TITLE: Diamond
AUTHOR: Polly Burns
EMAIL: go_rimbaud@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://rednotebook.tripod.com/polly
SPOILER WARNINGS: Um, I guess for "Seeing Red", mainly, though there is vague mention of things that happened in earlier episodes, mainly "I Was Made to Love You" and "Dead Things".
RATING: PG-15, I would say, for naughty swear-words, boy-kissing and implied m/m sex.
DISCLAIMER: These people don't belong to me, they belong to some guy named Joss something whom I have never met. I did not force these people to do anything vile, because they are figments of somebody's fucking imagination (not mine).
NOTES: This switches back and forth between the present (when Jonathan and Andrew are in jail) and the past (when they are not). Just thought I'd clear that up for you.
"So, uh, what was it like?" Jonathan spoke even more haltingly than he usually did, his nasal voice hitched all the way up to his forehead.
"What was what like?" Andrew sighed out the words. He sounded the way a dry riverbed would sound, if a dry riverbed could speak. His head hurt terribly from its collision with that overhang in the amusement park. Fleetingly, he had thought that he might have a concussion; he had hoped for one, for a moment. For a moment, a brain aneurysm had been his dearest dream. A dream of a cloud-soft hospital bed, a morphine drip, a bosomy nurse. That episode where Mulder had been jacked into a computer-generated reality and found himself in a hospital gown, a blonde in a little white dress cooing to him… Wonderful, until they'd amputated-
"You know," Jonathan whispered, "you and Warren."
They were in Sunnydale lock-down, in a holding cell with half a dozen unsavory types; this was not the place to speak too loudly about Andrew and Warren.
"Leave me alone." Andrew tried for a growl, but came up instead with his natural whine. "Just shut up about it," he snapped, not trying for a growl this time. Jonathan was the only person he ever even came close to snapping at. It was the height difference. Had Jonathan been a few inches taller, Andrew might have been intimidated by him, too. It might have Jonathan that Warren had chosen. Andrew didn't want to think about that.
"You were gonna sell me out," Jonathan said, louder, almost yelling, "The two of you were gonna just leave me there. With Buffy! And the police!"
"Jonathan, just leave me alone. My head is killing me."
Andrew looked down. The concrete floor was a cool shade of gray, like the surface of some planet in deep space, a planet with no atmosphere and no sunlight, just waterless-snow storms and the powdery softness of black nothingness… A planet named Oblivion. Andrew rather liked the thought of that.
"Did you really think he loved you?" Jonathan asked. He had meant to sound reproachful, mocking, but instead, his voice was soft, concealing all the hardness he felt inside. Inside was rock-solid fear, growing outwards from his heart, calcifying his viscera.
"I don't know," Andrew murmured, "I never expected him to, to any of it, so when he did, when he said," he paused, "I, I couldn't stop wanting it to be true."
"I'm starting to think that he is a colossal whack-job."
Andrew looked up. "Why? Because he got involved with me? Cos only a crazy person would want me?" A hot haze settled over his eyes, it told him that he was going to cry, and cry well. Ever since he was a child, he'd always cried at the worst possible times and places. First school, now jail. No, he wouldn't- He straightened.
"No," Jonathan intoned, "not cos he got involved with you. More cos, um, he tried to kill Buffy. Three times. And he as good as killed Katrina. He obviously has a couple of screws loose if he's into killing people! Murder's not a pass-time of the sane."
Andrew would never admit it, but Jonathan's voice, his manner of speaking, made him sound eternally derisive; he could make any situation sound so trivial, and it comforted Andrew now.
"Oh," Andrew said. Roused from anger, he had no reason to look Jonathan in the eye any longer. Back to the planet with the gray surface. Pretty blonde with tits out to there and a big needle full of. Oblivion.
"It's all right," Jonathan said, "About you and Warren. Not the part where you treated me like crap, or made me dress up in demon skin, or the part where you were gonna run off with him and leave me for the police to find- but I don't care, about you and him, um, being together- I mean, I don't think any less of you."
"That's super."
Jonathan began to stand. "Look, I can see you don't feel like talking to me right now, so I'll just go sit by that guy with the skull tattooed on his neck."
Andrew's head shot up, and against his will, he found himself unable to look away from Jonathan's eyes. Doe eyes, he thought, and almost said it, but instead, he said, "Stay."
"Stay?" Jonathan moved closer to where he had been sitting.
"Yes. Please." When Andrew said Please, Jonathan sat, or rather, dropped back down. He wouldn't have gotten far anyway, his knees were so weak.
He looks so together, Andrew thought, how can he be? "This is so fucked up," Andrew blurted out.
"What part, exactly? The part about us being betrayed or the part about us being in jail? Or the part about going to real jail, to prison? Or what about Katrina and almost killing Buffy?"
"All of it, really."
"If I ever see Warren again-"
"Don't." Andrew looked at the floor again.
"Don't what?"
"Don't talk about seeing him again."
"Why? Cos you think we will or you think we won't?"
"I don't know. Both," then in a voice barely audible, "He broke my heart."
There had been days when Jonathan would have sworn by all that was good and holy that Andrew, and Warren too, for that matter, didn't have a heart. He could be such a cold, selfish prick, both of them could, but it was somehow more hurtful coming from Andrew. Sometimes Jonathan thought that Andrew had a freezer compartment for a rib cage, with a frozen steak where his heart would have been. Or maybe he was like the Sahara on the inside, sand and dust. Dust for a heart, like the Velveteen Rabbit, Jonathan's mind unwillingly made the association. He'd loved that book as a kid. The Velveteen Rabbit, made real by love…
"If you want," Andrew continued, "I'll tell you about, about us."
"You don't have to." Jonathan felt as though he should put his arms around him or something, but that would be asking for trouble. They looked like a couple of little girl's dollies…
"No, I want to. I never told anybody." Who would I have told? "I want you to know."
"Well, all right. If it'll make you feel better."
Andrew cleared his throat, a little hollow rattle-sound. "It was almost winter," he began-
It was almost winter, the cinnamon, autumn-soft air was growing bitter, the nights and early mornings no longer hinted at but spelled out explicitly what was to come. Winter- as unnatural as cancer in Sunnydale, whose very name promised eternal summer. The chill in the air went beyond the weather; dark days were coming, and dark things with them. Winter is a sorcerer's season. Andrew could not help but feel excited; it were as though at any moment, something improbable and amazing could happen. He had lived his entire life in some like state of anticipation, but now it seemed like Fate would finally deliver. He felt as though he had a chance. A chance for what, he did not know, but he was going to take it.
Jonathan was out, this day, gone to some faraway place for a semi- obscure text. They couldn't go to the Magic Box to inquire about it, and no place else in town would have it. So Jonathan left.
Warren and Andrew were alone in the "lair". Andrew still thought of it with quotation marks. In his mind, the quotation marks would be erased once they managed to pull off something big without the Slayer knocking it all down in the end. Then it would be just the lair.
Andrew was playing a video game. He was up to some very high level, so high, he couldn't remember what it was if he didn't look down to the lower left side of the television screen. He was doing better than ever. He felt… euphoric.
The footsteps behind him barely registered to his ears. All he could hear were electronic sounds, all he could see were pixels. So, he nearly pissed himself when he felt hands in his hair. For a second, he thought of flying monkeys, and then he nearly screamed.
"Hey, Andrew." Warren's voice sounded rich and low as he stretched out the syllables of Andrew's name.
It was over, he was dead. D-E-A-D, dead. He watched his pixilated self dissolve to nothing. He jumped up from the floor, where he had been sitting, making Warren step back as he did.
"You dick!" he yelped, "I can't believe you did that!"
Warren held his hands up, like he expected to have to push Andrew back. "What? It's just a video game!"
"Yeah, but you messed me up! I was almost there… I don't go up to you when you're, uh, doing stuff and make you lose your concentration so that all your hard work is for nothing!"
"It's. just. a. video game. Andrew. I'm sorry." He attempted to touch his arm.
"Don't touch me." He sounded more horrified than angry.
"God, I'm sorry. Shit, man, don't have an ulcer."
"I just don't like people touching me," he said, quieter, now looking to the ground. He expected Warren to laugh, or to walk away, or to do anything other than say,
"Why not?"
"What do you mean 'Why not'?"
"'Why not?' as in, Why do you not like people touching you?"
Andrew folded his arms over his chest. "I just don't." He kept his eyes to the floor, willing Warren to walk away. Warren stepped closer instead. It must be Opposite Day, Andrew thought, and then, God, I'm stupid.
"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Warren's voice was like the voice one would use if one were speaking to a wild animal; his eyes were laughing.
"Hurt, no, it doesn't hurt…" Warren's hand was gradually getting closer to the place it had nearly made contact with before.
"Then. why. not?" Warren continued to speak in that steady, measured, calming voice. It was unsettling.
"Warren! Quit messing with me!" Andrew yelped again. He had to stop sounding like a puppy that kept being stepped on, it would get him nowhere in life.
"I'm not messing with you." Warren's hand was on his arm, and even though he was fully dressed, Andrew felt like they were skin-to-skin. He couldn't bear it. He tried to pull away, but Warren was quick, and tightened his grip.
"Let go," Andrew almost-whispered. This didn't look good. Over the years, he had developed the heightened senses of an animal that is often hunted for food or sport. Mainly sport. The tone of Warren's voice was wrong, and there was something else as well. Pheromones? Had Warren turned on him? Just make it quick, he thought, and doing so made him feel for a moment just exactly as he did in the hallways, back in high school.
"I know," Warren said, suddenly, after what seemed like an hour.
"You know what?" Andrew tried not to sound hysterical. Had Warren lost it? Was he imagining up things to accuse him of? He knew what?
"I know about you, what you are."
Andrew could feel the blood rushing away from him, like the ebb tide, like the juice being sucked out of a Popsicle. He was light-headed, blushing and blanching at once, like cherry-vanilla ice cream.
"What?" he spat and tried to pull away, but Warren was stronger than him.
He looked down, shyly, Andrew thought; his eyelashes looked sable- soft and carbon-black against his milky skin. It was "milky" for Warren, "china" for Jonathan, "pasty" for Andrew.
"I know what you are, because I'm that way, too."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Andrew was having a hard time not sounding hysterical.
"You're gay."
"What the- no, I am not!" Andrew laughed. Hysterically.
Warren rolled his eyes. "Okay, bisexual, have it your way. But I know."
"Because you're gay too, uh-huh, right." He forgot about Warren's hand on his arm. "What is this, Opposite Day? Does that make Jonathan tall, then?" Andrew laughed again, mainly at how dumb he was sounding, "So we're a couple of queers and Jonathan is going to quit crime and join the NBA, right?"
Then Warren laughed, softly. The way he was doing everything, so softly, was making Andrew insane. What is he, high, or something? Why is he acting this way?
"Take a deep breath."
"I don't want to take a deep breath, I want you to let go of me."
"I don't want to let go of you."
This time the laughter came out of Andrew in spasms, like sobs. "What are you going to do?"
The resignation in his voice is so, it's bittersweet, Warren thought, smiling on the inside, It's like he's been through this before, thinks he knows what's coming. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's comforting."
"I won't."
"So, what are you going to do, stand here with your hand on my arm like this forever?" As soon as he asked the question, Andrew winced- somehow, he knew that had not been a good idea.
"No, I'm going to kiss you."
"You're going to what?"
Warren stepped closer, until there was hardly any space between them. "I won't do it if you ask me not to." He practically said the words into Andrew's mouth; he could feel Warren's breath warming his lips, slightly electric. "Tell me not to, and I won't." He moved a little from one side to the other.
"I don't-" Andrew began, then stopped to breathe, "I- Why are you doing this?" That was easy, make Warren think, then he'd forget, and Andrew would forget, and they'd both forget.
"I'm doing this because I want to, because you're beautiful and I'm attracted to you. Because I want to know what you taste like."
"You don't have to talk to me like that, I'm not, I'm not some girl."
"That's obvious, but I meant what I said."
"Beautiful? On Opposite Day?"
"On any day."
"Oh."
Andrew found himself swaying back and forth, as Warren was doing. Everything was making him dizzy, especially Warren's breath on his lips, and the long, strong, white hand that had somehow moved from his arm to his shoulder to his neck to his cheek without him knowing. I'll faint, Andrew said to himself, he'll forget.
"Just say that you don't want me to."
"Want you to-"
"Just say it." Warren was caressing his cheek. Warren didn't do things like that.
"Yes. I mean-" And then blackness, because Andrew had automatically closed his eyes. Warren's lips were pressed to his, opening like fruit that's been split. Andrew opened his mouth, to breathe, but instead of air he got pliant flesh and wintergreen-scented spit and teeth worrying at his lower lip. Finally, he was allowed one breath, and then pulled back under, to darkness and wetness and heat that made him believe in an eternal summer. He was drowning, moving as though with the tide, Warren's hands on his face, his arms, his waist. Andrew felt as though he were drowning in Warren.
When there was again brightness and cool air, Andrew stumbled away from Warren, who was an ocean in the shape of a boy. "What did you do?" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Forget already?"
"Don't make jokes! This is not funny!"
"Why, because you liked it?"
Andrew couldn't think of an answer to that. He couldn't say Yes, because even though Warren had kissed him, it felt like giving in, somehow, like he would be asking something of him. He couldn't say No, either- he was a terrible liar.
He was saved from having to come up with an answer. "Come here," Warren said. His voice was so gentle, Andrew couldn't help but do what he was told. He closed his eyes, it was easier to deal with things in the dark, and he was pulled into Warren's arms. All he could do was let out a small Oh, and lean forward. He was so steady, Warren, he could hold them both up.
"Tell me you want me to kiss you again," Warren's breath against his ear. He shouldn't feel this way, not in the places he was feeling this way, not with Warren pressed against him.
"I- I can't. Please, just, just let me go." And then, as if by magic, Warren's arms fell away and he stepped back. And then, it was bright coldness again.
"I can't believe he did that," Jonathan said. It felt trite to do so, but he shook his head. He found that he was blushing, just a touch, at the tips of his ears; he didn't quite know why, and he hoped that Andrew didn't notice.
"That's how he does, did things."
"So, um, what happened next?"
"It was a week later. You were out again. I think you needed wormwood, or something."
Jonathan looked down. "Yeah, I did."
"Well, it was a week later-"
It was a week later, a week since Warren had kissed Andrew, and by doing so, usurped every object of Andrew's obsession and begun starring in his dreams, both sleeping and waking. Andrew was nervous all the time; he could not keep his eyes closed for very long, so most of his dreams were waking, rather than sleeping. Fawn-colored circles began to fade in around his eyes- And that most of his dreams were day-dreams made him even more nervous, because he had control, he could decide to not think about Warren, but for whatever reason, he couldn't, or didn't want to. It's nice, he supposed, having a crush- if that's what you would call this. A crush, on a real, live, non-pixilated, flesh-and-blood human being. A male human being. Perhaps nothing is ever the way you want it to be…
He felt sweet on the inside, like all of his fluids had become sugar water; every pore of his skin felt like a small eye, looking, watching, waiting. He was nervous, waiting, dreading, unable to decide what he wanted. The good thing about Warren was that he always did everything, and all a person had to do was react. Andrew could react like a motherfucker. So, it was waiting, and he didn't have to decide right that moment if he was dreading or anticipating, that could be determined in retrospect. How he felt when Warren acted, if he liked it or he didn't, that would tell him what to feel, tell him how he had always felt. It would color his world.
All he had to do was wait for Warren. Warren would act, it was what he did best.
"I want to apologize," Warren said, finally.
"What for?" Andrew was careful not to look at him. He was reacting, not acting.
"For the other day, for making you uncomfortable, I guess."
"Oh, that. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not apologizing for the way I feel, though." Andrew looked up briefly, and then back down at the magazine he had been reading. "Just for the way I acted," Warren continued, "I still feel the same way, I just, I don't want to have you think that I'd force you to do anything you didn't want to do."
Andrew didn't look up. "And how do you feel?"
"I think- God, this isn't easy."
"It's all right."
"Andrew, I think I'm falling in love with you."
"That's not funny."
Warren sat down next to him. "No, it's not, because it's true."
Andrew tried to move away, to back away, but he was sitting in the corner and could not. "St-stop it," he stammered, "You're, you're lying. This is a joke, it's a cruel, sick joke. I, I won't fall for it."
"Please don't be upset. I swear to you, this isn't a joke, and I'm not lying to you."
"You, you do this to girls all the time, just to get in their pants. I'm not a challenge for you, I'm not a toy, or, or, or a robot. This isn't a game."
He closed his eyes and suddenly, he was twelve years old again, at some birthday party. Suzy Keller had just kissed him. Then Jenny Richards, Suzy's friend, had told him that it was on a dare. How she'd said it, so casually, as if she expected him to laugh along with her. People were so- He'd thrown up red fruit punch and white cake.
Heat rose up the lily column of his throat, coated his face like a delicate stain.
"I know, I know that, I don't want it to be."
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest, as though it were all he could do to keep his heart from escaping him. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. Warren was supposed to come on all smooth, like the other day, ambiguous, kind of menacing, dark. He'd say some more words and Andrew would get light-headed, and then they'd fool around. He wasn't supposed to sit up straight, his knee not two inches from Andrew's and say words like "falling" and "love", like a, like a, like a gentleman. Even Andrew knew that Warren wasn't one of those.
"What do you want from me?"
"What do I want from you?"
"Yeah."
"I want, I guess, I'm asking you for a chance."
"A chance to what?"
"A chance to love you, to show you that I do, in a way you can understand, in a way that you can trust."
Andrew looked straight into Warren's eyes. "I'm not gay."
"All right, I didn't mean to say that you were gay- but you aren't exactly straight, either."
"How do you know?" Andrew murmured.
"I felt it."
"What, you're psychic now?"
"I felt it when you kissed me."
"You kissed me!"
"When I kissed you, sorry. You were, um, excited."
Andrew felt that heat again. Just when it seemed to have left, it always came back, that heat. His face and his neck were flushed, he had a hard time keeping his breathing regular. "That doesn't mean anything! It's an emotionless physical response-"
"It's all right. I felt it, too. I liked kissing you."
Before he could stop himself, Andrew asked, "Why?"
Warren laughed, just a little. "Because your lips were soft, and you tasted clean, like rain, and I could feel your heart beating, and I could hear you breathing. It was good."
"It was… good."
"And I knew before that, it's the way you move, the way you act sometimes, nervous. You try too hard, I guess maybe you feel like everyone will think, or suspect, or guess, even if you don't say or do anything."
Andrew looked down at his hands, folded like doves in his lap; delicate, long fingers, pale as an X-ray. He wanted to smash them with a hammer, smash everything about himself that was like that, lily-white, almost transparent, petal-soft, slim and fragile.
"It's all right," Warren continued, "I like you, the way you are. I don't think there's anything wrong with you."
"You don't?" Andrew let one of his hands be held between Warren's.
"I don't, not at all."
"I'm not, well, you can tell I'm not, not like anything you would make, for yourself."
"I'm through with robot women, they don't know when to quit." Andrew had to laugh a little. "Say you'll give me a chance."
"I, I will." Andrew's eyes fluttered closed.
And Warren kissed him, for the third time ever.
"Holy crap, he really said all that?"
"You know I couldn't make it all up."
"And you, the two of you, well, you know-"
"Yeah."
"I won't ask about that."
"Good."
"So, he really did, he used you."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that's what happened."
"God, Andrew, I'm sorry."
"My fault."
"How?" Jonathan looked at him, he seemed unsteady, ready to topple over.
"Because, I let him. I told him I would do anything, all he had to do was ask, and he asked and I did it.
"I wanted you gone, because I was jealous."
"You know I don't-"
"But you were around. I didn't want you around. I didn't want anybody else there, just me and him."
"You loved him," Jonathan said. When the words came out of his mouth, they sounded like the revelation of the century; perhaps it was just hitting him, right then.
"I guess I did. But it's over now."
"You would have gone off with him, though. You would have left me." The rage Jonathan had been trying so hard to keep down was wanting to spill out of him. He didn't want to hurt Andrew. He wanted to hurt Andrew. He-
"Yes," Andrew breathed, "I would have left you behind, gone off with him, stayed with him as long as he'd have me."
"I guess you just have shitty luck." Jonathan tried to sound cruel, but he couldn't. Something about Andrew was different; he'd always seemed weaker than the rest of them, but now, I guess he's broken, Jonathan said to himself.
"Yeah, I'd say that."
"It's over now, I guess that's what matters. No more waiting for it to be over."
"Yeah, all that matters."
All that mattered to Andrew- it was a memory, one moment so perfect- he'd made it nearly solid in his mind. It was like a lucky rock now, a diamond.
He wasn't going to lie to himself; he had always sort of known that Warren was using him- he only faulted himself for not being smart enough to figure out what Warren had been using him for. If he had been, smart enough, he might have been worth more to Warren. Or he might have been smart enough to not love him, to not want to.
He had read somewhere, once, that being in love felt like the sun was always shining on you. Warren had never been the sun, he was too inherently dark. Instead, he had been for Andrew like the moon, his light like a perpetual bath of milk. With Warren, under his white light, he had felt clean, in a way. All the years of being alone had planted the suggestion in Andrew's mind that he was dirty, no, not dirty, dull somehow, but Warren took all of that away.
It wasn't just sex, or it was but it wasn't. It was about sex when they weren't doing it, because no matter where he was, or what he was doing, Andrew's mind was always in bed, with Warren. He'd always been more than a little obsessed with fucking, but he suspected that the way it obsessed him was different than how it did other boys. For other boys, boys like Warren, it was the desire to conquer that was the driving force, for Andrew, though, it was touch.
He was always hungry, in a tangible, physical way, not as a pale metaphor, for the actual sensation of Warren's hands, his mouth on him, for the sensation of Warren in him. The feeling of being filled- Andrew had liked that. He'd given Warren everything- and he'd liked that as well.
And that, at its core, was what it had been about. Because, in Andrew's mind, love was giving everything, then finding something else to give. In retrospect, he was surprised that some vampire hadn't sucked the life out of him years earlier, because he'd wanted Warren to take everything, to take his life and all that it was.
That was his moment, his perfect, prismatic memory. The look on Warren's face, after he'd had him, how he'd looked satisfied down to the marrow of his bones, but also a little drained, himself. Andrew had taken a little something from him, too.
And he supposed that he truly had assimilated some part of him, because now he felt his face assume one of Warren's looks, something small, but characteristic of him. And on the inside, he felt cold and hard, but mainly, he felt nothing.
AUTHOR: Polly Burns
EMAIL: go_rimbaud@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://rednotebook.tripod.com/polly
SPOILER WARNINGS: Um, I guess for "Seeing Red", mainly, though there is vague mention of things that happened in earlier episodes, mainly "I Was Made to Love You" and "Dead Things".
RATING: PG-15, I would say, for naughty swear-words, boy-kissing and implied m/m sex.
DISCLAIMER: These people don't belong to me, they belong to some guy named Joss something whom I have never met. I did not force these people to do anything vile, because they are figments of somebody's fucking imagination (not mine).
NOTES: This switches back and forth between the present (when Jonathan and Andrew are in jail) and the past (when they are not). Just thought I'd clear that up for you.
"So, uh, what was it like?" Jonathan spoke even more haltingly than he usually did, his nasal voice hitched all the way up to his forehead.
"What was what like?" Andrew sighed out the words. He sounded the way a dry riverbed would sound, if a dry riverbed could speak. His head hurt terribly from its collision with that overhang in the amusement park. Fleetingly, he had thought that he might have a concussion; he had hoped for one, for a moment. For a moment, a brain aneurysm had been his dearest dream. A dream of a cloud-soft hospital bed, a morphine drip, a bosomy nurse. That episode where Mulder had been jacked into a computer-generated reality and found himself in a hospital gown, a blonde in a little white dress cooing to him… Wonderful, until they'd amputated-
"You know," Jonathan whispered, "you and Warren."
They were in Sunnydale lock-down, in a holding cell with half a dozen unsavory types; this was not the place to speak too loudly about Andrew and Warren.
"Leave me alone." Andrew tried for a growl, but came up instead with his natural whine. "Just shut up about it," he snapped, not trying for a growl this time. Jonathan was the only person he ever even came close to snapping at. It was the height difference. Had Jonathan been a few inches taller, Andrew might have been intimidated by him, too. It might have Jonathan that Warren had chosen. Andrew didn't want to think about that.
"You were gonna sell me out," Jonathan said, louder, almost yelling, "The two of you were gonna just leave me there. With Buffy! And the police!"
"Jonathan, just leave me alone. My head is killing me."
Andrew looked down. The concrete floor was a cool shade of gray, like the surface of some planet in deep space, a planet with no atmosphere and no sunlight, just waterless-snow storms and the powdery softness of black nothingness… A planet named Oblivion. Andrew rather liked the thought of that.
"Did you really think he loved you?" Jonathan asked. He had meant to sound reproachful, mocking, but instead, his voice was soft, concealing all the hardness he felt inside. Inside was rock-solid fear, growing outwards from his heart, calcifying his viscera.
"I don't know," Andrew murmured, "I never expected him to, to any of it, so when he did, when he said," he paused, "I, I couldn't stop wanting it to be true."
"I'm starting to think that he is a colossal whack-job."
Andrew looked up. "Why? Because he got involved with me? Cos only a crazy person would want me?" A hot haze settled over his eyes, it told him that he was going to cry, and cry well. Ever since he was a child, he'd always cried at the worst possible times and places. First school, now jail. No, he wouldn't- He straightened.
"No," Jonathan intoned, "not cos he got involved with you. More cos, um, he tried to kill Buffy. Three times. And he as good as killed Katrina. He obviously has a couple of screws loose if he's into killing people! Murder's not a pass-time of the sane."
Andrew would never admit it, but Jonathan's voice, his manner of speaking, made him sound eternally derisive; he could make any situation sound so trivial, and it comforted Andrew now.
"Oh," Andrew said. Roused from anger, he had no reason to look Jonathan in the eye any longer. Back to the planet with the gray surface. Pretty blonde with tits out to there and a big needle full of. Oblivion.
"It's all right," Jonathan said, "About you and Warren. Not the part where you treated me like crap, or made me dress up in demon skin, or the part where you were gonna run off with him and leave me for the police to find- but I don't care, about you and him, um, being together- I mean, I don't think any less of you."
"That's super."
Jonathan began to stand. "Look, I can see you don't feel like talking to me right now, so I'll just go sit by that guy with the skull tattooed on his neck."
Andrew's head shot up, and against his will, he found himself unable to look away from Jonathan's eyes. Doe eyes, he thought, and almost said it, but instead, he said, "Stay."
"Stay?" Jonathan moved closer to where he had been sitting.
"Yes. Please." When Andrew said Please, Jonathan sat, or rather, dropped back down. He wouldn't have gotten far anyway, his knees were so weak.
He looks so together, Andrew thought, how can he be? "This is so fucked up," Andrew blurted out.
"What part, exactly? The part about us being betrayed or the part about us being in jail? Or the part about going to real jail, to prison? Or what about Katrina and almost killing Buffy?"
"All of it, really."
"If I ever see Warren again-"
"Don't." Andrew looked at the floor again.
"Don't what?"
"Don't talk about seeing him again."
"Why? Cos you think we will or you think we won't?"
"I don't know. Both," then in a voice barely audible, "He broke my heart."
There had been days when Jonathan would have sworn by all that was good and holy that Andrew, and Warren too, for that matter, didn't have a heart. He could be such a cold, selfish prick, both of them could, but it was somehow more hurtful coming from Andrew. Sometimes Jonathan thought that Andrew had a freezer compartment for a rib cage, with a frozen steak where his heart would have been. Or maybe he was like the Sahara on the inside, sand and dust. Dust for a heart, like the Velveteen Rabbit, Jonathan's mind unwillingly made the association. He'd loved that book as a kid. The Velveteen Rabbit, made real by love…
"If you want," Andrew continued, "I'll tell you about, about us."
"You don't have to." Jonathan felt as though he should put his arms around him or something, but that would be asking for trouble. They looked like a couple of little girl's dollies…
"No, I want to. I never told anybody." Who would I have told? "I want you to know."
"Well, all right. If it'll make you feel better."
Andrew cleared his throat, a little hollow rattle-sound. "It was almost winter," he began-
It was almost winter, the cinnamon, autumn-soft air was growing bitter, the nights and early mornings no longer hinted at but spelled out explicitly what was to come. Winter- as unnatural as cancer in Sunnydale, whose very name promised eternal summer. The chill in the air went beyond the weather; dark days were coming, and dark things with them. Winter is a sorcerer's season. Andrew could not help but feel excited; it were as though at any moment, something improbable and amazing could happen. He had lived his entire life in some like state of anticipation, but now it seemed like Fate would finally deliver. He felt as though he had a chance. A chance for what, he did not know, but he was going to take it.
Jonathan was out, this day, gone to some faraway place for a semi- obscure text. They couldn't go to the Magic Box to inquire about it, and no place else in town would have it. So Jonathan left.
Warren and Andrew were alone in the "lair". Andrew still thought of it with quotation marks. In his mind, the quotation marks would be erased once they managed to pull off something big without the Slayer knocking it all down in the end. Then it would be just the lair.
Andrew was playing a video game. He was up to some very high level, so high, he couldn't remember what it was if he didn't look down to the lower left side of the television screen. He was doing better than ever. He felt… euphoric.
The footsteps behind him barely registered to his ears. All he could hear were electronic sounds, all he could see were pixels. So, he nearly pissed himself when he felt hands in his hair. For a second, he thought of flying monkeys, and then he nearly screamed.
"Hey, Andrew." Warren's voice sounded rich and low as he stretched out the syllables of Andrew's name.
It was over, he was dead. D-E-A-D, dead. He watched his pixilated self dissolve to nothing. He jumped up from the floor, where he had been sitting, making Warren step back as he did.
"You dick!" he yelped, "I can't believe you did that!"
Warren held his hands up, like he expected to have to push Andrew back. "What? It's just a video game!"
"Yeah, but you messed me up! I was almost there… I don't go up to you when you're, uh, doing stuff and make you lose your concentration so that all your hard work is for nothing!"
"It's. just. a. video game. Andrew. I'm sorry." He attempted to touch his arm.
"Don't touch me." He sounded more horrified than angry.
"God, I'm sorry. Shit, man, don't have an ulcer."
"I just don't like people touching me," he said, quieter, now looking to the ground. He expected Warren to laugh, or to walk away, or to do anything other than say,
"Why not?"
"What do you mean 'Why not'?"
"'Why not?' as in, Why do you not like people touching you?"
Andrew folded his arms over his chest. "I just don't." He kept his eyes to the floor, willing Warren to walk away. Warren stepped closer instead. It must be Opposite Day, Andrew thought, and then, God, I'm stupid.
"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Warren's voice was like the voice one would use if one were speaking to a wild animal; his eyes were laughing.
"Hurt, no, it doesn't hurt…" Warren's hand was gradually getting closer to the place it had nearly made contact with before.
"Then. why. not?" Warren continued to speak in that steady, measured, calming voice. It was unsettling.
"Warren! Quit messing with me!" Andrew yelped again. He had to stop sounding like a puppy that kept being stepped on, it would get him nowhere in life.
"I'm not messing with you." Warren's hand was on his arm, and even though he was fully dressed, Andrew felt like they were skin-to-skin. He couldn't bear it. He tried to pull away, but Warren was quick, and tightened his grip.
"Let go," Andrew almost-whispered. This didn't look good. Over the years, he had developed the heightened senses of an animal that is often hunted for food or sport. Mainly sport. The tone of Warren's voice was wrong, and there was something else as well. Pheromones? Had Warren turned on him? Just make it quick, he thought, and doing so made him feel for a moment just exactly as he did in the hallways, back in high school.
"I know," Warren said, suddenly, after what seemed like an hour.
"You know what?" Andrew tried not to sound hysterical. Had Warren lost it? Was he imagining up things to accuse him of? He knew what?
"I know about you, what you are."
Andrew could feel the blood rushing away from him, like the ebb tide, like the juice being sucked out of a Popsicle. He was light-headed, blushing and blanching at once, like cherry-vanilla ice cream.
"What?" he spat and tried to pull away, but Warren was stronger than him.
He looked down, shyly, Andrew thought; his eyelashes looked sable- soft and carbon-black against his milky skin. It was "milky" for Warren, "china" for Jonathan, "pasty" for Andrew.
"I know what you are, because I'm that way, too."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Andrew was having a hard time not sounding hysterical.
"You're gay."
"What the- no, I am not!" Andrew laughed. Hysterically.
Warren rolled his eyes. "Okay, bisexual, have it your way. But I know."
"Because you're gay too, uh-huh, right." He forgot about Warren's hand on his arm. "What is this, Opposite Day? Does that make Jonathan tall, then?" Andrew laughed again, mainly at how dumb he was sounding, "So we're a couple of queers and Jonathan is going to quit crime and join the NBA, right?"
Then Warren laughed, softly. The way he was doing everything, so softly, was making Andrew insane. What is he, high, or something? Why is he acting this way?
"Take a deep breath."
"I don't want to take a deep breath, I want you to let go of me."
"I don't want to let go of you."
This time the laughter came out of Andrew in spasms, like sobs. "What are you going to do?"
The resignation in his voice is so, it's bittersweet, Warren thought, smiling on the inside, It's like he's been through this before, thinks he knows what's coming. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's comforting."
"I won't."
"So, what are you going to do, stand here with your hand on my arm like this forever?" As soon as he asked the question, Andrew winced- somehow, he knew that had not been a good idea.
"No, I'm going to kiss you."
"You're going to what?"
Warren stepped closer, until there was hardly any space between them. "I won't do it if you ask me not to." He practically said the words into Andrew's mouth; he could feel Warren's breath warming his lips, slightly electric. "Tell me not to, and I won't." He moved a little from one side to the other.
"I don't-" Andrew began, then stopped to breathe, "I- Why are you doing this?" That was easy, make Warren think, then he'd forget, and Andrew would forget, and they'd both forget.
"I'm doing this because I want to, because you're beautiful and I'm attracted to you. Because I want to know what you taste like."
"You don't have to talk to me like that, I'm not, I'm not some girl."
"That's obvious, but I meant what I said."
"Beautiful? On Opposite Day?"
"On any day."
"Oh."
Andrew found himself swaying back and forth, as Warren was doing. Everything was making him dizzy, especially Warren's breath on his lips, and the long, strong, white hand that had somehow moved from his arm to his shoulder to his neck to his cheek without him knowing. I'll faint, Andrew said to himself, he'll forget.
"Just say that you don't want me to."
"Want you to-"
"Just say it." Warren was caressing his cheek. Warren didn't do things like that.
"Yes. I mean-" And then blackness, because Andrew had automatically closed his eyes. Warren's lips were pressed to his, opening like fruit that's been split. Andrew opened his mouth, to breathe, but instead of air he got pliant flesh and wintergreen-scented spit and teeth worrying at his lower lip. Finally, he was allowed one breath, and then pulled back under, to darkness and wetness and heat that made him believe in an eternal summer. He was drowning, moving as though with the tide, Warren's hands on his face, his arms, his waist. Andrew felt as though he were drowning in Warren.
When there was again brightness and cool air, Andrew stumbled away from Warren, who was an ocean in the shape of a boy. "What did you do?" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Forget already?"
"Don't make jokes! This is not funny!"
"Why, because you liked it?"
Andrew couldn't think of an answer to that. He couldn't say Yes, because even though Warren had kissed him, it felt like giving in, somehow, like he would be asking something of him. He couldn't say No, either- he was a terrible liar.
He was saved from having to come up with an answer. "Come here," Warren said. His voice was so gentle, Andrew couldn't help but do what he was told. He closed his eyes, it was easier to deal with things in the dark, and he was pulled into Warren's arms. All he could do was let out a small Oh, and lean forward. He was so steady, Warren, he could hold them both up.
"Tell me you want me to kiss you again," Warren's breath against his ear. He shouldn't feel this way, not in the places he was feeling this way, not with Warren pressed against him.
"I- I can't. Please, just, just let me go." And then, as if by magic, Warren's arms fell away and he stepped back. And then, it was bright coldness again.
"I can't believe he did that," Jonathan said. It felt trite to do so, but he shook his head. He found that he was blushing, just a touch, at the tips of his ears; he didn't quite know why, and he hoped that Andrew didn't notice.
"That's how he does, did things."
"So, um, what happened next?"
"It was a week later. You were out again. I think you needed wormwood, or something."
Jonathan looked down. "Yeah, I did."
"Well, it was a week later-"
It was a week later, a week since Warren had kissed Andrew, and by doing so, usurped every object of Andrew's obsession and begun starring in his dreams, both sleeping and waking. Andrew was nervous all the time; he could not keep his eyes closed for very long, so most of his dreams were waking, rather than sleeping. Fawn-colored circles began to fade in around his eyes- And that most of his dreams were day-dreams made him even more nervous, because he had control, he could decide to not think about Warren, but for whatever reason, he couldn't, or didn't want to. It's nice, he supposed, having a crush- if that's what you would call this. A crush, on a real, live, non-pixilated, flesh-and-blood human being. A male human being. Perhaps nothing is ever the way you want it to be…
He felt sweet on the inside, like all of his fluids had become sugar water; every pore of his skin felt like a small eye, looking, watching, waiting. He was nervous, waiting, dreading, unable to decide what he wanted. The good thing about Warren was that he always did everything, and all a person had to do was react. Andrew could react like a motherfucker. So, it was waiting, and he didn't have to decide right that moment if he was dreading or anticipating, that could be determined in retrospect. How he felt when Warren acted, if he liked it or he didn't, that would tell him what to feel, tell him how he had always felt. It would color his world.
All he had to do was wait for Warren. Warren would act, it was what he did best.
"I want to apologize," Warren said, finally.
"What for?" Andrew was careful not to look at him. He was reacting, not acting.
"For the other day, for making you uncomfortable, I guess."
"Oh, that. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not apologizing for the way I feel, though." Andrew looked up briefly, and then back down at the magazine he had been reading. "Just for the way I acted," Warren continued, "I still feel the same way, I just, I don't want to have you think that I'd force you to do anything you didn't want to do."
Andrew didn't look up. "And how do you feel?"
"I think- God, this isn't easy."
"It's all right."
"Andrew, I think I'm falling in love with you."
"That's not funny."
Warren sat down next to him. "No, it's not, because it's true."
Andrew tried to move away, to back away, but he was sitting in the corner and could not. "St-stop it," he stammered, "You're, you're lying. This is a joke, it's a cruel, sick joke. I, I won't fall for it."
"Please don't be upset. I swear to you, this isn't a joke, and I'm not lying to you."
"You, you do this to girls all the time, just to get in their pants. I'm not a challenge for you, I'm not a toy, or, or, or a robot. This isn't a game."
He closed his eyes and suddenly, he was twelve years old again, at some birthday party. Suzy Keller had just kissed him. Then Jenny Richards, Suzy's friend, had told him that it was on a dare. How she'd said it, so casually, as if she expected him to laugh along with her. People were so- He'd thrown up red fruit punch and white cake.
Heat rose up the lily column of his throat, coated his face like a delicate stain.
"I know, I know that, I don't want it to be."
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest, as though it were all he could do to keep his heart from escaping him. This wasn't supposed to be how it went. Warren was supposed to come on all smooth, like the other day, ambiguous, kind of menacing, dark. He'd say some more words and Andrew would get light-headed, and then they'd fool around. He wasn't supposed to sit up straight, his knee not two inches from Andrew's and say words like "falling" and "love", like a, like a, like a gentleman. Even Andrew knew that Warren wasn't one of those.
"What do you want from me?"
"What do I want from you?"
"Yeah."
"I want, I guess, I'm asking you for a chance."
"A chance to what?"
"A chance to love you, to show you that I do, in a way you can understand, in a way that you can trust."
Andrew looked straight into Warren's eyes. "I'm not gay."
"All right, I didn't mean to say that you were gay- but you aren't exactly straight, either."
"How do you know?" Andrew murmured.
"I felt it."
"What, you're psychic now?"
"I felt it when you kissed me."
"You kissed me!"
"When I kissed you, sorry. You were, um, excited."
Andrew felt that heat again. Just when it seemed to have left, it always came back, that heat. His face and his neck were flushed, he had a hard time keeping his breathing regular. "That doesn't mean anything! It's an emotionless physical response-"
"It's all right. I felt it, too. I liked kissing you."
Before he could stop himself, Andrew asked, "Why?"
Warren laughed, just a little. "Because your lips were soft, and you tasted clean, like rain, and I could feel your heart beating, and I could hear you breathing. It was good."
"It was… good."
"And I knew before that, it's the way you move, the way you act sometimes, nervous. You try too hard, I guess maybe you feel like everyone will think, or suspect, or guess, even if you don't say or do anything."
Andrew looked down at his hands, folded like doves in his lap; delicate, long fingers, pale as an X-ray. He wanted to smash them with a hammer, smash everything about himself that was like that, lily-white, almost transparent, petal-soft, slim and fragile.
"It's all right," Warren continued, "I like you, the way you are. I don't think there's anything wrong with you."
"You don't?" Andrew let one of his hands be held between Warren's.
"I don't, not at all."
"I'm not, well, you can tell I'm not, not like anything you would make, for yourself."
"I'm through with robot women, they don't know when to quit." Andrew had to laugh a little. "Say you'll give me a chance."
"I, I will." Andrew's eyes fluttered closed.
And Warren kissed him, for the third time ever.
"Holy crap, he really said all that?"
"You know I couldn't make it all up."
"And you, the two of you, well, you know-"
"Yeah."
"I won't ask about that."
"Good."
"So, he really did, he used you."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that's what happened."
"God, Andrew, I'm sorry."
"My fault."
"How?" Jonathan looked at him, he seemed unsteady, ready to topple over.
"Because, I let him. I told him I would do anything, all he had to do was ask, and he asked and I did it.
"I wanted you gone, because I was jealous."
"You know I don't-"
"But you were around. I didn't want you around. I didn't want anybody else there, just me and him."
"You loved him," Jonathan said. When the words came out of his mouth, they sounded like the revelation of the century; perhaps it was just hitting him, right then.
"I guess I did. But it's over now."
"You would have gone off with him, though. You would have left me." The rage Jonathan had been trying so hard to keep down was wanting to spill out of him. He didn't want to hurt Andrew. He wanted to hurt Andrew. He-
"Yes," Andrew breathed, "I would have left you behind, gone off with him, stayed with him as long as he'd have me."
"I guess you just have shitty luck." Jonathan tried to sound cruel, but he couldn't. Something about Andrew was different; he'd always seemed weaker than the rest of them, but now, I guess he's broken, Jonathan said to himself.
"Yeah, I'd say that."
"It's over now, I guess that's what matters. No more waiting for it to be over."
"Yeah, all that matters."
All that mattered to Andrew- it was a memory, one moment so perfect- he'd made it nearly solid in his mind. It was like a lucky rock now, a diamond.
He wasn't going to lie to himself; he had always sort of known that Warren was using him- he only faulted himself for not being smart enough to figure out what Warren had been using him for. If he had been, smart enough, he might have been worth more to Warren. Or he might have been smart enough to not love him, to not want to.
He had read somewhere, once, that being in love felt like the sun was always shining on you. Warren had never been the sun, he was too inherently dark. Instead, he had been for Andrew like the moon, his light like a perpetual bath of milk. With Warren, under his white light, he had felt clean, in a way. All the years of being alone had planted the suggestion in Andrew's mind that he was dirty, no, not dirty, dull somehow, but Warren took all of that away.
It wasn't just sex, or it was but it wasn't. It was about sex when they weren't doing it, because no matter where he was, or what he was doing, Andrew's mind was always in bed, with Warren. He'd always been more than a little obsessed with fucking, but he suspected that the way it obsessed him was different than how it did other boys. For other boys, boys like Warren, it was the desire to conquer that was the driving force, for Andrew, though, it was touch.
He was always hungry, in a tangible, physical way, not as a pale metaphor, for the actual sensation of Warren's hands, his mouth on him, for the sensation of Warren in him. The feeling of being filled- Andrew had liked that. He'd given Warren everything- and he'd liked that as well.
And that, at its core, was what it had been about. Because, in Andrew's mind, love was giving everything, then finding something else to give. In retrospect, he was surprised that some vampire hadn't sucked the life out of him years earlier, because he'd wanted Warren to take everything, to take his life and all that it was.
That was his moment, his perfect, prismatic memory. The look on Warren's face, after he'd had him, how he'd looked satisfied down to the marrow of his bones, but also a little drained, himself. Andrew had taken a little something from him, too.
And he supposed that he truly had assimilated some part of him, because now he felt his face assume one of Warren's looks, something small, but characteristic of him. And on the inside, he felt cold and hard, but mainly, he felt nothing.