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His room was dark. The only light source came from the vintage black and white TV sitting atop his dresser playing the original Day of the Dead. Michael watched from his bed, the signature half-lidded expression not moving on his pale face. It was nearing 1:30 in the morning, but the goth didn’t care. No amount of sleep would get rid of the permanent bags under his eyes anyway.
The curly-haired teen was finding his eyelids drooping more and more until the buzz of a phone captured his attention. Next to the ashtray on the nightstand by his bed, a text message from Pete appeared on the screen.
‘hey can i stay the night? Parents won’t stfu’
Michael blinked and responded without hesitation.
‘yeah sure’
A second later, another reply.
‘cool bc im already at ur door let me in it’s cold af outside’
The older boy snorted in amusement at the text, then lazily forced himself to leave the comfort of his bed, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and tucking them into his baggy pajama bottoms on the way out of the bedroom.
Trudging downstairs, Michael opened the front door. Pete flipped the heavy snowfall off his red-dyed hair as he entered the dry living room. “Freakin’ finally. I was about to die from hypothermia.”
Michael shut the door behind him before handing his friend a cig. Pete fished the lighter from his dark purple hoodie, lit the stick and inhaled the tobacco. The smoke warmed his lungs.
Michael lit his own, talking out of the corner of his mouth. “How long were you out there?”
Pete let the smoke flow out in a long, cloudy puff. “I left my house like five minutes ago.”
The taller one said nothing. Instead, they both headed up the stairs and into Michael’s bedroom where the movie he was and wasn’t watching had nearly reached its end.
“Did they show the part where the guy gets ripped in half by zombies?” Pete asked. He recognized the film as one of the many the group binged during a marathon at Henrietta’s place on Halloween one year.
“Yeah. It was hardcore.”
“Nice.”
The two goths performed their usual routine whenever one of them went to another’s place: turn on the stereo, sit on the floor, light up a cigarette if they hadn’t already, and just wallow together in darkness and anguish. Sometimes they would talk, other times they didn’t. Mostly it was the fact of having someone around you who understood and knew your background that made whatever problem a tiny bit more sufferable.
Pete met Michael during his second week of third grade. One of the sixth graders had been picking on him for reasons he couldn’t quite remember (and frankly didn’t want to). The bully had tripped Pete when he tried to walk away, and before the boy could even decide if he was going to yell or cry, another kid had swooped in and began kicking the shit out of the senior until he was writhing on the snow-covered grass in pain. His savior had dark curly hair and pale skin, with circles under his eyes that made it look like he never got a single minute of sleep in his young life.
“You okay?” He had asked Pete, who was still unsure of what emotion he was currently supposed to be feeling.
“Yeah…” he managed to wheeze out. He looked up at the kid who was offering a hand to help him off the ground. He had to be at least a grade older than he was; Pete didn’t remember seeing this boy at all in his class. After he was back up on his feet, Pete dusted the snow off of his dark pants. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Was the dull reply from the taller boy, who shoved his hands deep into his pockets and began to walk away.
To this day, Pete still doesn’t fully know why he went after this one random kid and asked him if he wanted to hang out for the remainder of recess. Maybe it was because he looked as lonely as Pete did, dressed in darker colors that blended in with the environment and wandering around the playground somberly like he didn’t quite know his purpose being there. He was lost. Pete was lost. Maybe, he contemplated, they could be lost together.
And they’ve been best friends ever since.
Michael and Pete sat shoulder to shoulder, leaned back against the bed, occasionally taking drags and listening to Bauhaus softly playing from the radio. Michael broke the silence, tapping his cig on the edge of the ashtray that rested on the floor in front of the duo.
“Fighting again?” He questioned, referring to the reason why Pete decided to flee his home and find solace in Michael’s room (not that he was complaining).
Pete growled, rolling his eyes and flipped his bangs out of his face. “Yes! The same fucking argument about the same fucking bullshit! I couldn’t get a second of sleep without wanting to stab my eardrums so I wouldn’t hear anymore.”
Michael silently nodded in understanding. He’d been to his friend’s tiny trailer house many times and was fully aware of how paper thin the walls were. You could hear a mouse taking a shit. The tall goth made a mental note reminding himself to get Pete a pair of noise-canceling headphones for his birthday.
Pete didn’t talk about his parents much; Not like his friends did anyway. Henrietta always had something to say about her mom or dad (usually directly at them whenever one decided to rudely barge into her room whenever the goths were trying to sulk in peace), Firkle would whine about his mother not understanding his morbid interests, and Michael often got into arguments with his dad and stepmom which usually resulted in him storming off and staying at Henrietta or Pete’s house.
Pete’s mom and dad were the textbook example of a couple who should’ve gotten divorced before they ever got married. The fights were never physical, but emotional and verbal enough where some nights Pete wondered if one of them would finally snap and throw a punch. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to stay at a friend’s house to escape, and with three more years of high school to army crawl through, it wasn’t going to be the last.
After about ten minutes of smoking and listening to music while blankly staring at a tv screen, Michael turned his head to look at his friend. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice deep yet tender.
“Yeah,” Pete sighed as he brushed the bangs out of his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired, Dude.”
“Of life? Or just in general?”
“Both.”
Michael chuckled. A rare sound that always brightened Pete’s mood a little when he got the chance to hear it. “Come on,” the lanky boy said as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray before standing up to fix the blankets on his bed. “I got nothing else better to do and you look like you’re three seconds away from passing out.”
Pete kicked off his shoes and hung his damp purple hoodie on the back of Michael’s chair by his computer desk. He rubbed the goosebumps now forming on his arms. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to walk a block and a half in the snow wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants under a thin hoodie.
He turned toward the bed again. Michael was already lying on his side facing the wall. Next to him, the black comforter was folded down, an open invite to a decent night’s sleep. Michael felt the other side of the twin mattress dip as his best friend slid in next to him under the covers, their backs pressed against each other.
“Night,” Michael mumbled.
Pete responded back. “Night.”
Moments passed before Pete realized he was not getting any warmer. Nearly curled up into the fetal position to conserve his minimal body heat, his muscles involuntarily twitched, often nudging Michael in the back of the leg. This got some grumbles and groans out of the teen and he shifted positions a few times to embody his annoyance.
After more muscle spasms and hearing the start of teeth chattering, Michael rolled over halfway, glaring at the goth behind him. “Pete, if you don’t stop moving, you’re sleeping on the fucking floor.” His voice was low and venomous.
Pete nearly hit the back of his head into Michael’s when he responded. “You weren’t the one walking around in the snow in your goddamn PJ’s! Your room feels like the one from the ending of The Exorcist.”
“Oh, for the love of Jesus,” Michael growled and rolled over fully, locking his long arms around Pete’s torso and bringing the shorter boy closer to him. Pete made a small sound of protest, but immediately melted into the embrace once he realized how warm Michael was. His long face buried in the nape of Pete’s neck made the goosebumps vanish quickly and the rising blush to his cheeks made certain that they wouldn’t return any time soon. The teen finally relaxed, cocooning himself deeper into the body behind him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Michael couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that tugged on one side of his lips.