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Z can’t seem to move.
He understands that he’s back home, and the floor under his feet is solid, and he’s not in that hospital anymore, but the details are just not slotting in his mind. The eyes, the darkness, and the ear-splitting static are still firmly stuck in his memory. He can’t shake it.
Moe is honking her horn— and probably has been for a while— while keeping close at Z’s side, concern written all over her face. He hadn’t noticed her approach at all.
He can’t seem to make eye contact with Moe, either. It takes Z a forceful blink of his eyes to realize they’re tearing up.
“Z?” a deeper voice calls.
Suddenly, something dark approaches, and Z realizes vaguely that it’s Regect. Everything sounds muzzy. Z slowly wraps his arms around himself, trying to assure himself he was real, that this was real.
“Z?” asks Regect again, much closer this time. Z flinches at the sound “Moe, maybe get him some water, or— or a snickers, or something.”
Moe dutifully skips off to fetch it. Z doubts anything can snap him out of this state— he just needs to sit, to breathe; but his breaths have been coming choppy ever since he… arrived? Snapped back to reality? He can’t remember. The hospital-moment seems like a messed-up cross between a dream and real life.
Regect’s hand is hovering near Z’s shoulder— he can spot the outline out of transparent fingers.
“Uh? Dude, are you good?” Regect asks, and that weirdly genuine concern is what makes Z scowl.
A newfound bitterness clears some of his numb shock. With a scowl, he turns away.
“Oh, don’t act so stupid,” Z eventually mumbles out, forcing his voice to remain steady.
Regect freezes, probably at his harsh tone. Z couldn’t remember the last time he got genuinely pissed at the guy before.
“What?”
“I know that was you. You, showing me all that stuff, you… piece of shit,” he hissed out. His eyes are stuck staring at the floor. “I take it back, okay? You are scary.”
“Dawg, what are you talking about? Showing you what?”
“The— the hospital!” Z says, voice rising, and his hands return to fists at his side. “All the stuff that I heard? The eyes? The code blue shit? You got me, I admit it.”
“Hospital?” Regect repeats flatly.
What a joke. Z thinks he’s doing a swell job at acting dumb. For the first time, he glances up, and Regect is looking like a kicked puppy. Despite all the stern words, he doesn’t back away from Z.
“Oh, you should be an actor, seriously. I figured. Just leave me alone, asshat.”
“Are you tweaking?” Regect asks, laughing a little in disbelief. “I didn’t do anything. What happened to you, seriously? I mean, you just kind of appeared. Me and Moe saw it!”
Z struggles to find any more words. The whole argument is escaping him, because now he can’t even tell what’s real. He’s still so confused, and his stupid hands won’t stop shaking, and Regect won’t quit that genuinely concerned tone of voice.
Z, after a long moment, just closes his mouth and just shakes his head. He breezes past Regect and goes over to the staircase, with legs that are not feeling any less unsteady.
“Where are you going?” he hears Regect ask from behind him. He doesn’t reply.
His silence seems to strike a nerve, but Z can’t find it in him to care. He’s halfway up the stairs when he’s face to face with Regect again— the asshole had teleported in front of him.
He huffs a sigh. “Fuck off, seriously.”
“I’m trying to understand what the hell you’re going on about,“ Regect pleads, and there is something newly desperate in his voice. “Dude— talk to me.”
Z frowns, but doesn’t entirely let up the idea that Regect is still messing with him. He’d humor his idiocy a few moments more.
“You went missing,” Z starts to explain. “And so did Moe. For, like, days. And then you— well, I assumed it was you— led me somewhere. Some dark hospital, with eyes, and…”
Z stares down at the steps. That shaky, static-y feeling is back.
“...it was bad.”
He looks up at Regect, who’s posture has huh? written all over it.
Z realizes he had nothing to do with this.
He melts down into a sitting position onto the stairs, fearing his legs just wouldn’t hold him up much longer. A deep breath does nothing to soothe his shaky voice.
“I was calling for you,” Z admits quietly. “I really thought that was you, man.”
Regect almost falls down the stairs with how quickly he comes to Z’s side.
“Woah, woah,” Regect says, sitting beside him on the step. “No, that wasn’t me. I swear it, okay? I swear.”
“Are you messing with me?” Z asks, and those stupid tears are in his eyes again.
“I’m not. Really, come on, I don’t like seeing you all…” He cuts himself off, and sighs. “Look, I know I’m a piece of shit. But that’s, like, too far. Look at you.”
Z rolls his eyes, wiping the beginning of his damned tears with his sleeve. He sets his trembling hands on his knees. “You have put me in hell before.”
Regect winces. “Okay, yeah. I admit that was a bit asshole-y of me.”
“Not just a bit.”
“I did get rid of the soulsand for you,” Regect adds quietly.
Z looks up, sees his sheepish posture, and lets out a tiny laugh. It feels odd to smile despite the tears and the lingering shakiness, but Regect was always sort of funny. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.
They stare at each other for a quiet, teary moment, and it takes one more sad smile at Regect for him to scoop Z close. He doesn’t protest. It’s a hug, or as close to a hug that someone like Regect can provide.
Regect’s fingertips bury themselves in Z’s jacket fabric as he squeezes him a little tighter. The dark hospital, the bedrock, and the eyes all seem lightyears away now.
“So, it wasn’t you?” Z asks against his chest.
“Not me.”
He sits with that for a moment, just letting Regect cradle him, a hand on his back. He can only assume how pathetic he looks, all cozied up to this entity, but he doesn’t care. Thankfully, Regect’s chest is not transparent like the rest of his body, and when he’s pressed close like this, Z swears he can hear a dull heartbeat. It’s soothing.
“Six days,” Z mumbles. “For six whole days, I didn’t see you.”
“Or Moe,” Regect points out.
“Moe, too, yeah. But that’s different. She’s a friend.”
Regect goes still. “Then, uh, what does that make me?”
“Um.”
Thankfully, a honk interrupts the moment. They both look up, and Moe is standing there, a glass of water in one hand and her horn in the other.
Z is quick to tear away from Regect. “Moe! Um. Thanks.”
Not without a skeptical look, Moe hands off the glass of water to Z. He takes it gratefully while avoiding looking at Regect, who seems to be mentally working through a few things.
As Z sips from the glass, Moe honks out a handful of questions, still very much concerned about his previous state.
“Woah, woah, calm down,” Z says, setting his cup down. “I’m okay. Really. It was sort of a, um, bad dream, I guess. But I was awake.”
Regect snorts at his bad explanation.
“Oh, shut it,” Z says, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to Moe. “I don’t know what it was, exactly, but you shouldn’t worry.”
Moe nods, a bit more convinced.
“Honestly, I’m just glad you’re both here again, because it felt like forever since I last saw you guys.”
Moe honks another question.
“Yes, fine, I even missed Regect,” he admits through a sigh. “Listen, that really messed me up. Because, I know we’re a weird group, but I really… um, well, I like spending time together.”
From next to him, Regect let out some sort of choking noise. Z turns to face him.
“I— Dude, are you crying?”
“No,” Regect says, obviously tearing up. “Pfft. Duh.”
“Oh my God, you are,” he mumbled, scooting closer to Regect. “Where are your eyes, even?”
Z reaches his hands up to find and cup Regect’s face. His fingertips land somewhere and trace up to his face, wiping his palm against Regect’s cheek, who seems to be holding his breath at all this contact.
Then Moe honks again, as if to say, am I interrupting something?
Z tears his hands from Regect’s face, whipping around to face Moe. “Um. Sorry.”
Moe honks.
“Clingy? We are not—“
She honks out again, and this time announces she’s going to her bedroom to sleep. Regect and Z both bid her goodnight, and it takes one more assurance from Z that he’s okay until Moe slips off to her room.
Once they’re alone, still sitting on the steps, Regect pipes up.
“I think she suspects something.”
Z sighs. “Yeah. I should tell her eventually.”
Regect tilts his head to the side. “Honestly, I think she may already know.”
“How?”
Regect shrugs and says, “Well, it’s kinda obvious.”
“Still. I don’t know how to explain it to her. It’s weird.”
“She’ll get it. Like you said— she’s your friend.”
“But, it’s like, how do I start? ‘Hey, Moe, by the way, I’m being haunted by a bunch of eyes’? That’s gonna scare her.”
“Oh,” breathes out Regect. “Ah. Wait, you were talking about that?”
“Well, uh— yeah? What were you talking about?”
“That we’re gay?”
Z opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. “Huh? You thought I was trying to plan my coming-out to Moe?”
“Our coming-out,” corrects Regect.
“Whatever, sure-- I mean, no!” he splutters. “I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about the freaky eyeballs that keep creeping up on me, dude.” And with that last word, he pokes Regect in the shoulder.
“Oh, right. Okay, listen, I don’t know what’s up with that, but I promise I’m gonna Kirk the guy who’s doing this to you, okay?”
Z rolls his eyes at Regect’s attempt at acting all noble. “You don’t even know who it is. Or what it is. Neither do I.”
“Then, let’s figure it out right now. Describe everything, because I can’t have another entity messing with you. That’s my job.” Regect scoots closer to him. “Does it have a name?”
Z is forced to wade past the idea that Regect is possessive over him. “It’s just eyes,” he eventually says. “And laughter.”
“It’s never talked to you? Ever?”
“No.”
“Holy aura,” mumbles Regect.
“What?”
“Nothing. Okay, so that's useless. What about…” Regect thinks for a moment, then quietly brings up, “Um, you said you were in a hospital?”
Z sucks in a breath. “Yeah. Really dark. Mostly empty. Um, there were ambulances parked out front,” he describes, tapping his finger against his knee. “What else? Uh… oh, yeah, do you know someone named Thatcher?”
“Thatcher? No. Why?”
“It was in this book I found in one of the patient rooms. Full of flowers, too.”
Regect hums, thinking that over. “Patient room?” he repeats.
Then he goes still. He slowly turns to face Z, something unplaceable in his manner.
“Was there anything in that place about someone named Micha?” Regect asks, each word slow and deliberate.
“Uh, no.”
At that reply, Regect lets out a relieved laugh. “Oh, jeez, thank god, dude. Because that would’ve meant… Phew. Well, it’s whatever. Don't sweat it now.”
Z is still very much confused, and he’s not quick to forget the weird, nostalgic tone in Regect’s voice. “Who’s Micha?”
Regect cups a hand to his non-existent ear. “I didn’t hear you, can you say that again?”
“I said, who’s Mi-- Hey!”
Z’s sentence is interrupted when Regect scoops him up into his arms as he stands, hefting Z over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.
“What the hell, man?” he says from over his shoulder, forgetting his question.
“I think it’s bedtime,” Regect cheerily says to him. “Sleep’s a good idea, right?”
Z tightens his grip on Regect without hesitation. “No fucking way. What if I wake up, and I’m there again?”
“Guess I’ll have to keep you company.”
He thinks about that. “Oh. That’s okay, then.”
“What was that?” Regect asks, and Z can’t tell if he’s lying again.
In any case, Z scrambles to correct himself. “I said you’re a sack of shit and I hate you.”
“Right. That’s what I thought,” he says musingly, trailing up the stairs.
And even though they’re not any closer to figuring out who or what the eyes are, Z is assured that at least for tonight, he’s okay.