the hate of humanity

Simple notes that weaved compatibly with Frank’s rhythms and Ray’s leads. Sweat trickled down your forehead and into your eyes, stinging, as you wiped it quickly with the back of your wrist. The pulsing of your heartbeat carefully matched the low bass-line, marching to an anxious tempo as you bit back your flustered expression.

You knew you had to pay attention to playing but your eyes always lead back to him. Gerard’s addictive presence—his fidgety hand movements, the way he screams into the microphone, the occasional peaking out of the tongue. Admittedly, out of the three guitarists, you were the weakest.

Fuck, you weren’t sure why they even needed you in this band. Perhaps it was your bright and shiny eyes when you pleaded, the wetness behind your ears.

The most probable answer was Gerard’s overly ambitious nature.

Truthfully, despite knowing the reasoning, you still wanted him to look at you. Not just look, to truly see you, to acknowledge that you were just as capable as Frank and Ray. Not a shadow casted out from the spotlight.

Frank had screamed something at you, his rough voice murdered by the loudness of Mikey’s bass. If you had to guess, probably something like ‘what the fuck are you doing?’

You ignored it, nimble fingers chasing down the scales you roughly remembered learning from Ray. Stepping back to catch a better angle of Gerard, a cable snaked your path, tangled and thick as veins and your foot caught it.

“Ah, shit!”

Your arms flailed as you stumbled, attempting to regain balance until your body collided with the beer slicked ground. The guitar thudded against your bent knee, strap pulling against your wrist as it twisted unnaturally. There was a sharp crack, a harrowing pain that rippled upwards from your forearm.

“Fuck!” you hissed, collapsing halfway onto the floor. Frank froze mid-strum, rushing onto his knees and you felt the weight of his head against your stomach, as if that’d fucking fix anything. His unheard words vibrated against your stomach and his strong stench is the only thing that’s keeping you awake. Yet, the rhythm doesn’t die upon his careful gesture. From your peripheral, Ray and Mikey loomed by with worried glances.

The bass persisted to anchor the song despite Ray’s fingers catching a string.

Mid-lyric, Gerard paused. A mic in one hand, the other clenching his black denim jacket. Unlike Frank, he doesn’t rush, but the sharp hitch of the breath that brushed against the microphone had said enough. His eyes flickered down, assessing the damage of your wrist. Gerard had barely moved, the panic only visible in his jade irises.

“Okay… shit.” Gerard muttered under his breath as he hovered.

Your vision remained clouded but the hummed vibrations of the party-goers and neighbours was enough to keep you conscious.

“Are you okay?” he approached softly, crouching down beside you. A careful hand rested on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just thought I’d fuckin’ embarrass myself in front of everyone is all…” you attempted to laugh it off and Ray was steadily lifting your upper body.

“Fuck…” slowly, you turned your head to the familiar crowd before wincing again, “y’know my ex girlfriend is in the crowd watching me, man…”

Laughter surrounded you despite your worrying condition and that had filled you up with some degree of warm comfort.

“Yeah, I think your ex watching you slip is the least of your concerns.” Ray squeaked out giving his two cents.

Gerard didn’t flinch nor roll his eyes at your theatrics, only letting a semi-smile tug at his chapped lips, “Err, sure.” 
You stiffened at the edge of his tone, concern and worry but carried a daunting undertone.

He knew what you were doing.

“Can you try and, carefully, roll your wrist for me?“ Ray asked.

You complied before gingerly testing your wrist, “Yeah, no. Shit’s broken.”

“Looks like it.” Mikey commented, clutching onto his bass a little too tightly.

Gerard nodded, still at your side. With a tilt of his head and a raise of his brows, he quietly whispered, “You wanna tell me something?”

“I—uh…? I didn’t mean—”

“Hmm. Consider me aware, last name,” he said with a tease, “next time, leave the recklessness for Frank, yeah?”

At those comments, your stomach dropped. The delivery had struck inside you somewhere profound: your guilt, your pride, your yearning.

A strange spectrum of emotions that had sent you spiralling. At this, you foolishly nodded watching him straighten up and adjust the mic stand.

Your head landed on Ray’s bent thigh, allowing yourself to close your eyes. Gerard’s words became mere mumbles, something about finishing the set early.

You should be embarrassed but, in truth, you didn’t mind.

Not really.

Gerard had seen you.

That had been enough.

MOUNTAIN VIEW, CALIFORNIA.

JULY 29TH, 2007.

Now, you just chuckle and shake your head, letting the memory die in that Jersey basement. That tumble, the stupid wires you tumbled on, Frank’s panic, Gerard’s disappointment, the awkward as fuck ride back home with Mikey as you called your parents to explain the situation.

“Huh? What was that?” Gerard’s voice had met your eyes lowly, eyes refusing to leave you. The hand that held his cigarette twitched, halfway through the motion of bringing it to his lips.

You peered down to see a lit one in your own hand.

Huh, how funny.

“Hm? Nothin’, just thinkin’.” You shrugged, although, your grin betrayed how much you enjoyed reminiscing. The outlandishness wasn’t beyond you, spacing out mid cigarette was quite impressive.

He leaned closer, the backstage lights capturing Gerard’s ghostliness. He was all sharp angles and pale blue veins. Despite the exhaustion, his eyes remained sharp and curious, “Thinking about…?”

His sentence trailed, not entirely sure of himself on why he wanted to know and why he couldn’t resist asking.

“Nothing.” you muttered, the casual shrug you learned to do in these occasions came so naturally to you like a defence mechanism. You leaned against a portable flight case, the cigarette between your curled index and middle. The smoke lifted upwards, intertwining with the pellucid dust motes that lingered in the shadows.

By now, you’ve grown acquainted to the backstage of every show. It always carried the essence of coldness yet familiarity, where imagination meets machinery. The same crew members holding the same gear and carrying the same tunes.

Gerard didn’t push, not yet anyway. He was fidgeting and not the usual onstage thrashing but the restlessness had been present in the small motions of his rolling shoulders. He does this once then twice. Then, he adjusted the sleeve of his military jacket to ignore the tension blooming inside his chest.

He kept glancing at his little brother who was perched upon an amp and watching Bob and Ray make small talk. Almost immediately, Gerard would seek his eyes back onto you as if gauging if you’ve caught it too.

You exhaled the smoke thrice before figuring the pattern. Gerard would chew at his lips, look away, look at you, tug at his hair, then look at Mikey, shift his weight from one leg to another, then back to you.

Hadn’t you been paying attention, it was imperceptible. The vulnerability was laced in every movement and waver, almost enough to compel you to ask if he was okay.

“Hey…” he started up again, entering your proximity. It was enough to startle you almost chest to chest, Gerard’s hand that stretched out. You relaxed once noticing Gee put out the cigarette on the flight case, clearing his throat. “Y’know Mikey?”

“Yeah?” you prompted hoarsely, studying the furrowing of his thick brows.

His words hung in the silence, unfinished and terrified. A pause as he cracked the sides of his neck to muster up the courage to speak his concerns aloud. Gerard had stolen another glance at his brother before deciding to risk it, “It’s just… I don’t know—, you’ve just been around him more lately.”

You blew smoke lazily and observed his floundering wordlessly. He certainly wasn’t used to this, at least not with you. For Gerard, vulnerability used to be sought elsewhere by anyone besides you and maybe Bob. This was an act of subversion, straying from the orthodox.

So, you let him stew and allowed him to be caught up inside his anxiety-ridden mind for a little longer, the awkwardness stretched as wide as the silence was accentuated by distant voices from the crowd outdoors. Gerard’s shoe tapping against the floor served as one other instrument to a cacophony of the backstage orchestra. A steady metronome that was sent to torture you.

“Look, it’s just, Mikey’s…. I don’t know? He’s more different lately and I can’t really talk to him about it… I have my own suspicions, but—” he faltered at that sentence, Gerard sputtered like he spilled out something he shouldn’t have, quickly retracting. “—he doesn’t want me to worry ‘cause I’m his brother. He won’t open up—do you notice that? That he’s been distant?”

You puffed out smoke, rapidly tugging it away from your lips to react, “No?” you replied, drifting between indifference and amusement at Gerard’s frantic stuttering.

Gerard blinked before the rush of emotions consumed him, incredulous and frustrated. A hint of quiet relief reflected inside his eyes that you hadn’t dismissed him totally. With a last pull at his blackened locks, his gaze locked onto you with a silent acknowledgment of trust he placed onto you. “Look, could you maybe talk to him? And just see, like, what’s going on?”

You wavered at the request unsure as to why Gerard had made you responsible over this. Really, it was mainly in Ray’s domain for the ‘older brother’ comfort and advice. Just the certainty in his stance and taut jaw was enough for you to softly nod.“Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

Gerard breathed a sigh of relief followed with a slow blink, “Okay, thank you.” His shoulders relaxed fractionally as he glanced one last time to Mikey and back to you, the faintest smile on his pink lips.

Your gaze followed the hand that landed on your shoulder, followed by a squeeze.

Gerard mustered a tight grin, eyes shimmering with an emotion you couldn’t read. The stage call came and went, you finishing what was left in that cigarette pondering your position in the band.

There was a chill in the Californian air that stroked the skin through your open shirt; the venue still pulsated faintly from the electric energy of the crowd. No one had left yet, there was no rush. With the next day free, all participating bands could seize the opportunities to finally rest, to shower, stuff themselves with junk from a gas station run. Inside, your bandmates collapsed leaning onto each other and lost in their own post-performance daze.

Outside, you were perched on the steps of the tour bus appreciating the rare gift of solitude amidst the sea of tour chaos. Adam and Eddie, had came and went after a brief conversation to resume laps around the empty venue. They offered you to join but you were quick to reject the offer. The nicotine fiend you were, you dug up the tin container that contained tobacco, rolling paper, your filters. It was one you bought in Cape May last year, one stacked near the register. An idle murmur of ‘I’ll take that one too’ to the cashier, enticed by the coastal kitsch. The chipped lid showed a glistening mermaid tail along the large stretch of sapphire ocean, a surfer’s board lodged inside the golden sand.

“Hey.” you called out, twisting your body behind to slide the bus door open. The slender figure of Mikey, nearest to the exit, had heard your voice drifting across the kitchenette.

With a final glance to Ray, Mikey emerged silently with droopy eyeliner-smudged eyes blinking against the bus lights. He didn’t speak, just comfortably perching beside you as you moved to one side of the cold, metallic step.

“Roll me this.” you ordered casually.

“Huh?” Mikey blinked, the hand that held his chin now squashed between his thighs for warmth.

“You heard me,” you said with a tone so lazy it sounded almost bored, “c’mon, roll it f’me.”

Mikey’s lips curled in half-dismay half-confusion yet his hands moved to tug it away from the knee you had balanced the tin container on. There was a preciseness in everything he did and you cherished that. Momentarily, you ruminated living with him back in 2002. That cramped apartment you had to share with him before Frank had thrown in the towel unable to handle the younger Way’s messiness.

Those months forged an unspoken bond of routine and trust. A silent communication of ‘I got you, you got me’. You’d always see him noticing the little ways you embarrassed yourself around Gerard. Always observing and never interfering.

“Ah, dude,” Mikey suddenly said, a sliver of elation in his state of fatigue. “Is this the box you bought during our quick visit to Cape May?”

You nodded, “Yeah, surprised you remembered that actually.”

He sniffled quite loudly, lips smacking before he spoke again, “I could never forget. Alicia was complaining about how she forgot her sunscreen. Oh, man.”

The bassist dragged his fingers across a side of his face, shaking his head at the recollection. The lid rattled before he fumbled with the rolling paper and tobacco.

Finally, he handed the cigarette over. Inspecting it, you scrunched your nose, “Wow. Like hot New York garbage in the summer, but sure…” you muttered but lit it anyway.

“Hey, you’re the one who fuckin’ asked.”

You just had to laugh at the curse, Mikey is one of those people who just didn’t sound right swearing. Maybe it was the soft, mumbling tone he shared with Gee, the slow delivery or the bumpy nasal twang.

Mikey exhaled slowly, trying to hide his smirk.

“So,” you began, turning to him fully, “what’s going on with you?”

Mikey shrugged like a man prepared, he half expected this. “Dunno… just tour stress, I guess?”

“Are you sure about that, Michael?”

“M—Michael?” Mikey giggled halfway, a curled finger against his nose as he sniffled, “No one ever calls me that.”

“I’m tryna be meaningful here that’s why.”

He shook his head and responded with the faintest hint of sarcasm, “You and being meaningful…? Did you hit your head?”

“Okay!” you chuckled, taking out the atrociously rolled cigarette, “Just tell me. Let me in, man.”

Loosening up a bit, Mikey shifted on the spot, “It’s, just my marriage.”He gulped, playing with a beaded bracelet, “Alicia.”

You scowled, completely unaware the talk was going to go that route.

Alicia and Mikey had married the beginning of this year, their honeymoon abruptly ending just before the commencing of ProRev. Neither of them were very happy about it.

“Oh… and?”

“It’s complicated, I mean, all marriages have their ups and downs,” he muttered a lot more quieter but earnest, “she’s actually going to be there for Chula Vista, she’s the designated guitar tech for HIM.”

“Fantastic, anything else?”

“Mm, not really.”

“Cool, good talk.” You said rapidly, nodding because you were unsure on what to say. Though you brushed a hand on his rigid shoulder as a subtle show of presence.

The bassist parted his lips, clearly wanting to expand further and to actually speak his mind. Instead, he stifled laughter and shook his head subtly, “Hmph, classic.”

Leaning in, you wrapped your arm around him and roughly pulled him in with a smirk before he could protest. You nudged the cigarette toward him, “Man, I can’t smoke this shit. You’re gonna have to now. You rolled it, own it.”

Attempting to pull away through muffled laughter, “No! I rolled it so badly!”

“That’s your fault and no one else’s. I know you want it, Mikey. Quit pretendin’!”

The late evening encompassed the two of you. Constellations, footsteps on gravel from afar and a distant hum. Mikey had relaxed, defeatedly smoking the cigarette and failing to mute his chuckles.

“Y’know, Mikey, I reckon everything’s gonna be alright.”

“Really?”

EN ROUTE TO CHULA VISTA, CALIFORNIA.

JULY 30TH 2007.

Sleep was short and the morning arrived without warning. A blunt greeting from the Cali sun through the overheated windows catching on every reflective surface. There were collective groans and Bob had knocked his elbow against the side of the wall and bellowed a curse.

Frank was the first one up slumped sideways and groggy. His overgrown, black hair stuck in unusual angles, the wild card on stage now weakened by the morning glow.

“Why the fuck is it so bright…?”

“Because God hates us…” Ray whined out, shuffling behind the curtain that hid his bunk.

After a few gulps of coffee, the driver called out, “We’re stopping.”

Exhausted shuffles followed.

The gas station, a heaven that loomed ominously. The bell chimed too delightfully that it felt hostile and the smell of coffee beans, the freezer and grease hit your nostrils at once.

Ray leaned against the ice cream freezer and murmured, “I hate everything…”

“You’ll live, just munch down some sugar.” Mikey assured.

The leader guitarist huffed but grabbed something sugary anyways, the rest made a beeline for the coffee machine hoping for seconds.

You stared at the basket, then grabbed it for no reason other than simulate some form of civil familiarity. Somewhere along the way, a pair of sunglasses followed you in an oversized plain shirt and checkered pyjama pants hiding anything but the fact he’d slept maybe two hours at most if he was lucky.

It was like the devil on your shoulder convincing you to down gas station junk. Endless shelves of candy coloured packaging and plasticky lighting. You headed to the drinks freezer and stood there to cool your heated cheeks.

Frank, at one point, lightly bumped your shoulder against yours when browsing aisles. He said, “If I pass out… tell my mother I died doing what I loved…”

“Complainin’?” you answered.

Frank snorted and kept moving in a sluggish fashion.

Only until you hit the chips and savoury aisle Gerard finally spoke. “Uh, d’you want something sweet?”

Through slow blinks, you answered, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Like a slushie or something?”

You smiled, amused. “A slushie?”

“Yeah,” Gerard swiftly mumbled out defensively. He shuffled on the spot, gathering his might to knit his brows together to appear stern, “it’s hot, and, you look like shit.”

“Wow. Sold.”

The slushie machine was loud, abrasive. You stood there buffering taking too long to decide if you wanted cherry or whatever the fuck the blue flavour was. It overflowed before you snapped into consciousness.

“Ah—shit!” you chuckled as iced syrup spilled onto your hand and then onto the counter.

Startled, Gerard hurriedly rushed for napkins laid on the side, “Oh fuck! Okay, okay!”

A wheeze was knocked out of you when poking your head to see if the cashier at the register had noticed. Your eyes drifted above to see the surveillance camera pointed directly at the two of you.

Gerard looked at you with pressed lips and shaking shoulders. You ducked your head biting back laughter, the two of you wiping furiously to clean up the mess.

“We’re fine, this is salvageable…” you uttered clearing the sludge.

“No, I got it.” Gerard bit his lip in concentration, the natural creases near his eyes visible as he chuckled. He crushed the napkin in his hand before chucking it near the bin next by the machine, this was definitely not the store’s first accident with customers and slushies.

He unclenched his hand and grimaced, “Yuck.”

You laughed at the way his rounded nose scrunched. His eyes somewhat visible through his shades quickly darted away to watch your face in embarrassment as he smeared his hand down his pyjama pants. “Okay, wash that ASAP—no, what are you doing?”

“Where the hell am I supposed to wash it? What else is there to do?”Gerard replied back through chuckles, stretching open his palm, “I mean, unless you want some for yourself.”

When Gerard advanced you only retracted; a smile naturally graced your lips. “Nah, I’m okay actually.”

“That’s what I thought, motherfucker.” Gerard boasted as he swiped his hand on a napkin. He coughed not so prettily, grabbing ahold of his slushie, “Come on, let’s go pay.”

Like guilty children, both of you walked up to the cashier as slowly as possible. You had playfully pushed Gerard’s head down to hide his red cheeks and murmured a quick, “Stop making it obvious.”

At the counter, you reached for your wallet, the incident long forgotten and out of your mind.

“Hey, I got it.” Gerard cut in, reaching for his own.

You paused. “I can pay for my own, Gee.”

“No, I’ve got it.” he repeated firmer this time.

You studied him for a second before shrugging in defeat. “ ‘Kay, fine.”

The sun was brutal. You and Gerard were sitting by the pavement with you pouring water that Bruno had given on his hands. “Congrats, you’re no longer… sticky.”

Gerard squinted behind his sunglasses as he flexed his fingers. “Heroic,” he deadpanned, vocals raw and cracked. He glanced down at his to yours, water still flowing between his knuckles. “and you, you okay?”

“Sure, I think that 7-11 trip saved me. Might be the only thing that’s gonna keep me going for the entirety of ProRev.”

That earned you a small sound, Gerard leaned back on his palms and stared at the glaring sun with a slumped posture. He was finally relaxed from the public embarrassment crisis. Behind you, the station hummed and the automatic doors hissed open and shut. The air felt less claustrophobic, less invasive. Gasoline tang over sweat for once.

For a bit, neither of you spoke.

You were good at silences and Gerard was… learning. The jitters of restless energy radiated off of him even when he was trying to appear calm.

The rest of the guys burst out of the store. Frank dragged a bulging bag of chips and vegan snacks enough to feed a small town, “If I ever see another gas station again, it’ll be too soon.”

Ray lagged behind him with a coffee and pretzels, “You say that everytime, Frankie. And yet, here we are.”

Mikey and Bob weren’t too far behind, the former nodded at you in passing with quiet acknowledgment.

The noise thinned the tension offering a filler for the gap of silence, watching them load back toward the bus.

You felt his gaze again. When you looked up, he tensed. “So, uh, you hungry or good?”

You tilted your slushie slightly, “No. This is aggressively bad. Health code violation level bad.”

“What?” he sounded almost offended himself, leaning closer, “It’s a slushie.”

“I know, it’s fine. Terrible but fine.”

With quiet amusement, Gerard smirked faintly before a faraway expression ghosted his face. He cleared his throat and swallowed before speaking again, “Um…”

“Yeah?”

He stare out at the road instead of at you with a taut jaw. The sun caught the edge of his dark shades and flashed white. “So, about Mikey and him acting kinda… off.”

You shrugged, “He’s always kinda off.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he nodded with a tight smile. His fingers drummed against his knee betraying the stress he was trying to hide, “well did you ever end up speaking to him? He didn’t say anything to you, did he?”

“You fishin’, man?”

He winced with a nervous chuckle, “Maybe, but I did ask.”

“Touché. And, yeah, I did talk to him.”

Gerard’s shoulders stiffened and learn further in. “Okay, and?”

“And he’s fine,” you assured listlessly because that had, technically, been the truth, “mostly.”

“Mostly.” he echoed, the word dragged uncomfortably taking two trips down his tongue. Gerard took off his sunglasses and glanced back at the bus with an unreadable expression, “Mostly…?”

You nodded, “He mentioned Alicia.”

That had did it, worry engraved onto Gerard’s face before he could conceal it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Gerard took a second to process what you had say before gathering courage, “Did he say how he’s doing at least?”

A nervous chuckle had released from you that you instantly regretted, “…No one told me there was gonna be a follow up exam.”

Fuck, you were supposed to have followed up with the questions to Mikey.

Well how were you supposed to know that?

Gerard huffed, frustrated and incredulously stunned by your remark. “I’m serious, name.”

“I know, I didn’t push.” you informed, anchoring yourself in and allowing yourself to speak in a softer tone. “Just figured that if he wanted to unload he would on his own time and volition.”

“Was this last night when you called him outside?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I stayed with him for an hour or two. Didn’t scare him off or anythin’, so that’s a win.”

Gerard’s exhale was sharp through his nose and his fingernails found its way into his mouth, chewing at them anxiously. “Okay, good. Anything else?”

The defeated tone had signalled a loss of confidence of your reliability.“Not really. He seemed completely fine afterwards, just bein’ regular Mikey. He’s not the one to totally unload mental baggage anyway.”

“Yeah not with me, not with anyone apparently.”

Something ugly blossomed inside Gerard, tangled petals and roped knots of concern and anguish that coiled. You saw it even if you couldn’t point it out. After that observation, you couldn’t help yourself recoil away in uneasiness. “Well, I think he knows that if he needs anything, he knows where to find me.”

Gerard gazed at you and lingered longer than it should’ve. There it was, that misty-eyed, starry look but, this time, mingled with unsung tones of faint frustration and need for reassurance that he knew you couldn’t offer. It didn’t vanish quickly.

“Thanks.” he said lowly.

You nodded before giving him your best half-smile. As a sign of support, you wrapped an arm around Gerard forgetting about the rough surface of the pavement underneath you, the scorching heat beating down on your skin. “Anytime, Gee.”

He grinned back.

Abruptly, Bruno’s head peeked through the bus window, his face scrunched like he smelt something terribly rotten. “Hey, you two! Chop chop! Sun’s not waiting for your little chit chat!”

You flinched and felt caught off-guard before dryly chuckling. “Bruno, save it for someone who cares!”

“Ah, quit it!” he called, waving a stubby hand. “You’re slow, you’re useless and you’re still sittin’ there! Move it, you two! Move it! Move it!”

You gave Gerard a gentle pat on the shoulder and leaned back to flash a grin. “Big guy’s cranky. Man, why am I the only one catchin’ the insults?”

Gerard hummed to acknowledge the nudge but stayed rooted a beat longer. He still appeared quizzical and you let him have it, the weight of his body leaning into you. Within an inch of contact, he instantly relaxed under your touch relishing in your warmth.

“Thank you…” he murmured into your shoulder.

Now it was your turn to stiffen, you were unsure what it was even for. Still, you didn’t question it. “Yeah, uh, no problem.”

Bruno’s ‘psst!’ could be heard from across the parking lot, the harsh sound akin to a thrown dart. He motioned in a cartoonish fury. “Hurry! Hurry!”

Gerard’s lips twitched as he lifted his head reluctantly whilst you pulled away.

“Yeah, yeah! Okay!”

Leon’s return tonight is the same as any other. You hear him enter through the front door from your bedroom, popping his back and groaning. The floorboards creak past your door as he makes his way to his room. Like second nature, you get up and make for the kitchen. The shower runs for a good hour as you get dinner ready. 

You set the table too, with the fancy plates you never bring out. Cooking is a welcome distraction from your homework. When calculus gets too much, you just imagine how easy life would be as a brainless housewife. You’re already prepped for it, since you do all the chores and cleaning here. You’d tack on cooking, but sometimes in the summer, your dad’ll bust out the grill and flip some burgers. He wears one of those ridiculous “kiss the cook” aprons, purely because it makes you laugh.

You smile to yourself, putting the final touches on dinner. You’re plating it as you hear Leon come down the stairs. His hair is still stringy and a little damp, and his fingertips are pruned as he tugs you in to kiss your forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he speaks into your hair, “miss me?”

You nod, leaning into the touch. He smells how he always does, like laundry detergent mixed with the artificial tang of cheap shampoo. “Made dinner.”

“I can see that. It looks great like always, honey.” He hugs you tighter. 

It’s like he melts into you, the stress evaporating from his body as he buries your face in his chest. You know you’re all he’s got as a support system — besides the alcohol — and you kinda like it. Just you and him against the world. 

“I know this is a classic, but I bought a new cookbook last week, so I have a bunch of new dishes to try out.”

He kisses your head again. “I can’t wait to taste them all.” Leon takes a seat at the table. “Let’s eat, yeah?” You sit down across from him and start to dig in. It’s Leon’s favourite, and your favourite too from all the secondhand exposure. 

“How’s university?”

You shrug, poking at your food. “It’s nice… the people there are nice.”

“Teacher’s aren’t giving you too much trouble?”

You glance up at him. “They’re nice.”

He holds your gaze, gives you a look. “You don’t like it.”

“No,” you’re quick to shake your head, “I like it. It’s just, y’know…” The last thing you wanna think about right now is school. 

He spins the fork in his hand. “Could take a break every now and then.”

“Dad. You know I can’t. I have too much homework,” you say. “How was work?”

“Same old,” he smiles, “Hunnigan hasn’t gotten any nicer.”

You laugh, “I think you’re the problem, Dad.”

“What? I am not,” he scoffs, speaking with his mouth half full. “Dinner’s good. You do anything special this time?”

“Extra love, just for you.”

Leon snorts. “Gee, thanks. I think I can taste it now along with the rainbows and fairy dust.”

You roll your eyes in tandem. “Real funny, Dad. It’s a little extra paprika.”

Leon takes another bite. “You know, kid, if university doesn’t work out, culinary school wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“Right, you just want a gourmet meal.”

“Maybe.” He grins, you grin back.

“We could go to one of the fancy restaurants downtown if that’s what you really want.”

“Just the two of us?”

You laugh, not thinking much of it. “What, you got another daughter hiding somewhere that you wanna tell me about?”

Leon’s silent for a moment, taking you in and really looking at you. The air shifts. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna look like we’re on a date.”

Your face grows warm, your body betraying you. “Dad, that’s like, so weird. No one’s gonna think that.”

He suddenly becomes much more interested in his meal. “Right, uh, sorry sweetheart.”

Dinner’s quieter now, but you keep thinking about it. Will it really look like that? Leon’s more than twice your age. If you were on a date, you’d be one of those weird perverted couples. Guess the waiter wouldn’t speak on it if you tipped them well. 

You’ve also never been on a date. You’re too busy doing homework and taking care of the house and playing video games. Boys are stupid, anyways. They’d only want to talk to you for one thing, and your dad’s not like that. You prefer to stick to what you know. 

You both migrate to the couch after a while. You turn on one of your favourite old movies and curl up against Leon’s side. He’s like a space heater, body warm as he holds you close to the broad planes of his chest.

Your eyes glaze over the screen, the light reflecting onto both your bodies in the dim room. Looking at Leon, you can tell he’s not really watching either, looking more like he’s trying his best not to fall asleep. Old age or whatever.

Your fingers absently twirl the longer bits of hair near the back of Leon’s neck. You tease your dad about it, but his haircut suits him. Like something out of a 90’s film. 

“Tired?” You ask, not really interested in the movie either, which is funny considering you picked it. You’re more absorbed in trailing your eyes down his side profile, catching on the point of his nose, the curve of his lips. 

Leon sighs regretfully, nodding down at you. “Yeah, sorry, sweetheart — had a long day.”

You rest your cheek on the couch. “S’okay. I get it. I’m kinda tired too, from cooking dinner.”

He smiles at that. “You did a damn good job. Didn’t think I showed my thanks.”

He leans down to kiss you, on your forehead you presume. You lift your head to meet him halfway, and what do you know? You miscalculate and brush lips with your dad. 

The room instantly becomes a hundred times smaller. Leon pulls back like he’s been burned, blinking. He’s staring at you like a deer in headlights. You think he might even be blushing — it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the room. 

You frown as your stomach sinks like a rock. Are you really that repulsive? So much so that he’d react like that? You snap yourself out of it. Leon’s having that reaction because he just kissed his daughter.

“Uh, sorry, honey, meant to kiss your, um…,” He trails off, eyes darting down and up and away. 

“I know, Dad.” You’re quick to say in response. You’d hate for anything to be weird between you too. “I didn’t mind.”

Leon scoffs, though you’re not sure how to take it. “You didn’t mind?”

Oh god. He probably thinks you’re a weirdo now. Why would you say that? “Not like that!” Your voice goes up an octave. You shift forward with your enthusiasm, but it inadvertently puts you closer to your dad, who you’re now realizing you might sorta kinda like. 

“It’s just that, um, well…,” you continue, as intelligently as your dad did, “you know, now that Mom’s gone…”

Confusion laces his features. Every time you open your mouth, you just dig yourself a deeper hole. A trait you picked up from him, you think. 

You swallow down your pride and make peace with losing your dignity. “And I know you aren’t going on any dates, so, what I’m trying to say is that, uh…,” you chew on your bottom lip, “we can maybe, um, do things?”

Leon's expression wilts at that, eyebrows peaking with sympathy. Sympathy. You wish you knew how to use a gun so you could shoot yourself. Leon never taught you. 

He cups your cheek, rough hands so soft on you. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to do all that for me.” Leon’s eyes drink you in, you get closer. 

At this point, your brain fails to register how normal he’s being about this. He should be more reluctant or more angry, he should blow up in your face for suggesting such a thing. But that’s not your dad. Leon’s soft around the edges — he gives in purely because it makes you happy. 

Your heart’s thumping in your chest, blood pounding in your ears. You can barely think. You’re too busy thumbing his pout, allowing your mind to travel to the thought of how good his lips would feel. “I want to,” you speak into the silence, eyes flitting up to his. 

Leon’s breath hitches, and you can see the gears turn in his head as he weighs the pros and cons of this. You don’t need to. Your mind’s been made up, sick as it sounds. You shouldn’t want this and yet, you do.  

“We can,” he says after a moment, eyes holding you down. “Just one kiss, and that’s it.”

Holy shit. This is actually happening. You nod, not fighting the giddiness worming its way into your expression. 

“I need words, sweetheart,” he chides, using that tone that makes your pulse stutter. 

You nod again. “Just one kiss.” And you’re going to make the most of it. 

The TV continues to play, a soft hum of noise as you focus on him. Your mind is struggling to come to terms with this happening. You’re going to kiss your dad, and you really want to. 

You sit up on your knees, leaning in closer. Leon looks up at you expectantly. The expression on his face makes you realize your dad’s kinda cute. Crow’s feet balance him out. Deciding to stop beating around the bush, one hand cups his neck and the other braces on his shoulder as you close the distance. 

You’re not exactly sure how to kiss, picking up general knowledge from books and shows. Still, it doesn’t do anything to deter how bad you want it — your enthusiasm covers up your lack of skill. 

You’re sure your dad’s kissed lots of girls and he must have tons of experience. You’d ask him if your mouth wasn’t occupied. Both hands stray to his chest, nails digging into the muscle as you whine into the kiss. Dad turns you needy, you feel starved for affection when he’s not around.

Leon’s hands haven’t touched you yet, they’ve been politely digging into the seat cushions. You almost go to ask him to touch you — as embarrassing as that would be — but then he makes the move, swallowing your hips up with his hands. You’re so lost in the kiss that you barely register being shifted into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. Leon tilts his head into it, soft gasps as he separates for air. 

It’s been more than one kiss, you think. Not that you’re complaining. You missed your dad’s lap. You’d sit here when you scraped your knee, have him kiss it better. Now as an adult, he’s kissing you better in a different way. You wish it was on your pussy. 

The thought makes you moan louder, shifting your hips forward. You feel him below you, hard bulge pressing up against your thigh — Dad’s still got it. You want him closer. 

Leon seems to notice that from the way you melt against him, because he pulls away. His lips are shiny, eyes heavy as he pants into the silence. Both hands rest on your thighs, strong and claiming. 

You’re sure you don’t look any more put together than he does as your eyes glaze over. You feel restless and antsy — you’ve just received something you didn’t even know you wanted. “Dad…,” you exhale, trying to rein yourself in and failing miserably as your pussy sits right over his cock.

Leon sucks in a breath, something unreadable in his eyes. “That was it, sweetheart, no more.”

That wasn’t the response you wanted. “Dad…,” you try again, voice teetering on a whine. You don’t ask for much, you hardly ask for anything. Just once, can’t he give you this? You know you’re being greedy, and you know you’re being downright cruel as you roll your hips against the line of his cock.

A groan spills past his lips, thumbs digging into your hips to stop you, though not convincingly. Leon looks conflicted, eyes trailing down to where you’re pressing up against him, his breathing getting heavier. “Baby, I—,” he holds your gaze, “this is a bad idea.”

You’re more focused on the new pet name than what he’s saying. Can he blame you? You’ve never experienced this before, Leon hasn’t gotten a chance to train you for it. And he keeps saying no to you, it’s making your insides all icky. Are you pushing him too far? “Do you not want to?” You can’t hide the way your voice cracks. You just wanted to do him a favour.

Leon swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “It doesn’t matter what I want, honey.” He takes a deep breath, undoing the flush in his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you… shouldn’t you be doing this with guys your age?”

What? That was what he was concerned about? “But I don’t want them. Ever heard me talk about any?” Your lack of a love life is now leverage for your argument.

He frowns then, squeezing your hips. “You’ve got plenty of time to find one. I’ve hit the end of the road here.”

“I’m on your lap right now, Dad.” You rest your cheek on his shoulder, pressing your hips down on him. “I want your cock.”

“Christ,” he breathes, flush crawling up his neck, “don’t talk like that.”

“Sorry,” you say halfheartedly, nails slipping between you both to drag along his stomach. Leon’s rigid everywhere else, but soft here, whimpering at your rough touch. You want to drag your nails all over him, get them all dolled up just to leave marks on his back.

Your stomach’s doing flips at the tiny noises he makes, pussy drooling into your panties. “Can I have it?” you ask, your lips coasting along the hard set of his jaw. Dad already gives you his love and affection, so his cock isn’t that far of a stretch. 

The silence drags for a moment too long, he screws his eyes shut. Coming to terms with this, you think. Leon looks down at you fondly, nodding, eyes heavy. “Yeah, sweetheart, take what you need.” 

Oh my god. You need him to sit back, to take care of him like you love to, but in a whole new way. Both hands slip between you, trying to tug down the band of his sweats without getting up. You blindly wrestle it down, his underwear following suit. Just low enough to get his cock and balls out.

It’s bigger than you thought it was — not that the size of your dad’s dick consumes your thoughts or anything. You thumb at the fleshy head, slick liquid dripping from it and making the tip all shiny. It’s warm and hard in your hand, a little softer than you expected a cock to feel. You’re drooling.

You tug your shorts and underwear to the side — thank god you wore the skimpier pair. You lift your hips up, heart racing as you guide his dick to your cunt. Or so you thought.

“Not like that, sweetheart,” Leon says, stopping you. “Gotta get you ready first.”

You want to fight him on this, but from the look in his eyes, he’s not budging here. Leon lays you down on the couch and nestles between your legs. His cock’s still out, a stringy bead of pre dripping onto the cushion. Your shorts come off quick, but your underwear is removed with a tantalizing drag as his eyes take you in.

His big arms loop around your thighs, tugging you closer to his mouth like you weigh nothing. Your yelp transforms into a moan as his lips land squarely on your clit. Holy fuck.

He eats pussy like he’s starved. You now understand why Mom baby trapped him. You fed him not more than an hour ago, how is he still this hungry? Seems like you’re dessert — Leon sure sucks on you like you’re candy. 

Leon’s tongue slips into your pussy, nose bumping your clit. Your fingers thread in his hair, hips lifting off the couch to press your pussy onto his face. Incessant whines spill from your lips. You’ve never touched your pussy before, now you’re wishing you did it more often.

“Dad…,” you moan, chest heaving, “Dad… Daddy…,” Your head’s all hollow, nothing but pleasure invading your senses.

Leon groans into your cunt, tongue pushing deeper inside. Your toes curl, your free hand covering the back of your head to muffle the humiliating sounds you’re making. His tongue licks a stripe up your cunt as his lips meander back to your clit.

But soon, the pleasure twists and morphs, turning into something more, something overwhelming. Your fingers in his hair try to push him off as you start to squirm. “Wait, wait—,” you gasp, thighs shaking, “it feels weird. Why does it—?” You cut yourself off with a whimper as he sucks on your clit harder.

“Relax, honey. Just relax.” He pets your thigh, fingers pressing inside you. The feeling makes your back bow off the couch, you cry out. You feel so full, so completely full, in a way you’ve never felt. Is this…?

“Think I’m gonna— think I’m gonna cum, Dad.” You sob as he curls his fingers. You feel like you’re gonna explode.

“You are? Let it all out for me.” His fingers tug up and back, pressing into a place that makes your vision go spotty. Yeah, now you’re sure you’re going to. Pressure builds in you like a shaken soda can, and then you burst. Literally.

Each press into you, each rough suck on your clit has liquid gushing out of you and onto your dad. You’re humiliated.

“Sorry!” you yelp, still moaning and sobbing as he doesn’t stop his motions. “Can’t… stop….” Your head falls back against the cushions, hips lazily grinding against his face.

And then it ends and you realize how sweaty you are and how wet you’ve gotten him. “Fuck…,” you breathe, looking over at him. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t know that’s what would happen.”

Leon smiles, sitting up to look at you, wetter than he was when he laid you down. “It’s okay, honey. Your mother used to do that too.”

You sit up, flushing as you shove him. “Don’t talk about her after we just did that…” You feel shaky, like someone forgot to click all your joints into place.

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s the one apologizing now, smiling.

Your eyes trail down, your eyes landing on his cock, still aching and flush and needy for you.

Leon follows your gaze, wrapping a fist around it. He’s using your slick to wet his cock. One tug has another pearl of pre oozing out and trailing along the underside. “You’re tired, we don’t have to—,” he says.

“Who said I was tired?” Did he seriously expect you to turn him down after that slutty display? You’ve never seen a cock before, but now you’re absorbed with the urge to sit on one — especially if it’s his. “I’m not gonna pass out, that’s your job, old man.”

Leon’s jaw drops, mock offence plastered on his face. “When did you learn to speak to me like that, young lady?”

This feels better now, more like your usual dynamic. Any tenseness in the air is gone now — you feel less embarrassed swinging a leg over his waist and settling in his lap. His cock pushes up against his stomach, a wet spot forming on his shirt.

You want to ride it — you think you need to. Leon’s eyes search yours like he’s expecting your rejection. With one hand on his cock and the other under your thigh, he helps lift you to line you up.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, baby,” he whispers as he slowly sinks you down on it.

The feeling is indescribable. It’s like the stretch of his cock is making you aware of the empty space just as quickly as it’s filling it. You lean forward, arms around his neck as your eyes roll back.

Finally, he reaches your cervix, tip nudging the fleshy opening and making you whine. Your sweaty thighs settle against the soft fabric of his pants. You take deep breaths, getting used to the experience.

Leon tucks your hair behind your ear, kissing the corner of your mouth. Tease. You lean in and kiss him properly, rocking your hips forward, pressing him deeper into you. He moans against you, and the sound makes you squeeze around him.

He pulls away to lean his head back on the couch, eyes heavy. His jaw tenses, muscles in his neck clenching. “You know you have to lift your hips, right, sweetheart?”

The way you freeze gives you away. “Uh, I knew that.” Hands on his shoulders, you lift your hips to drop them. The slight movement has you gasping, the drag on your walls a novel sensation. You pick your hips up higher the second time, creating more empty space that his cock carves right back into.

He laughs at your reaction. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your teeth sink into your lip as you nod. You understand how someone could get addicted to this. You barely raise your hips, not wanting the sensation of being stuffed to leave you for too long. Leon’s tip keeps pressing against your cervix, sharp zaps of pain interlaced with the slow, thick pleasure.

It’s like wading in the ocean. The water feels like ecstasy against your skin and soaks you up so right — it makes you want to sink down into it and stay there forever, even if you drown.

The unhurried movement of your hips feels so good. You begin to move more feverishly, moans vibrating with each bounce, bracing yourself against him for support. 

Leon wraps his arms around your lower back then, holding you flush against his chest as he rabbits up into you. You cry out, sobbing into his shoulder from how good it feels. One set of nails grabs fistfuls of his hair, the other dragging sharp lines down his back. 

Pleasure curls up your spine, spreads across your shoulder blades and pools steadily in your tummy. Your jaw slacks as you whimper louder. 

You’re wondering where all this stamina is coming from. Dad’s not usually one to over exert himself — seems he’s making an exception for you.

Leon’s hips settle back down and you grind against him, gentle rocking that nudges your cervix and makes your eyes roll back. You feel almost annoyed at how long you’ve been denied something that feels so irrefutably good.

It’s a slow, unhurried thing, the way you move overtop of him, feeling him out. You meet his eyes, and his warm, loving gaze, as you pull your shirt off. 

The same eyes that shone so brightly when you rode your first bike, that narrowed on your first time out with a boy, that teared up when you crossed that stage on your graduation — and here they are, dragging over your newly bared tits with this look of reverence.

Leon continues to tug your shirt higher to get his mouth on them, peppering kisses between the valley of your tits. He mouths a careful line up your body and slopes his lips along your collarbone, breathing nothing but worship toward you.

You’re not focused on chasing your orgasm. You’re simply enjoying this moment with him — a short flash of father-daughter bonding before he’s gone again. You can feel it though, warmth rolling over you and making your pulse jump.

This feels strangely innate, like the final piece of an irritatingly simple puzzle. Maybe the one thing you were missing in your life was your dad’s cock. You think you’ll be all sorted out now.

The second time you cum, you hardly register it, simply soaking in that now-familiar wave of ecstasy. Your voice heightens into this near-girly pitch as you do, muffled against where your lips press to his. It’s gentle, loving, and wraps you up like a blanket.

Leon moans against you all the same, cumming shortly after, pumping a steaming load straight into your cunt. You pull back, returning to yourself with the tiniest realization of your creampie. You should probably be panicked, but you’re too busy basking in the warmth of it — the safety and the tenderness. A creampie as gentle as a first kiss.

“Love you, sweetheart,” Leon breathes, gazing up at you.

“Love you too, Dad,” you smile softly, with what energy you have left.

You’re not sure how long you both sit like that, enveloped in satisfaction. You have conversations about this and that, not bothering to pull him out of you. What’s the point anyway? Eventually, he’ll push back in again with that same delicious stretch and it’ll all be as natural as breathing.

And wherever this goes, you’re sure you’ll be the perfect little daughterwife. Leon made it so.

A careful sanctuary for people who were unable to figure out what to do with themselves and their lives.

Or with each other.

The distant train shook the earth, rumbling beneath yours, Andre’s, Cal’s and a couple of others’ heavy boots. You breathed in through your nose, a familiar odour of chalky gunpowder wafted. It reached your tongue sour as the decay of early summers.

Delicate tones of birdsong danced melodically through the heat dazed silence, sparrows hopped from branch to branch in collectives. After a single thud, a crunch of a boot and a stutter from when your body crashed up against the bark of a tree; the birds scattered with the beats of their small wings in abrupt flight.

The tree trembled from the force of the collision, air escaping your lungs when your spine met the sharp spike of the tree. Regardless, you still had enough breath to laugh and smugness to bury the pained expression underneath your crooked smirk. “Jesus Chri—fuck! Andre, chill!”

That only provoked him further, his chest heaving in uneven rhythms against yours. From his nose, a thin trail of crimson escaped dribbling to his chapped lips before resting on his chin. A quiet droplet clung momentarily on his skin before letting go after a singular tremble. Kriegman’s pupils were blown wide, blending in with the molten gold flecks of his dark irises, his jaw clenched and bushy brows furrowed.

You should’ve felt fear and, to a certain extent you did, you should’ve been the one apologising for causing this tantrum… but it was far too entertaining to stop. Strangely enough, a shameful thrill invigorated you, coursing through your veins. It made your pulsing heartbeat echo in your ears. The sight of your best friend so unruly, lost in a state of deep disarray had sent you spiralling. Andre was unravelling right before your eyes and all you could think about was the blood rushing down south.

“Don’t… don’t fuckin’ laugh at me like that. Wipe that fuckin’ grin off your fuckin’ face,”Andre snapped, slamming you against the tree once again, uncaring for the wince that escaped your mouth. “Y’think I’m retarded? You think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

With the back of your hand, you wiped the blood streaming down your nose. The red seeped into the sleeve of your shirt and you could only grimace. “What? You mean doing what you and I both came here for—?”

Andre’s palm slammed into the tree bark beside your head. It was a stupid act of intimidation that only made you dryly chuckle. “Ah, you fucking—! Bullshit, don’t act so fuckin’ innocent now! You’ve been jerkin’ me around all day, man!”

He hadn’t given you a chance to respond—as he often didn’t— before breaking into a mockery of yourself with an exaggerated imitation of your voice. “‘Oh, can’t even hit a single target today, Andre?’ ‘That was, uh what like, three feet off?’ ‘Going blind, Kriegman?’. Yeah, sound familiar?”

You blinked as you pressed your lips together in a thin line willing yourself to suppress the laughter. “I mean… you were missin’, man.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot, dude! Thanks a fuckin’ lot! You’re real fuckin’ funny!” Andre cocked his head sideways to purposely bellow down your right ear.

A finger jabbed at your chest causing another flinch and shiver out of you. “You do this shit on purpose, you know you fuckin’ do. You piss me off and then just stand there like some smug fuckin’—”

“Smug what, Kriegman?”

Andre’s lips tightened into a straight line, a sharp inhale before he exploded back into his rage again, “—piece of shit, asshole!”

You knew Andre was capable of calling you much meaner shit. He was holding back and you weren’t sure why. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the most terrifying guy, man.”

You mustered up your most shit-eating grin, the corners of your lips stretching upwards and flashed your upper row of sharp teeth whilst nodding. Andre faltered, his expression dampened from your resolve. His indignation had brittled, the momentum of his anger had been knocked out as his eyes darted over your face in careful study.

The sensation of his breath hitching ghosted your cheek, Andre’s irises for a mere second had softened, the chestnut hues had captured the glimmer of the sun causing them to burn a scorching amber. Your mouth curled when noticing how he drifted too closely towards you during this pause of excruciating silence. He tried pulling himself back into his madness through a half-hearted snarl and a tightened grip on your t-shirt. This attempt felt almost desperate, strained even.

Your shoulders dropped, relaxing your body through a deep exhale under the impression you were in the clear but that moment of weakness had soon disappeared. Another wince had been forced out of you once your head caught against a splintered edge.

That pointed twig had pierced into the back of your head. The crack of the impact had ricocheted through your skull, a dull throb of a pulse had emerged from the wound before evolving into a tearing sting. Then came the sensation of thick warmness trickling down your scalp that pooled past your neck. Your hand moved by instinct, hasty fingers meeting your matted hair. Through clenched teeth, you endured the ripple of harrowing pain pulsating and travelling downwards your spine.

For a few moments, your vision blurred but you could feel Andre’s grasp on your shirt slip and his body freeze. Despite the temporary vision loss, you could still sense the guilt radiating off Andre. A barely audible, “Hey, man, you okay?”

You couldn’t help but let a chuckle slip out of you. The heat of blood loss, the further surge of adrenaline flooding your system had sent a masochistic cleanse in your stomach. A shameful pang of clarity curled inside your chest once realising your predicament. “Fuck!” you barked out, “Did I touch a nerve? I did, didn’t I?!”

A thin sheen of sweat accumulated near his temple and Andre’s brows furrowed, the wetness of his wavering eyes seeming to magically vanish as his hand reflexively gripped tighter. He sheds his guilt-ridden demeanour like snakeskin before his fury reignited. The tension on his angular jaw reappeared and the earlier line of crimson had dried into a rusted streak. A red blot had stained his camo print tee.

Every ridge of him had tensed readying himself to spring, “You… what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screamed out, voice cracking between frustration and fear. “Do you feel…?! What the fuck, man?!”

You fought back through the blur, blinking to bring moisture your dry eyes. “Feel fine, Andre,” you swayed a little, hadn’t it been Andre steadying you you’d been on the ground, “—it’s you who’s the one losin’ it.”

The sharp angles of his jaw were taut against his flesh. Andre’s left arm left your shoulder to ball itself into a fist as his side, the restraint he’d been exercising had evaporated within a heartbeat of your response.

A fist swung to the centre before being quickly redirected last second to land square on your shoulder. It wasn’t an impressive blow but enough for you to stumble.

“Dude,” you stuttered out mid-push, more exhilarated than pained. “Is that all you got? Seriously, Kriegman? That was pathetic!”

“I swear…” Andre practically growled under his breath, “I am gonna—” His other hand flexed, pulling you in closer.

Whilst you swayed to gain balance, you began grounding yourself by connecting with your senses. You could taste the iron in your mouth and lungs, your boots planted against the grassy field, feel the dribble of blood. You replied with a murmur, sardonic in its simplicity and irony. “I’m fine, man. You… look more worked up than me, just sayin’.”

He repeated again, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, what?”

The second blow reverberated through your ribcage causing you to wobble. You felt yourself unravelling upon the crackling of bones. You cursed under your breath and, for once, could no longer conceal your pain. No mocking taunt or enticement. Yet, there wasn’t a single fragment of regret in you nor will to yield.

You allowed another dry chuckle to escape whilst you stumbled.

You had reached full acceptance that you were going to get your shit absolutely rocked.

Pathetically, you swung a limp fist against him and struck his chin, earning a yelp from him. His jaw forcibly shut, canines slicing the edge of his tongue where a spurt of blood shot upwards into the air.

“You piece of—”

For every blow you managed to land, Andre struck three. He always recoiled, aware of the damage he’s inflicting upon you. Your head lolled from a hit to your temple, biting into your lip to suppress a groan.

“I’m not… impressed, Andre.”

Amber hues locked on yours with the subtlest traces of self-reproach before his elbow connected to your face. That may have been the source of your sobriety, every nerve in you flaring from that attack.

Andre was worn out, anchoring himself through quick pants, he lets out a grunt before giving you a merciful shove and your knees buckled. You leaned into him relinquishing all means of control, your figure trembling running off of pain and adrenaline alone.

“Damn… looks like you got me…” you forfeited through a ragged breath, humour buried in your muffled tone.

Andre’s hands caught you to keep you steady, his chest rose and fell at a rhythm you had been unconsciously following. Your forehead rested against the slope of his shoulder, the bloody trail from your forehead now pooling onto the damp shirt fabric of his. The world around you had seemed to vanish, unbothered by Cal and Chris’ missing presence.

“Yeah… I got you.”

A heavy sense of tranquility draped over your eyelids, body worse for wear dependent on Andre’s grip. In response to your weight sagging heavier, his arms tightened around your back. You didn’t register the shift, lost in a starry haze.

Terrified, Andre gently shook you, “Hey—hey! Stay awake! God, what the fuck do I do? You’re losing too much blood, man!“

His voice cracked whilst sputtering out your name in rapid succession, “Please, fuck, stay awake! You’re fine! I said you’re fine!”

Andre lifted your chin to assess your beaten and bruised face but your head lolled before you caught yourself.

“Dude…” you rasped out grainy and low, “you beat me senseless and now… you’re panickin’?“

Your voice had caused Andre to sputter, his previous anguish bleeding out of him from a sigh of relief—shoulders easing as the tension released from his shoulders.

“Quit being dramatic, Kriegman.”

“Dramatic?!” Andre snapped once more, he held you desperately as if you might just slip out his hands.

You dragged your gaze upward sluggishly until you caught a sight of his face.

His mouth was trembling, remnants of dried blood visible and splattered along the curve of his chin. Dark, unruly hair dangled in uneven strands across his forehead, its shadows softening his usually sharp features.

“See…? Still here, Andre.”

Slowly yet deliberately, you lifted your trembling, blood slick hands. Andre froze when you cupped his cheeks, fresh streaks of blood smearing along his cheekbones. The two of you simply hovered there, faces a hand’s width apart and breaths out of sync.

“Don’t do that. Don’t scare me like that, man.” Andre swallowed, mustering up his firmest tone.

“You punched the shit outta me… pretty sure I’m allowed to scare you a little.”

“Oh yeah? Well you had it comin’, fucko.” he murmured back, boldly dipping his forehead towards yours. “…Just keep your eyes open for me, ‘kay?”