28
It looked to be a straight shot to the horizon. Silence—the bloodhounds had taken their search elsewhere, but there was no way of telling how far away they were.
“Can we make it?” Quark clung to Pulse's jacket.
“We got this.” They smiled, taking his hand and holding on firmly. “Have faith in yourself.”
The alley opened up, the sidewalk stretched, expanded, sprouting buildings, twisting trees, warping mirrors, and a starless sky.
At the end of the expanse, was the field in all its greenery, its openness, just down the mile-long corridor.
“That's a long way...” Quark wished for the distance to become shorter, to no avail. He and Pulse would have to full-sprint all the way—it wasn't a closed space. There were too many nooks, crannies and openings for anything to come through.
Quark whispered a wish to himself. “Please, let us make it...”
Pulse took the first step.
Light bounced between mirrors—a flash of orange and red, a haze of Pulse looking back on themselves in different shapes and colors, from taller to shorter, from pink to white to blue—their image had split and refracted into countless versions of themselves.
Each one looked back with a shocked expression.
Ghosts peaked through the cracks of the images.
They remained behind the reflections, past the glass, warped more than before.
Their bodies had twisted into versions of themselves that were absent of anything recognizable.
Their eyes were hollow, but their mouths were agape, screaming words void of meaning. The second step was the launch.
There was a shout from nowhere.
“Gamal, we found them!”
It was now or never.
That voice shouted into the walkie-talkie and summoned the hunt—ten, then twenty, then thirty security guards came from the doors that broke up the fractal space. They each lunged, trying to ambush them.
Pulse was faster.
At one moment, Quark thought one had snagged him by the waist, hoisting them into the air.
It almost was, but Pulse grabbed him first.
Pulse's face was stoned in determination—they ran through the hoard of guards, dodging and evading every attempt to catch them, from nets to cuffs, hands and chains, Pulse always slipped through by the skin of their teeth.
They held onto Quark tightly—guards came from every direction. A few of the lucky grabbed Pulse by the hem of their coat, swearing as it tore in their fingers. Pulse was shielding Quark from their claws while the pulses of their quickening energy hummed in his ear.
Quark noted the flecks of lights on their cheeks; they were exerting themselves, face flush like hot iron, and those starry freckles flickered and sparkled.
The corridor was becoming narrower; there was no way of telling what was a guard and what was a reflection. Despite it all, Quark only saw Pulse.
It was at that moment, Quark wished to stay in those arms that he seemed to feel so comfortable in—so safe, welcomed, warmed—he wished that everything would fall away, letting him enjoy this brief second for one eternity. This was Pulse—this was his dream.
The universe granted exactly so.
The mirrors split and cracked, breaking apart, shattering—a sudden implosion before the colors exploded.
Shrapnel expelled and forced everything but Pulse away, leaving them in an empty space, one that felt like swimming in deep water.
The colors behaved as such; yellows, pinks, and cyans swam around them, dancing between strands of hair, soaking into their skin, cooling their bodies and kissing their eyes.
The universe, kind and cruel, unfair and just in its reasoning, for that moment, was gracious and generous, allowing them to be the only ones to exist in that fractal of a second. It was just them. That was the perfect moment for Quark. ‘A dream come true.’
A short-lived dream. The field snapped them back into place.
They crashed like meteors into the dirt; Pulse, once more, took the full brunt of the force. They groaned and gasped at the impact while Quark felt nothing but their arms tighten around him.
They were out.
“You did it!” Pulse cheered, kissing Quark on the cheek. “I don't know how you fucking did it, but you got us out of there!”
Quark, bashfully, ran his fingers through his hair. The kiss sparked a speck of pink on their cheek, leaving lip-prints on the skin.
It was a brief moment he would always remember.
There were more pressing matters at hand than wistful thinking.
The field had dried—the grass was yellowish and dying, the sky was gray and turning to dusk.
The ground had frosted over, and the air became glacial; even Pulse felt it.
Stars from the sky began their slow descent to the ground, melting on their skin, laying on Quark's shoulders, and catching in Pulse's lashes. This was a different field.
“Where do we go?” Pulse asked Quark.
“We go that way,” Quark was dumbfounded of being placed in leadership, but the pull they felt was unmistakable. He can't say why, but: “Leo is over there. I'm sure of it.”
Pulse gave a sharp nod. “To the Nightmares we go.”