"Why are you avoiding me?" James' fingers reached out to the cuff of Carlos' sleeve, the ruffled hem worn and the lavender of the fabric faded, and Carlos hesitated.
There, in the living room where discarded t-shirts cover the back of the couch and the fan rocks with a slight tinkering sound as the evening golden sun peaks through the windows. Carlos swallows hard and steps gingerly in his bare feet across the soft threads of a clean carpet. He's so incredibly tall and his thin, grey sweat pants cling to the hardened muscles of his calves.
James is so difficult to look at right now. Carlos takes a moment to figure out why ruling out repulsion and guilt. James is pretty and Carlos would be a fool to deny this. He's also done nothing to hurt James and his avoidance is simply in tune to the need to understand things. What's the rush?
There's a vase of roses up on the granite counter top. A dozen of them lay this way and that, their rouge sheen glistening in the golden hour the way a woman's lips do in those old western films Kendall's so involved with. Carlos can appreciate good art but he can't allow a total absence of the sense of self.
In 2B there's a lot of... secrets.
"I'm not James. I'm just... focused on dance. You know it's my everything." He's not wrong but he's still withholding information and James is done buying this excuse.
Maybe he's drinking too much. They're only seventeen but a bottle of tequila every two days isn't healthy. THE Britney Spears turned him down for a music video, he paid a trained athlete to transform his routines and help him secure a couple auditions but that turned out to be a scam artist and now Carlos is broke, too heartbroken to take his job back at the restaurant, and his confidence is shot. There's opportunity in the near future but three months is a long time to wait for that kind of opportunity when you've just lost damn near everything.
"Carlos, damn it." James rushes his finger tips into the long brown hair he has hanging shaggily past his ears. His white t-shirt clings to his tight abdomen, his black basketball shorts have a white draw string bunny knotted below his navel and every few seconds Carlos gets a glimpse of James' belly button. He continues, "We will always be more than a band... when will you understand this? I'm not just a co-worker, I'm your friend and you're shutting me out."
"I feel like you might be overthinking it, Jamie..." Carlos speaks softly as a soft breeze from the fan kisses his cheek, "We've all been busy, you feel lonely. I'm not spirited enough to attend. I don't know what's wrong but I need to be alone until I can figure it out."
James furrowed his brow and folded his arms across his chest, "Boundary?"
"Set." Carlos responds and walks away headed to his room where he shuts the door leaving James alone in the living room.
The front door to the apartment opens up and Katie Knight walks in. She's rocking a green dress with a lacy black yarn over piece that makes her look like she's spinning in emeralds. She's got her hair all done up on her head, a pair of sparkly heels, and a green back. She's stunning for a fourteen year old girl but James sees her only as someone to look after and protect.
"Where's Carlos?" She asks with her lips the same rose red singing in the vase on the counter.
He shrugs turning fully to face her, "Busy. Why, what's up?"
She ponders this for a moment and then says, "Come with me."
Carlos listens to the front door of the apartment as it shuts and clicks shut with a heavy lock. He had promised to go with her to the opening catalog of the new exhibits down at the zoo. She's been doing a lot of ads and promotions for them and they've offered her a position hosting some charity events with some celebrities and it's done a lot to help save species from going extinct, cleaning up the ocean, and even giving animals some alternative employment opportunities in film and theater. James must have agreed to go in his place.
The fall can be so beautiful. It is considered the age of wisdom. It's fast approach has Carlos feeling unprepared. Lost, even. And not even his best friend James can pull him out of it. There's this feeling of ache, almost pain. As he lies there he's swimming in his thoughts and, no, the idea of school doesn't bend him like it used to. In fact having somewhere to be and enduring forced silence for most parts of his day sounds exciting to Carlos.
His skin begins to feel hot and he pulls his sweater off. There are sweat beads forming in the dip between his hard tan pecks and his flat stomach. He's completely hairless from the neck down as it's the requirement of a professional dancer. He's not a professional. He's just a young man who wants to escape poverty with his talent but can't seem to catch a break.
Logan is interning at the LAMC. Today he's holding a blood bag in a gory surgery for a well known trauma surgeon. He's only sixteen and he's out there, living. Making a name for himself. Carlos, who's lying here in bed with his chest pressing down on his lungs and making it hard to breath, feels like he's running out of time. James just did some shots for 'Go' Magazine, Kendall published a short story last spring and it won an award over the summer, even Ms. Knight is running for a seat on the city council and she's about to buy out a motel by the ocean on an auction.
Everyone is succeeding except him. Everyone is- AUGGGGHHHH!
He screams as the feeling of being punched echoes through his jaw and into his neck. No one else is in the room. No one hit him. And still he cradles his cheek as if it happened and swishes the blood in his mouth before spitting it out onto the carpet. Chunks of a broken tooth rest in the quickly seeping red liquid. He lets out a marvelous groan.
The pain slithers up his nerves and into his head where he sees spots. His vision is now eclipsed in rose pink and he's shivering. Another sharp pain crunches in his mouth and he pulls himself into a sitting position clutching his face. From his nightstand he draws a bottle of Tylenol and a water skin. He pops two 500 MGs and then pulls the bottle of Monte Alban out to swig it neat, twice.
He lies back into the pillow and suffers in the occasional moan and whimper until his eyes grow heavy and a blue tunnel pulls him in. The suns still up but like the night he blacks out. One final stab in his skull sends him spinning.
There's a collage of colors, a ripple of chills down his forearms and calves, and his breathing gets labored. When at last it all stops- where is he?
"I was in love once." It's a voice, Kendall's voice but he doesn't quite seem like Kendall does he?
There, sitting on the chair across from Carlos' bed is a boy he trusts. A boy with blonde hair, long eyelashes, and a zip up black hoodie over a bare chest. This is a usual look for Kendall with the matching pair of sweat shorts that hang past his knees. This much he recognizes. What he does not recognize, however, is the horns growing out of his forehead or the weird, misty glisten of his skin around his eyes. The wings peaking out behind the shoulders wasn't ever there before. The sun has set and there's a stark full moon casting light into the bedroom.
This creature, that may or may not be Kendall, has a story to tell and weather he likes it or not, Carlos has to listen. He's frozen, not by fear but by the chains of dreaming. They have him tightly pressed against the lavender sheets that appear ocean blue in the dark. He's been weeping. His big bright eyes are the only part of his weakened body visible in the light.
"I don't believe I'm in love anymore." Says Kendall, "It's hard to tell when tomorrow is yesterday and every other day is the same. Poor you, though, you know? Not even awake enough to notice the love all around you. I've lost out on eternity, I feel the fires of purification in my skin daily, and still I manage to love. You, a child, lying to yourself know not of the pain of forever... yet."
This creature stands up and faces the tall chest of drawers with the vanity lying across the flat surface. He unzips his hoodie and reveals his thick, white pecks, where scars live. He's got hair, down to his shorts. Thin, blonde hairs but still visible and still something Carlos envies.
"There's a war between this world and the next. Every decision you make is move across a board you cannot see and will not see until it's too late." It could be Kendall. It sure is poetic like he is. It's skinny like Kendall is. It's luring like Kendall is.
Carlos struggles against his chains. No words form. He's certain Kendall isn't conducting a written one man play, nor is Kendall trying to prank him. Something seems genuine about the bloody marks on this creatures forehead where bone spikes are crunching through. The wings are mostly hidden and therefore go unseen as a spectacle and instead as a symbol of the creatures shame. Carlos is frightened.
"If you want to escape... you'll need to realize the truth, Carlos." Says the creature.
A green hue befalls the room. Someone else is here. From the shadows appears who appears to be Logan. Only... it can't be. Logan is all tight jeans and button ups. He'd never dress like this. Khakkis and what might be lion skin. Logan is always saving lives, not wearing their skin. Only one accessory makes sense; the scalpel in his hand.
The Kendall creature doesn't even notice the other being. He's far too busy restitching the open wounds on his chest with a needle and some thread. There's this horrible feeling that the entire apartment is on fire and purple smoke is billowing into his room from all sides. He cannot speak, he cannot move to gesture, there's nothing he can do to stop what's about to happen.
It's almost a dance. The way the bleeding creature tires to pull away from the one who's slaughtered. In the end the one wearing a lion's skin is the one who arrives victorious. He's slit what looks like Kendall's throat and now wears the rose colored smear across his bare, flat chest. Logan has always appeared as an elven creature. Especially now that he's holding a tiny blade and standing over the body of a mythical angel.
Carlos screams as he awakens from his fever dream. He's grabbing at the sheets, thrusting his legs and noticing there's no chains about him anymore. He's suspended in fog but it all seems to clear when he realizes he's not alone. James is kneeling at the side of his bed in the light of the hallway. The door is open and the sheets are soaked in sweat. His fever had broken.
"You're sick, Carlos. Will you let me help you now?" James begs.
Carlos focus in on what's in James' hands. A wet, steaming towel, a bowl of fruit, and a bottle of nyquil. Nervously he runs his hands around is wrists and tries to settle his breathing. Then he notices the grooves in his flesh. All along his palms and his heels are the chafe of silver cuff links. That's not a hallucination. Something in that haze was real. As real as the hand that's slipping up to his chin. James has such a tender touch. Maybe... maybe he'll allow it. Just this once.