He recalled when he was still in school, that being the only kid with glasses came with an assortment of questions, namely—
"Can I try it on?"
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"So what do you see when you don't have them on?"
Cal didn't mind these questions as much as people expect him to, though he remembered the difficulty of explaining the blurriness that came with being glasses-less. Edges were reduced to fuzz and lines were distorted.
He had always been so grateful to have them, leaving the old days of his younger self struggling to read the blackboard behind.
However, Cal seemed to have branched off from that time in his life. Right now, he couldn't appreciate the blurriness any more than he did.
Leaving some objects in front of him unidentifiable saved him from painful reminders. He didn't have to worry about recognizing things that caused him heartbreak. He could drown a little more in this sea of light and color and nothing definable in between.
Unfortunately for him, humans had five senses, which means blocking one out didn't spare him from the others.
He raised his pint of beer to his lips and let the citrusy flavor burn his throat. Sitting at the far corner of the bar, keeping no one but himself company, may not be the ideal look. But on some nights like these, Cal couldn't find it in him to care.
It was a vicious cycle. Like arthropods shedding skin.
He lathered himself in grief, allowed himself just a drop of hope, shed his tough skin, try to live out a decent day, and somehow end up here again— wallowing in self-pity.
The only difference today was the obnoxiously loud clapping coming from the bar, followed by a couple of cheers and whoops.
Interested, Cal dragged himself out of his seat and approached. "What's happening?" he asked whoever's on his left.
"The boy's doing magic!"
Cal rubbed his eyes and squinted at the scene before him, pushing against a neighboring watcher. This might be one of the first times he wished he had his glasses with him.
The bartender appeared to be situated atop a stool, palm open towards the ceiling. A glass hovered over it— by magic, he claimed— and floated down into the counter.
The crowd wowed. Cal stared at him skeptically, head tilting when he realized it was— What was his name? Lennon. Yes— Lennon was performing for everyone.
"No ma'am. I do not have any strings attached to the ceiling," the chestnut boy continued, grinning from ear to ear when he earned a few laughs.
He got on his tiptoes and passed the pitcher to a certain ghost, who held it there. A few gasps sounded when Kieran began pouring the liquid into a line of glasses. To everyone else, the pitcher seemed to be levitating by itself.
"How do you do that?" someone asked.
Lennon wished he had a smarter answer than "I just— do."
"I just do," Kieran mocked from next to him, fully aware that the boy couldn't scold him with so many pairs of eyes on him, "Couldn't come up with anything better than that, Lennon?"
The chestnut boy aimed a quick glare at him, only to catch sight of the clock hung on the opposite wall. "Oh!" he exclaimed, lowering himself back down on the ground. It was already past the end of his shift. He turned towards his little audience. "Sorry everyone."
Kieran watched with big eyes as the boy ripped his apron off and rushed to the back room. "You alright?" he said, sticking his head around the door, "Was it something I said? Oh— I just assumed since you're such a chatterbox that you would know what to say—"
"It's not that, ghostie. I have a photography class to head to," Lennon replied hastily, twisting open his locker and recollecting his belongings. He stopped to gaze over at the ravenhead. "And I may be quote-unquote a chatterbox, but I'm not used to people wanting to hear what I have to say."
Kieran digested his words for a moment. "I want to hear what you have to say."
The boy laughed, shaking his head. "That's nice, ghostie." It was awfully clear he didn't believe him.
Lennon was halfway out the door when the ravenhead halted him in his tracks.
"When will I see you..." Kieran inquired, the rest of his sentence fading with uncertainty.
The chestnut boy shrugged, still in a hurry. "I dunno—Come over tonight?"
"Really?"
"Sure."
"Okay, promise."
Lennon took another step forward, hands raised meekly. "I really have to go."
"Go."
"I had a lot of fun today, ghostie."
Kieran thought this might be the achievement of his lifetime, considering that he'd forgotten most of his achievements. "I'm glad," he replied happily.
The boy readjusted his bag on his back and maneuvered towards the exit when suddenly someone's fingers curled around his wrist.
For a deadly millisecond, Lennon thought it could've been the ravenhead. But of course, that wasn't possible no matter how much he wished it was.
"Who were you talking to?" Cal demanded, pulling the chestnut boy close.
"What?"
"I saw you— talking to someone outside the back room."
Lennon frowned deeply, trying to free himself from the blonde's grasp. "I wasn't talking to anyone. Can you please let go of me? I'm in a big hurry right now."
But Cal didn't let go. He seemed to be contemplating something as he shot Lennon a hard stare.
At the corner of his eye, the chestnut boy noticed Kieran approaching. He must've noticed Cal's rough handling and came to give him a piece of his mind as he did to the other man earlier that day.
Panicked, Lennon yanked the blonde towards him with one swift movement and threw his arms around him. Cal froze in shock, losing all knowledge of how to return an embrace in this state.
How long has it been since he received a hug?
Lennon glanced at Kieran and recognized the utter confusion on his features. At least he wasn't coming any closer— nothing close enough to see the severe flush on his cheeks.
He pulled away and patted the blonde down nervously, attempting to tidy up his impulsive actions.
Cal's eyes locked onto the boy's bandaged limb. "I'm sorry about your arm," he blurted.
Lennon turned his attention back on the blonde. "It's not your fault," he dismissed, "But I really really have to go."
Cal released him, finally, and the Lennon sprinted the rest of the way out the bar, leaving more than one extremely baffled entity.
__________
"Saw you today."
Those were the last words Kieran expected to leave Autumn's mouth. "Huh?"
"I saw you," his friend repeated, sitting on the ledge next to the ravenhead, "At the bar across town today."
Kieran's lips parted in an oh. So that's what the flash of gold he saw— Autumn. "What were you doing at the bar?"
They dodged the question. "I saw you with that boy."
Kieran prepared himself for an onslaught of teasing, but it never came. "His name's Lennon," he reminded, "And yeah, I was with him."
"Why?"
The ravenhead planted his hands on his knees as a gust of wind breezed past them. "Why not?"
Autumn looked at him like he had grown a second head. "I thought you despised humans."
"And I thought you wanted me to go talk to him."
"I did," they confirmed, wrapping their cape more smugly around them, "But you've gotten your information and you've been to the theater."
Kieran hated that he didn't know where this conversation was headed. "So? Maybe I can get more clues out of him."
"Oh Kieran, please," Autumn said disapprovingly, crossing their legs, "I saw the way you were acting around him. That wasn't collecting resources. That was flirting." They gnawed on the inside of their cheek.
"I wasn't flirting," the ravenhead protested, bolting upright. He didn't understand the reasoning behind the disappointment Autumn was expressing. "You were the one who urged me to go interact with him."
"I was half-joking."
"Half."
"I didn't expect you to take it this far."
"Take it this far?" Kieran questioned, a silver of annoyance slipping into his voice, "You say that like I've committed a crime or something."
"Kieran, there's a reason why we're not supposed to meddle with the living." Autumn faked a cough for emphasis. "Because they're— I dunno— living?"
The ravenhead didn't appreciate the sarcastic tone of voice, tutting loudly, but Autumn carried on anyway.
"We've lived our lives. Let's not interfere with those who haven't lived theirs."
The ravenhead felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. "Well, I don't feel like I've lived at all, not when I've lost everything," he admitted quietly, "Being with Len feels like I'm finally making some memories, achieving some sense of purpose—"
"Kieran, stop it."
Kieran's throat clogged.
"We're dead. We don't need purposes anymore."
Now tears had sprung freely from the ravenhead's eyes and he blinked fiercely.
Autumn reached over and dabbed at their friend's eyes. "Let it go. You're using him— him and his time. Don't you see what will happen?" they pleaded softly, "The boy has an entire life outside of you. You're latching onto him and holding him back."
"But Autumn..."
"That's selfish, Kieran. Do you not realize that?"
The ravenhead's shoulders fell and he hugged his legs against his chest, letting the word ring in his eyes like a warning. Selfish.
He peeked over at Autumn, spotting the glossiness of their eyes. Somehow, he just knew they learned that lesson the hard way.
"I'm sorry," they whispered, "That was harsh."
Shaky breathes racked through Kieran's lungs with the bitter taste of anguish. "It's okay," he managed, "You're right. Len doesn't need me bothering him any more than I already am."
Contrary to his statement, the chestnut boy waited at home till later that night. Because Kieran promised— he promised he'd come over.
But the ravenhead never showed up.