Chapter Thirty-Six

"(y/n)? What are you doing?" Suki asked softly, her hands instantly holding your shoulders as if she thought you were going to leave without saying a word.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feeling vaguely guilty.

"Suki—I really don't think you should barge in like this—"

"I wasn't asking you," she shot a glare over her shoulder to Quince, who decided to remain silent. He could watch how this unfolded. Suki continued, "What are you doing... with him?"

"I—"

"He likes you too, doesn't he?" she interrupted, her wide eyes lined with tears.

"Suki, I—It's really complicated," you said. And this was true. It was, no matter how you looked at it, a complicated situation.

Of course, you could answer her question easily. Yes. Yes, Quince liked you, too. Quite a bit, it seems. Normally the fact would bring a smile to your face, but right now it just felt like a crime.

"That's enough to tell me it's true," Suki spoke softly, breaking eye contact and pulling her hands away from you. She turned to Quince expectantly, "Why?"

"Why...? That's a ridiculous question coming from you," he frowned.

"Why is this so hard? Why is it all...like this?"

"Again, these are...impossible questions," Quince looked away, uncomfortable with the display.

"This is unfair, this is cruel and unfair!" she began to speak louder, tears falling down her face. She turned to you again, your face beginning to mirror her own in overwhelming emotion. "Do you know what it's like, (y/n)? No, no there's no way you'd know how it feels," she practically spat out, the pain coming off of her like waves.

"How what feels?" you prodded, even though you truly didn't want to.

"Have you ever been in love with someone who doesn't like you back? Cared about someone who could never feel the same about you? Have you ever had a pit in your stomach that makes you feel so fucking sick that you find yourself revolting?"

"Suki, I—"

"It hurts so badly, (y/n)," she continued, the look in her eyes going completely wild. "Everyone has a favorite person. Everyone has a best friend or... a crush, or a lover! Everyone has someone that they'd choose above everyone else in a heartbeat. But what happens when you're no one's favorite? I'm no one's best friend. I'm no one's favorite, and no one will ever love me as much as I love them."

"I'm sorry," you offered weakly, tears beginning to fall down your own face. Suki looked almost mad but mostly hurt. She looked wounded.

"If you had to choose anyone, you'd choose Quince," she said resentfully, his name coming from her lips like it was a curse word. Her tone softened considerably in the next sentence, "But I'd choose you. I would've chosen you; I would always choose you. I'd choose you over anyone, even over me. Especially over me!" she took to shouting again, "I hate myself for not being the person you want!" Her hands flew to her head, gripping at her scalp as if she thought her brain would leak away and she'd be left as a non-functioning mass.

"That's not fair, Suki, that's no way to live! You have to value yourself," you cried out, the tears falling freely. Quince was frozen at this exchange—knowing he should do something but feeling unable to.

"I can't help it; I can't imagine being any way but like this! I try to hold back, for you and for everyone, but it's just too hard! I can't keep this locked inside and act like it's not there."

"Why?!" you shouted desperately.

"Does it even need saying?" she laughed suddenly, her gaze clashing violently with yours again. "Do I have to say it in those words for you to understand?" she drew closer, and you resisted the urge to back away. "I love you, (y/n). You already knew that; I'd never keep it a secret. I love you forever. I love you, and I can't handle the fact that I love you alone. I think it's lonelier to be in an unrequited love than to not love anyone."

The room was heavily silent.

"I know," you conceded. "For what it's worth, I... didn't want it to be this way either."

"I know you didn't," she said in a tone softer than you thought you'd hear from her. "You're far too kind to want something like this." Suki felt more awful than she could say in words. Suki wanted to be dead—to be gone from existing completely. She didn't want consciousness anymore. She didn't want to be hurt anymore.

But she saw you, and she knew she would continue. Even if just for a little while. Even if it was only more painful.

"I'm going to spend some time to myself," Suki declared to you both since there was truly no one else she wanted to be around. "I'm still here, for you, for any reason.

"Okay," you nodded. How strange it was, for you, to be feeling all of this right now.

She left and neither of the two of you remaining moved or said anything. You both just stewed—not really thinking, just being blank and numb. You felt regret—waves of regret. Why, though? Why on earth should you feel regretful of loving Quince?

Was it really a mistake?

If she was in your shoes, she'd clearly do the same, no matter who else it hurt. You were sure that if you loved her at the level that she loved you, it wouldn't matter if half the world loved you as well.

So why did you feel so awful?

"Quince, I, I think I should take some time to myself as well," you said without looking at him.

He didn't want to hear that, but he understood. He took the steps necessary to get close to you, "Alright. I'm here for you as well, although I hope that goes without saying." His face had a tired smile—a truly exhausted look. Was it possible that he was feeling as ragged as you? You found it doubtful, but anything is possible.

"Of course," you nodded. Of course he is, he always is. That's why, well that's part of why... "I do... care for you, Quince," you admitted out loud even though you felt wrong to do so.

"Oh?" a light of amusement flashed in his eyes. "Well, I... care for you as well." He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I'll see you later?" you said as he pulled away.

"Of course," he agreed. The two of you shared a smile before you left and headed to your room.

You didn't know what you were going to do.

You didn't know if you would do anything, honestly. Nothing felt right—there was no answer that seemed like a morally correct answer.

Did morals still matter in death? They must matter at least to an extent, you decided, but you didn't want to think about it.

You wanted to sleep.

And so you did.