Blurring and stirring the truth and the lies
So I don't know what's real and what's not
Always confusing the thoughts in my head
So I can't trust myself anymore
I'm dying again
-Evanescence, Going Under
9.15 Years Prior
"I don't see why you're dragging me out tonight."
Kyle looked up from tying his shoe, his face impassive.
"Because you need to get a life, dude; it's as simple as that. You haven't done a damn thing all summer."
"I've done plenty," Craig muttered, leaning down and admiring the goldfish he'd won for Kyle; a fish he affectionately referred to as "Kyle Fish" in his head.
"Doesn't he look great?" Kyle asked, walking over. "I always heard carnival fish never live for very long, but Chester is doing really well."
Craig rolled his eyes at the ridiculous name, which really didn't seem to suit the lovely vermilion-scaled fish, but he wasn't about to tell Kyle what he'd named it in his head.
"That name makes no sense," he said, brushing a finger over the fish bowl. "Where the hell did you even get it?"
Kyle shrugged.
"I let Ike name him," he replied. "We're sharing him."
"Naturally," Craig said. "You know, you wouldn't have to share a fucking goldfish if your mom would just lighten up a little."
"Maybe so," Kyle said, dropping some granules of fish food into Chester's bowl. "Honestly, I was lucky she let me keep him, but when she saw how excited Ike was, she relented." He grinned. "I would've just kept him hidden away in the closet if she'd tried to make me get rid of him; there's no way I would've given him up."
Craig blushed a little, touched that Kyle was so attached to the pretty fish, its fiery scales the same color as his hair. Gruffly, he cleared his throat.
"I've heard that a goldfish turns white if not exposed to sunlight," he mused, trying to change the subject to something he could handle. "I wonder if that's true."
"I think it is," Kyle said, pressing a finger against his mouth in thought. "But I don't think they turn completely white; I think their colors just start to fade."
"Well, that's pretty fucking depressing to think about," Craig said, finding it impossible to imagine Kyle without his color and spark; his almost tangible vibrancy.
Kyle punched Craig's arm lightly, a coy smile quirking his lips.
"You're stalling, Tucker," he said. "You can try to distract me all you want, but we're still going to Wendy's party."
"I really, really don't want to," Craig groaned, not relishing the idea of being surrounded by people and noise and confusion. "Why can't we just go to my house and watch movies? I finally got a copy of Rope."
"We can watch it later," Kyle replied, taking hold of Craig's arm and beginning to steer him towards the door. "Come on, the only way you're ever going to get used to being a part of things again is if you just go and do it. Now move."
"God, I don't know why I let you boss me around," Craig sighed, allowing himself to be led out of the room, although in his heart he knew exactly why he let Kyle call the shots; the knowledge deep inside him and undeniable.
The party was a wild and loud affair just like Craig had anticipated it would be; a fact that didn't help to improve his mood as he wandered the crowd with Kyle at his side. The early July evening was ripe and warm as humid winds passed through, the sun finally dipping below the horizon; orange and red light falling over everyone in bloody streaks.
"I don't know why you couldn't have just gone with Stan," Craig said as they wove through their friends and classmates, music blaring in the background; pulsing beats ricocheting across Wendy's expansive backyard. "He's way more into parties than I am, isn't he?"
"Yeah, I guess he is," Kyle replied, face suddenly flushed; his tone vague and small.
Craig caught the change in his demeanor immediately, having become accustomed to even the most minute details of Kyle's mood shifts. Glancing over sharply, he nudged Kyle's shoulder with his own.
"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," Kyle replied, glorious sunshine trapping itself in his hair and making Craig think fondly of Kyle Fish, safely at home where they should be; wrapped up in blankets and watching movies. Tiny freckles dotted his cheeks, the byproduct of lazy days spent in the summer sun.
"Dude, what the fuck? Why are you hiding shit from me?" Craig asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the fray; the crush of bodies overwhelmingly warm and frenzied as people danced and mingled.
"Look, I didn't want to bring this up because we're supposed to be having a good time, and besides, I've already bothered you with so many of my stupid problems," Kyle replied, looking down at the ground and kicking at a clump of grass.
"Quit being dumb," Craig said, feeling annoyed and hurt that Kyle still felt the need to hide things; he had really hoped they were past that point. "You can tell me anything, dammit."
"Fine," Kyle huffed, hands jammed in his pockets. "Stan's been acting weird, okay?"
"Weird, how?" Craig asked, eyes narrowing as ire rose in his blood.
"He's just been really standoffish and quiet," Kyle shrugged while clearly trying to downplay how much Stan's actions were hurting him.
"How long has he been acting like this?"
"I guess since...my birthday?" He winced, his eyes skipping over Craig's and refusing to settle; dying sunlight illuminating green irises.
"Your birthday was over a fucking month ago!" Craig yelled, his hands clenching into fists. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"
"I didn't want to bother you," Kyle said, softly.
"That is such bullshit," Craig seethed, quickly scanning the crowd for Marsh, his hands clenching already at the prospect of having a little talk with him. "Where the fuck is he? I'll go talk to him my damn self."
"Whoa, whoa! Hold on!" Kyle said, clutching at Craig's shirt and holding him fast. "I don't want you to say anything, Craig! Let me figure this out on my own!"
"But, Kyle, he's -"
"Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but I need to handle this on my own, okay?" Kyle said, still holding onto Craig's shirt; his fingers brushing warm and soft against his skin. "For all I know, Stan is dealing with something completely separate from me, you know? This probably has nothing to do with what I told him."
Yeah, but it's making you sad, Craig thought, staring at Kyle until some of the rage in his blood simmered away; but still waiting in the wings to rise up.
"Fine, I'll let it go for now, but you better talk to him; or I will. Okay?"
"Sure, sure," Kyle said, grinning. "You're just like a bulldog, dude; always so defensive and ready to fight."
"Only when I give a shit," Craig muttered, a blush warming its way up his neck.
"You're just a big softy, you know that, right?" Kyle asked, finally letting go of Craig; warm fingers being drawn away and leaving him feeling a little chilled suddenly.
"Whatever," Craig said, still looking around for Stan; thoughts of shaking him until he saw reason rising in his mind. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew that Stan was avoiding Kyle because of his recent confession; there was no other explanation.
"So, what do you want to do? Dance?" Kyle asked, his voice teasing.
"I don't dance," Craig replied, flatly. "Besides, I think I know the best thing for you right now."
"What?"
"You need to get hammered, dude," Craig said, nodding his head. "Like, fucking obliterated."
"I don't know," Kyle replied, glancing around. "You know I'm a lightweight when it comes to alcohol."
"So? I'll be there to look out for you. Trust me."
The night sky arched over them into eternity and it was too beautiful for words, a fact which Kyle kept repeating ad nauseam. Craig glanced at him indulgently as they lay in the cool grass, evening breezes wafting across them and carrying sounds of the party to their ears; still raging as the night wore on.
"It's just so fucking beautiful, you know?" Kyle asked, a wine cooler gripped in his hand as his other hand traced outlines of constellations; diamond points creating a roadmap across the heavens.
"It sure is," Craig replied, still feeling relatively sober but content, basking in the heat pouring off of Kyle; the aroma of summer grasses drifting around him.
"I mean, I have those glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, but nothing compares to the real thing. I almost feel like I could fall into it and swim," Kyle slurred. "Then I could leave all of this bullshit behind."
"Is that so?" Craig asked, thinking of his childhood nightlight that he'd actually really loved; the projection of planets on his ceiling accompanying him to sleep every night. Another vague part of himself desperately wanted to sleep under Kyle's ceiling sometime so they could look at his glow in the dark stars together.
"Craig, can I ask you something?" Kyle asked, rolling onto his side and curling his hand against his face.
"Of course."
"Why did you start playing the piano? I've always wanted to ask but I kept forgetting."
"Why do you care?" Craig asked, bluntly; still surprised whenever another person took an interest in him, especially Kyle.
"Because you're my best fucking friend, you moron!" Kyle exclaimed, sounding deeply offended; slurred words pouring into the night and making Craig want to laugh out loud. It turned out Kyle was sort of a silly, emotional drunk, which proved to be immensely entertaining.
"Fine, if you must know," he murmured, "it's because of that one song from Cats."
"Cats? Cats the Musical? Oh, god; that show is the fucking worst."
"I agree, but there's one song in it that's good, and it's the one that made me give a shit about learning to play the piano."
"Which one?"
"Memory," he said, and he lifted his hands towards the sky, his fingers automatically playing the melody; every note coming to him easily. "I was five years old and my music teacher at the time, Ted, would play it for me at the end of my lessons, and I don't know; I just really liked it."
"Will you play it for me sometime?" Kyle asked, voice soft.
"If you want."
Kyle was silent for a moment, and then out of nowhere he started giggling; the sound bright even in the darkness; leaping into the air like the flames of the bonfire burning in Wendy's backyard.
"What?" Craig asked, glancing over.
"Sorry," Kyle replied, stifling his giggles with one hand but they continued to break through. "I just thought your reason for playing the piano would be, I don't know, a little more profound."
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't live up to your weird, dramatic expectations," Craig grumbled, feeling annoyed but almost wanting to laugh because Kyle was; the sound of it becoming its own type of music.
Kyle's laughter subsided then, and his tone became sober even though he was clearly inebriated as hell.
"What's wrong with me, Craig?"
Craig sat up, the question completely knocking him for a loop. He studied Kyle's face in the darkness, and he was pretty sure he saw small tears falling down his cheeks.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You said that Stan wouldn't turn his back on me," he said, his voice choked up. "But now he won't even talk to me."
Craig gritted his teeth as he crawled over to Kyle, his face illuminated in the moonlight; silvering his hair.
"Then that's his fucking problem, isn't it?" He seethed, the rage rising in him again. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, Kyle; and if he can't see that, then he can go fuck himself."
"But, I love him," Kyle said, his hands coming up to cover his face as he sobbed like his heart was breaking. Now Craig was really regretting getting him drunk; some people seriously couldn't handle their alcohol.
Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest, the way his mouth went dry as he tried to keep it together, Craig stared at Kyle and was suddenly at a loss for words. What could he possibly say now?
"Are you sure you don't want me to talk to him?" Craig asked, sharp pain digging into his heart even as he spoke the words. "Maybe I can figure out what's going on."
"No! It would be too humiliating," Kyle moaned, thick tears still streaming down his cheeks. Sitting up, he reached out a hand and braced himself against the ground. "Whoa, I feel so dizzy, dude. How much did I drink?"
Craig looked over at the stack of wine cooler and beers they'd swiped from the coolers sitting on Wendy's porch; an action that had not been easy considering there were so many adults milling about.
"I kind of lost track," Craig admitted, eyeing the clear bottles in the caustic moonlight. "If I had to go out on a limb I'd say a lot, though."
Kyle smirked through his tears.
"Thanks, that's a big help." He rubbed a hand through his grass-flecked hair while continuing to brace himself. "God, I can't believe I'm crying like this; I am such a fucking pussy."
"Wine has a tendency to make you emotional, I've noticed," Craig admitted. "Besides, I think alcohol just fucks with whatever emotion's you're dealing with when you're sober, so, really, your reaction makes sense."
"But, still, to get this fucking upset over Stan," Kyle argued. "Like, what did I even expect? That he'd find out I'm gay and just jump into my arms? Life doesn't work like that; I was just being a dumb ass."
"Yeah, kind of," Craig replied, nodding his head. Glancing over, he saw Kyle staring daggers at him and he held up his hands innocently. "Hey, I'm just agreeing with you, dude. You're right; it wouldn't have been realistic for Stan to just admit his undying love. He's fucking clueless, anyway. I wouldn't be surprised if he has no idea what his own feelings are, you know?"
"Yeah," Kyle agreed, his voice dripping with fondness. "Stan's a dipshit when it comes to emotions, huh?"
"I guess it's just part of his charm," Craig replied, rolling his eyes.
"Hey, what are you assholes doing out here by yourselves?" A voice piped up behind them, making Craig and Kyle jump a little. Glancing over his shoulder, Craig saw Kenny, Clyde, Token, and Jimmy rustling through the grasses.
"Yeah, you guys just disappeared as soon as you got here," Kenny said, a lit blunt in his hand. "What's going on?"
"We're sorting through some bullshit," Craig said, crossing his arms and annoyed that they were being interrupted.
"Well, this should help," Kenny said, holding out the blunt to Kyle. "Wanna try?"
"Hey, Kyle doesn't -" Craig started saying, but then -
"Sure, why not?" Kyle slurred, taking it from Kenny and staring at it; eyes a little bleary and red from the alcohol.
"Dude's already three sheets to the wind, you guys," Kenny snickered, gesturing at Kyle as he awkwardly brought the blunt to his lips and took a drag.
"Wait for it," Clyde chimed in, a smirk on his face.
"Kyle, you really shouldn't inhale that much your first time," Craig said, but it was too late.
Kyle doubled over and started hacking violently, the blunt still gripped in his hand. Craig shot a dirty look at Kenny who was laughing his ass off with the other guys.
"You could've fucking showed him how to do it first," he seethed, going over to Kyle and easing the blunt out of his hand.
"Where's the fun in that?" Kenny asked, wiping a tear from his eye as he continued to laugh.
"Where's the fun in kicking your ass?" Craig snapped back. "Maybe we should find out, huh?"
"Oh, lighten up, Tucker," Token replied, laughter finally subsiding. "Kyle's tough; he'll be just fine."
"Right," Craig replied, focusing his attention back on a still hacking Kyle. "Hey, are you okay?"
Kyle nodded his head, face bright red even in the darkness; tears trailing down his cheeks.
"Here, let me show you," Craig said, bringing the blunt to his lips and inhaling just a fraction; he held the smoke in his mouth for a little while, feeling it burning in his lungs and throat, and then exhaled slowly. "You don't need to take a giant hit, okay? And then just hold it for awhile. Do you want to try again?"
Kyle accepted the blunt while staring at Craig, red-streaked eyes wide.
"I didn't know you smoked, Craig."
"Dude's a fucking chimney," Kenny said, smirking. "I've smoked with him tons of times; him and Stan."
"Stan?" Kyle asked, face awash with shock. "Stan smokes, too?"
"Yeah, he'd probably be over here hogging all of my stash if he wasn't with Wendy," Kenny replied. "They're all over each other."
Kyle had just been in the process of taking another drag when he heard these words, and then he was doubled over and coughing again; almost sounding like he was about to throw up all over the grass.
"Okay, that's enough," Craig snapped, taking the blunt from Kyle's hand and jabbing it at Kenny. "Kyle's had enough of this crap for one night."
"Stan's with Wendy?" Kyle croaked out, hands firmly planted in the grass as his body convulsed with coughs and pants. "What are they doing?"
"Making out," Clyde shrugged, stepping over to take the blunt from Kenny. "Please tell me you have more of this stuff, dude."
"Of course I do," Kenny replied, waving him off and turning back to Kyle.
"They got back together at the beginning of the summer," he said, cocking a brow. "Didn't he tell you?"
"He hasn't told me anything," Kyle replied, his voice trembling.
"Yeah, he begged her to take him back," Token interjected, taking a swig of a beer stolen from Craig and Kyle's stash. "It was actually pretty pathetic."
"That's not the only thing that's pathetic," Kyle said, lowly; his hands clenching in the grass. "I'm such a fucking idiot."
"What are you talking about, dude?" Kenny asked, smirking face finally registering some concern to see Kyle so distraught.
"It's nothing," Kyle snapped, attempting to stand and almost falling over. Quickly, Craig stepped in and propped him up, his arms circling his waist.
"Let's just go," he said, feeling Kyle's body still trembling from coughing and god knew what else. "Okay?"
"You guys can't go yet," Clyde interjected; just as clueless as always. "The fireworks are about to start."
"I'm pretty sure Kyle doesn't give a fuck about fireworks right now, Clyde," Craig said, exasperation plain in his voice at these idiots' overwhelming insensitivity.
"No, it's okay," Kyle replied, taking hold of Craig's arm. "I mean, it's a fourth of July party, right? We might as well stay for the grand finale; the rest of the night's fucked anyway."
Just then, colors exploded across the sky in shimmers of gold, red, green, and violet; violent cracking sounds accompanying the fireworks as they drenched their lights against the arcing starscape. Craig tore his eyes away and his gaze drifted over to where the party was still raging; the orange bonfire crackling and leaking its burnt, woody scent into the night air. Somewhere in the fray, Stan was no doubt fucking around with Wendy while Kyle stood beside him; trying to keep his shit together as his world was steadily falling apart. This thought was enough to make Craig want to taste blood, his hands clenching in Kyle's shirt as he continued to prop him up.
"Are you glad we came now?" Kyle murmured, his voice almost lost among the explosions of the fireworks; the bright sparkles sizzling in his eyes and making them shine like stars. "I mean, at least we get to watch the fireworks together, right? That's worth something."
It's worth a lot, Craig thought, though he never would've said something like that out loud. Instead, he just nodded, turning his attention back to the sky where the fireworks sizzled and popped.
"No wonder Stan's been avoiding me," Kyle said, almost like he was talking to himself. "I'm so fucking stupid."
"That's enough," Craig replied, the defeat in Kyle's voice only reinforcing his swiftly building rage.
Later, after the party died down and Craig and Kyle were back in Kyle's room and laying in bed, Craig came to a decision that wasn't easy, but he knew it was necessary. As he gazed up at Kyle's glow in the dark stars spattered across the ceiling, their greenish cast filtering through the blue darkness saturating the room, he knew he'd have to take matters into his own hands and talk to Stan; even if it meant trampling on his own heart.
Glancing at Kyle, who was finally asleep and breathing deeply after throwing up violently upon their return, Craig could feel a raw tenderness searing through him; practically ripping him to shreds as he lay there. He'd never seen Kyle so pulverized, so beaten down, and he knew that he wouldn't say anything to Stan anytime soon; that was just his nature. Kyle would've gladly suffered in silence if it meant Stan could be happy, but that bullshit just didn't wash with Craig; Kyle shouldn't have to hurt like that if he could help it.
Sitting up, Craig swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, padding over to Kyle's desk to take a peek at Kyle Fish, its swirling fins wafting through the water; typically bright colors muted in the darkness of the room. Visions of the summer unfolding before him arrested his thoughts for a moment, days and nights spent with Kyle without Stan around to ruin things; a golden opportunity to maybe, just maybe influence the situation in his favor; but Craig pushed the idea away. Somewhere along the way, something had shifted inside of his heart and now it was coming to the light; vague longing becoming sharp and bright even as he tried to ignore it.
God, I fucking love him, Craig thought, the realization a punch to his psyche that had the power to stagger him; leave him completely breathless. He looked at Kyle Fish as he tried to muddle through his thoughts, the truth staring him in the eyes and forcing him to face it.
How could this happen? Tweek wasn't even gone a year, and yet here he was, falling hopelessly in love with someone else. It was fucking crazy. Turning away from the fish, Craig came back to the bed and sat on its edge, the milky moonlight falling through panes of glass and wavering across Kyle's form under the comforter. Reaching out a hand, Craig stroked wayward curls from Kyle's forehead but he didn't stir, his breaths deep and even. Splashes of freckles over his cheekbones made him look so boyish and cute; a little woodland creature that needed to be protected and preserved.
He just made it so easy, Craig thought, continuing to stroke Kyle's soft hair. He's so fucking easy to love, and I bet he doesn't even realize it.
That's why Stan's reaction was so hard to understand, though Craig could see the trouble if Stan simply wasn't into guys. But, still, why couldn't he just talk to Kyle instead of shutting him out? That was unforgivable. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? Craig sighed as he felt his chest tighten, his heart a throbbing wound lodged in his center; he knew what he had to do, even though he wished to Christ that he didn't have to. Is that what you did when you were in love? Sacrifice yourself if need be? This was all too fucking complicated, but he knew one simple truth: Kyle shouldn't have to be a casualty; that much was clear.
Just wait, Stan, he thought, his inner voice savage as he gazed at Kyle; his red hair still drenched with perspiration from dry heaving and sobbing into the toilet, his slender hands curled against his face. We're going to be having a little talk very soon.
Present Day
Kyle had no idea where he was, but he kept trudging along; bare feet passing through drifts of snow but not burning his skin with cold.
Looking around, he saw pine trees in gathered clumps falling away on either side, but beyond the snow and trees, the world was a blank canvas of white; there wasn't a sun or moon to be seen in the "sky". What opened up over top of him was nothing but empty air, devoid of clouds or stars; devoid of anything.
"Where am I?" He asked aloud, his voice echoing through nothingness and bouncing off of the trees. He glanced down at himself and saw that he was clothed in the t-shirt he'd gone to bed in; long and baggy, its collar draped loosely and exposing one shoulder.
Follow the trail, a dark voice rang in his ears; startling him. It sounded so familiar, like jagged music being played late at night; discordant but mesmerizing.
"What?" He asked, glancing around; a sudden feeling of fear filtering through him and making his mouth dry. "What trail?"
His eyes fell to the snow littering his path and he gasped to see small droplets of red marring the white; stretching away and into the distance. They hadn't been there before, had they?
Kyle's feet continued to move of their own accord it would seem, even though every instinct inside of him was telling him to stop and run, but run to where? There was nowhere to go except forward, his path clearly etched out in scarlet splashes; stark against the snow.
As he kept walking, Kyle became aware of a dark figure waiting on the horizon, its shape almost resembling a black arrow against the white dome that made up the absent sky. All at once, a deep and gripping fear took hold of him, and he tried to stop; but his feet kept dragging him forward, closer and closer.
That's right, the voice came to him again. You're so close.
Kyle whimpered as the world was suddenly deluged in flames, the trees and snow disappearing in an inferno of red fire leaping and pulsing; obliterating everything in their path. The heat didn't affect him, though, though the fire that had been creeping through his own skin for days was starting to wake up; lighting up his blood until he almost cried out.
The dark figure was so much closer now, and when Kyle blinked, he opened his eyes and he was suddenly confronted by a familiar face; handsome but terrifying and mere inches away from his own. Surprise and terror flooded through him and he tried to step back, but his body was frozen and unable to move; the flames building around them and inside of his heart, making him want to scream.
"Little cherub," the handsome man breathed, a slender hand reaching out to grip Kyle's chin and tilt his head in various angles; clearly appraising him. "It's nice to finally see you up close."
"W-who are you?" Kyle stammered out, the man's fingers on his skin making him want to vomit, to run, to disappear. The man's hair was black as crow feathers, skin pale and flawless, smooth as a mirror, but his eyes were so remote; black and red tunnels leading to nowhere and giving nothing back.
"I'm the fire burning inside of you," the man said, and he dropped his hold; one clawed finger drifting over Kyle's chin, down his throat, past his clavicle, until it finally stopped over his heart; where his pulse was almost a small animal buzz, threatening to give out at any minute. "I'm the pain that wakes you up at night, too."
"What's happening to me?" Kyle asked, his voice faint as the pain awakened, tearing through his skin and making him wince. Against his will, he wavered on his feet and almost collapsed, his body coming to rest in the arms of the horrible dark stranger; whose hands were so cold and offered absolutely no comfort.
"You're being reborn," he murmured, cold lips resting against Kyle's forehead and kissing him lightly.
Kyle pulled away in revulsion, the stranger's touch still present in his flesh.
"What the hell are you talking about?! You don't make any sense!"
"It'll make sense soon, cherub," the man replied, still holding Kyle close as one hand drifted up his back. "You don't realize it, but if a decision isn't made soon, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. Do you want to know why?"
Kyle shook his head as he tried to push himself away but he didn't have the strength, hateful tears collecting in his eyes and starting to fall.
"Because you'll belong to me," the dark voice whispered right against Kyle's ear; managing to be hot and cold at the same time, stealing his breath.
He could feel the clawed hand still draped and resting against his back, and then all at once a sharp and agonizing pain was lancing through his body; the result of knives being dragged through unsuspecting flesh. Gasping, he arched his back against the anguish, his eyes and mouth wide as he wordlessly convulsed as tremors passed through him.
"So beautiful," the man murmured, and he kissed Kyle's lips; one long canine digging into the flesh of his mouth, drawing rich red blood.
"I'll see you soon, Kyle."
Kyle gasped awake, sweat pouring off of him in rivers and his body burning, every heartbeat pushing fire through his veins; his skin drenched in agony that made him want to weep. He was sobbing, his hands pressing against his face and raking back through his hair, which was awash in perspiration; his entire body trembling from pain and fear. Glancing over, he saw that Craig was fast asleep, his skin glowing from the moonlight passing through the window and illuminating the room.
He looked at the clock on the bedside table, its display flashing a red 3:00 as Kyle bit down on his fist to keep the whimpers in. For whatever reason, he didn't want Craig to wake up; he needed to be alone, desperately. Climbing out of bed, he had to catch himself on the table to keep from falling over, his legs wobbly as they passed over cold floorboards. Managing to keep his feet, he started moving toward the door, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure Craig was still asleep.
Making it out into the hallway, he wandered to his room, his hand pressed against the wall to help keep him upright; pain and fatigue fighting with one another to see who could get him first. His room felt like it was a million miles away but he finally made it, passing through the door and into the bathroom; one trembling finger snapping on the light. Kyle almost hissed when the bright light accosted his eyes, but he ignored the discomfort on his way to the mirror; almost afraid to approach.
Kyle had been actively avoiding the mirror for days now, as his insides started to unravel bit by bit, his mind becoming foggy and muddled; everything within him falling apart into chaos. Looking into the mirror now, he was surprised at how normal he still looked, regardless of how out of control he felt. Leaning forward, he noticed something strange, though; a streak of crimson cutting through his green irises, small but undeniably there. Kyle could barely believe what he was seeing, and Stan's words came back to him, then; cutting through the silence with cruel clarity.
"He said they changed colors," he whispered, eyes widening as the red started to recede just a little; green overlapping and taking its rightful place. "He told me my eyes turned red, but why the fuck would I ever believe that?"
Reaching up, Kyle brought a hand to one of his eyes, but as he moved a stab of pain made him grip at the counter; his body almost folding in on itself at the sudden agony. Turning around, Kyle looked over his shoulder and almost screamed at what he saw.
Bloody red claw marks had been torn through his skin, oozing in the light of the bathroom; his t-shirt in tattered shreds where the points had ripped through the fabric and decimated it.
"This can't be real," he whispered, studying his wounds. "That was just a dream...it...it had to be, right?"
Vivid images flashed through his brain of the smoldering forest, the patches of red in the snow, the dark figure, the handsome man whose voice seemed to cut through his head; almost like it was taking up residence there, inside of him.
"W-what's going on?" Kyle asked, looking down at his hands and leaning against the counter, his back screaming at him as it continued to bleed. "Nothing makes any fucking sense anymore. And the things I've been doing with Craig, almost like I have no choice, but...but I want to, don't I?"
Turning around, he faced the mirror again, and he almost screamed to see his eyes burning red; a stranger's eyes.
"You're being reborn."
"No," he said, pushing himself away. "I'm just losing my mind. None of this is actually happening."
Somewhere inside of his fire-ravaged brain, dark voices were telling him to go back to Craig's bed, to succumb to him; to submit. They were instructing him in persuasive tones, and he could almost imagine himself walking back down the hall and into Craig's room, where he'd pass through and climb onto the mattress and lay himself against white sheets, where he'd allow Craig to part his legs, and -
Kyle shook his head, trying to clear his brain, his hands clenching around Craig's ruined t-shirt that brushed whisper soft against his aching skin.
I need to get out of here, he thought, desperately. I need to talk to Stan; he can help me put all of this crazy shit in perspective.
Pulling the t-shirt over his head he blushed to see he was naked otherwise, suddenly remembering that Craig had fucked him right before bed; his large hands flush against Kyle's skin as he drove into him, murmuring his name over and over as he finished. His memories were becoming less and less broken as time wore on, and he could recall Craig whispering how he loved him as they lay together afterward, his finger twirling one of his curls idly; coaxing Kyle to fall asleep there against his pounding heart.
He loves me, Kyle thought, as he dressed himself in his own clothes; relishing the feeling of normalcy restoring itself. He said that he's loved me for almost ten years.
Vague fear bloomed inside of Kyle as he groped for his car keys and wallet in the darkened room, but they weren't in their usual places. Tiptoeing out to the living room, he looked all around, under the couches and in the kitchen; in all of the places his stuff may gravitate, but to no avail. Hopelessness passed over him as he looked out the window, at the frozen night where snowflakes slowly started drifting down; sugaring everything with their soft glitter. Glancing over, he saw his boots sitting next to the door and he made a snap decision; if he couldn't drive to Stan, he'd fucking walk to him.
It's only a couple of miles, he reasoned as he stuffed his feet into his boots. I'll just fucking deal with it.
Listening, he placed his hand on the doorknob, hoping against hope that his movements hadn't roused Craig from his slumber, but all was quiet. Relief flooded through Kyle as he pushed the door open, though he couldn't say why. After all, he had no reason to be afraid of Craig, right? They were best friends, and Craig loved him.
Do I love him, though? Kyle asked himself as he started the long walk to Stan's apartment; but he pushed the question away. That was an inquiry that was too big to unpack at the moment, and he had to fortify himself against the driving cold and the late night hour; his feet passing through swiftly collecting snow, dark pine trees lining the path as he walked.
Every footstep proved to be an exercise in torment; a harsh fact that Kyle discovered very quickly into his trek. Every footfall that carried him farther from his home, from Craig, felt like knives in his soles; digging deep until he wanted to scream. Fighting through the pain, he gritted his teeth and continued, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket; snowflakes assaulting his quickly numbed face. New aches and pains were awakening now, in his hips, in his thighs, in his backside; residual discomforts carried over from hours of sex with Craig.
He's so aggressive, Kyle thought, shivering through the cold. Almost like he's afraid every time is going to be the last time.
Secret, hidden voices were screeching at him now, too; not as soft and musical as before. Begging, no, demanding, that he turn around and go back to Craig; that what he was doing, sneaking away, was a cardinal sin and completely unforgivable. They told him that if he changed his course now, that all could go back to normal, to the way things were meant to be, and the scary part was that a large part of Kyle's brain wanted to concede, to fold; just acquiesce and forget about who he was before. Stubbornly, he pushed the urges away and kept moving forward, every step heavier and more painful than the last; the snowstorm gathering force and swirling around him.
Thoughts of being wrapped up in Craig's arms and being kissed awake by him wove a strange tenderness through Kyle's heart as he walked. His moments with Craig seemed to be obliterating his memories with Stan, and he could remember wanting to comply and be obedient when given a command by him; a strong, forceful part of his psyche responded to Craig almost like he was born to do so. Even now, as he fought through the cold and toward Stan, his mind was dreaming of Craig and wanted to get lost in him, the darkness pouring into his brain and fairly filling him up; beating back everything that had been there before.
Bright headlights cut through the ravaging darkness and filled Kyle with slow terror, and he quickly looked over his shoulder; fully expecting Craig's car to be bearing down on him and pulling him back home. Instead, he saw that it was just a truck passing slowly through, the drive careful as he navigated his way through the ice and snow. Looking back, Kyle could see that he was finally making some real headway, the neighborhood breaking open and becoming much more familiar; Stan's apartment building rising up in the distance like a beacon on a darkened shore.
Ignoring the stabbing knives in his feet and the tempest of voices pulling him into the void, Kyle dragged himself toward the building; every breath coming as a gasp now as he silently prayed for respite.
"Why didn't you just call me, Kyle? I would've picked you up!"
"I couldn't find my phone or car keys," Kyle said, softly; wincing as Stan dragged a cotton ball saturated with peroxide across the wounds on his back. He sat shirtless in Stan's living room, leaning forward as he was being tended to, every sweep of the cotton ball eliciting burning waves; almost like salt water was being poured into his lacerations.
"These are pretty bad, Kyle," Stan murmured, continuing to work. He drew back and grabbed another cotton ball, drenching it in peroxide. "I think you may need stitches because they won't stop bleeding."
"No! No hospitals; no doctors," Kyle replied, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm sure they're not as bad as all that; you just like to blow things out of proportion."
"Kyle, you showed up at my door at 4 am with gaping wounds on your back; this whole situation is already blown out of proportion," Stan snapped; his tone harsh but his hands so soft and soothing, even through the pain. "How the fuck did you even get these? I swear to God, if Craig -"
"Craig didn't do this, Stan," Kyle cut him off, softly. "He'd never hurt me like this."
"We'll have to part company on that, Kyle," Stan scoffed. "Fine, if he didn't do it, then who did?"
Kyle was silent for a moment as he tried to formulate a response, his mind passing over his dream; still unable to make sense of it.
"I-I don't really know," he finally said. "All I know is that I went to bed and I was fine, and when I woke up, they were there."
"That makes no sense," Stan said, throwing the used cotton balls in the trash and putting the cap back on the peroxide.
"I realize that," Kyle said, sitting up straight and trying to ease the kinks out of his spine. "I mean, I had this nightmare right before waking up, and in it this man assaulted me." His voice lowered as he continued to explain, feeling ashamed and afraid of what he was saying; no one in their right mind would believe him. "He scratched me in the exact same place, and then I woke up."
"What is this, Nightmare on Elm Street?" Stan asked, coming and sitting beside him; his dark hair mussed from sleep. "What'd he look like?"
Kyle shrugged, feeling sheepish but wonderfully relieved that Stan wasn't just brushing away what he was saying as the ravings of a madman.
"He looked like the black haired guy we've seen a couple of times at the bar. You know the one I'm talking about," he said, propping his face in one hand. "In fact, he looked exactly like him. It was bizarre."
"Not the dude that Craig is always talking to?" Stan asked, blue eyes widening; and suddenly Kyle noticed the shadows beneath them. "The one with the weird eyes? Always wearing really nice clothes? That guy?"
"Yep," Kyle said. "He said something about belonging to him if a decision isn't made soon." He shrugged, a little shiver passing through him at the memory. "None of it made any sense."
Stan studied him for a moment, a look of confusion laced with anger registering in his features; his hand covering his mouth and worrying his bottom lip.
"I refuse to believe this is just a coincidence," he said. "It's just too convenient, you know? I mean, the scratches on your back, the dream, Craig talking to that guy constantly." He glanced at Kyle, who looked a little surprised. "I've been to the bar on my own, Kyle; and that dude is there all the time, always sitting at the bar and involved in conversation with Craig."
"There's another thing," Kyle began, his heartbeat thumping painfully in his burning chest; every nerve on fire even in the chilled room. He fought the voices in his head as he tried to find the right words.
"What?" Stan asked, putting his arm around Kyle's naked shoulders and hugging him close. "Tell me."
"I looked in the mirror tonight, and," Kyle started, but broke off, looking down at his clasped hands. "You were telling the truth, Stan; my eyes, there was red in them. I saw it, plain as day. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
"Well, why the fuck would you, you know?" Stan replied, shrugging. "I mean, I saw the change myself and I almost didn't believe it. I just want to know what the fuck is going on."
"Me, too," Kyle said, faintly; knowing that he was about to decimate Stan's heart with his next confession. He groped for the words as Stan held him close, the aroma of mint and freshly-laundered clothes affording him fleeting comfort.
"Stan, I -" he started to say, when a pounding erupted at the front door that made them both jump almost a foot in the air.
"What the actual fuck?" Stan muttered, standing and striding over to the door while Kyle huddled on the couch, shaking though he couldn't say why; instant fear rising up and consuming him.
Stan ripped the door open and all of a sudden Craig was there, letting himself into the room without even being invited; his eyes wild and hair disheveled as he instantly went to Kyle's side. He gathered a trembling Kyle into his arms and held him close for a moment, before pulling away and looking deep into his eyes.
"I woke up and you were gone," he said, voice frantic. "Are you okay? Did you walk here? It's too cold to be outside for that long!"
Before Kyle could answer, Stan was cutting in; tone harsh and accusatory.
"How did you know he walked here, Tucker?" He asked. "How would you know that, unless you were the one that took his phone and keys? Huh?"
"Cut the fucking melodrama, Stan," Craig snapped, glancing at him with barely-concealed contempt. "Kyle's phone and keys are on top of the piano at home where he left them."
"They are?" Kyle asked, suddenly unsure whether or not he had checked there, but he had to of, right? He rubbed a hand against his head, feeling the fog rolling in as the voices became louder; red bleeding into the edges of his thoughts now that Craig was so close.
"Come on, Kyle; I'm taking you home," Craig murmured, standing and holding out a hand to him. "You're never going to get better if you pull stunts like this."
"He isn't going anywhere," Stan seethed, coming over and stepping between Kyle and Craig. "Did you look at his back, Craig? He practically needs stitches!"
Sneering, Craig glanced over Stan's shoulder, his eyes landing on Kyle; grey as the clouds gathering in the sky.
"Let me see, Kyle," he commanded, voice soft; gentle but still insistent.
Immediately, Kyle stood and turned, exposing his injured back so Craig could study it. In that moment, he didn't think he could've refused even if he'd tried.
"Jesus Christ," Craig breathed, darting around Stan and coming over to Kyle; one finger trailing beside the angry cuts breaking through his skin. "How the fuck did this happen?!"
"I'm not sure," Kyle whispered, not wanting to recount the dream again; it was too fresh and too distressing. The whole night was quickly being plunged into nonsensical madness, and he seemed to be at its center; carried along in a current that he had no control over.
"He had a nightmare and he woke up with his back ripped open," Stan said, hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. "Your little friend from the bar was in it, by the way."
"My little friend?" Craig asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, asshole," Stan retorted. "That dark haired guy that's constantly visiting you. The one you're always having really involved conversations with. Who the fuck is he, anyway?"
"I'm pretty sure that's none of your fucking business," Craig replied, looking around until his eyes fell on Kyle's shirt and coat draped across a chair. Plucking them up, he brought them to Kyle. "Come on, Kyle; get dressed so we can go."
"The only one who's leaving is you, Craig," Stan said, coming over and ripping the clothes out of Craig's hand. "Kyle wants to stay here; why else would he fucking show up in the middle of the night in the snow?"
"Is that so?" Craig asked, glancing over at Kyle; who stood shivering from heat and pain, his head almost lost in the voices and madness now. "Kyle, did you want to stay here?"
Kyle looked rapidly between Craig and Stan, a sudden feeling of being torn in half rising up in his chest; the sensation making him whimper as his heart and blood raced hotly. He was almost certain that molten lava had replaced the blood in his veins, and the voices were chanting in his mind: give in, give in, give in; on and on and on into eternity.
"Jesus fucking Christ, his eyes!" Stan exclaimed, coming over and grabbing Kyle by the shoulders; his touch making him cry out in anguish.
Pulling away, Kyle panted and gripped at his head, his body in a turmoil as he fought with himself; his mind and spirit plunged into chaos. Vaguely, he could hear Stan screaming at Craig.
"What the fuck did you do to him? His eyes are red, for God's sake!"
Turning around, Kyle saw Stan back Craig toward the kitchen, pushing at his chest as he continued to yell accusations; Craig's face impassive as he allowed himself to be directed. Through the swirling fog, he watched as Craig's hand crept toward the knife block on the counter, his fingers lingering on the largest one and slowly drawing out the blade as the lamplight sparkled on its surface.
"Oh, my fucking god, what the fuck is going on out here?!" Kenny yelled, coming into the room; shirtless and yawning with his dirty blond hair mussed. "Do you fuckers have any idea what time it is? I have to be up hella early for work!"
He paused when he saw the scene before him: Stan jabbing his finger at Craig's chest while Kyle stood by, shirtless and practically becoming incoherent; though he had the presence of mind to notice that Craig had swiftly dropped the knife. Kenny's eyes widened in utter shock while he looked around.
"What the hell is going on?" He asked, his eyes resting on Craig and Stan. "Are you guys fighting?"
"Yes, we are," Stan seethed, taking a step back. "But Craig was just leaving, so it doesn't matter."
"Yes, I was, and Kyle's coming with me," Craig said. "Get dressed, Kyle."
Instantly, Kyle picked up his shirt, turning a little as he slid it on; eliciting a shout from Kenny.
"Dude, what the fuck happened to your back? You look like you were mauled by something!"
"Back off, McCormick," Craig snapped. "Just leave him alone so we can get the hell out of here."
"Kyle isn't fucking going with you!" Stan shouted. He came over and put his hands on Kyle's shoulders, his blue eyes pleading. "You know you can stay here, right? I want you to, Kyle; please? Just don't go with him, I'm begging you."
Kyle looked at Craig, who was watching with his fathomless eyes.
"Kyle," he said. "Get dressed."
Wordlessly, Kyle pulled on his white coat, the one that Stan said made him look like a little polar bear.
"Kyle, what's wrong with you?" Stan asked, practically sounding like he was on the verge of tears. "Why are you listening to him? Can't you think for yourself?"
"S-Stan, please," he said, almost soundlessly. "Hel-"
"Kyle," Craig broke in, sharply. "Let's go."
Kyle pushed past Stan and walked to Craig's side, his eyes downcast as he struggled to stay upright; every part of his body feeling like it was disintegrating into ash as his mind fought tirelessly. Craig stroked a gentle hand through his curls before letting it drift to Kyle's waist, where he pulled him close to his side; his fingers pressing deep into his skin.
"Get your fucking hands off of him!" Stan yelled, coming closer while drawing his fist back; face contorted with fury.
"You've had him for long enough," Craig said, simply. "Now it's my turn."
"What the fuck are you talking about, you psycho?"
"You never deserved him, anyway," Craig sneered. "But I do; I always have."
"He doesn't even fucking want to be with you," Stan seethed. "I don't know why he's acting like this, but you're completely wrong, Tucker; wrong and fucking crazy."
"Oh?" Craig asked, and he tilted Kyle's face toward him, his lips coming to rest on Kyle's as he whimpered; not daring to pull away. Pulling away, he smiled at Stan wickedly; grey eyes amused. "Do you need further convincing?"
Stan was silent for several moments, his entire body radiating shock and disbelief.
"You dirty son of a bitch," he whispered. "You're completely out of your mind."
"I'd stop right there unless you want me to tell you just how far things have gone," Craig said, winding another of Kyle's curls around his finger as he sagged against his side; the look on Stan's face devastating him beyond measure. "Come on, Kyle. Let's go."
Feeling absent from his own body, Kyle allowed Craig to lead him through the door and out of the apartment; cringing and crying inside from the destruction left in their wake. A small, swiftly disappearing part of himself still begged for Stan to save him, to see the truth, but try as he might, he couldn't articulate the words and they died one by one; lost in a tide that kept pushing him farther away.
******
"You'll be lucky if you don't come down with the flu," Craig chastised Kyle as he gently slid the sponge down his back, the clear water becoming pink as it washed over his wounds. "I can't believe you walked all the way to Stan's in the snow. Are you crazy?"
"I feel like I am," Kyle replied, tonelessly, but he stayed still; allowing Craig to bathe him, his body surrounded by fragrant bubbles. "I don't even know what to think anymore, Craig; I feel like I'm almost fading away."
"You're just tired," Craig said, gently; reaching down and kissing one soft, milky shoulder. "We'll go to bed after we get you cleaned up, okay?"
"Sure," Kyle said, dipping his head low so he could rest his cheek against his knees.
Craig gazed down at his little redhead, Kyle's limbs pale under the bathroom lighting; the deep lacerations on his back only highlighting his extreme fragility. He physically hurt to see the torn flesh, and the implications behind their existence was too horrifying to contemplate; but he already had plans to hash it out with Damien, that sneaky demonic son of a bitch.
As he dried Kyle off, his hands lingering on every inch of skin he could, Craig looked at him, suddenly feeling a deep and wordless sorrow.
"Why did you leave?" He asked, voice drenched in unconcealed pain. "Why did you go to him?"
"I needed to see him, Craig," Kyle said, moaning a little when Craig's lips grazed over one exposed thigh; his fingers straying along the small of his back. "I missed him; in fact, I still do."
"You need to forget about him," Craig replied, helping him out of the bath and leading him into the bedroom. "I've told you that."
"I know," Kyle said, partially scarlet eyes downcast as Craig's fingers inspected his wounds; drenched hair heavy against his neck. "I don't know if I can do it, though."
"You can and you will," Craig said, simply. "Pretty soon you won't have to worry about him at all."
"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, his face flooding with fear.
"You'll know soon enough," Craig replied, kissing his cheek. "But enough about that. Your scratches look okay; Marsh can at least do basic first aid, it would seem," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Hmm," Kyle replied, pulling a shirt over his head.
"Are you sleepy?"
Kyle shook his head, his arms wrapped around himself and his thoughts seemingly a million miles away. Craig cocked an eyebrow, vague concern flooding through him before leaning down and kissing Kyle deeply, his tongue parting his lips and delving inside. When he drew away, he saw that Kyle's eyes were burning brightly, all traces of green forest decimated as the fires raged.
"Will you play the piano for me? Please?" He asked, fretful voice smoothing into calm tones; eyes soft and pleading. Reaching up, Kyle wound his arms around Craig's neck and pulled him close, kissing his mouth softly.
"Of course I will," Craig murmured. "What song?"
"Memory."
Moments later, Kyle was laying on the couch and covered in blankets, his hands nestled under his cheek as he watched Craig prepare to play. Craig glanced at him and couldn't help but smile at this embarrassment of riches; his Kyle waiting to hear him play the piano in the middle of the night while a snowstorm covered the world outside. Later, he would be able to gather him in his arms as they fell asleep, and Kyle would be waiting for him when they woke in the morning; as the sun rose and turned the freshly fallen snow to gold.
"I'm afraid to fall asleep," Kyle said, suddenly. "What if something happens?"
"Don't worry," Craig replied, the beginning strains of the song wafting into the air and filling it up; fingers strong and sure as they swept over the keys. "I'll be here to protect you; I promise." He looked back at Kyle even as he continued to play, soft happiness welling inside of his heart.
"I'll always be here for you."
