He cannot describe how he feels, just as he cannot perfectly describe all the colours in the sky. The sky bears few colours with seamless transitions from one to the next; the sky bears an infinite number of indiscernible colours that can’t be described with words; the sky bears the colours of a sunset. It is easier to say all is red — red with the sun, red with blood — and all is silent. Too silent, and too big.

Where his sun’s dying light touches, his blurry thoughts follow. Maybe he’s feeling the effects of his restless eleven-hour flight here. Maybe it’s the hollowness left behind by adrenaline, or his brain trying to justify those two otherworldly prisoners as fragments of his imagination. 

But the dead kid was real. Gavrill has no excuse for denying that.

A dead kid, he knows, is tragic. This, he knows, he empathises with, especially as a parent. And the child was around Merethel’s age, for God’s sake. That alone should terrify him. And it does, in theory. But in practice, he feels nothing — no, he feels many things. Too many things that create a chromatic blur in his mind that’s so spread out, so intermixed, to the point that the blur is distilled, translucent, a hazy afterimage of what was once there. And there was no point in trying to use rationale to see that afterimage, to find those feelings. It’s painful. It’s tiring. It’s like trying to partition a sunset into slices of colours before it’s gone—

It’ll leave him with nothing.

Yet, his sun continues sinking.

On the nightstand, in the corner of his eye, is his sketchbook. It’s where he documented the operation his team finished a few hours ago, as if anyone would read it. And on his chest, resting snuggly beneath his hands, is his work phone. He feels a buzz. It’s from his group chat with his children. He sent a message to it a few minutes ago. Only Hrodwyn responded to it. Merethel and Hygd have not read it yet.

He knows he should feel happy. After a decade of silence, one message from his child should make him happy. But it’s not enough. Is that selfish? Is it selfish to only want clear, bright morning skies for him and his children, even though day has passed and his children have grown without him?

Without thinking, he swipes off the message application to open his photo gallery. It’s empty. He has already sent the photos of the dead kid to Fisher, to identify the kid and contact his parents. Gavrill’s thoughts remain — his sunset slowly separates into discrete shades of red — and he continues staring at the blank screen. It was once filled with the kid’s serrated chest. He was so young. He could’ve been Merethel’s classmate. He could’ve been—

Stop.

Gavrill decides to not imagine how the kid’s parents would feel. He lets his vision blur, and his sunset melts into just red once more.

I’m tired.

He sighs. He places his phone on top of his sketchbook and turns away from his sunset, lying on his side. He stares at the other side of the bed, at its untouched pillows. What would she do if she were here, laying next to him, her radiant face and her blazing hair only a gentle caress away?

He stares at the light in his mind and waits for an answer.

He turns away, rubs his face with both hands.

God, I fucked up, didn’t I?

Maybe getting some gifts for his children will help. Maybe. He doesn’t fucking know. He decides to choose to believe that it’ll work. For now. Maybe.

His sun sinks below the horizon. Its final rays in the sky dissolve. Gavrill closes his eyes and gives into the night.

 Hrodwyn decides to leave their shift at The Sushi Place early. They make a detour to buy a box of cheese pizza, wait at a bus stop in the negative-degree cold, and trudge the length of their street through snow and ice to get home. When they arrive, Merethel wakes Hygd up from her nap. The three children begin microwaving pizza slices by the plateful, and their phones simultaneously buzz with their father’s messages.

Merthel frowns. “Ah shit. I accidentally opened his message.”

Meanwhile, Hygd’s face lights up at the messages. She texts back quickly and looks at Merethel. “Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk to him right now,” he turns away from his phone’s light and puts it down on the bar table.

“Why?”

“Because I just don’t want to, okay?!”

“But he’s alive! You should say something!”

The microwave beeps. The children take their seats and Merethel sets the plate of pizza. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already said something, and jisha-vosha’s saying something,” he nods at Hrodwyn texting away. “We’ll see him when he gets home, anyway.”

Hrodwyn looks up from their screen at the mention. They look back down and sigh heavily, leaning their head on their hand.

“He’s asking about working at Greenwell again,” Hrodwyn mumbles.

“Oh, God,” Merethel makes a dry laugh. “I don’t get it. Isn’t his weird job good enough?”

“Yeah…” Hygd looks at Hrodwyn. "But why are you still working there? Pa’s job has all the money, right?”

Merethel scoffs. "Don’t be stupid. He can drop dead anytime. What then?”

“You don’t know that!”

“Come on, Hygd. Grow up! Whether you like it or not, there’s going to be a chance of daa dying. He said it himself. It’s stupid to think that he’ll come back home alive!”

Hrodwyn straightens. “Merethel—”

“You know it, Hrodwyn. And I don’t get why you keep pretending otherwise. Why daa keeps pretending and talking like everything’s fine, like this is all normal. Like, what does he expect? We’re just going to be fine with him leaving once for a few months and potentially never seeing him ever again?”

Hygd frowns. She tries to reflect the hope her father gave her. “That’s not fair! Daa’s trying his best—”

“Oh, I don’t care!” Merethel scoffs. “He doesn’t get to waltz in and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy when it’s not and never will be! He doesn’t deserve it. That’s right — he doesn’t deserve it because it’s so annoying to see him act like he didn’t fuck off for a decade. He keeps acting like we’ve known him our whole lives and that’s stupid.”

“But it’s not his fault!” Hygd yells across the bar table.

“I know but ugh, it still gets on my nerves! Don’t expect me to play along with his antics. And next time,” Merethel points at Hygd, “don’t fucking tell dad about Steora. That’s none of his business.”

Hrodwyn sighs. “Merethel.”

“He’s literally your dad, doofus,” Hygd throws her hands as she speaks. “Why can’t he know you have a girlfriend? It’s-it’s also not fair you’re not giving him a chance, you know!”

“Guys, stop. Please,” Hrodwyn says.

“Oh, you’re on his side now?” Merethel snaps his head to Hrodwyn.

Hrodwyn meets his eyes. “There are no sides to this, Merethel! Whether you like it or not, this is the boat we’re stuck in, and I’m trying my best to keep it AFLOAT!”

Silence falls at the table. Hrodwyn seldom yells. The nineteen-year-old, barely two years fresh from high school, buries their head in their hands.

“I get why dad wants to work at Greenwell. Extra cash is... always good. But...” they sigh. “If he thinks that’s going to make me stop working there...”

Merethel snorts. “Not as long as he can drop dead anytime, eh?”

Hrodwyn’s head shoots up with a glare. "You know, it’s also annoying that you keep bringing that up as if you won’t be devestated if that fucking happened.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I won’t feel anything,” Merethel leans away from Hrodwyn, arms crossed in front of him. "He was gone for 10 years. What difference does it make?”

Hygd shrinks in her seat. “I don’t want him to die.”

The two siblings look at their little sister. She hasn’t finished her slice of pizza. Her hands hug her knees as she tries not to cry.

“I don’t want anyone to die.”

Merethel lowers his arms and mumbles. "Me neither, but it’s safer to expect the worst.” 

Hrodwyn’s head retreats back to their hands. They’re tired of this — tired of agreeing with what they scold Merethel for, tired of letting Hygd down for having dreams they too desire. It’ll be easier to think like they do. Everything will be as clear as black against white, as clear as how their younger siblings look at the two different sides of the same moon.

Only Hrodwyn sees the moon for what it is. Only they see how it spins through its phases in its eternal chase after the sun. But their truth will be hidden in the blur of lies they tell their themselves, the lies forever melting in the line where the sun divides:

It’ll be so much easier if daa never came home.