Friends Eat Friends

Josh isn't there when Chris wakes up.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, doesn't remember pulling his blanket to his shoulder or removing his prosthetic but he's in his bed, bundled up tight. It's dark outside, the cold night air seeping through the cracks of his window. Chris forces himself up, feeling the empty spot beside him for any warmth, any telling that what happened actually happened. It's cold against his hand.

Chris tries not to cry, bottom lip trembling as he gathers his thoughts. Josh was here and now he's not. Was he ever here? The question upsets Chris more than he realizes, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as a dry sob tumbles from his lips. He forces himself out of bed, stumbling through the dark to find his phone.

Chris finds it on the floor in front of his TV, devoid of any messages from the Washington's, Sam's bright cancellation text blaring up at him. Josh wasn't here. Chris imagined it. His room feels a lot colder, a lot smaller. The light from his phone fades into darkness as Chris sits staring at it.

He tries to ignore the chill running along his spine, tries to ignore burning disappointment because only he could formulate such a fucked up, lifelike fantasy. Chris cries softly, grasping his right arm with a shaky hand. Anger bubbles inside him, anger and resignation.

His bedroom door cracks open, hinges squeaking loudly and it startles a panicked sob from his throat. The light cuts on. Josh stands in the doorway, fingers on the doorknob, pained green eyes boring down into Chris' face.

"You..." You're real, Chris wants to say. Instead he says "where did you go" and it comes out as pathetic as he thought it'd be. Chris watches Josh's jaw work, words flittering across his blank face.

"Bathroom." Josh answers.

It sounds like a lie but that doesn't matter to Chris. He staggers to his feet, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. Josh takes hesitant step towards him, closing the door with a soft click. He lets Chris grab his hand and drag him towards the bed, lets Chris press into his chest with restless sighs. Josh wraps an arm around Chris, tangling their legs together. A breath.

"Did you think I left?"

Chris shakes his head.

"Tell me."

"I thought it was a dream and you never came back at all. You weren't ever here." Chris explains quietly. He messes with the buttons on Josh's flannel.

"I'm sorry, Cochise."

"It's okay. You're here now."

Sam tumbles through Chris' window around 8, baring a large bag of spring rolls. Chris is reattaching his prosthetic, Josh asleep beside him. He had wondered at first if Josh had done some thinking when designing the arm for Chris because it was relatively functional, despite Chris not being able to fully close the hand. He could get past that but Josh had caught him struggling one to many times with the fitting until the Washington's dragged him back to the hospital and found something more suitable, with whirrs and a rechargeable battery because Josh called him a nerd. Sam talks animatedly as Chris fumbles with the light, unaware that it isn't just them.

"But I brought you spring rolls. And gold..." Sam trails off, mouth hanging open as she stares at Josh curled up in Chris' bed, jaw slack with sleep. Sam hesitantly walks over to him, hand over her mouth and Chris can see the sparkle of tears. He idly wonders when she expected to see Josh again.

"Did they get them? The flowers?"

Chris wasn't sure. "I don't know."

Sam nods shakily. "I'm.. Um. I have spring rolls."

Chris cuts on his TV, taking the controller from the dresser and plops down on the floor beside the bed. He pats an empty spot beside him, Sam sitting down with the large bag in her lap. They sit in silence before Chris turns on his PS3.

"Is this Homecoming?" Sam asks softly as she watches Chris run around Sheperd's Glen. Chris nods, picking him an abandoned bat outside of an old laundromat. It was one of the games he could still play without actually moving because Silent Hill was mostly running from monsters and opening doors. Sam touches the wrist of his prosthetic, noting the slight wince when Chris fights the urge to pull away. He tried to keep it covered with a long sleeve shirt but this was Sam and she's seen him armless and bloody and nearly dead. Sam leans against him, head resting on his shoulder. She hooks her arm in his. Sam jumps when a monster lunges at the screen. A soft giggle escapes her lips before it morphs into a laugh, loud, fluttery sound that encourages a chuckle out of Chris. Soon they're both laughing, too hard, too loud until the bed is shifting. They both turn to Josh, grinning madly, taking in his disheveled, tired appearance.

Josh blinks once, twice, glancing at their beaming faces. He grimaces.

"Oh god I hate when you're both together." Josh mumbles, falling back onto the bed. Chris and Sam exchange a look before clamoring after him. He groans in protest when he's squeezed between them but Chris can hear the pleased sigh that escapes when Sam wraps an arm around his waist, Chris' own secure over both of them.

Josh is there when Chris wakes. He's there the next day, then the next and Chris is starting to think that he's living in a brain loop because Josh is still there a week later, sitting in his window ledge with a tired smile. He never stays the night, only waits until Chris falls asleep before quietly slipping away and returning early in the morning. The only reason Chris knows that is because he's waken up a couple of times when Josh is halfway through his window.

Chris had asked about it, asked him to stay, but Josh would shift uncomfortably and mumble out an excuse every time. Chris stopped bringing it up and Josh seemed to appreciate it. Beth comes through one morning after Josh, baring breakfast food with Sam trailing behind her. Even Hannah climbs through and their voices ring throughout his room like a distant song of easier days.

It's nice.

Easy to slip back into old habits when everyone is desperately trying to move past what happened. Josh is quieter, a more compact version of his previous asshole self, less loud, crooked smiles in the place of wheezing laughter, more hand holding and hesitant stares. It's hard, watching your best friend go through every emotion he's felt in the past three months every time he looks at you. But Chris tries not to let it affect him.

Instead he lets other things affect him, like the days when he wakes up and tries to use his right arm to sit up, the right arm that isn't there anymore. Chris stumbles to the floor, balance immediately toppling over before he realizes his mistake. He lands with a sound thud, blinking back tears as he tries to figure out how he could forget something so important. Chris forces himself upright, staring down at the empty space.

His bedroom door swings open, August tiredly rubbing his eyes as he takes in his son sitting beside his bed on the floor.

"You okay?"

No. "Y-Yeah. Just kinda fell off the bed." Chris cracks a smile. It twitches and falls, the weight in his shoulders pressing down painfully. His dad steps inside, moving to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around Chris.

"You okay?" August repeats. Chris shakes his head, tears slipping down his face. He quickly wipes away, feeling inadequate and embarrassed. He was alive. He survived the worst thing that could happened to him. His right arm is missing but he's relatively in tact, together, stitched up pieces of glass held together by twine and straw. But it's hard to see yourself whole when a part of you is ripped away. August kisses the top of his head, murmuring quiet nothings when Chris begins to cry.

"I don't know what you're going through," August starts. "But I'm here for you, Chris."

Chris nods shakily. He wonders if his dad told his mom the same before she killed herself in the hallway bathroom, wonders if he tells himself that whenever he sees Chris struggling to open the fridge. Chris feels selfish because sure, he's missing an arm, missing the actual feeling of flesh and waking up with his right side intact but Josh is missing so much more.

"I-I'm sorry." Chris bites out, wiping his nose.

"Stop. You're my son. You don't ever have to say sorry to me. You did good this year, Chris. I'm.. So proud of you. Your mom would be too."

It's a nice thing to say, a nice confirmation that even if Chris feels broken and uncomfortable his mom would be pleased to know that what he sacrificed was for a good reason. For Josh. To be alive and live and be here with Chris and Sam and his sisters.

"How's, uh, therapy going?" Chris asks timidly, hand braced on the steering wheel. Josh is asleep in the passenger seat, body wound up tight against the door, one of Chris' blankets draped over him. Josh mostly slept during the day now, when the exhaustion would be too much and Chris was awake. He had wanted to go to Binksy so they piled into Chris' car and invited Ashley because she loves Binksy despite how trash and awful it is.

Ashley meets his gaze in the rear view mirror. "It's going okay. My therapist started inviting my parents into sessions, one on one, to help with the gay thing. Seems to be going okay."

"That's good." Chris smiles, looking back at the road.

"How's your arm?"

Chris glances down at it, taking in the fleshy white exterior that peaks out between his shirt sleeve and the glove he's wearing. He flexes it, the fingers spreading then closing with a small buzz. No one else seemed to notice the noise and Chris was starting to think it was his subconscious reminding him that's it not his arm.

"Fine." Chris answers simply, turning back to the road. It was easy to keep it covered with gloves and long shirts to avoid the lingering stares. That's what Chris tells himself, to keep himself from panicking. Josh shifts beside him, brow furrowed into a tight frown, lips thinning into a line. Chris places a hand on Josh's knee, awkwardly rubbing soothing circles along it. Josh sighs tiredly, expression melting into something softer. Ashley giggles from the back seat.

"I'm glad you guys came out ok. Bear attack and all." Ashley says, "Will you be back at school next year?"

"Probably. Can only milk my tragedy for so long." Chris jokes, earning an eye roll.

"You guys still going strong?"

Chris nods but deep down he wasn't sure. Josh was different, Chris was different. They had tried making out at least once, at Chris' insistence, before Chris tensed up when Josh's mouth drifted towards his neck. The guilt riddled on Josh's face afterwards was enough for Chris to immediately feel bad and he tried to explain but Josh closed off with quiet resignation and understanding.

"Vanilla looooove." Ashley sings happily. Chris smiles to himself. They explain their game to Josh when they reach Binksy, Chris halfway out the dressing room with a tight fitting black dress on, Ashley in a zebra print open back prom dress strutting down the hall with a hair flip. Josh didn't seem to understand but he laughed for the first time in what's felt like years when Ashley air humps him. He trails after Chris into his dressing room, snorting loudly when Chris fumbles with the dress.

"You've lost a lot of weight." Josh comments, helping Chris with the zipper.

Chris glances at his reflection. "Yeah, like 20 pounds. They were scared I was going to develop an eating disorder so Sam helped me 'rekindle my relationship with food'. Still hasn't come back though."

His ribs didn't protrude as much, stomach a lot flatter than what Chris was used to. He shrugs, Josh watching quietly as Chris pushes the dress past his hips. The bruises on his skin were mostly gone, some webby patterns forming a white scar matching the one in his shoulder. Chris has one leg out when a cold hand slides along his spine. He definitely doesn't squeak but a noise is made and its embarrassing.

"I did this." Josh whispers softly, fingers dancing along the puckered bite left behind. Chris whips around, already beginning to sense Josh's mood plummeting, and grasps Josh's hand with a shaky grip.

"Chris, I-"

"No." Chris says fiercely. "Not you."

Josh looks up at him, wide eyes filled with so much regret and pain it rocks Chris to the core. Chris squeezes his hand. "Josh."

"I hurt you, Chris. Y-You don't have an arm because of me. Chris, I-I-"

"No." Chris hisses. "None of this is your fault. None of it, okay?"

"Chris-"

"I'd do it again. I'd do it all again for you." Chris says and he means it, means it with every fiber of his being. "I'd die for you, Josh. If I woke up tomorrow and this entire mess started over, I'd still do everything the same. Er, maybe some better organizing on my part, but still. If me dying or losing an arm is what it would take to get you back. I'd do it, Josh."

Josh blinks furiously, tears falling as he searches Chris' face. His expression crumples, mouth twisting into a muted cry. Chris pulls him into a hug, squeezing back hard when Josh's shaking body presses into him. Josh sobs into Chris' shoulders, these tiny, broken noises that sound like birds beating against glass.

"I'm sorry." Josh sniffles.

"None of this was your fault."

They stand there, wrapped around one another, until Ashley knocks on the door with a cheery 'I took 7 pictures and they're all bad'. Josh pulls away first, eyes red. Chris eases him back against the door, closing the distance between them. He wipes Josh's tears away with his thumb.

"I love you." Josh says.

"Yeah, me too." Chris smiles, tilting his head slightly to the side. Josh grabs Chris' wrist, a soft smile on his lips.

"It'll get better."

It doesn't and soon Josh stops coming by as often so Chris goes to him, facing the agonizing aftermath that Josh is going through. He sees the new medication in Josh's cabinet, the four clear bottles staring back every time he reaches for the toothpaste. Josh doesn't eat, barely sleeps and when he does his nightmares wake the entire house, Beth nearly busting down the door as the second wave of garbled screams pierce the halls, Hannah and Melinda close behind her. Chris isn't able to help the first few times, too frozen and scared in his paralyzing fears as his mind processes each shriek as what he saw in the mountain, processes each sound as the Nixkamich coming back.

It's hard, to remind himself that it's all over, even on the good days, the days where Josh sleeps a solid two hours peacefully or curl up in Chris' lap as they watch Lord of the Rings for the fifth time because Josh can't watch some horror movies without growing anxious.

"I know what you taste like." Josh says one day. It's close to Christmas, Devil's Kettle mostly smothered in snow. They're sitting in Josh's windowsill, bare legs dangling over the edge. The house is quiet. Chris turns to him.

"I...I know," Josh swallows thickly. "I saw everything, Chris. Everything. A-and that thing, h-he would laugh at me. I could see myself hurting you and I couldn't stop. I-I-I c-couldn't... I.. I shouldn't know that. I shouldn't know."

Chris places a hand over Josh's, unable to formulate a response. The Nixkamich had said something about making Josh watch, about the way he screamed. It twists something uncomfortable in his stomach. Chris worries his bottom lip, staring out at snow covered tree tops.

"What did I taste like?" He doesn't know why he asks, why he pushes such a sore fucking subject between them. But. They needed to move past this. They needed to. Josh tenses up beside him, jaw locking to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as they stare into the wide expanse of trees surrounding the Washington house.

"We should talk about it."

Chris sneaks a glance at Josh, noticing the way the other seems to curl into himself.

"You were sweet." Josh answers slowly. "Sweet and warm, like honey or nectar, I don't know." Josh glances at him, a whimsy smile in place. "Like the way you kiss. Soft, slow and easy."

"Like heaven?" Chris asks, thinking of what the wendigo had whispered to him after his arm was taken, after he threw himself into a mouthful of pin needles to distract it.

Josh exhales, eyes dropping to Chris' mouth. He sighs out a 'yes', low and raspy, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth as he leans closer. Chris' lips part on impact, placing a hand on Josh's thigh as he eases Josh against frame. He can feel Josh smiling, focused on the timid tongue that brushes along the roof of his mouth.

Josh tilts his head to the side, coaxing Chris' mouth into a lazy rhythm, hand curled along the other's waist. Chris breaks away, a sliver of space between them as he shuffles a leg inside the window. Josh smirks, mimicking the movement before he's pressing Chris against the frame, licking his way back into the other's mouth. Chris whimpers when Josh bites down on his lower lip, an apologetic kiss soothing away the slight sting.

Chris tries to focus on not panicking, the familiar creep flaring up inside him. He slides a hand along Josh's thigh, squeezing every so often and he wishes he could just make out with his boyfriend without freaking out. Josh seems to notice Chris being distracted, pushing at Chris' sweater.

"We can stop." Josh whispers.

Chris shakes his head. "No, no. I want this."

"You're distracted, Cochise."

Chris sighs heavily. "We can do stuff, Josh. I'm just... I dunno, man. Let's just make out."

"Or we can watch a movie." Josh suggests, smirking obnoxiously. "Unless. You wanna do something dirty."

Chris' cheeks heat up, embarrassment fluttering in his chest as he stutters out a response. Josh silences him with a kiss, stumbling off of the window ledge. He staggers in the direction of his movie case, clicking the PS4 on. Chris blows into his fist, heart hammering in his chest.

"Bad Milo? Again?" Chris whines, recognizing the title screen that loads. Josh shoots him a withering glare.

"My room. My movies." Josh huffs, shrugging off the cardigan he's wearing. "I have sweatpants if you wanna change."

Chris doesn't respond, focused on the way Josh strips down to a pair of briefs in a few short seconds. Chris flushes a deep shade of red, staring intently at Josh's back as the other gets redressed. Josh tugs on a dark shirt, a size too big, that has 'I don't lift I'm a Sith Lord' written on it, which is probably Chris', probably Beth's.

"You're staring, Cochise." Josh smirks, wandering back over to Chris. He leans against the wall, smirk only growing wider and wider as Chris continues to pointedly not stare. "I'm your boyfriend. You can look. I was kidding."

"Uhm." Chris says smartly.

"Come watch this movie with me." Josh grabs Chris' hand, tugging lightly until Chris concedes. Josh ends up in Chris' lap, laughing loudly as Milo crawls out of the main character's ass for the first time. It's a lovely sound.

"Wanna make out?" Chris nudges Josh's shoulder. Josh shifts in his lap, easing Chris back against the pillows, mouths already connected so Chris guesses the answer is a yes.

Chris doesn't spend Christmas with Josh, doesn't see Josh for most of December or to bring in the New Year because Josh is in the hospital with deep slits in his wrist. Chris goes to see him when he's stable, hooked up to an IV with bandages wrapped around his wrist and a 24 hour nurse on watch. Josh isn't happy to see him.

Chris sits down in an uncomfortable seat, the phantom pain in his arm flaring up and he can't keep his leg from bouncing nervously. Josh studies him closely, deep purple bruises collecting under his eyes, lips chapped and dry. His gaze lingers on Chris' right arm, taking in the fuzzy gloves he's wearing.

Chris speaks up first. "Should I not have come?"

"I'd prefer if you hadn't." Josh mutters, flexing his wrist. Chris stares at the bandage, mind rummaging to images of his mom in a bathtub, Josh on the floor in middle school, unmoving, not breathing. Chris swallows thickly, tasting sour bitterness in every word he wants to say. Josh sighs heavily, earning Chris' attention.

"C'mere, Cochise."

Chris forces himself to his feet, ignoring the thudding pound in his veins. He moves to stand beside Josh's hospital bed. It's like a bad repeat, a bad sequel to the original attempt suicide of Josh Washington. It makes Chris' eyes sting. He tries not to cry.

Josh reaches for his hand, grip slight and weak. "You're wearing gloves."

"Yeah." Chris says, uncomfortable with the subject change. Josh peels the right glove off, rubbing his thumb along the faux skin. Chris can't feel the sensation. It makes his stomach tighten.

"Is it working okay?"

Chris nods. "Yeah."

"But it's not the same?" Josh says, glancing up at him. He squeezes the hand and Chris can't feel it, he can't feel the pressure or Josh's skin warming his hand. All he feels is the hollowness in his ribs.

"I thought it'd work this time. Me dying. That the screaming would stop, the voices. I feel it sometimes. It's hands, sliding under my skin. Like an itch."

Josh peers up at him through long lashes. "I didn't go deep enough. I couldn't. It started healing back.. As if I'm still possessed. I don't know, Chris. It sucks you have to see me like this again. Are.. Are you mad?"

Yes. "I don't know." Chris says, taking his hand from Josh's. He tucks it into the pockets of his jacket, focusing on the tick of the clock, the tap tap of the nurse's shoes, the agonizing feeling that Josh might have survived the Nixkamich but that doesn't mean he'll survive. The phantom pain riles underneath his skin, itching where Chris can never scratch again because he has no right arm. He's incomplete and Josh tried to kill himself again.

A humorless smile curls onto Josh's lips, eyes soft and tired and he tucks his hands into his lap as he watches the emotions on Chris' face.

"Sorry I'm not okay, bro."

"It's not your fault." Chris responds.

"Will you kiss me?"

Chris looks at him, worrying the inside of his cheek. "You promised, Josh. You promised you'd stick around and not go anywhere. You... You lied to me."

Josh peers up at him, expression clouded with a mixture of agony and guilt but also anger, deep underneath, festering behind clear green eyes. Josh looks away. "I'm here now."

Chris sighs. "Okay."

"Okay."

Melinda asks Chris to not visit after, her face pleading and broken, so he stays home with August, shaking through a panic attack when it all hits him at once as his father counts down with him. 1.2.3.3.2.1. His dad doesn't believe in therapy but when Chris' anxiety flares up to where he can't be left alone, August finds a therapist. It helps, but it also doesn't because Chris misses Josh, misses him to the point where his brain tricks him into thinking he's failed and Josh is dead.

Hannah keeps him updated, sends pictures of Josh's shaky recovery that's mostly Josh hooked up to IVs, looking washed out but alive until the pictures become of Josh sitting in the back seat curled up in one Chris' pullovers asleep and still alive.

Chris drives to school alone, radio cut off, car silent in the steady drive. There is no one in the passenger seat stealing the AUX cord, no one laughing loudly at a bad joke. It took Chris two hours to brace himself to facing the general student body again, two hours of debating if he should wear gloves again or if anyone would notice that his right hand isn't his.

August had offered to drive him to school but Chris has been driving left handed for three weeks now with the hand that's actually his. Chris sits in the parking lot, in his parking space, staring at the school building as it shadows before him. He swallows down the bile that forces it's way up his throat, swallows down every awful feeling bubbling in his mind and he feels okay, feels mostly solid until he opens the car door and steps out.

Chris vomits into the grass, sinking dread sliding along every nerve, tears burning his skin like acid. He drives home, calls his dad who's so understanding it physically hurts. Sam comes by before work, finding Chris curled up in his closet staring down at his stubbed arm. She calls out sick and sits with him and holds his hand while he cries.

Sam rides with him the next day he tries and it's exactly what Chris was afraid of. Sam steers him away from the stares, glaring daggers at anyone who so much as begins to speak in his general direction. He's grateful to her, to Matt and Jess and Emily who stand between him and the pestering questions filling every students mind.

Chris understood. He looked different, was different and being that Devils Kettle is a small fucking town, everyone knew about the 'bear attack', knew about Chris losing his arm and the Washington's pulling out from school. It's only a matter of time before someone gets him alone, gets him cornered near his locker right before the bell sounds.

Chris doesn't know her name but he does know that she had a crush on Josh in middle school.

"What was it like? The bear?"

Chris shifts nervously, a few students glancing at them in passing. The girl touches his arm, his right arm, his fake arm. He wonders if she does it on purpose. Regardless Chris moves away from her touch, pushing his glasses up as the girl retracts her hand.

"Sorry. It.. It just must be hard for you. Losing so much and Josh is gone. You guys were close." She says and Chris isn't fully paying attention because what did she know about loss. The town didn't know the full story but Sam and Emily did and Chris did and Josh did and for some random, nameless person to come up to him and remind him that he nearly lost everything, lost more than just his right arm. It irks him.

"Why are you talking to me?" Chris narrows his eyes at her. The girl rubs her arm uncomfortably.

"Well after Marion and Miss Peterson. It's just a relief that you made it out okay."

Chris doesn't want to think about that, the people who didn't make it because they were too late figuring out what it was killing people.

"I appreciate it but," Chris looks at her. "I don't want to talk about it."

The girl nods in understanding, taking a step back before she turns and walks away, glancing over her shoulder at him as the bell sounds ahead. The stares mostly stop after that and the polite avoidance begins but it doesn't bother Chris as much as he thought it would.

Chris studies to keep his mind distracted, takes the pills his therapist prescribed and goes to school, ignoring the stares and casual calls of his name. His teachers tread around him carefully, polite smiles shot his way whenever eye contact is made. Chris knows they want to ask about Josh. He doesn't have lunch with Emily anymore, instead it's Matt and Jess, who seem to have formed a pact to keep Chris busy and distracted, constantly reminding him that he's still their favorite.

It works. Sort of. Chris goes to practices everyday and watches Matt from the bleachers, bringing along his homework and zebra cakes when he can stomach things. Mike joins him sometimes, idly talking about his run for class president. He doesn't ask about Josh and Chris thinks maybe someone told him not to. Josh starts to text him again, random silly pictures of noodle people dancing and his score on COD but Chris doesn't respond, mostly because he's still upset that Josh tried to kill himself and because he's an asshole.

From: Assington
I miss you.

From: Assington
I'm sorry.

From: Assington
Chris..?

"You gonna text him back?" Jess snorts from beside Chris on the bleachers. Its her turn to play babysitter but Chris liked Jess a lot so it wasn't really a chore. He shrugs, feeling bitchy.

"Ok so he tried to kill himself," Jess says. "I mean, at least he didn't succeed. You have more time with him now."

"Jess-"

"Chris," Jess raises an eyebrow at him. "You guys have been through a lot this year. A freaking bear attack? Really? I told you guys to be careful." Jess pouts. "It was a traumatizing event, Chris. He watched your arm get ripped off, watched you almost get eaten. How do you come back from that?"

Chris instantly feels like a dick, pondering over the past few months, all the hesitant looks, the extra gentle touches because Josh was scared to touch him most days unless Chris initiated it. How do you come back from nearly ripping apart your best friend? Being the reason he can't sleep some nights and that his right arm is gone.

"I'm an asshole." Chris mumbles. Jess pats his shoulder.

"At least you're cute, Chrissy." She grins widely. "Text him back. Hang with his dork ass. It'll be hard to keep him level and on track but he's always been like this. Plus you have friends. You're not alone on the 'Protect Josh Washington' committee."

From: Bro

I miss you too.

Josh's response is immediate.

From: Assington
Oh thank god because it would make today awkward

Chris frowns at the message, glancing over at Jess who is hiding an obvious smile behind her hand. Practice ends shortly after Chris gives up trying to get words out of Jess and he mopes most of the way home. Beth is waiting for him in his room, in a large sweater and leggings, wearing a seedy smile.

"Hey friend."

"Hey," Chris sets his bag down on his bed. "Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah. Just got some good news." Beth says, fishing a red envelope out of her shirt. She hands it to him, rolling her eyes when Chris turns his nose up at it.

"Where did you keep this?"

"Just open it, asshole."

Chris recognizes Josh's handwriting in the front, Chris' name written in scratchy black ink. He opens it, tugging a neatly folded letter tucked inside. Two laminated strips of paper fall to the floor.

'Beth's my right hand but your my best man. Look out your window.'

Chris is halfway through reading it, crouching down to pick up the pieces he dropped as music sounds through the opening in his window. He recognizes the song from some John Cusack movie. Chris straightens, moving slowly towards the window as the realization dawns on him. Beth shifts to the side, smiling softly.

Josh is standing on his E30, dressed smartly in tight leather pants and a loose, baggy gray shirt. He's holding a banner over his head, grinning widely, almost crazy if Chris squints, wrists colored with thin red lines. Chris focuses on the writing, heart swelling in his chest with a sick kind of warmth as he reads the words.

'Will you be my lead to prom, Cochise?"

Chris finds himself smiling, unable to stop the stretch of lips even if he wanted to.

"At least he's more attractive than John Cusack." Beth nudges his side. "Go before I puke."

It's all the encouragement Chris needs to move. He stumbles down the stairs to his house, grateful for once to be at home alone. August would snap pictures and Chris doesn't want to die of embarrassment. He throws the door open, catching Josh hobbling off his car, music still blasting, banner folded up in his hands.

Josh wanders over to him, Chris meeting him halfway in the yard.

"That a yes?" Josh asks, shifting nervously.

Chris kisses him. Josh blinks, eyebrows lifting in surprise before it melts into an easy smile, hand coming to rest on Chris' face.

"I missed you." Chris tells him.

"That's what happens when you date us crazies." Josh smirks. "I'm sorry, man. Go to prom with me?"

"We established this months ago." Chris laughs.

"Okay but that was before I thought I'd die." Josh jokes and Chris forces himself to laugh because it'll feel easier, easier than dreading the last few months.

"Gaaaaay!" Beth shouts from the window.

"Boo, you lesbian whore!" Josh shouts back, wrapping his arms around Chris' neck. He squeezes him tightly, thin body firm and cold. Josh trembles slightly. Chris hugs him back.

"I fucking missed you." Josh whispers.

"I missed you too."

"I'm sorry about your arm."

"I'm sorry I let you get possessed by a wendigo."

Josh chuckles directly into his ear. "Good thing you saved me."

"I'd do it again." Chris reminds him, feeling warm and tingly and Josh leans back just enough to kiss him again.

"I love you." Josh sighs.

"Me too."

Beth sings from the doorway. "Gaaaaaaaay!"

Chris shudders when he hears the click of a camera shutter.