CHAPTER THREE - and i love you

With the exception of himself and Mercy, the streets were devoid of people. There was no one around them in the middle of living out their own separate lives. No one was busy with things to worry about. There were no curious dogs to walk with leashes, no strollers to push for the sake of tiny poop machines, no dangling earbuds nor heavy earrings to be wary of as a jogger, no honk or bell of a passing bike. Not even the occasional hum of a car. And there was no one to sit and yap on the poorly painted wooden benches for sure.

It didn't mean that the streets weren't loud, though.

The wind whispered funny words to the grass, trees, and scattered litter, and the greens responded with giggles as their leaves brushed against one another. The scattered litter took it to the next level, as always, and knocked themselves over with the loudest laughs an inanimate thing could do, especially since the litter included cans and bottles. Sometimes, when the wind chose to be a tad bit louder, the clueless fronts of both the parking and stop signs crumbled. They wholeheartedly allowed themselves to give in to the silly jokes of the cool wind and chortled with the very core of their being, every single part, with little to no regard to the loose screws that barely held their heavy, bulky selves together.

Then there was the constant buzz that the wind failed to overpower when its jokes' punchlines failed to land or hit on things. All the buzz from the controlled electricity that coursed through the wires of the streetlights and telephone poles caught Desmond's attention easily. The bright white lights from the streetlights themselves had their own type of buzz as well, but it was a mean-spirited one. It happened in the eyes. If he dared to look anywhere near them— it didn't matter whether he tried his best to avoid the glow of their bulbs (or rather, the heart) or not— his eyes would quickly come to burn and screech in pain. The buzz (and sizzles, even) would come from the light, to his eyeballs, and stomp their way out of his ears with taunts and curses. Those bright sons of bitches were borderline blinding.

Not in this particular night since he was with Mercy and all, but every now and then when he walked on his own and was on "autopilot mode;" a state where no significant thought in his brain would form and he failed to pay attention to his body, he would catch his own lips letting three to five screeches out at once from the bare sight of the sun's rays. Or some other direct source of light his eyes happened to come across.

Clearly, Desmond couldn't handle stuff that bothered his eyes all that well. He'd say they were sensitive if there was a way to medically describe what the hell was wrong with them, but he'd already talked with an eye doctor about that and she said he was alright. His moms thought he was just being dramatic when he made the appointment for it but he was glad that he at least tried to figure it out. For all he knew now, it was psychological.

Whatever the case, he handled bright stuff a whole lot less... let's say, smoothly, than noise. The fact that he wore noise-canceling earbuds almost every waking moment of every day when he didn't have his headphones on to tune out the loudness of the world with video games or random documentaries said a lot. He was able to accommodate for noise far more than what he desperately needed help for. He always waved it off with the passive thought that he could address it the next day. The next day would always come and go.

On the bright side, with Mercy around, he never needed to worry about that issue. She picked up on that fact early on in their friendship. She always brought a pair of dollar-store sunglasses with her whenever they hung out from the odd pile of junk, or "trinkets," as she insisted for them to be called, under her bed.

Now that he thought about it, did doing such a thing for him pass as her enabling him on his lack of self-care for his bright lights problem? He was always with her. Oh nah, he didn't need to put much thought to it. He could just shrug it off and consider it his subconscious solution to the problem... which, yes── is why he was ever so grateful to have Mercy there to help.

With the hand that wasn't busy with an ice pack, Mercy pulled a glittery pair of neon green sunglasses out of a hidden pocket in her now-buttonless cardigan (she took them off so she could "collect" and "keep them safe" under her bed). She tapped Desmond's head with it twice then dangled them over him as if by second nature.

To be fair, after three years of the same routine it might as well be.

He grabbed them and thanked her, then slid them on. Most of the tension on his shoulders turned to dust the moment he did so. A wave of relief. No mean-spirited buzzes nor sizzles for their late-night walk, guaranteed. He had no idea how the thought of going out on such a chilly supposedly-summer night came up, but he was happy to oblige if it came from Mercy. If it was from him, his brain didn't care enough to remember and he was fine with that. All he knew was that he had sunglasses, his favorite type of empanada in hand (guava and cheese), and an easy ticket out of a situation where, for the first— and hopefully last— time in his life, he witnessed his closest, dearest friend see him as more than a friend. She practically drooled over him back home! Had he ever seen her skin blush in such a manner before? Oh god, never. Or maybe he failed to notice it over the years? Did he ever misunderstand things? Ugh...

Obviously he couldn't run away from reality forever but he needed to breathe and maybe process it for just a second. He couldn't talk about it with her because his guts failed to exist, so he might as well walk it off. Plus, he never turned down the opportunity to walk on the sidewalk curb without people's awkward stares. There was a skip in his step from the simple joy of it. Desmond's dress shoes clicked and clacked as one stepped ahead of the other with an impressive sense of balance.

On one side of Desmond, a thin gray gutter line raced against a smooth black asphalt road. The faster he walked, the more intense the race became. The lights and remnants of the light shower from a bit earlier in the night made the ground appear glossy. He knew that if he started to jog or straight-up run, the gutter line and road's point of contact might have even given the illusion of them blending together (if he believed hard enough, anything was possible, right?).

At the end of the day, though, he also knew he couldn't try to put his thoughts to practice. His fancy pleated slacks weren't flexible enough to keep up so they would've torn apart from the seams (or worse) in some way or another, and his wallet would've shed tears between its usual wheezes and coughs as a result— he was a broke college student that lived with his parents— oh, well, technically he just graduated... but whatever. Still broke. Still not able to afford a place or much of anything for himself. And let's not forget he had a fucktons' worth of debt from his shitty student loans. All that for a flimsy piece of paper that said nothing but 'LOL connections and networking are far more important than me but hey, I can prove this adult teenager knows some stuff even though they can't get a job without experience and can't get experience without a job!! YAY!'

Whatever. The point was that too many sacrifices were made to get his three-piece suit. Its slacks couldn't be treated so poorly. He hated school but it didn't mean he would've put on any random outfit to his graduation. He didn't hate looking good and any excuse to show that off with his wardrobe was cool with him. Most of the time he was holed up in the usually-musty cave he happened to call his room so there weren't a lot of opportunities to do so, after all.

On Desmond's other side, healthy grass, dandelions, thick slabs of grainy concrete (the sidewalk), and a Mercy in cloud nine went on and off his view as he passed streetlights, telephone poles, and benches. He noticed that whenever Mercy passed by a bench herself, her royal blue nails tapped on their metal armrests to the beat of her jaw movements. Or at the very least, it seemed to match from where he stood. It wasn't too far. Only a couple feet away. She was hard at work with the last bits of the dried dulce de leche snack he gave her before they took off on their casual midnight adventure.

A small wince tried to escape him when their eyes met. He pushed it down to his ribcage, where his tight binder warned him to stop with his foolishness and take a real breather. Must've been half a day at the very least since the last time he did so. He needed to take off his binder as soon as he came back home.

Mercy pushed her round, metallic red glasses up the tiny bridge of her button nose and gave him a light smile. Timid-ish. No teeth. Oof.

Okay, okay. Fine, he'll admit it. He was the one to suggest a walk. Obviously he wanted to walk away from what had happened in his bedroom. Now it came back to haunt him. Or more than likely, it never left to begin with. His attempt to breathe and process it all failed horribly. She was back at it again with that look on her face.

He smiled back as he nibbled on his empanada. "The night's still young. Let's keep going."

The night was not young. It was as old as, well, that day's time. Which was somewhere around midnight or maybe even later than that. Desmond didn't have his phone on him to check. With all of the things that had happened before and during their leave from Desmond's home, plus the snacks he was far too occupied with (yes, he already ate them all except for the empanada, which he wanted to take his time on), he forgot to take the phone with him. Hopefully it was on his bed, by his laptop.

Hmm. He closed his window, right? Mercy's as well?

"So," Mercy said. "You haven't changed yet. It's been a couple hours already. Why's that? At least take off the grad gown. Those things are a bitch to clean."

"It's kinda cold right now though."

By the time he replied, she had already reached him. With awe, she watched him take a handful of steps on the sidewalk curb. He changed his balancing method to an easier one once he picked up on it. As he applied the necessary weight on either side of himself, he swayed to his left and right, then right to left; whatever his body demanded of him for as long as it allowed him more leniency with the care he had to take on his steps. By doing so, he was able to look behind at Mercy and not worry about stepping out of the cement line. It was a bit awkward and clumsy, but it was perfect for her to imitate if she wanted to follow behind. She seemed to always struggle with balance and it was obvious in her stance. It wasn't uncommon to see her trip over herself.

She gladly took the bait and attempted to take her first step on the curb, but immediately landed on the paved road. Not even the gutter line.

"Fair enough," she replied. "But how can a thin, overpriced piece of fabric that feels so frail and cheap help with that?"

She stopped following his unspoken instructions after her failed second attempt and chose to walk beside him with her tail between her legs; clearly embarrassed and defeated. She walked on his left, not quite on the sidewalk, but rather, the mound of grass and dandelions between it and the curb.

Without a window to bend over and learn on, she practically towered over him. She was well over six feet tall, and he was a mere five feet, with a spare two or three inches tops. He just barely reached the height of her shoulders and that was just because his (albeit short) afro had a height of its own. Maybe it was time to consider platform sneakers to feed a lil' something to his ego. No, scratch that. It wasn't necessary. That was just a brief moment of weakness in a day that already highlighted his worst one. The inability to speak up. The guts.

Why wasn't the walk doing its fucking job? He didn't want to think about his problem.

He sighed and motioned for her to try and follow his footsteps on the curb one more time. She ignored him.

"You're not wrong, but cool wind is still cool wind. It gives me the illusion that I'm a tad bit warmer with it on. Besides, I don't care about the gown all that much. Might sell it online later for a quick buck."

Oh, right. He lost the cap and tassel. Oh fuck, that might make it a hard sell. Come on, for fuck's sake, man! How the hell did I let that happen when there's money on the line?

"Alright, then."

Supposed silence, because humans weren't the only things capable of noise, was quick to take over. The college graduates walked for a good ten minutes enveloped by it, past a handful's worth of benches and streetlights, and once, below a small pedestrian bridge, with Desmond still on the curb, and Mercy on his left. It was somewhat peaceful.

Then Desmond heard Mercy's feet stop behind him all of a sudden. He turned around and noticed she stood in front of the entrance of a park. She stood her ground as her fists tightened. The crunch of the ice pack he had given her earlier was loud and clear.

"I... I can't lie, it hurts me to know that you don't care about today." Desmond tilted his head, confused for a moment, then did a double take once he processed her words. He coughed out the small bite he had taken of his now-cold empanada. How did she already know?! "Was there not at least one thing── just one thing── you liked about college?"

Oh. Just college, not the other thing. Good.

He shrugged. "You?"

It was true. Mercy may have been the one and only good part of his entire experience there.

They met in college sometime during their first── no, their second year, on one of the weekly movie nights at the pride center on campus. It was Mercy's first time there at the pride center and she was pretty shy, and he had just started using he/him pronouns in addition to the Desmond-standard they/them pronouns, so they were both awkward when they introduced themselves. But, despite that, they hit it off right away after some banter over their opposing thoughts on the movie. They promised to see each other again the next week, then the next, and the next, until one of them (Desmond swore it was Mercy, but Mercy swore it was him) invited the other to their house for a movie and── surprise, surprise── it turned out they had lived next to each other all along. One thing led to another and their parents met and became close friends as well. Being two of the only queer families on the block helped with that a whole hell of a lot.

Had Desmond ever dared to step out of his room and interact with the outside world and ultimately notice Mercy's official Dragons and Dungeons jumbo stickers on her window, they would've met and become friends much sooner. To be fair though, Desmond and his moms had just moved into town less than three months before their meeting.

"Okay, let's be real, that's not what I meant but I'll take it," she said. She clicked her tongue and sat on the curb, right next to where he stood. She hunched over, put the crumpled ice pack down, and let her arms hang from her knees. A sigh left her as she looked down at the asphalt and brushed it with a finger. "I didn't know you liked me."

"What? Why wouldn't I? You're my── " my best friend. Oh, shit.

Desmond closed his mouth shut, then shortly after decided to stuff it with food instead. He took a bite out of his empanada and then another for totally no particular reason and before he knew it he had wolfed it all down. The napkin he had held it with stared back at him. He failed to take his time to chew and swallow the way he wanted to. It was the last guava and cheese empanada left from the batch Mr. Robinson made two days ago. Desmond would have to wait three more weeks to get more of it.

FUCK!

"Right." She let out something between a chuckle, a groan, and a wince. It was... for a lack of a better word, odd. Her shoulders dropped as she did so. She tapped on the part of the curb next to her; prompted him to sit down. He obliged. "I like you too. I'm sure of it. I just... I just know it." Silence. "I've been acting... weird."

She dropped her head on his shoulder and out of habit, he wrapped his arm around her to bring her closer. He then did a light squeeze. They did it a lot. He loved to do it, and so did she, but it felt different now. He felt nervous and hollow. Was that the right thing to do? Was there a way to stop it without making it awkward? He didn't want to encourage her feelings for him. He didn't see her that way, and he was ninety-nine percent sure he never would. Respectfully. For anyone, period.

"As always, Mercy."

She gave him a smile and shoved him with her shoulder in protest of his words, but it only made the hug somewhat more intimate. A sleeve of her oversized now-buttonless cardigan tripped halfway down her upper arm and exposed a thin strap of her cami tank top, along with an endless ocean of freckled bare brown skin. From its depths, an unprompted whiff of shea butter, sweat, and vanilla hit him in an instant. It said a curious hello to him, and he responded with a curt goodbye before it even got to finish its sentence. He couldn't have cared less. It wasn't his cup of tea. Nothing was, in fact.

He rushed to pull the sleeve back up her shoulder with the tips of two fingers.

"Fuck you dearly. As always, so do you! You're weird too!"

"Fuck you!"

"Whatever, you fucker. I hate you with all my stupid fucking heart!" Her attention never moved from the asphalt. "Anyways! What I meant about acting weird's that... well, you know how I am with books, movies, and songs, a-and video games. And basically anything I can get my hands on. I always follow the passion, the commitment. The trust and sweet promises to be together forever. Mushy, sappy things. Pretty red roses and chocolates and steamy late nights. Romance and sex. Feeling and making love in all sorts of ways. I've chased after that for a whole decade at this point. But every single time I tried to experience it with someone── or even just consider it── it has always felt the same. Nada. Nothing. Emptiness. And yes, I know we're all in that game with roles to play like we do with etiquette or manners or social cues; everyone expects everyone else to already know how to play those roles, but there must be some truth to those feelings. We're all 'exaggerating' and making a big deal about that cute sappy stuff for a reason, right? It can't just be a fantasy. Exaggeration by definition means there's something, some truth to work with and be dramatic about, right? There must be a point deep, deep behind the act where we are capable of at the very least feeling the need, the desire, the drive to have someone exist with us in our lives; someone that swears to care about everything with you, not by you. Together."

Desmond looked down at the paved road before him, at the finger of hers that wandered around its faint ridges in circles. He expected said finger to have some black asphalt residue on its tip for some reason. Instead, it was just gray from dirt. No trace of the actual road on it.

All that staring allowed him to notice he hadn't blinked for a hot minute. His eyes had already begun to tear up underneath the sunglasses Mercy had given him. The tears were hotter than the depths of Hell itself. They burned every possible thing that existed in their path. He tried to blink so they'd go away and stop forming, but his face was paralyzed in shock from all that he heard.

Had he been wrong to assume other people didn't feel the same way he did?

After another hot minute, only his lips were able to move. "Wow, well fuck, man. I... I never thought about it that way."

"Okay. Well now you do. Congratulations, Mercy-liker," she replied, unfazed. "Last month I think I finally got to that point. To the truth. My act cracked. I looked around at the world and realized I had yanked myself out of my role in the game. It was weird because it was real. I swear I felt it right here," she turned to face him and jabbed a thumb straight into her chest area. There was a wild spark in her gaze that made him swallow air and breathe colors. "I've felt weird ever since. I now have the drive. I found it. I can work with it to play the game, just like I'm supposed to."

"How... how did it happen?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked. What do you think?"

Desmond licked his lips and forced himself to blink. Or rather, attempted to. His eyes grew wider. More tears came down. Some collected at the bottom half of the sunglasses. "Oh. Me."

"Yup. You," Mercy replied. "I realized we were basically done with school, and when it hit me that you and I were gonna start our own lives and futures, I started to cry. I wanted to do that thing. The caring-about-everything-with-you thing. I didn't want to just come to your house once or twice a week── whenever the hell we level up in adulting── and see traces of a life I didn't witness with you. I didn't want us to live and have separate futures. I wanted to commit myself to you; exist with you, not by you. So." Mercy took a moment to herself there. Her wild spark left him speechless when their eyes met in that short-lived silence, so he chose to nod before she continued. "So, I figured that it must mean that, well, all along, I've liked liked you. I can even say── " Her head snapped back down to his shoulder, where she allowed her attention to be dead set on the road again. Her gray finger ran wild. It didn't just run around in circles anymore. It skipped around and tipped and tapped away with its pointy acrylic nails. "Love," she murmured. "That... that must be it. I must love you. I just know it."

---

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Flickering Creatures by A. B. Channing (@ SmokeAndOranges )

When Bryony goes missing, it's up to her loyal familiar Bella to solve the case... even if it means allying with a snooty cat she hates and a rival witch who may or may not be behind the disappearance.

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