#probably confused the game with an actual mechanical iron lung that they used to make for people with trouble breating

[matchasprouts]

Listen Closer - Chapter 11

[ MASSIVE trigger warning for gore this chapter!!!!! it's a trap so it's expected but still!!! do not read if you don't like described gore!!!! ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

An hour had passed, and it was time for the game to begin.

In the room Garrett was in, there was a small TV connected to the other cameras, so he could watch the progress of the other players until they left their rooms. He planned on being the last one to leave, to seem less suspicious.

Plus, seeing them gave him plenty of time to fake his trap.

He knew his reason had to be something that was obvious to his coworkers, so he chose his rudeness. John had once told him that he couldn’t go through life pushing away everyone he knew, so he took it and ran with it.

It was going to hurt, and he wasn’t sure if it would scar or not, but Garrett took his acting very seriously.

So he took the knife in the room, and slashed his mouth.

Thankfully, he was used to pain, so the scream that escaped him wasn’t real- he only made the sound because he could hear the other players, and he knew they would hear him too.

Though, the tears pricking his eyes did surprise him. But he didn’t stop there, sitting down in the chair in the center of the room and slamming his hands down on them with another scream of pain. That way, his blood would be on the chair.

He was taking this very seriously.

Once he was done, he turned his focus back to the cameras, knowing that it would take some time for him to “find” the key. So, while they struggled, he would watch, and wait.

Tyler was the first to wake up, probably because the contraption was in his mouth. He panicked for a minute, before spotting the tape. He played it, but Garrett didn’t have sound. That didn’t stop him from enjoying the panic the Jigsaw voice created.

Almost immediately, Tyler began pulling at the mechanism on his face, quickly learning that the hook holding it on were dug into his cheeks. He tried to scream, but didn’t get much out with his tongue being captured like that.

Joyce woke up at the scream, her head lolling around for a second before she realized she couldn’t move her arms. She gave a scream of her own, fighting to release her hands. Soon the cuff on her right arm clicked, and the chain it was attached to allowed her to start moving her arm. Her left wrist, however, stayed clamped to the chair. She found the tape in her lap and played it.

Almost immediately after Joyce started her tape, Nadia woke up. After groggily sitting up, their hands immediately came up to their face, feeling the iron mask they wore. They began to tear at the straps, only to learn they were locked on.

They actually noticed their tape faster than the other two, scrambling to grab it and play it.

Tyler seemed to have finished his tape and was now looking around for the knife that was promised. In order to get the key, he needed to “look inside himself”.

Lawrence had sewn the key into his bicep.

Tyler located the knife, practically lunging for it. Garrett imagined he was fueled by the panic from the rolling of the device clamping down on his tongue, because he stabbed into his upper arm with only a second of hesitation, screaming as he dragged it down to open it up.

Once there was a wide enough opening, Tyler stuck his fingers in and removed the key. He struggled with getting the key into the lock, but finally managed it, unlocking the device and ripping it out of his face. It hit the ground with a thunk hard enough for Garrett to hear.

He could see now that Tyler was bleeding from the mouth, meaning the device had dug in at least a little into his tongue before he managed to get it off.

Now he was looking for the key to the door, which was hidden in the mattress, just like Nadia’s. All of them were hidden there, it just made it easier.

While Tyler was looking for the key, Joyce was getting her fingers crushed. Garrett was pretty sure he'd never heard her voice go so high-pitched, even though she’d been on HRT for a very long time now.

He couldn’t hear her sobs, but he could see that she was crying. Finally, with a shaky hand, she took the knife strapped to the left side of the chair. She hesitated but, with another scream, cut off her remaining two fingers on her left hand.

Garrett looked up at the camera in his room, and the cuffs clicked open. She was free, and now she needed to find the key to the door.

He let out another scream, of frustration this time, just to make it seem more believable. If he just went silent out of nowhere, that would be suspicious.

Nadia held his attention now, since Tyler had managed to get out of his room, followed closely behind by Joyce.

They were struggling to find the key, banging on the walls now in desperation. They only had a few more seconds left and then-

They found the key, jamming it into the lock and turning it at the last second.

Nadia let out a howling scream of pain as the very tips of the spikes pierced their face, one of them scraping their eye as they pulled the mask away. Then they curled in on themselves on the floor, sobbing loud enough that it could be heard through the walls.

Garrett changed his mind. It would make more sense for Nadia to be last to leave.

He grabbed the key to his door, jamming it in the lock and leaving the room.

Joyce and Tyler, who had run over to Nadia’s door at the sound of their cries, now turned to look at him.

“Garrett!” Joyce yelled, running straight for him while Tyler stayed by Nadia’s door, attempting to talk to them through it. “Where- where are we!?”

“I don’t.. I don’t know,” Garrett replied, making his voice shake just as much as his bloodied hands. “Oh god Joyce, what happened to your hand?” he asked, looking down at her mutilated left hand.

“What happened to your face!?” she replied, bringing her good hand up to the gushing wound on Garrett’s lips.

Garrett brought his own hand up to his face, feeling the gash for the first time. It was deeper than he’d realized- it would definitely need stitches. Damn it, that meant a night in the hospital. He couldn’t believe he let himself get carried away.

Luckily, Nadia’s door opened, and the focus was on them. “I’ve got you,” Tyler told them, helping them stand. They were still crying, their tears melding with the blood covering their face.

Now that they were all out of the rooms, it was time for Lawrence to tip off the police.

See, the main reason this game was taking place was not to rehabilitate Garret’s gossiping coworkers, it was to get Strahm off their backs. If Garrett was put into another trap, it would solidify that he wasn’t Jigsaw, and if Mark was at the precinct the entire time, it would mean he wasn’t Jigsaw either.

Again, Garrett had planned it down to the smallest possible detail.

“We- we all got out,” Nadia spoke up, leaning heavily against Tyler now, “so doesn’t that- doesn’t that mean we get to go free?”

“Wishful thinking,” Joyce replied, looking into the center of the room where the pièce de résistance sat.

The machine that was placed in the center of the room was one of Garrett’s longest running projects, one he had been working on since his first day of apprenticehood. It wasn’t anything special- it was just big as fuck.

“Oh shit,” Garrett muttered, continuing to sell his role as a fellow player.

There were multiple slots in the contraption, three to be exact. Just short of one for each person. They couldn’t see the inside, there was no glass and the only openings were the slots, which didn’t have open bottoms.

Tyler was the one to notice and grab the tape player on top of the machine, pausing for a second before pressing the play button.

“Hello Tyler, Joyce, Nadia, Garrett. I want to play a game,” Jigsaw’s voice rang out from the player, and everyone fell silent to listen. “So you have all escaped your rooms. Good job. However, our game is not over. I have one more test for you- one that will cost you more than your gossiping ways.”

“In order to open the door that will lead you to your freedom, three of you must offer something to the machine in front of you. Who will be the odd man out? Are you willing to give up even more in order to survive? Live or die. The choice is yours.”

The tape cut off, but the silence remained.

“Only three…?” Joyce finally spoke up, confused as to why it would only need three.

“It’s probably to create unrest within us,” Garrett answered, despite knowing that it was because he assumed Nadia would be the only casualty. “I- I study these traps, these games, and he likes to turn people against each other.”

“Oh god,” Nadia muttered to themself, choking back a sob. “I- I can offer something,” they added, surprising everyone. “My eye is screwed… I can’t- I can’t see out of it. I don’t want it in my head.”

That… was fair. They reached out to Garrett, holding her hand open for the knife he held. He paused, before wiping his blood off of it with his shirt. Then he handed it to them.

He and Joyce had to look away when Nadia plunged the knife into their socket, screaming as they pulled it out and cut the optic nerve. After taking a second to breathe, they dropped the eye into one of the slots. It immediately closed.

“O… okay… who’s next?” Nadia asked, looking around at the rest of them. No one spoke, or moved, until Joyce came over and grabbed the knife.

“These are gonna have to come off anyway so… I might as well get it over with,” she rationalized, not giving herself time to hesitate before placing her left hand flat on the machine and chopping off the crushed fingers.

The finger went into another slot that closed once they were inside.

Now it was Garrett and Tyler. Garrett was about to take the knife when Tyler snatched it away from him, surprising him deeply,

Tyler was the only one that Garrett would have even vaguely considered a friend, mostly because of an odd puppy crush Tyler seemed to have on him. It was cute, and he never had the heart to tell him to fuck off.

However, it seemed that that puppy crush would be useful.

“We probably can’t offer the same thing,” Tyler said aloud, looking down at himself as he decided which body part he would be the least upset about losing, “and- and I don’t think there’s a weight limit.”

There wasn’t. As long as there was SOMETHING that hit the bottom of the slots, they would close and the door would open, but Garrett couldn’t say that.

After a moment of deliberation, Tyler pulled a fucking Van Gogh and cut off his ear.

He dropped the appendage that was formerly his into the final slot, and it closed. The lock on the door clicked, and they all rushed toward it.

Just in time too, they could hear sirens outside.

“It’s the cops!” Tyler yelled, placing his hands on the heavy iron door. He couldn’t open it himself, so Garrett grabbed it as well. Together, they slowly pulled the door open, allowing Joyce and Nadia to escape first.

Tyler followed them at Garrett’s assistance, and once he was out, Garrett followed. The door slammed shut behind them as they escaped, and the lights all shut off at the same time.

Garrett had it do that on purpose. Lawrence needed time to remove the TV in Garrett’s room, and clean up anything else that would implicate them. With the unbreakable windows, it would take a while for the police to get in, and that’s what they wanted.

It was raining now, Garrett realized, though it hadn’t been when the game first started. Almost immediately they were all soaked, and he imagined the cops that were climbing out of their cars were too.

A pair of car doors slammed shut, and Garrett heard two people rushing over to them. He could vaguely make out Mark’s voice calling out to him, but everything sounded like it was underwater. He was losing a lot more blood than he thought, and the adrenaline was wearing off.

He fell forward, falling into a pair of strong arms. He knew it wasn’t Mark, he could see Mark coming over to them.

… Strahm? Shit. He was definitely going to say something about the blood Garrett was getting all over his shirt. He tried to pull away, but Strahm tightened his grip on him, keeping him against his chest. Warmth seeped into his bones from the strong hold, despite the cold rain attempting to chill them.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he heard the agent tell him, feeling Mark’s heavy coat draping over his shoulders before everything went dark.

[cosmicbash]

I have awoken in a feverish daze with one thought on my mind, cat boy em. Like normal Em but with super cute cat ears and a tail, Kells would lose his damn mind

"Pffffft-" Colson was struggling to contain what was bound to be stomach keeling cackle.

"They sent the wrong item okay-" Marshall looked beyond done with the situation, a faint flush of color coloring his cheekbones. 

The younger rapper knew his partner was telling the truth, that there had to have been a mistake in the order. But that wasn't going to stop him from taking delight in the conveniently ironic outcome. "Mhm."

His eyes were locked on the small box sitting on the brunette's lap, the contents inside it what had them in this comical situation in the first place.

It was a special order the older rapper had sent out for weeks earlier. Well, it was supposed to be his order. While it was from the same online store the item inside was far from the new custom silk restraints Marshall had requested. Instead a soft and almost uncannily realistic looking pair of cat ears and a tail sat curled up amongst the colorful paper stuffing.

Dark brown ones to be exact, almost the same exact shade as the older rapper's hair color from what Colson could gleam from where he was standing. 

"What a pain in the ass," Marshall was sighing, a hand coming up to stressfully rub at his temple while he tossed the box aside. "I'm gonna have to get on the phone with them and figure out how to return this shit and where our actual package ended up."

Colson couldn't help but be drawn to the box, his fingers reaching out to run over the soft faux fur. "Thought they have a strict no return policy, I mean, I wouldn't want to be accepting back any freaky sex toys-"

"Yeah but this has to be an exception, it's not even our order. Probably some weird kinky couple out there wondering where the hell their new fluffy butt plug is-"

Colson's eye's moved down to the tail, immediately locking on the small plug that did indeed rest at the base. "Whoa it's a plug? I thought it was like- like one you hook on- whoa." Examining it closer he realized it was actually detachable and could be converted into either. 

The quality was almost breathtaking.

"Of course it's a plug, the weirdos who are into that kinda stuff al-- put it the fuck down!" Marshall's hands slapped at his own and knocked him from his revere. "Don't go playing with it, they won't accept it back if it looks used at all-"

"They probably won't let us return it in the first place." Colson felt a bit miffed, their hands getting into a minor swat fight until he finally just snatched the whole box up off the bed. "Stop smacking me! I'm just- ow- I'm just saying- how would they know if we weren't just lieing about not using them? What, are they gonna test this crap? No. They'd be better off just not accepting it back-"

"Then it'll get tossed in the trash, I don't care! But until they say that, don't fucking touch it!"

The blonde almost felt like a child being reprimanded, or a sibling stuck in a game of tug of war with how Marshall and him were both pulling at the cardboard box.

The suggestion they just toss the albeit strange toys out had Colson feeling a bit defensive of them. It felt wasteful to just throw out something so artfully crafted, even if the subject matter was a bit cringey. Besides how often did people get an opportunity to explore some random fetish like this with high quality goods?

"You're being ridiculous! We should at least try them out, what's wearing a pair of fluffy ears going to hurt?"

His outburst finally seemed to shock the brunette into silence. A confused look crossing the mans face before he finally stuttered out a "W-what?"

Mind made up Colson hugged the box closer and took off towards the bathroom. Leaving his partner sat on the bed while he situated himself in front of the mirror.

There was no way the company would accept them back, not after the packaging itself had already been opened. 

Ignoring the tail altogether Colson focused on the soft fluffy ears, plucking them up out of the box to examine the mechanics. He expected a head band of some sort but instead they seemed to clip onto ones hair. 

Snapping them into place wasn't an easy feat however, Colson needed to squeeze really hard for the clip to click and when he was finished the ears were horribly lopsided. Not to mention how strange the dark fur looked in comparison to his own platinum hair.

Still he couldn't help but laugh a little and pop his head out into the doorway. "Fuck, aha, I don't think I did this right but- How do I look?"

Marshall's expression was one of downright discomfort. His mouth opening and closing a few times before he just shook his head and dropped his face down into his hands. And somehow that reaction was funnier than the look of the ears themselves. 

His earlier cackle came bubbling back up to the surface until he was stumbling back across the room. Tossing the box haphazardly onto the pillows so he could flop back and safely continue his laughing. "What? Don't I look cute? Ahahah, don't you just want to- to snuggle me?"

"You look out of your fucking mind, that's how you look-"

"Oh, cmon Marsh- is that any way to- to talk to your precious little kitten?" Colson could barely get the words out between laughs, his legs kicking in the air at his own poor jokes.

A slap to his chest only had him laughing harder. "Animal abuse! Animal abuse! Hit me again and I'll call Peta!"

"You're insufferable." Marshall was groaning and burying his face in his hands again. Despite his huffing Colson could still make out the faint shake in his shoulders. It only spurred him on. 

"Oh cmon, why don't you try being sweet to me and see if I'll purr-" that paired with his fingers sleazily trailing up the older mans arm finally had the rapper cracking. A snort escaping his mouth before the floodgates released and his shoulders began to properly shake from laughter. 

"If you start purring I'm gonna kick you outta this room, I mean it-"

Colson's chest felt light and warm when he realized Marshall was wiping wet tears from his eyes. The smile plastered on his face already hurt with how wide it was, but he couldn't help himself and purred loudly. 

The mock cat noise was cut off by Marshall dropping back onto his chest. An audible "oof" leaving his mouth while all the air was forced from his lungs. The man didn't even bother hiding his smirk, just sighed and reached up to tug at one of the cat ears.

"Ow-"

"They're on their pretty good huh?" Marshall's eyes finally twinkled with interest. Head tilting until his ear was pressed against the blonde's chest. It was a comforting sight to Colson, even if he was pretty sure the man was looking at him at his most unflattering angle with how his chin was pressed to his chest.

"Yeah- ow- fuck, stop- stop pulling on them." Swatting away the older males hand Colson decided it was time to pull them off. Before the guy ended up yanking his hair out by the roots. "One second-"

Another few painful moments of fiddling and he finally got them to unclamp, each ear plopping down onto the older's rappers tee as they were removed.

The brunette immediately plucked them up and began examining them more closely, blue eyes downcast and his expression mellowing. "They're softer than I thought they'd be-"

"Yeah, it's a really good quality faux fur-" Planting his hands on the mattress Colson moved to sit himself up.

To his surprise Marshall just lifted his back up long enough for the blonde to move before promptly settling back down against his thigh again. Fingers clicking the barrett part of one ear curiously.

With them now so close to the older rapper's beard and hair really could see the similarity in shade. It was uncanny. They almost looked made for Marshall specifically.

The suggestion left his mouth before he could stop himself. "Try them on-" Blue eyes finally darted up to meet his own yet again, and the confidence in his voice faltered. "I-I mean, I did, and- they- well, they match your hair better and-"

Suddenly his face felt like it was on fire, just the idea of Marshall actually wearing something like that enough to have his stomach feeling hot. 

The smaller rapper looked at him for another long moment, eyes boring into his own until he couldn't help but rub his hands over his face and backtrack. "O-Or don't! That works too-"

"Put them on for me-" A furry ear pressed against his knuckles. Peeking out from behind his hands Colson felt his tongue tie itself in a knot. His partner was looking at him expectantly  and shaking the offered ear. "I don't feel like getting up to use the mirror."

"Yo-Wait, are you serious? Okay!" The excitement in the younger rapper's voice was palpable and he could tell it amused Marshall by the way his mouth quirked up briefly. 

His fingers immediately ran through the short cropped dark hair atop his partner's head. Heart skipping from how much he loved the new longer length. "Do you think it's even long enough to clip?" He honestly didn't but that wasn't going to stop him from trying.

Colson plucked up one of the ears and curled himself over the brunette's head. Marshall gave a few yelps of complaint while he tugged and poked at his head but after a few minutes of trial and error he actually got the ear to snap into place. 

The second one went on a lot quicker and after another couple minutes of listening to Marshall yowl and curse he had the second one in place. Back finally able to straighten so he could admire his handiwork.

Colson immediately regretted his suggestion upon doing so. 

The soft blue gaze glaring up at him partnered with how perfectly the fur blended in with Marshall's hair felt like it lit his face on fire.

If he thought his tongue felt tangled before it most definitely was now.

"What?" Marshall's eyebrows furrowed closer together. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"I-" 

"You?" Marshall motioned for him to continue and the action was so cute Colson's teeth hurt. 

"I think I've got a new kink-"

The palm to his face was expected, so was Marshall jerking his body up off of him. "Alright, they're going in the trash."

"What? No!" Colson couldn't let this new discovery about himself be crushed so quickly. "Don't take them off yet-"

Shooting back up the blonde looped his arms around the smaller rapper's back and dragged him back down onto the bed. Wrestling with him for a moment until he finally managed to pin the older man down. Hupd wiggled between his spread legs and fingers wrapped around his biceps. 

"Colson-"

"Please?" Colson knew he was being pathetic, shooting the other man such big puppy dog eyes over something as creepy this. But he couldn't help himself. "Just for a few more minutes?"

Marshall's eyes avoided his for a moment, face contorted up in a scowl before the man finally sagged back against the bed in acceptance. "Fine. But if you get fucking weird I'm gonna be the one calling PETA."

Snorting Colson swooped his head down to steal a quick kiss. Hands releasing their death grip to instead slide, palm down along his partners arms until he reached his wrists. "When aren't I fucking weird?"

"You-" Marshall gasped sharply when his palms moved down to push up his shirt. Colson's mouth nipping along the edge of the older man's fuzzy jaw. "You know what I mean brat-"

The scratch of beard against his face burned but it just reminded Colson of a cats tongue, rough and still somehow soft. 

Pulling back his eyes traveled back up to the fuzzy points sticking out of his partners head. Cock already swelling in his jeans while he reached one hand up to lightly tug at them.

The resistance from the clip and Marshall's hiss just made it seem all the more real. "God, they're so cute on you-" He wanted to bite them even though he knew realistically the other man wouldn't feel a thing.

Colson ended up nuzzling his face into one instead, the hand on Marshall's chest climbing until it could palm over a nipple. 

The responding jerk of hips and fingers tracing over his own ribs had Colson laughing. Mouth trailing back down to bite around the shell of Marshall's actual ear. The hand he had up fiddling with the cat dropping down to curl around the back of one thigh, hike their bodies closer together.

A satisfied groan rumbled between them, one that had Colson stealing the brunette's lips again. Hips rolling until another noise hummed between their mouths.

"Fuck-" he dropped his head down just as Marshall bared his throat. Lips sealing over the other man's pulse point to suck a mark. "God you even purr like a cat-"

The sharp tug on his hair signified Marshall's irritation but Colson just laughed and moved on to make another mark. Foot digging into the sheets so he could rock their bodies together in a soft steady rhythm.

The action only earned him more pleased noises, some that sounded like Marshall really was teasing him. Until he had both palms clutching the older rappers ass through his briefs, ever thankful of the man's inability to wear his pants properly.

A particularly satisfying roll of hips had him cursing. Their teeth clacking when he frantically connected their mouth's let again. The sight of Marshall with those cat ears had him so riled up he might actually come before they could actually fuck.

------

And Imma cut it here because the full answer is so damn long it doesnt actually fit! I did post the full smutty ficlet to ao3 however

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379910/chapters/56023525

[mrplantman]

mr. brightside || task 001

Location: Dr. Besty “Bee” Dobson’s Office Date: August 16th Time: 2:30 pm Inspiration: Mr. Brightside by Run River North

Arlo takes a deep breath – in through the nose, out through the mouth – and schools his expression into a lazy, relaxed grin. He knocks on the door in front of him before burying his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep them from fidgeting.

Betsy doesn’t keep him waiting for long. The door opens and he’s hit with the familiar (if slightly unsettling) smell of chocolate and evergreen – an odd combination for the middle of August. But, Bee’s always been a little odd. A little off center, for a medical professional. Probably why she’s been able to deal with the Foxes (and all their many, many problems) for this long without turning tail and running for the hills.

“Arlo!” She exclaims warmly, gesturing for him to step inside. “C’mon in.”

Knowing he’s alright with physical contact, she gives his shoulder a light pat as he passes by and… It’s nice. The whole thing is nice: as inviting as a shrink’s office can be, and yet.

He still hates coming here.

Every year, it’s the same. Every year, he has to psych himself up for this. To sit here, for an hour, carefully maintaining every inch of armor he’s crafted, perfected, over the last decade.

It’s so much harder, with her. She’s not like his teammates. Not like Brayden, or Jazz, or Jen. Not like Wymack or even Abby. She’s sharper. She knows. Every button to press, every weakness to exploit. Every year, she chips away at him as he sits and sips hot chocolate and talks about the weather. About practice and the constant construction going on on campus. About the rising price of gas and which team he’s most excited to play this year.

It’s a game of chicken. Which one of them can outlast the other as the clock on the wall ticks down.

It’s exhausting.

Like playing chess against an opponent who can read his mind. Predict every move he makes before he makes it.

Impossible.

Arlo plops down on the most comfortable, worn-in leather chair in the room, adjacent to Bee’s desk. Crossing his legs underneath him, he settles back, accepting the piping hot cup she presses into his palms. Despite knowing the hot chocolate is a gimmick, a way to loosen him up, to make him feel at ease…. He still drinks it. If he’s gotta’ come here, he’s at least going to get some sugar out of it.

Bee slides into the chair behind her desk and sets her own cup to the side. Leaning forward, she props her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands, giving him a fond smile.

“So. Senior year! That’s exciting, huh?”

“Yeah, actually.” Arlo takes a small sip of hot chocolate, fighting the urge to twist the mug around in his hands. To squirm. “I honestly can’t believe it’s already August. Time has flown by.” He smiles softly and shrugs. “I don’t think it’s even hit me yet. That I’m a senior. It probably won’t until the first game. Or at least until classes officially start, you know?”

Bee nods, her gaze steady and unwavering.

“Time has flown by, lately. I agree. I feel like I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

“Aw Bee. Did you miss me?” He throws her a mischievous grin and winks, for good measure.

“Yes,” she replies, and genuinely seems to mean it, “of course I did. I’ll be honest, I was… surprised that I didn’t see you at all over the summer.”

The atmosphere in the room changes instantly. Arlo feels something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach and his chest tightens uncomfortably. He knows what she means. And she knows that he knows.

Coming out of the gate swinging this year, then.

“Well, you know,” he hedges sheepishly. “I was pretty busy. Someone has to keep Brayden entertained. Otherwise he’ll start chain smoking and tearing up the carpet and dragging trash all over the house. Like one of those small, yappy dogs when you leave them alone for too long.” From anyone else, the joke might sound harsh, or critical. But Arlo’s tone is fond, and the smile creeping across his face is the most genuine one he’s had all day.

At the mention of Brayden, an imperceptible expression flashes across Bee’s face and, for a brief moment before her features even out again, Arlo thinks she might say something. But she stays quiet, and the silence stretches out awkwardly between them. Arlo takes another sip of cocoa and swallows hard, chancing a look at the clock.

God, it’s only been ten minutes.

“Arlo,” Bee breaks the uneasy quiet that’s descended on the room. “Your father died last semester. You don’t want to talk about that at all?”

Of course he does. Jesus Christ, it’s all he wants to do. Ever since he got that call, since his initial freak out, he’s been pushing it away. Shutting it out. All of it. The pain, the grief, the confusion, the isolation. The all-encompassing, ever-present hurt that’s ripped a savage hole right through the middle of him.

All he wants is to just admit it.

To tell someone, anyone, that he’s not okay.

To say it out loud:

I’m not fine.

I’m not fine.

I’m not fine.

But that would require admitting it to himself.

That would require ripping open that hole – that wound – again, after he’s tried all summer to haphazardly tie it down. Sew it up. Cut it out.

Admitting it would require going through it, all over again. Every bit of it.

And he’s not strong enough. Never has been. It’s why he hides, constantly. Why he protects himself with goofy grins and casual touches and the perpetual need for attention. For affection. Because he’s not strong enough to wear his heart on his sleeve – to flaunt his problems, his fears, his anxieties, in plain sight.

He’s not strong enough ask for help.

It’s easier to cower.

To run away.

To put on a mask.

He can’t face it. Can’t face himself.

He won’t.

“Bee, I’m fine.” He laughs, waving his free hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture. “Seriously. It’s all good, okay. Made my peace with it.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time believing that, Arlo.”

“And I have a hard time believing that we didn’t fake the Moon Landing.” Arlo gives her a helpless sort of shrug, and carefully sets his rapidly cooling cocoa on the desk in front of him. “But, what can ya do?”

“Arlo.”

“Bee.”

She sighs.

“I know that I can’t make you talk about it. Not if you’re not ready. But, I do hope you know that… What you’re doing, it will catch up to you. One day, it’s going to be too much to carry. Too much weight to hold up on your own, and you will crumble beneath it. But you don’t have to. It doesn’t have to be that way. You have people who care about you. People who want to listen. To help. You need to learn to lean on that: on your support system. Your teammates. Your coach. Your friends.”

She doesn’t mention herself, and Arlo is almost grateful. That she knows. He could never, ever come clean here. In a setting like this, surrounded by white walls and textbooks and leather sofas that a thousand other people have sat on before, spilling their problems like marbles on a wood floor, watching with satisfaction as they all bounce and roll and slide away for someone else to deal with.

“Thanks, Bee.” And it’s the most that he has. The most he can give her. It’s just barely enough. She relents, and the rest of the hour passes almost easily. They trade small talk about his new teammates, about the upcoming season and Abby’s new haircut.

As she walks him to the door, she rests a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, practiced and careful.

“My door’s always open. You know that.”

It’s not a question, so he doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head and laughs, throwing up a hand as he strides out of her office and back into the overly air-conditioned main hallway.

He makes it halfway back to the Court before he’s choking, scrambling to find a bathroom. Luckily, he’s near the Applied Sciences building – and he already knows the layout. He bursts into the men’s restroom on the third floor after a frantic rush up the stairs, and barely gets himself into a stall before he’s shaking apart. He doubles over on the ground next to the toilet, face buried in his knees as he takes in great, heaving breaths that do nothing to soothe his panic. His chest, tight before, now feels like it’s clamped between an iron vice, slowly squeezing all the air from his lungs. His sides are starting to ache from the strain, and he wraps an arm around his middle, as if he can somehow hold himself together through sheer force of will. His free hand snakes up to tangle itself in his hair and he squeezes his eyes shut, so hard black spots dance behind his eyelids.

He focuses on the whine of the florescent lights overhead.

The sound of the stall door next to his, squeaking back-and-forth on uneven hinges.

He focuses, and he waits.

Eventually, his body begins to unfurl on its own. Breathing gets easier in increments. In fits and starts, like an old farm truck, backfiring until the engine finally rumbles reluctantly to life.

He pushes himself up off the floor. Flushes the toilet, though he didn’t use it, and let’s himself out of the stall with slow, clumsy hands.

The mirrors above the sink are harsh. Unyielding. Unwilling to participate in his lie, they highlight the paleness of his skin. His shaking limbs. His dry, red rimmed eyes.

No tears. He’s not sure why.

Maybe he just doesn’t have it in him.

Mechanically, he washes his hands. Scrubs at his skin with a paper towel until he’s bright pink and rosy. He practices a smile in front of the mirror, and though it’s likely to fool no one, right now –

it’ll have to do.