#redd;

I notice very quickly that his hand is warm. Warmer than my own. Warmer than Oswald’s. Warmer than Glen’s. The skin where his pulse gathers is thin and pale. I can see quivering blue-green veins I could so easily break, if I wanted to.

His voice echoes his heartbeat. “Is that—is that you, Lacie?”

“It’s me.” I curl my fingers around his wrist because I know they will. “Did you forget what I looked like?”

“I could never,” Jack says, sitting up, bluebells clinging to him as he goes. I can hear him breathing. It’s almost revolting. But not quite. So I lean closer. I find the place where the air gathers in his throat when it can’t be swallowed, but I don’t touch it. “You just startled me.”

I smile at him, like I’ve learned. “You sound like Oswald. You sleep like him, too.”

“Do I?” he asks.

The fading afternoon sun suits him. Jack stretches in its warmth, his lashes casting forest-like shadows in his eyes. I wonder what fairy tales lurk behind the trees. In those stories, he can never make up my mind who lives and who dies—or if it even matters. Yet, he sleeps so peacefully—his breaths long and even, his lips curled into the ghost of a smile—as if he’s pretending.

I don’t know if I want him to be.

He still hasn’t made to remove his hand from mine. I press a finger against his pulse and try to read his heartbeats. Jack’s brow furrows. “Lacie, you look pale. Are you quite alright? Shall we head back?”  

“It’s lovely here,” I say, finally letting go of him. I lie down so I can think of something other than his illegible thoughts. All the same, his warm lingers at the tip of my fingers, not altogether unpleasant. “Let’s stay for a little longer.”

Jack follows me, as always, and lies down. I turn on my side so I can watch the reflections of clouds drift across his eyes. I’ve never heard anything about green eyes causing misfortune, as unusual as they are. But, despite his undeniable presence, he disturbs very little around him. While my hands restlessly tear up the grass around me, his are still. The grass where he lies will remember his weight for the span of a few minutes before they grow tall again—so carefully has he distributed his weight. And I, I—

When he speaks again, it’s in the same voice he uses to tell his stories. “I wish I could stay here forever.”  

So maybe I am. Maybe I’m tired of running. Maybe here, it isn’t so bad—the bluebells, the birds, the sweet summer haze—it’s all very distracting. Maybe Oswald should go on sleeping here. Maybe we can all sleep here, forever. If I ask Jack, I think he would agree. He’d agree if I said anything at all and I like that power? No. That’s wrong. It’s just me. Maybe I need to be distracted. I could ask Jack for any number of stories, of course, but I’m not sure if he can tell the one I do want to hear anymore.

“Don’t be silly,” I say instead.  It takes me longer than it should. He’s tempted me, more than he knows. “You’d miss out on the rest of the world.”

His hand inches away from mine. “Lacie? You know, you’re right, as always.”

No, I think. I just want you to live, as I can’t. I want you to live and remember me forever and love me in the sad twisted way of yours. I want to have made some sort of impact on the world through you. I am a selfish person, but I’ll settle for being remembered in some form at all. And I want you to remember Oswald after he is Glen. My brother has an unfortunate tendency to immerse himself in his duties and there needs to be someone to remind him he, too, while not exactly human, exists. Apart from Glen.

I grasp his hand in mine before he moves away completely.

I look at the meadow, the sky, the bluebells. Jack looks with me. I wonder what he sees. But his hair is the color of sunshine and his eyes the color of grass, and when I start to sing, it’s for all of us.

I really wish I could stay here forever.