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to clarify, they took these notes over time and the "holy fuck" is that moment where you step back and look at everything and are like "jesus christ this is crazy". also, since i know it'll be brought up:
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Canāt really articulate it properly but. Something about Clark and the need for ownership being a repeated theme throughout the movie. Something about how he constantly emphasizing that it was his house, his store, his money that pays for everything. Or the way he refers to the copies as āfurnitureā and treats them as such despite the fact they do show some sentience. The way he treated Mary as a means to justify his not wanting to leave and his refusal to change. The fact that Clark eats from the copies and the Captain eats people.
The Captainās ādenā being filled with piles of clothes and pieces of the cardboard cutout it destroyed. The piles of furniture in the middle of rooms. Something about the Captainās hostility at people that enter Backrooms possibly from seeing them as an invasion upon his space, his house, threatening change in a place he does not want it. Trying to gain control over your life by trying to own and control everything around you. Is this anything
-theres two outs, so if hes out, the inning is over. even if the runner on second base gets home, the run doesnt count. its not until hes safe at first that the run scores
-theres no specific rule in baseball about running backwards from first, just that you ācannot retreat to home baseā meaning so long as if you dont touch the plate, its fine
Let me see if I can break this down a little more.
Javier BĆ”ez (the batter, a Chicago Cub, wearing blue) has just hit the ball. His job is now to run around the bases - 1st, 2nd, 3rd, back to where he started (āhomeā), at which point he will have scored a point. In practice, he will probably stop partway, wait for the next batter to get a hit, and try to make it home from there.
The Pittsburgh Pirates (in white) are fielding. Their job is to stop the Cubs from scoring by getting them out, by various combinations of catching the ball and tagging people or bases with it.
The scoreboard (top left) shows that one Cub has already made it to second base, so he will resume running now that Javy has a hit. It also shows that two Cubs are out. If a third Cub gets out, their turn to bat will be over, it will be the Piratesā turn to bat, and the Cubs canāt score anymore (for now, but thatās not relevant).
The Pirate at first base (the first baseman) has the ball. All he needs to do is step on first base while holding it before Javy gets there, and Javy is out. This is probably the number one most common thing a first baseman has to do.
He does not do it.
For some reason he starts chasing Javy, presumably trying to tag him with the ball directly. This is a perfectly legitimate way of getting him out, but also completely unnecessary.
This has never happened to Javy before. Unsure what else to do, he just kind ofā¦ jogs backwards away from him.
Meanwhile, the Cub who was at second base (Contreras) has made it all the way back to home. Because the Piratesā first baseman has helpfully walked the ball back home, he can easily toss it to the Pirate at home (the catcher) who will tag Contreras out.
The catcher doesnāt tag him in time.
The umpire signals that Contreras is safe (not out).
Javy also signals that Contreras is safe, just for fun. Heās never been nearby when a teammate makes it home before, and heās enjoying himself.
Notice that the score has not changed, even though Contreras made it home. Thatās because Javy is still technically running to first base. If he gets out before he reaches it, the Cubsā turn to bat is over, and nothing else thatās happened since he hit the ball matters.
Javy remembers this, and heads back to first base. The catcher throws the ball to another Pirates fielder, who is frantically running to do the first basemanās job.
He doesnāt catch it.
Javy is safe at first. Contreras scores (although the scoreboard wonāt change for a second).
Javy notices how far away that ball landed, and decides he can make it to second base before anyone picks it up and tags him out.
An offscreen Pirate throws the ball to second base, where another Pirate is ready and waiting to catch it, tag Javy out, and end the Cubsā turn to bat.
He doesnāt catch it.
Javy is safe at second. The video doesnāt show it, but he will go on to score as well.
This should have been a very easy out for the Pirates, but through two dropped catches and one truly bizarre decision from the first baseman, they snatched defeat from the jaws of victory and turned it into two points for the Cubs.
Reblogging with the breakdown of what happened for anyone who isnāt familiar with the rules of baseball and wants to understand why we canāt stop talking about this play.
if you're ever beating yourself up for 'missing the obvious hints' that someone is romantically interested in you, know this: i once met a guy who asked out a girl after she sent him nude pictures of herself in the bath and she said she wasn't interested. it is never obvious
yes me too but i should add that the context was they already had a flirty relationship that their mutual friends had all picked up on. one of them even suggested to this guy that he was being oblivious. this was a scenario i saw play out in real time. he very much had reason to believe the nudes were something
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The Captain scouts the cliffside carefully as they walk near its edge. The trees from the forest below stretch up past the cliff, well above their head. They're grand, of course - magnificent branches adorned with leaves, their shapes unlike any trees on Earth - but they block an otherwise lovely view of the sunset.
It's a shame. The ground at the edge of the cliff here looks marshy and loose. It would be easy and believable to stand at the edge and let the soil give way beneath them. A perfect accident. The drop looks a little too short, anyway. They'd likely break their legs, but death is an uncertainty. So they move along.
Their contingency plans had failed. They had every intention of 'losing control' of their car and dying in a crash, but the accursed thing had kicked up a pebble that somehow hit the battery with just enough force to destroy it, but not the car as a whole. Of all the damned things! The Captain still isn't sure how the hell that even happens, or what the odds are.
Not that the odds matter.
"When thinking in infinites, 'unlikely' is just certainty, waiting for its turnā¦"
The Captain scowls at the memory, kicking a rock off the cliff. It lands in the branches of a tree. They don't see it fall, but they hear it rustling through the leaves and fading away. It does nothing to relieve their mood. With a scornful growl, they keep walking.
They're kicking themself now. They could have brought a spare battery. But they had made a point to pack light. No rations, no perishables. Nothing that would be of more immediate use to the colony. Nothing that couldn't be recovered and reused when their body is found, weeks, or hopefully months from now. Their personal vehicle had been the sole exception. Even if Mark would've been heartbroken to find the custom car he built just for them reduced to scrap metal.
ā¦God, they haveĀ got to stop thinking of Mark. They slap the sides of their face, shaking the specter of him out of their thoughts. This is for his benefit. He'll be safer when the Captain is gone.
He'll understand, one day.
He has to.
It's a steep, uphill walk, but finally they reach something of a flat plateau. The trees don't reach this high, so the Captain can see the gorgeous sunset painting the valleys and trees with a heavenly golden light. The sky above is an array of mesmerizing pinks and reds and purples. The night sky is creeping in at this late hour, but for now, the sunset is bold and brilliant, framed between the darkening sky and the verdant landscape.
It's an absolutely breathtaking view. The Captain couldn't have asked for a better place to die.
As they take a heavy step towards the cliff's edge, they turn to face the south. Colony Prima is already lit up at this hour, a shining metropolis on the horizon. A haven they personally helped to shape over the past four years. Further to the south-east, basking in the alien sunset, is the still-in-development Colony Secunda - out of sight from here, but not far from the Captain's mind.
As their First Mate, Tyler is primed to become Captain in the event of their death. They updated their will recently - though hopefully not recent enough to raise suspicion. They just hope he accepts the position. Whether he knows it or not, he'll do great. The Captain has faith he'll be excellent in their stead.
Far, far better than they could ever be, afterā¦everything.
The Captain screws their eyes shut, wrenching their head away from the colonies. With a deep breath - their penultimate, perhaps even their final - they approach the ledge.
Their foot is already falling forward when they hear it. A blood-curdling scream they havenāt heard since the paradox.
"CAPTAIN!!!"
Mark?!
Their stomach drops, and so does the rest of them as the ground falls away.
For a single second, itās like time freezes, and everything comes into sharp focus. The breeze rushing past their face. The thundering of Markās feet against the ground. The dissonantly peaceful birdsong on the wind. The rocks scraping their boots as their primal survival instinct kicks in, and they struggle in vain to regain balance against the cliffside. Fingers curling around the collar of their jacket.
Itās that last one that pulls them back into reality. Time jerks back to full speed and the Captain chokes as their fall is brought to an abrupt halt. Their legs kick uselessly and their hands fly up to the front of their shirt, allowing themself to breathe.
"Iāve got you!" Mark shouts. Heās straining; he sounds winded.
The Captain only feels one hand on their collar. Panic lashes at the edges of their mind. Mark must have dived to catch them. Heās hurt himself, heāll get himself killed trying to save them, if that happensā¦!
"Let go! Thatās an order! Drop me!"
Mark doesnāt answer the Captainās plea. His grunts of exertion as he tries to pull them up just breeds more terror in their mind.
"Mark, if you donāt let go, youāll come down with me, and I am not letting that happen!" they scream.
Itās their first instinct to thrash, to writhe and struggle and wrest themself from his grasp, but that would just put Markās life further in danger. A dozen conflicting thought signals swirl through their brain. Their heart pounds disgustingly loudly in their ears.
Theyāre both going to die here. They took too long, they were too careless, too unprepared. And now the one man they cherish more than anything is going to die saving someone who didnāt want to be saved. Who didnāt deserve to be saved. Who couldnāt stop hurting and hindering, down to the very last decision they made.
Some Captain they are, if they canāt even kill themself right.
Onlyā¦death isnāt coming. No weightless rushing towards the ground, nor horrified screaming as Mark falls with them. They jerk when Markās free hand comes down under their arm, around their chest, and the ground dozens of feet below slowly grows more distant.
The Captainās stomach lurches at the sudden whirl of movement. When it comes to a stop, theyāre lying on their back with solid ground below them, but theyāreā¦fine. They arenāt at the bottom of the cliff with their broken body breathing its last. Their heart pounds away, their breaths ragged but whole. Alive.
Alive, against all odds.
Against their wishes.
When they sit up, their eyes snap to Mark. Heās clutching his shoulder, wincing in pain. He surely pulled a muscle at least trying to save them. A tendon? It could have dislocated, for all they know.
Why? Why canāt they stop hurting him?
Ugly, painful anger bubbles up in their chest, and forces its way out: "Why did you do that?! You could have fucking died! You idiot!"
Itās too much, they know. They canāt direct their rage at him, it isnāt fair. Itās themself theyāre angry with.
Mark glares at them incredulously. "I couldāveā?! You just tried toā!"
"No I didnāt!" they lie. Petulantly. Like a stubborn child caught eating something they shouldnāt have. Their hands fly up to grab at their hair. "Iā¦"
If there was ever a time to get a grip, this is it. Pull it together. Pull it together. The Captain takes a breath, wipes their hand over their face. Pulls on that distant, professional facade theyāve perfected over the years as best they can in such a frantic state. (Which is to say, terribly.)
"I-I slipped! I gotā¦I got too close to the cliffās edge, I was justā¦ad-admiring the view. Iām sorry."
They hazard a glance at Mark. His features are drawn tight, his gaze doubtful. Heās clearly not buying it.
Of course he isnāt. They hesitated for too long, they know he saw them step off of their own accord, are they fucking stupid?
Markās eyes fall to the Captainās backpack, where it lies untouched in the dirt beside them. Thereās a beat of hesitation before he darts for it.
"Heyā!" The Captain reaches out in protest, but heās already rifling through it before they can even try to stop him. Mark gazes into the bag for a long while. Then he narrows his eyes dubiously at the Captain.
"How long were you going to camp out here?" he asks.
Itās a trap. Damn. Damn! They didnāt intend to be found so easily. They canāt give an answer that could satisfy him. But they have to answer. "A-A few days."
"Youāre lying," Mark says without hesitation. "You announced youād be gone for three monthsā"
"That was a typoā"
"āAnd thereās not enough food in here to last more than one day."
The Captain bows their head, shielding their eyes. They usually have the brim of their captainās hat to hide behind, but all they can do now is let their hair fall in front of their face. Itās not enough. Itās still too vulnerable. Theyāre backed into a corner.
Mark sighs. "Captainā¦ Please, be honest with meā¦"
His voice quavers desperately, almost scared. It shakes something loose in the Captainās psyche, one memory among piles of others theyāve spent years trying to repress.
"I triedā¦ I-I tried to keep them alive, Captainā¦"
Just one of many, many times they failed him. One of many, many reasons they need to disappear.
"You were gonnaā¦dieā¦out here, werenāt you? You wantedā¦" He canāt seem to bring himself to say it. Not that he needs to, anyway.
The Captain hangs their head lower. To hide. Out of shame. Either, both, they canāt even tell. Unshed tears wobble in their eyes. And somehow, the pathetic coward that they are, they find it in themself to lie again. "No."
The tension is thick. No bald-faced lie can cover up the truth, and they both know it. Even before the Captain hears Mark move, and hears the telltale rattle of the pistol they packed with them.
"Then whyād you bring this?"
The Captain blinks, praying Mark doesnāt see the tears fall clean into their lap. "Defense," they reply thinly.
Their whole body is tight with tension. Theyāre going to break down at any moment and theyāre powerless to send Mark away, to hide, to do anything. Mark tinkers with the gun, and all they can do is sit there and listen and regret that they even bothered bringing the bag, because now all it is is evidence of their last resort. They should have brought more bullets, make it look believable, but then what if the colony needed it more than themā
A metallic noise rings out, as sharp and clear as a bell. The one and only bullet they brought with them being spat out of the gun and into Mark's palm.
They can feel the despair radiating from Mark long before he sighs: "Oh, Captainā¦"
"Fuck!"
The dam breaks. The Captainās hands fly to their face. For comfort, for protection, for noise suppression, who fucking cares? Wet, ugly, pathetic sobs bubble out of them like a volcano erupting.
Thereās no escape. No escaping this guilt and shame, the mistakes theyāve made, the harm theyāve done. Even if they die, their sins will weigh on them for eternity. Even if they live, there will never be enough water to wash away the blood on their hands.
"Captainā¦" Mark whispers, before his arms wrap around them in the tightest hug theyāve had in years. Heās crying too; they feel his tears on their neck, hear his quiet sobs and sniffles even as he rocks them both gently. His hand rubs the Captainās back.
"I-I-It was gonna be so simple!" the Captain cries. "Just a fuckinā slip, trip ānā a fall. A ba-ad s-spill in the woodsā¦ It was meant to look likeā aā fucking accidentā¦!" Their voice tapers off. They snort and gasp for breathā
"Iām sorryā¦!"
āand their voice gives out, dissolving into mournful wails as they wrap their arms around Mark.
The Captain has no idea how long the two of them stay like that, crying into each other's shoulders and shaking like theyāre cradling each other at the end of the world. At one point, Mark starts stroking their hair, and they feel ashamed. Both for the affection they donāt deserve and the elation they feel for receiving it.
"Why?" Mark asks after eternity. Not quite eternity, at least, but long enough that the skyās turned indigo, nearly dark but for the light of the moons above them.
The Captain swallows thickly, emotionally drained. "Why what."
"Why didnāt you tell me what was going on?"
The Captain chuffs. "I couldnāt."
"You can tell me anything, Yin."
Their breath halts at the use of their first name. They can't even begin to recall the last time they heard it.
"How many times have you told me that, when I came to you about my problems?" Mark asks. "Seriously. I think itās been too many times to count."
Heād be right about that. The two of them have spent countless nights together, holding each other through sleepless nights and neverending nightmares about that goddamn paradox. Countless nights in the same bed, in each otherās arms, yet still so tremendously far away.
Isolation as a form of punishment. Even if it had to be performed emotionally because the Captain just couldnāt not comfort the man they love.
"Is thisā¦" Mark draws a shaking breath. "ā¦about the wormhole?"
The Captain sobs again. They have no more tears left to cry, so itās just a dry breath being punched out of them.
"Becauseā Yinā Itās okay to come to me about it. Youāve forgiven me a thousand times, no matter how much I felt like I didnāt deserve itā"
"But you do." Yin digs their fingers into Markās arm. "And I donāt."
"You do! Of course you do! I'm the one who built the warp coreā!"
"You didnāt know better!" Yin cries. They feel hysterical, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. "You wereā You didnāt have a choice! You were fucking trapped in thereā¦no doors open to you, and Iā¦"
"Were an excellent captain who made the best of a bad situation."
"No!" Yin is clawing at Markās arm now, shaking with rage they know they ought to aim at themself eons before lifting a finger at Mark ever again. "I somehowā There were billions and billions of choices I could have made, and somehowā out of an infinite ocean of themā I could only ever make the wrong ones!"
"You madeā"
Yin grabs his jaw with enough force to silence him. "You were not at fault. You feltā To the best of your knowledge, you had to make the warp core. Iām the one who got so many universes destroyed. Over and over and over and over and over againā¦"
Mark pulls Yinās hand away. "But you stopped me from going back, in the end. You fixed everything, the mistakes I madeā¦!"
"I let you go!" Yin snaps. "So many times!"
Silence. A few agonizing seconds. Long enough for tension in the air to become unbearably thick.
"What?" Mark sounds disbelieving, but not out of shock. More like genuine confusion. Yin canāt blame him; he likely doesnāt even remember.
Thatās why they were never going to tell him. They sigh in defeat. They force their hands to relax as they hang their head.
"Itāsā¦itās the kind of thing where I donāt know if it really happened or if Iām just fabricating the mental image. Butā¦I remember letting you goā¦the warp core following youā¦one of the colonists appeared out of nowhere to comfort me when I realized what Iād doneā¦and everything reset. Everything, for real. To before I even boarded."
"That canātā¦"
"It was. It was real. I canāt think of any other explanation. Every single permutation of events came to pass in that paradox. Iām almost certain of that memory, but there must have beenā¦thousands. Trillions. Indefinite loops where I let you go backā¦or just didnāt find you in time."
"But thatās not your fault," Mark insists. He squeezes Yin's shoulders, intensity bleeding into his voice: "You canāt absolve me of guilt for building the damn thing if you insist on blaming yourself for not knowing to stop me."
"Th-Thatās not what I blame myself for," Yin quavers. They ball their hands into fists, digging their nails into their own palms. "There was a point whereā¦there must have been a point whereā¦I sn-snapped."
"What do you mean?"
Yin swallows thickly. "ā¦You wouldnāt remember. Nobody did, half the time. And nothing I did helped, nothing was gonna change, I couldnāt fix anything and nothing could get any more broken so I justā¦stopped fucking caring. I wasā¦"
They shudder at the memories. Atrocities they committed flash through their mind, each one worse than the last. Yin would will themself silent if they could, but the confession pours out of them like a flood from a broken dam.
"I was horrible to you. I was awful to everyone. I gaslit you into thinking it was all a dreamā¦ I abused my power to make you a slaveā¦ I blew up the ship with my own two handsā¦ Fuckināā There was one universe I kept landing in where you were a serial killer and eventually I just joined you, I lived an entire lifetime gutting people like fish because I couldnāt be bothered finding the way forward anymore."
Yin looks up and gestures to themself, fresh and frantic tears burning their eyes. "And that was my choice! All of those were my choices! Iāve read every book, and Iāve burned every book! Iāve watched you die in a thousand ways, Iāve buried you in a thousand ways!"
"Who says youāre the only one who made those choices?"
"H-Huh?"
Yin looks up, blinking at Mark. His eyes are closed tight, his brow furrowed. "Look, I donāt remember everything, youāre right, but some of thisā¦" He blinks. Gives the smallest shake of his head. "I wasnāt a saint in every universe either. Hell, no one was!"
"But I had way too many chancesā"
"Itās all in the past. Or the future? Orā¦ Whatever. Different universes we never have to glimpse again. Theyāre not us."
"That crystal gave me too many second chances, Mark. I got too used to making awful decisions. Do you understand now?"
"Understand what?!"
"Why I canāt allow myself to live anymore!"
Yin bows their head in shame, digging their nails into their palms. "Iām a risk. A risk, and a fucking terrible captain! I canāt take care of this colonyā¦ There are no more second chances, no do-overs if I make another mistake and hurt you or the crew or anyone else."
Their tone turns bitter, seething at themself. "There never were second chancesā¦I just canāt abandon my life-ruining mistakes and hop into a fresh universe anymore, I canāt just leave the corpses of my failures behindā¦ And god, if one of my mistakes gets you hurt, or killedā¦ Againā¦"
Their head pounds as tears threaten to well up again. They glance at Mark, but it pains them to look at him on this train of thought. They stare into his wide, vulnerable, inquisitive eyes, and they just see a slideshow of all the most painful deaths he suffered, by Yin's hand or not. Their head falls forward to rest on his shoulder.
In a quiet, cracking voice, they conclude: "I donāt think even death could save me from the pain Iād feelā¦"
Mark is silent for a long time, but his body feels tense. Yin waits in anguish for a response, a reply, anything. Finally, he tightens his grip on their shoulders. Itās not harsh, but itās noticeable enough to distract Yin from the movement of one hand, rising to cup their chin and make them look at him again. His face is drawn tight.
"And what makes you think that disappearingā that killing yourself wouldnāt hurt me?"
Itās like a bullet to the heart. A truth they knew, subconsciously, but callously ignored. That they want to keep ignoring. But stubbornly, they shake their head.
"Thatās notā¦ You deserve to live a full life here. Safe from my influence. I would just put you in danger, and I canātā"
"What kind of danger? What kindā? Look, you keep saying you make bad decisions, you keep saying youāre too used to making mistakes, but youāre really not. Think of the colony. Name one bad decision youāve made for the colony."
Yin hesitates. There has to be something, right? Skewed priorities, overly stringent security, unnecessary risksā¦ There's always something. They justā¦can't immediately think of anything. Not from this lifetime.
Mark takes Yin's silence as an answer. "Exactly. It hasnāt burned to the ground, itās not crumbling to pieces. The colonists arenāt revolting against you. They love you, Captain! Everybody praises your leadership!"
"Gunther mutinied onceā¦" they wince.
"Not our Gunther. Heās so loyal to you heād shove a grenade in someoneās mouth if they dared to try insulting you. And that loyalty didnāt come from nowhere."
Yin wilts, unable to deflect the truth in that statement.
"If you died, Captainā¦the entire colony would mourn your passing for years." Mark takes one of Yin's hands, and squeezes it gently. He looks at them with such tenderness, it makes their throat seize up. "Even if you were dangerous - which youāre not - I donāt care. I want you hereā¦with meā¦"
His eyes flicker back down to their joined hands. The shine of fresh tears welling in his eyes isn't lost on Yin. Nor is the strain in his breath, the undertone of heartbreak. His mouth draws into a thin line. He lets out a breath, looking back up at them with painfully raw vulnerability in his eyes. And his voice.
"If I lost youā¦" He silently sheds his tears with a strained smile. "ā¦I don't think I'd ever be able to move on."
It's not even a confession of love. It doesn't have to be. Because Yinā¦fuck, Yin knew that. Knew it was a possibility, at least. But now that itās spoken into reality, it erodes everything that guarded the truth.
"Iām selfish," they whisper. "Iād rather die than hurt you, but Iād rather die than live without youā¦ And the guilt I feel, surrounded every day by people I hurt so many timesā¦is too much to bear. In the endā¦" Their voice is thin, again on the verge of breaking into tears. "I guess in the end, my goal was really just to leave one more corpse of a failure behindā¦"
Their tears are silent now, but present nonetheless as they weep into Markās shoulder. How many tears have soaked his jacket, by now? How much damage have they done crying out their guilt? Fuck.
"Don't talk about yourself like that," Mark insists. His voice is soft, quiet, but deeply offended, as if on Yin's behalf. He holds them tighter and sucks in a shaky breath. "Captainā Yin. You are not a failure."
Yin chuffs mirthlessly. "Aren't I?"
"No."
Mark pulls back to stare at them incredulously, almost hurt. He seems to forget himself, cradling their face in both hands. He handles them like a priceless artifact, and that alone threatens to make their heart crawl up their throat.
He opens his mouth, inhaling again as if to speak with purpose, but the words seem to stall out on his tongue. He hesitates, then after a pregnant pause, he deflates with a sharp sigh. Instead of speaking, he opts to smooth his thumbs across Yin's cheekbones.
"Nobody thinks you're a failure. Come back to the colony, and everyone will attest to that."
Yin rolls their eyes with a mirthless huff. "Even the colonists, huh?"
"Yes, even the colonists. There are thousands of 'em, some bastards just live to complain. Vocal minority. Forget about them."
"I did enough of that during the paradox," they mutter bitterly.
"Not what Iā¦" Mark trails off. He sighs again, wearily. He looks up at the sky, at the slowly emerging stars. Sometimes it's hard to believe they're all still really there.
Mark finally redirects his attention to Yin with an imploring gaze. "Come back for your crew. They need you." His eyes dart, and he worries his lip for a moment. "ā¦We need you."
His careful choice of words does nothing to disguise his true meaning. It echoes around Yin's mind. Until they can't tell if they're imagining it in Mark's voice, or their own.
I need you. I need you. I need you.
"ā¦Okay," Yin squeaks, voice barely there before it gives up on them entirely.
In absence of words, Yin pulls Mark back into their embrace. They squeeze him like if they just try hard enough, they'll be able to fuse as one. A selfish, selfish impulse. One they've sat on for far too long. They squeeze him tighter, face pressing into his shoulder, eyes burning with the impossible need to shed more tears.
One of Mark's hands come to rest on the back of Yin's head. It feels far too close to forgiveness, but they're too exhausted to withdraw from it. They feel his face pressing against the top of their head, his warm breath ruffling their hair when he exhales from his nose. For a moment, it feels like he might kiss their forehead. But that sort of wishful thinking feels even more lethal than the guilt that drove them to throw their life away.
They can't recall ever being so infatuated with someone as they are with Mark. Being near him is too dangerous for both of them, for everyone, but they're too weak to shy away right now. They have to allow themself this moment of self-indulgence.
Eventually - yet far too soon - Mark pulls back with a shaky breath. He stands up without letting go of Yin, hauling them to their feet with a steady grasp on their hand.
"Let's go home."
The Captain nods, and allows Mark to pull them along.
He holds onto their hand for the entire walk downhill. Neither of them say a word. It's so rare for even Mark to fall so quiet. The Captain supposes they've already said all that needs to be said. For now. Even if there's so much still left unspoken.
But the Captain stays quiet. Every time Mark glances back at them and looks away, they want to open their mouth, to say somethingā¦
Thank you. I'm sorry. I need you too. I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. I think we're soulmates. I'm so grateful we're friends in this universe. I love you so much I think it will kill me.
ā¦But their throat freezes up every time. Like it so often does when they're too stressed to speak. They were so very, very quiet during the paradox.
Their broken-down car sits right where they left it at the bottom of the hill. Mark's car is right next to it. They wonder, briefly, how Mark found them. Shamefully, they're relieved that he did. He gives their hand a comforting squeeze and opens the passenger door for them with a warm, tender smile.
He holds onto their hand the whole way home. The Captain selfishly hopes he'll never let them go.
guy on a work call just accidentally said āhave a nice freak-endā instead of weekend and now i desperately want that to be the new meme. have a nice freakend everybody
Whenever they gave us one of those "read through ALL the instructions before you begin!" trick assignments in school where the steps lead you on an increasingly ridiculous goose chase until the final one tells you to just put your name on the paper and turn it in without doing anything else, I was always like, "Okay, but what's the point? Surely the REAL world won't be anything like this." And then I grew up and discovered that not only is the real world often exactly like that, some people won't even read the first line of the instructions even if they make perfect sense. And these people are called "co-workers"
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