"Dave, you mean to tell me you forgot this very important thing? Who does that?" Tanya's voice was rising, sharp with a frustration. The plates of food, steaming and fragrant just moments before, now sat forgotten, their warmth doing nothing to melt the sudden chill.
Dave watched her, his mind racing. He could see the genuine alarm in her eyes, the hurt that was quickly curdling into anger. He had to fix this, and fast. He couldn't have her questioning who he was, not now, not when everything was so fragile. I need to calm her down somehow.
"Alright, alright… I'm sorry," he said, forcing a sheepish grin onto his face. It felt unnatural, like wearing a mask that didn't quite fit. "I was just trying to get on your nerves. Sorry...."
Tanya let out a shuddering sigh. She looked at him as if she couldn't decide whether to hug him or hit him. "You're such an idiot," she muttered, the fight draining out of her, replaced by a weary resignation. She settled back into her chair, picking up her fork and focusing on her food with an intensity that was clearly meant to shut him out. For the rest of the meal, she ignored him completely, the silence a heavier punishment than any shout.
Dave ate almost mechanically, the rich flavors of the stew and shrimp turning to ash in his mouth. Soon, they were walking back to the apartment, the streets quiet under a gloomy sky. Tanya walked a few steps ahead, her silence a palpable wall between them.
He glanced at her stiff back, his own ineptitude mocking him. In his previous life, Clive was never any good with women, that's why he always avoided them. He was too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of making a fool of himself. And now… now he had been given a second chance, reborn into this body, and the first thing he does was to make the one person who seems to care.. Angry.
I'm so pathetic. He sighed deeply, before steeling himself to speak.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words feeling inadequate. "I didn't mean to tease you with something so important. I won't do it again. Alright?"
The only answer was the sound of their footsteps on earth. The wall of silence remained unbreached. I've made it worse. I always make it worse.
Then, so quietly he almost missed it, Tanya spoke, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "Will there be another time?"
Dave blinked, unsure he'd heard correctly. "What?"
She stopped walking but didn't turn to face him. "Will there be another time?" she repeated. "Another time for teasing? For laughing? For joking around? Will there?" She finally turned, and in the fading light, he saw the glint of tears tracking down her cheeks. "Will there even be an 'us' anymore?"
Before he could form a reply, a single, choked sob escaped her. Then she was running, her figure disappearing into the twilight, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the path. "Tanya! I'm sorry!" he called out, but his words were swallowed by the dark. He cursed himself, the bitterness of his failure sharp on his tongue.
When he finally pushed open the door to the apartment, he found her curled in a corner, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The sight was a physical blow to his chest. His expression softened, all his own fear and confusion momentarily overshadowed by her pain.
He moved slowly, sitting on the floor a few feet away, giving her space. The old Clive's discomfort around women warred with the strange, protective instinct rising from Dave's body. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice gentle. "I know I acted stupidly. I wasn't thinking about how you would feel. I'm very sorry."
Tanya didn't reply, she just buried her face deeper into her knees. Dave sighed as he saw this.... thinking it was best to leave her be. As he started to stand up, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She pulled him back down and, before he could process what was happening, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.
Dave froze, his face flushing a deep red. He could feel the dampness of her tears through his shirt, the frantic beat of her heart against his chest.
"Dave," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
"Ye… yes?" he stammered.
She held him tighter. "When we enter the game… can you promise me one thing?"
In that moment, he understood everything now... This wasn't just about the words he said earlier. This was about the white brand on their wrists, about the terrifying unknown that awaited them. Tanya was terrified, and he, Dave, was the only anchor she had left in the world. His own racing heart began to slow, before settling down finally.
"What is it?" he asked, his own voice now steady.
She took a shaky breath. "Could you promise me that when we enter the game, if I'm not where you are… could you promise to find me? If I'm still alive?"
The request hung in the air, simple yet immense. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He was an imposter, a ghost inhabiting the body of her friend. He had no right to make such a promise. But looking down at the top of her head, feeling the trust in her grip, he felt a warmth bloom within him, a feeling that was not entirely his own, but one this body, this heart, recognized. He could not reject her.
"I promise," he muttered, the words feeling like a vow that sealed his fate to hers.
He felt her body relax against his. "Thanks…" she whispered. And moments later, the tension completely left her frame, as she fell asleep in his arms. This was not a restful sleep; it was a surrender, a passing from one nightmare into the next.
Dave sat there, holding her, the weight of his promise settling on his shoulders. It felt like life had given him this second chance only to force him to witness death again, or perhaps one even more cruel than his previous death. He looked down at Tanya's peaceful, sleeping face, and the words echoed in his mind. I promise.
He sighed one last time, a sound of acceptance, and closed his eyes, letting the inevitable darkness claim him.
The Game Maker awaited.