It is 4:57 am on a Sunday night, the February chill drifting through the cracks of the windows in his room. To his dismay, he is not slumped over face-first into a new case, cold coffee perched on the right of the page, pen still in hand.
It is 4:58 am, and Riz is in bed, wide eyes glued to the ceiling, thinking about how much he fears being alone.
It is a fear that grips the edges of his skull often. The idea that, one day, everyone will find someone better than him and leave. Or maybe not even leave so much as drift apart. There’s a world where that’s lonelier, honestly.
The fear becomes more invasive around this time of year. Valentine’s Day is not fun when you’re single, and it’s less fun when you want to always be single, and it’s less fun when everyone else has someone to spend it with. Least fun of all is when you’re in a conversation with those that are coupled, because it’s coincidentally the Most Fun that they can have.
Such is the situation he found himself this afternoon when hanging out with Fig and Fabian. It started out with the simple question of what everyone’s plan was for the day, him included! But following his brief response of “homework and maybe a hangout with Adaine” was a long-winded back-and-forth brainstorming session on ways to outdo the romantic gestures their partners were surely planning, which was then followed by heart-to-heart monologues about how lucky they are to have found such kind love. Right in front of him. Barely even sparing a glance to see what he thought of it all. They were at a table doing homework, of course, so they probably thought he tuned out immediately to focus on the Important Assignment in front of him. That didn’t stop the plague of thoughts about how easy it would be for him to disappear without notice, or the pervasive wonder about how long it would take for them to care enough to start looking for him—
He desperately wishes he could sneak up to his office right now. Open the cases back up, look for clues, let the ever-present puzzle envelop his mind and numb the pain. It’s what he usually does, when this worry sneaks up on him. Who has time to worry about friends when you’re working, right? But alas, his mom has been extra worried about him recently, and she’s started to become particularly strict about the 4 hour rule again, and it’s honestly just better to give it a few weeks before testing his luck.
So he’s stuck here. Alone. 5:09 am. All he can think about is how will happen for every one they meet. Everyone will find that person to monologue about, to look at with wonder, to find the profound in. Everyone but him.
It does not matter the times they have saved each other from literal death. The times they crammed into a Basrar’s 4 seater both. The nights spent with popcorn and movies and yelling at Mordred, or the nights on the road sleeping in Gorgug’s beloved weird angel van. Those moments don’t Count as worthy of poetic waxing or as containing the sacred. There is no romance for them to find, and so they will all look for this romance in other places, and deem those places more worthy of their devotion than the place they started. They will one day leave him in this hole to wither, coming back every 6-12 months for a night of partying and gossip and brunch the next day, and then he will repeat the next chunk of time alone in his enclosure.
5:17 am. What will life look like then, when everyone he knows has a lifelong partner? What will it feel like to watch every other pair of eyes move to connect like magnets after a funny joke, with no gaze catching his? To hear retelling after retelling about how they first met, in circle that he is gently squeezed out of? To notice as hands grasp and rub and squeeze each other, always the ones attached to arms that aren’t his? To understand? To witness his connection to others fading because they found someone they’d rather pay attention to?
5:28. This is worse than the nightmares. At least in the nightmares, he can try to grab his gun to shoot at Baron.
5:29. He craves it, in a way. The intimacy it holds. The closeness, the physical contact of hugs and pats and hands held. The inside jokes and deep conversations. The pointless squabbling and the gentleness of an ear lent to babbling tears. The mundane of making coffee for someone in the morning. The message of “I thought of you” attached to that picture of a weird cat. The trust. He just wants that platonically, in friendship, and not in romance. But that will never be enough.
5:42. He will never be enough.
6:13. He will never be enough.
6:36. He will never be enough.
6:59. He will never be enough.
7:00. The unnecessary beeping screeches in his ear. With a deep sigh, he turns over to turn it off before begrudgingly slinking out of bed. At least he can tell his mom he tried.
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