Host was in a big and scary place. He didn’t like big and scary places. So of course he wandered off immediately, walking through the halls of this big scary place to find the exit.
He heard people sometimes. He hid when he heard them, because strangers meant danger, and he didn’t like danger. Danger wasn’t nice. Usually, danger hurt. As did a lot of things, actually, so he was hoping he could get out and find a safe place.
A gunshot startled him, making him squeak and run. No no, this was a terrible place, it was big and dark and scary, and he wanted to go home. Even if home wasn’t much better either.
While running, he was spotted by someone who called out to him. But he didn’t care, here were bad people, so he continued to run. And he managed to get outside, where he continued to run until he couldn’t see the building anymore he had been trapped in.
Now he was in the forest, and he looked around as he walked. He liked forests. He liked trees. It was cool here, which made it good he had this weird long coat on. It was far too big, and he had almost thrown it away while running because he nearly tripped a couple of times. But since he hadn’t, he was glad he had the coat still. It did drag through the dirt though.
“Squiwwewl!”, he spotted a squirrel, following the fuzzy little creature. It was so cute! He loved squirrels! It didn’t take long and he walked into something -or something into him?- making him fall back and plop onto his butt.
“Oh!”, an adult was looking down at him. Was it an adult? The man looked young, and had peanut butter all over his face! He wore a crown too, and a pretty cape! “Greetings, young one!”, the king greeted with a smile. Host just looked up at him in awe. “It appears you have found your way to my kingdom! And I welcome you! I am the king of the squirrels. Who are you?”.
“Uh- ‘m Hosht.”, Host replied, content sitting on the ground and looking up at King. He seemed surprised to hear that though, but after a moment smiled. “It is nice to meet and see you Host! Let me help you out, hm?”, King helped Host back onto his feet, and rolled up his sleeves. He tried to get the coat a bit shorter too, advising Host to be careful.
Host listened with a smile, nodding along. King was really nice! And he was the king of the squirrels! He loved squirrels! And they were climbing all over King, which made him giggle, which in return made King smile! He was very happy here.
“I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead.”, he mumbled quietly to himself, chewing on the pad of his thumb. His head was in a bad place, and he thought about the Author, and how he should be dead, but wasn’t. Which confused him, and he couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. Which he hated.
Wilford was the one who found the Host sitting alone there. He draped his arms over the other man’s shoulders, startling Host out of his thoughts. “If you were dead, why do you feel things?”, he said, which stunned Host a little. He felt things, he thoughts things. He must be alive.
“Let’s go bake some cookies.”, Wilford said with a smile, nuzzling into Host’s hair, before stepping back and pulling the other to his feet. The Host smiled lightly and nodded, walking with Wilford to the kitchen, where the mad man had already set out the necessary ingredients and cookie cutters.
While Host wanted to try and weigh everything they needed, Wilford decided that was no fun. So he grabbed the bag of flour out of Host’s hands and made a puff of flour come forth from it doing so, which dusted Host’s face white and make him cough.
“The Host didn’t think about making a mess before. But it seems like Wilford has different plans.”, Host said, and of course he was right. Because Wilford was grinning widely and scooped out flour from the bag to throw it at Host with a laugh.
Host squeaked when he was hit, before giggling lightly and grabbing another bag of flour. War was about to happen, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
It was pretty funny though, as Host and Wilford threw flour at each other, sometimes trying to dodge the attacks. Most usually though they rubbed flour into each other, Wilford rubbing flour into Host’s hair, Host rubbing flour all over Wilford’s cheeks.
They were covered in flour, as was the kitchen, but both of them were laughing and dropping their empty bags of flour.
It was so loud. Screaming at him, demanding his attention, and it was so loud, and it hurt, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the noise in his head.
Host was clutching his hair, curled up on his bed. It was so loud, it hurt. Futures unraveling in his mind’s eye, too many options that could happen, would happen, may happen. Simple options like a yes or no, and a whole new reality came forth from it.
Seeing the possibilities of egos dying, killing each other, protecting each other, threatening each other, so many things that could happen. And it was loud, it wanted out of his head, and he was talking, but he wasn’t fast enough to get everything in his head out.
He violently flinched back when Dark touched him, raised his head by his chin. So many possibilities of what could happen -Dark could kiss him, could hit him, could talk, could stay silent, could- “Silence.”.
Host shut up, knowing, though unable to grasp the thought about it, that he was talking. Dark pulled off Host’s bandage, soaked with blood. He was saying what he was doing, and what he was going to do. And it calmed Host’s head, because if he knew what would happen, and not what could happen, he didn’t need to narrate it all.
So Dark cleaned Host’s face, and his hands, and re-wrapped his eyes. Talking all the while what he was going to do, before doing it.
In the end Dark was sitting with Host, holding the blind man close to his chest. Carding his fingers through Host’s hair, not commenting on it’s ungelled state, showing its curly nature. Telling him what there would be for dinner later, and what they’d do after. And Host’s head quieted down, until it was a pleasant background noise.
Dark noticed when Host had fallen asleep, sighing softly. The man slept too little anyways, and he was glad to have been able to help at least.
“You are the light of my world”. He giggled after saying it, because of course he would. Because it was funny to him, and Dark only rolled his eyes at the words.
Wilford thought them funny. “Because you’re Dark! But you’re my light.”, he had explained, the first time he had said it. And even then, Dark had just rolled his eyes.
It had quickly become Wilford’s way of telling Dark he loved him. Because of course he did, and of course he’d tell Dark every day. And Dark didn’t mind, because how could he mind with Wilford being more lost in his head than not? If Wilford could have one clear thought, it was his love for Dark.
It became more frequent. Wilford telling Dark those words. Every day, and sometimes more than once during.
He came into Dark’s office, just to tell him. He told him after meetings. He told him whenever he saw him randomly in the hallways. And Dark never replied to it, never said anything back. What his feelings towards Wilford were, was a secret to everyone but himself.
Wilford draped his arms over Dark’s shoulders, laying his chin on top of the other man’s head. “Hey Dark.”, he’d say, and he’d have a goofy smile of his face. And Dark would make a questioning hum, as he kept his focus on the work in front of him, on his desk. “You are the light of my world.”, Wilford would say, and he’d giggle. Dark would merely sigh softly, keeping quiet, working. And Wilford would leave, quietly, maybe thinking Dark didn’t feel the same way. Maybe thinking Dark couldn’t -or didn’t know how to- express his feelings. Maybe thinking Dark just didn’t take hm serious.
And it’d happen again and again.
Wilford nudging Dark as the latter got ready to leave after a meeting. “Did you know?”, Wilford would start. “You are the light of my world.”. And he’d giggle, and he’d wander off, because he knew Dark would stay silent, just continue to gather his things, before leaving.
But eventually it’d stop. Because everything stopped one day. Dark knew Wilford would either move on to say something else, or he’d forget. Or he’d just give up.
It didn’t come how Dark had thought it would, though.
“You are the light of my world..”, he whispered, as tears dropped from his chin. Falling onto the limp body clutched to his chest, unmoving, cold. Pink strands of hair hanging in the peaceful face, hiding it partly. As curly and messy as always. And Dark would miss them. Dark would miss the sweet candy scent of him. Dark would miss the little affections every day.
He just had been too slow to tell him. To reply, even once. And now Wilford was gone, never having known that he was Dark’s light.
The library was quiet. The Host was quiet. Sitting there, feeling the blood run down his cheeks, gather at his chin, and drop off down onto his clothes. It was the only thing he felt. Other than the silence.
The silence was pressing down on him, deafening in its completeness.
Hadn’t he wished for this?
For silence. For the narrations to stop, to give him a bit of quiet. To not have a headache from the amount of words flooding his mind. To not have to move his lips and speak what his mind was supplied with.
But now he had the silence. And the silence was almost painful.
It was weird. It felt weird. He wasn’t used to this, and he didn’t like it. It was so so silent, and for all he knew, he could be entirely alone. Everyone else could be gone. Something terrible could have happened, and he wouldn’t know.
He was just here, alone, in the library. By himself.
And the silence.
He concentrated on the feeling of blood on his face. The only thing that ground him, that kept him in this reality. Making him remember he was real, he was here, he was existing and alive. But it was the only thing
And soon, he got used to it.
The feeling of blood on him was just another thing. And who said he wasn’t imagining this? Who said he was real? Maybe he didn’t exist anymore. Maybe he never truly did. Maybe he wasn’t really sitting here, in this silence.
It hurt.
He was alone, and the world felt empty around him. It was a scary thought, to be all alone. To be well and truly alone. To not have any other living and breathing being around him, nothing else to make sounds, to speak, to laugh, to cry, to shout. He was alone, all alone, and only silence accompanied him.
He hated silence, he hated this silence, and he wished for his narrations to come back. He wished for this silence to end. He wished for it all to end, if it meant he wouldn’t be feeling this painful silence anymore.
“But the Host’s narrations didn’t come back. The Host was just talking to himself, trying to feel normal. Like his narrations hadn’t left. Like the silence wasn’t there, wasn’t something unwanted.
But the Host is alone. Even his muttering couldn’t help him feel better.
emptynarration 