Peeking behind the veil
Usually I put something on TV
So we never think about you and me
But today I see our reflections clearly
-- Glass Animals, Heat Waves
The walk back to Laith’s apartment was a nebula of thoughts snowballing down a mountain with Laith’s voice in the background. He couldn’t find it in himself to believe Laith when Justin had told him before just how secretive he was about that topic, how adamantly he kept it out of discussion. On the one hand, the fact that Laith had managed to open up a bit could mean that they’d finally grown close enough for that. On the other, well, he was piss drunk. He’d been trying to dismiss Theodore’s arguments this whole time and hadn’t he said that each one of his friends only knew parts of the story? That no one had the full picture? If Emily was the one who knew the most about his mental health, then it’d make no sense for Theodore to get clued into it this late into the game. Not to mention that Laith had—apparently, allegedly—spent the entirety of last week wrecking himself only to bounce back a day later, which yeah, Theodore didn’t buy at all. Sure, it could be true, but to him, it just seemed unlikely. Every rat knew about it, every rat talked about it and even the queens, who were the calmest people he knew, had been worried. Did they still feel that way? If anyone had borne witness to the development that Laith claimed had taken place, then it’d be those two.
Up in the hallway, he swiped both the bag and the drink from Laith’s hands. “It’s alright,” he reassured him, walking off ahead, “I’ll make the delivery. You can go on and unlock the door. I’ll be just a minute.”
Shock and confusion took turns pulling on Laith’s eyebrows, but ultimately, no interjection came. Laith simply watched as Theodore flashed him a smile before slipping into Ms. Intervention’s apartment.
The door was still wide open, and inside, he found both women in the exact same places where he’d left them, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes. They waved as he approached, practically breathless.
“Hey, here’s your drink and here are your fries,” he started. His voice was low, so it wouldn’t travel outside the room. “Can you guys tell me something? I don’t have much time.”
“Ooh, a secret? What is it?” D’angela spoke with a fry pinched between two fingers while her friend drank from the straw.
“The way Laith’s been acting these last few days…” He shot a brief glance over his shoulder and saw Laith with his back turned, unlocking his own door. “Is that how he usually is?”
“Oh god, no!” Ms. Intervention waved dismissively. “That’s all a front, girl. He’s putting on a show for you.”
“He’s really trying to impress. It’s actually really hard not mentioning it.”
Ice gnawed at the corners of his heart, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “What—what’s he like? What’s he usually like, then?”
“Not this.”
“This Prince Charming act will not last forever. He’s putting a lot of effort into it, which means he won’t be able to keep it up for long.”
“I’ll be honest—I’ve never seen him so dedicated. It’s impressive. If only half the ladyboys in these tunnels were taking notes!”
D’angela nodded her agreement.
“What Prince Charming act?” Theodore asked. “I’m talking about his mental health.”
“Oh.”
The girls exchanged looks.
“Well, it usually isn’t like this either,” Ms. Intervention added. “What happened last week was out of the ordinary.”
“It scared the hell outta me.”
“So if this is all fake, then he’s not really better, is he?” His voice was a shaky whisper, hands cold.
“Sweetheart, you misunderstand me. I didn’t mean to say he’s lying to you; it’s more like he’s trying to look good for you. He seems to me to be doing better.”
“He’s really not the kind of person who can cover up a relapse. If he were lying about being better, I promise you would’ve known.”
A quick glance over his shoulder showed Laith’s apartment door cracked open. He must’ve already gone inside. “You really think he’s better, then?”
D’angela shrugged.
“Do you see him spending twenty-five minutes trying to unlock his own damn door?” Ms. Intervention clicked her tongue. “That’s already an improvement from last week.”
“This is a transitionary period, to be fair,” D’angela explained. “He’s bouncing back from a pretty rough time. If you’re worried about him, maybe ask what you could do to help.”
From what they had to say, it seemed they hadn’t seen anything suspicious; no more binges before work or mumblings about being good. That alone brought air to Theodore’s lungs. The possibility that Laith wasn’t lying, but had actually not drunk since Friday felt a little more realistic now. He left with a brief thank you, feet walking on their own, mind stuck far away.
As far as he could tell, Laith had been put into a bad place—as he’d called it—on Justin’s farm, when his friends found out the two of them had slept together. He knew they’d been arguing with him way before that, against him even existing near Theodore at all, but since the relapse had happened last week, Theodore could safely say he’d played a big part in it. He’d probably even been the cause of it; after all, he’d been the one to tell the group of their night together. If it’d been up to Laith, he was pretty sure they’d remain a secret forever. Had Laith’s friends pushed him to the breaking point? Perhaps Theodore had lit the match, but they might all have caused the fire.
The moment he walked into Laith’s apartment, he noticed some changes. First, that the pile of pants tossed over one of the chairs was gone, and second, that the pile of shoes by the door was no longer there. The door closed behind him with a soft click. A brief stretch of the neck gave him a glance into the bathroom, where the pile of dirty laundry was no longer on the floor.
“Hey.” Laith’s voice drew his attention forward. He stood by the wardrobe with an arm reaching out of sight, probably to close it. Without his jacket on, it was possible to see that the shiny triangular pattern spread across his whole shirt, short sleeves tight around his biceps. Theodore approached slowly. “I put some stuff away. I know it’s not much, and I’ve essentially just moved the problem out of sight, but hopefully, it’ll make you feel better. I’d never actually used the shoe racks in here—”
The hand out of sight pushed on the wardrobe to indicate it. Theodore’s approach allowed him to catch sight of it, and as soon as his eyes dropped to Laith’s arm, his entire body froze. Right there, semi-hidden under the metal bracelet, was a series of fresh wounds, thin and deep just like the scars beneath them. Theodore couldn’t move. Scabs alternated and crossed over each other, not in spaced out lines, but in a mess of blind emotion—the result of violence. He could almost picture it, the way Laith had done it, his state of mind at the time. Laith’s voice was a muffled noise in the expanse of the room, silent in deaf ears. So that had been the extent of his relapse. Theodore’s eyes filled up with tears, heart punched into a pulp, aching under bloody knuckles.
It was all his fault.
“I’ll find a place for everything later.” Laith moved away from the wardrobe, but Theodore’s gaze remained locked in place, staring into the abyssal nothingness in his mind. A single tear dripped down his cheek.
How could he have been so blind? Self-centered to the point of hurting the one person who he cared for most in the world. Above everything, he’d wanted Laith to be happy, but thinking back, that must’ve gotten lost in translation. He had definitely not been thinking of Laith’s happiness when he’d told the group they’d had sex in the master bedroom.
A very gentle hand touched his face and forced his eyes to meet Laith’s, wobbly behind a wall of tears. He didn’t even feel the next one that fell. “What’s going on?” The softness of Laith’s voice ripped his chest open. His throat swallowed around a hard lump, hands coming up to push Laith away. He didn’t deserve his affection right now.
“I’m having a bad day,” Theodore mumbled, eyes barely blinking. Tears streamed down regardless.
Oh my god, was that why Laith had so consistently been wearing his brother’s jacket? He was a man of tank tops and spiked vests, yet he’d covered his arms every day this past week. Theodore took a step back, disoriented. Nothing he looked at actually registered in his brain.
“You know, I should—” probably go home, he didn’t finish, because Laith had just told him his visits had been helping. If he left, he’d only make things worse. No, he had to be strong right now. A shaky breath filled his lungs halfway, shoulders squared as best as he could. He blinked the tears away, hands rubbing hastily at his eyes. He was okay. He was fine. He had to be fine. He had to be strong for Laith right now. Sniffling, he swallowed his emotions down.
“I should—” He glanced up at Laith’s face, finally able to take notice of the genuine concern that furrowed his brow. The way he stood, with his chest puffed out, indicated just how weirded out he was by all of this. Theodore didn’t blame him. “—probably tell you what’s going on,” he finished.
“Please.” The apprehension in Laith’s voice was a perfect match with the look on his face.
Theodore swallowed—the lump was still there. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie; I was worried you were mixing pills and alcohol. I know you were very clear about that last weekend, that you weren’t doing it, but seeing you drink with the queens just made me think of it. I’m sorry.”
Laith’s posture relaxed a bit, scowl softening. “You’re not wrong to think I’d do that. I used to, but it’s not a good trip. Not worth it.”
His breathing slowly came back to normal, nose clearing up. One deep breath filled his lungs to the brim. After a second, he monitored his exhale.
“Hey.” Laith touched him on the shoulder. “Why don’t we lie down for a while? I’ll put on one of those movies you like, with the couples that always get together in the end.”
A smile threatened to pull at his lips. “I thought you said they were unrealistic.”
Laith grinned. “And they are.”
***
They didn’t really cuddle like this. The only time Laith got close to him—outside of sex, of course—was to either sleep next to him or walk around with an arm across his shoulders. Even though he wanted much more than that, the strides they’d made weren’t lost on him, so when Laith motioned for him to get close, his heart practically jumped out of his mouth. Without a word, he scooted over and let Laith wrap an arm around him. It was very similar to how they’d fallen asleep last Sunday, with his head pillowed on Laith’s chest and his stomach pressed to Laith’s side, except the body below him wasn’t asleep.
Actually, Laith didn’t seem even remotely close to being tired. He laughed at the silly scenes and made fun of the main characters, lying with an arm under his own head and the other one across Theodore’s back. His right hand hung half an inch from Theodore’s face, so close he could almost feel the warmth of Laith’s skin and the softness of his touch. It was tantalizing. If he turned his head just a bit to the side…
He didn’t. Honestly, he had to stop thinking about that; this obsession with intimacy wouldn’t get him anywhere. He knew Laith wasn’t into physical affection, that he barely even hugged his friends, so expecting him to suddenly play with Theodore’s hair or take his hand only served to set himself up for failure. He had to stop. Squeezing his eyes, he turned his head so Laith’s hand was out of view.
He couldn’t focus on the movie. His mind was a minefield of deeply emotional trains of thought that he knew, ultimately, wouldn’t do him any good. Remnants of the guilt from before still gnawed at his insides, blaming him for turning Laith against himself, for forcing him to pick up a blade after so many years of recovery. The knowledge that his hand dangled close enough to brush his hair squeezed his heart into a fist, throat tight around a lump. On the screen, lovers held hands and told their families of their newly formed relationship. Beneath him, everything he’d ever wanted; a reminder of how close he was to the goal. He just needed to calm down and let Laith take his time.
In silence, he traced the triangles on Laith’s shirt. The shiny ones were interlocked with dull ones, plastic on cotton, all the way down to the hem. He couldn’t help himself; no matter how he felt, his eyes always ended up wandering to Laith’s crotch. The way he sat never gave Theodore anything, though; it was a matter of habit. One leg was bent at the knee, showing some skin through the slit there, the gashes that made Laith’s pants his signature pair. His boots had been left by the bed.
Laith’s laughter shook his rib cage—Theodore could feel it under his palm, the vibrations, how much deeper his voice sounded with an ear to his chest. The hand by his hair touched it, fingers slipping through the locks, closing around the shape of his skull. His eyes slipped shut right away.
“So he was the one who crashed into her car!” Laith laughed. “Did you see that? He owes her at least three more dinners.”
“Maybe even four.”
“Maybe even four!”
His lips curled into a smile despite himself. It was the glee that emanated from Laith, who claimed not to care about romances, yet seemed thoroughly entertained by them anyway. His hand brushed Theodore’s hair, touching the curve of his ear before slinking off, back to the space next to his head. Had he only meant to catch Theodore’s attention? Maybe that had been part of his excitement, a reaction to go with the surprise of that scene. Theodore breathed in deeply—could he really complain? A crumb was better than nothing.
“I need a haircut,” he blurted out.
That was something he’d been meaning to do for a long time now, but hadn’t managed to get around to it. It was another item on the list of things his mother used to take care of, along with doctor’s appointments and shopping for school supplies. To think he’d have to start making his own appointments… it was fair to say he’d probably never see a doctor again.
“I could take you to my barber,” Laith offered. “It’s not too far from here.”
“After the movie?”
“Sure.”
***
It was very clear to him that he’d been skirting closer and closer to danger, inching his way into the giant mouth in hopes it’d spare him. He knew it’d never done that before and had no reason to treat him any differently than the others, but something inside still held out hope that it’d let him make a home out of sharp teeth.
Emily had warned him about this. Laith’s affection was dangerous; it felt too nice. The more Theodore got, the more he sincerely believed he was special—that was the dangerous part, thinking he mattered more than he actually did. In Laith’s arms, it was easy to forget where he stood, and in his bed, it was easy to believe the lies he’d been telling himself. He knew Laith would never be his, but part of him still worked to make that happen. He was a fool trying to fit a square-shaped piece into a star-shaped box.
The barber shop was much more populated than he’d thought. Multiple hairdressers worked on a row of different clients staring at their own reflections. Laith managed to flag down his preferred professional and asked to put Theodore in line. The man was significantly older than them, in his forties, with a pair of round frames on his nose and an apron down his chest. Luckily, he was just finishing up, so the most they had to wait was a couple of minutes.
“What can I call you?” the barber asked. One of his arms was outstretched to indicate the chair nearby. “I’m assuming Prey is not what you want to be called.”
“Call him Blue,” Laith jumped in. “Baby Blue.”
Theodore glanced at him, body sliding into the chair. Baby Blue, huh. Wasn’t Burman in charge of names like that? He didn’t know they could pick and choose.
“Alright, Blue.” The man turned the chair to stare at his client through the mirror. “Tell me what you want.”
“I’ll wait outside,” Laith informed him. “It’s pretty crowded in here.”
Theodore nodded, watching the door jingle after Laith. As soon as he turned back around, his eyes fell on the barber that stared back at him. “Do what you think would look nice on me.”
“A lot of things would look nice on you. What kind of style are you looking for?”
“Any. Just do whatever you want.”
Two thin eyebrows raised from behind circular frames. “Alright, then. Scissors or clippers?”
He shrugged. Without any pointers, the man stared at his hair, contemplating it in silence. A moment later, he put the clippers down. “Let’s start with the basics.”
The guy cut off all the excess hair around his head, making the sides shorter and the top a little longer. When he asked Theodore what he thought about it, Theodore told him to keep going, so he took some length off the sides and about a quarter of an inch off the top. What about now? Theodore turned his head around to inspect it only to come to the upsetting realization that he still looked like himself. Perhaps he should’ve told the man to make him into somebody else.
Before he answered, the barber explained that this cut was what he called a chameleon, since it could be worn in a multitude of ways; brushed to the side, brushed forward or even styled up. The last one turned him into Ryan, so he decided to never do it. No, he’d keep it brushed to the side, the way Laith liked it.
Dissatisfied but too disillusioned to try anything else, he told the man that was fine. They were done here. He let the guy blow dry his hair, paid him in cash and left the shop. Part of him didn’t like that his mother would approve of this haircut, while the other part was relieved that she would. In a perfect world, he would’ve left the shop as someone who Laith would’ve wanted to call his.
With his hands in his kangaroo pocket, he stood by the door and looked around—Laith wasn’t here. This corner of Blaze was pretty calm; small groups of friends walked down the passageway speaking in indoor voices that didn’t travel very far, which allowed for a good line of sight, only mildly obstructed. If he had Laith’s number, he could text him.
Just as the thought emerged, Laith walked out of a diner across the way. Since the tunnels were unregulated, it was common to see people drinking pretty much anywhere, so Laith carrying a beer in the open was normal. He smiled when their eyes met, walking perfectly straight somehow. The buzz from earlier must’ve worn off during the movie.
“You look good.” His voice was low, a sincere compliment. It sent Theodore’s heart flying despite the nonchalant shrug he gave in reply.
“I bet my mom will say that too.”
“I bet she will. When are you seeing her again?”
“I don’t know. Whenever I want to, I guess. If anything, I’ll see her on Thanksgiving.”
Laith nodded, beer bottle coming up for a sip. The angle of his arch was wide enough to evidence that not much was left to drink.
This time, as his eyes began to wander down Laith’s neck, he tore them away. The detachment had to start somewhere, even in the little things.
“How come you called me Blue?” he asked. Still not staring at Laith, he watched the casual flow of the population instead, the people who came and went. In his peripherals, Laith brought the bottle back down.
“Figured it’s time you got a proper name, so people will stop calling you that Prey shit.”
“I do have a name.”
Laith clicked his tongue. “You know how much you’ve been talked about, right? It’s traveled far. Would you want your name, in association with mine, to get to your dad?”
Hm. That was a good point.
“Blue could be anyone,” Laith concluded.
“Sure, but I mean, it kinda sounds like…”
Laith stared at him, waiting for him to finish.
Like we’re together. He shrugged. “Like I’m one of you, a Dead Pony. Like I work for Burman too.”
“People know you don’t. If you did, they would’ve seen you smashing stores or walking around with the dogs. They already associate you with me, anyway; they know you’re not here because of her.”
“They could get the wrong idea, you know. Giving me a name like that.”
“They’ve got you wrong this whole time. At this point, we might as well play into it.”
His heart skipped. Still, he refused to look at Laith, training his eyes on the neon signs that crawled left to right. It was 4:30. “How far do you wanna go?”
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed thick. This was the textbook definition of playing with fire. “How much are we playing into it? Like, what do we want them to believe?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that really matters. I’m thinking we do what we do and let them think whatever they want.”
“Yeah, but you know what they’ll think. What they already think.”
Laith shrugged—he saw shoulders bobbing from the corner of his eye. “So what, Theo? What difference does it make? It’s not like they’re too far off the mark anyway.”
“Blue.”
“Sorry—Blue.”
“But they are off the mark. They’re way off the mark. If you let them think we’re together, that’s gonna kill all your game in the dark rooms.”
Laith laughed. “You underestimate the number of people who’d come to me because of that. It’s the same reason married men are so coveted—the unattainable is magnetic.”
It sure fucking was.
“So you’re married now.” He finally turned to glance at Laith, to see the beautiful grin that pushed into his cheeks.
“C’mon, you know what I mean. Plus, it’s not like I’m seeing anyone else. I’m already missing out.”
His chin lifted in a nod that never fell, heart quivering. Oh, he loved hearing that. He kind of already knew it, but god, he loved hearing it anyway. “That’s on you, though. I’m not keeping you out of the DP at all.”
“No, I know.” Laith tipped his head side-to-side, which made it seem like he had more to say, but no elaboration ever came. Instead, he changed the subject. “Why don’t we hang out at Salamander tonight? I think you’ll like it. They have six different flavors of iced tea.”
“Is that a bar or what?”
“It’s a Mexican place. All their drinks are spicy, even the tea.”
He nodded.
A wide arch flipped Laith’s beer upside down, allowing him to finish it. When he was done, a tongue swiped over his lips, hand tossing the empty bottle into a nearby trashcan. Theodore watched him absently, picking up pace as he started down the street.
“If people associate me with you, but don’t consider me a Dead Pony, then… what am I?” He’d wondered that for a while now.
“Word is you’re a Poison Dart. I blame Tae-hwan’s friends for that.”
“So your friends decide your allegiance.”
“Not necessarily. It depends.”
“On what?”
A hand came up to motion vaguely in the air. “You know, on a lot of things. If you have family down here, you belong to their faction. If you’re from upstairs, then you’re not really one of us; you’re a visitor. If you’re from upstairs but you know one of us, then your rat friend decides your allegiance for you. If you visit often and do a lot of business down here, then you have to pick a side. It’s complicated. People think you’re a Poison Dart because they saw you with Tae-hwan’s friends first. If we keep hanging out, you’ll end up switching sides, though. That’s up to you.”
iHis lHis lips parted to ask about his address theory, but before the first word could come out, he noticed how stupid that’d sound. Allegiances were clearly far more intricate than living on another faction’s turf. Actually, he was pretty sure people’s addresses above ground had absolutely no relation to what happened beneath them. Then again, when he’d pointed at his apartment building, Hwan’s Poison Dart friends had seemed to take that as his allegiance to their faction.
“I’m assuming addresses don’t have much to do with it, then,” he bluffed, trying not to sound stupid.
“Well, people tend to live near their faction. I’m not saying the opposite doesn’t happen, but it’s not very common. It seems inconvenient.”
He’d gotten that backwards, then. People moved to certain areas because they were already in a faction, rather than becoming part of a faction due to where they lived. On second thought, yeah, he had to be Earth’s biggest dumbass to believe the latter.
“So… wait. If Hwan’s a rat, then how come his friends are all still Poison Darts? As far as I know, they don’t live underground. Shouldn’t he make them into Gorgons?”
“There’s probably another rat there, or maybe they do business with Poison Darts. I don’t know. I don’t know them.”
“They seem to know you.”
“A lot of people give that impression.”
Hm. Even though Laith had met them all at Streisand’s, he hadn’t really talked to any of them. He’d only spoken to Hwan—a fiasco—before the girls had come over, and even then, the two factions had stood opposite one another, with the Poison Darts on one side and the Alvorada on the other. They hadn’t mingled at all.
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