Dawn in San Francisco


Kevin was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, staring into the darkness. Wendy slept peacefully beside him, her arm wrapped around him, which both comforted him and fed the worries which kept him awake.
It seems like we get along the best when we’re asleep these days.
When had things gotten so difficult? They used to be able to talk for hours, joking and teasing and laughing about anything, everything, or nothing at all. Now, every time they spoke he ended up hurting her, and every day his foot seemed to be lodged deeper and firmer in his mouth. It was like he was fundamentally unable to think before he spoke, or like his mouth secretly hated him and always picked the worst way to phrase everything.

Rationally, logically, there were more important matters going on right now, namely the queens and the devil and their annual apocalypse. But Kevin found himself caring uncharacteristically little about logic and reason.
…Then again, this was arguably the queens’ fault.
Things had been great until the queens got their damned mantle stolen and they enlisted Kevin and the others to save the world a third time. One could easily make the argument that it was the stress of this that both made him say stupid things, and made Wendy take them the wrong way.
Maybe it was even Satan that was to blame. Being immensely powerful and equally evil, it was not a stretch that he might exert some sort of aura of discord onto the entire world, now that he was awake.

And that, Kevin concluded, was why the Devil needed to be stopped. Granted, the fact that he was a threat to all life and wants to end the world as they knew it was also a pretty good reason, but in the end it was secondary. The primary reason was for them to be done with the queens, to return things to normal between him and Wendy, so that he could move ahead with the project he had been working on for so long.

He had had plans, such great plans. All his efforts, all his work, would finally pay off. He had pictured it in his mind dozens of times, and there it was beautiful. Every day he would wake up telling himself that this was the day, today he would show her what he’d been working on, and she would smile that amazing smile that made him forget everything bad in the world, and they would both know that it had all been worth it.
But at this point he was piling screw-ups on screw-ups, to the point where he was starting to doubt that she would accept it. And why should she? He was, like, the shittiest boyfriend ever. If he couldn’t go a day without hurting her, did he really deserve her at all?



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