>Loyalty

You're silent long enough that Gil starts scrambling. "Look, I-I-I just think you shouldn't be alone when you, um— when you— and I don't want to be alone either, Lottie, I just don't—"

"Gilbert," you say.

"Uh-huh?"

You twiddle your gauntleted fingers, then push yourself to your feet. "Take off my armor," you say officiously. "That's your duty as my retainer. Practically your only duty, so don't argue."

His face falls. "So..."

"Don't argue! Make it snappy!" You wave your hand at him until he gets up, slowly, and silently comes around the back of you. As you stare straight ahead, a lump in your throat, he works his sturdy fingers through the back of your cuirass; when he peels it all the way off, you lift your chin so he can't see your face. You turn your head away when he pulls off the rerebraces and vambraces. You hold your tail as still as you can as he fiddles around back there, which is hard, because it tickles.

But at last you are peeled open. Your normal clothes, slightly sticky, have been preserved; you are wholly decent, though Gil, unable to make eye contact, might not agree. He proffers a wet envelope and an armful of metallic goo. "This was in the armor? But I-I-I couldn't save any of the armor. It all melted."

"It's okay," you say.

"I-I-I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Gil. The Wyrm would melt it if you didn't. I don't need it for anything anymore." You dig your thumb into your palm. "You know, I remember when I found you, and I had to get through that big beetle door. I had to wear you like armor to get through that. Beetles everywhere. Do you remember that?"

Gil pauses. "Yes."

"That was a long time ago. You couldn't even talk back then. We've come a long way."

"Yeah."

"A really long way. And, um, you can come. I decided. I'm going to miss you, too, and... I don't know. Maybe you'll be God too. Maybe we can be God forever."

"You don't want that," he says unhesitatingly.

"Maybe I do. I think it's lonely up there, or down there, wherever God is. I think the Wyrm is lonely. It has to be. So I'd— I'd— I'd appreciate not being lonely, for as long as I can, even if you do get smited." You lace your fingers. "Just as long as I don't take all of you. I don't want you to die, Gil."

"I-I'll try my best." He jiggles the armful of goo. "Do you want this? Or should I dump it and call it a..."

"Dump it! Or, no. I'll take it." After stuffing the envelope in your waistband, you scrape the goo off of him— start to scrape the goo off of him, but stop, and look up into his bemused eyes. The goo is cold. His arms are cold. But you are remarkably warm.

>Damn the goo. You don't care about the goo. You...

>[1] Hug Gil. Hard! [That warmth is the easy glow of friendship. You care so much about him.]
>[2] Kiss Gil. On the lips! [That warmth is something you've left unexamined. It might be too late to examine it— but if you don't do it now, you'll have lost something forever.]