Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in Parker’s black BMW was quiet and cold. The only sound present was the buzz of the engine and Chester occasionally biting his nails. They both knew what the respective person wanted to say. So they kept quiet. 

They were driving home from yet another young girl’s apartment. She had desperately begged them to spend a night at her house due to her brother’s abrupt and unsettling change in appearance, so they did. They did their usual things - asked questions, set up cameras, and went to sleep. Although, they didn’t have time to capture too much footage before the sheer scream of the girl snapped them awake. 

You know how this story goes.

With heavy pits of guilt in their stomachs after yet another failed attempt at helping a young girl in need, they kept their silent agreement not to talk about it. 

When the car eventually came to a stop outside their own house, they stepped out of it synchronized, they had done this so many times already. They knew the taste of defeat. The sound of the car doors slamming echoed through Chester’s ribcage, and his feet felt like the dumbbells that Parker had bought in his gym phase and never used, laying unused in the storage room. He remembered that he had tried to put them away but instead had managed to drop them in the middle of the stairs, leaving a massive dent. 

He took a heavy step from the car towards the house, when something in one of the upper windows caught his attention. It almost looked like a very tall humanoid figure for a second, before it disappeared. Whose window even was that? He didn’t have a view from the front of the house so it wasn’t his window, and Parkers was more on the side, so it had to be the storage room. But only he and Parker lived in the house, and they were both outside, so who was inside?

He looked over to Parker, who was on his way to the porch if he saw it, but when he looked up again the only thing he saw was the reflection of the street lamp behind them and the trees. He must be imagining things after what happened earlier in the evening. The pictures of the girl’s brother were still haunting him behind his closed eyelids, so maybe his tired mind had managed to bring it to life in reality too. He shook his head and followed Parker to the door, which he now had unlocked and was holding up, waiting for him to walk through. 

He shuffled out of his shoes and hung up his gray jacket. It had some odd black stains, probably from the weird black stuff the brother had had laying around in his room, and it had somehow made contact with his jacket. Well, rather his jacket than himself, so maybe it was for the better. Who knew what would happen if you touched that..stuff.  

The second they stepped into the house they could both feel the exhaustion catching up to them. Despite that, Chester insisted he couldn’t go to bed feeling hungry. So while Parker made his way to the couch to instantly pass out, Chester walked into the kitchen to make dinner for the two — or at least an attempt at dinner. The last recipe he remembered following was his mother’s when he was 12. Actually, “remembered” was a stretch. If the obnoxiously loud bangs and slams in the cabinets weren’t enough to wake Parker up, the burnt odor certainly was. 

“What the hell is this?” Parker murmured, clearly not entirely awake yet. 

“Dinner!” Chester exclaimed happily, bringing Parker a plate of what could be burnt chicken and undercooked rice. 

Parker grabbed the plate from Chester, placed it down onto the granite countertop and stared at it for a while. 

“I’m not eating this, dude,” Parker chuckled and finally looked away from it.

“What? Why not?” Chester replied, suddenly a betrayed undertone to his words. 

Parker turned around, ran a hand through his hair and over his eyes and slowly made his way up the stairs, obviously still giggling over Chester’s attempt at dinner. 

“Goodnight, Chester,” he said, not too loudly, at the top of the stairs.

The house was silent enough that Chester could hear Parker’s bedroom door close upstairs. He sighed and made his way to the plate he had made for Parker, tasted the chicken but had to immediately spit it right back out. Well, maybe he could go to bed hungry after all.

“Goodnight, Parker,” he whispered underneath his breath before making his own way up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He spent the night turning and twisting, seemingly unable to wind down. It was hard to differentiate his growling, dissatisfied hunger and the anxiety nesting inside of his gut. They both shared the same endless and unfinished sensation. Chester’s natural instinct was always to flee when he got into uncomfortable situations, but when the uncomfortability was inside of himself, it wasn’t quite as easy. His eyes were no longer even closed, the darkness of his four walls were enough to create the illusion of it. He stared, infinitely up at the ceiling and thought; I can deal with hunger. I’ve dealt with hunger before. It’s not dangerous to be hungry. People are hungry all the time. I’m just hungry. It’ll pass. 

Will it pass? His perspective flipped. Would the anxiety ever pass? Would he ever be able to sleep comfortably after everything he had been put through together with Parker? Was the gnarling feeling in his gut really hunger, or was it the leftovers that got left with him as they went home from their clients’ houses and had to accept the defeat they knew all too well? The lack of closure they just had to deal with and be expected to move on from. Would it ever leave his system? He sat up in his bed suddenly, his head disappearing in the pale darkness. The moon’s reflecting light shone through the gaps of his closed windowsills, leaving tiny, tiny freckles of light all over Chester’s room. The freckles were enough to give him a headache, and he slammed himself right back down onto his mattress and forced his eyes shut until, eventually, he fell asleep.

—

When Chester woke up the following morning, after a night full of philosophies and endless hunger, he walked out into the kitchen - desperate for breakfast -  to see that Parker had beaten him to it. 

“Morning,” Chester murmured. He could feel a migraine starting to form up in his head from the few hours of actual sleep he had gotten, not to count the restless hours where he hadn't been able to stop thinking and thinking and thinking.

No response except a slight nod. He opened up the fridge and stepped into the cool air to let Parker pass behind him, before grabbing his orange juice and putting it down on the counter. There were still a vague scent of something burnt in the air from the day before

Parker was busy scattering around the cabinets, obviously in search of something. 

“What are you looking for, bro?” Chester asked with genuine concern as Parker’s shaky movements only kept going. He reached out for the cereal standing right beside the microwave. He also got a bowl from the cupboard above it while he waited for Parker to answer. 

“The fucking toaster, man. Did you hide it or something? Is this another one of your stupid pranks?” Parker kept searching as he was talking, not noticing the look on Chester’s face.

“Dude, what? No, I haven’t touched that toaster in forever. Why do you just instantly blame me when you don’t even-”

Parker cut him off.

“Right. I’m sorry.”

Parker finally stopped for a second and leaned against the counter, eyes closed in frustration. 

Chester finished pouring the orange juice over his cereal and picked up the bowl, deciding on eating in his room instead. 

Chester turned away from Parker and made his way out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, making sure his steps were louder than what was needed, and opened up his bedroom door. He sat down at the desk and started eating his breakfast. He caught eye contact with himself in the small mirror sitting on the corner of the desk and realized he had forgotten his sunglasses. 

He got up and walked over to his bedside table and picked them up, running a hand through his hair before putting them on. His hair felt greasy and stiff, he had probably gotten something in it yesterday... He pondered over showering, and another hand through his hair made him turn over towards the dresser and rummage through the drawers for new clothes to wear, and that made him realize that he probably should get to doing his laundry soon, if he didn’t want to wear dirty clothes, which he’d rather not. He had just been too busy with... the other things that were happening to think about something as mundane as washing his clothes. He picked out a plain t-shirt, his favourite sweatpants and a pair of new socks. 

He left the room with his clothes in his arms and made his way through the hallway towards the bathroom. It was filled with pictures from their high school through college years, some just a blurry mess of what could be a party, a groupie on their favourite beach back in Portsmouth. It was quite some time since they got out of the house together and did something that wasn’t visiting the random people contacting Parker. And he would much rather go to the beach than one of those... demonic houses. 

Chester didn’t think their trips affected him, but they did deep down. He was so used to putting on a strong facade in front of Parker, he didn’t have time to properly digest what it was they were actually doing at those houses. It was terrifying, but he couldn’t accept that it was. He had to push through, for if the pair didn’t go to those houses, what did they even do together?

He thought back to the time before they moved in together. They had been friends since forever, met in school and continued hanging out long after it, but it was like their silent NDA finally got through when they got into the same college and became roommates. Living with each other was so different in a way, they learnt how to communicate even when neither of them were in the mood. They seemed to have lost that skill with time, though. 

Life was so much easier back then. They hadn’t started, or even thought about this shady side hustle they currently had going on. Parker had always been on the more explorative side of things though, so maybe Chester should’ve seen it coming when his roommate dug up the ouija board for the fourth time that week, whispering because it was a school night.

Once they both got out of college they had already gotten so used to being around each other so they got a tiny one-bedroom apartment together in the midst of the busy city because it’d be cheaper. They lived like sardines for a good while before eventually craving a change.

Chester felt more and more grateful every day for being able to find this house they lived in at the moment. It was definitely way more spacious, but also way further from the city. The closest store was at least 30 minutes away by car, therefore he’d always make Parker go. He liked it this way though, being able to have a clear view over the fields and the nearby forest through his bedroom window. Speaking of, when was the last time he cleaned that? Maybe he should get some cleaning supplies from the bathroom right now and —

— He looked down at the pile of clothes in his arms. Right, he was going to have a shower. 

—

He almost crashed into Parker, who was on the top of the stairs. Chester swallowed, but didn’t say anything, he didn’t really have anything to say so he just stared at him, waiting and kind of hoping Parker would have something to say, to ease the tension since their argument in the kitchen.

He stared right into his dark, brown almost black eyes, like two pits you could fall into and fall forever. But now that he actually looked, his eyes almost seemed soulless, and he had big eyebags under them. Not like he didn’t use to have eyebags, it was something he had had since around college maybe, if Chester remembered right. Chester wasn’t sure if they were real or if he used makeup to achieve that look, and he hadn’t dared to ask. But this morning they were looking different from the other days, or at least he thought so, not like he had Parker’s face memorised. Maybe he was just tired from his restless sleep and his brain made him see things.

“I’m going to take a shower, just so you know,” he finally settled on saying since Parker hadn’t said anything yet, and he was unsure of how long he had been staring and thinking about how different Parker looked. 

“With your sunglasses on? You know we're inside right,” he muttered, and Chester felt his anger rise a little. Sure, it was fine that Parker was angry about whatever had happened with the toaster that must have absolutely ruined his breakfast, but bringing up his sunglasses, when he knew why he wore them was not. Parker had been his friend for longer than he hadn’t, and Chester couldn’t really remember a time before him, so he knew the whole story and probably even more about Chester and his sunglasses. So why he continued bickering about them was something he didn't understand.

“Okay, dude, that's just a low blow,“ he rebutted, “why do you always do this? It’s getting tiring, Parker.” He said his name like an insult. “Why can’t you ever just speak to me, because I get that there’s something other than my glasses gnawing at you. Why can’t we just talk—” 

“—Well, I’m sorry that I actually want to see your face once in a while without your stupid sunglasses, which by the way make your face look small! And if you talked to me instead of running away then we wouldn't be here!” Parker scoffed, taking a step up and throwing his hands out, like to gesture to where they were standing.

Chester crossed his arms, or tried to with the clothes he was still holding. His throat was closing up, he really hated when Parker got like this. 

“You were there. You know why I don't like going without my glasses,” he forced himself to say, before he pushed past Parker and descended down the stairs, avoiding the dent from the weights. Down in the hallway he made a quick twist of his heel and opened the door to the bathroom to his left.

—

He put his clothes down on top of the toilet lid and sunk down to the floor, hugging his knees close to his chest. His pulse was drumming through his head, and he was short of breath. He sat on the cool tiles for some time, calming down and regaining control over his body. When he felt okay enough to stand he used the toilet for support to get back up, before he turned over to grab his towel when the bathtub caught his eye.

It was an ordinary white bathtub, with a shower curtain that had seen better days and a plastic shelf with Parker’s beloved hair products that he was forbidden from using. But that wasn’t what he noticed, no, it was the weird black sludge in the bathtub that he found unusual. He was pretty sure it wasn't meant to be there. He stood frozen before deciding on what to do.

“Parker!” he shrieked against his will, churning at the thought of looking Parker in the eye again after their conversation, and looked back towards the still slightly open bathroom door. He took a deep breath and screamed for Parker again. This time he heard some rumbling and footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Dude. What do you want?” he asked curtly, not happy about being interrupted in his post argument sulking so soon.

“Have you done anything to the bathtub?” he questioned, pointing to the black sludge. 

“What do you mean,” Parker started, stepping inside the bathroom and peeking down into the bathtub. When he spotted the black sludge he immediately drew back. 

“Eww, dude what is that? Are you still trying to prank me or something?” he made a disgusted face and stared at Chester pointedly. 

“No bro, I just wanted to shower!” he argued back, his arm still pointing towards the sludge in the bathtub.

“Yeah sure, just know I don’t find it funny. You’re just making a big inconvenience by taking the stupid toaster and now putting whatever that is in the bathtub??” he exhaled angrily. 

They didn’t usually argue this frequently, but Parker seemed to be in a really bad mood and Chester was tired of just ignoring the jabs he made about him. 

“I swear, I haven’t touched that thing!” he insisted, a confused look on his face and a slight break in his voice. Why would Parker think he put black sludge in the bathtub just because he thought it was funny?   

Parker sighed and turned towards the door.

“Whatever, have fun showering in that,” he spat out before walking out of the bathroom and pushing the door closed way harder than what was needed. Chester stood there frozen, unsure of what he would do now. They had a second bathroom upstairs, but someone had to clean up the weird substance in the bathtub, and if he didn’t do it now he was sure Parker would make him do it later. 

So he let his arm fall back to his side before he stepped towards the sink and opened the cabinets under, which were filled with a bunch of cleaning stuff. He grabbed bleach and a sponge and walked to the bathtub. Hopefully he’d be able to wash it down the drain. He grabbed the shower nuzzle and turned on the water. The weird sludge slowly disintegrated under the stream of water, and followed the water down the drain. Some of the bigger clumps got stuck before falling apart even more. It was such a weird consistency, and made him want to gag. 

While he washed the remaining sludge down the drain and started cleaning up the slight mark it had left, he reflected over the disagreement. It had become something of a regular thing now, that they argued. Not every day, but once or twice every week they had some small conflict that sometimes escalated to something bigger. 

Chester hated fighting with Parker. Ever since they were in school, Chester hated the fights more than anything else. He felt as if Parker didn’t even care about how the arguments made Chester feel, and he didn’t feel it was necessary to bring it up once more, since he already knew what would come out of it. Another argument.

Sometimes they were happy, talking and joking with each other without arguing, but those times came and went, and right now it was like they were at the bottom of the rollercoaster, and Chester hoped that meant they’d be going up soon. 

The mysterious emails that Parker kept getting sure weren't helping either. Chester didn't even know why or how they even started. Some random evening many years ago, Parker had shown him his computer where some girl named Kenzie asked for their help with a stalking problem. 

Why she thought that they would be able to help was also a great question he thought about sometimes, and especially how she even got Parker's email address. It's not like he's handing it out and telling people they know how to deal with demonic things or something. And the even greater question was why they actually went there. 

And ever since that forsaken night, they kept going out to people's houses and “helped” them with their problems. It had probably been going for around 6-7 years. If they had just stayed home that night, maybe they would be something else, maybe he would’ve successfully graduated and had a good job, but since they were going out every third evening or so, he hadn’t really been able to prioritize studying. When he had any free time, Parker would come up with something else they had to do to prepare for the night time someone contacted them or some weird challenge for the youtube channel he thought would become a big hit. Spoiler alert, he gave up after a few videos. 

Chester didn’t really know how Parker managed to study for their exams during that period of time, or if his parents had paid someone to do his tests for him or whatever, cause he didn’t bat an eye when Chester complained about having to study. But whatever, he didn’t like thinking of the past, it was done and over so he might as well focus on the things he had ahead of him. And they had ended up doing this, whatever you would call it, job, hobby. 

Chester was pretty sure they didn't get paid for it, since their clients, if you could call them that, usually… disappeared. But Parker had randomly suggested they bought a house a few years in, so he must be getting money from somewhere. Maybe they paid beforehand? Well Chester sure wasn't getting any money from it, which he definitely should. He had been strangled, thrown around and kind of kidnapped by strange… beings… an amount of times a normal person would probably be concerned about. 

But he was alive now, and that was what counted, wasn't it? He finished up cleaning the bathtub by giving it a rinse, and put the cleaning supplies back. He didn't really feel like showering there anymore though, so he took his clothes and towel upstairs and finally got to wash his hair. 

—

While scrubbing the shampoo into his roots, he accidentally elbowed the shelf with Parker’s upstairs hair products. With a loud bang, they fell down into the bathtub and like a pendulum, they swung back and forth in the middle of all the foam from the shampoo until finally stopping and letting Chester regather his breath. His heart was all of a sudden in his throat, and he felt as if he needed to sit down for a moment. 

He didn’t think it would catch up to him.

Chester hadn’t told anyone about the nightmares haunting him at night. He had the most vivid dreams each night, of ungodly and demonic creatures, but he couldn’t admit it to Parker. He couldn’t let his facade down. They were seeping into his everyday life, with him seeing things from his dreams around the corners and jumping at every slight sound. 

All of the helpless times he’d had in his dreams, with loud bangs and distorted faces hunting after him night after night, something simple as knocking bottles over scared him this badly. And he knew this wasn’t the only time that he had such a big reaction to something small, it happened quite often. Parker coming into a dark room usually got him at least twice a week, the microwave beeping when it was finished, almost every time, slamming car doors, that one step in the stairs that croaked. He wasn’t just terrorised in his dreams, it was everywhere. 

But instead of talking about it, he took a deep breath and continued rinsing out his shampoo. Just after restoring the state of Parker’s hair products. 

—

The following night Chester was in the kitchen, looking for a midnight snack. He hadn't dared to eat when Parker had been making food so he had gone without dinner. It happens from time to time. He wasn't really a master chef so Parker mostly cooked their food, and when they had argued it didn't really feel like he could just stroll down into the kitchen and eat dinner with the probably still fuming Parker. 

So here he was, going through their freezer in the hope of finding some ready made meal to just microwave or something. After no luck and mostly frozen vegetables and weird stuff that definitely wasn’t food that Parker kept in the freezer, he got to the last box in the freezer where he found an opened package of pop tarts. 

Those would do, definitely not the most nutritious dinner but he wouldn't have to go to sleep hungry. He took out two pop tarts and laid them down on the counter, he turned over and got out a plate and ripped up the packaging. He grabbed the frozen pop tarts and walked over to the toaster and put them in. But he didn't, because the toaster wasn't there. Right. 

That was what Parker had been looking for before. He had probably rummaged through the whole kitchen, and still hasn't found it so there was no chance that Chester would be able to. He sighed, picking up the pop tarts again and putting them down on the plate.

He pondered for a moment before opening another cupboard and taking out a glass. He took it with him to the fridge and opened it, looking over his drink options. An old cola that had probably lost all the fizz, milk, some energy drink Parker had bought and insisted was good, a few orange juice bottles and some light beer. He reached out and grabbed the almost empty orange juice bottle and poured the last of it in the glass. 

He washed out the empty bottle and tossed it into the recycling bin, and then walked up the stairs with his fabulous dinner. He luckily had left his door cracked open so he could push it open with his foot and put down the plate and glass on his desk. He grabbed his laptop and shut his door on the way, sitting down and turning it on. 

The laptop started on a recent article about a girl disappearing, the same girl they had talked to just a few days ago. He felt his shoulders tense, he wished they could do more to help the people reaching out to them, but whatever they did it almost always seemed to end in a tragedy. 

He shook his head, opening a new tab before closing down the article. He clicked over to the new tab and opened the saved site. The Movie site loaded up before him, and he scrolled through the episodes. It was some time since he had been able to watch ‘That’s so Raven’ but he still remembered which episode he was on. He glanced over the words of the description of the last one, not that he could understand it but he probably got caught up.

He slowly chewed on the half frozen pop tarts and drank his orange juice while watching how Raven got caught up in yet another problem. Soon the food was long gone and the last drops of orange juice left in the glass, and Chester had moved to the bed. 

He yawned and considered getting up and brushing his teeth, but the heaviness behind his eyelids got him to sink back into the warm comfort of his bed. He tugged the blanket over himself and paused the show, turning off his laptop and pushing it towards the bedside table, hoping that it would make it. Which it seems to do since he doesn't jump over the loud bang it would make if it fell down instead.

Chester pushed down his head into the pillows, the frames of his glasses digging into the side of his face reminding him of their existence. He grabbed them and laid them down beside his pillows and turned over, dragging the blanket a bit farther up his neck. Soon he was slipping into sleep, his body finally heavy and tired. 

Chapter Text

A few days passed, and the tension eventually lightened up. Parker spoke to Chester again, not only when he absolutely had to. They both knew these fights were ephemeral, but so was the peace.

“Chester!” Parker called out from his bedroom. He was pacing back and forth, waiting for Chester to come. He sure did take his time, before Parker could finally hear his steps coming up the stairs.

“Did you do this, dude?” Parker pointed his entire hand towards his walk-in closet, and at first Chester seemed confused, but as he stepped closer, his face drooped in realization. 

Black sludge all over Parker’s closet. 

“I’m seriously tired of your goddamn pranks all the time, Chester!” he shouted, his eyes red in anger. 

“Bro! I didn’t do this! It’s that exact same black slimey stuff that I found in the bathtub last week. You have to believe me, man.” Chester desperately tried to seek eye contact with Parker, but he avoided it. He instead turned over to the black sludge and pointed, before looking back at Chester. He was watching him with a concern not very well hidden on his face, before he inhaled. 

“Are you ok—”

“—Yes! Stop trying to change the subject!” Parker cut him off once again, almost like he knew what Chester was going to say. “If you didn't do this, who did?” 

Parker tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes digging into Chester’s. He didn't get why Chester was asking him how he was doing all the time, it's not like he looked ready to fall over into his grave, right?

“Dude, I don't know. Surely it can't be that same substance from that girl’s house we went to,” Chester said, his voice slowing down in realization by the end of the sentence. Parker stared right into his eyes, his shoulders held tense.

They went quiet. Chester was rocking his body on and off his heels, something he did when he was nervous. Parker broke the tense eye contact and looked into his closet once again.

“Whatever it is, we need to clean it up,” Parker sighed. He really didn't feel like doing that right now, especially not this early in the morning, but it's not like he was gonna leave it there to dry or whatever happened to it when it was left out. So he ordered Chester to go downstairs and get the cleaning supplies.

As Chester was going downstairs, Parker started moving stuff out of the way so they could get rid of it without anything else getting dirty. But it didn't take long before he could hear Chester shout his name. He sighed and threw the last of his clothes on the bed before hastily walking downstairs to see what he wanted. 

Turns out the black sludge was in every little crevice possible, because Chester had just found more in the kitchen, and when they went to check out the living room it was there too, and also in the guest bedroom, even the whole bed was absolutely full of it. So Parker and Chester had no choice but to spend the next few days deep cleaning the house. 

It’d be a lie to say they enjoyed cleaning, but they somewhat enjoyed the quality time that came with it. The self-sufficient silence wasn't as tense as the ire silence. 

—

One day — after they had just finished cleaning out the kitchen — Parker was just picking up all the leftover cleaning products to move to the guest bedroom, when Chester poked him in the arm.

“Hey dude, do you know the opposite word to soft?” he asked, and it almost seemed like he was struggling to keep himself from laughing. He was holding a book, like he was actually reading it. But he was very much holding it upside down, something Parker didn't comment on.

“Why? You don't know how to read dude,” he replied dryly, eyes pointed at the book in his hands. 

“What! Can't a man just be interested in.. the an..ant..ith-ethis of the word soft?” he replied back, seemingly proud of himself for using such big words.

“How do you even know that word? It seems way out of your league," He rolled his eyes, unsure why Chester had asked him about such a simple thing that he could just look up himself. 

“Can you just answer the question!” he exclaimed. 

“Sure. Is it the word hard you're looking for?” he was met with a firm head shake from Chester. “Okay. Firm?” Another headshake. 

“No, more like uh the opposite texture!” he further explained.

“Mhm… Rough?” he thought for a moment before saying. 

“Oh sorry, what did you say?” Chester was pressing his lips together, small giggles escaping. 

“Rough, rough like a stone?” Parker hesitantly repeated, wondering what could be so funny.

“Gooood boy,” Chester got out, before he doubled over laughing. Of course. Parker should have seen that coming. He shook his head in disappointment, then walked away without another word. 

He then spent the rest of the day pretending to sulk, avoiding Chester for the most part. He wasn't really angry, just a bit crestfallen that Chester had managed to get him, so now he got the silent treatment.

—

A day later, they found themselves in the kitchen brainstorming what to make for dinner. They were absolutely exhausted after all of the cleaning, but Parker still wanted to cook something that they could actually eat. 

He could also use a shower, but he wouldn't dare leave Chester alone in the kitchen after the last time he trusted him to make their meal. So here he was, supervising and telling him what ingredients to grab. Parker could tell something about Chester’s body language was off, but he didn’t mention it until suddenly he froze, playing with the egg carton before putting it back into the fridge. He spun on his heel around to face Parker. He was sitting on a bar stool so they were about even eye level. If he’d been able to see his eyes that would be. 

“What?” he requested silence, Chester still standing in front of him, not saying anything.

“Nothing.”

Parker tilted his head. “What?” he doubled down.

Chester looked away, started swaying back and forth on his feet, clearly it wasn’t “nothing.” 

“Forget it. What do I grab now?” Chester was obviously trying to get out of this awkward situation he had created.

“You can’t look like that and say it’s nothing,” Parker argued, a snug smile on his lips. 

“Look like what?” 

He gulped. “Nothing.”

“Ah, so now it’s nothing. I see,” Chester laughed.

Parker sighed and looked away to hide his smile. “But genuinely, what?”

Chester froze once again. His hands looked unsteady all of a sudden, maybe Parker should take over the cooking…

“I don’t know. Just thinking.” Chester tiptoed as he got back to cutting up vegetables. “About us.”

Parker’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t what he expected. “What about us?” He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, what about us?” Chester asked as if it was obvious. Maybe it was, and Parker just didn’t want to see it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“—You do know what I’m talking about.” Chester looked back quickly at Parker before turning his back once again and leaving Parker to swallow his shock. It got stuck in his throat though, unfortunately, and he bent over coughing as he tried to get the saliva out of his windpipe. 

Sometimes, when he lies awake in his bed, unable to sleep, he dares himself to think about it. About them. He ponders, questions and demands an answer, but of course, there's no one to give that answer. Parker wasn’t sure if he liked the thrill of that or if he absolutely despised the uncertainty. He had known Chester since forever, he knew everything about him, but he couldn’t manage to figure out how to know himself. Was this all clear to everyone except himself? 

And it’s not like Parker was into boys. He had only ever dated girls, although slightly against his own will. But it’s not like he could say no to Stacy in seventh grade while all her friends were watching. He wouldn’t even know how to date a boy. Why was he thinking about dating boys? He wasn’t like that. He was different. Speaking of different, Chester’s hair looked different all of a sudden. No, was it his stance? No, his eyes. They were looking right at him, almost like he could sense what Parker was thinking about. Well, currently it was his eyes.  They had a special sparkle to them when they weren’t hidden by his glasses. Wait, when did he take off his glasses? How long had he been trying to speak to Parker for? Where were his glasses?

“Where are your glasses?”

Chester sighed. 

“Sorry,” Parker uttered, and he was afraid Chester didn’t get how much he truly meant it. 

It was silent for a second, before they both conveniently coughed to ease the tension. Chester cleared his throat. 

“Do you remember that pan we bought from Ikea that one time, that we never ended up using?” Chester asked, changing the subject.

“Ahem, yeah, I think it might be in the storage room upstairs,” Parker replied unsure, but insisted on following Chester upstairs to make sure he found the pan and didn’t knock anything down in the meantime. When they got upstairs, Chester’s sunglasses were somehow back resting on his nosebridge.

They hadn’t been in that storage room in forever, they barely even remembered that they had it in their house. As they stepped in, they were met by heaps of carton boxes and spiderwebs. The dust made Chester sneeze, and as Parker tried to flip the light switch they found out the lightbulb didn’t work. 

“Great. I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Parker said and hurried into his room. 

—

When he came back, Chester had already found the pan, but Parker could see on his face that something was wrong.

“What’s up?” Parker began, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Parker. Since when do we have an attic?”

Parker didn’t know what to reply, they’ve never had an attic. Right?

“What do you mean?” Parker said, only just now lighting the flashlight and looking around the storage room. 

Chester walked towards the rusty, metal ladder in the far left corner of the room, nearly completely hidden by drawers and boxes. 

“What the hell? Where does that lead?” Parker asked, convinced this was another one of Chester’s pranks, but since Chester insisted that none of the previous inconveniences were his fault, Parker quickly started doubting his suspicion. 

“I don’t know, man. Should I check it out?” Chester asked, and it was hard to see but behind his sunglasses there was a hint of both curiosity and fear in his eyes. 

“Sure… I’ll bring a camera just in case,” Parker stuttered and once again hurried out of the storage room and into his room. 

With his camera held steadily in his right hand, Parker entered the storage room to see that Chester was already a third of the way up the ladder, with the pan in his hand.

“Dude, I don’t think you have to bring the pan,” Parker said, a chuckle hiding right underneath his words.

“What if someone's hiding up here, and the pan is our only way to defend ourselves!” Chester pointed out, holding the pan close to his chest like he had forgotten that he was on a ladder. He lost his balance for a second and flailed around with his awkward limbs before regaining it, taking a few deep breaths and looking down at Parker.

“Hmph. Right, so I think this pan is hindering my climbing ability. I better put it back...” He coughed, acted like it was his idea before he climbed back down and put the pan down on top of one of the drawers.

Parker followed right behind Chester as he climbed up the filthy ladder, and carefully opened the trapdoor at the top of it. The reek that escaped the attic nearly made Parker lose his grip of the camera, but he quickly shook it off and kept climbing. When Chester could finally enter the attic completely and walk a few steps forward, he noticed it was way too dark to see anything.

“Did you bring your flashlight?” Chester rapidly turned around towards Parker, who was closer to him than he thought and he had to take a step back to maintain an acceptable distance. 

“Uh, no.” Parker cleared his throat. “But it should be fine, I have my camera.”

The air in the attic was noticeably much colder than the air in the rest of the house. As they exhaled, you could nearly spot a cloud of vapor. The walls were completely covered by dirty, grey pieces of cloth and there were chains hanging from the strangely placed pillars.

“This is fucking creepy. Why have we never been in our attic before?” Parker voiced, breaking the deafening silence. 

“I didn’t even know we had an attic, dude. Let’s explore,” Chester said and took a step forward, but was suddenly held back by Parker grabbing his arm. 

“No. Let’s go,” Parker ushered. He dropped the camera and his grip on Chester's arm tightened. 

“What?”

“No questions. We need to go.”

Parker climbed down the ladder as fast as possible without falling off, and it took a few seconds before he heard Chester follow. As Chester finally made it down after a much slower descent, Parker quickly yanked at the rope that conveniently hung connected to the trapdoor, that they had somehow not seen. The trapdoor fell down with a loud bang, making Chester jump. Parker's brain seemed to be a bit behind, it took him a second to register the loud sound. He felt the bang reverberate through his skull, almost like a haunting tune. 

They managed to get down from the attic unscathed, except for some cobwebs that got ripped apart from their entering. 

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Chester asked after Parker had slammed the door to the storage room closed. 

Parker didn't respond, instead they both just stood there out of breath. He fiddled with the door handle, unsure of what to do next. That attic had given him some real bad vibes, and he just wanted to get them both out of there, or at least Chester. He didn't want him to get hurt. 

“Are you ever going to tell me what anything’s about, man? What are we about?” Chester suddenly yelled, Parker was not expecting that and flinched at the volume. Parker could almost make out what seemed to be straight up fury behind Chester's sunglasses. Those stupid glasses. 

Parker shook his head. He needed to think. He wasn't usually this impulsive, he did actually think through his decisions and talk about stuff, but their new discovered attic made something in him freeze and just want out. 

He glanced over at Chester before walking off. He didn't know why. He couldn't think of anything to say, so with his adrenaline filled mind the best solution was to leave. He opened up the door to his room and quickly closed it, walking over to his desk and sitting down. He opened a drawer and got out his journal, and dug around in the same drawer to find a pen. 

He thumbed through the pages, stopping when he got to a blank one. Writing was something he had picked up from a past partner, who had done it for mental health reasons, but Parker did it to help declutter his mind. He didn't write every day, hardly very often actually, but it helped him calm down after he and Chester had an argument. Which has become more common these past weeks, so the journal was getting less and less empty pages. 

While he started scribbling down his thoughts and reflections on their newest argument, he heard Chester slam his door on the opposite side of the house. He should probably explain himself to him, but the lack of sleep was making his brain all knackered. 

After he had filled a little more than half the page he felt like he had gotten everything he needed out, he shut the book and put it back in its place. He stood up and stretched his arms, twisting his wrists back and forth. 

He walked over to his walk-in closet, avoiding the small broken pieces of glass that he hadn't bothered to pick up yet. The mirror was turned the other way, or at least what remained of it. He had accidentally broken it one night when he thought he saw something in it, but of course, it was just a trick of his overtired brain. 

But it wasn't like he could help that his brain didn't let him sleep. He usually tried to get some rest but it mostly resulted in him tossing and turning, maybe getting a few hours of fitful sleep but it definitely didn't leave him rested. 

Nevertheless, each night he climbed into his bed and hoped that it was just something his brain had gotten stuck on and finally had let go of. So he grabbed his pajamas, changed, took a pitiful look at the broken and faced away mirror before leaving the closet and sitting down on his bed.  

He sighed and slipped under the sheets, turning over, moving his arms and legs till he found a comfortable position. He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his headphones. He put one in and grabbed his phone, pressing play on the latest playlist he had played. 

He felt the buzzing in his mind slowly disappearing, all his focus on the music in his ear. 

The drowsiness was taking over his body, and he burrowed deeper into his bed. And then he was wide awake. Did something just knock on his window? Surely he was just imagining stuff. But just to be sure, he climbed out of his warm bed and tip-toed over to the window. He pushed the curtain out of the way and looked out. It was dark, a dim light coming from a streetlight down their street, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, when something caught his eye. 

A flash of something dark and long sliding up in the corner of his window. He rubbed his eyes and looked up again, but it was gone. Maybe his lack of sleep was really getting to him. When he was about to go back to his bed he heard a steady knock on the door. He glanced over towards the clock on his nightstand which stated that it was 2:46 am. Who would knock on their door this early in the morning? 

He sighed and gave up on going back to bed and instead cracked open his door and went down the stairs. The streetlight outside shone through the hall windows and made the shadows extra tall and as he slowly stepped down they moved with him. 

He made it to the front door and looked through the peephole to see… no one. Weird. He turned around and looked towards the stairwell, but going back up didn't seem too inviting now that he was wide awake again. So he made his way into the kitchen instead, flicking on the small decorative lamp they had on the counter. 

The lamp flooded the kitchen in a warm yellow light, making the old dishes reflect back from the sink. Parker sighed and opened a cupboard instead, he didn't have the energy to finish those dishes tonight. He grabbed a bag of opened chips, and took it with him into the dimly lit living room, where he was about to sit down when he heard another knock.

“Coming,” he muttered loud enough that whoever was outside their door knocking in the middle of the night should hear him, before he shuffled back into the kitchen and to the hallway. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes before opening up the front door, the cold night air rushing in  and enfolding him. He shivered and looked out on the porch, empty. He took a careful step out and searched for whoever knocked, but there was no one there.

He was about to take another step when his bare foot stepped down on something, he quickly looked down and saw an envelope. He bent down and picked it up, turning it around to see if it was addressed to one of them.

Trevorroad 32 Attic FP

Was written in squiggly handwriting. That was their address, but there was no one in their house called attic or FP, so someone definitely labeled it wrong. If Chester didn't have a secret identity, but Parker was pretty sure he would've found out about that pretty quickly, Chester wasn't really good at keeping things secret. Honorable mention to all the gifts he had spoiled. 

It seemed unlikely that someone just conveniently wrote a letter addressed to their attic, but there wasn't a return address, so whoever wrote this letter surely wasn't getting an answer. Parker walked back inside and closed the front door, locking it before heading back to the kitchen. He put the letter down on the table, if it so happened to be to Chester he could open it in the morning. Now he was going back to his chips. 

—

He finally got back to the living room and sank down in the couch, opening up the bag of chips and grabbing a handful that he then started eating. He scrunched his nose, the chips tasted kind of strange. He lifted up the bag, turning it around to see what flavor.

Corn and roasted onion. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbled to himself, no way that this was an actual flavor. It must be something Chester had managed to custom order or maybe he had reached the end of the dark web and found this. He threw the bag back down on the couch, with the remaining chips before walking back to the kitchen and spitting out the horrible tasting half chewed up chips into the trash. 

He stood back up and turned on the faucet, rinsing his mouth of the taste. He blindly reached up to the cabinet above the sink to grab a glass that he filled with water and then chugged. 

He lowered the glass from his mouth and wiped a drop of water off his chin with his other hand, then he put down the glass on the counter. He would wash it tomorrow. 

He walked over and turned off the lamp, the kitchen descending into darkness once again. He slowly made his way to the stairs in the darkness, holding a hand out to not bump into anything. He was walking up the stairs, stumbling once or twice in the dark before he made it up and made it inside his room, closing the door quietly. 

He turned off the ceiling lamp and climbed into his bed, turning around to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Despite tossing and turning, giving each position a few good minutes to seep in, his mind wouldn’t stop reeling. His left arm was suddenly feeling numb, a reminder to switch positions again. He used it to cover his face for a second, doubling down on the darkness in his bedroom. Why couldn’t he sleep? Why couldn’t he just sleep? Somehow, the thought about sleeping kept him up even longer, and before he knew it, the sun rose outside of his window and he heard a knock on his bedroom door. Three quick taps. Chester.

Parker threw his duvet off to the side of his bed, and stood up to open the door for Chester; he apparently couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. As he reached and tugged on the doorknob, his vision started going on and off. Nothing out of the usual, though. As it slowly came back to him, he could see Chester’s sunglasses fade back into view. His stupid sunglasses. Had he slept with them on or did he just put them on? Had he slept at all, unlike Parker? 

“Hey, who's this for?” he simply asked, holding up the envelope and snapping Parker out of his thoughts while doing so. They had over the years learnt each other's bodily languages, but it was still kind of hard to understand exactly what Chester was looking at sometimes with his sunglasses, even if it was quite clear right now that it was about the strange envelope. 

Parker scanned the envelope up and down, but felt the dark blobs merge back before his eyes, so in a dizzy attempt at staying nonchalant, he grabbed it out of Chester’s hand and sat back down on his bedside. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, if that was to any use. Thinking back at it, he probably couldn’t recognize anyone’s handwriting. Chester didn’t write. 

“Hello?” Chester repeated, waving a hand in Parker’s face as he went to sit down next to him. 

“Sorry, um, who’s this for?” Parker asked, only now regathering his thoughts.

“That’s what I asked you, dude. You don’t know?” Parker could feel Chester’s gaze digging into the side of his face as he studied the envelope, but couldn’t quite pinpoint why, since the tiny bit of Chester he could see in his peripheral view was mostly concealed by his sunglasses.

“No, I’m sorry. Have you opened it?” Parker’s fingers traced the top of the envelope, answering his own question as there was not a single tear in it yet.

Chester shook his head and looked back down at the envelope. “Open it,” he teased. 

Parker shot his eyes up at Chester, to somewhat meet his behind the sunglasses. He didn’t dare keep it that way though, as he quickly looked back down at the envelope and his fingers before Chester could somehow read the sleep deprivation through his eyes. His fingers scavenged through the top of the envelope, the feel of the paper ripping cold and hard on his fingertips. Inside was a letter.

It was folded neatly - almost too neatly - and Parker paused before unfolding it. Wanted to look up at Chester, didn’t. It hit him that the last time he ever received a physical letter was back in college when Chester got grounded and had a mutual friend write Parker a letter explaining why Chester couldn’t return his calls. That dickhead couldn’t even have done it himself. It was different back then, though. The air seemed less heavy than now. You could know for sure that the letter on your doorstep was from a friend, not some creepy stranger. Parker wished he was still as sure now. 

The letter’s material was different from the envelope. The envelope looked store-bought, fresh, and nonsuspicious meanwhile the letter itself looked old, discolored and had a strong scent of something earthy. As it unraveled in Parker’s slightly unstable hands, he was met with nothing but gibberish.

“So? What does it say?” Chester asked, scooting ever so slightly closer to Parker.

He paused. “I don’t know.”

“What? What do you mean I don't know? I thought you said you could read?”

“No, I can read, I just can’t read… this. It’s a bunch of gibberish,” Parker replied, one shaky hand scanning over the letters as if to make sure. Some looked angrier, more rushed than others, and despite not being able to understand what it said, he understood it couldn’t be good. 

“Gibberish?” Chester parroted. “Are you sure? Have you slept?”

Parker made the mistake of allowing Chester to look into his bloodshot eyes for a few seconds too many, and slammed the envelope and letter down onto Chester’s lap as he straightened up and wobbled off towards the bedroom door.

“Yes, I’ve slept,” he gnarled to himself as he made his way to the bathroom, feet dragging across the hardwood floors. Maybe if he said it enough times, he could convince himself, too. “Yes, I’ve slept.”

The face that met him in the mirror looked like a stranger, yet somehow very much like him. Well obviously it was, who else would it be? The pupils in his brown eyes were a tad bit too big to look normal though, and the bags under his eyes were dark and he looked like a dead man walking. 

He quickly splashed some cold water on his face, letting it snap him back to reality and roughly dried it on his towel before standing up straight again. Still the big pupils, eye bags and corpse-like face looking back at him, but maybe if you squinted he would look a little more alive. And since Chester always had his sunglasses it might be the same thing — maybe seeing the world in a darker tint wouldn’t bring Parker’s problems to light. 

He shivered a bit in only his t-shirt and shorts. The house was always a bit cold in the mornings, no matter the season. He scurried down the stairs into the kitchen, where the sun had started to shine in. Chester was already there, looking the same as he had when he knocked on his door with the letter. 

The letter. It was laying on the counter, like any other letter might. Chester stood in front of it, his eyes disappearing into the weird symbols. Like he and the letter had personal beef to settle, a staring contest, one of them without the power to stare back. But it seemed like the letter won. Chester's gaze broke away from the confusing paper and his shoulders slumped. Just then did he notice that Parker was here. 

He suddenly froze up, staring almost right through Parker for a second, before he shook his head and looked directly at Parker.

“You startled me.” He exhaled, letting their eye contact go and walking over to the fridge. Parker huffed an answer, dodging out of the way of Chester who swung his arms around from the fridge, taking out a bottle of orange juice. His weird food combinations made Parker gag, how could anyone even find orange juice and cereal good?

But he had lived with Chester for a long while now, so he was as used to it as you could get. 

He turned away from Chester and his grotesque experimentations and faced the letter once more, getting a good look at it now that he was kind of a little bit more awake than before.

The letter. How could such a small thing make his heart drop to his stomach? What really should make it drop was Chester’s breakfast meals, but he was already desensitized to that, it seemed. He picked up the damned piece of paper and let its ambience dig into his fingertips. He stared at it, like doing so long enough would make the letters magically make sense. 

Brx ghvhuyh qrwklqj. Brx, Sdunhu, ghvhuyh qrwklqj. L nqrz zkdw brx duh. L nqrz pruh derxw brx wkdq brx gr brxuvhoi. L zloo rqob whoo brx wklv rqfh; ohdyh. 

He studied the way in which they were written, seemingly with a charcoal pencil, except for one word in the middle of it all. Sdunhu was written with a brownish, reeking, dried substance that made Parker want to instantly look away, but he didn’t. He didn’t, but in hindsight he wished he had, since the realisation made him instantly drop the letter back onto the counter and stumble back a few steps before locking eyes with Chester. 

“What?” Chester put down his bowl of insanity and closed the gap between the two. 

“Chester. We need to find out what this letter means.” His hands were shaking as he brought one up to his left ear to fiddle with his earring, finding something stable in this horrible roller coaster. 

“What’s wrong?” Chester put his hand on Parker’s shoulder, and Parker dropped his hand back to his side. Something stable. 

“Chester.” He took a deep breath. “The letter is written in blood.”

Chester immediately withdrew his hand and stepped back, his shock not hidden well underneath his shades. His lips curled in an attempt to form a sentence, but it got stuck in his throat. He looked back at the letter behind him and made Parker do so as well. Neither of them moved.

A shallow sound finally escaped Chester. “What?” 

“Listen, we need to find out what it means. Can you do a google search or something? What if it's some sort of code?” Adrenaline made Parker’s words shaky and rushed, but Chester understood him as if it were nothing and hurried to open up his laptop. 

“Okay, okay, okay.” He made an attempt at controlling his breathing. “Here, you search.” 

The laptop slid over the counter towards Parker and he caught it, his trembling fingers making several typos as he found a code decipherer. “Could it be Atbash?”

“At what—”

“—Don’t answer that.” He grabbed the letter to write the gibberish into the decipherer, but to no avail. 

Yic tsesfbs jidpojq. Yic, Hwfmsf, tsesfbs jidpojq. O mjia apwd yic wfs. O mjia kifs wvicd yic dpwj yic ti yicfeslr. O aoll ijly dsll yic dpoe ijus; lswbs.

It made no sense. He tried another one. 

“Pigpen?”

He wrote the same string of letters into another website. Waited for it to load, and it felt like each second that passed equaled one punch to his gut. He gasped as it finally appeared on his screen. It was the same fucking gibberish in another order. He was never gonna get this. 

“Caesar?” He said, almost in a shout for help. 

“Stop saying words I don’t know.” Chester sighed.

“Do you know numbers?” Parker replied, trying to keep his voice steady for Chester’s sake.

“Maybe.”

“Say a number.”

The room went quiet for a while. Surely Chester knew numbers though. Surely.

“Two,” he said and tilted his head proudly, looking for a reaction out of Parker. He didn’t get one. 

Dtz ijxjwaj stymnsl. Dtz, Ufwpjw, ijxjwaj stymnsl. N pstb bmfy dtz fwj. N pstb rtwj fgtzy dtz ymfs dtz it dtzwxjqk. N bnqq tsqd yjqq dtz ymnx tshj; qjfaj. Was the result his laptop showed him. 

“Fuck. Your number was wrong, Chester. I’m making it three.” Parker exhaled, waited for the site to load and when it finally did, his heart skipped a beat and his hands froze, hovering above the keyboard.

“What? What does it say?” Chester edged closer, widening his eyes to match Parker’s. 

Parker wasn’t sure his eyes worked anymore. He wasn’t sure if he could trust them, or if he wanted to trust them. He skimmed over the words on the screen over and over again, just as he had done with the ones on the paper, only these ones actually made sense. Or, actually, that was a stretch. 

You deserve nothing. You, Parker, deserve nothing. I know what you are. I know more about you than you do yourself. I will only tell you this once; leave. 

He read it again. Imagined his name on the screen in red. You, Parker, deserve nothing. He repeated it in his head. Read it again. You, Parker, deserve nothing. He read it to himself until his name didn’t sound like his anymore. You, Parker, deserve nothing. 

“Well? Are you gonna tell me?” Chester was still blissfully unaware. He could stay unaware. Parker spoke before he could think.

“It doesn’t say anything.” A cough. “Just more gibberish, sorry. I think we’re gonna have to continue this later.” He closed the laptop and rose from the chair, avoiding Chester’s eyes. 

“Parker?” Chester’s voice echoed through Parker’s ears as he made his way up the stairs with a firm grip on the railing to distract him from the fact that his knees were shaking and his vision made him see everything doubled. When he got up to the second floor he held onto the walls and let them guide him into his bedroom before collapsing onto the bed. 

You, Parker, deserve nothing. 

What the fuck did that mean? Who the fuck wrote him that letter? Why the fuck was it encrypted? He shut his eyes in an attempt to shut out the headache he could feel coming, but it made no difference. All he could see on the inside of his eyelids was that letter. You, Parker, deserve nothing. 

But it said something else too, didn’t it? Something about leaving? Who would want him to leave? Why? He thought back to every person he had interacted with over the last few weeks — which weren’t many — and tried to figure out if he had done anything to piss anyone off. This must be a prank, right? Maybe it was a fan who was trying to startle them, make a video out of it. Right? He rolled onto his back and stared up at his ceiling. 

As if this couldn’t get any worse, as he searched for answers he only ever got more questions. Why the hell was there black sludge on his ceiling right above his bed? He rubbed his eyes hard enough to make him see rainbows and shapes. It was still there when he opened them. It couldn’t still be there. They deep cleaned the entire house just days ago. Was he going crazy? Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe the sleep deprivation had caught up to him in ways he didn’t expect and he really just needed sleep. He couldn’t remember the last night he got a full night’s sleep. Sleep sounded good right now, but he knew it would be impossible with all this uncertainty circling him. He was suffocating in it all. The black sludge was dripping down onto his face now, but he couldn’t move. It kept dripping. Dripping and dripping and dripping, until everything went black. 

A knock on his bedroom door. 

“Parker? Are you okay?” Chester wasn’t wearing his glasses. When did he take off his glasses? Wait, had he been crying?

Parker sat up and moved his eyes off of Chester’s and up at the ceiling. No black sludge. He took a deep breath in relief and looked back at Chester who was now sitting next to him on the bed. 

“Yea- are you okay?” 

Chester wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve. Broke eye contact.

“That letter was to you, wasn’t it?”

It felt as if time stopped. Parker studied Chester’s swollen nose and red scleras as he tried to come up with an answer. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to read.”

“I know how to read your name.” Chester lowered his gaze even lower, onto Parker’s bedside table now. 

Something about seeing Chester in this state made Parker’s heart ache and he had to swallow back the words he couldn’t be heard saying. 

“I’m sorry. Yes, it said my name. It was for me. But it wasn’t anything bad—”

“—Then why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been up here for two hours, just hiding away from me. I thought we were a team.” Chester’s voice broke as he formed that last sentence, and it made Parker jump. He reached for Chester’s hand, but he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried again.

“You never tell me anything.” Chester rose from the bed and fled out of Parker’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Fuck. Parker fell back down onto his back, eyes on the ceiling once more. Only this time, it wasn’t infected with sludge. Instead of that, it was now guilt dripping down and drowning him. One droplet at a time.