftertaste out of your mouth. The Reverie could be still out of service because of the monsters running amok in the place, but ehh, you don’t care. Siobhan knows you.
As you are aware that The Reverie is still very much off limits, you make the ingenious idea of carving a hole under a trash can and hiding inside it. Those Bloodhounds will never notice… (By the Aeons, it actually worked.)
Man, are you in for the damn time of your life. Drink your sorrows away, swallow an entire lake’s worth of alcohol into your stomach, and desperately hope that Siobhan doesn’t berate you for clearing out her entire stock of ingredients. After kicking some monster ass and nearly throwing up from motion sickness while wall-walking in the Reverie on your way to Dreamjolt Hostelry, you barge into the bar, ready to have a great time.
You manage to spot a few of the monsters; however, they don’t seem to recognise you. You hear vague blabbering and chattering from them, especially Spade, who never keeps his mouth shut. You sigh, thinking that perhaps, even after solving the Stellaron crisis on Penacony, the nightmare already got to their heads and messed with their memory. Wanting to know what the hostelry owner would do about this unfortunate turn of events, you decide to head over to the mixing workbench to ask Siobhan about it, and maybe even comfort her about the situation. Strangely, the place seems oddly empty except for the regulars roaming about.
Walking up to the bar counter, you get yourself a seat and strike a conversation with the drinksmith. During the idle chatter, you recall that mixologists in Penacony don’t necessarily ask you what drink you want; they just whip up whatever they wish during that time.
Gallagher asks, “So, how’s a glass of ‘Feast and Exile’ sound?”
You ponder that over for a while, and recall the drink he made for you. You wanted to try that flavour again, but somehow you forgot the name of it… Too bad, you can’t exactly ask for that beverage again, since–
Wait a minute.
Gallagher?
You blink and stare blankly at him.
The security officer seems to be mildly confused at your actions; he should be (it’s probably not the first time a customer has behaved weirdly but perhaps you’re just weird in a different way), but you’re just as equally, or even doubly confused. Based on your last memory and knowledge of his status, he should have disappeared/departed/died, but apparently not?
You slap yourself.
You should not have done that.
Now look at what you’ve done; you just made Gallagher worried about you. “Kid, you okay?” He asks, a concerned expression surfacing on his face. You shake your head. You’re definitely fine. Right?
…No, you’re not. Actually, neither of you are okay. The second time you sheepishly and confusingly glance at Gallagher, the man was already starting to panic about possibly adding something funny into your drink to make you go absolutely batshit, even though you haven’t even touched a single drop of alcohol yet.
“...How old are you again, kid?” Gallagher questions you, crossing his arms. You figure that he probably wouldn’t believe you if you told him your physical age, so you lie and say you were 20. He lied about his age too, didn’t he?
“I don’t see you around here quite often, actually. The Reverie is infested by members of the Dreamjolt Troupe, so I’m surprised that you’d actually come all this way to get a drink,” He continues, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Now, you’re starting to get some peculiar thoughts and theories. Glancing at the corner of your eye, you see that the timer(?) has gone down for half an hour. Assuming that some sort of Aeon has pulled this random very weird hallucination/dream out of their left kidney for shits and giggles… Is this even a dream?
You ask Gallagher when the Charmony Festival will commence. He chuckles, then replies, “The Charmony Festival… I believe that won’t be a lot of time till it starts. Robin’s going to be a special guest performer invited to take the stage too. What, you a fan of hers?”
You’ve confirmed it; time travel.
A grin flashes over your face like a swift bolt of lightning; even the Aeons have rolled the dice in your favour. Or, maybe they haven’t, and this hallucination/dream is just set in the distant past. Whatever; you don’t really know. Your best bet is to think it’s not real. After all, if time travel is real, plenty of people would have travelled back in time to pull off weird shenanigans for funsies or to kill shitty dictators. You silently thank your brain for hallucinating an undead Gallagher.
Taking this opportunity, you initiate yet another conversation with the drinksmith, who has fortunately calmed down a bit. “How long have you been working here? I meant, as in today,” you ask.
The Bloodhound security officer actually seems to be pondering about the time he’s spent in the hostelry. “About 3 hours standing here, I’d say. Siobhan’s gonna be back real soon, so I guess I’m off the shift then. Why’d you ask that–”
“You wanna, like… Uh… Go out?” You ask, a flurry of emotions threatening to burst out through the smile you put on to not seem like a nervous wreck.
“...I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Do you want to go out?”
He smiles, almost like he couldn’t believe what on earth you had just asked him. “As in… A date?” Gallagher chuckles.
Initially, you want to say ‘yes’, but your mind tells you that it’s probably a bad idea. Instead, you answer, “You could see it that way.” Good answer, kid; at least it’s open to interpretation.
You could almost see him trying to contain his laughter and keep that poker face plastered on him. Eventually, he couldn’t keep it in, and let out a few low chuckles before muttering, “A kid like you wants to go out with this old dog? Hilarious…”
Immediately disheartened, you recollect your thoughts; the downsides of this time travel experience is that he knows absolutely nothing about you, since he doesn’t know you as of now.
Dammit.
“Though… I suppose I would like to entertain this idea of yours.”
You feel like you’ve just won the lottery. You’re not sure if you’re hearing (or seeing) things, so you gave yourself a good slap to the face again… Which in hindsight, wasn’t the best idea. By the Aeons, you just gave Gallagher another heart attack again.
“Oh… Thanks,” You manage to say.
After awkwardly lounging around in the hostelry for a few more minutes without saying a single thing, (a very confused) Siobhan finally arrived. Mumbling a few sentences to Gallagher, mostly to thank him for putting up with the Dreamjolt Troupe’s shit, she takes over the bar counter. Great, you have Gallagher to yourself now.
…That is a horrible way to put it. Anyways, you proudly stride out of the place… You plan to, anyways. How do you leave? Glancing over towards Gallagher, who is just standing there and very perplexedly staring at you, you ask if he wants to go in front or behind you.
“In front, of course. Can’t let those Memory Zone Memes get to a guest of the Dreamscape.”
You jump around in glee in your imagination. It’s best to not get all smug and obnoxious about it though; he’s just doing his job. Oddly, on the way out of the hostelry, you don’t see a single monster in sight. What a shame. You could have gallantly kicked some ass and showed off your combat capabilities to further win his heart over. But again, what hasn’t he seen?
Once you get back out in front of the entrance door, you suddenly stop dead in your tracks. You just asked Gallagher out, but you have no damn idea where to take him. You sigh in your mind and (mentally) slap yourself. Next time, don’t be so brash and hot-headed, eh?
Suddenly, a brilliant idea flashes through your mind. Hopefully, he’s got that same gambling spirit inside him as you do. He probably doesn’t, but come on, are you seriously going to take him to go fight stuff?
Upon dragging him to Aideen Park (of all places), you ask him to wait at a certain spot while you try to obtain some Aideen Tokens from that one dealer who is currently puking a beautiful pastel-shaded rainbow on the ground. Approximately 5 minutes later (and a train of thought about how he isn’t writhing on the ground in pain from all the puking), you drag Gallagher to the park, and start fueling your gambling addiction. You wasted a quarter of your life savings on buying tokens. Come on, it’s just a dream/hallucination; the credits are going to magically appear back in your pocket a few hours later.
Now… let the wallet draining begin.
…Good lord, your luck sucks. Approximately 15 minutes later, you just wasted nearly all your tokens gambling for the lightcone. Who the hell puts a lightcone in a freaking outdoor casino anyways? You don’t know why you want to gamble for it. A higher power is pushing you to gamble for the big prize, and you have no choice but to obey them, even if it means funnelling all your credits to exchange for more tokens– Oh darn it, you just neglected Gallagher.
After you frantically apologise for running around screaming and cursing at the gods of luck and all in all just being a horrible person on a first date, Gallagher just chuckles and waves it off. “I guess seeing you get all worked up like that isn’t so bad either,” He explains. You instantly feel relieved, but you just can’t shake off the feeling that he’s just saying that to make you feel better. Damn, you feel like absolute crap right now. You try to make it up. Again, you hope that Gallagher has the same gambling inside of him as you do.
You hand him two tokens. He looks very confused. Damn it… Anyways, it’s the moment of truth. Gallagher nonchalantly inserts the tokens into the slot, and turns the handle. You wait patiently and eagerly for the spinner to land, and…
JACKPOT! You jump around in joy, knowing that you – no, Gallagher – just got the top prize from that gacha! Although you can’t exactly take it out of this Dreamscape… or, the dream/hallucination, but you’re still overjoyed nevertheless.
“Feeling up on cloud nine, aren’t you? Now that you’ve got what you wanted and got the top prize?” Gallagher crosses his arms, barely holding in his amusement at the sight of you bouncing around like a 5-year old on a sugar high. You instantly stop and think about a cool, charming one-liner to further enhance your chances of him falling for you, while mentally preparing for a total, utter failure in doing so.
“No. ‘Cause you’re my top prize, and I haven’t won you over yet!” You strike a “cool” pose while saying that.
…So, so cringe. You mentally recoil, drowning yourself in the copious amounts of cringe you have brought upon the cosmos. Gallagher laughs.
“Well, you’re one step closer to that, kid.”
You barely contain yourself from exploding in cringe and excitement.
Okay now, calm down. You got the top prize: a random lightcone. What now?
You glance up towards the corner of your eye again. 1 hour down, 2 left.
What now?
Oh yeah, you were supposed to go for a drink… How did you forget about that part? It’s quite obvious, but really, you still feel a very strong, revolting aftertaste at the back of your throat. Time to wash that thing down.
You ask Gallagher about any noteworthy bar in the area. It’s a good thing he didn’t take you back to Dreamjolt Hostelry (it would have been very awkward), but instead, Gallagher says, “Pick a number from 1 to 5.” 4 was your answer. You wander among the streets of the Golden Hour while trailing behind the Bloodhound security officer to your supposed destination.
Arriving at a dodgy building you haven’t seen before during your actual first trip to the Golden Hour, Gallagher knocks on the door and heads in despite the “Closed” sign hanging on the stained glass door. Turns out, this place is just another bar. A horribly gloomy, stuffy, and dimly-lit bar. The drinksmith looks up from the counter at Gallagher as she cleans the variously-shaped glasses, and nods. The drinksmith takes her bag hanging on the rack by the door, mutters something incoherent to the security officer, and heads straight out the door.
You ask Gallagher about this bar.
“It’s a pity, really. This place is about to get torn down and repurposed into something else. You're probably this place’s last customer.”
Once the lights start flickering on, you get a better view of the place. It's less run-down than you expected, but it certainly has its endearing parts. You catch sight of two particular things: 1, the glass cupboards behind the curved bar tables fitting the squashed layout of the building's interior. For some reason, they're smashed in but no one bothered to replace them. You assume that it's either a recent thing, or the owners are just too broke to afford to fix it. 2, a bouquet of roses, almost near wilting, is just lying around on the ground. You assume that both these things have something to do with that drinksmith lady just now, but it’s best not to inquire any further.
Anyways, attempting to flaunt your bartending skills to Gallagher (who happens to be one of the best mixologists in all of Penacony), you tell Gallagher to sit at the bar table and get comfy. You got this. Trying to show off some tricks with the glass, you nearly succeed in juggling them flawlessly but end up smashing one of them. Oops. And you thought you nailed it last time at Dreamjolt Hostelry… Never mind! Plucking some rose petals and stealing the silk ribbon from the bouquet, you scatter them on the table to make the atmosphere seem a little less dreary. For that extra romantic flair, you light some tealight candles at the corners of the table. Now, onto the actual drink making part.
You pull out a glass, and start rummaging through the cupboards and the cabinets for something edible. Then, you start questioning what in the universe Penaconians consider a normal diet. Welp, with a 300-year old bottle of an unknown concoction and a single can of smoked red herring soup, you can surely make something good, right?
…This won't do. Suddenly, you understand why this bar is getting torn down. The most edible thing you can find here is that can of smoked red herring soup.
Taking a deep breath, you dump the most normal-looking drinks and a bit of ice into the shaker, and boy, are you shaking. You're shaking that thing like there's no tomorrow. Well, there technically isn't, in your circumstance, but you get the point. You're shaking that thing real good.
Surprisingly, once the contents are poured out into the glass, it takes on a neon orange-yellow colour despite its ingredients being nowhere near that shade in the first place. You're pretty sure you just witnessed a chemical reaction, but you still assume it's edible. Picking out some cute mint leaves to garnish the glass, you serve it to Gallagher and pour the rest into a small glass for yourself.
You watch as Gallagher takes a sip. Gulping it down, the man just stares at you, nods, and smiles. You assume that's a good thing. Bottoms up!
…That was the biggest mistake you've made in your entire life. You violently hurl up that monstrosity into a nearby trash can, prompting a sympathetic laugh from Gallagher. You burn your brain trying to figure out how he managed to poker face through that horrible thing you made him down. Looking at the rainbow-coloured mess you made in the contents of the bin, you can’t help but feel sorry for the trash inside. They don't deserve this treatment. The aftertaste from Himeko's coffee has finally been washed out, but at what cost?
“Don’t worry, kid, at least it’s not chocolate-flavoured SoulGlad. I thought you'd know better than to put spoiled Puffergoat Milk in there, however. It's still eligible for consumption, since you’re in the Dreamscape, but it’s going to induce certain… Reactions in some people.”
Well, at least he's okay with it. You puke into the trash can again; you suddenly have second thoughts of telling Himeko and March 7th that you're a certified mixologist.
After hacking up what's left in that poor, shrivelled stomach of yours, Gallagher offers you a seat next to him atop the bar table. He tosses you a soda. The fizzing noise of the beverage instantly fills the still air once you crack it open. Cheers!
…Ah! That was way better than whatever disgusting brew you just stirred up. Sure, it's just… Soda, but you swear you tasted something else other than just pure fizz. You ask Gallagher why this life-saving drink can't be found anywhere in the Golden Hour.
“It’s a secret.”
Yes, Gallagher, always full of mysteries. You suspect that he actually made the recipe for that soft drink himself.
You ask for a selfie with him.
It was quite a cute selfie.
Lounging around for quite a while, you two have nothing to talk about. He probably has something to talk about, but the atmospheric was just too awkward for you to speak up. You two drink in silence.
“Say, how old are you again?” You ask. You want to know if he would give a different answer.
“I'm thirteen,” he answers. You cackle out loud. “Would you believe it if I said I'm one year old?” You reply.
This time, it's his turn to laugh.
You look up at the corner of your eye. 2 hours down, 1 to go.
What now?
Thinking, you realise that you have one place you want to take him to.
You silently apologise to Firefly for stealing her secret base. Putting down some credits on the counter, you get up and go.
The roads were as you remember it; it was quite insulting to have Gallagher follow you along down under the manhole cover, but you swear, the view is definitely worth it. You still get dizzy from all the gadgets and bird's-eye view nonsense, but the Dreamscape is weird, and this is what they have to do to keep intruders out. It is quite a trouble trying to take out the guards when you don't have Clockwork, but there's nothing persuasion (and a swing of the good ol’ bat) can't do.
Despite knowing the way, the time to get to the secret base took longer than expected. The twisting roads and winding pathways make your world spin; how in the universe do these Dreamweavers know their paths? In a blink of an eye, 45 minutes have been lost to time. It's fine, no? You still have 15 minutes left. At least Gallagher seems to be enjoying the process.
Surprisingly, the Dreamweavers aren't here yet. You twirl around and scream at the sky in an act of stupidity. Rushing towards the railing, you lean out and take in the marvellous view of the undeveloped Dreamscape. It's a wonder to see the scenery before the sun rises; it's literally like night and day. Who knows the night can be so stunning as well?
You look at Gallagher. The man leans on the railing as well, smiling fondly as he looks out. You know that he probably knows the way here, but he seems to enjoy this scene nonetheless.
“How'd ya know this place, kid?”
You lie and say that your uncle works in the Dreamscape. He laughs, possibly having already seen through you.
Alright. You got this.
…The night is so calm, so peaceful. A gentle breeze blows through Gallagher’s hair, tangling it with the softness of the night before dawn. What a shame that your date is about to come to an end…
You wonder what you want to say, want to do with him at this moment. Confess? Say that you love him? Hope that he loves you? …Kiss him, even?
You wait. Your heart is pounding like a jackhammer on concrete. You don’t feel so good.
You silently observe Gallagher. He’s leaning on the railing, staring off at the soundless, sapphire-like sky, laced with a sliver of daybreak seeping out from the horizon.
His eyes glimmer in the light. You really want to see that again.
…It’s almost time to wake up. You don’t want it to end.
You panic.
What do you do? You don’t want to disturb him while he’s enjoying the scene in peace and all that… You think he’s actually enjoying this date with you, even though you don’t really know him all that well to take him to places he actually wanted to go… All you could do is just do things that you liked, that you hoped he would do with you.
You don’t know him all that well in the end.
…Maybe you shouldn’t ask for that kiss after all. It’s your first meeting.
You stare out at the sunrise with him.
You realise that you’re disappearing into memoria in the Dreamscape.
Time’s up.
You don’t want it to end. You still have so much to say, so much to do, he barely knows you, but that's alright with you too! You want to say things… That you won’t be able to say to him anymore once you wake up. You scramble towards him, you try to scramble towards him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! Your legs are already starting to malfunction. You stumble and nearly fall, but luckily, your arms catch hold of the railing. DO SOMETHING, IDIOT! He’s already staring. Fuck, he noticed… Doesn’t matter, keep on, carry on, do what you want to do, ask for it… Your tears are about to pour. They evaporate, rising up as bubbles of memoria.
Quickly, racing, hurrying, like a freezing, dying moth to a flame…
"̴̲̥̙̊Ṕ̸̹̘͝͠L̵̬̒̌̏Ẽ̸̬̘̯͌Ą̵̲̰̄S̷̨̢̋̚͜͠E̸̯̼͆ ̶̡͎̋́͝D̷̙̃Ô̴̞̏̔Ň̸̯̞̈́'̸̞͖̾̑̉T̴̠͖̕ ̶͇͚̂͗͘F̷͖̗̆͘Ǫ̸̛͕R̸̙͉̟̿G̴̺̹͆̊́Ẹ̵͓͇̏T̵̘͌͠ ̶͓̾̈́M̴͙̪̼̏E̴̛͖̘̒͠-̶̪̰͎̃"̴̨̳̩̓̓̉
“This is my ‘hello’ to you… and my final ‘goodbye.”
“Trailblazer… This little gift - not the one on the counter, though it’s still meant for the Crew - is for you.”
“I hope you liked it. I had… Quite a lot of fun doing this as well.”
“To the imperfect tomorrow…”
“...And the once-perfect yesterday.”
…You wake up.
Fuck.
You’ve just missed that opportunity; by the Aeons, why the hell were you so indecisive? You wanted that kiss, so just go for it. The conductor’s voice chimes from the broadcaster. The train has already made the warp. You won’t even be back in Penacony anytime soon.
You slowly curl up on the couch of the parlour car and sob your goddamn eyes out.
Useless.
All you could say are those four meaningless words.
Amidst your sobbing, a certain thing on the counter catches your teary eyes. You slowly stand up and walk towards it, picking up what seems like a little doodle with Misha and the other cartoon characters created by the Watchmaker. How cute… You can’t help but feel even more dejected now. You flip to the back.
It’s sent by Gallagher… You read the writing. It’s messy but still readable… Did he draw that too? How adorable…
…
Never mind.
So he is dead.
Nothing changed.
…
But…
Something seemed… different.
Was it two sets of memories, or have those experiences melded into one?
You swear that you have never experienced that or ever lived through that memory… Is it real or not? Suddenly, a voice – March’s voice – came creeping from the passenger cabin. Murmurs of “What in the universe were they doing when Gallagher asked them to stay behind?” and “Come on, Dan Heng, you’re so smart, surely you must figure something out?” “I’m curious, come on!!”
Gallagher asked you to… What? You don’t recall that ever happening.
Or did it?
You pull out your phone, and you drop it out of shock. The phone screen isn't cracked, sure, but how did a fictional selfie make its way into reality?
So, has that experience apparently altered the entire memories of everyone who played a role in that fiasco at Penacony, perhaps even your own? Sure, everything stayed the same, and he’s still…
Your brain is self-imploding just from thinking about it. However, that lingering desperation in your mind to figure out what exactly that was. Closing your eyes, you scrape and scratch around in your mind, opening every imaginary-drawer in your brain that stores all the clips and reels of memories. The questions Acheron asked you. Aventurine’s little offer at the Grand Hotel. The confrontation with Sunday, everything about Firefly, Sparkle and her antics, Misha and the Watchmaker…
You gently hold the drawing close to your chest. It still happened. You start crying again.
But… The meeting with Gallagher at Dreamflux Reef… What changed?
You dig deeper.
…
…No wonder you didn’t figure it out. Your tears stop dead in its tracks.
Slowly, steadily, you recall, bit by bit. Leading you to the back, behind the Watchmaker’s slumbering figure, Gallagher’s calloused hands pulled you into a tender embrace, his right one travelling to your hair, gently playing and intertwining his fingers through the strands. You instinctively looked up at his eyes – they’re still shining with that vermillion glint, like a setting sun you’ve seen years ago in a distant memory.
You remember now.
For a moment, all you’ve known was warmth, longing and love.
It doesn’t matter if the experience was real or just a soothing lie.
This moment, this image, like a blaze, would be seared forever in the depths of your mind, in the bottom of your heart.
That first… fiery… final… kiss.