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He didn't sleep much. Didn't even need to, really, time meant nothing at this point in the game. ...Or lack thereof. The final switch had been turned to OFF long ago, the Player long gone. There were only three of them left: Zacharie, Pablo, and, unfortunately, himself. Pablo, of course, wanted nothing to do with him. He understood. Zacharie… He was different.
"Batter! Hey!"
The urgent whispers by his ear tickled. He wouldn't give the detested merchant the pleasure of knowing that, though, so instead he buried his face further into the pillow he rested on. He hoped this disturbance would cease.
" Mon ami, I have something to show you!"
Zacharie's voice grew louder, closer to a speaking volume. The Batter wouldn't allow himself to admit that he adored the man's voice. That would be another impurity to scrub away in the shower, dull nails clawing at his arms like he wished his monstrous talons could. The Batter existed as a vessel for a Player's actions, nothing more. It would be impure to think for himself.
"Batter , I know you're awake. I can hear you thinking."
He felt fingertips in his hair, gently scratching his scalp as if he were a cat. It would be quite funny to be a cat, especially in this moment, for he knew he would purr. Pablo purred, although infrequently. Only when the player was away, and Batter got a chance to rest, would Pablo appear and curl up next to him. He would pet the fragile thing much like Zacharie was doing now, marvelling at how soft he was for a cat with such short fur.
...Had he ever seen a cat before?
Logically, he knew he didn't exist outside of the reality of the program. There was no "before" for him, there was simply Nothingness, and then Existence. He was Nothing until the Player came along, and then he suddenly Was. Of course, this wasn't Nothing. Did this happen every time, this dull void with only three souls left?
"Not every time." Zacharie's voice was lazy, like a cat stretching after a nap in the sun. "Sometimes there are only two. But I, I am always here. I have gone through this cycle so many times that I know it by heart."
The Batter felt the bed beside him dip under Zacharie's weight. He allowed himself a small smile when he noticed that the hand never left his hair, fingers still scritching through the close-cropped gold.
"The Player chooses a side, picks between controlling you or Pablo for the final battle. Sometimes he wins. Most of the time, you do. Sometimes you will spare him. Others, the Player is not so kind. The game ends, and we are all left here."
Zacharie laughed, his usual breathy chuckle that used to so annoy the Batter. He felt a pressure on his lower back, and the faint tickle of hair on a sliver of exposed skin. He was being used as a pillow. The hand had left his hair.
"The times without you are the hardest. Pablo tends to go his own way, and I am left all alone."
The room fell silent after that, and the Batter so badly wanted to say something. Zacharie sounded small, a stark difference from his usual self. He never wanted Zacharie to feel that way again, and wasn't that strange? He wanted to hold Zacharie in his arms, to pick him up and just hold him . To feel the weight and warmth against his chest.
He knew Zacharie knew what he was thinking. I should be embarrassed, he chastised himself. I'm impure, what have I done?
"Nothing. Simple as that." Zacharie laughed again, this time devoid of humor. "Congratulations, Batter. You had feelings. The horror! The agony!"
Zacharie's sarcasm was thick and obvious, even to the target. He wished Zacharie just kept stroking his hair.
"I miss your voice," the Merchant said. "I miss hearing you speak. It's… quite nice. Although, I do understand your hesitation. Also, mon cher, I do not think of you as impure."
With that, Zacharie sat up, rose from the bed, and departed. The Batter turned his head to watch him leave. He wished to be a better man. A worthy man.
If he were capable of it, he would have wept.