Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We won't stay, we run

Love like melting suns

Please don't leave, don't run

Why don't you stay in tonight?

Taste my lips, don't let go

I'm in your head

Even in death, everything was in constant motion.

It didn’t matter who died—a person, a carnation, or a swan; the earth moved, roots grew, and trees swayed from the breeze anyway. There wasn’t any mercy in death, really. It happened; whether it be fast or slow—or alternatively, painful or numb to the victim.

Were things that died victims, though? Or were they just freed from the binds of living?

When fire roared, it danced to a melody that it itself made by burning through leaves and soaring through the air—and though its touch could mangle one and ridden them unidentifiable, it was gorgeous from a distance.

Everything had eyes, and what sees must encapsulate and ingest a mass that decayed before them.

Everything breathed; whether it be inhaling smoggy smoke emitting from a forest fire or the blades of grass upon the ground—all things reckon it fresh or suffocating, and their colors changed depending on such.

Zack was breathing in the zephyr. It flew into his nostrils, and filled his lungs up gently. Not too fast, not too slow. The oxygen was dipped with petrichor, the streets beneath glossed over and reflecting things above them. The rain had ended, but it would come back at some point.

The sun wasn’t present yet, though its rays of light rose beyond from where they could see—seemingly, where the edge of the world resided. Nothing could be seen beyond such a point; no mountains, no land, or any other signs of life. Just rays of light, showcasing the upcoming arrival of the sun.

Clouds dotted the sky, colors of purple and red mixing together to create something vibrant. The empyrean was a dark blue, bordering a deep indigo. It painted the buildings a nice color—and the road before them looked like black water, with the cars driving by being ships.

The wall they were sitting upon was textured, rough and ridged against skin. A bridge was what it was—a bridge that allowed cars to drive high above the ones below, crossing from one higher slope to the other without having to tumble to the dip in between. The street of the bridge was bare, cars barely flying by; but when they did, the bridge shook potently, the headlights always highlighting their backs and making the stars dissolve momentarily.

Crickets squealed their last chirps as the night sky faded, and soon the bellowing of mourning birds would take their shift.

The moist air was thick, though smooth like a rich cream.

Almost as velvety as the voice that suddenly said:

“You’re like Icarus, you know.”

The statement was a whisper, barely reaching Zack’s ear. Maybe it was an observation that Zack wasn’t meant to hear. Inhaling, Zack felt the cold air pierce his lungs softly and kindly. For a while now, there had been a burning presence on the side of Zack’s face, begging him to turn and look at the very eyes boring into his face.

“Yup.” The beholder of the flamed eyes susurrate. Zack, without hesitation really, looked at the face of the boy and grinned easily. Next to him sat Henry, who had just finished his shift as Kid Danger, no longer in his hero getup.

They had decided to meet up to watch the sun rise together.

It was something little, but it was sort of monumental.

Henry’s eyes were darker in this atmosphere—and maybe it was stupid, but Zack wanted to see them at their purest shade. “You definitely would try to fly into the sun.”

“What?” Zack choked out a tiny chuckle, feeling a little perplexed by the statement. “You good, man? Did a bad guy hit your head a little too hard or something?” He leaned forward just a little, peering at Henry’s face like it was something complicated.

“The hell? No?” Henry sounded repulsed, like he ate something terribly wrong. “I’m just…” His eyes trailed away, and eventually his head followed—gazing at the cars below them, the way they ran and how fast they were, Henry looked as if he regretted speaking. “You’re just… the way you act is odd.”

“In what ways?” Zack shifted closer, his palms scratching against the rough wall they were sitting upon. He knocked their legs together, which caught Henry’s gaze. It was indirect, but Zack knew that the boy was curious about something—specifically, about Zack—just solely based on that finicky statement. “I can answer any questions you have about me.”

Henry’s head lifted, an amused expression twisting onto his features. “Is that because you’re full of yourself?”

“Shit,” Zack snorted out and dipped his chin to his chest, smiling until it furiously ached his cheeks. His face was warm, much more than usual, and perhaps they were red, but hopefully it was too dark to notice.

In truth, Zack was aware of his so-called cockiness—but he had thought that maybe, if he embraced it, it wouldn’t be perceived as bad. And it wasn’t that bad anyway, or anymore; despite what Zack thought, he decided to play along.

“How could you tell?”

Henry beamed proudly, though it was a little dull. “I can read your mind.”

“You’re fucking telekinetic now? Is that a new superpower you… obtained or whatever?”

Henry drew his eyebrows in. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

Zack squinted at Henry, unlocking his jaw—his mouth hung open, agape and filling up with oxygen until he himself realized that he couldn’t tell if he was genuinely asking or not either. Clamping it shut, Zack looked to the remaining stars and wished upon just one. What he wished for? Zack didn’t know—his mind was very scrambled, so he might’ve wished for a lot of different things.

Henry’s eyes poked around Zack’s face, briefly studying it before giving him an incredulous look. “I think you need to be checked for ADHD.”

Retorting, Zack immediately threw out an insult without another thought, “Well, I think you’re… imbecilic!”

Henry blinked a couple times before his lips cracked a smile, his throat contracting as he held back a laugh. “Great comeback, babe. You even used a big word! A big step forward if you ask me.”

Zack’s eyes lit up, and even though the remark was obviously sarcasm, he still embraced it like it was true and honest. He grinned brightly, kicking his feet childishly.

He stopped immediately when something locked in his left knee.

Zack was well aware that he’d winced. That he gritted his teeth, which definitely resulted in his jaw muscles clenching. His eyes twitched, stinging moderately until it went away after a moment.

He knew he had held his breath.

He knew that his face was heating up from the shivering conflagration that shot there in his knee, up and down and swirling around in the area.

And he was afraid that Henry would notice.

But he didn’t.

Because Henry couldn’t hold back the laughter that he’d been trying so hard to keep within. He was laughing joyously, like he was innocent and blooming like a flower packed full of pollen. Laughing, loud and proud, like he was unafraid and nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t crumbling under the pressure of Kid Danger; like he was a normal teenage boy.

Zack melted. Or perhaps he was mistaking it for burning; a blazing admiration, and a flaring sense of infatuation. It could be just that.

But maybe he was melting.

Because maybe, just maybe, he was Icarus.

And even though it had been random, it was still fitting. It was a little strange, the subject that had ejected from Henry’s mouth that spawned out of nowhere, but it made sense; but the correspondence was pretty random.

Curiosity was a weakness of Zack’s.

“Sorry,” and the need to speak was a weakness too. The desire to know, to find out where the trope-like thing came from was burly and overwhelming—something Zack couldn’t beat. He could only succumb to it, “but why did you make that Icarus analogy? You really sounded like Cody, and I find that off putting… and a little disturbing. I do not want my boyfriend to remind me of my brother.”

The thing was, Zack had known Henry for years now. Ever since they were both twelve, to be exact.

After living with his Grandparents for a couple years, Carey had finally gotten a job opportunity at the Tipton in Swellview; a while away from Seattle, but Carey had been so determined enough to rebuild her—and her sons—life that she decided that the trip would be worth it.

And it was worth it.

Zack had great friends; Max, Tapeworm, Bob, of which he had made all on his own—then there were Charlotte, Jasper, and the one and only Henry, of which Max had introduced him and Cody to.

At first, Henry hated Zack; Zack never hated Henry, but there were moments when he would get ticked or annoyed with how he would act sometimes. Henry had been a confusing guy to Zack. To his innocent, twelve year old mind, Zack didn’t understand why Henry hated him, and a reasonable reaction to his premature mind was to ‘hate’ him right back. Deep down, Zack didn’t hate him. He just acted like he did. It was a weird reaction, to be frank—but an odd case of reasoning to such a retaliation was: ‘If I pretend to hate Henry, then he’ll regret hating me, and we’ll be best friends because he’ll apologize!’

Again, innocence was the defect.

They ‘hated’ each other—one-sidedly, admittedly—for years. Just two, to be specific, but it had been a very long two years for Zack.

Zack wasn’t sure when Henry had started to warm up to him. He couldn’t pinpoint the day, week, or even month. It was a gradual process, like how if clay was placed over a relatively warm stove; slow, achingly so.

Henry’s parents adored Zack. Ever since that first day he’d come over when they were twelve, trailing behind the wild pack of kids, they liked him. And they still did.

But it was just unfortunate that Henry still hadn’t told them about their now recently bloomed relationship.

After Henry had gotten over his random-ass hatred for Zack, they had grown to be close—just like how Zack predicted and always had wanted. So close that Henry had dared to call Zack his best friend in front of Jasper, which the boy had taken immediate offense to. Now knowing better, Zack was aware that Henry had been growing a crush on him by that point.

Meanwhile, Zack had liked Henry since they were fifteen. But, maybe—and truthfully—Zack had always liked Henry, back when his eyes first laid on the other boy.

Zack would never tell the other that though. Henry would feel guilty, and he already suffered from enough guilt. Whether it be hating Zack unreasonably for two years, or not saving enough people as Kid Danger, it was always there within Henry.

Perhaps it was the ‘cockiness’ talking, but Zack truly believed that he knew Henry better than anyone else.

Which was why Zack was giving him a tad bit of grace for not telling his parents about them yet. Of how they’d started dating two months ago, after a longer-than-normal amount of time spent pining. It was why Zack gave Henry grace for being the way he was, whether it being snippy towards him occasionally or being overall distant.

Because he knew Henry.

He knew that Henry would come around, because he had before.

It just takes the boy a little bit.

Just a minute or two.

And because Zack knew Henry so well, he knew that he wouldn’t just compare him to Icarus out of nowhere. It wouldn’t have just popped up in his mind just like that. Henry would’ve thought about it for a couple days.

So, in conclusion, that damn comparison had been in his head for a while now.

“Because it’s true?” Henry defended, his voice high-pitched.

Another thing ticked off the imaginary checklist labeled: Things Zack Knew About Henry, Confession Edition.

It was in a certain order—sometimes, Henry decided to switch shit up and go out of order, for whatever damn reason… but he also wasn’t aware that Zack had a mental checklist…

The point was, the checklist didn’t always go in order.

But, it helped Zack to brace for things that others weren’t prepared for.

Like, number one: Henry’s right away decision was to lie, but the hilarious catch was that he was a terrible liar.

Henry pushed out the sentence like it was something he knew and was confident about—but his brain seemed to viciously argue behind his back, like deep down he knew he was wrong, or along the line of inaccuracy. The sentence was wrong, Henry would try to reason with himself; maybe it was just the wording, he would think, so he would try again—clear his throat, and say it deeper to make it more convincing.

“Because it’s true.”

“Right,” Zack said in return. He made sure his vocal cords were doused with disbelief, not even pretending to act like Henry made a credible claim. “But I didn’t ask if it was true or not.”

Zack, truthfully, didn’t really know what he himself was talking about at the moment. His lips were simply moving; his brain was transporting jumbles of things he was pondering, molding them into sentences before pushing them out his mouth. He knew what he was saying was true to his heart, true to his tongue, and true to his brain.

“I asked why you think that.”

Henry’s face twisted.

And now came number two on the checklist: Henry was going to play dumb.

“What do I think again?” Henry grilled so hotly that his tongue sizzled.

“You think I’m Icarus,” Zack deadpanned.

“So?”

“Why?”

Next up on the checklist?

Henry’s forehead crinkled, forming like waves that crashed onto a beach from a bird's eye view. “Because I just do, Zack.”

Defensiveness.

“What?” Henry snipped when Zack simply stared—perhaps it angered the boy more when Zack’s eyes were bare and empty, devoid of any emotion that signified that he was affected by Henry’s snootiness. “Am I not allowed to compare you to a fictional fucking person?”

“Henry,” Zack attempted to catch his attention with a soothing voice.

“Not everything has a deeper meaning!”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it!”

“Henry,” Zack said sharply, abandoning the idea of calming the boy down.

Zack was never a harsh person. He was always calm.

Maybe that was why Henry stopped talking.

“I did not ask that. I was just wondering… what fuckin’… prompted you to compare me to Icarus. I didn’t ask for a damn ‘deeper meaning’, or whatever the hell. I was just curious as to what made me comparable to the guy. Like, it could literally be as simple as me looking like the fucker.” Zack’s eyes burned; either from a lack of blinking, or because of the burning frustration he was feeling in his gut. He rarely got angry—it never felt good when he did, especially towards Henry. He blinked, his shoulders slumping as he steadied his previously tense posture. Zack looked away, out to the waterboarded street, and his chest was suddenly hollow. “But now I’m kinda second guessing it.”

Henry seemed alarmed by that. “What are you second guessing? Us?”

“No.” Zack shook his head. “No. I now think… I think your weird ass Icarus correlation does have a deeper meaning, even if you didn’t mean to make it one.”

The next few things on the checklist were always shifty—all one subject, but always changing: Running away before admitting it; Getting mad at the person accusing him, and even blaming them before running away; And last, admitting it then running away.

It always ended with Henry running.

It was pretty ironic, to be honest.

Henry charged headfirst into a battle, outnumbered by five—yet when it came to something mental, he would run away with his tail between his legs.

Zack wasn’t any better than Henry…

But, at the same time, he was better than Henry.

Zack cowardly ran away often—more than he would like to admit—but he never got too far. He always retreated, the guilt in his stomach weighing him down and making him tired. Then he would feel regretful of how he treated Cody, Henry, and others in those moments of spinelessness—truthfully, being a coward was selfish, especially when it was manipulated to protect oneself.

He found being selfish was only damaging himself more.

So, he got better. It wasn’t by much, as he never always stayed—sooner or later, Zack would run when the subject matter got too tough—but he still talked about it.

Henry did not.

He only somewhat communicated when someone else brought the subject up. He himself never mentioned it.

It was hard.

It was so, so hard to keep up with a person running who never seemed to run out of stamina.

Zack was always a very determined guy. Always reaching for the finish line, shooting for the basket, and reaching for the stars.

But he knew when to stop fucking chasing after something too rapid.

“But, you don’t wanna talk about it,” Zack stated, shrugging. “So we don’t have to.”

Henry visibly relaxed—his lined lips, his strained eyebrows, and his curled fingers that grated against the wall they were sitting upon—thinning a smile easily.

Zack twisted his body with the help of his hands, turning until he pushed and hopped off onto the sidewalk next to the road. He pretended to be dusting his jeans off, when—in reality—he was brushing them down to ease the stinging pain the textured walls had caused on his palms. It burned good, almost in an addictive way—the pain was almost identical to how Zack’s palms would feel when he was tripped during a basketball game, catching himself with his hands, or the way a harsh basketball would feel on his fingers. The land also returned the grating ache in his left knee—but this time, it lingered for a moment, beating like a throbbing headache, matching the beat of his thundering heart.

The ache made him even more pissed.

“Where are you going?” Henry asked, turning but choosing to stay perched up on the wall. Still were his fingers, and still was his entire body—frozen, like how the air suddenly seemed to be.

“You don’t wanna talk about it,” Zack repeated, his throat a broken record.

“That doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Henry’s breathing halted, his legs now kicking nervously. “Uh—”

“You’re gonna run off anyway,” Zack murmured bitterly, curling his fingers into his palms, fisting them into his pockets. “I might as well run in the other direction, right?” Almost childlike, he kicked a nearby rock onto the bare road next to him.

“What?”

“What I’m saying is,” Zack seethed out through his teeth, “is that I shouldn’t even fucking try.” To his left, a pair of headlights approached, blinding him momentarily. It grew, until the road trembled. The engine roared, and soared past Zack, barely missing the rock he kicked into the street. After the noise of it subsided, he laughed in hysterics, like the situation he was enduring was funny. And it was, in a way. At the very least, it was amusing. “Why try when you don’t even want to try! You refuse to talk about your personal shit, so why should I care? You even refuse to tell me about this stupid ass— stupid Icarus bullshit!”

Zack did care. He cared quite a fucking bit, to be honest, even if it was as stupid as the Icarus bullshit.

Henry’s wide-eyed gaze remained locked onto Zack as he scrambled off the wall, joining him on the sidewalk.

Another set of pale lights flew past, rumbling and providing sound to the silence hovering between them. Sometimes, when the world was too quiet, Zack would hear his own breathing and heartbeat.

He couldn’t hear either.

Perhaps he was holding his breath, which maybe halted his heart.

It was probably something else, in reality.

Henry’s top teeth latched onto his bottom lip, his eyes scampering around the scenery behind Zack. His breathing was hollow, and a little forceful, the sound whistling out his nose.

“You’re…” Henry shivered out, like he was cold. He took a deep breath, his eyes now towards the sky like he was begging for a larger force to save him. His eyes held a confession that he wanted to exhale out, but his lips prevented such breaths.

Zack continued to eyeball him from a decent distance away from Henry.

“You’re Icarus because…” Henry hesitated, flicking his tongue to get the words correct. “Because you just keep… reaching. Reaching for shit that’s out of your grasp, and no matter how many times you fall, you get back up. You do impossible things, and somehow, you make it possible. You aren’t afraid of anything.” Shining eyes blinded Zack—Henry’s eyes weren’t wide, but they sparkled like crisps of water that refracted the setting sun's rays. “You aren’t afraid of me, who could burn and hurt you just based on who I am. But you still try. And you keep on reaching for me, no matter how many times I burn you.”

The explanation was reasonable. It was, as he didn’t stammer, or raise his voice a couple notches.

But Zack knew it wasn’t entirely true.

It was deep in Henry’s eyes. The shine of them, and the way they twisted with dilated pupils. Guilt was ink, and the ink was Henry’s pupils—it expanded, claiming the irises territory, and it kept spreading like a terrible disease until his entire being was sloughy with it. The guilt was on his skin cells, building and making up every aspect of him—and Zack could almost smell it.

Henry wasn’t lying to Zack.

Because perhaps he was lying to himself—so much so, that his brain genuinely believed it. He was trying to convince himself.

Maybe it was working.

Maybe Henry was aware of the lie, but was just in denial.

A thought crossed Zack’s mind like a bolting meteor.

Without giving it much of a thought, he reached for Henry’s hand.

And as expected, Henry tensed his digits and guided his hand slyly behind his back—slowly, like if he was leisurely enough, Zack wouldn’t notice.

“What if it was the other way around?” Zack asked, watching as realization grew upon Henry’s face. Zack had seen it; probably a thought of Henry’s.

Henry simply hummed, like he hadn’t heard Zack correctly. Playing dumb—Zack mentally recollected—because, when in doubt, play dumb, right? Henry’s lips were winded into his mouth, a straight line in its place. His eyebrow raised as he cocked his head, like he was really trying to sell the perplexed act.

“What if you were Icarus?” Zack theorized. “You know, just to switch up this… hypothetical.”

“Hypothetical?”

Zack wrinkled his nose, burning his gaze into Henry’s eyes. “In your words: ‘not everything has a deeper meaning’.” To be somewhat dramatic, Zack used his fingers as quotation marks. “So yeah, we’re calling it a hypothetical.”

He sort of expected Henry to protest, to screech and demand Zack to call it something else as he was clearly opposed to it.

But what else would it be called of he didn’t want to admit that it, in fact, was a deeper meaning?

Zack supposed that in the end it didn’t truly matter what Henry wanted the name to be, because the very thing he was trying to disprove was only reassuring Zack.

“When I’m Icarus and reaching for the sun, it symbolizes… what, me achieving the ‘impossible’?” Zack waited for the clarification, but when Henry’s face just twisted in response, he continued. “So, if you were in the Icarus position, what would be the sun?”

Henry’s stature remained ever-tense, so Zack decided to inspect his eyes again.

They weren’t wide, but there was a resistance in his eyelids that kept them from opening up more. His pupils were blown still, mimicking a black sky with stars.

Something was there in them.

And it clicked that Henry’s sun wasn’t a ‘what’.

“Or, who would be the sun?” Zack pressed.

“I…” Henry weakly said, his voice falling short. His mouth was agape, his eyes drawn away from Zack and glaring at the sidewalk beneath his shoes. He toed a pebble, rolling it under his sole—side to side, side to side. His throat was muted. Nothing was going to come out.

This wasn’t on the mental checklist.

Zack decided to add it as one of those ‘now super rare occurrences’.

Henry, when in a stressful situation, will go mute.

Apparently.

Either that, or he was using the ‘right to remain silent’ bullshit.

Zack always hated when things were severely uncomfortable—and even though it wasn’t yet, the air was tittering on the uneasy category. Just a speck was enough to make his skin itch.

So he had to take the reins. He had to lead the conversation.

“What if I was the sun?” Zack cocked a brow, and observed how the skin blanketing Henry’s cheekbone twitched and his throat pushed a strained sound out—guttural and accidental.

It wasn’t much of a reaction, but it was something.

And it cajoled Zack, his eyes feeling as if they were twisting; his lips—once again—were in motion. All it had taken was for Henry’s breath to hitch for Zack to know that he’d struck gold. “What if I’m the one who’s burning you?” He took a small step forward. “What if you’re the one reaching for me, but can never even as little as graze me without melting?”

Zack was never good at reading people, especially Henry—at first. But, over the course of their relationship, he had learned the pretty difficult way that Henry was a boy who shielded himself thoroughly and excellently. His walls were brick instead of straw, and one couldn’t just blow them down—like a wolf, Zack huffed and puffed, but never was able to whoosh away the house with a squall.

He was going to have to get inside the damn house to reach Henry.

And that, in itself, was a bitch to do.

So, the best thing to do instead of that was to talk through the door because knocking and waiting wasn’t an option anymore—impatience was another weakness of Zack’s. He had to talk, assume, and state things that he himself thought were factually correct until Henry said otherwise.

Drag Henry out of the house on his own willing accord. Let him leave the safety of his four bricked walls.

“You’re afraid of reaching me because you’re afraid of melting. Nobody wants to melt. Nobody wants to be vulnerable. But that’s what love is, you know? Vulnerability. Burning. Melting. It’s how it is.”

Wax coated the wings of a swan, burning his feathers off until it was raw with irritated pink skin. His neck was long, swooping to create half a cordiform; his beak was the color of a star exploding, or the warmth of the sunrise—both in bold coloring; his eyes were black, shiny like reflective water—the color matched the patterns around his eyes.

The swan held a name. A small name, perhaps insignificant to himself, but not to the world around him.

“You’re scared of that. You’re scared of me melting you.”

Icarus.

“But you want it so fucking bad. Maybe not the melting part, but the…but the warmth part. You watch me, the sun, shine, and you want to be a part of it.”

Icarus, the swan—Henry, the boy—who wielded wings of wax, craved to touch the sun—Zack, the golden boy—whose neck completed his half-heart.

“You want to touch the sun, even if it’s just a little skim.”

Even if it was just a graze.

Zack felt like a swan who’d just lost his lover.

Because even though the mental checklist switched around and fluttered about, some going first and others going last in a randomized order, there was always one thing that remained the same.

The outcome.

The after.

The running.

At first, Zack was fairly hopeful that the script had changed. Henry had been stagnant, eyes staring right at Zack’s face, and even though they were blurry and bare, at least he was looking at him. And he had been staying. He hadn’t been running.

Yet.

Because once Zack’s hopes got high, high like the airplanes acting as shooting stars in the sky, and high like fluttering clouds, Henry stammered out a lame excuse—a confusing one that jumbled together, completely nonsensical. “I have to go to Junk ‘N Stuff to tend to villians,” was along the lines of what Henry had said; something to do with both being Kid Danger and Henry Hart at the same time, together, like he was two different entities. But the villains were all taken care of, Junk ‘N Stuff was closed, and the sun was finally beginning to reveal itself.

Maybe that was why Henry left. The sun was coming up, and he needed to get home before his parents knew he had been gone most of the night.

But that didn’t make sense, because his parents barely acknowledged him.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t hurt.

It didn’t affect him that he was now half a cordiform-necked swan, directly a half.

The sun was peaking out, filtering sun into Zack’s eyes and highlighting his skin to be a golden shade.

He glowed—his skin, his eyes.

And he was warm.

But he was empty.

So to try and replace the emptiness with embers, he approached the very wall they had met at, heaved himself up, and watched the sun rise by himself.

Chapter Text

Look at all the gills and wings

Strange curves and carvings

That pick you clean tonight

Here in the copper light

And you hold my fleshless hand

I'm all hollow organs

The court was a battlefield; a fight between fire and ice, destructive and intense, both fighting for the prime possession of a round, bursting star.

The fire lines spread, moving into the snowy territory that was swarmed with icicles protruding from the ground like spikes.

The star was in the possession of an inferno, who was so important, and so very powerful that it was almost impossible to defeat it; impossible to cool off, impossible to drench its light away.

Frosted over icicles blocked pathways to the desired location the fire lines wanted to capture—but the current holder of the star elegantly weaved his way through the pointed ice, melting them as he passed.

It was clear that the inferno could no longer hold onto the star—his bursting flames analyzed his surroundings, before landing on a tall fire.

The inferno passed the star to the fire—and the hot flames immediately flew away, making his way to the destination.

He burned his way through the icicles, turning falling snowflakes into rain that immediately steamed and rose up with gray clouds.

And before anyone knew it, the star was tossed, and exploded into the net—it broke into a million pieces, transforming into fireworks.

Everything roared.

The leftover stardust sprinkled onto the inferno—the hero of the story; in every chapter and in every ending he was—feeding his flames until he grew.

He grew into a star.

He was the damn sun.

The inferno-turned-sun’s eyes—his eyes that were blue like the sky that surrounded him, the whites of his eyes the clouds—were searching, his body facing the stands as he jumped around, sparks of combustion tugging at him, screaming at him with excitement.

The sun caved, at some point, and started to give brief highfives to them as they migrated back to their side of the court. But the sun kept looking towards the stands, his eyes hopeful, wanting, and longing.

When the world grew quiet, spare of light conversation, the sun's eyes locked in place, and his smile grew until Henry’s skin felt waxy.

Their eyes remained on each other for a long time, until exhilaration took over the sun, and he moved on.

Henry couldn’t stop watching. He had no reason to stop.

Until there was a jab in his arm.

The attacker had been wielding something round, yet dully sharp, like there was a layer covering it. Henry went to fight back—fingers twitching, always trembling with adrenaline when danger was around—but his eyes locked onto the beholder, and he relaxed; not fully, but to a certain degree.

Charlotte was grinning stupidly, elbow pulling away from Henry’s arm, and he couldn’t stop his oncoming eye roll.

Henry turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed and cheeks aflame. Charlotte’s eyebrows flicked up and down, a knowing curved smile on her lips as her dark eyes bore into his own.

He rubbed his bicep, because damn it, Charlotte’s physical attacks always hurt—he felt a bruise forming. He would say he got it from being Kid Danger, if Zack—or anybody who knew—cared to ask.

He didn’t think of what lie to tell his parents. His parents wouldn’t ask.

Henry decided that he didn’t care.

He stopped caring a long time ago, anyway.

Henry blinked away the dreary thought, sucking in his bottom lip to mock a pained look. “What?”

Charlotte's eyelashes fluttered as she battered them at him, her dark-blue eyeshadow visible with every nictate. “You’re lovesick,” she practically sang, her smile cracking at the edges to reveal gums and wrinkled skin.

Henry couldn’t help but exhale a breathy laugh, his head mechanically moving towards the court automatically—like a reflex, like his body memorized it. His eyes, briefly, caught sight of blinding, ultraviolet light filled with infrared radiation that surely was the sun, but in reality was Zack.

Flickering, his smile faltered, but he quickly fixed himself and straightened his spine—beaming, hopefully brighter than Zack, he replied, “Am I now?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte's response was immediate and factual. She leaned forward, her forearms on her thighs as she peered closely at Henry’s face. She squinted just a little, her eyes dimming—her irises blended with her pupils, and for a moment Henry swore she was some sort of threat that tittered on the edge of his boundaries. Her pointer finger then circled around her own face as she said, “It’s in your eyes.”

Henry’s tongue felt dry, each individual taste bud poking out and threatening to evacuate his mouth. The walls were tearing and waning, the back of his mouth bitter where his uvula was. Gross indecision flooded into his nose, nostrils flaring as he vacantly stared back at Charlotte.

Ripping the eye contact, a tear in the air from the stiffness of it, he immediately locked onto the sight of Zack’s twinkling cheekbones and damp, salt-sweaty back.

He studied his hair, and how it previously had been messily nice before the game, but now was greasy and tangled at his forehead. Built up sweat was there, staining his sunny skin, and Henry felt something of resentment.

No, Henry wasn’t love sick.

He wasn’t in love at all.

Charlotte’s stare was still on him—Henry met it, his lips sealed which opposed her gaping mouth, wanting and needing to say something, but blank of any words.

Then the bleachers shook.

Like she could sense it, Charlotte snapped her head away, her natural afro-styled hair swaying with the sudden movement. Though Henry couldn’t see it, he just knew that a painful smile was blossoming on her face at the form trekking towards them.

“Max, babe!” Charlotte greeted, verging on the urge to stand from her spot to hug the other girl.

Mellow, wavy, and frizzy brown hairy pooled down the newcomer’s—Max’s—shoulders, her scalp covered by a backwards hat. Inelegantly, with her hands in her jacket's pockets, she sat down next to Charlotte with a slipshod grin, her pale jeans shuffling against the bleachers momentarily before stopping all together.

The sound of softer fabric began as the two neared and hugged each other, Max’s pale hands flat yet firm on Charlotte’s back like she never wanted to let her go. Softly, from the tip of her tongue, Max delicately whispered, “I love you.”

It wasn’t a necessary thing for the girl to say, Henry couldn’t help but critique. She didn’t even greet Charlotte back.

But those words were only for Charlotte—not for Henry to hear, embrace, and judge. He knew it too.

Because then the rhythm of an ‘I love you too’ came, muffled against the body that initiated the words.

Henry’s stomach twisted vulgarly, and he couldn’t stop the harsh words of, “Don’t you guys know that PDA’s not allowed?”

Max’s eyelids pulled apart, revealing hazel-brownish eyes that stared between Henry’s eyes—something was unpredictable within her gaze, almost like a sneer within the pupils. She rearranged her head so that her chin was now on Charlotte's shoulder. “You’re just jealous that you can’t hug Zack right now.”

Immediately, Henry pushed out a retort, “No I’m not, Zack and I’ve never hugged.”

“Yeah, I know.” Max rolled her eyes. “That’s why you’re jealous.”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows, his skin tightening around his temple as it all curled into the bridge of his nose; a petty scowl.

Despite his words, the girls kept hugging like fools that were bound by promises that held the intention of truth, but really were empty and meaningless.

His eye twitched as the seconds continued to breathe, as Charlotte continued to inhale the scent of Max, as Max closed her eyes softly and shuffled closer to Charlotte in a poor attempt to merge into her, like she was cold without every atom of Charlotte’s sepia skin upon her own.

Henry forced his head toward the court again, his leg bouncing as his mind swirled just a little.

How could he be jealous of something that he’d never intimately had?

—

Something was wrong with Zack.

It was like trying to study something so incredibly small—something invisible to the naked eye, yet it was known that it was there. The tiny thing took up space, breathed in the same oxygen that everyone else was, and was exhaling carbon dioxide into the sky. It was like other people—but it couldn’t be seen.

And that was what was weird about it. Zack could be seen—whoever couldn’t was either blind, or just very ignorant. He was too bright, too visible, because he made himself that way. Or perhaps he was just born that way.

But that was an impossible thing. Nobody was born bright, nor did anyone want to be bright. That was what made Zack so unique, so… unseeable.

So, yeah, something was definitely wrong with him.

Henry swallowed something gross and round that was in the back of his mouth, refusing to go down and embrace the pit of his stomach. His eyes scanned the green tent he was under that led the way to the front entrance of the looming Tipton hotel.

His mind jolted, and his knees unlocked, prompting him to move towards one of the doors to the side.

Henry had left the game when it was all almost over with; he had made some sort of excuse to Charlotte that he didn’t remember—all his mind had been saying at the time was, Leave. Leave before Zack gets off the court and finds you.

Her gaze had looked converse, vaguely butt-hurt, but she couldn’t get a word in as Henry had already been walking away. He couldn’t fathom why everyone was so… offended by him leaving all the time. He was always going to come back to them.

The door he was approaching opened, almost ghostly. Artificial, air-conditioned wind tickled Henry’s nose upon entering the Tipton, a slight hesitancy in his movements before his eyes caught Norman the Doorman nodding to him.

Henry gave an awkward wave—the two stared at each other for a beat, stiffness in the air, and when Henry realized that Norman was actively working, that was when he scurried off to the elevators.

—

Carey Martin was nothing like his own mother, but identical in certain ways.

They both had that motherly sense, something that was deeply embedded into their DNA to the point where it was impossible to not have that maternal instinct. It was subconscious.

The difference between them was how they showed it.

Carey was warmer than Siren, atmospherically speaking. It wasn’t that Siren wasn’t soft and moderate, it was just… Carey was somehow more; Carey’s voice was lighter, Siren’s voice more straightforward… and there were more key distinctions, Henry was aware of that, but he couldn’t…

Despite all the surface level knowledge that he could think of, he knew that Piper would know more than he did. He couldn’t name a whole lot of Siren’s traits.

It was like she was a stranger; he could only list shallow, superficial details that anyone could decipher within the five minutes of meeting her.

Siren was his mother, though. She had that maternal instinct with him, his cells were still within her, and her heartbeat would always resonate with him—but he barely knew her.

He knew Carey more.

Why did he know Carey more than his own mom?

Partially, it was his fault. Kid Danger was in the way, preventing the capability to communicate and hang out with his mother and father. That was why Piper was closer to them.

That was why he was looking at Carey with rose-colored glasses. That had to be why. He spent more time with Carey than his own parents because of Kid Danger.

But she doesn’t know about Kid Danger, Henry’s mind argued.

Henry’s feet burned as he stopped in front of the Martin’s door.

You are lying, the conscious of himself whispered. You are making excuses.

Henry knocked on the door, and quickly buried his bare hand back into his pocket.

The clicking of heels rose from beyond the door, Henry eyeing the wood that was glossy to try and make-believe that he could have x-ray vision to see inside—to see Carey.

He wasn’t sure why he was so eager to see her. The last time he saw the woman was a couple days ago, it wasn’t like there was a looming, gasping gap that seperated the two interactions. But there was a kind of urge in him, and he couldn’t shake it.

Before he could feel the gross reaction of impatience, the door opened at a delicate pace, and now welcoming Henry’s view was the graceful face of Carey Marin—with dangling earrings and a necklace that looked of diamonds, a black dress past her knees accompanied with black heels, and makeup that made her face even stronger but more passive—she was there looking at him with gleaming eyes. Gleaming, like she was happy to see him.

“Henry!” She clicked forward just a little, enveloping Henry in her arms, and he immediately returned the hug like it was a common occurrence.

Carey had started this strange ritual of hugging Henry ever since the beginning of his and Zack’s relationship, so it shouldn’t be engraved in his brain to hug her back automatically yet.

But it was, and it always made his heart swell with an unidentifiable feeling that not even Siren could fill—he always thought back to Siren when this feeling arose, because for whatever reason his gut blamed it all on her.

Swallowing back a thought, Henry finally greeted her, “Hey, Carey.” And that was another automatic thing; calling the woman by her first name. He’d called her it since he was twelve, but it should be different now. It should be.

But it wasn’t.

And he couldn’t find it within himself to stop.

Carey gave him a squeeze before releasing him, stepping aside to let him through.

Henry felt his sweaty, melting biceps freeze over once the contact dissipated—he was so very chilly now.

—

“Can I get you anything to eat, sweetie?” Carey requested, elegantly waltzing over to the fridge as Henry stood awkwardly adjacent to the couches.

Normally, Henry would sit down—still very awkwardly, now that he was upgraded to the boyfriend title—but an obstacle that should not be considered an obstacle was there.

The obstacle?

Cody and Barbara.

They were huddled together, knees touching and thighs flush together to collectively hold up a hefty textbook. Cody’s face was tickled pink, and Barbara’s knuckles were flush to the wall of his hand. Her finger was pointing, dragging along printed words, both their eyes following it—but Cody’s eyes would unmistakably flick to Barbara’s face occasionally.

Holy fucking shit, Henry wanted to throw up.

Ignoring the sickening feeling, Henry turned back towards Carey and replied, “No,” and after a beat, added, “thank you.”

“Good decision,” Cody quipped, prompting Henry to return his attention back to the boy.

Barbara’s eyes traveled up to Cody’s face, peeking over the frames of her glasses as she frowned. “That’s not nice, Cody.”

“You know what isn’t nice?” Cody ranted, and Henry had the urge to eyeroll—the oncoming tangent was bound to roughen up his head, bringing forth a headache. “Throwing up in third period because of my mother’s cooking.”

“It can’t be that bad,” reasoned Barbara.

“If it helps, she’s burnt water before.”

Barbara blinked. “Oh… Really?”

“She over-boiled the water, and it dripped onto the stove.”

From the kitchenette, Carey’s tsk was heard. She was shaking her head lightly, a dancing smile etched into her mouth. “It didn’t burn, Cody. It just… sizzled.”

Cody leaned forward, squinting at Carey for a moment before saying, “Mom, it smelled acrid in here for days.”

“Two days,” Carey specified, holding up a peace sign with drawn eyebrows.

Cody gave an exasperated eye roll, leaning back until he melted into the cushions. Barbara reassuringly patted Cody’s thigh, her eyes twinkling with a certain fondness that accelerated Henry’s heart. Barbara must’ve felt Henry’s heavy gaze, because then she met his eyes and smiled. “Hey, Henry,” she greeted sweetly.

“Hi, Barbara.”

“How was the basketball game?”

“Oh my god,” Cody groaned, flinching when Barbara smacked him on the arm. “Ouch! What? Zack’s big mouth already told us everything that happened, and I mean everything.”

“It’s good to listen to different perspectives!” Barbara argued. “It’s how you gather the situation better, and get a good understanding of it!”

Cody rubbed his eyes, pinching his nose as he flagged her away with his hand.

Barbara pinched him on the cheek, which was lightly swatted away, before standing and approaching Henry, gesturing towards the four-sitting table. He nodded, mostly to himself, and met Barbara there, sitting right in front of her.

“So, how was the game?” Barbara repeated her question, tilting her head a degree.

“I think it went well,” Henry provided; but he was well aware of how much of an understatement his words had been. He removed his gaze from Barbara’s prying eyes, her pupils studying him like she was curious for more information. In truth, Henry could talk about the game forever; he could talk about the golden boy's sweaty cheekbones, his unsteady legs that limped rapidly to and fro along the court, and how precise his passes had been. But Henry didn’t say that—he couldn’t say that. So, he instead stated a fact, “Zack had a lot of assists.”

“I’ve heard,” joked Barbara, chuckling to herself—though the joke was simple, it brought a smile to Henry’s face and guided a snort out of his nostrils. “He’s quite the bragger.”

Henry parted his lips, ready to reply, before Cody interrupted him, “I don’t get why we’re surprised by that. He could literally, like, get fourth place in a video game and still brag about how he beat someone.”

Barbara, annoyingly, snapped her head to Cody and sneered, “Zack deserves to be cocky! He should be proud of the game he had today, like, c’mon? Multiple assists? That’s amazing!”

“Don’t forget about my buzzer beater,” interjected a new voice.

Henry’s heart pelted to a halt.

Standing there, blindingly bright, was Zack. His hair was damp, his fringe sticking to his forehead, the ends prickly like waterlogged grass. His usual blond was dulled to a brownish color, making his blue eyes icy and prominent. Like rain drops created from misty skies, clinging droplets that were gripping the edges of Zack’s hair were released, pattering upon the shoulders of his grey hoodie. His skin was glittery, his smile toothy and all—brilliant and dazzling.

He started walking forward, slowly, like a creeping lion. He was quick to step on one foot, and was lingering on the other, his ambling slightly uneven. Zack stopped behind where Cody was sitting, raising his hands briefly before crashing them down on his shoulders, digging his fingers into his collarbones, shaking him vigorously.

Cody—high-pitched and adolescently—screamed, whirling around to shove Zack off him.

“Buzzer beater?” Henry inquired after Zack surrendered, the air between the brothers still tense but now mutual.

Zack threw a wink at Henry, simpering with a twinkle in his eye. “You weren’t there for it, babe.”

Henry nodded, regret and guilt suddenly flooding his head. He wanted to apologize, or say something—anything—but his mind was bare of words. It wasn’t like he wasn’t thinking. He was. But not about apologizing, or making excuses.

He was just… thinking.

Reflecting on himself and his impulsive actions, maybe.

The sudden bang of hands slamming onto the table wrecked Henry’s brain, separating his eyes from his mind and into the real world.

“Anyway!” Zack practically gabbled. “What have you guys been working on? You and Cody seemed pretty busy earlier,” he said to Barbara, not without finishing it off with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Barbara flushed at Zack’s words, her throat visibly contracting, a flustered tic. She was about to reply when a shadow crept up on Zack and swatted him in the arm.

Zack screeched, almost, his hand fisting the whacked area. “What the—”

“Ah ah!” Carey made a zipper gesture, like her lips were a jacket. “We don’t speak like that to women, Zachary,” she scolded, turning from her eldest and retreating back to the kitchenette.

“I didn’t even say anything bad!”

“It was tacit,” a shrunken, almost merged with the couch Cody said, his face hidden in his t-shirt, only his embarrassed eyes visible.

“Was what?” Zack asked.

“Tacit means—” Cody started before halting midway, frowning at Zack’s growing shit-eating grin. “Never-fuckin’-mind.”

Barbara took in a deep breath, and even though she was still vaguely ruffled, she was smiling with genuine content.

Zack only bloomed at the look on her face. “No, but seriously, what’ve you guys been doing, sweetheart?”

A look of shock passed through Cody’s face, and he squared his shoulders, seemingly ready to pounce at Zack—he faltered when Barbara grinned wider, no sign of uncomfortability in her form. “We were doing some schoolwork.”

Feeling a little left out, Henry decided to jump in. “Sounds like something you should invest in, Zack.”

Slowly, Zack turned to look at him—covering his mouth with his palm, Henry pretended to be ignorant. “Hen, darling,” Zack exaggerated the uncommon pet name—a pet name that they never used, actually, “you cannot be talking.”

A laugh hiccuped out of Henry’s throat, and he had to force his eyes away from the boy.

Zack—fondly, Henry noticed—scoffed, returning his attention to Barbara. “What are you guys studying for?”

“Oh, I’m not studying. I’m helping Cody with his Calculus homework.”

“You are not helping me,” Cody immediately inserted himself back into the conversation, his tone full of repulsiveness.

“Cody,” Carey called from the kitchenette, “it's okay to admit that you need help sometimes!”

Leaning in close, Zack slid through Henry’s personal space bubble, whispering, “Especially with women,” in his ear.

Henry tittered, closing his eyes to wallow in the light and heavenly feeling that was joy. The rude and invasive sound of the chair next to him ruined his ears—sliding his eyelids open, he examined Zack as he scooted the chair to his right closer to him, until their legs were almost touching. They would’ve been—Henry crossed his legs to avoid it.

But the least he could do was look at Zack—and that, in itself, was easy to do. Henry liked looking at Zack; his face wasn’t too sharp, and his eyes weren’t the intimidating blue color that people so often feared. His golden hair was darker than it was, back when they were twelve, but in the sun's rays they were expensive and juvenile. His skin was pale, but not sickly—healthy, full of sunlight, accompanied with lips that were the color of Camellia flowers.

Smiling, so full of affability, Zack said, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

There was a moment of silence between them, not uncomfortable, but not welcomed either. Henry wanted to talk to Zack; but how was he supposed to speak to his boyfriend when he’d just ditched him at his own game? Perhaps he should apologize for not sticking ‘til the end.

But then Carey showed up with a plate of food, steam circling from it, placing it in front of Zack. “Here you go, honey,” she said, endearingly.

Zack’s eyes practically bulged from his sockets. “Did you make this?” he asked.

“No, your brother did,” Carey clarified, gesturing to Cody’s slouched form next to a settling in Barbara, rearranging his textbook onto their legs—in response, he simply waved, abashed.

Zack made a ‘phew’ sound. “Thank goodness.”

Carey ruffled Zack’s hair in retaliation, smoothed it out immediately after, then dove in to kiss him atop his head. Zack leaned into it briefly, before digging into his food.

Henry had a weird feeling in his stomach. It ached, pinched, and was heavy upon his shoulders, like his muscles were knotted.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, Henry?” Carey asked, abruptly.

Henry blinked out of his unbeknownst gaze, then nodded. “Yeah, no, I’m sure.”

Carey gave him a tight-lipped smile, her eyes trailing down, locking into place. She tilted her head, then leaned forward just a bit to get a closer look.

Henry wanted to back away, but something stopped him.

“What happened to your arm?”

Glancing down, Henry pulled at his shirt’s sleeve; there, colored in a light purple, was Charlotte elbow-jabbed bruise. Looking back up, Zack and Carey’s eyes were hot and stuck on the bruise. “It’s nothing. Ran into a wall. It looks worse than it actually is,” Henry quickly explained, tumbling over his words just a tad.

Carey simply hummed, beginning to turn away. “If you say so, hun…”

Henry felt his skin shake under the weight of her fleeing gaze, and beneath Zack’s growing sight. Meeting it, hesitantly, he weakly smiled—Zack’s eyes flashed concern for a second longer, then he grinned easily back. “Hey, let’s go to my room once I’m done, okay? I wanna talk to you about something.”

The jumping, jittering skin of Henry’s only amplified—from overhearing Charlotte’s girl problems, at least, hearing the words along the lines of ‘can we talk?’ was never a good thing.

But, despite that, Henry replied with an, “Okay.”

—

Zack’s door was wide open, to the point where Henry could still scout out and see Carey’s meandering form clearly.

For about ten minutes, Zack and Henry talked aimlessly about video games, comic books, and—lastly, and mostly on Zack’s part—music. Carey had then came in, telling them that she was leaving for the lobby to sing. Shortly after, around fifteen minutes after she left, Cody had came in and said, “I’m taking Barbara home; leave the door open, alright? I don’t want to get traumatized.”

Henry had flushed so hotly that his head swam and his vision tilted on its axis, not even registering Zack’s reply to his brother.

Then it was just them.

Just the two of them.

It’d been quiet, peacefully so; Henry craved for Zack to say something, anything…

“Why’ve you been ignoring me?”

Well, shit.

Henry should’ve expected that question to come at some point, and deep down he knew that query was bubbling upon the surface of Zack’s skin. But Henry turned away from it, shoving it into the back of his head, trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore Zack.

He suddenly craved silence now.

Bringing a smile forth, Henry stupidly asked, “What?” Again, he avoided the glare that Zack threw at him, his pupils sharp and angry and impatient. Henry then reiterated, like Zack didn’t hear him the first time, “What do you mean?”

Zack’s flaring eyes then turned to an empty expression, something that was so very foreign to Henry’s vision and mind. Zack was a loud person—he spoke constantly, like he was running out of time to speak, and he presented himself in such a way that churned the wind in a comfortable yet noticeable way; but the air was still, heavily cold, and his throat was stagnant.

His eyes were the loudest thing about him, but something deep in Henry’s gut told him that wasn’t a good thing.

At some point Zack had to say something, right?

Henry could play the waiting game.

He dipped his head towards his lap where his hands were resting, beginning the process of winding his fingers together in an unruly and awkward manner. His bones kissed his skin as he twisted them to fit into the dip of an opposing finger—a middle finger sliding between the other hand's ring and pinky, and a thumb slotting between the other hand's pointer and middle fingers. Relatively, it was painful, but in a gentle way.

The mattress released, but Henry didn’t look up to watch Zack’s rising body.

His socked feet beated off somewhere in the room, making way towards a corner before the sound of something weighty was lifted. It made a twinkling sound—like a spell of magic was casted—and the vibrations of Zack’s feet grew closer until the bed dipped.

Henry unwinded his fingers, his bones shivering with relief as he let curiosity win, prompting his head and eyes to meet Zack’s form.

In his lap was a burly guitar, propped nicely upon his leg, like it was made specifically to fit Zack’s frame. Like it was a part of him. His fingers trickled over the strings, the tips aching to skim and brush over the joins, but there was a resistance somewhere.

Lifting his chin, Zack met Henry’s prying gaze, and smiled so easily when he’d previously been so pissed. “You’ve never played guitar before,” he stated, like he was clarifying the fact that was grisly to his skin.

Henry gnawed on his bottom lip, thinking of what to say in return, but coming up short. “…No. I haven’t.”

“Do you want to?”

Trailing down, his eyes like a shrinking balloon once full of helium, he observed Zack’s twitching fingers. He furrowed his eyebrows—no, he didn’t, he found.

But, when Henry looked back up at Zack, his eyes sparkling like an innocent little thing, he couldn’t find it within himself to reject such an offer—Zack didn’t just teach anyone how to play guitar, afterall.

And when Henry nodded stiffly—because his body still was rejecting the offer and suggestion—Zack seemed to bloom. He sat up straighter, and there was a delicate shade of red along his cheekbones that was definitely warm to the touch, but Henry would never know for sure because outside of Kid Danger he was a coward.

Before Henry knew it, the guitar was being placed on his lap, handled in a reckless yet knowing manner by the hands of its owner.

Henry refused to touch it.

It was a fragile thing, maybe—he could break it, and then Zack would be angry. Really angry, to the point a smile wouldn’t so easily peak out in Henry’s direction ever again.

So he kept his hands flush to Zack’s mattress, shame building in his chest as Zack’s gaze grew heavier and weightier.

The familiar song of Zack’s laugh suddenly fluttered and consumed the air.

Henry had watched how the laughter had hiked up Zack’s throat, and how his cheeks had been puffed up and full of air, his lips small and curled within to prevent the song from breaking out—yet, his defense was weak; the gates unlatched, and out came the sound.

And, in a way, Henry adored it.

Zack’s top row of teeth was exhibited, and his jugular kept jumping as his body rocked side to side. He curled forward after a couple of seconds, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he continued to guffaw.

When he sat up, airy breaths sizzling out his mouth, he was just smiling. At Henry.

For whatever reason, Zack was always smiling at Henry in the end.

Henry had watched the entire thing when he’d normally face away—he knew now why he wouldn’t watch as the boy laughed.

He looked so young. So happy.

And that was what Henry wanted.

Zack’s teeth were full of glee whenever he beamed, and his laughter was always so childish; not in an insulting way, but in an innocent way.

Henry’s heart was pounding—it always pounded when Zack did shit to make him feel envious.

Blinking owlishly at him, Zack’s smile deflated with his descending eyes, moving to observe the guitar balancing in Henry’s lap. “It’s not going to break, you know,” he teasingly said, but his voice wasn’t quite right.

Henry’s face was building with pressure. It grew hotter, and almost to a boiling degree when Zack’s eyes returned to his own. His eyes, Henry’s mind orated. His eyes, his eyes, his eyes.

On top of the guitar there was now force, and Henry knew because he felt it through his legs. He immediately looked downwards, meeting Zack’s hand that was cupped around the guitar’s smooth side.

“Do you need help?” A pure question.

And Henry felt like vomiting. “No.”

No, he never needed help. He helped others, and if he was stuck on something, he figured it out.

Henry’s hands shot off the mattress and grabbed the guitar, one hand on its neck, the other on its body. His shoulders hunched, a twinding, tense sensation right where his back and neck met. He kept eyeing Zack’s stagnant hand.

He didn’t like it there.

“Chill.” Retracting, the unflinching hand pulled away and rested in Zack’s lap, like it was shying away from Henry’s gaze.

Henry’s eyes remained upon the guitar, but now there was no hand to study. It was empty now, just wood, and something felt missing. His body ached for Zack’s hand to return there, a couple inches away from Henry’s—it was confusing, because he had just wanted the hand to go away.

“Henry.”

He looked up when his name fluttered out Zack’s mouth. It sounded good in his voice.

“Yeah?” Henry replied steadily, like his body wasn’t shivering, like his skin wasn’t melting and burning off, mimicking ashes tumbling off flaming wood.

Zack’s fingers winded in his lap, full of shaking resistance, like something was holding his wrists down and preventing him from reaching towards Henry. “You’re tense,” he eventually said. “You need to relax in order to play.”

“Well, I don’t know if you can tell,” Henry began, “but I’m never relaxed.”

“I know.” Zack nodded, a familiar look of recollection on his face.

“And I’ve never played guitar, so I’m going to be tense.”

Zack sighed harshly through his nose, giving a light eye roll as he maneuvered his hands behind him, leaning on them for support. “I’m aware.”

Henry furrowed his brows at the rearrangement and agitation of Zack’s movements. It was like he expected this, for Henry to say his truth and viciously disagree with it. It was the heavy exhale of preparation for a disagreement, keeping the nerves low. Henry gritted his teeth down. “What?”

“Holy shit dude, don’t make me repeat myself.”

“No, I mean…” Henry lowered his chin, staring at Zack through his eyelashes, hoping his expression was exasperated. “Why are you acting like that?”

Zack inhaled deeply, his eyes on the ceiling, holding something back. “Acting like what, Henry.”

“That!” Henry went to wildly gesture at him, but instead he simply nodded towards him—his thumb rubbed tightly against the wood of the guitar in an attempt to ground himself. “That right there. Why—”

“You won’t let me help you.”

Henry paused, the air holding its breath as he processed the sentence. He watched Zack’s eyes waver, like he was watching something terrifying—like he said something terrifying, or something so very wrong and insensitive.

Swallowing something, Zack then shook his head, looking away from Henry. “Know what, nevermind. It doesn’t…” He halted his words, his brows drawing down as he pondered for a beat. “Well, no, it matters, but…” His eyes flicked back to Henry. “I don’t… I’m not good at this shit.”

“You’re not good at what?” Henry asked, his tone tight.

Zack’s eyes broke away from his face again, analyzing something behind Henry that seemed interesting in the moment. His jaw unlocked, his mouth hanging open, and his throat jumped to say something—but nothing flooded out.

His eyes avoided Henry’s for a while, and in the end his eyes leapt to the guitar in his lap. The gaze was burning, the possibility of it catching on fire high, like it caused whatever turmoil was occurring…

Oh.

Henry felt something odd in his stomach. It was hot, akin to fury, but not quite fully fledged. “It’s a guitar, Zack.”

And Zack shot his eyes up, growing and sizzling indignation rapidly firing through his pupils. He sibilated through his teeth, “This isn’t about the fucking guitar anymore.”

“Then what the fuck is this about?”

“You don’t let people who love and care about you help you!”

The growing, boiling feeling in Henry's stomach settled abruptly.

Zack’s mouth curved downward, his gaze still for a moment before he breathed. It fluttered down until they locked onto the guitar—his eyes were unreadable, and that was a foreign thing to Henry. Zack was like an open book; now, he was a locked diary.

“Why’ve you been avoiding me?” Zack’s soundwaves were linear, frightfully composed. The question was like a dagger that was careful, shy, but still very dangerous.

Henry, too, looked down, his sight studying the guitar, and for a moment he swore the instrument got heavier. “I thought I was ignoring you,” riposted Henry.

“So you do know what I said,” Zack remarked, a tint of antagonism—the dagger now shot out, and it carved deep into Henry.

Henry decided to not argue with him—he tightened his lips, gross silence suffocating his lungs.

For a moment, Henry decided to wallow in it—particularly, nothing was ever silent in his life. Piper was always crying about something, Charlotte and Jasper always in his ear, Ray always being… him, and even Zack was just a wild card.

But right now, with the thick air colored pink, there was nothingness—just breathing.

When was the last time that he simply breathed? With no pressure from being Kid Danger, no pressure from school, and no pressure to be a good friend and significant other?

No, Henry couldn’t recall.

Swelling, his chest pulsed as he inhaled, and he swore he could feel his veins pumping with blood. He closed his eyes, hoping to hear something that nobody else could hear within his body; what would rushing blood sound like? Was his heart music to the cells within his body? Was that why cells moved, because they were really dancing to the beat of his heart?

Henry removed his hand from the body of the guitar, placing it over his own heart to feel it.

And he did.

He felt it grow; spreading like something joyful, like something living.

It was in his thumb, in his neck, and in his head—it was in his stomach, small but strong.

His vital organs were throbbing, thrashing fast like angry creatures. He recognized it—his heart always was fast while being Kid Danger.

But it had no reason to be so quick right now.

Hesitantly, Henry opened his eyes and looked at Zack.

Swimming in his eyes was worry, a hint of reluctance as he asked, “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” Henry replied easily. He patted his chest three times, before placing it back onto the body of the guitar. “Yeah. I’m here, and I’ll always be here.”

“Well, not always,” Zack joked, but something tense was in his tone, like he was contradicting his own words subconsciously.

Henry just nodded. “Not always,” he agreed. Then he tentatively grinned, and he could practically feel how his eyes grew to glint. “But I’ll be here for as long as I can.”

“You better be.”

Tilting his head, Henry squinted at Zack. “That feels like a threat. Is it?”

Zack rolled his shoulders backwards, an awkward shrug that was moved wrongly. “You can take it however you want.”

Henry simply beamed at him.

—

The process of learning chords was irritatingly slow.

It took around thirty minutes of Henry playing two different chords, intergagably playing them, until it had finally clicked.

Almost every time, the guitar would give off a painful sound—clearly, Henry wasn’t playing it right, but Zack had been telling him otherwise. “Your placement’s right, so don’t worry about the sound,” had been along the lines of the boy’s words. “We’ll focus on making it sound right another time.”

Henry was in the middle of plucking a chord aimlessly, playing a C minor, when he got a hot, swarming feeling in his head.

Zack’s gaze was thermogenic on Henry’s plucking hands, the pressure tight and something that he shouldn’t feel at all. Turning, Henry’s stomach pulsed frustratingly. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way—he chose to try and ignore it.

Henry’s fingers twitched upon the neck, the off tune sound abrupt, making him jump.

“Easy,” Zack delicately advised.

“Fucking…” Henry grumbled. “How the hell do I make this shit sound better, Zack? And don’t give me that bullshit, I wanna know now.”

“Impatient much?” Zack jabbed, his smile wide and teasing, and Henry almost succumbed to it.

“Just show me, dick—”

“You have to put more pressure.”

Henry blinked, then he twisted his expression into utter confusion as his eyes darted around, like the answer to his perplexity was upon the walls. “More pressure to what?”

Zack hooted out a laugh. “To the strings, stupid.”

“Where?”

“On the neck.” Zack gestured to Henry’s quivering fingers, which the tips of them were thoroughly dented and sore.

“What the fuck? Really?” When Zack nodded, his smile somehow expanding even more, Henry swore he felt a vein burst in his forehead. “How much more pressure could I possibly add?!”

“Well, you’re weak in the arms, babe, so you’re gonna have to add more somehow.”

“Somehow?” Henry jeered. “How the fuck—”

He wavered when he saw Zack’s expression; knowing, smug, his eyebrows crooked. Something oddly shaped in Henry’s chest dropped to his stomach.

“What?” Henry snapped, his skin feeling paper thin and cold.

“I didn’t say anything!” Zack defended.

“You’re thinking something, and that’s never good.”

A vague offended expression crossed Zack’s face. “What the hell?”

Henry shrugged, smiling easily and instinctively. “It’s who you are, babe.” And for a moment, his hand twitched, his muscles almost twinding to reach out to Zack and grab his bent knee. He stopped, his mind growing warmer and sickly—his fingers settled, his muscles tightened, and his mind was now manually functioning. Swallowing the growth of bubbling anxiety climbing his throat, Henry said, “It’s not a bad thing, of course. You’re just reckless. When you’re thinking, it’s usually for some scuffed scheme that you’re planning on the spot, and we all end up getting our asses beat for it.”

The sulky look that had been painting Zack’s face was long gone, and once again, there was an undefined look in his eyes.

Silence hovered.

Except this time it was nice. The air was smoother, breathable, and seemingly pleasant.

Henry was mid inhale when Zack said—

“Ask me to help you.”

—then his coughing fit began.

The air had grown sea urchin spines, stabbing Henry’s throat when the statement had come. “Huh?” he breathed out a chalky reply.

“Ask me to help you apply pressure,” Zack repeated, adding more depth to his previous words.

“Why?”

“Just do it, Henry.”

Henry wanted to argue; it was boiling, spilling over, craving to pour out of his mouth. But there was a certain feeling of defeat. He wasn’t sure how else to explain the foreign feeling other than that. It was defeat, but not quite. His body was relaxing, his muscles aching with relief of being untightened, and his eyes pinching. Giving in, his chest angling forward, deeper into the guitar, Henry yielded and asked, “Can… Can you… help me?” It was more of a question aimed towards himself, but Zack smiled just the same.

“Of course,” he said, like Henry had asked it on his own accord.

Zack’s hand rose steadily, solidly, not a single shake in his movements—creeping, sliding through air, the heat of his fingers were upon Henry’s own, right where they were weak on the guitar neck’s strings. Preventing it, Henry angled back.

“Henry,” Zack said, reminding the boy.

“Sorry.” Henry closed his eyes, before looking into Zack’s stern expression; sharp, with a small frown, but concern and trust pooling around his pupils. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” reassured Zack. “You just gotta trust me, right?”

“Right.” Henry breathed as Zack’s hand continued towards his own. And he felt stupid, Henry, because it wasn’t like this was any other human contact. It was just holding hands—and not even that. It was fingers-pressing-against-fingers. Dread was a poison, and it was in his stomach, killing his insides—more and more, as the aura of Zack’s hand grew hotter.

Until it was there, flesh against flesh, flush contact that was vague but so very warm. Upon his knuckles were the tips of Zack’s fingers, delicately touching, almost ticklish as he began to slip them up until they were atop of Henry’s nails. “Chill,” Zack repeated a past comment. “We aren’t holding hands, right? I’m just helping you,” he enunciated, seemingly unsure.

And Henry felt the urge to cave and release regretful words of, “I want to be holding your hand, though.” But he wouldn’t say that, couldn’t say that, because he would be disregarding his previous behaviors. “Can we please hold hands?” he would say, but once Zack did, Henry knew he would freak out and scream at the boy.

So he just sealed his lips, and nodded to Zack’s worried and overthinking words.

Obtaining the clarification, Zack then twisted his fingers—his thumb was now grazing the side of one of Henry’s fingers, migrating each digit to their correct spot onto a familiar chord that Henry had been practicing; this time, once they were in position, Zack pressed them down further. Henry wanted to flinch, he felt it in the way his spine was shivering and his muscles were pulling. He forced it down. The dents in Henry’s fingertips were amplifying, digging so deep that he swore blood would be drawn.

“Now strum,” said Zack.

“Strum?” Henry questioned.

“Yeah. You know, moving your fingers up and down the strings.”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’ll sound like shit.”

“Hen,” Zack began, “I love you, but you’ve been playing like shit. You’ll be fine.”

Embarrassment rushed to Henry’s head—not only that, but the words of Zack’s ‘I love you’ bounced around his skull too.

Henry wasn’t aware that they were on that level yet. He wasn’t aware that Zack had felt that way. Henry’s face was aflame, unable to be cooled down, and he tried to breathe, but every breath was like a heatwave in his lungs. The room was swimming, inconsistent, and nothing was coherent to his ears.

Trying to escape it, Henry said, “I’m not gonna strum, I’m gonna pluck.”

Zack’s face was like an oceanic reflection—wavery, undefined, and something completely foreign. “Okay,” he complied. “Go ahead.”

Henry took the opportunity to angle his head down so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at Zack—his motive was a little scuffed, however, as he was now staring directly at the contact between their fingers.

Choosing to be ignorant to it, he plucked some strings, and melted into the firm sound it was now making. Better, Henry couldn’t help but think. Nicer, prettier, and all around better.

Side glancing at their meeting fingers, Henry thought, I love you too.

He knew he didn’t mean it, that was why he wasn’t saying it aloud. He didn’t mean it. He wasn’t lovesick, he simply wasn’t in love at all.

But… maybe at some point he will be.

“So…” Henry began, winging it and thinking of words at the top of his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You love me?” he decided to snidely mock, chuckling at Zack’s off-guarded expression.

Angling his head down, he struck another chord with a floaty smile on his face. The sound was stronger, rattling the air and Henry’s fingers in an addictive manner.

“I do,” he heard Zack utter.

Henry’s head snapped back up at breakneck speed. ‘What’ was at the tip of his tongue, teetering and almost slipping.

Zack's eyes were solemn, yet there was also acceptance. And there was a pressure in Henry’s heart, stomach, and head—should he say it back? He had to, right? That was how it was supposed to go, and how every confession went. The next step.

But Henry wasn’t sure if he was ready for that next step. He was perfectly fine with being on the first one, even if it was forever. It had taken a lot to get here—years, really—and the next step coming so soon was daunting.

Henry’s tongue rose and expanded across the roof of his mouth. His eyes couldn’t leave Zack’s face, and it pained him a little when Zack said, “You don’t have to say anything. I understand.” He gave Henry one of his smiles, the kind that always soothed his nerves.

It didn’t work this time.

—

When Henry got home, he wasn’t sure how to feel.

His parents hardly greeted him when he walked in, and Piper immediately threw him a middle finger behind their parents backs—but when she would do it in front of their parents, she would get in trouble, but it would be for the gesture in general and not the fact that it was targeted towards him.

He got to his room, and looked out his window.

Ultimately, he ended up waiting for Ray’s call to clock in, and alter into Kid Danger.

Kid Danger would’ve said, “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

So I lost the truth

In my own mind it’s scheming, kills completely

All I wanted was the dream of being young

Inside this light, I must belong to you

Henry’s worst nightmare had come true:

Zack Martin had died before Kid Danger’s allowing eyes.

—

“How come it always seems like you’re standing on the edge of a bridge with your feet in cement?”

The morning sun was a crackling fire, except Henry felt no heat from it, and that was how he knew something, at some point today, was going to go terribly wrong.

His eyes were throbbing, his under-eyelids resembling a looming cliff—they felt sticky, the creases of them peeling away with every blink; crust almost, but not quite. Henry’s breath was ludicrous—with every exhale, it floated up, assaulting his nostrils, begging him to brush his teeth; but there was a resistance within him preventing him from doing so. “Laziness,” Siren would say. “How can you be a hero if you can’t even do a simple task,” Ray could say, but wouldn’t, because he wasn’t the kind of guy to care about simple things like that.

But… really, how could Henry be a hero if he couldn’t even muster up the energy to brush his fucking teeth?

Henry’s vision was tunnel-like: his peripherals were blackened, making him question if his eyes were truly seeing real things, making him wonder if reality was all a hoax, making him curious if what he was seeing was a dream.

His peripherals were so dark that he didn’t see Piper stand next to him. He didn’t even hear her exit the house to stand on the steps with him.

He flinched when he heard her voice, her strangely worded question.

Henry didn’t hate Piper, per se, but he definitely had a more negative opinion of her than positive. Maybe it was just because she was his little sister—maybe it was because Siren paid more attention to her.

Henry swallowed—his tongue almost slipping down his throat along with his musky saliva—before he said, “I don’t have time for your bullshit today.”

“It’s not bullshit if it’s true,” remarked Piper, combing her fingers through the ends of her blonde hair. “So, why?”

“Why what?” Henry challenged, though something vicious was clawing at his chest, arguing with him,

You know, said his mind. Do not keep acting so oblivious to your own faults.

“Why do you keep on hesitating?” asked Piper, and her tone turned, no longer the antagonistic little sister with a grating voice. Instead, it was riddled with something genuine, like she truly wanted to know and not use it against him. Vulnerability.

Henry watched the rising sun that was hiding behind the trees, smooth rays peeking through and creating a silky gold lake upon the surface of the road before them. He watched it ebb and flow, as if it was life, as if it was true liquid.

“I’m not as blind as you think.”

“I never said you were.” Henry’s eyes trailed up, observing how the tree's stubborn leaves were tickled pink, slowly dying because of the chilling weather.

“Well,” began Piper, the sound of her feet kicking spare rocks hitting his ears, “you’re implying it. And you’re not just doing it to me, you’re doing it to everyone else, too.”

Henry’s tongue slid along his jagged lower lip, a tiny bit of iron hitting his taste buds. He recalled how Zack read him like a book on the bridge, then proceeded to continue to study him—know him—forever since then.

Henry was a diary, a secret keeper—it was just that everyone seemed to know the password to his lock and get in.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Henry said nothing.

For a while, there were no words exchanged.

Occasionally, there would be the rustle of Piper taking her phone out of her pocket, the clicking of her texting following soon after. Henry guessed that she was texting her friends—or even Zack, as he was picking up the two of them for school.

Strangely, Piper and Zack got along well.

Too well.

They bickered like siblings, but also were as mischievous as two peas in a pod. It kind of gave Henry a wave of déjà vu, back to when Zack and Cody were the rascally ones.

Piper was always excited whenever Zack was coming to their house, though she’d never say it—purely, it was in the way she acted; her knees would bounce, her fingers nonstop tapping at her phone, and in the severe case of whenever Zack was running late, she would pace.

And once Zack got there, with Piper trying and failing to act annoyed by his presence, they’d do what Zack and Piper do best; they’d plot. And they’d plot about anything, even things they couldn’t even do legally if they were bored enough. Of course, they sometimes—always—drug Henry in if he were to be in the room—he was always in the room, because he depended on Zack like he was blood and Henry a mosquito.

Fuck, they even gossiped. Piper would rant about her friends, and what they were constantly doing that annoyed her—which, in Henry’s opinion, they were never in the wrong, Piper was just dramatic—and Zack would nod incessantly, agreeing with her, even. Hyping her up.

Henry had to hold in a laugh.

Who would’ve guessed that Zack—the boy who was once so keen on being known as a macho man—would find interest in gossiping with his boyfriend's fourteen year old sister.

“I know that you’re jealous of me,” said Piper, breaking through the stillness.

Suddenly the dam broke, and laughing was all Henry could manage to do. Holding it in would suffocate him—really, laughing was allowing him to breathe. “Me? Jealous of you?”

Piper glowered at him, and immediately all the sincerity she mustered up melted away—her serious face was stupid looking anyway, she looked better without it; normal, childish. She stamped her foot once, fists curled and all, practically hissing, “Know what? Forget it, jerkface!”

“Gladly,” Henry spat back.

Piper turned her back to him, crossing her arms dramatically.

And… Henry also turned away and crossed his arms, bottom lip jutted out—maybe Piper’s brattiness was rubbing off on him.

After a beat, Piper looked over her shoulder and grumbled, “Zack’s around the corner.”

“So now you’re encouraging my boyfriend to text and drive?”

“He texted me first!”

Henry slapped his hands to his sides, whipping around to face Piper—when Piper did the same, his mind went silent, and suddenly all of his comebacks flew out of his ears in the form of irritated, cartoonish steam.

Piper squinted at him, then she smirked and placed a hand on her hip, like she won something.

“I’ll kill you,” Henry’s peppery tongue decided on saying.

Piper’s jaw dropped. “That’s not legal!” she said, pointing. “You’re a—”

The sudden sound of rocks rolling on the road forced Henry’s head to snap up. He didn’t feel the smile that grew on his face at the sight of Zack’s red truck.

“You’re a lovesick idiot, actually,” Piper stated, obviously twisting her words that she was originally going to say. “And it’s literally so gross.”

Henry rolled his eyes, kicking his way down the steps. “You like him.”

“I do.”

Henry jerked to a stop, his head turning back to stare at his sister widely—she never agreed with Henry, ever.

“What?” She shrugged, waltzing past Henry with her hands in her pockets. “He’s cooler than you.”

Henry stammered around his words, then swallowed them as soon as Piper started laughing at him for his stuttering. He went to retort, to get the last laugh in probably, but then he heard Zack get out of his truck, and immediately everything was tunneled.

All he could see was Zack, and how his form got bigger with every step Henry took towards him.

Even from a distance, he could see the innocent shine in Zack’s eyes.

Flicking his eyes down, he analyzed the boy’s clothes—navy jeans spilling over an old pair of converse. Raking up, he took in the brown leather jacket that Henry recognized.

It used to be Kurt’s jacket—Zack had gotten it a while back, back when it was too big to wear. But it was his first leather jacket, and it was his dad’s. So it beheld sensitive and valuable memories, despite it having a stale cigarette stench that Carey obviously hated.

And maybe that was why Zack only ever smoked in that jacket.

Zack didn’t smoke in any other pairs of clothes. Not in his graphic tees, not in his newer leather jacket that was black, nothing else—only that brown leather jacket that desperately needed some TLC.

Henry furrowed his eyebrows.

Zack had worn that jacket yesterday, he realized.

And the day before.

And the day before that.

And the day before that—

Zack and Pipers bickering broke him out of his revelation.

He watched as Zack and Piper argued, clearly as a friendly greeting, like it was casual and an everyday thing.

Henry decided to file the leather jacket situation in the back of his mind, focusing on Zack instead.

“Just get in the Chevy MG42.” Zack opened the backseat for Piper, who hopped in. She rested back with her arms crossed, glaring at Zack. Zack smiled at her. “Cheer up, Paper.”

And Zack shut the door right as Piper started screaming at him.

Henry snorted at that.

Zack turned to him, beaming, because he always seemed to smile whenever he made Henry laugh.

“Paper?” Henry asked, inching closer to Zack. “Have you been hanging around Ray or something?”

“Never,” Zack immediately shut down the idea. “Only whenever you’re there, I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself back if he and I were in the same vicinity alone.”

Henry put that odd statement in the back of his mind, filing it away next to the leather jacket situation, both to be examined later. Instead, he cocked his head, trying a smile instead. “Vicinity? Big word for you, Zack,” he teased, gliding by Zack and rounding the truck to the passenger side, reaching for the handle—

“Ah-ah!” Zack interrupted, shooting past Henry and shooing him away. He fixed his jacket before pulling the door open, politely gesturing with a prince-like smile.

Henry rolled his eyes. “What a gentleman,” he remarked sarcastically.

Zack just winked at him.

“Whatever,” said Henry with a scoff and a light shake of the head, climbing into the seat. He felt how the truck shook as Zack closed the door—Henry looked back to Piper, who was doom scrolling through her phone. He knocked his eyes back when Piper didn’t bother to look up.

However, as soon as Zack entered the truck and started the engine, Piper seemed to suddenly find talking appealing instead of having her nose in her phone. “Do not call me Paper,” began Piper, eyes locked onto Zack. And before he could retort, she continued, “Also, Chevy MG42? What kind of stupid name is that!”

“Ask Jasper, not me,” Zack answered, flicking his eyes at Piper through his rearview mirror. Then he placed his arm on the center console, looking back after he shifted the truck in reverse.

“Of course Jasper would name your car that,” Piper snorted, leaning forward to dig at whatever was at her feet. Henry furrowed his brows, almost telling her to stop snooping through Zack’s stuff, only halting when he realized that she was going through his CD’s. “Why though?”

“That, little lady, is classified.” Zack shifted to drive once he was pulled out, turning the wheel and jerking the stick shift to two in order to steadily speed up.

“Don’t call me ‘little lady’ either, dumbass.”

“Hey,” Henry sharply bit, glaring at Piper. “Don’t fucking curse.”

Zack snorted at the irony, quickly smothering it with his palm. He flicked the turning signal, engine roaring as he shifted gears to speed up as he turned.

“Why do you have so many decrepit CD’s back here? Where’s the good stuff?” Piper quipped, analyzing the rather dusty CD in her hands. She blew on it, and as some sort of satisfying, definitely deserved karma that had to be oncoming, the dust went right back onto her face, in her mouth. Piper made a series of gagging and coughing noises.

“Decrepit?!” Zack offendedly replied, his eyes wide and hot and practically steaming. “Don’t ever say that to me again. You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“Yeah?” Piper choked over her words, hacking a couple more seconds. “You’re out of your mind! Where’s pop legend Taylor Swift? Where’s—”

“Hold it right there!” Zack intruded. “The only pop legend is MJ. If you say that bullshit again, you’re outta this vehicle and walking to school.”

“Do you even listen to her?”

“I don’t need to in order to know the facts, Paper.”

“Do not—”

Henry rubbed his temple. “Guys, it’s seven thirty AM,” he whispered with slammed closed eyes.

“Uh, duh? Thanks for stating the obvious, dunce,” Piper replied, flailing her arms around.

Henry gave her a severe look. “I’m just saying that it’s too early to be arguing about Taylor Swift, of all things.”

“Well, if you get your fucking boyfriend to listen to something from this century, then we wouldn’t even have this problem!”

Zack barked out a laugh, slapping the wheel once before maneuvering back to its spot on the stick shift. “This is hardly even a problem, you Looney Tune. You’re just butthurt that I don’t fuck with Taylor.”

Piper’s mouth was agape, clearly about to retort, but was shocked into silence by the jerk of Zack shifting gears harshly, and the roar of the engine as he sped up considerably.

Her eyes glanced out the window, nervously.

Piper scooted forward, folding her arms onto the edge of the center console, pointing at the fencing along the side of the road, and said, “You know, one of our neighbors' kids crashed because of these windy roads?”

Zack briefly looked over his shoulder at her, smirking cockily. “Yeah, well, I won’t crash because I’m a professional driver.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “Well, if you actually don’t want to crash, I suggest slowing down. There’s a sharp turn coming up that’s gonna take you and your manual, old-ass truck out of commission if you’re not careful.”

“Then I suggest you start watching what you say,” inputted Zack—but he was already shifting the gear down, obviously sensing Piper's hidden anxiousness of how fast he was going. “‘Cause if I'm going down, you’re going down with me, whether you like it or not.”

Piper considered that for a moment. “Well, if that means I get to skip school…”

“Piper,” Henry warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please, I’m here too. Don’t put me in the crossfire. If Zack fucking crashes because you egg him on, or even dare him to, just because you wanna skip a day of school, I will actually kill you.”

“I’m not gonna crash the car!” Zack protested, dramatically gripping his wheel harder to prove his point.

“Well, thank the fucking lord for that,” Henry sarcastically bit, rubbing his eyes. He then leaned heavily against the door, temple cold underneath the contact of the window. He sighed out, “I’m gonna take a quick nap, please keep the noise to a minimum.” He folded his arms for good measure.

And it was almost like Zack and Piper didn’t hear him, like he wasn’t even there, because they went right back to bickering.

But Henry noticed that it was quieter.

Significantly so.

He faded away with a smile on his face.

—

Henry woke up to Zack’s truck jolting to a stop, the brakes screeching against Henry’s ears.

He hated how there were tears in his eyes, hated how the aftertaste of ash was still present on his tongue. 

He tried to focus on the sounds around him to get rid of the smell of the plaguing fire that followed him out of his dream…

And Piper was yapping incessantly about… something. Henry wasn’t sure what, but it was annoying enough to want silence.

Or, well…

Just time alone with Zack.

It was… easier than being alone, when Zack was alone with him. 

Zack brought a peaceful beat to his heart. Somehow, the boy made every bad thing dissipate with a simple graze of his eyes. The simplest, twitching grin that wasn’t quite as genuine was even strong enough to force Henry’s mind away from the depths of his mind. 

Because no bad things seemed to be able to graze Henry’s brain as long as Zack was near him, staring at him. Not even the heaviness of being Kid Danger was a thought.

Maybe…

Maybe it was because Zack, no matter what, made sure Henry was safe.

Henry knew it should be the other way around. It had to be.

But… he didn’t try to fix it.

Selfishly, he didn’t.

And as a selfish human, Henry, as soon as Piper’s voice became grating, ordered, “Get out, Piper.”

Piper paused and looked at Henry. She then looked at Zack, like she was silently asking if Henry was being serious.

Zack took a second to analyze Henry.

And Henry let his internal emotions bleed through his eyes.

“You heard him,” Zack said. “You have ten minutes until class starts.”

“But!—” Piper began to protest.

“No buts!” Zack lifted a finger, then jutted his thumb back. “You gotta skedaddle!”

Piper peered at him judgmentally.

After a beat, like she was waiting for them to take back their statements, she then frowned and exited the truck.

Henry and Zack watched as Piper meandered into the building, her hands clamped tight around the arms of her backpack, a noticeable stomp to her steps.

Slowly, Henry eyed Zack.

And he found himself smiling.

God, he was in—

No.

Henry swallowed, his jaws suddenly full of saliva.

He was just feeling… lighter.

Before his mind could over analyze the thought he was about to have, the slightest huff of air jogged Henry’s eyes towards Zack; there was a glimmer in Zack’s eyes, an amused smile upon his lips, his index finger rhythmically tapping his wheel.

And he looked content, like this was paradise.

But as his eyes trailed to the school, slowly the stars in his eyes retracted, something clouding them over.

Before Henry could even ask, Zack dipped his head closer to Henry, and asked, “Do you see yourself escaping this place?” Practically feeling Henry’s perplexed gaze, he continued, “Swellview?”

Henry almost laughed at the demented wording of it. “Escaping Swellview?” he asked with a grin, but immediately smothered it upon seeing the stoniness of Zack’s profile. “I wouldn’t say it’s escaping. More like just… leaving, you know? Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Zack reiterated, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, just for a while.” And despite the tenseness in Henry’s stomach, he laughed, and it felt genuine to a degree. “I don’t think that I could ever find it within myself to leave Swellview forever, you know? Kid Danger can’t leave his post for too long.”

Zack didn’t reply.

The two sat there; Zack observing the looking school with bitter eyes, and Henry studying Zack’s face with an adoration that was unbeknownst to himself. The vehicle was quiet on the inside, but bits of outside life seeped in through the cracks; friends talking as they walked into the building, the beeping of locking cars, and the loud engines of buses.

But, despite how loud everything outside was, the loudest thing would always and forever be Zack's voice.

Terse, Henry broke the car’s silence by checking his watch. “It’s five minutes ‘til…” he began, trying to tone it in a factual and neutral way rather than a suggestion.

Zack side eyed Henry, a twitch in his face, his lips, pulling everything mischievously upwards—

The truck jerked, and suddenly they were going backwards.

And with a rev, Henry felt them begin to reverse fast.

“Zack?” Henry asked slowly, whipping his head towards the window to see outside.

Just as he made eye contact with the back of the tail light of the car that had been next to them, Zack jerked the wheel, sending Henry to the left harshly as he saw an incoming car nearing the truck’s rear.

“Zack, Zack!”

The other car jerked to a stop, honking, to which Zack gestured rudely towards them with a devious smile—another jerk of the truck, and Henry watched as the car exited his field as Zack sped them away.

Henry, wide eyed, slowly turned his head towards Zack, to which the boy just beamed back with blinding innocence. “Having fun yet?” he asked, almost tauntingly.

“Dude,” breathed out Henry with disbelief, making Zack cackle in response. After a beat, Henry then said, “I can not believe you flipped off a teacher like that.”

And Zack just laughed his honey-shade laugh, one that would forever embark upon the pathway to Henry’s ears, his brain waves filing away Zack’s sound waves to remember when Henry was alone.

—

Zack was of destructive nature, always and forever, and Henry wasn’t sure if he was ever going to know if he liked or hated that factor of the boy.

But it wasn’t because of Zack; it was because of humanity around them.

Henry had been burned by Zack before; he stood in the sun's line of sight, allowing his skin to bubble into an agonizing red, and with jagged, shaky fingers, he would peel his dead skin. Destroyed by Zack’s eyes. Destroyed, because that was what Zack was—a destructive thing of nature.

And it wasn’t just Henry Zack burned; many times, he burnt others—but the consequence was that these other people weren’t as willing to grow stronger layers of skin like Henry. In fact, once they were burned, they would hate Zack.

But not Henry.

Henry couldn’t ever hate Zack—maybe once, barely, but not anymore.

And in result of that, over and over, every time Zack burned him, Henry would regrow his damned skin, and fuck it he would let himself be painted red until his body adapted to Zack’s heat.

Maybe it was an obsession.

Maybe it was love.

Or perhaps… Zack was just an addictive thing, because Henry wasn’t in love.

Sure, he loved Zack, but Henry knew that it was to the same degree as Charlotte and Jasper.

And Zack knew that.

He respected that.

“You up for something stupid?” Zack suddenly said, knocking Henry out of whatever in-between state he was in—present, yet so locked within his mind.

The windows were down, wind blowing at an ear-collapsing speed; Zack’s worn-out hat covered his hair, keeping it safe from the rush of it all, while Henry’s hair was pinned back by a pair of sunglasses. It wasn’t the best tactic, but Zack had complimented, “Hot,” when Henry had put them on, so Henry kept with it. Music was blaring, a forgotten CD that had been stashed in Zack’s glove box that Henry had retrieved—and none of the songs were familiar to Henry’s ears, yet Zack sang along stupidly and obnoxiously, and Henry decided that maybe this was what normalcy should be anyway.

“I’m dating you, aren’t I?” Henry retorted, having to keep his tone raised to send his sound waves to Zack’s ears.

“Last time I checked, you were the stupid one that asked me out.” Zack grinned wildly, a childish glee—Henry hated how prettily the specks of his fringe waved with the flow of the wind.

Henry forced an eye roll. “It’s infectious.”

Zack snorted. “What, my attractive personality or my—”

“Stupidity?” Henry innocently peered at Zack, chin angled down, hair escaping from the grasp of his sunglasses and falling into his eyes.

Zack dipped his head back, eyes closed for a brief moment before breaking out into a spree of laughter. And Henry found himself laughing too—but he didn’t close his eyes, Henry simply enjoyed taking in Zack’s profile as the boy tried to collect his bearings. “You’re fucked for that, Swellview.”

“Swellview,” reiterated Henry, drawing his eyebrows in with recollection. “Haven’t heard that one in a minute.”

Zack threw him a sideways glance, his smile content. “What can I say, I’m a man of old habits.”

“A man of bad habits too,” Henry said, gesturing to the glove box. “I saw those cigarettes and gummy bears, don’t try to lie to me, Zee.”

“I’m not,” replied Zack with a shrug, bottom lip jutted out; a semblance of butthurt, however, was in his diverting eyes. “I’m an open book, you know.”

Henry couldn’t help but mentally argue, “No, you aren’t at all.”

Instead, Henry simply said with a twitching smile, “Yeah, can’t keep any secrets from me.” And he stared, and stared, and stared at Zack’s face. He purposely elongated each blink until his eyes started to be nipped by the wind, and purposely stayed as silent as he could.

Zack always knew when he was being stared at—he loved it like he loved cigarettes.

But, with that, he also knew when the stares were good and bad.

And unfortunately, he got more bad ones than good ones these days.

Zack’s eyes flicked from the road to Henry then back about three times before finally whispering, “Yeah…” And it was so quiet that Henry didn’t even hear it over the pressuring wind; it was a simple read of the lips.

And Henry ignored it, pushed it back for another time along with the others.

It didn't matter; at least, not right now.

Because right now it was about them. Just them, existing in the same place at the same time, happy with no tension brewing.

The morning eye pierced Zack’s irises, forcing an annoyed grunt out of him. To distract himself from the beauty of Zack’s now glowing eyes, Henry looked away and asked, “Where are we going anyway?”

Zack ran his fingers down the sides of his mouth, then settled his arm on the center console. “Gas station.”

Henry hummed. “You have money?” he asked, suddenly, tilting his head to look at Zack again; something about his face was addictive, especially with the morning wash all over his skin.

Zack furrowed his eyebrows, snapping his head to Henry for a brief second, like what he’d heard was asinine. “Uh, duh? I’m fucking getting gas, Hen, I’m not stupid.”

Henry looked around the truck’s interior for a moment before widening his eyes in realization. “Oh! No, no, I mean for, like, candy and shit. You know, in the gas station.”

Zack sighed heavily, but it sounded more exaggerated than from genuine annoyance. “Should’ve just said that, you’re gonna make me second guess myself and send me spiraling.”

Henry tittered—he looked down to Zack’s hand dangling over the ledge of the center console, finger tracing the stick shift in controlled memorization. “Sorry, Zee—but seriously, do you?”

Zack’s hand shot out and gripped the gear shift, the car jerking as he set the engine and wheels to another setting, Henry feeling as they accelerated just a little. “I think the price will consist of my entire paycheck, fuckin’ inflation.”

Henry clicked his tongue behind clenched, exposed teeth. “Well, I don’t think it’s just inflation…”

“Please don’t remind me.” Zack jolted the gear shift again, the car slowing down.

Henry grinned harder, if that was even possible. He felt how every muscle in his face pulled, almost forcing a cramp to curl around Henry’s cheeks. He blamed the tears pricking his eyes on the wind. “It’s alright, I have money—if you want anything, too, I got you.”

“You got me?” Zack raised a brow, and despite not being able to see his glistening eyes in the brightness of the sun, he just knew based on his growing smirk that he was teasing Henry. “I would sure fucking hope so, Hen.”

“Zack,” warned Henry, side eyeing the boy sternly.

“What?” Zack asked, a laugh slipping through the skin of his teeth. When Henry didn’t break, his eyes unwavering, Zack hunched his shoulders. “What? I didn’t even say anything bad this time!”

Henry rolled his eyes, failing to keep his smile down. “Innuendoes, Zee, innuendoes.”

Zack scoffed. “Not even! I was just… clarifying. Making sure you meant what you said.”

“Sure, sure.”

Zack dipped his head down, shaking it as he snickered. He then raised his head, eyeing the car before them—a smile grew onto his face, the one full of destruction, the one full of mischief and schemes.

And Henry was just staring longingly at Zack’s perched hand upon the stick shift.

He swallowed around his leaping heart that was desperately trying to escape through his mouth and spill his guts. His truth.

His truth; the denial, the repression.

Boldly—maybe it was his heart moving his limbs, maybe it was the repressed word in the back of his mind telling his hand what to do—Henry rested his arm on the center console, their sleeves flush against each other, but not actual limbs.

An invitation—now it was just up to Zack to accept it and finish the job.

All Zack needed to do was to move his hand from the stick shift, and lock his fingers into Henry’s, and hold him like he wanted to embrace him forever.

Henry eyed Zack’s hand—he saw as his knuckles blanched, saw how his digits tightened, and saw the slight shiver of his forearm, almost felt it.

Zack received it.

Now he just had to—

“You got any pennies?”

Henry’s eyes broke away from Zack’s quivering hand as soon as he switched gears, eyes jolting with the roaring engine. Zack’s voice was hoarse, on edge, like he was expecting and preparing mentally for something. “Why?” asked Henry, hoping that the disappointment that he felt didn’t plague the air along with his breath.

Zack tapped the steering wheel, his jaw muscle tensing. He then snorted through his nose—it was evidently forced, an on-the-spot reflex response to rid the growing tension in the truck. “Jasper and I made up this game…” he began, nail scratching the stitching of the wheel.

“Yeah?” Henry asked—his voice cracked with it.

“Yeah…” Zack let a smile shine through—it wasn’t his signature one. “You’ve always wondered why this puppy’s nicknamed ‘Chevy MG42’, right?”

Henry groaned at the familiar phrase. “Please stop calling your truck that. It is not a machine gun, Zack.”

“Tell Jasper that, not me!”

“God, what have you guys done?”

“Uh, it’s not what we have done,” Zack argued, eyebrows furrowed playfully. “It’s what we currently do.”

“Same fucking thing, Zack.”

“Not at all. ‘Have done’ would imply that it’s history, and last time I checked, this is the current moment.”

“Yeah, right now.” Henry nodded a bit sporadically. “But thirty seconds ago is history. Yesterday is history. So, technically, whatever you and Jasper got up to is history.” Henry leaned towards Zack a little, squinting at him with stern eyes. “So let’s not repeat history, okay? I don’t feel like getting scolded by Ray again for going against our ‘Code of Conduct’ for superheroes.”

“You don’t even know what we did!” Zack protested.

“I don’t have to because I know it’s bad.” Henry slapped his pocket, feeling for his wallet that was… absent. Must be in his backpack, then. “Like, Zack, of all things, a penny? Who else can seriously make a scheme out of a fucking penny?”

“Oh c’mon! No one even notices it!”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“Well— well, you said that you were up for something stupid!”

“No, you asked me that!”

“Just one?”

“No, Zack.”

“Dude, just one penny and I’ll be done.”

Henry wrinkled his nose, watching as the lines of trees passed them in a frenzy. “Just… explain to me what it is.”

“I thought you were a visual learner?”

“Zack.” 

“Alright, alright, Jesus…” Zack caved, his shoulders visibly slumping, slouching where he sat. “Party pooper,” he grumbled.

“If me being a party pooper means that the citizens that I’m supposed to protect are safe, then that’s fine with me.”

“It doesn’t even hurt them!”

Henry gave him a look.

Zack glanced at him, blowing out air though his lips. “…Directly…”

“What?!”

“It’s just their cars!” Zack reassured—which never worked, Henry was never able to be comforted when it came to Zack’s pranks—palms flat against the wheel’s circumference while his fingers were stretched out in a defensive way. “And it almost never leaves any scrapes! Or damages!”

“Almost?” Henry speculated.

Zack winced at that. “Well… except for that one time…”

“Dude.”

“It was Jasper’s fault!” Zack yelled over Henry, his fingers now gripping the wheel until his knuckles blanched. “How was I supposed to know that his fingers held the strength of One-Punch Man? I didn’t even see the penny move either! Seriously, one moment it was in Jasper's hand, the next the car before us plate was slanted!”

Henry jolted his head back at the newfound information. “Let me get this straight,” he began. “You and Jasper, for fun, flick pennies at cars?”

Zack groaned. “Okay, well, what else would we use pennies for? Savings?”

Henry couldn’t stop the bark of laughter from leaving him. “Uh, yes? Good god, Zack.”

“Oh, great! I can’t wait to make a living via pennies!” Zack sarcastically remarked, before briskly looking at Henry. “Give me a break, Hen,” he said, rolling his eyes as he focused on the road again.

Henry glared at Zack; with his entire will power, clenched fists and all, and refrained from knocking the boy upside his head.

Instead, Henry bit out nonsensical words of offense, to which Zack easily combated with his own on-the-spot insults.

And maybe this was what peace felt like. Despite the playful arguing, Henry’s heart was steady in his chest, like this was an everyday occurrence. A pattern. A routine.

Normalcy.

—

The truck jerked once more as Zack shifted the gear to two, wafts of gas hitting Henry’s nostrils like thick smoke. Tires meandering along, Zack inched them towards a pump directly next to a vending machine and a stand of some sorts. Zack pointed, giggling as he said, “Hey Hen, get us some lottery tickets.”

Henry looked out his passenger window, eyes flicking around the large signs pinned up against the stands’ walls—sure fucking enough, it was a damned lottery and bingo stand, with a person looking bored as hell inside. “Zack, we’re getting candy. I’m not wasting my money on something that we’ll most likely never win—plus, we’re underaged.”

Zack’s mouth quirked up, the car's brakes squealing as he stopped them and put the truck in park. His hand darted into his front pocket, fishing out his wallet, and flicked out an ID. “According to this, we aren’t.”

Henry took the ID Zack presented to him; Zack’s picture was different from his driver's license photo, and as Henry’s eyes scurried around more, he noticed that his date of birth was different too—the month, year, and day were all different.

On the ID, Zack was 21.

Henry slowly looked at Zack, at his sneaky and excited expression, how he was bursting at the seams. “I swear to god Zack, it’s like you want to go to juvie or something.”

Zack’s excited expression melted into an offended one, tripping over his words before ultimately protesting, “I don’t think I’ll go to juvie for a fake ID.”

Henry squinted at him. “You get into a plethora of situations, you’ll one-hundred percent be knocked for a fake ID. It’s like the…” he paused, eyes darting towards the ceiling as he snapped his fingers. “The… ah, fuck, what’s it called…”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” teased Zack, earning a glare from Henry.

Henry pondered a little longer, rubbing his thumb along the bridge of his nose—he then perked up, snapping his fingers, pointing at Zack. “The straw that breaks the llamas back!”

Zack peered at Henry, lips flinching, evidently trying to hold back a laugh. “You mean… the straw that broke the camel's back?”

Henry scoffed, leaning back harshly against his seat, waving Zack off. “Tomato tomato, you get my point.”

“Also, plethora?” Zack continued on, ignoring Henry, his tone derisive. “What kind of word is that? And where the fuck did you even pull that word from?”

Henry resisted the urge to slap the boy's arm. “It means, like, excessive. Or a lot of something.”

“Yeah, I figured that out based on context clues, nerd.”

“Alright, alright, chill,” laughed Henry, readjusting himself on his seat. “Just go get gas, dude.”

Zack grinned at him, winking at him before opening the door and slamming it shut, the truck recoiling from the force of it. Henry dug into his other pocket, searching for his wallet…

Fuck.

With a bit of agitation, Henry unbuckled his seatbelt and raved through his backpack. He checked every inch of it; the side-pockets, underneath the stack papers that he didn’t bother putting in a folder, even managing to open his jammed front pocket to go through it despite knowing that it wouldn’t be there. Henry let out a defeated sigh, ripping the sunglasses that were slipping off of his head, and sat up with closed eyes.

He left his fucking wallet at home.

Groaning, he opened his eyes, darting them around the interior of the car. Eventually, they landed on the glovebox settled before him.

He tilted his head at it.

With vibrating hands, Henry reached for it—

“I still don’t understand why you think I’d go to juvie for a fake ID,” Zack’s voice flooded in, Henry flinching and snatching his hand back to his side.

Henry took a deep breath, blinking away his shock. “Well…” He abruptly cut himself off to cough away the shakiness in his voice. “Well, just think about it, Zee. You’re known for doing reckless bullshit. Seriously, I just know that the police are waiting for you to slip up so that they can lock you up.”

The truck clinked, the sound of something sliding hitting Henry’s ears. A moment later, the sound of pouring came, and over the slick sound, Zack asked, “Name one thing that I did illegally.”

“Underaged smoking,” Henry said without thinking.

“Uh, that doesn’t count.”

“How?”

Zack shrugged, putting one hand on his hip. “Just doesn’t,” he bluffed.

Henry wrinkled his nose. “Okay. Underage drinking.”

“But do the police know that? No!” Zack exclaimed with a raised finger.

“They definitely do.” Henry couldn’t hold back his laughter, giggling as he nodded at the memory of the night he was thinking of.

Zack leaned against the parapet of his door with crossed arms, amusement and confusion raking over his features. “And how would they know? I haven’t been caught yet.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been chased before. They know who you are and what you look like, so you’re definitely in the shitter if you fuck up.”

Zack’s head jutted back, his eyebrows drawing down farther. “When was this?”

“Last year on New Years,” answered Henry, trying to seem nonchalant when he was actually trying his best not to break out laughing.

“I… do not remember running from any cops, Hen. I think you’re lying to me.”

“Alright then, what do you remember from that night, then?” Henry turned in his seat, resting elbow on the center console with his chin shelved on the heel of his palm.

“I mostly remember being at your house, when your parents were out celebrating and Piper at one of her friends' house for some slumber party.”

“And what do you remember about it?”

“Mainly that Jasper and I made this, like, gigantic fucking sub sandwich that looked straight out of a Scooby-Doo episode.” Zack raised an eyebrow, like he was considering something. “Did you go out with us that night?”

“I stayed in.” Henry shrugged. “You know I’m not a partier.”

Zack smirked at him. “Are you ‘not a partier’, or just not invited to things?”

Henry scowled at him. “Not a partier,” he bit around clenched teeth.

“Right.” Zack flashed his teeth, slacking his jaw to say something—but then the pump clicked, Zack glancing at it. “…Be right back.”

While Zack tended to the pump, Henry dipped his head to his right and looked out the window. He tried studying the realm around him, tried reading the signs on the side of the lottery ticket stands’ wall, and tried to be interested in it. But his eyes, somehow, magnetically pulled to the glovebox again.

He tried again—he studied the vending machine full of drinks that Henry’s never even seen before. It was filled to the brim with obvious rip offs of famous drinks, and Henry forced an amused huff…

His eyes darted back to the glovebox.

And for whatever reason, it made Henry hold his breath, his eyes unblinking as his heart dared to make his hand reach out again.

“I’m gonna check out the stand.”

Henry jumped out of his daze, whipping his head to Zack. Registering his words, Henry raised a brow. “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

Before Henry could protest, Zack winked again and pranced around the car, walking right up to the stand and speaking to the lady there with stars in his eyes. His words were intelligible, no matter how hard Henry pressed himself against the car and hung his head out the window in a sorry attempt to eavesdrop.

But based on Zack’s body language, based on his smile, and based on the fucking wink he threw her, Henry knew he was hustling. Maybe flirting for his own pleasure—it was his default, after all. But it didn’t mean that Henry’s heart was relaxed with it, that his mind didn’t spiral as he watched Zack’s eyes scan the face of the woman.

Was Zack trying to make Henry jealous or something?

Or was he unknowingly doing it? Was Zack just so used to flirting with people that it was just a natural form of communication? Or was he using flirting as a tactic to get a percentage off the price? He did just have to pay for gas, after all.

But Henry’s blood was pumping. He was comforting himself, soothing his hand up and down his leg, because he knew Zack, and Zack wasn’t the type of person to intentionally hurt him. To do something terrible to manipulate their relationship. Despite it all—the pranks, the taunting, the teasing, and his reputation—Zack was someone special. So special, that Henry daydreamed about his sunbathed skin. So special, that when he looked into the eyes of someone else's blues, he only thought of how Zack’s blue eyes were a better shade. When he heard some stranger flirt with someone he didn’t know, he couldn’t help but critique their methods, because he knew Zack would do better than them.

Though… in the end, Zack always looked at Henry.

Before they even dated, whenever Zack scored a date with his searing tongue, he would look at Henry with such wide, innocent eyes. And he always looked at him like he wanted something from Henry. For Henry to tell him something, almost. Maybe even admit a deep, dark secret.

Hope. The sparkle in his eyes had been hope, maybe a little dread.

Henry swallowed.

He wasn’t mad at Zack about it.

Maybe he was just afraid that the woman would want Zack, and actually give him the love that he deserved.

Henry felt his pulse within his temple, and he scrubbed at it with numb fingers. His eyes pulled from the two, and landed comically on the glovebox again.

He looked at Zack again. Then to the glovebox.

Fuck it. If Zack wanted to flirt with someone else, making them want him when he himself only wanted Henry, then Henry could fucking eat Zack’s gummy bears in retaliation.

He sunk his fingers into the sinkhole below the lever, pulling until it opened, gently lowering it to not make a sound. Henry’s eyes immediately landed on the package—and if he had to admit it to himself, he barely even registered that it was gummy bears at all until he read the front. It looked more like a file. Some sort of folder.

In one swoop, in one breath, he grabbed the gummy bears and ripped open the packaging, delving his hand in and pulling out a dark red one.

He wasted no time in plopping it into his mouth, not even bothering to examine the gummy first. He chewed, observing the cars that were on the road breeze past as he melted into the taste, which… was a bit strange. It tasted like gummy bears, it was mouthwatering like them at least, but something tasted… off.

He couldn’t place it.

Just as he was taking out another one, he heard Zack’s footsteps rounding the truck again, his voice a murmur and his shoulders hunched.

Zack yanked open the driver’s seat door, and immediately Henry was filled with complaints. “‘We only accept cash.’ What kind of bullshit is that? Since when did we regress back to the 1900’s? Nobody in this fuckass century uses cash anymore!”

“You tell ‘em, babe,” encouraged Henry as he swallowed his first gummy bear, plopping the second one in his mouth immediately after.

Zack turned to him. “Henry, use your laser on her.”

“What? No!”

“Well, then… I don’t know! Throw a rock at her forehead!” Zack crossed his arms, slumping against his seat. His eyes flicked—finally—to the gummy bears in Henry’s lap. He eyed Henry with speculation, then slowly snagged a gummy for himself. “It’ll be big enough for you to not miss,” he finished, analyzing the bear between his thumb and index finger before flicking it into his mouth.

Laughing, Henry replied, “I’m not gonna chuck a rock at her—”

“When did you leave Chevy MG42?” interrupted Zack with a raised eyebrow.

Henry swallowed the gummy in his mouth, fetching himself another one as he said, “I didn’t.”

Zack’s face winded with confusion, eyeing Henry as he tossed the gummy in the air and caught it in his mouth. “What?”

Henry would’ve laughed, if it wasn’t for the alertness of Zack’s voice.

Forcing an admittedly tense chuckle, Henry darted his eyes around and said, “Yeah, I got these from your glovebox. I left my wallet at home.”

“Holy shit,” coughed Zack, which sounded more like a laugh—either way, he immediately smothered it with his hand. “Henry,” he scolded with a gasp, sounding just like a parent who was disciplining their child.

“What?” Henry asked, feeling the blood draining from his face and his heart excellerating.

He did something wrong.

And he hated the feeling that came with it. The sweating, the knotting within his stomach, and the goosebumps the rose despite his warming face.

“What the fuck did I do?” Henry quered, and he was aware that he sounded defeated. “Just cut to the chase, lay it on me.”

Zack stared at Henry’s profile for a beat. “Alright,” he said, shrugging. “Those gummy bears are edibles.”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows. “No fuckin’ duh they’re edible.”

Zack let out a guffaw. “No!” As Zack laughed harder, Henry felt his cheeks burn more, biting down on his lower lip as he helplessly watched. “No, no, Hen. I’m talking about weed. Here, look.” Zack reached over and grabbed the package, examining it before flipping it so that the front was facing Henry. Zack tapped the red logo on the bottom left… oh.

Oh, fuck.

“See?” Zack asked, tilting his head, index tapping incessantly on the simplified cannabis sativa plant. “It’s weed. Edibles is just the term for weed mixed into food.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” agreed Zack, a little derogatorily. “How many did you eat?”

Henry looked to the third gummy in his hand, then pulled his lips back. “…Three.”

Zack flipped the package, reading the front. A slight grimace pulled at his cheeks. “I mean… I think you’ll be okay? It’s only twenty milligrams per.”

Henry’s eyes widened, mouth hanging open. “Only twenty!— Twenty… fucking… fucking twenty…” he pointed to the package then back to Zack—at some point, Henry even pointed at himself. “You mean to tell me that I have eighty fucking milligrams of weed in my system?!”

“I’m so glad that you can count, babe,” remarked Zack with a smile. With a heaving chest, Henry lowered his chin and glared harshly at Zack, which quickly wiped the grin off of his face. “Okay, okay! No need to panic, you’re gonna be okay,” comforted Zack with waving hands.

Henry only scowled deeper. “I don’t know if you know this, Zack,” he began, teeth the clenched to the point his jaw was soreing, “but I don’t have a fucking tolerance for this shit. Our definitions of ‘okay’ are very different.”

“Well, you’re a big boy, right? You’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah, physically. I’m about to trip my fucking balls off!”

Zack gave Henry a look, turning to buckle himself in. “It’s edibles, Hen, not Ketamine.”

“Weed still makes you trip!”

“Henry!” Zack elevated his tone, giving him a soft but stern stare. “Look, I’ll admit it, you took a… decently high dose… But you’ll be okay.” He nodded to him, continuing until Henry found himself nodding back. Zack put the car into drive, letting it course forward. “The biggest symptoms you’ll feel are cottonmouth, sleepiness, maybe some dizziness, and altered senses, mainly sight and smell. It’s just gonna be… overstimulating”

Henry let out a shaky breath, staring straight ahead with burning, unblinking eyes. He gripped the door's assist grip until his knuckles blanched, his other hand shaking against his knee.

“I think it’s kicking in,” Henry said, his voice so light one would think he was a little girl.

Zack let out an exasperated sigh next to him. “It’s not. It takes a while before edibles kick in.”

“Then why am I feeling this way?!” Henry gasped out.

“You’re nervous? Anxious?” Zack offered, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. “You’re fine, Hen. It shouldn’t kick in for another twenty minutes.”

Henry gave Zack an appalled look, which Zack promptly ignored. Slowly, he leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes and wishing, praying, that nobody at school would notice.

—

Zack didn’t take them to school like Henry had initially thought.

Time, as they drove, seemed to fade from Henry’s fingertips. Henry’s eyes would flick to the time, read it and know it, blink, and the time went up by ten. It was a slow, yet fast and powerful thing that felt sudden, but Henry was aware that it had occurred steadily. It was just so slow that when it was suddenly in full effect, it felt like an immediate punch to the face. Henry, in his rapidly, quieting mind, associated it with those sneak attacks in movies. Where the main character snuck up on the opposing threat and snapped their neck. Sudden, but it was incoming the entire time.

Had the sun always been this bright? Had the air always smelt of the small jar of vanilla that was halfway filled dangling from Zack’s mirror? Was air always this easy and satisfying to breathe in? Was his skull really this light?

Henry removed his temple from the window, tilting towards Zack with a lopsided grin. He opened his mouth with words on his mind, questions like carousel horses that were galloping too fast.

He wondered if Zack knew his truck smelt of sharp vanilla, if he knew the sky was too blue for the winter weather, if he knew the sun was…

But as he looked at Zack’s side profile, the carousel stopped abruptly. Henry found himself looking at one horse, brighter than the rest, larger than them all, with a horn protruding from its forehead, the light at the tip of it so addictive and sweet that Henry found himself gobbsmacked.

And as he looked at Zack… the sun painted him an orange tint, with red highlighting the lines of his spare hair and slope of the nose. On the dot of his nose, there was a gleaming star—on the side of his chin, bridge of the nose, and slide of his cheekbone, it was like damp concrete that gave off a shine, reflecting the rays of light it received.

Holy fuck, Zack was the sun.

Henry’s fingers twitched, craving something more than words suddenly.

Craving something more than simple hand holding.

Because he had never wanted to graze the sun without embodying embers more than he did now.

The thing was, he didn’t know how.

The sun slowly looked at him, his eyes—his eyes, holy fuck the sun knew exactly what stole his breath away—on him, and Henry never wanted those sky high irises to be on anybody else ever again. The sun looked at Henry’s melting face like it was all he ever wanted to see, like if Henry were to die he would gouge his eyes out, because a world without Henry was like living life blind.

The sun’s eyes were blue like the ocean that the sky reflected, the sky that he resides in, and fuck if Henry didn’t want to swim in them until he drowned.

Huskily, Henry whispered, “Are you real?” And it wasn’t what he meant to say at all. He wanted to scream at it, hiding underneath the shade of looming shadows. ‘Go away!’ or, ‘I hate you!’ he’d yell from his cowardice throat, hugging his knees close to his chest with a tremble.

Instead, he was out in the open, letting flowers brush his ankles, caressing his achilles heel with such care that he found himself trusting the plants to not slice it in half.

The sun’s eyes were beginning to burn against his skin, making the paleness of his flesh shrivel to a flushing red.

Weirdly, despite the dull ache of his skin and the ticklishness of the grass, Henry found himself grinning.

Because the sun was looking at him.

Not the woman selling lottery tickets.

Not anybody who passes or touches him on the shoulder.

Just Henry.

Only Henry.

A nice, sizzling vibration released from the sun’s throat, like he was considering something. “Uhm…” He lifted his hand from the wheel, rolling his sleeve up, pinching his skin at the wrist—Henry flinched at that. “I’m feeling pretty real, Hen.”

“Why did you do that?” Henry asked, pointing to the blushing spot where the sun burned himself with his fingers.

The sun gave him a strange look, his eyebrows pinched and all—but Henry found the look quite… endearing. “I’m gonna pull over, okay?”

Henry blinked. It felt like a million years. The engine growled as the sun shifted gears, Henry feeling as they slowed and pulled off somewhere… When they stopped, there was a sort of panic that Henry couldn’t exhale. “Why’d we stop?”

“You,” began the sun, unbuckling himself, “need fresh air.” He pushed open his door, hopping out before closing it behind him, and the panic within Henry’s stomach rose into his throat.

Unlocking his jaw, Henry whispered, “Sun?” He wished to speak louder, to call out to the sun louder. Closing his eyes, he wished for it to come back, eyelids squeezing so hard a throbbing manifested.

Henry’s door then opened, light painting the walls of the vehicle gold, making Henry’s blood warm and shine through his skin until he was pink all over. Henry peered out, smiling at the figure there.

“You came back…” remarked Henry with a blooming smile, eyes shining. He sounded of adoration, admiration, so high on life, almost like nothing bad ever occurred on the Earth’s soil. Henry attempted to step out of the truck, to reach for the sun—but something was holding him back. The panic came back, churning to the point he thought he was going to vomit. Henry began jerking himself forward harshly, not caring about how his heart skipped from the force of it.

He wanted out.

He wanted to reach the sun.

“Hey,” the sun soothed, his steady hand approaching him. “Relax.”

Like a snap of a finger, Henry did. He immediately froze, eyes immediately on the sun, and he let the sun’s hand approach him.

The sun’s hand slipped past Henry, lowering to his side. The sun’s eyes twinkled with amusement as a click hit Henry’s ears. “You forgot to unbuckle, Swellview.”

Staring into those blue eyes before him, ocean-strong and with currents highlighted by the sun, Henry suddenly couldn’t remember what the sun just said to him. He just smiled, surging his head forward towards the other, and the sun flinched back from the oncoming headbutt, stepping back to let Henry out.

The thin, crisp layer of frost blanketed over light-brown, dead grass crunched under the pressure of Henry feet—the edge of his vision vibrated, little specks crowding the corners, his sight now limited and tunneled. He found his knees numb, blinking slowly and coming to an overhead outlook of Swellview. Henry’s teeth felt fragile, to the point where he debated whether they were about to shatter if he clenched his teeth any harder—but despite that, the corners of his mouth stretched until there was a pulling resistance, his eyes pricking from unblinking lids, and all he could think aloud was, “This is mine.”

And Swellview was coated in gold, the rising sun being the cause; the buildings were still standing because of Henry, and it was possible for Swellview to look so gorgeous because of him.

It was still there because of him, and if he wasn’t there, it would all be gone.

Sure, it was Ray’s too, maybe even mostly.

But right now, it was almost like Ray didn’t exist.

It was suddenly easier to pretend that the town only needed Kid Danger.

A breath of fresh air.

“Yeah.” The softness of the voice lulled Henry’s head to the blinding sight of the sun—only smiling, only ever being happy, and being a source of Henry's own. “It’s yours, forever and always.”

“Forever and always?” echoed Henry with a snort, a slanted smile that was easier to hold resting on his face.

Slowly, the sun nodded, eyes lowered with consideration. “…Yeah. You take care of the town, you know?” He dipped his head to the roofs of the suburban homes splayed across beneath them. “You take care of them, of us.”

“Us?” The memory of their two fingers brushing throbbed in Henry’s mind addictively—how Henry’s wrist had been flush against the guitar, and how everything had seemed lighter yet so much more detrimental with the sun’s loose fingers against his tense joints.

Us.

Henry and Zack.

Two swans.

“Us.” And the sun’s—Zack’s—eyes were sharp, blue, and on Henry now.

“Do you think I help people?” Henry asked suddenly, because Zack’s opinions were facts to Henry’s brain.

“I think you do that and more, Hen,” said Zack without missing a beat, without even thinking.

“I save people?” Tears pricked the corners of Henry’s eyes, his chin creasing and wobbling.

Zack continued to eye him, his tongue brushing his lower lip—a nervous, rare tic. He inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut—and it felt like a heart attack, the sudden absence of Zack’s eyes, because they seemed to keep Henry’s heart going—and there was a peaceful look painted on his face, just like the glow of the sun washing stress clean off of his face. “Yeah, you save people…” he said slowly, his eyelashes fluttering and rising, his eyes appearing shortly after.

Henry nodded, his shoes magically interesting.

A beat passed.

It wasn’t awkward, but something numb was in Henry’s chest—he took a moment to figure out that he was missing Zack’s voice.

“You let people die on their own terms,” said Zack, bringing warmth to the numbness. “Like… children get to grow older because of you. Parents get to go to work relaxed with the knowledge that their kids, no matter what, are safe in this town. Not even that, but they won’t have to worry about the impossible happening to themselves with you here. Because you’ll stop it. No matter what, you’ll stop it.” Gingerly, Zack put all his weight onto his right leg, craning his left up just a little so that his tippy toes were the only thing on the ground.

Henry lowered himself to the ground, and when Zack tilted his head down at him, Henry patted the spot next to him.

Zack, a little clumsily, carefully crossed his legs and sat criss-crossed next to him, face scrunched with pain, like he was trying to keep it away instead of embracing it.

Henry stared at Zack, eyes flicking from his legs to his face. “Are you okay?” And he tried to ignore how sticky his cheeks were, how congested his voice came out to be.

Zack returned his look with vacant eyes for a moment, like he was debating something. Even though there was no thought evident in his eyes, it was in his form—in his hunched shoulders, contrasting his relaxed fingers.

And there was another pause.

The push of the wind was drying Henry’s tears—it should be Zack’s thumbs brushing them away.

The golden wash over Zack's face was easy on Henry's eyes—he was the sun, and Henry was sunbathing.

The frost was melting against the warmth of Henry’s legs—it reminded him of how Henry melted under Zack’s touch that one time, and how he always melted under his gaze.

Zack’s index finger twitched.

“I’ve been having some… issues with my knee.”

Henry cocked his head. “Issues?” He swallowed—his tongue was strangely dry.

“Yeah…” Zack’s empty eyes morphed into something of… remorse.

Henry’s heart dangerously skipped a beat.

“I’ve… I’ve been in a lotta pain recently…”

Henry tried not to over react.

He felt the franticness build in his palms, his wrists begging to maneuver his hands to cup Zack’s face and comfort him and vanquish the pain immediately. He felt the carousel in his head begin to spin, the song it played beating around his mind, setting an adrenaline pump through his veins, similar to the adrenaline he felt as Kid Danger.

He tried to stop it.

He bit his lips to seal his words. He rolled his fingers to form a fist to freeze an action. He tensed his body up, hiking his shoulders to his ears to hold himself back.

But his teeth were fragile, in the end.

They weren’t very strong.

“A lot of pain?” he questioned loudly, hearing it echo around them lightly. It didn’t travel far, but it was enough for Zack to perk up and stare widely at Henry with shocked and perturbed eyes.

“No, no!” Zack immediately argued, waving his hands at Henry. “No, not a lot! Just a little, you know? Feels more like a pinch,” he said with a laugh, worry in his eyes, his cheekbones pinched pink.

“Are you lying to me?”

Zack blinked before saying, “No!” And Henry continued to eye him, hoping that his stare was akin to Carey’s peer pressuring gaze. But Henry wasn’t Carey—wasn’t of her blood, of her DNA—so he couldn’t replicate it. “I’m not,” said Zack with a firm voice, and Henry chose to believe him.

Deep down, he didn’t.

It was in his skipping heart, how the processing of his mind argued with it, and how the words tasted wrong in the air between them. His intestines were similar to a red alarm just then—bright, swirling, giving everything within the dreaded feeling of something being off in the universe.

But in that moment—in the split between true and false, fact and opinion—Henry chose, consensually, to believe Zack.

He decided that Zack’s blue-guilt eyes were reflecting the truth, that the twitching of his curled fingers were a physical representation of verity, and that his words were solid and steady despite knowing—and knowing it well—that Zack’s vocals had been wobbly and precarious.

Zack’s lies always translated wrong into Henry’s brain.

It was always heard as the truth.

Ignorance was bliss.

And Henry said, “Okay,” because what else was he to say?

But it was worth it; the sirens in his stomach, the shivering of his veins, and the chemical imbalance in his brain.

Because that damned signature smile grew back, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

And Henry wanted nothing more than to hold him, to embrace his shiny exterior that never failed to blind him and burn him when he got too close.

Henry inched his hand closer to Zack’s leg, the frost upon the ground flaking onto his fingers, kissing them numb.

He froze when his cheeks heated up, contrasting against the cold air.

He glanced at Zack’s eyes, whose own were on Henry’s hand.

A small, closed-mouth smile formed on Henry’s face.

Maybe... if it was Zack that started it, it wouldn’t be as bad. Maybe, if Zack held his hand first, Henry wouldn’t collapse into a sopping wet puddle.

So he tried to act oblivious to his own forwardness, to the offer he was willing to give to Zack.

And they watched the sun until it hit its peak.

Zack ended up not doing anything.

Henry tried not to let it eat at his starving body.

—

Zack smiled at Henry, eyes still foggy from the edibles, and Henry smiled back, feeling lighter than usual.

They arrived back at school during the passing period, time ticking closer and closer to lunch.

Lunch wasn’t an ideal period anymore. Sure, Henry had lunch with Charlotte and Jasper, even Cody; but Zack wasn’t a part of it. He had a different lunch period, and it was fine because Zack had friends to hang with—the boy had connections to every single person in the school, and maybe Swellview in general, he was never going to be lonely—and Henry had Jasper and Charlotte, and at the beginning he had Cody…

But Cody didn’t hangout with them much anymore.

To be honest, Henry should’ve seen it coming; Cody and Zack had been having some sort of tension recently, and Cody had been slowly retracting away from everyone for a while.

It was evident why as Henry passed the third displayed image of Cody in some obscure club with an award hung up in the hallway.

A firm grip was suddenly on his backpack, guiding him down a different hallway that beheld classrooms on either side. He was then steered into a room that was—somehow—brighter than the hallway, forcing Henry to squint as he looked around.

He looked to Zack, who was just behind him, hand still gripping his backpack. “This isn’t Math,” remarked Henry, blinking owlishly at Zack.

“Yeah, this is History.” Zack rolled his eyes fondly, pushing Henry into the room further so that they weren’t blocking the door. “You know, your fourth period?”

“But I have Math fourth?” Henry questioned, letting Zack push him into a chair before settling into the one next to him.

Then Zack peered at Henry, mouth slanted. “Henry, that was last year.”

Henry sputtered, his mind and lips feeling of rubber. He wanted to say something, say that he was being an idiot because of the weed in his lungs, but his mind was two steps behind his mouth.

Just as he went to speak, some woman unfamiliar to Henry’s mind approached them with a clipboard. “Hello, boys!” She leaned down and slid the clipboard onto Henry’s desk. “Could you just put a check next to your name for me?” Henry side eyed her, his dry tongue flush to the roof of his mouth—before Henry could do anything, Zack grabbed the paper and checked two names off, passing it back to the woman with a charming smile. The woman looked down at the attendance. “Thank you…”

“Jasper,” Zack completed for her.

She nodded, smiling widely at him. “Thank you, Jasp.” Zack beamed a ridiculous smile as soon as the woman clicked away to the teachers desk, inputting the attendance into the system—that was when the real Jasper barged in, a dribble of sweat rolling down his temple as he sat down behind Henry.

And immediately, Jasper was groaning, “Holy shit, I hate my Science teacher.” He ran his hands down his face, then slapped them against two stapled pieces of papers. “You know that weird ass Nuclear Energy essay that I was complaining about on Friday? Yeah, well guess what? She marked it absent! And now my grade’s a low eighty instead of a high eighty! Like, did she really expect anyone to finish a damn five paragraph essay in forty-five fucking minutes?!” He breathed in sharply, rubbing his nose—he froze suddenly, slowly turning to face Zack in the most animated way possible. Hissing, Jasper pointedly accused, “And what the hell are you doing here?!”

Zack dipped his head down and used his index to lift the shell of his ear. “Come again?” he asked with a snarky grin.

Jasper stammered for a moment, whipping around to the substitute, then looking over his shoulder at Zack. “You aren’t supposed to be in here!” he whispered-screamed, shaking his hands at Zack’s face.

Zack’s face deadpanned, though Henry noticed how his eyes flicked to the substitute occasionally. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Jasp, I’ve been in this class all year.”

Henry could almost see the fumes erupting from Jasper's ears. “Dude, your class is on the other side of the school.”

“And your proof?”

“Zack, Henry’s always late because you make him walk you to your class everyday.” Jasper side eyed Henry. “Tell him!”

Henry groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Please don’t put me in the middle of this.”

“Dude,” Jasper exhaled, jaw dramatically dropping. He inched closer to Henry, eyes fluttering around, inspecting every inch of his face with speculation. “Are you high?” he asked, toning it in a joking and unserious manner.

“I’m high,” inputted Zack, laughing as soon as it left his mouth, like it was the funniest sentence ever—Henry had to cover his mouth to shield his smile.

Jasper gawked at Zack, then whipped his head back to Henry. “Are you hearing this shit?”

Closing his eyes, Henry rubbed his temple with two fingers. “Loud and clear, Jasp.”

“Uh, then put a leash on your boyfriend! I swear, as of recently, every time I’ve seen him he’s faded as shit!”

Henry peeled an eyelid open, flicking his eye to Zack, who immediately returned the blank look.

It was called a Domino Effect for a reason: Zack pursed his lips to hold back a laugh, which led to Henry snorting and tilting his head away, which then led to Zack cackling, and he was laughing so ridiculously and stupidly that Henry couldn’t hold back.

And when Jasper whispered, “Oh my god,” to himself, there was suddenly no end in sight—Henry barked out a laugh so hard and painfully that he crossed his arms and hid his head. “You’re both high.”

Henry knew he had to stop—people around them were beginning to look.

But god, the feeling in his chest was addictive, as were the tears stinging his eyes, as was the flush blossoming upon his skin. Every push of air that wheezed from his lungs was like a dose of sunshine, making him brighter and brighter from the inside out. He could feel how his red blood turned gold, and how it illuminated through his skin and made him glow.

Every inhale was a shuttering, rattling of the throat; but every exhale was a booming rocket shooting for the sky.

And it decreased, the laughter, turning into occasional snickers that sounded like coughing.

Jasper looked from Henry to Zack to Henry again, his face suddenly normal. “God, whatever, don’t include me in your shenanigans I guess.” And Henry nearly broke again, thankfully keeping it in as Jasper turned to Zack, saying, “And who are you pretending to be during your stay here, hm?”

Zack cracked a smile. “Oh, you know him really well,” he said, his grin expanding too widely for it to not be brimming with a scheme.

Jasper looked confused for a beat, flicking his eyes to Henry—then, all at once, Jasper’s face dropped as his eyes widened. “Dude!” he seethed, glaring at Zack deeply. “You—”

“Too late, bro.” Zack leaned back, running a hand through his fringe. “She already called me ‘Jasp’, it’s so over for you. Better luck next time.”

“Bro…” Jasper whispered, his eyes reflecting his shattering heart. “You’re such an asshole.”

It had looked like Jasper was being playful—though Henry was only seeing half of his face…

But when he turned to face the front, meeting Henry’s eyes briefly before flicking them down to the table, resting his head on his palm while huffing loudly, Henry started second guessing his assumption.

Henry’s eyes met Zack’s unsurely, eyebrows furrowed and mouth winded.

Zack, himself, just shrugged, his true uncaring and lazy self peeking through his pretty eyes, mouthing to Henry, “He’ll get over it.”

—

“Today’s really not my day, man.”

The school's air was boiling and stuffy today, however the outside severely contrasted it with its clear skies and blowing air. Henry was silently watching it, chewing over and over on shitty cafeteria food as Charlotte and Jasper were yapping around him; Jasper to his right, Charlotte in front of him.

But then… Jasper sounded defeated, and that was when Henry decided to melt into his two best friends’ conversation.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly, her glossy lips that were refracting the screaming overhead lights shifting like water. “What happened?” she asked, relatively concerned.

Despite the soggy, moody weather and the bland atmosphere of their high school, Charlotte still somehow managed to look unaffected by it all. Her fuller cheekbones were shining, her brown eyes and dark skin somehow golden from the spare rays of sun hitting her like a spotlight, and her voice was chipper like people didn’t die every day. Her goddess braids were decorated with shimmering jewelry, somehow managing to make the shine in her eyes brighter.

And as she straightened her head, Henry almost missed how the jewelry twinkled when they would brush against each other. It was a beautiful sound, perfect for a beautiful woman.

Jasper’s mouth gaped, eyes flinching around, trying to gather shitty-formed words. His strong jaw clenched, his bright, curly hair shifting like moving clouds highlighted by the hiding sun as he ran a hand through the strands, and Henry had a moment to think, ‘I’m surrounded by gorgeous people.’

Eventually, Jasper managed a, “My essay’s stained,” after a couple finger taps later.

“Stained?” Charlotte quered, her lips pulling up almost. “How did you manage that?”

Jasper glared at her, gesturing to her with a hand. “Why do you immediately assume that it’s my fault?”

“‘Cause most of the time it is.”

Jasper glowered at her, clearly offended but choosing not to argue—it wasn’t a good choice to argue with Charlotte, after all. “Some douche shoulder-checked me in the hallway. And, you know, I was holding a delectable beverage in my hand—”

“—Yeah, your usual morning Coke—”

“—And I was mid sip when—”

“—You know, I think the guy was just helping you out,” Charlotte interrupted again, stealing one of Henry’s stale fries—immediately, her face cringed. “How do you guys eat this shit religiously? This has got to carry Salmonella.”

Jasper furrowed his eyebrows at her, impatience embedded into his tapping fingers. “Can’t you let me finish my story?”

“Why? I already know the end,” said Charlotte, breaking the fry in half, studying the inside where rough pale resided. “It’s not like you fought the guy… Christ, I need to see this shit under a microscope…”

“Yeah, yeah, the fry is poisonous! Jesus, we can move past the origin story… Can you just check and see if my essay’s salvageable?” Jasper practically begged.

Charlotte sighed with an exasperated eye roll, flicking the fry away to flap her fingers to Jasper. “Let me see it.”

Jasper hunched towards his backpack—the brisk sound of a zipper opening and closing hit Henry’s ears, the pale piece of stapled paper from early entering his vision. Jasper gave it a once over. “Okay, so I could have been exaggerating—”

Charlotte leaned over the table and snatched it from Jasper’s grasp, the boy barely even having time to react to it. “What class is this for? You’re not in any AP’s?” And Charlotte sounded genuinely perplexed, flopping the paper around to stare at Jasper. “Even Cody and I don’t have to write five paragraphs in AP Lang.”

“I’m saying!” Jasper slammed in his hands on the table, people nearby glaring in their direction—Jasper offered them a abashed smile, but his energy was clearly still spiked, undeterred. “Like, this is on level Environmental Science. The class isn’t even supposed to be difficult!”

“And yet, Zack has a C in it,” Charlotte remarked, her eyes returning to the stained paper.

Henry found his hazy eyes studying the paper. The corners were splotched with a pale brown color, making the paper crisp and rough, most likely textured to the touch. The graphite there was smudged, the words unintelligible, making Henry wince internally.

“I’m pretty sure he forgot about the essay,” agreed Jasper, relaxing back into his seat, crossing his arms. “Remember, this is the same guy that got blackout drunk, and his excuse was ‘I was thirsty’.”

Charlotte chuckled, flipping the paper to read the other side. “That checks out.” She flexed her fingers, egging Henry’s eyes to look at them.

The skin around her fingers’ joints looked like bark from a damp tree—the spots that shined were akin to droplets of rain, glistening like exotic rings.

Henry found himself unblinking. Unable to, truthfully.

He eventually pulled his eyes away from Charlotte's hand, sticking his pupils on the scenery outside.

Henry’s mind was blank. As he studied the dip of the rays of sunlight that reached the grass outside, he thought he would correlate it to something… but really, he didn’t even have to think at all—because his body knew damn well that the sun was Zack.

It wasn’t even a debate anymore.

Just a simple fact of life.

The grass was green, the sky was blue, Zack was the sun, and Henry couldn’t stop basking beneath his stare.

And it was soothing him as he observed the rays of sunlight. It reminded him that Zack loved him, even when he wasn’t with Henry. It never stopped, an endless riverbank instead.

“Henry?”

Henry blinked after so long of not, his eyes stinging, which prompted his hands to shoot up and rub them until the burning subsided. “Hm, yeah?” he asked, hating how slurry and disorienting his voice came out to be. He blinked a couple times before making eye contact with the voice, Charlotte.

Her eyebrows pinched with concern. “Are you okay?”

Henry opened his mouth to reply, but Jasper beat him to it. “Henry’s high, Char.”

Charlotte gave Jasper a critical look. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yup,” Jasper sighed, wiping his brow, like he was sweating.

Charlotte side eyed Henry, then returned her gaze to Jasper. “Zack?”

“Zack.”

“Jesus.” Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose, her mouth cringing. There was a slight, bitter glimmer in her eyes, the usual look she got when she was theorizing something, or figuring out every single outcome of a situation. It was familiar. It was grounding Henry’s levitating mind.

“He’s been doing it more often…” Jasper began hesitantly, tapping the table again. His muscles were tight, a certain subject matter on the tip of his tongue that refused to come out.

“Who? Henry?” Charlotte asked, her tone teetering on irritation.

“Oh, yeah, Henry, the guy who’s never been high a day in his life,” Jasper clipped sarcastically. “No, Char, I’m talking about Zee.”

Charlotte flicked her nails together, pursing her lips, eyes still showcasing her inner thoughts. “Well… I… do you know why?”

“I think you and I both know why.”

Charlotte went oddly quiet at that, her eyes slowly dragging to Henry. Henry peered at her, a weird rhythm beginning in his heart. Well, ever since the edibles hit his heart felt a little funny, beating either too loudly or too faintly—but this feeling was… different. Suffocating him, almost.

Was it the way they were talking about him like he wasn’t there?

Was it the way they were talking about Zack?

Was it the way that Charlotte’s eyes elevated with concern the longer she looked at him?

It was almost painful, the heaviness within his chest.

But the pain was so vague that it felt as if nothing was there at all.

Maybe it was the aftermath of an explosion of his heart, aching until every wall, every crevice was okay again.

“Hen,” Charlotte spoke.

Hesitantly, and a little distant mindedly, Henry replied, “Yeah?”

“We love Zee,” she said, her smooth, gentle, dark hand moving towards Henry’s buzzing fingers, her nude nails almost poking his skin. “He’s our friend too, you know.”

Henry stared at Charlotte's hand like it was a threat—he managed a stiff nod.

“But this isn’t…” Charlotte stuttered, swallowing her difficult words. “Something isn’t right, Hen, and we… I don’t wanna see you get hurt. I don't know how you’re not seeing it when it’s right in front of you, but… Zack’s not… okay.”

“He’s fine,” Henry snapped, retracting his hand and crumbling it into his lap.

He knew what this was about. It was obvious in the way his friends shared a tense look, uncomfortable in the eyes, and anxiously staring at Henry like he was some kind of person in denial about their lover being dead.

“He said that his knee’s fine.”

“And Zack’s a well known liar,” Jasper stated, like it was factual, a natural thing of life. “A good one at that.”

“How would you guys even know?!” Henry seethed through his teeth, and suddenly the slow burning of weed wasn’t in his brain anymore—at least, not as prominent, maybe pushed to the back of his mind now.

“Do you see how he walks?” Jasper asked, appalled.

Before Henry could argue against Jasper, say how it’s always been like that despite knowing it wasn’t true, Charlotte then said, “Zack’s in pain, Henry.”

Henry shut his trap at that.

Chapter Text

And I know it's been a long time coming

I'm angry and I know that's weak

So I'm trying not to be so bitter

I'm just looking at it honestly

The sight of falling shards of glass was tantamount to the gorgeous image of fluttering snowflakes.

The moon was at its peak, the night time halfway through, dawn just hours away from being born, and yet Kid Danger felt like it was forever in the distance.

Blood was on his hands—he couldn’t see it, but he could feel it.

Wind was sharp, almost cutting, yet everything felt still. His skin was oddly itchy, the blood sticky and slimy as his index finger pressed against his thumb, retracting it in the same breath. Everything was dark, so dark that he felt vaguely nervous.

But then he realized his eyes were closed.

He opened them, and saw fire before him, refracting glass that shone whitely and blindly; snow-like.

A robbery.

A simple robbery was what it had been.

But…

Blood wasn’t supposed to be so heavy. So noticeably heavy.

“Henry.”

And Kid Danger turned, his mind suddenly blinking awake and retorting, ‘I’m not Henry right now. I’m never Henry with this mask on.’ Turned out, sometimes Henry broke through such damned mask, and Kid Danger would succumb to the coward's brain. So, he didn’t say that—didn’t say a thing when he turned to the familiar and damaged face of Captain Man’s.

He was pointing, Captain Man, and his eyebrows were drawn. His mouth was parting, and he was pissed. He was shouting, but Kid Danger couldn’t hear him. Reminiscently, Kid Danger recalled an explosion; it was amnesic to his mind, now.

The fire was bright when Kid Danger’s eyes returned to it. It was hot, large, and blanketed the entire cracked and twisted building that was once standing there. Bodies were in there, he couldn’t help but remember.

Blood was on his hands.

Kid Danger blinked, and something shifted; it was noticeable in the way the fire was now blue instead of orange, and in the way the air was now suffocating.

He turned to look at Captain Man, but he was no longer there.

He looked down, and in his place was a dog.

A Husky. A Siberian Husky that was sitting so obediently and starry-eyed that it made Kid Danger’s knees shake. His tongue was out, and mouth stretched back to create the image that he was potentially smiling.

His eyes were so blue.

So familiarly blue.

His fur was soft, face so innocent and friendly and loving that Kid Danger wanted to reach out and pet it—touch it—but something was preventing him.

No, he knew.

The blood.

the fucking blood.

It would stain him, that precious fur and that precious innocence.

Kid Danger felt his mask cracking.

It wasn’t supposed to do that.

It was wrong for it to do that.

He clasped his hands together, and he turned away from the husky—his eyes were all he could picture whenever he blinked, but he started to walk away just to spite it.

In the background, there was whimpering along with the wild sound of growing fire. The husky sounded in pain.

Kid Danger kept walking.

—

Henry woke up with a soaking forehead, cottonmouth, and bleary eyes.

For a moment, he was lost, with no knowledge of his surroundings as he sat up, pointing his wrist around before realizing that he wasn’t wearing his watch.

His stomach was cold, the piercing air merging into his muscles, soaking within them until they burst out and painted his skin with goosebumps. His eyes were numb, tingling, like a once sleepy foot that had been cut from oxygen and now was filling back up with precious blood.

He saw the familiar layout of his room, but he didn’t ease. His heart continued to race, and even though his mind was bare, it still felt so very heavy.

He was becoming everything he feared.

Zack’s name was a mantra, but one that made his bones feel like ash, and his eyes snap around with paranoia. He was half expecting to see Zack’s form on the floor, limbs distorted and eyes vacant; and maybe those dead eyes would flick to Henry, eyeing the carnage, blaming it all on him.

But Zack wasn’t here.

Not at all.

The reminiscence of his scent wasn’t lingering in the rigid air, nor was there any hint of warmth; everything was cold, shiveringly raw, and biting.

Zack wasn’t here.

Fuck.

With shuddering fingers, he wrapped his aching digits around his phone, tense from being clutched into a fist tightly for a decent amount of time—time seemed nonexistent, out of his reach. It took longer than Henry liked to admit, but eventually he found Zack’s contact and called him.

But it was useless. Henry knew it was.

Because Zack was—

His ringing phone was loud in the dark, clinging to the air like it was dying, being choked to death by the hands of some oppressor. It vibrated against the shell of his ear and line of his jaw, making his eyes feel like skin against cacti spines.

His train of thought collapsed.

Henry blinked, and tears drizzled down like loose mist.

And that was when the vexatious vibrations cut, silencing the ringing with it. A crack was heard, and for a moment Henry thought that the line was vacant until—

“Hello?”

Henry’s nose was dense, hot, and he felt it go from his sinuses to his nostrils. His throat was an abrasive paper, but his mouth was overflowing with saliva—it didn’t make sense, and maybe that was making it worse.

“Henry?”

Zack’s voice was a recognizable thing; a once annoying sound was now a chord that sent him to a place of nirvana. Henry’s mouth grew dry, his tongue fried and unable to help create and form words. All he could enunciate was, “Huh?”

“Hen,” Zack sighed, and all Henry could really process was the fact that Zack said his name. “It’s two in the morning, you gotta give me a little more than ‘huh’. Words are a thing, you know.” From beyond the line, there was a vague and indistinguishable sound of something opening.

Guilt swarmed and ate at Henry’s stomach; Zack was fine, and it was stupid to even have called him because of some ridiculous thing his mind had created. But, despite what his body was so desperately fighting against, his brain motored his mouth and he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

A beat passed, Henry’s fingers aching from where they were holding his phone. The darkness of his room was beginning to plague his eyes with fatigue. “Words are a thing, Zack.”

“Shut the hell up,” countered Zack, creatively. Henry couldn’t help but lighty, yet roughly snicker at it. The line creaked, and Henry got a brief earful of the familiar pattern of Zack’s footsteps. “Why’re you asking?”

An unexpected feeling of defensiveness overcame Henry’s throat. “Where’re you going?” he lamely retorted.

“Hey, I asked first.” And Henry could almost hear Zack’s signature smirk around his voice, and he hated it as much as he loved it. Verbally, Zack exhaled, and the breath was so far and open, like he was in space. In the silence, Zack’s walking was firm, constant, like he was heading in a certain direction.

Which…

“Are you outside?” Henry asked, looking out his window to the muscular tree standing mere inches from his house.

Zack simply hummed, like he was thinking and checking his surroundings. “Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’.

Henry furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes darted around his room now that his eyes were thoroughly adjusted to the dark. “Why the hell are you outside?”

“What? Is a guy not allowed to take a walk and enjoy the weather?”

“It’s two in the morning, Zack.”

Sharply, making Henry flinch from his phone, Zack laughed which resulted in the line crackling from its volume. “I think you’re avoiding my question.”

“And you’re avoiding mine.”

“Right.” There was brief rustling on the other end, before Zack continued, “Again, I asked you first.”

“Oh, we’re really playing that game?”

“We sure are, baby.”

“And what was your question again?”

This time, Zack’s laugh was airy and soft—an exhale, rather than obnoxious vocals coming out his mouth. “I see you're pulling your usual ‘playing dumb’ card.”

“Playing dumb?” Henry questioned. “I’m not ‘playing dumb’.”

Zack’s throat whizzed in response.

“I’m not.” And when Zack still didn’t verbally reply, Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He eyed the corner of his room, tracing the corner of the wall; how its line sprouted from the floor and grew until it was perched at the end of the ceiling. “What was your question?” He finally supplied, rearranging his legs to be crisscrossed.

“Well, you see, my question has a bit of a backstory that you may or may not be familiar with,” began Zack, his tone biting with a tanging sarcasm that always either made Henry frown or grin. Right now, it was the former. “So, I’m sleeping right? Dreaming a nice dream, all that pizazz, when I’m suddenly rudely awakened by my buzzing phone. And my dream was really nice, Henry, so I have to pick up my phone to see what could possibly be wrong. I answer, and after a while I realize that it’s my lovely boyfriend, who’s crying and not responding to me. And once he talks he sounds—to put it politely—distraught. Literally, his first words were asking me if I’m okay.” Abruptly, interrupting his own sentence, Zack barked out a laugh. “And I’m over here thinking about how ironic that is; my boyfriend, asking me if I’m okay, when he’s the one that’s so obviously crying. But then I realize that something must be wrong with him.” For dramatic effect—Henry believed—Zack paused before continuing, “You’d be as much of an idiot as you're cute to believe that I wouldn’t want him to explain that.”

Henry felt like he was nothing. He wasn’t really frozen—he was breathing, his fingers twitching against his phone, and his teeth grazing against his bottom lip. He was feeling things, like his mattress and blanket, the tears that were drying on his skin, and his sore throat. But he felt… like he was taking up space. That he wasn’t really there. It was like he was once a living thing, but somehow faded from something physical to something ghostly. Like he was air now, mere oxygen to breathe in.

He heard Zack’s breathing, and how it shook with every step he took. Henry had the heart to wonder if it was cold outside, if it was at biting level or just something verging on dry.

“Why’d you call me, Hen.”

And Henry didn’t respond.

It was quiet, so silent that Henry could hear the crickets on the other line. It got to the point where Henry could hear how Zack’s feet slowed, could hear the tinitest jingle of familiar sounding keys between Zack’s fingers, and could hear the sound of something unlocking.

Finally, when Henry heard the achingly familiar sound of Zack’s car door opening, he opened his mouth and asked, “Are you getting in your fucking car?”

Zack responded with a slight cough, simply saying, “I’m coming over.” And Henry could practically see the nonchalant shrug of Zack’s shoulders as he turned the key into the ignition, starting up the engine. He then tacked on at the end, “To answer your question.”

Henry’s eyes widened just a little. “You’re coming over? Now?”

“Uh, duh? I literally just said that.”

“But it’s—”

“Hen, I could care less about the time.”

“Couldn’t care less,” corrected Henry, feeling the snarky grin forming on his face.

Zack immediately groused, “You’ve been hanging around Cody too much.” And Henry could only laugh at that, chalky and bitter-tasting—suddenly, he felt it; the anger that was within his throat that took the form of mucus, the dampness of his cheeks. He hadn’t thought that he’d been crying that hard, or even crying at all, up until Zack pointed it out. Opening his mouth, Henry wanted to ask, ‘How’d you know I was crying?’ because it hadn’t been loud at all, he thought, until Zack beat him to the chase.

Instead, he said, “What can I say? Cody’s fun to be around.” He purposefully left out the part where they don’t hang out much anymore, it would discredit his argument.

“You don’t mean that,” stated Zack, and Henry pictured his signature smile plastered on, side eyeing Henry as if he were in the passenger seat at this very moment.

Henry’s been picturing Zack's face a little too often, these days, whenever he was alone.

It was as if Zack’s face was a virus of some sort, Henry’s brain an old and busted computer. Whenever Henry was awake, eyes open and viewing the world, somehow Zack’s face always was there in his brain, popping up at the randomest of times.

Maybe this was what being in love was like.

Henry doubted that, and immediately shoved the idea of ‘love’ away.

“What if I do mean it?” Henry finally said, after realizing that his throat had been insulated for a while.

“Then I’d think that your brain’s becoming no good. Probably from all the punches you get to the face from your side hustle,” remarked Zack, a vocal cord’s string plucking a teasing harmony.

“No…” Henry shook his head, sliding a hand down his face. His fingers felt the creases on his cheek, and it was confusing for a beat before realizing that he was feeling the smile on his face that he hadn’t realized was there. “It’s definitely not that.”

“Then you must be getting Cody and I confused.” The engine of a car—his truck, Henry realized—vibrated against Henry’s ear’s satisfyingly, admittedly. It brought forth a familiar and warm feeling to Henry’s head. “Which is honestly hurtful, Danger. Thought you’d be able to tell us apart at this point, knowing us since we were twelve and all.” Zack suddenly snorted, laughing out, “And I’m the hot one. That, in itself, is the biggest factor between me and Cody.”

Henry’s never wanted to throttle Zack more in his life. “Alright, cool it, Prince Charming.” His eyes went to his window. “Cody’s not that bad to hang around.”

“Are you kidding? It’s like talking to a wall.”

“Okay, now you’re just being an ass.”

“If being an ‘ass’ is another word for ‘telling the truth’ then I’ll gladly take that title.”

Henry rolled his eyes, his body moving with it as he flopped onto his stomach. “Give Cody a break, man. You have to admit, he has his funny moments.”

“Yeah, when he’s the butt of the joke,” Zack countered, his voice rising in defense and exasperation. “I think the only person who actually laughs at his jokes is Barbara… and she probably does it out of obligation because she’s dating him.”

Severe edge was beginning to crawl at Zack’s vocals, his tone getting more intense. Henry found himself frowning, just slightly. “Hey, Cody’s my friend, Zee—like you said, I’ve known you both since we were twelve, so I think I have enough knowledge to distinguish whether Cody's funny or not at this point.”

Zack grew silent at that.

Henry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I gotta hang up… I don’t wanna wake my parents, you know?”

Zack hummed over the line, “Yeah… I’ll be there in… five minutes?”

Henry nodded, before realizing that Zack couldn’t physically see that and said, “Okay, perfect… Uh, just park down the street, will you? Your truck’s not exactly the quietest thing.”

Zack managed a laugh, and a tension that Henry hadn’t known was in his chest released. “Yeah, yeah, whatever Swellview. I’ll be there soon.”

Henry gave Zack the grace of hearing him laugh one last time before he hung up.

—

When Zack was at the destined spot—just where Henry had told him to be—he shot him a text, twitching Henry’s eyes out of whatever daze it had been in.

After the call had ended, Henry’s mind sort of… slipped from his grasp. It was suddenly fuzzy, the present moment, and all Henry found that he could do was live in the past and predict the future. Instead of getting ready to meet at the spot at the end of his street, he reminisced about the hazey past. And he found that making the past worse than it actually had been was easier to do than trying to picture it perfectly.

And the future?

Well… all he could think about was the fact that Zack was going to die, somehow, someday.

For whatever reason, Henry’s brain recently started putting Zack in dangerous situations in the looming future in the shakiness of Henry’s dreams; a shadow of a gun pressed to Zack’s forehead, waking before the shot could be fired; Zack falling from a dooming height; Zack gutted with a knife as he screamed Henry’s name.

Sometimes, it was Henry holding the knife.

Sometimes, it was Henry who pushed Zack off the cliff.

Sometimes, it was Henry firing the gun into Zack’s cranium.

Dreams always had meanings. Stupidly, they did, and all the time Henry wished that it wasn’t true.

Because what if it had been some… demoralizing metaphor or a formidable sign.

It was better if it was just a nightmare, not something deeper.

But everything was always deeper.

Henry’s head was fuzzy, his toes feeling of buzzing bees against flesh. In the dark, Henry’s fingers were a deep purple complexion, and for whatever reason he made himself begin to believe that they were bruises.

Until his phone lit up, Zack’s name boxed within, and suddenly Henry felt a semblance of normalcy.

The floor was a blistering cold compared to the round swirl of heat in Henry’s body, a sensation he just realized that was there.

Henry began picking pieces of himself off the ground; a grey sweatshirt, throwing a reddish-brown flannel over it to protect his skin against the cold, pairing it with sweatpants and fuzzy socks he’d gotten from Siren for his birthday.

Henry’s phone buzzed deep into the comforter, the sound being absorbed and snuffed by the blanket.

Zack texted again.

Henry ignored it.

He ignored the faint echo of guns going off in the back of his mind, the hissing spark of fire behind his eyes, and the innocent bleeding melt of blue—he pushed it all back as he trudged to his window, letting his feet guide him to the person he was destined to have killed.

—

Seeing Zack in person was kind of jarring.

His truck was along the curb, wheels centimeters from the sidewalk, parked directly next to a streetlight, the bulb pulsing sporadically; the rusty red paint of the truck looked a mellow orange in the light, the windows piercing off star-like glares, and the wheels sprinkled with sharp bursts of water from the melted one-inch snow surrounding them. The wheels were turned in towards the curb, as the truck's nose was angled down the slope of the road—it was a stupid observation, but he embraced it anyway because Zack had told him that it was an important thing to do when parking on a curb, and anything and everything Zack told him was apparently important in Henry’s subconscious mind.

The last thing he noticed was Zack’s arm resting on the parapet of his truck, taking the place of where his window should be. Squinting, Henry noticed his tapping finger, and how each knuckle was blushing pink. Peering his eyes inside, the side of Zack’s face was just, the only thing truly noticeable being the smoke Zack was exhaling from the freezing air.

Zack was wearing his brown leather jacket.

Henry’s nose was numb, as were his lips, as were his ears.

But when Zack perked up and looked over his shoulder, every cold speck thawed upon Henry, even the most torpid spots.

Then Zack smiled.

And tragically, Henry was on fire.

Melting rapidly, his blazing skin pooling at his feet.

Sweat dripped from Henry’s brow—he willed a smile.

And he thought it was forced, or maybe Henry tried to believe that it was; but he’d come to know that forcing feelings around Zack was an impossible thing. He couldn’t pretend to have one emotion when he was feeling another—it always leaked through one way or another, whether it be slowly or all at once.

It was supposed to be painful, burning.

Really, it was rather… addictive.

The ache that throbbed in his chest had once been a thing that Henry tried to stop—truly, it was just life pounding on and on, getting more vivacious. His heart was loving, and his heart was loving hard.

And when Zack teased, “You gonna just stand there and admire me, Swellview?” All Henry could really think was, ‘He fucking talked to me.’

God, it was like he was a thirteen year old with his first crush again…

Except, the thing was… he was that thirteen year old with his crush.

But now, he was a seventeen year old with his boyfriend.

Same people, identical situation, old feelings that still felt juvenile.

It was as love sickening as they all come. The basic story, where childhood lovers fall in and out of love over and over, and by the end of the movie they are so far deep they can’t look back.

But this wasn’t a movie. This was hardly life at all.

Henry felt unreal, just like how unreal Zack looked.

The orange light tinged half of Zack’s face, the other shaded away, his skin looking of liquid gold. His eye closest to the light was a terrifying but gorgeous blue, so distinct that Henry could almost see every speck and line in his iris and how small his inky pupil was. Zack’s lips were chapped from the cold, but they were still their usual shade; a pale pink, always managing to pull back to reveal teeth that were so imperfectly perfect.

There were bags under his eyes, a purple and blue depth that wasn’t puffy, unlike Henry’s, which were always a bulging pink full of irritation.

Breathless, with a true smile, Henry said, “Yeah, I am.”

Zack faltered for a moment, his blue, blue eyes darting away. His smile twitched, his cheeks flinching as he tried to maintain his composure. His golden skin flared at the edges, Henry couldn’t help but notice; around sharp bones, an almost white glow screamed as if Zack was a gleaming glass. And slowly, the color Zack was bathed in turned to a rosy tint, flushing and flushing until it almost looked suffocating.

But in a snap, cracking like the biting air, Zack’s eyes reverted back to Henry, his smile firm once more. “Careful there, Hen, or you’ll make me blush.”

“What if that’s my goal?” Henry quipped, his tongue and throat out of his mind's control—but it wasn’t like his brain was going to stop this either.

With smile lines growing like vines, Zack murmured, “Then you’d be treading on thin ice.”

Henry tilted his head. “Aren’t I always?” He kicked his feet, nearing the truck until he was standing right beside Zack’s window. Henry’s back concealed the streetlight, a deep shadow crawling over Zack’s skin. With a swerve of confidence, Henry placed his hand on the seal, centimeters away from Zack’s chapped hand.

It would be so easy.

Zack’s eyes were black now, pupils expanding—it made the innocence within the boy's heart even more obvious.

The innocence that Henry craved to have.

The innocence that made Henry feel harsh covetous.

“I suppose you are,” Zack said, the simple tone of his voice making the envy seep out of Henry, Zack’s chin jutting towards him. His eyes angled down, observing Henry’s hand that radiated warmth. Hesitance was the word within Zack’s eyes. “So, are you gonna get in, or freeze your ass off?” he asked instead, ultimately doing nothing about the offer that Henry blessed him with.

Stupid.

Everything was cold now, gnawing and leaving teeth marks on Henry’s exposed skin. He pulled his hand away hastily, his digits shaking as he shoved it back into his pocket; he told himself it was from the bitter weather.

“Only if I’m welcome to,” Henry flirted, or at least attempted to tone it in such a way—instead, it came out boyish, painting him insecure with security issues.

Zack’s face softened, which should be an impossible feat, because he was already the softest thing to ever exist. “You’re always welcome, Henry. Come on.” And just as Henry went to round the truck, Zack lifted an index with a slanted smile. “First, pick out a CD in the back.” He pointed his thumb, gesturing towards the backseat.

Henry shrugged, hand immediately pulling the backseat door open, eyes shooting the disorganized shoe box carrying Zack’s prized CD’s.

After a beat of looking, he fingered one out; Hotel California.

Henry knew of the Eagles, at the very least heard their name come out of Zack’s mouth before. And he knew songs; he recognized the album cover and two songs—it was an easy pick.

He secured it in his grip, stepped away, and slammed the door shut.

—

For a while, as the songs from Hotel California came and went, Zack and Henry were silent. It hadn’t been awkward at first, but as the silence grew wider and higher, tension somehow seemed to solidify.

Henry eyed Zack, who was laser focused on the road. His grip on the wheel was tight, too tight to be normal, and his darkened eyes were… heavy. His eyebrows were drawn in, his skin crumpled and burden-some; they weren’t soft like the smile lines that he’d once beheld, these were harsh and rocky.

Did Zack always look like this?

Lowering his eyes, Henry’s gaze latched onto the brown leather jacket. Blinking up to Zack’s tense face, Henry said, “You’re wearing your smoke jacket.”

Zack snorted, glancing over at Henry briefly. “My what?”

“Your smoke jacket,” Henry repeated, enunciating every word sarcastically. When Zack only offered a eyebrow raise and a judgemental look in response, Henry elaborated, “You always wear it when you smoke so Carey won’t smell it on your other clothes.”

Zack’s scoff reverberated around Henry’s skull. “What else do you know about me, huh?”

“Well, I know that you’ve been smoking more.”

“How do you figure?”

“You’ve been wearing that jacket more often.”

Zack hummed quietly, eyes flicking to the car’s stereo when a song ended; Wasted Time’s beginning piano sequence began shifting through the air. “You obsessed with me, Danger?”

“Maybe just a little.” Henry grinned, winking at Zack when his eyes flicked over to him.

Zack’s gaze stuck on him, and Henry saw the tone of his eyes. It was hard to tell with the blue hue painting his face, a direct result of the color emitting from the car’s stereo—but Henry could tell that his irises went from a soft blue to a cloudy grey as his eyebrows turned downwards, as his usual addictive smile altered into a distasteful frown. Zack’s mouth opened as he turned to the road again, the bridge of his nose crinkled—but then he shut it, and silence spread through the air, the only thing filling it being the voice of Glenn Lewis Frey.

Henry continued to stare at Zack, confusion pumping through his veins, resulting in his heart being curious.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” whispered Zack, like his breath had been stolen away, like there wasn’t any oxygen to breathe in.

“What?”

Zack didn’t respond verbally; his fingers lifted from the wheel, making a gesture with it, like he was waving Henry off. Simultaneously, he was shaking his head slightly, eyes closed for a snap before he focused again.

When a numb, shocked, and furious feeling filled Henry’s brain, he turned away and decided on looking out the window.

And the two remained like that; no prolonged looks at one another while the other was looking away, no playful banter, nor were there any mutual breathing patterns. Only the music was playing, and they let the tension consume them as the trees hugging either side of the road enclosed them into a hole they’d dug themselves in.

—

After a while—the silence between the pair was so excruciating and painful that Henry wished to be back asleep at home—Zack eventually pulled up to a small park almost completely hidden by the trees surrounding it. No other cars were there—obviously, because who the hell was out at three in the morning—which offered a portion of comfort to Henry’s soul.

Zack parked, maneuvering the gear shift before dipping the emergency brake down. He leaned over in Henry’s space, making Henry’s heart freeze—Zack opened the glove box, fiddling around inside before pulling out Marlboro reds and a lighter. Glancing at Henry through his eyelashes, he snarked, “Guess you were right.”

Swallowing, Henry retorted, “I’m always right.”

Henry expected a laugh, at the very least an amused huff—but he received empty eyes that lingered on him for a beat, burning holes into Henry’s own. And for the first time ever, Henry was relieved when Zack turned those blue eyes away and left the car.

Henry’s heart was rabbiting, hopping so hard that he felt it in his thumbs and neck. He fumbled with the door, sloppily pushing it and tumbling out, almost forgetting to close the door behind him. He rushed after Zack, who was already lighting a cigarette that was between his lips, trudging down the slight hill that led to the slightly snow-covered playground.

“Zack,” Henry called, only to be ignored. “Zack. Zack!”

“Jesus fuck, what?” Zack reared around, eyes hot on Henry suddenly.

“Why are you acting—”

“Oh my fuckin’ god, no.” Zack whipped back around. “We actually aren’t doing this right now.”

Henry looked at Zack’s nape with daggering exasperation. “Then when are we gonna? What has been your fucking problem?”

Zack looked over his shoulder, eyes at the top of his sockets, and Henry could hardly put his name to his face.

It made Henry’s heart heat up.

It made Henry’s tongue heat up.

And when Zack started to walk away, with a very noticeable limp that burned into Henry’s mind, he couldn’t stop himself from shouting, “Why didn’t you hold my hand?!”

It echoed around them, and it savored his tone; the roughness of it, the desperation of it. And Zack looked at him, his eyes so wide that the whites of them were visible in the night, and his skin suddenly looked paler than usual.

Henry's never yelled like that before.

He’d never screamed at Zack before.

And Henry always thought that it would never come to this with Zack. He thought that they were different. They wouldn’t be the ones who argued over small things like Henry’s parents did, and they wouldn’t be the ones to walk away from one another without talking it out. They were supposed to be calm with each other.

They were supposed to love each other.

Reality, as Henry knew it, was crumbling before him as he watched Zack’s face start to shift.

Instead of fear or sadness, an unrecognizable wash of ire bled onto Zack’s face—dangerously, he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, dropping it into the light packed snow, snubbing it; his dark eyes never left Henry’s face.

“You’re kidding,” were Zack’s first words. “You’re actually joking, right?”

“No.”

Zack’s arms patted the sides of his thighs, shaking his head again; his eyes were still glued to Henry’s soul. “Oh, okay, so you wanna hold my hand now?” His voice was elevating—it echoed, but not like Henry’s did. Henry went to speak, but before he could, Zack stomped over to him; Henry blinked, backing away when he felt Zack’s fingers wrap around his wrist. “Then hold my hand, Henry. Fucking hold it right now. Do it,” Zack was saying passive aggressively, his shivering breath hot on Henry’s face, and it took a moment to realize how close their faces were to each other.

Zack was squaring him up, Henry realized.

“Zee, chill,” Henry attempted to ease, pitching his voice with a twitching, nervous smile.

Zack stared for a beat, then laughed bitterly in Henry’s face. “Do you even know how?” he rudely mocked.

Henry’s brows furrowed, his beating heart miffed.

“Do you?” pressed Zack. When Henry didn’t reply immediately, Zack pulled back and steered Henry’s hand up. He smacked Henry’s palm with his other hand, like a pathetic, lingering high five, and folded his fingers until they were flush against Henry’s knuckles. “See? It’s easy, Henry.” He tugged their hands, forcing Henry to look at their joined fingers.

Something in Henry broke, softly and slowly. It was splintering down the middle of it, carving a word out that was large and took up the entire object.

Love, love, love.

And looking at Zack, watching how his once stern and frustrated eyes were shifting to a delicate blue; cold like the gentle caress of waves, sending a rush through Henry’s head, sending him to the sky—the sky, the same color of Zack’s eyes, and maybe it was home there now. Home, because wherever Zack resided was where Henry was meant to be.

Zack pulled his hand out of Henry’s tightening hold.

Henry analyzed Zack, how his shoulders were tense and how his eyes were full of perplexing dismay.

“God, fuckin’ come here.” With his other hand, Zack grabbed Henry’s closest hand, and started dragging him towards the swings.

All Henry could do was stare at their hands.

And god, were their hands beautiful together.

—

Henry refused to let go of Zack’s hand.

The wind was slight, bruising Henry’s knuckles until they were a soft purple, until his fingernails looked frail and pale. Swiping a nervous tongue across his bottom lip, Henry felt the chappedness of them, the roves and dips almost addictive.

His hand was dry, growing numb from the gnawing cold—but yet, he refused to let go of Zack’s hand.

Henry's done everything under the sun to avoid it; he guided them behind the swings instead of the front so that their arms could dangle comfortably; he’d pulled a cigarette from Zack’s carton, then held it as Zack lit it before giving it back to the boy; he’d even squeezed Zack’s hand a couple of times to signal to the other that he was both enjoying this and to seep more of Zack’s heat into his own palm.

And they’d sat there, eyes avoiding one another like shy, crushing pre-teens.

“You alright?” Zack suddenly whispered from beside him, his voice hesitant and so very tender. Side eyeing the boy, Henry observed the nicotine clouds sliding out through Zack’s clenched teeth and blowing from his nose—Henry took a deep breath, willing the heavy smell to pinch his sinuses, waiting to feel the ghostly taste of it on his tongue.

Like needing to itch a scratch, Henry held out his vacant hand impulsively—his head was quite empty, or maybe it was too loud with meaningless words to the point it felt like nothing.

Zack tilted his head endearingly, Henry’s chest carving at the sight; he pushed back the feeling as he flapped his fingers, nodding to the cigarette pinched between Zack’s fingers. At the gesture, Zack’s eyebrows drew in, his lips pulling back to reveal a sliver of teeth; a grimace. “Really, dude?”

“Really,” Henry challenged, picturing Zack’s signature teasing smile in his mind, desperately trying to reflect it onto his own face. A mock of determination, a mock of true confidence.

“But… you don’t smoke.”

“I do now.”

Zack scoffed, laughed, while rolling his head back, eyes towards the stars—he held himself there, blinking up at the sky, looking too far in his own head to be considered normal. “You’re unreal.”

Henry could say the same about Zack; though, he knew his tongue would make it a compliment and full of… adoration, rather than the plain airiness of which Zack toned it. So, Henry kept his trap shut, focusing his attention back to the playground before them.

Almost silently—the shaking of the swings chains and the squeaking of the seat giving him away—Zack offered the cigarette to Henry with an unsteady hand and a sharp wrist. The nicotine’s stench almost went straight to Henry’s head, the corners of his eyes already burning from the taste he’d never even felt yet.

Yet.

With faulty, winding courage, Henry finally plucked the cigarette, eyes finding Zack’s.

Zack’s blond fringe tickled his forehead, his lips slanted and cheeks puffed red. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Henry cut, immediately bringing the cigarette to his mouth and clamping his teeth delicately around the circumference. Even just the surface of the cigarette was bitter, almost making Henry want to spit it out and drink something sweet to replace the staining taste.

He glanced at Zack again, whose vacant hand was wrapped around the swings chains, giving him leverage to lean his body forward and look at Henry’s facial expressions. “Seriously, Hen, I’m not peer pressuring you. You don’t have to.”

“Zee.” Henry carassed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it in place as he talked; without a doubt, he knew he looked fucking stupid. “I want to. It’s just… the smell and tastes a little jarring, but I’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah,” Zack huffed out with a certain amusement, placing his toes to the floor and pushing, adding the slightest momentum to his swing. “That’s always the first initial reaction. You’re doing good, though—haven’t thrown up or gotten dizzy or anything like that.”

“People’ve thrown up?” Henry asked diligently, finally removing the cigarette from his mouth.

Zack looked away, a flushing embarrassment bleeding onto his face. His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “I guess you could say that I’m such people.”

“Seriously?” Henry’s eyes bulged from his sockets. With a narrow nod, Zack confirmed—and Henry found himself dying from it. “No shit? Dead-fucking-ass?”

“I’m deader than roadkill, Hen.”

Henry curled in on himself, almost dropping the cigarette from the force of his hysteria. “God bless,” he choked out, slamming his foot against the ground. He tightened his hand’s hold on Zack’s, feeling the creaking of the boy’s bones from his crushing grip.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Zack clipped, but when Henry managed to look up at him, the boy was evidently grinning, smiling so hard that his eyelids formed a crescent.

And fuck, when did Zack get so beautiful?

As Henry stared at Zack’s face—such a hypnotic smile he had—he felt Zack squeeze his hand back: one, two, three. The pace of a heartbeat. The pace of someone wanting this to be forever, of someone wanting to selfishly keep the heat captured in their palm.

Shit.

Zack’s eyes were the atmosphere; his darkened eyes the black sky, stars twinkling within them, making Henry feel the urge to wish upon one of them.

Shit.

Henry felt himself lean just a little closer, like Zack beheld some kind of gravitational pull within his heart. He saw how Zack’s eyes flickered, darting them around his face with uncertainty; but he didn’t move back.

Henry smiled.

Fuck.

And Zack smiled back, like it was easy, like all of these emotions were easy, and something dropped to Henry’s stomach.

Holy fuck.

Henry was in love with Zack.

Zack’s eyes were crossed from how close they were now, everything blurry but his eyes. “Are you…”

“I want to kiss you.”

Zack blinked a couple times, like he didn’t hear Henry properly; Henry, too, wasn’t sure if he even heard himself right.

But, really, who would be able to hear properly if all that was echoing around one’s brain was, “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in fucking love.”

Henry hadn’t even smoked the cigarette yet and he was already breathless. Their hair was brushing against each other, foreheads mere centimeters away from touching, and something stupid almost possessed Henry to close the gap.

Close the gap, Henry’s conscience begged.

Zack blinked again, the flutter of them making the strands of his fringe flinch, and Henry could feel it; how it tickled, how this was the closest they’ve ever been. “Do it, then,” Zack whispered, carefully, hauntingly. “Kiss me, Henry.”

Close the gap.

Zack’s eyes closed, sealing away Henry’s sky, resulting in a troublesome, scratchy sensation to grow in his throat. There was trust in Zack’s mouth, the boy letting it drop just a smidge, the cave inside barely visible. A sliver of the mouth, but just enough to read, ‘Come here, love me, and trust me.’

You love him, stated Henry’s conscience.

Henry leaned forward, the small space between them shrinking more and more—

—There was a fire in the back of Henry’s mind.

It crackled, embers flinging with every click and snap. Hearing it was akin to being physically burned by it, but except for his skin turning a blistering black, his brain melted into ashes.

He was melting, on fire, and he was dying.

Zack opened his eyes, a perplexing star twinkling in his blown pupils.

Henry pulled away upon the realization that he was burning, the snapping, freezing cold slapping Henry across the face from the sudden distance. He felt Zack’s gaze upon his profile as he faced the playground again, daring to not look the boy in the eye.

The cigarette was algid in his hand, smoke slithering from the tip, not a speck of orange on the edge. Nicotine was a distant memory, now one with the wind, pushing the scent until it was gone.

“Here,” said Zack promptly, a burst of light coming into view; a lighter.

It should’ve provided a semblance of comfort—the lighter, Zack still talking to him—but as Henry steered the cigarette to the lighter, the sizzling of the tip growing with the rebirthing flame, he found himself chilled to the marrow.

Henry glanced at Zack’s face, whose eyes were still locked onto Henry’s profile—immediately, Henry’s eyes darted down, latching onto their joined hands. Suffering through a smile, Henry squeezed their hands—he looked up, hoping that it provided a sort of peace to Zack’s surely spiraling mind.

But Zack continued to stare at Henry, blank and unreadable, even as he pulled the lighter away and flicked it off.

Zack was being unpredictable; Henry wasn’t sure what his next move was.

Zack took in a deep breath, exhaling out smoke as he observed the cigarette. “Are you gonna take a drag, or waste a perfectly good cigarette on your hesitation?”

Henry followed Zack’s gaze, analyzing the cigarette—it was growing smaller, slightly but damaging. He went to raise it up to place it in his mouth, but the sudden snowflake memory of the taste almost sent him to the back of his own mind where bad things happen. Where Henry’s eyes clouded over, an unblinking fantasy of numb burning that began at the corners of his eyes, then expanded to the entire ball. A place where Zack was dead in every universe, in every situation.

The sizzling of the cigarette, the orange upon the tip, was tantamount to the fire and its destructive force in his dreams.

Almost mindlessly, Henry passed the cigarette to Zack, now and forever choosing to never look Zack in his eyes again, afraid that he’ll see grey instead of blue.

Henry was a shitty promise keeper, really—or maybe just an addict—because he never stopped looking at Zack’s eyes, Henry’s soul dripping from his own penetrated pupils, damaged from Zack’s sharp-edged atmospheric stars.

“Cody started applying for colleges today,” Zack said as casually as he could, shattering the silence that was beholding thick tension.

Henry pulled a face. “A bit early for that, isn’t it?” he questioned as normally as possible.

Zack pursed his lips, eyes faded and unclear based on his refusal to look at Henry—he took a drag of his returned cigarette, holding it for a second or two before releasing it into the air.

“Or maybe we’re just not up to par.” Henry smiled, laughing to himself a little.

“Or not as desperate,” grumbled Zack, wrinkling his nose as his eyes lowered to his feet.

Henry rolled his eyes. “God, Zack.”

Finally, Zack looked at him, eyes wide as he gestured around. “What? It’s true! No one knows where the fuck they’re going this early into the school year.”

“Cody does,” Henry remarked.

“Oh, well, Cody’s got everything figured out then, huh?” Zack clipped.

Henry’s mouth snapped down, eyebrows drawn down as he looked Zack up and down.

Zack had the same kind of tone earlier when Cody had been the highlighted topic. His tone had been gruff, curt, and sharp, like he was trying to push past the subject as fast as possible while leaving damage on his brother's name.

Henry wasn’t sure how to approach it; if he should let the fire die down by itself, if he should add fuel to it, or snuff it out completely. And Zack seemed perplexed on it too, based on his hunched shoulders and pursed lips; the urge to keep ranting was in his eyes, but the refusal to let it be known in his locked mouth.

“Is everything…” Henry started, feeling his stomach coil with unease—fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with this. “…Okay?” he decided on asking, sounding more unsure than anything. “Between you two?” he continued, because when he was anxious he just had to clarify shit that was already known to the other.

Zack took a moment to look at Henry, sniffing with a slight shake of his head, like Henry was amusing him. He took a drag of his cigarette with downcast eyes. “Has shit ever been okay between Cody and I?”

The wind uncomfortably blew, and that was when the back of Henry’s eyes pictured the pair; once twelve year olds attached to the hip, creating mischief together with bright eyes and ignorance to responsibility. Like a stampede growing, they ran and destroyed anything in their way, all while collecting friends to join the chaos—but they were always behind them, unable to even skin the brothers and their wildness. They were untouchable. They were burning, hotter and hotter, until it suddenly became… a competition.

But not for chaos, no. Maybe at first, but not anymore.

It was a battle of whose name would be bigger.

And it started with basketball, of all things.

After Zack made the varsity team in just his Sophomore year, Henry noticed how Cody began to isolate relatively. He hardly hung out with his friends anymore, always seen with some sort of textbook, and always a poignant ‘A’ stamped on a white piece of paper.

In the school’s newspaper, Zack and Cody’s names were always in it; some days Cody was on the front, smiling with some kind of math award, some days it was Zack shooting a basket.

There was a tension growing between them, forcing their bond to peel away, and Henry had been witnessing it without paying much mind to it.

Because it was suddenly normal for Cody to minimize Zack’s success in basketball games. It was suddenly normal for Zack to degrade Cody for his social awkwardness and intellect.

It’d always been there…

But fuck when did it start to get so bad to the point of this?

And at the rate they were racing at, with no end in sight…

Without a doubt, this was going to go beyond high school, into college, into life.

Someone was going to get seriously fucking hurt.

The thought echoed around his head, Zack’s stare upon his face still—Henry forced a swallow and lamely said, “I suppose not.”

Zack took another lazy drag.

Normally, being around Zack was like a breath of fresh innocence. It was like the sun was upon Henry’s face every time he was around—even on the cloudiest and rainiest of days, not a speck of cold could reach Henry’s heart whenever Zack was near him.

But right now, Henry was holding his breath, tongue flat against the roof of his mouth, eyes burning in the corners.

He exhaled when Zack began swinging his legs, adding little momentum to the swings. Even though Zack’s eyes were vague, Henry could always see the child-like spark within his soul.

And as he was studying his face, Henry instantly noticed the furrow of Zack’s brows, the wince of eyelids, and the flinch of lips. Henry scanned all over him, recycling thought after thought, because what could possibly be jogging this specific, silent reaction out of Zack—but then his eyes landed on his swinging legs, on his jean-covered left knee. Looking back and forth, Henry saw how with every maneuver, Zack would wince slightly; the hold of a breath, and tightening of his fingers crushing Henry’s hand.

And Zack noticed.

Zack always knew when eyes were upon him, especially when the gaze belonged to Henry.

With a bitter fucking smile—so bitter that Henry could almost taste it—Zack looked around with misting eyes and a bobbing throat and muttered, “It’s not fucking happening, is it?”

“What’s not happening?” Henry eyed Zack, feeling the concern buzz through his eyes.

And Henry flinched and blinked hard when Zack’s feet unexpectedly slammed his feet against the floor, jerking his slow swing to a stop. “Be honest with me Henry,” he started, glaring at Henry through his shadowed hair. “And be honest. Don’t lie to me to spare me.”

Henry started nodding, even before Zack’s sentence was punctuated. “Okay, what’s up?” And Henry was well aware that his eyes were slowly becoming obtuse, widening and stretching and looking manic; he felt it in the pricking beneath his skin, and the heavy pressure in his head that flooded to his sockets.

“What do you see me becoming in the future?”

Henry wasn’t sure how to reply to that—if it was some sort of trick question or not. “Whatever… whatever you want to become is what I see… like, if you wanna pursue engineering, then you’ll without a doubt get into a school and be successful. If you wanna do art or music, you’ll for sure be super great at that. Even basketball—”

“Yeah, hold it right there, let’s be serious about the basketball gateway,” interrupted Zack, a pangling flame upon the tip of his tongue.

But before Zack could continue, Henry rushed out, “I am being serious?”

“Well then look at it fucking realistically, Henry!” Zack shouted, shocking Henry into a freezing silence. “Like, look at my knee! How the fuck will I get a basketball scholarship if I can’t even walk right?!”

“Wait, wait.” Henry shifted on the swing, the chains singing, his eyes rough as he stared at Zack. “I thought you said that your knee’s fine?”

Something changed about Zack just then.

Henry couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. It was like an alarm in his brain, the red of it spinning and spinning like a complex scanner in action movies. It was like Henry figured out Zack’s emotions before the boy himself even did.

And eventually, Zack felt it.

It was in his eyes first, pupils pulsing, akin to a breathing human, their chest going up, then down, up, then down. Slowly, more stars began dotting his eyes too, making them look like dark water instead of a clear night sky.

It was in his mouth next, how he suddenly seemed unsure of what to do with it—which wasn’t normal, because Zack always knew what to do with it. Always knew what to say, and with his other… dates, he always knew how to kiss them. Jesus.

It was in Zack’s voice, wobbling out, “It is…”

It was in the sudden delicate kicking of his feet.

It was in the way he prodded the tips of his fingers against the holes of the chains.

It was in the way his hand was cold in Henry’s palm.

It was in the way Henry couldn’t see the innocence in Zack’s eyes anymore.

Henry swallowed down the revelation. “Are you lying to me?” he asked instead.

Zack instantly scoffed, like Henry had accused him of such a malicious and ridiculous thing, and rolled his eyes like Henry was stupid—but then he stopped and stiffened when he returned his eyes to Henry’s, everything suffocating around them. The atmosphere must have started to hold its breath because suddenly Henry couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not…” Zack began weakly, crumbling under the pressure of Henry’s gaze. “I mean, it hurts sometimes…”

“Right,” Henry clipped.

Zack noticeably swallowed, nervously smiling and nodding to Henry. “It’s not hurting right now,” he reassured.

And Henry saw right through it. He saw the fakeness of his smile, because he knew the shape of Zack’s signature one so well to the point he daydreamed about it. His eyes were a heavy thing, as they were never that dark.

But…

But, Henry should listen to him.

Zack knew his own body the best. He was constantly on about how exercise was the best thing, how lack of sleep was why Henry felt weird some days, and that Henry was too fucking young to carry the weight of the town.

A lot of the time, Zack was right.

A lot of the time, Zack was also wrong…

But Zack knew this kind of shit. Always.

And Henry wanted to believe that Zack was telling him the honest-to-god truth.

Lover’s do not lie to each other.

So, Henry nodded, a semblance of a genuine smile forming. “Alright,” he said, watching the way Zack’s shoulders relaxed. Henry then forced his tone down an octave, almost whispering, “But you have to tell me if it gets worse, okay?”

And just like that, Zack’s signature smile was back.

His innocence was back.

And he squeezed Henry’s hand three times:

I love you.