Day Two: “Don’t think I forgot what you did last time…”
The meeting was unprecedented to say the least. Peyton was on a stalking mission, an order from Chorus after one too many bumps in the night. Reagan was out fetching supplies for himself, completely on his own, no other club kids in sight. No one could have guessed that the two would cross paths so soon, and no one could guess exactly how their meeting would go.
It was Reagan who spotted Peyton first as he exited the shop, lucky that the stalker didn’t spot him first. But that didn’t mean they didn’t spot him next, not when he didn’t move, not when he didn’t keep quiet.
“Don’t. Move.” Reagan’s voice was low, tired but warning them all the same. He wasn’t happy, and they expected as much. But they could never be sure about their former friend these days. “Drop any gear you have. Phone, book bag, the works.”
Peyton squinted at Reagan, almost as if asking why, but they knew why. They both did. "Don't think I forgot what you did last time..."
…That was fair. Even Peyton could acknowledge that, and the sadness and dare they say fear underneath that anger was enough for them to comply. In a few moments, they dropped their small bag. Their phone. Even their earpiece. Not that Reagan even knew about the earpiece, but… it would do them no good to listen to the Dispatcher when they couldn’t talk back.
‘…What do you want?’ Despite their compliance, Peyton was still very much tense. They’d been friends with Reagan for a long time. They knew how he could get. And that was why they were so scared of him, yet seeing him like this always seemed to scramble their feelings.
While Peyton expected more violence from Reagan, the teen didn’t react much at all. All he did was stare at them, seeming lost, even as he sighed and shook his head. “…Fuck,” the teen grumbled, running a hand through his hair. When did he get so skinny? Shit… “…You know, when I woke up and figured out what you did, I wanted to beat the shit out of you.”
Reagan seemed to find his focus as he began to speak, mismatched green eyes narrowing almost dangerously at the teen. “You were my best friend. I stuck up for you and you shaped me. You. Shaped me.” His voice grew shaky as he continued onward, the punk gritting his teeth before forcing himself to press on. “And you… You’re with them. You’re… with… them. You’re with-“
Reagan suddenly diverted his gaze, hands running through his hair. Deep breaths, he seemed to be telling himself. Deep breaths. Peyton could see it, his attempt at calming techniques, and their first thought was to try and help.
Reaching out, they tried to place a hand on his shoulder, but the second contact was made, Reagan jerked away.
“Don’t touch me!” He snarled, backing up a few paces. It was aggressive. He looked angry, but under that was just… fear.
They were why he felt fear. This was Peyton’s fault.
“…Don’t touch me.” Reagan, realizing what he was doing, attempted to straighten himself out, brushing his shoulders and arms as if that would make any difference. “…Just. Urgh-!“
He then shook his head, seeming angrier with himself than anything. “Why did you do it?!”
“Why did you shape me? Follow them? Save me?!” Reagan’s rambling almost made no sense to the teen, but he didn’t hesitate to put it into context. “You’re their puppet and you took me out. You tried and then you had the chance and then… Then you… At the Hunt you stuck your neck out for me! What the hell were you thinking?! Why- Why would you do that-?!”
So that was it. Why did Peyton do what they did. What made Peyton tick. A question that Reagan had thought he’d known the answer to until their friendship fell through. Reagan wanted to know why everything had happened, and Peyton… Peyton didn’t fully know if they could explain. But maybe… if what Ara had said was true, if Reagan did seem to be getting better… maybe he could handle it.
Taking a deep breath of their own, Peyton began lining up their own explanation for him. But they needed to make something clear to their former friend, something that they weren’t even sure they would understand.
“…E-Everyth- I-“ Their voice suddenly clammed up. Too loud. Too much noise. They couldn’t speak, not out loud. With their trust in him gone, they reverted back to sign, hoping he would understand. ‘…Everything I did… Was to protect you.’
‘Let me finish!’ They gritted their teeth, already upset, but surprisingly enough, Reagan didn’t barrel over them. ‘…Thanks…’
‘Before the club, the blackouts, the voices… you were so much happier,’ they signed. ‘You still got into fights, you still got into trouble, but it was harmless. We were best friends. We were happy skating to school everyday and running late to class. Everything was fine. Everything was great.’
‘And then we noticed the blackouts. We met Bells, and she went missing and the voices… And you became so…’ Their hands shook for a moment, gesturing as they tried to figure out how to even break it to him. ‘…You became scary. Angry. You kept wanting… wanting to hurt things, talking about hurting people, because the club… the club let in traitors. You were mad about the voices- The kids- Everything! The Grudge Queen was blacking you out- The Hunter- The Hunter showed interest-!’
Their hands shook yet again, eyes flicking all over the place but always returning to Reagan. ‘…You were… not yourself anymore… and when that watcher died and you figured out who it was… I didn’t know if you would actually hurt them, or if you were just being an ass… So I…’ They finally looked away, arms crossed as they shrank into themselves. At first Reagan thought they’d stopped talking, but then he heard their shaky whisper.
“…I just wanted my friend back…”
The two stood in silence for a while, opposite sides of the silent war unable to figure out what to say. Peyton had answered his questions, at least the ones regarding Reagan’s shaping incident. And Reagan had stood and listened, after of asking the questions he’d had. Maybe it was his time to respond, to answer to Peyton’s explanation. Maybe it was time to finally try to understand.
“…We can never be friends again,” Reagan started, the teen shuffling his feet while his hands rested in his vest pockets. “…What you did to me fucked me up, and I’m sure as hell not ready to forgive you for that. Hell I doubt I ever will. And you work for Speak-ass so I sure as hell don’t like you right now.”
Yeah, that was what Peyton expected. Even if he was better at… this, Reagan was never very good at forgiveness.
“But…” He sighed, looking away a tad as Peyton glanced up. “…Look. I don’t hate you, I guess. I sure as hell thought I did. Still think I do, but I don’t think I do.” He paused, watching Peyton squint in confusion. “…I’m not good at this feelings shit okay!”
A small chuckle then sounded from Peyton, surprising both kids for a moment as they went silent. But that didn’t stop the surprised teen from flashing a small smile at Reagan, a smile that he didn’t know how to receive, but… he didn’t react badly to it.
‘…That’s okay. You don’t have to forgive me,’ they replied. ‘I… still honestly believe that we’d all be better off in the Song, but… I won’t hunt you down and sell you out to your dad or something.’
“Dad’s husband. I disowned that bitch.”
‘Reagan-‘ Wait. No. They were in no shape to lecture, and they knew it wouldn’t help anyway. ‘…Okay.’
Giving them a nod, Reagan sighed yet again, now picking up the backpack he’d plopped on the ground. At the same time, the Instrument suddenly sounded, alerting both kids to the coming of the Shape. “…Damn. How fucking sloppy did those guys get?”
‘I don’t know. I’ll figure it out in a moment.’ Peyton then began picking up their own gear, earpiece back in place as they got ready to go. ‘…You’re not going to stop me?’ A dumb question, but they were surprised by his inaction. Instead, all Reagan did was shake his head.
“Not unless I find out you’re bloodstalking. Then I’ll have no choice but to come and kick your ass.” His tone was joking, but there was an air of seriousness to it. Even now, Reagan didn’t approve of the bloodstalking. “…I sure as hell hope you don’t bloodstalk like your ex-partner did at least.”
‘Not much. Only those causing serious harm,’ Peyton explained almost too casually. Reagan’s questioning glare, however, got them to pause and explain their reasoning. ‘…People who hurt sleepers and lucids excessively. My job is to keep them safe. That’s what I document as a stalker. And vandalism, there’s no reason to kick so many doors in.’ Well, usually. Reagan didn’t have to know the rest of it.
‘…Okay.’ With a small smile and a nod, they pulled out their phone and watched him go, now checking their phone for the total sin reports coming in. It was time to get to work, and so, they began their descent into the maze.
