CHAPTER 6: HOW THE RAIN BURNS (MY HEART)

– POV: LYRE –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: VEN)

The sun hangs in the sky over the forest.

Lucky for everyone (all of the ... two! People at the cabin) today is a foraging day, not a hunting day. Lyre has found a particularly large patch of blackberries – or, rather, he found it a year ago, and has been coming back to it regularly since – and is picking berries somewhat methodically and placing them into a little ... wooden ... bowl, thing.

Well. He does what he can with what he has! That is, until the air starts to feel ... damp. Lyre breathes in, and there's a distinct hint of bad weather in the air. He shoots a glance Casper's way – for the ghost had accompanied him – frowning.

He's about to say they should start heading back to the cabin when the very first drop of rain strikes him dead on the nose. He hears Casper draw in a sharp breath, and –

Lyre lets out a startled voidfolk hiss, slapping a hand over his face, feeling the shiver run through his entire body, his skin disturbed by the contact with the substance. Being a hybrid meant the reaction was lessened, and his internals were immune, but that didn't render him impervious to how uncomfortable it was.

And besides, getting wet sucks when you're covered in fine, thin fur.

“The weather's about to turn for the worse, I think, we –” It begins to drizzle. “ – Should start. Uh. Heading back! I think I've got enough berries and I'm not fond of the idea of collecting rainwater in this.” He smiles at Casper a touch awkwardly as the ghost stares blankly up at the sky.

Casper squints. And then Lyre hears it.

Sizzling. The ghost starts sizzling in the rain, as the droplets make contact with his skin. He raises a palm, and as more droplets strike, the sizzling continues, and Casper says –

“Oh.”

Lyre stares blankly in shock for a few moments, head having whipped around to look moments prior. Then he draws in a sharp breath and slaps a hand over his mouth – horrified. Honestly, he feels like his heart might beat out of his chest.

Seconds after he pulls his hand away, he exclaims, rather unceremoniously, though in a complete and utter panic –

“Casper, you’re burning up! In the – in the rain –”

He rushes over to the ghost and awkwardly holds the bowl (which, granted, is pretty sizable) over Casper's head like a makeshift umbrella, careful not to spill any of its contents in the process. And, for good measure, blocking a good chunk more of the rain just with his height alone.

“– Let's not! Do that! Let's go back to the cabin, yeah? I'm not gonna ask let's just, go –” Lyre stammers, holding the bowl precariously, still protecting Casper to the best of his ability as the ghost blinks at him.

“Oh – huh?” Casper stares at Lyre. At the bowl over his head. “Oh, it’s – it’s fine.” It’s not, Lyre wants to blurt out. He doesn’t, though. “I don’t want you dropping, anything. But, ah,” The ghost wrings his hands together. “It's okay! I'll manage. But we should head back, yes. I don’t want you getting wet.”

Lyre stares at Casper, who was just SIZZLING! In the rain. In COMPLETE disbelief. It takes him a few moments to collect himself.

“Casper, you’re literally burning up, I heard you sizzle,” Lyre says exasperatedly – with a surprising amount of sternness. It’s the most conviction he’s felt in a while. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be getting wet. Not me.” He shuffles forward, fully intent on maintaining this position on the way back.

The ghost has little choice but to shuffle alongside Lyre as the voidfolk hybrid does. They move along awkwardly through the forest as Lyre continues to speak, anxious but stern.

“Come on, let's – let's just go. Okay? The bowl will be fine. We just need to get a roof over our heads and then – and then we can talk. I guess.” Lyre’s tail flicks and he looks up in alarm as the rain begins to fall heavier. He glances down at Casper, whose eyes widen as well. “... And we should probably be quick about it," He adds.

“... Well. Yeah. It’s not particularly ideal, I’ll admit –” More shuffling. “But – let’s not chat, about it here, yes,” There’s a hint of urgency to Casper’s tone, the closest to real anxiety for his own safety he’s shown. “Let’s go, then? You take the lead, yeah?”

“Yep,” Lyre replies immediately. That’s all he needs to say on the matter.

He picks up his pace – and the rain, while still heavy, starts to ease a little as they get deeper into the woods once more, the canopy of leaves making it so that barely any droplets pierce their way through. Lyre heaves a breath of relief and lowers the bowl.

The cabin should be within sight soon.

“You freaked me out a little,” Lyre murmurs in Casper's direction, not fully expecting a response. He’s feeling … not angry, not … freaked out by Casper, just. Worried. Less you scared me and more like I was scared for you.

“Oh – sorry,” Casper says, out of nowhere, and Lyre gets the feeling it’s almost automatic. “I – should have brought it up, sooner? I didn’t exactly – consider it,” He murmurs. Lyre opens his mouth to reply when Casper continues on to say …

“... I'm fine, though. If you're worried about that.” He says quietly. “I don't – let it get to a bad point. It's just – you were there, this time. I guess … ?”

Now Lyre speaks up, but not before staring at Casper disbelievingly.

“Don't – don't apologize! You – you are fine! Or, well, you were burning up, but you're okay now, and that's what counts,” Lyre says somewhat clumsily, but with heart behind it nonetheless. “I don't mind you not bringing it up, just –” He looks away, now.

“I was worried. Most people don't sizzle in the rain. Voidfolk don't react well to it, but that's different.” Lyre sighs, finishing his thought with a shake of his head to accompany it.

“Oh – yeah,” Casper replies immediately. “It caught me off guard the first time, too. I don't know if it's, it's a ghost thing, or what, but …” He sighs. The following words are said with a sort of lamenting tune, one even Lyre can make out – “It's a shame.”

Lyre feels unfocused. Or, rather, too focused. His gaze is focused on the cabin in the distance, and for a moment, he thinks …

If he could, he would pick Casper up and run him over there himself – voidfolk are fast as all Hell. Of course he'd ask first, but ... well ... that entire plan is kind of null, given the ghost thing? Honestly he's not even sure why it occurred to him.

It just felt right.

“... Why is it a shame?” His mouth seems to move on its own. Snapping out of his trance as he finally processes Casper’s words fully, Lyre looks back to the ghost … blinking away the last of the thoughts.

And from Casper, there is a momentary silence.

“... I liked water a lot, when I was alive.” There’s melancholy, wistful hints to Casper’s voice. “I liked the beach – well, not the sand. Maybe I just liked the ocean. I liked to swim. I liked to – you know. Stand in the rain …”

He reaches out a hand. A stray droplet of rain falls between the canopy of leaves and splashes on the palm, sizzling, and Lyre breathes in sharply and instinctively darts out his own hand as though to attempt to shield Casper’s in that same moment. They make brief eye contact.

The ghost retracts his hand to his chest.

“... Not an option anymore, hah.”

Lyre pulls back his own hand, God, what’s gotten into him? Face burning in shame and sympathy, he looks to Casper with a heart full of sorrow and … well, a grief for the life that Casper was maybe, maybe supposed to have.

“Oh,” Is what he finally says. “That is a shame. I’m sorry.”

There’s a long silence as the two of them keep walking. There’s not much for Lyre to say here, is there? Or for Casper to say, even. It’s just … sad. They’re both sad. Casper is more sad than Lyre thought he would be, but, Casper is a ghost. He’s dead. Lyre should have expected this. But somehow, it still aches, still hurts, somewhere deep inside.

“... We’re getting close to the cabin,” Lyre says suddenly, in a mumble, to mask all of the hurt. It’s the truth, too. The dim lights are getting closer.

Likely picking up on Lyre’s distress, or at least, Lyre selfishly hopes that’s what it is, Casper floats closer to him with at first, a frown on his face – but one that eases into a sad, comforting smile.

“... Hey. It’s okay, man,” Casper says, looking at Lyre with those white, white eyes. “I’ll – I’ll deal? It’s a bit rough, but.” The ghost shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe I can – find something else,” Casper muses. He looks to Lyre, now, eyes sparking with an idea. Lyre blinks at the unexpected change – still somber, but thinking of something.

“Got any suggestions, for me … ?” The ghost looks at Lyre expectantly, wringing his hands together. Like he’s waiting for some kind of affirmation or – well, an idea. Or maybe he’s just trying to cheer Lyre up.

Lyre finds silence hanging in the air as he thinks.

And then he says, out of nowhere:

“... I like your voice, and talking to you,” He turns his head to look at Casper, who promptly startles, eyes going wide and round. “You could try singing, maybe? Ever, uh, given that a shot?” Lyre blinks, peering at Casper. “I’m sure there are other things you could do, too, you just have to discover them.” He smiles warmly.

As soon as the ghost gets a chance to get a word in, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is –

“You – you what?” Now that Lyre looks closer, there’s a shade of some kind of deep blue creeping onto Casper’s face. What … ? “Th – thank, you … ?” The ghost adjusts his collar, the blue continuing to spread. What is that?

And you know. Sometimes, Lyre is astutely perceptive. Sometimes, he can track a deer from quite a distance and take it down with just as much skill. Those sometimes, unfortunately, are reserved for very special occasions.

This is not one of them.

“Oh – oh no –” Lyre feels alarm rising in his chest. What is that color? What does it mean? Is – is Casper sick? Ghost sick?

“Ah –” Casper goes to speak, but Lyre is already scooting closer, looking Casper directly in the eyes with a worried expression, ignoring the voidfolk-blood discomfort that the prolonged eye-contact brings.

Casper stares back, completely paralyzed (is he sick? Is he?) apparently, as Lyre raises a hand just in front of his forehead to try and check his temperature. Then he realizes. Casper is a ghost. And his hand drops abruptly again, and he backs off, quickly.

“No, I can't check your temperature like that, you're a ghost, what am I thinking, your face won't feel warm you're a ghost,” He murmurs, gaze directed firmly away. Then he looks back and blurts out – “Sorry!” … Reflexively. Lyre feels his own cheeks warm in embarrassment.

Once Casper gets over his shock, it doesn’t take long for him to verbalize his feelings. Well, sort of. Lyre can’t really tell what he’s getting at when he says:

“Oh, no. Nononono,” Spoken quickly, “I, I, I'm fine! Truly, really, hahaha,” The ghost’s laugh shakes audibly as the dark shade of blue gets deeper on his face, and the first thing Lyre thinks is: Oh no. Now Casper sounds uncomfortable. The second thing he thinks is: Oh no. He just got even more blue!

He's really, genuinely not sure what the cause of all that blue is and whether it's something he should be worried about until he registers the mark on Casper's face properly.

It's ... a scar. Ragged, jagged as one, and a deep, deep ... blue.

Uh-oh.

“Oh Limbo below – I am so sorry – Casper –” Lyre covers his mouth with his hands but it quickly shifts to just being his entire damn face as he sinks his head into his hands. “I wasn't thinking! I didn't mean to embarrass you like that, I swear.” His fingers part slightly so he can peek at Casper pathetically.

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And the ghost inhales. Exhales. Looks at Lyre, his lips pressing into a tight line, the flush starting to … ease, a little.

“N – no, it's okay – it's okay! Really, I, I …” There’s a pause, as Casper seems to think. And then he speaks again. “I’m really flattered, truly. I –” He clears his throat audibly. “You know?”

At that, Lyre finally removes his head from his hands. Casper is flattered? He’s not angry? It sounds almost too good to be true. He’s almost a little doubtful, at first. Even though Casper has been nothing but kind to him, he still worries.

“... You are?” Lyre’s words come out a little high-pitched. Not quite squeaky, but almost. “That’s good …” He looks down, avoiding eye-contact, feeling his face warm, knowing his cheeks are a shade darker than before.

“Well –” Casper hesitates audibly for a moment. Then he says, “Yes – Yes, of course! Very much –” And then seemingly fails to think of a finalization to the sentence. It’s okay, though, because Lyre has it covered.

“Okay ... We should. Get to the cabin,” He says in a mumble, gesturing to the building in the distance. Casper looks up in surprise, and perhaps partial relief.

“Are we – are we close?” The ghost asks, floating a little closer to Lyre, to try and get a better judgment of how close they really are to the cabin.

“Yes – the cabin is close! We're almost there, actually, so we should hurry up before the rain might get any, uh, worse.” Lyre grins nervously, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck with a hand somewhat awkwardly.

“Okay,” Casper echoes. Then after a momentary pause, he asks, “Have you – got enough?” Lyre looks back in momentary confusion. “– Blackberries, I mean?” Oh! Yes, that question makes sense now. Lyre smiles.

“I don’t need to get a lot at once,” He says. “They go bad after not too long a while. So ... I make frequent trips! That is to say, I've definitely got enough, maybe too much …” Lyre looks down at the little bowl, which is quite filled with blackberries – and rainwater. Oops.

By now the cabin is well within sight, with its dim lights and relative warmth. Lyre is excited to get out of this dreary weather and back inside, already – and maybe forget about that whole thing with Casper (even though he keeps thinking about it).

“I see …” Casper says. “Well, that’s good! I, ah. I hope you enjoy them …” It’s a murmur, but audible nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Lyre says with a bit of a laugh. “I’m lucky they taste so good, because I have them a lot.” His tail flicks as they get closer to the cabin. Almost there ... just a little more walking and they'll be away from the threat of the rain.

“Oh yeah?” Casper laughs quietly. “Ah, well. That’s good.” There’s a pause, and then. “– Do you, do you ever find any other types of berries, in these woods?” He asks, head tilting. “Or do you just happen to be familiar, with these.”

He blinks. Lyre doesn't often think – too hard about what he's picking, besides checking if the berry is. Well. Poisonous. Or making sure it's even edible. Because he stopped being picky a long time ago – you can't afford to be, out in the woods!

“Well – yes, there are other kinds, like huckleberries – and. Well, there are some I can't remember the traditional names for. I just recognize them by shape and color," he laughs quietly, shaking his head.

Now they're at the door. Finally.

“... That aside, though, let's go inside. We can keep talking there!” Lyre puts a hand on the wooden entryway and smiles back at the ghost.

“Oh – yeah, of course. Alright,” Casper floats idly by the door. “After you.”

—-

The door swings open, and Lyre steps through. The second he does, he prepares to shake himself off – then promptly remembers that Casper is behind him and scoots further into the cabin to get away from the ghost before he does so. When he does, though, he sure does shake.

Casper floats in right after Lyre does, as promised. He keeps his distance as he watches Lyre shake himself off, chuckling quietly at the action.

Lyre’s long tail whips water droplets across the room. He feels ... Ugh. Rain. His tongue sticks out for a moment in distaste before pulling back in as he sighs, shaking his head lightly.

“Bleh. Rain is never fun,” Lyre says, looking at Casper with vague amusement but also – concern. “I'm just glad you're okay, though. Were you actually going to, uh – burn up? Melt ... ?” His brow furrows in worry.

“... I melt,” Casper admits after a momentary silence. “I know that sounds bad – but I never let it get to that point, yeah? Usually just some, sizzling. Stings a little, you know?”

“Oh, so you do melt,” Lyre says with a frown, suddenly very glad they got inside when they did. “It does sound bad, yeah. It hurts? I – I didn't know ghosts could ..." He trails off. "Er – I mean, I guess I'm just not! Well-versed! In, ghost ... things ..."

Lyre looks away in shame. What is he saying? He shuffles his feet awkwardly. He could not have made this any worse if he tried.

“You know?” He asks, a somewhat pathetic attempt to salvage this disaster.

“I know,” Casper says. “I mean – admittedly? Neither am I. I'm kind of, just. Winging it – does that make sense?” He laughs, a little. It … sounds distinctly kind of sad. Lyre can tell.

“It, ah. It hurts. Well – 'hurts,'" He reiterates, fingers making air quotes and all. “– but, well. As long as I avoid it, it's fine.”

And almost as if on cue, the rain starts to increase in volume, from outside. Intensity. Enough to pierce through the thicker parts of the forest, seems like. As Lyre watches, Casper almost winces.

Lyre’s head perks up as that sound of rain increases, and he moves to pick up a thick tarp from the floor. Lyre walks over to the nearest window and pins the cloth with pre-made little widgets at each of the corners of it, covering it up. It's the best he can do in these situations.

Task complete, Lyre looks back to Casper with a furrowed brow, as the ghost looks like he’s about to explode. And well, he practically does.

“I – I don't want you to worry,” Casper blurts out. “About, me.”

“What you're saying is worrying,” He says honestly. “You're not doing a very good job of not worrying me.” The voidfolk hybrid paces back over to Casper and makes eye contact for just a moment. “Take care of yourself. Okay?” The ghost’s face flushes in clear embarrassment, and Lyre adds: “I know you've been doing that since probably forever, but – I dunno. I think you're cool.”

There it is again. I think you're cool. The statement that he uses to mask an I care about you oh-so-gracefully.

“You –” Casper blinks, and quickly looks away. “You think I'm, cool.”

Lyre’s face flushes in the momentary silence that follows. He was also – about to break eye contact when Casper did it first. He looks away anyway.

“Yeah, I do,” He says, wringing his hands together. Just say what you mean. SAY what you MEAN! Lyre doesn't say anything, besides – “I like ... hanging out with you. I wouldn't want …” God. Augh. “... Anything. Bad? To happen to you?”

“You – don’t?” Casper almost sounds surprised, and that worries Lyre more. There’s a long silence. Lyre debates interjecting to reassure the ghost, but instead, Casper speaks up again. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, either.” A pause. “That’d be, er. Unfavorable. To me.”

“Unfavorable,” Lyre murmurs. Then he laughs a little. “I mean, yeah, if something bad happened to your host –” He cuts himself off and frowns. “Well. I guess you could just haunt the cabin in that case, huh,” He says, way too casually. Lyre is getting comfortable. Too comfortable. He’s feeling a little mischievous, in not the best way.

Still, he walks over to check on the cloth. Soaked through, looks like -- but at least it's blocking the rain droplets themselves.

“I wouldn't mind you doing that, by the way.” It's said absently as he inspects the window. Thoughtlessly. He really, really didn't think that particular statement through, at all whatsoever. He does not notice as the horror sinks into Casper’s expression.

“No,” Lyre hears from behind him, from Casper. “That’s not what I meant, I –” The voidfolk hybrid turns, eyes wide, realizing his mistake. “You’re not just a host to me. I don’t want to haunt your cabin, Lyre, I want –”

“Wait –” Lyre begins, but. But … He finds that. As his fur bristles, Lyre stifles any further exclamation, any panicked reassurance, anything – because in that moment, bewildered curiosity drowns it all out. The guilt, the shame. God, he feels horrible for this, but he has to know:

“... You want – what … ?” Whispered. Murmured.

And then it practically explodes in his face. Casper’s fists clench, his expression twists up in dismay, and he bursts out with a very genuine shout, voice distraught –

“I want to be with you!”

The silence that hangs in the air afterwards is tangible.

Lyre's mouth opens, as though he'd like to speak. It hangs that way for a little, instead of making any sound. His tail drops straight to the floor with a thump and he raises a hand to his head, mouth snapping shut again as he does so.

Oh, God. He's a bit dizzy. How does he respond to that?

“I –” Lyre feels something welling up at the corners of his eyes. He steps – one, two, three – towards Casper, and reaches out – hands passing through Casper's shoulders again, but then adjusting to hover. He looks the ghost in the eyes.

“I'm not going anywhere. I'm not. Okay? I was just ... I was just ... making a really, really bad joke. You can –” He swallows, biting back the tears that make his voice hoarse, and withdraws. “You can be ... here – er, with me.” He ducks his head.

It feels strange, but kind of right, to say.

“You were joking,” Casper says. He sounds deflated. Wilted. His voice wavers. “... Can I?” And Lyre wonders – is that even a question at this point?

“Yeah,” Lyre says guiltily to the first part. Then, with resolve, he answers – “Yes. You can.”

And Lyre holds eye contact. If Casper has done anything else, he doesn’t notice. He's too busy focusing on keeping himself from going a bit crazy at the extended gesture. To voidfolk, eye contact is a threat. A declaration of hostility. But Lyre is a hybrid, and he knows that to others, it's not like that.

Maybe he can train himself out of this whole eye contact issue. Maybe that would make Casper happier. Why does he want Casper to be happy so badly? Maybe because he's lonely, or maybe because ... because ...

... Something on his back itches. Lyre ignores it.

“I'm sorry for scaring you.”

Casper breathes, and scrunches his eyes shut. Lyre feels a surge of guilt. The ghost holds that expression for a minute or so, before opening his eyes back up as his expression settles into something more relaxed.

“It’s fine, Lyre.” He smiles, and it almost looks a bit uncanny – except, Lyre doesn’t mind that at all. “I’m just – dramatic,” Casper lets out a breathy half-laugh, “Sorry for that.” A beat of silence passes, and Lyre is about to speak when Casper clarifies: “I – I meant it, though.”

Lyre swallows. God. This is such a mess, so why does he feel so warm? So ... happy, with that reassurance? It should be wrong, it should be wrong, it should be wrong. But it isn't. It feels right.

“... Thanks. I’m glad,” He says.

“Of course,” Casper replies, and then there’s yet another pause as the two of them just kind of look at each other. “Do you wanna, uhm, sit down, maybe?” He asks after a few long moments. Looking into Lyre’s eyes – where …

There's a pause, as Lyre looks into Casper’s own eyes.

There's a look, there -- something that looks almost ... Well, the closest feeling he can get to describing it is hungry.

But – but ...

It doesn't scare him. It doesn't. In fact, Lyre feels – maybe he feels that way too, just a little. So he smiles. And so when Casper asks if he wants to sit down, he nods, pacing over to the pillow pile and dropping into a sit, feeling as though he's in a bit of a daze.

“Yeah. C'mere.” He pats the pillows invitingly, despite the fact that Casper can't actually sit.

“I'm comin',” The ghost says quickly, and he does. He floats over, and he 'drops' down. 'Sitting', now.

This is about the part where Lyre would instinctively lean – towards Casper, towards a source of warmth. Unfortunately, there is none. Just mist, just fog – just nothingness, a hint of something that should be there but isn't nonetheless.

Casper stares, and grins, wide. Lyre stares back, and his own smile occupies his face. He's happy to see Casper smiling – grinning – even if it's kind of all teeth and a bit big on his face. Lyre doesn't mind – voidfolk blood makes him a little uncanny himself, sometimes.

“You wanna talk? About stuff.” Lyre had long since set down the bowl of blackberries by the pillows, and he goes to shuffle it close again. It's collected some rainwater, but that's kind of a good thing – washes them off, keeps them cold.

“Like ... before.”

“Yes,” Casper says, quickly, immediately. “Let's talk, let's talk. Let's talk, about something,” With almost a sort of desperate intonation.

Lyre blinks. It’s surprising, but not in a bad way. He kind of likes this. The balance of attention between the two of them, this … this way that they seemed to swing back and forth, together. It was nice. It was secure, in a way, even if sometimes it felt unstable.

“Tell me something interesting.” Casper says to Lyre.

“Tell me all about it.”