help i'm alive {tobias and ira}

[[nyte]]

SO DON'T LEAVE ME TO SLEEP ALL ALONE

T O B I A S   W U

MAY WE STAY LOST ON OUR WAY HOME

Alive.

Mordecai Wu is alive, sleeping in my bed. The covers are tucked around a frame scrubbed clean of dirt and of grime, of the blood that caked his skin and surely added at least five pounds to the boy who is nothing but skin and bones. Two years my senior (and quite obviously much taller) it would take at least two of him to match me. I'm not all that big to begin with. Something isn't right, of course something isn't right, I left him there. I left him there for three years to be driven mad, to slowly break into pieces and be left in a muddled heap in a stupid alley.

And it's all my fault. I couldn't find him. It's all my fault he is like this and I should have been taken and I'm the reason my big brother is broken because I couldn't protect him and I should be the one curled up on that bed with scars and bruises and blood leaking onto my sheets it should be me it should be me it should be-

I can't breathe. My lungs have popped, excruciating pain snaking its way down into the tips of my fingers. There is no oxygen left in a chest turned hollow, heart having crawled somewhere into the back of my throat as I run. Away from the brother who I have just found, away from the pain and the pounding of my head. It's too much. This is too much.

It's not like I wanted Mordecai to be dead. I would have given up years ago, had that actually been the case. My life would not have been spent skipping classes and meals, abandoning those I once called friends to scour every inch of this blasted district to find him. I just never expected to find him, eyes swimming with far too many lights and my name the only thing perched on his lips. I didn't wan't to find him like this.

There's nowhere in particular that I could escape, perhaps I simply want to ruin lungs long since dead, left in a bloody heap a couple of blocks ago. (It would not be the first time that a part of me was found dying in the street.)

Maybe that's why I'm running.

I'm fucking terrified.

Whoever took Mordecai (and whoever gave him back); they're still out there. My brother was in no condition to overpower anyone, especially not those who had done nothing but ruin him for weeks upon months upon years. There is no other conclusion to jump to: they let him go. Why? What was their plan? Evil never gives up its spoils, not when the prize is something as precious as my brother.

Perhaps this is fate, perhaps a wrong is to be righted and I will finally be taken down into those chambers and given whatever punishment awaited me before my brother sacrificed himself. Sacrificed himself for a fucking coward.

It hurts. I double over, hands gripping a heart made of stone as it threatens to break skin. To splatter itself upon the pavement right here. Right in front of...

Ira's house?

It's not surprising I ended up here. The tall, sweet boy is the only friend I've managed to keep in any expanse of time. He's the only person besides Mordecai I've found willing to put up with me. He's nothing like my brother, too proper and polite. Nothing like the sloppy, happy thing that was my brother. (Even so broken, that much remains the same.)

But Ira has his own charm, an impeccable ability to make me feel like I'm the most important person in the world and not stale gum stuck to the underside of a table. I trust him, I trust him more than I trust anyone in the world.

Well really, that's not saying much.

I've always been a guarded kid, not so charismatic, not so easily liked as Mordecai. My curiosity leaked through pursed lips in the dead of night, stupid schemes and silly ideas shared only to Mordecai when we lay on sand-ridden shores and looked up at the moon. At the thousands of suns twinkling in the sky.

(Do you think we can turn them on and off, Cai? Where else would they go when the sky turns blue? That'd be an amazing job, I think. Ethereal electrician.)

Ira is what I need right now. (Apparently my feet had been well aware of that.)

My fist shakes thick wood, breath only growing shorter and lighter with every desperate inhale. "IRA!" the words are like gravel in my throat "IRA PLEASE, PLEASE COME HERE."

My shoulders slump, forehead falling against the door with a sickening crack. I have everything that I have ever wanted, every wish upon a shooting star granted and every dream come true. I shouldn't feel like this. I shouldn't feel like I am dying upon my best friend's doorstep.

My only friend's doorstep.

"...help me."

[Python]

I r a

There was a euphoric bounce in his step, his heart defying gravity with every flutter of muscle against a lovesick cage. As the sunset colored him orange, its canvas dripped light into his pupils, carving a faded path toward his front porch. Mars was trotting obediently at his heels with a ball between his jaws, breathing heavily from a long, adventurous play session. On days like these – when the boats were small and easy to polish – he finished his work early enough to exercise him properly. They could sprint from shore to shore, drinking salt from the air with every labored breath, and on training days he could leave the eager pooch in the hands of the younger kids. It was mutual entertainment.

Today was one of many carefree days, when his bones felt lighter than bubbles. Lately there had been a change in his demeanor. His blood warmed up more often than not, and when he lied awake in his back yard with Mars’ head on his stomach and his eyes glued to the stars, he thought of only one thing. One person. It was evident in the way he nitpicked himself in the mornings. His Ma had noticed too, asking whom he was trying to impress. His cheeks turned a shade too pink, making him incapable of lying. There was a boy, he had told her. A boy named Tobias.

Tobias was a secret. He didn’t reveal the tale of their first encounter when he delivered bread to the homeless. When Maxwell spilled his sorrows about Betsy into his lap, Ira swallowed the urgency because he was not out there to indulge or mold their lives to his by making it about himself. This “charity” was about them. He wanted to hear what they had to say, what their songs of suffering would illuminate. He couldn’t become a burden by opening his mouth too wide. He had earned their trust; he was not about to lose it.

Instead, the name lingered at the tip of his tongue and the forefront of his conscience. A sweet, sweet echo tingling between his ears. Tobias, the lone boy in the alley with tears to tell a tale: a mother who had forsaken her son and left him to sleep on the docks. He recalled their encounter with a subtle smile. Somehow, Tobias had trusted him enough to follow him home and nestle in his bed whilst Ira snoozed on the couch, wandering into the bedroom every so often to check on him. With a guest in his house, he was restless. What he saw was a face crafted from stardust; beautiful, ethereal, destined to be reborn into something even brighter. The feeling it left in his chest was warm and startling.

Eyes belonging to career comrades often stared at him as if he were a piece of jewelry primed to be stolen. Ira knew he was a romantic, saving himself for somebody special, but there were simple means of quenching desires in the meantime. It was discouragingly easy to find love in dark places. He never did indulge to a passionate extent, but the enticement was present and potent. It lingered like a tangible stench in the air, sweet and tangy all at once. For a while, there had been a dearth of desire. Now it submerged him like an ocean wave in winter. He was freezing, but somehow he was a furnace.

Their friendship was golden. He trusted Tobias and he was certain Tobias trusted him in return, despite his own secrets. The time wasn’t yet right to be risking their relationship for his own selfish desires. Tobias deserved better. Eventually, he hoped he could gather the courage to unveil the truth, but for now he was silent.

He frequently settled into his bed feeling giddy about his days spent with his new best friend. Tonight all he could really think about was how Mars needed a bath. He could bother the poor pooch tomorrow morning; he was already curled up at Ira’s feet, eyes drooping into a sleepy squint. It would be eerily quiet until the following afternoon. His mother was elsewhere, most likely spending the night at another woman’s house. Ira couldn’t hold anything against her. It wasn’t a betrayal, and it wasn’t time’s healing of her insides. The scars would always be there, but she need not flaunt them or lock herself up in despair. Ira wanted her to be happy. If this was the way, so be it.

A pounding on the door shocked Mars into a frenzy of barking. Ira, wrenched out of a dreamless sleep, reached into his nightstand for a weapon until he heard a familiar cry. The panic made his nerves stand on end. Tobias was the one person he wanted to protect, and suddenly he was in danger. He frantically dashed to the front door – Mars one step ahead – and yanked it open. ”Tobias! What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning his body up close. He didn’t look injured, but something was undoubtedly wrong. Not a moment of deliberation was wasted; he wrapped his arm around the boy’s smaller frame and led him inside.

[[nyte]]

SO DON'T LEAVE ME TO SLEEP ALL ALONE

T O B I A S   W U

MAY WE STAY LOST ON OUR WAY HOME

More often than not I have found myself craving Ira's company. He had looked at me at my absolute worst, seen me fall apart at the seams and has only met me with kindness. And something so much warmer. Ira is something I don't deserve, warm and soft and able to make me feel wanted and loved with something as simple as a glance. And so I sink into him with I find his arm slung around my shoulder, tears burning bright red trails down my cheeks as he leads me past an all too familiar threshold.

"Tobias! What's wrong?!" his voice reminds me of dark chocolate, hidden within soft dough and melting around the edges. It's comforting as I press myself closer to his side, turning into him with my forehead resting upon a broad shoulder as my chest heaves and my breath stutters. I haven't told Ira about the men, the ones who took my brother and who left me for dead. Who left me laying in the middle of the street as though I were no better than carrion baking under Four's relentless sun. I didn't want to think about it, to think about them and their putrid breath against the back of my neck.

Right now, I can't get them out of my head.

Hands squeeze my chest too tight to allow anything but ragged breaths and desperate sobs from between my lips so instead I reach. I plead for comfort by wrapping my arms around the strong boy's waist and pulling him tight against me until I can't remember where I end and Ira begins. It's better that way.

I think that I can speak now, my face pressed into the soft skin of my friend's neck and I wait for the spinning to stop. (I must have traveled around the world, how tired I now feel. The non-existent sun sapping every bit of my energy as I rot upon the concrete. Oh and Mordecai, Mordecai where did you go? Why did the men take you? I would try and get you could I move my legs).

"T-t-they're gon-gonna kill me Ira. They're gonna come back and they're gonna kill me because they didn't kill me last time or they'll take me down t-t-to wherever they kept Cai all these years and they'll make me crazy like him oh god Ira they're back. They're back and they're gonna kill me like last time. Like last time they're gonna kill me."

I'm pulling the words at random, my tongue swollen and clumsy as I gasp out the rushed, incoherent syllables. I have to explain to him, to let Ira know what's going on because I feel like I'm going to die right here in his arms and I don't think he'd appreciate that. Not at all. "I found my brother. I found my brother because they gave him back and- and- and they're gonna... they're..."

My tongue goes limp, forehead still pressed into the crook of his neck as I shake. I shake like the tiny dog I once saw a pretty blonde girl holding.It was so small and so frail, like I am now. Like I have become in these long years that I have grown up on my own.

I don't think I'll ever have kids. Raising myself was enough of a failed experiment. Here I am small and here I am frail. My brother had to find me because I couldn't get things right even after three fucking years and I'm a coward.

I don't want to take Mordecai's place. I don't think I can.

"I'm gonna die Ira and I don't know what to do. I don't wanna go."

But I don't want Cai to either.

They wanted him more, the whole entire world wanted him more. Ira would if he knew him, if he could see the way his smile lit up a room and how the corners of his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. Who would want dumb old Tobias when you could have a much better version. A braver, stronger, perfect version.

I love my brother, more than anything.

But the world does too.

Perhaps it'd be a justice to take his place, a mercy to those who have had to deal with me these centuries without him. Or at least I know that's what mom wants. That's what dad wants.

Me? I'm an accident. Unwanted. I don't think I get a say.

I hate me anyways.

[Python]

I r a

The highest possible tolerance had a threshold. When acid eroded the stone dam forged by humanity’s tolerance for pain, suffering, and oppression, a leak would spring. When sturdiest human being met their worst, a crack would split through the center, collapsing a lifetime’s worth of construction into oblivion. The consequence was destruction. A broken human was a dangerous human, whether they were a danger to others or themselves. The Hunger Games had proven this theory again and again; somebody always perished when a breaking point was reached. Tributes tried to gut themselves, others managed to maul their opponents. It was a lesson he was all too familiar with. Career training was ingrained in his mind like scripture, but experience was the true influence.

The concept of death was frightening because there was no guarantee of afterlife. It was the destruction of happiness in its purest, most physical form, and humans were biologically programmed to feel discomfort at the sheer idea of it. Death was one of his thresholds. The death of his mother, a night the moon bled red like his aching heart at the sight of a skeleton instead of a smiling woman. The narrow escape of the alleyway stranger, the night warm trickles of blood felt familiar instead of strange. One life he couldn’t save, and one life he did, but both ended in the death of somebody he had despised even though he had never known them.

Thresholds were dangerous, and he could feel the dam trembling.

Tobias was warm and sweet, fitting nicely against him. He couldn’t cherish the contact. He had come to speak of death and panic, something that he would rather not have stalking him when he had finally found peace. Tobias was not somebody he could lose. Death would keep its greedy hands away from him. Anybody who tried to end this life – or had in the past, evidently – would die unpleasantly, and that was a terrifying promise Ira knew he could keep. But he couldn’t say it out loud. He was supposed to be the gentle giant, not the cold vigilante.

Who touched you? He wanted to say it, but Tobias was frantic. There was no time to breathe between desperate syllables. He hadn’t known very much about his brother. Not his name, just the word Cai, and that he wasn’t there. He was merely an outline of a person in Ira’s mind. A taller someone who resembled Tobias, but without a picture he was simply a blurred image, a cloud of colored fog. He had been found, implying that he had been missing. Not vanished, but held captive. Peacekeepers, perhaps? But he could see no reason why they would kill Tobias. Someone of his nature could not commit a crime. Right?

”Breathe, Tobias,” he whispered, stroking circles into his back. He could feel every heave of his chest. Mars was no longer barking, but laying by one of the chairs nearby, staring at the two the way he always did when was on guard. He wanted to protect them, just like Ira wanted to protect Tobias. Neither of them were quite sure who they were protecting him from. One thing was certain, however. ”I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

His promises were not empty.

”Come with me, we can sit in my room and then you can start from the beginning. I can make us some tea, if you want.”

The best tactic right now was to reassure Tobias that he was safe, then gain all of the insight he needed to strategize. Now was not the time for weapons and wonder. Tobias needed comfort, a trustworthy friend. He would do everything in his power to grant his wishes.

Tobias would be the priority, always.

[[nyte]]

SO DON'T LEAVE ME TO SLEEP ALL ALONE

T O B I A S   W U

MAY WE STAY LOST ON OUR WAY HOME

There's a sudden need to close the distance between us, to bury my face into the fabric of his shirt and to release every scream that I have slain with clenched teeth. All the pain, the fear and the anguish that I dare not voice save I look foolish. Save I look weak in a world that was repulsed at even an inkling of such emotion. I am the ocean after a storm, I am the storm itself as it trembles and roars and destroys.

And Ira is a rock. He is stable and he is calm even as I bleed out on his carpet with tears staining the shirt I have pressed myself so tightly against. He is not devoid of emotion, no I can hear his heart thrumming out a frantic rhythm, a song to which I have never known the lyrics. No matter how many times I have pressed my ear to his ribcage and listened to the constant beat.

He says he will not let them hurt me and he takes me to his room. The covers are turned up, worn no doubt by his body huddled under the covers in some semblance of sleep. Had I ruined a good dream? God knows what time it is. I cannot tell as my world has taken to plummeting into infinity around me and I can only think of them. Of Ira and of Cai and of the men who had left my dead body upon the street. And I scream, ripping myself from Ira's arms and pressing my back to the corner of his room.

I am a feral animal, cornered. I am scared. "Don't." There is something sickly calm about the words that leave me, nothing like the breaths that rack my body and leave me void of anything good and decent. I am dying. I am dying. "Don't! Don't! Don't!" I tear at my skull, trying to rip the memories away with hands that will not stop shaking. "I'm tired of it! I'm tired of them dying for me! I'm tired of it!!"

It'll be okay, he told me, as they tore chunks of flesh from his body. It'll be okay, he said, as they picked away at his sanity like the harpies did Prometheus' liver. I'll be okay, he screamed, as I collapsed onto his lap and traced the scars that they had left upon my brother's skin.

I am nothing worth dying for. Nothing worth protecting. Nothing worth keeping safe.

So stop. Stop saying you'll protect me, Ira. That you'll make sure they won't hurt me. Don't waste your breath. I'm not letting them take you away too.

I should die. I should die. "Mom said it should have been me! It should have been me they took and not my brother. Not Cai... oh Cai... they hurt him..." He was my world, he was all that I aspired to be and they took him apart and put him back together with all the pieces in the wrong place. He is a jigsaw ruined by selfish fingers forcing pieces where they have never belonged. He is all wrong but he is my brother and I love him. I love him.

I am dissolving. Right here on Ira's carpet, hands wrapped around my stomach as my shoulders shake and rattle and surely he can hear my bones smashing against each other like vicious waves to the rocks. I am dissolving. "Do you know what it's like!?" I scream at Ira and maybe at the world and the stars and the moon because I am angry at it all. "For three years to search for your brother and... to think that he is dead because the men who took him left you to die on the street? To know that he sacrificed himself for you and you cannot even find his body?!"

My tears are fire, burning dark paths into my skin as I combust. As I become the nothing I always was. "I found my brother and they turned him mad. He cannot say anything but my fucking name! Nothing but my name. I thought he died for me but this... this is worse."

There is a fate worse than death, I have decided. There is a fate worse than death and i should have known it was coming for me the minute those girls in the shop knew my name and they knew him. Knew my brother.

"I'm a piece of shit, Ira Ishamael." My throat burns, words tearing across my lips like razors across my veins. "You want to know me? The secrets I hide? Here they are."

My body is a horror story, grotesque and deformed. Most of the wounds they left have faded into my skin. Ink melted into parchment. I am a turkey carved by their silver, all but forgotten save for the long, deep incision just below my ribcage. The one turned pink and puffy in the years following its birth.

I will never forget the feeling of blood pouring around what should have never laid on the concrete like it did. The men had turned me inside out. Gutted me and left me to die.

And not even I can look at it.

But I hold the hem of my shirt to my chin and I force my demons upon him anyway.

[Python]

I r a

It was a beautiful tragedy to see a human at their worst. Desperate, frantic, broken beyond comprehension by a past storm that had swept a portion of their sanity away. It was raw and animalistic, a being with intelligence and poise reduced to primitive nature. The Hunger Games glorified this untapped aspect of humanity. Blood ran golden if it meant survival, and that was how careers remained motivated and brainwashed. The ones who craved victory, that is. Ira was among the flock of careers who were only in it to protect themselves. In case the odds were not in their favor, they needed to be prepared. He found no glory in killing.

At his worst, the blood dripping between his fingers did not run gold. There was nothing beautiful about stolen life, or how thick the air had been after he ended the lives of those who had crossed the moral boundary (and perhaps he had stepped beyond it himself). It was raw, it was messy, it was ugly, filthy, and shameful. When he was reduced to his worst, he was only a tragedy. A monster. But when Tobias ripped himself away, a scream clawing its way out of his throat, Ira could still see how beautiful he was. He didn’t deserve to be tortured like this.

It was hard to find meaning in senseless shouts. Without context, he knew nothing. From the beginning there had been something unique about him – a storm cloud or a dark aura always at his heels, hiding even darker secrets. Tobias was a glacier and he had only seen the bright, beautiful tip, but beneath the waters lurked an entire storyline that he hadn’t been a part of. Now it was unfolding, and like always, there were graves to mark.

Ira shook his head. Whatever Tobias’ mother said was a lie. A mother who cast her own son out to sleep with the dangers and illness of cold evenings was not entitled to an opinion. She did not get to decide what Tobias deserved. The wicked would have their choices taken from them, sooner or later. He only wished he could offer a helping hand, but even the sky had limits. Hospitality and friendship were his wealth. His heart was in his hands as well, if Tobias would accept it.

Do I know what it’s like…

To search, to lose, to feel his heart sink into the ocean and tangle itself in seaweed until he screamed. Yes, he did, but he knew better than to compare suffering. Every human was built to react differently to tragedy. Perhaps Tobias was shattered, while Ira continued to fill the cracks in his glass heart with hope.

He had counted too many tortured souls in this world, and now there was another. Tobias’ mysterious brother was alive, but at the heaviest cost. There were certain scars that couldn’t heal. He was sure Tobias knew that better than anyone, and he did too. They ached in his chest every other night. ”I’m sorry,” he whispered, because Tobias was a flesh canvas for the devil’s artwork, and yet he couldn’t find a single flaw no matter how desperately Tobias shouted. No matter the words that stumbled past quivering lips, Tobias was not a piece of shit. No monster could reduce him to something vile.

”It’s not your fault. You didn’t cause this…” He repeated it because people had to hear him over and over again to finally believe him. People were often too stubborn to listen. ”You found him, just like you were supposed to. Parts of him will heal with time. He’s not..” A rotting skeleton in a disheveled tent, dead before the moon could rise, ”..dead.” He wouldn’t have to visit a grave with flowers. Maybe parts of his brother were gone and couldn’t be recovered, but bits and pieces would remain. Humans were sturdy like that.

He stepped closer and hesitantly reached out to trace his finger across one of the scars. Soulless monsters existed to seek and destroy. They painted these streets with blood and tried to break innocence over their kneecaps like branches. One too many lives had been ruined by their sadistic pleasures. Ira didn’t want to see any more of it. The night was too dark and full of terrors, yet it was the people like Tobias who reminded him of hope. Nothing he ever said would scare him away or convince him that he wasn’t worth saving.

”When my mom disappeared, it took me six months to find her,” he said, blood freezing at the thought of that night. ”When I finally did, it was too late. She had already starved.” And had been almost unrecognizable, propped gently upright in her tent, head rested on a pillow. Pale and willowy. Skin shriveled as if she would turn to dust at any moment.

”As long as his heart is beating, you can’t give up,” he said, ”And if you think you’re in danger, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like.”

[[nyte]]

SO DON'T LEAVE ME TO SLEEP ALL ALONE

T O B I A S   W U

MAY WE STAY LOST ON OUR WAY HOME

My mouth tastes like the ocean. Salty and raw, filled with the tang of grief and lost souls and the waves desperate to carry them away on the breath of white foam. I do not tear myself away from Ira's fingers across the scar stitched to my ribs. He is the calm to my storm; his very touch is relaxing. Whereas I am nonstop grief, tragedy turned into some congealed monster in the pit of my stomach he is my knight dressed in faded white. He is a rose whose petals are only slightly singed.

When his fingers leave my skin I catch them, desperate flies to honey and I hold his palm to my cheek, cupping it gently around the dampened skin. He is warmth, the sun upon olive skin and I cannot get enough of him. Of the scent of sweet ocean salt and dried wood. He smells of sunshine and days spent sat in the grass, watching Mars bound across daisy stained fields.

I am so weak. Ira is made out of stronger stuff than me, I can feel it even leaning against his body and playing with the hand I have trapped between my own. His mother is sweet, attentive and nothing like whom I have called by the same name most of my life. She reminds me of nights sat upon Mordecai's mattress, listening to stories to old gods and heroes. Back when things were okay and I did not know how much my mother hated me. I guess I have never much thought of the fact that he had another parent. He had two moms, a team, much like my mom and dad even though they have fallen apart at the seams and my father is about as eager to live as I. (Is such weakness hereditary? Will I too grow long gashes down either wrist?)

His mother is dead. Not a mother who is cruel and bitter. Not a mother who I have ruined but an angel. One who must have taken Ira under her wings and stitched a heart three sizes too big upon the insides of his sleeves. I've been alone for so long I guess I have forgotten to think of anyone but Mordecai and I. To consider that I am not the only one who has suffered loss these sixteen years.

And he had found her. Seen his mother drained of all vitality and cold. If I had found Mordecai like that...?

The thought is enough to bring the storms back to the edges of my vision. Gentle ones that leak down my cheeks and make their home upon the back of his hand. And I don't know what to say so I push my palm flat against his and instead ponder just how much smaller I am than this career. A strong, quiet man who more than often is responsible for my heart's constant aching.

"I am in danger." I whisper, searching for his eyes in this devil's hour's heavy light. "Mordecai said they would be back. That they were playing hide and seek." I can feel his heartbeat against my palm, a constant thrumming that drains me of any lingering panic. Ira is here and it will all be okay. Because Ira is here and and I don't really know why but he wants to keep me safe. Suddenly, I am tired. I am done running. I have found my safe place to stay, perhaps forever.

I drag the older boy to the ground with me, settling with each leg on either side of his lap. It will be okay. He is here. Ira is here. It will be okay. "Ira, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I shouldn't have." It is hard to find the proper words when my head is so heavy, tipping into the older boy's chest and spilling more tears onto his pants. "I can't lose Mordecai again and I don't want to die and I don't know what to do so just..."

I close my eyes. More tears to jump off the top of my nose.

"Make me forget about it all, please?"

Because he has chased every other nightmare away.

[Python]

I r a

Tobias felt like a sunset, warm and with beautiful colors in his cheeks that stirred a thousand emotions in the empathetic forefront of Ira’s mind. He cupped his cheek and brushed away the tear trails with the edge of his thumb, gentle like a spring breeze. He didn’t want to imagine the grimy hands of black-hearted men reaching for Tobias in the dark, marking him up with more scars and more blood. He didn’t want to imagine them dragging him into the mist. He didn’t want to imagine Tobias gone, because there was already an emptiness in the chambers of his heart during the nights he couldn’t see him. Now he had real dangers to worry about, and it would drive him into madness if he wasn’t careful.

A game of ‘hide and seek’ wouldn’t last long with a new player in the field. A white knight with his weapon wielded, Ira would cease this hunt the moment unwelcome faces appeared on his doorstep. Tobias didn’t know this violent side of him, the red hurricanes behind his eyes when his blood boiled at injustice. It was dangerous, but only to evil men. Men who deserved to meet knives and bullets. Ira would escort them to their graves if they dared lay a handprint on Tobias or his poor brother.

The girl he saved might call him a vigilante, but at least she was alive and unharmed. He had made sure of that.

Tobias sputtered unnecessary apologies, and Ira only listened because he didn’t want to dismiss him when he was at his most vulnerable. There was no need to be sorry; he was scared and cornered. It eas human nature to shout, and to feel as if everything was wrong and nothing could be fixed. Everything Tobias had done was a defense mechanism, and it didn’t offend him. Ira understood every piece of it. ”It’s okay,” he whispered, because Tobias would always be forgiven.

There was a quiet part of him, nestled behind a wall of moral boundary that had planted itself like a seed in his conscience the moment Tobias sank into him, pleading for a distraction. That inner turmoil brought color to his cheeks, but faded in the presence of his lamplight. As much as he loved Tobias, he would not take advantage of him when he was in such a vulnerable state. He was just a terrified boy who wanted comfort, something to distract him from the dangers of the real world and the vicious men who resided in it.

He planted a gentle kiss on Tobias’ forehead instead, suppressing the rapid heartbeats in his chest. ”I can read you a story,” he muttered softly, eyes glancing over the bookshelf in the corner of his room. Some shelves were dusty, but the spines of his favorite fantasies were spotless. He always revisited those tales in times of need. ”Or, if you’re hungry, I can cook you a hot meal.”

[[nyte]]

SO DON'T LEAVE ME TO SLEEP ALL ALONE

T O B I A S   W U

MAY WE STAY LOST ON OUR WAY HOME

There is something stoic about him, my best friend and resident knight in shining armor. Ira is guarded, quick to turn the spotlight on me - a child who would rather sink into the shadows - and only ever reveals what might hide behind his seamless mask when I need it most. Even then, it is only a glimpse into the pain he conceals. Some nights I yearned to sleep with my head tucked under his chin, ear pressed to his chest so that I can be sure his heart will not falter. That he will stay.

I've always been scared- too timid to ask for intimacy because, in all honesty, it scares the shit out of me. I have let Ira see most every imperfection, from the night terrors sewing shadows beneath black eyes to the scars left by a silver blade's kiss. There is nothing left to hide but my heart and so I cling to the last bit of me that I even own. Because I'm just waiting to be abandoned, to be hated once again because nothing can stay good forever. Not the white picket fence I was so sheltered behind for thirteen years and certainly not this. Not him. Because he is perfection.

I wonder what Ira is hiding from- because I know we all hide from something. His heroics, his charity... it all seems to be compensation for a darkness stowed away within his soul, within a heart three sizes too large. The death of a loved one is crippling, I have lived with that uncertainty for three years now. Loose ends and what ifs. Everything I could have done better and the mistakes I carved in olive flesh with rusted pins. Leaving wounds that have only just taken to scarring over.

If I had actually found Mordecai dead?

Who knows what I would become.

Ira's lips warm grief-soaked skin, his affection once again chasing away the demons trying to pull me back into desperate hysterics. I've got a bad habit of pushing people away- before they can hurt me. I'd much rather stick a knife between a man's ribs than wait for him to do the same. Because I thought I knew how the world worked- because I thought I knew that it was nothing but cold, selfish monsters searching for instant gratification.

But Ira helps me and I have yet to see how this helps him. There is nothing someone as perfect as he can gain from keeping something so broken.

I tire of the falsetto happiness trapped within story books and my stomach churns so violently that I don't think I could hold anything down if I tried. But I haven't the heart to tell him no, instead pushing my face into his chest and filling empty palms with the soft fabric of his shirt. "Sleep with me." I murmur, eyes already shut tight. "Just hold me like this until the morning." For some reason my mouth is dry and my heart is pounding, echoing like angry waves crashing upon the shore.

"And even then, don't let go." My voice breaks, the tears come again. "Can you do that, Ira?"