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Scott woke up next to Martyn, like usual, and had the sense that everything was fine.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Martyn said as Scott clung tighter to him.
"Mmm," Scott replied eloquently. He could stay like this forever, to be honest.
"They're waiting for you," Martyn said, carefully extricating himself from Scott. "C'mon."
Scott let him leave after another moment of resistance, then got out of bed himself, yawning.
He didn't bother changing into his day clothes, he didn't see the point. Where would he even be going? The garden? Nobody was going to care. Martyn did, though. He was in his favorite shirt with his signature red bandana that Scott had gotten for his birthday after he had worn the original one until it broke.
The moment he got downstairs, Pearl tackled him in a hug. "Scott! How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Scott said. "Same as always," He took a look at her expression. "Still haven't changed my mind."
Pearl's smile did not falter. "Oh well! There's always tomorrow!"
There certainly was always tomorrow. Pearl grabbed his hand, red jacket fluttering with her excited movements. "Come on, we made pop tarts."
Back in the times when they were all so busy that nobody could spare a few minutes to turn on the stove, pop tarts were their staple. The first person (usually Scott) down would pop a few in, and everyone else would have to deal with them cooled down. Scott did not want to go back to that time in his life, but it did hold some of his best memories.
Cleo was at the table already, though he suspected they had only started eating once they knew he was on his way. They waved at him as he sat down. Outside, the sun had risen hours ago, and there was not a cloud in the sky. He would need to water the plants soon. The others had let him keep doing that, which felt very freeing.
Martyn joined them at the table, grabbing the newspaper. "Slow news day, huh?"
"Why do you still get that thing?" Scott said, digging into his breakfast.
Martyn shrugged. "If you ever wanted to read it, you could."
"What's the point?"
The table went silent. Hell, Pearl- who had been loudly busying herself with laundry in the room over- stopped what she was doing.
"Hey," Cleo said. "Are you doing okay?"
"You said you'd tell us if something felt wrong," Pearl said, trying to sound stern.
All of this felt wrong. Scott wanted to scream at them, to yell or run or rip them into little pieces.
But he wouldn't. This was his home. They were his home. Here he would stay.
"No, no," Scott smiled weakly. "Sorry for worrying you. Everything is fine. Great, really!"
"Just making sure," Martyn had a hand on his shoulder, and it felt grounding. To be here was grounding.
"I was thinking, though," Scott said. "It would be nice to have some new plants. Something to make the color scheme pop, you know?"
"Yeah!" Pearl said. "More pink, you know?"
Scott had read somewhere that some shades pink calmed the nerves, eased any anger. He could use some of that right now. A little bit of calm. Numbness. "Pink sounds great. Maybe zinnias?"
"Sounds good to me!" Pearl gave him a quick hug, then went right back to the laundry.
Scott grabbed his slippers and his small shovel and went outside, digging up a new hole, grabbing his fertilizer reserves. The bag was full to the brim as always. He was pretty sure they would die rather than let him have a shortage of gardening supplies.
He heard the knocking on the door, and heard someone open it. There was no conversation. Complete silence as the person doing the delivery closed the door and walked out. Scott's hearing was better then most people knew, and he hadn't let them in on that, so he could listen to stuff like that, and be reminded.
"Your flowers," Cleo crouched by Scott, handing over a pot with a young zinnia plant inside, flowers looking ready to bloom in a few days. He recognized the brand from a nursery a few hours away. Did they just have that at the ready?
"Thanks," Scott lovingly began to tear up the bottom of the dirt, to free the roots from the way they had been compressed. It must have felt so trapped in there, unable to move or fight back, completely at the mercy of the people who chose to continue to feed and water it.
Scott gave it an extra pat as he settled it into the earth. He wondered if it felt safe. Probably not. Would he?
"We've been thinking," Cleo said. "What if you went on holiday? Somewhere nice."
They had gone through this song and dance before. And still, his answer remained the same. "No thanks," Scott said. "I can't just leave my garden behind."
"Are you sure?" Cleo asked. "I've heard the south can be really lovely this time of year-"
"Cleo," Scott interjected. "I'm staying."
He hadn't really left the house since the incident. He didn't want to know if they had bothered to clean up the streets, the walls, the buildings and the sidewalks. They probably wouldn't see a point.
"Well, if you ever change your mind," Cleo got up, and in the sunlight, Scott realized they had dyed their hair an even darker shade of red. They left without any more of a fuss. There wasn't much more they could do for him right now besides give him space. They were really good about that.
After another hour in which Pearl brought him a sunhat for the blazing heat, he came back in and turned on the sink, washing his hands.
From the window he could see his garden. Oranges and blues and purples and yellows all growing around each other in a riot of color. But not red. Never red.
Red kept him safe, kept him confined. But he was not allowed to possess it, not without losing himself. Like the others had.
He knew Pearl was watching him from the doorway, and that Martyn would already be preparing him an extra nice dinner to soften him up.
Maybe he'd join Them someday. Feel the bliss of unity, of community once more. Losing his fear, his grief, his anger.
His hand was shaking. Something was cracking inside his heart, bleeding out of him.
Scott turned around, and smiled at Pearl, taking her offered arm.
Everything was fine.