Chapter Text
Harsh sunlight fights through the thin fabric covering Ant’s window, the hot Sydney heat washing over him as soon as he gains consciousness. Loud beeping sounds from his alarm clock ring through his ears, giving him a migraine even though he’s only been awake for five seconds.
He doesn’t want to go to school. He doesn’t want to face his friends. He doesn’t want to face Spider. He wants to go back to sleep, and preferably never wake up. He doesn’t have that option though. He told Spider he’s going. So now he has to. Either that or get bombarded by messages and calls. Why does he care so much about him? Whatever. It’s too early to think right now. He leans over to his bedside table and turns the alarm off before sitting up, doing his best to ignore the agony in his body.
After getting out of bed - which took longer than he would ever admit - and getting ready for school, he attempts to make himself presentable in the bathroom mirror. The eye bags aren’t as prominent as they were the day before, but they’re definitely still there. He washes his face with warm water for the fifth time that morning, trying to wake his brain up. Probably. He’s not actually completely sure why he keeps doing it, but that’s what he came up with.
He stares at himself in the mirror, watching his own wide eyes, his own uneven breathing, his own jaw tense and untense.
He can’t do this.
Not when the memories are this fresh. Not when it still hurts so much. Not when everyone also remembers.
…
Fuck it.
With a trembling hand, he opens the cabinet above the sink. He reaches into the back corner of the top shelf, a place he’s memorised by now, retrieving an orange pill bottle. He twists the lid off, taking out a triangular shaped pill.
…
The struggle of swallowing and the bitter taste afterwards only lasts a moment. A small price to pay for the later effects.
After he exits the bathroom and goes downstairs, he puts his shoes on and mentally prepares himself for school. For SLTs. For Spider. For anything that’s outside of his house, basically. But mostly for Spider.
He takes a deep breath before opening the front door and taking a step outside, noting how he did not eat breakfast - purposefully, although he’ll say he forgot if he gets asked. He feels nauseous. He always feels nauseous. Soon, the pill will kick in. Soon, he’ll feel fine.
✩✩✩✩✩
Dread pools up in his stomach as soon as the building comes into sight. His mind is foggy and he feels like he could blow away with the breeze yet like a pile of bricks simultaneously.
It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s only 7 hours. Everything will be fine.
If he tells himself enough, it’ll be true. Right?
The happy sounds of his friends at the school gate echos through his ears like gunshot entering his bloodstream and rattling around his bones. Or maybe like the blaring base from his party. Ant feels sick.
Blocking the bad memories and horrid thoughts from his brain, Ant stops in front of the school gates and stumbles off his bike, leaving it in the school bike rack and definitely not forgetting to put the lock on it. Echos of his happy, bright friends calling him over rattle through his skull as he fights his way through the fog and colourful swirls appearing in his vision to make his way over to them. A chorus of “what’s good, mate” and other friendly exchanges play out between him, Spider, and a couple other lads that follow Spider around like he’s some kind of saint.
Which, for the record, he isn’t and doesn’t deserve to be treated like such.
“Oi, Ant, your party was bloody sick, dude!” One of the guys who thinks he’s tough shit for hanging with Spider says to him, having the audacity to put his arm around his shoulders. “You were pissed off your ‘ead, mate! Proper gnarly stuff, bro.” He pats Ant’s shoulders, laughing, before getting off him. His blood boils and his vision blurs.
Ant doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to see - let alone speak to - the other guys he doesn’t even know the names of. He doesn’t want to see Spider. He doesn’t want to think about Spider. All he can focus on is the way his body looks so relaxed and the way his mouth moves with confidence when he speaks. The fog in his brain clears almost entirely when he stares at his best friend, being replaced with colourful swirls and lines and circles dancing around his figure.
“You good, bro?” Spider asks, the concern in his voice only evident to him and him alone. Has he already forgotten everything that happened? Ant must have been staring for too long. Maybe? What time is it? Did Spider actually notice the staring this time? Does Spider actually care? Does it matter if he does? Does it matter if he doesn’t?
“Ant?” He questions again, the hand waving in front of his face leaving trails of colour as it moved up and down in front of his eyes. Ant blinks up at him, remembering that he’d been asked a question.
“Yeah, bro, I’m great.” He does his best to answer like how he normally would, giving him a goofy grin to convince him. What would he say if he said no? What would he do if he wasn’t? Could he do anything to change it? Would he do anything to change it if he could? Does he care? He must do right? But what if he doesn’t? What if-
“Okay, bro, whatever you say.” There’s tension in the air, Spider’s voice echos through his bones and his eyes rake over his face, lingering on his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does that answer make Ant so angry? Has he always been this angry? He’s never angry towards Spider, right? Why now does his words piss him off so much? Why doesn’t he believe him? Why does he know him so well? Why can’t he just let him ruin himself without interference? Why does he care so much? Is it even care? If it’s not care then why does his heart call out for him? Why is he so angry at the longing he feels towards his best friend? Why does he feel-
Suddenly, a sharp, stinging ringing sound reverberates through his ears and weaves hastily through his body. The bell, loud, obstreperous, difficult to ignore. The start of the day. The day has only just started and he already can’t do it.
He wants to go home.
Suddenly, the place he’s been going to for six hours every day for the last five years seems unrecognisable. Everything is too dark and too bright and his head hurts and feels too heavy and too light and he’s standing too close to Spider and he can feel the other man’s body heat against him and he wants more but also feels like crying.
He can’t cry, not right now. He just needs to make it through the day.
✩✩✩✩✩
The bell rings, echos of the deadly school day bouncing around the hallways, signalling the beginning of the schools lunch break. Or, for Ant, SLTs. His mother is still on his back for that, even though it was ages ago. It was one wristy. He repented and went to church more because of it, what else does she want him to do? She needs to get over it already, it’s not a big deal.
Rushing down the hallway - and admittedly almost tripping over a few times - Ant tries his best to make it to the classroom in time. He spent too long thinking about his mother and the brain fog and the effects of the drugs wearing off and the way his body aches and his heart hurts to worry about the time - so now he’s late. Hopefully Jojo will let him off again. He’s sweating and his ankles hurt from twisting them when turning a corner.
Maybe he should just take the detention.
He pauses in front of the classroom door. A full body pause. His heart stops. His lungs stop taking in air. His brain shuts down.
Spider - his best friend. And Missy. Kissing. In the hallway outside the classroom. Spencer White and Missy Beckett. The person he’s been attached at the hip with since he was a child. The person he’s relied on for his entire life. The only person who understands him, who knows who he really is. The only person he can truly be himself around. Making out with Missy Beckett - a girl that has literally never respected him, let alone liked him.
Ant has never particularly liked Missy. Not really. They’ve never had any direct problems with each other, but they’ve never exactly gotten along either. He’s best mates with Spider, a guy whose entire existence revolves around rage baiting Missy. They’re not friends by association. Missy’s a popular girl who takes the piss out of every man to attend Hartley and thinks Spider is the worst thing to ever walk this planet. Thought, apparently. Because now - somehow, for some reason - she’s going out with Spider.
He can’t do this. Not today.
He’ll just take the detention.
✩✩✩✩✩
Anthony Vaughn rarely ever skips school. Sure, he doesn’t get good grades or try very hard, but he still makes an effort to attend everyday. It’s better to achieve bare minimum than to not achieve anything, right? So why now, after seeing his friend kiss his girlfriend - which is a very normal thing to do - is he power walking down the corridors and out of the front gates? Spider and Missy have been dating for a couple weeks, he’s very aware of this, so why now - now that he’s seen them actually act like a couple - does his blood boil and stomach curl? Why does the image make his fists clench and his heart hurt? Is it anger? Maybe. Missy doesn’t care about him. Not really. Right? Surely not. She hates him, she always has. Maybe it’s jealousy? It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. Ant isn’t jealous. He can’t be. That’s wrong. He internally slaps himself at the thought.
He doesn’t need another reason for his mother to hate him.
He’s thankful that his parents aren’t home right now.
He’s probably just pissed that his best mate is going to get hurt. It’s inevitable. He’s dating someone who probably - no, definitely- doesn’t care about him, someone who doesn’t know him. Of course she’s going to end up hurting him, intentionally or not, either way he’s going to get hurt. Because how could she care? A month ago, every class they shared would become a battlefield, they would be at each other’s throats. No one can go from feeling disgusted at the thought of the other to being so in love that quickly without getting burned just as fast. That idea makes his jaw tighten and his bones weak.
After entering his empty house and is safe in the sanctuary of his room, Ant curls up in a foetus position on his bed - without bothering to check his phone or close his curtains - and lets his eyes drain themselves. His eyes sting, but he can’t stop it. The water seeps into the fabric of his bed, making his covers feel cold and scratchy. His head aches and his throat is sore. He feels pathetic. Overwhelmed from the sobriety left in his body left from the pill he took this morning. His hands ball up into fists, nails fiercely digging into his skin. Why is he even crying? Why does he care so much? Why does he care so much when Spider wouldn’t do the same? Surely they’ve been through enough together for him to care for him at least a little bit. Surely he cares. Right?
His skin itches, burns. Bitter anger radiates throughout his body. His heartbeat slams too loudly in his ears. There is only one way to make the panic stop, if only for a while.
Sweat soaked hair clings to his forehead as he forces himself into a sitting position. He wipes the wetness away from his eyes with a shaky hand before opening his bedside drawer, the smooth wood cold under his clammy hands, and pulls out the blade he stole from his father a number of years ago. It’s not exactly sharp, but it’s enough to get the job done. He needs to clear his mind. He needs a release.
Rolling up his sleeve, he holds the blade against his forearm, relishing in the chilling sensation against against his skin for a moment before pressing down and swiping the object with speed and force, a streak of crimson left in its wake, a sharp pain piercing through him, shooting from his arm and ending in his feet. The spring breeze fights through the broken window frame, sending chills through the room as he watches his own blood seep out of his skin, basking in the sweet sting in his arm.
His phone buzzes from inside his pocket, the vibration rattling straight through his skin. Once. Twice. Three times. Too many to count, too overwhelming to ignore. He wipes the blood off his arm with his hoodie sleeve before it drips onto the floor, pressing the fabric into the cut whilst he listens to the vibrations until they come to a stop. Slowly, he removes his sleeve and pulls out his phone. Worried texts. 7 missed calls. All from Spider. Tears prick at his eyes once again as he throws his phone across the room. He slams the blade back into his draw before curls back onto his bed.
Dehydration attacks his throat as his tears run dry, fog clouding his mind as sleep takes over his body.
✩✩✩✩✩
Darkness. Painless. Maybe he’s just numb. His bed feels softer than usual. His head feels hazy, but strangely it doesn’t hurt. Heavy breathing. In his ear. Loud, panting.
Ant looks over to his side, his brows pinching together. His voice gets caught in his throat. Spider, his best friend, lays next to him, propped up on his elbows, face difficult to make out in the darkness that consumes them, but he knows it’s him. Looming over him, faces inches away from each other. There’s a dark glint in his eyes that Ant doesn’t recognise, making his stomach churn and his skin tingle. He tries to speak, to ask why he’s here or what’s happening - but he can’t force the words out, his breath increasing in speed.
“Shhh…” Spider hums, before pressing his lips against Ant’s, warm and wet. His breath catches in his throat as the other closes the distance between them, his body weight on top of his. His mind goes blank.
What’s happening?
Spider’s hands wander down his sides, his touch sending tingles through his bones. Ant can’t help but lean into it, his mind overwhelmed by his desire, his desperation, his longing. He lets out soft breaths as Spider kisses down his jaw and neck, both tongue and teeth dragging along his sensitive skin, sending fireworks through his body that exploded in his stomach. His hands crawl under his shirt, his soft touch igniting the skin of his waist and hips. Small, quiet noises of pleasure escape from his throat as the man he can’t get out of his head kisses him, touches him, loves him. Loves him like no one has before, like he means it. Like he wants it too.
He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. The other man on top of him presses kisses into his jaw, neck, collarbones, each one sending a brain cell into orbit. His hands drift lower, palms moving against his inner thighs. The sensation is overwhelming in the best possible way, his composure unravelling as his breathing becomes heavier and whimpers become more frequent. All he can think about is Spider. His best friend. The same Spider who can’t go a day without offending someone. The same Spider who doesn’t believe in pronouns. His Spider. His Spider that is now pinning him down on a bed that’s too soft to be his, kissing and touching him, his movements soft and gentle yet purposeful and confident. He wants more. He always wants more when it comes to Spider, only now he can actually get it.
A scratchy, unintelligible whisper breaks him out of his thoughts. Ant tries to ask him to repeat himself, but his voice box is still glued shut. Spider looks up at him from where he was kissing his collarbone, hands coming to a stop, making Ant gasp at the lack of friction. Their eyes lock, Spider’s half lidded and heavy with lust. He moves up to his jaw, planting tender kisses along his jawline, right up to his ear. A scratchy whisper that feels too familiar breaks the silence.
“It’s your fault.”