Your head is resting against the rough bark of a tree, your fingers laced and settled on your chest, and you're pretty sure you've found paradise.
Well, maybe that's kinda cheesy. You're not all that sure you care though. From this spot you can see and you can feel. What more could you ask for? This air, this sky, this moment-- you know all about time, have danced your way through more than one memory and plenty of futures and this one is your favorite.
Because down that little slope of the hill you can see him.
He looks tired even with the shades on and you almost want to laugh. You know him so well, even now. You'd almost been worried you might forget some of those things after he died and all that time passed. But, like you said, you know all about time.
But, if you're honest, you'll admit that maybe, just maybe, you'd wanted to forget some of them. Once or twice, at least, when the nights got lonely and you got a little lost in some of your thoughts.
You missed, do miss, a lot of things.
You want to go talk to him, touch him, just hug him and you've thought about doing it so many times you're starting to go crazy.
This is your favorite place to just sit for a minute but, lately, your minute has turned into more minutes and then hours. But, there's a lot to think about and you've got plenty of minutes and hours to kill.
Would he understand?
You're not sure and maybe that's a good thing. It keeps you from going down there and possibly messing up your past. For now, at least.
Maybe-- you're not even sure you care about all those time loops and shit anymore.
Mostly because you didn't know he did this and it's kind of fascinating to see him just sitting here, alone in the silence. You always figured he went to a gym or spent all of his time on those random as fuck jobs he did or you thought he did.
Your past self must be at school, or just out and about maybe. You're kind of glad. You're really fucking tired of seeing yourself. It's kind of refreshing to be Dave-free for once.
But he's all alone-- here. Instead of with you. Or with anyone else. And that kinda bugs you.
He should be alone if he wants but you can practically feel whatever he's bottled up rolling off of him.
How did you never notice?
Jesus, you were a spoiled little selfish shit.
You should stand up.
That'd be a good idea and, for once, you listen to your good ideas instead of the bad ones and do just that. It's just standing, right? You like the wind even if Egbert isn't around.
Just standing. Yep.
Unfortunately for whatever lingering respect for timelines and shit, you just step forward before you really consider what you should and shouldn't be doing anymore.
Your walk turns into a jog and that slope is gone in no time.
The bench draws closer and you slow only when his shoulders tense because you know that look.
You know he can hear you but, in your defense, you're not making much of an effort to be quiet and, even if you were, you figure he would have heard you anyway.
He's Bro. That's what he does.
You're kind of surprised when your hearing is drowned out for a moment by a heavy thud you know is coming from you own chest. Your heart pounds in an almost obscene manner as your mind screams at you.
This isn't a good idea but that rational thinking is kicked aside when your level of fucks given intervenes.
You don't care.
You really don't fucking care.
This is right-- he's right. His arms. His smile. Everything about him is always going to call to you and it's all right here, laid out on a metaphorical silver platter masquerading as a park bench.
You nod to yourself, ignoring how crazy that probably makes you seem, and sit but you can't make yourself look at him.
There's too much blood filling your mind just by being this close and you have to take a slow breath to force back all of that weight pushing down on your chest.
Fuck, just sitting here is almost too much.
He doesn't say anything and you can't help letting out a butchered laugh. You say butchered because you're not really sure you can call it anything but. It's choked and hoarse and Bro is probably wondering what the fuck is wrong with you for making a sound like that.
It's even watery and that makes even your nose wrinkle as your fingers curl into the fabric of your pants.
He stays quiet and you kind of expected that, but when a hand lands on your shoulder you get what he's really saying.
He probably doesn't understand but he knows who you are. You guess it doesn't really take a genius to put two and two together, even if it doesn't make much sense.
"Why do you sit here--" The words tumble from your lips, cracked and rocky but you ignore it. It doesn't matter really either. It's just a tone, just some words, just some sick tasting salt water making you lips sticky.
You feel yourself smile, you just can't help it, and nod. "Way to be specific there, can't even believe the depth in that, man. So deep."
The hand on your shoulder pulls you back when he gives a quiet hum in answer and he let out a shaky sigh.
"I know you don't--"
A gloved hand covers your mouth and Bro shakes his head.
His lips are kind of thin, you can almost see him deciding whether this is a good idea or a bad one. Poor guy, you're still not sure either but you're leaning closer to the 'bad' side. And the 'giving zero fucks' side.
But that's just you.
"Don't," he tells you, shrugging. "Doesn't matter. Just tell me what you need."
Short and to the point-- You didn't realize how much you'd missed that.
It used to drive you nuts, wondering why he wouldn't say more than 'yeah' or 'no' or some variation of a snarky ass reply in a few syllables as possible. Why wouldn't he talk to you? Yeah, you understood the half conversations in eyebrow raising and expressionless staring for the most part but you'd wanted to hear his voice, know that he thought enough of you to direct that your way.
Now though, you're pretty sure there's more water running down your face because, for a moment, he freezes. The glasses on his nose slide down just enough that you can see the bright eyes behind them widened in surprise and it takes little more than a second before his arms around around you and your face is buried in his neck.
God, he smells like laundry and sun and sweat and that tiny bit of smoke from the random cigarette and it's fucking perfect.
It's everything you've ever fucking wanted and everything you can't have anymore.
You missed your chance.
You fucked up. You couldn't save him and here he is, saving you one more time with those hands on your back, just like always.
"I love you," you choke out. 'I'm sorry' might have been smashed in there somewhere but you're not really sure. Your chest aches, your throat burns and you can't stop your shoulders from shaking as your cry on him and you just want to drown in this feeling.
You can hear him breathing and his hands slow a little, settling at that spot in the center of your back that feels like it was made for them and, for a brief moment, you can feel his lips on your cheek. It's kind of awkward. You weren't expecting it at all but you guess that's pretty obvious. You've never been good at anticipating his next move and, as usual, he's one step ahead of you.
"Love you too, little bro. Always will."