Original Fic: Past Lives of Evan and Kyle
[mood| 
moody]
[music| Massive Attack--Angel ]
Author: c.a.
Rating: light R
Genres: original, angst, deathfic
Summary: Evan and Kyle were friends. Brothers, even. One-shot.
Author's Note: I would like to give a huge thank you to my lovely beta,
theoryoferin for all wonderful suggestions and corrections. She's lovely. I tried to keep it from being too sententious, but I'm not sure I achieved my goal. As always please review!
Past Lives of Evan and Kyle
"You know you’re like a brother to me, right?" Evan slurs out, eyes half closed with a dopey smile on his face. Any second he’s going to start drooling and in the morning he’s going to be made fun of for it. But right now Kyle just slings his arm around his shoulders and smiles.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know."
* * * *
In the brisk November cold, he knocks on the large oak door and tries to keep his mind blank.
The door opens right before he gives into his urge to flee. A small middle-aged woman wraps her arms around him before he can notice anything else. She's tiny and short and smells like something familiar that he can't quite place. Kyle shudders when he feels her warm breath on his neck and she rasps out, "Kyle".
After an interminable amount of time, she lets go and ushers him into the house. He's in the hallway; to the right he can see in to the roomy living room where dozens of people clad in suits are. Kyle spies Becky in a distant corner surrounded by her friends. Even though the living room has four large windows, it seems like he's seeing everything through dark sunglasses.
At the wake, everything is dark; Evan would've hated it.
"I'm so glad you could come, Kyle," Mrs. Richards says with quiet, desperate eyes and her pretty manicured nails gripping his shoulders and he can barely feel them though because everything today feels like he's swimming through molasses.
"Of course. I wouldn't be anywhere else".
Neither of them mention that he didn't attend the funeral earlier. Kyle doesn't mention anything because he can't explain the reason. Not to Mrs. Richards. And she doesn't say anything because she's polite and sweet and still tells him to call her 'Dolly'.
The peculiar odor emanating from Mrs. Richards is overshadowed by a musky wood smell of the approaching manly, large Mr. Richards. Kyle remembers practicing football with him and Evan in the house's large backyard and how much Kyle looked up to this solid unbreakable man. Right now Kyle's trying not to notice how pink and puffy his eyes are.
"Dolly, you're hurting the boy," he says with deep timber of a voice that has a hint of trembling, "Let him go." Mrs. Richards does so reluctantly and leans to the sides while Mr. Richards grips his arms. "How ya doing champ?"
* * * *
"I told you I could do it!" Kyle laughs sticking his tongue out at a twelve year-old Evan. It's a sunny spring day and they're in Evan's green backyard and he's just threw the football through the tire hanging on the tree.
"Whatever dude", Evan huffs out (he’s never been a good loser). Kyle just continues to laugh and goes to retrieve the ball. When he turns around he notices Evan's dad has just arrived home. Mr. Richards, always the sports enthusiast, ruffles Kyle's hair.
"Good job champ,” he says to Kyle’s blushing face. Evan runs over smiling and puts his hand on Kyle's shoulder and starts talking to his dad.
Kyle feels like he's part of the family.
* * * *
Suddenly he can't meet his eyes, "Okay".
"Good, good," he says with bright eyes, "I'm going to go check on the caterers." He releases him quickly and gives his wife a peck on the cheek. He leaves as fast as he came. Kyle doesn’t blame him though.
Kyle doesn’t want to be around himself either.
Mrs. Richards is standing to the side rubbing her hands together as if they're itching. She gives him a small shaky smile and leaves abruptly too. She doesn’t even give an excuse.
Taking a deep breath, he walks into the living room. It's not as crowded as cars outside indicate so the guests must be in other rooms of the house. He sees Becky trying to catch his eye, but he deliberately avoids her. He can't risk her seeing through him. She and Evan were the only ones who could see through his bullshit, Evan more than her.
The thought makes his chest ache so he sits down in a empty chair. It's a mistake because soon Becky has departed from her friends and is sitting on the sofa to the side of him. He can tell she wants to hug him, but he can't. He can't.
"Kyle where the hell were you?!" her voice hisses, but her eyes are sympathetic. "Evan was your best friend and you disappeared. I know this is hard for you, but Mr. And Mrs. Richards could've used the support. And I know Evan would've have wanted you there."
You don't know that, he thinks suddenly, You didn't know a damn thing about Evan.
"I'm sorry."
She looks disgusted, but she still leans closer to him. "I loved him too, you know," she says quietly looking down. He expects to hear more, but she doesn't elaborate and then he realizes that she's waiting for him to say something.
Kyle desperately hopes she doesn't cry because he isn't sure how to comfort his dead best friend's ex-girlfriend.
* * * *
"What do you mean you broke up with her?" Kyle asks incredulously. Becky and Evan had been deemed the cutest couple of Sterling High and were always laughing together and smiling. "She's hot, a cheerleader, funny as hell, smart, kind, hot...."
"Well, you can date her now", Evan snaps sitting on his bed not taking his eyes off his laptop.
"Dude, you know I'm not even about that" Kyle says closing his eyes; Evan can be so frustrating when he went into Iceman mode. "It's just weird that you didn't even mention this to me. You know I am sort of your best friend. Some would even say brother."
"Look," Evan says putting his laptop aside and looking up at Kyle, "I just don't feel that way about her. And I love her, you know I do, but we're just not right together."
"Are you seriously kidding me? You guys have more in common than we do! I don't understand why you're being such a dumb ass."
And so quietly Kyle almost doesn't catch it, Evan says, "No, you wouldn't .”
* * * *
"He loved you too." Becky smiles at him and her face becomes the brightest thing in the house and for once Kyle feels like he's done something right.
"Yeah, but he loved you more."
Abruptly, that light feeling leaves him. He nods at her and stumbles to his feet, he speaks farewells that he won't remember later and doesn't care. As he's passing Mrs. Richards ( "Dolly dear boy, Dolly" ) he catches that tinge again, but he's moving to fast to stop and figure out what that damn smell is again.
Nobody stops him as he climbs the stairs. His feet are on autopilot and he just wants to get away from the quiet and darkness ... and Evan.
It's like poetic justice when he ends up in Evan's bedroom.
It's familiar and different all at once. And Kyle wants to burrow in that bed spread and weep and not wake up in a hundred fucking days. If it was bad before, then this room is just bursting with memories.
At the desk is where Evan typed on his stupid little laptop as Kyle lounged on the bed doing homework. And all the Fridays when they couldn't find dates and they would end up on the floor eating popcorn watching a horror movie marathon on Evan's small television set. Or that stupid tree with its stupid branches that Kyle climbed almost every night because his dad had gotten drunk again and had starting hitting him. And when he climbed through the window that Evan always left open for him, he climbed into that bed where Evan would hug him tight until he stopped crying.
Or the small bathroom that Dolly had walked in to discovering the dead body of her son in a tub full of his own blood.
* * * *
"I'm gay, Kyle."
"Yeah right, Evan. I suppose this is because Michael Jackson touched you inappropriately as a young child," Kyle laughs with popcorn in his mouth, "Good one."
"No, I'm serious," Kyle turns to look at Evan's face. It’s solemn and really is serious. And fuck, that’s not Evan. "I've known for a while. It's why I couldn't be with Becky anymore, it's why I've been so out of it lately; I'm gay. You're the only person I've told."
Kyle had came over to watch some quality b-class horror movies, not for a mindfuck.
"Get away from me."
The quiet surrounds him and Evan's eyes are tearing up and that's just making it worse.
"Kyle, please--"
But he's not listening. He's getting to his feet throwing on his shoes trying to get out because his best friend is not a queer. Because he knows queers belong in hell because it’s fucking unnatural. And fuck, Evan is not gay.
Evan is rising to his feet to and he's grabbing at his arm and pleading:
"Kyle, please, I -" When Kyle feels his hands on his arm, he punches him in the jaw. Hard.
"Go. Fucking. Die."
* * * *
The next morning, Evan is dead.
And only Kyle knows why.
He’s killed his best friend because all he could see was Evan was a fag and not all the wonderful things he had been to Kyle over the years.
After Kyle throws up in the same bathroom that Evan killed himself in (and Evan has killed himself and that’s just wrongwrongwrong) , he walks downstairs.
He doesn't know why he came here; it doesn't change anything.
Evan's dead. And it’s Kyle’s fault.
In the living room, he sees Becky and some of Evan’s cousins smiling and talking probably about the great enigma of Evan Richards. Mr. Richards is in the corner talking to his brother. His eyes are still puffy and red; Kyle doubts they’ll stop being that way for a long time.
That’s what happens when your only child commits suicide and doesn’t leave a reason why.
Kyle wonders if he should tell them, but quickly discards the idea. Because he’s still a coward and he doesn’t want them to hate him as much he hates himself. Besides Evan didn’t want to tell them and his wishes ought to be respected.
It’s the least Kyle can do.
Once he’s at the door, the scent of scotch suddenly becomes strong and he knows now it’s Mrs. Richards.
"Don’t be stranger okay?" she engulfs him again in a hug. And even though she smells of the stench of alcohol, he buries his nose in her hair and nods.
He knows he’s not coming back.
* * * *
They’re drinking Mr. Richard’s scotch because the parental units are out of town and they start high school in a week. So of course, Evan has decided to kick start their teenage lives with some spice.
"Dude. Duuuuuuuude....," Evan is saying rolling on the floor and laughing his ass off. The bottle is half empty and clutched in his hand, but scotch is still getting on the carpet. In the morning, Kyle knows, the Richards are going to know exactly what they’ve gotten up to.
"You’re fucking drunk," he says sitting beside his friend and eyeing him with amusement.
"Don’t give me that shit. You’re drunk too!"
Despite what Evan thinks, Kyle isn’t because he never drinks alcohol; he doesn’t want to end up like his dad who stumbles around and hurts people and himself. He’ll never be that horrible.
And besides Evan isn’t going to get hurt; Kyle’s there.
The End.
A/N: Oh my Lord, I went through so much crap to post this on livejournal. My format was all messed up, some sections of the story were with other sections, the preview kept showing me the wrong thing, etc.... Never again.
moody]
[music| Massive Attack--Angel ]
Author: c.a.
Rating: light R
Genres: original, angst, deathfic
Summary: Evan and Kyle were friends. Brothers, even. One-shot.
Author's Note: I would like to give a huge thank you to my lovely beta,
theoryoferin for all wonderful suggestions and corrections. She's lovely. I tried to keep it from being too sententious, but I'm not sure I achieved my goal. As always please review!
Past Lives of Evan and Kyle
"You know you’re like a brother to me, right?" Evan slurs out, eyes half closed with a dopey smile on his face. Any second he’s going to start drooling and in the morning he’s going to be made fun of for it. But right now Kyle just slings his arm around his shoulders and smiles.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know."
* * * *
In the brisk November cold, he knocks on the large oak door and tries to keep his mind blank.
The door opens right before he gives into his urge to flee. A small middle-aged woman wraps her arms around him before he can notice anything else. She's tiny and short and smells like something familiar that he can't quite place. Kyle shudders when he feels her warm breath on his neck and she rasps out, "Kyle".
After an interminable amount of time, she lets go and ushers him into the house. He's in the hallway; to the right he can see in to the roomy living room where dozens of people clad in suits are. Kyle spies Becky in a distant corner surrounded by her friends. Even though the living room has four large windows, it seems like he's seeing everything through dark sunglasses.
At the wake, everything is dark; Evan would've hated it.
"I'm so glad you could come, Kyle," Mrs. Richards says with quiet, desperate eyes and her pretty manicured nails gripping his shoulders and he can barely feel them though because everything today feels like he's swimming through molasses.
"Of course. I wouldn't be anywhere else".
Neither of them mention that he didn't attend the funeral earlier. Kyle doesn't mention anything because he can't explain the reason. Not to Mrs. Richards. And she doesn't say anything because she's polite and sweet and still tells him to call her 'Dolly'.
The peculiar odor emanating from Mrs. Richards is overshadowed by a musky wood smell of the approaching manly, large Mr. Richards. Kyle remembers practicing football with him and Evan in the house's large backyard and how much Kyle looked up to this solid unbreakable man. Right now Kyle's trying not to notice how pink and puffy his eyes are.
"Dolly, you're hurting the boy," he says with deep timber of a voice that has a hint of trembling, "Let him go." Mrs. Richards does so reluctantly and leans to the sides while Mr. Richards grips his arms. "How ya doing champ?"
* * * *
"I told you I could do it!" Kyle laughs sticking his tongue out at a twelve year-old Evan. It's a sunny spring day and they're in Evan's green backyard and he's just threw the football through the tire hanging on the tree.
"Whatever dude", Evan huffs out (he’s never been a good loser). Kyle just continues to laugh and goes to retrieve the ball. When he turns around he notices Evan's dad has just arrived home. Mr. Richards, always the sports enthusiast, ruffles Kyle's hair.
"Good job champ,” he says to Kyle’s blushing face. Evan runs over smiling and puts his hand on Kyle's shoulder and starts talking to his dad.
Kyle feels like he's part of the family.
* * * *
Suddenly he can't meet his eyes, "Okay".
"Good, good," he says with bright eyes, "I'm going to go check on the caterers." He releases him quickly and gives his wife a peck on the cheek. He leaves as fast as he came. Kyle doesn’t blame him though.
Kyle doesn’t want to be around himself either.
Mrs. Richards is standing to the side rubbing her hands together as if they're itching. She gives him a small shaky smile and leaves abruptly too. She doesn’t even give an excuse.
Taking a deep breath, he walks into the living room. It's not as crowded as cars outside indicate so the guests must be in other rooms of the house. He sees Becky trying to catch his eye, but he deliberately avoids her. He can't risk her seeing through him. She and Evan were the only ones who could see through his bullshit, Evan more than her.
The thought makes his chest ache so he sits down in a empty chair. It's a mistake because soon Becky has departed from her friends and is sitting on the sofa to the side of him. He can tell she wants to hug him, but he can't. He can't.
"Kyle where the hell were you?!" her voice hisses, but her eyes are sympathetic. "Evan was your best friend and you disappeared. I know this is hard for you, but Mr. And Mrs. Richards could've used the support. And I know Evan would've have wanted you there."
You don't know that, he thinks suddenly, You didn't know a damn thing about Evan.
"I'm sorry."
She looks disgusted, but she still leans closer to him. "I loved him too, you know," she says quietly looking down. He expects to hear more, but she doesn't elaborate and then he realizes that she's waiting for him to say something.
Kyle desperately hopes she doesn't cry because he isn't sure how to comfort his dead best friend's ex-girlfriend.
* * * *
"What do you mean you broke up with her?" Kyle asks incredulously. Becky and Evan had been deemed the cutest couple of Sterling High and were always laughing together and smiling. "She's hot, a cheerleader, funny as hell, smart, kind, hot...."
"Well, you can date her now", Evan snaps sitting on his bed not taking his eyes off his laptop.
"Dude, you know I'm not even about that" Kyle says closing his eyes; Evan can be so frustrating when he went into Iceman mode. "It's just weird that you didn't even mention this to me. You know I am sort of your best friend. Some would even say brother."
"Look," Evan says putting his laptop aside and looking up at Kyle, "I just don't feel that way about her. And I love her, you know I do, but we're just not right together."
"Are you seriously kidding me? You guys have more in common than we do! I don't understand why you're being such a dumb ass."
And so quietly Kyle almost doesn't catch it, Evan says, "No, you wouldn't .”
* * * *
"He loved you too." Becky smiles at him and her face becomes the brightest thing in the house and for once Kyle feels like he's done something right.
"Yeah, but he loved you more."
Abruptly, that light feeling leaves him. He nods at her and stumbles to his feet, he speaks farewells that he won't remember later and doesn't care. As he's passing Mrs. Richards ( "Dolly dear boy, Dolly" ) he catches that tinge again, but he's moving to fast to stop and figure out what that damn smell is again.
Nobody stops him as he climbs the stairs. His feet are on autopilot and he just wants to get away from the quiet and darkness ... and Evan.
It's like poetic justice when he ends up in Evan's bedroom.
It's familiar and different all at once. And Kyle wants to burrow in that bed spread and weep and not wake up in a hundred fucking days. If it was bad before, then this room is just bursting with memories.
At the desk is where Evan typed on his stupid little laptop as Kyle lounged on the bed doing homework. And all the Fridays when they couldn't find dates and they would end up on the floor eating popcorn watching a horror movie marathon on Evan's small television set. Or that stupid tree with its stupid branches that Kyle climbed almost every night because his dad had gotten drunk again and had starting hitting him. And when he climbed through the window that Evan always left open for him, he climbed into that bed where Evan would hug him tight until he stopped crying.
Or the small bathroom that Dolly had walked in to discovering the dead body of her son in a tub full of his own blood.
* * * *
"I'm gay, Kyle."
"Yeah right, Evan. I suppose this is because Michael Jackson touched you inappropriately as a young child," Kyle laughs with popcorn in his mouth, "Good one."
"No, I'm serious," Kyle turns to look at Evan's face. It’s solemn and really is serious. And fuck, that’s not Evan. "I've known for a while. It's why I couldn't be with Becky anymore, it's why I've been so out of it lately; I'm gay. You're the only person I've told."
Kyle had came over to watch some quality b-class horror movies, not for a mindfuck.
"Get away from me."
The quiet surrounds him and Evan's eyes are tearing up and that's just making it worse.
"Kyle, please--"
But he's not listening. He's getting to his feet throwing on his shoes trying to get out because his best friend is not a queer. Because he knows queers belong in hell because it’s fucking unnatural. And fuck, Evan is not gay.
Evan is rising to his feet to and he's grabbing at his arm and pleading:
"Kyle, please, I -" When Kyle feels his hands on his arm, he punches him in the jaw. Hard.
"Go. Fucking. Die."
* * * *
The next morning, Evan is dead.
And only Kyle knows why.
He’s killed his best friend because all he could see was Evan was a fag and not all the wonderful things he had been to Kyle over the years.
After Kyle throws up in the same bathroom that Evan killed himself in (and Evan has killed himself and that’s just wrongwrongwrong) , he walks downstairs.
He doesn't know why he came here; it doesn't change anything.
Evan's dead. And it’s Kyle’s fault.
In the living room, he sees Becky and some of Evan’s cousins smiling and talking probably about the great enigma of Evan Richards. Mr. Richards is in the corner talking to his brother. His eyes are still puffy and red; Kyle doubts they’ll stop being that way for a long time.
That’s what happens when your only child commits suicide and doesn’t leave a reason why.
Kyle wonders if he should tell them, but quickly discards the idea. Because he’s still a coward and he doesn’t want them to hate him as much he hates himself. Besides Evan didn’t want to tell them and his wishes ought to be respected.
It’s the least Kyle can do.
Once he’s at the door, the scent of scotch suddenly becomes strong and he knows now it’s Mrs. Richards.
"Don’t be stranger okay?" she engulfs him again in a hug. And even though she smells of the stench of alcohol, he buries his nose in her hair and nods.
He knows he’s not coming back.
* * * *
They’re drinking Mr. Richard’s scotch because the parental units are out of town and they start high school in a week. So of course, Evan has decided to kick start their teenage lives with some spice.
"Dude. Duuuuuuuude....," Evan is saying rolling on the floor and laughing his ass off. The bottle is half empty and clutched in his hand, but scotch is still getting on the carpet. In the morning, Kyle knows, the Richards are going to know exactly what they’ve gotten up to.
"You’re fucking drunk," he says sitting beside his friend and eyeing him with amusement.
"Don’t give me that shit. You’re drunk too!"
Despite what Evan thinks, Kyle isn’t because he never drinks alcohol; he doesn’t want to end up like his dad who stumbles around and hurts people and himself. He’ll never be that horrible.
And besides Evan isn’t going to get hurt; Kyle’s there.
The End.
A/N: Oh my Lord, I went through so much crap to post this on livejournal. My format was all messed up, some sections of the story were with other sections, the preview kept showing me the wrong thing, etc.... Never again.