On your knees // Bandom

49. Wanna be missed

Half an hour later, Ray knocked at Jimmys door. A moment later he was answered.

"I thought you said twenty minutes?"
"I shouldn't have even ditched them in the first place, I shouldn't be lying to them."
"So you came here to break up with me?"
"...no."
"Thought not."

Jimmy kissed him, and Ray kissed back before remembering where he was. "The door's open, Jimmy! Someone could see us."
"I know." He kissed him again, slower, then, "Who did you ditch, for me?"
"Pete and Patrick."
"You see them everyday anyway."
"I see you everyday."
"We don't get to do this everyday."
"And what's 'this', exactly?"
Falling: falling for your smile and your hair and your laugh and your hands. Falling in love. Wanting you. Needing you. Having you. "Kissing."
"That it?"
"Why? Why do you want to be?"
"C'mere." Ray shut the door and took his hand, pulling him up to his room.

Jimmy had an ache in his soul when he spent time with Ray, something to do with emotions taking hold of him and not enough ways to express them.

They were complicated emotions, pros and cons, contrasting feelings. Yet at the same time it was just this simple love. He was trying to not admit it, even in his own head, but his guts knew the truth.

He half wanted to tell him, spill it all out like paint staining a shirt in shades of red, but acrylics can't be washed out and once words were spoken, there was no going back. Instead, he said it silently, in the way he pulled him closer, his fingers touching warm skin.

"We can't go there." Ray slowed them.
"I know."

If he says it now, he'll just think he wants something, and it doesn't mean half the things it really means.

Ray rested his forehead against his, breathing slowly, like he was holding back. If he let go, they both will. He has to stop them, dam the river. Keep both feet on the ground.

"When you're ready, baby." Jimmy says, and he means it, its the truth. But its also a line, designed to make Ray trust him. Love him.

Is it so wrong to want love? They have the beginnings, the seed. There's no pressure, no need, just him begging the sky for something beyond this. Some reason good enough to stay a boys secret.

"I want this, so bad." Ray whispered. "I want us to be a thing, for everyone, and I want to love you, but im so scared."
"Of which one?"
"Both."
"Well, right now, you don't have to do anything, okay?"
"I have to make decisions, or I'll go insane."
"They can wait, trust, I don't mind if you go insane."

He'd be right alongside him, drowning in things he didn't dare to say. Choking on words he didn't want to think. Desolate in the face of emotions he desperately wanted to dismiss.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

~

In his dreams, Dallon was trapped. There was meaning there; his feelings of isolation spilling over. He was trying to fight it, push his way out, argue his case. All in vain.

Someone was asking about Ryan, about what really happened, asking for the truth.

Truth.Truth.Truth. After a while it stops being a word and just becomes a noise, losing its meaning. It's just a human invention, simply make-believe. It doesn't matter, then, if he lies.

It's all invention: Truth and lies, morality, even death. Just words, thrown around casually. Vibrations through the air, that we assign so much to, but times change and meanings change and repercussions are someone else's choice.

He can say he didn't kill him, and he sounds believable, because he doesn't care if its the truth of not. We create our own values and his don't align with the law of the land.

I. Didn't. Kill. Him. All made up, all sounds, all fake.

This was how he excused himself, in his own head. He could make it ok. That snap, the light draining, it didn't have any impact on him anymore. He'd do it again, if he could.

His eyes had remained open, an his blood had stayed in his body, and we signal danger with closed eyes and blood and if neither of them were there, then there wasn't anything wrong.

He'd be careful with Brendon, too. No screams or fights or breakage. Something clean and smooth, he'd disassociate from it.

He had a notebook that he was filling with plans and diagrams and explanations, and it was damning evidence but it all looked so nice lined up next to each other. He could choose this, choose the method and the outcome. He was in control.

He'd felt a trickle of this going to from Ryan's house the first time he visited: the power and command. He knew he could manipulate people, mold them like putty. Their heart first, and then their necks. He broke both of them.

Except that now he was stuck in this box of his own invention, and the walls were closing in, and he forgot how to breath. He's aware that he's dreaming, he's just not able to wake himself up. He's stuck there, knowing and paralysed to stop it.

When he woke up, he'd try to reclaim memories of Ryan, listen to all those songs that spoke so heavily of him it used to make him cry, and dance to them.

Think back to the moments that made him love him, and try and stop missing him, because they might be have been his soulmate or other half but they're not here anymore, and its his fault.

Somewhere between moving on and missing him like he'd miss a limb you lost.

Just playing those songs on repeat, telling himself he's happy now. He's good now. He doesn't need to skip it, even if he recognise the first note and it sounds like his laugh.

He just needs to close his eyes and put himself back in his room, colour himself in memories and pretend that he can see him again.

Even if he can't.

He scrolls through past messages, and tells himself that hes laughing at how naive he used to be, how could he possibly believe them? Tells himself he don't still believe them.

He still brings them up, still. Good and bad memories. He uses this as proof he don't care anymore, and he knows its the opposite.

And the songs they shared are all fine now, and he listens to them and remembers the shiny parts. But the songs that hit harder after them; the songs that remind him of it all collapsing. The songs he didn't get until this.

Those songs he still skip, because if they play, he'll think of them involuntary, and he doesn't want to. More than that: he can't.

It would break him.

~

Jamia was sat on her bed, back against the headboard, surrounded by a throne of pillows. She was Queen here, and her ever-changing national anthem played through her headphones.

Jamia: God I would not kill myself for a guy at fifteen. Shakespeare's speaking some bs
Hayley: but would you die for a girl
Jamia: not the point
Jamia: but fr, I wouldn't because the whole concept of having one love thats instant is ridiculous
Hayley: its not just about the love, in the end the double suicide is the thing that saves the family feud
Jamia: it shouldn't have rested on their kids shoulders!

Hayley: look, ashley and me are gonna go over lines and shit tomorrow night. Wanna come? We can argue there
Jamia: sure. Whats her opinion?
Hayley: beautiful love story
Jamia: how much bloodshed are you gonna tolerate
Hayley: correct me if im wrong,,, but,,, wouldn't that be a feud between teenagers over something that happened a long time ago?
Jamia: shut up
Hayley: come, though?
Jamia: sure x

She'd overthought the x. Hayley had overthought the x. Everyone involved tried to decipher the meaning.

She overthought her punctuation use
Not her fault, just a thing that her mind do.
Maybe this thing got lost, maybe she asked for too much. But it could be a masterpiece.

An// wrote the next chapter crying and listening to Hozier and Erasure so idk when thats gonna be published but watch our