#tyken

Holy shit.

Kennedy’s never seen so much color in his life, and he instantly feels at home. Safe.

There are all kinds of flags flying from stalls and hanging from people’s necks like capes, most rainbow, but there are ones that are blue, pink, and white for trans people and blue, pink, and purple for bi people and blue, pink, and yellow, and purple, gray, and black, and rainbow flags with fists and shades of brown and--

There are people of all kinds excitedly talking with each other and moving between the booths, looking at all the Pride merch and chatting with vendors and drag queens. Kennedy notices the distinct presence of lots and lots of skin. He kinda likes it. It’s like everyone’s showing off themselves and their identities by not wearing a whole lot of clothes. There’s music booming from somewhere, and there’s a savory smell in the air that Kennedy can’t quite identify. Maybe hot dogs?

Everyone’s hugging and kissing and Kennedy loves how affectionate everyone is being.

He’s always felt slightly uneasy whenever he expressed any public affection for Tyler, even when he was doing it to spite someone else. There was always a nagging where he was expecting some kind of violent verbal or physical outburst. But it’s like, for the first time, Kennedy feels completely one hundred percent at ease with holding Tyler’s hand in public.

Tyler squeezes Kennedy against his chest, Kennedy’s already flighty feeling stomach descending into more intense fluttering feelings. And for a second, he does actually manage to forget the asshole marchers. Of course, that doesn’t last long.

He’d been so shaken up by them at first. Nervous and afraid and generally feeling pretty damn shitty. He still does. But there’s also a resurgence of that anger from before, like flames licking at his heart. The seemingly opposing sensations make Kennedy feel both self conscious about his sexuality and unashamed of it. His brain hasn’t really decided which path he wants to take yet.

Kennedy pulls back from Tyler. He would close his eyes to regroup with himself, but he’s trained himself never to do that anymore, aside from when he’s going to sleep. Too many unpleasant images. Unpleasant feelings.

“What fucking cowards,” Tyler mutters, meeting Kennedy’s eyes, “Of course they mess with you and not me.”

Kennedy rubs at his face, “Heh, yeah, they’re probably afraid you’ll snap their necks or some shit.”

“I do have some pretty big muscles.”

Kennedy scoffs, his chest feeling lighter already, “Yeah, they’re hard to miss.”

“He stares at them, you know,” Vanessa says, folding her arms, Faris nodding in agreement.

Kennedy’s face warms a little, “So?”

“Oh, I know he does,” Tyler says, grinning, “I spend a fair amount of time staring at his ass so I guess it’s fair.”

If Kennedy had been walking when Tyler said that he one hundred percent would have tripped, “Oh my God.”

Faris cracks up, Vanessa already doubled over laughing.

It’s late. Kennedy and Tyler are sitting next to each other on the bus ride home after earning first place at the competition, Kennedy resting his head on Tyler’s shoulder even as he maintains conversation with Vanessa, Faris, and some of his other band friends sitting around them. Eventually, Kennedy feels Tyler lean his head on his. Kennedy smiles softly. How is it that Tyler still manages to make him smile even when he feels like shit?

And boy howdy does he feel like shit.

There are so many conflicting emotions flickering through Kennedy’s chest. Newly realized guilt. Anger at himself, his parents, and the people at Paradise Lounge. Comfort from the people he loves. Lingering horror.

Contentment.

Disgust.

Love.

Hate.

Sadness. So much sadness.

He shouldn’t be able to hide it this well. He shouldn’t be able to be continuing like normal like this.

Well, this really isn’t normal, is it? This quiet agony that Kennedy’s constantly experiencing. Nothing about what he’s gone through was good. Nothing about what he’s dealing with now is good. He wants to be able to pull himself up by his own strength of will, but he’s sinking to the ground, only held up by those that hold him dear. Like the one keeping him warm as the cold night air whips through the school bus.

Kennedy hears the practice room door open behind him, and is about to turn around to see who walked in when two strong arms slide forward and then come to a rest on his shoulders, a rumbling voice saying into his hair, “Hey.”

Kennedy breathes out slowly, smiling as he leans back into Tyler’s body, “Hi.”

“How was club today?” Tyler asks, his cheek pressing comfortably into the side of Kennedy’s head.

“A mixed bag of emotions,” Kennedy says.

Kennedy feels Tyler nod slightly, as if he expected the response, “Wanna talk about it?”

Kennedy’s legs rub together as he shifts in his seat a bit, “Not yet.”

Tyler nods again. They just stay that way for a while, Kennedy letting Tyler’s warmth seep into him. He can feel Tyler’s slow, even breaths on his neck.

“How’s your ballad solo?” Tyler asks.

Kennedy looks down at the sheet in front of him, “It’s good. I think I have it where I want it finally.”

Ugh. Not really.

Tyler laughs slightly, “Dr. Harris will be so relieved.”

Kennedy lets out a puff of air through his nose, “Yeah, I know, I’m a little shit. It’s part of my charm.”

“Can confirm,” Tyler says. Kennedy feels Tyler press a kiss into his temple and he grins. It’s been awhile since he’s grinned like this.

But it feels tainted still.

Kennedy’s stomach is a cacophony of feelings. All of them oppose each other and none of them make sense. This has been going on for a week now and Kennedy hasn’t had the proper words to describe it. He doesn’t know how to talk about the feelings he’s been having, or how he can’t sleep, or how he feels like everywhere he goes, the hands and mouths follow him. Or how sometimes when he spaces out in class, his mind wanders to vivid memories of last Friday night. How nothing feels right and Kennedy doesn’t know how to fix it. And he doesn’t know if anyone else knows how either.

Kennedy’s making notes on his sheet music when the door opens unexpectedly.

Speaking of Tyler…

“Hey,” Tyler grins at him, his baritone dangling from his gloved left hand. He dyed his hair platinum blonde, almost white, recently, and he almost always wears it in a ponytail. When it’s loose it reaches all the way down to his collarbone.

“Sup?” Kennedy asks, smiling before looking back down at his sheet music to mark something quickly in the margins.

Kennedy hears the door to the practice room shut and he has to take a deep breath after all the air in his lungs suddenly vacates his body.

He looks up again, Tyler standing over him, looking over his music, “Working on your ballad solo?”

“Yeah,” Kennedy says, his skin humming with unused energy.

Tyler looks over it for a bit, “Looks good. You happy with it yet?”

“I think so. Maybe if I add a short trill here… then it will be good. I think.”

Tyler laughs, “You’re such a perfectionist.”

“Only the perfect can make perfect things,” Kennedy says, leaning back in his chair to look up at Tyler properly.

It startles him how close Tyler’s face is to his. He feels like fire.

“Did you need something?” Kennedy breathes.

Tyler gets this weird look on his face before it shifts into a recognizable expression, “Oh, I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to a party tonight.”

“Huh. Um, yeah maybe. Where at?” Is...is this what I think it is?

“Uhhh well it’s kind of… it’s a club,” Tyler says, “you’re eighteen right?”

“Yes.” Liar.

“Okay well my friend can get us in then. A couple of my friends are coming so if you want to join us, uh, we’ll be at Paradise Lounge. It’s pretty easy to find. Just ask for me when you get there. If, you get there.”

Kennedy gives him a look before Tyler laughs.

“That sounded kind of ominous, didn’t it?”

“A little bit.”

“Okay well I meant like if you are gonna come--”

“Yeah I know.”

“I didn’t mean like--”

Now Kennedy’s laughing, “I get it, Tyler, really I get it.”

Tyler raises his baritone and opens the door again, “So, you’ll come?”

“I’ll think about it,” Kennedy says, folding his arms and tilting his head, quirking an eyebrow.

And they stare at each other again. Tyler looks him over. Kennedy looks him over.

All Kennedy wants to do is throw himself at Tyler and thread his hands through Tyler’s hair and kiss him until he feels dizzy.

Holy fuck.

This boy is going to drive him crazy.

Tyler walks over again, pausing Kennedy mid-march. Kennedy strains his muscles to stay in this twisted position.

“Here, uh,” Tyler’s hands kind of hover over Kennedy’s shoulders, “Is it okay if I just like, adjust you? I think it’d help you get a feel for how it should be like.”

The butterflies.

How did they get loose again, damn it?

“Sure.”

Tyler tilts Kennedy’s shoulders towards him so that they’re square with the other side of the field. But Kennedy isn’t even thinking about the other side of the field because it’s so fucking far away and guess who the fuck is right in front of him and is touching him and oh my God he’s touching his hips. Tyler softly nudges Kennedy’s hips in the direction Kennedy needs to march, and Kennedy feels like he’s gonna lose it. His face burns, and not just from the sun.

Without thinking, he breathes in sharply, and Tyler looks up from where his hands are. When Tyler sees Kennedy, he gets this weird look in his face. Like his whole face is doing something, something that Kennedy’s unfamiliar with. It’s bright, as usual, but a little too bright. Like an it-knows-something bright. Kennedy worries his face is visibly red, or that he looks uncomfortable in some way.

The hands stay there a little too long.

“You okay?” Tyler says quietly to him.

Why so quietly?

“Uh huh,” is the only thing Kennedy manages to say.

“You sure? You look a little hot.”

Kennedy grins, unable to let the perfect opportunity for a joke to slip by unsaid, “That’s because I am. Eyyy.”

Tyler considers him a moment before responding, “True.”

I’m sorry, what?

Tyler steps back from Kennedy, scanning his form, “Memorize how that feels. You’re going to have to revisit this a lot so might as well ingrain it now.”

The marching or the flirting?!

Kennedy can’t fucking focus anymore. Had Tyler Thayland just called him hot?!

“I won’t make you march anymore, it’s time we start leaving like everyone else is,” Tyler says, gesturing to the football team coming towards the field and the band kids putting away their equipment in a large metal bin at the edge of the field.

Wordlessly, every part of Kennedy sizzling with nerves, Kennedy follows Tyler to his stuff, packs it all up and makes his way to the parking lot to be picked up by Lilac.

He must’ve imagined it. That can’t have been real.

Tyler’s not gay. Is he?

No.

Probably not.

Maybe.

Kennedy runs a hand over his right hip where Tyler touched him. He thinks of the firmness of his hands, how soft they’d been despite their muscled looks. He thinks of how warm they were. He thinks of them touching more of him.

Seriously.

FUCK.

fuck I can’t believe I finished writing this book today

I made myself cry writing and reading the ending and I feel really strongly about the story and characters. I think I really needed to write it. It’s been wonderful hearing from people who’ve been reading along, and I’ll probably post the link to it on my writing blog once the epilogues are up.