Archive of Our Own

The page ripped easily, the words a long forgotten blur. They didn't matter, just words. Just useless words that did nothing, said nothing. Worse than nothing.

Why won't you visit me?

Josh dropped the mutilated mood journal on the floor and screwed his eyes shut, clamping his hands over his ears.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…”

But no amount of apologising was going to help. His whispered words fell to the ground, limp and ineffectual.

Why not?

He buried his head into his knees and sat among the torn up pages like a tree amid autumn leaves.

“I didn't know you would… I didn't know.” he bit back the defensive vehemence in his tone, his voice muffled by the thin denim, “I'm sorry.”

When a moment of rare silence opened up, he dared to raise his head. The words looked down at him from the walls, pages nailed there in some attempt to make sense of it all, but they only mocked him now. How had he ever felt any of those things when he was so utterly consumed by the thoughts running round and round and round…

Joshie?

He reached for the backpack on the floor beside him then stopped, retreating back into himself. “No… no.”

But the signs were all there. They all agreed with her and gave strength to her words. He'd seen them clear as day on the TV screen and screaming from the headlines on the front pages. They all agreed with her. So why couldn't he…?

“I can't…”

No?

He shook his head with vigorous enthusiasm.

Why won't you visit me?

“Please… please don't…” he begged, voice close to breaking. He couldn't breathe properly. It felt strange. Wrong. And yet he was doing it. Managing somehow. “Please…”

He wrapped his arms around himself and pressed his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him.

The first he’d known about it had been a text message from Sam which didn’t quite convey the panic which had been relayed in turn from Hannah to herself. It was a short grapevine in comparison to the ones at school, and one which being at the end of filled Chris with anything but his usual levels of ambivalence.

Evening was crawling to the fore by the time anything approaching information had trickled down to him. Shadows were already casting themselves like withered limbs over the tarmac outside the row of identikit houses upon which the blonde lived. The air was saturated with farewell trills, and a chill which motivated the extra hoodie and scarf he shoved down into the bottom of an overstuffed backpack. Dad was still at work, his car upon the driveway only a distant murmur into the future. From the kitchen dinner had begun to make itself known as the sizzle from a well used pan, and the faint aroma of something steeping. Besides, Mom was all too used to a hurried ‘Later tater!’ upon her only son’s way out of the door.

This time he’d barely had time to yank down whichever coat came to hand from the row of hooks beside the door, shrugging it on along with the hat she insisted that he wore as the nights drew in. Hell, his shoelaces weren’t even tied right; a liability which fluttered in the wind around mud streaked pedals and patched up tires. The road ahead was anointed with pale gusts of air, crystallised only to be scattered the instant after he rode right through them.

A map was laid out - not in paper and pen. Not even in chalk upon the sidewalk as it had been during the summer. When scraped knees, soda, and failing to climb trees were the order of the day. No, these places remained confined to his memories; all the spots which tethered the two of them over a sum of years. The most obvious ones were scratched off within minutes, but even agitated by the knowledge that his complicated, smart-arse best friend would never just disappear to that one street corner where they’d sat knock-kneed and flicked brightly coloured flecks of slushies at each other with those straws which doubled as spoons until the old codger who ran the seven-eleven told them to take a hike, the list was long and spread out all over the suburbs in its own personal sprawl.

The bike went down only twice, and neither times was it due to his damn shoelaces getting tangled up in the pedals. And so, it was with weeping palms, and a spectacular bruise hidden beneath the dirty knees of his jeans that his path led him out to the fringes of their territory.

He would come here. He would make it difficult to find him just to know someone cared enough to look. Resentment welled, thick and bitter in the back of Chris’ throat, but he swallowed it down. J was an idiot, a stupidly intelligent, baffling, idiot. Yet, here he was, backpack skewed over shoulders hardened against the cold, glasses fogged up to all hell, and voice not quite as firm as he wished it would be.

This had been their fortress. Their castle. Their sanctuary. It was nothing to look at, but it was something to return to when the world was too much. Not only for J, and not only because the title of best friends left them obligated by law to find some such place.

He let himself in, squeezing through a gap in what had once been a rather sturdy door with a little less ease every year. There wasn’t enough space left to conceal that the map had stayed true, and all too much light upon a brilliant horizon that fed through the many cracks in the walls and window panes to lay Josh’s presence bare.

“Why’d you choose the coldest place ever, dude?” Maybe his tone was light, but it quavered around the edges in ways which had little to do with the temperature. Josh wasn’t okay, and the grapevine had told him all the context he needed to see why.

Josh didn't hear him at first, too wrapped up in another conversation, but after a few seconds he registered the familiar voice. It was in his ears this time, not that place in his stomach, nesting there, tight and heavy. He opened his eyes and clenched his jaw, eyes slitted as he winced.

He was real. He was probably real. The way the light played on Chris's features, the arm of his glasses glinting as he regarded him, that had to be real. But he'd surprised himself before with just how vivid his thoughts could be, his mind colouring scenes with such lifelike detail that it scared him. He hadn't wanted to be found, didn't want anyone there while they spoke, but he didn't know enough places. He didn't know anything more than their tiny dominion and it had backfired. If he was there. Which he might’ve been. He didn't know.

“No…” dark eyes grew wide, then slammed shut, cutting out the sight of the maybe lie, “No, no, no, no…”

When no reply came, he chanced a look. The blonde was still there. He grimaced. This wasn't supposed to be part of it. He wasn't supposed to be there, didn't he know that? How could he explain that? He should've known that he didn't want to be found, that he didn't want this, any of this.

“What…” his voice died, the question left unasked.

“......J-josh?” He’d been muttering to persons unseen, and yet that wasn’t the thing which cauterized Chris’ blood in his veins. No, it wasn’t the way he held himself, fingers blanched at the knuckles as they scraped through unwashed hair. Not even the shadow drenched corner into which he’d scrunched his small body so tightly it looked as if he’d have to be prised out of it like a clam from its shell.

A horrible concoction of recognition and bewilderment had met his own confused eyes. He’d seen him out of sorts, angry enough to try and leave their friendship in tatters, manic to the point of collapse, quiet and so very painfully withdrawn that getting a single word out of him was a battle all of its own. But not like this.

As if it’d make a jot of difference, and on unsure feet he held both hands, palms up and speckled with grit and blood. There was barely enough space between these four walls to constitute a journey, but the way in which Josh flinched away, still speaking to someone who wasn’t there in spite of himself caused his approach to feel like the passage of too many miles.

Up close the story only laid itself out in details which lessened the dull ache in his knees, and the sting of torn skin fade away. He barely dared to touch, to speak in case doing either only made things worse. Instead, his backpack was shrugged off, opened up with the soft click-click-click of a zipper being unwound, and its contents offered like a declaration of surrender.

“......Beth, she---she said you m-missed dinner….you….you gotta eat, J. Otherwise, y-you’re not gonna get better...” There it was, that same unassured trembling at the edges of every other word. He was supposed to be the strong one here, but boy did he feel weak at the sight of this. Too young to make the kinds of decisions Josh needed now. Too scared of causing him to listen to those voices above his own.

“No.”

The word was said firmly, yet it was laced with such vulnerability that Josh wasn't sure he meant it, or even said it aloud. Regardless, he spoke to the blonde this time, the other teen’s presence garnering enough of his attention for now. Torn between two dialogues, his chest tightened into a suffocating knot.

At the sight of bloody palms he flinched. “You're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be here!” he muttered through trembling fingers with a slight desperation in his voice.

Did he mean it? He felt like he meant it. This was something private, something that nobody needed to see or know, not even Chris. This was so much bigger and deeper than anything else. This was everything.

“W-who sent you?” He asked, arms tightening around himself as he scooched farther back into the corner, the torn pages rustling in his wake.

Someone had to have sent him. Someone or something was trying to keep its eyes on him. Had she sent him? Why would she send him if she could get to him right now. Was this a physical thing? A way of touching him? The thought manifested itself as an abrupt whimper that died as quickly as it came.

For the first time, Chris was the one to flinch away. It was a different kind of shying away, not from some perceived threat, something hanging over him like an implement of torture. No, it was a mere arrangement of syllables which cut a whole lot deeper than his brutal union with the road had. His mom had explained, after he’d arrived at an otherwise empty Washington household in the wake of Josh’s own mother to find that he’d turned his room upside down. To find him cowering beneath his bed, heaped beneath an entire beds worth of duvets, that sometimes Josh said things he didn’t mean, did things he couldn’t quite control. That those acts, both fuelled by anger or sadness, or a multitude of things in between didn’t detract from all those wonderful moments when he almost looked happy. Contented. Peaceful. A whole lot of those moments had been for the pair of them alone. Small smiles shared over chalk masterpieces, arms slung around willing shoulders, stupid nicknames and secret codes. Things which held special places in both their hearts.

He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean any of it.

The careful, close to honest way in which she’d explained things to him hadn’t provided anything like ample preparation for seeing it all up close. In technicolor, and inescapably three dimensional. The whole room reverberated with pain, with grief, and conflict, and…..

“.....no one. No one sent me. I...I had to find you. It’s c-cold outside, and you---”

Josh wasn’t even looking at him from where he’d made himself impossibly small in the corner. Surrounded by pieces of paper in various states of disarray. Pages which documented a whole spectrum of emotions, and that drew Chris’ own gaze even if he hated some of what he saw written and drawn upon them.

“......you’re my best friend.” He sat back, rear colliding with the woodworm riddled floorboards, lips drawn tight to stop his chin from quivering treacherously. Not that fighting it made the clotted sensation in his chest die down.

A pained sound escaped Josh as he tried to focus his attention on his friend, but each hesitant syllable and stuttered word agitated and hurt the scarless wound turning over in his stomach, though he didn't know why. He was frowning now, down at his knees with an accusatory stare that threatened to burn holes through the denim, until his expression changed again; cycling through the torrent of thoughts and feelings he was drowning in.

He stared at Chris then looked up at the ceiling with a defeated gaze, the frown shattering into a raw look of hopelessness.

“Then why don't you know?” He asked, the question almost becoming a whine, “If you.. if you came here then you must know.” he bit his lip, chapped from the repetition of the tick, before trailing off into a whisper, “You must know, you.. you must…”

With his head back against the wall, he felt a little more grounded, but only just. The blonde's presence had confused things, adding another layer to what was already difficult enough to understand.

Okay. Okay. You can… you can talk or…

Josh swallowed and reluctantly met the other teen’s anxious gaze. His eyes were open now. If this was real and he was who he said he was then he could try. He could try and…

He was getting lost again.

Loose fingers balled up into a fist of frustration by his side as he worked hard to speak clearly.

“I saw the signs, okay? I-I saw them and I heard them and I..” His brow creased sadly, “I want to listen but it's so hard. I..” His mouth hung open as he tried to find words, any words, “...I don't think I can.”

The confession scared him. He'd admitted it before to himself, but he didn't want a response. Not from her. God, he couldn't. He…

His breathing was coming in quick and fast now, faintly steaming the air though he didn't feel the cold.

Maybe he could’ve nodded as if he understood all the disjointed ramblings coming out of Josh. It might’ve placated him, or just exacerbated the whole mess. All Chris knew was that he didn’t want to feel the blunt impact of Josh’s incoherence, of his frustration gouging tiny pieces of him out all over the floor. Still, he watched, couldn’t quite look away in the same cowardly fashion he knew his peers had more than once. His attention wasn’t born out of morbid fascination, or simple horror. Its roots had wound themselves down through an unadulterated need to be of some help. Some use when Josh looked like he felt alone. A territory all of his own in a world which didn’t care enough to figure him out.

Maybe he could’ve broken. Cried himself hoarse for all the things he didn’t know how to understand. Sobbing out everything all over the broken boards they sat upon. Darkened the wood with enough pain to colour the air for years to come. It’d have been the most understandable reaction, and it was the one he could feel brimming up in his throat, and glazing over his eyes.

Instead he moved, slow enough to stop at a moment’s notice. Shaking fingers rifled through the contents of the backpack, digging out the same hoodie and woollen hat he’d added as an oddly practical afterthought during his hurried exit.

Perhaps he’d get punched for his trouble, spit on, scratched, told to fuck off. It wasn’t with any of those things in mind that he crawled cautiously over the boards, feeling them shift and creak beneath his abused knees. Josh might’ve only let him get so close, but he made a home out of that same corner, his face matured in the space of only a few minutes out of poorly disguised concern.

“....might not be much, but….l-listen to me, maybe? Or….or I’ll listen, if you wanna t-talk….just….”

Come back to me.

“....come home.”

“I can't. You don't understand. You don't…” Josh looked away, gaze raking over pages lit by dying light, “You don't know…?”

It was partly a statement and partly a question he never expected an answer to. Maybe Chris didn't know. How could he?

Chris was looking at him with an expression Josh didn't recognise, but it wasn't hostile.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. This is getting… clearer? He doesn't know. Okay. Maybe you can… maybe you can talk? Is it okay to talk?

Before anyone could answer for him, Josh extended his arm and hesitantly took the warmth offered to him, eyeing the hoodie as though it might hurt him at a moment's notice, but he didn't put it on, letting it settle over his knees instead. His breath was loud in the stillness of the room, laboured as he sifted through the thoughts and tried to arrange them.

“I… I said I'd go and I didn't.” he said, voice surprisingly steady, but with an undercurrent of self-doubt. “I didn't think that she…”

A pang of fear stilled his tongue. If she heard him perhaps she'd interrupt. She was quiet now but…

“...I didn't think it would get worse.”

Salt stung the corners of his eyes. Nobody had thought she would get worse. The doctors had told them so with such confidence that it was fact. But they were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He'd put off seeing her several times, too wrapped up in his own little world with his own little adventures and dramas. His mother had asked him to and he hadn't.

Blunt nails dug into his shin.

He was selfish. A selfish little boy who hadn't made the time and now she was gone.

But she wasn't. He could still do something about it if he just listened.

“They put her in the ground.” He swallowed, “They put her in the ground and I heard it.” Numb fingers covered his face, stifling a trembling exhale.

That had been a week ago. Cold morning. Dressed in black. Day off school. And he'd heard it, louder than any eulogy. Louder than the church organ. Louder than the world.

Why won't you visit me?

He pressed his face into the hoodie and sheltered his head with his hands, a sharp, sudden movement causing his shoulders to twitch.

And just like that the pieces began to fit. He hadn’t been a witness to all the details, but knew enough to understand the context into which Josh’s drifting trains of thought all found themselves. His guilt was an ache which couldn’t quite be shared between them. Yet, merely the act of seeing it eating him up in big, awful bites, caused his own stomach to constrict.

Lesser tragedies had ignited the loathing Josh carried around for himself before, but even for someone who was entirely healthy in mind and body this one was a hell of a weight to bear. It certainly wasn’t something he’d experienced yet, and for that he was both grateful and not so much. A little bit of loss, a whole lot of it too, might just have made it easier to see the warning signs. A similar guilt, under very different circumstances unfurled inside of him from tip to toes.

His fingers were tepid at best, nearly smothered by the cuffs of a thick jacket and the sweater hidden beneath it, but they found Josh’s own with far less hesitation than before. Nothing about his touch was forceful, but somehow that slight semblance of a connection allowed the younger teen to move closer. His warmth was meagre, but it was offered up so willingly.

“......you blame yourself f-for too much. It….”

It makes my chest hurt.

It makes me feel sick.

I hate it.

“.....it’s not always about what y-you did, or w-what you didn’t do….”

The brunette's fingers wrapped around Chris's until the all too fleeting moment of clarity passed, replaced by a frustration that caused Josh's grip to increase to an almost painful tightness before the offered touch was cast aside entirely.

Chris didn't get it. He'd said it to him and he still didn't understand.

“But I've seen them. I saw them.” he was staring at the blonde now, eyes unnaturally wide. “And she said…”

He broke off, shaking off the shrapnel that came with such jagged thoughts.

“I could fix it. I saw it. The bus crash.” He began in earnest.

It had been a local tragedy, covered for several days by the smaller news networks. But it had happened that day. That day. He hadn't even changed out of his suit and it was there on the TV begging for his attention. Eight dead. It was a route that they often caught to get into town. He could've been there, one of those eight people who weren't coming home. He could've…

And then it clicked. It was a sign. It was a way of fixing things. It was a way of making things right. Only…

“...but I can't.”

Chris's face came back into focus as he blinked away the tears that had begun to cloud his vision.

Why not?

“...I'm so fucking scared.” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Me too.

Those small hurts that plagued his hands were stronger now, but they still felt numb in the face of someone who seemed to be falling to pieces right in front of his helpless self. That someone so young, so undeserved was entombed in his own mess of problems - both imagined, and all too real - was almost entirely surreal in a world framed by suburban normalcy. Josh wasn’t like the other boys at school. He didn’t care about sports. He never talked about the girls, and their short skirts. He was…

Special.

…..different, and not always in ways which damaged them both. His tears became the ones which caught upon the frames of Chris’ glasses, filling them up like an aquarium until he tossed those stupid things aside. It didn’t matter if they broke, just like it didn’t matter if his world was reduced to something containing blurred edges, and watered down colours. Josh stood out against walls dyed red and orange by the setting sun. He was there in stark relief. The only focus which would always remain sharp.

Regardless of the consequences his limbs acted of their own accord. Two warm, desperate arms wrapping around the slightness of Josh’s back, dragging him into a hug even if he didn’t think he deserved a second of it.

There were a thousand things he could say. Carefully constructed sentiments like the ones adults came up with to sugar coat awful truths. Instead he pleaded, voice breaking in so many ways in the silence surrounding their old haunt. In but a whisper, every confusing thing about this night was mapped out not in chalk or pen. Not upon the tarmac outside his house, or the playground at school. For the two of them. No one else.

“T-then listen to me. Just me. Please…..just. Come. Home. I….we c-can..we’ll fix things together. You and me, J. It’s not gonna be perfect, but it’s s-somethin. You think no one needs you, that you’re wrong or something, but I---I need you.”

There it was, all in a rush which left him sniffling weakly, tears getting lost in a mess of dark hair at Josh’s crown. Bewildered, and largely unaware of the foundations of a desperate confession on a cold night, and how deep they would eventually go. For now he just trembled, and tried not to think about what he’d have to do to get Josh home if he didn’t come willingly.

I can't I can't I can't I can't

The words chased each other around and around until they were finally brought to a stop by a welcome flood of emotion that was louder and made him shake in Chris's arms. Chris’s coat pressed against his face and stifled a series of sobs, the product of that deep pit in his stomach where all the bad things seemed to thrive, awakening only to fill the gaps in his thoughts with poison of their own.

He spent a long moment there, just letting that feeling surface and drain out again, so far removed from everything that it was like he was simply witness to it, the feeling perhaps too much to fully live through. Finally he surfaced and turned his head, pressing his cheek to the tear-damp patch on his friend's shoulder.

She wasn't talking. But…

“I-I can't… I can't.” A mournful sigh trembled through parted lips, “The signs…”

The words were said weakly. His heart wasn’t in it and he wanted to believe Chris so badly. But the idea of Chris needing him - of anyone needing him - was so ridiculous.

He's lying.

“Shut up.” he muttered, screwing his eyes shut.

A deep, shaking breath helped Josh lift his head enough to meet Chris's gaze. Seeing those eyes marked with sadness and the downturn of an ever-smiling mouth threatened to elicit another bout of unabashed tears from the brunette. He had done that. He bit them back, his bottom lip forced painfully between sharp teeth.

“I don't know... anymore. I think… I think I'm broken?”

Dark eyes sought answers behind the frames of his friend's glasses. Answers that deep down Josh already knew but didn't want to believe.

Lacking trust in his voice to convey much of anything anymore, Chris just shook his head for a moment. The hands which had been unconsciously fisted around handfuls of the thin shirt which covered Josh’s back where it heaved and ticked slowly loosened their hold.

They found their place against pallid cheeks, now that his wounds were congealed and wouldn’t leave senseless marks in their wake. Without intending to, at least not consciously, the pads of his thumbs rubbed tiny circles over a quivering jaw line. An early representative of a small gesture which would be a beacon in hard times.

Eventually, he found a way to speak around the tight fist lodged inside his throat. For Josh’s sake, for his own.

“Then I’ll fix you. That’s...w-what best friends are f-for.” Even if it took scotch tape, and silent hopes, in this moment that was his promise for years to come. Fat tears still rolled down the curves of his cheeks, catching before they took their final dive into the fabric of his collar. If Josh had any reason to doubt the sincerity of his claims, it was all there - naked emotion in the dark green eyes which stared back at him. Which saw him for everything he was, and all that he denied himself.

“.......so come home.”

Tired eyes closed in silent surrender to contact Josh had been missing for what seemed like a lifetime, Chris’s touch managing to still the trembling of his young body, if only for a moment.

“But…”

A thousand protests bubbled up, all clamouring to be said, but his voice failed him now.

“...But…”

He blinked away saltwater, old tears clinging to dark lashes. It was all there in his friend's face, mirroring his own in so many ways. Raw and scared and so very, very real. Josh sighed, lips twisting into a pained, unpleasant smile that didn't match the desperation in his eyes. It was true: there were a thousand reasons why he shouldn't go home... but there was one very good reason why he should.

“Just… just tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll… I-I'll come.” The smile widened as his brow creased, threatening fresh tears. “Please.”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, and….w-why it’s making you s-scared it’s wrong. You--y--you have people waiting for you. Worrying because they l-love you.” Chris’s fingers trembled against the tear streaked skin of the other boy’s cheeks, but he forced them to still so that he could gently use the pad of his thumb to wipe away the droplets of moisture collecting in his friend’s dark lashes. He was putting himself through hell, and looked so convinced that it was something he deserved - something he had to endure alone, that it all but broke Chris’ naive heart right then and there.

“I….I love you too, bro. So, lemme take you back to them, okay? Please, just lemme do this for you.” The fractures in his voice were vast, and caused a hiccup of a sob to bubble up in between them. Now he looked torn between being frustrated at himself for being so useless in times like these, and agonized over the idea that Josh might not want to return to the safety of his family home.

A deeply troubled frown worried Josh's features. With Chris's hands holding him steady it was easier to listen, to focus, but only just. He wanted to believe him, to believe the lavish claims that seemed to come from somewhere honest. He wanted to so badly. But…

I don't know. I don't know what to believe anymore.

Just listen.

Listen.

He could hear his heartbeat pulsing at his temples. But more than that, he could hear… what? Evening birdsong, sad and distant… but outside, beyond the four corners of this dilapidated hideaway. Outside in a world beyond the black prison of his skull.

Teeth bit down hard on his ragged bottom lip, but he didn't feel it.

How long have I been here?

Finally, a practical question. Okay, this was… okay. Okay…

Maybe a day? Maybe longer?

He was growing distant again, eyes dancing as he stared at his friend, as if Chris's face might somehow hold the answers.

Frustration threatened to resurface but he bit it back on it just enough to keep his eyes focused on the blonde.

Okay, a day. Maybe more. Okay. Have they been looking for me?

The thought exacerbated the uneasy way he was looking at Chris and the lump in his throat, too big to swallow.

“Everyone… everyone's going to.. t-to be so mad at me.”

Eyes closed again as he trailed off to agitated whispers, “Fuck fuck fuck…”

Seeing Josh so distraught threatened to set Chris off again, to cause him to lose his wits and start crying out of sheer frustration and nerves. For a moment or two he hung there, suspended ever so precariously between the natural urges of his unprepared self, and the part of him which was yelling back at them.

You’ve gotta man up right the fuck now. Do it for him.

A horrible sniffle-snort which made his back twitch and shifted his posture uncomfortably for a few tense seconds was followed by a singular huffed out breath. He felt about as centered, or calm as someone spinning atop a wobbling spire, but Josh needed reason. As much as he needed someone who wasn’t falling to pieces just like him.

The tattered edges of his voice didn’t suddenly vanish, but he pushed them down hard. Forced his hands to stop quaking, and pulled Josh into a firm, overtly caring kind of a hug. The type he’d use for years down the line whenever his best friend needed someone close.

“No one’s mad at you. No one’s gonna shout. They just…..just like me, they wanna know you’re safe. We can go home, my place, yours, it doesn’t matter. Get something to eat, and drink if you wanna. Or just sleep. Whatever you want, it’s okay.” Nothing in his reply was even close to an untruth. They’d be welcomed with open arms at either residence, and Chris had made it a silent mission all of his own to make sure Josh was as comfortable and cared for as possible. Even if he had to go without sleep to do it.

Eating. Sleeping. Home. It all sounded so unachievable, so distant. So normal. Josh was trembling now, partly from the emotions bubbling just under his skin, but also from the cold that had started to creep in despite Chris's embrace. The external world was starting to make itself known bit by bit. He could feel it. The darkened room felt bigger, but not because he felt so small for once.

What I want?

But what about what she wanted? She'd fallen quiet for the longest time in a while, no longer haunting him with demands and questions he didn't want to answer.

The signs…

Yes, the signs were there. He couldn't deny that, but maybe… maybe they meant something else? Maybe he'd read them wrong?

Slowly - very slowly - unsure arms, pinned to his sides till now, wrapped around the blonde. Flattened palms became small fists filled with coat material before they loosened to simply rest there.

I'm wrong. I have to be wrong. If I'm wrong then I can go. If I'm wrong then it's okay. I'm wrong…

“I'm.. I'm so tired. My head…”

Somewhere in all of this, Chris shifted just enough to pull his hoodie, with its thick fleece lining and deep hood around Josh’s shoulders and back. It was saturated with the cloying scents of the fabric softener his mom used, and a faint hint that Chris had worn it since it was last washed. Maybe, in some small measure it could reassure Josh, protecting him not only from the cold which had taken up residence in his bones.

Once, covered, his hands rubbed circles over the material where it was smothering the small crook of the brunette’s back, and he somehow maintained that soft, even tone he’d dragged up from the depths of his wavering confidence in the last few minutes.

“It’s alright. It---it’s alright, J. I’ve got you. I promise.” For a while he sat, merely sheltering the thin body pressed tight to his own, arms encircling his back whilst he got used to the sensation of being held. With the sun a mere memory, abandoned to a starless sky, the temperature was plummeting. In its wake, each breath became a fickle phantom in the air between them, and eventually it was numb fingers and chattering teeth which compelled Chris to at least try to coax Josh to his feet in an awkward, cautious stumble of cold limbs and clumsiness.

“I’ll stay with you. Whatever you want. Anything, just…..we gotta go home.”

He'd nearly lost himself in just being there, Chris's body anchoring him to reality, when the blonde's voice and words, tinged with more than a little urgency, got through to Josh. He let Chris help him to his feet then steadied himself against the other teen’s shoulder as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He felt too light. Uneven. Not weighed down by the heaviness that sometimes burdened him, something very else this time. Nervous. Almost jittery. Uncomfortable.

“...Okay…”

She wasn't talking. Finally. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she'd gone.

Leave before she comes back. Leave now.

“O-okay…”

On impulse he grabbed Chris by the wrist, scared that the blonde might leave without him. He didn't want to be alone anymore, not now he knew he was wrong. Pulling Chris with him, he leaned down for his bag, grabbing at the strap and missing before finally holding it in his grip.

They had to go now, before he changed his mind. Before she changed her mind.

He nodded at Chris, hesitantly at first but more vigorously with each shake of his head. His eyes, still glazed with the threat of tears, looked anxiously around, as he tried to make certain that they were truly alone. The urgency which had gripped Josh with such abruptness set Chris on edge, but if it was the motivation the older boy needed to get escape this place then maybe it wasn’t such a damning thing after all. He leant over to swipe up his own backpack, hooking it over one shoulder as he rearranged their hands, threading his fingers through Josh’s own. Warmth was scarce between them, but he still gave the chilled palm pressed against his own a little squeeze before leading Josh towards the door. Somehow they weren’t even parted during the brief contortion it took to get out.

This place had been so many things, a repository for a lot of memories which still warmed Chris’ senses whenever they floated up from where they lay otherwise undisturbed in his mind. However, it held no sway upon him when Josh was so desperately in need of a real sanctuary. One which wasn’t mired in the heights of a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it summer.

His bike was lying only a few feet beyond the broken remnants of the cabin. Overturned, and all but forgotten until it became a necessity once again. Luckily for them both there was a small metal rack fitted to the back - a space Josh had occupied upon more than one ride through the neighbourhood which left them breathless and wind-worn just from hollering to each other as they sped along. The need imbued in the way Josh clung to his hand made dragging it upright something of a Herculean effort, but one which Chris took to with a soft grunt of exertion which fogged up throughout the crispness of the night.

“Won’t even take ten minutes, and we’ll be there. Okay? No school tomorrow, no nothing. We can just hang out, if that’s what you want. Just hang on, J.”

With great reluctance, Josh relinquished his hold on Chris, allowing him the greater dexterity he needed to prepare the bike but hanging close by, standing there awkward and cold despite the warmth of his friend’s thoughtful gift. They were outside. It was okay because they were outside, away from the accusatory pages on the walls and the coaxing words in his head. Those things were in there, trapped within those walls. At least he hoped they were. But… out here he was vulnerable to the eyes of others, unseen in the darkness. Exposed.

He hugged himself anxiously, the movement of his arms dislodging his backpack from his shoulder. It fell to the ground with a dull thump that still managed to make him jump. Body powered by that same nervous energy, he crouched down to retrieve it, only to discover that the zip was open and the contents had spilled out on the ground. With the benefit of this brief spell of clarity, the items on the floor seemed surreal and impractical.

No, it all makes sense. It made sense…

No food or warm clothes. No phone: he'd smashed that into pieces when the sun was still up just like she'd said. No money. But the mood journal had made sense. It was back in the darkness now, ripped to pieces after thorough examination, but that had made sense, right? He'd needed to see if there was a pattern there, but had found nothing. He wasn't to know.

Keys. Not house keys, but a locker key for school. He'd had a reason for keeping it, but he couldn't remember it now. It must've been important. They lay on the ground amid the many pens he'd brought, their many colours indistinguishable in the night. They'd needed to be different because they were there to mark different things. Green for the truth. Red for the bad feelings. Blue for the lies. There was a system.

But they weren't what caught Josh's eye.

It had been easy to get. Hiding in plain sight, nobody would ever miss it really, perhaps thinking it had been misplaced. The handle was plain black and felt good in his hand when he'd pulled it from the block. Sturdy. Heavy enough. The blade wasn't long. Four inches maybe, but sharp. Made for preparing vegetables, nothing special. That had made sense too. It had scared him then as it scared him now, but it had at least made sense.

Opening his hand, Josh saw a smudge of red. It wasn't his blood, he was fairly certain of that. Just the result of squeezing his best friend's hand too hard, opening up old wounds. He was frozen for a moment, paralysed by dark thoughts, before he turned to look up at Chris from where he crouched, his mouth forming the soundless shapes of confused words.

Nothing about tonight made a lick of sense at first glance. Sure, it was tangled up in the recent loss experienced by the Washington family. But, everything he’d seen from when he stepped foot into the rotten lingerings of somewhere they’d once made their own implied all too heavily that there were darker things at play here. The fears which had twisted fetid, and ripe to burst inside of his chest imploded at the sight of the knife. It’d have been so innocuous placed in a different context, but amidst the spill of items from Josh’s bag it caused his breath to catch.

That, and the abject horror with which Josh was blinking up at him. His lips were moving, but nothing emerged save for a frightened whimper. It was just that tiny, awful sound which spurred fresh vigour into cold legs and took him over to crouch briefly beside his closest companion. Despite how his palm protested, slipping a little where torn skin had decided to ooze fresh blood and plasma against the handle, Chris went for the blade with every intention of removing it from the equation of their retreat. His other hand found Josh’s own where it was resting open and bloodied upon his thigh. If only for a moment their connection was reaffirmed before he wound back, to throw the knife headlong into the darkness - as far away as his less than athletic self could muster.

“You don’t need it. I’m here. I’ll protect you. I want to protect you for as long as it takes.” He spoke to the shadows, almost as if challenging anything which dared to come for Josh to go through him. Even if the fears wrapped like a noose around the other’s neck were all fevered creations of a mind gone astray there were all too many facets of reality which could push them apart all on their own. When he looked back at Josh it wasn’t without trepidation, but an underlying resolve shone through beneath the dirt speckled tracks of old tears on his cheeks, and the smudges of blood shared between their hands.

Josh watched wide-eyed as the knife disappeared into the night, no longer lying there, metal blade glinting with unvoiced accusations. He couldn't get up for a moment, legs locked and stiff, but it was okay. As long as Chris's hand was there he would be tethered to something real. He was beginning to see that. Shuddering breath fogged the air before him.

A terrifying thought struck him and closed his throat.

Am I outside?

It was a ludicrous question, part for him knew that, but he wasn't certain of anything right now, the self-doubt so ingrained that it might just be possible.

Oh fuck...

But if he wasn't outside then that meant he was imagining this, all of this: Chris riding in on his pushbike like some kind of white knight come to save him. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, overwhelmed by exhaustion and was dreaming all of this.

With urgent fingers, he rolled up his sleeve and pinched the flesh of his arm, hard enough to bruise. “Fuck!”

It hurt.

Okay, maybe…

He turned to Chris and placed his hand over the one pressed firmly to his thigh.

It’s real. This has to be right…

And if it wasn't?

No.

He couldn't think that.

Oh God…

“I-It's gone now?” He asked, looking back into the darkness then returning his attention to his friend, so much desperate relief colouring his words to find him still there.

With the bag momentarily forgotten, Chris nodded fervently. If he never saw that stupid, dangerous piece of shit ever again it’d be too soon. How close it’d come to being a part of whatever confounding puzzle Josh had found himself a piece of made nausea tumble around in his stomach. A moment elapsed, and with it came another fierce little hug. Just one more small something between them to remind Chris had he hadn’t been too late. That Josh was here now, holding onto his hand as if it was keeping him afloat in all the thoughts which threatened to drag him under.

When, and with great reluctance, he pulled away it was just to scramble the contents of Josh’s bag back inside of it - one-handed, but hasty all the same. He slung both of them over one shoulder before urging Josh to his feet again - holding him up when his knees betrayed him - steadying him until the bike was upright once again, and he could arrange them both onto it as the moon crept out of its hiding place to light their way home.

Josh was a limpet against his back, and maybe he’d started crying again from the way he hitched and trembled underneath a borrowed jacket. The weight of their bags kept him somewhat overbalanced, but he pedalled hard once they hit a main road. Never once looking back, and never wanting to.

Amber burned wan circles into the sidewalks on either side of them. No one was out at this hour, save for the odd gaggle of college kids talking shit as they toted red cups and handbags, or a few people walking their dogs - the world closed to them by headphones and text conversations.

He paused only to ask one simple question, “Your place, or mine?” If Josh couldn’t, or wouldn’t decide then his tyres would take them down one of the forks in an otherwise mundane road.

The world passed by in a blur, but with Chris in front of him, rock steady and firm in his arms, it didn't overwhelm Josh like it could've done. His eyes were closed, but at the question they opened. So focused on getting away from the dark, the words and the torturous whispers, he hadn't even thought about where they were going.

Home. His parents would be there. Worried, probably. Angry, maybe? He didn't know. His sisters would be there too, standing at the top of the stairs, watching everything play out from afar in anxious silence as they had done so many times.

Or Chris's house. It was the lesser used of their two hangouts, but he was there often enough for his friend's parents not to bat an eyelid when they walked in to find the two boys curled up on the couch or see them out in the yard, deeply involved in games of their own devising in prior years and more recently just sitting there, talking and laughing loudly enough for the neighbours to comment on it with mild annoyance to Chris's mother.

He wasn't quite ready to see his parents.

“You. Yours. I can't go.. back… not yet.” He said, clinging onto the younger boy a little tighter.

Home was familiar territory, a place where he didn’t have to ask permission to gather the things he needed to calm Josh down, or to take care of any injuries he’d accumulated during his time alone. His parents would take Josh in without question, and that was precisely what the both of them needed right now. Time to find their feet again, to create solace in sleep and sustenance. He wouldn’t even have to ask them to make a discreet call to the Washington’s, or to give them enough space for Chris to settle Josh down somewhere warm and dry. They knew enough of the two boy’s close bond to trust their son, despite his goofy personality. To understand implicitly that whatever had happened he’d done what he could for someone far more troubled than himself.

And so he pedalled, sweeping them through the neighbourhood until his front porch came into view. The house was nowhere near as grand as the one in which the Washington family resided, but it had a homely, welcoming feel to it. Every inch draped in contented sentiment, and a little smidgen of clutter which was mostly down to its resident tech hoarder.

Getting Josh off of the bike proved to be something more of a challenge than he’d first anticipated, after they’d idled up the driveway, and stopped just shy of the front door. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities to imagine that if he’d had enough legroom to do so, then by now the quivering brunette might be latched onto his back rather more firmly. As it was, Chris slipped awkwardly off of his bike with him still wrapped tight around his waist, face buried into the back of his jacket until gentle shifting broke the older boy loose for long enough to relocate him to Chris’ side at least. He shouldered their bags on his opposite arm, and began to coax him in small steps towards the door.

“Nearly there, we’re nearly there now.” A quiet murmur of encouragements broke the placid hum of the street beyond, and only his key clicking the lock open served to desecrate the stillness. The lights were still on both in the entranceway, and the kitchen where his mother pushed her chair back - face lined with concern, and feet quick to close the distance between herself and the two boys as they stumbled inside. It was difficult to know what to say whilst your best friend was clinging, a little bloodied, and pale as a ghost. Not whilst your own palms had left dirty, crimson smudges over torn jeans and muddy jacket sleeves. Chris just shook his head, stilling her approach for now.

“He’s okay. We’re...m’okay Mom.” She didn’t look like she believed a word of it, but nodded and indicated quietly to the phone sitting on a dresser beside her. A soft thank you was all he could muster. Josh was what mattered now. Not what his parents wanted to say to him. Not even Beth and Hannah’s relieved sentiments, although they’d be precious and necessary later on.

The stairs were their next challenge, but one which they conquered after Chris managed to get Josh’s shoes toed off along with his own. He apologised, almost to himself for the disarray his room lived in, but set Josh down upon the edge of a blanket smothered bed all the same, and knelt down in front of him, looking up with tired eyes.

“You...you’re safe now, alright?”

Josh hadn't spoken a word since they'd dismounted the bike, hadn't dared to look Chris's mom in the eye as she approached for fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. She knew something was wrong, of course she knew…

I’m wrong

...and for once he was grateful for the way she simply let him pass, keeping him at arm's length like so many others did. One question, one word aimed in his direction and he didn't know what he'd do.

Sat on the bed, his feet were restless, the need to temporarily keep all his broken pieces together - nice and still and calm - having passed. Sock-clad toes raked the carpet, finding some kind of solace in the repetition of the movement.

It certainly felt safer bathed in the warm light of Chris's room, no longer trapped in a darkness of his own making. Familiar images greeted him from the posters on the walls. Shapes he recognised stood and sat amid the rather messy room, everything touched by that well-known scent specific to his friend alone. He knew this place. It was…

“Safe…” he repeated with a hint of uncertainty. He really wanted to believe that.

Josh sniffed as Chris gave his knee a gentle squeeze. There was blood there, a faint smear of reddish brown colouring his jeans. Frightened concern marred his brow and threatened to disrupt the relative composure he was struggling to achieve. “Y-you're hurt.”

He swallowed and clenched his jaw, not knowing what he could do, only knowing that somehow he was the cause of his friend's maladies.

You always are.

Now that they were behind the closed door of his room, the sickly bubbling of fearfulness - a feeling which had been verging on panic for close to an hour was slowly ebbing away. Here Josh couldn’t hurt himself, wouldn’t be found frozen beyond help, or worse still…

Cold, bloodied hands gave his knees another gentle squeeze. Only this time it wasn’t born solely out of a need to deliver comfort, but also to remind himself that Josh was still tangible, still with him - alive and maybe not so well, but secure within these four walls. Smiling with all the assurance a fourteen year old boy was capable of mustering, he moved to stand. Mom kept a pretty well stocked first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom, because her only son seemed hell bent upon skinning his knees, and bumping into things every five seconds. Had done since childhood, and his natural predisposition towards clumsiness didn’t seem to be abating any time soon.

“Don’t worry, J. I’m not gonna make you play nurse or anything.” The words might’ve been laced with a slight strain of humour, but it’d all too soon become a priority to show Josh that he’d not done anything wrong. That he wasn’t the cause of these bruises and cuts, even if he’d been the motivation behind their presence where they littered his friend’s body.

Ten minutes.

It took ten minutes before the fingers around his wrists loosened. Five of those had been spent calming Josh out of the surge of anxiety which had risen to colour his features as soon as any mention of being parted came up. He moved swiftly after that, leaving for only as long as it took to snatch the kit up, along with a small towel, a packet of wet wipes, and a couple of pain-killers which he downed in the bathroom itself, leaning over the tap to gulp down enough water to make his throat stop aching quite like someone had shoved a cactus down it.

The hunched back of his friend, stiff shouldered as if he was bracing himself all the way through their small parting for something unseen, and obviously frightening was a painful sight to see. One which thankfully lasted only as long as it took him to sit down back where he’d been - kneeling before Josh as he opened the kit and began to check him over for any small hurts he’d incurred. All seemingly with little interest in sorting through his own wounds first.

“Does it hurt anywhere, J?”

He'd been so far removed from his body for the longest time that the thought of any physical hurt hadn't even crossed Josh's mind, far too wrapped up with wounds of a different nature. Injuries that couldn't be fixed with wet wipes and band-aids.

This was helping. Chris was back. He wasn't alone anymore. The bubbling anxiety was settling to a low simmer now that they were reunited.

Slowly, scared of what he might find, Josh rolled up his sleeves to reveal… skin. Cold, but unblemished. He'd thought about it so much that the discovery of normality was almost a surprise. He checked the other and found it unharmed.

“I don't... I don't think so.”

Had he fallen down? The journey from his house out into the world had been a blur, his feet moving of their own accord. A dark smear of dirt stained the leg of his jeans. Connecting the dots, he leaned down and hesitantly rolled it up just enough to expose a graze. The skin had purpled around it, but it hadn't drawn blood. It didn't hurt but he felt like it should. He let the material fall back. “Doesn't matter.. don't..”

His hand returned instinctively to Chris's wrist.

“It matters to me.” Although he lacked patience in just about every other aspect of his life (which was probably why he ended up tripping over his own feet, and bumping into closed doors at school all the damn time), Chris took a quiet, soothing breath before covering Josh’s hand with his own.

“You can do it if you want, but at least let’s put some gel on it. Mom said I gotta treat guests right, and you’re like the most vip of them all, dude.” He was smiling again, only this time the expression looked almost hopeful - exhausted, but eager to fend off the traces of this night so that Josh could get some much needed rest.

Tomorrow there would be questions neither of them particularly wanted to answer. The Washingtons seemed acutely aware of certain aspects of their public lives from what Chris had experienced at the lavish home they kept, and he was in no rush to infect Josh’s life with unwanted rumours. Yet, for now all that really mattered was making sure his best friend never felt like he needed to run away again.

Faced with palpable reluctance, he broke away just enough to open the kit up and pull out a little tube along with two wipes from the packet, and some band-aids. One of the wipes was offered to Josh, and he scrubbed the other over his grubby cheeks, leading the way by example.

Hesitant fingers pulled one of the wipes free from the packet. That clean, clinical smell was strong in Josh's nostrils, cutting unpleasantly through the familiar ambient scent that he was so accustomed to. Watching Chris, he mirrored his actions, though at a far slower pace. Next came his hands, smudged with traces of dirt from rotting floorboards. He picked up the pace, the gentle wiping becoming an urgent scrubbing. If he could just get clean, maybe that would help. Maybe if he was clean on the outside…

The wipe came away grey. He dropped it to the floor and, with a sniff, dried his hands on the front of the hoodie.

Clean on the outside, clean on the inside.

A thought, one of many, had troubled him on the journey back. As he relented, exposing his injured leg once more, he gave voice to it, the words trembling from him.

“W-what are you… what are you going to tell them?”

Chris’ hands were odd in their deftness for once, and his touch remained a gentle constant as he slipped one hand beneath the crook of the other’s knee to lift his leg so that Josh’s foot rested upon his thigh. Relief washed through his gut when he saw that the angry mark marring his knee was just that - superficial, and needing little more than a little cleaning along with a band-aid for good measure. He worked with quiet diligence, having neither the energy nor much of an inclination to fill the gaps in their sparse conversation with pointless jokes like he usually would have.

“.....I...not….m’not gonna snitch on you. You’re just….like….really sad and stuff, and I---I wanna help, but they don’t always get it right? So, um….just...what you, what you think we should.” Such thoughtfulness wasn’t a rarity, but when Chris looked up his smile was acute in its honesty, and all too innocent about the ways in which *not* telling their parents everything might only cause more harm than good.

With Josh’s leg tended to, he began working on his hands with the wipes. A small pile emerged beside him, smudged with old dirt and dried blood. The band-aids he slapped on weren’t exactly sufficient, but anything was better than scaring Josh right back into that same trembling, horrified state he’d been found in. It was all he could do not to flinch when he tugged up his ruined trouser leg though, and was greeted by the sight of a wide patch of torn skin - red and glistening rather grossly in the wan light of his room. Speckles of dirt and grass clung to the wound, and it stung enough to drag a low moan of pain out of him when he slapped a wipe right over the whole mess.

Josh couldn't look away. Everything else faded out, peripheral to the red, wet mess of his friend's leg. The wipe was turning crimson already, doing little to hide the wound beneath it.

He couldn't stop staring. He just… he just couldn't.

You did that.

And with that confession to himself, he finally could. A string of whispered curses were muffled by his knees, his head pressed to them once more as he tried but failed miserably to shut out the thought. And it was true. He had done that to Chris. Maybe not directly, but if he hadn't been looking for him…

Selfish.

“Fuck… I…” he raised his head, daring to meet his friend's eyes for the briefest of moments before he couldn't anymore, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I'm sorry.”

Cursing himself silently for not having had the common sense to go and patch himself up in the bathroom, the blonde levered himself up on watery feeling legs to sit beside where Josh had bent himself double upon the bed. His shoulders were riddled with tremors again, and the very sight of him looking for bereft, and miserable made his chest ache in ways he hadn’t known were possible.

God, you’re so dumb. Why’d you go and make him think he’s responsible?

His leg was throbbing by now, a dull pain which trickled down it in slow, irritated beats every few seconds, but he shoved everything else aside in favour of wrapping both arms around Josh’s quivering waist and hugging him close. The notion of letting go, of even straying the few inches it’d take to tend to his leg properly didn’t even figure into the equation. At least not yet. For now he just rubbed the other teen’s back, and whispered words meant only for him.

“It’s okay. I just fell, like always. You know me, m’so clumsy, J. I just need to wash up, and it’ll be fine. So don’t….don’t blame yourself, okay? You...you can help if you wanna.”

With Chris holding him it was easier to breathe again, still shallow, but calmer than before.

“Help?” Josh asked incredulously, the word muted by the material pressed to his cheek, followed by a cracked, bitter stab of laughter.

But then…

Maybe…

Maybe this wasn't the way he'd thought he could fix things. Not the same way that had made sense back in the dark with the handle of the knife gripped tightly in a clammy palm. No. It wasn't that. But maybe this was another way? Did it make sense? He felt like it did.

You're wrong, remember?

He nodded to himself. Yes, he was wrong. He was wrong about that. Was he wrong about this?

A sound of frustration marked his internal dialogue.

I don't know. I don't know, I don't know. I don't know anything.

But maybe Chris did. Is that why he'd come for him? To give him a chance to make things right? The pages hadn't said anything about that, though some of them had featured his name. He'd highlighted it in yellow he remembered now, the five little letters lighting up the darkness.

He sat back, just enough to look Chris in the eye, loosening the other boy’s hold on him. He finally found his voice, the question filled with such eagerness that it almost startled him.

“Will it help? Can I really help?”

This was what progress looked like, and it flooded Chris with such an intense wave of relief for a moment all he could do was gaze back at Josh before he nodded enthusiastically. The kit was within reach, and after snagging it up off of the floor he laid out the contents between the two of them with his leg stretched out across the bedding - ruined denim scrunched up around his thigh.

Disinfect. Clean. Bandage.

After an evening spent so far flung from his usual routine of dinner, grudging homework assignments, and texting Josh stupid one-liners, or bothering Sam to give him her answers for Chem, this was a routine he knew well. One which could, in turn be employed to guide Josh through simple steps, and away from the blame he seemed to be placing so heavily upon his own slight shoulders.

With apt patience, he demonstrated how to dab away the worst of the dirt, and bit down upon his lips with only the softest of hisses when Josh carefully patted tiny dots of antiseptic cream all over the graze. All the while, save for the muted voices of his parents downstairs, accompanied by the lull of their television in the living room as it idled through late night game shows, the only other sound in the entire house was that of Chris’ voice - even and calm enough to shock even himself.

Eventually, his knee - having been wrapped in a few too many layers of bandage by Josh to make bending it an easy task felt something like it still belonged to his actual body. He watched quietly as Josh packed the kit away himself, each item returned with due diligence to its rightful home. A single impulse proved too great to retreat from as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the bed, and he tucked an arm around his friend, “Thanks, it feels way better now. You uh, you can borrow something from my closet, okay?”

Before a rejection could be voiced, the blonde had already clambered down from their haven and launched himself into finding a pair of sweats, some fresh (but totally mismatched) socks, and a sweater which whilst decently fitted upon himself would swamp Josh in generous fleece and comfort. It was all returned in a small pile, placed eagerly into Josh’s hands.

The brunette looked down at the warm offerings on his lap. He felt… not better, exactly. He wasn't there yet, with the dark thoughts still creeping around the edges. But he felt calmer, especially now Chris's wound was covered up. He wasn't squeamish, but the sight had awakened some primal aversion in him that he hadn't been able to control.

And yet, they had. Cleaning and bandaging and taking ownership of it.. that had helped, not only Chris, but him, too.

He was tired now. Emotionally exhausted. Flagging. Managing a nod, he unzipped the hoodie then slipped off his barely adequate t-shirt, a garment that had seen better days. A moment later he pulled the sweater over his head.

Okay, this was better. This was better than out there.

Too preoccupied to feel anything resembling bashfulness, he slipped out of his jeans, kicking them off onto the floor.

Yes. Piece by piece it was getting easier. He was controlling this now.

He glanced up at Chris as he tugged his foot through one leg of the sweats, nodding again, reassuring himself in the process.

“...thanks…”

Chris had only strayed as far as the closet, using the door to block much of the view as he clambered awkwardly out of his own grubby clothing, and into a pair of worn, but wonderfully comfortable sweats, and a faded t-shirt. Everything ended up tossed into an already over-stuffed basket - Josh’s clothing ending up mixed in with his own as it had done more than once in the past after culinary disasters, or water fights gone awry.

He looked up just in time to see Josh fumbling to get the loose pants on. His slender frame was almost swallowed whole by the thick fabric of one of Chris’ less gaudy sweaters. He looked so very small back in the cabin, but at least now that sense of being diminutive wasn’t encased in dark and awful loneliness. Relief was once again thick enough in his veins to provoke a tired smile, once which he held out to Josh with eager hands.

“....don’t mention it.” There had never been any question that he’d go out on a limb for his best friend. No doubt or hesitation when it came to making sure he was safe. That much had been a constant almost from the first time Chris had leaned over to whisper that he was bored outta his mind during a particularly gruelling lesson. From then on it’d been notes passed during math, secret codes, and shared smiles upon the better days.

“You, hungry?” He padded over upon equally as mismatched socks to flop down next to Josh before leaning over his lap to pull open the bottom drawer of the dresser beside his bed. It had, and always would be - a veritable treasure trove of junk food, including a few smaller bottles of soda, chocolate bars a plenty, and a ridiculous amount of different types of chips.

His own choice consisted of more sugar than any one child should have during an entire day, but he was more than prepared to have to coax the other into taking anything at all.

Without thinking, Josh shook his head. The idea of eating anything had been so far from the top of his list of priorities that it hadn't even occurred to him to pack any food in his backpack. It had been a while, though. Even when he'd been at home in the days after the… after…

The funeral.

Even after that, he hadn't eaten much, far too preoccupied with more important things. But seeing the array of snacks there, in the same old place as usual, was reassuring. Familiar. Normal. Right now he needed normal.

With a laboured exhale, he amended his answer by giving the blonde a curt nod. Even if he didn't eat a bite or drink a sip of whatever Chris offered him, he could at least hold it and maybe in some small way hold onto some semblance of normalcy.

He tried to summon up a smile, but the result was weak and somewhat sad.

The chocolate bar which had been occupying Chris’ hand was dropped, forgotten instantly in the face of that melancholy strain which Josh had so obviously forced onto his lips. He’d been stupid to think that running away, taking a fucking kitchen knife of all things, along with the tattered, ink-stained pages of one of his journals to somewhere neither of them had been after sundown for months, was something a few snacks and some fresh clothes could cure. His fingers closed around his friend’s palm, both hands tight around one of his own.

“......if...if you ever feel like that again, like escapin’....don’t go---don’t go somewhere like that. Just...you can come here. I---I don’t ever wanna feel like I did tonight, and I don’t want you to either.” This marked a rare instance where it was Chris who was looking away, eyes downcast in the wake of his loaded words. Hope, resolution, and a dozen other things were threaded through a couple of sentences, and eventually he let go, replacing the warmth of his hands with a bottle of water whose cap he’d already twisted off despite the twinge of pain it elicited from his palm. He placed a plastic wrapped biscuit on the curve of Josh’s thigh - just something small, and manageable. Even if Josh only attempted to eat it, at least it was something. His own portion was devoured as if he’d skipped more than a single meal to search for his lost buddy. For once he ate in silence, his shoulder leaning ever so slightly into the other boy’s.

For a long moment, Josh simply stared at down at the water bottle. Its solid form and weight was something of a comfort. The thought was strange enough to nearly elicit laughter, but no laughter came. It didn’t live there anymore. Holding the biscuit loosely in his fist, he raised the bottle to his lips with an unsure movement and sipped at the contents, not entirely trusting himself not to spill it. His throat felt a little better, a little looser. He wiped his mouth with the back of a heavy hand.

Gathering his knees up to his chest, Josh sighed; a sound borne of both sadness and relief. “...I wasn’t... trying to escape.” he began slowly, not entirely sure whether or not what he’d said was true.

What had he been doing then? He didn’t know how to describe it. He hadn’t run away. If anything, he had run to something. Scrambling and crawling and dragging himself towards knowledge that eluded him, driven by the need to make sense of all the many, many thoughts tangled up like Christmas lights inside his skull, tied up in knots and riddles.

He glanced up at Chris then lowered his gaze. It was too difficult to even contemplate trying to explain what he meant.

“...I didn’t… I-I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Now, that was definitely true. He’d been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn’t even begun to really think about how anyone else would feel about what he’d done. At the time it simply hadn’t mattered. But it did matter. He was starting to see that.

What now?

Well, now his parents would show up, probably. It wasn’t the first time they’d come over to Chris’s house to collect him early from a play date cut short by wayward emotions.

I thought I… I thought…

“...I thought I was past this.” he muttered to himself, the words barely audible. Another sip of water silenced him momentarily. Another shaky sigh. “I’m so tired.”

His body was running on fumes, but that wasn’t what he meant. It was his head. Each thought led onto another, then another, then another, with little respite between. It was like he’d run a marathon, struggling to keep up with them.

“Tell.. tell me what to do. P-please.” A little pained, choked up sound caught in his throat. “I’m so tired..”

In truth, Chris felt like the tears he’d shed were only a few small steps away when Josh looked so defeated by his own emotions. There had only been a handful of instances during their time together that Josh had a looked anything other than diminutive, a little too pale, a little too thin when he wasn’t swamped by layers of clothing protecting him from the perpetual chills in the air. He’d been well enough to rouse smiles, and even laughter - a precious commodity in Chris’ world - at times, but seeing him truly free from the worries he bore upon his slight shoulders was a rare sight.

Discarded, the wrappers from Chris’ so-called dinner were dumped into the top drawer of his dresser, and forgotten in an instant. His hands were quicker still to gather up one of the blankets Nana had knitted him when he was no taller than their kitchen table legs. It fit around Josh’s quaking back, held down by gentle hands, and tucked over his bunched up knees allowing only the quarter empty bottle of water and biscuit to show through. They too were eased from the brunette’s grasp, and placed upon the side table before Chris made a quiet attempt to get him to lie down. Even if he didn’t sleep, even if he wanted to talk some more, at least he’d be warm and comfortable instead of frozen, and beating himself up in the presence of an object which could really do him some harm if he ever decided to take that last, harrowing step, and use it.

“Lie down, okay? I’m….m’just gonna go speak to Mom for a bit.” He rose, moving to get off of the bed with palpable reluctance.

With equal unwillingness, Josh nodded, the movement of his head so slight that it bordered on imperceptible. The unpleasant tightness in his gut - the one that had made him cling desperately to the other boy’s hand for such a long time in prior minutes - returned at the thought of Chris’s departure.

“If..”

He was tempted to reach out to him again, to keep him there so he could stay grounded, but...

But if Chris thought this was the right thing to do then…

Listen to him.

“F’you think... O-okay...”

Again, Josh nodded in quiet acceptance before rolling onto his side to face the wall in a staggered movement, pulling his knees up and practically disappearing beneath the blanket, leaving only a telltale sock-clad foot and brown mop of hair exposed. A moment of uncertain silence opened up before he finally heard the soft sound of retreating footsteps, growing fainter as they turned the corner and descended the staircase.

Quiet. Finally. Was it quiet? Josh swallowed and braced himself for the sounds that only he seemed to hear… but no. It was quiet. For now. Almost. His breathing was loud, kept warm and close by the blanket wrapped around him, but it was steadier than before. Slower. That was good. The breathing exercises he’d done with Dr Hayward… if he could just remember those then it would help.

With his eyes closed, he inhaled through his nose.

In for four…

He held it in his chest.

Hold for… for four…

Lips parted and shoulders relaxed as he exhaled, the sound loud in the small room.

Out for eight…

Going through the motions again, concentrating on the numbers and the seconds... it was helping. He repeated the process several times.

In with the good… hold it… out with the bad...

He breathed in deeply, the familiar scent of fabric conditioner and that distinctive aroma intrinsically bound to his best friend filling him up.

...hold it…

His chest was tight, but that was okay. It felt okay.

Is he coming back?

He exhaled, pushing out the negative thoughts that threatened to worry him back into a state.

Chris’ return was heralded by the muffled padding of sock-covered feet up familiar stairs, and across the landing. His door was opened once more with unusual amounts of care, as if he wasn’t sure whether he’d be returning to a conscious Josh or not. He moved similarly, footfalls cautious, but not hesitant over the carpet.

A small tray found a home upon the dresser beside the bed. His mother, ever prepared for any number of minor catastrophes, had provided him with a couple of mugs filled with warm fruit juice, nothing too sour or complicated upon stomachs rendered tight and uncomfortable by what they’d been through as a whole over the course of the evening. That, and a promise that if Josh wanted his parents to come and pick him up then that could be arranged. It was an offer which roused something base, and wholly protective in Chris’ gut, and he looked back at her as if it was the last thing he wanted to place in front of Josh right now.

Steam unfurled in lazy curls above the two cups as Chris perched himself upon the edge of the blanket laden bed, watching where Josh had arranged himself into a shivering clump for a moment before his hand settled upon the approximate location of the older boy’s shoulder.

“.....J….you awake?”

A sigh of acknowledgement signalled that yes, the brunette was conscious, hidden there somewhere beneath the blanket. “Yeah...”

Josh was surprised by how even his voice was. It sounded tired, but nowhere near as worked up as before. It was an improvement. With another huff, he shifted restlessly beneath the blanket, just enough to expose his other foot and most of a leg.

Chris was back. He’d come back just like he knew deep down he would. The exercises had paid off.

That doesn’t change much though, does it? You’re still here when you should be out there.

Josh winced. No, that wasn’t right. He was supposed to be here. He was almost certain of it. Almost. If he thought about it hard enough it… it was true, right?

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out.

There. That was a bit better.

“Yeah, I’m awake.” He repeated, a little more confidently than before, but faltered, “I… I messed up, man…”

The confession threatened to rend fresh tears from him, but he bit them back. He’d messed up, sure. They both knew it. Everyone knew it.

You’re okay here.

He nodded to himself. That was true. It had to be true. It had been true so many times before. The room had been host to enough sleepovers and after school hangouts to convince him of that.

Think of a safe place.

Just make this your safe place.

Right, okay. He could do that.

It’s okay to ask for help.

With a little help he could do that.

Gaze still fixed on the bedroom wall, slender fingers crept out from beneath the blanket behind him on instinct, seeking sorely needed contact.

Before anything else, the thick links of the woollen blanket which was cocooned around Josh were adjusted by patient hands so that his restless limbs were covered up. Protected. The subtle warmth of fingers that had lost their former numbness closed around his palm. There was no need for words when it came to these kinds of gestures. They came all too naturally, and slipped into place in a context which called for the same kind of implicit understanding the two of them had shared for a while now.

After a while, and only once his own body had decided quite without permission to give in to the aches and echoes of his earlier bout of heroics (and stupidity), the blonde levered his legs up onto the bed, and lay down in Josh’s wake. He was close enough to sense, but save for the bond of their hands he’d left it up to the bed’s other occupant as to whether he wanted another source of warmth snuggled up to him, or if he found more solace in the bare minimum of comforting contact.

A tiny yawn went to perish upon the back of his free hand, and the sensation of sinking into several layers of down and wool was akin to a simple type of heaven. That, and knowing Josh was here. In one piece, at least physically. The shrapnel of his thoughts was something Chris could collect, gluing it all back together even if he tore his hands to shreds again in the process. The blood, the tears, all of it would be worth it in the end. Of that much even his naive teenage mind was already sure.

“.....you don’t gotta be perfect. Besides, to me, you’re….” He almost chuckled, but couldn’t quite rouse more than a rueful smile, “.....I mess up like every day, and you’re there for me, so lemme be here for you.”

See. It's alright to ask for help.

With great effort and slowness, Josh rolled over beneath the blanket to face his friend, though he didn't look at him or bridge the slight gap between them, not at first. He felt heavy now the warmth was seeping in, thawing the cold panic that had gripped him for so many hours and leaving a small tired core in its wake. He glanced up, looked away… then finally let his gaze settle on the blonde.

“Alright.”

There it was. Simple acceptance of words he'd heard and understood but hadn't yet learned the significance of. He'd let his friend help him when he didn't know how to help himself.

With a sigh of surrender, his arm found a home across the curve of Chris's waist, though a small space remained between them.

“Thanks…” he murmured wearily.

If you sleep you can switch it off.

He gave a small nod, cheek pressing against the pillow, his eyes in that hazy place between open and closed.