CHAPTER 10: IF NO ONE ELSE WILL

– POV: LYRE –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: VEN)

As the night passes, morning light begins to filter in through the ... well. The window is cloth-covered, so neither of the cabin’s occupants get as much as they usually would. But at least the rain has stopped.

Nonetheless, as the light falls on the sleeping face of Lyre, he seems to stir.

… There's a groan. Lyre slowly, slowly peels his eyes open, barely recalling the events of last night as a distant blur in his mind that's slowly coming into focus – gripping onto the remainders of a dream as he wakes.

He almost doesn't want to remember, but he recalls Casper's face, so he does anyway.

Father ... ? My back ... ? He'd told Casper about – he'd shown Casper the –

Lyre sits up abruptly, gripping his shirt in his hands, close to his chest. The enchantment runes are still visible on his back, albeit no longer glowing, and the green backing to his eyes has entirely evaporated. He breathes in sharply, and tries to steady himself. Casper is still –

He looks. Left, right – trying to find Casper – and soon enough, he does.

The ghost is right beside him, and he’s cracked open an eye to look at Lyre as the voidfolk hybrid panics. Having shifted to ‘sit himself up’, he watches Lyre, and when he speaks, it’s with a quiet intonation of dismay.

“Lyre … are you okay?”

To be perfectly honest, Lyre wants to shout out in that moment, to the world: NO! No, no, I am not okay!

“... Yeah,” Is what he says instead. But it still carries a certain dishonesty that he can't shake, like – like blood ... soaked into his clothes. An obvious stain on his words. ... God, why did he think of it that way? Now all he can recall is –

“I'm okay. I am.” Lyre doubles down, despite hearing his own voice betraying him, sounding exhausted, voice hoarse and raspy and a little teary, still.

He clutches his shirt closer to his chest. Then, suddenly, he unfurls it and, out of paranoia, checks it over. There's a fear that lingers. That he might have done something while he was like that. Even though he knows he was at least partially lucid, because his memory is mostly intact …

“Are you … sure … ?” Casper’s voice says, distantly, quiet. He’s looking at Lyre with anxious, concerned eyes. Clearly worried deeply for Lyre’s well-being.

Lyre grimaces slightly. He doesn't want to do this, he's been running from his problems for a year, the enchantment – there's no way his father could be operating it unless he somehow knew ...

... Lyre remembers the trip to the border, and suddenly feels sick.

“... You know what? No, actually,” He murmurs the admittance, and he would've stumbled if he were standing. Instead, the hybrid just sort of lightly sways, before slamming a hand down to steady himself, leaning on the arm for stability and scrunching his eyes shut.

“I figured,” Casper’s voice says once more. Quietly.

They both stew in silence for a few long moments. Lyre’s heart pounds in his chest, as he stares down at the shirt, convinced he’s done something wrong. Convinced if he scours his memory he’ll find blood and suffering and pain. But the thoughts are interrupted.

“I, I was really worried, about you. Uhm…” Lyre turns around to look with wide eyes at Casper’s statement, mouth hanging open for a moment. Then it snaps shut, and resigns himself to exhaustion once more.

“... I figured, too,” He says, quietly, about Casper worrying about him. There’s another long pause. Another silence. And then Lyre says – “So you know, then. About …” Lyre twists, reaching an arm towards his back up and over his shoulder to gesture somewhat painfully towards the runes tattoo on his back.

“It’s hard not to see them, when I’m not wearing a shirt,” Lyre says, with a numb sort of laugh accompanying the words. Casper looks on with a similar sort of worried numbness.

“You told me, yeah,” The ghost’s voice is quiet. “Told me who – did it. Yeah.” Lyre can hear his voice waver, a little. He feels a pang of guilt at the sound of it. A distinct sting of unhappiness.

But before Lyre can say anything, Casper continues.

“... Do you wanna talk, about it?” It’s quiet, not pressing in the slightest, like Casper is prepared to back off at a moment’s notice for the sake of Lyre’s comfort. And Lyre appreciates it, he does, but …

Even if he doesn't want to ... he probably should. Casper deserves to know. Lyre ... knows. That Casper deserves to know. Before Lyre does something horrible and unforgivable while he's like that and Casper hates him forever and leaves – oh, who is he kidding. The enchantment just ...

“... I don't know what it says,” Lyre says quietly. “But it ... brings out ... bad things, in me. Horrible things.” He’s aware of how his voice sounds, deathly serious – deathly afraid. His expression is haunted. “I ... I don't even remember it, I just remember hearing – the stories.” Lyre's grip on his shirt tightens, and tears well up in his eyes.

Casper looks on with growing concern. Lyre can’t bear to look. He feels so horrible, so guilty. Because, surely …

The enchantment just brings to the surface ... thoughts that he shouldn't be having at all, if he were a good person. Makes him act on them. But they shouldn't be there to begin with, right ... ?

He’s about to continue stewing when …

“It brings out bad things, in you,” Casper’s voice echoes. Where Lyre expects horror, Casper only looks... deeply sad? Almost, remorseful? Lyre feels confusion fill his chest. Why was that something to be sad about? It’s terrifying. It is.

Casper draws his knees to his chest. Setting his chin, atop them. The ghost seems to deeply consider Lyre’s words for a long few moments.

“... That sounds scary,” He says, finally. An admittance Lyre was expecting, finally. “Are you – are you in control, in that state...? At all?” Casper looks at Lyre, eyes wide. Owlish, unblinking. Lyre breathes in, sharply. Wincing.

The hybrid winces, visibly. Pulling the shirt back to his chest once more. Lyre breathes in –

“That's the worst part. I don't really ... know.” His ears pin back, and he frowns, deep. Casper stares at him silently. Lyre's tail curls around himself, the long fur dragging across the floor with a swish as it does so. “What little I do remember afterwards – it feels like my thoughts, my feelings. So I don't ... know.”

It is scary, he wants to say. I want it to go away, he wants to say. And – Can I stay here, with you, and pretend it doesn't exist? He knows that last one is never happening, though. Not while it's active again.

"Oh," Casper says. "Oh."

There’s a long pause as he thinks. Starts to look more concerned again,

"Everyone's got bad thoughts," He says, so, so absentmindedly. Like he should've, perhaps, considered his words better. But he keeps talking, "Very bad thoughts – this – whatever is making you actually act on it – is probably different, but – ..." He bites on his lip. Lyre can see the tension.

"I don't think, the thoughts. Or the feelings. Or the "bad" things, in you make you – well, bad." Lyre stares at Casper speechlessly as the ghost continues to speak. "You clearly – didn't want, this. The runes, on, on your back. That surely says something, Lyre."

A pause, like he’s grappling with his own words – as meanwhile, Lyre looks on in complete shock as to what Casper is saying.

Lyre listens, the whole time, eyes wide and confused, at first. But gradually, those wide eyes get wider, and then sadder, and then shocked, and – well, he's going through all the damn stages of grief right in front of Casper, really. But ultimately they fill with tears.

"I, I, I know it's not that simple, actually – I can't imagine." Casper, finally, concludes weakly. "I'm, sorry."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

You clearly didn't want this. That surely says something.

. . .

Does it? Does it really?

Lyre breathes in sharply. He scrunches his eyes shut, tears roll down his face, and he buries said face in his hands just as fast, shoulders shaking. What Casper unfortunately doesn't know is that this is not a bad cry. It's a no one has ever said anything like this to me before cry. A no one has ever cared this much cry.

Luckily, he verbalizes. As well as he can.

"Thank you ..." Lyre hiccups, and sniffles, just barely getting the words out. "I don't ... thank you. Thank you."

"Oh, Lyre," Casper says, quietly, sympathetically. Scooting, shuffling, leaning closer like it's second nature, to him. "I meant it – all of it. I, I –"

Casper breathes in, breathes out. Lyre hears it come labored.

"Of, of course. You're welcome," The ghost smiles, weakly, unbeknownst to Lyre. He hears it, though. He can’t bear to look, though.

Lyre lets out a sniffle. A weak sob. He’s a quiet crier, but he's flesh and blood, and this is an ugly cry – he couldn't force it to be silent if he tried. Besides, why would he? He trusts Casper, now, perhaps more than he's ever trusted anyone, probably ever.

"I – I don't know ..." A hiccup. "What's going to happen ... to me ... but ..." Lyre, slowly, clumsily, pulls his head away from his hands to look up at Casper, eyes overflowing with tears. "Thank you ..." He wipes at his eyes with his arm, only for more tears to take the place of the old ones.

He wants things to go back to normal. He never wants this moment to end. He wants to be with his family. He wants to be with Casper. He wants – he doesn't know what he wants. Lyre ... Lyre never really thinks about his own wants, not often.

Just needs. And requirements. Never wants.

“I –” Casper stammers, and Lyre quickly thinks, I’ve screwed this up. I’ve ruined this. He’s going to hate me. But instead, the opposite happens.

“I’ll take care of you,” Casper blurts out suddenly, and Lyre freezes, the sobs and sniffles easing into unsteady breathing. Moments later, though, Lyre buries his face in his hands again, with a sob. But it’s not really a bad thing.

He’s just feeling so, so much.

"I'll, I'll try, to. I really will. I'll, be here," Casper elaborates, sounding almost pained, but genuine. Completely genuine. "I'll be here, I will. I'll be here." Like a broken record. "If anything – happens."

A pause.

"Thank you ..." Lyre then says again. "You sh – shouldn't ... have to ..." His shoulders tremble and shake. Lyre shivers, his tail curling even closer to himself, like a little shield around his crumpled form.

"Oh, but I want to," Casper says, immediately. Then he laughs, a teary sound. "I really want to." It’s honest. Painfully so. Lyre almost can’t take it, but …

"You –" Lyre's head lifts from his hands, slightly, eyes still full of tears, but – looking at Casper. Searching his gaze, despite the eye contact making his skin prickle. "Want ... to ... ?"

Confusion. Lots of confusion. Guilt, maybe. But amongst it all –

relief.

Maybe it's horrible to feel that way but right now, Lyre doesn't care. This is the first time someone has loved him unconditionally in years and he'd forgotten how good it felt and he's not about to let it go again, so he holds on tight, tight, tight, tight, tight –

"... I'm ..." He hesitates, for just a heartbeat, "... glad." It feels almost poisonous to say. But it's true.

Lyre laughs, too, a teary sound to match Casper's own. He wipes at his eyes, shivering. Wanting to collapse, into Casper’s arms, even though he knows he can’t. Casper nods, as though in understanding. But then …

"Can – Can I hug you?" The ghost blurts out.

The answer doesn't take long to leave the crying Lyre.

"Yes," He says with a wavering voice of his own. He lifts his arms, as though to invite Casper forward. And God. He wishes it could be real, but ... pretending is ... pretending would have to do.

It would have to do.

Casper shuffles, closer, closer. Closer, to him. And he opens his arms, and he wraps them around him. Even though he's still crying, Lyre manages to remain perfectly, almost serenely still. Despite the chills, despite the way that it feels like being engulfed by a fog bank. Lost in the depths of the mist. Maybe forever.

… Would he really mind that, though?

Lyre lets his eyes shut and lets out a long breath, tears slowing to a halt. He lacks the strength to raise his arms at first, but eventually does so, 'wrapping' them around Casper – the approximation of Casper's form, more like – and holding them there.

"Thank you ..." Is murmured, again.

Lyre hears Casper breathe in and out. There’s a pause.

"Of course ..." The ghost whispers. "I –"

Lyre … freezes. What is Casper going to say next? That he – that he hates Lyre, now? That he – no, no, he’s not going to say that, he’s not going to say that, he wants to take care of you, he wants to –

"I, I really – care, about. You," Casper murmurs.

Lyre draws in a sharp breath. He might cry again. He really might. But he doesn't yet. He doesn’t yet.

"... I care about you too ... a whole lot," He mumbles. Staying still, so very still. Still as a statue, and just as cold as one, surrounded by Casper’s arms, wrapped up in the fog. The fog which seems to try to tug him closer, arms partially phasing through him.

"Me too ..." Muttered, from Casper.

There’s a long silence. Lyre can hear his heart pounding, and he swears Casper must be able to hear it too. Something spikes in his blood. And it spikes more, and more, and more, when Casper says –

"I love you."

Lyre’s pale red eyes widen slightly – or, quite a lot, actually. And immediately, tears well up in them again as he struggles to keep it together.

"I – I –" Lyre chokes back a sob. "I love you, too – and I –" He wants to grasp – hold onto Casper, pull him close, but he can't, he can't. "I want to stay. With you ..." He lowers his head, sobbing for real this time, "And I want you to stay, too."

Maybe it's selfish. He hiccups. Maybe it's selfish. But ... it's honest. And honesty is good. Right?

"I want to," Casper says, quickly. Lyre feels his heart skip a beat. "I want, to. So bad. So bad, Lyre. I'd squeeze you if I could, you know. In my arms. Right now,"

It goes by so fast.

"I want to stay, Lyre. I want to be, with you. I want – you."

I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you. Lyre feels dizzy, the phrase repeating over and over and over again in his head, like a broken record of a reassurance, of something he can cling onto forever and never, ever let go.

His answer comes quickly.

"I'll be here," Lyre says quietly. Then, breathlessly –

"You can have me."

And as Lyre leans into the embrace to the best of his ability – on the other side of the exchange, Casper – his face flushes, warm, hot, blistering hot. Casper grins, he grins. It's all teeth. It's all teeth, like his flesh, like his bones, and despite being dead –

he's never felt so alive.