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Freminet wasn’t a talker. He wasn’t usually a sleeper either. Usually he stayed up, lamp glare worsening the burn of tired eyes as he squinted at small mechanical parts and machines. Usually he huddled under blankets, flash light illuminating words and pages as he dove into the fictional worlds of pen and ink. Sometimes, Freminet lays in bed, tossing and turning as he glares at his ceiling. Turning over thought after thought like looking for nicks within smooth stones, finding failure after failure. Freminet can’t sleep those nights, and he’d been having those nights a lot more recently.
Today is not one of those nights. Today, he’s been listening to Fischl, his girlfriend–his girlfriend, his pretty and smart and–she talks about anything and everything as she plays games on her computer, his computer screen split to see both Fischl and whatever game she’s been playing. They realized early on that Freminet sucked at most video games. While they occasionally played sandbox games, most days they settled on endless rambles over the phone. Freminet tinkering or sketching new inventions as Fischl tapped away on her computer.
Usually Freminet builds something or sketches out plans for a new installation on Pers or really anything he needs to do. Sometimes he tidies up around the house, headphones plugged into his phone even though Lyney and Lynette were usually off practicing or performing and Father busy with work. Today, however, Freminet had nothing to do. His mind was blank. His thoughts seemed muddled. No ideas to scribble into notepads or props to create or gadgets to fix. As soon as an idea came into his head, its detail instantly became vague as if he was looking at it through a cloud of fog. His notebook laid beside him, scratched out doodles and unrealistic blueprints littered the page it was open to. Freminet had long given up on his usual attempts at work, instead he rested his head on his arms as he listened to Fischl’s ramblings, occasionally interrupted by sounds of mashed buttons and blaring sound effects. Today Fischl’s ramblings were largely about a book she had recently finished–he had gotten frequent updates throughout the week–and while Lyney and Lynette enjoyed watching TV shows and dramatic stories, Freminet enjoyed Fischl’s episodic book reviews.
“–an exploration of the inherent absence of meaning belonging to human existence. This unique literary exploration sets before the reader a parade of illogical idiosyncrasies of life and death contradicted by the prior saccharine displays of wonder. Vociferating the reply to the masses greatest inquiry–fuck!” A loud bang. “What is–I mean…fuck! I can’t think! Gimme a minute! I mean–Damn it!” Suddenly loud shooting erupted from Freminet’s earbuds, his arm quickly darting towards the buttons to turn his computer’s volume down. There was a momentary beat of silence that followed. “Fucking finally–I mean–Now that I have overcome this momentary provocation–which was, as you must already be well aware of without my having to voice, a mere trifle for Prinzessin der Verurteilung–I will inform you of the literary delight recently discovered by yours truly!”
Ironically only silence followed. Well, silence and curses which usually followed loud eruptions of violent bangs and gunfire. It was as silent as Fischl got and yet Freminet’s eyes felt absurdly heavy despite the noise. He had never understood the concept of falling asleep on call until now. Phone calls had always been an anxious affair. There was no way of telling what the person was thinking. Freminet’s thoughts usually wandered around in metaphorical circles as he turned over each word searching for a hint of animosity from the other side of the phone–or a singular fuck up on his part. Considering Freminet’s usual behavior, he was absurdly calm on the phone with Fischl. Maybe it was because of the video chat–though he never stared at the screen for long, usually doing some other mindless task on the side. Maybe it was the familiar clicks of the computer or the familiar comfort of Fischl’s voice.
Anyways, today was different. With absolutely nothing to do, Freminet had–initially–paid close attention to Fischl’s game but it had quickly become repetitive and thus he had moved on to staring blankly at Fischl. Freminet could never recall a time when he stared at another person for so long. Fischl’s face scrunched up in focus as various lights from her computer danced across her face. Her eyebrows furrowed low, a mountain of wrinkles jutted out from the space in between them as the nose bunched up causing the bridge of her nose to sport a similar collection of wrinkles. Even Fischl’s lips–usually curved into a slight smirk–were bunched up, a slight pout forming on her face occasionally disrupted by her teeth reaching out to gnaw on her lips during particularly difficult fights. Freminet thought he would die if he looked at her any longer. He couldn’t look away.
Bright lights danced across Fischl’s skin accompanied by gunfire. Whites, yellows, and oranges pushed against dark shadows that blanketed her skin. It illuminated not only her face but the sliver of background Freminet could make out. He had been to her room, but it always looked different when swallowed by dark shadows and framed by the small screen of a video call. Maybe it was this contrast of light and dark that made Fischl’s eyes seem unusually bright. The vibrant green of Fischl’s eyes felt like lighthouses, leading Freminet in with the promise of home and comfort. He was always weak for the feeling of home, to belong without judgement. Maybe this is why his eyelids felt so heavy even as he slumped over in his rigid chair–usually a comforting stability turned into an uncomfortable unmoving lump of wood whenever he tried sleeping in it. Maybe Father had intentionally picked out this chair for that very reason, if it had been any more comfortable Freminet would have developed a rather unfortunate habit of falling asleep in his chair, late night tinkering sessions bleeding into his sleep schedule. And yet, despite the unforgettable chair, Freminet couldn’t muster up the strength to move to his bed even as his eyelids drifted further and further down and he slumped deeper and deeper into his chair, head disappearing into the cradle made by his arms.
“Shit! I lost. Freminet, where was I?” Fischl’s sudden voice highlighted how dangerously close he was to the realm of deep sleep, Freminet sat up with a jolt. He stared at her character in the lobby, seemingly missing the loading screen.“Freminent?”
“Something about…” Freminet had to pause to think as he chased off thoughts of her face and eyes and– “...the human existence. It’s illogical.”
“Precisely! An eternal march towards the preordained end. A parade that imbues the heart with promises of euphoria and contentment and yet presents a never-ending assault of tragedy. Behold!” Fischl’s hands flung out dramatically as if she was revealing a great mystery, her eyes shining with joy. “A myriad of illustrious music and dance, it cries. It steals the heart, mind, and soul from those who dare gaze upon life’s collection of decadents, leaving them a broken husk. That is the true nature of the seemingly meaningless parade we call life!” Freminet couldn’t blame that glow in her eyes on the screen any longer. Fischl jolted rhythmically as if she was swinging her legs–a habit of hers Freminet had noticed. A smile began to spread across her face. It was beautiful. It was something different than the confident smirk belonging to the persona of the Prinzessin but no less brilliant and bright. It was something radiant and sweet that Freminet didn’t have the words to describe but that Fischl probably had all the words for. It was something Freminet loved.
“And yet while we mourn the end we gluttonously indulge in its progress. Some spur on the abrupt ending of others while others selfishly cling to the dregs of an abhorrent cacophony. If one’s notes linger in the greater composition that is life, when doth thou truly die? Never is one alone, never does one cease to exist when selfishly, we cling to the memories of others. Our motifs become a part of another’s composition and their composition a part of hundreds more. Never is life meaningless despite its inherent contradiction.”
Silence followed.
“Freminet?” Fischl stopped her wild movements and reached for her mouse, moving the cursor over to the small window wherein a small icon lay. Clicking on it revealed Freminet, head awkwardly slumped over and held up by a singular hand. Fischl’s eyes darted over to the button of her screen where she could see the time and yet it was far earlier than their usual log off time.
Did she talk too much this time? Usually Freminet did other things. Usually Fischl would pipe up and demand to know what he was doing, wrenching out an occasional sentence or–on days she was lucky–a long winding ramble about machines or Lyney and Lynette or some hilarious story about his siblings breaking some device always delivered in a shy yet delighted tone. None of those things happened today. In fact, today Fischl hadn’t checked in on Freminet at all. Never once did she ask what he was doing. Fischl checked, of course, on that tiny window into Fremient’s life that rested on the upper portion of her screen. Today, unlike other days, she enjoyed looking at his face which was usually off screen on account of him working on something else.
But maybe that was a sign something was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t working on anything because…because–it felt like grasping for straws to make up any reason for this unusual behavior but Fischl had let more apparent discomforts slip past her notice. How many times had she grown close with someone only to learn of the laughter behind her back. How many times had she rambled only to be met with confused looks, feigned laughter, and fake smiles. She began to pick at her hands, the skin that met with her nails always gave way easily when pulled like her confidence and her friends and her–Fischl knew she was being unreasonable and yet she couldn’t help thinking: had she done something wrong?
A voice inside became louder, irrationality taking over her thoughts as she turned over every ramble and tangent. Maybe she repeated the same thing too much, maybe she had been annoying–absurdly long words worn down Freminet’s tolerance of her and now he had grown tired of her. Fischl wanted to point out that Freminet had never suggested that he disliked her but–a sense of shame, embarrassment bubbled up inside her. Freminet wasn’t a talker–he didn’t even like speaking on bad days–she held onto that fact but every fact Fischl brought up was torn down by endless what ifs and maybes.
“...Freminet?” She tried again, a bit louder, a bit more desperate, a bit more hesitant.
Freminet’s head jolted up followed by a loud bang and his face quickly falling out of frame and his chair being pushed back. A horrendous screech of wood scraping across the floor followed. Faint groans and curses could be heard from the speaker. Fischl leaned forward as if that would allow her to see him better, it didn’t.
Freminet appeared on screen again, hand clutching his desk as he pulled his chair back up. “Sorry I fell asleep.” He paused as his face flushed and his eyes avoided the screen, the slight movement of his arms could be seen as if he was wringing his hands which were slightly out of frame. He continued again, quieter this time. “I hit my knee on the desk.”
Fischl burst out into laughter, worries forgotten for a minute as she watched Freminet scowl in embarrassment. “There’s–” Fischl tripped on her words as she laughed. “There’s no way!”
“Stop laughing at me.” Fischl reached up to cover her mouth as if that would somehow muffle her laughter. Fremient’s scowl deepened, face becoming more flushed. “I hope you wake your parents with all that laughter. And you get in trouble. And get all your books taken away.”
Fischl’s hands slammed onto her table, laughter suddenly disappearing as a smile replaced it though her eyebrows scrunched up into a scowl. “Take that back!”
“Never.” Freminet replied.
“Well, for your foul transgressions upon mine good name, I hope your horrendous actions will awaken Ms. Arlecchino from her restful slumber prompting her to do away with any of your tinkering privileges!”
“I hope you get your video games taken away.”
“Guards have him exiled from the Immernachtreich!”
“You’re not streaming!” Freminet exclaimed. “And I am the guards, I moderate your streams.”
“Very well! I will alleviate your punishment on one condition.” Fischl held up one finger to further emphasize her point though the intimidation factor was taken away by the fact both teens were holding back laughter.
“Please lighten my sentence, dearest Prinzessin.” Freminet’s face remained deadpan, a contrast to his playful words. “What conditions will you uphold me to?”
“I didn’t think this far, actually, wait.” A fond smile spread across Freminet’s face as he waited for Fischl’s response. “Your Prinzessin demands you reveal the reasoning behind your impromptu siesta during one’s enlightening speech.”
“Oh.” The smile disappeared from Freminet’s face, shoulders slumping inwards as his mouth curved downwards. When he spoke again he was quieter. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” He paused again as if considering something. Freminet stared intently at his desk, a clear contrast from his obsession with Fischl’s face earlier, her doubts creeped in. “I haven’t been sleeping well…and your voice is nice.”
Silence.
Laughter.
Freminet’s eyes darted up from the scratch on his table, surprised by the laughter escaping from Fischl. Her hand darted up to muffle her laughter–clearly aware of the late call and truly not wanting to disturb her parents–but Freminet could still hear her laughter and he could still see the way her shoulders shook and eyes crinkled in delight. Red crept onto his cheeks, embarrassment settling in.
“Wait, wait.” Fischl’s laughter stopped as she sobered up, realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
“You’re laughing at me.” Freminet protested, resisting the urge to run to the nearest body of water and never emerge, instead opting to bury his face in his hands.
“I’m laughing at myself, Freminet.” Fischl’s earlier playful mood returned, trying to lighten the mood. “I was worried my…well…I was worried I was boring you but here you are, enjoying yourself.”
Freminet continued staring. And wringing his hands. Words escaped him. It seemed joy seeped into him and yet it was diluted by the dregs of embarrassment residing in him. He wanted to smile, joyful that he wasn’t chided for falling asleep or doing the wrong thing. And yet. He had no words to describe this feeling or to respond to this revelation they both shared.
He opted to look at the desk again.
“Well!” Fischl cleared her throat, demanding his attention. “While you have provided adequate explanation for earlier transgressions your punishment remains to be dished out.”
This was more familiar, easier to respond to. Fischl’s consistent old English way of speaking made it easier to respond–or at least, Freminet thought so. It was easier to respond when it wasn’t serious. Easier to respond when it felt more like the storybooks he read rather than real life. Their habit of escapism seeping into everyday life made everything worse until they found each other. The unexplainable draw to the sea and the onslaught of fancy words confused others but was familiar to them and only them. That commonality made it easier, Freminet thought, and so he smiled.
“I will accept my punishment with honor.” Freminet replied playfully, falling into step with Fischl.
“You have been sentenced to…” Fischl paused for dramatic flair. “An early night's sleep!” Her hand slammed onto the end call button, swiftly cutting off any attempt at persuasion like the swift swing of an executioner. Fischl smiled to herself at the apt comparison.
Once the call ended and the persona faded, however, Fischl dropped her head into her hands, embarrassment seeping in. It had definitely not been ‘never before’ but certainly not regularly that someone had expressed something even remotely similar to what Freminet felt towards her. It never felt like the confusion of others that she had grown used to, her words leading people in endless circles as they focused on her literal words rather than their hidden meaning. It never felt like the adoration of knights and princesses that she read about in storybooks, an endless revere for a strength the other could never possess. It felt like home. Freminet felt like the first fall into your favorite place to lay after a long day or the way the air caresses you when coming home after a long time away, something finally familiar. The wariness of the day still clinged to you–unable to be rid of past burdens–and yet they seemed farther away the longer you stayed home.
It was a vulnerable feeling: comfort.
While Fischl turned this feeling over and over in her head, Freminet was met with a screen that read ‘call ended’. He stared blankly at the screen, mind several steps behind reality in processing what just occurred, lack of sleep finally catching up. Freminet was soon greeting with a simple ‘good night’ followed by a string of emoticons and he reasoned, there was nothing to do other than to sleep. So he typed out a goodnight in return and tucked himself into bed, holding onto the image of Fischl’s face illuminated by videogame visual effects and the sound of her soothing voice.