Friends Eat Friends

Chris has had bad days.

He's had bad days where he can't make himself do anything beyond brushing his teeth and even then it takes coaxing, takes a '1..2..3 brush 3..2..1 brush' that his mom taught him. Most of his bad days look the same, same as every bad day he's ever had; bright skies, overcast sunny with no chance of rain at a modest 67 degrees.

Today was a bad day.

He hadn't talked to Josh since last week, since the funeral and he tries not to think about how most of his nightmares have now become Josh instead of his mom lying in a bath tub. He thinks maybe it's supposed to be his subconscious way of saying he's moving on, he's healing, he's learning to live life without that familiar, nasally laugh greeting him when he comes home.

Chris is sure that isn't it though. That the molten hot coal wedged in his spine isn't a seed of growth.

"Hey bucko, made breakfast."

Chris cranes his head to look back at his dad, who stands in the open door way in a robe, managing a stiff nod before fixing his gaze back on the TV. His fingers smash buttons with practiced precision, character nailing every ultimate combo he can between enemies. Chris figures he should probably find a healthier way to digest his feelings but his dad didn't believe in therapy ("Didn't help your mom, won't help me.") so Chris guess he doesn't either.

Chris pauses the screen, battle cry cut short as the menu dings in place. He climbs to his feet, legs stiff, knees knocking and he's leaving the bedroom with as much grace as he can muster. Two plates of pancakes and bacon sits on their modest dining table, silverware lazily tossed on the surface as if an afterthought.

Chris slumps down in his usual seat, his father taking the place across from him. There's a painful silence stretched in the empty spot between them and Chris wonders why his father picked today to play dad.

"So," Chris glances up to the sound of a throat clearing. "How's school?"

Chris shrugs, reaching for his fork. He tries to conjure up a reply that doesn't feel like bullshit because his dad is trying, his dad is playing dad so he should play son.

"School's fine. I might have a pop quiz today."

"Oh? In what?" Chris can hear him trying, can practically feel the forced interest. Chris wants to tell him that he doesn't have to try today, that they don't have to try today but his dad's looking at him in earnest and smiling.

"English."

"I didn't know they had pop quizzes in English." His dad chuckles, cutting into the pancakes on his plate.

"Mini book reviews kinda." Chris says, poking at his own food with a lazy drag across the ceramic. He didn't like pancakes, hasn't liked them since middle school because his dad never made them right, too thin, too crispy, sometimes burnt.

"Chris-"

"We don't have to do this." Chris interrupts, fighting down a sigh. "We don't.."

His dad's brow furrow, disappointment curling along his form like a shadow and Chris instantly regrets speaking at all. He considers leaving, getting dressed and going to school but he just sits. He sits and eats and forces himself to talk about bullshit because it's what his dad wants and maybe it's what he wants, just not now, not today.

Ashley calls as he gets dressed, his dad knocking his knuckles on the door with a goodbye and a reminder that money's on the counter, and Chris sits on the edge of his bed, listening to Time of The Season ring over and over. He doesn't answer, just turns the ringer off and tugs on shirt after shirt, fumbling with the buttons, sliding on his jacket and he doesn't want to go to school but Chris imagines somewhere someone else is having it worse. He's just being stupid.

Sam finds him at his locker before the bell rings, dressed plainly in a flannel that's probably Beth's and leggings that are probably Hannah's. Her hair is down and wavy, crinkled in some areas where the gel didn't blend well.

"Hey."

Chris balances his English textbook in one hand, shuffling it from his bag to the locker. He tugs out his economics book. "Hey."

"How're you doin'?" Sam asks, searching his face and Chris wonders what she knows. "Josh said you weren't answering your phone."

Chris hadn't checked his phone since last night, the only thing actually reminding him he even had a phone was his alarm and the call from Ashley. Chris wants to think he's still mad about Mike and Josh but he feels tired like there's a whirlpool tumbling around inside him that looks a lot like sharp teeth and blood than razor blades and soapy, red water. Chris didn't think about the dent on his dashboard or Josh snarling at him. He didn't think about anything all weekend aside from DOA 3 and Far Cry.

"I'm okay." Chris says, tasting the words. They seem to fit well in his mouth so Chris figures he's not lying. Sam cracks a small smile, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Want me to walk you to class?"

The bell sounds ahead. Sam's hand is still on his shoulder. Chris manages a nod. She links their arms together, helping him filter out what he needs and doesn't need for the next three periods before slamming the locker closed.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Chris glances at her from the corner of his eye, pushing his glasses up. "What?"

"Mike and Josh."

"Nah." Chris answers easily because he didn't. He's still trying to convince himself that it never happened even though he still has Mike's text in his phone, clear and bold and Chris wishes he couldn't understand it. But that wasn't the reason he feels so sick and drained. He was just having a bad day.

"You sure?" Sam asks, lightly squeezing his forearm.

Chris has never felt so grateful to see Mr. Honeycutt's English class, a decorated floral sign dangling above that reads 'Entrance Permitted'. Chris nods and Sam sighs softly but doesn't press. Instead she slides an arm around his waist and squeezes before giving a small salute.

Matt waves at him when he enters. He makes his way to him, pointedly gesturing for the girl two seats over to move her bag. She does so with an annoyed look. Chris slumps down in the desk beside Matt, who still looks like he's in mourning but he cracks a joke or two that makes him laugh so he guesses they're okay.

He sits through class, jittery, left knee bouncing with every small jerk of his leg and takes notes on how much he hates the Scarlet Letter. Chris draws in the margins, listening to Mr. Honeycutt's smooth drawl that vaguely reminds him of Josh. He checks his phone, eyebrows lifting at how much Josh had actually texted him.

From: Washua (4)
I said I was sorry
I've been feelin' weird
Text me back asshole

Chris angles his phone under his desk, fingers moving rapidly over the screen.

From: Mr. Pilgrim
Man you're needy

Josh's response is immediate.

From: Washua
Fuck you dickweed
I've been playing COD all weekend
I hate COD
See what you make me do?

Chris snorts, sliding the phone into his pocket as he looks back up at the board. Matt hits him lightly in the arm, leaning over to look at his notes. He frowns at the contents before snatching them away to jot down. His phone is angled behind the kid in front of his, one hand tapping rapidly over the screen as he writes. Chris is impressed.

"You're so gloomy, Chris." Matt comments once the bell rings. He gathers all his papers into a folder, handing Chris his notes back. He takes them with a shrug.

"Josh kissed Mike. I feel bummed." Except Chris has felt bummed for most of the summer, most of the past four years but Josh coaxes him out of all his negative feelings with the distraction of his own. The only distraction he had now was the kiss.

"Josh kissed Mike?!" Matt exclaims. A few heads turn to him and he clears his throat.

"Don't wanna talk about it." Chris sighs, moving to his feet. He slides his notebooks and Econ book into one hand, easing his way down the aisle of packing kids as Matt hurries after him. He grabs his elbow once Chris hits the hallway, students passing in a flurry. The school still seemed to be in mourning but the funeral had come and gone and Chris thinks aside from the few, the rest were mostly over it. That's the beauty of high school deaths. Everyone knows you once you're dead and only a couple still pray that you've made it to heaven once your body hits the coffin.

"Chris. Are you okay?"

"Just having a bad day." Chris tells him, forcing a smile and he bumps his knuckles against Matt's before departing. His next two periods pass in a blur, Econ looking like Algebra, Algebra looking like the back of a bad French essay. It's only halfway to lunch the Chris thinks he really, really should've stayed home.

Chris doesn't sit with the Washington's and Emily at lunch. Instead he sits three tables down with Jess, who keeps skipping class, and her friends, who were very receptive to Chris' presence. Chris doesn't ask why she's not sitting with Emily, her best friend since freshman year, and she doesn't ask why he's not sitting with Josh, his best friend since the training bra era. It was a perfect trade.

Jess still seemed fairly torn up Marion's death but she laughs at a joke or two with the two giggling teens in front of them, Amber and Felx. Chris barely pays attention, every so often checking on the others who sit ahead of them. He can make out Beth talking, smile strained and force as she sits between Hannah, who keeps roughly turning pages in a magazine, and Josh, who seems vaguely sick and pale and exhausted.

Beth had texted Chris a couple of days ago asking how he was and that she didn't see him at the funeral and if he heard what happened between Hannah and Josh. He didn't hear what happened between them because besides Sam, Jess and Matt, Chris hadn't run into anyone unless it was by accident.

"How's your studious silence going?" Felx asks, plucking a carrot from Chris' tray. He drags his eyes away from Josh to look at them. Chris shrugs, leaning against the table. Felx shoots him a pitying look.

"Tough isn't it?" They ask and Chris nods.

Jess places a hand on his shoulder, pressing in too close. Chris groans.

"So I can finally ask about it now?"

"You going to tell me why you're avoiding Emily?"

Jess pouts. "Fine. I will. You first."

Amber picks at the ends of her hair, dragging knots out of the tight curls. She lifts her eyes to them, flicking a tangle to the floor. Felx leans in, face lit with interest and Chris squirms under the three intense gazes.

"I'm having a shitty day. And Mike kissed Josh."

Jess frowns. "Mike kissed Josh? That explains a lot."

"Explains what?" Chris asks, dragging a carrot through ranch. He doesn't look at her. Felx shrugs their shoulders, grinning widely as if they also know. Amber rolls her eyes, reaching across the table to touch Chris' hand. She gives him a small smile.

"Honey, they're dating."

"No, they're fucking. Big difference. Josh Washington doesn't date." Felx corrects, snorting. They take in Chris' crumpled expression and straighten, hands held up to stammer an apology. Jess cuts them off.

"Hannah's pretty pissed. And I'm not speaking to Emily because she thinks I'm emotionally immature due to the fact that I cried because my ex boyfriend was ripped to pieces. Def did not know that the future class president is boning your guy."

The words sting. Chris sets down the carrots he's holding, suddenly not as hungry and he feels like he might be sick. Chris thinks he might be upset, deep down, underneath all his old pain and repressed thoughts. He wonders why reality is such a shit to him.

Jess rubs his back soothingly, nudging his shoulder with her head. The sound of a tray hitting the table echoes the cafeteria. Everyone looks up, gazes fixed on the oldest Washington twin standing with a hardened frown fixed on Beth before she storms off, Josh already on his feet after her. The cafeteria falls silent, all watching the two leave as Beth struggles to shove stuff into her bag before running behind them.

"Nothing to see here!" Emily shouts, snapping her fingers loudly and the noise returns to the room. Jess hurries out of her seat, weaving through students with trays and tables until she's plopping down in front of Emily, who tenses up.

"Jess has a crush on Emily." Amber supplies voluntarily. "The real reason she's not talking to her. Also Emily thinks she's emotionally unavailable."

Felx takes Chris' lunch tray from him. "You going to confront your lover boy?"

Chris figures if everyone was already pissy and irritated it might be better to get it over with then at least Chris would have people to sit with after it all goes to complete shit. He nods and Felx smiles wordlessly.

"Go with God, Chris." Amber tells him, palms pressed together.

Chris coughs uncomfortably. "Um, thanks?"

"You'll need it. I'm sure you know how bad the last Washington rejection went."

Everyone did. It was at the Homecoming dance. Amelia Hernandez was the target and Josh Washington was her executioner. It was devastating.

"Pray." Chris tells Amber fiercely and she nods, signing a cross on her chest. Felx's laugh follows him as he trails off in the direction of the Washington children, nearly stumbling into Hannah as he makes his way to the parking lot. Her eyes are teary, porcelain cheeks rosy and dry. She breaks out a weak smile, touching Chris on the arm before moving past him towards the gym.

"Han!" Beth is hurrying after her, waving at Chris when she passes. "Try the car!"

Chris nods his thanks, her words confirming his course of action. He's actually surprised to find Josh propped up on his car, honestly doubting that it'd be this easy. Half of him thought Josh would've driven off before he even arrived. Josh is sitting on the hood, crushing cigarettes in his hands. Tobacco falls to the cement in blackened clumps, along with torn pieces of paper. There are burn marks on the inside of his wrists, coloring over healed white scars.

Josh looks up when Chris' shadow casts over him, slouching tiredly as if he expected it. He sighs heavily, sitting back on his elbows, stretched out with raised eyebrows and pouty lips.

"Hey, Cochise."

Chris tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, nodding a response because he doesn't feel like talking, doesn't feel like standing here in front of his best friend when he wants to be home. Josh gestures to the bags under Chris' eyes.

"Bad day?"

"Can you tell?" Chris snorts, moving to sit beside Josh on the hood of his car. They stare at the parking lot, at the different levels of wealth that varied from beat down Volvo to hummer to landrover. "Heard about you and Mike."

"Yeah."

"Hannah pissed at you?"

"Hannah's always upset with me." Josh answers, running a hand down his face. His skin is a soft greying brown, veins visible in the side of his neck and arms. Chris has never seen him look so ill, so painfully stressed out.

"I didn't know you went both ways." Chris comments, even though his hands shake as he says it.

"Yeah. Go all ways really." Josh answers, leaning against Chris. He rests his forehead on Chris' shoulder, sighing heavily. Silence passes over them. Chris can hear his heartbeat in the base of his skull, a steady thrum of adrenaline pulsing through him.

"I liked you." Chris admits, staring down at his lap. Josh chuckles softly. He forces himself up straight, staring at Chris with a knowing look that kind of pisses him off.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Josh shifts to lean on his knees, one hand propped up under his chin. There's a storm on his face, smoldering against the deep shadows under his eyes and Chris watches it be fought, watches the way Josh's hand trembles as it curls into a fist.

"Guess you missed out."

Chris expects it, expects the words before they even fully process in his mind but it still boils under his skin and he feels angry.

"You're a fucking asshole." Chris whispers, hurt clawing its way through his windpipe. He fights the urge to leave when Josh turns back to him, back straightening, eyes level and he's fucking smirking.

"Don't be mad someone grew balls and it wasn't you, Cochise." Josh drawls, voice heavy and slow and Chris exhales, staring everywhere but at his best friend. Josh snickers darkly, wrapping a hand around Chris' wrists, smoothing his thumb over the rapid pulse.

"Felt real good too, Chris. I can see what Em and Jess see in Munroe. Really knows how to take someone to the bone zone. Gets all that excess aggression and just," Josh is close, too close, breath a whisper against Chris' ear. "fucks the shit out of ya."

Chris jerks his arm out of Josh's grip, staggering to the ground as the other laughs, leaning back on the hood of his car. Chris' eyes line with tears that sting and sizzle and his skin burns where Josh touched it. He tucks shaking hands into his jacket pockets, counting down in his mind to three and he keeps backing away. Chris can feel Josh watching him.

"Okay." Chris forces out, taking one last look at Josh, who doesn't seem as cocky now; the Josh who looks drained and broken and pale, the Josh he knows. And maybe Chris has been around too long, has known Josh too long to understand that the words spewed at him are out of anger, almost like a defense mechanism. He wonders if this is supposed to soften the blow. Chris lost his chance, Josh knew about the crush and he's angry that Chris didn't speak up. Chris wonders if Josh is second guessing himself.

Josh's gaze softens, large eyes so expressive and filled with too many emotions. He rubs his arm, curling in on himself and he's so small, so tiny right now that the burning anger inside Chris starts to dimmer. He wants to get past this because regardless of his crush, regardless of the shitty days he's had since his mom died, Josh still needed someone who wasn't Mike Munroe to stick around.

"I liked you too, Chris." Josh tells him.

"Okay." Chris says again, feeling more calm and numb as his stomach clenches painfully. And he wishes those words wouldn't shake something deep down inside him. The bell sounds from behind him and he touches Josh's shoulder with a surprising tenderness. His best friend gazes up at him, the whites in his eyes stinging red.

"Want me to walk you to class?" Chris asks softly and Josh nods shakily, grasping Chris hand before he can pull away. His fingers are trembling as they slide along Chris palm, tracing the thin lines that intercept.

"'M sorry, Cochise."

"It's cool, man. We're bros regardless." Chris tells him and it comes out so easy, so smooth that it makes Chris want to cry because maybe it was easier when he just thought that Josh didn't know.

Josh laughs at that, this forced, blunt noise but a slow smile crooks in the corner of his mouth and he's sliding off the car, sliding right into Chris' space. Chris can smell cinnamon, cinnamon and cigarettes and he wants to ask if Hannah bought Josh what she seemed as an "acceptable seasonal bath wash". Chris can't help but stare at Josh's mouth, at the soft dip in his lips, the slight paleness to them.

"Don't do that." Josh whispers softly, eyes hooded and his smile droops into something lazy and tired. "You can't do that."

"Sorry." Chris says, not feeling sorry at all. "Wanna go?"

"Yeah, bro."

Chris forces his gaze elsewhere, cheeks burning and Josh laughs from somewhere behind him as he walks back towards the school. He'll probably get detention for being late but he can't find it within himself to care when Josh is walking shoulder to shoulder beside him, hands in the back pockets of his jeans, appearing far more pleased than earlier.

Mike is waiting next to Josh's classroom and Chris' walk stutters but Josh nudges him with his head as they slow to a stop a few steps before reaching him. Josh gives him a lopsided smile, looking a bit ridiculous in his open flannel and tank top with his hands in his back pockets.

"You keep dressing like a hipster."

"Yeah, yeah okay, trashy art student." Josh smirks and Chris feels himself smiling and he wants to kiss him so bad. "Hang out with me tomorrow? After school?"

"Yeah okay." Chris says.

Josh pats Chris' arm, fingers lingering as his hand drags away and he strides towards Mike, whose fighting a frown. Chris gives the future class president a two fingered salute before heading back to class.

His day still feels shitty, still feels awful and bad and he still wants to go home but Josh texts him during his last period and Chris feels okay. He wasn't going to compete with Mike, even though it feels like that's how Mike will see it, because he has his own dark feelings to settle that don't involve Josh Washington, feelings he'll probably never acknowledge, feelings that make everyday feel like a bad day.

He missed out.

Chris missed out on Josh but he still had his best friend, still had his best man to look after. It's not until later in the evening that Chris actually texts back because even though he's accepted his fate, it still burns.

Josh doesn't text back, instead he calls when Chris is on the blissful edge of sleep.

"It's like 10:38, why are you asleep?"

Chris blinks groggily. "Had a shitty day."

The line falls quiet. "Your mom?"

"Maybe." Chris yawns, wrapping his blanket tight around him. "I don't know. I'm dealing."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"My mom killed herself there's nothing to talk about." Chris remarks with a snort. "Why'd you call, bro?"

"You said you had a dream. About me." Josh's voice sounds heavy, sounds slow and deep and Chris' mind rushes to translate every word into a coherent noise.

"Yeah. Like a couple of weeks ago."

"You think dreams come true?"

Chris snickers. "What? You growing super sharp teeth and ripping my throat out? Nah. You're too soft."

Josh makes a strange noise. "I've been having dreams too. Of people dying. Marion dying. Weird, real things."

"You psychic?" Chris jokes and Josh makes a frustrated sound.

"I'm serious, Chris."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Just tired." Chris amends. He listens to Josh's soft breathing, an occasional whistle slipping through the receiver. Chris makes out syllables, thoughts slipping away the heavier his eyelids feel and he knows Josh is talking, knows because there's this buzz in his ear.

"Cochise? Are you asleep?"

"Yeah." Chris sighs, licking his lips. He curls onto his side, phone slipping to his chin as Josh murmurs soft reply after reply.

"Can I come over?"

"Windows open." Chris murmurs drowsily. His eyes are closed, limbs heavy and he's so comfortable and warm when the bed dips. Chris forces his eyes open, feeling as if a second had passed and Josh is sliding into bed with him, skin damp, smelling like cinnamon and toothpaste.

"That was fast." Chris slurs, shifting to create space but Josh just nuzzles into him, a clothed leg wedging between Chris' pliant ones. Cold arms circle his waist and Chris is too tired to jump away so he just whines restlessly. Josh doesn't say anything, just presses quietly into Chris, nose wedged into his collarbone.

"I think I did something bad." Josh whispers into the silence. "Something really, really bad, Chris."

Chris huffs. "Just stay. We can talk about it tomorrow."

Josh nods against him, arms tightening to the point where it's almost painful. Chris forces an eye open, feeling the small beginnings of Josh's tremble and he sighs, carding his fingers through Josh's hair until the other breathes evenly against him. Chris wonders why he didn't go to Mike, why he's here with Chris late at night.

Chris falls asleep, partially draped over Josh with a hand fisted in his shirt.