A/N: Ooh, chapter 22. Thanks for the reviews! I wanted to address this one upfront - just in case I offended anyone else in the process:

BTW: This chapter made me WAY uncomfortable, to the point where I skipped bits- abuse shouldn't be treated casually- so yeah, Kisten needs to get closure or help within the story, it will be bad reading otherwise.

Hi, lol. I agree that abuse shouldn't be treated casually. Neither should drug use, homophobia, hate crimes, etc., anything that makes up a story (mine or someone else's). But in defense of what I wrote, I don't think pretending abuse doesn't happen is the right thing either. Domestic violence like that - and worse - happens to real people, everyday, and if they go through it, then I can certainly stomach writing about it. I think it would be worse for me to say, "Oh, he was abused - but since I don't like the subject, I'm just going to ignore it." I like what I wrote for character development, not because I particularly enjoy writing about domestic violence. I won't apologize for what I wrote, because I handled it that way for a reason, but I am sorry if it gave you a negative impression of the story. Thanks, at any rate, for bringing it to my attention. XD

OKAY! Enough of me talking - and enough of me sounding pretentious/depressing everyone.

So the big meeting was a bust, and I didn't see Drew the rest of the night. I'm not sure if I was disappointed or relieved - if he's going to be a dick, I'd rather put off that unpleasant reality for awhile, like somehow that would make it more bearable. I get back to the dorm and Theo's not there either, and it's the same mixed feeling.

Monday classes suck, by the way. By the time I haul myself back to my room, all I want to do is pass out and sleep off the rest of the day. Sleep on my stomach, mind you, since my ass is in near constant pain after that whole...ohmygodincredibleorgasmtastic experience. Popping continuous pain pills isn't doing much for my ability to concentrate on lectures, and the discomfort is getting a hell of a lot worse on Day 2. God, my butt. I should really stop hooking up with domineering jackasses - maybe I could start wearing an electric collar or something...that shocks me every time I express interest in a jerk.

Aw, hell, I'd never get a date if that was the case, and my brain cells would probably get fried. Gah, men. I trudge up the stairs, shifting the backpack at intervals from digging into my back, and I'm grateful to find there's nobody in the hall - well, almost nobody.

Someone is sitting outside my room, cross-legged, picking at the cuticles of his painted fingernails.

"Tyler?" I say his name, but what I mean is, what are you doing here?

"Kisten! Hi!" He waves, pushing himself to his feet. Ty's wearing acid-washed jeans and a white shirt with two periodic element symbols on it. It takes me a second to figure it out - pastel green Fluorine and hot pink Silver squares side-by-side. If you look at the letters? It spells F Ag.

I grin. "Do you even own any normal shirts?"

"What? Oh!" Tyler glances down, a couple locks of blond hair spilling in front of his face. He smooths out the shirt, beaming, and turns around - showing it off. "This is normal, sweetie! I am a fag everyday."

Oh okay. Point taken.

"Are you looking for Theo?" I ask after an awkward pause, "'Cause he's at practice until seven." I can't see any other reason why Ty would be here, unless it's to try to show me another sexy dance for Andrew's benefit. Ye-ah. Silently hoping that is not the case (since it went so well before), I shrug off my bag, digging through it for my room key, and Tyler shifts from one foot to the other absently. The question provokes a laugh, bubbling up from his throat, and he shakes his head,

"Noooo-" His lips form a perfect "o", lipgloss glinting in the crappy hallway lighting, "I'm actually looking for you. I want to give you something."

Uhh...why? My key slides into the lock, and I pause, wary. Tyler is kind of crazy, and I never really know how he's going to react. Sometimes he shoves a cookie in my mouth, sometimes he threatens to beat the crap out of me (?), sometimes...

"Okay?"

His blue eyes are bright, clear, and apart from the shadows under his eyes (the last remnants of his feeling sick or whatever, I'm sure), he looks great. He looks...mischievious, which I don't really trust. Tyler actually waits, expectantly, for me to look at him before brandishing the sheet of paper in my face.

"Surprise!" I grab it before it drops, blink a few times, and...it's a card. With clip-art of pumpkins and bats and a haunted house, and there are these Casper-like ghost stickers that frame the invitation. In big, bold, orange and black letters are the words, Happy Halloween! :) And beneath that, in smaller print, is an address, and an RSVP number. At the very bottom are the words, COSTUME REQUIRED!!

"Oh..." I flip it over, but there are no more details on the back.

"So like...um, every year," Tyler bounces enthusiastically, clasping his hands together and stealing my bemused attention, "I throw this killer Halloween party at my house, and I pretty much invite everybody who doesn't totally suck." I'm...flattered that I don't 'totally suck'. Really, it's a rousing endorsement. "And I want you to come!"

"Oh," I repeat, then realize I should say something a little less...lame, "Cool, man." I hardly ever get to celebrate Halloween. My mom was usually dragging me to a drum circle or Celtic harp concert or some other random ritual when I was younger, and I couldn't trick-or-treat so...it was kind of moot. That and I rarely got invited to parties in high school anyway, the bastards (I'm not bitter). "That's...where do you live?"

I don't recognize the address, but it's the same state so...cool. As long as its not a ten hour drive or anything.

"Ehm, about three hours away? We can do carpooling or something - anyway, it's really easy, just Mapquest my house. All highways until you get to Jensburg. You should really think about coming, 'cause it's a lot of fun and...we hire a caterer, and a DJ, and my cousin and I do all the decorations ourselves."

"Wow, okay."

"And we have-" And he starts ticking it off with his fingers, "-the first floor for food and dancing and games, and whatever. We have pumpkin carving and bobbing for apples. And then, um, we turn my basement and garage into a haunted house - which is reeeeally cool, trust me, and then at midnight we do the contests for, like, prettiest costume, sexiest couple, most original...whatever, and we get all our prizes from Target. And it's...awesome, I throw a really good party."

It actually sounds fun.

Tyler is so excited about it, too, which is oddly infectious. I can hear it in his voice, gushing about all the things he sets up, and, yeah, he seems awfully confident. So what if I have class on Thursday? Fuck class. It's fucking Halloween and, besides, maybe I can pull the whole...I'm-pagan-so-I-shouldn't-have-any-homework thing. If it works for Passover, it should work for Samhain.

"...so whaddya think?"

I always space out when he rambles, but he's so fucking eager it makes me grin. "Yeah, sure."

"Oooh that is so great!" Tyler says brightly, "I will put you on the guest list! And, um, you don't have to RSVP now, because..." He taps his head, "I know you're coming. We just-jeez, I hope people RSVP-" He rolls his eyes dramatically, "because there are goody bags and caterers are expensive so...I don't want to run out of candy apples, or, like, have fifty left over because somebody's too lazy to pick up the phone."

...naturally.

I have no idea how Theo puts up with him on a regular basis. Tyler is concentrated energy and he talks about a mile-a-minute, it wears me out.

I know my roommate's going to be there. Would Drew go? Would he think it was stupid? I don't really know a lot about what he 'likes', apart from tearing me up on a regular basis (physically and mentally; I don't think my ass will ever fully recover).

"How many people did you invite?" I fish, in what I think is a subtle way, "Did you...invite a lot of the guys?" From the frat.

"You mean, did I invite Andy?" Tyler drawls, teasingly, and he winks. Well, so much for subtle. I shrug. "Yes, as a matter of fact. He asked about you too. And I slipped Cheyenne an invitation so-"

"Drew asked about me?"

Ty just smiles. Thanks for nothing, Twink. "Anywho, I've gotta run because...stuff to do...things to buy!" He does this little half-dance, pauses, hugs me after some debate, but its purely platonic. He smells like fruit, and pulls away in a whiff of coconut. "I'll see you on Wednesday! The festivities go from, like 9:30 to 2, so...you should show up on time." He pokes me in the chest lightly. "Fashionably late is so overrated."

I nod. "Nine-thirty. Right. I'll write it down." I mime doing so, and Tyler gives me one last smile and he's...off, to go spread gay cheer to some other poor, unsuspecting soul.

I finally get in my room, no more distractions, and toss my bag, the invitation, on my bed.

I stand there, in the middle of the floor, going over what just happened. So...yeah...Halloween party - cool, Drew's going to be there. I really want to see him. I really want to see him when my ass doesn't hurt so much. I need a costume.

Shit.

Two days before Halloween, I sure hope there's something left for us procrastinators.

"Come oooooon, Kisten!"

"No!"

"Just let me see it."

"NO!"

"There's nobody else here! What do you have to lose?"

"My dignity?"

"Well that's nothing new."

"Bitch," I mumble under my breath, tugging unpleasantly at the pants. We're trying on costumes. Actually, correction, Cheyenne is trying on costumes, I am humiliating myself. Repeatedly. I hate Tuesdays.

She smacks her open palm against the dressing room door. "What'd you say?!"

"Nothing...nothing..." Nothing. Ugh. This one is much worse than the Tin Man to her Dorothy, or the Wolverine to her Storm (I wouldn't even step foot in the yellow spandex, no way). We've been to four costume stores so far today - I've tried the toga, the pirate, the jedi, Michael Myers, the cowboy (much to her amusement), among others and I'm not impressed. I'm starting to regret my earlier enthusiasm about this whole idea. Cheyenne thinks it'd be cool if we went as a pair - coincidentally, she ends up looking fine, I look like a dumbass.

Example? I reluctantly unlock the door to the stuffy white stall, pulling it open - knowing full well what is awaiting me on the other side.

Sure enough, the second she sees me, she-

"Ooooohmigod, this is the winner!" Her eyes are impossibly wide, mouth gaping, and then it's - "Hahahahahahahaha!"

"Shut up."

"HAH! You look so, so-"

"Shut up! Look at this stupid outfit! It's- what are these?! Parachute pants from Hell? And the shoes, Chey, the shoes! I look like a fucking elf!" They're gold, and do the little twist up at the end. Like slippers. Like I should have bells on them.

This sucks.

Her knees are practically giving out, she's laughing so hard, gripping the wall behind her to keep her from falling on her ass, sucking in her breaths and managing to cackle, "You-you-youahahahah!" repeatedly without actually getting anything productive out.

Even hunched over and flushed and practically spitting in side-splitting humor, her costume is great. A two piece, sheer, purple and gold outfit. Gold jewelry and a gold headpiece, and yeah, she looks just like Jasmine! She even has the fucking black hair pulled back in a modest ponytail and I-

I am not Aladdin!

I am some moron in baggy white pants and really, really gay slippers.

I hate my life.

I hate Disney.

I didn't pick Disney, you know, I'm kind of glad this one didn't work out because it's...this is just...embarrassing. I cross my arms over my bare chest, irritated. And very self conscious.

I wait. She doesn't stop laughing. Still waiting, she's practically crying she's so amused.

"I'm going back into the changing room," I mutter stiffly, finally, unwilling to stand here for the two hours it takes for her to calm down. Or pass out from lack of oxygen. I barely even shove the door shut before I'm stripping this shit off - nooo way, no more Disney costumes! No more costumes - period! This is it! I give up!

I hear her snickering, struggling to stifle the laughter and failing miserably. "Oh...oh jesus...oh...Kisten, I want a picture of that!"

"No way." It just sends her into another fit of giggles with how bent out of shape I sound. I'm already pulling on my jeans again. Yeah. Costumes - bullcrap. I'll go as myself, thanks very-

"What about Pooh Bear?" she gasps, in between chuckles, and there's a rustling sound that suggests she's just plucked that one out of nowhere.

"No!"

"Aw, c'mon, Winnie the Pooh is cute! It's yellow, and it's got footies!" What the hell are footies?

"I'm done." Emphatic, that's me. I refuse to be the laughingstock of the whole damn party. I'd rather be the guy-with-no-imagination than some freak in a giant bear suit. "I want to go home."

"What?! We can't go home!" BAM! She smacks the dressing room door again. "Don't be such a spoilsport."

"I'm not, I just think this is...retarded." I don't want to embarrass myself in front of Drew. Or Theo. "Don't you think? Chey? Cheyenne?"

No answer.

She's gone off and bailed on me again.

Fine. Good riddance. I zip up my pants, drag my shirt over my head, run my belt through the loops - if I get dressed before she gets back, maybe I can escape before yet another punch to my masculinity. I'm pulling on my tennis shoes when I hear footsteps, and, a second later-

"Kisten, I've got it!"

"Hah!" I shake my head, sharp and defiant - and then I realize she can't actually see me. It's just me...my reflection...and I loudly protest, "Whatever it is, no." I grab my jacket from one of the metal hooks on the wall, leaving the discarded costume pooled on the floor. Terrible costume, worst idea ever. Someone should sue. I run my fingers through my hair with one hand, stepping out of the dressing room with a stubborn, "I don't want to be a prince or a gorilla or a serial killer or a cop or a clown-"

"Oh, you're a clown twenty-four-seven, Kist," she cheerily reminds me, leaning against the wall.

"Bite mehawhat is that?"

Cheyenne twirls it between her fingers with a snort, "English, por favor?" Beat. "This is your costume!" She smacks the base of the long black staff into the carpet, a towering, red three-pronged fork level with the top of her head.

"A pitchfork."

She grins, tilting it in a pseudo-jab at me, "Yup. I think we should go angel and devil. One, it's easy, two, it doesn't require tights or itchy outfits-"

"Consider me sold." She tosses the plastic fork at me, which I fumble with and then catch, miraculously not stabbing my eye out in the process.

"Cool. What if we get, like, a halo and maybe wings and...some horns, and then we can go buy real clothes. I'm thinking..." she drawls, linking one arm with mine, "...I'll get a white dress, short, something cute, and you get a lot of black and red. What about suede pants? Black suede."

"I can't wear that," I answer, a little incredulous, and Chey cringes after a brief pause, mumbling that she forgot suede is a finished leather. I may rag on being a vegan, but I wouldn't sacrifice that for a burger. Or fashion. "Besides, I already own black pants."

She gives me this look, like I'm an idiot, leading me back into the main portion of the store. Racks upon racks of costumes, traditional and fetish, even day-to-day outfits for people who are looking for something a little less ordinary. Neon lycra and corsets. "Do you really want to show up at that party in regular jeans?"

I almost run into a spare hanger for a French maid outfit, and roll my eyes. The way she phrases the question makes me think the correct answer is... "Guess not."

"Pleather then. It's less expensive anyway, and it still looks good." She drags me over to one of the far walls, where headpieces and masks are hanging, and starts thumbing through them all - looking for horns and a halo. She tosses a pair of mouse ears over her shoulder, and I barely duck out of the way in time, "Prince of Darkness is a pretty big thing to live up to..."

Apparently so, since we spend the next three hours looking for 'the perfect costume', and end up spending close to two hundred and fifty dollars, easy.

Oíche Shamhna - Halloween.

Every year, my mom makes me grate the vegetables for the Boxty and garlic. Every year, I manage to singe, under-cook, or otherwise ruin the potato pancakes. I am just not inclined towards cooking, and she never lets me buy things. We always make it from scratch. Gooseberry crumble, tofu coddle (because she refuses to handle meat), stuff like that. I haven't seen my maternal grandparents in a long time, I'm closest with my dad's family here in the States. My dad's family's all still alive, as far as I know. After Suze and Emily died, we started adding onto this Irish tradition with chocolate pudding and cherries, and fried wontons with honey. The tradition for our family is food - at sunset on Samhain, you leave the favorite foods on the windowsill, foods of the deceased family (or friends) you plan to honor. It's a gesture of respect, and apparently the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is thinnest on this night - so technically, don't laugh, we can commune with the dead. My mom always buys fresh candles, four black, two white, a bag of pomegranate seeds, and certain sticks of incense that she likes to burn.

And then I sit there feeling kind of stupid while she murmurs prayers and invocations in Gaelic, words that I barely recognize (it's not like I'm fluent or anything. I know a few short affectionate phrases, and a lot of curses).

Tonight? I am not making pancakes, and while my mother doesn't seem to understand the problem with performing a Wiccan ritual of divination outside in front of everyone (I don't want to pull another Drew and set off the fire alarm inside) - she doesn't push it when I tell her to light candles for both of us. The phone call is short and sweet and I am relieved.

Besides, it'd just be tacky to perform a pagan ceremony with the way I'm dressed.

The whole...devil-demon thing. Not cool.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks me, as I check my reflection for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. It looks okay, I think. Cheyenne perches on the edge of my bed carefully - wary about ripping or wrinkling her costume, and I reluctantly suck on the inside of my cheek, chewing on it in an attempt to mask my anxiety. It's a crappy attempt.

"Yeah. Theo said he'd pull up at six-thirty-"

"-after he got changed. Since he left the costume in his car," she affirms quickly, sliding off the mattress with a brief thump as her shoes hit the floor.

"Okay." I turn around, eyes instantly searching for the...pitchfork, which Chey hands to me knowingly. We take a second, mutually, to check each other out. I have to admit that when she tapped on my door, I was...surprised. White boots, hitting her ankles, with nearly four inch stiletto heels, then it's nothing but her legs for miles. A short white dress that flares out around the hips comes about mid-thigh. It's strapless and tight and shows off a body that bright colors and too much jewelry usually drowns out. There are wings, too, large, flowing, gauzy wings that keep the outfit just this side of sleazy. Thin white straps blend into the dress, anchoring one of the final touches to her costume. Black hair is piled gracefully on top of her head, sparkling with glitter, and a white band, a halo, crowns the style like a tiara.

What I thought might be a lame idea has actually turned out okay, we look good together. Of course, I can barely bend over in these pants - and it's not because of Drew, for once, but rather...because I swear to Goddess they're going to rip. Tight and black, giving way to black combat boots. The shirt's nice, long-sleeved, blood-red and silk, with some of the buttons undone because Cheyenne wouldn't leave me alone until I did it. The eyeliner is black, the hair spiked and complimented by twin red horns. I nixed the whole "tail" idea, 'cause I think this is plenty. I even let her paint my fingernails black.

I don't feel like the Prince of Darkness.

I feel like the Prince of "I'm a Dirty Manwhore".

I told Cheyenne that and she shrugged and said it was the same thing.

"Are we good?" she chirps with an impatient tap-tap on the door frame. I grab the directions off the bed and we're out of there. I don't know why I'm so nervous, what the crap? What am so worried about? Theo? Drew? I need to chill out, because the stabbing, writhing knots in my stomach are making me feel nauseas and I shouldn't have eaten that entire salad, I knew there was something weird with the tomatoes. I bet they're poisoned or some shit, and I'm slowly wasting away but I don't realize it...

What the hell? What am I thinking?

That's...morbid, god.

"Oh, hell, here we go," she mumbles, peering down over the metal railing at the staircase. Her voice resounds, with a level of anxiety I can empathize with. Hers is purely mechanical though, how to walk properly. We start down the stairs - it's hilarious, I have never snickered that much in my entire life! Cheyenne is not used to wearing high heels, so she's, like, cursing and clinging to the wall and it's...very funny. She says the boots are too narrow and crush her toes, but she won't wear different...shoes, because, I quote, "I already bought these for this costume and I'm gonna wear them!" Right. Because even if you're crippled by your sadistic shoes, at least it matches the outfit. That makes a lot of sense.

"You know, you could be a gentleman," she snaps, followed by a choked squeal as her left heel nearly slides off a step.

I purse my lips, feigning a straight face. "What?"

"Give me your arm!" I have to rearrange the fork and directions, but concede (and wince at the death grip) - we stumble down the stairs like a drunk prom couple. Mostly thanks to her leaning so much on me. I guess she figures if she's going down, she's dragging me with her.

Somehow, miraculously, we make it to the ground floor of the dorm without breaking any bones.

"Aha!" she cries triumphantly, letting go of me and regaining her balance with a few choice stomps of her heel. "I knew these shoes were worth fifty bucks! C'mon." She doesn't let me catch my breath, fearlessly leading the way outside. "What's his car look like again?" she asks over her shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest once she hits the sidewalk. It's already dark, and I can hear people screaming, talking, laughing outside, in the quad - somebody's having a bonfire.

It reminds me of last year. Cheyenne stormed into my house at, like, two in the morning, bitching about some guy in an Native American costume at this party she went to. He was drunk and thought it'd be funny to dance around the bonfire, doing the stereotypical Indian thing...oooh dude, she was so mad that she (apparently) sprayed him in the face with a shaken beer can and chucked an empty cooler at him. Nearly knocked him into the fire.

She's extremely touchy about her heritage.

I hope nobody at the party decides to pull a Pocahontas-inspired costume. For their sake.

"It's a...shit, green Forester, I think." Which is a nice Subaru, by the way. It's like a mix between a car and an SUV, seats five, and apparently has good fuel efficiency. Our eyes scan the parking lot behind the dorm, but it's hard to see anything with only two murky street lamps.

"Oh! Is that him rolling up?" Thirty seconds later, we get our answer. Cheyenne waves at the tinted windows as the Forester brakes, and I hear a door slam.

It's Theo, walking around the front of the car - washed out in blazing headlights and he-and he, oh my God.

I nearly drop my pitchfork.

"Oh my God," Cheyenne echoes aloud, her voice nearly hoarse with surprise. He's...um, fuck. On me, it would look completely stupid, but on Theo...he's...yum. He's so built, broad shoulders and muscle and...he's a gladiator. That's his costume. It's, um, a wide studded collar around his neck, lace-up brown cuffs on his wrists, a bronze studded, pleated vinyl skirt that hits a couple inches above his knees, a sword. He has a sword shoved in this scabbard-thing slung around his hips! Fuck the sword, he has the most amazing legs of any man I've ever...and brown sandals.

And no shirt, Jesus fucking Christ, he's so hot. It's like...like...ooooh, Troy extra. Yes. Back out of the way, Brad, my roommate is so fucking sexy. The vinyl looks so soft, and it doesn't hide much...is he wearing anything under that skirt?

"Wow, you two look..." Theo opens his mouth like he's about to talk, then shakes his head, raking his eyes over both of us. "Wow," he repeats slowly, biting his lip briefly. My sexy jock of a roommate is staring at me, and I...can't even...bldklajfdkalreafd?!

Yeah.

"You too, Theo! You look good enough to eat," Cheyenne recovers earnestly - and quicker, than me. A little breathy.

I say nothing. I can't. He glances at her and smiles graciously. How does he do that? "So...you guys ready?"

"Yea-yeah." I clear my throat, repeating myself without the crack in my voice this time.

Theo gestures towards the car, turning around and he...almost runs into the bumper, glancing back at us. I blush, and I sure as hell hope it isn't evident. As he's sliding back into the driver's seat, the passenger's window rolls down with a, "Those pants are fucking sexy, Kisten." Hey, it's Many-Chains-guy.

"Thanks, I-your-dude, Jin, your hair is blue!" A bright, sharp blue, and I lean against his door as he smirks at me - his face is also blue, lips darkened navy with blue gems decorating the corners of his eyes. It highlights the Korean boy's exotic features.

"Dude," he mocks lightly, accent like slate, "That's not the only thing that's blue." Sure enough, the paint covers his bare arms, torso, back, all the way down to his hips - meeting dark, denim blue jeans. I think he sees the question in my eyes, because he quickly adds, "I had no cash and a bucket of paint leftover from Homecoming - I'm a crayon."

A grin cracks my lips, because sure enough, big black letters painted vertically from chest to pelvis spell CRAYOLA. "Very nice."

"Would be nicer if the paint was edible..." He shrugs wistfully, "I do what I can."

Cheyenne clears her throat, loudly, and I shoot an apologetic look to the rest of the car - including these two people I don't even recognize. Jin rolls up his window and I quickly slide into the back. Or, try to. It's kinda hard to manuever the pitchfork, and it ends up stretching across my body and Cheyenne's. As soon as I pull the door shut, Theo hits the gas. I guess he knows where Tyler lives so...I feel kind of stupid for having printed out directions. I quickly stash them in the pocket on the back of Jin's seat, leaning back in the comfortable leather cushion.

"Hi, I'm India!" A second later there's this pale, manicured hand sticking out at me. Oh, oh yeah, I forgot there were other people in the car.

"Kisten." I smile, out of politeness. "Nice to meet you." I lean forward, and shake the girl's hand - she doesn't...look like an India. Platinum blonde hair hits her shoulders with two large, arching rabbit ears brushing the roof of the car. She's...dressed up like a Playboy bunny. The tight strapless one-piece is dark purple, and she's got matching cuffs and high-heels. Wow. The bright red lipstick really emphasizes the whole I'm a silicone tramp look.

I don't shake the guy's hand. He just gives me a nod, "David." The 'bunny' is on his lap, no doubt wrinkling the army fatigues that the dude - David? - is sporting. He's definitely one hundred percent straight, good looking, so...eh, I guess he's on the lacrosse team? He's got to be one of Theo's friends.

Instinctively, I glance up and meet my roommate's eyes in the reflection of the driver's mirror. It seems too serious, but a slight smile quirks my lips - especially as Cheyenne squeals, "It's Santana! TURN IT UP!" at the muted strum of guitar coming from the radio. He smiles back, eyes sliding back to the road as we finally manuever ourselves away from the short streets of the campus. At first, I think three hours in a car with an angel, a gladiator, a crayon, an army guy, and a Playboy bunny...it's just a recipe for awkwardness.

Or so I thought.

But Jin's got a small blue cooler with a six-pack of beer chilled under the seat. Everyone but Theo toasts the beverage of champions - and there's poorly tuned karaoke, David's animated stories about lacrosse afterparties and accidentally crashing a BMW into the side of a Taco Bell drive-thru menu, plus the surprising camraderie between my best friend and India when it comes to Taylor Swift's country music.

Two hours into our excursion, Chey swears there is something digging into her backside (we all struggle not to make a comment), and digs into the slot between the seat and back cushions -

Somehow, she comes out with a handheld Tetris game.

Theo insists it's his brothers, alongside the old Pokemon GameBoy cartridge she also finds. Jin and I trade a glance and start ragging on him - at least, until Cheyenne tells us all to shut up.

For about ten minutes, we do, and then it's,

"Flip the T one sideways!" I hiss, leaning over her shoulder and watching the neon Tetris pieces tumble down the screen one at a time, "It'll fit in the corner-"

"No, man," Army-Guy David argues from her other side, "Look, the next one's going to be a long one! Slot the T in beside the square."

"Then she's going to have to hope for an L to fit that space."

"Nah, the line's going to disappear. It's-"

"Will you two stop sideseat gaming?" Chey grumbles, swatting at Army Guy's hand when he tries to touch the screen, "I know what I'm doing."

"I have to pee!" Playboy Bunny announces plaintively, a few minutes later.

Why do girls feel the need to announce things like that? David sighs, shifting her on his lap, "Can't you hold it or something?"

That brush-off earns him a playful smack in the shoulder and a haughty, "I don't have a camel-bladder like some people." She turns to the rest of us for support, "Besides, don't you guys want to get snacks? Stretch your legs?"

The general consensus is a shrug, why not? and Theo pulls into a gas station that doesn't seem too shady. Chey pauses the game.

It's a comedy of errors when we clamber out of the backseat - Playboy Bunny accidentally stomps on her boyfriend's foot trying to climb out and he yells, which startles me, and I accidentally swing the pitchfork around, nearly smacking Cheyenne in the face. We manage it, though, somehow, and I leave my plastic weapon in the car. The two girls link arms - marching off in search of a bathroom. We four trail behind. Well, three. Jin stays near the car to light a cigarette, but shoves five bucks in Theo's hand and asks for a bag of 'salsa flavored Sun Chips'. I know it sounds gross, but Jin swears up-and-down that they're amazing. We spread out once we hit the store itself, assaulted by bright fluorescence and rows of junk food. The cashier doesn't even notice us entering, which I can only assume is because he's still staring off after the girls. For a straight guy, I guess they are pretty hot.

Army-Guy-David mutters something about grabbing a Coke, but I secretly think he's just strategically keeping an eye on the bathrooms - to make sure no random joker tries to hit on his girlfriend. Which leaves Theo and me alone, somewhere between gummy worms and packaged donuts. He's looking for Jin's chips - and I can't stop glancing at him, despite the fact that I feel frustrated with myself for it. Am I never satisfied? I had the most incredible, incredible sex with Drew, who is finally coming to terms with his status as a gay sex god - that's awesome, that's good news for me, that's the only thing I've wanted since I met the guy. What's my deal with Theo? What am I doing? Why am I doing it?

We're going to his boyfriend's Halloween party! I shouldn't be checking him out...this much, anyway. I inwardly groan at my own lack of control and decide to make a smart escape, very subtly, carefully, backing away from the sexy gladiator, and I bet he won't even not-

"Where are you going?"

-ice.

"Uh...Skittles, I think I want some Skittles." Which is a complete lie. I don't eat candy because they don't use vegan sugar - bone char, made from cow bones, is what some companies use to turn their sugar white. Coincidentally, that's also why I never went trick-or-treating.

Theo gives me a surprised look. "I didn't even know you liked candy."

I blanch a little. Clever bastard. "Yeah...well..." I give a helpless shrug, struggling to keep my attention above the waist, and most importantly, on Theo's eyes. I can't decide if I'm pleased or not when I look at him - and he's most definitely checking me out. I wonder if he thinks he's as subtle as I think I am.

Dark eyes meet mine, and far from looking embarrassed, Theo just smiles, utterly disarming. "I like your pants."

"I like your skirt."

"Vinyl. The whole costume is." Hah, I thought so.

"Is it comfortable?" Why did I ask that? Theo closes the distance between us, rather than responding right away. I nearly back into a shelf of Pringles before I realize there's nowhere else to go. He holds up one hand, I guess in invitation - and I touch the laced up cuffs. It's nice, I guess, as nice as vinyl can be. I say so, and Theo nods his agreement.

"What about you?" he asks absently, fingertips of his other hand caressing one of my beltloops. "These pants comfortable?"

I study my roommate seriously, trying to ignore his proximity, "If I don't breathe or bend over...absolutely."

He grins. I grin back.

I let go of his wrist, instead tapping the hilt of his sword sheath. "Is that just for decoration?"

"Oh no, this is pretty cool." He's no longer touching me, dammit, but I get to see him pull out the blade - it's definitely plastic, but it looks real, and he holds it out in front of me to check out. Silver blade, gold hilt, little designs on it. "What d'you think?"

It is cool. Shut up, most guys like swords. They're awesome. Even if they are plastic.

"I think..." I muse, "my pitchfork could kick your knife's ass."

"It's a sword, dipshit." Pause. I wait for him to- "Like hell, man. You wouldn't stand a chance. I have skills."

"Plastic swordfighting skills?" I clarify dubiously, "Wow. You must have a lot of dates with Warcraft nerds, Casanova."

He flips me the bird. "No, kicking your ass skills, moron. I can do it in sports, I can do it in Mortal Kombat...this is nothing." Pause. "And I don't play Warcraft!"

"Anymore."

"You know, let's go outside."

"What? You want to fight? Right now?"

"Unless you're too chickenshit."

"I am not chickenshit! Fine! Let's go, let's-"

"Um, sorry to interrupt..." Playboy Bunny's voice interrupts my pseudo-awesome challenge, and Theo quickly purses his lips, then turns away, snickering at my flushing embarrassment. I guess my facial expression might be a little humorous. Sometimes my loser qualities impress even me.

"Hey...India." I turn around, and her green eyes brighten. I remembered her name, I guess that makes her happy. "What's up?"

"Oh. Yeah, um, Cheyenne wants to see you in the bathroom."

Pardon? "In the girls' bathroom?"

"Yep."

"But it's the girls' bathroom."

She shrugs. "I'm just relaying the message."

"But-"

India catches sight of her boyfriend and sashays off - sure enough, there's a big cottonball tail stuck to the ass of her Playboy leotard. Figures. Okay, hold up, what the fuck? Why does Chey need me in the bathroom? Why can't she come out?

Why do I have to go in?

Nice of that empty-headed bimbo to give me some sort of warning, or extra information, or something. I eye the nondescript gray door with the female stick figure as if it's possessed, and my feet do more than drag when I walk over to it. I have to go in, I don't have a choice. This could be important, could be an emergency, she'll kill me if I don't...

Man!

This sucks. Having a girl for a best friend sucks.

Oh God, I don't want to do this. My hand rests on the steel handle, and I silently curse at the feminine stick figure once more before tugging the door open.

I don't step inside. I use my foot to prop it open, leaning against the doorframe with my eyes tightly shut. It's one of those bathrooms with multiple stalls and a sink - so it's not like I'm holding the door open with someone in plain sight. "Sorry," I announce loudly, for the benefit of other women, "I'm not coming in, I'm going to-"

"What are you doing, dumbass? I'm the only one in here!"

"Oh." I still don't open my eyes. I shift a little with the door, "Jesus, Chey, why do you-"

"I need you to get something for me."

Oh no. I know how this goes, I've seen it on TV, and I don't want to be 'that guy'.

"What...do you need?" I ask tentatively, tilting my head back with a silent, repeated prayer. Please don't ask me to get tampons. Please don't ask me to get tampons. Please don't ask-

"I need a safety pin." Thank God. I exhale a slow sigh of relief. "Can you find me one?" she demands, oblivious to my discomfort, "My wing strap broke, I think I snagged it."

"Sure." I pause, irritation setting in, "Wait, why didn't you just ask What's-Her-Face?"

"'Cause that would have been awkward."

"And this wasn't?"

"Of course not. Go get me a safety pin, hurry up!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going..." And I gratefully back up from the bathroom, confident in my new quest for...a safety pin. Do they even sell safety pins in a gas station? Do they-

"Don't even think about peeping on me, boy."

I jump, like, ten feet in the air at the disgruntled voice, whipping around to see an old woman, at least sixty, tottering over to the bathroom with-what the fuck, she has mace! SHE HAS MACE! And she's holding the little tube very tightly in one hand. Her other holds the old, leather clutch bag close to her chest. She's eyeing me like I'm a murderous convict or something. I'm sure the devil horns don't help matters either.

"Oh, no, I wasn't peeping! I just-" I try to step forward, hands up, and she shrieks like a banshee,

"BACK, PERVERT!"

O-kay. Maybe not. The old lady threateningly raises the pepper spray at my attempts to placate her - "Sorry! Sorry!" And I hurriedly back up and get the fuck away from the bathroom, making a beeline for the front of the store.

Playboy Bunny is distracting, trying to choose between two flavors of bubblegum. I have to snap my fingers in front of the cashier's face to get his attention, and when the kid finally looks at me - he gives this adolescent sigh of frustration. I'm not the one he wants to talk to, I guess. Well suck it up, buddy, you're not my type either! He's a little too mousy and greasy for me. Like a cheap hamburger.

"I need a safety pin," I tell him flatly, and he blinks at me before rolling his eyes.

"We don't sell those here." He sounds like a snotty little bastard. Whatever. He's just bitter that he's a huge loser, and that's why he's working at this crapshack.

"I don't want to buy a dozen, I just need one. Don't you have any behind the counter?" I lean forward, trying to peer past the cash register to the messy aisle and cigarette vendings - only to have his hand in my face a second later, warning me to stop.

"Please don't lean over the counter, sir." Sir? "No, we don't have any."

"What about the one on your shirt?"

"What?" He's surprised and loses the attitude. A glance down and I'm pointing to his name tag. GEOFF. There's a safety pin keeping the plastic rectangle in place. "You can't have my nametag!"

Oh jeez, he sounds like I asked him for his kidney or something. He tugs on the tag possessively. "I just want the safety pin!" I protest impatiently, "Please, dude? It's important."

"Why? No!"

"It's not for me, it's for the angel!"

"The what?"

"The girl-the chick in the angel costume. You know...she walked in with wings-" I gesture to my shoulders, hoping to remind him. "It's kinda hard to miss."

"Oooh yeah." His eyes light up a little, "Why does she-"

"Hey." I feel hands on my waist, for a few seconds, before I glance to my left and see Theo. His eyes are nearly shining in amusement - I guess he's been watching my awesome interactions with the human race the whole time. "We need to go soon." If we want to stay on schedule. I nod, again struck dumb by my roommate being so close to me.

When he leaves though, Playboy Bunny and Army-Guy go with him. I guess she didn't get the gum after all.

I turn back to the cashier. "Listen, Geoff, we have somewhere to be. Hello?!" I wave my hand in front of his eyes - he just gets transfixed by the way India-the-Bunny walks. "Just give me the fucking safety pin!" His eyes narrow, snapping back to mine, and I figure threatening probably wasn't the way to go.

"Sir-"

Before he orders me out, I quickly, very quickly, change directions, "She'll be really grateful. She'll give you a kiss if she gets it. You'd have saved her entire costume."

The anger fades, and his Adam's apple bobs frantically at the thought - no doubt - of getting kissed by an actual girl. "Really?"

"Yep. Scout's honor."

I don't reflect on the fact that Cheyenne will kill me when I tell her, because the kid wastes no time in pulling his nametag apart, handing me the small, gray pin. Victory! I turn back towards the- and duck, fast, when the old lady exits. She doesn't see me, but cheerily waves to the cashier before leaving. Bitch.

I slip into the bathroom, warily holding up one hand in front of my face in case there are any more pepper spray surprises.

"You look like a dork," she informs me. Peeking between my fingers, it's Cheyenne, leaning against the bathroom sink. I drop my hand, scowling when she gestures for me to come in.

"Your safety pin, Princess." I give an exaggerated bow and she flips me off.

"It's about time! Cool." She snatches the pin from me, spinning around to face the mirror. Tongue trapped between her lips, she concentrates on hiding the pin against the inside of the dress, keeping the wings even. While she does this, I try to figure out how to broach the subject of, uh, that whole 'gratitude kiss' thing.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

"Hey Chey?"

"Mmm?" She's not paying attention to me.

"I, um-" I cross my arms uncomfortably, "-got the pin from this kid at the cash register."

"That was nice of him," she mutters dismissively.

"Not...really."

"What? Why not?" Chey spares me a glance via her reflection.

"He-"

"Ooh, hold on, I've almost got it clasped!"

"-only gave me the pin...because I promised him a kiss. From you." Hmmm, that was relatively painless.

"A kiss..." That, by itself, isn't a big deal. She doesn't sound outraged. Actually, she doesn't sound like she was listening. Wait for it. "There!" Triumphantly, Cheyenne flicks her wing, and this time it stays in place. Wait for it... She turns around to face me, and that's when- "You promised him what?!"

I cringe at the sharpness of her tone, shrugging, "Surprise?"

"You're an idiot!"

"You told me to get the safety pin!"

"Yeah, but-"

"Plus, you said you wanted to meet straight guys..." I'm desperate here, because she looks nearly murderous. It's an out-of-place expression, considering her outfit.

"That doesn't mean I want to kiss every schmuck in the country!"

"It's not every schmuck," I correct optimistically, holding the door open for her as she storms out, "Just the one."

It takes a few more attempts at convincing, but Chey grudgingly troops up to the front of the store, where her eager puppy dog of a cashier waits. If he's expecting tonsil-hockey, the kid is sadly mistaken. All she does is peck him on the cheek - and then we're out the door before he opens his mouth to complain.

"I hate you," she mutters, once the door smacks shut behind us. I grin at her, and she pinches me.

The rest of the drive goes smoothly. Cheyenne gets the new high score on Tetris, Army-Guy and Playboy Bunny have a lovers' spat about the date of their anniversary, and Jin and I fog up the windows with our breathing - writing insulting messages to each other in the process.

Exciting, right?

"This is his house on the left," Theo tell us suddenly, and we all shift simultaneously as he turns down the neighborhood street. While the girls do this insane last-minute primping, I'm interested in where Tyler comes from. Okay, I'm interested in whether or not he's good enough for my friend - if I'm being totally honest.

It's a gated community, with nice, big houses, all three story or more, and I'm really impressed. I didn't know Tyler was so rich. It's easy to tell which one is his - while most of the houses have lights on, indicative of the fact that they have candy to spare, Tyler's house is littered in Halloween paraphernalia. Three stories (plus the basement, I guess), white with blue trim - now with orange icicle lights dangling from the porch roof, black spiderweb gauze pulled over all the window shutters, and big, glowing neon lights in every window - a giant jack-o-lantern, a ghost, a witch, Frankenstein, among others. There are metal black cats in the yard, and gravestones, and pumpkins, ghosts and skeletons dangling from the two trees, and his driveway is lit by black candles in orange bags. The garage door is open, but there's a huge black curtain barring our way to see inside. That's part of the haunted house, apparently.

He has a really big yard, because on top of that, there's still enough room for a good twenty people to mingle. Cars line the sidewalk on either side, but there are none in the driveway. Instead, there's a fuckload of pumpkins, and people carving them out, painting on them. Right there. In the middle of the driveway! It's 9:45, and we're fifteen minutes late but...Theo pulls up against the curb and we're not the only ones showing up now. We get out of car, everyone self-consciously checking their hair, smoothing out their costume. I wrap my fingers around my pitchfork and maneuver it out of the vehicle. As soon as I step foot on the gravel, I hear it - music, bass pounding, shaking the whole street (or at least, that's how it seems), and the modern music is punctuated by other sound effects - screams, werewolf howls, the works.

"Tyler did an incredible job," I confess suddenly, stepping up onto the sidewalk beside my roommate.

Theo smiles, glancing my way. "He did. He likes to go all-out." I'm surprised by the warmth in his tone when he talks about Ty, and I feel a little uncomfortable.

It doesn't last. Cheyenne starts gushing, "Oh, shit, this is so cool!" as soon as she catches up to us. The sidewalk is smooth and flat, easy for her shoes to handle. "Kisten, come on!" She grabs my hand, and her enthusiasm catches. The six of us head towards the house, Army-Guy and Playboy Bunny cutting across the grass at the shrieks of their friends. I'm not surprised almost everyone knows that girl - India? She strikes me as the type that, how can I say this nicely? Gets around.

"THEO!"

We all look up, startled, at the frantic greeting of some girl waving a pink and purple fan at us from the doorway. We stop in the middle of the driveway - or, well, on the side anyway. We're walking that sliver of cement between the grass and the pumpkin carvers. Those knives look really big, and really fishy - remind me not to piss any of those people off. We have to go single-file, and behind me, Chey keeps muttering curses under her breath about her lack of balance in her shoes. I ignore her, watching as the girl runs over - and the closer she gets, the more I realize that's definitely not a chick. No butt, no boobs, no-

My best friend leans over my shoulder, lips near my ear, wide-eyed, "Is that...?"

"Uh...huh," I answer slowly. It's Tyler, in six-inch clear platform sandals (which I later learn are called zori, or zoli, or something. Platform geisha shoes, so to speak) and an off-the-shoulder purple kimono. It's tight and short, hitting about mid-thigh with elegant sleeves. Hot pink and green floral designs dot the dress, with a hot pink obi sash. He has matching chopsticks in his hair too, and with the fan and all...

"He runs in high heels better than I do," Chey admits, crossing her arms over her bust.

I spare a smile, recalling our earlier adventures in the stairwell, but it fades as Tyler seems to skid to a stop in front of us. His face is flushed, eyes bright, and he looks between myself and Theo. Calculating, or wondering. Whatever it is, as he wraps his arms around Theo, a kiss from my roommate is enough to reassure him. Well, sort of. Theo gives Ty a brief kiss, gentle in greeting, provoking the blond's growled protest. I just look at Cheyenne when I get a glimpse of tongue, and she shrugs.

Agh, he's showing off. Yeah, yeah, fuck you Tyler. God knows I'm no competition - and I don't want to be, I don't. I'm just an asshole. Seriously. I should be happy for my roommate, not inwardly bitching over the fact that he's not miserable and moping around because of me.

Right. Okay. I'm not jealous.

Not jealous.

Oh for fuck's sake, don't they need to come up for air soon? Can they cut it out? Way to tongue-fuck in public, that's...hypocritical of me, isn't it? Where the hell did Jin go? He, like, disappeared. When I glance around, it's...actually, not as big of a spectacle as I thought. A few voices cry, Hey, Tyler! waving, crossing the grass, heading inside. Or just dancing on the lawn with black and orange plastic cups in their hands. Nobody's staring, that I can see anyway. Nobody cares (or they all know the twink so well, it doesn't surprise them). I wonder where his cousin is - I wonder who his cousin is...

Tyler giggles, drawing my reluctant attention back to him - they finally separated, and now he's got his hands on his hips, glaring playfully up at Theo. "You're late."

"Don't blame me, Ty," he retorts in a mockingly hurt tone, "it was their fault." And Theo points at me! And Cheyenne! Us? Why is it our fault? He winks at me so I know he's not serious - but still! My fault?

"Hey, it was all Chey!" I protest, stepping onto the grass (to avoid pumpkin guts) as Ty turns his blue eyes on me - he's trying to look disapproving, but it doesn't work. Too cute. "If it wasn't for her safety pin...I told her it was 9:30."

"Oh, bullshit!" she yelps, pinching me in the side. Ow! "I am so not taking the fall for this!"

Tyler lets out another burst of laughter, relaxing his face into an inviting smile and giving us the OK. The punctuality lecture is over, and he moves past his boyfriend (?) to me, and Chey. Both of us together. He beams, and I get a close up of his makeup. His face and neck are covered in smooth, white paint, lips plumped with red lipstick, eyes lined in dark purple. It matches his dress seamlessly, and he twirls a bit when he sees where my gaze drifts.

"I just looooove Memoirs of a Geisha," he exclaims, in explanation of his costume, "It's such an amazing story!" Tyler twists a loose strand of hair between his fingers, tucking it up into the bun. He studies our costumes and approves, chewing on his top lip briefly before bursting, "You guys are so cute, too! I'm so glad you decided to dress up, because some people-" He breaks to shoot a dirty look towards a guy in jeans and a t-shirt (with something that looks suspiciously like a joint in one hand), "-didn't bother! After I explicitly said, costume required! Ugh!"

He rolls his eyes, sliding his fingers in between Theo's as he does so. My roommate stands dutifully by, the good boyfriend. Boyfriend, can you believe it?

"Thanks for the invitation. This is...awesome," Cheyenne replies, almost as gleefully as Ty. She's so...much more social than I am. I nod in agreement, and Tyler soaks up the praise.

"My father gives me a great budget," he adds, gesturing towards the house. He starts walking, we all walk with him, "I think it's his way of apologizing for the trophy wives he brings home and discards." There is a brief pause. Tyler doesn't seem to have a problem with randomly commenting on things I...well, I would have thought that'd be private.

"Does he, um, do that often?" I ask, unable to help the curiosity.

The twink laughs, bells again, "He's as regular as a woman's cycle when it comes to divorce!" Okay. Ew. "Let me give you the tour!"

I try not to dwell on the disgusting image of 'cycles', instead following the geisha up to his front door - which is decorated by a Halloween wreath. Looks similar to a Christmas wreath, only black instead of green, with large, shiny black and orange skull bulbs instead of berries and candy canes. The closer we get to the house, the louder the music becomes, lyrics I can't understand beneath the beat, trembling picture frames, throb of an impending headache. Tyler raises one pale hand, gesturing forward for us to follow him. It doesn't work for him to tell us; too loud, too crowded.

No shit. We step into the cobweb draped foyer, and there are people everywhere. Hanging all over the staircase railing, moving against the wall to the music - wallflowers shaped like witches, superheros, and movie stars. Standing around in the hallway, hands digging into the massive orange bowl on a table shoved up near the doorway. Candy. There are people dancing, talking, moving in the sun room to our right - decked out with spring furniture, a massive plasma screen TV, and three guys are wrapped up in Super Smash Bros. Brawl on Tyler's Wii (much to the chagrin of their bored dates). The room's all glass, and the only lights are these orange lamps and disco strobes.

Ty shows us the whole downstairs, from the dark, sinister cement staircase that descends into the basement (the door propped open with a big sign, HAUNTED HOUSE, and a glittery black arrow pointing down), to the drunken game of Twister in the office. Somebody is doing "face painting" in the guest room - only "face" is scratched out on the paper sign, replaced by the words "FULL BODY ;D". That door is closed, and we don't open it. There's an enormous marble kitchen, counter tops covered in beverages, from fruit punch bowls with large chunks of ice floating in them (ice shaped like severed hands, no less; how did they do that?) - to beer, to jello shots, Coke, Sprite, you want it, it's there. The entire island in the middle of the kitchen is covered in wax paper. Apples in baskets, sticks, and crock pots bubbling with melted...well, that looks tempting. A make-your-own caramel/candy/chocolate apple...thing. Shove the apple on the stick and dip it into whatever you want.

Do you know what you can do with a giant pot of melted caramel?

Goddamnit, where is Drew?

I give a slight, nearly inaudible whimper when Cheyenne drags me away from the kitchen - in the connected dining room, there's food. Cookies shaped like Frankenstein or pumpkins, chicken fingers described as 'goblin fingers', blood soup (I think it's chili), Greek salad, pizza with bat-shaped pepperoni (I am not joking), cakes, little hotdogs meant to be severed fingers, French fries described as 'vampire stakes' with 'bloody' ketchup, gummy worms, candy corn, chocolate eyeballs, among a thousand other bowls of junk food. Another hallway, another crowd. The furniture has all been shoved out of the way in the living room - glow sticks and jewelry giving off the only light - there are bowls of that, too, for anybody who wants one (or ten). Cheyenne slips on a pink neon cord, shrieking a little at the plastic spider rings interspersed with the necklaces. The DJ is propped up in a corner of the room, headphones on his ears, controlling the crackling speakers that are at least three feet tall. Fucking huge.

I hiss when some jackass in a fireman costume accidentally steps on my foot - and I 'accidentally' stab him with my pitchfork. He whips around and glares at me, but before we can go at it (I'm feeling strangely confident with this giant plastic pronged thing in my hand), Cheyenne wraps her fingers around my wrist, tugging on it persistently.

I break eye contact with the jerk, glancing at her as she snaps, "Don't be a moron!"

"WHAT?!" I can't hear anything over the music, what is this song?

"MORON!"

"BITCH!" It's instinctive, my retort.

"Let's dance!" She wiggles two fingers in what she thinks is a dancing motion, but it actually looks really perverted. Like a crazy, mutant vagina or something.

"HUH?!"

"DANCE!"

"What about the tour?!" We're shoved together by too many people in the room, everyone dancing, grinding, pushing together, and there's a sudden mist released into the air near our feet. I look down, startled. Somebody brought a fog machine.

Great. Awesome.

I sneeze. I hate the smell of those things.

Cheyenne wraps an arm around my neck, dragging me close enough to hiss, "I think it's over."

"Wh-" She turns me in the direction of our so-called tour guide - and he is grinding his bony little ass into Theo, whose right arm is slung around Tyler's waist, left hand tilting the blond's jaw towards him gently. They're pressed incredibly close together, his mouth teasing Ty's thinner, pinker lips open. I bet he just loves that silk, huh? Must feel good against his chest. They-this-argh! I snap my glare towards my friend, silently blaming her for startling me out of ignorance. I don't know if I'm more jealous about the fact that my roommate is kissing Tyler, or if I'm jealous of the way they're kissing. There is no shoving, no pushing, no screaming at each other. And they-

Chey shrugs apologetically, eyes brightening as the techno beats fade in favor of something a little more gritty. It's-

"Who is this irresistable creature who has an insatiable love for the dead?"

Oh God, I know this song! Rob Zombie, fucking Halloween music king. Chey screams the song name in my ear, but I still don't know what she said. She raises her hands up, hands buried in her hair, swaying back and forth with the synthesizer, and what the hell, okay, let's dance. We get close, a few inches apart, and she's shouting the words,

Living Dead Girl...and she's got her hands on my shoulders - and I dunno when I get into it, but it's two seconds later and our hips move in tandem, a couple inches apart, and she grins at me. She's holding her halo with one hand so it doesn't fall off, wings gleaming in the strobelights. I smirk back, mimicking her rhythm, and it's pretty damn fun. Just as the hiss, What are you thinking about? smokes up the air, we're interrupted wi-

"Oh my God! KISTEN!" I've got slender hands gripping my bicep, and I see dark green acrylic nails - I'm fucking terrified, and it's hard to see in this muggy room - except for the flashing of a camera somewhere in the back. "Kisten, it's me!"

She leans forward, chin resting on my shoulder and it's... "Liz?!"

The girl grins, curls straightened into full, voluptuous waves around her shoulders. She smooths out this short dark green dress with a low, low cut bust framed by leaves. The whole dress looks like ivy and leaves. Red lipstick, red stilettos, a rubber snake around her neck and an apple in her other hand. She's...

"Just call me Eve!" Liz smiles her most seductive, and at another flash of a camera she glances between me and Chey, "Oh! We have to dance, we'll win for sure!"

"Win what?!"

Nobody answers me, of course. Liz grabs Cheyenne and does one of those girl-whispering things before they break apart. I want to ask her where her boyfriend is, because I'm sure they came together. But "Eve" is right in front of me, back facing my torso, and her shoulders, back, brush my stomach and chest. I wrap an arm around her tiny waist, because it's the only way to steady us - and whoa, lady, hold up, she's reaching up, running fingers through my hair, cupping the back of my neck, and Cheyenne! She's, like, using my fucking pitchfork as a pole! Like pole dancing, lips practically touching it, one hand wrapped around mine, the other in the air, and if I was straight - I would be the luckiest man alive.

But I'm not, so this is just...wtf?

Everyone's watching! Cheyenne mouths, when I shoot her an uneasy glance. I jerk in surprise, I think Liz just grabbed my butt, hello, I- everyone is watching, oh god, this is awkward. Of course, I see Theo. Our eyes meet, but his hand is still on Tyler's shoulder - and as stupid as it is to pretend to flirt with a chick to make my roommate jealous, when we both know I'm as gay as the day is long, I do it. Pull Liz close, bury my lips in her hair, and inhale the almost-scent of Drew, pretending that it's him (that's really difficult, actually, because he doesn't wear leaf-dresses).

I am so relieved when the song is over. I can only pretend for so long, and the smell of her hairspray makes me nauseas. Some people wolf whistle when it's over - and I'm blushing, hard. What the hell just happened?! Liz finally lets me in the loop - citing my expression -there's a guy taking polaroids, looking for the finalists for best couple costume. And she thought Satan and Eve (with the side of Cheyenne as an angel) would be a shoe-in. She apologized, said it was spur-of-the-moment but was beaming when she added that we 'nailed it'.

Well that's nice and all, but I'm going to have nightmares about this.

Nightmares.

My best friend was doing this Carmen Electra impersonation with my pitchfork...I feel...dirty. Seeing her flirtacious or sleazy in any regard is just...creepy. I shudder a little; it's right up there with catching-your-parents-having-sex creepy. Ugh.

Where is Drew?!

Unsurprisingly, the girls have instantaneous dance partners after that little stunt, and I quickly get the hell out of there before I end up molested by any other females. I do not want anyone else without a dick touching my ass or my pitchfork, personal preference.

I need a drink.

Where's the kitchen again?

"I didn't know you swung both ways," someone says - loudly.

I stop, halfway to the dining room. "Hi Drew." I turn around reluctantly, glancing up - and the smile curves my lips, unbidden, at his costume. And the fact that he has a caramel apple in one hand. It's almost cute - I mean, it would be if he wasn't totally, intimidatingly sexy. He raises an eyebrow at me. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor."

"Occasionally," he concedes with a smirk. He's leaning against the wall...in a tight, white straitjacket. It zips up the front, woven with black leather buckle straps around the neck and down the middle of the jacket. Leather strips on the sleeves make it look like his hands are bound up when he crosses his arms - and there are silvery hooks at the wrists, so they must hook to something...I discretely try to figure it out, glancing at the rest of his 'mental patient' uniform. It's like he's poking fun at his own past, from his stint in the crazy house - and playing on his whole psychology-major-thing, which is something I didn't even know he was capable of. Self-mockery from Mr. I'm-Hot-Shit? Who knew? Black pants finish off the outfit, nicely framing his legs, his hips, and set against his shockingly dark-

"You cut your hair," I say dumbly. It's shorter now, messy and chaotic, hitting his ears - but no longer hitting his shoulders. Still black, still sexy as hell, really brings out his bone structure. I think I-

"Like it?" Momentarily dropping the cocky mask, Drew looks almost...self-conscious, rolling the caramel apple stick between his fingers, dragging his other hand through his hair once, scratching the back of his skull. When he drops his hand, he looks at me.

Hesitantly, I reply, "I don't know yet." Maybe. It's just...different, is all. One thing's for sure, he looks totally fucking deranged in this costume, and it's so hot! Sexy psychopaths, sign me up for that shit. Seriously.

I am a sick boy, I know.

Maybe it's the whole tying-him-up thing that gets me off, because the thought of subduing Drew? He's such a dominating bastard, I'm kinda looking forward to exploring this costume...more thoroughly.

"So...?" he drawls thoughtfully, jerking his head in the direction of the neon-lit dancers.

"So?" Spit it out, already, dude. So we can get to the kissing and the groping and the strapping you down for some serious physical therapy. Oh God, that was the lamest innuendo ever. Seduction - verbally, anyway - is so not my forte.

"You were grinding into my girlfriend."

Excuse me?!

I almost choke.

"I was-" I laugh, incredulous at his semi-terrifying, semi-curious expression. I think he might be mad. "-not, I repeat, not grinding into her!"

"Oh?" His gaze flicks down to my crotch, then my face, "What do they call rubbing up against someone's ass nowadays?"

"Hey, my dick wasn't anywhere near her ass! And I'd know!" And people are staring, one guy giving me a particularly startled look at the outburst. Yeah, well, move along dumbass. I quickly lower my voice, stepping closer to Drew to avoid the jostling stream of party-people, "We were just dancing." I narrow my eyes at him at the sudden revelation, "Are you jealous?"

He glares at me. "No."

"Liar," I croon confidently, and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not even drunk - I blame the costume. "You are jealous..." I run two fingers along his leather straps, tugging, bringing the pair of us so close together that I think my heart's about to explode. He speeds up my pulse every time I'm near him, the way he looks, his cologne, that body, I missed him so much, I didn't even know how much I missed him...Sunday...three days, haven't seen him in three days, haven't yelled at him, haven't touched him, definitely haven't kissed him...

"I'm not jealous," he insists in a low voice, and I falter a little. I don't know, he sounds serious and...gah, that pesky self-doubt is raging again. What if he's not? What if it was just one time, and he's over me now, and he just said all that stuff...about me, about Liz, in my room that day to placate me? What if he doesn't really want me at all? What if- "Did you enjoy it?"

He didn't want to ask, I can tell it in the obvious way he avoids my eyes, the way his gaze lingers on my shoulders, slides down my arms slowly, distractingly, to my pants, and it makes me loathe these stupid clothes. I want them off.

"With her? No." It's the truth, and I shrug, a little hurt, when he looks at me. "And you're an idiot." To think I'd go bisexual for his girlfriend? Please. He narrows his eyes indignantly, and I ignore it, "I thought you knew what I wanted." I am not impressed with your telepathy skills, Andrew.

"I do. Or, well-"

I reach for his treat-on-a-stick, palm sliding over his knuckles as he holds it loosely. I swipe at the still warm, sticky coating underneath the apple. I don't even know if I'm allowed to eat caramel - I don't think so, but at the moment...it looks good. "Prove it," I press casually, raising the caramel covered fingertip to my lips. Why did I just say that? God, I'm not even that good at this...whatever it is...but as long as he's looking at me I'd do just about anything to keep his attention.

I always feel so desperate around Drew. To get off, to get away from him, to get some sort of stupid acknowledgment of our relationship.

Whatever kind of relationship you'd classify this as.

He catches my hand, hovering over my lips, and pulls me forward. I stumble accordingly, and for a second I think he's going to kiss me-

Until his mouth closes over my finger, tongue working the pad of my skin, my nail, licking the caramel off. We're so close together, I doubt anyone notices...hell, like I would notice if they did, I'm transfixed by his mouth. It takes every last inch of self control in my body not to mewl in protest as he pulls away, releasing my finger and planting a brief, unnaturally sweet kiss on it. "If you wanted some, you just had to ask," he murmurs, a slight glint in his eyes that does all sorts of things to my stomach - and my groin. These pants are not conducive to hard-ons.

"Does it taste good?" I ask, and my voice barely sounds like me. I'm surprised he can hear me at all.

"Mmm, no complaints." What are we talking about? His breath trails over my features, and I resist the potent urge to kiss him. Instead, I wrap my fingers around his, tugging just enough that he complies with the stick. If you've never bitten into one of these Halloween treats, they're...messy. It's almost impossible to look sexy while you're trying to get a good bite. I sink my teeth into a soft, gooey layer of sugar - resolving with a low groan that this definitely isn't something I should be eating - sharply breaking the skin of the apple, tangy, sweet, contrasting to the caramel, and my fucking mouth is, like, stuck in the apple, lips sucking at the juice, the dribbling strands of sugar, and holy fuck this is so complicated, I want to get a bite without slobbering all over myself - because that's totally hot, right? I make this muffled sound of frustration, gripping both ends of it with my fingers, and finally pull away with the prized fruity chunk between my teeth.

Despite my efforts, the mess is inevitable.

Fortunately, Drew's there. Because as soon as I let go of the sticky treat, he's got his hands and his mouth all over me. I barely have a chance to suck up the last fringes of apple peel before his tongue is dipping over my bottom lip, licking the taste from my skin. He's pressed so close to me that the straps from his costume touch my chest, one of the metal buckles branding the bared skin beneath my collarbones - provoking a gasp. It's so fucking cold, and my fingers spasm, digging into the loops and grooves in his 'straitjacket', his hand grasping my jaw tight, tilting my head up as he works to tug that bite of apple out of my mouth. Cheater. I try to distract him, my tongue meeting his, tracing his lines, circling the taste buds, but he snags it nonetheless - rolling the fruit away from me, despite my attempt to bite him in the devilish escape. I feel Drew grin, victoriously, and shove him, driving him back towards the wall and going at it for another chance at the apple. Eventually, we split it in half, and it's less about the soggy, tasteless bite of something disintegrating between us and more about the moaning. He drops the rest of the apple, caramel, stick and all, soon followed by my pitchfork, as I fumble to undo the multiple buckles of his jacket and he's unbuttoning my shirt with one hand, the other sliding down the back of my pants - as much as he can, anyway, so fucking tight.

"Ó mo Dhia," I groan against his cheek, his lips touching my neck, throat, shoulder, fingers shoving the fabric of my shirt out of the way. "I...I...missed you..."He's already starting to peel it off me, and in between sloppy kisses to his jawline and ear, I'm gasping, snatching the zipper down the front of his jacket. "I...I...love...your hair..." I pant unsteadily, running one hand through it to prove my point. Shorter, easier for me to manage, thicker, I do like it. I love it. I love hi-his everything.

"Mmmmph..." is his response, lips buried in skin, fingers taking advantage of the fact that I didn't wear anything under these pants. I couldn't, I could barely tug them on as they were. "I love your pants," he adds in a hiss, tilting his head to whisper it against the hollow of my throat.

"I've...ummm...uh, I've heard...they're..."

"They're fucking sexy," he finishes in breathy agreement, pulling back briefly. Foreheads, noses, touch, eyes seeking mine, dazed, dark. His fingers, both hands, slide to my chest, beneath the unbuttoned shirt, touching, exploring, rubbing in the most tempting manner when he asks, "Want to go mess around?"

I don't say anything for a second, distracted by his palms ghosting over my pelvis. Then, um, wait, huh? "Uh-uh, no." I shake my head, lips rubbing against his, nipping, tasting, short kisses, and Drew's eyes widen a little in surprise. He's not frustrated, but he sure as hell looks determined. "Mmmm, ah! Drew!" He grabs my crotch, hand easily fitting over the pleather coated erection. My protests are cancelled out with kisses, hard, messy, brief, then-

"Are you sure?" punctures my whoreish moan, and despite myself, I smile.

"Mhhhhhmmm..." I try to ignore the tantalizing massage he's performing on my dick, hands cupping his face. I mumble the words against his mouth, "I want to fuck."

Drew tries to laugh, but it's too breathless, "Hell yeah. Come on."

Messing around, fucking around, about the same but...sans foreplay, that's what I want. Sex, sex, sex, sex, right now. NOW! I'm tempted to grab him, I want to say, let's do it in the middle of the damn hallway, but...yeah, okay, Drew's-ohgod- he's got a point. He drags me through the house, and I can barely keep up - or keep my hands off him, his shoulders, his chest, his crotch, and he's subtly-not-so-subtly groping me in return, and I like this, and somehow we stagger, stumble, trying to find an empty room and he does, he slams me up against a door, closed door, grinding hips into mine in time with another bout of kissing, and I'm shrugging out of my shirt, the very expensive, very fancy red silk shirt fluttering to the floor without so much as a second thought from me. I fumble for the doorknob, twisting it, tugging the door open, kicking my shirt out of the way as it blocks the entrance. I drag him through the crack between door and frame an-

"Holy shit! KIST!"

Drew grabs my shoulders, slamming my body into his, as we balance...very precariously...at the top of a staircase. I shoot a glance over my shoulder to see - shit, shit shit, if he hadn't grabbed me, I would have tumbled down at least a dozen fucking cement steps, God that would have hurt!

I loosen my hold around his waist, steadying myself, the heat of the moment suddenly dissipating in favor of...

Chainsaw.

Somebody's screaming, more than one person is screaming, and this eerie shit really drowns out the music upstairs an-

The door snaps open again, flooding us in sudden light, and Drew and I, dumbfounded, glance up at a group of four. One of the guys in the group glares at us expectantly, "You guys goin' or what?"

I open my mouth to ask, where? But Drew's already grabbing my hand and leading me down the stairs with a quick apology.

We can't really turn around now.

I figure it out when I hear someone else scream. And it's dark and eerie and...I remember the staircase...and...we just stumbled into the haunted house.

And I have no shirt!

And I have no lube!

And I fucking HATE haunted houses!

How are we going to find a way to hook up now?

A/N: Review responses! And my eternal thanks, of course. Without you guys, there would be no story. Or, there would be a story but...there wouldn't be anyone to read it to, which is just depressing. I am beyond relieved that the prominent response was positive for Jason's POV, because I was worried about it. XD Whew.

THANKS to Liviana, lilylupin7, maddiemazing, Rinkika (I think it would be cool to see how he's coped, though the vote seems to be split on whether or not Jason should come back, lol), jammigurl, Amindaya (again, I bow down to your awesomeness), Initially Loaded, aiur (You're supposed to hate slash?! :O I'm glad you like -this- particular slash story. I am most flattered. XD), MisterScotty, Kieriko, Crayon Mentality (Not dead yet, lol. I'm sure people would prefer it that way though! He's not the most likable guy in the world), Bedlam Chaos (Ah! That's so cool that it's near your house! I knew a girl who went to Ixelles, but I forget her last name. Do you speak any Flemish too?), Kanilla (Thanks, especially. I'm really glad that Kisten came across that way, and I agree one hundred percent. Jason is an ASS.), Casey And The Sunshine Bears (lol. Your review made me grin. I'll order the wedding cake ;D), Eurgh, ToraYashaChan, narcissistic (-writes down 'lemon flavored popsicle in the eye- as my new favorite punishment method-), Sekre, Wanabet, Aoi Mitsuko, Blue (loooool! Guilt is a wonderful thing, haha. Good luck with YOUR story, Blue, I'm sure it's a.w.e.s.o.m.e. -sheepish- I really need to bring Dana back. Soon. Poor side characters, always getting forgotten XP), nonaccount (You know, I'm not even completely sure how Kisten and Jason got together - lol. I'm such a bad planner...I think it'd be cool to explain that, though. Or at least hint at it. I will definitely have to do that. And as for the drugs vs. being clean...-dramatic music- I suppose either one could make for angsty-awkwardness...), Error-Author (-tips imaginary hat back- I will pass along a cookie to Kisten, courtesy of you! And thank you for the reassurance that it was realistic enough!! Takes a big weight off my shoulders, and your review is much appreciated.)

Shampain86: I laughed so hard when I read about that guy singing to the fruit. God. You have a fun grocery store - free entertainment! And yes, sadly, Kisten is kind of an idiot sometimes. He should really wise up XP Matchbox Twenty is awesome, and you get a gold star and a pseudo-alarmed raised eyebrow for the shrine comment. Shrines are just...great, they're equal parts impressive and veeeery creepy. Unless it's, like, a garbage shrine - which becomes about 80 percent creepy and twenty percent impressive. I'm with you about disguising inner weirdness - I'd never get into a college, or get a job, or get a date, if I lacked the self-control that keeps me seeming just about normal. XD Which kind of makes me sound a little creepy, but I'm not. Honest. -clears throat-

pincushion-queen: -glomps back- Welcome home, Lauren!! I am extremely jealous about Germany, I bet that was a lot of fun. And I don't know what you're talking about, an 'unsuccessful review'. Madness, I say! I don't think even Drew is completely sure what he meant in the heat-of-the-moment, let-me-make-my-life-more-difficult proclamation. Kisten won't let him get out of it XD I know EXACTLY how you feel, disappointment-wise. It's about thirty times worse. I can take yelling a lot more than I can take that tone of voice, or when someone says something like, "I expected so much more from you." And you're just like...this sucks. lol. I am ecstatic with what you thought of last chapter with Jason. You get bonus extra points for picking up on that, because in the beginning I think he was a pretty good boyfriend, but the more he started using drugs, the more the problems. He's still a jerk, but maybe he wasn't always one. P.S. What was your favorite thing you did in Germany?

Ghostmoon Dancer: loool, thanks for all the cool reviews! Yes, I think Kisten has had about enough lube crises. lol. -hugs back- Good stuff, drugs are nothing but trouble. And yeah, my grandmother is a nutcase buuut my mom is very supportive. My dad is just like, "At least you won't have to worry about pregnancy with the dudes." XP I've never heard of Kid Down, but I am going to go hunt for them now. And I'm also going to hunt for something to eat, I'm starving! I definitely appreciate the report about cute guys (-scratches Germany off the list, hah-). Your reviews are -awesome- as usual. I hate when FP deletes my stuff. It's so...gah, frustrating.

oo: I have a love-hate relationship with Jason too, lol. He's a lot of fun to write, but he's such a douche. Kisten came across like a romantic, you're definitely right about that. He probably has his flaws, I mean, yeah, he definitely does XP and I think it'd be cool to go into that if Jason comes back. Because I don't think Kisten was perfect...nobody's really perfect, not that he deserved getting punched in the head or anything. Hah. For Drew, I picture this certain model...whose name I cannot remember atm, but I'll pm you with his name when I do! Kisten's appearance is pseudo-based on a friend of mine and a dancer named Travis (whose last name I can't remember. lol. I suck! But partially Travis because the guy has a mohawk, and that's the kind of mohawk I envision Kisten having). Kisten and I...well, we do both have spiky hair XD but mine isn't a mohawk, it's just annoying. And I just like green eyes. I don't feel bad for Jason either, he made a crapload of mistakes. After this whole Halloween extravaganza, Kisten's mom will make an appearance - and I can't wait either, lol. She's probably in my top three for favorite characters in this story, so I can't wait to see what you think about her when she finaaaally shows up!

CatseyeRose: No way, you are not a bad person. A Jason-Drew showdown would be epic! I'm glad you liked this chapter ;D, and yeah, I would be really pissed off too if someone ruined my homework...well, if I did my homework, anyway. (-is a bad slacker-). I completely agree with you - I think their relationship would have been a lot better if it wasn't for the drugs. XP They mess up everything.

Purple Uranium: Your review was so incredibly eloquent, it's probably one of my favorites - out of all of them. Your descriptions of Kisten are spot on, better than I could describe it, and I am so glad that you enjoyed it, and that the flashback wasn't too disconnected from the present. I agree with you about the homework - that was, oddly enough, the hardest part to write, more than the fighting. I'm not sure if you've reviewed before or not...but the fact that you did on this chapter means a lot to me, and I really appreciate it. It was a really awesome thing for me to read.

Bonus Points! (for, I don't know what, prizes? How about lifesize chocolate flamingos...) to Rooftops (Yeees, I do like IAMX!! I love the song "Nightlife") & kanari kireteru doll (wait, just goats? Or goats and gay men? Because that's just...crossing a line! lol. I am always into hugs and kisses and cookies. Thank ya.) for knowing Robots in Disguise! Bonus points to Vidal for the watermelon lube (but wait, no, bonus points are TAKEN away with my lube. And you're in the negatives, sir, thanks to the spam. XD)