Hold My Hand [boyxboy]

17:Let Me Fight Your Battles?

Raiden's P.o.v.
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"Isn't it fascinating?" I asked, my eyes searching the horizon for nothing in particular, just taking in the scenery in front of me.

Second time him and I are on this damn cliff. Somehow fate ends up dragging both of us here. Who knows why? Maybe because I was always on edge, but why him?

We were sitting on the hood of his shiny expensive looking car. It was a little windy, chilly and crisp breeze was brushing us lightly. However, I wasn't talking about the scene. We did not have any poetry to recite, or anything to write on our arms. We only had fear.

"what is?" Thomas asked.

"How we're always one second away from death. A thin line separates life from death, and I almost crossed that line today."

"Are you going to tell me why did you almost kill yourself? Don't I at least deserve that?" he asked hopefully. Little did he know that he deserved everything and not only that. "and why were you doing it in your pajamas for that matter"
I totally forgot that I was in my pajamas, which resulted in a barely noticeable blush across my cheeks.

"This is all I have left" I answered, ignoring the first question, hoping he wouldn't press it any further.

"I beg to differ" he said. "you have a lot of stuff left. They don't need to be physical, tangible objects, but l'm pretty sure you have something other than your Pj"

"You went way too deep in this. You know what I meant"

"I know what you mean, I'm just trying to put some positivity in you" but it was like putting all your hopes in a wishing well that is directly connected to hell: it won't get you anything good.

I let out what I thought was a choked laugh "I appreciate it, but it's going to take a lot more than a few positive words to fix the mess I'm in" I said helplessly.

I was a photograph that was ripped to shreds, then soaked in water, then clumped into a chunk of wet ugly ripped unfixable mess.

"So I take it that you're not going to tell me what happened?" like I expected, he brought it up again. The truth is I didn't know how, or where to start. Everything was too jumbled in a dense knot.

"I don't know how to explain, and frankly, I don't know if I want to talk about it with you" I only realized how harsh it sounded after I said it. "I...didn't mean it that way" I said apologetically when I saw the hurt in his features.

"It's okay" he spoke, sounding defeated. His tone clearly implied that he was giving up. I knew that tone very well. "l can't force you to like me the way I like you, and I can't force you to open up to me. I only hoped you'd let me in like I let you, but it's okay, really."

"Thomas, no. I really like you. Really really like you. And that's why I can't open up to you." I knew I sounded paradoxical, and I could tell he was confused by the way his eyebrows arched, against a usually not-so-expressive face.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed, "l don't want to let you in because there's nothing really nice to see. I'm scared that you'd think less of me, and distance yourself, and as pathetic as it sounds, I don't want that to happen. I'm growing fond of your gestures and they make me feel good, which is not something that happens to me often, and I know it's selfish of me, but I don't want that to go.

His eyes gleamed with something I didn't recognize, something good nonetheless.

Pride, maybe? I mean I was surprised at myself that I managed to speak something longer than one sentence without closing up on myself again, and that was only because I was talking to him.