Outside the door, Thorne was beyond okay. First he heard them yelling at each other, then he heard a gasp and the sound of something hitting the wall. Then it trailed off into something that sounded like two chimps mating.

He shuddered and stalked out of the house, unable to listen to it anymore. He was jealous, jealous, jealous. Craig had been right about that. But it wasn't that he was jealous of Henrietta or Nicholas, of course. He knew it was because of what those two shared.

He'd always gotten the feeling those two would share something more than just friendship. As a child, Nicholas was the self-appointed leader, being the most non-conformist of them all and leaving them behind once to partake in a dance-off.

Henrietta was right up there in terms of importance. She was the second-in-command, providing a place where they could go and talk about poetry and other dark complaints they had with the world. She had an air of authority around her, and now that they were older, it seemed she'd gained equal footing with the curly-haired Goth.

And Nicholas was his best friend, only gaining that distinction because he was the same gender and age as him. It made them like brothers, somewhat. It was odd, though, that even though he was the group leader, and even though he was his best friend, he wound up with Henrietta.

It was like the biggest betrayal of all, but Thorne was not bothered by it. He was bothered by the bond they shared. They didn't need empty words to know how they felt about each other. They could simply look at each other and know.

As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted that closeness with someone.

It wasn't society's fault; society didn't make him feel like he needed to have someone. He knew he could do just fine without someone like that, but that was the thing. He didn't want to do without someone like that. He wanted to be fine with someone and only with them.

He didn't know how many goth points that would cost. Nicholas and Henrietta had the right idea–no verbal consummation of love. All physical, all the basics. They didn't need words; they didn't need the societal standard of marriage. They had what they needed.

But him? Could he share something like that? There was no one he cared for, no one that cared for him in that way.

As he walked down the street, the door to the bar burst open and Kenny's father came stumbling out, too drunk to even walk straight. He took a few steps back, wary of what the drunk would do.

Kenny's mother soon came out, yelling at her husband. "Come on, Stuart! We gotta go pick up Kenny's body from school again! Git in the car, right now! I swear! The day that boy stays dead is the day I die happy! Having to travel all around town, picking up his remains before I can do my errands! Even if you weren't a drunk bastard, that child alone would be enough to keep us poor!"

Thorne blinked and watched as she shoved her husband into the truck and drove off.

Really, what was with Kenny, anyway? Why was he dying all the time? Why is it that people stopped caring? He still hurt before each death. Each death was still painful. He still felt it.

It's not like it started tickling after the first one hundred he encountered.

---------------------------

Thorne wandered around town for a couple of hours before Henrietta called and told him to go get Peter from school. They had a rule where one of them would pick him up, because they worried about him, and he was like their own baby. Their baby bat, as Henrietta called him.

Thorne waited by the school until Peter walked out, cloaked in black and carrying his little book bag with him.

Peter took one look and rolled his eyes. "They're having sex, aren't they?"

Thorne stuttered. "Wh-What makes you think that?"

"It was Henrietta's turn to pick me up, and she never misses that opportunity. I suppose they finally got together?"

"Yes. Although I wouldn't really say they're 'together'. It's complicated."

"So's everything in life. Now that they're bumping uglies, what are we going to do after school?"

Thorne smiled, grabbing Peter's hand. "Let's go to the cemetery and do some grave rubbings."

Peter practically jumped. "Henrietta will be so pleased! I'll get fifty goth points for sure!"

Thorne just laughed and ruffled his hair.

-----------------------------

The next day, Thorne walked out of the school at lunch and found a little secluded spot to think.

He hummed a little ditty, twiddling his thumbs and chewing on a piece of eraser to keep his nicotine cravings at bay for a while. He still hadn't gotten a new pack of cigarettes or a new lighter. A rustle in the bushes caught his attention and he looked up, surprised to see Kenny walking out, looking vaguely sleepy.

"Weren't you in school?"

Kenny's posture straightened, as if suddenly aware someone else was there. "Huh? Oh… I fell asleep after the bus hit the curb and I went flying out the window… What are you doing out here?"

Thorne sighed. "Just…thinking, I guess." Kenny smiled and leaned against a tree, kicking at the snow on the ground until he hit mud, spreading it around and blemishing the pure white of winter. Thorne just sighed again. "You know, I'm sorry I killed you the other day."

Kenny laughed. "Oh, I was trying to set you off so I would die! I fucking hate English with Mr. Flemming! He's such a douche bag!"

Thorne smiled a little. After a few moments he frowned. "Don't you ever get bothered by the fact that no one seems to care when you die?"

Kenny smiled a little. "Well, you obviously cared enough to apologize. I guess that makes it okay."

"Yeah, but don't you sometimes feel…lonely? Or something? You're always dying and people have to clean up the mess and they never really seem to remember that the mess used to be a living person…"

Kenny smiled and looked up at the tree, covered in snow at this time of the year. He looked back at Thorne and gave him a little smile of pride, as if he'd wanted to show off all day. And it made Thorne smile a little, too, because he found a sort of kinship with the perverted little immortal boy with nothing to look forward to.

Shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up, the blond began to recite a poem.

"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring –
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow – I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone –
And all I lov'd – I lov'd alone –"

"Then – in my childhood – in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still–
From the torrent, or the fountain –
From the red cliff of the mountain –
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold –
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by –
From the thunder, and the storm –
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view –"

Kenny stopped, interrupted by Thorne's trembling, excited voice. When Thorne was done, they both stared at each other for a long time.

"You memorized Poe?"

Kenny stretched, cracking the joints in his body, popping his arm back in place upon realizing it had been dislocated the entire time. He nodded. "Yep. Learned that one in the third grade. It still gets me every time, though. But it's funny because it's true." He hit his fist against his heart lightly, nodding again. He laughed a little, more forced than genuine.

The Goth was quiet for a moment, until–

"Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye –
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: –from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: –from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems."

1) The Most Non-Conformist of Them All
This is a reference to episode #804 You Got F'ed in the A. Go watch it. It'll knock the socks right off of you in a fit of laughter. All the Goth Kids dance to 80's Goth pop. Sweet.

2) Grave Rubbings
Grave rubbings are basically rubbings (like the things you did as a kid with a piece of paper, a crayon, and something underneath it with ridges in it to make a picture) done on gravestones. The friend I mentioned in the first chapter (the one that liked the Breakfast Club) did grave rubbings, and it was rather interesting.

3) Alone by Edgar Allen Poe
This is a poem by Edgar Allen Poe. It's the one Kenny recites and Thorne finishes. The whole point of this poem is the fact that he is, indeed, alone and because of it he sees the world differently than most people do.

4) The Valley of Unrest by Edgar Allen Poe
It's actually an excerpt of the full poem--the last 11 lines of the poem, to be precise. Pretty much it exclaims that the earth weeps for he whose death goes unnoticed. I felt it was a fitting end to the story. Since the story begins with a poem; it should end with a poem. It also implies a bit of slash with Kenny on Thorne's behalf, but then again so does the other poem and how Thorne's excited that Kenny knows Poe. It suggests a common bond between them.

5) Mr. Brightside by The Killers
The title of the fic is called Mr. Brightside because it's a lot like the song, you see. You should check out the lyrics, but the fic also fits the music, too.