start(); // A Transistor Fanfic
Pairing: Red & Mr. Nobody/Subject/Blue/Breach/Boxer/???
Summary: For some time now a gold triangle has flashed at her every performance, always at the back of the audience, just before the curtain falls.
Notes:
IT'S OVER
General notes: here follows all my headcanons for Red/Mr. Nobody and Cloudbank. It has been a doozy and thank you so much if you've somehow been hanging in there with me this whole time ^^;;
(btw if you read chapter six before 7/25…just a heads up that I changed the ending of it, uh, somewhat significantly, so here's your heads up in case you might be interested in going back to read it again.)
This is like the longest thing I've ever written and finished, so I just wanna say...thanks to everyone who left encouragement or nice words :') They mean a lot to me. THANK YOU! HEART()
The Full Thing (◡‿◡✿);;;:
Chapter 1: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 2: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 3: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 4: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 5: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 6: Ao3 | FFN | Tumblr Chapter 7: Ao3 | FFN | below the cut Chapter 8: Ao3 | FFN | below the cut
Chapter 7: We Can’t Hide
When the door rang, she ran to it, flung it open so quickly that the person outside started. A hand was poised in the air, about to push the ringer again.
“Sybil,” Red said, masking her disappointment. “Hello.”
“Hey, Red!” And when Red said nothing else: “Um, I’m…glad I caught you. I’ve been by a couple times, but you’re never in...and you haven’t been responding to my messages…?”
“Ah…sorry about that. I’ve been a little busy.”
“Oh, have you? That’s fine, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that there’s a festival tonight, and I thought it might be fun to go together. There’s going to be —“
“Sorry,” Red interrupted. “I don’t really feel like going.”
“Oh...alright. That’s fine.”
Sybil waited expectantly, but Red couldn’t think of an excuse, couldn’t even think of small talk. At loss, she swung the door open to let Sybil in.
“Wow,” Sybil said as she entered, gazing around the apartment, “it’s spotless! I don’t think I’ve ever seen your apartment so clean before I’ve come over.”
“Yeah,” Red said, with a shrug.
“Is it because he’s been helping? That...Nobody?”
“No,” Red said, and then, “Well, sort of.” She’d been spending the past couple days alternating between searching for him and waiting in her apartment to see if he’d come back. Cleaning kept her from brooding too much.
At least until she realized something else was missing. This morning it had been the coat hook on the back of the door.
Sybil took a seat at the table, where he used to always sit, and Red sat down in her own usual seat. There were no napkins or flatbread boxes — just her terminal, and his, silent as it had been since she’d last messaged it. She picked at her nail polish. The silence thickened around them, tense and heavy.
Maybe she should ask Sybil to leave. Red opened her mouth, and looked up — just in time to see Sybil’s eyes drift behind her, and widen.
“Red! Is that your music?”
“Oh...yeah.”
“That’s incredible! It’s so organized.” Sybil stood up and looked over the piles of paper, which Red had yet to translate into her terminal. “It looks done! Are you done?”
“Yeah,” Red admitted.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me! Does this mean you’re ready to perform now?”
Her eyes were so bright.
“No,” Red said, looking away.
“What? No? Why not?”
If she performed now, if he saw the posters and advertisements — what would that tell him? That she was moving on with her life?
If she performed now, would she be able to stand the sight of the upper balcony dark?
Red looked at the table and pushed her hair behind her ear. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated? What’s complicated about it?” And when Red didn’t answer: “Red! What’s the matter with you? This is — this is so unlike you —“
“It’s just complicated,” Red repeated, slowly, trying to squeeze the annoyance out from her voice. “I just need to talk to him first.”
“Why? Do you need his — his permission to perform or something?” Sybil said dubiously. “Red, I haven’t said anything until now, but that man is — he’s a horrible influence on you.”
“Sybil, please —“
“Ever since you met him, you’ve changed so much —“
“Sy —“
“And now he won’t even let you perform —“
“Sybil, stop,” Red said, voice raising, and Sybil’s mouth clipped shut. “Sorry,” Red continued, quietly. “But, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why? Did I do something?” Sybil asked. “Is it something I did?”
“No, it’s not you.”
“Just tell me if it is,” Sybil begged, and Red rubbed her forehead.
“It’s not. Really. It has nothing to do with you.”
Nothing at all to do with Sybil, and everything to do with Red’s own congealing guilt, and the lingering soreness in her throat and heart. Sybil sat back down at the table, beside her. She opened her mouth.
“I’d really like to change the subject,” Red told her, and Sybil’s mouth closed again.
“Okay. Sure. Anything you want.” She looked around the apartment. To Red’s chagrin, she reached forward and grabbed his terminal from the table.
“Um, is this your new terminal? Is this why you haven’t been getting my messages, because yours is broken? This one doesn’t look much better, really. I can give you a new one, you know. I know a good Engineer.”
“It’s not mine,” Red sighed. “Mine is fine. That one’s his.”
“Oh.” Sybil’s mouth pursed. “Why do you have it?”
“I need to return it.”
“Well, what’s the hold up?”
“I have no idea where he is.”
“Why? Where’d he go? I mean — sorry,” Sybil said. “We don’t need to talk about what happened.”
“Thanks,” Red said, and managed a weak smile. Sybil beamed back, and tapped her fingers over his terminal screen.
“I...I guess I could help you find him, if that’s what you want. His address should be in here somewhere.”
“If you can find it, you’re a miracle worker,” Red sighed, looking out the window. “I searched it and couldn’t find anything.”
“Yeah? Well, leave it to me!” Sybil hummed brightly as she poked around, a song that Red recognized as one of her older compositions. Red turned to the window, chin in her hand, trying to think.
Where could he be? Was there somewhere she hadn’t yet searched? Based on what she knew about him, could she at least guess a place? But Cloudbank was so big. How would she ever —
Red jumped as something clattered loudly on the floor — Sybil had dropped his terminal.
“Hey!” Red said, voice sharp with panic, “be careful!”
Before she could pick it up and check if it was okay, Sybil scooped it up.
“S-sorry! Sorry, my hand just — I don’t know what — it — it slipped. It’s fine, it should be fine!” She wiped the screen with the hem of her dress, showed Red the light of the functioning screen. Red leaned back on her chair, relieved.
“Um, so, have you — you said you looked through the data on this? All the data? And you didn’t…find anything?”
Red shrugged. “Yeah.” She’d searched for whatever she could think of: addresses, mails, landmarks. Passwords. Security questions. Photos. Notes. Anything that could give her a hint to either him or any likely haunts. She rubbed her forehead. Where was he, where was he, where...
“Well,” Sybil said, “um, it doesn’t look like there’s any — any user data in here. But you know, maybe I can, um — I can bring it to someone I know. Maybe they could get the information out of it.”
“Really?” Red asked, and Sybil nodded and slipped the terminal into her purse.
“Well,” she announced, standing, “I’ve got to get going. See you later, Red. I hope you feel better.”
“Bye,” Red said, and stood impulsively to give Sybil the requisite farewell hug. But Sybil was already making her way down the hallway, and without another word she had let herself out and was gone.
:::
He should have gone back the instant that he realized he’d left his terminal. He should have gone back the instant that he closed the door. He shouldn’t have left at all.
But every time he tried to return, every time he got close to the thought of it, he felt her words again, as sharp as if he was hearing them for the first time.
All you have enough willpower to do is run.
He wasn’t some — some kind of coward. Just the opposite. He knew when something was a lost cause. All he’d been for her was worried. He didn’t have concert halls, dresses, connections. The fact that people were vanishing was all he’d had to offer her, and she’d just laughed in his face.
Well, fine, Red. Perform all you want. Vanish.
:::
What could he do about it anyway? It was clear that she cared more about her Selection than about him. She cared more about the adoration of strangers then about how devastated he would be if she was gone.
But the more their argument looped in his head, the more unsure he was. He’d said it, right? That he’d be devastated? Maybe not in so many words — but he’d gotten the point across, right? That without her, he’d be —
Alone. Wandering, doing nothing, being nothing more than a bug in a city where everyone had purpose. Stopping and craning over every bulletin board advertisement, every alleyway poster, searching for her name, for an upcoming concert date. And never feeling fully relieved anyway when he didn’t find either.
:::
Searching bulletin boards was inefficient, and after some time he sighed. He really should get his terminal back. It had been hard enough getting his hands on it, much less setting up the news filters.
Then again, who was he kidding? Who cared about those stupid filters? They didn’t matter. Nothing about them mattered. Red could keep the stupid thing. Or throw it out. Clearly she had no issues throwing out people that dared to get in her way.
Even if they cared about her. Even if they cared so much that the thought of her being gone made their stomach churn. Even if they cared so much that being away from her was its own sort of misery.
:::
Go back, he told himself again, just go back.
Red’s voice again, like acid. All you have enough willpower to do is run.
Go back — just get your terminal. Then leave.
But while Red still had it, he had an excuse to visit her. While she had it, she still had a reason to think about him.
Even if she hated him. Even if he proved her point with every passing hour.
All you have enough willpower to do is run.
Her eyes during the fight had been so cold — as if he was no better than the people that had harassed her.
Maybe he wasn’t.
If that information was all he had to give her, it wasn’t her that was at fault — it was him. He closed his eyes. Red singing at The Mixin — Red gazing at the sunset, eyes filled with light — Red holding her hand out to him, Red leaning up to kiss him, warm and soft. Dragging him all around the city in her glow. She’d done everything for him, and he’d done nothing.
She was better off without him. There was nothing he could do for her that someone else could probably do too, and better. He was useless. He couldn’t do anything.
Well, no. Maybe he could pay her one last favor.
Let her go. After a couple days, he had washed up at Goldwalk’s wharf, was sitting in the shade at the base of the lawns sloping down to its bustling market. Now he stood, inhaling the chill wind, letting the cold fill his chest. Let her go.
She’d be better off. That things had ever gotten this far in the first place was fluke — a long, unfortunate glitch. She deserved much better than…nobody.
He brushed off his pants, started toward the water. It didn’t matter where he went; he might as well follow the current and see if it took him anywhere. In the shallows mingled fish nibbling on castoffs and errata, and as he passed by a couple of white ones rolled their red eyes up at him and stared.
“What?” he demanded, and they flipped away.
Weird. He looked around, seeing if anyone else was being stared at — but no passerby received the same attention. They just chatted on, amiably, arms bundled with goods from the market. In the distance, someone was shouting, but he didn’t pay it any mind until he heard, “Hey! Nobody!”
His heart raced — but when he turned and saw a figure at the top of the slope, he knew immediately: not Red. Wrong height, wrong build. And wrong motion: she carried herself uncertainly as she approached, lifting her skirt as she picked her way down the lawn.
“Sybil,” he acknowledged when she was in earshot. “What a surprise.”
A really disappointing surprise.
“Don’t pretend,” Sybil told him, nose wrinkling. “I know you can’t be happy to see me. I’ve got a lot to do and I don’t want to waste time.”
“Fine by me.” She was brash; but her straightforwardness was a strange relief. No tricks.
He scuffed the ground with his shoe. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you did to Red.”
“I didn’t do anything to —“
“Don’t pretend,” she snapped. “I know you did something. She’s — she’s different. Unhappy. She’s barely talking and — and you have no right to tell her what choices she can make with her own life!”
“What? I didn’t —“
“You did! You hurt her. I can tell you hurt her! And now she won’t go on stage at all.”
“She won’t?” He supposed it should have made him happy to know it; instead, he felt kind of sick.
“She won’t. Even though that’s always what made her happiest: performing, sharing her music with everyone.” Sybil glared. “But now you’ve isolated her. And she keeps saying she needs to talk to you first, or something. As if she needs your permission!”
“That’s ridiculous,” he protested. But he felt deflated. Red not leaving her apartment. Red unhappy. Red, forcing herself not to perform, just to satisfy his paranoia. Hadn’t her performances been the start of how he’d fallen in — into feeling this way about her in the first place?
How had things turned out this way?
She really would be better off.
Sybil sensed his uncertainty. “Well?” she demanded. “Did you tell her not to perform?”
“Not…not like that,” he mumbled. “I mean — I didn’t mean it like that.”
Sybil’s face was filled with disgust. “I can’t believe you.”
“There’s — there was good reasoning behind it. I think. In any case, I didn’t — I didn’t mean to make her unhappy —“
“Well, you did! You — you jerk! You controlling jerk!” shouted possibly the most controlling person in Cloudbank. But, despite her pushyness, she cared about Red. Maybe even more than he did, if she had gone through all this trouble just to find him and berate him.
Still, berating himself was something that he could do just fine on his own.
“Are you done?” he demanded. “Or am I supposed to stand here all day while you shout at me?”
“I’m too busy to stand here all day,” Sybil told him. “But I’ve got one last thing to give you.”
She rooted around in her purse, the brim of her hat obscuring her face. After some time she pulled out something and held it out to him. He took it.
It was his terminal. The weight was right — the scratches, too, on its corners, its screen. His heart dropped.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
“So it’s really yours?”
“Yeah. It’s mine.”
His stomach churned. So Red hated him so much that she’d made Sybil her go-between. His chest ached. He pocketed his terminal, took a deep breath.
That was it, then.
“Just tell her sorry for me, I guess,” he said. “And that she should do whatever she wants. I won’t bother her anymore.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Sybil asked, but this time he didn’t bother a response — just shrugged, continued leaving. He only managed a few steps before her fingers sunk into his sleeve.
“You’re not even going to apologize to her face?” she demanded.
“Why? It’s obvious she doesn’t want to see me.” He shook his arm, ineffectually. “Let me go.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Don’t worry,” he told her, “you won’t see me again,” but her fingers only tightened.
“Let me go,” he repeated, yanking, but she just reached and grabbed him with her other hand, purse swinging on her arm. She clung, doggedly. Just beneath her hat, he saw her face, all pinched up.
For a moment they stood there, wrestling. She was surprisingly strong. He started to consider, very seriously, whether he should sacrifice his jacket to escape — but then she made a sudden growl of frustration. She let him go, with a push, like she was sick of touching him.
She put her hands on the sides of her face. “I can’t...” She stopped, teeth grit. “Just…go…back,” she managed finally, pushing each syllable out between her teeth. Pained. “Go…go back to her. Please.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“You have to,” she muttered. “There’s no other…yes. You have to go back.”
And when his shock prevented him from responding, she continued, brows furrowed, gaze averted. “Just...just look at your terminal. I can’t believe you didn’t even bother looking at it. Just look at it.”
He withdrew it from its pocket. There were no unread messages, but he could see the most recent one, which Sybil had apparently opened herself.
> I’m sorry come back.
“See?” Sybil said, when he remained silent. “She wants you to go back. So just go back.”
He closed the message, slid the terminal back in his pocket. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Sybil cried. “She’s waiting. Just go back, and apologize, and —“
“And what?” he told her. “And do what? I’m…I’ve already decided. She deserves better than me. Someone who can actually do something for her.”
How was he having this conversation with Sybil, of all people? She should have been the last people to be trying to convince him to go back to Red.
And he should have been the last person to be still standing here, arguing, listening — and, very secretly, hoping.
“So you think you can’t do anything,” Sybil said, crossing her arms. “Well, maybe it’s true. I have no idea what your Selection is” — she looked him up and down — “though it doesn’t look like you spend any time investing in it anyway. In any case, I’m not going to tell you that Red doesn’t deserve the best that Cloudbank has to offer.”
She adjusted her hat, lifted her chin.
“But you know what Red definitely doesn’t deserve? To be thrown away. To be completely abandoned without explanation.”
He hesitated, and she saw it, and pursued.
“Furthermore, I won’t let you insult her by implying that she wouldn’t even give you the time of day, or that she’d hate you.” She bit her lip. “Or that she wouldn’t forgive you, for doing something that you thought would be best for her.”
“How do you know she’d forgive me?” he asked, and Sybil’s eyes flared.
“Because I know her. I know her, she’d forgive. Besides,” Sybil said, waving her hand dismissively, “there’s no way you could just let things end like this, because you love her, right?”
“W-what? I never —“
“Don’t pretend.”
Silence, save for the wind carrying the bustle of the market, the gold glimmer of the grass as the individual blades collided and clinked. Sybil followed his gaze, still speaking, softly.
“She makes Cloudbank better. More than anyone else ever could — more than you could ever describe. Thousands and thousands of people in Cloudbank, and she’s the only one who makes it shine. And then she polishes you up from the inside out, and you shine too.” She took a breath. “That’s how you feel, right?”
Her hand in his, pulling him close, pulling him with her. The thrum of her laughing throat against his mouth. The thrill of her happiness, as if it was his own.
He didn’t agree, but he didn’t protest either, and this time Sybil didn’t grab or push or yell. All she needed to do was keep talking.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
It was true, it was true.
“Don’t waste it. Don’t run away. Go back.”
He looked at her, finally — really looked at her. He thought maybe Red was the only one in this city that could ever understand him. But maybe there were certain things that could only be shared by people who never had the stage — people that could only feel light when it was shared with them.
And yet.
“Why?” he asked her. “If I left, then wouldn’t you be able to...?”
“I…” Sybil looked away, eyes glassy. Her voice trembled now too. “Yes, but...as long as I can make a better world for her...that’s what I care about. I...I won’t let anything get in the way. Even if,” she said, voice strengthening, “that means that you...”
She wrung her hands and inhaled, shakily. “That you go back to her.”
She really looked like she was going to cry now, and he wasn’t really sure what to do about it. He considered, and then patted her arm.
“Are you...um...okay?”
“Yes...I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes, not looking particularly fine. “So you’ll go back?”
“Yeah, I...I think I will.” And then, because he felt he should: “Don’t worry, Sybil. I...won’t make the same mistake as before. I’ll make her happy. If she forgives me, I guess.”
“She will,” Sybil said, her voice firming. “She has to.”
“Yeah.” He pulled at the cloth on his left arm, rubbed a loose end between thumb and forefinger.
“Well,” Sybil said, sounding almost like herself again, “what are you waiting for?”
“I just wanted to say thanks.” It felt strange to admit it. He would have never expected she’d help him. He said it again, more firmly: “Thanks, Sybil.”
“Of course.” She fixed her eyes on his. “Just tell me one thing.”
“Um, alright.”
“Would you do anything for her?”
“Anything,” he said, sure of it now.
“Really anything? Would you even give up your life for her?”
Sybil was so intense.
“Anything,” he told her, “means anything.”
And for the first time since he’d met her, she smiled at him, sadly.
“Then everything will be okay,” she murmured. “Goodbye.”
“See you.”
This time there was no grabbing, no shouting. He left, walking quickly, and then running — there was no time to waste — he’d waited long enough. He rushed through the market, dodging passersby, and would have gone straight through without pause had not a glint of a familiar color in a stall caught his eye.
:::
That night, she ventured out again — this time less to search and more to get some air. Her apartment was starting to feel small, constricting. For all she knew it actually was getting smaller, and she could swear that every time she turned around it was even emptier than before. No extra stool beside her desk. Less mugs in the kitchen.
“Stop it. I’m going to find him,” Red said, and her voice echoed in the hall.
The night was unusually chill and though rain had been at 12% earlier in the day, it was gaining popularity. Her jacket was thin and she started to head back home, fingering her terminal in her pocket. Finally, she inhaled deeply, and pulled it out.
> Sybil did you find any address info yet?
She watched the screen. As usual, Sybil’s response came instantly.
> Yes.
Her pulse quickened.
> Where is he?
> Ask him.
She couldn’t press the buttons fast enough.
> Where are you?! Her thumb jammed the send button.
A moment later she heard a chime, from just around the corner — from right in front of her apartment. She dashed forward, turning so sharply she had to grab the wall to keep from toppling over. There, sitting before her door —
“Oh,” he said. And then, standing hastily: “Hi there, Red.”
For all that she’d been searching and missing him the past few days, seeing him there — as casual as if he’d never left — made her body stiffen. It was all she could do to make herself walk forward, until she was only a meter or two in front of him, and when she finally had the strength to say something, her voice broke.
“W-where — where were you?”
“Red, I’m sorry, I —“
“I thought — I thought that I would never —“ She swiped at her eyes, angrily. Tears? Now, of all times? “I couldn’t find you anywhere —“ She bit her lip, trying to keep control.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“You’re sorry?” she shouted. “I’m the one who — I shouldn’t have — I’m the one who should be —“
“Come on, Red, it’s not your —“
“It is! It’s my fault!”
“I shouldn’t have —“
“But you would have never left if I hadn’t said all those —“
“Well, come on, you would have never have said anything if I hadn’t tried to talk you out of —“
“You were just worried, you were just worried and —“
“Okay,” he said, smiling, “this is ridiculous,” and he grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little, playful. “Can we just share?”
A laugh burst out through her tears. She smashed her palms against her eyes. “Alright,” she said, “sounds good to me,” and she looked up at him happily. He was back.
She thought then that he would kiss her. He was close enough — and he looked at her like he might, eyes lingering on her mouth. But then he just smiled again, crooked, forcing it. He let go of her shoulders.
“I’m sorry that I left,” he said. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t come back. I was...thinking.”
She swallowed. She stepped back — made her voice solid, cool, collected. “Thinking about what?”
She thought she said it calmly enough, but something must have sounded off, because the soothing music began to emerge again, this time from the little speakers mounted outside her apartment. Weren’t those just for alarms? Red looked up in surprise, and he grimaced.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” he suggested, and she nodded, and followed him.
They walked slowly, without speaking, side-by-side but not quite as close as usual. His hands were in his pockets, out of reach, and Red put her hands away too, steeling herself with every step. Maybe she’d been too hopeful — maybe it was over after all, even if he’d returned to her. Maybe it really was impossible for some things to stay the same.
They made their way to a railed promenade — the same one where they had seen the floating lanterns eternities ago. There were none now. They leaned against the railing.
“So what were you thinking about?” Red asked, and he sighed.
“About what you said. About me always running. Being a coward.”
“I never called you a coward,” Red protested, and he smiled again, thinly, at the canal.
“Well, you should have.” He tugged at the cloth on his hands. It was more unraveled than usual, the end of it dangling by a couple centimeters.
“The thing is,” he continued quietly, “I always hated Selections. The whole idea of it. I always thought it was ridiculous. How are you ever supposed to choose something to dedicate yourself to? What happens if you change your mind a couple years later? Or worse, many years later? I mean, this is Cloudbank — on one hand people are making Selections, and on the other hand they’re demolishing a bridge the day after it’s built. And, anyway, no matter where I looked, I never found anything that called to me the same way things seemed to call to them. The way Music calls to you.”
He stopped talking, but didn’t sound finished, so Red waited. After some time he lifted his head and just stared out at the skyline.
“But I realized it, just recently, though I guess I’ve been thinking of it for a long time. Ever since I saw you at The Mixin, with your new song...or when I saw Sybil and all the things she had for you. Venues — dresses — that weird flower thing in your apartment — whatever. I talked with Sybil earlier, actually, when she gave me back my terminal, and she told me about you, that what makes you happiest isn’t just Music. It’s being able to perform, to share with people.
“So I guess...a Selection isn’t really about what you do. Well, it’s not really about what you do for you. It’s about what you can do for others. And to be honest, Red,” he concluded, “there’s...just...not a lot I can offer you.”
“Oh,” Red said after a moment. “Is that it?”
“What do you mean, ‘is that it?’” He frowned at her. “This is huge. I’ve been thinking about it for days, it’s — a huge issue. I’m” — he laughed, without humor — “not exactly the model of a productive citizen here. Or a productive...person...for you.”
“What are you talking about? What about when you make me tea when I’m working?”
“Red, anyone could do that.”
“Really? Because I tried to make tea when you were gone, and it was awful. I like it much better when it’s you. When you measure it out, all careful...watching the water temperature until it’s exactly the degree the package says...making it for me.” She bumped her shoulder against his, teasing, and he rubbed it gingerly.
“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot about my incredible talent for boiling water.”
“And how about,” she continued, “when you help me compose?”
“You mean when I make all those suggestions that you hate and never use?”
“I mean when you make those suggestions that make me realize what it is I want to say! And what about when we go around this whole city, together —“
“Again, anything that anyone could do —“
She put a hand on his mouth. “Again,” she said, “something that I am only happy about when it’s you.”
His face was reddening beneath her palm. He tried to look away but she curled her fingers a bit, kept him there.
“It’s easy to be somebody in Cloudbank,” Red told him. “A Musician, a Civil Planner, whatever. But…until I met you, I didn’t know what it felt like to be more than just somebody, more than just a singer. With you, I’m…myself. And I’m happy.”
She dropped her hand, put it on his. “There’s no one else in Cloudbank that’s capable of that.”
“You’re embarrassing, Red,” he muttered, and this time when he looked away she let him, because his face was incredibly scarlet.
“Hey, you alright? Don’t hide it, let me see,” she laughed, and he batted her away.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m…all polished up.” He rubbed his brow. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“I might have suspected it. Just a little.”
“And, in case it wasn’t clear already, I won’t tell you anything more about performing. You should do whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy. Don’t let me stop you.”
“About that.” This time she was the one who turned away, with a thin smile. “I think I will perform,” she said. “I want to share all the songs I’ve been composing — all the ones I’ve made since I met you. And then,” she said with a breath, “that’s it.”
“What do you mean, that’s it?”
“I mean exactly what I mean. I’m going to stop, after one last show.”
“What? Red, please don’t —“
“No,” she said, “listen. I looked through the data you gave me. And it...well. I guess...it just made me think. About what it is that really matters to me. Don’t look at me like that,” she said, swatting his shoulder. “It’s not that horrible. It’s not like I won’t be able to sing at all anymore.”
He didn’t look convinced. “But what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know!” Red laughed. “But whatever it is...I...want it to be with you. And I want...to choose with you, what happens next.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “So...so what do you say?”
He pushed her hair behind her ear, leaned down. “Do I get to close my eyes and spin around again?”
“Only if I can too,” she whispered, and he pushed her hair back behind her ear, and kissed her,.
Music. Warmth. Time slowing, and speeding up again only when she felt something cool drop onto her cheek. She opened her eyes and he thumbed the droplet from her face, only to have another fall onto her forehead.
“It’s raining,” she realized, and before she could do anything else he grabbed her hand, and pulled her away, beneath the eaves at the front of a nearby building. It kept the rain off, but now a wind was blowing too, and when she shivered he took off his jacket and set it over her shoulders.
“Hey! Won’t you be cold?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Let’s hurry up and head home at least,” Red said, starting to stand, but she didn’t get far; she had stuck her fingers in her pocket, and they had jammed against something.
“What…? A box?” She lifted it out, and he grimaced.
“Oh...right. I did leave that in there. No,” he said when she started to put it back, “it’s alright. It’s…well. This wasn’t how I was thinking of doing it, but…give it here.”
She handed it to him. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s actually...a present. For you.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Well, don’t get too excited, it’s not flatbread. Though,” he said thoughtfully, “I guess it has a similar shape.”
He opened it — withdrew something from it — took her hand, and slipped something onto her finger. It was a ring, with a gold triangle and a red jewel.
She held her hand out in front of her, letting the city lights catch it. She felt her face warm.
“You like it?”
“O-of course!”
He sighed. “What a relief. It was a risk getting it when I wasn’t sure how our conversation would go in the first place, but I didn’t even think until now of what I’d do if you didn’t like it.”
She smiled at it, feeling its weight as she opened and closed her hand. “I guess I should get something for you too, huh?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got me covered,” he said, and this time her entire body warmed, even as the wind began to pepper them with rain. She leaned against him and he put an arm over her shoulders, kissed her brow.
“You know,” he murmured, “I think I’ve found a Selection that might suit me after all.”
“Oh? What is it?” she asked, pulling his jacket tighter around her.
“All this time, and you can’t guess?”
“Spare me, Mr. Ambiguous. Can’t you tell me even one thing straight?”
“I’ll do more than that.”
He pushed her hair back, pressed his mouth against her ear.
Finally, he introduced himself.
Chapter 8: Run
“Oh,” Sybil gasped when the call went through. “Ah — hello!”
“Who is it?” Red heard in the background, and Red blinked. Sybil had never been busy before when she picked up Red’s calls.
“Sorry — is this a bad time?”
“No — oh, no! Not at all. No, I’m — I’m happy to hear from you. Just give me a moment.” The screen darkened as Sybil held it to her chest.
“Who’s that?” Red heard, muffled.
“It’s Red —“
“Finally,” someone else said, and then the speakers thumped as Sybil ran off somewhere. When the screen lightened again, Sybil was adjusting her hair.
“Sorry about that. Just some business I needed to sort out.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call you later?” Red asked, and Sybil shook her head vigorously.
“No, no, definitely not. They understand. Actually, I’ve been telling them all about you, they’re — um — really looking forward to your next performance. You’re calling me because you want to set up a concert, right? Or,” she said, continuing to pat her hair, “maybe you wanted to grab some food?”
“The former,” Red said, “though maybe the latter could come afterward,” and Sybil smiled.
“Yeah. That would be nice.” Sybil paused, and her eyes unfocused, settled blankly for a moment at the corner of the screen. And then, suddenly, she was back to business.
“Anyway, I’ve already got the perfect place,” she said, and her stylus poked the screen as she interacted with peripheral displays. “The Empty Set, tonight.”
“To — tonight? That’s so soon,” Red said, surprised. “How did you even get a venue on such short notice?”
“Anything’s possible when you have the right people,” Sybil told her, not sounding as proud about it as usual. “And I guessed you’d probably want to perform soon.”
“You did? Sybil, this isn’t just soon — it’s — it’s instantaneous.”
“Come on, Red. Haven’t you been working on your songs for weeks? And it’s your Selection! You’re fantastic. You can do it.”
“You definitely can,” agreed another voice, and Sybil peered over Red, watched as he set a cup of tea down between her and the screen. He nodded at her.
“Hello, Sybil.”
“Nobody,” she said, and her voice quieted. She cupped her hand over her terminal’s speaker. “You’ll be coming too, right?”
“I guess I could,” he said.
“You should! Red, tell him that he — um, that he should.” Sybil glanced back over her shoulder as she said it, and Red’s brows furrowed. So unusual for Sybil to be this distracted.
“Well? Did you tell him?”
“You should come,” Red said, smiling up at him. “You can be backstage with me, rather than way up in the balconies. Come on, I’ll need you for emotional support.”
“Well, in that case, how could I refuse?”
“So I’ll see you both tonight?” she asked. “For sure?”
“For sure,” Red told her, and she expected then that Sybil would cheer, or something — after all, hadn’t she been pressing her about performing for weeks? But Sybil just nodded.
“Alright, then. Gotta go. I’ll meet you at the Set.”
“Sybil,” Red started, “wait. Is everything alright?”
Sybil made a smile. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry, I just need to make sure everything’s perfect. Bye, Red.”
The call disconnected. Red sat back, frowning.
“What’s up?” he asked, and Red turned her terminal off.
“Sybil was so strange. I’ve never seen her like that — unfocused. And she wasn’t as cheerful as usual.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said, after a moment. “I’m sure she’s got...other things she’s dealing with.”
But when Red asked him to elaborate, he just shrugged.
:::
The Empty Set looked as perfect as Sybil had promised. The walls were patterned with gold and teal and ivory and brick: vibrant, interlocking, a palette that might have put Yon-Dale’s atmospheres to shame. Red arrived with him and was directed to a dressing room.
“Fancy,” he remarked. It was; after so long of being away from the Set, she found she saw it with new eyes. Gilt mirrors, velvet furniture, a glimmer in the walls that raised or dimmed the lighting with a single stroke or word.
There was a single knock on the door before it opened. “Red!”
Sybil burst in, her arms wrapped around a huge dress bag. “I heard you two just arrived! I was — just a little concerned — it’s so late. Didn’t you want to rehearse?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Like you said, Sybil — I’ve been working for weeks.”
Sybil but her lip. “Well, sure, but I thought you’d at least make sure everything sounded right.”
Red shrugged. “Everything will be fine.”
“But you know, the acoustics in Empty Set are wonderful right now — the algorithms were just updated this morning. You really deserve to try it out at least once without anyone in there. It really is fantastic — top of the line — incredible. I was hoping you’d do it before the show, but I could probably arrange for the stage to be open afterward…”
“Alright,” Red agreed finally, “it does seem worth checking out. What do you think?” she asked, turning back to him. “You’re alright with staying afterward a bit?”
“To hear you sing?” He pretended to muse. “Hmm, I don’t know...”
“You have to,” Sybil told him firmly, and he blinked.
“Ah, yeah. I will.”
“Great. Now,” Sybil said, setting the dress bag on a dresser and unzipping it, “take a look at this!”
It was gorgeous — feathered, striped and scalloped in browns and golds. And on the midriff…
“I had them add that,” Sybil said proudly. “Remember? Because you asked me before, about the upside-down triangle.”
He started coughing abruptly, and turned so his back was against the wall. Sybil glanced over, and Red put her hand on her shoulder to bring her attention back, holding back laughter.
“Thanks, Sybil. That’s — really thoughtful of you.”
Sybil raised her arms for a hug, and Red obliged, feeling a little more relieved. This was closer to the Sybil she knew.
“It’ll look great on you,” she said, close to Red’s ear, “I know it.”
“If you chose it, I’m sure it will.”
“Red,” Sybil said, arms holding her a little tighter, “is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Alright. I’ll see you later then.” But rather than leave, Sybil pressed her forehead into Red’s shoulder.
“Sybil, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m alright,” Sybil said quietly. “Just nervous.”
“Nervous! Aren’t I the one performing?”
“I just want everything to be right,” Sybil whispered. “I just want everything to go right, for once.”
“Sybil! You’re Cloudbank’s best Organizer.” Red rubbed her back. “Everything’s going to be fine. I trust you. Trust yourself a little too. To be honest,” Red continued, “this will probably be my last show.”
“Your...your last?” She looked up in shock. “Why?”
“No reason,” Red said, as Sybil glanced over Red’s shoulder. “It’s...a personal decision. The point is,” Red said, trying to get Sybil’s attention back, “you’re the only one in Cloudbank I trust to get this right, Sybil. And you can do it.”
“Yeah,” Sybil said, straightening. “I can. I definitely can. Thanks, Red. Thanks for telling me that.” She took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ve got to get some other things settled. I’ll see you later. Don’t forget, check out the stage after the show!”
“I won’t. Thanks, Sybil.”
Sybil nodded and left, without another glance back. Red sighed. Something still seemed off. Maybe she could talk with her more later. For now…
“That dress is ridiculous,” he said, as soon as Red worked her way into it.
“It’s not ridiculous!” Red said, pulling her hair free from the feathers. “It’s beautiful.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful. I said it was ridiculous. Walk toward me,” he said, holding his hands out to her, and she stepped forward — just barely. The skirt was too narrow for her to move. She grimaced and continued, arms akimbo, wading forward.
She sighed. “Well, there’s no need to walk around on the middle of the stage.”
Backstage was a flurry — quite different than the upper balcony of any place he’d been. By the time they made it out to the crowded areas Red had managed the right pacing and walked in the dress like she’d been born in it.
“Red,” someone with a small microphone said, “you ready?”
“Ready,” Red said, tugging a feather out of her hair. “You got my music, too?”
“It’s ready to go whenever you are,” they said. Red nodded and turned to the stage, to the sudden hush. She took a step forward.
“Red,” he called, and as she glanced back he grabbed her hand, her waist, and kissed her — lightly, deeply. Her fingers rose and gripped his lapels. The audience waited almost a whole minute. Then they released each other, and she strode onstage, eyes shining, and sang.
:::
It was different watching her from backstage. Before, at a distance, she always seemed otherworldly — limned in light, shining. From here, he could see her chest rise and fall with breath, see how the strands of her hair shook as she exhaled. Her voice rang out and with every clear note he could hear in his mind the echoes of her iterations in her apartment, all the imperfect loops that had brought her to the single bright line of song that she fed across the Set.
When the curtain fell, she was aglow.
:::
There. Right there.
Later. Wrapping her arms around him.
Let it all stop there.
Eyes closing. Holding him close. Understanding Sybil, finally, and the wrenching misery of wanting things to stay, and not change.
:::
He waits in the back room for her and she races down, as fast as possible in that dress. He has flowers, and she kisses him over the blooms, crushes the bouquet between them.
“You’re amazing,” he tells her, and she smiles and spins her ring.
“Thanks. Or maybe I should say, thank you. I think I’m better when you’re beside me, rather than way up there in the those dark balcony corners.”
“Ah, quit it, Red, now you’re just being a sap.”
“You started it!”
“Did I? Guess I’ll have to finish, then.”
He sweeps her up, seats her on the vanity, dislodging rows of cosmetics and perfumes with a riot of clinks. The feathers and her hair press against the mirror. They kiss, and kiss, gripping harder, breathing harder. She tries to move her legs but the skirt keeps her from maneuvering that much, keeps him from getting too close.
He sighs. “Red, can I please just rip this dress off —“
“No!” she laughs. “This is a gift from Sybil!”
“Not the whole thing — maybe just, uh, this entire bottom part —“
“Don’t you dare!”
“Fine,” he grumbles, and then says nothing more because her mouth is on him again. Their hair is disheveled. Feathers are floating. The mirror’s screen begins to blink.
> Stage is ready for you two to check out. —S
“She’s not coming?” he asks. “I assumed this whole thing was so she could have a private concert.”
“What do you mean? It’s just for fun. New algorithms and all that.”
“Well, if it’s just for fun, maybe we should just — you know — go home.”
“No, I’d really like to try it out. Just for a bit.” And when he grimaces: “Come on! The Empty Set is always busy. When’s the next chance I’ll get to just try it out on my own?”
He shrugs, but offers no further protest, and she slides off the vanity, takes his hand, and leads him back out to the stage.
This time, he stands with her at the center of it, tapping the mike curiously.
“It’s not on.”
She taps it too, head cocked, then shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t need to be. All I need is my voice.” But she takes the microphone anyway, out of habit, fingers domed on the steel.
As she takes a breath, there is no one in the world but the two of them: no audience, no stagehands, no passerby, not even the sounds of crowds outside. The whole venue is as empty as its name.
And then it isn’t.
Footsteps, stage right. The sweep of a curtain. He glances over, just in time to see something large heaved through the air, heading toward them —
— no, heading toward her —
“RED —“
No time to think — he grabs her arm, shoves her, she is out of the way but he is not fast enough not fast enough not —
A hiss, a crackle — a crushing pain in his stomach — a crushing pain overflowing into his entire body. In the blaze of green and gold, Red’s shriek starts, and suddenly stops — leaving just the drumming of blood, the snarl of static.
It happens fast. The moment passes; and then they are gone.
:::
Outside, Red sprawls, stumbles. Gasping.
Searching.
When she finds him, she screams his name, and hears nothing.
From either of them.
Until.
[Hey...is that you?]
Her heart leaps. For one moment, she thinks that he is fine.
Just for one moment.
[Say something, will you?!]
She opens her mouth. Her tongue and teeth move, to no effect. She touches her throat, hands cold, and trembling.
[Oh, no.]
The — thing — speaks again, pulsing with blue light that sears into her retinas. She touches it, and recoils.
She wants to sob, to demand answers, to shout at someone — anyone — everyone.
She tries to.
She tries again.
She covers her face.
Then takes a deep breath, and stands. There’s only one thing she can do.
She musters her willpower. Clenches her skirt in her fists, and shreds it.
Then she lifts up his jacket and slings it over her shoulders. It embraces her, still warm, and her heart twists it hurts it hurts it —
Her breath shakes as she shoves the sleeves up over her elbows. Adjusts the lapels.
[Hey, Red…]
He speaks again, pulsing with blue light that sears into her retinas. She touches him, hand wrapping firm around his handle.
As she pulls him free, his voice echoes in the empty streets around them.
[We’re not gonna get away with this, are we?]