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Of all the human experiences faded from Loop's memory, the one that feels most foreign to them now is dreams.
They remember eating in the loops: overfullness and thirst and a screaming, aching hunger. They remember broken bones and sore limbs, getting hurt and being healed. They remember the little annoyances of pulling a muscle in their leg or feeling an itch under their nose.
They do not remember dreaming. Only their dawning horror growing brighter, burning hotter, every time they awoke to the same day. Only flashing spectres haunting the House, their own eyes and mind growing less and less trustworthy with every retracing of their steps. Only living in a waking nightmare.
At least, that's what it felt like. In hindsight, the loops were a whole lot less nightmarish than they seemed. They were consistent, almost regimented. Dreams are uncertain, unstable, nightmares worst of all.
Loop hates dreaming. They hate losing consciousness for swaths of time and waking up with the shadows of new memories slipping between their fingers. The nightmares are terrifying and embarrassing: jolting up in bed with their heart pounding out of their chest over something that isn't real. The dreams aren't much better: half-formed faces and long-forgotten voices, places their mind can't remember and their body can never return to.
At first they tried to avoid sleeping, to put off the inevitable as long as they could. When Loop had first revived, when they were alone, they grabbed each day in their hands and clawed their way through it, stretching it out as long as they could. They'd collapse only when the stars faded and the sun started to shine.
Once they were no longer alone, the party had not appreciated that. They'd been warmly reprimanded (Mirabelle), enthusiastically informed of the long-term consequences (Isabeau), dryly told to take care of themself (Odile), and outright shaken by the shoulders to be scolded (Bonnie).
Siffrin had stared, and swallowed, and smiled, and looked away, and nodded, and pursed his lips — a thousand little replies stopping short of actually saying anything. Later, when the rest of the party was off preparing for dinner, they’d walked next to Loop, the hem of their cloak brushing up against their legs.
“If you need to wake me up, you can.”
And then they were off, after their family.
Loop made a promise to themself that they would, under no circumstances, take Siffrin up on their offer. There wasn’t any way they could actually help them, after all, so what would be the point? They’d disturb their sleep and irritate them and shackle them with all those problems Isabeau warned about. At best it would be a selfish balm on their wracked nerves — something Loop was trying hard not to do — and at worst, it would inspire resentment and push Siffrin away.
They’d already done so much to push them away. Kept secrets, misled them, tried to kill him. Loop still had trouble understanding why when Siffrin and his family had found them again, human and struggling, he hadn’t just left them alone to flounder and flail. Their confusion had softened over time, from grating frustration to a disquieting gratitude, but it still left them feeling unsteady. Like Siffrin, as much Loop as much as he was his own person, would one day wake up realizing how little sense it made and change his mind.
So they didn’t wake him up.
No matter how much they wanted to.
Instead Loop stared at the ceiling, the wall, Mirabelle’s form in the bed across from them, the inner stitches of the inn room blanket they pulled over their head. They kept their bleary, aching eyes open to protect themself from what they’d see when they were closed.
Death, but not as they remembered it, not as anything that made sense. Faces dripping, melting, into tears, a puddle of flesh and blood and saltwater. Slipping, skating across splattered bodies, shredded corpses, splinters of skin and bone. A sea made of Housemaidens and Fighters, Researchers and Kids, spilled and swarming until they couldn’t tell the pieces apart anymore.
Loop had cried as a star, but somehow the noise their throat makes, a hiccuping catch of breath, is so much more embarrassing now. The tears feel hotter than they remember, even less controllable, and they ball their hands into fists and press them deep against their closed eyes in an effort to soothe themselves and stop the stinging. It doesn’t work. It just burns.
How many versions of their party were brought into the world, only to die? Over time they’d warped, become concepts and characters rather than people, but wasn’t that just Loop’s own perspective, a lie to comfort themself? The Housemaiden, the Fighter, the Researcher, the Kid — every iteration of them was a living, breathing human. Their lives were real, and so were their deaths. Each and every time.
Usually, Loop hated themself for giving up, for throwing away their chance at happiness and saving their party. But in their deepest, darkest moments, they hated themself for taking so damn long, for trying so many times. All they did was prolong their party’s suffering, create more and more worlds where they died.
“Loop?”
The voice is muffled through the blanket they have pulled over their head, but they recognize it as Siffrin’s immediately. It sounds different than how they hear their own, but it’s still the most familiar.
“Probably silly to ask if you’re okay, but…”
So they’d heard them. Loop winces, pulling their body in on itself. They could try to pass themselves off as sleeping. Did humans even sleep sob? It seemed like something they would do, with all the other embarrassing pieces of humanity considered.
“I had a bad dream, too,” Siffrin says. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Against Loop’s better judgement, the admission inspires them to slowly, tentatively, raise the blanket up over their head. Siffrin is looking at them with softly narrowed eyes, a furrowed brow and sad smile on their face. “No,” Loop says.
Siffrin responds with a raised eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll believe that. Do you want to go outside with me?”
Again, Loop only nods.
Loop didn't realize how stifling the inside of the inn felt until they step onto the inn's balcony. The wide expanse of night air is immediately comforting: the gentle breeze drifting through the trees, the stars yawning out in front of them. Siffrin walks to the edge, crossing their arms and resting them on top of the railing, before nestling their chin on top of their hands.
Loop walks behind him, settles beside in a mirrored image. They'd stand differently if they were still taller, but now that they're human, they're the same height, and so this position feels most natural.
"When you spend so long in one place," Siffrin says, "it's nice to step outside."
They don't say to see the stars, but Loop can feel it in the air between them, in the fact that they instantly agree. They'd already been so unfairly distanced from them, their connection nearly severed with their memory, and then they were made to wander indoors, all labyrinthine passageways and tight corridors. Siffrin spent a little more time outdoors in their loops, saw a few more glimpses of the sky even from within the House, but they must have felt that same ache all the same.
"Even if that place is your head, stardust?"
Siffrin turns to face them, cracks a smile. "Oh, especially." And then he looks back out at the sky. His smile remains, but some of the energy fades, mellowing into something pensive. "I won't make you talk about your dream. But can I talk about mine?"
In spite of themself, Loop shifts their weight towards Siffrin, bumping against them with their hip. "Oh, so you want me to comfort you?" They're teasing, but the idea is sparking a strange feeling in their chest. A reminder that their support can go both ways. That helping themself and helping Siffrin don't have to be mutually exclusive.
Siffrin clicks their teeth. "Nah. Just want to get it out."
"Very well, then. Go ahead."
Siffrin nods, and then they hesitate, as if this wasn't their idea. Loop catches the way their teeth dig into their lower lip, almost pulling it into their mouth in nerves. "I saw this weird shade," they say, finally, "a few times. As a flash, as an outline. It wasn't light or dark, but it was so intense. Almost like it was both at once."
At Siffrin's continued pause, Loop nudges against him again, but this time holds still, stays pressed against his side: hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. If he moves, or straightens out, or does one of his thousand little tics to show he's uncomfortable, they'll step back again, but until then they stay next to him, a warm reminder he's not alone.
Siffrin instead settles into the touch, knocking their shoulder back against Loop's. "I haven't seen it since, except in dreams. It keeps taking the place of blood. Making everything more visceral. Making the worst loops even harder."
"Oh," Loop says, because they're at a loss for what else to. They could couch it in poetic words, or they could let their first thought stumble from their mouth, which is, "Well, stardust, that sucks."
Siffrin laughs. Loop hears it next to them and feels it in their trembling shoulder. It's dry, but they can hear the humor and sincerity in it all the same. "It really does."
For a moment, they stand in near silence, Loop drinking in the sound of Siffrin's chuckling as it fades away. They find themself smiling, too, in spite of themself, in spite of their bad mood and worse dream.
Siffrin seemed to appreciate just saying things as they were, Loop thinks, at facing them head on. Maybe it could help them, too.
Maybe it would be okay if they let Siffrin help them.
"My dream also sucked," they start. "There was also a lot of blood. A lot of very disturbing imagery overall."
They glance back at Siffrin. His face is more serious now, an intense look in his eyes. He raises an eyebrow as if to prompt them further.
"But that wasn't really the issue. It just… reminded me of it." Loop pulls their arm away from Siffrin to instead clasp their hands together on top of the railing. They just narrowly catch themself nervously picking at their skin, a nervous human habit they've been trying to avoid picking back up. "Of how many loops there were. How many deaths happened in them."
They don't say, How I caused so many more by trying so many times, and it wasn't even enough. But they look back at Siffrin and think they know.
"I think a lot about my first loop," Siffrin says. "Before I knew. It was just me who died in the moment, but the others, they must have… well, none of the options are good. And it would have been my fault. For not doing my job. For failing them."
Loop opens their mouth to say something, but Siffrin barrels through.
"But I also think about all the things I learned. And all the things we needed time and second chances for. And how grateful I was for them at the start." This time, it's Siffrin who knocks against Loop, not unlike a cat. They turn back to look at them, even as their tone turns sheepish, quiet. "Everyone's life has terrible what-if scenarios. Most people just don't have to see how they play out. It sucks. It's scary and overwhelming, but… from talking with the others, I've figured it's probably not as unique, as horrible, as it feels."
Loop looks away. They worry at their lip, an echo of Siffrin's own nervous tic. They think, for just a moment, most people don't have to see how the good ones play out, either. Don't have to be reminded of all the ways they could have done more, been better.
And then they think about Siffrin, smiling in spite of themself. Talking about the things that scare them, that have hurt them. Offering help when others are hurting. Loop thinks of the cobbled together family that's welcomed them with open arms, the one Siffrin was brave enough to tell the truth to.
And in spite of themself, Loop says, "Most people don't get the chance to see the result of the good ones, either, stardust. Not like I do."
Siffrin jolts beside them. Loop feels the nervous twitch in his shoulders as he laughs. They could swear they catch him blush before he buries the bottom half of his face into his cloak.
Loop decides to spare them any further compliments. But they do reach their hand to Siffrin's far side, clasp their shoulder and pull them to them. Siffrin leans into the side hug, their head against Loop's shoulder. "I think the sun's coming up?" he says, only slightly muffled by the fabric of his collar.
Sure enough, there's a hazy lightness coming from the horizon. "Indeed."
"And you'd gotten so much better about this, too. Sorry for ruining your record. And your sleep schedule."
Loop shrugs. "It's fine. No ruination necessary; I can stay up."
Siffrin yawns, wide and loud and dramatic. Loop can practically feel it against their shoulder. "Maybe you can, but I can't."
"The others won't mind?"
"Bonbon'll be mad if we sleep past two meals. If we just miss breakfast, I think we'll be okay."
The room the party rented is still quiet as Loop and Siffrin shuffle back inside. After the breath of fresh air, the stillness and warmth of the indoors feels less stifling and more comfortable.
Ugh. So talking did help. That's annoying, it means they might want to make a habit of it. Can they do that? Could they ask so much?
Or maybe they're just sleepy again, instead of shaken up, and the darkness in the room welcomes them with open arms.
Siffrin shakes off their coat, hanging it on one of the bed posts of Loop's bed, and climbs directly under the blanket. And with just the ease of that gesture, Loop is forced to confront that both things are true: that they're tired and wanting comfort, and that accepting it from Siffrin might not be the end of the world.
With all they've learned, it might actually be just the opposite.
"Roll over, stardust. That's my side."