Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mari stood at the top of the staircase, her fists clenched, her cheeks flushed red. The old metronome ticked in the background, forgotten on the piano bench like a broken timekeeper. Downstairs, the house was silent. Their parents were out. The only sound that filled the hallways now was her voice.

"Do you even care, Sunny?" she yelled. Her voice cracked, and it didn’t sound like her. “You didn’t even try this time. You weren’t even looking at the sheet.”

Sunny stood at the threshold of her room, violin still in his hand. His bow trembled slightly against the strings. He hadn’t said anything in ten minutes. Not when she first scolded him, not when she slammed the lid of the piano, not even now, when her voice had risen so loud it echoed off the walls. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look anywhere.

"You keep doing this. You shut down every time I push you even a little bit. I’m trying to help you, Sunny. This recital, it’s not just for me. It’s for us. It's your future, too.” She didn’t know she was crying until her voice wavered. “I just—I can't do this alone.” Sunny shifted slightly, the toe of his sock curling against the wooden floorboard. He was still holding the violin like he wanted to try again, but he couldn’t move. His fingers were too stiff. His chest too tight. Mari wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, turning toward the stairs. “You’re hopeless sometimes, you know that?” She began walking away, then stopped, turned back. “No. That’s not fair. I’m sorry. I just… You’re better than this. I know you are. Please, just—”

“I don’t want to play anymore,” Sunny said. His voice was so quiet it nearly dissolved into the dark.

Mari blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to play violin anymore.”

The metronome stopped ticking.

He finally looked up at her. His face was pale.

Mari stepped toward him, her mouth slightly open. “You don’t mean that. You’ve been practicing for years.”

“You’ve been making me practice.”

"You think I make you?" Her laugh was short, harsh. "You think I dragged you into this? You think I begged you to be my partner? God, Sunny, I thought…" She shook her head violently, hands trembling now. “I gave up so much for this. Do you know how many times I turned down friends, dates, dances, just so we could practice? Just so we could be ready? I thought you wanted this. I thought…” He looked at her and said nothing. Mari stepped forward. “Say something. Please. For once, say something back!”

He didn’t. He didn’t even blink. And that silence, that unbearable, bottomless silence, was too much. Mari reached for his shoulder, not to hit him, not really, just to jolt him, shake him, something. Maybe she meant to grab him, maybe she meant to pull him forward so he would yell back, fight back, feel something. Anything. But Sunny jerked away, and her hand slipped, and she shoved.

It was a push born of emotion, not violence.

But Sunny’s heel caught on the edge of the hallway carpet.

And his body tilted back.

And he fell.

Just a thud. Then another. Then another. Then silence. The violin clattered down the stairs with him, bow snapping in half on the third step. Strings twanged.

Mari froze. Her hand still hovered in the air.

“Sunny?” she whispered. She stumbled forward, her knees nearly giving out beneath her as she reached the top of the stairs and looked down.

He was lying at the bottom of the staircase, crumpled on his side, not moving. One arm was twisted beneath him, the other limp, fingers barely curled like a dead spider. His face, usually blank and unreadable, was slack, his mouth slightly parted, eyes half-open, staring through her like a broken doll left behind in some ruined attic. Blood pooled slowly beneath his head, seeping into the carpet like spilled ink. His ribs fluttered once, then stopped. 

She ran. She flew down the steps, nearly tripping herself.

“Sunny… Sunny, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Her voice cracked as she knelt beside him, fingers trembling. She touched his shoulder and rolled him slightly. His breath came in shallow clicks, like something caught in his throat, struggling not to drown. A line of blood dribbled from his mouth, mixing with the smear beneath his skull.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her heart beat too fast, too loud. “I—I didn’t mean—God, I didn’t mean—” She pressed her hand against his forehead, then his wrist. Her mind screamed at her to call someone. 911. Their parents. Anyone. But something else crept in first.

Fear.

What would they say? What would they think? What if they thought she meant to push him? What if he never woke up? What if she’d killed him? 

She staggered back, wiping her hands on her dress, smearing blood that wasn't hers, not noticing how it clung, how it sank into the fabric like a stain that would never lift. The world had gone hollow. Every sound was muffled, like she was underwater, like time had bent itself around this moment and refused to move forward. The air was too still, too sharp in her lungs. Her head spun, but her body wouldn't collapse. It just stood there, watching. Watching him twitch. Watching the blood spread. 

She looked around. The house felt monstrous now. The walls taller, the shadows longer.

What would they say? Hero, her perfect Hero, would look at her with wide, wet eyes. He’d shake his head slowly, his voice cracking as he asked her why. Kel would never look at her again, his laugh, his boundless energy, shattered into sobs. And Aubrey, sweet, loyal Aubrey wouldn’t defend her. Not this time. Not when Sunny’s limp body was sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, blood trailing like a map to her crime.

And her parents. Oh God, her parents. Their disappointment would smother her alive. They’d see her for what she was: not the prodigy, not the good daughter, not the future of the family. Just a murderer.

Her heart thrashed against her ribs. Faster, faster, like it was trying to claw out and escape her chest before the truth landed.

No one could know.

The thought slithered into her head like poison, and once it was there, she couldn’t push it out. No one could know.

Her legs moved before her mind did, dragging her forward, dragging her closer to the body. Sunny twitched once and her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed her lips together to stop the scream. His skin was clammy under her grip as she took him by the wrists and tugged. He was heavier than he looked, dead weight resisting her, head lolling grotesquely against the steps as she pulled him inch by inch across the floor. The sound was unbearable. His heels scraped. His skull knocked once against the wood, and she almost retched. Her arms trembled, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. The hallway yawned ahead, shadows reaching out, swallowing them both. Every creak of the house was a whisper. Every whisper a judgment. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

She turned toward the corner, where an old chest sat under the window. The toy chest. Sunny’s toy chest. The one they hadn’t touched in years, stuffed with forgotten animals and dolls, their stitched eyes staring from the darkness.

Her stomach twisted, but her hands pulled him closer. The chest loomed larger with every step. Grotesque. Waiting.

When she reached it, she paused, her body quaking. The wood was scuffed, the brass latch dull with age. She fumbled with it, fingers sticky, slipping, before it gave with a sharp metallic snap.

The smell of dust hit her first. Then the sight: limp fabric animals slumped in a heap, stuffed rabbits and bears with torn seams, an old xylophone with cracked bars, wooden blocks stained. They stared up at her with their glassy button eyes, mocking her with their silence.

Her pulse screamed in her ears. Her hands moved anyway. She tried to lift him, but his body sagged against her. His arm flopped back, striking the floor with a slap. She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted iron, shoving with all her strength. His head lolled against her shoulder, warm blood smearing her neck. She gagged but heaved again, and this time his torso fell forward, crumpling into the chest.

The sight was obscene. His bent limbs tangled with the toys, as if he belonged there, as if he’d always been one of them. His hand pressed against the stitched grin of a stuffed bear, and for a moment it looked like he was holding it. Like he was just asleep. She pushed harder, folding him into the box, forcing his legs down, bending him in ways that made her stomach flip. His knee cracked once, a dull pop, and she froze, shaking. Then she shoved again, harder, until both feet were inside.

The lid hovered open above him, the shadows of the room crowding closer, waiting.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her chest ached. She couldn’t look at his face, but she did anyway. His eyes, open still, stared at her through the gap in the toys, unblinking.

Her hand shot out, slamming the lid down. The crack echoed like thunder, rattling through the walls. She pressed her palms flat against the wood, holding it closed as if he might claw his way out, as if those glassy eyes would never stop watching her. Her body sagged against the chest, trembling, blood soaking into her dress, sweat dripping down her spine.

The house was silent again. Too silent.

And in that silence, she swore she could still hear him. The soft scrape of cloth shifting. The faintest rattle of air.

Or maybe it was only her heartbeat, hammering like fists against a coffin lid.

She came back for the violin. The case lay where it had toppled, split like a small, dead thing; the wood of the instrument had a new, ugly seam down its belly. Mari slid it out with hands that trembled so much the bow rattled against the cracked body like a tiny, offended bird. For a moment she held it over the toy chest, looking at the lacquer and the shattered soundpost, the splintered wood that had once sung for recitals and summer evenings. Then, without thinking, because thinking had become a dangerous luxury, she laid it beside Sunny’s folded legs and pushed it into the dark with his small body, as if the broken thing might be kinder among the other broken things.

She dragged a damp towel over her palms, wiped them at the hem of her dress, and imagined the marks disappearing entirely. But the floor was another matter. She dropped to her knees, pressing the towel against the dark smear where his head had struck. The fabric sopped it up at first, a wet, sticky warmth that spread quickly through the cotton, but the stain resisted. She rubbed harder, grinding the towel into the grain of the wood until her arms ached. The rug caught most of it, its pattern now a blur of reds and browns, but faint streaks remained, thin, stubborn veins that seemed to pulse if she looked too long. She scrubbed until her knuckles burned, until the towel was no longer white but mottled with rust, until the hallway smelled like iron and bleach.

A car door slammed outside, sharp, hurried, a punctuation that made her jump. The clock in the hall decided to be loud. Voices rose in the driveway before the front door opened: her father’s, clipped and impatient; her mother’s, higher, weaving concern through the rush. They came in like guests at a house with shutters still closed against something else entirely.

“Where is he?” her father demanded before his shoes had even met the floor. He was already balancing his watch in his head, the recital timetable shifting like a countdown. “Mari, where’s Sunny? We’re going to be late.”

She saw them like two actors in a play she’d been studying for years. Her chest ballooned with the sound of her own heartbeat; she let them see only what she could manage.

“I—” she began, and then said, faster than she felt, “I don’t know. He said he wasn’t feeling well this morning. He said he might sleep it off.”

Her mother’s face pinched. “Sunny? Not feeling well? He never—” She stopped, because what she would say next was that Sunny never missed anything; her mouth shut around the contradiction.

“Did you call him?” her father’s voice sharpened. “You called Kel? We left early for a reason, Mari. We have to be there for your duet; your father has the front row reserved. We can’t be late.”

She nodded as if she followed the logic. “I tried calling, he didn’t pick up. Maybe he went outside. Maybe he went to Kel’s. I don’t know.”

Her mother stepped forward, fingers finding Mari’s sleeve. “Are you sure? Sweetie, you look—are you okay? You look pale.” Her concern was a net that might have trapped the truth, and Mari felt it tighten.

“He’ll show,” Mari lied. The sentence scraped against her throat. She tried to stitch a face to the voice. “Maybe he thought he’d be late. He’s always—he can be forgetful. It’s okay. I can do it. I can play if he can’t.”

Her father’s jaw worked. He was trying not to scold, trying not to be the kind of father who missed his child’s sign. “If Sunny doesn’t arrive in five minutes,” he said, “you’ll go on alone. Don’t let this make you crumble, Mari. We drove an hour. We rearranged the whole evening. This is important.”

“It is,” Mari said, though the word felt like a foreign coin. She could hear, behind her parents’ breathing, the house settling. The lid of the toy chest groaned under a small, muffled weight. Her stomach pitched, sudden, sea-sick.

“Call him again now,” her mother urged, fidgeting with her purse. “Maybe he just—”

“He didn’t pick up,” Mari said. She kept the words short, a practiced cadence. “Maybe he’s with Kel.”

“Kel’s at the school warming up,” her father said, already working through likelihoods. “He wouldn’t let Sunny miss his cue, Sunny loves those little things. You didn’t tell him to meet you here?”

“No.” The lie was small and slippery. “I thought he would be on his way.”

“You thought?” Her father’s annoyance found purchase. “Mari, you need to be responsible. This is on you if we’re late.”

“I know.

Her mother exhaled, deciding, perhaps, that the time for panic had been used up for the moment. “All right,” she said, smoothing the front of Mari’s dress with fingers that trembled for reasons Mari could not guess. “We’ll wait in the car for two minutes. If he’s not here, we go. You can do this, darling. You can play for the family.”

“You can always do this,” her father added, too loudly, as if to be sure his praise landed firm. “It’s your recital. Sunny’s absence won’t ruin that.”

“You don’t understand,” Mari wanted to say. But her voice had been hollow-picked clean. Instead she nodded, numbly, as the front door closed behind them and steps receded into the black outside. When the hallway was suddenly very empty, Mari leaned against the wall and let the lie and the silence press around her in equal measure. 

She wiped her palms on her dress one more time, the fabric already bearing the faint ghosts of red.

The recital hall buzzed with low conversation, the kind of sound that made Mari’s skin crawl. She sat stiffly on the piano bench, her dress spread around her in careful folds, her fingers hovering above the keys but not daring to touch them yet. The light from the stage lamps was hot, pressing down on her shoulders like punishment. She was supposed to look composed, but inside she was shattering, cracking along invisible seams.

Her father’s voice still rang in her ears: This is important, Mari. Don’t let this make you crumble. Her mother’s smile had been softer, but expectant too. Everyone wanted her perfect. Everyone wanted her flawless. So she forced herself upright, spine straight, heart pounding.

The audience hushed, as if on command. Rows of familiar faces blurred together in the dark, parents, teachers, students. Kel was out there somewhere, restless as always, his knee bouncing in time to nothing. Hero would be seated near the front, immaculate as ever, ready to smile encouragingly when she played her first note. Aubrey sat somewhere in the middle, twisting her hands in her lap, waiting. All of them watching. All of them expecting.

Mari pressed her fingers to the keys. Cold ivory. The first sound was meant to be gentle, a breath of music to carry her into the piece. She inhaled, steadying her chest.

And then the door at the side of the stage opened.

Her blood froze.

He stepped into the light.

Sunny.

He was holding the violin. The same violin she had shoved into the toy chest hours before, cracked down its middle, lifeless. But now it was whole in his hands. Its polished body gleamed under the lights as though it had never been broken at all.

Mari’s throat constricted. She wanted to scream—No, no, no, you can’t be here—but her mouth made no sound.

The audience whispered, ripples of surprise threading through the silence. A few people smiled, relieved maybe, charmed even, that the siblings would play together after all. Her father shifted in his seat, confusion darkening his expression but quickly smoothing over with pride. “There he is,” he muttered, half to himself. Her mother clasped her hands. “Oh, thank God.”

Only Mari knew the truth.

Sunny’s eyes found hers. He raised the violin, tucking it neatly beneath his chin. The bow hovered in his other hand. Perfect posture. Perfect form. As though he’d practiced forever.

But he hadn’t.

Her fingers trembled over the piano keys. The audience waited, expectant, oblivious. Her heart roared in her chest. Sweat slid down her spine. She wanted to run, to leap from the bench and flee the stage, but her legs were iron, her body locked in place.

“Play,” Sunny said, though his lips didn’t move.

She pressed a key. The note cracked the silence. Sunny drew the bow across the strings.

Chapter Text

Kel wiped his palms on the hem of his T-shirt until the grit of the driveway sand and the faint stick of spilled soda were gone. He did it out of habit, always had, since he was a kid and every project left his hands a little worse for wear. The skateboard lay on its wheels by the garage, one wheel wobbling like a tooth about to fall out; the basketball nest thumped in the corner. He had plans to fix the wheel, to roll down to Hobbeez for a quick snack and a laugh with Jay and the other guys, maybe shoot some hoops until the light went out. But there was a hollowness under his ribs that wouldn’t let him settle into any plan.

He couldn't stop thinking about last summer.

That summer, everything began to crack. Mari had been accepted into Juilliard. The night she sat cross-legged on the floor, her textbook spread open across her knees, she started whispering out loud. She muttered about words not making sense, about letters rearranging themselves, about voices telling her she was failing.

A few days later, the second breakdown came. Kel remembered it clearly because he had been in the room. Sunny was there, quiet as always, standing near the window while Mari paced, her hair unkempt, her hands trembling. Kel had frozen in the doorway, too shocked to move, too young to understand what he was really seeing.

She spun on her brother so suddenly it was like she’d been struck by lightning. Her eyes were blown wide, shimmering and feverish, her face twisted with something halfway between terror and rage. “You’re not Sunny!” she shrieked, the words tearing from her throat raw, unsteady. “You’re not him! You’re a fake! An impostor! Where is he? Where’s my real brother? What did you do with him?” Her hands trembled as she clutched at her own arms, then pointed accusingly at him, voice rising higher and higher until it cracked. “Give him back to me! Where is he?!” 

Sunny just stood there, small and pale. Kel had wanted to shout, to tell Mari to stop, to protect Sunny. But his throat had closed, and all he could do was watch as the siblings stared at each other. 

Suddenly, Mari’s hands locked around Sunny’s throat. She pushed him back against the wall, knuckles white, eyes blazing as she screamed about impostors. Sunny clawed at her wrists, feet kicking weakly against the floor, his face already turning red, the sound of his choking filling the room. Kel was the one who tore her away. By then he was already taller, stronger, his arms pulling her off with a force that broke her grip instantly. It wasn’t difficult. She stumbled back, sobbing, shrieking incoherently, while Sunny collapsed, gasping for air.

That summer had left him with an ache for a life he couldn’t fetch. He’d been the loud one, the shoulder, the joke that got awkward and then got the room laughing. He hadn’t known what to do, so he kept doing what he did best: he showed up, he ate everything, he tried to make people laugh, he tried to bring Sunny out for milk-and-cookie runs, he tried to run with the guys so the world didn’t stop spinning.

But nothing had prepared him for the night Mari snapped again. 

Sunny had been asleep, small and curled beneath the blanket, the room dark and quiet. Kel was half-dozing on the couch when he heard the sound of footsteps too sharp for midnight. By the time he reached the doorway, it was already happening: Mari, standing over Sunny’s bed, scissors clutched in her shaking hands, her face wet with tears, her voice mumbling, “You’re not him, you’re not him…”

The strike was sudden, almost clumsy, but the sound Sunny made when the blade caught his eye was unforgettable. an animal cry that cut through bone. Blood spilled across the pillow in a dark, spreading bloom. Kel yanked her back before she could strike again, his own heart hammering so violently it felt like it might give out. Sunny writhed, clutching his face, vision lost forever in that eye.

Mari crumpled to the floor, screaming that it wasn’t her fault, that the impostor had to be killed. Kel stood between them, shaking, realizing the world he thought he understood had already been shattered.

Now, months later, standing in his driveway with a wrench and a half-finished sandwich in his hand, Kel could hear that old wound like a muted horn. The yard smelled like cut grass and gasoline and the last of August heat. His phone buzzed: Jay, asking if he was still coming to practice. He thumbed a quick reply: “Later, man”, because practice felt like a small mercy he couldn’t take tonight. Kel wanted sunlight, not gyms. He wanted a person, specifically Sunny.

It was a simple thing to miss: the way Sunny would roll his eyes when Kel was loud, the way Sunny's quiet had once felt like a span of cool shade in the heat of a bad day. Kel’s chest tightened at the thought of Sunny holed up in that house on Sunny’s street, a place Kel knew like the back of his hand: the white porch rail, the mailbox with the tiny bird chipped from its corner, the cracked stone on the walkway where Sunny and Kel had left twin coin holes from when they used to throw pebbles. It was silly, a kids’ thing to go knocking. 

He laced up his sneakers, shoved his hands into his pockets, grabbed two paper cups from the kitchen (he was grateful Sunny liked the cheap diner lemonade Kel could rustle up), and finally, after a last look back at the skateboard, he left.

The porch light at Sunny’s house was off; the curtains were drawn. Kel’s footfalls left brief, echoing prints on the dry pavement. 

Kel stopped at the curb, hands in his pockets, and tried to make the scene easy in his mind. He made up a reason Sunny might be hiding: maybe he was flipping through an old comic and had dozed, maybe he was in the garage tinkering. Kel told himself a thousand storylines that didn’t involve darkness. Kel set his free hand to the doorknob and steeled himself. He had a dozen things to say and nothing that felt like the right thing. He could picture Sunny's face when Kel barged into the house, annoyed, unamused, willing to forgive if Kel was loud enough to make it hilarious. That vision alone smoothed some of the jaggedness in his chest.

He tapped the door once with his knuckles, casual as a knock at a friend’s place should be. Nothing. Twice, deliberate now. He thought he heard something move inside, faint, a cushion sighing, the scratch of paper or the soft inhale of someone else’s breath. Kel raised his hand and knocked again, harder, the sound cutting through the dusk. “Sunny!” he called, voice carrying without trying. “You home, man? C'mon, open up! I brought cookies!”

The door creaked open. Sunny stood there, paler than usual, skin almost translucent, the black patch covering his eye stark against his face.

“Hey,” Kel said quickly. “Wanna hang out for a bit? It’s too hot to stay cooped up.” He lifted the cups. “I made lemonade. Thought you could use some.”

Sunny hesitated, then nodded. “...Okay.”

They sat together in the living room, the blinds pulled low. 

Sunny took it with a small, quiet thank you. But when Kel turned to fiddle with the fan switch and complain about how weak it was, Sunny tipped the drink into the potted plant by the window. The soil drank it up greedily. When Kel turned back, Sunny was holding the empty glass like nothing had happened.

“You already finished it?” Kel blinked. “Man, I knew you were thirsty, but wow.”

Sunny gave a faint shrug. “It was… good.”

Kel grinned, leaning back. “See? I’m not useless in the kitchen. Told you. You should come out with me. Cris and the guys are running basketball later. We could grab slushies after.”

Sunny shifted uncomfortably, one hand hovering near his eyepatch. “The sun’s… too bright.”

Kel tilted his head, frowning. “We’ll stay in the shade, dude. I’ll bring an extra cap. You don’t have to—”

“No.” Sunny’s voice was sharper than he meant, and he quickly lowered it. “Not today.”

Kel fell quiet, studying him. Sunny avoided his eyes, staring down at the glass in his hands as though it might reveal an escape route.

“…You’ve been cooped up for weeks, man,” Kel said finally, softer. “It’s like the whole town forgot how to see you. Don’t make it easier for them.”

Sunny didn’t argue after that. He just set the glass on the low table, its bottom leaving a faint ring of condensation on the wood, and drifted closer, lowering himself onto the couch beside Kel. He didn’t touch him, didn’t even lean his weight, but his nearness was heavy all the same, a silence that pressed in like fog.

Kel rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of something else to say.. “You’re really not yourself lately,” he tried, forcing a grin that faltered when Sunny didn’t look up. “What’s going on with you?”

Sunny’s fingers curled against his knees. His head tilted slightly, his one visible eye half-shadowed by the blinds. “...I’m worried about Mari,” he said finally.

Kel frowned, the words jarring in his chest. Of course Mari had been off, everyone knew it, but the way Sunny said it, low and even, wasn’t like worry. It was flatter, like he was reciting something rehearsed.

“You’re worried about her?” Kel echoed, searching Sunny’s face. “Man, I think everyone’s worried about her. She’s been—” He stopped himself, the image of her shrieking, hands around Sunny’s throat flashing across his mind. He swallowed. “She’s been rough lately.”

Sunny turned his head slightly, his hair falling across the edge of his eyepatch. His lips parted as if to say more, then he did. Just a small thing, almost whispered, but sharp enough to cut through Kel’s nerves.

“She won’t stop until I’m gone.”

Kel blinked. “...What?”

Sunny’s eye slid back toward the coffee table. “I mean,” he murmured, “she won’t stop until she feels better. That’s what I meant.” The correction was too quick.

Kel shifted, uneasy, but forced himself to laugh it off. “Yeah, well… she’s got a way of making everyone around her crazy sometimes. You know how older siblings are.” He nudged Sunny with his elbow, though his grin didn’t reach his eyes. “She just needs a break. College stress, recitals, all that.”

Sunny didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“Tell you what. I’ll bring the slushies here next time. We don’t need the sun to hang out. Just you, me, sugar, and the worst movie I can dig up from the rental place. Deal?”

Sunny finally looked at him, his face unreadable. After a long pause, he nodded once.

“Can we watch The Iron Giant?”

“Uh. What?”

Sunny’s single visible eye lifted to meet his, just for a second. “The Iron Giant. I want to see it.”

“That old cartoon? Man, I think that came out before we were even born.” Sunny didn’t respond. He just sat there, hands folded in his lap, waiting. Kel sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Alright, alright. I’ll check if I can find it. Don’t go anywhere.”

Outside, the air was thick with the kind of heat that pressed against skin like a damp cloth. The sun sat heavy overhead, white-bright against a sky that looked bleached instead of blue. The sweat was already sliding down the length of his arms, catching at the crook of his elbows and glistening along the muscles he’d built from years of basketball and late-night runs. His shirt clung to his back, and every step down the cracked pavement sent another trickle running down his spine.

Kel wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and kept walking, the thought of Sunny’s flat voice repeating The Iron Giant looping in his head. He’d just turned down the main road when he spotted a blur of pink hair cutting through the shimmering heat. Aubrey’s bike rattled up the cracked sidewalk, her skirt catching the wind as she coasted. She was heading toward Kim’s place, no surprise there. Kim’s porch was practically her second home.

“Yo!” Kel called, raising one arm.

Aubrey slowed, her eyes narrowing before she pulled to a stop beside him. She looked him up and down, lips twitching. “Kel, you look like you’re melting.”

“I am melting,” he groaned, tugging at the damp fabric of his tank top. “You try walking across town in this heat. Feels like the sun’s got a grudge against me.”

She arched a brow. “So where are you even going? Don’t tell me basketball practice. You’ll pass out before you hit the court.”

Kel shook his head. “Nah. Sunny wants to watch some movie. Been fixated on it for months. The Iron Giant. I’m gonna see if I can find it.”

“The Iron—what? Are you serious?” Aubrey blinked, then laughed, a short, incredulous sound. “That’s random, even for him.”

“Tell me about it.” Kel ran a hand through his damp hair. “But he asked. I mean… you know how he’s been. I can’t say no.”

Something in Aubrey’s face softened at that. She rested her chin on her handlebars, studying him for a moment. Then she jerked her head toward the back of the bike. “Hop on. You’ll keel over if you try to walk all the way.”

Kel grinned, relieved. “You sure? You don’t mind?”

“Just don’t sweat all over me.”

He laughed, wiping his arm against his shirt before swinging onto the back rack. The metal was hot against his skin, but he didn’t complain. Aubrey pushed off, and they rattled down the road together. From his seat, Kel watched the houses blur by. It struck him how empty the streets felt, like the whole town had gone into hiding from the heat. A stray dog padded lazily along a sidewalk. A lone kid pushed a scooter with half-hearted kicks before disappearing into a shaded driveway.

“Feels like a ghost town,” Kel muttered.

“Always does after summer,” Aubrey replied, steering around a pothole. “Everyone’s gone or hiding inside with their AC. Except us.”

Kel smirked. “Guess we’re the unlucky ones.”

“You said it.”

Sweat kept dripping down Kel’s arms, catching on his wrists and making his grip on the seat slippery. He squinted against the glare of the sun, letting the heat wash over him, trying not to think too hard about Sunny’s pale face, his eyepatch, his too-quiet voice.

Aubrey must’ve noticed his shift, because she asked, “How’s he doing?”

Kel hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s… there. Sometimes I don’t even know if he sees me. But he asked about the movie, so, yeah. That’s something.”

Her jaw tightened, though she didn’t push. Instead she pressed harder on the pedals, carrying them faster toward the center of town.

They reached the corner store first, its glass windows plastered with faded posters. Kel hopped off, stretching his legs, his shirt sticking to his chest. He ducked inside, grateful for the weak blast of air conditioning. Rows of DVDs lined one wall, the plastic cases gleaming. It felt almost absurd, hunting for a decades-old animated film in a dusty rental rack, but absurd was nothing new when it came to Sunny. His eyes scanned over horror films, action flicks, a few romances, until finally, there it was. A cracked plastic case, the title half-faded: The Iron Giant.

Kel held it in his hands for a long moment. It was just a movie. Just an old cartoon. But somehow, staring at the cover art, he felt the same chill he’d felt when Sunny’s voice had gone flat in the living room. 

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. He paid at the counter, slid the case into his backpack, and stepped back into the oven of a day.

Aubrey was waiting on her bike, tapping her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“Got it,” he said, forcing a grin. He swung back onto the rack. “Mission accomplished.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Then let’s get you back before you melt into a puddle.”

They started back down the road, the bike rattling under their combined weight. Kel kept one hand pressed against the backpack at his side, feeling the edges of the DVD case beneath the fabric. 

“You look way too proud of yourself.” 

Kel leaned forward, grinning. “Dude, I am proud. You don’t understand. I’m basically Sunny’s hero right now. You know how rare that is?”

Aubrey rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Good. Then maybe you can actually get him outside. I miss when it was us three. You, me, Basil. Remember?”

Kel’s grin faltered, just a little. “Yeah. I remember.”

The road stretched ahead, sun hammering down. Kel’s arms itched with sweat, his legs bounced against the bike frame. He tapped his fingers on the DVD case without realizing, each tap-tap-tap syncing with the creak of the chain.

Aubrey’s voice cut through. “You really should drag him out. Even just to the park. Basil asks about him all the time.”

Kel tilted his head. “Basil? He’s still… y’know… Basil?”

Aubrey let out a sharp laugh. “Define ‘still Basil.’ Because last time I checked, he’s basically turned his backyard into a greenhouse. And not the legal kind.”

“Wait—what?”

She glanced back, grinning. “He’s growing weed, Kel.”

His mouth dropped open. “Basil?! The guy who used to freak out when his shoelaces weren’t even?”

“Yep. The very same.”

Kel let out a bark of laughter that startled a dog in someone’s yard. “Man, that’s insane. Basil? Out of all of us?” He shook his head, sweat flying. “That’s like, I don’t know, Hero dropping out of med school to join a biker gang. Totally backwards.”

Aubrey snorted. “Hey, don’t give Hero ideas. He’s stressed enough already.”

Kel leaned back, the DVD case slipping from his grip for half a second before he caught it again. His thoughts scattered. Hero in leather, Basil with a joint, Sunny under the blinds. His brain spun, jumping between them, but his mouth kept moving.

“Man, I gotta see this. Sunny too. It’d be like old times, just… with way more paranoia about the cops.”

“Exactly.” Aubrey’s voice softened. “So drag Sunny out. Please. He needs it. We need it.”

Kel quieted, tapping the DVD case faster, his knee bouncing against the bike frame. “I’ll try,” he said finally. “But you know Sunny. He’s… different now.”

“Then meet him where he is,” Aubrey said simply, pedaling harder.

Kel stared at the back of her pink hair, sweat stinging his eyes, and thought maybe she was right.

After the recital, something began to shift, slowly, almost imperceptibly, inside the household. Mari was still the smiling girl, still the pianist at recitals, still the perfect daughter and sister in the eyes of everyone else. But behind closed doors, something was fracturing. At first it was just the way she looked at Sunny, lingering stares, not with affection, but with a quiet irritation that hid behind strained smiles. Then her words changed: encouragement and warmth gave way to sharp corrections, unnecessary comparisons, and little barbed remarks spoken so softly they could almost be denied.

No one could explain why. There was no clear cause, no obvious trigger, and yet the atmosphere around them grew heavier by the day. Sunny, silent as ever, only withdrew further, as if surrendering to his role as a shadow within his own family. Slowly, even his presence among the group dwindled, replaced by absences that went unquestioned.

Basil, always the most sensitive of them, was the first to truly feel the change. He picked up on Sunny’s heavy silence, the way his shoulders stayed stiff and how he couldn’t even look at his sister. Mari, who used to be soft with everyone, now seemed cold, almost like she was running on autopilot. The whole shift between them got under his skin more than it did anyone else. That’s when Basil started pulling away from the group, sticking closer to Aubrey instead. Being around her felt easier, lighter, nothing like the heavy mess building up between the siblings.

Kel tried to hold everything together. He still called Sunny out, still tried to chat with Mari, still made up excuses to gather the four as if nothing had changed. He joked, he organized basketball games, he clung to the eternal summer. But the wheel no longer turned the way it once had. 

And so, little by little, the six inseparables unraveled without fights, without goodbyes. Each of them drifting in different directions, like leaves caught in opposite winds. It felt as though summer had ended without warning, leaving behind a hollow nothingness that none of them could fill.

What remained was the painful truth: Mari was no longer the same, neither was Sunny. Basil clung to Aubrey, Hero sank into invisible despair.

Kel pushed open the door with his shoulder, balancing the DVD case in one hand. The cool air of the living room barely touched the sweat on his arms, still sticky from the ride back. Sunny hadn’t moved an inch, same place on the couch, blinds still half-drawn, the empty glass perched carefully on the coffee table like a prop in a play.

“Yo,” Kel said, tossing the DVD onto the couch cushion beside him. “Guess who I ran into? Aubrey. She gave me a lift back. Saved my legs, man.”

Sunny didn’t look up right away. His fingers brushed the edge of the eyepatch absently, then stilled. “…She’s still mad at me?”

Kel dropped into the seat next to him, leaning back with a sigh. “Nah. I mean, not really. She wanted to come in, actually. Said she misses hanging out with you and Basil. But, y’know, Kim’s probably pacing around her front yard right now, so she figured another time.”

Sunny’s shoulders shifted, but he kept his gaze fixed on the muted television screen, its reflection glinting faintly against the black plastic. “Another time.”

Kel nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Dude, you could at least fake some excitement. I went across town for this movie, and you’re acting like I dragged home homework.”

That finally pulled Sunny’s eyes toward him, though only for a second. “Thanks.”

Kel studied him for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. Sunny’s hair fell a little longer over his face these days, shadowing his expression. There was always that distance now, like he was here and not here all at once. Kel wanted to cut through it, but every time he tried, he felt like he was talking to someone behind glass.

“…You sure you’re okay, man?” Kel asked finally, lowering his voice. “I mean, really okay?”

Sunny’s lips parted, as if to answer, but instead, he just shifted again, pulling his knees closer to his chest on the couch. Kel rubbed the back of his neck, deciding to change the subject before it strangled the room. He picked up the DVD case, waving it like a prize. “Alright, whatever. Movie night. No excuses. You’ve been dying to watch this, right? Don’t tell me you’re already tired of it before we even hit play.”

“…No. Let’s watch.”

The menu screen flickered to life, its looping soundtrack filling the otherwise still living room. Kel leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and hit play. The movie started, bright colors, loud voices, the kind of thing Sunny had been fixated on for weeks.

Sunny didn’t move. He sat curled against the arm of the couch, knees drawn close, his hands folded neatly in his lap as though even shifting would disturb the air. His eye stayed fixed on the screen, but there was no spark of attention, no sign he was following the noise or the story. Kel tried. He really tried. He slouched back, stretched out his legs, even munched on the leftover cookies he’d stashed in his backpack, anything to pretend this was normal. But the longer he sat there, the more his focus kept snagging on the kid beside him. Sunny hadn’t twitched, hadn’t sighed, hadn’t even blinked.

The chill crept in gradually. At first, Kel thought it was the fan he’d left spinning earlier, but when he rubbed his arms, goosebumps prickled under the sweat still clinging to his skin. He shifted closer, partly out of instinct, partly out of curiosity.

“Hey,” Kel said softly, half a grin tugging at his mouth, trying to keep it light. “You cold or something?”

Sunny didn’t answer.

Kel leaned in more, shoulder brushing against him. The contact made him stiffen. Sunny’s skin was startlingly cold, colder than it had any right to be in this heatwave of the end of summer. 

Kel blinked, pulled back slightly, then pressed his hand gently to Sunny’s forearm, half expecting him to flinch. “Dude… your skin. It’s freezing. What, you got ice water running through your veins now?”

Sunny finally turned his head, his expression unreadable, his single visible eye glimmering in the half-dark. “…I don’t feel it.” 

Kel’s laugh came out awkward, strained. “You don’t feel cold? Man, you’re starting to freak me out.”

He was about to add something else, maybe another joke to push the weirdness aside, when Sunny shifted. Slowly, almost mechanically, he lowered himself sideways until his head came to rest in Kel’s lap. He froze. Every nerve in his body went rigid, his breath caught halfway in his throat. He hadn’t been ready for that. Sunny never touched anyone like this. 

“Uh…” Kel muttered, staring down at the black strands of hair spread across his legs. His cheeks burned hot, a stark contrast to the icy weight against him. He didn’t know where to put his hands, didn’t know if he was supposed to move or stay perfectly still. The movie carried on, loud and absurd, but Kel couldn’t track a single scene. His heart was pounding too fast, thudding against his ribs like it was trying to break out. All he could see was Sunny’s face tilted up toward him, pale in the glow of the screen, the sharp outline of his jaw, the way the eyepatch cut across his features. Kel swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but it didn’t help. Every time his gaze slipped back down, his chest tightened. It wasn’t just the shock of the closeness, it was something heavier, stranger.

He laughed nervously under his breath, the sound breaking too quickly. “You, uh… you comfortable down there, man?”

Sunny didn’t answer. His visible eye was half-shut, lashes brushing his cheek, his expression soft but unreadable. Like he was resting.

Sunny’s head settled heavier in his lap, and Kel swore his whole body short-circuited. He had already been half-hard from the way Sunny had been leaning into him all night, but this, this was a new level of torture.

“You smell good,” Sunny said quietly, voice muffled against Kel’s thigh.

Kel nearly choked. “Wha—? Dude, don’t just—” He laughed, but it came out sharp, strangled. “You can’t just say shit like that when you’re literally in my lap.”

Sunny didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stared at the TV like nothing was weird. Kel rubbed his face with both hands, groaning. His skin was hot, his ears were on fire, and there was no hiding the fact his cock was straining against the front of his shorts. He shifted, tugging the fabric down, trying to keep Sunny’s head from noticing.

“God, fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “This is so messed up.”

“What is?” Sunny’s voice was soft, detached.

Kel looked down at him, heart thundering. His mouth was dry, but the words still tumbled out, crude and raw. “You. Laying there like you own my lap. Acting all—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Shit, I shouldn’t even say it.”

“Say it,” Sunny said, still not looking up.

Kel’s throat worked. He laughed bitterly. “You’re insane, man.”

Sunny shifted the tiniest bit, and the back of his head brushed closer to Kel’s crotch. Kel sucked in a breath through his teeth, almost doubled over.

“Christ—don’t move,” Kel hissed, gripping the couch cushion like it could anchor him.

Sunny finally tilted his head, eyes sliding up to meet Kel’s. There was no blush on him, no embarrassment. Just that steady, unsettling calm.

Kel’s laugh came out unsteady, desperate. “Why are you looking at me like that? You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” He rubbed the back of his neck hard, the sweat there sticky under his palm. “I’m fucking losing it over here, and you’re just… you.”

Sunny blinked slowly. “You always talk too much.”

“Yeah, no shit. You’d prefer if I just shut up and—” He stopped himself again, pressing his forehead into his palm. “God, I need a cold shower.”

His leg bounced violently, his whole body tense. He was trying so hard not to grind up into Sunny’s hair like some kind of pervert. His cock throbbed painfully, trapped in his shorts, every tiny shift making it worse.

“Don’t,” he muttered, pointing a shaky finger down at Sunny. “Don’t you dare move another inch, or I’m screwed.”

Sunny didn’t answer. Just rested there, calm and terrifyingly comfortable, while Kel sat flushed and trembling, biting back curses.

Kel shoved himself off the couch, muttering, “Fuck, I need a cold shower,” leaving Sunny alone in the half-dark living room. His heart pounded, chest tight, and cock pressing against his shorts as he stomped down the hall. He could still feel the ghost of Sunny’s weight in his lap, the impossibly calm presence that had him spinning.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him. He stripped off his sweaty tank top, gripping the edge of the sink, and let the freezing water crash over his shoulders. The chill made him shiver violently, but it didn’t touch the heat pooling low in his stomach. His hands kept rubbing over his chest, shoulders, and stomach, trying to calm his body down, trying to convince himself it was just nerves.

“God, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, tilting his head against the tiles. His cock throbbed painfully against him, pressing into the front of his shorts, and he cursed at it. “You’re such an idiot, Kel. Just an absolute fuckin’ idiot.”

He adjusted under the water, hips shifting, groaning as the tension in his body built. Every nerve ending screamed, hot and cold all at once. He gritted his teeth, letting the water hit hard, letting it numb the edge without getting rid of it entirely.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re gonna drive me insane, you know that?” Kel’s chest heaved, muscles tense, heart hammering. He leaned against the wall, fists curling into the tile edges, breathing ragged and shallow. He hissed, low and rough, “Jesus, stop it, Kel. Get a grip, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make it worse.”

X

The TV kept buzzing low, a dull static hum beneath canned laughter, but the couch was empty. Sunny was gone. Kel blinked at the cushion still indented where his weight had been, the faint outline of him, and felt his chest seize up. He called his name once, softly, half-expecting him to answer from the hallway or the kitchen, but nothing answered.

Then his phone rang.

Kel jumped. The sound was sharp, cutting through the silence, making his pulse spike. He glanced down at the screen. No name. Just a number he didn’t recognize. For a second he thought about letting it ring out, about tossing the phone aside and pretending it had never happened. But something gnawed at him. He swiped and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was static first, a crackle like the line was struggling to hold. Then a voice.

“Kel.”

He froze. His stomach turned to ice. He knew that voice.

“…Mari?” His throat went tight. He hadn’t said her name out loud in months.

“Yes.” Her tone was too calm, almost sing-song. “You’re in the house, aren’t you? Their house. Our house.”

Kel sat back down without realizing, sinking into the empty couch cushion as if it might anchor him. He swallowed hard. “Mari… what, how did you get this number? I didn’t—”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” She cut him off, light and clipped. “Tell me instead. Is the monster there?”

Kel blinked, mouth going dry. His skin crawled at the way she said it, like Sunny wasn’t a person at all. He pressed his palm to his forehead. “Mari… c’mon. Don’t start. He’s just… he’s Sunny.”

“No.” Her voice sharpened. “That’s not Sunny. That hasn’t been Sunny for a long time. I tried to tell you before, you didn’t believe me. Nobody believed me.”

Kel’s grip tightened on the phone. He could hear her breathing uneven now, the edge of hysteria biting at her words. And yet he still wanted, pathetically, to believe she was getting better. That the distance, the months with their aunt, the quiet, had fixed something. “I thought…” he muttered, voice breaking. “I thought you were doing okay, Mari. That maybe you were finally…” He trailed off, useless.

A beat of silence. Then a laugh, low and humorless.

“You think I’m better? Kel, I see clearer than all of you. He’s in there with you, isn’t he? Pretending. Wearing Sunny’s skin like it fits him. Don’t let it fool you! That’s why you feel so uneasy around it. That’s why the air dies when it looks at you.”

Kel pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, forcing himself not to curse into the phone. “He’s my friend, Mari. He’s my best friend. I’m not gonna sit here and call him a monster.”

She ignored that. “It’ll be hungry soon. Do you understand? It always gets hungry. That’s what you need to prepare for.”

Kel’s head snapped up. “Hungry?”

“Yes.” The word hissed through the line. “It needs to feed. If you don’t keep it fed, it will feed itself. And you don’t want to see what that looks like.”

He stared at the muted TV screen, the cartoon colors smearing across his reflection. “What are you even saying?”

“You’ll be responsible now.”

The words landed like a weight on his chest.

Mari continued, too steady now, like she was reciting orders that had already been written. “You can start small. Animals. Strays. There are enough of them around Faraway. Cats, dogs, birds, whatever you can find. It won’t care. Meat is meat. Blood is blood. But if you ignore it… if you let it starve…” 

Kel felt his stomach turn. His throat burned. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to shut up, to never say things like that again, but the sound caught in his chest. He rubbed at his face, groaning. “Mari, this is insane. Do you hear yourself? You’re talking about feeding him like he’s—like he’s—”

“A monster. Don’t lie to yourself. You already know it’s true. Haven’t you noticed the way it looks at you? Haven’t you felt how cold it is? Tell me you didn’t feel it.”

Kel’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He thought of Sunny’s weight in his lap, skin cold against him. He shook his head hard, forcing the thought away. “You need help,” he said. His voice cracked. “You need real help. This—this isn’t—”

“You’re the one who needs help if you can’t face it.” Her tone shifted again, almost pitying. Almost. “You’ll see, Kel. You can keep denying it, but you’ll see. When it turns, when it opens its mouth and you realize what’s inside, you’ll remember this call. And you’ll wish you’d listened sooner.”

His chest ached. His hand trembled around the phone.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Please just stop.”

“I can’t. You have to listen. Because from now on, you’re the one responsible. You’re the one who has to feed it. Understand? You’re the one who has to keep it calm. If you don’t, it’ll eat you.”

The line cracked, fizzled. And then it went dead. Kel sat there, phone pressed to his ear, listening to nothing. His pulse thundered in his throat, the silence suffocating. He dropped the phone into his lap, staring blankly at the TV screen as the laugh track rolled on. He tried to tell himself she was sick. Delusional. That was all. But the words clung to him, sticky and sharp. It’ll be hungry soon. He shuddered. The air felt colder now, though sweat still ran down his arms.

Kel froze when he turned toward the hallway. Sunny was there, pressed into the corner. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared.

Chapter Text

“Hey, uh… you scared me standing there like that. You shouldn’t just hide in the corners, Sunny. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

Sunny didn’t move. His body was stiff, arms pinned close, chin dipping slightly as though the words themselves pressed down on him. Kel forced a laugh, hollow, and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“You hungry? I was about to make something. There’s… cereal, maybe. I don’t know if you even eat cereal. Or I could order pizza, if my phone isn’t totally busted from spam calls.”

The joke sat in the air like dust. Sunny didn’t laugh. His eyes glimmered, catching faint light from the TV that still hummed from the other room. Kel swallowed hard.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to leave you alone earlier. I thought you might… I don’t know, go lie down. Rest. You don’t look good, Sunny. You look… tired.”

Still no reply, but something shifted, the tiniest tilt of Sunny’s head, as though registering the sound of Kel’s voice. He leaned against the doorway, staring into that dark corridor where Sunny seemed more shadow than person.

“I talked to Mari. She… she still worries about you, y’know. About us.”

It was only then that Sunny finally moved. His lips parted just enough.

“Was that Mari… on the phone?”

Kel felt his heart squeeze so hard it almost made him dizzy. He nodded slowly, afraid the wrong movement would break this fragile moment of clarity.

“Yeah. It was her. She… she asked about you.”

“I’d rather not know anything about her.”

Kel flinched like he’d been hit in the chest. The words weren’t loud, but they cut clean, leaving a hollow sting. It was like watching two halves of the same heart tearing themselves further apart.

He swallowed hard, throat dry.

“You don’t mean that,” Kel said, though his voice was too soft to convince either of them. He forced a smile anyway, something easy and crooked, as if that could disguise how much it hurt. “She just… she just misses you, man. That’s all.” Kel couldn’t stand it. He straightened, shaking the weight from his shoulders, and tried again, lighter this time, teasing, like he used to do when they were kids and Sunny would sit silent through entire afternoons. “Okay, fine. Forget about her. Forget about all of that. What about tonight, huh? We could, I don’t know… head down to Gino’s and see if they’ll sneak us in a slice before closing. Or maybe check out the old train tracks, people say fireflies still show up there this time of year. I mean, when was the last time you even saw fireflies?” He chuckled. “Or hey, we could go sit by the lake. It’s quiet there at night. Peaceful. We could just… watch the water. You’d like that, right?”

Kel’s words hung in the hallway like dust motes caught in weak light. He had expected silence, or maybe another sharp dismissal, but instead Sunny’s eye flickered, that faint almost-unseen shift, like a breeze catching on a curtain. It wasn’t much, but Kel knew enough by now to catch it, to hold it like a fragile thing.

“The fireflies,” Sunny said, quiet as breath.

Kel blinked. Relief hit him like cool water after a too-long run. “Yeah. The fireflies.” He laughed softly, though it came out a little cracked. “They still show up around the tracks, I swear. It’s not like anyone else goes there to bother them.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, and something eased between them, a fragile truce that left the air less heavy. Then Sunny stepped forward, slow, like he was afraid the floorboards might betray him. He brushed past Kel and sank down onto the couch again, his knees pulling tight to his chest the way they always did. Kel followed, too grateful to question it. He dropped down beside him, not too close, but close enough that their shoulders might bump if Sunny relaxed even a little. He thought about Mari’s voice on the phone, but he shoved it all down. That wasn’t what Sunny needed right now. He wasn’t going to poison this moment with her delirium. Instead, he let his smile soften. “So, fireflies tonight. Deal. No excuses.”

Sunny didn’t smile back, but there was a faint shift in his posture, something Kel decided to count as agreement. The television still played low in the background, some scene flickering across the screen, but neither of them paid it any attention. Kel leaned back into the couch, letting the cushions swallow him, and glanced sidelong at Sunny. His friend’s face was calm again, blank in that way that could be mistaken for peace if you didn’t know better. Kel knew better. He always had.

“Y’know, I was thinking the other day… about your music.”

That got a reaction. Sunny’s head tilted like a cat catching sound.

“You remember,” Kel went on, “back when Mari left? You just… threw yourself into the violin. It was like you didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, just practiced. I swear, half the time I thought your fingers were gonna fall off. But damn, Sunny… you got so good.”

The memories rolled through his head whether he wanted them or not. Summer afternoons where the house felt too quiet, broken only by the sharp, disciplined scrape of bow on strings. Kel had sat on the porch sometimes, listening through the open window, watching dust spiral in golden light while Sunny’s music filled the air.

“Those Paganini pieces?” Kel said. “The twenty-four caprices? I thought you were messing with me when you said you’d learn them. Like, c’mon, nobody just does that. And then one day you just… played them. Like it was nothing. And the concerto, too. You nailed it. Every damn note.” He shook his head, amazed even now. “I don’t think I ever told you, but… I was proud of you, man. Still am. I mean, Mari always knew you had it in you, but seeing you push yourself like that…” Kel’s throat tightened. He forced a grin to cover it. “It made me think maybe she wasn’t totally wrong, y’know? About the stuff she saw in you. About the person you could be.”

Sunny’s eyes dropped to his knees, his arms tightening around them. 

Kel let it be. He didn’t press. If Sunny wanted to answer, he would. If he didn’t, that was fine too.

So they just sat there. The TV hummed on. The house groaned faintly, old wood stretching against the chill of night. Kel leaned back farther into the couch, staring at the ceiling, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding too fast just from being here with him. When he glanced over again, Sunny’s face was half-lit by the glow of the TV screen, all pale angles and shadows. There was something ghostly about him, like he didn’t fully belong to this world. And yet he was here, pressed small into the couch, quiet and alive and, at least for tonight, reachable.

Kel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “We’ll go see them,” he said again, softer this time. More to himself than anything. “The fireflies. You’ll like it. Promise.”

🏀 ─── ✧ ─── 🎻

They were in Sunny’s room now, a place that hadn’t changed in years. Posters yellowed at the edges, violin case propped neatly against the dresser, blinds tilted just enough to let in the orange bleed of streetlight. Kel sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back on his palms, staring at the ceiling like it was the night sky. He hadn’t shut up in ten minutes.

“—and then I told him, ‘Nah, man, that’s not how you shoot free throws,’ but he wouldn’t listen, so of course he missed all of them. Like, all. I’m telling you, if Hero had been there, he would’ve lost it. Hero’s got that whole calm vibe, but dude can’t handle bad form. He’d probably give the guy a full-on TED talk about elbow angles. You ever notice Hero does that? Just bam lecture mode? Like, sorry man, I just asked for the salt.”

No response. Not even a grunt. Kel glanced sideways. Sunny was sitting on the bed, knees tucked up, head resting against the wall. His eye, the one that wasn’t hidden behind the patch, glimmered faintly in the glow of the bedside lamp. He looked like he was half listening, half floating somewhere else.

Kel forged ahead anyway. “And oh man, don’t even get me started on Aubrey. We were at Kim’s place the other day, and Aubrey tried to convince us we should start a band. A band! Like, what? I can barely keep rhythm on a basketball court. But she was dead serious, said Basil could do cover art for our album. I asked her what I’d play and she goes, ‘Triangle.’ Triangle, Sunny. Like, ding ding ding thanks for coming to my concert.”

That got the faintest twitch of Sunny’s mouth, so Kel grinned like he’d just scored the winning shot.

“And then she tried to make Kim the drummer, which, God, can you imagine Kim trying to sit still long enough? Girl can’t even finish a milkshake without picking a fight with the straw.” He leaned forward. “Anyway, point is, if we ever did make a band, I’m calling dibs on bass. Bass players get all the cool parts, even if no one notices. Like the secret weapon. You’d probably be lead, obviously. Violin? Dude, nobody’s ever seen a violin shred in a rock band, but you’d pull it off.” Kel kept rambling, hands moving as if he was already holding an imaginary instrument. He didn’t even notice Sunny move until the mattress creaked behind him.

Kel froze mid-sentence. He turned just in time to see Sunny stand up, casual, unhurried. Without a word, Sunny tugged his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.

Kel’s brain went blank. For a second, all he could do was stare at pale skin flashing in the lamplight, at the smooth curve of shoulder blades, the faint dip of a scar across his ribs, the way Sunny moved like it was nothing. Like stripping in front of him was the same as setting down a glass of water.

“Oh—uh—” Kel choked, nearly swallowing his tongue. “Wait—hold on—you’re just—? Dude!”

Sunny didn’t answer. He was already undoing his belt, calm as anything, fingers working the buckle with that same eerie precision he used on violin strings. Kel slapped a hand over his face, peeking through his fingers like a kid at a horror movie. Except this was way worse than horror. This was Sunny, undressing, right here, like gravity had turned personal.

“I—uh—I mean, hey, a little warning would be nice? Like, I dunno, a ‘hey, Kel, I’m about to get naked in front of you, so maybe look away’ kind of thing?!”

Sunny’s only response was to kick off his pant. Kel’s lungs burned. His whole body went hot and cold at once. He scrambled to turn his head, but not before catching the long line of Sunny’s legs in the corner of his eye, pale and slim and absolutely forbidden. His own body betrayed him instantly, heat rushing south so fast he wanted to slam his head against the wall.

“God—dammit, Kel, don’t—don’t look—” he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. He could still feel Sunny there, though, the shift of air, the sound of fabric rustling. It was unbearable.

Somewhere behind him, Sunny’s voice cut through, flat and casual. “I’m just changing.”

“‘Just changing,’ he says,” Kel hissed, half to himself. “Like that makes it any less—oh my God—” He risked a peek and immediately regretted it. Sunny was down to boxers now, folding his clothes with methodical neatness before pulling on a clean shirt, like none of this was illegal torture. Kel’s face was on fire, his palms sweaty, his brain screaming every curse word he knew.

“Seriously, man, you’re gonna kill me one of these days,” Kel groaned, flopping backward dramatically onto the floor, covering his face with both arms. “Like, bam heart attack. That’s how I go.’”

Sunny glanced at him, expression unreadable, before calmly tugging his new shirt into place.

“You change with your team in the locker room, don’t you?” 

Kel froze. His hands slipped just enough to show his eyes, which darted up to Sunny sitting there so casual in his clean shirt, legs folded neatly. That calm expression, that hint of curiosity, it hit harder than anything.

“Uh—yeah, but—” Kel’s laugh came out cracked, strangled. “That’s totally different!”

Sunny tilted his head. “Why?”

The question landed like a brick in Kel’s chest. He opened his mouth, closed it again, suddenly aware of how hot his face was. His brain spun like a hamster wheel gone wild.

“B-Because…” He sat up, gesturing wildly, like his hands might explain what his mouth couldn’t. “Locker room’s, like… it’s all business, you know? Guys just shower, change, get out. It’s not like like—” His words jammed in his throat. 

Sunny didn’t say anything. His one visible eye watched him closely, steady, waiting.

Kel swallowed hard. The silence pressed against him until his thoughts tumbled loose, unfiltered.

“Like—yeah, okay, I see the guys naked all the time,” he blurted, instantly regretting it but unable to stop. “They’re all, you know, ripped. Six-packs, big shoulders, thighs like tree trunks. Cris flexes so much it’s like he thinks he’s in a bodybuilding competition. Even Jason, who eats trash all day, somehow looks like a damn Calvin Klein ad. It’s uh, yeah, whatever. I don’t even notice anymore.”

His cheeks burned hotter with every word. He realized he was noticing, way too much, especially now that the images of showers and dripping muscles were crashing against the image of Sunny’s pale, lean body, the subtle lines of his ribs, the curve of his waist. 

Kel’s chest squeezed. Why does this feel different? Why am I about to die just because Sunny dropped his pants in front of me when I’ve survived a thousand post-game showers with the guys?

He wanted to punch himself in the face.

Sunny’s lips twitched, faint at first, then curved into something undeniable. A quiet laugh slipped out, small but cutting.

Kel whipped his head up, scandalized. “Did you—? You’re laughing at me?!”

Sunny didn’t answer, just kept that almost-smile, the ghost of amusement flickering in his eye.

Kel groaned dramatically, throwing his arms wide. “Unbelievable! Here I am, fighting for my life and you’re laughing at me.”

Sunny’s shoulders shook slightly, the softest sound of another laugh escaping before he pressed his lips together.

That was it. Kel narrowed his eyes, a grin forming despite himself. “Oh, you think this is funny? You think I’m a joke, huh?”

Sunny blinked, caught off guard when Kel lunged forward. Kel pinned himself onto the edge of the bed and jabbed his fingers into Sunny’s side.

Sunny flinched, letting out a startled yelp that cracked the silence like lightning.

“Ohhh, so you are ticklish!” Kel crowed, relentless. His hands found every vulnerable spot, ribs, stomach, underarms. digging playfully, mercilessly. “Laugh at me again, I dare you!”

Sunny twisted, squirming against the assault, his normally calm demeanor shattering into breathless gasps and broken laughter. His eye squeezed shut, his voice spilling out in choked bursts.

“Stop—Kel!”

“No way, you started this!” Kel laughed with him, high on the rare sound of Sunny breaking apart, not quiet, not distant, but human and real in his arms. Sunny shoved at him weakly, but Kel was stronger, fueled by the rush of victory and the thudding of his heart that had nothing to do with basketball. He leaned closer, close enough to see the faint pink flush across Sunny’s cheeks, close enough to feel the tremble of his body beneath his hands.

And suddenly, Kel froze.

The laughter hung in the air, sharp and fragile. His fingers lingered against Sunny’s waist, and in that tiny pause, everything shifted. The warmth of skin under his touch, the way Sunny’s chest rose and fell fast, the gleam of his eye locking onto Kel’s face.

“Uh…” Kel’s voice cracked, and he scrambled back an inch, his hands flailing in retreat. “Okay, okay, truce! I won’t, uh—I won’t tickle you anymore.”

Sunny sat up slowly, smoothing his shirt back into place, his breathing uneven but his expression composed again. Except for the faint curve of his lips, betraying him.

Kel collapsed back on the floor with a groan, covering his face. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

Sunny’s voice was quiet, almost smug. “No.”

“You’re evil. Pure, grade-A evil.”

Sunny didn’t deny it. He just leaned back against the wall, calm as ever, while Kel lay there, still burning.

“Y’know, if the basketball team ever finds out I got destroyed by one skinny violinist, I’m never hearing the end of it…”

Sunny’s lips twitched again, and Kel knew he’d keep chasing that sound no matter how many times he ended up embarrassed.

🏀 ─── ✧ ─── 🎻

Kel unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, tilting it back and gulping down a few mouthfuls before sighing in satisfaction. The room was warm, still carrying the faint musk of practice clothes and detergent, and he quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The muffled sound of footsteps in the hallway reminded him Sunny was waiting outside, probably standing there silently like he always did, staring at the floor until Kel came out.

“Coming!” Kel called out, his voice loud enough to carry through the thin door. He capped the bottle, shoved it into his backpack, and slung the strap over one shoulder. When he stepped into the hallway, Sunny glanced up, his expression unreadable as always, but his eyes lingered for a moment on Kel’s flushed face before drifting away.

“Sorry,” Kel said, smiling sheepishly. “Had to make sure I wouldn’t die of thirst before we even got there.”

Sunny only gave the slightest nod.

They started walking together down the narrow street outside the house, their footsteps falling into rhythm with each other.

Kel stretched his arms above his head, letting out a groan. “Man, it feels good to just… walk. No drills, no coach yelling, no sweaty jerseys. Just—” He spread his arms wide. “Freedom.”

Sunny blinked at him. “huh?”

“After practice, my brain feels like mashed potatoes. I need this. Y’know, hanging out with you.”

Sunny looked down at his shoes. “...Mashed potatoes don’t have brains.”

Kel stumbled mid-step, then burst out laughing. “That’s what you got out of what I said? Man, you kill me.”

Sunny shrugged lightly, but Kel didn’t miss the faint smirk that appeared before disappearing again.

As they cut through the residential streets, the air shifted, less of the cozy, homey smell of dinners cooking, more of the dry dust and rusted iron that marked the edges of the town. Soon, the faint sound of trains carried on the wind, a low mechanical growl.

They passed a corner store with its neon sign buzzing. Kel pointed at it. “Remember when we used to come here? We’d scrape up whatever change we had just to get one slushie and share it.”

Sunny nodded once. “Blue raspberry.”

“Yeah!” Kel grinned. “Your tongue would get so stained, it looked like you ate ink or something. And you’d act like you didn’t notice, even though everyone was staring.”

They kept walking. The houses thinned out into warehouses, their paint chipped and windows boarded. The cracked pavement rattled faintly under their sneakers as the rails came into view. Grass sprouted up between the ties, wild and stubborn.

The train tracks stretched into the dark, vanishing into a horizon that seemed to swallow light whole. The trees pressed in close on either side, their branches like crooked hands against the sky, motionless except for the faintest sway. A thin wind carried the smell of rust and damp earth, mixing with the scent of old oil. He didn’t remember it feeling this eerie, not when he came here years ago in the daytime.

Now it was night, and the rails glinted faintly whenever the clouds parted enough to let the moon peek through.

Kel adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Man… I don’t remember it being this creepy.”

Sunny, who was walking just a step ahead of him, didn’t reply. Instead, his head tilted upward, eyes tracing the thick lines of wire strung high above the tracks. 

“Seriously,” Kel muttered. “It’s like something out of a horror movie. Any second now, some dude with an axe is gonna jump out from those trees.”

Still nothing from Sunny. But Kel caught a flicker at the corner of his vision, tiny, green sparks dancing low near the ground. He blinked, stopping short. “...Wait. Are those—”

The fireflies pulsed again, faint dots scattered through the shadows. At first, only two or three. Then more. Dozens.

Sunny turned his head toward them at last. “Pretty.”

Kel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay, fine. Yeah. Pretty. But also really weird when it’s, like, completely silent except for bugs.”

They walked a little further until the gravel crunched beneath their shoes, and then Sunny slowed, lowering himself onto the wooden beam of the nearest rail. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance around or check his footing, he just sat down, folding his arms loosely on his knees.

Kel stared at him. “You’re actually sitting? On the tracks?”

Sunny nodded.

“Bro. Do you want us to get flattened by a train?”

“There’s no train.”

Kel sighed and looked down the endless stretch of steel, as if expecting headlights to appear just to prove him right. But the darkness stayed unbroken, the only glow coming from the pulse of the fireflies.

“Fine.” He sat too, dropping onto the rail with less grace than Sunny, the cold iron sending a shiver through his jeans. “But if we get squished, I’m haunting you in the afterlife.”

Sunny leaned back on his hands, gazing into the tree line as if the shadows themselves were fascinating.

Kel exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He could admit it: there was something magical about it. The darkness pressing close, the faint buzz of insects. And then, right in the middle of it, Sunny sitting there calm as ever, like this was his favorite place in the whole world.

It was unnerving. But also… kind of cool.

“You know,” Kel said, after a moment, “most people would be freaking out right now.”

“Most people aren’t here.”

Kel barked out a laugh. “Okay, true. Guess it’s just us lunatics.”

Kel’s knee bounced. He kept glancing at the woods, expecting something to emerge. A shadow. A figure. A wild animal. Something.

Sunny’s lips curved in the faintest smile, barely visible in the dark. His eyes reflected the fireflies, like he was absorbing their glow, feeding on it.

“You’re… having fun, aren’t you?” Kel asked.

Sunny nodded once. “It feels… alive.”

“Alive? Dude, it feels like death waiting to happen. I keep thinking something’s gonna crawl out of those trees.”

“Maybe it will.”

Kel whipped his head toward him. “Sunny! You can’t just say creepy stuff like that while we’re sitting on train tracks in the middle of the night!”

Sunny only shrugged, unbothered.

Kel groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

A firefly drifted close enough to hover right between them. Kel froze as its glow pulsed softly, illuminating Sunny’s profile for a split second. Sunny reached out his hand, palm open. The firefly landed there, tiny legs almost invisible, its abdomen flickering like a heartbeat.

Kel stared. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’re like some kind of… woodland prince.”

Sunny tilted his hand slightly, letting the insect crawl across his skin. 

Kel’s chest felt tight, and he looked away quickly. “Whatever. Not jealous or anything.”

The firefly blinked one last time before taking off, vanishing into the air with the others.

Sunny lowered his hand and glanced at Kel, whose ears were still burning.

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

Kel narrowed his eyes. “You’re laughing at me in your head, aren’t you?”

Sunny didn’t answer, which was basically confirmation.

Kel huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. Enjoy your creepy little paradise, Mr. Too-Cool-To-Be-Scared. But if something jumps out, I’m throwing you at it first.”

Sunny smiled faintly again, turning his gaze back to the dark trees.

Kel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked on the vanishing point of the tracks. The rails gleamed faintly, cutting away into infinity. Every time the wind shifted, he swore he heard something in the distance, the low hum of metal, the phantom thunder of an engine that never showed up. He hated how easy it was for his mind to imagine the blinding light of a train suddenly breaking through the dark, unstoppable, bearing down on them before they could even scramble to their feet.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No trains this late. Sunny’s right. No trains.”

Beside him, Sunny didn’t answer. His eyes were locked not on the horizon but on the fireflies, their brief sparks of green floating lazily around them. His hand shot out with a suddenness that was almost violent, closing over two of the glowing insects at once. He brought his fist back toward his mouth and, without hesitation, slipped them between his lips.

There was a faint, nearly inaudible crunch.

Sunny’s jaw worked slowly. The bodies of the fireflies gave beneath his teeth, releasing a tiny burst of bitterness, the glow crushed and fading against his tongue. His lips parted just slightly as he chewed, savoring the faint metallic tang, the strange sweetness that lingered under the grit. He swallowed carefully.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, something subtle, his eyelids dipping, his breath steadying as if he’d tasted something rare and familiar. He caught another one soon after, holding it against the tip of his tongue before biting down with the same quiet finality.

Kel didn’t notice. His attention was locked on the distant dark, tapping his sneaker against the wooden beam they sat on. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

“I swear,” Kel mumbled, eyes narrowing into the horizon, “if I even hear a whistle, I’m dragging your ass off these tracks whether you like it or not. I don’t care how zen you look sitting there.”

Sunny licked his lips, the faint aftertaste of the fireflies lingering. He tilted his head toward Kel, watching the way the taller boy twitched at every stray noise, every rustle from the treeline. Sunny’s hand drifted up again, catching another glow in his palm, sliding it casually into his mouth. The crunch was soft, secret.

Kel ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “This is seriously the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. We should’ve just stayed home and played video games. Or hell, even the movie would’ve been better than—” He paused, squinting into the dark. His heart leapt. But it was nothing. Just silence.

Sunny chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, as if he were tasting something more than just the insects themselves. The faint glow lingered behind his teeth for a second before dying completely, swallowed into him.

Kel didn’t look. Didn’t notice. He just muttered another curse under his breath, still fixated on the horizon.

Sunny smiled faintly, licking the corner of his mouth clean.

Kel rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around. Something was off. He hadn’t realized it at first, too distracted by the horizon, but now that the silence stretched out, he noticed it: there were fewer sparks in the dark. The air felt emptier without the little green pulses dancing around them.

“Uh… huh.” He squinted, scanning the trees. “Weird. There were way more of them, like, ten minutes ago.”

Sunny, still sitting calmly on the beam, shrugged. His voice was low, quiet, like the night itself. “They probably went to sleep.”

“Do fireflies even sleep?” He tilted his head, scratching his cheek, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait! Fun fact time. Okay, so, apparently, the glow isn’t just, like, random magic bug juice. It’s called bioluminescence. They use it to, uh… y’know. Flirt.”

Sunny’s expression didn’t change, though his fingers brushed absently against his lips, as if checking for something no one else could see.

“Yeah,” Kel went on, warming to his own tangent, “like, each species has its own flashing pattern. It’s basically bug Morse code. Some of them even trick other fireflies by copying their flashes so they can eat them. Crazy, right? Imagine hitting on someone at a party and actually you’re dinner. Nature’s brutal. Honestly though, I miss when there used to be way more. When I was a kid, I swear the whole backyard would light up. Felt like walking through stars or something. Guess pesticides or climate change or whatever killed them off. Or maybe they just got tired of Faraway being boring and dipped.”

“Not all of them are gone.”

Kel snorted. “Yeah, guess you’re right. A few tough guys stuck around.” He didn’t notice the way Sunny’s tongue flicked briefly against his teeth, or the way his gaze wandered toward the grass, following a single faint flicker.

Kel stretched his legs out over the tracks, sighing. “Still, kinda sad. Imagine a whole town glowing. That would’ve been sick.”

Chapter Text

The morning dragged itself into existence like a heavy curtain being pulled open, sunlight spilling over school. Kel scrolled through his phone, staring at the unread message thread. No reply. Not even a single dot or acknowledgment from Sunny. He slipped the phone into his pocket. In the crowded hallways, the noise hit him like a tide. Slamming lockers, chatter about summer flings, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. Kel fell into step with his teammates like nothing had changed. One of the seniors clapped him on the back.

“Yo, Kel! You still practicing that free throw in your sleep?” Marcus joked, flashing the same grin he’d had since freshman year.

“Only if I wanna dream about beating your record.” 

Tyler dribbled an invisible ball between passing students, drawing irritated looks, while Jason kept trying to convince everyone that the summer workouts had given him “pro-level stamina.” Kel let himself laugh along, but his mind was elsewhere. Every time his hand brushed his phone in his pocket, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was finally a reply waiting. He didn’t check. Not yet. He pushed the thought away and made it through class after class until the gym period rolled around. 

But when he left the locker room and crossed the side court, he spotted something that made him slow down. Basil.

It wasn’t that Basil was out of place here, though he kind of was. It was that Basil looked exactly like himself and completely different at the same time.

He was leaning against the bleachers, one foot balanced lazily on the step, a notebook tucked under his arm. His striped polo hung loose, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal thin wrists inked faintly with ballpoint doodles. The beanie he wore, slouchy, knit, pulled down almost to his eyebrows, cast half his face in a sleepy kind of shadow. 

Next to him, Angel looked… well, Angel. Taller than last year, his frame stretching like his appetite had finally found somewhere to settle. The oversized hoodie did little to hide the wiry strength underneath, but it was the slouch in his stance that gave him away, like he lived permanently between exhaustion and a hunger no amount of cafeteria food could cure.

Kel had seen that look before. On teammates with suspiciously red eyes who swore they were “just tired.” Angel’s sudden closeness with Basil didn’t take a genius to decode.

Still, Kel approached, because apparently his role in life was to act as the glue between people who otherwise existed on entirely different planets.

“Angel, c’mon, you’re holding the ball like it’s gonna bite you,” Kel said, tossing him a grin as he stepped onto the court.

Angel looked up, blinking like he’d just been dragged out of another world. “I’m holding it fine.”

“No, you’re holding it like it’s your last meal. There’s a difference.” Kel clapped his hands together, motioning him forward. “Here. Feet apart, shoulders loose. You wanna look like you’re ready to dance, not like you’re about to wrestle the thing.”

Angel sighed but adjusted, because despite all his resistance, he liked the attention. Kel knew that type.

Basil, from his spot against the bleachers, tilted his head slightly.

“You’re only teaching me this ‘cause of Aubrey,” Angel muttered, bouncing the ball experimentally.

"Yeah, and because if you’re gonna hang around, you might as well not embarrass yourself,” Kel shot back, snatching the ball from his hands and spinning it once before passing it back.

Angel laughed under his breath, low and lazy, and for a moment Kel almost forgot Basil was there. Almost.

Because when Basil finally did speak, his voice carried a dry amusement that slid neatly into the space between them. “You know, you’re trying too hard.”

Kel turned, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Basil shrugged, pushing himself off the bleachers with a fluid ease that made the gesture feel rehearsed. “He’s not gonna learn if you keep correcting every little thing. Let him play. Let him figure out where he’s clumsy. Otherwise, he’ll just copy you, and that’s not the same thing as learning.”

Kel frowned, then glanced at Angel, who was smirking like he’d just been handed a free pass. “Don’t look so smug,” Kel warned, but he stepped back anyway, letting Angel dribble on his own.

The ball went wide, then slammed too hard against the floor, then skidded toward the baseline with a hollow echo. He hissed a curse under his breath, chased it down, and stomped back, jaw tight with stubborn energy.

Kel leaned forward, hands on his knees, grinning like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all week. “Relax, man! Look—” He grabbed another ball, started dribbling smooth and quick, each bounce sharp and even. “See? You gotta let it roll with you, not run away from you.”

Angel scowled but tried again. The ball thudded against the floor like a drumbeat out of sync. Too fast, then too slow, and then it smacked off his shoe.

From the bleachers, Basil let out a soft laugh. “He looks like he’s trying to juggle one ball and still losing.”

Angel shot him a look over his shoulder. “You’re real supportive, you know that?”

Basil’s smile widened. “I’m just saying. You don’t have to glare at it. It’s not gonna bite you.”

Kel barked a laugh so loud it bounced around the gym walls. “Exactly! You’re scaring the ball, dude.”

Angel groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but when he picked the ball back up, his shoulders looked a little looser. He dribbled again, still clumsy, but less angry at it this time.

That’s when Marcus decided to wander over.

“Yo, Kel,” he called, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. His grin was too wide to mean anything good. “Didn’t know we were accepting delinquents now. Thought this was a basketball team, not a reform program.”

Angel froze mid-bounce. The ball wobbled in his palm, slipped, and rolled away. His jaw set, the smirk gone.

Kel didn’t hesitate. “Reform program?” He tilted his head, grin sharp. “Yeah, man, Coach said we gotta give back to the community. You know, help out the less talented.”

Angel shoved him lightly in the shoulder, muttering, “Screw you.”

Kel winked. “See? He’s already got the team spirit.”

Marcus raised a brow, amused, before jogging back to the scrimmage. But the comment stuck like a thorn in the air. Angel’s hands twitched at his sides, restless.

“Don’t listen to him,” Kel said quickly, lowering his voice. “Marcus can’t even hit free throws. Trust me, you’re already more entertaining than him.”

That won Angel a smirk, but it didn’t last long. He started dribbling again, slower this time, eyes narrowed like he was trying to prove something invisible.

On the bleachers, Basil shifted forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “You’re getting better, though. Before, you couldn’t even keep it in one hand. Now it’s staying with you longer.”

Angel blinked, surprised, then shrugged. “Guess that’s something.”

“It is,” Basil said simply.

“Alright, alright,” Kel clapped once. “Angel, go for the hoop. No excuses. Basil, you get to be our audience.”

Angel sighed but squared up. He took the shot, and the ball ricocheted off the rim with a loud clang.

“Wow,” Kel deadpanned. “Straight up abuse of property. The backboard’s pressing charges.”

Angel flipped him off, jogging after the rebound.

Basil giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Kel said, but he was grinning too.

Angel tried again. Missed again. Swore again. But he didn’t stop. Each time he moved with more energy, more fight, like the ball itself was a challenge he refused to lose to. 

Kel had been tuned into Angel’s movements, eyes narrowing as he tried to keep up with the drills. It was almost funny, the way he’d set his jaw, like he was going to wrestle the ball into obeying him. Kel caught himself watching too long, and shook his head.

But something felt off. 

A gap, almost. The bench was unusually quiet. He paused for a moment, then realized that Basil was no longer speaking.

Kel’s eyes drifted up toward the bleachers, and his stomach dropped. Sunny was there. Sitting like he had always been meant to be in that spot. He leaned in and murmured something to Basil that Kel couldn't make out. Basil wasn’t pushing him away. He wasn’t even flinching. Instead, he was angled toward Sunny. 

Kel froze mid-dribble. The ball skittered off, bumping against the edge of the court, but his eyes didn’t leave them. Sunny, who hadn’t answered a single one of his texts. Sunny, who had been gone, absent, unreachable overnight. And now, here he was, close enough for Basil to hear him breathe, close enough to look like a secret come alive.

Kel’s chest tightened. The laughter of his teammates pulled him back, a shove to his shoulder reminding him to keep playing. He forced himself to grab the ball, to sprint forward, but every few seconds his gaze flicked back up to the bleachers. Basil hadn’t moved. Sunny’s mouth was still near his ear, and Basil was still listening.

🏀 ─── ✧ ─── 🎻

It was hard to tell when exactly it started, but Sunny had sunk into the violin with the same quiet intensity he carried everywhere. He’d sit for hours in the corner of his room, bow gliding across the strings with that rigid, deliberate motion, playing the same passage again and again until it felt more like breathing than music. Meals went cold, daylight shifted outside the window, and still he didn’t move, eyes fixed on the instrument like nothing else existed.

Kel was the only reason he wasn’t entirely gone. He’d drag Sunny outside, place a ball in his hands, talk loud enough to shake him out of that silence. Even then, it wasn’t easy, sometimes Sunny’s grip stayed tight around the case, like he was already itching to return to it.

Kel couldn’t remember when he last saw him speaking with Basil. The memory felt distant, blurred at the edges, as if too much time had stretched thin between then and now. He tried to count the days, but they slipped through him, indistinguishable. What he did know was that Sunny and Basil hadn’t crossed words in a long while, and the absence sat heavy whenever Kel thought about it.

Kel should’ve felt only joy, the kind that spilled from him so naturally it made others want to laugh along, even when they didn’t know why. And he did, in the way he always had: his grin stretching too wide, his energy buzzing out of him like sparks. But beneath that shine, something tugged at the edges, like a shadow stitched into the lining of a bright-colored flag. Something was wrong, and Kel knew it, though he couldn’t name it.

Sometimes, when he glanced at Sunny, it felt as if he were looking at two different people caught in the same body. One carried silence like a second skin, heavy and unshakable. The other peeked through in flashes, hesitant, fragile, but alive. Today, Kel caught the second one.

From the bleachers, Sunny’s gaze met his. The boy’s hair caught the late sun like strands of ink, dark and disheveled, a few stubborn tufts standing out as if the wind had claimed them. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and the band of black that wrapped around his head, holding an eyepatch in place, drew a line of sharp contrast across his face. The uncovered eye, wide and dark, softened when he lifted his hand in a shy wave.

It wasn’t much. Just a small, cautious motion. But to Kel, it was enough.

Before he thought twice, he was running across the court, sneakers slapping against the ground, then springing up onto the bleachers. He climbed over the benches two at a time, his long legs coiled like springs, until he launched himself up and over the last row.

And then he was there, wrapping Sunny into a hug that knocked the boy slightly back against the metal seat.

His skin, burnished bronze from hours in the sun, glowed with sweat and color. He was still in his practice gear: an orange jersey with the faint outline of a fox across the chest, shorts cut loose around his knees, socks pulled high and shoes scuffed from too many games. A paper bracelet still clung to his wrist from some earlier event, its edges curling. Confetti clung stubbornly to his hair and shoulders. Sunny, caught in his arms, was all contrast. His white shirt was wrinkled from sitting. The black vest he wore hung loose against his slight frame, making him look smaller. 

For a moment, nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them, caught in that hug, sunlight wrapping around their edges like gold leaf.

Kel laughed softly into Sunny’s shoulder, breathless and bright. “Man, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Sunny didn’t answer right away. His hand loosened slowly, and then, almost clumsy, he let his arm fold against Kel’s back.

Kel held on longer than he thought he would. Kel felt the damp cling of his own jersey where it pressed into Sunny’s shirt, and for a second he almost pulled back, embarrassed. But then Sunny shifted, instead of retreating. He leaned in, closer, as if the heat and damp didn’t bother him at all. If anything, it felt like he was searching for it. His fingers, light and hesitant, found a place against Kel’s shoulder, resting there without pressure but without fear either.

Kel blinked, surprised, and then he laughed, half out of relief, half out of the nervous rush that always came with Sunny doing something unexpected.

“You’re seriously okay with me clinging on like this? Man, you’ve changed.”

Sunny’s voice came quiet, measured in the way it always was, but Kel caught the edge of honesty in it. “I wasn’t coming to school today.”

Kel pulled back just enough to look at him. “Huh? Why not? You sick or something?”

“No.” Sunny shook his head once, hair falling against his cheek, almost brushing the eyepatch strap. His gaze dropped low. “I needed to practice.”

The word caught in the air like a string being plucked. Kel tilted his head, his grin reforming almost instantly. “Violin, huh? So that’s why you disappeared on me.”

Sunny didn’t answer, only glanced away, his lone eye drifting toward the basketball court, toward Basil sitting a few rows down on the bleachers. Basil had been quiet all this time, his shoulders curled in on themselves like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or stand up and vanish.

Kel followed Sunny’s look and then clapped his hands together, beaming. “Oh, I get it now! You’re doing one of those recitals again, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been practicing like a madman.”

“There’s another recital soon. I… asked Basil to help me. To listen.”

Kel froze for half a beat. Then his head snapped toward Basil, whose eyes went wide like someone had shoved him under a spotlight.

“You what?” Kel said, blinking rapidly. “You asked Basil?”

“He… did. He wanted someone to judge his performance. I said I’d try.”

Kel squinted at him, then back at Sunny. “Okay, hold on. You asked Basil to ‘judge’ your playing?” He exaggerated the last word, throwing his arms wide. “Since when do you need judges? You’re amazing at violin, Sunny. Like, way out of league amazing.”

Sunny didn’t lift his head. His lips pressed together in that way Kel remembered all too well, the way that meant he wasn’t going to argue, but he wasn’t going to agree either. It was just Sunny being Sunny, swallowing his thoughts like they’d burn if they touched air.

Kel leaned back on his heels, still crouched in front of Sunny, his grin faltering into something softer. “You know I’d come watch, right? You didn’t even have to ask. I’d sit through hours of you practicing if you wanted.”

That caught Sunny’s eye again, his expression flickering briefly. “You’d get bored.”

Kel laughed, shaking his head so hard his messy hair bounced. “Me? Bored? No way! You think I can’t handle some fancy violin practice? Dude, I sit through Angel trying to do basketball layups every day. My tolerance is unbreakable.”

From the lower row of the bleachers, Basil let out an unexpected laugh, soft, but genuine, slipping past his lips before he realized it. He raised a hand, covering his mouth quickly, but Kel caught it.

“See? Even Basil knows that was funny!” Kel crowed, pointing at him.

Basil ducked his head, blushing faintly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t even try to hide it,” Kel said, grinning. “That’s the second time I’ve heard you laugh today. You’re warming up.”

Sunny’s shoulders shifted, his body angled slightly toward Basil, almost imperceptibly. Kel noticed, though.

He sat back a little, folding his arms, his tone sliding from playful to insistent. “So, tell me about this recital. Where? When? Do I need to bring a bouquet or something?”

Sunny hesitated, his lips parting like the words might fall out, but instead he looked down again. Basil shifted uncomfortably, clearly not sure if it was his place to step in. But Kel didn’t let the silence stretch.

“Look,” Kel said, nudging Sunny lightly in the arm. “You don’t have to keep it all bottled up. You’re not on your own anymore, okay? If you’re practicing, if you’re nervous, then just say so. Let me be there. That’s what friends are for.”

Sunny’s breath hitched just faintly, enough that Kel caught it. Then, almost too soft to hear, Sunny said, “I thought you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Sunny’s gaze flicked to Basil again, who sat frozen, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay in the conversation or fade out completely. He gave Sunny the smallest of nods, as if to say go on.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself again. That’s why I asked Basil. He’s honest. He’ll notice things.”

Kel’s chest tightened. He wanted to argue, wanted to shout that Sunny had never embarrassed himself in his life, that his playing was perfect, that Basil didn’t matter half as much as Sunny seemed to think he did. But looking at Sunny’s face, drawn and tired, his lone eye clouded with something like fear, Kel couldn’t bring himself to fight.

“Let me sit there and cheer like an idiot while you play. If you want honesty, fine, I’ll tell you the truth.”

Sunny blinked, his lashes lowering as if he was processing the words slowly. Basil’s gaze darted between them, caught in the middle of something unspoken, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Maybe.”

♫ ─── 𝄞 ─── ♫

Kel wasn’t in the mood to linger after practice that day. His body hummed with the usual ache, the kind he half-loved, muscles taut, sweat drying too fast on his skin, that dull burn in his calves from running drills past exhaustion. 

He showered quickly, letting the hot water beat against his shoulders until his thoughts blurred. When he stepped out, steam clung to his hair, damp strands sticking to his forehead. He pulled on clothes that felt cozy. A faded long-sleeve shirt, rolled halfway up his forearms. Black joggers that fit close without clinging. Sneakers scuffed at the edges but still steady on his feet. His team jacket. He slung his bag over his shoulder and let out a long breath, shaking his head to clear away the fog of sweat and nerves.

The locker room door creaked open as he pushed it, and the corridor beyond was dimmer than it should have been. Afternoon light cut across the hall in fractured beams, slanting in through the high windows, dust stirring like ash in the air.

That’s when he saw him.

Basil.

Leaning against the wall just outside the locker room, like he’d been waiting there a while. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, the green in them muted by shadow.

Kel blinked, startled, his mouth already opening with a dozen questions. But Basil spoke first. His voice was quiet, level, not carrying the usual hesitation that softened his words.

“Sunny never mentioned a recital.”

Kel froze. The strap of his bag slipped down his shoulder, and he grabbed it before it fell. “What?”

Basil’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile the way Kel knew it. It was smaller, tighter, something that looked more like a secret than joy. “He didn’t say anything about one. Not to me.”

Kel felt the back of his neck heat. He laughed, but it was sharp around the edges. “Wait, hold on, you were literally sitting there when he told me. He said you were helping him, remember?”

Basil tilted his head slightly, his bangs shifting with the movement. 

“That’s what he wanted you to think,” Basil said, still soft, still even. “But no. He never asked me for that.”

The hallway seemed to shrink, the air heavier than it should’ve been. Kel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly too aware of the squeak of his sneakers on the floor. “Okay… so… what, are you saying he lied? That doesn’t sound like Sunny.”

Basil didn’t answer that directly. He only let his half-smile deepen, like he was tucking something behind his teeth. “I wanted to talk to you. Alone. That’s why I waited here.”

Kel blinked again, pulse jumping. He glanced back at the door, then back at Basil. “Couldn’t you have just texted me?”

Basil shifted his weight against the wall, eyes lowering for a beat before finding Kel’s again. “I could’ve. But I thought it’d be better if I told you face to face. Sunny asked me to meet him at the lake. After sunset.”

Kel froze, gym bag still slung over one shoulder, damp hair dripping onto the collar of his shirt. “The lake? Like… the lake?” The place wasn’t just any spot. It was theirs, where summers used to spill into endless evenings of fireflies and dares too childish to mean anything now.

“Yeah. That lake.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence pressed down, filled only with the faint echo of lockers clanging down the hall. Kel’s mouth was dry, but he forced the words out. “So what? You’re… you’re gonna go?”

Basil tilted his head, something almost mischievous flickering across his face. “It sounded strange. Sunny doesn’t really invite me anywhere anymore. And then, when I mentioned it, he said he hadn’t asked me to come at all.”

Kel’s chest tightened, a low pulse of dread beating at the back of his skull. “Wait—what? You just said—”

“I know.” Basil cut him off softly, stepping closer, his voice dipped in something that made Kel’s stomach twist. “That’s why I thought I should tell you.” Then Basil let out a short laugh, almost playful, though it didn’t erase the unease that hung in the air. “Maybe he’s planning to confess to me. Under the trees, by the water.” He tapped his chin with a mock thoughtfulness, grin crooked. “Maybe he’ll lean in and kiss me.”

Kel’s breath hitched, and for a moment, heat flared sharp in his chest, not from the joke itself, but from how easily Basil said it. Like he wasn’t afraid of the thought at all. Kel remembered Mari’s voice over the phone, low and steady, telling him He’s your responsibility now. 

That memory cut through him like glass, and the words spilled out before he could stop them. “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” Kel repeated, firmer this time, though his own instincts screamed at him for saying it. Something in him wanted to know what waited by that lake, wanted to chase down the shadowy threads weaving themselves tighter around Sunny. But the echo of Mari’s warning wrapped around his ribs, tightening, and Kel couldn’t let go of it. “If Sunny says he didn’t ask you, then just… just forget it, okay?”

Basil looked at him for a long moment, and Kel couldn’t read what was behind that gaze. Then, slowly, Basil’s smile returned. He nodded once.

“Alright,” Basil said, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “I won’t go.”

But the way he said it didn’t loosen the knot in Kel’s chest. If anything, it pulled tighter. 

Kel cut across the campus the way he always did when he didn’t want to be stopped. Past the chain-link fence that rattled when the wind tugged at it, down the cracked pavement that led toward the gym, and through the courtyard where the flagpole clanged against its own ropes. His sneakers beat out a steady rhythm, squeaking faintly on the tiles as he slipped inside the school building. The halls were mostly empty now. He passed bulletin boards filled with flyers for clubs he never joined, a trophy case full of victories that felt like they belonged to another lifetime, and rows of lockers painted the same dull blue they’d always been. His hand brushed against the cool metal rail of the staircase as he climbed, not rushing, not slowing, just moving forward because something in him needed to.

When he reached the auditorium, the heavy doors gave a low groan as he pushed them open. The air inside was still, carrying only the faint smell of polished wood and dust.

And then he saw him.

Sunny stood near the center of the stage, violin tucked against his shoulder, bow gliding with sharp precision. The notes filled the hollow air like a warning and a prayer at once. Kel couldn’t stop staring.

It was strange, hearing him like this, so focused, so serious. He remembered when they were kids, when Sunny used to say he hated the violin, muttering that it was too stiff, too boring, that he’d rather be sleeping than stuck practicing scales. He’d sulk before lessons, drag his feet to the chair, and sometimes even shove the bow back in its case like he could refuse his whole life with that single act.

But the boy on the stage now was different. His movements were mechanical and graceful all at once, every flick of the bow honed into something sharp, cutting through the silence. He played like he didn’t know how to stop.

Kel stood frozen, breath shallow, until Sunny’s bow stilled. Without warning, Sunny lowered the violin, his body pausing as though he sensed the weight of someone’s eyes on him. Slowly, he turned.

For a heartbeat, the dim light caught only the line of his profile, the sharpness of his expression. Then Sunny’s eyes met Kel’s across the distance. He didn’t smile, not exactly, but he lifted one hand, small and deliberate, and waved.

Kel’s throat tightened. His hand twitched uselessly at his side before he finally raised it, a hesitant, delayed return of the gesture. 

Sunny held his gaze a second longer, then turned back to his violin, lifting it once more.

Kel sank into a seat, pulse still unsettled. Watching him, the memory of Basil’s words replayed in his mind, laced with unease. The lake. The invitation. The lie. 

He was already decided.

When the sun bled out and the evening thickened, Kel would go to the lake.

When Kel got back home, the house was already warm with the smell of dinner his mom was cooking. The television hummed low in the living room, but he didn’t sit down to watch. Instead, he dropped his bag near the door and went straight to wash his hands. His little sister was crawling near the couch, babbling nonsense words at a stuffed rabbit. Kel scooped her up, balancing her small body on his hip while she tugged at the strings of his hoodie. She laughed when he made a face at her, like he always did, and for a moment the noise of the day drained away. He set her down carefully and helped her stack a few blocks before their mom called for him to set the table.

He lingered in the kitchen after dinner, rinsing dishes while his mom dried them, both of them moving in an easy rhythm. Kel thought about telling her he was going out later, but the words never made it to his mouth. As the sky deepened into a violet-blue and the neighborhood lights flickered on, Kel slipped on his sneakers again. He stood by the window for a moment, listening to the faint cry of his baby sister from her crib upstairs. His mom’s voice followed, soft and steady, singing her back to sleep.

That was when Kel knew he had to go.

The air outside had cooled with the evening, carrying the smell of damp grass and faint smoke from someone’s backyard grill. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, not quickly, not slowly, just letting his feet carry him down familiar streets. Past the corner store with its buzzing neon sign, past the row of quiet houses where porch lights glowed like watchful eyes.

The farther he walked, the fewer houses he saw, until the road gave way to trees. The path toward the lake opened ahead of him, dirt crunching beneath his shoes. The cicadas were louder here, the darkness heavier, the branches overhead almost knitting together. Kel didn’t bring a flashlight. He didn’t want one. He wanted the night to swallow him whole.

Somewhere in the distance, water lapped against the shore. He tightened his fists in his pockets, his chest pulling tight with a nervous kind of certainty.

By the time he stepped out of the tree line and saw the dark shape of the lake stretching before him, it felt like he’d been walking toward it all day.

Kel sat down on the grass near the edge of the lake, leaning back on his hands as the night settled in deeper. The water was dark, catching only thin shreds of light from the moon that had just begun its climb above the treeline. He had expected to see movement already, some sign that Sunny was out here too. Maybe he’d hear the faint crunch of shoes on dirt, or the sound of someone clearing their throat, trying not to startle him. But the minutes slid by quietly. Only the wind moved, rippling across the water and stirring the branches overhead.

He hadn’t seen Sunny leave the house earlier. Not when he passed by in the late afternoon, not when he circled the neighborhood again before deciding to come here. That made everything uncertain. Maybe Sunny had taken another path. Maybe he was already here, hidden by the thickening shadows. Or maybe he wasn’t coming at all.

Kel hugged his knees against his chest, resting his chin there. He hated waiting, it made him restless, but tonight he forced himself to stay still. He told himself he didn’t mind sitting here, just watching the lake. Told himself he wasn’t bothered that the sky was darkening faster than he expected. Still, every time he blinked, it seemed darker than before. The treeline pressed closer, as if the night were crowding in around him.

Then came the feeling. Not sudden, not sharp, but slow and steady, like a drip of water that you don’t notice until it’s already soaked into your skin. Someone was watching him. His shoulders stiffened before he even turned. The air felt heavier, too deliberate. He tried to shake it off, glancing across the lake, then up toward the sky, telling himself it was nothing. But the weight in his chest didn’t budge.

Kel finally turned his head, glancing back over his shoulder. At first, there was nothing but shadow between the trees. But when his eyes adjusted, he caught it, the faintest outline of someone standing just beyond the clearing.

It was Sunny.

He stood half-hidden behind a thick tree trunk, only part of his face visible in the dim light. His eyes were fixed straight on Kel, wide and unblinking. He didn’t move, didn’t wave, didn’t even step closer. Just watched. For a moment, Kel thought he was imagining it. That his mind had drawn Sunny’s outline from the dark just because he wanted him to be there.

But then Sunny moved, not toward him, but slowly, carefully, sliding his body further behind the tree. As if he hadn’t meant to be seen. 

Kel’s stomach knotted. He sat frozen, not sure if he should call out, not sure if Sunny would even answer. The wind shifted again, rustling the leaves, and for a moment Sunny’s pale shirt caught a streak of moonlight before it vanished behind the bark.

Kel stayed where he was.

He rose to his feet, the damp grass clinging to the cuffs of his pants as he stumbled toward the tree where he had seen Sunny retreat.

“Sunny?” he called out, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. At first, only silence answered him, as if the trees themselves swallowed every word. He swallowed hard, pushing again. “Hey, are you okay?”

Nothing moved. Only that crawling sensation of being watched, closer now, sharper. Kel clenched his fists, forcing his legs to keep moving.

“You… were you really gonna tell Basil that?” The words cracked as they left him, heavier than stone. “Confess… that you liked him?”

He didn’t know why he was asking. Didn’t know if he even wanted the answer. But the silence that followed hurt worse than anything Sunny could have said.

And then, like a snap inside his skull, her voice returned. Mari.

Feed the monster.

Kel froze, lungs catching.

It's starving.

The words coiled in his chest, inescapable. His hand jerked into his pocket, pulling out his phone, thumb fumbling for the light. The flashlight beam split the dark, thin and merciless. His pulse nearly stopped when the light found Sunny.

He was standing several yards ahead, out in the trees, as still as a broken statue. The beam caught the patch over his eye, the wet glint of his hair. His face wasn’t startled, wasn’t shy the way Kel remembered, it was vacant, fixed, eyes wide and unblinking. As if he had been standing there for much longer than Kel could bear. The distance between them didn’t shrink. It stretched. It bent. And still, Sunny’s stare pierced him, cold, unreadable, like he was the only one left who hadn’t caught on to what was really happening.

Kel tightened his grip on the phone, the light quivering in time with his hands.

“Sunny…” 

Kel’s throat locked around his own breath, as if his body refused to let the words come out. The trees loomed closer, suffocating.

Sunny still hadn’t answered.

And in that silence, Kel’s memory betrayed him. It dragged him back to that night, to the sight of scattered, broken bones on Sunny’s floor. Back to the blood-wet blur of Mari’s hands around Sunny’s throat in the hallway, Kel pulling her off, the sickening crack that followed, the way her nails left a lattice of red across his skin. Back to Sunny’s scream, to the glass shattering, to the final blow that stole his sight in one eye forever.

Back to the way Sunny clutched the violin afterwards, like it was all he had left to anchor him, whispering over and over that he needed to play. The way he swore he hated it as a child, yet now he played until his fingers bled, as though the strings themselves were veins he couldn’t stop opening.

Kel’s heart roared inside his ears. His voice trembled, thin as the beam of the lantern in his hand.

“… who are you?”

The question left him before he could stop it. He almost wished he could reel it back in, shove it down into the pit where all his other unspoken fears lived.

The lantern flickered. Once. Twice. The beam sputtered, weak and frantic, until it gave out with a soft click.

Darkness slammed down.

Kel’s chest caved in. He fumbled, shook the light, smacked the side of it, anything to bring it back, but when it flared again, what it revealed wasn’t Sunny. Not anymore.

Something had taken his place.

Massive limbs stretched outward from him, bone-thin and grotesque, curling around the trees like a spider knitting its web. Fingers elongated, joint after joint bending too far, bark splintering under their grip. His neck twisted impossibly, wrapping like ivy around the trunk of the nearest oak. His face… God, his face. The patch was gone, replaced by a hollow void where the eye should’ve been, and the other eye, that single eye, was white, swollen, empty. His mouth unhinged, splitting wider, teeth blooming in jagged rows that did not belong in a human jaw.

And through it all, he just stared at Kel.

Kel stumbled back, the light quaking, breath scraping at his ribs.

The monster didn’t move closer, didn’t need to. Its hunger filled the air, thicker than the dark.

And Kel knew what Mari’s voice had meant all along.

Feed him. He’s starving.

Chapter Text

Kel stared wide eyed in horror at the sight before him, he felt as if his heart was going to break out of his chest, his breath coming short, quick, shallow, he tried to speak but only a broken whisper made it's way out.

"S-Sunny... What…?"

The thing that wore Sunny’s body began to move. Each step slid instead of landed, like a lifeless sack of bones and meat. The angles of his body kept shifting, shoulders rising too high, spine bending with a slow creak that made the air hum. Kel couldn’t look away. His brain kept trying to match the shapes to the person he knew: the small frame, the careful way Sunny used to walk. But this thing’s rhythm was off-beat, too smooth, like the motion of someone learning how to imitate a human gait.

The sound that came with it wasn’t quite footsteps. It was softer, dragging, a whisper of fabric and breath that circled Kel before he realized the creature had moved closer.

Moonlight caught along one arm, and for a heartbeat Kel saw the skin ripple. like light under water, like something else beneath it struggling to hold the shape it had stolen. His stomach turned. The thing tilted its head, the gesture almost gentle, almost curious. Then its arm began to lift, slowly, reaching toward him.

That was enough.

Kel’s body snapped free from the paralysis. He stumbled back once, then bolted, the breath tearing out of him as he broke into a full sprint toward the trees. Branches clawed at his arms; his shoes slipped on damp earth. The night itself seemed to follow, thick and pulsing, as if the world were bending to chase him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He kept moving, his feet moving on instinct, not daring to risk any glance over his shoulder. The sound of twigs snapping and rustling leaves filled his ears, but he couldn't tell if they were his own footsteps or something else giving chase. Kel's lungs screamed for rest, but the adrenaline surging through his veins kept his legs pumping. His vision blurred with tears, making the trees nothing more than dark smudges against the night sky.

He tore through the trees until the forest broke open into the edge of Faraway Town. The change was jarring: the smell of pine and wet soil gave way to pavement and the faint tang of asphalt after rain. Streetlights hummed in the distance, pale halos trembling against the dark. The streets were empty. No cars, no voices, just the long sigh of wind moving through rows of sleeping houses. Windows glowed faintly with television light or the pulse of a bedside lamp. Each patch of warmth felt unreachable, like scenes behind glass.

Kel stumbled past the old playground where the swings creaked in the wind, the metal chains clicking together in slow rhythm. He used to race Sunny here after dinner, back when the world still made sense. Now the slide looked like a rusted spine, the sandbox hollowed out by shadows. His chest tightened. He didn’t know if it was exhaustion or grief, but the feeling pressed hard, cold, until it hurt to breathe. The fear hadn’t faded with distance, it had only changed shape, crawling inward. He couldn’t stop seeing that almost-Sunny, the way its arm had reached toward him, like it knew him too well. He crossed the intersection by the hardware store, the one that still kept a single neon sign on through the night. The hum of it cut through the silence, a small thread of life in the stillness.

Kel slowed just enough to rest his hands on his knees, gasping, trying to catch air that didn’t feel heavy.

His thoughts came in flashes: It wasn’t real. It can’t be real. Then, a smaller voice beneath it: But what if it was him? What if he needed help?

Kel straightened up, hands still trembling at his sides. His breath came in sharp hitches, but he forced himself to stand tall, six foot three shouldn’t feel this small.

“Sunny wouldn’t…,” he muttered, voice cracking. “That wasn’t him. That thing, that monster, it’s just… messing with my head.”

But even as he said it, his gut twisted.

Because what if Sunny was there? Trapped inside that nightmare? What if he was scared? What if… what if he’d reached out because he wanted Kel and needed him to come?

His fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms.

“I’m not some punk who runs,” Kel growled under his breath, more to convince himself than anything. “I don’t bail on my friends.” He turned slightly, glancing back toward the dark tree line cutting the horizon like a wound. The woods loomed silent now. No rustle. No footsteps.

Just waiting.

“I love you, idiot,” he whispered into the wind, one raw confession flung into darkness, and then started walking again, not away from the trees this time,

Toward them.

Kel froze mid-step.

The sound was small at first, like the wind catching on a loose wire, but then it came again. A sob. Quiet, broken, human.

Sunny.

Every muscle in Kel’s body screamed to turn back, to run all the way home and lock the door, pretend none of this happened. His hands shook violently at his sides. His breath hitched like he’d been punched. But that cry… it wasn’t monstrous. It wasn’t warped or hollow or fake. It was pain.

“...No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not again.”

He forced one foot in front of the other. Then another.

The trees swallowed him whole once more, branches clawing at his jacket like they were warning him not to go further, but he pushed through anyway, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

And then he saw him. Actually saw him.

Sunny hunched under the same oak from before, not twisted into something else, just curled into himself on the damp earth, arms wrapped tight around his knees, shoulders trembling with each ragged breath between sobs. The patch over one eye was torn slightly at the edge now, he looked smaller than ever, fragile in a way that made Kel’s chest crack wide open

Kel stopped a few feet away.

"S-Sunny...?"  He said as voice trembled "Is..is it really you..?"

Kel took a measured step forward, then another, carefully closing the gap between them. He was close enough now to catch a glimpse of Sunny's face, tear-streaked and pale in the moonlight. Every instinct told him not to get any closer, that this was all some cruel illusion, that he might be walking into a trap. But the sight of Sunny crumpled on the ground, so unlike his usual stoic self, chipped away at those defenses.

"Sunny," he tried again, softer this time. "Can you...can you look at me?"

Sunny’s head lifted by degrees, the motion too slow, too cautious. When his eyes finally met Kel’s, something unreadable flickered there. Then he blinked, and the tension seemed to drain from his body. He leaned forward on his hands, shoulders loose, movements oddly fluid. His gaze followed Kel’s every step, expectant. When Kel knelt down, Sunny shifted closer, rubbing his sleeve against Kel’s arm as if seeking warmth.

 “Sunny…?”

Sunny didn’t answer. His breathing came shallow, quick, and he pressed closer again, his head bowing near Kel’s shoulder. The sound that escaped him was half-sigh, half-whisper, the kind of small noise someone makes when they’re too tired to speak. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The cicadas had gone silent; only the wind moved across the lake. Then Sunny’s stomach growled, a low, plaintive sound that cut through the stillness.

Kel let out a shaky breath, a nervous laugh that didn’t quite land. “You’re… hungry?” he managed.

Sunny’s eyes lifted, wide and almost childlike, and for the first time that night he spoke, his voice thin but clear.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m hungry.”

Kel was unprepared for the rush of worry and relief, but he managed a shaky smile, reaching out instinctively to rest his hand on Sunny’s shoulder, more to assure himself this was real than anything. And Sunny didn't recoil; he leaned into it, the tension melting from his shoulders, as if his body was desperate for contact. His eye flicked down to where Kel had touched him, then back up.

Kel swallowed hard, fighting off the memory of twisted branches and pale skin. This was Sunny. This was his friend.

He stood slowly, keeping his movements calm and steady, like you would with a spooked animal. He held out his hand, rough, calloused from basketball and scraped knuckles, but open. Gentle.

“C’mon,” he said softly, voice lower now, none of the usual bite in it. “Let’s get you home.”

Sunny stared at the offered hand like he didn’t recognize it, like touch itself was foreign. Then slowly… so damn slowly… he lifted his own trembling fingers.

And grabbed on.

Kel’s chest tightened as their hands connected, cold skin against warm, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled gently until Sunny rose unsteadily to his feet. He swayed slightly and Kel instinctively shifted closer, arm slipping around Sunny’s shoulders to hold him upright.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

He started walking back toward town, not fast enough to scare him, not slow enough for fear to catch up, the forest thinning behind them as streetlights flickered ahead like distant stars promising safety.

But all the way back? He never once let go of Sunny’s hand. Because whatever that thing in the woods was…

This quiet boy leaning into him under broken moonlight?. This was real. And Kel would fight anyone, even himself. to keep it that way. Even if deep down he knew this wasn't over yet.

Kel couldn’t stop thinking. Not clearly, not straight, not in any way that made sense. Every breath scraped his throat raw. He wanted to vomit, or scream, or just stop existing long enough for the shaking to go away. Something inside him kept whispering that everything was fine, that he’d overreacted, that he was tired, that he didn’t see what he thought he saw. That he couldn’t have. But the thought was like pressing a bandage over a wound still bleeding. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, again and again, until his skin burned. It didn’t help. The feeling was still there, that sticky, crawling sensation under his nails, like his body remembered something his brain refused to. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He told himself it was from the cold. It wasn’t.

He kept catching flashes of something when he blinked and his stomach lurched every time. His mind shoved the images away with a violence that scared him. No. Don’t think about it. Don’t see it again. It’s done. It’s nothing. It’s fine.
Finefinefinefine.

But it wasn’t. And he knew that.

His teeth hurt from clenching too hard, his jaw ached, his chest burned. He told himself he was just tired, that adrenaline could do weird things. People hallucinate when they panic, right? Right. That had to be it. He was human, humans make mistakes. He must’ve been seeing things. And yet… the nausea wouldn’t go away. The taste in his mouth was copper and acid, and his stomach kept folding in on itself. He wanted to scrub his tongue clean. He wanted to wash his skin until it stopped feeling like something had touched him and stayed there. He hated how weak it made him feel. Hated that he couldn’t stop shaking. Hated that his thoughts circled the same dead-end loop: It’s not real. / But what if it was? / Stop thinking about it. / You can’t.

He wanted to punch a wall, scream, hit something solid. The worst part was the confusion. The part of him that wanted to believe. The one that whispered maybe it wasn’t all wrong, maybe there was some part of it that was him, was Sunny, and that thought alone made Kel’s throat close. He couldn’t bear it. The image twisted in his mind, and the shame hit so deep it made him dizzy. He wanted to rip that part out of himself, the part that felt anything other than disgust. Because disgust was safe. Disgust made sense. If he could just hold onto that, if he could hate it, hate what he saw, hate what it made him feel, then maybe he could stay clean. Maybe he could stay himself.

But there was no clean left. Everything inside him felt dirty, violated by something invisible. He didn’t trust his senses anymore. Didn’t trust his memory. Didn’t trust the way his own name sounded in his head. His body was shaking again. He pressed his palms together hard enough to hurt, nails digging into skin, desperate to feel something real. The pain helped. A little. The tremor eased, just barely. Kel stared into the dark, eyes glassy, breaths shallow, waiting for the world to feel solid again. It didn’t.

And deep down, in the place he wouldn’t dare look directly, a small voice kept whispering:

You saw right.
You saw right.
You saw right.

Sunny was sitting at the kitchen table, the house eerily silent around them. He looked even smaller than usual, drowning in the borrowed sweatshirt and sweatpants Kel had dug out. His shoulders slumped forward, head bowed, one hand gripped tight around a cup of microwaved soup. Kel moved quietly around the room, searching cabinets, fridge, shelves, trying to find something that would satisfy the gnawing pit in Sunny's stomach.

The sound of the fridge opening was sharp in the silent kitchen, jolting Kel mid-search. He spun around, heart leaping, expecting to see Sunny still at the table, but he wasn’t there. The chair was empty, its legs slightly skewed, one still rocking faintly as if he’d only just stood up.

Kel’s chest tightened. “...Sunny?”

The fridge door glowed faintly in the dark, its pale light spilling across the tile like cold water. Sunny stood in the middle of it, barefoot. His fingers curled around the door handle, knuckles white. His other hand, Kel’s eyes hesitated to follow, was wrapped around a dripping piece of raw meat, the pink marbled surface glistening under the light.

Kel’s breath caught in his throat. “Sunny, hey, what the hell are you—”

Sunny didn’t flinch. Didn’t look startled or guilty. Just… there. Still. His face was too blank to read, eyes glassy and distant, a faint tremor in his jaw like he was fighting to stay conscious, or fighting not to. And then he bit into it.

The sound was small, wet. Flesh tearing.

Kel froze. His stomach flipped so hard he thought he might vomit. He couldn’t look away; couldn’t even blink. Sunny’s teeth sank in deeper, and for one horrible moment Kel swore he heard the faint suction of breath as he chewed, slow and desperate, like a starving animal that had forgotten how to eat properly. Blood streaked down his wrist, sliding over his sleeve, pooling at the bend of his elbow.

“Sunny, stop,” Kel rasped, but his voice cracked halfway through, breaking into something useless.

Sunny didn’t stop. He tore another piece free, smaller this time, his lips parting just enough to breathe between bites. His chest rose and fell too quickly, the rhythm unsteady, and his good eye, wide and unfocused, never left the open fridge, as if the hunger came from the light itself. Kel’s heart hammered against his ribs. The air stank of iron. Every instinct screamed to pull him away, to grab him, shake him, do something, but his body wouldn’t move.

Kel finally forced his legs to move. He crossed the kitchen in two fast strides, words tripping over his tongue. “Sunny, please, hey, stop, you’re gonna get sick—”

Sunny’s head snapped toward him. For an instant the light caught his face, his chin slick, his lips red, pupil blown wide. There was no malice there, but no recognition either. Just hunger wearing his friend’s face.

Kel stopped dead in his tracks.

Sunny swallowed. His throat moved slow, deliberate. Then, quieter than the hum of the fridge, he whispered, “It’s warm.”

Kel’s breath hitched.

Sunny blinked once, like waking from a trance, then glanced down at the mess in his hands, the streaks across his clothes. The silence that followed stretched thin, unbearable. His shoulders twitched, a tremor running through him, and the raw meat slipped from his grip, landing on the tile with a wet sound. Sunny looked up, his mouth parted as if to say something but no words came.

Sunny had moved until the air shifted, until that faint warmth ghosted across the back of his neck.

He froze.

A breath. Then another.

Soft, drawn-out, almost curious.

Sunny was close. Too close.

Kel’s pulse thundered in his ears, the sound so loud it drowned everything else. His throat locked, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Every nerve screamed run, but his body had already chosen paralysis. He felt the air stir again, shallow inhales, a quiet exhale that brushed the fine hairs at his nape. Then came the faintest sound, not quite a sniff, not quite a sigh. A tremor went through Kel’s whole body.

Sunny was smelling him.

Slowly, methodically, like he was memorizing him through scent alone.

His nose bumped against Kel's neck, then his cheek, his lips. A low shiver ran down Kel's spine, but he didn't move, barely dared to breathe. He could feel the cold radiating off Sunny now, so near it was dizzying.

Kel’s entire body was a live wire. Every breath Sunny took, cold, shaky, too close, sent a jolt down his spine like lightning striking the same place repeatedly. His skin burned where Sunny’s nose brushed it, a thousand times more intense than any slap or shove he’d ever taken on the court. Something deep in his bones knew this closeness wasn’t wrong, even if every rational part of him screamed that it should be. That this wasn't normal. That no one should stand behind you smelling your skin like you were food, like home, like salvation all at once.

But Kel didn’t pull away.

Because part of him, a quiet, secret thing he’d buried under basketballs and dumb jokes and loud laughs meant to fill silence, had dreamed about this moment. He wanted to turn around so badly his muscles ached with restraint.

He wanted to grab Sunny's face.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to cry.

Most of all, he wanted to kiss him.

And that scared him more than any monster in the woods ever could.

So he stayed frozen instead, the kind of stillness born not from fear alone but from the terror of wanting something too much… 

something broken… 

something sacred... 

Something that felt terrifyingly right even as everything else fell apart around them.

The kitchen light flickered overhead, one brief flash, and in that split second of darkness, Kel felt warm fingers graze his wrist,

small,

shaking,

begging

for what?

Comfort? Forgiveness? Permission?

His name slipped out in barely more than an exhale: 

“...Kel.”

Not “Hey jerk.”

Just...

“Kel.”

And gods help him

he almost turned around just then—

but fear won first

Just long enough to keep both their hearts breaking just a little longer

That's when he noticed the chill of Sunny's skin, almost icy in contrast. He was still standing close, too close, and in that moment, without thinking, Kel pulled Sunny into a hug. He felt his friend stiffen for half a heartbeat before finally relaxing, head resting heavily against his shoulder, breath warm through the thin fabric of Kel's shirt. It was then that Kel noticed the faint smear of red on Sunny's lip.

Kel’s breath caught.

And the scent, coppery, faint but undeniable, rose into the space between them when Sunny exhaled against his shoulder. Kel didn’t let go of him, he couldn’t, but his arms tensed instinctively around that small frame, fingers pressing just slightly into Sunny’s back like he could keep him together through sheer force alone.

His voice came out low, hoarse with fear:

“…Did you eat it?”

Kel wanted to know what it tasted like.

He pushed that thought down hard before it could grow teeth and claw its way out loud where they both might hear it, and instead held Sunny tighter, burying half his face in the boy's damp hair, the smell of lake water and earth filling his nose, and whispered:

"…We gotta fix this."

Sunny didn't answer. His head remained heavy against Kel's shoulder, a small, silent weight Kel was now sure he wouldn't survive losing. His face was tilted slightly to the side, lips parted, breath coming in shallow bursts, and for just a moment, a half-second, he felt Sunny's tongue brush the side of his neck. A shiver went through him again, harder this time, like a current tracing the length of his spine, and he almost pulled away from that faint touch.

He wanted to shove Sunny away, to demand what the hell that was, but the thought of moving, of breaking the fragile stillness between them, felt unbearable. So he stayed still. Pretended it hadn’t happened. He told himself he imagined it. He had to have imagined it. His nerves were shot, his brain short-circuiting after the night they’d just had. That was all. Hallucinations. Shock. Just… noise in his head.

Sunny’s breath brushed his skin again, and Kel’s throat tightened.

No. Don’t think about it. Don’t see it. Don’t remember the thing in the woods, the way it moved, the way its body bent wrong, the way it looked at him with his face. Don’t remember the sound it made when it reached out. That wasn’t Sunny. This was. This was his friend. The person he’d spent years protecting, chasing after, yelling at, laughing with. This wasn’t some thing out of the dark. It couldn’t be. Kel closed his eyes, forced a shaky breath through his nose, and pressed his palm against Sunny’s arm. His fingers brushed fabric, solid, real, familiar. He clung to that. The feel of it. The warmth. Anything that proved this wasn’t still part of that nightmare.

“You’re okay,” he muttered, half to himself, half to Sunny. “You’re okay, man. It’s fine. You’re fine.” He wanted the words to sound convincing, but they cracked halfway through, splitting under the weight of everything he didn’t believe.

Sunny shifted slightly against him, and Kel felt his nose skim the side of his neck again, almost tender. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or something worse.

“Stop it,” Kel whispered, barely audible. “You’re just… cold, right? Just tired. That’s all.”

He swallowed hard, trying to force calm into his pulse, into his voice, into the lie. But his heartbeat betrayed him, each thud loud enough to feel, each breath trembling at the edge of panic. Sunny breathed him in again, slow, deep, almost reverent, and Kel’s chest constricted. He kept his eyes open this time, staring blankly at the far wall, refusing to move. If he didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t see, then none of this would mean anything.

He could erase it.

He could pretend this was still the boy he knew.

He had to.

Because the alternative, the possibility that something else had come back wearing Sunny’s skin was too big, too cruel, too impossible to face.

So Kel stayed still, shaking, eyes fixed on nothing, whispering again under his breath, a desperate mantra between them:

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay…”