The silence between us
Chance’s POV
The walk to the dining area felt heavier than it should have.
Chance kept his head down, shoulders curled in, as if making himself smaller would keep the weight in his chest from crushing him completely. Elliot stayed close, but he didn’t touch him again. Didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t try to pick up the pieces Chance had just dropped between them.
Maybe he knew there wasn’t a point.
Maybe he was just giving him space to gather them up himself.
The scent of food hit him first—something warm, something vaguely familiar—but it barely registered. It was just another piece of the world that kept moving while he stayed still.
Shedletsky was already at the table, arms crossed, watching as they stepped inside. The others were scattered around, murmuring to each other, setting plates down. For a moment, the normalcy of it all was jarring.
They were just eating dinner. Like nothing had changed.
Like the world hadn’t cracked open and swallowed something important whole.
Chance hesitated in the doorway, something cold twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t deserve to sit at this table, surrounded by people who still had something left to hold onto.
Elliot nudged his arm lightly. Not a push, just a reminder.
- Sit down.
The words weren’t spoken, but they might as well have been.
Chance swallowed hard and forced himself forward.
He took the empty seat near the end of the table, eyes fixed on the plate in front of him. His fingers twitched in his lap, restless, useless.
Conversations drifted around him—soft, casual, normal. Someone laughed quietly. Forks clinked against plates. The world kept moving, kept spinning, like it hadn’t lost anything at all.
And maybe it hadn’t.
Maybe he was the only one who had.
A plate landed in front of him.
Chance flinched, barely, then glanced up.
Shedletsky gave him a look—not sharp, not unkind, just expectant.
???? - “Eat.”
It wasn’t a request.
Chance hesitated.
He didn’t want to. The idea of food made his stomach twist, the weight of it pressing against the numbness he had carefully wrapped himself in. But Shedletsky didn’t move. Didn’t let him slip back into the quiet.
The others hadn’t stopped their conversations, but Chance could feel them. Stealing glances. Watching.
Elliot, especially.
Waiting.
Chance swallowed against the lump in his throat and reached for the fork. His grip was weak, fingers clumsy. The first bite felt like ash in his mouth.
But he forced it down.
Another.
And another.
The world still felt distant. The ache in his chest hadn’t faded.
But for the first time in weeks, he felt something else, too.
A tether.
Thin. Fragile.
But real.
And for now, it was enough.Chance’s POV
The food sat heavy in his stomach, tasteless and mechanical. He forced down each bite out of obligation, not hunger. Around him, the conversation drifted on, too normal, too easy, like the world hadn’t just ended.
Like Guest hadn’t—
He swallowed hard, gripping his fork tighter.
Then—
- “So.”
The voice cut through the low murmur of conversation, casual but sharp.
- “Are we just gonna pretend everything’s fine, or are we actually gonna talk about it?”
Silence.
The air shifted, heavy and suffocating.
Chance tensed. His stomach twisted, his pulse picking up.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. He knew who it was.
007N7.
Of course it was him.
He wasn’t cruel. Not really. But he was blunt—always had been. The kind of person who saw the truth like an open wound and didn’t bother pretending it wasn’t there.
- “007.” Elliot’s voice was quiet but firm. A warning.
- “What?” A fork clinked against a plate. “We can all see it. He’s barely here.”
Chance’s grip on his fork went white-knuckled.
- “He doesn’t talk. He barely eats. He just sits there like a ghost. And we’re all supposed to tiptoe around it?”
Someone shifted uncomfortably.
007N7 sighed, setting his fork down.
- “Look, I get it. Losing someone—” He hesitated, and for the first time, there was something almost careful in his voice. “It messes with you. But you don’t just get to stop existing, Chance.”
Something inside Chance snapped.
- “You think I want this?” His voice came out rough, uneven.
007N7 met his gaze without hesitation.
- “I don’t know. You sure act like it.”
A sharp scrape of a chair.
Elliot moved before Chance could.
- “Enough.”
His voice was tight, controlled, but the frustration was obvious.
007N7 exhaled, rubbing his temple.
- “I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay? But someone has to say it. He’s drowning, and we’re all just watching.”
Chance’s hands curled into fists in his lap. His pulse pounded in his ears.
- “You don’t know anything.”
- “I know what it’s like to lose people.” His voice wasn’t sharp anymore. Just steady. “And I know that if you keep letting it eat you alive, you’ll wake up one day and realize there’s nothing left.”
Silence.
The words hung between them, heavy and sharp.
Chance’s breath was uneven. His chest ached.
He wanted to be angry. He wanted to lash out, to tell 007N7 to shut up and leave him alone.
But the truth had already settled deep, curling around his ribs like a weight he couldn’t shake.
He shoved his chair back and stood abruptly.
The others watched, but no one tried to stop him.
Not even Elliot this time.
He walked out, forcing his breathing steady, hands clenched at his sides.
The hallway was quieter, but the words still echoed in his head.
You don’t just get to stop existing, Chance.
Maybe 007N7 was right.
But Chance wasn’t sure he knew how to do anything else.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him away from the world outside.
The silence in Guest’s room was thick—undisturbed, untouched, like time had frozen the second he left.
Chance barely made it to the bed before his knees buckled.
He collapsed onto the mattress, his body curling inward like he could fold himself small enough to disappear. The scent was still there—faint, fading, but still there.
His fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it tight, as if holding onto it could somehow bring Guest back. As if clinging to the last pieces of him would keep them from slipping through his fingers.
A shaky breath.
His chest hurt.
Not the dull, suffocating weight he’d carried for weeks. Not the kind of numbness that made the world feel distant and unreal.
This was sharp. Raw.
Alive.
- "You’d probably laugh at me right now."
His voice was hoarse—thin and worn, like it hadn’t been used in ages.
- "Tell me I’m being dramatic."
Silence.
Of course.
Chance exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against the blanket.
- "007N7’s a real piece of work, huh?" A humorless huff left him. "Saying everything out loud like that. Like it’s that easy."*
A pause.
- "…Maybe he’s right."
His throat tightened.
- "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to… be here when you’re not."
His grip on the blanket trembled.
- "You just—" His breath hitched. "You just left—"
His voice cracked.
- "And you didn’t even hesitate."
His fingers clenched harder, nails digging into fabric.
- "You didn’t even stop to think. You just—" A sharp inhale. His vision blurred. "You didn’t even give me a choice, Guest."
He wasn’t sure when the first tear fell.
Didn’t notice when the second one followed.
- "It should’ve been me." The words were barely a whisper. "You know it should’ve been me."
The silence didn’t argue.
Didn’t comfort.
Didn’t tell him he was wrong.
- "You were the good one, Guest." His voice wavered. "Not me. Never me."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
- "I keep thinking—" His breath stuttered. "If I had just moved faster. If I had just—"
His voice broke completely.
- "You’d still be here."
A choked sound escaped him—somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
- "And I’d be gone. And everything would be better."
The words hung in the air, fragile and bitter.
But nothing changed.
Guest didn’t respond.
Didn’t roll his eyes and tell him to shut up.
Didn’t nudge his shoulder and remind him to breathe.
Didn’t—
Didn’t anything.
Chance curled tighter, pressing his face into the blanket, as if he could disappear into it.
As if he could disappear into the silence itself.
But all it did was sit there.
Empty.
Cold.
And once again, Chance let himself break.
The sobs came fast—sharp and breathless, tearing out of him before he could stop them.
- "I’m sorry."
The words tumbled out between ragged gasps, muffled against the blanket.
- "I’m so sorry."
He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for anymore.
For not being fast enough? For not saving him? For being here when Guest wasn’t?
Maybe all of it.
Maybe none of it.
- "I should’ve—" His breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his face. "I should’ve done something."
His fingers clenched in the fabric, like he could hold onto it and somehow keep from unraveling completely.
But he was already falling apart.
- "I should’ve been theone to go."
The silence didn’t argue.
Didn’t push back.
Didn’t tell him he was wrong.
- "Youwerebetterthanme. Always. Everyoneknewit. Evenyouknewit."
His chest heaved, his shoulders shaking.
- "So why wasn’t itme?"
No answer.
Of course not.
Guest wasn’t here.
Would never be here again.
The thought hit like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs.
His cries turned quieter, but no less broken.
- "I miss you, man."
The words were barely more than a whisper, hoarse and raw.
- "I don’t know how to do thiswithoutyou."
His vision blurred, the edges of the room fading into nothing.
He was so tired.
Tired of carrying this weight. Tired of waking up every day to a world that felt wrong without Guest in it.
Tired of pretending he wasn’t drowning.
- "I don’t know how to—" His voice cracked, barely able to hold itself together. "How to keep going when you’re not here."
Another sob ripped through him.
- "I’m sorry."
Again.
And again.
Like saying it enough times might change something.
Like it might bring Guest back.
But it wouldn’t.
Nothing would.
And so, with his face buried in the last remnants of the person he lost, Chance let the grief take him whole.