Work Text:
It was a warm August afternoon as me and Richard were walking down the sidewalk on our way to my house. The wind rushes past trees as kids fly past us on bicycles, laughing as they shout "go faster!". Birds fly above us, circling the roofs as if they where prey. He was ranting about something that I didn't really pay attention to, his obnoxious voice was like white noise to me at this point. Having known the boy for more than a year, its a kind of comfort always being able to hear his voice, as annoying as it is.
Its been a few months since he and I commited the murder. Since we took someones life. Toghether. He and I. Me and him. Justin and Richard. Us. Only us.
We've only grown closer since then. Sharing a persons blood on your hands is a deeply bonding experience, especially for someone like me who has no one. Or, well, no one but Richard.
His hands are waving frustratedly in the air and his unlit cigarette is bouncing off his lip with every agitated word. He does get very mad about some things. I smile to myself. Its kinda sweet honestly. How he is so easily irritated at everyone and everything other than me. I love that about him.
Then I hear it.
"Its pure tor-cher, having us run in this fuckin' weather!" He looks to me and his azure eyes bore into my more greenish ones as he studies my face. His pupils look…. Off. Sharper. "Don't you agree?"
Richard doesn't misspronounce words. He's a mastermind with them. He would never let himself misspronounce any word.
"Richard. Its torture. Not torcher." My nose wrinkles as terror sets into his eyes. Strange. "You should know this." -Somethings off about you, my brain fills in. He puts his hand to his chest, his mouth opening and his eyes widening in an offendended look. He looked me up and down, his lips twisting in a frown.
"What do you mean?" His eyes looked hurt. Confused. Truly, something panged in my chest at that. But i couldn't act on it. Richard felt off. He had since he fell.
"Its Torture." His face twisted as my voice softened slightly. I did my best to analyze it, the way his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, the way his ocean eyes studied my face almost religiously. After a few seconds, he made eye contact. I stared at him blankly. He lowered his hands, begining to fiddle with his ring.
"Ah. Gotcha." He smiled slightly with his unnaturally sharp teeth. Thats another thing that'd changed. A lot of things about him have changed. Yet he was the exact same. No one could tell he was different. Exept for me. I could tell. Richard was just, askew. "Torture. Got it."
We kept on walking. The sound of our footsteps is loud in the heat. He was quieter now. Even stranger. Richard was almost never quiet. His fiddling, our footsteps and the sound the wind are the only noise in between us. We pass by the 7/11 near my street. I bump him with my fist. He turns to me. I cock my head. His eyes widen and he makes an "aah" noise. I can see it on his face that he's seconds from overheating, and the fact that he was complaining about the heat about ten seconds ago meant he probably was in the mood for a popsicle. Even if I didn't really enjoy icecream, I could humor him for a second. Even if he didn't want Ice Cream, we could get a drink. Depends on what he wants.
"I'll pay" he said, taking my hand. My eyes widened.
Richard never held my hand. Touching me, sure, but never in public like this. I couldn't deny that it felt nice. That everyone could see that I'm his.
Not officially. Not in his eyes. But its nice to know that to an outsider, I belong.
"You never pay for shit like this. I'll pay." I say instead, giving his hand a small squeeze as he pulls me into the store. Cool air hits my face and I exhale a sigh of relief. It's like 104 ° out, and the store is a nice 64°. Richard sees this and laughs like he isn't affected, and yet he heads straight toward the small fridge for ice cream.
He picks out a Cola flavored popsicle and I take a chocolate cone. As I said earlier, I'm not an ice cream person, but Richard is. And he can't be eating ice cream alone. I pay before he has the chance to get his wallet out. The total was 1 dollar 50. I could handle it. He rolls his eyes.
I have a nagging feeling in the back of my skull though. Its gnawing at the back of my head and chewing behind my eyes. Its distracting. Its the thought that this isn't Richard.
All the small mannerisms are the same, all the behaviors, his speech pattern, his likes and dislikes, and yet, he's off. Just slightly.
I don't know how to explain it. This isn't Richard. And yet, it is. He's standing right there in front of me.
Its just the fact that Richard is dead. I saw him dead. I was there when he died. And yet, he's here. With Popsicle smeared over his lower face. Richard would never let that happen. And yet, here he is.
Richard is dead. And yet he's alive and breathing right in front of me.
I need to voice my suspicion. I need to know. But how will he view me if he knows I figured him out? I've been thinking about it for a while. Thinking about how wrong Richard feels. He's my Richard, he shouldn't feel this… off.
I take a deep breath.
"You're not Richard, are you." My hands fiddle with my shirt as I make eye contact. His eyes widen. His mouth drops open. Is he…?
Colors. So many colors. Dripping, running, oozing from his face as he melts right in front of me. Stretching, squelching unnaturally. The goop lifts itself like tentacles and branches toward me with a gross, squelching sound and I recoil. This isn't Richard. This isn't Richard.
"My imitation was supposed to be perfect…" His voice wobbles. He looks so, so scared. So small. His hands are shaking and his cigarette falls from his lip. He hadn't taken it out even when he was eating. I drop my ice cream, and it lands in the grass with a soft thud. "Don't tell anybody. Please. Don't tell anybody." He wraps me in a hug, and my breath hitches. This isn't Richard. This isn't Richard.
"I-… I wont." I whisper, reluctantly wrapping my hands around "Richard" as he slowly un-melts with a yucky noise. I hear a sob. Is he…. Is he crying? This isn't Richard. His hands slink into my hair, petting, pulling, running through the greasy strands. That is something Richard would do. But this isn't Richard. I know this. "I won't"
The classroom is quiet as a film plays on the small, rolled in TV. Its just almost over, and I can't lie when I say its one of the movies I've seen the most. Every veterans-day in history class we watch it, as well as those days when our teacher just doesn't want to deal with our rowdy asses. Today is one of those "can't be bothered" days. Its some war movie with Tom Hanks. I know Richard has seen it before. But "Richard" is crying. Quietly, but crying. Tears roll down his cheeks and drip down his chin onto his shirt. Richard's brother, Roy, is holding him and petting his hair. Roy and Richard just recently met, after Roy's stepfather died. Roy doesn't know this isn't Richard. I do though. I know. The love between them is brotherly and kind, but this isn't the brother Roy holds dearly.
"Fuck…" he whispers tearily, and Roy squeezes "Richard" closer, whispering something comforting. It hurts, knowing Roy was holding a man that wasn't his beloved brother. His brother who he loved. But I promised "Richard". So I wouldn't tell.
Roy hadn't been treated the best by the family he lived with before. Or by the people around him. I know for a fact that in Roy's eyes, love is something to be exchanged. If you give someone love he believes that they should give it back. That you should love someone unconditionally if they give you even a scrap of it. Roy was like a puppy. A very loyal, abused puppy. Who runs back to his abuser as long as he gets told he's loved afterward. But Roy loved Richard and Richard loved Roy. But this wasn't Richard.
"Why're you crying?" I asked. I'm skeptical. "Richard" explained his situation to me when we were hugging. I know he has all of Richards memories and experiences, but this is "Richards" first time as a human. His first time watching this dumb film. His first time in his brothers arms. I know why he's crying. I can't help but ask anyway. "You've seen this movie hundreds of times. So, why?"
He wipes his face, sniffling. He tries to breathe a bit.
"Sad, is all." He says, smiling slightly as Roy sits his face in "Richards" hair. Roy nods in agreement.
"Poor Ryan. So much death in his wake." Roy says into "Richards" hair. "Richard" nods. Roy smiles. He loves his brother. But this isn't Richard. Richard would never let himself cry like this. Not in public. But yet, here "Richard" is. "His mother must be devastated. Him too. His brothers died, he's the only one left. Survivors guilt ain't easy. Poor Ryan."
Roy closes his eyes and smiles fondly. So much love between them. Between Roy and his "brother". I know what happened. Roy doesn't. All Roy knows is that Richard was gone, and then he came back. But I know. I hate that I know. This isn't Richard.
I tap "Richards" bicep, and look to the hallway. He understands me immediately. He tells Roy he needs to go to the bathroom, and we both leave the classroom. I push him against the bathroom wall with my hand and he yelps as my hand sinks in. His pupils widen as my hand reaches-
"Oh- that feels good…." He whispered as I sunk into- am I in him? I move my hand up, and his face splits. First the chin, then the nose. As if I'm pulling the skin apart. It makes a gross, rubbery stretchy sound. He groans in pleasure. I remove my hand. What in-
What the fuck was that?
"You need to be more discreet." I hiss, looking around. His hand wraps around my throat as he pushes me against the opposite wall. I gasp. For a second I forget that this isn't Richard. This isn't Richard. His icy blue eyes trail my face with an emotion I can't quite read. Its not Richard, but it feels like Richard. No need for me to get sappy but I miss him. I don't need to miss him, he's right here, but this isn't Richard. Its "Richard". Big difference. A rough squeeze to my jugular snaps me out of my thoughts.
"What the fuck did you just do?" it was his turn to hiss now, eyes panicked and shirt buttons wonky from me accidentally shoving my hand between them. I look him up and down and I don't answer. He squeezes rougher this time. In the back of my mind, this is how I wanna die. Choked by my accomplice. The one who's been through everything with me. But this isn't him. It never will be. I study his face. He snarls and squeezes harder. The black dots in my vision tell me he loves me, but this isn't him. "Answer me, Justin!"
"I don't know" I wheeze, my hands weakly pushing at the bigger boy currently strangling me. Only then, he stops. His hands cup my face and stroke my hair like Richard used to. I look him in the eyes. I just stand there looking up at him. He looks down at me and keeps petting my hair. I decide to repeat what I said. "I don't know"
"Well, whatever that was it felt good." He looked away, letting go of my face now. I sighed. We need to get back to class. I look out to the hallway and he just understands. We walk in silence. I think about what just happened. Whatever just happened felt good to him. Gave him pleasure. Actual pleasure. I caused him pleasure. The thought is strange to me. I give someone pleasure. I give "Richard" pleasure.
"Ri!" Roy is sitting in another classmates lap. Alan, I think his name was. A linebacker in the football team. He was smaller than Roy is and it looked absolutely ridiculous. Especially since Roy was the Quarterback, and about a third bigger than the blonde Linebacker currently content and happy under his weight. I let them be. "Lunch is soon! Is it Okay if Al joins us?"
Alan gives a small wave, and I wave back. "Richard" grins like a madman, then wiggles his eyebrows. Roy's face goes nuclear. Alan just looks up at Roy and wiggles his eyebrows at the poor boy now flushed down below his shirt. Alan laughs and presses a quick peck to Roy's face. Roy looks away, stunned beyond words. Alan acts all nonchalant now, but I can see the faint flush on his cheeks as he looks up at the boy in his lap. "Richard" looks ecstatic.
"Of course!" he says, smiling with all of his sharp teeth. He looks to me and giggles. "Since he is your boyfriend-"
"SHUT UP!" Roy yells, and Alan pouts as if to say something. Roy goes impossibly redder. Alan gives him yet another peck and Roy rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. "I mean, fine. I guess."
Our town is pretty progressive. Its near LA after all. Lots of people here believe in homosexuality as love. I am one of them. Hell, Richard has two dads. Well, had. Richard had two dads. I support them. Love is love, I guess. But Roy and Alan's little interaction gets nothing but stares. Stares, stares, stares. I hate people who stare. One of the girls that stare is Lisa. Richards and my ex. She kissed me. I don't know if that counts as an ex. But Richard got really jealous and-
Well. He did more than Lisa did. And it felt great. He took it like a champ, too. we never really talk about that moment. But it felt good. That's all that matters. Even if he doesn't admit to it.
Back to Lisa. She's staring at Roy and Al as they sit there, minding their own, They look at each other like it's only the two of them in the world. Like the other hung the stars in the sky. Like Lisa looked at me.
Well, it's good that I'm not with her. Richard did something horrible to her and after that she doesn't want to speak to me. Its for the better.
"Richard" takes my hand and drags me to sit down by the desks and wait for lunch to arrive. Alan and Roy are being extremely sappy, and its kinda painful to watch. "Richard" sits quietly, watching with intrigue. He has to remember what we did, right? He cant not. It'd be stupid if he didn't. How can he be so perplexed with affection if he literally let me fuck him? Oh. Right. This isn't Richard.
He looks to me, and as if knowing what I'm thinking about, he flushes. All the way down to his chest. I smile internally. Roy leans over Alan's shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I roll my eyes. He giggles. Genuinely, I don't get how Richard puts up with this guy. He's so… Outward. Though, so is Richard. Well. He was. He was outward just as Roy is. This isn't Richard. This. Isn't. Richard. Get it through your dumb head, Justin. Please. This isn't Richard.
But he's right there. Laughing. Smiling. Breathing. Alive.
This isn't Richard.
The more I think about it the faster my breath comes. My throat and chest feel tight as the world swims around me. This isn't Richard. This isn't Richard. This isn't-
I try to block the thought out. Try to make sense of what's going on. Try to convince myself that this is Richard. But it isn't. I start to hyperventilate in the middle of the crowded classroom. Tears brim in my eyes. Please, don't let me cry in here. Not in front of him. But this isn't him.
This isn't Richard.
This isn't Richard.
This isn't Richard.
This.
Isn't.
Richard.
I storm out of the classroom, slamming the door behind me. I hear "Richards" hurried "Wait!" behind me. Fuck.
Im at "Richards". He invited me over after my little…. incident. He said he didn't judge me and that I wasn't weak for mourning him. I am weak for mourning him. Especially since he's right there. Right there in front of me. Alive. Breathing. Alive. Breathing.
He's next to me on the couch. His breathing is steady and clear. Alive.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
This is not Richard. The real one is dead. I can't come to peace with it. I cant. Its impossible. Especially when he's right there. Next to me. Breathing. Smelling of that hellishly expensive cologne. Alive. Wearing a silk polo and black khakis. Breathing. Giggling at whatever is playing on the kids channel right now. Alive.
This isn't Richard. He's breathing and living and watching Invader Zim. Laughing. Richard didn't like cartoons. You know by now that this isn't Richard, right? I lean back on the couch and try to control my breathing. Richard isn't dead. At least this one isn't. "Richard" turns to me and smiles. One of those winning smiles that gets girls to swoon. I don't fall for that shit.
Yet my heart flutters. Huh. Strange.
He turns the TV off, then he looks to me. His blue eyes have a red sheen to them that I haven't noticed before. I squint my eyes to try and get a better look. He smiles again, taking my hands in his own for a second before moving one of them to his neck. Richard did do this a lot. "Richards" hand is warmer than Richards was. I want to cry.
"Let me show you something." He stood up, and led me to the bathroom where the tub was filled. I had a feeling it had been waiting for me. The water was steaming, and I wonder how long ago Richard filled the tub and how warm it was when he actually filled it. Probably boiling. He stepped in, and I saw how the bottoms of his blue jeans soaked with the warm bathwater. I let go of his hand, and he frowned. I rolled my eyes. He laughed, buoyant and bright as always.
Its in moments like these when I know I love him.
"I know you told him" his voice is even. Steady. Emotionless. So… not-Richard. His lower lip trembles, and I feel sorry for him. Truly, truly sorry. I want to step in with him, clothed and all. But I know its a bad idea. A really bad idea. But something in me longs to step in, stand with him. His words register in my mind now. Told him. I told…. Who? I haven't told anybody.
"I haven't told anybody." I say, trying to keep my voice even. He grabs me by the front of my shirt and I stumble into the tub, my head hitting the porcelain as he shoves my head beneath the water.
My head hurts. My vision swims. My eyes burn with the bathwater.
I cant breathe. Probably because his hands are wrapped around my neck and my head is under water. I can make out the pure rage in his eyes as his thumbs press in behind my ears. His teeth are bared in a snarl. Ive never been scared of Richard. But this isn't Richard.
He pulls me out and I sputter for breath.
"I- I didn't-" and suddenly im under water again. Im drowning. I would've actually been fine with dying right here if this was Richard. But it isn't him. It never will be. And so I struggle against him. I thrash and kick and when he pulls me up again I see he's crying. Actual tears. He shoves me down again.
Colors.
Like when he was melting.
Colors.
So, so many colors. Red, blue, green, pink, all the colors. Colors, Colors, Colors.
I feel my world start to slip away.
I don't want to die here.
Please, don't let me die here.
I don't want to join him!
The colors float around me, swimming as my vision darkens.
.
.
.
He pulls me up and I gasp as he hugs me. Im shaking, adrenaline coursing through me rapidly as he holds my wet form in his arms. I gasp in air greedily, gulping the air down along with his dumb fucking cologne.
"Im sorry, Justin, Im so fucking sorry I didn't mean to do it im so sorry im so sorry" He cried into my already wet shirt. I just held him as I breathed. He's crying harder than I've ever seen him cry. "Richard" is a crier, I've noticed. It bothers me. But I hold him nonetheless. Were both soaked beyond belief but it didn't really bother me in the moment. He cried beautifully, though. That I could get behind.
He called me three days later.
"Meet me by the bluffs."
"Why? Is something going on?"
"Just…meet me there. Please."
Then he hung up. Panic settled in my chest and I thought that he was going to do something stupid. Something really stupid.
Or he was going to kill me. Id be okay with that.
I don't really know why he wants me to go there. Richard is never vague. But I know this isn't Richard and I think that some day, Ill come to terms with it one day. Not today though.
I decide to walk there, despite having both a drivers license and a car. I need to think. I cant think when I drive. Walking is mindless. Driving isn't.
Why is "Richard" calling me over? I haven't been there with him, and I haven't been there with Richard since the day he died due to it being an active crime scene until very, very recently. With Cassie Mayweather doing most of the investigating in private time, none of the evidence she found was valid. Hence why I'm free. Why would he want me to go there? There must be a lot of bad memories there for him. Especially because he died there. Or more like an alternate version of him with all his memories and experiences and personality. Just slightly askew. Slightly wrong. I don't think I can treat him like he's actually Richard, but I think I can live with him for now. As long as he doesn't get mad about me treating him differently to what he's used to. I hope he won't get mad. He'll kill me if he gets mad.
The sun is setting by the time I'm there and it doesn't really make sense to me. It's only 6 pm. The sun sets at 7 pm, usually. This is strange. Everything about this is strange.
He's standing in the water, clothes soaked with the seawater as it laps against his legs. He's nothing but a silhouette against the gorgeous, pink sky and for a second I let myself sink into the feeling. Into the beautiful man standing right in front of me, standing out against the beautiful sunset. I commit the sight to memory. I wonder why he's standing there in the first place.
"Richard? What're you…?" I take my shoes off and step out into the water, my hands raised like I was approaching a scared deer. He turned around and smiled sadly. He looked just like he did that night when he died. Scared, but loving. I breathed in through my nose and tried to speak again. "What're you doing?"
"Saying goodbye." he tilted his head and smiled at me kindly, but sadly. What does that mean? What does he want to do? Why does he… Why is he saying goodbye? A lump settles itself in my stomach and I take a deep, long breath in through my nose. My hands are shaking. No, scratch that, I'm shaking. I have a vague idea of what he's about to do. I don't like that thought in the slightest. "You know. So that you don't have to wonder why I killed myself."
I was right.
Oh.
Oh.
"Richard- I-.." I couldn't process it. I physically couldn't. Why would "Richard" want to kill himself? Why does he? He's happy, as far as I'm aware. He has a brother who loves him and he has parents that give him anything he asks for and he has friends! He has me! Why would he ever want to leave me? I decide to voice my thoughts. "Why do you… Why do you want to leave me? Why do you- I- Why do you wanna leave Roy?"
My voice comes out desperate and scratchy. I'm closer to crying than I'd like to be. I try to breathe.
"Because I'm guilty, Justin." Richard wades toward me and takes my hands in his. His eyes are full of love and guilt. "Guilty because I'm impersonating. Because I'm pretending to be Roy's brother and your best friend. I can't do it anymore, its eating me alive."
I'm in shock. Pure shock. Richard would never feel guilty. But this is just someone else wearing Richards face. Of course they're guilty. Of course. They're taking his face and his life and tricking everyone into thinking that they are a loved one.
I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't want that. I wanted to scream at him and tell him not to. I wanted to scream at him for lying to Roy. For leaving Roy.
I wanted to kick him until he understood. Kick him and beat some fucking sense into that dumbass nugget of his. Fucking asshole.
He snapped me out of my thoughts abruptly by grabbing my shirt. I melt into the kiss. His lips are chapped and warm, and I just can't help it. I cup his face as he pushes me away.
"Goodbye" he says, smiling before beginning to walk into the water.
All I could do is stare as he disappeared below the surface. Now he is no more.