(Leo)
***
"Don't worry," Sinclair said in a soothing voice, though I was sure they were despondent. "That's understandable. Sometimes I don't really want to be around people after parties. They're too overwhelming, and they make me want to go somewhere mute."
"We're opposites," I told them, laying on my back. I avoided their eyes.
The rustling of the flora permeated the stiff air around us as they settled into the glorified cradle, shifting several times before their body was engulfed in it.
"You like parties?" They seemed to think. "Ah, of course you do. You're an extrovert. I can't forget." Then, they chuckled.
Releasing an airy laugh that I doubted they could hear, I smiled. "Yeah. I caught you drinking quite a few times, though, so maybe you had a bit more fun than you thought?"
They hummed. "Not really. I like the taste of it, not the feeling."
"Interesting."
Both of us remained quiet, unsure what to say. Their arrival distracted me from my musings about the world, and it seemed they had very few thoughts they wanted to share aloud. (Then again, I figured they had many silent ideas, but they probably only shared one in a hundred with me—ones for which I was usually grateful.)
"How do you feel now that everything's about to go back to normal?" they blurted out, strangely calm as they stared at the primitive intersection of the split sky.
Without much thought, I rambled, "Like something's missing that wasn't there before."
"Hm? What's that supposed to mean?"
I imagined that their eyes turned yellow like the stars speckling the atmosphere. Even though I was sure Sinclair turned to face me, I didn't look up to acknowledge them.
(I didn't want to fall into that sea of color and never come out…)
After closing my eyes, I shifted around. "Nothing important. How about you? It can't be much different, right?"
They hesitated. "I beg to differ."
"Why?" I moved my arms so that they supported my head and neck as a pillow.
"For one,"—I heard them rustle again—"I'm now going to have to navigate one gigantic castle without getting lost. And the addresses will change! Again!"
As if they tried compensating for the lack of energy on my part, they sounded exaggerated; however, their weariness did not escape my notice.
In response to their complaints, I laughed. "Maybe you have a point. At least Mirai won't be split up anymore, though. I can imagine that was irritating."
"True. But I do wonder about something else." They audibly moved around more, the warm colors emanating from their restless motions.
"What's that?"
"What does this place look like under the moonlight?"
"Pretty," I told them. "Things sparkle a little differently, the flowers sing, and sometimes, a unicorn ascends into the air to dance."
"Is that so? The last two sound like you're lying." Through their voice, it was obvious they smiled.
I joked, "Maybe I am."
My tone was quite dry.
"Good," they said. "I don't know how I would feel if this flower below me had a mouth."
I grinned. "I think it'd eat you up. Flowers like sugar—sweet things."
At that, their eyes probably turned pink.
I wasn't oblivious to the implications of the colors, but I tried ignoring them as Sinclair said, "I think you would be dead meat first if we're going by that. I'm not that nice."
The voice saying that to me was colored in pastels—delicate but not vivid—yet it still bloomed in a way. In the presence of life, it ate away at me.
"Nope. You're wrong." I giggled.
"Whatever," they replied. "If we play around like this, let's just go down together."
"You think?"
"I *know*."
Their tone—which brimmed with affection—incited conflicting feelings within me again, and neither emotion left my mind for the remainder of the night. I didn't want Sinclair to keep overcompensating for my confusion. They already had to compensate themself for the many sleepless nights and past troubles.
We didn't really talk much after that. I wasn't completely sure why. Maybe when I had said a certain number of words, I had said them all for the time being.
When Sinclair felt themself dozing off, eyelids flickering shut, they said to me in the sincerest voice, "Goodnight, Lele. Thank you for staying here with me. It means a lot to me."
I didn't roll over, but I told them, "Night, Sini. Sleep well."
The soft orchestra of the night and natural sounds were soon fronted by that gentle snoring I heard the last time Sinclair fell asleep in my presence. It was soothing and monotonous, so it soon turned into white noise for me. However, its cuteness made me grin to myself throughout the sleepless night. To my crabby internal world, the soft noises from the one I loved were antidotes for my mood.
I flipped onto my side after a while, wanting to make sure Sinclair was fully asleep before moving. I hoped the noise wouldn't bother them, but it should have been obvious that it wouldn't. They hadn't slept in a week, so they must have been as tired as if they had done hours of hard labor without a break.
As I examined their features under the sunlight, I smiled at them. They glowed an exquisite gold, turning their face into a priceless artwork. With delicate tufts of hair framing their face, their skin was smooth and glazed over. Sinclair's nostrils moved in a mostly regular pattern, though they sometimes deviated from that with deep inhales.
The rest of their body had few distinct movements of its own, save for their hands and feet as they reached for something that Sinclair could not grab in their sleep.
Quickly, I noticed their frame was unified by a waving motion, a series of shivers that made them curl into a ball like a roly-poly.
They suffered enough in their dreams, so I flicked my hand, folding the petals of some of the flowers over them to consolidate into a thin blanket. Sinclair must have been used to sleeping with one in their chariot.
As their erratic shaking drew to a close and eased my worry, I studied their figure again with the petals draped over them, and I frowned.
Understanding why looking at Sinclair incited both fondness and anger in me was difficult, but I began to fathom why at that point.
The first thing I could comprehend was this: Blaming the person themself was far from the truth, but who then would be implicated in the crime of toying with my damaged heart?
The answer became obvious when I worded it like that. I was furious about the injustices done to Sinclair, envious of the level of emotional intimacy they reached with someone before meeting me. If Algor had liked them half as much as I did, he would have understood much of what made Sinclair tick. Sinclair was far from simple, but they left themself too vulnerable to people's wrongdoings.
Calling them innocent was an exaggeration, yet they seemed to acknowledge only afterwards the dysfunctional nature of their relationship with Algor. Understanding without action meant nothing, however, and it was obvious how Sinclair yearned for that physical contact—that meeting of hearts and minds—despite their recognition of the issue.
Those damn eyes could not conceal how they felt as the gradients highlighted the warring feelings in Sinclair's mind.
It wasn't as if Sinclair was the one at fault either. Being gullible did not give someone a right to come and take their innocence and toy with them at will. It was that searing sense of justice that upheld my jealousy—ironically enough. I couldn't stand seeing them hurt and fall into that trap again, especially when I knew I could do so much better for them.
Yet how could I compare without a chance? And would I let myself seize it in their dilapidated, anxious state?
How much better was I than Algor if I stole Sinclair's love at their lowest point?
Not much, I supposed.
I couldn't help but also want to blame Inei for the issue in a way, for driving Algor to hurt them worse. Then again, as I had mentioned to Sinclair before, Inei effectively ended their relationship, but severing a string did not eliminate its existence until it was incinerated; its ends could still be tied back together. The feelings—however vague and distorted they had become—still resonated somewhere.
Even if Sinclair told me they loved me right then, were they ready?
Maybe that was for them to decide—not me.
Nonetheless, a bitter air settled between us because I could not fully grasp my own emotions, letting them flow out in fits and starts through the vents in a shield of apathy. I was not entirely mature either, though I had my less recent personal reasons for such behavior. My dignity was an army that had slowly built a wall within me.
Sinclair and I… We were stuck between the tension of lovers and the past, and it dragged us both so quickly down a bottomless hole that we could not keep ourselves from getting overwhelmed in it all. I rapidly overdosed on a warm and fuzzy feeling that wasn't superficial yet not entirely authentic.
I reached out, wanting to feel their warmth and the buzz of happy hormones set alight by their proximity. Ultimately, I moved it away—retracting it to my chest—and I closed my eyes to ignore that overpowering attraction.