Work Text:
By now, Awsten would say he was pretty good at killing people. It seemed so hard at first, and messy. Slash the wrong part of their throat and it took ages to bleed out, but he was more precise now. Each scenario was a sort of puzzle, and he might have enjoyed the challenge if this wasn’t the ninth day in a row he’d killed Michael Clifford.
This newest iteration had them packed into a high school classroom which was torture on its own. At the front, a teacher drawled on about sentence structure or complex equations or something equally meaningless. Awsten slumped back in his seat, surveying the set dressings for a weapon. Last time, he’d woken up in a flower shop which gave him plenty of access to scissors, and the time before that was a tattoo parlor with an abundance of needles. School was a bit harder, especially with another boy sitting in the desk beside him scribbling down notes as if any of this actually mattered.
The desk itself wasn’t much help. A notepad of hideous pink paper took up one corner and for some reason, a beaker of blue liquid sat between Awsten and his desk partner. Maybe this was science class. He didn’t care. Tearing a slip of paper from the notepad, he went to write a note but found there was no pencil.
“Hey,” Awsten whispered, keeping his voice low to avoid Michael’s attention. He nudged the boy beside him with his foot. “You got an extra pencil?”
“Uh…” He pushed a pair clear goggles onto his forehead, digging through his fraying backpack before coming up with a dull pencil. “Here.”
Awsten took it and wrote out his message. Michael never seemed to recall their past lives at first, but Awsten found a sliver of amusement in watching the memories flood back in after it was already too late.
Kitchen knife, drowning, rock, car crash, shovel, scalpel, tattoo gun.
A recap of the last week of their lives. This time he added scissors to the end, folded the paper into an airplane, and sent it flying neatly onto Michael’s desk. He returned Michael’s quizzical look with a shrug, nodding for him to read the letter as he got up. An idea was forming, and though it was far less pleasant than the simplicity of stabbing someone with a pair of scissors, it would work. He crossed to the manual pencil sharpener by the door, watching Michael’s reaction as he twisted the handle.
“Remember?” he asked, cutting through the teacher’s lecture.
The teacher sighed. “Awsten, please go back to your—”
“I remember,” Michael confirmed. In four long strides Awsten reached his desk. He poised the pencil to strike, and just as the point jammed into his neck, Michael did something he hadn’t the last eight times—he didn’t fight.
——
The problem with this time loop was that it didn’t really leave room for sleep. Once Michael was dead, Awsten woke up in his new reality feeling no more rested than before. If it wasn’t tiring enough to kill someone every day, he also had to do it with no sleep.
This time, he stood behind the counter of a coffee shop with a flimsy apron hanging loosely around his neck. Coffee machines lined the back counter with shelves upon shelves of sugary syrups, powders, and pre-mixed pitchers of tea. A glass display beside the register showed off an assortment of pastries, and Awsten was tempted to snatch one when someone tapped his shoulder.
“Hey, I’m going for my fifteen,” the boy said, adjusting the black visor sitting on his messy brown hair.
“Oh,” Awsten said. He hated the scenarios where he had to actually work. Or talk to people. “Yeah, sure.”
Naturally, the bell over the front door rang just as his shift partner disappeared into the back so Awsten dutifully turned to greet the customer. Sunglasses shielded his eyes, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his sweater to combat the heat, but Michael looked the same as ever. Tall and oblivious.
“Hi,” he said, pushing the glasses up into his hair and squinting at the menu boards. Awsten took his order without really hearing anything. All he could think about was the way he let Awsten kill him last time. Why the hell had he done that?
“Did you get that?” Michael was saying, drawing Awsten back into the present.
“Yeah, sorry,” Awsten said, typing something at random into the register. He took one of the paper cups and wrote out his list, making sure to add pencil this time. Then he set the espresso machine to brew a new shot and went to explore the break room. There must be something fatal back there. Sure enough, one of the many shelves held a collection of cleaning supplies, including bleach and a few other things Awsten didn’t recognize. He added the bleach first, then a few chemicals at random until the cup was half-full of an awful greenish brown liquid. This might not be the quickest death, but it should get the job done.
The espresso shot did nothing to make the concoction look better, so Awsten covered it all with a thick swirl of whipped cream.
“Michael,” he called out. It was the first time he’d actually said the name aloud. He turned the syllables over on his tongue. Nine days killing the same boy over and over, and he’d only said his name once.
“Thanks,” Michael said, taking his drink. He frowned at the whipped cream because in all likelihood, he hadn’t actually ordered any, but he took a sip anyway. The reaction took a moment, but as his eyes widened with realization, he reached out and grabbed Awsten’s forearm. “Please.” But it was already too late. Awsten jerked out of his reach and watched as Michael grabbed at his throat, struggling to breathe as he slid back against the counter. Last time, he didn’t fight. This time, he pled for help. Maybe this would be the last death, the permanent one. Time paused for a moment, a snapshot of Michael’s slumped body with the horrible brown mixture staining his seater. When the world jolted back into motion, Awsten knew this wasn’t the last time he’d have to kill.
——
He was naked. Well, there was the robe, but that barely counted. Awsten searched the small closet he’d woken up in, but there were only towels and extra toilet paper. Ensuring the robe’s belt was fastened securely around his waist, Awsten pushed the door open.
Fluorescent light attacked him from above, so it took a while for him to adjust and realize he was in a hallway. Framed photographs of landscapes lined the walls, and one door sat at each end of the hall. To the left was a bedroom which would probably have something more decent for him to wear, but the muffled music to his right drew him in. Without knocking, Awsten twisted the knob and entered.
“Oh, what the fuck—” he hissed, immediately shielding his eyes because he was right to assume Michael was in here, but he hadn’t considered he’d also be naked.
“Hey,” Michael said, unconcerned. Piles of bubbles obscured most of his body, but Awsten’s thoughts were already spiraling. Just thinking about what lay under the surface of the water was enough to make him want to die, so Awsten tried desperately not to think about it.
“You remember,” Awsten said, trying to keep his voice steady. Michael waved him over, gesturing for him to sit at the edge of the tub. Now that he looked, it was a massive bathroom with hundreds of little red tiles and tall, clouded windows. The ledge provided plenty of room for Awsten to sit, but he took his place as far from Michael as possible. In every time loop, he’d never been the uncomfortable one and he found he didn’t much like the feeling. It was far easier to be the one killing than the one wanting to die.
“I’ve remembered every time,” Michael said, swirling one hand through the soapy water. Awsten knew he should keep his eyes trained on the wall, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring.
“Every time?”
“Every time.”
“Then why pretend you don’t?” Awsten asked.
Michael shrugged. “It’s amusing, I guess. Watching you acting like you’re the only one stuck here.”
Amusing? Was he insane? Awsten spent the last week and a half killing him, and he called it amusing?
“Eventually it’s gonna stick,” Awsten said.
“Maybe,” Michael said, smiling the way no one who’d died so many times should be able to smile.
Awsten turned away and tried to collect his thoughts enough to survey the rest of the room. He assumed it would be as lavish as the tub itself, but the shelves were entirely bare. Tile countertops yielded the same result, with only Michael’s phone plugged into an outlet by the sink playing music. Unfortunately, that meant Awsten would either need to get his hands dirty or brave the rest of this house with only the robe for protection. The former might not have been such a bad idea, but his stomach still twisted into knots at the idea of revealing any more of Michael’s skin than was already visible, so he got up and went to the door. He expected a protest or at least a question, but Michael let him go in silence.
The bedroom he’d seen before was still open, but at this point he wanted to get through this scenario as fast as possible and finding clothes would just slow him down. Instead he went into the kitchen, hoping for a knife or something, but the counter was empty. In fact, most of the house was empty. His eyes did catch on a block of silver metal sitting in the corner by the oven and he almost laughed. This definitely wasn’t going to be the simplest murder, but he dug through the kitchen cabinets until he found a long enough extension cord. If Michael really cared about living, he’d be out of the tub by now, but Awsten knew he’d still be in there, waiting.
Sure enough, when Awsten returned, Michael just watched as he plugged the toaster in under his phone charger and held it over the bubbly water.
“Seriously?” He said, eyebrows raised. “Does that even really work?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” Awsten said, and dropped it. Most of the other murders were more surface-level and bloody, so part of him hoped full-body electrocution would be enough to kill Michael permanently. A quieter part of him hoped it wouldn’t kill him at all.
——
As usual, it didn’t matter what Awsten wished for because he woke up again before Michael’s body had even stopped twitching in the tub. Thankfully, this time he was in more than just a robe, but the white lab coat wasn’t inspiring either. He sat on a rolling stool surrounded by the chemical smell of a hospital, which at least explained the coat.
Michael lay a few feet away on a cot, head propped up on a pile of pillows. His eyelids were drooping and Awsten thought maybe something was different—maybe the days were adding up and he was already so weak that he’d die on his own.
“Staring,” Michael said.
Awsten shook himself out of his thoughts. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
He’d opened his eyes all the way now, watching Awsten with thinly veiled amusement. Awsten flushed. “Oh. Well, you look half-dead. It’s sort of fascinating.”
“You find me fascinating?”
Somehow this was already worse than waking up to find Michael in the bathtub. Because he was fascinating, but Awsten wasn’t supposed to admit that. His brain was hard-wired to want this boy dead, not to just… want.
“I find you tedious,” Awsten said, rolling his chair closer. A stethoscope hung around his neck so he pressed it to Michael’s chest, listening for his heartbeat. Or at least trying to. It didn’t sound like much of anything no matter where he placed the bell.
“Taking care of me this time?” Michael said, holding still as Awsten moved the stethoscope across his chest.
“Hoping you’re already dying so I don’t have to go through the trouble of doing it myself,” Awsten said, already knowing that wasn’t the case. A hand on his wrist startled him so badly that he nearly fell out of the chair. Michael gently maneuvered Awsten’s hand until the stethoscope’s bell was right over his heart. Finally, the thrum of a heartbeat. Not as slow as Awsten hoped after electrocuting him.
“Definitely not dying,” Awsten said, trying his best to sound disappointed.
Michael let his hand rest on Awsten’s for a moment longer before releasing his grip and propping himself up on an elbow. “Have you ever thought maybe you aren’t supposed to kill me?”
Of course he had. In the first scenario, he woke in a kitchen with a knife inches from his hand which was a clear enough sign, but he wasn’t Otto—murder wasn’t his first thought when a weapon was within reach. He’d left the knife alone, gone about his day as if Michael didn’t exist, and woke up the next morning in the exact same position. Killing Michael was the only way forward, if this twisted version of time could be called forward.
“I haven’t,” Awsten lied, forcing himself to find something in the room to use as his weapon this time. Hospitals were usually full of knives and needles, but like the bathroom, this place was mostly empty. A sign from whatever vengeful deity created this time loop telling him to use his own hands? Or a coincidence? It didn’t really matter. His eyes fell on a stack of pillows on the empty cot across the room.
Michael caught Awsten’s wrist when he returned with a pillow in hand. “You don’t have to.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve died eleven times. You’ve killed me eleven times. Do you really hate me so much that you haven’t even considered trying something else?”
His mind screamed I don’t hate you, but he said “I haven’t considered it,” and pressed the pillow against Michael’s mouth. He did struggle this time. Awsten told himself eventually one of these deaths would stick, told himself there wasn’t another way because if there was, he’d have to face the fact that maybe none of these deaths had been necessary at all.
——
Awsten woke on a bed. Photographs and pages torn from magazines covered the walls, an obnoxiously large pride flag hanging from the ceiling. The previous scenario kept repeating in his head. Michael’s lingering touches, his easy smile even knowing Awsten planned to kill him. And his words. Have you ever thought maybe you aren’t supposed to kill me? But what else was there?
For the first time, Michael found Awsten before he’d even convinced himself to get out of the bed. He shut the bedroom door behind him and took a seat at the edge of the mattress.
“Usually you’re the one coming to find me.”
“Maybe I’m tired of being the one doing all the work,” Awsten said.
The mattress shifted as Michael settled against the comforter but Awsten kept his eyes on the ceiling. They lay in silence and Awsten knew he should get up, force his limbs into the routine he’d become so accustomed to over the last two weeks. But he hadn’t lied—he was tired. Tired of spending every day and killing someone. Tired of waking up the next day and hating himself for it.
“Hypothetically,” Awsten started, “if I’m not supposed to kill you, what am I supposed to do? Ignoring you didn’t work the last time I tried.”
“Hypothetically, maybe the sets have been trying to tell you this whole time.”
Theoretically that made a lot of sense. After all, he’d previously assumed the knife from the first scenario meant he was supposed to kill someone, so looking to the sets for clues was a good place to start. But what the hell did a high school classroom, tattoo parlor, and coffee shop have in common?
Michael’s laugh drew Awsten back into the present. “God, you’re so stupid sometimes.”
“I successfully killed you twelve times.”
“And I let you about seven of those.”
Awsten made the mistake of sliding his gaze away from the ceiling to meet Michael’s eyes. He was still smiling as if this was some massive cosmic joke.
“If you’re so smart, why don’t you enlighten me?” Awsten huffed.
“I think,” Michael said, shifting closer, “that they were trying to simulate a meet cute.”
Now Awsten was laughing, because seriously? Maybe it was a little absurd to assume he was supposed to murder someone, but meet cutes?
“So what, the answer to all our problems is going on a date? Or kissing?”
Michael shrugged. “Is it so horrible to think about kissing me?”
Awsten searched Michael’s face for a trick, but he found only genuine desire. His eyes flicked to Michael’s lips, a split-second mistake, but it was too late to take it back.
“We can try,” Michael said. “If you want.”
And he did want to, which was the worst part. Because he could still feel Michael’s blood running between his fingers around the tip of a pencil, Michael’s spasming body as electricity lit up his nerves. Every death was a weight on his shoulders making it harder to breath.
“I killed you,” Awsten said. “So many times. I killed you.”
“But I’m alive,” Michael said, taking Awsten’s hands and placing one over his heart. It beat a steady rhythm under Awsten’s palm. “See?”
He should’ve said no. He should’ve pulled away. But for once, Awsten let himself do what he wanted. Keeping one hand on Michael’s chest, he leaned in for the kiss. And he didn’t care if this was what the time loop was trying to tell him because it felt right. Michael’s thundering heart beat, Michael’s hands in his hair, Michael’s tongue pressing into his mouth. Awsten didn’t protest as Michael pushed him onto his back. The murders were fueled by a desperate need to break the time loop, but this was another type of desperation entirely. It sent shivers through his body, had him lacing his hands behind Michael’s neck and pulling him down into another kiss.
The world started and ended with Michael’s lips, and if this day started over, Awsten would let it. He would live in this pocket of frozen time forever if it meant Michael would keep kissing him.
“Jacket,” Michael ordered, pulling at Awsten’s collar until he removed it.
They took turns peeling off their clothing, stealing kisses in between until there was nothing left. Michael traced a hand up Awsten’s stomach, letting it rest over his heart.
“Your heart’s racing,” he teased.
Awsten reached up to take Michael’s pulse. “So’s yours.”
“What can I say? You make me feel alive.”
Awsten cringed. “Oh god, please don’t. Can we never talk about that again?”
“About you killing me?”
“Yes. Jesus.”
“I don’t know, I found it kind of fun watching you figure out how to do it each time—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Awsten said, and dragged him down into another kiss.
——
For the first time in nearly two weeks, Awsten slept. Sunlight bled through the bedroom’s sheer curtains, warming his shoulders where the duvet didn’t cover them. Michael was already awake, and he greeted Awsten with a smile.
“We made it to tomorrow,” he said.
It didn’t quite seem real. Two weeks stretched to feel like two years, but Michael was right. They’d slept through the night and woken up on the other side of the time loop.
“I guess you were right, then,” Awsten said. “How did you know? Was it really the sets?”
Michael shrugged. “A little. I got it when we had the tattoo shop and flower place back-to-back. But really, I just wanted an excuse to kiss you at least once before you killed me.”
Awsten flushed, hot despite his lack of clothes. There was a lot to make up for—twelve murders to make up for—but as he leaned in for a kiss, he knew where he’d start.