The Infinite Nothing

II : to laugh about life and death equally

Tristan's laughter finally pulled him out of his thoughts, and Ivan's expression of fright turned into a neat scowl. "Your humour is fucked."

"I work at a funeral home, what do you expect?"

Ivan pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. "I'd expect someone more serious, to be honest."

"Life is too much of a joke to be taken seriously," Tristan replied, that bitter smile still lingering on his lips. "You'll learn. How old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen." Ivan pulled a face as he spoke the number. "Would it make much of a difference if I had said seventeen? Everyone acts like the jump to coming of age is such a big thing, but honestly, I feel the same still. And for all the important matters I get treated the same way, too."

"Adulthood is just one of life's laughable aspects."

"How are you supposed to act like an adult the minute you turn eighteen when you've been treated as a kid your whole life?"

Tristan glanced at him. "Not all of us got to be kids."

Ivan laughed before he could stop himself, and when he noticed the sudden coldness in Tristan's eyes, he realized he had been foolish again. His mother returned laughing in his mind. Scenes of the funeral started playing.

"But you're still young, too," he said at last.

"Barely nineteen."

"See. Who says we have to stop being kids the minute we're of age?"

To his relief Tristan grinned, studying Ivan with a look in his eyes he couldn't quite decipher yet. "Your world seems fun. Tell me more."

Ivan took a moment to think; something he should make a habit of. "Ryder's cousin died while eating a snickers."

Tristan's laughter was brief and dry, but humorous none the less. "You consider that fun? And here I thought you were more of the innocent type."

"It's not that," Ivan said, pulling a face. "She had this muscle disorder thing going on. Her death was basically predestined from the moment she was born."

"All death is."

"The doctors gave her eight years. She managed fifteen, then choked on a nut and had an allergic reaction."

"That's tragic," Tristan stated, and Ivan nodded in agreement.

"Her family told everyone she fell victim to her disease. I'm the only one who gets to laugh about it, but I can't do it publicly, of course."

Tristan tilted his head. "Why not?"

"That's tactless. Willow was Ryder's cousin, so I need to support him."

"You need to?"

"It's my job as his best friend," Ivan said with a frown. "Why do you act as if you don't get the concept of basic relationships?"

"Because I don't. It's nonsense."

"You don't have any friends?"

"Oh, I do. But I would make fun of the death of their loved ones."

Ivan stared and tried to understand, but the only explanation he could come up with was that Tristan was a blatant and unhinged asshole. Tristan read the realization from Ivan's face and laughed.

"I am an asshole. Are you scared now? Repelled, even?"

Ivan should say yes and tell Tristan to go fuck himself. He should get up and leave and return to the life he knew, and the life he resented in an adoring manner. He should act like a good side character. God, Ivan was so sick of it.

"Maybe I'm an asshole, too," he said at last, hugging his knees a little tighter. "I laugh about it as well, sometimes."

Tristan smiled as the sun finally set, and the sudden absence of warm light casted long shadows on his face, making his lashes seem even longer and his skin slightly paler.

"You make being an asshole seem admirable. Is this your way of rebelling?" Tristan wondered. "A true Pierre Proudhon."

Ivan stared. "I don't know who that is."

"Figure it out," Tristan said as he got up from his chair. "And if you're not scared, you can come back tomorrow."

"It's barely eight yet," Ivan replied, glancing at his phone.

"And I have places to be. Go back to your own world so you can tell me more about it later. It's quite amusing."

Ivan wondered if Tristan really was unhinged – they lived in the same world, after all – but he got up from his chair and stretched. "I'm not scared."

Tristan just grinned, once again revealing a sharp tooth before disappearing on the stairs. Ivan was left standing on ash and dirt, his skin growing cold now that the sun had left.

Maybe he was just a side character, a role easily replaceable by any actor who demanded less payment. Maybe Ivan mattered nothing in the shadow of his grieving best friend and genius sister. But at least Ryder and Dorothy didn't get invited to any strange rooftops by boys who hid behind an asshole façade and laughed about life and death equally.

Ivan smiled as the thought formed in his head. Maybe Tristan could remain his secret; a secret that took away the unimportance of his existence and instead replaced it with beautiful meaning, important only to him, but important none the less. Content, he made his way home, promising to no one in particular that he would return tomorrow.

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