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“-an?” He finishes his sentence, back in his own, small room and out of the Plane for good. Despite being free, he doesn't feel relief,
He paces around, worried out of his mind. What the fuck did he mean by hopefully? That asshole better make it home, or he’ll—
And then it hits him. The realization crashes down on him like a tsunami of freezing ocean water. It’s either Liam, or Texty. Texty can teleport Liam, but they’re on Airy’s computer, there’s no way they could come back. Liam has to make a choice, to leave Texty behind, or to stay. And he knows which Liam will choose.
Liam has no reason to come back here. Sure, Bryce is here, but Liam’s not obligated to come back just for him. Maybe Airy’s world is better, and Liam would be happier there. He can only hope it’s better there. The alternative is that Liam is stuck in some shitty world, and the thought makes him want to freak out and hyperventilate, so he can only pretend that it’s not the case. At least Texty is there. It’s fun to banter with them, but he does genuinely like them. At least Liam’s not alone, no matter how fun or shitty that world is.
The sun dips below the horizon, leaving a raining Bridgeport in darkness with only the glittering city lights to reflect off of the ocean. He should feel happy he’s finally home, able to push this all past him just like he wanted to, but there’s utter mourning gnawing at his insides. Even though he knows Liam’s alive (he doesn’t. He doesn’t know, but he’s really trying to convince himself that Liam has to be alive,) it feels like he’s just learned the news of a close friend’s death. He sits at his table, head in his hands, repeating and trying to convince himself that Liam and Texty are okay, they’re alive, and they’re happy, and that he needs to move on.
His moping is interrupted by someone stumbling around in the hallway, it’s probably just an incredibly drunk neighbour, his rational brain supplies. But the noise stops just outside his door, and he sits up, expectantly, breath held. There's a weak knock at the door and he immediately jumps up and bolts over, yanking it open. In hindsight, if it was someone else, he probably would've freaked the shit out of them. But thankfully, it's exactly who he wanted to see with every cell in his body.
Liam (barely) stands at the doorway, swaying on his feet and breathing like his lungs barely work. Needless to say, he looks super fucked up at the moment, even moreso than the last time they were standing in this exact doorway a week ago. Back then, Liam was just vaguely unwashed and mentally tired, but here, he's soaking rainwater into the floor and looking like he's going to topple over at any second. Which he does.
He starts to fall forward into the apartment but Bryce is quick to catch him, to be all the support he needs right now. He pulls Liam close, hands rubbing his back mostly to confirm to Bryce that this is real, he’s holding Liam, and Liam is home. Liam pushes his face into Bryce’s shoulder, using him to stay upright. He tries to lift his weak arms, but they swing uselessly at his sides. He just squeezes Liam tighter.
Liam starts to slump into him a bit too heavily and is starting to drag him down, so he makes the executive decision to pull him into the apartment, kicking the door shut, and drags him onto his bed. Words of comfort fall out of his mouth, you're okay Liam, I have you, as he helps the delirious man lay down. His eyes are barely open, taking longer and longer blinks.
He's violently shivering, and Bryce pulls the blanket onto him before going to the closet and piling almost every thick blanket he owns onto him. He rushes back over to his side, layering every single one until he can just barely see his shuddering. He snuggles into the blankets, then winces. Bryce is immediately worried that he might be hurt and he somehow didn't notice, but he moves around under the blankets and pulls out a computer part. Bryce doesn't know shit about computers, but he knows a tech part when he sees one. Liam's careful to pull it out without getting any part caught on the blanket, and holds the part above his face with an indescribable expression of sadness and gratefulness. His hands shake from the cold, but he's slow and gentle with the piece, like it could shatter at any second. Bryce can tell that this piece holds great value just from the way he pulled it out. His hands drift in Bryce's direction, holding the item out for Bryce to take, and the importance of the item is confirmed in his next words.
"Texty," he slurs, so it comes out more like a 'tehxee.' But Bryce can easily put the pieces together, so he takes it with the same care as Liam holds it, trying his best to touch it as little as possible. He glances around, not really knowing where to safely put it, so he decides on a discarded shoe box that's been lying with the recycling he neglected to take out. He sets Texty down on the table, grabs the shoe box, and puts them inside. He has no idea how they're connected with this part, where it came from, or really, anything that's going on at the moment, but Liam had looked at the tech with unreplicable sorrow and it's all the evidence he needs of its irreplaceable importance.
When he looks back, Liam is completely knocked out. Which figures, because he almost fell asleep while Bryce was holding him earlier, and they were literally standing, so he's obviously been through a lot. Bryce is anxious to get answers, but he can't bring himself to wake Liam up. He'd probably barely understand anything he would say, considering how much he struggled just to say 'Texty.'
All of the anxiety from freaking out, waiting, and finally taking care of Liam has dulled over into exhaustion. He glances at his bed with Liam in it, immediately throwing away the thought of getting in beside him. Liam needs to sleep, he'd probably disturb him. There's also some weird embarrassment that settles in his chest at the thought. He pushes the feelings aside and makes a makeshift bed on the floor, like he had for Liam a week ago. He can't believe everything that's happened in only the past 8 days.
He ends up sitting awake for about two hours, thinking about the Plane, whatever could've happened to Airy, whatever happened to the other contestants, and Liam's safety, before finally crashing asleep from exhaustion.
The next morning, he wakes up uncomfortably sitting against the wall to the sound of coughing. Not like, soft normal coughing, but congested, sick, coughing-out-your-lung coughing. He blinks awake, sitting up straighter and looking over to see Liam hacking into his arm, and falling back onto the bed when the fit is over.
"Sorry," he sniffles, "for waking you up." Bryce gets up, his muscles very upset from his sleeping position. He stretches, and turns his attention to his friend.
"You sound really sick," he inspects Liam, who looks very out of it.
"You look really sick," he adds. Liam whines out something along the lines of "nooo I can't be sick," but it comes out mumbly and incoherent, and Bryce can barely understand it. He's deeply concerned for Liam's health, his brain throwing out all kinds of crazy situations like Liam contracting a deadly otherworldly disease that'll slowly kill him, right after he thought everyone was going to be okay it's all ripped away from him—and this thought is getting stupidly out of hand. Liam's probably not dying. Probably.
He steps forward, lightly pressing the back of his hand to Liam's forehead; and immediately pulling away because that is the highest fever I've ever felt (granted, he’s never had to take care of a sick person.) It probably doesn't help that he's tangled in 5 blankets. He thinks about his bathroom—he's pretty sure he has a thermometer in there somewhere.
"How are you not dying from heat??" He asks, while going to the bathroom to rummage through the medicine cabinet. He finds the thermometer surprisingly easily, checking his phone for the temperature for a dangerous fever and rinsing it with soap and hot water.
"Huh? I'm freezing right now," Liam replies. He cracks an eye open to see Bryce standing in front of him with an oral thermometer. He furrows his brows.
"Aren't those unsanitary-" Bryce shoves it in his mouth before he can finish talking.
“Shut up, I cleaned it,” he says, looking up more stuff on his phone about how to take care of a sick person. There’s stuff about warm liquids, liquids in general, resting, stuff he generally already knew, but wanted to double check to take care of Liam as best as he could. The thermometer beeps, he takes it, and sees a temperature of 102°F. Which is a fever, but nothing he needs to consult a doctor for.
“You probably have a cold,” he states.
“Will I live, doc?” Liam jokes, coughing a bit afterwards.
“No, you’ll probably die in the next 24 hours,” he jokes, getting up to make something to help Liam’s cough, “seriously though, it was probably the rain. Couldn’t Texty have teleported you closer or something?” That sorrowful look falls on Liam’s face again. He puts a pot of milk on the burner.
“They didn’t teleport me,” he simply says. Bryce knows he’s being vague on purpose, and he feels like he’s going to go crazy if he’s left in the dark any longer. For now, he’s letting it slide. For now.
“So, where did you end up?”
“Somewhere downtown, I had to run here in the middle of the rain. I probably looked really stupid,” Liam chuckles to himself, spurring on another coughing fit. Bryce wills the milk to heat faster.
“What are you making, by the way?” Liam quickly changes the topic. He knows that they shouldn’t put off discussion any longer; so many questions hang between them, silently ignored and pushed aside with vague answers and unsaid words. What does that circuit board have to do with Texty? How did he get back? What was Airy like? What was his world like? Where is he? What do they do from here?
But, despite this, Bryce plays along. Because a part of him, similar to Liam, is scared to ask and scared to answer.
“It’s, um,” he pauses, remembering being on the receiving end of the drink he’s making, “something my sister used to make me when I was sick.” Their old, cluttered house. One of a million duplicates in the suburbs, but cluttered, messy, and unkempt on the inside. His mother was always too “sick” to upkeep it. Similar to the house, her children were neglected. He was sick, a different type from his mother, too young to remember specifics. But while he lay on the couch surrounded by items that were bought but unneeded, sneezing until he got a pounding headache, his sister had boiled milk with honey in it, soothing his throat and immediately comforting him to sleep.
It was consistent later in life; he would start getting a fever, and after confirming, his sister would be heating up the stovetop on the phone with his school, and it would almost make him excited to be sick if it weren’t for the draining nature of it.
She showed him how to make it sometime when he was 15, reminding him that she wouldn’t be there for much longer, having to move out soon. He committed it to memory, and she would end up making it for him one more time before she wasn’t around to make it for him ever again.
He pours it in a mug, which is a little precarious considering the pot is just for simple soup making and doesn’t have a proper spout, but he gets away with a few drops on the counter. He stirs in the honey, colouring the milk a slight warm dandelion yellow tint, and carries it to Liam, who’s looking dully at the ceiling, probably with a headache. He sits up a little, reaching to take the mug, but Bryce eyes his wobbly hands.
“If I give this to you you’re not going to pour it all over yourself. Right?"
“Sure?” Liam gives him a nervous smile. Bryce shakes his head.
“I’ll hold it for you,” he states. Liam sits more upright now, reaching out for the mug and placing his fingers on Bryce’s to guide it towards him. The action makes his heart stutter; he’s not sure why. It gives him that same feeling of embarrassment he had gotten last night. Liam brings it up to his lips, Bryce supporting the full weight of the drink and letting Liam guide it to a tilt. He takes a long sip, pulling it away. Much like the mug burning on the pads of his fingers, the skin where Liam’s fingers lie on his makes his skin feel like it’s catching fire. He has no idea why.
“That is literally so good. What is this?” Liam says, savouring the taste. Bryce opens his mouth to nothing coming out, his brain power fully focused on the parts of his hand where they touch.
“Milk with honey,” he manages to squeeze out before Liam’s taking another sip. Afterwards he lets go this time, hands falling in his lap. Bryce sets the mug in the windowsill before he drops it. Despite initially being the one to hold the mug because of Liam’s shaking hands, he’s the one who ends up with shaking hands at the end of it.
“That is really good. Thank you, Bryce,” he says, relaxing back into his sleeping position with his eyes closed, “I’ve never really been taken care of while sick before. Thank you.”
“About how you got sick,” he starts, “why did you have to run in the rain?” He doesn’t mean to spring the question on him while he’s finally relaxed but his sleepiness makes Bryce feel like there’s a time limit before these questions go unasked for so long that asking them would just open up old wounds. He expects Liam to jump awake, maybe even ignore him and pretend to be asleep, but he just quietly opens his eyes, with that same tired look he’s had ever since Bryce met him for the first time out of the Plane. But back then, he had that frenzied undertone of needing to do something at all times to stop the game. Now, it’s weathered, missing that spark of motivation.
“I had to get here with the radio,” he says, sighing like he’s admitting a guilty secret, “the one in the afterlife place.”
“Wait, you had to die??” Liam just avoids his gaze in favour of the empty wall to his right.
“How??” He asks, and Liam hesitantly opens his mouth but he quickly cuts in, “no- wait, I don’t want to know.”
“It gets worse. I kind of redeemed Airy,” he says, which gets the predicted reaction of incredulous indignance.
“You WHAT???” Before he can say anything else or get up, Liam’s already sitting up and interjecting.
“I know, I know you’re mad but- you weren’t there, you didn’t talk to, interact with him, try to kill him, he was just-” he gestures vaguely, looking for the words to justify his on-the-spot decision, but he drops them by his sides, shaking his head.
“I- he died. Before everything. About a decade ago, he said. He used the radio to get to a world that had nobody and he was so lonely that he pretty much kidnapped people, I-” he pauses, “I’m not saying what he did was right, but he saw us all as friends, and took care of me, even after…” He trails off, staring at his hands.
“In the end he ended up slipping and falling off a cliff. Dying. I thought I-” He shakes his head again, like trying to get an unwanted thought out of his head, “I met him again after I died. I was just, super fucked up from everything, and he still saw me as a friend,” he breathlessly chuckles at the last part, in disbelief, and it leads into a coughing fit that reminds Bryce that he’s still sick. The last bit of anger fizzles under his skin.
“I gave him the code to come back. Here. I told him to go to the police, if he even remembers what that is. I just- I figured that he couldn’t do anything else if he was here. And that he could get help. I don’t know,” he finishes by covering his face with his hands. Bryce can only just slump against the wall. They could possibly be in the same city as the same person who took them from their lives and permanently fucked them up. Unknowingly, it seemed. Liam’s sniffling, from the sickness (he hopes,) and holds out the mug, lightly bumping it into his arm, which makes Liam jump a little and pull away his hands. He gratefully takes the mug, hands less jittery now.
“He took care of you?” Bryce says after a bit of silence.
“Yeah. He fed me and made me a bed, made another cast when I broke my other leg, it was just-” his breath hitches, “I don’t know.” He saw them as friends. As willing contestants, who enjoyed him, so deep in isolated delusion that he ignored all the yelling and thought that they were all just happily participating. Jesus. This was way worse than someone who was knowingly hurting them. Fuck.
“I wasn’t there. So I trust you made the right decision,” he says, mostly trying to disperse his anger and not direct it at Liam, “but I’ll never forgive him.” Liam nods in agreement.
“I haven’t either,” he sips the honey milk, finishing it, “but I still hope him the best.”
Bryce gets up, taking the mug with another “thank you” from Liam, to which he tensely nods in response. It was so, so easy to imagine Airy as this force who knew what he was doing and revelling in how much he was hurting people, so personifying him as a clueless man without any threads of humanity to hold onto after being isolated for so long was jarring to him. He dumps all the dishes into the sink with other ones that were previously there, running the water. As it fills, he skims over the news on his phone and finds it; an article titled “Man Presumed Dead for a Decade Turns up in Connecticut,” with the photo being of a very, very disheveled looking man with an expression of beleaguered numbness, with a much less disheveled, younger, and happier version of that man in the photo beside him. A quick look over the article tells that he’s currently in police custody, and the article will be updated as the police give them new information.
He feels a pang of dissatisfaction, but the rational part of his brain is sure that he’d still be upset if Airy had died, or was still there to keep doing the show, or really, any outcome of this wouldn’t be “the best one.” In the current ending, where he’s with police, unable to do anything ever again and possibly get help, while dissatisfying knowing that he won’t get any consequences, he figures it’s not the worse outcome. He copies the link to send to Liam, when he realizes Liam doesn’t have a phone. He shuts off the tap.
“I found an article,” he says, walking across the room and giving Liam his phone to read. He leaves it with him, going back to scrub at the dishes. Liam quietly reads it, the only sound being the scrubbing of steel wool against ceramic. In the back of his head he’s anticipating some sort of reaction out of Liam, but when he glances back he lays there, clutching his phone, staring at the ceiling with a sort of calm comfort in knowing Airy’s whereabouts. Even though Bryce doesn’t share the sentiment, this is Liam’s interpretation of a happy ending. It makes him feel a little better about the outcome.
When he looks up from the dishes once halfway done, Liam’s calmly asleep, holding Bryce’s phone against his chest. He lets the sink drain, putting off washing the remaining cups for later so Liam doesn’t wake up from the noise. He deserves the sleep. He dries his hands, quietly crossing the room. He wiggles his phone out of Liam’s grasp, then feels his forehead with the back of his hand to check up on the temperature. The fever’s still there, but better than it was this morning, which makes him relax a little in relief, enough to let the tension sink out of his shoulders.
Liam, still asleep, does this little nuzzle into his hand, which causes him to snatch it away, heart fluttering and making him feel like he’s going to faint. Why the fuck was he acting like this? The weird clench in his chest last night, the warmth and jitteriness he got from just touching hands, the homeliness of Liam’s presence, everything. It’s more than just gratitude and adjacent concern now that he’s back and safe, it’s something else, like—
Oh, the realization strikes him. Oh, shit.