Chapter Text
apart
adverb, adjective
separated by space or choice; no longer together
(Found bracketed in a delayed-response sentry field log.)
Neil
Neil hadn’t spoken to Andrew in almost two months.
At first, he would still pass nearby, trying to catch glimpses of him.
To make sure he was okay. That he was still there.
Once, slipping into a restaurant to meet Nicky and Erik, shoulders hunched slightly like the cold of the winter air was pressing down harder than usual.
Another time, outside his office building.
Or through the window of a gym, when Andrew stepped outside, towel around his neck, hair damp from sweat.
Each time, Neil had turned away before he got too close. Before Andrew could notice him.
Seeing Andrew, though, didn’t help with the weight on his shoulders.
Or the tight knot behind his ribs.
And when he saw a steel beam hit the ground just feet from Andrew, he accepted that maybe he wasn’t far enough away. Had to stop lingering nearby. Like a ghost.
A bad omen hanging over Andrew.
Now, he hadn’t seen Andrew in more than three weeks.
Had stopped looking for him. Stopped hovering near his office at the end of the day, or the gym late into the night.
He worked instead. Kept busy. More than busy.
He took the long way between assignments, rerouted through old haunts that felt familiar now. Picked up every soul assigned to him — and a few that weren’t.
Seth had looked at him sideways after the third time.
“You feeling okay, man?”
Neil just shrugged. “Figured I’d help.”
Seth had raised an eyebrow, the word coming out with more syllables than it should’ve: “Right.”
Neil hadn’t answered. Hadn’t known what to say.
Now, he stood in a room in a care home on the north side of a town he didn’t know. It was nearing midnight. The overhead light was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the snow beginning to fall outside.
The soul — a pale, tired man in a cardigan and slippers — had already begun to separate, blinking uncertainly at the stillness of his own body.
Neil was already here.
Punctual. Efficient.
Waiting. Tapping his foot.
He didn’t want to linger. Didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to think.
Behind him, Dan stepped inside, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.
She didn’t speak. Just waited.
The soul shifted once, like he wanted to say something, but Neil didn’t give him the chance.
He stepped forward.
“It’s time,” he said — flat, practiced.
Dan stepped further into the room. “You’ve been taking a lot of extras lately.”
Neil didn’t respond.
Her gaze narrowed. “You know you don’t have to work yourself into the ground just because—”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, too fast.
Dan arched a brow. “Oh yeah?”
She nodded toward the soul. “What’s his name?”
Neil blinked. Looked at the man — wispy white hair, pale eyes, the gentle lines of someone who had spent most of his life smiling.
His mind stayed blank.
Dan exhaled slowly. “Jesus, Nathaniel.”
Neil shook his head, distracted. “I don’t think that’s it.”
The pause stretched a beat too long.
His mind remained blank where a name should’ve sat, ready to be recalled.
“You’re a mess.”
Neil’s jaw ticked. “I’m helping.”
“You’re spiraling.”
After a beat, his shoulders dropped. Tired. “Tomato, tomato.”
The soul looked between them. “Am I interrupting something?”
Neil took a deep breath, then another. Then straightened up again.
“No. Let’s go.”
Next to him, Dan didn’t move.
Just looked at him like she was seeing the unraveling he was trying to keep inside.
“It was the right decision,” she said, her voice gentler now. “The Living are not for us.”
His fingers curled at his side, brushing against the sleeves of his cloak.
“I’m—” he started. Then stopped.
He swallowed, nodded, then said it again, voice softer this time. “I’m trying.”
Dan’s stare didn’t waver.
He thought she might say something else, might push. But instead, she just watched as he turned back to the soul, hand reaching out.
The man accepted it with a tentative nod, still confused, still calm.
Dan didn’t move as Neil guided the soul away.
The last time he had heard Andrew’s voice, winter was just beginning to settle into the world — cold creeping into corners, frost curling along windows.
Now, the air was starting to shift. The season inching forward, ready to bow its head to spring.
Almost three months, gone in silence.
Neil had told himself it was better this way.
That Andrew deserved to live.
Tonight, he hadn’t meant to come here.
He’d had a soul scheduled across the city, had even made it to the right block — but somehow, his steps had pulled him here instead, the bells pushed to the back of his mind.
To a street he knew too well.
To the sidewalk below a window he shouldn’t still be watching.
It was late.
The rain had started a while ago — light, at first. Just enough to mist the edges of the pavement, to halo the glow of the streetlamps.
Andrew’s apartment was dark except for the flicker of the TV.
Neil could see it past the edge of the curtains. The soft, pulsing light of changing scenes. It had been playing for a while. Two, maybe three episodes now.
That was good, right?
Andrew, home. Doing something normal.
Just… living.
Neil didn’t go inside.
Didn’t drift through the walls or lean against the kitchen counter or settle onto the far end of the couch like he used to.
He stayed on the sidewalk instead, still as stone.
Close enough to watch. Far enough to stay gone.
It wasn’t enough.
But it had to be.
He was still standing there — motionless, rain falling through him and splashing off the ground, getting stronger with every hour — when a familiar presence joined him at his side.
“You look miserable,” Renee said, voice light but not unkind.
Neil didn’t look at her. “Thanks.”
She didn’t speak again right away. Just stood beside him in the rain, her gaze drifting up to the window he hadn’t stopped watching.
“Are you going in?” she finally asked.
“No.”
She hummed. “But you want to.”
Neil didn’t deny it.
The moment lingered. A car passed slowly behind them, its tires hissing against the wet asphalt. A dog barked once, sharp and distant.
“I picked up a girl last week,” Renee said softly, still watching the window. “She was laughing when she died.”
He looked away. “Maybe she was crazy.”
“Or,” Renee said gently, “maybe she knew something we don’t.”
Neil breathed out, long and low. “You always do this.”
“Offer perspective?”
“Say vague shit and make me feel worse.”
“If it helps,” she said, smiling faintly, “that’s not the goal.”
“Matt says I’m doing the right thing. Staying away.” He swallowed. “Dan does too.”
“Dan worries,” she said. “That’s her job.” A beat. “Matt too.”
The weight of her quiet understanding was almost worse than judgment.
Neil shifted, his gaze pulling back up to the light behind the curtains. “I thought this would get easier.”
“And has it?”
He shook his head once.
“I keep thinking I’m doing the right thing,” he murmured. “Staying away. Giving him space. Letting him live.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“No,” Neil admitted. “I don’t know anything.”
The rain started falling heavier. A few more windows lit up down the street. He barely noticed.
“I thought I was giving him what he deserved,” Neil said, barely audible. “A chance. A life.”
The words caught behind his teeth. He swallowed hard. “But what if I’m still in the way?”
Renee finally turned to look at him. “The Path happens through everything, Neil. Not around it. If you care for this Living, there’s a reason for it. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It means it’s yours to carry.”
He turned toward her, just slightly. His throat was tight. His mouth opened.
The confession was right there — sitting on the edge of his tongue.
All of it.
The rooftops. The cars. The blades and pills. The shelves and falling objects.
Every moment he had stood between Andrew and a death already written.
Every inch of space he had stolen from the Path.
He looked at Renee.
And didn’t say a word.
She met his eyes like she knew anyway. Like she had always known.
“You’ll make the right choice,” she said gently. “I believe that.”
Neil’s fingers curled at his sides.
“Do you want me to stay?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. Didn’t trust his voice.
Renee touched his arm, just briefly, then stepped away into the dark of the Between. Her shape vanished at the edge of the rain.
Neil didn’t leave.
Not right away.
He stayed.
Watched the flicker of the screen through the window.
Let the rain fall through him and pool on the ground.
And when the glow behind the curtain shifted to darkness, and the apartment window dimmed, and the quiet swallowed up the block once more—
He remained where he was.
Not moving.
Just rain, and glass, and the silence in between.