Chapter Text
Maybe it was beautiful - her hair, his hair, their hands tangled and their faces bitten red in the cold. Their embrace bordering a kiss. Francis wondered if he was supposed to be happy about it, that Nate had finally got a girlfriend, the girlfriend Francis had been teasing him about for so long.
Sitting in the grass, telling him he was sure a girl liked him. He was so pretty, certainly, certainly someone would.
Instead, here he was in the cold. The bitter cold, choking on his words while they giggled to themselves over something Nate said.
"Hey, Francis."
Turn into the bright light, to the stand of judges. Spell: diminution. Definition: the act or process of becoming less.
He stuttered on the u and got second place.
***
Maybe he could be successful in something else. Throw himself into his academics. Prove, somehow, that he was good enough at something.
A B grade hits and stings, stays there, unfixable.
A 3.97 GPA.
He cries in his room over a valedictorian speech already written, even though it doesn't matter, it's middle school, it doesn't matter. Get up off of the floor.
Gina would be writing her speech by now. Maybe smiling. Maybe nervous. Could she even write speeches?
3.97.
He could do so much better.
In the other room, a phone begins to ring. Francis ignores it, wipes his tears from the bottom of his chin. They make his skin hurt.
"Francis, it's Nate!"
How can he care so little? Make everything so small? Francis envies him with more strength than he had ever felt possible.
He picks up the phone.
***
"Hi, Nate."
"Why hello, Francis."
"Why are you calling me?"
"Straight to the point, huh?"
Yes, to the point. Silence stretches with only Nate's breathing on the other end. Soft. Deliberate.
"Okay, then."
He talks and talks. About his girlfriend, how happy he is to have her. How weird Francis was acting in Friday, is he okay or just jealous? But seriously, is he? He talks about something Teddy said, about a lot of basketball free throws he missed, and on and on.
Francis wonders if Nate even noticed when he hung up.
***
The rain falls slowly, turning Francis' room grey. He's hunched over a book, trying to catch the words swimming off of the page. He couldn't understand it, doesn't understand. He's not good at all of the things he used to be good at. He's infinitely failing, always falling behind.
"Go to bed!"
Right, it's late. A voice mumbles something about how nervous he is. Is it from above? God, he's tired.
He leans over the sink in his bathroom, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. He spits mint into the porcelain. Thinks about promised sleepovers. Dies a little inside.
His face still looks the same. It's weird because he murdered the child who lived in that skin first. Sometimes he thinks maybe he'll see someone else's eyes staring back at him.
(Nate's smile, telling Francis he's still his best friend. Even if he cuts his hair.)
The mirror blurs. Francis struggles in the dark to find his glasses.
***
Seventh grade. Nate is talking, something about a girl. Always about a girl or a teacher or whatever shit he's going through. Francis is there, always there because he is a good friend. Nate's best friend, in fact.
Suddenly he stops, hesitating. His eyes fill at the sides, half bursting.
Francis is a deer in headlights, trapped.
"She's not doing well."
He pauses.
"What?"
"She's... God, I shouldn't be telling you this. She's really depressed, Francis."
He chokes. Francis doesn't know where to look, at Nate? At the table? Out the window?
"Oh. I'm sorry, Nate."
Horrible apology. Try again.
"It's fine. I just... I don't like her. I mean, I like her, she's nice and all, but..."
"Yeah. Are you gonna...?"
"I can't."
He can't be afraid. He's looking Nate right in the eye, thousands of miles separating them in the form of a wooden table at the library. Francis is reaching out and Nate is turning away to face a far away sea, an ocean Francis has failed to see.
He was never the type of person to drown.
"What... What do you mean?"
"I don't know what she'll do if I do."
"To you?"
Deep breath in. Hold it.
"To herself."
He can't breathe underwater. He's drowning and choking on salt.
"Can you... Can you get help?"
"I don't know how. She says... She's trying. She's got a therapist and everything. She's just..."
"Oh."
"Yeah. I dunno what to do. If I... If I leave, it'll be my fault. She'll be..."
"I'm so sorry."
"You don't need to apologize."
"It's all I can do."
"Yeah. I know."
He was supposed to stand up. To say sorry anyway. To give Nate a hug. Something to make it hurt less.
He never showed up to the funeral. Teddy said Nate didn't cry. He didn't ever cry.
***
At the eighth grade graduation, they throw confetti to pretend getting to high school is what has been talked about for years. Teddy cries. Nate screams. Francis smiles through something half-imagined.
He ignores the pounding headache and the television static running through his head, trying to look out at the audience without falling over.
He is handed roses, their petals falling off and dyed bright yellow, browning at the edges.
"Smile!"
Someone tells him he's forcing it. Francis flinches, hands shaking.
"Your hands are bleeding, dude."
Nate's standing there with his crooked smile, all shiny in his new suit. His eyes waver.
"What?"
"The roses are poking your hands, I think. The blood's getting all over you."
"O-oh. Right, yeah. Could I...?"
"Yeah man, of course. Cone to the bathroom so we can wash your hands."
"But what about-"
"Teddy can wait, and so can she. And my family."
He never says her name.
He doesn't have to if Francis already knows exactly who she is.
"Woah, Francis, are you-"
***
Sitting in Teddy's bedroom, the summer before seventh grade. It's nighttime, some hour with a name slurred on the microwave door. They're sitting in a circle, Francis and Teddy and Nate, Teddy lying on his back and almost trying to sleep, Nate rubbing his hands over his legs like he always does when he can't sit still, Francis sitting next to Nate and trying to catch his breath.
"Tell me a secret, Francis," whispers Nate, leaning closer to Francis.
"Huh?"
"Something you've never told anyone before."
"I don't really want to."
His hands are sweating, he's trying to bite his tongue.
"Teddy's asleep. You don't have to worry about that."
"No, that's not the problem."
"Oh."
A pause.
"Then what is?"
"What is what?"
"The problem."
"I... I dunno. You already know everything about me."
"I'm sure I don't."
"I... I don't owe you anything."
Nate looks away suddenly, moving away, shifting further-
"Nate, I-"
***
"Wha...?"
"Oh god, Francis..."
"What? What did I-"
"You fainted, Francis! You blacked out! I had to catch you and you... Oh god. You're in the bathroom," Nate snivels. Looks away to hide his probably wet eyes. "I carried you all the way over because I didn't want anyone else to worry."
Nate's crying. Because of him. Francis is a failure. He should have just stayed awake.
"I'm... I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize. You didn't mean to."
"I could have prevented it."
"You know that's not true."
"We all watched him fall."
"Shut up!"
"I... Wha?"
"I'm a failure, Nate! A failure! You can stop lying to my face and tell me the truth!"
"I am telling the truth, Fran, what are you-"
"The truth, Nate!"
"You're my best friend, I would never lie to you-"
"You're a liar!"
"Hear him in the bathroom?"
"Yeah, he's getting real mad."
"I... Fran... Breathe with me, okay? In for four-"
"They can all hear us, Nate!"
"Out for four..."
"Shut up!"
"I... Okay. Okay, I will. I'm listening."
He breathes, only for a second, trying to focus on Nate's face. It looks scared.
Francis feels his chest rising and falling, heaving and clawing. He's a monster.
It's quiet.
For once.
Nate's face merges and unmerges, turns into something recognizable across the sticky linoleum floor.
His eyes are shining in the lights.