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They weren’t the only ones, but they were the only ones that mattered. Every single time season one was mentioned, he thought of it- the exact moment it all was destroyed.
Broomer turned up the volume, trying to drown his thoughts.
They were all in love with dying, they were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain.
His teeth habitually clenched. Almost every single word brought it back. He didn’t want to be a coward, he didn’t want to be anything but the strong, careless boy he was known as back then.
But something had changed since then, and he knew exactly what it was. Broomer’s hand scavenged the floor, looking for the bottle. He grabbed it tightly, as if someone was going to take it away, and took another drink. Taking a blink, he let his eyes unfocus.
He knew exactly what happened that day. At least some part of him did. At one time, he could only recall bits and pieces, but those would jump around so frequently that he could remember and forget the whole day in an hour.
There was nothing to do, no way to go back. The trope was so overused- the concept of wishing and wanting to go back to save something that was hopeless in the first place- but it was a trope that Broomer continued to fall into.
He didn’t realize that the glass was still against his lips until he took another swig. The Chocolate Rain washed away his sorrows, taking away all of the people he wished he could’ve saved, for better or for worse.
He was alone in his room, the open window letting in oppressively cold air. The air lazily attempted to knock the bottle out of his hands, and he could almost hear Chalky’s voice in it. “Broomer, please, you have to at least try to stop. I don’t know how I can keep putting up with this,”
“I know, I know,”
Broomer responded to the wind, and of course, got no response of his own. The bottle slid out of his hand and onto the floor. The liquid that had just been his solace pooled at his feet, causing him to let out a sigh.
Broomer closed his eyes. Life wanted to keep giving him easily preventable, mild, inconveniences, and he was helpless to it. It wasn’t like dropping his drink was the worst thing that had happened to him, but it sure was making him teeter on his breaking point.
Broomer curled his legs closer to him, trying to get them away from the beer. He hated getting wet, but he didn’t feel like cleaning it up or getting up to move. He just tried to ignore the coolness.
Some will fall in love with life and drink it from a fountain that is pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain.
The lyrics subconsciously worked their way into his thoughts. He used to be relatively happy with his life, when he had people to live for. He had never been one to live for himself, no matter how much he wanted to say that he did to uphold his tough persona.
He could hear Chalky’s voice again. “Broomer, you’re gonna have to get up. You can’t just sit here forever, it’s not good for you,”
Broomer’s lips trembled. Even though his own thoughts were becoming incomprehensible, Chalky’s words were clear as day.
“I’m sorry, Broomer, I just can’t… deal with this anymore,”
Broomer closed his eyes. The black that resulted started warping, and he could tell he was about to pass out. He didn’t mind, because his dreams were just the same memories he had relived every single day. It wasn’t like it hurt more to relive it 18 times instead of 17 a day.
As the dreams usually did, it started in early season one. Broomer was leaning back on the couch, watching the others in their shenanigans.
English Muffin was watching TV, and Click was asleep. Mango was looking longingly out the window for some reason, Nail was running around, high on sugar, and Cracker was trying and failing to do karaoke.
Broomer was only interested in what Chalky and Micro were doing, though. They were playing a card game that Broomer didn’t care enough about to look into, and they looked like they were having a lot of fun. Broomer let out an audible sigh, as if he didn’t want to get up and walk over to them, asking what they were doing.
Micro smiled at Broomer, who immediately noticed the near-empty box of pizza next to him. Broomer raised his eyebrows: the pizza had arrived 5 minutes ago.
“I’m great, Broomer! Do you wanna play shithead with us?”
Broomer let out a short laugh. He hadn’t heard of that one before.
“Nah, I’ll just watch,”
Micro shrugged cheerily, and the two went back to playing, now with Broomer watching.
Broomer wasn’t stupid; he knew it was a dream. He could tell by the feelings eating away at him, telling him to try to change what was happening, telling him that even if he wanted to, there was no way to change it. He didn’t bother, he had learned from the countless dream simulations that the least painful thing to do was just to let it play out.
Broomer leaned back and watched them, not taking in a single thing they were doing. He could only stare at their faces, switching between who he was looking at every few seconds. They were cute, he liked when they were happy. He didn’t at the time.
Chalky won the game. Micro let out a sigh, but he obviously wasn’t upset at all. Nevertheless, Chalky leaned forward and gave Micro a peck on the cheek.
At the time, Broomer didn’t realize why, but he could feel his throat closing up when he saw Chalky kissing Micro. In the dream, instead of jealousy, all he could feel was regret.
Broomer stood up and put his hands on his hips, glancing back to the couch that he had come from. “I’m gonna go to bed if either of you are tired.”
Chalky raised an eyebrow, but smiled at him. Micro was too busy putting the cards back in their box to care.
Broomer had trudged back over to the couch, laying down and staring at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mango walking over to a different room, and English Muffin trying to wake up Click. Soon enough, Chalky and Micro had finished cleaning their game, and everyone else had gone in a different room.
It was a sleepover between all of the boys, just a party to get the contestants used to each other. There had been a vote on if they should’ve invited Muffin and Moonstone, but it was a unanimous no- besides Cracker grumbling a bit afterwords about how he wished Muffin was allowed. In fact, it was a close vote on some of the boys too, but they all were invited. Chocolate Bar had been gracious enough to allow the eliminated participants to interact so closely with those still in since they were over halfway done with the show and he wanted to let them celebrate a bit.
Broomer remembered how Chalky came up to him, getting close enough for Broomer to feel his heart pounding. He remembered how Micro sat on the edge of the couch, looking back at the two with a smile. He remembered how Chalky awkwardly cleared his throat before asking-
“Do you seriously believe you’re in the right here?”
Broomer sat up suddenly. That was… not how it had gone.
Chalky narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to Broomer. “This is your fault, Broomer. You’re the reason everything fell apart.”
Broomer was obviously taken aback. Never before had his dreams just jumped to something like that, it was always his conscious thoughts that tormented him. Chalky brought his hand up and caressed Broomer’s face just as Broomer had always hoped he would do in real life.
“Kiss me while you still can.”
Furiously, Broomer grabbed Chalky and kissed him on the lips, just as he had been told to. The two wrapped their arms around each other, closing their eyes.
But then, Broomer’s hands started fumbling. Chalky was quite literally disintegrating in front of him. Broomer pulled back, his eyes wide, but Chalky was already gone.
“What?”
Micro let out a sigh, and Broomer turned to him. “Look, Broomer, I wish it worked out just as much as you do. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
A crack echoed from the leftmost wall, and suddenly, the window completely shattered. Water started pouring into the room, electrocuting Micro as soon as it reached him.
Broomer blinked a few times, his eyes filling up with tears. “No…”
His eyes shot open, and he immediately vomited. The chocolate beer spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor. His head was already spinning.
Once Broomer’s vomiting spasm had ceased, he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. It was just a dream, and he was awake. There was nothing to be upset about.
Even then, his mind still forced him to relive that day. It had resumed right when Chalky was about to ask the damning question. Broomer remembered how he felt at that moment, how nervous, how unsure, how… eager he was. Micro leaned in next to him, both of them too close to Broomer to be considered just friendly. The thought was furthered when Chalky continued talking.
“Broomer… I, uh, have a question,”
“Yeah?”
Broomer could feel both of their breaths. It was cold, but he could feel his temperature steadily increasing.
Chalky and Micro shared a look before Chalky continued. “I can tell there’s something up with you. Do you, uh, by any chance, like one of us?”
Broomer had been nervous when he was leading up to the question, and he had honestly expected it, but it still made his heart stop. He didn’t know how to answer.
“Both,”
Chalky blinked a few times. “What?”
Micro’s eyes widened, his attention being hooked. Chalky looked off to the side awkwardly with a little smile. The three of them subconsciously shifted a barely noticeable distance closer to each other.
Micro started slowly raising his hands and wrapping them around Chalky and Broomer, obviously trying to initiate something. Chalky was obviously more than willing to do something, and Broomer was leaning into it, until…
Broomer shook his head. “Both… both of you, get away from me. I’m not like that,”
That was where the memory chose to take a break.
Broomer opened his eyes clenched his teeth. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say there; was he supposed to throw away everything that had been instilled in him since childhood for two guys who he probably hated anyways?
Broomer hadn’t told many people about himself- keeping up his persona- so it just sat inside of him, threatening the spill out just like the beer had. He grew up with his parents, and they were a happy family for a while. As happy as they could be when they were dirt poor because his father spent all his money on an assortment of alcohol. As happy as they could be when his father just left one day, and Broomer’s mother was left to pick up the pieces. As happy as he could be when his father’s addiction was passed onto him.
His parents made sure to tell him how important it was that he grow up, find a good woman, and continue the Broomington family name. He had never even thought it possible for a man to fall in love with another man, much less two of them.
Yet there he was, crying over them.
Having found a fact to grasp, Broomer focused his attention on his father. Was it fair to blame him? He had been the reason why Broomer started drinking in the first place. He had pretty much forced him to start, in fact, when he handed 16-year-old Broomer a bottle and glared at him until he took a drink. When he finished the bottle, his father had smiled and pat him on the back, congratulating him on becoming a real man.
He hadn’t even told Chalky, and that was the main reason why Chalky had cut him off. He didn’t understand why he was drinking so much, he didn’t understand why he was so closed off, he didn’t understand him at all.
It made it all the more worse to see Chalky walking around, talking with Latte as if Broomer was just a bad page in his history. Broomer wasn’t mad at either of them by any means, but he was… he didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous.
The way Chalky laughed with Latte, the way Latte would lightly brush his hand across Chalky’s face, the way they would kiss- he wanted to yell at them. It was no different than what Chalky had done with Micro, and no different than what the two of them had done with Broomer.
Despite his raising, he eventually had gotten with Chalky and Micro. He apologized for how it had started, they forgave him, and the three were in an awkward relationship for a bit. He could feel the underlying tension that followed his initial dismissal of them, but he ignored it. He had a suspicion that neither of them liked him as much as they liked each other, but that didn’t matter. They had been the ones to come to him in the first place, and he liked them enough to drown out any doubts he would’ve had. Well, love in the realest way that Broomer could feel it.
Broomer let out a sigh, wishing he hadn’t dropped his bottle. He needed another drink. He begrudgingly stood up and walked to his fridge.
He didn’t even know what he grabbed next, but he didn’t care, He just popped it open and started chugging, almost tripping because he tried to walk without looking where he was going.
“Come on, Broomer, I need to take you to rehab. I don’t wanna lose you like I lost Micro,”
Broomer clenched his fists. Chalky’s voice kept assaulting his mind, it kept mocking him, reminding him of what they used to have. After Chalky had said that, Broomer had broke down. He sunk to the ground, crying, the only word coming out of his mouth being ‘we.’
‘We lost Micro.’ Chalky thought he was the only one who cared about Micro’s death, especially after that stupid Moonstone told him he was. It was completely her fault, not at all contributed to by the fact that he was so preoccupied at the funeral.
…He cared, but he didn’t know how to show it. He hadn’t cried in years, he wasn’t going to let himself be weak then. Showing weaknesses while at one’s most vulnerable is the for-sure way to get taken advantage of- at least that’s what Broomer was taught.
Broomer wasn’t stupid- he knew how unlikeable he had been. After all, he was the first one out in season one.
But he was made to be like that. He had been hardened by life, hardened by his father, hardened by alcohol. That was just the way it was.
That was why he hated himself for caring about Micro and Chalky. He hated that he cared about them, and they didn’t care about him as much as he wanted them to. He cared about them enough to make up for it, but it was still something he so desperately wanted- to be so desperately wanted.
Micro and Broomer had shared over ten kisses before Micro died. It wasn’t much, but it was almost enough for him.
Broomer took another drink.
Micro was funny, he was somewhat charismatic in his own strange way, and he was unserious. Broomer loved all of that about him. There were countless times Broomer found himself being cheered up by his antics, laughing along with him and Chalky and sometimes even being able to forget about everything he hated.
Chalky was joyful, fun, and somewhat suave. Broomer loved him, maybe even shamefully a bit more than Micro. He and Broomer got along perfectly. Broomer just felt so comfortable with him.
It was all going relatively well until Micro’s passing. Broomer found himself screaming and crying into his pillow every day for three months after that, mourning Micro and all that he had lost. He hated thinking about how sometimes he cried more so out of pity of himself rather than the man who had lost his life.
Chalky and him didn’t talk for a bit after that, but they rekindled. It was just them two after Micro’s death, and of course, it felt empty. Broomer’s drinking had been as little as once a month before Micro’s death- it turned into once a week, then once a day, then twice a day, then…
“Broomer, please! It’s not healthy for you, and I’m scared of you when you’re drunk!”
Most of Chalky’s and Broomer’s interactions became arguments after that. Chalky wanted to move on- somewhat ironic as he was the ‘only one who cared’ about Micro- and Broomer drank less to forget and more to feel good. Neither of them were happy.
It was a surprisingly long time before Chalky finally broke up with Broomer. Broomer could tell that Chalky had been eyeing one of the season two newcomers, but he never thought much of it.
Until once day, Broomer had been cooling down from a long walk when Chalky walked in on him, looking grim and determined. Broomer leaned in to give him a drunken kiss, by routine. Chalky leaned back.
“I’m done.”
“What?”
“I… I’m sorry, Broomer. You’re always drunk, and we don’t talk to each other- I- I kissed Latte,”
That was the moment Broomer’s heart actually froze. Not his father shutting the door, not Micro’s funeral- nothing else.
“I… What the hell did you just say!?”
Chalky narrowed his eyes. “I’m breaking up with you. We’ve both messed up, neither of us are good for each other. It just isn’t worth it.”
Broomer sunk to the ground. “Latte?”
Chalky turned and started walking away, his words progressively getting quieter. “It was yesterday. I was drunk, just like I can tell you are right now. I messed up, I know.”
Broomer punched the ground.
They were all in love with dying, they were drinking from a fountain that was pouring like an avalanche coming down the mountain.
The memories were starting to blur together at that point. The people were distinct, but some of the events were repeated, cut entirely, or smeared. Maybe it was because of how tired Broomer was, maybe it was because it had been so long, maybe it was because he was so drunk. In the time it took for Broomer to relive his breakup with Chalky, he had finished the bottle he was drinking and moved on to the next. His breathing was shallow.
Over the following few months, Broomer had only gotten worse. He found himself having a prolonged depressive episode, and his drinking problem got worse and worse. He had tried to avoid talking to anyone, and spent most of his time sleeping.
Whenever he did go out, he would always see them. Every single time, without fail, he would see Chalky and Latte, the stereotypical happy couple, passing him by.
Well, he had seen them arguing a fair bit of times, but they always seemed to work it out. They always found a way to return to being exactly what Broomer wanted. Exactly what Broomer hated.
He finished another bottle and grabbed one more. He swore it would be the last one, the promise being just as good as Chalky’s when he said he would love him forever. He took a drink, his breathing was slow.
He hated every single one of the contestants. He couldn’t even convince himself that there was anyone he hated more or less than the others. He had always had fun picking on Nail, but at that point, Nail was just as meaningless as everyone else. He had liked Chalky and Micro, he had loved them, but Micro was dead and Chalky had become just as meaningless as everyone else.
The only one Broomer cared about was himself at that point, and the only reason he cared about himself was because he cared enough to hate himself. He finished another bottle. He was getting dizzy.
He was trying to blame his father, to blame Micro, to blame Moonstone, to blame Chalky, to blame Latte, to blame himself. He was the only one he could trust in that moment- outside of his room, there was no way to know if anything else was real. He was too drunk to realize anything else was real.
And one by one, everyone else started disappearing. Their faces were washed away with the alcohol.
Broomer was much more than just what he had lost, he was more than his bad traits. He knew this, he tried in vain to tell himself it over and over, yet he was drinking yet another bottle despite his promise to himself that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t stand anymore.
He lay against his fridge, his arm barely being able to reach the another bottle. He grabbed it and drank it, not tasting or feeling anything as he did. His vision was blurry.
I don’t mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows.
Broomer retched and threw up on himself. He didn’t care enough to be disgusted by it. His eyes were completely unable to focus on anything, but they did show him splotches of color that only served to make him more dizzy. The dark room was illuminated by the dull orange and yellow.
I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes.
There was a faint taste of beer on his lips, and the faint taste of Chalky and Micro too. Broomer sighed- he was so out of it that he was imagining them being with him again. Some of the alcohol dripped from his mouth, so he licked his lips to savor it. At least he tried to; his tongue didn’t even move.
Cinnamon and sugary, and softly spoken lies.
Micro tasted like cinnamon, Chalky tasted like sugar. They kissed him and smiled at him, and told him he would be okay. He told them he would love them forever. They told him they would love him forever.
Broomer blinked a few times when he saw a flash of grey. Was it Micro? He had wanted to talk to Micro for so painfully long, it only made sense that he was finally getting his chance. But the grey disappeared just as it had come.
With a sigh, Broomer reached up. His arm could barely reach the last bottle.
He was hardly able to open it because of how weak his arms had gotten. He was shaky, tired, dizzy, and confused. The drinks were the only thing that would help.
And help it did. His vision turned a beautiful lavender color, and all the pain stopped besides a throbbing in his head. He was feeling numb and tingly where he leaned against the fridge and floor, and the parts of him that were just against the air were freezing cold, but still comfortable.
He looked around, but everything was purple. It was progressively getting darker, but it remained purple until it became completely black.
His tastebuds were numb, his nerves were frozen, his vision was obscured, and he could only smell alcohol. However, he could hear a slight creaking noise and a muffled voice.
A pressure fell on his hand, and the incomprehensible sounds completely died out. Everything was gone. The hand against his felt familiar.
You never know just how you look through other people’s eyes,