Chapter Text
Everyone in town knew that Ryan and Hunter had something going on. It lingered in the halls of their school, of the servo when Ryan went to get fries and a slushie, at church when they’d both rush out one after the other, it was a "don't ask don’t tell” situation. It worked. It worked well. Until Naim moved to Bandi.
Suddenly it was as if the air stood still around the two boys, as if Naim could will all the oxygen out of a room. Out of their lungs. Their sneaking glances, lingering conversations, small bickerings, gone.
Now it was as if all eyes were piercing them, staring into their hearts, witnessing their sin unfold even when they sat across the room from each other. It was terrible. Suddenly Ryan found himself alone. Incomprehensibly alone. He could hear his heart beating during lunch, the silence surrounding his long empty table. Hunter didn’t have it as rough: he was still the pastor’s son. Still angelic in the eyes of Bandi and their make believe saints of sin. For weeks Ryan sat alone at lunch, walked like a ghost through the halls of a school that once felt warm, found himself avoiding alleyways on the way home and avoiding the servo. Avoiding his yearn for touch.
The Hell he had been promised in church simply for being in love with a boy sounded like heaven in comparison to the treatment he received from his peers. It wasn’t so rare for Ryan to come home with blood on his sleeves or bruises lining his arms like cheetah print. He would open his locker to detailed death threats. Run to the abandoned mill with boys chasing him, often Hunter’s friends, shouting promises of violence and correction for the “Fairy of Bandi”. It was in these times that he found the comfort of the darkness. The way the night could change a day so hot it melted skin from bone into a cool pond of mist and wind. The way it was silent enough to hear your own breathing and safe enough to travel places. He wished that school could be at night. At least then the walks home wouldn’t be so unbearable in the tacky uniforms. Although, it wouldn’t make going any better.
No one was there to be with him. His “friends” were gone. Lunch hour passed him by with creeping time. He swore they paused the clocks as soon as he entered the room just to have a laugh. Whoever “they” are. Every lunch he does the same thing: get in line, grab a tray, sit at whatever table is left empty, wait until the final hour bell rings.
“ah.. can I sit here?” The voice felt like it came from inside of him, a cry for help, but when Ryan looked up he saw soft green-brown eyes and fluffed up hazelnut hair staring down at him, tray in hand. Ryan blinked, the bright fluorescent light blinding him. How long had he spent staring at the floor? At his empty tray? The bruises on his arm and hands.
“If you want to be..” he huffed out the air in his lungs and gestured across the table for the boy to sit down, “.. yeah you can sit,” Ryan’s tone reflected the broken and brittle feeling deep in his chest. He poked at the slots in his tray where the wash couldn’t get off all the scum.
“Uhm. Ahe..” Naim clears his throat, taping the table gently as he grazes at Ryan, “I’m.. I’m Na-“ Ryan cuts him off abruptly.
“I know who you are, Naim,” he says his name like it’s poison and suddenly feels bad, “we have the same English and math class.. you’re always looking at your sketchbook.” He says the second part much softer, like it’s some secret they share, or like Ryan is a sneaky cunt who’s been trying to stare into this book for two weeks to learn about him. Ryan sniffles slightly, “Do you ever do the work?” He teases the question with a small, forced, smirk.
“Wh..” Naim is taken aback and furrows his brows, “Why yes,” he sneers playfully, “I’m actually quite a good writer I’ll have you know,” he’s smiling at Ryan who is still looking at the table, “I can’t image you do much if you’re staring at me all the damn time,” he’s less playful this time and immediately regrets it when he sees Ryan’s face harden up a little. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “it’s— I wasn’t —“ he can’t manage a sentence out before Ryan gets up , his tray swinging to his side, and promptly starts to leave Naim at the table alone.
“I get shit done just fine.” Ryan spits it at Naim, back to poison. He didn’t know where to walk to as he drifted through the halls. He just knew that anywhere was better than next to Naim. Because next to Naim meant facing something real.
He stopped in the middle of the hallway, hot tears running down his face quicker than he could stop them. Ryan didn’t even know why he was crying, why this white hot ball sat in his chest like the sun in the sky, why he felt the need to try and protect himself from someone who wanted him. From the only person who wanted him. He kicked the trash can next to him, slamming it into the lockers and coughed out a laugh.
It felt like days had passed when the bell finally rang and Ryan was released from the hell of his English class. As he slid his satchel over his shoulder, shrugging it into place, a foot bumped his shaking Ryan from his daze.
“..ah.. Sorry.. For earlier..” it was the same ‘cry for help’ voice from lunch, the same ‘made from heaven’ boy that he threw away. Persistent at the very least. “I didn’t mean to upset you.. Really.. I just.” in the silence between them the bustle of people leaving became overwhelming. The same lingering Ryan felt with Hunter. The warm hot ball of light. They both let the silence stretch on, neither daring to break it.
“Mh.” Ryan finally mustered, his throat was dry and he could feel the enamel of his teeth breaking apart from how hard he was gritting them. Their shoes were still touching and Naim was standing close enough to smell. It was faintly sweet, like caramel popcorn, and Ryan hated it. Hated that they were touching, hated the feeling of wanting something. Of needing something like this. “Whatever, you can have the table–”
“No, the point was to sit together,” Naim's voice came out just above a whisper. Everyone had cleared out now and it was just the two of them standing in the beige emptiness together. “...ah but.. I..” Naim stuttered the words and cleared his throat. Ryan could hear him picking at the ring around his neck, the small clattering against his too short nails. “..I get if uh” Ryan resented the pauses in Naim speech. He resented how opposite he was from Hunter.
He walked home alone, the dust-dirt road and cracked sidewalk a welcome known. At least he could physically see the instability of his town instead of some perfect picket fence.
“Ah our favorite queen,” Macco chirped. The rest of the boys laughed in unison, except for Hunter. There wasn’t enough dirt road between Ryan and them for him to make a run for it and escape, but it was enough for a head start. “Where you goin Cunt?” There was venom in his words and Ryan knew the fall of footsteps behind him meant that resistance was futile. But still he had hope. He dropped his satchel into a bush and ran harder, he wasn’t so much scared as he was desperate. No one would help him. No one was coming to save him. He had to save himself. He took a sharp turn into the forest and ran straight for the empty wheat field across from the mill. They must have all ran in different directions for about ten minutes before finally one of the boys found Ryan hunched over behind a tree. He was out of breath and covered in dirt.
“Oi.. cunt..” The voice was ragged, like it hadn’t spoken in some time, it was followed by a choked sob, ‘Stand up.. We’re gonna settle this…” Ryan knew there was no weight to the words. He knew this voice, this shadow covering his own.
“Just sit down, Hunter.” He was still out of breath and aware of his vulnerability, but Hunter obeyed and leaned his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “Why do you keep up with them?” It was supposed to be a question but came out more as a plea, a choked begging for this soft violent love to have some meaning beyond an outlet.
“Keep.. I don’t know.. They won’t..” Hunter stumbles out his fragments in Ryan’s shoulder, “Ryan..” He moves his hand over to the silver rings lining Ryan’s hand. The snake his favorite to trace. There is silence between them as the leaves rustle around them but it isn’t the same silence as before. Ryan finds no longing in the grass waving at his sneakers, no wanting in the hand grazing him. He only finds emptiness. Only finds that he wishes it could be some other boy. Some other place.
“..you know what we have to do..” Ryan’s words are cold, he feels the emptiness spreading within him. This needs to happen quickly before anyone else finds them and they both know it. “..please let’s just get it done so I can leave.” the words leave his mouth with sadness, a sort of grief. Slowly the boys rise to meet each other eye to eye and Ryan can see the tear streaks on Hunter’s face. This has to be the last time this happens.
Ryan throws the first punch hitting Hunter squarely in his jaw. There is no twinge of pain on his face, just a small grunt that leaves him. In turns they fight and wrestle each other. Jaw, ribs, eyes, lips. Both boys struggling with the same thing, both sins equal to each other. This is their eye for an eye for the final time. Ryan’s fingers entwine Hunter’s dark curls and his knuckles feel the tree bark as they fall deeper into the forest; It is less wrestling violence and more wrestling lust. Small jabs at each other’s ribs, the soft parts of their bellies. Clawing at each other’s backs as their lips graze, cheek bones bloodied, until finally they find the rough curve of each other falling into the muddy grass. Mixing cigarette butts and each other’s blood, swallowing the desires of each other one hungry kiss at a time. When they finally part the sun is setting and they look like they’ve tried to camouflage for hunting. Hunter’s face is soaked in tears, saliva, and Ryan’s blood.
There is an empty pit in their hearts where the other once sat.