[How dare she? All he's trying to do is protect that pathetic, sniveling little shit. She thinks she knows Sunny? Does she really? Omori doesn't know, and wherever they are, he can't reach Sunny. What the hell is going on?]
You want to die, don't you?
[Countless arms, red and ghostly, surround them. Several grab at Aubrey, attempting to restrain; meanwhile, beneath Omori's feet, a platform of them, raising him up a head taller than her.
[Whether or not she's successfully restrained - and he'll be surprised if she's not - he holds the knife to her throat.]
Tell me. Tell me what he said. Tell me why you hate him.
[The restraining hands are worse. They drag her back like a puppet, unreasonably strong for something disembodied; resistance only reopens wounds that only barely started to clot. Her throat is tight, less than an inch from his blade.]
I… [She forces a swallow. It’s too damn close, that knife. Aubrey drags her eyes back up to Omori, hating that she has to look at him, the feeling of being below him. It’s almost enough to hate him, but he still looks like Sunny.]
I don’t hate Sunny.
[Is it a lie to appease him? Does she believe that herself? What does she have to lose? He could plunge that knife through her throat as she speaks.
[And yet the truth claws out.] He told us… what he did. [They’re strangled words.] And I can’t hate him....
[Maybe that’s what frustrates her. It’d be easier than ever to hate him now. Hate points a sharp object at someone’s throat and tells them to die—that’s easy.
[Truth is not easy.]
I’m so angry at him. I didn’t want to face him. But I can’t…
[They left her again, at the lake. Aubrey’s tired of old mistakes.]
[She nearly drops to her knees when the world fades to white, grabbing at her own arms to hold the wound shut. It’s some dumb stroke of luck she doesn’t fall on his blade—or so Aubrey thinks, before she realizes Omori lowered the knife himself.
[Leftover adrenaline leaves her shivering, head bowed. God, if she’s ever restrained like that again…]
S-“sorry”… [The sputtering echo is more baffled than anything.] After all that....
[Her shoulders slump when the knife disappears. She’s starting to think she could kill to never see a sharp object pointed at anyone ever again.]
[Some part of her waits—more retribution, more interrogation. The other shoe has to drop.
[But it doesn’t. Aubrey looks up and Omori’s just… sitting there.]
[He looks so, so much like Sunny. Despite herself, Aubrey’s expression softens.]
[There’s just a bit more quiet, as the slashes scab over. It’s not pretty. Will it be more or less disturbing if they’re still there, when she wakes up? The very thought of this being a dream, nightmare, whatever it might be—feels silly in and of itself.]
[She almost got killed to protect Sunny’s fragile, fabricated peace.]
[Aubrey should be mad about that, maybe. He looks like Sunny. He has the piano’s name and the boy’s knife. And he wants to keep Sunny safe… from them.]
[There’s a lot she still doesn’t understand, and hell forbid Kel or Hero wind up here… But for once, Aubrey can try not to make it worse.]
I can’t speak for the others, but… I think, if we really stay together, we’ll get through.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Enough.
[That is fucking terrifying. Years of turning her fear into fury, don’t fail her now…]
You don’t need to know.
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[How dare she? All he's trying to do is protect that pathetic, sniveling little shit. She thinks she knows Sunny? Does she really? Omori doesn't know, and wherever they are, he can't reach Sunny. What the hell is going on?]
You want to die, don't you?
[Countless arms, red and ghostly, surround them. Several grab at Aubrey, attempting to restrain; meanwhile, beneath Omori's feet, a platform of them, raising him up a head taller than her.
[Whether or not she's successfully restrained - and he'll be surprised if she's not - he holds the knife to her throat.]
Tell me. Tell me what he said. Tell me why you hate him.
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[The restraining hands are worse. They drag her back like a puppet, unreasonably strong for something disembodied; resistance only reopens wounds that only barely started to clot. Her throat is tight, less than an inch from his blade.]
I… [She forces a swallow. It’s too damn close, that knife. Aubrey drags her eyes back up to Omori, hating that she has to look at him, the feeling of being below him. It’s almost enough to hate him, but he still looks like Sunny.]
I don’t hate Sunny.
[Is it a lie to appease him? Does she believe that herself? What does she have to lose? He could plunge that knife through her throat as she speaks.
[And yet the truth claws out.] He told us… what he did. [They’re strangled words.] And I can’t hate him....
I get it.
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[The world hangs in frozen suspension. Omori stares at her.]
Tell me what he did.
[The knife is still at her throat, but Omori's demeanor has changed, if only marginally. He seems...uncertain.]
I already know. Tell me or I'll cut your throat.
[Because he has to be sure. He has to know.]
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[He knows?]
He pushed Mari.
He killed her.
[“He could have drowned!”]
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You don't hate him?
You're lying. [But he doesn't sound convinced. His brows are knit together, unsure. That can't be right...
[Surely, considering...they must.]
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I’m not.
[Maybe that’s what frustrates her. It’d be easier than ever to hate him now. Hate points a sharp object at someone’s throat and tells them to die—that’s easy.
[Truth is not easy.]
I’m so angry at him. I didn’t want to face him. But I can’t…
[They left her again, at the lake. Aubrey’s tired of old mistakes.]
I will not let him be alone again.
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[All at once, the arms disappear. The world goes white again. Omori drops back down to his normal height, lowering the knife.
[They've forgiven him? How...]
Sorry.
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[She nearly drops to her knees when the world fades to white, grabbing at her own arms to hold the wound shut. It’s some dumb stroke of luck she doesn’t fall on his blade—or so Aubrey thinks, before she realizes Omori lowered the knife himself.
[Leftover adrenaline leaves her shivering, head bowed. God, if she’s ever restrained like that again…]
S-“sorry”… [The sputtering echo is more baffled than anything.] After all that....
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[What will happen now that Sunny doesn't need him anymore? Will he go away? Will he ever see him again?]
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[Her shoulders slump when the knife disappears. She’s starting to think she could kill to never see a sharp object pointed at anyone ever again.]
[Some part of her waits—more retribution, more interrogation. The other shoe has to drop.
[But it doesn’t. Aubrey looks up and Omori’s just… sitting there.]
[He looks so, so much like Sunny. Despite herself, Aubrey’s expression softens.]
[There’s just a bit more quiet, as the slashes scab over. It’s not pretty. Will it be more or less disturbing if they’re still there, when she wakes up? The very thought of this being a dream, nightmare, whatever it might be—feels silly in and of itself.]
[Finally:] You really thought I’d hate him.
So you wanted me to die.
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To save him...
Sunny...
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[She almost got killed to protect Sunny’s fragile, fabricated peace.]
[Aubrey should be mad about that, maybe. He looks like Sunny. He has the piano’s name and the boy’s knife. And he wants to keep Sunny safe… from them.]
[There’s a lot she still doesn’t understand, and hell forbid Kel or Hero wind up here… But for once, Aubrey can try not to make it worse.]
I can’t speak for the others, but… I think, if we really stay together, we’ll get through.
No one else has to die.
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[He can accept that.]
Take care of him...
Please...
He can't do it on his own.
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I will. [A nod, small but resolute.] I think… we all will.
[Kel reached out before any of them. Basil seemed happy. And surely, with time, even Hero can pull through.
[They’ll be there for each other. They’ll call, this time. They won’t let anyone fall astray.
[It can mend. It has to.]
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[He's starting to fade.]
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Omori…?
[She reaches for him.]
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[His voice is warped, far away like he's down the road, not sitting right in front of her. When she touches him, her hand fazes through nothing.]
He's so sorry...
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Omori....
[It’s disconcerting, to touch an illusion. But she pulls for his hand anyway, as if to clasp it. A silent promise.]
I hope he can forgive himself, too.
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[Maybe..
[He can...
[Omori clasps her hands back. He underestimated them...Sunny's idealized versions aren't all that different after all, as it turns out.]
Bye, Aubrey.
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[He’s smiling....]
[She squeezes hands that aren’t there. There’s the faintest trace of a smile in return.]
Bye, Omori.