Chapter Text
The bass hit before Gary even reached the door. It was a low, animal thud, vibrating through his bones. The old house leaned under the sound, a two-story student rental on the edge of campus, its siding faded and windows glowing like fever. Laughter spilled out through the open windows, loud and uncontained, the kind of laughter that easily sprouted from the kind of people who had nothing weighing on their shoulders.
Gary hesitated for half a second at the curb, his hands jammed in the pockets of his sweater, then cautiously made his way up the front steps.
Ray’s house smelled like beer and sweat and something fried. Pizza, Gary thought. The floorboards gave under his shoes as he pushed through the front door into the heat of bodies. Someone had turned the living room into a dance floor, the furniture shoved against the walls, lights replaced by a strobing red bulb that made everybody’s faces flash and disappear like frames in some sort of broken film reel.
Ray was easy to spot. He was at the kitchen counter pouring drinks for a small crowd that circled him as though he were the center of gravity itself. Gary felt a flicker of resentment at how seemingly effortlessly Ray carried himself, and how naturally people leaned in whenever he talked.
“Gary!” Ray’s voice cut through the noise when he spotted him. “I didn’t think you’d actually show, man.”
“Yeah, well,” Gary muttered, forcing a grin. “I couldn’t turn down free alcohol, could I?”
Ray laughed and handed him a red solo cup, the liquid inside radiating some pungent smell that made Gary’s nose curl up in distaste. “Drink up, man. You need it.”
Even though the drink smelled bad, alcohol was alcohol, and Ray didn’t have to tell him twice. The drink burned going down, some sort of harsh, cheap vodka mixed with something sweet enough to sting Gary’s teeth. It didn’t matter, he wanted the burn. He wanted the numbness that came a few drinks later. He wanted to stop thinking about everything that had been rotting inside his head for weeks. All the failing grades, the unread emails from each and every one of his professors, his father’s strained voice on the phone, his meemaw asking if he was still “keeping up in those big classes”.
Gary took another drink, and then another. By the third, the world around him had softened around the edges. The noise became music again, and he laughed when someone shoved him playfully. He threw his arm around a guy from one of his classes whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. He danced badly, and forgot, for a few minutes, to hate himself.
But then, he overheard someone– a girl by the big, bay window– say, “I can’t believe Ray invited him,” and her friend snorted. “Yeah, he’s been a mess lately. He’s in my Intro to Photography class, and I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s a depressed wreck. I mean, just look at him.”
They laughed, and it was all casual, meaningless laughter. The kind that Gary knew wasn’t typically meant to hurt, but the kind that still found its way into the softest part of him.
He realized, just then, that his cup was empty again. He made his way to the kitchen, weaving between bodies, the air thick with sweat and perfume and cigarette smoke that had slipped in from outside. Gary refilled his cup without asking whose bottle it was coming from, spilling more than he had actually poured. Ray caught him in the act.
“Hey,” Ray said, placing a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “Take it easy.”
Gary frowned, jolting his shoulder back, causing Ray’s hand to drop. “I am taking it easy.”
“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”
“Fuck off, tommorow isn’t real,” Gary said, a little too loud, volume control non-existant. A few people nearby turned to look. He grinned at them, almost daring them to say something. When none of them did, Gary leaned in closer to Ray. “You don’t always have to babysit me, Garrety.”
“I’m not,” Ray said, as calm as always. That pissed Gary right off. “I’m just–”
“Jus’ what?” Gary snapped, his slurred voice cutting through the bass. “Lookin’ out for your image? Don’t want your guests thinkin’ your friend’s pathetic, huh?”
Ray’s face fell. “Gary, come on–”
“Don’t come on me. You don’t get to act like you care when you’ve been straight up ignoring me for weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, sure. Busy being perfect ‘ol Raymond Garrety, the university’s perfect image, their golden boy. Fuck off, Ray.”
The words came out sharper than Gary had intended, but he didn’t do anything to take them back. Ray opened his mouth, then closed it, his jaw tightening. Gary waited for anger, the pushback, maybe a punch or a kick or both, but Ray just sighed. “Maybe you should get some air, man.”
Gary spat at him, his spit landing on the kitchen’s tiled floor. “Maybe you should mind your own damn business. Man.”
He shoved past him, practically spilling his drink down some girl’s back. Gary heard Ray call his name, but the sound was swallowed up by the crowd. The music felt far too loud now, the lights too bright. He crumpled up his cup and tossed it to the floor, almost tripping over it in his drunken stupor. While stumbling, Gary bumped into a guy on the way to the sliding back door. He recognized him far too late. Tall, with long, dark hair cascading down his shoulders. Collie Parker. Gary had always hated him. For what reason, he couldn’t quite place, but he still had a bruise on his hip from the last time they had gotten into it with each other.
“Watch it,” Collie hissed, venom lacing his voice.
“Maybe you should move out of the fuckin’ way,” Gary shot back, stepping too close. He could smell the cologne on him, something natural and sharp, hauntingly unlike the sticky scent of the room.
Collie glared down at him. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re observant.”
Collie dipped his head. “Why don’t you go sit down before you start swinging at someone, huh Barkovitch?”
“Why don’t you–” Gary’s words tangled around his teeth and tongue. He blinked, swaying slightly on his feet, then muttered. “Forget it.”
He pushed past Collie and out the back door.
The night hit him like a blast of cold water. The yard was quiet except for the muffled music bleeding through the walls and the distant hiss of traffic. The air smelled like grass and beer and the faint tang of smoke from the grill someone had abandoned hours ago. The porch light buzzed weakly, drawing in a cluster of wandering moths that flitted in aimless circles.
Gary stumbled down the back steps and finally sat down on the final step, his head spinning. He fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and lit one of the smokes with shaking hands. The first drag made him cough, and the second went down far smoother. He leaned his head back against the porch railing, his eyes half-lidded.
The quiet was dangerous. It left too much room for his thoughts to run rampant. He thought of the tens of unread texts from his father, the way he had looked at him during Christmas, that disappointed half-smile that had burned its way into Gary’s retinas ever since he was a kid. He thought of his meemaw, her shaky handwriting on the card she had sent: We’re so proud of you, my smart boy. The card had a drawing of a cat on it, and it had almost made Gary cry.
He pressed his palms into his eyes until stars bloomed behind them, bringing his fist up to his temple and hitting himself three times in quick succession, trying to ground himself somehow.
“Smart boy,” he muttered under his breath, then laughed dejectedly. “What a fffffuckin’ joke.”
Gary wanted to throw up. He wanted to vanish, and he wanted someone– anyone– to understand what it felt like to keep falling into the darkness in slow motion with nothing to hold on to to keep you upright.
The back door creaked open behind him, followed quickly after with footsteps.
“I didn’t think you smoked,” a voice said.
Gary turned his head, looking up through the curtain of blond that had fallen across his eyes. Collie Parker, of course.
He was standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other holding a bottle of beer. His hair was mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead. He must have put it up in a lazy bun since Gary had seen him last. He looked different in the dim light of the porch, less like the smug version Gary saw around Ray. He looked more real here. More angelic.
Gary swiveled his head back to staring at the grassy backyard and exhaled smoke through his nose. “And I didn’t think you cared.”
Collie stepped out onto the porch. “Ray’s worried about you.”
“Oh, Ray’s always worried about something or other. Me, Pete, Richie…” Gary flicked ash off the side of the step. “He enjoys collecting strays.”
Collie sat down a few steps above him, leaving a deliberate gap in between them. “You and Ray fight like brothers.”
Gary snorted. “Do we now? I’d think that brothers actually like each other.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but it was heavy. Determined to break out of it, Gary took another drag, then muttered, “You must think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”
Collie looked down at him, surprised. “What?”
“You do. You’ve always thought it, don’t bother denying it at all.”
Collie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think you’re–” he paused, searching for the right word. Gary could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re a mess, for sure. But not pathetic.”
Gary rolled his eyes, shifting around on the wooden step. “Same fuckin’ thing.”
“It’s not.”
Gary laughed softly, bitterly. “You don’t get it. You’ve got it all figured out. The grades, the friends, the confidence. People actually like you, Parker.”
Collie huffed. “Yeah, sure.”
Gary glanced up at him. Collie was staring out in the same direction he had been, the beer bottle still grasped firmly in his fist. His knuckles had gone white. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Collie said quietly, looking down to meet his eyes. A jolt of lightning shot down Gary’s spine with the eye contact. “You think I’ve got it all figured out, Barkovitch? My parents won’t even talk to me right now.”
Gary shuffled himself around so he was facing him. He blinked, caught off guard. “Why won’t they talk to you?”
“Because I dropped out of environmental sciences and switched into art. Apparently that’s the same thing as throwing my life away.”
Gary blinked, the smoke from his cigarette curling between them. “I didn’t think you had any problems.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Barkovitch, everyone’s got problems,” Collie said, and even through his insult his voice was softer than Gary had ever heard it before. “Most of us just hide them, I think.”
Gary looked down at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “I guess I’m not very good at hiding, then.”
“No,” Collie said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “You’re not.”
Gary wanted to be angry– the typical kind of anger that sprouted from him whenever he would usually talk to Collie Parker– but something about his tone made him reconsider. It wasn’t cruel. It was fond, almost. The thought of Collie feeling anything but animosity for him made Gary’s chest ache.
He took another long drag, the nicotine settling in his stomach just enough to let the alcohol swirl slower. “Do you ever feel like,” he said, slurring a little, “you’re disappointing everyone? Like, all the time? Like you can’t breathe right ‘cause you know they’re all just there, watching, waiting for you to fail again?”
Collie didn’t answer immediately. The sounds from the party drifted out– laughter, music, a door slamming somewhere inside.
“Yeah, I do,” Collie said finally. “More than I like to admit.”
Gary looked at him. Really looked at him. The porch light caught the edges of Collie’s face. The sharp line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. There was no mockery there, no smirk, just pure exhaustion. And something else, something that made Gary’s heart stutter. It was, he realized, the first time he had ever seen Collie Parker without any armour.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Gary asked, his voice small. His fingers were shaking and he almost dropped his cigarette.
Collie shrugged, took a drink of his beer, and set the bottle back down on the porch. “I guess it’s easier to talk to someone who already thinks you’re an asshole, yknow?”
Gary let out a shaky laugh and he flatlined his cigarette with the sole of his shoe, tossing the still-smoking butt down onto the concrete slabs at the edge of the porch. “You are an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Collie said, smiling faintly. “So are you.”
Gary should have laughed harder. Instead, something in his chest twisted painfully. He didn’t think. Instead, he leaned forward, a clumsy motion, desperate, and kissed him.
Gary felt Collie freeze underneath him, and for one second, suspended high in the air like two acrobats on a tightrope, he thought, maybe– maybe– that Collie would kiss him back. But Collie pulled back, slow and careful, as though he were handling something fragile. As though Gary himself were fragile.
“Gary,” he said, his voice low and almost pained.
Gary’s breath caught. “Shit,” he whispered. “God. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine–”
“It’s not fine,” Gary said, standing up too fast. The world tilted and he grabbed the railing with one hand, hitting himself sharply in the temple with the other. “I’m such a fuckin’ freak, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.”
“Hey,” Collie said, rising as well and reaching out instinctively, trying to grab Gary’s wrist and pull his hand away from his head. Gary flinched away.
“Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pity me,” Gary spat.
“I’m not–”
“You are,” Gary’s voice cracked. “You all are. You and Ray and everyone else– you all look at me as if I’m something you have to fix, some sort of porcelain doll or mirror or old clock or something, I’m sick of it.”
“No one’s trying to fix you.”
Gary grabbed a fistfull of his own hair, pulling and tugging at the corn-coloured strands, hissing at the sharp pain. “Then why does it feel like I’m always ruining everything I touch?”
Collie didn’t answer, and when Gary glanced up at him, his expression had softened. Gary couldn’t stand to see it. His eyes burned. The cigarette butt, from where it had been tossed away, let a thin trail of smoke curl up from the rocks.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Collie,” he said suddenly. The words spilled out like a dictionary on fire before he could catch them. His voice shook, and he swallowed hard, tears coming hot and fast now, cascading down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say it while sober.”
Collie’s jaw worked, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. The silence stretched between them, filled only by an owl in the distance and the faint buzz of the old porch light. Inside, someone started another song, a slow one this time, and the noise of it drifted faintly through the open door. It was strange and haunting against the weight of everything outside.
Gary wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, smearing tears and smoke together. “Forget it,” he muttered. “Just forget I fuckin’ said anything.”
He stumbled past Collie and into the yard. The grass was damp and uneven, the fence a blurry outline ahead. Gary stopped halfway across, doubling over as the drunken nausea finally caught up with him. His stomach heaved as he vomited onto the grass, and everything around him wouldn’t stop spinning. He could hear slow, hesitant footsteps behind him. Collie’s voice, quiet: “Gary.”
“Don’t,” Gary rasped, straightening himself up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please, just go.”
For a moment, it sounded as though Collie might argue. But there was only silence and then a soft exhale, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps, and the back door sliding shut again.
Gary stood alone in the backyard, the night pressing in close around him. The porch light flickered, then steadied. Gary wished it would go out entirely. The music inside faded into static again. He sank to his knees in the wet grass, breathing hard, his body trembling from everything. The alcohol, the shame, and mostly that ache that wouldn’t leave him alone. Above him, the sky stretched endless and empty, scattered with stars that didn’t care who he was nor what he had ever done.
Gary closed his eyes and wished, just for a moment, that he could stop existing. Not die, just pause. Stop the noise, stop the weight, stop being Gary Barkovitch, whoever that even was anymore. When he finally opened his eyes again, the cigarette on the step had burned out completely, leaving only a thin ring of ash.