The Infinite Nothing

I : moral hazard

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The end of Willow Bate's life was honoured with dry cupcakes under a breaking sky.

The priest's words were barely audible over the loud thunder that cut through the air every few seconds, and the majority of the people gathered kept glancing at their watches instead of the coffin wherein laid the dead girl.

Ivan Harris was no exception. Then again, he never was.

It was sad, really. A girl barely come of age finally fell victim to the disease that had been haunting her for years, and all Ivan could think about was his rumbling stomach. Still, Ivan didn't think of himself as a bad person. He helped old people cross the street on busy intersections, and he always picked up his dog's poop. Ivan certainly wasn't bad. He was simply hungry.

As another roaring thunder cut through the ceremony's eery atmosphere and a few people around him shuddered under their black coats, Ivan and Tristan locked eyes for the first time.

Tristan was soaked to the bone but the cupcakes on his plate looked dry, so Ivan smiled in anticipation as Tristan started walking towards him. Once he reached him, Ivan was too distracted by the raindrops around his eyes to remember his own hunger.

"You're pretty bold for smiling at a funeral," Tristan stated. He turned towards the priest but remained standing next to Ivan, pretending not to notice the shorter boy's curious stares.

"And you're soaked. You'll get sick."

Tristan grinned, and although small it was enough to reveal a sharp tooth. "My boss doesn't grant me days off because of bad weather. That's a risk I'll have to take."

"You work here?" Ivan asked, finally realizing that he was staring and quickly diverting his gaze back to the coffin. "But it's summer."

There was no hint of annoyance in Tristan's voice as he said, "Money doesn't fall from the sky, boy."

Ivan bit the inside of his slowly flushing cheeks, the reaction either caused by embarrassment at his obvious question or the sinking temperatures; he didn't dare to admit. "My name's Ivan."

Tristan simply glanced at him. "Okay."

"What's your name?"

"Tristan."

"Cool."

"I could be lying," Tristan said, his gaze wandering back to the priest no one paid any attention to. "My name could be Adam."

Now it was Ivan's turn to eye him. "You don't look like an Adam."

Tristan's quiet chuckle danced over the crowd like the raindrops they were sheltered from, and it was even bolder than Ivan's smile. "My mom didn't know what I would look like when she conceived me. Your argument's pointless."

Ivan pulled a face. "You're making me feel like at school. Stop it."

"We're at a funeral, and that's what you're complaining about?"

"I wasn't very close to the girl," Ivan replied, for a second struggling to remember her name. "To Willow. I'm just here for emotional support."

Tristan smiled and slightly raised the plate in his left hand. "So am I. Cupcake?"

"You're doing an excellent job, Tristan."

The priest stopped talking just as the heavy rain turned into a slight drizzle, and Ivan had to fulfil his purpose and console his weeping friend. He spotted Tristan's tall figure wandering through the crowd once or twice, but Tristan was quick on his feet and mourning made hungry, so he was busy attending to his own duties.

When the gathering started to dissolve and Ivan was finally released from the place without hope, a place mainly attended by the living but with death lingering in every corner, Ivan was thinking about Tristan. And when he woke up alone in his room the next day, he was still thinking about the boy in the soaked suit and with eyes that seemed to laugh at everyone and everything.

Ivan liked to think of himself as a side character. His best friend was the school's most popular basketball player with a stunning girlfriend and, sadly, recently deceased cousin - a matter that, in a cruel yet ironic way, earned him even more attention. The walls in Ivan's home were plastered with his sister's diplomas and accolades; Ivan just got a small picture of him in the kitchen, half hidden behind the fridge.

Hell, even the dog got more attention than him.

But Ivan was content always coming second. It meant he could walk back to the funeral home without having anyone ask questions he had no answer for.

It wasn't raining today, and when Tristan looked out of the window as he was sorting out their condolence cards (sold for a trifle, a mere bagatelle to honour the dead; if you can't spare a few coins did you really love the person already rotting in that coffin?), a ray of sunlight hit Ivan's face from the side, gifting him the ghost of an uneven halo. Tristan smiled at the irony of an angel visiting the parting place of living and dead before meeting him out on the street.

"I'd welcome you in but we have clients inside weeping about their recent loss," Tristan stated, his tone rather amused. "Can I help you or do you choose to wait?"

"I actually don't need a funeral," Ivan replied. He'd feel stupid for being here if he were important. On the other hand, Tristan didn't know of his insignificance. Ivan wondered if he should leave, but Tristan's slightly crooked grin kept him in place.

"What a joyous thing to say. Then, what do you need?"

Ivan shrugged. "I came to say hi."

"To the dead?"

"To you."

Tristan smiled for Ivan seemed to care so little about things others tended to avoid at all costs. Death was a weak spot in most people's lives, their mortality their biggest flaw; Ivan's moral hazard was refreshing. He didn't think much about his next words.

"There's better places to have a conversation. Do you like high buildings?"

Ivan hesitated. "Never really thought about them, to be honest."

"What about rooftops?"

"Oh, those are nice."

"My shift ends in a few hours," Tristan stated, glancing at his watch. "Do you have a piece of paper?"

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