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Chase is late to the scene yet again, and in most cases Nox would find himself prickled by this. Today, though, he's found himself put off by the contrast of Violet's words and Chase's loud personality. He crosses some overgrown field, alone with trodden bluestems in his wake. His mind, too, feels overgrown with weeds and stems of what were once flowers, but now remain as dried husks in the merciless November cold.
Nox wishes that he didn't understand Chase's motivations. He wishes that he was oblivious to the concept of family, and how far he would go to save his own.
If you could call a bunch of humanoid keys a family, that is. But that's besides the point. Nox wanted to be unfeeling. He wanted to be undeserving, so that Chase never would have taken an interest in him.
Dread sets in his stomach yet again. What does Chase's mother look like? Does she, too, have blond tresses of hair and honey-brown eyes? Would he look at her and see Chase for all that he was, as if he had seen the other's entire upbringing?
His thoughts are interrupted by muttered complaints and the approaching crunches of weeds behind him. He blinks a few times, feigning composure, and turns to regard Chase.
"You're late," Nox says dumbly. It comes off colder than he wants it to, but Chase must not notice, or care for that matter.
"This book has way too much walking. Only for me, though, and Dorkin just sits around with his fictional maidens. Ugh." He brushes his trousers off, though it does little to fix the grass stains that coat them. When it doesn't work, he huffs in frustration and stands up straight, arching a brow at Nox. Or, as he would be seen by Chase, Buddy.
For some reason, a small, asinine voice in Nox's head tells him to apologize.
"At least he's doing what his character is supposed to do," is what Nox opts to say instead. "You, on the other hand, spent an hour in the cake shop just "browsing." And then you still ended up committing theft."
Chase scowls. "Alright, Buddy, how about you try going without gluten for more than a month and get back to me? Trust me, you're gonna pounce on fictional ghost wheat every chance you get."
"Fair enough," Nox stifles a laugh at Chase's scrunched-up nose. He glances skywards to the darkening storm clouds rolling overhead. It's a more modern novel, with stubborn protagonists and fight scenes in the rain. He's well aware that he hasn't been tracing the plot as keenly today. Other things have been plaguing his mind, ever since his conversation with Violet.
"Do you still think he'll still be so trusting when he finds out we're stealing his narratonin?"
The statement rings in his mind like alarm bells. He can feel his blood running colder despite the coat over his shoulders and the thick wool-lined trousers. Violet plans well.
As always, Chase's fixed gaze anchors him, tugs him back to the surface. He now realizes that he's been staring at a patch of dried flowers, their petals now a grayish brown, powdery and only solid to the eye. The warmth is back again, and he stares in bewilderment at Chase.
"Uh, are you okay? You're quieter than usual today." Chase is frowning now in his concern.
Whether Chase is more like the sun or the stars is uncertain. Nox only knows that he, himself, cannot possibly be the moon. He could never get that close.
"I'm alright. I'm only looking around." He lies. The scenery is dreadful. It's an icy chill with no snow to cover the ugliness of the landscape. It would probably be prettier in a summer book.
Instead of a sword-packed fight scene with bloodshed and defeated enemies, the two of them slowly walk around and pick apart their surroundings. Nox can feel Chase's eyes on him intermittently, and he returns these glances with smiles containing as much warmth as he can muster. It's a slow day. Chase is probably tired, too, considering all of the running the heroine was written to do. He's been pursued by enemies at all sides, all of which he was sure to voice his complaints about. As the budding storm gives way to small raindrops, they seek shelter underneath the safety of a bare tree. It isn't much, but the thick branches above their heads keep the rain to a minimum.
Chase would stare at him with that concern in his eyes, the sadness that took over his features like a fog and made Nox's stomach twist. And the entire time, Nox would think to himself, as if Chase could read his mind, don't look at me like that.
Chase would hate him someday. And even though this someday was hopefully no time soon, it still settled over him like a thousand pound weight. And so when Chase would still look at him, he relished it like the last traces of sunshine before the raindrops gave way to pelting downpour.
Chase would be gone eventually, wouldn't he? No matter whose favor the world turned to, no matter who won, no matter whose wish was granted, they wouldn't see the other after this was all over.
Nox blinks the mist from his eyes before Chase could see it. He looks to the rolling clouds and listens to the sound the rain makes when it hits the ground.
Something catches Chase's eye in the distance, somewhere among the windy, damp and yellowed landscape. He stood abruptly, trained on whatever it was, and Nox almost reached out to him to bring him back. Only before his thoughts and common sense returned to him, of course. The stinging in his throat receded. Or, it could have. It was difficult to tell whether or not he could cry anymore, even with the humanity these books gave him.
"Buddy, look!" Chase pointed, and without warning he ran towards whatever he was looking at. Nox followed.
In the middle of the field sat a rabbit trap, a rusted thing overtaken with dead ivy. Within it was a ragged tabby cat, a mean-looking animal with pale golden eyes and thin limbs and an old nasty scar on its snout. When Chase approached its cage, it flattened its torn ears and hissed at him.
"This trap's been sitting here for a while, hasn't it?" Chase mutters, pointing with his foot to the grass that had grown around the sides, the weeds anchoring steel to dirt. Thunder rumbled somewhere far away, startling the cat and making it protest more against Chase's presence. He fumbled for the latch, and the tabby recoiled to the back of the trap with a spine coiled upwards and fur standing on end.
Nox watched and allowed his thoughts of wallowing pity to resurface, just for once, and he imagined a woman, maybe taller than Chase, with hair that might have been blonde, or brown or maybe gray by now. He imagined her in Chase's place, or maybe beside Chase. Maybe she's too trusting, and then Chase really would be his mother's son. Maybe she's too kind. Chase and his unlimited second-chances, his naivety and unwavering spirit. His mother was sick, and he had been fighting all summer to save her. Nox didn't know the state she could have been in, and he didn't want to imagine.
Eventually, the old latch came loose, and with it the door of the trap swung open. The growling and snarling cat batted at Chase a few times, as if to try and claw at him. When it did, it left the smallest graze on his palm, and resiliently Chase continued to open the cage fully before retracting his hand, still kneeling by the trap's entrance. His hair is soaked and so are his clothes, and he stands by to make sure the cat gets away safely.
"You're alright, I won't hurt you," he says to the cat, encouraging it. "Go back home. Maybe you have a family waiting for you, don't you?"
The cat hisses, batting at the side of the cage nearest to Chase. Then, in a short burst of movement, shoots out of the cage, darting into the valleys and disappearing.
Chase brought himself to stand and face Nox, rainwater streaming down his face and clumping his eyelashes. His bangs stuck to his forehead in a funnily endearing way that made Nox's stomach feel strange.
"Poor thing. I hope it was alright."
Nox swept away his own hair from his face and smeared rainwater away from where they crept close to his eyes. "A mean thing, though," he commented.
"Well of course it was. It looked pretty rough, so I'd think it deserves a happy ending in this story, wouldn't you? After all it's been through, at least."
Nox blinked, and before he could respond, Deacon's voice carried over the endless field. "Chase? Chase! We're almost late to the next scene! Get out of the rain!" Deacon was exasperated, and he called from the distance riding on a majorly disgruntled horse that clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
"I'm coming, Dorkin!" Chase replied in a shout. He turned to face Nox again, offering a sigh.
"He wants to stutter around pretty girls again. Sorry, Buds. Cya in the final scene," he waved and spun on his heel to leave.
"Chase," Nox began with slow hesitance. Chase paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over to meet Nox in the middle.
"I hope... I hope you get your happy ending," Nox ventured. An offering for Chase and Chase alone.
Nox wanted to save the keys more than anything. They were the closest thing to a family he could ever have. Of course he did.
But wish or no wish, he would never forget Chase. He knew this much. And the world was so, so unfair.
He would give Chase everything if he could. If he could.
For now, he gave this offering. And Chase stood with a dumbfounded look on his face before his cousin called him back to Earth, and with that he only nodded.
Whether or not Chase knew what he meant, was something that could only be known by Chase himself. And Nox believed he understood it, a thing shared between two people who wished they could have been with another under different circumstances, but knew they couldn't have met in any other way, any way other than rivalry and faded hatred.
But the hatred would have always faded at some point, he knew, because he would be Nox in every universe, and Nox would have always found Chase.