TW : generally a heavy scene, mentions of suicide and abusive situations. proceed w caution!
SEPTEMBER 11, 2019
"You're going to be fine," Angelo said. Shade's hands were trembling. His leg kept jiggling up and down, up and down.
"Are you sure?" Shade whimpered. He could barely breathe. His chest was so tight. He's been like this the entire day. He's been dreading the report cards, dreading the Homeroom period scheduled for the end of the day. The announcement of the honor roll—
Angelo frowned. "I'm sure. You'll be okay."
"What if I'm ranked fifth," Shade babbled. "What if I'm not in the honor roll?"
"You are on the honor roll. Calm down."
Art was looking at Shade with furrowed eyebrows. And even though they haven't been speaking to each other, they still found it in them to say, "Do you want to go outside?"
Shade shook his head violently. "No. No. I'm good. I'm good."
"Are you sure? Kasi it looks like—"
And then Ms. Jean walked in, and Shade was not good. She was carrying stacks of envelopes filled with report cards and certificates.
Shade was about to faint.
"Shay," Art urged. "Tara. Let's go outside."
"We aren't allowed to do that," Shade reasoned. He could barely hear Angelito and Art over the sound of his own heartbeat. It felt like he was swimming. Drowning. Like his lungs were filled with lead. "That'll be considered cutting classes, which is a major offense. If Ms. Baston found out we did that, she's going to kick me out of the honor roll for sure, and she's not going to—"
"Shay," Art said gently, in a voice he hasn't heard directed to them in... weeks. A month. "Having long hair is considered a minor offense. And you've had a mullet the entire school year."
Shade blinked.
"Oh no," Angelito whispered. "Dude, masusuka na ba siya?" (("Dude, is he going to throw up?"))
Art fretted, "Shay, that's not what I meant. I just—"
"Holy shit, I forgot about that."
"But you don't have to worry!" Art put a hand to his shoulder, and it surprised him so much he almost jerked away. "I was just reminding you that Ms. Baston doesn't care about implementing some rules—"
Shade was on the verge of tears, first, because of his report cards. Second, because Art was looking at him kindly again, and that was a lot to take in, and he didn't realize how much he missed it until now—
"Holy shit, should I go to the barber?"
"Shay—"
"I didn't want to cut my hair for a while—"
"I've noticed."
"—because you said that you liked my hair when it was long, but—"
Angelo stifled a laugh.
And at that exact moment, when Art's eyebrows shot up close to their hairline, Ms. Jean called for discipline and order and silence.
Shade's hands trembled. He glanced at Tobi, trying to see if he was just as affected. Just as nervous. But... as opposed to Shade's shaking and trembling, Tobi was relaxed and serene.
Seeing Tobi like that made Shade even more agitated, even more annoyed. Tobi observed Shade calmly, and his bright blue eyes held nothing but silent amusement.
Tobi raised his thin eyebrows.
He drawled, "Nervous?"
Shade muttered, "Putang ina mong gago ka, hayop ka, punyeta—"
Ms. Jean cleared her throat. She looked at Shade pointedly, so Shade grudgingly shut up.
Art put a steady hand on his arm.
"Shay," Art said.
Shade looked at them.
They gave him a smile that was tentative, hesitant.
"You'll be fine," they said. "Okay?"
The certainty in their voice was enough to sway an army. "Okay."
Ms. Jean began babbling on and on about her life story as an average student in her junior high school years. But now she was here teaching great students, yada, yada, yada, and grades don't define you. Grades won't define your future. Grades don't measure your intelligence.
Shade was tempted to believe her.
But—
Step one toe out of line and see what happens to you.
Shade began trembling as Ms. Jean started calling kids on the honor roll.
Binondo, rank ten.
Hernandez, rank nine.
Bautista, rank eight.
"Congrats," Art whispered to Mika.
Angelo was louder. "CONGRATS, MIKA!"
Cruz, rank seven.
Corazon, rank six.
The names melted together. Time melted away.
Shade gnawed at his fingernails as Ms. Jean stopped before announcing rank two. He bit his fingernails until he could taste blood.
Art scooted their chair closer to Shade. Their hand slipped from his arm to his wrist.
"Don't hurt yourself," Art muttered.
Shade kept biting his nails.
"The name I will be announcing is our rank one for the first quarter." Ms. Jean dramatically showed the two envelopes she had in her hand.
"Putang ina," Angelo whispered, "ano 'to? Ms. Universe?"
Art whispered back, "Asia's next top model."
Shade braced himself.
He was on the verge of tears.
He began to taste blood.
Ms. Jean said, "With an average of ninety-eight and nine, I would like to congratulate...."
Art shouted, "Ma'am, bilisan mo!" (("Ma'am, hurry up!"))
Angelo joined in. "Ma'am, ako ba 'yan?" (("Ma'am, is that me?"))
Ms. Jean rolled her eyes, and then she said—
She said—
"Congratulations, Marinova!"
Shade bit down hard on his thumb.
Fuck.
Putang ina.
Art fell silent. Angelo tried to talk to Shade over the ringing in his ears.
"Flo? Flo... Come on, don't cry. Flo—"
Shade kept gnawing at his hands. Art had to stand up and receive Shade's report card for him. He was shaking. It was so quiet. Why was it so silent?
Step one toe out of line and see what happens to you.
See what happens to you.
Shade thought of the scars on his back. Shade thought of a fist in his ribs. In his gut. He thought of a black eye. He—
—could not fucking breathe.
There was a loud ringing in his ears.
There was blood in his mouth from his fingernails.
He could see white spots in his eyes.
And through it all there was—
Art?
"Shay. Shay, listen to me. Shay, look at me. Come on, tara na, let's go—"
He was being guided somewhere by Art. His body was moving. Shade's hands were shaking and trembling. Shade had no idea where he was going. But he has been carried away on his unsteady feet. With his trembling body. He couldn't fucking breathe.
"Come on, Shay," Art sounded so far away. Art's hand around Shade's arm felt like steady ground.
Step one toe out of line—
There was afternoon sunlight in Shade's eyes. There were stairs. There were school trees.
And then there was water.
Shade thrust his hands beneath the cool, running water of the sink.
He watched the red of his blood stain the white basin.
They were in a restroom, far away from most students.
It was so quiet.
There was rushing water.
And swirling blood.
Beyond that—
"I checked your report card for you." Art's voice was distant and far away. "Ninety-six in Science. Ninety-nine in Math."
Shade nodded. His fingers stung.
"One-hundred in MAPEH, Shay." Art poked him in the ribs, even when his chest rose and fell rapidly. "One-hundred in Economics. And in English. One-hundred!"
Shade winced when he touched his thumb. The skin was raw.
And bloody.
"One-hundred in Christian Living Education, too. And you have a perfect conduct grade," Art laughed again, but not meanly. Shade couldn't bear looking at them. "Maybe you should be a priest."
Shade's voice was croaky. He looked at himself in the mirror—bloodshot eyes, blotchy cheeks.
"What's my average?"
Art said, "Ninety-eight and seven."
"What's Tobi's?"
They hesitated.
Shade begged, "Just tell me. Just get it over with."
"Shay, look—"
"Tell me."
Art set their jaw. Shade watched them in the mirror.
"Don't..." Hopelessly, Art said, "Don't take this against him."
Shade's chest tightened. Because of course, Art had to think of him. Of Tobi. Of their golden, tiny Tobi who needed to be protected and coaxed and given affection.
A muscle in Art's jaw flickered. They held Shade's gaze as they said, slowly, "Tobi's average is ninety-eight and nine."
Shade clamped his jaw shut.
He tore his away from Art and put his hands underneath the cold water, quelling the need to worsen the already bleeding skin, so it could match how awful he fucking felt.
There was a ringing in his ears.
The relentless, quick pace of his mad heart.
See what happens to you.
See.
See.
See.
Tentatively, Art stood a bit closer to him.
"You still did well," they said softly. "I'm sure of it, okay? I'm still proud of you."
They put a gentle hand on the lower part of his back, on top of the—
Scars.
Shade flinched away from them violently.
"Shay—"
"Don't touch me," Shade heaved. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't, just wanted to say it's not okay—
Art frowned. "Shay, look—"
They stretched out their hands again. Coaxing. Gentle. But Shade could only think of—of Dad's hands on his back. Helplessly, Shade took another frightened step back as he remembered vividly the red welts on his arms, the dark, purple bruise on his torso, the swelling of his face—
"Don't touch me," he whispered. "It's not okay."
Art said, "It's just two decimal points, Shay. Shay—"
He was angry at Art. Even when he shouldn't have been. But he was angry, relentlessly angry at Art, who coddled Tobi and not him. He was mad at Tobi, who barely made mistakes, who barely had to lift a finger of work, who was so much better, so much more intelligent, and he didn't even have to try—
"It's not okay!" Shade shouted, and his voice echoed around the bathroom. Art stood their ground even when Shade splashed water everywhere. As he felt the urge to break the mirror in front of him. To turn away from Art, who was looking at him like—like they were—
"Calm down—"
"I am calm," Shade hissed. His hands were curled into fists at his side, dripping water and blood onto the tiles. The rage was uncontrollable. Animalistic. Otherworldly— "I am so fucking calm right now."
Art's jaw tightened.
His vision was blurry and dark and unfocused. All he wanted to do was jump off a roof.
But maybe fighting with Art was close to that.
"Tobi deserves it more than me, diba? Because he's better, smarter, and you like him more now?"
Surprised, "What are you talking about?"
"You like him more now, don't you? More than me. Because he's quiet and kind. And—and he understands you more. And he's not fucked up the way I am."
Their eyebrows knitted in confusion, in worry. "I don't know what you're talking about." A fact, no trace of malice, not even a hint of it.
"It—it feels that way these days. It's like you like him more than me. Like you want to be friends with him more now. He's better, he's smarter, he's...."
Shade faltered as Art's face changed.
Shade knew what disappointment looked like on his parents. Their mouths pulled down. Their foreheads wrinkled. Their noses crunched. He's seen it enough times to know exactly what it would be like to look disappointment square in the eye, to face its gaping abyss.
And now, Shade knew what disappointment looked like on Art's beautiful, pointy face.
It hurt him.
More than anything else.
More than a punch ever would, more than a beating.
"Is that... Is that really what this is about?" Art asked.
Shade pressed his lips together.
Art's brown eyes were blazing. "I understand you're angry. I understand you're upset. I would be, too—"
"—Then let me be upset."
"—But you're taking it out on one of my friends, and that's where I draw the line!" Art took a step forward, and Shade did not take a step back. His hands bled. His heart raced.
His chest was tight.
"It's not my fault you're so insecure." Their voice was a whip, and Shade let the lashes rain.
"You don't know what it's like," Shade spat, knowing that he was losing. But he couldn't think clearly, and all he could do was reach for the words he knew would hurt the most. "You don't know what it's like to have your parents' expectations on your shoulders, to wake up every day knowing you can't reach them, all to be beat by some dumb kid who doesn't work half as hard as I do—"
"You're lashing out—"
"They don't hit you!" he shouted back. "They don't hit you. They don't torture you. You don't understand—"
"Then help me understand—"
"You don't know how hard I have it. You have no fucking idea how hard it is to feel like you're going to die. To want to die. To suffer—"
"Take that back—"
"—I want to kill myself—"
Shade faltered.
Art's eyes widened.
A voice that sounded like his Dad's whispered,
Is this what you wanted?
Shade shook his head, trying to dodge, trying to change the topic. "Bullshit. I told you I didn't like him—"
Art's hands were stiff beside them. "I don't have a lot of friends, but I care about every one of them. I worry about them, but not in the same way I worry about you, alright? There's no need for you to be jealous, or to worry because I care about them and you, maybe too much, I know that, so let me help—"
Shade cut in, and he used his voice like a knife.
"Then why are you so hard to be friends with, Art?"
Time seemed to stop, to fall away.
Art was devastated.
"Fuck you," they whispered.
Shade trembled, but he was rooted to the spot, held down by his own mind-numbing rage. The moment he said it, he wanted to take it back. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean any of it. He—
"Holy shit. Fuck you. Fuck you."
And that's when Shade snapped out of his rage. He regathered his strength, regathered his composure, and tried to reach for, tried to say—
"Art—"
They took a mortified step back.
"Alam mo, you're so fucking hard to be friends with, too," they seethed. It looked like they were about to cry. "It's so hard to support you. It's so hard to be there for you. It's so hard to understand you. It's so hard to calm you down, to help you, because every time I do this is how you repay me."
His hands shook violently.
"Tang ina mo," Art hissed, "I'm so tired of you."
Shade said, "Then—"
"Then?" Art was breathing heavily. Their face was flushed. Their teeth were bared.
He didn't know what else to say.
Shade's bottom lip trembled, at the same time a clear, tiny tear slid down Art's cheek. (They wiped it away harshly.) (Their face was red. With anger. With pain.)
"Then leave."
The silence was deafening.
Shade's heartbeat was a deadly rhythm in his ears.
He was hyper-aware of Art's hands. Of their teeth. He waited for them, maybe, to hit them. To punch them. He half-expected them to do so when their calloused, veiny hands began to tremble. When they had to take another step back to reign in their anger, the anger Shade knew they were capable of. Their anger—bright, fiery, and made of hellfire. He wanted it.
Hit me, Shade wanted to say. Fight me, yell at me, don't back down from this. I deserve it. I know I do.
Art shook their head as if they could hear the hollowness of his thoughts.
No. No, you don't.
Art walked away.
They did not touch him. They did not look at him.
They kept their head up when he tried to call for them.
~
There was nothing worse than coming home to see a car parked in the driveway. Especially as he felt the terrible weight of his rank two certificate. Especially as he carried the remnants of his pathetic, broken heart. As he carried Art's crestfallen face behind his eyelids, seeing it in full clarity every time he blinked. He carried Art's fury in his bones, carried the words, and tucked it deep into his chest, where they could live. And fester. And grow. He carried their tear, fed it into the ocean of his bloodstream so that it could spread like poison.
In the middle of all the terrible, swirling pains in his body was Dad's voice, the crack of his knuckles—
See what happens.
He almost didn't see the car at first, his vision clouded by his regrets and grief. But as he stood outside the black, menacing gate, it felt as if... the world had rematerialized in front of him.
Fuck.
There was a massive, pristine BMW.
In the driveway.
Shade froze.
He approached his house cautiously. He opened their sleek, black gate and stood on the well-trimmed green lawn. He looked at the new garden gnomes. And the pink flamingos. (Where the fuck did those come from?)
Putang ina, gago, putang ina, he would have spent the whole day training instead of coming home if he just knew. He should have tired himself at the pool. He would have swum until he drowned. He should have killed himself. To be honest, he should have vanished—
The Mahogany front door was thrown open.
"SHADY!" Mom shouted. She looked at him, with a red wine glass in hand, with a ferociousness he should never have missed—
"HALIKA NGA DITO!" (("GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!"))
- -
oooooh cliffhanger oooooh spicy
what do u guys think of shay and art's conflict? they haven't fought like this since book 1... hmmmm...
fair warning, it only goes down from here 😅
thank you for reading! let me know what u think ❤️
- yana