Black Velvet (13) (Patreon)

"Okay, but seriously," I've locked the door and shoved my keys into my back pocket, even though I recognize the fact that I have absolutely nothing of value in my car. There's a bag of melted thin mints and a Nations Geographical magazine hanging out with a bunch of hot chocolate containers. Still, the vehicle itself is valuable for transportation, sometimes and — well, I guess that's enough. "You're not like —"

Tobias is three feet ahead of me already, boots digging into the gravel as he trudges forward. I do not admire the broadness of his shoulders. I don't, because he's being a prick.

"Dark and mysterious is cool in teen vampire movies and all, but you're not going to pull a Bundy on me, are you?"

Tobias rolls his eyes, but the dark has me feeling caged and jittery, shoulder jerking at every sound my scuffing tennis shoes emits. I curl into myself, trying to think of articles I've read on space exploration, or possibly what Ms. Martin puts in her hot chocolate to make it so good.

Instead, my brain falls back on Sleepy Birch's supposedly haunted memorial site, urban legends, the singular horror movie I watched when I was seven — and the chance that it could be the Devil’s hour.  So, of course, I jump when something unexpectedly brushes my shoulder.

"I forgot," Tobias hums from beside me, sounding a bit less brash. He taps a quick finger over my fidgeting hands, the ones that I haven’t noticed are twisting near painfully within my shirt’s material. His touch drifts away like it was never there. "Nic said you were afraid of the dark."

"Yeah," I laugh to myself, a little embarrassed at just how much Nic has probably his best friend about his awkward little brother. "Not a big fan of those things that go bump and creak in the night — much more accessible to the eye and less likely to be possessed by satan during the day time."

The dark-haired man doesn’t laugh at my joke, but deliberately slows his steps to walk in time with mine, which must be a bit of a hardship considering the length of his legs in comparison. He seems to be mulling over something but doesn't share it.

"What?" I ask, finally, "It's not that weird.  A lot of people are scared of the dark. I read a study on it.  It's like deep water and sleep paralysis.  Our brain makes threats up."

He shrugs at the justification, glancing down at me in interest, "I just thought that a guy who liked space so much would also like the dark." His hands slide into his pockets easily, and he glances up at the cloud-ridden moon, "... I guess it's a little weird — that you're spooked. I don’t know.”

I frown sheepishly in response but don't let it deter me.

"Oh.  That's just because — well. We associate space with darkness just because we see the moon and stars at night. It’s not the same thing, really.”

"How do you figure that?”

"Well.  If you think about it, the entirety of the universe is full of light."  I nod upwards, towards the scattered light emitting from the partially hidden moon, "Besides... You can be afraid of something and equally fascinated by it.  Like, murderers — or ghosts. It’s totally normal.”

I don't watch for his response, crossing my arms over each other to hide from the barely-there chill of night. The walking rids me of any coldness, keeping my body circulating heat reasonably well, but this time of year always has a certain nip when the sun disappears.

"Space," I'm shocked at the low timbre of his voice, having expected Tobias to stay silent for the rest of the walk. He's never been one to egg on a conversation longer than what is polite and necessary, and I had always thought maybe the sheer act of conversing just exhausted him. "They say space is infinite, right?  If you're scared...  Well... Don't you think infinity is worse than the dark?"

I blink.

"How come?"

"... Can't contain it," He blinks slowly, tiredly, "Never know everything that's in it.  I always wondered if the universe was finite, like earth, when I was younger.  Like— it just didn't have an edge for us to find.   Just curled around us. You can’t rationalize it like your fear of the dark. Can’t compare it.”

"Really?" My interest has blossomed a hundredfold, excitement sparking in my fatigued body.  I wonder why I didn't feel the same way when Charlie-Anne messaged me about neutron stars, but I don't dwell on it. “Do you think it’s infinite?”

The older man shakes his head.

"I don't know.  Why ask questions like, how many stars are there?" He lifts one shoulder as he says it, "We won't know that in this lifetime.  If I have a desire for an answer I won't get, or for anything, I won't let myself get invested.  I'm not obsessive like you."

"You mean you don't have hope like I do,"  I laugh softly at the mood whiplash of tonight, "you sound like a pessimist.”

He snorts.

“If I am? What does that make you?”

“Well — I dunno. Infinite means infinite discoveries, possibilities." I almost skip ahead of him, turning to face him as I walk sideways, "You might not get the answer to one question, but you could get an answer to another?  It's not obsessive.  It's just hopeful. I’m hopeful.”

“No. You're strange."

I startle. The softness in his voice — it... Doesn’t sound like an insult. It sounds like praise.

"What?"

He watches me,

"You know what's there in the dark," he smiles at the menacing shadow protruding from a small hedge, "even though you say that your mind makes up scary things.  You know all there is to know about the dark because you've seen it in the light.  You're still scared of it."

"There's light in space."

"Yeah.  But— space is infinite and only gives you some answers, the bare minimum— you know nothing about it, but you're hyper-fixated on it.”

“So what?” I laugh. “I have to have something. Everyone has to have something.”

“Well. Space is scarier," he looks away "than the dark. There's no argument there.”

“Prove it, then.”

“No one likes the unknown.  No one likes the thought of complete mystery — they just like the thought of eventual answers."

My pace slows again, strides evening out as excitement turns into something quiet.

"I guess," I cross my arms tighter, "I don't think of things the way you do. It doesn’t mean either of us is wrong.”

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