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Gilded rests, this time. Unlike the many previous cycles in which he has been extremely unproductive. This time they are at peace. Comfortable, with no guilt lingering in the back of his mind for the lack of work he is doing. Despite his broken promises to provide gear for those it lives with.
Perhaps this is how he could have been if gold had never met Sparrow.
It's an unwelcome thought; Gilded disagrees calmly. It is like this because he met Sparrow. Perhaps he owes some thanks to Milo too, as much as it amuses him - perhaps even unsettles him - to think so. Without her, perhaps they would have never seen the crack in the screen. Feelings seep in through it, the sense of exhaustion - not enough to weigh heavy on his muscles, but enough that they feel its shape; he's aware of the space it would take up had it been his.
He knows it weighs heavy regardless, so both flames will rest. The cycle goes on, slowly, and yet all too fast. Gilded remains content though, unlike glitch has ever done before. Flare finds themself enjoying it. It's a break he doesn't get between the cycles - one his counterpart does.
This time, we get to share.
Gold traces the edges of his mask, as it has so many times, the way it feels etched into his skin. Somewhere in its mind he knows that what's beneath it isn't him. It's me. His face is the mask and that is all it will ever be. The voice it speaks with comes only from those porcelain lips, the fangs that have cut his lips to bleeding are made of the same fragile white, his eyes burning hot and flame are nothing more than windows - screens.
He is the mask.
Which means he is still something - and maybe it doesn't need to be more than that.
Gilded ponders where he would like to go if there was an option to leave the Queue. He adores the rush of the fight, but the quiet relaxation of an open field sounds quite appealing. One filled with sunflowers perhaps? It knows they don't get a choice, that it's very likely once this cycle ends he will awaken in a new one - perhaps months from now - and it will begin again.
Silently, though, he hopes I have nicer plans for him - plans for flare to still exist. He would sit through the hell of the second cycle over and over if it meant he could exist while I waited just—
Anything. Anywhere.
.
.
.
"Please?"