Overnight••√•• a foreign omega”

chapitre : 5

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The decision was made, not as an act of bravery, but like a shipwrecked man who, exhausted, stops fighting the current and lets himself drift toward an unknown shore. Smith had chosen to stay. For one month. One single month to steal time from fate, to borrow a life that, perhaps, could have been his.

The next morning, the sunlight flooding his room felt different. It was no longer the implacable witness to his anguish, but a warm caress on his skin. Every detail of the Croft house took on a new dimension. The sound of birds in the garden, the smell of coffee his mother, Mrs. Croft, had made, the sound of the radio in the kitchen. It was a symphony of happy normality, and he was its awed and nervous spectator.

Julien arrived shortly after breakfast, as radiant and energetic as the day before, but with a new nuance in his gaze: a soft, protective attentiveness.

"Come on, lazybones!" he called from the doorway. "We're not spending our day off moping. I have a master plan."

Smith let himself be swept away, his heart beating a little faster. The day was a deliberate whirlwind. Julien seemed to have guessed his need to cling to strong sensations, to tangible proofs of this new world. They went to an amusement park, and Smith screamed with laughter and fear on roller coasters, his cries mingling with Julien's. For the first time, he felt the weight of his own inhibitions dissolve, replaced by an almost childlike lightness.

Then it was a crowded café, where Julien greeted a dozen acquaintances, always introducing Smith with unconcealed pride. "My best friend, Smith, soon to be a married man!" No one batted an eye. No one gave a sideways glance. Smith stood a little taller.

In the afternoon, they walked along the river. The silence between them was no longer heavy, but companionable.

"You seem... better today," Julien remarked, breaking the calm.

Smith watched the water glitter in the sun.

"It's strange, Julien. Here, breathing seems easier. As if the air were less heavy."

Julien gave him a friendly nudge.

"Maybe that's because you're finally stopping holding your breath. You've spent your whole life making yourself small, Smith. Now it's time to take your place."

Take your place. The shaman's words returned to him. "The place that was empty." He looked at Julien, his sincere smile, his unwavering presence. A lump of emotion tightened his throat. This was it, friendship. Not just a casual camaraderie, but a pillar, a refuge. A hand extended in the darkness that said, "You are not alone."

"Thank you," Smith said, his voice a bit rough. "For everything. For... being here."

Julien gave him a lopsided smile, his crescent-moon eyes crinkling.

"i***t. That's what best friends are for. To be here, in the good times and the storms. Even when those storms are you provoking them by forgetting where you live."

They laughed, and that laughter was a liberation for Smith. It was the first time he had laughed without bitterness, without ulterior motives.

That evening, as they were returning, a car pulled up in front of the Croft house. Day got out. Smith's heart leapt. He was even more elegant in casual clothes, a simple jeans and t-shirt that highlighted his slender frame. His eyes immediately sought Smith, and a quiet smile illuminated his face when he found him.

"I stopped by to see how you were," Day said, approaching. "Your mother said you'd gone on an expedition with Julien."

"Therapy by roller coaster and coffee," Julien announced solemnly. "An approved method."

Day laughed, and the sound was a soft melody that warmed Smith from the inside.

"I can see that. I don't want to disturb you. I... I just wanted to see you."

Those words, so simple, struck Smith with full force. I just wanted to see you. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever considered his mere presence a goal in itself. In his old life, he was an obligation, a duty. Here, he was a desire.

"You're not disturbing us," Smith managed to say.

A silence charged with a sweet tension settled. Julien, with a perfect sense of timing, cleared his throat.

"Right, well, I have a thrilling life waiting for me. Socks to fold, a series to binge-watch. I'll leave you to it. See you tomorrow, Smith! Take care of him, Day!"

He left with a wave. Smith and Day remained alone on the sidewalk, bathed in the golden light of the sunset.

"Want to go for a walk?" Day suggested.

They walked through the quiet streets of the neighborhood. Smith was hyper-aware of Day's presence beside him, of the warmth radiating from him. Day talked about his work, his passions, and Smith listened, fascinated. He was a passionate, intelligent man, with a disarming gentleness.

"And you?" Day finally asked. "Lately... you've seemed a bit distant. Is... is something bothering you? About us?"

The question was asked with such vulnerability that Smith felt his heart tighten. It wasn't an interrogation; it was an outstretched hand, an offer to share.

I'm an impostor. I'm not the Smith you love. I come from a world where loving someone like you is a crime. The words burned on his lips.

But he remembered his decision. To taste happiness. Just once.

"No," he lied softly. "It's not you. It's... everything. The wedding, the preparations. It's a lot to take in. Sometimes, I feel like I'm dreaming."

Day stopped and turned to him. His eyes, full of kindness, scanned his face.

"I understand. But know that I'm here. We go at your pace, Smith. Always."

Then, with a slowness that gave Smith all the time to pull away, Day raised a hand and gently brushed his cheek. The contact was an electric shock of pure tenderness. It was a gesture so simple, so intimate, so laden with affection that Smith's eyes misted over. He closed his eyelids, focusing on the sensation, engraving it in his memory for the dark days to come.

"You are so precious," Day murmured.

When Day left, long after, Smith remained on the doorstep for a while, his face still warm from the touch of his hand. The house was silent. He went up to his room, his mind and heart in a whirlwind. The day had been a maelstrom of new sensations: the laughter shared with Julien, his mother's admiring gaze, Day's tenderness.

He grabbed the phone from the other world, still hidden under a t-shirt in a drawer. The screen was black, silent. For the first time, looking at it, he didn't feel the grip of fear, but a wave of pity for the Smith on the other side, the one still trapped in the rain, in his car.

He had made his decision. One month. One month to live, to love, to be loved. One month to be, finally, himself.

He went to bed, a smile on his lips, surrendering to the sweet fatigue of happiness. For the first time in his life, he fell asleep knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was loved. And for this night, that was enough. That was everything.