Backdated to April 11
When Julian arrived on Dering this morning, he had been carrying two bags of supplies. By noon, and through extensive trial and error, he had meticulously installed everything. Soleiyu never really asked what he was working on outside of the parameters of what he needed, which brought some measure of relief. Julian didn't think he could lie to Soleiyu, or even side step the truth. Soleiyu was smart--so much smarter than him--and Julian didn't even think he had the energy or willpower to come up with something convincing.
The only reason he hadn't told anyone right now was because Cyril had been very clear in his request to keep this as secret as possible.
Keeping these things from Talia had twisted a great deal of knots in his stomach, but he was sure Cyril had a reason for it.
Julian and Cyril sat by the river. Julian, to rest, and Cyril, to keep him company.
As expected of a ghost, Cyril was as clean and pristine as always, and sat cross legged while playing his lyre. Julian was somewhere between drenched and drying, but Dering was neither hot enough nor sunny enough to rush the process. He'd been in the river for several hours and was thoroughly pruny, and sore from fighting against the current.
When he'd asked Soleiyu for his thoughts on underwater cameras, he'd gotten a very informative lecture. Soleiyu had an easy way of talking, and he'd never seemed annoyed with Julian's questions. At first, Soleiyu thought it was simple curiosity--Julian almost always had the television on when he was alone in his room, or trying to sleep, and more often than not he was watching some underwater documentary. He figured out on his own that Julian was trying to plan for something, so Julian was greatly relieved that Soleiyu offered before he had to ask.
It occurred to Julian sometime later that Soleiyu had not questioned why he wanted a camera, despite knowing Julian's affinity for avoiding them. Soleiyu always knew more than he let on, and Julian could never repay him.
Not for one camera, and certainly not for the eight Soleiyu wound up making. He tasked Julian with giving a small report on the quality of each camera, which Julian supposed was Soleiyu's way of trying to make Julian feel better about receiving them. It worked.
So now, cameras had been installed along the riverbed, along with two motion sensors--that Julian had not asked for, but Soleiyu included anyway. There was a small computer, solar powered, that could store up to a month of video. It had a protective case, but Julian tucked it out of the way to keep it safe.
He'd brought goggles to look under water, and a snorkel, but he hadn't seen any sign of something living in the water. Plenty of plants! And the mountain of fish eggs, which hadn't really moved but had spread out just slightly in the current.
Julian couldn't swim, but it wasn't really necessary; the current hadn't been strong enough to carry him away, nor was it deep enough that he was ever off his feet, but that might have been different if it had rained recently.
"--but I suppose we can save that for later," Cyril finished, and Julian blinked, suddenly snapping his head to face him.
Cyril's eyes were on the trees, but as a silence grew between them, he turned his attention to Julian. Slowly, a brow arched. He was waiting for an answer.
Julian had missed the question. After a few seconds, he just nodded quickly.
A moment passed. Cyril exhaled. "Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?"
Julian's shoulders slumped, but his stomach twisted. "Oh. No, I'm sorry. I was just distracted."
"You must have been thinking deeply. I was talking for a moment," Cyril hummed, plucking the strings of his lyre again.
"...I'm sorry." Julian sat up straighter, and before his guilt could crest, Cyril interrupted to say, "No, don't be. You're probably tired. You worked hard today."
"Um, maybe." He wanted to say 'not really', but his muscles were all aching. He might not have agreed, but it eased the tension. "I was hoping we'd find more."
"We will. I have faith." Cyril stopped strumming mid song and started a new one. "And what you've done today will make it easier. I won't have to babysit the river all day."
Julian nodded. His palms were flat against the ground, and his fingers tangled in the grass. "Thank you for that."
"For what? Watching the river? All I do is watch over this forest."
"Um--well, yes. But no, too."
Cyril tilted his head slightly. "What more is there to thank me for?"
At first, Julian shrugged. He dug his fingers into the dirt and wouldn't meet Cyril's eyes. "Well, a lot, really. I've got a whole list."
"You're too generous."
"Well--" Julian looked up finally, and worry was stamped into his face. "No, I mean. I haven't been my best lately. I really dropped the ball. A few times. I know I messed up--" Cyril gave him a look but didn't interrupt him "--and, um. I just. I really appreciate you. I mean--I was so worried..."
Julian's voice tapered off into a weak mumble, and even if he'd spoken audibly, the words all sort of smushed together to make out anyway.
Cyril didn't ask for clarification. He waited.
It paid off.
Julian shrugged, and drew in a small breath before he tried again. "I was really worried you were going to be mad at me for things. For disappearing."
"Ah." Cyril waited, but Julian didn't seem to have more to say. He listened, and softened the song he played, but he didn't stop strumming the lyre. "I was worried about you. Not mad."
"I'm sorry."
"No need."
Julian thought he meant it, but he gave Cyril a few seconds to change his mind.
There were no more questions. Just the soft rumble of the waterfall, a good few years away from them, and the rustle of the wind in the trees.
It wasn't quite silence, but Julian thought someone should fill it, anyway.
Besides, the confession was crawling its way up his throat already, and before he could stop himself, he said, "It's more than just that. I owe you answers."
"You don't."
Cyril spoke so surely, so easily, that Julian needed a few seconds to think about it. "...I wasn't ready to talk about things last week," he said slowly, and to his relief, Cyril just nodded. He continued cautiously, "I'm not sure I want to talk about the this week, either, but." Julian's eyes were back on the ground, and he pulled out a small fistfull of weeds, only to immediately feel bad about uprooting them. He shifted positions and began to replant them. "I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you having something for me to do. I, um. I needed it."
"You give me too much credit, Julian."
"I don't," he said quickly, never an argument, but there was something so quick, so desperate, that Cyril paused. Julian even looked up to meet his gaze, and continued, "I think you're amazing. And I think you're really good to me. And I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you. You do so much for me, and you put up with so much for me, and I've learned so much from you. I'm just--I'm really happy I have you in my life."
Cyril's fingers stilled, and he laid his hand flat against the lyre. "Thank you, I suppose. But you know that you've done all of the work here, don't you?"
"Well--I don't know about that. I mean, Soleiyu made the cameras, and taught me how to use them. And you found the eggs, and you taught me everything, and--"
"And you spent all that time learning about them, and then you installed them all, and now you're committing to monitoring them. Is it so hard to acknowledge you played a very heavy part in this?"
Julian didn't answer immediately. Predictably, he shrugged, and put all his energy into smoothing over the grass he'd been pulling at. His eyes were downcast, taking in just how green the blades were. It wasn't like the soft white grass deeper in the forest.
This looked normal. Like something you might find on Earth. It wasn't even a particularly marvelous waterfall, but Julian marveled at it every time they came to visit. Thoughts rattled in his head with great abundance, but Julian could neither conjure the right thing to say, nor was he even aware of how long he'd been trying to work towards an answer.
A moment passed, and by then his lack of an answer only served to further Cyril's point. "You're too hard on yourself. And I'm not saying that to make you feel better."
The praise did not sink in, only the uncomfortable weight of it. Julian didn't look up.
Cyril gave him a moment, but then laid down his lyre. "Does anyone else know?"
"About what?"
"The things you aren't ready to talk about."
"Oh."
Which wasn't really an answer, and they both knew it. For Julian, it was a placeholder. For Cyril, it was a promise.
They weren't trying to wait each other out. Sometimes it just took time.
They both had plenty to spare.
Dering itself offered no urgency. Small clouds drifted in the sky, casting brief shadows as they went. The breeze was gentle, and carried with it a faint trace of distant flowers. The waterfall sounded less like a roar and more like gentle rain, and there was something faintly melodic about it.
Maybe a moment passed. If it was more, or less, neither cared to take note. Julian started his answer with a sigh, and another shrug. "Yes, some of it."
Cyril nodded. "...Whatever happened, can you talk to someone about it?"
The answer came slowly, but out of thoughtfulness more than reluctance: "I have lots of people I can talk to." Julian sounded older, like he'd taken a great deal of time to think about this already. "I just don't know what to say."
"I suppose you could say anything, couldn't you?"
The question itself wasn't bad, but Julian still shrunk a bit. "...Yeah," he answered--because Cyril was right, in that regard. But he made it sound so much simpler than it was. Just thinking about it made his stomach twist.
Cyril hummed. "So what's stopping you?"
A million things. Or just one thing. Julian didn't have an answer and couldn't conjure a convincing answer, so he shrugged. He shrunk under the question but there was nowhere to disappear. Cyril wasn't aggressive. He hadn't been pushing. Julian had put himself between a rock and a hard place, and it was Cyril's fault for watching him do it.
The silence was uncomfortable, but both tolerated it. Cyril could have held out for much longer, but he decided to break it. For Julian's sake. He couldn't stand the idea of the boy shrinking any more. While hardly moving, he'd somehow managed to fold into himself.
"You're always so careful with your words." He'd have said 'tight-lipped' if he didn't think it would hurt Julian. Especially right now, when he was already so distracted and on edge. Better than last week, but Cyril guessed that it wouldn't have taken much to ruin that progress. He was already dangerously close. So, he was gentle when he asked, "Are you afraid you'll make them mad?"
Julian didn't relax but his shoulders slumped. There was some relief in being caught. Cyril spoke the admission for him. Julian didn't need to nod; Cyril obviously had his answer.
He hummed again. "I suppose that makes sense. You care a lot about what other people think. No one's perfect. How many times have I said something that upset you?"
"Never," Julian answered quickly. The sad part was that he sounded both desperate and earnest. Cyril wondered if Julian knew how to be mad, and if he wasn't just overcompensating by expecting everyone else must have a well of anger saved up to direct towards him. He'd never seen an ounce of rage or agitation in all their visits.
"I don't think that's true. I've said plenty that hurt your feelings. You don't have to pretend like I've never said the wrong thing. But you're still here, aren't you?"
Maybe Julian saw where the conversation was going. Maybe he didn't. Cyril couldn't read him right now, but Julian shrugged. He was still paying attention.
"Am I important to you, Julian?"
His eyes raised, and without thought, Julian nodded. "Very," he said.
That answer, Cyril believed. "And when I said the wrong thing, what happened?"
Nothing happened. They'd talked. The moment passed. Things smoothed over.
Julian shrugged.
"Hm. So why are you so afraid of saying the wrong thing?"
Julian never opened his mouth. He simply adopted an air of acceptance, and defeat. His head hung.
Cyril didn't dig any deeper than that. He could see a raw wound, in the early stages of healing. Julian guarded it like he expected to be torn open any second now.
"I've fussed at you enough for one day, Julian. I won't keep pestering you about this. I just think saying the wrong thing isn't the end of the world. I'd like to hear more about what you're thinking sometimes. I'm sure there are others who feel the same way."
Julian had been obliging for much of the conversation, despite the discomfort, but this seemed to tip the scales enough that he finally spoke. "I can't," he insisted quietly, "I don't want to make any problems."
Which was, of course, a very Julian thing to say, and it came out very raw and flustered. Cyril nodded slowly. A deep frown settled on his face. He was close to a nerve and he didn't want to make something worse. Calmly, he continued, "I can't imagine you making a problem." Before Julian could find some way to start coming up with ideas, Cyril added, "Nothing that couldn't be forgiven. You haven't got the intention to hurt anyone. The right people would meet you where you're at."
So much of their conversation was interrupted by pauses, where Julian needed time to listen, and think. This was no different. Cyril waited, until Julian murmured, "I don't know if I can risk that. I don't think I can handle losing anyone else."
Anyone else? Anyone? Julian spoke too highly about everyone, even the people that didn't deserve such compassion. "People don't leave that easily."
"...Sometimes they do," Julian suggested quietly, only a whisper.
"Not the right people."
Julian shrugged and repeated, hardly more than a whisper, "I don't want to lose anyone else."
Cyril watched him for a long moment and then asked, "Even the wrong people?"
Julian drew in a sharp breath. He didn't answer.
