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There had been a hole in ParrotX2 for as long as he could remember. A dark, endless black hole.
Sometimes it could be covered. It could be boarded up and hidden away, when things were bright and warm and okay.
But it couldn’t be filled.
It would never be filled.
…
Parrot didn’t know how long he’d been running.
Each step was punctuated by a soft splash as he dashed through puddles and mud, the rain coming down harder now like pins and needles against his already soaked feathers. The wind would’ve been howling if he could hear anything besides the rush of blood in his ears.
It was easy to run. It was easy to race away from everything, leave it all behind for a while, go too fast for his own thoughts to catch up, let the hole inside him grow and grow and grow until it swallowed him up.
It wasn’t easy to ignore his legs aching, or his lungs screaming at him to stop, to just rest for a while.
A branch caught on his wing and sent him crashing into the ground.
He remained there on the forest floor for longer than he needed to. His chest rose and fell far too fast, his throat stinging with each inhale. Hunger twisted in his stomach, sharp and demanding attention. He brought down an arm, holding it to himself like that could quell the incessant emptiness.
His head snapped toward a sound he couldn’t place, somewhere behind the walls of trees and fauna caging him in. Something so close it felt tangible, and yet so distant it might’ve been all but a dream.
His heart sped up again. He forced himself to his feet again, ignoring the hurt all over, and kept running.
Just keep running.
This was the easy part. Wear himself out until the only thing he could think about was the pain, and how badly he wanted to sleep. Run and run and run until he couldn’t think at all. Until everything was quiet. Let the hole grow and hurt and swell until he couldn’t breathe.
Don’t think about the kingdom.
Faster.
Don’t think about Theo, or Reina.
Faster.
Don’t think about today or tomorrow or yesterday.
Faster.
Don’t think about him.
Faster—
His legs finally gave up on him, and he collapsed to his knees with a strangled cry.
His wings folded in on him instinctively. Good. Maybe if he got small enough he could finally, properly disappear.
His breaths were running away from him. Every swallow burned more than the last, his vision spinning, rimmed with white and static as the oxygen refused to go down. That thought stole a tiny, breathless laugh from his chest, one that made the ringing in his ears louder. Maybe he’d die right here, from oxygen deprivation, at his own hand. ParrotX2, former king of unstable, going out because he ran a little too fast for a little too long. It was so grim it was almost funny.
But he didn’t die. Not yet, not this time. Eventually, the fog in his brain cleared enough for his thoughts to return to coherency. He sat there, panting, legs splayed out beneath him and hands braced weakly against the dirt, arms shaking, for a while. Until the air stopped rattling in his chest, the urge to cough turning into a weak discomfort like his body didn’t have the energy to suffer.
One sensation replaced the other. Hunger wrenched in his stomach, harder this time, like something was grabbing the organ and twisting, begging for anything and everything it knew he didn’t have. He clutched his midsection, pressing down hard, replacing the emptiness with pressure, with a different kind of pain. That was the pain he could control.
He thought about the bread in his satchel and reached without thinking, already salivating with anticipation. He was fumbling with the buckle, hands trembling so hard he could barely feel the cold metal, when he caught himself.
No. There wasn’t enough for him to eat whenever he got a little peckish. He’d eat tomorrow. Maybe at breakfast, or even lunchtime if he could hold out long enough. Not now. Not today. He forced his arms to drop back down to his sides.
Okay. Fine. If he wasn’t going to eat, he needed to do something else. Something productive. Something that could keep his attention away from the hunger and pain and the hole inside him.
He stood, and the world lurched so violently he had to learn against a tree to avoid collapsing.
That was okay. He could work something out.
He pushed off the rough bark agonizingly slow. The treetops blended and meshed until they were one grey-green mess, blinking and shifting with the rain and static. Parrot ignored it.
The sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon by now. He tilted his chin up, squinting towards the stars, just to immediately regret it when he was overcome by vertigo. He hissed through his teeth, forcing his eyes shut tightly until it seemed to pass. He didn’t let himself stagger. If he sat down now, he’d never get up.
He started walking.
Not running. Not anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure he could manage that now, or ever.
Every tree looked the same beneath the rain. Thick trunks, black with water, roots clawing through the mud like skeletal fingers. Branches swayed overhead, whispering to each other in a language he couldn’t understand. He picked a direction and kept moving.
One foot.
Then the other.
One foot.
Then—
“There you are.”
Parrot froze.
The words were quiet. Familiar. Warm in a way the rain wasn’t.
He didn't turn around.
His stomach lurched harder than it had a moment ago.
“...No,” he muttered.
He kept walking.
“You've been running forever.”
His grip tightened around the strap of his satchel.
“You'll make yourself sick.”
The voice sounded impossibly close now. Soft. Patient. The sort of voice that used to pull him out of bed on mornings he wanted to sleep in, laughing quietly as sunlight spilled through open windows.
“You should eat something.”
Parrot squeezed his eyes shut.
Not real.
“You packed bread, didn’t you?”
Not real.
“You always forget to take care of yourself.”
His steps quickened.
“I know you wanted to save it,” the voice continued. “But you don't have to anymore.”
His heartbeat hammered against his ribs.
“You've earned a break.”
“No,” Parrot whispered.
His boots splashed through another puddle.
“No.”
“You don't have to keep running.”
“I said no.”
“You can stop.”
“No!”
The shout tore itself from his throat before he realized he’d spoken.
Silence answered him.
Only rain.
Only wind.
Only his own ragged breathing.
Parrot stood there for several long seconds, staring at nothing.
Then, carefully, he looked over his shoulder.
Nothing.
Of course.
Just trees.
Just rain.
Just another cruel trick from a body that hadn't eaten enough in...
He wasn't even sure anymore.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until bright stars burst behind his eyelids.
Hungry.
That was all.
People saw strange things when they were hungry.
He'd be fine.
He just had to ignore it.
The next voice wasn't nearly as kind.
“Wow.”
It came from somewhere to his left.
“I knew you were bad at being king, but this?”
Parrot didn't look.
“I leave you alone for a year and you’ve managed to lose everything.”
Don't answer.
"Kingdom's gone."
Don't answer.
"Friends gone."
His pace quickened again.
“Really setting records here.”
His jaw locked so tightly it hurt.
“It’s funny, actually.”
Don't answer.
“You always thought you could save people.”
A laugh.
Sharp.
Cruel.
“How’d that work out?”
Parrot broke into another stumbling jog before the voice could finish.
Roots snagged his boots.
Branches slapped against his soaked wings.
The laughter followed him anyway.
The rain eased sometime later.
Not enough to stop, only enough that individual drops could finally be heard striking leaves overhead instead of blending together into one endless roar.
Parrot searched for shelter.
A cave.
An overhang.
Anything.
Every shadow made him hopeful for half a second before revealing itself as another cluster of bushes or another fallen tree. The woods seemed determined to offer him everything except somewhere to sleep.
By the time he admitted defeat, his legs felt hollow.
A sprawling oak stood a little apart from the others, its roots breaking through the earth in thick, twisting arches. Between two of them sat a shallow pocket, barely large enough for him to squeeze into.
It wasn’t shelter.
It wasn’t dry.
But the roots blocked enough of the wind.
Good enough.
He lowered himself into the hollow with far more effort than it should've taken.
His wings protested as he folded them close. They were soaked through, feathers sticking together in miserable clumps. Every movement sent cold water dripping down his back.
He tugged his knees against his chest.
Smaller.
Safer.
The hole inside him shifted.
Not smaller.
Never smaller.
Just quieter.
For now.
He rested his forehead against one of the roots.
Its bark dug into his skin.
Grounded him.
Reminded him he was here.
Still here.
Across the clearing, something moved.
Parrot’s head snapped up.
For one impossible heartbeat, someone stood between the trees.
A familiar silhouette.
Tall.
Hands shoved lazily into his pockets.
Watching.
“...Wifies?”
Lightning flashed.
The clearing was empty.
Parrot let out a shaky breath through clenched teeth.
“No.”
Not Saps.
Not Reina.
Not Theo.
Not Wifies.
Nobody was here.
He was alone.
The thought settled over him heavier than the rain ever had.
And somehow that hurt more than the ghosts.
Ironically enough, sleep didn’t come easy.
Hours ago, it had been all he’d wanted. It had consumed his thoughts, begging him to just stop moving, to rest, let everything fall away for just a little while.
His head fell back against the trunk again.
Everything hurt.
His legs.
His lungs.
His empty stomach.
His wings, heavy with water.
And beneath all of it…
The hole.
It felt larger tonight.
Not physically.
Not really.
But if he concentrated hard enough he could almost feel it yawning open behind his ribs, stretching wider with every quiet second. Sometimes he imagined looking down and finding nothing inside his chest at all.
Just darkness.
Just absence.
He wondered how many people it had taken to keep it small.
Luigi had made it smaller.
Dean had, too.
Spepticle.
Nufuli.
Reina.
Theo.
…
Wifies.
There was nobody to keep it small now.
Some days it was so impossibly large it felt like it would eat him alive, and he’d let it, because he was sure something better would follow, a world without holes and crowns and war.
He looked up towards the sky.
The stars glittered above, mocking him from their high perch. They could see everything. Maybe they could see Theo and Reina. Maybe they knew if those two were okay or not. Maybe their outcome depended on him like Schrodinger's cat. He hoped it didn’t.
Maybe Wifies was up there.
The thought arrived before he could stop it.
Right.
July.
Laughter.
His birthday.
Twenty.
No
Twenty-one.
He genuinely wasn’t sure anymore.
It didn’t matter.
No one else was there to remember.
He looked around. His lips twitched at the corners, the ghost of a smile he didn’t have the energy for.
Back then, birthdays had been loud.
Embarrassingly so.
Colorful boxes stacked on top of a table, each signed with something sweet in Wifies’ loopy handwriting, and a sweet smell in the kitchen. Wifies would smile so wide when Parrot came downstairs, having already been awake for hours, Parrot would be afraid his face would split. Once the night fell, Wifies would take him by the hand and lead him outside, bring him to a clearing where they could see every star in the sky. For a couple of hours, the hole seemed to disappear.
Birthdays with Theo and Reina were quieter. Theo would wake Parrot with breakfast already made, wouldn’t let him get up to work. He’d take him on long walks around the palace gardens, braid flowers into his hair, then bring him inside, where Reina would be waiting with just a few little presents, usually something she made herself, like the red scarf he always wore that she’d knit with real sheep wool. He’d fall asleep on Theo’s shoulder feeling so loved he could almost forget about the hole.
A sharp, bitter little laugh left him.
Here he was.
Curled beneath a tree with wet feathers and enough ghosts to make the forest feel crowded.
The hole twitched.
Not growing.
Not yet.
What had it taken for the hole to feel small?
Parrot could barely remember now.
He knew people always did.
Every person he loved left something inside it, and took even more when they left. Because the hole didn’t know how to keep. The hole took and took and took even when there was nothing left to take.
Luigi had brought him peace. Back when the hole didn’t exist yet. When the world was still sharp, colorful and hopeful. Before the sword had struck right through Luigi’s ribs and left Parrot behind. Behind when it should’ve been him.
He thought Dean had healed it. Dean made him feel warm. Important. Being with Dean felt like arms around him, sometimes from behind, warm and empty-handed and gentle.
And then he died.
Dean died.
Spepticle had stitched something over the wound afterwards.
Not enough to close it.
Just enough to stop it from swallowing him whole.
Nufuli had laughed loudly enough to drown out the thoughts. Had dragged him into plans before he could sit still long enough to think. He remembered afternoons spent sprawled across rooftops, arguing over absolutely nothing, the kind of arguments neither of them ever intended to win.
Then Nufuli was gone too.
Nufuli…
Spepticle had never tried to fix the hole.
He’d simply sat beside it.
He’d treated it like something that existed instead of something shameful. Some nights he’d find him staring out a window for hours and simply lean against the wall nearby, saying nothing at all until he was ready to speak.
The silence had never felt empty with him.
Now it did.
Theo and Reina…
His chest tightened.
No.
He couldn't think about them.
Not tonight.
If he started imagining where they were—if they were scared, if they were hurt, if they were looking for him the way he wanted to look for them—
The hole lurched.
He swallowed hard.
"They're alive."
His voice sounded tiny.
"They're alive."
He said it again because if he stopped saying it, it might stop being true.
"They're alive."
The forest didn't answer.
…
His fingers brushed the flap of his satchel again.
The bread.
He stared at it for a long moment.
His stomach cramped viciously, almost angrily, and for the first time all day he let himself open the bag.
The loaf was a little crushed.
Rain had seeped into the cloth wrapped around it.
Still edible.
He broke off the tiniest corner and stopped.
His gaze drifted to a fallen branch beside the roots.
It was thin.
Dry underneath the bark.
An awful idea bloomed.
“...Happy birthday,” he muttered bitterly.
His own voice sounded foreign.
He almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead he reached for the branch.
It took longer than it should have.
His fingers were numb.
Everything was damp.
He stripped away the bark with the edge of his knife until pale wood showed beneath. Tore a thread loose from the inside of his sleeve and wrapped it clumsily around one end.
It wasn't really a candle.
It barely deserved the name.
Just cloth.
Wood.
Enough.
He struck flint.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The fourth spark caught.
A tiny flame trembled into existence.
It was pathetic.
Smaller than his thumb.
One strong gust would kill it.
He pushed the branch upright into the center of the bread.
There.
Birthday cake.
His lips pulled into the faintest smile.
It looked awful.
The little flame danced anyway.
He watched it flicker.
Watched golden light chase the rain from the edges of the roots.
For one impossible second—
"You're supposed to make a wish."
The words slipped into his ear as naturally as breathing.
Warm.
Amused.
Like they always had.
Parrot's entire body went rigid.
"...Stop."
"You never remembered."
His throat closed.
"I always had to remind you."
"Stop."
"What are you wishing for?"
"I said stop."
"You don't have to tell me."
The voice chuckled.
"It won't come true if you do."
His vision blurred.
"I know what I'd wish for."
Parrot squeezed his eyes shut so hard it hurt.
"Please."
"I'd wish—"
"Please."
Silence.
Only the tiny crackle of the flame.
Only rain dripping from leaves overhead.
Only his own breathing.
He opened his eyes again.
The candle was still there.
Nothing else.
His face crumpled.
"...Happy birthday," he whispered to nobody.
He sat there for another minute.
Maybe two.
Then he leaned forward and blew the little flame out.
A thread of smoke curled into the night.
He tore off another piece of bread.
Forced himself to chew.
It turned to mush in his mouth.
Tasted like wet flour.
Like ash.
Like absolutely nothing.
He managed three bites before his stomach twisted so violently he thought he might throw up.
The rest went back into the satchel.
"Tomorrow," he promised himself.
He wasn't sure whether he meant the bread or himself.
The crying started so quietly he didn't notice.
Just another shaky breath.
Another.
Then something warm landed on the back of his hand.
He frowned.
Rain?
No.
Another drop.
And another.
His shoulders jerked.
"Oh."
His voice broke on the single syllable.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
He'd held it together this long.
He could hold it together one more hour.
One more night.
One more—
His next inhale hitched so sharply it hurt.
The sound that escaped him wasn't even recognizable as crying.
It was something smaller.
Younger.
Like something deep inside him had finally realized nobody was coming.
He folded forward until his forehead hit his knees.
His wings wrapped around himself without thinking.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Maybe if he made himself small enough—
The hole opened.
Not metaphorically.
Not this time.
It felt real.
An impossible, yawning emptiness pulling at everything inside him.
His heartbeat.
His breath.
His memories.
It swallowed Luigi's laugh.
Dean's smile.
Nufuli's quiet company.
Spepticle's awful jokes.
Theo's flowers.
Reina's scarf.
Wifies' grin beneath a sky full of stars.
No.
No, no, no—
He clutched at his own shirt like he could keep them from falling in.
"I don't want to forget," he sobbed.
His voice dissolved into another gasp.
"I don't—I don't—I don't—"
The hole pulled harder.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't tell where the ache in his chest ended and the ache in the rest of him began.
He was so tired.
God.
He was so tired.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe this was finally the all-consuming, heart-stopping grief he’d always heard about.
Maybe if he died right now, the hole could finally be gone.
Eventually there were no tears left.
He slumped sideways, drawing up his knees farther.
The scarf around his neck was damp enough that he could smell wool and rain.
His eyes slipped shut.
The hole was still there.
Still enormous.
Still aching.
But somehow, it hadn’t swallowed him.
Not yet.
Morning came without asking.
The rain had stopped.
Everything smelled like wet leaves and dirt.
Parrot woke up slowly.
His face felt stiff with dried tears.
His clothes were still soaked.
His stomach still hurt.
The hole was still there.
He waited for it to finish him.
It didn’t.
Every muscle protested when he tried to move.
He moved anyway.
Once he was standing, he could see the pale sky through gaps in the leaves. The cloudless expanse of blue. The tiny wildflowers that had once been grey in the dark of night, swaying gently in the grass.
The kind of morning that only existed after nights like that.
Theo and Reina were still missing.
Wifies was still dead.
The hole still hurt.
But he was still alive.
His heart was still beating beneath his battered skin.
And that was something he could be proud of on its own.
“Well,” he rasped, voice swallowed by the forest.
He looked around like someone might be there.
“...”
He knew they wouldn’t, but it had never hurt to hope.
“Guess I’m twenty-one.”