Chapter Text
Aiden Clark knew that the world, the universe, the society they lived in, all of it, was governed by a few rules; ones set in stone. These rules, like the fabric of time and space itself, were unbreakable.
Probably.
They seemed to be unbreakable enough for his physics teacher and thus, solid enough for him too.
Some of them were obvious, well-known things appearing in textbooks and tests: energy and mass cannot be created nor destroyed, atoms tended to exist in their more stable state, energy was needed to change this state, and similar stuff he only half-listened to. He was smart enough to pass with decent grades— high enough to keep his parents happy, at least— so it didn’t matter much past that.
Other rules were more implicit ; the kind of thing that didn’t get taught and was basically impossible to learn by oneself. Invisible truths, modes of conduct, and hidden meanings hanging in the air, half-impossible to distinguish from each other forming a puzzle in his brain with pieces he couldn’t see, much less put together. These were flimsy and ever-shifting. All Aiden knew was that, no matter how hard he tried, he never got them exactly right.
Then there were, of course, rules made for him and him only. Or maybe they were shared; he’d started noting somewhat of a pattern with time; that had been how he’d figured out the rule in the first place, somewhere between eighth and ninth grade, at fourteen and lonely.
It was easy, really. It went like this: Aiden was, overall, pretty open. Or at least, he gave the appearance of being pretty open, which was good enough.
It fooled others into thinking they had him all figured out. That was better than good enough: that was the important part. It made him simple— easily digestible.
But all that was the result of the rules he followed, rigid and dangerous like a tightrope in his head.
Simply put, he had to give the appearance of being fun-loving with just the right screws loose to keep people just distant enough that they liked him. After all, everybody preferred the fun, if a bit annoying, psycho with an overall harmless demeanor. Nobody, however, wanted to get to know some sad boy with vacant eyes and a plain face. It was harder, less fun, and mildly depressing.
In a broader sense, less applied to himself and the persona he’d crafter he supposed the rule was more about dehumanization. Who counted as a fleshed-out human being deserving of sympathy and who didn’t.
It was easier to write off people who acted insane and happy about it. They were, at their core, wholly unrelatable— other. There was nothing to understand or explain or feel sympathy for. Those kinds of people weren’t human, you couldn’t get close to them, but you couldn’t become them either. There was an element of comfort in the inherent incapability to understand psychos and monsters, an assurance of being better than them; they made no sense, after all.
They were just like that.
It took him longer than he would’ve liked to realize that, with enough practice and a little bit of effort, he too, could be like that .
As a child, he’d always been extremely rowdy, bursting with energy and thoughts and a flesh-deep need for change, and fun, and more. He couldn’t keep half his hobbies but the other half could be amounted to something like fifteen different activities. He’d been smart too and enjoyed learning and tinkering and getting to find new stuff to ramble about.
But most of all, he wanted attention. Constantly.
It was never-ending. He was far too needy and somehow, doubly as clingy. Impossible to deal with for any sane person with a reasonable amount of energy. At least that’s what his mother said.
Aiden couldn’t lie, he found it hurtful when his parents started to make jabs like that. But he couldn’t help it either, he couldn’t get mad or stay mad when what he really wanted was their affection.
So it wasn’t too hard to try and figure out what would make them give in to him.
As it turned out, the answer was good grades and an obedient, polite attitude. Silence never hurt either, though. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was a puppet, maybe a trophy, that they wanted, not a kid, and certainly not the kind of kid Aiden was.
It didn’t take long for him to fall into that role; after all, he had to keep his parents happy and there was no other outlet for his naturally high nervous energy. His mom decided he would be homeschooled around second grade, having only attended an already pretty strict private school prior.
His father said that it just worked better for their constant travel and shifting schedules. It was easier to homeschool a child than constantly have them switch schools, given their hectic lifestyle.
He didn’t bother to point out how that seemed to be all they wanted: an easy child, not him. But it was fine, he supposed. At least that way their attention was on him. Mostly, anyway; they still worked quite a bit.
Unfortunately, things only got lonelier from there, and by the time they decided he was old enough to actually stay behind during their shorter business trips, the ones that didn’t require moving anymore, he was already quiet and vacant. Days back then were mostly spent curled up in his bed, hobbies forgotten as they only seemed to give him a headache.
Some days, he did entertain himself otherwise, and sluggishly watched the old television he was shockingly allowed to have in his room. None of the shows caught his eye particularly but he did enjoy most of them anyway.
Everyone in the shows he watched seemed to be so flashy and colorful like their saturation had been turned up to a hundred, that he couldn’t help but be a bit hypnotized by them.
Back then, he hadn’t given much thought to himself. He was unbearably plain, and extremely boring overall. There was nothing really remarkable about his face or the personality— if it could even be considered as such— that he’d seemingly fallen into. He felt no need to change it, given it kept his parents happy and the attention off him on the odd chance they were to fight.
That was, until his father, rather harshly, announced they were sending him back to school— a real school where he could meet real kids his age and make real friends.
At least that’s what he thought would happen.
He’d been just shy of fourteen then, and it was the year before he started high school. He hadn’t realized that his parents didn’t mean that they were settling down permanently along with his enrollment.
Instead, his first school lasted four months and was a resounding failure.
Having heard the news, his first thought had, of course, been that he could finally talk to other kids with the same loud, chatty personality his parents seemed to hate so much. He was excited for it; it gave him an outlet for the racing thoughts in his mind and it made him happy when people reciprocated.
Except that didn’t end up happening.
As it turned out, kids his age weren’t really fond of him or his brash attitude. It wasn’t as annoying as his parents made it out to be, he didn’t think, but apparently, it wasn’t pleasant either. By the time he was pulled out in anticipation of yet another move, he was left with the sinking feeling of having barely talked to anyone for more than five minutes at that place.
He didn’t get it, though. Other kids just liked him seemed to have no problem at all making friends, and instead were always surrounded by hoards of people who knew their name and seemed to find their excitement endearing. Aiden didn’t get what it was that made it so different from them.
His second school lasted even less— only three months— and made him truly grasp the concept of social norms. Apparently, he was breaking every single one of them.
So, during that time he tried for a more quiet , timid approach. That of staying out of the way and making himself scarce unless other people sought him out.
Only that just made him feel the same suffocating emptiness of being a shell rather than a person.
It didn't work either.
By the time he had to enroll in a third place, there was barely over a month left anyway and his parents kept him in the same place that conceded to online schooling.
That was around the time when, cooped up at home with nothing but boring classes he only half-listened to anyway, to keep him company, he went back to spending hours holed up in his room watching TV.
It was somewhere around that time that he realized, looking in the mirror at his boring appearance, that the biggest difference between him and the characters that everyone found so fascinating was how depressing he was to look at.
He bought a bottle of bleach and toner two weeks after the realization and bleached the entirety of his hair while his parents were out for dinner. The first time he washed his hair only for it to dry fluffy, pale blonde, his smile was involuntary. Still, it made him realize that he actually liked it on his face.
It meant he was happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt happy for more than ten minutes in a row. He could, however, remember, a thousand moments of unhappiness like a stack of heavy beams weighing on his shoulders.
It was an easy choice, after that, to make sure he was always smiling, always laughing no matter the situation. Oddly enough, it made him feel better; self-deception or whatever it was.
The smiley logo decorating basically every piece of clothing he owned came afterward; a slow collection he’d build up over the following year.
But before that, he came up with the psycho rule (then theory) and decided that, if there was no good version of him, he could at least give people a person to be entertained by. Someone who made people gravitate to him, but not ask too many questions; the kind of person who people hushed and glossed over with dismissals of oh, they’re just like that.
He’d become like that.
It helped that it was both the furthest possible thing from the meek, forgettable thing he’d grown up as, and still similar to the rawer, more vulnerable version of himself he naturally gravitated towards. It was the perfect middle between never having to face the overwhelming emptiness of facing himself and giving people no chance to reject the needy, sad thing he used to be.
Eventually, he also learned that thrill, adrenaline, high energy, and higher stakes also chased away that dreaded feeling of being equal parts untethered and unimportant. So really, at some point, he supposed it wasn’t quite a persona and more of an exaggeration of himself.
Maybe.
He didn’t quite get where he was drawing the line, but he didn’t think it mattered as long as he liked it. And more importantly, it wasn’t personal enough to hurt when it came off as unlikable.
That was also the summer he met Ben and, naturally, decided his cousin would be the perfect person to test out his new attitude. After all, he already knew his parents wouldn’t like it so there was no point in trying it out on them. They didn’t like him much at all, in the first place.
He knew about Ben’s past too, of course, and why it was that he’d moved in with them in the first place. He found it a bit jarring, at least at first, but he found he didn’t really mind. If he were to be asked, those kids had it coming anyway.
He still felt sorry for his cousin though; some part of him really did hope they could become close.
The day that Ben arrived was sunny and bright and impossibly hot in the way only the sticky, buzzing August weather was; like the season was getting all of its heat out before it started to cool down in September. Aiden, who’d always liked the summer, took it as a good omen and found himself extra cheery when his aunt and uncle dropped his cousin off at the apartment they were staying at before school started again.
“Hey, dude, I’m Aiden.” He grinned, peering up to Ben with his hand out and now-signature grin firmly in place. “I already know your name’s Ben, don’t worry.”
The boy just nodded, still looking a bit uncomfortable. Aiden knew his loss of speech was still recent, so he supposed it was normal to be kind of out of still. Especially given the recent events. He’d probably be holding up much worse.
Still, he’d like to get close to his cousin, and actually understand what he was trying to get across. It would be no fun for him if he just had to listen to Aiden yap all day. That was bound to get tiring.
But maybe he knew Sign, he realized excitedly. One of the characters in his show did, and he was sure Ben could try to teach Aiden; it looked like a fun thing to pick up, anyway, and he was already naturally expressive with his hands.
“Oh! do you know ASL?!” He grinned, feeling his eyes widen in excitement at the concept of making communication easier for his cousin. Stranger or not he was family, and Aiden had always wanted to know what that felt like.
Unfortunately, Ben just shook his head.
“Okay, well,” he pouted, deflating slightly, “we can learn it together then!”
“Aiden, you haven’t stuck to one of your hobbies once since you were a child.” His mother huffed, passing through with one of Ben’s bags as the boys got to know each other.
“It’ll be different this time!” He insisted, turning to Ben. “Promise.”
Hesitantly, his cousin nodded, smiling slightly with a small drop of his shoulders, and though subtle, Aiden felt himself brighten immeasurably. Things were already going amazing. At least he thought so. Ben still came off as a bit of an impenetrable fortress, but he supposed he couldn’t say much if he planned to keep him at arm’s length.
In the end, his theory proved to be correct and he successfully befriended Ben who, shockingly, actually enjoyed his constant rambling, apparently having been naturally quiet and prone to listening even before what happened. That second part he didn’t anticipate. It was more of a welcome surprise, but he found himself leaning into it.
It felt like a real friendship.
His theory finally acquired the coveted status of Rule when the both of them were enrolled in their first high school, and Aiden found himself playing up his grin and off-putting laughter. Most people found it off-putting, at least at first, but in the end, it actually worked: He was more likable, harder to hurt, and easier to laugh at, or with, whatever people preferred.
As he and his cousin rotated schools, traveling the country as Ben mellowed out and Aiden upped his flare, even adding red-colored contacts to the getup, he found it made him shockingly popular. Not in the way someone who was always surrounded by adoring smiles was, but popular enough to make friends over the stupid amount of moves his parents decided on.
Alas, every good thing had a caveat, and every action had an equal and opposite reaction, which all went to say that there was an unfortunate downfall to all this: easily digestible, easy to get along with, and hard to get attached to.
It was what he’d wanted. Technically.
There wasn’t exactly any time for him to get attached, either. It was never the point, not even for a moment. No move was permanent and therefore no one was a staple except Ben, and even then the reality of him eventually having to return to his parents with his real family loomed over him like a death sentence.
So, at least in theory, he shouldn’t have minded. It was less lonely, at least, if even slightly, and that was supposed to be good enough for him. Somehow, it wasn’t, and eventually, he started to wonder if he’d even made friends at all. Aiden had always been good at deluding himself, after all, and it wasn’t like Ben knew anything about his colorful look or cheery personality.
Shockingly, that didn’t change until he was well-established and comfortable in his loneliness and his stupid roles. The scaffoldings of his demise were already built, and really, Aiden had no problem giving in. He just hoped whatever killed him was thrilling enough; he was still selfish like that.
The first time he realized that maybe no persona was necessary with Ben was during an American history class that felt like it would drag on long enough to kill him. Not in the fun, adrenaline-inducing way he’d always imagined either, there would be no bang or gasp or final moment of delight and feeling tethered in a body that only ever felt half-his.
No, instead, Mr Andersen’s 10 AM history class would kill him slowly and unremarkably: simply going on so long that Aiden’s heart would stop from natural causes, not even causing a commotion. That or it would stop itself on purpose simply to get him away.
These kinds of lectures were exactly the kind of thing that made him numb and floaty. There was no feeling he hated more; like his soul hovering over his body, leaving him not quite there because he somehow never was. There was a rope tying him to himself, of course, but it wasn’t one he could cut nor was it a gap he could close, so he just avoided it all in favor of what little thrills a fourteen-year-old could find in some rundown town in the middle of Virginia. There weren’t so many.
The lecture was, fittingly, about The Great Depression which Aiden found ironically funny given that the stupid town they were stuck him made him feel like he was going through a great depression. He probably was, if he thought about it, but he hadn’t actually tried anything for a while so he supposed he was mostly fine.
At least he had Ben now, even if he couldn’t quite explain to his cousin why he always had to be touching something, better yet, someone , in between throwing himself off trees and trampolines and the odd balcony if it was low enough.
His cousin didn’t need to know, and Aiden didn’t have the self-awareness to tell him, anyway, so instead he played up his grin and made sure everyone remembered he was just like that.
That was, of course, until in the middle of Mr Anderson’s dull, dragging class, he started to feel the disconnect more than he usually did, and no amount of twitching and shifting seemed to be enough for him to actually feel his hands. And because he had the worst luck in the worst ways, his brain decided to sucker-punch him with the disconcerting feeling of being underwater, watching everything through a screen and hearing it barely at all.
That was, of course, when he started to panic, breath shortening and heart pounding, probably in some involuntary, animalistic effort to get him to feel anything.
For some reason.
It wasn’t even an uncommon feeling, and sure, he’d woken up jumpy and hazy, a bit more sluggish than usual, but he’d chalked it up to having slept less than he was supposed to and kept it kicking. At least, that’s what he was supposed to do.
Having a panic attack, however, was nowhere in his plans for the day.
He hadn’t even had any in weeks. And the timing was so, horribly inconvenient.
He kind of wanted to scream. That was never a good sign.
So, of course, like many other times, he focused on bouncing around and digging his nails into his arm, seeing if it was grounding enough to release him from the choking feeling of half-conscious anxiety. It was a bit hard, considering he was trying to be discreet, but he couldn’t exactly make more of a scene.
It wasn’t working, as much as he liked to pretend it did.
Usually, though, no one cared enough to notice. He was shockingly good at keeping quiet.
But Ben noticed.
He tilted his head with a pinched expression.
Again, Aiden wanted to scream. He shook his head.
I’m fine.
Aiden was always fine.
Ben didn’t look pleased by the answer though, and pursed his lips harshly. Aiden was almost scared he’d angered his cousin, but he didn’t have enough of a grip on himself to register it.
He shook his head again, trying to widen his smile, making sure he looked how he was supposed to.
Ben sighed, looking away. He was almost disappointed.
Aiden’s arms were starting to prick with red.
Suddenly, Ben’s arm was up and Aiden was being dragged out of the classroom in a daze. His hand was wrapped around his wrist and it was grounding enough for Aiden, who’d stayed needy despite his best efforts, to cling to the touch for dear life and limply follow.
He wasn’t sure at what point he’d faltered enough for his cousin to feel the need to drag him out but he was hesitantly grateful for it. This particular high school had long classes, ranging up to two hours, and luckily, that left him ample time in the empty halls.
Still, it was never his intention. He was supposed to be easy.
By the time he tried to focus on what was happening again, his cousin was in front of him with a stern expression, and a firm stance clearly announcing he was refusing to move until Aiden told him what was wrong.
Once he finally met his eyes, Ben let go of his hold and crossed his arms, tilting his head like a concerned parent or whatever was closest to it in Aiden’s life.
Unfortunately, he felt the loss of contact immediately.
He couldn’t help himself; he saw his arm lunging forward more than he felt it and rather pathetically, grabbed onto Ben’s wrist with a horrible sort of desperation. He almost expected to get slapped, and distantly wondered if that amount of contact would be worth it, however short.
Luckily, his cousin wasn’t a cruel person, and instead, he just softened, reaching out his hand to wrap firmly around Aiden’s wrist again. It was exactly as grounding as he’d hoped and involuntarily, he felt himself sigh in relief.
At that, Ben’s eyes widened, if even slightly, and before Aiden could process what was happening, his cousin was stepping forward, pulling him into a hug by the wrist.
It was shockingly comforting; like he was actually alive. He couldn’t help but sink into it, leaning against his cousin as much as he physically could, suddenly feeling a thousand things crash into him at once. He wondered if that was what it was like to feel like a person.
He was again lucky when his cousin not only didn’t rush him but tugged him towards the empty cafeteria once he finally felt ready to pull back.
He might’ve been crying at some point because the next thing he knew, he was being given a fresh bottle of water and one of the dusty blueberry scones the school offered. It felt like the biggest act of kindness he’d ever received. Especially so when Ben just sat with him in silence, making sure their legs were pressed firmly together as Aiden ate.
But again: all good things had some type of catch he was never forward-thinking enough to see, and his cousin turned to him with the same pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. He didn’t have to even sign to know what that meant.
“I’m fine.” He sighed, looking away, and refusing to think about how Ben had somehow managed to see all of him despite every inch of distance he’d put, not even realizing that every day he gave in just a bit.
All he was met with was a simple note across his cousin’s phone screen: dude.
“What?” Aiden bristled, suddenly feeling caged, and still exhausted and half-loopy. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Finally, Ben seemed to stop, and Aiden almost reveled in the easiness in which he’d gotten out of explaining the slight disappointment at his cousin not caring enough to actually pry.
That was until he turned, only to realize the phone was being patiently held between them.
I get them too, you know?
Aiden froze, suddenly feeling himself start to shake, only for his cousin to firmly plant a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, Ben was looking at him with kind eyes and the small smile he’d started to associate with his cousin.
Again, he couldn’t help himself. “Do you, um… also feel like you’re not fully here?”
His cousin nodded again, smile turning a bit sadder with a soft squeeze of his shoulder, and just like that, Aiden felt some kind of dam he’d sworn he’d kept well-sealed and tightly locked away break.
For a second, he hesitated, knowing that talking like this was different from his usual chatter, and while Ben said he actually did like listening, he didn’t actually want to test how much, felt no desire to get his answer or the feeling that came with it. Except his cousin must’ve been some kind of mind-reader and he was met with a soft nudge and an encouragement to continue talking every so often.
Once he started he couldn’t stop. It felt like a physical hole in his chest the more he did, and marvelously, it was actually lighter without the load that used to occupy it. He talked and talked until the bell rang announcing the next period and somehow only then realized that Ben had grabbed their bags too.
He blinked, looking up at his cousin as he stood, now feeling grounded enough to really, truly register the exhaustion pulling at his bones and the slight sting of his forearm. Paired with the shameful, burning truth of having spilled his guts out, the last thing he wanted to do was go to class. It kind of felt like he’d throw up if he had to go in there again.
Except his cousin must’ve been a mind-reader because he took a bit of a more snarky kind of smirk and tilted his head towards the exit. Aiden didn’t have to ask to know what he was getting at.
“Wow, you really are a menace.” Aiden teased, forgoing his effort to keep his smile in place when it was just the two of them and there was no ugly part of him left for Ben to see.
His cousin just laughed, shoving Aiden’s backpack at him and leaving as he trailed behind, revving up for his usual, more meaningless chatter, though it came out a bit more stilted than usual.
They spent the rest of the day laughing and watching the TV shows that Aiden had always found so comforting. Somehow, he liked them even more than he used to.
It wasn’t until nighttime, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, that he realized that he’d broken the rule as thoroughly and completely as possible. It wasn’t even about dropping the smile or telling him how he used to be or even going overboard with his incessant rambling. It had been seeing it first-hand.
His breath caught slightly and he rolled over, trying to nuzzle further into his pillows wondering if the genuine way his cousin had stuck to him all day was all a ploy. But Ben wasn’t like that, and not even Aiden was in his own head to deny himself the obvious conclusion that somehow, he didn’t actually mind what happened.
So, of course, he quickly concluded that Ben was simply the exception. Every rule had one after all. So, there was a new nuance to his carefully crafted performance: it applied to anyone, but Ben.
There, simple, all was right.
Still, he couldn’t help but admit, at least to himself, that Ben was as good as family. Real, actual family; the kind that looked out for each other and cared about each other truly. No strings attached. The thought made him strangely warm.
He liked having an exception; it made him feel good, less fake. He almost wished it wasn’t a true rule, set in stone as it was, but he’d met plenty of people to confirm it, starting with his own two parents, so he was just content he had Ben. There was no need to get greedy, after all.
After that, he’d started pretending that the both of them were brothers, even if he only ever did so in his head.