What Happened in Winter [boyxboy]

Chapter Thirty-Two

[a/n: this chapter includes topics of suicide. viewer discretion.]

Kyle POV

Greyson's car parked on the curb outside Kyle's parent's quaint, one-story home. They had skipped on going to the hideout; Grey said he felt nauseous and he wanted to go home and rest. A pang of anxiety bit a Kyle's stomach, hoping Greyson wasn't trying to avoid him for some impending reason. Kyle knew it was a useless fear, but the grip around his heart wouldn't soften.

Greyson shifted in his seat to look at the older boy. He smiled, his pale lips turning up sweetly at the corners, but it didn't reach his eyes. Grey looked like he was trying to convince himself that everything was okay, not just Kyle. Sure, Grey had seemed pissed and authoritative earlier and tried to keep up that persona the whole car ride, like the whole squabble after school didn't bother him. But, Kyle knew better and Greyson's fake smile caused him more pain than he thought it would.

"You don't need to pretend in front of me," Kyle murmured, taking Greyson's small, cold hand in his. "I'm not here to judge or make fun of you. Nothing you say is going to scare me away."

Grey's lips trembled and his smile collapsed like a house of cards. He gripped on to Kyle's hand helplessly and tried to stifle his sobs. His frail body seemed to curl into itself, trying to hide away from such raw emotions. Kyle felt worthless just sitting there, unable to do anything for his friend.

"I feel like... I feel like every time I try to have friends, it always falls apart. And I can't help but feel like it's somehow my fault. Most of the time I think it would be better to be alone... I wouldn't be able to hurt anyone that way. I'd be the only one miserable and everyone else could be happy," Greyson began to say slowly and scoffed softly before adding, "But, I'm selfish and I always go back on my word and try again, hoping everything will be different."

Kyle felt like something was lodged in his throat. He wanted to comfort Greyson and tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn't. Nothing seemed like it would ever be okay again, and Kyle couldn't preach words he didn't believe. So, instead, he just squeezed the boy's hand tightly and looked into his watery grey eyes, hoping he would understand everything in his facial expressions.

"Are you tired of me yet?" Greyson asked suddenly. Kyle had never seen someone so sad and broken before; someone so exhausted and done with the daily motions of life. This was far beyond any stomach ache and Kyle knew better.

"I'll never get tired of you, Grey. You're an amazing friend. I... really care about you." For a split second, Kyle had wanted to blurt those three words he had never said to anyone, but decided it wasn't the best time to be saying such things.

Greyson shook his head and snatched his hand from Kyle's. The older boy looked at Grey, confused as to why he would do that. Why was he so upset and why wasn't Kyle able to calm him down like usual? The answer was written on his face: Greyson wasn't smiling anymore and his eyes had dried of any tears. It was the way he looked when he lowered that thick glass box around him, prohibiting anyone to get through. Even the people who loved him. In his eyes, Kyle saw the same broken boy that walked into class a week after Jayson's death.

"Please go. I need to go do something and I'm not feeling well," Greyson murmured at last, ripping his gaze away from Kyle who still sat perplexed in the passenger seat.

"Wait, we can talk this out-"

"No. Just leave and forget about me. You'll... you'll find someone better than me one day. Just go."

Kyle loosened a breath that had been lodged in his lungs and his own tears began to fall. He covered his face out of embarrassment and anger, snatching his backpack off the floorboard. Before he opened the car door, he said, "How could I ever forget someone like you? You'll regret this, Greyson Ivanov." Kyle said his friend's name with more malice than he intended, but he had already slung the car door shut and was bolting across the front lawn and into his house. He only looked back once, but the sound of tires screeching on asphalt was enough to let Kyle know that Greyson was already gone.

When he slammed the door closed, his mother and father were standing there, worried looks on both their faces. Kyle passed his eyes over both of them and felt the hole in his heart widen, threatening to overtake him. He clutched his heaving chest with his fist and cinched his eyes shut, a sob ripping from him. Both his parents rushed forward and caught their son before he hit the floor, his knees giving out at last.

Greyson POV

Who was he kidding? Greyson knew he wasn't meant for greatness. He knew he wasn't meant to be happy. Jayson was the one who was meant to be the best. He was destined to be perfect while Greyson was the extra. Jayson was everything and Greyson was nothing. It was a law, just like gravity and quantum mechanics. It just made sense.

But, no matter how many times he told himself that, Greyson wanted to be more than what was written to be his fate. He wanted to be someone and prove his worth one day. Now, though, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to be anything better.

He wasn't sure how he got there, but in no time, Greyson had parked in front of the hideout. As if he was possessed, Greyson exited the car and started walking up the concrete stairs. The memory of Kyle pulling him up those steps a week ago flooded his mind; the older boy's shining peridot eyes and sharp teeth and soulful laughter filled up Greyson's brain, making him hurry faster up the stairs.

He had to do this before the feeling went away and he was left suffering alone all over again.

The small boy finally made it to the top floor, that same wall gone from the scaffolding, the expanse of Devilleton spreading in front of him. The moonlight wasn't as gentle and serene as usual. It was hot and made Greyson want to peel his skin off. He pulled his white windbreaker off, exposing his arms. It had been a long time since Grey had been free to wear short sleeves. The moon made his scars glisten palely like they were covered in plastic.

At that moment, Greyson remembered what Jayson said in that weightless moment before he was murdered.

"Don't tell them anything."

"You won't have to worry about that anymore. I'll keep our secret forever," Greyson whispered.

The tiny boy who always lived like a ghost stepped forward, his adidas-covered toes hanging over the ledge.

"Maybe, I could learn to fly like you and Craft." He was drunk off his own adrenaline, speaking like a poem. He spread his arms wide like two wings, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Goodnight, Moon." In a moment of silence, the breeze and crickets below cried a bitter song. Greyson believed for once, they sang for him. The boy tipped forward, a blissful smile on his face and let gravity do the rest of the work.

Before someone grabbed him from behind and threw him backwards on to the cold, hard, gritty floor.