she stares at john for some time, a curious expression on her face. she says nothing for long enough that john begins to wonder if she has any use for him at all. will she offer one last barbed jest before vanishing from his life again, for good this time? he hopes he means more to her than that, especially after all the trying experiences they’ve shared.

and he does mean more to her than that. her hesitation isn’t meant to make him feel unwelcome. she’s simply processing what she is “seeing.” something is off about him.

it isn’t his unseemly appearance she finds surprising. he is gravely wounded, but it’s not that either. something else is different about him. different, somehow, from how she thought he’d be when she imagined they’d next meet. under all the gore, he smells... too fresh.

she decides to keep her observations to herself, lest she cause this ailing version of john more confusion.

john laughs, exposing his two rows of disarmingly dull human teeth, signature characteristics of his smile.

terezi tips her head to one side, with what john personally regards as a cute expression, one he believes is unique to her. whether he’s correct or not, it’s his belief that there is no one else who emotes in this manner. it’s both quizzical and mocking, two descriptors that he considers to be an apt summation of her personality as well.

john pauses, reflecting on the word “cute” as it passes through his mind. he wonders if this really is what he thinks of terezi, without influence, without delirium, without mistaking one emotion for another.

but it is what he thinks of her, quite truthfully. i have no desire to interject thoughts into others’ minds, or to sway intent. nor do i see value in masking the reality of the emotions that i transcribe. this is how he feels. his mind, however, has made a habit of being less clear about his thoughts than i am willing to be.

john would be mortified with human embarrassment if he could understand the clarity and precision with which i am willing to telegraph his thoughts. but his embarrassment is irrelevant to me. as always, the truth is paramount. john thinks terezi is very cute. he always has. he thinks she’s small for how big she talks, and has a nose that resembles a button. these qualities he regards as particularly adorable, due to their sharp contrast with her harsh and incisive demeanor. john recalls the concept of “gap moe,” a term which the prince, speaking from his highly self-aggrandized position as a “scholar” of ancient asian earth lore, once explained to mean a charming, measured discrepancy between one’s archetypical appearance and idiosyncratic personal attributes. terezi is definitely cute, john decides. the conclusion is now at the forefront of his mind.

I don’t fucking believe this.

but he still resists, doubts himself. perhaps it’s even weirder to frame it this way, he wonders. he fears he is in danger of seeming like the type of creepy human male who is likely to collect large pillows bearing the illustrated images of japanese earth females. to me, this idea means nothing. but it is causing him to sweat.

he is worried that these are the thoughts entertained by a man of low character. by, perhaps, a scoundrel. his worries are interrupted, as terezi floats over and flicks him on the forehead.

suddenly, terezi sways, feeling woozy. john reaches out to catch her shoulders, steadies her. now closer, he examines her face in detail. her complexion is chalky. compared to humans, trolls have little color to lose. when they feel ill, there is a pallor to them, a dusty quality running deeper than the surface of the skin.

she hesitates, weighing her temptation to playfully antagonize john against the virtue of sincere expression. there are times she worries the latter may be more appropriate.

when john opens the wallet, the first thing he sees stored in the capacious modus is a spare car. his ever-prepared father must have captchalogued a second one as a backup. perhaps, as john speculates, in case his primary vehicle got a flat tire.

john deploys the spare car. it looks brand-new, like the day his father brought the other one back from the dealership. it strikes john as the first bit of good luck he’s had all day.

terezi is less impressed.

john’s vision is dark and blurry around the edges. he is reminded he is not in perfect physical condition either and could use a moment of rest. he climbs onto the trunk of the car, assuming a sitting position with his legs dangling in front of the bumper. he exhales, then turns to look at terezi.

he pats the place beside him, inviting her to sit. she looks skeptical but relents, shimmying up next to him on the chrome. she shrugs out of the straps of her rocket pack. they sit silently for several minutes, shoulders two inches apart. the atmosphere is thin and chilly. below their dangling feet, the black hole looms, watching them. above, the sky seems to stretch on more infinitely than a typical infinite expanse, without being boxed in by the properties of space or time. john observes terezi watching the sky. the light flickers, meteoric, over her sharp features. it casts pools of shadow beneath her eyes and in the dip of her neck.

his innocent thoughts continue, with the cautious yet growing confidence of a skittish animal creeping out of the woods. it is confident only in its surety of being unobserved. like this, he does not think she is cute at all. no, she is beautiful. this vision of her is haunting to him.

he opens the wallet again, both to search for something edible and to take his eyes away from her. objects begin appearing around him as he leafs through the cards. a crumpled fedora. a silk tie. his father’s backup cufflinks.

terezi stares at him with her wide, red eyes.

she leans in close to sniff him carefully.

terezi appears delighted. she quickly snatches something out of the open wallet. it is a can of human shaving cream. she clutches it with covetous desperation, her mouth watering.

john is too late. she sprays the airy white foam directly into her mouth. she is slurping the earth product known as barbasol greedily, groaning in pleasure as it runs down her chin in viscid, frothy rivers. john’s eyes bulge at the unappetizing spectacle.

he watches with a strange mixture of disgust and fondness. he briefly wonders about the caloric value of the foam. however, regardless of its nutritional merit, it does appear to have restored some of her vigor, so he decides not to interfere. he feels a twinge of pain in his chest, and considers it may be on account of missing her so greatly.

but no. it’s just my brother’s tooth, lodged deep in his chest, spreading its poison. it really should be extracted before it’s too late.

she grabs him by the shirt. her voice begins to waver. he notices desperation in the dark circles under her eyes.

his mind knows he must say no. his sense of self-preservation insists on it. but he simply can’t. he redoubles his effort to ignore the pain. he fights back tears. she can sense his great struggle but says nothing. with a tilt of his head, he gestures toward the car.

terezi crawls in back, while john floats into the driver’s seat. he summons a gust of wind to propel the car through the decaying medium, as he once did on the battlefield so long ago. terezi closes her eyes the moment her head hits the seat. she snores heavily. john makes a concerted effort not to be creepy about it, by his own estimation of the word’s meaning, yet cannot stop looking at her in the rearview mirror. he tells himself it’s just to make sure she’s still breathing.

that it’s just to make sure she’s actually there.