The Infinite Nothing

IV : an abundance of unrequited love

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Sometimes, Ivan was angered by his mother's kindness.

It was her responsibility to keep the house clean, her family fed, the dog active and all of their reputations pristine. It was her job as a mother, and as the family's head, and as a person who could not handle giving away even one tiny bit of control.

Ivan understood all that and yet nothing agitated him more than her constant involvement in his life, mostly because all she ever did was bitch about his grades and clothes and friends and passive decisions. Ivan liked being passive. His mom should focus on other things.

However, when Ivan sat in the rusty garden chair on Tristan's roof, he felt ridiculous for having such trivial thoughts.

Thoughts seemed to matter a lot to Tristan. Ivan could imagine it all too well; him wearing his dark suit surrounded by grieving people all day, hidden away in a place so sad and depressing only to have his mind become sad and depressing, too. And when he smiled it seemed bitter, and his eyes laughed at everything because he couldn't laugh along with the rest of the world.

Ivan didn't know whether to feel bad for him. It had been his own decision to hide the heroin in his room, and to start using it in the first place. Everyone knew drugs fucked up your life; Ivan's mother constantly preached about it.

Tristan had ruined his own adolescence, and now he spent his days thinking about death and French politicians and about the act of thinking itself, even. Frankly, Ivan deemed it quite useless. And still he found himself back on the rooftop three days after first meeting Tristan, waiting for the boy of the hour to appear.

But Tristan didn't come. When the sun had long set and Ivan grew cold underneath his jacket, he decided to leave. Maybe Tristan really had better things to do, places to be. For a moment Ivan felt stupid for coming here.

He stopped halfway down the outside stairs when his gaze fell onto one of the windows next to him, getting stuck on a lanky body behind the stained glass that seemed all too familiar.

Tristan was laying on a mattress, surrounded by blankets and clothes and books and things Ivan couldn't make out through the dirty window. He hesitated. All this time he really had been sitting on Tristan's rooftop; the boy appeared to live in the old building.

Ivan reached out to knock on the window, but Tristan didn't react. So Ivan did the only reasonable thing that came to his mind; he left the stairs behind and walked to the door that had to lead into Tristan's apartment.

The doorbell didn't seem to work, but Ivan's fists hammering against the old wood did. Tristan appeared in front of him just moments later, wearing nothing but stained sweatpants and a tired look on his face.

Ivan managed a smile. "Good evening."

The boy in front of him barely seemed to register his presence as he walked back into the depths of his apartment, leaving the door open for Ivan to follow. The younger boy stepped inside hesitantly, intimidated by the smell of mould and the cracks in the walls.

He found Tristan in his bedroom, back on his mattress. He seemed so different than usual.

"Are you okay?" Ivan asked, feeling stupid and useless in a place so dark, alone with a person so near yet far away.

Tristan didn't react. Ivan sighed and sat down on a chair that had seen better days. "You know, my mom would love to clean up your place. I think it's the only thing that makes her truly happy. Cleaning, and bitching about my existence. She does live a simple life."

Tristan glanced at him, at last reacting to his words. "Talk slower."

"Are you-" Ivan trailed off, his eyes searching the room.

"Guess what I took," Tristan answered with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Ivan sighed deeply.

"I don't know. Heroin?"

"I'm not sixteen anymore."

Ivan felt almost relieved, but Tristan was too far away to notice. "I don't know. I don't know anything about drugs."

"Good." Tristan tried to stretch on his mattress, his body moving slowly as his heavy eyelids struggled to stay open. "Ketamine."

Ivan couldn't find a needle in the mess on the floor, and in the mess in the few shelves, and in the mess in every corner and on every wall. When he had only ever known Tristan with his composed expression and suits and formal sweaters, Ivan now realized how much of an illusion first impressions were.

"Why do you do it?" Ivan asked, his attention returning to the boy on the mattress.

Today, Tristan's smile seemed almost sad. "Nietzsche said he who has a Why to live can bear almost any How."

"Of course you'd still quote those idiots even while... you know."

"I have no Why, Ivan."

"Everyone has a reason to live," Ivan replied slowly, wondering if he believed his own words; the response had come natural to him. The doubt in his tone didn't fall on deaf ears.

"Reason is to be found, not given. I'm tired of searching," Tristan mumbled, at last closing his eyes. "Can you stay until Tanya comes back?"

"Who's Tanya?" Ivan asked, but Tristan had already drifted off to a world Ivan didn't dare follow to.

Most of the blinds in front of the few windows were shut. Ivan moved to close the ones for the window leading out to the stairs, shutting out any unwanted eyes. He didn't like the narrow apartment and dark atmosphere lingering underneath its short ceiling. He didn't like the smell and looks, but he couldn't find it in himself to leave when Tristan had asked him to stay.

He sat down on the chair again, shamelessly watching the boy now that he was unaware of it. He had wondered if Tristan still took drugs. Now that he knew, he didn't feel much wiser.

Sighing, he sank further down in his chair and waited for Tanya to arrive, whoever that was. Maybe his girlfriend. The thought of Tristan falling in love seemed strange to Ivan.

His thoughts travelled back to his mother. She'd get a heart attack if she knew about his current whereabouts. Ryder would choke on his disbelief, and even Dorothy would wrinkle her nose in disgust. Ivan smiled at the thought, his eyes never leaving the boy who had managed to distract him from his misery. The boy who was a secret only belonging to him.

Night came and darkness fell without anyone noticing. Tristan didn't seem to wake up anytime soon and Ivan stayed in the creaking chair, at last drifting off to sleep, alone with his secret in a world he didn't belong to.

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