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Hornet has to kill herself.
This is the only option.
That seems like an exaggeration. “Hornet!” you might say. “Don’t take your own life! Think of what you have to live for. Think of your wonderful friends and family. Think about that dinner reservation you have next week at that restaurant you really want to go to, and all your plants that need to be watered.”
But listen to this, and you may change your tune.
It’s around midnight on a Tuesday, and Hornet’s sleepy college town is doing what it does best: be boring. No one is out. Everyone is studying. The bars are closed. Hornet is trying her best not to lose her mind because she just saw her campus crush— one of the TAs for a bioengineering class that she’s definitely not smart enough to take— post on his story that he’s out with some girl.
The post has all the markings of your classic soft-launch. It’s photographed at an angle with a barely-visible arm laid on a restaurant table, though it nevertheless belongs to some lady. Her chin is nestled in the picture’s corner and Hornet can just spot a little smile she wears on a fine, unblemished face.
This is bad. In fact, it’s terrible. While Hornet didn’t exactly know if Quirrel the bioengineering TA had a girlfriend, it’s now undeniable that he’s at the very least seeing somebody. Namely, somebody who is not Hornet.
Hornet’s met Quirrel on occasion. Though she’s not in any of his classes, he does engage in extracurricular activities that allows their paths to sometimes cross. Usually, this is at parties that Hornet is dragged to, Lace’s claw gripping her something fierce as she’s tugged through the college streets to some dingy frat house. Hornet and Quirrel will bump into each other, having been introduced by so-and-so a few meetings ago. They’ll exchange pleasantries, talk about whatever, and then disappear to their respective friend groups once all is said and done.
Every time they’ve met— whether this was at a party or college gatherings or whatever other random event that they both just happen to be at— he’s been nice. Kind. He laughs at her jokes and he cracks a few, too. It’s not like they’re friends, but Hornet’s come to think of him like one. He’s the kind of bug that you meet at a place you don’t want to be at and think, thank the gods you’re here. She always has a conversation partner in him, someone to gossip with.
Unwittingly, she’s formed some kind of… attachment to him. Latching onto his presence when she realizes that he’s near, drawing close to him with a chagrined smile and a, “Oh, you’re here, too?” prepared on her tongue.
Hornet doesn’t know why (let’s be honest: this is a complete lie. She knows exactly why), but she has an unrepentant crush on Quirrel. Maybe it’s the way he makes her feel— comfortable and welcomed. Maybe it’s the fact that they have absolutely nothing in common and yet they’re able to talk without a single hitching silence between them. And maybe it’s because he represents some kind of unattainability since he’s busy with his degree, and she’s trying to survive her current one, and that they only ever hang out in big social settings, treating one another like islands in the middle of the ocean, heaving their tired bodies ashore once they’ve tired of conversing with other bugs that they don’t care or don’t know anything about.
Or, you know, it could just be because he’s cute. Occam’s razor and all that.
Whatever the reason, Hornet is spending her Tuesday night before her midterms stalking Quirrel’s socials. She’s checked every single one, digging deep for any sign of this mystery girl. This is probably insane behavior, but give her a damn break— it’s a stressful time of the year and the guy she likes just launched his relationship that she’s not part of.
She scrolls endlessly through his posts. Quirrel has a longtime account, meaning that there’s tons of things to sift through to find any hint of the girlfriend. While some folks might like to curate their accounts, decorate it in aesthetics and colours and carefully-constructed images, Quirrel appears to just post whatever the fuck he wants. It’s kind of endearing to know that some bugs are out there are still doing that, treating their socials like a digital diary as opposed to a mirror.
It is right then and there as the clock strikes 12:21 that Hornet is looking at a particularly suspicious post. It is an image of Quirrel and the same girl, arms slung over one another with big smiles on their faces. They’re on vacation or something. The sun shines bright beams onto both of them, alighting their features.
The post is from a few years ago. Three, to be exact. This is way before Hornet ever knew of Quirrel’s existence, and the thought of this girl being in his life for so much longer than her gives her quite the startle. Of course— what the fuck was Hornet thinking, imagining that she had a chance with a guy that she only ever spoke to here and there?
The delusion is strong with this one, Hornet’s mind grumbles.
During her deep, intellectual studying of this image, something wretched happens. Absolutely evil. Hornet’s claw slips while she attempts to swipe past the picture and it lands on that dreaded little heart beneath the image.
Her phone chimes and the like button glimmers with a sudden red, like the colour of blood.
“Oh, no,” she says aloud. “Oh, fuck, no— please, no.”
Rule number one of e-stalking: don’t fucking like any posts from more than three days ago.
Rule number two of e-stalking: in the case that you like any posts from more than three days ago, you must find a way to erase your entire existence.
Hornet’s pretty sure there’s a third rule there that follows you into the afterlife, but she can’t be bothered to remember it because she’s far too busy freaking out over that lit-up like button.
What does she do now? Clearly, he’s online— his icon has a green dot in its corner, signalling to anyone with a pair of functioning eyes that he’s scrolling through posts or getting ready to post another picture of his cute girlfriend. And obviously, he knows from his notifications that Hornet has just liked one of his posts from a long, long, looong time ago.
Shit. Damage control. What did Lace say about accidentally interacting with old posts?
“What do you usually do when it happens?”
“’When’? No, Hornet. It is not ‘when.’ It is ‘if.’ And ‘if’ I happen to momentarily press my finger on the like button of an old post on somebody’s account, I will simply pass away with no eulogy, funeral service, or cremation. You won’t ever see me again on this planet.”
Right.
Instead of offing herself, which is apparently the recommended route when this type of stuff happens, Hornet tosses her phone into the nook of her couch’s armrest and back and hopes the cushions will swallow her whole instead. That’d be nice. A world inside a couch, all comfy and cozy, where phones don’t exist and the rules of social media are words that haven’t yet attained any sort of meaning.
Only, she has to get her phone back eventually. She has calls to make, emails to send, yadda, yadda, yadda. There’s a life on there that she has to get back to. Plus, it’s been buzzing like mad since she chucked it into the sofa. It’s probably just Lace, asking if Hornet is still up and maybe wants to grab McDonald’s or whatever.
With no short amount of effort, Hornet drags herself from her mortified pile of limbs and throw pillows and digs around her couch cushions. Her claw latches around her phone and it is slowly yanked from its hovel. The case is covered in lint and it smells kind of like laundry detergent.
Hornet turns the phone screen on to find a small collection of messages on it. Only, these aren’t from Lace. They aren’t from Hollow. They aren’t even from Ghost, who sometimes likes to blow up her messages with strange, esoteric images that Hornet thinks are memes, but really make no sense to anyone older than a teenager.
Instead, it’s the man of the hour. The very bug himself. The one who Hornet has been agonizing over for the past twenty-five minutes since she flung her phone out of her clutches.
Quirrel: Hey Hornet! Long time no talk. Whatcha up to tonight?
Quirrel: Actually, I’m just realizing that we’ve never actually texted before. Kind of weird that we never have. Anyway, I just heard something crazy from my sister that I think you’ll want to know!
Quirrel: All good if you’re busy or sleeping right now, haha. It was just so insane that I thought you’d wanna hear about it right away. Lmk :)
Quirrel has a sister?
Hornet: u have a sister ???
Quirrel: Yup lol! Just got back from dinner with her. Didn’t know places were open until this late but she knows a ton of awesome restaurants that I’ve never heard of.
Hornet: ohhh u never mentioned
Quirrel: Just never came up in conversation, I guess!
Okay, death is officially off the table. Not that it was ever really on it to begin with, but Hornet is digressing now.
Quickly, she pulls up Quirrel’s story once more and examines it more closely with a now-educated eye. It is then that she realizes a few things about this girl. Namely, the fact that the visible corner of her face is rounded, just like Quirrel’s; and her shell has the same bluish-grey hue. If she smiled just a little wider, she would probably look like a carbon-copy of Quirrel himself.
Hornet: shes the one on ur story right
Quirrel: Yeah, she didn’t want me to show her whole face off so it looks kind of weird with just the corner of her there :P
Quirrel: Anywho, are you up to anything rn?
Quirrel: i think ur super cute hornet, we should go out sometime ;)
Quirrel: DONT READ THAT MY SISTER TOOK MY PHONE
Quirrel: Please, ignore that previous message— I swear it was my sister! Not that you aren’t cute but I really didn’t want that coming from my sister before I had the chance to tell you myself hahahahahahahahaha
Hornet grips her phone hard, disbelief setting in. With trembling fingers, she types out her response before she loses the nerve to make a move.
Hornet: i think ur pretty cute too
Quirrel: Seems like you thought I was cute three years ago, too ;)
Hornet: PLSSSSSSS it was an accident i swear
Quirrel: I believe you, haha. But my offer stands: if you’re not doing anything at this moment, do you want to maybe go out? I know it’s late…
Hornet: yes
Quirrel: But I am sure you’ll want to hear this.
Quirrel: You’re a fast replier! I’ll come pick you up— my sister knows a great late-night, all-day breakfast place that we can chat at. Your address?
Honestly, the drama isn’t that interesting when Hornet finally hears it from Quirrel, but he manages to weave an intricate story of he-said-she-said until Hornet is belly-laughing.
“Can I be honest with you?” Quirrel asks after the story’s over, watching as Hornet takes a large breath after a long giggling session.
“Of course.”
“The gossip probably could have waited until the next time we bumped into each other. I just… really wanted to see you again,” he confesses with a smile.
Hornet breaks out into a grin that she can’t hold back.
“Me, too. I’m glad you reached out.”
“And I’m glad you liked my post. Reminded me to text you.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Their laughter fills the restaurant, empty but for them two.