In things left untouched, mostly. Things that have become either of no use or simply forgotten in the advent of something new to take its place. Things such as his suitcase which, for his lack of travels, had been sitting underneath his bed for two years, trapped between the warm weight of him and the cold linoleum of the floor that, if it had just opened up enough—bore its fangs enough—could have swallowed him in his sleep.
And he’s almost sure it did. At some point, he must’ve fallen into a great abyss and woken up in a place so similar to the one where he was born into that the strange has been mistaken for the familiar, like a clever illusion played to trick his mind into living a life that didn’t belong to him. Talking to people he didn’t really know but could somehow utter their names with the practiced ease that came with making someone’s acquaintance. Touching what was meant to be intangible but he could feel it, right there, at the tips of his fingers— the glass finally breaking between himself and a very real, very possible world.
And he’d taken to this world quite well.
Such a world where he could see the sun rise from his window and not feel the immediate sadness of a day that would end. Where the rustling of the leaves on the trees greet him in a hymnal duet with the birds that have made their homes on its branches, much like how he’s made a home of this town over the past two years. And he’s grown to like it so much more than the Other Place, where the same people lived in the same houses along the same streets he’d grown up in, just that in this version of home, he could not only hear the birds singing; he could see them, too. And not only can he see the sun, when it rises, when it sets, but he feels it— warmth tickling his skin until it fades into the billowy moonlight rubbing soothing circles on his back in the wake of a nightmare.
He’d been the same way to most other things. The feeling of it, that is. He was startled with the realization that there were, in fact, other lives apart from his own, leading to his discovery of empathy, the genuine form of it, and has learned to speak in the same language as everyone else did. He learned to respond when he was asked; not with answers that he was told to repeat, but his own truths. He learned how to ask questions, too, and not only because it was integral in his nature to be curious, but more than that, he learned to care. To ask if someone was in pain, and if so, to point to where it hurt. So he learned to offer his comfort in ways that not even a bandage could fix. He learned to give more than what he’d previously been willing to lose: he cut off his fingers until he began to sever his own limbs, and when a piece of his heart wasn’t enough, he eventually carved the whole of it right out of his chest.
He learned to see past the fog of his own confusion— ultimately, it was only through experiencing the human complexity, breaking his bones and tearing his skin apart, that led to this understanding.
There were certain, very specific pains that had taught him such valuable lessons. The kind that just sends you into sweat-breaking agony and reduces you to tears while you spill your guts on the bathroom floor, or perhaps while you try to suffocate yourself with a pillow until you ultimately, and unfortunately, only fall asleep.
Heartbreak was the prime of it.
Heartbreak was the most of it.
It was a horrifying reflection of his cruelty. His grotesque, almost inhuman deformities. His spiteful self.
It gawked at him, its presence appearing on every surface where he could see it. It mocked him and it reminded him that his heart was tainted and impure and because he’d given so much of it—all of it, as a matter of fact—he may never get it back. And if he would, if he could, it will never revert to its original form, that which allowed him the capacity to love in the way most people could only attemp to, but ultimately fail.
He tried to drive Heartbreak away. Screamed insults and profanities at its face until it finally turned its back on him.
But when it knocked on his door, he offered his hospitality with a warm beverage and a place to sleep for the night. And if it wanted to, if it needed to, it could stay for however long it would like.
This was how Heartbreak made itself comfortable in his home.
In the mornings, he would wake up next to it, naked and glorious as it wrapped its arms around him, until its hands fitted around his neck, choking the life out of him. You deserve this, it said, before sending him off and giving him a kiss goodbye.
When he’d come home at night, he would find it in the same spot where he’d left it. He’d slide underneath the covers and feel its cold fingers tracing lines over his back until its nails would dig deep into his flesh, rip him apart, reach in, and break his spine. God, you deserve this. Biting his tongue to hold back any sound, he knew Heartbreak was right.
Some days, he would wake up first, nagged by the thoughts of killing Heartbreak in its sleep. He would hide a knife underneath his pillow, prepared to do the unthinkable when morning came. The closest he’d come was holding the sharp edge against its throat, but he couldn’t do it.
Once, in an act of desperation, he tried holding it against his own
He couldn’t do it. Not again.
He was in a time of prolonged moments of despair when he managed to look up and see the sun one day. It was always there, just that he’d somehow forgotten. And the birds, though distant, he could hear them. Faint echoes of his small, feathered friends calling him. It was when he knew.
He could no longer feel the sun here. And the birds were nowhere to be seen.
He pulled his suitcase underneath the bed while Heartbreak was asleep. Quietly, carefully. He blew the dust off its handles and gathered his things to carry with him for when he leaves.
The truth should’ve been acknowledged a long time ago, and the truth was this: he ruined this place. Not only for himself, but for those who came here looking to escape their own Heartbreaks. He didn’t think he could stay where he knew he’d played a similar role as his menacing lover, still in its quiet slumber on his bed. He couldn’t stay where he knew that to someone else, he was their Heartbreak.
He’s not very sure where he goes from here. The fissure on his floor underneath the bed was gone. And even then, even if he could go back, he wasn’t sure where he’d come from. It was a wide range of possibilities, an endless list of dimensions and other realities he could’ve been a part of. He could’ve still been in his childhood bedroom in his parents’ house, fantasizing about his very uncertain future. He might still be dreaming in his lover’s bed in the city, concealing a covert romance. It was also quite possible that he was still in a hospital bed in New York, doomed to eternal rest.
He might never even have been here at all, only existing as a character to a figment of someone else’s imagination that satisfies their fascination for beautiful macabre.
But wherever he is, dust gathers in the crevices of his footsteps along the places he’d walked, wedged in the seams of the clothes he’d worn, marking the traces of his dreams on the pillow where his head used to rest. Because dust gathers where it always does, and as it always does: in things left untouched, and in the simple, though unfortunate truth of it, may never be touched again.
Casey stopped a few steps away from him. He looked tense. Kevin wondered if he had something to do with that, and then he realized that the last few times he had been around Casey, this is what he had looked like. He then wondered if this had happened all the time while they were together and he never read it. If maybe he pushed Casey too hard into doing something he didn’t really want to, and knowing too well the feeling himself had to swallow the lump in his throat that started growing and made it hard for him to breathe. In any case, that was the main reason why he was here tonight. He wanted answers, clear answers, a conversation they hadn’t had because it somehow felt like it was too soon to talk about, but now, six months later, it felt like it was time to make it or break it. Kevin put out the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and put the stub inside his pocket. He sighed and looked up, trying to sound casual. “You weren’t answering–” he said, then stopped himself hating how psychotic he sounded. “I just want to talk with you.” Kevin bit his lip. “Are you getting off any time soon? I can wait.”
He clutched the folded edge of the small paper bag he had yet to bring to Mr. Evans in his hand, then willfully dragged his gaze away from where Kevin remained in his position. His feet shuffled on the concrete, giving him a little bounce from where he stood in a poor attempt at only moving his feet, a desire to be anywhere else. “I can’t stay,” he said, eyes roaming across the street where a passing vehicle’s headlights were already visible in the darkening hour. “I’ve got... things to do. I have to be home early, and-” I don’t want to talk. “-I just... can’t stay. I’m sorry. You need to...” He shook his head, wanting to look Kevin in the eye when he says it, when he tells him to go, but he can’t.
It wasn’t the first time Kevin found himself outside of the gallery. It was safe to say that out of three nights he spend in the city because of the show, he came around twice and that was enough to convince himself that he wasn’t actually pushing boundaries. This time around, however, after two shots of vodka in the club after rehearsal, Kevin felt much more motivated to actually sit around and wait, tired of asking for Casey and being told he was out and didn’t know when he would come back. It was starting to get ridiculous. Multiple times Kevin had told himself that maybe things had happened for a reason, that he should give up instead of insisting, but that just wasn’t him. His patience was starting to run low, however, and after all the missed phone calls and unanswered texts, Kevin gave himself an ultimatum. This would be the last time he seeked Casey, the last time he tried to talk with him, and hopefully figure out if he actually had meant what he had said last time. And if he did, then there was that.
He sat next to the stairs– he had been sitting on the stairs a while ago when a security guard told him to move. He was chainsmoking, of course, killing his nerves one cigarette at a time, as he convinced himself that maybe this didn’t have to be the last time no matter what Casey said, but he couldn’t get to an agreement between the two voices in his head saying it was enough or the total opposite. Kevin looked up at the sound of footsteps coming closer, he’d done it with at least six people since he had gotten there, except this time around it was actually the one person he wanted to see. “Hey.” His voice was soft, a tone he had particularly adopted for Casey only, and came automatically just at the sight of him.
After running errands for Mr. Evans, he’d return to the gallery where Anna, the receptionist, would tell him that someone had come by looking for him. At first, he’d think it was his mother, or perhaps his brother, but then he would’ve known first. The second time she told him the same thing, he didn’t have to ask who it was. He knew who it was, because no one else would be looking for him that couldn’t reach him through texts or calls.
Kevin had been trying to contact him since that night, but he hadn’t replied to a single message nor had he returned his calls. When he said that they shouldn’t see each other anymore, it was less of him harboring any negative feelings towards Kevin (although he was, admittedly, hurt at the time) and more of wanting to spare himself from the mess that they were both inevitably destined to fall into. A lot has changed in him, since having been a part of each other’s lives, and while that could mostly be considered a good thing, he couldn’t help but feel that in the most part of their relationship, he felt lost. Confused. Angry, at times, though not necessarily at Kevin. He wasn’t used to this kind of turmoil, the kind that didn’t just grow from within you, but from someone else’s confusion, someone else’s anger--- worst of all, their love. He never thought he deserved Kevin, he still didn’t.
Which was why he felt some frustration at seeing him sitting on the steps leading towards the gallery, a cigarette nursed between his fingers that seemed out of place since Kevin had cut back on smoking since they started seeing each other, but he had no business in that now. A hundred sentiments were crammed into a single word, a greeting, and Casey could’ve read to him a myriad of reasons why he shouldn’t be there in response, but all he could say was, “Why are you here?” standing just a couple of steps away from him, like he was afraid to get closer, like he wasn’t permitted to.
He could see in Casey’s eyes something had happened, and he wondered what it could have been. There weren’t a lot of things that could happen at a drag show, not enough things that could merit that look. It wasn’t only that he was overwhelmed. That Drew was used to and knew how to handle. This was different. Casey was heartbroken. Something Drew rarely knew how to treat. But he would be there, he would drive him home, and he would try to get Casey to talk about it. As soon as he got on the motorcycle and clung to him, Drew could feel himself exhale, feeling the familiar comfort of his grip. The way he would hide in him. He started driving and went the familiar path to his house. “At the bar I was at there was a moment where my vision got a little blurry, ‘cause I zoned out and forgot to blink, and all of the LED lights looked really dope. Do you wanna talk about your night?” He asked, having to raise his voice so Casey could hear him over the wind.
Crying didn’t quite feel like an appropriate emotional response to what had just happened, but he could feel tears burning up into his eyes, feel the lump forming in his throat that he’d been trying to swallow down since he’d left the building. He wouldn’t, though, because there was nothing to cry about. As far as anyone was concerned, he and Kevin hadn’t been in proper contact since their separation just before Christmas. They were already halfway through the new year, and so he didn’t see the point in continuing to be sad about something that had already been long gone. His heart, it seemed, had different ideas--- he wasn’t sure if it was the thrum of the engine that he could feel in his chest, or his heart breaking.
They drew nearer to the quieter neighborhoods, far from the commotion and the traffic. It was only then that the environment was conducive for any conversation, but even then, Drew had to make his voice a little louder to be heard as he spoke. And in typical Drew fashion, started it off with a small, frivolous anecdote that had made a tell-tale smile appear at the farthest corner of Casey’s lips before the question was passed onto him. He waited until they would stop at a red light, at which point, he’d had some time to think about what his answer would be.
“Fine,” he began, loosening his knuckles around Drew’s shirt for the time being. “It was... different. But it was fine.” Drew knew better than anyone that if he had something to say about anything, he would say it. With colorful language, amassing all the details he remembered from a particular experience into a rambling that very little people had the patience to listen to. But there wasn’t anything left to be said about the matter, or if there were, he wouldn’t know what the point was of talking about it.
At the very least, Veronica could validate an argument over a lion versus a bear because the two subjects being spoken about weren’t made up characters. “The lion would win, right?” Ronnie questioned, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Or maybe the bear because they can run really fast.” Her brain tried to remember back to middle school when she was positive one of her teachers had brought a subject like this up, though remembering a detail that small was about as likely as the blonde winning the lottery. “I’m probably really generalizing this, but aren’t both of them essentially just really rich dudes who can afford to buy all of this stuff? Like, if you compare them side by side they’re literally the same character: both super-rich, both own huge corporations, both have butlers or assistants with funny names…” Veronica probably could have continued to list the similarities if she really wanted to, but frankly, didn’t really want to waste much more brain power thinking about it.
“I can’t remember who the winner was. But we talked about it for a while, and I’m sure one has to be stronger than the other. I’ll have to ask him again.” He made a mental note to bring it up the next time he’d see Drew, although most of their conversations were spent discussing such inane topics that he was sure to forget asking in favor of a new debate. Her comparison of the two characters in question prompted him to think, though he couldn’t say he knew much about the subject to properly contribute an answer. “Then why were those two guys fighting if they’re the same?”
Casey had this look - Clark could remember it even from way back - where he’d just look like this pitiful kicked puppy dog. Clark remembered liking it once upon a time; it was really sort of fascinating to watch the way his parents were just utterly dumbfounded by it. His father would get angry, puffing his chest out like he was ready to yell, but then he’d look down at that face, and it was like he’d deflate ever so slightly, just for a split second, as though he were trying to decide whether it was even right for him to yell. Clark had never seen anyone inspire that reaction in him before, and a part of him had always been proud of Casey for managing it.
But now that he was so often on the receiving end, he hated it. Even more so because he always felt the same way his father had looked. Like he couldn’t decide whether it was even a battle to keep fighting. So he kept his mouth shut, and let Casey’s apology pass as a closing of that particular conversation.
By the time they reached the restaurant, Clark couldn’t deny that he almost wished they’d driven instead. Perhaps it had been a tad ambitious of him to walk, and while he’d never admit it in a million years, by the time they reached the restaurant, he was desperate to sit down and take the weight off his leg. The one good thing, he supposed, was that the pain had allowed him to focus on something other than Casey’s ramblings, and he was able to listen to it with a sort of peaceful passiveness he might have otherwise been unable to manage.
He landed in his seat heavily as soon as they reached the table, picking up the menu as he started to read over his options. He looked up at Casey’s statement, a confused furrow to his brow. “You can order whatever you want, Casey,” he said, his tone more firm than supportive. “I’m not going to stop you.”
His eyes shifted downwards, towards the menu resting above the table, waiting to be perused once more. He couldn’t tell if the tone he’d heard in Clark’s voice stemmed from kindness, that he’d let him choose whatever he liked, or annoyance, that he wanted him to order as quickly as possible so as not to be kept waiting longer for their food. Besides already having the same difficulty in interpreting gestures and facial expressions in other people, it was particularly harder with Clark, and the last thing he wanted was to upset him because he was overthinking about what he said, and so he decided to take his words at face value.
“Okay,” he said, lifting the front cover of the menu to peer into its contents again. The truth was that he didn’t know what to order and was relying on Clark to guide him through what was good on the menu. But in fear of being seen as a disruption in his own selection process, he ran his finger along the glossy page until it landed on a random item. “Can I... is the baked Italian shrimp okay?” he asked, looking over the menu towards his brother.
As soon as Drew got Casey’s call, he could tell something was wrong. While he didn’t say anything other than being asked to be picked up, he knew, based off of experience, that something had happened. He didn’t want to be where he was anymore. Drew was in the same neighborhood, having dropped Casey off and left immediately to go to another friend’s drag show, the entire street littered with various gay bars that hosted various kinds of drag. He left without speaking to anyone, knowing that if his friend didn’t see him it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Casey needed him right then, and Casey took priority over just about everyone else. He got on his motorcycle and drove the 10 minute drive to the bar Casey was at, finding him on the edge of the road with a look in his eye he recognized from years of trying to read him. He was thinking too much. He wondered what happened but didn’t ask, instead handed him his helmet and waited for him to get on.
He didn’t have to wait very long after Drew had hung up the phone and promised that he would be there soon before his motorcycle would soon come into view and pull up by the sidewalk in front of him. He didn’t have to say anything, only looked at him in the way that his friend would just know what he was feeling in that moment (something they’d both learned to do over the years they’ve spent with each other), and without a word, got to his feet and put on the helmet that only he was allowed to use. Mounting the vehicle, he wrapped his arms around Drew’s torso and buried his face on the back of his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut and just waiting for him to be taken away from here.
Maybe turning up as Casey’s wasn’t the best idea really, not when he was feeling like this, but he needed to be close to family… and was it bad he didn’t want to bother Kaia? He should have wanted to bother Kaia now, they were closer, that’s how it should work. But this behaviour wasn’t normal for him. Turning up on people doorsteps unannounced demanding they should go and do something, anything, wasn’t what he did. He usually left people alone until he was absolutely desperate. When his cousin opened the door, he flashed a bright smile (a slightly fake bright smile), and then say, “Hey, man! Been a while. You wanna go do something today? We should hang out.”
He wasn’t used to receiving visitors, at least, not for himself. Back when he and Kevin used to live together, people would come by, though not many, but they were mostly not for Kevin, not for him. Lately, though, he’d been opening the door for people looking specifically for him, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, especially now that he was living alone, but he found himself still at a loss for words each time he was greeted by someone new on the other side of the door.
It wasn’t any different now that his cousin had shown up unannounced, not only because Ben wasn’t someone who would just do such a thing without prior notice, but because he assumed that he had better people to come to, and more more important things to do. “Ben,” he greeted in place of an actual hello. Hand still placed on the knob as though he was ready to just slam the door at his face, he stood there without a word for a good moment or two as he tried to find the appropriate responses. He normally would’ve been ecstatic to see him, but due to recent events, he just hadn’t been in the best moods. Still, he would make time for family, and who knows--- family just might be what could cheer him up.
“I was gonna stay at home all day, if you’re okay with that,” he said, widening the gap between the door and its frame to let the other into his home. “Or if you want to go somewhere... um, I would be okay with that, too, I guess.”
“Oh my god, no!” She startled, not realizing it probably could have been construed that way. “No, I don’t do that shit. If I wanna destroy someone I use a computer, not mind altering substances. Susan is getting her hits from someone else in town. I was just the one she mumbled it to.” Alissa focused instead on the first part, pleased someone else saw it that way. “Exactly! It is not my fault. She just got all wide eyed and twitchy and before I know it she’d booked it in the other direction. Whatever…she can deal with another bartender next time she pops into Cube.”
“Oh. Okay, good,” he mumbled, reliever to find out that she wouldn’t be getting in trouble anytime soon. At least, not for that. Taking another piece of his bagel between his fingers, he continued on the direction they were walking in, thought his thoughts were leading elsewhere. “Have other people told you other secrets while you were at work?”
“Sure,” she agreed – it was a decent sentiment, at least. Cadence wouldn’t deny that if would be nice if everyone did their part, but she questioned to what extent any one individual’s contribution would really affect much. “I’m just saying – China and India? Everyone in the U.S could reduce their carbon footprint to an absolute minimum and it still wouldn’t make a dent in the problem until those guys get on board. Which, fat chance of that happening.” Cadence chuckled to herself. “You want a real answer to climate change, it’s engineering. You should check out those machines that suck CO2 out of the sky. Now that’s a solution.”
It was a sobering way to look at their reality, but the perpetual optimist in him didn’t want to just give up that easily, even if he would be the only one looking forward to a more hopeful future. He would’ve said something to argue, but something else had caught his attention. “Is that really a thing?” he asked, squinting at the woman’s figure against the afternoon sun. “That’ll make the earth go back to normal?”
Kevin’s cheeks went red underneath the heavy stage makeup he was wearing, but the giggle gave him away the second Charlie leaned in to kiss his cheek. He was not expecting any of that, not the flowers, not the kiss, not Charlie’s eyes on him the way he looked down at him and the way he was (barely) dressed. “Well, I don’t know…” Kevin chuckled, “I looked up and you weren’t there, so I just thought you’d gone. Had better things to do. Or whatever,” he said, tilting his head in the way that meant he was flirting, then again, who wouldn’t he flirt? Specially dressed up like that, boosting up his confidence by one hundred times. “Thank you,” he said, looking away just to look at the flowers for a second, and couldn’t remember in his head when was the last time someone had ever given him flowers. Then Charlie reached for his hand and let them hang in between them, bringing the blush in his face to a next level. “I-” He wanted to say he’d missed him too, because he had, really, but for some reason the words didn’t make it past his lips. “It’s nothing,” he shrugged it off, “I’m happy you could make it,” said Kevin and looked away before his eyes met Charlie’s lips. He’d felt Charlie’s eyes moving down to his own mouth, and knew that the moment it was mutual, he would be a goner and he was well too aware of Casey’s presence in the premises, and despite it all, he wouldn’t wish him to see any of that.
Almost anxiously at the reminder of Casey’s presence, Kevin looked around the room to see if he was anywhere close, and that’s when he finally saw him, sitting in a corner of the room where his eyes hadn’t looked yet, but Casey had definitely been staring this whole time. Suddenly their hands felt heavy, and he didn’t want to let go abruptly of Charlie’s hand so it wouldn’t read as rejection, but he didn’t want Casey to read it as anything else either. Kevin, as it was to expect, felt nauseous, and hated himself for the couple shots he had taken before and after the show to calm his nerves, because he felt like it would all come back where it came down sooner or later. It was then when he started wondering if they had talked at all, if they knew who the other were, who they were to Kevin. “What are you doing there, Case? Come here!” Kevin said with a touch of laughter, as if he could pretend none of this was taking a toll on his brain. He gave a light squeeze at Charlie’s hand before letting it go and went to the other side to offer a hand so Casey could stand up. “I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry. I– I’m really glad you’re here.” @charliecowen
There was something off about him, a part of him he didn’t quite let out. He could tell he was happy to see him, but a part of him almost wished he had actually left after the show. While his attention was on him, it also felt like it was also on someone else, looking for someone else, and he tried to ignore it as best he could. Because he knew who he was looking for. “Or whatever,” he replied, the crooked smile not faltering even as he watched his eyes wander. And then he saw him, and Charlie felt his heart sink to his stomach. At the way his face lit up, but also how he saw his eyes begin calculating the situation. As if there was a situation to calculate. He felt him squeeze his hand, and then let go, and then reach out for Casey’s hand. And for a moment, he looked down, looked at where his hand used to be, and he suddenly felt like throwing up. He wondered if Kevin felt the same, knowing after past conversations that they both felt their emotions in their stomach.
It took him a second to process everything, and he wondered if he was overreacting. But it had to come from somewhere, right? The letting go of him? Releasing his hand to hold someone else’s? The same someone else that had come after him, the one he didn’t leave, even after getting hurt by him? It was in that moment Charlie realized maybe being there wasn’t the best idea for him right then. He looked up at them, but kept the same polite appearance he had switched on at many family parties. Not wanting to create any kind of scene or to make Kevin feel uncomfortable in any way. If he wanted to be with Casey, he could. Who was he to ask for more? He was also filled with a wave of anger, but mostly at himself. For letting him back into his life and expecting him to want him there. To want him there as much as he wanted Casey there still. He forced a smile and patted Kevin on the shoulder, “I have to go, actually. Gotta be up early for work. You were great, really.” He turned to face Casey, who remained seated. “Nice meeting you,” he said bluntly, if for no other reason than to be polite, and he turned back to Kevin. “See you around, or whatever.” The second part of that sentence was said out of habit, and not so much with the infliction in which they normally said those words. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually see him around after that point, suddenly afraid of him leaving again. Of him not being enough again. And suddenly his mind began to spiral into what it was that he didn’t do that Casey had. If there was a reason why he wasn’t good enough for him. Good enough to hold on to. He turned around and headed out the door. His fists immediately balling up into fists as he took a cigarette out of his pocket and tried to contain his anger until he got home. @casey-mitchell
He didn’t understand how Kevin could stand there, smile, and speak to him like he had no way of knowing what he just found out, which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t much. But there was no denying the fact that whatever role Charlie had played in Kevin’s life, it must have been pretty damn important for him to have spoken to him in the way he just did. Filled with a silent spite than even he had enough intuition to hear and have it pierce a hole in his chest. And so even as Kevin said his name in the same voice that it had been spoken in before but now sounds off-key, even as he extended a hand that he normally would’ve held in a heartbeat, he couldn’t help but look at Charlie. And what he saw was someone was the face of someone was hurt, maybe not in the same way he was hurting, but was hurt all the same. It took him a while to acknowledge what Kevin had said, focusing instead on the way Charlie had announced his leave and turned his back towards them to make for the door.
He wanted to say something, call for him, make him stay and choose to leave in place of him, but his voice was caught in his throat. Out came a barely audible squeak, a quivering sigh, and when it was finally just the two of them, he had no choice but to speak.
“I also want to leave,” was probably a less subtle way of saying what he wanted to, but right now, semantics was not one of his concerns. He kept his hands fitted over his knees, pressing his fingers against his skin as if to insist that he wouldn’t be taking his hand, nor did he want to go anywhere near him anytime soon. Urging himself to say more, if only so he could express his frustration over what had just happened, he tore his eyes away from him, knowing that he’d never be able to speak another word if he could see him there. He let his gaze drift towards his hands, nails scratching against his jeans, and took in a breath before exhaling shakily. “I don’t think we should hang out anymore. He’s... right. You’d be... you wouldn’t have...” He swallowed, then shook his head. “Um... I think I’m gonna go?” With a hand against the wall behind him to aid his legs as he stood, he still wouldn’t look at Kevin as he added a final parting word of, “Bye,” in his usual manner of never knowing how to end conversations. He made a beeline for the door with every intention of leaving the establishment. He found a place at the sidewalk in front of the bar and huddled himself inside his jacket, selecting Drew’s contact number in his phone to tell him to come pick him up.
“— and then these two guys just started wailing on each other, it was insane,” Veronica’s eyes were wide, arms splayed out beside herself as if that would somehow communicate how crazy the situation had really been. “After one of the other officers finally pulled them off each other, we found out the whole fight started over, get this—” she paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “Fucking superheroes. These two drunk idiots actually managed to get into a physical altercation over who would win in a fight; Iron Man or Batman.” Veronica immediately began to shake her head once more, still completely baffled by the situation. “Who gets into a fight over something that dumb?”
He wasn’t gonna lie, he’d zoned out multiple times in the conversation and had missed certain details that kept coming up but he wasn’t about to interrupt her, not when she seemed like she was invested in what she was telling him. He was too preoccupied with recent events in his life that it started to become a real problem in distracting him from other matters, no matter the degree of importance. Eventually, though, he was able to grasp the point of her small rant and, at the question, said, “I once got in a fight with my best friend over who would win in a fight between a lion and a bear. Well, it wasn’t really a fight, because we never fight,” like it should somehow be an answer. But after some thought--- “I think Iron Man would win, though. Only because he has cooler gadgets than Batman. Unless Iron Man is afraid of bats, then Batman would win.”
“Thanks,” Kevin said with a soft smile, taking a hand to his heart. Maybe he knew that people liked him better nowadays, it had been the reason why he had changed and kept on changing, because he knew he was doing it right, having more friends than ever, making people laugh and want to be close to him, but sometimes he wondered how many of those things were just the spur of the moment. How many people were actually glad he was a person in the world out there, and how many would actually go back home and forget about the boy with the long hair. Not many, if ever, had ever expressed it out loud, and it could be a stupid thing but it let Kevin know he wasn’t being taken for granted. Specially when it came to Casey it was important, because if anything he felt that for three months, that was exactly what he was doing to him. Knowing he could get home to his arms, to jokes, and kisses Kevin had more than enough to spare while he was out there doing… He didn’t want to remember. Wanted to lock that knowledge in a box and send it to the darkest corner of his mind, where all the bad stuff was.
He sighed. “Depends how far back you want to go. You would’ve liked ten year old me, I’m sure. We could’ve been good Jesus pals,” he laughed. “Your mom would’ve actually liked me then maybe,” he laughed again, awkwardly this time, remembering the night he had taken Casey home, though lightly, not wanting to think of what he actually felt like that night. He didn’t know much about his mother’s opinion about him, but he figured puking in the front lawn didn’t actually grant him a good one. “Then things got too sad– you know about that, so…. I’m glad you met me when you did. You’ve met the good version,” he said, slipping his hands inside his pockets, being tempted to bring a cigarette to his lips, but he knew Casey was bothered by the smoke, so he didn’t. He had already managed to cut down the amount of cigarettes he smoked a day when they were together, but now it was the only way he could cope. Still, he took a deep breath and decided to hold up a little longer.
“Okay, good one…” Kevin smiled, triggered by the little laugh that escaped Casey before he could even start with the joke. “Who’s there?”
Contrary to what many people believed about him, he was capable of deeper thought, he’d always been, just that the way he expressed it sometimes made very little to no sense to a lot of people. But as Kevin mentioned that this was the ‘good version’ of him, all he could think about was how his parents would sugarcoat horrible truths to him so he wouldn’t have to worry, but in doing so made him misunderstand a lot of things about the world, even less than he already did by default. He wanted to know why he shouldn’t meet any other version of Kevin, why he felt like only giving the good parts of him. Was it because he thought he wouldn’t understand? He felt angry, belittled. Was he ashamed? Now, mistrusted. Or was it because he felt like he owed him anything but the bad parts of him? Don’t be stupid, he owes you nothing. You’re not that important.
He wanted to ask, he wanted to be shown things he’d never revealed to anyone before, but the idea that he probably didn’t deserve to be that person who gets to know something no one else does, stopped him. Maybe another day? He wasn’t sure if that day would come. But he chose not to let his thoughts linger over that curiosity, continuing to focus on their much lighter conversation instead.
“Ya,” he told him, his smile once again seemingly stretching for miles, waiting for him to fall into his trap.
It took a few minutes longer than he would have wanted to get out of the dressing room once he was done performing. He was not expecting any kind of mishap to happen that night, specially since it had been the night he had invited people to see the show, but things happened and he had been forced to go on. The drunken asshole had been kicked out of the bar and things had gone on as expected, except he couldn’t see Casey at the end, and neither was Charlie anywhere to be seen. He expected to see Casey in the back, as he had told him to do in the end, but first, he wanted to get out of the big fake eyelashes he was wearing that couldn’t allow him to see past a few feet away from him. It took time to adjust, he was told, but he was not adjusting well in that moment. Kevin walked out, still in full costume, waving at a group of regular friends in a corner who didn’t leave their conversation to greet him, and the first thing he was put in front of was a vision of Charlie standing right across the room with a bouquet of flowers that he had not been expecting. He didn’t see Casey when he looked around, so he assumed he had gone to the bathroom. “Hey!” Kevin said, approaching Charlie, who stood leaning against a wall with a bigger than normal pout on his face. Kevin didn’t want to look at the flowers or assume they were his, even though there was no other logical reason why Charlie would be standing there with flowers in his hands, but he had learned to never assume things. “I thought you’d left already,” he said, holding his hands behind his back as he gently swung his body from side to side nervously. @charliecowen
As soon as Kevin walked through the door, it was like everything that had just happened melted off of him. He watched him walk toward him, a bright expression on his face, and he stood up off of the wall to face him, a small, stoic smile twitching up the corner of his lip as he watched him act boyish at the sight of him. “Now why would I do that?” He asked, handing the flowers over to him and kissing his cheek as he did so. He looked him up and down, still surprised at himself for how much he liked seeing him dressed this way. It was as if the boy who sat beside him, his ex, no longer existed. In that moment, all he saw, all he could think about, was Kevin. “You were amazing,” he added, looking down at his lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss someone wearing lipstick. This was a Kevin completely different from one he had known years before. One who wasn’t afraid of being himself in front of a room full of people. One who commanded a space as soon as he walked in, without even asking for it. He knew that when Kevin walked into rooms, he turned heads. Maybe the most attractive part about him was that he never seemed to notice. Or, acted like he didn’t. He reached out his hand to hold Kevin’s, which lay at his side, “I missed you. I’m glad you invited me tonight.”
@casey-mitchell
He tried not to look, he really did, but it was as if his eyes had learned where to go whenever he was there. He just couldn’t not see him. And what he saw took his breath away, almost quite literally, as he walked into the room him like this. He’d watched him on stage, he knew what he looked like in that dress, noticed the makeup on his face, but what he saw out there was the amplified version of himself that, while still him, was more for the benefit of his audience than anyone else. To be in the same room as him, in this proximity, quieter but by no means suppressed, was almost like getting to peak behind the curtain of who he was, and he thought it to be a privilege to be able to get this close, although not close enough, because if he were, he would’ve said everything that the dark-haired ma with the flowers just did and maybe hold his hand, too, the way it was being held, but not by his own. He felt robbed of the moment, but a split-second of thought later prompted him to believe that nothing had been stolen from him if what he thought he had was only borrowed.
And so he kept quiet, chose not to say anything, and let Kevin see him when he would, if he would, but the way he was gawking at the pair from his spot well below them couldn’t have been missed. Doe-eyed and just begging to be noticed and at the same time ignored, the latter of which was only so he wouldn’t have to say anything because he just didn’t know what to say, if he should say anything. His fingers that had been tracing over the fabric over his knees moments ago was now palms being rubbed over his calves, needing something rough over his skin to keep feeling anything other than what he didn’t want to. @thenameis--kev
An observant eye could tell they lacked passion for sewing. What else was there to do? The job paid well. If Charlie wanted their own place, they’d have to work for it. Deep down, they knew they kept at it because of their mother. A cowardly move on their part. Unlike their brother, who had at least tried to achieve his dream, Charlie never even dared to mention they wanted to take up poetry professionally. Casey, he was so much braver, genuine, so very warm and kind. A pure heart, someone Charlie, in some ways, wanted to be like.
They watched as Casey felt the fabric between his fingers as he spoke. “It’s not that he doesn’t like you,” they began. “It just…you two grew apart. We all did. It doesn’t mean we don’t still care for each other, we do.” Charlie spoke from the heart. While they were distant from Clark, he was still their brother, they still felt some attachment. “I know, Casey, I know,” they sighed. The brothers used to be so close and if Charlie could, they would make it so again. But they understood times were different now. They weren’t sweet little children anymore and they feared the three of them could never rekindle their relationship. That they could never go back. It was hard to be optimistic, no matter how much they tried, Charlie always came back to face the reality. “Maybe one day, when we all find the time,” they told him.
Standing up from their chair, Charlie looked around the table while draping the dress over their arm. “If you could just put the scissors and the other tools into the sewing kit over there, that’d be great. I’ll grab a hanger from the closet so I can put the dress away.”
Even he could see that Charlie was just trying to assure him that despite the time they’ve spent apart, despite the harrowing changes that have made the three of them nearly unrecognizable to each other, they were still family. Which may have been so, but the word seemed almost empty now, felt more like an obligation than anything. At least, that’s what he felt from their brother, and no matter how many times Charlie would speak on his behalf, no matter how nice they’d make things sound, he’d always feel a deep sorrow in his chest that they could never get back what they’d lost. He appreciated it, though, the effort they’d made to try and be comforting, but their words were only met with a feeble, insincere smile concealed by the way he’d lowered his head and said nothing more about the matter.
Once they moved across the room to put the dress away, he began to do as he was told, neatly storing their tools back into the kit where they belonged, knowing exactly where to put which items from the countless of times he’d seen them do it before. When he was done, he grabbed his jacket that had been draped over one of the chairs at the side, quickly donned it, before waiting for his sister by the door. He glanced outside the small glass window situated just above the knob, peeking through it to watch the salesladies begin to close up as well. “Do the people who buy your dresses come back to return them when they get divorced?” he asked, his back still turned towards Charlie as he continued to observe the outside of the room they were in from the little he could see through the window.
romaincrisis
stormborns
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snowghoul
2087
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