hung up in the ivory {teva/cal}

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

The rhythmic ticking of Teva’s clock served as background noise to his nervous breaths. He was perched on the edge of his mattress, rubbing the crook of his left forearm with a damp alcohol swab and relying only on the silver light of the moon peeking through his window. When he was finished, he occupied his right hand with a syringe. It glinted maliciously at him as if in stern warning of his feeble submission to experimentation, but he had already reached a breaking point. There was only so much shit he could fit on one platter, and the glass had shattered already. Teddy’s arrest, Tate’s blaming, Tate’s unexplained and prolonged disappearances, Cal’s inescapable job – none of this had been part of the plan. Their mother’s brutal execution was supposed to be the last thing to make Teva cry. That was supposed to be the last trial, the last time life decided to play a sick joke on him.

Life was a fucking liar.

The needle puncturing his vein felt like a dull ache. He heeded Thrasher’s earlier advice and pulled back until a droplet of blood was inside the tube, indicating that he had struck a vein instead of just skin and muscle. He would form a blister had he missed and pressed, and that would just ruin the experience, the whole goddamn point of spending his money on shit like this.

”I’ve got a guy comin’, he sells me the good shit on a discount price because I’m in the gang.” Thrasher had said, propped against the back wall with his limbs splayed out like he owned the place.

”Is that why we’re waiting here instead of getting our goddamn work done before sun rise?” Trigger had responded, his bitterness thicker than the blood on Thrasher’s palms.

”Chill, chill, he’ll be here soon. I just gotta make sure I get my medicine. I’m runnin’ low.”

”That shit is not medicine.”

”You sure? It takes away all my stress, sounds like medicine to me.” He laughed.

”How does it get rid of stress?”

”I dunno, it just makes you feel warm and rushed, and nothing else matters but that rush, and then you forget about all of the other shit you need to be thinkin’ about.”

”How long does it last?”

”Depends on how much you’re usin’ and how many times you’ve used. Why, you thinkin’ about buyin’?”

Truth was, he had been. Desperation had been masked beneath layers and layers of rage, and everyone in the gang could sense how off-kilter he was. They all knew why, too, and they understood. They all tried to pitch in to make the triplets’ lives easier. Bouncer was less talkative and annoying than usual, Thrasher was offering advice and charities, and everyone else was either trying to take loads off of his shoulders or avoid him at all costs. The issue was, he didn’t want his tasks taken away from him. Fuck reassignments, and fuck taking breaks, that was not who Trigger was. If anything, the work would help him channel his anger. It would serve as a distraction. Without that, he was alone and stranded at his house with nothing to heal him. Tate was gone, Teddy was gone, Tripp was quieter than usual, and Cal was always in the background suffering in that godforsaken nightclub job. He was in the eye of a shit storm, waiting for the worst of it to spin him around and around until he vomited every last drop of bile.

But tonight, he had a remedy.

He injected himself with Thrasher’s charity. It was heroin, dissolved and crafted to melt inside of his blood and take him to the promise land his comrade had so vividly described. Alcohol was another he had considered, but it was a longer and grueling process. He would have to pick and choose his poisons, purchase them after curfew, and swallow gulps and gulps until his head started to whirl. He didn’t want to ingest anything. His appetite was parched, and he hadn’t felt the desire to eat or drink anything but the occasional sip of water to prevent weakness in the field. This was a much quicker fix, and it would last over an hour, Thrasher had promised – at least with this dose and Teva’s lack of experience.

Blood dribbled out of the microscopic wound. He dabbed it dry with a cotton ball and set the needle on his nightstand, silently and eagerly awaiting the effects. With Teddy arrested, Tate mysteriously absent, and Tripp busy on assignments, the house was his domain. Nobody could chastise him or tell him “No” or steal his syringe or reverse his actions. Cal could always pop up outside his window, but it was much too early for that. This moment was his.

A seed planted itself inside his chest. He felt his stomach roll, his head rush, and vines started to wind and spiral from this seed, spreading warmth to his heart and his neck and his arms and his hips and his legs until they felt heavy. He laid back on his mattress and focused on the sensation. His heart galloped like a horse and his lungs sprinted eagerly to match the euphoric pace. Everything about Cal and Teddy and Tate was cold, but he was warm. It was a warmth like sunlight; it chased those shadows away and bathed him in gold. A smile snuck its way across his lips. ”And nothing else matters but that rush.”

He soaked the sensations like a sponge and chose to sink into his mattress until he cocked his head and noticed the small bundle of clothes in the corner. When he sat up, his heart moved a million miles an hour and he laughed under his breath. He decided to toss said clothes in the hamper downstairs, then dropped himself on the sofa in front of their television and watched the Capitol’s shitty programs. Tonight they were oddly entertaining

Time was a lost concept. He didn’t glance at the clock until an hour or so later, when he felt stone after stone drop into his stomach. Disgust registered in his brain at the sight of Caesar Flickerman, despite having viewed the program for a long time now, and he flicked the television off in favor of retreating to his bedroom and changing into something that didn’t burn him up from the inside. The instant he sat upright, however, his stomach somersaulted. Sweat beaded in every crook of his body, and he grunted at the sharp nausea in his abdomen. Quickly, he rushed into the bathroom in the nick of time and vomited bile into the toilet bowl.

His stomach heaved until it felt like there was nothing left, like it had turned itself inside out and shrunk to the size of a pea. Waves of nausea continued to taunt him, but no matter how long he lingered with his head pressed against the wall his body was not willing to reject the last remnants of his stomach content. With a miserable moan, he stood back up, shuffled to his room and tore off his shirt. His skin felt absurdly hot, like he could fry eggs on the surface. He was sweating and his heart was still racing, but there was no euphoria left to make him forget. As he curled up on his bed, he remembered everything all at once. It was worse than before, much worse – it was back with vengeance, yet this time an illness was gripping his stomach and making him feverish as his reality plagued him again.

Thrasher was a worthless piece of shit.

His eyes were wet. Mama Seraphim’s brutal execution was supposed to be the last thing to make Teva cry, but life was a cruel fucking joke. He clenched his pillow and sniffled into the fabric like a pathetic child, like a wounded puppy.

He gave in and choked out a sob until the unmistakable slide of his window froze him solid.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

"Come on baby, just one more turn for me," he says to me and I turn my face away to hide the disgust that becomes more and more present each day since Teva found out my secret. The man's been watching for a long time and each time I jerk my head in his direction to get my manager's attention, to let him know that he's a real creep, the bastard just shakes his head. 'He's a friend,' he mouths at me and I want to punch him right between his stupid eyes. As if I care about that. I don't want him watching me anymore.

I guess it doesn't matter what I do or do not want.

I grit my teeth, trying to let the anger seep out before I begin. It's easier said than done with a weirdo like him watching but I do it. It's my job after all. I wrap my leg around the pole to get a grip, placing each hand on the warmed up metal. One on top of the other provides the support I need to hoist myself up and begin a routine. The band is still going strong despite the late hour and it doesn't seem that this prick plans on leaving anytime soon. I wish he'd just take his greasy head of hair and shove off but that feeling doesn't stop me from leaning low over the stage to let him tuck dollar bills into the tight waistline of my pants.

As I spin on the pole, I take a quick look around the club, checking once again to see if Teva's come. I keep expecting that I'll see him there, in one of the large lounge chairs, watching me perform. Now that he's found me out I expect to see him everywhere. I keep waiting for him to turn off. In the times that I've seen him since that night, I've been waiting for him to tell me to fuck off, but he hasn't. Not once.

It was weird waking up in his bed.

Panic had gripped me for a long moment, I hadn't known where I was. Sleep clung to my limbs and made me lethargic as I turned my head to see him sleeping on the floor beside me. I couldn't recall how I had gotten back to his place in the first place. All I could really remember was a feeling of safety, of warmth. Then it went dark and when I woke up I was in his bed, uncertain as to the time. I knew I was probably late for school, despite the fact that the moon was still out. Which it shouldn't have been. Then I noticed how much higher it was in the sky than when I'd left the club.

Then I realized that maybe I'd slept a tiny bit longer than I thought I had.

Then as I lay there in a panic I'd worried that maybe I'd slept with Teva. For a full two seconds I lay in silent shock and horror, eyes wide and unfocused. Then my brain had caught up with my idiot self and told me that I was still fully clothed and he was on the ground, wearing clothes and the worry left.

I fell back asleep after that and ended up sleeping another full day like a first class idiot. God only knows how sore Teva was the next few days. I was ashamed for taking his bed from him but I hadn't slept so well in so long. There was a feeling that I'd actually had some rest for once after I woke up in his room.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been going back there to get a couple of hours sleep before school. I told him that he wasn't allowed to give his bed up for me anymore. I pull the window open and if he's asleep then I flop down beside him on the bed and wait for morning to come for me and drag me back out of his window. I don't know why I've grown so attached. Maybe it's because he makes me feel like myself again. Maybe it's because I no longer have any secrets from him.

I get off of my shift faster than usual, mainly because I'm still pissed about my manager's stupid creep of a friend and I can be a diva when I want to be. I stomped my foot like an infant and told my manager that I had homework to do and I was tired of his shitty friends with their stupid wandering hands and gross lack of hygiene. So he let me off early. It's a thursday night so the club was pretty quiet anyway and there's a day off at school tomorrow so the teachers can finish their marking. I won't have to get up at the crack of dawn.

I swear that when I left the club I was heading off back to my place to forage for a snack and some much needed sleep but I guess that in the recent weeks my feet have decided on a new path. I'm halfway to Teva's house before I know it. I stop, turning on my heel, knowing that I shouldn't bother him, that I should stop interrupting his sleep but my home is cold and quiet and sad.

So I turn again and let myself go there. It's not like I'm doing anything really bad by going to his place. Maybe I'm indulging myself a bit too much, he's going to get annoyed with me and tell me to stop coming over eventually. Until then though, I'll milk it. I've never really liked being alone, my hands and feet are permanently cold and sometimes I think I hear things in the night. I've been sapping Teva's body heat by pressing my cold hands against his back and pushing my feet against his legs, making him suffer so I can have his heat.

But when I pull the window up and slip in, I can tell that something is wrong. Sometimes teva waits up for me or he's fast asleep but it's never like this. There's something in the air, a quiet tension. A lack of sound. Teva isn't sleeping and he's not smiling either and he's not doing anything, Teva is dead-

-ly quiet.

He's got his face shoved into the pillow.

I look around the room as I shrug off my coat and leave it in a heap on the floor. I don't notice anything out of the ordinary that might give a hint as to why Teva is trying to drown himself in feathers.

I slip off my shoes and get ready to flop down beside him when my eyes catch something odd on the bedside table. Curious, I reach down and pick up a syringe. When I tilt it, a little drop of blood runs around the inside. I tilt it slowly, spinning it, watching as the blood leaves a neat little spiraling trail around the inside. Lowering the syringe I look behind me at Teva, who's body is tense and he is shaking slightly, like he's stuck. I let my eyes wander over the smoothness of his bare back marred only by a scar here or there in true Teva fashion. He's slick with sweat and the room smells off slightly.

A lot of the patrons of the club like to get high too.

Quietly, I turn back to the syringe. After a moment of consideration, I place it gently back on the bedside table, and let my head fall onto the pillow, pulling my legs up as I do so. I'm silent as I roll over to look at Teva's tense and sorrowful form. My brain is spinning as I try to work it out. I don't know if he's gotten high before at all, I'm trying to think about what he was like the other night when I was here again. I think he was normal, bright-eyed, grumbly Teva but now I can't recall. I wasn't looking for the signs.

"Oi," I whisper, fingers curling up softly as I keep myself from reaching out. "You're going to suffocate if you do that," I tell him. I'm afraid and so my face has slipped back into that bored expression, my tone is seemingly neutral even though I want to reach out and pull him towards me, just to check if he's still even breathing.

"Look at me."

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

He was starved of oxygen. The moment he captured the familiar sound of his window shifting to accommodate Cal’s body, he sucked in a breath and held it there to suppress the little hiccups in his lungs. He wanted to erase every sign of his emotional struggle because he didn’t want Cal seeing him vulnerable and distressed. The boy had enough on his own plate, and he knew Cal came over here for warmth, peace, and company. He didn’t want to burden him further, not until he earned a few hours of sleep. It wasn’t fair to keep information from him, so he would update Cal on their family situation as soon as he could. But right now he was in no state to even look at Cal. His cheeks were stained red, his eyes were damp, and he felt like he was burning up from head to toe.

He pressed his face into the fabric of his tear-stained pillow. He needed to convince Cal that he was ill or asleep – or both – but the ache in his lungs, the desire to gasp out every sob still wedged in his system was making him quiver. He couldn’t just lay there and force himself to pass out, his stomach wouldn’t let him. It was twisting every which way and begging him to curl his knees to his chest, like there was some magical position that could heal his sickening ailments. The last time he had even attempted to sleep like this had been during the several months after their mother’s execution, when their servings were closer to scraps than to meals, and hunger had grabbed ahold of his stomach and squeezed.

The bed shifted at the addition of Cal’s weight, and he felt himself tense up. Cal would definitely notice how sweaty and feverish he was, whether he showed his face or not. Usually he would try to warm his hands and feet by pressing them to his torso and legs. It always felt like ice blocks touching his skin, but this time he felt nothing of the sort.

He still remembered how long Cal had slept the first time. After Teva carried him here, set him down on his mattress, and parked himself on the floor with a spare pillow and blanket, he had slept beyond the sun rise and beyond the hour when Teva stirred and crawled out of his makeshift bed in favor of a late breakfast. He completed chores and ran errands all while Cal was still resting up in his room, knocked out like one of those lame princesses in fairytales that needed some magic kiss to wake them the fuck up. He was still asleep even when Teva transformed himself into Trigger, and departed with knives strapped to his hips and legs and a gun shoved into his back pocket. That evening, he slept on the floor again. The hard carpet riddled him with back cramps, but that was easily remedied after a few good workouts.

Since that night, Cal would visit every so often to crawl into his bed a steal a few hours of sleep. The first time it happened, he hadn’t known what the fuck was making so much suspicious noise at his window. He had misinterpreted an innocent visit as an intruder, and rolled off of his mattress to reach for the knife hidden in his drawer. He didn’t get very far with it, since the moonlight illuminated Cal’s features upon closer inspection. It was one of the most relieving moments of his life, made even better once Cal insisted that they share a bed instead of Teva kicking himself to the floor. The lack of soreness was a nice touch, but there were still splashes of hesitation and guilt in his system because Cal didn’t know what it actually meant to him – and even worse, how it felt to him – that they were sharing his bed. Needless to say, it had taken him a while to adjust and stop himself from laying so stiffly.

Teva closed his eyes and embraced the silence, wishing it would stay the moment he heard Cal’s whisper. In defeat, he shifted the majority of his reddened face out of the fabric but stubbornly refused to heed his demand. He did not want Cal to see him crying.

”No,” he pathetically grumbled, voice strained from the knots in his chest.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

I watch as he shifts slowly, raising his face away from the pillow only slightly, but in the wrong direction. He's hiding from me, sure as anything. I don't know why. He's seen me at my worst, snot dripping out of my nose and everything. As I recall, some of that snot even got on his shirt. My cheeks flush slightly at that memory. I didn't really care much at the time, I was too worried about the fact that he hated me more than anything else. With time to think about it, it's eaten at me. I've never come off as anything less than perfect but that moment was low for me. I've been careful in the past few weeks to stay calm, diligent with my emotions.

Teva does the same for me.

I guess ever since his mom died and he and his brothers have turned to gang violence. He didn't tell me that, what they did. I found that out a couple of weeks ago too. Turns out the Seraphims were more of a closed book than I thought, Teva especially so. He holds my secret now just as I hold his. That connects us. I don't have anything else left to tell him, my life is laid out on the space of the bed sheet between us for him to see.

"No," he says to me. He sounds like a little boy. Honestly, the tiniest bit pathetic, not that I'll ever tell him that. He's stubborn and defensive. I can hear the ache in his voice though and the way his shoulders are tells me that this is something that he wants to be left alone with. He's like a dog with his tail between his legs and it's ears flat against his skull. Dad always said to be careful around dogs when they're like that; they'll bite.

I consider this.

On one hand, I could turn over and get some sleep. It's not like I don't need it. True, that mini coma I was in a few weeks ago really helped but it's not going to keep me going forever. However, tomorrow is a day off and I don't have to go to work until the evening. I can do this all night. Teva Seraphim is known for how stubborn he can be, but when I want something, no one denies me it and that's for a good reason. I know how to deal with people, I've had more than enough practice, haven't I?

If Teva bites then that's alright.

He took care of me back then, so I can take care of him this time. If I have to be forceful about it, then so be it. My voice is cold, dangerous and I narrow my eyes in a foreboding manner at the back of his skull. "I said look at me Teva," and it isn't a question, it's a command that I expect him to listen to. There's no room in my universe for him to refuse. It's either he looks at me now or I reach out and turn him over with my own two hands.

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

He waited for Cal to back down. In the shroud of silence he anticipated the sound of a body shifting to roll on its other side, signaling that he would be choosing sleep in favor of probing Teva until he caved under the pressure. But then he remembered that this was Calficer, someone who could be stern and stubborn when he needed to be. Now was the worst possible time to deal with that side of him. He was too feeble from the warping of his stomach and the burning of his skin to put up much of a fight. He felt drained of his determination to remain inside a shell. Cal was willingly sharing this space with him, practically reaching out with a gentle hand to seek the genuine reasoning behind his episode. He knew he shouldn’t turn it away, but every old instinct warned him that it was a weakness not to.

”I said look at me Teva.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally cursed at himself. He was so fucking soft on Cal, he couldn’t keep up the charade for much longer. He sounded like an angry mother scolding her child, except his tone was frostbitten and dangerous, like something a rival gang member would growl at him from across a dark alley. He usually responded to threats with an equal or stronger amount of venom in his tone, but this voice belonged to Cal. He could picture his pretty face behind him, all twisted into a dark expression out of irritation at Teva’s stubborn immaturity. Goddamn it all, he didn’t want to piss Cal off. He just wanted the both of them to shut the fuck up, forget everything, and go to sleep. Evidently, not even his own body would let him accomplish that.

The back of his hands wiped the tears away from his cheeks. His lungs were still gasping for air, still hiccupping from the sobs he had to suppress in order to retain some remnants of his dignity. One of the most powerful members of a gang, fucking crying on his bed like a child while taking orders from his crush. Fucking fantastic, he was currently the biggest wuss in Panem. He even trumped Tate.

Sighing, he finally rolled onto his opposite side and scrunched his reddened face into a half-assed glare. It faltered immediately upon sighting Cal’s familiar features, and another tear managed to slip past his defenses. He hadn’t realized that this was exactly what he needed right now – somebody that wasn’t his dumbass self or his nosy brothers to share a space with him. Somebody he cared about more than he should've, sitting right there with two of the darkest and prettiest eyes in the world just looking at him. He wished life could be easier and more comfortable, so that Cal could sweep him into his arms and hold him like he was a lost puppy and let him cry onto his shoulder until he fell asleep. He wanted to wake up in those same arms, and never have to fucking leave and deal with his problems again.

Life was not going to give him a blessing like that.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

I hate the feeling of not knowing.

The reason I am able to survive is because I know what is happening around me. I wouldn't be able to take the harsh reality of my job if I didn't understand exactly why I had to do it, or what I had to do. With confusion there is disorder. Confusion comes along when something is thrown out of place. Like the factories that populate this district and keep us running, I am useless if I'm missing even one cog. Teva being sad is like a cog being out of place because Teva is never sad. Teva is Teva, strong, loud and obnoxious and so ridiculously present that when I'm around him it's as if the entire world is painted a fluorescent pink. Not knowing why this sadness is gripping him is scary. It must mean something really bad has happened and I don't know if I can take bad news.

One thing that I've always liked Teva is just how invulnerable he really seems to be. I know it's bad to put anyone on a pedestal but sometimes I think that the entire world could turn to dust and he'd still be standing there on his little patch of earth, shaking his fist at the world. I like that. I know that I'd let myself turn to dust too. It's be good to finally rest, to stop struggling along like this. However, I know that even the strongest people in the world have their unbearable weights that keep them grounded. Like Atlas, we all have to carry our own worlds on our shoulders but it's always easier with a friend.

He finally turns to look at me and his eyes are cloudy from tears. It's odd seeing Teva cry. I've seen Tate cry loads of times. He cries a lot. You'd think it wouldn't be much difference seeing it on Teva's face seeing as they're nearly identical but it is. It's a little bit shocking, like the world has tilted that much more to the side while I wasn't paying attention. They might have the same face but it's different. Seeing Tate cry is a normal thing. I don't like seeing Teva cry. It makes my chest feel weird, like I'm sick or something.

I'm quiet for a moment, my eyes searching his features to gauge the damage. He's really pale and he's sweating too. It isn't that hot in here and his covers are all kicked off. In fact, it's a pretty cold night. I'm shivering slightly even in full clothing. Worry flickers across my spectrum and I bite at the inside of my lip. At least I know why he looks like shit. That doesn't make me any happier though. Yes, I know why he looks like shit, what I don't know is the other why, the one that pertains to why he shot up heroin in the first place.

A stray tear slips out and I can tell that he's trying to hold them back. 'Big old tough Teva can't be crying because that's not what he does.' The effort he's putting in is going to make him explode. I know that his glare is meant to put me off but it's such a glare of minimal effort that it only serves to worry me further.

I reach out slowly, I know he's got good reflexes and I don't want him to break my arm out of surprise, and I use the pad of my thumb to wipe the tear away before it can go anywhere else. "There," I say softly in response to his turning to face me, "Was that so hard?"

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

He felt exposed like a baby chick stripped of its eggshell too early. The tear burned at the same temperature as his skin, yet it might as well have left a trail of steam in its wake. His dark eyes were puffy and vulnerable, and his cheeks were tinted pink from the heat and the strain, but that was okay as long as Cal didn’t physically witness the tears leaking from his eyes. Yet in a moment of weakness – mostly from the relief he felt when he saw Cal’s soothing expression – his weakened defenses collapsed. He bit down on the tissue inside of his bottom lip to stop it from quivering, and tried to gain control of the muscles in his face that scrunched his features into a pathetic crying mask. He exhaled a shaky breath at Cal’s tender gesture, somewhat taken aback by his willingness to comfort him so intimately. Suddenly it felt ten degrees warmer – which he really didn’t fucking need right now since he felt like a volcano – and the temptation to pull up his blankets to hide and melt underneath them escalated.

He remained motionless instead, trying to recapture his breaths and cease the aching in his lungs. His heart continued to race like it was the freest organ in the world, but he knew he was helpless to stop that. He was just thankful that it was physically impossible for it to leap out of his chest and spill blood all over his nice sheets.

Cal’s little ”Was that so hard?” reverted his features back into a brief scowl, because it sounded too much like he was being belittled. Yet at the same time, it could just be him overreacting and trying to find a reason to bitch and ignite an argument. He was in no condition to start shit. He doubted his ability to even defend himself if he did start shit. His mental state was weakened and subject to Cal’s manipulation. It really sucked.

It really didn’t suck. Cal might know exactly what to say to him, after all. Except he doesn’t know anything. He didn’t know why Teva was crying or why he was sweating like a goddamn farmer in the hot sun – unless he saw it, shit did I leave that on the night stand? Shit, he knows I got high, that’s probably why he hasn’t asked what’s wrong with me. Was Cal judging him for it? He didn’t want to be perceived as some drug-addicted scumbag. Tate would definitely murder him for this if he found out. Tripp would probably be disappointed. Teddy, too, if he wasn’t sitting in a fucking jail cell. The sad part was, despite all of the horrible things that were ravaging with his body, he already missed that sensation the heroin gave him. That rush, that lifting feeling of becoming a cloud and distancing himself from the world – he wanted it again, and there was only one way to do that. That really fucking sucked.

He knew drugs were addicting, but Thrasher hadn’t warned him. I’ll have to kick his ass later. Cravings were going to be a bitch, especially if he was already starting to feel them. He looked up at Cal and then back down at his pillow. Sleep was impossible for him at the moment, but he could always try once he relaxed, and listening to Cal’s soft breathing could speed up the process. Just forget everything, just turn around and go to sleep. Cal could do that, right?

Probably not, but he would try to convince him anyway.

”Just go to sleep.”

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

He tells me to go to sleep and that is a command that I do want to obey. Maybe I would be more willing to do so if it weren't for the fact that I know that something is pulling him apart so easily. I don't want to just go to sleep. I won't be able to, not when he's like this. I wish I knew how to make things better but I can't do shit if he doesn't tell me anything. I know that he isn't just sick. If he was then I would just go to sleep after making sure there is nothing I can do for him. This isn't sickness though. This is him coming down hard from a high that he went on because something was bothering him and I don't intend to leave him alone until he tells me.

"Hah. No," I drawl out, smirking slightly at him from my spot on the bed. My grin is half-assed and languid. I'm not going to let him see just how much finding that needle on his bedside table bothered me. For all he knows, I didn't even see it. I'd like to keep it that way. I'm not judging him for what he's done, I don't want him to think I am. There's something about Teva that makes him impossible. He can't do anything wrong because whatever he has done is meant to be. He's just following his storyline and I'm just failing to rewrite mine.

My hands are still freezing, as are my feet but even brushing my hand along the top of his cheekbone I knew just how hot he was. It's slightly worrying. I need to get him cooled down and I need to heat myself up. I can explain what I do next away as entirely selfish if I wish to. I press my hands flat against his chest, long fingers resting delicately against the heat of his skin. It's incredibly warm and my smile widens in appreciation. I push my feet against his legs, searching for that same heat.

Teva must be really thankful for a good friend like me. He's lucky I'm always cold because he must be really hot right now. How lucky. "What's wrong?" I ask him, voice still low because despite not knowing whether Tate and Tripp are about, I know that Teddy has got to be home. Tate would never let him out this late, especially when the night is so cold.

My eyes search his for an answer but I look away again. There's something scary in them, something sadder than usual. Maybe it's hypocritical of me to feel this slight twinge of disappointment over what Teva has done tonight. It's not like I'm an angel. My job entails sleeping with men and women, sometimes both. I've seen needles, lighters, bongs, all of it and it's not like I'm new to that scene at all. I've drunken alcohol before, even gotten drunk. I just draw my line at drugs. I guess that isn't where Teva draws his. That's his choice.

"Tell me," I whisper.

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

Cal was frustrating. He refused to back down and catch the sleep he needed, yet the half-smirk resting against his features was too typical and too attractive to stir Teva’s anger. Normally he would return the smirk, but he was too exhausted. Every muscle fiber in his body wanted to melt into the mattress in defeat. He barely had the energy to muster a casual frown. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like right now, but it couldn’t be pretty. It was probably a train wreck – a sweaty, red, tear-stained train wreck with drooping eyes and chapped lips and a nose that was about to start running. He simply couldn’t gather the energy to crack Cal’s determination or steer his priorities, which was a goddamn bummer because he was not in the mood to explain everything to him.

Icicles pressed against his chest, and he flinched. Cal’s hands were absolutely freezing, and the simple touch of his palms and feet to his feverish skin made him shiver. He knew they both needed it; Teva was burning up and Cal was eternally cold. Cal could seep the warmth out of him and in return Teva could hopefully cool the fuck off and stop sweating so damn much. It was getting ridiculous.

Having Cal lay so close to him was another issue. Stricken with another small wave of embarrassment, he let his face sink further into the pillow. His head felt like it was bursting with hot air. ”What’s wrong?” Cal asked, voice low. That wasn’t exactly helping, but the subject matter at hand served as a decent enough distraction. He started to think. ”Tell me.”

Where do I start?

A deep breath, then ”Teddy got arrested.” Disbelief was still sewn in there, as if he couldn’t imagine Teddy anywhere else but in his bedroom asleep. That wasn’t true. Right now he was probably alone in some kind of dark, damp cell, cornered like an animal with a white coat towering over him. Who could predict what would happen to him? They could cut his tongue out, just as they had with Cal’s dad. They could execute him. They could torture him – they could perform all three punishments, and then the Seraphims would never see their little brother again. He could become a slave.

That irresponsible little shit.

”He tried to rob a Peacekeeper.” He recalled the memory of discovery. A gang runt, a fellow fucking gang runt had to deliver them the news, and then Teva had to chase him down and kick the rest of the information out of him. ”What the fuck was he doing with you? What the fuck is he doing robbing people?!” The worst of it had been Tate’s wrath. The fucking blaming, the jabbing fingers, the shouting. Tate had no right to blame him for it. No fucking right.

He scowled. ”Tate says it’s my fucking fault when it isn’t, just because I taught him how to defend himself.” Anger seeped back into his pores, raising his temperature again when he should’ve been simmering. ”He said I put the knife in his hand.”

Lies.

He took another deep breath and ceased his growling. ”And now I have no fucking clue where Tate is because he keeps running away and not coming back for days, so it's just been me and Tripp,” he muttered. That coward. How could he run away from his problems like this? He was a fucking gang leader. They had reputations and responsibilities to uphold. He couldn’t even imagine what Tate was doing out there. Fucking around? Trying to find Teddy?

Wasting everyone’s goddamn time?

He lowered his gaze and shut himself up.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

I stare intently at my hands on his chest as he speaks, ears straining to sort out his words. It's a lot to take in, a lot more than I was expecting. I can't think about Teddy being arrested, the idea is unapproachable, unfathomable. I don't want to believe that he is anywhere but in his room across the hall, sleeping safe and sound, a book fallen open on his chest or some cute shit like that. Teddy is literally a Teddy, the little brother who's been following use around ever since he learned how to crawl. He called me 'Big Bro' once by accident and it made me so happy that I nearly actually smiled. Quick little flashes of memories crawl through my brain, of long summers spent exploring, him tagging along on one of the triplet's backs, sometimes even my own. They can't take Teddy. That's gotta be illegal.

With the mention of arrest, my father walks through my head, unbidden. He smiles, winks at me. He doesn't ever speak. He's tongueless, he cannot. I don't want Teddy to be tongueless too, bright-eyed little Teddy, the boy with a thousand and one thoughts. That idea hurts. I shut my eyes for a moment at the image, of them taking out Dad's tongue and leaving it on the front lawn. I don't want that for Teddy. It makes me feel sick.

I put that away, all thoughts of it, to save it for later. Later I can take the idea that Teddy is gone out and look at it fully but right now, Teva is the one who needs my attention. I open my eyes again and narrow them at his chest, as if I'm zeroing in on the pumping of his heart. I don't want him to see the worry over Teddy in my eyes. I'm good at hiding emotion in them, my manager calls me 'his cold little bitch'. Teva's always been good at spotting them though, like he's got some weird sixth sense for me. So I hide from him on occasion. I don't want him to worry about me too, he's obviously got enough on his plate.

I listen to the rest of his words. Tate's disappearance is slightly shocking. Only slightly. He's always been oddly emotional, of course the loss of Teddy would do this to him. It makes sense. It doesn't keep a quiet ember of anger from burning in the pit of my stomach. I'd expect tears from Tate, even a breakdown over Teddy. What I wouldn't expect is for him to blame Teva and make him feel horrible for it, like Teva would tell Teddy to attack a Peacekeeper. I've always respected Tate for the way he treats all of us like his charges, and I've recognized that it must put a strain on him. Blaming Teva is just childish and hurtful though. I'm not impressed.

My gaze is drawn to a blemish on his skin. He's got quite a few of course. I knew about the one under his ear and I knew he had more scars only based on the fact that it's Teva. I haven't seen him without a shirt on for a long time though. Summers spent carefree at the swimming hole ended long ago. I move my hand along a slightly puckered line that runs along the left side of his chest. "So what's this from then?" I ask him.

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

Silence dangled in the air between them. It was a lot to absorb, he understood that. That’s why it hurts so much, there’s too much shit going on at once. And he had completely left out the part about Cal’s job and how much he despised its existence, how he wished he could burn the place to the ground and rob its customers and beat the manager with a flat piece of splintered wood. The majority of his pain was centered on his family crisis, but Cal’s troubles always lingered in the recesses of his mind. Whenever he crawled through the window and shared the warmth of his bed he always thought, ”What was he doing right before this?” and it was always pretty easy to guess the answer. It disgusted him; not Cal, but the rest of the lot. The fuckers and their contract. It was completely unfair.

His discomfort grew in the quietness. What was Cal thinking? Was he still trying to absorb it all and comprehend it? Perhaps he was shocked into disbelief, and had to mull it over and accept that it was the truth. He had only just found out about the gang, after all. Of course this was a related incident, and of course it was strange to imagine Teddy brandishing a knife in front of some random citizen who turned out to not be so innocent and oblivious after all. He waited anxiously for any type of response, anything at all. Did he have anything to say about Tate’s blaming? He knows it wasn’t my fault, right? Because it fucking wasn’t. He refused to believe otherwise. It would just be wrong to throw him under a bus when he didn’t belong there. It was all Teddy’s fault. It was all his doing.

Yet he knew Tate had started to blame himself, and that had to be why he was running away like a bitch.

The lack of response churned his stomach even more. The fever was still prevalent above his neck and below his waist, but his chest was starting to cool off, courtesy of those icy hands. He barely registered the deliberate swipe across his longest chest scar until Cal finally piped up. ”So what’s this from then?”

He furrowed his brow and glanced at the pink ridge running along his left pectoral. Blinking in slight befuddlement, he looked at Cal and silently questioned the off-topic inquiry. What did this have to do with the issue? He had been the one who asked in the first place, so why was he trying to change the topic all of the sudden? Was is that unbelievable?

He licked his lips and noticed that he had been quiet for too long. The least he could do was answer the question, despite how frustrating all of this was. ”A knife fight,” he said. He remembered it clearly. Another gang had sprung up like a mushroom in the District – a tiny, nontoxic mushroom with a flashy coat but unimpressive taste. The idiots had threatened to invade their territory, to which they were required to respond with absolute dominance. Teva had been sent as a warning; kill one of their men, and demand that they back the fuck down or suffer more casualties. The one he happened to find hadn’t been so clueless or slow to react. He had put up a hell of a fight, and managed to get a good swipe in right above the nipple.

He was very fucking thankful that he had missed the nipple.

A knife fight was all Cal needed to know. If he wanted details, he could ask, but Teva wanted to steer the conversation back to its original purpose. ”Why are you asking me that?”

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

I'm a single child. When I was younger I never really understood why this was. I thought that it was weird because there were so many of the Seraphims and their house was always bright and loud but then I'd get home and my parents would be both out working, it'd be so lonely. I asked my mother once about why I didn't have brothers too and she said that it was because they couldn't afford to have more than one kid. Even if they'd wanted another, they'd have to put him up for adoption because they wouldn't be able to care for him. I came to the conclusion that you had to be rich to have siblings so I opened a lemonade stand.

I wanted to make sure that I didn't have to be alone. I wanted someone to share a home with too but when I presented my mom with the dollar I'd made from the two cups I'd sold to Teva, she sat me down and told me that it was never going to happen. She wasn't able to have anymore kids because an angry bug had climbed inside of her uterus and made it so. I took this news with disappointment but with the same calm demeanor that I have with every disappointment in my life.

I just spent as much time with the triplets as possible. It wasn't the same but it was close to it.

It's crazy to think about just how long I've known them. Since before we started Kindergarten I think. I don't remember how we met, I just remember all the times that came after. I can't imagine a life without any of them. Things would have been bleak.

My fingers trace the scar again and again and I marvel at the fact that he isn't dead. A cut like that must have been deep to leave such a scar but he acts like it's nothing to survive something like that. He sounds nearly nonchalant as he tells me it's from a knife fight. It makes me curious.

"Because I want to know," I say in answer to his question, that same bored expression painting my features over in a similar fashion like the same old forest green that the neighbor across the street paints his fence over with every single year of my life. My expression is 'same old' and comfortable. Maybe it comes across as me ignoring his hurt, ignoring the problem but I'm an excellent essayist. I'm working my way up to my main point.

My eyes catch on a scar that runs angry and pink over the top of his hip. I move my hand down to trace that one too. "What about this one?" I ask him, fingertips running lightly along the pink.

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

You would say that, goddamn it. He was sporting that same bored expression he always wore, and Teva didn’t know how to take it. Cal had to care, right? So why was he acting like he didn’t? His entire family had been reduced to ruins and Cal was asking him about scars. He was ignoring everything and acting like they could hold a casual conversation – and for what? To help Teva simmer down and distract him? Nothing could distract him, not completely. His stomach was in knots, his skin was slick with sweat, he felt like an oven radiating heat yet it didn’t seem to faze Cal at all. Not even sleep could overtake him. All he was left with were these physical ailments, his emotional turmoil, and the company of Cal, which was proving to be more puzzling than he had expected.

Cal’s fingers felt cold against his hip, and his muscles twitched in response – a microscopic flinch from the shock. His hand was wandering dangerously close to an area it shouldn’t have been. ”What about this one?” he asked, and Teva swallowed. His focus was scattering. Don’t think about the hand, think about the scar.

Fine, if Cal wanted to ask about every last one of his scars, so be it. There was no point in trying to run him off track. Besides, that hand was starting to feel rather nice.

”Had to hunt down an old member who stole from us,” he said. What an asshole that guy had been, too. And so fucking cocky. Trigger never liked working with him in the first place, so good riddance. ”His knife was bigger than mine.” But not better. It just happened to leave a mark that was twice as long as the blade itself, marring him with the largest disfigurement on his body. Compared to the others this was his most recent, and his largest in both width and height. Cal’s view only granted him three quarters of its length – the rest was buried beneath the waistband of his jeans. He took pride in this particular scar, simply because he always said “You should’ve seen the other guy.” With a smaller and thinner knife, Teva had sliced him up like he was a cooked ham.

He wondered if Cal was going to seek the backstory behind every single scar. The details were evidently insignificant to him, so he wasn’t quite sure what the point of this was. Still, that was fourteen different stories to summarize in one blandly-muttered sentence. Cal didn’t even know about the one on his ass. Now that was a story he would tell in full detail just for the hell of it. It was his favorite scar, and it was only because it was so ridiculous and he couldn’t believe that the asshole had aimed there. How desperate did he have to be?

Teva felt too drained to smirk, but the thought amused him.

[gamemaker kelsier]

C  A  L  C  I  F  E  R

My hands should be warmer by now but they aren't. I feel like I'm getting colder by the second. I want to ask Teva to be more specific but at the same time I don't. It's hard to think of him desperate, rolling in the mud with blood running down his side. I don't think Teva is the type to give in too easily and I like to think I'm that way too but taking a knife to the side is a good excuse. Maybe bleeding out in some dark alley somewhere doesn't sound all that great but if it happened to me then I wouldn't have to go to work the next day. Maybe never again. It's stupid to think about, so fucking stupid. I don't want to die but I also don't know how much I'd mind it.

I'd miss Teva though. I try and think about anytime I saw him, if he looked particularly wounded. There was that one time after they shot his mom where he could barely breath from his broken ribs. He was all white in the face and I remember that I was so afraid that I laughed. I'm weird like that, sometimes it's like I don't know how to properly react. The day I got home from the public execution I laughed so hard that I started crying. Mom says it's nothing to be ashamed of, that I'm just hysterical and that's why I laugh. She says it's because I'm so upset that I can't cope. When Tate let me know that Teva had woken up after getting beaten to shit by those Peacekeepers I laughed too.

I can't think of any other time that I saw him looking in so much pain. When I think about Teva, he's immovable in my head, like a rock. Nothing gets around him, nothing stops him when he wants to do something. That's how it's always been. That's what the scars are. Maybe one day I'll sit him down and I'll make him give me the full story of each. Scars are important, they tell stories. There's a gap in our history where we fell apart because of my job and his job getting in the way but I'll be friends with the triplets for a long time. It's about time I started working on that friendship harder.

My hands travel back up his chest, to a slightly more faded scar that doesn't look like it was any kinder to him. His skin isn't cooling down at all. It's like he's a furnace and that can't be good for him. We had this customer once who was always shooting up and he'd grip my arms, calling me love. He'd warm the whole place up. One night he overdosed in the back room just before he was about to have a transaction with Jessie. She got to go home early and we never had to deal with him again which was nice. He was dead.

I've seen dead bodies before. My job isn't kind to the likes of me. One time we had a particularly aggressive customer who took a girl called Tara into the back room. When the screaming stopped we found her, throttled on the bed and him gone. Her neck looked like someone had put it through a wringer and I remember I stood staring at her for too long. She could have been me. I take home bruises sometimes, sometimes a split lip or a black eye. That's just how some customers are. I don't have many scars though. That's the rule. Never leave lasting marks on the merchandise and management won't mind what you do.

I trace the scar with one finger, the rest of them splayed across his chest as if to leech heat from him better. "This One?" I ask.

[Python]

Teva "Trigger" Seraphim

Again, he didn’t comment. He simply listened and diverted his hand to the next scar. This one was shorter and faded, like someone had rubbed out the discoloration with a bar of soap. Teva sighed in defeat, having finally accepted the fact that Cal wasn’t going to display a proper reaction to Teddy’s arrest and Tate’s stupidity. That was okay though, he was always like that. He reacted weirdly to stressful situations or didn’t react at all, and Teva liked that about him. He wasn’t an open book like a lot of people, he actually had to sit down and really figure him out. He had to dig deep. Sometimes it was impossible, like right now. He had no idea what Cal was thinking. Was he even remotely interested in the backstories of these scars?

He was still asking, but it could all be for distraction. It wasn’t the best distraction, but Cal was also laying right in front of him, cold and cute and acting like his usual self. It was keeping him grounded. His eyes were already dried out and healing from the emotional onslaught. He decided to focus on Cal’s face, preferably his dark eyes. They were as dark as the shadows in his bedroom. ”That one’s from a long time ago,” he said. It was a small incision-like line drawn along his sternum, although it couldn’t have stretched more than two inches. It was a puny one, but one of the more noticeable ones up close. ”It’s probably the first scar I ever got. Another knife fight.”

Except it had been during his rookie years, so it had started as a shootout until the other asshole ran out of bullets. Trigger was a bad shot, and only managed to pop the guy in the knee (still a really fucking painful place to sustain a bullet, the bone probably shattered) before his partner snuck behind him and kicked the gun out of Trigger’s hand. While the other guy limped away crying for his buddies, Trigger had been forced to whip out his back-up and scrap with his partner until one dominated the other at knife-point. He was fortunate the man had punctured him above the sternum instead of above the ribcage.

That was the first and only body he had ever dragged away and carried to the river. Now it was up to his inferiors to perform that gruesome task.