#m!kylar

in a nutshell

imagine him fingering them between library shelves. like kylar is fucking shaking with how wound up he is, and pc clenches every time they think someone's going to walk by. and when someone does walk by, kylar throws himself in front of them to shield them from prying eyes. pc looks at him with wide, doe-eyes, and kylar kisses them so hard their teeth clack together. 

sydney appears, trying to figure out the source of the disturbance, but they go completely red in the face when they realize what's happening. pc makes eye contact with sydney at that exact moment and spasms around kylar’s fingers. they grab helplessly at his hoodie, burying their face in his neck as they try to regain some sort of composure. kylar has to stop himself from hyperventilating, clumsily kissing their head over and over to let them know it’s okay. 

“you... you can’t be doing that in the library. it’s against school policy.” sydney’s voice wavers, clearly affected by what they just saw. it’s difficult to tell if they’re upset or something else entirely. 

Kylar was familiar to her even before getting acquainted with you. It had not been lost on her that Kylar had something of an affinity towards you, building a shrine that she had once found and promptly destroyed for the sake, mostly, of messing with him. Her apathy to his undying love for her plaything, however, did not make her stupid enough to not pay any sort of attention to him. It was not lost on her that whenever something particularly bad happened to you, he would be visibly affected, and how he tended to behave was typically a good indicator of how you were and why you were missing. Frustration, for example, typically meant that you were spending more time making money. Anxiety meant that you were hurt, and anger or hurt meant that you were spending time with someone other than him/actively avoiding him. While Robin and Sydney were close to you as well, it seemed that only Kylar took deliberate note of where you were. It was convenient, if creepy. She could always rely on him to broadcast your state.

That day, it was raining for the first time in two months and, despite herself, she sat on the rim of the fountain, waiting for you to show. You usually did. It was the only time the two of you talked outside of school alone and unbothered, when it was raining. Of course, she would never admit that she did it, now, in hopes that you would show, but she would be lying if she said she felt no disappointment at your absence.

The thing that made today unusual, however, was Kylar walking towards her.

She glared up at the chihuahua, black hair sticking to wet skin and nearly drenched clothes. She did not even bother looking him up and down. She took a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke in his general direction. “The fuck you—“

She felt the cold edge of a knife pressing ever so gently to her throat.

His hoodie hid it rather well, all things considered. She could admire that much at least. She would kill him for it, but it was clever, especially with his leaving his jacket unzipped. As far as anyone else was concerned, the two of them could be getting familiar and nobody would stop him. “Where are they?”

She forced herself still. “Who?”

“You know exactly who,” he spat, pressing it farther into her neck. Nobody would hear him over the rain. “What did you do to them?”

Slowly, carefully, she inched her fingers towards her back pocket. “I didn’t do jack shit.” She forced her panic down. She was strong, sure, but that did not mean she did not remember back when she was not. “If anything, I should be asking you, freak. You’re the one obsessed with ‘em.”

“Like hell you didn’t!” His voice cracked. “Like you aren’t the only person who goes up to them in school, who does it over and over again!”

“Says the fucking stalker.” She found her pepper spray. “What are you on?”

His jaw tightened. “They’re nowhere.”

She stopped. “What do you mean, nowhere?”

“Nowhere.” His hand shook. “Not in the forest, not at home, not in the clubs or brothels or bars or anywhere else. Nowhere.”

She blinked. “So you—“

“Shut up.” His grip tightened. “Stop messing with me for once and tell me where they are.”

“I thought you knew.” Her voice rose like she, less than a year ago, had not almost doomed you to a fate worse than death herself. “You’re the one always shadowing ‘em!”

She wanted nothing more than to reach up and steady his god damned hand. It was practically vibrating. “If you don’t know where they are, nobody does.” His voice slows. “If nobody knows where they are, they could be anywhere– out of town, out the county, hell, anywhere in the world at this point– and whatever was happening to them would be completely out of my hands.” He swallowed thickly. “If it’s out of my hands, then they’re out of my hands, victim to whatever freak or perv or anyone else that happens to want to use them for God knows what.” His eyes, shining brightly from beneath long dark hair, lowered to her level. “So. For the last time, if you don't want to bleed out in the fountain, tell me where they are.”

Rain fell in heavy torrents around them, thick drops of water exploding against the pavement, against the leaves of the bushes and leaves, against the water, against the pair, staring eye-to-eye with no idea between them. She had never seen his eyes, always shielded by the hood of some sweatshirt that was clearly too large for him, or a hat– in third grade, he always wore some ratty beanie meant for someone with a much larger head– that always fell over his eyes. When she had grabbed him by the hair, slammed him against a locker until his nose broke that one time, his eyes had always been shut tight. She hated that about him, that he never stood to look at her, like he did not understand that her place above him was one she earned, not stole. It was a petty jab at her, she thought. It was some useless little thing he had over her, that she never had the pleasure in seeing his pupils contract in fear or anger or whatever he felt towards her. It was petty.

His eyes were brilliant green.

The noise was deafening.

“Have you ever seen them cry?”

He blinked. “What?”

Whitney looked away. His irises bore into her. “They took meds from Harper.” She licked her teeth. “Something for anxiety, I think.”

“What’s your point?”

She sighed. “Past the woods,” she continued, “a bit past those big trees at the end, there’s a mental ward; they send folks there when they get too jacked up or too expensive to deal with at the hospital.”

He did not say anything.

“They’ve gone there a ton, right?” She continued despite him. “Might be there.”

There was a second where she thought he might go through with it.

He slowly lowered his knife, not putting it away, but poking it into her side. “You know where it is?”

She nodded quickly. She had seen it a couple of times when she was younger and more stupid than she was now. “It’s–”

“Save your breath.” He grabbed her by the arm– she winced at his grip– and pulled her to her feet. “You’re going to show me.”

Her blood ran cold. “Are you fucking crazy?” She hated the way her voice shook. “You know what’s in there?”

She felt something jab into her back. “Do you enjoy having a spine?”

“How is getting us both killed going to do anything?” She squirmed in his grasp. “If we fucking die out there, nobody’ll know we’re gone!”

“Then we’ll have to be careful, now won’t we?” His grip only tightened as they went along. “We’re armed. They’re not. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “with fucking pepper spray!”

He pulled her down Nightingale street, any doctors or nurses who might see all too weary to bother reporting anything. “And a knife.”

“What good will a knife do against a bear?”

“I dunno. Let’s find out.”