Starts with a Match

Odd Sense of Normalcy

My nightmares aren't as brutal anymore. The night terrors still are, though; demon, always lurking. Shrieking like Sam Hether. Without Toby around, no one's there to keep me from sobbing until I force myself awake.

But the nightmares, of blood and violence and screams. Losing friends and family, feeling Elijah blast apart in slow motion on my back, just to get glued back together again, then I'm the one exploding into pieces—I don't get those as often. Only once every couple days now.

Get new ones. Ones where I'm on the step in the garage, watching Toby packing up the truck. They just keep adding box after box. They never answer me when I ask if they need help, where are they going, can I come. I beg and beg and cry. Take me with you, Toby. They never even turn to look at me. But they never finish packing the truck. I always feel like I've got time to stop them. Can't move my feet from the step.

Started having those first night I was back from the border. Always wake up with a feeling like I'm being observed, poked at, like a rat split open on a table. At least I see Toby in my dreams now. One way or another.

—

Drove a little over the speed limit to get here after Toby texted me, saying they'd be heading back from Maisie's today. Also may or may not have sprinted through the building and into the parking lot, fast as my hobble legs could handle.

Expected smiles and hugs maybe, if I was lucky.

Didn't expect them to be on the counter. Sitting, cross-legged, on the kitchen island with a book—a Catherine Teal book, might I add. I'm on book four. I think I've literally read one book every three days since I got back from the border. Haven't read so much since high school.

"Um...welcome home?" I half-chuckle.

They glance up from their book and present me a smile. "Hiya, Koop! How was your week?"

"Good—the fuck you doing on the counter?" I ask, sitting on the bench to unlace my boots.

"Nothing, reading."

"On the counter."

"It's nice up here."

I smile and toe off my boots, setting them by the bench. Toby's eyes keep darting around the living room. "Are you hiding from something?" I smirk, going over to them. Crossing my elbows on the counter by their knee, I crane my neck up to them. "Did you see a bug? Are you scared of bugs, Toby?"

"A roach," Toby replies. They squint at me, then blow through their lips. "Kevin, it was massive—it was literally the size of my thumb, I don't know where it came from, we keep such a clean apartment, do the dishes. I came home and the door was cracked open—"

"What, really? Which door?"

"Laundry room—

"What—"

"And we keep the windows closed, I have no idea where it went, I screamed and went to look for the vacuum in your room—"

"Don't keep it in there," I reply, chin in my hand, watching them wave about as they talk. Why was the door open? Probably bounced open when I left this morning, it tends to do that when I sleep in too late and am in a hurry.

"Okay, well I don't know where it is—the vacuum, or the bug. I wanted like, like a shoe, I grabbed one of your boots." They lean back and point near the back door, and I laugh at my boot, with what looks like a broom shoved in it. "I was gonna like, like use it to swing with if I found it, but I came back and the roach was gone! Gone, Kooper, I have no fucking idea where it went."

"You had quite the welcome home party. When was all this?"

"Two hours ago."

"You've been on the counter for two hours?"

"I can reach the fridge from here to get water," Toby smiles with a puff of their chest.

I watch them for a split second longer before I shove away from the counter. Don't know when I'd started to lean my face so close to their left. "I'll find your roach and rescue you," I say over my shoulder. Toby squeaks out a 'good luck' and I shake my head and go forth.

This is all so odd to me. Culture shock. Every time I talk to Toby, it's silly problems like infiltration of water bugs and 'where the hell are all our missing socks?' I talk to Jim and it's 'there are things transpiring but I can't tell you over the phone, tell me about everything but the danger we might all be in'. I talk to Don and it's. Well. More a look he gives me now, than conversation.

Out of all of them, I'd prefer killing roaches for Toby than war, for a thousand obvious reasons. This little island feels safe. And fragile as shit.

I find the damn thing in my bathroom. It does not survive a paper towel or getting flushed down the toilet. Sorry, bro.

"You're saved, Fritzy," I smile, reaching an arm out for them. They bring theirs over my shoulders, and I expect to just help them down.

But they hitch their leg up on my hip, squeezing me with their thighs, as they continue to inspect the floor.

I realize I'm holding them with one arm. That's kinda cool. "I killed it, I swear," I add.

Toby hums, unconvinced as they continue to glare at the floor, then ceiling. "Thanks. Thank you, Kev."

"Any reward for your savior?" I blurt, riding the train that tells me this is gonna end with my own hand around my sad dick, cause I didn't jack off for three weeks straight, then Toby left, and I've been reading God forsaken Catherine Teal, and I missed Toby horribly, and now I've got said Toby all up on me.

They look at me then. Sees they're half-climbing me, and smile. They put fingers in my hair, and I get a kiss on my cheek.

They've kissed my cheek before. A couple times, really. But this is...

This lingers. Lips brushing from my cheek to jaw, where there's another kiss waiting for me.

Then they drop to the ground and prance off.

I go for a real fast, angry power walk just to keep from hanging out with my hand in my room while Toby's home.