An array of colors burst outside the windows as Evan walked into the room. The deafening cheers of 'Happy New Year!' were drowned out by the heaviness of his thoughts and his heart. He had done the deed, broken two hearts in one go despite taking what he thought was the safest route by never letting his feelings show. One shattered heart left broken miles away behind him, and another sat in front of him, sobbing softly, twirling a shiny diamond ring between her fingers, admiring the last she could of its shine.
Without turning back, she addressed Evan.
"I can't believe this is how it ends. With tears and us yelling at each other."
She turned towards him, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. "Don't look at me like that, Evan. You cried for him. You couldn't resist his tears. You never cried for me. Even if you ever loved me… it's not enough. Not as much as you love him. Not enough to keep us together for a lifetime."
She stood up, all packed and dressed, ready to leave. She held out the ring to Evan and placed it in his hands. "I'll move out the first thing when I get home. Goodbye, Evan."
She walked past him, out of the room, the door shutting with an audible click. As another set of fireworks burst in the sky, he wondered what he was doing, whether he was wrong all along. His world had collapsed before him, and everything that he had strived to build, the picture of perfection that he tried so hard to paint had crashed and burned. His world was burning away, as was he, yet he was numbed by fatigue, numbed by the heartbreak, numbed by the image of the heavy tears welling up in the beautiful baby blues. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep it all away, in the hopes that he would simply vanish from the face of the earth.
I have nowhere else to go.
Countless hours had passed since then. He had somehow managed to pull himself together enough to pack up and check out of the room they had rented together, and he had somehow managed to remain clearheaded enough to book a flight and make a call. He was going home, back to the very beginning of his life.
"You okay?" Derek nudged him gently, his eyes still on what seemed like a blanket of white ahead. "You haven't spoken a word since you landed, and you look like you might just collapse at any time."
"Yeah, bro… It's just… I don't know what I'm going to do anymore. The engagement's off. Sarah hates me now."
His brother shot a quick look at him. "Tell me about it. The Evan Fong I know doesn't just come back to Canada just because he got dumped."
Evan let out a heavy sigh. "It's not that simple."
"Hit me. You're not one to come home crying just because you got dumped, and Sarah's not one to lose her cool enough over something minor to dump you, so there's more to the story than you're letting on."
"I – just let me figure things out for myself, Derek. My head hurts enough as it is."
"Nope. On a regular basis, I'd hate to pry, but you've got to have screwed up big time to make Sarah that mad."
"And so I did."
"Did you cheat on her?"
"…Not really," Evan sighed again. "Somewhat."
"What do you mean, 'somewhat'? You either did or you didn't." Derek replied sharply, annoyance seeping through.
"Not physically. Maybe just… emotionally." Evan spat out hesitantly.
"Explain." Derek commanded. Such a great time for him to be protective of others.
"It's just that… maybe we never loved each other as deeply as we thought we did. Or rather, I didn't." Evan took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. "Because I think I've fallen for someone else."
A silence fell between the brothers as they drove on in the snow, with little flurries of white flying past the car as it coursed through the road. After a long, protracted pause, Derek was the first to break the silence with the first of his countless questions.
"This person… is worth giving up Sarah for?"
"I don't know." Evan breathed softly, thoroughly exhausted. Barely thinking through his words, he continued. "I wanted to say goodbye to him. I wanted to tell him that nothing was wrong, that I'm going to get married happily to Sarah, but I couldn't say it. I got all tied up between letting him know how I felt and lying to him."
"Huh," Derek snorted, amused and only mildly surprised. "Him. Is there something you want to tell me about that?"
"Does it matter? I've lost Sarah because I couldn't lie to him. And now I've lost a great friend because I couldn't tell him the truth." He cupped his pounding head with his hands, and released another year's worth of heavy sighs. "I'm a terrible person."
"You sure are. You're the worst douchebag on the planet, the most annoying perfectionist I have ever met." Derek's tone shifted, softening at the edges. "But you're changing, Evan. Don't you see? The reason why you're so troubled – you're starting to be really honest with yourself. You're starting to ask yourself what you really want, Evan. Is that bad?"
Evan opened his mouth, and fell silent. It wasn't. The question was – what did he really want?
Derek chuckled triumphantly. "Man, I can't lie, it does feel good to see you a little out of sorts. I used to really hate you when we were kids, you know that? The two of us had a world of expectations to live up to, and you lived up to every single one of them perfectly. I, on the other hand, did every single thing wrong. It was always Evan this and Evan that, Evan the little mister perfect. Sucked a lot as a kid. It took me a whole lot of soul searching later on to make me realize that I was just a bitter fuck, and a lot more pondering to realize that you were happily living your lie."
He caught Evan's shocked glance at him, and laughed once more. "It's all in the past. I've moved on from that. I don't need to be better than you. And so it's time for you to move on, too. You don't need to be perfect anymore, Evan. There isn't any more need to lie to yourself and to everyone else. You're perfect as the fool that you are."
He made a turn into a snowy driveway, in front of a beautifully decorated house. The exterior was painted in beautiful combinations of red and white, with the snow complementing the scene. Perfect, he thought to himself, smiling weakly.
"Mom!" Derek yelled as they both exited the car. "I've brought Evan!"
A small lady with dark hair opened the door after a moment's pause, her similarly brown eyes wide with anticipation. She shivered as the cold air hit her, yet did not falter in her reception of her sons. She took Evan into a tight, warm embrace.
"Oh, sweetie… it's been so long. You didn't even come home for Christmas…"
"I'm sorry, Mom."
"You look so tired. Is there anything wrong?"
"The wedding… it's off, Mom. Sarah and I broke up."
She brought him into a tighter embrace. "Poor dear. It's alright. We're all here for you."
Derek cleared his throat. "Enough catching up in the cold, Mom. I'll bring Evan to his room."
They proceeded into the warmth of the house, and Evan dragged his exhausted body up the stairs behind Derek, into a small plain room.
"We did what we could with the guest bedroom when we heard you were coming. It's not too pretty, but we made it as comfy as possible." Derek set down Evan's bags by the doorway, and patted him on the shoulder. "Look, I don't know what happened, but whatever it is, you've got to come clean with Mom and Dad about why you and Sarah broke up."
"They can't know, Derek. You know that. I don't want them to live out the rest of their days disappointed."
"Why would they be disappointed, Evan? Sure, you didn't go down the path they wished you did, but hell, you're the most successful of all of us. Why should your preferences be a part of your equation?"
"It's not that." Evan bit his lip. "It's just… I need to figure all this out before I say anything to them, okay?"
"Need some help?" Derek smirked, preparing to leave the room. "I'll give you a place to start – that hockey camp you went to about ten years ago. Get some rest."
He shut the door, leaving a dumbfounded Evan in the room. He had tried his best to not think about or remember the hockey camp for the past several years – it made little sense to revisit the past. He sought a different source of help, a person that he had known for quite as long and who was willing to listen kindly and offer him advice. Eyeing his bag for a thoughtful while, he unpacked his laptop and started it up, twiddling his fingers as he hoped that he was available for a talk. A few green icons on Skype confirmed that he had the person he needed.
After a few dial tones, the call connected.
"Evan?" Brock started, confused. "What the hell happened? Luke said–"
"I messed up." Evan finished Brock's sentence. "I messed up and I ran away like a bitch."
"Alright, hold on a second for me." Brock replied distractedly as a message popped up in the group chat. The call was silent for a few seconds with the exceptions of the clicking of keys.
"Okay," Brock began again. "That should hold them off for a while. What happened? Luke said you were in North Carolina for a bit before the New Year, and then suddenly he's pissed at you. What did you do?"
"I messed up," Evan repeated. "I went there to see Delirious and I fucked up everything in my life."
"Evan, I don't think it's your fault. None of us do. Well – except Luke, but he's coming around slowly, although he still manages to stuff a curse or two whenever you're mentioned." Brock murmured softly, his tone as gentle as ever.
"Did Luke say how… how he is now?" Evan mumbled, guilt creeping up on him.
"Luke says that Delirious is… well… zombie-like. Apparently he's eating a lot less, getting nightmares, all that. Will you please tell me what's going on? And don't just tell me that you messed up."
"Brock… is it stupid if I say… I think I've fallen for him?"
"Sounds reasonable, given how much you two have been at it for ages."
A gasp came through Evan's lips involuntarily. "What do you mean?"
"You guys have no idea what we say about you two in a separate chat. I'm sorry – it was Nogla's idea, because you two were so close. I mean, it's normal for friends to be close, but you two… you two are almost ridiculously close, and that's for two people who've met in person only recently. Hell, you even flew down to North Carolina for him."
Evan made a face at his screen. "He was severely injured and in a coma. I did what a friend would."
"We're all his friends, Evan," Brock reasoned, "but you left everything behind in L.A. just so see him. And you were pretty busy with the engagement, too. You just had to be with him."
He paused, and chuckled. "Besides, the two of you are like a romance novel waiting to happen. Think about it – on that day, Delirious could have found any other video, and he could have chosen to not contact you. He could've even chosen to contact someone else. But it was you he messaged, and that message didn't just bring a one-time collaboration, it brought years of – uh - close friendship."
"I could say the same about us." Evan replied.
"It's not the same thing. You and Delirious have become so much closer than the rest of us have with you. All the small things – you two are on a different frequency that we're on, and he's the first person you go to and think of for anything, even when it's as simple as needing a laugh. We can all be online and you'll still ask him before any of us if you needed something. I know it sounds weird hearing it, but we've been talking about it for ages – just not in front of either of you."
Brock sighed. "I hate to make a speech, Evan, but it's not unbelievable that you like him more than you thought you did."
"You just listed a whole bunch of things friends would do," Evan retorted. As much as he disliked saying it, he allowed the small bits of doubt in his mind to take over. As much as he felt strongly for Jonathan, the idea that he loved him felt absolutely surreal.
"No, I listed a whole bunch of things you two have done. You think of him often enough, even when he's not there. Look, I'm not here to dictate how you two feel about each other, but I'm saying that there's more to you two than you originally thought. It's up to you to decide whether or not you've really fallen in love with him, Evan."
A long pause followed Brock's words.
"I don't… know what to think anymore." Evan admitted slowly. "Delirious is a really great person to be around. He gets me, and I don't feel like I have to be a certain way around him, because he's always goofy, always himself, and it feels great to have that..."
"You just want to know if he's worth it." Brock said, practically reading Evan's mind. "If he's worth throwing away everything you know and already love, if he's worth the risk and the insanity you're going through."
"If you were me… is he?"
Brock laughed softly. "If I were you, I'd be the happiest man on the planet already. I wouldn't be in your position now in the first place. But I'm not you, Evan. I can't decide for you how much I think it's worth – because boy, I think he's worth everything in this world and more."
Evan stared blankly at the dark ceiling above him. He had slept so much and so tumultuously he could barely sleepy any longer, yet his body was still heavy with physical exhaustion. The room was incredibly unfamiliar and plain, yet it held the same sort of familial warmth he had felt in his childhood. The fact that he was surrounded by family after such a long time away from them kept him feeling sane in a place of insanity.
He thought about the conversations he had earlier with Derek and later Brock, still confused by the comment about the hockey camp he had been in. What has this got to do with that damn hockey camp?
He thought hard for a long moment, parsing through countless memories of his younger, smaller self skating about, attempting to keep up with the older boys who were but blurs on the rink.
"KEEP UP, FONG!" One of them yelled as he swerved through a multitude of cones with a graceful ease, and his heavy frame seemed to be made of air as he glided about effortlessly. Evan nodded hesitantly, unsure, and began to skate as fast as he could, maneuvering around the countless cones swiftly. His effort paid off for the most part, as he clipped the final cone slightly, ending his slightly less than perfect attempt.
"Good job, Fong, but pity on the last cone," The boy sneered harshly. "How long have you been at this again?"
How embarrassing, he thought. "Ten years in a few years down the road. I'm sorry, it'll be perfect the next time, I swear."
"It better be," the older boy menaced, frowning. "You're one of the smaller kids on the team, and if you want to play, you better make sure you're absolutely flawless."
Evan bit down on his lower lip, staring at his skates as the older boy skated away to yell at the other younger members of the camp. Come on, Evan. It's nearly ten years. You should be better than everyone else here.
"Alright, gather round!" The coach yelled, and a throng of teenage boys skated towards the man. "That was a good round all around, and I'm seeing good leadership and guidance from the seniors as well. We've still got a lot to work on, especially the newbies, so keep at it. You're all free to go take your dinner and wash up before having your free time, but the teachers want me to remind you all again that lights out is at 11P.M., so all of you are to be in your bunks and in bed by then! Dismissed!"
The crowd scattered slowly, helmets and protective gear being plucked off bodies and the training materials being gathered up and cleared away from the rink. Evan trailed behind, still feeling slightly out of place as he overheard the older boys discuss, with him as the topic.
"You know that Evan Fong? He's really good, even better than when I first came in."
"Yeah. Sam was real hard on him, but I see where that's coming from. The expectations are so much higher given how well he's been doing."
"A few more years and he'll be better than Sam himself. I think the man sees a diamond in the boy."
"I just wish Sam wouldn't be so hard on all the kids though. He's almost overdoing it at this point. That kid Timmy looked like he was about to cry when he yelled at him."
"Still, it was understandable. That's his kid brother, he probably expects a shit ton from the poor kid as well."
"Dude, would you treat your kid brother this way? Kid's only trying out hockey for the first time in his whole life. He might not even want to continue after this. Sam needs to go jerk off or something, man."
Muffled guffaws came from the group of boys before Evan. "I don't think any amount of jerking off can make him less of an asshole, dude. Did you hear him last night?"
Even more muffled laughter came from the boys. Evan shifted uncomfortably past them, unwilling to listen further about the details of whatever they had heard. After a long day of training, all he wanted was to have some food – and not to lose his appetite even before he had started. He vaguely remembered in his sleepy state loud huffing and groaning from the other bunk the previous night – and for the whole day he had heard nothing from the older group other than whispers, suppressed laughter and expertly-crafted innuendos directed at the captain of the team. It took him less than half a day to put two and two together and figure out what had happened. It took him much longer to not think about what he had actually heard.
The cafeteria was packed by the time he had changed out of his gear and washed up, and by the time he managed to get his serving of food, almost all the tables were seated to their maximum capacities. All that was left was a small spot opposite to a small boy of his age with dark brown hair and extremely familiar facial features that were very much like Sam's. As he sat down opposite the boy, the name surfaced almost naturally in his head – Timmy.
"Uh, hi," He began. "Sorry if I invaded your space. There isn't much to choose from. Timmy, right?"
The boy looked up, surprised that he was even noticed. The features that were so incredibly harsh and tough-looking on his brother looked oddly adorable on him. His bluish-grey eyes were wide with a child-like loveliness about it, and his lips were parted in a small, yet almost perfect 'O'.
"Uh, yeah. You're Evan." He replied, breathless with awe. "Everyone's been talking about you. I've watched you too, and you're really good. A natural on ice."
"Don't say that. I've been playing hockey since I was six. It didn't just come from nowhere. If everyone did the same thing, they'll probably be just as good."
Timmy looked down at his food and played with the peas on his plate. "I wish I could be as good as you are."
Evan looked at the boy and pitied him silently. He knew that tone and that expression well – it was an expression both he and Derek often made in their childhood, and it was a tone both of them used.
"Why don't you tell Sam you don't want to be on the hockey team?"
Timmy drew his head up in shock. "How did you…"
"You sound the same as me and my brother when we were kids." Evan explained. "There were so many things our parents wanted us to get into. I ended up enjoying hockey, but my brother hates it along with everything else he's been pushed to get into. So why don't you tell him?"
Timmy started to play with his food again. "It's worth a try. I just want to make him proud of me, but I can't even skate fast enough to please him."
Something lit up in Evan's head. He had a brilliant idea – or at least he thought he did.
"Hey, Timmy," he began. "Since we have quite a lot of time before lights out, do you want to practice skating with me, then? I'll show you a couple of tricks and give you some tips on how to skate even faster."
Evan sighed, pulling himself away from the memory. There it was – the start of a friendship that ended too quickly. I think you're right, Derek… I think that's where it might have started. Timmy and his skating troubles, Timmy and his sprained arm…
He stopped himself right there as another memory flooded into his head.
"Ow," Timmy whimpered as he nursed his right arm through his protective gear. "It hurts."
"Hold still now…" The coach coaxed as he examined Timmy's wrist, pulling off the protective gear and revealing a swelling mound of pale skin. "Hmm. It's a small sprain. How did this happen?"
"We were practicing our skating together, and he slipped. I didn't catch him in time." Evan mumbled. It was all his fault – he should never have tried to help Timmy skate on his own.
"Good thing you called me quickly. I'll go get an ice pack. In the meantime, keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't move the arm an inch. And make sure his arm is elevated." The coach shuffled off hastily.
When Evan returned his gaze towards Timmy, he was shocked by the sight of watering grey eyes. Tears were gathering in Timmy's eyes painfully, and he looked absolutely defeated.
"Sam's going to hate me, isn't he?" He cried. "I can't even do something he likes."
Evan would have found it laughable before if he heard of a boy his age crying his eyes out over a small setback. However, witnessing it actually happen and having the adorable boy unravel before his eyes had an entirely different effect on him. Knowing exactly how he felt added to the burgeoning feeling of helplessness that grew within him, and all he wanted to do was to comfort the crying boy. He watched as Timmy choked on his tears, trying his best to stop them.
"Oh, god, I shouldn't cry. Sam says I shouldn't…you'll laugh, everyone will laugh..." He whimpered, and tried his best to wipe at the endless tears streaming from his eyes. "There's a – there's some tissues in my pocket, could you – could you help me pull it out…?"
He hiccoughed softly through each sob as Evan reached into his pant pockets hesitantly, searching for the tissue packets. The act was wildly uncomfortable for some reason, and Evan felt as though he was intruding upon his personal space just through the act of touching him below the belt. He quickly pulled a small plastic pack out of the boy's pockets, and picked a nicely folded napkin out from the packet. Almost automatically, he began to use the tissue to wipe at Timmy's tear-streaked face gently.
"Look," Evan tried his best to sound reassuring, "It's a small sprain. It'll ease up soon, and you still can do a bit of light practice in the meantime. I'll help. Just rely on me as long as you're here, okay? I'll be here for anything you need."
Famous last words, Evan thought, blinking blankly at the dark ceiling once more. Come to think of it… god knows what'd have happened to us if he didn't move away with Sam.
There was a knock upon the door, before it opened, allowing a blinding white light to penetrate the darkness of the room. His mother peeked in, unsure.
"Evan?" She called out softly. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah, mom." Evan replied, and sat up, pulling his weary frame into position. "What is it?"
"You slept through dinner, but I was afraid you'd wake up hungry. I brought some food for you." She entered, sidling through the dark. Her presence beside him was announced by a soft little thud as she settled a plate on the table beside him.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" She asked, gently cupping Evan's hands with her own. "You've been really out of sorts ever since you came. I didn't want to ask you what happened with Sarah, but… there is more to it, isn't there?"
Evan sighed. "Did Derek say something to you?"
She smiled, her teeth glistening gently in the dim light filtering in through the draped window. "He tried. I wanted to hear it from you, your story entirely. There's a man, a friend…or, well, as I've heard, a man that's become more than a friend to you?"
"Mom…what if…what if I'm not the person that you raised, or that you and Dad wanted to raise?" Evan whispered. "What if I'm...?"
Her hands tightened on his, her delicate fingers squeezing his long ones tightly. "Does it matter? It wouldn't make us any less proud of you. You've done what we hoped you would have and more. You've grown into such a fine young man. Does it matter who you love?"
Evan looked at her sadly. "I don't know what I want anymore, Mom. I've always thought… and always chased after what I thought was the perfect life, the ideal life… but now… I don't know what's perfect anymore. He just shows up and destroys it all, and I don't even know if I love him... I feel like a sick bastard."
"Evan, sweetie." She looked at him solemnly. "I used to think I knew what was perfect, myself. I had an entire list of things I wanted to do – I wanted to travel, to see the whole world, all of it. I wanted to go everywhere, to get out of Canada and be all alone. I thought that was the perfect life."
"But you wouldn't have had me." Evan pouted slightly.
She laughed, and stroked her son's hair. "I wouldn't have had my beautiful baby boys, true. If I never met your father, I think I would've still been somewhere out there, going from place to place and never finding anywhere where I'd feel at home. He changed everything that I thought was perfect before whilst he tried to treat me to a taste of what was perfect."
She smiled at him, kindly and warmly. "You see, Evan, perfection changes. And sometimes you might find that life is imperfect, but there's always the beauty in that, and it's exactly what makes it perfect. Like you, for instance. You're more than what I would've asked for out of a son, but it doesn't spare you from being silly and unrealistic at times, and it certainly doesn't spare you from being afraid of yourself. But we love you all the same – the people around you love you all the same, because the way you are is just perfect for all of us."
It was as though she was lifting a heavy weight off his shoulders. He was still confused, weary and terrified, yet it felt like he was not alone where he was. He felt loved and cared for – and that was what he really needed in the moment.
"Thank you," he whispered, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips.
"Anything I can for my dear son," she replied as she stood up and stretched, stifling a soft yawn under her breath.
"Mom – one more thing," Evan asked quickly as she began to proceed out of the room. She turned back, curiosity upon her face.
"Is it okay if I stay here for about a month or two?" He asked. "I need some time to figure things out before I go back to Los Angeles."
"Sure… but in exchange," her smile turned adorably devious, "you'll have to tell me all about him before you leave."
Weeks passed, with each day leaving Evan more and more restless. He surrounded himself with work and with his family to take his mind off his broken feelings with Jonathan and the impending doom that was the full impact of the heartbreak that was Sarah. He recorded and edited endlessly, and played songs on the guitar whenever he had any spare time. Derek would join in from time to time, offering him a blissful harmony to his songs. He would pour his heart out during these sessions, each note of the melody speaking every word he had left unspoken that night under the firework-filled sky.
Sarah was not completely gone from his heart. He would catch himself thinking about her every now and then, bits of him chipping away, before he buried his thoughts and feelings with work. He knew that it was not long before he broke.
It was not long before such an event occurred, in the middle of another jam session with Derek. He played a melody, humming softly under his breath, and the hums soon grew into words, poetic lyrics that spoke of a heartbreak. It was then that Evan broke – fully feeling the effects of having Sarah gone. He set down his guitar and buried his head in his hands, grieving softly as the music ended around him. He felt Derek's hand gently pat his head, consoling the crying man. It was the lowest point of his stay back in Canada, and the lowest point he had ever been all his life. He had nearly married someone he had loved dearly, and he had lost her in a flash. She had been so beautiful, so wonderful a match for him, and he threw her away carelessly.
"It's okay, Evan, it's okay…" Derek coaxed softly. "It's all over now…"
"She loved me, Derek… And I didn't love her enough to treasure her…"
"You did love her, Evan, even a blind person could see that. But you love him more, I can tell. The way you've been playing… it's not just Sarah that you're thinking about."
"I'm such a terrible person."
"Are you? You loved her, but not enough. And you found someone that you love a lot more while at that. You never made a move on him and you tried to stick to her. Is it a crime to let your heart take over, just once? Falling in love doesn't make you a terrible person, Evan."
He could have denied it in Derek's face, yelled and kicked and screamed like a little child about how he doesn't know what's going on with himself and how he's a terrible person for even considering Jonathan more than a friend in the first place – but he couldn't. With each passing moment, Jonathan seemed to turn up in his thoughts more and more, and the more he cried and let Sarah go, the more Jonathan's voice and his perfect blue eyes seemed to crop up in his mind. The further Sarah was, the closer Jonathan seemed to get, and the more he seemed to take over Evan's mind. It was almost as though Jonathan had always been on his mind from the very beginning, permeating his subconscious thought, masked only by conscious thoughts of Sarah, and he was only beginning to become aware of how much an influence the man had on him.
The pain had almost completely vanished over the course of a few more weeks. The snow still refused to let up, and the entirety of the compound was blanketed in white wet snow. Sarah was but a memory now, a memory that Evan could recall without sending his heart into pieces. Jonathan, however, was a persistent ghost that haunted his mind. The fact that his mother was constantly bringing him up and hinting at Evan to spill the beans about Jonathan did not help his situation.
"So, how is he like?" She pressed as she handed Evan a dish for him to dry. Evan dried it carefully, remaining tight-lipped.
"Aw, come on," she nudged him gently. "Go on about him. How does he look like, for a start?"
"Kind of small. In a way. Wild dark hair, soft blue eyes. Slight gap in his front teeth." He smiled to himself. "Kind of adorable in an odd, almost maniacal way. Thinks he's crazy but comes off really cute. Huge thing for teddy bears."
He heard a soft giggle escape her lips. When she finally caught his eye, she apologized.
"Sorry," She laughed. "You sounded so adorable when you described him. Like you can't resist going on about how amazing he is. That and you can't help but smile to yourself."
Evan felt the heat flood into his cheeks, and he turned deliberately, back to his mother as he dried the dishes and hung them on the rack. He heard another soft chortle from her at his reaction.
"Is he also as silly as you are?"
Evan stilled his hands and the towel over the plate. "Very. I think. He's slow at times, and he can sometimes be so silly and make so many mistakes that we'd all yell at him. He stammers and mixes up his words and nobody can figure out what he's saying at times. Eccentric, maybe. But beyond all that… he's so… him. He's so sweet and so generous, and so uniquely himself. Sharp and smart in his own weird way. He doesn't ever seem to get angry when we pick on him, and when he laughs, it's hard not to." I could spend all day with him.
"You're swallowing your words, sweetie," she pointed out cheerily. "He does sound like one special man. So much like and unlike you at the same time."
"I think he hates me now, though." Evan murmured under his breath sadly. "Sarah wasn't the only person whose heart I broke that day."
"How did it happen?"
Thinking about New Year's Eve was a straight stab through his heart. "He was all broken, and I wanted to console him so much…and Sarah saw straight through us. Broke up with me on the spot, and I took it out on him. Said some things I didn't really mean. I won't be surprised if he hates me now because of that."
As he dried and put away the final plate, he was turned around by small forceful hands to look at his mother in the eye. She was smiling, however, a confident, reassuring smile.
"I don't think he hates you. You said he doesn't ever seem to get angry. Even if he did and he exploded, he sounds like he's one to pick up the pieces as quickly as possible. What you did… might've been enough to hurt him. But if he's as sweet and as kind as you make him sound, he certainly isn't harboring hate for you."
Evan smiled back at her uncertainly, and he heard Derek snort from the sofa with his back to him.
"What?" He called out.
"Just listen to yourself. And this is the guy that still isn't sure if he's in love with the person he's talking about. Nobody talks about how cute and adorable and wonderful someone is in that tone without being in love with him. I don't even need to turn around to know that you're probably blushing."
"I'm not!" Evan raised his voice hotly.
"You certainly are, dearie," His mother called as she left him standing by the kitchen counter, lost for words.
Evan lay back in the bathtub, forming little balls with the soapy suds. The heat in his cheeks still hadn't faded – the conversation with his mother and his brother had left him completely speechless about his feelings for Jonathan.
He could almost feel the soft dark strands of hair moving underneath his fingertips as he scrunched up another ball of soapy bubbles in his hands. Oh god, his hair. I washed his hair and it was smooth and silky.
A soft, satisfied giggle rang in his head. "I feel like the most pampered person in the universe right now, guys."
He could see Jonathan's dark hair under the foamy mess that he had created. He was barely even washing his hair right – he simply ran his fingers across his head and massaged his scalp a few times before simply devolving into playing with Jonathan's hair subconsciously, leaving a mass of foaminess behind. The sight of the man nearly naked and wet with droplets of water clinging onto his brows and lashes was a deadly distraction for Evan. He caught his eyes wandering every few minutes, examining in detail the curvature of his facial features, the edges of his jaw as another droplet of water trickled down its side…
There was something, just something about his odd imperfection that made it all so adorable, that made it all so attractive.
He could have sworn that in that moment, breathing became instantly more difficult. It took all of the effort and control he could muster to keep himself breathing and his hands moving along the mass of hair. The little bit of what he could see of Jonathan's tattoo would have sent him straight over the edge if not for the fact that he was wary of Luke's eyes darting towards his form every now and then.
"Alright, I'm done. Hurry up and finish, Evan, we gotta rinse him down now."
A whine could've escaped his lips just then as he pulled away from Jonathan. When the first jet of water hit and splattered towards him, he finally shook himself out of his mesmerized state.
Evan sighed softly, closing his eyes and submerging himself underneath the water. When he went under, he was not emptying his feelings like he did before, but allowing it all to overflow, to burst at the seams. It was an intense sensation, like warm liquid gold. It was a throbbing in his heart that he could faintly hear, growing stronger with each beat. It was a terrifying, thrilling feeling.
I'm in love with him.
Thousands of miles away, things were very different. There was no warmth, no strong feelings of love. Countless nights and days had passed – the nights cold and silent, the days bleak and dour. The home that housed a bubbly personality had dimmed into a state of borderline disrepair, barely seeing any sunlight or strong light through the days. Shades and curtains were drawn, blocking the outside world out. The doors were barely ever open, and everything was almost always still. The life had been drained out of the house. Few individuals passed through the front door, and almost none made it back out without being affected by the deadly gloom.
The house was almost always quiet. Unlike before, there was no loud, crazed laughter, there were no screams of amused terror, and there were no yells of excitement or panic. Whispers occasionally graced the air along with soft coaxing from whoever still had the patience and the cheeriness to fight through the stifling negativity in the air. When whoever would still come left, the house was left quiet – almost always quiet, with the exception of the helpless half-yells and cries that would fill the air as Jonathan slept.
Nightmares had become a common reoccurrence ever since Evan had left. Perhaps the attack itself on Christmas would have made him dream of all these things, but somehow he had made it through perfectly before, being occupied with thoughts of Evan and how he longed to be with the man that had brought himself unbearably close. The moment the heartbreak hit, the moment Evan had left him there with a solid rejection the words that shattered him into a million pieces, he slipped into a place where nobody could touch him, nobody except the memories of his past that still haunted him and had begun to haunt him more fiendishly than ever.
It would always begin the very same way, in the very same place. He would trudge through the foliage, looking for the man he loved so dearly. Everyone had told him to stay away, heck, even Nick himself had warned him, in a beaten and bruised state – but nothing could keep the two apart. All it took was a note left in Jonathan's locker and a rendezvous in the darkness of the night for the heartbreaking apology to be made, for their hearts to take over their rational thought and their lips to wander across each other's. From thereon, a text the night before would send Jonathan hyperventilating, excited for the next night as he anticipated feeling Nick's lips against his and his hot breath against Jonathan's bare skin. He could barely wait to hear Nick's voice again, Nick's soft groans as he tried to pronounce Jonathan's name with his mouth pressed against his back.
That night was no different. A text the night before for a meeting in a wooded area – an odd place for a night of stolen kisses, but a secluded place nevertheless. He walked through the foliage, dried leaves and twigs crunching underneath his feet. Any moment now he would see the beautiful man that had defied his own brother to continue seeing him in secret, the man that risked it all – beatings, cuts and bruises – to see him. Any moment now…
The sound of leaves and twigs crackling behind him sent him turning around, looking for the source in the dark. Several crunches followed, coming from all around him, and a mild panic began to set in – I'm surrounded!
Several silhouettes appeared in the distance, most of them taller than he was. He had seen enough of people that size to figure out who they were almost instantly. As they closed in on him, faces increasingly illuminated, his suspicions were confirmed – these were Eric's teammates, Eric's people. It was a trap planted perfectly for him to fall into.
There was nowhere he could run – they were all too close. In the blink of an eye, he was shoved to the ground roughly by rough, forceful hands, and he knelt painfully on a bed of broken twigs. A pair of feet appeared under his gaze, and he let his eyes wander, lifting his head disgracefully to see the leader of the pack. Eric spat on him, and he flinched.
"I told you to stay away, you fuckin' faggot." Eric's voice was deadly. "I told you to fuckin' stay away from Nick."
"Why can't you let him be happy?" Jonathan asked. "Why can't you just let him be? Why can't you just let us be? I'm of age, and he's of age too –"
The back of Eric's hand met his cheek with a resounding smack, and Jonathan felt the heat flood into the area as it stung.
"Shut the fuck up, Johnny. We didn't call you out here for nothin'." He circled around Jonathan menacingly, like a lion about to pounce its prey. "This will be your final warning, Johnny. Stay. The fuck. Away."
Jonathan felt a rough impact against his back, and he was thrown to the ground, face down, his mouth filling with dirt. He choked and coughed, and he heard the people around him scurrying to hold him down. He soon felt dead weights against his limbs, and his panic rose. He began to scream and thrash around in terror -
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!"
He felt hands against his back, pushing away the layers of fabric that he wore. He felt the cold air hit the exposed skin on his back, goosebumps forming all over his body as he shivered – not simply in cold, but in fear as well.
"This is a warning, Johnny. A warning the way we all do it. I've warned you the way you did it, Johnny. I tried being fuckin' nice, and you wouldn't listen. So no more Mr Nice Guy, Johnny. We're doin' it our way."
The small of tobacco that had been extremely faint from the beginning was growing stronger and stronger, almost as though a burning cigarette was being passed around close by him. He could smell the smoke emanating from the cigarette – pungent and stifling, burning his throat and his airways with each little breath he could catch.
"Give him hell." Eric's voice was raspy. His command sent Jonathan into pure agony for minutes, perhaps even hours at end. By the end of the beating, as Eric gave a shout to signal the end, he was battered, bruised, scratched and cut all over – but the agony was not over.
"Just you remember, Johnny. You will always remember this warning."
He barely had any time to process Eric's words before a sharp searing pain began to invade his lower back. It felt as though he was being continually prodded by a relatively soft stick that was laced with strong acid, or as though he was being branded with a coarse, burning pencil. His back burned sharply, his screams growing more and more agonized with each rough poke. He was a canvas, and the marks were Eric's signature on him.
He could not tell when Eric had finished marking him. His eyes had filled with stinging tears by the time Eric dumped the now-smoldering cigarette nearby his face, and a final kick from Eric to his stomach solidified the deal. He coughed and retched and spilled whatever was left in his stomach onto the ground as a fog began to cloud his thoughts. He lay on the ground, limp and raw from the beating, his back still stinging from the burns.
The scene changed. He was no longer surrounded by trees, or lying on a bed of fallen brown leaves. Instead, he was surrounded by wet snow and bright colored lights, his entire body heavy and numb. Groups of people – police and paramedics alike – ran towards him, checking if he was alright, if he was still alive, but their faces had melted and molded themselves into variations of a face he had known so well, a face that he had committed to memory from all the pain it had given him. Multiple Erics, young and 0ld, surrounded him, sarcastic, hatred-filled grins plastered falsely upon their faces. Every tool pulled out to assist him looked vaguely like weapons meant to assault him and break him further, and every individual that came to assist him were but increasingly menacing, eviler versions of Eric.
It was always at this point that Jonathan would wake from his tumultuous slumber, yelling and screaming as his eyes fluttered open and darted about wildly around the room, searching for Eric, searching for help.
But he was always alone. His screams would die down into a haunting silence that lingered about his house. There was nobody there for him – not Luke or Hannah, not Jenn, and definitely not the person he needed the most, the person that kept his heart warm. He would sink back into bed then, defeated, afraid to close his eyes once more in fear of Eric's appearance in his head. He could not cry or express any ounce of emotion, but would allow the void in his heart to take over and suck him in.
The same had happened, once more. He had slept and dreamt of all the terrifying things that he could possibly dream of. He had awoken with a start, screaming and panting, body covered in cold sweat. He had taken a good look around before he sank back into bed and wallowed in the emptiness that was his life.
Except he wasn't quite alone. Moments after he lay back down, the door flew open as Hannah burst in, wide-eyed and concerned.
"Are you okay?" She squeaked upon seeing him staring blankly and pointlessly at the ceiling. "You were screaming…"
Jonathan did not make a sound, but simply shifted his head and stared at her with a dead gaze. It's late. What on earth is she doing here?
"Give up, sweetie, he's not going to talk." Jenn yelled from outside of his bedroom. "He obviously doesn't feel like living anymore, so what's the point?"
You're right, he thought silently. I don't.
"But… Just… just come in here for a bit." Hannah called back out, hazel eyes never leaving his. Jenn soon appeared by her side and was following her gaze towards Jonathan, who stared further at Hannah. As his eyes met Jenn's for the first time in forever, he shifted his gaze, turning it back towards the ceiling.
"Hey!" Jenn snapped at him, a demand for his attention. He continued to stare at the ceiling, refusing to respond to her.
She snorted in annoyance. "Right. Do that. Do that until you die. That'll totally heal all your wounds and that will totally bring Evan back to you."
Jonathan twitched slightly at the sound of Evan's name. Oh, god. Evan.
His reaction did not go unnoticed, and Jenn continued further with her assault zealously.
"Oh, that's right. Evan. He's the only one that matters, isn't he? The only one worth thinking about. How would he react if he saw you like that?"
He wouldn't care. He's got bigger, better things to care about.
Jenn pressed on, unrelenting. "But oh no, 'Evan's left, I better die now!' – that's how you've been acting. I don't remember watching my brother grow up to be a spineless coward like that."
"Jenn…" Hannah piped up softly, clearly uncomfortable with her taunting.
"Honey, you're too meek, and if you're not going to toughen up a little, Luke and this asshole's going to end up bullying you and as someone who knows what that feels like, it's bullshit, so stick with me on this one."
Jenn turned back towards him, determined than ever.
"You're a coward, Jonathan, and you know it. You can't face your damn fears. None of your friends other than Evan and Luke know what you look like because you're too goddamn scared you'll lose everything personal and private you have to yourself –"
You don't know me.
" – And you're too goddamn scared to even step an inch out of your shell and fight back. When was the last time you got laid ever since you broke up with Liselle, huh? Could you even muster up the courage to go down to the nearest bar and bring a girl home with you for a one night stand?"
You don't know what I'm like.
"Could you even muster up the courage to let a man touch you the way Nick did before? No, because it's too painful to think about him? Because every other man reminds you of what you had with Nick? You're a coward, Jonathan."
You don't know what I've become.
"Oh, could you even bring yourself to think – just think – about even being with a man? When was the last time you thought about Evan, huh? When was the last time you thought about running your hands across his skin?"
Heat was beginning to boil away within the depths of his chest, bubbling away furiously and dangerously. Don't you dare.
"Jenn… I think that's enough," Hannah urged softly, an unsteady edge in her voice.
"No, Hannah. It's not, not until he snaps out of it." Jenn asserted firmly, and directed her words towards him once again. "When was the last time you even thought of the possibility of Evan kissing you?"
Whatever boiled within him was beginning to spill over. He slowly turned, gravely, and stared at Jenn dead in the eye. Never had he wanted to hurt someone more, and never had he wanted to lash out at someone more. "Don't you fucking dare," he breathed, lips barely moving and his jaw mechanical.
A smug smirk grew upon Jenn's face. Disgusting.
"When was the last time you even thought about even doing it with a girl, or better yet, say, having Evan ravish you until you go absolutely crazy, moaning and writhing underneath his muscular body?"
He snapped. The contents of the hot, angry emotion that had been boiling away spilled, spreading throughout his body and tingling through his extremities. It was singeing and searing away at his insides, an uncontrollable, irrepressible force, like fire through his veins. Words simply could not express how much he wanted to hurt Jenn, to make her stop talking about things he did not wish to hear and things that he must never think about.
He freed his right arm from his side and grabbed the nearest object he could find by his bedside – an empty glass, once filled with water for his medication. With a quick flick of his wrist, he flung the glass forcefully at his sister. In that instant, the fire burned further, angrier, yet a part of his mind, the sanity within him, screamed at him for doing such an act.
Fortunately, the glass flew past her, missing her and hitting the wall behind her, shattering and showering the two ladies with countless fragments of broken glass. Hannah squeaked in terror, but Jenn did not flinch.
"That's right. Do that. Throw more glasses at me. Hurt me, because you can't find another outlet for your pain and your cowardice. At least then you'll get angry and show some life, maybe think about Evan a little bit –"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Jonathan bellowed, sitting up in his bed as he reached for another glass, flinging it forcefully at Jenn. He waited for the shatter, the break and the cry of pain from Jenn, and the silence that would ensue.
A cry of pain filled the air – however, it was not Jenn's, but Hannah's. Hannah had stepped out in front of Jenn, shielding her from the impact, causing the base of the glass to hit her shoulder blade and rebound towards the ground, where it shattered and flooded the floor with a stream of glass shards. Jenn's eyes widened, and a stream of endless murmured apologies escaped her lips as she gripped Hannah's body, supporting her as she slumped over slightly in pain.
The fire in his body burned still. It was a blind rage, fueled by nothing more than pain. He reached out once again, this time with the tray that once held the two glasses on the table in hand, and he chucked it as forcefully as he could at them, watching the two women wince as it landed near by them with a loud clang.
He would have hobbled over and jumped at them, and thrown a thousand more things at them just to make Jenn shut up, if not for Luke rushing in at the sound of the racket in the room and restraining him forcefully, yelling at him to regain his mind. He resisted fitfully, struggling against the man's vise-like grip.
"Let go," he growled out loud, his voice taking an almost demonic nature.
"I'm not lettin' go until you fucking stop your shit now, Jonathan," Luke growled, equally loud. "I don't care what fucking beef you have with Jenn and Hannah, but you don't fucking hurt them because of your own fucking issues, IS THAT CLEAR?"
"Let go!" Jonathan repeated once more, yelling this time around.
"No I will not!" Luke yelled back, as Jonathan thrashed about angrily, wanting the world around him to burn more than ever. In the middle of the chaos, a small palm came from nowhere and landed with a smack on his face. From his peripherals he saw Hannah, a hand raised, chewing on her lower lip as Jenn released her grip on her onto the bed. She had slapped him, and with the slap, the fire inside him became a small flicker of flames that muted itself and died out. What remained in its wake was a broken barrier that threatened to give way at any moment. He stilled, the shock rolling through his body.
Tears were gathering in her sad eyes. "Do you have any idea… any idea how much we've been worrying about you, wishing you would talk to us, respond to us? Do you have any idea how much we wished we could do more for you, how we wished we could make everything alright? You're not the only one in pain, Jonathan, you know that. It hurts watching you be like this, too. I'd bet Evan is in pain, too. Nobody asked for this to happen. It's not your fault or Evan's fault, but neither is it Luke's or Jenn's, so please, Jonathan, for the love of god, stop."
The ruined barrier in his heart gave way to an ocean of tears. For the first time in countless weeks, he cried like an inconsolable child, sobbing, hiccoughing and blubbering. Luke's grip on him had loosened, and he felt arms around him, holding him as sobs broke throughout the room as well. It was an odd feeling to have multiple people crying with him, for him. It was an unfamiliar, yet endearing feeling, warm to the touch.
"I'm sorry," he choked out through sobs. "I'm so sorry, all of you."
Jenn wiped at his face gently with her own hands, her own eyes watery. "It's alright, Jonathan. It's all fine now. Let it all out. If anything… I should be sorry. Sorry for provoking you."
"And I should be sorry for slapping you, Jonathan. So please, don't be sorry." Hannah whispered, gently caressing his hair. "We're doing all we can to heal."
"Alright," Luke sniffed, and wiped at his face quickly. "I'll, uh… clean up the place. Save a little bit of him for me."
Luke left the room, evidently still a little affected, leaving the three in a warm group hug that he greatly cherished.
"Jenn?" He whispered weakly.
"Hmm?"
"I feel like a damn jinx."
"You're not."
"I broke you and Luke up. And then I broke Evan and Sarah up."
"If you were, I wouldn't be here because you'd have broken me and Luke up as well." Hannah softly assured.
"Yeah. It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. So could you please just let us take care of you properly? Please?" Jenn pleaded.
Jonathan nodded slowly and wiped the last of his tears on his comforter. He was not alone, not anymore. The quiet had receded into the shadows and the darkness was beginning to fade. Once the room was all cleaned up by Luke, the four curled up like little puppies on the bed, side by side, quickly falling asleep in sheer exhaustion. The act was strange, yet it provided with a sense of comfort knowing that he was not alone. He shut his eyes momentarily, watching as the countless faces of Eric in his head vanished slowly, bit by bit, into nothingness. As long as they were there with him, the ghost of his past could not haunt him. There was one final piece of the puzzle missing, one final person that would make sure that he never fell back into that dark place again.
Evan.
As his friends and sister slept on beside him, he prayed silently that he would see Evan again soon. He prayed for the strength to continue staying beside Evan, supporting him, and the strength to keep moving on, whatever Evan felt of him. Most of all, he prayed for a miracle.
Chapter 12 is here! I feel bad for this chapter, really, I felt like I could have done better, but I'm not sure how. All I wanted was to connect the dots together and things just fell in place like this. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and while I'm at this - I have to ask: Should I include smut in this story? I've been debating this question for sometime now, and I still don't have a solid conclusion on this, so I need some suggestions. I'm looking forward to writing chapter 13, and I'm sorry if I'm taking too long!
-delmin