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—Cayden
The clouds gathered in the sky, dark and looming, as if they were merely waiting for the right moment to open up. The air was cool, the wind harsh as it carried the threat of a storm closer and closer to home. Still, it did nothing to deter Cam, who sat on the front porch with his head in his hands.
If Cayden asked, Cam would say he was fine. He might insist on something minor— a headache, maybe. Or a bad night’s sleep— but nothing more. And that was exactly why Cayden wouldn’t ask. Because he already knew Cam’s answer— could already sense the lie before it was told. It was a benign lie in its intention, meant only to keep Cayden from feeling the burden of Cam’s emotions. It wasn’t meant to harm or alienate, but it was a lie nonetheless.
In truth— the kind of truth that was unspoken and yet perfectly understood between two people who knew each other to their very cores— Cam was so far from fine, he probably couldn’t even fathom what fine felt like. He was spiraling in that self-deprecating way he did, convincing himself of his own monstrosities, giving his personal demons life. He was running through the list of his life’s tragedies— and it was no short list, certainly— and telling himself, over and over, in every way he knew how, that he had somehow earned these tragedies. That somewhere in this life, or a past life, he had done something so wrong that he didn’t deserve happiness.
With a heavy sigh, Cayden pushed off the door frame and headed into the kitchen. The front door was thrown open, the screen door the only thing keeping the storm out of the house. Cayden had spent far more time than necessary staring at Cam’s back through the screen, his heart aching in his chest. He knew what Cam thought of himself, just like he knew Cam. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt— not even a single nanosecond of it— in his mind that Cam was nothing like this monstrous version of himself he’d created in his mind. But what Cayden thought didn’t really matter.
No, not that. That wasn’t fair to say. Cayden’s opinion was perhaps the only other one that mattered. But it didn’t change how Cam saw himself. Because, to Cam, Cayden was some naive, warm-hearted person who saw the good in everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. It was a laughable concept, really. Cam has seen the way Cayden had gotten along with his step-mother, had heard the truly terrible things he’d said to her. By all accounts, Cam knew that Cayden wasn’t some all-forgiving, rose-colored-sunglasses hopeful. But then again, Cam also knew his step-mother and how she’d deserved everything he’d said and more. And so, somewhere along the lines, Cam had decided that even nice people like Cayden had breaking points. It allowed him to reconcile all his ideas of Cayden into one while still deluding himself into thinking Cayden only saw good in him because finding the good in people was some sort of lost art that he practiced on the regular.
With a finesse that only came from doing the motion a million times over, Cayden filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove to begin heating up. He pulled down two mugs and began dropping tea bags inside, so familiar with the motion that his train of thought didn’t even derail. Cayden wasn’t the most patient person in the world, he didn’t go particularly far out of his way to find the good buried in people and he certainly had less patience than Cam. The reason he saw this light in Cam wasn’t because he simply wanted to , but because it was really there .
Cam had, no less than 3 times, saved Cayden’s life. Cayden had seen Cam push himself to his limit and past it. He’d seen Cam carefully mark the page of the book Tyler had been on when he’d fallen asleep so he wouldn’t lose his place. It was Cam who stopped and bought lemonade from every small child selling it in their driveway. The list could go on and on and on. Cam was constantly, continuously showing his true nature. And that nature was good and pure to the very core. It was self-sacrificing and full of the benefit of the doubt. Cam was the kind of person someone could take advantage of fifteen times because he’d always convince himself that they’d changed. There were a lot of monsters in the world— Cayden had met plenty of them personally— and Cam was not one of them. He never could be.
Years ago— and every year, month, day since then— Cayden had tried to convince Cam to see his side. He’d tried to show Cam how he appeared from the outside, but it hadn’t worked. Cam was too determined to punish himself for crimes he hadn’t committed. So, in the end, Cayden had settled on a middle ground. Truth be told, he didn’t think it made either one of them feel much better, but it was miles ahead of nothing.
As if on cue, the tea kettle whistled, finally drawing his attention. Cayden switched the stove off before doling out the boiling water, filling each cup nearly to the brim. Idly he began to steep the tea bags, trying to ignore the way his heart felt heavy. Inside his chest seemed to mirror the outdoors— a storm brewing, waiting for the right moment to erupt. He felt restless, anxious almost— as if he couldn’t possibly stay still in his own skin. He was hit with the sudden urge to pace restlessly, but he stifled it. Now wasn’t the time.
Finally the tea was steeped enough and he gathered the mugs, heading out onto the porch and using his hip to pop the screen door open. He kicked it shut behind him, the wind fighting for a grip on the door and ultimately losing. And then, with no preamble, no prompting, no further ado, he plopped down next to Cam and extended one of the mugs to him.
Wordlessly, Cam reached out and accepted the mug, wrapping his hands around it as if he could absorb the warmth from it and melt the ice he tried to keep around his heart. It wouldn’t work, of course, for one reason— there was never any ice around Cam’s heart. He was the kindest, gentlest person Cayden had ever met. There wasn’t a cold thing about him— save for his hands sometimes— so there was nothing to melt. Again, Cayden’s heart ached in his chest, a pinching feeling filling him, as if his heart were trying to rip itself in half.
“It’s going to storm,” Cayden said gently, keeping his voice soft so as not to shatter the delicate atmosphere that surrounded them. “Any moment now.”
Cam glanced sidelong at him, “You better head inside, then. Don’t want you to get caught in it and get sick.”
“Oh,” Cayden replied mildly, sipping his tea, “I wasn’t aware that one of your powers was being impervious to rain.”
Yes, well,” Cam adjusted his grip on the mug, using his other hand to fiddle with the tea bag. “I’m full of surprises. Lots of unknown things about me.”
Cayden doesn’t turn to look at Cam, barely even lowers the mug from his lips. “Not to me,” he murmurs quietly, his words mixing and mingling with the steam from his tea. “I know you too well for that.”
“Do you?” Cam challenges, but there’s no real emphasis behind his words. They sound so fragile that they’ll break under any sort of inspection. “Know how I’m feeling right now, do you?”
“Yes,” Cayden breathes, “I do.” The atmosphere around them seems to become even more delicate, as impossible as that may have previously seemed. Cayden feels like he’s balancing on a razor’s edge, Cam’s reaction to his words is the only thing that will decide which way he falls. “And I know you’re wrong.”
He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can feel his pulse in his throat, making it harder to swallow. He can feel the anticipation, building to a crescendo inside of him, making his skin feel electric with the suspense of it all. But he waits, quietly, patiently. He waits, because he knows this is what Cam needs. Cam may never believe he’s good, may never be able to see himself the way Cayden does, but he needs Cayden to continue to try. The day the darkness finally wins is the day Cayden refuses to remind Cam of all of his good qualities. And, as far as Cayden is concerned, he’ll be damned before he lets that day come.
Finally Cam breaks the silence, his words whispered more into his mug than spoken aloud, but audible nonetheless. “You’re biased.”
Cayden hums in response, sipping his tea again, the scalding temperature of it somehow comforting in the face of the storm— both nature’s storm and the storm of emotions— that bared down on him. “It’s true that you’re important to me,” he mused quietly, electing not to elaborate on just how important Cam was. Someday he’d do it, but Cam was already swamped in emotions, barely staying afloat. The last thing he needed was more. “But have you considered that you’re important to me because you’re a good person? Because you’re kind and caring? And also way better of a chef than I am?” At that, Cam finally cracked the faintest smile. “It’s not bias if it’s based in facts. Sorry to destroy the moping party you were having.”
“No you’re not,” Cam retorted immediately, but the small smile was audible in his voice now.
“You’re right,” Cayden agreed immediately, “I’m not.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, each drinking their tea. Cayden leaned over at one point, bumping his shoulder fondly against Cam’s, hoping that it managed to convey even a fraction of the things he left unsaid.
And when the rain finally came, thunder cracking above, Cayden broke the silence. “Let’s go inside. The only bad thing you are is a liar— you’re not impervious to rain.”
Cam rolled his eyes at the quip, but he accepted Cayden’s hand when it was extended to him and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. They locked eyes at the top, only for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. Cam never said thank you, never told Cayden how much he appreciated it, but Cayden knew. He could see it in the way Cam’s eyes were less cloudy, in the way his shoulders seemed less tense. He didn’t need Cam to say anything to know that he had, at least the tiniest bit, gotten through to him. And that was enough. So, as the storm raged on outside, the storm in Cayden’s heart was quelled.