Actions

Work Header

But You (Specialize In Dying)

Summary:

Somehow, they always end up like this.

Work Text:

Somehow, they always end up like this.

On the damp carpet. In the dark. Just thinking.

"You know," he says to Hazy, "why are we here?"

"You mean why we're lying on the floor of your shitty apartment," Hazy says, "or what is life?"

"The latter," Twenty Six says. Hazy always has good answers.

"Maybe," Hazy's deep brown eyes flick to meet Twenty Six's, "to do what we think we have to do."

"Ok," says Twenty Six. He pulls himself closer to Hazy.

Hazy looks ethereal in the dusty trickle of moonlight coming from the window. Curly dark hair spilling in his face, sharp curves and a soft smile. Twenty Six kisses him, gently biting his lip.

"You need to wash the dishes," says Hazy.

***

They always end up like this.

In front of the TV, playing MarioKart after midnight. Half-opened cans of RedBull next to them, a torn bag of Skittles, and a bowl of ramen.

"Shit," Twenty Six curses as Shy Guy overtakes Luigi.

The cat meows.

Hazy pumps a fist into the air as he wins. "King of Grand Prix!" he cheers, sticking a pink tounge out of white teeth at Twenty Six.

"Fuck the game," Twenty Six groans. He scoots over to Hazy, resting his head in Hazy's lap. Hazy wraps his arms around Twenty Six.

Hazy is glowing in the TV light. His dark eyes are squinted, crinkled like Twenty Six's paper airplanes, and a grin splits his face. His hair is bright yellow now. It looks like shredded lemons. A jet black 'XXVI' tattoo stands proudly on his left bicep.

His eyes were the same as ever. Molten gold. But they were lost, somewhere in a suffocating world. His eyes were hazy.

And despite the haziness, he flinches when he sees Twenty Six holding his wrists.

"What's wrong?" Twenty Six is undeniably concerned. Hazy usually lets Twenty Six touch him wherever he wanted; Hazy would make pretty little noises. "Oh, crap, you haven't been---"

Twenty Six grabs Hazy's wrists and flips them over, revealing angry red scars.

Hazy is grinning anymore. He yelps and pulls his arms out of Twenty Six's grip. Hazy doesn't look at him.

"Haze," Twenty Six says sadly.

Mario goes 'hoho!' on-screen and the cat meows.

***

They always end up like this.

At two in the morning at McDonald's, sipping lukewarm coffee. And talking.

"What do you feel like?" asked Twenty Six.

"Foggy," Hazy taps his fingers on the table. "You?"

"Iced tea."

"Mhm," hums Hazy, "bro, is the dog real?"

Twenty Six sips his coffee. "What dog?"

Hazy stares at him. "The one we own. In our apartment."

"We have a cat, Haze, not a dog."

"Oh," Hazy sounds crestfallen, "that's why you never talk about it."

They sit in silence for a while.

"Am I getting bad again?"

Hazy's question punctuates the air like the fizzing of a Coke.

Twenty Six hesitates. "Yeah."

***

Somehow, they always end up like this.

Twenty Six unlocks the door, rusty keys creaking in the lock. He steps into the stuffy apartment, kicking his Converse off.

"Hazy? What are you doi---"

Hazy's crouching the corner, silent sobs racking his body. There's a fucking steak knife in his hands, blood dripping and staining the carpet crimson. There's claw marks on the couch and his face.

The cat is lying next to him, blood matted on its mangy tabby fur. There's multiple stab wounds on its body.

"Oh, God, Haze." Twenty Six hugs his boyfriend, comforting him. They stay like that for a long time, Hazy's tears soaking Twenty Six's shirt.

Twenty Six tries to clean the blood, Hazy half-heartedly helping. They put the cat in a trash bag and throw it in the Dumpster outside. Its sickening.

Hazy won't tell Twenty Six why he killed the cat.

***

They always end up like this.

Hazy disappears for eighteen hours, and comes back drunk and wanting sex.

Twenty Six gives it to him.

But in doing so, he discovered scars upon scars, littering Hazy's wrists and thighs and stomach.

***

Hazy doesn't smile anymore. And he only wears long-sleeves.

And he sees things that are not there.

***

"Do you know why I'm called Twenty Six? I tried to kill myself 26 times. Don't follow me."

***

They never end up like this.

Twenty Six groans, rolling over on the bed. The space next to him is cold and empty. He sits up, throwing on one of Hazy's old NASA t-shirts, and ventures out into the rest of the apartment.

"Haze?" he calls.

The bathroom light is on.

"Haze?" No answer. Twenty Six jiggles with the door a bit, and it opens with a click. The bright bathroom light floods over Twenty Six.

Then his eyes adjusted.

Hazy is lying on the floor, blood pouring from his wrists. His faded yellow hair has blotches of red on it. His eyes are halfway closed. The tiles are sticky and red, a razorblade winking from the scarlet pool.

"Oh, Godgodgodgod," Twenty Six whispers. He falls to his knees fingers roaming Hazy's neck. No pulse. "Hazy---why? Whywhywhy…shit---!"

Twenty Six is sobbing uncontrollably. There's a note, bloodstained, held preciously between Hazy's fingers.

Through blurry vision and a numb, hollow feeling in his chest, Twenty Six shakily unfolds the note.

dear 26,

the world overwhelmed me.

you once asked me what the meaning of life was. i replied with, 'to do whatever we think we have to do.' and that's what i did.

i wish i could've done it cleaner. i wish you didn't have to see this.

don't drag yourself down. you are meant for so much more, you are such a sweet, caring person. i love you, and always will.

maybe we'll see each other again one day.

love, hazy

Twenty Six screams.

***

The funeral was a small one.

Just Hazy's parents, his sisters and brother, and Twenty Six.

He can't say anything; he's sobbing over the yellow hair and soft smile he will never see again.

***

"I miss you," Twenty Six's broken voice cracks in the chilly night air. He's on top of the apartment roof, tears running down his face. Traffic pours far below; the moon a scratch in the ink.

"I want to hear you answer one of my questions again."

"Please!"

The wind howls in reply.

Twenty Six stares at the sky. "I love you, so, so, so much Haze. Come back."

The busy sounds of the night city and the quietness of the night, balancing one another out. No almond-shaped hazel eyes and quirky laughs. It begins to drizzle.

Twenty Six speaks to the rain as it soaks his hoodie. "I don't want to wait to see you again."

He jumps.