Kiche stared blankly at the wall in front of him, a cigarette burning in his left hand. His thoughts and gaze were else where, more inside himself. The silence in John's room surrounded him, seemingly swallowing him. Another drag on the almost forgotten cigarette, more tobacco filling his lungs as he inhaled and exhaled the poisonous smoke.
Steps came on the cold, wooden floor, but he didn't move. He hardly blinked as the steps drew closer. It was as if he wasn't there. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and warm, strong arms rapped around his delicate waist, pulling the tiny man closer to the other. Feeling the heat from the other brought Kiche slowly back to reality and he turned his gaze on John, a slight smile crossing his feminine lips. For a second their eyes met and Kiche was automatically sucked into the void of John's beautiful brown eyes.
"What do you say we go out tonight, Kiche?" John offered, taking the cigarette from his hand and taking the final drag from it before putting it out in the ash tray by his bed, where it joined a large amount of already smoked cigarettes.
The thought made the younger man grin as he turned to completely face him; his legs now curled underneath him gracefully. "Out where?" he asked as he reached into his pockets to find another cigarette and a lighter. Finding one, he put it to his lips, lighting it expertly with his other hand and putting the lighter back into his pocket.
For a second John looked thoughtful. "How about a club?" he suggested simply, running his fingers through his soft brown hair.
"John, I don't have anything here to wear to a club." Kiche replied sadly, looking down at the mattress. "And nothing of yours would fit me well enough." John suddenly moved off the bed, causing the blue haired man to look up in surprise. He watched as his lover went to his bottom drawer and pulled out an outfit he recognized. "John, how did you get that?"
He looked up at him and smiled sadly. "You never came back to get it." He replied simply, tossing the clothes up onto the bed. "So…I kept it." Kiche looked down at the clothes, fingering the fabric of the pants thoughtfully.
"You kept it…" he murmured. John reached out and touched his hand softly, causing the younger to look up at him. "Why did you keep it?"
A thoughtful look crossed John's face as he studied the other's youthful features. His brows knitted together and the corners of his mouth turned down into almost a frown. "I was hoping you'd come back for it someday…" His thumbs stroked Kiche's hands as his gaze deepened. Kiche could feel his heart pounding with something he hadn't felt in a long time-fear. And he wasn't even sure why.
Breaking the uncomfortable silence that ensued after his comment, John moved to find something to wear, rummaging through all his drawers. Kiche didn't move at all, simply sat staring down at the pile of clothes in front of him. They were clean, and very neatly folded. He knew they hadn't been that way when he had left. John must've washed them. That thought made him feel cold, goosebumps breaking out along his arms as he continued to feel the fabric. 'Why am I so damn afraid? There's nothing to be afraid of!' he scolded himself.
John's gaze made him look up and he smiled sheepishly. "Are you getting dressed, Kiche?" It was then that he noticed John was no longer in casual clothes. His jeans were a more vintage look, hugging just enough but still remaining loose and comfortable, and his shirt seemed more worn so that it was difficult to tell whether it was originally black or blue with a local band's name imprinted on the front. "Kiche? Come on, are we leaving or not?" he asked impatiently.
The younger man began to pick up the clothes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Once John could see that Kiche was moving, he made his way into the bathroom. Kiche hurriedly changed out of his loose pants and into the tighter black ones. He was amazed they still fit, pulling in all the right places to catch any man off guard at least. Then it was off with the shirt. Gazing at the other one, he realized he'd forgotten about it. It was a tight red mesh shirt with three-quarter inch sleeves that pulled against his lightly defined chest and abs. He then realized John had even kept the platform black boots and that they were nicely polished and clean. Trying to ignore the odd pang in the back of his mind, he slipped them on and stood a good three inches taller than he normally did, which was obviously the intent.
At that moment John walked out of the bathroom and smiled in approval when he saw that Kiche was dressed. "I forgot how good that looks on you." He commented with a grin as he moved to slip on his black leather boots and fixing the boot cut pants to cover them. Kiche felt himself blush as he moved to take a quick glance in the mirror. Noticing that his hair was a mess, he grabbed John's brush and ran it through the blue locks quickly.
Once the hurried act was over they left the apartment, John slipping on his plain leather jacket as they went. Kiche followed John to his car, the pit in his stomach slowly dissolving. 'See, Kiche? There's nothing to be afraid of…' he told himself as he took a deep breath, opening the door and sliding into the seat next to John.
'Oh, but there is. Because everybody hates you. You even hate yourself.' The voice taunted, making a lump form in his throat. To not attract John's attention he shifted his gaze out the window, tears filling his eyes. 'Shut up…' there was a pause. 'I don't want to shut up… You'll never be rid of me, Kiche. I'm your best friend. I've been with you through everything. Without me, you'd probably be dead. Without me, you're nothing.'
He instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, as he looked out the window, his gaze icy and cold as he watched the buildings and people speed past. All he cared about was trying not to cry, trying to control his breathing so that he wouldn't attract any unneeded attention. He didn't need John's attention. He was fine. Nothing was wrong with him.
They reached the club after what seemed like ages and Kiche allowed himself to be led into the dark, hazy, noisy building. People were everywhere, he could feel their eyes watching him and it took all his strength not to bolt as he kept his eyes down at the floor. The smell of tobacco and alcohol reached his nose and he smiled slightly. At least this felt familiar. Loud music pounded in his ears as he heard the DJ sending out song requests and blaring it full volume.
Reaching out a hand, John stopped him without a word, his eyes staring ahead at something. Kiche paused and looked at him strangely. "Go find us a table, Kiche," he said just loud enough for the other to hear without straining his voice, "I'll be right there."
Without giving Kiche time to protest, he left. His steps definitely let Kiche know that he had a goal, and he knew where he was going. And sure enough, he watched as he met up with a group of other guys, moving them to a private corner to discuss "business." Knowing better than to interfere, Kiche moved to find a table on his own.
Suddenly he felt cold hands on his shoulders and he tensed. They weren't John's hands. They were too cold and they weren't gentle enough to belong to him. Even though his hands could be very cold… Slowly he turned to see the face of an old acquaintance and his heart fell down into his feet. The man had a very unpleasant face; his green eyes were slightly too close together and his nose just seemed slightly too large for his thin face. A scar ran under his eye and another just below his thin lips. His hair was short, black, and spiked up, making his skin seem pale and sullen looking. He was rather tall and lanky, Kiche only reaching the middle of his chest and so the man had to glare down at him.
"Why, hello, Kiche," the man greeted, his voice raspy from smoking too many cigarettes. He could smell the tobacco and cocaine in his breath and he suppressed the urge to gag. Those two scents never went together. "I do believe we have some…" he stopped to search for the right word, those beady eyes of his looking up as if he could find it written on the ceiling, "unfinished business."
Kiche winced as the man dug his fingers into his shoulders, but remained otherwise perfectly poker faced. "I don't know what you're talking about, Chris," he replied simply, never loosing eye contact.
Those thin lips curved up into a sneer, a hideous sneer that revealed yellowing teeth. "You must have selective memory loss. Last I checked…you still owed me some serious money." There was a pause. When Kiche said nothing, the man grabbed hold on Kiche's thin neck in his thick fist, squeezing just enough to get a squeak out of the blue haired man. "You don't pay, you don't live, understand?" Chris spit out threateningly.
"I already paid you back. In full." Kiche's voice was cold and expressionless as he felt the cold palms press deeper into his neck. "You said you didn't need money. You said all you needed was a good fuck. You got one."
Chris's thick black brows knitted together and his cheeks flushed red with anger. "You fucking liar. You owe me over a thousand dollars, and I'm going to get it from you, you drug-induced thief." He lifted Kiche off the ground, making him eye level with him. "Or else I'll fuck you and your lover so hard, you'll wish you were never born. Kapeesh?"
The movement made something inside his left pocket hit against his thigh. Curious, he looked down to see that something was indeed in the pocket. He suppressed a grin when he realized what he must be. Looking around him he saw that a table was behind him. Using it for leverage, he pushed off of it with his feet, kicking Chris full in the chest. The shock of the impact made him let go and Kiche fell to the floor with a loud thud.
Before the taller man could lunge at him, he rolled out of the way, grabbing the knife from his pocket and opening it as he went. When he stood his knife was at the ready. The multicolored lights glittered off the shiny surface of the sharp object. Dark, dried blood was the only thing that tainted the silvery beauty. His blood. For a moment he simply stared at it and then looked up at Chris with a threatening glare. "You threaten me again, and I'll tear your face up so bad, you won't be able to look in the mirror." His voice was silky and smooth, frighteningly silky.
However, the other man didn't look intimidated in the least. "Oh, you frighten me, Kiche. You couldn't hurt a fly if you wanted to." He slowly began walking towards Kiche, his guard on, his eyes never leaving the blade in Kiche's hand.
"Are you so sure, Chris? You can't seem to take your eyes off this blade." He moved forward even slower than Chris was moving, a completely placid expression on his face. The movement made the other man stop, a satisfied grin drawing across Kiche's face. "So you are afraid of me. I thought I couldn't hurt a fly, Chris? Isn't that what you said?"
That seemed to bring Chris back to life and he set his jaw stubbornly. "You're nothing but a weak little pansy, of course I'm not afraid of you," he retorted. And that was enough. Faster than seemed possible, Kiche reached out and sliced open his cheek, leaving a thick line of blood that soon began to pour down his face. For a second the two men stared at each other. And then Chris lunged forward, causing Kiche to thrash out again and again until the other man's face was nothing but a bloody mess.
Chris' head smacked into the hard wall and he groaned in pain, tears streaking down his face to mix with the blood. But Kiche didn't let go, his heart pounding in his ears and his blood pumping with adrenaline. "D-don't kill me…" Chris whimpered. Kiche barely heard him as he pressed his knife to the soft skin of his untouched neck.
"What did you call me…?" he whispered, his eyes cold and lifeless. After a moment of silence he grew impatient. "What did you fucking call me?!" he asked again, harsher this time.
A hand gripped his wrist from behind, making him drop the knife as he cried out in pain. Turning he saw John behind him, his lips set in a firm line. "That's enough, Kiche." Seeing him made him remember everything. He heard Chris curse and run away, but he didn't even look at him. Tears were welling up in his eyes and his chest felt heavy. "Let's just go home…okay?" Kiche shook his head and backed away. "Kiche?"
He shook his head again, his lip trembling. "No…" he murmured and shook his head. Then he bolted out of the club, tears stinging his eyes as he ran out into the night.