V

They looked like a family.

The little boy watched as his parents and his best friend ate dinner together, laughing and talking about strange things. He watched as they drove off, coming back only in the late, late hours of dawn. He watched as they walked through the door, smelling like hospitals and blood. How could the boy have known about the innocence that still clinged to him, that singled him out from everyone in the house?

He sneaked books into his room, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of screaming from downstairs or the laughter from his best friend. He read textbooks, milk cartons, and newspapers. But the only thing he couldn't bring himself to read was the big, black book buried in his closet. He couldn't read it – couldn't remind himself of those precious last few days with his best friend.

It was one of those sticky, hot days and the little boy was spending it in his room, trying to stay cool by constructing a makeshift fan. The air conditioning in his room had stopped working a long time ago and he had a feeling that it was going to be one of those days. Not the days that went by hopelessly, the days that took everything that the little boy had. No, today, it was going to be a day of peace.

His best friend was sitting in the living room. And the little boy's parents loved his best friend.

The boy was only adding the second blade to his fan when he heard a crash. Screams soon followed, screams of pure agony and fury. More crashes, like dishes cracking on the floor.

The child couldn't stop his tremor any more than he could stop the blades of his fan from rotating. His gaze fixed on the door, as the pounding grew louder and louder. Those screams were painful to listen to – they were high pitched, eerie, and inhuman. They scared the little boy.

Every muscles froze in the boy's body when he heard steps climbing up the stairs. It was only when he heard a banging on his door that he quickly looked around him and hid anything that could be a potential weapon. The blades of his fan were shoved under his bed while his heavier books were thrown in the closet.

And then the boy sat and waited.

But it wasn't his mother who charged through the door. It was his best friend.

The boy's breath caught in his throat as he saw his best friend, looking as cool as always. Even though they were only three years apart, his best friend looked so old. The unruffled black hair, the sharp profile, the tall and lean figure. They stared at each other, taking in the other's appearance. For the boy, it hurt. It hurt to see betrayal in living, breathing form.

He had to try. He had to try one last time, or he'd go crazy. So the little boy slowly stood up, legs shaking, and tried to remember what it had been like. He tried to remember what he was living for. Well aware of his best friend's steady gaze on him, the little boy started walking, each step becoming a memory on its own. He could do it, he could do it. His best friend was right here and all the boy had to do was touch him. Get him to remember.

Hopes rising, he continued walking. Almost there. After a few more steps, the little boy was close enough to see every feature on his best friend's face. Taking a deep breath, the little boy slowly lifted up his hand, trying desperately to touch belief.

"Don't touch me." His best friend snarled, but the fear was there, tinting the bloodshot eyes.

The little boy couldn't help it. He was so close, so close. "Why.. Why are you doing this? Why? I know you remember me."

Silence. And the little boy felt it. He felt his heart beat. "I-I miss you. I promise we don't have to be best friends. We don't even have to play games anymore. I just want someone to talk to, because I get really lonely. Don't you ever feel like that?"

His best friend was silent, coldly watching the boy stutter, before he turned to leave. The little boy couldn't stop the sadness welling up in him and the rush of words coming from his lips.

"You know, someone once told me that love can't be bought or sold. It's found in angels."

The little boy saw his friend freeze, hand at the doorknob. Without knowing why, the boy shrugged off the warning signs and whispered.

"I lost my angel when I lost you."

For a second, he thought he saw it. He thought he saw a faint recognition, the loss of tension in his friend's shoulders. But it didn't matter because a creeping red was invading his friend's eyes and a vein was bulging in his neck. It didn't matter because a fist made contact with his stomach, making pain swim to the little boy's throat.

"YOU BASTARD. DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?"

The little boy clutched a hand to his gut as his best friend's anger filled the room. Chairs went flying as well as toppled desks. Everything was chaotic, but the little boy was just doing his best to contain the overwhelming sadness plunging its icy tips into his body.

"I DID THIS FOR YOU. I SACRIFICED EVERYTHING FOR YOUR WORTHLESS, STUPID, SOUL. AND YOU TALK ABOUT LOVE? YOU?!"

The little boy didn't understand, not even when his best friend took his chin roughly and stared at him in the eye.

"LOOK AT ME!"

It scared him. Everything did. A fist soon collided with his face and the boy had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He didn't understand, didn't understand.

"THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN TO YOU. YET YOU'RE HERE, PURE AND UNTOUCHED. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT LOVE TO ME."

More punches, more kicks, more shoves against the wall. It became easier for his friend to throw harder, faster punches while it became easier for the little boy to withdraw into himself, shutting off his heart. He thought it would end soon, and his friend would leave the room. But he was wrong, because his friend stopped when something caught the corner of his eye. Under the bed. No.

The fan blade caught the light and the little boy thought he could see his terrified reflection in the silver blades. Without another second, his friend walked over to the bed and pulled the blades out with a flourish, almost as if he were performing for a crowd.

Dangerous. Quiet.

"I should kill you right now." The boy found himself being pulled by the collar of his shirt as his best friend shoved his face right in his. "Because you're killing me. You got that? You're killing me, you son of a bitch."

The little boy stopped shaking then, because the fear of death was nothing compared to what his best friend was saying. This wasn't his best friend. This wasn't a human.

"SAY IT!" His best friend shook the boy, rattling his teeth and bouncing the angry words around the room. "SAY IT. SAY IT."

The boy lost it. He lost everything. Looking straight at his best friend, he licked his lips and whispered, "I'm killing you."

"SAY IT AGAIN, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT. SAY IT OVER AND OVER OR I'LL SLIT YOUR THROAT."

Crazed eyes met darkness.

"I'm killing you."

"I'm killing you."

"I'm killing you."

When his friend finally left the room, the little boy had his life. It didn't matter though. Nothing did.

The room stayed quiet for a long, long time.

xx

The boy was sleeping in his small bed when the door opened, letting in a stream of light that shined on the boy. Automatically, he tensed, but nothing happened so he feigned sleep.

A hand lightly touched his shoulder, but the boy didn't move. He wasn't scared – he had lost that feeling far too long ago. He was just cautious. Cautious and intelligent enough to choose security over curiosity. Letting his breaths even out, the boy continued to stare at the wall as someone shuffled behind him.

Soon, he felt the same person touch his shoulder again.

"My angel."

A silence before the door closed and the light snuffed out.

After an hour, the boy finally turned on his side. His sharp eyes dispassionately surveyed the room, looking for any changes. Just as he was about to give up, he saw it.

A slip of paper on his night table.

Xx

The next day, his best friend killed himself.

There was something nonchalant about the funeral and the way his parents laughed during the reception. He saw the looks of pity, heard the whispers.

"He was such a handsome boy. So bright, so talented."

"You know what they say about geniuses..."

The little boy didn't know it had been open casket, so when he had seen his best friend in that coffin looking so peaceful, he had almost cried. Almost.

But he didn't. And that's what counted. In fact, the little boy didn't care. He was happy to see the face frozen in death. It's what his best friend deserved. The little boy hated his friend.

The little boy curved his lips into a smile, but his hands still shook and his hatred still wavered as he remembered his best friend's last words.

After the funeral, his parents treated him to ice cream. But when they weren't looking, he spit out the treat into his napkin. Then they went out to a bridge to watch the sunset and the little boy could have sworn that his parents were happier. He thought he knew why.

That same day, the little boy went to sleep with the white slip of paper clutched in his hand.

xx

AN: Everything intertwines. I promise.

Guesses are encouraged!