gally and thomas avoid each other at the monument. thomas spends the barely lit mornings tracing their names: chuck, newt, teresa.
gally visits in the deep of night: ben, chuck, newt.
when the nightmares and guilt are at their worst, they find themselves passing each other on their way to and from, when the sky is still dark but the horizon starts to glow. they dont talk, they dont stop; they nod and move on.
except the nightmares get worse and the guilt heavier, because those things grow like weeds until you take the time to tend your garden.
they find themselves in facing the monument together, neither sleeping, too restless, the weight overbearing. Then more often. a fragile companionship.
no one's forgiven and their shoulders are heavy, but they can trust each other to know this, to understand.
so they stand side by side and trace the names of the people they lost.
"chuck's pranks were actually really funny," gally admits. "i didnt think so then, but. he was a good kid."
"newt told me you were a good friend once," thomas says. "im sure he meant it."
"ben was the nicest guy you'd ever meet. he wouldnt have... it probably tore him up to hurt you."
"teresa just wanted to save us all."
they meet in the middle of their worst nights and they share stories of the people they loved until standing doesn't feel like carrying the weight if the earth on their shoulders.
they try to forgive each other and themselves.
they meet less and less in the dark. they talk more and more around campfires and mess hall tables.
they say hello to the names on the monument in the daylight and it doesnt feel like a knife to the chest to say them out loud.
they tend their garden and try to live.
