thank u, next: finale part 1
hey everyone ;)
thank u, next is finally back and this thing I wrote is so long that it's TWO PARTS LONG!! isn't that EXCITING?? (it's only two parts because tumblr won't let it fit but it's fine)
all previous chapters are at the bottom of my masterlist—read for a refresher if ya need lmao it's been a while
here we go!
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LAST TIME ON TU,N: al and race had their first date, al revealed some of his history, both boys admitted they loved each other (essentially), and race mentioned something about needing to stall....
words: 1527
warnings: cursing, death mention, cliffhanger?? :0
———
Five, Part One
“I think it’s ready.”
Race tilted his head to face his boyfriend as he said this, hands placed neatly over his stomach as he laid on the bed. Race’s quiet demeanor was misleading, as usual—a storm was roaring inside, a hurricane spinning and making his chest tighten in apprehension.
“What’s ready, Al?” Race asked.
Albert turned his head to the side as well, gazing at Race with a new light in his eyes. His smile was so wide and endearing that it nearly broke Race’s heart.
“The apartment, stupid,” Al scoffed. “We fixed it up, cleaned it, I got all the papers ready, my stuff’s all ready…” Al grinned. “I’m ready to move into it.”
And then Race’s heart did break.
Al looked so, so happy. Race knew that for Albert, getting his own place was a bigger milestone than it already would be for the average person. It meant something more than just a second floor apartment—it was a freedom Al had longed for since he was twelve, he'd said. A freedom that would rip whatever freedom Albert currently had away from him.
“You sure, baby?” Race whispered, trying not to let his voice break. “Everything’s done? There’s nothing left to prepare, nothing left to pack up?”
“Nope!” Al shook his head, eyes glinting as he leaned over to Race. “It’s done. Everything’s done. It’s gonna be mine, Antonio. All mine. Just like you.”
He pressed his lips hard onto Race’s, Race eagerly tangling his fingers into Albert’s red hair. Al’s hand was warm against his cheek, his thumb rubbing softly against him despite the intensity of the kiss. Race lost himself in Albert more than usual, hyper-focused on every detail—every freckle, every hair out of place, the feel of his hands on him, the taste of his lips and tongue, every small sound he made. Ironic how Al called him perfect, since the opposite was true.
After a while, Race was tracing his fingers over Albert’s stomach as the man rambled about how he wanted to set up the place, Race nodding every so often.
How Race’s heart shattered for him—this most undeserving man who had been nothing but endlessly interesting and funny and warm to him. Yes, Albert’s infatuation was mostly false, but Race could feel the deep friendly affection Albert harbored for him as well, one Race harbored right back. Only once before had Race let himself do that—in 1905, a boy named Sean Conlon walked into that same apartment door with a skeptical glance and narrowed eyes, and to Race’s dismay, they were friendly as well as intimate. It had broke him then, and it was breaking him now.
Through the rest of the week, it would continue to break him. Race helped Albert move into the place, not allowed to let Al get any suspicions as to why Race might have seemed gloomy. Moving in was tragically fun, the two of them laughing as they dropped boxes, picking up their contents and talking about nothing and everything. Race was surprised at his ability to keep the lump in his throat down enough to even talk to Al. Lucky, too—Albert was rather smart at figuring when something was wrong.
“I think that's everything,” Albert huffed, smiling and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I can't believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Race laughed, shaking his head. “Fast, huh?”
“Yeah, thank God. I thought that was gonna take so much longer. I'd assumed the worst,”
Al shrugged. Then he grinned, doing a small spin with his arms out in the center of the room. “But this is so great! It's all mine, and I'm responsible for it, and I make the rules—well, technically not, but still…”
Albert’s rambling faded away slightly as Race felt something in his chest. A sort of tug, like something was trying to get out of him
His heart stopped. That was so soon. Surely he had a little more time? An hour at least? He still had to tell him everything.
His change in demeanor must have been noticeable. Al was practically scanning him, analyzing anything that could be wrong.
“Babe, you oka—”
“I lied to you,” Race interrupted.
Albert went silent. His head was cocked slightly, that skeptical frown of his making Race’s heart skip a beat, that frown that meant Al wasn't just some pawn in Race’s wretched game.
“About what?” Albert asked slowly, eyes narrowed. A pang of guilt jabbed Race through the ribs as he remembered Al’s shitty past with relationships. This would be one for the books, Race supposed.
“About me. About who I—well, not about who I am. I lied about what I'm here for,” Race confessed.
“About why your mom left you here,” Al concluded. “What you're saying is that you ain't here to protect the people who buy this apartment, like you’d said to me.”
Race couldn't help but be slightly impressed. Albert’s expression remained rather neutral, his actual anger probably fighting with his infatuation with Race. Al was doing a good job at not letting either side win.
“No, I'm not here for that,” Race sighed. He had to get this over with. Maybe it'd hurt less that way. “When my family first moved to New York, my mom was at a loss as to where to go. Not many people just welcomed immigrants like that, y’know? And then we found this apartment. The landlord charmed my ma’s pants off—he was the first nice person to us in the city. But then he changed.
“He stopped caring about us. He didn't get anyone to fix anything when things were broken, no one cleaned anything. He took advantage of the people in this building, knowing no one could go anywhere else. He just took our money and kept the place in shambles. And so I died from the conditions—that part’s true.
“As I was dying—stay with me here, Albie, we don't have much time—my mother cursed me with haunting this apartment, and….making anyone who walks into the door with intentions to buy...instantly fall in love with me. It keeps me alive—the more people, the longer I get to live.”
Race hugged himself, willing the feeling in his chest to wait. Albert looked paralyzed, with fear or confusion or anger Race couldn't tell.
“So...so none of this was real? I-I don't...I don't love you right now?” Al questioned, eyebrows knit together.
“It's real to an extent,” Race explained, his heart cracking as Albert’s face dropped further. “I just...I gave you the initial infatuation, and then amplified the feelings you caught for me.”
“The feelings I caught?” Al scoffed. “Like you don't have them.” Then Albert froze. “You don't have ‘em, do you. You never did. That was just my stupid head telling me that you did, wasn't it.”
Race shook his head wildly. This was going worse than he thought it would. “No! No, Al, I promise you I do. I fell for you, I didn't mean to, but I—”
“Didn't mean to?” Albert seethed. If he was this worked up, time must really be up soon, Race noted sadly.
“It hurts less that way,” Race decided to admit. “I've been doing this for centuries now. My Ma wants revenge for eternity and I'm the pawn she needs to play it out.”
“This is fucked up,” Al said, tone decisive and expression stiff. “You're fucked up. Get the fuck outta my apartment, right now, you lying sonofa—”
“I’m afraid I can't do that,” Race said, the words coming out of him rather than him actually saying them. He was starting to feel a little distant, but he had to hold on. Just a little longer.
Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You're not physically attached to the place. Your words, not mine. Get out.”
“Can't leave this time,” Race shook his head solemnly.
“Then fuck you. I'll leave,” Albert bit out. Approaching the door, he scoffed, “if I didn't fuck a ghost, then you must be a goddamn demon, fucking prick.”
Race didn't say anything—couldn't, rather, as Al tried to open the door. He jiggled the knob a few times, then looked at Race.
“I didn't lock this,” Al stated. His eyes were wide. “Did you?”
“Not exactly,” Race murmured, looking at his feet. “I can't leave, which means you can't leave, either.”
“Race?” Albert breathed, back flush against the door as fear flashed in his eyes. “What are you saying.”
“I’m running out of time,” Race said instead. “I just...I need you to know that I've loved you. I'm in love with you, I swear on my mother’s soul I am. And I'm sorry you have to pay for it. I'm so, so sorry…” He felt tears slide down his cheeks.
“Race, for what?” Albert demanded. “What's- what’s going to happen?”
“I'm not part of what comes next, okay? I don't want this, I don't...want this…please…”
The tugging was too strong. He'd pushed it off for too long; he was out of time. Race felt his mind slip away from him, and then he was gone, torn away from Albert and leaving him to go through what was next alone.
———
haha what the fuck does THAT mean? read part two to find out!
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