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Oz clumsily patted Toby on the back and stood up, a little wobbly and blinking slowly, but otherwise fine.
“Well, buddy. I’m- I’m going to go to my bed. Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do,” he announced, a little confused by the middle of his sentence, but catching the drift of it again before he reached the end.
Toby said nothing in response, and Oz frowned expressively. He leaned down, overbalancing on his heels slightly, and sloppily grabbed Toby’s chin, forcing him to look up at Oz from where the former was seated on the couch like a regular person.
“It’s going to be okay,” Oz smiled drunkenly, but behind the thin veneer there was a crack of grief and truth. He believed it. Toby was going to believe it too.
“Night night!” he waved, stumbling out of the door and closing it behind him, tripping down the hallway to his own bed.
Behind him, Toby sat, still as a statue, but heartbreak written all over his face. He was more drunk now than he had been earlier, thanks to Oz, but that didn’t change the facts.
Liv was dead.
He had been so close; he had stood at the end of her bed and watched her as they attached the clamps to her skin, again and again and again, and despite the blood that dribbled from her eyes and mouth (despite the smears it left on the white pillowcase), she had been the most beautiful Toby had ever seen her.
He wanted to say: “Keep on fighting”. He wanted to say “This isn’t the end. It can’t be.”
And she had said “It’s okay,”, and smiled, angelic and glowing as always, and Toby saw the way that her skin glimmered with the peaceful aura that Faun had shown him, not so long ago, and he knew-
But he wouldn’t accept it.
Toby forced his hand to move slightly, to turn on the camera again and see the picture of the two of them that morning, pretending to be away on holiday and pretending like their lives were nothing but the two of them. They hadn’t dated for years, but Liv was still his best friend and they were closer because of their relationship, not in spite of it.
In the picture, she grinned, beaming out at the viewer just as she had done in life. Toby wished that she was still here.
Abruptly, he downed another shot, the one that had been left neglected on the table for a while, and froze still, staring aimlessly at the picture of happiness. Naivety.
The alcohol chased its way through him, leaving him numb and empty, oblivious to the grief. Good. That was what he wanted.
Down the hallway, he could hear Oz, lying in bed and half asleep, and thinking of Olivia’s sharp wit; that smile, and remembering too, the way she had looked on that hospital bed. In Oz’s mind, she was weak. She was incredible yes, but helpless, and pale (only he had seen the aura on her skin, and it had blown away any thoughts of her skin white against the white sheets.
Dead, as they called time of death.
Toby put his hand to his mouth and choked back a sob, finally able to feel the loss and wishing he couldn’t. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of a hospital without her, wandering the corridors without bumping into her, and knowing that he could never see her again.
He shook slightly, unable to stop the way that water began to drip steadily from his eyes, and slowly moving to put down the empty glass and move the camera from his lap to the table. He didn’t want to damage the final picture he had with her.
Both hands free, he covered his face with them and stopped trying not to cry. It was clearly a lost cause. Instead he sobbed, as quietly as he could, remembering her voice and laugh and the looks she gave him every time he teased her or did something wrong; the warmth of her hand on his arm and the warmth of her body when they lay next to one another, able to talk in the dead of the night even before she had known all of his secrets.
He curled down on himself, crying helplessly into his lap, and that was when the door creaked open again.
“Toby?”
Oz had gone to bed as he had said, but even in his semi-drunken state, he wasn’t able to get Olivia out of his mind. It had all been so unexpected, and he never would have thought-
He remembered her final moments. Her death. He knew he was going to miss her like mad, and all of his thoughts were tinged with grief at the loss, but just when he was finally thinking he might fall asleep and be able to forget for a little while, he heard a noise coming from down the hall.
He sat up, a little more sober after the hour that he had spent in his bed, and listened closely.
There it was again, a small cry, like- a sob?
Oz suddenly realised what it might be, and his heart squeezed in sympathy for his best friend, crying alone in his apartment over the death of yet another close friend. He pulled on a top and stepped out his apartment, stumbling back in the dark to open the unlocked door, and saw-
“Toby?”
-his best friend, shuddering like he might break, still seated on that damned couch of his.
“Toby, it’s going to be okay,” Oz comforted helplessly, brow creased in sympathy as he hurried over to his friend, sitting next to him on the couch and turning to face him.
He put a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “She died helping people. Right to the end, Toby. She helped people,” but the man continued to sob, shoulder jerking beneath his hand, and Oz couldn’t handle it.
“Come here, Toby,” he said, scooting a little closer and pulling his best friend closer, forcing him into a hug and welling up a little himself as Toby continued to cry into his chest, one fist tightening on his t-shirt as if to make him stay.
“She’s- she’s gone Oz. And- she’s never coming back,” Toby whimpered, trying to draw back a bit, but Oz kept a tight grip on him.
“No, she’s not. But I’m still here Toby, because you’re my best friend, and we will get through this. We’ll live our lives in her memory,” Oz replied softly, rubbing Toby’s back a little as they continued to sit there, and the sobs resumed anew.
He thought of Liv, and how she had always been a comforter when there was something wrong, and how the gentle pressure of her embrace had always helped him, how she had been the one that he worried with whenever Toby was off (as he often was), and quietly allowed himself to cry too, holding on tight to the man that he was not letting go.
“Thanks, Oz,” Toby whispered, voice breaking as suddenly Oz wondered if Toby was still reading his thoughts, even then.
“Y-Yeah. I- I can’t help it, sorry,”
“No man, don’t worry, oaky?” Oz sniffed, focusing his mind on Toby and thinking of all the feelings he associated with his friend; love, warmth, care, amusement, joy, and he felt Toby smile quietly, even as Oz’s shirt continued to get damper.
“We’ll get through this. Together,”