We Live To See The End

A New Jumper

Click.

Fwoom.

Click.

Click.

Fwoom.

Click.

Click.

Fwoom.

Click.

This lighter caused the downfall of a relationship. It was the last thing Kristoffer stole from Niall's desk. He remembered how Eudora had given it to Niall, packaged in a little box while he worked on case studies. The shell has been going strong for two years now, the last memory of Eudora aside from her corpse.

Her corpse.

Her corpse.

Her corpse.

After that horrid fight was over, his heart told him to hold Ashton tight and keep Alexis, Cheri, and everyone else safe. But his brain stole him to Eudora's body. He turned her over. She was face down, cosy in the smashed concrete. She was glassy-eyed, and her mouth was open slightly. She looked oddly peaceful. Her hair had blood in it. There was no hope left to save her, her pulse was gone. A whirlwind of people carrying Strangelove away on a stretcher distracted him from his shock. A hand had rested on his shoulder.

'She's dead, Kristoffer,' Niall had spoken, voice trembling with emotion. Kristoffer looked at him. He had never seen a man with such dead eyes, 'I want you to leave this place. It's not safe for a young man like you. Just remember that everything is going to be fine.'

He had nodded a solemn nod, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he left. Alexis had slammed into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder, professing her thanks to him. Cheri was being fussed over by a group of paramedics, insisting that she was fine. Ashton was just standing painfully on his injured leg. He had given him something that could probably be defined as a smile.

Kristoffer twists a dreadlock around his finger, sighing heavily as memories tumble down upon him. The hands that produce fiery creatures are covered in the blood of his kind. Christmas has been awful ever since that year. He had taken Ashton's advice and never came back. He misses his emerald eyes, his fiery ginger hair, and the sleek white feathers on his perfectly preened wings. The way he would roll his eyes at his every word, followed by a tiny smile. How he made the fire in his stomach ignited every time he spoke in his more formal way. How he gripped onto his hand whenever their adrenaline pumped together. The way his freckles were dotted across his face, his arms, his thighs, and his back. His attitude. The way he dressed, whether it covered every inch of his skin or was torn off by eager hands. How he would look at him when he said something weirdly comedic. The way he would sleep in his arms. The way he tasted against his lips. The way everything kind of disappeared when he was near. Everything.

He can still remember the silhouette of his body with wings emerging from his back in the slight light of Ashton's room. His ribs felt shaky under his gentle touch. His hair was all spiked and slicked up, his eyes closed and bare of glasses, and his hands trembling slightly. A truly beautiful sight to see with hazy vision, with his head tilted back into the pillow. He looked like some kind of distorted, traumatised, yet beautiful angel.

The lighter finally runs out of fuel. Kristoffer sighs and leans back against his sofa, dropping the lighter next to him. He tucks his feet up under his legs, his gifts scattered across the sofa. A bottle of perfume and a mug from his mum, a sketchbook from his sisters, a new red bass guitar from his dad, and something different. Something from Niall. A mug saying "#1 Guitar Player". Wonderful, he hasn't even seen Niall in three years.

His doorbell rings. Who rings a doorbell at ten thirty-seven at night? On Christmas?! Odd. He gets up, the Christmas music fading from earshot. He unlocks the door to his flat and leans around the doorframe. No one is here. He looks down to see a little cardboard box, wrapped in Santa paper. It is tied up in red ribbon, with a little card addressed to him in messy handwriting. Messy handwriting he recognises. He picks it up with both hands; very heavy. He rips into the envelope with much anticipation.

Dear Kristoffer,

I hope this reaches you. I hope you still live at this address. Anyhow, I regret saying that to you. I think about you a lot. Please at least try to see me once. You know the address, you lived there. I miss you. Happy Christmas!

And I'm sorry for such a short note. If Alexis and Cheri find out about this, I will literally be killed and you will never see me again.

Love,

Ashton

P.S. I made the gift. I hope it isn't bad.

What a blooming heartthrob. A simple thought answered Kristoffer's prayers. He opens the box with great care. It reveals a jumper like the old one he got seven years ago. It is dark blue with fluffy crocheted wool, with a guitar symbol on the front. Little yellow stars of a multitude of different sizes are dotted around it. It smells like him and fits in a perfect oversized way.

He's found his favourite new jumper.

He grins as he inspects the way it is knitted, clearly with great care. Kristoffer finally decides to haul himself to bed.

Maybe he should see him. Tomorrow is Saturday, after all. Would it even be on? He could always ask...