CW: drugs (not used), trauma, implied attempted overdose
masterlist | all feedback on my work is appreciated
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Here he was, like every other year. Wishing that for just one moment, he hadn’t fucked it all up.
It was August again. Purple-tinted grass snaking around in the wind, then blue and green and orange. He tried to close his eyes and listen to the laughter enveloping his back, the sounds of laser guns firing and engines revving. Tried to drown out the screaming in his head as his grip on the plastic container in his hand grew tighter.
He had to remind himself to tear his wrists apart, one hand on each leg, the barely audible clattering of the container’s contents as he jerked it away from the center of him. Staring out at the water.
Breathe.
Stop moving your leg. Don’t cross your legs, don’t leave them too wide. Don’t lean forward, don’t lean back. Don’t do that. Don’t do that⸺
Warm him up, warm him up, that’s too warm⸺
Breathe.
You stupid, stupid kid.
One hand flew up to rake through his hair as he leaned back and sighed, almost picturing his breath coming out in a white cloud in front of his head. Purple, blue, green, no. He closed his eyes again, not knowing when they’d opened. Took a deep breath. Laser guns, car engines, tires squeaking, K.O!, race beginning, race ending, music.
Laughter.
Screaming.
His next breath shuddered out of him. Don’t. Don’t.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” His eyes snapped open, posture straightening. He blinked a few times before managing to turn his head to his right. He hadn’t noticed the guy coming up behind him. Darker hair, about his age, with the blinking lights hitting their back as they leaned against the back of the bench. Purple, blue, green, Pierre.
Stop it. “No, no. Sorry.”
He slid to one side of the bench, leaving room for the guy to sit down beside him. Tore the hand still on his leg off, instinct ringing his two hands back together. He leaned forward and hung his head, orange bottle still wrung around his fingers like a curse.
“Hey, you’re the one who played Urban back there, right? That was—it was wicked. Never seen anything like that before.”
He brought his eyes up to meet the other boy’s again. Cleared his throat, voice still hoarse from screaming his lungs out praying someone would hear him and dial in three numbers.
“Didn’t know I was developing a fanbase.”
“Would it be mean to the guy I played against to say I got upset when you walked away and I had to play him instead?” The guy’s generally withdrawn face morphed into a smirk as they leaned forward to practically whisper in his ear.
He laughed a coarse little laugh, if only a little. “Maybe it is.”
He felt small under this stranger’s confidence. To approach him out of the blue, green, fuck, stop it.
The grip on the container in his hands slacked when the stranger spoke again, enthusiastic and friendly. “Would it also happen to be weird if you were somewhat of a legend around here? I hear people talking about you in whispers all the time. ‘That one kid.’ ”
He shrugged, looking off at the lake again.
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Holding a convention full of electronics next to a lake every year. I mean—not like anybody would throw the electronics in the water on purpose⸺” He inhaled a little too sharply, but the guy didn’t seem to notice, leaning back and waving a hand around animatedly. “⸺But the mosquitoes and everything have gotta suck, right? Pun unintended.”
“I come here every year, I think they put repellants up. Haven’t ever been bit a lot.”
“Seriously? Wait, don’t tell me. You ditch your parents too?”
He raised an eyebrow, cringing silently to himself. “No, I come alone. You ditched your parents?”
“Well, parent, but I did technically leave my dad at the grocery store a few blocks down. I texted him, though, and he’s always cool with it. Upset I managed to trick him again, but I’ve got a streak going of preventing him from knowing when the convention is every year and unbeknownst to him getting him to drive down here. Which, now that I think about it…”
A warm smile breached his face with the barest hint of a giggle.
“That dick, he’s been tricking me instead. Damn.” The guy grumbled a little before their smile returned wide. “Hey, is there anything I can call you? Like your name?”
“Oh, no⸺” He immediately had to force himself not to shrink away. This was not the day to be forming attachments. To anything. The lights started repeating in his head again, the screaming he hadn’t known left slamming back again. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I⸺”
“It’s alright.” The guy’s gaze flitted to his hands before returning to look him in the eyes. Etching of concern in their brows. Not that he knows what concern looks like. “I’ll just call you Urban. Master of kinetics.”
He was silent, contemplative in his own misery as the colors hit his brain again. Grip tightening again on his bottle. His bottle. Orange. Stop it.
“You can just call me Raiden—like the original comic book version of the name, though. To fit the theme.”
“That symbolism for chasing after the ability to play against me, original-comic-book-version?” He almost locked his jaw shut. Don’t be witty with me. Stop, stop it.
Stop getting attached.
Raiden, as the stranger preferred, got up from the bench, stretched, and held out a hand for him to get up too. “That mean you’re gonna come up and play some more?”
He sat, agape for a while. Hesitation binding himself into his own skin.
Raiden’s smile grew even wider.
He broke, stuffing the bottle into his jacket pocket and zipping it so it didn’t fall out, taking the friendly stranger’s hand. “Did you want to test your luck?”
“More along the lines of testing yours.” They shrug playfully.
“Really?”
“You’re talking to the one and only top spot in every single arcade in this city for Flash Fire. Decked Games is the best one, by the way. Little strip mall. Love the owners and their game store next door as well.”
“Well then I suppose I’ll have to test that theory later.”
“Yeah?”
It took him a second to realize what he’d said, the words flying out of his mouth before he could even try to stop them. His smile brought out a safe laugh he hadn’t heard himself give anyone for years. “Yeah.”
next chapter | original chapter
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missing a content warning? let me know
had a lot of fun with this rewrite of the first chapter of Cinder. i'd love any feedback anyone has, whether it's in my ask box, you message me directly, or the notes.
also, tell me names that are better than "Cinder." i keep associating it with a book i've never read and know is popular and i'd rather not.
(if you read this chapter, i love you so platonically you cannot imagine. if you enjoyed it, shit i love you that much more. sorry i have no filter.)
