the fear of falling apart {tobias and ira}

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

Rain stains his cheeks, falling from silver skies and tap dancing across gray pavement. He has watched the color fade, hue by hue, these long three centuries. To see anything but dismal gray was a luxury, he had come to realize. For boys whose mothers' loved them, whose brothers' were found and whose fathers' were happy. 

Mordecai was nowhere to be seen. His mother couldn't so much as look his way without a sneer painted upon her lips like the bright red lipstick that normally adorned them. His father wore sadness down both of his wrists, wrapped in white cloth and drowned in booze.

And so the world withers around him. 

The graveyard is quiet, these cold mornings. Not a beating heart to be found. There's something comforting about that, Tobias decides as he falls to his knees, crumbles under the weight of the world as he so often does and watches the heavens weep. His eyes dance across the gravestones, not a single new caskett to be found since yesterday when he sat and watched the silence. 

He won't bother asking the kindly man with the graying beard whether a body has come in when the answer is as clear as the stones given to those found without names. Guilt burns like acid up his throat, tearing at his insides because even a place like this makes him hopeful. Hopeful that closure is just around the corner. 

Because maybe he wouldn't mind Mordecai being dead as long as he knew that was the case. 

But his big brother simply faded into nothingness. Crumbled into dust the minute Tobias awoke in a hospital bed, half dead and hungry, screaming and begging for a brother that would never come home. 

It grows tiring to search. Every inch of the district has been scoured, cleansed of possibility like the coarse side of the sponge mother used to rid the dishes of blemish. The same way she tried so diligently to push Tobias onto the streets. He can near taste the disappointment laced within a harsh gaze when he returns after days of sleeping under the docks in dark, wet sand.

He wears Mordecai's clothes now. And although his brother was a mere fifteen to his sixteen years when he disappeared, the clothes still hang off of Tobias. They tangle his feet when he walks and have bloodied his knees on more than one occasion. But it's okay because if he tries hard enough, he can almost imagine Mordecai in the garments instead of he. 

It was always supposed to be Mordecai and Tobias. Because Mordecai protected him, because he felt safe with his hand clasped within his brother's.  

It was never supposed to be Tobi. 

And just Tobi.

Because nobody wanted just Tobi.

The sky's roaring has stopped by the time he moves, leaving silent corpses behind, peacefully sleeping under six feet of dirt. When silence ends and busy street life, hurried whispers and muttered swears, overcome him, rip the safety from his arms he wants to scream. Tobias had never much liked being around people. They were too unpredictable, too likely to hurt him when he couldn't stand much more pain. 

Sometimes he understands father's insistence upon trying to leave Panem.

But Tobi couldn't go because he knew no one would look for Mordecai otherwise. And it was always there, always in the back of his mind. He couldn't stop looking because what if his brother was still alive. Stuck a damsel and waiting to be saved by the little brother that now scuffs his feet across the pavement. 

The homeless know him by name. He's there every week, with chocolates in his pockets and a question upon his tongue. Have you seen anyone calling themselves Mordecai? Looks kind of like me but taller and stronger. (and better in every way.) 

And every week he can see the guilt in their eyes as they inform him they hadn't seen Mordecai, hadn't seen anyone matching the description, but he'd be the first to know if that happened.And he can see the grateful gleam as he hands out the treats anyway. 

Tobias had lost his taste for sweet things a long time ago.

"Listen, Kid." A kindly old woman with a patch over her eye and dirt under her nails spoke up, gummy grin spreading from ear to ear as though she had the brightest, juiciest bit of information begging to leave a stained tongue. "There's a kid, Ira, he knows all of us. If there's a Mordecai around here, he'll know it." 

And his heart raced, as it always did when a lead, however feeble, surfaced. "What does he look like? Where is he!?" the hunger in his tone must have been apparent as the woman laughed, pointed a crooked finger at entrance to the alleyway and revealed perhaps Tobi's last chance at finding Mordecai alive.

But he isn't holding out much hope.

There's really no point, for boys like him.

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

A ceiling of stars and a floor of filthy feet; Ira wanted to soar beyond boundaries to consult these stars, the emperors of fate, and ask what powers they harnessed at their bright fingertips. What events on planet Earth could they manipulate? Was it the good or the bad or everything the light touched? He didn’t want to believe there was a mind behind the madness, that all the evils in the world were designed on purpose along with the good. The stars shouldn’t be so unkind. They were beacons to light his path, and therefore trustworthy of his hope. Circumstances had betrayed him before, but the fault was in his innocence, not in fate. Blame could be aimed like a silver arrow toward humanity for that injustice. There was nothing more to argue.

The uncertainty of morality and justice blurred together like the puddles of rain at his feet, a blending of reflections and ripples. There was no front porch on which to perch, so he had settled near the window to wait out the downpour. Mars was shedding fur by his right, nudging his hand every so often with a cold, wet nose and slippery tongue. ”It doesn’t look like it will last into the night,” he said, rubbing the sensitive patch behind his best friend’s ear. ”I’ll take you out soon.”

Habit reborn, he unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it between his lips. Grape flavored. Outside, grey faded to darkness and the stars were smothered in black ink. His abdomen tightened in anticipation; it felt like a bad omen for danger, yet he had not known fear for a long time. It was an enemy not vanquished, only one that had given up his sword and withdrawn from the battle until another day. The knife in his pocket was reassurance that if this night promised danger, there would be no hesitation in his grip. Ma was working overtime and thought him absent. She thought a lot of things that were not true, and the fault was within his lies. It seemed too late to say anything now; Ma had chosen silence and distance. Mama was out of her life, mentally and emotionally.

Physically, there was an invisible graveyard where she belonged, where her wasted body would lay undeserving of its sustained cruelty.

Ma would think he was visiting for the day. There was nothing to visit, and for that he blamed himself. But he wouldn’t let those thoughts steer him. The rain was now a light mist, peppering his cheeks through the open window. Mars stirred when he stood up and headed for the door. He was far too loyal for restraints, and as he locked the door behind him Mars relieved himself in the bushes.

People were trickling out of the Square as he passed. Strangers in shadows, he always treated them that way. He smiled at the ones who made eye contact and disregarded the ones who didn’t. Mars followed at his heels into the alleyways of the nobodies, the people who owned nothing but the clothes on their backs and a tent if they were lucky. Their names and faces were in his heart, and now they recognized him with warm smiles and prompt greetings. The ones who didn’t talk, he simply handed them money and wished them a good evening. There were others who were eager for conversation. They thanked him dearly for a bite to eat and shook his hand. Mars was encouraging company; he sniffed around for curiosities and played with the people who wanted to pet his furry head.

Maxwell offered him a story. Ira sat on his blanket with him and listened. Mars sprawled himself out in both of their laps as if he too could listen to the reminiscence. Ira smiled and nodded and absorbed every word. All stories were important, because these people were not truly nobodies. They were identities ridden with misfortune, robbed of happiness and health. Like his mother, yet he wondered if there had been anyone to listen to her stories about Ira Ishmael and his backyard adventures.

Maxwell was kind enough to share bread with him. Refusing the persistent ones never seemed to work, so he nibbled on his piece after his lollipop disintegrated. ”I hope you see little Betsy again,” he said to Max, rising to his feet as Mars sprinted ahead.

His wallet was practically empty when he stumbled upon a lone boy. Mars was at his ankles sniffing for treasures, never too timid to approach a stranger. Ira smiled at him and pulled out a few bills. ”For your troubles,” he beamed.

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

He wore a look that reminded Tobias of the sun. So bright that it pressed against his eyes with brute force, contorting his gaze into a surprised squint. The boy had a dog, tangled fur laced with silver strands left by years of strain. Absent mindedly Tobias pulled a hand through his own dark locks, forcing childish excitement out of his being with every exhale. It was stupid to be happy over something as simple as a dog. No matter if he wanted to drop to his knees, bury his fingers in the fur and revel in unconditional love, he kept his expression cold as his eyes travelled to those of the bright boy.

His smile had not faltered and it sent a weird kind of feeling through Tobias' fingertips. Like lightning injected into his veins, lighting a fire underneath his heart. And for one so  cold for so long, the pain was unbearably sweet. 

The boy said not a word as slender fingers searched through the fabric of a wallet, pressing crumpled bills into his limp hands and speaking in a sweet tone that did nothing to help the burning in Tobias' chest. "For your troubles." It was those words that set his blood to a boil. Bright red making it's way to his cheeks and jaw locking his teeth together for a long while. Tobias stared at the boy, unsure whether the shaking in his palms was nervousness or the blind, white rage birthed from pity.

Tobias smoothed his hands against Mordecai's jeans, noting the way they hung a bit too low from his hips. Rain was splattered like blood against the material, dark drops staining a gray shirt that was far too big for a boy as small as he. He looked at the trash cans turned fire places and the dirty blankets huddled in an alley and of the people huddled atop them, sharing the same dead glint in their eyes.

It was by no means an unfounded assumption, but that did nothing to help his humiliation. A thousand emotions branded themselves into his burning cheeks; fear, anger, humiliation, shame. It was as though the stranger's act of kindness was a hammer against his skull, driving him deeper into the the concrete which Mordecai could be buried under.

He had no control over the sneer that curled his lips upward, palm pressing the bills back into his stomach as his embarrassment kept his eyes somewhere above the boy's dark hair. "What the fuck?!" Oh, how much had changed since Cai's disappearance. He was once a boy who giggled when he uttered the word crap under his breath when his mother wasn't looking.Mordecai wouldn't recognize him. Not by the was his voice had deepened and the way that the light that once swelled in his throat was long since gone.

"Who do you think you are?" the growl rips from his throat like a mutt torn straight from the games. It had been so long since Tobi even attempted to speak to someone around his age that he must have forgotten completely. "I"m not- You're- I'm not a fucking charity case. I'm not even homeless!"

This facade was not holding up well, strong emotions fading, replaced by the same bitter hopelessness and apathy. "Even if I was, I've been taking care of myself for three goddamn years I don't need hand outs."

"I don't need anyone."

Oh what a liar he had become.

The boy often yearned for company, his mother's sharp tongue and his father's tears wore on him a great deal. A boy once fascinated by why the son rose in  the morning was turned into something inhumane, starved for attention yet willing to sink his fangs into whoever dared extend their hands. 

He often wondered if things would be easier, had he a friend. A comforting hand running up and down his back the nights that Mordecai's absence pierced him like an arrow sat on the far side of the training center.

That did not matter, anyway. The boy shakes his head, shaking hands retreating into his pockets as he regarded the offender through half lidded eyes. Nobody wanted him. He was an accident. Mother had told him that during a screaming match. A drunken night between his parents and there he had come, ruining everything. They only ever wanted Mordecai. Tobias was merely an inconvenience, one they hadn't the ability to get rid of. He had ruined everything. It was his fault Mordecai was gone.

No one wanted Tobias. Not even himself.

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

Hostility prickled the back of his neck, the imaginary sensation a far cry from unfamiliar. Not every soul wandering through these alleyways was a willing receptor of charity. Many claimed that their dignity was intact, that accepting freebies from strangers meant they had been reduced to their weakest, most vulnerable state. Pride was abundant among the human race, and victims were no exception. For every few kind souls holding out their empty hands for money and bread, there was one who snapped at him like a viper. They cursed and insulted his privilege, accusing him of rubbing it in their faces when his intentions were benevolent. His efforts were unwelcome to them. Condemned, even. They didn’t want to see his beaming face around their neighborhood.

It never stopped him.

He did, however, respect their wishes. If they didn’t want his offering, he wouldn’t force it upon them. He would simply bow his head and wish them a good night before they could hurl an empty can at his temple. Mars received the least amount of mistreatment; he was just a friendly companion, after all, with no words to offer. Only a wet nose and eyes that smiled. He wasn’t as much a guard dog as he was a friend. In fact, he rarely growled at strangers, even the ones who couldn’t be trusted. He shied away from the ones that could threaten them, yet would stand his ground in a fight. Ira trusted him. So when he didn’t back way from this stranger, Ira grew less wary. Perhaps this boy was just bitter and angry about something. He couldn’t hold that against him.

Mars didn’t budge. The stranger pressed the bills into his abdomen as a rejection. Ira was not one to curse, it seemed rude, but he was certainly adjusted to hearing curses aimed at him instead. ”Who do you think you are?" he continued. Ira clenched the bills in his hand and took this moment to introduce himself. ”I’m Ira Ishmael, nice to meet you,” he said. Mars continued to sniff around the boys ankles as if hunting for treasure. He often wondered what was swirling through the strange vortex behind his eyes. Animals were odd and without language. What was he hunting for? Or did the stranger just smell unusually alluring? Ira supposed he didn’t have a strong enough nose to find out for himself.

”I’m not a fucking charity case,” was a line he had heard before. Then he realized he had made a grave mistake – the boy wasn’t homeless. He was just a boy in an alleyway, perhaps minding his own business, adorned in clothes that draped loosely over his frame. ”Oh,” he blurted out, ”That was my mistake.” He wasn’t embarrassed as much as he was disappointed in himself for making such a crude assumption. He probably hurt the poor boy’s feelings. No wonder he was upset.

”My apologies if I’ve offended you,” he added, a feeble attempt to crawl out of the trench he had dug himself into. The folded bills felt rough against his fingertips. He had every reason to crumple them up and slip them back into his wallet. Instead, he kept them pressed against his abdomen. ”Are you sure you don’t want anything? A little extra help never hurt anybody,” he said. That was a philosophy of his mama’s. There’s always a cry for help somewhere, she said. Sometimes he will hear it, other times he won’t. Most cries were silent. It was up to him to be aware of everything in his surroundings. It would be his choice to hear them or not.

He listened.

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

His jaw hung open, eyes transfixed on the boy in front of him. Despite the bite in his tone and the sharpness of his tongue, Ira Ishmael remained calm. Like the gentle winds brushing against hair pressed to his forehead. There weren't many like that, Tobias has learned, in a district where you fight for the honor to die. The kind who went out of their way to hand a couple of bills to a teenager in ratty clothing in the middle of an alley The kind who persisted even after Tobias had done his best to push him away.

That is what left him so dumbfounded, aggression melting as though he were a snowflake trapped within this boy's palm. He had found over years of isolating himself that there were two kinds of people: those who complied and those who pushed back. But it seemed Ira was intent on ruining not only his day, but his life, as he proceeded to take everything he had been so sure of for exactly three years now and smash it to pieces upon the ground. 

Ira did not comply, nor did yell or scream or raise his hand like Tobias probably deserved. He offered him a smile and insisted upon helping him, apologizing for his actions as though that would fix everything. (Apologies meant nothing to Tobias, they did nothing to bring his brother back, did nothing to fix his dad or to make his mother happy.) But he found it near impossible to remain angry at a boy who simply radiated sickening sweetness. Tobias found himself both disgusted and intrigued by Ira, feeling a magnetic sort of curiosity that - for the first time in what felt like forever - took Mordecai completely off of his mind. The thoughts that had plagued him, years of suffering, melting from his posture as he straightened himself proceeded to run his fingers through knotted hair. 

He had made quite the ass out of himself, he realized, straightening Mordecai's jeans upon his hips and pulling his shirt tight around his abdomen. Not that he really cared about impressions (he would not be wearing a shirt three sizes too big if he gave a shit about much of anything, really) but the flush creeping up his neck was enough to spread thick doubt across his spine. 

"I really don't need it." His voice was soft, that of the sixteen year old that Tobias had yet to meet. "I've got a house and parents and anything I'm not... poor just-." Words seemed to fail him despite his desperate searching for the right ones. His cheeks painted themselves a bright red and he was forced to press his palms against them to hide the embarrassing shade. He didn't want the boy getting the wrong impression. That he was weak when he was anything but. 

But perhaps it was the kindly voice of the boy, the softness to his tone that slowly cracked a concrete barrier that was three years under construction. Maybe Tobias was tired and scared and done of running from everything. Perhaps it was just time to break down. He didn't even feel the tears before they were running down his cheeks. White hot fingers across his lips and burning his skin with sharp nails. It was the first time Tobias had to much as shed a tear since waking up in a hospital room two weeks after Cai was taken. 

The sobs overwhelmed him easily, no matter how hard he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes they would not cease. "I'm just really, really lost. And lonely. And... a-and-." 

Tobias wasn't sure why he thought Ira would care. His mom didn't. His dad didn't. He had not been met with any sympathy for a long, long time. And as much as he yearned for it, Tobias was not an optimist. Not in the slightest. And he was certain Ira Ishmael could give two shits about his problems. (Everyone was always too caught up in their own to notice a boy withering in front of them.) 

"I'm s-sorry." He choked on the sobs as they pierced his throat. "This is... fuck... I'm sorry. I'm sorry." 

Because when Tobias broke, he shattered.

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

It wasn’t about charity. The helping hand he extended to the poor and the lost was not just another “charity case,” as the negative connotation implied. It was not for his own satisfaction. It was not to justify himself as a generous person or to impress others with his determination. He wanted to improve their quality of life. What had started as offerings to strangers had escalated into regular visits to friends and acquaintances. These people recognized his face and his voice. They knew his gentle touches and sun fire smiles. They knew Mars’ musky odor. He was an anticipated identity, but he didn’t pride himself on the social status. He wanted to see them eating bread, filling their bellies. He wanted to see them live another night if they were starved or dehydrated. He wanted to see them cling to the precious things in life.

This stranger was not a charity case. Whatever help he could provide, Ira would offer it. It wasn’t the hero-complex as he once possessed as a child. Such a thought was foolish. He didn’t live in a fantasy world of heroes. They didn’t exist. Nobody was pure, not completely, and purity was what would mold the perfect hero. A man or woman who could do no harm. That was the issue in those storybooks – the heroes had to kill in order to defeat the villain, or there was inevitable collateral damage that he/she would regret or neglect. That was not a hero to him, and that was why they couldn’t exist. Nobody could be all black or white. There was a spectrum of morality, of good and evil and everything in-between. It was blurry and confusing. Some people were easier to read than others.

Money was not what this new stranger craved or needed. He wasn’t poor or homeless, but there was something dark still stirring. He still matched the shadows perfectly, and Ira could sense that he was suffering somehow. Wasn’t everyone? Hopefully not, but in a place like this there was no escape. The boy was covering his pink-tinged cheeks as if to hide himself, and Ira didn’t understand. Was there something to be embarrassed about? Perhaps it was the money bothering him. Ira slipped it back into his wallet, waiting patiently in silence for an elaboration. There was something else he had to give tonight, he just didn’t know what it was yet.

There was a soft spot in his chest, concave and weakened by years of worrying. The stranger’s tears awakened it. He felt a tickle inside of it, one that reminded him of the time he found old Maxwell crying into a dirty washcloth about how much he missed his wife. Tears were something precious, always saved for a human’s important moments. Sorrow, anger, mourning – key elements to life. One could not live without experiencing these. It was something everybody shared, and something he could sympathize with. The stranger was lost, he said. Lonely. It made perfect sense. This was the land of the lost, and many souls were lonely. Ira couldn’t count himself out of the mix.

”No need to be sorry,“ he murmured, stepping through boundaries. He placed a gentle hand on either of his shoulders. ”I understand. I’ve been lost and lonely before too.” It must’ve been a family trait. Both of his mothers had found themselves lost and lonely. One had suffered dire consequences, and the other was in healing. He was grateful for her strength and fortune, but ached deeply for the misfortune of the other. How terribly she had been treated, how badly she had suffered – he didn’t want to imagine it. The world had been cruel to her, and stole her from him as soon as her happiness had faded. It wasn’t fair.

”But you don’t have to be.” He tried to catch the boy’s eyes with his own, and bring him into a close embrace. ”What is your name, lost boy?”

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

In three years no one told him it was okay. That he was not alone in his sorrow. For three years he wondered why. Why was it him chosen to suffer while happiness surrounded him? An annoying glare in the corner of his eye that he never seemed capable of fully focusing on. He cannot bring himself to shrug away the strong hands upon his shoulders, sending white hot lightning down his spine. The warmth spreading throughout his chest was simply too nice to ignore. The Tobias that had turned bitter with years of neglect wanted to push him away, to shout and scream and send the boy running because that was so much easier than admitting just how weak he had always been. But the boy lost under skin turned callous, the onto that now wept, would not move an inch.

And for the first time in three years he was held. Tobias wrapped his fingers in the stranger's shirt, burying his face in the fabric and allowing his loneliness to leak from the corner of his eyes. Rapid bullets tearing down his cheeks and shaking his shoulders within Ira's grasp. He wonders if this boy, Ira Ishmael, was just as lonely as he. If he was searching for a goal long since slipped from between his fingers. He wondered if they could be lonely together for just a few hours. 

The fire was scraped from his tongue, a shell cracked in half. He was but a snail turned slug, withering within strong arms and allowing himself to fall there for a long while. There was something gentle about Ira, a loving touch that Tobias had forgotten existed. There was no such thing as love when masked men with foul odors lurked around every corner, taunting him with Mordecai strung up in chains, left a skeleton from abuse and neglect. They had nearly killed Tobias, what was stopping them from killing Cai? 

Perhaps Mordecai was lost the second he was taken and Tobias was left to chase a dead man for the rest of his life. It was not as though he hadn't toyed with the idea before, but it suddenly felt all too real. It drained the strength from his knees, forcing him to lean upon Ira fully, arms making their way around his waist as he returned the embrace. And it felt as nice to hold someone close as it felt to be held. 

"What is your name, Lost Boy?" Tobias smiled against the boys shirt. A kind of sad, desperate smile that was all he was capable of in the darkness that consumed him. No one cared what his name was, he had been taught. He was insignificant. A guardian to the brother that had been lost so long ago. His purpose was to keep that boy company. To be his companion and brother and he was useless as a person. It was either Mordecai or Mordecai and Tobias. It was never supposed to be just Tobias. And life was full of bitter ironies so here they were.

But he wanted to know. This stranger named Ira. He wanted to know his name. He wasn't a friend of Cai, taking pity on the lonely little brother sitting in the back of the room, drawing some awful drawing with broken crayons and wondering just how the color showed up upon the pages. 

"Tobias." His voice shook with silent gratitude, throat stained red and lungs filled with salt water. He was drowning and here was a guardian angel to drag him off the precipice and onto warm golden sands. Away from hungry rapids that drained an innocence once so pure. Left his fingers and toes a wrinkly mess and his lips tasting bitter for weeks to come. "Tobias Wu. But everyone calls me Tobi." 

Truly, only Cai called him by the name, but Mordecai had been his everything and everyone for a long, long time. 

[/quote]

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

There was something genuine about him, how red a shade his anger had burned at the sight of him, how easily his head lulled onto his shoulder, jow freely his tears leaked into the fabric of his coat. Not a minute had passed since their chance encounter, yet Ira felt responsible for him. There was a passion inside the stranger that couldn’t be denied or ignored. His aura was a violent shade of purple, a strange blend of blue despair and red rage that reminded him of a storm cloud. If humans had visible auras, that is. He was as blind as the rest, but his favorite book claimed honesty about the auras of humanity, even without proof. It was a fascinating hypothesis, one his brain had worshipped since the day he opened the book. He wanted to know what color his own body flaunted, whether it was white with pure intentions or beaten black and blue from his past.

He hoped it was something beautiful.

Ira flattened his palm against his back and drew soothing circles into the muscles. A gentle touch was always what the suffering desired, even if they denied it. The comfort itself was never a solution, but it was a temporary remedy for anguish and pain. He was happy to offer and even happier that the boy accepted it. He wasn’t as hostile as he appeared, just lonely. Tobias, his name was. Tobias Wu. He liked the ring, it belonged to him. It matched his face, his aura, everything. ”Tobias,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. ”But everyone calls me Tobi.”

Tobias was just fine.

Mars circled their feet, sniffing their shoes for treasure and nudging their ankles to spur movement. Ira remained planted to the cement, arms wrapped protectively around Tobias. ”I already said this, but it’s nice to meet you,” he murmured, smiling. It was always a pleasure to meet a new face, especially one as passionate as Tobias’s. It was refreshing to learn a new name. Listening to his story would be even better, if he allowed it. He had no idea what the boy’s intentions were. He didn’t want or need money, so what was it? A friend? A bit of company on this cold evening? Ira didn’t know what he wanted either, other than to save as many people as he could. As close to a “hero” as he could ever be.

He loosened his grasp and took a step back. ”Do you want me to walk you home?”

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

His hands trace shapes into my back in a way that I had never felt before, Although the memories of Mordecai's touch have begun to fade, disappearing into the same oblivion as he, I know they were not like this. A gentle, intimate kind of touch that lets me sink further into the stranger named Ira and to enjoy the softness of his neck against my face. Perhaps I'm an idiot, for falling into his arms like this (I have never claimed to be otherwise) but I can't think of anything with arms wrapped so right around me.

That was the point, after all. 

To forget this pain, this constant ache that burnt the back of my eyes and turned my legs to jelly. To stop thinking, just for a moment, and to feel safe. There are no men lurking around the corner with cruel smiles and blood under their finger nails, preparing to kill me just as they tried so long ago. There is not another person in this world but Ira and me and that's okay. Because it's just for this moment. Just for this moment it was okay not to worry about Mordecai. Just for this moment...

I draw a shaky breath against him, hands trembling as they make their way around his waist, clutching the loose fabric upon his shirt as though it were my only lifeline. Desperately, Hungrily. I don't want this moment to end, not now, not ever. It's been so goddamn long since I felt like this that I am too selfish to give it up. Even as my tears halt and my legs grow strong enough to stand on their own I cling to him, to Ira, and silently beg him never to let me go. 

He tells me it's nice to meet me again and I bite hard into my tongue because I want to tell him he doesn't have to lie. I do not know him well, but I know him well enough to know that he is not the sort to admit to pitying someone as proud as me. So I just smile against him and nod, trying not to feel the lie burn like Mom's hand across my cheek. 

Ira steps back soon after and it was good that I was still biting my tongue to stifle the whine that dies within my throat, a childish complaint to being let go when he was surely tired of touching me by now. I stuff my hands in my pockets and don;t look at him after that, shame burning bright across my skin. ”Do you want me to walk you home?”
he offers, like the knights in the stories that mom used to tell me. Who rescued princesses from the towers and slayed ugly dragons. And I wonder if I'm dreaming because he seems a bit to perfect to actually exist.

Bitter laughter shakes my body, an attempt to hide the tears welling once more in the corners of my eyes. "Mom will have locked me out by now." I murmur, grasping at the lint within old pockets; eeyes refusing to move past Ira's shoes. "She doesn't want me there." 

And I don't blame her.

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

There were many a sad tale Ira had heard. There was Maxwell and the passing of his wife; he missed her as much as he missed his granddaughter little Besty, who was separated by misfortune on Max’s behalf. There was the crow woman, cast out by her family because of a simple misunderstanding. Her weeps were as loud as any crow’s call. There was the baseball mitt boy, who donned his glove every day to hide the grotesque scars given by his father. Then there was Ira’s mama. That was a tale he never wished to repeat.

It seemed Tobias had a sad song of his own. His mother was locking him out of their own house because she didn’t want him there. The thought made Ira’s brows furrow. ”Mothers aren’t supposed to act like that,” he said, concern threaded between every syllable. ”They’re supposed to love and take care of their children.” He didn’t understand people sometimes. How could a mother bear a child of her own and hate it? How could a father see his own blood and despise it enough to hurt it? There were too many sad stories of dead, neglectful, and hateful parents.

He didn’t understand.

Tobias was truly alone in this terrible place, here and now. He needed a helping hand; not money or food, but a kind heart and warm hands. Someone who would give him everything he needed and perhaps more. Ira wanted to be that savior. Maybe it wouldn’t fix anything, but it could help. It could matter. Any difference he made – microscopic or not – was important to him. To see any sign of relief or a smile, that would make Ira’s heart sing, and he was sure it would make Tobias feel good too. That was the goal, at least.

Mars had planted himself on the cement in a large ball of golden fuzz. He was either impatient, tired, or finished inspecting this new stranger. That was a good sign; it meant he was comfortable enough to nap instead of remain on guard.

”Do you need a place to stay for the night?” he asked, hands slipped into his pockets. He flashed a mild grin. ”You can stay with me if you need it.”

He whistled quietly, summoning a drowsy Mars to his side. The dog pressed his forehead against the palm of Ira’s hand, which had slipped out of his pocket to scratch Mars behind the ear.

Hopefully they would leave as a party of three.

[[nyte]]

T O B  I A S

His kindness burns into my skin, bringing bright red to my cheeks as my eyes lift to his uncertainly. There was something in the back of my mind telling me that maybe it wasn't a good idea to take a complete stranger up on his offer to go back to his place. It's not like I needed my mother to tell me that it's stupid to follow people you have only just met into unfamiliar territory. But there iss kindness and warmth radiating off of Ira whereas I would be nestled against a cold and unforgiving plank laying lifeless upon the dock with splinters piercing my back through thin cloth if I refused. 

If he wanted to hurt me perhaps he would have already done it. It wasn't like any of the homeless would snitch on a man who has done so much for them. There was a kind of undying loyalty in this community, the kind that warmed my heart most nights but sends a kind of cold shiver down my spine this time. 

Mothers aren't supposed to act like that. He had told me, and yeah I know that. I force a biting retort down my throat and shake my head, ignoring my heart as it slowly slides to the bottom of my stomach and is dissolved by chemicals. Slowly and painfully. I barely feel alive anymore so it was only a matter of time.

Perhaps the men killed me that night three years ago and this is my hell. Eternally searching for a brother who doesn't even exist anymore and outcast by parents who aren't real. 

Or maybe I just wish that they had killed me because it'd be easier than this. I wipe my eyes carefully, licking dried salt off of my lips and giving Ira Ishmael a little smile. "That would probably be a lot better than the docks huh?" One corner of my mouth is lifted high above the other, forming a kind of stupid half smile that is more of a smile than any I've managed in a long time. I'd almost forgotten how nice it felt. 

"You know my brother would kill me for going home with a stranger." Even the mention of Mordecai is like a knife forced into my chest and I near double over from the pain. It was out of habit that I spoke like he was still here. I can't bring myself to believe that he isn't. I just can't. There's a kind of hollowness spreading within me as I try my best not to burst into tears once more. "But he's... busy right now and I really need a place to stay." 

The lie burns even worse, I am engulfed by a fire from head to toe and there is no way to quench the flames. They will eat me until I am nothing but ash at this stranger's feet. 

Busy. I suppose that was close enough to probably dead. 

"... so I'd love to, thank you Ira. You've been kinder to me than anyone has in... years. Thank you so much." I don't think I've ever sounded more genuine.

[Python]

Ira Ishmael

Tobias wiped the diamonds from his eyes. ”That would probably be a lot better than the docks huh?” Ira had to agree. The image of little Tobias curled against the salty wooden panels of the docks on such a windy evening plucked at his heartstrings. It wasn’t the worst place he could crash, but it was usually cold, wet, and slippery when Ira strolled across it with his cleaning supplies. On windier nights the boats rocked, and waves slapped against their sides to create an irritating ruckus. He had adjusted to it, but couldn’t imagine sleeping to such an unpleasant lullaby. If it rained, Tobias could catch a cold.

His house was a sudden but warmer alternative. It was certainly safer than the streets and the docks. He couldn’t say it was the wisest decision on Tobias’ part. He brought up a valid point about his brother; accepting a bed from a stranger was risky and suspicious, but Ira liked to imagine that he looked as trustworthy as the North Star, guiding lost captains to safe lands. He wanted to radiate a generous brilliance on sight, and perhaps the quest had been accomplished because Tobias eagerly accepted the offer, having been tickled pink by his generosity.

There was a soft edge to his tone that screamed bona fide gratitude, and Ira was more than happy to collect it like a treasure. ”You’re welcome,” he said, squeezing another whistle between his tongue and his teeth. Mars responded to the signal and walked ahead of them. ”This is Mars, he’ll lead the way. He’s been my guard dog since I was a kid.” Since he was six-year-old Ira’s trusty steed, prancing through the back yard to lead his knight to victory. Now they were too big and too mature to play such games, but there was never a way to completely quench the pooch’s thirst for adventure. Ira admired this golden spirit, and had learned to adapt it himself.

Mars could be trusted to lead them home by memory, although Ira was never one to become lost in the streets of Four. He always knew his way back, even when his attention wavered toward the stars instead of the concrete. It was dangerous not to narrow his senses to full alert in the dead of night, but again, Mars was his trustworthy companion. He always detected danger long before Ira could see it. Despite his cutsie puppydog appearance, he could growl like a villain and his smiling jowls could pull back to reveal intimidating teeth. He wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was brave like one. He had never once tried to bite someone.

That was their biggest contrast. Ira could still recall the pressure in his fingertips when he slipped his knife between that man’s ribs. His blood was like hot spring water, disturbingly comforting to a boy who did not know hesitation. He didn’t regret his actions, but he was grateful that his companion’s innocence was still intact. He could not bear to see that snout ruined by a man’s blood.

To his dismay, he found nothing but his wallet, keys, and a knife buried in his pockets. ”I wish I had my tennis ball. He loves to play fetch.” Instead, Mars bounced ahead in silence until he veered into a front lawn and perched himself on Ira’s front porch. ”We have a guest bedroom,” Ira said, twisting his key into the lock, ”You can sleep in there.” He pushed the door open and gestured for Tobias to walk inside. ”Just be sure to whisper, my Ma is sleeping.”