Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My life changed from the first day I met you~~~~~~~~ Liar liar liar. You fucking liar. You only use me because no one else is there for you to mess around with. I'm just a tool to you, yeah? A toy? One day you'll learn to love what's unseen and I'll be gone by then.

Look at you, so vulnerable. So. Fucking. Vulnerable. And I hate you, I hate you, I will never stop hating until I bleed out all my fury and leave you with nothing else.

I don't want a happy ending with you. Not anymore. No way in hell.

Group Chat: !!!~CUTIE BRAWLERS~!!!

Griff
> Yo guys
> Have any of you seen Edgar?

Colette
> err nope
> D:
> haven't seen him around the whole day
> dyk where he is?

Chester
> idk
> hes probably in his room again
> why?

Griff
> I haven't seen him in 3 days...

Chester
> yikes
> did any of us even notice that he was gone lmao

Colette
> uhhhhhh

Emz
> is anyone here close to edgar?

Chester
> Colette is

Colette
> not rlly T-T
> i can try calling him tho if uw?

Emz
> yes pls
> thanksss

Colette
> np ^_^

-

You are here again. After leaving me you're finally fucking here. What is this? Some sort of joke?
I want to shred up all the vines that have tangled their way into my lungs. I want to forget it all. I am done being consumed by you. A cruel dread that somehow overlooks me. How the hell can that be?

Edgar is awoken by the buzzing of his phone. First notification in over three days. Before this, no one bothered to contact him, or even make the tiniest effort to concoct one thought about him within their minds. He sees waves of blaring red crease and rise over his head, and feels a lethal, hammering thorn plaguing his windpipe.

Lodged in the darkness of his room, Edgar is unwilling to get up. Though he is accustomed to his dorm's layout like the back of his hand, the boy finds himself strangely unable to navigate on this instance. It already takes a great amount of strength to haul himself up from his bed, and his muscles are condemned to a searing ache that seems unending. To him, it feels out of the norm, but he must go on anyway.

Upon unlocking his vibrating phone, he is instantly greeted by a flash of white light. His eyes sting, and after blinking a few times, they burn even more. He sees the name at the top of his screen, unmoving and defiant. As if it is glaring back at him. Challenging him.

Colette is calling him.

Edgar nearly keels over to vomit. Instead, he stares at the screen for a good few moments until the vibrations dissipate and her name vanishes. The same way she did from his life. The same way he forced her out of his door after their last argument. His surging relief is knocked out by yet another mishap, because that fucker is still his wallpaper and he has no heart to change it because she is his last link to reality and even that has faded into naught.

That cactus. That damn fucking cactus.

Edgar rolls up his sleeves.

-

"Any progress?" Emz falls into step beside Colette, closing a bony hand over her shoulder. Colette stares at the Call Missed result in dismay, shaking her head.

Chester schools an exaggerated frown, pulling his hat to one side so it covers his left eye. "Boo-hoo, I'm the emo kid. I ignore my friends because I'm too cool even though they're just trying to help." Colette notices that his voice carries a well-concealed tinge of doubt, as if he is willing himself to believe that nothing serious is happening to Edgar.

Beside her, Griff huffs a sigh of exasperation. "Typical Edgar. How do we know he's not doing this for attention? He probably spilled his cereal all over the floor which ruined his morning and made him want to hide from the world forever."

Colette forces a hearty laugh from her diaphragm, but a gnawing sense of unease begins to unravel within her stomach. She knows it is not the cereal.

Two days ago, she was asking Spike for his social media because she found him hilarious and wanted to collect her fellow brawlers' online profiles as fast as possible. At first, she only followed Edgar, Griff, Emz and a couple of other female brawlers. She was innocently fascinated by the capabilities modern technology held, and they were her closest friends, so there was no harm trying to keep in contact with them online.

But could the same really be said for Spike? There was a charm to him, after all. Colette couldn't quite find a reason as to why she felt so drawn to the silly cactus. He seemed easygoing and fun to be around; it was only instinctive for him and Colette to click! Once she got his details, she followed him and he followed her back, and she found herself giggling to his recent posts.

Alas... Edgar was not happy. The moment she reached his apartment, she found him pacing back-and-forth in his living room, countenance embedded with a seething rage. Why would such a trivial matter be met with such grave confrontation? Colette did not know, and she was left to drown in an even thicker sea of confusion when Edgar started screaming unintelligible things in her face and then locked her out, never to show himself ever again.

"I think we should just give him some alone time," Emz suggests, snapping Colette out of her train of thoughts. The rest of the group give a perfunctory hum of agreement, and go their separate ways. Colette bids them farewell with a small wave, but remains rooted in place.

Was it wrong for her to make a new friend? Was it wrong for her to follow Spike on social media?

Colette frowns to herself. Am I the problem?

-

"Maybe the real road to Legend was the friends we made along the way," Colette muses, posed against the railing on Edgar's balcony. They are standing beneath a stretch of milky twilight, perched atop the thirty-eighth floor of his apartment building. Bird's-eye view of the entire city.

Edgar laughs. "That makes no sense."

Colette stares up at him, flashing a toothy grin. At once his heart swells and the world begins to spin around him, and his vision is tainted with flecks of violet, as if he is in a dream.

"No, Edgar," she hums. "You don't get it. You're the friend I made along the way!"

Colette -- no. Cold, looming darkness.

Edgar wakes up once more. Dawn has not yet arrived. 2:26AM. The fourth day. It is only the beginning, and he will never reach the end. He limps his way over to the balcony and sees a flickering shadow that is no longer there. White hair and blue sleeves, and the phantom scent of fragrant cologne. A laugh that will never again reach his ears.

You reap what you sow.

He stares into the distance. An ebony sky void of stars. A harrow skyline, bearing little light, much unlike the one in his dream. The thorns of a cactus pricking at his arms. Edgar lights a cigarette and forces the phantoms into his lungs.

-

Colette tries to stay positive, but she relives the memory against her will every night. She is in Edgar's living room, and he is stomping around and muttering to himself, before finally turning to her with an unbridled fury in his eyes.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" She can still hear the pain stringing his voice as he lifts the phone up to her face. ColetteXD's following list. She cannot fathom why he is studying it, why it is there. "The cactus? What does a fucking cactus have that I don't? I've tried for months and months to convey everything to you but you chose him over me in the span of a day!"

Here, Colette remembers herself grimacing and saying, "Are you crazy? I just wanted to be his friend." She recalls his bloodshot eyes unfurling themselves into lasers that should have killed her from the way they bore into her skull. "His friend? I tried everything to get your attention but you'd rather be friends with a cactus? Are you going to drink his water when you're thirsty? Can he even feel anything humans feel? Does he even know what movie you like or- or what your favourite song is or... or whatever the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Edgar." Colette meets his gaze squarely, fear freezing into an immovable sternness. Concern for her dearest friend. "Slow down. What's your problem with Spike?"

"Oh, so now the fucking cactus has a name?" At this point, Edgar's voice is louder than anything else she has ever heard in her life. "What else are you gonna introduce him as next time? Your fucking boyfriend?"

"Stop it," she gasps, voice reduced to a mere whisper. If she is shaking, she cannot feel it. Edgar's gaze has steeled into something hard and numb. He quietens down for a moment, huffing and regaining his breath, before glaring up at her and giving her the middle finger.

She blinks once and feels a hard shove in her shoulder and hears the door slam in her face. She pulls on the doorknob a few times, but it is unbudging. Colette is more confused than sad, and so she shakes her head and stalks off into the night.

Seven days have passed. No sign of Edgar's presence. Griff tried to break his door down, but even his strongest tools could not budge that stupid metal block. Perhaps that night would truly be the last time Colette would ever see her friend.

Colette has lost count of the number of times she has tried studying their argument in her head. What was Edgar trying to convey these past few months? The hidden threat in his words was really, really hard to shake off. He was, without a doubt, irrational and harsh towards her, but maybe he was just in a bad mood and had no other outlet to unleash his anger onto. Oh, poor Edgar!

Perhaps she could try collecting some cool gifts and leaving them at his doorstep to apologise to him and cheer him up.

Yes, that would suffice. Anything for her dear friend!

-

On the tenth day, Edgar awakes to the scent of coffee wafting through the air. It is easier for him to get out of bed now, but a lump of bile is still present in his throat, and he cannot bring himself to go outside or train or even face himself in the mirror.

He has since erased the girl's images from his phone. His wallpaper is a flat slab of black, like the growing darkness in his soul.

Coffee? At this hour? What kind of neighbour would make coffee at five in the morning?

Slithering his way through the dim light of his room, Edgar slowly makes his way through the house to find the source of the aroma. He eventually traces it to his front doorstep, but is immediately struck with a pang of hesitance before he sets his hand on the doorknob.

Who would leave this out here? How would they know I like coffee? I never told anyone that...

One moment, his mind is carefully searching for something he cannot truly pinpoint, and the next, all his memories come rushing back.

"What's your favourite drink?" Colette asks. She is playing with his hair while he is watching television on the couch, and both their stances are illuminated by the afternoon glow seeping through the shutters.

"Huh?" Truth be told, Edgar didn't have a favourite drink. Most of the time, he would forget to even hydrate. But with the butterflies that came along every time he was around Colette, he figured it would be a shame to let her down. He needed to think of a favourite drink before he embarrassed himself by telling her his real experiences...

Colette hums to herself. "I'll go first. I like alcohol."

Edgar scoffs. "Alcohol? Ew!"

"Hey!"

It is tumultuous. It is hideous.

"Okay, pretty boy. Your turn!"

Edgar feels his palms beginning to sweat. I don't have one, he tries willing himself to say, but the words never escape his lips. At this point, maybe he should just tell her the truth...

"Hello? Earth to Edgar?"

Somehow, by whatever godsent miracle, the aroma of coffee drifts into his apartment. His brain instantly rewires itself, and at once he says, "Coffee."

Colette's laugh reverberates once more through the room. She playfully nudges against the back of his head. "Coffee? That's so basic! Why don't you try, like, Kool-Aid or something?"

Edgar rolls his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a smile threaten to creep up his lips. "I'd take coffee over Kool-Aid any day, dude..."

It is a torrent of emotions sent barreling towards his soul at full speed. It will knock the wind out of him. It will crush his chest, compress his beliefs, and he will do nothing to stop it. And he will let it crash and burn, and he will surrender to the ashes of his white flag after it has been engulfed by walls and walls of flames.

Edgar opens his door for the first time in ten days to find a package. He sees messy, illegible handwriting scribbled across the cardboard. He shakes the box and identifies the familiar rumble of coffee beans in bags. He knows it is from her. Stupid, doomed girl.

Without a second thought, Edgar raises a foot above the package and sends it into the ground, into Tartarus.

-

On the fourteenth day, Colette refuses to acknowledge that her faith in the gifts has, quite literally, been stomped on and ruined. Surely Edgar himself wouldn't have done that to the coffee beans? Maybe it was some annoying neighbour who simply wanted to ruin his day. Then again, how many annoying neighbours were living amongst Edgar besides himself? Colette almost bursts into laughter at the thought.

She does not question his silence. It has been two weeks, two whole weeks since his outburst. Since he locked her out of his house and left her hanging, wondering. She and Spike have been chatting a bit online, but she does not wish to bring the topic of Edgar up with her new friend. First impressions did make an impact, after all. Perhaps, once this whole ordeal was over and Edgar was back to working with them, she could introduce them to each other!

That fucking cactus. His words still unnerved her a little. What did Edgar hate so much about Spike? Was that simply hatred in his eyes? Was there something beneath the anger that she had yet to unearth?

Could it have been jealousy?

Colette blinks into the distance, recounting the times she has visited his apartment, the times where they would share their stories and talk about nothing and everything at the same time. Edgar was always happy around her. He was never his usual rude, brash self. Many of her friends regarded him as the emo kid, but to Colette, he was just Edgar. He loved jazz music and tacos, and though he was usually reserved around other Brawlers, he happened to be a party animal around her. He was comfortable enough to show his true self in her presence.

And yet, all of that came crashing down after she followed Spike. What caused such an outburst from Edgar? What caused the hatred festering within him that rewired him to say such mean things to her face? Jealousy, Colette realises. It must have been.

And what kind of fallout would last fourteen days straight, with no sign of stopping? Certainly not one of friendship. He was so angry he stomped on the package she sent him. And, though far away, she felt as if she could physically sense his warmth beside her, last experienced days before he turned cold. She felt compelled to wipe his tears for him, even though she believed it was nothing big of a deal.

What could have caused this? Why would he be intently stalking her following list? It wasn't even his own. Bloodshot eyes, distraught countenance, knuckles red from punching. The slam of a door in her face without warning.

Oh.

For once, it finally, finally clicks for Colette.

Edgar is in love with her.

Chapter Text

It all started when you met that green bastard on the street. And suddenly in the span of six hours you're closer to him than to me? You're laughing with him, sharing jokes and secrets... do you even give a flying fuck about why I'm here? Do you even think of me? Do you even acknowledge my existence?

Who the fuck am I to you? You're just some narcissist who doesn't care about me in the slightest. Your following count was stagnant for a while until that fucker swooped in and carried you away as if he was your Prince Charming. You know, I'm fine with you following Chester and Griff, yeah? I'm fine with it because I trust that they're not fucking trying to link up with your sorry ass. But Spike? FUCKING SPIKE?

You've crossed the line. I've had enough.

Now I want nothing more than to kill myself and take you down with me.

Group Chat: !!!~CUTIE BRAWLERS~!!!

Chester
> BRO
> ITS BEEN 17 DAYS
> WHERE IS EMO KID

Griff
> I tried to break his door down like 3 times already
> Literally nothing works

Emz
> didn't Colette say smth abt giving him coffee beans
> i heard he stepped on them

Colette
> uhm
> guys
> i think its my fault
> i owe him an apology

Griff
> How come?
> If anything, he should be apologising to us
> We tried so hard to be there for him
> It's been almost a month and he's refusing our help still

Chester
> maybe its not related to us?
> idk man i hope he didn't take our bullying too seriously

Colette
> no its not that
> its smth else

Emz
> what could it be then??

Colette
> ;-;
> personal problem ig
> we had a fight..

Emz
> girl...
> why wld he pick a fight with u of all ppl???

Chester
> good luck Colette
> i pray for ur sanity :skull:

Colette
> thx ;_;

-

On the nineteenth night, her phone lights up. A text from an unknown number? Perhaps another scam caller? Colette is usually quick to move such numbers to the recycle bin, but this time, something in her gut is barring her from doing so.

Huffing in annoyance, she opens the text. I love you. She blinks at it in surprise, then confusion, and though its familiar eeriness rubs off on her, she refuses to let anyone cross her mind. There was just no way it could be him; she could never foresee him being so straightforward.

"Scam callers," she scoffs to herself, amused, and deletes the text without a second thought. Self-soothing protocol. "So advanced these days."

-

Edgar is drowning.

The dark, murky water no longer fazes him. It lures him in further; it has him wandering like a lost child. With every strike of the knife, he feels more at peace. The pain is blinding, deft in the way it strangles him.

The thorns of a cactus continue to dig into his skin, biting and weaving themselves between the gashes. At a particularly painful slash, Edgar almost loses his balance in the agony, nearly falters in reaching his goal. But the boy persists, slicing trembling flesh through intervals of ragged breaths.

She was all he wanted, and he ended up with nothing.

The scorching pain in his wounds begins to throb, and Edgar slumps against his refrigerator, the knife falling out of his hands. Black dots protrude his vision. His shoulders shake from the tears. One arm clutches around his waist, as if he is trying to warm that one small segment of himself. He tries not to think about the girl, even as the illusory vines coil tighter around his hands and throat. It would do no good.

Eventually, the darkness lulls him to sleep, and the blazing fire beneath his skin is reduced to a dull ache. It never truly goes away.

-

Colette peels another page off of her calendar. The gift shop smells solely of wood and paint. With the flip of a few switches, it is once again illuminated with faerie lights, and complemented with the soft hum of jazz music playing from the radio. A new day has begun.

She slumps over the counter, letting the buzzing in her head slowly subside. These past few nights, she has been plagued with thoughts of the fight, and she finds it hard to sleep because she knows that if she ever falls asleep, she will only dream up on Edgar and his receding silhouette.

It has been twenty days. Every other night, Colette still makes an effort to travel to his apartment to leave gifts outside his doorstep, only to find them destroyed the next day. It is slowly vexing her more than she would like to admit. Perhaps the epiphany she had the other day was just a stretch -- perhaps Edgar did not 'love' her, and he was just really, really salty about something else. Colette naively tells herself that it cannot be anything more.

There was an even sadder aspect to this whole ordeal. Throughout the past twenty days, no more than five other brawlers have expressed concern over Edgar and his whereabouts. It was as if he was invisible to the entire community. The thought only sickens Colette further; how sad must he be, now, to know that so few have been looking out for him?

With every day that has passed, it feels as if Edgar is growing further away from her. She wishes she could pull him back in, but all her efforts have insofar been futile.

Her epiphany ends when the bell jingles and she looks up to find Griff walking in. He looks unusually distracted; on most days he would greet her with a smile, but this time he seems to carry a shaken gaze, looking small, meek. Scared, even.

"What's wrong?" Colette leaps over the counter to examine him further. Griff is shivering, eyes clouded with something undecipherable. "Did you see the news?"

"What news?" Colette blinks up at him innocuously. Griff lifts his phone to her face. Teenage boy jumps off 38th-floor balcony of apartment building in suicide attempt, miraculously saved by wind-resistant scarf. The image below the headline fills her with a dread so potent it anchors itself into her guts. The boy's bruised skin and tattered clothes are matted with blood, and nothing could have terrorised Colette further save for the vile slashes on his arms. She clamps a hand over her mouth, feeling the first notes of vertigo straining to overwhelm her. It is a pendulum swinging back and forth. A tsunami cresting, rising, about to slam headfirst into her skull.

Is he dead? Is he dead? Is he still alive? Who did this to you? Who let this happen to you? Colette feels the vomit penetrating her throat and can barely hold it back. Griff watches her fall to her knees, watches her lose the remnants of her composure. God be damned. Whose fault really was this? She does not want to know.

Griff pulls the phone back towards himself, scrolling even more frantically. His eyes widen after a few moments. "Fortunately, he's still alive and in some psych ward now."

Innate relief surges through her veins, but a looming sense of dread tells her that there is something more, something waiting to unveil itself from the darkness. Something imminent.

Griff clears his throat. "Further investigations have been conducted... they say they found a phone on the balcony and it was left unlocked. It couldn't have been his personal phone, because there were no apps downloaded and there was nothing in his gallery, but there was one single text he sent in his contacts."

She freezes. Don't let the memory erode.

"They were unable to pinpoint the identity of who he sent it to, but it says here that he wrote 'I love you' right before he jumped."

Colette struggles to regain her breath. No, no. No no no no no. "What the FUCK?"

-

What happens to the struggles that bite your neck, thirty-eight floors down?

You don't love me. You don't LOVE ME, AND I AM JUST A FOOL TO YOU. A FUCKING FOOL WHO OVERESTIMATED HIS OWN WORTH.

He can hear her laugh echoing through the hollow walls of his mind. "My life changed from the first day I met you." How many more lies has she uttered to his face? How many could he live with?

Not much more, from the looks of it.

My last act of love is letting you go.

Edgar sets the second-hand phone down onto the patio chair behind him, then puts one leg over the railing. The moon seems to cast a disapproving glare upon his shivering build. He is a deadweight; he always has been. He was just a passerby in Colette's life, a burden that drained the fun out of her soul. Now he must pay for it all; he must drink from the devil's spiked cup, repent for the alcohol that spills itself on his slash-stricken arms.

Maybe that cactus isn't so bad, he thinks. He can provide for you a lot more than I'll ever be able to. And you'll be happy with your stupid fucking friends. Don't ever call me again. Don't ever think of me. Don't ever condemn yourself for my sins. His heart twists with grief; will this idiotic girl really take up his final thoughts? Upon lifting a second leg, Edgar feels his entire weight topple over, down columns and columns of windows, riding the wind into the sea of stars below. When he stretches his fingers, he perceives the phantasmic sensation of another hand clamped in his.

He half-expects his spine to be crushed upon meeting the concrete, but before he can feel the impact, his vision is swarmed with a lurid red. The ringing in his ears rises to a crescendo that he wishes could rip him from the mortal plane's grasp.

The void's gaping maw is just in front. It is yawning, coaxing him deeper inside. Colette is no longer his link to reality; she is now the catalyst to his departure from it. He thought he would have found love with her, but he simply lost himself.

-

Colette is crying.

Emz and Chester are beside her, burying their glossy, tear-stained faces into their palms. Unlike them, however, Colette is an ugly crier. She has coated at least five boxes' worth of tissues with tears and snot, pacing around her room and screaming her throat out.

"Colette, he's alive." At one point, Chester tries pulling her back down onto her chair, but she shakes away his grip. "He's alive and recuperating. They saved him in time. You haven't lost him forever."

Colette whirls around, shooting daggers into his eyes while blinking a resurfacing torrent of tears away from her own. "It's not about him recovering. I should've been there for him! None of this should've happened in the first place. I could've easily prevented it all."

Emz, through muffled sobs, decides to pipe in. "What do you mean? You... you weren't even the cause of this. Whatever reason he decided to jump, it couldn't have been you."

Something in Colette snaps. A scream rips itself from her throat, raw and maniacal. "It was me, okay? Do you want the truth? I'll give you the damn truth!"

Emz and Chester share a bewildered glance, as if it is the first time they have seen Colette so angry. After a few moments they nod in unison.

"Edgar is in love with me," she sputters out. "He was the one who sent the text. And like the dumb jerk that I was, I deleted it because I thought it was just some scam caller. But he was avoiding me because he saw me follow Spike on social media, so I guess he got jealous and started swearing in my face and kicked me out of his apartment forever. Then he started stomping on my gifts and he never showed himself ever again, and now he..." Colette almost chokes on her own words. "I don't fucking get it. He tried to kill himself over me."

Colette's words slur into nonsensical blabbers, and before she knows it she is huddled under the blanket, shoulders jerking with every violent sob that wracks her body. She loses count of the number of hours that have passed since she started losing herself in her tears, even after Emz and Chester have retreated back into their own dorms. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

I need to find you again, and I will search in every story until I reach that perfect, happy ending.

-

I am brewed from miracle's womb. I am strong, and I am a fighter.

I will no longer be swayed by greed. I will no longer succumb to the thrill of pain.

I will no longer hurt myself for personal gain.

I heed this oath to never take my own life ever again,

to love and cherish those around me,

to begin appreciating the world and the beauty that it harnesses,

and to let hope and faith back into my life.

"Again," the nurse hisses, hovering the camera nearer to Edgar's face. "You need to speak with more emotion. And lower the sign a little bit. Extend your arms, yes -- we need people to see your scars."

Shut up, you crone. Edgar wants nothing more than to unleash the most terrible string of vulgarities into her face. The stitches in his throat stop him from doing so, however. Ultimately, he huffs and complies. After a couple more painstaking rehearsals and takes, he is done filming the promotional video for his rehabilitation centre.

The nurse gives a hum of satisfaction and wheels him back into the ward, where he is carried onto some rock-hard mattress and attached to a bunch of machines and an IV drip. They draw his blood and measure his temperature every six hours. They wrap almost every part of his body in bandages and feed him through a tube.

It hurts to swallow and move his limbs. There is an unending, searing pain in his head that threatens to haunt him forever after what he has done. It is truly evil how the staff at this centre are just using his suicide attempt for popularity. Edgar wishes he could jump the nurse and make her regret it all, but there is no use in wishing. He will be condemned here for eternity.

Edgar has been counting. It has been thirty-five days since he last saw Colette in person. Fourteen since he tried to jump off his balcony. If only he wasn't wearing his stupid damn scarf. Had that god-forsaken piece of cloth not spread out across the air to soften his landing at the last second, he would have been long gone by now. And Colette would be crying her eyes out, finally realising what she had lost.

But he failed at even the simplest task of taking his own life.

How pathetic, he muses to himself. What a fool. What a fucking fool. How will the cactus treat you now? Is he hugging you, telling you that everything will be okay, that your life is better off without me infiltrating it?

Edgar knows he will never see Colette again. Recovery is just a synonym for end-of-life pity points. Really, all of this happened over getting jealous of a fucking cactus on her following list? Am I the asshole?

Well, I guess I was pretty childish.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to envision a future where he and Colette are still friends, maybe even more. If only he talked it out with her on that day. They were just platonic brawlers, after all. But he let himself get so carried away in his fantasies that he wanted to control her. Where she went, what she did, who she was with. He was the one to blame.

For once, an immense torrent of guilt plagues Edgar's guts. He wishes he could apologise, but even that had an expiry date, and he knows he has long missed it.

I wish I never made that landing.

-

On the fortieth day, Colette finds herself running to the psychiatric ward. The walk there was a long one, but eventually she is at its doorstep.

Emz, Griff and Chester volunteered to accompany her, but she insisted that she go alone. In her hand are a bag of coffee beans, a bouquet of baby's breath, and a bag of tacos. When she reaches his ward, she finds a body laying in his bed, almost entirely wrapped in bandages. Her heart drops for a moment, but then the body shifts and Edgar straightens up. He is drearily awake, staring into the distance, staring past her. It is as if he does not know she is there.

Colette fails to find her voice as she watches him. His nose is attached to some tube that feeds him proteins, and the heart monitor is beeping ever-so-stalely. She almost vomits at the sight of him looking so deprived of vitality.

"Edgar," she rasps out against her own will. Edgar blinks up at her lazily, but his eyes fail to register any sort of emotion. For a moment Colette wonders if he has forgotten her, if his memory has been permanently erased after the fall. Time seems to slow and her heart seems to steel into ice.

No... no no no. Please wake up. Please remember me. Colette takes another step forward.

After a few moments of insipid silence, Edgar's pupils dilate and fix onto her. His jaw falls open at the sight of her, and at first he glances around furtively, as if wondering to himself whether he is in a dream. Colette clutches her fists, mind racing to recite every prayer she has ever read up on. Please know why I'm here, please don't forget.

"Colette?"

Relief. And vertigo. Colette runs over to the bed, vision blurry from the tears that seem to spill from her eyes with no end. She carefully places down the bags and nearly shoves the bouquet into his face.

"I'm sorry," she blabbers out. "I'm sorry I didn't know anything. I tried to contact you in so many different ways but you just wouldn't answer. Griff tried to break your door down, and I was really, really worried." Colette kneels at the foot of his bed, sobbing to herself while he stares on nonchalantly. "Why couldn't you just tell me, Edgar? Why couldn't we just talk it out? This is all my fault..."

When Edgar speaks, it is cold. Unnerving.

"Yes, it is." Though muffled by the tube, his tone is full of clarity. Anger. "Get off of me." Colette's breath hitches in her throat as she gets shoved off the side of his bed. Edgar is glaring down at her, deadpan eyes flitted over with shadows.

"What?"

Edgar breaks away from her rounded gaze. "I don't need your sympathy anymore, Colette. You know why I'm here. And it's embarrassing because I know you don't feel the same, even if you're trying to understand me."

Colette swallows her words, unable to think of a reply. As if they are her saving grace, footsteps sound from behind her, and soon a pair of nurses arrive to escort her out. Right before she leaves the room, she turns her head to cast one final glance at him.

Edgar holds her stare, eyes betraying no sort of emotion. He sends her off with a curt nod. "I'll be discharged soon."

-

Seventy days have passed.

Edgar feels as if he is walking into a town full of strangers. Some Brawlers still exchange weird looks when they see him, and his ears catch hushed whispers of "suicide guy" spreading like wildfire around the area. He bites back stinging retorts and mostly looks at the ground wherever he walks. Even his own friend group, Emz, Chester and Griff, were way too soft on him after he returned, and he found it sickening.

As for Colette, Edgar was too ashamed to even come to terms with her ever again. The hurt he bore from her friendship with Spike never really left him, even though he had since accepted that he was never her favourite person. He suppresses a bitter laugh at the thought.

For the first time in over two months, Edgar hears the sharp clinking of keys as they hang from his hand. After such a long time, he is finally returning to the comfort of his apartment. When he opens the door, he feels the familiar rush of warmth, and the dim light of his living room enveloping him once more. This time, he makes his way to the balcony, and sees the phone on his patio chair.

Looks like someone tampered with it. They investigated the place... how amusing can it get with a bunch of authoritative strangers caring more than my own friends?

Friends. The word makes him grimace. Edgar tucks the unpleasant thoughts back into the crevices of his mind before they can further resurface. He hums noncommittally to himself as he unlocks the phone. It was left open on the Messages app at 5% battery.

There, he sees it. I love you. Left on seen, left without a reply. Every day, it stings less and less.

Edgar stares at the phone for a moment, before he shuts it off. He looks out to the skyline once more; it is dusk, harrow and desolating. Solitude is his only friend, now.

Mustering all the regained strength in his muscles, he lurches forward and throws the phone out into the horizon. Past the sidewalk where he had landed on that fateful day. Beyond the borders of his homeland, into the void below.

-

Ninety nights have passed.

Colette hesitantly finds herself at his door once more. Though it is clear that he has been avoiding her this whole time, she has decided that they need closure on this whole matter, once and for all. Better late than never, even.

One knock, two knocks, three. The metal feels cold against her knuckles. Colette counts to herself for over twenty seconds before she hears slow footsteps approaching the door from the other side. Instantly, she straightens herself up, preparing to recite the speech she has rehearsed in her head.

The door opens. Edgar is standing there, his physique much healthier than that of his recovering self in the ward. He looks surprised to see her, and more focused. Less muddled like he was before, where he seemed to be navigating the world in a dream.

"Can we talk?" She flashes him a sheepish grin.

Edgar leads her to the balcony without a word. She notices that he has rearranged some of his furniture, and so the layout of his house is less familiar to her. The realisation sends a pang of sadness through her, as if she knows nothing in his life will be the exact same again.

Colette lets the night air envelop her senses as they stand atop his balcony. Here, they are perched beneath the radiant glow of the moon, greeted by a bird's-eye view of the entire city. She is trying to find the right words to say when, to her surprise, Edgar is first to sound out.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, the redness of his face barely concealed by his tattered scarf. Colette watches him in wonder. "It's not my place to decide who your friends are. I was too possessive over you, and I kind of forgot we were just friends, so I blew everything out of proportion."

Colette dips her head. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't know you were going through so much. If you just told me earlier, I would've been able to prevent all of this from happening."

She is met with radio silence, but Colette notices that Edgar has relaxed his shoulders.

"I suppose Spike is still a sensitive topic for you?"

Edgar shakes his head, gracing her with a small smile.

"Spike and I are good friends, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can always unfollow him," Colette reasons. "I mean, I'm happy to be around you, you know. I wouldn't say I'm ready for anything more yet, because we still have a lot to work on in ourselves, but..."

She trails off, half-expecting him to shove her away yet again, but he is busy gazing up at the moon.

Edgar rubs at his neck. "I think we should just be friends, Colette, like you wanted. I'm obviously still in love with you, and I'm sure you already knew that, but I don't think we're compatible with each other."

"You're right." Colette tugs at her collar, meekly surveying the twilight sky. "We're not."

"I'm sorry, though," Edgar sighs. "I think Spike is a good guy. I was just scared that he would replace me as your best friend, or something, but it was wrong of me to assert myself as the only person you should rely on. I've accepted that you can be friends with other guy brawlers, too."

For the first time in a while, Colette laughs. Edgar turns his head, sneaking a furtive glance at her. His voice is slightly taut with remorse. "So, uhm... are we still friends?"

"Yeah, of course," Colette says without hesitation, feeling the tension in the air finally dissipate. She shifts closer to him, examining the colour that has returned to his skin and the scars on his arms derived from wounds that have since healed.

She draws in a shaky breath. "Just... Edgar, please promise me you won't ever hurt yourself again."

Edgar remains silent for a while at her words, but slowly lifts a pinky finger up. Colette curls hers around his, watching with pride and relief as his gaze solidifies into one of earnest conviction.

"I promise."