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Gyrus couldn’t tell you how it started, but Kodya could.
Could tell you about sparring and the kid landing on him with a soft thump. Could tell you about pushing him off, about telling himself there won’t be a next time.
Could tell you about feeling that pulse of pain in his chest that’s always drawing him closer. Saying, Read him. Do it. Don’t you want that connection back? Open up his insides and make him yours. But Gyrus was never Kodya’s. Not really. And this isn’t Gyrus anyway. Not really.
So he grabs the kid by the wrists and shoulders and hips and pushes and shoves and never lets the touch be gentle. Never lets the touch be soft. Keeps his touch as hard and sharp as the shreds of his heart. Sharper than any arrowhead.
Kodya could tell you about the time the kid almost died, running headfirst into a giant octopus monster that almost drowned him. Could tell you about dragging him out of the water and dumping heartbeet tea down his throat, hands not trembling but heart trying to rip itself out of his throat because not again, please, I can’t lose him again.
Could tell you about listening to the kid cry himself to sleep and thinking, We’re both miserable. At least we could be miserable together. And when the decision came, he didn’t think.
He was getting really good at not thinking.
Gyrus couldn’t tell you any of that.
But he could tell you that Kodya was always grabbing him. That he thought Kodya hated him until that first time – still does, sometimes.
That Kodya got annoyed and tired of him crying himself to sleep, so he grabbed Gyrus and pulled him in in the middle of the night and it was overwhelming. Like watching his planet end all over again. Like realizing he’d never needed something so badly until he had it and then he was terrified of losing it.
Gyrus could tell you that their sleeping bags merged into one and that Kodya still seemed mad at him and that it made him feel even worse, because he was taking advantage of someone who didn’t even seem to like him.
But that he felt like he was addicted and, once the floodgates were open, he couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop pressing a fist into Kodya’s chest when they argued. Couldn’t stop grabbing his wrist to get his attention. Couldn’t stop putting a hand on his shoulder or his waist or his back just because he could.
Could tell you that the first time Kodya grumbled in his sleep and pressed his lips into Gyrus’ neck, he didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Just let that electric feeling run itself up and down his nervous system like he was on fire. Something strange and confusing that made him feel like he was swallowing hot solder wires and they were squirming around in his stomach.
Could tell you that Kodya had a nightmare, and it was awful. That he whined and twitched against Gyrus’ back and he couldn’t figure out what to do, but when he tried to move away, the sounds got worse. So he moved closer instead and, not sure what to do with his hands, ran them through Kodya’s hair. Pulled out the hair tie and tried to be soothing. Tried to be relaxing.
And even though he didn’t know how to touch anyone, somehow, it helped.
Kodya could tell you that he was being stupid. That when he woke up and the kid had his hands in Kodya’s hair, he should have said something. Should have stopped.
But it was everything he’d ever wanted and he was lonely. Had been pushing everyone away for years – had never wanted human touch more or felt more scared of it. I already killed you once – I can’t do anything worse.
I’ve wanted you since I was seventeen, even if you don’t remember me.
So he’d pulled the kid in before he even knew what he was doing, really. Kissed his hair. Then, like he’d been possessed, his ear. His cheek.
Felt the kid shuddering under him. Vibrating. Like he’d been run through an electric current. Like that time Kodya’d gotten electrocuted by Mimi’s hairdryer.
Pulled him in closer than he needed to. Not knees against knees but chest against chest, head against collarbone, hand on his hip.
And the kid squirmed closer. Like he wanted Kodya as much as Kodya wanted him.
And Kodya thought, Just this. Just this.
Gyrus could tell you that every time Kodya kisses him, it’s like he’s on fire. That Kodya kisses him on the forehead and the cheeks but never on the lips. That sometimes Kodya leaves his mouth on Gyrus’ neck and it’s the best and worst thing he’s ever felt. Makes him want to throw up and turn all his skin inside out and never let him go. Staple their skin together or handcuff Kodya to him or chain their souls together. That one time he swore Kodya licked him and so he licked Kodya back, right on the cheek, stubble running over his tongue, and Kodya’s face went red and he bit his lip in a way that usually meant you’ve fucked up.
But instead of yelling at him or making him do pull-ups, Kodya just went back to Gyrus’ neck. Traced a specific path with his tongue and then went for his ear. Gyrus whimpered and Kodya laughed.
Laughed.
When he barely ever smiles. Mostly looks at Gyrus like he’s an irritant, because he is. Because Gyrus is just the annoying kid he has to keep alive.
And Gyrus clutched at his shoulders and thought, I wish I could mean something to you. Anything, really.
Kodya could tell you that he should have put a stop to this ages ago. That the cuddles are one thing, but the kissing is too much. Too the same. Too painful, like an arrow to the heart, or like a breaking point he knows he’ll have to die to escape. Like he’s not in his own body or in control of himself but he is. Like the worst thing he’s ever felt and the best at the same time. Please don’t leave me again.
Please don’t make me kill you again.
Please don’t let me.
Gyrus could tell you that Kodya knows more about him than he knows about himself. That Kodya knows he doesn’t like lemon and knows he’s allergic to things he’s never heard of. That Kodya knows he’s a terrible cook and that he grew up alone. That when he tugs at Kodya’s hair and gasps, Kodya laughs and does something else insane to his neck. That when Gyrus grabs at his wrist and doesn’t know what to say, Kodya sighs and pulls him in. Presses kisses down his cheek in a way that makes him tremble.
And when Gyrus puts a hand on Kodya’s face and doesn’t meet his eyes, Kodya knows he means, Please. Pulls him closer and closes his eyes as Gyrus presses his face into Kodya’s neck. Scared. Scared to mess this up but even more afraid not to try. Kisses his neck and his cheek and his forehead. Wants to kiss his nose, but that’s too close to his lips and he’s afraid he’ll miss.
Because it’s not like he’ll ever have anything else, so no matter how terrified he is, he should take this while it’s offered to him.
Before they go back to the Room and Kodya, who’s so powerful that he must be important, forgets all about him.
Before they sleep in separate rooms and never share a sleeping bag again. Before Gyrus loses the ability to wake up from a nightmare and turn and, for the first time in his life, there’s someone there.
Before he loses the second person in his life who’s ever held him while he cried.
So he kisses Kodya everywhere else. Trying to convey, I love you. I’ll miss you when you leave. But I understand.
I know you don’t even like me that much. Thank you for taking pity on me when you saw how lonely I was.
And Kodya’s hands tighten on his waist and Gyrus flinches. Says, “Did I – what?”
Kodya says roughly, “It’s fine.”
And Gyrus says, “It’s not fair. You can read me, but I can’t read you.” It sounds whiny, and it is. But he can’t stop the frustration from spilling out. “I’m just – I’m so bad at people. I – you know everything. You know all the these things about me. You know –” How to make me feel like a clock wound so tightly I’m going to explode. “It’s not fair.”
And Kodya says in a weird voice, “Don’t worry about it.”
And Gyrus starts to cry. “It’s not fair. I –” I want to know you. Open up all your skin and eat your heart so I can keep you safe. I just don’t know how. I feel like I can’t live without you, but you’re slipping through my fingers every day.
Kodya presses a palm to his cheek and Gyrus says angrily, calmed almost against his will, “L-like th-that. How do you kn-know that will w-work?”
And Kodya looks away. Voice gruff and angry. “Drop it.”
And Gyrus flinches. Oh. I’m just annoying you, aren’t I. Says bitterly, “You – I –”
And Kodya says roughly, “It’s me. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
And Gyrus stares at him and a thousand things click into place.
Says quietly, “Are these things you kn-know about… everyone?”
Holds his breath.
“Drop it, kid.” Kodya’s not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes.
His voice is sharp in the silence but Gyrus isn’t listening. “It’s me. Isn’t it? You’ve done this with me. You’ve –”
And then Kodya does something that’s not allowed. That Gyrus has been avoiding for weeks. Locks his hands in Gyrus’ hair and kisses him, slow and deep and sweet.
And Gyrus has never felt more alive. Has fantasized about this but never thought he’d actually get it. Feels like a machine that’s been without electricity for ages and now has full power. Like a screwdriver that’s been missing a handle and is finally complete. Like Scout when it lost its voice box and then could finally speak.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he wants. In a way that burns and curls under the edges of his skin and unmakes him. Leaves him a puddle on the floor. Kodya’s hands in his hair are the world.
And just when he’s about to stop breathing, Kodya pulls away. Because he knows. He always knows.
And Kodya says, more to himself than to Gyrus, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why.” And it sounds so broken and desperate and needy that he wants to pluck the words out of the air and eat them. I’ve never known what love is, but you make me think I might finally have the answer.
Couldn’t you just like me a bit?
Could you ever love me? I know I don’t deserve it, but I think I’d die of happiness.
He’s crying.
And Kodya says nothing. Just pulls him in close.
And Gyrus can’t ask again. Can’t get past the sting of you’re not good enough.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Can’t stop hearing the words.
But he can’t push away either.
And when Kodya kisses his forehead, he leans in and kisses Kodya’s neck. Because he’s running out of time.
Ever since he got here, he’s been running out of time. Running out of oxygen, running out of black sun, running out of reasons for Kodya to stay here with him.
Just holds that feeling in his chest. I wish you loved me.
Feels it beat in unison with the kisses he presses into Kodya’s neck and cheeks and forehead and shoulders.
But not his mouth.
Never his mouth.
And Kodya holds him close and lets him.
And Gyrus doesn’t say I’m sorry or thank you or what do you think love is? Do you get this strange buzzing sensation in your stomach too?
Why do you feel like the beginning and end of the universe?
And fire blazes under his skin, lacing through his heart like a poison with no antidote.