the sun also rises /paxton

[gamemaker kelsier]

x

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

Early morning sun cuts across the empty apartment splitting the room into two halves. Paxton shifts slowly, wincing away from its sharpness and the silent way it cuts.

The floor is so hard and cold and empty and throbbing. Everything is throbbing as if it has its very own heartbeat. His pillow slid away sometime in the night and he lies with his ear against the knotted wood. He can't remember why he chose the floor over the couch, it's hard to focus.

"Hello?" he murmurs, and his voice is rough like sand in his throat. He coughs, there's no response. Amos is gone.

It hurts to turn his head. He holds off for a long moment, staying as still as possible to minimize his hangover. It hurts to blink, to breath in, his lungs feel as if they're full of smoke. That's probably why his chest feels as if it's caved in. He just isn't as young as he used to be.

Pax tries not to think about it.

He runs his fingers through Tuna's fur instead. The little cat is curled up on his chest when he opens his eyes, though he vaguely remembers leaving him on the couch last night. That's alright he knows that, animals move, people move, they don't stay put and Amos will be home soon.

Paxton feels as cold as the floorboards. He pulls himself up slowly, gripping the edge of the bed as leverage. He cups the kitten against his chest with his other hand so it doesn't fall. His back is sore, stiff in all the wrong places and he grimaces. It's going to bug him all day.

Tuna crawls onto the bed and sinks his little kitten claws into Paxton's shoulder in the process. It stings a little, but he doesn't mind it. He knows that it didn't mean to hurt him and Paxton's always been patient.

But his heart is racing, stumbling over the furniture in the room and running in circles. The door should be opening any moment right? Amos should be back any moment?

He gets himself onto the mattress and rolls onto his side, gaze settling on the wall. There's a quiet kind of tired on his eyelids, a sort of listlessness that always follows the day after drinking. That deep, dark feeling that he's been trying to push away comes flowing back always, like the tide. He squeezes his eyes shut against it and pushes the heel of his palm into his forehead to quell the pounding.

Tuna curls up on top of his hip bone and Paxton lays still for awhile, waiting for the door to creak open so he can pretend to be asleep because he doesn't really know how to look at Amos. Even thinking about all of it makes Paxton shut down, makes him realize that maybe he's lost everything he's ever loved all on his own, he's done it.

Paxton's the one who pulled Amos close in the alley and kissed him full on the mouth. Somehow he still wants to backtrack, promise Amos he isn't gonna do that again and just move on. He knows he can't do that anymore, can't pretend it's all alright and that he isn't head-over-heels in love with his best friend.

Last night, Paxton had told Amos he loved him.

Amos had said nothing back.

God, maybe it's the shooting pain in his head but he feels like crying again, like his heart still isn't done breaking. It should be though, right? How can it take so long to heal, it's been hours and has it ever been alright he wonders? How much more can it take before it's entirely useless? He bunches his shirt up in his hand over his heart as if to ease the weight of it.

It feels like a stone laying there against his ribcage, hardly doing anything at all.

And Amos isn't home yet but breakfast is only just down the street.

Pax blames the way his stomach is twisting on all the drinking last night and sometime around nine, he finally gets up. He stands, a little wobbly. His tongue sits heavy in his mouth, dry and aching for water, so thirsty that he almost gags. It's easiest to just stumble over to the kitchen sink and stick his mouth under the faucet. The water's cold, it shocks him and Pax coughs half of it out a moment later.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks for his shoes. He'll go find Amos, whatever, probably just got caught up with a neighbor. Mrs. Harris always talks for hours if you let her and it's not like Amos has reason to hurry home, other than curfew.

Maybe he was arrested.

Paxton holds onto the doorframe for support and slips his shoes on. That thought is worse even than the other that's been looming all morning since he half-heard the front door close softly sometime 'round seven. There are some places even Paxton can't follow.

But he'd still try.

He pauses in the doorway and looks back at the cat, one hand on the knob. It's curled up asleep again on the bed. The window is propped open, it can leave him if it wants to, it's always been able to.

He slips out the door, last night's hoodie just enough to keep him warm. It's gorgeous out so the street is busy. From his perch at the top of the stairs, Pax can see Peacekeepers moving through the crowds. Everyone is trying to get their chores done in the few hours they have free outside. He can smell Orin's baking up the street and there's always a long line, today it's probably longer.

Amos must be there, getting more impatient by the minute. He smiles softly at the idea of that. All he has to do is walk a few minutes up the street and find him in line and offer to hold the bakery packages. Paxton will grumble about his back and Amos will say something funny and then by tonight, they'll be okay again, even after everything.

Even if Amos doesn't love Paxton back, it'll probably be fine, he can deal with that.

But Mrs. Harris turns into the alley, as if she's been waiting for the sound of his door opening and her mouth is turned downwards, her brow furrowed in worry.

Her espression stops him in his tracks and he sinks down to sit on the top step, knees weak. Pax tries to think about the last time someone looked at him like that. Awhile ago now, maybe when his dad died and Celia didn't want to say it. The further away he is, the easier it is to hide the way his mouth trembles.

She stops at the bottom of the stairs, not quite able to look at him and Paxton steels himself. He's lost enough people in this life, another isn't really a big deal. It shouldn't be at least, in the end, Amos is just a kid he was sadled with six years ago. Pax remembers being annoyed at first by how useless and weak he was.

"He okay?" he asks after a moment.

She nods.

Paxton sighs, shoulders falling in relief, head going with them into his palms, open on his knees. Now he knows he doesn't have to mourn him, it's easier to breathe. As long as Amos is alright, Pax can work out the rest.

"He leave?" he asks next and his voice is muffled, his tone careful, flat, hiding anything of value.

"Yes," she tells him, "Followed him as long as I could but he crossed borders."

Paxton looks down at Mrs. Harris from his perch, at the wrinkles under her eyes and the way she watches him, careful and cold and sorry all at once.

He hates pity.

"Who's."

"East. The Triplets."

Fuck.

He nods slowly, fumbling in his hoodie pocket for his cigarettes while he thinks. They aren't there, they probably fell out, that or Amos took them as he sometimes does.

It's a nasty habit, he knows that.

"You tell Tank?" Paxton asks her calmly.

She shakes her head, "Not yet."

He's got time then.

[gamemaker kelsier]

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

It takes him a few days to find Amos. He goes back to the apartment to feed Tuna but it's hard to rest. Every shop he ducks into, every seedy little diner where Amos doesn't exist is just a waste of time and there's a clock ticking, a countdown until... something, he doesn't know what yet but something bad. Paxton can feel it on the back of his neck.

It was just a week or so ago when Pax found Amos alive and breathing in that alley and it'd felt as if the world had snapped into focus for a solid moment. Then everything had come apart again.

He walks through the Triplett's territory with his hood up, alert for even the slightest hint of an attack but no one comes for him. They're ignoring him for now and he doesn't know why. Pax is high up enough in his gang to cause a stir, or at least he thought that he was, still, he'll take the silence over the alternative.

Things start to go a little south for Paxton on day four of looking. He's not so quick anymore, his thoughts start turning over and under themselves through his head and there's a dark feeling there, a hollowness, a 'he left you, he left you, he left you,' that won't shut up. It's taking more thought to move. Each step is slower than the last. He needs a good night's rest but what if Amos is dead?

Amos always runs and Paxton always finds him, that's just how it is.

But what if he can't find him?

What if Amos is already dead?

What then?

"He's not dead," Paxton says, the street nearly empty at two in the morning, "So shut it."

He's not a worrier like that, never has been. Amos doesn't love him back like that, it's fine and it doesn't matter and he lights a cigarette under the halo of a street lamp. He bought a full pack last night and it's nearly empty, the cigarettes keep him warm and from needing to stop to eat. The nicotine high is enough to perk him up a little and he can keep going after an hour or so of rest. His method for that has been finding a dark booth in a bar to crash in for awhile before they kick him out.

But after a whisky.

He's a cocktail, a mess of a boy and a part of him knows that he's allowed to be that. When you get your heart broken you get allotted time to fall apart and as long as he cleans himself up before his next job, no one will care. No one will even notice, they never see them, the cracks in each other's skin, or maybe they just ignore them. After all, the gang is a family but not like that.

Paxton could die on a job and maybe they'd be sad but in the same way you're sad when your favourite screwdriver breaks. It sucks and it's kind of annoying but you always get a new one. There are plenty of boys in Nine just like Paxton, orphans raised by a gang who can shoot a gun.

He's nothing special, he's never thought differently.

If he can just find Amos, can just see that he's alright, he'll go home. He'll do his job, keep his head down and he'll be alright. He was fine before Amos came along six years ago, he can be fine again.

He just has to see that Amos is alright first.

Pax drops his cigarette on the pavement and stubs it out with his toe. The glowing neon sign of a bar he hasn't been to yet flickers on and off up the street. Blue light washes over the cement and men and women shuffle in and out.

Bella Luna, it reads.

[gamemaker kelsier]

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

Getting in isn't a problem. No one checks ID's anymore, not in the territories and Paxton is on the outskirts of the Triplett's. All he has to do is flash his gun and there's a drink ticket in his hand as soon as he's through the door.

Exhaustion holds him by the hand and leads him into an empty booth near the back where the lighting is dim and it smells like vomit. Paxton sets himself up in the corner, gun in his lap and hood pulled up. He pulls out his cigarettes and shakes the last one from the carton out into his palm before muttering a curse and tossing the empty box onto the table. Someone's carved bitch into the wood, the plastic blue cover is jagged around the letters where the knife split it.

Paxton crosses his arms and gazes out at the floor of the bar, still busy at nearly three in the morning. He waits for that half-asleep feeling to settle over him so that he can at least pretend to be rested and he feels that quiet longing for his bed that one only feels at three in the morning at the back of a dingy bar.

Cigarette ash falls onto his sweater and Pax stubs it out into the already full ashtray on the table beside him. Thought stills somewhere between his heart and his brain and he shuts his eyes, tired. It's easier to be tired than to have to think. Without Amos, all of the bad thoughts that usually stay back come out from the shadows, a voice whispering hateful things in the back of his head. Why are you looking for someone who doesn't love you?

Pressure on his throat, hands tightening, his eyes fly open and Paxton claws at the air in front of him, chest heaving.

The booth is empty but for him, the girl in the corner is plucking random notes on her guitar and the bar man is cleaning a glass. There are a few less people at the bar now but no one shows any sign of going home soon. Drinks are still pouring and staff weave through the crowd, handing them out to various tables.

Amos.

There he is, leaning against a door behind the bar, that same look on his face. His bangs are starting to fall in front of his eyes, a brown little web that Paxton's never been able to decide if he likes or not because it hides his eyes.

Pax watches him from his spot in the booth for a long moment. He hadn't thought this far ahead, the only thing he'd wanted to do for days was find Amos, there wasn't a plan yet on how he was going to get him to come home. Does he even need a plan? He never has before, where Paxton went, Amos had always come too and when Amos would run off, he'd always come back after Paxton found him again.

But this time he doesn't know.

Pax sits in the booth, the end of the drawstring of his hoodie in his mouth. He clicks his lighter off and on in his hand, which shakes a little bit. It turns out whisky and cigarettes isn't a great diet. Maybe it's just enough to know where Amos is. It'll be easier to keep an eye on him this way, easier to protect him.

He seems okay as far as Paxton can tell, not sick or anything. A lady goes walking by and she gives Amos a pat on the shoulder and hands him a glass. There's a good sort of look in her eye, she's someone whose used to protecting what's hers.

Maybe Amos is hers.

That longing tugs at him again, that devastating sort of want to be somewhere safe pulls him up and out of the booth and straight towards Amos. He can just explain himself, tell him he won't do it again and then he'll will come home with him. He can even find somewhere else for Tuna to go, he doesn't need a cat.

It can just be him and Amos again.

But then a boy comes level with Paxton and breezes right by him, an empty tray in his hand. He makes for the door that Amos is standing beside and stops for a moment to talk to Amos. He smiles. Paxton pauses, watching as the guy reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches and looks away, eyes trained on the business license framed beside the exit. There's a faded framed picture of the moon over the river beside it. Bella Luna.

Amos seems happy here.

He seems safe.

Paxton leans on the counter and bums a cigarette off the bar man, eyes on Amos' back as he follows the other boy through the staff door.

He thinks about his bed and the way it feels like a trap now.

He thinks about that alley way and that kiss, Amos' lips on his, his hand on his stomach, the look on his face when he'd finally pulled back.

Pax slips the unlit cigarette into the front pocket of his jeans and he drops a dollar in the tip jar before heading back up the stairs to the street.

He needs to feed tuna.

[gamemaker kelsier]

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

It's nearly four by the time he crawls back up the wooden stairs to his apartment door. There's a casserole dish with a tea towel over it on the welcome mat, a gift left for the grieving boy. Pax nudges it out of the way with one foot and leans into his front door as he fumbles with his key. His fingers aren't working as well as they usually do but it's nothing that a little bit of sleep can't fix.

The apartment is dark but Tuna stills comes to weave between his legs as he stumbles inside. She meows loudly and paws at his shin, as if she's starving to death. Pax pulls a carton of milk out of the fridge and fills her little bowl before raising the carton to his lips to drink too.

After a moment, he sinks down to sit on the kitchen tile beside the little cat. She starts purring almost as soon as he starts stroking her back and the sound is comforting, it's like having a little engine beneath his hand.

The sky is starting to grow grey outside as the sun makes its promises to rise soon and Paxton watches quietly as their apartment starts to come into view. The life inside it isn't just his, it's never been. Everything has Amos' touch. If it were up to Pax, they would have just been sitting on the hardwood floor, eating dinner out of the same two bowls every night. He's never had to think too much about life and its comforts, he's only ever considered the current moment. A future where he might want a coffee table had never occurred to him until Amos moved in.

"What am I gonna do with it?" he asks softly.

A tear slips slowly down his cheek.

It's been days since he had more than just a rest in the back of a bar, his bed calls out to him, so inviting, but there's still the blanket on the ground beside it from the other night.

He should have known that he was going to ruin everything in the end. Tank's been telling him for years that the only love he needs is his love for the gang and Paxton should have listened, saved himself the heartbreak. It's comforting though, it's safe, knowing that even though Amos is gone, the Gang will still be there. He isn't entirely alone, he's got them, he's got Tuna.

Pax stands and puts the milk away. There's an old polaroid magnetized to the fridge door, a picture from the day they moved into this place and Celia had snapped a photo of him and Amos sitting on the stairs outside. He takes it and holds it over the garbage can for a long moment, knowing that Amos has already cut him out of his life and he needs to do the same.

His hand pulls back, he's holding the photo so tightly that the tips of his fingers have gone pale. It isn't so easy for him, all of this. It feels as if he's shaving away pieces of himself and his skin feels raw from it. He can't put the picture back up either, it doesn't belong there anymore.

So it goes into the pocket of his hoodie.

He crawls into bed then, pulling himself up against the window out of habit to leave enough room for another person. It's only then that he realizes that he forgot to lock the door.

But maybe Amos forgot his key.

So that's okay.

[gamemaker kelsier]

p a x t o n .

"You won't come back again
Even if the world should end
Still I would never let
Anybody else come in"

Three days later he's sitting in the gang's usual haunt, a can of cheap beer in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. There's a bruise on his cheek from earlier in the day when he had a run in with some serpents, but other than that Pax seems like he's doing okay. He's quit smoking, just for a moment, just to catch up. There's still a pack in his pocket and maybe they'll get lit later, one by one as he sits on the top step to his apartment, waiting.

He plays with the tab on his beer can, laughs at something Erica says as if it's actually funny and he isn't just doing it to fill the silent moment. He should go home, he knows that, but he just bends the tab off of his beer can so hard that it snaps off.

Yesterday he got home and all of Amos' drawers in the dresser were empty and for a quiet, crazed moment, Paxton wondered if the other boy had ever actually been there at all.

It'd make sense if he's gone off the deep end, right? A gang's no place to raise a kid, and Paxton still remembers the first time he realized how easy it is to lose someone, too young. He was too young then, he's too young now, unable even to understand the feelings flowing through him, smoke in his lungs, in and out, in and out, he's choking on them.

But then he found Amos' sweater at the bottom of the washer and just in case, he hid it under the couch.

And he looks at Erica, looks at the way her lips curve up into a smile at his laughter and the way she reaches her hand across the table to take his, like they mean something together and he thinks about that sweater. He laughs again because it's easy and it makes her smile and then he can smile back.

But what did she even say?

She pulls her hand back so she can light a cigarette and Paxton forgets to tell her that he's not smoking right now because they can both smell the old smoke clinging to his shirt anyway. Other members are starting to filter in, there's Stocks, Cecelia, Brakes.

"Where's Amos been at, doll?" Erica asks him and then she blows a perfect stream of smoke over his head.

It's a good question, one he's still been trying to figure out how to answer. Paxton can be a good liar when he tries to be one, but he's never lied to his family before. "Taking curfew too seriously," he says after a moment and holds his hand out for her cigarette, "He's been holed up reading."

She stares at him for a long moment, a sad sort of look in her eyes as if she can see right through him, see the pain in there, circulating through him over and over again. Recycled air.

"You know you ain't been the same lately?" she asks but it's rhetorical, a veiled warning. Paxton pretends he doesn't hear it. Yeah he's been a little bit less careful, but

"Isn't that a good thing? All for the gang, yeah?" he says and passes her the cigarette back.

He's known Erica since they were little. She's a couple years older but she never babied him, none of them ever did. They all knew who his parents were and mostly, they just expected the same out of Paxton. There was never a question as to whether or not he'd be fit for gang life, he'd never known anything else.

And he is suited.

Paxton would do anything for the gang, he has done anything. One night even crawled him with a face beaten so badly that he was barely recognizable and then stitched himself up in the dark out of shame. He can't bare being a loose end but that's what he's become without Amos. Before this, no matter what, everywhere he went Amos went too. Now he finds himself in back alleys, pressed against the wall with no help because he has to lie and say that Amos is with him.

His life span shortens every second he runs the streets without him but Pax can't bear to put him in danger by admitting that he left.

It's easier to die than do that.

Two hours later he's playing Stocks for his wristwatch in a game of poker, poor asshole has no money left and Pax should have called it half an hour ago but it's easy to wipe the floor with Stocks. He also can't help holding onto some resentment for setting everything into motion a few weeks back by leaving Amos in danger. Besides, he needs a new watch, smashed his last one.

"Three of a kind," he drawls out proudly, that fifth beer making his vowels longer than they need to be. Stocks' brow furrows and he drops a two-pair on the table in defeat. He starts tugging at the strap of his watch before Pax waves a hand dismissively, "Nah man, I know your dad gave you that, just wanted to watch you squirm," he says, that same grin pasted on his face.

He can be benevolent when he chooses to be.

The game's over though, Pax stands up to leave the table when the door to the hideout opens and Tank enters, a grim look on his face. There's blood on his shirt, enough blood to make the rest of the bar go silent for a split-second. That's never a good sign because when Tank has to kill someone it's because they've pissed him off and when Tank is pissed off, Cecilia is even angrier.

Paxton's usually the one who has to deal with the both of them when they're angry, since he was a kid, it's always been him at Tank's side being the one constant in ten years of quick member turnovers. So he grabs a couple beers off the counter and makes his way over to where Tank has sat down beside Cecilia and puts them both in front of him. "Thought you were doing a routine border run today," he says and slips into a chair across from Tank, "Run into some trouble?"

Tank wraps one large hand around a can and slides the second beer across the table to Paxton. They've done it that way since Pax was too young to drink and Tank had to father him after his dad died. Tank would have only been about twenty then himself.

"Saw something that turned my stomach," Tank says slowly, studying Paxton like he doesn't recognize him, "Looks like you got in some trouble too."

Pax touches the bruise on his cheek lightly, he'd kind of forgotten it was there. "It's nothing," he says.

They sit in silence for a long moment and the bar around them slowly comes back to life. Chatter fills the blank silences like the tide and Pax loosens up a little, the feeling of danger mostly passed.

"You remember the night your father died?"

Pax nods. It'd been a punctured lung. Paxton had been waiting in the warehouse like always so that when his dad got back, they could go home together. Then twenty minutes had turned into two hours and then that had turned into his dad crawling in through the side door, everyone else dead and him slowly drowning in his own blood.

Tank had scooped him up and locked him in his dad's office and Paxton had banged on the door until they let him out to see his dad.

But his dad was already gone.

"My heart ached for you kid, all of us did. I remember thinking that night that I'd do anything to protect you, ya know?" Tank says and then he lifts his can to his mouth and drinks until there's nothing left.

Pax watches, the smooth feeling of being drunk slowly leaving him as the bar starts to quiet again, the tension in the room almost palpable.

"Yeah Tank," he says, tone careful, "You know I'd do anything for you too? You're like an older broth-"

"Don't fuckin lie to me, kid, I saw him, I saw Amos, Henry did too."

Pax pauses, his fingers slowly curling into fists on his knees as he tries to make himself still. He doesn't know yet what Tank is thinking but he can make a few guesses. He knows what it looks like, what Amos leaving has done, he just doesn't know if it's Amos they want for it or him.

"You send Amos out to the Triplets' Territory and think we won't fucking notice?"

Him then.

Pax smiles a little at that. Like always, Amos is in trouble and it's Paxton who needs to get him out of it, smooth things over. The feeling is so familiar that it almost hurts, this is one of the last times he's ever going to need to do this for him.

"It's not what you think, Tank," Pax says, "It's more complicated than that."

"You've got five seconds to explain."

Cecilia is standing up now, eyes on Paxton and her hands on Tank's shoulders, watching Paxton through dead, cold eyes. Has she ever liked Pax? It's hard to think now.

"I can't."

He can't tell them that the only reason all this happened is because he kissed Amos. The shame in that moment has been reinforced hundreds of times since by Amos' silence on it and then his leaving and then the empty drawers. He doesn't need Amos to say it or Tank because he's already heard the words in his head over and over like bile in his head since then.

Fucking Queer.

Not normal.

"Get out, Paxton."

Tank's hands are in fists on the table and there's a a grim line on his face where his mouth should be and his eyes look cold.

Paxton doesn't move, thoughts racing a hundred miles a minute away from here as his world starts to crumble further around him.

"You gonna hurt him?" he asks.

"That's not your concern anymore."

Paxton stands then, feet taking him closer to Tank. The bar is dead silent now but for the two of them but Paxton doesn't care if the whole world sees his fall from grace, none of that matters anymore. That hollow feeling is back, the demon tightens its grip on his collarbones and Paxton smiles wider as the emptiness spreads through him. Loss only fuels him.

"If you hurt him, I'll fucking kill you Tank," he promises, tone deadly calm as if he isn't aware that he's signing his death warrant with every word, as if it doesn't feel kind of good. "You know how I can get."

The crowd moves in a little instinctually even as Tank stands, all three hundred pounds of muscle and man looming over Paxton like he couldn't crush him with one hand. "Don't make me fucking do this Paxton," he says quietly, like he still has a choice.

"You going soft, Tank?" he asks.

Years of care lie in-between them and Pax softens a little. He's not being fair, he knows the rules and Amos broke them all and by extension, Paxton. He knows how bad it looks.

Tank puts a hand on Paxton's shoulder, this sad look on his face, like a wounded god and he squeezes gently. Maybe this is the goodbye he never got from his dad.

"You were going to do such great things, kid," he says.

And then Paxton feels this sharp pain in his side, just under his ribcage, as if someone's pushed their nail into his skin and just kept on pushing. He opens his mouth briefly, a slightly confused look on his face as Tank lets go of him.

Pax stumbles back a little bit, his legs gone weak and he looks down at the spot, at the red seeping into his white shirt, expanding slowly as his blood runs out of him. He puts a hand on the spot and hisses in pain before pulling his hand away.

There are hands on his shoulders, pushing him towards the door and Tank isn't looking at him, he's wiping his knife on a napkin and finishing off Paxton's beer. Cecilia is sitting again, gaze trained away and as the hands push him out, he catches the look on Erica's face, that sad one again.

Then his knees are hitting the dirty floor of the alley and the door is slamming shut behind him and Paxton's blood is dripping onto uneven cobbles and pooling in-between all the little cracks.