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The ding of a notification snaps Noelle back to reality: the blizzard behind her eyelids recedes, swirling snow resolving into the wall opposite the bed. Half-blind and blinking, she fumbles for her phone.
Another text from Catti— another question about today’s homework. From Berdly… nothing.
In five hours.
Noelle nails the password on the third try and opens Missives on the second, typing to the too-quick beat of her heart.
Berdly
hiiii!!!! Just so you know, I took your textbooks home with me
How was the nap? XD
If she knows Berdly—and boy, does she know Berdly—he’ll gasp dramatically in text format, then follow it up with an unnecessarily long, formal thank-you message: something something, “my undying gratitude”; something something, “worry not”; something something, “I will relieve you of my booklongings posthaste (i.e., after my shift tomorrow).”
Tomorrow is a Saturday. She’ll have the house to herself by noon. Berdly will come over, and they’ll play Plumber Cart till dinner— after, of course, a good hour or two of agonizing over the group project.
Which they were supposed to work on, in all fairness. At the library. Today.
A shiver runs down her spine. Noelle yanks the quilt up to her neck, fingers twisting in the ice-blue silk.
Berdly is fine. He’s just… showering, or something. He can’t be…
He can’t still be asleep in the library. Right?
Berdly
Don’t worry, I also dozed off
Your phone alarm woke me up, by the way
So thanks for that XD
You unsent a message
Let’s just say I had a weird dream
Was yours any better?
You unsent a message
You were sleeping like a rock, face down on the desk and all XP
Overhead, the clock ticks on. Noelle’s foot taps along in double time.
The Berdly she knows is in constant motion: he gestures with both wings when he talks, nods along when he doesn’t, and fidgets when he thinks she isn’t looking— pen-twirling, shifting in his seat, preening. Probably turns over and snores in his sleep, too.
The Berdly she’d awoken to find did nothing but breathe.
No response to light. Or sound. Or touch: she’d nudged him while reaching over to grab his books, elbow to wing.
Ice-cold.
Noelle holds her breath and grips the quilt tighter, harder, pulling it apart till by all rights it should tear. It doesn’t. Because the real Noelle isn’t strong enough, and never will be.
In the nightmare, she was stronger. Strong enough to do the unthinkable. So when Kris kept ordering her to cast that one spell, over and over again, over the incessant throbbing in her skull, over Berdly begging her to snap out of it— when they wouldn’t shut up—
She just let go. Drowned the whole world in snow.
And then it was quiet.
It’s quiet, too, now. No ding from her phone. No one to interrupt her. No more being talked over, or ridiculous little misunderstandings, or laughing along while daydreaming about letting Berdly down gently… or shaking him like a bobblehead, when he’s being particularly obtuse.
Maybe… maybe the silence isn’t so bad. He wasn’t going to listen. He wasn’t going to change, was he? Someone had to make him—
Mom’s footsteps thump past outside, hooves on carpet: past Noelle’s bedroom, past Dess’, all the way down the hall. The snowstorm in Noelle’s head sharpens into snowflake-patterned wallpaper as the bathroom door opens and shuts.
Now, where was she? Right, she had to…
No, no, no— what is she thinking? That’s horrible—she’s horrible—Berdly’s her friend! Maybe she wouldn’t complain if he started acting… differently, just a bit, but that isn’t… that’s not the same as…
Noelle’s stomach twists.
Whatever “Snowgrave” did to Berdly, in that dream… she hasn’t heard his voice since.
Berdly
You did look a bit tired today XD
Before lunch
And at the library
You didn’t even hear me calling your name
You unsent a message
You unsent a message
You unsent a message
Did you catch the flu or something?
Come on you can tell me :3
I’ll bring you some soup
Butternut squash and carrot
And Plumber Cart 8
Berdly never gets sick— or so he likes to claim. Sure, his seat in class might be conspicuously empty for a while, and of course he’ll cancel the next few hangouts, but he’s in perfect health: even if he has to croak the words between sneezes, out buying groceries in a mask, feathers fluffed despite the midday sun. Berdly is always, always fine.
So why can’t he just say it?
Ding.
A text from Jockington, this time— something about cross country practice. Noelle squeezes her phone until the notification goes away.
When she finally lets go, her thumb brushes Berdly’s profile picture: Blue Falcon from the Astral Wolf series, set in stone since seventh grade. The call button appears below, an anglerfish’s lure glowing in the gloom.
She could’ve called Berdly hours ago. She could call him now. He always picks up like he’s been waiting for it: Noelle fell asleep holding her phone, once, and awoke to a distant voice asking what she needed from him at 3 AM.
She… should call him.
Instead, Noelle adjusts her earbuds with trembling hands, sets her trusty playlist to shuffle, and holds her breath.
First, the Dragon Blazers theme plays— in all its classical 8-bit glory, as a certain bird would say. Next comes a piano cover of it. Back to the original. Piano cover. Original. Piano—
Noelle yanks the earbuds free, chest heaving.
The phone’s power button stings her hand the second she goes to turn it off, sharp as a thorn. She grits her teeth and presses down anyway: Berdly isn’t replying tonight.
Must’ve gone to bed early.