After CJ closed his door on Julia's heel, her chirping her thirtieth goodbye behind it, he held himself against a wall and allowed himself to breathe for a moment. The moonlight ebbed through his uncurtained window and it wrapped him in a blanket of soft light. He felt a strange peace he never had before. Sure, Julia and Mirabelle were a little much for him, but they seemed to be honestly kind to him. With Vaughn, on the other hand, he felt some gentle solidarity with; the two hadn't said much all night, but the other man had offered him a slight smile when he had offered up a few words. Everyone in CJ's life he had ever encountered had always loved to talk and would grow short with him if he didn't reciprocate, but at the very least the Comptons were different. The women hadn't seemed to mind CJ's lack of verbal contribution, and the man seemed to be a kindred spirit.

CJ slipped off his overshirt and picked up his last cigarette off his nightstand and lit up. He cursed himself mentally after realizing he left his other pack at the Compton's house. Oh well, he'd go back and get it tomorrow. He wandered his small shack as he smoked, before arriving on the backrest of the old couch and flicking on the TV that seemed straight from the 80s.

Smoke in one hand, remote in the other, he thumbed through the basic channels before stopping on a news station that broadcasted from the city nearby the archipelago. A few local reports passed by, an elderly birthday there, a bear sighting there, and CJ was about to click it back off when the anchor caught his attention.
"And now, an update on a missing persons case. Chelsea Stackhouse, aged 22, was found missing from her parents' home in Taylor County just last week."
CJ's heart stopped and he almost dropped his cigarette.
"Officials say her parents, Peter and Claire Stackhouse, confirmed that Chelsea appears to have stolen $500 and may be travelling under a fake name and posing as a man. Police have therefore began pursuing a runaway case instead. The Stackhouses also state that Chelsea is mentally ill and unable to care for herself. Any information is welcome at the tip hotline-"
CJ's boot connected with the screen and glass shattered and sprayed outwards. After the TV fell backwards onto the wood floor, he repeatedly slammed his left foot into it until it was a pulverized mess of electronics. He screamed in bitter victory.
He crumpled to the floor and began to sob. It was all over. Everyone that saw that would know now the very thing he had tried to keep secret. He assumed some people could have guessed by his voice, but now it was practically plastered on bright blaring neon signs to anyone who had been watching the news. He regretted leaving behind a foul, curse-laden coming out note to his parents before leaving, maybe he wouldn't have been branded with "posing as a man". He grit his teeth in anger over the fact they never bothered to do the same to Mark when he left, despite leaving in a screaming match about his own transgender status.
CJ took his still-lit cigarette and pressed it hard into the palm of his other hand into a burn scar that had long since been there. A familiar pain flowed through his veins and he winced in relief.
The used butt fell to the floor in front of the gorey remains of the TV. Soaked blue eyes stared into nothing as he trembled. The only thing left in his mind was his high-school yearbook picture the news station had used. His sobbing hushed to a whimper as he sat there, unmoving. His binder ached around his chest and he felt it rub painfully on his skin.

He jumped as there was a knock on the door. His mind went 0 to 60, and he held his breath as his thoughts threatened him with his parents bashing down the door to drag him back to the hell hole they called a house. He tried to remain silent, so that whoever came to turn him in would think he was asleep, but he couldn't keep himself from loudly hyperventilating.
"Uh... hello?" A dark, deep voice came from the other side of the door. It sounded like what little he had heard of Vaughn's voice from before. Shit, he had heard him panicking.
"Uh... it's... open," He struggled out.
The front door slowly creaked open and a tall, dark figure stepped in cautiously.
"You.. uh.. left your... cigarettes over at our house," Vaughn said quietly. In his hand was a box of Marlboros. It was the most words at once CJ had heard from him all night.
"Th-th-thank you," He hiccuped.
Vaughn couldn't help but scan the room, and he grimaced in confusion when he saw the TV.
"You alright?"
"Yeah," CJ held out his hand. Vaughn walked over and was about to slip the the pack to him when he noticed the fresh burn on the palm of his hand. "It-it was an accident."
Vaughn studied his hand and then glanced back at CJ for a moment. He placed the cigarettes down on the couch and grabbed CJ's arm to pull him to his feet.
"Wha-"
"You brought your cigarettes home with you," He said, strong and clear. CJ stared at him confused. Vaughn's violet eyes centered on him, and it felt like he was glaring down the empty hole that was his soul. "You aren't ever going to burn yourself again. You don't know how your scar healed, and you never saw me tonight after you left. Okay?"
CJ stared at him with a mixture of awkwardness and bewilderment painted on his face. He had no idea what else to even say to this.
"Okay?"
Vaughn held his free hand up to his now open mouth and seemingly bit his finger as it began to bleed slightly. CJ remained frozen in fear and confusion as Vaughn spread his blood onto the scar on CJ's open palm. The dull ache in his veins seemed to vanish immediately. Vaughn let go of CJ's arm, turned around, and left without another word.
CJ stood there for a moment in shock before glancing down at his hand. There was no longer any blood, or scar for that matter. He sat down on the couch, eyes fixed forward.
"What the fuck...?"