Chapter Text
Skeppy knew he wasn't dead. It was just one of those things that was an undeniable truth, like fire was hot and ice was cold.
That was why it confused him every time the world treated him like a ghost. He had been living on the beach for as long as he could remember, but everyone else in the area never seemed to see him. People came and went during the holiday seasons, families, couples, groups of friends. He had tried to interact with them. He waved in their faces, he talked to them, he followed them around. He even tried to stand in front of them, only to be pushed out of the way like water was pushed out of the way as a swimmer came through. Other times of the year, the beach was pristinely empty, with no sign of humans ever being there.
In conclusion, he was very, very lonely.
It was even worse when the soulmate couples came along. All the pretty, picture perfect couples, holding hands, wearing flowers in their hair, smiling at each other like there was nothing else in the world. Often, they'd lay their towels or foldable chairs on the sand and sit there for hours, writing love letters to each other on their arms. Skeppy would watch them from his spot atop the cliff, wondering why they couldn't just stay in the small town a small stone path's length away, through the sparse woods, from the beach. It was a picturesque little town with quaint little houses and cosy little restaurants.
He didn't like seeing them around because he envied them. Selfish, yes, but he had been disregarded by the world for so many years that he felt the world could at least leave him alone, instead of rubbing his loneliness in his face.
He probably didn't have a soulmate. He told himself it was because if he did have one, they would have tried to write to him.
Deep down, he knew that it was probably another one of the universe's cruel jokes to point out how he would be forever alone.
Still, it didn't stop him from walking in their footprints, imagining what his life could have been like. When he occasionally found pens between rocks or underneath driftwood that the soulmate couples must have lost, a tiny spark of hope would light in his heart. Maybe he could try to write on his arm.
Try as he might, he could never interact with the objects, just like he couldn't interact with people. After an hour of trying to move the pens, not even pick them up, he would huff bitterly and give up.
The soulmate system was stupid anyway.
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, releasing streaks of blazing fire in its wake, he hugged his knees and set his chin in his arms, wondering if in the same way he lived alone, he would die alone.
--
The months passed. Leaves fell and the trees at the edge of the beach shed their greenery for coats of red and gold. These days, the skies liked the colour grey more, and the ocean reflected that, choppy waves leaping higher and clapping their approval against the shore.
Skeppy stood at the top of the cliff, watching the water toss itself into the rocks below. The days had cooled substantially, and people now tended to stay inside more with their blankets wrapped around them and the warmth of crackling fires keeping them company through the nights. The stretch of sand and the surrounding spindly forest quickly emptied.
There was only the rhythmic whispering and occasional crash of waves to keep the raven-haired boy company.
"Hey, is everything okay?" Somewhere, a call was barely heard above the wind.
That piqued the Skeppy's interest. The smoky grey sky indicated that it was dusk, and the screeching wind and wild ocean indicated that it wasn't a good time to be outside. He looked around. From his vantage point atop the cliff, he could see the entire stretch of beach and forest, but nobody was there.
Then he turned, and then nearly fell off the cliff when he jumped back in surprise.
There stood a boy, a couple years older than him, maybe 16-ish, looking so scrawny it was a surprise that the wind hadn't blown him away yet. His too-big white shirt flapped around him like laundry sheets in the middle of a hurricane.
Startled, Skeppy said, "what?" He looked around him, trying to find the person that the boy was talking to, but found nobody.
"Are you alright?" The tall boy managed to say through his heavy breathing. The way up the cliff was not easy, full of crags and sheer walls. It must have exhausted him to climb all the way up.
"You... can see me?" The raven-haired boy looked behind him again, but nope, just a sheer drop down into the ocean, no other life form to be seen.
"Of course I can see you!" The other boy started forward, raising a hand to his head to hold his brown hair from blowing into his eyes. "You don't have to feel that way! You're not alone!" He took another step forward, swaying as an especially large gust of wind caught his flimsy white tunic-shirt like a sail and jerked him to the side.
Skeppy flinched back by reflex. Someone could see him? Someone was talking to him? He still couldn't believe it; he felt like a deer in headlights, frozen in shock.
The other boy must have mistaken his flinch for fear, because he stopped and tentatively asked, "can I come over there?"
Skeppy still couldn't believe what was happening. His throat was scratchy after not talking for so many years. "Sure..."
"What's on your mind?" The brunet closed the distance between them.
Oh, no. What did people talk about these days? How did people converse? Skeppy had listened to so many conversations while following people around, but when it came to him actually doing the talking, he found he had no idea what he was supposed to say.
"Uh," he blanked. People talked about the surroundings, right? "Nothing much. Waves. Sand. The same things every day."
"Do you want to see a change in scenery? The forest is pretty this time of the year – that's much better than staring at a grey ocean."
"I'm good, thanks." In the mere seconds that they had conversed, the raven-haired boy knew there was something about the other that was special. Nobody could see him, and nobody meant nobody. Yet, here this boy was.
Deep in his throat, something began to rise, a sort of heat that forced tears into his eyes. He blinked furiously, letting the wind wipe away the droplets, and swallowed the choking feeling. "You- you can actually see me? I'm not dreaming?" Despite his efforts, the bile rose further, and he coughed out a sad laugh.
"I can!" There was nothing but kindness in the boy's eyes; no sign of doubt or even questioning why Skeppy was asking these kinds of things. "I understand the feeling that sometimes we're just invisible, but don't give up because of that." He inched a bit closer, and Skeppy saw his hand rise toward him.
"Don't!"
The boy stopped, dropping his hand. "Alright, but, if you want a hug or something..."
Skeppy hugged himself, rocking from side to side. "Don't..." The lump in his throat grew so large that he had no choice but to retch it out, and with it came a sob so anguished it surprised even him. From there, it only grew worse, each thin wail pouring out thicker than the last, shaking his entire body.
The years of loneliness and unshed tears had built up until he was bursting at the seams. He never cried because he never needed to, because he always found other mundane things to waste his time on. Yet, now, before another person, in an actual interacting situation, one tiny crack in the dam was all that it took to bring the walls crashing down.
"Oh no..." The brunet looked like he wanted to step forward, but hesitated.
Skeppy tried to stop the tears, bringing up trembling hands to wipe at them, desperately trying to force his chest to stop constricting in pulses. He was embarrassing himself. The other boy was going to tell him to stop crying, because that's what people said to people who cried.
This may be his only chance to talk to another person; he didn't want to ruin it.
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Why couldn't he just stop?
The tears dripped down his cheeks and off his trembling chin. Static filled his mind. His chest heaved as he hiccupped and gulped. Godammit, just stop.
Please...
The dreaded denial didn't come; there was no reprimand.
Instead, the other boy lowered himself to the ground, clutching his flapping tunic as he did so, and eased himself into a cross-legged position on the rocks. "If you want to talk, I'm here to listen." After a while, he added, "just know that you don't have to, nobody is forcing you."
Skeppy mirrored him, slowly sinking to his knees against the cold stone. The wind lashed against his face, freezing cold where the tear tracks trailed down his cheeks between his icy fingers. He allowed his eyelids to flutter shut as more tears squeezed their way out.
"I'm so lonely," he whispered between jarring breaths in and out, clouding in the air briefly before being blown away. "It's terrible."
The other boy probably didn't hear him over the wind, and that was okay. He'd said it. It felt better to say it. Or maybe, he was lying to himself that it felt better to say it.
After a while, the other said, "does your family know you're out here?"
"No," Skeppy said. "I don't have a family."
All he had was a portion of sea, a corner of sky, a sliver of sand, and a slice of forest. And many, many, endless grey days.
"Oh, I-" The brunet scratched his head awkwardly, searching for words. "I shouldn't have assumed, sorry-"
"It's alright, I'm just glad I have someone to talk to." Skeppy lifted his head from his hands. Through his teary eyes and blurry sight, he looked up to find a couple of the grey clouds had broken formation to yield the starry night beyond. How long had he been crying?
He looked towards the other boy and knew that he had blown his chance. He'd spent all their time together crying. Now, the other would leave, clamber down the cliff, and head back to his home, where his loving family and maybe soulmate would be waiting for him, warming up by a crackling fireplace.
The image of it drew another pitiful, feeble sob from him, one that he tried his best to suppress but failed.
"You must feel so lonely," the brown haired boy said gently, also turning his head to the skies. "It's alright – I'm here. I'll be your friend."
"People are waiting for you."
"Maybe. If they are, well, they can wait a bit longer."
Skeppy shifted so he could hug his knees and murmured a faint sound of acknowledgement.
"I'm Bad."
Skeppy looked at him for a long time. "I'm Skeppy."
"Nice to meet you, Skeppy," Bad smiled. "I'm really happy to be your friend!"
There was a silence of the two regarding each other.
The raven-haired boy was the first to break eye contact. He breathed out. "Thank you."
In the skies the clouds ripped holes between themselves, breaking the blank grey canvas to let the stars and moon breathe through. Moonlight spilled onto the waves, undulating in little white crescents against the water. Even the wind deigned to stall in its screeching around, allowing the night to fall calm.
Eventually, his hiccups slowed and he found that he could breathe easier.
Bad was so close to him, so close that if he leaned to the side just a bit, he would be able to touch the other. It was probably his mind making things up, but he felt a little bit of heat radiate off the taller boy. As much as he wanted to reach out and taste that mythical warmth spoken of by people, he held back.
He didn't know what he would find if he ventured. Would he actually feel the pulse of life, the heat, of a living being, or would he be met with nothing? Maybe his touch would go right through Bad, like a ghost.
He didn't know what he would find, and it scared him. So he didn't try.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" The question from Bad cut through the silence. It startled Skeppy; he'd grown so accustomed to nobody talking to him.
Skeppy desperately turned to him. "Are you- are you leaving?"
"Leaving? Well," the brunet shook his head. "I'll be back tomorrow! So not leaving, no."
"I- uh." Was it selfish to ask him to stay a bit more? Dawn was licking at the brim of the sky; Skeppy had probably kept him for too long. Bad, unlike Skeppy, had family and friends to return to, the raven-haired boy reminded himself. "Okay."
"Don't worry! I'll be back tomorrow! I promise!" The taller boy said as he picked himself up from the rocks, dusting his shirt off. "We can go see the forest together." Just as he took the first step down the dangerous path the side of the cliff offered, he pivoted around. "Promise me something?"
Skeppy cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"
"Don't do anything reckless, okay?"
"What could I even do?"
Bad wasn't joking, though, and his serious expression reflected that.
The raven-haired boy didn't understand why he was suddenly so firm, but nevertheless said, "I promise."
Bad smiled. "Wait for me, then." Then, he was off.
Skeppy watched his silhouette recede into the pre-morning darkness, a splash of white tracing a uneven path down the cliff.
Oh, he'd wait. He would wait as if his world depended on it.
And really, if this was one of the universe's cruel jokes to make a fool of him and remind him of how alone he was, giving him just a tiniest taste of human interaction before yanking it away, then he was a fool.
He would be the biggest fool.
--
Bad came again.
Skeppy was very grateful for that and followed him around like a lost puppy. He still didn't know how the other boy could see him, but it didn't matter. All he wanted was to stay in his company for as long as possible before the universe decided to tear them apart.
Mostly the older boy did the talking, chattering about the town and the ocean, about all the things that Skeppy never heard from the tourists. All the tourists ever talked about was soulmates and social media posts and photos.
They headed into the forest. For some reason, Skeppy had never strayed far from the beach and the cliff. It was something that was written into him, just as the ocean was written into the fish and the sky was written into the bird. He felt bound to the sand, even though he never thought about it.
For the first time in his life, he felt his feet sink into something other than sand or rock, and heard the faint crunch of crisp, fallen leaves. Fiery leaves blanketed the ground, forming a spongey carpet that they stepped over. Bad's pristine white gown stood out like a beacon in the background of foliage.
"These are so pretty!" A leaf wafted down from the trees and Bad caught it, holding it gingerly by the stem with his thumb and index finger. He extended his arm towards Skeppy.
"Mm, it really is." Skeppy didn't bother taking it from him; he wouldn't be able to hold the leaf, most likely.
Then, he noticed the marks on the other boy's arm. A pale bruise around his forearm, and some red pinpricks further up, around the crook of the elbow. There were long red marks on the outside of his arm.
Bad noticed his interest and let the leaf spiral to the ground, holding his arm to his chest self-consciously. "I, uh," he scratched his head. "My skin is really sensitive, so some things make it react badly, and small things leave bruises." He looked away sheepishly. "It's nothing."
"The band?"
"This?" The boy tentatively held his wrist out a little bit. "I had a wristband, but my body didn't like the material, reacted badly." He retracted his hand. "It's really fine."
That would explain why he was holding the leaf so weirdly, Skeppy thought. Then, he realised, "you can't write to your soulmate."
The brunet tilted his head at the sudden change in topic, but entertained it nonetheless. "Yeah... ink. It doesn't matter; if I had a soulmate, wouldn't they have written to me by now?"
"Well," Skeppy looked down. "We're in the same boat."
"No! You poor muffin," Bad cooed. "You deserve a soulmate more than anyone else! What are they thinking, not writing to you?"
Skeppy couldn't find the strength to meet his eyes. He didn't know how to break it to the other that he, the way he was, didn't have a soulmate.
"Well, we have each other," the taller boy suggested. "We don't need soulmates." He took Skeppy's hand.
The touch shocked the younger boy. From the point of contact, something crackled through his body and fizzed out, leaving him shaking and backing away. What just happened? He looked down at his trembling hands, then towards Bad, and then back at his hands again. I can touch him?
Bad was in the middle of saying sorry, he shouldn't have tried to touch him, when Skeppy reached towards him.
"Give me your hand." The raven-haired boy interrupted.
The older boy tilted his head to the side uncertainly, but after a while, hesitantly offered his hand.
Skeppy took it. It felt ghostly, as if he couldn't entirely hold his hand, but he paid that small sensation no mind. Bad's hands were delicate and frail, ever so soft, and smooth. And as he ran his fingers over the rises and falls, the ridges and dips, he noted the strange, but in no way threatening, feeling radiating from the skin.
The feeling reminded him of the sun and the way its rays slid over the land in a light cover at dawn, soft, glowing. It reminded him of pink-orange cotton clouds, settling over horizons like massive drowsy pillows as the night went to sleep and the day rose and stretched. But instead of an image, it was a feeling gently ensconcing him.
It was a good feeling.
A lump in his throat rose all of a sudden, and before he could stop it, a sob escaped him. Soon after, wetness pricked at the edges of his eyes.
So this was warmth.
He could feel. He could actually feel something.
Oh, how he'd missed out. There were times he hated the universe, but now, he regretted those times. Things were turning out for the better. Maybe, after so many years of isolation and nothing but cold air, the universe was finally taking pity on him. Maybe it was a test of patience. He had been too quick to hate.
Turning his cry into a cough and quickly wiping away the tears with his free hand, he moulded his expression into a smile. He really shouldn't cry right now.
"You're really cold," Bad's concerned voice barely reached Skeppy through his daze of wonder. "Do you feel sick?"
The smaller boy ducked away from the hand heading towards his forehead. "I'm fine! I've just been out here all day in the wind." Giddiness unfolded in his stomach like a swarm of butterflies. It felt nice having someone actually care.
"But-"
Skeppy softly shushed him. Silence fell.
He hadn't realised how hard he was gripping the other's hand until Bad closed his other hand around them. The smaller boy allowed himself to relax and close his eyes, and soon, both of them were sitting on the ground among the leaves, resting on soft, spongey banks of golden brown.
He wanted more. He wanted to know what it would feel like to hug the other. What would the flighty feeling of warmth feel like if it wasn't just a single touch of a hand? Despite his burning curiosity, he held back. It was fear that made the ultimate decision; if he ventured forward, he might lose Bad. He might fade away, and he would be alone again.
He would not let that happen. Not when he just tasted the first lick of warmth in his cold, cold world.
"Isn't this a bit awkward?" The older boy gave him a strange look.
Skeppy furrowed his brows. "Why?"
"No, nothing," Bad met his eyes, then turned his eyes to the gilded foliage above. "Never mind."
--
The older boy didn't come to the beach every single day. Sometimes, there would be two or three days between visits. The first time that happened, Skeppy panicked. What if something happened? What if Bad forgot about him?
Then, the next day, as the sun was slipping away at the brink of dusk, Bad arrived. Skeppy had grabbed his hand and clung to it like there was no tomorrow, because who knew? For someone like him, there might not be.
It happened many times until the younger boy finally realised that Bad wasn't going to forget him, and would always come back to the beach, given time.
The knowledge of that fact made him feel happiness only rivalled by that which he felt when he held the older boy's hand for the first time.
The sky turned bluer as the days passed. It was interesting how of all times of the year, now the sky chose to be the most vibrant. A shame, as that brilliance was too often hidden by the blanket of raggedy grey clouds that were more than happy to dust the world in a thin layer of white, sometimes even more than a thin layer.
They continued to meet each other, more and more.
One day, much earlier than when he'd usually come, when the day was still in its prime, Bad arrived with another person.
She was a middle-aged woman, tall, sturdily built, and dressed in a simple skirt with an apron. Her hair framed her kind face in bouncing curls, and her eyes crinkled at the edges with smile lines. While she came with Bad to the beach, she never ventured out onto the sand, rather choosing to stand at the end of the small path between the trees, just where the stone meets the sand. She always stood there, watching Bad, and whenever Bad moved out of her field of view, she would call for him to get back.
At first, Skeppy thought she was Bad's mother, but then Bad told him that she was just a caretaker of sorts. He didn't know her real name, so he just called her Miss.
The raven-haired boy knew that Miss couldn't see him. He didn't bother to tell Bad, though.
He noticed that on the days that Miss accompanied Bad to the shore, Bad wore proper clothes, unlike his usual too-big, flappy white gown-shirt. A pair of pants, long-sleeved turtleneck, a short jacket, and most importantly, a pair of gloves. All of his garments had been tailored to be form fitting – tight enough to be snugly worn around him, but not too tight to cause discomfort.
Skeppy told him that he looked better in his new outfit. Having seen a variety of styles and clothing combinations from the tourists on the beach, the raven-haired boy considered himself quite well versed in fashion.
Bad laughed and said he didn't have a choice in it, but he was glad Skeppy thought it looked cool.
When Miss accompanied him, his visits lasted much shorter than they did when it was only Bad. Skeppy had to say goodbye at exactly three in the afternoon; time courtesy of Miss calling it out and then holding her arms out to Bad. The older boy gave Skeppy a reluctant look in farewell and trotted back to the woman standing at the stone path, who smiled, ruffled his hair, took his hand, and led him away.
After that, of all Bad's visits, there would be one a month where Miss would come as well. Skeppy knew this, as he somewhat abashedly admitted, because he counted the days, sometimes peeking over a visitor's shoulder to see their phone calendar and confirm.
Bad still wore his white gown-shirt when he came alone even though the weather was quite cold. Skeppy asked him if he was cold, since what little tourists that still came to the beach this time of the year liked to swaddle themselves up in many layers, but the brunet simply said he didn't mind and there were other things to care about.
--
"Does she follow you around everywhere?" Skeppy asked one morning when they rounded a tall snowbank piled up against some rocks. Bad had been telling Skeppy about a boat crash against the cliffs many years ago until Miss called out for him to return to a place where she could see him.
The older boy complied, sighing and trudging back onto the narrow stretch of beach within the woman's view. "Yeah, but I understand. They have to make sure I don't fall or hurt myself, otherwise I'd have to deal with a lot of bad bruises."
"Man."
Bad shrugged. "I guess they feel responsible for me. Even when I really don't need that."
"Adults, amirite?"
At that, they both burst into a small fit of giggles.
Honestly speaking, Skeppy was envious of Bad. The older boy always seemed to have someone he could go back to, someone to talk and interact with, and that someone sometimes came with him to explore. There may even be more people that Skeppy didn't know about. Bad was never alone. "What about the days you come by yourself?"
"Okay, so," The older boy glanced back at Miss standing at the edge of the beach and dropped into a whisper, as if she could hear anything from over there. "I'm not supposed to be out here without supervision."
"Bad!"
The other boy giggled. "It's okay! I'm a sneaky lil muffin." He looked at Skeppy. "And you? You're here every time I'm here, do you come here every day?"
"I'm always here," Skeppy nodded, smiling. "All day, every day. You're guaranteed to see me whenever you come here."
Bad gave him a curious look at that, but before he could ask, Miss was calling for him to leave. It was three o'clock. The taller boy sighed and straightened, scuffing at the snow with his boots. "See you tomorrow?"
Tomorrow? A promise sure was a promise. Skeppy chuckled. "Sure."
--
The next day they headed down all the way to the water. The damp sand had frozen over, making it slippery to walk on, and many times Bad had to steady himself against Skeppy as he skidded towards the icy waters.
Some ways along, they came along a fish. Neither saw it at first; they only noticed when it feebly flopped, distinguishing its sandy coloured scales from the background only by a movement in shadows. It was lying half in a small, water-filled dip in the sand. Not exactly a tide pool, but something similar.
Bad yelped in surprise as droplets of murky water flicked up at him from the fish's tail as it feebly writhed. Some of it splattered on his gown, narrowly missing his exposed skin. He jerked back to hide behind Skeppy.
"You got scared by a fish!" Skeppy bit back a chuckle as he moved to pick up the fish. It was cold, scaly, flecked with sand, and fell out of his hands the first time he tried to move it. Finally, he got a grip of it and quickly tossed it into the ocean before he could get frostbite from the chill. "Why do you keep coming if it's so dangerous for you?" He was referring to Bad's condition; dirty water probably wasn't good for him.
"I am not scared!" Bad balled his fists in mock indignation. It was a soft motion; he seemed too gentle to actually get angry. They stood, watching the fish try to come back to its surroundings after being thrown. It weakly twitched, dipping into the water. "And I like spending time with you! Life back home is boring! I stay indoors all the time, read books, watch TV, fool around online. Sometimes other kids visit. Coming here happens rarely – I think they do it to air me out."
"Oof." It didn't sound too bad to the smaller boy.
In the water, the fish seemed to run out of energy, and in one last shiver of its body, fell limp and sank to the bottom. Skeppy shrugged and began to walk along the beach. Bad followed along.
"It's so repetitive," the brunet raised both arms and twirled around, letting the wind slide through his fingers. He brough his hands down as the wind began to lift his gown to clutch at it. "I envy you. You're so free to do whatever you want, go wherever, all whenever..."
Skeppy couldn't help but feel anger. A foolish anger; he knew what Bad said was an offhand opinion, or even a compliment, something that he shouldn't be provoked at, but the comment hit him where it hurt, and he couldn't stop himself. "How?" His stream of words were heated, exuding the aggression that he tried to control but couldn't. "I'm alone! I have nobody! I'm just stranded here! Sure I get to do whatever, but what of that? Do you even know how that feels?"
Bad paused in his steps, drawing his arms around him. "I didn't mean to-" His brows rose at the sudden outburst. "I know how it feels-"
"Do you, though?" Skeppy clenched his hands so hard he could feel his nails digging into flesh that would have marks later. "You and Miss and your friends everyone else." He gestured viciously in the direction of the town. "Do you!?"
"I do!" The taller boy insisted, voice rising. "My life isn't perfect! Sometimes I hate it too! We all do!"
Skeppy took a deep breath and let it out through gritted teeth, letting the cold air pass through his mouth. He wondered if it would help if he explained how his life was barely the kind of 'life' Bad was talking about. He decided against it in the end; this argument was unneeded, and he didn't want to get himself any more upset, especially when the anger was initially uncalled for.
"Just because I have people around me doesn't mean everything's fine." Bad barrelled on. "One can only take so much of forced smiles, empty greetings, and false 'you'll be okay's. It's not fine!"
He just didn't understand, Skeppy thought to himself. Bad would never understand, because he would never experience what Skeppy went through. All of this yelling was pointless, because Bad could think he had it bad, but Skeppy had it a lot worse. "You don't know anything!" He said forcefully, nearly yelling. "We lead different lives and I don't think it's fair for you to judge mine based on your familiar standards!"
Bad stopped silent for a moment. "Fine! You're right! I don't know your life, and I won't claim to know how you feel." He crossed his arms. "We may talk about different things, but we all speak the same language of misery. You don't have to listen or agree with me, but at least don't stop me from saying my share."
Skeppy huffed. The other boy was right. He did get a little intense, and he still currently held those feelings of anger at the other's misunderstanding, but he tried to calm himself. It was just so hard. There were so many things he could say, so many words that would hurt and guilt, but that wouldn't solve any problems.
He was lucky to have Bad in the first place, and he should be thankful for that.
Slowly, the anger left him, dissipating the heat collecting in his head and deflating his agitation.
He was in the wrong. He should apologise. Yet, some part of him believed he had a point, stifling the words in his mouth.
"At least you get to explore the world," Bad offered. "That's a plus."
Skeppy could tell he was trying to comfort him. He shook his head, and muttered bitterly, "I have no world to explore." And it was true – he had the entire world open to him, but he could interact with nothing, interact with nobody. "An empty beach and loneliness is hardly a world." Almost nobody, he corrected himself, looking up at the taller boy. Bad was the only one who could see him, hear him, and talk to him. "Until you. You are my world."
The brunet stared at him for a few seconds, frozen in shock. Then, his expression softened into sympathy. "Oh, you poor muffin." He swept forward and hugged Skeppy.
A hug. The raven-haired boy stiffened in fear at the unfamiliar gesture. Something was going to happen. Something bad. There was no way the universe would just let him get too close to somebody else without repercussions.
He internally screamed as his frozen limbs to move, to push Bad away or something, before the inevitable came, and they would be torn apart. He would be once more cast into the abyss of ghosthood; he didn't want that. Yet, he still couldn't move.
Tears were welling up in his eyes again. Goodness, how he hated that. But maybe now was a good time to cry. Or maybe not. Maybe he should be saying his goodbye.
The moments ticked past, each one sending his anxiety up another notch he didn't know was possible.
"Shh," Bad murmured into his ear. The older boy had noticed his trembling and started to rub small circles into his back.
Nothing happened.
Skeppy gave up trying to make himself move, flopping onto Bad. Maybe things were okay. He buried his head into Bad's shoulder and stayed there, curling up and savouring the sweet warmth. In the embrace, pressed close to the other's body, he felt like melting away into nothing, not even the wind, not even the cold; it was just them, cushioned only by each other's warmth.
Maybe things were okay.
--
He never expected words to appear on his skin. Actually, after meeting Bad, he'd forgotten all about it.
Yet...
[I just hope you'll be well]
Skeppy had been sitting at the edge of the cliff watching the waters as he always did when the other boy wasn't visiting. The words had appeared with a slight tingling, like a personal tiny gust of wind blowing by his arm to alert him to the red letters, appearing mark by shaky mark.
His first thought was, red pen? Who uses red pen to write to their soulmates?
Then, immediately after, what the hell, I have a soulmate!?
He brought his arm up so he could see it clearly. It wasn't a hallucination – there, on his skin, in thin red pen, were the words [I just hope you'll be well].
It triggered something in him, and he shot to his feet, bounding and skidding down the cliff to the beach.
He had to write back.
There had to be abandoned pens lying around. They may be frozen solid, but it was at least worth a try.
With a crazed fervour, he turned the snow and sand until he found a marker, half crushed and without a cap. It would do.
He dropped to his knees tried to pick it up. The object refused to be moved; it always seemed to slip through his fingers or was too heavy.
Again and again he yanked at it, fumbled, scrabbled to the point where the sand crusted his hands and got under his fingernails, but to no avail.
Oh.
Once again, he was reminded that he was a ghost, never to interact with the human world.
With an exhale, he drooped and let himself tilt over, thumping against the ground so he lay looking up at the grey sky. The snow underneath him had begun to melt, the cold water seeping through his clothes to press up against his back.
The chill was nothing compared to utter, hopeless defeat.
He held up his arm so it hung over him and regarded the scratchy words there.
There was a way, he realised. But it wasn't going to be pretty.
Gradually, the words faded, leaving no sign that they'd ever been there.
He let his arm flop down.
No, there would be no need, he thought bitterly. That was stupid. It wasn't worth it.
The clouds inched past as he lay there, listlessly counting the seconds and watching his chest rise and fall. He was numb all over. Whether from the cold or from something else, he didn't bother to check.
His soulmate said they hoped he was well with no indication that they actually wanted to meet him. They probably didn't want to meet him. They were content with both of them living their lives separately.
His soulmate, the person he was supposed to spend his life with, the person he was supposed to love, didn't want him.
Well.
That was alright, he supposed. Would they even be able to see him in the first place?
Whatever.
As long as he had Bad as a friend, he would be okay.
--
He forgot about the whole words-appearing-on-his-arm incident soon enough. Bad stopped coming to the beach, and that drove him crazy. He couldn't stop wondering if something had happened. Something felt off. What if this really was the end? The universe had had its fun.
He paced along the beach, sometimes heading up to the path, but never travelling along it. He could see the peaks of the buildings beyond the thin forest. Where was Bad? He needed him.
There was something about Bad that made Skeppy forget the whole world, and with it, all his miseries.
The seasons had cycled once more, and now the sky was pale, dotted with shy wisps of clouds occasionally giving way to the seagulls breaking through as they returned to the beach. The trees gained a new covering of green buds, and the tiny grass shoots spewed forth small flowers.
And Bad came back.
"Bad! Bad!" Skeppy called, voice breaking, as he saw his friend for the first time after an entire month. He rushed forward, kicking up a trail of sand, and met the other halfway down the beach, engulfing him in a tight hug. "I was so worried when you disappeared- I- what happened? Are you alright?" He took a deep breath before he could pass out from speaking too much and too fast. Then, he continued, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I was wrong." He wrapped his arms so tight he smushed his face into Bad's shirt. "Please don't leave me again." His last words were muffled and he gulped, forcing down the lump in his throat.
"I missed you too," Bad chuckled lightly. Skeppy felt ever word, every vibration, and clung tighter, never wanting to let go. The older boy gently took his hands, unlocked them from around him, and held them together. "I would never leave you." He said earnestly. "I should be saying sorry for being gone for so long with no notice."
"What happened?"
"I did something stupid," Bad rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm okay though! Miss and the other adults freaked out and really tried to keep an eye on me this time. It took a lot of time and planning to sneak out!"
Skeppy's heart fluttered knowing that the other put so much effort into seeing him again.
He let out a teasing smile. "Look at you." He pulled one hand free from the other's grasp and poked him. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Oh, come on! I am very good at sneaking around!" Bad tugged him toward the trees. "I want to show you something."
Skeppy followed him through the trunks, this time stepping over soft grass as opposed to crinkling leaves like the last time he'd been here. They came to a flower field full of tiny green shoots, still soft from pushing their way out of the earth. Dotted among them, tiny white blooms stretched and yawned towards the welcoming light of the sun.
"Oooo!" The younger boy cooed, revelling in the simple beauty of the place. He'd never been here before.
"I'd wanted to show you this place a long time ago, but the season wasn't right," Bad said proudly as he strolled into the centre of the clearing with his arms stretched out around him. His skin was still marred with red marks and bruises, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Skeppy asked as he caught up to him.
The older boy sat down, delicately folding his long shirt underneath him so he wouldn't touch the dirt. "I told you I'm fine! Come on, enjoy the sunshine." He gestured at a spot beside him.
The grass rustled softly as Skeppy sat down beside him. The sunlight filtered down through the thin clouds, rippling over him and basking him in a gentle warmth. He smiled lazily and lay down, stretching out over the soft bedding of grass.
A flash of shimmering blue caught his eye, and he turned his head to the side to see a butterfly take its last breaths as it shuddered on the pale grass blade it alighted on. Its brilliant blue wings shivered once and stilled as the whole insect lightly spiralled to the ground.
Barely keeping down the mischievous smile, Skeppy pushed himself up to a sitting position and cast a glance towards Bad. The brunet was facing away from him.
The raven-haired boy scooped up the dead butterfly, careful not to ruin its wings, and leaned over, depositing it on the older boy's shoulder. The bright electric blue stood out on the stark white, adding a splash of colour, almost like a splatter of paint. Except not, because unlike a splatter of paint, it looked like it belonged there, a jewel among a background of nothing.
"Hey," Skeppy whispered.
Bad turned his head curiously.
Skeppy raised both eyebrows and stared at where the butterfly was.
Bad followed his gaze, and literally jumped, jostling the butterfly off his shoulder. "What the-! No!" He shrank away, then squinted, seeing it clearly. "Wait..."
The younger boy started laughing so hard his stomach hurt. Bad's shocked expression morphed into realisation.
"Hey!"
As the butterfly wafted down, Skeppy caught it, cupping it in both hands. He wouldn't want it brushing against the other's skin if he accidentally moved into it. "You really are scared of everything."
"That's not true!" Bad insisted.
"You are!"
"I am not!"
The butterfly fluttered its wings weakly, shutting both of them up. Skeppy startled. It wasn't dead. Oops. He quickly put it down.
But that seemed to be the end for the insect, as with one last tick of its wings, it froze and fell over, limp and lifeless.
"Is- is it dead?" Bad asked. "You killed it!"
"No I didn't!" Skeppy held up both hands. "I thought it was dead. If it were alive, I'd never- it wouldn't be good if it started crawling on your skin."
The older boy made a face at the mental image but shook it off. "Alright, I believe you." He moved so he could see the insect clearer. "It's dead now, right?"
The butterfly didn't move as Skeppy blew a puff of air at it. "I think so."
"Aww, poor thing." Bad leaned closer. "It's so pretty."
"They live short lives." Skeppy remembered hearing some tourists talk about butterflies as they came by. "And most of their life they're not even like this. They look like bland caterpillars, until one day, they become this. And days later..."
Bad nodded sadly. "A lot of things are the most beautiful before their deaths. But that's how the world works."
"It is." Skeppy held out a hand to hug one of the other boy's arms. "That just means we've gotta make the best of our time!" He smiled.
The edge of the brunet's mouth curled up, but it was a sombre smile. "Especially when we don't know how long we have left."
They fell silent, watching the warm sunlight dance across the iridescent blues of the butterfly's wings. A gently wind rustled by, almost giving the corpse life as it waved in the gust.
"Well!" Bad said all of a sudden and slapped something on top of Skeppy's head. "Surprise!"
This time, it was the raven-haired boy's turn to jump as he shook his head to get it off. A tiny white flower came loose from whatever was up there, and when he realised it didn't pose a threat, he reached up to pull it down.
A flower crown spun of reedy grasses and pearly white blossoms sat in his hands.
He looked up.
Bad grinned. "Pranked you!"
"What? This isn't a prank!"
"Sure it is! You got surprised."
Skeppy opened his mouth, then closed it. He smiled and darted forward, putting the crown on Bad's head instead.
"It was for you!" The other boy laughed, taking it off and putting it where it belonged, nestled between Skeppy's jet-black locks.
As he did so, he stretched out his arm, and Skeppy saw something he didn't notice before. On the inside of Bad's arm, from his wrist to halfway up his forearm, was an angry scrawl of welts. It wasn't visible before because he had been holding his arm close to himself, another thing that Skeppy now realised why he had been doing so.
The smaller boy sat up straight in alarm. "What happened?"
"Huh?"
Skeppy took his hand, tugging his arm out and exposing the wound.
"Oh, this." Bad tried pulling his arm back. "I swear, it's fine."
"Looks painful, can't be fine."
"Calm down! It's nothing!"
Skeppy said nothing, holding Bad's hand tightly and waiting for an explanation.
After a while, the brunet looked away sheepishly, and ran his free hand through his hair. "Uhh, I- I was trying to write to my soulmate." He quickly explained that all the kids around him were finding their soulmates. "I had to at least communicate once, even if they never write to me."
Heart skipping a beat, Skeppy's smile froze on his face. Someone had written to him, the memory resurfaced. Could it have been Bad? That was a while ago, but, what it? But it was only a what if, so he swallowed the thought.
"I tried to tell them that we won't be seeing each other." When he saw the smaller boy's confused look, Bad continued, "I mean, I don't really need them. You need me, and I have you, so..."
Oh, then he probably isn't my soulmate. Skeppy though. He felt empty all of a sudden. Why? He shook his head, casting the thought away. "Did their response cause this?"
"No, I think they were okay with it." Gingerly, the older boy lifted his arm. "Ink caused this."
"You dummy! Don't do that if it hurts you!" Skeppy took both his hands, gently kneading into the flesh. "Promise me something."
"I'll try."
Skeppy shook his head. "Promise me. One hundred percent."
"Well," Bad tilted his head. "You have to tell me what you want first."
"Promise me you won't hurt yourself. No matter what, okay? I'm sure there are alternatives." And after a short pause, for emphasis, "don't hurt yourself."
The brunet took a deep breath. "I won't write to them again-"
"Sure," Skeppy tugged on his hands. "But in general. Promise me you won't hurt yourself."
"I promise."
"That's what I'm talking about!"
Before he could turn away and do something else, Bad pulled him back. "Hey! You too! Now you promise me that you won't hurt yourself."
"Pfft," Skeppy stuck out his tongue with a giggle. "I'd never. I promise."
"Good." With a genuine smile this time, the older boy let him go to collect more flowers for another flower crown.
And as the hours passed and the sun began to set, they leaned against each other, content in each other's warmth, watching the sun's dying light spear through the trees.
--
"Ocean air is supposed to be really good for your health," Bad said as they trudged along the beach. "Miss told me."
"Is that why she's here with you here more often?"
"Maybe." They looked back at where the woman in question stood at the edge of the sand. She'd aged, just like they did, and now she seemed to be more gaunt, with more lines in her face and streaks of grey appearing in her hair. Her kind and caring demeanour never changed, though the touch of concern was far more apparent.
Six years did a lot.
Bad had grown a lot, too, but since Skeppy saw him almost every day, nothing much seemed to change. His smile was the same, his hugs, his warmth. They were almost adults.
What had changed, though, was that the older boy seemed more concerned with his illness. He came less often by himself, and whenever he did come, he no longer ventured up the cliffs, claiming that it was too dangerous. He tired out a lot easier. More of their days were spent sitting or lying down, chatting, and watching the world pass.
"Have you thought about what happens after?" The brunet asked.
Skeppy paused. "After what?"
"After this," Bad gestured at the surroundings. The sea, the sand, the sky.
"I don't know." As they passed along the cliff, Skeppy ran his hand along the old stones. It made him think; what would be after all this? Would Skeppy live as Bad lived, and die as every human would die? Or would he be here forever, wandering and lonely? He never got to understand his situation in the first place. He wasn't dead. Yet he wasn't entirely alive either.
The sudden change in mood hit them both, and silence fell. Even the hissing of the waves against sand sounded empty, like the clatter of bones echoing through a dark cave. The blue of the sky lost all of its colour and feeling.
Bad stumbled, probably over a loose rock, and caught himself against the stones.
Skeppy moved to help, but Miss had already rushed by, pushing him aside like a leaf in the wind. The woman pulled the brunet up and fawned over him, checking the rapidly forming red scrape, and urgently led him back toward the path to the town.
Bad looked back at Skeppy. Their eyes met.
For some reason, Skeppy felt like he needed to say goodbye. But he didn't, keeping his mouth closed and hoping for the best.
He didn't see Bad for a while after that.
--
The next time he came, almost a month after, Skeppy was very worried. Bad seemed a bit upset as well.
The older boy refused to say anything, claiming that he'd tell Skeppy all about it at the top of the cliff.
"You can't go up there anymore," Skeppy said.
Bad set his mouth in a thin line. He fought the stones, scrabbling for handholds and footholds, not even caring that they scraped or bruised him. Sometimes he stopped, fisting a hand and resting his head against the rocks as he panted for breath.
Following him, Skeppy finally gave in to the pity and offered to carry him.
They made it up to the top.
Once the smaller boy set him down, Bad sat down at the edge of the cliff, dangling his legs over the abyss. Skeppy sat down next to him, and they stared out at the ocean.
The slate grey waves flung themselves against the jagged rock face, rupturing open, spilling their glittering silver foam insides up and into the air.
Bad sighed.
Skeppy, sensing that he was about to talk, leaned into him, giving him all his attention.
"I'm scared."
"I'm here. I'm listening." Skeppy said, taking his hand and pulling it into his lap. He massaged the skin, lightly running his fingers over the red marks. At first, Bad flinched, but calmed down.
The older boy took a few deep breaths. "I'm leaving."
Skeppy said nothing.
"Well, I- it's not- I'm not 'leaving', I guess. I told you I would never leave you." Bad scratched at his head, searching for a word. "I'm... being taken away. That's how I'll put it. Miss and the other adults are taking me away from here.
If this was another joke to scare him, a 'troll', Skeppy was going to yell at him. Bad's ideas of jokes either were harmless to the point of it not being a joke, or they were so realistic it was hard to know it was a joke.
Something told him this wasn't a joke.
"They want me to go see a doctor in the city. They don't think the ocean alone is good enough." Bad looked down. "I don't know when I'll be back. If I'll be back."
"Don't say that. Wait, if? If you're going to the doctor there, then they must be able to cure you, right?"
Silence.
Skeppy's hand tightened around Bad's. "Right?"
"I don't know." The older boy shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes. "That's why I'm scared. I don't want to leave-"
"How bad is it?" Skeppy had known Bad for so long, and he knew he was sick, but he never knew how bad it was. He'd assumed it wasn't too bad, seeing as Bad was able to sneak out and chat and play around.
"I don't know."
"At least- at least you'll be going somewhere new? You could explore the city."
"I don't think so. Here, it's white rooms, scrubs, ventilators, and drips. There, I don't foresee a difference."
Quietly, Skeppy said, "how much did you not tell me?" There were pieces. Pieces of a puzzle that he couldn't put together in time.
"About as much as you didn't."
Was he talking about Skeppy's existence? His never absent presence on the beach? The origin of his loneliness? The raven-haired boy didn't know, but he still said, "there are some things that don't need to be..." He trailed off.
Why hadn't he told Bad everything? Perhaps it was fear. Fear that if Bad knew the truth, he would be scared off. Nobody wanted to be friends with a half-ghost.
Bad sighed. "We all think there are things that don't need saying. Usually, either because we fear something bad, or we think nothing would change. See, I don't know what you don't tell me. But I'm sure you have your reasons. I never talked about myself because nothing would be different if I did. I'd still have to leave." He sighed again, deflating in the light of sunset. "This has been my home since forever. I can't just-" He hung his head. "You're my only friend."
Skeppy sat up straight in shock. Bad had a lot of friends. At least from what he'd said before; other kids would visit him, even if he was sick. "I'm... your only friend?"
"Yes!" The other boy looked up, eyes intense. "I was so glad to have found you that day. I-" He paused. "Did you think otherwise? Miss is only there to make sure I'm alive. She leaves when she's off duty. And then it's only the doctors. They don't talk to me. They talk to each other, whispering, and when I can hear them, they use all these big, obscure words. All I do is watch the other kids play outside the window. People come talk to me, sure, but I know it's out of pity. Even books and the internet get boring after so long." He put his free hand on top of their clasped hands. "I'm very thankful for you, Skeppy. I don't know how I would have made it this far."
Skeppy struggled to find words. He did think otherwise at first. Bad, like him, was very lonely. And though their causes of loneliness were different, if put them in the same place, reliant on each other, thankful for each other. He wished he could respond and communicate his own feelings. No, he told himself, he shouldn't. Not when he had to explain his situation in order to do that, and the other boy didn't need to know.
"I guess this is goodbye," Bad said after a stretch of quiet.
Skeppy didn't want him to leave. That was selfish, though, and maybe if Bad left now, he would come back. "Whatever happens, I just hope you'll be well."
He didn't know why he suddenly thought of the words on his arm from years ago, but they fell from his mouth like dead leaves from the trees in autumn.
The older boy twitched.
Skeppy cocked his head to the side. "What?"
"Don't worry, I-" Bad shook his head furiously, as if he were trying to clear his thoughts. "I must've been mistaken."
"Wait." A tiny sapling of hope took root in his heart, and the raven-haired boy shifted closer, pulling the other towards him. "Do you-" He took their hands and set them against his chest, clasping Bad's with his own. "Do you recognise those words?"
The other looked away, then at him, an unreadable but watery expression overcoming his face. "Maybe..."
"Years ago, uh, they appeared on my arm. Was that-"
Bad's eyes shot open. "Years ago, I-!"
"That was you, wasn't it!?" Skeppy closed his hands tight. "You're...!" The words seemed scary to say, as if the moment he said it, some illusion would shatter, and he would be back many years, back on a lonely beach, back by himself. He mustered up all his courage and finished his sentence in barely a murmur. "... my soulmate."
"All this time?" Bad laughed, the painful sound tearing out from his chest. It wasn't a happy laugh, but it wasn't a sad one either. "You never wrote; I thought- I thought you didn't want me."
"I couldn't. Can't." And at the curious gaze he received, Skeppy elaborated, "I've tried, trust me." One time too many had he almost drew blood from his fingers trying to pick up pens and markers.
"I suppose I know what it feels like," Bad nodded in understanding, not asking for any explanation there. There was a small twinge of sadness to his voice as he asked, "why didn't you tell me about it?" He gestured at Skeppy's arm.
"It sounded like a dismissal," the smaller boy admitted. "Plus, you said we don't need soulmates; we have each other. I thought I'd rather stick with you." He sighed. "That stuff is in the past! I've found you, and you've found me, and that's enough."
He leaned forward, hands still clasped over Bad's, and rested his head against the other boy's chest. Eyes sliding shut, he focused on the heartbeat there, pulsing, warm, and emanating from the body with body heat in waves. "We've always been soulmates; we just didn't know. Would you have acted any different if you had known?"
To him, it had always been real. It didn't matter whether Bad was labelled as his soulmate or not, because his words, his actions, and his feelings had always been the realest, the most genuine. From the moment they'd met, he'd given his heart and everything in it to the mysterious boy who could see him.
"No, I wouldn't have." Bad's chest rumbled with every word. "Then, is it all worse? We finally find each other, recognise each other, and now we're being torn apart." He tilted his head down, resting his chin in Skeppy's mess of hair. "Did we waste our time?"
"It's ironic, not worse," Skeppy murmured. "And no. We didn't waste our time." He pulled away from the embrace so he could stare into the other's eyes. "And we will have more time. You'll be back."
"I hope."
Skeppy frowned. "You're going to be fine. The doctors will fix you, and I will see you again."
When Bad didn't respond, he grew agitated, desperate. "Come on, you'll be okay! Please say it, please say you'll be okay."
The brunet must have seen the distress in his eyes, the fear of being alone again, so after a while, he nodded. "I'll be okay. I will come back."
"And I'll be waiting for you."
Neither of them mentioned how the agreements were like spiderwebs in the wind, able to be ripped down in a second, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Their last hug was the warmest and softest thing Skeppy had ever experienced in his life, and the chill that flooded into the gap between them as they pulled away cut to the bone.
"Goodbye, and remember to come back!"
"I will!"
And Bad left.
--
Skeppy worried about him. A lot. A year passed, and the worry spiked. Another year passed. And then another, and another. Time spiralled on, waiting for nobody.
Life in the area grew hectic as urban development reached the small town. Gone were the quaint cottages, replaced with sturdy, efficient, practical housing in the form of low-rise apartments. They clustered around a central business district, where alien towers of steel scraped the sky, overshadowing the beach. The concrete and metal expanded outward, spilling towards the beach, tearing down the small forest as it went.
That meant no more clearing of flowers to visit in the spring.
A pier went up. Sand was shovelled out of the way for a road made of wooden planks, one which tourists and residents loved to walk on, despite the sand getting everywhere between the cracks.
Skeppy watched it all happen. He had thought that his heart would break year by year until the broken pieces eventually ripped into his soul and removed him from the world, but that didn't happen. Instead, he only grew more and more empty. Like he didn't care.
He couldn't care less that the beach was remodelled to attract more visitors. He couldn't care less that his cliff was cut into, stabbed with poles, and strung up with ropes so people could climb up safer and easier.
Aside from the emptiness, there was only the gnawing worry in the back of his mind, but that, too, dulled with time, though it never disappeared.
There was a quote. What was it again?
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
Right. People loved that quote. And it was right, but only sometimes. Maybe one would say it applied to him.
But it wasn't over. It wasn't 'happened'. It was an ongoing, happening, blossoming relationship that was savagely cut short before it could bloom into its full beauty. He would never be able to bring himself to smile.
--
It was winter. Snow dusted the pier, and what boats that did remain looked like frozen skeletons of ancient sea monsters breaking through the waves. Not a person was to be seen, and the whiteness remained silent, pristine.
"Skeppy?" Above the gale, someone called out. Snow gave way under boots and the wind found a new target to tug around – a visitor appearing at the edge of the beach where the sand met the concrete of the roads.
Skeppy nearly choked in surprise and leapt to his feet from his curled-up position under a rocky overhang in the cliff. He squinted, holding a hand up against the flurry of white. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. Seeing only a smudge of darkness against a white and grey background, he ran forward.
As he closed the distance between them, the person's face became clear. It was Bad; he had grown, as one did when time passed, but it was unmistakeably Bad. Under his long coat, hat, and scarf, he looked much healthier. His walk was more casual, energetic, and balanced, and there was a lively glow to his skin and red cheeks.
He no longer looked fragile like he'd appeared the first time they'd met atop the cliff, many years ago.
As the brunet wandered toward the cliff, looking around, Skeppy skid to a stop beside him. "Bad!"
Bad didn't respond, as if he couldn't hear him.
It may have been the wind. "Bad!" Skeppy screeched, louder.
No. Something was wrong, and the empty pit that had opened up in him over the years began to fill up with anguish. If what he thought was happening was indeed happening, then...
Bad moved past him, making his way to the cliff. At the base, he paused, looking it up and down. No doubt he was processing the changes; the narrow walkway and rope railing lashed into the stone, winding its way up to the top. Finally, he set his hand on the rope, paused as if in deep thought, then slowly began his ascent.
Skeppy trailed behind him, knowing there was nothing he could do except follow.
At the top, Bad walked over to one end of the observation deck. The ocean churned away below like it always did, from the beginning of time, and probably to the end of time. Skeppy joined him, leaning against the rails and watching him.
Every snowflake landing sounded as clear as day.
"Skeppy?" The older asked again. He spun around in a circle and his gaze came to rest where Skeppy was.
The raven-haired boy almost had hope. Until he realised that Bad's eyes didn't focus on him; they were distant, looking at the endless ocean behind him.
Bad was looking through him.
Oh.
Of course it would end this way. The universe was as cruel as ever. And in the same place, too, atop the cliff, watching the waves.
Bad was like everyone else now – the kind of person who came and went, unaware of the unseen observer yearning to be seen.
"I guess I'll check again tomorrow?" The brunet looked confused as he cast a glance over the rail at the beach below. He lingered for a second, then turned, coat trailing swirls of snow as he made his way down the side of the cliff.
Skeppy watched his form disappear, like he'd watched so many times before, and his legs slowly gave out until he fell into a seated position.
Bad was okay. Given his appearance, he'd completely healed. The younger was happy for that. But...
He didn't dare to finish the thought.
The world wheeled away from the sun and night rose, a silent darkness gliding over the snowy landscape.
It was the coldest night he'd ever experienced.
Strange, wasn't it? He had never felt so cold when he did not know warmth.
--
Over the following months, Bad visited again and again, daily. Every time he showed up Skeppy would have a little hope that the universe may have reconsidered his situation. And every time, unfailingly, his hope was squashed to pieces.
"I'm okay now. You told me I would be okay – thank you." The brunet was leaning against the rails, staring into the ocean. He'd started talking as if he was talking directly to Skeppy every time he walked up the cliff. Skeppy could only sit and listen. If only Bad could know that his words were being heard. That would be the dream.
"You said you'd always be here to hang out." Bad was still talking. "I get that maybe it was an exaggeration. I really wish it wasn't... Where are you? I hope you're doing okay." He chuckled, the sound no more than an expulsion of air with no meaning behind it. "Oh my goodness, I'm being selfish. I ask so much of you and I never gave anything. Why do I only realise now?" He brought a hand up to prop up his chin as he wiped at his eyes. "I must be a terrible friend; a terrible soulmate; a terrible person." He sighed. "I just- I just want to see you again."
He pushed off from the railing, rubbing at the side of his face as he paced aimlessly. Jaw clenching, he seemed like he was debating whether or not to continue.
Eventually he returned to the railing, crossing his arms over it. "I told people about you. Nobody ever believed me. Miss said she never saw you. They all said you were a figment of my imagination." He sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice had an edge to it. "They're all wrong. I know you're real!" He extended an arm out towards the sea. "You're out there. Somewhere."
Somewhere, Skeppy thought from his perch sitting atop one of the railing posts. Right here.
--
Time was running out.
Skeppy felt the days go past, each one of them a whisper, a taunt, a suggestion of what he could have done better while he could still talk to and interact with Bad. He could have treated him nicer. Teased him less. Pranked him less.
He should have told him about the words on his arm. He should have noticed that Bad wasn't well. So many things he should have done, but didn't.
Summer was hotter. With the forest gone, there was little to insulate the growing city. A storm was brewing in the sky, and as the first heavy droplets splattered against the ground, the people retreated to their homes.
Skeppy had nowhere to go and stood in the rain, as he'd always done.
He never expected to see Bad on this day. The older boy's visits had slowed, with more and more days in between. Yet, here he was, walking through the sand, no doubt heading towards the cliff.
Something in his expression told Skeppy that the days between this visit and the next might just be infinite.
The clouds opened their floodgates the moment the two reached the top of the cliff.
The sky flashed, shattering as the loud clap of thunder ripped past. The wind rose, picking up the waves and throwing them down. Rain tore down like sheets of heavy fabric flapping in the wind, plastering Skeppy's hair against his face and drenching him. Beside him, Bad was soaked to the bone, but made no move to leave.
For what seemed like centuries, there was only the bellowing of the sky and the shrieking of the wind.
Then, Bad spoke. "I know you can't hear me right now. I know you're not here anymore." He squinted, dragging a mop of waterlogged hair out of his eyes. "But, just... I can hope. A foolish hope. Look at me, the fool, the crazy man, talking to nothing." He sighed.
Skeppy hurt. He hurt in his heart and his everything. He wished he could talk to the other more than anything in the world, but by now he had learned that his wishes meant nothing to the universe.
"Just give me a sign that you're out there. Anything." His voice broke as he spoke. "Tell me you left. Tell me you don't need me. Tell me you hate me! I don't know! Anything!" Bad's voice rose until it was rivalling the very clamouring of the wind. "Anything!"
He stopped.
The rain roared, lashing against Skeppy's face so hard he nearly missed Bad's next words.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell. Skeppy," the brunet said, as if he was directly talking to him. He brushed his wet hair out of his face and tilted his head up to the sky. The rain washed his hair back in bullets of water, but he squeezed his eyes shut against the barrage. "Skeppy. I miss you."
He was so quiet. So small. Fully eclipsed by the might and cacophony of the storm.
Water running down his hair in rivulets, he turned away from the ocean and stalked his way down the slippery rocks, vanishing into the loud, grey haze of the heavy downpour.
Skeppy didn't go after him.
He felt a pain in his chest. Not sharp, not strong, but a dull, constant ache. He knew it wasn't something that would go away after a while. It wasn't the kind of pain that wrapped his soul in barbed wire, tearing and shredding, until the wounds scarred over and made the thorns a painful decoration. No, it was the pain that made itself his constant companion for many, many years before Bad's gentle presence lifted it away from his life.
His heart was made of paper, delicate, folded, falling apart at the seams. And, like paper, it was rotting, clumping, washing away in the storm.
Bad was giving up. Skeppy could feel it – he could feel the other slipping away like sand from a clasped fist, and as hard as he closed his hands, as hard as he wished and begged for him not to give up, the grains were inevitably falling through the cracks.
And alright, perhaps it was meant to be this way.
Perhaps Skeppy was meant to be alone.
Perhaps the only one person in the world who cared about him was meant to walk away in the end.
Skeppy could accept it. He could give up, too.
He could cut out his heart, lay out the crumpled, bleeding remains, and bury them under the ever-shifting dust.
But before that, all he wanted was to say a few words to Bad.
If only... if only.
Sure, he was physically able to say them, whisper them, or scream them a thousand times, but it would never matter, because Bad would never hear them.
What use were words, spoken to cold air only for them to grow brittle and shatter?
If he could not speak, then he must write.
I'm sorry, Bad. Sometimes, promises had to be broken.
--
Bad never expected words to appear on his skin.
When he met Skeppy, he knew that he wouldn't be needing his soulmate. Then, Skeppy turned out to be his soulmate, and he knew that he wouldn't be receiving any messages. They both had their differing reasons as to why they couldn't write. While he never knew what specifically stopped the other from writing, but he could tell it would have hurt. So they made their promises.
Yet...
The words appeared in jagged, thick maroon lines, angular in nature, stroke by stroke.
Their emergence tossed up the dirt above a grave of something he thought was long dead.
It had taken a long time, but he eventually made peace with the idea that Skeppy had moved on. He didn't know what he'd expected; he was a desperate, clingy sick person in need of affection when they first met. Skeppy deciding to put up with him for as long as he did was already a miracle.
For those short years, he had been happy.
Then he was taken away. It was inevitable. Even though Skeppy said he'd wait, Bad knew that nothing lasted forever. Time passed, and things changed. It didn't surprise him when he found no sign of the other boy when he returned to the oceanside. Yet, that didn't stop the sadness from settling over him.
Skeppy had moved on with his life.
For his sake, Bad would respect his decision. So, he had wiped away his tears and told himself to be happy, because he would be happy as long as the other boy was happy, even if he found that happiness elsewhere.
The brunet labelled their six years of companionship as a sweet dream and buried it deep underground, not even bothering to erect a gravestone.
He had regrets. Things he wished he had done, things he wished he could change, and things he wished he had said – one thing more than anything else. Those, too, he swept into a box and filed away into the darkest depths.
Now, as he looks at the haphazard letters on his skin, everything comes back to life. Against his will, the memories spew dust and grime as they rise from their rest, tearing through the cobwebs and dirt piled atop their coffins. His heart stutters in his chest as he realises Skeppy had not forgotten about him, wherever he was now.
Maybe-
Dust motes stir in the air as he rushes past the sun-stained living room of his apartment. Pulling on a thin jacket, he slams the door open, not even bothering to lock it behind him when it bounces off the wall and shuts itself. The elevator is too slow. He flies down the stairs.
People give way before him, whispering to each other about the madman running through the streets.
The sun is going down, setting the beach and water ablaze.
Sand spills into his shoes but he pays them no mind, spraying the fine grains into the air as he finally reaches the cliff, panting, and begins his ascent.
The top is empty.
He feels like he's being watched, but there's not a person in sight. Looking out over the ocean, he notes how remarkably similar it looked to the many sunsets he'd seen before, the only difference being there used to be somebody by his side.
He shivers.
What was he expecting?
Raising his hand towards the burning red circle on the horizon, he lets the rays and their warmth twist around his fingers. They fall onto his forearm where the words are. The heart-wrenching words.
The very things he wishes he had said before everything ended.
He sighs again, stepping around the rope railings and towards the very edge of the cliff. His feet hang over the precarious edge. The letters on his arms are risen slightly as he runs his fingers over them, tracing them, committing each and every one of their shapes to memory.
The dusk is warm.
When night falls, he returns home. His head is all over the place, but he shoves it away. No more words appear.
He would have taken up a pen and written back, but he reminds himself that he made a promise. He hadn't healed completely; the doctors still recommended him not to agitate his skin if he didn't want to be back in the hospital. He is going to keep that promise if it's the last thing he ever does.
He just wants to say the words back, even if Skeppy will never hear them.
It is hard to let go when he held so many reminders.
As the shadows lengthen and the glimmer in the windows of the other homes around his flicker and die, he turns on a small lamp. Sitting in its small halo of light, he begins to clean up.
Today is the end of the end, which meant he would need to bury things and make sure they stayed buried.
Away go the memories of hugs and cuddles, the tree and grass, the flowers and sunshine. Away go the conversations in the light of a dusky sun, the whispers of wonder when the stars came out. Away go his thoughts, his feelings, his dreams. And lastly, with a touch of mourning, away goes his heart.
Then he stands up, searches through his cabinets, and takes out a roll of bandages. He wraps it around his arm so tightly he feels his blood slow, until he covers entirely the last sign that he had ever been happy.
When he closes his eyes and sleeps, he is glad to forget.
Many years later, he sits on his balcony, rubbing his shaking hands against the cold. The bandages around his arm are now worn out, stringy, and threaten to snap even if he so twitches a muscle.
Something drives him to take them off.
Stupidity, probably.
He unravels them and stares at the skin underneath with sunken eyes.
The message is still there, although time has thinned the lines, faded the colour, and smoothed out the broken edges.
He lets out a shaky sigh.
And as he closes his eyes, pressing his hands to his head, he wonders why the words never disappear.
--