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Regect doesn’t know how long he's been sitting Here. He doesn’t really know where Here is, really. All he knows is that Here is the only thing that has existed for a very long time – maybe even forever.
He remembers – there was a horn, he thinks. There was a horn that made him happy, and a bicycle? But, no, that doesn’t sound right... But it has to be – there was a bicycle horn and it made him happy. It reminded him of someone – who was that? It hurts to think, so he stops. He doesn’t have to feel it if he stops.
There was – a friend. Maybe. Someone important, certainly. Someone – he's waiting Here for someone. For a friend. Yes. That’s right. That’s it. Regect’s waiting Here for a friend. His name was – fuck why can’t he remember the name?
Did they – did they have a fight? Something like that sparks his memory, what little of it there is left, at least. There was shouting, and then – and then they left. It sends up a deep ache within him. Why did they leave? What did Regect do? Why is everyone always leaving him-
Well, Here isn’t leaving him, at least.
Here is small. Smaller than it used to be, he thinks. He used to have a house Here (in the parts of Here that have disappeared) where he lived. There were three bedrooms. He remembers that part clearly. He doesn’t need to sleep but there were three bedrooms. And a kitchen – he liked the kitchen. That Here is gone though, and all that remains is this Here. And Regect, of course.
Regect – doesn't remember why that’s his name. But he remembers people calling him that, though he doesn’t remember the voices anymore, feels anger bubble up every time he tries to imitate the way his name was said but only rasps come out. It never sounds right, it never looks right. But Regect has Here, and that’s enough because...
Because he has to wait Here! He remembers that, at least, a stubborn sort of feeling of waiting exactly Here until whoever he was waiting for comes back. Yes, yes, exactly Here. Exactly right Here.
***
It’s not that Regect’s doubting this person (or himself, for thinking with such conviction that they were going to come back) it’s just that’s it’s been a while. Here is the smallest it’s ever been and it’s going to get smaller. There’s nothing left anymore, really. He thinks there used to be things, but he couldn’t describe them if he wanted to. Here is much less happy than he remembers it.
But that’s fine! Because soon the Person will come back, and Here will turn back to normal, to the places that used to exist beyond Here, and the house will come back and so will be the bicycle horn and the Person, of course. And so many other things, naturally, will follow suit.
Regect thinks he remembers things flying in the sky (maybe him flying in the sky?) and he doesn’t quite recall what the sky is, but it sounds fantastical, the thought of flying in it.
He also doesn’t remember what flying is. But it must be somewhat like walking, and he still has a vague notion of what that was like.
But he can’t walk, because he has to wait. That’s what he thinks Regect might mean. Forever waiting.
***
He is... Waiting. That’s - that’s what he remembers. That’s all he knows. He is waiting. This is Here.
He can’t remember why he’s waiting anymore. But it must be important if he was named after it, right? So, he is waiting. So, he waits. He is-
He is something. He is something that still has enough Hope to wait.
***
He... Exists. This is. Here, he thinks, this is Here. He is-
He is waiting. He is still Waiting.
***
“Regect?”
Waiting blinks, and he thinks it is the first blink he has blinked in a very long time. There is someone Here, he thinks, people do not come here – not since... Not since?
“Regect, are you – where are you?” Comes the same voice. It’s familiar. It’s like remembering the hospital room you were born in. Why is it familiar? Why does it remind him of a time before Waiting was Waiting?
“Regect! You’re here – you're – what happened?”
He shifts and feels old bones snap into place.
“Wai - ting.” He gurgles out.
“Regect?” And, there is something on his – there is something touching him, tilting him up, and his eyes are looking up and there’s something up there. There didn’t use to be something up there, did there? Was there always something up there? And then-
And then.
There is a person. There is – a familiar person. He – there is a sense of recognition, of a long buried part of himself clawing through bones and tissue to get to the top. There is a name, well-worn and beloved, there is a name that, that-
“Ze?” He slithers out, looking upon the person – his Person. This is who made him Waiting, he realises, this is who made him wait. “You - You’re Here.”
“What happened?” The voice repeats – Ze repeats.
“I’m... Waiting,” But then, “I’m Waited,” he slurs, “I’ve Waited! I’ve Waited!”
“Regect?” Comes His Person again, voice different in a way he can’t recognise, “Are you... Okay? What do... What do you need?”
He blinks, happy, “I’ve Waited. You came back.”
His Person’s eyes widen, “You... You mean you’ve been waiting. Here. This entire time?”
He nods, happy, “I’ve Waited! I did it!”
“Regect,” and there is horror in it. There is dread. “What did I do?” Is a taut whisper that he barely hears, disregards. He has done it! He has waited. He did good.
For some reason, rain seems to come from his Person’s eyes. He hadn’t realised that it could. Could only vaguely remember the sensation of cold all around him, but he doesn’t like the sight. Remembers that rain coming from eyes is not a good thing.
“What - what’s wrong?” He tries to ask, but its all wrong in his ears.
He tries to reach forward, but his Person stumbles back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t leave again,” he calls, as clear as he can, “Please, I can’t go back to Waiting. Please don’t make me Wait again-”
“No, no, Regect, I won’t, okay? I won’t. I won’t leave you here. No, no – no. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You won’t make me Wait?” He asks. Pathetic. Desperate.
“No, no, never. Not again. I’ll stay here, okay – I'll stay here with you. No more Waiting – fuck, I’m so sorry, Regect, no more waiting.”
“Regect?” He voices, and the name seems familiar. But his Person is called Ze, so who..? “I... I’m Regect?”
There are hands on his shoulders, pushing him in close. His Person squashes him into his body, covering his limbs with his limbs. He doesn’t know why, but if it makes his Person happy, then he’ll do it.
“Yes,” his Person says, “You’re Regect. I’m... I’m Ze. I’m so sorry.”
“Ze.”
“Yeah.”
“I Waited.”
And then there are sobs – horrible sounds that make him want to claw away into nothing but Here is getting bigger, and he thinks he can see what he thinks is the sky. And his Person is Here. Here is better with his Person. Here is happy with his Person.
“I know. I know. And you never have to wait again, okay? Never, never again.”
Wait – Regect thinks. He never has to wait again? He likes the sound of never having to wait again.