The Best of Friends | ✔

extra

I had never seen a borderline rabid fire at such a close range── or any fire greater than what was used to light a cigarette, in fact── until Roger lit up a match and threw it in the pit we dug out and dumped dozens of stuffed duffel bags into.

As the fire rose and had its first cackles and roars, Roger and I stared at it with blank facial expressions, in a complete trance. Mesmerized, horrified. We didn't dare to blink until our dry eyes forced us to.

The clear orange flames had a greater effect on me in regards to the trance, though. Its varied hues, the distortion of the air around it, its sizzling heat── which licked my eyebrows at one point── and its bold illuminance under the starry indigo sky... it made me lose track of time. Like a moth is to light, I was entranced by the flame before me; it made me want to get closer and closer to the pit, right until my attention was snatched away by raw, thunderous wails.

Roger's erratic breaths, the desperation with which his long fingers clutched onto his collarbone, the quivering of his chapped lips, and the translucent stream on his cheek, flowing over the opaque remains of the last, told me of the pain he beared, in the most intimate of details. Of how it had been simmering under the fire's glare for longer than I could recognize. It could've been minutes, hours, days. Months, years. Eternity.

For a moment, eternity could have existed for the both of us. The flames could have made it so.

An eternity of pain, an eternity of entrancement.

Though, the one of pain would have been far more powerful.

Roger's hot tears seared through my sweaty shirt's cotton fabric and touched my skin for only a bare second before evaporating into the air around us, as I held him and all of his pieces of sanity together.

The night was young, and enveloped by the distinct smell of ash and used dollar bills.

We were outside somewhere, camping out deep in the dark woods off the highway we were once driving on to get to the airport tomorrow morning. My time with him was running out. Classes will be back in session soon. Spring break was essentially over. I'll have to leave him.

I held him all the more tighter.

The moment my hours left with him are over, no one will be around to hold him. All of the glue and tape he will need may not find him. Nothing may soothe his soul, save for the silent music in his room. And even then, it was nothing but a temporary distraction from the hell within. The moment the instruments stop playing, or when they're between tracks, his soul will bleed. No── it already has been... and, and someday, there may be no more soul left to bleed. He will be left hollow. Hollow, with the mindset of someone that── with a soul── had thoughts of "the easy void."

What would've happened if I hadn't come to see him?

What will happen after I leave?

I took a deep breath. Held it in for as long as I could. I blinked tears away as I released it.

I'm overthinking it all. I must be.

The combination of my arms over him and the glaring warmth of the burning flame tens of feet away from us eventually calmed him down, but not before he muttered things under his breath that tugged at my heartstrings. More things about all he was forced to do for the underworld under his alias, more of the remorse, the disgust, the shame. Of how burning the dirty money to ashes was the best thing to do because to use it meant the approval of the actions done to acquire it. Of how it was still not enough. That nothing will be. He repeated it to me── or rather, to himself, really── more times than I could count. I held him all the more tighter and tighter as he did so, unsure of what to say, if anything at all. Nearly suffocated him, suffocated myself, with the feel of our bodies.

"I swear ... I had to, I have to! ... Every last dollar in the storage, every last dollar I'll bring here and burn ... I can do good ... but not with this money ... it's not enough, nothing will be enough ... I can't be forgiven ... I'm a monster ... what's done is done, nothing will bring them back ... this is the beginning of my eternal punishment ... I don't deserve to ... I'll think of something... I swear ... I'll get out ... "

In the silence that followed, the turmoil in his dark eyes was swept away by slumber. Or so I thought, for a good half an hour.

"Mama asked if I'm gay," Roger blurted, with his eyes still closed. "She pulled me to the side before we left. Told me if that's what's bothering me, that it doesn't matter. Said she's proud of me either way. That I looked better than I had for ages with you around this week, and that it's all she cares about. My happiness. Didn't know what to tell her."

I fixed my throat and looked ahead, at the fire. "That explains what she told me before we left," I replied. "She said to take care of you. That she leaves you in my hands and loves us both." My throat felt drier than it had ever been. Swallowing did nothing. "Roger, are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I hope so." He then sighed. "Maybe one day."

"I'll call you every day."

"No, it's okay. You don't have to. We can do what we've always done. I don't want to be a burden."

"I want to, and I will. I need to know you're okay." I turned to him, then reached for his hand. That was enough for him to open his eyes. I took advantage of it. I looked deep into his pupils and soul. Urged him to do the same with mine. "You're not a burden. Never will be."

I couldn't tell if the small glimmer in his eyes after he rubbed them came from the light of the fire before us, or if it was genuine hope. "Okay."

I squeezed his hand in mine and did my best to blink away the stubborn tears that latched onto my eyelashes. "And I'll come visit as much as I can." And I'll move back here. For sure.

Should I tell him? Would it seem like too much?

I never intended to live my whole life in North Carolina. My end goal has always been Florida. It doesn't matter what my family wants from me as the heir to the Campbell winery. I have hopes and dreams that have nothing to do with grape vines and creepy dark cellars.

"Okay," Roger mumbled again. He tore his eyes away from mine and nodded to what felt to be himself. Shortly after, a dry chuckle escaped him. "Dan, I... really don't deserve you."

Swiftly, I brought his hand up to my lips. Gave it a gentle kiss. "If you didn't deserve me, I wouldn't be here."

Roger's own lips twitched at my response, before they opened to reveal... nothing. No words. He was speechless. He closed them when he realized it himself.

I gave him a smile softer than the kiss as his shoulders relaxed. My arms wrapped around them and we watched the fire once more, together; heard its cackles and roars, smelled the odd mix of ash and used dollar bills. This time, there weren't any hot tears to bleed. Just drool on my shirt from an exhausted man with the sexiest singed goatee in the world. He went out like a light.