The Stains Beneath Our Skin [mxm] ✔

37.1 | Warlord

Mystery boyfriend didn't come home while Casper ransacked the flat for his drug stash and stuck that – pills and dope – into his backpack along with some of the cooler clothes in the wardrobe. He ate what he could scrape together out of the barren cupboards and fridge, and then left a note for boyfriend saying not to expect him back, sorry about all that, yada yada before heading out into the streets.

Dealing got him enough cash to get himself a flight by evening, and maybe it wasn't that profitable – fuck knew how much he'd spent on this stuff – but how much he'd spent didn't matter a damn. Soon as he got his thousand-pound tenner, he dumped the rest on the nodding dopehead and wished him good luck.

He was getting on that plane and he was never coming back until Cain was by his side again.

The tube to the airport stunk of piss and Casper rested his tired legs stretched out into the corridor. The rattle of the window shook his brains, but he closed his eyes and fell into it. Maybe almost fell to sleep before the announcement that they were at the airport jangled through his brain.

And the airport seemed just like any other airport. Casper had been to the airport a lot before he ran away and then only once afterwards. In the early days – not too early, but once things got really good – Jack had taken him on holiday. Only to Appalachia, but he'd made it all a big surprise, right up until they got off the tube into the airport, and Casper had grinned for the whole plane ride. It'd been amazing, that trip, and not long after that, Casper had moved in with him and things begun to spiral.

Living with Casper didn't do anyone good. No one but Cain, that was.

There was a queue at the ticket counter. About five people, and Casper settled in to wait behind them. Voices whirred all around him, a thousand conversations all at once in this vast, warehouse terminal. Flights scrolled across LED screens, a thousand different routes to a thousand different stories. Casper watched it while he shuffled forward, waiting for his.

It had been the only one to the entire southern region today, and as he didn't have any idea where Cain was, he might as well put himself in the tender care of fate. It was in three hours, he knew, and it had three stops and it took almost two days with layovers. Two days and he'd step out into the baking African heat and every step he took out of those airport doors would bring him one step closer to Cain.

Casper sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. Two days too long. Every minute away from him dug more out of this strange emptiness inside his chest. And what about Cain? He remembered when he turned eighteen, didn't he? Casper's passport said he was twenty-two, and Cain was already eight years older than him. Twelve years without him.

And before that ... it must have been when he ate the heart. He must have keeled over and not gotten back up after all of that. The sting in Casper's eyes doubled down and he swiped at them again. It must have broken Cain's heart. Probably why he was out in the Kong chopping people's heads off with machetes.

Seemed about right for Casper really. Roach Boy with the evil supervillain boyfriend who started wars when he got sad.

The desk girl asked if he was alright when he stepped up to the counter. Casper said he would be soon and bought his ticket. Eight hundred and fifty-six pounds, which left him about one thirty to survive on until he found Cain. Hopefully money would stretch a bit further out there. Existing in this body that had never had all that filth done to it – at least none that Casper could remember – he just ... couldn't go back. There'd have to be a different way to make money.

Seeing as he was already broke as shit (in the grand scheme of things), he figured might as well get himself an obscenely over-priced airport coffee while he waited. A latte. One with whipped cream and gingerbread syrup and chocolate sprinkles and two extra espresso shots. His eyes blurred as he watched whipped cream bob on the way back to his table. It'd probably remind him of Cain forever, these comfort coffees, and that just made them all the sweeter.