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Francis Forever — Mitski
I don't need the world to see
That I've been the best I can be, but
I don't think I could stand to be
Where you don't see me
~*~
Dark should've realized sooner that something was wrong with No One.
The stupid stick wouldn't tell her if she was feeling off, so the Lord took it upon herself to ensure that her bug wasn't on the precipice of death every day. Sure, a couple suicides slip past her notice, but those were normal! The pest just didn't want to live for the life of her—Dark couldn’t keep her on a leash and watch her 24/7!
(Well, technically she could—she didn’t have to sever their connection every time she revived her. No One could be just another thrall within the ranks and her lifespan would increase drastically. For some reason, the idea of having No One completely under her command both excited and scared Dark.)
Anyways, the point was, No One had been showing signs of sickness. Her usual coughing increased, included sneezing, and her general lethargy was all the more apparent. She'd also been less responsive, and not in the petty way. Individually, these symptoms could be explained or shrugged off—but they didn't go away for days, so Dark should've noticed.
Whatever! She can't be blamed for not realizing the fragility of mortals! She only befriended other gods on her level, of course she wouldn't notice! Noticing small details was usually her Angel's thing
…
Ahem.
Anyways, Dark realized that No One was sick when the stick wasn't in any of her usual spots one day. She wasn't on top of the old skyscraper, nor at that rusted park, not even trying to sneak another visit to the orange brat, or any of her walking paths! There wasn’t even the sound of a recorder to follow! It was seriously starting to annoy Dark; how dare she try to hide from her?!
It was around midday that Dark started getting worried.
No matter what, once it hit noon, No One always sat at the bench outside the ruins of an old restaurant, eating whatever lunch one of Dark's thralls gave her. It was like clockwork—unless she was in the depths of despair, she'd always show up. But, Dark always knew if she would or wouldn't.
So that must mean that either No One was trapped somewhere and dying slowly, or she'd be kidnapped, or she was already dead and for some reason Dark hadn't been notified, or—
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
The Dark Lord didn't concern herself with the fickle nature of mortals.
…Just to be absolutely sure, Dark finally checked No One’s room.
~*~
Because it was the absolute last place she looked, Dark found No One in her room, face down into a pillow and looking, for all intents and purposes, dead.
She wasn't dead—Dark could hear her labored breathing, muffled as they were from the pillow—but there was obviously something wrong. For one, No One rarely ever kept her lamp off, because she was scared of the dark, but not The Dark Lord ironically enough. Anyways, another unusual detail was how she hadn’t even bothered to remove her jacket. She never slept with her jacket on, it made her feel constricted.
Hesitantly, Dark walked up to the bed in the corner, and lightly poked No One’s shoulder. It resulted in the single most miserable groan she's heard from the other stick in the two years she's known her. Well, Dark thought, she isn't asleep.
“What's with you?” She muttered, crossing her arms. It made no sense—why was No One acting like this? It couldn't be depression, hunger wasn't an issue, Dark couldn’t think of any reason why No One looked like death warmed over. She hated not understanding.
(Something foreign bloomed in her chest. It felt similar to how she felt around The Second Coming, except not at all. Fear doesn't cover the entirety of it, and it couldn't be concern. The Dark Lord doesn't concern herself with the fickle nature of mortals.)
Dark quickly got tired of seeing No One like that, so she gently pushed her on her side. Her jacket was damp with sweat and she let herself be turned over without a struggle. Even without light, Dark could see the paleness in No One’s face. Whatever hair that wasn't pulled into a haphazard bun was sticking to any skin it could, and now that she wasn't muffled by the pillow, Dark could hear rattling in her breaths.
Maybe, just maybe, The Dark Lord could concern herself with this.
“No One?” She asked, shaking her shoulder. When she didn't get a response, she called again, louder this time, “No One! What are you doing?”
That got the other stick's attention, but just barely. She cracked open her eyes, languidly glancing around before finally settling on Dark. “…Hi, Dark.” She muttered, closing her eyes again. She fell back asleep without a single struggle. Dark wiped her now sweaty hand on her shirt.
The Dark Lord absolutely concerned herself with this.
~*~
Further research indicated that No One…was sick.
That further research being the orange brat. At least they're good at things other than reviving her thralls and whining.
Unfortunately, they also said that there wasn’t much to do but to wait it out. Dark was only inclined to believe them because apparently their friends got sick often from living most of their feeble lives in isolation on the PC and then venturing out into disease-ridden territories.
Personally, Dark had no problem with getting sick, but she remembered vaguely that, near the beginning, Chosen would sometimes complain about headaches or soreness that didn't come from their roughhousing. During those times, she didn’t like being alone, so Dark had to babysit her while she worked through all of that.
Considering how similar No One was to Chosen, Dark decided that maybe she'd also want company.
~*~
The next day, Dark barged into No One's room, finding her in a different position from last time.
Now, she was sprawled on the floor, her legs still tangled in the blanket. Her jacket was thrown across the room, leaving her arms completely bare as she starfished on her back. It looked like something out of some bad coming-of-age movie Dark's Angel loved so much.
“Y'know, the bed's right there.” Dark said to no one (hah, get it?), because No One looked barely cognizant. She nudged her with the tip of her boot, just to make sure she actually wasn't dead this time.
No One’s brow furrowed as if in annoyance. “Too…hot.” She rasped. Guess she'd heard her.
Dark shrugged and she bent down to sit on the floor, a careful distance from No One. “Floor time it is, I guess.” She crossed her legs and propped her head up with her hand. “So…how're you feeling?”
The low moan from the other stick was the only response Dark got. But that was fine. She was looking for something else.
The rattling in No One’s breathing hadn’t stopped since yesterday. Every now and then, she shivered, despite claiming that it was too hot just a minute ago. The lamp stayed off, which meant that she was currently sensitive to light.
Dark cataloged those symptoms for later. Orange said that they couldn't give specifics on how to make No One better unless they knew what she was dealing with. Because apparently there's different types of sick that require different things to help.
Dark sighed, slightly stressed for the first time in her Lord of an Age career.
Why were mortals so intricate?
~*~
The next day wasn't much more successful.
Orange suggested that No One might be feverish, whatever that meant, but that it'd be easier to tell if they had some internal symptoms to work with. Because sick doesn't just manifest on a surface level.
The Dark Lord was learning more and more about mortal animations in the last two days than she had in the entirety of her existence. It was giving her a headache, just how fragile they were.
Before she left, she had one of her thralls make soup for No One. Because she remembered from somewhere that sick people ate soup. For some reason.
She brought a bowl of steaming, creamy chicken soup with her when she went to visit No One.
This time, the stick was sitting in the corner, leaning on the wall with her head between her knees. Dark just took a seat on the floor, in front of her.
“Bug?” She prodded. “I got you something.” If her tone was lacking its usual mischief or sharpness, No One didn't notice. She just looked up wearily, somehow looking even more miserable than the last two days. At least, she looked alive and awake, even if it was clouded by pain or whatever.
Dark pushed the bowl closer to No One’s huddled form and watched in real time as she unraveled her limbs from around each other. If she was a poet, she'd say it was like watching a flower unfurl and blossom after a hard winter. But she's not a poet, she's The Dark Lord, so she won't say that.
No One carefully pulled the bowl into her lap, staring into the swirling depths of the soup uncertainly, which is a first. No One's never refused food before. “It's not poisoned.” Dark assured, assuming that was the issue.
She looked up to Dark at that, confusion obvious on her face. So, apparently she's never worried about poison. Sometimes, Dark really thought she had No One figured out, but then it was times like these that she stumped her.
“I know I call you bug sometimes, but you're really starting to look the part with your bug-eyes, No One.” Dark remarked dryly. “You want me to feed you or something?” For her part, No One at least looked chastised. She dutifully sipped at the soup, careful not to spill any.
Dark felt a strange curl of satisfaction. She decided not to think about it. She rewarded No One's compliance with a pat on the knee instead.
“So, you think you can tell me what you're feeling?”
If it was possible, No One probably would’ve melted into the floor right then and there. At least, Dark thought so with the way she just slumped against the wall. After a moment, she finally replied, “Bad.”
Dark only cut her slack on the possibility that her brain was likely overheated, as Orange explained could happen in bad fevers. “Thank you. Anything specific?”
No One pondered that one a little longer. “Headache…my heart, it's beating really fast. I feel cold but I'm sweating.” She said slowly, as if processing the words as they came out of her mouth. “And nauseous.” She tacked on at the end.
Well, that explained why she was staring into the soup instead of immediately eating it.
Dark nodded, storing that information for later.
Just then, No One lunched forward, a hand covering her mouth.
“Bug?” Dark asked, jumping to kneel beside her, but before she got there, No One turned to the side and hurled, gagging.
It hadn’t even been ten minutes since she ate, and she was already throwing it up. Dark carefully pulled any loose hair away from her face, mentally preparing for being in this position multiple times for the foreseeable future.
It went on for a minute before No One finally stopped, sagging back against the wall. She was breathing hard, tears falling from her eyes. It was slightly pathetic.
Almost like how, as soon as Dark noticed that No One's hair was sweaty and sticking to her hands, she immediately felt tingles wriggling under her skin. She pulled her hands away as fast as she could without further hurting the other stick, wiping them on her shorts.
“You…good?” Dark asked.
This time, when No One groaned, she understood just a bit better.
~*~
Consulting the clementine proved to be more useful than Dark initially thought.
Unfortunately, the one who's more knowledgeable about this whole sick thing was the blueberry. Dark didn't want to sever her connection with them because then she'd just have to get Orange to revive him and that's just a hassle.
Still, if No One doesn't get better, she might just consider it.
~*~
All of this not knowing was starting to get to Dark.
“What do I do? She's just getting worse by the day, do you expect me to just sit there?” She snapped at Orange.
“This world has gone to shit—there's nothing to do but sit there!” They shouted back. “Unless you find some kind of medicine, all anyone can do is just wait it out!” They laid back against the machine harshly, taking a deep breath. “I know you're scared, but just be with her. I'm sure she'll appreciate it.” Orange sighed, looking much older than they were.
Dark swallowed her feelings, turning on her heel and leaving the brat. Clearly, this was a mistake.
~*~
This time, when Dark visited, No One was actually in her bed. She was in deep sleep, snoring lightly.
Quietly, Dark pulled a chair up to her bed and sat down. Not for the first time in the past week, she just observed.
The bun that No One pulled her hair into a week ago was now halfway down her back, the hair tie just barely holding on. Her skin glistened with sweat, despite the room temperature being colder than it usually was. She slept on her stomach again, head turned to the side this time instead of into the pillow.
Like this, she looked so much like Chosen. Dark remembered the days when she'd be dragged to bed by her groggy lover, hair just barely pulled up and wrapped in a blanket. She'd protest every time, but would often fall asleep as soon as her back hit the mattress. In the mornings, she'd wake up to Chosen on top of her, effectively trapping her until the other woke up.
It's been so long since she woke up like that. (It's been so long since she's felt peace.)
Dark doesn't know what's wrong with her—she's not upset. Hell, she's not even sad! So why does she feel a lump in her throat?
Clearly, No One is the problem. Dark doesn't get this way around anyone or anything else. She must be getting sick. There's no other explanation. She had to leave.
Dark stood quickly, pushing the chair back under the desk as quietly as she could. She turned to the door, about to walk out, when something stopped her in her steps.
“Dark?”
She looked over her shoulder. No One had one eye open, staring directly at her. “Can you stay?” Her voice was low and rough.
She sounded just like Chosen.
Dark snapped back to the present. She huffed a laugh. “You've been okay on your own for a while, you'll live without me babysitting you.” She didn’t need to look back to see the heartbreak on No One's face.
She left, letting the door click close.
~*~
The next time Dark saw No One, the stick was dead.
Succumbed to her fever.
Dark wished she stayed. Maybe No One wouldn't have died alone if she did.