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“We're both gonna die here, aren't we,” Citrus murmured weakly to Spool, his lip trembling as his pawed hands tightly gripped the cold windowsill.
The city of the inner ring glowed with a sheen of white, caked in snow and ice. Citrus couldn't remember how long it had been since it started–from the torrents of green, infested floods to the sudden freeze, whatever fantasy “normal weather” was had become a distant memory.
He and Spool had hunkered down in Spool’s apartment for a while now, with Spool occasionally leaving for the spare food rations he found scattered about the deserted city. Despite the lack of nutrients, Spool was still doing relatively well, their eyes glimmering with resolve–willingness to keep going. For that, Citrus admired them.
Mostly because, for comparison, Citrus was doing quite the opposite.
Throughout his life, he had gotten used to the feeling of starvation: the shriveling of his stomach, the weakness of his limbs. In a way, this was only a continuation of that. Spending days with no food, each meal only a temporary relief from forgetting what it's like to eat. Citrus’s last meal, now over a week old, was sprawled across the icy ground over a hundred feet beneath them, the object’s soul sucked clean.
But unlike some of the stressful weeks he had in college, he knew that there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel. It was only a matter of time that, following the apocalypse, everything would run out. The amount of survivors left in the city only dwindled, those… things killing them off one by one. There was no place Citrus and Spool could travel to that had enough food to keep them both alive.
Their only choice was to stay in this city until they starved.
Sometimes, he thought that simply folding his wings behind him and leaping into the icy city air would be a kinder fate.
But he couldn't. Because Spool believed in him. Spool, smart, determined Spool, who had become so devoted over the last couple weeks, refused to accept death. Citrus didn't know if he found the sentiment inspiring or foolish–probably the latter. But he did know that if he died, Spool would have nobody, and imagining a world where that happened felt worse than anything else.
That didn't stop the thought of plummeting through the air with the ground swiftly approaching him from passing through his mind from time to time. It was nearly the only thing that gave him a semblance of hope: the thought of a painless death. Sometimes, he tried to forget about it, but other times, the feeling would worsen.
Right now was one of those times.
“No, we're not,” Spool stated firmly, releasing Citrus from his thoughts. Citrus could sense the other object approaching him from behind, hesitating for a moment before comfortingly wrapping one arm across his back. Spool’s touch was warm, one of his only remaining sources of heat since the power went out. Citrus leaned into it, a sigh escaping his lips.
“You know that's a load of bull,” he whispered. “It's the end of the world.” Citrus scanned the horizon line, the tops of buildings and skyscrapers either frozen over with ice or infested with cursed hive-like structures. “Good riddance, honestly,” he said, and, in a quieter voice, added, “It’s not like it was ever kind to me. To anyone, really.”
Next to him, Spool let out a sigh. “...Yeah. Well, that doesn't mean… that doesn't mean you don't deserve kindness.”
Suddenly, at his words, Citrus felt a surge of anger. His fur bristled, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. “You know that's not true, Spool,” he hissed, his grip on the windowsill tightening. “Ask the corpse at the bottom of this apartment complex. You know what I am.”
“It's not your fault you have to eat-” “Yeah, it's not my fault I was fucking born. What is my fault, though, is choosing to keep killing people instead of just letting myself starve.”
Citrus was no longer facing the window, instead scowling as he glared furiously into Spool’s gaze. His bat-like ears flattened, and his wings flared aggressively behind him.
Spool, in all his naivety, stood his ground, glaring right back at him. “You're allowed to keep yourself from starving-” “Since when was this about allowing?” Citrus cried out, his voice loud and beginning to waver as he spoke over Spool. “Am I allowed to kill my own mother?”
Spool took in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. Before him, Citrus was breathing heavily, his heart racing. For a moment, they stood at an impasse, neither speaking a word.
Eventually, Spool broke the silence.
“...I thought your mother was the one watching us with the crows,” he whispered softly. "The lawless king."
Citrus tore his gaze away, looking at the floor instead of at Spool. Stupid, he thought to himself. Why did you say that?
Obviously Morrigan was his real mother, but that didn't stop the childhood memories of the woman who he thought was. He had never told anybody about her before. A hidden piece of information he kept behind layers of walls. It wasn't something anybody deserved to know, and something Citrus wished every year he could forget.
“I…” Citrus started, but immediately closed his mouth. What was he doing? He wasn't the type to ‘open up’. Nobody deserved to know what happened to him, no matter how long they knew him–not that he had ever known anybody long enough. A friendly face was a target, every “relationship” a prolonged meal.
But not Spool.
In the midst of the apocalypse, Spool had stayed with Citrus and helped him. Against his will, Citrus knew, but only at first. He spent every minute of his time with the guy, a connection he'd never experienced before. Spool would do anything for him–he'd said so himself back when they kissed beneath the glimmering towers of ice.
Sure, he was mad at Spool. He was furious. Their blind devotion would only lead to their death–a horrific thought that plagued Citrus every time he thought of it.
But, with the time left in the world at its brink, and with Spool’s firm gaze, something in him seemed to snap.
So then, after years of holding back, the words seemed to flow from his mouth, a torrent of emotion he had bottled up for years. His previous anger bled away as he spoke.
“It- it's not my… not my actual mother. My first one. I…” Shakily, he took a deep breath. “I used to think she was my real mother. Before I- well, when I was really little, she tried to raise me, but as I got older, she got sicker…”
Citrus paused for a second, almost reliving the memory. Images plagued him: The leaves on her branches drooping day by day. Her movements slowing until she could barely walk.
“...Because I was killing her. Every day, I was- I was eating her, until she was dead, and- and she loved me so much, and I was thrown out, shipped across the rings, and I-”
Something warm was clinging to him. Spool, he realized, had encapsulated him in a hug, their arms tightly wrapped around Citrus’s body. His face felt warm, hot tears he hadn't realized were falling clinging wetly to his cheeks. Citrus realized his breath was coming in heaves, the aftereffects of sobbing.
“Nobody's…” Citrus murmured once his breathing had calmed a little, his face pressed into Spool’s shoulder. “Nobody's ever really… loved me. Not like her.”
After a moment, Spool took a deep breath and said, “Well… I love you. If that means anything.”
Citrus sighed.
“It means everything.”
Citrus was surprised at his own sudden honesty. He should be angry, sad, anything, but something about how sincere Spool was made him feel… nice. Spool wasn't just another faceless person to kill–he was the sole part of Citrus’s life, and he loved him. They had spent weeks together.
“Well, I…” Citrus started, trying to nuzzle his face further into Spool’s shoulder.
“You what?”
“I still don't understand how you could love someone like me.”
In a way, Citrus was trying to steer the conversation away from his dead adoptive mother. He truly, deeply didn't want to talk about it. Thankfully, Spool didn't mention his outburst at all, following Citrus’s change in subject.
“Well, you saved my life, in a way…”
Citrus sighed, unconvinced. Spool had simply been a tool to kill other objects. “Uh-huh?”
Spool continued.
“Well… I think you're hot?”
Citrus took a sharp, surprised breath, then let out a soft laugh. His face heated up with a blush, though still stained with tears. “Shut up,” he giggled.
Spool then just started listing a bunch of tiny little things about Citrus they liked. His random interests, the way he acted, his weird tendencies, and anything else they could think of. As they spoke, they gently pulled Citrus forward, leading him away from the window and over toward their bedroom.
“It's getting late,” Spool reasoned, and Citrus nodded in agreement, following silently as he took in every single one of their words.
His tears had long since dried as Citrus sat on the bed, the mattress sinking from his weight. Spool sat next to him, and, without a word, started rubbing his fingers along Citrus’s back. The touch was comforting, and Citrus sighed, leaning into Spool. He gingerly lifted one of his bat-like wings and wrapped it around his partner, pressing him close.
“...Honestly,” Spool murmured, tracing one hand down the fur of Citrus’s wing, “I think I've found that I just don't care anymore. About morality, I mean.”
Citrus's ears pricked, and he looked up at Spool, surprised.
“There's no such thing as right or wrong in the apocalypse, is there? Everyone's dead or dying, anyways. So…” Spool met Citrus’s gaze. “I'm just gonna love you anyways. No matter what. Because you're all I have.” He pressed a chaste kiss against Citrus’s face.
“Mhm?” Citrus hummed, wrapping his arms around Spool’s cylindrical frame. “All those dead objects? You don't care at all?”
“Nah,” Spool affirmed. “Not at all.”