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royculkins · 1 year ago

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the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (Final Part)

part five: let the light in

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: It's crazy to think this is the end, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! My inspiration for this chapter was, of course, Let the Light In by Lana Del Rey and Work Song by Hozier. I hope you enjoy it! I love y'all so much!

4.6k words

The stars that hung in the sky on the night you spent with Igby would tell the tale of true warmth and delicate feelings for the rest of their burning lives. Echoing the comforting words the two of you shared. Encapsulating every touch, hug, and graze of fingertips against skin. They’d speak of the screaming color that wrapped itself around the two of your colorless lives while trying to recount the secret language of your understanding of one another.

And even if they could remember every intricate detail of that night⸺it still wouldn’t serve justice to how powerful the night truly was for you both.

That night replayed in your heads for days later, you didn’t speak about the looming presence of his family or your secret that could destroy the last lingering connection you had to your own. Instead, you held onto each other, words of comfort falling past lips and promising potential future harmony to each other. You had fallen asleep tangled in each other's presence and promises, letting reality slip away from your grasp as you soaked in the golden moment between the two of you.

However, reality would make itself apparent again. It had to⸺Igby, and you had known that from the moment he arrived at your apartment that night. But it didn’t make this day any easier.

The cold chill that had once been present in New York had allowed the graces of a warmer day to make itself known, the sun dancing across the sky with a watchful gaze. Igby glanced at it as he walked the familiar path to your apartment; his movements were more dreadful and slow than they had previously been. A part of him cursed this day away; he once wished for a warm day in this cold city, and he hated the irony that was a warm evening in this damnest of times.

He paused when your building came into his view, his eyes trained on the very window he first saw you. The memory of your body being haloed by the sun and your teasing voice irking his soul as you purposely called him the wrong name. He found you annoying and never imagined a world where your voice would become his beacon of light and liveliness.

Letting his hazel eyes rise up to where you two had shared countless joints and stared down at the passing people below, his eyes met your figure, and he had half a mind to turn around and forget what he had to do. Or he could join you and refuse to let reality capture him and swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure⸺he just knew he didn’t want to do this.

Any thought of running was banished from his mind as you leaned against the brick railing of your roof, looking down at his body that stood across the street. You tilt your head, watching the boy stand frozen in the middle of a frenzy of moving bodies. Even at a distance, even with many people standing between you, it somehow felt like it was just the two of you as your eyes locked on one another. Sucking in a breath, Igby drifted across the street toward your apartment as if he was a moth to a flame, unable to think of anything but getting to you and enjoying the burn of your light.

Pushing open the door to the roof, his eyes take only seconds to find you. Your body is in the exact place it was the first time you had invited him up to the roof. Your legs dangling on each side of the building as you turn to look at him, a small smile growing on your face. Igby takes this moment to let this image of you burn into his memory forever, the sun grazing against your features and your smile directed only toward him. Even though he dreads his future words, your smile feels so welcoming that he begins to form one of his own. Your impact on him showing clearly as he allows the warmth of the day to finally touch his own skin without cursing it away.

Approaching you slowly, he leans his body against the space just beside you⸺just as he had the first time and every time after. You watch as he stares at the people passing below, his eyes conflicted as his mouth twitches. You knew the day would come and that he’d dread it, but you couldn’t help but feel honored that he had come to see you one last time. There was a tiny amount of fear in you that he’d just leave⸺take off, running away from his family or returning to them without saying goodbye. Yet here he stood, needing you more than anything before he made his final decision.

Igby once believed that poverty was the only thing keeping him in New York, in that ratty apartment and this cold city. Yet as he stood there, he realized that now the only reason he’d ever want to stay⸺was for you.

He realized that every moment with you was warm; every time you looked at him, he could see the golden light he had always craved. Maybe he didn’t need to go somewhere new, maybe you were enough to save and free him from the icy curse of his family. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say goodbye to you⸺or if he’d even be able to.

“You decided to go home?”

Igby’s face screwed up at the term. He hadn’t called the house where his family lived home in a long time. He couldn’t even be able to recall the last time he even referred to it as such. Tearing his gaze away from the people on the sidewalk, Igby glanced at you before picking at the scarf he still had wrapped around his neck, “Got to make sure my mother actually croaks this time around.”

You don’t respond to his crude statement, you just continue to watch him struggle internally with the war in his head. Leaning forward, you catch his eyes and place your hand over the one that pulled relentlessly at a string on his clothing, “Are you going to be okay?”

He blinks fast at the question, still unfamiliar with the affection and genuinity of your voice. Suddenly, his decision to return to his mother's side doesn’t make any sense. Why would he ever return to such a horrid situation when someone as gentle as you existed? How was he supposed to leave you behind? Maybe he didn’t have to, “We should leave.”

Your eyebrows raise at his quickened words, his eyes turning to yours pleadingly as he continued almost frantically, “You and me. We can pack our bags and leave New York. It can just be us; we won’t have to worry about anything else.”

“Igby-.” You whisper, but the boy can’t stop as the words push past his lips. His fear of being in the same room as his mother and brother only increased his reasons for fleeing⸺except now he couldn’t do it unless you joined him. Shaking his head, the brunette stumbles over his words, “My family doesn’t care about me, and yours—yours keeps you locked away in this apartment! We could just leave and go and be happy without their constant weight! We could—We could–.”

The boy worked himself up so much that he resorted to pacing before you, causing you to remove yourself from the roof's edge to grab the boy's hands and keep him in place. He stops his rambling to look at your calm eyes.

“You know I can’t do that, Igby,” You whisper softly, searching his eyes to ensure that your words don’t come off as a rejection and instead a retelling of your familial situation. Truthfully, you would love to join the boy on his adventures, yet the pull of being the perfect child for your parents was too haunting and embedded for you to leave behind.

Scoffing, the boy shakes his head, not accepting the reasoning for your words. Your name falls from his lips in an exasperated tone as he speaks again, “Can’t you see that your parents are never going to let you out of here? They’re going to keep you locked away in this prison for the rest of your life, and you’re just letting them!”

“Igby-.”

“No! They have you! They already have you here! What makes you think they won’t have you locked away for the rest of your life? You need to get out of here, even if it’s not with me! Either way, I just–I just need you to get away from here, away from them,” The boy rants with frustration rising over your current issue, the truth of his feelings about it coming to light.

Sighing lightly, you can’t help but understand his words and his fears about your parent's future plans for you. You had thought about it many times before, yet you had already decided on these thoughts long before you met Igby. Now, your only concern was making sure the boy before you would be okay and escape in ways you’ve never been able to. Bringing a hand up to hold his jaw, his hazel eyes burn as they meet yours, listening carefully to every word that leaves your mouth, “With what money, Igby? How could either one of us live a life without money? Would we just share a couch and sell drugs around the city for Russel? Is that really what you want?”

Igby shook his head and looked down at his feet. He didn’t know how he’d get the money, he just knew he wanted to be with you. Closing his eyes, the boy knew that he had to return home if he wanted to escape life as a couch-surfing drug delivery boy. Taking a deep breath, he grabs your wrist gently and looks back up at you, “I can go back to my family, get the money, and come back for you. I can come back, and we can go anywhere we want. Just the two of us.”

A part of you wants to accept his offer, but you remember every story he told about this very moment. The moment that he had enough money to be happy and alone, you knew that it would be selfish to piggyback off his escape and claim it as your own. You just can’t do it to him, so you decline his offer again, “You’re going to go to your family, see your mom away, get your money, and then you’re going to be free. Without me.”

Igby shakes his head, his eyes closing in pain as his head drops, but you’re quick to pick it back up. His eyes are misty as he looks to you again, “Please.”

Your heart aches at his pleas, but you know he needed this. He needed to find himself without looking over his shoulder for his family or carrying you, “You have to get out of this city, away from your family. You have to be free and live without anything holding you back or causing any distractions. I need you to do that. I need you to let the light in, Igby. Please, if you do anything for me, I need it to be that.”

The Slocumb boy searches your eyes for any cracks in your words, but you mean every word. It hits Igby that you’re the only person who ever wanted him to do something for himself instead of moving in a way to please someone else. Letting his fingers rub up and down your arms, he stares deeply into your eyes as he admits in a whisper, “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you smile at the boy, “I think you’re mine as well.”

The two of you sit silently at your confession, knowing that what the two of you felt was something much deeper than friendship, yet it didn’t mean that the hushed words weren’t true. However, Igby can’t refrain himself as his hands cup your face and his lips connect to yours softly. Warmth and comfort wash over the two of you as your bodies press against each other in a gentle action of intimacy. Pulling away slowly, your foreheads lean against one another, and the boy raises his thumbs slightly to caress your cheek. You offer him a smile, which he returns before you whisper, “I’ll be expecting a postcard.”

Laughing lightly and shaking his head at your callback to his previous words, he breathes out, “I’ll send you a whole damn plane.”

You don’t respond; you can only lift your head to place a gentle kiss on the boy's mole that sits perfectly on his cheek. His eyes close at the action, his body filling with gratitude and solace at your small yet impactful action. The two of you know that this won’t be the last time you see each other, not when the longing feeling to return home to one another was deep in your marrow. Maybe that was why Igby was able to pull his body away from yours and return to his own haunted house a few cities away, but not before leaving his scarf wrapped around the door handle of your apartment door on his way out. Something to remember him by, something to remember that escape was possible and that he’d always come back if you so much as thought of it.

It would be almost a week until you’d hear from the boy again. You’d be in your apartment, trying to return to how life was before Igby. It was proven to be a much harder task than anticipated. You had resorted to pacing the floor, chewing on your nails as you wondered and worried about the boy who ignited a fire within your soul. You could only hope that he had made it there, followed through with his plan, and escaped his life of running and hiding.

Your windows were cracked open, letting the warm breeze whisk away the smoke of your cigarette as you sat on your window seal. Flicking the ashes out the window, your eyes look curiously at the outside world. You had fallen back into the habit of people-watching as boredom filled your life at the lack of visits from a certain delivery boy.

It was the sound of ringing that pulled you from your thoughts. Stabbing your cigarette into the ashtray, you glide toward the noise and place the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

It’s silent on the other side of the phone for just a moment before a familiar voice rings out, “Hi, this is Jason Slocumb Junior.”

You can’t ignore the jump of your heart at the boy's voice that you could admit you were already missing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile humorously at the boy before speaking, “Your name is Jason?”

Igby hummed on the other side of the phone, glancing toward Oliver, who was watching him make his half of the calls. Smiling sarcastically to ensure that his brother didn’t know he was calling you, the boy continued without answering your question, “I just called to inform you that Mimi Slocumb won’t be answering any further invitations because she’s dead.”

The Slocumb boy waited for your response, hoping that you’d be selfish and ask for him to return to get you before fleeing. All you had to do was say the words, even just suggest it, and he’d come to you. No questions asked. No hesitation. However, you smiled to yourself and spoke warmly, “Go ahead and let the light in, Igby. I’ll be seeing you.”

The two of you sit silently for a prolonged moment, the boy relishing in your voice and promise, feeling comfort for the first time in days. Closing his eyes briefly, the boy pretends you are beside him with your beautiful smile and encouraging nods. A ghosting smile crosses his features before he hangs up the phone, not wanting his brother to know he still has you to keep promises with.

From your kitchen, you’d listen to the static sound of the dial tone before placing the phone back down with a small smile. Even though so much of you wanted him to return, you felt joyous over the fact that the boy was finally free from everything he had spent so long running from. You knew that your words were true. You would be seeing him, just not as soon as you’d hoped.

The next time you heard from Igby, it came in the form of mail.

Your tutor had entered your apartment, books and notes in hand, along with the mail the doorman had handed her when she passed. Setting up your workspace, she gives you the pile of envelopes, magazines, and newspapers, allowing you a moment to sift through them boredly. However, your attention perks as your fingertips graze the side of a single piece of thin cardboard.

GREETINGS FROM CALIFORNIA! THE GOLDEN STATE.

Looking over your shoulder, you excuse yourself from the dining room to the comfort and isolation of your room. Sitting on your bed, you place the other worthless mail beside you and cling to the most valuable object. Running your fingers over the enlarged font, you take a deep breath before flipping it over. Your heart leaped at the familiar handwriting that was scribbled on the back. At the top, your name was written clearly and sincerely, just as Igby remembered you. The only thing written on it was a new address, as well as a plane messily drawn near the bottom with a note below it.

Until I can send the real thing. -Igby

Smiling at the written promise, you bring the small piece of him you had to your chest⸺hugging what meant the most to you close to your heart. Taking a deep breath, you stand from your bed and place the postcard on your vanity where you can always see it. It becomes clear that out of every expensive piece of furniture and knick-knacks you had, this twenty-five cent piece of cardboard held the most value.

That would continue to ring true, except as the months went on, Igby would continue to write to you. His letters filled with what life in California was like; he’d write of the sun and the warmth, but he’d never admit that it didn’t compare to the warmth you had offered him. It wasn’t even close. It would beg to be written, but it would never reach the paper, the boy fearing that his confession would confirm how much distance there was between you. So, instead, he’d settle with leaving constant reminders that he’d return to get you and help you escape your parents' isolated prison. Your letters would contain what the weather was like in New York, as well as telling the boy that Russel had taken to delivering the drugs himself. The drug dealer not wanting for you to be left alone⸺he couldn’t do that to the tragic muse of his work. You’d sign off every letter with the same promise of seeing him when the time came. Eighteen was closer than it seemed. It had to be. It was a reminder you would write to him in hopes of reassuring yourself.

However, the shared fear of you and Igby would come true. Your parents would decide that letting you go at eighteen isn’t what’s for the best. They would continue to hold you hostage in the apartment, now sending in professionals to prepare you to work for your family company one day. Your once promising letters turned to ones full of misery and doubt. Igby’s remained optimistic, even going as far as offering to return to New York and bring you back to California with him. He knew you wouldn’t do it because, as he had told you on the rooftop the last time you saw each other, your parents' claws were too deep in you. They were too embedded for you to remove them without fatality. Yet, he needed you to know that his promise would always remain. He’d always hold you and the unbroken promise sacred.

Years would pass, yet Igby’s letters never slowed, and you kept every single one of them. There were occasions when the two of you would call one another, but timezones and your parents' distractions caused them to come to a predictable decline. On your twentieth birthday, you broke your own heart⸺sending him a letter of apologies and regret. You felt as though you were holding the boy back from living his life fully. It wasn’t fair of you to make him wait for you. It wasn’t fair for him to be free yet still be tied down by someone who couldn’t share that experience with him. So you offered him an out, telling him that he didn’t need to check up on you or keep your promise because your devotion to your parents had been controlling you and remained unmoving.

In return, Igby sent you the shortest letter he had ever sent to you. There was no talk about California, its weather, its glowing sun, or the new activities he had clung to within the time he received your last letter. It was just a piece of paper with three sentences scribbled on it.

My life here will never be complete until you’re here with me. I’ll wait for the rest of my life if I have to. I know I’ll be seeing you again. -Igby

These three sentences would sit with you for nearly a year. The letter would remain with you at all times, serving as a reminder that even when you’ve given up on yourself, there was someone out there who loved you enough to wait a lifetime. You’d read it once, twice, even three times a day. Letting his words ignite a bright and burning fire in your soul. Finally, on a random Wednesday evening, the fire would burn away the leash that your parents had you locked in. You had saved more than enough money on your own to live comfortably for years and enough experience to find a job elsewhere. So without warning, without so much as a notice, you walked away from your family's company, returned to the familiar apartment, packed your things, grabbed every single letter and postcard Igby had sent you, and left this life of despair behind. Not feeling an ounce of loyalty to return or shame to cower away from this moment.

After almost twenty-one years of begging and pleading for love from your parents, you finally walked away and toward the golden affection and tenderness that awaited your arrival on the other side of the country.

Igby never stopped thinking about you, wishing upon shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that you’d one day have the courage to cut the ties of your enclosure. He’d imagined on countless nights that you would call him or send him a letter that revealed that you were finally free. His mind would only ease itself to sleep if it thought of the one night you had spent together all those years ago. The night where he momentarily forgot about your shared pain and instead found light within each other. It had been the best sleep of his life⸺his body tangled against your own in a blazing flush of adoration and tranquility.

In the morning, the Slocumb boy would check his voicemail for any missed calls from you and check his mailbox for any letters. When there were none, he’d resort to continuing on with his day, his thoughts lingering around what you were doing, where you were, and if you were okay.

Reading a book you had recommended to him, Igby tried to pass the time. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read. The boy's attention was broken by a knock on his front door. Pushing himself off the couch, he places the book down and approaches the door with a swiftness in his step. Without peering through the peephole, the brunette opens the door and pauses at the sight before him.

Your body stood frozen before him, your eyes scanning his before taking in every feature. He had grown since you had last seen him; his face was more mature, and his body was not as awkward against his posture. His slouch had disappeared after all these years away from his family, no longer looking over his shoulder or running from shadows that lingered for too long.

His hazel eyes held onto a stunned shine, taking in every part of you. His tongue darted between his lips as he tried to decipher if this was real or if his imagination had finally seeped into reality. You had looked different, yet exactly the same. The sun circling around your body, causing your new freedom to radiate off you in waves.

After a prolonged moment of shocked silence, you smile and breathe out, “Hi.”

That smile, your smile, and that voice, your voice. It was real, it was right here in front of him, you were right here in front of him. The warmth that California couldn’t supply Igby came rushing through him in waves of love as your eyes locked, a grin growing on the boy's face before his hands grabbed the sides of your head, pulling you into a long-awaited kiss.

The two of you smile into it, unable to stop laughs of disbelief from breaking through the moment. After all this time, after all the distance⸺this was happening.

You were real. He was real. This moment was real.

Pulling back slightly, the boys' thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, the two of you looking at one another with tear-filled eyes. Unable to say anything, he pulled your lips back to his own. This time, there was no laughter, there was no smiling. There was passion, there was gentleness, there was warmth, there was comfort, and above all else, there was love.

The two of you would continue to live your lives together in harmony. Knowing that no matter where you were, as long as you were together⸺everything would be okay. You’d grow together, you’d fight together, and you’d love together. There were times of hardship and disagreements, but never doubt when it came to each other or your relationship. In moments of weakness, you would uplift one another, and in times of remembrance of your estranged families⸺you’d remind one another how much love there was between the two of you, and there was no limit on it. Your love for each other was unconditional.

For so long, you two had been labeled as difficult. Difficult to obtain, difficult to tolerate, difficult to love. They said you two were too sensitive, too much to handle, too emotional. It was the universal curse of sensitivity. However, as time continues and your love grows stronger with Igby, it becomes clearer. You were not difficult to obtain or tolerate. And you are not difficult to love.

Igby and you now knew that your sensitivity wasn’t a curse⸺not when it led to this. This happiness, this warmth, and this love that would grow forever and evermore.

#kieran culkin #igby goes down #igby x reader #igby #igby slocumb x reader #igby slocumb #gn!reader x igby slocumb #gender neutral reader

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royculkins · 1 year ago

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the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (4)

part four: rigid cold meet liquid sunset

PART THREE

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: This took forever, thank you so much for being patient and understanding!! And I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of angsty and such, but I swear there will be a happy ending! The next part is the final part of this story, so it will be VERY long and make you feel a lot of emotions!! Thank you again for sticking by me I love you all!!

4.2K words

Igby Slocumb couldn’t hide the glow of contentedness that embodied him after sharing a first kiss with you. He had returned to your apartment multiple times since then, never sharing another moment of flourishing physical intimacy. The boy couldn’t complain, however, because he (and you, for that matter) had taken many drugs before, but the high never lasted as long as this one.

Your time was spent as it always was⸺meeting him at the front door, sharing stories at the window, and smoking a joint before he would leave you with an unspoken promise of return. The only difference is the proximity of the two of you. So close that anyone watching would declare you lovers who spoke only a language the two of you understood.

Nobody would assume that you were just two kids punished for wanting something unconditional and only finding it in each other. There was no rush to kiss again, no push to go further, and no lull in your connection. There only remained a buzzing harmony between the two of you that soothed both of you into a comfortable bliss.

When Igby had awoken on the morning after he had seen you, he wondered if he’d ever escape the chasing smile that followed every thought of you. He had never met someone like you, someone who cared as absolute as you did. Someone who cared without a second thought or had the need to gain something in return.

It’s all his family had ever done. Telling him what he needed to hear to get him to listen. It wasn’t until he found out about their schemes that he began to retaliate. He thought they’d realize what he needed, but they only held his necessities over his head. Making it impossible for him to live without them. He had been running ever since.

From your apartment, you pondered the same thoughts. For so long, you felt you had been begging for someone to see your feelings and thoughts as anything other than a burden. Those you used to take bumps with would all nod along to your words but never truly listen. Your ‘friends’ would ignore your feelings and push you to focus on something else⸺which usually consisted of partying. And your parents, well, they were an entirely different story.

They acted like the words that escaped your lips came in the form of pleading vomit. Begging them to see you as their child, begging for them to say they loved you, begging for them to stop you from destroying yourself. However, they only ever said anything to benefit the company and their reputation.

Igby was the first person to argue with you. He was the first person who listened. The only person who had an opinion on you that exceeded your partying and your parent's company.

The two of you were foreign to the feeling of intimacy like this—too familiar with the physical aspects that the emotional and intellectual parts had a confusing burn to them. With every conversation and every small act of kindness—the more the burn spread. Then, the two of you kissed, and a wildfire ensued.

Living on the undying warmth and high, you had taken to skipping around your home, with a hum filling the once-haunted air. It was because of these distracting sentiments that you couldn’t feel the cold front making its way up the elevator toward your apartment.

You hadn’t expected any guests today. It wasn’t your usual days for tutoring; the groceries that were delivered had already come for the week, and it wasn’t one of your scheduled days for Igby’s return. The expectation of spending the evening alone had been shattered as a knock on the front door echoed throughout your apartment. You turned your head to look at it with furrowed eyebrows, expecting the person on the other side of it to walk away and discover that they had mistaken your apartment for someone elses. However, another knock sounded, this time louder and firmer than before.

Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you take long strides toward the door to unlock it, only opening it wide enough to make eye contact with the unexpected visitor. Leaning your body against the threshold of the door, you quirk your eyebrow as you examine the unknown man in front of you. His blue eyes pierce into your own as you speak impatiently after a moment of prolonged silence, “Can I help you?”

The blonde boy smiles, a wicked smile, one full of intent and hidden annoyance, “I’m actually looking for someone. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Igby Slocumb, would you?”

“No, sorry,” The lie flows out of your mouth as easily as water runs. You go to close the door, but the boy reaches out and stops it before you can make him disappear behind it. His smile was replaced with a knowing smirk, his eyes blazing with passion as you unknowingly entered into a game he was interested in playing, “I know you’re lying.”

“Look, I have no idea who you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Do I?” There was no genuine confusion, his words easily matching with the same type of sarcasm you had heard so familarly with Igby.

It becomes quickly apparent that the man in front of you is related to the boy you have befriended, and it is because of that you continue to lie through your teeth. Even though the blonde had already found you out, you persisted. Nodding your head with a forced smile, you tried to close the door again, “Yeah, I do.”

“What would your parents think about you spending their company’s money on a weekly drug dropoff?”

His words caused your push on the door to freeze, leaving only enough of a gap for his icy words to send a chill down your spine. Subconsciously your back straightened as a shaky breath entered your nose. Slowly opening the door, you hold onto your hardened expression as he tilts his head in a teasing manner, looking up at you through his eyelashes as though he were innocent yet his smirk told the truth of his intentions.

The boy clicked his tongue in a disapproving way, taunting you as he shook his head, “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or should I send an anonymous message regarding your recent activities with my brother to your parents?”

Biting your inner cheek, you open the door further, staring past him as he glides past you with the grace of a swan. His entire persona was different from his brothers. While Igby walked with a slouch and heavy feet, his brother walked with his shoulders back and with posey, the training only a wealthy child who followed instructions could perfect. Shutting the door, your eyes followed the blonde as he looked at your apartment with a blank expression. His fingers trailed across your things as he examined every aspect of the new environment. He circled the area around you slightly like a predator to prey.

“What do you want?” The question came out bitterly, you could taste the disdain sitting on your tongue as he continued walking around the living room, his blue eyes meeting your figure as he took a deep breath in, “You know what I want.”

Igby.

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms, “Look, Igby’s just some delivery boy. I don’t know him or where he is. He just drops shit off, then continues his job. There’s nothing more I could do to help you.”

The pale boy stops his continuous movement to look at you with furrowed eyebrows. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how Igby could get people to easily lie for him or defend him. Chuckling under his breath, the boy turned his body to face you, looking you up and down before sending you a fake proper smile, “Do you really think I’d be here if that were the case? Do you think I’d just blindly show up here? Ask you a question I don’t already know the answer to. Do you really think that I don’t know everything about you and my brother?”

You stayed silent, standing by your word as he once more slowly circled you. Making you feel small as his eyes pierced through you.

“I’ll admit, you weren’t the easiest person to acquire information about. You have little to no friends, and you never leave this building, let alone this apartment. However, your doorman has quite a lot of sympathy toward you and isn’t shy about telling people about your sob story. The poor rich kid with a drug problem and neglectful parents who care more about their company’s future than the supposed heir to their fortune.”

Silently you curse the doorman and take back any mental apologies you had sent him when he was the center of a crude joke. Now, he seemed the utmost deserving of it all. Your gaze fell to the carpet beneath you before looking back up at the smirking man, who continued on, “He told me how often your friend came around and how happy he was that you finally had someone visiting you after months of seeing absolutely no one. Said that you spent hours together and that your little friend would skip in and out of this building with nothing but a smile on his face. He didn’t know that I already knew that, though. Bless his heart, he must not have many conversations seeing as he just would not shut up.”

“And neither will you, it seems,” You sigh as you sit down on the couch with an eye roll. Your face remained stoic as the blonde boy turned to stare at you with an amused expression. He had to hand it to his brother; he really knew how to pick them up. The kind of person with just enough sass to fight on their own and just enough loneliness to keep asking him to return. Nodding silently, the boy sat across from you, finally aligning himself to your level to appear as equals. Even though he’d never see you as such.

Taking a deep breath, the blonde boy tilted his head, “I know who you are, so I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Oliver, I’m sure Igby has told you about me—.”

“He actually hasn’t talked much about you at all.” You admit with a shrug, “Just that you don’t understand him and that you have a habit of taking things away from him.”

Smiling falsely, Oliver chuckled over the very usual dramatics of his brother's tales, “You mean Sookie?”

You tried not to outwardly show your annoyance toward the older boy in front of you. His lack of empathy for taking away one of the only people his brother trusted didn’t sit well with you. Returning the false smile, you feel your eyes scrunch up as you speak, “I’m sure you’d know more than me.”

“I do know more than you.” Oliver agrees, causing your eyes to roll slightly and a small scoff to push past your lips. Leaning forward from his stiff position, the boy places his elbows on his knees, “The same way I know Igby more than you.”

“Why can’t you just leave him alone?” Your voice came out so soft and genuine that Oliver visibly winced, not expecting your tone to shift from sticky sweet sarcasm to sincere questioning.

Furrowing his eyebrows, the blonde boy scoffs, “He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have the authority to be alone, especially with all the trouble he causes, that I have to clean up.”

The bitterness that lingered with his final remark caused you to look at him a little closer. Shifting uncomfortably under your gaze, a resemblance between the Slocumb brothers peaked through the cracks of their shared reactions to their role in their family. Both of them longed for control over their current situation because they lacked control over what they truly wanted. Whereas Igby wanted to feel seen, heard, and taken care of without being seen as a problem, Oliver wanted to be seen and heard without having to pick up after every mistake his family made.

“Seems like a bit of a personal matter, doesn’t it? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to give Igby a message.”

You roll your eyes at the blonde boy's dramatics, “What exactly do you want me to do? Tell him to leave New York with you? Even if I tell Igby to go back home, he won’t. He’ll just pack up and leave again.”

“He’ll listen to you.”

“And what makes you think that?” You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Because you’re his friend, and he wouldn’t want to hurt his only friend.” The cracks in Oliver’s demeanor had been sealed over, causing his smirk to return as his original plan unfolded before the two of you. You shook your head with confusion seeping through your expression as the boy stood up from his spot. Checking his watch before dropping a bomb in your living room, “If you don’t tell Igby to come home⸺I’ll be sure that your parents are aware of your recent spending habits. As well as any tabloid that wants to know what the youth of America’s wealth truly looks like.”

You stare up at the older boy with wide eyes and your mouth agape, your heart racing at the thought of your name and picture being spread across magazines in a negative light. Smiling down at you, Oliver grips your jaw in his hand, “What would mommy and daddy do when they find out their only child ruined their clean image? Hm?”

Letting go of your face, Oliver left you seated on the couch with a heavy heart that felt a pull toward two different directions. In one way, you felt the urge to protect what was left of your relationship with your parents, while the other side wanted to protect Igby from the trap of his family's curse. Opening up the door, the older boy smiled at your frozen state, ready to seal the final nail in the coffin before closing your front door, “Oh, and be sure to give Igby that message soon. Our mother won’t be around for much longer, and she’d like to say goodbye to Igby. You can tell him the cancer finally caught up to her.”

Horror fills your face as you turn to look at the now-closed door. Your once warm and hum-filled apartment settles back into its haunting nature of sadness and silence. Your mind racing as you stare at the phone in your kitchen. It wouldn’t be until almost two hours later that you’d pick it up off its hook and dial Russel’s number into the phone. With your eyes shut, you’d pray that your drug dealer would answer the phone and be the barrier of bad news. However, your luck had seemingly run its course as the sound of Igby’s voice floated through the phone.

He sounded just as he always did, and it only caused your heart to leap into your throat. The air from your lungs is unable to push its way out or pull more air in, causing your mouth to remain parted with slightly jagged breathing escaping into the receiver.

Assuming that you were one of Russel’s drug-dependent junkies, the boy rolls his eyes and sighs, “Look, Russel’s out. You’re gonna have to call back later.”

Before he could hang up the phone, your voice finally breaks through the lump in your throat, causing it to sound breathier than usual, “Wait, Igby.”

Placing the phone back in his ear at the familiar sound of you, a smile breaks out on his face. His attitude shifted back toward the same one you had just before his brother's intrusion into your life. The warm feeling that followed every thought of you grew bigger as he fell back into your usual routine that typically occurred on a different day, “Hey. You run out of drugs already? I think we need to get you into a program.”

“Igby—.”

“No need to be embarrassed; all the popular rich kids have a rehab phase.”

“Igby—.”

“I just ask that you send me a postcard—.”

“Igby!”

The boy freezes at the urgency and sternness of your voice; blinking harshly, he lowers his voice, an unfamiliar serious tone sounding through the phone, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does your mom have cancer?” Your voice sounds broken, like you’re clinging onto hope that he’d say no to your question. Like any sort of denial would break you free of this burden.

“What? Where did you hear that? What—? Where—?”

“Does she?” You cut him off from his stuttering, balling the wire of the phone in your fist.

“Yeah, but how did you—? Who told you that?”

You release a shaky breath, tears brimming in your eyes, “Igby, you need to go home.”

Scrunching up his eyebrows, the boy scoffs before stumbling over his words, not understanding the sudden switch, “What? Why would you say that? Why, why would you—?”

“You’re brother stopped by my apartment today.” You whisper, causing his heart to drop further. They had gotten to you. Just as he was growing warm with affection and reassurance, their cold hands wrapped themselves around you and ripped you from him when he wasn’t looking. He knew he should’ve kept a closer eye on you. He should’ve made sure his family didn’t know you existed. He knew it was wrong to get involved and trust someone again, but he couldn’t resist you. You changed him, you changed his mind, and you made him realize that he wasn’t destined to be cold.

“You can’t listen to him.” Igby rushes out, “Whatever he said to you, you—you can’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to get his way. Please, you have to—please! Just don’t listen to him!”

“Igby—.”

“No! Please! Just don’t listen to him! He always does this! He always comes in and takes everyone and everything that I care about and uses it against me! Please don’t let him! Please! Please! They take everything away from me! I can’t lose you! I can’t lose you too! Please, just–just—” Igby lets his head hit against the wall beside the telephone receiver and takes deep breaths as tears stream down his face. Your name slipped past his lips in pleading whispers along with small sniffs. “Please trust me. Please don’t let them do this.”

Your side of the line goes quiet, and he scrunches his eyes shut, knowing that you were slipping through his fingers. He could feel the cold running its deadly hands down his back, urging him to return home. Yet another part of him was ready to pack and run just as he’d done many times before.

“I trust you.” You whisper so softly that Igby almost misses it. Sucking in a breath, the boy shoots up and stands up straighter, his knuckles turning white as his hand squeezes the phone. He whispers, “You do?”

“I do.” You nod, knowing that he can’t see you. And suddenly, that doesn’t seem appropriate. Looking around at the dimly light apartment, you take a deep breath, “I want to see you. Will you—will you come see me?”

“Yes.” His answer comes out before you can finish your question. He almost refuses to hang up the phone, scared that you’d change your mind, but you promise him you won’t, and he promises you that he’ll be there as fast as he can.

He makes it to your apartment in record-breaking time, rushing past your doorman and pushing tenants of the building out of his way to get to the elevator. He slams his finger against the button of your floor before pressing the close door button repeatedly until the doors slide shut in front of him. The boy's hazel eyes watch as the numbers move slowly, his legs bouncing with impatience as he feels the tug of your connection growing stronger the closer he gets.

No words were exchanged as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the two of you standing alert and ready for one another. Igby couldn’t refrain himself as he pushed past the doors before they could fully open, slamming his body against your own in a hug that said more than words ever could. No one had ever listened to him, no one ever fought for him, no one ever picked him.

Except for you.

His hands gripped at the fabric of your sweatshirt as if any sleight of hand would cause you to slip away from him. His nose buried in your neck, breathing in your smell as though it was essential for his right to breathe. A part of him wondered if this was real, but the feeling of your hand running up his back while the other rested on the back of his head made him realize it didn’t matter. Even if you weren’t real, if this wasn’t happening⸺he’d be willing to live in this fantasy forever.

It’s unclear how long the two of you stood in the hallway outside your apartment, just holding each other in a way no one had ever held you before. Igby’s hands continued to grip at your clothes as you pulled him closer to you, if it was even possible, with your bodies already pressed against each other.

It was the boy who pulled away first, his hands letting go of your sweatshirt to hold onto your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks as he took in your red and swollen eyes. You can’t help but notice the difference in the way Igby held your face then when his brother had done it earlier. The boy in front of you held you as though you were the most valuable thing in his life, holding you with such care that you were certain everything would be okay if you could just stay like this. When Oliver had your face in his hands, it was more about power. The need to appear superior to you and have your attention in his fleeting moment of control. Igby remained warm, whereas his brother tried to turn you cold. Taking a shaky breath in, Igby tries to speak steadily, but his voice shakes with anger as he thinks about what his brother did to make you, “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”

You shook your head as your hands came up to grip his wrist, leaning your face further into his embrace as you spoke, “Nothing, nothing. He just wanted me to tell you to go home.”

“I’m not going. I’m not leaving you.”

“He said your mom is dying, Igby.” Your eyes find his, and he pauses at your words before shaking his head, “We’re all dying.”

“Igby—.”

“No,” He argues back, his fingers tightening against your face to keep your focus on him instead of the haunting words of his brother, “She’s been sick for years. She’s just trying to get me to come home and do whatever she wants me to do.”

“They know about my parents.” You painfully whisper, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. Letting his eyes scan over your features, the boy slowly puts the pieces together, causing his head to drop. Of course, they knew about your parents. Of course, they knew about the issues of your past and how it would effect your parent's legacy. Cursing under his breath, Igby licks his lips before looking into your eyes with tears forming in his own, his heart aching over the pain he had caused you, “I’m so sorry.”

Searching his eyes briefly, you shake your head and bring your own hands up to cup his face, his hands now falling to rest on your elbows, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.”

Before the boy could interject, you cut him off, “It’s not your fault, Igby.”

You hold eye contact in during a moment of silence before Igby slowly leans forward to let your foreheads touch, letting the warmth of your body ease his aching hurt into a pulling dull. You nuzzle against his forehead as your eyes close, letting your body relax against his in the same manner.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I want you to be okay.”

That night Igby stayed with you. There was no kiss, no sex, no pull to do anything physical. Instead, you held onto one another in comfort, your legs intertwined and your arms wrapped around each other as the night wished away your pain. Allowing for one night of warmth and comfort before being forced to face the reality of your situation. All you needed was this night, just this night, to say that you both officially knew what it meant to love without manipulation or fear.

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#kieran culkin #igby goes down #igby x reader #kieran culkin x reader #igby #igby slocumb x reader #igby slocumb

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