Chapter Text
They were alive.
No shock to strangers, perhaps, but it was obvious the choir remembered. The moment Penny gasped, a hand to her throat, they knew. Memories flashed through their minds at a dizzying pace, only to be struck out of these memories by a realization:
They were about to ride the Cyclone.
There was no other option. They were buckled in, the ride was starting, and the crank hill was clicking.
Tika - tika - tika.
Penny's breathing picked up as Noel's stopped completely. Even Constance, who hadn't regretted the Cyclone accident and laughed during it, panicked as she was thrown back into the situation.
Then suddenly they were hurled, over, up, and then down, toward the carnival ground. They clung to each other. Screaming, crying, silence; the most terrifying ride of their lives.
When they got out of the ride, there was a moment where they just stood there.
Penny had almost dropped Ricky- who she was helping get out of the cart- she was shaking so badly. Even outside of the rickety cart the two held each other. Constance was shaking her hands out like it would get rid of the nervous sweat that stained her palms. Ocean threw up in a nearby trash bin. Mischa only froze for a second before frantically texting Talia. And Noel?
Noel was frozen in place. The world was loud and fast and bright, and he couldn't be present. His ears rang as his mind grasped at straws. What happened? What was before this? Before the warehouse?
He felt sick.
Death must've revitalized him. It seemed like an eternity since he last felt this shitty . It helped bring back everything that happened before, though, so he didn't mind. Slowly, he took in his peers: pale, confused, scared. At least he wasn't alone.
"...Do you guys want to go to the pavilion?" Ocean spoke shakily. The response was varying degrees of nods. Another sign that something had changed. Ocean was asking . Not telling.
There was a short chunk of time that they sat together in silence. Long enough for grey clouds to start to roll over the fair, chasing out what few other visitors there were.
"You all remember what happened, right?"
Noel was shocked to hear Penny's voice. The same as Jane's but much different in the way it was used: softer pronunciations, irregular speech pattern but not robotic. When the choir looked over to see her, they saw that she wasn't speaking for herself. She was translating for Ricky. Said man's eyes were wide, rapidly moving his hands like he couldn't communicate fast enough. Penny responded verbally ("...yeah?"; "Sorry, I was too nervous to talk to anyone..."; "It's a long story, I grew up in a weird place. I can explain more later,"), but didn't bother translating for the others. He was talking to her, after all.
They continued to sit under the pavilion as rain started to fall, recalling everything that happened. It seemed like forever. It was the longest Noel saw Ocean accept others opinions, or Mischa off his phone, or Ricky invested in a conversation, or Constance confident enough to contradict her best friend. There were lots of differences. Noel figured that was to be expected. After what they had been through? It would have been more concerning if they hadn't changed.
None of them wanted to stay at the fair. Not for the bumper cars. Not for the ferris wheel. Not for the shooting gallery or the Gravitron. Certainly not for the Cyclone.
But when it came time to go separate ways, they were all hesitant.
As they stood awkwardly in the parking lot, reluctance to part ways hung heavily in the air. With everyone knowing everyone else's backstories now, they all knew some had more reason not to leave than others. Finally, Constance cleared her throat.
"Would you guys be interested in having a sleepover tonight? I can call my mom,"
Five yeses. Zero hesitation.
Eventually they settled on splitting up beforehand. Connie and Ocean would head over to the Blackwood's to get things ready, since they both already had stuff there. Penny would walk over to her dorm at Saint Cassian, and Ricky's parents would pick her up after Ricky got his things. Mischa had a car (his guardians deciding that giving him an old beater car would be better than having him home) so he was going to drive home and back.
Noel offered to walk to and from his house, which was quickly overruled by Ocean.
"Noel, no. You live in the... on the other side of town,"
"So?" He scoffed, trying not to think about how Ocean almost said he lived in the poor side of town.
"So?? So?! Have you never had a sleepover before?" She ranted, "There will be activities scheduled! If it takes you forever to get to Constance's, we'll have to start later, and it'll throw everything off!"
"Well, Ocean, while the points you're making are as annoying as they are stupid, I don't have a car!"
"I can take you,"
Noel whipped around to see Mischa, hands in his pockets, no phone in sight.
"... Why? "
Mischa shrugged, "Ocean is annoying. It will shut her up."
Thunder shook the sky, and even though Noel didn't want to be a burden give Ocean anything she wanted, he didn't want to get caught in the rain. He sighed.
"Fine. See you guys in thirty?"
"Twenty-Five at most! We're running out of daylight!"
"Isn't that the point of-"
"Shut up Noel! Constance! Where did you park?"
Noel smirked. It was impossible for someone to change too much. It was good to see a slightly nicer Ocean was still the person he had grown up thinking of as a sister.
The ride to Noel's was, dare he say, peaceful. Mischa didn't try to fill the space with much more than a quiet Ukrainian melody from the aux cord. It was raining, and the road was bumpy, and even though the car smelled vaguely like spilled alcohol it was as perfectly imperfect as Noel would write about in his stories about Monique. With his weary bones being allowed some time to rest (finally, away from noise and people and flashing lights) he took in exactly how shitty he felt.
He was exhausted, for one thing. If he remembered correctly, all week the most sleep he was offered was in two hour intervals. Less than usual, though his sleep schedule was never great. There were also hunger pains that tore through him. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he realized he couldn't remember the last time the hunger pains actually got to him. Karnak just had to "fix" him, didn't he? Make him lose his conditioning? Make this so much harder than it had to be?
"This is where you live?"
Noel perked up at Mischa's voice.
"...Yeah. Sorry,"
"No worries, Poet. You were not here with your mind, that is not an issue,"
Noel felt a small, genuine smile pull at his lips, "Daydreaming, yeah... Poet?"
"A fitting nickname, no? For a man of beautiful words?"
"...Thanks, Misch," Noel said, leaving the car before he could start looking at him with goo goo eyes. This wasn't the afterlife. He couldn't afford things like stolen glances in Uranium. Not while he was alive.
Noel's chest tightened as he entered his house. When he woke up in the warehouse, he thought he'd be rid of this place forever. The little house covered in vines and a yard equally as covered in dandelions. Not completely run down, just average. He opened the door, taking everything in. Cigarette smoke assaulted his nose. The floor creaked as he walked across it. He was somewhat happy to see the house still clean; it was something he assured remained the same. For his sake, but also his mother's. Said woman sat on the couch, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. She had fallen asleep with it lit.
"Mom?"
No response.
"Maman?"
Nothing.
Noel picked at his nail polish as he approached her, anxiety twisting in his stomach. He hated how familiar it was. It wasn't nearly this prominent while he was dead.
"...Mom?"
The woman shot awake, biting down on her cigarette and throwing a startled punch. Noel dodged. At least that instinct was still there when he needed it.
"Shit, Noel! The fuck are you waking me up for?!"
"Your cigarette is still lit," He mumbled.
The woman sighed disappointedly. She seemed almost angry when she realized said cigarette was now ruined. Noel knew what that look meant. It was one of the things he was happy to be rid of in that stupid, stupid warehouse he couldn't stop thinking about. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. She put the ruined cigarette out on his arm, throwing the remaining paper and tobacco at him.
"Just... just. Get out of my face. Preferably for the rest of the night," She grumbled, sauntering over to get a new cigarette from her purse.
"Okay. I'll go stay at Constance's,"
"Whatever,"
He shut himself in his room, trying to control his breathing. This was so stupid . This wasn't a problem before, it was just life . Dying helped the others improve, but it was so, so obvious that all it had done for him was make him forget what it was like to live.
'Get a grip, Gruber,' he thought to himself hatefully.
He had twenty minutes before Mischa would be back. He could deal with that. He just had to make a plan. Think about things objectively. Be cautious. Stop thinking like Monique, because now that he was no longer dead, he was no longer free to be bold.
Step I: Pack.
Noel's room was currently organized chaos. Nothing was put away, but rather sorted into careful piles. Labeled; listed. Set to be moved around.
He dug into the box that held his clothes. His hands shook as he did, but he barely recognized it. This was a familiar motion (he never had a dresser) and there was almost something comforting in it. He picked his red flannel pants, with both a plain black shirt and hoodie for his pajamas, placing it on his bed. All of his daily use items were already in a plastic bag, so he threw that onto his bed too.
As much as he hated agreeing with Ocean, he had never been to a sleepover before. What else was he supposed to bring? Blankets? A stuffed animal? No time to get the cigarette small out of either of those. He barely had enough time to get the smell out of the clothes he would be wearing. Fine. Okay. Just the necessities then. No big deal. Easier on him, anyway. His necessary things could be tucked in the hoodie pocket with no worries. He could move onto Step II now, right?
Step II: Wash Clothes.
He grabbed the clothing off his bed, being sure to bring undergarments and socks with, and snuck to the end of the hall. Another recurring behavior he was glad to repeat. It was almost no time until he moved onto Step III:
Step III: Shower.
Easy enough. Or so he thought.
His body ached as he pulled off the uniform. Pain shot through injuries he had managed to forget during death. Even his scars were gone in the warehouse.
The man in the mirror was a pathetic creature.
Thin and gaunt, with deep purple eye bags and messily gelled hair. Covered nearly head to toe in scars, only daring to paint parts of him that could be covered with clothes. Dappled with burns and bruises from his mother. He flinched and looked away when he saw the marks that weren't his mother's fault. How had he forgotten how he bled when his clothes came off? It wasn't like he was made of money. Peroxide to get blood stains out of clothes was far, far cheaper than the bandages that would be to prevent the stains in the first place.
Noel forced himself into the shower. He scrubbed at his tarnished body more aggressively than he probably should have. Why did he have to remember how pretty he felt in the afterlife? With a body healthy and untouched by any kind of bully? How gorgeous he felt especially as Monique, cheeks suddenly rouged, long eyelashes framed by blue eyeshadow. How the red on his lips was dark, and powerful, and how it had been beautifully smeared across Mischa's mouth-
Okay. Shower done. Step IV: Shift Clothes to the Dryer.
In his towel, he held his dirty clothes in one arm and made his way to the laundry room. He swiftly switched the clothes around. Ten minutes left. Noel hoped the cigarette smell wouldn't find a way to cling to his skin before it was time to leave. Five minutes later, the dryer stopped.
Step V: Get Dressed.
Much easier than getting undressed. There were no mirrors around.
Step VI: Triple Check Items.
Again. Not too difficult. He shoved the plastic baggy into his pocket. Before he could move onto the next step, a small, black notebook caught his eye. Something from before the fall. He knew exactly what was in it. It was unfinished. A lump formed in his throat, but he pocketed the notebook and a pen. Okay. Now he could go to the next step.
Step VII: Wait for Mischa.
Noel stood outside. It was windy, about 19 degrees celsius. Perfect hoodie weather. He let himself breathe fresh air, grateful now more than ever to be rid of the smoke smell.
Mischa ended up being roughly ten minutes late, but Noel didn't mind. He thanked him for the ride, taking in Mischa's appearance for a normal, friendly amount of time, noting how the other man looked as if he had showered, too. Maybe Mischa didn't want to smell like basement in the same way Noel didn't want to smell like cigarettes. As sad as it was, and he hoped Mischa's room didn't actually smell like mildew, Noel found comfort in knowing neither of them felt comfortable exposing their history any further.
This car ride was significantly more lively. Rap music stabbed at Noel's ears. He hated rap, but somehow found it endearing when he connected it with Mischa put up with it for the time being. Mischa obnoxiously rapped along with some parts, which Noel found himself smiling at.
"Why aren't you singing along, Poet?"
Noel laughed, "I don't know this song,"
"What?" Mischa exclaimed, as if he hadn't realized that was an option, "How come? You only listen to the squeeze keys music?"
Noel snorted. Only accordion music? Please. "No, that was more like the sound track in the movies I love than the music I listen to,"
"Oh, right! The, the the the, French stripper!"
"Hooker," Noel smirked, rolling his eyes, "And Lola is actually German,"
"Eindrucksvoll! German is MUCH better than French. Easier,"
"Quoi que tu dises," Noel responded sarcastically.
Mischa whipped his head to look at Noel, shocked by the language change.
"You know French?"
"Yes??" Noel said incredulously, concerned that his friend's eyes weren't on the road, "Is that a problem?"
"I just did not realize you also speak multiple languages! It is refreshing to hear!"
Noel yelped, "Mischa! Eyes on the road!"
They barely missed someone jaywalking. Noel recognized them as one of the people who picked on him at school, so he found it particularly funny when the kid jumped after Mischa laid on the horn. There was a moment of silence between the two boys, both shocked by the swerving that had just taken place.
Then Noel started to laugh.
It felt so good , so freeing, to erase and forget the hours where his chest had been painfully tight. Mischa had cut the rubber band from Noel's lungs. Something so, so, stupid, and somehow it held more heft than anything his mother had done since he got back from the afterlife. Mischa began to laugh too. Soon they were both laughing with their entire chests, and Noel silently wondered if Mischa felt the same way. Light. Like being in the car together was a way to break free from the chains that connected them back to what they had previously left behind on earth.
Constance's house wasn't far. They were almost there.
"So, Poet. How did you learn French?"
"French was my first language. My dad was from France, and my mom grew up speaking French since she's Canadian," He shrugged. He had never told anyone this. "After he left, she refused to speak anything but English. Between that and school, I just kind of picked it up. How did you learn all the languages you know?"
Mischa took a moment before answering, as if absorbing the information. "мама always liked learning languages. I picked them up from her. If I asked to learn a language, she'd teach it to me. She never finished learning Dutch. She said it wasn't worth it," he laughed sadly, "After all. Not even the Dutch speak Dutch,"
They pulled up to the Blackwood's. Noel found his chest slowly tightening again, as it always did. Ocean was outside, tapping a foot.
"You guys are FIFTEEN minutes LATE!"
"Sorry, I had to stop at your Mom's first,"
"Very mature, Noel. Come on!" She grabbed both of them by their hands, leading them inside.
Everyone else was there already, dressed in pajamas and in the middle of a surprisingly domestic scene. Apparently they had decided to decorate Ricky's crutches while they waited, and they were now covered in stickers of all varieties. Cats, stars, strips of sparkly purples and blues that wrapped around the poles. Ocean interrupted said scene by clearing her throat. Noel groaned as she pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper.
"Okay gang-"
" Gang? "
"Shut up! Okay. We are officially 17 minutes behind schedule which means some things may have to be rearranged. I have carefully plotted out chunks of times for each activity, so it would probably be best if we found the percentages of the times I had originally planned out, and then got the same percentages based on-"
"Or," Constance gently interrupted, "We could just go with the flow,"
"But-"
"We can still do the same activities, Oce, don't worry,"
"...Fine,"
Noel was sure he was witnessing a miracle as Ocean put away the list and led them to the kitchen to bake.
Baking went terribly.
Mischa had jokingly snorted flour, only to realize how that was a very, very bad idea, and was currently trying to do a backbend to rinse his nostrils out in the sink. Ocean was on the verge of tears after watching Penny throw in chocolate chips that hadn't been in the recipe. Constance was trying to calm her down. They had made the mistake of letting Ricky choose the music, so Funky Town was blasting from the Alexa during this whole thing. Noel, who refused to pull up his sleeves and was therefore banned from the mixing and measuring parts, was dutifully taking pictures.
This, of course, means that he captured the exact moment that Mischa threw a handful of flour into Ocean's face.
That was Noel's cue to duck under the table.
Ocean was out for blood. Her order had been disrupted for the last time. It was her turn. Noel watched as she threw a handful of sprinkles at him, landing in his hair and down his tank top. Constance giggled, setting Mischa off as he threw flour at her this time. Constance tried to toss sugar his way, only to miss and hit Penny. It was all out battle after that, and Noel found himself wondering who decided to give Ricky the eggs.
Noel watched the scene spill out in front of him. Everyone had their own weapon, but none so amusing to watch in action as the eggs. Ricky's aim was surprisingly accurate, and Noel took great joy in watching Ocean be pelted in the shoulder. Ocean tried to get back at him with the sprinkles she was still armed with, but missed, covering Constance in the small hunks of sugar. Penny very reluctantly yelled, "It's over Anakin! I have the high ground!" for Ricky, who had been situated on the counter this entire time.
It was all very amusing, but even more than that it was messy. Mischa had gotten the worst of it, early on becoming Ricky's favorite target, and was now covered with egg remnants. By the time everyone was worn out with no discernable winner the kitchen was a wreck. Noel cautiously made his way out from under the table. Good. He had been missed by the mess.
Or so he thought.
Mischa dumped the remaining flour over Noel's head with mischievous laughter ("MISCHA!" "Got you, Poet!"), making sure he matched the dress code. Noel couldn't even find it in him to get mad. Especially since the thought of them being so content without him, so fine with him not being present, had kept circling his mind.
After cleaning up and putting the cookies in the oven, Ocean suggested ( suggested , Noel noted, not forced ) everyone take a shower. She even let Mischa go first. People really do change, even Ocean O'Connell Rosenburg. It just took a horrific, scarring experience.
As they took turns showering, Noel tried to find a place to wait. Ricky was picking egg shells out of Penny's braids, Ocean was in the shower, and Constance and Mischa...
Noel stopped in front of the door, hearing a sweet voice lilting from the other side.
"...stay here, if you want,"
"I cannot burden your family like that," came Mischa's reply.
That caught Noel's attention, if nothing else. He leaned against the wall, cautiously close to the door. Eavesdropping was something he never would have dared to do before the accident. Maybe there were benefits for him after all.
"It wouldn't be a burden! We already have a foster license, we foster kids as often as possible. There aren't many around here that need it, though, so there's almost always space,"
"Constance, I appreciate it, but... I am a mess. I drink. I smoke. I am often very emotional,"
"Really? I hadn't noticed," Constance deadpanned, obviously referring to the interactions in the afterlife, "We are all messes. We literally just learned that. Plus, I kind of sort of already got the okay with my parents. They said if you want to stay here, they'd love to have you for as long as you want,"
There was a silence, soon broken by soft sobbing. Noel knew the two were hugging when Mischa's cries became muffled. He snuck away from the door, leaving the two alone in their moment. Mischa would be safe. The amount of relief that brought Noel was shocking.
He made his way out to the living room, where he heard Ocean, Penny, and Ricky talking about how accessible the shower was. Noel listened in on that conversation, too, for a while, leaving once they came to the conclusion that Ricky would be okay with the built-in grab bar. Observing the way their tangled thread of relationships had become embroidery made him smile.
He snuck off to some random corner. Snooping was nice, but he had work to get done. The notebook wouldn’t finish itself, and after everything that had happened, it needed modified, too. Usually, Noel loved writing. This in particular was a stressful project, but that just meant he felt even more pride when he filled out the last page. Good. Over with. Just in time, too, as Penny came and found him to tell him it was his turn to shower.
Constance had already left clothes for him, one of the many sets the Blackwoods kept on hand in case of an emergency foster placement. Beside that, there was also a towel, folded and clean. Bless Constance Blackwood, she is a saint.
This time, Noel was careful. He did everything in his power to avoid the monster in the mirror.
The shower was far less aggressive this time, and he found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. He actually felt clean , free of the stupid grubby feeling that stained his skin whenever he was at home.
Noel got out of the shower. He was grateful Constance had thought to get him longer clothes like he had before. As he walked out and saw the group gathered in the living room, he realized she had gone out of her way to try and give everyone similar outfits to the ones they were previously wearing. Mischa smiled up at him from his spot on the floor while Constance frowned at him from her spot on the couch.
"Sorry, Noel. I might've picked the wrong size. I could have sworn you said you wore larges when we were fitted for choir uniforms,"
Noel's chest panged. Why, though? It wasn't as if Constance had insulted him; she just said she might've gotten his size wrong. Maybe it was the duality that got to him. He had been wearing large back when they were fitted for uniforms, but Noel was sure that was no longer the case. Connie could have meant she chose clothes too big, which made him feel embarrassed. Like he couldn't take care of himself well enough which wasn't any of their business, even if it was true. The other option, implying that the clothes were tighter than expected, no matter how unlikely, hurt even more. He didn't know why. It wasn't like he had changed his body on purpose. It wasn't like he was fighting to be thin.
"It's okay, Connie, I like it better this way anyway," He offered a tired smile.
That was another thing. The torment had caught up with him. Now that the adrenaline was gone, everything settled back over him like fog. Exhaustion so deep he thought his bones were replaced with sand. Aching that took over his whole body somehow, accented with stinging from burns. Hunger bit at him, causing a block of cramps in his stomach, making his fingers tingle, mocking him as black danced around the outside of his vision.
He plopped down on the floor, seeing as no other spaces were open.
"Alright-"
"Ocean if you say 'gang' again I'm kicking your shins,"
"I'd like to see you do that from the floor, Noel,"
"Touché. Continue,"
"The next activity was going to be karaoke, but that has been moved to last place as per suggestion of a one Penny Lamb,"
All eyes looked to Penny, who shrugged.
"The more tired you are the more willing you are to embarrass yourself,"
"I like this idea," Mischa laughed.
"SO!" Ocean declared, "The next activity will be a movie and- wait for it, Noel, I chose this one for you- painting nails. Plus snacks!"
An excited chatter spread throughout the room.
"Also we are not watching The Blue Angel or Saw V,"
Noel and Mischa groaned in unison, though Mischa's sounded suspiciously like the words "orphan a-hole".
In the end, they chose to watch Luca.
The movie was a sweet one, something comforting and familiar for most of the members. The only reason Noel hadn't fallen asleep was because Mischa and Ocean were arguing very loudly. Well, Ocean was arguing. Mischa was fucking with her.
"I am telling you, Italians do not exist!"
"Why do you keep saying that?! Who do you think lives in Italy?!"
" Italy doesn't exist!"
Ocean's face was beat red when Constance intervened.
"Hey, why don't we start painting our nails now? The basket with all of the nail polish is under the coffee table,"
"Fine, but I want Poet to paint mine. He is professional,"
Noel looked at Mischa, who seemed to be wordlessly asking permission. He nodded. There was shuffling, arguing, clinking as people shuffled through nail polish bottles. Noel let Mischa choose his. Mischa picked a deep red for Noel ("Reminds me of you!") and a blue for himself. Ocean and Connie wanted to match, doing every other nail in pink or purple. Penny ended up with a glitter coat, no color, and Ricky found a sparkly teal.
It wasn't a big deal. Sure, it kind of felt like they were trying to distract from the fact that they had died earlier that day, but maybe that was what they needed. They ended up pairing up. Noel did Mischa's first, working quickly out of habit more than out of desire to let go of the man's hand. In fact, once he was finished, he found himself saddened at the lack of contact.
"Your turn, Poet, I bet I will do even better than you did!"
"Oh, yeah, definitely," Noel rolled his eyes.
"Do not roll your eyes at me, I am great at this! Probably!"
"Probably?"
"I have not done this before. But I am sure I will be good at it! I have helped paint houses before!"
"Oh, honey," Constance spoke up as Penny slid the nail polish remover in the boys' direction. Mischa scoffed, sure he wouldn't need it. He did.
Noel found he didn't mind. Mischa may have been slopping paint onto his fingers, but he covered the whole nail every time, which had to earn him points. Plus, he was so focused on it. Noel couldn't help but admire his face, scrunched in concentration, occasionally letting out a strange noise as he messed up particularly badly.
"Ta-da!" Mischa exclaimed, looking particularly proud of his work.
"They're beautiful, Misch,"
Noel smiled genuinely. He never would have expected to be this happy over having red paint all over his fingers. Carefully, he began to reach over to grab the nail polish remover. Mischa grabbed his wrist.
For a moment, all Noel felt was panic. The motion was familiar. His eyes shot open and his heart started beating faster and faster...
It was gentler than usual. Warmer. Kinder.
He found himself breaking out of the panic, everything happening so fast Mischa hadn't even had time to notice the fear that shot through him. Still, he didn't like the feeling of someone touching his wrist... even if that someone was Mischa.
"No, wait until they are dry,"
"Are you pouting right now?" Noel teased.
"No, I..." Mischa frowned, "Noel... why is your wrist so small? Was not like this when we danced in the afterlife,"
Noel froze.
His mind was sluggish, his instincts for some reason telling him to tell the truth. To melt into Mischa's arms and cry like the pathetic child felt like. But, no. He couldn't. For the first time in a long time, the panic won over logic.
"None of your business!" He snapped, pulling his hand away aggressively. Mischa looked shocked, and guilt flooded Noel. Still, he didn’t waver, getting up and leaving to the kitchen. The whispers that followed made him feel sick.
Then, he was outside.
He didn't need to tell his body what to do. It carried him forward without logically thinking. Instinct. One that he could actually trust, because he knew the logic behind it. The logic that fell over his mind like a fog that had plagued him for so, so long. He should have just done this earlier. Stayed home. Completed the project. Why did he even go to the stupid slumber party? It would only make what comes next harder.
Half way home, his phone started getting texts. Starting with one, from Ocean, of course, but soon devolving into chatter in the group chat no one but Ocean ever used.
Puddle: Noel, I am sorry if Mischa upset you. Come back. We have plans, you can't just ignore those.
Connie: She's worried, you know that's what she really means
XXX-XXX-XXXX: poet did i do something wrong? i am sorry i did not mean to make you mad
you have changed XXX-XXX-XXXX's name to "Misch"
It got to the point where Noel couldn't even keep up with the messages. It was dizzying to try. He muted the group chat, silently entering his house. Why were they texting him? Why did he care if he slipped out to go on a walk? No one ever cared before, not even Noel, and suddenly, it mattered where he went and what he was doing and if he was upset...
No. He couldn't think about that. Months of planning could not be wasted because he wanted to play "pretend the people you performed with in the afterlife actually care about your wellbeing".
He found the duffle bag he was looking for and left his house again.
It started to rain as he walked toward his goal. Water ungelled his hair and seeped into his clothes. His pocket vibrated. Right. He didn't mute private chats, just the group.
Misch: poet it is raining
Misch: are you inside
Noel opened the message, but as droplets collected on his phone screen, he knew he couldn't answer even if he wanted to. He shoved his phone into his pocket and continued on. It didn't take too long for his phone to vibrate again.
Misch: why did you read the message and not answer
Misch: poet
Misch: please are you okay
He didn't answer, but, as much as he hated it, he couldn't bring himself to mute Mischa. He pushed forward, ignoring a few messages until they stopped. Good. He knew they would. No one could pretend to care about him for long.
Noel hated how this happened. How he managed to be brought up out of the fog, the muck that was his brain, and how for a fleeting moment he felt okay. Better than okay. Wondering why he was so scared before. How could he possibly have felt so terrible when at the moment, he felt alive? Being with friends. Writing a particularly meaningful poem. Singing with the choir.
Then? He'd be thrown back into the shadows. Reminded not only that life was suffering, but that he deserved it. The anxiety would twist his stomach and the darkness would weigh on his chest to the point of physical pain.
He was knocked from his thoughts as his phone buzzed yet again.
Puddle: Noel. Ricky found the notebook you left behind. We read it. If you do not respond to this message within three minutes I am calling 911.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He was almost where he was headed. He was so, so close. He hadn't expected them to find the notebook so fast; he hadn't expected them to care he had left.
YOU: i'm fine, ocean. don't be overdramatic.
Noel took a deep breath. Okay. Hopefully, Ocean would believe him, and then they would leave it be. No need to get the police involved... or the paramedics. He was already where he wanted to be: Saint Cassian. All he had to do now was climb.
The stones were slippery, and Noel wasn't the most athletic, but it didn't matter. He pulled himself up with a burning vigor. Nothing else mattered anymore. He just had to get himself to the top of the bell tower, and nothing would matter at all.
His pocket vibrated as he went up, but he didn't check it even after he finally managed to heave himself up. He had a job to do, and now that came with a time limit.
Noel unzipped his duffle bag and started sorting the items inside. He could do this in time, he just had to stick to the list. Books first.
He gathered up the books. Notebooks. Full of poems and stories of Monique. Soon to be gone. He tossed them carelessly into the center of the room. They no longer carried any value for him. After they were all in a pile, he hesitated, if only for a moment, trying to think about which step should come next. Finally he settled on the sideline items. Said items took him forever to collect. Seemingly simple things that turned out to be difficult to obtain as a 17 year old: Vodka. NyQuil. A pocket knife. He carefully set them on the wall that was one cinder block thick.
Step three came with the last items in the duffle bag. Hand sanitizer, a lighter, and a zip tie. Cheaper than gasoline, yet pretty flammable, hand sanitizer was pretty easy to get his hands on. The circle was poured pretty quickly, but he took his time making the parts that connected to the notebooks look pretty. He had always been one for semantics. Maybe this was one final gift to himself. He ziptied the lighter so it would burn on and on, and tossed it to the edge of the flammable circle.
Noel pulled himself up onto the wall. Checked his phone. 12:50. In the not-so-hurried-hurry he hadn't realized that his phone had been going off, but he sure realized now. He felt a nervousness start in his chest, and as more and more notifications tumbled in, it churned into an irrational anger. Not a single one of the new messages were read when at 12:51, he chucked his phone across the bell tower. It shattered on impact.
Okay. Not going great. But at this point? Whatever.
He didn't have a watch to keep track, but he knew he had time to do what he needed. First off: the vodka.
Noel tried to uncap the bottle three times before he got frustrated with the hoodie sleeves in his way. At 12:51 he yanked the hoodie off his body; at 12:52 he successfully opened and took a swig of the vodka.
It burned down his throat. His eyes turned glassy as he realized how much nicer he had perceived it when Mischa was the one offering it. At the reminder, he swallowed more of the clear liquid. Half the bottle was gone before he knew it, and it took everything in him not to throw it up.
This night was what he had been starving for. Though there wasn't food at home most times- his mother often paying for her meals with a promise of opening her legs after- he still had things from the school. Things he stole to eat on weekends. Before the Cyclone incident, though, he began conditioning. Making it so his body would be comfortable with nothing in his system. If there wasn't anything to throw up, he would be less likely to, right? It would make the poison stay down easier?
"Poet?"
Noel choked on vodka. Fuck. This couldn't be happening.
At 12:53, Mischa Bachiniski made it to the top of the bell tower. Rain soaked and gasping for air, speaking in a tone that could shatter the heart of any stoic, and decidedly not part of the plan .
Noel sighed, taking another long swig from the bottle before he answered.
"What?"
"What? What? What are you doing?"
"Nothin'. Jus'... come back in... 15 minutes or whatever. I'll be right down," Noel giggled at this. He had accidentally made a pun.
He was starting to feel the effects of the vodka, something he hadn't expected to happen so quickly. Perhaps it didn't help that this was his first drink while living, and that he had consumed so much of it. Mischa stomped out the fire (which had yet to reach the books) before continuing.
"No! Get down from there!"
Mischa lunged for the materials beside Noel, but only managed to grab the NyQuil before Noel threw the 40 on the ground near him.
"You can'd. t. tell me whato do! Go away! You're ruining it! How'd y'even find me?"
At 12:54, Noel stood on the wall, clutching the pocket knife. Mischa's eyes widened and he took a step back. It was clear there was panic coursing through him. One wrong move and...
"I will not leave. I am glad to be ruining 'it' if it is the same thing you wrote the notebook for..." He studied Noel's face, trying to keep a calm tone to his voice, "...Bell tower is not normally with fire,"
Noel frowned, "...Why? Are you here?"
"I... Noel, why wouldn't I be here? You wrote such beautiful words to say such terrible things,"
"...You're... upset?"
" Of course I'm upset! Why wouldn't I..." Mischa's fists clenched and unclenched. He looked conflicted. Trapped.
"Mm. You... won't be. For long," Noel flicked the knife out, the blade glinting with moonlight. Mischa's eyes turned wide as saucers.
"No! Noel! What are you..."
"Ya' read the notebook... dinin't you?"
"Not all of it-"
"But you got. the... gist?
"Yes-"
"Then you know what I'm doing," Noel said, exasperated, "An' you're messing it up anyway. Give me that back,"
Noel tipped off the wall, lunging forward for the medicine Mischa was still clutching.
"I'm not just going to let you overdose! "
"Why not?! "
Mischa was about to formulate an answer when Noel's eyes turned glassy. It was like he wasn't seeing anything. Fear struck him. Had Noel already taken medication?
He was proved wrong as clear alcohol bubbled out of his friend's mouth.
Noel had forgotten to take into account that a stomach used to emptiness tries to expel anything that disrupts it. 40 ounces of vodka counted as a disruption.
His mind scrambled for what happens next. Mischa was messing everything up, but he couldn't just give up now. He'd come too far. Even now, as he was spitting the rest of the vodka onto the dirty stone tiles, Mischa was slowly moving toward him. Like approaching a cornered animal. Like there was a vase tipping back and forth.
Like Noel would break.
He stumbled back until he was touching the wall. Okay. He could do this. The knife was still clutched in his right hand, and he held it out towards Mischa as he clumsily got back onto the wall. Once he was standing, he turned the knife to his own wrist.
"I'm giving you one more chance to leave,"
Mischa took a step toward him, and Noel pressed the blade into his wrist, creating a puncture. He felt it scrape the bone; there wasn't much flesh there. The cut wasn't nearly enough to kill him, but enough to make Mischa's eyes well with tears as red began to drip.
"Don't come any closer!"
And Mischa froze.
Somewhere behind adrenaline and violent intent, Noel felt guilt. He was scaring Mischa, who never asked for this. The poor guy didn't deserve to watch. He felt his expression soften.
"Please leave,"
"I... I can't , if I leave you'll..."
"Oh, Mischa," Noel smiled at his friend sadly, "I'm going to die whether you leave or not,"
The bell beside Mischa creaked, its automated systems starting its pendulous path. He only glanced at it for a moment, before turning back to Noel. Devastation encompassed him. As the first bell rang out, 12:00 exactly, Noel pressed the knife further down and jerked it towards himself.
Noel wasn't phased as the blade tore through his arm. Blood splattered on his face and clothes, and he watched with grotesque fascination as layers of fat and flesh were revealed. He couldn't see any veins that were clearly slashed, but he figured he had to have gotten at least some. He couldn't summon a hurt expression. As far as Noel was concerned, he wasn't a person anymore. Maybe he never was one. He dropped both of his arms to his side, the blade falling from one, deep crimson spilling off the other.
"Sorry. Time's up,"
Mischa was stuck. Frozen in place. The bell hit for the third time as he watched blood paint the wall.
Mischa was stuck. There was a moment where the two boys made eye contact, both of their ears ringing and both of their hearts stopping. One heart maybe stopping for good.
Mischa was stuck and suddenly Noel was tipping backwards, the sixth toll thundering as gravity made claim to the limp body of his friend.
Noel was happy to be falling. This time, it was less scary. The night was dark and the sky rumbled with thunder. The wind was cool as it raced past him, tugging at his hair as it accompanied him to the ground. A small smile played on his lips. Dry lightning danced above and rose bushes welcomed him below. He was going home.
Then, it all stopped.
Gravity still pulled at him, but he was no longer at its mercy. There was something on his ankle. His head met stone, a side effect of his position change, and he was out like a light.
Mischa was no longer stuck.
He pulled Noel up as fast as he could. Faintly, he registered that he was a mess, half spaced out and half hyperventilating, tears dripping down his cheeks that he hadn't even realized were there yet. His thoughts were racing and he was pissed and he was terrified and he couldn't afford that with his friend bleeding out.
What would Noel do?
Noel always seemed so put together. A lie, obviously, but he managed to project calm well. Maybe that's just what Mischa needs though, because as of now he was freaking the fuck out.
Okay. What does he need to do?
First? He needed to wrap Noel's arm.
It felt like a sick joke that the bell continued to toll over them. Mischa found the discarded hoodie and pulled it tight around Noel's arm, being sure the gash was as closed in and pushed down as it could be before tying it. Okay. Everything would be...
Second? He needed to call Constance right now , because while Mischa and Penny (with Ricky as navigator) split off to see if they could physically find him, Ocean was on call with a 911 dispatcher.
He opened Constance's contact with shaky hands. When had he started shaking? Why did it feel so terrible? He desperately tried to push away the words that had been written in the notebook. The way the fancy writing scrawled terrible things in blood red was permanently burned on his brain.
Even as Constance picked up, he was fighting not to think about the suicide notes, cleanly bound and obviously well thought out.
"...Mischa? Hello? Is that noise you breathing? What's going on?"
Mischa swallowed. His voice didn't sound like his.
"The bell tower,"
"On top of Saint Cassian? You found him? Is he alright?"
"Yes... I found him but I..." His throat pinched painfully, "...he needs medical attention. Badly,"
In truth, he didn't remember the rest of the conversation. He didn't remember when the last bell rang. He didn't even remember how he had gotten down from the tower. What Mischa remembered was looking down at Noel.
Noel was broken. Long eyelashes resting on pale cheeks. Dark hair laying in wet strands, sticking waves of near-black to his face. His friend's naturally dark features contrasted how pale his skin had gotten, but, even more starkly stood out the blood splatters. The red was visible even at night.
There was something so beautiful in the way it had worked out. At least, Mischa knew Noel would think so. The morbidity of the situation weighed on him even as he smoothed tendrils of hair back from Noel's forehead.
Earlier that day, Mischa had been all over Talia. Texting her. Giving into feeling without any care to logic. Then? They all died. Mischa still yearned for her, of course, but he had slowly come to terms with never seeing her again. The passion he had faithfully kept stoked finally fizzled out without his effort.
The afterlife was dark. It was morbid and eye opening and it stripped away the filter of selfishness that seemed to consume life. Within an hour, everything that made sense suddenly didn't anymore. His world had fallen to pieces and rearranged to form a bigger picture. In the afterlife, they could grieve. They could scream and cry and laugh without judgment. In the middle of the chaos, Mischa had grounded himself with the image of Noel Gruber.
Noel had never interested Mischa much in life. No one other than Talia really had. But in the afterlife? Mischa had the opportunity to watch as Noel became more than someone who toned it back. He had watched as Noel spun around and sang and snapped at Ocean. Allowed himself to be snarky. To sit how he wanted. After Noel's song (which had not been a beg for life, but rather, a time to relish death) Mischa found himself thinking of the boy rather like an Angel of Death. He watched Noel, and, even as he was trying to get back his old life, he found himself enjoying death, too, because Noel made sure of it.
What an inopportune time to develop a crush?
Sirens blared, and, yet again with no memory of transportation attached, Mischa found himself at the hospital. The other choir members were there. As he watched Noel get wheeled away, a breathing mask situated over his nose and mouth, nurses muttering things to each other about “hypovolemic shock” and how Noel had likely cut his arm the long way because he knew it was harder to stitch up veins cut vertically.
He felt sick. The events kept repeating in his mind, and throughout every scene he couldn’t help but notice how obviously planned this was. It was intricate. Noel had everything he could have needed. The notebook was filled half with instructions, like a makeshift will, and half with apologies.
Another thing? Mischa hadn’t even thought about it at the time, but Noel’s skin was layered with scars, burns, and lacerations. Some of them even appeared to be rudimentarily sewn shut . He knew for certain those hadn’t been there in the afterlife. Monique’s dress would have exposed everything.
“Mischa?”
He was knocked from his thoughts by Constance’s hesitant voice. She was handing him a wet wipe. He looked at her confusedly.
“...For the… you know,”
Mischa followed her gaze and almost threw up then and there.
In the bell tower, he had tried to admire the blood splattered on Noel’s skin. For Noel’s sake, he had almost managed to find something beautiful in it. Almost. This time he couldn’t find it in himself to do so.
The blood that splattered Mischa’s arms was brown in dried spots, red in wet ones, and suddenly he could feel exactly which was which. It was sticky and smelled like iron. Even dry, it had a sickening tackiness to it, reminding him it wasn’t paint. It was blood. From his friend. Slash crush. Who was quite possibly dying, or at least was trying his hardest to.
Constance caught the panicked look and gently began wiping the substance off of his arms for him. Mischa couldn’t help but notice how quickly it dirtied the wipe. The realization caught in his throat, and he bit his lip to stop the tears from welling in his eyes.
Surprisingly? It was Ocean who tried to comfort him.
“It’ll be okay, Mischa,” She spoke, her voice lacking the usual self righteousness it usually carried, “He’s stronger than you might think,”
Mischa looked down at Ocean. She seemed scared, yet somehow certain that Noel would be fine. Mischa couldn’t share the sentiment. Not after he had seen what he had.
“Ocean, you do not underst-”
“No, YOU don’t understand!”
Mischa flinched at the sudden change in tone and volume. Ocean’s panic began to shine through, which, in a way, was more comforting than the wall she had been putting up before. Perhaps even resolutions of kindness aren’t meant to withstand something like this.
“You know what? I warned him! All those years ago, I warned him!! I hugged him and cried and you know what? I warned him so he can’t be mad!”
“...What are you talking about?” Mischa wasn’t so sure he actually wanted to know.
Ocean was holding her own arms and pacing, something Mischa found unsettling.
“This has happened before. Years ago. Grade seven. He was supposed to meet me at the park, like we always did back then to escape our… our shitty parents,” She made a strange, strangled ‘hhng’ noise, and Mischa could tell she was getting closer to tears, “But then he didn’t! And I’m always concerned about punctuality, so when he didn’t show up I went to his house to see if he had even left yet.
“And what do I see? My friend, my. My brother lying on his bedroom floor, slashes across his wrists and blood everywhere ,”
She laughed at this, though it was obvious there was no true humor behind it. Hysteria held the reins now. Tears started to flow down her face, though Mischa was sure she hadn’t even noticed.
“So, I called 911. He gets to the hospital. They patch him up. Finally he’s allowed visitors, and what is the first thing he says to me?”
She sniffed aggressively, seeming angry. Not exactly at Noel. Maybe just at the world.
“He says, ‘Oh, hey Ocean,’ like nothing is wrong! Like- like he didn’t have bandages on his wrists- like he wasn’t in the hospital at all !
“And we had a long, long talk. Hours. I mentioned him not even leaving a note, and he goes ‘Sorry, Ocean, I’ll be sure to leave one next time,’ . I looked him in the eyes and told him: ‘Noel Gruber, if you dare scare me like this again, I am telling everyone that cares about you about this incident,’ . He had the audacity to smile, and say ‘Good luck finding anyone to tell’, ”
There was a moment where she paused, seeming so small compared to how she normally projected herself, shaking and hiccuping. Then, she was screaming, letting out the agony she tried so hard not to show.
“WELL, JOKES ON YOU, NOEL! I’M TELLING! THERE ARE PEOPLE THAT CARE ABOUT YOU, AND THEY’RE ALL IN THE STUPID HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM, BECAUSE YOU HAD TO GO AND… YOU HAD TO GO… You…”
Mischa wasn’t sure if he was staring at Constance and Ocean hugging, or if he was staring into space. Every heartbeat seemed to thump harder, pulsing up his throat. Noel had… done this before? That couldn’t be right. Not Noel.
But… he had done it this time, hadn’t he?
A nurse walked up to Mischa, and he tried not to think about how the man’s scrubs had splotches of blood.
“You’re the one who found him, correct?”
Mischa just nodded.
“Can you come with me?”
Mischa followed behind the nurse, seeming much like a ghost with as pale and confused he seemed. They reached a small room, painted yellow. The two sat on comfortable chairs opposite from each other, but neither of them looked anything close to comfortable.
“Okay. I'm going to ask you some questions, are you alright with answering them?”
“Will it help Noel?”
The nurse frowned at the broken tone in the boy’s voice.
“Yes, of course... I understand your apprehension. I am a stranger, after all. How about I start?
Mischa looked at the man distrustfully, but didn’t say anything.
“My name is Nurse Spool, but Noel knows me as Archie. You can call me that too, if you’d like. I’ve been in medicine for seven years. I have a dog, a partner, and we’re hoping to adopt soon. I take care of Noel every time he ends up here,” Archie offered a reassuring smile, “How about you? Anything you want me to know?”
“My name is Mischa. Noel calls me Misch, but you cannot call me that,” Mischa took a deep breath and glared at the nurse. He didn’t trust medics. “I’m eighteen years old, from Ukraine, and I just watched my best friend try to kill himself, so why don’t you cut the bullshit? Tell me what you want from me and why. I’ll answer if it helps Noel,”
With some satisfaction, Mischa watched the nurse swallow nervously. Then, Archie sighed tiredly and looked down at his clipboard. Fine. If this kid was going to be blunt, Archie could be blunter.
“Look. I won’t lie to you, we aren’t sure if he’s even going to make it. This is the most aggressive attempt he’s had so far. We’re trying something new to close the veins and arteries he cut; sort of like a cuff that holds the ends together. It’s his best option.
“We need to know exactly what happened so we can make sure there's no surprises. We know he cut his wrist- well, arm- and he’s incredibly lucky the blade hiccuped across the bigger mass of veins in the wrist. He still managed to catch some of those, as well as cleanly cut nearly to the bone in his forearm, but a few inches deeper by his wrist and he would have been dead before we even got to him. We also know he tried to jump off the bell tower-”
“Fall,” Mischa’s voice crackled. He was losing the tough guy routine again; this was making him feel almost ill.
“Fall?”
“He… he wanted to fall off the tower, not… Noel wouldn’t like you using the word ‘jump’,”
Archie’s eyes softened. He knew all about Noel’s poetic language. This boy truly cared about Noel, didn’t he?
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt… would you mind explaining what happened? They said they found a lighter at the scene, did he burn himself?”
“No… not that I know of… he was trying to burn some books,”
“...Probably his poetry or stories…” Archie made notes on the clipboard, “Okay, there was also some shattered glass?”
“A vodka bottle. He drank it. Threw everything up. He wanted to take medicine after… I took it from him,”
“...Attempted overdose…”
Mischa swallowed thickly. Why didn’t this man at least seem surprised? He remembered something the nurse had said earlier, something he had brushed off at the time.
“...Archie?”
“Yes?”
“You said you take care of Noel every time he ends up here. How often is that?”
Archie pursed his lips, seemingly debating on something.
“You know, I’m really not supposed to tell you that. Doctor-Patient confidentiality,”
“…But?”
“…But I know I’m missing pieces of the story, and you are, too. We both care about him, so here’s the deal: We fill each other in on the details, and try to get Noel the help he needs. Deal?”
Mischa wasn’t sure he trusted the man. What was the English saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Well, Misha wasn’t a cat, and he wasn’t getting details out of curiosity. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was that was compelling him, but it was far too negative to be curiosity. He studied Archie for a moment and then let out a sigh.
“…Deal,”
To Mischa’s surprise, Archie smiled, though that smile turned sad fairly quickly.
“Noel is usually here at least once a year. Once or twice he has been sent here by his employer after he passed out on a shift, but The main reason is that every year on March 5th, without fail, he’s here after a suicide attempt. We’ve asked him why. His only response has been ‘it’s poetic’.
“He’s a walking dictionary of signs of abuse, but we can’t look into it because he insists that it was him that did it to himself. We know it’s not true, because some of the marks he physically could not have made on his own, but without his confirmation we aren’t allowed to do anything.
“Other than that, we don’t really know much about him. He refuses to provide us any contact with his parents, refuses to give us his address, refuses to speak to any therapists while we have him here,”
Archie took a deep breath as if separating facts from feelings.
“The first time he was here, he was 12 years old. In a morbid way, I’ve kind of watched the kid grow up. You try not to form an emotional connection to your patients… I couldn’t help it with Noel.
“Since the first time he was here with the red headed girl, he’s always been alone. No visitors, no one to pick him up… It’s nice to be talking to his boyfriend. Now I know he has someone that truly cares about him, at least,”
Mischa, who had been in a trance while listening to the horrors Archie was describing, was very quickly brought back when he was called Noel’s boyfriend. His face flushed. Oh, this was awkward.
“I… I am not Poet’s boyfriend,”
Archie looked like he wanted to slap himself.
“Oh! Sorry, I… Noel always says the most random things while he’s on anesthetic…” He laughed, clearly embarrassed at the mistake, “So, what are you to him? At the very least, you seem to be important to him,”
“You think I am important to him?” He coughed to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice, “I… we didn’t even know each other very well until earlier today,”
“...And did something happen? He’s never attempted on any other day than March 5th,”
“...There was an incident. I cannot tell you, you would not believe it, but… it is how Noel and I got closer,”
“What did this incident entail? Would it make him more likely to attempt?”
“...We thought we were dead. The choir Noel and I are in. Most of us were mourning the life we had just lost, but… Noel just talked about how he wished his life had been different. He didn’t really fight to come back…”
Archie frowned, looking down at his clipboard once more.
“That must’ve been what he meant when he said he ‘finally died only to be forced to live’.”
“He said that to you?”
“Like I said, he says a lot of things when he’s under anesthesia. Can you tell me anything about his home life?”
“I think Ocean would know more,” Mischa frowned, “He seemed uncomfortable at the mention of his mother? I have the address to his house from driving him there,”
“That helps more than you may realize,” Archie took notes, “Ocean is the red-head, yes?”
Mischa confirmed the statement and gave him Noel’s address. The back and forth lasted a long time, but when Mischa was released back into the waiting room, it seemed like not much had changed. The choir was still there, all with varying negative looks on their faces. Before the doctor left for Noel’s room, he called out:
“Oh, Mischa?”
“Mm?”
“People who aren’t interested in someone romantically don’t give them cute little nicknames like ‘Poet’,”
Mischa could only blush, which he resented. Badass cool guys don’t blush! Even if said badass cool guy just got called out about having a crush on one of his best friends!!
“You missed an update,” Ocean’s voice was weak.
‘Noel won’t be able to get visitors until Wednesday, but he’s in stable condition,' Ricky finished for her, Penny translating helpfully, ‘It’s getting late… we have school tomorrow,’
“I know we are all…” Ocean tried taking back over, still struggling, “The one thing I know for sure is that Noel would be upset if he found out we canceled the sleepover on his behalf. We… understand. If you don’t want to stay over at Constance, but… it's a choice,”
And for once, Mischa believed there was no extra intention behind her offer. She was being genuine. What a time to change to a less abrasive personality? Mischa actually sort of found himself feeling sorry for her.
So, what did he want to do? The information Archie had told him was safely locked behind a sort of mental wall, but it wouldn’t last forever. The moment he laid down tonight, he would be forced to think about it. His options were limited: try to deal with it alone in the basement, or try to deal with it quietly so his friends wouldn’t hear. The first one more likely than not would involve him drinking. After the last time he had seen alcohol, he wasn’t so sure he could stomach that.
“...I will stay,”
Four sets of surprised looks turned to face him.
“...What?”
“Nothing,” Constance smiled weakly at him, “We just… out of anyone we figured you wouldn’t want to stay,”
He was silent for a moment. The two sides of him were fighting. One screaming at him to brush them off, make a snide comment, use outdated slang. The other, though? Wanted to open up and tell them the truth. And, after all they had been through together, didn’t he at least owe them that?
“...I do not want to be alone right now,”
Nobody said anything out loud, but there was a silent agreement. Today was probably the worst day of any of their lives.
They didn’t really talk much. Not in the waiting room, not on the ride over to the Blackwood’s, not when they got inside. It was late enough now to just go to sleep, but they all knew they would struggle with that.
Constance made hot cocoa, and while everyone knew it was her attempt at keeping her hands busy, it was very appreciated.
They sat in the living room, on the makeshift beds they had made earlier. There wasn’t chatter. They drank their cocoa in silence. It was all they could do not to look at the sleeping bag that Noel had claimed earlier.
When the lights were turned off, Mischa had a lot to think about. He could only face his emotions in the dark. How pathetic was that? Still, he knew he had to think this through, no matter how badly it hurt to do so.
Mischa wished he could look at it like Noel would. Poetically, logically, further back from the situation. A certain wisdom hidden behind nervous eyes. The intelligence used to back up his confidence.
Yeah. Mischa was not like that.
When he finally let the wall down, grief flooded his mind. The facts were nothing compared to the raw emotions.
Logically? He barely even knew Noel. One afterlife and, what? A few hours? Emotionally? Mischa was hopelessly attached, and the idea of losing Noel was crushing.
Why hadn’t Noel talked about that ? Monique seemed like the last thing Noel should’ve brought up. The terrible shit he had been through was just brushed off as his mother telling him to “dial it back”. Didn’t he want people to know? He had one last opportunity to be heard, and he used it to…
To talk about how he wished he was someone else. In a different time. To kiss someone and drink and live like Monique did. To burn out rather than fade away.
The realization hit hard.
Monique got to choose who hurt her and when. Noel wrote her strong. Her imperfections were her choice. She was infallible. Allowed to pick her poison.
Even though Archie had filled in what he could? Mischa found himself desperately grasping at straws. He wanted to know more. To complete the puzzle and make sure Noel’s story had a good ending. Preferably one that’s in the far, far future.
“…Mischa?”
“What?” He snapped, a little harsher than intended.
Mischa looked to see who it is, even though he already knew it was Ocean. All he could see was an orange blob though. Why was she so blurry?
His question answered itself as he felt a tear roll down an already well worn path. How long had he been crying?
“…Do you want to go out to the kitchen?”
Mischa followed her. Once she was in the dim kitchen, Mischa could see that her eyes were puffy.
“…You wanted to have cry party?”
“I wanted to see why you were crying,”
“You are crying too, no?”
It was weird talking to someone while his voice croaked emotionally. He hadn’t done that since they died, and before that? Since he was in Ukraine.
“Yeah…”
“No arguing?”
Ocean sighed, sliding down the cupboards until she was sitting on the floor.
“There’s no reason to, right?” She asked weakly.
“...What did you really want to know?”
“What?”
Mischa joined her on the floor.
“You and I are crying for same reason. You know that. What did you actually want to know?”
Ocean hugged her knees. She wasn’t expecting him to catch onto that.
“...I was wondering why you were crying, just not in the way you’re thinking…” She took a deep breath, “Fundamentally, I was wondering why you were so upset… because you’ve never… been close to Noel,”
Even if it was hard for her to say, she was saying it. It really struck Mischa how much she had changed in the span of a day.
“What do you mean?”
“We were all crying, but the others stopped . They fell asleep... I couldn’t. I’ve known Noel since we were little. We grew up together… we saw… see… each other like siblings. Even though we argue, and don’t hang out often, we were. Are ! Close…” Her voice crackled, indicating she may cry again soon, “That’s why I don’t get why you’re still awake. I have years with Noel that I almost had to mourn, but you? You didn’t even acknowledge him in life. You only really knew him for a few hours before… What has you crying like that?”
Mischa was silent for a long time.
“…I guess I do not know,” He fiddled with his hands, “I… it is true. I did not pay attention to him in life. But the entire afterlife? I found myself wishing I did,”
He felt like he was going to cry. Instead, he shook out his wrists and took a deep breath. He was tired of crying; how hadn’t he run out of tears?
“It is so stupid. All I know about him was from today. I do not know his favorite color, or his favorite song… I do not even remember his birthday,”
“March 5th,”
“What?” Mischa’s heart stuttered.
“His birthday. March 5th,” she smiled sadly, staring at the patterned floor, “His favorite color is burgundy, his favorite song is Falling in Love Again from The Blue Angel, and his birthday is March 5th,”
That did it.
Mischa’s wall broke down and suddenly the tears were pouring again. Ugly cries that echoed through the Blackwood’s kitchen. His eyes were screwed shut and his head tilted back to lean against the cupboard door.
And then, he was in Ocean’s arms, and he could help but cry harder knowing the last time this happened, the person holding him was Noel.
“I’m sorry Mischa! I thought that would be helpful-“
“It was,” He croaked, “It makes sense now,”
“What makes sense now?”
Mischa pulled back, wiping his face with the heels of his hands, grasping for some semblance of masculinity to replace the blubbering.
“...What the man at the hospital told me,”
“The nurse? What did he tell you?”
“I am not supposed to tell anyone else…”
“Mischa,” He was shocked by her tone, seemingly desperate, “What did he tell you? Is Noel okay?”
He pushed away from her after her hands moved to his shoulders. The contact felt forced now.
“I… I do not know ” He clenched his fists, “I do not know what’s happening, I am missing pieces of the story-”
“Then let me fill you in!” She urged, “Look, obviously you know something I don’t . If it has to do with how Noel is doing I want to know ,”
“I-”
“ Please !”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Ocean took a moment to breathe before speaking again.
“...Please. He’s… the closest thing I have to family,”
Mischa’s breath hitched. Ocean knew that family was the best way to get Mischa to do anything, and while part of him was suspicious, he couldn’t bring himself to legitimately believe she’d manipulate him like that.
“...Do you know anything about his private life?”
“Yeah?”
He stayed silent for a moment. This felt wrong… but what other choice did he have? He wanted to help with every ounce of his being, and he couldn’t do that when he didn’t have the full story. At this point, it felt like he had ⅔ of it… and Ocean had the past piece of the puzzle.
“...I’ll tell you, if you explain how it relates to Noel,”
Ocean looked shocked, sitting cross legged in front of Mischa now.
“Mischa… some of Noel’s life is really personal-”
“What I was told was really personal as well, please, Ocean, I need to know why ,”
“...Why what?”
“I’ll tell you, just. Promise me,”
Neither of them really wanted to tell the other what was going on, but both of them knew it was for the best. Maybe that was what finally convinced Ocean.
“… Fine,“
Hearing the information was one thing. Repeating it was another. The words leaving Mischa’s mouth were a certainty, but the way he said it was anything but. It was like the words cut him on the way out.
He could physically see the difference in Ocean as she listened. It was poison to her. Poison to Mischa, too.
“...He always told me he was busy… work, or school, or something to do with his mom…”
“Instead of celebrating his birthday?”
Ocean nodded, and they fell into another vacant silence.
“Why do you think he did this?” Mischa nearly whispered.
Ocean couldn’t meet his eyes, “His mom… isn’t the nicest,”
“What, like, is strict?”
“No, more like a drunk asshole,”
He was taken aback by the swear. If Ocean was cussing, it had to be serious.
“...She yells at him?”
“She hits him. Burns him. Cuts him, if she feels like it. Makes him pay the bills,” She spat. “...When we were smaller, we bonded over how terrible our parents were,”
Mischa inhaled sharply, but, as usual, Ocean kept talking.
“We never really talked about what happened. We liked it better that way. If we needed to escape, we had each other. But then I met Constance, and…” Her voice cracked, “And I stopped hanging out with him. Constance was normal . I wanted that. She had a safe house I could stay at and didn’t show up at the park smeared with her own blood, and I just… stopped responding to Noel’s texts,”
The guilt in her voice seemed extraordinarily out of place.
“I left him. My life got better because his got worse and after he joined the choir I never even asked how he was doing,”
Mischa wasn’t sure what to do. He might be crying… he wasn’t even sure anymore. The socially acceptable thing to do would be to comfort her, right?
“...But you see him as a brother, right? Does that not speak about your relationship growth?”
Ocean was shaking. Mischa was shaking. Neither of them were sure they could keep talking about this.
“...Let’s just go to bed,”
And for once, Mischa didn’t argue.