The House Above the Sea

21.

He is irrevocably awake, the sound of his own pulse thumping in his ears, and he can think of nowhere else to go.

Before Neo leaves, he lingers in the driveway for a breath, the night air cool and saline upon his face. There is a part of him, however small, that rails against sneaking out again. Even if Aunt Viv and the others know what's going on, his aunt will still worry, because she's Aunt Viv.

But he can't help it. His heart is humming, humming, humming, and there's only one person who seems to know how to calm it.

When he reaches the house, the wheels of his bike rumbling against the busted cobblestones, his mind is still heavy, blood still burning, with the memory of that ghost's face. Was that the man who had taken so much from Kit, and given back nothing? Was that the spectral beast who still loomed over them, despite being worlds away? Neo is suddenly struck by the utter unfairness of it all; it ambushes him like a rapid onset of nausea.

He isn't sure how, but he's going to get Kit out of that rotting house. There's just no other option.

Neo opens the door as quietly as he can, which isn't very quietly at all, thanks to the eternally jammed hinges. There's a squawk of surprise from the living room, along with a frenetic shuffle of movement. "Kit, wait, it's okay!" Neo calls, and against the lull of the night, his voice is thunderous in his own ears. "I-It's just me!"

Kit, braced against the corner wall, leans into view. His black hair is mussed, hanging in his eyes, the multicolored quilt Neo brought him wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl. Just the sight of Kit sends a wave of reassurance through Neo's bones.

Kit's elated for a moment, before his eyes go wide with concern. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a distressed squeak.

"I know, I know," Neo says, nudging the door shut behind him with his shoulder. Kit sighs and steps toward him, the soft echo of his footsteps ringing in Neo's ears. "I'm sorry; I just—"

He stops, jarred by the sudden brush of warm skin against his as Kit takes his hand. Neo searches Kit's face, confused, but his eyebrows are knitted with a staunch focus.

Kit lifts Neo's hand in the space between them, square in front of Neo's eyes, where they can both see Neo's fingers trembling ever so slightly, the subtlest twitch of nerves.

Neo says, "Oh."

Kit drops Neo's hand. He pivots on his heel and ambles toward the living room, not checking to see if Neo's following. Neo watches from a safe distance as Kit kneels, rummaging through his assortment of borrowed clothing before he recovers his composition book with a low, pleased huff.

Are you okay? he writes.

Neo starts to reply, but hesitates. He remembers the terrified look Kit gave him the first time he asked him to go outside—remembers the force of Kit's hands as they caught at his shirt, yanking him backwards. Looking at him now, with that childlike tilt to his head, his eyes shining with expectation, and no longer with fear—is it okay for Neo to jeopardize that?

Besides, maybe Neo was dreaming. Maybe he saw nothing at all—

A crinkle of paper.

Neo steps closer, reading off the page: Please talk to me, Neo.

He hesitates once more, knotting his fingers. "I just don't want to worry you."

Whether I worry or not, Kit replies, isn't up to you, you know.

A gentle grin plays at Kit's mouth as he pats the space on the mattress beside him. Whatever paltry defenses Neo had finally crumble away; he sighs and takes a seat.