>ROUTELOCK

You aren't sure why you're so warm. The proximity? But you've been near to Gil loads of times, whether he's beetles or not— have touched him loads of times, put your arms on him, which is good and appropriate for a lady and her retainer to do. And hasn't he earned it? After so long and so much, he's never left your side. Even now, in the very end, he won't leave it.

That's normal for best friends, you think. You're so glad you worked up the courage to make that official, and you haven't been let down yet. You should've done it earlier, even. He seemed awfully confused that you didn't do it earlier. But, look, it isn't your fault: you've never had a best friend before, have you? How were you supposed to know what one acted like? It's not like Richard was any help. Utilizing your keen detectiving skills, it was up to you to work out how he made you feel. Good, mainly. While he wasn't perfect, you always liked being around him, talking to him, exploring with him, watching him work, watching him sleep— he hated you invading his dream, but you liked it, even if you never did it again. You liked getting into his mind and seeing who he was under all the stuttering and groveling. You also liked the groveling. Nobody else treated you like they knew their place.

Of course, that was a long time ago, and he doesn't grovel nearly as much anymore. Sometimes he even disagrees with you, which you'd normally deem suspect, but he's usually so reasonable that it's difficult for you to argue. And he never calls you names. And you like when he disagrees with you, too— maybe— you think— you think you feel unusually warm when it happens, just like now. Is that normal?

Is it normal to like touching him so much? It should be normal. It's proper and allowed, for a lady and her retainer— even though your Aunt Ruby wouldn't think that retainers make a special category. Your Aunt Ruby wouldn't approve of having a man around so frequently, and would certainly not approve of the touching. So much touching.

Is it normal to stare up into Gil's (now-concerned) eyes and want to shove your face onto his? You don't think that's normal at all. But you definitely want it, are warm inside and want it, are hot to the touch and want it, and you have almost no time left at all. Damn Aunt Ruby! Damn propriety! You are God, and you yank your best friend Gil toward you and grab the back of his head and tilt it forward and kiss him.

In practice, it's about as appealing as hugging him, which is to say not very. His face is as clammy and squishy as the rest of the goo-body, so the effect is of kissing a jellyfish, and he reacts how a jellyfish might— going limp and doing nothing. No sound. The goo slides out of his hands. He doesn't move his lips. (Is a person supposed to move their lips?) You hate him a litle tiny bit and, after many seconds, pry yourself away.

(1/3?)