Whenever he was lost, he looked for Nate's voice.
Xia had a lot of memories of the past. That's what the alcohol and cocaine were for, to keep the memories of screaming, of hunger, of watching someone slam the door behind them and leave forever. He had a lot of memories he could call his first. But he ignored them all to remember the first time he heard Nate sing. That was when his life started. He might have picked up guitar long before they spoke to each other, but he couldn't remember how it sounded before he started playing it for Nate.
The substances and the passage of time blurred everything in his mind. He couldn't recall what Nate looked like back then, he couldn't even remember his own face. He was next to Nate with his guitar in his hands. He could feel people looking at them, but it didn't matter. He was strumming his guitar, prepared to follow the chords he saw.
He lost track of his thoughts when Nate opened his mouth.
When he sang, Nate seemed to materialize right before his eyes. He turned from an idea into someone real. Someone right before his eyes. He could hear him, see him, touch him. For the first time, he understood what someone else felt. His voice seemed to bring everything to life. He believed every word Nate sang because Nate himself seemed to believe it. The emotions in his voice bore the weight of a million lifetimes.
His voice rang through the room. Even as a child, his tone carried an air of haunting sadness. It seemed fleeting, as if he would disappear as soon as the song was over. Xia was chasing after his words, begging him to keep singing. Begging him not to disappear.
Nate sang as if he had torn his heart out of his chest, holding it up to anyone who would listen. Every beat of his heart translated into the smooth shifts of pitch in his voice. Xia wanted to be able to sing like Nate did. So effortlessly, to tear out the emotions from his brain and put it into his voice. To sing without his lungs giving out. To sing like a choir of angels descending from the sky.
It was only later that Nate learned to put some power and grit into his voice. It only made Xia even more jealous. Nate could sing in any way he wanted. When writing songs together, it felt like he was writing in a way where he could catch up to how they would sound together, his rasp and Nate's croon, rather than a way that he wanted. Some way where they could sound perfect together instead of having to meet in the middle.
Nate disagreed. He always disagreed. Nate always did as he said in the end, but only because he was right. Xia liked that about him, as much as it made him want to tear his hair off. He wanted Nate to do as he said because that was what he wanted, not because he was told. He and Nate shared the same mind. They wanted the same things but saw them differently. His black was Nate's white. Xia would ask him to jump, and Nate would say, "Why should I?"
"I love the way you sound," he would say, running his fingers across his shoulder blades. His fingers would trace the angel wing tattoos on his back, his voice becoming quieter and quieter as Xia felt the high kicking in.
"We sound perfect."
Xia would close his eyes, losing himself to Nate's touch. Everything felt better when he was high. He loved the way Nate's skin felt against his. He liked that he could finally breathe and let Nate touch him. His mind was silent enough that he could hear Nate breathing. He liked the way everything was numb but odd in a familiar way. He felt like Nate's body was his and he was Nate, and they were both one and different.
"Your voice is too sweet. It's too hard for me to catch up. I never sound right singing your songs."
"That's not what everyone else thinks."
Nate's thumb pressed into his neck. A gasp escaped his lips.
"We're on top of the world because of you, Xia. Without your voice, our songs wouldn't sound the same," he whispered, trailing his fingers down his spine. "They wouldn't sound like us."
Nate and Xia. Xia and Nate. It was always them. Us. He couldn't live any other way. He could leave everything behind except him. Nate was the only one who saw him. He was the only one who could possibly understand. Even if they were apart, they breathed the same air and sang the same songs. Everything he wrote was for Nate. When he put the words onto a page, he thought of Nate's voice. Every song was meant to be sung by that boy he met that fateful day. He could try to sing them, but they never sounded like he imagined. Nate was his missing piece.
Nate could express whatever he wanted using his voice. If he wanted to be egotistical, his voice would be gritty and sarcastic. If he was heartbroken, he would choke and falter on the notes. But he loved hearing Nate sing the nonsensical words he wrote down within minutes the most. Nate's voice would come out as a taunt. As if he was smugly rubbing in the fact that the listener wouldn't understand him. The meaning of his words were a secret only the two of them knew.
Xia was unsure of what he felt when he wrote. His own emotions felt too chaotic to pinpoint. But Nate always seemed to understand what he meant. Xia couldn't convince people of what he felt, but Nate could. He brought the imagery in his words to life. He painted between the lines in vivid colors and deep shadows. He sang everything like he meant it. When he sang, the whole world came to a still. That was Nate's power.
Nate was his muse. He could write anything if he thought of him. He saw the world through Nate's eyes when he wrote. Everything was more beautiful. Everything had potential. He listened to the way Nate spoke about the world. Spoke about people. If he listened, he could pretend that it had worth to it. When he wrote, everything came alive. If he was creating something for Nate, it had to be special. He would give his whole self into those words, until there was nothing left.
It all came back to him.
He could lose himself to his anger and addiction, but he would always find his way back if he looked for Nate. Fame had brought him hurtling into crowds of faceless people. Their voices made his head pound. They offered him the world. He wanted it all. He wanted to live until his body broke apart. That was what he did, over and over. Nights stretched out until day broke through. He took whatever he could until he could see colors and taste music. He surrounded himself with people even though the way they looked at him made him sick. There was nothing behind their eyes. Their words meant nothing. Sometimes, he realized he had traded one set of drones for another. Every time he neared his limit, Nate was there to take him home. He would live for another day.
He could stay alive if it meant he could keep being with Nate. He hated the world and hated himself, but if he looked at Nate, everything was okay. He still had worth if someone loved him. No, even that word wasn't enough. It wasn't love or friendship. It was something more. Something that kept him breathing. Something that opened his eyes every morning. He no longer felt lost in a sea of people. Someone would always search for him and lead him to where he was supposed to be. Even when he filled his head with so many things that it felt like his brains would blow out at any moment, there was Nate. Even when he felt dead and nothing else mattered, he would see Nate. He would follow him anywhere.
He saw the way that Nate looked at him when he came home like that. Like he was staring at the broken pieces of him and trying to figure out how to put him back together. If it were anyone else, he would have hated it. He couldn't be fixed. He liked the way he was, and everyone had to deal with it. But with Nate, he could believe that it was possible. The way Nate cared was genuine and real, unlike everyone else. He let him patch the holes he had punched into himself. He didn't fight back when he asked him to take care of himself.
"Don't do this to yourself," he would say. "I can't keep watching you do this."
"But you will," he muttered. "You're not going to leave, are you?"
"No, never."
With Nate, he could be special. Nate looked at him like he was the only person in the universe. He didn't understand why, but he could feel it. It was in the way they were always together. In was in the way they always thought of each other. It was the way that his guitar was meant for Nate's voice, and Nate's voice was meant to bring his lyrics to life.
He had never been special growing up. Out of five children, he was smack dab in the middle. Not old enough to take charge but not young enough to be babied. He faded in the background unless he was causing trouble. Which meant he caused trouble all the time. He couldn't tell anyone why he did it, he didn't even know himself. Doing things he wasn't supposed to do gave him purpose. It made him feel like he was doing something for himself instead of following what others expected of him.
He never did his homework. He wrote song lyrics instead of listening in class. He stole things he didn't need from the few stores that their town had. He threw rocks at windows and grabbed clothes from washing lines. He did everything to try and get something more out of life. His life felt so empty and dull that it drove him mad. There had to be a way to vent his frustration at the people around him. He wanted to make them hate him, because if the dull mindless drones hated him, it meant that he was different. He was special.
His mother was out of her mind trying to rein him in. Once, she was convinced that Nate was a bad influence on him. She banned him from the house and told Xia to stop speaking to him. That was the worst he had ever gotten. Life meant nothing anymore. He didn't want to listen to what anyone said. They were all against him. They wanted him to be alone forever. They could never understand how much Nate meant to him. He tore down his room. He refused to come home. Everything he said came out in a scream. It only stopped when Wei convinced their mother that Nate might have been the only person who kept him from being worse.
He was grateful to Wei for saving him. Besides Nate, he might have been the only other person who came close to understanding. His eldest brother actually listened to him when he spoke. He listened to when he screamed about how Nate was the only person he wanted to talk to and the only person who could make him come home. Wei made him promise that he wouldn't make their mother worry anymore if he got her to let them be friends again. He didn't like people telling him what to do, but if it was for Nate, he begrudgingly accepted. He would have done anything to not lose him.
It didn't matter how many times he got into trouble, because Nate was always there by his side. Nate understood the rage he felt for the world. He understood the resentment he felt for everyone but them.
"I'll burn down this whole world," he had said one day. "It'll be just us."
"I'd like that," Nate said.
He was afraid. Sometimes he said things and he didn't know how Nate would respond. They seemed to just come out of him. A monster of rage would come over him and he would spit out all the filthy words he felt. Sometimes, he was convinced that Nate was like the rest of them. He was pretending. It made him scared. Without Nate, he wouldn't know what to do. He didn't know who else would accept him. No one else could see the anger he felt and accept it. It made him inhuman.
"Is that what you really think?"
Nate put down his pen and looked at him. He had such big eyes. His eyes held the world of emotion that he felt. Xia was overcome with knowing that other people could see the emotions that lay behind those eyes. He wanted to hide Nate away from the world. It could only be the two of them. He was scared of what others would see in Nate. That they would see how special he was and steal him away.
"I mean it," Nate said. His voice was clear. It cut through the ambient sound of the room, it cut through the buzz in his ears. He could only hear Nate's voice. "I'd like the world to just be the two of us."
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Blood rushed to his ears. Nate understood. He could say anything on his mind and Nate would understand. That was how much they were meant to be by each other's side. Nothing was worth having except Nate. And Nate felt the same way.
He had to feel the same way.
Even though everything else made him feel nothing, he found another reason to live in thin white lines. Cocaine gave him something to look forward to. It was the only thing he looked forward to. It became easier to get up and do things. He could actually stand to talk to people when he was high. He might have been a shell of a person, but at least he was real.
People liked him more when he used. He was cool, he was in control, he was on top of the world. It felt fucking amazing. He was numb to everything, but it wasn't painful anymore. He was alive. Every second he was high, he was conscious of how alive he was. He wasn't just surviving, he was alive, and it was beautiful. He wanted to remember every single second of being alive. He would die all over again when it wore off and he had to wait for the next line, but it was alright. He would always be alright as long as he could snort another line.
He hated it and loved it. He hated how the hours without coke were only filled with misery. He hated that it was all he could think about. He wasn't Xia anymore. He was nothing but his addiction. He was only living for the next line.
But he loved destroying himself with Nate. Even though the memories were vague and blurry, the moments he loved the most were when they would get high together, just the two of them. Nate would trace circles into his skin, and he would laugh at how numb his body felt. His body wasn't his own. It was Nate's. They shared the same body. They were the same.
He loved knowing that they were living life together. They both loved the same demon. They were having fun. Life was so much fun with Nate when they were high. They were living the same life. They didn't have to worry about anything at all. They were unstoppable together. They were both sick. They were both living for the same reason. Nate understood.
But coke made their fights so much worse.
"Did you use my stash?" Nate accused. He didn't even have time to reply when the other man shoved him onto the table. His spine collided with the wood and knocked the air out of his lungs. Colors exploded in his vision.
"I didn't," he coughed. "I didn't touch any of your shit."
"Don't lie to me. Where did it all go?" Nate yelled.
"I'm not lying!"
The truth was, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't remember anything properly. He remembered not being able to stop snorting line after line. How much did he use? It felt more than usual, but it could have been his mind playing tricks on him. Wasn't he searching the fucking carpet dust for any specks of coke? He might have been desperate enough to use Nate's supply. What did it matter? He should have known better than to leave it where he could reach into it.
Nate grabbed him by the hair and slammed him into the couch. They fought like that for what felt like eternity. Curled fists, nails and teeth sinking into skin, insult after insult thrown at each other. He could only remember how raw his throat felt from screaming at him. He hated Nate for how he treated him. He was a paranoid asshole who blamed everything on him. He hated what they had become. No matter what, couldn't pull himself away from Nate. He needed him more than anything.
He would try. He really did try to stay clean sometimes. He didn't want them to keep treating each other that way. He tried staying away. It filled him with such dread and misery that the hate he felt would multiply within him like cells splitting apart. He hated everything. He hated himself most of all. He hated himself so much that he couldn't help but hate Nate, as well. Weren't they one? Didn't they share the same sickness? He had infected Nate with his disgusting thoughts. He deserved it for being as sick as he was.
"I hate you," he would scream until his throat was raw. "This is all your fault. Get away from me. Leave me alone. You make me sick. You're sick."
"You're the one who wanted this," Nate would yell back. "Don't blame me because you can't stay clean. You can't even function without coke."
He would scream and beat his fists against Nate's face, his chest, his stomach. He hated him. He wouldn't leave him alone. Even when they were apart, he was always in his head. He could hear him sneering at how he wanted another line. He was a disappointment. He wasn't good enough. He hated him so much, but he couldn't leave. He would die if Nate left.
He would always go back. He went back to coke, of course. But he went back to Nate. Nate never asked him if he was more important than coke. But he thought about it. They both thought about it. He could tell. It was a question that hung between them like a thick curtain. They could pull the curtain back to see each other, but it was still there. He couldn't tear it down no matter how much he hated it. Because he didn't know the answer. He hoped he would never have to confront it.
When he realized Nate was serious about getting clean, it felt like his whole world was shifting underneath him. How was Nate supposed to get clean when he was still using? He wasn't ready to stop. Nate needed to get better, but how could he? How could he leave him behind? He wasn't good enough because he was still using. That had to be it.
"You think you're better than me," he spat out as Nate was packing for rehab.
"What're you talking about?" Nate asked. He didn't look him in the eye. It filled him with so much rage that he wanted to yell.
"You think you're so great because you're getting clean?"
"I don't," Nate said calmly. "I'm doing it for you, too, you know. I don't want to hurt you."
"You are hurting me," he said desperately. "You're leaving me behind."
He was about to fling whatever he could grab at Nate when the other man grabbed his wrists. His grip was loose, but it made him still. His mind was going at a million miles a second. All he could do was look at Nate. The other man's gaze was boring into him. His mouth was set into a firm line. It was rare that he ever saw him so serious. It made his insides twist.
"I'm not leaving you behind. Ever. What makes you think that?"
His throat was tight. There were so many things he wanted to say. He didn't want Nate to go. He would realize that he deserved better than someone who clung to him so desperately. He deserved better than an addict. He and Nate would end up living in different worlds. He would be stepping into a new life, one without him. Nate would choose sobriety. Something he could never do. They would never be together again.
"I can't get clean like you," he croaked out. "You're going to get better. You'll deserve better than me. You'll see how bad I am, and you'll give up on me like everyone else."
Nate's gaze softened.
"I could never get better than you," he said. "I don't care if you don't get clean."
"You will," Xia vehemently insisted. "You'll be happy without me, and you'll realize how much better you are than this. Than me. You'll start wishing I wasn't still using, and you'll always hold that against me. You'll think I chose to stay addicted. You could never understand. You won't be able to understand me anymore. I'll just fuck everything up for you."
"Do you really think that little of me?" Nate asked. "Do you think I'll abandon you if I manage to recover?"
"I don't know!" he lashed out. "I don't know and that fucking scares me. We used to know everything about each other, but now we won't. We'll be different. You're choosing to be normal over me."
That was what it all boiled down to. Nate was now too good for the life they shared together. Too good for the nights they spent being high and numb. Too good to be a lowlife like him. He always knew deep in his heart that Nate wasn't meant to self-destruct like he was. He just didn't want to admit it. He wanted to drag Nate down to his level, even though he was always too good for that. He was selfish. He would always be selfish.
If they were addicted, at least they had each other. They were both living just to get high. At least they were fighting the demons of wanting another line together. But he would be all alone, now. Nate would find other reasons to live. Xia would be the only one left behind, living an empty life.
Xia spoke again, "I don't want to be stuck like this. But I can't stop. You're stronger than me. You think I'm too weak."
"I'll always be an addict," Nate said. "I'll just be an addict who doesn't use anymore. You know what that means? It means I'll always understand you. I'll never think you're too weak."
He snorted, "Did you get that out of your rehab pamphlet?"
"Shut up, idiot."
Xia laid his head against Nate's chest. His heart was beating slower than usual. That was it. He was going to get clean. It was hard to believe what Nate was saying. But he wanted to trust him. Nate would never lie to him. He was too good for that. He couldn't help how much he resented Nate for getting clean. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't actually want the man to destroy himself like he did. He just didn't want to be alone. But it didn't mean he wanted to watch Nate keep getting worse. His resentment was only because of his own self-loathing. He hated himself for not being strong enough.
"I want to live for you," Xia admitted. "I promise I'm not choosing to be this way. You're all I've got. Don't give up on me. Even if I never get clean, I'm trying my best to live for you. You're the only reason."
"I know," Nate said. He let go of his wrists and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He pulled him close. "I won't ever let anything happen to you."
He tried his best not to think about how much things would change. He hoped Nate was right. If only he could control everything. If only he could control Nate. He would make things all better for the two of them and make sure they would never be apart. At least he could take care of Nate and make sure he stayed clean. That thought alone reassured him. He could be Nate's anchor.
Nate would always need him.