Chapter Text
There’s a slime monster loose on campus, and all Colton can think about is how much he wishes Kyle would hold his hand.
Is it dumb that Colton has about seven heart attacks just because he’s alone with the boy he likes? Yeah, it’s pretty friggin’ dumb. But it’s what he’s stuck with, because they’re the only members of Detective Club who aren’t on an overnight field trip to some museum in Gotham. (Perks of being a Notorious Troublemaker: you don’t have to go to museums. Also perks of being a tennis star, maybe?)
“Colton? Hey, Colton!” Kyle is waving a hand in front of Colton’s face. “Check this out."
Colton squats down for a better look. There’s a trail of slime splattered on the marble of the entrance hall… and it’s glowing? He whips out his Geiger counter, but the readings are normal. Huh.
“What are you measuring?” Kyle asks.
“Oh, uh, radiation.” He gestures vaguely at the slime. “I thought maybe it could be radioluminescent. Didn’t find anything, though.”
Kyle nods and squints at the slime. “So it’s chemiluminescent, then.” When he notices Colton staring at him, he raises his hands in defense. “What? I’m taking biochem too!”
“Nothing, nothing! It’s cool.” It’s actually pretty hot, but y’know. No way in hell is he saying that.
“Wait,” Kyle says. “Look.”
They watch as the slime begins to bubble. The tiles steam and fizz as they're slowly eaten away.
"It's acidic," Colton says. "Oh man, this is cool." He digs through his backpack for a minute and pulls out a couple of test tubes, then reaches down to scoop up some slime. Kyle catches his wrist before he gets the chance.
“Dude,” Colton says. “I’m just taking samples.”
Kyle frowns. “You don’t know if it’s safe.”
“Well, I can’t know until I analyze it. Which I can’t do without taking samples.”
“You don’t need to analyze it. We just won’t touch it.”
“You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.” Colton’s pretty sure he must be in a bad dream. “There’s a literal slime monster, you can’t just not want to know what it’s made of!”
“You’ll get hurt,” Kyle says.
“Let me take samples!”
Kyle sets his jaw. “No. You don’t know what it is, you’re not taking a sample.”
Un-friggin-believable. Absolutely insane. “That’s not how science works! But fine, you want to track a slime monster — a slime monster, Kyle — without knowing anything about it. That’s cool by me. Let me just put these away real quick —“ Colton’s sarcasm train is abruptly derailed when he realizes Kyle is still holding his wrist. He freezes. “Uh.”
“Oh! Right.” Kyle lets go and steps back. In the dim light, it almost looks like he’s blushing. But Colton knows better than to let his dumb brain trick him into seeing things that aren’t there — like the possibility of a relationship with Kyle Mizoguchi. He looks away and shoves the test tubes back into his bag.
“So I guess we just follow the trail, then,” says Colton. He’s incredibly miffed about the sample thing. Kyle’s smart. He should be able to understand why Colton wants samples.
Kyle won’t make eye contact with him. “Yeah, guess we do.”
They set off down the corridor. Colton can still feel the heat where Kyle’s hand locked on to his wrist, and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t make his stomach do a barrel roll. It’s not so bad when Olive or Maps are with them, or even Pom. But when it’s just him and Kyle, he does dumb stuff like obsess over physical contact.
He’s so lost in thought he nearly runs into Kyle’s back. The trail leads to a closed door at the entry to… the kitchens? Maybe? Colton wishes Maps was here. Where’s a good cartographer and part-time Batman fanatic when you need one?
Kyle reaches out and tries the knob. Locked. “Can you pick the lock?”
Colton scoffs. “Ye of little faith. Yeah, I can pick the lock.”
The lock looks flimsy enough that a toddler could pick it, but even if it were high-security, Colton’s good. Really good, which is why it’s pretty embarrassing when five minutes pass and he’s still crouched on the floor, fiddling with the stupid thing.
To his credit, Kyle hasn’t said anything, but Colton can feel him looking at him. Wondering why the door isn’t open yet. Wondering why Colton’s suddenly failing at something he’s supposed to be good at.
“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know why it’s not working.” Colton’s voice wavers, which is lame as heck because this is not that big of a deal. “The, uh, the pins are in the right places, I know they are, but it’s not working. Sorry.”
Kyle steps forward like he’s going to put a hand on Colton’s shoulder, but stops at the last second. “Hey, dude, it’s okay. No pressure.”
“I’m just gonna try it one more time.” Mostly so he has some time to compose himself before he has to admit failure, but y’know.
“Wait,” Kyle says. “It’s not locked.”
“Uh, no, it’s locked.”
“No, it’s not. If it was, you’d be able to pick it.”
Colton really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. “Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but —”
Kyle talks over him. “This monster makes slime, right? What if the slime is adhesive enough to stick the door closed? You can’t get the door open because the lock isn’t the problem. Watch.” He turns the knob easily and shoves his shoulder against the door, but it barely budges.
Colton jumps up. “I have to take samples.”
“What —”
He spreads his hands impatiently. “Okay, so the door’s stuck shut. Cool hypothesis, what are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t —”
“You don’t know. Exactly. We don’t know how to unstick the door, because we don’t know enough about the slime.” In the blink of an eye, he pulls his test tubes out of his backpack again and scoops up some slime, then sprints off.
“Colton, wait!”
“I’m going to the lab, you coming?”
*****
Half an hour later, they have two test tubes of Analyzed Slime and a pretty good plan of action. It goes like this:
- Stick a tube under the door.
- Pump a bunch of ethanol into the slime.
Okay, yeah, it sounds less than brilliant. But it makes sense. It turned out that the slime is some kind of hagfish goo, altered to react with oxygen instead of seawater. (And also to glow, apparently. Probably spliced with some jellyfish DNA.) And because hagfish slime is essentially just protein filaments, ethanol can denature it and hopefully make the slime less sticky.
Kyle grabs a hose from the shed near the tennis court, then meets back up with Colton on the way across the lawn to the nurse’s office. He carries the hose coiled up over his shoulder with a ease that makes Colton’s heart rate skyrocket.
Colton jimmies open the health office window and climbs in, leaving Kyle outside with the hose. He’s not too worried about looking suspicious. It’s getting dark out, and he doubts anyone is going to be lurking around the grounds. Besides, most of the faculty went on the field trip as chaperones.
The office is empty, and the cabinet in the corner is unlocked. He checks that the rubbing alcohol is ethanol-based, then grabs as many bottles as he can carry and drops them out the window. He considers the cough syrup for a second, then pockets it. He has better stuff to get high on, but there’s gotta be some idiot on campus willing to buy some Robitussin. After taking another armful of rubbing alcohol bottles, he slides back out the window.
Kyle’s already gathered up his half of the rubbing alcohol. “Is this gonna be enough?”
Colton eyes the pile critically. “Probably. We can always come back for more.”
“Cool. Let’s go un-slime the school.”
*****
It takes some doing, but they find a bucket and a funnel and jury-rig a system to pump the ethanol under the door. Methodically, they unscrew the caps of all the bottles. The smell reminds Colton of every hospital he’s ever been in, times ten. It makes him feel kinda nauseous.
Kyle locks eyes with Colton. “Ready?” He’s holding the bucket; Colton is crouching next to the bottles. It puts them close to each other. Maybe uncomfortably so, maybe not.
“All systems go.”
Colton grabs some rubbing alcohol and starts pouring. Nothing dramatic happens, but after the tenth bottle, they see liquified slime pooling under the door.
“It’s working,” Kyle says. He only sounds slightly surprised.
Colton smirks. “Bet you’re glad you let me take samples, huh?” Sure, he didn’t make anything explode, but still. Pretty dang cool.
Kyle ignores him and goes for the doorknob, putting his weight against it. The door opens with a wet, sticky sound. It’s maybe the grossest thing Colton’s ever heard, but he doesn’t spend much time thinking about it because inside the room…
Inside the room is the slime monster. It’s hard to tell there even is a room; it looks more like a pulsing, squirming mass of slime. It covers the walls, floor, and ceiling, and would be one giant cube of Disgusto-Rama if not for a tiny hollow right in the middle. Colton can see eggplants, loaves of bread, and even waffle irons suspended in the slime, being gradually digested.
Kyle grabs Colton’s arm. Under any other circumstances, Colton would temporarily lose all brain function, but right now, he’s too busy freaking out about the Room O’ Slime.
“We don’t have enough rubbing alcohol for this thing,” Kyle says.
“No,” says Colton, still staring at the slime. “No, we definitely don’t.”
“Do you think it’s sentient?”
Colton considers the question. “I mean, it did make a beeline for the kitchen. Probably wanted food.”
Kyle steps forward. “Hey, uh… slime person. What are you doing here?”
There’s a pause, then a low rumbling sound that makes the slime jiggle like freaky Jello.
Colton lowers his sunglasses. “Is it…?”
“Yeah,” Kyle says. “I think it’s talking.”
“You’re the slime whisperer, Mizoguchi. Talk to it!”
Kyle frowns. “The – yeah, okay. Fine.” He clears his throat. “With all due respect, slime person, we need our kitchen. So if you could please leave, that would be —”
The slime cuts him off with another rumble, this time followed by a weird hacking sound, like a cat trying to spit up a hairball.
“Uh. Okay,” Kyle says. “I don’t know what that means. We’re not going to hurt you, we just used the rubbing alcohol so we could open the door. If you could —”
The thing hacks again, more insistent this time. Colton peers into the opaque hunk of slime, trying to figure out where the heck the sound is coming from. There’s no way the slime has an actual cat in there, right?
Then he sees it. Even when he squints, it’s difficult to make out, but it’s definitely there — a tube running from the hollow middle into the depths of the slime. The monster makes the hacking noise again. The tube convulses and squeezes.
“Oh,” Colton says. “No way. No friggin’ way.”
“What?” Kyle asks.
Colton pulls the stolen cough syrup out of his backpack.
Kyle stares. “You’re kidding.”
“When have I ever kidded? Don’t answer that.”
“Colton—”
He smiles his most confident smile, the one he reserves for his dumbest plans. “I’m going in.”
He plunges into the slime before he can process exactly how bad of an idea this is. It takes about five seconds for the stuff to start burning his skin. And goddamn, does it burn. He tries to focus on his mission (and maybe a little bit on the idea of Kyle staring adoringly at him right after he saves the day), but it gets harder and harder to shove his way through the slime. His nose, his eyes, his ears all feel like they’re being eaten away. Plus, he can’t actually breathe. Congratulations, Colton , he berates himself, you forgot about oxygen! Y’know, that fundamental human need?
He’s almost completely stuck and on the verge of blacking out when the slime rumbles again. Somehow, miraculously, it propels him forward. He lands, gasping, in the hollow. His skin still burns, but at least he can breathe. He collects himself for a few seconds and blinks the slime away from his eyes, then stands. It’s tricky to keep his balance on the wobbly slime, and trickier to open the Robitussin with his hands coated in grossness, but he manages to trickle the cough syrup down the tube. “Drink up, buddy,” he says weakly.
He drops the bottle onto the slime — an extra treat, he figures — then steels himself to go back through the Jello From Hell.
It hurts worse the second time, probably because the slime has already dissolved through his top layer of skin. It’s all he can do to keep from screaming. And then, like the cherry on top of a crap sundae, the slime starts moving.
It’s another rumbling sound, but louder and lower. And this time it doesn’t push Colton forward. It just holds him in place and pummels him like a highly-acidic massage chair. He flounders weakly, but he can’t move. He’s trapped.
He realizes that he’s going to die. He’s going to suffocate in a giant pile of slime. Colton Rivera, age 15, died doing what he loved: playing nurse to an oversized Jello cup. Not the most flattering obituary.
He flails his legs desperately, but he’s running out of air fast. Spots are dancing on the backs of his eyelids. His lungs burn. He’s going to die.
Someone grabs his hand.
It’s Kyle, floating in the slime with a focused expression that Colton’s only seen during intense tennis matches. He squeezes Colton’s hand once, then begins to kick and push his way through the slime, towing Colton behind him.
Kyle’s stronger than Colton, with broad shoulders and slim hips; he pulls them out of the slime quickly. They burst through with a slick popping sound and land in a tangled heap on the tiled floor, but only have a few seconds to get their breath back — the Slime Machine is on the move.
Kyle half-carries, half-drags Colton into a side corridor, where they both collapse against a wall and watch a huge cube of slime ooze its way out of the kitchen.
Colton coughs for air. “I am… never…. eating Jello again.”
Kyle laughs. It actually sounds more like a wheeze, but Colton’s pretty sure he’s laughing. “Yeah. Me either. But I guess it was just looking for the nurse’s office?”
Colton leans on Kyle. “Yeah, guess so. Even… even Jello gets sick sometimes.” His hair is plastered to his forehead, he lost his Wayfarers in the slime somewhere, and his skin feels like he’s been dunked in liquid ghost peppers. But he’s alive, and Kyle’s alive, and there’s not a slime monster in the kitchen anymore. So… all in all, not too bad.
Kyle looks at Colton. His eyes widen. “Shit, you’re burned! Come on, we gotta get you cleaned up.”
The dorms are on the other side of campus, so they stagger to a science classroom instead, probably looking like extras from Night of the Living Slime. The classroom has one of those chemical burn treatment stations in the corner, with a shower and an eye-washing sink. Kyle pushes Colton under the shower and turns on the water.
“M’fine,” Colton says. “You’re burned, too.”
“Not as bad as you,” Kyle argues.
“You will be if you don’t get the slime off you soon.”
Kyle doesn’t respond. “Come on, take off your watch. Jacket, too. And, uh.”
Colton pulls his sweatshirt over his head. “What?”
“You. Uh.” Kyle looks away. Color rises in his cheeks. “You have slime on your pants.”
Colton has never wanted to jump off a cliff as much as he does right now. If he could avoid this situation, he would gladly wade through a sewer, bathe in snot — heck, he’d even swim through the slime again. But taking his ooze-covered pants off in front of his crush while washing the world’s most disgusting Jello out of his eyes is, uh… not ideal.
To paraphrase: this sucks .
“Turn around,” Colton says. Kyle swivels hastily. Colton strips his jeans off, balls them up, and tosses them to the side. At least he’s not entirely naked. Thank god for underwear.
“I can try to find some clothes, if you want.” Kyle still has his back turned. “Whichever teacher has this classroom probably keeps some spare lab coats or whatever.”
This is really, truly, and genuinely the most humiliating conversation Colton has ever had. “Sure, go ahead.”
Kyle rummages through the storage cabinets. Colton sees him wince when his arm brushes against a desk.
“Dude,” Colton says. “You’re burned. At least try to rinse some of it off.”
Kyle tenses. “I’m fine .”
“Please,” Colton says. “I don’t want you getting hurt. I already… I already made you come into the stupid slime to rescue me.” Aaaand there he goes, getting emotional. Friggin’ lump in his throat and everything.
He shifts over under the shower, making room. Is this embarrassing and awkward? Uh, yeah. But he’s not going to let Kyle stand there with acid eating away at his skin. He’s just not. “Please,” he repeats.
Kyle won’t look at him. “Fine.” He pulls off his shirt and wristband thingies, then steps out of his sweatpants. He stands next to Colton under the water, their backs nearly touching. Colton tries not to look, but he catches a glimpse of these weird marks — scars? — on Kyle’s torso.
“What are —”
“It’s nothing,” Kyle says.
Colton shuts up. He can feel Kyle behind him, close enough that if he moved an inch or so backward they’d be skin-to-skin. Colton feels short in comparison.
After a while, Kyle sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. It’s just that. Uh. I like wearing clothes.”
Colton snorts. “Yeah, me too.”
All the tension evaporates from the room. Suddenly, they’re laughing almost too hard to breathe. Kyle grabs the pole of the shower for support; Colton forgets about trying to suck in his stomach. They just giggle like idiots.
They stand there laughing for a few minutes, under an orange safety shower in nothing but their boxers, their slime-covered clothes strewn around the classroom and the light from the crescent moon streaming in through the dusty windows. It’s not exactly the romantic situation Colton had imagined when he’d thought about Kyle shirtless (in his mind, there’d been a lot more rose petals and a lot less acid), but it’s not too bad.
*****
On their way back across the lawn to their dorm, Kyle stops short. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Colton asks, a little impatient. It’s a nice night, but he’s only wearing a stolen lab coat and his legs are getting cold.
“Oh. My god. We could’ve…” Kyle laughs. “We could’ve used the hose.”
“ What?!”
“For the cough syrup? I just realized. We could’ve used the hose.”
“ HOLY SHIT!”