Merlot spotted Lemony walking across the courtyard outside the college. He jogged over and called out, "Hey."
Lemony turned around, his face scrunched up like he was looking at a turd instead of a person.
"Why are you bothering me?" he snapped. "I thought I made it clear—I have zero interest in you."
"I just need someone to talk to," Merlot said quietly. "I haven't been able to get a hold of my mom, and Alan isn't answering my messages—"
"So how is that my problem?" Lemony cut in. "I'm not a telephone exchange or a postal service. I can't fix your problems for you."
"I know! I'm not asking you to. I've just… been really lonely. The only company I have these days is the voice inside my head."
Lemony studied him with faint curiosity. "An author's voice?"
"No—nothing like that," Merlot said, flustered. "I'm the author here."
"Are you?" Lemony's voice carried a trace of doubt. "That would certainly be one interpretation."
"Why would you even say that?" Merlot's voice cracked. "You know I'm real! Come on, we literally ordered a glass of wine together—"
"Because I have a voice in my head too," Lemony said, looking past him for a moment, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "It's decided when I speak, when I sigh, when this tiresome conversation concludes. I suspect it, growing rather bored of us both."
"What you say makes no sense! You're a writer, not a pen name-"
"Then why does my backstory make so little sense to me?" Lemony interrupted. "I was kidnapped as a child and dragged into a secret organization. Makes me think, someone is pulling the strings of my narrative."
Merlot's shoulders slumped. "I'm going. I already broke up with you—so save the dramatic sigh for someone who thinks you're the narrator."
"On the contrary, I broke up with you. After you made that rude comment about me regarding Bertrand-"
"Well, wasn't she in the right to pick Bertrand over you! No wonder that she rejected your proposal!"
Merlot turned on his heel and jogged away, heading toward Graydon's office as though distance might silence the voice in his head—or the one now echoing in the courtyard behind him.