Lavender.

I've been wanting to write something with a nonbinary character for a while, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. This is a first attempt at anything in that area, and it's stupidly poetic. Sorry.

Love you.

— — — —

Pete lay back against the grass, the blunt green blades scratching at his arms and the smell of earth and lavender enveloping him. The wind blew gently, and the stalks of the plants around him bowed and sighed, lowering their blossoming flowers closer to him protectively.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, pressing the hollow scars on his wrists to his chest. He could feel his heart beating, steadily, warmly. He was safe. He was alive.

——

"Go on then," Mikey's father snarled. "Run away."

Mikey held back a sob. "I- I'm sorry, dad-"

"You're no fucking son of mine," he growled. "Just go. Run away, then, bastard."

Mikey obeyed. They ran.

Their legs burned. Fire scratched at their throat and tears forced their way down their face. The monster of guilt was eating them alive, clawing at their chest and gulping away at their lungs. They couldn't breathe anymore.

Mikey looked around frantically, searching for somewhere to lean, somewhere to catch their breath and compose themself before they lost everything. The world was spinning, and they didn't recognise where they were at all. Lilac strands blurred on a canvas of scarlet sky and black seeped into the edges of their vision. The clawing at their throat was becoming more and more violent, and the taste of blood and sick was seeping under their tongue. They tried to scream for help, but only a weak, choked cry escaped.

It wasn't long before the monster devoured their consciousness completely, dragging them into the depths of blackness, tossing them limply away and letting them crumple to the floor.

——

Pete wasn't planning on staying any longer. A chill was creeping over the fields and crawling under his skin. He wanted to get home before the smudges of grey cloud hanging in the sky spilled over with rain.

But then he heard the crying. And he saw them.

He was unsure whether they were a girl or boy, but he didn't care. They were beautiful. Soft chestnut hair damp with sweat hung over porcelain white skin and pink lips. They had rich hazel eyes like an angel. But they were crying, tears crystallising on their thick black eyelashes and sliding down their face like white spirit slipping over a perfect painting and corroding its delicate colours.

Pete sat down beside them. They looked up, wiped their eyes.

No words were spoken. It was a kind of mutual understanding. A glance at the tears and scars marking each other's bodies and no words were necessary. The closeness of unfamiliar company was comforting.

——

Every time Pete went back to the lavender field, the lavender would be just a little brighter and softer smelling than before, and he would see Mikey again.

The two of them would speak a little more each time, learn a little more about each other each time. The stranger's name was Mikey. Some days they would wear band shirts and tattered jeans, some days sweet red dresses, or netted tights with short black skirts that drove Pete fucking crazy. Some days they would be stupid and giggly, and tell dumb jokes about old bands that only Pete would know. Some days they would be quiet, and shy in on themself– these were the sorts of days where Pete would have to say something really stupid, and then that beautiful shy smile would take over Mikey's face and all of Pete's nerves would spark alight, burning with a heavy glow that enveloped his whole body.

Pete was quite sure he was in love with them.

——

Silky chestnut hair and smooth expanses of pale skin waiting to be marked dominated Pete's dreams. Mikey's eyes. Those eyelashes. Scarlet lips and the pink tongue that flicked out to wet them every now and then as they listened to Pete talk.

Mikey never left his mind.

——

It wasn't until months after they'd met that the two of them spoke about Mikey's gender. Or more specifically, about how Mikey's father had rejected their gender as a real concept and called them a number of horrible things that Mikey couldn't bring themself to recite.

It hurt Pete to think about anyone calling Mikey anything less than perfect, and it tore his heart in two to realise that Mikey believed them. Mikey cried, and Pete held them. He'd been avoiding complimenting them because it seemed to make matters worse, but he could barely hold back. They needed to know how special they were.

Mikey curled closer to him, sniffling into Pete's chest. His shirt was getting damp with Mikey's crystal tears, but he didn't care. He sighed into Mikey's soft hair, hesitating before he spoke. "You're beautiful, you know."

"I'm nothing," Mikey choked.

"No," Pete said. He brushed Mikey's hair out of their eyes so he could kiss their damp cheek. "You're everything," he whispered.

——

Mikey continued to meet with Pete every day. Same place, same time. Mikey fought to keep a veil over how distraught they were inside, but every few days their sadness would overflow and melt down the screen they had so carefully woven. They cried. Pete held them.

After a while, Mikey stopped speaking. They just. Kind of. Stopped.

Weeks went by where all Pete and Mikey would do together would be lie in the grass in silence, the lavender around them slowly wilting.

When Mikey turned up one day in slacks and a shirt with lipstick smudged down their face and a burning red handprint on their cheek, Pete finally began to understand what was wrong. Mikey crumpled down onto the dry dirt next to Pete, taciturnly letting the red dress they'd been clutching fall to the ground.

"Gerard went back to college a few weeks ago. I couldn't stay with him anymore," Mikey mumbled. "I went home."

"Oh," Pete said softly. He pulled Mikey close to his chest and they curled up in his arms.

"Dad was okay at first," Mikey whispered. "He didn't talk to me. He let me wear dresses. I- I guess with makeup I just took it too far."

Pete held them tighter. "That's a load of bull," he said. "You should be allowed to dress however the fuck you want. You should be able to be who you want."

"Dad won't let me be who I want," Mikey said, voice cracking.

Pete kissed their forehead and exhaled. "I don't know what to say," he said in a small voice. "I'm sorry."

"Say you'll let me stay with you," Mikey said desperately. "Please. You- you never complain about your parents, they must be great, right?"

Pete tensed. He was silent for a moment before he spoke. "My parents are dead. I'm in a kids' home."

"Oh," Mikey said weakly. "I'm so sorry, Pete."

"It's okay," he muttered. "I- I'd love to have you stay with me, Mikes, but- I share a room with four other boys, and they all hate me just cos I'm queer... I don't want them hurting you even worse."

Mikey made a broken noise. They buried their face in Pete's chest, trying to hold back tears. "I-" they snuffled, "I want you to have my favourite dress. Since it's no use to me anymore." They fumbled for the scarlet cotton slip they'd dropped on the ground earlier, and clutched the dress to their chest.

"Mikey, I couldn't-" Pete protested.

Mikey pressed it into Pete's hands. "I want you to." They paused, and stood up. "I've gotta go. I'll be back. I promise."

——

The next time Mikey came back was a full week later. Pete hoped that they would maybe be a little happier given some time, or maybe that their dad would have come around and stopped being such a fucking asshole by then.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Mikey turned up in slacks and a dress shirt again, looking miserable. They were more fragile than ever.

They didn't say anything. They just sank to the ground, curled up in Pete's arms, and cried into his chest. "I can't take this anymore," Mikey sobbed softly.

Pete's chest was burning and he thought that he might possibly cry too, but he swallowed down the scorching that flared up in his throat and just held Mikey. "You're so strong, Mikes," Pete said quietly into their hair. "You can get through this. Soon as you're sixteen you can move out."

"That's so far away," Mikey whimpered. "I can't- Pete, I can't do it."

"You can, I know it. You're so brave."

"I'm not," Mikey said, squirming. "I'm useless. I'm nothing."

Pete sighed into their hair. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he asked softly. "You're my everything."

Mikey let out a weak sob and clutched at Pete's chest. "I love you," they whispered. They shifted and kissed Pete's cheek.

"I love you too, Mikes," Pete said, tracing his fingers over the curve Mikey's jaw. "So much."

They lay together in the grass for a while, and for that little while, the flowers seemed to glow with colour again. Mikey kissed Pete before they left. Pete locked away the kiss in his mind, a precious secret he would keep forever.

"I'll be back," Mikey said, their voice easy and light. They even smiled. "I promise." They kissed Pete on the cheek again, and left.

——

Mikey didn't come back to the lavender field after that.

——

It was winter. The lavender was almost dead.

It had only kept its glow for a day before death took all its colour.

That's a common concept, in nature. Right before death, there will be a burst of life. A few moments where all of the joy and energy within explodes in a beautiful display of everything good inside.

Then everything goes limp, and everything is gone.

——

Nobody knows who Pete is when he turns up at the funeral. He speaks to no one. He stays the whole time.

Black clad distant relatives gradually disperse, like charcoal dandelion seeds in a gust of shallow grief. The funeral is open casket. Pete is alone with Mikey. They're so close together- Pete could touch Mikey if he wanted- but he feels so far away.

The family have dressed Mikey in a sharp suit, and brushed their hair back, the way they hate it. Pete feels the clawing of a silent cry in his throat, eating away at his stomach. This is so far from what Mikey would have wanted. But Pete knew that something like this would happen, from the moment he heard about the funeral. He came prepared.

He lays the red dress on top of the suit neatly, his fingers ghosting through the soft scarlet as he smooths it over Mikey's sides. It almost looks like Mikey is wearing the dress again. The cascading magenta would make Mikey's eyes shine, if they could only open them again. Pete sinks to his knees besides the casket and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, just like Mikey. Tears form in his eyes and he holds back a weak sob. "Mikey," he chokes. He's shaking now, trembling as he pulls himself up off the ground. His knees are damp from the mud and wrecked grass of the graveyard. He doesn't brush the dirt off. He doesn't care.

Pete is still shaking as he presses his lips to Mikey's cold forehead and lays a small bunch of dying lavender flowers on their chest.

He never goes back to the lavender field.

— — — —

lmao it's my birthday, I could have at least attempted something happy

but this was much more fun

love you, my crying pretzels

xoxo