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Three months went by before Tanner laid eyes on Kayden again. The whole town was up to its neck in Thanksgiving regalia, the locals chasing a Norman Rockwell ideal with an unrivaled fervor. The last of the reporters left after Halloween, unable to tease out any remaining dregs of The Goatman story for ratings.
Tanner was grateful for the quiet, but hated the lingering stares he got as he made his way around town. Eyes that once passed over him completely or shone with familiar warmth now stuck to him, pricking under his skin like the IV's at the hospital.
His bike took him down the old train tracks, long overgrown with weeds and broken by tumbling stones. They'd turned the old station there into a personal playground in 5th grade, dreaming about a train that would take them all away to their own personal Neverland. It seemed smaller now that he was home from college, dirtier than he remembered. Was it always this way, or was his eyesight different now?
Tanner raised the camera to his eye on muscle memory, snapping a picture through the darkened window before his mind registered what the lens was picking up. Kayden's shape was distinct, even in the gloom, and Tanner couldn't blame the autumn wind for the shiver that ran down his back.
The asshole was swaying on his feet and drinking, because he was always drinking (like asshole father like asshole son shut up that's unkind fuck him he doesn't deserve kindness) when he wasn't on some new drug. Tanner stood there staring, willing Kayden to look up (see me see me look at me you mother-) but his eyes were focused on the bottle in his hand.
His feet took him through the door, full of all the harsh smugness that only a a short period of time in the "real world" can offer. This wasn't middle school, or high school for that matter. He didn't have to tag along after Set and Kayden, desperate not to seem too desperate and floundering in his fight with his own self-esteem. He was different now, he had Purpose, and Kayden (ruined everything) was just a washed up asshole still stuck in this town waiting to die.
Kayden did look up, unable to hide the raw, jagged emptiness there fast enough before seeming to smirk on autopilot. The last time they exchanged words was a screaming match in the police station. Tanner had hazy memories of spit flying from his mouth as officers held him back, his voice bouncing against the wall as he shouted his accusations at Kayden's bowed head.
Tanner was Better than him. Tanner was Righteous in his rage. Tanner needed Kayden to acknowledge that, to admit his wrongdoing so Tanner could dole out forgiveness with all the solemnity of a priest providing communion to the worthy. He needed Kayden to be as addicted to him as he was to cigarettes and acid, so he could take it away at will and watch him suffer from withdrawal.
They locked eyes, their breath harmonizing with the November wind. Tanner walked over, shoulders back and head high, snatching the bottle from Kayden's hand and chugging the lukewarm remains. Two years ago Kayden would've kicked Tanner's ass for attempting such a thing. Now...now he doesn't blink, won't look away, can't seem to move.
Tanner threw the bottle against the wall, knowing it would shatter among the other shards of broken glass littering that corner. The wind picked up, shuffling clouds across the weak light of the autumn sun and plunging them into darkness. Their stillness took on a whole other quality, the frozen terror of prey scenting a hungry animal on the wind.
A moment passed in oppressive silence until the sun clawed its way through. The moment the light touched their cheeks they lunged for each other: Tanner had a hand wrapped around Kayden's choker-wrapped throat, Kayden had a solid grip on Tanner's khaki-covered cock.
It was so different from the silly game of Truth Or Dare where Sat dared Kayden to kiss Tanner on the mouth and he had to pretend to hate it. It was worlds away from the tenth-grade class camping trip where Kayden snuck out of the tent in the middle of the night to share a joint with the chaperone, only to come back so stoned that he insisted on sharing Tanner's sleeping bag. It was a lifetime after the fumbling handjobs they gave each other in the bathroom stall during the homecoming dance.
Those were childish passes at grown-up games and this...this was base, dangerous, a speedy slide right back into the lizard-brain mentality of fight, flight, or fuck. Tanner hadn't been there five whole minutes and Kayden ruined him again, the veneer of civilized morality that he carefully cultivated in college shattering as fast as that redneck beer bottle he hurled against the wall. And just when the red on the edge of Tanner's vision caused his hands to grip Kayden's throat just a smidge tighter-
Kayden giggled. Fucking giggled. Like he knew he'd won somehow, like Tanner was some pathetic child trying to prove something-
(like he giggled by the tree when it all started going to hell when that apparition's laughter started he wouldn't stop laughing he's always laughing at me)
Tanner shoved him away, hard enough to knock him on the ground, and hopped back on his bike. The hard-on would go away with exercise and the taste of blood where he'd bitten his cheek during his hasty retreat. He had better things to do today, a life to live and a schedule to keep. And one day he'd get Kayden to admit to what he'd done. Obviously he hadn't been in withdrawal long enough. A bit more time would wear him down.
Tanner would get the last laugh, come hell or high water.