The Divine || Umbrella Academy

Let's try this one last time

There were moments in a person's life where they were, quite suddenly, confronted with the fact that their current place in the world was, in fact, a consequence of all their past decisions. A kind of instinctual, primal call from the world, which told them that everything they were today, was because of their many yesterdays.

Five Hargreeves would like to tell the world, disrespectfully, to shut the fuck up.

Grumbling, his bundled-up figure shuffled toward the heavy doorway, hands screwed within his pockets and face twisted in unease. This place would always make him uncomfortable; its unnervingly pristine design, the disingenuous paintings framed upon the walls, pictures of flowers and mountain-scapes that only served to remind visitors that this place belonged to nobody - was home to nobody - rather, it was a soulless prison for people who couldn't remember enough about themselves to see it.

The lady at the desk looked up at the sound of the doorbell announcing his presence; smiling when she instantly recognised his face.

"Ah, Vee! Long time no see," she joked, her aged face wrinkling familiarly at the corners. She hurried to scribble something into the book beside her, a large tome intended for guest check-ins. Five didn't need to look to know that his name was listed daily.

Instead, he only smiled back, tiredly, but trying his best to look as though the very building wasn't as soul-sucking as it felt. He didn't seem to do a very good job. That was a recurring thread, lately.

"I've already gone ahead and signed you in," the lady, Margaret, said kindly, eyes unable to hide the obvious sympathy. She patted the book, where Five knew the words Vee - 14:35 would be written in neat, block handwriting. "You're more than welcome to go right up. I'm sure she's looking forward to your visit!"

Five withheld a sigh. "Thanks," he said, knowing that they both knew better than that. Nodding politely, Five shuffled past the reception area and headed toward the elevator.

The time between the doors closing and opening seemed only seconds. Minutes blurring, seemingly unreal even as Five's feet walked him toward the familiar room, as his body worked subconsciously, following routine as he pushed open the door quietly, toeing off his shoes and hanging his coat. All of it seemed to be happening in the background, while his mind was focused on only one thing, the same matter it always was, in every second of every day.

Naturally, his eyes found her.

On the bed, laid upon her back so that she was staring up at the ceiling, a figure draped in white lay, deadly still. Blonde hair splayed upon the pillow, curls abound and framing her face like a halo; blue eyes lighter than usual, almost grey as they stared up at nothing.

Five followed her line of sight and sighed. The ceiling was painted a stark white; nothing of interest that could hold one's attention for long, not even a dent or groove.

Thea Hargreeves stared up at the ceiling with eyes that did not see him, only something far, far away, that only she could witness.

Five collapsed onto the chair situated beside the bed and took a cold, pale hand into his own. Finally, he felt like he could breathe; if only a little. Here, like this, at least, he could convince himself that she was still present, with him. Not lost to something else; not disappearing again, every day, every hour and minute spent staring up into the void and not looking at him.

Thea was slipping from his fingers even as he held on for dear life.

"I'm home, Z." He said the words quietly, hearing, with a dull ache in his chest, the echo of his own voice in the room.