Chapter 4: Trust and Talk
"Um… so, you gonna say anything, or…"
The scene shouldn't have been that awkward. The open window allowed the spring air to float in and cool the room, but John was anything but calm. The whole point of this had been to answer any questions Prota might have, but how was he supposed to answer when she refused to speak in the first place?
Additionally, it was nearly impossible to get a read on her. John had thought that time would've brought out some emotion, but her face remained as plain and monotone as always. He just couldn't figure out what she was feeling. Was she a golem or something? It was possible that she wasn't a living being. That would answer a lot of questions, actually.
Other than that empty stare, though, she was beginning to resemble a normal child. If you could just ignore her face, you would assume that she was like any other girl. It was because of this that John was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to look after a kid, especially after showing what he'd just shown.
He wasn't a good person to hang around. His actions should've shown that. What kind of person pulled a weapon on city guards? The fact that she was still here was surprising in itself. Maybe he should—
"What… is that?" Prota finally said, breaking the silence.
She'd barely talked since meeting John, so every time he heard her speak, it was a little surprising. She had a flat, monotone voice that matched her neutral expression. She was soft-spoken, but her manner of speech still reflected that of a child. Hesitant, as if searching for the right words to say, but with a sense of innocence that still didn't understand the weight words could have.
She pointed to where John kept his revolver in his hoodie.
"Ah. This?" John said, opening his hoodie to reveal the metallic weapon once more. "This is called a gun."
"...gun?"
"It's a- how do I put it? It's, well… hm. I guess it's a weapon that's kind of like a crossbow. Do you know what a crossbow is?"
Prota nodded.
"Great, that makes things easier. Well, this is the trigger. When you pull it, a little piece of metal flies out at really fast speeds. If it hits someone, well, uh, you get the idea, right?"
She nodded.
"Nn. They die."
John flinched. She seemed way too comfortable saying that. Did little kids understand the concept of death? And even if they did, were they usually so casual about it?
"I… well, yeah. They die."
He seemed guilty, as if he were actually killing a person to provide an example.
"Did you make the… gun?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," John said offhandedly. "We can say that."
"So you are, um… artificer?"
"A what?" John frowned.
"Artificer," Prota repeated, cocking her head to the side. Did John not know what that was?
"Ah, right, an artificer. Sure, sure."
He seemed to be skirting around the question, but Prota didn't seem to notice.
She stared at him curiously. Was he really an artificer? She thought artificers were usually people who made stuff, not people who fought other people. Would someone who made stuff be so skilled in intimidation tactics?
Well, it wasn't like it mattered. In reality, Prota had been stalling out a question that she knew she'd have to ask eventually.
"Is John… the hero?"
There was a moment of tense silence, but then, to her surprise, John laughed. It wasn't the quiet, polite laugh she'd heard him give when he was tending the bar. It was a loud, boisterous laugh she'd never heard before. Well, no. That wasn't true.
Back when he'd first found her. When he'd fought off those drunken men and extended his hand, pulling her out of that dirty pit she'd been living in. She'd heard it then.
"A hero, huh…? John wiped his eyes. "Am I the hero… no, no. If that was a joke, it was a pretty good one."
"So… John won't kill me?" Prota said carefully.
John scoffed but then sobered up as he realized the child was being serious. She'd really thought he might have the intent to kill her. He would've been a little offended had the situation not been so pitiful.
"Kill you? Are you stupid? Why would I help you if I wanted to kill you? If I wanted you dead, I would've just left you on the streets. I don't think you would've survived much longer."
Prota flinched, drawing back a little. She knew she hadn't been in a good condition. She had never thought she would die, though. There simply hadn't been a lot of room to think about something like that.
She'd been reduced to an empty shell of a person, running on autopilot, just struggling day to day. She was tired. Tired of trying to live, tired of trying to hide, of trying to survive, of hovering just above the water's surface, half drowning, half floating.
But now, presented with the facts, forced to face reality, she realized it. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. Even if it meant going back to the dumps, going back to the streets, she wanted to hang on. Her rope was nothing more than a frayed thread, barely able to hang on, but unable to let go.
She didn't want that rope to break.
"Don't worry," John laughed, breaking her train of thought. "I'm not gonna, like, throw you back into the streets or something."
Right. He was someone she could rely on for now, right? Why would he stop the city guards from taking her if he was just going to kill her himself? She tried to calm down, attempting to hide her efforts. Well, not that it mattered, anyway. To him, she looked the same as always. He sat there, waiting for the next question.
He should've expected it. He didn't, though, and so it made him flinch.
"Nn. Then, um… other worlds?"
John stiffened, his relaxed composure freezing on his face.
"Fuck. You heard that? I… ah, shit."
He sighed and looked away. Prota waited patiently for him to look back, but she wasn't ready for what she saw. When he turned around, she saw the look of a tired man who wanted nothing more than to sleep, whose heart had been ground over and over, so much so that it might as well not exist, like a sword used to the point that it dulled into a club.
She'd subconsciously known that something felt off about John, and now that she saw him like this, it clicked. This was him. The real him. Even though he looked incredibly fatigued, this was the look that appeared the most natural on him. Everything else felt… off.
His face never matched his eyes. Children are generally good at telling when someone is genuine or not because they tend to look at the eyes rather than the face. Of course, it's easy to fool them, but inside, they can distinguish between someone truly happy and someone who's not. The eyes give away quite a lot.
And now, right in this moment, John's face matched his eyes. An empty void.
"Ah… look, I know I said I'd answer your questions, but, um… not this one," John said, looking down. "Not now. Maybe someday, ok?"
The look on John was so pitiful that she didn't even care about the answer. It was enough that she was able to momentarily forget her own plight, her mind focusing solely on this man's despair. In an instant, though, his relaxed smile and casual composure came back, immediately disarming any sense of sympathy she once had.
It was so sudden that she almost forgot about what she'd just seen.
"Look. I can tell you that, yes, I do come from another world. But that's as far as I go. Alright?"
She nodded slowly, but she found herself more confused than ever. She'd been through tough times, but she couldn't help but wonder just who this strange man was. Definitely not a bartender, that was for sure. Yes, he ran a bar.
But he had to be more than that.
"Is there anything else you want to ask me?"
"Mm… No," Prota said, shaking her head.
That was a lie. She had a lot of questions left, of course. It was just that he probably wouldn't answer any of them. Where did John come from? Why was he manaless? How had he been so scary? What were these "other worlds" he spoke of? Why did he—
Oh. Well, that was something she could ask.
"Mm."
John stopped and turned back. "Huh? One more?"
"Um…" she hesitated, looking away.
John waited patiently, but he could tell she was having a hard time getting the question out. She fidgeted around, clearly nervous, but then finally choked it out.
"Why?"
"Uh… what?
Prota just looked at him. Her face was blank as always, but there was a sort of pleading look in her eyes, a look that conveyed something words could never do. He understood.
"I thought we went over this," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not that deep, Prota. There's no, like, hidden meaning or special reason. I just did it."
He got up and walked over to the window, looking out into the sunset. He continued to talk, facing away from Prota.
"Look. I don't just go and find orphans to rescue or anything. It's weird, it's a lot of work, and I'm just not really- ah, I'm not making any sense. What do you want me to say? There really wasn't a logical reason."
He sighed, taking a sip of his drink before carrying on.
"Look, I'll be honest. I initially went out looking for a "demon." I know you don't like being called that, but I was just looking into a rumour, ok? It wasn't like I knew who you were or anything. I didn't think I'd be keeping someone around. I was just gonna ask a few questions and leave."
He snorted and turned around, sitting on the bed as he faced her.
"Clearly didn't end up that way. Fuck. Look, you want some reasons? I'll try to give you a few. Three reasons. That's all I got, ok?" A finger came up. "One. Your name. Stupid reason, I know, but your name means a lot more than you might think. I can't say any more than that, so don't ask."
Another finger came up.
"Two. You reminded me of someone. She was like a little sister to me." His tone became a bit bitter, but he went on. "I lost her. Nothing I can do about it now. I'll never see her again. So, I guess… maybe I thought I could fill that void with you. Something cheesy like that."
John's face temporarily relapsed back into that of fatigue before he fixed himself.
"Third. I told you that you remind me of someone, right? I wasn't talking about that other girl." He grimaced as he struggled to get the following words out. "That's, uh, that someone is, uh… well, it's me. God, that sounds so cringe to say."
Prota cocked her head to the side. What did he mean?
"Look. I've done a lot. I've been through a lot. I used to have a pretty good life, and then it fell to shit, and I lost everything. Soul, humanity, emotions, whatever you wanna call it, it's gone. It sounds corny, but I can't keep pretending everything's fine. I don't want all this. I just wanted to be a normal guy."
His voice was hollowing out, almost becoming desperate. In anyone else, those words would've come with tears, but John spoke simply, as if it were simply a matter of fact. As if it were something he hadn't quite come to terms with, but had no choice but to accept it anyway. It was almost disturbing.
Suddenly, he looked back out the window and laughed.
"Haha. What am I saying? I'm talking to a kid. What do you know?"
His words broke the solemn atmosphere, but something had changed. Prota felt that she understood John better, even if it was just by a little bit. She didn't quite know if that meant she could trust him. She didn't know if that meant she could stay. But it was a step in the right direction.
"Damn. Lotta yapping going on tonight. Look, the point is, I'm not gonna throw you back in the streets or anything, ok? You can relax."
Trust me.
Those words echoed in Prota's head, leaving her staring at the place John had been in long after he'd left. A few hours later, when he returned, she was still staring.
"Uh… hello? You good there?" he said, waving his hand in front of her face.
That was enough to snap her out of her trance. "Trust…"
"What, had enough time to think things through?"
Prota nodded, now looking John directly in the eyes. It wasn't much, but it was a step towards a relationship that would now begin to form. Before, she'd always averted her gaze, trying to make herself as invisible as possible. Now, she had the courage to look at John. She might still feel a little uneasy doing so, but she could look into his eyes of her own will.
That was answer enough.
"Well, whatever. Like I said, it's not that deep. Come on, let's just drop it and eat, alright?"
With that, he pulled out a comically large bag from his hoodie. Prota was about to question where they'd come from, seeing as they would never have fit inside, but then lost her train of thought as the smell of the food hit her like a truck.
Roast meat, butter, cream and potatoes, grilled vegetables and freshly baked bread, fresh fruit juice and sweet pastries, blending into a feast for the nose. Her mouth started watering as she stared at the bags, entranced.
"Maybe this is a little greedy," John shrugged, grabbing a set of plates and forks. "But, well, who cares? Food should be enjoyed. Some people might disagree with me, but what they don't know is that they're wrong. What's the point in eating something you don't enjoy?"
He continued to ramble on as he set the table. Prota was a little hesitant at first. She shied away, seemingly nervous. John was a little confused, but he didn't question it. He wouldn't force her to eat, and he wouldn't withhold the meal, either. If she chose to eat, that was her choice. Still, it did look a little pitiful. Her mouth was watering, her gaze staring longly.
Eventually, it looked like she made up her mind because she approached the table and cautiously picked up her fork. John smiled ever so slightly in satisfaction, even though he himself didn't realize it.
Despite the monotone look on her face, Prota's eyes were shining as she dug into the food John had brought.
~~~
"Did you finally make a decision?" Zero said, floating through the air carelessly.
After eating, Prota fell into a deep sleep, leaving John alone with his thoughts. He'd gone down to the empty bar, staring around for a while before sitting down at the bar. Pouring himself a cup of strong liquor, he downed it, hoping to lose himself in the drink, but was disgusted to find that it wasn't affecting him in the slightest.
Despite this, he poured himself another cup, perhaps hoping to restore some of the warmth that was missing within him with booze. It didn't quite work the way he'd wanted it to. Damn. He hated the taste of alcohol, too. He put the cup away in disgust.
"What does it look like?"
"So you gave in, right?" Zero grinned.
"She's not real. What's the point?"
"That's not an answer, and we both know that."
"Tch. Shut up. I'll give it a try. That's all. If I think it's going to fail, I'm dropping it. I'm only doing this because there's literally nothing else to do."
Zero nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response.
"Those reasons, though… I'm curious. Was there any one reason in particular? One that was any stronger than the others?"
"As a [Reader], shouldn't you be able to tell?"
"Uh… nah. It's much more entertaining hearing it from you. As a [Reader], isn't it much more fun to read a story when you don't know what's going to happen next?"
John stared at his shadowy clone, then sighed and held his face in his hands.
"Of all the partners I get stuck with, I get stuck with myself…"
He waited, annoyed, but it didn't look like Zero would be leaving any time soon. With a groan, he lifted his head and leaned against the wall, thinking for a bit.
"Any one reason… dude. The fuck am I supposed to say? There wasn't any one reason or anything. What, you think I lied to her? No. I just did it because it was something to do. What do you want me to say?"
Zero grinned. "That's a good answer."
"Oh, fuck you."
The shadowy figure stopped floating around randomly and sat midair, making it look like there was an invisible chair under him.
"You know, in all the time we've been together, this is the first time you've had to make a decision like this."
"...huh?"
"You, and you alone, know the truth of this world. Stuck, living as a [Character], a [Reader], and a [Writer], all in one. You distance yourself from those you call [Characters] because they'll never be real, right?"
John remained silent, which was confirmation enough.
"But you want them to be real. You want a companion. A friend. Someone to be around. Someone to care for."
Zero spun around and smiled.
"Now, you've been given an opportunity. You've been presented with an open door, and you're running through. What's so wrong with that?"
John just looked away.
"Oh, come on, don't be like that, asshole. Just listen to me for once. Let's have a serious conversation for the first time in a long time."
John turned around, his face back to the blank mask it had been moments before.
"Fine. What do you want to say?"
"Not much more, actually," Zero sighed. "John. When you first started out, I told you that despite what you may feel, the purpose of all this was to have fun. It's for you to enjoy yourself. Don't forget that, ok? You're in a reader's dream, living out a story. Thousands, even millions, would kill for a chance to be in your position. So enjoy yourself. Live a life that isn't just you trapped in a box, waiting to get out."
The words were meant to be encouraging, but instead, they had the opposite effect. John's fists began to tremble as his expression grew dark.
"Enjoy myself?" John yelled, unable to contain his anger. "Have fun? You're telling me to live? With that fucker up there, controlling my every action?"
He took in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
"Yeah? Think I don't know? 'Oh, look at me, I'm the [Author] and I can fuck around as much as I want with no consequence.' 'Oh, characters need suffering to develop.' Yeah, right. The last time I 'had fun,' as you put it, I lost everything. I lost friends. I lost a family. I lost everything I ever had, so don't say a single word, alright? I'm done with your shit."
"But-"
"No. This isn't some kind of slice of life or comedy. If that were my life, I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. This isn't the kind of story where everyone gets everything they want. I know exactly what's coming for me. I know exactly what the [Author] has planned. So don't try to tempt me with that bullshit."
With a final huff, John felt his tense body relax as he wilted in his seat, his outburst finished.
"...sorry. I lost control."
He got up and put his cup in a sink, then stepped out through the front door. He closed his eyes as he threw his head back, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, a calm breeze cooling him down as it ran across his body.
The stars above shone, covering the sky like a blanket of lights, displaying the cosmos in all of its wonder. The light danced in John's eyes, a painting he'd never be able to touch, a work of art created by nature. But it wasn't real. It would never be real. The one god he could pray to wouldn't answer him, and so an empty look continued to fill his eyes.
Zero remained silent, a sad look in his eyes.
"John. You know, feeling anger is really better than feeling nothing. I wouldn't say this to anyone else, but if it's you… be sad. Be angry. It's better than nothing."
"Yeah, ok, buddy. Better than nothing, my ass. You know why nothing matters anymore. You know why I don't feel anything anymore."
"...yeah. Yeah, I do."
John grunted, then headed back inside to wash up and head off to bed. Zero stared after him, slowly fading away.
"Do you?"