Back in the suite's bedroom, Cheron awakes on her right side, facing the nightstand, atop of which is an open bottle of painkillers. She winces then taps her stomach and sighs in relief. Someone bandaged her wounds, albeit ungracefully, as evident by the exacerbated holes around her uniform. Clearly, whoever cared for Cheron did so with a chaste mind. Absolutely none of her charred, repugnant clothes were removed during the process. She giggles and presses the beige comforter to her nose. It smells like fabric softener but is coated with an abysmal amount of Sir's fur. She sneezes.
"Bless you," Oto says from behind her, kneeling over the bed. His voice is muffled from laying his face in the sheets.
"Thanks." Cheron sits up and hugs a dog plushy. "How are you feeling?"
He inhales and tenses so hard that his elbows pull the sheets. His head pops up. "Hey, guess what! While you were sleeping, I finished all the overdue reports, and then I transferred them to the digital library. Can you believe that?" He stands and waves his hands to the computer. "Because I sure as hell can't. I mean, all of them! It'll be so convenient! And you didn't have to bribe me with orange juice!"
"Hm." Cheron scoots toward him.
"I still have to do the newer ones, but most shouldn't take too long considering the simplicity of the recent deaths." Oto opens his phone and scrolls through a list. "Old age, disease, old age, asphyxiation, asphyxiation, suicide, old age, suicide, suicide, suicide, suicide, suicide, suicide, suicide, dehydration, overhydration, suicide, sui— I'll stop. Sorry. Haha… I'm so sorry."
"Oto."
Putting his phone away, he glances around and scurries to open the door. "Look! I cleaned the whole suite!" He gestures into the parlor. "I even mopped the floor. It's glistening, Cherry, glistening. Gosh, I could kiss that floor. Make out with it. Use tongue, even. Meet its parents."
"Oto."
"Wait a sec, you haven't eaten yet, have you? Fret not." He slides into the kitchen and returns with a whole, finely plated, rotisserie chicken. "I made chicken."
"Oto."
"Alright, you got me." He sets the chicken on the work desk. "I didn't make the chicken. One of the bellhops did."
Cheron stands on the bed. "It wasn't your fault, Oto." The two are the same height now.
"It was pretty awkward because, when I got this, I actually passed the soul of the dead creature. He was on his way to the billiards room, but I think he changed his schedule to therapy." He rips a drumstick and hands it to Cheron. "You weren't an ethics major in college, right?"
"Oto, come on."
"I'm sorry, do humans just not eat chicken? I could have sworn…"
"Please, I just want to— No, no, I love chicken." She bites the leg in his hand and chews. "Fankfth.
"No problem, boblem."
"Afv I whafth thaying." She swallows. "I just want to talk to you."
He has somehow stuffed half of the chicken in his mouth. "Gah aheab."
"Oh for the love of—" She hugs him tight, accidentally performing the heimlich maneuver.
"AH." Oto coughs up the chicken. "I, uh." His hands hover around Cheron's body. He doesn't know what to do with them. "Uh, Cherry, you..."
Several seconds pass. The hum of the air conditioner fills the room. Oto inhales Cheron's hair. She smells like an old library book and corn chips, and while neither of those are particularly enticing, no scent comforts Oto more.
"You…" His eyes widen. "You sneezed earlier! Was that because of Sir's fur? I'll get the lint roller." He starts to turn away. "Be right ba—"
The redhead pulls. They hurl onto the bed. Comforters and pillows splash all around, forming waves of beige and pink.
She climbs on top of him and holds him down by the chest. "None of that was your fault, okay!"
He yelps. "Cheron! I'm really just fine. I now realize it's not my job to be a euphemism. Everything is dead and dying and nothing actually matters!" He still doesn't know what to do with his hands. "I think my purpose… I think I'm just the reminder of all that."
"Shut up! Shut your stupid trap! You sound like Juno." Cheron shakes a finger with one hand and cups Oto's mouth with the other, trapping some glottal noise in his throat. "Nothing has to matter. People only live— truly live— when they realize they won't be able to anymore." She lets go. "You're the reminder of that."
Oto doesn't say anything. He looks down at Cheron's tattered uniform. What should have been fatal wounds peek out from the holes. He looks back up. The corners of her mouth are low and tight.
"Everyone in this doomed universe is doomed because they don't know how good they have it." Cheron turns away. "Don't you believe me?"
Oto's lips part slightly. The air conditioner stops humming. At a sloth's pace, he raises his shaky hands to Cheron's cheeks, lifting her head so they see each other. His eyes focus. His hands stop shaking.
"I believe you." He doesn't actually know if he does, but he smiles, his eyes bright and like the sun.
She holds his hands right where they are. "Really?"
"Yeah." He grins. "How could I not when you sound so much like Juno? That guy had conviction."
Cheron lets out a growl that sounds more like an elongated, croaky squeak, unable to warp the grin off her face. Oto chuckles. Both give in to the moment and stay like that for a few seconds, he on his back and she on top.
The moment breaks as Cheron glances around. "Hey," she says. "Where is Sir anyway?"
As if summoned, Sir slithers from under the bed and, with its hands, grabs Oto's ankles. The dog pants.
"Oop," Oto pipes. "I think Sir wants to go outside."
Gripping her side, Cheron crawls off Oto and steps onto the floor. "I got this."
"Uh-uh." He sits up and tries to pull her, hovering around the bandages. "You're in pieces. I got this."
"No fair." She whips around and pushes back. "You did all the paperwork without me. I got this."
"Aw, I'm sowwy." Oto puts a finger to his lips and bats his lashes. "You're right. I shouldn't have. Would you like me to undo the reports so you can write them?"
"A tempting offer, but I've got one better." Cheron pulls his face to hers. "You have my permission to take Sir out, but we are finishing that chicken and watching The Phantom Carriage when you get back."
He leans into the pull. "Deal."
They break, both with the same sweet, somewhat delirious twist to their faces.
Juno trudges about Purgatory. Upon abandoning the Hotel, he knew no one would try and stop him, yet he can't stave off the lonely sting. He holds his sickle with a grip just tight enough so it doesn't fall. His loose arms bump against his hips. His eyes focus on nothing, occasionally flickering. The tune of "Auld Lang Syne" assaults his ears. The sultry sound grows and grows until he recognizes a familiar voice hum along, until finally he appears before the white, comic panel-like door. He twists the knob and enters.
"Hello," I say.