Gil's not normally suicidal, he'd swear up and down, but this entire place was one massive existential crisis. He can't imagine how the other version of him is handling this well enough that he's been here for a month making friends.
But. He owes one of them an apology for that entire display. He just. Has no idea where to find them.
Which is why it's largely coincidence that he happens to walk into the library one of these days and spot a familiar shock of white hair: and immediately a rapid rush of fear besets him. Would they even want to talk to him, see him after that? Does he even have the right??
It takes him a moment to realise he's already started walking over to them, and pauses just a little too far to be in Coda's personal space.
[The static in their voice is thicker, and they don't bother to glance up at him. The window behind them, already feathered over lightly with frost, grows moreso, until it's impossible to look out of.]
You came back. Respawned, as I had told you you would.
[His eyes lift to watch the frost curiously - it hadn't been that cold outside- but Coda's tone draws his attention back. The staticky cadence to it is confusing but he certainly recognises the tone: it's the same flat fury Eileen gives him.
His stomach goes a bit colder.]
Yeah, you were right. And I was... freaking out. I handled this... badly. I did not handle it. And-- I wanted to apologise, for putting you through that.
[Coda slowly levers to their feet, gently (oh so gently) shutting the lid of their laptop. Everything is slow and gentle, as they try to process those words. Their gaze flickers at him, and there's nothing kind in their eyes anymore toward him.]
If...um. You said, before. That if nothing we do here matters, we have to make what we do matter. And... [He lifts a hand and rubs his neck; it's still discomfortingly sore, an unpleasant reminder of his failure.] If I'm gonna disappear anyway, I should... make sure that I get you some kind of compensation for that. To make up for... me.
Compensation. [They look like the word tastes bitter in their mouth.]
Gil Ryanson, how would you even begin to do that? How do you compensate for making someone responsible for your suicide? Can you lift that guilt out of my heart? Can you steal from me the memory of the sound your body made when it hit the ground?
[Coda reaches out to touch Gil on the cheek lightly.]
I am going to carry the memory of you--this you--for the rest of my life. There is no way in hell you can say your life didn't matter, now. You left one hell of an impact.
[He's having a lot of complicated feelings about this right now, but the largest one is easily regret, in the tangled, confusing mess of frustration, desperation and guilt.]
Do you want me to just... leave you alone, then?
[It's a genuine question. If he can't help them by sticking around, maybe not being around will be better.]
I- I promise I won't do that again, still. No matter what your answer is.
[Coda drinks down that complicated mix of emotions, deriving a feast of glamour from what Gil is feeling, before they manage the a horrible, cold smile.]
I'm glad to hear you won't do that again. Death hurts, even if it's not permanent. Coming back isn't a nice feeling, either.
Weird question: before you came here, were you content in your life?
Uh. [The question is so left field that he just gapes for a second.] I... guess? Um. Like, five of my best friends have just started acting super weird recently, but that's not. Really relevant...?
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Mid-week 2 of the doppelevent
Gil's not normally suicidal, he'd swear up and down, but this entire place was one massive existential crisis. He can't imagine how the other version of him is handling this well enough that he's been here for a month making friends.
But. He owes one of them an apology for that entire display. He just. Has no idea where to find them.
Which is why it's largely coincidence that he happens to walk into the library one of these days and spot a familiar shock of white hair: and immediately a rapid rush of fear besets him. Would they even want to talk to him, see him after that? Does he even have the right??
It takes him a moment to realise he's already started walking over to them, and pauses just a little too far to be in Coda's personal space.
Well, here he goes.]
Um. Hey... Coda.
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[The static in their voice is thicker, and they don't bother to glance up at him. The window behind them, already feathered over lightly with frost, grows moreso, until it's impossible to look out of.]
You came back. Respawned, as I had told you you would.
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His stomach goes a bit colder.]
Yeah, you were right. And I was... freaking out. I handled this... badly. I did not handle it. And-- I wanted to apologise, for putting you through that.
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What does an apology accomplish, here?
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I... I want to try and make it up to you. Somehow.
[That doesn't technically answer the question.]
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[They're not going to make any of this easier for him.]
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CW: discussion of suicide
Gil Ryanson, how would you even begin to do that? How do you compensate for making someone responsible for your suicide? Can you lift that guilt out of my heart? Can you steal from me the memory of the sound your body made when it hit the ground?
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[What can he even say to that?] No, I-I can't, but...
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I am going to carry the memory of you--this you--for the rest of my life. There is no way in hell you can say your life didn't matter, now. You left one hell of an impact.
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That's-- I didn't mean that...
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That doesn't mean I'm okay to just let it go, yet.
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That's... fair. I'm sorry.
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I know that you are. I think it's unlikely you'll still be here, by the time I'm ready to forgive you. But I appreciate the apology.
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Do you want me to just... leave you alone, then?
[It's a genuine question. If he can't help them by sticking around, maybe not being around will be better.]
I- I promise I won't do that again, still. No matter what your answer is.
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I'm glad to hear you won't do that again. Death hurts, even if it's not permanent. Coming back isn't a nice feeling, either.
Weird question: before you came here, were you content in your life?
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I don't know if you'll remember anything, in your timeline, but hold onto that feeling. If things are weird, they're weird.
In the meantime, while you're here, make of this place what you can.
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[All of those intense emotions have lessened slightly, with Coda's harvest, but he still feels bad overall.]
You...seem like a really good person, Coda. You, um...
[He glances away uncertainly; there's an internal debate going, evidently, but it resolves itself shortly.]
Nevermind. Thanks. And-- sorry, again.
[He's just gonna leave now before he somehow makes things worse. He's aware of how lightly he's getting off, all things considered.]