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Derek Hutchins closes his eyes for the final time. Then wakes up to the cough of his computer.
It sputters and huffs, the fans whirring furiously while the heat of the overworked computer licks his face. The warmth seeps back into his body, the cold hands that are slumped on the keyboard slowly twitching back to life, while the sensation of pins and needles retreats from the tips of his fingers, to his wrist, arms, and finally his neck. The static weaves through the folds of his brain, firing off every single nerve and muscle in an agonising cacophony, before it settles in his cortex.
He blinks.
And tears begin to stream down his eyes, the stasis that has ensnared both his mind and body broken at last — as he sucks in his first breath of air. Stale, yes, the air that has been drifting and trapped in his room is not the best. It stinks of rotting apples and soylent drinks and the dust and unwashed clothes and sweat and his lungs are seizing from the tremendous effort — but it's still air. A sign that he is still alive. He clenches his fists, then unclenches, in awe of how his muscles and skin and arteries and veins and capillaries and bones move — his brain curls in on itself, struggling to comprehend the sudden flood of information. Reminiscent of his horrific experience, but he is grateful nonetheless. He lets out a breathless laugh, in utter disbelief at his continued existence, in this bustling and alive world, where instead of being dragged away screaming and kicking he has calmly accepted his fate (or as calm as someone staring down his greatest fear of being forgotten can be). Yet, he now wakes up in a world that by some miracle, did not abandon him.
As he stands up unsteadily, his vision swims. The threads of reality parting away right before his very eyes, flickering as the atoms of the world begins to vibrate intensely, threatening to break down before he can even get a chance to walk. His brain is strangely quiet for a second, before the veil of reality parts and his brain is pulled into a never ending ocean, forced to wade through torrential waves of timelines and information. He flinches, his cortisol spiking as he desperately searches for The King's presence, but nothing comes out. No traces of the vast horrors beyond his comprehension, no remnants of the god that once tore his brain nearly asunder, no fragments of countless possibilities sprawling out before him.
In a sense, Derek misses it. The conductor, the sole witness to his own suffering now gone with just a simple chant. While he is left alone with his experience, with no one to turn to, not even to a therapist. Especially not his mother, who would break down in despair at the very sight of her son's decay. The universe has granted him enough grace to be alive, and he will grant her the same grace of ignorance.
He has paid dearly for his arrogance, now subdued and humbled, in the wake of his nigh impossible revival.
Derek decides he will hate yellow for the rest of his life. Short, a mere mockery of the uncountable years of The King's existence. But Derek Hutchins is alive, and The King is gone. His immense hatred will have to make up for how fleeting his life is. (Hater energy, Avery would say.)
Avery?
Oh. Oh dear.
The veil of reality shifts with his mind, the shimmering fabric dancing with every pulse of his brain activity. He jumps to his feet, as his view snaps from his computer, to his bedroom door, to the living room as he bursts out his front door. The fresh air breaching his lungs, the bronchi flooding with air that finally, finally feels like reality to him. Overlaying his vision, he sees glimpses of Avery walking to… to a store. 711. Down the street. And their feet hits the pavement, a slow dragged out beat, in tandem to the fast thudding of his footsteps as he races against time as much as his body would allow. And Derek could feel everything — the sad, heartbroken beat of their heart that barely clings onto the joys of life, while his own heart is thrown into a 20km marathon, skipping over hurdles that are too high and locked inside his too tight ribcage.
His view flickers in and out of reality, fragments of both their fates ready to collide once again, the linearity of their intersecting paths broken and ready to twist into one single line. In quick succession, he cuts to the lift, the empty sidewalk outside, Avery's uphill climb, Derek's downhill run past all the closed shops save for the 711 still lit up at the end of the street, Avery turning the corner and entering the store, as Derek sprints the final 10 metres to the finish line.
He bursts into the store, panting and heaving while clutching the door handle before his unused legs threaten to collapse on him.
And on a random Friday night, at exactly 11.34pm, in a 7-11 convenience store that is 8 minutes away from their house, is when Avery's world turns on its head.
And finally returns back to them.
Something painful wells up in their throat, heavy and thick. "Derek?"
"Avery."
"Is— is that really you?" Their voice turns an octave higher, quivering and fragile.
Derek's eyes softens. "It is," he replies, gingerly picking up pieces of Avery's long shattered heart.
Avery's eyes harden. "You're lying." Their vice grip on the capri sun packet tightens, threatening to pop the packet before they even paid for it. "You're not real. You—" Avery's voice trembles violently, frame shaking as they fight back sobs.
"You're not real."
"I am, Avery."
"You're not. I'm hallucinating you. Please get out."
"I'm not a hallucination."
"You are. Please—" They choke back a particularly heavy sob, sniffling as their throat tightens in agony. "Please stop hurting me. It's been 8 months."
Derek watches as a tear drips down their cheek, a pathetic plop against floor. And his heart twists and shatters with it.
"Avery."
He reaches over, but Avery flinches back as more tears begin to spill out of their eyes, like a dam broken.
"No. No. Get away. Please."
Derek lowers his arm. The background drone of the 7-11 freezer continues to buzz. The staccato plops of Avery's tears continue to run its course. It's okay, they have all the time in the world to move at Avery's pace.
"No. Stop. Stop. Stop standing in front of me like nothing's happened. You're —"
"Alive."
"— dead, Derek. You're not supposed to be here. You died alone in your apartment 8 months ago, I couldn't— I couldn't be there. You — You tricked me, and I killed you —"
"You didn't kill me, Avery."
"— and, and it's all my fault. Derek, why are you — "
In one smooth motion, he bridges the gap between them, and gently cups Avery's face. Instantly, they clutch his wrist tightly, their bottom lip trembling so hard that it sends a pang of grief through his heart. Their nails dig into his skin painfully, prickling small amounts of blood. Derek ignores that.
Avery looks at him as if he was going to collapse and die any second, gone like the sand between fingers. How ironic, considering that they look as if they were one word away from completely disintegrating in his hands.
Slowly, he wipes a tear away from their cheek, a warm thumb against a smooth, yet shockingly cold cheek. (He has to get Avery a better jacket. They haven't been taking care of themselves lately.) And the hazy look in their tear stained eyes finally clears — as they finally, finally crash into Derek, frantic arms rapidly wrapping, clawing, scratching at his back, before they settle for clutching the soft fabric of his hoodie. For 3 minutes straight, Avery sobs and cries into his hoodie, uncaring to the world around them. The cashier looks up at them in concern, but Derek simply shakes his head. He lifts a hand up to Avery's hair, tenderly stroking and rubbing circles into the back of their head.
"I found you." A small voice rumbles. While muffled by the fabric of his hoodie, it sends warm tremors into his body, snaking along his arteries and veins, and settles right in his heart, where he commits the vibrations of Avery's voice to muscle memory.
"That you did."
"You're alive."
"Yes." His voice softens. "Yes, I am. I'm here, Avery."
••●━━━ 𖤓 ━━━●••
After an awkward payment with the cashier, who eyes them with great suspicion and concern… especially after seeing the stash of 10 Capri sun packets on the counter, they quickly leave the store. The autumn night air kisses their cheeks, and his heart aches once again at the sight of Avery shivering.
Avery wipes the rest of their snot and tears on Derek's sleeve. "This is for leaving me behind."
He gives a wry smile in return. "I deserve that."
"You're coming home with me."
Warmth blossoms in his heart. "Okay."
"You're going to stay for a week. Or two weeks. Or more. Forever would be good."
"Okay."
Avery stops in their tracks, and snaps their head in his direction incredulously. "You're meant to say no. You're meant to feel disgusted. You're meant to feel like I'm a burden," they hiss, the biting cold of the air sharpening their words.
"And why would I?" Derek replies, his voice calm and steady, like trying to corner a stray cat. "Avery, I didn't run all the way here just for you to think that of me."
"I doomed you. You only got into this mess because of me."
"No. I got into this mess because I turned left. It was never your fault, Avery," he rebukes immediately.
Avery narrows their eyes. "You died instead of me."
"And I'm still alive, standing in front of you. It was my own choice, and I would do it again."
There is something unreadable in their eyes. Churning and boiling, full of unspoken emotions and grief. That's fine, Derek has all the time now to understand, instead of just knowing. All the other knowledge in the world will not matter, if he doesn't learn how to pick apart and waterboard himself with knowledge of how to handle emotions and change his character.
Avery exhales, shoulders slumping. Before tensing up once again. "Why?" Their voice turns strangled, and another sob wrecks their frame.
"Because I care about the world. And I care about you. I couldn't doom everyone else, and neither could I bear to drag you into this just to die with me."
"But it was my fault."
"No. It wasn't." He grits his teeth. "I got into this because I was too much of an idiot to control my ego. I thought I was smarter than The King, and didn't see the lure until too late."
(In some way, Derek Hutchins and King in Yellow are two sides of the same coin. Both blinded by hubris, and paid for it with their lives. He grows too comfortable with his outsmarting of puzzles and The King, and likewise, The King grows too comfortable with the false instructions, forgetting the long abandoned village that houses the chant. But today, Derek Hutchins is ready to take his second chance seriously, that thankfully was never granted to The King — to learn and make amends.)
"Really? Did you not think I was like —" Avery waves their hands in the air, eyebrows furrowed together. Eyes stinging with heartbroken tears of someone that has a festering wound, born from betrayal and anger that has nowhere to go except for shouting at the cold, uncaring walls. "fucking stupid or something? You — you didn't even tell me what happened. You tricked me. You used the oldest trick in the book to throw me off a ledge, and I fell for it. Did you think I was that incompetent for you to not tell me your actual plan? Like I couldn't even help a single bit?"
A long sniffle, as they turn away in shame. Hands raising up to wipe away the new tears, the steady stream dripping rapidly down their face.
"I'm sorry. You weren't incompetent, I just didn't want to drag you into this." Avery's face contorts in doubt and suspicion, and Derek rolls over the following words in his mouth. Gently unfolding the closed up petals of Avery's heart.
"But that doesn't matter. You were left in the dark to hurt alone. I assumed you wouldn't understand. But that was insensitive of me, I should've included you."
A quiet moment passes, save for the howl of the wind that roars in his ears. Avery sniffles again, then sneezes violently.
Derek takes off his hoodie. "You're cold, you should put this on."
"… Your hoodie with my snot smeared all over it?"
"That's on you. Shouldn't have treated my sleeve as tissue."
And for the first time in 8 months, Avery finally laughs. A carefree, and fluttery giggle that finally eases the quiet ache in his heart. "True."
"Let's go home?"
Derek offers a hand out. A truce for what has been done. And a path to reconciliation. Unsteady, yes. But hopeful.
The corners of Avery's mouth lifts up. Unused in 8 months, yes. But not for long. Quietly, they accept his hand.
And so, the world that now exists fades to a simple background noise, the few cars now a mere buzz in their ears as they walk home. Tonight, both Avery's laptop and Derek's computer will be left alone, a relic of the past not to be forgotten, but not to dictate both their futures. The world that exists now, both cruel and kind, both a conductor and the audience, remains quiet on a random Friday night.
And Derek is ever grateful for this.