Edgar wakes up feeling like a blank slate.

On the way to Starr Park, he leans against the cold car window. He sticks his hand to it, watching faint outlines of condensation form. He takes it back and closes his eyes until they arrive.

"Edgar. Edgar! Get out, sleepyhead! We're already here," his grandfather informs him after they've parked.

"Thanks Gramps." He doesn't crack his eyes or move an inch. Byron sighs.

"Did you stay up all night again, hmm?"

"No, Gramps," Edgar says, getting out the car. He stretches and groans.

"I surmise it's that horrid Monster drink you're always gulping down."

"No..." It's not like he drinks it that much.

They walk. Byron greets a few people good morning. Edgar keeps his eyes on the stone tiled ground.

"Well," Byron says before they part. "Have a good day. Try not to doze off on the customers!"

"I won't. Bye," Edgar waves, before going to the gift shop.

He opens the door. Colette's arranging some of the plushies on a shelf.

"Oh, hey Edgar."

"Hi."

They restock the morning's worth of merchandise. The air is quiet. Edgar returns the boxes to the storage room.

He takes his seat beside Colette at the counter.

"How's it going?" He asks.

"I'm okay." She rests her head on her arms. "How's your bruise?"

"It's alright."

"I'm glad."

He rests his head in his arms too.

"'M tired."

"Again?" She says humorously. He's confused until he remembers what he said yesterday.

"Ah. Yeah." Edgar still doesn't plan on napping, though. Colette slowly blinks a few times, then yawns.

"Maybe you should cut down on the Monster." He rolls his eyes.

"I swear, I don't drink it that much. Promise." He yawns too.

They sit in silence.

"Actually, I don't really feel good today," Colette says.

"What's wrong? Do you need to go home?" Edgar frowns the slightest bit. Colette rarely seems to know the meaning of rest. She looks ahead.

"Ah, no, I'm fine."

He stares at her.

"Actually," she says again, more softly, "Um. I kinda talked to my parents last night. About Starr Park and everything, and..."

He waits.

"...I mean, I know that I'm not supposed to stay here forever. I mean, I think I'm not? I just don't like to think about it." She lightly scratches the countertop with her fingernails. "They said I should start thinking about the future."

"Oh."

She giggles a little.

"Like. I am thinking about the future, don't worry. I don't exactly plan on being a mindless airhead."

The words flow smoothly on her scratchy voice. Edgar wants to punch anyone who'd call her that.

"It's harder than they think it is. I don't know what I wanna be." She sits up, pushing against the counter. "I don't even know where to start. It's not that I just want to be all fun and games all my life, but, I don't know." Colette looks away. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he mumbles.

"What do you wanna be? Like, after all of this is over?" Her sentence almost fades out at the end.

Edgar only took Starr Park gift shop cashier-ing for the two things jobs always provided: experience and money.

"Well, I kinda just assumed Starr Park experience would help me continue getting retail jobs, I guess." He looks at the light dancing on countertop wood. "Or maybe someday I might take parkour seriously. Like, professionally. Not sure about that."

"Oh." Colette nods. "That's nice."

Edgar hides his face in his arms.

He can't imagine Starr Park without Colette. But that's not important. He's probably just used to her. He's not. He really wants to stay close to her. But that's really not important.

He doesn't want to see her stress over this.

"It's okay."

"Is it?" Colette asks. He suppresses a laugh. It's something he would say too, though sarcastically compared to her earnest tone. Colette's just real like that. He sighs, sitting up.

"Yeah." He stares at the gift shop door. He wishes he were better with words. "It's okay not to know."

"I wouldn't get to do anything if I didn't know anything." He looks at her.

"Colette. Life is stupid. It's hard to know what to do with it." He closes his mouth, thinking of a follow-up. She laughs.

"That's true."

He runs his hand through his hair.

"You're not an airhead, Colette." Her mind is one of the coolest things Edgar knows. Her spirit, too. Letting her life fall out of her hands seems like the last thing she'd do. "I know you're trying. Just." He sucks in a breath.

"Thanks Edgar," she says.

"I'm here for you. Whatever you think or do. Wherever you go, I guess." His eyebrow twitches at the cheesiness. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. And I know it's hard. I'm here for you."

"Thank you." He looks at her soft expression. "Hey, seriously. I'm happy to have you."

He should be feeling butterflies over this, but now he just feels calm. It feels sure — it feels like the locker room after a good day, walking with Colette on work days and off days at twilight, blankets, seeing her laugh. He wants it more than dark elixir and all his gems. More than acting unaffected and staying in this unclear space. He wants, but it isn't complicated or painful.

"Of course you got me."

Edgar just wants to be here.

-

Work that day was alright. Some really chatty customers came by, but they also left eventually, as they all do. So did some kids who messed up the displays. But it's whatever.

Edgar finishes his dinner, pushing his plate.

"Bye," he says. He stands up.

"Your dish at the sink, please!" Byron reminds him.

"Right." He takes it away. He's about to head to his room when the old man speaks up again.

"And Edgar — how would you like to join me for some tea tonight?" He squints.

"Why?" Last time this happened, they had a talk about his habit of slamming doors. Byron shrugs.

"Might help you sleep better. And I'm sure it's much healthier than that awful Monster." Edgar sighs in the quietest way he can.

"'Kay." It's not like he had anything better to do.

Violins filled the air. Or more specifically, violins playing from Byron's phone. Edgar fills his cup with the teapot.

"This piece is called The Devil's Trill," Byron says across from him.

"Uh-huh."

"The writer was said to have been inspired by a brilliant dream."

"Cool."

The last vivid dream Edgar remembers is the horrible vision of dear old Spike.

Byron looks thoughtful. "Inspiration. Such a strange thing. Fleeting, yet gripping on occasion." He waves his hand. "You know, I was boiling up some candy glass earlier today. Same old, sugar, corn syrup, water. Plain candy glass. I don't know why it was at the moment it started to boil up that I started to feel this, this vigor for it all again. The simplest thing, and yet it reignited my fervor from the heart. Perhaps that's what simplicity is, no?"

Sugar does look pretty when it boils up all shiny like that.

"Yeah. I guess." It doesn't have to be grand.

Edgar blows on his tea.

"Have you been feeling inspired lately, Edgar?"

Yesterday he was running around Starr Park on anger and loathing. Yesterday he drew an ugly Spike drawing that's flushed down the toilet in pieces now. This morning he said he'd be there for Colette. Of course he'd be there for her. Is that inspiration?

"I don't know."

"As unfortunate as it is that your craft requires such resilience to weather injuries like yours, were you happy when you were jumping around yesterday?"

Ah.

"No." Edgar smiles.

"Oh, that should be alright." Byron leans back, sipping his tea. "You still did it for a reason, didn't you?" Edgar nods.

"Yeah." Parkour is great, actually. Sure he wasn't over the moon that time, but it was better than nothing. Sure, his shin still stings.

At least he didn't explode from the inside. He was screaming from the rooftop. Was that inspiration?

He did it 'cause he was angry. Parkour's a really nice thing, actually, and at best he feels like he's flying, but sometimes it's just a release. And that's cool too.

Edgar slowly sips his tea.

The thought of Colette has sent him running countless obstacles, yesterday and a fair amount of other days. For a brief moment, listening to Poco made him want to tell her how he felt, but thinking of her makes him want to run. He'd scale the city to get away, but he wouldn't. Of course you got me, he said. He's felt so weird and angry and painful. He's felt hope and the weird certainty, his pulse now pounding. It sounds like something melodramatic he could tell her. You're my inspiration. What does that even mean?

"Gramps, uh. What do you think about a person being your inspiration?" Byron raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? What brings that to mind?"

"It's nothing." He regrets it right away.

"Oh, I don't believe you."

Edgar stares at the table.

Colette makes him cry. Colette makes him run around in circles and seethe in rage. Colette makes him confused, makes him happy. Makes him promise of course you got me. Makes him hug the Spike plushie, wish he could stay in this unclear space, then wish he could stop aching so bad.

Maybe he should just surrender.

"What if. You know," he says.

"I wouldn't know if you don't tell me," Byron answers helpfully. Annoyingly. Edgar exhales.

"You know Colette, right?"

"Yes?" He imagines Emz laughing at him right now. Saying I knew it, haha!

"I like her." He sips his tea, hiding his face with the cup.

"Oh." Byron smiles. "Well! Someone's finally gotten through to that ice-cold heart of yours." Edgar scowls. This is why he doesn't tell him things.

"Whatever."

"Tell me. What makes you say that?"

Aside from all this loathing for Spike?

"Uh. I like working with her." And more than that. "I like hanging out with her. She's cool." Promised. "I don't want her to worry."

Byron seems to be okay with this answer. "That's good," he says.

He doesn't just want to be there for her. He wants to be with her. And he thought it was complicated because of what, Spike? His own uninterested act? Scared of the future and imaginary Colette telling him what a loser he is? But being with her was kind of just all he ever wanted from the start.

"So... are you going to tell her?" Byron asks.

"Wait. Am I allowed to do that?"

Byron laughs heartily. "Yes! You're already a teenager, after all! And you know, I'm glad it's someone I know." He adjusts those tiny rose glasses. "Colette's a nice girl."

Edgar rubs his temples with a hand, cringing slightly. "Cool."

Later that night on his bed, he messages Colette to ask if she wants to play Clans of Clash. She says yes.

Maybe he could savor this space for a few more days before coming clean.