So where do you go
Oh, whenever you disappear
I can't seem to find you when you slip into the night
So where do you go
I wanna follow you down, down
Down where your secrets hide
Won't you let me inside?
— Flor, "Where Do You Go?"
Being homeless sucked.
Because his body was caught in a perpetual cycle of sleep deprivation, Theo usually crashed into an exhausted sleep within a few minutes of his head touching the grey hoodie Liam had left in his truck one day. He hadn't asked for it back, so Theo assumed he'd forgotten about it or didn't need it. He wasn't a thief; he hadn't stolen it from Liam, he rationalized. He just . . . hadn't returned it—yet.
Instead, every night after he parked his truck in a dirt lot teeming with weeds and overgrown grass near an abandoned warehouse or somewhere else deserted, quiet, and therefore more likely to escape the sheriff's department's notice, Theo shaped the hoodie into a makeshift pillow, palms smoothing over the precise folds he created, memory flitting against his will to the beta with the earnest blue eyes and the mouth that tipped in a smile with as much ease as it curled in a scowl. No matter how fast he slammed shut the lid on images of those flashing eyes, it was never fast enough—never fast enough to keep out a dull ache in his chest and a sharp dip in his stomach.
Unless he was particularly unlucky and it rained, Theo never slept without cracking the car windows at least a half inch. On some nights a breeze thrust the scent of dew-brushed earth into the car; on others, he dozed off with molecules carrying the smell of heavy, smoke-tinged oak trees slowly seeping in and tickling his sensitive nose. Allowing just a bit of the outside air in kept his throat from closing up with a feeling of claustrophobia.
The unforgiving vinyl of the truck's backseat didn't make for the most comfortable bed, but it beat sleeping under a bridge, in a piss-stained alley, or worst of all, in an underground tunnel crowded with memories of slick, iron-tinged blood and a macabre symphony of screams echoing off walls that perpetually pressed in against him, against the boundaries of his skin and his mind—close and closer yet. Stifling. After his years with the Dread Doctors, if he never saw a tunnel again it would be too soon.
When he curled on his side and closed his eyes, pulling a thin, threadbare blanket up over his shoulder, the hoodie's worn fabric felt soft under Theo's face. And if, maybe, he sometimes rubbed his cheek against it like a cat brushing against its owner's legs, well, there was no one there to see him and mock him for doing so. On the cusp of sleep, with his body tucked in and made as small as he could make it, Theo would pretend he heard the thrum of another heartbeat, felt the steady heat of someone else's chest pressed against his back. Someone who smelled like fresh-cut grass warmed by a June afternoon sun.
If the thump of a deputy's fist against his car window didn't force him awake only a couple precious hours into the night, lurid dreams of his sister whispering, "Theo . . ." while she stalked him on pale, bare feet with the end goal of ripping her stolen heart from his chest drove the sleep from his eyes.
The fatigue, though, remained.
What point was there in complaining about it to anyone? Or even dwelling on it in his own mind? Whatever the Dread Doctors had done to him, he was still a killer. He, Theo, had chosen to kill, and not for reasons any decent person would deem justified. Certainly not the man whose life he couldn't seem to stop saving.
Survival. There had been a time when he'd yearned for power. For uniqueness. For belonging, even. Now? Mere survival. That's all Theo needed. That's all he wanted. A glimpse of blue eyes and a stubborn chin materialized in his head. Liar. Survival might not be all he wanted, but if life owed him anything, it was that, and nothing more.
Sometimes, after Tara had chased him from sleep into wakefulness, Theo buried his face in the grey hoodie he'd kept and breathed, slow and deep, dragging the traces of Liam's scent that still lingered into his lungs and holding them there until his rabbiting pulse slowed. Until his shaking limbs stilled and his claws and fangs retracted. Until his harsh, panting breaths no longer rent the sour air in the car, and the acid tide that warped and corroded his veins rolled back out. Leaving cold sweat sliding down Theo's temples and prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms.
But just like the ocean tide it mimicked, the sensation of being hunted; of waiting for icy fingers to scrape his chest, receded only temporarily, always returning. Always.
Theo yawned, jaw cracking, and leaned his side against the fingerprint-smudged glass door to the gas station convenience store. A bell jangled as he stepped inside. Perfume, high alcohol content and smelling of something sickly sweet and artificial—cotton candy, maybe?— hit like a bomb; made his eyes water. Behind the checkout counter slumped a woman with shoulder-length brassy blonde hair and about two inches of black roots. At the sound of his throat clearing, she turned a page in the magazine held in her hands.
"Yeah?" Her eyes never strayed from the magazine.
"Could I borrow the bathroom key?" he asked.
"Not 'less you plan on getting gas or buying something." She frowned and twined a brittle chunk of hair around her finger, still without looking up.
Foregoing an answer, Theo rolled his eyes and moved closer, set his forearms on the edge of the counter, and waited. Thickly mascaraed blue eyes finally dragged up his arms, over his chest, stopped at his mouth—even though his skin chilled, Theo licked his lips very slowly and listened for the telltale increase in her heart rate—and traveled on to meet his gaze. Shoving aside how his stomach clenched at this conscious use of his appearance as currency, Theo forced his mouth to curl up in a smile that hinted at things he was never going to give. (He'd tack it to the ongoing tally of his crimes.) "Please." One word, delivered soft, sincere, and just shy of flirty because of the calculated trajectory of his raised eyebrow.
Bam. Mission accomplished . For his effort, the woman rewarded him with a head tilt and a dazzling smile complete with a flash of yellowed teeth streaked with a smear of purple lipstick. "Sure, honey," she said, and Theo tried not to flinch when she slid her fingers against his as she handed him the key she'd pulled from beneath the counter.
"Thanks." He backed away; she wiggled red-tipped fingers at him and leaned forward, making the v-neck of her shirt gape. He didn't look.
Jade sucked my dick here, proclaimed a snatch of graffiti, complete with a helpful arrow, scrawled in hot pink on the bumpy beige wall of the gas station bathroom, and Theo pressed the heels of his hands against his dry, gritty eyes and wondered if he was back in hell. He worked to breathe through his mouth and minimize the chaos of odors that beat against his nose. The plastic baggie he pulled from his back pocket held a travel size tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush sporting sad, splayed bristles. He brushed as quickly as he could, then spat into the chipped sink, gaze jumping over the brownish spots splattered there. He really didn't need to know what they were.
Lukewarm water gurgled and spat from the rusted faucet and left an unpleasant metallic taste he couldn't ignore. But that didn't stop him from drinking three handfuls of it from cupped hands before he splashed it over his face and let it run down his chin.
He yanked a rough, brown paper towel from the dispenser and used it to dry his face, then tossed it in the overflowing trash can to his left. Sandpaper would have been less abrasive. When he reached to pull out another paper towel, he found the dispenser empty. "Fuck." Shaking his head, he grabbed several sheets of cheap, thin toilet paper, folded and wet them. Mouth twisted in a grimace, he lifted his shirt and Liam's hoodie, which he'd layered over it because he'd felt cold, and swiped at his armpits.
He didn't intend to catch his reflection in the warped mirror, but it happened anyway. He scrutinized his own image with a critical eye. Purple half-moons ringed his narrowed eyes. A few days' worth of stubble shadowed his chin, jaw, and cheeks. "I look like shit," he muttered. Head ducked, he sniffed his pits, grimace deepening as the ripe odor thwacked him over the head. I smell like it, too.
Unfortunately, his hobo shower hadn't done as much good as he'd hoped it would.
He waited until 11:30, when he knew Liam would be in school and his mother would be at work. Dr. Geyer's schedule at the hospital was more unpredictable, so Theo tucked his truck into a cul-de-sac down the street from Liam's house and walked the rest of the way, carrying his old, black duffel bag. Everywhere he looked he saw neat, two-story houses circled by trim, green lawns plucked, and no doubt chemically treated, to keep out unsightly weeds.
Though Liam's mom and stepdad usually parked their cars in the driveway instead of in the garage, Theo didn't assume they were out just because he didn't see their cars. Upon reaching the front door, he trained his eyes over his shoulder to check if he'd been followed, by hunters or anyone else. Satisfied he hadn't been tracked, he focused his enhanced senses on Liam's home and scanned for heartbeats inside to confirm he was alone, before he lifted the red-hatted garden gnome to the right of the front porch and slid out the extra key he'd watched Liam fumble from there the night before when he'd forgotten his own keys inside the house.
Liam might be impulsive and quick to anger, but he wasn't stupid. Theo hoped he got lucky enough that if Liam caught his scent in the house once he came home later, he would be fooled into thinking it lingered there from when he'd hung out at Liam's the previous night. They'd alternated watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns with him staring at Liam while he shoveled slice after slice of Pizza Hut stuffed crust pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Splotches of tomato sauce had dotted Liam's plush, pink lower lip, and Theo had bitten his tongue, tasting blood, in order to keep from reaching for the messy beta seated tantalizingly close to him and kissing him clean. Control and self-control were paramount; spending time with Liam brought Theo unnervingly near to relaxing his white-knuckle grip on both.
He'd planned to get in, shower, and leave. But his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything yet, so he stopped in the kitchen. The idea of stealing food from Liam, who'd invited him into his house just last night, didn't feel right.
A long, rectangular kitchen table topped with brown, glossy wood and flanked by a bench on one side and three chairs on the other sat slightly off-center in the large kitchen. Overstuffed cushions called to Theo; he lowered himself into one of the chairs and sighed, his whole body loosening. Hunger pangs rippled through his stomach again. A quick rifle through his duffel bag netted him a snack-size bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.
(Theo didn't have much of a craving for sugar. Salt was more his speed. Especially salt and vinegar chips. There was just something about the lip-puckering combination of sour and salty that he couldn't resist.)
At the moment, he could've gone for something with a little more protein, but beggars couldn't be choosers. A few minutes later the bag lay empty on the table in front of him. Theo leaned back in his chair and slid his fingers into his mouth, one by one, the movements slow and precise, and sucked off the salt and crumbs. To his right sat a mostly-empty bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a sprinkle of mini marshmallows. He couldn't imagine it belonged to either of Liam's parents. A smile crept over Theo's face.
Sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains that hung over the big window at his back, warming his neck and shoulders. His stomach, well, it would be inaccurate to say it felt anywhere close to full. Still, the gnawing emptiness had been appeased by the chips . . . The kitchen was warm and quiet; Theo's eyelids drooped. With his eyes shut, he blindly pushed away the empty packet and sagged forward. His crossed arms rested on the placemat on the table, and his head dropped onto his arms. Just five minutes. Then I'll shower and . . .
A firm hand gripping the muscle between his neck and shoulder jerked Theo awake.
Theo leaped up, sending the chair he'd been sitting on clattering to the tile floor. A growl rumbled up from the cavern of his chest. Breathing hard, balanced on the balls of his feet, he shot his clawed hands in front of him.
"Dude, easy. It's just me."
Liam.
"Hey," Liam said, voice a touch softer now. "A little less 'Grrr. Argh,'" he added, "would be good right about now. Put away the fangs and claws."
Theo forced his claws and fangs to retract, then concentrated on slowing his breathing and his heartbeat. He turned away and righted the fallen chair, then folded his body back onto it, staring down at a dark knot on the surface of the wood table.
The chair to his left scraped across the floor. Liam sat; the warmth from his body grazed Theo's skin, making him want to curl against him and fall back asleep. That wouldn't be weird, would it?
"Is that—? Are you—?"
"What, Liam? Just spit it out already," Theo replied, his voice a tired echo in his ears.
"Theo, what are you doing here? And why are you wearing my shirt?"
Fuck. Theo dipped his head to peek at his own chest, and almost groaned aloud. Almost. He was so fucked.
A/N: Thanks for reading! What do you think? I would love to hear from you, regardless of whether you like this, hate it, or fall somewhere in-between.
I'm trying to build a habit of writing a little each day, so I was clicking through tumblr on Halloween, searching for a trigger. I stumbled on a post that asked what a character's favorite candy was—the one that he'd pick out and save for himself. This story's inspired by that post, which I would love to link to, only I can't find it. :(
If you want to send me a prompt or fangirl with me about Liam/Theo on tumblr, you can find me at onlymorelove DOT tumblr DOT com.