Chapter 25
Dustin woke up fully alert, the way he always did when he shared his bed.
Quickly, he took stock of his situation.
The pain in his shoulder was a low, ugly throb that radiated from the joint down through his bicep and into his neck. He tested the range and barely got two inches of movement before the joint said absolutely not. That wasn't great, but not disastrous.
What time was it?
The alarm clock on the nightstand read 7:43 a.m. Early enough.
And the person in his bed?
Still there.
This was usually the part where Dustin reached for his phone, just to have a sort of barrier. Something to look at that wasn't the person next to him. He was never rude or mean. Just... done. The night was the night and the morning was the morning and those were different things.
But his phone was across the room where he'd thrown it at the wall after Cathy's call.
Just as well. He didn't want it.
The thought caught him off guard.
Turning his head on the pillow, he looked at Greg.
The reaper was heavily asleep, on his stomach with one arm tucked under the pillow and his face turned toward Dustin. Mouth slightly open.
He looked younger without the glasses. Soft in a way that made Dustin want to reach out again.
His gaze drifted to the space between them. Eight inches, maybe. If either of them shifted, they'd be touching.
But Dustin didn't move. He listened to the rhythm of Greg's breathing, catalogued the way his fingers curled loosely against the sheet, the faint crease between his eyebrows, like even in sleep he was mildly concerned about something.
He was studying Greg, he realized, the way he studied a jump site, taking inventory, reading the details, learning the shape of something he was about to throw himself into.
Except he didn't do that with people. He didn't learn people. He slept with them and moved on, and the not-moving-on part was new and unwelcome and sitting in his chest like something he'd swallowed wrong.
He needed to get dressed. He needed to get his phone.
He was about to sit up when he noticed something about Greg's hand.
The edges of his curled fingers were going translucent as if the boundary between Greg and the rest of the world had gotten blurry overnight.
Dustin stared.
It wasn't just the hand. Greg's forearm had the same faded quality, and so was his shoulder. He was still there, but the definition was going. Like a signal losing reception.
No.
This was not happening.
Dustin wasn't going to allow it.
He reached over and touched Greg's hand.
The effect receded. Not all the way; Greg's edges didn't snap back to full resolution, but his fingers looked like fingers again instead of a rough draft of fingers.
“Greg.” Dustin squeezed his hand. “Hey. Wake up.”
Greg made a soft sound and burrowed further into the pillow.
“Greg.”
“Mm.” The reaper's brow creased. He turned his face deeper into the pillow, and the gesture was so human, so mundane, that Dustin almost smiled. “Please more sleep.”
Even drowsy he was polite.
“No more sleep. Open your eyes.”
Greg's eyes opened. He blinked at Dustin, and for one unguarded second his expression was so openly warm that Dustin almost looked away from it.
Almost.
“You're going transparent,” Dustin said, breaking the moment.
Greg looked down at himself.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Greg sat up slowly, holding his hand in front of his face. He turned it over, flexed his fingers, watched the light pass through the edges of them. His jaw tightened.
“I think,” he said. “I need to get my clipboard. I left it on the highway.”
“I remember.” Dustin was already scanning for his jeans. “Give me two minutes and I'll drive you.”
“Dustin.” Greg glanced at him. Then at the sling. “You have one functional arm.”
“I drove us here with one functional arm.”
“And it was harrowing.”
“It was fine.”
Greg shook his head. “The accident site is over an hour away by car. I can be there in seconds if I teleport.”
Dustin wanted to argue. He didn't want Greg to leave. But that was irrational. Entirely irrational.
“Fine,” Dustin made himself say. “Go.”
Greg found his shirt on the floor and pulled it on. Then his pants. Finally he put on his glasses—with visible relief, like the world only came into focus through lenses he didn't need.
He stood in the middle of the motel room, dressed and bespectacled and dissolving at the edges, and looked at Dustin with an expression that was doing too many things at once.
Dustin wanted to ask him if he'd come back, but he couldn't quite get the words to leave his lips. “What do you want to do for dinner?” he asked instead.
Greg blinked. “What?”
“Tonight. I need to know what you're in the mood for so I can find a place. Grilled cheese maybe? Or another burger? I think I saw a Mexican place while we were driving.”
Something shifted behind Greg's eyes. His shoulders loosened slightly. “I don't know if I like Mexican food,” he said. “Is it good?”
“It's great.”
“What if I don't like it?”
“Then you've made a new experience.”
“That's good.” Greg said, signing up for the mission. “Will there be a milkshake?”
“I'll make sure there's a milkshake.”
“Okay.” Greg nodded again, more firmly this time. “Okay. I'll be back.”
“Go, Greg. Before you lose any more pixels.”
Greg looked at Dustin one last time with an expression as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn't. He stepped through the door and then he was gone.
The room went quiet.
Dustin sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence settle around him.
Any other morning, any other person, Dustin would already be moving, finding some activity he could get lost in, forgetting whoever he'd been with.
He was never stuck just waiting for the person to come back.
It was terrible.
And terribly unproductive.
He crossed the room and picked his phone off the carpet.
The screen was cracked. Of course. A spiderweb fracture sprawled across the lower left corner from where it had hit the wall.
The phone still turned on, though, to show him 47 notifications.
He scrolled with his thumb, scanning the headlines.
Apex Energy. Apex Energy. Apex Energy. A text from his buddy Fred asking if the Devil's Needle thing was real. A DM from someone he'd slept with in Vegas two months ago: hey stranger, saw the news, you're insane lol. Three news alerts he didn't care about.
Nothing from Cathy.
She hadn't called back.
He wasn't sure what would have been worse—finding a missed call or the silence. Both sat wrong and neither gave him anything useful, so he swiped past all of it.
He opened the maps app.
Restaurants near me.
The results loaded slowly. A diner with a suspiciously cheerful logo. A pizza chain. A barbecue joint that looked worse than its three star rating.
And there—Casa Rosa. A Mexican place four miles south that was open until ten.
The thumbnail showed a red-painted storefront and a chalkboard sign out front.
The menu had pictures. Greg would like that.
He'd study them and weigh his options with an intensity that would be either endearing or maddening depending on Dustin's patience level.
Dustin tapped through the photos, spotting tacos, enchiladas and a churro platter with chocolate dipping sauce that would probably make Greg forget his own name.
He scrolled through the drinks menu.
No milkshakes.
Dustin went back to the map and zoomed out. There was an ice cream shop two blocks from Casa Rosa. They could hit it after dinner.
He made a note on his phone, and then he lay back on the bed. On Greg's side, where the sheets still held warmth and the pillow still held the shape of him.
He wondered if Greg would like guacamole.