Coraline tries to ignore the way her stomach acid threatens to cause a tsunami within her, a hand shooting up to her mouth as a preventative measure. She looks away from the scene, wanting to grant the cat one last kindness by remembering him how he was when they had met- sly and full of life.
She thinks about what she cares for more between Morty and her white sweater before ultimately deciding that she could throw away clothing much easier than she could walk alongside a man with his revisited lunch drying all over his body. With a sigh, she sets down her coffin shaped purse and begins to take off her sweater.
She remembers saving up her first paycheck to buy it, but now was as good a time as any to say goodbye to the soft fabric gliding down her arms. As Morty begins choking out apologies, her eyebrows raise and a weaker piece of her wants to cry right then and there, but then there would be no one to comfort wither of them.
Composing herself she grabs a water bottle from her bag and comes closer to him to pour it over his hands. Her spare hand, gently moving to touch his arm- hoping the contact grounds him a bit. Her eyes are tired, but she steels herself and offers a weak smile.
❝ Shh, shh. Morty, it’s okay, ❞ She soothes, cool water spilling through his dirtied fingers. ❝ Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Today… today just sucks, okay? ❞
As the last drops wash away what’s left on his hands, she looks back to the sweater she’d left hanging over one shoulder like a towel and grimaces. They didn’t have anything else he could dry himself off with. And although she’s a bit cold, she’d rather know her friend is feeling a bit more stable and clean. The smell leaving her nauseous.
❝ Here. Dry your hands with this. ❞
After he does, she instinctively pulls him into a hug and holds him tightly, moving a hand on his back in a slow circle. They were both too young to have seen terrors and found peace in death rather than in waking life. Coraline wondered what life could have been if she got to grow up with a normal childhood, but mundane things seemed too foreign now.
Places like playgrounds were built for those who could afford to be carefree, not people like her. Trying not to let a single tear fall, she doesn’t leave the hug just yet. She knows the moment they break this hug, she’ll have to bury a friend and let go of a past she couldn’t forget. So she stays, stopping the motion of her hand as the hug becomes about her as well.
there’s an unspoken understanding between them — he’s not the only one to lose his childhood. but it breaks his heart even more to know that someone had to go through the same thing he did. hell, knowing that a lot of children don’t get to experience childhood the way it’s meant to be ... well ... experienced makes him boil with anger. and to those lucky ones, he has a complicated relationship with them. he envies them, he’s glad for them, but — most of all — he fears for when their bubble will eventually burst.
he watches as the water cleans his hand. though, why does it feel like his hand remains dirty — wait, you know what? he sighs in relief, if he’s still affected like this, that means he’s not as jaded or apathetic as rick ... and to some extent, his sister. oh, how he worries for her. she’s been spending too much with rick. who knows what might happen to her? while their father might not be a perfect father, he doesn’t deserve their disrespect.
(that’s how he knows he’s grown up: he’s beginning to empathise with his father, beginning to understand that the bullying towards him is too excessive.)
it’s almost strange watching her shed the white sweater. why does it almost feel symbolic? as if this is the final nail in the coffin, like this is the last few lines of the childhood chapter of her life. the lamb is no longer a lamb and is now ... a sheep he supposes.
does that mean this is his last chapter too? he’s eighteen after all, but is it really truly the end? to be fair, he’s been saying it for a while; like after his trip to the thirsty step, after he had to bury his alternate dimensional self, after he killed fart the gaseous being ...
a child shouldn’t be exposed to these things.
“ thank you, ” he whispers into the hug, returning it. he’s not the only one hurting. she’s the one who lost her cat. “ the day sucks, doesn’t it? we shouldn’t have turned left, huh? ” he doesn’t know if his joke will comfort her, but it’s worth a shot. (maybe he said that more to himself — underplay the pain, morty, and it might be slightly more bearable.)
he’ll wait until she’s ready. burying the cat will be painful for her and he doesn’t have the heart in him to tell her it’s time. they deserve this quiet moment.
“ how long did you have him? ”
