( &&. hurricane. )

and he doesn’t know why logan’s saying sorry, the fact that he was the one crying and not theo leading him to believe that this was his own fault — even though he wasn’t aware of what he did ( or didn’t do ) . “it’s all right. do what you have to do. i can take it.” i probably had it coming anyway. his plump lower lip gets caught between his teeth, heart clenching at the sound of logan’s sobs, the pain alleviating a tiny bit as their fingers intertwine. he tries to ignore how the contact makes him feel, and how he wasn’t even sure how it made him feel. his thumb rubs tiny patterns on logan’s hand, the movement halting at the blonde’s next words. he manages not stutter out a strangled ‘what’ despite the fact that he feels as if he’d just had the rug pulled from underneath him — he’s never felt more lost in his nineteen years of existence. so he lies there, dumbfounded, each statement shoving him deeper and deeper into confusion. “i — i don’t know.” he mutters. “i don’t know what we are, but it feels right.” he doesn’t even remember deciding to say it, but as soon as the words leave his lips he knows that they’re true.

“you’re an idiot and i want to kick your ass.” he blubbers amidst a few sniffles, not really caring about how childish he might come off as. he wipes at his swollen eyes, sinking his nails into the flesh of theo’s hand as a sense of possessiveness hits him, mineminemine reverberating through his brain like a whirlpool. he pushes back against theo’s chest, holding back the urge to turn and kiss the stupidity out of him. “ well, you better figure out. “ his tone is righteous and uptight, but he just can’t ignore the way the moon shines over the boy’s skin, leaving sparkles here and there. “ i always kinda liked you. i think. “ he starts, anxiety chewing away at his composure — but he figures it’s too late to back off now, a rosy shade creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “ but i was — i was a gross kid, okay? i had noodle arms and a disgusting fringe and sometimes i tripped over my own feet. and then, there was you — obviously. you were always so cool, always getting the girls and guys you wanted, always in the spotlight. and i was always pushed into my corner. i admired you, i swear i did,” he stops to swallow the lump lodged in his throat, eyebrows arching. “and i got frustrated. you got in the ‘cool’ frat, you had cool friends and you attended cool parties, and i was still the noodle kid. i guess i let the admiration melt into some sort of hate. i hated you to cover my feelings, perhaps. this sounds cliché, i know.” this time — he does turn. he’s facing theo, and he cranes his neck to push a little smooch against his lips. “we can pretend this never happened. just — don’t leave. please.”

he doesn’t realise that his eyes were screwed shut. he only notices it when logan speaks again, the words causing his eyelids to fly open — yet he doesn’t detach himself from the other. “i’m not leaving, logan.” he doesn’t know how many times he’s said that in the past twenty minutes, but he wouldn’t mind stating it over and over. he’d be lying if he said he knew the reason why, because in reality he had absolutely no clue, but he was aware of the fact that he didn’t want to go — and theo had never been one to ignore his urges. he shifts until he’s spooning the boy, pulling him close to his chest. “i don’t hate you,” he says, his voice quiet. “i can never hate you.” these words come out even softer, as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff and merely uttering them would send him toppling. “don’t say that. please don’t say that.” and he’s surprised to find that he’s in pain, grateful that the blonde couldn’t see the myriad of emotions flitting across his face.

“i’m sorry —,” the apology comes as a strangled wail, and he finds himself unable to control his trembling hands and his heart, pushing furiously against his ribcage. he rubs at his red-rimmed eyes, tears prickling at the corners — and he doesn’t blame himself when they trail down his cheeks, grief biting at his bones. “ — for yelling. and for treating you like crap.” he forces between a sob, wiping furiously at his snotty nose and his glossy orbs. he reaches for the boy’s hand, then, fingers lacing within his like they were made to be. “this is stupid — i don’t even know why i’m crying.” he licks at the corner of his lips, releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “why not? everything would be easier, then. rivals. not involved in a jarring, secret romance that everyone is aware of except one person, that is you.” he jabs at him, once again, gut twisting. “what can i say? i’m here pouring my heart out like an idiot to someone who didn’t acknowledge my feelings until i threw a pillow at their face.” he gruffs, sinking deeper into the mattress. “what do you feel for me? what — what are we?”

and he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what to feel — all he knows is that he’s been struck dumb by the information, the words registering in his brain but not quite making sense. his eyes stare at the blonde, seeing but not quite seeing, willing himself to feel something — anything  — because the silence within him was absolutely deafening. it’s not that he feels nothing for the boy, he knows there’s something there, but whatever that was has been swept up in this chaotic storm and shielded from his view — he’s lost the ability to think straight. he feels an overwhelming urge to reach out to the other, and before he knows it he’s got his arms wrapped around him, both of them falling back on the bed  — and he knows he’ll get pushed away, but he just had to do it without even knowing why.

he’s knocked out of breath. — he doesn’t like the way theo’s arms curl around his body ( they feel like fingers seized around his throat, he notes ), so he forces his gaze to dart around the room, looking for a way out. he doesn’t find one. “stop. you’re hurting me.” his words feel like whiplash — he hopes theo realizes that the harm doesn’t come from his hold, but from the thrumming where his skin touches. “are you leaving, now that i told you?” he’s terrified of the answer — he brought this weight upon his own shoulders, though, so he lies there, motionless, fingers tight around the thin fabric of theo’s shirt. “you should keep hating me. it would probably hurt a lot less, you know?” he spews amidst a sigh, attempting to soothe his heart. “this was a mistake.”

“that’s why i’m asking you to tell me. to make me understand.” he does his best to keep his voice level, because he just knows that he probably had no right to be mad. sure, he was clueless, and yes, he was just as frustrated as the blonde was — fine, maybe a bit lesser than that — but he had enough sense to bite his tongue. he sees the pillow coming, but makes no move to dodge it — better to let the boy release some of his pent-up anger — and instead stands firm. “i’m not leaving, logan.” it’s just loud enough to reach the blonde, but the words carried enough determination to get his point across. he stands there, preparing for whatever insult —  or object — logan was about to hurl his way, waiting for him to calm down even as he realised that it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. he waits for the sought-after explanation, but when he hears it he remains just as baffled.  his feet carry him closer to the bed, eyes wide as he searched the other’s face for clues. “what did you say?” did theo even hear him correctly?

“i don’t owe you that.” he hisses through gritted teeth, hands already moving to grasp another pillow and chuck it in theo’s direction. “like hell you aren’t! get out, bloomsdale!” he insists loudly, voice clawing at his throat — and rage accesses him in short gushes, the feeling making his head pound. “you heard me well! as if being oblivious wasn’t enough, you’re deaf, too?” he flauts, shaking his head in disapproval. “i like you. do you need me to draw so you get the idea? huh?” his fingers curl into his palms, nails digging semi-cicular shapes into the pale skin — probably to hold back the urge to throw a punch at the taller one.  “i know you don’t like me back. it was just for the sex, right?” he spits, eyes boring holes into his skin when he finally looks up. “pathetic. i don’t want to see you.”

his gaze follows the other boy as he sits down on the bed, and for a moment he debates joining him, but something in the back of his mind tells him to keep his distance. his eyes search the other’s face, and all he could think of was how tired the boy looked. he curses how damn perceptive he was — that was one of the main reasons why he was so good at what he does ( sleeping around, that is ). he noticed everything, from the looks people gave him, to how girls’ voices rose a few octaves when they talked to him ( an outright expression of interest ) , even how supposedly straight men shifted in their seats when he neared them  — but apparently his observation skills only went so far as the physical level, because judging by what logan was saying, he was as thick as a brick wall. “but why would you  — “ he cuts himself off, waiting for the blonde’s next words, and when they come he stands his ground. “no. i’m not leaving until you tell me what i need to know.”

“i said, leave.” he’s losing his composure — bit by bit, fading away from his reach. to say he’s aggravated is an understatement, and it shows in the way he slumps over, bites angrily into his lip and takes two, three deep breaths before carrying on. “you come here to demand me answers about what you don’t understand. does that make any fucking sense, bloomsdale?” his voice raises, and he sees red, fidgety hands reaching for a pillow so he can aim full force at the boy standing like an idiot by his door. “get the fuck out! get out!” he accentuates every syllable, rage coursing through his bones like a fire. “you don’t have the right to stand here — my room, and demand anything. get the fuck out before i go over there and knock some sense into you, you little shit.” there’s nothing behind his bark — no rancor, no hard feelings, but frustration. tears brim at his eyes, and he wonders why he’s being such an emotional freak, a sigh quaking through his body as he forces himself to calm down. “i think — i like you. now, get the fuck out of my room.”

he steps inside slowly, taking his time to survey the surroundings despite the fact that he knew the small room as well as he knew his own. something heavy hung in the air, but theo wasn’t aware of what it was or what caused it. he didn’t really know why he’d walked all the way here  — no, that wasn’t quite right. he did know why he was here  — he needed answers, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to get them. he runs his fingers through his dark locks  — messy from the nap he’d taken before he received that first text message  — and spins on his heel, facing the other boy at last. “so,” he began, his voice sounding like it usually did despite the fact that he didn’t feel like himself at all, “do you want to tell me what they meant? those texts?” he almost cringed at his own words  — they seemed far too insensitive and unconcerned, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

then, he’s back on the bed. his shoulder blades bump against the wall and he lets his fingers wander through his face — the set of his jaw, the stubble littered across his chin, and his tired eyes, definitely his tired eyes — in a petty attempt to rid himself of the unbearable discomfort sounding like a call for help inside his head. his other hand remains tight around the fabric of his clothing, and it’s the only thing holding him down, preventing him from getting up and leaving. instead, he licks at his lips, ignoring the dry skin he’d usually bite at out of habit. “think about it. you literally — you don’t get it. everything flies past your head, doesn’t it? i was talking about you. i described you, for god’s sake — there’s just,” he pauses to shoot the boy a glance before once again retreating, stomach sinking into his body. “leave. theodore, get out. right now.”

theo trudged through kdr’s lawn, making his way to the back door and slipping inside as quietly as he could. standing there in the kitchen, he could hear the sounds of videogame gunfire and a truckload of cursing emanating from the other room — assuring him that the house’s occupants were more or less dead to the world. he darts out of the kitchen, climbing up the stairs and walking up to the door he knew belonged to logan. he raps on the wood twice, muttering a short, “it’s me, open up,” before stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and waiting anxiously for a response.

he bites at his nails. fear washes through his body in crippling waves, and he finds himself lost amidst his thoughts. he’s aware that he probably made the situation worse — but he just couldn’t help himself. theo’s daftness was getting on his nerves — and there was only so much he could take, he assures himself, his anger meshing with the anxiety almost bursting at the seams. his train of thought is broken by a soft rasp against the door, quiet but enough to almost get his heart plummeting out of his chest. he rubs the sleep off his eyes, fingers hooked around the hemline of his jumper as he moves to the door with feeble steps, palms coated in a thin layer of sweat. “hi —” his voice almost refuses to leave his throat as he pulls the door open, perspiration pooling at the curve of his neck. “come in.”