#and to your fae wearing blackies coat thought

[slashingdisneypasta]

(M.I.) Finally got a chance to update! (Also, only vaguely on topic...am I wrong or is Fay wearing Blackie's coat when she goes to meet Angela's ex-lover? The guy who gets run over? And speaking of, that woman played the film noir seemingly innocent femme fatale to the hilt. It was just *chef's kiss*)

1980

It's a slow, drifting through outerspace kind of day. The kind that makes you afraid to get near the exit doors in case you go tumbling out, but you can still enjoy the view from the window. Curled in your favorite spot in the center booth, knees drawn up and wedged against the table.

Nothing but stars laid out in every direction. And...oh! What planet was that? Jupiter? Looked a little bit like Jupiter. Cool.

Back on Earth, it's May. Or you think it is. A customer said it was a couple days -was it only that long?- ago without mentioning the actual date. It could already be June.

To be honest, you've gone from not noticing to not really caring about time. Since Tommy's departure, you've got one other marker: Valentine's Day. It's guaranteed that if you and Blackie don't agree to go out, the two of you will be locked up somewhere that's practically dripping in cheesy romance.

Your clothes change according to where The Cafe sends you rather than the season, the uniform a near-constant pink monotony, otherwise. Blackie has a more extensive daily wardrobe no matter how similar it all looks, and that's not very fair in your opinion. Maybe you should ask The Cafe to give you a closet of your own, let you pick something different to wear around the place on your days off?

(Not that The Cafe doesn't have good taste, you're just getting a little tired of having it decide for you. Especially when it's so clearly designed to catch a certain someone's eye. Would a pair of frumpy pajamas be too much to ask?)

Your body, on the other hand, will never change again. At least as far as aging is concerned. You've made an effort with your hair since following the trends seems to put people more at ease -probably makes you look less like a ghost- and keeps you feeling tethered to reality. You're slipping more and more these days, but...

But.

May's important for some reason. You know that. It's just gone when you try to grasp why.

"What am I forgetting," you ask, tracking a shooting star through the void.

A cupcake appears on the table in front of you, bearing a candle. And you remember: Tommy's birthday was in May.

You eat the cupcake because it's delicious. But you feel terrible. It's been so long since you even thought about his birthday. Or yours. Even longer since you've thought about your parents' birthdays. Or their anniversary. Christmas...all the dates that used to be so important are just...gone.

"Can I see mom and dad?"

The screen flashes to life, and there they are. So much older than when you left. It's odd to see them eating dinner and going about their lives as if you never existed. You watch for a few minutes, hoping, but your name doesn't even enter the conversation. Just random chitchat about upcoming plans with friends.

"Turn it off."

Your voice is thick with grief, but you don't feel you've a right to let the tears come. You forgot them. It's fair they did the same to you.

"What the he-"

Blackie's voice. He sounds startled, the words cutting off with a thud. You turn around, peering over the bench just in time to see him splayed against the jukebox with an unusual lack of grace. He spots you after recovering his balance and glares accusingly at the ceiling; brushing himself off with an air of wounded dignity that almost makes you smile.

He appears to be listening to something, then gives a distinctly martyred sigh. You wonder what's been said that you can't hear. Sitting down across from you, he folds his hands on the table. Primly inconvenienced.

"I've been ordered to cheer you up."

"No, thanks," you say, returning to your curled up position. "I'd rather wallow."

"I tried."

He shrugs, glancing upward as if asking permission to leave. Despite the careless words, you already know he's not leaving. Not when he's twirled a cigar out of thin air, lighting up and settling in to listen.

It makes you roll your eyes and smile just a little bit. A very short-lived bit.

"I can't remember what Tommy looked like," you admit. "His eyes were green...right?"

"Brown. And he had a chipped tooth on the-"

Blackie points to the location of said tooth in his own mouth, your voice joining his as you remember.

"-front left. From a baseball when he was twelve," you continue alone. "He'd also broken the living room window with the same ball just the week before. He never did learn to be careful. Drove his mom crazy."

But it's only a little piece of Tommy. A memory conjured up by someone else. You think his smile was crooked. Or maybe it was too wide? Or maybe that's you mixing his features up with Blackie's, filling in pieces of a face you'll never see again with one you see all the time.

"I don't wanna forget," you say. "Not just him. My family, my friends. He was the only piece of home I had left and now...I'm losing all of it."

Something sympathetic and honest flashes in Blackie's eyes. It's rare you see it directed at anyone, but especially at you. Not that he doesn't like you well enough by now, but you're in the category of friendly arch-rival. You get snarky teasing more often than you get sympathy.

"Memory's a curse." He inhales on the cigar, exhaling the next words on a cloud of smoke. "You'll hold onto people long after they've forgotten you."

"Feels like they already have."

"What did you expect? It's been twenty years since you left."

It startles you to hear. Two decades, and you've spent one of them in immortal limbo.

"That's such a long time," you say, mentally floundering to grasp the enormity of it.

"In human terms, maybe. But we had this one guy for an entire century and for us it was no time at all."

Blackie looks to the window as he speaks. Giving a hint the 'or something' who jokes about pulling the wings off pterodactyls may never have been human in the first place.

But something about his tone and inability to maintain eye contact says he's confessing so much more.

You know he's been here from the beginning and The Cafe wasn't always a cafe. It was a cave. A hut. A tavern. A speakeasy. Any place that looked welcoming to the ones who'd lost their way.

Reading between the lines, you suddenly understand he remembers millenia of loss. People who'd passed through and he'd maybe cared about, though he'll never admit it. They left him the way Tommy left you. And that higher authority, the light Blackie can't look at, keeps throwing people in here with no regard for how that must feel.

It strikes you as very cruel.

You can't resist voicing your thoughts out loud, wanting to know if you're right. If he'll eventually be the only person who can even recall you existed.

"You don't forget, do you?"

He takes another slow draw on the cigar, smoke drifting toward the window when he finally answers.

"Not a single one."

Ack-

Oh Blackie.

This chapter is just as good as the others- of course!!! I get so excited every time you update you don't even know XD

I especially love the Cafe forcing Blackie to do things 😅😅😂 Haha XDD

She's sad, go talk to her.

No, I don't like her. She's mean to me.

You're mean to her.

*Blackie doesn't say anything, crosses his arms and looks away like he suddenly 'can't hear' the cafe*

*Cafe shoves him (via otherworldly power) into the room. Who does he think she is???*