Angel Food Cake
"Something's wrong with Josh."
Sam looks up at him, one eyebrow raised as she watches Chris stumble through her window. She's sitting cross legged on the floor, dressed only in a large black and green jersey. There are magazines spread out in front of her, along with scissors and colorful construction paper. Her hair looks soft and clean, the blonde strands a fine shade of yellow. Sam turns to her closed bedroom door then back to Chris in the open window with a click of her tongue.
"I actually have a front door. Believe it or not."
Chris clamors to the floor, missing his footing and he's on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. Chris adjusts his glasses.
"Josh climbs through mine all the time."
Sam smirks. "So does Beth. Maybe not for the same reasons though. Although," she pauses, grinning widely. "That might not be true anymore."
Chris snaps up, cheeks red. "What did you hear?"
"Oh just little details from the twins. But nothing concrete."
"Fuck." Chris groans, slumping back against her wall. Sam chuckles softly.
"What's so top secret? They won't tell me or anyone else." Sam leers. "You stealin' the president's man?"
"They aren't even dating."
Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement. "True. True. But imagine his disappointment when the 'kiss n tell' playboy of our tiny town actually does commit. Just not to him."
Chris raspberries. "What are you even talking about?"
Sam shrugs, still grinning. She flips through pages of her magazine, snipping tiny letters out as she goes. Sam continues what she was doing, head nodding for him to continue as she cuts out letters in the page of a magazine ad. Chris sits up, straightening out his glasses, and he turns to her, legs folded under him. He knows what he saw that day, at the party. But he also knows that his nightmares sometimes make the rest of his day disoriented.
But it's been a week and Chris' mind has yet to supply any other image than Josh's chest heaving, eyes this unnatural shade of white. He still has the cut on his lip, healed and deep red.
"Something's wrong with him." He repeats.
"Josh seems pretty normal to me. General assface, bad lesbian jokes, calling too early in the morning. Eternally tired." Sam responds, smoothing glue on the back of the letter 'A'. Chris watches her place it on the construction paper. He frowns.
"Are you making a ransom note?"
Sam giggles. "No. I'm asking Beth to prom."
"Isn't it kinda early? As in ten months too early?"
"Not when it comes to Beth Washington. She's unsurprisingly popular." Sam says, amused. "If I want a chance I have to ask now."
"But I saw you and-"
"What you saw that day is not something I want to discuss." Sam interrupts quickly, the usual confidence replaced by a deep shade of red. "But no, we aren't. Unfortunately. I think Hannah's the only nice Washington child when it comes to feelings."
Sam looks at him, cutting 'the' out of an article. "What makes you think something's wrong with Josh?"
"Um," Chris rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "He's been avoiding me."
Chris has also been avoiding him, which made the act of not ever seeing one another surprisingly easy. He doesn't look at her, avoiding the penetrating gaze with a dramatic intake of her room. It was surprisingly girly, pastel pink walls and a plush couch that sat near a tall bookcase. There's a bulletin board over a metal desk, covered in pictures of Sam and Hannah along with others of the rest of the group. A message blinks on her computer screen.
"What happened?" Sam inquires. "You guys haven't avoided each other unanimously since freshman year."
"This was dumb. It's nothing."
"Nothing doesn't make you a cherry pie, Pilgrim. Spill." Sam snorts. "Also I can see your hickeys, dumbass."
Chris slaps a hand over the side of his neck. He completely forgot about those.
"Josh kissed me. Well, um, more specifically dry humped me with his tongue in my mouth. At.. The party. Now he's avoiding me? I'm avoiding him?"
Chris also wants to add that Josh looked like a raging sociopath afterwards or a hungry dog but he keeps that to himself because it sounds crazy, no matter how much is mind says it happened. Sam's eyes widen in surprise before a familiar smirk curves into the side of her mouth. Chris avoids it.
"Um."
"Congratulations." Sam snorts and Chris groans, face in his hands. "Just talk to him. You're his best friend. Sandbox lovers. I'm sure you could find him. You just don't want to. Don't be a chump, Chris. I raised you better than this."
"Okay, mom."
Chris spends the rest of his evening with Sam, helping her piece together something decent looking and awe inspiring enough to make Beth 'cream herself'. It was adorable, the way Sam feels about Beth, adorable and brave because at least she was taking some sort of initiative.
Beth climbs through Sam's window when they're adding finishing touches, yawning widely and generally oozing this attractive disheveled bed head demeanor that kinda reminds him of Josh, kinda reminds him of Melinda Washington. Her eyes brighten when she sees both of them bent over a large sheet of construction paper.
"Whatcha guys doing?" Beth inquires, Sam nudging Chris roughly in the side.
"Making spaghetti." Chris' mind spasms and the other two look at him. Sam's annoyed lip twitch, Beth's amused smile. "Um, Sam's helping me with Josh?"
"Yeah, fix that soon, ok? Momma's tired of all this teenage tension."
"Kinda goes both ways." Sam informs her and Beth makes an 'o' shape with her mouth.
"Joshua told me bits and pieces but from what I gather, maybe feelings should've been discussed before tonsil hockey."
Chris sputters. "Have you met your brother?"
"Hey I didn't say it was realistic. I'm just stating facts." Beth smiles cheekily. "Now leave. I'm here for take out."
Sam blushes furiously as Beth winks at her and Chris almost hollers because why. Instead he pats Sam's shoulder awkwardly, shuffling past Beth, whose tugging off her pullover. Sam shoots Chris an apologetic look that he waves off with a thumbs up.
"Oh Sam has something to give you." Chris tells Beth. Sam waves frantically when Beth's attention turns from her to Chris. He has one leg out the window, a hand on the windowsill.
"Be brave and be well." Chris says, moving his hands to shape a cross. Sam groans loudly, Beth's increasing confusion enough to make Chris hurry onto the rose vine before Sam actually hurls something at his head. He hears a excited squeal as he climbs down, followed by a flurry of 'yes, yes, yes' that he's glad hold some normal level of tone in them. Chris doesn't think he's ready for anything beyond that. He heads to his car, keys in hand.
Sam didn't live far from him, but she lives in a subdivision on the outskirts of town that's surrounded in trees and you can only get there from a shitty, rocky backroad. The headlights cut through the darkness, Chris easing up on the gas because deer do happen and he doesn't want his car to end up like Jess'. He cranks up the radio, rolling down the windows to let the cool night air in like his dad taught him. Apparently if you're loud enough the deer might realize you're a moving hunk of death. A screech sounds in the distance. Chris turns down the music, ears straining to head. Silence follows, the harsh flap of wind beating against his open windows.
Something stumbles out in front of his car and Chris slams on the breaks, tires screeching along the pavement. Burning rubber fills his nose, the hard thump of his hand hitting the dashboard flooding every nerve in his body. The car stills, just barely, right before it collides with whatever's in the road. It's a person, a kid in a familiar flannel that's soaked red. Chris struggles to breathe, unbuckling his seatbelt.
"Josh?"
Chris watches Josh stagger back, away from the car, legs wobbly and he's touching his arm with bloodied hands. Chris freezes, fear wallowing in the pit of his stomach as his lungs tie into a hard knot. There's blood, a lot of blood, staining along the side of Josh's neck, smeared around his lips in a thick, glistening coat. It's on his clothes, his jeans, bits of gore flicking around his fingers. Chris can make out the sharpness of teeth, thin and narrow, the slow way Josh's tongue darts, eyes milky and white. Josh's eyes dart around, unfocused, a soft clicking sound coming from his throat.
Chris hesitates, staring at the driver's door, fingers trembling around the door handle and he's scared, he's really, really scared. But Josh could be hurt, Josh could be- A sharp screech pierces his ears and he looks back and Josh is gone. Chris stumbles out the car, hurrying out to where Josh stood. There are dark specks on the ground. Chris stands there, wheezing, hand clutched over his heart. He sinks to the ground, tugging his phone out with shaky fingers. Chris calls Josh. Calls him over and over until his battery dies.
Chris counts down to 3, shakily counting back to 1 as the terrible screech from before plays over and over in his head.
That was real. This is real.
But Chris doesn't trust himself. This has happened before after his mom died. He'd see things, these awful, vivid terrible things.
It wasn't real.
This is what Chris tells himself when he opens his eyes and it's morning, the drive back a blur and he doesn't know how he ended up in his room but he's here now and it was a dream, it had to be a dream.
It wasn't real.
Chris forces himself up. He takes in his room slowly. The sheets are white, his blanket is blue. He has one closet with a poster of Steve Jobs hanging behind a row of old jackets. There is a tv. There is a PS4. His desk is a mess, his computer is present. Everything is normal. Except.
The window to his room is open. It's only open if Josh came over because he forgets to close it back, every damn time. The window is open. But nothing smells like Josh, nothing is moved. Everything is the same. Except for Chris.
Chris checks the call log on his phone to see there's only one call made to Josh that night, instead of the repeated dials he thought he made, then another from Josh calling him back. The call duration is three hours but Chris can't remember a conversation, can't remember anything beyond seeing Josh standing in front of his car.
Josh texts him while he's getting dressed for school. Chris is halfway in his jeans when he reads the message. He's wearing a dumb turtleneck because his anxiety just can't take everyone asking why he has hickeys, deep dark hickeys.
From: Washua
Thanks for staying up with me
Didn't mean to call so late
Chris frowns, confused. He feels irritated, really irritated because what happened? His dad knocks on his door three times before yelling 'bye' as he heads down the hallway. Chris sits on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone. He bites his lip too hard and he can taste blood. Chris counts down to 3, then back up to 1. He releases a shaky breath before leaving for school.
Josh is still being a illusive shit so Chris can't actually find him. When Josh didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. It was some sort of magic he's had since grade school, which is what made him King of the Wildtower for a while. Chris can't find Josh but Mike does find him.
Mike corners him during the transition from 2nd to 3rd period, nostrils flared and he's pissed and crowding into Chris' space until they're tucked away in a connecting hallway.
"What did you say to Josh?" Mike snaps, angrily crossing his arms over his chest.
Chris frowns, considers what to say but Mike isn't mentioning the party so Chris figures this is a different conversation. "I haven't talked to Josh in a week. "
It's technically not a lie but in actuality Chris hadn't had a coherent, completely present conversation since before the party.
"You must've said something because he broke it off." Mike hisses and Chris' frown only deepens.
"Look, bro," Chris huffs, irritated, shoving a finger into Mike's toned chest. "I haven't talked to Josh so whatever bullshit beef you have isn't with me. You aren't even together so lay off okay?"
"So you mean to tell me that-"
"I didn't have shit to do with this is what I'm telling you, man. I've had a rough couple of days and you getting in my face over being Josh Washington's booty call irritates the shit out of me." Chris snaps, taking a step back. "He's my best friend and he's going through shit. He's not on medication for shits and giggles but because he actually needs them. If Josh wants to break it off, take it and move on. He doesn't need anymore baggage following him around."
More like Chris didn't have time to be dealing with any more bullshit beyond what he's going through. He was worried, really worried and paranoid. Mike's arms are dropped to his side, looking a bit out of place as he processes the words over and over. Chris kinda feels bad, kinda doesn't because this is his best friend they're talking about, also Mike fucked him over.
"You're right." Mike sighs, scratching the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. "Guess I'm caught up in my feelings."
"Guess so." Chris responds easily, patting Mike on the shoulder. He moves to walk around the other, paused by a hand on his arm. Chris looks back to Mike's worried expression.
"He's been weird. I just... thought that maybe you had something about your crush."
Chris shakes his head. "I did tell him about it and he said I missed out."
Chris leaves out the part where Josh had admitted to liking him as well, leaves out the part where Josh kissed him first and based on Mike's sullen expression it's probably for the best.
"Focus on running for class president. I hear it's something you actually have to plan." Chris tells him. "I'll handle Josh."
Mike nods, appearing dejected and disappointed, but he bumps Chris' fists with his own before he leaves so it feels like they're okay. Except they weren't. Chris can't concentrate in any of his classes, only scribbling down nonsense and drawing monsters in the borders of his paper. He doesn't run into Josh, even though he seems to be running into everyone else. Emily isn't at lunch and neither is Jess but the Washington's are except for Josh.
Chris' frustration must show on his face because Hannah keeps sending him sympathetic looks as Beth blabs on about Sam and how cute she is.
"Josh said to check your phone." Beth tells him, tucking her lunchbox into Hannah's bag. She waves the phone in her hand. Chris nods dumbly.
From: Washua
Art room. After school.
Be there dweeb
"Gonna seal the deal, Christopher?" Beth inquires, batting her eyelashes. Hannah giggles behind her hand. Chris glares at them weakly, tucking his chin into his turtleneck. Hannah tosses her hair back with a slow smile that seems too knowing and too powerful and Chris wonders what she knows.
"Did Josh go anywhere last night?" Chris asks suddenly.
"Nope. He must've taken his meds on time." Beth informs him. "I had to carry his fat ass up the stairs when I got home last night."
"I wasn't home. But mom and dad would've noticed." Hannah says, frowning. "Why?"
"No reason." Chris lies. He doesn't think their parents would notice if Josh left the house. It's not like he took his car. That was if what happened last night was real. Chris thinks he might be losing it. He sighs heavily, rising from his seat as the lunch bell rings. Hannah takes his hand in hers and squeezes.
"Are you okay?" She asks softly.
Chris nods, thinking of a lie that sounded real. "Yeah. Just my mom."
Beth clicks her teeth. "You should really talk to someone, Chris."
Chris didn't believe in therapy. His dad didn't believe in therapy. Therapy didn't help his mom, therapy didn't help. Chris forces a nod, repeating his dad's words over and over in his head. Therapy didn't help. He just needed to sort out his feelings. The feelings he didn't want to think about. Chris wonders if that explains all the other shitty things he's thought about, wonders if he's just really bad at handling his stress.
Chris skips his last period, huddled in the quiet of his car. He dozes off in the back seat, wrapped up in an old quilt that was on the floor. Chris doesn't think but his mind quietly drifts into old memories that hold no pictures or sounds, just smells, impressions in the darkness of his mind. Chris missed his mom, missed her counting through his panic attacks, missed her smelling like summer and rain. He missed feeling like things were okay.
His alarm wakes him up around 4:45, startling him out of a dreamless sleep. Chris sits up slowly, glasses falling off his face and he rubs his eyes tiredly. There are a couple of messages from Ashley and Jess on his phone. He checks them, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt before he exits his car.
From: Goldilocs
We had a sub today
I'm so pissed
I have soooo much homework
From: Lava Cakes
The teachers have been talking all day
I think Peterson finally ran off with her Russian bf
It wasn't a long shot. Miss Peterson was absolutely smitten with hotel manager, Sasha, downtown. Chris thinks he could make a decision like that. Run away with someone who feels like the world. Chris thinks about the drive home yesterday, memories a warm fog he can't see through. He needed to ask Josh about the phone call they apparently had. He needed to talk to him in general because Josh was his best friend.
Chris finds Josh where he said he'd be, in front of a large canvas, the sleeves of his button up rolled up to his elbows. He's sitting on a stool, one leg propped up against his chest as he blends colors with his index finger. There's a small tray of oil pastels beside him. It's of a mine shaft, an empty mine shaft with darkened walls and faces in the dirt.
"Hey." Chris greets, voice raspy, all thoughts disappearing from his mind. Josh turns to him, the ends of a paintbrush in his mouth. The color is back in his face, eyes bright and green, and Chris fights to breathe because Josh is practically glowing.
"'Sup Cochise." Josh holds up a hand, gesturing Chris over with a flick of his wrist. Chris obeys, hands in his pockets. He wanders up to the large painting, noting small intricate details the closer he gets. There's specks of red on abandoned mining gear, claw marks left behind on rotting wood. If it didn't unsettle something deep inside him, Chris would be impressed.
"This is cool." Chris forces out.
"Thanks, man. Hernley nearly had a heart attack when I actually started on something." Josh chuckles, setting a broken piece of pastel into the tray beside him.
"I'm surprised he even let you back after you failed for not doing anything."
"My genius is not something to be ignored." Josh remarks, smirking up at him. "Plus I won a film award which is more important to me than an art teacher who wants to channel my inner angst for masturbation."
Chris stares at the painting longer, purposely avoiding the heated gaze Josh has focused on him. He clears his throat, jaw working to ask about last night but Josh cuts him off before he can say anything.
"Sit with me. There's another stool in the closet." Josh tells him and Chris nods, moving backwards a few steps before turning. He heads to the supply closet in the far corner, pushing the cracked door open with his foot. It's massive, rows stacked high with various art supplies. Chris spots the stools in the far back. He wanders towards them, vaguely registering the click of the door closing behind him.
A hand encircles his forearm, turning him around. His eyes focus in. Josh stands before him with a tiny smile. He still looks tired, fine lines creasing under his eyes but they aren't as dark or as prominent as before. Josh seems taller, not even an inch just a few centimeters but Chris only notices when he has to tilt his head up to look at him. That was new. They had been relatively the same height since middle school.
"Hey." Josh says simply.
Chris exhales. "Hey."
"You covered em." Josh tugs at the collar of the turtleneck before he moves to drag it over Chris' head.
"Did you want Mike to kill me?" Chris asks, allowing Josh to pull it off. His glasses disappear into the garment. Chris huffs, annoyed, disentangling them from a loose thread. He folds the shirt over his lap. Josh is staring intently at him, licking his lips in a way that has Chris' heart speeding up as he watches the glasses slide up Chris nose. Josh leans in, taking Chris' hand in his and they're kissing.
Josh eases him back onto a stool, slipping between Chris' spread legs as he sits down. His arms are leaning, knuckles dragging along the wood as he shifts forward. He licks his way into the other's mouth, smiling at how compliant his best friend is. Chris sighs, tugging Josh closer by the hem of his shirt. Josh doesn't taste like cigarettes this time, more like mangoes and French fries, still smelling like cinnamon and mint.
"This why you texted me?" Chris inquires softly when they break apart. Josh smiles as if he can hear the sound of Chris' heart beating.
"Mmhm." Josh purrs, mouthing his way along Chris' jaw. He nips at the skin, teeth vaguely sharp and Chris winces. Josh gives him a apologetic smile briefly before their lips slot back together. Chris fights a frown, feeling Josh's teeth with his tongue. They're blunt, normal and Josh groans against him, grasping at the base of Chris' throat. His mind is distracted. He can't think.
It feels nice, brain fizzling into a dulled nothingness. Josh's mouth is slow and dragging against his as if tasting every possible inch with a quiet slur. Chris wonders if Josh brings people back here often, if he presses them down and breaks them apart. Or if it's just him. Just for him.
"I've been having bad dreams." Chris puts a hand on Josh's chest, easing him away. His mouth feels puffy and sore and tingly and it takes a him a moment to remember how to speak. Josh's hands are on Chris' knees. He glances at Chris curiously.
"Scale of 1 to 10."
Chris doesn't answer. He should talk about it, should talk to someone about these repressed feelings and his nightmares where Josh isn't Josh and how it reminds him of her. He should talk about the delusions he's having. They feel like delusions. But Josh looks wonderful, looks painfully good and he hasn't in weeks, not since Marion died. Chris doesn't want to ruin that with his internal bullshit. Josh tilts his head to the side.
"I don't want this to be a fling." Chris says instead because he doesn't.
"Word is I'm only good in small doses." Josh smirks, eyes glittering. His lips brush against Chris', cold fingers coming to push Chris' glasses up to his forehead. Josh kisses him slowly. Chris responds eagerly, grasping the front of Josh's shirt.
"Pick a better excuse." Chris mumbles.
"I'm an asshole."
"Unfortunately I'm keenly aware of that." Chris tells him. "Try again."
Josh's hand slides along his face, eyes soft and round. "I can't promise 100%."
"That's okay."
"Okay, Cochise." Josh says.
"Josh Washington doesn't date." Chris remarks but he feels warm, warm and buzzed. They're so close, so very very close. Josh's nose brushes over his, lips barely a whisper apart.
"I can make an exception."
"You just wanna pop my cherry."
Josh busts out laughing, smiling widely and he presses another lovely kiss to Chris' mouth. "I kinda wanna do that too. Gotta wait till prom. Properly steal your v-card. Take you right to the bone zone, Cochise."
"Don't have to wait that long."
Josh angles Chris' chin to the side, biting the juncture between his jaw and neck. A tremble courses through Chris' body with an embarrassing whimper. Josh chuckles against him.
"Guess we'll see. In the mean time," Josh muses, sucking another hickey along Chris' Adam's apple. "Jess said you were pretty good with your mouth."
"Jess needs to keep our sophomore year experiments between us." Chris retorts, moving Josh's mouth back up to his. "Guess my mouth must've been pretty decent if she told you about it."
"Better than decent. Gonna put it to good use soon." Josh promises. They kiss a few more times, Chris' hand curled along Josh's hip, Josh in between his legs with lazily leaning forward.
"Come get smashed with me. We have Star Wars on the projector."
"Mm. I have homework to do."
"I'm your homework, Cochise." Josh whispers and Chris feels his face heat up despite his faux confidence, despite the fact that they've been making out in art supply closet. He feels nervous but Josh is nudging him insistently.
"Fine, you ass baby." Chris chuckles. His reward is another kiss that sizzles in his brain. Josh takes him by the hand, tugging him off the stool and out of the supply closet. Chris helps him clean up, helps him roll the massive canvas to the back amongst other works. Josh is quiet through it all, but he touches Chris a lot, running his hands along his spine or touching his elbow.
"What makes me different than Mike? Than anyone?" Chris asks when they're on the way to the parking lot. The hallways are empty, absent of voices and familiar noise. Josh is walking beside him, two textbooks tucked under his arm. He peers over at Chris, shrugging.
"I'm going through something." Josh starts, slowing to a stop. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staring down at the folded sides of his boots. "I... I don't know how to explain it. But I'm going through something and... you're who I want there."
Chris looks at Josh, turtleneck balled up in his hand. He opens his mouth to say something but Josh's mouth curves to the side, brows wrinkled in concentration as he works out a thought. Chris waits.
"I've been having dreams. They're not good ones. They're..." Josh sighs. "We can talk about it later. Okay? Just having a good day. Kinda want enjoy it."
Chris has been having dreams too. He nods slowly. "Yeah sure. Whatever you want, man."
Josh gives him a lopsided smile. "I'd say that to Munroe and you know what he'd say? He'd say 'Why talk about it later when you can now?' Irritating. Crazily enough, I don't just talk to anyone. People think I'm this socialite but fuck, bro. You know how it is."
Chris did.
"You're my best man, Cochise." Josh tells him. "Just be here. Like you always are."
"Coulda done that without you sticking your tongue down my throat." Chris jokes.
"I'm still figuring that out. But seemed right." Josh strides up to him, bumping his shoulder a bit roughly. "We can take your car. You can stay the night. I'll even let you leave with your virginity in tact. For today."
Chris smacks his arm with the turtleneck, face and ears burning. "Dude."
Josh winks at him. "I'm a good fuck."
"Can we not talk about this?" Chris says, embarrassed. He takes a nervous look at their surroundings, Josh's throaty laughter filling his ears.
"Don't be nervous, sweetheart." Josh slurs, easily taking Chris' hand in his. He laces their fingers together. Chris huffs, embarrassed and blushing and Josh only smiles as if he's won something.