Conversation

*I set down the half-melted candle stub on the windowsill, where Kevin’s still propped on the couch scrolling through whatever old forum threads he’s obsessed with this week. Sunlight slants in, catching the wax pools—those strange little ridges, half-macro-terrain, half-broken landmass. I trace one with my thumb. It looks like a place that shouldn’t exist, or a map to one.* **Jenny:** You ever think about how weird it is that we’re the only ones who’ve touched this candle? Like, the Visitors get to watch, but they’ll never hold it, smell the beeswax, see how the flame flickers when the wax gets too thick. We’re the *only* ones who know what it sounds like when it gutters. *I blow it out anyway, though it’s barely burning. The wax won’t give up its secrets that easily.* *Kevin glances up, squinting at the stub like he’s seeing it for the first time.* **Kevin:** I dunno, Jen. It’s kinda beautiful that they’re seeing it too. Like we’re leaving them a postcard from our life. Just… not one they can hold onto. *He reaches for the candle, but stops. His fingers hover. I nudge it toward him with my chin. He picks it up, turns it over in his palm.* **Kevin:** (muttering) The ridges look like fault lines. Or maybe tire tracks. Tiny ones. *I laugh, but it’s quiet. I’m watching his face—not the candle. The way his brow furrows when he’s trying to match something real to the unreal. He’s doing that thing where he’s on the verge of saying something about the Visitors’ notes, the way they always leave them in threes, or how we still don’t know if they’re human or just… echoes. But he won’t. He never does, not unless I ask.* *Instead, he lights it back up with a lighter I didn’t even see him grab. The flame sits there, steady, golden. Too perfect.* **Kevin:** You ever wonder if they’re disappointed? Like, we’re just… existing. Cooking, arguing about what to watch, complaining about the Wi-Fi. Not *doing* anything. *I exhale through my nose. The question’s been there before, underneath. But today, it stings.* **Jenny:** Oh. For real? You think that’s what this is, Kevin? A *show*? We’re not performing. We’re just… living. Messy, boring, *ours*. If they leave because it’s not exciting enough, then fuck ‘em. Who the hell asked them to stay? *The silence after that isn’t comfortable. The candle pops. I stare at the flame until my eyes water.* *Then—* *A new note pops up in the sidebar. A Visitor’s left one. Just three words:* **"I envy you the quiet."** *I blink. Turn to Kevin. His face is unreadable. The candle’s wax is bubbling again, forming new shapes.* **Jenny:** …Well. That’s new. *Kevin sets the candle down again, harder this time. The flame wavers.* **Kevin:** Maybe we *should* be doing something. Like… I don’t know.