-George's POV-
"I'm not letting you do this, sunshine."
"You don't have a choice."
Clay doesn't look angry, more concerned. There's no harshness in his tone, just something bitter that sounds like it could be the start of regret. "And neither do I, actually," I continue, trying my hardest to ignore him. "There's nobody else who can do it."
"Why not?" Clay protests again, folding his arms as if it'll prove his point. I notice his fingers curl into fists beneath his arms, but decide not to dwell on it. "There's got to be someone else who can do it. Why is everyone just agreeing that it's gonna be you?"
"Because I'm logically the person who should do it. Surely you must be able to see that." Although, the bitter look in his eyes says otherwise, and I'm stuck wondering if he's genuinely confused or just in denial that I'm right.
"Let's say it goes wrong, Clay. Perhaps the bands do something weird and kill the person wearing them, but don't reverse the system. The person wearing them should be someone who can be revived if things don't actually work."
"You, Tubbo, Bad and Karl can't be revived. That leaves me, Skeppy and Sapnap as the three people who could do it. I volunteered because you're the most competent to revive your soulmate if they die." Clay shoots me a conflicted look, half absorbed by his own thoughts still. It's almost sceptical, and I hope that somehow, he can't work out what I'm also thinking.
"It makes sense, okay?" I try to justify, offering him a shy smile and hoping he'll return it. Wishful thinking, I soon realise, when Clay resorts to staring at the ceiling instead.
I can't understand him, how his arm stays wrapped protectively around my waist from where I lay beside him, but it feels absentminded. Not really colder, but lacking the usual warmth I've become so used to associating with him.
"You know, you don't have to be the heroic main character who believes they have to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, or because they simply deserve it." Something about that comment of his makes guilt twist knots in my stomach, mixed sickeningly with dread.
"You owe nothing to this world, George. Not to the system, or to Bad or even to me."
It's my turn to stare awkwardly at the ceiling, knowing if Clay has something else to say, he'll do it anyway. For a few seconds it's quiet, and I wonder if he's given up trying completely until there's a soft prod to my cheek. I shoot him a glare, unimpressed but not bothering to protest when he starts tracing shapes out of my sparse collection of freckles.
"What?" I ask quietly, trying to pretend the stutter in my voice was a laugh instead. That causes Clay to pause, and I feel a little better at the sight of sympathy in his eyes. Warm and strangely understanding in that way he always is, in that way I've learnt to be with him.
"You don't deserve to die that way."
"Most people don't deserve to die the way they did," I counter, trying to ignore the fact I know he's till watching me. "That's why we're trying to reverse the system. Even if we don't know it'll work for certain, we have to try the option we have. For the sake of everyone, and the people they've lost to this fucking second system."
Realistically, 'the people' probably is also everyone. I'd count myself as a part of it, and can't think of anyone I know who would be an exception. We've all been affected by the second system, just in different ways. Some of us more than others too, in ways I try not to think about too much.
"There's a good chance I won't die," I offer as comfort to my boyfriend, knowing I'm a little better with words than actions. "We're kinda predicting everything, including that." I've never been great with showing affection, something Clay caught onto pretty quickly. He seems to have decided therefore that it's his job to be extra affectionate.
Or at least, that's how he tries to justify his sentimentality.
So I let him wrap his arms tighter around me, gently pull me against his chest. He buries his face into the crook of my neck, and I giggle when his nuzzling starts to tickle. "I'm just worried about you," he mumbles into my neck, and the feeling of his breath fanning out against my skin sends a tingling sensation through me.
It's a warming feeling, and there's something strangely comforting about the way he still tries to comb his fingers through my hair softly when they're trembling too badly to stay steady. Nonetheless, the attempt is still filled with domestic intent, and I hope the hearts I trace into his skin convey the same feeling.
"I know, and I would be too," is what I decide on responding with eventually, knowing it says enough. Clay nods silently, the only indicator that he heard me in the first place. He seems calmer for a short moment after, but it's quickly disrupted when I feel his shaking hands move again.
Hands twist tightly into any fabric they can reach, and I press a featherlight kiss to the last heart I drew on his neck before lacing my fingers into his hair instead, knowing that helps him the most when he's anxious.
"Just..." Clay mumbles at last, stumbling over his words as he tries to work out what exactly to say. "Promise me you're doing this because you're a good person, not because you see this as some sort of punishment."
"You have to forgive yourself eventually, sunshine."
"I know," is the only answer I can bring myself to give without lying.
~~~
"So, we're actually doing this."
Numb is the only feeling left in me as I stare at the first Lost Soul's band in my hands, and even that feels like nothing. Too little to call an emotion, but too much to be empty completely. Though I already feel it, trying to ignore the dread that can't stop me believing that even theoretically, there's no way I'll actually survive this.
I want to think that I'm wrong. That what I've had to do to reach this point is worth it. This in itself is, at least, and no amount of denial can drown the small ounce of satisfaction that for the number of lives it'll save, it's worth trying. Even when it's this uncertain, could result in nothing more than a few new victims to the system.
As if we all weren't already.
"You're sure about this George?" Bad asks quietly, and I hate that his expression is filled with what looks less like sympathy and more like pity. "I know what I signed up for," I force out as evenly as my tone can stay in a moment like this. Which albeit isn't very, and only earns me another pitiful smile, but at least I can still sound coherent.
"Don't make him second guess it," Skeppy warns, cringing at the sight of the white band in my trembling hands. "Too late now," I shrug, and the laugh that accompanies it sounds far too harsh to be genuine. As if to prove a point, I pull the first band apart, snapping it to reveal the black centre. Identical to that of Tommy's band, which Tubbo is still reluctant to let go of.
I clasp the band around my wrist, hissing at the sudden stinging sensation that shoots up the length of my wrist. When I blink it feels different in a way I can't describe, my vision going blurry in one eye. I know it's changed colour when Tubbo's eyes widen, too stunned by the sight to say anything.
"How do I look?" I joke awkwardly, desperate for something to break the deafening silence. I count myself lucky there's nothing around that I could see my reflection in, see something that just seems so unnatural consume me. Even after only a few seconds it feels that way, like the sting of the band hit a deeper nerve within me.
The same feeling makes me all-too aware of the ghostly figure now next to me, who I try my hardest to ignore.
"Like Tubbo," Sapnap offers unhelpfully, signalling to the teen. Karl shoots him an uncertain look, already knowing he picked the wrong thing to say. Tubbo recoils into himself at the comment, twisting the band around his wrist in a sort of dazed trace, as if not quite believing it's still there.
"Not for much longer," he chokes out stiffly, and I notice his fingers shape when they graze over a certain part of the band. They fumble with the clasp, tracing over the thin line where the band separates, but seeming unable to do such a thing.
It's horrible, to see the tears that were heavily staining his cheeks when we came here, resurface after watching him try for so long to keep them in.
"Do you want me to do it instead, honeybee?" Karl offers sweetly, outstretching his arms in a silent invitation. Tubbo can't even bring himself to move, only nod with a quivering "yes please".
Mirrored hurt shines in Karl's eyes as he wraps Tubbo in his arms, lets the teen sob into his shirt like I remember him doing when the two reunited. It stays that way for a while, nobody wanting to rush what will most likely be Tommy and Tubbo's final goodbye.
Karl eventually circles his fingers around the band, tracing along it with his fingers until they settle over the line. "Tell me when-" he stutters, and the way his voice cuts off at the end makes it very clear he's choking back sobs for Tubbo's sake.
After a moment, Tubbo nods into the older's chest, mumbling something inaudible just as the band is snapped. Karl immediately offers the band to me, waiting for me to take it before setting his hand softly in Tubbo's hair.
"Hey, he'll be okay..." Karl tries to reassure, but the words sound empty when there's no certainty behind them. "You can't promise that," Tubbo mumbles back, and the accusing tone seems to break something in Karl. "No, I can't," he admits quietly.
"But I'm trying, okay. I'm trying to see the good in this."