EDANITH > The Frontier

Vanishing Blue [Neph!]

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nephero:
   They hated seeing Glover like this. Whatever else they felt, however else they felt, all the anger and hurt and horror, Wil hated seeing Glover like this. It twisted in their stomach, a raw, awful feeling that coiled like so many snakes and all Wil ever wanted to do was rip them out and shoot them dead.

   But that wasn’t how it worked. It wasn’t how it had ever worked, no matter how much Wil wished it did. They couldn’t just bury things, as much as they’d tried to do so. They couldn’t bury how they’d felt back in Tynova any more than they could bury how they felt out on the frontier, and they certainly couldn’t bury the fact that the frontier had hurt worse. Being without Glover had hurt worse, and they could play at being angry all they liked, but it didn’t change the fact that somewhere, deep down, they had wanted this.

   Well, not this. Not Glover looking about to cry, not Glover covered in sunburn and half baked to death. Not Glover with his one arm and so beaten down by life and everything that came with it. The snakes in their belly twisted again, and for a moment Wil was paralyzed about what to say. Because they’d missed Glover, too. They’d missed him so bad it felt like a thousand gut shots. And even being this close wasn’t enough; all the dirt and grime be damned, Wil wanted to get up into the bed and bury their face in his chest and just hold on tight.

   But how could they, after how they’d acted? After how they’d treated him? All this and the first words out of their mouth had been nothing but anger. All they ever did was yell at him, and yet no matter what they tried they couldn’t stop being angry. It was always something— the incident with the woman from the bar and the noodles out the fire escape. The incident when Sevrin had showed up to the apartment. Their whole self-righteous letter like they were somehow being the bigger person by running away, and now this.

   Wil sniffed, steadied themself, and set the tin of water down on the end table after Glover stopped drinking.

   “Don’t call yourself that,” they mumbled, newly idle hands at their thighs and nails digging into their jeans for lack of anything else to do. “I didn’t know about the weather out here, either—”

   Weather. Right. Because that was what this was all about. Just the weather. Wil inwardly cussed themself seven ways to next Sunday, before taking a deep breath. Glover came all this way, Glover nearly died coming all this way, and now Glover was there, in their bed, hurting more than just where he’d been burned and the least Wil could do was be honest with him.

   “I missed you, too. I’m such an asshole for it, but I missed you so bad.” They swallowed thickly, before pushing on, looking down where Glover’s chest rose and fell, patchy and raw and looking like more than just the sun had gotten to it. “I hate it. I hate being so damn far away and I hate not knowing how you’re doing. I hate not knowing about this.”

   They gestured, vaguely, at all of Glover, burnt and exhausted and making that awful whimpering noise that just broke Wil’s heart into tiny pieces.

   “I thought running away would… I don’t know. Fix it. Like an idiot. I thought if I didn’t see you I’d get over everything but I didn’t. I didn’t, and I don’t want to get over you. After everything I’ve pulled and all the shit I said, I—”

   Wil raked one hand through their hair, pushing it out of their face as if that was the cause of the burning in their eyes, blinking hard before they turned to look at Glover’s face. They were rambling, they knew they were rambling, but it didn’t matter. The snakes in their belly were lessening, and if dropping everything in a giant verbal mess is what it took to stop feeling so damn awful for ten seconds, Wil would happily pay the price.

   They shifted where they sat, unsure of themself for half a moment before they figured if they were going to do this, they might as well go all the way. Slowly, they reached forward, fingertips touching at Glover’s forehead before gently brushing his hair away, thumb moving over the curve of his brow in a soft caress.

   “I’m sorry for leaving like I did. You never deserved that.”

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