WARNINGS: Do NOT read this if you have any of various serious triggers. It's rated M for a reason. This story will cover drug abuse, alcohol abuse, depression, suicide, sexual abuse and violence, domestic abuse... the list goes on. I don't do happy endings; don't expect them. This is not meant for the faint of heart. You have been warned.

Approaching Normal

I

Mairon often wondered if a man like Melkor could ever have loved him. He wondered if Melkor was even capable of love, damaged as he was; but he knew without a doubt he loved him all the same, for his faults and failures. He knew he could not live without his light—or unlight, for he would never call such a light nor darkness. There was something beautiful there, crawling through the night.

He wondered if this was what lured sailors out into the waves and their deaths. He wondered if this was what they spoke of when they whispered the old stories of the Fae folk; not a lust, but a timeless yearning —for change. Happiness. A moment's reprieve before they were lured out to their deaths.

But was he happy? Would he ever be happy?

Happiness was a blessing for the strong-willed.

He had not been happy since that day. September 17, a little more than one year the former. He would never forget the day, regretfully circled on his calendar, glaring at him from across the room where the sun struck it just right in the mornings to make the red Sharpie glow hatefully. The day they first met—the first day in which nothing was enough for him anymore. There had been such high hopes for him; who was left to hope now?

Now, in this unlight, without Melkor he was nothing. He was a forgotten regret, carefully erased from the lives of the greater man.

He was a man who believed firmly in second chances, and—maybe, just maybe, in another life... He would have a second chance to step away from those doors.

Would he take it, he wondered? Was it in the book for him? Or was this how it was meant to be—an endless spiral. Death begets death.

He knew how it was done. He'd seen Melkor do it, so many times, though he pretended so often that he didn't notice—and a quick googling held all of the answers that his calculating gaze had not. The only difference was that he was doing it for himself, this time. Just once.

He barely felt the prick of the needle into his skin, or the single rogue teardrop sliding from his amber eyes.

Maybe, in some other life...

-Some day, someone
Is gonna love you-

2011

He'd found the only quiet room of the house—which was, ironically, the front lobby. Everyone was in the back, cutting the cake—he could hear bits and pieces of Happy Birthday with Varda's name shoved into the wrong verses. They were obviously having plenty of drunken fun. He wondered how much longer 'only an hour' was going to last.

"I'm telling you, man—you should go. It's going to be so cool. Yavanna's going to be there. Hell, even Namo RSVP'd. You know, the creepy guy dating Vaire who works at the mortuary? That shithead never leaves his house."

"I... I'm not good with parties. Or people. Or anything really. You know that, Aule..."

Of course he knew that. But it appeared Aule was too interested in impressing Yavanna, the lovely strawberry blonde who had invited them to the party in the first place. He wanted to show how great he was by getting quiet little Mairon out of the apartment for once. Mairon loved Aule as his best friend, but if his dear friend was anything, subtle was not one of his qualities.

Aule scoffed. "You never go to parties, so how would you know that you wouldn't like it? Who knows—this could be your lucky day. You could meet a nice girl, go see the world—"

"I don't do the girl thing—or the world thing either. Really, you're just making this less pleasant for me." Mairon tried to retreat, but Aule gave him that don't-you-dare look he saved for these certain occasions. He realized there was as little chance of backing out of this as there was of passing his Chem final.

"Come on, buddy," Aule's voice softened. "We've been best friends since, what, kindergarten? We're moved in together, going to college together—remember that one time that you shat yourself—"

"—I remember," he interrupted, deflating.

Mairon was back to stress-crocheting again. So far he had made three multicolored beanies, two scarves, five sets of arm-warmers, and a small patterned throw. This was not a good sign; and these were all certainly things he would never use. Except maybe the beanies, but that was a situational thing, and it was not like Mairon liked going outside to show off his crafting habits anyway. He would prefer the world outside of his small social circle be unaware of his hobbies. Unaware of him in general, even.

Aule fixed him with the most painfully pleading look he'd ever seen on the tall man. His reddish brown eyebrows tilted up innocently, framing warm, desperate eyes. "Do it for me?"

Mairon breathed in steadily, trying to keep his cool. Aule knew he could win Mairon over like this; it always worked. Mairon was not one for abandoning friends in their time of need... even when he knew he was being manipulated. "I—alright. But just for a little bit."

'A little bit,' as it turned out, meant he would be stuck there until midnight or later—he couldn't even remember the time, and Aule still had his Samsung from earlier, which he feared might currently be sitting at the bottom of the Iluvatars' multi-million-dollar swimming pool. The blonde sighed, tucking one of his curly locks beneath the stocking cap from whence it had escaped with a single bony-fingered hand. Light amber eyes studied the room for the umpteenth time, wondering if it was worth playing a game of Spot the Unnecessary Carvings again.

The home of famous director and producer Eru Iluvatar was as expansive as he should have expected. The opening hall was a grand mess of swirling architecture, inspired in part by the popularized style of fantasy stories and by the director's own creative mind. Mairon knew Aule was ecstatic to see the inside of the famous home, being a sculptor and an architect himself; but all Mairon found use of with it was counting the number of spirals on the massive chandelier above his head. The long bench he was seated on, while beautiful, was completely uncomfortable, and it did not help there was some sort of mystery couple passionately making out on the other end.

He was about to get up and ask again when it all went to hell.

Thinking back, Mairon could see it in a series of steps—the door flying open and heavy boots thudding on the floor; Mairon turning, surprised, and the glass of wine in his hand faltering; the moment when he lost his grip on the stem and he collided with the firm chest of the most frightening man he had ever chanced to meet—and, of course, he had just doused said man's leather jacket with the alcohol formerly in his hand.

Mairon shrank back immediately, struggling to chance a look at the dark man's face, likely livid with the rage of some sort of evil god, a dark scowl framed by cruel cheekbones and dark hair—

But when he looked, he saw not the rage of a dark creature but rather... annoyance. Disregard, even. The man looked not at him, with his icy blue eyes, but more so through him—like he was a rat. Or a roach. A mere housepest. It unnerved him more than rage ever could.

Looking away, the dark figure sighed, and—of all things—removed his coat to hand off to a dumbfounded Mairon. "Get it cleaned," came a smooth, rich voice—it was more like a rumble, and Mairon felt a shiver course through him in that which he could not discern as fear or excitement, but something in between.

The coat draped in his arms, spilled wine seeping through the sleeve of his sweater and coating his forearm in a sticky, smelly mess. Mairon attempted to form words—but a jumbled chaos was all that he managed as the tall figure brushed right past him. Like he wasn't even there. Or he just wasn't important. From behind him, a voluptuous woman snaked by, leering at him with eyes of an intelligent, greedy brown—

"Oh—Melkor! What have you done now? This boy looks terrified—is that your coat?" Mairon flinched at the bright voice behind him. He knew that voice—their host, Manwe. The brilliant son of the esteemed Eru Iluvatar, and the current fiancé of Aule's dear friend Varda.

The dark and scary one—Melkor, his mind corrected—leered over his shoulder. "Just here to drop off your damned bike. Tell dad Gothmog's not fixing your toys for you anymore, runt. You can go take your shit to a real shop." The spidery woman behind him procured a set of keys from somewhere within her dark corset, which she wordlessly tossed over Mairon's head. He heard the sharp clang as Manwe caught them.

Just like that, he was gone, sweeping out of the room and back through the front door—but not without a last-minute hesitation, fixing Mairon again with that bone-chilling steel gaze. "I expect that jacket back by the end of the week," he said threateningly. Mairon shrank back a little, nodding stupidly at the retreating figure. Casually—perhaps even jokingly—the dark woman waved behind herself, smirking through black-painted lips as they retreated into the night.

Then he was gone, and Mairon let out the breath he had no idea he'd been holding. Manwe spun him around gently, looking him over as if he were expecting to see bruises. Maybe he was. Mairon felt like he'd been attacked and degraded all the same by that gaze alone from that dark figure. "I'm sorry—Mairon, right?" At his nod, his platinum blonde host continued, "My brother is just being himself—he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"N-no," Mairon stammered. "I spilled wine on his jacket. It was an accident—"

"Don't worry; I'll take care of that for you. Leave it to Melkor to scare off my party guests..." He lifted the jacket off of Mairon's arms carefully, avoiding the spill in a way Mairon hadn't. "You don't look so good, bud—you came with Aule, right? I'll go get him and see if he can take you home."

Mairon could only nod. Manwe was astonishingly friendly—in an awkward way, as they both seemed acutely aware of Mairon's own miserable social status, but friendly nonetheless. He wasn't sure why he still felt so shaken up about the meeting. Perhaps it was the way Melkor regarded him, like he was barely there—like he was a cockroach on the wall, not even worth acknowledging if it weren't for the fact that more might come along.

"I—I do feel a little sick, I think," Mairon managed the lie with a small smile, more than eager to leave. "I would like to go."

Manwe smiled again-he was one of those people with the million-dollar grin, like they'd spent their entire life in front of a camera. "I'll go get him for you, bud. Just wait here, and—take a seat or something. You look like you could fall out at any moment."

He did just that as Manwe walked away, looking like a god among men in his fine-tailored suit and stylish haircut. This was the last time, Mairon decided, that he would get involved with these nonsense millionaire parties. Aule would have to find someone else to tag along and impress Yavanna with.

-x-

"Mairon, I've gotta know. What's he like?"

"Who?"

"You know—Morgoth Bauglir. The Morgoth Bauglir. Manwe's brother. I think his real name is, like—Velcro or Shelko or something crazy like that."

"Melkor?"

"Yeah! You've heard of him right? I mean, you can't live under a rock all the time. I heard he's a total asshole, and a junkie—that's what the tabloids say at least, so I'm not sure, and Manwe doesn't like to bring him up. But you ran right into him! Dude!"

"Eyes on the road please, Aule." The worn '96 Lexus jerked a little as Aule righted it and turned off of the 409. A scowl spread across his broad face as the woman behind them honked her horn.

"Calm down—I'm not doing anythin', crazy gal," he said to no one in particular before continuing his game of twenty questions, patting Mairon on the shoulder with one tanned hand. "Come on, man, I've gotta know. Please?"

"I don't know—I've never even heard of a Morgoth—I spilled wine on him. I think I made him mad. He didn't even really look at me though. I'm not sure..."

"Oh, yeah. Manwe said he'll take care of that jacket—I guess that's what it's all about. Good thing, too. From what I've heard that guy is worth staying far away from if ya got yourself on his bad side. Junkie bastard and all that." He looked pointedly at Mairon as they pulled up to a red light. His brown eyes were full of trust and caution—he caught Mairon's amber gaze clinically, as if he were assessing the damage the night had done to him. "Try not to go near that guy anymore, okay? Manwe was acting all shaken up, like he was afraid his bro was gonna come back and wail on you. I don't want to see some rock and roll bastard go after you—especially not someone like him, with all that fame behind him. The tabs would rip you apart. Like Rihanna, with the whole Chris Brown thing; they like to side with the bigger guy."

"I won't," Mairon agreed. "I don't want to ever meet him again. He was kind of scary. And really tall." He shivered.

Aule laughed warmly. "Mairon, hon, everyone is really tall compared to you."

Mairon scowled and pulled his stocking cap further over his golden locks in embarrassment. "Don't rub it in..." he grumbled and Aule proceeded to drop the subject at last, going into a detailed retelling of his night at the party with Yavanna, interjecting it with cases of 'I think I might have a chance now, ya know,' and 'man, I think she really like likes me!' Mairon managed to tune it out pretty easily, nodding at the appropriate times and otherwise gazing thoughtfully out the window.

Through all of the intimidation, the degradation—Mairon still couldn't get those eyes of icy cobalt out of his mind. Those eyes... and when he finally made it back to their hole-in-the-wall apartment over by campus, finally managed to wander his way into his room and collapse onto his bed, they were all he could dream about, sending thrilled shivers down his spine as they regarded him coldly. There was something alluring about them... something chaotic. And it frightened Mairon, more than anything else.

Morning came, and he felt that maybe he'd never have to worry about that chance meeting again. But as sunlight streamed through his window, painting his room in a delicate white, he felt somehow that things were about to change. Whether this was a good or a bad thing was still up for question.

He was frightened by that.

-x-

/note: hello minions. told you i was writing a thing. didn't say it was going to be a jolly endeavor. you guys were pretty unanimous asking for the modern au and, well, in all honesty this behemoth has been in the works for a very long time. im happy to present it to you. please don't kill me.

coming next: we will have a notably longer second chapter now that we've passed the juxtaposition nonsense. Mairon encounters Manwe again. Things ensue. We get to see our favorite dark lord and resident rockstar for a second time.