He stood up, his muscles aching from inactivity, and touched the picture of the three of them taped to his mirror. Bear stood between his brother and his best friend, his grinning face taking up most of the photo as he leaned toward the camera, bringing the two of them with him. Jason was beside him, already sporting the first of his many tattoos. And on the other side of Bear was Kit, the smalest of the three and clearly already getting a sunburn as they spent the afternoon swimming in the river. That had been the summer before Bear left for Harvard to get his bachelor's degree on a ful scholarship. The news had harped on that. Kit stroked the wel-worn photo before taking a step back. His mom was right. Jason deserved to know, if he didn't already.
He heard his mom leave, her car starting up with a soft purr before she drove away. Kit couldn't help the nervous flutter of anxiety at the idea of seeing Jason again. He was just a guy, just like any other guy, Kit reminded himself as he combed the messy locks of his hair. Only, he knew the truth. Jason wasn't just
any
guy.
He hadn't ever just been anything. And that thought had Kit clutching his stomach as he tried to hold back the bile that threatened to come up. He hadn't eaten today.
Or yesterday either, as far as he could remember.
He should cal Jason. He didn't actualy have to go see him. Or a text would do just as wel. Kit stopped before he reached for his phone. He didn't have Jason's number. He'd deleted it a week after the funeral when Jason hadn't caled him. He realized now that the man would have no reason to cal the kid brother of his dead best friend. But back then it'd been just another insult. Another knife carving his skin. Back then it'd felt like Jason had died too. And the rejection had been just too much for Kit to bear.
He puled on a pair of jeans, hopefuly clean, from a pile in the corner. They were too big on him whereas just last year they'd almost been tight. He'd be better off with a belt but he didn't own any. He chose his cleanest T-shirt and forced his feet into a pair of sneakers. He looked in the mirror, hating his reflection.
Too long without sunlight had made his skin pale and salow. He'd never realy cared that much about his appearance but he'd never looked like a walking zombie before. Screw it. There wasn't anything that could be done about it now. And it wasn't like Jason would actualy care what he looked like anyway. If he was even at the tattoo shop anymore.
Kit walked right past his old sedan as he left the house. Instead of going to the car he had once loved, he waited for the bus. He hadn't driven since the accident and had no intention of starting today. Discovering he'd forgotten his MP3 player, Kit started to go back for it but paused as the bus arrived, squeaking its brakes as it rumbled to a stop in front of him. The doors flew open wide and the driver leaned toward him, pushing up his cabbie hat in order to see Kit better.
"Kit Gibson! Is that realy you, son?" The driver's loud question attracted the attention of the people on the crowded bus.
Kit ducked his head. Even if no one knew him, his last name would be pretty familiar to anyone who folowed the local news. He could feel his cheeks growing warm and the sensation quickly spread to his ears. He took a step back, preparing to bolt back to his house and hide in the safety of his room for another six months.
But, he reminded himself, he was going to see Jason. He gulped down the fear and anxiety accompanying the thought. He'd always been the little brother tagging along. After today he'd have no reason to see Jason again. Sure, they'd say hi at the grocery store if they ran into each other. For a while at least.
But then, eventualy, they'd just be two strangers who happened to be at the deli at the same time. Jason would never again be the guy Kit had known growing up. That realization had him sucking down gulps of air as he struggled to blink back the tears stinging his eyes.
"Hey, kid, you comin'?"
Kit nodded. Jason should know the latest news, if he didn't already. Then Kit could say goodbye to his brother's best friend of over ten years. The man Kit had been in love with for six.
He took a breath and forced his feet to move.
"Christ, Kit, you need to eat something," the driver told him as he dropped what little change he had into the machine.
Kit forced a half smile and quickly turned away.
A man in the first seat got up as he approached. He normaly would have protested that show of politeness.
In fact, he was usualy the first to offer up his seat to someone who needed it more than him. But today the isolation suited him just fine as he folded himself up in the seat and rested his forehead against the cold glass of the window pane. He heard the people whispering around him, making sure everyone around them knew who joined them on the bus. Kit slumped further down, wishing he could be smaler than his nearly six feet so he could disappear. He wanted to turn around and yel at them to mind their own damn business. He kept quiet, the silence burning his throat.
Kit watched the smiling faces of the people on the street as the bus zoomed past. He intentionaly overlooked the guys who were on summer break.
They'd be going back to their colege campuses in a few weeks. He'd be staying home. His parents had understood, at first, why he didn't go back for the spring semester. It had started just days after the funeral. But when he chose not to register for the fal semester they weren't nearly as supportive. His mom drifted away from him. It'd been inches at first, like not saying goodnight to him. Then it stretched into an entire day where she didn't come see him in his room at al.
Some part of him hoped she would drag him into the sunshine again. But she never did. There had been days where Kit had heard her do little more than cry in their room down the hal. Other days she spent busily cleaning the house until it shined and her hands were raw and cracked at dinner. That was back when he had stil gone downstairs to eat dinner with his parents.
Back before the empty spot next to his chair realy started to get to him.
His father had been just as bad at coping. He always worked late, but it was only after the accident that Kit started to notice. He left before Kit woke up in the morning and he didn't return until wel after dark. He worked Saturdays, too, like he was today. His parents fought over his schedule a few days ago, the argument ending with the slamming of the front door and his father getting back into his car. He didn't come home before Kit fel asleep, sometime around midnight, and he was leaving as Kit woke up the next morning.
The bus wound through the busy streets to the heart of downtown. Kit unfolded himself as the bus approached the Bear Valey Tattoo and Piercing shop.
The neon sign in the window proclaimed it was open, though he saw no one standing inside.
Bear was named after the valey. Their hippie parents had decided to name their first child after the place he was conceived during a camping trip. Bear had always been embarrassed when his parents told the story to complete strangers. Now Kit would do almost anything to hear stories about his brother again.
The bus came to a rumbling stop down the block from the shop and he and most of the others filed out onto the sunny sidewalk. He pushed his hands into his pockets, slumped his shoulders, and started making his way across the street. The whispers folowed him even then, their hurried voices carried to him on the breeze. He ignored them, or at least tried the best he could, as he ducked into the shop.
The familiar sights and sounds of the shop hit him like an ice bath. He, Bear, and Jason had spent so many afternoons in the shop surrounded by the buzz of the tattoo machines and the smel of disinfectant that the absence from that familiarity had been a strange sort of loss. The shop hadn't changed in six months. He wasn't sure why he expected it to, but somehow he thought Bear's death would have made more of an impact on the world. That this place, where they had hung out most afternoons for years, hadn't changed at al after his death just sent that message home even more. His brother's death only mattered to him it seemed. And Jason probably wouldn't care about the news anyway.
He was turning to go when the man behind the counter spotted him. "Kit?"
Kit turned, seeing the familiar pity in Joe's eyes and hating it. "I'm just gonna—"
"Stay there," the man said as he got up. "Jason wil want to see you. He's in the back. Stay right there."
The man quickly hurried to the back of the shop where the office was.
Kit stopped, frowning after the man. Had he been that easy to read? Apparently. He bit back a sigh and went to a new group of photos against a brightly painted blue wal. He and Bear had painted that wal a few months before Bear left for his first semester of colege. Jason had sat back, drinking a soda and teling them what they were doing wrong. Kit smiled, remembering that day and how happy they'd al been.
"The paint's peeling already. You two sucked at that," a voice said from behind him.
Kit whirled, his heart racing as he stared up into a face as familiar as his own. "Jason…" he whispered, gulped and then gulped again. He could barely breathe past the lump in his throat.
But what he saw as he took in the rest of Kit made him so angry he wanted to yel at the man for taking such poor care of himself. He'd lost an easy twenty pounds in six months, and he didn't have the extra weight to lose. Jason clenched his lips together to keep from saying something that would make the obviously nervous man bolt.
"I just came to tel you—"
Jason shook his head and placed a hand on the back of Kit's neck. Thankfuly the younger man folowed him without fuss to the private room Jason worked in. He helped him sit up on the chair and then leaned back against the counter.
"You came to tel me what?"
Kit quickly shrank back from him, his eyes focused on the floor as Jason's anger hit him. Jason took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "You were missed," he said as he grabbed the roling stool and took a seat. "Not by me, of course, but by the others in the shop."
Kit gave him a little smile and Jason's heart sweled with pride at being able to tease that much from the man his mother claimed had become a permanent fixture in his own bedroom. He took a chance and rested his hand on the top of Kit's knee. The bones he felt through Kit's jeans had him mentaly cursing, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Kit didn't need that kind of anger pressing on him right now. Daniele, Kit's mother, had said Kit needed gentle coaxing from him.
Gentle love, she'd caled it. Months ago she'd begged him to come visit Kit, told him how bad it was starting to get. But damn, he never thought the man would go this far into the hole. And he hated himself for not stepping up to help him out sooner. Honestly, he was scared. He didn't want to see Bear's home, his life. His brother. But that was al shit. He could see now how much Kit needed help and he was a damn coward for not coming to see him.
"Look… I…." Shit. Jason didn't even know where to begin.
"He kiled himself. The man that murdered Bear," Kit whispered. As Jason watched, a shudder went through Kit's frame. Damn he was smal. He'd always been shorter than Bear, but now he was damn near tiny. Jason shook his head and muttered a curse. It was al his fault. "Did you hear me? That asshole fucking kiled himself!"
Kit's yel echoed off of the wals in the smal shop. Jason flinched at hearing such words come from a mouth that, six months ago, had barely known how to curse. "You stop that shit right now. This is my shop and if you don't have enough respect for yourself, then at least respect me."
His hand clenched into a fist at his side. He wanted to backhand him. He was close to it. Too close.
He took a deep breath, cleansing the anger out of him.
Or so Bear had always told him. Good in, bad out.
Damn. Bear would know what to do. He always did.
And then Kit's words sank in. "He what?"
Kit stuck his chin out stubbornly. "Not repeating myself if you can't bother to listen to me the first goddamn time."
Jason sat back and closed his eyes. For six months Kit's mom had been talking about how everything would be better once the man who kiled her son was in prison. For those very long months Jason had listened to her praise a justice system that, in his eyes, failed more people than it helped. And then for the murderer to go and do this? "Fucking coward," he muttered darkly.
"Damn straight," Kit said, his voice just as angry. "And why do you get to say it?"
"Because I'm older."
Jason fingered the gray bit of suede on his left wrist. The circle helped calm him, though he hadn't used that code at a gay club in months. His gaze flicked to Kit's wrists. Stupid as it was, he'd always wanted to tie the younger man. He'd thought about it plenty of nights and had often pictured Kit's face on the men he'd meet.
None of them suited him. In those darkest of nights he wondered if Kit would struggle against the bindings.
And most of al he wondered if he would take the same pleasure from being tied as Jason would from tying him.
He took a breath and puled himself out of the fantasy of being with Kit and back to the reality of the hurting man in front of him. "So… he kiled himself?"