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Chester notices things that Mapplethorpe doesn't say himself. He notices the limp in his walk after a particularly long night of crazy fun, the hand that lingers on his hip. Almost as if he's holding his dead body together. Chester hears small, almost inaudible groans of pain escape the other boy's lips when he turns from dust to a person. Chester didn't think much of it–Mapplethorpe wasn't alive anymore. Could he still feel pain? He thinks he can't, the groans of pain and hunched posture say otherwise.
Chester ignores it for as long as he can. Checking in softly when his pain is too bad to go unnoticed. Mapplethorpe reacted the same every time. Cracking a joke with a smile filled with joy, effectively taking Chester's mind away from himself. Chester likes to think that if Mapplethorpe really needed him, he would ask. He's not so sure about that anymore.
It's a random day at the park when Chester notices again. Mapplethorpe, who usually runs to greet him at the gate, slowly walks up with a pained smile.
“Up for another night of fun?” Mapplethorpe asks, but his jaw is tight, lips pressed together in pain after speaking. “Gonzo’s got some wild music playing, you'll love it.”
Chester just stares, analyzing Mapplethorpe as he stands in front of him. He must've stayed quiet for too long. By the time he comes back to himself, Mapplethorpe's fidgeting with the ring on his hand, his eyes running over Chester anxiously. He's worried he's said something wrong. They've both been on edge since their last fight, Chester saying things he couldn't really take back after Mapplethorpe heard them. He's been coming every night to make it up to him, bringing him whatever he needs and wants. He hates the words they spit out when they're angry, but the days following have been filled with endless fun to get rid of the pit in their stomachs. It's been great, but Mapplethorpe is visibly worried.
Like he could say something that would make Chester leave him.
“You okay?” Chester finally says.
“Course I am, why wouldn't I be?” Mapplethorpe speaks a lot softer, like it hurts to speak any louder–only then does Chester notice that he's holding his lower back.
“Just…I don't know.” He pauses. “You seem like you're in pain or something? Didn't think that was possible for a ghost.” Chester wants to laugh, but the weight of remembering Mapplethorpe's death hits hard. He just stares at the blonde boy again.
Mapplethorpe looks like he wants to make a joke, throw his hands over Chester's shoulders and bring him over to the merry-go-round. But there's something that stops him, an invisible force pulling him back from his usual actions. Mapplethorpe swallows, choking back what Chester thinks is a groan of pain. He sees Mapplethorpe's chest, his heart doesn't beat anymore, but there's still air coming out of his nose. The sound of his breath comes out at an abnormal speed, he's clearly in some sort of pain. Chester doesn't really care how it's possible–he just wants to help. He hates seeing him in pain.
“I-..” Mapplethorpe's words get caught in his throat. “I can't do this, just-...go home for today, Chester.” He turns around, like he's ready to flee. “I'm fine.”
Chester can't even get a word in before Mapplethorpe walks away, his legs limping as he walks. Chester can't handle it, seeing the other in so much pain. He can't explain how it tugs at his heart. He doesn't let Mapplethorpe get far–after a few long steps, he's already caught up to him. They're right beside Mapplethorpe's makeshift home, a small place underneath the very roller coaster that killed him. It's cramped, holding only a mattress, a small shelf with Mapplethorpe’s little amount of belongings. Star lights are hung above his bed, mimicking the sky–it reminds Chester of home.
“I said you could go, we'll have crazy fun another night!” Mapplethorpe spits out, ducking his head into the small crawl space, Chester only follows him.
“I’m not leaving. What's going on? I thought we…talked, didn't hide stuff?” Chester whispers, voice much quieter than Mapplethorpe's. He's too worried to think about feeding into a fight right now. And deep down he knows Mapplethorpe isn't actually angry, not at him at least. There's an underlying problem he's yet to figure out.
“Says the guy who planned to abandon me for some art school!” Mapplethorpe throws his hands up, seemingly ready to fight, then to address the elephant in the room. “You're such a hypocrite!”
“I thought we talked this out? You're not mad about that right now–you forgave me.”
That wasn't the right thing to say. It stops Mapplethorpe in his tracks, moving to press Chester into the wall of the small room. His finger goes into Chester's chest with every word he speaks.
“You don't know how I feel.” He bites out.
“Because you're not telling me!” Chester yells, pushing Mapplethorpe's hand away from him.
Mapplethorpe goes to take a step back, but the bottom of his sneaker gets caught on a stick, sending him tumbling down onto his mattress. It shouldn't hurt him, Chester thinks. He falls on soft quilts, ones Chester has brought him night after night. Except his fall is accompanied by a loud whimper of pain the second his back hits the bed. Chester stops, dropping to his knees so fast it hurts. His hands find Mapplethorpe, helping him roll over to his front. Mapplethorpe doesn't speak, just lets out huffs of cold air against his pillow as he unconsciously leans into Chester's hands.
“Mapplethorpe, talk to me, please.” Chester begs, "You're hurt.”
Chester's hands linger on Mapplethorpe's back–he thinks that's where the cause of his pain is. His fingertips searching for possible injury.
He finds none.
“I'm not, I'm fine. There’s-...” Mapplethorpe can't seem to find the right words–he just wants to hide in the soft pillow beneath his head and make Chester forget everything he's seen tonight. “There's something wrong with me, I think. Feels like zombie Joan is stabbing me in the back or something.”
Mapplethorpe doesn't know how to explain this to Chester, to show him that somehow, still in death, he's hurting. He's not one for being vulnerable, hiding behind quick gags and laughter. Chester is the more mature one, who apologizes first, who starts hard conversations. Mapplethorpe is at a loss as to how to do this.
“So…you’re hurt? But you're not injured?” Chester is trying hard to understand.
“It hurts all the time, like I'm still falling off this roller coaster.” Mapplethorpe turns, hiding a groan as he faces Chester on his knees. “But I'm fine. I'm not actually hurt, my bones aren't broken, I'm the most alive a dead person can be.”
“I don't understand.” Chester is barely audible, hiding back tears.
“I don't either.” He sounds defeated.
“Tell me more?” Chester rushes out fast. “About how you feel?”
Mapplethorpe only stares, eyes filled with uncertainty.
He doesn't speak, not yet. Instead, he pulls Chester down on the bed with him, ignoring his confused yelp. He moves blankets, fixing pillows to accommodate another body in his bed. And soon enough, Mapplethorpe is plastered over Chester's front. His head tucked under the other boy's chin, hands around his torso. Slowly, they melt into one another. Chester holds Mapplethorpe like he is someone to be treasured, his hands falling underneath his purple hoodie in favor of rubbing circles into his lower back. It's quiet, it's comfortable.
It's what Mapplethorpe needed to talk.
“At first I didn't feel anything–I just woke up in the same spot every day. Felt like waking up after a long nap,” He pauses. “Or maybe a coma.” They both breathe out a laugh, feeling the tension from earlier slip away.
“I mean, sure, I had some aches and pains, but so do all the other ghosts, just part of…death, I guess.” He stops, tucking his head further into Chester's collarbone. “I don't know when it changed–one night I was waking up with sore bones, and the next I just felt them breaking all over again.”
“Do you think Marco Polo got you with his tail spikes?” Chester jokes, not being able to stomach the pain in Mapplethorpe's voice. Mapplethorpe moves, looking up from his spot on Chester's neck. He thinks he made a mistake–maybe it wasn't time to make a joke. Maybe he was supposed to be serious, and now he's gonna be mad at him-.
“D-..did you just…” Mapplethorpe sputtered. Pulling away from Chester and pulling the pillow out from under his head.
“Oh, you think you're so funny!” Mapplethorpe is laughing, loud and explosive, as he lands a hit on Chester's face with the pillow. “Mapplethorpe, tell me what's wrong, so I can make fun of you! Don't you know his tail spikes are poisonous? I'd be out in 3 seconds flat!” They're both laughing, Chester trying to get away from Mapplethorpe's vicious attack but failing.
Chester feels like he's back in his home, a memory flashing of late-night sleepovers with the other boy. Loud action movies playing on a screen they ignore, hitting each other with soft pillows. Chester feels like crying. He feels selfish sometimes, missing Mapplethorpe when they still see each other every night. He misses everything. Skateboarding late at night, midnight convenience store runs, 3 am comic ideas that only sleep deprivation could make up. He misses every part of Mapplethorpe being alive, but he'll take every part of his death he can. He would be at the park all the time if he could.
“I’m not making fun of you!” Chester says through laughs, "I was just trying to…cheer you up.” He's almost embarrassed to say it, moving to grab the pillow from Mapplethorpe while he's distracted. It works–Chester steals it right out of his hands, ignoring Mapplethorpe's protests as he lands hit after hit on the blonde.
It's fun, a game between the two of them until Chester hits him a little too hard and his back hits the wooden wall behind them. Mapplethorpe whines, moving his hands to rub at his back. He's not injured–he barely hit the wall–Chester was probably hitting him harder.
“Sorry.” Chester apologizes, lowering the pillow back onto the bed.
“Don’t apologize, as if you were strong enough to hurt me.” He speaks, letting out a cold breath of dead air. He moves to lie down again, urging Chester to do the same with the look in his eyes. Chester does lie down, but he's not touching Mapplethorpe–an inch of space sits between them that Mapplethorpe so desperately wants to close.
“So, you're not hurt. Physically at least.”
“Nope,” Mapplethorpe says, popping the p.
“Can’t really help you with invisible pain.”
“I mean…what we were doing before helped...” Mapplethorpe whispered. He’s timid all of a sudden. Chester knows exactly what he wants. But he feels a little mean, wants Mapplethorpe to ask him, to say the word.
“And what was that?” Chester asks in a teasing tone.
“Oh, come on, Chester! Don't be a D-bag! I don't need to say it.” He whispers, hitting Chester in the chest with no real heat behind it. Chester still pretends he's hurt, holding his chest with an overdramatic groan.
“You could just say you wanted to cuddle with me?” Chester doesn't tease any longer, saying the words himself.
“This isn't cuddling–this is Mapplethorpe using you as a human heater.”
Mapplethorpe finally closes the small amount of space between them, slotting himself back into Chester's arms. Chester has always run hot, and Mapplethorpe has always run cold. Being dead didn't help. He's not exactly lying about using Chester for his body heat, but he knows he wants this for many more reasons. He wants to feel the other gentle touch of his achy body, his warm hand underneath his hoodie. He wants to fall asleep like this and forget about the park rules.
“Ya’know, Mapplethorpe, we can have more nights like this?” Chester's voice echoes in the quiet room. “ I love having crazy fun with you, but sometimes we can just…rest? Take some time for ourselves–I'm not the only one who needs rest right now.”
“But I...” Mapplethorpe hesitated. Fighting his body's need for rest and the urge to entertain Chester.
“I don’t wake up till night–going back to sleep seems stupid. I'm supposed to be giving you the best nights of your life with me.”
“And you have. I look forward to these nights at the park every day. Doesn't mean we still can't have nights like this.”
Mapplethorpe just squeezes Chester harder, nuzzling into the other boy's neck with a need to hide. He's afraid, afraid dull nights like these are going to bore Chester. If Chester gets bored, he won't want to come back. Sooner or later he'll realize sacrificing his sleep to lie on a filthy old mattress isn't worth it. Mapplethorpe isn't sure he can handle Chester not coming back. He barely handled one night, yelling at Siobhan because he fears the day Chester will do the same and keep living without him.
“You wouldn’t…get bored? If I wasn't up for crazy fun every night?” Mapplethorpe asks, panic present in his voice even though he tries to hide it.
“You’re not the only one who needs a nap right now, Mapple.”
Chester lets himself cuddle closer to Mapplethorpe, his hands returning to the other's spine, softly drawing his hand back and forth. It makes Mapplethorpe feel safe, forgetting about the constant pain in favor of focusing on warm skin. He doesn't remember the last time he felt sleepy–drowsiness doesn't really exist when you're dead. But he feels the need to fall asleep in Chester's embrace.
“What about sunrise?” Mapplethorpe asks. “You can't sleep too long–you're not getting stuck here.”
“Good thing phones have this little thing called alarms.” Chester teases playfully, reaching over to his discarded bag to grab his phone. He just got to the park–they have hours together. He sets five alarms to wake them up in six hours. Chester doesn't trust that either of them will wake up without the constant reminder.
“Stop being smart with me, or I'm hitting you again. Maybe Marco Polo will get you next.” Mapplethorpe grumbles, a frown on his face from being teased.
They don't immediately fall asleep, instead choosing to soak in each other's presence. Chester brings a hand to Mapplethorpe's hair, unknotting his matted long curls with his fingers. It was funny to lie about Mapplethorpe caring about his hair routine–in the years of knowing each other, Mapplethorpe has never cared. He washes his hair with water and whatever shampoo he can find and calls it a day. Chester has a better hair routine than he does.
He remembers trying to buy Mapplethorpe something fancier. Chester knows he has money, and he's not the kind of person to hoard it for himself. Mapplethorpe deserved nice things, so after about an hour of online research, he bought what should have been a full curl routine. Mapplethorpe almost didn't accept it, not wanting something so expensive and fancy–besides, he didn't care much about his hair anyway. Why did it matter? He used the products once, Chester holding himself over Mapplethorpe's bathtub as he read tiny sentences on a plastic bottle. It went horrible–more soap got on Chester's shirt than the other boy's hair. They were both soaked by the end-the bathroom was in terrible shape. The products now live in Mapplethorpe's bathroom cabinet, probably expired at this point. Chester would buy him a million more expensive things to experience it again.
Mapplethorpe rips him out of his thoughts when he whispers against his skin.
“Feels nice,” He says, referring to the hand in his hair and the one on his back.
“I'm sorry you're hurting, and I can't do much to help.” Chester mumbles, barely audible and voice filled with sleep.
“Not your fault, Chess.”
They fall asleep shortly after, Chester's breathe slowing down to a steady rhythm. He falls asleep listening to Mapplethorpe’s short breaths. It's the best sleep he's had since Mapplethorpe's accident. He wakes up slow and groggy to a loud alarm, and Mapplethorpe asking for five more minutes. Waking up together is surprisingly domestic, makes Chester think about where they would be if Mapplethorpe was alive. He wouldn't have minded sharing an apartment with him after high school–maybe they would fall asleep like this every night. He hopes there's another universe out there, where he's alive and well.
They walk to the gate together that morning, hands brushing as they walk. The limp in Mapplethorpe’s walk is replaced by pure energy. Chester grips his backpack tight. He never wants to leave the park, never wants to leave Mapplethorpe. Tonight feels different, like he's walking away from something big.
“You better come tomorrow,” Mapplethorpe says. “We’ll have crazy energy to do something fun. Maybe I can convince someone to race us on the go-karts? Not that they'd ever beat you, Mr. Asphodel Heights junior go-kart champion 3 years running.”
Chester laughs, but he doesn't speak. He just walks up to Mapplethorpe. Pulling him into a soft hug, it feels different than every other time they've touched. Mapplethorpe is surprised, but he quickly hugs him back. They hold each other for what feels like forever. Chester’s hands grip Mapplethorpe’s hoodie before softly pulling away.
“See you tomorrow,” Chester confirms softly.
Chester isn't able to turn around to leave before Mapplethorpe presses a soft kiss to Chester's cheek. It's rushed, and Mapplethorpe is bright red, seemingly embarrassed and horrified at what he's done. And Chester himself slowly feels his face get hot.
“J-just get outta here!” Mapplethorpe screams out, already running away from the gate in embarrassment.
Chester leaves the park with newfound feelings.
And just like he promised, the next day he shows up at the park. Ready for crazy fun, with heating pads and extra blankets in his bag. He's ready for whatever the night brings.
He won't ever get bored of this. Not when it's the most exciting part of his life.