"Your boyfriend?" Hunter asks tenderly, glancing inside at someone who must be Noah.
Conan wants to shut the door and break down on the floor in tears. What is Hunter doing here? Why is always at the right place at the wrong time? Conan can't believe that he was the kind boy from ninth grade he had once known. Hunter bloomed around him, only to see Conan wilt. He'd told him he loved him last summer and then started dating Alice.
Nothing about that made sense to Conan. Why tell someone you loved them, in a monogamous fashion and then date another? What the fuck did Hunter want from him? Why tell Conan he didn't want a relationship and then expect one out of him anyways? Love wasn't supposed to hurt. And Conan felt choked every time he looked at him.
He knew when to show up, when to prick him and how to manipulate him. He did it with such innocence that Conan ended up blaming himself in the end.
"He is called none of your business," Conan says, sweetness dripping from his tone. Hunter flinches and rubs his neck, balancing the box in his one arm. Conan immediately feels a little bad for snapping at him but then realizes he has the full right to. It's another one of Hunter's ways to make him feel like he was the one at fault. Perhaps he didn't mean to hurt him but Hunter should get by now that perhaps Conan isn't interested in his crumbs anymore. The ending will always stay the same.
"Me and Alice broke up over the weekend and I was collecting her stuff to return, I saw some of yours," Hunter says. He and Alice broke up? The usual Conan would have been delighted. Ecstatic even. He would have been on his knees for Hunt. He is sour now. He doesn't need to know. They aren't friends. They aren't anything and if Hunt is hoping to get a shoulder to cry on, he is going to meet the face of discontent. "Just a jacket and earphones and-"
"Thank you for considering about me now," Conan says, taking the box of things back. His eyes browse over the contents. Half of it is useless and broken. Hunt just needed an excuse to show up. Satisfaction trickles into his chest slowly. Hunt is desperate. Like he had been. He instantly sojourns himself from going there, from even thinking about making Hunt miserable for a second. He isn't like him and he never will be. This shouldn't be a cycle of hate and testing each other. He wants out.
Hunt's blue eyes shine down on him like gem stones scattering the light. "I won't keep you for long. You're clearly more eager to be with your...friend."
"I love how you know me," Conan says at which Hunt winces, barely perceptible. "Bye."
Conan doesn't give him the chance to say bye and instead gently closes the door on his face. He doesn't look at him as he does so, scared his stupid feelings and guilt he doesn't deserve will cause him to invite him in. Not in my household, Conan thinks.
"Day seventy million of wishing I were heterosexual," Conan says out loud. Though he's mostly talking to himself, he sees Noah crack a small smile at that. "When is your mom picking you up?"
"I have an hour to kill," he replies. Conan places the box over the small cushioned seat next to the front door. He wouldn't be surprised if the box stays their till the end of time. Like Pandora's box, he has an inexplicable itch to go through the contents but at the back of his mind he knows that he'll walking down the memory lane. Or he'll end up letting Hunt back in. He doesn't know which is worse.
"I am so tired," Conan says, flopping onto the couch next to Noah. His presence made Hunter being here awkward. As of now, with Hunt gone, Conan wants to curl up on the couch next to him and drone to the pleasing aroma of him. "That was Hunt, by the way."
"Hunt," Noah merely says, as if testing the word on his tongue and that's freaking enough for Conan's tear ducts to betray him. Warm tears threaten to leak from his eyes but he wipes them on his sleeve. If there were a delete button for his life, something he could use to erase every trace of him, he would press it in a heartbeat. "You crying?"
"Almost," the other answers, shocking himself because his voice comes out stronger than he'd expected. "Can I lay my head on your shoulder?"
"Only if I can give you a side hug."
"Come here," Conan says with a watery chuckle. Noah puts an arm around him, holding Conan close to his side. The dark haired boy's heat seeps into Conan's body who feels as though he's been comfortably wrapped in a couple comforters in Alaska's harsh winters. The texture of Noah's thin but soft sweater makes Conan want to press his face his face against it. He still kind of wants to die, just a little less. "I hate him."
"Entirely?" Noah asks. He's rubbing Conan's back in slow circles which he remembers is something that calms Noah during breakdown, as he had mentioned.
"No and that's the worst part," he says, his voice breaking, "He makes me so sad but sometimes- Why tell someone you don't want a relationship but then except one out of them?"
"People are weird," Noah says which about sums it up entirely. Conan buzzes in agreement, shedding a couple tears into what seems to be a very expensive sweater. Noah doesn't mind. "He gave you back your things?"
"Some of it our- some stuff we shared," Conan says, not liking the feeling of calling himself and Hunt a unit. There is no them. "I have ruined your mood."
"No, you really haven't, Cone," Noah says and brushes back a bit of his hair. Conan is scared to meet his eyes and see contempt. He keeps them locked on where they're holding hands. Somehow, watching Noah play with his fingers is more soothing than just feeling it. It gives him a sense of authenticity. The other boy's fingers' fiddle with his sometimes, tangling them or just feeling the rough callouses of his palm. "Do you think you'll be okay?"
"Yeah, I just need to put him out of my head," he says and thinks, which I have no idea how to do. "Anyways, you wanna leave the country and live in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a lot fishes and build our own clan?"
"Sure," Noah laughs, "As long as you give birth."
****
Conan prefers to do his shopping online. Stores inside malls are expensive and often restricted to just affluent things that have little to no purpose. The last time he came to the mall, it was for his step dad's birthday. The girl working at the store had showed him a set of drink mixers made out of crystal with beautiful knob-like structures at one end. Conan didn't have the money to buy them and even if he did, he wouldn't have.
Rich people are so extra, he thinks as he walks the length of the antique store. He had no plans to show up but while picking up the new Lorde album from the record store, he got distracted by the beautiful set of Russian dolls on the window of the antique. He isn't necessarily gonna buy something from the store, just looking. The boy on the counter looks a bit ticked off at him for simply cruising so Conan makes sure not to touch or displace things.
Something from across the store catches his eye and he does a double take, almost knocking over an expensive vase. It's Noah in a small café with ambient lighting, sitting alone on the table and probably going over some homework. It's as if an entire flower garden blooms in his chest on seeing him. He bites his lower lip and sighs, observing him. Conan smiles giddily to himself and decides to spare the boy at the counter his patience and say hi to Noah. Noah, his friend-but-they-kiss-but-not-really-dating.
"Oh fuck-" he crashes into a conversant voice on his way out. He manages not to fall onto the floor but barely. He is knocked into a wall and meets familiar electric blue eyes. "Hi, Conan? Getting someone a present?"
"Hunt," he swallows thickly. He is glad it's not a busy day on the upper floors. "No, I was just looking."
"The other day I saw this small record player that you might be interested in-" he begins but Conan cuts him off by shaking his head. Hunt's eyes fall down to floor as he tucks his hands into his pockets with an embarrassed flush covering his face. "Are you avoiding me? I try saying hi to you at school."
"I am avoiding you. Please don't try to be friendly. It makes you look stupid."
"You know I just enjoy your company," Hunt shrugs, making it sound simple. If only it were so simple. "Besides, I have always been there for yo-"
Conan laughs a little, it comes off as bitter which is exactly what he was going for. "Hunt, if you really wanna be my friend, stop putting me into these awkward positions for god's sake."
"Alright," he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. Conan pities him for a second but that disappears when he says, "I am sorry. I won't try talking to you again. See you around, Cone."
Cone. He called him Cone.
He can either rush to the bathroom and cry. Or he can call Ashley to come over and hold a bonfire in his backyard, burning all pictures of him. Conan picks the latter.
He doesn't know or comprehend that, only a little distance away, Hunt has assimilated a new and softer target.
******
a/n: last time i went for an outright ridiculous manipulator but this time i want to write someone who manipulates subtley and uses a lot of guilt tripping