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The soft glow of a tv blankets the room in a blue wash, the sound of video game characters battling each other quietly echoing in the room. The mashing on buttons near silent, but grows louder as a character receives an onslaught of attacks and quickly dies. A short sigh can be heard. Rough upholstery lines their back, brown hair in a ponytail caught between their shoulder and the couch. Their tan skin, flashes blue and orange as they restart the game. A soft creak sounds at the door way, alerting them to the presence of another, but they don’t turn around, already knowing who it is.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah.”
He shifts awkwardly in place, bringing his hand up behind is neck, “You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“…”
“…”
“Can I join you?”
“… Sure”
Slowly walking over, he puts a hand to the floor, slowly lowering himself down next to her. She silent hands him a controller and for the next few minutes they play in silence.
The quiet envelopes them, leaving them unwanting to break it. But the boy inhales, and opens his mouth anyway, determined to tell his message.
“It’s okay to talk about,” he speaks, “if you ever want to talk about it, you can talk to me, I mean, if you want”
“I get them too,” he whispers, “I’m surprised you haven’t found me out here first actually.”
She finds herself surprised, it makes sense for him to have nightmares, itd be a miracle not to have them in the world they live in but still. It’s not something she usually thinks about.
“What do you dream Jack?”
“You. And Quint and Dirk. Dying or getting hurt. Thrull betraying us. Watching Bardle die. Occasionally zombies,” he chuckles, “not often tho, they almost seems so.. normal compared to all the other stuff we’ve death with. I mean, we’ve fought giant trash krakens; zombies are still a threat but, they’re not that big of a deal anymore.” He grows quieter, knees tucked to his chest, resting his head on his folded arms, staring at the tv. “Sometimes I dream about Rezzoch winning, taking over me again,” he whispers, ”Sometimes I dream about them taking over my body, and forcing me to watch as my own hands hurt my family. Sometimes I see my parents.”
A hushed quiet fills the void. Colors dance on the screen, washing them in blues, purples and greens.
He turns his head, facing her, “what do you dream about June?”
“….. I dream about my parents. I dream about going to New York and not finding them there. Maybe they left before I got to them. Maybe something got to them first. Maybe I was too late.”
She curls into her self, the game momentarily paused, “Sometimes I dream about here, sometimes I dream about New York. Sometimes I-….”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes… I dream about you smashing the radio.. it’s not like I haven’t forgiven you about it, I understand why. I just. I’m so scared of never getting back home you know? Back to my parents. I miss them. I love here, what we’ve created, the home we’ve built but.. it’s never going to be complete without them for me.”
“It’s like somethings missing right? Like you keep looking around for them, but they’re just not there. And there’s a part in you that’s never gonna be whole until someone’s there.”
“Yeah”
“I.. never had parents. I’ve been in the foster system for almost as long as I remember. I don’t- I don’t even know what they look like. They probably have the same hair as me, or maybe the same eyes, but I don’t have a clue. What they sound like, what they wear, what they like. For me, you guys are my family. I’ve never really had my own, and while some foster families tried, more than the others, it never felt like home. Quint was my first friend. I just.. I’m scared of losing you guys. I’m scared of being alone again.”
“I’m scared of never getting them back”
“I’m scared of you getting hurt”
“I’m scared I’ll be too late”
“I’m scared of Rezzoch winning”
“I’m scared of bugs”
“I’m scared of Quint’s socks”
And on and on they went, listing all their fears: the silly, the serious, the scary. Giggling into the night, thinking up the most ridiculous fears imaginable. Scooting closer and closer till they were right next to each other. Shoulders pressed together, whispered jokes, lost battles and victorious cheers. It’s a night of shared secrets and hidden fears, released into the air. It’s a night of growing closer, and understanding each other better.
It is a quiet night, save for the distant shambling of zombies and the quiet snores of two tweens.
And when they wake up in the morning, the imprint of the fabric from where they pressed their cheeks into the couch will last just long enough to be teased about before fading around noon. And in the morning, they will feel closer than they were before.