#but they’ll keep shoving those conversations/problems back in the closet and ignoring them

[fistfuloflightning]

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

The Night We Met, Lord Huron

[allthephils]

From the Passenger Seat

This work was written for the @phandomreversebang and was inspired by this wonderful art by @dnovep.

Word count: 4002 Rated T (Mild references to sex and homophobia, mental health, established relationship)

Read on AO3

“Phil.” 

His name lingers in a fog of sleep before dropping to the bed. The mattress dips with the weight of it. There’s one quick, deep breath before he presses his face further into the pillow and sinks back into a disjointed dream.

“Phil!” 

It’s loud enough to break through now, dragging consciousness with it. Phil resists with a grunt, turning away from the sound but a hand comes to grip his shoulder, shaking him abruptly before pulling away. He hears a heavy put upon sigh and finally allows his eyes to open, slowly letting in bright morning sunlight. “What time is it?”

 “Finally.” Dan is stood now. Phil twists to see him zipping up a bag and stepping into his shoes. “I’m leaving, just thought you should know.”

 “Leaving? What time is it?” Phil can’t make sense of anything. The way the sun streams in says it’s early, so much earlier than he ever gets up. He’s not looking at Dan because his eyes have settled on the duffle bag sitting on the bed near his feet. He searches for a memory he must have lost. Was there a plan? Is Dan going away today? 

 “It’s like 6:30,” Dan says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable time to be waking Phil up. He’s bothered, annoyed. Judging by his tone, it must be quite a burden to drag Phil from a dream this way. “Go back to sleep. I just thought I should tell you before I left.”

 Dan grabs his jacket off the back of the desk chair while Phil watches, confused and only half awake. Something squeezes around his heart like a fist, clenching tighter every second as awareness creeps in. The night before had been rough. Dan spent most if it sulking, complaining about every little thing, while Phil mostly stayed quiet and tried to leave room for Dan to vent. His offers of affection were ignored, his empathy met with derision. Dan had snapped at Phil, refused to talk to him. He’d rolled his eyes at Phil’s insistence that they not go to bed angry. I’m not going to bed, he’d said you are. So not my problem I guess. Phil was genuinely hurt but there was no getting through so he did go to bed, falling asleep alone to a soundtrack of the too loud television coming from the lounge.

 “Wait, Dan. You’re leaving?” Phil says, voice shaky and cracking, his body reacting before his mind is fully aware of the fear he’s facing.

 “Yeah, I’ll…” He turns as he speaks but stops short when he sees the alarm on Phil’s face. “Phil?”

 Dan looks so tired, his eyes are pink and heavy, ringed in blue grey, his mouth pulled down at the corners. All the while, his body darts and weaves around the room. 

 “Phil. What?” He’s so terse, Phil is almost afraid to answer.

 “You’re leaving? What does that mean exactly?” Any attempt to appear detached is lost to the panic rising in Phil’s throat. 

 Dan just stares at him for a few moments and then, “Jesus Phil, I’m not leaving you. I’m just leaving.” There’s that eye roll again. It’s so dismissive and it stings, it really does. Phil wonders if it felt like this for his mum when he would roll his eyes as a teenager. Dan’s not a teenager though.

 “Where are you going?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “When will you be back?”

 “I don’t know.” Again with the irritation, like Phil has no reason to worry, no right to know what to expect.

 “Are you ok?” Phil asks, earnest, and sits up, reaching for his glasses.

 “I don’t know.” An honest answer, matter of fact.

 Phil throws the covers off himself and stands, reaching under the bed to pull out his suitcase. He pulls shirts from the closet leaving a mess of hangers on the floor. Three drawers slam one by one as he grabs what he needs from the chest. He doesn’t actually know what he needs because he doesn’t know where they’re going or how long they’ll be gone but he grabs a change of jeans and some pajamas, a handful of underwear and a pile of single mismatched socks and shoves in all into his case. 

 “Get the chargers and my pillow, I’ll be fast.”

 Dan is still stood in the middle of the room watching Phil. “Fast at what?”

 Phil has already turned on the shower and he climbs in in lieu of answering. He keeps his hair dry and washes as quickly as he can, then steps out to dry off and brush his teeth. He grabs hair product and his toothbrush and opens the door to find Dan in the same spot.

 “Fast at what?”

 “Showering. Did you sleep at all?” His chargers are right where he left them. He throws on jeans and a t-shirt and grabs a tour hoodie off the floor. The last bits packed, he zips up, grabs his pillow, and walks toward the door.

 “Dan?”

 Dan hasn’t moved. 

 “Dan?!” 

 He startles.

 “Are we going?” Phil is losing patience but he’s trying, he’s trying so hard. This isn’t the first time Dan has run off in search of a conclusion to the story in his head. It hasn’t happened in a while and this scenario is definitely new. Waking Phil up for a goodbye, however ill tempered, is an improvement. 

 “You’re coming with me?”

 Phil just huffs and walks past Dan to grab his bag too.

 “Come on.”

 They get an Uber to the rental car lot because Dan is too embarrassed to let Phil ride the tube holding his pillow. They don’t talk once they’re seated in the back seat. Phil politely deflects any conversation from the driver.

 The morning is dreary and grey, a little too on the nose for Phil. He thinks a little glaring sun might do a world of good right now. Maybe it would boost Dan’s serotonin levels just enough or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe, to Dan, sunny skies would be an affront today, an assault on the senses. Maybe sunny skies would bring out the friendly in this driver and bring crowds to this rental lot. Maybe dreary and grey is a safety net.

 Phil’s a safety net too though and he could really use a little sunshine right now. It’s not about him, he knows that but he can’t pretend this doesn’t scare him, doesn’t bring back all sorts of memories of hard times, bad days, and worse nights. If Dan can choose to be off meds, to let these days come sometimes, then Phil can choose to cling to him for dear life. We all have our coping mechanisms. 

 Phil loads a cooler into the backseat of the rental car before climbing in and setting two coffees into the cup holders in the center console.

 “Where did you get a cooler?” Dan sounds angry but that’s just how he sounds on days like today. 

 Phil answers him with forced neutrality. “Tesco.”

 “And Starbucks? You did all that while I was at the counter?” The look dan gives him could best be described as suspicious but there’s a hint of gratitude way in the back of his words. Phil holds onto it and shrugs. 

 “You won’t tell me where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone,” Phil says, “so I got snacks. You’re welcome.”

 It takes a real effort not to mirror Dan’s mood. It’s not fair to be angry so Phil breathes deep and watches the scenery go by, bland as it is. He sips his coffee and reaches behind him to pull a box of doughnuts from the cooler. Vaguely political chatter drones from the speakers. It might be interesting if it weren’t so early. Dan waves away the offer of a doughnut but reaches over a few minutes later to take one from the box. 

 The landscape is dull as the sky. It all runs together, rushing past Phil’s window, beige and grey and muted green. Dan’s hands make the steering wheel look like one of those toys you’d give a baby in their car seat. He fidgets, gripping in pulses and twists. The muscles of his face twitch and spasm as he clenches his jaw and Phil reaches out to touch the hard edge of it.

 “Babe,” Phil sounds small, “can you relax your jaw?” He clears his throat, “it’s gonna be sore.” 

 Dan inhales through his nose and lets his jaw soften. It’s a small thing but it feels like a victory and Phil’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit. He tries to remember everything he’s learned, things the internet taught him in the middle of nights made sleepless by worry, and things Dan taught him, vulnerable and open in Phil’s arms on one of his better days. There’s an inner dialogue unfolding that he’ll have to repeat on a loop until Dan is on the other side of whatever this is. All he can do is be here, strong and open-hearted, a witness to Dan’s strength, reflecting it back until he can see it for himself. 

 A sign rushes by, the off ramp for Wokingham is ahead. It distracts Phil from his thoughts.

 “Oh Wokingham,” He says, “is that where we’re going?”

 The laugh that follows is scathing. “Wokingham? Phil, are you actually joking?” Dan shoots him a look that matches his tone, “Fuck Wokingham.”

 Phil’s eyelids are heavy, his head wobbles on his neck, and it’s clear Dan isn’t interested in chatting. Reclining the seat, he hugs his pillow and feels himself drift. He’s not falling asleep, he’s just getting comfortable, resting his eyes.

 A cold rush of air sends a shiver over Phil and he reaches for a duvet that isn’t there. “Dan. It’s cold! Roll up your window.” He curls in tighter but his eyes flutter open to see Dan reach out and crank the heat up. The droning voice Phil had drifted off to has been replaced by something deep and loud, an angry voice half sings, half raps, and Dan sings along, hand drumming the beat into the steering wheel. 

 “Pull over, I need a wee.” Phil sits upright and throws his pillow into the back. “How long was I asleep?”

 “An hour? Hour and a half? Wasn’t really paying attention.”

 The nearest exit takes them to a petrol station and Phil runs inside, grateful for an actual toilet. He’s never been great at having a wee on the side of the road with his nervous bladder. When he comes back, Dan is leaning against the car, a picnic of road snacks laid out on the boot. Phil pauses just outside the shop, taking a moment to look. From here, Dan is only beautiful. He looks cool and strong, no sign of his crumbling resolve, no chemical imbalance, no dark circles, no trauma.

 “Glad you’re eating.” 

 Dan holds out the pastry in his hand for Phil to take a bite. It’s a thing they’ve done a thousand times and Phil basks in the normal of it. 

 “When I get diabetes, you’re going to have to give me the shots.” A joke in poor taste, another small hint of normal for Phil to hold on to.

 Phil gathers up wrappers and bottles and takes it all to the garbage. By the time he’s back, Dan is back in the driver’s seat. 

 “It’s bloody cold.” He says, starting the car and cranking up the heat. Phil breathes into his hands and looks to Dan, carefully choosing his next words.

 “Feeling a little better?”

 The twitch in the muscle of Dan’s jaw says he chose wrong.

 “Better than what?” Dan says with a laugh that’s not at all funny.

 The music is up and they are on the road again, making their way over the bridge to Wales. They don’t talk. Phil usually knows what to say, what not to say, how to just be there. He knows the heavy, shut down numbness of Dan’s depressive episodes and the weepy desperation that sometimes comes when the clouds are about to part. Maybe this is what it’s like when Dan runs off. Maybe the mood swings and the worry in Dan’s brow are par for the course. He hates that he doesn’t know. Running away like this has always been something Dan did without warning. Phil has never been privy to this piece of Dan’s puzzle but he can see that Dan’s mind is racing. He thinks he knows how that feels but he can’t be sure. He wants to know what to say. He wants to make stupid jokes and eat pizza and go home and cuddle. He wishes that he could be enough. 

 Outside, the blue sky has cracked through the murky grey clouds. The sea is calm, rushing past on both sides and soon they’re driving right along the coast. It brings to mind family holidays and morning walks with his mum but beneath the comfort, there’s an undercurrent of fear. Any moment, those dark waters could rise up, crash over them, envelop this little town they’re in. He conjures an image of he and Dan on the Isle of Man, watching the sunset, kissing on a high cliff where no one could see. Staring into the water, he clings to a heavy handed metaphor. He and Dan run deeper than most could imagine, so constant in their ebb and flow, so strong in their quietest moments. He’s lost in those thoughts when he feels the car pull off the road and realizes they’ve arrived. Somewhere.

 Before he can ask, Dan is out of the car and walking toward the water. Grabbing a blanket from the backseat, Phil finds a grassy spot without too many rocks. There’s a lighthouse in the distance and the sound of the sea in Phil’s ears as he stands and watches Dan stretch his arms above his head. The blanket isn’t much barrier from the poking grass and pebbly sand but Phil sits anyway. Phil watching Dan, Dan watching the sea, birds screaming overhead. Enough time passes that the light has changed, the clouded sun giving a glow that feels like early morning though they left that part of the day at home. Finally, Dan turns and begins the walk back. He sits but the distance between them is miles wide. 

 “You ok?”

 “No.” 

 Of course he’s not ok. “I can read on my phone or play a game. We could probably get a signal here, watch something.” 

 All he gets is a heavy sigh in response. 

 “I’m sorry.” Phil squeaks out. “Maybe this is your thing. I should have stayed home. I just get scared Dan.” Dan stretches the crick out of his neck and Phil wishes he could shave some of that annoyance away. “I try so hard not to make it about my feelings when you’re like this but things have been pretty good,” Dan’s brows shoot up, he’s picking at the grass next to blanket, “or maybe just familiar, I don’t know. But I’m having flashbacks if I’m honest. Last night was hard, this morning was hard.” Phil continues, “No, not hard, terrifying.”

 Dan’s head turns just slightly and the flash of his eyes makes Phil want to reach out and pull him in but he stays put.

 “Sorry I was a twat last night.” Dan tucks in his legs and pulls the blanket around his knees. “But I’m ok Phil. I mean I’m not, but I’m figuring it out.” 

 “Ok but that’s what scares me Dan. The only times you’ve ever scared me is when you’ve said you could handle things.” Phil’s lip is sore where he keeps biting it. “It just makes me think back to right before you started therapy. You kept insisting you were fine and then, well you weren’t. Do you remember what you said to me?”

 “No.” He answers, exasperated.

 Phil looks right at him and speaks slowly. “You said, ‘It’s getting scary Phil.’ Then there were tears. You weren’t really crying but there were tears. And I held you there. And you said you were scared. You said it a few times.” 

 “Ok, Yeah. I remember,” Dan says, “I was scared. That was a darker place than I had been before.”

 “And now? Are you scared now?”

 Dan turns his body toward Phil, finally looking at him. “Not like I was then. I’m not on an edge anymore. I would never do that do you.” 

 “Will you please come here?” Phil is really trying but he has to touch him. He’s the most important person on the planet and he can’t survive this moment without something, just a touch, he’ll take anything. 

 Dan lays his head in Phil’s lap and Phil’s fingers are instantly in his hair. It’s a fix and the itch under his skin finally subsides. He’s aware of the utter codependency, the addiction he has when it comes to Dan but he doesn’t care. 

 “I’m not going to do anything I can’t take back. This is different. I’m different.” He rolls on his side, curling against the cool air. “The thing is though, that means there’s no way out.” 

 “Jesus Christ Dan. How can you just say that?”

 “Hear me out.” Dan has readjusted his position several times already and now he sits up, one leg folded in, on leg sort of wrapped around Phil’s so they are finally, finally close. “If I’m gonna do this, if I’m gonna feel everything, I can’t stagnate, I have to keep moving forward, making my life what I want it to be. You can’t be the only good thing in my life Phil.”

 “I’m not. You have so much Dan.”

 “Whatever. Some days you are. I want to have a good life with you, not just for you or because of you. Does that make sense?” He’s brushing his fingertips up and down Phil’s neck, searching for some connection and knowing he needs it as much as Phil does brings more comfort than anything could. He nods, it’s a small thing but it’s all he’s got.

 They sit like that for some time. Dan watching Phil, Phil watching the sea, birds screaming overhead. 

 “So what were you doing last night? If you weren’t depressed or whatever, why were you up?”

 “I was writing. All night. And drawing and outlining and my brain was about to combust so that’s why the drive.” There’s almost a smile now, the sunshine Phil’s been waiting for.

 “Oh. Cool. What did you write?”

 “Welp. Phil. I was working on a script, a concept really, for a video. It’s way too long right now, I’m gonna need your help cutting it down.”

 “Of course.” Phil is lost but he waits.

 “It’s my coming out.” Dan says, his eyes expectant.

 “Coming out? Like, of the closet?” 

 “No Phil, it’s my coming out into southern American society. I’ll need a chaperone, will you escort me to my cotillion?” At least he’s laughing.

 “Ok, I’m just surprised.”

 “What do you think?”

 “I think you should do whatever you need to do to be happy.”

 Dan laughs, “Well I don’t know about that lofty aspiration, but I think it will help.” He leans back a bit, gets a good look at Phil’s eyes. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m asking. This is gonna out you too. I can’t exactly not mention the guy that made me commit to one dick for the rest of my life.”

 Phil huffs a relieved sort of giggle, “so you aren’t sad, or numb, or any of that?”

 “Not today. Just nervous, excited, anxious, terrified, maybe a little sad after writing my story down, but just normal sad.” He lays back down, so tired, like talking about this has used up the last of the adrenaline that was keeping him up. “You’re avoiding the question.”

 “We don’t have to talk about this now.” Phil says, back to the important work of stroke Dan’s hair.

 “Actually, we do. Kinda the whole point of this little trip. You’re the one that came along and uninvited bub. Can’t escape now.”

 “Yeah, I mean, say what you want Dan. I’m already out to everyone that matters.”

 Dan looks up at him. “I can think of 4 million people who matter who don’t know.”

 “Oh come on, they know. I talk about hot guys all the time.”

 “Yes Phil, I know.” Dan says with utter contempt in his voice. “And sure, the lesbians know, but what about all the people who will just assume we’re straight unless we literally leak our sex tape? What about all the people in denial because they’re just so in love with big daddy Philly.”

 “Ew. Stop.” Phil crinkles his nose. “I’m not subtle Dan. And I don’t care if they know for sure, they’ll figure it out.”

 “Ok babe. You do you. I’m just saying, you could maybe help some people.”

 “How did this become a conversation about me?” Phil watches Dan snuggle in and close his eyes. “Let’s just get through your video first. See how it goes. You know mine will be pretty low key. If I decide to make one.”

 “Alright.” Dan bats his eyelashes at Phil. It’s not intentional, just a thing that happens when he feels like this. “Thanks for hijacking my road trip. I love you.”

 “Wait, what about your family, Dan?”

 “Guess that’s step one.” He sounds so sleepy now, the words slur a bit, his breathing slow. “I’ve got till June. Maybe I’ll do it at Easter.”

 “The June video.” Phil says.

 “Has to be June.” He yawns. He looks so small sometimes. “A year is enough time thinking about it. I’ve got to rip off the plaster.”

 Everything is different. Different to last night, different to this morning, different to last year, and so different to a few years ago. It doesn’t mean an absence of fear. Loving Dan means a small corner of his heart will always be hollowed out, lying in wait for the next time he sinks. But he’s reassured, for now. 

 There’s a little shack of motel up the road, generously referred to as a bed and breakfast on the website. Phil drags Dan awake after a half hour or so and leads him to the car.

 “You can’t drive Phil.” Dan mumbles.

 “I can and I am. It’s just ten minutes. No complaining.”

 The lady at the front desk wears a scrutinizing gaze as she checks them in. Phil repeats yep just one room, more than once. 

 As they make their way up the stairs with their bags and Phil’s pillow, Dan whispers, “We’ll have to make some noise for her sake, after I get a nap.” Phil giggles looking over his shoulder.

 They choose a movie and Dan’s asleep before the title appears. Phil isn’t far behind. Eventually, he gets up and ventures out to bring back a real meal. They eat and talk about all the ideas overflowing in Dan’s mind. Phil makes Dan take a shower and he doesn’t even unzip his bag, just climbs into bed to make that noise they’d talked about. In the end, they’re rather quiet but for breathy sighs and whispered affection. Dan is happy to do this Phil’s way, to let the weight of him hold him steady and let himself be adored. And so Phil does adore him, covering his skin in kisses, keeping their bodies impossibly close. He’ll taste every sweet and bitter piece of Dan and hear the soft sounds that only he’s allowed to hear. Dan will end up draped over Phil, drifting off yet again. Silky brown curls will slip around and past Phil’s fingers again and again and he’ll remember a time when he was the only one who got to see these curls. The years of hiding so many pieces of them are coming to an end but some things, the most important things, will always belong to just the two of them.   

[virmillion]

Some Kind of Magical - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

Warnings: Past violence, let me know if you have any more

Words: 4449

    Patton splits off from the other three, carefully using the warmth of their words to build a barrier around his heart. No telling how strong it’ll need to be tonight, but he can obliterate that bridge when he gets there—his dad isn’t supposed to be home quite yet. Picking up the pace, Patton pushes his black and blue glasses higher up his nose, trying to quell the rising terror that always accompanies his walks home.

    The number of wild animals crawling out of bushes to greet him is less than reassuring—at this rate, they’ll follow him all the way back and his dad will use them as target practice. Patton shoes them off with handfuls of dried fruits from his bag, regaining his solitude by the time he reaches the front door. Thankfully, the house appears quiet, an unheard of occasion as of late. It’s a rare day when he isn’t greeted by furious yelling or pointedly aggravated silence—if Patton didn’t know better, he’d swear there was some sadistic being testing his resolve in striving toward pacifism.

    “Please be okay, please be okay, please dear Cethyphyirr be okay,” Patton chants to himself, tripping up the stairs on his untied shoelaces. He ignores the gaping frame where his bedroom door had been just that morning and drops his bag to the floor, fooling himself into thinking it would be enough of a barrier to protect him. Without so much as a glance at the sea of garbage and mess at his feet, Patton wades through the clearest path to his closet door—still attached, praise Ceth. Shoving the shelves and weapons to the side, he removes the poster blocking a shallow hole in the wall to reveal a little cove of various babbling critters.

   Tarasques and shedus and jorogumos alike peer out at Patton, each a different age and each recovering from some injury or another. Patton unrolls a cloth bandage, tearing it in the middle with his teeth and turning to the turtle-like tarasque. He patches up a hole in the shell, using his other hand to scoot aside the baying freybug that’s ventured out of the hole. The jorogumo skitters up his arm with several hairy legs, the face-like markings on its back seeming to wink at him.

   “You guys are lucky this cavity came with a size charm, you know that?” Patton sighs, watching his hand shrink each time it enters the gap to escort out another animal. The shedu’s tail puffs up, consuming a majority of the opening and growing into the space. It blocks Patton’s access to the other creatures until he can nudge the creature back to shrink down again. “Yes, Dad, absolutely I should go into Resolute,” he mutters. “Certainly, my one true calling is taking up arms against the creatures that I want nothing more than to protect. How ever do you do it, figuring out exactly what’s best for me? Even teaching me to solve my problems with my fists, to the point that my friends already know they have to restrain me.” Patton grits his teeth, clenching his hands into fists as his jaw begins to ache. He only stops at the whimpering of the freybug, which backs toward the nest with a wary focus on him. Slowly, his fists relax. “Really, Dad, you truly are a wonder to behold. One to rival the Ejnathryk itself.”

   “Patton Thyrrdyn!” A furious voice bellows from downstairs. Patton holds back a groan, quickly and methodically replacing the poster behind the weapons and shelves. The last creatures vanish just in time, as the name is repeated louder and closer than before.

   “Hey, Dad,” Patton says, descending the stairs to look at the man in the front entryway. “What can I do ya for?” He feels his pulse quicken for the ever-present dread that his dad might find the hidden creatures, but this rage doesn’t look like that of a betrayed father.

    “Care to explain why there’s dirt tracked in here?” The panic recedes, leaving only a slight irritation at such a loud yell for such a trivial complaint.

    “Guess I didn’t notice. Sorry.” Patton turns to head upstairs, to escape before the discussion inevitably turns to TryMyts, but nothing can ever be quite so simple.

    “Did they discuss Trytsu selection today?” The edge in his voice alone is enough to make Patton hesitate. “Don’t worry. I know you’ll pick the right one.” He pauses briefly, watching Patton back away with a nod. “I only want what’s best for you, kiddo. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

    “I know.”

    “So, any ideas for dinner?” A stab at conversation, and a poor one at that.

    “No, but Logan, Roman, and Virgil are supposed to come over later. We were gonna try to get started on planning our TryMyts projects.”

    “Who?” A hollow sigh takes up residence in Patton’s chest, begging to be released in a show of sheer aggravation. His dad has met all three of them several times over, and this is just an act to prolong the dying conversation. This information is the only thing keeping Patton from melting down into a stereotypical heap of groaning teen annoyance.

    “Logan Thylktor, Roman Thyrrak, and Virgil Thriyv. We’ve been to each other’s houses a bunch of times, and you even met Virgil’s mom at orientation for senior year TryMyts stuff, remember?”

    An ugly frown toys with his dad’s mouth. “The adoptive parents that don’t understand their place. Yeah, I remember those two.” It would be so easy for Patton to remark on his own mom’s absence, or how ridiculous it is to be upset that two people would willingly take in someone not related by blood, or how well-functioning the Thriyv household is, but he doesn’t. With thinly pressed lips and a slight dip of his chin, Patton retreats the rest of the way upstairs.

    In his room again, he could easily get a head start on his project, or even on putting a dent in the mess on his floor, but that would be too easy. Instead, he lifts the lid from a glass box of miniature trees and grass, hidden in an unmarked crate beneath a heat lamp in his closet. After a moment, something small and green glides from one of the branches, its mottled red tail streaking behind. Patton allows that same wistful smile to cross his face, twin to the one that always appears when his healing creatures test out their reparations—rehabilitations, as it were. The amphiptere, a little winged serpent, finally comes to a rest at Patton again, concluding its tour of his room by wrapping its tail around his finger. The other hand, resting on the floor at his side, promptly stings with the dull pain of a bite.

    “Hey,” he scolds softly, looking at the little beaked basilisk peeking out from his pile of clothes. In Patton’s defense, sometimes the mess is convenient. The reddish brown scales glow as it makes a muted guttural sound, its eyes barely cracked open. Damaged neurotoxin gland, a difficult fic to be sure, but that doesn’t mean Patton isn’t trying. The eyes, having long since recognized Patton as a protector, rather than a captor, avoid his gaze. Paralyzing its closest acquaintance probably isn’t the best course of action. Patton idly observes the progress of each of his creatures, whiling the time away until his friends can get over and ensure that his dad won’t barge in.

    “Patton? Those Loman and Rogan kids you were talking about are here.”

    He doesn’t bother to correct the names—the flub was probably intentional, anyway. Aimed at getting a rise out of Patton, prompting a reaction, proving he didn’t raise a broken boy that would never belong in Resolute. That what everything’s always been about, is trying to force Patton to stretch the extra three inches to fit in a six-foot mold. “Send them up, please.”

    Of their own volition, the creatures return to their tanks and crates and corners, hiding from the people they don’t know well enough to trust. Only Patton is allowed to be graced with their presence, exclusively due to his persistence in trying to help them.

    “Wish they’d stay out so I could meet them,” Roman comments on his way in, watching the speckled tip of the amphiptere’s tail vanish into the closet.

    “Yeah, well.” Patton shrugs, nudging the door shut with his foot and clearing a path through the rubble of clothes on his floor. “Do we want to wait for Virgil?” Rather than answer, Logan drops his weight in papers to the ground, leaving Roman to carry the conversation on his own. Patton’s eyes track the motions of a few flyaway papers, floating gently like fallen butterflies.

    “His mom said he didn’t come home this afternoon, and his mother was busy with a meeting, so his mom said he might stop by later, thanks for our time, but she really should be getting back to her notes.” Mid-sentence, Roman’s voice shifts up an octave in a remarkable imitation of Virgil’s mom. At least, as remarkable as the imitation of an adult woman can be, given that the imitator is a teenage boy.

    “So basically, we’re on our own without the sarcastically comedic comments?”

    “More or less.” Roman joins Patton and Logan on the floor, bringing his comparably meager supply of books with him. With one last sigh, Patton braces himself for the onslaught of work they have ahead of them. By the time a shadow falls over the small window on the far wall, he’s long since stopped paying attention to the outside world. He blinks, trying to force his hazel eyes to focus on what’s in front of him, to make sense of the endless lists and bullet points.

    “What about this? A battle for glory in a ring of deadly creatures, lit by Cethyphyirr to symbolize your creation of a new existence into the world of an official Trytsu?” A decent suggestion from Logan, which lies in direct conflict with the neat scrawling on the paper he holds up—schematics for a Rehabilitate project. Patton squints at the paper, trying to comprehend Logan’s cramped handwriting—despite his penchant for artistic pursuits, he could certainly stand to improve his legibility. Although the situation might be less than ideal, it’s not the worst idea to circumvent Patton’s dad’s refusal to accept a non-Resolute Trytsu.

    As Logan repeats himself for Roman to scribble the battle idea onto his notepad, Patton copies the written plan down in his own pages. “Hasn’t the whole ‘glory of Cethyphyirr’ thing been done before?” Roman pokes his cheek with an eraser, sticking his tongue out. “Not very original of a TryMyts, no offense.”

    “First off, nothing is original,” Logan says, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “Second, even if it’s been done, it hasn’t been done by you, which is what would make it stand out. Third, the point of TryMyts is not to be original.” He unfurls his remaining two fingers to gesture with his entire hand at Roman. “Every student might well do the same project, provided the result is worthy of finding a place in their Trytsu, be it that of their parents or a new one. Yours doesn’t have to be special. It just has to be effective.”

    “But originality is what makes people stand out! What would you say if someone told you your work was boring, or had been done before?”

    “In all likelihood, I would embrace the challenge of outdoing a previous accomplishment, though that should hardly be any of your concern.” The sparkle in Logan’s eyes sends a jolt through Patton’s spine, an inevitable debate waiting to ignite. “Suppose, Roman, that you were to do something entirely original. How, precisely, might you intend to pass off such a thing to your parents, if you don’t have the perfect grades to back it up? They will assume you won’t succeed if you haven’t succeeded already. Better yet, if there’s never been a safe trial run of your supposedly ‘original’ TryMyts before, how can you guarantee Pib’s safety when you attempt it?”

    Patton is already on his feet and scurrying out of the room before Roman can come up with a retort, letting Logan’s triumphant debate-mode voice fade behind him. He makes up some excuse about getting snacks, the argument rapidly escalating and drowning out his mumbles. Of course, he already knows there’s no extra food lying around the house, but that’s beside the point. Even some ice to let melt on his tongue would be enough, just something to drown out his racing thoughts over Virgil’s absence. Suffice it to say, Patton was less than thrilled to hear about Virgil not making it home, even more so that he didn’t make it to the study session. He just needs a good distraction, is all.

    Take an injured rabbit for example, on its side mere feet beyond the front door. Patton jumps down the last few stairs, ready to sprint outside and help—until his rescue is interrupted.

    “Hey, kiddo, how’s it goin’?” Eyeing the suspiciously pink glow on his dad’s face, Patton shrugs noncommittally, desperate to keep his gaze off the rabbit. “How can you not know? Any project breakthroughs? Any of your little friends planning to betray their heritage and change Trytsun?”

    “I don’t know, no, I don’t know, gotta go,” Patton says, bouncing between his feet and trying to squeeze past his dad. No dice, as the man has him trapped between the railings at the landing of the stairs.

    “What about that Thriyv kid? Did his parents decide to keep their faux-altruistic ways out of other people’s lives for once?”

    “I really don’t know. He might be over later, but I’m not sure.” For a split second, Patton lets his eyes dart to the door, where the rabbit remains. A pair of eyes gleams back at him in the darkness.

    “Hey, hey, eyes on me, kiddo. Right here.” His dad grabs his shoulder, forcing his attention to snap back. “I just want what’s best for you, you know?”

    “I know.” Ignoring the desire to remark on the peculiar way of showing affection, Patton finally slips under the arm braced against the wall. The eyes outside are closer than before. A dish of water, that’s all he needs, just a few seconds to get to the rabbit and get it hydrated and get it upstairs to safety. An ideal plan, simple enough in its success, if the faucet weren’t so slow, if all the dishes weren’t dirty, if his dad had moved sooner, if the rabbit were still warm. With his dad having disappeared to do Ceth knows what, Patton sinks to his knees beyond the door. The eyes have vanished, leaving only the vague sense of being watched as he carefully cradles the rabbit’s hind leg, snapped beyond a point of reason.

    “I’ll help you, promise,” he murmurs, doing his best not to jostle the poor thing as he takes it to his room. Roman and Logan appear completely unsurprised as he sets about wrapping the rabbit’s leg and dribbling water into its mouth with a straw. The other two carry on with their discussion of possible TryMyts ideas, a relaxing backdrop of sound as he works. For however little it’s worth, the rabbit’s eyes slowly brighten, its body heat returning over the course of far too many minutes.

    “Patton, I think we’re going to head out,” Logan says, jolting him from his concentration. “Our parents will be expecting us soon, and we don’t want to impose.”

    “No problem,” Patton replies, barely taking his eyes off the twitching rabbit. “See you tomorrow.”

    “Tomorrow,” Roman agrees, offering a wave as he follows Logan out through where a door should be and down the stairs. Patton waits for the click of the closing front door, counting the moments that follow. After seven seconds, the inevitable complaints present themselves.

    “Why did they have to stay so long?”

    “Don’t know.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “Homework.”

    “What?”

    “Homework!” An edge of aggravation laces through Patton’s voice. This whole charade is as ridiculous and unnecessary as ever.

    “Okay!” A twin spear of irritation lingers with his father’s response.

    “If you need me to be louder, don’t go off at me for complying,” Patton mutters to himself, wishing he could slam the door shut. Of course, it doesn’t exist anymore, probably burned to high Ceth by now, in the name of his dad’s twisted ideas of what being in Resolute truly means. As the echo of a pitiful excuse for conversation fades, the annoyance on both ends slowly dissipates, the chasm of a closet remaining silent. With a careful parting of the obstacles, Patton places a finger into the charmed gap, watching his fingernail shrink down. The sudden visibility reveals all of his little friends curled up on top of one another, happily dozing away. To the quiet hum of the heat lamp’s whirring, the amphiptere huffs hot air out to match the warmth on its back.

    Patton replaces the mess he’d sifted through earlier to disguise his creatures from sight, pleased at how well the posters and boxes blend in with the whirlwind of clothes and papers and projects. There, on the floor of his closet and slumped against the door, is how the morning sun finds him, an obnoxious beam on his crusted shut eyes. It takes a few slow, exhausted blinks for Patton to gather his bearings, before he jumps to his feet.

    Mutterings of “gonna be late” and “crap crap crap” and “Ceth please lend me your speed” chase Patton around his room as he tugs on the first pair of shoes he can find. The clothes from yesterday will have to do, Patton decides, shouldering his open bag and running out the front door. Granted, the stolen bedroom door is a nuisance as well as an invasion of privacy, but it certainly allows for a conveniently fast exit. Down the sidewalk and onto the pavement, the pale sun overhead offers the smallest modicum of warmth for his shivering arms, coated in goosebumps. Twin birds flock behind him, cawing anxiously for their usual morning treats. Patton obliges, scattering a handful of raisins on the ground behind him as he sprints for the school. The last dregs of students filing into the building that rapidly crowns his horizon forces his legs to beat faster, his heart rate pulsing through every last nerve ending.

    “Ceth, please, just a little faster,” Patton heaves, flinging his body into the building with reckless abandon. He collapses into his usual seat in his classroom—thankfully near the front door—and lets his head loll back as the teacher closes the door behind him.

    “Late start, Thyrrdyn?”

    “You could say that.” He lets himself laugh with the other kids, certain the bright pink burn of exertion is spreading rapidly across his face.

    “Well, you sat down before I could shut the door, so I suppose I’ll let it slide. This time.” The telltale wry grin Patton sees toying with the teacher’s lips is enough to know he’s off the hook, with no bad blood to show for it. As the attention of the class reluctantly drifts back to the front of the room, turning minds toward pretending to learn, Patton tunes it out. He can get it all from Logan or Virgil later, rather than strain his willpower to be engaged now. More important of an issue is considering whether his room and reputation are safe, should his dad decide to snoop around while he’s gone.

    The poster was definitely blocking the size-charmed nook, and he almost certainly knocked over the shelves and weapons in his rush to get out. At the very least, the mess should deter any would-be paternal inspectors of that odd spiderweb crack in the wall. There has to be something more, something else he’s forgetting, or he wouldn’t have this lingering sense of dread that something’s missing. Once more through the checklist, the heat lamp was on, the closet door was shut, the mess looked organic, everything important was contained behind closed doors, so everything should be fine.

    “The rabbit!” Patton hisses, rapping the side of his fist on his desk. He darts his eyes around furtively, thanking Ceth that no one seemed to notice his outburst, but one mercy doesn’t solve another. He was helping the rabbit, Logan and Roman left, the mini-interrogation with his dad, and he passed out on the floor. The rabbit was probably long gone by the time Patton woke up—with any luck, it had at least partially healed. With any luck, it would know to hide itself, or get out while it still could.

    With every moment that the teacher discusses whatever it is the class is supposed to care about, Patton feels his pulse pick up. If he could just run home, double check for any incriminating evidence, he could reassure himself and not have to fear his dad’s wrath. The bouncing of his eyes and the tapping of his feet aren’t exactly comforting ways to fidget, not to mention how they seem to agitate the teacher, but Patton can’t particularly find it in himself to care.

    “Patton Thyrrdyn, do you have something you would like to share with the class?” He jolts, eyes wide as they focus on the imposing adult.

    “Um, no, Myjhyrr. Sorry, I didn’t—Sorry.” Patton pulls his lips between his teeth, biting down until they tingle and the color drains away. Prodding the little teeth-shaped indents with his tongue, he smiles sheepishly at the teacher’s wary look. With a glare of warning, the teacher continues the lesson.

    Maybe he could leave at lunch and be back by the next class, if he just sprints a little faster than his lungs would like to allow—but no, no, that wouldn’t work. The higher ranking people in charge of the school started assigning teachers to block off the exits months ago. Patton is well and truly trapped, and there’s nothing he can do about it. If he could just get to the door—

    “Thyrrdyn! You know as well as I do that your record will tolerate very few further complications, and I don’t suppose you desire to toe that line. If you don’t want to repeat this year, I suggest you sit up, face forward, and pay attention.” It’s a bit difficult to discern what, exactly, is so pointed in the teacher’s words, but something in there makes Patton’s blood boil. The worst he’d ever done was give Than a much deserved nosebleed, and that’s hardly any of the teacher’s business to share in front of the whole class. As if they didn’t already know, didn’t already spread rumors to make him sound even worse, like he planned the attack instead of losing his grip on pacifism. At this rate, someone might well end up with a pencil stuck through their arm. Maybe a pen, just to spice things up from last time—which, in Patton’s defense, was an accident. It wasn’t his fault Than set his arm on Virgil’s homework after being asked repeatedly to stop. And besides, Than’s arm wasn’t the only casualty that day—Patton lost a perfectly good pencil.

    At the teacher’s withering glare, Patton lets his eyes fall to his paper, covered in unintelligible doodles and half-hearted notes. Might as well pretend to pay attention now, if only to perfect his acting for when he’ll have to feign innocence at home. No time like the present to start coming up with an alibi. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Patton was forced to be dishonest, anyway. He doesn’t necessarily want to hurt anyone, but if the good of the many outweighs the good of himself, of course he’s going to pursue the former.

    By the time Patton reminds himself that yes, little white lies are okay in a few choice circumstances, the desks around him are empty, save for the kid asleep in the back corner. The teacher comes to a halt in front of Patton, an incessant clicking sound coming from beyond the desk. As the teacher begins to once more reprimand Patton for not paying attention, the clicking solidifies into the recognizable sound of a pen being shuttered and reopened far more rapidly than necessary.

    “Thyrrdyn—” click “—you—” click “—need—” click “—to learn—” click “—to pay—” click “—attention!” Click click click. “I’m going to have to write you up if this continues.”

    “Oh, no, there’s really no need for that,” Patton says, eyes trained on the infernal clicking pen. “Just an off day, you know?”

    Click click. “It better be. Go on to your next class, but one” click “—last thing.” Click click click. “You’re aiming to switch into Rehabilitate, yes?” Click click.

    “Yeah, but how did you—”

   “Not—” click “—important. What is important is that I have a very close connection to the TryMyts advisors, including Myjhyrr Ryhanthyrri. It would be a shame if he were to find out about your poor aptitude for a place in the Rehabilitate Trytsu.” Click click click click.

   “There’s really no need for that,” Patton repeats, wincing at his lack of more extensive protests. “I’ll do better, I swear, I just need to get the ball rolling on this year. Diving headfirst back into school and all, yeah?”

   With a heavy sigh, the teacher’s eyes fly to the ceiling. The conversation needs to end soon, if Patton is to get to his next class on time, and they both know it. By some miracle, the clicking stops. His head hurts. “Look, Thyrrdyn, I just need you to pull your act together, alright? I’ve heard great things about you from other teachers, past violence excluded, and ideally I’d hoped you would keep it up for this final year. I don’t want to have to be the one to hold you back and make you redo your TryMyts, but I will, if that’s what it takes. Get it?”

   “Yep.” Patton is already sidling toward the door halfway through the teacher’s hypocritical lecture, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “I will absolutely work on that in—whoops, sorry!” He dodges a student shoving their way into the room, half-wishing he could take back the apology when he realizes it’s just Than. No, nope, none of that, clean record in front of this teacher from here on out. Patton is nice and friendly and pacifistic and will act accordingly.

   “Don’t disappoint me, Thyrrdyn.” The teacher sighs as Patton darts into the hall, out of earshot before the ominous warning can reach him.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 / Masterpost / ao3

[mythicalsecretsanta]

McLaughlin and Neal, NC State Class of 2020 (G)

This gift is for: @archionblu Hope you like it! From your Secret Santa, @one-true-houselight

Read below:

Rhett barely noticed when Link walked into the dorm room, too focused on the assignment he’d been putting off for the last three weeks.

“Hey Rhett, how’s that paper coming?”

Rhett grunted without turning. Link laughed as he swung his bag off his shoulder. “Y’know–”

“If you say ‘I told you so’, I will go dead on you.” Rhett’s tone would have been aggressive if it weren’t buried under layers of stress. He was working on a research assignment for one of the general engineering classes he and Link were both in.

“You said you weren’t going to do that anymore.”

“Don’t test me.”

Link rolled his eyes as he sat down at his desk. He listened to Rhett furiously work, letting the key tapping and page turning fill the silence in the small space. After a few minutes, Rhett pushed himself away from the desk and groaned in frustration.

“What’s up?” Link turned himself in his chair to partially face his best friend.

“This assignment is ridiculous. I don’t even know why we have to do it.”

“Ah yes, because college is known for being 100% logical all the time.” Despite himself, Rhett smiled at the wall behind his desk. Link spun back to face his own desk, his mission accomplished. He pulled out the book he needed to read for his class the next day and settled in.

That was, he settled in until he sensed a very tall presence behind him. Sighing, he grabbed some pizza chain’s pamphlet to mark his place, preparing himself for an argument. “No Rhett, you can’t look at mine.”

“Oh come on, Link. I wasn’t going to say that.” Rather than actually turning towards Rhett, Link simply leaned back until Rhett was in his eyeline. The look of innocence in his teal eyes was almost as fake as the offense in his voice, and Link was having none of it. At the sight of the upside look of disbelief, Rhett broke down. “Oh come on, I’m not gonna copy or anything, dude! I just want inspiration!” When Link’s expression didn’t change, Rhett tried on an offended look. “You don’t trust me?”

Link rolled his eyes, but sat back up and turned to face Rhett. “Oh, it’s not that I don’t trust you. But you won’t learn if you use mine.”

“Oh yeah, this assignment is going to teach me so much.”

“Not learning from the assignment. Learning to do your work in a timely manner instead of playing whatever stupid game you play-”

“Of course.” Rhett cut Link off, leaning down to get in his face. “I knew you couldn’t resist. At least I have a life outside of school.”

Link chuckled. “Ooh, what an insult. Wanting to pass means I don’t have a life. Rhett, I think you might have to consider the fact that it’s not me that’s the problem here.”

To Link’s surprise, Rhett opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to stall. They looked into each other’s eyes in silence for a bit, but before Link could process his feelings, Rhett pulled away. And before Link could then try to process Rhett’s expression, Rhett buried whatever had been written on his face.

“Fine, Link. You know what? I’ll do it myself. And it’ll be twice as good as yours!” Link shook himself out of whatever had just happened.

“All right. Good luck, McLaughlin.” Link turned around and grabbed his book, opening it to the marker. Rhett glanced down at the book, and his eyes widened.

“Let me see that.”

“The book?”

“No! The pamphlet.” Link handed the paper to Rhett. He snatched it and read it. “Link, it’s free pizza night at this place!”

“Keep reading, Rhett.”

“For couples.”

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Why?”

Link sighed. “Neither of us have girlfriends, unless you got a lot better at keeping secrets.”

“We could pretend to be one!”

Link’s breath caught in his throat for a split second.

Why was this affecting him like this?

Link was too busy in his own thought process to notice the forced casualness in Rhett’s voice. He finally responded, his voice thankfully not betraying his thoughts. “I mean, I suppose. But don’t you think they’ll have a problem with that?”

“C’mon, it’s 2017 man! No one cares anymore. Well…” Link pushed all the awkwardness (and other things he didn’t want to explore right now) away and thought about it as Rhett chattered on. Free pizza did sound fantastic.

“All right. When you’re done, we’ll go.” Rhett whooped and went back to his desk, setting to work with much more determination.

After all, there is a force that affects college students more than love, more than fear, more than anything, and that force is the prospect of free food.

“Really, that’s what you’re wearing for our date?” Rhett smirked as he called across the room to Link. Link looked down at the t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing all day.

“There’s such a thing as casual dates, you know.” But he opened his closet again and buried his face in the clothes. Rhett thought he saw him blushing-No. Rhett put that thought in the same overflowing mental box as the flutter he got when he said ‘our date’ and pushed it into the corner. He took a breath.

“Sure man. Whatever makes you feel better.” A shirt hit him, thrown from the closet. He threw it back, laughing.

“Get your shoes on, unless you were planning on going barefoot. Which, in my opinion, would be worse than my apparent wardrobe faux pas.” Link’s eyes sparkled mischievously, making Rhett’s breath stutter…

Another one for the box.

They walked across campus together, laughing and joking. The truth was, Rhett had felt this way for a long time, but had come to the conclusion that the risk of losing Link altogether was too great to reveal it. So he had made a box and lived, and usually the bittersweetness of that decision was overshadowed by the happiness of having Link as a friend.

As they got closer to the restaurant they started planning.

“Ok, we don’t want to lay it on too thick. I think holding hands should be enough.” Rhett’s tone was completely casual despite the many emotions being added to the box, and he was so busy dealing with it he failed to notice Link’s steps stutter.

“Yeah, that should do it.” They walked in silence before they spoke at the same time:

“We might want to start before we get there so it looks real.” “Can we practice now so it looks natural?”

They chuckled at this, their stereo speaking at this point an accepted quirk. They each reached out and grabbed the other’s hand, Rhett’s hand dwarfing Link’s. They settled into a comfortable position quicker than either of them expected, and they let the clasped hands swing between them.

“Sorry my hands are sweaty.” Rhett broke the silence that had descended between them, an almost imperceptible breathy quality in his voice. Link didn’t notice, or at least didn’t acknowledge it.

They kept walking, soon reaching their destination. It was usually a busy place, being a pizza place near a college campus, and tonight was even more so. As Rhett and Link walked up, they heard a voice call them. A boy ran up beside them, his earring glinting.

“Hi Tom.” Tom looked down at their hands. Before he could speak, Link hastily answered the question Tom hadn’t yet asked.

“We’re trying to get free pizza. It’s only free for couples, so we’re pretending.” Rhett smiled, ignoring the sinking feeling from Link’s hurry to clarify. C’mon man, it’s not real. He’s right.

“Nice! I wish I had someone who would do that with me.” Rhett and Link smiled, and the three walked in.

Rhett ordered two slices of supreme, and rolled his eyes at Link’s pepperoni order. Their hands stayed linked. He smirked at the pun as they walked up to the cash register.

The woman behind the counter smiled kindly at them. “Did you two boys know that pizza’s free for couples tonight?”

Rhett squeezed Link’s hand as he turned to him. “We did not. What do you know, baby?” He froze, looking into Link’s eyes. He hadn’t planned on using any kind of pet names tonight. His eyes must have looked panicked to warrant the look of concern in those bright blue eyes. Link looked at him for what felt like hours before turning to the woman.

“I guess I just got a little luckier tonight.” He smiled at Rhett, nudging him with his shoulder. Rhett found his bearings as the woman typed in the deduction and wished them a good night. He looked at the receipt she had handed him, and saw she had scribbled ‘I’m proud of you two!’. He hastily shoved it in his pocket and looked for an empty table. Tom had taken his pizza to go (“I gotta study statistics”), so they found a table for two and ate their pizza. Link carried the conversation, Rhett lost in his own thoughts.

As they walked out the restaurant, Rhett hesitated. Their con was done. Did they still have to hold–

Before he could decide, he felt someone grab his hand. He looked over to Link in surprise. They smiled and kept walking.

They didn’t let go, even after they were out of sight of the restaurant.

[bringinthebacon]

Distracted: Chapter 2- Control

Another chapter of this, not so much gore in this one... but it won't be gone for long....

It’s late when I wake up the next morning and the panic to get to class in time is only overwhelmed by the memories of the adrenaline that pounded through my body last night.

It’s late when I wake up the next morning and the panic to get to class in time is only overwhelmed by the memories of the adrenaline that pounded through my body last night. The sweet taste of Jeff’s blood on my lips and pleasure from tearing his skin to ribbons. I shake my head, banishing the thought. I will get to continue later. He can wait. A low chuckle erupts from my mouth as I realize the joke. Of course, he’ll wait. He can’t leave. He’s mine. That thought in itself make me shiver in delight. By now I’ve walked into the classroom and my smile leaves my face as I see Hana sitting and laughing with the redhead. How could I have forgotten about her. She was the reason I killed Jon. She was the most important. How could I have been distracted with the ecstasy that came with torturing Jeff? Because it’s the best thing, better than Hana.

NO!

NO! That can’t be right. Stop it!

I love Hana. She is everything.

But with Jeff we have control!

WHATEVER! WHATEVER!!! I can’t think about this right now, I’m in class.

Hana turns and waves at me and I smile, I barely catch the gleam in the redhead’s eye and the wicked grin she gives me. She has no right to look at me like that. I am no prey. I slid into my seat and glance at Ian out of the corner of my eye, why does Hana even like him? Ian knows that she loves him. I can tell. And yet he still rejects her, that makes me furious.

I can feel my anger rising up, ready to erupt from my chest. Ms. Shizuka enters the class before I lose control of myself. My teeth creak and I lean backwards in the chair, attempting to concentrate on the words that the middle-aged woman spouted. Though if I’m honest, it doesn’t really matter to me.

After class I stop by my locker before I head to lunch but the red head girl, Hana’s friend, corners me, slamming her hand against the locker next to mine. I immediately switch into the personality that my friends have come to know. A smile blooms across my face, “Hey, Mai. What’s up?”

Her face is set in a scowl, but my naïve smile is still blooming on my face. It’s easy to pretend to not see her accusing expression, Jon’s acting practice really was useful for something. “I saw you.”

I laugh, “Yeah? I see you too.”

“I saw you last night--- Dead weight sure is heavy, isn’t it?”

My heart skips a beat. She knows. She’ll tell. Hana will learn of it. I won’t get to hurt him anymore. They’ll save him, won’t they? Then she begins speaking again, “I’m not going to tell.”

A sigh heaves from my chest and I breathe deeply, still not trusting her words. She’s a liar. I already know. “I know what happened to Jon. But I don’t care. We all have our secrets. But if you hurt Hana or Jared, I swear to God I’ll tell.”

An uncomfortable laugh erupts from my mouth, “What are you talking about?” I immediately leave the joking manner behind me and close the distance between our faces, my voice dark and threatening, “Kill Hana, pfft. But if you do tell… Jared will die a bloody and painful death. And so will you.”

She laughs, her face leaving the dark undertones and morphing back into the friendly and open expression she almost always wears. She winks and turns away, heading toward the lunchroom, “Sounds like we understand each other.”

I shove my backpack into the locker and follow after her, “How did you see me anyway? Shouldn’t you be at the girl’s dorm at that time of night?”

Her face goes a rosy pink and I scoff, of course. Jared. Whatever, not like it matters to me unless one of them goes after Hana. I drop the subject and we walk silently toward the cafeteria. Before the doors open to the crowded room Mai stops in front of me, “I want to watch.”

“What?”

“You’re going to kill Jeff, right? Let me watch.”

I roll my eyes and shove past her into the room, ignoring her question and plastering a smile on my face, laughing at an imaginary joke. I join the others at the lunch table after grabbing a plate of food. Hana rarely sits with us anymore, as she usually is with those Hidden Block scum, but today, today is a good day. She laughs at Josh as he does his Joshualina impression and goes back to listening to the conversations around her. Mai shoves in next to her, flashing me an impertinent grin. I grind my teeth and sit next to Shane and Jirard, the only ones who haven’t shown improper interest in my lovely.

Hana turns to Mai and asks what took her so long. “I was talking to PBG about something.”

I feel my jaw clench and Hana asks, “What about?”

Mai winks, “Oh, I asking if I could help him with a project. He hasn’t given me an answer yet.” I can imagine the life going out of the red head slowly as I choke her, letting her lungs deplete and her body slowly shutting down from the lack of oxygen. In my mind’s eye I see her face turns red then pale as she slowly dies in my hands. I snap out of the illusion, having missed Hana’s reply.

~^v^v^v^v^v^~

After lunch I head back to the classroom and see that Mai is sitting alone, I rap on the desk and glare at her.

“Fine.”

It takes her a moment to realize what I’ve said but by the time a wide grin appears on her face I’ve already turned and slumped into my desk, thinking about strategies for soccer later today. My mind runs through maneuvers and plays, I momentarily forget that Jeff is currently out of commission and imagine him in my simulations. When I realize that he won’t be interrupting my strategy anymore my thoughts turn dark and I ponder what sort of torture I can inflict on him today. I can imagine the sweet smell of his blood on my hands and the feeling of the tip of my knife piercing his skin. I remember though, that if I want to continue with this he’ll have to heal, I don’t want to kill him anymore. I don’t—

No.

I don’t want to kill him.

I sit up and gasp in realization that it’s true. I don’t want to kill him anymore… I just want to hurt ‘im. Miss Shizuka glares at me, “Mr. ButterGamer, do you have something to share with the class.”

The other students stare at me and I put my head down again, “No.”

“Then I suggest you refrain from interrupting the class again.”

I grind my teeth and conjure up images of Jeff’s pain to keep my temper in check. I glance at the window and see Hana’s slight smile at me. My insides warm and the images of suffering temporarily fly from my thoughts. However, within minutes my attention shifts back to the agony I will cause. Back to the problem. I want Jeff to fear me.

But I also want to see the pointless hope of escape in his eye… and crush it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. A quiet sigh escapes my lips and my eyes roam the room once again taking in my year-mates quietly listening to the lecture. Seeing the shock of brilliant red makes me smile as I feel the start of an idea take shape in my mind.

~^v^v^v^v^v^~

Tight ropes cut into Jeff’s skin as he struggles against them and the dark of the closet is claustrophobic and suffocating. The gag is still lodged in his mouth and his chest still bare. The pain explodes as he finally loses adrenaline and wakes into this nightmare. Tears seep from his eye sockets though the empty hole is now covered by a small patch. The anguish is unrelenting and each part of his body screams in terror. There is no blindfold on his face but the room is dark, the only light a thin strip of gray from under the door. Each small cut and tiny slice is precise and throbs and stings. Little to say for his knee, which feels like a mallet is continuously shattering it, and the empty socket where his eye used to be. The funny thing is, if anything could be funny in this situation, he doesn’t feel any pain from the blood-soaked bandage on his face, and although he is shirtless and in the basement of Bluebell, he isn’t cold. It feels like ages that Jeff sits there. Grinding his teeth. Occasional tears slipping down his face and dripping onto his legs. Darkness and silence so enclosing he might’ve thought he was dead. All except the suffering he experienced. The lack of light eventually seeps into his brain and so when the door finally opens, the light is blinding and bright, adding further to the headache pressing at his temples. Once his vision clears the first thought that races through his head is of escape.

Mai stands in front of him, a grimace on her face as she surveys the injuries covering Jeff’s body (and the tight bandages covering grotesque horrors). His eye is wide and hopeful and she rushes forward, assurances on her breath. “Jeff! What happened to you?”

She pulls the gag out of his mouth and he breaths deeply before he answers, “PBG did this. He killed Jon too. I think he’s gone insane, we have to call the cops.”

“PBG did this? Crap. Do you think it’s because of Hana? People do crazy things when they don’t get to be with the main character. But no, we can’t call the police. He could kill more people. Or us. I have no doubt that he would.”

Jeff’s face twitches in pain and she can see his struggle to keep from crying, the emotional turmoil boiling in his mind must be fierce and violent. On one hand, the misery is more than he believed he’d ever have to bear, but on the other hand he doesn’t want more of his friends to die.

Still slightly loopy from the drugs he finds that deep thoughts only cause his brain to throb and the pain in his body feels excruciating. “Look. Why don’t I give you new bandages, maybe help you feel better? I assume he’s not going to kill you because he’s the only one who could have bandaged you in the first place.”

She busies herself searching the rooms in the moist dark and every moment that Jeff can’t see her toned body he’s afraid she’ll never return and he’ll be left to rot alone in the gloom. She returns and rewraps the injuries that PBG had inflicted the night before and when she’s close to finishing she looks again at Jeff’s marred face and sighs. “I don’t know if he’s just toying with you though, give you hope and then kill you off later. Maybe I could convince him to let me join him, not for real of course, and make sure he doesn’t kill you.”

Jeff nods, agreement the most obvious answer. She pulls a bottle of pain killers from her pocket and gives him two, “I know it’s not much and it won’t last long anyway, but maybe this will help a little.”

He accepts the drugs graciously and swallows them dry, his throat still parched and arid. And she holds up the ropes and gag, “I guess we have to put these back on don’t we. I’ll bring you water in a little while if I know he isn’t going to come down.”

He nods stoically, his sticky matted hair shifting over his face so he can’t even see out of the only eye he has left. After the Mai ties the ropes snugly around his wrists she gives him a sad smile that seems to say, ‘we’re going to get out of this’ and shuts the door, enclosing him in suffocating silence once again. And though the torture and misery of his situation seems inescapable, he feels a tiny swell of hope within his heart.