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His dad was cutting up steak with calm precision, humming a tune Jango would probably recognize if he could think through the shock that well.
He stepped into the kitchen, feeling his legs shake with every step.
“Dad,” he croaked out.
His dad looked up at him with a bright smile that immediately fell as he took in Jango’s appearance. Jango couldn’t help but flinch.
Jaster immediately put the knife down and ran over to him.
His dad grabbed him by the arms, his sleeves far less bloody than the rest of his shirt, and spoke, urgent and concerned, “Jango. What happened?”
“I-” Jango choked out, his own sobbing breath cutting him off. He couldn’t say it.
“Jango?” his dad repeated, prodding, voice an anchor to how adrift in an ocean’s storm Jango felt.
“Myles,” he sobbed out, “I killed Myles.”
He felt his dad startle, stilling in surprise.
He cried, not able to hold himself back anymore.
Myles was dead. Because of him.
“Where,” Jaster demanded, voice going hard as he gripped Jango with more force than before, rougher than he’d ever gotten with Jango as he pulled them apart, glaring with an unfamiliar, frightening intensity.
It was enough to shock Jango out of his sobbing.
“A- at the parking lot… next to the building they’re building on Hill St., across the seven-eleven,” he answered, too shocked still to do anything but answer the question.
He’d come home to Jaster, to his dad, because he hadn’t known what to do. But his dad was a lawyer, Jango had known – had thought, that Jaster would comfort him and hug him and take him to the police, hold his hand and make sure he was treated properly even as he was turned in.
But well… he’d murdered his friend. He must have crossed a line too far even for Jaster, if the man wasn’t going to comfort him, just interrogate him. Then again, he thought, who did want to adopt a murderer?
“When?”
“Um. Uh- a bit ago? I came straight here, I think I ran most of it, and it takes half an hour to walk?” he answered shakily, trying to keep the sobs out of his voice.
He was too far gone, he guessed he didn’t deserve any care from someone as good as Jaster.
“How did he die? Did anyone see you? Did you leave anything behind?” Jaster demanded.
Why was he asking that? Jango was so confused.
“Stab- stabbed with a pocket knife. Just us- just us involved there. I think-” he quickly grabbed at his pockets to confirm “-I think my phone got left behind.”
He’d killed Myles. Fuck. Myles was dead.
Jango sobbed again, feeling fresh tears spill from his eyes.
“No you didn’t, Jango,” he heard Jaster say. Had he said that aloud? Jaster pulled him in and down, hugging his head, basically. “I know you, you’re perfect. You’d never kill anyone. It’s okay, everything’s perfectly fine. You didn’t kill anyone. You’re not the sort.”
Jango sobbed again, unable to understand. What was Jaster saying? He’d felt the knife push into Myles, separate his skin and guts, pushing further and further. Seen Myles’s shocked eyes morph into pain. Felt more than heard himself yelling as it happened. He’d killed Myles.
“Go shower. Put the clothes in the fire. Understand, Jango?” Jaster said, voice calmer and firm.
“But- I- the police? I need to go to the police, don’t I?” Jango said, voice high pitched and worn out.
“No. You didn’t do anything that means you need to go to them. Go shower,” Jaster said, voice even firmer as he stood and walked back across the kitchen, putting away the meat and then leaving.
Jango was still on the floor, shocked and confused, when he heard the front door open and close.
The noise startled him out of his fugue, back into shaky distress.
What was he supposed to do?
Jaster’s order to go shower and burn his clothes echoed loudly through his mind.
He found himself under the shower’s spray before he could remember doing anything to get there.
He looked around with new awareness. He could see the tiles, the steam-covered glass, the soap and his blue-grey loofah.
He rubbed everywhere until his skin was raw.
He was still shaking a little as he walked out of the bathroom in fresh PJs, holding his old clothes. He waited, listening, and couldn’t hear anything.
He sat down in the living room, watching the fire for several minutes, waiting, before putting his clothes in.
He watched them shrivel up and burn into ash. And then he watched the fire more.
He still didn’t hear Jaster come home, or any police.
He wasn’t sure how long he watched the fire before he was in his room, in bed, watching the wall.
He heard a car pull into the driveway, the garage. He heard the front door open.
He listened as Jaster walked around the house, barely able to hear Jaster’s heavy steps through all the space, but unable to focus on anything else.
Jaster would come upstairs soon and deal with him, he was sure. They’d sort this out and Jango would be turned over to the police.
Jaster’s steps quieted, stopping.
Jango strained his ears, trying to hear what Jaster was doing, waiting.
Nothing happened as Jango fell asleep, adrenaline crashing him into exhaustion in his bed without anything to keep him going, as Jaster continued to do nothing that Jango could sense.