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It’s been a long few months. Four has had little opportunity to rest through much of it; “rest” wasn’t even something he considered himself capable of anymore. Every part of his body was tense during the long stay in the moon; every limb shook with adrenaline and abject terror as he climbed up the hotel stairs. Even now, as he watches the crowd gather outside the window, there’s a tremor in his fingers, and the sense of something lingering behind him.
It’s not an irrational fear. Not yet.
Something creaks open. “Hey, Four—”
He reacts with a gasp before he realises who it is. They hadn’t even fully pushed the door open, but their hands were already up and away from the knob.
“Sorry. Sorry, it’s just me,” Two reassures him. He just groans in response and turns away.
“I told you to knock.”
“Sorry. I’ll remember.” Like he believes that…
Two had offered their room to Four when the rest of the cast found him several hours ago. He wanted to refuse, but it wasn’t like he was in the physical condition to do so. Some contestants carried him up here, and he didn’t feel up for complaining once he was laying down.
Slowly, the other integer walks over to the bed, heels tapping behind them. At some point, the tapping stops, and they sit beside him on the side of the bed.
Four looks over, but their eyes are fixed on the window and not him, so he quickly changes his mind. Even then, he can still see them in the side of his vision. It’s unreasonably jarring, to sit next to them like this—he’s more pale and sickly than he realised. His complexion is almost worse than they looked at the height of their rot in bed.
“Are you feeling alright?” Two asks him, bearing an unusually soft tone. “Is there anything you need?”
Four doesn’t answer. “I can run to the kitchen if you’re hungry. It’ll only take me a moment! I’m sure there’s something still good in the pantry.”
“I don’t need anything, Two,” he huffs. It was meant to sound harsh, but he can’t muster it. But it seems to hurt either way.
“Okay. Um… I can leave, then? Would you prefer that?”
Again, he doesn’t answer—but the idea makes his chest tighten. It’s not Two leaving, he tells himself, that makes him feel that way. It’s nothing to do with Two at all. But just… the possibility of being alone again. Being bedridden, being trapped—
The ringing in his ears ceases abruptly when a hand snaps right in his face. “Four! Hey. What was that?”
What are they talking about? He glances up at them with a huff, only now realising how breathless he is. He brings up a palm and presses it to his ribs, trying to draw out whatever’s drilling into his lungs.
“Nothing.” Unsteadily, he finds their eyes. They look so worried and pitiful. It washes him in a feeling he can’t describe, something heavy that sinks him into the edge of the mattress.
Two keeps staring, and the feeling gets heavier. It’s like a worm has bitten through his stomach and eaten straight through. Humiliating is what pops into his head.
“I’ll stay,” they decide. Some of the weight gives, but not all. “Until you’re alright with me leaving. Okay?”
He barely mumbles out a response, but that’s enough confirmation. Two slips their heels off and lets them hit the floor, then crosses their legs on the bed. “How is your back?”
“Mm…” Four has mostly begun to ignore the pain in his spine, a dull and stiff ache, but being reminded brings it right back. He tries to stretch, but it only causes a sharp pinch near his hips. “Ow— eeh…”
“Oh, yikes… you’re really not doing well,” they state, as if he doesn’t fucking know that, “How’d that even happen?”
“I… urgh… jumped off the roof…”
“You what?! Why the hell would you—”
“I had to, okay?!” It’s the loudest he can get his voice to be, which is much louder than he thinks. Two flinches, and he feels bad, something unfamiliar in this scenario. “Everyone was in the EXIT. I can’t get in there without teleporting. It… it was the only chance I had.”
“Oh. I’m… sorry.” There’s seemingly no way they can console him further—or maybe no way to twist the situation into their fault, as if he doesn’t have enough on his plate.
Instead, they raise a hand and place it on his back. Four jolts away from the touch—obviously he does! They’re lucky he didn’t fall off the bed! Do they want their arm bitten off?! But of course, he can’t find the strength to do either, so he sits and takes it.
It’s not actually unpleasant, once he gnaws on his lip for long enough. They’re rubbing right against where his spine aches—found it pretty quick, too—and it’s… nice. He sighs.
Two starts again after a minute, so quiet that Four can barely hear them. “You know, I… I thought, once I could get the window open… if it was high enough. I thought it was my only chance, too.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” they hastily mutter, already facing away. “I just, um, I get it. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. Sorry.”
“It’s whatever.” But Four lingers still on what they said moments prior. What did they mean by that? Maybe he knows, in some far place in his mind, but something’s hiding it from view. “Two, err… what did you mean by—”
“I think they’re bringing back the missing contestants soon. Black Hole figured out where they are. X just has to teleport them back.” Their thumb grazes a bruise in his spine, coaxing out a pained whimper. “If you’re feeling better by then, you can come join.”
It’s a tempting offer. He’s a little apprehensive to the idea—being seen so frail and vulnerable makes his skin crawl, even if his usual fears are dulled by the potential company. But if Four can get his powers back down there like Two did, healing from these injuries will be far easier.
It’s not tempting enough, not yet. He draws his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms over them. There’s a certain fatigue in his limbs that he doubts will be staved off by some measly healing trick. That power isn’t a cure-all, especially if it’s just X’s split into fractions.
“Are you gonna be there?”
Taken aback by the question, Two laughs. Sure, it’s not something they’re used to hearing, but they don’t have to laugh! “Yeah, course I will. I mean, if they’re bringing Gaty back, then…”
There’s a weird look in their eyes as they trail off. “Hm. Anyway, um, if you’re worried about it, I’ll definitely be there. X, too, obviously. I know seeing him will cheer you up, won’t it?”
He nods, but there’s not so much conviction in it. Of course, he wants to see X, he reminds himself. That variable cheers him up more than anything in the world. Maybe he’s just too tired? He can’t understand why.
Two notices, and their hand runs up his back to grasp his shoulder. They pat him once or twice, and he doesn’t recoil this time. “We have time. All the time in the world, really. You can just rest for now.”
Idly, he starts to wonder if there will come a time when he’s had enough rest. When the neurasthenia becomes unbearable and he’s clawing to break free.
Four takes a long breath and decides that time is not now. His head, which is beginning to ache, finds the nearest comfortable surface to lean on, and the rest of his body ends up slumped against Two. The position draws a gasp out of them, but they’re quick to accommodate by wrapping their arm around him.
“I’ll let you know when it’s time to go, okay?” Four just hums. Eventually, they raise their hand to his hair. He doesn’t move a muscle as their fingers brush through the mess. It’s only as humiliating as he lets it be, and he’s too exhausted to let it. Surely, they know how lucky they are, which must be why they’re so quiet.
For the first time in months, Four is actually comfortable. Safe. He feels safe!
So why does he have such a bad feeling about what may come next?
“What?! X, you can’t be serious—”
“I’m sorry, Four, I think they’re right.”
Humiliating. That’s what all of this is. It’s just a challenge designed to humiliate him. That’s why he’s here right now, barely standing through the pain of his injuries, mortified in front of everyone he’s ever known.
Four glances over at Two. They helped him out of bed. They practically carried him down the stairs. And now they can’t even look at him.
“Two! Can’t you do something?! This— this isn’t fair!” They only turn away further, avoiding the question like their life depends on it. His hands ball into fists so tight, his nails might puncture skin. “Somebody! I don’t deserve this! Do you know how much I’ve gone through?!”
X is the only person who can meet his gaze when he looks around, and even that contact doesn’t feel voluntary. They’re standing in front of him, facing him but awkwardly, and their hands grasp each other for support. The sight makes Four pause, but not for long enough.
“X, please,” he begs further. At what point will he fall to his knees and grovel? Has he already lost the last of his dignity, enough for that to be a likely possibility?
X can’t answer—their face tightens with guilt and they step forward to grab his wrist. “Let’s talk about this elsewhere, okay?”
There’s a sudden weight in Four’s ankles, an anchor tying him to the grass. He’s stunned enough to wordlessly obey, dragging his feet after X as they guide him back inside. They stop just past the doors, and the only thing keeping him standing once in the lobby is the wall he props himself against.
“Four,” X begins, mumbling at a worrisome volume, “I know what this all looks like, but—”
“You know?! You’re really telling me you know?” He doesn’t mean to yell. He doesn’t want to bite. Really, he’s just as frightened by the tone as X appears to be. “X, you’re supposed to get me! You know that I’m not like that anymore! Why would you agree to this?!”
For a moment, they’re caught between their words, stammering with their hands uselessly gripping their skirt. “F-Four, I swear it’s for your safety! Those powers are so dangerous. A-and, and, you’re not doing well at all, you’re way too hurt to be using them again.”
He’s finally starting to hyperventilate. Nothing they say is getting through. “If they’re so dangerous, why are you allowed to use them and I’m not? Why does Two get to keep them? Why does Three?!”
“Wha—Two is the host, Four! They need those! That’s what the whole season is about!”
“And they’re only hosting because they stole it from me!” Four pushes himself off the wall to walk towards X. In response, they step backwards, but that only makes him feel worse. “Why can’t you just give me this? Just this once? You—you know what I just went through, X!”
They whimper, then go silent, and in that long moment, Four is forced to face what he’s really doing. His eyes finally focus on X’s face—they’re scared, actually scared. Their arms grip around themself in a hug they only do out of fear. He can’t believe it, so he reaches forward, sure that X will do the same. But they flinch.
“I—“ He can’t breathe. Something is blocking his lungs, blurring his vision, weakening the muscles in his legs and threatening him to hit the floor. He hits the wall and freezes there, conflicted on whether, in this situation, he is the predator or the prey. X won’t do anything. They’ve never done anything. But all of a sudden, their presence is indistinguishable from a threat.
The moon is cold on his back again.
“I need to go,” he sputters, rushing past X so fast they lose balance trying to avoid him. They say something, beg something in a voice he’s never heard before, but not a word makes sense through the ringing.
Four doesn’t remember running up the stairs. Any possible memory of slamming the door is fuzzy, and the rest of the time, evidently spent in Two’s bed, where he remains now, is a blur. He might’ve fallen asleep at some point over the last couple hours, or maybe something forced the recollection out of sight. Either way, the wet patches that litter the space around him imply enough.
His back feels stiff and achy. He’s on his side, one numb arm tucked under his pillow, facing the window. The sun seems to have passed the horizon by now, and evening is setting in. Through the glass, he can almost make out stars.
Something blurry whirs past the window. It only blocks his view for a second before vanishing. It sparks enough curiosity in him to get up, and he has just enough energy to lean himself against the windowsill.
Something—someone—flies past again. He’s confident who they are now, but he keeps trying to convince himself he isn’t. It’s just a trick of the light. It’s another integer. It’s not what he thinks. He’s dreaming, surely.
“Wait, wait for me! I forgot how to—aah—!”
It’s muffled, but he hears it clear as day. Two’s voice. They’re breathless, panicked, excited. Another voice responds, and if anything could ever make it worse—
“Are you okay? Do you need help? I know it’s been a while, I’d be struggling, too!”
“No, no, I’m fine! Haha… this is so much fun!”
Four stares at his hands. His arms are shaking, unable to hold his weight. He wants to collapse there, maybe hit the window and break something in his face. Something petty and painful and attention-seeking.
Instead, he pushes himself off of the windowsill and crawls back into bed. It’s so much easier to waste away than to actually do anything about it. Now he understands.
As soon as he’s laying down, he grabs another pillow and buries his face into it. For several long minutes, he dry heaves into the fabric, wheezing as he fails to cough up tears. It ends just as soon as it began, and all he feels after is pathetic.
Far too exhausted to continue, he lets himself go limp. If he falls asleep, maybe he’ll forget again. He hopes he forgets. It doesn’t feel like a memory that’ll go away, though. Either way, he’ll try.
The door slowly creaks open. It’s dark in Two’s bedroom, the only measly light coming from the window. Four hasn’t moved in who knows how long—too often, he blinks and it’s as if he’s somewhere else entirely.
Two doesn’t speak at first, but Four knows it’s them. Surely a contestant wouldn’t be here so late at night, and X… they wouldn’t have it in them to try.
Heels click softly against the floorboards until they’re once again slipped off and allowed to hit the floor. He hears them mutter something under their breath at the noise it makes. Anxiously, they whisper, “Four? Are you awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Um. My bad.” The bed shifts; they’re sitting on the other side, where he can’t see. A dull cold nips at him, like he should feel a sort of way about this, a fear bubbling up but never boiling over. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No.”
They hum. He can’t figure out why they do it. “Alright,” they mumble.
His heart aches deep in his chest. He feels so lonely, ironic now that Two is here. He doesn’t want them to be here, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He swears to hate them with every inch of his being, and now would be the perfect time to do so, but it’s so empty. Any potential resolve falls flat, and without a clear way to handle it all, he just feels confused.
“Four? Um… are you going to stay the night in here?”
He stops himself from answering immediately, which is difficult. “Can I?”
“Yeah, of course you can. I was just making sure.” They sigh but hesitate to continue. “Did… something happen? Between you and X?”
They pause for a response, but Four stays quiet, so they continue. “You don’t… have to talk about it. X told me what happened. I… I just want to make sure you’re alright. Y’know, if you need anything, I’m here for you. Just… just let me know.”
The worm is dead, never having reached the other side, and it’s making his gut coil. He swallows down a pool of saliva to avoid being sick. Who do they think they are? Letting X vent to them about him, playing with them and giving them what Four only can. No one should be allowed such a position but him.
He can’t do it. It’s too much work. Too much energy. So much pain, far past what he can endure, just to—what? Prove a point? He doesn’t have it in him any longer to drive away someone who only wants to help. Not today. Not after her.
He sits up to face Two, pillow loose in his arms. They must’ve been getting undressed while he was turned around, because now they’re tugging a pyjama shirt over their head. They make this funny little squealing noise when it turns into a struggle, giggling as they awkwardly undo a button to fit their head through.
Four swears he’s seen X do that before.
The subsequent sniffling is loud enough to send Two into a panic; they whip their head around halfway through fixing their hair and nearly fall over themself while crawling to reach him. “Hey, hey, what—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
They kneel in front of him, hands anxiously raised but unable to meet, cupping the air as if it’s so much easier than touching him. Their palms finally grace his jaw when the tears spill out and down his face. It only makes him cry harder—though they’re not sobs, something he can’t quite reach with so little energy. Instead of weeping, he burrows into Two, trying to hide the noise and the sight. Because, surely, it’s disgusting.
They don’t recoil, and within seconds, he feels their hands in his hair. It’s a tangled mess, but they’re so gentle that it doesn’t even hurt. “Shh,” they hush him, “it’s okay… you’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you through this…”
It’s horrific. Appalling. Four feels so guilty. It worsens as his arms curl around the other integer, squeezing them around their waist. In an attempt to muddle the harrowing shame, he pretends that X is holding him instead, but the thought sends such stabbing pain through his skull that he relents.
At some point, he stops crying, but Two doesn’t quit holding him. To add onto every other awful emotion, he’s once again humiliated. He’s not a child, so why is he acting like one? The tears nearly kick up again until a warm hand cups his face and wipes his eye.
“We should get to sleep. That sound okay?” Four groans, but nods anyway. They barely let go of him as they lay down, one arm holding him close while the other reaches for the blanket. He doesn’t have time to protest before it’s being tucked around him.
He didn’t agree to this! Just because he allowed a hug doesn’t mean he’s up for this! His eyes squeeze shut as he nuzzles his face into their neck, as if not seeing it will keep it from actually being real. The movement makes Two laugh, such an overbearing sound this close to their chest, but not overwhelming.
“Y-you, um…” He isn’t sure why they stutter. It takes another breath for them to compose themself. “You look comfy, hah… you must be really sleepy, hm?”
Four doesn’t answer, though he does sigh. They smooth down the back of his hair as they continue. “Mm… sleep well, okay? Wake me if you need anything. Goodnight, Four.” They lean in and hesitate for a long moment, then finally kiss his head.
Every action has made everything so much worse, but this might be what does him in. It’s enough to make him sob, and yet he somehow doesn’t, which is only further condemning. He digs his nails into the back of their shirt, and they gently reciprocate, unaware how many problems they continue to cause.
Four would be a liar not to admit he feels safe here. Something he used to feel with someone else, someone he pushed away. They’re so alike that it almost doesn’t matter to some small part of his mind—but the guilt eats away at him. It’s not the same. And yet he doesn’t want it to be. But oh well—two can play at the game X started, and in this regard, he’s winning.
The last thing on Four’s mind when he falls asleep is the variable sleeping alone tonight, in the bed they used to share.