TW: Sexual Content, dubious content, abusive relationships, Teen!Cast

It's been approximately sixty-two days since the subject stopped responding to previously reliable stimuli. You suspect that lingering emotional trauma, long-standing internal conflict and accumulated everyday stress combined with being a whinging jackass has caused the subject to have a nuclear-scale meltdown, resulting in this most irrational tantrum.

In other words, it's been two months since he's responded to any challenges or risen to any bait or even spoken to you. Two months since Rythian almost killed you and didn't even call afterwards.

The murder thing doesn't actually bother you as much as it probably should. Upon regaining consciousness there'd been the initial incredulous horror that he would actually go that far, heat of the moment or otherwise, but that quickly gave way to amusement that the bastard had tried and actually failed. In fact, the more you thought about it the more it made you feel just a little bit proud of yourself. Someone actually hated you enough to try and end you. It was intimate in its own way, wasn't it? Say what you wanted about love, but its opposite was apathy. Before Rythian you'd never known it'd feel this good to be despised, to feel someone fixate so fiercely on your every flaw. Love had stopped being interesting to you in the fifth grade, when Hannah finally told you to either quit 'testing' her bond with Lewis or be short one testicle. A bit drastic for a little social experimentation, but whatever. Women.

You'd finally decided to be a mixture of flattered and fascinated by Rythian's attempt to destroy you when he just started avoiding you altogether. For the first week you'd barely noticed him giving you the cold shoulder at all. About two weeks after that, you'd just laughed and decided to let him wallow in his shame. It was funny at first, watching him walk around like he was suddenly above dealing with you... but then it started to get tedious. You tried taunts, you tried copping feels in the hallway, you even tried blatant sabotage of his possessions. How much more obvious did a guy have to get? Still the whiny bitch refused to be provoked, slouching in class and avoiding your gaze at lunch. He's made it clear through various cues that he still hates you (he'll probably hate you forever and that makes you happy in ways you can't quite articulate) but he is distinctly Done With Your Games. Fucker nearly strangles you to death and still manages to brood his way into getting the high ground. Typical Rythian.

His lack of recent physical outburst has also had the consequence of making him more approachable, with Ravs and Nilesy making themselves comfortable in his little circle of friends. Zoey had always made people feel better about Rythian's presence, and as much of a karmic punching bag the guy is, everyone acknowledges Nilesy as the most non-threatening person around and having him in your corner isn't a bad move. In fact, more people are noticing that the people Rythian's hanging out with are Actually Pretty Okay, and that the world's most candy-assed bad boy might (gasp) not be all that bad after all. While it is still hilarious to see him trying to keep his usual pretentious demeanor while Zoey, Nilesy, Ravs and Teep run around like children with their songs and their 'lever games', the fact is that Rythian is dangerously on his way to being maybe-happy as an indirect result of excluding you from his life, and you can't have that.

... Him being happy, that is. God knows you don't care if he doesn't need you, but after all that you're certainly justified to a little attention. It's a matter of pride now that he thinks he can pull this shit with you. Thinks he can wash his hands clean of your claim on him.

You haven't made any drastic moves just yet (faux-tearfully shouting 'I thought we had something special, why won't you call me-also you might want to get tested' in the middle of the cafeteria was just for your own amusement) because there was no need to when you knew he'd come back on his own. He'd tried these games before: playing hard to get, acting like he was too good for you, hiding behind Zoey as an excuse not to deal with anyone. He'd crack eventually. He always did.

Although two months was the longest he'd ever lasted, and slowly but surely you could feel any self-satisfied amusement at his distress and guilt slowly turn into irritation and anger at being ignored.

You've never felt all that threatened by Zoey, in any sense of the word. She's a lot more clever than people think and you've harbored a bit of a soft spot for her ever since she gave you a black eye when you were younger, but she's not nearly as dangerous as Sjin and doesn't demand as much consideration.

It's stupidly obvious to anyone with eyes that she and Rythian were made for each other, are probably going to run off having buddy cop-style shenanigans into the sunset until they get married, buy a house in the suburbs and have really boring sex, but that doesn't make you jealous so much as it makes you laugh. You occassionally distantly admit to fantasies about someday having both of them, but that's not something you feel very pressed to accomplish at the moment. Still, it's an amazing joke. Heh, Housewife Rythian...

Anyway, there's also the fact that Zoey's actually here right now, splashing around in the pool with Nilesy and making Adventure Time references, but Rythian hasn't so much as glanced at her once in the past hour.

Nilesy's thrown a big pool party to celebrate there only being a week of junior year left, and it seems like all the nerds in town have shown up. It's a big success as far as day parties go, but you and your estranged nemesis are seated at opposite sides of the pool, glaring over your food, saying nothing to anyone and oblivious to all else. You tried for a smug leer at the beginning of the staring contest, but it quickly gave way to the annoyance that's been building in your gut for two months. Why was he being such a brat about this? Come on. He knows you're upset with him, you can see the flicker of accomplishment in his eyes, but he's not doing anything. He's not rubbing it in or lashing back or responding at all.

Then Parv and Sparkles join the party.

That's it. Rythian breaks eye contact and looks up. His entire face, or what one could see of it, lights up at the sight of the two bandmates strolling in. Mother of all fucks. You sourly watch as Parv convinces Rythian to get in the pool, if not to take his damn shirt off. 'Bromance, my ass', you think bitterly, watching the way Rythian's eyes lovingly rake over Parv's body. 'Pay attention to me, you piece of shit.'

"Heeeey buddy. That's uh, a pretty unattractive face you're making."

"Sjin, hey." You put on your best fake smile as Sjin does the same. "'sup."

"Not much. Couldn't help but notice you eyeing up Rythian over there. You two get in a lover's spat or what?"

"Something like that."

"Bummer. Well you might wanna clear that up sometime soon, y'know? Not that I'm not flattered, but I'm a taken man."

You try to grind your teeth as subtly as possible. Figures that Rythian would act so morally superior even as he tried to replace you with the first viable outlet for his pent-up aggression. Things hadn't escalated to anything physical, but of course you'd noticed he and Sjin having more... spirited debates than they'd used to.

"I mean, Sips has been pushing for a threesome, but I just dunno if I'm flexible enou-"

"I got it." You say more forcefully than you meant to and try not to cringe when Sjin laughs. "Everything's fine."

"Awesome." He says, clapping you on the back. "See you round, man."

"Yeah, see you." You wait until he's out of earshot. "Asshole."

You don't hear it, but you just know he's muttering a creative name of his own for you under his breath. You and Sjin aren't officially enemies, hell you've even collaborated more than once with great success. You work well together and had a good time exchanging jokes and smiles (usually over shared mocking of Rythian), but there was no trust between you. The partnership could turn around and go sour after the work was done, or even merely on a whim. You keep up the passive-aggressive dance for the sake of your unspoken truce and mutual friends, but right now Sjin's just being a smug git.

Mood worsened, you sit alone until Rythian finally climbs out of the pool and heads inside. After Parv it's like he's completely forgotten you. Sjin wolf-whistles at you from somewhere in the party, but you just wave without even turning around as you follow through the back door.

Your moron hasn't gotten far as he doesn't know his way around Nilesy's house. You actually don't either, so you pretty much grab him by the upper arms, roughly steer him through the nearest door and hope for the best. Oh hey, a laundry closet. Works for you. The door swings shut and the bottles of detergent rattle when a spluttering Rythian is toppled against the shelf.

"You know," You sigh in fake hurt, gripping his shoulder while your knee slowly rides up between his legs, "most guys would take a little more responsibility after what you did. I can't help but feel like I'm owed just little a bit of commitment here."

"What the fuck- what are you doing!?" Rythian spits, fighting your hold and looking around you like he's afraid Parv or whoever will walk in at any moment.
Like he didn't see this coming. Like he didn't know that there was no way you'd let him go that easily. Yes, you're pretty disappointed that you had to give in first, but it's admittedly difficult to out-stubborn Rythian.

"I can't be the only one trying to make this relationship work, Rythian." You smirk as you shove that damn t-shirt up to his neck because you can't be bothered to wrestle it all the way off. "Oh, dear."

His chest is mottled with old bruises that have started to go green and fade. It's not the fresh and tender canvas it used to be.

"We're going to have to look into that soon." You say, clinically pressing your fingers to a few old welts. "Hm."

"Get the fuck off me, you're fucking toxic, I'm done with you-"

You roll your eyes at his blustering. Of course he thought it was your fault he nearly killed you and then fucked it up. What. A. Pussy.

You tear away his bandana before he can protest further, revealing the ruined skin you've practically got memorized. Rythian's still trying to be difficult so you get right up in his space, pushing flush against his wet body and running your tongue on him from chin to cheek. You like to treat his scarred flesh with all the tenderness you deny the rest of him, paying heed to the little bursts of pity bubbling in your chest. You really do feel bad, but it's overall not enough to salvage this into anything someone else would call healthy.

Instead the sympathy feeds a dark, possessive kind of care, the sort of compassion you'd felt for the bird whose wings you'd clipped as a child. You remember putting it in a box by the window and watching its feeble attempts to fly again, and how you'd taken damn good care of that little sparrow despite knowing full well what you were doing to it. The bird died, probably of depression when you were twelve. Since then you'd learned the balance of either exercising more caution or just finding more durable toys.

Eventually Rythian gets sick of your patronizing sweetness and snaps at you, catching your bottom lip in his teeth and drawing blood when your kisses trail too close to his mouth. You meet him instead of pulling away, letting your tongues have their due reunion and roll a nipple between your fingers. Rythian's all show as always, because with how desperately his mouth opens up to yours, there's no way he hasn't been missing this. You make a point of avoiding his gaze when you go to sink your teeth into his shoulder, tasting chlorine mingle with blood as you break skin. You smile and suckle the abused flesh, listening to him hiss a steady stream of 'i hate you's in frustration as well as pain. You know that eye contact is a whole 'thing' for Rythian, it's why he hates your goggles so much and inversely why you love wearing them. You still remember the hungry way he'd looked at you when you'd first switched to contact lenses at the start of sophomore year. Good times.

You can feel that there's still some hesitance in him, his muscles tensing under your fingers every time he tries psyching himself up enough to leave, only for you to rut your knee up between his legs. You need to fill his senses, leave your marks all over him until he's falling back in like a relapsing addict with you as his drug. He can try to get away all he wants, but a good nudge is all it'll ever take for it to be like he never tried at all. You want to be sure that even when he's married and convinced he's moved on, that he'll never truly be clean of you.

That he'll never fly again.

Everything's a blur of teeth and nails and tongue until you realize Rythian's trying to bring the session to a close, making subtle attempts at twisting out of your grip. He hasn't come in his pants or anything(yet), so you're confused until you remember that he actually got out of the pool with the intention of using the restroom. Right.

You have a lot of mildly dubious kinks- biting, needles, vivisection- and even though micturition isn't one of them you're considering it for the humiliation value alone. He probably knows this too, so you're not very surprised when the bastard actually grabs the goggles perched on your forehead and pulls. You hear them ominously snap back and suddenly there's an explosion of light across your vision, sending you reeling into the washing machine.

Your mind is flooded with expletives, with unspoken declarations of fucking unfair and insolent bitch, but at the same time there's a familiar fire coursing in your veins and just as potent as you remember. When your sight clears Rythian's already gone, the closet door's swinging open, and your eyes suddenly have their own pulse. But... that's fine.

Inside you know that your bird's been clipped and won't be going far any time soon. You lean on the back wall of the closet and breath deep, thinking this must be how it feels when Hannah and Lewis make up after another failed attempt to play a game together: a mixture of relief, adrenaline, and accomplishment. You're still hard and kind of annoyed, but you feel good.

By the time you make it back into the light Rythian's sitting in the corner of the party, swollen lips wrapped in his mask and bruised chest concealed by his righted shirt. He's covered up and you look like you've just been in a bar fight, yet he's the one slinking on the fringes while you glow with what feels distinctly like victory.

"Did you happen to get attacked by a house cat in there? A cat with boxing gloves, perhaps?"

Your expression flattens for only a moment, sore eyes glancing to side.

"Yup." You say, chipper demeanor reclaimed. "You gotta watch out for Lindon, Hannah. He's got a mean right hook."

She's not impressed, but only raises an eyebrow in your direction over her drink. Hannah's always seen right through you, even more so than Sjin, but she still considers you a friend somehow. She holds the dual issues of Rythian and your sadism at an arm's length and doesn't get involved. You like that about her and you like that your friendship has always hinged on neither of you getting too involved in the other's business. It's how you make each other stronger rather than weaker like Zoey and Rythian.

"Whatever, Duncan. Just remember that I said it would all end in tears."

"Yeah, but not my tears." It feels good to genuinely laugh again. Seriousness doesn't suit you.

"Uh huh."

The words 'I'm not having any of this' are painted clearly across her face when she wordlessly dismisses you, but you're still riding the high of getting your pet back and don't mind. You sit proudly in the center of the party, ignoring the curious looks at your disheveled disposition and instead bask in Rythian's angry gaze. As if he's actually shocked that you'd have the gall to show off what he gave you, the drama queen. Eventually Parv gives up on trying to make Rythian participate again, and you're high on life. Damn, you're awesome.

The day starts to turn cold and eventually people move indoors for card and console games. A line quickly forms for the restroom so you just change into your dry clothes in the laundry closet, which is officially your favorite room in this house now. When you emerge the back yard is empty and littered with trash, not to mention pretty quiet now that the sound system's been rolled inside.

You're not surprised that Rythian's still floating around out here. You can imagine the monologues of self-pity and rage going through his mind right now, but honestly can't comprehend why he has to do his moping in a cold pool. Obviously the guy hates himself, but seriously?

You sit at the edge of the water and, like magnets (or magic), he's slowly drawn towards you. His eyes are full of suspicion and hate, but also curiosity and he approaches anyway. Interesting.

For a moment you just stare at one another, you sitting on the ground and him treading water, and it's really odd to have Rythian be this silent. Is he ashamed of almost committing murder, of letting you drive him to that point, or of his failure to follow through? Or maybe because you managed to drag him back into this affair after he made such a valiant effort to get out. He's got a lot of failings to be ashamed of, so there are a lot of variables to consider when playing the why-is-Rythian-sulking-today game.

"What do you want, Lalna?" He says finally, with the gruffness in his voice practically screaming 'sore loser'.

He's always insisted on using your roleplaying name, either because he preferred to live in fantasy or because he just didn't like referring to you with too much familiarity. You've always kind of liked it, but sometimes you wish he'd just grow up and call you Duncan already.

You could try to fix everything right here, you suppose. Cut him loose. Apologize, maybe. There's no way to heal the damage, but the logical thing to do would be to keep it from getting any worse. Too bad you know you'd be lying if you said you cared, and even if you somehow meant it you would just fall back into old patterns. Science is your gift and your curse; it comes with the ever-present itch to know and see and test and push the limits of everything with the misfortune of interesting you. Ah, well. You gave up on change or shame a long time ago. Heavy is the crown.

He flinches when you reach out, leaning away from your touch as you cup his chin and thumb his scars through the fabric.

"I forgive you."

Then you push his head under the water.

It's not necessarily easy because Rythian's got a lot of sharp angles that he knows how to use, but given your size advantage and the fact that you're on land, struggle is pretty much useless. You hold him down and idly think that this would be a decent way to end it- feeling every desperate thrash and twitch and watching every bubble rise until he slowly fades away. You know he expects you to do it, to not only avenge yourself but to add insult to injury by finishing the job he couldn't. You consider it.

Buuuut you also remember the two month dry spell, and think that it'd really be a shame to lose your bird so quickly after recapture.

When Rythian resurfaces his face is deep red and his shoulders are spasming violently. He pulls his mask down, willingly for what seems to be the first time in your presence, and coughs out mouthfuls of pool water. You sit cross-legged beside him and lightly pat his head as he retches, distantly running your hands through his wet hair while he's too weak to do anything other than wheeze about it.

"I'm glad we made up. Sometimes couples just need to take a break." You say with a sly grin, your other hand propping up your chin as you play with his bangs. "But don't do it again, kay babe?"

A last patronizing pat on the cheek and you stand, feeling his glare on your back when you head inside with a spring in your step. Ooh, it sounds like someone started a Magicka tournament in there. Sweet.

Now you just needed to make him punch you in school tomorrow, preferably in front of a teacher, and everything will be right with the world. You don't know if students can get suspended for the final week of school, but you'd like to find out. At the last minute you decide to lock the door behind you just for kicks, with Rythian still gasping in the yard.

You pass a generic painting in the hallway of a little boat on the sea, and it makes you think that your relationship is a lot like a ship on fire- trying to pull the flames from the wood will just get people burned.

The only way out is down.

Credit to WispQueen on Ao3