electricity

At least, that’s what they thought.

Shane had his head rested against Rose’s shoulder, his eyes scanning over the notes taken in his quick chicken-scratch handwriting for the fifth time. Rose was reading some classic, for what Shane could only guess was for her English class. The room was quiet, but the muffled talking from the living room slowly grew louder and more heated until Rose cast a small glance at the resting man, who looked back up at her.

“What’s going on?” Rose mused quietly, turning her head towards the door. Shane sat up and set the notes aside, stretching. “Ugh, I don’t know. Something stupid, probably,” he said. “I’ll go see.”

Rose nodded but didn’t pick her book back up, only pulled her knees to her chest and waited for Shane to climb out of bed. He did so, walking to the door and pausing. “… I think they’re arguing. God damnit.” With a final huff, he opened the door.

The scene before him was worse than he thought would be. Jackson and Zach looked ready to kill; Jackson’s shoulders were squared and Zach was sizing him up—what looked like again, as blood was already beginning to dribble from Jackson’s nose. He only saw the back of Zach’s head, but both men were most likely sporting something nasty.

If either of them noticed Shane, they didn’t show it, because Zach lunged at Jackson, grabbing a fistful of his shirt collar before effectively being elbowed in the face and shoved back. He managed to land one more punch—right to the side of Jackson’s head dangerously close to his eye—before they separated again. Shane took this as an opportunity to do something completely stupid; he squirmed his way in between them, his back to Jackson and facing Zach. He felt a small swell of fear when Zach registered what he’d done and sent a deadly glare his way, but he had gotten himself into this mess and he knew he couldn’t leave until someone did something.

He must have looked more physically defensive than he had originally intended because Zach didn’t back down and his anger only seemed to flare. “Don’t you fucking hit me, Shane,” he growled. Shane gave him an incredulous look.

“I’m not gonna hit you, but he wants to kill you, dude,” he said quickly, not really needing to point out the way Jackson was glowering behind him. Past Zach, Shane could see Rose looking out the door, waiting for something to happen. She looked like he felt.

He could see the muscles in Zach’s arms trembling and his fingers forming another fist, but he wasn’t having this today. He couldn’t even see what Jackson was about to do, but this was one of those moments where he trusted him not to do anything to make it worse. Without taking another second to weigh the consequences, Shane stepped forward, grabbed the back of Zach’s tank collar, and yanked him away. Zach was well-balanced, he’d give him that, but Shane managed to take him by surprise enough to get him stumbling. “Get out,” Shane demanded, his grip tightening when Zach began to thrash. “I’m not taking this, you fucking hear me?”

He could hear the bedroom door open further, so he had the confidence that Rose was making sure Jackson didn’t follow. They soon reached to door, which was yanked open with no mercy. Shane walked them out into the hall where Zach finally managed to wriggle free.

“Get out of my house, Zach, I’m not going to let you do this. Get out, go home, calm down.” While he talked, he pointed down the hall towards the exit, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Don’t come back until we get things sorted out and you’re cleaned up. I’ll talk to you later.” With that, he left Zach—who would probably have a black eye later and was most likely sporting a broken nose and other various injuries—to find his way out of the building and home, where he hopefully followed Shane’s advice. He closed the door behind him, trying not to slam it but failing. He walked up to Jackson, who had been seated on the couch. Jackson rubbed at his own bruised knuckles and held a wad of tissues against his mouth and nose, which was spotted with red.

“Are you mad at me, too?” he asked, indicating Rose had probably given him a shouting while Shane had done the same to Zach. Shane didn’t smile or shake his head.

“Yeah, I actually am. I’m pissed.”

Jackson nodded and sighed against the palm of his hand. One eye was watery, but it didn’t look like it was from emotions. It was the same one was Zach had been so close to actually punching, and the sclera was slowly getting more and more red; a burst blood vessel, probably, but it was still unnerving to look at. Shane turned his gaze from him and on to look for Rose. He soon found her in the kitchen, sitting on the counter with a glass of water in her hands.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she said. “I heard you unleash the beast on Zach. Good on you.”

Shane smiled, then frowned about smiling. “No, shut up. We’re supposed to be mad, don’t make me laugh.”  

“That doesn’t mean you have to be mad at me.” The two looked away from each other after chuckling and the room went quiet again. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do. I--… I don’t think I’ve been this mad at either of them,” Rose muttered after a while. Shane sighed and leaned on the counter next to her. His hands were still shaking.

“I don’t know. They—They’re not dogs, we can’t, like, smack ‘em on the nose. That’d be a hell of a lot easier, though.”

Rose looked up at the ceiling and shook her head, laughing airily. “What are the odds that they’re both idiots? C’mon.” She scooted off the counter and gently smacked the back of Shane’s head before walking out the kitchen, perfectly aware that Jackson could probably hear everything they had said.

Shane rubbed at his face again and left the kitchen, stepping past the wide frame and watching the other two. Rose had pulled out her phone and was talking gently to Jackson.

“Here, let me see your eye. Does it hurt?” She let him tilt his head back so she could get a better glimpse. Her usual gentle hand didn’t even hover over him, and he was left without touch as she focused her phone camera lens on his eye and took a few pictures. Not for show, but for either evidence or something else; Shane didn’t say anything and didn’t plan to.

“Nuh-uh, not my… actual eye. M’head hurts, though.”

Rose nodded and pulled back, locking her phone again and dropping her arms to the side. “You’ll be okay. Go clean yourself up.”

Jackson didn’t argue and nodded, standing up and stepping around the couch and heading for the bathroom. It was almost amusing to see a big man like him scuffling around Rose like she was radioactive. The sound of the shower soon started up and Shane looked over to see Rose frowning at her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

On the screen of her phone, she tapped out a short message underneath the picture of Jackson’s eye she’d taken earlier— “Look what you did”—and hit send to Zach’s contact. She turned off her phone before Shane could see what she was doing. Not that it was anything very concerning, but she didn’t want to stress him more than he already was. It soon found her pockets and she rubbed at her face.

“Did you really mean it?” Shane said from off to her side. Rose looked up, unsure of what he meant. “Hm?”

“When you said he’d be alright; did you know, or were you just… trying to keep him calm?”

A small laugh escaped from Rose, although it wasn’t exactly bursting with humor. “Well, his eyes weren’t all screwy—you know, one pupil is bigger than the other?” She gestured to her face, holding her barely-spaced thumb and forefinger in front of one eye. “So I don’t think he’ll, like, die or anything, but if his head still hurts tomorrow I might send him for a checkup or something.”

“Good plan,” Shane replied. Rose’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out, sliding her thumb across the lock screen to view her new message. It was Zach’s reply, only three words long but enough to make her frown;

he deserved it

She didn’t bother reply.                                                                                                       

Jackson ended up sleeping on the couch for a few days—something Rose thought was justified—and he didn’t complain. He did go for a checkup in the end, but he was told what Rose had said before; he was fine. Drink lots of water, take some Asprin, and don’t do it again. After Shane had managed to drag Zach to a similar look-over by a professional, which took more convincing than it really should have, he and Rose played matchmaker and set them in the same room and told them to either kiss and make up or fuck off because neither had the patience.

It was days like these when the boys got mischievous. They were grown-ass men, (Jackson was almost twenty-fucking-five!) but they still insisted on acting like children—no, not children. Children are innocent and small; they were more like animals that found humor in the smallest of things.

First, it had been the tickling. Shane had crawled into her lap and gently pushed the textbook from her hands. Fair enough, in the beginning, but he didn’t really stop, and his fingers eventually found her sides. Not being one to appreciate unprompted tickling, she had screeched and wriggled away. She made it a point to gently bop him on the head with her book before shoving him off the couch.

Then Jackson had hidden her gaming controller. She knew it was him, and he knew she knew, but he wouldn’t say a word about it. Luckily it was hidden in one of the most mundane places (under the pillow), so it didn’t take long to find, but when a woman wants to play videogames you don’t get in her way. She’d pressed a finger into his chest, only half-joking when she threatened to lock him in the closet, then splayed across the bed with controller in hand. (If she had purposely made it to where neither of the boys could join her, then it would certainly be news to her.)

She knew it was all a big joke, and she knew no harm was meant from either party, and she wasn’t really mad, just annoyed. The day was nearly over, but their stupid pranks sure weren’t. Flopping onto the couch, she sent them a death glare while they smiled.

“You guys are fucking ridiculous. I should put you on a leash or something.”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t been home this long in forever, m’just messing with you,” Shane cooed, leaning over the back of the couch. Something in Rose told her to shut that pretty mouth of his; that he was too confident for his own good. She tried to ignore it while Jackson joined in.

“Yeah. We’re just dicking around, we’ll stop if you want.”

While this did help ease some frustrated pressure, the little thought was back and it told her she’d make them stop, and she’d teach them something while she’s at it. She smiled back up at them, her voice dripping with honey. “Mh, yeah, it’s okay. But, like, I have something I wanna show you guys, but I’ll only show you if you can sit still for a minute or two. Hm?”

She stood up and gestured to the now-empty couch. They glanced at each other, but weren’t about to argue after teasing her almost all day; they had to make up for it somehow. Her smile was kept as a normal expression, trying not to seem too eager to follow the instincts that made her hands twitch.

“Stay there, ‘kay?” At their slight unease, she laughed, a genuine laugh because even if they were annoying to high hell, they were still cute. “I promise,” she said, stretched out the ‘promise’ for exaggeration. “It’s just a thing I want to show you, but you have to close your eyes or it’ll just be, like, completely ruined.”

They obeyed hesitantly, but eventually both of them were blind to the world and sitting still. She tiptoed past them, into their bedroom, before sliding open her personal drawer (just above Shane’s and right below Jackson’s) and pushed a few folded panties and shorts before pulling out two collars. They had made an appearance before, but only for a moment or two to be admired. They certainly weren’t jokes, but not very often did they come into play. She grinned to herself, a smile bright enough to light the room, before grabbing one more element to the surprise—two long, leather leashes that she may or may not have told them about. Yet. It had cost something fierce, but the ownership she felt over her boys when they held the collars to their necks had been worth it.

She stood back up with the goods behind her back, just in case they had disobeyed orders and peeked. Even if they did, they probably heard her coming back because their eyes were sealed shut when she returned.

“Can we look now?” Shane mumbled, his head tilted back and facing the ceiling. Rose clicked her tongue. “No, not yet. I just wanna—” she paused as she stepped in front of him before placing a knee on either side of his legs, sliding into his lap. His eyes threatened to open, but he quickly suppressed the urge.  “—Do something real quick.”

She took the first collar and unclipped the back. It was made of black leather, similar to the leashes, but the material wasn’t as thick. The interior, that rubbed on his neck, was softer and more forgiving, and the front had a ring in which Rose clipped the end of the leash to. It made a satisfying sound as metal softly brushed against metal, and she wriggled off of him, making sure to leave plenty of slack in the leash. Beside Shane, Jackson wriggled in anticipation, probably having heard the sound of her climbing on and off of Shane. Rose smiled, making sure to accidentally rock back and forth on top of him, earning a small sigh and a shiver.

“Come on, Rose, whatever you’re gonna do, don’t be a tease—” His words were cut short by the clip of the collar and a smug giggle from Rose’s end. His collar was different than the other; it was smaller than and not as tall as Shane’s, although the fabric was maybe similar in thickness. It was made from a softer, more delicate material that was gentle inside and out. It also had a ring, but was partially occupied by a small dog tag-like charm that formed the shape of a heart. It came that way, but Rose found it oddly fitting and decided to keep it. Mindful of the charm, she rolled her hips one more time and clipped the other leash to the ring, then slid from his lap and stood up.

“Open your eyes,” she instructed, giving a small pull on each leash, one in each hand. Their eyes shot open, and it was amusing to see them feel up the collars around their necks before looking at each other, then her.

“Oh,” Jackson murmured, his face already a steady shade of pink.

Rose watched them and giggled again, giving a few experimental tugs at the leashes.

“How hard are you willing to pull those things, huh?” Shane asked, only joking a little. Rose looked at him with an expression that matched her tone.

“I shouldn’t be looking at this,” Rose muttered at the screen of her phone. She felt a little sick, but mostly just frustrated. The more she scrolled, more and more pictures greeted her; girls her age with pale, smooth skin, their bodies thin and slender. They had thigh gaps that everyone always talked about. The only feature they and Rose had alike was the curly hair; even then, theirs was perfect and bouncy and pretty. Hers was currently all over the place and could probably do for a shower. Every inch of squishy skin felt a thousand times heavier on her. “This is fucking stupid,” she growled to no one but herself, but never really looked away.

“What’s stupid?”

Well, fuck. Rose considered quickly pressing the home button or turning off her phone completely, but, really, that would just raise suspicions and those were never any good to have. She laughed a bit humorlessly.

“Mh, nothing. It’s a dumb blog I found—it’s, uh, a thinspo blog or whatever.” She tilted her head back to watch Shane walk up to her. “Y’know with the really skinny--” Pretty. “—girls.”

Shane frowned a little and glanced at her phone in the universal gesture for “Can I see?” Rose nodded, handing it to him, crossing her arms while he flipped through a few pictures. He eventually frowned softly and she knew what he was thinking.

“I’m not, like, moping or anything. Well, okay, I kind of am,” she added when she realized that’s exactly what she was doing. Shane smiled briefly but didn’t laugh. “But it’s stupid ‘cause they’re acting like fat isn’t pretty in the first place. Y’know?”

“Ohh, I get you,” Shane confirmed, nodding. He gave her back the phone and she eagerly turned it off. No more of that stuff. “I haven’t seen very many but I’ve heard of ‘em, yeah. They’re pretty shitty, aren’t they? Or, at least, some of them.”

Rose finally sat up, draping herself over the couch arm while Shane moved to sit next to her. “Mhm. Some are worse than others.”

A beat of silence in which Rose played with her phone case and Shane watched.

“Are you, like… You’re okay, right? Not letting it get to you?” he asked tentatively. Rose put her case worries on hold and looked over at him, shrugging a little bit harder than necessary. She pushed herself from one soft cushion to the other, eventually stretching across his lap and smiling.

“I’m okay approximately 95 percent of the time, babe. I know I’m fucking adorable and no one can resist this,” she said, quickly patting at her thighs that held no gap between them. Shane’s serious aura dropped and he laughed aloud, covering his face with a hand while he did so.

There were only a few people in the world who knew the passcode to Subject 203’s enclosure. It wasn’t too much of a closely guarded secret, mainly because there never really came a time when anyone else would want or ask for it. Very rarely did the door open and it wasn’t the designated caretaker or building staff instructed to do so.

That’s why Jackson was so surprised when he heard the heavy-duty door begin to open. No one had alerted him prior, and he hadn’t sent out any sort of request, so what would they need right then? He muttered quietly to himself before pushing off the ground and up to his feet, Rodger eying the door suspiciously.

“What’s that?” he asked in a low voice. Jackson paused midstep and glanced at him. “It’s fine, bud, I’m on it.”

While Rodger remained seated against one of the larger rocks in the enclosure, Jackson walked towards the door, which had opened completely. Unsure of what to expect, Jackson couldn’t help but jump a little while Carla stepped in front of him. She wasn’t smiling, however, like she usually was. Her eyes were a bit wide and the way she stood looked tense. “Jackson,” she said quickly. His mind struggled to keep up with the sudden change in atmosphere and he only mouthed a small “what” before Carla kept talking.

“You need to get out here now.”

She had grabbed his hand while she frantically explained and tugged him towards the door she had just entered from. His legs, shaky as they had become, obeyed and followed her outside the enclosure. The door closed gently behind them and he didn’t even have time to think about Rodger before the clamor hit his ears. Someone was at the door nearest the enclosure they had just exited out of. It sounded like they were talking to themself, very frantically so, as they tried to do something Jackson couldn’t quite get a glimpse of.

“I—what’s…? Carla, what’s happening?”

“A hybrid’s gone into some kind of cardio shock and we’re trying to help her but she’s not responding.” Carla said quickly, crouching down inside the open doorway where an unconscious hybrid lay. She was an insect hybrid, with black-blue speckling up and down her arms and across her shoulders. Patches of what looked like hardened skin or some sort of exoskeleton littered her body in random places. Her face was a mismatched mess of skin colors and features. Jackson couldn’t stop looking at the way her body was as still as stone and didn’t notice the other person draw back. He waited for some kind of movement from the hybrid or command from Carla, but neither came. All he saw was the man who had been crouched down lean over and tilt his head just above the hybrid’s mouth, ear mere inches away. All he felt was confusion and the sensation of someone slipping their hand around his. All he heard was Carla’s heavy breathing among the sudden deathly silence.

“Goddamnit,” the man huffed, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. “Missed her by seconds. Heart just gave out.”

It felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under him. “What?” he managed to choke out. “M-Missed her? What was I supposed to even do?”

Carla squeezed his hand and stepped back, pulling him away. “I’m sorry, hun, we needed an extra pair of hands and you’re the most qualified person I could think of on the spot.” She walked him back to about halfway between Rodger’s enclosure and the doorway that they had just been. “Are you okay?” 

He sucked in a slow breath, his mind fuzzy with confusion and shock. “I guess. Yeah… No. Well, I think. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dragged you over there. She was good as dead by the time I left. We’ll take care of everything else, so don’t worry yourself.” Carla smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand again before letting go and beginning to step back and away. Jackson let her hand fall away from his, which he used to rub roughly at his face. 

"I couldn't have... like, helped or anything, right?" 

Now a few feet away, Carla stood in the large hallway and looked at him.

"Maybe if I had been faster. You're no professional, babe; this ain't on your hands."

With that, the topic was closed, and Jackson knew it. He watched her walk back to the scene, but looked away as soon as he thought they were going to be moving the body in any way. He wasn't sure if he'd seen the hybrid die-- or if she had been dead when he got there. It didn't matter, he tried to tell himself. She was dead and it wasn't his fault, so he turned and walked back to Rodger's enclosure.

The rest of his day went by in a sort of distracted blur. When he had returned to Rodger, the hybrid had taken a small moment to scoot closer to him and sniff the air, then comment that he smelled like scared beetles. 

Oh my god. I smell like that poor girl's chemical distress call or something.

---

The first thing he planned to do when he got home was shower. He wanted (needed) to wash off the smell of death that no one but Rodger could even detect. He needed to lie down and try to forget what had even happened at all.

Unfortunately, Rose and Shane had different plans. When he walked through the door, they were sitting on the couch; Shane had the laptop settled on one side of him and Rose on the other. They looked up at him and smiled a little.

“Hi, Jackson,” Rose greeted. He smiled at her—how could he not? She was like that, always making him smile even if he didn’t want to. Right now, however, he really needed it, so he was grateful. “Hey,” he hummed quietly while he slipped off his work boots and emptied out his pockets onto the stand next to the door. As soon as he was finished with that, he walked over to the couch and kissed Rose on the head and tapped Shane—who wasn’t paying attention—on the back of his neck. Shane immediately brought his hand up and batted Jackson away, scowling at him.

“Augh, stop it. Jerk.”

Jackson knew he wasn’t really that irritated, so he did it again and smiled at him. He could feel himself starting to forget the negative emotions he’d been harboring, but it was a slow process and he was still itching for a shower. “Good to see you, too.”

Shane rolled his eyes and placed the laptop on the coffee table in front of him before leaning back and tilting back his head for a kiss. He received one and seemed satisfied for the moment, but Rose wasn’t done. “How was work? You look tired,” she remarked, mistaking Jackson’s rattled mind for simple fatigue. He coughed awkwardly and tiled his head away while he tried to determine how to answer. The truth? A lie? What could he even tell them without getting himself arrested?

“Oh. It, uh… Could’ve been better.”

Not a lie, more like a vague truth. Jackson hoped it was good enough; his fingers were twitching at his side. Rose frowned a little and seemed concerned. “Really? What’s wrong?” Shane was paying attention now, too. Jackson wanted to tell them; he wanted to vent out and tell them everything and let them do their own comforting thing, but he didn’t know if he could. Soon, he found himself sitting in the chair next to the couch, unsure of what to do.

“It’s… I just saw something that I wish I didn’t, I guess.”

He didn’t even see Rose get up. He didn’t noticed her walking around behind the chair and gently settling her arms on his shoulders, but as soon as she did, he felt his will break.

The panic, the stone still look on the hybrid’s entire body. Carla holding his hand, the other scientist telling them that it was just too late, nothing could be done, that Jackson had just watched somebody die and he hadn’t been ready nor prepared for it. It was the first time anything that morbid had occurred at his work and it was a sharp shock for him; he’d always known it wasn’t a happy place, but he’d never really imagined it being so fucking awful at times. He felt the air leave his chest completely then return in a painful whirlwind; was he hyperventilating? No, fuck, he was crying, which was just as bad.

“God, m’sorry, I didn’t--… fuck…” he whimpered, bringing the heel of his palm roughly against his eye to try and wipe away the stupid tears dampening his face. It was too blurry to see, but he was sure that Rose and Shane were both equally shocked and maybe a little scared. Someone grabbed his hand, the same one Carla had held so tightly to, and he shuddered. “I saw someone d—someone had a heart attack or something, and my friend needed my help, but I didn’t—… goddamnit…”

He took a deep breath to calm himself and pulled his shirt up over his face so neither of the two could see him, and it also served as a small gesture of humor. Shane laughed a tiny bit, shaking his head even though he was still worried and confused. “Get outta there, we need to see your face so we can kiss you better. It’s all I know how to do,” he said, tugging gently on Jackson’s hair.

“I’ll get you something to drink and we can lie down on the bed, if you want,” Rose suggested softly, making use of what she had and kissing the top of his head. He pulled down his shirt collar just enough to look at them with red watery eyes.

Maybe it was when saying “my two boyfriends and boy-friend” got a little too complicated; a little too hard to explain.

Maybe it was when she’d watch Jackson and Zach wrestle on the floor and had decided to join in, flopping down on both of them as they laughed at one another.

When she was sick, or stressed, or sad; how Shane would make her favorite mint tea for her (even though he put in a little too much sugar) and let her fall asleep with his shirt hem bunched in her hands.

It could have been every time Zach looked down at the floor or his lap when she told him “I love you” because he didn’t want her to see him blush.

Or when Jackson held onto her tight when he hugged her with everything he had.

Or when Zach would wander into the apartment only to fall asleep on their couch a few minutes later.  

“Ah, I love you too. What’s the occasion?” Shane shrugged a little, and then grinned to himself. “Y’big lug,” Rose added, gently nudging at his head with the base of her palm. “I’m serious.”

The room was getting darker as the sun went down, but the cheap bedside lamp was providing a faint cast of light that would settle them for the time being. Shane was tangled up in the blankets of the bed, and Rose was tangled up with Shane. He was lying between her legs with his head promptly rested against her bare stomach and arms wrapped around her. Work had taken a toll on him, and he was tired, so not much moving went on.

“Nothing’s going on. I just really love you.”

Rose bit her lip and felt her chest swell a little bit. She was 18 and still childishly adoring those words. She always had.

“If we’re getting all dumb, then I love you too, with all my heart.” She shifted a little and cupped his cheeks with her hands, smiling when he made a kissy face at her. “I love every freckle on your dumb face.”

Shane snorted and pulled back a little bit to look at her. “Good, there’s a lot of ‘em.” He finally found the energy to pull himself up further, until he was effectively leaning over her with his lips to her cheek. “Oh, what did I do to deserve you?” he hummed against her skin.

“Probably saved a baby from a fire or something.”

“She’s not a mermaid.”

The grip Carla had on her clipboard was tightening with each word she muttered. Just outside her hybrid’s enclosure stood her and another caretaker, who had decided to chat her up before hours. The man opposite her—about two inches shorter and a nametag that said he was from a completely different section of the Center—laughed as if he hadn’t just made a terribly offensive assumption.

“Right, ‘course not. How’s little Ariel doing anyways?”

The humming of low-watt light bulbs ahead could be heard over the deafening silence Carla gave him in response. Her mouth had hung open for a second before she swallowed back her formal politeness and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Do you know the first thing about aquatics, anyways?” Her eyes flitted down to his nametag once again. “Hm? Should I assume that every avian type is just a friggin’ harpy?”

The man gave her a nasty look and backed up a few feet. “Jesus, calm down. I was just kidding with you.” Carla huffed at him and turned towards the enclosure entrance door, tapping in the surveillance code quickly.

“I don’t care, you’re the one who decided to talk to me,” she said before she slid open the freshly unlocked door and stepped inside, closing off the man’s unwanted attention behind her. The room was nearly pitch black, save the purplish hue of a few UV lights providing vague visual aid. It smelled of water; the damp, mossy scent that reminded Carla of a rainy day. Hums and whirs of aeration filters, water pressure moderators, and temperature-correcting devices echoed against the large tank that sat inside the room. It held Carla’s beloved hybrid who she affectionately called Sam. Carla stepped up to the thick glass pane and tapped softly against the glass.

Sam was a deep-sea creature hybrid, something from beyond human reach. Her legs were fused into a single tail, but it was a bit mangled-looking and made for some difficulty keeping still. Her entire body was shaped like a bullet, made entirely for easily slipping through the waters; she even lacked a head of hair. She hadn’t a strand of hair anywhere, in fact. The upper half of her body was smooth as well, her chest entirely flat, shoulders slim, and arms tucked against her sides. Her skin was a ghostly white, standing out against the black background of the tank. You didn’t need pigment when you lived in a place where sight doesn’t matter. She had eyes, but they were blown nearly out of proportion to her head, round like discs and nearly the size of Carla’s fist. The few people who have seen her may go so far as to remark it was scary. Terrifying, even.

Funny enough, Jackson had started out despising who later became one of the most important people in his life. He hadn’t hated him, not really, but his attitude about everything repelled him; too happy, almost too calm. Jackson was a bottle of anger and stress and violence ready to break at the slightest touch. He was worried about everything, especially when he moved into some tiny, shitty, one-bedroom dorm with someone he had never met before. The meager few hours his job barely provided him was barely enough to get by with. In general, he was a tense mess who didn’t have time for nosy roommates.

But Shane? He just didn’t give a fuck about anything. Barely a thing phased him; he had settled right into the tiny dorm without a problem (from what Jackson had seen) and he tackled his classes with as much skill as a dumb lanky college kid would be expected to. (He wasn’t dumb, though, and Jackson knew this—he’d seen and heard him mumbling about math and science and all sorts of things he himself had long forgotten.) Jackson decided he didn’t like that.

Even someone as hateful as Jackson couldn’t hold a grudge for as long as he intended, but he tried. The first few weeks started out stiff and awkward between them. Jackson knew this was his fault, but that was pretty much what he wanted; keep things strict and quiet. Living together, however, had the tendency to bring out the more personal things about people, whether it’s wanted or not. Both men had let down their guard and decided to order a pizza together and have it delivered. They didn’t talk while they waited, and Jackson sat at the couch while Shane handled the money and payment when it arrived. Shane bid the delivery-guy (who couldn’t have been any older than either of them) a good night and let the door close on itself while he carried the warm box to the old coffee table Jackson had his feet propped up on. The TV played quietly as the two dove in without hesitation.

“Oh, Jesus,” Shane muttered past a mouthful a pizza. “Fucking good food and a cute delivery guy? Great night on my list.”

Jackson wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “He was pretty cute, wasn’t he?” He cast a glance back at the door, as if the man would still be there. Shane laughed once before swallowing and going silent in thought. “This might sound kinda intrusive, but, like… are you…?” He waved his free hand in a wild gesture that Jackson could only assume meant gay.

“Nah,” he said and rolled his shoulders. He’d been a little nervous about this—the inevitable confrontation he’s gone through so many times—but he exhaled slowly through his nose and answered anyways. “I, uh… I swing both ways, I guess you could put it.”

He finally tore his gaze from the ceiling and risked a glance to his roommate. Although Shane had been the first one to show interest towards the delivery-guy, Jackson braced himself for some snide remark.

Instead, “Oh. So bi, right?” was all the received.

“...Yeah.”

“Cool. I, uh… I guess I swing all ways. You ever hear of pansexual? Not a lot of people have.” Shane rattled it off like it was something he had to explain on a regular basis. Jackson nodded and stole another slice of pizza, quickly biting into it.

“Mhm. That’s cool, too.”

Jackson hadn’t realized what he’d done until a few days later. He’d let his guard down, and he hadn’t hated it. He supposed he could try and stay the hostile, irritable roommate he’d tried to be, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe just let things play out, and Shane might turn out to be less annoying than he originally thought.

“Hey, Jackson, did you invite Zach over?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Did Shane?”

“I dunno, I don’t think so. Seriously, what’s up?”

“Well, he’s on our couch.”

Rose held the door open for Jackson to enter the room after her. He peered over her shoulder at the couch, and there was Zach, curled up under his signature blanket, fast asleep.

“Oh. Huh.”

The main room was empty of Shane, as he was locked away in the bedroom to focus on his homework; he’d declined the offer to grab some food to try and catch up on this work. Rose set her bag behind the couch, which was full of school books as well, and glanced at Zach before walking to the bedroom.

“Hey,” she said quietly, opening the door and stepping inside, “did you invite Zach over here while we were gone?"

Shane had heard her open the door and was already looking in her direction, but his hands faltered in confusion. "I didn't-- no?"

Rose bit at the inside of her cheek and nodded, stepping into the room completely. Jackson was in the kitchen, probably, washing his hands or putting up leftovers.

"Well, he's in the living room on the couch, 'nd I'm not sure why."

"What?" Shane asked, pushing the textbook off his lap and sitting up further. "Why's he here, is he okay?" 

He was about to scoot off the bed to go see what was going on, but Rose interrupted with the downwards gesturing of her palms and a small "No, no, it's fine". This slowed him, but it didn't stop the force of curiosity from making him stand up and take the few steps toward his girlfriend.

"He's fine, dude," Rose said again, resting her arms atop Shane's shoulders and gently hooking her elbow behind his neck. "He's just sleepin'-- got his little blanket and everything." She gave him a kiss on the cheek when he laughed at the thought of the well-used blanket and stepped back. "Yeah, and me 'n Jackson brought you back some fries. You can have some of my soda if you promise not to drink it all."

He let her turn around before speaking. "Wait, hey, hey--" Rose stopped at the door, her eyebrows raised. "Don't wake him up if he's sleeping; let him come around by himself. He probably needs the sleep."

"Got it."

Thankfully, Jackson, seated in the living room, had gotten the hint not to wake the sleeping guest, because he was settled in the other chair with the TV on low volume. He looked up when Shane and Rose entered the living room, but didn’t say much until Shane had given him his hello-kiss as well.

“So he just walked in here and fell asleep?” Shane asked, not bothering too much with the whole ‘keeping quiet’ scheme.

“You didn’t ask him over? Hah, I guess so.”

“I, for one,” Rose grinned, “think it’s adorable.” She shimmied out of her jacket and draped it over the arm of the chair Jackson was sitting in. “How much homework did you get done, Shane?”

“Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The three of them went on with their regular Saturday lives; Shane munched on his fries and promptly broke his promise, drinking nearly all of Rose’s soda when she wasn’t looking. Rose herself played videogames until a nagging headache stopped her—if it had anything to do with too much gaming, she wouldn’t admit. Jackson didn’t do much of anything, just the way he liked it. All while this happened, Zach was left to catch up on the sleep he probably really needed. The sun was dipping behind the buildings on the horizon by the time he stirred. His blanket was wrapped tightly across his left arm, which was tucked against chest; he was properly tangled up with himself. Wriggling out of his predicament, he let out a small, sleepy grunt and sat up.

“Finally up?” Jackson mused playfully. Zach rubbed at his face before flashing him a forced smile. “Mh.” He breathed in slowly and stretched before going loose-limbed again. Before he could remember to ask where everyone else was, Shane walked out of the bedroom and right up to him.

“Hey, dude,” he smiled, stopping beside him and stooping over to give him a kiss, just as he had to Jackson and Rose had to him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Uh, good. Too good, m’still fucking tired…”

Shane ruffled at his already messy hair and sat next to him on the couch. “It’s Saturday night, you can stay over if you want.”

The beer was gross, but he downed two bottles within 5 minutes of sitting on the fire escape steps. He didn’t have to worry about it getting warm, as the day was cold. Cold as fuck, as he would put it, the tips of his fingers turning red and his jacket zipped up all the way. It was getting dark, too, leaving a lone floodlight to illuminate the short alleyway. It was a little pathetic, Jackson mused, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything, at least at the moment. He was numb and sad and cold and on his way to being drunk. Just what he needed.

-

The apartment was empty, it felt like. Barely a word was spoken since Jackson had left to stop by work, ask for a while off as him and his loved ones try and figure everything out. That had been two hours ago. Zach was asleep, or just as quiet as being so, in the bedroom while Rose sat in the living room. Her mind was fuzzy with what felt like static, but she had just enough sense left to check the time every now and then. He’ll be home soon, she told herself, he’s probably explaining or talking or—what the fuck was she thinking? Jackson didn’t talk to people, especially not now. 

Tears burned at the back of her throat for the umpteenth time that day. She should call him—no, not call, what if he was still at work? Her fingers slid across the screen until she opened up his contact number, shakily typing out a text and hitting send.

[txt] where are you?

She curled back up into her chair and pressed the heel of her palm to her eye. Before she could begin crying, though, the bedroom door rattled a bit and opened. She kept her head down as Zach hesitantly crossed the living room and settled down on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked like she felt.

“Hey, Zach,” she said quietly, her fingers playing with the edge of her phone. He let out a small noise of acknowledgment. Rose was about to say something else when her phone chimed. She looked down at it eagerly.

[txt] out drinkign

“God damn it,” she swore in frustration. Zach cringed into the crook of his arm.

-

It wasn’t windy; it was just really, really cold. The metal of the fire escape stairs served no help with trapping heat, and by now the sun had mainly disappeared, leaving the lone light to allow Jackson to see. All he saw, however, were empty beer bottle and his own shaking hands. He felt sick, but he wasn’t about to let himself vomit. The inside of his coat pockets were warm, and his fingers were curled tightly against his palms as he attempted to regain the feeling. It had been at least an hour since Rose had texted him. He pulled out his phone and stared at it.

Before he could make any decisions, his foot nudged against a bottle, which in turn clinked gently against another one. The sound triggered something in his mind, and he silently put his phone back in his pocket and grabbed an empty bottle from the step below him. His red fingers tightly wrapped around the neck of it. He glanced at the opposite wall across from him, leaned against the rails, and threw the bottle at the brick wall. The glass shattered and fell to the ground in shards. He did it again, and again, and until there was nothing left but broken bits of glass. Jackson was shaking by then, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. He gripped the railing tightly and sat down, allowing himself to sob into his sleeve until he really felt like he was going to vomit. His breath was hot and bellowed out in puffy clouds while the initial numbness wore off. He could feel it now; the shock, the cold, the oh-my-god-why-is-this-happening. His phone was in his hands before he could calm down, the screen blurred and his hands shaking so badly he thought he’d drop it. Rose’s name, just above Shane’s—(I’ll never call his phone again I’ll never be able to text him he’ll never text me back do you think he gets texts as a ghost)—sat there, waiting. He dragged his fingers along the screen until he managed to hit “call”, leaving it on speaker; he wasn’t sure if he could hold it steady enough.

The ringing tone went off about three times before it clicked online, a slight static-y air to Rose’s voice as she answered. “Jackson?”

“Hey, Rose, yeah.” He wished he didn’t sound so pathetic, but he was shaking and his voice was stuffy. His head soon found his lap.

“Where are you?” she asked softly. Jackson didn’t bother looking around, gripping tightly at his hair.  

“I don’t know.”

“…Are you okay?”

“No.” He didn’t even have to think; he wasn’t okay, and he wouldn’t be for a long time. Rose went quiet, but he gave her the time she needed. He wasn’t in a hurry.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. I… I fucked up, I think—”

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Her breath hitched a bit. Jackson’s heart broke a little more, he didn’t even think about what would have happened to Rose if he’s done something stupid. Another tug at his hair.

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Rose sighed a little into the receiver. “You need to come home. Do I need to come get you?”

“No, I got money. Um--…” He inhaled sharply and lifted his head, looking at the phone near his feet. “How’s Zach?”

He wasn’t expecting the string of silence in return, nor the anger in Rose’s voice. “Is that a serious question?” Just as he was about to say yes, of course, why wouldn’t it be, Rose cut him off.

“His best friend just d--… Shane’s fucking dead, Jackson, and you just left us here. Of course he’s not fucking okay.”

Jackson cringed violently. He tried not to choke on his own tears, but only succeeded in inhaling a little too quickly and coughing. “I-I’m sorry…” He felt hot tears trickle down his cold cheeks and wiped them on his coat sleeve before they could cool. “M’sorry.”

“You need to come home,” Rose repeated. Jackson nodded, forgetting or ignoring that Rose couldn't see him. "Please?" 

"I will, I-I'll get a cab in a few minutes." 

"Okay, good. I love you."

"Love you, too. Uh-- will you, um, tell Zach I'm sorry, and I love him too? Please?" He never even realize he had mirrored Rose's pleads. 

Hangovers are brutal; it’s been universally agreed. All around the country, people were waking from the New Year’s celebration and wishing they hadn’t, and Rose and her boys were no exception. Rose and Jackson had managed to escape to the bed before crashing around three in the morning—although neither of them felt all that lucky—while Shane and Zach, whom they had invited over for the celebration, were draped over one another on the couch. The apartment was generally quiet until near noon. By half past eleven Jackson was the first unlucky soul to regret their celebration. He rolled over and inhaled through his nose, then pressed his face against Rose’s shoulder blades. Even though he had to piss (and probably puke), he hadn’t the slightest desire to get out of bed. Threading his arms around Rose, he concentrated on listening to her breathe to ignore the uneasiness of his own stomach.

Five minutes later, he was in the shower and almost finished—his will power was not strong that morning. Rose had woken up, too, twisted up in the blanket and frustrated at the world. She decided that a shower could wait until later, after she made sure she and the boys were alive (because she sure didn’t feel like she was). The bedroom door was opened and she walked to the couch, leaning against the back, and looking at Shane and Zach. Zach had made himself comfortable atop Shane, the two of them sleeping soundly.

“Hey, guys, wake up. Come on,” Rose said halfheartedly, ruffling Zach’s hair and then shaking the couch. Zach stirred a little, which woke Shane, and the two became a confused pile of limbs and headaches. Eventually Shane wriggled out from between the couch and Zach, standing up and staring at the floor, waiting for it to stop spinning.

“Hoooly shit,” he huffed, rubbing at his eyes. “Wow, okay. Haven’t had a hangover like this since--… haha, god damn.” Strained laughter ensued while Zach desperately hid under a pillow; Rose leaned over him.

“Get up, dude. You need to go clean up after Jackson gets out of the shower, you look a mess.” She tried to speak quietly, as it hurt her head as much as it did his, but her words fell on deaf ears. A steady whine floated past the pillow. “Noooooo….” he said, pulling his knees closer to himself. “M’not getting up.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Shane grumbled, earning a rude gesture. He stepped past the couch, giving Rose a kiss on the cheek, and made a beeline for the kitchen. “Drink some water before you drink coffee.” He spoke loud enough for Rose to hear, but he either forgot or ignored that Rose didn’t drink coffee. (Loved the flavor, couldn’t stand the caffeine.) Rose, although she had a roaring headache and her stomach felt like it was swirling, didn’t feel all that shitty. She remained by the couch and watched Shane, blinking heavily, then back down to Zach, who had managed to curl up almost completely. “Poor baby,” she hummed, leaning over and rubbing at his shoulder. “Seriously, you should drink some water, though, okay?”

“Idunwannagetupdunmakmemgonnathro’up.”

“That’s what I thought.” She straightened back up and followed Shane’s footsteps into the small kitchen. She grabbed a cup and filled it with water, downing half before stealing the aspirin from Shane and taking two. “Last night was fun,” she grinned. Shane sighed and smiled before stepping closer and resting his forehead against her shoulder, slouching dramatically.

“Yeah, it was. Feel like crap, though.”

“Mhm.”

“Where’s Jackson?”

Rose shifted back, hopping a little bit until she was seated on the counter. Shane took it as an invitation to rest on her even more, his hips between her legs and his arms around her. His head was rested on her shoulder yet again. “He was taking a shower, but I think he’s done. Probably went back to sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I should, uh… I should probably take him some water or something.”

She went to move, but Shane wouldn’t budge. “I’ll take it if you can figure out that fancy coffee maker for me.”

“Deal,” she laughed, scooting away from him and pressing the power button on the brewer while Shane filled up a plastic cup to the near brink with water. He grabbed some of the pills and made his way to the bedroom, feet barely lifting to do anything more than scuff against the floor. Rose waited for the water to heat up, cringing at the loud hissing noise of the steam, but grabbed a small cup from the grab bag her parents had sent with the fancy contraption and looked at it—medium roast, whatever that meant. Placing it into the little holder, she lowered the lid and watched. Within seconds, coffee streamed into the cup below, the smell filling nearly the whole kitchen.

“God bless you, Mom,” she mumbled, watching the Christmas present her parents sent make coffee quicker than she ever thought possible. It was done after about 10 seconds, and she grabbed the cup and put it on the counter for Shane to find. Wandering back to the living room, Rose leaned over the back of the couch again.

“Zach, wake up.”

He pulled the pillow against himself even tighter. “No, m’head hurts.”

“You dumbass,” Rose rolled her eyes. “Drink some water and take some aspirin and you’ll feel better. I can make you coffee, too.”

There was a pause before Zach slowly lowered the pillow. “Y’will?”

“Mhm, I’ll even let you press the button.”

Back in the bedroom, Shane found Jackson splayed pathetically across the bed, half cocooned in the blanket in a feeble attempt to hide from the world. He smiled at the sight, putting the water and pills on the dresser top, and walked up to him. “Everyone else is in the living room, you should get up.”

“Fuck off, Shane.”

He didn’t, however, and even dared to crawl into bed with him. Careful not to shake it too much, he laid down parallel to him and smiled. “I brought you some water and Advil.”

Jackson grunted quietly and allowed Shane to play with his still-damp hair. “Thanks.” He didn’t make a move to look for it, however, and remained still.

“You were a total wreck last night,” Shane mentioned quietly, his smile growing. “It was great.”

The man opposite him managed a small smile, nodding. “It was fun, yeah.” He rubbed at his face a little and rolled over. “I puked three times this morning.”

“Oh my god,” Shane cackled, sitting up and almost regretting it. “Here, lemme—” He wriggled back out of the bed, grabbing the water and pills, shoving them into Jackson’s hands. “You should get dressed and come to the living room.”

“Yeah. I will.”

The kitchen had been emptied by the time Shane made his way back, and Rose and Zach were sitting together on the couch. Zach was leaned up against Rose, half-conscious, working on hastily downing a cup of coffee, while Rose sipped patiently on what Shane guessed was decaf. “How’s Jackson?” Rose asked.

“Alive. He puked three times, apparently. Let’s hope he brushed his teeth.” He leaned on the arm of the couch, nuzzling at Rose and then looking over at Zach. “Morning, dude.”

Zach mumbled against the rim of his cup. Good enough. Rose had the TV turned on, the screen flashing news about car wrecks and New Year miracles, but no words to go with it—she’d muted it for everyone’s sake. It was easy to hear the bedroom door open again, and Jackson walking up to the other side of the couch was as expected. He didn’t bother standing and sat down, his chin barely meeting the arm of the couch, looking up at Zach like a pet. “Feeling any better than me?”

Zach swallowed the last of his coffee. “Probably not.”