A/N: sorry for format change, working on some stuff.—Hawk
The next couple of weeks followed in a blur. The duo seemed to melt into a routine, they'd ignore each other most of the week and on weekends get together. They'd do their task with little communication, sneaking off to different storage areas. They'd collect whatever the duo could get their hands on and split up before meeting back at their room.
Before he'd registered it, Waylon had spent over a month in the facility. All without any more interactions from Kian, much to his delight. He'd grown a like to the routine as well, in a strange way it created some stability in his life. When he wasn't with Harlow, he hung out with his friends. Markus was always patient with him and the two had grown closer.
A more unusual development was how close he got with Jay as well. In his old school a guy like Jay wouldn't have bothered speaking with him, but here? Here they had common ground. Mostly over smoking weed. When they had the chance, the two would skip history and share a joint by the bins. Initially they had tried to convince Sasha to join, but the boy was dedicated to his studies.
Jay had told him Sasha actually had pretty big goals for himself, he wanted to be a lot of things. Mostly whatever would make him the highest pay. Jay spoke about Sasha with enthusiasm when he had the chance, convinced that boy could change the world if he wanted to. When that wasn't the topic of conversation the two would go on about life.
They had a lot of common ground when it came down to it, both of them having no idea what they wanted to do with their life.
"Honestly I didn't think I'd be around this long." Waylon had shared quite vulnerably one afternoon.
Jay took a drag while nodding, "Shit man, really?"
"Yeah," Waylon felt his cheeks tinge pink, "I mean I wouldn't tell Markus this, so don't either. But I was sort of self destructing before I got here."
Jay hummed in understanding, "That's tough, I was kinda the same but just more of a messer. Was with some bad dudes before I wound up here." He passed Waylon the blunt, who took a deep drag.
"Can I pry?" He questioned, which prompted Jay to fix his posture in preparation, "How'd you end up here?"
Jay smiled a shit eating grin, "Stole some shit."
"No way, like what?" Waylon was invested instantly, it seemed with Jay he could dip his toes back into old habits. He could spew drama, talk shit and satisfy his urge for rebellion.
Jay ran his hands over his braids, "I stole a couple hundred from my dad. We were arguing and I took his card, just bought anything in my vicinity."
Waylon laughed, "Oh my god? A couple hundred, that doesn't seem too bad if I'm honest." Yeah it was bad, but he didn't think his own parents would send him away for something like that. Waylon's mom would probably just ignore him for a month or have him stay with a cousin. His dad would do about the same if not for a longer period.
Jay shrugged, "Yeah, we'll the fucker took me to court," he took a drag, "he wanted me in juvie but courts were forgiving since I'd just turned fifteen at the time, so I wound up here."
There was still an air of humour, but that vulnerability hadn't left. Waylon could tell on some level Jay was hurt, deep down. He imagined whatever argument had sparked such a reaction couldn't have been light.
Waylon smiled shyly, "Dads, not that good more often than not."
"It's whatever," Jay turned to face his companion, jutting his chin toward him, "What you do?"
Waylon leant back on his arms, in any other scenario he'd have avoided the topic. However, on account of the heart to heart going on and his lowered inhibitions he felt the need to confess, "Don't get too mad? It's not my best moment."
Jay smiled, "what you kill someone?" Waylon didn't find it funny, he couldn't think about his actions in that context lightly. The silence hung to the point Jays eyes widened, "Holy shit did you?"
"No!" Waylon cut him off, sitting up rapidly, "Oh my god, no!" He shuffled where he was sitting awkwardly before breathing deep, "I got a DUI."
Jays eyes didn't drop but his smile did return, "For real?"
"Yes," Waylon groaned, "For real." He picked at the ground while thinking of how to word his next sentence, "I was drunk, and took my dads car. I ended up hydroplaning and wound up in a ditch."
Jays eyes darted around in shock, "Holy shit dude, I'm glad you're okay. I don't even know what to say to that." He was clearly struggling with the gravity of the topic, but wanted to be of some comfort.
"Why'd you do it?" The question was deep, one only his mother had ever asked him.
He shrugged, "I was having a bad night, came home from a friends party. I don't know, I just got fucked up. Wanted to clear my head but..." he fought tears. Waylon remembered the feeling of the crash, his blurry vision. The car had gone in a ditch near a street light and his inebriated mind, he thought he hit someone. The paramedics had pulled him out near screaming, "someone could've been killed."
"Yeah" Jay agreed, "You could've been dude."
The other shook his head and denied his puff of the blunt, "Who cares, my fuck up could've ruined someone's life." He stared at the ground, eyes pulling shut in anger.
"But you didn't," Jay reasoned, "I mean what about your own life y'know?" His voice softened as he spoke, "There's nothing you can do now about it, just try to move on."
"Everyone knows not to drive drunk."
"Yeah, well most people still find a way to suck."
Waylon sucked his teeth, Jays words as slurred as they were right now were resonating. He hadn't really had someone consider him in any scenario let alone in one that was so deeply his fault. It didn't cure the guilt, but it sure did allow more space for himself.
"Thanks Jay."
"No problem."
And that was routine. Almost like a weekly therapy session but done by your teenage friend with the smell of dumpster and weed. The aroma occasionally more impactful than the conversation. The days went by like that. Waylon had managed to open up to Markus about some stuff, but the conversations with Jay were different. He had a way of making people want to share all their troubles in life. The type of person who you could tell would just, get it.
Even in this vulnerability he also found his connections to the others deepening. He learned that Sasha's pushy questioning and sharp tongue actually meant he liked Waylon. If the boy didn't like someone he went dead quite, refusing or unable to even speak. Soon enough the insults felt like a warm welcome to Waylon, and he felt a sense of pride in how quickly the shorter warmed up to him. His eccentric nature was just something you couldn't help but become entranced by, his mind an endless, twisting staircase of absurdity.
Many of the days Markus and Sasha even allowed him to crash in their room. Although a faculty member had told them off for it and kicked Waylon out. They still did it on occasions, it gave him the break he needed.
Markus was good at that, although his verbal skills much like Waylon were lacking—he was a spectacular provider. The guy knew just what Waylon needed and when. Whether a room, a coffee or his favourite canteen snack it always seemed Markus would appear suddenly with it. He almost always stopped by the cafe to get the whole tables coffee and tea orders, just little things like that.
All these things helped lighten the burden Waylon carried on his shoulders. The weekend nights when he'd sneak out with Harlow. So far all the work he'd done had been just stealing contraband. They always did a Friday and sometimes the weekends. Harlow had put his number in Waylon's phone, and all he'd get were messages of when and where. He was at his beck and call.
He couldn't complain. Unsure of how but in the past weeks Kian had avoided him, not once more was he ambushed or isolated even when on his own. He also noticed neither did anyone else, now that he didn't know the root cause of. It could of been Kian or Harlow warding off the bathroom posse, he hoped it was Harlow doing so. So he avoided thanking him directly, in fear that he would confess that benefit was not his doing—confirming that Kian was still interfering with him from the shadows.
It was all routine until a quiet Wednesday. Harlow hadn't had his morning chat on the phone, which normally meant it would be a bad day. So Waylon headed out early, they never worked together on a Wednesday anyway. He would avoid the bad mood if he could, because Harlow had a habit of taking it out on the nearest thing in his area. Since Harlow had pinned him, the guy hadn't gotten physical once or really that verbal besides little insults. However Waylon wasn't going to test fate, he'd since seen Harlow break school property in anger. Windows, chairs, he'd done it all. Never to his own stuff of course.
Waylon had been sitting in class zoned out when his phone buzzed, he glanced at it in his jacket pocket and recognised the number immediately.
"Sir, can I go to the toilet please?" He asked the teacher, who only grunted in response and Waylon took it as a yes. He found a bathroom with a small amount of stalls and checked his messages.
'Meet me at the storage unit. Answer me when ur otw.' Blunt as ever, Waylon quickly messaged back and began making that way. The halls were mostly empty, due to class being in session only those with free period roamed with him. He felt off about the whole scenario, what could Harlow possibly want now?
When he reached the unit the door was open with Harlow leaning on the frame facing away from him. He was saying something into the dark before Waylon cleared his throat. The chatter silenced and like a snake Harlow slowly turned around. He nodded at Waylon to step past him. As he looked beyond Harlow's bulky form he saw just what, more so who was receiving the previous chatter. It was one of the bathroom guys. The youngest one, who hid in the toilets before the group was caught.
Waylon's throat was caught, he quickly glanced at Harlow in hopes of him understanding. In response all he got was a shove to get inside. Before Waylon could question what was going on Harlow continued speaking.
"My rates are set, I don't debate prices." He spoke flatly, looking bored.
The younger across from them seemed nervous but swallowed it down, "All I'm saying is that Lee won't pay your current rates, he doesn't want to lower them just..." he shuffled on his feet, "come to an agreement on other services he can provide in exchange."
Harlow cocked a brow, the one he always raised when his nerves were at him. Waylon muttered under his breath about what was going on, but Harlow just released a low sound to shush him. Then he cracked a smile and a deep laugh echoed in the dark room.
Waylon startled when a heavy arm draped over his shoulder and pulled him in, Harlow had thrown his arm over him. He threw a puzzled look at the taller who smiled like a man who just won the lotto.
He used his other hand to pat Waylon's chest, "You remember my buddy here right?" He said to the kid, meanwhile Waylon frowned feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He felt embarrassed about having that whole event be brought up.
The kid looked equally uncomfortable and just nodded meekly.
Harlow leaned into Waylon, clearly playing up how buddy buddy the two were. He could feel sweat form at his brow from how warm Harlow felt, "You remember what your buddies did to him right?" He sounded pissed, words seething out his teeth. Each word was punctuated by a small shake to Waylon's shoulder, as Harlow's arm caged him in.
This time the kid spoke, "Not really, I don't remember much."
Harlow snapped, "Yeah neither did fucking Waylon from how you lot got him sick." He couldn't understand why Harlow was so passionate in this conversation. More so why he acted like he cared.
He grabbed the kids shirt and twisted it to pull him in, his smile was gone now. All that was left was bared teeth and seething eyes, "I don't want to do business with your freak fucking friend okay?" He spat. Sounding pretty brutal, Waylon flinched away a little himself.
He turned to Waylon, "Right? We don't really want that kind of association do we?" Waylon just nodded, feeling like he was in trouble as well for something.
He dropped the kid who agreed frantically, before dashing out to inform the rest of his group.
The room was dark and cold, except for Waylon. Who was still under the warmth of his taller counterpart, the blondes head turned to watch as the kid ran off. He tutted under his breath as a smile returned and pulled at the corners of his mouth. Waylon was in shock.
Eventually Harlow pulled off him, and sat on an empty milk crate.
Waylon spoke up, "Why did you call me here?" He ushered out. His hand clenching and unclenching.
Harlow raised a brow, "That guy has been on my case for ages now about doing business," he spoke like it was obvious, "When you offered to do whatever I knew I could use you to make him fuck off."
Use you.
"Okay," Waylon breathed through his nose, "Why do you need to call me here?" He wasn't happy with Harlow's answer. In fact he wasn't happy with whatever had just gone down. That feeling of disgust from the bathroom hadn't left him since that day, and all those feelings just came rushing to the surface. All the anger he hadn't been able to defend himself with, that was stolen from him.
Harlow shrugged and pulled out his phone, "Knew the kid would recognise you," he began scrolling on something random, "Figured if he thought we were friends he'd get the message."
"Why the fuck would you do that?" He spoke without thinking but also without care. Waylon couldn't handle this, he thought being on Harlow's side meant avoiding this kind of situation. Instead that whole experience was exploited for what? Some drug dealers business?
Harlow's face dropped and he stood up threateningly, "Who do you-"
"No," Waylon's hands shook with anger as he spoke, tears rimming his eyes, "No fuck you, why the fuck would you do that?" His voice broke. At that Harlow took a step back, his eyes widened in surprise. He didn't respond, so Waylon continued.
"There's something wrong with you," he sobbed now, "Seriously fucking wrong!" It must've been his boldness that gagged the taller male, because he made no move to fight it when Waylon shoved him to walk out. He felt stupid, really stupid. Whatever they had going had been survival, stable, at the least respectful. Both of them stayed out of each others business unless they had to be together.
Yet here Harlow was, pulling him out of class to shove him in a dark room with one of the guys who'd tried to...
He still couldn't stomach the thought and wanted to vomit all over again. Then maybe, just maybe the pit that sat in his stomach constantly would come out as well. For a moment Waylon had convinced himself that Harlow cared to some degree. They're bickering at times could be jovial and they could form a relatively strong schedule with one another.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Waylon wanted to bang his head on a wall, or crawl into bed and never wake up. He genuinely thought that night at the party was the lowest he'd been in his life. That he could never feel as bad as he did being pulled out that car. In some way he felt silly, how could something so small affect him way more than crashing a car?
Waylon was back in his room, already decided on skipping the day. Which was a shame, he'd started to settle into classes. He even managed to have some decent conversations with his mom, all of this though was burdened with the fact he just couldn't tell her. It seemed only one person knew about what happened in that bathroom except for him, and it just so happened to be the biggest asshole he'd ever met.
He wanted everything to just stop. Maybe this was his punishment, for putting people in danger. For not appreciating this life. Like some prolonged saw trap with no way out.
Most days he struggled to even look at his own body anymore. Every time he did all he could see was their hands. When he made it back to his, he flopped onto his bed. The covers were pulled over his head and he sobbed. He let himself cry until the pillow turned damp under his face, he imagined the blankets were his mom holding him. That he was still nine and nothing bad had ever happened.
But he wasn't nine, and he'd never be again. There was nothing he could do to fix that.
What felt like hours passed—which it probably did, as the little light in the room had dwindled—when the door creaked open. Waylon didn't pull his head from under the sheets. Hoping and praying that Harlow would just leave him alone.
Once again his prayers were left unanswered, the bed sunk on one side under a heavy weight as Harlow sat on his bed.
"Waylon?" He sounded drunk, or like he'd at least been drinking.
He didn't answer, he hated hearing Harlow's voice. He hated Harlow.
"Waylon."
Suddenly the pressure of fingers curled underneath the sheets and peeled them back enough to reveal the black mop of hair and puffy eyes. Eyes which bore a heavy scowl, not just hatred but pure despise marking every curve and wrinkle on them. Conversely, Waylon was met with that same blank face yet eyes filled with...remorse? Regret? It was hard to define. The fact they swam with any emotion other than anger and mockery was shocking enough to the tired boy.
The hand rested on Waylon's shoulder over the sheets. His eyes flickers between Harlow's face and hand as he did so.
"Waylon," he spoke barley above a whisper, "I'm sorry."
He didn't believe it, and even if it were genuine he didn't care. His lashes were still wet with tears, how could he forgive?
Harlow leaned down, his thumb had began rubbing circles on Waylon's shoulder, "I'm sorry, I'm serious. I was awful." He whispered more. Seeing the futility in his words he sighed and stood up, walking to his side of the room. For a moment Waylon thought he'd get some peace, but instead he heard a crack and fizz. Harlow emerged from the divider with two ciders in his hands. He sat one on Waylon's bedside table and retook his place sitting on Waylon's bed.
His brows furrowed, "Cmon Waylon," he almost wined as he spoke, "At least drink a little if you won't talk to me?"
Slowly, the shorter emerged keeping his eyes on Harlow. He pushed his back into the metal bed frame, making distance between the two and pulled his knees up defensively as he took the drink. Harlow just watched as he sipped from it, all the while still glaring meaningfully.
He couldn't help but sniffle occasionally, rubbing at his septum when he did so. He could feel the dried tears clinging to his cheeks.
Again Harlow spoke, "Really, I didn't mean it like that."
"How did you mean it?" His voice was watery as he spoke, and he hiccuped on a sob. Swallowing it back down and biting his lip to stop it from quivering. He didn't really mean it as a question, more so as an accusation.
Harlow was stuck on his words, before he scrunched his face and groaned, "I don't like that stuff."
Waylon just scrunched his own face in confusion, "What?"
"That," Harlow explained, "Touching people, it doesn't sit with me. I wanted those guys to fuck off. Wanted nothing to do with them."
"Why put me in a room with him?" Waylon was angry again, unable to fight his words, "I felt sick the whole time!"
Harlow shook his head, "I wouldn't have let him do anything to you."
"What?" He spoke, "Why? You don't care."
"I do." Harlow rasped out, pushing himself closer until he was next to Waylon, "I wouldn't let them do anything."
"Why?"
Harlow didn't answer, instead he put his arm back around Waylon and pulled him in. The other had so little strength left he just collapsed into his lap. The blankets still pulled around his shoulders, he felt Harlow run his finger up and down his arm.
If it were any other person, or any other scenario, Waylon probably would've left or been disgusted. For whatever reason, right now he wasn't. He let it be. Whatever this was.
And Harlow watched as Waylon fell asleep, his drunken brain just wanting to make things right. He wanted to—to...he didn't know. He didn't know much about anything anymore, but Waylon had done everything right. He's done his end of the deal. Harlow hadn't.
So he ran his fingers up and down the length of that boys arm, beckoning him to sleep.
He did.