Rainy Days

Chapter Fourteen: Goodbye, Ron; Hello, Wish-For-Death

FIVE SAT there, the marble bench shining in the moonlight. His features were like an Ancient Greek statue, but smoother, gentler, more loving. Jordan walked over, stepping around the sleeping bodies of their siblings.

"What're you doing out here?" Five said, turning his angelic face towards him; Jordan shrugged and kicked a rock, feeling the cool air bite his nose.

"Worried about Tate?"

Jordan nodded; he didn't feel like talking. He felt that opening his mouth would let everything out—his worry for Ron, fear of his mother, his ever-growing feelings for Five, anger and confusion at Tate—and then Five would hate him, see the truth:

That Jordan was nothing but a gay, fat, lonely boy who had no one to love him. A fat boy who didn't deserve love, who had too much emotional baggage that he couldn't just leave at the door, because that baggage was all he had to be himself. It made him who he was, someone buried under a mask carefully perfected over the years of rejection and abandonment.

And he did not want Five to know that.

"Hmm. Can you do anything besides move your head?" Five asked, his voice light and happy. His own head tilted to the right just a bit, green eyes sparkling. Jordan smiled and shook his head no.

"Alright, then. I suppose we won't talk."

The two sat on the bench in silence, the soft breathing of the siblings filling in as background noise. Stars shone like miniature jewels, worth more than any diamond. The night air was fresh and chilly, sometimes making their breaths into the gentle puffs of dragon.

Jordan's heart stopped when Five casually leaned over and interlaced their fingers. After he'd relaxed into that position—Five's small, worn, soft hands woven into his chunky fingers like thread—Five gave him another heart attack; placing his head on his shoulder.

Five giggled when Jordan inhaled sharply, nuzzling his neck. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare." A brush of lips against his skin.

Jordan just nodded before hesitantly resting his head on top of Fives'.

They sat there, silent, watching the stars twinkle, the rest of the Umbrella Academy sleeping in front of them.

A butterfly, shining, shimmering shades of pink, green, purple and blue drifted downwards, landing on Jordan's knee.

It smiled: Hello, it said, eyes a shocking orange.

Then, Five wrapped his hands around Jordan's throat.

Goodbye, the butterfly said, its eyes twisting; he realized the Umbrella Academy had stopped breathing, and Five tightened his grip.

~

Gasping for breath, Jordan whirled to a sitting position. His shoulders shook, the rhythm erratic. His eyes where blurry with tears, but they felt drier than the Sahara desert. His hands scrabbled for his neck, touching his pulse (beating faster than an obese asthmatic who'd run a marathon) and he slid out of bed.

The floor was cold on his toes, and he was vaguely aware of his boxers, that he should probably put some pants on. But he had to make sure they where okay, to see Five, assure himself that it was just a dream.

Just. A. Dream.

The door opened loudly—too loud, surely, but he was near hysterical—and he tromped up the stairs, breath coming in short bursts. Tears slipped from his eyes, but he didn't notice; he was too focused on seeing them, making sure they where alive and not. Dead.