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Sometimes he thinks that he’s in over his head.
He’s a scientist, he has to be skeptical because it’s in his very nature to be, and Night Vale is taking everything that he’s learned in his entire life and flipping it onto its head, and then flipping it sideways again for good measure.
Which doesn’t work, because everything he does is about finding reasons and explanations and to admit to himself that for most of what’s going on here there isn’t any sort of logical or realistic explanation makes him feel like a failure, which isn’t good for his self-esteem at all.
He’s come to realize that part of the reason this town functions, part of the reason the people here don’t go crazy, is because they in fact are doing the exact opposite of him: they don’t look for explanations, they don’t try to figure things out, they just…accept, and keep going. Somebody says there are angels? There are obviously angels, because there’s no reason to think that there wouldn’t be angels. A giant pothole opens up and swallows half the town without a trace? Oh, well, it was bound to happen someday.
And it’s not religious, or belief in a higher power, or fear of some sort of heavenly retribution, it’s not any of that. It’s just simple believing that the world maybe isn’t as black-and-white as people would like you to think, and that sometimes strange things happen for no reason, and he half-thinks that he’s going to be the one going crazy by the time he leaves this place.
If he leaves this place.
If it’s possible to leave this place.
“I can hear you thinking.”
His eyes snap up and he looks at Cecil, who’s sitting on his couch with the most bored look on his face and his fingers idly tapping the knee of his trousers. He’s never quite sure with Cecil, because Cecil is so almost-normal that he’s abnormal because of it, but he’s never quite sure if it’s a turn of phrase or if Cecil can actually hear his thoughts because, well, this is Night Vale.
He doubts his superiors will take ‘this is Night Vale’ as a proper explanation, but he truly doesn’t think anymore that there is another one. This is Night Vale, where dogs can’t use the dog park and strange lights appear in the sky and people disappear and reappear for no good reason whatsoever.
It just…is.
“Carlos,” Cecil says again, in that way he has of saying the scientist’s name that makes it sound like the most intimate caress. “Turn your brain off, you’re making the street anxious.”
He doesn’t doubt it anymore, so he tries firmly to shut his thoughts down and gets a tiny smile in response.
Yes, Cecil is something else entirely. He’s so nondescript that if you passed him on the street you wouldn’t give him a second glance, but if you take the time to look at him…really look at him…he’s impossible to describe and yet entirely unique at the same time.
“That’s better,” Cecil shifts himself on the couch, crossing his legs, and Carlos glances at him. “You’re thinking about me now.”
Carlos isn’t going to ask. He’s not.
“You’re brilliant, you know. You’re so brilliant, but sometimes you don’t see it because you’re too caught up in what you can’t do,” Cecil stands up, unfurling his long legs and walking across the floor, something about his being making the air shimmer as he passes through it and somehow manages to squeeze himself into the armchair alongside the other man. “Just…turn it off, for now. You don’t need to worry about anything, not while we’re together,” Cecil reaches toward him, tilting their heads together until their foreheads are touching, and his voice is so soothing, so full of warmth and care that Carlos can’t help but believe him.
The world might be falling down around them. The strange lights from the sky might decide they hate thinly-shaved roast beef and incinerate the Arby’s entirely. They might be the only two people left in the entire town, and he wouldn’t be able to care.
And Cecil, well, Cecil’s not perfectly accepting, either. He doubts his own existence too much to be healthy, really, but even if Carlos can’t explain a quarter of the things that happen in this place, he doesn’t need to explain why he’s real, why Cecil’s real, why he can feel his heart beat and his blood rush and the warmth of their bodies pressed together.
Because it just…is.
So maybe, he thinks as he tilts his head to catch the other man’s lips in a soft kiss, maybe he’s closer to acceptance than he’d first thought.
And maybe sometimes, just sometimes, things don’t need an explanation to be perfectly, absolutely right.