“Man. I wish they had pizza.”

That startles a laugh out of Tommy. “You wish they what.”

“I mean, if it’s going to be my last night on earth, I feel like I deserve some pizza for it! Candy’s great but it’s just not the same. I could go for ordering a pizza right now.”

“Well, I have terrible news for you about—nevermind. What I’m trying to say is, this is our last memory before tomorrow, it might be our last memory forever.”

“Hey, at least we ended life on a high note. What’s that one song? Always look on the bright side of life?”

“Cheers to that, mate.” He toasts Toby with the can of flat, room-temperature Coca-Cola he got from the vending machine, tries to savor the taste. “I was thinking we could—I dunno, say goodbye to some things. In case we don’t get a chance to tomorrow.”

“Okay, like what?”

Tommy takes his music box out of his pocket, winds it up. Frère Jaques, because he didn’t have it during the second semester of freshman year and it has accordingly fewer bad memories attached.

“If worst comes to worst… I mean, this could be the last time we hear music.” He looks solemnly at the music box, pets the side lightly. “Goodbye, music box.”

"The music box!!! Bruh. Goodbye, music box. Man, I'm not ready."

"Wait, you're not--you've got everything, right? You've got--"

"Yeah, I've got everything, I meant, like, emotionally. Emotionally I'm not ready."

"Okay. Okay, that's fine, that's--don't scare me like that, Toby."

"Sorry, sorry. I've got everything. Promise."

"Okay.

...We should probably still double check, maybe? And talk strategy for tomorrow."

"Okay. Strategy."

(Wow, Tommy's nervous. This makes sense, objectively speaking.)

Tommy upends his backpack and starts turning his pockets inside out. "I've got my shield holder on my wrist, I've got a bunch of your explosives, some potions for speed and casting reliability, I've got my new polearm over there" --he gestures to where it is leaning against the wall-- "I've got some stuff for healing, I've got my knives but hopefully we don't need those, if they get close enough for a knife we're screwed. Deflection, remember, we're focusing on deflection, we need obstacles, we need distance. We've got this, right? But we need to focus up, we need to be ready. Fuuuuck I feel like I'm going to faint. I really hope I don't faint tomorrow, that'd be a shitty way to die. Dead of fucking, low blood pressure."

"You know, I've never actually seen you faint before. Could be funny."

"Toby! This is serious! We could--we could die! This is the biggest thing of our entire lives!"

"I knowwwwwww. I don't want you to die. Just, it would be pretty funny, though."

"If we don't die tomorrow I promise I will make sure to faint for you."

"Sorry."

Tommy grabs Toby's bag, upends it on the floor as well, and starts sorting and double-checking the contents before putting them back. "It's alright. Sorry I snapped at you a bit, I'm just getting nervous. I--I need to be real with you, Toby, just in case, let's stop--stop being all optimistic and just--let's just breathe in the reality of this. I know that me and you kind of have a tendency to--especially you--always look on the positive sides of things and that's really cool, right, and I think everyone really appreciates it and always loves us, loves you especially, for that, and how positive we always are, but tonight we need to be honest. We're going to fight and we're going to fight well but-- let's not lie to ourselves, alright? Worst comes to worst, we both die tomorrow. We have to get this right, we have to win, because otherwise--" He cuts himself off, turns an explosive over and over in his hands. "What about you, what are you thinking."

"I'd say I'm concerned."

Half-laugh. "Well that's good."

"Yeah, you were trying to fill me with fear. Psych me out."

"You know I wasn't actually--I was trying to--listen, don't make me start singing, I will do it."

"Oh no, not the singing."

"Seriously, though, you've got the plan, right?"

"I've got the plan. We've spent the past six months practicing the plan, we're not going to have any sudden revelations tonight, let's just enjoy it."

"I guess I just--I know every time I ask you about how you're feeling you're just, concerned, or, or okay--come on, man, just tell me what's going on, this is it, please just tell me--how are you? Because I--I care about you."

Toby considers this for a moment.

"I'm feeling worried," he decides, because he is worrying about them. Well, about Tommy, mostly. "If we both die, no one will know what happened in here, just that we died. I figure I've done enough, we had some laughs. All good things must come to an end eventually, right? It's fine. We knew it was coming. But I don't want it to all--I did a lot, and if we both die, it would all have been for nothing. So."

Nod. "Then let's stay alive," Tommy says, as though it's that easy. "Tomorrow's just--the last thing we have to overcome. We've overcame stuff before, we can--we can be optimistic. It's just the last bump in the road and then we'll be okay. I know we've been thinking all about the idea that, that we might die, and yeah, probably, we might, but you know what? We might die all the time. When we're out, every time we get in a car or cross the road, there's a statistical chance we might die, but we don't think about it all the time because it's scary to think about. So let's just think--we're going to be okay."

"D'you want to live together? When we're out?"

He's not deluding himself; he's well aware that it's not likely. But if it's going to be their last day alive, they deserve a little wishful thinking.

"That'd be--that'd be nice. You know, we've had a really good time. I know I haven't always been the best, but-- thank you for sticking with me."

"You've been alright!"

"Thank you, man. For everything."

"Like I said. It's alright."

"...I'm still nervous. You don't--what do you want to talk about, do you not have any things that you need to go over, that you feel like--you're being pretty relaxed."

"I'm not relaxed, I'm just... I mean, it's not tonight, right? Might as well take the hours while we have them, if you know what I mean."

"I guess." Tommy shifts his weight back and forth as he sorts and replaces the potions again. "And you're sure you've got everything?"

"Positive."

Tommy puts the potions back, takes out his water bottle, looks at it. The sharpie drawings are long-faded, pale gray ghosts on the hard plastic. "Remember this?"

"I mean, it was mine, so."

"Weeeeeeell. I don't know if I'd say that."

"No, wait, I was being all--all serious and inspirational."

"Were you."

"I was!!!!"

"Uh-huh. Okay, hit me."

His fingers trace the outline of an orca. "Remember--remember Wilbur? The old Wilbur, I mean. Not--in here."

"...Yeah?"

It's weird, thinking of Wilbur. There's a strange double-vision to being older than the memories, when Wilbur had seemed so old at the time.

"Let's make him proud."