Chapter Text
Thumping his head against the steering wheel, causing his horn to blare out and about six nearby shoppers to almost jump out of their skins, Miles mentally prepared himself for the next couple minutes of his life. Originally, he was going to stay in his car until his nerves chilled the hell out, but after a couple minutes of no progress in his heart rate slowing, he bit the bullet and began heading towards the entrance of the Blockbuster. Neither outcome of this trip would help him relax one bit anyway.
The air was bitingly cold, the world already succumbing to the winter chill despite the fact it was only November. So cold in fact, that he wasted no time getting indoors and the warmness of the building nearly stung in its contrast. He wasn’t looking for boxsets or the latest hit films though. Instead, he was looking for a friend. His best friend, actually. After Francis had picked up his job at the Blockbuster, Miles had lost his weekends with him, which admittedly irritated him. Although the reason behind getting the job was something Miles was deeply in support of – not having to rely on his parents’ meal allowance – he still mourned all the time together they’d given up as a result. This was why Miles always visited him towards the end of Francis’ shift, so he could distract him from his work and convince him to come home with him. Not the most honourable thing on paper, sure, but Francis didn’t seem to mind.
This time he wasn’t doing that though. Yes, it was the end of Francis’ shift and he was looking for him, however he wasn’t confident at all that he was even working. He’d done the same thing last weekend, on both Saturday and Sunday, but he was absent.
The reason Miles was there was because Francis had been missing for two weeks.
Completely AWOL. Not a sign for where he was or an inkling of what might have happened. The last time they’d spoken was on Francis’ seventeenth birthday, when his friend had called to let him know that their plans to hang out had to be cancelled with no form of explanation as to why. From that point onwards, Francis was gone. Not at school, not answering Miles’ calls, not at work. Miles had tried every single day to pound on his front door and demand for some answers, but it seemed his parents had begun living at home permanently, so that was a no-go. That discovery also hadn’t exactly made him feel better about Francis’ sudden disappearance.
Coming to the Blockbuster that day was Miles’ last ditch effort to find his best friend before he got the police involved. Miles’ parents were reluctantly hearing him out until this point to not call the authorities, Illi and Ray were in disbelief that he hadn’t yet, but he just had this feeling that he would turn up any minute now. If he didn’t show at work that week, it either meant he was officially gone and definitely in some kind of danger, or he was soon to be fired, so if he had the capability of going to work, he surely would.
“Hey Miles, how’s it going?” A voice caught Miles off-guard, coming from behind him while he was making his way to the front counter. As he turned around, he saw one of Francis’ co-workers, Malcom, who he’d occasionally talked to while waiting for Francis to finish his shift.
When he got his bearings again and remembered why he was actually there, Miles responded, “Alright, how about you?”
“I mean, I’m working so I could be better, I guess,” Malcom chuckled, his red eyes squinting a little. Though not being told explicitly, Miles could tell he smoked a lot of weed, “You’re here to see Francis, I assume?” Miles nodded, his pulse ramping up again, “He’s just in the back, do you want me to get him?”
Well that was easy. To try to appear casual, Miles had to hold back the urge to show how relieved he was in his face, “Yeah, please.”
“Wait here then, I’ll make him come out.”
As Malcom turned to walk away, Miles rubbed at his eyes, trying to think quickly about what he was even going to say. He hadn’t exactly planned this far ahead, he was fully prepared for Francis to stay missing, not to be actively working whilst presumably knowing that his friends were panicking about his absence. If anything, this just made Miles more frustrated. It felt like hours that he was waiting for Francis to make an appearance, even though it was probably only a couple minutes. Miles needed an explanation and he needed it now, especially because he knew he’d hopefully be getting one soon. While he was stood there, he tried to momentarily think about something else as to not drive him insane or cause him to break an entering into the staff-only back room. He looked at the movies on the shelves around him; it appeared Malcom had stopped him in the middle of the romance section, which was just a fucking joke at this point.
After two years of knowing Francis, Miles was still intensely in love with him and had done exactly nothing about it.
There weren’t any major hiccups in their sophomore year regarding their relationship and Francis had at least managed to convince himself that their less platonic moments and behaviours were just a product of how comfortable with each other they were as friends, so it wasn’t that Miles didn’t think he could. It was more a matter of knowing how Francis would react that was the problem. Though it was less a ‘what if he doesn’t like me back?’ and more of a ‘he does, but what if he can’t cope with that?’, which wasn’t really a situation that film and TV had covered to death like the former. No advice from any sort of media romance stories could assist him in how to figure this out, because the world somehow still wasn’t ready for the widespread commercialised homosexuality, that wasn’t just effeminate villains.
Movement caught Miles’ eyes and he dragged them away from the scantily clad women holding onto the muscular and very masculine heroes. They landed on none other than Francis, who was moving towards him hesitantly, holding his elbows. Above everything, he just looked exhausted. As he came to a halt, just a metre away from Miles, Francis furrowed his eyebrows.
Nervously, he said “Y’know I’m still on the clock, I can’t-”
“Meet me in my car,” Miles interrupted in a tone that really reminded himself of his mom, “I know when your shift ends and if I don’t see you within fifteen minutes of it, I’m getting the cops involved.”
Francis’ eyes widened, he appeared to weigh out his options and then sighed, “Okay.”
Back in the drivers seat, Miles texted Illi ‘Found him’ and almost immediately his phone started blowing up with messages such as:
‘OMG’
‘Is he ok?’
‘wut happd?
‘idk yet’
‘will lyk l8er’
Sitting in there was worse than waiting in the store initially. It was pretty damn cold in the car now, but running the engine would waste a hell of a lot of gas and the tank was already low, so he was shivering from his nerves and the temperature. Trying to figure out what was going on just from the ten seconds he’d seen him was a lost cause, so instead he considered all the possibilities. At least he was able to cross out the idea that he was dead.
He had so many questions, yet had no idea how to start asking them. When Francis eventually made his way to the car – in good time as well – they sat in silence, staring straight ahead of them for a while. This was when Miles was making a bit more of an assessment of what he was dealing with. The first thing that he noticed, was that he smelled weird. Not necessarily bad, but like he was caked in cologne and dry hairspray, which was backed up by the visible residue on his shirt of both. Other than that and the tiredness however, nothing jumped out at him as being concerning, which Miles didn’t know how to feel about.
After a nauseating couple minutes of quiet, Miles couldn’t take it anymore.
“In one sentence, tell me right now why I shouldn’t slap the shit out of you,” Okay, so that came out more threatening than he thought it was going to be. All the humour in his tone was seemingly lost to the two weeks’ worth of dread that had built up.
Francis thought for a couple seconds, and then said, “Because you like my face too much?” He grinned in a way that asked Miles to go easy on him. The annoying part was that he was right.
“Two weeks, Fran,” He sighed and his friend grimaced, “Two weeks! I’d like you to just consider what I was thinking when you all of a sudden just disappeared.”
“I know, I-” Francis cut himself off and took a deep breath, “Trust me, Miles. If I was able to contact you, I would’ve. Just let me explain.”
“Go on then,” Miles crossed his arms in front of his chest and braced himself.
Francis looked at him directly in the eyes, pursed his lips and breathed deeply again before asking, “Promise to not freak out?” Miles crossed his heart.
“I got kicked out.”
Oh.
Holy shit.
Miles must’ve been sat there, mouth agape for a while, as Francis began to look increasingly stressed, “I know that sounds bad, but I assure you I’m alright.”
“Bad is quite an understatement,” Miles spluttered, re-grouped when he realised he was definitely freaking out, “So you’re…?”
“Homeless, yeah,” He twitched his head to the side, but was still way too calm in Miles’ opinion, “I’m not like on the streets or anything though, I’ve been uh- sleeping in my car.”
“What even happened?” Miles just couldn’t rationalise any of this in his head. It didn’t feel real, “Why now?”
Francis made a grim expression which was the first time he’d actually looked upset this entire time, “They planned everything. My parents. All the things they did that we thought were strangely nice of them. The driving lessons, the car, the driving test on my birthday so I could get my license as soon as I could,” His voice began to quiver and he went red in the face, “They did it so they could throw me out in good conscience. Frame it to their church group that I moved out on my own accord to ‘start’ being independent.”
The information was pilling into his brain quicker than it could settle and Miles felt like he was going to burst or something. He knew there had to be some kind of ulterior motive to those gestures, he knew they’d never do something like that in good faith. They were truly scum of the earth, no doubt about it. The only good takeaway was that Francis had passed his driving test first time, with the drawback that he was kicked out on his birthday.
He felt sick.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Miles felt tears of his own beginning to form, “You could’ve driven to my house; we can help you, y’know?”
Francis shook his head, “I didn’t want to just show up at your door. You and your parents would’ve felt pressured to take me in. Plus I don’t know how much my neighbours are going to babble, and if my parents found out I was staying with you, there might be trouble. You guys don’t need that.”
Was he insane? None of that was of any importance, at least by Miles’ standards, “Are you kidding? Fran, my parents would’ve adopted you if they could, you would not be giving us any sort of grief by crashing at ours for a while.”
Shrugging, Francis muttered, “I didn’t want to assume.”
“Okay, from now on you’re living with me. You don’t get a choice in this matter, you are not gonna be sleeping in your car, it’s inhumane. Especially considering how easy it is for you to get ill,” Miles didn’t really understand Francis’ logic, he basically lived with him anyway because of how much he visited.
Francis shrunk into himself in a similar fashion that he did in the store – like he was a child getting told off, “Okay. You sure it won’t be an issue?”
Miles rolled his eyes at him and he seemed to get the message.
They left that conversation there; Miles would ask more questions later on as he didn’t want to bombard the guy. Francis then left to drive his own car back to Miles’ and in order to get there first, Miles set off as soon as he could, turning up the radio as loud as he could until it hurt to drown out his thoughts. Kicked out. It was one of those things that had laid dormant in Miles’ mind as a possibility, but he never thought they’d actually go through with it. Once he’d parked in the driveway, he waited for Francis’ car to pull up before he left his own, unbuckled his seatbelt and slouched to the point where he wasn’t even against the headrest anymore, focussing on breathing more than anything else. He was furious at Francis for hiding this from him, he really was. No amount of empathy could counterbalance the frustration he felt that his best friend still felt the need to figure everything out by himself. Yes, he was much better at talking about things when he was asked now, Miles had made sure of that over the past couple years, but his persistent omission when he wasn’t had remained a trademark.
When Francis finally made it there, Miles met him outside the boy’s car, which he could see was packed to the brim with stuff in both the trunk and the backseat. They wordlessly headed upstairs and into Miles’ bedroom, but Francis didn’t immediately slunk onto Miles’ bed like he usually did. Instead, he just stood there, kind of awkwardly.
“You want me to get you anything?” Miles asked, also not sitting down.
Francis squinted his eyes, “Can I have a shower?”
Giggling slightly, Miles gestured in the general direction of the bathroom, “Be my guest. I’ll get you a towel and uh…do you need any clothes?”
He pinched his mouth at the side, “I have clothes in my car.”
“Are they clean?”
Francis dotted his eyes around the room sheepishly and then shook his head.
“Clothes it is then,” Miles snorted.
While Francis was showering, Miles took it as an opportunity to call Illi to finally update her. Though he assumed that Francis would’ve likely guessed that Miles would tell Illi about what was going on, he still went outside for privacy out of respect. The walls were paper thin after all, and he didn’t think Francis would want to hear him talk about it like he wasn’t there. Before he went into the backyard, he shot a look at his parents to say ‘I’ll explain as soon as I can’ and selected his sister on the contacts list on his phone.
It rang for maybe a second before she picked up.
“Milli!” Miles had to shoot his phone away from his ear because of how loud she was, “You can’t leave me on a cliff-hanger like that, you know how worried I’ve been!”
“I know I’m sorry,” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“So what’s the deal? Is he alright?”
That was actually a good question, “I…think so?”
“You sound unsure, what happened?” Her voice all of a sudden went serious and Miles felt it in his chest.
“Oh God, um…” Miles then realised he didn’t really know how to phrase it without being insanely blunt, “Fran got kicked out of his house.”
About half a minute of silence passed before Illi started trying to get words out, “Wh- uh-…h-…excuse me?”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Miles chuckled at the insanity of the situation.
“Do I need to come home? Should I be helping out? I mean, I can’t do much from over here-” Illi rambled, leading to Miles cutting her off.
“No, don’t come home, we’ve got it sorted, kind of. He’s living with us for the moment and I swear to God Illi if you say the word ‘gay’ I will smite you down.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” She claimed not very convincingly, “Is he okay though? Mentally, that is.”
Miles resisted to urge to mutter ‘when is he ever?’, “I think you should ask him yourself.”
“Would he mind?”
He did have to think about that, but he ended up replying, “No, I wouldn’t say so. I think he’s expected the fallout from all this.”
“Okay, I’ll do that then. Thanks for letting me know Milli.”
“No problem.”
The call ended there and Miles headed back to his bedroom. Francis still seemed to be showering so he just sat on his bed and put on the next episode of Angel. When the boy was done deep-cleaning himself as it appeared, he wandered towards him in Miles’ comically wrong-sized clothes, towelling out his hair still. Usually, Miles didn’t see the appeal of hot people being sopping wet, but oh lord did he get it now. If anything, it was torture to him, having to witness this without being able to simply walk up to him and devour his face like some kind of crazed animal. Life was unfair.
“You feel better now?” Miles asked to conceal the fact he was desperately trying to hold himself back from making a terrible decision.
“Much better,” Francis sighed and scooted next to Miles on his bed, “That was a blissful experience.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’m warning you, I may end up hibernating into next week,” Miles really, really didn’t blame him, “Let me tell you, cars aren’t the most comfortable things to sleep in, especially in this weather.
Okay, great, now Miles had an image of Francis shivering and struggling to get to sleep, alone in the dark of his car. Totally not horrifying to picture at all.
“Don’t worry about it, get as much sleep as you need, I won’t judge. Sleep for the whole week if you want.”
Some shuffling beside Miles made him realise oh he meant now. Obviously, he wasn’t complaining, not at all. In fact, he was quite cosy himself and had no issue starting to drift off. Though, Francis did end up falling asleep first, curled up against Miles with his head on his chest and arm wrapped around him like normal. Before he managed to pass out too though, Miles couldn’t help staring at him with absolute misery. He just couldn’t reason how Francis was as calm and collected as he was under these circumstances, if Miles was in his position he would’ve…not been? He hadn’t really thought a lot about that hypothetical. But he for-sure wouldn’t have been like this. At least Miles’ dreams had mostly stopped now, bar the occasional one or two a month, so the likelihood he’d accidentally disturb Francis’ slumber was relatively low.
The dreams he got now were primarily just direct flashbacks of the afternoon Francis (sort of) died, with the occasional hospital dream thrown in for some variety. They didn’t bother him nearly as much anymore though – the fact he didn’t get them nightly definitely helped – though when he did get them, he still jolted awake. However, from what he’d heard, and sometimes witnessed, Francis had been getting a lot more nightmares himself, all of them being his own flashbacks of that same day. Although he never reacted nearly as violently as Miles did to his dreams, much like Miles, Francis squirmed and spoke aloud when he’d get them, which was honestly harrowing seeing someone do it rather than being told that you did afterwards. It didn’t help that what he said most of the time was him pleading for his life. Fortunately, this night he didn’t appear to dream at all, probably too consumed by exhaustion for his brain to activate one.
When the next morning came, Miles woke up before his friend as he expected. Originally, he was just going to stay there until Francis followed suit, however he realised that was probably going to take hours, so he manoeuvred his way out of Francis’ arms, trying his best not to bother him, and headed downstairs. On weekends, his parents for some ungodly reason, always woke up earlier than him and made a pot of coffee (less ungodly). This morning was no exception, so he took this as an opportunity to fill them in on what happened. As predicted, they had no issue letting Francis stay with them until he could get back on his feet, but they seemed unenthusiastic about him being able to even find another place to live before he turned eighteen. There was that whole minors can’t actually do a whole lot problem to deal with and even if he used his fake ID, there would of course be the risk of people finding out it was fake, which would only cause more complications.
Despite this though, something within Miles knew that Francis would try his damn hardest to find a way.
The discussion ended as soon as they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Miles checked the time: 10:47, which was still earlier than he was expecting, but since Francis had passed out at like, 7pm the previous night, he guessed that was why. Rather than his cane, he was using the forearm crutch that the hospital had insisted he used instead of it. However, Francis only ever used the crutch if his leg was borderline non-functioning or just painful. It turned out that he would have to use at least some kind of walking aid all the time instead of off and on, which Miles could tell upset Francis to no end, even though he never talked about it properly. Although the hospital had warned him about this, they seemed confident it wasn’t going to be the case, and Miles almost believed they’d lied to Francis to make him feel better. It wasn’t like he couldn’t walk without one, but Francis had mentioned in passing that he could only really go as far as the distance between his bedroom and the kitchen and back before it began to start causing him trouble on a good day, so he didn’t tend to.
Upon witnessing a scene, that very much emulated ‘family meeting’ Miles could guess, Francis pulled this sort of alarmed face.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, looking just about ready to bolt out of the room. Maybe even the house.
“Not at all,” Miles’ dad salvaged, giving Miles a pat on the back which he wasn’t expecting at all so it almost just about knocked him over, “His mom and I were just about to set off grocery shopping, uh-”
Miles could tell he wanted to ask Francis something and he could take a good guess as to what that was. To save him from the mental conflict, Miles asked it for him.
“Do you want to come with, so we get everything you need as well?”
Francis’ paranoid look only intensified, as Miles predicted, along with what he was going to say afterwards.
“Don’t worry about getting stuff for me,” He scrunched his eyebrows, “I’ll buy food for myself like usual, you’re already doing too much by letting me stay here, and it’s the main reason I have a job anyway. Speaking of which, I have work soon,” His eyes bugged out like he’d only just realised that and began to go back upstairs to presumably get ready.
When Miles found him aggressively combing his hair, sat down on the floor in front of Miles’ mirror, he asked, “Are you sure you want to go in today?” He glanced at the crutch lying next to his friend.
“I missed two shifts last week, my boss would have my head if I missed today too. I can’t risk being fired, Miles,” He frowned and looked in Miles’ eyes through the reflection.
“I know,” Miles sighed, “I just don’t want you biting off more than you can chew.”
Francis hauled himself to his feet and wobbled a little before getting a hold of his crutch again, making Miles shoot him a look.
“Really I’m fine,” He glared back, but then his face softened, “If you’re that concerned, then you could do a favour for me?”
“Like what?”
Francis grinned, “How do you feel about doing my shopping?”
<3
After dropping Francis off at the Blockbuster, he began the mission that was getting Francis’ groceries. Before his food was bought with his own money, Miles would always encourage Francis to stray from the list a bit for some variety, but now he wouldn’t do any such thing. Largely because this was Francis’ hard-earned money and he wasn’t with him this time, so it really wasn’t his choice to make. Admittedly, he still very much enjoyed doing this, though it was the first time in what felt like eons that he was. In the car on the way there, Miles had at least managed to convince the guy not to bother purchasing dinners, as there was absolutely no way his parents were not going to cook enough food for all of them anyway. However, this had the downside of the fact he finished the shop within record time and he still had over seven hours to kill before he had to pick up Francis.
Unlike how he usually spent his weekends, Miles didn’t feel like doing jack-shit while bumming around the house, so he decided to try and help his friend out as much as he could. The main thing was laundry. He successfully located Francis’ keys in the bedroom and began scavenging around the car for possibly a bag or just loose clothes strewn amongst the haphazardly thrown-in belongings. Eventually he discovered a suitcase, plus a couple t-shirts and socks squeezed in between both of Francis’ guitars; knowing Francis, those guitars were probably the first things he packed. The only other things he’d grabbed (and hadn’t already taken into Miles’ house) were a pillow, a blanket, his guitar amp and cables, his CD player plus his CDs, the Buffy Boxset, and the Charlie Brown Halloween special. It was striking how much space all of it took up though, especially the instrument stuff, but he seriously couldn’t have fit anything else in.
This was when Miles realised he had no idea how to use a washing machine. It was fucking disgraceful, he was literally seventeen and had maybe used it himself once or twice with his parents’ guidance, but they weren’t home at the time to shout for when the damn thing inevitably blew up. In the end, he just put the soap where he assumed it went, pushed a couple buttons and prayed. All of Francis’ clothes actually fit into the machine, but right before he started the cycle, he remembered something about not mixing lights and darks and pulled all the lights out – he wasn’t that clueless at least. While it was running, he then got to work moving everything from Francis’ car into his bedroom. He ended up just piling it in the middle of the carpet to wait for Francis to decide where to put it, but the harder job was done at least.
Not long after Miles moved the darks into the dryer and began washing the lights, his phone rang. It was Francis. Oh God, he never called him while he was working, something had happened.
“Hello?”
Miles had to admit, he always had this mini rush of relief when it was actually Francis’ voice when he responded, “Hi Miles,” He sounded rough though and Miles was so ready to say ‘I told you so’, “Are you busy?”
“What happened?” He pressed into his eyes until he saw stars.
Then a muffled scuffling sound came through the speaker and Miles faintly heard Francis shout ‘asshole!’ before a different voice spoke to him, “Miles come pick up your boyfriend, he looks like he’s about to throw up. Or maybe pass out. Probably both,” It was Malcom, who seemed to be a lot more entertained than he should’ve been. He thanked the lord that no one could see how flushed the ‘boyfriend’ comment made him.
Miles sighed loud enough that even Francis would hear it away from the phone, “I knew he shouldn’t have come in today.”
“Hey it’s not all his fault, some prick from your school kicked at his crutch, knocking him over. He fell hard on his bad leg. Though, if I hadn’t noticed how green he looked, it seemed as though he was just going to keep working.”
Why wasn’t he surprised? “I’ll be right there.”
“You better be, I’m not first aid trained and I can’t deal with vomit.”
This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Both at work and at school, some people appeared to take a great amount of pleasure in shoving around the disabled kid because it was just that easy, wasn’t it? Though the school had understandably cracked down even more on violent behaviour after their freshman year, if no teacher was around, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like the students would report it and this kind of bullying rarely even left a bruise anywhere visible. So, getting trapped in lockers, being pushed over in the hallways and purposefully being tripped over was a common occurrence for both Francis and Miles. Obviously, Miles didn’t think much of it when it was just him, but each time it was done to Francis, Miles was always one misplaced comment away from ripping a guy’s throat out. When they were freshmen, they'd say these things were ‘minor’ acts of aggression, but now Francis couldn’t just brush this kind of stuff off like he used to.
It didn’t help that he was already insecure about his limited mobility, the fact that a bunch of dickheads were using it to their advantage just to mess with him just made it ten times worse.
When he arrived, Malcom found him and ushered him into one of the staff-only areas.
“Am I allowed in here?” Miles asked, picturing Francis’ boss stomping over and reeling at them for not respecting the sanctity of the label ‘staff only’. Miles had never met the woman, but with the way Francis described her, she was apparently somewhere between a kaiju and Mr Schechter. Not completely evil and you could tell she gave a shit, but had the ability to give you nightmares for weeks.
“No, but there are exceptions for emergencies and I’m counting this as one.”
They entered what appeared to be a staff lounge of some sorts, which was presumably where people spent their lunch breaks if they didn’t leave the building for it, due to the presence of a couch, that was probably older than the country, and a minifridge of similar quality. On the couch, sat Francis, who looked exactly as Malcom had described. Pale to the point of being green, shiny from sweat and visibly spaced out. He didn’t even notice them when they opened the door.
“Fran, c’mon let’s get you home,” Miles assisted him to his feet and continued to hold onto him while they walked to the car.
Home. It sounded weird now that Francis didn’t have a home; not really. But then again, it never felt like he did in the first place.
<3
“How many times have I said that you’d make an amazing housewife?” Francis was very close to going to eighth base with his clean clothes.
Miles grinned why he watched him smother his face in the fabric of both of his black flag t-shirts – yes he still owned the white, threadbare one, though it had started to look more like a rag or a tea-towel than a shirt, “It’s my calling, what can I say?”
Francis eventually settled all his clothes back into his suitcase and deflated on the bed. Miles had given him some Tylenol, as useless as it normally was, but that was usually all he could do in these situations. He was lucky that there was no vomit this time, but the boy still looked perpetually three seconds away from fainting. The frustrating part, was that Miles was better equipped to deal with these painful spells during the rougher bits; rubbing his back and reassuring him while he was hunched over a toilet, he could do. Catching him when he collapsed unconscious and helping him get his bearings when he woke up, was no problem. However, everything beforehand was basically just waiting in anticipation. Staying on-guard in case of a turn for the worse. Sometimes food and drink did wonders, and sometimes it was just chucked back up – if Francis even touched it in the first place – so that was always a gamble.
More than anything though, Miles was wondering whether Francis should come to school the next day. Something in his head was telling him that the pain he was experiencing was the two-week’s worth of poor conditions and stress catching up to him, and it wasn’t like that was all going to disappear within a night. Both of them knew that any more absences from him would spark a riot from the councillor and that would lead to personal questions that Francis was never going to answer and then everything would all of a sudden become very complicated very quickly.
“You still in agony?” Miles asked as he slid next to Francis, who was on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling.
He let out a strained, “Yep,” and wiggled his body so that his head laid on Miles’ lap, “It was square-face by the way, that knocked me over.”
No surprises there. Square-face was a member of the lacrosse team, who Francis had previously had a few run-ins with, even during the time when it was mainly the hockey team that were bothering them. Nowadays, he was their main problem to deal with at school (and outside apparently), he was homophobic in the much less emotionally loaded way and gained this sadistic sort of pleasure in watching Francis struggle to pick himself up after face-planting the linoleum. They called him square-face, as neither of them had shared a class with him since they were freshmen, so had never made an effort to learn his name – and he had a crazily square face. Like, his skull must’ve been a cube.
“I don’t understand his problem with you,” Miles muttered, feeling his face turn red-hot.
“Maybe he still thinks I have a thing for him,” Francis quirked a small smile, “Y’know, after that one time Hunter told him I was giving him moon eyes?”
“God I forgot about that,” It was so long ago that he could feel his brain trying to piece everything together, “So much has happened since then. At the time, I remember being so worried about you like it was this huge fucking deal, but now it seems so insignificant.”
“Not much has changed then, you’re still worried about me all the damn time,” Though his tone was mostly unserious, there was a hint of irritation behind it that Miles caught onto.
“Can you blame me?” He answered back simply, letting his slight annoyance shine through.
After a couple seconds of contemplation, Francis answered, “I guess not.”
<3
Almost as soon as they arrived at the school the next morning, Mr Schechter approached them and just about dragged them to the councillor’s office without a word of explanation as to why. The teacher had this odd look on his face that was familiar, yet he couldn’t place when he’d had seen it before. The only way he could describe it, was that he looked one lighter-flick away from spontaneously combusting. This couldn’t have just been about Francis’ shocking attendance, the fact that Miles had to be there too was a dead giveaway, however what fully confirmed this, was that when they entered the room, Hunter was sat there, just as clueless as they were. Mr Schechter shut the door to the office, but remained with them, still making that weird face.
The councillor cleared her throat as Miles and Francis wearily sat down.
“You’re probably wondering why I brought all of you here this morning,” She began and Miles fought the urge to do the largest eyeroll he could, “I’ll just get right to it. Jason Daniels has been released early from his sentence at the juvenile detention centre.”
Then Miles’ whole world slowed. It was like the room had extemporaneously filled with water and he was already drowning. A quick glance over at Francis only made it intensify. His friend was gripping so tightly on the arms of the chair, that his knuckles had gone white. How the hell had he gotten his sentence cut short? Why now of all times?
“Now he won’t be returning to the school and he’s still banned from entering the grounds, however I need to get a couple things straight with you three just in case anything happens.”
Francis’ eyes narrowed and Miles could tell he was holding back an onslaught of curses and burning questions.
“First of all,” She tapped her pen repeatedly against her hand at a rapid pace, “He’s been released on the basis of good behaviour, but I’m just putting it out there that we can’t verify how valid that claim is.”
“What I think, is that the Daniels family has the money for some insane lawyers,” Mr Schechter weighted in, “I find it hard to believe he wasn’t a pain in the ass behind bars as well.”
The councillor then shot him an exasperated look, but Mr Schechter only twitched his head to stand by his point.
“What we’re basically trying to say,” She said behind clenched teeth and then her face drooped, “Is that if he tries to get in contact with any of you, or God forbid approach you in person at all, especially you Francis,” She pointed her pen at him, but Francis was looking down at his knees, “You must tell either me, Mr Schechter, who has taken a personal interest in the case, or if you have reason to believe that you’re in any danger, the police, immediately.”
A moment of eerie silence passed where each of the teenagers were just trying to gather their thoughts and honestly try not to freak out – at least that’s what Miles was doing. He looked over at Hunter, who appeared a bit more conflicted than worried, which made Miles want to punch him. Sure, he’d apologised once, but never to Francis, at least to his knowledge. He was pretty confident that they hadn’t spoken to each other a single time since the incident.
Then all of a sudden, Francis muttered, “You really think he’s going to give us a warning if he wants to try to kill me again?”
His voice was stone-cold, almost icy, and it felt like a sword was plunged through Miles’ chest. Miles tried shooting him a look of solidarity, but he was glaring directly at the councillor with his now doe-like eyes.
“Francis, you mustn’t assume that that is his intention,” She said evenly, clearly not finished but Francis shakily got to his feet.
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Reflexively, Miles almost bolted after him, but the councillor put her hand up to tell him to wait. Instead, Mr Schechter went searching and soon after, she dismissed Hunter so that it was just her and Miles left in the office. She put her head in her hands and Miles crossed his arms over his chest.
“He reminds me so much of your sister,” She made a pathetic chuckle, removing her glasses to rub her eyes.
Miles raised his eyebrow at her.
“Impulsive,” She stated, forming a modest smile and then straightened her posture, “Will you do a favour for me, Miles?”
“Depends what it is,” He put dryly, but she didn’t seem to mind. He had no idea how she could’ve expected Francis to react any differently than he did. If anything, that was probably the tamest outcome.
“I know you two are around each other a lot anyway,” God, she didn’t even know the half of it, “But, I need to you keep an even closer eye on Francis now. Make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble.”
“I’ll have you know, he’s not the one who picks fights ma’am,” He let the bitterness seep through, “It’s people like Jason who decide it’s well in their right to use him as a punching bag because they think they can get away with it. And let’s face it, they can and they have.”
“I know, I know,” She grimaced, “But now with Jason’s premature release, I hate to say it, but he’s vulnerable and I think you’re the only person who could actually have a shot at preventing him from making any rash decisions.”
“Bold of you to assume that I haven’t figured all this out myself already,” He spat and began making his way out the door.
However, just before he left, the councillor managed to say one final thing.
“But remember, he’s not your responsibility!”
She’d said that to him many times before and every time, he shot back saying, “I know!”
At least, he thought he did.
Upon checking his watch, he made the horrifying realisation that his first lesson had already started and he’d have to do that awkward waddle to a random seat as he entered. Fuck that. Instead, he made a b-line to the nearest restroom, planning on hiding there to avoid that, but also fully absorb what he’d been told. He had no idea where Francis was, though he wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing exactly the same thing Miles was that moment. If that was the case however, they’d picked different restrooms as the one he’d walked into was empty.
Locking the stall door and sitting on the lid of the toilet, ensuring his feet weren’t visible from the gap underneath, Miles could feel his heart-rate spike. It was like, all of a sudden, he couldn’t let his guard down at all. The safety blanket that had granted him peace of mind was ripped away from him. Torn up and thrown in a dumpster. He stared down at himself and found that he was shaking, violently. But he couldn’t make sense of it. Realistically, he wasn’t the one in danger. Although it had taken him a good chunk of their sophomore year, eventually Francis told Miles some of the finer details about what Jason said to him before going berserk, and from what he gathered, it was a lot more personal than he’d initially thought. Therefore, Miles was in the clear, right? Yet, he couldn’t stop this feeling of impending doom that was closing in on him in the moment.
He had to find Francis.
First, he searched in all the restrooms, but to no avail. Damn, he really was counting on him being in at least one of them, because now he had no clue. Had he gone to lesson after all? No, there was no way. Not after what happened in the office. Then, it hit him.
There was this disused storage closet on the top floor of the building. At some point in their freshman year, Illi and Ray had picked the lock to it and turned it into a hideout of sorts, as the teachers didn’t go in there and none of the students apart from them knew it had been opened. Apparently someone died in there; that was the most popular rumour as to why it was closed off. Similar theories claimed it was generally haunted, some said it was full of asbestos. None of which had been confirmed nor denied. Miles had no knowledge of this closet-turned-hideout until his sophomore year, when Illi finally dropped the secret. They were on the hunt for a new area of the school to smoke without getting caught, as the back of the school was now an absolute no-go. Plus, they now had teachers on duty there, practically at all times anyway. The closet was mostly empty, with a tiny window that was perpetually open, due to the fact none of them could reach that high up to close it. That was a non-issue though; if anything, it was handy.
So, the closet was where they relocated.
After checking around him to make sure no one could see him, he opened the door and promptly closed it behind him. As expected, Francis was sat in there, lit cigarette in hand, leaning against the back wall with the window above him. Miles slouched opposite him against the door. The small size of the room meant one of Miles’ legs was slotted in between Francis’ even when they were both bent at the knee, just to fit.
“Didn’t feel like learning today?” Francis chuckled, taking a puff of his cigarette, smiling warmly at him. God he was so cute, Miles almost forgot about what they’d been told earlier.
“Not particularly,” Miles grinned back, “As much as I would love to be doing pre-calculus right now, it feels like we both have bigger fish to fry,” Francis giggled at the sarcasm.
“We certainly do,” Francis wilted a bit after that, his eyes darting down at his hands as he rubbed at his wrists.
A few moments passed and he eventually glanced back up at Miles before stating, “You’re shaking.”
“I’m surprised you’re not.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m not anxious like you are about this,” He sung casually.
Miles gaped at him, “I don’t believe that.”
“I know.”
Readjusting his position on the floor, Miles scoffed, “No one’s gonna blame you for being paranoid, Francis,” The use of his full first name made Francis flinch.
“But what’s the point of being paranoid if it’s not going to change anything?” He put out his smoke and then lit a new one up just as rapidly, “For all we know, he’s been totally reformed and we’re wasting energy on being worried about a non-existent threat.”
When Miles quirked his eyebrow at him, Francis rolled his eyes and grunted, “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”
“Whatever works for you I guess,” Miles sighed, “I’m fucking terrified and I think you’re crazy if you truly aren’t.”
“And you are well within your right to be,” He hated how sincere Francis was, “I’m really more livid than anything.”
“I definitely don’t blame you for that.”
Then, it never came up for the rest of the day. It wasn’t like neither of them were thinking about it, Miles couldn’t get it out of his head and it was obvious that Francis was being weighed down by it, regardless of what he said. Though he wouldn’t bring it up, Miles could virtually feel the tensity radiating off his friend. He was thoroughly freaked, that was for sure. No amount of dismissal could hide that. Miles wasn’t any better of course, he was shocked when he felt himself begin to fall asleep. However, for a moment just before he passed out, he could’ve sworn he felt Francis trembling against him.
<3
Miles was awoken by thrashing. Not his own, but Francis’. Restless and panicked. Desperate. Blinking away the grogginess, Miles put his glasses on and narrowly dodged a hand that had swung at him. He’d learned the hard way that these violent movements could not only hurt him, but would more often make Francis hurt himself. One of the things he’d always do, was claw at his neck, which Miles knew what it meant, he just didn’t like thinking about it too much, so he’d occupy his focus with restraining his arms before trying to wake him up.
“Stop!” Francis yelped and Miles winced. He hated how real the fear in his voice always sounded. Francis’ arms jerked in Miles’ grip, presumably to try and grasp at his leg.
Gently shaking him by the shoulder and holding him close, Miles whispered, “You’re safe, it’s not real,” A couple times until he felt the boy go still and then pulled away.
Francis’ eyes were half-open and dull, looking more sullen than anything. He sat up, holding himself tightly, shivering despite the warmness of the room and the sweat upon his skin. Miles kept his distance for the moment. He knew that closeness could sometimes make things worse for Francis and the last thing he wanted to do was make him even more uncomfortable. Taking deep breaths, eventually he calmed down enough to remain still and he moved his hands in order to hold up his head.
“You okay?” Miles asked, more nervously than he intended.
Francis sighed and then whispered, “Yeah,” before turning his voice back to a more normal tone, “It’s not exactly pleasant though.” Miles really agreed.
Generally, the conversation would end there after one of Francis’ dreams and they’d try to go back to sleep and it seemed that was where Francis was going, but Miles wasn’t satisfied. They had never spoken at all about his nightmares, apart from him confirming what they were about. Sure, Miles never officially told Francis what his dreams were, but considering the fact they were recalling a part of his and Illi’s life that he thought wasn’t his story to tell, he thought that was justified. These nightmares on the other hand, were no such thing, yet Francis refused to talk about them. Not even to comment on their accuracy. But now he felt an opportunity arise to finally get some more out of him. Y’know, so Miles knew what Jason was likely to do in a situation where either of them encountered him. Other than stabbing of course, he knew about that.
“Are the dreams direct rips from what actually happened? They don’t do that funky thing mine did where they change parts of it?”
“Yep,” Francis replied briskly, in a way that was definitely trying to make Miles shut up about it, and he laid back down on the bed, on his side so he was facing away from him.
Rather than giving up this time like he would normally, Miles kept prying, “When do they start and end? I mean, I’m assuming they end when you pass out in the flashback, but do they start at the same point every time or does it change?”
“They always start at the point where I left the library,” He was audibly annoyed now, his tone getting steadily sharper and raising in volume, “And they end where I died, not where I passed out.”
Wait, what?
That comment threw Miles off so severely, he pushed aside all of his previous questions to the backburner so he could process what it meant. He thought Francis couldn’t recollect anything after he fainted; was he lying before, or did he randomly start remembering things after a while?
Was that even possible?
“Hold on, what do you mean they end when you died?” His voice peaked slightly and he all of a sudden became conscious of the fact his parents were asleep across the hall, “You mean, you actually felt yourself die?”
A period of quietness passed and then Francis finally responded, “Can we not talk about this now?”
“No, we’re talking about this, Fran. You’re telling me that you can tell when you died?” The feeling of fascination was swiftly devolving into horror and Miles sensed himself becoming frantic.
“Stop saying that, Miles!” He snapped, abruptly sitting back up and staring deeply into Miles’ eyes, tears streaming down his face. So, he did. He felt sick again.
Francis’ voice broke and the sentence came out more like a mutter, “Please. Just forget I said anything, I don’t know, it’s probably not even that.”
Miles tried putting his hand on Francis’ shoulder, but he shrugged him away and went straight back to facing away from him as he laid down.
“I’m sorry,” Miles muttered pathetically. Francis didn’t say anything.