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When he was 10 years old, Tyler’s uncle brought over an old go-kart he managed to fix up. It was an ugly murky orange, and the seats smelled like cigarette smoke, but it ran, and that was enough. He let Tyler and Taylor take turns driving up and down the cul-de-sac. For a man smart enough to fix a vehicle that didn’t have its parts manufactured anymore, he sure seemed to miss the mark on safety, seeing as the kart didn’t have a seatbelt nor a proper cage.
But that didn’t stop Tyler; he took the go-kart lap for lap down his street until Taylor and his Mom had long been inside and the horizon was starting to dim.
He remembers begging his uncle for one last lap. He remembers tearing down the driveway with the wind striking his skin and a bubbling laugh escaping his lips. He remembers turning his wheel all the way to the left and sharply circling the end of his street. He remembers the kart starting to tilt. He remembers the kart falling on its side and he remembers how it continued to run.
He remembers the feeling of raw flesh grinding against rough asphalt for what felt like forever.
He’s never been in so much pain before. Not when he got pneumonia in first grade, or when he cracked his nose during his first baseball game, or when he broke his arm at the trampoline park. In fact, he thinks he’d gladly take all of that pain combined in exchange for what he was feeling then.
He remembers begging his body to fall asleep so he wouldn’t have to feel anything.
Years later Tyler has a massive scar running down his forearm to commemorate the memory with his uncle’s go-kart, and sometimes, on really bad days, he swears he can still feel the asphalt under his skin. He wears his seatbelt, he doesn’t go near go-karts, and he thinks his pain tolerance is a lot higher than he remembers it being. Rightfully so, he didn’t think there was anything that could top the pain of bare skin grating against a calloused road.
He didn’t think anything could feel worse.
And even if it did, he could just fall asleep and he wouldn’t have to feel a thing.
Tyler remembers the texture of the pine tree bark. He remembers how similar it felt to asphalt: scratchy, rough, unforgiving. He remembers his weight exceeding that of the trees and the branch giving way. He thinks he hears it snap before he feels it. He thinks he feels it before he falls. He thinks he’ll fall forever. He thinks, as the entirety of his internal organs are bleeding and rupturing in a way he’s helpless to stop, that this is not a very easy place to fall asleep.
Tyler thinks he misses the asphalt. He remembers missing the asphalt.
Tyler tries to go back to sleep after returning from the phantom dimension, he really does. And maybe he manages an hour or two, but he can never stay asleep for very long and he knows he's not going to. Every time he closes his eyes he sees bloody bark. Every time he relaxes against the floor he feels a sharp pain in his back. Every time his breathing shallows out there is blood in his lungs.
So Tyler doesn't go back to sleep, although he desperately wants to–wants to escape, but it doesn't work anymore. His efforts are nothing if not childish and the pain has since learned his silly tricks.
The room is warmer than Tyler remembers it being. Then again, being covered in bulky sleeping bags and several other teens didn't help in terms of heat, but what could he do? Taylor had been so excited at the mention of a sleepover and Aiden was more than willing to accommodate them with his stupid behemoth of a house–correction, a mansion, probably. Maybe even a castle, Tyler thinks. All he needed was a drawbridge and a moat and he'd be set.
(He shouldn't be bitter. Aiden was being generous, sharing the things he had. It wasn't his fault that Tyler has only ever had less.)
Tyler thinks the room might be getting hotter? Sweat is starting to collect at his forehead, dripping down his temple. He feels a bead slide across his face; it’s warm and wet and slow; far too close to the blood that drips down his torso and pools at his fingertips in his dreams. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and checks his hand for blood: clean. It’s clean. He’s clean.
Tyler is positive that the room is warmer than before. Or maybe smaller? Because it’s suddenly hard to breathe; he tries taking deep breaths, but the air isn’t reaching his lungs, it can’t, there isn’t enough room in there, it’s too full, filled with blood and bark and-
Fuck it, Tyler thinks, throwing his blankets off his body. Fuck this stupid house and fuck that stupid tree. He stumbles to his feet before clumsily tiptoeing over sleeping bodies and out the back door, sliding it open and stumbling into the cool air. He gulps down breaths of fresh air like they're his last, finally feeling his lungs inflate.
Once he's sure there's only air in his lungs, he glances back at the open door and makes sure he hasn't woken anyone up. He doesn't see any movement, so he figures it safe. Still, he's far from ready to go back inside, so he quietly closes the door and takes a few more steps away from the house.
He almost doesn't see him, doesn't notice until he's a few feet away that he's not the only one in desperate need of fresh air. Aiden sits on the edge of the pool, staring down at the water and quiet as ever. Tyler thinks he could recognize him anywhere, he's sure of it. He's spent an absurd amount of time looking at the back of his head, fixing his roots and bleaching his hair. He isn't sure what Aiden's doing out here so late, but he can imagine it's much of the same reason as his own.
(A part of him is relieved that it is Aiden of all people and not someone else–someone who wouldn't understand.)
So Tyler strolls over and takes a spot next to him, plopping his own legs into the water. It feels cool and calm against his bare legs, calming the parts of him that are burning. His shorts are far from risk of touching the water, but when he looks to his left, he finds that Aiden is wearing lengthy pants and has them fully submerged in the pool, surely soaking the fabric heavily against his skin, but he continues to lazily kick his feet in the water.
“Late night swim?” Tyler jokes with a smirk, watching the waves in the water.
“Something like that.” Aiden remarks, a bit quieter and duller than expected. If Tyler were to look over, he's sure he'd find heavy bags underneath Aiden's eyes, maybe red and puffy from persistent rubbing to stay awake, maybe dark and brown in his natural color. Tyler wonders what that would look like: Aiden in his rawest, most bare state. He wonders if Aiden would even let him see him like that–if he'd let anyone.
(He'd probably let Ashlyn, Tyler thinks. And suddenly he’s angry again. He has no right to be angry, to feel the way he does.)
“Too good to sleep with the rest of us?” Tyler suddenly bites, trying his best to tone it down towards the end, but he knows he’s already made his impression. His own legs stop kicking in the pool as he waits for Aiden to snap back.
“Not that exciting, I guess.” Aiden deadpans back, moving his legs in circles and creating different patterns in the water. Tyler tries to copy the movement but it’s not as fun as feeling the weight of the water against his legs when he kicks, so he stops. “You?”
Tyler hadn’t expected Aiden to participate all that much in the conversation, at least, not so easily. He’s always been so hesitant to show sincerity and anything remotely close to seriousness, Tyler was sure it would take a bit more pushing. (Part of him wishes it had taken some more effort, that Aiden’s walls weren’t as fragile as they were right now, because he’s not sure he’s the one that should be breaking them down.)
“Me and sleep aren’t on good terms right now.” Tyler tries his own attempt at indifference bordering on playfulness.
“Mmm.” But Aiden doesn’t take the bait, he just hums in acknowledgement. It’s gentle and kind and inviting, almost. Like Tyler could say and ask whatever he wanted to, and Aiden wouldn’t have a care in the world. He–stupidly–accepts the invitation.
“Do you…” Tyler drops his voice slightly above a whisper. “Do you get them too?”
“Get what?” Tyler feels Aiden’s eyes on him, hears his hairbrush against his shoulder as he turns his head, but Tyler doesn’t reciprocate the gesture.
“Nightmares?”
And Aiden–the great asshole that he is–starts fucking laughing. A single word and Aiden is chuckling beyond what Tyler thinks is appropriate. And Tyler doesn’t get the joke. He feels a wave of embarrassment and shame crash over him; he doesn’t get what’s so funny about what he said. Tyler prides himself in his social intelligence, in his ability to pick up on things and be observant, and Aiden’s maniacal and unreasonable laughter is challenging that.
“What?” Tyler snaps, turning his head and watching Aiden giggle.
“Nothing, nothing.” Aiden calms down enough to speak, staring back at Tyler. “It’s just- You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
That’s what this was about? How blunt Tyler was? But Tyler was always blunt? It’s the one thing Taylor was consistently reprimanding him for, reminding and pleading with him to just be patient and kind and keep his damn mouth shut. And here Aiden was, laughing at him because of it.
“Whatever.” Tyler grumbles, turning away from Aiden to stare at his legs. There was something about the light in Aiden’s eyes and the curve of his lips that unsettled Tyler. It was a stark contrast in comparison to his melancholy expression just moments ago. It didn’t validate the anger Tyler felt bubbling in his chest. It filled him with a warmth that he didn’t need right now, the kind that he was trying to run away from actually. He waits until Aiden has taken a deep breath and the air is silent before trying again. “Well? Have you?”
“What do you think, Tyler?” Aiden says, a bit snappier than Tyler would have liked; almost like the answer should have been obvious. “What do you want from me? You want me to say yes so we can have this big heart-to-heart and wake up tomorrow like nothing’s wrong?”
Aiden scoffs and Tyler’s blood boils, because maybe he did want something like that–something similar. Maybe he did want Aiden to open up to him for once and for their stupid bickering to be put aside so they could talk about this one thing they both had in common, this one thing that he couldn’t talk to anyone else about because who else would understand? Maybe Tyler should have known better: he never gets what he wants. All he had done was embarrass himself tonight.
“Whatever, I knew this was a mistake.” Tyler grunts, pulling his legs out of the water and stomping over to a lawn chair with a towel nearby (and perhaps his legs happen to splash a little dramatically in the direction of Aiden).
He takes his time cleaning the water off his legs and feet, relishing in the cold air as it tries to cool down his heated face and burning anger. He was frustrated and annoyed and embarrassed and contrite and all the negative things he didn’t want to feel tonight. And it was Aiden’s fault. (Or maybe it was Tyler’s fault? But Aiden surely didn’t help).
Tyler should have expected this. When has Aiden ever shown an ounce of compassion towards him? When had he ever seemed even slightly able to handle a serious conversation? Tyler feels so damn stupid for thinking tonight would be any different. He hates feeling stupid.
As he finishes drying off his left leg and moves on to his right, he hears a mumble from Aiden. He can’t quite make it out, but it sounds forced and regretful, maybe a bit spiteful? If the idiot had something else he wanted to say then Tyler wanted to hear it, wanted to know what else he found so amusing about Tyler’s vulnerability and wishful thinking.
“What now?” Tyler growls.
“Sometimes…” He watches Aiden pull his legs out of the water and bring them to his chest, surely dampening the rest of his clothes (had Tyler’s earlier splashing not done that already). He sounds angry. “Not a lot, but sometimes.”
Which makes Tyler nauseous, dizzy with confusion because he hadn’t expected Aiden to openly admit anything at this point. Yet here he was, exposed and vulnerable and honest.
(Tyler holds onto the feeling in his chest, because he isn't sure he'll ever feel this way again, if Aiden will ever allow something like this again.)
“I keep getting them.” Tyler admits, wrapping the towel around his shoulders like a hug. “And we come back or I wake up and I keep expecting the pain to be there but it's not. Well, it kinda is? I guess?” He isn't sure what he's saying. He's never let himself feel like this before.
“But it's not the same.” Aiden finishes for him.
“No, it's not.” Tyler nods.
Because it truly wasn’t the same. Sure, there was something there, but it was different. He left with a white-hot pain searing through his back and tearing across his abdomen and woke up with a feverish stomachache, it wasn’t the same, but part of it was validating.
“Every time I think I’ve gotten used to it, we come back here and it’s almost gone. And then we’re right back there the next night. It’s like I’m being torn apart and rebuilt every time. It’s nauseating.” Aiden explains without taking a break for air, like he had never said or thought it before, like he’d never be able to say it again, like no one was listening.
“It’s like your body isn’t your own.” Tyler whispers.
“Yeah.” Aiden agrees. The air settles between the two of them as they fall into a comfortable silence. Tyler doesn’t mind the quiet; he used to hate it. The ever silent and hollow feeling of his house was something that had conditioned him to fear the stillness, but not now, not with him. Instead, he soaks in its tranquility and finishes drying off his other leg, letting his mind go blank.
“What do you do?” Aiden’s timid words bring him back.
“Hmm?”
“When you wake up? How do you…deal with it?” Tyler looks over to see the boy anxiously picking at his nails, trying his best to act indifferent to whatever Tyler may respond, but Tyler knew better than to take Aiden’s expressions at face-value. He can tell he’s hanging on to his words like a lifeline.
“I hold Taylor.” He hopes he says the right thing. “I hold her tight.”
Tyler glances over at the house, staring at the clump of sleeping bags and blankets and bodies until he finds his sister snuggled up between Ashlyn and Ben. She’s sleeping peacefully, soundly, perfectly, and Tyler kills the part of him that starts to feel jealous. There are two clear empty spots amongst the pile: one with its blankets thrown astray, crumbled and sprawled across other people and the floor, and the other looks like it hasn’t even been touched. Tyler frowns at the sight.
“Does it help?” Aiden asks. Tyler had forgotten he was still in a conversation with him.
“Yeah, it does.” Tyler nods, ignoring the neat setup and looking at the blonde by the pool. “It’s like all I can feel is her. She’s warm and calming and next to me and I think the pain is gone, for a little while at least. It’s just me and her and everything is Ok.”
He should have held Taylor when he woke up instead of coming out here; he isn’t sure why he didn’t? Then again, he’d be risking waking her up again and he’d already done that enough times to be worrying. She had her own things to deal with, she didn’t need his childish nightmares in addition. Besides, he doesn’t regret walking outside; he’s kinda happy he chose to be here, chose to talk to Aiden.
“I’m sorry…for what I said earlier.” Aiden mumbles, almost undistinguishable.
Tyler’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was almost unheard of for Aiden to admit to a fault, let alone apologize for it. He likes honesty, it looks good on Aiden. But he doesn’t like how it makes him feel.
“It’s Ok.” Tyler shrugs.
It’s not Ok.
He’s still kinda mad at Aiden. He still kinda wants to push him into the pool. He still kinda wants to punch his stupid face.
But he’s Ok with feeling that way, so he tells Aiden differently. (Equally as unheard of. He prays Aiden doesn’t get used to the feeling of Tyler’s compassion and leniency because it’s not something he plans on indulging in much further).
Aiden suddenly peels himself away from the pool and makes his way over to Tyler, leaving wet footprints in his wake. He plops down next to Tyler but doesn't say a word, he just stares at his hands in his lap. Tyler looks over at him, but Aiden doesn’t look back. It’s then that Tyler notices the shivering, quivers running down Aiden’s spine and shakes in his shoulders, and Tyler thinks it can’t be that cold outside.
Still, he does what he can to help. He grabs a new towel and wraps it around Aiden’s shoulders. Aiden, wide-eyed, looks over at Tyler with confusion and bewilderment, as if him showing kindness was a malicious act.
(Sure, Tyler reserved most of his compassion for Taylor, his mother, and really bad accidents, but he’s still capable of it.)
(But he knows Aiden’s not used to kindness coming from him.)
(He wonders if Aiden’s not used to kindness in general.)
Tyler smiles at Aiden’s confusion, reassuringly squeezing his shoulder and smoothing down the towel. Aiden looks back down at his lap but his tremors still persist.
Tyler frowns before making a split decision, something that may embarrass him later but fuck it, there was already so much they weren’t going to mention again after today, what bad could one more do? He wraps an arm around Aiden and nudges him closer. He pokes the side of Aiden’s head until he gets the message and leans against his shoulder. Tyler smiles at himself before laying his own head atop Aiden’s, reveling in the lack of shivers from Aiden.
It feels different this way. The air is cold and Tyler is cold and Aiden is cold, but he swears his chest is warm. It’s not the warmth that scares him or is accompanied by a deep pain in his stomach, it’s something else he can’t quite place, but he doesn’t mind. He likes how it feels. It’s so different from what he’s used to and he’s worried he’ll never feel it again. He’s worried he may never truly feel anything the same way again.
“Do you think we’ll get them back? Our bodies? That we’ll feel normal again?” Tyler whispers against Aiden’s hair.
“No, I don’t think we will.” Aiden admits equally as quiet. “But I think I’m Ok with that.”
“You are?”
“I have to be.”
And Tyler knows that he has to as well, but he doesn’t want to. He misses the way things felt before. He misses hissing at paper cuts. He misses the mild annoyance of a canker sore. He misses complaining about sore throats. He misses stomach aches that make him sweat.
He misses scraping skin on asphalt.
“Mmm.” Is all Tyler can hum back before a sudden wave of exhaustion takes over him, causing him to yawn.
“Ready to head back inside?” He feels Aiden tilt his head to look up at him, poking his cheek while he yawns. Tyler swats him away with a frown but still nods.
“Sure.”
And if Tyler nudges his sleep stuff closer towards Aiden’s side, then so be it. And if Aiden notices this and tries to wipe the small smile off his face, then Tyler doesn’t say anything. Under the covers, away from the cool air and present moment, Tyler’s fingers twitch and ache. He reaches out and brushes them against Aiden’s until a few of their fingers hook together.
It’s not much, but it’s enough for Tyler to calm down enough for sleep. It’s not like holding Taylor. No, it’s nothing like that, but it’s still warm and Tyler still feels all the pain he’s ever felt start to dissipate. His body comes back to him, even for just a moment, so that he can squeeze Aiden’s fingers and let his heavy eyelids fall against his face.
(He knows he’ll have to pretend like none of this happened in the morning. He knows they’ll wake up and bicker over breakfast, but he doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t have it any other way, he thinks.)
He dreams of asphalt and crashing go-karts.