15
Kylo
Exiting the building feels like walking into a nightmare.
It’s okay, I’ve made this walk countless times, I’ll be fine, he tries to convince himself, despite the dark of night surrounding him like a noose as he steps away from the light above the exit door.
Every shadow in the corner of his eye, every student walking in the distance, every unexpected sound—they all make his skin crawl and his heart pound beneath his ribcage. He knows Trevor isn’t a threat anymore, but something inside him still panics, as if he’ll still step out from the dark, as he had in the auditorium, healed and ready to pounce. Or, more rationally, that Alanna, or one of Trevor’s other friends, will find him and finish the job.
He quickens his pace, but tries not to run, to avoid people staring at his anxious disposition. Once inside his dorm building, he races up the stairs, fumbling with his keys as he unlocks the door. With every passing second he spends trying his damnedest to open the door, he feels like the noose of shadows are tightening around him—like a vice around his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Just get inside, just get inside, just get inside, his brain loops as tears well up in his eyes. Finally turning the lock, he pushes the door open desperately, flinging himself through the threshold before slamming it and locking it behind him. Sliding his back down the door, he sits on the floor and bursts into tears.
He doesn’t know how long he cries for, but he gathers the strength to stand. Removing his clothes, he immediately throws them into the garbage bin, never wanting to see that outfit ever again now that it’s been tainted by Trevor’s actions. As he stands there, naked, his stomach churns looking down at himself and he begins to scratch his torso. I…I can still feel his hands… His heart quickens along with his breath. Swallowing, he shudders an inhale as he hurries to their small bathroom, shared with the room over. I need to get him off me.
The crawl of unwanted fingers across his skin increases. Grabbing a washcloth, he holds it under the sink faucet and runs near-boiling water onto it. Though his fingers begin to burn under the soaked fabric, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he places the hot cloth onto his abdomen, inhaling sharply at the temperature as he begins to scrub.
Get him off, get him off, just get him off, get him off me.
Tears begin to fall from his eyes once more as he tries to wash off his stomach, scrubbing roughly, lower and lower.
Why him? Why did I have to find him ? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I told him no, just get off, don’t touch me, please, I don’t wanna die, please, stop touching me—
“I’m not yours!” he sobs in a desperate plea. The cloth falls from his shaky hands and he braces himself on the bathroom counter, his eyes avoiding the mirror above, his skin now red and irritated.
I’m not yours.
It’s all too much for him to handle while he’s alone tonight. Kylo knows he won’t be able to sleep like this, while every dark corner still frightens him and every itch or tingle on his body makes him want to shed his skin like a snake. So, with trembling hands, he finds his nightstand and pulls out a blunt, which he takes back to the bathroom, turning on the ceiling fan to remedy the smell. He sits himself up against the wall, in front of the toilet, and sucks the smoke into his lungs with a deep inhale. He takes a few more drags, but it isn’t long before the effects take hold, numbing the pain and lightening the weight in his head.
Blotting off the burning end into the sink to preserve what’s left of the joint, he stuffs it back into the bag in his nightstand, slips into some clean clothes, and climbs into their beds. Kylo curls himself up on Lathan’s side, resting his head on his pillow, clutching his blanket in his hands as he had with Lathan’s shirt. Lathan’s scent lingers on every fibre, a comforting mix of citrus and musk that he would recognize anywhere. With the marijuana in his system, and the comforting smell of his boyfriend surrounding him, his overexerted and exhausted body finally succumbs to sleep.
◆◆◆
The next day is torture. Dressed in a turtleneck, again, to ‘cleverly’ hide his wound, Kylo attends every class, interacting with professors and classmates alike as if nothing has happened. Everything that he felt while alone last night has been shoved into a pretty glass bottle and placed on a shelf in his mind, to keep it at a safe distance in hopes that he can move on with his life. Because, well, he needs to.
As his last class ends at three o’clock, he practically sprints out of the building and toward W Block. Once inside, he slows his pace, to not disturb the staff. As he turns down the corridor, nearing Lathan’s bay of cells, the echo of a conversation reaches where he stands. He can understand the voices clearly—one is Lathan, but the others he doesn’t recognize.
“Do you know how much it costs to fly down here from Seoul?” a woman’s voice is saying, her tone licked with anger. “For something as disgusting as this, no less.”
Kylo slows to a stop, looking down as his ears twitch toward the sounds, listening intently.
“I told you, I couldn’t control it,” Lathan says.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You can control it. You’ve controlled it up until this point. What’s the difference now? A damn wolf?”
“He was attacked,” Lathan snaps. “He was lured there!”
Kylo’s brows knit together, a hand raising to cover his parted lips. They’re talking about the other night.
“But you weren’t. You shouldn’t have been there at all. Instead of trying to get easy credits, you should have been focusing on the classes you’re already falling behind in.”
“How can you say that?” Lathan growls, his anger growing. “You help people just like Kylo. He could’ve died. I was protecting him.”
“Well, maybe he should have, because that is not your job. That is a responsibility you clearly can’t handle.”
Her words are cutthroat, causing Kylo’s heart to drop in his chest, fighting the lump in his throat. She would rather I’d died? There’s a longer pause, and he can only assume that Lathan is just as shocked by the woman’s words.
“How the fuck can you stand there and shit on me about responsibility when you neglect your own?” Lathan finally pushes out.
“What are you talking about?”
“Me!” Lathan shouts, the word ringing through the halls. “I’m your fucking son. And I haven’t heard from my mom in almost two fucking years. You’re only here now to make sure your reputation isn’t hurt by this. Let’s be honest, if I had been the one to die, you’d fucking celebrate.”
SLAP.
The loud clap ricochets in waves toward Kylo, only emphasized by the silence that follows. Kylo’s eyes are wide with shock and anger, his hand pressing into his mouth, now understanding who the woman is. He has to bite his tongue and hold himself back during the long moments of stillness, bracing himself against the wall. Then, there’s a mumbling, a man’s voice that wasn’t a part of the argument, saying something about “studies” and “keep it to yourself.”
The woman’s voice, much louder, he can clearly hear as she sneers, “You do anything like this again, and you will have nothing. ” It isn’t hard for Kylo to understand that she means that Lathan would never hear from his parents, likely wouldn’t be able to finish his schooling at Obscura without their financial support, and would have nowhere to go.
Loud, frustrated footsteps begin to rain down from the bay of cells, becoming louder as they approach. Kylo’s heart palpates as he panics on whether or not to be seen, but ultimately decides to slowly continue. From the dim shadows around the corner, a couple exits, both with short black hair. The woman leads, her heels clacking menacingly as she strides. Her face is tensed and angry, and she doesn’t even glance at Kylo as she passes. Behind her is a man, more meek than her, who does see Kylo. He slows in step as their eyes lock. The man’s face isn’t contorted by white-hot rage like the woman’s, but he doesn’t exactly look friendly either. He speeds up after their three-second glance to catch up to his wife, heading toward the exit.
What they said was unforgivable. He doesn’t give a shit if they care about him, he knows his own actions had consequences, but Lathan is their son. The fact that they’re more concerned with their money and lawyer reputations than their child’s wellbeing and safety says a lot about them and their priorities. Too much.
Taking a deep breath, not wanting to linger in Lathan’s parents’ words, he continues down the hall. Turning into his bay, his eyes land on Lathan. Seeing him standing outside the glass and concrete chamber fills his heart more than he anticipated it would, and suddenly his feet are racing toward the vampire, now returned to his usual form.
Hearing footsteps clatter toward him, Lathan turns and opens his arms wide to catch Kylo just as he barrels into him. In the brief second before their bodies collide, Kylo can see the soft, pink welt forming where his mother struck him, hard, with the strength of a vampire. His heart sinks as he wraps his arms tightly around him, swaying his steps, almost turning them in a circle with his face pressed into his body. He’s holding his breath to avoid an onslaught of tears, surfacing again from being alone last night. He feels guilty, as if crying and letting his pain seep into this moment would be wrong. Especially after overhearing how his mother spoke to him—how she hit him. Though he broke down last night, and though his day was filled with dread and fear and pretending, it would be selfish not to stay strong for him, just for right now.
Lathan presses his forehead into the crook of Kylo’s neck, breathing him in. “I missed you,” he whispers into his skin.
“I missed you, too,” he breathes back, clutching him with all the strength he can gather, not wanting to let go. After relishing in his warmth for a few more moments, he softly adds, “Can we go home now?”
It was unnervingly cold and desolate in their tiny dorm all by himself. Lathan’s scent, his personality, and his belongings all surrounded him, yet without him there he couldn’t fend off the suffocating darkness. Being swaddled in his love, his gentle nature, his protection—it’s the only thing that helps him feel safe right now.
“Mhm.” Lathan leans out of their embrace. Intertwining their fingers together, he leads Kylo out of W Block and into the courtyard toward their dormitory.
As the sun hits Lathan’s face, he sighs into its warmth. Kylo just watches with a heavy heart as he takes it in for the first time in days. A few people stare, which suddenly starts to get under Kylo’s skin—as if they know what happened—despite Lathan ignoring their looks, their whispers. Kylo just keeps his body close, attempting to shut them out and keep his focus on the only person keeping him sane.
Back in their dorm, as the door clicks shut, Lathan takes a deep inhale, and an equally long exhale. He collapses onto their beds and covers his face with his forearms—scarred long and pink down their sides—taking a second pause and breathe. Kylo can only assume his relief to be back, taking in some normalcy. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning his upper body onto the blankets next to him. This is where he belongs. Not in a cage. Not with the parents that barely care about him. Here, with me.
Kicking off his shoes, he swings his legs onto the bed and wiggles up to Lathan, snuggling into his side. Closing his eyes, he sinks into the subtle beat in his chest. A lullaby sweeter than any sung note.
Minutes pass—how many, Kylo isn’t sure. The quiet push and pull of Lathan’s aorta nearly carries him to sleep, and he’s sure Lathan nearly went with him as well, until his body twitches beneath Kylo, causing them both to open their eyes.
“I need a shower,” Lathan mumbles tiredly and turns his head to face Kylo. “Did you shower last night when you left?”
“No…” Kylo shakes his head. I couldn’t even leave the room.
“Mm,” He rubs Kylo’s shoulder softly. “Want to come with me then?”
“Yeah, sure.” Kylo rubs his eyes and stretches as he replies. Rolling off the bed, he reaches underneath it, into his storage box, and retrieves his bag of toiletries along with a clean towel. Slipping off his socks and stepping into his slides, he stands at the door to wait for Lathan. He watches as he grabs his things and pulls his shirt over his head, balling it with his hands and tossing it into the garbage. The staff had found a spare for him to wear, since his own had been torn and bloodied—obviously it holds bad memories, like Kylo’s did for him. Shirtless, he joins Kylo, and they both walk down the hall to the shower room.
Each dormitory has a spacious gender-neutral shower room, complete with shower stalls, change rooms, toilets and sinks, storage cubbies, and long mirrored vanities. The shower stalls feature large, lockable, floor-to-ceiling doors and proper ventilation, for both safety and functionality.
As they approach the door, two people step out with towels, clothes, and belongings in their arms. Kylo gives them a polite nod as they pass, but Lathan doesn’t give them much attention. Inside, the misty warmth of travelled steam encompasses them. Taking a deep breath of the humid air, Kylo walks over to a change room and steps inside to disrobe, wrapping his lower half with a towel before emerging. Glancing over, Lathan has his caddy of soaps and shampoos on the vanity countertop as he pulls his hair out of the half top-knot it was tied into—shaking the black length loose, his back muscles flexing as he does so. Kylo can’t help but watch in awe of the man who saved him. Though he’s filled with deep regret, and a muddle of darkness, he also has profound gratitude for Lathan’s endless bravery and kindness. It’s something he’ll never be able to properly repay.
Walking over to him, at the far end up to the wall, he sets his balled up clothes onto the counter, not worried about theft. Turning to the showers, he grips his toiletry bag and starts toward the stall he’s eyeing, third from the wall.
“Hey,” Lathan says, lowly, as he brushes his fingers on Kylo’s arm.
Kylo turns his attention and watches as Lathan’s eyes look him up and down before nodding in the direction of the last stall, where Lathan’s towel is draped over the handle. It takes a moment before Kylo understands that it’s an invitation, something he should’ve realized upon his verbal invitation to shower ‘together,’ but completely missed due to running on autopilot, still far too tangled in his own undecipherable thoughts.
Looking over his shoulder, he quickly scans the room to find that they are truly alone, so he follows. Lathan closes the door and locks them both inside, where they remove their towels and hang them on the available hook on the door. Kylo places his shampoo on the shower shelf and tries to keep his eyes from wandering. Though he certainly loves Lathan’s bits, and is usually up for some fun, he can’t even stomach the thought right now. They’ve both been through a traumatic event, and are struggling in the aftermath. While Lathan seems strong and confident in its wake, Kylo can feel his own paranoia creeping back simply because the sun will be setting soon. So, as much fun as it may be, he just wants Lathan’s company—rather than his length—in this moment.
The water rains out from its spout, a nice heat that isn’t too hot to the touch. It hits them both as they stand under the stream, their shoulders touching.
“Is this okay?” Lathan whispers, his eyes resting on Kylo’s.
“Mhm.” Kylo nods, his lips contorting slightly as he tries to hide his smile. He’s always such a gentleman. And he loves that about him, as it only reinforces the safety he feels around him. And this—showering together—feels both foreign and comforting, like something real couples do. His past relationships were short-lived, and he’s certainly never lived with a partner before, so showering together is a welcomed new experience.
Lathan’s eyelids lower into a more sultry gaze as he moves closer to Kylo, rubbing the water down his arms, sending a shiver down his spine and a rosy hue into his cheeks. Lathan then pulls Kylo forward, under the water. It pours down in a soothing rhythm, soaking into his curls, which flatten to his head and leave strands sliding into his face. Tilting his head back with closed eyes, the stream rinses his face and slicks his hair backward. As he sinks into the moment, unaware of time passing, letting the water wash away the events from his mind, delicate hands slide against his scalp as Lathan begins to massage shampoo into his hair.
He sighs into Lathan’s strong yet gentle hands as he works away. After a few moments, Kylo steps to the side, to remove his face from the water. Wiping droplets from his eyes, he looks back at Lathan. “How did I get so lucky?” he says under his breath, his eyes smiling.
“With what?” Lathan hums from behind him. The shampoo lathers in foamy clumps, plopping down around their feet.
“With you.” Stepping back under the stream, he rinses the shampoo down his back, slicking his hands over his face and through his hair, making sure to get every sud out. Then, he turns to face Lathan and pulls him under the stream with him, wrapping his arms around him, one hand landing on his lower back and one hand between his shoulder blades.
Lathan’s arms drape around him, and he can feel the soft pressure of his lips pressing against his slick hair. This warm, wet embrace soothes Kylo’s aching mind—still reeling with chaos, confusion, and pain. Straightening, he lifts his head to plant a kiss on Lathan’s cheek. The water trickles around their skin as he does so, creating a small stream between where they connect.
Then, pouring Lathan’s shampoo into his hands, he repays the favour by spreading it through his long, wet locks. Attempting to silence his mind, Kylo focuses on the task with gentle hands. Though, it is a challenge. Bits of dried blood—Trevor’s blood—are caked into his dark strands. The fresh memories begin to bubble up, filling his mind with inky black panic. Swallowing and exhaling slowly, he grabs his focus and pulls it onto the sensation of Lathan’s soapy hair between his fingers, forcing himself to stay in the present. After thorough scrubbing, he kisses him softly on his scarred shoulder to signal his completion.
It’s not long before they finish lathering their own bodies and rinsing themselves clean. Once dried off, they walk back to their room, where Kylo chucks his toiletry bag back under his bed, and hangs up his towel, before changing. Lathan, clearly exhausted, nuzzles himself into the mismatched blankets splitting the beds and closes his eyes.
He must not have slept much in W Block…he deserves a peaceful night’s rest— he looks at the clock— even if it is only five. He decides to climb into bed as well, cuddling up next to his body.
Lathan’s eyes flutter as he presses close. Looking at him through narrowed eyes, he lets them close before mumbling, “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“This. This is my plan,” Kylo says softly, settling in under the blankets.
“Mm. You don’t have to do that.”
“I want nothing more than to spend tonight right here.” He smiles against his chest to reassure him of his decision. Even if he did have plans, his mental state would prevent him from socializing—especially when Lathan is the only person who makes him feel safe.
Lathan doesn’t open his eyes or say anything further. He just snakes an arm over the blankets that cover Kylo’s shoulder and falls into a comfortable sleep. It’s the first time Lathan’s slept in a bed all weekend, and Kylo is well aware of how uncomfortable W Block’s concrete cell interiors feel. So, after half an hour of feeling Lathan’s languorous chest rising and falling beneath his head, he carefully slips out from underneath his weakened grasp. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he steps into his shoes before leaving the dorm as softly as possible, as to not wake up his exhausted boyfriend.
The cafeteria is busy with students and staff. The buzzing of chatter from the large crowd eases the darkness creeping into the corners of Kylo’s mind, now that he’s so far from Lathan. Passing the line for hot meals, he heads to the display case of premade options and snags two meals to bring back with him.
Returning as quietly as he left, he leaves a bulgogi sandwich, a cucumber salad, and a chocolate chip cookie on Lathan’s desk. At his own, he eats the sandwich and chips he brought back for himself, then sits in silence.
Glancing over his shoulder, out the window, Kylo’s eyes meet the setting sun, and his knee starts to bounce. While he tries to study, attempting to direct his restless energy toward an upcoming assignment, he can’t focus. Every time he goes to read a line, the words become a jumbled mess and his thoughts are louder. It was easier when he was distracting his mind with physical tasks, but now that his protector has entered the realm of dreams, his body feels as if it’s as alone as last night.
Finally giving up on his studies, he shuts his laptop and runs his hands over his face, inevitably opening his pocketbook to a new page. If he can sort through his thoughts, if he can purge them out onto the page, then maybe they will stop haunting him—that pretty glass bottle cracking and threatening to break.
It doesn’t take long before words are spilling from his head into his hand, and he wills it to move quickly, scratching words onto the page with desperation.
I wasn’t scared of the dark until you hid inside of it
I wasn’t scared of confinement until your trap was set
I wasn’t scared of strangers until you had your way with me
Your words seared my brain,
Your teeth pierced my neck,
Your hands searched my body,
Now I flinch
when I hear your name
A constant reminder
of what you did
When I said
No
As he writes the last line, the pencil falls from his trembling hand onto the desk, teardrops falling onto the open page. It’s one of the messier poems he’s written, but it’s raw—an open, aching wound that’s going septic. The tears flow from his open eyes, down his cheeks, onto everything below, enveloping the graphite. It’s like the floodgates he had been holding back all day have finally opened. A small whimper leaves his mouth as he raises his knees into his chest. With his feet resting on his seat, he holds his face in his hands and tries to push the gates shut, tries to force himself to stop his quiet sob, but it doesn’t yield.
Shut up. Make it stop. I don’t want this. I never wanted this! Why didn’t you stop? I can still feel you on me. Your hands were so cold—it makes me sick. I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU!
“Ky?” A groggy voice and the sound of rustling fabric cuts through Kylo’s spiraling thoughts, startling him. Before he can look over his shoulder, Lathan has crossed their small room and kneels at his side, placing a hand on the back of the office chair.
“Hey,” he says cautiously, his eyebrows bent with concern. “What’s going on?”
Releasing his held breath, Kylo’s lungs shake as they fill with air. “I-I tried…” He forces the words out of his tightened throat before glancing out the window, taking in the darkening horizon, which only makes his heart sink lower. Moving his eyes to the pocketbook, still open on his desk, he continues. “H-he’s in my h–head,” he stammers, sputtering inhales with each stutter, a few more tears escaping the corners of his eyes. This vulnerable feeling is gut-wrenching and embarrassing, as if he should be ashamed of what he went through, and the aftermath he’s now struggling with. Leaning forward, he buries his face into his knees as his hands run through his hair and grip fistfuls. It’s as if becoming as small as possible will make the problem go away, and Lathan won’t have to see him like this.
Kylo can hear Lathan shifting as he leans toward the desk, reading his poem. Then he hears him lift from the ground. Once the overhead lights are flicked on, Kylo lifts his gaze from between his knees, still breathing shakily, as he looks for Lathan. The vampire grabs something from his desk before returning to crouch at Kylo’s side.
“Kylo, what can I do?” His voice is soft but pleading.
Kylo releases his grip on his hair and slides his hands to his knees. He can feel himself dissociating, a sense of numbness sliding over his emotions like a shield, freezing him in apathy—his brain’s attempt at protecting him from the mental anguish. Letting out a long, slowed breath, his glassy, reddened eyes meet Lathan’s stare, then immediately look away. It’s too much to handle, knowing he’s being perceived in this moment of vulnerability.
“I think I need sleep.”
He can see Lathan watching him in his peripheral vision, mulling over what to say, how to help. Then he lifts his hand, holding the packaged cookie Kylo had left at his desk between two fingers. “Want my cookie?”
Rubbing his eyes and wiping them of tears, he shakes his head. “That’s for you.” Even if he were to accept it, his uneasy stomach is in no place to consume any more food tonight.
Placing his feet on the floor, he pushes out of his seat slowly. A wave of exhaustion hits him as he moves his muscles. Walking over to the bed, he slips under his blanketed side and curls into the fetal position. After he slips under the covers, Lathan waits for a moment, presumably thinking, before placing the cookie on his desk, beside the pocketbook.
“Kylo,” Lathan says under his breath. “I don’t know if they told you, but…he’s gone.”
He’s gone. He’s…dead. He thought hearing those words would be comforting. That they would take away the cold sting lingering everywhere Trevor had touched him, but it isn’t, and it doesn’t, and that only worries him more.
“Good,” is all he can bring himself to say.
He should be gone. He deserved to die. He deserves to rot in the ground for what he’s done.
But then…why does it still feel like he’s on top of me? Why am I still scared? How long will I feel like this? Is this my life now?
I just want this to end…