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Vivilly, of course, made every effort to pull his own weight while living with Palpers. Being dependent on him wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit of, so he did most of the heavy labor. He mined, foraged through forests, killed hostile creatures for their materials—to put it simply, he’d do pretty much anything.
Palpers built his house close to a nearby village. Evidently, it wasn't as aesthetically pleasing compared to that of the other residents, but Vivilly loved it anyway. He was too nervous to call the house home, yet it felt too familiar to consider it foreign. It was complicated; he was welcomed by Palpers, but if Vivilly had any say in the matter, he shouldn’t be. He takes everything Palpers gives him with ardor, even knowing how hazardous he is to keep around.
It’s not like he hasn’t tried running away before. It was better for Palpers to get rid of the dead weight while he still could, rip off the bandaid before the pain manifests. Such a torturous feeling, knowing that his one greatest treasure suffers so long as he’s in his life.
This was another thing he was struggling to accept. The remorse bit at him, unrelenting in the back of his mind—having friends comes with guilt. This was agreed upon by default for being born wretched. Vivilly knows he’s taking advantage of Palpers. He doesn’t want to, but he is, and he isn’t working to change it, either. How awful is he, really? He ran away for Palpers’ safety, only to come crawling back once his friend begged him to stay, simply because Vivilly felt even more guilty. It was ironic, and utterly pathetic.
Palpers deserves better. Vivilly knows that. There’s so many things he wants to say to him—he needs to apologize, to grovel at Palpers’ feet. He needs to be better. He needs to be human, to be made of real flesh and blood—but he is nothing but an amalgamation of traits that vaguely resemble something human. He’s real, but not in the way supposed to be, and it’s painfully obvious. Even while disguised as human, he’s an uncanny thing, and it hurts.
What hurts more is knowing that though he can control it at times, the dweller is always there. It never leaves. The pulsating darkness at the back of his mind, ever-watching, sneaking up on him when he least expects it.
He wasn’t sure when the transformation had started.
He didn't see it coming this time.
It washes over him quicker than anything else, a dark, innate, intense urge striking him right in his soul—the raw feeling of bloodlust—agonizing, unapologetic in nature, a fiery rage coursing through his veins. In the last few instances, he caught himself right before succumbing to his dweller instincts; he locks himself away from his friend, no matter how desperate his pleas were.
Not this time.
“It’s happening again,” Vivilly rushes out, nearly choking on his own words. It was so unlike him to sound scared.
“It’s okay, man,” Palpers assures him, “just keep fighting it, dude, and whatever you do to me, I can handle it—”
“Palpers,” Vivilly’s voice interrupts. It sounds nothing like his own. Distorted in nature, as if someone had taken it and screwed with the modulation. It has a deep, guttural tone to it, the articulation of Palpers’ name slurred so horribly that it takes the fish a few seconds to process that it is in fact him that Vivilly is talking about through horribly masked fear.
There is something unreadable within Palpers’ gaze—is it fear, or perhaps pity? Did Palpers feel anything for him at all? Was this even real? Was Palpers real?
The thought alone sends a wave of panic through the dweller. Vivilly stumbles forward using the last sliver of control he has over himself to grab hold of Palpers, to feel him, to prove his fear wrong, and to prove to himself that the only person in this world to accept him does exist.
And he succeeds—right before he loses himself completely.
The sharp, jagged appendages sprouting from the base of his hand clamp down on Palpers’ arm and a wet, disgusting crush occurs.
Chills slip down Vivilly’s spine. He’s never heard Palpers scream like that before.
Next, Vivilly is begging, pleading for himself to stop—he cries, but his body doesn’t, and it’s too much, too exhausting. He succumbs to the half-asleep state forced onto him.
During this phase, it was to be expected. Vaguely aware of violence, of blood, but not enough to be alert. It’s as if Palpers’ screams, barely audible now, are his lullaby. Muffled, thanks to the ear piercing noise of his own rumbling shrieks and screeches, and now Vivilly can't see anything but red.
Palpers tries to push away from the dweller, he really does, but his struggle is in vain. It pulls him forward by the arm and completely envelopes him into its grasp and Palpers suddenly can’t breathe, just breathe, why can't he breathe-
His chest is crushed against the wall, the dweller’s large hand expanding across his chest, Its mask slides upwards a couple of inches, revealing nothing but pitch black underneath.
The jaws of the dweller widen, various cracks and pops emitting from inside of its mangled skull. Yellow, grimey teeth protrude from the slit extending down its neck.
Palpers struggles to catch his breath. He tries to take in air, yet the only thing he can manage is a strange backwards yelp. From the pain radiating through his sternum, he must’ve been knocked pretty hard for it to paralyze his breathing this bad. His lungs won’t take in air. His diaphragm is still unresponsive. He’s definitely going to pass out soon.
And, despite how much he wants to pretend he isn’t, he's afraid.
This had happened before, but Vivilly usually had a warning for things like this. He described it as a ‘gut feeling’, but Palpers knew it was a bit more than that. He noticed things that Vivilly has never mentioned. At times, before the dweller locked himself away, Palpers would catch glimpses of unnaturally red irises peering straight at him through the shadowed holes of his friend's mask…
watching.
And as good as Palpers was at reading the room, he could never quite place the intent behind that look. It wasn’t hatred. Couldn’t have been fear, either. Curiosity, maybe.
But those eyes were too calm. Too knowing. Too wrong. Like Vivilly was going to kill him, and it wasn't a matter of if, but when.
Like he was going to put his claws through Palpers’ stomach and watch the blood drain from his lifeless body.
Not a proposal of the idea. A promise.
Vivilly, no matter how stoic or nonchalant he tried to be, was a man of emotion. He wouldn't kill him. He wouldn't. So then, whose eyes were those?
Palpers’ legs push against the dweller’s, enough to allow him some wiggle room. His chest finally lets up, and he takes in a deep breath, a cough following immediately afterward— his throat felt so raw. He needs to ensure his own safety before he can even begin with anything else.
In any other situation, he would be holding the awakened dweller and whispering to his friend through the form he took. It took a lot out of him to revert back to his ‘human’ state, so he always comforted him as best he could. It’s hellish to watch as his bones crack and bend and contort back into something vaguely human and for Vivilly to then act like it's completely normal, as if he's been dealing with this his entire life.
As if that's all that life has been for him.
Endless running. Endless chasing. Endless changing, fruitless in nature, as nobody else would accept him for what he is. Their fear overpowers any and all pity, ultimately discarding him.
But Palpers holds no fear concerning Vivilly. He's smart, so he backs away from the monster, leaving a couple of feet in between them—the dweller stares at him, bloodlust much more apparent this time. He can almost smell it.
There's not many places for him to run, but he has to take cover until he can find a shield. He stares back at the dweller, its loud screech piercing his ears, and suddenly he's making a run for it into the storage room. He barrels toward the minerals chest, grabbing a piece of iron and slapping it onto a table with some wood.
He holds the newly crafted shield at his arm just as the dweller busts down the door. It launches itself at him, leaving him struggling to push himself back up off of the ground, but Palpers manages to find his voice, as desperate as it may be.
“Vivilly—if, if you can hear me, man, I need you to focus.”
The dweller doesn’t respond to his voice, instead stabbing into the shield with its massive jagged arm. It misses the side of his torso by a centimeter. His palms were sweaty. He has to do something. Get it off of him, even if that meant resorting to violence.
“You in there? I need a little help here dude, kind of 1v1ing a dweller right now?!” Where's Mr. Tough Guy Viv when you need him...
His tone is lighthearted, as if trying to evoke a positive response out of the dweller, but the beast doesn’t respond that way in return. Its screeches grow louder, pulling its rugged, spiked arm back, the shield stuck around it as it's pulled from Palpers' grasp.
“You're afraid of me.”
The hollow voice sends chills down his spine. Palpers eyes grow wide, and panic shoots through him faster than ever.
Vivilly has never spoken in this state before.
It lunges at him again, this time knocking him to the floor of the storage room, but Palpers rolls over just in time to watch it stumble onto the ground as he hurries to pose defensively. If he had been any slower in his reaction, he would've been dead.
“N—No,” Palpers huffs out. “I’m not afraid. It's you, Viv. How could I be scared?”
Vivilly quickly recovers, swinging his arm with a force so brutal that the shield flies off of his disfigured arm and ends up across the room in broken pieces. He claws at the sleeve of Palpers’ cloak, taking hold of it finally, and Palpers lets out a shocked scream, thrashing in its grip in hopes that he’d delay the reality of it killing him.
It tears the sleeve a bit as it drags Palpers down, its jaws and chest cavity already open and lined with blood-stained teeth. He knew it—that Viv had been eating some of the animals on their farm to keep his instincts at bay. That explained some things.
Palpers pushes and pushes to no avail. Teeth sink into skin through black cloth. He grabs his shoulder, the source of the new white-hot pain, yet what he's met with is the back of Vivilly’s head. He’s latched on.
Searing pain courses through his neck—there’s wet, pulling sounds, and he doesn't look down for a second before realizing that if he doesn't assess the situation, he's going to fucking die. He's gonna die, and Vivilly's gonna be all alone and—
He looks down as the dweller's jaws unclamp.
There's an awfully big chunk of flesh missing from his body.
His heart sinks in his chest so low that he can't find the strength to breathe again. He’s trembling—there's so much blood, there's so much blood.
It's pooling through his cloak. He feels it seeping down his chest and back and arm and he sees the dweller, sees his own blood gushing out from the gaps between its teeth.
It's chewing.
He feels sick. Like he's going to vomit.
There's a wretched noise. The static stops for a brief moment. The dweller swallows. Beautiful, delicious lifeblood; actual sustenance. The creature’s chest whirls in delight.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Its voice pauses, but it continues to speak upon noticing that Palpers is hardly conscious. “After this, you won't exist anymore. I hope you can accept that."
Its voice is so calm. This is so wrong.
If Vivilly wakes up and learns that this happened— when he wakes up, Palpers corrects himself—he doesn’t know what Viv will do to himself. Vivilly can't find out, but Palpers can't fight back. His vision blots with dark colors. His ears ring. The pain fades. All of his senses grow null, until his body slumps against the floor.
—
Palpers wakes up. He doesn't open his eyes, and the only thing causing him to stir is a headache and the sound of someone closing a door. His eyes open then, slowly at first, until they blink wide at the memory of last night. Vivilly— he doesn't— he doesn't know, does he?
A sharp sting in his shoulder interrupts that thought. He adjusts a bit to relieve himself of whatever might be poking him before he takes in a sharp breath. The pain spreads throughout his right shoulder and everything adjacent as if someone’s pouring acid over him.
“ Holy fuck ,” he swears, groaning and grabbing at the bandages covering parts of his chest. He forgot how large the wound was. He's surprised he's even alive, to be honest— wait. Palpers breath catches in his throat. It's—he's—bandaged ? He doesn't remember doing that. He doesn't even think he can reach behind his back far enough to do that himself…
It hits him then. Vivilly’s the one who bandaged him up.
Vivilly knows.
Palpers rushes out of bed before the morning sun’s rays can blind him. His trembling frame stumbles forward and he grabs onto a nearby table to steady himself—christ, the pain is overwhelming. A single tear pricks his eye from the soreness alone, and he grips the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turn white. He continues to walk, taking note of how stiff he is, presumably due to any pulled muscles in his torso. He was no doctor, but he was honestly getting flashbacks to when Vivilly would lecture him about overexerting himself, reminding him of the situation at hand.
He needs to find Viv. That’s Palpers’ only objective. He has to find him and talk to him before he does anything he might regret—before he leaves again.
There's a retching noise. It's coming from the bathroom, so Palpers calls out.
“Viv?”
He waits a few seconds, his impatience growing. He knocks on the door.
“Vivilly! Are you okay, man?”
There's a strangled, muffled noise before the gagging continues a moment longer. He could hear a brief whimper in between. It would be pathetic if it were anyone else. He knocks again, louder this time, his nerves standing on end. He couldn’t care any less about how worried he sounded.
“Look. Look, dude… Can I, uh, open the door? Let me in. Please.”
He's begging. He doesn't care. Palpers needs to make sure he's okay and that he's safe, but there's no response, and it's driving him insane —he tries the doorknob, and it's, to his surprise, unlocked. Palpers takes a deep breath, twisting the handle.
The sight before him makes his heart drop.
It's Vivilly, hunching over the toilet, gripping the lid with an unmistakable strength. His mask is off. Palpers can't see beneath it, but what he does see is a trail of blood and acid dripping down from Vivilly’s mouth and into the bowl. The sight sends nausea cutting through his gut. He swallows hard, walking into the room and shutting the door.
He takes a closer look at the man. His red hoodie is disheveled as all hell, the right sleeve ripped to shreds. Crimson covers the entirety of his undershirt. Palpers is only used to seeing Vivilly tremble when he hasn’t slept. Did he get any sleep last night? Stupid question, really. Palpers knows he didn't.
“Hey, are you okay, Viv?”
Palpers’ question comes out shaky. There's a lump in the back of his throat, prominent and unrelenting no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down. Vivilly is quiet now, and Palpers kneels next to him. The smell makes him force back down a gag and his mouth salivates in disgust. His yellow-finned fingers reach toward Vivilly’s back, resting there, feeling how shaky his friend is, but he's still caught off guard when Vivilly sobs.
It's only now he realizes he’s never heard him cry before. Even the thought was so out-of-character.
“Viv? Is everything—”
“It won't come out.”
Oh.
It makes sense now. That's why Vivilly's leaning over the toilet bowl. That's why he sounds so fucking defeated. Exhausted, too, but at least the latter was somewhat normal—the former was not.
Stray drops of saliva, blood, and acid drip down and swirl grossly into tinted water; there was nothing solid in the strange concoction. Vivilly’s fingers reach into his mouth, digging into his throat, trying to cause some sort of reaction, trying to grab at whatever's stuck inside his stomach to no avail.
How long has he been trying to vomit for?
Palpers watches in horror at the sight. Viv’s sobbing against the fist in his mouth, and once he has no luck in forcing himself to throw up for the nth time, he resorts to holding the seat of the toilet again. He bites his lip to hold in a cry as he prepares himself to speak by swallowing thickly, but not before spitting out any drippings.
“I’m a fucking demon or something,” Vivilly shakily mutters, his voice croaky and hoarse. “I hurt you so badly this time, dude. It's—it's never been this bad— never ,” he says hurriedly, like Palpers is going to leave him. He sounds so desperate, and so scared, that Palpers hunches over him and side-hugs him.
“You're not—you're not a demon,” Palpers replies. “You're not.”
“I am. I can't control myself—I'm a dweller, I can't—I almost killed you—”
Before Vivilly could finish, he gags again, a shiver erupting up his frame as nothing but small trickles of acid pour out of his throat. He coughs, and Palpers’ arm shuffles to the side to pat his back through his coughing fit.
“What would you have done if I’d actually killed you this time...?"
The question leaves a disgusting taste in his mouth.
“Nothing. I would've been dead,” Palpers answers simply.
“So I am a monster,” Vivilly adds. “You can't determine or control that fact. Not when I’m like this.”
“To be fair, you can't control yourself, either.”
Vivilly scoffs. “Proving my point further, are we."
“Dude, shut up! You're a dweller; your natural instinct is to kill! Stop acting so surprised when you try to murder someone!” Palpers yells, regretting it once Vivilly flinches.
They settle into silence for a moment, until Vivilly mutters weakly after some time, his head lowering into the bowl. "Sorry. I'm—please, just- stop," Vivilly begs. "I get it. I tried to kill you—"
The sentence is cut short as if Vivilly might actually vomit this time. He holds the seat with a bruising grip, his jaw unhinging as Palpers takes notice of the sweat pouring down his face.
No luck.
Vivilly’s breath hitches in his throat.
“ I'm—I'm so sorry,” Vivilly sobs out again. It makes Palpers uneasy like nothing else. So broken, so hurt, so scared. So unlike him. The dam seems to finally break as tears actively start oozing from his eyes, and Palpers can't see them from this angle, but he rubs his back again, his other hand gently holding Vivilly’s arm.
As he cries, Vivilly apologizes again, tears slipping down his cheeks and dripping into the bowl. Palpers winces when he notices Vivilly swallow. That's gotta burn. He can feel tears stinging his eyes, but he blinks them away, hugging Vivilly’s waist from the side.
“No need to be sorry… It's okay, man. Sometimes we have bad days. We'll work on it."
“But I- I tried to control it this time, and I still fucked up—”
“And that's okay. Viv, you're fine. You're getting better at controlling it, but some days you won't be able to. That's fine. I'm so fucking proud of you, dude.”
At that, Vivilly pauses, seemingly frozen, before his face turns slightly, acknowledging Palpers.
“Proud of me? For being weak?”
Palpers smiles at him. “You’re not weak, idiot. You're not always gonna be able to keep it up. That's fine. I'm gonna love you even then—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, awkwardly patting Viv’s shoulder. “ —support you, even then. Through the pain. We'll have each other. Just don't hate yourself, okay?”
Vivilly’s head lowers again after a long pause. He doesn't say anything; he just sits there, still trembling, but there’s less tension in his shoulders, Palpers notices. Palpers backs up once he's come to his senses.
“I'm not uh, I'm not entirely sure what to do about your… Situation . On one hand, I don't care if you like—” Palpers gestures with his hands behind Vivilly as if he could actually see him, his eyes wandering elsewhere to relieve the awkwardness. “I don't care if you took a bite out of me or anything, if you were worried about that. Unless you think it’s gross, that I can understand, but, uh, I’ll heal.”
“No, you—”
Vivilly's hunching over again, further this time, hand grabbing at his stomach as if he were in pain. He's making agonizing sounds that has Palpers feeling sick all over again, holding his hand to his mouth.
“It’s- you don't- you don't get it, do you?”
“What?” The fish replies, thoroughly confused. “I don't get what?”
“I’m not throwing up —”
“Clearly not.”
“—just because I think it’s gross. I’m doing it because it's you. Do you seriously think I can stomach that?”
“I already told you it's fine, man,” Palpers shrugs.
“It's not about you,” Vivilly nearly growls, too hoarse for it to come out appropriately, his voice breaking instead. “It's about my own fucking personal preferences, bro. I'd rather not have my friend’s... flesh,” Vivilly grossly admits, “inside me.”
“What? Your friend's flesh inside whaaaat ?”
“Dude, shut up. You know I didn't mean it that way—you—you aren't even taking this seriously, are you?”
“Okay. Yeah, sorry, not the time—but, first of all, it totally is about me,” Palpers adds onto his original comment. “So let me get this straight. You want it out because you... feel bad about biting me in the first place?”
“Yeah.”
“And then I told you I didn't care, like, five times.”
“Yeah.”
“So then don't worry about it.”
Vivilly scoffs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “This isn't something I can just—” His eyes shoot up to Palpers, his annoyance apparent through his hand gestures. “-just ignore and forget like anything else. This is serious, man. I'm so...”
The fish freezes when the dweller grabs onto his cloak. “I’m so scared that I'm gonna lose you. I'm so scared that one day I won't be able to hold back, and I'll wake up and you're gone and—”
The image Viv paints for him is nothing but uncomfortable. Blood stains covering the walls and guts littering the floor of their home. He doesn't fully understand, but he at least has an idea. He wraps his arms around the dweller, and Vivilly can only cling onto him further as he sobs again.
“That's not gonna happen, idiot. I'll be there next time, and I'll be the one to bring you out of it. Nothing like this will happen again.”
Vivilly isn't assured so quickly, rushing to voice his retort.
“If I try to hurt you again, please just escape. Lock me out. Kill me, if you have to.”
Palpers is ready to disagree with that sentiment before he processes it. He smiles sadly at him, still holding him as gently as before. “Of course, man. You don't have to worry about a thing,” he says, and he rests his head on Vivilly’s shoulder.
—
Vivilly's shaking violently as he wakes up.
Beneath his mask, his eyes are wide with fear, the nightmare’s fading embers charring his veins with adrenaline. He’s sweating, he realizes, and pushes the covers off of himself, the chill air rushing in suddenly to relieve him of the heat of panic. He breathes in. He breathes out. When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness of his room—their room— and when the ear-piercing ringing cuts out, he can focus on the noises coming from outside from various creatures—ribbits, mewls, chirping...
Fireflies gather in the grass outside of their window. He can make out the faint light seeping through the cracks in the doorway, torchlight pooling inside the indents of the stone bricks making up the floor.
The memories of the last two days catch up to him—an agonizing pain forms in his stomach, a burning sting that causes him to suck in a gasp, clutching his waist, hunching forward. Vivilly doesn't notice Palpers stir beside him until he hears him call out. A hand reaches out to him, but he jumps back, clawing out from the covers.
The stone brick floor is cold as he hits it, panicking as his foot gets tangled in the covers.
“Don’t touch me,” Vivilly rushes out in an unbelievably tired-sounding yell. He can’t touch Palpers. Not again. Not when he almost fucking died because of him. Palpers doesn’t move to touch him again, but there’s a confused curve in his eyebrows—he pulls the covers off of himself too, rubbing his eyes once he notices Vivilly’s on the floor holding his stomach.
As if knowing what’s wrong, he steps out of his bed as well, walking over. “Hey, man—do you—are you feeling sick?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s—let’s go to the bathroom, okay?”
Before the masked man could protest, the fish untangled him from the covers and helped him up. He wanted to fight back, to push him away—he couldn’t handle the visions appearing inside his mind—but the nausea soon cut through any anxiety and left him leaning into Palpers, who held him up by his side. The two of them slowly make their way to the bathroom, Viv’s hand sliding up to rip off his mask as Palpers sets him on the floor.
“Dear god, it hurts so much—” Vivilly hisses, mainly to himself, his knees curling up close to his chest where his hands were clawing at his abdomen. A sickly, paralyzing dread loomed over his consciousness, acid already making itself apparent by how much his throat was burning. Palpers was beside him this time. He wasn’t standing idle behind him like before. He was next to him, rubbing his back as he whispered to him, even when the dweller couldn’t understand him through his own suffering.
He could hardly make out his surroundings; he knew more or less that this was the bathroom, the cold quartz floor chilling his trembling body. Vivilly can feel his friend tucking his hair behind his ear. He’s more focused on the fact that whatever’s in his stomach, it’s trying to come out—he's confident that it’s gonna, even if he has to rip it out.
At the first sign of him gagging, he shoves his fingers down his throat with a choked noise, and Palpers can’t help but watch in horror as Vivilly seems to actually grab hold of something. He’s bending over the toilet again, his fingers slipping for a second, presumably from how slimy whatever’s in his throat is. Viv claws at it again, fingers gripping with more force, and he pulls even harder. There’s a pause before Palpers watches the mysterious substance slide out. Blood. A generous amount, too, gushing out from between Vivilly’s teeth and into the water, and he feels so fucking sick—but he can’t look away.
“Be careful—you—you can do this, man.”
Vivilly’s eyes are filled with tears, but it’s more or less because he can’t breathe.
More blood seeps out of his mouth, the metallic taste causing another wave of nausea to hit him—he’s having trouble pulling the rest out, too, and Palpers gives him a hand. Warm crimson fluid covers his hands. The fish grabs hold where Vivilly’s hands don't cover, pulling and pulling until the rest slides out. He gags—the smell of festering, raw flesh. His hands are burning from the acid, too, and whatever he’s holding is dropped into the toilet bowl. Palpers’ mind freezes.
The toilet flushes. There’s still blood dripping down Vivilly’s face, the seat covered in it as well, but Vivilly heaves in a breath, leaning forward against it anyway.
Palpers is crying; he doesn’t realize it until the burning tears hit his hands and suddenly it’s worse. He gets up to wash his hands of blood and acid—he scrubs them multiple times, and when he’s done, a hoarse voice calls out to him. Too quiet. Too weak. He sits next to Vivilly, wrapping him in a proper hug, sobbing into his shoulder—this was so damn scary. He didn’t do anything to help him through this—what the hell kind of friend was he? He knew that it had been unbelievably traumatic, and what did he do? Stare at him while he struggled to breathe. Stare at him while he suffered. He does this the day after he said he’d support Vivilly no matter what happens. Utterly pathetic.
The goldfish’s head tilts upward as he calls out to the dweller again. His tone was curious this time. Anxiety curls in his chest at the possibility of a question he couldn’t answer.
Vivilly turns his head toward him. The torch doesn’t illuminate his face.
“Why do you keep me around?”
The question itself is enough to stop Palpers in his tracks.
“Wh—What?”
The maskless man shifts again, turning his body fully toward Palpers, forcing him to sit up. “I’m asking,” he pauses, his voice sounding uncomfortably raw, “why are you keeping me around when I’m like this?”
The answer comes to him easier this time. “Because. You’re my friend.”
Vivilly doesn’t seem pleased with that answer; he pushes, his head lowering ever so slightly. “You don’t have to put up with me because of that, you know.”
“And if I want to?” Palpers replies. “Because I do. More than anything, dude.” Vivilly feels a pair of arms wrap around him and Palpers’ head comes to rest on his shoulder once more. “I’m—I’m sorry that I can’t help you in the way you need—I feel so useless when this happens, so, just let me. For as long as you’ll stay, dude. Through our pain and fear.”
That’s what’s so horrible. Palpers forgives him, even though Vivilly hurt him so badly. He hugs him, despite the fact he's covered in his blood. Though he shouldn’t have ever come in contact with him in the first place, he begs Vivilly to stay. And, with all of those things combined, he can’t possibly say no. Not like this.
“Then I’ll stay, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Vivilly’s arms wrap around Palpers. He’s so unbelievably exhausted. Even without his mask, his eyes still fall closed, and he manages one last reply before he falls asleep against his side.
“Thank you.”