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Infume knew the old adage. Well, not that old. Nothing they did was old. The adage, at least, for anyone who’d ever used the internet.
He looked at his comments anyway. Maybe it was boredom, some kind of circling apathy, a self-destructive impulse that drove him to rake his nails down his arms whenever he failed a run, if only to rid himself of the burning impotency under his skin. It didn’t matter.
He scrolled through them anyway, eyes half-glazed in that way they always were, exhausted yet begging him to do anything but sleep.
They were nice, at the top. They were all nice. Maybe a little mocking, but that was- fine. It didn’t bother him. It only lodged in his chest for a little while, a stranger’s lighthearted bullying stuttering his heartbeat. Infume shouldn’t care what they thought. But the idea that his performance was laughable always made him stumble. He wasn’t trying to be that kind of an act.
But those were the nice ones. The further he scrolled, the more it felt like he’d taken nails to the inside of his ribcage, puncturing organ after organ as the painful pressure welled inside him. Some of them were just bored. By him. Some of them threw around words that didn’t even make sense, but maybe they did, maybe he was being as stupid as they called him for missing that clutch.
Some of them just sounded like teenagers. Younger than that, even. What did it even mean, to call him a whore, for heading to the bastion that quickly?
It got under Infume’s skin anyway. Even if it was immature, it had to mean something, represent some general feeling about him, and he felt stupid not being able to either rationalise it or simply ignore it. He cared too much for the latter. But he didn’t want to know what could possibly excuse the former being possible.
Any of that was better than nothing, though. Infume would prefer to see the offhand vitriol rather than no comments at all. That would bother him more. He knew, in some way, that they didn’t really mean it. They didn’t know he was a person. That was ok. They still bothered to say something, and that felt like it meant something.
Maybe he was lonely.
He was probably lonely. They’d bully him for that, too, but Infume didn’t want to be called a whore again if he tried to socialise a little more. He’d rather take this, and be called an incel in a two-word hate comment he deleted with a shaking mouse, than seem like a weirdo in another way.
It was all bad options. They said you shouldn’t care what your comments told you. That they didn’t know you, didn’t know what was truly important in your life.
Infume shouldn’t care as much as he did.
It just… felt like something. Painful, sure, and uncomfortable, and all those words that described his heart aching from the inside out with a bitter kind of humiliation, but it was almost familiar. Almost enjoyable, if he twisted it a little bit. Twisted the knife.
He wanted to feel something. Know other people thought about him, even if it was in the worst ways.
He didn’t even delete all the hate comments. Some he left, a bruise he could poke at later, some other late night when he couldn’t bear going to sleep alone. He just stared at them, sometimes, wondering if they were right. He was a loser, for sure. He was stupid, for missing those few pixels that could have saved him searching. He... didn’t think he was a whore. He was pretty sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to a woman, much less got laid, so… surely not.
Surely they were just berating him for the sake of it.
Infume felt like he should be sleepy, right now. Maybe he was. He couldn’t quite remember what being tired or not felt like. He had a feeling he was always tired, that most people didn’t go around yawning every ten minutes, curling into every cushion they happened to sit beside. It just felt normal, to him, at this point. Like reading hate comments instead of sleeping, filtering from one video to the next, eyes glazing over the kind words.
Those ones really didn’t mean anything. Infume barely even read them. They just slipped past him, any encouragement or congratulations consigned to be forgotten in moments. It didn’t feel real, that sort of feedback. Didn’t make him feel anything, really, and maybe that made him selfish. He only focused on the cruel ones, the ones where someone must have felt something. Maybe he could feel something too, through them.
It was all stupid. He was stupid, cycling around the same slurs, curses, degradation burning into his retinas as his hands shook.
Infume wanted to sleep, in some way. When he managed to make himself cry, with this, his body would probably admit defeat. Then, he’d be able to actually catch some rest, and wake up still crying, wondering what people really thought of him.
It was so hard to know what was real, these days.
——————
Feinberg had commented, on his latest video.
It was doing something stupid to Infume, glaring out of his bright screen in his dark room, making him smile uncontrollably every time he clicked back to the tab. His friend had commented. And it was the top one, so he couldn’t avoid it.
Biting his lip, Infume’s eyes skipped over the words again, just a few of encouragement, and rueful acceptance of his skill. It felt so normal. It felt so, so kind, and Infume might lose his mind over this.
He felt loved. In a silly, stupid way, because it was normal, to comment on a friend’s video that you were in. He’d never really done it himself. He wasn’t sure anyone else would care to have him in their comment section. But it was nice to have Feinberg, even just out of etiquette, supporting him through the screen.
It felt like a shield, between him, and what he’d find if he scrolled further down. Feinberg’s presence didn’t scare off the others. It just gave Infume something to cling to, a vague sense of protection and validation, even as he began to eat away at his own defences by reading further.
Feinberg didn’t hate him. But Feinberg hadn’t been looking for his flaws, like other people were, and Infume was trying desperately to cling to the axiom that his friends mattered and were real to him, even when kind words slipped through his fingers like melting snow.
His breath caught, breaking the cold silence in his room, and Infume pressed his wrist against his mouth to muffle the small, keening noise of panic that slipped out after. His hoodie tasted of whatever it was people smelled like. Frightened people, because right now he was scared, scared of the way his own breathing was tuning against him as panic rose.
He trusted his friends. They said nice things to him, and those were real, and Infume didn’t know why he wasn’t believing that from himself, all of a sudden. He wanted to believe it.
He didn’t know why he was breathing so fast, didn’t know why anyone would ever say those things to him. There were other people, here, who’d chosen to address him, not out of the sense of obligation Feinberg had probably been under, but out of sheer disgust at him. And he was disgusting, probably. He hadn’t changed his hoodie in a few days. And he didn’t sleep, so he forgot to brush his teeth, or eat properly pretty often, and-
They were right. Infume could feel himself hysterical, hyperventilating quietly into his arm as his eyes glazed off the screen entirely. It was so late, and he had no one to talk to, and he was lonely, and a loser, and disgusting because he cared so much about seeing the things people said online, not even expecting him to be pathetic enough to read it.
But he was. Infume pulled his knees up, jamming them between himself and his desk, trembling fingers finding his mouse again as his others crept into his mouth so he could chew on his own skin. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep, to cry, to have someone to run crying to. He wanted them to be lying to him, about him being alone, and friendless.
Feinberg’s comment didn’t mean anything. He’d probably pasted it from somewhere else, he didn’t really care. Infume was being stupid to cling to it like it meant anything. Anyone who knew would say the same, say he was truly pitiful for caring so much.
He was pathetic.
The comments lower down confirmed as much, the ones that weren’t just nonsense words Infume couldn’t imagine a world in which he believed, but the comments that were written by people who really did care, who saw how useless he was and let him know.
At least they saw him. The real him. Sobbing quietly in his room in the dead of night, fist jammed in his mouth like a pacifier, every shred of triumph and pride he scavenged in his runs flying away as he felt like the world was collapsing in on him, trapping him in a tiny, dark, lonely bubble.
Infume gasped, short breaths coming quicker and quicker, and his hands finally left his setup, wrapping around his knees. He didn’t want to see it anymore. It wasn’t a fun ache anymore, not that it ever had been. It just hurt. All of it hurt.
Every part of him hurt, a thousand different pains as he pressed bruises under his own skin, imprinting cruel words and crueler thoughts into his bones, where they pulsed outwards again, making him feel on fire with mortification.
Feinberg would hate him, if he could see him now. They all would. They didn’t look at their comments. They didn’t care, they had better, real things to care about. Infume just didn’t know how to tell what was real from what hurt to linger on.
That was why he didn’t show them. Any of this, his pathetic snivelling and tantrums when he couldn’t get the pain he wanted. When he was tired, and cranky about it, and wanted to light a match and hold it too close to his skin so he could burn the reminders people without profile pictures took time to give him.
They didn’t need to know how long Infume sat crying, crying himself into exhaustion, crying until he ran out of tears, and there was just numb revulsion, a squirming under his skin like he wanted to shed it and every other awful part of himself.
Infume cried himself into silence, and felt dirty, a grown man acting like a toddler over his own messed-up sense of reality.
It was only as real as he let it be. He shouldn’t let it get to him like this.
But it did.
And it always would, because something in his head was wired to seek out the worst. Feinberg’s words meant nothing, but a stranger’s hastily-typed insult meant everything.
He was useless, like that. Couldn’t even tell what was real or what mattered.
Infume stared at his screen, in some self-imposed punishment, the burning of the brightness magnified by his teary eyes. He deserved it. He didn’t deserve to sleep, not unless someone said he did, and the odds were he wouldn’t listen if they did.
He hated that about himself, too.
He hated a lot of things about himself.
——————
”So… what are we all up to?”
Parker was as determinedly cheerful as ever, idly chatting down the line Infume wasn’t even sure why they had open.
”Scrolling.” Fruit scoffed, his derision clear even over the VC. ”Wastin’ my life, you know the drill.”
“Sure do.”
“Playing, here. Trying to grind.”
“Uh huh, Nerdi, you sure are grind-“
“Shut the hell up, Fruit.”
Infume was sitting as his desk, slumped in his chair. If asked, he was going to say he was checking his stats. And he was. But it was currently taking a back burner to just listening. It was so nice, to hear his friend’s voices, from oceans away.
”Running over here, too.” Fein must have moved his mic, because for a moment, they could all hear keys clicking, and echoing down their virtual tunnel of communication. ”Trying to get my consistency up.”
Infume hummed, just in some kind of recognition, then froze. They’d better not have heard that. He was lurking, right now, balancing himself on the knife’s blade between a miserable, lonely spiral and the comfort of his friends’ voices.
”Infume?” That was Nerdi, and Infume was frozen. ”What are you up to?”
“Just… checking my stats.”
Infume flushed through the half-lie, clicking randomly to convince himself, at least, it was partially true. His teeth dug into his lip, hoping he wasn’t questioned further.
It was more than half true. Just his stats lead to checking other things, to checking his videos’ reception, to checking his comments, to checking his drafts, to checking how stupid he was to be doing any of this.
”Well that sounds convincing.”
“Shut up, Fruit.”
“Hey, I’m just saying-“
“Whatcha really up to, Infume?”
Feeling vaguely sick, Infume found his hand moving for his mouse, trying to keep his breathing under control. It was so hard, when he was burning up from the inside, not wanting his friends to know, because they’d be nice to him, and then he’d never believe anything they said again.
“Sorry. I… I need to-“
”Hey, dude, it’s-“ Parker laughed, in that soft, flighty way that spoke of learned and unlearned instincts, and someone who’d learned to trust. ”Its good, we won’t-“
“I need- need to go. Sorry.”
His hand trembled, cursor shaking with it as Infume clicked on the red blur on his screen, and Parker and Nerdi’s overlapping voices cut off like a vacuum vanishing in an instant.
That left Infume, panting in his own room which felt too normal, too empty and lonely like always, with the strange, floating world of his friends already dissipating into memory.
He stayed there, for a long moment. Breathing hard. Feeling stupid, like he should bash his own head in with a rock, because why had he run away like that? It was absurd. He was so, so stupid, and either they’d have even more awful questions for him next time, or they would never bother to speak to him again.
Shoving himself backwards, Infume stared miserably at nothing for a moment, then dropped his head onto his desk. It collided, with a dull thunk, and he whined. It sounded hollow. He was that stupid.
It did hurt quite a lot, actually. Infume dragged his arms up, cradling his ringing head, and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. Somewhere out there, his friends were still talking. He hoped it wasn’t about him.
Who was he kidding? He wanted it to be about him. He wanted them to say he deserved more than what he told himself, and he wanted to be able to believe them, without it fading like smoke in the wind.
He loved them. A lot more than he loved himself, than he would ever love himself, because he was useless and a thousand people would tell him as such. He didn’t know why they beared to tolerate him, let alone like him.
But he wanted them to.
Infume just didn’t know how to make them believe in him, when he couldn’t even believe anything they said.
——————
It had been… a while, since he’d last seen sunlight.
A few days, at tops. He’d collected a delivery order the other day. Infume’s lips twitched, a small, snorting breath of a laugh coming out at the idea that that had been his last time in fresh air.
He’d found a nice new spot to curl in. On his bed, his pillow pushed a little out of the way, another cushion pressed between him and the corner he was huddled in. It felt small, and safe, and he could arrange his legs to balance his laptop on.
It wasn’t conductive to running, or working, and the lack of both of those was eating at him like a constant tick of poison damage, but it was worth it to be comfortable. Infume hated that he was taking a break. But if he hated himself enough, that would make up for it.
He physically couldn’t bring himself to move, even when the twisting anxiety peaked, and he wanted to get up and run until his hands bled and his eyes were branded with his own death messages and at least he’d be being productive. His body felt like it had hit a wall. Infume was sitting here, until he felt alive enough to move again, and he wasn’t that mad about it.
Well. He was mad about it. But it was a simmering, stabby sort of anger, contained in his chest. It was ignorable.
He was watching clips. Of… stuff. Random things. Speed running, sure, and builds, he liked those. And strange things people apparently did as careers. Lot of carpentry.
It was quiet. Not… nice, but quiet, at the very least, and Infume was warm and comfy.
He felt like something was missing. Maybe someone would call him, and finally say the words that would get through to his stupid head. That would be nice.
Infume clicked off his tab, to the group Discord, and flicked through the members. It would just be nice. He wasn’t forcing anyone. Not even a plea, just a quiet, lonely, exhausted tiny suggestion to the universe to give him something that would make him smile for real.
Maybe that was selfish. He was just bored, and he hadn’t eaten anything in ages, since he’d sat down here, and he wanted to talk to someone. But it felt too much, to start a VC.
Maybe he could just be polite.
Infume typed slowly, not wanting to unbalance his laptop. Then, he stared at it. Then deleted it. Too pushy. He tried again, and that one came out whiny.
It took him a few minutes, to close his eyes and hold his breath and click send.
Infume: anyone want to talk?
He felt awful, as soon as he saw it on the screen. No. Of course they wouldn’t. Of course they wouldn’t care, would have better things to do, who just asked for a chat anyway?
Feinberg: sure
Feinberg: join the VC
Infume stared.
Slowly, some kind of burning cold spread over his body, superheated ice water running in rivulets down each side of his spine. Feinberg had said yes. Maybe he’d misread the username, or thought Infume had something actually important to say, but to some part of him, it didn’t matter. Someone had said yes.
For a long moment, he thought he wasn’t going to do anything. But Fein’s words itched at his head, sounding like an order, and if he couldn’t even have the bare intelligence about him to order himself around, maybe he could let someone else do it for him.
Infume clicked into the call.
”Hey, dude. What’s up?”
“Um. Nothing.” Infume curled further into his corner, the wall digging into his back even through his cushion. His teeth caught on his lip, worry spiking. Fein wasn’t supposed to have known there was even something wrong. “I- I just wanted to chat.”
”Alright. Can I have this open? I think Danny wants to join.”
Fear slipped down Infume’s throat, settling like a chilled weight in his stomach, but he just hummed in noncommittal acceptance.
“Y- yeah, ok.”
True to Fein’s word, Danny joined a minute later, and Infume couldn’t help but notice Couri typing in the main channel for a single instant, before his name disappeared. He felt watched, in a prickling, terrifying way. Maybe they were planning something.
”Hi, Infume.”
“Hi, Danny…” Infume wanted to sink into the sheets and hide. This was a lot of people. “What… what are you doing?”
”Chatting with you.”
“You offered, dude.” Somewhere on Fein’s end, there was a quiet clicking, like he was typing as subtly as possible.
”How are you doing?”
Same question as Fein had asked, softer in Danny’s voice. Infume was scared. They knew something. He didn’t even know what there was to know, just that he felt on the back foot right now.
“I- I’m good, yeah. Just…” Exhausted? Lonely? Wanting to smash this laptop through his arm until his stupid body let him move? “…tired.”
”Yeah?” Somehow, Danny’s voice was getting gentler, and Infume almost didn’t feel alone, huddled in his own dark room. ”Why’s that?”
“Haven’t… slept much. Not more than usual.”
”How much is that?”
Danny’s questions almost sounded prepared, and between that, and the genuine care behind them, and Fein still here, just sitting in the call quietly, typing almost but not quite inaudibly, Infume felt a whine rise in his throat, some keening noise between gratitude and the terror of being seen.
It leaked into his voice, as he swallowed, and nearly dropped his laptop off his lap.
“Like- a few hours, I- I don’t know…”
”How many is a few?”
That was Fein, that time, pitching in with a sharp worry that made Infume flinch. He did drop his laptop, then, and had the space between scrambling to get it back to reposting it to try to calm his breathing.
“A… couple, I- really don’t know…”
”What’s keeping you up?” Danny spoke before Fein could, not cutting over him, just taking Infume’s attention back.
“Stuff…” Infume heard his own voice wavering, and swallowed, hugging his own chest weakly. “I… read my- my comments, sometimes, when it’s… hard to sleep.”
Fein made an almost-distinctive noise, somewhere between a sigh and something else that just sounded disappointed, and Infume felt awful. He’d stopped typing, for a moment, but now he was at it again, and Infume almost wanted to ask. Couri was still online.
”…is that why you don’t sleep?”
It was a fair question. Infume didn’t like it, and arrow to the heart of his self-perpetuating cycle, but it was fair. And Danny was only asking.
“Maybe.”
”Want to talk about what they say?”
Danny had so many questions. So many, and Infume wanted to answer all of them, but it felt so strange.
“Normal… comment stuff.”
”Like what?”
“Hate comments. I’m guessing. Am I right?”
“M- mhm.” Infume felt his voice catch, and wanted a cushion, or something soft to hug and cling onto as he fought the urge to leave the VC in a panic. “It’s… it’s okay though. I don’t mind.”
”Everyone minds.” There was a grim kind of numbness in Fein’s voice, something sad and reluctantly accepting, turning closer to sharp worry as it turned back to Infume. ”You shouldn’t believe them. They’re just trying to get to you.”
“No… no, they- they’re right…”
Infuem trailed off into soft whininess, shaking fingers occupying themselves with clicking his mic on and off. It was a feeble substitute, for how he wanted to run away.
”They’re not.” Danny, too, was getting harsher, even if only by his standards, amounting to merely quick and clipped, but still with his characteristic softness. ”Infume, you shouldn’t-“
“Don’t leave the call, Infume.” Fein’s voice was different, by a few shades, like when they were running together and he was stressed and he just needed to tell them what to do. Infuse froze, fingers on his keyboard, cursor trembling in front of his eyes. ”I can see you fidgeting. What setup are you using?”
“My... laptop. Sorry.”
”Put it somewhere, ok? Don’t touch it.”
Fein could have just told him to stay. Still, it was appreciated, as Infume shifted, and placed his laptop carefully on the other side of his mattress, still within hearing range. He could see the screen, too, and neither Fein nor Danny left the call.
“…done.”
His voice came out small. Infume worried they couldn’t hear him, but Fein hummed in acknowledgment, and he relaxed. He could get his headphones, actually, just in case he missed something they said. He knew they were somewhere around here.
Infume tugged his headphones on, hearing the connection chime in his ears, just as Danny spoke up again, hesitant until he was sure Fein wouldn’t interrupt.
”Uh… hate comments. Just- don’t read them, you know? They don’t know you, and they don’t care.”
“But-“
”No.” Fein was quicker, this time, shutting Infume down with a somehow kinder interruption than he’d expected. ”They might be right about the facts, but they’ll never be right to talk to you like that.”
“Seconded.”
“I… I know…” Free of his laptop, Infume grabbed his pillow, hugging it tightly and hoping it didn’t muffle his voice too much. There was something weirdly overwhelming, about having his friends’ voices directly in his ears. “They just… seem so much more real… the- the nice ones don’t mean anything…”
”Even from us?”
Some part of him cringed, remembering how quickly Fein’s comments faded to meaningless words on a screen, and Infume swallowed whatever was stopping him breathing properly.
“S- sometimes. You guys are really nice.”
He didn’t deserve it.
”We’re nice because you deserve it, Fume.”
Infume flinched, head flying upwards as his eyes tracked the screen, stilling on Couri’s profile picture sitting in the VC. He hadn’t even seen him join. The shock faded to mere confusion sooner than he’d have expected, twisting around the weariness in Couri’s voice.
“When-“
”Been here a few minutes. Been texting Fein.”
“Anyone else I should call?”
“…I don’t know. Infume, is there anyone else you want?”
Between Couri’s quiet calm, and Fein’s casual professionalism, Infume was wondering if this was some kind of intervention. He didn’t need intervening with. He was… so fine, with crying himself to sleep, and stabbing himself under his skin with other people’s words he twisted into his own bitter, frustrated voice.
Maybe they were trying to fix something about him. Maybe he needed fixing.
Hugging his cushion closer again, Infume shook his head, and spoke as softly as he could manage.
“…its okay. You guys don’t need… to be here at all, d- don’t bother anyone else.“
”Right. We’re here anyway. But we can keep it here.”
“We want to be here.” Danny had vaguely the same tone as Couri, a sort of soothing kindness, like Infume needed reassurance. ”Friends help each other.”
“Thank you…”
It slipped out, a little, as Infume hid his face, and took a deep breath. He was glad he’d said it. They deserved to know, how much he appreciated them, to make up for all their kindness being so misplaced.
”That means someone’s always going to be available to talk, so you’re not scrolling haters for hours.”
Couri laughed, but it sounded serious. Serious enough for Infume to believe it. When he could hear their voices, when it was more than just text, it felt like it meant something.
“…okay. Thanks, I-“
”Not done. What would help you sleep?” Fein was a little more serious than Couri, at least in tone, even if he sounded closer to his usual grin than he had earlier. Maybe Couri was just more thoughtful of Infume’s flightiness, softening all his edges. ”That we can give. But that’s a lot.”
“It… it’s really fine, I-“ Infume sniffled, and caught himself, freezing dead still for a long moment. He could feel himself breathing, one, two, he wiped his eyes against his pillow and took a third breath. “I won’t read my comments again. Promise.”
”You’ll call us instead?”
Infume had almost forgotten Danny was here. His lips twitched, vibrating like the rest of him, and his grip tightened on the pillow again. He wished he could see them. Thank them. Give them something to show he was worthwhile.
“M’kay.”
He felt sort of sleepy. He barely knew what time of day it was, and it might just be his body grinding to a halt between the adrenaline and hours sitting here without food or water, but Infume felt like he could sleep a normal person amount right now, if he let himself.
”Tired?”
Couri’s laugh came through his laptop speakers, and Infume realised he was yawning. Forcing his mouth closed, he shifted, and answered in a voice even he could hear exhaustion threading through.
“Little bit. I haven’t… eaten in a while.”
Fein made another small noise. Infume really wasn’t sure whether to be scared of that or something else. It could have been exasperation, frustration, or pure concern, but none of it sounded angry at him.
”Why- no, no. Go eat something, Infume. Have you got food?”
As Fein made an audible effort to take the clipped protectiveness out of his voice, Infume stared, blankly, at his laptop. His stomach twisted, from hunger and something else.
“…Ok.”
Infume barely heard his own whisper, over Couri’s faint scolding of Fein’s apparently inappropriate tone, and over the sounds of himself crawling off his bed, muffled by his headphones, but still enough to drown out his friends for a moment.
He didn’t even think about the fact that he was moving, not until he was halfway to the kitchen, and realised there were still voices in his ears.
”-worked?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sorry, Couri, that was-“
“No, I- I think Danny’s right. It worked.”
Infume pulled his hoodie up, hiding his face from no one as he rummaged through a cupboard. He couldn’t talk to them. His laptop was back in his room. But he could listen.
”Is he coming back?”
Heart jumping, Infume’s fingers found a flapjack he must have been given at some kind of rally, and he closed the cupboard quickly. He didn’t want them to go. It made him feel weird, his head too light and sparks blowing in his vision.
He hurried back, sitting on the edge of his bed again, but not touching his laptop. Fein had said not to.
“Hi, guys.”
”You’re back!” Fein sounded genuinely delighted, earning him a small huff of a laugh from Couri, god knew how far away. ”Food?”
“Food.”
Infume couldn’t help his small smile at the confirmation, tearing open the wrapper and taking a bite before he did something stupid like cry. It wasn’t particularly on the table. But he didn’t trust himself right now.
”Hey, great work.” Danny sounded genuine about it too, and Infume had to chew carefully. His whole head felt strange. ”Then sleep? What time is it for you?”
“Not sure.”
”How… how are you not sure?” The disbelief in Fein’s voice nearly drowned out his words, and Infume could hear Couri typing furiously, just from how his profile lit up. ”Infume, dude… we can help you.”
“I… I know…”
”But how? Where are you?”
“On… on my bed.” Infume pressed his sleeve to his mouth, chewing on it between mumbled words. “Been here for a while. It’s… afternoon, I think.”
”So you can go to sleep? We can stick around.”
Couri’s suggestion sounded offhand, but Infume felt himself go still again. They would do that. Maybe they would do that for him. That would be nice.
A moment later, he remember that he had better things to put in his mouth, and took another numb bite of flapjack, enjoying the warmth of his headphones over his ears.
“You guys would…?”
”Mhm. I’m free to stay for a few hours. Might do some editing.”
“Same here.”
“I… might have to go? Sorry.” Fein’s wince was audible, alongside his genuine regret. ”Couri, you can-
“Yes, you useless idiot, I can keep you updated.”
“Thanks, dude.”
“So- so what do I… do?”
Nervous, Infume took another bite, crumpling the wrapper into a ball and dropping it into the bin at the end of his bed. It gave him time to chew, and wait for Couri’s gentle voice.
”You just go to sleep. We won’t make it weird. We’re just here if you want to talk.”
“O… okay. I- I’ve got my headphones on-“
”That’s perfect. Can you sleep in them?”
“I think so?”
Everything felt strange. Couriway was telling him how to sleep. Infume was letting him, was worried he’d start crying if Couri stopped, and Fein and Danny were still sitting in the call too, and he didn’t mind them either.
”Ok. That’s good.”
“You can lie down.” Fein spoke like he was offering, but Infume took it as a command. It was easier. ”Still there, Fume?”
“I- I’m here.”
”You’re doing great.”
“Thanks…”
”Fein’s too nice.” Despite how the idea there was no more assurance forthcoming hurt, Couri’s voice was drenched in too much easy fondness to be really worrying. ”Just go to sleep, Infume. You’re ok.”
After placing his laptop gently on the table beside him, Infume settled on his bed, pulling his pillow and duvet back into place and letting out a small breath.
He felt warm. Warmer than usual. Warm like he had his friends beside him, in some way that wasn’t weird, and he believed everything they said.
He did believe them.
This was as real as anything could get.