Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cal wasn’t looking for anything that day. Just air. The kind that smelled like rain and iron. The kind you had to walk a mile for.

The woods behind Miller’s farm were quiet as a church after dark. Only the crows talked, and even they sounded tired. He liked it that way. The stillness fit him. Nothing asked questions there.

The path bent around an old barbed-wire fence and dipped into a hollow where the trees grew close enough to shut out the sun. The ground was soft, like it had been turned recently. He almost slipped on it.

That’s when he saw the boot.

Just one at first, sticking out of the dirt, toe pointing to heaven like it was giving a signal. The leather was cracked and pale. He thought maybe a deer hunter lost it. Then he saw the rest of the leg, and the color went out of everything.

He didn’t move for a long minute. Just watched the flies lifting off and settling again. A man lay half-buried, arms crossed funny, face gone gray. Looked about forty, maybe less before it happened. The shirt was torn. The smell wasn’t the kind you forget. Sweet and heavy. A meat-market dumpster smell.

Cal crouched down, not close enough to touch, but near enough to see maggots writhing and rolling off the body. The eyes were open a little, like the man was still trying to see who did it. Cal almost said sorry out loud, but the word caught behind his teeth.

He studied the scene like a photograph. Not with fear, not exactly. More like a student looking at a lesson nobody wanted to teach. The woods felt different now—closer, listening.

After a while he stood, brushed the dirt from his knees, and looked around. No footprints except his. Whoever had done it was long gone. Maybe no one did it. Maybe he just died.

Cal told himself he should tell someone. Sheriff, maybe. But the thought of people crowding this quiet place with sirens and questions made his stomach turn. The man wasn’t going anywhere. He was part of the earth now. The worms would take care of what the world couldn’t.

So Cal turned back the way he came. The crows started up again, louder this time. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the path. When he reached the fence line, he looked once over his shoulder. The trees were already swallowing the hollow, like they’d decided to keep their secret.

He figured they would, but he wanted to share this new secret with Rachel and Andre.

He told them it was just a walk. Said the air was good out that way. Andre could throw his knives if he wanted. Rachel could smoke. He made it sound like a picnic for misfits.
They bought it easy enough.

The morning had burned off into a slow, gray noon. The ground was soft from last night’s rain, and their shoes made that sucking noise with every step. Andre complained the whole way—said it was too far, too cold, too wet. Rachel just kept close to Cal, incessantly flicking her lighter, snapping it open and shut like a nervous tic.

“We're close,” Cal said once. That was all.

When they reached the fence line, the smell hit first. Heavy and warm, like bad soup left on a stove. Flies made a low hum that seemed to come from everywhere. Rachel gagged before she saw anything.

“What the hell is that?” Andre asked, voice tight behind his sleeve.

They stepped into the hollow, and the answer was waiting for them. The man obviously hadn’t moved. He looked smaller in the daylight. The skin had gone a strange color—yellow around the edges, dark in the middle. The maggots had started their work.

Rachel turned and ran to a tree, retching hard. Andre muttered something low, pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. Cal just stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the flies rise and fall in small clouds.

“Jesus Christ,” Andre said, crouching near the body. “You didn’t say it was a person.”

Cal shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters,” Rachel snapped, wiping her mouth. “God, Cal, what’s wrong with you?”

He looked at her, not angry, just puzzled. “Nothing. He’s dead. Can’t hurt anybody.”

Andre tossed a stone near the corpse and watched the flies burst up again. “You’re a sick bastard sometimes,” he said, half-smiling, half-serious.

Cal didn’t answer. He was studying the way the sunlight caught the edge of the man’s boot, the way the earth seemed to be swallowing him inch by inch. There was something peaceful in it, something honest.

Rachel said she was going back. Andre followed her after a minute. Cal stayed until their voices faded up the trail. He listened to the flies a while longer, then crouched down and traced a line in the dirt with a stick.

“Guess they’ll find you sooner or later,” he said to the body. “Hope it’s somebody gentle.”

Then he dropped the stick, turned, and started after his friends. The hum of the flies followed him as they walked.

They didn’t talk for the first half mile. The air still carried that smell, faint but clinging, like smoke after a fire. Rachel kept wiping at her face of tears. Andre kicked stones down the path. Cal walked ahead between them, hands in his jacket pockets.

When they hit the main trail, Rachel finally spoke, “We have to tell somebody.”

Her voice cracked halfway through. She wasn’t crying, not yet, but it was close.

Cal didn’t look at her. “Tell them what? Some bum’s dead in the woods? They’ll send a couple deputies, take pictures, zip him up. That’s it.”

“That’s something,” she said. “He was a person.”

Cal gave a short laugh. “Was.”

Andre grinned at that, low and sharp. “She’s real tender-hearted today. Probably thinks the guy’s family’s out there lighting candles or something.”

“Shut up, Andre,” she said.

He didn’t. “I’m just saying, he’s in the ground now. That’s where we all end up. Better than being pumped full of chemicals and boxed up like leftovers.”

Rachel stopped walking, arms folded tight. “You’re disgusting.”

Cal's stomach clenched.

Andre shrugged. “It’s natural. You should be thanking the maggots for recycling.”

Cal finally turned around. “He’s right.”

Rachel stared at him, eyes wide and red. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” he said. “He’s part of the dirt now. Probably the cleanest he’s ever been.”

Andre laughed, loud enough to startle a bird from a tree. Rachel looked like she might hit one of them, then just turned away and kept walking. Her shoes scuffed the path hard.

“You’re both insane,” she muttered.

Cal watched her for a moment, then said, “Nobody cared about him when he was alive. Why start now?”

That shut things up for a while. The woods opened to the field behind Miller’s farm, where the grass bent under the wind like a tide. The sun was dropping low. Rachel walked ahead without looking back. The air had gone thick by the time they reached the road. Rachel said she was walking home. Cal told her she was being stupid.

“It’s a mile and a half in the sun,” he said. “No shade. No shoulder.”

“I’ll manage,” she said, not looking at him.

Andre jingled his keys. “Get in the car, psycho. You’ll fry out here.”

Rachel laughed almost maniacally. “I’d rather walk than sit with you two freaks.”

Cal’s jaw tightened. “Stop it. Just get in.”

She kept walking down the gravel edge, shoes crunching. The sun caught her hair and made it look like fire. Cal watched her go for a few steps, then swore under his breath and followed.

“Rachel,” he said, catching up. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid. You are. You found a dead man and your first thought was to drag us back there like it’s some kind of show.”

“It’s not a big deal," Cal insisted desperately.

“It is a big deal! I’m calling the cops when I get home.”

Cal stopped walking. “No, you’re not.”

She turned on him. “Yes, I am.”

Something in him snapped at that. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe the sound of the flies still buzzing in his head. “You don’t get it,” he said, louder than he meant to. “You tell them, they’ll think we did it. You want them tearing up my house? Asking my dad questions? Finding more weed? Violating my probation?”

Andre stepped between them, palms out. “Easy, man. None of that is gonna happen, you're just freaking out.”

Cal’s breathing came fast. He looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but his voice was gone. Rachel crossed her arms and stared at the road.

Andre sighed. “Let her call. She’s got that hero complex. Can’t save herself or anyone else, so she’ll try to save some corpse.” He looked at Rachel. “Go ahead, make your call. World’s already full of nihilistic assholes like us. Somebody's gotta do do the right thing once in a while.”

Rachel blinked, unsure if it was an insult or not. She turned and walked toward the car without another word. Andre grinned, just a flicker towards Cal as they opened each of their doors.

Chapter Text

School felt wrong the next morning. Too bright. Too loud. The halls smelled like floor wax and burnt coffee. Cal kept his head down, walking slow, like every face knew something he didn’t.

Rachel wasn’t at her locker. That was the first sign. The second was the way Andre was sitting by the stairwell, waiting.

“You hear?” he asked.

Cal didn’t answer.

“She told Mr. Parker. Said you found a body and didn’t call it in.”

Cal’s throat went dry.

Andre continued, all too comfortable with Cal's one-sided conversational style. “The cops are here and they’re gonna want to talk to us.”

It hit like a punch that didn’t land right. Just air, but enough to knock the breath out of Cal.

When the boys joined Rachel in the office, they felt a sense of dread. The officers asked simple questions — what they were doing in the woods, who found it first, why they hadn’t called it in. Cal kept his voice even. Said he thought someone else would report it. Andre backed him up, smooth as ever. Rachel sat there pale, hands twisting in her lap, eyes darting between them.

Afterward, the teachers whispered, and the kids stared harder. Cal wanted to vanish. He could feel the trust cracking under his skin, like glass about to break.

At lunch, Andre found him again, tray untouched, staring out the window at the football field.

“She sold you out, man,” Andre said. “You get that, right? You keep defending her, you’ll end up the one they blame.”

Cal didn’t answer. He could still see her face from that morning, the look she gave him in the hallway, half sorry, half scared.

Andre leaned closer. “You think she likes you? She doesn’t. Girls like that never like guys like us. They just play the part till it gets ugly.”

Cal felt something twist in his chest, sharp and mean.

“She put your name in a cop’s notebook,” Andre said, voice low and calm. “That’s all you are to her now. A name in a report.”

Cal rubbed at his temple. “I just… I don’t get why she did it.”

“Because she thinks she’s better,” Andre said. “They always do.” He paused, clearing his throat. “You shouldn’t let her walk around smiling like that after what she pulled.”

Cal looked over at Rachel. She was sitting with her usual crowd. The clean kind, the ones who talked loud and laughed even louder. For a minute, they looked almost normal again. She laughed at something one of the guys said, and the sound of it reached him like a ghost through all the noise in the cafeteria. Then one of the girls noticed him watching. She leaned over, whispered something into Rachel’s ear, eyes locked on Cal the whole time. Rachel stiffened. Didn’t look at him. Just pushed her tray aside and said something he couldn’t hear.

He turned away, pretending he didn’t see it. But the silence that followed carried. Everyone knew what he had done to cause her to cut him off. Everyone knew shit was over and now they knew why.

By next period, the whispers had shape. By the end of the day, they had teeth.

"Sick fuck probably touched it.” So what if I did?
“Corpsefucker!” It smelled far too bad for that.
“Go to the morgue yet?" Stupid slut. Maybe you'll end up there soon if you keep drunk driving.
“You two circle jerk to crime scene photos or what?"That's more of a personal hobby.
“Maggot boy!” Not a bad nickname honestly.
And there were the easy ones of course — the homophobic slurs, the old standbys that never got stale.

Andre took it worse than he did, snapping back with jokes that only made it worse. Cal tried to keep his head down. It didn’t help. The laughter followed him anyway, echoing their mockery long after school had ended.

When he got home, his mother didn’t mention it. She just asked how school was, and he said fine. She told him he had to see his probation officer. Ms. Rayner. She always kept her office warm, too warm, like she thought she could melt the edge off people just by temperature alone. She had a lava lamp on her desk and a poster of a forest waterfall on the wall, faded from the sun. Always burned something that made the place smell like an old record store like sandalwood and patchouli. Things his mom said only weirdos use.

“How’s school?” she asked, crossing her legs. She was barefoot again. She never wore shoes in the office and Cal never saw a reason to complain.

He shrugged. “Same.”

“That doesn’t mean much coming from you.”

“People are saying stuff.”

“They always do,” she said softly. “Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He liked the way she said things like that; simple, like a truth you didn’t have to earn. She had this calm about her that no one else did. Sometimes he wondered what she’d been like when she was his age. Probably the kind of person who read poetry and didn’t laugh at the wrong things.

He looked at her a little too long, maybe. She smiled, that patient, teacher smile. “You doing okay, Cal?”

“I guess.”

“Good. You’ve been staying out of trouble. I can tell you’ve been trying.”

He wanted to tell her about the woods. About the flies and the stillness and the way Rachel looked when she told. But it stayed stuck somewhere in his throat.

As if reading his mind, she asked, her voice calm as a slow song, “I heard you found something in the woods.”

Cal stared at a crack in the floor tile. “Yeah.”

“You told the officers it was a dead man?”

He nodded.

“And you took your friends to see it.”

Another nod. The pen clicked twice.

“I’m just curious,” Rayner said. “Why’d you do that?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You didn’t think finding a corpse was a big deal?” Her voice didn’t rise, not even a little. She could’ve been asking about homework. That’s what made her dangerous, she never sounded shocked.

“I mean… he was already dead,” Cal said. “It’s not like I killed him or anything.”

Rayner tilted her head, studying him like a specimen she didn’t want to scare off. “You seem interested in things like that. Death, violence… the darker stuff. Is that fair to say?”

He gave a crooked little smile. “You make it sound bad.”

“It’s not bad to be curious,” she said. “It’s just about what you do with that curiosity.”

Cal didn’t answer. His fingernail dug into a scab on his hand until it started to sting.

“What about your friends?” she asked after a while. “Rachel and Andre. How did they react when you showed them?”

He almost laughed. “Rachel puked. Andre thought it was… interesting.”

“Interesting,” she repeated.

“He gets it,” Cal said. “He’s not freaked out by stuff like that.”

Rayner leaned forward a little. “And Rachel?”

Cal’s smile disappeared. “She told the teacher. Got the cops involved. Thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Do you think she was?”

He looked at her, eyes narrow. “She made everything worse.”

“Sounds like you feel betrayed.”

“I don’t care,” he said too fast. “I’m done with her.”

She wrote something down, slow and neat. “And Andre?”

He softened again, his voice almost fond. “Andre’s different. He doesn’t judge. He’s real.”

“You trust him.”

He nodded. “More than anyone.”

Rayner watched him for a long moment, pen still. “Sometimes,” she said, “we hold onto people who make us feel understood, even if they pull us somewhere darker. You ever think about that?”

He looked at her, looked away and then really looked. Her hair was tied back, streaked with silver, and her eyes had that tired kindness teachers used to fake before they gave up on him. He wondered if she could tell how much he liked her voice. How it made everything feel slower, quieter.

She smiled, but not the kind that reached her eyes. “Cal, promise me something. If Andre ever asks you to do something that doesn’t feel right… you’ll think about it first.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched the incense smoke curl toward the ceiling like a ghost that didn’t know where else to go.

Less than two hours later, Andre just showed up at Cal's house, but waited in his car. Usually he would let himself in since the place was his second home, but he wasn't in the mood for whatever refreshments Cal's mom would provide. He looked serious, engine running, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The sound was steady, metronomic as he wound himself up. When Cal got out of his dad's car, Andre rolled the window down halfway.

“Get in,” he said.

There wasn’t any argument in it. Cal understood a command when he heard one.

He slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like old fast food and vinyl baking in the heat. Andre was wearing his black hoodie even though it was too warm for it, his hair hanging in his eyes. He didn’t look at Cal when he pulled out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” Cal asked.

Andre smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll see.”

The car rolled through the neighborhood, tires whispering against the road. Cal felt that strange hum in the back of his skull again, the one that came whenever Andre got quiet for too long. Something was going to happen. He could feel it.

He remembered what his probation officer said: If Andre ever asks you to do something that doesn’t feel right… think about it first.

But Andre wasn’t asking. He was driving.

After a while, Andre started talking. Not really to Cal, just spilling words like smoke.

“You ever notice,” he said, “how girls think they’re the center of everything? Like, you’re supposed to care what they feel. Like it matters.”

Cal didn’t respond.

Andre glanced at him, grin crooked. “Rachel played you, Cal. Don’t act like she didn’t. Girls like her, they get off on making you care and then stepping on it. It’s a game. That’s all it ever is.”

Cal stared out the window, watching the trees slide by in streaks of green. His stomach turned, but not from the motion.

Andre kept talking, voice getting lower. “Love’s a lie, anyway. You think anyone really gives a shit? You die, they bury you, maybe someone posts a sad little thing online, and then that’s it. Gone. Nobody remembers. Nobody matters.”

The car hummed on.

“Only reason to stick around,” Andre said, “is to do something that cuts through the noise. Otherwise you’re just another ghost walking around pretending you’ve got time.”

Cal wanted to say something, that maybe that wasn’t true, that maybe someone cared, or his mom did, or somebody somewhere — but the words just sat in his throat, heavy and useless.

So he nodded, like he always did.

Andre smiled again, faintly. “That’s why I like you, man. You get it.”

Cal watched the road stretch out ahead and wondered if maybe this was what it felt like right before something catastrophic, the calm that waited for its cue.

Andre kept talking, words tumbling faster now. Sharp, venomous, like he’d been saving them up. “Girls ruin everything,” he said. “They pretend to care, but it’s just so they can watch you crawl. You give them your time, your head, your heart, and they feed it to the dogs. You know what you get for loving one?” He laughed to himself. “Nothing. You get laughed at. You get used.”

Cal barely heard him. There was something else... a stench. It wasn’t just the usual stale food stench the car always carried. It was sweeter, heavier. Like copper and rot. His stomach twisted.

He swallowed. “What’s that smell?”

Andre smirked. “Ran over something on the way here. Cat, I think. Picked it up. Figured we could use it.”

“Use it for what?”

Andre didn’t answer. The road ahead was dark now, the sun long gone. The houses were spaced farther apart, the air cooler. Cal recognized the turn too late. They were heading toward Rachel’s neighborhood.

He felt his pulse quicken. “Why are we—”

“Relax,” Andre said. “She’s out. Said she’d be at Applebee’s for her birthday, remember? Family thing.”

The car rolled to a quiet stop down the street from her house. All the windows were dark.

Andre leaned into the back seat, rummaging. Cal heard metal clink against metal before Andre pulled out a hammer and dropped it into his lap.

“Happy birthday to Rachel,” Andre said in a singsong voice.

Cal froze. “What the hell is this for?”

Andre grinned, eyes bright in the dim dashboard light. “You forgot to get her something. So we're giving her a gift.”

He got out, popped the trunk, and Cal heard the rustle of a trash bag. The smell came at him harder this time, thick and sickly. Andre slung the bag over his shoulder and motioned for Cal to follow, cocking his head toward the front walk.

Cal hesitated. The hammer was still in his hand. It felt heavier than it should've.

“Come on,” Andre hissed. “Don’t pussy out now. She wants a present, we’ll give her one.”

They crossed the lawn. The house loomed up, silent and still, porch light off. The night pressed in tight, full of cricket-song and the far-off hum of traffic. Andre knelt by the front step and pulled something from the bag — small, matted, fur stiffened with dirt and blood. Roadkill, old and dry enough that it didn’t even look real anymore.

“Hold the hammer,” Andre said.

Cal stared. He couldn’t breathe.

“C’mon,” Andre said softly. “It’s just a symbol. She thinks we’re freaks anyway."

Cal didn’t feel like himself anymore. Just a pair of hands watching from somewhere far away. He lifted the hammer because it was easier than thinking. The sound that followed wasn’t loud, more like a hollow tap on wood as he held the nails in place and tapped the tool against them. They pierced through each ulna and radius with ease since the sinew between them was either rotted or completely gone, making some of the bones visible.

He became suddenly focused on how close Andre was to him as he helped hold up the carcass, how focused he was on watching Cal use the hammer, his breathing. The fact that they could get caught doing something unthinkable, it all felt too intimate. He felt himself starting to get aroused.

When they were done, Andre stepped back, satisfied, but Cal clung to the dead animal a moment longer. The thing on the porch looked unrecognizable like some fucked up art project. It was something abandoned, but now nailed in place so it had to be dealt with by someone.

“She'll love it,” Andre said, smiling faintly.

Cal thought about what Andre had said. About the ghosts walking around pretending they’ve got time. About people who use and call it love.

He didn’t say anything. His fingers were bloody.

The two of them walked back to the car in silence.

Chapter Text

Cal hadn’t even made it to his locker before he saw her. Rachel stood near the water fountain, face pale, eyes red from crying. When she spotted him, it was like something inside her snapped.

“You think that was funny?” she yelled, loud enough to turn heads. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cal froze, backpack half-slung off one shoulder. The hallway went still except for squeaking footsteps against linoleum.

She pushed him, not hard but enough to make him stumble. “You nailed a dead animal to my house! My favorite animal! On my birthday!” Her voice cracked on the last word.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

People were whispering now. Phones out and recording. Laughter starting somewhere near the lockers.

Then Andre’s voice cut through it all—low, calm, dangerous. “Hey. Back off.”

Rachel turned on him, tears streaking her makeup. “You! You’re the reason he’s like this. You’ve been poisoning him for months, filling his head with your sick garbage. You’re ruining him!”

Andre smiled the way he always did when he wanted to make someone feel small. “That’s cute. You want to blame me because he finally stopped chasing you around like a dog. Are you seriously mad we helped you puke up your birthday dinner?”

Rachel’s mouth trembled. She tried to speak, but no words came. The hall felt colder.

Andre took a step forward, voice soft but sharp. “You done?”

She blinked fast, then turned back to Cal. “You really want to spend your life as his sidekick? His little shadow? Go ahead. Just don’t act surprised when it ends bad. Because it will.”

The bell rang again, louder this time. Teachers were coming out of classrooms.

Cal just stood there, staring at the floor tiles, feeling the heat rise to his ears. Somewhere behind him, Andre laughed dismissively.

The boys had to part ways for the next forty five minutes. Cal slid into his seat like a shadow, trying to disappear behind the back row.

It didn’t work. The nicknames hadn’t stopped.

“Corpsefucker!” someone hissed from across the room.

“Hey, Maggot boy, you fucking roadkill now?” another asked, hucking a crumpled paper ball at his head.

He didn’t flinch. Not at first.

A pencil rolled across the floor. Someone kicked it under his chair.

“Bet you got diseases no one's ever heard of,” another voice added, and the class snickered.

Cal’s chest tightened, but he kept his head down. The teacher’s eyes flicked to him once, then back to the blackboard, like the rumors had already confirmed everything the man thought about him: disgusting, dangerous, irredeemable.

He wanted to speak. To yell back. But the words caught in his throat, heavy and useless. Just like he wanted to be, swinging from a rope somewhere.

A third paper ball sailed past, barely missing his ear. He glanced up. A few kids were grinning at him, daring him to react.

The teacher didn’t look. Didn’t intervene. Probably already knew the story about the dead bum, the dead cat. He’d heard the gossip. Cal wasn’t surprised. Authority never helped. By the end of the period, Cal felt like he’d been submerged in ice water. Every joke, every sneer, every whispered comment scraped at him, layer by layer. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak, didn't write down a single thing or read a damn word. Just waited for the bell, for anything that might let him escape.

He thought about Andre. About the way Andre’s voice cut through the hatred like a shield. Andre wasn’t here, but Cal could still feel the phantom weight of his presence. He could almost hear him laughing at the chaos, the way he always did when Cal froze in the hall or tolerated the cruelty: This is nothing, dude. Wait until it’s real.

Cal smirked to himself.

Wait until they're the ones frozen with nothing to say. Wait until they're begging us to let them live or die. Like we are their gods.

The bell finally rang. Cal packed his books slowly, methodically, letting the whispers haunt him until he stepped out into the corridor that smelled faintly of disinfectant and fear. He imagined what it would sound like if everyone was running, panicked, their screams echoing off the bloodied tile walls.

Cal slipped into the back of the classroom, Andre already there, leaning against the windowsill. The camcorder sat on the desk between them, its lens catching the harsh fluorescent lights.

They didn’t speak at first. Just looked at each other, two shadows in a world that had made them small.

Andre whispered, “Did you hear them today?”

Cal nodded. His stomach churned. Every insult, every paper ball, every laugh followed him here.

“Good,” Andre said, voice low. “They’re talking. That’s all we need.”

Cal picked up the camcorder. The weight was familiar, comforting in a way. His parents had spent years recording birthdays, holidays, little nothing moments. Now it was going to capture something else. Something bigger.

Andre crouched over the desk, scribbling numbers and words on a piece of notebook paper. “We need every detail. Timers, routes, faces. They won’t see it coming because we're just ghosts. Just shadows on the wall.”

Cal’s fingers traced the camcorder buttons. They were directing and this would be the movie where nobody was performing. Just grim reality. Their little home movies had always been a world where they had control. Now that world was bleeding into reality.

“The thing is,” Andre said, “this isn’t just for fun anymore. They’ve made it personal. All of them. Teachers, kids, the ones who call us names, laugh at us… they’re the extras. The scenery. Zero Day is our reel, Cal. Our perfect take.”

Cal’s heart thumped against his ribs, fast and steady. The nausea, the adrenaline, it all mixed into a single, sharp clarity. He could almost hear the whisper of tape rolling inside the camcorder, the faint click as it captured every moment of their preparation and the final act.

“And remember,” Andre added, leaning close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “every move we make, every angle we film, we stay invisible. They can’t know. Not even Rachel.”

Cal nodded. Not a question, not a hesitation. Just acceptance.

Outside the classroom, the hallway moved on, a blur of colors and sound. But in the back corner of the classroom, it was just them, their camcorder, and the war they had been born into. A war that had been planned for years in the quiet shadows of their own making. The day dragged on as people hurled insults Cal's way and tried to do shit like trip him in the halls.

The world outside the school walls was fading into the gold of late afternoon as Cal and Andre set the camcorder on a makeshift tripod in the corner of Andre’s garage. Cal adjusted the focus, lens catching the way Andre’s hair fell into his eyes. It was getting a bit long now and it was annoying him. Cal wondered if he'd get a haircut for Zero Day.

Andre didn’t sit. He stood, arms crossed, pacing slowly, as if the room itself were a stage for his monologue.

“You know why no one gives a shit?” he started, eyes flicking to the lens. “Because everyone’s too busy pretending they matter. Family, friends, school, careers… all distractions. Noise. They don’t see the truth.”

Cal held the camcorder steady, nodding slowly. He had heard this before, countless times, but there was something mesmerizing about the way Andre said it. Not like a speech, more like prophecy.

“The world,” Andre continued, “it’s designed to chew you up if you don’t learn to stay invisible. Or fight. Or laugh at it. Everyone’s soft. Fragile. Everything they hold onto is fake. And the second it breaks, they crumble.”

Cal adjusted the tripod again, zooming in on Andre’s hands. The faint smudge of dirt under his nails, the way his shirt stretched tight over his shoulders, he could watch every detail and it didn't seem gay.

“And don’t think sympathy is going to save you,” Andre said, voice low and deliberate. “People like them don’t understand. They never will. That’s why it’s us against the world, Cal. Always. No compromise.”

Cal exhaled, feeling that familiar shiver down his spine — part fear, part awe, part longing. Andre had already decided the rules of the world, and Cal just had to follow them.

“You ever wonder,” Andre said, leaning close to the lens, “why the world allows idiots like them to keep going? The liars, the fakes, the ones too scared to look at the truth? Because nobody else has the balls to. Nobody else can handle it. But we can. And we will.”

Cal didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Just kept the camera steady, catching the golden light on Andre’s face and the intensity in his eyes. The camcorder whirred softly, spinning the tape, immortalizing every word, every calculated pause, every silent threat woven into the rhetoric.

Andre stepped closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Someday… someday they’ll see. And they’ll wish they’d listened. Every last one of them. Right up until their last breath.”

Cal nodded, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t say it, but he thought it: I’ll follow you anywhere. Even to my death.

Outside, the day bled into dusk. The garage smelled faintly of oil and dust, and the camcorder hummed like Cal's pulse. Two boys, two shadows, capturing a world they didn’t belong to and planning to leave it behind. But not without taking their enemies with them.

Chapter Text

Cal sat cross-legged on Andre’s bedroom floor, the dim glow of the laptop screen painting the walls with a greenish hue. Empty soda cans and snack wrappers were scattered like debris from their afternoon “war game.”

Andre leaned over the keyboard, smirking. “You ever see the real stuff? Not just videos people joke about, but the ugly, messy corners of the internet?”

Cal swallowed. He hadn’t, not really. He had heard whispers, legends of sites where people posted things no one was supposed to see — “the kind of stuff that makes you question life,” Andre had said before.

Andre clicked through a few links, each page worse than the last. Crude images, gory accident reenactments, medical mishaps, the kind of scenes most people couldn’t look at for more than a second. Cal felt his stomach twist. His pulse raced, adrenaline mixing with the nausea curling in his gut.

"Why's there so much uh...poop?" Cal asked uneasily.

"I dunno. I guess some people are into that, or maybe they're being forced at gunpoint," Andre said dismissively, shrugging his shoulders as if it was no big deal.

Cal's eyes widened at the sights. His mouth twisted as each image flashed by. He was used to the fictional gore and blood of movies, but this was something else, something gritty and visceral, each photo seeming to dig under his skin.

Andre had a different reaction, a dark excitement. He watched Cal, the way he flinched, the way he tried not to look away. He was enjoying this way more than the games they had been playing on his bedroom floor.

“This is different,” Cal said, his voice a bit raspy.

Andre pulled up a video of a naked girl. It seemed to just be some porno, something that the two friends had seen together plenty of times. That's probably where things started to get confusing for Cal.

The girl went to lay on top of a man on the couch and started grinding against him. Then suddenly he pulled a plastic bag over her head. Andre's eyes widened and he couldn't sit still in his seat, turning to glance at Cal and laughing like they were just watching some Jackass video.

Cal swallowed hard, feeling the weight of something strange inside him — revulsion, curiosity, excitement. He shifted on the carpet, trying to make himself smaller, trying to make sense of the knot twisting inside his chest. His hands were fidgety, nervously rubbing his jeans. His heart was beating faster, as if the girl on screen was in that position with him.

Andre was no better. He leaned back in his chair, his smile wider than before. His eyes darted between the screen and Cal, watching his reaction more than the video playing. He was finding an odd thrill in Cal’s discomfort.

"She's hot. Shame she had to show her body in her final moments to the whole world," Andre sighed, clicking on more videos on the sidebar of that one in particular.

The next one was of a girl getting her throat slit and then guys taking turns making use of the wound. She let out this horrible wheeze just before the blood started pouring out. They were all speaking Spanish, so it was fair to assume where this video even came from.

Cal felt his face getting hot. His eyes were locked on the screen. His hands were gripping his cock through his jeans now, kneading at the growing erection. He winced at the sound the girl made before she was killed. It hit a nerve, yet he forced himself to stay still, to keep watching.

Andre seemed to be enjoying himself too, but not that much. He leaned back in his chair, almost like he was watching a good movie. "Crazy stuff you can find on here, huh?"

He finally looked down over at Cal and noticed what his hand was doing. He pretended not to notice as he looked for the next video to click on. Cal's face reddened, his hands suddenly still. He shifted in place, trying to hide the fact that he was getting hard.

Andre's smirk grew knowingly, but he kept his eyes forward. "You okay over there?" he asked, his voice low. "You're getting a little antsy." He clicked on another video, one that promised to be even more violent than the last.

Cal was lucky that up until now all these videos included women. It seemed like this website was dedicated to violence towards women specifically. It was set up like a porn site, but it only had horrific and humiliating things. Andre found a video that appeared to be in the midst of some war. They were speaking Russian or something.

A girl was in tears, begging her captors to let her go probably. She was made to lay on top of a dead man. Could've been her boyfriend, her brother, anyone really. Regardless, it was distressing to her. This was beyond just gory internet footage; it was a level of depravity and suffering that he never imagined seeing.

Andre's hands were now down his pants, his eyes glued to the screen, his face expressionless. He was transfixed as the scene unfolded into the captors forcing themselves on her while she laid face to face with the corpse.

Cal's jaw clenched. The video was a rollercoaster of emotions, each second more horrific than the last. Andre's movements caught his attention. His cheeks reddened further when he realized what was happening. He looked back at the screen, trying not to fixate on the wrong thing as he often did when they would jerk off.

The boy on the screen had the same dark look in his eyes as Andre. It was like Andre was already dead.

He was starting to understand why Cal looked at crime scene photos instead of Playboys.

Cal tried his best to keep watching. The depravity on screen was making his mouth water, but not as much as the thought of putting his mouth on Andre's cock. All he had to do was lean over. Cal wondered what it would be like to be an accident on the side of the road; something Andre couldn't help but look away from.

He was starting to get hard again, his jeans getting tighter. He could feel Andre's eyes on him, knew that his friend was watching keenly. He didn't want to look over and admit how into this was. He tried to keep his face impassive.

Andre smirked, still pretending not to notice and reveling in how much control he had over Cal. He didn't have to say anything. Cal knew what to do. It was what they always did together and there was nothing gay about it. But this was different. This wasn't just porn; it was something else.

Something Andre knew Cal would like. Something he had no choice in liking because now he would always associate it with Andre and his short labored breaths and the strangled moan he couldn't help but let out when he was finally finished.

Cal couldn't deny the thrill he felt. The anticipation. He had to touch it.

He unzipped his pants. Andre glanced at him, that smug look still on his face, daring him to object.

Cal swallowed hard, hating himself for giving in again. He wasn't gay. The video was of a girl. All he had to do, was stay silent, and he would do whatever Andre wanted. "Just like a dog." He thought to himself bitterly, remembering Rachel's stupid bitch face briefly. Wanting her to be the sniveling pathetic victim in the video.

He was starting to get some very evil ideas for Zero Day.

Andre turned forward as Cal took himself out of his pants, still staring at the video, still pretending to be focused on it. He smirked as he heard Cal's breathing start to speed up. He was finally getting the reaction he wanted.

"Don't keep me waiting." He murmured, his voice low and rough. He could see how conflicted his friend was, how much it took for him to obey. But he knew that deep down, Cal liked it too. They were both sick in the head, and Andre loved pushing him to this point.

Cal felt heat spread through him at the command. It was humiliating, being reduced to this. Yet he couldn't ignore what he felt when Andre spoke to him like that. Like he always did, only this was different.

He bit back a moan as his hand began moving up and down, the images on screen burned into his mind. He hated himself for how much this was turning him on. He knew it was messed up. He knew it was wrong.

I hate when you make me do this. He thought, knowing Andre could see the strain in him. Just touch me yourself, god please.

Andre turned his chair so that Cal was sitting between his legs. He was selfishly stroking himself off, taunting the blonde mere inches from his face.

Andre chewed his lip, his dark eyes dead set on the other boy like a crosshair. As they continued in silence, he found himself wanting to paint Cal's face. He wondered what his lips felt like, but he remembered the braces. This would have to do until they were off.

Cal felt like he was being examined, like he was a specimen on display. He tried to look anywhere else in the room, but he could feel André's gaze on him, burning into him, making his skin crawl.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He was mere moments away from this being over, gasping softly and trying to keep himself quiet as his brows furrowed.

And then there was a fucking knock at the door.

Time seemed to slow down as each of the boys rushed to make themselves decent and Andre quickly closed out the browser window.

"What are you two doing in the dark?" Andre's mother inquired, her German accent clinging to each consonant as she flicked the light on.

They hadn't even noticed the sun had gone down.

"This has light," Andre told her, gesturing to the computer with an awkward grin.

"It's bad for your eyes to do that," his mother sidestepped his nonsense and moved onto telling them the important update. "You want to go out to eat?"

Andre was back to his normal cool and collected self. "As long as it's not pizza."

Chapter Text

Andre’s house always smelled faintly of dust and aftershave. His old man was gone most weekends, leaving the place still and heavy, like it had been sealed up for years.

Cal woke to the hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the soft clink of Andre stirring sugar into his coffee. Morning light slanted through the blinds in pale bars, striping the carpet with gold and shadow.

“Morning, soldier,” Andre muttered without looking up. He wore the same threadbare T-shirt from yesterday, one sleeve ripped at the seam.

Cal rubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. You sleep like the dead.”

“Fitting,” Cal said, forcing a half-smile.

Andre grinned, handing him a mug. “We should film something later. Maybe a bit for the archive.”

“Yeah,” Cal said, taking a slow sip and allowing the caffeine to wake him up.

They spent the next hour like any other weekend, flipping through channels, mocking the morning news, talking about things that never really mattered. Andre made sarcastic commentary about every headline: missing persons, local politics, a highway accident. Everything was a joke, and Cal laughed along, his eyes lingering too long on his friend.

After breakfast, they drifted outside. The air was crisp, the kind of morning that carried the smell of wet grass and far-off smoke.

“Still think the world’s worth saving?” Andre asked suddenly.

Cal shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth much of anything.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They walked toward the empty lot behind the neighborhood where they used to set off fireworks as kids. The weeds were taller now, the old picnic table half-rotted, beer cans rusting in the grass. Andre kicked one aside.

“You ever think about how all this’ll be gone one day?” he asked. “All the people, all the noise, just wiped clean. Like the world’s been waiting to start over.”

Cal didn’t answer right away. He looked at the horizon instead, where the sunlight bled into the gray sky.

“Sometimes I think that’s the only honest thing left,” he said quietly. "It's the only guarantee."

Andre laughed, low and pleased.

The old lot within walking distance from Andre's house had seen them through their formative years. Now it was just a place to smoke weed once in a while or still set off explosives. Andre always brought some with him, since he didn't much care for being high as much as Cal.

The two boys sat in their usual spot behind a decayed concrete structure that once housed a dumpster. Cal retrieved a long black plastic box from his bag. As he pulled it open, Andre could see a glass bowl, a grinder, and a row of greenish buds.

“You gonna let me roll it this time?” he asked, holding up the box.

Cal snorted as he twisted the grinder. “You’d let half of it fly away into the ether.”

Andre watched Cal roll, becoming almost transfixed by the meticulous motions of his hands, the way his tongue dragged slowly across the sticky part of the rolling paper before he pinched it up nice and tight. Perfect, as usual. Cal struck his lighter with a spark and took a long pull, holding the smoke in until his fingers were steady. He passed it to Andre, who took a few shallow drags before he took a good, solid breath in. The smoke rolled down his throat, smooth and comforting. He let it out a moment later in a long plume of yellowish smoke before he leaned his head back against the wall.

For a few minutes they sat in silence, both boys lost in their own heads, the world going fuzzy around the edges.

Andre was the first to speak, eyes glassy. “You think God hates us yet?”

Cal looked at him sidelong. “God doesn’t love everyone.”

Andre seemed to consider this, staring at the half-burnt joint in his hand before he took another hit. “That means there’s no point, doesn’t it?”

Cal watched the smoke blow out in front of him, trying to make shapes with his mind. “No point in what?”

Whatever Andre was trying to say was confusing, because he didn't want to actually say anything. He slowly looked over at Cal, his dark eyes flicking down to his lips momentarily then back up to his deep blues. Maybe it was the substances in his system, but Cal felt his face grow warm under Andre’s intense stare. He looked away quickly, fixing his gaze on a crack in the concrete.

Without anymore hesitation Andre threw caution to the wind and leaned over to fit their mouths together, his hand coming up to rest almost threateningly around Cal's neck. He could feel the blonde's pulse quicken against his palm as he attempted to reciprocate, albeit nervously. Cal’s eyes widened, a shiver chasing up his spine at the unfamiliar feeling, at the unexpected warmth of someone else finally touching him. Then Andre shifted and angled Cal’s chin up a fraction so he could kiss properly, and Cal’s legs melted. There was no introduction of tongue, just their lips brushing against one another and heavy breathing in each other's mouths. Andre's hand found its way into Cal's hair, gripping at it possessively to angle him in whatever way he needed.

Cal felt breathless and dizzy, his skin warm and sensitive wherever Andre touched him. Parting his lips obediently and allowing Andre to take control, he curled his fingers around the hem of Andre's shirt, trying to ground himself in the moment.

Andre suddenly pulled away, hissing in pain with blood dotting his lip. "Those fucking braces..."

Cal blinked and took a breath, trying to think past the faint buzzing in his ears. When he saw the specks of blood on Andre’s mouth he flushed, his hand automatically reaching forward to thumb over the cut. "Sorry," he said gruffly, his voice rough.

Andre's brows furrowed together in a look of annoyance and he swatted Cal's hand away, grabbing his wrist in a Karate hold by instinct. "You're not gonna drink my blood. I know that's what you were about to do."

"Shut up, shithead," Cal mumbled with no real vitriol. He tried pulling his hand out of Andre's tight grasp and failed. A spike of frustration shot through him. "I'm not a...a fucking vampire. I don't shop at Hot Topic."

Andre's eyes were dark and unreadable, and his grip on Cal's wrist was not loosening. Something dangerous flashed in the air between them. "I bet you can suck like one though."

Cal scoffed, his face burning hotter at the comment. He snatched his hand back and glared at his friend. "You wish."

Andre seemed unfazed, his smug expression unwavering. "You get all red when you're embarrassed."

The flush on Cal’s cheeks deepened. "No, I don’t."

"You're white as snow. It's so obvious when you're hot and bothered. Or pissed off. Or embarrassed. So which is it?" Andre asked, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm not hot and bothered," Cal grumbled unconvincingly, trying to ignore the heat pooled low in his stomach.

Andre raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning down to where Cal’s legs were crossed tightly over top of each other. A smirk spread across his face. "Sure you're not."

The two of them collected themselves and headed back to Andre's house to get his throwing knives and other fun stuff. They decided to film it as well and Andre's mother even let them have a few beers. The boys were lucky as hell that she was from Germany where the legal drinking age was fifteen.

Cal’s mind was still foggy from the high and now a buzz as his mind replayed what happened, and he stumbled as he tried to keep pace with Andre. When they reached the woods he sank down onto a fallen tree, rubbing at his eyes.

Andre glanced down at him, a hint of concern slipping into his expression. “You good?”

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Cal replied, waving him off. He tried to straighten his legs out but his crotch protested against the movement. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly adjust himself.

Andre pretended not to notice and just handed Cal the camcorder to record him showing off his weaponry.

The camera’s red light blinked alive.

“Rolling,” Cal said.

Andre stepped into frame, a gleam of steel between his fingers. “Lesson one,” he announced in mock-serious tone. “Never miss.”

He let the knife spin through the air; it thudded into the bark with a satisfying, hollow note. Cal laughed a short, breathless laugh, and panned the camcorder to catch the knife stuck in the wood.

Andre held up a ninja star and a Batarang, turning them in the light like a man showing off coins. “See,” he said, “same metal. Same weight. But look at this.” He tapped the star’s center. “This has a concentrated mass at the center. It spins fast. Good gyroscopic stability. It’s designed to fly straight if you give it spin.”

He tossed it and the star skittered into the bark with a dull, earned note.

“The Batarang, though—” he continued, flipping the bat-shaped thing over in his palm, “it’s a different story. The wings throw off the center of mass. It’s made as a novelty. Collectible junk for the fat kids who wish they could be a hero. It looks cool, but it doesn't cut the air clean. It tumbles. It’s more show than work.”

Cal laughed, tilting the camera to catch the profile of the two pieces in Andre’s hands. “So the Batarang’s basically a boomerang for idiots?”

“Better,” Andre said with a grin. “It’s a boomerang that might come back and slice your throat.” He nudged Cal with an elbow. “That’s why you don’t trust ornamentation. Remember: function over flair.”

They tested it anyway. Cal threw a Batarang, half-hearted, and it did what Andre predicted; wobble, roll, thunder into the ground, and bounce back once like a sluggish bird. Both of them laughed, the sound more brittle than either wanted. They kept at it. Between throws they filmed each other: close-ups of hands, the smear of dirt under fingernails, the knife glinting when it found bark. Every throw made another ring of splinters in the trees, little scars that would stay long after they were gone.

When a star clipped the bark and shivered, Andre squared to the camera and said, like a teacher finishing a lesson, “Aerodynamics. Physics don’t care if you’re angry.”

Cal smiled for the lens, the grin empty and obedient. Outside, the light dipped and the woods went quiet, the camcorder whirring like a small, patient heart.

When the battery warning blinked, Andre lowered it and closed the viewfinder.

"Now what?" Cal asked, coming over to where Andre was packing the camera away.

Andre turned slowly on his heel, saying nothing as the distance between them closed like a small room closed around a claustrophobic. Cal forced himself to maintain eye contact as his heart rate began to speed up again. He pulling his shirt down slightly, trying to hide his growing hard-on as Andre’s dark figure descend on him.

Andre noticed Cal was backing into a tree that was full of sharp objects and pulled him around to the other side so he didn't get hurt. Pinning him down was easy, but Andre wanted his hands free for whatever he was about to do. He reached around back to the other side of the tree's trunk and pulled one of the throwing knives out. For a split second it seemed like he was going to stab Cal, but the sudden movement was just him pinning the boy's shirt to the tree.

Cal’s breathing grew heavier, the adrenaline making him a little dizzy. Before Cal could react Andre had grabbed another one, pinning his sleeve. He was completely trapped against the tree, the bark scraping his back through his shirt.

“Andre-” he got out.

His protests were cut off as Andre pressed a hand against his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs. With Cal held in place Andre’s other hand slid between his legs, pressing against the bulge straining against Cal’s jeans.

Cal let out an embarrassingly pathetic noise, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. That sound made Andre grin wickedly as he took claim of his lips again. His hand gripped firmly at the growing hardness through Cal's jeans, causing precum to leak out. He moaned against Andre's mouth despite himself, arching his hips up into the pressure. His hands scrambled for something to hold onto, but Andre took full advantage of the fact that Cal was wearing a long sleeve shirt, only freeing his hand momentarily just to pin both of his wrists above his head.

Cal got a flashback to the other day when he was nailing the cat to the door. He tried to press himself against Andre's hand, the feeling making his head spin. Each stroke, each tug, it was like those nails being hammered down.

“Andre, please-”

Andre swallowed the rest of his sentence with another kiss and silenced him with a rough grind of his palm. A whine punched out from the back of Cal’s throat, his hips bucking up helplessly. Andre was pressed up close now, his hands hurriedly pushing down each of their pants along with their boxers. Just enough so they could finally be skin-to-skin. He was just as hard and the feeling of the cool air hitting his bare skin right before it felt Cal's cock caused him to breathe out a small moan as he pressed his face into the hollow of Cal's neck.

He reached down, wrapping his fingers around both of them, trying to contain the flood of sensations coursing through his body. His legs could barely hold him up as the heat built up. Cal was reduced to panting and needy whines, especially when Andre squeezed hard, slicking them both with the blonde's precum each time it twisted up and back down. Cal’s head hit the rough bark of the tree with a thunk, his hands flexing uselessly above him and his black converse slipping through the dirt and fallen leaves. He was sure this would be leaving scratches on his back, but right now it was the last thing he could focus on.

Andre's sounds became more raw and unfiltered as he felt the first wave of a climax coming on. The slick warmth making each stroke more urgent, tighter. His lips went crashing into Cal's because he couldn't stand the eye contact or the shame of it all. Soft moans vibrated between their locked lips until Andre tore himself away to stutter out that familiar strangled moan. Only this time it didn't seem like he was holding back at all.

Cal mewled high in his throat, his body arching against Andre’s like a bow pulled taut. His muscles started to clench with the building pleasure and all he saw was white. His orgasm hit suddenly and his eyes rolled back, his entire body trembling, his legs nearly giving out on themselves. He slumped against the tree, his hands still stuck uselessly over his head.

Cal’s mouth went dry as he looked down at the mess they had both made, glistening as it dripped down Andre's knuckles. His shirt was sticky between them. He stared up at Andre as he came down from his orgasm, his eyes heavy lidded but unable to leave the other boy’s face. A few seconds ticked by as the air began to cool, neither of them saying a word.

Andre leaned down to press a softer, lingering kiss to Cal’s lips. Then he leaned back, his eyes scanning the other boys face before his expression hardened. He finally pulled out the knives, laughing at the huge gaping holes he had made in Cal's shirt and the huge white smear on the front. He pulled his pants up and buckled his belt again.

Cal pushed himself off the tree, wincing at the ache in his back and the sudden absence of Andre’s body heat. He shoved himself back into his underwear and jeans with a little difficulty, his hands shaking still.

He looked down at his ruined shirt, a mixture of emotions stirring in his gut.

“This is my only winter shirt,” he snarked, trying to maintain some sliver of dignity.

"I have a million long sleeves." Andre said dismissively as he packed away his sharp things. "Ditch it. I'll just give you one."

Cal rolled his eyes, reluctantly shedding the shirt and tossing it aside onto the forest floor. The two of them smoked another little bowl before walking back to Andre's house to finally do something about how they were starving.

Chapter Text

The morning air still held that dull, exhaust-flavored chill that clung to the town long after sunrise. The football field was empty except for the seagulls picking at paper cups and someone’s lost shoe. Cal came early, a habit born from not wanting to be seen arriving with everyone else. He slipped behind the bleachers, lit up, and let the smoke curl into the metal lattice above. The camcorder hung from his wrist by its strap, tapping against his thigh every time he shifted. He liked the sound it made — hollow, mechanical. Predictable.

That was when he noticed it.

Under one of the lower steps, where the shadow sat thick, something dark and matted. He crouched, squinting, and saw what was left of a small dog; the fur stiff, one paw twisted the wrong way, eyes gone glassy and gray. Probably hit by a car on the road that ran past the field.

Cal stared for a while. Not out of pity, more out of that strange fascination that came when life suddenly stopped being life. He took another drag, flicked ash into the dirt, and muttered, “Damn.”

Others started to show up and Cal didn't want them to come notice or for someone to try and throw it away. When he saw Andre's car pull up, he went to get a trash bag from the trunk, he came back to find someone else there. A girl standing a few feet away, perfectly still, the kind of person who looked like she’d been standing in the same spot forever.

Abigail was her name. Everyone knew her — or knew of her. Too pale, too thin, too much eyeliner, and too little voice to use when people talked to or about her.

She looked at the dog, not him. “Did you hit it?”

“No,” Cal said. “Found it like this.”

She nodded slowly, hair sliding forward to hide half her face. “What are you gonna do with it?”

He shrugged, twisting the black plastic bag between his fingers. “Don’t know yet.”

There wasn’t much else. She just watched while he slid the dog into the bag, careful not to tear it on the metal steps. He tied it off, hoisted it like a secret, and left without another word. As he walked away, she stayed there in that spot by the bleachers, eyes following him, red and black against the pale morning.

It was the usual routine: chairs scraping, sneakers squeaking, laughter sharpened into blades. Someone behind Cal whispered “Maggot boy,” and another added something about Andre that made the row break into giggles. He kept his head down. The desk was carved up with initials and little knife marks. Proof other people had been here, bored and angry, too.

Abigail sat two rows over, near the wall. She didn’t say anything, but when the jabs got louder, she looked at him. Just once. A quick, uncertain glance. Like she wanted to help but couldn’t even help herself.

It passed. Everything passed.

After lunch, Andre caught him by the vending machines, grinning like he knew something.

“She has no confidence,” he said, nudging Cal’s shoulder. “She’s just like you.”

Cal frowned. "I guess you're right. I guess she does need attention if she dresses like that."

Andre had a smirk on his face for whatever reason. “You should go for it. Might be more fun than Rachel.”

Cal didn’t answer. He wondered what someone so strange would be like compared to such a normal "nice" girl.

Lunch was always the same hum of trays clattering, sneakers squeaking on linoleum, and the sound of some girl trying too hard to laugh. Cal and Andre sat at their usual spot near the back, the table with graffiti burned into it from lighters and pocketknives. Andre was halfway through his sandwich when Cal noticed her again. Abigail, sitting alone in the far corner. Her tray was empty except for a carton of milk she hadn’t opened. She wasn’t eating, just dragging a ballpoint pen over the back of her hand in slow, looping shapes. Little spirals, maybe. Or eyes.

Every few minutes she’d look up. Not at anyone else. Just at Cal. He shifted in his seat, pretending not to notice. He picked at his food, drank his soda, looked anywhere else. After a while, the scrape of a chair made him glance up. She was walking toward them, arms wrapped around herself, like she was afraid to take up space.

Andre leaned back, chewing slowly, watching her the way a cat watches something move in the grass.

Abigail stopped at their table. “Hey,” she said quietly, voice flat but deliberate.

Cal swallowed. “Yeah?”

“The dog. Are you… gonna keep the bones?”

Andre’s eyebrow twitched, and Cal blinked. “What?”

“You said you didn’t know what to do with it,” she went on. “I just thought… if you’re not, I could clean them. I make stuff with them.”

Cal hesitated, caught off guard. “Uh… I wasn’t really planning on doing anything with them, but… sure.”

Her eyes lit up just a little. A faint flicker that almost looked like happiness. “Okay.”

Then she turned and walked away, clutching at her sleeves like she’d said too much.

Andre watched her go, still chewing. His gaze lingered until she disappeared back into the corner. Then he looked at Cal, a smirk starting to pull at his mouth.

“You attract the weird ones,” he said.

Cal tried to laugh it off, stabbing a fork into his lunch. “Guess so.”

Andre leaned in, elbows on the table. “No, I mean it. She’s perfect. Look at her, she’d do anything if you said it the right way.”

They finished eating without saying much else, the sound of plastic forks scraping on trays filling the silence. The usual harassment had gotten to be too much to deal with. It caused Cal to pull the fire alarm so they got sent home before last period. There was no point in having everyone stay on the lawn while the firemen took forever to arrive.

The boys decided to go to Cal's house since his parents wouldn't be home for a while and they had the perfect place to do their weird shit in peace. The workshop where Cal's father usually did little woodworking projects.

“Quit flinching, dude. It’s just anatomy. You act like you’ve never seen what we're made of.” Andre murmured as he pinned open the animal's body with some surgical tools he found at a thrift store. He found all sorts of things at that place.

Cal swallowed and forced himself to keep looking. He wasn’t a stranger to dissections, he just preferred dead stuff that wasn’t so… fresh.

He moved closer to look down at the organs, forcing his face to remain blank. “Don’t expect me to be excited about this or something.”

Andre shot him a knowing look, clearly amused with Cal's choice of words.

Cal ignored the look and picked up the heart, turning it around and studying it closely.

“I wonder who this belonged to?” he asked, his eyes still on the organ.

"Probably nobody. There's no collar," Andre observed, pointing to the neck. He stuck his hound down into the guts, playing in the strange texture.

Cal grimaced as he watched Andre feel around the animal’s insides, trying to make himself more busy dissecting the heart. “You think it has a family wondering why it never came home?” he asked quietly.

"Sucks for them. Survival of the fittest." Andre grabbed Cal's hand and slipped it inside the guts. It wasn't warm, since the animal has been dead for so long.

Cal grits his teeth and lets Andre guide his hand around. It’s wet and slimy and the feeling of the insides makes his stomach churn. Not with disgust, but something else waking up inside of him.

“Natural selection,” Cal says in a distant voice.

Andre sighed deeply, like the two of them were wading in a warm ocean. He intertwined their fingers around the dog's entrails. The act was strangely intimate, and a shiver ran down Cal’s spine. It was an interesting contrast, the cool squishiness of the guts and the heat of Andre’s gloved hand around his.

Cal suddenly let out a weak chuckle. “We’re gonna be in so much trouble if anyone sees us doing this.”

"Doing what? What are we doing?" Andre asked, wondering what was going on in his friend's mind.

Cal swallowed, trying in vain to ignore the nervous pounding of his heart and the pulse of heat rushing to his cock.

“You know what,” he said, avoiding Andre’s eyes.

Andre slowly removed his hand. The blue latex glove was covered in blood now. Cal’s eyes followed, trying to stop the sudden wave of disappointment at the loss of contact.

“Are we gonna, I dunno, do something else now?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

The silence hung in the air as Andre examined the guts before answering. He seemed to be carefully choosing his words. He decided against saying anything, unbuttoning Cal's pants and pulling them down along with his boxer briefs. Cal’s knees buckled a little as he was suddenly exposed, a small gasp slipping from his lips as he leaned back against the table.

The cool air in the room raised goosebumps on his thighs, and he shifted nervously, aware of Andre’s eyes on him as he tried to come up with a response. "What-"

He was cut off by Andre claiming a kiss. Cal moaned into his mouth and closed his eyes, his hands flying up to grip the front of Andre’s shirt. Andre's bloodied, gloved hand wrapped around the trembling blonde boy's length and started to tug at it. It was a little slick, almost like a membrane was being spread along it.

Cal's skin was already flushed, but now he felt too warm. He moaned again, his hips moving forward without him even realizing. His stomach did an odd flip when he caught sight of the organs on the table out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t stop now. Something dark and needy was stirring in him.

Andre's dead eyes stayed firmly planted on Cal's flushed face as he reached over and unpinned the creature. As slowly, and methodically as his hand was twisting up and milking out precum. Cal’s nails dug into the fabric of Andre’s shirt, a shaky whine escaping his throat when he heard the tools hit the tabletop. It was a terrible sound, even more obscene than what was potentially about to happen.

Cal’s vision grew fuzzy around the edges as he let Andre yank him forward, his hands trembling with nerves. He swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat and tried to think of something to say, but his mind was foggy with pleasure. He just stood there trembling, waiting for- something.

The hand on him tightened and sped up as another whine tore out of his chest. All he could smell was blood and wet dog. Andre carefully cradled the animal so that none of the guts spilled out and he set it down on the dirty cement ground. As he stood back up, he ran a hand through Cal's hair, gripping it firmly to shove him down onto his knees.

A whimpered escaped as soon as his knees hit the ground a little too hard and his head was yanked down. He swallowed hard as he was forced to gaze into the open body and the organs. He moaned, his tongue sliding out involuntarily to lick over his lips.

Andre let go of Cal's Hair and took a few steps back, unbuckling his belt and sitting down in a nearby chair. Cal's hips rocked forward involuntarily towards the bloody mess, all slippery and gleaming with blood. His head was fuzzy, any sense of right or wrong was gone. His palms rested on the rough floor and with one trembling hand he was holding his erection steady.

The scent made his head spin. He looked back up at Andre, his eyes half closed and glassy with the overwhelming feeling running through him. Andre had taken his dick out by now and was stroking it as he watched Cal in the most depraved position he had seen so far. Cal looked right at him, his own breath fast and heavy as he felt pre-cum leak out and slide over his fingers, now covered in a slimy mixture of his precum and the animal’s blood.

He lifted his hand up to his lips and licked the latex clean. It tasted like blood and burned rubber mixed with something bitter, sweet, and salty. He moaned again, his mind fuzzy at the edges, and pushed all the way into the animal's guts. There was no finesse in the way he moved, no grace or practiced technique. He was a mess on his knees, his hips moving desperately.

Andre's hand moved in quick uneven strokes around his own cock, his mouth hanging open as he was transfixed by the horror in front of him. How angelic Cal looked and how he was doing something that would definitely send him to hell. He was so easy to corrupt.

Cal's head was dizzy, the feelings too much. His moans tore through the small room as he thrusted into the guts, eyes shut tight as he struggled to stay upright. Cal moaned again, too far gone to hide it, his head thrown back and his eyes barely open as he chased the feeling building in the pit of his stomach. His mouth hung open, moans and whimpers falling out every time his hips rocked forward, his breaths too heavy to form any proper words.

Andre suddenly rushed over, shoving his pants down just enough to be able to drop down on his knees and be able to straddle the carcass. Without hesitation he slid in next to Cal, brushing against him inside the bloody mess.

The boys both moaned at the feeling of cool entrails against their feverish skin, the sound loud and obscene in the silence. It was accompanied from the wet sound coming from between them, but it was almost lost under Cal’s noise. His fingers stumbled to grab one of Andre’s shoulders to try and hold himself up. He felt like he was right on the edge, every time something hard and hot brushed up against him.

Andre ran his gory hands through Cal's hair, staining it a coppery red as he pulled him in for a kiss. He didn't care about the braces, that much was clear in the way he allowed their teeth to almost clash so he could suck on the blonde's tongue. Cal moaned softly against his mouth, his hands fisting in Andre’s shirt as he tried to press himself forward. He let Andre devour him, his legs spreading more as he was going to fall apart any second.

His fingers clung to Andre’s shoulder, trying to ground himself. He whined at the back of his throat and pulled away from the kiss, his chest heaving with the effort. He felt overfull and too hot and like he was getting too close to something inside his chest that he needed to let out. Cal moaned again, his hands squeezing desperately at Andre’s shoulders. He kept his eyes locked on Andre’s, his blue hues half-closed and unfocused.

Every muscle in his body was clenched. His breathing was fast and heavy, and his head kept trying to fall forward until Andre’s strong hands in his hair kept him still. He could feel something building in his stomach, hot and tight and overwhelming, as if something was about to break free. The feeling became unbearable, his mouth falling open to let out a loud, choked moan as his hips stuttered forward one final time.

And then it hit Andre as well. Every nerve was suddenly on fire and he saw white. His head went fuzzy and blank, any sense disappearing as he felt himself falling and falling into a bright, hot nothing. He was barely aware of the noise coming from his own mouth, the white hot feeling spreading through the body below them.

As the two of them caught their breath, Andre gave Cal a friendly pat on the shoulder and pushed against him to get back on his feet. He buckled his belt and started collecting his surgical equipment.

Cal lay on the floor for a few more seconds, coming back to himself. His pants were still around his knees and he groaned as he tried to move. He felt sore and his whole body tingled. Slowly, he sat up, his eyes scanning the floor around him. He swallowed hard as he looked down at the stickiness between his legs and stood up on shaky legs, quickly pulling his pants back to his hips. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to come up with something to say.

"Gotta get rid of the body," Andre said with a snort and a cough as he snapped the gloves off and shoved them into the trash bag.

Cal’s eyes darted back to the body and his stomach churned. He had already seen the body before and been close to it, but seeing it again made something rise in the back of his throat that felt a lot like panic.

He swallowed it down and took a deep breath.

“I-we gonna bury it or something?” his voice felt too loud in the quiet still workshop.

Andre snorted at Cal's obliviousness. "It's a fucking dog. We'll just cut it up and leave the parts around the woods by my house."

“Right,” Cal said, feeling a little stupid now. His eyes kept going back to the dog. “You do that a lot?"

"First time." Andre leaned down to collect the carcass and place it in the trash bag carefully without spilling anymore blood. "Probably won't be the last since all the girls at school are air headed sluts."

Cal swallowed down another bout of nausea and shook his head. “You’re really something else, you know that?” he tried to keep his voice light, but the question was more genuine than teasing this time.

Chapter Text

Cal was looking at Andre's calendar which featured hot bimbos posing with guns in fake slutty tactical gear. He squinted at one day in particular. "Why do you have my appointment marked on your calendar? I said I didn't need you to take me."

Andre looked over at him from where he sat on his bed, snorting with laughter. "Think about it." That's all he said as he went back to putting together his dad's shotgun. All the parts were spread out on a blue towel in front of him, all clean. His hands were so used to all of the parts that he was able to reassemble everything with a practiced ease.

Cal was still fairly oblivious when it came to perverted remarks. He had no clue why Andre cared about his braces being off.

"You really have no idea do you?" Andre finally sighed, not looking away from the gun as he slid the bolt carrier back into its rails.

Cal swallowed hard, but he thought he had an answer. "Because I cut your lip the other day?"

Andre just laughed as he wiped the receiver of the rifle with a rag. It was the sort of laugh that seemed like a bell tolling in the distance, foretelling of certain doom. Cal understood what he meant now.

The next day Cal was very distracted thinking about what Andre said as they went through their morning routine. The chatter around him felt distant, like static on a broken radio. His eyes kept drifting to the back of the room where Abigail sat. Her black hair fell in thick curtains, hiding most of her face, but Cal could still see the flicker of her eyes as she scribbled into a notebook, the ballpoint pen moving like it was keeping her sane.

It was easy to forget how out of place she looked among the other kids. They didn’t bother her much. They mostly ignored her, like she was a shadow. But Cal couldn’t ignore her. Something about her discomfort, the quiet loneliness in the way she held herself, made him want to take full advantage of it.

He stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing a few side glances. Cal’s palms were damp, his fingers cold. He hesitated, then walked over, standing just far enough away to make it awkward.

“Hey.” His voice came out sharper than he meant. She looked up, her eyeliner smudged just slightly, like she didn’t care if anyone noticed.

She blinked. “What?”

He was aware of the weight of the whole room on him, but he didn’t let it stop him. He leaned in just enough so she could hear. “Wanna come with me and Andre? We’re going to the woods out back. Look for more dead things.”

"Okay." Of course she followed without question, having nothing else to do during lunch period of all things since she clearly didn't eat.

Cal lead her across the courtyard, towards the building's east side. He glanced behind him occasionally to make sure Andre was following. Where he lead them was quiet, tucked away from the main foot traffic.

"Here's good," Cal said simply.

"Good for what?" Abigail asked a bit hesitantly, noticing Andre was casually eating a sandwich and taking his time catching up to them. He stopped a few meters away, looking like he was keeping watch.

"No one's around. No audience. No eyes." Cal reached up to her, fingers lightly brushing her bangs away from her face. Then his hand drifted lower, catching her sleeve. "Lemme see your arm."

She was helpless to Cal rolling up her sleeve, exposing the cuts in various stages of healing. It was like she froze, or like she wanted him to see. She seemed to be used to just letting people touch her, or at least that was Cal's guess.

His eyes lingered on her scars, his fingers tracing over the fresher ones gently, his gaze lifting to her face. There was no fear, but he sensed the anxiety the way her eyes darted away from his. Her breathing, the way her lips parted slightly. They were like a magnet to him.

Andre rounded the corner just in time to ruin the moment by snorting with laughter. "Oh gnarly. That's fucking bad!" He came right over to grab her arm, pinching it a little in his strong grip and handling her with much less tenderness than Cal. She winced a bit as she felt Andre's dirty fingernails scrape some of her scabs away and cause her to bleed again.

Andre quickly let go of her, wiping his hand on his pants and continuing to eat as he went to look out at the nature surrounding them. It was clear who's a bad influence, but this girl didn't have any reason to point it out. She just wiped up the small amount of blood onto her finger and placed it on her tongue.

Cal watched her with a mixture of disgust and fascination. The way she completely casually ate her own blood, and it sparked something in him, a morbid curiosity to taste it too. He tried to shove it back down, but it was an image he couldn't erase. He shook it off and cleared his throat.

"Do you want some?" She half joked, offering him some of the substance on her fingertip.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking from the bloody finger to her face. He was tempted, more than he wanted to admit, but the rational part of his brain took over while it still remained.

"No." He said firmly, but his eyes betrayed the tightness in his chest because of some part of him that wanted it.

She shrugged, continuing to suck on her finger.

Cal's eyes were drawn to the movement of her mouth. His eyes darkened as he watched her tongue move along her finger. A simple action, but it made his heart beat faster, his mind racing with unwelcome thoughts.

"How does it taste?" he asked.

"Kinda salty and coppery."

Cal's eyes were glued to her mouth, his gaze flickering between the finger, her eyes, and the small smudge of blood on her lip. He swallowed hard, his mind swirling with thoughts and feelings he didn't quite understand. Like when Andre admitted he was excited for Cal to get his braces taken off.

Andre's voice cut through the tension like a bullet through an unsuspecting woodland creature's neck. "The fuck are you retards doing?"

Cal snapped to regain his composure, practically standing at attention, his heart racing.

The other boy shook his head in disdain as he made his way back over, now eating a bag of chips. The sound of the bag and each crunchy bite made Abigail's stomach growl but she ignored it.

"Are you gonna be in our movie?" Andre asked her with his mouth full.

She shrugged, pulling her sleeves back down and shoving her hands in her pockets. "I dunno. What is it about?"

"It's gonna be about killing people," Andre said with a pleasant smile on his face, like he was proudly announcing their project.

Clearly she wasn't able to figure out the darker implications of their film. "Who do I play?"

Andre grinned mischievously as he looked over at Cal who seemed like he was gonna be sick. "You can play our girlfriend. Maybe we won't kill you."

Abigail laughed, a genuine giggle that made it obvious she was clueless about how much danger she was in. Or maybe she didn't care if she died.

"Andre..." Cal muttered, his voice a mix of irritation and concern.

Andre laughed him off, placing a friendly hand on Cal's shoulder to try and placate him, though it felt like more of a threat. "Nothing's off limits," he said almost sternly, but trying to make it seem like a joke.

Abigail wandered away from the awkward tension to go walk through the woods a bit.

"She doesn't know what she's getting into," Cal muttered, his gaze leaving her disappearing form and returning to Andre. "She doesn't have a damn clue."

Andre lowered his voice. "Well if she's a good actress then she won't have to die."

Cal knew that Andre's idea of "good acting'' probably involved real bullets and explosions. Clearly he didn't see the importance in any life, even their own or this random girl.

Andre assumed that he was starting to have second thoughts and gave Cal another pat on the back. "If you like how she rides, take her out with you when we end it. Or don't. Leave her traumatized for life. That's up to you."

Cal laughed a little, rolling his eyes like that was some silly joke. Though it wouldn't be a bad idea. He licked his lips as he got to thinking about what it was going to be like when the two of them tied her up and fucked her. If they did anything gay in front of her they would have to kill her or she'd tell everyone.

Or maybe she would like being tortured and they could threaten her into secrecy.

Decisions, decisions...

After school, Andre was laying on Cal's bed, tossing a baseball up towards the ceiling and catching it in a mitt as he thought. "How about we hogtie her? I really wanna do that."

"Hogtying her?" Cal repeated, rolling his eyes. "I feel like that would make her hate us more." He was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Once she's tied up, it won't matter if she hates us. Everyone hates us, Cal." Andre said very logically, as he always said anything. So confident that he was right about everything.

"Well, yeah, but..." Cal trailed off, trying to think of an argument. "Shouldn't we try and get her to like us at first? I mean, if that doesn’t work then we could try something else." He wasn’t nearly as confident as Andre, and his voice showed it.

"She likes you. And I'm your best friend. So she's gonna have to put up with me even if she doesn't like me. I'll be nicer to her though, I guess..." Andre trailed off. "In the meantime."

Cal’s stomach did flips at Andre’s mention of her liking him. He glanced over his shoulder away from Andre, focusing on a spot on the wall.

“Yeah, I guess.” He finally said, a little softer than intended.

The sound of the ball hitting the leather mitt continued for a few beats. "Have you got any ideas? What do you think we should do to her?"

Cal swallowed heavily, trying not to think about her pretty eyes and dark hair. How pale she was and how she'd look so much more appealing to him with milky white eyes and mottled, cold skin.

“Andre, you know I’m not good at this part." He said irritably. "I don’t have any plans, we both know that.”

Andre rolled over, resting his weight on one elbow. "I know you have some sick ideas. Spill."

Cal could feel Andre’s eyes on him and the back of his neck prickled with heat. He shook his head, trying to concentrate.

“Just.. I don’t know, something we can do to her at school.” His voice came out strangled.

"Yeah?" Andre said with a smirk Cal could hear.

Cal swallowed and fiddled with a loose thread coming of his duvet. He didn't say anything for a moment, his mind running with ideas.

"Maybe... something that will make her humiliated."

Andre nodded slowly, his mind already working to come up with something. "The toilets."

Cal almost laughed outright, a small disbelieving huff escaping him. "Seriously?" He shook his head. "You're gonna, ...what? Going to make her eat out of the toilets?"

"God no," Andre said with a disgusted look. "I'm not that kind of German. But what if we just make her lick it or something? And record it? And then we can blackmail her."

Cal paused, feeling his stomach churn uncomfortably, but also the mental image of her doing something so filthy turned him on. The idea of Andre filming it and mocking her while she did it was even hotter.

"That would be pretty disgusting," he said, a bit too hesitantly.

Andre didn't say anything, but he was very pleased.

“But I guess it is a good idea." Cal sighed. "We can do it as punishment. And we can make threats for afterwards as well." He suddenly had more confidence in his voice and turned back to catch a brief glimpse at Andre. His tone had shifted, gone was the unsure, nervous boy from a few moments ago. His eyes were hard and set, focused intently on Andre, not with anger or disgust but... almost determination.

Chapter Text

The next day, Cal and Andre got an opportunity to go through with their plan. They hung out with Abigail until she mentioned needing to use the bathroom. School stayed open a couple hours on this day every week for the jocks since they had practice, and the boys had found that a few doors even remained unlocked well into the night since teachers often worked late.

The boys offered to walk with her back into the school. It was harmless enough.

But then they ran in right after her, with Andre grabbing her and covering her mouth to drag her into the handicapped stall as Cal shut and locked the stall door.

"Calm down, calm down it's just a joke," Andre said, laughing her off before eventually letting her go.

"Well that's not fucking funny!" Abigail snapped at him. "Now get the fuck out."

Andre and Cal exchanged a look, both of them smiling like they were just pulling some silly prank.

"No," Andre said simply, blocking the door.

Abigail just stood there, powerless and much too weak to fight either of them off. She was stuck, like when Cal had started pulling her sleeves up.

"I have to pee, can you please just leave?" she begged.

"Quit whining," Andre said coldly, his jokey demeanor gone suddenly.

She noticed that Cal was hiding something behind his back and she backed away from them, against the wall, starting to tremble with fear.

Cal reached a hand out towards her, his palm open in an offer of mercy. "We're not gonna hurt you."

That was true.

"Then what are you hiding?" she asked him as she hid behind her hair.

Cal sighed, showing her the camcorder. "We just...wanted to film part of the movie in here. Is that okay?"

"With me peeing?" she asked in disbelief.

"If that's cool, of course!" Cal said.

She just stared at him like he was insane.

Andre stepped in, huffing and trying not to be too impatient. But they weren't trying to get caught. "It's not gonna show anything."

"Whatever. I really have to go, I don't care!" she said quickly, throwing her hands up and pushing her pants down as she hurried over to the toilet.

It took her a moment, but finally the sound of her stream hitting the water echoed in the bathroom. Cal watched intently through the viewfinder of the camcorder as he filmed her. Andre stared right between her legs, getting a full view of it which she wasn't trying to hide. Cal decided to pan the camera over to Andre's face, his eyes flicking from her cunt up to her eyes.

"You have a pretty pussy," Andre said.

Her face turned red as she grabbed some toilet paper and pressed her legs together. There was a gap between her thighs so that did little to conceal her.

Andre went right over to her and pried her legs apart. "Cal, come look."

Cal came over with the camera and got a good shot of it. It was completely shaved bare, a clear sign that she was doing something with someone. The way she didn't even struggle or move, just sitting still while they did whatever they wanted to her, clearly she was used to this sort of thing.

"Our little movie star," Cal laughed, reaching down to touch the urine that stained her and placing his fingers in her mouth as he panned the camera up to her face.

She started to cry silently, grimacing at the taste and shutting her eyes tight as he forced his fingers down her throat. He watched her through the camera in fascination, almost disconnected from the actual act.

Andre stood up, taking control of the situation now as the director as he seized the camcorder from Cal.

"If you try and tell anyone about this, we'll post this on the internet." Andre's voice was cold like a blade.

Abigail didn't say anything as Cal continued to touch her, and force her to taste her own filth.

"You have to do everything we say. Okay? Or we'll rape you." Cal spit on her and took a step back, pulling her down onto the floor.

That was the first time she let out a whimpered cry of pain as her knees hit the hard linoleum.

"Lick the seat," Andre told her.

She started crying audibly now, her thick dark makeup streaming down her cheeks.

"Lick the seat, bitch." Cal told her, giving her a warning kick in the ribs that was just meant to shove her more than actually hurt.

She was awfully fragile though, being so malnourished. It definitely bruised.

But she complied, sniffling and crying as silently as she could manage as she dragged her tongue along the grungy, plastic surface. She felt a gag rising in the back of her throat and pulled away, nearly wretching.

Andre laughed, again like he was just watching some sort of normal entertainment. Like he just saw someone score in a basketball game.

Cal couldn't take his eyes off of her and his hand was down his pants.

Abigail didn't even look at the camera, just sat there huddled and hugging herself, with her pants and panties still down around her ankles. Her black dyed hair fell in her face like a curtain and black tears stained her cheeks.

Andre took his role of director very seriously. "Make her straddle the seat, but like face the tank."

Cal went over to her and grabbed her arm hard enough to leave another bruise. She didn't resist then, just did what she was told. Andre moved a little closer to get a better angle from above.

"Hump the seat." Andre told her.

She looked up into the camera, totally broken down by everything already.

Andre lightly slapped her cheek a few times. "Look like you're having fun now, come on."

The girl sniffed back tears and swallowed hard, looking away from the camera and starting to move her hips.

"No no no, look at me." His hand grabbed at her jaw, forcing her to look up at the camera.

Cal reached over and cupped her face as well, smearing some of her makeup with his thumb.

Abigail gritted her teeth, her hips rocking back and forth as she ground into the cold, hard surface. Her fingers curled around the seat, her chipped black nails digging into the ceramic. A jolt of heat shot through her core as Andre's grip on her tightened and she moaned. He couldn't resist knowing what it really felt like.

Andre scoffed with contemptuous laughter. "See? The dirty little bitch likes it."

With a shuddery breath, Abigail concentrated, feeling the pressure build up. She let out a helpless whine, her eyes filled with humiliation as she was forced to look up at the camera's lens.

Andre was pleased with her performance. "You're gonna come with us somewhere."

There was this abandoned house in the woods where they were practicing shooting cans or bottles, targets they made of people they didn't like at school, celebrities portraits from magazines. It was decently secluded and Abigail might've found it interesting and cool if not for the circumstances.

She sat in the back seat, crying silently and staring out the window. Not even bothering to try and remember the way back because there was no coming back from this. She knew it. The air was thick with the promise of her demise.

It was making Andre hornier than ever.

Once he'd parked, he popped the trunk and got out to go grab his gun. Just to be sure their little hostage wouldn't be running away.

When he opened Abigail's door and pointed it in her face she finally spoke. "You're gonna shoot me?"

"Not unless you make me do it," he replied without moving an inch.

"Why do you have those?"

Cal interjected as he came around to the other side of the car, camera rolling. "Because everyone's gonna die soon."

"Everyone?" Abigail asked.

Andre scoffed. "Everyone at school."

Abigail slowly got out of the car.

She didn't speak up again until they were halfway inside the dilapidated house. "You know... I wouldn't care if you did that."

"Of course not!" Andre agreed. "You're a loser. And a slut. Maybe if you didn't dress all weird and goth, you could be popular."

Cal nodded. "Rachel's a slut and everyone loves her."

The boys lead her at gunpoint into the living room. It smelled of mold and the rot of dead rats and other vermin, cooked by the autumn heat and now damp from the rain. The source of light was a huge hole in the ceiling where it had collapsed inward.

Abigail stood there, staring down the barrel at Andre.

"Lay face down." He ordered her before glancing over at Cal. "Here, take the rope off my belt."

Cal found a place to set the camera down and went over to unhook the carabiner from his best friend's belt that was securing a length of hemp rope. He was able to put his Boy Scout experience to good use for once.

Abigail complied with him arranging her limbs so he could do what he and Andre had planned. It almost felt too easy. She wasn't putting up any sort of fight or talking back at all.

Andre crouched slowly, the rifle's barrel resting against the side of their captive's temple. Cold metal pressing just beside her overly pierced ear. His dark eyes flickered toward Cal with quiet command.

"Tighter on the wrists. I don’t want her scratching me when things get loud." He muttered.

Cal tugged the knot he had just tied without looking up, hands shaking slightly, not from fear, but focus as he bound her ankles next. His breath came short and steady as always when Andre watched his work.

"She’s not going anywhere." Cal assured his partner in crime. For a beat he glanced up at Andre’s profile, the curve of his jaw in dim light, and swallowed hard before adding softly: "Unless you want her to?"

Andre finally moved, shifting back onto his heels and dragging a knife now from his belt. A switchblade that he flicked open with one brutal snap of the wrist. "I don't wanna run around today."

He dragged the flat of the knife down her arm like he was testing wind direction, watching how she twitched at the cold metal. Then he then pressed harder until red welled clean beneath steel. Her lower back was a place she had obviously never cut herself, since she couldn't reach it. It was one of few parts of her that was not all scarred up.

Cal watched every reaction on Abigail's face. The twitch under her eyelids, strained breathing. He was noticing everything because Andre valued noticing...studying. A small laugh escaped him then; a broken thing sounding almost tender.

More of her emaciated form was revealed as Andre made quick, surgical work of the soft black fabric of her shirt. The cold blade sliced through it like butter. He sat back a little to admire his handiwork, almost as if assessing a painting. Every muscle wound tight and shivering in the cold.

"Look at me." He demanded.

As Cal finished securing her wrists to her ankles, she tried to look up at Andre, flicking her bangs out of her face but saying nothing.

"Eyes on me, little slut." Andre reached out, gripping her chin and forcing her head up to study her pale, makeup-stained features in close detail.

Cal was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was completely immobilized, and completely exposed. His gaze traveled over her frame as if he'd never seen a girl before, and then he tilted her head from one side to the other, examining her with intense curiosity. He hadn't ever seen a girl before.

He didn't even get to touch Rachel's boobs when they made out.

Andre raised an eyebrow at Abigail's apparent indifference to her fate. She didn't seem scared, nor defiant. Andre was used to playing with his food, he liked it when they struggled, when they fought back. Her complete resignation irritated him more than anything.

Andre's fingers tightened on her jaw, almost painfully. Something about that quiet emptiness flickered under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"You’re not scared?" His voice dropped, colder now—not amused. He released her face and stood, slow and deliberate. "Cal."

"Yeah?" Cal flinched at the sound of his name and scrambled to attention. The way Andre said it like that always made his stomach twist.

Andre let out a snort of laughter. "She doesn't care if she dies."

He tossed the knife to Cal and stepped back with folded arms.

Cal stared at the blade like it was alive. Then down at Abigail, trussed and exposed on the floorboards, her chest rising and falling too evenly for someone who should've been afraid.

As he knelt by her he whispered, "...You really don’t care?"

No answer. Just a blink in the dim light.

He crouched over her, trembling, but not from nerves anymore.

Then without looking up at Andre—he pressed the tip just below her ribcage… slow… testing…

And waited.

For a gasp.

A flinch.

Anything.

"You're not even going to let me enjoy being raped before you kill me?" she asked in a voice that already sounded dead.

"Cal. Stop."

Cal froze at Andre's order, blade still pressing, blood welling in a slow bead at it's tip. He looked up at Andre, confused, but obeyed instantly, pulling back with shaky hands.

Andre stepped around their victim and sunk down onto the floor, knee pressing between her legs just hard enough to make her body tense even if her face didn’t and pressed his rifle against the back of her head.

"You think this is about rape? You think we're common fucks with one-track minds?" He laughed once. A dry crack of sound without humor. "We don't want your body."

He glanced at Cal who swallowed hard, eyes wide with worshipful agreement, then back to her dead gaze.

"We want your life."

Abigail took a deep breath, sighing it out for a long moment. Cold metal pressed into her skull.

As if offering a gift.

"Take it then," she said in the most hollow voice.

It seemed like Andre was almost stunned by the response, his trigger finger briefly stilled. "What?"

Tears started to well up and fall then as she explained. "My life is shit. Everyone hates me, even my parents. I don't want a future. Just do it. I won't ever have the balls to do it myself."

Andre slowly pulled the gun back, his expression unreadable. "No."

It wasn't angry. It wasn't kind. Just absolute.

Cal looked between them, knife still clutched in one hand, eyes wide, not understanding at first.

Andre scoffed. "She wants us to do it for her. Begging for a bullet like it’s mercy."

Abigail was sobbing now, but trying not to make any noise.

"You don’t get death," he said quietly. "The Army of Two doesn’t give pity."

A beat of silence stretched between the boys, one that felt heavier than steel.

Then Andre smiled. Not warm, but alive. Like something terrible had just sparked to life in the dark.

"We’re gonna record you screaming until you forget how to not care," Andre said, hastily dropping his rifle at her side with a clatter against the cement. He made grabby hands for the knife and then motioned for Cal to go retrieve the camera.

Cal got up close to film Andre cutting through her pants and piss soaked Hello Kitty panties, exposing her to the cold air.

"And then..." Andre breathed, teasing her with the handle of the knife and sticking it in her, causing her to shudder and whimper. "...We’ll see if you die."

Andre twisted the knife handle slowly inside her, just deep enough to stretch. A cruel rhythm built in the silence. Abigail's breath hitched, her traumatized and starved body betraying her numb mind.

Cal filmed every twitch. The way her hips jerked forward despite herself, how a tear rolled sideways into her ear, his own breath uneven as he focused the lens.

"...She’s wet." Andre mumbled as he pressed the flat of his thumb against her clit and rubbed. She practically bucked, a broken sound tearing from her throat.

Andre pulled the knife free with an obscenely slick sound and held it up to the camera by its blade. It glistened in the dim light. He leaned forward to wipe it slowly across Abigail’s lips and she gasped tongue flickering out instinctively. She gasped again sharply when she felt his fingers press into her and heard him biting his lip as he moaned in approval.

"Didn't expect it to be so tight. Cal, come and feel this before we wreck her."

Cal nodded fast eyes bright, brain feverish because finally Andre let him touch something. He reached down gently and placed two fingers where knife had been. She was still soaked, hot, trembling — maybe with fear.

Cal pulled out slowly, his fingers shiny, his face flushed pale with guilt and thrill as he looked at Andre like he’d just been handed a live grenade. “She’s… shaking.”

And she was. Not from pleasure. Not from fear. From shame.

Her hips had tilted up on their own again and again, chasing friction even as tears poured silently down her chin. A moan slipped out every time Andre twisted deep or rubbed rough over her clit with his callouses.

Cal filmed the way she crumpled around Andre’s fingers like paper in fire. And then without thinking, he reached back in. Not gentle this time. Desperate to get a reaction out of her.

He pressed two fingers in alongside Andre's and rocked she backward once, just enough so they could both feel her tighten up inside.

Then Andre pulled both of their hands away with a wet sound that echoed too loud in the hollow room. Silence fell like dust settling after gunfire.

Abigail froze as she heard the clink of the metal buckle, but the ropes held taut.

Then Cal's shadow fell over her as he stood in front of her with the camera.

Andre moved in a haste but it felt like time slowed. Like a blade was dropping down to cut sever her head.

Cold.

Her chest heaved with effort, sweat prickling at her hairline.

Andre crouched, knees protected by army green canvas digging into the floor. The flat of the blade edge pressed gently against the underside of her chin. "I want you to look at the camera."

She looked up at Cal, sniffling as she tried not to let the blade sting against her throat. "Yes sir."

Cal swallowed hard when she met his eye, her resignation making something hot churn under his skin. Then he glanced at Andre for a cue that this was OK, and got a small nod before bringing the camera in close enough to see the wet tears glisten like pearls on her mascara ridden cheeks.

Andre pulled the blade back a fraction, then used it to turn her chin a few degrees to the left. She didn't resist. She started to cry again as she felt him press his erection into her. His strong arms became a prison as one of them wrapped around her and grabbed her throat. His full weight nearly rested against her back, almost crushing her small fragile body. He kept the knife pointed towards her neck, just as a threat.

"Don't look away," he said, voice gentle now. "Eyes on the lens."

Cal held the camera steady, his own excitement evident, fingers clumsy on the zoom as he tried to keep both their faces in frame. The flash blinked red, recording every second.

Andre was shaking too, and the knife trembled slightly against her throat. He let out a ragged exhale of air each time he pushed deeper into her. His hand was wrapped too tight around her throat, cutting off blood flow. Her face was starting to flush red.

Her body was tense, too tense, and it was throwing him off.

The camera’s red light blinked.

Cal’s breath hitched—because he knew that broken rhythm in Andre’s voice. He’d heard it late at night when they shared a room, when the house was quiet and Andre thought Cal was asleep.

He knew now.

Andre wasn’t just nervous.

He didn't know what to do.

And that made Cal feel something sharp and hot twist behind his ribs, like he knew something Andre didn't for once.

For the first time ever, he saw a crack in him. In Andre. The god with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes... fumbling inside something real, raw, alive.

Abigail felt it too, the hesitation deep within each shallow thrust. As if he didn’t know how to move without breaking her and she knew he didn't care about that. She could feel every tremor of his hips, every stuttered breath against her neck where sweat slid between them like oil on steel.

She was still crying, failing to hold her breath. Andre's face was half-hidden in her hair, mouth open against her cheek. A moan escaped him that sounded almost like a whimper—and Cal held very, very still because that sound alone was worth a thousand broken bones.

He was unraveling.

Abigail trembled as Andre fumbled to find a rhythm that felt good only to him. He shuddered again and had to bite his lip—hard.

The camera picked it up. Cal saw the muscles twitching in the side of his face, the tendons in his hand clenching around her neck, the sweat dripping off of them like dew.

Cal saw everything.

And he saw the exact moment it all just... ended. Abigail gasped as if she had just been stabbed, feeling Andre's hot load filling her up as his cock twitched inside her. The red light finally blinked out.

There was stillness for a moment. Just three people struggling to remember how to breathe.

All Cal could think was Andre wasn't a virgin anymore.

And it wasn't because of him.

Andre pulled away and sat back on his heels, staring at the ceiling as if it had all just been some kind of terrible hallucination. Like the room might fade away around them in seconds.

The blood was rushing back to his head too quickly.

The knife was still clutched tightly in one hand like a lifeline. He looked dazed and lost and... scared.

But just for a second. Then the mask slipped back over his face. "Your turn."

He got up and made himself somewhat decent, grabbing the camera from Cal in exchange for the knife. Cal was frozen for a moment, eyes wide, face pale and sweating, but the camera focused on him.

"You watched for so long. Wanted it for so long. You deserve it."

And there it was.

Cal stood, unsteady, and took quick breaths. Like someone about to jump in cold water. Abigail swallowed hard when he knelt down, her breathing shaky as she felt Cal untying her. But he left her wrists bound.

He wrestled her torn up pants all the way off and mumbled for her to "Turn over. Put your legs like this- theeeere you go. Good girl."

So she could hold her wrists in front of her and lay on her back.

Cal looked down at her. So small, even compared to him. A dark bruise was blossoming around her throat where Andre had strangled her. She looked dead.

Cal froze for just a second too long.

Andre was getting impatient. "Come on, fag."

Cal's fingers twitched against her thigh—nervous, jerky. But he didn’t move in. He just stared at the hollow of her collarbone, the way her chest rose and fell like she was trying to disappear into the floor.

Then he looked up.

Andre stood watching them through the viewfinder. He was deafeningly silent now. Waiting.

Cal swallowed hard. His cock throbbed with need but something else twisted behind it—something wet and warm like guilt or fear.

But not what he felt with Andre.

He pressed forward anyway, hips stuttering as he pushed inside her with one uneven thrust. A gasp was torn from his throat. She was alive. Warm. Filled up with Andre's cum and that realization made him shudder deeper than anything.

He started moving. Slow at first. Then faster. Then harder, as if trying to punish them both. Because he felt like he was cheating, despite the fact that Andre was orchestrating the whole thing and right there watching.

Her body bounced slightly under each uneven push. Her hands clenched tighter together over her chest as if praying for an end that wouldn't come until a bullet went through her brain.

Cal’s breath came ragged now—and broken when it slipped out: “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m—”

Not to her.

To Andre.

It was a girl. And now he realized when he was balls deep inside of one that he had absolutely no interest in them. Not even Andre's load gushing out around his cock could keep it from going soft.

Cal's heart pounded as he pulled out. The camera caught it all. Everything. The shame. The sweat. His trembling.

The silence became thick and heavy between them.

"What's the problem?" Andre asked.

Cal flinched, like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over his head. But he didn't look up at first. His voice was barely above a whisper, "Nothing. I just... I just need a minute."

Abigail breathed shallowly as she laid there between the two boys, helpless and still bound with no hope of escape.

Cal slowly stood up pulling his pants up with trembling hands.

He wanted to scream. To run.

He had spent his whole life hating girls—hating how Andre looked at them, even briefly—but now? Now he knew the truth: it wasn't hate. It was jealousy. Pure, raw envy.

Because she had him first.

It wasn't fair.

Andre watched with a twisted fascination as Cal seemed to be at war with himself.

His tone was cold and detached as usual. "If you need to kill her, kill her."

Cal's hand stopped shaking as he slowly picked the knife up and knelt over Abigail. Her whole body trembled and her eyes went wide. They were a brighter blue than his, looking like ice being struck with a pick.

He could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat like a frightened bird. Her chest was rising and falling faster now.

She was so small. So breakable.

His fingers brushed softly over her skin. Warm for now.

She was afraid of him. Like Rachel was. Like everyone would be.

It made his stomach churn but also sent a hot bolt down to his groin. He pressed the knife against her neck just enough to draw blood, eager to hear the wheeze as he punctured her throat.

She didn’t beg or protest. Her eyes just locked onto his, grateful. Like he was giving her the ultimate gift. Like he was God. She coughed as her throat filled with the blood that welled a thin line of red down her neck—and then it started to crawl down her chest.

Andre stepped forward slowly, still recording, saying nothing.

Abigail was still breathing ragged and wet, but alive. Dying slowly on cold concrete like an animal left behind after a hunt that never mattered anyway.

Andre knelt beside her without fear or empathy. Just focus.

He set the camera down on a nearby coffee table as he shifted on the concrete to kneel next to her head. She twitched on the floor, taking in wet gasps through the near hole in her throat that sounded like a pig squealing.

Andre pressed the knife against the soft spot at the base of her skull.

"Don't move," he said softly, as if she was a scared animal. As if it mattered.

Her eyes widened one final time as Andre held her head still. She looked like a struck doe, frozen in the headlights.

Cal was still beside them, his head spinning from all of it—and he didn't know if he wanted to throw up yet.

Then there was a crunch as the knife pierced skin at the base of her neck and cut through into where the skull met the spine. Brain matter sprayed out as Andre pulled the knife out and thrusted it back in with a little more force. And then it was all over.

Her body went limp and her eyes remained open as blood and other fluid spilled out onto the concrete. Andre sat back on his heels, breathing heavy.

He reached a hand out for the camera. Cal hesitated in handing it over.

The knife clinked to the floor and Andre stood up, snatching the camcorder from Cal. "I made you a new hole to fuck. She's probably got diseases in her throat, but you can't catch crazy."

Cal obeyed as he always did, positioning himself to sit against the wall. He dragged her over between his legs, picking through her dark hair that was now matted with the contents of her skull. His fingers slipped into the warm, slick knife wound and he moaned.

Andre had a wicked smirk ever-present on his face.

Cal felt sick, but he couldn't stop. The hole in her head was warm and wet and he couldn't stop. He was breathing ragged now, eyes unfocused. He came quickly with a sharp gasp, leaving his dick twitching inside her skull as he spilled his load in her brains.

The room was silent again, except for the soft hum of the camera. Then Andre shut the viewfinder and turned it off.

"Alright lets hide her somewhere for later."

Chapter Text

Cal was sleeping over at Andre's, as he usually did. The excuse for it this time was that Andre's mother volunteered to chaperone their fieldtrip the following day and she was allowed to drive them and that meant eating McDick's for breakfast.

Cal's spot was always on the floor because Andre slept naked. Though since things between them had changed a bit, it was causing Andre to be a little more curious about what it might be like to sleep next to someone.

After wrestling with the idea for what seemed like an eternity, Andre finally leaned over, whispering, "Cal."

Cal's eyes slowly opened and he turned his attention to Andre. "Yeah?" he said, his voice groggy.

"Come up here." It was basically a command.

Cal hesitated for a moment, but eventually complied. He crawled up onto the bed and sat criss-cross next to Andre, still looking half-asleep. "What is it?" he asked, yawning.

"Nothin'. Just go to sleep," he said, putting the blanket over the blonde's lap.

Cal raised an eyebrow at Andre's sudden act of almost-kindness, but decided not to question it. He let out a sigh and settled into a more comfortable position, still feeling a bit bewildered.

"You sure you didn't want anything?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"You know what I want and that's not happening," Andre scoffed, half joking since the idea was his recent obsession.

Cal's blue eyes widened in surprise before he scoffed, trying to hide a slight blush at the suggestion. "No, that's definitely not what I meant," he replied, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance on his face.

Andre just laughed him off and pretended to doze off as he waited for Cal to fall back asleep.

Cal rolled his eyes at Andre's antics but decided not to let it bother him too much. He settled back down into his spot and slowly relaxed, feeling drowsiness taking over once more. Once he heard Cal start to snore, Andre only waited a little while before he started to touch him. Just gently enough to get Cal hard without waking him up.

At the moment, Cal was lost in the depths of sleep. His eyelids were closed, his eyes moving back and forth under the delicate skin, dream visions dancing just out of reach. In a different place in his mind, there was the image of a gun, a dark mass against a sea of red and black, the cold metal almost tangible in his hand.

Andre tried to keep his breathing quiet as he leaned in close, his dark eyes scanning over Cal's peaceful face. He didn't want to interrupt his dream, but wondered if he could get the other boy to finish before waking up. Maybe he wouldn't even notice. Andre's hand squeezed and twisted up around Cal's stiffening cock, now slick from his usual absurd amount of precum.

Cal's brow furrowed slightly in his sleep. A small, nearly inaudible sound escaped his lips as his dream shifted, memories mixing and twisting themselves into a dark fantasy that played out behind his closed eyes. Images of chaos and destruction flashed in the darkness, and for a brief moment, his expression mirrored the intensity of the scenes he was witnessing in his mind. But as quickly as they had come, the images of chaos receded, replaced by a softer, more vulnerable emotion.

The dream became more vivid, almost like he wasn't just viewing them but experiencing them - the cold steel of a gun in his hands, the sharp click of a safety being released, the acrid smell of blood thick in the air.

Andre didn't let up as Cal started bucking into his hand. "Shh shut up," he whispered in the other boy's ear, covering his mouth.

Cal opened his eyes slowly, the vivid images still fresh in his mind, now blending with the sights and sounds of his reality. He could barely realize he was conscious before Andre felt something warm dribbling down his knuckles.

As Cal laid there panting and soaked with sweat, his body quivering with aftershocks, Andre breathed out a small almost evil laugh against his neck. He finally let go, attempting to collect as much of the other boy's spunk as possible to use as lube to jerk off.

The last remnants of the dream lingered in the shadows of Cal's eyes, but he looked at Andre, and for a moment, there was a flicker of fear mixed with something else - something more complicated but unmistakable - in his expression. His mind was officially unfogged.

"What...what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Andre said in a breathy, almost pained noise as he finally gave his swollen hard-on some attention.

Cal watched in a daze as Andre started to stroke himself, his mind still trying to catch up with what was happening. It was surreal, seeing Andre like this. There was a vulnerability in his actions that was unusual for the usually angry and aggressive boy.

"Stop," Cal said suddenly, reaching out to grab Andre's arm. "Andre, wait."

Without hesitation he wrapped Cal's slender pale fingers around his cock. Cal's breath hitched in his throat. It was hot and heavy in his hand, the same as it had felt in pressed up against his ass through his pajamas just moments ago.

"Andre, w-what are we doing here?" Cal managed to ask, his voice hitching.

"Jesus fuck- don't fucking ask me shit like that right now. Are you serious?" Andre hissed in irritation, swatting Cal's hand away and continuing to selfishly stroke himself off before the cum dried.

Cal flinched at Andre's harsh tone, the familiar sharpness cutting through the strange atmosphere they'd created between the two of them. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. His mind was a mess, and he suddenly couldn't process what was going on.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking away from Andre's face. "I didn't... I don't know, I just..." his sentence trailed off, his brain failing to form a coherent thought.

Andre sighed, pulling Cal over to claim his lips in an apologetic kiss. "You shouldn't worry about it too much. Just do whatever you want. We're not gonna be here soon."

The unexpected kiss took Cal by surprise, but he couldn't deny the flutter it caused in his belly. Andre's words were vague, but the promise in them sent a shiver down his spine. He took a moment to study Andre's face, searching for any sign of reassurance in his dark eyes.

"Okay then," he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Whatever I want, right?"

"You're not fucking me in the ass." Andre made that clear right away.

Cal couldn't help but let out a small huff at Andre's words, rolling his eyes a little. "I didn't say anything about that," he retorted, his tone lighter now, a small smirk creeping up his face. "Besides, I don't see you offering."

The look in Andre's eyes made it obvious he wanted to slap Cal across the face, but he didn't. His calloused hands cradled the blonde's soft face. "Yeah not my thing. What about you?"

Cal leaned into Andre's touch, feeling strangely comforted by it despite everything. His brain was still trying to process the fact that Andre, of all people, was being...dare he even think it, affectionate.

"Maybe one day, who knows," he replied nonchalantly, trying to feign a casual tone.

Andre chewed his lip, trying not to seem too pushy. "Well...what about right now?"

Cal swallowed the lump in his throat at the question. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He could feel himself starting to become vulnerable again, the situation making his head spin.

"You...you really want to-" he started but quickly stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

"You don't have to..." Andre said, obviously not in favor of the idea of not doing what he wanted.

Despite his nervousness, Cal couldn't deny the curiosity that had built up in him. He met Andre's eyes, seeing the determination there. Slowly, he nodded, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah...yeah okay," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Andre smiled like he'd just opened an expensive gift. He was gentle in the way he handled the scrawnier boy, laying him face down and slowly pulling his pants off.

Cal's heart thumped in his chest as Andre undressed him. He couldn't believe he was actually going to allow this, with the added fact that he wasn't completely opposed to the idea. He could feel his face heat up as cool air hit his exposed skin.

"Be gentle, okay?" he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in a pillow.

Andre laughed dismissively as he lined himself up between Cal's legs. "Not on your life."

He pressed in, slowly inching his hips forward as his nails dug into the other boy's waist. Cal buried his face in the pillow to muffle a pathetic sound. Andre's grip tightened in Cal's hair. Slowly, he began to thrust deeper, forcing the other boy's face further into the pillow.

"You don't really think this is the worst I can do, right?" Andre sneered, his voice rough.

Andre's words were like salt on a wound, a reminder of all the times he'd been on the receiving end of Andre's aggression. The pain mingled with a strange sense of satisfaction, a sick kind of pleasure in knowing that Andre saw him as someone who could handle it all.

"Shut up," Cal managed to mutter, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Sorry what was that?" Andre asked, yanking Cal's hair and spitting on his face.

Cal remained silent, unable to find his voice.

"That's what I thought."

Andre continued to pound into him, but it was making too much noise. He had no choice but to be slow and methodical about this. How annoying.

Time seemed to slow down as Andre continued his rhythmic movements, the silence in the room only broken by the faint sound of their breaths and the occasional grunt from the taller boy. With every thrust forward, he'd dig his nails into Cal's soft skin, leaving red lines in their Wake.

"You're a pathetic little fuck, you know that?" Andre murmured, his voice low as if he was almost talking to himself. "And yet, here you are, taking all this for me."

Cal clenched his jaw, trying to push back the rush of emotions that washed over him. The shame, the vulnerability, and the weirdly satisfying thrill of submission. He let out a breath, his voice a mix of anger and resignation.

"Shut up, you know you only got me here because I let you," he bit out, but it was weak at best. There was no conviction in his words and they both knew it.

Andre smirked, his breath hot against Cal's ear. "You would've never tried anything. You need me to rape you."

"That's-that's not true," Cal protested, but there was no fire in his voice. Deep down, he couldn't find the will to deny it.

Part of him had always been drawn to Andre's dominance, even when he saw it as a disgusting thing. After all, no one else would dare get near him, everyone terrified of them. At least, to the other people's eyes, Andre looked like some messed up individual who would kill at the drop of a hat. Even if it was true to an extent, he had never really felt unsafe with Andre in any way.

"You sure about that?" Andre breathed.

Even though it wasn't said, Cal knew Andre was right. The silence and resignation only fueled his ego more.

He wasn't a fighter, never really had any fight in him. Especially not against someone like this. His lack of strength didn't necessarily make him weak, but it made things like this happen. This was the kind of moment when he felt like he had no control, where he became putty in the hands of the more volatile of the pair.

But now, with the situation they were in, all those mixed up and conflicting feelings were out in the open. He couldn't hide his morbid fascination with getting hurt, the way Andre made him feel alive in the worst possible ways.

Andre held onto Cal tightly, his strong arms coming up around him to grab onto his shoulders. And there it was – the helplessness again. Cal's breath hitched. Despite the pain, being pinned down was a familiar feeling to him, something he almost craved deep down.

That hitch in Andre's breath followed soon after. That sound that Cal always heard from so much farther away. Now it was right in his ear and Andre was biting into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Something thick and hot soothed the soreness in Cal's ass for now.

There was a strange sense of satisfaction too, that he had a part, no matter how small, to make Andre feel something.

"Get some rest. We gotta be up early." Andre told him, pulling the covers back up over the two of them.

That night Cal's dreams were a chaotic mix of dark images and familiar sights. He was in the middle of Zero Day, a gun in his hands, and the halls of the school were littered with bodies. But in between shooting, Cal would catch glimpses of Andre's face - sometimes angry, sometimes cruel, and sometimes just...blank.

Broken glass littered the ground along with bullet casings. The air was smoky and a little hot. He and Andre had just finished getting rid of everyone, just like always. Only this time, it ended differently. He and Andre got away with it before the cops showed up. They just drove.

And when Cal finally began to realize he was dreaming it was because his body suddenly felt tingly. Andre had reached over and started touching him again in his sleep. Cal jolted awake, his eyes fluttering open.

"Andre?" He murmured, attempting to make sense of the situation through the fog of fatigue.

Andre's other hand quickly went to cover Cal's mouth as he worked on trying to get him off again. It was light outside now and birds were chirping, but there was no sound of anyone else being awake downstairs... yet.

Since Cal had just woken up, he was so sensitive. It wasn't difficult for Andre to finish him off. He was already leaking before he woke up and it only took a couple more strokes before he was arching up off the bed and making a pathetic noise into Andre's palm.

Andre wiped his hand on Cal's boxers and got up to start getting dressed for the day. It was then that Cal realized he had something on his face, it was sticky and half dried. He could feel some of it stuck in his braces too. It was salty.

It was only when Andre turned on the lamp and light filled the room that Cal caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked closer and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized what it was. With a mixture of disgust and realization, Cal's fingers trembled as he attempted to rub away the substance from his face.

The realization that Andre had jerked off in his mouth while he was asleep made his cheeks burn with mortification.

"You-" he said, turning his gaze back to Andre, who was now pulling on his pants. "You left it on my face and you didn't even bother to tell me!?"

Andre looked genuinely puzzled for a second and then it dawned on him that he hadn't cleaned up his mess. "Looks like toothpaste," he said with a shrug.

Cal's eyes narrowed and he let out a huff, his disbelief evident. "Toothpaste?" he repeated, his voice remained agitated as he muttered, "Like the whole fucking tube?"

He went to go actually brush his teeth and get the filth out of his mouth once he'd changed into some clothes that weren't also covered in splooge. Andre just snorted with laughter, but left Cal to get his head right in the bathroom.