Chapter Twenty-Seven

Time had passed since your failure of a dinner. You had taken to spending a lot of time on your own. With everything being the way it was, you needed a break. You felt like you were constantly saying this—constantly telling yourself not to worry about it. It was just... hard. What were you supposed to do?

It's hard to follow your heart when your heart just wants to nap all the time. Or maybe that just makes it super easy? It feels wrong though. You were dead so you had no obligations—time didn't exist so there wasn't any waste either—yet somehow the shame in doing nothing still crept in your mind.

You sat alone in the library. You wanted to read, but at the same time, you couldn't bother to. Your thoughts (or lack thereof) were interrupted by a presence entering the room.

"Hello," Jenna said simply.

"Hi," you returned. You felt awkward. There was a lot of admiration for Jenna stored in your heart, but you also didn't really... well. Her conversations were often very driven and about the "mysteries" of the hell house. You didn't know if you had the energy to care right now.

You mentally slapped yourself. She's your friend! If she wants to talk about it, you'll talk about it. Besides, maybe she found something out?

You doubted it, but who knows?

In the silence, you looked slowly from the floor back up to her, wondering if she had anything to say. When your gaze had finally made its way up to where her face was, you gasped. She was melting—her skin was melting like goo, like cheesy pizza gone all wrong. You stood immediately, horrified. You could see beneath her flesh—right under the slime of her skin was the bones and muscles of her face. You had to help!

You rushed to her and hesitantly put your hands by her face. It looked so gross, but something compelled you to catch it. Like maybe you could fix it if you were fast enough. What was going on? How could her skin become so...liquidy? You felt like you could smell something akin to sewage—you felt sick. The second your hands met the nasty goop, her face was back to normal.

"Jenna!" you blinked a few times, still holding her face with both of your hands.

"(y/n) ..." she replied. She narrowed her eyes slightly, confused at your outburst. She wasn't able to repress the blush on her face, try as she might. Your hands were warm. She realized no one had held her in a very long time.

"I—sorry!" you said, backing away. "I think I just hallucinated. I still get those sometimes—more recently. I should talk to Quince about it..." you trailed off with a nervous chuckle as you made your way back to your seat. "Sorry about that," you repeated.

"It's okay," she flashed you a smile. "How have you been feeling?"

You were slightly taken aback at the question. Where you supposed to put thought into your response or just— "I've been fine how are you?"

She frowned, "You've seemed down."

"Perceptive," you chuckled dismissively. "I guess I'm just a bit sad that no one can get along."

"This may sound a bit harsh, but maybe...you should stop trying so hard. If we're all meant to get along, then it will happen eventually. You shouldn't have to make it your burden."

You frowned, "Maybe. I just don't feel right leaving things as they are. It makes me unhappy."

"I suppose that's the difference between you and I. You're very stubborn," she sighed.

"You are too!" you pointed out. "Unless you've given up on leaving?"

"I haven't," she dismissed. "But I don't think my task is as hopeless."

"Harsh," you pouted. "I don't think my task is hopeless either. I really care about everyone. I want them to all get along so that we can be happy." You felt a little dumb, airing your feelings like this. You really meant it—even if you were becoming exhausted with the way things were, you wanted everyone to be content with each other.

"I guess I can respect that," Jenna nodded, leaning back in her seat.

"Respect what?" A new voice sounded. Quince had just walked in. You instantly brightened, his smile inspiring your own. You were so happy to see him that you didn't notice Jenna visibly tense up.

"We're just talking about our different goals," you said awkwardly. You didn't want to rat Jenna out—and you weren't sure who all knew about her theories. Quince sat near you and put an arm around your shoulder. You were a little surprised at the outright display of affection, but you were happy. You leaned on him.

"Oh?" He questioned. "What's your goal (y/n)?" He felt so warm and content with you pressed against him, but he also felt a twinge of anger because of the conversation he heard before entering the room. Why was it always Jenna to plant seeds of doubt in your mind?

Jenna also wasn't half as content as you were—she felt sick just by seeing him. She was an anxious person naturally, but this was something else. She didn't like being near him.

"You already know," you spoke with a slight whine. "I just want everyone to get along."

"I suppose I do know that," he hummed contemplatively as he rested his chin on your head. "Did you have an issue with that, Jenna?" You didn't catch his accusatory tone. Your rose-colored lenses could be dense at times like these.

"...I just think she should let the group form relationships naturally," Jenna spoke defensively.

"Hmm. Interesting point of view," Quince spoke. "I think I agree with you."

You sat up at that, "Really?" You pouted instantly—you thought Quince would be on your side! "Why?"

"Well, you seem to be exhausting yourself with this. I don't want you to get too worked up over something out of your control," he explained, maintaining steady eye contact.

"That's what I said," Jenna agreed with a sigh of relief. Quince seemed too focused on you to say anything to Jenna.

"I don't even get why everyone is so pissy all the time anyway," you pouted and crossed your arms.

"You don't? Can't even guess??" Quince spoke with a teasing edge to his voice. "Looks like kitten isn't as perceptive as I thought." He chuckled and your face turned red with embarrassment.

"I mean, I don't really get it. Why won't anyone even try to let go of their differences? It just seems so dumb," you frowned, you gaze falling to the floor. Quince could feel his heartbeat quicken—you're so cute! He just wanted to squeeze you and kiss you a million times, but that had to wait. He almost sighed.

"You're pretty clueless, huh? I guess that's part of what makes you so cute, though," he laughed as he ruffled your hair.

For every second Quince's shameless flirting continued, Jenna felt her frustration spike higher. She wasn't often the type to shout, so she instead stood and began walking to the door, "I think I'm going to go lay down for a bit. Have a good day you two."

"You too! Bye Jenna," you smiled widely with a wave. You turned back to Quince, "What do you want to do?"

"Why don't we just talk?"

"What about?" you asked.

"What do you think the meaning of life is?" He replied easily as if he had already planned to bring it up.

"How am I supposed to answer that so randomly?" you said with your brows furrowing.

"I wanna hear what you think, that's all," he shifted and leaned back with a lazy grin stretching handsomely across his face.

"I don't know," you frowned. "I thought I had it figured out when I was still like, alive and stuff, but now I'm dead and I guess I don't really know."

"What did you think while you were alive?"

"...To be honest, I don't know. I just thought that the most important thing was to be kind," you spoke. It was true—you didn't want to act like you were some sort of altruistic being, a paragon of goodness, but you had noticed that in general, you were a nicer person than average. There were still times where you were rude, sometimes on accident (other times not so much), but that's to be expected since you were human.

"Really? That's the most important thing?" He shot back. You didn't expect him to reply that way. Was he trying to debate? Shit, if he is, I'll probably lose. He...knows how to argue.

"Well, yeah. I think a lot of what makes us human is how we interact with others, and to be kind is a good way to make the world brighter," you argued. It was something you truly believed, but you knew that if Quince really dug in, he could tear your argument to shreds.

"So, everyone should dedicate themselves to kindness most of the time," he said as if agreeing with you.

"That seems like a stretch," you shook your head.

"But you said it was the most important thing," he pointed out.

"Well, what do you think it is?" you sighed almost angrily. You weren't really mad—arguing could be fun—but you weren't really as good with your words as Quince was.

"I don't think anything in life matters," he said nonchalantly.

"What?!" you gaped, "Don't say something so negative!"

"How is it negative?" he asked, tugging on your shoulder to have you lean on his chest again. "Why should anything matter?"

You felt tense in his arms for the first time, "how can you say that? If nothing matters, then why do anything?"

"Hmm. I guess I said that wrong," he clicked his tongue. "What I mean to say is that... there is no set purpose in life. Each person must decide for themselves what matters. I guess if you want an example, I could say that for a ballerina, dancing would be the most important thing in their life. A chef, on the other hand, probably wouldn't feel the same. A parent might say 'family,' a scholar might say 'knowledge,'..."

"and I would say you," he thought to himself.

"Geez, you could've said that the first time. It...makes sense though. I haven't really thought of it that way," you relaxed. You felt like he probably did that on purpose—he seemed to like to play around with conversations. It was fun though, and certainly more interesting than conversations with some people.

"On the same note, I don't think it's possible to accurately assign value to anything," he continued, his eyes on the ceiling. "I never really understood money. Like, it was something that everyone pretended made sense, but then it was totally arbitrary."

"I actually totally agree!" you breathed. "How did we decide how much a song should cost? That's so silly!"

"Yeah, capitalism is fucked up and terrible," he nodded. "It commodifies everything. I can't really separate myself from capitalistic culture since it's all I've ever known until death, but I can see how it rots from the inside out."

"Especially when you'd go to the store with all your coupons and get things for waaaay cheaper. Why should eggs cost so much when they clearly don't have to?" you complained. It was a problem you'd never have again, but you could still find yourself angry with the way the world worked sometimes.

"I like hearing you when you get all fired up," he sighed dreamily as he turned his body to hold you with both arms, hugging you. You two seemed to hold each other quite a bit, but this one was completely of his own volition. It made you happy. Now he was leaning on you, softly crushing you. It felt safe.

"You're really smart," you said even though your voice was muffled in his shirt.

"Thank you," he replied. "You are too."

You didn't know if you could compare to Quince's wit, but you didn't want to ruin the moment with negativity. So you just hummed in thanks before the two of you separated.

"Everything is so crazy. I feel like I'm always sitting around waiting for something," you said impulsively. You didn't think before you spoke—you just said exactly what you were feeling. You felt like you could do that with Quince.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked from the other side of the couch.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I just can't shake this feeling."

"A lot of life is waiting. Maybe your brain is clinging to that?"

"Maybe," you agreed half-mindedly. "Talking with you always makes me think I should think about things."

"Well, you should," he chuckled.

"Well, yeah, but I mean like, think think about things. Like, thinking about deep intense stuff that exists in my brain and in my soul, but I don't really know how. I don't know if I even want to."

"You don't have to if that makes you feel any better," he smiled comfortingly.

"I want to keep up with you."

"You don't have to base your actions on me. I think most people would prefer you to be you, anyway."

"...you're kind," you said softly. You still weren't good with compliments.

"That's the most important thing, isn't it?" he teased.

.:x x x x x:.

You spent the next several days (Days?? Waking periods??) like this. Mostly alone, but occasionally talking with someone. It was calm and boring, but after you feel better you were going to be more friendly again. In a way, you missed the constant interaction, but on the other hand, your brain was endlessly relieved to have some peace.

Right now, you were eating some cereal and mindlessly reading a magazine article about cats. No one had talked to you since you woke up, so you figured you'd continue spending the time to yourself. Maybe you could go to the garden and read there? That's what you thought until Don entered the room.

"Hi Don," you said, barely sparing him a glance. The magazine was engaging.

"(y/n), have you seen Jenna?" he spoke quickly, desperately.

"What? No, I haven't seen anyone today," you dismissed. "Why, are you looking for her?"

"I'm just getting worried—I haven't seen her in forever and she won't answer her door. No one I've talked to has seen her," he said, the concern on his face evident now that you were looking at him.

"I saw her...some time ago. Like, a couple waking periods ago," you spoke thoughtfully. "I guess I haven't seen her since then, but she has a tendency to go off on her own anyway, right?" You felt a pit of uneasiness settle in your stomach—you were comforting yourself as much as you were comforting him.

"No," he shook his head. "It's been way too long for usual. I hung out with her more frequently than you, but it's seriously been a while. I think I have to talk to Quince."

You tried to tell yourself not to be nervous, but you were anyway. "Let me come with you," you requested as you stood up.

"That's fine," he nodded, waiting for you to follow him out the door.

I hope she's okay...

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